beklemmt | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

[From here.]

For all that J has always had to be the one to urge S to be pragmatic and serious, he's the one who's driven entirely by his feelings and desires, by a mind he knows is warped and wrong without knowing all of why or how. It's hard to want things so badly and not to be able to trust that, or to trust the wrong thing, the wrong need. Finding a middle ground feels all but impossible sometimes, and he ends up pulled back and forth by a constantly contorting sense of logic — ruled by reason without knowing if it's actually madness, ruled by his heart while ignoring the things he loves.

Right now, in this moment, he feels sure of what he wants. There are doubts, there are fears, there's always a shadow cast over every damn thing he does, but he's sure of this much, at least. If he can't be steady, if he can't be fully certain of his own self, he can be sure of S. While that scares him a little, feeling himself trying to lean for support on the same person he tried to push away, the same person he tried to kill, it also feels like one of the more sensible things he's done in a long time. Judging by his willingness to take J back, S isn't all that much saner than he is, but he's a hell of a lot more trustworthy.

And he's sweet, and he's loving, and every brush of his lips, every place his body presses into J's, rings out with that. And maybe J isn't ready for this, because he's been through a lot today and he's worn out and emotional, and just being kissed like he's the most precious person ever to exist almost makes him feel like he might cry again. He knows he doesn't deserve this. It isn't the first time he's rushed blindly, though, into things he knows he shouldn't do or have.

"We," he breathes out, "we should —" He doesn't know. He isn't sure. He means to stop kissing S for a moment, but ends up kissing him elsewhere instead, lips trailing along his jaw, his cheek. "I don't know." Stop, his brain supplies, and slow down. Be careful. Instead he lifts his head again for another kiss.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only | Expand All

It's a small thing, honestly, probably not worth being pleased with himself about, and it's not like that's the only possible hallmark of good sex. Still, it feels nice knowing he got this right. J promised to make S feel good. At least he could follow through on that much.

Besides, S looks happy. It's been far too long since J was able to make him really happy in any way. He wants to try to be better at that now. Granted, he knows that he's going to have trouble enough keeping himself afloat, but it's still a worthwhile goal to have, surely.

"True," he allows, almost laughing again. It would be far too easy to give into temptation and just fall asleep curled up together. They haven't done so in such a long time, and he finds he's looking forward to it. At least if he's this tired, with S at his side, he might actually drift off. If he's lucky, maybe he won't have nightmares for a change, or at least not enough to wake him up. Besides, sleep will be more comfortable if they — and the bed — are clean. "You keep me awake, I'll help you stay standing."

Admittedly, it's not like he expects to be all that steady on his feet either, but it's nice to tease S again.

"Deal," S agrees, grinning as he leans in for one more quick kiss, unable to resist the temptation to do so while he's still close enough for it. It's nice, really, how easy everything feels for the moment. No matter what else is ahead of them and what they'll still have to deal with, he thinks it says a lot that, after everything that's happened today, they could wind up here. Making light of any of it would be dangerous, but still, this seems promising, something that has to be a good sign. They can better take on the bad if they have this to come back to. At least, he wants so much for that to be the case, and believes it really might just be.

Finally, reluctantly, he makes himself pull away, moving slowly as he starts to sit up. Even his shoulders and arms ache from supporting his weight, and he can't help pulling a face for a moment, but still, he finds it hard to mind after sex that good, when this — to feel it afterwards, like proof that it happened at all, that J wanted him that badly too — is what he wanted in the first place. It's worth it, more than, better even than he remembered.

"Come on," he says, teasing, as he looks over at J, mostly just for an excuse to take in the sight of him like this again. "Up."

Yet again J wishes S weren't wearing a shirt, and he has to push the notion aside before his thoughts sour again. He tries to focus instead of the way S looks at him. Even like this, when he's absolutely a mess, S looks at him like that.

Pulling a face in turn, he makes himself follow suit, carefully getting to his feet on the other side of the bed. At least this time he doesn't have to feel so self-conscious about being undressed. He still makes his way quickly over to S's side, partly because now that he's up, he's a little cold, partly to follow through on what he said he'd do, mostly to be close to him. He wants to stay like this, safe and content and okay with that, for as long as he can hold onto it. Keeping close to S is part of keeping that going. Slipping his arm around S's waist, he presses a kiss to his clothed shoulder. "Shower first, then make the bed?"

