hismelody: (joochan_242)
Song Sihyun ([personal profile] hismelody) wrote2022-08-11 02:21 am
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July gives way to August, and with it, though the muggy weather is no less oppressive, S finds his mood lightening a little. It's strange, probably, associating summer with death. It also can't be helped. He's not half as far gone now as he was in those first couple of years, but the loss of his parents is never going to be an easy one to bear, and the days and weeks around the anniversary of their deaths are always going to hurt. Likewise strange is how grief begets grief. For that, he always feels guilty. J is here, after all, alive and well. They've had nearly a year and a half together now that they weren't supposed to have gotten, and S really is, he thinks, the happiest he's ever been. But when that loss rears its head, even happiness hurts. He never got to come out to his parents, never told them how he felt about J. They never got to see him as he is now. They weren't there when he lost the love of his life, a storm he weathered entirely on his own, and something he'll always carry with him. At times like this, it's just a little closer to the surface than usual.

He tries not to let it emerge completely, holding it at bay as best he can. It's a hard time of year, that's all, and at least J knows that already. It makes him a little quieter than usual, and a little more inclined to bring up his parents, something he doesn't typically do all that often, especially knowing that can be a difficult subject for J in different ways. Like a dark cloud slowly but inexorably passing in front of the sun, though, it starts to ease — not like the flip of a switch, exactly, but a more gradual, less noticeable change, some of it lingering still, some of it substantially better. He's still a bit distracted, but he also has a chance to start catching up on the things he didn't feel up to a couple of weeks ago. It's something.

It lets him do more with J, too. Not that he was distant before, but they're both introverted by nature, and with the weight of all that grief, he's more inclined to want to stay in with the one person who understands it, who saw him through it back then. He's tried before, more than once, to try to tell J just how grateful he is for that, how much it meant and still means to him, but there are never the words. All he can really do is attempt to make it up to him in any small ways he can, smiling faintly as J suggests plans, only for him to realize that's the one day he'll be otherwise occupied. "Ah, maybe the day after?" he offers instead, just distracted enough that he doesn't really register what he's saying until the words are out of his mouth. "I have a doctor's appointment that day."
beklemmt: (delicato)

[personal profile] beklemmt 2022-09-07 06:50 am (UTC)(link)
J stifles a sigh. He shouldn't be even a little frustrated with this, not when it's his own fault. Those scars wouldn't be there to begin with if he hadn't lashed out, and they're the only reason S has to feel that way, explicitly so. They're the cause of this feeling and he's the cause of them. It is one of the lesser reasons for him to feel guilty for what he did but he still feels it. All this time, S has had to sit with this and never said a word, and while J wouldn't have asked him for that silence, didn't want it, it's hard to fault him when S must have known mentioning it would only bring J this kind of guilt.

That's the thing, he tells himself. It's only for now. He'll never forgive himself entirely, but he's begun to see that, with time, he can still adjust to nearly anything. He spent his life adapting to survive, long before he graduated high school, and he'll keep on doing so for whatever time he has. He just needs to have something to adapt to, and he can't do that off of silence.

"Because you're you," he says, when he finds his voice again. "Because I like looking at you. Because it's part of life, because, even when I'm mostly used to it, there are still times when I — when you'd normally undress, but you don't, and I have to remember it's because of me, and the only — the only visual I have is that time. And I reacted —" This time, he doesn't trouble holding back his sigh. "Sihyun-ah, it wasn't because I thought it was ugly or you were. It really wasn't. I just hated — I hate — how badly I hurt you, that I... that I struck you that many times." Though he's tried hard to keep his voice even, to be the calming one here, he doesn't quite manage it for a moment, words wavering before he gets himself back on track. Stabbed. Not struck, stabbed. It feels like too much to say even now. "But I got used to my arm because I got to see it all the time."

