beklemmt | 아프더라도 너만 있으면 돼

S remembers thinking yesterday that it felt like fate or destiny, the sort of thing that, even generally having a romantic outlook anyway, he never really put much stock in before. At the time, he thought maybe he was just half-delirious, swept up in the moment and how impossible their reunion ought to have been. He thinks it again now, though, and he isn't so sure that it's as crazy as it sounds. If they can be in this place at all, if J can be alive after having died, then it's not really any more difficult to believe that they found their way back together because they were meant to, or maybe because they love each other too much to be kept apart, even by death or different worlds. It doesn't make any difference, really, where they are; here with each other is where they belong. It's where he belongs, anyway, and the way J keeps talking, S can actually let himself believe that the same might be true in turn.

They'll get it right this time, he thinks, not naïve but determined. Having been given this second chance, he has no intention of wasting it. He won't let anyone come between them this time; he'll fix the things he got wrong before and try to be better, someone who won't drive J crazy just by existing. He'll stop playing if he has to. It would hurt, when part of what he's always loved about it is that it was something they shared, but it wouldn't be much of a loss now anyway for how little he's done so these past few months. Besides, painful as it might be, it would be less so than J being so jealous, believing S to be the more talented one when S has never found that to be true at all. Whatever it takes to hold onto this, to keep J here and with him and alive, he'll do it. Nothing matters half as much as this.

Rather than saying any of that, S smiles as J pulls the blanket from the bed to wrap over his shoulders, something about the gesture just incredibly cute. Half-drowning in the comforter, he takes a seat on the bed beside J at his prompting, shifting near enough to J's side that he can tug one corner of the blanket around J's shoulders in turn. There's more than enough room underneath it for both of them, and he would want to be this close anyway. Leaning in, he brushes a soft kiss against the corner of J's mouth, his expression sobering a little again as he nods in agreement. "Doesn't matter," he echoes. "Wherever you are is the only place I want to be."

It's nice to be off his feet, but nicer still to be close like this, J reaching up to help tug the blanket around himself. Once it's a little more secure, he turns back to S for a kiss. He can't stop thinking that everything is strange and impossible and ought to be terrible, and it is, but it isn't, too. There's so much that's just wrong, so much to untangle, to fix, that he doesn't know where to begin, so much that can't be fixed at all. But here, under this blanket, slipping his arm around S's waist, it feels okay. Good, even. They're making a start, rebuilding on love and on trust. J may not feel he deserves that trust yet, but he can work to be worthy of it. He can do what it takes to keep this love steady. He feels like he's on the right foot this time, certain again, knowing what really matters.

It's not hard to know now, not with everything he's been through and done, not with S beside him, beautiful and loving and his. He lifts a hand to S's cheek, drawing him close, leaning their foreheads together. "I'm here," he murmurs. "I don't wanna be anywhere else." He doesn't want to leave. He wants to be ready for this, he wants to find it in him to trust himself enough to stay. He wants to live. There's so much, too, he wants to apologize for. He doesn't really know where to begin. It doesn't feel like the right time for that yet, anyway; they'll have plenty to discuss and he's sure he'll apologize over and over when they do. It's meaningless, though, if he doesn't try to be better now.

S makes him want that. Just yesterday, he thought it was impossible, that he was broken beyond repair. And he very well might be. He's still not sure he isn't. But he was so certain yesterday that he was ready to give up, sure he was better off trying to make amends by ending his life, because he didn't think he could get better, do better. As with much else, he's not wholly convinced he was completely wrong. There is something inside him that's dark and broken and wrong, twisted up in a way no person should be. But being here with S makes him feel there's more inside him than that, too, some hope, some light, some sense of possibility he thought flickered and faded long ago, an ember still burning in his soul that might turn into more.

He doesn't know how to express it, fumbling for the words, thumb brushing gently over S's cheek. "I feel... better," he says slowly. "Being with you, I feel... like me. Like I was lost for so long, alone and adrift, and I finally found my way back. I think this is where I'm supposed to be — with you."

Instinctively, S leans into J's hand when it comes to rest against his cheek, turning his head into it just enough that he can press a soft kiss to J's palm. It hurts to hear and it helps, and when he doesn't know which to focus on or what might be the right thing to say, it gives him a moment to collect his thoughts. He could never tire of these simple little touches, anyway. More than anything — well, almost anything — those are what he's found most striking in this past day, the things he once loved but gave little thought to, that he took for granted he would always have. He was never unappreciative, always a little awed to get to be with J at all, but there was still so much that he didn't give the consideration he should have, thinking they would have so much more time than they did. He shouldn't have wasted a single second. He should have done so many things differently, should have told J he loved him every chance he got, should have been someone worth staying for in the first place.

