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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.

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Hearing J say so, certain and not a question this time, helps soothe S's nerves a little. Usually he's the more optimistic of the two, and he believes that now, too — that they'll get it right, that they have to, that to have made it this far has to be a good sign — but J saying it, seeming to believe it, is all the more reassuring. Already they're doing better than they were when they were together before, as strange as that is after everything that's happened. J trying to kill him probably shouldn't have brought them closer together, but S knows so much more now than he did then, and if it's an odd place to be coming from, having read things that J never meant for anyone else to read, at least it's put them on the same page at last. If there's so much more he should say about that, S tells himself that it isn't contradicting what they've just decided to hold it back. It's just been such a long day already, and they've said so much, that there doesn't seem to be any reason to overwhelm J any further. Those things can wait. They'll still be there tomorrow, or the next day, or next week, or whenever it seems like a good time to broach those subjects; the two of them will still be here, too, or at least he hopes that's the case, hopes with everything in him that J trying to stay will be enough to keep him here. It seems like it might be more likely now than it was earlier today, and that counts for something.

"We will," he echoes, soft and sure in turn. He almost leans in to kiss J again then, but he shivers instead, hissing in a breath as he does, letting it out on a soft laugh. "Yes, clothes, okay. Dry clothes." He really needs to get out of this shirt, colder for being wrapped in wet fabric the longer they stand here. As much as he doesn't want to move, doesn't want to break this moment, he smiles a little apologetically and finally steps away again, heading back into the bedroom and to the dresser. He really doesn't have much in the way of clothes, again not thinking that they would be for more than one, but there should be enough, he thinks, to get the both of them clothed tonight and tomorrow. He'll have to do laundry then anyway, get the sheets and towels clean, and at some point go shopping again, pick up a few more things. Just thinking about all of that is a little strange, still. Building a life out of nothing isn't easy to do, even with a little money provided for him. At least now, though, he actually wants to do that, to make this a home for both of them even if J doesn't stay here like S hopes he will, to take care of him in any way he can.

He retrieves clothes for J to sleep in first, holding them out. Getting himself dressed is going to be a little trickier, at least more time-consuming with buttons to undo, so that seems better to do second. "Here," he says, and smiles a little. "Try to keep them on this time, will you? I don't have much else I can give you to wear."

This time, he feels better following S into the bedroom than when they first started down the hall a minute ago. It feels as if they've made some kind of actual progress, which is, in itself, surreal, given that one of the reasons J left was because he let himself believe they never would. Saying all he said left him a little nervous, but S has reacted far better than he thought he would — though, admittedly, that might be because he's already wound up today, ricocheting between being fine and expecting the worst. Right now, it's easier to be fine, to breathe easy.

Easy, even, to laugh at what S says as he takes the offered clothes. "I'll try," he says, "but I can't promise." Of course, he has no intention of getting undressed yet again. As much as he's enjoyed this, he's tired. Even if he doesn't sleep, he doubts he'd have the energy to go another round anyway. They'll have to figure out what to do about clothing tomorrow.

He leans forward, pressing a kiss to S's cheek, and steps away toward the bed, deliberately putting his back to S. As comfortable as he's gotten, he can't entirely forget why S is in that soaked shirt to begin with. It's not something he can let himself think about much, but he's alert enough to know he can't watch S change. If he does, he doesn't know if he'd be able to make himself look away, if he'd just fall apart. It's better to focus on getting dressed instead, drying off quickly before pulling on the clothes he's been given. With the bed in front of him, he shakes his head and runs the towel over his hair. "We really made a mess." He's not looking forward to cleaning this up. He was never very good about remembering to keep the bed made anyway, less so in S's absence. Making it now when he sort of just wants to collapse is less than appealing, but, he supposes, better than the alternative.

S is about to ask J to give him a minute, the question poised on the tip of his tongue, when J turns around anyway, making it all S can do to keep his exhale of relief from being audible. It isn't as if he thought that J would forget about this particular hurdle — wearing a button-down shirt in the shower is kind of a difficult thing to lose sight of — but he still doesn't want to draw any more attention to it than he has to. At least this way, he doesn't have to say it. Just to be safe, he turns, too, facing the dresser as he carefully undoes the buttons, letting the wet shirt fall to the floor, at least for the moment, when he's finished. He lets his face fall, too, glancing down to look at the scars on his chest — familiar to him now, after all these months — and allowing himself just a moment to be quietly devastated that J can't stand the sight of him. S knows why that's the case, and he knows it's not his own fault that he looks like this now, his body a permanent reminder of what J did to him. Knowing doesn't prevent it from hurting, and from worrying, similarly briefly, that it will be too much of a problem. They were able to work around it today, but these solutions aren't permanent ones, and he remembers too well how J reacted before, how that was what tipped them back into such a miserable state, leading to J talking about killing himself again. He can't risk them winding up there again, but he also doesn't know how they can stay together for any length of time and ensure that J doesn't see him shirtless.