Even saying it is so absurdly domestic, a reminder of the old days, and he relishes in it. It might not last as long as he'd like, but at least, for a little while at a time, he can do this. And if he can manage in small stretches to be okay, even happy, maybe he can keep his promise to stay. Even as he thinks it, he knows it's probably overly optimistic, but isn't even that good? Isn't optimism a big step in itself? He can try, he's trying. Even if it all comes crashing down again later, even if he sleeps after this and wakes up heavy-hearted again, at least they'll have had this brief reprieve.

Slightly unsteady on his feet as he is once he stands up, S thinks that an arm around his waist is more support than he actually needs, but he doesn't care in the slightest. It's too nice just to have J close, sweet in stark contrast to how his hands clutched S's waist just a few minutes ago, and familiar in the way that so much of this has been, like learning something all but forgotten all over again. And it isn't as if S forgot, really. He just didn't think much about so many of those little details until he didn't have them anymore, and it's been a long time since he was able to have them. This, J standing close, intimate without involving sex at all despite their respective states of undress, talking about showering and making the bed — it feels like when they had a life together, makes that small glimmer of hope he's had that they could again grow a little brighter still.

"Shower first," he agrees. They both definitely need one, and while he doesn't love the idea of having to shower with his shirt on, it's worth it for now to keep J in this mood. He can just change into a clean one after, before they make the bed, and then, he thinks, if J is still awake enough, he'll suggest getting food again, willing to bet that the last time J ate wasn't especially recent. That's something to figure out in a little while, though. For the moment, S just smiles a little at the kiss J presses to his shoulder, leaning into him simply because he can, and starts towards the hall. He aches, but he really can't just not get clean right now, and anyway, it's vastly preferable to the ways in which he was hurting until very recently.

That isn't something worth commenting on, though. He huffs out a quiet laugh instead. "Guess it's a good thing I bought enough towels."

J tries not to lean too much into S as they head back toward the bathroom. He's the one who's supposed to help keep S steady, after all, even if he was partly joking about that. Truthfully, though, he needs the assistance himself. After months of mostly hanging around his place, this has been more exertion than he's generally accustomed to. He'd rather be achey and tired from this than from his other more recent brand of strenuous activity, but just thinking that makes him feel a little queasy.

Focus on S. That's all he can do, the only safe thing to do, is to think about S, the warmth of him at J's side, the way he laughs. Think about how it's good he bought enough towels, how this is an unanticipated miracle, and miracles are usually good things.

He nods, glancing over as they walk. It's easy enough to let S lead the way, better to be able to see him. "Sorry," he says, but it comes easier now, lighter, helping to bring back a hint of a smile; if anything, he's sheepish. "Extra laundry for you. You loaned me those clean clothes for nothing."

"Not for nothing," S replies without missing a beat, though the smile he shoots J a moment later is just a touch more sly than soft. "It was very worth getting you out of those clean clothes." He wants to tell J not to apologize again — they've exchanged so many apologies today, and he has a feeling there will be more to come whenever they drift back to a more serious subject — but his voice seems light enough for now, the reason he's sorry not exactly a weighty one. At this point, S would be having to do laundry soon enough anyway. An extra change of clothes, an extra towel or two, won't make any sort of significant difference on that front.

Reaching the bathroom, he leans away to turn the light on again, struck by how different everything already feels from when he brought J in here before, when he felt like he shouldn't even look at him. This — being able to shower together — is better by far, and that's even with as nice as he ultimately found it just to sit beside J while he bathed.

"I'll do laundry tomorrow," he says, shrugging easily. Finally, he steps away to turn the water on, though not before planting a quick kiss on J's cheek. "Good thing I bought enough clothes, too."

"You think we'll need them?" J asks, feigning innocence. He already knows this can't last forever, and he would prefer to be clothed next time he has a complete mental breakdown, but for now, he just wants this. They get to have this for a little while, just to be happy, even playful with each other. This is its own thing, he's realizing. He keeps thinking of things in terms of new and old, familiar and not, but it's all of those things, a pastiche of their former domesticity and something new. Things won't ever be the way they were, he knows that. There are so many new obstacles they could never have envisioned. But there's no need to pretend as if this is starting over either. It isn't. That's the good part. There's none of the clumsiness of when they were first adjusting to adding romance and, eventually, sex to their relationship. They already know each other in that way, already comfortable with that. It's a better base to build on than he let himself remember.