This time, he will be. He'll try, anyway, to learn from his mistakes, to stop driving J away just by being who he is. Thinking so feels sort of horrifically selfish, but whatever it takes to hold onto this, he'll do. Even if it's just having his best friend back — even if nothing comes of their relationship at all but he can keep J safe — then that would be enough for him. When J left, he got by mostly on the hope that they could get back what they lost. After J died, though, there was just nothing, and it's as if, now that that's no longer the case, the weight of it is catching up to him, heavier even than he realized.

"Me too," he admits, not pulling away but not quite meeting J's eyes, either. Just saying so, he feels a little guilty, not wanting to make this about him when J has been through so much and not wanting J to feel even worse for leaving him alone with his grief. He promised last night to try to be more open, though, and the words hit too close to home for him to pretend that they don't. Lost and alone and adrift is exactly how he's felt these last few months, only there was nothing for him to find his way back to, not until now. Of course he would want to hold onto that with all he's got.

He told J once that nothing could be obtained without a price. Even saying it, he hadn't thought it was quite right, walking it back immediately, and that was before he knew what those words would grow into, how they would be interpreted. If it is true, though, then it doesn't matter what the cost is. He'll pay it gladly if it means getting to keep this, getting to hold onto J, in any capacity, wanting desperately for it to be true that he might be good for J after all, that they might both be better off together than apart. That, too, feels like a selfish thought, but he can't help it.

"I didn't think I'd ever feel like this again." He shrugs, a little rueful. "So maybe we are. Supposed to be with each other."

J nods, agreement and understanding both. He doesn't like it, but he thinks that goes without saying — hopes, at least, that it does, but maybe it doesn't. He's the one who left, so maybe it isn't obvious that he doesn't want S to be sad and lost and alone. Either way, he gets it, he thinks. S usually seems so much more balanced than he is, less precarious, but they've both lost a lot.

S lost more, he thinks. S had more to lose. J just grew up without, then gave away anything good he ever got. It makes his heart ache to think of how badly he's hurt them both, but mostly S. That just makes it all the easier to latch onto the last part, though, desperate for some kind of good to keep him afloat. "We are," he says, emphatic. "It's supposed to be you and me, like it always was." He's made so many mistakes, done so much harm, he still barely understands what S could possibly see in him. But S loves him. In spite of all of that, whether J understands it or not, S loves him, and it's the only thing that matters.

"And I'm sorry," he says, letting it come this time, soft, sincere. "For all of it. Leaving you alone like that. I'm so sorry." His fingers drift back into S's hair, the arm at S's waist tugging him a little closer. As guilty as he still is, as he thinks he might always be, he wants badly to do something with it. He doesn't know yet if he'll be successful. He's not sure that any of this will work, that the guilt and the shame he's holding at bay won't come crashing down and drag him under any minute now. He doesn't know how much longer he'll be alive, though every hour that passes makes him hope for more. This is worth holding onto, though, worth fighting for, and S deserves to know that. Until the darkness started to eat at him, he tried hard to be honest. It was easier to be open with S than with anyone else he'd ever known, right up until it wasn't. He wants that back. "I don't want to do that to you ever again."

He hesitates, swallowing hard, his gaze dropping this time. He has to be realistic. Yesterday was the lowest in a long series of low points, and he doesn't trust himself not to fall back down into it. He's pretty sure, though, that S is aware of that now. There's no point bringing it up. "Just want to be good for you, make you happy." He lets out a huff of air, a wistful laugh, as he tries to meet S's eyes again. "Keep you warm. Whatever it takes."

Even now, S wants to tell him not to apologize. As much as he might like to, though, and as much as he doesn't really need to hear it, he can't actually pretend that there hasn't been anything to merit it. For that matter, he also can't pretend not to know that there isn't still a chance that he'll wind up alone again after all. J promised to try to stay, and it would be dangerously naïve to assume that that means he will, when everything that had him in such a state yesterday is still true. All S can do is try to make being here worth it. He's not sure he can, unconvinced that he could possibly temper everything else when he couldn't even keep J with him the first time around, but he still wants, still hopes, still means to make whatever effort he can.

Instead of refuting the apology, he just nods, a quiet acknowledgment in turn. It's not like it isn't true. J did leave him, twice over, first when he moved out, then when he died, even if that, specifically, wasn't why he did it. And being honest about the past seems important now. He could try to gloss over it, to say that it doesn't matter, but he's not sure he would be very convincing if he did. Still he probably will try to downplay it, but he can't act as if being alone didn't have an effect on him, especially not with J, who's seen him grieve before. Even then, it was easier because he had J. It was easier to trust in their relationship, too, when he hadn't been pushed away for so long. No matter what J says now, there's a part of S that can't help thinking that J is bound to remember why he left eventually, and that he can't possibly make J as happy as J seems to believe he does now.

