Until today, until now, S didn't know he felt like this. It's just one more thing he doesn't fully know how to explain. That day, in the immediate aftermath, it was awful, and then it was quickly overridden by fear and his ensuing breakdown. When he said he didn't mind leaving his shirt on, he meant it. Were that not the case, he might at least have tried to come up with some kind of a better alternative, though he doesn't know offhand now what that could possibly have been. The rest, the parts that have reduced him to a crying mess today, he deliberately kept out of his head as best he could, so he wouldn't have to feel the weight of what has apparently been in his damaged heart.
What he knew was that he didn't want to have to avoid something so significant, that it felt wrong to leave such a prominent part of his life almost completely unmentioned to the person he trusts and loves the most. Even that, though, he was used to — not the secrecy, exactly, though he's had plenty of that in his life, but the bearing it alone. He isn't on his own anymore, and he's so unbelievably fucking grateful for that, but he was for a long time. Had he wanted to talk about what happened to him, he wouldn't have been able to. It made holding it back here a little easier, an instinct he already had. That one thing just didn't change, staying put away, what seemed like the best place for it.
"Promise you'll — you'll tell me if it ever is too much?" he asks, soft and pleading. It isn't as if he would jump straight to the most unpleasant parts of it anyway, but even now, he's not sure he'll feel like he can say any of it without that reassurance, still too worried that he might go too far. "You're the only person I've ever really talked to. It always feels wrong not to just tell you everything." He pauses a moment, at least coherent enough to know that that probably sounds fucking stupid right about now. "It just... felt more wrong to bring it up."
He still doesn't know how to explain it, and he doesn't think that's quite right. Still, it's something. While the circumstances are vastly different, much like J could only promise to try to stay that first day, he can only promise to try to open up about this, something easier said than done. "I'm sorry. I should've..."
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What he knew was that he didn't want to have to avoid something so significant, that it felt wrong to leave such a prominent part of his life almost completely unmentioned to the person he trusts and loves the most. Even that, though, he was used to — not the secrecy, exactly, though he's had plenty of that in his life, but the bearing it alone. He isn't on his own anymore, and he's so unbelievably fucking grateful for that, but he was for a long time. Had he wanted to talk about what happened to him, he wouldn't have been able to. It made holding it back here a little easier, an instinct he already had. That one thing just didn't change, staying put away, what seemed like the best place for it.
"Promise you'll — you'll tell me if it ever is too much?" he asks, soft and pleading. It isn't as if he would jump straight to the most unpleasant parts of it anyway, but even now, he's not sure he'll feel like he can say any of it without that reassurance, still too worried that he might go too far. "You're the only person I've ever really talked to. It always feels wrong not to just tell you everything." He pauses a moment, at least coherent enough to know that that probably sounds fucking stupid right about now. "It just... felt more wrong to bring it up."
He still doesn't know how to explain it, and he doesn't think that's quite right. Still, it's something. While the circumstances are vastly different, much like J could only promise to try to stay that first day, he can only promise to try to open up about this, something easier said than done. "I'm sorry. I should've..."