Still, as he stands back a little, letting S manage the shower, it occurs to him that one of those hurdles is in front of him now.

"Should we..." He hesitates, trying to figure out how to say this. It would be hard enough at any time, but when he's already so hazy and trying so hard not to let himself slip backwards yet, finding the words feels almost impossible. "Do you want me to wait? So you can... take your shirt off?" It isn't the full weight of all he's done, but he can't help some of the shame creeping back in, the flush building in his cheeks. It's pathetic. He can't even face what he's done, forever a coward.

S shakes his head quickly, straightening once he's got the shower on and the water warming so he can cross the short distance back to where J is standing, reaching for his hand partly out of instinct, partly to be reassuring. "No, it's fine," he says, thumb brushing against J's knuckles. "I can leave it on, and put on a clean one after." It won't be a tenable solution forever, or even probably for very long. Half-clothed sex is one thing, but he can't take every shower with a shirt on for fear of upsetting J, and at least for right now, he doesn't think they should be apart for that long, either. Things feel better right now than they were earlier today, but he can see the shift in J's expression already. Given the reason they'd be showering separately, S doesn't want to risk J on his own starting to feel worse again.

That isn't a tenable solution, either. They can't spend every second glued to each other's sides, even if right now there isn't anywhere else he wants to be. But at least for now, at least while everything is still so fragile, he'll do whatever it takes to help keep J afloat, even if it means solutions as clumsy as leaving his shirt on while he showers.

He smiles faintly, hopefully. It could hurt if he let it, thinking about the fact that his boyfriend can't stand the sight of him shirtless, but he knows why that's the case. If only for right now, for the immediate future, he has to hold that at bay, too. "See, we'll need some clothes. Everything else, maybe not."

It takes J a few moments to respond — just a little longer than it takes for him to lift his gaze again and meet S's, though he's already holding tight to his hand. He takes a deep breath, a little shaky, and lets it out again before he nods. "Maybe some," he says, attempting to play along. He can see S trying, and it hurts a little, but he struggles against it, trying not to let it hurt more like it so easily could.

It's really not any kind of a solution, S showering half-dressed, and he wants to say as much. He has to swallow hard to keep himself from doing so. It may not be a good answer, but right now it's the best one they've got, if only because he feels just uneasy enough to be afraid of being alone. He wants to apologize, too, but there's so much. If he starts, he'll never stop.

He meets S's smile with a thin, grim one of his own. "If you're sure," he says. It won't be comfortable, and he already feels bad about that, but he doesn't know what else to do. He's going to have to figure out how to deal with this soon. Just not yet, not now, not when he's trying so fucking hard to hold onto the happiness before it fades again. He leans forward, giving S a soft kiss. "We'll just make it quick."

Despite his attempt to make light of it, to keep J from sliding back into a worse mood again, S doesn't realize at first that he's holding his breath, waiting for whatever response will come. The one he gets isn't as good as he would have liked, but not as bad as he'd feared. At least it's something, he thinks, effort met with effort; at least, for the moment, they seem to have circumvented another swing too far in the other direction. They won't always be able to do that, he knows. Trying to stave off all of this won't work on any sort of long-term basis. But they've had enough of darkness and tears for one day already. All he wants is to take care of J now that he has the chance to do so again, and if that means keeping his shirt on while he showers, it still barely scratches the surface of what he would do to keep J safe.

"I'm sure," he promises, his expression still hopeful but just a touch more serious, so J will know he means it. "It's alright. We'll be quick, like you said." That part, he's slightly disappointed about — he would much rather linger, savor that closeness, maybe get on his knees — but still, it's a small price to pay to hold onto this tenuous peace. They'll have to deal with this more directly before long, but they don't need to just yet.

Still holding J's hand, he tilts his head in the direction of the shower. "Come on, should be warm enough now, I think."

As much as J still feels bad about this, it helps a little to have S reassure him like this. He'd rather S not have to be so careful with him, treating him like something fragile, but he is fragile. At least, he feels it now, something delicate and breakable, fine for the moment but liable to tip over and shatter with the slightest breeze. At least S isn't trying to pretend everything is fine. Even if he keeps his tone easy, there's acknowledgment in his gaze that helps soften some of the tension already moving into J's shoulders.

