J closes his eyes, leaning into S's hand. "Yeah," he says, voice rough but contented. Even with awareness of his own desire flitting around the periphery of his mind, he feels good, even peaceful. Happy might not even be a stretch. It's nice just to sit here, S touching him so gently, knowing he made S feel good, knowing he's loved. He's been so alone for months, trying not to think about S being alone, too. This, here, with the water streaming over him, feels a little like that loneliness washing away.

It's another moment before he opens his eyes again, tired but not wanting to look away for long. "Good," he says, just to be sure he's clear. Right now, it feels like an understatement. The last hour or so is the happiest he's been in longer than he can remember, even with the moments where his certainty faltered. And maybe, yes, deep down he knows that, after all he's done, he doesn't necessarily deserve to feel safe or loved, but that only makes him want it more desperately. Now he feels both, and satisfied to be the reason S looks so peaceful himself.

It occurs to him that he should stand up, if only because his legs are going to fall asleep if he doesn't, so he does, a little clumsy. With a soft laugh, he leans in to press a kiss to S's cheek, dropping his head to rest on his shoulder. "Fuck," he sighs, arms slipping around S's waist, "I love you. You good?" He knows S feels good, but he's less sure about S's ability to stay standing on his own for the moment.