It might be too many reasons, he thinks, even if they're all true. He's not even sure how much of it S will agree with or process or believe. For himself, the difference between reacting to the knowledge of what he did and reacting to the sight of it is a reasonably big one, but he wasn't on the receiving end of it. He can't ask S not to have been hurt by it. He can't, for that matter, ask him to move on. All he can do is try to ease the pain he caused, his guilt for it less important than how badly it's affected S. If he apologizes, he knows, it's likely S will shut down; that's probably the last thing he wants, even if J thinks it would be deserved.
beklemmt: (pic#15012794)

[personal profile] beklemmt 2022-09-08 07:24 am (UTC)(link)
S's voice is so soft and he's so curled in on himself that it's muffled, but J is fairly certain all the same of what he says. Twice. He bites his lip hard, willing himself not to get overwhelmed by the fact that S knows precisely when, for J, everything is a contradictory whirl of bewilderment, very little left to his memory but the feeling of the moment.

"It looked like more," he mumbles, then swallows hard, tries to makes his throat feel a little less tight. In that instant, it seemed to him like he must have gone even madder than he'd thought. That isn't really the point right now, though. Closing his eyes, he tries to breathe evenly, tries not to blurt out any other half-formed thought. He makes himself turn those words over in his head, even though they sting. It can't be any worse than the things S has borne for him; they do this together, for each other, and he can handle it. And, besides, if it really was less than he'd come to fear, maybe it won't be quite so shocking when he's not already out of his mind and suicidal.

"I know how that feels," he settles on after a moment, "I think. I... for a long time, I didn't want to look in a mirror at all. I think I was scared of who I'd see. It wasn't... physical like that, but... maybe that's why it was so bad. When I did see myself, I knew I didn't look much different, but inside..." He sighs, shrugging the arm not around S. "I didn't know how to see it differently for a long time. The only reason I can now is because you saw me differently first." It's when he tries to keep things to himself that he really starts to fall apart. S may not be unstable like J is or has been, but J has to believe it would help him, too, being able to share things and to let J love him when he can't see his own beauty. "I can't change what you see. I can't force you to — to feel what I say is true. But maybe I could... do what you do. Show you what I see instead."
beklemmt: (pic#15013073)

[personal profile] beklemmt 2022-09-09 06:39 am (UTC)(link)
J has to bite his lip to hold back a sound, an odd, giddy thing twisting in his throat, inappropriately amused. Surgery. Fucking surgery. He has no way of knowing how much of what he saw was caused by that, but he hadn't considered the possibility that any of it might have been. He'd assumed he'd snapped even more wholly than he'd believed, shocked by the extent of his cruelty in a way he probably shouldn't have been, given all he did before and after he grabbed that knife. Being confronted with the whole of it so suddenly, though, and on that scale, had been too much, and of course, of fucking course, the lingering hurt of it was based partly on his imagination.

It doesn't make it less awful, not really. The scars were there because of what he did, whether he left them behind or doctors did. Still, there's something soothing about the notion that they weren't all of his making — or, rather, that they were, both the scars he left with his own knife and the ones left by the doctors who saved S, the ones he managed to get S to just in time. Proof, he said a little while ago, that S lived.

Before he can think to explain this or even how to start, though, he focuses in on S again, drawn back to the present by the way S shakes a little, breath rippling through him. Half-formed thoughts and feelings, his own whirling reaction to this idea, they can wait. This is much more important, a spark of hope and relief. After this, it would be impossible for him not to wonder and worry about what S might keep from out of his idea of what's best for J or some sense he shouldn't share. But maybe they can put this right.

"I want to try," he says, soft but fervent — so much so that tears prick at his eyes, surprising him a little. It's always hurt, though, those times when he's had to watch S ache and not be able to do anything about it. To have any chance to make things a little better is a relief. "And even if I can't, I... I want to be here for you. To talk to, to tell things. If you want to." He huffs, shaking his head, unable to help coming back to it. "I didn't even think of surgery." He didn't know it left marks like that behind, for that matter. He's never had a surgery, rarely even been to the doctor. It makes obvious sense if he thinks about it for even a moment, but he just never did. That first moment of shock froze an idea in place in his mind, and he never questioned it.
beklemmt: (pic#14832621)

[personal profile] beklemmt 2022-09-10 07:04 am (UTC)(link)
J wants to argue, but he can't. Of course S worried he wouldn't want to hear it. It's not as if he doesn't have perfectly good reason to believe that. It just hurts, knowing S damaged himself in favor of protecting J from himself.

