beklemmt | 아프더라도 너만 있으면 돼

It's one thing that J knows he won't say as soon as it occurs to him, but he was wrong yesterday, thinking he was almost happy at the end. He wasn't. He was resigned, perhaps something like peaceful, but it isn't the same. This is happiness. Basking in the way S looks at him, the way he strokes his hair, J thinks, if this were his last day instead, he really would die happy. There's no melancholy in that thought, nothing bittersweet about it. There is, instead, a surge of affection and awe.

That's in no small part because he can see in the way S looks at him that he feels a similar mix of emotions, that he's as grateful to have this moment as J is. To be the cause of that is utterly stunning. "You will," he says, letting his eyes close for a moment, so he can just enjoy this. He laughs, soft, as he looks up again. "And I will distract you — a little. Just a little. And I'll try to be helpful, too."

He really does want to learn. Whether he stays here or lives on his own, it will be helpful to know more recipes, and he knows he'll learn better trying things with S than in trying to follow a cookbook. And though he suspects S would be happy just to cook for him this time while J relaxes, he also knows that isn't about to happen. He isn't any good at simply sitting and doing nothing by himself, even if he wanted to be apart for that long. "You'll just have to keep me busy," he says, "so I don't have time to distract you too much." Though, so saying, he tugs gently at S's shirt, as if any urging at all is needed when he can simply lift his own head to kiss S again. It makes sense, though, he figures. Better to get all that distracting out of the way now.

"I can do that," S says, a soft laugh against J's mouth as he kisses him again, lingering this time, still gentle but a little deeper. He has to be careful, he knows — with limited time, they really shouldn't get too far ahead of themselves — but even so, they won't be rushing out too soon. There's no reason not to enjoy themselves, to savor this moment of peace in which they have nothing else to do and no one else they need to worry about seeing them. Although he knows how easily they got carried away yesterday, this is different. They were desperate then, just barely reunited after having been apart for so long, not knowing what would happen next. However much is still up in the air, and whatever they still haven't talked about, S feels steady now — more so than he has in longer than he can remember, really. He isn't trying to get as much as he can while he can. He just wants this, the quiet contentment of being with the only person he's ever loved this much, the only one he ever could.

At least, with that being the case, he manages to resist the impulse to pull J closer still. No matter how reasonable he intends to be about this now, he doesn't think they need to give themselves any additional temptation. Later, if this good mood lasts through dinner, they'll be able to do more than kiss, and take their time with it, too, not hurrying to do whatever they can before their laundry finishes in the dryer. Even in the smallest of ways like that, it feels good to plan ahead a little — tentatively so, and by a few hours at most, but still, given how fragile everything has seemed, that has to count for something.

When he draws back, he doesn't go very far, either, resting his forehead against J's, still so affectionate. "Ah, I only wish I could do something nicer," he admits, figuring he might as well voice at least some of his thoughts from a moment before, fingers still idly combing through J's hair. "You said yourself, we are celebrating." They've never not lived — and thus bought groceries — on a tight budget together, so it isn't as if this will be a step down from anything else they're used to, but all the same, for something as significant as this, it would be nice to find a way of really doing something special to mark the occasion.

It's true, they are, and J can't, as much as he'd like to, say honestly that he's never wanted more than what they have. At the same time, this is already so much, so good; his priorities are in order now, he thinks, more what they should be. And, anyway, it wasn't so much that he ever wanted more than S — how could he? — as it was that he had big dreams for his future, his career. Now even those are set aside.

"We are," he murmurs, resting where he is, not wanting to disturb the gentle way S's forehead presses against his. "This is already so nice, darling. It's just what I want." He understands, of course, the impulse to do something grander; he's sure he'd feel the same. When he was younger, that was a part of all those grand ambitions, the notion that he could build a nicer life for them than they had then. He didn't appreciate what they already had, not as much as he should have. That changes now, too. When he's been without this for so long, he's all the more aware of how lucky he already is.

Brushing another kiss against S's lips, he smiles, small and fond. "It's food that tastes like home," he adds. It's a comfort food, really, hearty and warming and simple. "I haven't felt like I was home in so long, and now I am. It doesn't get any nicer than that."

