Given some of the things S has said, J isn't surprised to hear that, but it still hurts, heart heavy, chest too tight, thinking of S alone, recovering from surgery all by himself. He's thought about this a lot more than he's wanted to, but the surgery part was always an afterthought somehow. Now he can't help thinking how hard that must have been. Any surgery must be exhausting, but one that would leave scars bad enough he would mistake them for his own work must have left him so drained, and J wasn't there.

Turning his head, he kisses S's hair, then carefully lifts his hand to S's cheek, nudging him to look toward J. He wants to kiss him, something small and simple, just a reminder he's here, but he also doesn't want to force S if S isn't ready to look up. "You can talk to me now," he says, voice a little too thick, and swallows. "I know it doesn't change before, but... Ah, it must have been so hard, darling."

It remains one of the things he most regrets about his past, and he's both adjusted enough and grown too tired to feel bad about that. He loves S. Of course it would be, to J, one of the worst things he did — not just hurting him physically, but leaving him to endure the aftermath alone. "I hate the idea of it," he murmurs. "I wish..." He sighs. It doesn't matter. He can wish all he wants. It won't undo his mistakes. "I know it's not the same. I wasn't there then. But I am now, no matter what."