He hesitates, something twitching in his cheek, at S's question. "Of course," he murmurs, heat rising along his neck. It's fucking stupid. He's had a long time to grow accustomed to the fact of what he did, far longer than he would have imagined possible, and sometimes he can talk about it without falling apart. Right now, though, the trade off for not breaking down is the awful sense of shame heating his skin. "I — of course I did." He didn't have any other way to frame the scars in his mind. All of them, as far as he knew, had to be at his hand. Though he knows he snapped that night, he didn't realize it was quite that bad — the stabbing part, at least — but he didn't know how else to see it, and his memories of that night are too blurred in places for him to feel entirely confident in any of it.

He lets out a short, sharp exhale and shakes his head. "Sihyun-ah... I want to hear it," he says, because he doesn't want to get sidetracked before he says the important part sticking in his head. "Even the things I won't like or that will upset me. And... and you were right. I wouldn't have been able to then. But I — I can. And you can, you can talk to me, I swear. I don't — ah, it's the worst feeling, to have it in your head and your heart and never be able to say it. I don't want that for you." Even if it's a different kind of awful from what J endured and what he still struggles with, it's still awful, and the idea of S alone with this makes him want to start crying all over again.
beklemmt: (zögernd)

[personal profile] beklemmt 2022-09-10 08:04 am (UTC)(link)
"Yah," J says, though it comes out soft and soothing as he shakes his head, "no, don't — I'm sorry too. I should have said something." As badly as he wants this now — not just, of course, to see S properly, but to be able to truly talk about things, to get one step closer to accepting the parts of this that affect their daily lives — he really doesn't know how long he would have kept it to himself. They both could have spoken up.

He hasn't made things easy. Throat aching, he closes his eyes. No matter how hard they try, there always seems to be something they're holding back, not out of a desire to hide but because it's all so fucking complicated.

"And I promise," he continues, "I promise." He'll say it as many times as S needs to hear it, and he'll do it, too. It's better, he reminds himself. The same way he'd want S to tell him if he approached a line, knowing that would hurt less than going too far would, he has to do the same for S. Better to find some way to extricate himself from the conversation than to let himself fall apart and make S think he has to continue keeping things to himself. "If I need a moment or I can't handle it, I'll tell you. But you have to remember it's because of me, not you, okay? If it is too much, that won't be because of you. Understand?"

He's not sure the difference in these things will be all that apparent to S either, but he has to try, voice soft but firm. He doesn't want a miscalculation on his part in what he can handle or the memory of what he did to be the reason S shuts this down and decides to carry this alone again.
beklemmt: (delicato)

[personal profile] beklemmt 2022-09-11 06:19 am (UTC)(link)
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."
beklemmt: (pic#15013065)

[personal profile] beklemmt 2022-09-11 07:35 am (UTC)(link)
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.
beklemmt: (zögernd)

[personal profile] beklemmt 2022-09-12 06:58 am (UTC)(link)
When they were younger, J found it intensely helpful to hear that S felt many of the same things he did. When he grew older and his mind started to change, it was the certainty that no one reasonable could think and feel as he did that made him feel so alone, so unable to speak. The trouble is, because he knows his own mind to be unreliable and his understanding of the world to be different from most, he's not at all sure how useful it is to understand what S feels on any level. Maybe it doesn't matter, he tells himself. Even if what S feels isn't normal either, then at least they'd be odd together. At least he'd feel less alone in it. J just feels uneasy at the idea that S might have to endure any of the things he's had to. But this is normal, he tells himself. It has to be. He's done that before, well before his thoughts grew strange.

"I've done that," he says, lifting a hand to comb his fingers through S's hair. "A lot, really. It's... scary, I think, how much we can hide from ourselves." It's ruined him in all kinds of ways, not quite knowing what he hides from himself. He can't help thinking that, in a roundabout way, that's exactly what got them into this whole mess. If he'd been a bit more honest with himself — if he hadn't let himself hide the truth from himself of how much he craved that connection to his father — that would have been one thing fewer for the professor to use against them both. If he could have acknowledged it, he might have been able to steel himself against it, or to hear S better, more honestly.

It's useless to think about now. There are bigger lies he's told both to him and to S, and he's afraid to find out how many he's still telling. What's done is done.