Now isn't the time to try to figure it out, though. They're both tired, J probably far more so than he is himself, and they've dealt with so much already today. For now, he can dress like this and try not to make too much of it. They can work out another way of dealing with it later. So S takes a deep breath and keeps going, drying himself off before he dresses, still cold but at least a little less so once he's clothed again, wearing ones he bought to sleep in even though he has no intention of actually sleeping. If he's going to lie in bed awake, he might as well be comfortable while he does so.

"It was worth it," he says when he turns again, picking up his towel and shirt, then moving to retrieve the other various clothes they discarded earlier so he can put them all in the laundry basket to be washed tomorrow. He smiles a little as he does, almost gently teasing, except for the fact that it's just true. Even if he didn't have an extra set of sheets, though he's very glad he does, it would have been worth the sex they had to have to make do and sleep on a bed without bedding. Careful, he starts pulling the sheets off. "Help me with these, I'll put them with the rest of the laundry."

Once S approaches and starts pulling at the sheets, it occurs to J that he could have just done that on his own, or at least started the process. He's increasingly aware, though, of his exhaustion, now that he's somewhat dry and dressed, out of the relaxing warmth of the shower, away from the exhilaration of sex. At least he has S to remind him again that it's a good idea to clean up once in a while, though doing so for this reason wasn't much of a concern these last few months.

It's a good reason to be tired, better than the long list of others he has. Stepping forward, he starts from the other side of the bed, tugging the sheets out from under the mattress. "Very worth it," he agrees, glancing over at S with a small smile. For that matter, as annoying as making a bed is, he's looking forward to the end result — clean clothes, clean sheets, clean body tucked against S's, hopefully getting some sleep. It's been so long, he's not sure he actually remembers how it feels to be rested. Grabbing the bundled sheets to take over to the laundry basket, he shakes his head.

"But I will try to stay clothed," he adds, sighing dramatically, as though this were an incredibly serious concession on his part. "At least until you have more sheets. Where are the clean ones?" The sooner they get this bed made, the sooner they can get close again, not distanced by the necessity of chores. As good as the sex was, as important as the conversations have been, J finds himself longing just to get into bed again. It's not even about sleeping, though that would be nice, or kissing, though he likes that, too. Mostly he just badly wants S to hold him — just to lie in each other's arms, to feel safe and loved. He's missed that as much as the rest of it, the comfort of just being close to S for no reason other than to be close.

Though he'd already been thinking about being glad to have another set of sheets they can put on the bed, S is slightly surprised by the question, and has to stop to consider his answer. Neat though he might generally be — far more so than J usually is, at least in his experience — he's also had an apartment to fill, one that was empty when he got here save for furniture and a few appliances. Keeping track of where he put his few purchases is a little difficult in light of that, though it only takes a moment before he places it. "In the closet," he says, gesturing in its direction. "On the overhead shelf. They're not open yet." It's only been days, after all. He didn't think he would need to change them again so soon.

Again, he thinks that it's more than worth it to have to do so with what he got in return, even if he would much rather be in bed, off his feet and with J in his arms, than having to make the bed. Even this is sort of nice, though, actually. Even in an apartment he's barely lived in, even with as long as it's been since the two of them were together like this, it feels pleasantly, domestically familiar to be doing simple tasks like this, like falling into an old rhythm, and this time a welcome one. They can't be what they were before, but some parts of it have to be okay. They were good together for a while. There's a strong foundation there to build on; there has to be, he thinks, or they wouldn't have wound up like this again.

"I need more sheets and more clothes," he adds with a soft laugh, shaking his head a little at the pair of them. Figuring that J will get the package of sheets, S starts taking the pillows off the bed, and on a whim, removing the pillowcases to put those in the laundry, too. It shouldn't take too much longer to put on the fresh ones, so really he just might as well. "If you stay here for any length of time, I know you're just going to keep stealing mine."

That much is deliberate — another implicit invitation, but trying to make clear, too, that he doesn't just expect J to stay.

Pulling the sheets down in their plastic wrapping means having his back to S again, which J appreciates — just enough space to give him a moment to take that in. The words are so casual, but that in itself is remarkable to him, a far cry from before — was it really just today? There's no demand there, no sense that S expects anything that isn't obvious. They've been doing well so far, J thinks, in spite of their past and his breakdowns, and there's going to be a learning curve here. To have S speak like this so soon is unexpected, not because J didn't think he could be more patient, more considerate, but because he can hear the effort being made. It should be such a small thing, to be given the option of space, or at least not to have it expected he'll stay for long or for S to try and convince him of anything. It isn't, though. It means more than he can entirely parse even for himself.