He'd wanted more. He'd hoped they could linger here, enjoying a little more peace and each other's company, still basking in the post-coital afterglow, and now he worries he's ruined it entirely, even without any actual meltdown. All he can do is try and hold onto whatever's left of it.

"Okay," he says, not letting go as he moves forward past S to climb into the shower. It helps him keep his balance, for one, but he also just doesn't want to drop whatever physical connection he can keep hold of yet. Tentative, he holds his other hand out under the water, waiting a moment until he's sure of the temperature before he steps under. "Your turn. Come over here."

While he'd like to point out that they have to figure this out soon, there's no reason to do so now. He's too tired, it's been too long a day, and a shower isn't a good place for a serious talk anyway. It wouldn't resolve anything to bring it up now when they're already both well aware.

It's more relieving than it probably should be. Things still feel a little off, not as warm and relaxed as they were a minute or two ago, and S is a touch uneasy for that, but mostly, he thinks they've gotten around this as well as they can for now. Had they not been able to, he would, of course, have done whatever he could to deal with it; it isn't like J's emotions are a burden, not least when S knows full well why everything is so fraught right now. But for J's sake, if nothing else, he would rather they not have to go in that direction yet. When they do, he'll be here. It would just be too much for right now, he thinks, so close on the heels of everything that happened earlier. Trying to figure out another solution for J not wanting to see the scars on his chest would, too. For the moment, this is sufficient — more than, it's still incredible, with how lucky he knows is to be here with J at all, to even have the chance to weigh what conversations should and shouldn't happen yet. It's a strange thing to remind him of how fortunate he is, but then, he doubts he could stop thinking that if he tried.

"I'm coming," he says, letting himself look and sound ever so slightly teasing as he carefully steps into the shower, moving in close to J as soon as he has. If they're going to make this quick, then he ought to be a little cautious so they can try not to get carried away with each other, but still, he's not about to take a shower with his boyfriend for the first time in ages and keep a distance.

And, yes, it's a little weird to be standing here in a button-down shirt, even one that's now wrinkled and in need of washing, and even keeping this quick, it'll be soaked by the time they're done, but S can't bring himself to care all that much. He just rests his other hand gently on J's hip and resists the impulse to comment on how long it's been since they've done this. "Water temperature okay for you?"

For a moment, J wants nothing more than to lean forward and curl into S, ask him just to hold him for a little while. It isn't fair, though, that he keep asking for support, literal and otherwise, least of all when S is still a little unsteady and doubtless exhausted, and he knows if he lets himself give into that urge, it'll be harder to keep out the worst of his thoughts.

Still, it's nice just to have him close, to feel his hand warm and soft against his hip. This used to be so commonplace, sometimes more domestic than sexual, sometimes not, and he finds himself a little bit nostalgic. It's a more pleasant kind of wistful, at least. He nods, lifting his hand to brush S's hair back slightly, and gives him a soft kiss. "It's fine," he says. "Good." It is nice, actually, warm enough to be calming without scalding, and it's good to start getting clean. Sex might be the best possible way to get messy, but he doesn't enjoy staying that way for long, and this is always enjoyable, getting to have the tender intimacy afterwards, sometimes going for another round without having to worry about dirtying the sheets again or more. He doubts this is going to be particularly comfortable for S, though, which means anything like that should probably be put aside for now.

Still, he gives him another brief kiss. "I'm okay," he says, quiet. He almost lost his balance for a moment there, and he's not as content as he was just minutes ago, but he's feeling a little more settled already. It's a start.

J's hand in his hair feels good; J's reassurance that he's okay feels better. S knows, of course, that it isn't really that simple, but for the moment, he believes it, and for the moment, that's enough. His thumb absently stroking J's hip where he's rested his hand, he nods, his expression fond and sincere. Again, it occurs to him that he really ought to be careful, but with J here and warm and close, it's hard to convince himself to keep his hands to himself. They've been apart for too long, and it feels too good to be able to have this again, still a little surreal despite how obviously physically present J is, too. Even now, it feels on the cusp of being overwhelming, the sort of thing that could make him too emotional if he stopped to think about it for so long, and he doesn't want to put that on J's shoulders. He would rather just enjoy it.