"You know now," he murmurs. "And so do I. That's a start."
beklemmt: (zögernd)

[personal profile] beklemmt 2022-09-13 06:21 am (UTC)(link)
"I don't know either," J says. He could make something up, but he doubts that would be helpful. The only way they get through this, really, and everything else in their lives, is together. Besides, he got upset in the first place because the idea of being left out, the choice made for him, was too much, veering too close to his old fear of being seen as unable to care for himself. He's been handling that someone better lately, because they've talked things through more, but having it come out of nowhere shocked him. He's not going to make decisions for S in turn, not when it's not necessary for some reason. "Whatever we want to come next, I guess. You can talk to me about... whatever. Anything you want to say."

Now that they've broached the subject of his actually seeing S's scars again, much more prepared and stable this time, though for a relative value of both, he wants to make it happen. He just also wants to do it on S's time. Pushing him will make it worse for both of them, the worst possible way to handle it. A gentle nudge might do, but no more.

And, too, there's a part of J that hopes it will go well enough that they can actually, if not have sex, at least mess around with S shirtless, not even so much because J thinks about sex an awful lot, but because hearing S like this makes him want fiercely to show S precisely how beautiful J really thinks he is. More than that, he wants to make S feel it. He can't change how S sees himself, he knows, but he can show him how he's seen, and maybe that will make a difference. It does for J.

"I do still want to see," he adds finally, soft. "I think... it might be good for me? But only when you feel... as ready as you think you can." He knows better than to suggest S will ever be fully ready. Some things have to be done well before all preparation is done, or they'll never happen. He has a hazy memory of his own fear at showing S his scars that first day, and S isn't the one who caused those. He can't expect S to be giddy to show off a sight that, previously, pushed J into a panicked self-reflective spiral that made him want to die. Again. All he can really do is, without quite thinking of it, say the things he wishes he'd heard sooner. "It doesn't have to be now or even today or tomorrow. And you don't have to say everything today either. I'll be here when you're ready."
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[personal profile] beklemmt 2022-09-14 05:43 am (UTC)(link)
Despite S's uncertainty, J smiles, soft and fond and faintly amused. It's logic he's given countless time for his own bravado, charging forward for fear he'd otherwise turn back. It's for the best, too. For as confident as he's let himself sound, it's still a big thing to face. He might lose his nerve, too, if he had to wait. Now that he's set his mind to this, they should probably go ahead and do it.

"That would be okay," he agrees softly, leaning close to try and kiss S's cheek. For a moment, he considers suggesting that he be the one to handle it. If he does the unbuttoning, he can pause as needed. But he knows S, knows how much he likely needs control of this moment. He can't take that from him. Leaning his head against S's, he sighs. "I love you. And you trust me, darling. So trust that, if I need... a moment or to stop or... I will say so. And I wouldn't say this if I didn't believe it. I wouldn't do that to you."

S knows this. J is sure he does. It still awes him to know that S does, because there's a long list of reasons why S shouldn't trust him or believe him at all. Sitting here, though, cradling him close, trying to soothe S's fears as best he can, he's surprised to remember that there's an even longer list of reasons why S might, built on a long history of friendship and intimacy. A lot of what J has figured out about handling this, his awful whiplash instinctive reaction notwithstanding, is because S has held his hand through so much, given J a metric for what support looks and feels like that he can hold up alongside what he knows of S and of his own needs. It's a strange patchwork, but he thinks it works. At least, right now, it makes sense to him, and as long as it makes sense to S, too, that's all that matters.

He draws back just the slightest bit, still bent close but not pressed against S's hair now. Being able to focus on S through this helps keep him settled, but it doesn't prevent the flicker of nerves in his gut, or the worry he's miscalculated. Whatever happens, he tells himself, they'll know. They'll have talked. It will be out in the open, and they'll both be better off because of it.
beklemmt: (zögernd)

[personal profile] beklemmt 2022-09-15 11:04 pm (UTC)(link)
J's breath catches, but he doesn't say a word, not quite having expected S just to go for it so abruptly. It's an instinct he understands, though, something they have in common, not always for the best. He hopes this time it is, that this will be something they get right, though a small part of him is almost grateful that S is so visibly shaken. Focusing on S, worrying about his wellbeing, it keeps J focused on S and what they're doing, rather than his own anxiety.