Unwrapping the plastic, he looks back at S with a smile, fond and faintly grateful, before he turns to head back to S's side. "Of course I am," he says, something almost cheerful creeping into his voice as he leans up, a hand settling briefly at S's waist while he kisses his cheek. "I don't have any clean clothes of my own." He sets the pillowcases and a sheet on the dresser, holding out the fitted sheet to S so he can take a side of it. Moving to tuck the sheet into place, he pulls a face — pouts, really, though he'd never call it that. "They don't smell like you yet though." That was always the best part of borrowing S's clothes, walking around clothed in his scent, so soft and familiar he hardly even noticed it, content just to know it was there.

There, he tells himself, something to add to a list he didn't know he was starting to keep. If he doesn't try as hard as he promised, he won't stay alive long enough to steal shirts from S that smell like him, everything still too new.

He's cute like this, S thinks. The thought feels a little absurd after everything, and when they keep swinging back and forth between more serious moods and lighter ones, but if anything, that makes him all the more aware of it now. J is smiling, almost teasing, and then he's pouting, and it's absolutely endearing, S smiling in turn before he's even aware of doing so. It almost feels a little like before, except that before, he didn't have any reason to so thoroughly appreciate menial tasks like this, even the simple act of making a bed strangely enjoyable right now. Then again, that at least sort of makes sense when it was just days ago that he was doing the same thing alone, frustrated by the difficulty in doing something so basic, the exertion in it — somewhat embarrassingly — probably the most he'd had in a long time.

That isn't the case anymore, for the best possible reason, and while S knows he should likely have been a little more careful today, he feels alright so far, he doesn't think he's overdone it. Despite what they've just discussed, what he agreed to do, he feels like he shouldn't mention it, for much the same reason that he kept his shirt on in the shower and his back turned while he got changed. Even without it being visible, it isn't worth the risk of drawing J's attention to the effects of what he did. That's something else better saved for later — impossible to avoid, really, but unnecessary right now, especially when the mood feels so warm and light again, J's expression coaxing a slight laugh out of S.

"They will eventually," he says, not adding, too, that he hopes J will still be here then. He said he'd try, not that he'd stay, and S doesn't want to drive himself crazy or make himself as miserable and frightened again as he was earlier, but he can't altogether lose sight of that, either. Tucking the corners of the fitted sheet around the mattress, he still has a crooked smile on his face when he looks up again. "You need clothes, too. At least some that you won't just be stealing from me."

Even if asked, J wouldn't know how to describe the way S's clothes used to smell, anymore than he could tell someone what the studio smelled like. All he knows for sure is that both place and clothes carried the scent of home, something familiar to return to. No residence ever smells quite the same as the last one, but this one will become home, too, he hopes. In time, if he manages to last that long, this will belong to them, not just in name but in feel. It's a small, subtle thing to look forward to, but now that he's caught himself tucking these things away, he adds that to the pile. Not wanting to leave S to deal with the mess goes on there, too, along with not wanting to lose this. It feels so good just to make the bed and watch S laugh. He's so beautiful, J's heart aches with the warmth of it.

"I do," he agrees. The ones he arrived here in might be salvageable, but he doubts it. He's not sure he'll want to wear them again anyway. Still, the idea of having to do these mundane, practical things is annoying. He doesn't want to go out and be around people, still too raw to handle anyone but S, never mind have to be around them for long hours. He's not even sure what kind of job he can hold. Figuring out how to bring this up to S bothers him, and he's not ready to do so, but steeling himself anyway, when he remembers something S said. "There's money, right? You said money and a place and... a map?"

It's a relief, his expression relaxing again as he moves to get the other sheet, again handing one side to S. At least it means he won't have to work yet. He's not sure he's steady enough for that.

Not for the first time today, S thinks that he's gone about this all wrong. The way he had this place explained to him was much more to the point, at least as much so as anything so downright impossible could be, whereas he's offered J information only in bits and pieces, probably leaving out important details, forgetting the oddness of all of it and then remembering again. Really, he knows he couldn't have done other than he did. There were much bigger things at hand when he first spotted J on the sidewalk, and the time that's passed since then has been emotional to say the least. Still, there's a lot he ought to be clearer on. As much as he would like to just have J stay here, to take care of him for a while, and for all that he knows he will likely try to insist on at least the next few days, he doesn't get to make that decision, can't force J to see it the way he does. It didn't exactly go well the last time he intervened like that, after all, and he won't risk doing more harm than good here.