He wants to, though. S wants it so badly, to be good for J, to make him happy, to offer even just a little respite from the darkness he carries with him. Just like he'll spend the rest of his life hiding if it means they'll get to be together, so will he keep trying to do better, to be better, if that's what it takes to have this.

"You are. You do," he says quietly, letting his eyes meet J's for a moment before he drops his head to J's shoulder instead, tucked close against his side. "That's all I want, too. Whatever it takes." His own hand settles over the one of J's that rests against his waist, mostly just wanting to touch him, as if they aren't already close enough. He feels half-heartbroken, his chest aching with emotion that he refuses to let out, but he's generally been the more optimistic of them, and it feels wrong to sound even a little defeatist now. "If that's all we both want, then this has to be right. Meant to be, maybe. If we could find our way back to each other... How could it not be?"

Even if J isn't sure yet that it's true, that he's any good for S, he can still at least believe the rest, still grateful that S doesn't try to tell him not to be sorry. There's so much he regrets, so much he wishes he'd done differently or not at all. It's hard for him not to spend all his time wanting to undo the past. That's been true for a while now, the past having a stronger hold on him than the future. They're in a different world entirely, though. If there's anywhere to look to the future, then it must be here, where going back is utterly impossible.

Holding S like this now feels like things starting to right themselves. He turns his head, pressing soft kisses to S's hair, hand slipping back down to his cheek. He has answers to that question, but not ones either of them wants to hear now. It's all mixed up in his head. This, the two of them together, has to be right. But he shouldn't get to have this. Being happy after all he's done can't be right. But taking this from S would be yet another crime he commits, and he can't do that, not without trying everything in his power to avoid it.

"It has to be," he says finally, soft, lips brushing S's hair. "It's the only thing that makes sense, you and me." Everything is strange and complicated, and most of it is incredibly painful, but even if this makes him happy, it can't be wrong if it makes S happy, too.

His head still resting against J's shoulder, S nods as much as the position he's in will allow, not wanting to pull away and not trusting himself to speak yet. He isn't even sure why, really, only that he doesn't want to let himself get emotional now, over virtually nothing, when there's so much still ahead of them to contend with. It would be better saved for another time. They didn't even bring the tissues in here. Besides, they had plans — vague, metaphorical ones, but still plans, and still ones infinitely preferable to crying for no real reason at all. He's just tired, he reasons, and scared, and so in love that it hurts. Besides, he thought yesterday that having J here wouldn't actually change the fact that he's been grieving. If anything, it just draws it into sharper relief, making him more aware of that loss and the pain of it. He could keep going when he was alone, especially when he had something to work towards. Now that he isn't alone anymore, it's caught up to him how much it hurt to be so, not least when what they have here feels so fragile, like something he could all too easily lose. No matter how hard he tries, he might not be able to do enough to make J stay. It would be crazy, really, and terribly arrogant, not to acknowledge that possibility.

He wants this, though, more than he thinks he's ever wanted anything in his life. That's as true in heavier moments like this as it is in lighter ones, laughing through metaphors or moaning in bed or just the simple domesticity of making breakfast for them. He wants all of it, the good and the bad; he just hopes that he'll be enough to see J through the latter. Trying to focus on that — the wanting, no matter what — and on how sweet J's voice and touches are, he takes a deep breath before he tries to speak. "That feels good," he mumbles into J's shoulder before pressing a kiss there. "And it is. The only thing that makes sense."

Although it's all a blur now, he distantly remembers saying yesterday that this was the first thing that made sense in a long time, and he still believes that, impossible as it ought to be. "I love you."

There are other things that make sense, of course, in a purely technical sense. There were things that mattered, too — that still do, really, but that's all the more reason to put them aside. Without this, without S, the rest isn't really enough. From the first time they spoke, he thinks, they were meant to be, anchored by each other long before they knew they needed it.

S's words are muffled, but J is close enough to make them out all the same, pressing another kiss to S's hair. "I love you," he echoes. So much in life has to be worked for, fought for, but some things, he thinks, might be fated. They wouldn't be here against all the odds if that weren't the case. Stroking S's hair again, he smiles, small and sweet. "We're tied together, aren't we? A red ribbon between you and me." It's a pretty idea, one he wishes he'd held onto when they were younger. If he'd remembered they would always find each other again, maybe he wouldn't have left.

He's not cruel enough to say what he thinks next, though — that if they're really bound to each other like that, S can't lose him. He can, he has. J just has to try hard to make sure it doesn't happen again.

He traces his fingertips lower, drawing gentle patterns down along S's cheek, tucking them beneath his chin to coax him to lift his head again. He tilts his own lower, expectant, waiting for a kiss.