"Good," he echoes, soft and a little hopeful, leaning forward so his forehead rests against J's. At first, he almost leaves it at that, but then that doesn't feel quite right, so he takes a deep breath, not yet pulling away. "If you're not... that's alright," he adds, just a little hesitant, not wanting to make things any worse by saying so. It seems important, though, to make sure that J knows that he doesn't have to try to keep it together for his sake. S wants so badly for him to be okay, but he wants, too, to be able to help if and when that isn't the case. "I'll be here for you. I promise."

J exhales heavily, trying to let the tension out of his body, though it's not really as easy as that. It helps, though, that he can be close with S like this while still not having to look him in the eyes as he regains his balance. "I know you will," he says, still soft. "I hate that you have to be."

It isn't right. S always tried to take care of him and J just pushed him away. Even that would be reason enough to feel he doesn't deserve this, but with everything else he's done, it seems blatantly unfair that S should be the one trying to make him feel better. He's the one who fucked up. He shouldn't get to be comforted for the fact that he can't handle that.

Biting his lip, he gives S's hand a squeeze. It's such a precarious existence and he hasn't even been here long. He appreciates S's sweetness, his willingness to acknowledge that J might not be okay, at the same time it hurts for him to do the same for himself. But he knows he was right before, too. If he weren't rendered utterly miserable by his crimes, he'd be a monster, more of one than he already is. He wants to be okay. He really does, he wants to fight and do better, if only for S's sake. He's just not sure he's allowed to without sacrificing his remaining humanity.

But if he lets himself stayed weighed down by his misery, he'll only drag S down with him.

"I'm glad you are," he adds, trying hard to make an effort here. He knows he couldn't do this alone. "I'm glad you're here with me."

"I don't have to be," S corrects gently, head ducking forward so he can press a kiss to J's shoulder, damp from the spray of the shower. "I want to be." There's nothing keeping him here except his own foolish, damaged heart. He could have walked away from J on the street earlier, or let him stay without falling, perhaps counterintuitively, back into sex and then a relationship. It isn't out of any sense of obligation that he's done otherwise. While he's wondered, so often these past months, what he could have done differently to prevent everything turning out the way it did, he still knows that it wasn't on him. He wants, so badly, to get things right this time, but it wasn't for lack of trying that he didn't before.

At least this time, there won't be anyone else to intervene, to leave him trapped and voiceless, backed into an impossible corner. He can't let himself think about that now, can't go down a path that would only leave him tense and angry when he's trying to make J feel better, but still, it's easier to think they'll stand a chance, and easier, too, to feel safe here with J, now that there won't be anyone whispering poison into his ear, putting the knife in his hand and guiding it where to go.

He squeezes J's hand in turn, giving him a thin smile as he tries to push those thoughts away. Now isn't the time. There are conversations they should probably have eventually, but not now, when everything is still so fragile, when he's trying so damn hard to keep J even the slightest bit okay. A little quieter, his expression bittersweet, he says, "Here with you is the only place I want to be."

It's a small gesture, just a little kiss, but it means all the more for that. J knows it shouldn't be this easy to let themselves fall back into old habits, but it is, easier than he would have expected. That simple tenderness means everything. He's not sure he'll ever be able to understand how S gives him so much so readily. Maybe when they were younger, it made sense. But the older he gets, the worse he becomes at everything — being a boyfriend, an artist, a person. He was always the more guarded of them. He's never let anyone in like he has with S. As much as he craves this intimacy, he wouldn't want it from anyone else anyway.

"I know," he says again, still quiet. It's silly, probably. There's no one here but them, no one to lower their voices for, but everything seems so vitally personal, so private. It's actually strangely nice. Free hand trailing down, he curls his fingers in S's shirt, already soaked through in patches. "This is where I want to be, too."

He knows S is going to have to keep telling him he wants this — he feels preemptively bad for that, too — but that's not exactly new. It's just different now, weightier even than before. He had his dark moments then — more than moments, moods that would last days on end. Of course there were times when he thought about ending his life. It was never more than that, though, passing thoughts, notions brought on by brief bursts of pain or that slipped in and surprised him. That was bad enough, but it was never like this, never intense enough for him to follow through. It's not something he was ever inclined to discuss, but he'd be surprised if S hadn't worried all the same. Now he has ample reason to. Right now, as unsettled as he might be, J is still steady enough to mean what he's saying; he wants to be here, and he'll fight for it, for S. But he was never good at fighting off these moods, and they've only gotten worse. He thinks to himself that S can't possibly know how bad it is. It's the moment when he has to correct himself that helps. He always felt like S knew him better than anyone else, but it's truer now than ever before.

