Even now, S hates the thought that he might need that sort of reminder. If there's anything he knows, after all, it's that. J loves him, and he loves J, and while there was once a span of time when he came to believe otherwise, that was a long time ago now. Since they've been here, back together, he hasn't questioned it. And that's not what it is, really, something as simple as being loved or not, desired or not. The creeping sense of fear he feels is something murkier and worse — that the way he looks now, the reminder that the scars on his chest serve as, will be too burdensome, that he'll just remind J of that horrible night and just how out of control everything spun. As much of a relief as it is to hear J say that right now, it's fine, S isn't even sure that he can say the same is true for him. Being seen like this is painfully difficult. Maybe it's just a matter of getting used to it, but he doesn't know that for sure.
He hopes it is, though. He hopes that, one day, he won't even have to think twice about being shirtless in front of J. Though he tells himself often that he can't wish for a return to the way things used to be, knowing how closely that ties to the problems they had before and how J worried he saw their relationship, though he wouldn't want that anyway, given everything they've gone through together and gotten here, it would be nice to have that one little piece of simplicity back, to take his goddamn shirt off in front of his boyfriend and best friend without it feeling like it perches them on the edge of a catastrophe, without one or both of them being reduced to tears and panic over something that was once just a simple fact of their sharing a space. That shouldn't be too much to ask. And if it is, well, he'll be fine with that, too. As he's also told himself before, staying half-clothed is an infinitesimally small, worthwhile price to pay to be with J and keep him safe.
"I always want to hear how ridiculously in love with me you are," he says instead of any of that, summoning up a ghost of a smile. He still doesn't really want to move much yet, content to stay where he is, curled against J's chest. This, too, is something he once wouldn't have thought all that much about. It was always nice, being held, but it was easy to take for granted until there was no one left in his life at all and he wanted this more than anything else. They'll still have this, no matter what happens. He's not sure he could ever say how much that means to him. "And I'll remind you, too. What you did. How you saved me."
True as it is that he wouldn't have needed saving had J also not tried to kill him, S still thinks, and always will, that it's the part that came after that matters most. It took little more than an instant for him to be unconscious on J's floor. Letting him die should have been the easiest, safest course of action. J didn't.
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He hopes it is, though. He hopes that, one day, he won't even have to think twice about being shirtless in front of J. Though he tells himself often that he can't wish for a return to the way things used to be, knowing how closely that ties to the problems they had before and how J worried he saw their relationship, though he wouldn't want that anyway, given everything they've gone through together and gotten here, it would be nice to have that one little piece of simplicity back, to take his goddamn shirt off in front of his boyfriend and best friend without it feeling like it perches them on the edge of a catastrophe, without one or both of them being reduced to tears and panic over something that was once just a simple fact of their sharing a space. That shouldn't be too much to ask. And if it is, well, he'll be fine with that, too. As he's also told himself before, staying half-clothed is an infinitesimally small, worthwhile price to pay to be with J and keep him safe.
"I always want to hear how ridiculously in love with me you are," he says instead of any of that, summoning up a ghost of a smile. He still doesn't really want to move much yet, content to stay where he is, curled against J's chest. This, too, is something he once wouldn't have thought all that much about. It was always nice, being held, but it was easy to take for granted until there was no one left in his life at all and he wanted this more than anything else. They'll still have this, no matter what happens. He's not sure he could ever say how much that means to him. "And I'll remind you, too. What you did. How you saved me."
True as it is that he wouldn't have needed saving had J also not tried to kill him, S still thinks, and always will, that it's the part that came after that matters most. It took little more than an instant for him to be unconscious on J's floor. Letting him die should have been the easiest, safest course of action. J didn't.