S wishes that too, of course, that J weren't so easy to hurt. Even with as frayed as he feels right now, though, he has the good sense not to say that out loud, knowing it would almost certainly come out wrong. It isn't that he dislikes dealing with the fact of that, after all, like it's something that bothers him about J when that couldn't be further from the truth. Instead, he wishes it for J's sake. Ever since they were young, J has always seemed to feel things so deeply, and that's only gotten truer as they've gotten older. He wishes so desperately that J didn't hurt so much, that what he says last weren't true. It probably is, and there's no comfort in it. He doesn't mind treading cautiously if it means J hurts less; it's hard to think that it might be an inevitable outcome regardless.
So often, he thinks, they wind up here. In a strange way, it's the very thing that kept him half-clothed for a year and a half, believing that the very fact of his existence would be painful for J. Of course, in some ways, it makes sense that, being so close to each other, they would be all the more likely to hurt each other, too, especially when they're both so fucking stubborn. It just hurts him to hurt J, and to think that there might be no alternative.
"You know me," he mumbles into J's shoulder, content to stay close, to keep holding onto him, for a while longer. "I don't like when there isn't anything I can do." This, too, is a tendency that he knows gets him in trouble, that where he was trying to take some small bit of control over a situation that seemed to be wildly spinning further and further away from him, it came across like him trying to control J. Here, too, it's clearly backfired. He couldn't and can't do anything about the way he looks now, the scars marking his chest, but he could make a point of keeping them covered. He thought it was the right choice. He was wrong.
Fingers idly twisting in J's shirt, more affectionate now than anything else, he sighs. "And it's usually not like this," he adds. Most of the time, he doesn't hold terribly much back. There's just the occasional subject that seems better left untouched. "With this, it just... I didn't realize how big it was getting. I didn't know it was hurting me, not like that."
no subject
So often, he thinks, they wind up here. In a strange way, it's the very thing that kept him half-clothed for a year and a half, believing that the very fact of his existence would be painful for J. Of course, in some ways, it makes sense that, being so close to each other, they would be all the more likely to hurt each other, too, especially when they're both so fucking stubborn. It just hurts him to hurt J, and to think that there might be no alternative.
"You know me," he mumbles into J's shoulder, content to stay close, to keep holding onto him, for a while longer. "I don't like when there isn't anything I can do." This, too, is a tendency that he knows gets him in trouble, that where he was trying to take some small bit of control over a situation that seemed to be wildly spinning further and further away from him, it came across like him trying to control J. Here, too, it's clearly backfired. He couldn't and can't do anything about the way he looks now, the scars marking his chest, but he could make a point of keeping them covered. He thought it was the right choice. He was wrong.
Fingers idly twisting in J's shirt, more affectionate now than anything else, he sighs. "And it's usually not like this," he adds. Most of the time, he doesn't hold terribly much back. There's just the occasional subject that seems better left untouched. "With this, it just... I didn't realize how big it was getting. I didn't know it was hurting me, not like that."