His own attempt at a smile is flat, almost a grimace, but he tries. He ends up pulling a face instead. "I mean it," he says, a little less hushed, more emphatic. "I want this. I want you. I just... am not good at being taken care of." It takes him moments of thought to get the words out, but when he does, he surprises himself, lips twitching, almost a laugh. "I'm sure you're shocked."

"Very shocked. I never would have guessed," S says, completely deadpan, though it lasts only a moment before he does laugh. It's a soft little thing, more of an exhale than anything else, but it feels good, too. Usually he's the one trying to lighten the mood, doing whatever it takes to try to get J to smile, not very often succeeding. Whether intentional or not, it's sort of nice to have that reversed now, and for the moment to feel just a little less weighty again. He won't be able to hold all of this at bay forever, he knows that. If anything, he suspects that, if he tried to, it would just do more harm than good. However bad J may be at being taken care of, though — and S knows full well that he is — it just seems to be what's best for the moment. Later, when J is steadier, when he's had more time to adjust to this place and even to being alive again when he'd intended not to be, then they can start getting into some of the rest of it.

They've had so much time apart, anyway, too much, and they were never supposed to see each other again. Given what their last memories of each other were — his, J on top of him, killing him, and J's, presumably, S being closer to dead than not, though S has to resist the impulse to ask what, exactly, happened after he lost consciousness — he hardly thinks they could be blamed for just wanting to savor that for a little while. He isn't trying to pretend anything that happened away, and it isn't as if it doesn't matter. This just matters, too. S doesn't see how it would help anything for J to be flung further back into his own misery, not least with what the cost of that might well be.

For him, just hearing J say again that he wants to be here, that he wants him, is reason enough to stay in the present. After having been pushed away for so long, it means the world to hear that now, to even have a chance to get this right. S smiles just a little more steadily than a moment before, what he hopes will be encouraging. "And I'm sure you're shocked that I'm going to try to take care of you anyway." He shrugs, not quite playful, really, but light, at least. "I can't help it. I love you."

S laughs, S smiles, and it gives J an odd fluttering feeling, the same sort of sweet, pleasant surprise he'd feel when he first fell in love, or at least as he learned to give it that name. It feels good. Knowing he was able to do that, even inadvertently, is just good. He wants more of that. He spent so long making them both miserable. If he has to be alive again, he can at least try to make S happy now and then.

"Well, that's the biggest surprise today," he says wryly, but it's laced with fondness. "You taking care of me." He used to be better at letting that happen, he's sure of it. It just seemed easier when they were younger. Or not easier, exactly. It felt natural. It felt right. The same way he always tried to care for S, S looked after him. Of course, S has always been more naturally inclined to these things; he's a far more nurturing person, in J's estimation, than he is. With S, though, it came so readily to want to care for him and make sure he was well. When his parents died, that was even more the case. For a while there, J remembers being so sure that was the most important thing he could do with his life, supporting S. He doesn't know what changed, but he wants that back.

Letting go of S's hand, he slips his arms around his waist instead, pulling him close for a kiss. It's a strange sensation, actually, wet fabric rough against his chest, but it's not unpleasant, and certainly not enough so not to hold S tight. "I love you, too," he says. "And I don't... It isn't that I dislike it. Sometimes I like it very much. But sometimes it just... I shouldn't need you to so often." Least of all given why he's such a mess right now. But he's an adult. He's made his own problems, more than his fair share. S couldn't clean that up if he tried.

For a split second, S almost laughs again, not because of anything J has said, but because the absurdity of this strikes him all of a sudden. Even leaving out the part where he almost died and J did die, he can barely wrap his head around how, after all those months apart, with J not even taking his calls, the most honest conversation they've had about their relationship in as long as he can remember is while they're mostly naked in the shower together. It's good, though, to be able to say these things. He thinks it is, anyway, suppressing that instinct to laugh given the gravity of what's being said and just nodding instead, his forehead against J's and arms wrapping around him in turn. Despite being half-dressed, which is just strange, really, more so than anything else, it still feels good to hold J close like this. As much as anything else, he missed this, too — the casual sort of intimacy, the embraces and little touches, the things he didn't think twice about until he didn't get to have them anymore.