"Some," he says, nodding, as he takes the other side of the flat sheet, laying it carefully over the fitted one. "Not a lot, but...enough to get started." He's worked out the numbers, or at least tried to. It should be possible to pay rent and still afford essentials like food before he gets a job, but barely, without much room for anything else. And although he doesn't want to say so, certain that it would come out wrong or be taken wrong or, most likely, both, he finds it hard to imagine J getting and holding down a job under these current circumstances, with all he's been through recently. Despite all the reasons it would be incredibly insensible, S still thinks it would just be smarter for J to stay here, if only because there's really no reason for them both to have to spend most of their money on rent.

He holds that back, focuses instead on what J has actually said. "Some other things, too. A bank account, a mailbox key, an ID. It's... I don't know how to explain it. No one does."

The whole thing makes J uneasy, but it's better, he supposes, than the alternatives. He could have shown up here with nothing. He could have not shown up at all, left S all alone here. It's all deeply strange, but he's here for now, so he may as well just accept it. None of that can be odder, after all, than his being alive at all. He killed himself, what, three hours ago or less, and he's making a bed. Simply having a bank account is almost normal by comparison.

"Enough to get clothes then." S has clothes and such, so that must be so. He huffs and shakes his head. "And help get another set of sheets at least." With the bed made, he stares at it for a moment, trying to gauge why it doesn't look quite right, before he realizes they need the pillowcases. Stepping back toward S, he grabs one and a pillow. Staying here is the practical thing to do, he knows that, but still he isn't sure.

"It's overwhelming," he admits. "I don't know... what I can do. How I can work. What work I can do." There's little he's qualified for, less he thinks he can handle in terms of hours and being around other people. He's lucid enough, in spite of the fatigue, to know he isn't stable, and it's frustrating not to be able to do anything about that. It also means he's not sure he should be around people.

It's so hard not to just say it. To S, it seems like the most practical solution here, for them to live together and share expenses. J wouldn't have to work until he feels ready to; they wouldn't both be just barely making ends meet and probably still spending most of their time together anyway. Already, though, S thinks he's made clear that he wants that, that he'd want it even if it weren't for those purely sensible reasons, and the idea of offering it again now feels like it would run the risk of pushing too hard for something that J might not want. He can't risk it backfiring, making J less inclined to stay than more. Content a mood as they might have settled back into, for the most part, he knows it's still fragile, and it isn't worth disrupting that.

"I haven't figured out what I can do yet, either," he offers instead, taking the other pillowcase so he can put it on the second pillow. Whether or not it will be helpful, he doesn't know — as soon as the words have left his mouth, he has to bite back an instinctive wince out of fear that they won't be — but it's true all the same. Granted, the reasons for it are different, but his options are more limited now than they once were. That much, he won't say, but even so, it's been strange starting from scratch, and he can only imagine how much more so it must be for J, who earlier today was fully intending not to have any sort of future to plan at all.

Setting the pillow back on the mattress, he crosses to the foot of the bed to pick up the discarded comforter and pull it back up, taking a breath that he just barely manages not to let out as a sigh. "I think you'd probably be alright for a while without working. In terms of money, I mean."

It's hard not to think about this, hard not to dwell, but, at the same time, J wants to push it from his mind. He can't think about these things now. It's too much. He should just be honest with S, he knows that, but talking about the things that scare him about moving back in together is hard to do. It occurs to him that not doing so might be bad, too, might make S feel it's somehow his fault, when J knows it's entirely his own. It feels to him as if there's no right answer at all.

"I'll have to be," he says, shrugging, resigned. Sooner or later, he'll figure something out. He's relatively smart, he knows, and capable. But music is all he ever wanted to do, all he ever paid attention to, his studies mattering only as far as they could help him achieve his goals. That's another thing he doesn't want to think about just now, though, something he knows will quickly overwhelm him if he lets himself focus on it.

It's frustrating, though, to stand here with so many things he wants to say and not feel he can say any of them, afraid of ruining the mood or upsetting S, and it strikes him all at once that he can't do that. He's felt this way too often, too anxious he might get things wrong that he ruined everything anyway. It's a foolish concern, he tells himself, as if S doesn't know him well enough to know when something is wrong. Though, of course, everything's been wrong for so long, maybe it doesn't stand out anymore.

"I know staying here would be smart," he says quietly. There's no point in dancing around that any longer. They're both thinking it, he knows they are. "And I want to. Being here with you or being alone — it's an obvious choice. But if I did something — if I hurt you — I couldn't bear that." He huffs and shakes his head. "Am I being too dramatic again? I just don't know if I can trust myself. If you can trust me."