In a way, for a moment, it's almost funny. Of the two of them, S thinks J has always been the one who wanted more — not more than him, maybe, though that got harder to believe as their relationship became increasingly strained, but more than the life they had together. While S hardly liked being perpetually broke, just barely able to cover rent and bills and groceries every month, he was content, too, with what they had and the way things were, never trying to seek out more than a quiet life with the man he loves. For this to be almost the reverse is sort of amusing, though really, it isn't for his own sake that he wishes he could do more now. He just would like to be able to do that for J, to make an occasion like this as special as it should be. The same thing goes for this apartment, really. It was one thing to live so sparsely on his own. He was drifting anyway, not sure he'd have been capable of putting down roots even if he wanted to. For J, though, he wants to make it more inviting, to make it a home, even though, for him, J is all he's ever needed to feel like that.

Hearing that, then, though it isn't exactly as if he would have expected otherwise, feels good, warmth coursing through him as he nods in agreement, expression soft if still a little self-conscious. "You are," he agrees, the tip of his nose brushing against J's for a moment. That isn't his call to make, really, and yet remembering what J said yesterday about wanting to come home, he thinks it's worth repeating it, affirming that it's what he wants, too — what he's offering, really, without any hesitation whatsoever.

"It's what I want, too," he adds, not wanting to make it sound like this isn't enough for him now. Anything, anything that would let him be with J is all he could really ask for. "I just... I don't know. Saying it out loud, it sounds silly."

J lets out a little laugh and shakes his head, kissing S's cheek before he responds. "It's not silly," he says, gentle as he reaches up to rest his hand at S's cheek. "It's sweet, Sihyun-ah." And it isn't as if he wouldn't enjoy it if they did more, if S really pulled out all the stops to give him some elaborate homecoming. That they're together at all is a miracle, never mind his being alive at all, and that does seem deserving of something grand. He doesn't need it, though. This is all he needs. And it's absurd, he knows, that it took all he's done and dying to see that, but he does now. There will be things he wants later, he knows. He's not someone who'll be content to be a homebody forever, just playing housewife or something like that, as much as he finds himself looking forward to the chance to help turn this place into somewhere more warm and inviting, something that suits them. Sooner or later, he'll find a new goal to pursue. Even then, though, he thinks something in him has fundamentally changed — not just in that he knows now how capable he is of terrible things, but also in his priorities, his understanding of what he needs from the world. As a person, he may have discovered a much worse and darker part of himself, but he found something better and brighter, too. He doesn't really get how that can be. He's not even sure it's entirely true. He just hopes that S is right, that there's still something good in him; it feels like it right now, wrapped up in S's embrace, finally, finally content with what he already has.

"It is a celebration," he adds. "And it's not silly to want to make it special. But if you want to do something fancier for me, it's going to have to wait, because we didn't buy the ingredients for anything fancier and, once that laundry is done, I'm not leaving the house for at least a day." His smile shifts and brightens for a moment, and then he kisses S again, not leaving him room to answer quite yet. That S wants to do more is enough for him, really — more than. He only wants what they already have, what they've gone so long without. He knows S. He knows he only wants to do something nicer for J's sake, and that in itself feels like something. It's nothing new that S is always thinking of him, caring about him, trying to make him happy, but it's been so long since J let him. Doing so feels special enough. In time, he hopes, this will feel normal again — though he hopes, too, he never takes it for granted — but for now, just being together is the nicest thing he could hope for.

It's nothing, really, just a syllable added to his name, and yet, for a moment, S is distracted from the rest of what J says by it. Common as it once might have been for them, he can't actually remember the last time J called him that, but it had to have been sometime before he moved out, now new again like so much else. Still so deeply fond, he smiles a little, nodding in agreement once he's taken in J's words. That last part is definitely true. They only have so many groceries, and even if they did go out, they would only be able to afford so many more, and he has no desire to do that anyway. He would, if he could, do something more special here, but their options are limited. He's only just moved in, doesn't even have nicer dishes or anything of the sort to make it a little different than usual.

Maybe, though, that's nice in its own right. They've been apart for so long, maybe the best thing they can do is a return to what used to be their normal. Here, at least, they can keep their guard down, anyway. As much as a part of him would like to be able to take J out, to go on an actual date, he knows that's not in the picture, at least not without pretending it was something else. For tonight, he doesn't want that. Even if either of them did feel remotely inclined to go back out for any reason, he doesn't think he could hold back well enough to be convincing now, too at ease, too happy, to be with J again. Too content, too, to keep kissing him to respond just yet, leaning gently into it instead.

"At least," he echoes when he does pull back, nodding again. "I did promise. I don't want to go out any sooner than that, either." It's odd, really, or perhaps it should be. He's shut inside a relatively small space with someone who tried to kill him, and yet it's here with J that he feels safe, far more so than he could anywhere else. It doesn't matter where they are, really. It would be the same in any city, in any world.