It's as beautiful a thought as it is a painful one, and the same thing he was just considering a moment before. S nods again, still curled close against J's side. When they were younger — hardly any more so than they are now, and yet so young, or so it feels by comparison, the last year or so having aged him even more than losing his parents and learning to live without them did — he might have said such a thing, too. He would have meant it, but he wouldn't have known just how true it would be or what would make him think so. From the very start, they were right. Even then, that they could have found and fallen for each other seemed incredible. Being here, though, getting this second chance, defying all logic and reason — it still feels a little silly, but he's not sure there's any explanation but fate.

If that's really so, if J is his destiny, it's no wonder that he felt like part of him died when J did, the shell of his body surviving but his heart buried in the ground with the man he loves. That thought nearly breaks him, and he has to close his eyes for a moment and breathe through it, focusing as intently as he can on the soft brush of J's fingers, the gentle shifts of his body with each inhale. He's here now, and alive, and they found their way back to each other, the two of them still tied together despite lifetimes and worlds that would have kept them apart. That can be all that matters for right now. He wants to hold the rest off for just a little while longer.

At least his composure doesn't feel quite so tenuous when J tries to tip his head up. It's not as steady as he would have liked, but he's not about to fall apart, either. This, he would much rather think about. "We are," he agrees belatedly, his voice quiet and a little rough, and then he leans in to catch J's mouth with his own in another kiss, tender and longing.

For a moment, as S's head lifts, J is distracted by a pang of hurt, the ever present ache of knowing how badly he ruined things making itself known again. In S's eyes, in his voice, J can hear it — small and soft, but all too real, the pain he knows he caused. He wanted to hold onto happiness when they came home, but this is all tangled up in who they are now. Thinking about what they have makes it hard to ignore what they lost, what they might yet lose.

The guilt never goes away completely, but it gets pushed aside, forgotten again when S's lips meet his. It matters, the guilt and the pain; it matters to an overwhelming degree. But this matters, too, the sweetness of S's mouth against his, the love that connects them. It wouldn't hurt if it didn't matter so much. He has to get it right this time. He can't fail S again.

"I love you," he murmurs again, barely pulling away, fingertips grazing down S's neck, sweeping back into his hair again. He doesn't care how many times he's said it today or that it's still fairly early in the day. He has a lot to make up for, a lot to prove. Kissing him again, he takes his time, slow and deep, as if he can make it clearer with his kiss alone how utterly he means it. He wants so badly to say that he'll stay, to promise to stay alive, to stay here, to make this into the home they want so much, but he swallows that back, too. Wanting it isn't enough, and promising to try feels more likely to upset S than to help.

He can't fend all of this off forever. Even if he could, no matter how much he would like to shield J from it, S isn't sure he would, fairly certain that it would do more harm than good. Going into this honest and open seems like their best chance of making it work, and that includes contending with all the heartbreak in their past. It will still be there, though, if they don't do that now. The things that happened still happened. He'll still have this grief intertwined with his happiness over getting another chance together. J will still have to live with the knowledge of the things he's done for as long as he manages to stay alive at all. They're here, though, still tied to each other, brought back together again, and he thinks it might be a crime in its own right to let that opportunity pass them by. Having a little good will help them work through all the bad. At least neither of them will be doing so alone anymore.

So caught up in that is he — in holding his heartbreak at bay, in the sweetness of J's voice and his kiss, in how much he wants after a morning spent out around people, having to pretend that he doesn't love J the way he does — that S doesn't even flinch or freeze when J's fingers trail down his neck. He should, probably. At the very least, he should be warier than he is. It doesn't even occur to him, though, to be fearful when J is so gentle and loving, and when he wants so badly. Just what he wants, he doesn't know — more of this, or just more, or anything, really, that would keep him from sinking too deeply into things he would rather not think about right now. He almost says so, a plea on the tip of his tongue for J to keep him from thinking for a little while, but it gets lost in the kiss, S leaning into it, shifting a little closer as the position they're in will allow.

Just to sit like this for a while, wrapped in a blanket together, able to kiss and say that they love each other, is nice enough all on its own, especially with the mood so different now from the jokes that carried them back here. S regrets that last part a little, wishing he could have pushed his emotions back. He can't say that either, though, without pulling away, and he would rather keep kissing J instead.

In the back of his head, J knows this can't last forever. They might, somehow, but they can't put off talking about these things. He can't bite his tongue on all the apologies and fears. He doubts they'll get through the day before he falls apart again, or, at the very, very least, brings up something they don't actually want to face. As much as he knows it will hurt, as scared as he is of what lies ahead of them, J knows, too, that he wants it anyway. Holding back, trying to hide his problems, being afraid to talk to S about everything going on in his head — it only pushed them apart.