It helps to hear and it hurts all at once. At least the possibility is out there now, one he doesn't feel like he has to hold back; at least, too, it isn't for any lack of wanting to stay here that J hesitates, something S hadn't even entirely realized he was worried about until being told otherwise. Hearing what's holding J back just makes S feel sad, though, not least because he knows that, logically, he can't really counter it, no matter how much he would like to. He hasn't once felt unsafe since finding J earlier today, and with what he read in J's journal, he genuinely believes that J wouldn't hurt him again. But he wouldn't have thought that J could do the kind of things that he already has done, either. No matter how remorseful he might be now, S knows that it would be a different sort of sensible to ease back into things, to take it slow as they start to navigate being in a relationship again, especially with as badly as things ended before. They're already doing better now than they were then, or he thinks they are, for the conversations they've managed to have, but that doesn't actually change the past, not how unhappy they were at the end, or J leaving, or J trying to kill him.

And yet it isn't any potential risk to his own safety that worries him. S so nearly says it, that he couldn't bear it if J hurt himself, but he can't bring himself to get the words out, afraid again that it will only make things worse. He would want J here anyway, for reasons both practical and emotional, and he doesn't want to make it sound like he's only inviting J to stay, even just implicitly, to keep an eye on him. It's part of the reason, but not all of it, and anyway, just bringing that up at all seems like it could be a misstep, something that might remind J that he meant to be feeling like that again.

"You're always too dramatic," S says instead, gentle and fond and a little bittersweet, stepping towards J to press a soft kiss to his cheek. "I do trust you." That much is true. Maybe he shouldn't, but he does, everything that's happened so far today only making him feel like he's right to do so. J would have had plenty of opportunities to hurt him, if he still wanted to. He hasn't — at least, S thinks with a hint of wry amusement, remembering the bruises he's bound to be marked with, not in any way he didn't very much want. "And I can't make you stay here, but I'd like it if you did."

The last few months they were together are, admittedly, something of a blur for J. Everything was so overwhelming, and he was so unpredictably veering between volatile and numb, that it's hard for him to remember a lot of it. But he remembers the pain and the anger, and he remembers fights, and he remembers saying terrible things. He remembers not liking himself at all, sometimes not liking S either.

It's the anger that scares him. It was anger and despair that sent him over the edge earlier, a wounded animal instinct that led him to pick up the knife without thinking. They fought so much. He fought, really, and S tried to calm him down, but if it's like that again, what's to stop that same awful impulse from kicking in? What would keep him from lashing out physically instead of just with his words? S is trying so hard here and it means so much, but J doesn't know yet if he'll be able to do the same. He's trying. But what seems feasible today might be impossible tomorrow.

"I know," he says, soft, arms slipping around S's waist. "That you'd like it. And that I'm too dramatic." He sighs, though he's trying, mostly, to laugh at himself in doing so, rolling his eyes. It's just, for once, he feels like maybe he's the right amount of dramatic. It's not like attempted murder is such a small hurdle in a relationship. That S still trusts him is at once bewildering and a relief; he certainly doesn't trust himself. "I'd like it, too."

He bites his lip, gaze lowered as he weighs his words. It's probably better for him not to be alone yet anyway. If he starts to feel himself veering toward disaster once again, he can leave. And maybe a little time will help him determine if he can justify staying longer. He doesn't want to get S's hopes up, but it's what he wants, too, this time. "I'd like to try," he says finally, glancing up again. "For a few days, just to see if... if it feels safe."

Edited 2021-01-11 08:04 (UTC)

It's probably the smart response here. S has to remind himself, too, that as strange as it is, what he's had months to consider and try to come to terms with, J has had hardly any time with at all. Of course, of the two of them, he would be more afraid that the same might happen again. For his own part, S thinks again that there must be something seriously wrong with him, to feel so safe standing so close to someone who tried to kill him, but in a strange way, the fact that J is so worried makes him feel all the more settled in that trust. If J did want to hurt him, he wouldn't be so concerned that he might. That this time, there won't be anyone telling him to do so can only help, too. S considers saying that — that he knows J wasn't acting alone and wouldn't have done what he did without someone else acting as the guiding force, the idea behind the whole thing — but that's a truth that's too close to too many others, a road that, once they go down, he isn't sure they'll be able to turn back from. Discussing the finer points of what drove J to commit murders, to try to kill him, is a conversation best saved for another time, when J is steadier and more rested, when everything doesn't still feel so delicate.