He huffs out a quiet laugh, fingers toying absently with the fabric of J's shirt. "It could be special for being the opposite of that, maybe. Just... a regular home-cooked meal, with inexpensive ingredients, in inexpensive dishes, in my empty apartment." He almost says our, stops himself just in time. No matter how much he wants that, he can't assume and he definitely can't push. Even if it's already beginning to feel a little like that, it still wouldn't be fair when J said he needed time to be sure.

J nods in pleased agreement, still cupping S's cheek. "Yes," he says, "exactly, I think so." That's exactly what he wants, actually. Just sitting here with S holding him, playing with his shirt, is perfect. He's not even sure he can explain it — at least, not without getting emotional and probably getting S worked up in the process. It's a little overwhelming to be so happy, to go from no happiness at all to a flood of it, and putting that into words isn't easy. He's not sure he needs to, really, when he's certain S feels much the same — not quite to the same extreme, or maybe to different extremes, but still, they've both been so alone.

"It's been so long since we had that," he says, fingers drifting slowly up and back to run through S's hair. It's not that he wants to go back to how they were before; he doesn't and he can't. But there were parts of their past that were so happy and so good, worth recapturing. He knows S must agree, that he missed that every bit as much as J did, if not more for the fact of letting himself feel it. "Just... something simple. And us. I think that makes it special enough, having back something we missed."

He huffs out a rueful little laugh. "It's the only kind of normal I want," he says, leaning his head back against S's shoulder again. What they have isn't normal, and he likes that. They're extraordinary in every way and every sense. But this used to be their daily life, and now even the smallest things are exciting or emotional or both for having gone so long without.

Like so much else, it could easily be too serious, too sad, if he let it. S doesn't intend to. He can't, really. At least for now, probably everything is going to be a little bit like this, bittersweet for all the time they've been apart and how much they missed each other. These past few months might well have been the worst of his entire life, and he knows that isn't easily shaken off — has thought intermittently, as he does again now, that all the grief he's felt isn't just going to go away — but if he stays mired in that, they'll both just wind up miserable. And there will, S knows, be spells of that anyway. They've both already cried so much today, and he genuinely does expect that they'll both cry at least once more before the day is over. That seems like all the more reason, though, for them to enjoy what they can, to dwell not on how long it's been since they had dinner together, but on the fact that now they can do so again. It may not be the special occasion he would like it to be, but the important thing is still that they're together. Their options have always been limited anyway, between their lack of money and the fact that they can't openly be a couple. And though he wishes neither of those things were the case, he still won't let that stop him from making the most of what they do have.

"It's the only kind of normal that matters," he agrees, kissing J's hair again when J rests his head back on his shoulder. The two of them — both separately and together — may not be normal in the slightest, but having a return to what used to be normal for them is still more than welcome. So much has changed, and yet in spite of that, a few things haven't. It's nice, really, all the more so because he knows they can't go back to the past, because he doesn't want to. Having a little familiarity, a few constants, while everything else is so different helps him feel all the more like they may still stand a chance.

Contentedly thoughtful for a moment, he nods then, letting his own head lean against J's. "You're right. It is special enough for being us."

J smiles, turning his head ever so slightly, slow so as not to dislodge S's, so he can press another kiss to his neck. In spite of having to be around other people and chores and near meltdowns and lots of crying, this might, he thinks, be the best day he's had in so long, maybe since the early days of their relationship. Yesterday, he was too upset and distraught to appreciate fully the chance he's been given, but now he knows how incredibly lucky he is. Whether or not he deserves that luck doesn't matter; it's not like he can or would give it away. Instead, he means to make the most of it.

In any case, it's special enough that they can do this at all, in light of all the reasons why that shouldn't be possible, though he doesn't want to say that right now. They're both perfectly aware of the nature of this miracle. There's no point in belaboring it. There are much nicer things to belabor instead. "I love you so much, darling," he murmurs against S's neck, quietly content. A day ago, all of this seemed utterly impossible — being happy, being calm and at peace, being back in S's arms, being together again. Even before he died, he couldn't imagine any one of those things could be true. Surely if they're here, there must be some reason to it. It can't be just the whims of a mad universe; that would be too much of a coincidence. That they're simply meant to be together is the only explanation that really makes any sense.

