There's a soft look of understanding on S's face, like something just clicked, and J hopes fervently that it's something good. It doesn't seem bad, at least. And what he says is familiar enough to J, and he tried not to make everything about him and how he gets what S is saying, but this is something he gets, and he just has to hope that helps.

Before he says anything, though, he leans in to kiss S, soft and brief, thumb sweeping over his damp cheek. "I love you," he murmurs, resting his forehead against S's. "And I want to listen. It doesn't matter if you know how to talk about it or not. I never really know how to talk about..." He doesn't know how to describe it. He never has. There's no good word to sum up not just his history but also the state of his mind and how it functions or doesn't. "All of... me. And you see how well it goes when I don't talk about it. I just have to blurt things out and hope they make sense."

He knows, at times like that, he's lucky if that happens at all. His sentences get long and winding, he knows, and he's not sure he conveys what happens inside his head in any helpful way. But he knows S wants to hear what he has to say regardless, no matter how convoluted or painful. Making himself understand and believe that has been a long process, and he needs constant reminders. If that's what S needs too, then J will just have to step up and give him that.