But he's been so lonely and so sad, and he's missed this so much. They get to be happy for a little while. That has to be true. They can't have found each other again like this just to make each other miserable. For now, he thinks, it's okay just to enjoy each other. When S presses into him like this, melting into the kiss, J doesn't think he could do anything else anyway.

He takes the way S moves as a cue, reaching down to hook an arm under S's legs, dragging them gently over his lap so he can pull S closer. "Darling," he murmurs, hands starting to roam, running slowly over S's thighs to his hips, his waist, almost reverent. Just to feel him here, his body solid under J's hands, his legs a comforting weight over J's lap, is reassuring. He's having a hard time keeping the blanket on himself, but it's fine. He's starting to get too warm anyway, though not enough so to make pulling away worth it yet.

"We'll figure it out," he says, a hushed promise, fingertips stroking gently over S's cheek again. Simply dropping the topic entirely feels wrong; acknowledging that seems like a fair compromise before moving on, though. "I'm here. I'm yours."

With the way J sounds and pulls him closer, S thinks that, this time, they might just be on the same page. They can't just ignore what happened, pretend they aren't both scarred by it in ways that go far beyond the physical marks left on their bodies. There are things they're going to have to discuss, truths they can't bury. As much as he isn't looking forward to some of it, he wants that, too, for J to be able to talk to him, for him to be able to help this time instead of being blindsided after the fact like he was before, unaware of just how bad things were until it was too late. Even now, they've already come so far, he thinks, more honest with each other and about their relationship in just the last day than he thinks they were able to be for months. As willing as he is to face it, though, and as aware that there's going to be a rough road ahead of them, it's at least in part for this. After everything they've been through and how long they've both been alone, they ought to get to balance it out with the good, too.

So he lets J guide him, his legs moving easily at J's prompting, body turning with them so they're almost facing each other. If he's still just a little chilly, he's barely aware of it now, and J did say he would warm him up anyway. For that matter, they essentially decided to fool around a little at the very least when they got back, so they might as well make good on that idea. Even just this is nice, though, the way J's hands wander over his body and so gently touch his face, his own a little freer now, one anchored against J's back, the other sliding into his hair as S leans in for another, softer kiss.

"We will," he says, partly in agreement, partly to remind himself of that. They will. It won't be easy, but they will. No matter what it takes to make this work, to try to keep J here and alive, he'll do. When they still love each other, want each other this much, when they've been brought back together like this, that's just all there is to it. "Me too. Yours."

He smiles just a little, his nose brushing against J's. "Love you."

Edited 2021-02-15 06:00 (UTC)

Even having just decided to push things aside so he can enjoy this, J has to fight the urge to protest. It's not that he doesn't believe or want S to be his. He just still can't understand why that's the case. After all the terrible things he's done to S, never mind to anyone else, he's not worthy of that kind of love or trust or devotion. He's not sure, though, that anyone could explain it in a way that would make him understand, or that there even is an explanation. He remembers being, as a child, uncertain, wary, afraid S was only taunting him; even then, he couldn't quite believe someone like S would want his company. But love and trust blossomed from there, and he has to try and trust it now.

Besides, when S is close like this, saying sweet things, when he can hear S smiling, it comes easily. He keeps coming back to how reassuring it is that S knows what he's done, what he's capable of. As much as J would wish it all away if he could, it's also strangely comforting, proof that S can know exactly who he is and love him anyway. "And I love you," he says, soft, following it with a gentle kiss. "Always have, always will." True though it is, he knows his behavior hasn't always shown as much. Even when he wasn't actively trying to push away this love and S himself, he was a terrible boyfriend. He has to change that. From here on out, he has to do better.

"Always," he says, hushed but intent, fingers combing gently through S's hair as he draws back enough to meet his eyes, his expression softening as he gazes at him. He doubts he'll ever understand what he did to deserve S, but he's so thankful for it. "Beautiful," he murmurs, leaning in to kiss him again.

With his emotions already high anyway, just barely kept back for the time being, it's a startlingly moving thing to hear, no matter how easily S could say the same himself. He thinks it must have been obvious, though, in how desperate and pathetic he was, trying to rekindle their relationship with every possible chance he got. Even if it never quite deterred him, it was impossible, in that time they were apart, not to be left with some doubts about J's feelings for him. That, then — the way J says always have, though S doesn't think it's even the first time in the past day that he's done so — makes S's breath catch as he nods in agreement. As strange as it is to consider it now, with as young as they were when they met, having no idea what life would hold for them, he really does think part of him loved J from that first day they spoke, two lonely kids finding a home in each other. His path was laid out for him then, though he didn't yet know where it would lead. He's just glad that it's brought them here, back where they belong, rather than ending with him alone.