"I don't think there's any should or shouldn't about it," he says after a moment, thoughtful. They had their problems before J left. He was worried about J before he stopped seeing or hearing from him. S never expected that things would get quite as bad as they did, but J's unhappiness isn't exactly a new phenomenon. If that wasn't something he didn't want to take on, though, he wouldn't have. He certainly wouldn't be doing so again now, with every excuse to walk away. "And it's not... It's something I want to do. If you'll let me. What would I do instead, leave you to hurt on your own? Tell you just to get over it?"

He thinks they both know how unlikely, how impossible, that would be. The way he sees it, that would only make it worse, and maybe it's not really J needing to be taken care of if S is choosing that for himself. Fingertips of one hand absently tracing up and down J's spine, S sighs, not quite meeting J's eyes. "I love you. Not just... happy-you or sometimes-you. You."

It's a lot to think about even before S finishes. J has spent so much time in his own head with this, before he left and after, too, circling around the probability that S felt a need to take care of him that would one day turn into an obligation, a duty. It's already begun to worry him again today, knowing he's flickering in and out of stability. It's been quite probably the worst day of his life. It's also been a good day, surprisingly so, but he expects more bad ahead of him than good. He doesn't want S picking up behind him because he feels he has to.

But he's right too. J can't imagine S ever being that cruel, ignoring his pain. There are times when J doesn't think he entirely understands it, but he'd never tell him simply to get over it either. He's too kind for that, loves J too much for that. If he did those things, he wouldn't be the man J loves anyway.

So maybe that last part should be entirely self-explanatory, because, in all the time they've known each other, even when J wanted to cause a divide between them, S has never pushed him away. He's never just picked and chosen when to be with J. It should be obvious, probably, but somehow it isn't, it must not be, because J's entire chest pulls tight in some unnameable combination of misery and relief, shame and love. He holds J so tenderly, touches him so gently, and J wants to cry all over again, but it feels good, too. It's hard to trust anyone when he can't even trust himself, but he should have known better. He should have trusted S more. But then, how could he have expected this even from S? He'd thought even love must have its limits, that trying to kill someone — that killing others — would absolutely be that. It's still hard to wrap his mind around that not being the case. How can someone so wonderful love him when he hates himself so much? He struggled with that time and again when they were still together, unable to fathom how S could possibly still love who he was and not just who he'd been.

He's not even sure of his own voice now, throat tightening, too, his voice thick enough to betray him when he finally speaks. "Okay," he says, and even if he's more emotional than he wants to be, it's also kind of nice to have a positive reason for it. He gives a little nod. "I'll let you. And I'll try not to be an asshole about it." He can't even get his voice to sound as light as he means it to, his mouth a sad, lopsided curve trying to be a smile. It softens a little, though, as he shakes his head. "So you even love asshole-me?"

If this conversation weren't quite so weighted, if they were in a different moment, on a different day, S knows what he would say. He would crack a smile and tell J not to press his luck, or maybe even crack a joke about how he does, but only if J doesn't stab him again. It's too soon for that, though, if there will ever be a soon enough at all. Even if it weren't, S can hear over the sound of the shower the way J's voice changes, a sure enough sign on its own that this isn't the time to make light of anything. He doesn't always get that right, he knows. He didn't the last time they saw each other, but then, he didn't have any idea just what was going on yet, either. All he could see then was that J was surly and too hard on himself, the latter as usual, and S wanted to make him smile. This time, he has more to go on. J doesn't necessarily seem unhappy, anyway — not in this one moment — but just emotional, and though the way he sounds and the look on his face make something in S's chest constrict, what he says is a good thing.

It won't fix everything between them. It won't change the reasons why they're needing to have this conversation in the first place. But it's a start, a step forward, yet another thing that makes S just a little more hopeful that they might actually be able to make it work this time. He wishes they'd had this conversation a year ago — longer — but then, he doesn't know if it would have gone the same way then. Maybe, as fucked up as it is, all that they've both been through is what's helped them get here now. He hopes that's not the case, would much rather believe that, were it not for outside interference, they would have been fine, or at least found their way back to each other sooner, but there's no real sense in entertaining those what ifs anyway. What happened, happened. Nothing they do will take any of that back.

To him, that's all the more reason why they might as well let themselves have this.

"I'm not saying asshole-you doesn't sometimes drive me crazy," he says with an affectionate eye-roll. "But yes." Love, he thinks, isn't something to be meted out in portions or offered with conditions, picking and choosing when to love and when not to. It isn't always easy, but it just is, too. Even when J is at his worst, S loves him. Even knowing that J has killed people, too, though at least in that case, it helps to know the circumstances of why and how that all happened.