It's still there, of course, a low-level buzz underneath his skin, the faint fear that he's made a mistake, diving in before he was really ready just because the subject came up. He doesn't want to think he'd do that, not when it's S that's in the balance, but trusting himself is still hard, especially when it comes to things that matter. His arm still around S, he keeps his breathing slow and steady, gaze darting from S's trembling hands to his face. As much as he wants S to look at him, it makes sense to him, in a terrible lurching flash, that he wouldn't. And maybe that's for the best — for S's peace of mind, but also for J, not having to worry as much about his expression, the way it slides from worry to wariness, concern to caution. Stomach twisting, he looks, gaze trailing down from S's face to his shoulder and slowly lower to the network of scars across his chest, J's lungs constricting at the sight.

It hurts, it does, but he expected that it would. He steels himself against that, stubborn as ever, and remembers to start breathing again, repeating a litany of reassurance in his head. It really isn't anywhere close to as bad as it was before, whatever S has said, and J doesn't know if that's because S has healed more over the last year and a half or because seeing it the first time was so overwhelming that it looked worse to him. Maybe he just built it up in his head, spun out of panic and months of hindsight. Either way, it does make his heart ache to think of S dealing with this alone, but it also isn't unbearable. It will take time, he tells himself. He was never just going to be happy and comfortable with this, least of all right away.

And, anyway, much of the hurt in his eyes is for S, more than himself and his own guilt. Lifting a hand to S's cheek, he leans in to kiss the other again. "Are you okay?" he murmurs. "It's okay. I'm okay." He hates who he was, who he became, the parts of him that coalesced into his darkest self. He hates that he was capable of this. But he hasn't yet fallen apart, and that gives him hope he won't do so at all. There's a flicker of curiosity in his throat, gaze dropping briefly again and then back up to S. He wants to look more closely, to familiarize himself with the sight, to acclimate; he wants to touch, for that matter, so that he knows, and so it won't be a surprise in the future. Until he's sure of S's comfort with it, though, he won't let himself do either.
beklemmt: (pic#15013065)

[personal profile] beklemmt 2022-09-16 04:30 am (UTC)(link)
J lets out a huff of a sigh at that, thumb stroking over S's cheek. If there had been complications, he would have known sooner, he thinks. S would have told him then, at least, about the doctor visits and all that. "I meant you," he says, though he's sure S understood perfectly well. "Do you feel alright? I know this is... a lot... very suddenly." He feels guilty for it now, worried he rushed this. If he'd been able to keep his emotions in check a minute longer and talk through this before he got all upset —

Well, he wouldn't be him. He still wishes he'd managed, though, that he could have handled this with more grace, for S's sake. Leaning close, he kisses S's cheek again, wishing, too, that he knew precisely how to soothe him. However calm S's words are, his voice isn't quite. His body certainly isn't. All he can do, J tells himself, is to take this slowly and seriously. This is difficult new territory and he has no idea how to handle it. He just knows it feels entirely wrong that S should have to feel unhappy and self-conscious and try to dismiss it because of something J did wrong.

"It doesn't look that bad," he says, but he makes himself look as he does so, forces himself not to say it just to reassure S but with an actual view of what he's talking about. The longer he looks, the more he can remind himself that nothing real has changed. "It looks better than before, darling. Or maybe I'm less..." He sucks in a breath, a corner of his mouth hitching wryly up. "Insane? For the moment." The marks are still noticeable, but he thinks he can see it now, a faint difference between some of them, though he might also be imagining it. If he's right, though, even sort of, then the biggest of them may not even be his work; it's too straight and clean to be something he did in a rage. That's reassuring, at least, for whatever measure of the word applies to him. He feels remarkably calm about it, really, if a little bit like his ears are ringing.

Screwing up his courage, he glances up at S, trying to catch his gaze. "Is it okay if I touch?" he asks gently. He's had his hands on S countless times these last months alone, but his hands don't often stray far beneath S's shirt, if only because it's inconvenient and easy to get tangled up in, and he's not about to assume that this is in any way like it was before, something simple and obvious. "Are you okay?" He doesn't want to push too much — he knows he'd snap if S kept prodding him like this — but he also needs to know.
Edited 2022-09-16 04:30 (UTC)

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