"Always," he echoes, muffled into another kiss, his teeth gently grazing J's lower lip. He doesn't want to push for more now, not sure what they can or should do, how far they should go, and anyway, this is nice enough as it is, J's hands and voice and mouth so sweet, a shiver running down S's spine at the last thing he says. It shouldn't get to him so much, probably, not least when he knows how quickly that would change if he undressed. He likes it anyway, the idea that J finds him as beautiful as he finds J, even if they could talk themselves in circles countering each other and disputing who's more so. It's just nice — heady, addictive — to be wanted again after so long.

Maybe he should leave it at that, but he can't help himself, J too breathtaking for him not to comment on it. "You are. So beautiful."

It's just the tiniest scrape of S's teeth, but J has to swallow back a noise, something faint and almost hopeful in the back of his throat. He likes it all, really, the sweetness and the sting mixed together, soft or rough or both by turns. What he wants more varies by his mood, but today, so newly reunited, he's not feeling picky. Anything S will give him is worth savoring.

His words are, too. J could brush it off or make a joke of it, but he falters in the face of S's earnestness. It makes his heart skip a beat — it certainly feels like it does, anyway, like plummeting, weightless, even as it leaps into his throat. It's not the first time S has told him as much — not today, not before — and it's achingly wonderful to know it won't be the last time either. Even so, it awes him. The way S looks at him, he believes it. S has always seen the good in him when no one else cared to give him a second glance. It stands to reason he'd see the beauty, too, that everyone else missed. That doesn't matter, though. S is the only one he needs to see him.

"Somehow that only matters when it's you," he says, stroking S's hair, his other hand resting at the small of S's back to keep him close and steady. "I don't care if anyone else thinks so, but you... I want to be beautiful for you."

The response is an even better one than the S is expecting. Half-convinced that J would just deny it, S smiles just a little hearing that instead, nodding gently so he won't dislodge J's hand from his hair. "You are," he says again, quietly insistent this time. He knows he's biased, but he also doesn't see how anyone could miss how beautiful J is. A host of other things besides — talented and passionate and stubborn as hell, persistent, sweeter than he would probably give himself credit for, even if that began to wane in their last months together — but even just at a glance, he's unspeakably lovely. Everything else just makes him more so, makes S all the more aware of how lucky he is. If others can't see that, it's their loss, his gain.

The backs of his fingers brushing absently against J's jaw and cheek, he kisses the other one, soft and lingering, breathing him in. "I've never seen anyone so beautiful," he continues. "I would've loved you anyway, but..." He shrugs. "Just makes me luckier." They were always really one and the same for him, from the time he became aware of both at all — the affection he had for his friend that grew into something bigger, and the passing awareness of that friend's handsomeness that became physical attraction before he even realized it. Neither ever existed without the other. Under different circumstances, maybe they would have, but he always kind of liked that he never had to sort that out. It was just a natural progression instead, friendship to romance to sex. The feelings themselves were always there, they just gradually shifted, so easy that he didn't even notice their doing so until it had already happened.

He couldn't rid himself of them now if he tried, and he wouldn't want to try. Even when it hurt, even when he thought he was facing a lifetime alone, he couldn't regret feeling like this. Anyway, he's not alone now after all, kissing J again, softer and briefer now, just because he can.

Edited 2021-02-15 09:32 (UTC)

"Ah, I'm glad you would love me anyway," J teases. "Here I thought it was just for my looks." It makes him laugh, just a little, expression warming again. He can't imagine S ever being so shallow. If anything, it's because S looks past what others see that they ever became friends in the first place. Even as kid, J thinks, he expected to be alone. It makes it all the more miraculous to have something — someone — this good in his life.

This time he's the one to pull ever so slightly back, just enough to press a kiss to S's jaw instead, then one to his neck. "I could say the same," he adds, resting his face there for a moment before he lifts it again. "You're radiant. And I am... incredibly lucky." He can't say outright that he's never wanted anyone else, exactly; in the shallowest sense, it wouldn't be true. He knew he was gay a while before he realized he was in love, and he knew S was attractive objectively before he was attracted to him, or at least aware of it. Part of that was an awareness that others thought so, too, though, and the thought of it makes him smile a little wider. "Lucky, too, you didn't find someone else. I think every girl at school wanted you."

It is, admittedly, an exaggeration, but it's funnier that way, not least because he also can't imagine S ever being even remotely interested in a woman. When they were younger, he assumed S was, but only because it seemed like all the other boys were, that this was just one more way he was strange. In retrospect, though, somehow that makes sense, too, another thing that drew them together, like recognizing like.