And this is good, it's something; it's enough, at least for right now, what he already hoped would be the case. If J is already agreeing to stay for a few days, then S doesn't need to press that matter in the name of keeping an eye on him. He still feels a little guilty for not admitting that he wants to, that that's at least part of his rationale here, but it's part of the same thing, really, wanting to protect J as much as he still can. There's no way to take back any of the things J has done or clear his conscience, but S can, at least, try to make moving forward a little easier.

"Alright," he agrees with a slight nod, smoothing his hand over J's hair. If it doesn't work, if J doesn't trust himself, then the apartment that will be waiting for him will still be there, the first month's rent already covered. If it does, they'll have plenty of time to make sure they feel steady enough to go through with ending the lease. "A few days, and then you can see how you feel." For just a moment, he pauses, considering what he expects J might say to that, what he said earlier. "How we both feel."

S has no doubt, really, that he'll feel as he does now. It would take something he sees as being very unlikely to change that. Still, he knows he can't hold it back if he does come to feel unsafe, and that J wouldn't want him to. Making sure J knows that he won't pretend to be alright with this if he isn't seems important.

J closes his eyes, leaning readily into S's touch. For months, he told himself he was better off alone — that they were both better off with him on his own. He fought hard to believe it. It's hard not to think now that he should have been trying to fight other battles in himself. All the same, these are the things he forgot he needed, the little gestures, the soft touches, the gentle looks and words. He forgot there was a time when S brought him peace instead of guilt.

He's still worried, of course, a perpetual thrum of anxiety wound round the core of his being, but it fades a little again, back into the background. At least they can agree on this. At least S seems to understand. Opening his eyes again, he leans in to give S a kiss, lingering but soft. "Thank you," he murmurs, pulling away just a little. As ever, he thinks, S seems so much more certain of what's ahead than J can make himself be, but at least he's allowing room to be wrong, considering the possibility that J might not be able to handle staying. He hopes badly that he can. After so long on his own, he knows he was wrong before, that he isn't better off by himself — that, if anything, he's more of a danger that way, unchecked. He'd just rather be a danger to himself than to S.

Ideally, he'll be neither, but he knows being on his own now would be a bad idea. By himself, it's far too easy to get worked up, to let the guilt and shame overwhelm him, or else to make rash and terrible decisions.

There's nothing to be done, though, but to try. Right now that means doing his best to push such thoughts aside and to focus instead on the man in his arms. He tips his head back to give S a small smile, softer than a few minutes ago, but full of affection. "I just have to be sure," he says. "I love you so much."

Although he wouldn't be able to explain it if he tried, can't really even make sense of it for himself, S thinks that, in some ways, he didn't realize just how much he loved J until he lost him. He always loved him, always, overwhelmingly, often painfully, enough to put up with all the shit that happened before J left and to keep him hanging on for months afterwards without so much as a word. Still, he hadn't known that a person could still love someone after learning they'd done the kind of things J did, after being almost murdered by them. His feelings never faltered, though; if anything, they only grew with grief, for knowing that he would never get back the man he loved, for finding out all that J was dealing with through those months alone. If that wasn't enough to shake it, S knows, with a bone-deep certainty, that nothing ever could be.

To have this fresh chance now — it could easily overwhelm him again if he let it. He's calm now, and he doesn't want to go down that road again, not now, but he can still feel all those emotions just under the surface, the way his chest constricts when J says he loves him, despite how many times they've both said so today. Just in that regard alone, there's so much lost time to make up for. He should have said it as often as he could. It wouldn't have changed anything, probably — he knows why J chose him as a victim, or at least how the idea came to be planted in his head — but all the same, he regrets a little bit now that he didn't take every possible opportunity to give voice to what's been the steadiest constant in his whole life.

He can do so now, though, returning J's soft smile with one of his own. "I love you, too," he says, fingers combing absently through J's hair now. "It's a good idea, I think. You can be sure, and then we can... go from there."

A few days can be a long time. Sometimes it's nothing all, flying by in an instant. There were times when J wouldn't have known what day it was at all without seeing a newspaper or writing in his journal, unsure how many passed in a fog. There were others when they dragged on ceaselessly, minutes and years interchangeable. He hopes it's enough now, time enough to find some measure of calm, some hope. He's not sure peace in a broader sense is possible for him, but peace between them he wants. Just being here with S is as steady as he's felt in a long time. If he can just hold onto that, maybe he can stay here, and they'll both feel better for it.