Leaning in, he kisses J again, soft but lingering, before he belatedly echoes, "Okay."

J can only imagine how exhausting he must be to be with. He's exhausted, both physically and emotionally. But S rolls his eyes and it's just enough to pull a little laugh out of him, a truer smile, as he leans into the kiss. There are no conditions on this, just S loving him, but it's actually nice to know there are qualifiers, sort of, to be reminded that this is something grounded and real. Hell, it's nice to be reminded that he can be obnoxious and still be loved. It's the least of his crimes, but on any given day, he's more likely to be annoying than any of the rest of it.

"Well, you drive me crazy sometimes too," he says wryly. It's not even, he's pretty sure, but it's not like S is perfect either. He's significantly less flawed, or flawed in less important ways, but he's not perfect, for which J is genuinely grateful. He has trouble enough grappling with all the ways in which S is better than him without him not also being annoying, too, in his own way. "I'll try to be asshole-me less often."

Tilting his head, he presses a kiss to S's jaw, lingering a moment just to feel the closeness of him. "Love you," he murmurs. "I guess we should get cleaned up. More."

S is surprised enough by what J says that he huffs out another laugh, though it's soft, without much humor behind it. "I know I do," he says, a little rueful and a little self-deprecating, still somehow gently teasing. The truth of it is, he's sometimes felt like his very existence has been enough to drive J crazy, and that might be what hurts most of all: that someone he loves so deeply could be hurt so much by the very fact of his being. Mostly, he holds it at bay, the fear that he might not be good for J. It's been a little easier of late, too, with what happened in his absence, though he isn't vain enough to think he could have prevented that, necessarily, and what's happened so far today. Still, the thought, when it does creep in, is a painful one. That he could somehow make things worse for J by trying to be there for him — if that were the case, he doesn't quite know what he would do.

He also knows that it's not just that -— that he's sometimes pushed too hard, usually out of concern that he didn't know how to express or want to do so overtly, that as patient as he is, he can snap when that patience finally wears thin. That as hard as he tries, he sometimes, or often, really, more so than not, gets things wrong. It's never really deterred him, though. Frustrated him, yes, but not enough to ever stop him from trying. Now more than ever, it feels worth it. As strange as it might be after everything that's happened, he thinks he feels closer to J now than he has in a long time. And if they're both trying, that has to be a good sign.

"I'll try to drive you crazy less often, too," he says, as seriously as he can with the soft brush of J's mouth against his jaw. "At least that sort of crazy." J is right, though; they are in here for a reason, no matter how easy it would be to get caught up in him all over again. "Yeah, we should."

Everything feels like such an absurd balancing act in his heart and his head. It hurts a little to hear S acknowledge this. Of course he knows he does. J has told him too many times. He's been cruel about it, he knows he has, all the more so for the fact that he knows S doesn't do it on purpose, not like he does. How can he try to do it less when he doesn't even know what will set J off? Even J doesn't know. The same things that bring him comfort now might anger him tomorrow. He hates this in himself, how volatile, how unpredictable he can be, even to himself; how S puts up with it, he doesn't know.

"How much can you do?" he asks, wryly resigned. "I'm already crazy." He must be, to do the things he's done. Normal people don't do such things — not even the murders alone, but everything else. Normal people don't kill themselves in flames and blood both, they don't try to kill the people they love, and they don't let jealousy eat away at the same love that sustains them. He must be mad. He feels it, has for a long time, as if parts of his brain were on fire long before he struck the match. Normal people might be miserable, but not consumed by their misery. They might see a ghost, but they wouldn't be haunted across sleepless nights like he is, hearing the voices of the dead, working them into song. He may not like it, he may try to work around it somehow, but he's crazy. S might as well accept that with all the rest. He doesn't want S feeling he has to tiptoe around him just to keep him steady.

Hands pulling forward to rest at S's waist now, so much gentler than before, he looks up again and gives him a quick kiss. "Other kinds of crazy are preferred." He'd rather show S as much than let himself get dragged back into torment, but he doesn't want to keep S in a wet shirt for long, even if, as J glances down a moment, he looks good like this, fabric clinging to his chest. "You're good at that kind. Do you want the soap? The shampoo?"