S wants to protest that description, certain that he's nothing of the sort. Because J didn't try to dispute S's calling him beautiful, though, he holds it back, just ducking his head, a little sheepish, trying not to think about the fact that, even if he was once attractive, he must be less so now. Deep down, he knows that what happened yesterday wasn't about that. It stings all the same that J can't stand the sight of him now. It's fine, though, or it will be. They'll work around it. If he has to keep his shirt on every time they have sex, it's still worth getting to be together at all. It isn't something he wants to think about right now, anyway, when they've just pulled themselves back from the edge of something, when J sounds so sweet.

The last thing he says is enough of a distraction on its own, anyway, S choking on a surprised laugh, brow furrowing in amused incredulity. "They did not," he retorts, though in fairness, he supposes that if they had, he probably wouldn't have noticed. Well before he knew he wanted J, he knew he wasn't interested in girls. In a strange sort of way, he supposes they both got lucky, each finding someone they could confide in, someone like them, and then falling in love. Even before everything that brought them where they are now, it seemed almost meant to be. He thinks again of fate — such a romantic notion, but for them, maybe not so far off after all.

He shakes his head a little, leaning in to chase after another kiss, landing off-center, his lips pressing to the corner of J's mouth. "There was never anyone else for me," he says, quiet and warm. Hypothetically speaking, there might have been, his awareness of his sexuality preceding any conscious romantic feelings for J, but in practice, it would never have happened. "It was always going to be you, I think. Even before I realized how I felt about you."

J almost starts laughing at the look on S's face, pleased with himself. He only just bites it back, and then his amusement softens with fondness, his head inclining after S as he moves, a sunflower seeking the sun. He steals another kiss before he answers, unable to resist. Unwilling, at least.

"They did," he says, gently teasing. "Or some of them did." He doesn't care, really, if no one else saw what he sees, but he'd be surprised if that were true. He was in earnest when he called S radiant. It isn't just that he's beautiful, though he is. There's such a sweetness and charm to him, warmth emanating from him whatever he does. Even when J was bolder, more confident, less afraid of the world, he lacked that. He can, he supposes, be charming in his way, and sweet to those he loves, but he's not warm like that, not outgoing and funny and kind. Anyone with sense would be drawn to S. He doesn't have much sense, but he still knows there couldn't ever be anyone else for him.

"Not like I did, though," he adds. "Not like I do. Like we were made for each other." Fingers curling beneath S's chin, he draws him into another kiss, soft but lingering. He's never kissed anyone else. He never wants to. They learned all of this together. No one else could ever feel right in his arms like this. "Even before I realized how I felt about you," he echoes, then lets out a soft laugh. "Even before I stopped being an idiot long enough to realize the obvious."

At that, S can't help but laugh again, still warm and pleased, content to have fallen back into a more peaceful mood. He knows that it can't last, that it shouldn't last, but at least for right now, he feels good again, safe and loved in J's arms. Hopeful, too, increasingly so with all the time that passes. Every time, it seems like a victory for both of them, when they can navigate rougher waters and still wind up back here. It makes him feel like they really just might be able to do this. Even if it won't be easy, even if there's as much heartbreak as happiness ahead of them, they'll weather the former for the sake of the latter. He'll do whatever it takes to hold onto this, to keep seeing J smile. There's no sight in the world he loves half as well, his thumb brushing along J's lower lip when he draws back from the kiss again, wearing a small smile of his own.

"We were both idiots," he agrees, amused rather than rueful. Maybe they lost some time that way, maybe they could have been in a relationship sooner than they were, but he can't really regret how that finally happened. It isn't as if he doesn't understand it, why they took so long, or at least why he did, first in realizing, and then in owning up to it, his only confession coming only after J's did. Before that, he just pined and felt guilty about pining, knowing that he didn't want to ruin his relationship with his best friend.

That happened anyway, and he only half-understands it. What he does know, though, is that whatever else is irreparably broken, whatever damage they've both been left with, something is mended now, too, where he thought there would only ever be an open wound. Being wrong feels incredible.

"How long it took me to realize, then how long it took me to say anything..." He kisses J again even without bothering to finish his sentence, enjoying too much just being able to do so. "It was still always this. Nothing else could have come close. No one." His hand drops, the one resting against J's back twisting absently in his sweater. "It's you and me again now. Like it's supposed to be."

J could be sorry for that, for not speaking up sooner. He isn't, though. It would have saved them some time and grief probably, but it wasn't like they weren't still happy just to be together however they could be. He'd rather have waited a little longer than he needed to than to have spoken too soon or said it the wrong way.

Not that the way he handled it was exactly smooth or planned, but even so. They managed to work it out then. They will again.

Besides, hesitating over a confession of love is far less foolish than walking out on love.