He makes a small noise of agreement, expression warm. It helps to take things a step at a time. It helps to have something of a plan, too, though not one that's too mapped out, room to improvise. They can figure this out. It's easy to believe suddenly, maybe because S is listening to him, hearing him, or maybe just because S is playing with his hair and J is tired and the combination has him all but melting. "I like when you do that," he murmurs, eyes half closing. Little touches like that are so comforting for him, small enough not to feel invasive, persistent and tender enough to be a steady reminder he isn't alone. So many things he missed and he only halfway knew it, not always sure what exactly was missing, only that something was. Every time S called, he knew it still meant love, but it felt too much like guilt, too much like hurt and fear. He stopped processing the love in it fully, and he missed that, too, the time when he could just let himself be loved, when he could feel it.

He sighs, more contented than anything else. "Mm. We'll figure it out," he says. "Together." Tipping his head up, he gives S another soft kiss.

J says it like that, and S believes him utterly. He would have anyway, convinced as he is that this will be alright, that they'll be able to make it work, but it means that much more coming from J. Usually, at least in their more recent history, he's been the optimistic one of them, J more often the one filled with doubts and uncertainty. If he believes it, though, or even just is able to sound like he does, then S thinks they have to stand a good chance. They've already overcome what have to be the biggest obstacles that could keep any two people apart, anyway. There will still be more ahead of them, but being here now, safe and warm and loved in each other's arms, means they'll be able to face them. J died, and still somehow they found their way back to each other — through strange, impossible, inexplicable means, but all the same, S is just caught up enough in this to think that has to be significant. And if absolutely nothing else, it makes him that much more inclined to fight for them, to do whatever it takes to hold onto what they have now.

"We will," he agrees, soft and certain, keeping his fingers running gently through J's hair as he leans in for yet another kiss. It would be too easy just to spend half the night standing here like this, kissing between reassurances, every touch affectionate rather than heated. Really, they should just get in bed now that it's freshly made, since they can just continue this there while being even closer, but he lingers for a moment all the same, savoring this like he's tried to do so many other things today, forehead leaning against J's.

"Come on," he finally says after a moment, though he doesn't move away yet. "You want to lie down?"

Though J is perfectly aware that he's the one who's been saying he wants to go to bed, he wants to go to sleep, he suddenly finds himself resistant. As much as he knows he needs the rest, there's a flicker of anxiety that comes with the idea of sleep — not just of the possibility of being unable to do so, sleep eluding him now as it has for so long, but the irrational notion that, if he goes to sleep, none of this will have been real. It doesn't make sense, he knows that. Though he's had times when things seemed vividly real that he later realized were not — or even knew at the time were not — this is different. He knows it is. Besides, what could happen? Would he go to sleep and not wake up? All he knows is he wants this to last.

Still, there's no point in staying on unsteady feet for long, and he nods, though he doesn't yet draw back either, leaning in for one more kiss. He keeps it brief this time, though, slowly drawing back until his hand finds S's, giving it a quick squeeze. "I think I'd better," he says, wrinkling up his nose, though he's smiling all the same. "I'm feeling a little wobbly."

Habit carries him to the side of the bed that always used to be his, watching S as he slips under the covers. It feels nice to be under soft, clean sheets for a change, to feel clean himself. It'll be better, though, when S is beside him. "Ah, but I don't want to sleep," he says. "I like this too much, being with you."

Watching J get settled in bed, all of this as familiar as if they were back in their studio in Seoul, and hearing him say that he doesn't want to sleep, S can't help but smile, warm and fond, the slightest bit amused. He crosses to the bed in turn, pulling back the covers enough to climb into bed under them, easing a little closer as soon as he can. It's silly, probably, to realize that he's a little nervous, a little uncertain — not of being this close, but just because it's been so long. Muscle memory wars with something like self-consciousness, no longer having the ease with which he used to just pull J to him or curl up at his side or wrap around him. They've been closer than this by far today, and he doesn't want to seem uncomfortable when he's not. He just isn't used to navigating this at all anymore. He can think of very little he would rather readjust to.

"You don't have to sleep yet if you don't want to," he points out with a fond, almost teasing little smile. Truthfully, he thinks J needs the rest, and halfway doubts that J will be able to stay awake much longer now that they're in bed, but it isn't as if he minds the idea of just being in bed together, either. Carefully, he tries to wriggle his arm under J to coax him closer, attempting to get J to lie down at his side with his head on S's shoulder, wanting to hold him. "We can just lie here."

It takes hardly any prompting for J to move closer. This is precisely what he's been wanting, S is the one who's offered to let him stay, and yet it comes as a small relief that S urges him close. It just feels like something slotting into place, the way it should be. Curled up beside S, resting his head against S's shoulder, he drapes an arm across his waist.