He wants to say no one else will ever have to come close, that there won't ever be need to wonder or compare. It might not be true, though, and he isn't about to ruin things with what might be a lie. They're here. It's all that matters. Instead he nods — small, not wanting to draw back far, but still a nod, kissing S again before he responds. "We're still idiots," he teases, muffled against S's mouth, nipping gently at his lower lip. "But at least we're idiots together." His hand slips lower down S's back, enough that he can slide his hand under the hem of sweater and shirt. There's something about being able to feel S's skin, soft under his palm, that he finds soothing. "Getting warmer?"

They're definitely that, though S isn't as convinced of it as he was a day ago. Parts of yesterday are hazy now, lost in the rush of everything, and how badly he broke down, and the fact that he didn't sleep last night, but he remembers both of them commenting on how stupid what they were doing was. He doesn't think so anymore. Clearly it's worked out so far, even if they were foolhardy about it at first. For something to happen was probably inevitable, though, and he doesn't think anything could really be so stupid that makes them both feel so good. It's been a long time since he was even a fraction this happy, and though he can't speak for J, though he doesn't want to give himself undue credit, he suspects the same is probably true in turn.

He hopes so, anyway. He wants that maybe more than anything else — to be good for J, to be able to do anything to help him, to try to guide him through some of this darkness. That he gets to be with the man he loves again, after he thought he would probably spend the rest of his life alone, just makes it even better.

"Like when you do that," he mumbles into a kiss, self-conscious but not unhappily so, when J's teeth graze his lip. Right now, he likes pretty much anything that involves J touching or kissing him, but even that gentle suggestion of a bite, he enjoys. The warmth of J's hand against his back is good, too, S arching just slightly under it, drawing a little closer, though he can only go so far like this. "And yes. Much."

Leaning in, he steals another quick kiss. He wants to joke that he could probably be warmer still, but the mood did take an unexpected turn there a few minutes ago, and he doesn't want to push for something jokingly decided before that. "You and the blanket are a very effective combination," he says instead.

It's not really news that S likes that. While J's likes aren't always S's and the same in reverse, they overlap in most places, probably because they figured it out together, experimented together. Some of the things he likes, he probably enjoys more for how S responds than anything else. Still, it's been a long time since he had cause for S to tell him as much, and it's as heady as ever to hear him, the soft way he speaks, the hint of something like shyness. Combined with the way he can feel S sway toward him, it gets under his skin. He's always liked these things, hearing S's enjoyment, how responsive he is even in the smallest moments. It feels good to get things right, to make S feel good.

So he chases after that feeling, gently drawing S's lower lip between his teeth, hand slipping into his hair again. "That?" he asks, kissing him again. Whether all they do is kiss like this or they keep going, he wants to make it good, to ensure S enjoys this as much as he does. And at least he knows he's been good at what he said he wanted to do earlier, getting S warmed up. His fingers aren't cold anymore where he touches J, the shivers long since over. Drawing back a little, he ducks his head, nipping lightly at S's neck. "Glad I could help," he says, a huff of a laugh against S's skin. "I might be too warm. Too many layers." He doesn't care that much, though. Taking off the sweater means pulling away, and he's not interested in doing so, focused instead on S. Teeth grazing S's neck, he presses another kiss there, then one to his lips. He tastes good, salt and sweet and clean and home.

It isn't a surprise, or at least it shouldn't be, that as soon as he says he likes something, J does it again. S lets out an unintelligible little grumble into the kiss when he does, but there's no real frustration behind it, just a teasing exasperation born of the fact that he does like it, maybe even more than he used to. Whether rougher like yesterday or more gentle and teasing like now, it's nice just to be wanted. He likes it when J's mouth drops to his neck, too, his head instinctively tilting back a little to give him more room. "Yes. That," he finally allows, any reluctance still exaggerated. Although he probably doesn't need to say it, although he's more self-conscious than he recalled being about anything physically intimate, he might as well let J know it. Besides, there's a lot he remembers, and a lot he thinks his body remembers even if he doesn't consciously do so, but he sort of likes the idea of learning each other all over again, figuring out what they like best and how they fit together.

Some things are going to have to be reconfigured anyway, positions he would once have favored no longer ones that will suit them well, their scars another point of interference. He thinks he can stomach J's, or at least not look at the inside of his forearm while they're having sex, but as painful as the sight is, at least he's not the one who put those there. Given how yesterday went, he doubts the reverse will be true anytime soon.

He pushes that aside, though, despite the direction things seem like they might be going in again. They'll deal with that when they get there, if they do at all. "You could get rid of some of those layers," he points out, his voice light and teasing. Even if they don't go any further, it's warm enough in the apartment that they don't need to stay all bundled up, if nothing else. Sweaters can be cast aside. If anything more than that comes off too, well, S can't say he would complain about it. Rather than trying to remove any layers from either of them, he gives J another quick kiss. "Wouldn't want you to overheat."

Edited 2021-02-15 15:08 (UTC)

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