They've been intimate in so many ways today already, just since his arriving here, and still this is so good, so familiar and fresh at once, that it almost overwhelms J. He tilts his head, nose brushing against S's neck, lips following shortly after. The clothes may not smell like anything but detergent yet, but S still smells like S, like home. A little bubble of bewilderment rises in his chest; he can't help wondering how this is even possible, how S can hold him like this and treat him so tenderly after all that he's done. It's not that he doubts it, exactly. S has made it very clear today that he's going into this eyes open, and J is grateful for it. It just leaves him awestruck to lie here in S's arms, to be treated so gently, to feel so safe and protected, in spite of all his crimes. Nothing he does can ever undo what came before, but this feels like a refuge all the same. Whether or not he deserves that can wait. He's too relieved, too emotional, too comfortable to think about that now.

"I do want to," he says, plucking idly at S's shirt. "But I also want to stay awake with you. This is so nice." There's so much to make up for, so many opportunities they lost. He's not ready to let go of this one yet.

It is so nice, so familiar, so gentle, so right, that for just a moment, S feels his throat tighten with emotion, even as he settles his arms around J. As close as they've already been today, this is still different, something all its own and that he's so badly missed. Just the warmth of J beside him, the soft touches and kisses, is stunningly intimate in its own right. For all that he missed the sex, too, and he really did, this is what he thought about most often in those months he was alone, especially when he was recovering, mostly bedridden anyway, and J was dead. He doesn't want to dwell on it now — doesn't want to ruin this moment by turning it into a heavy, emotional one again — but his breath still catches the slightest bit as he ducks his head to brush a kiss against J's hair, fingertips slowly tracing up and down the column of his spine.

"Yeah," he agrees softly, mouth curved in just a hint of a smile. "It is." He should probably be encouraging J to sleep anyway, remembering that J talked about how tired he was, that he hasn't been sleeping, but wanting to hold onto this for a little while longer can't, he thinks, be the worst thing he's done today. Then again, just holding J while he sleeps sounds nice, too. At least he'll be here, solid and warm and safe at S's side. Even with hours to take this in, S knows it still won't be enough to make up for all the time they were apart, but it's something, a start, so much more than he ever expected to have again.

He almost leaves it at that, but S figures it can't do any harm to add what he can't get out of his head, given how many times they've said similar things already. "I missed this."

He tried his best while he was gone not to miss these things. To a degree, J was even successful at it. But then, he knows, he's the one who left on a sour note, determined to put this relationship behind him. Remembering how right this feels would have undermined that determination and completely undone his resolve. There were times it threatened to, times he would fall asleep wishing S were with him, but he's long been adept at focusing on the negatives.

That melts away now. It's not that he forgets why he left or even doubts his reasons. Now, though, with S holding him, those problems seem like ones that can be fixed or overcome in a way they didn't before. They've faced worse now and still they're here.

Already, with the soft way S runs his fingers gently along J's back, he knows he's going to have trouble fighting off sleep for long. He can't recall the last time he felt so comfortable in bed. "Me too," he murmurs. There's no point getting into how hard he tried not to. At the end of the day, it's true. He just missed S, missed this, the intimacy and the calm. More than anything, he missed his best friend.

With his head on S's shoulder, he can feel the gentle rise and fall of his chest, quietly comforting. Earlier today feels like a different lifetime.

Well, he supposes, it actually was.

Even as he tips his head back just enough to look at S, he's having trouble keeping his eyes open. "Sorry I didn't come home sooner," he says. "But I'm here now."

S knows he can't let himself think about it too much, how he wishes J had come home sooner, how, if he had, things might not have turned out the way they did. It's not that it doesn't matter, necessarily, but there's nothing they can change about it now, so it wouldn't do them any good to get hung up on what might have happened instead. At least they're here. At least they have another chance to get it right, one he's determined to make the most of. At least, for now, J is safe in his arms, and S can't think of much if anything he wouldn't do to keep it that way. He knows, of course, that he can't protect J from everything, especially the things he did in those last few months, but he can try. He can be here, hopefully a port in a storm, able to help J weather whatever lies ahead.

"Stop apologizing," he says, soft and fond, all the more so for how sweet J looks when he's so clearly sleepy like this. Maybe it's warranted — certainly some apologies here are — but there's no score to keep. He knows J is sorry; it's been said more than enough today already, and been made plenty apparent beyond what's been explicitly stated. He doesn't need to keep hearing it to know it's true, and he would rather focus on what they have now than what they lost. "Like you said, you're here now. We're here."

Even if he tried, S doesn't know how he would say how much that means to him, how grateful and overwhelmed and relieved he is. With J seeming like he might be close to dozing off already, now doesn't seem like the time to attempt it, anyway. Instead, S just smiles a little again, trying to memorize all of these details that he once used to know so well. "I love you."