No matter how many times J has said the same in the past day, S knows he could never tire of it, struck all over again by how nice it is to hear it, to believe it. Even if he never really gave up hope, at least while J was alive, that they might be able to get back what they lost, there was still a long stretch of time in which it no longer seemed like that was the case, and certainly, in those last few months before he arrived here, he had no reason to believe it ever could be again. This shouldn't be possible. It is, though — they're here — and he treasures it all the more because of that. What they eat, where they are, how nice anything is or isn't, in spite of what he said himself, none of it matters, really. All he could ever ask for is right here beside him. He knew that before, always happy with the little life they had together in spite of all its hardships, but he really knows it now, and he doesn't intend ever to let himself lose sight of it.

"I love you, too," he murmurs, soft and sincere. "So much." Just as he couldn't possibly hear it enough, he can't say it enough, either. They have far too much time to make up for in that regard. "I always will." Maybe at some point down the line, if they get that long, if they really can make this work, J will come to doubt him again. If that does happen, though — while he doesn't know what prompted it the first time, he still means to make sure that, next time, it won't be because of anything he did. He'll do whatever he can to show J how loved he is. "Ah, this is nice. Just sitting like this."

It's going to be a while, J suspects, before those words grow any less striking. Though near the end of their first attempt at this relationship, it became more bitter than sweet to hear, it's never really not been impactful. At some point, though, it becomes more of a day to day kind of thing, important but also a fact of life. Right now, the sentiment alone would be enough to move him, but to be told always and to know it's true is utterly awe-inspiring.

He makes a small sound of agreement, closing his eyes as he nestles into S. "It is," he says, slightly muffled into the fabric of S's shirt. He lets out a soft laugh. "No crying. No moral dilemmas. Just quiet. I like it when you just hold me." He missed that. Caught in the midst of a panic attack or a spiral of misery, he sometimes became acutely aware of how utterly alone he was; he would have given anything, in spite of himself, to have S hold him until the pain faded to something manageable. To be held in his embrace now when there's nothing to ward off, just calm and affection, is better still. It's so different from how things have been for him for so long. Usually when he sits, saying hardly anything, he's frozen with fear or indecision, or else losing all track of time and feeling.

Now, instead, he's relaxed. With S's arms around him and his voice so soft and sweet, J could almost drift off to sleep, just take a little nap while they wait for the laundry to finish. It's so soothing, just to feel the steady warmth of S's body against his, the slow rise and fall of his chest beneath J's hand where it's come to rest now. Instead he leans his head back again, tipping his chin up, plainly seeking another kiss.

Aside from a quiet hum meant to serve as an agreement in turn, S manages no more of a response before J tilts his head, clearly looking for another kiss, which S doesn't hesitate to provide. Just sitting and holding each other and talking is nice, but this is, too — kissing without intent, J's mouth soft against his, his body warm in S's arms. They should always have been here, but at least they are now, with a chance to start making up for all the time they lost. There will be plenty of the rest, crying and moral dilemmas, and times they'll be worked up for far more enjoyable reasons, but it's also nice not to need that. Even when emotions aren't running high — when they aren't desperate to get their hands on each other, or crying through conversations they probably should have had a long time ago — they still fit together, like they were meant to be. He always thought they were before, but he really does now. To have found each other again, to be putting things right when so much was wrong for so long, they have to be.

"I like just holding you, too," he murmurs when he draws back, the words close against J's mouth. "Like being held." Before the past day, he hadn't been in such a long time. Since J left, he's had hardly any physical contact with anyone, save the various doctors and nurses he saw after he was hospitalized. All of that was so impersonal, so clinical, that it mostly just made him all the more aware of what he was missing. When he was grieving his parents, J was always there, always, to see him through it, to hold him when it got to be too much and he couldn't hold it in anymore. Grieving J, he had no one. With as long as he's been alone, it would be impossible not to savor this closeness.

S smiles, just a little, not pulling very far away. "And kissing you. I like that, too."

J has always been particular. Maybe that's counterintuitive. So many people pushed him away or held him at arm's length or rejected him, starting well before he was old enough to understand why, so maybe it would have made more sense if he'd accepted whoever would have him in their lives, few though they were. If anything, though, it made him more cautious about who he lets in. There's almost no one he's physically affectionate with in any way, and he finds he mostly shies away from anything of that nature. Even if people wanted hugs from him or anything like that, he wouldn't be particularly inclined to give them. It's different with the people he loves, with S, with his mother. That kind of affection comes so easily with them. He craves it, really, always looking to hold S's hand or curl up against him. They've gone so, so long without that he wants it more than ever.

He smiles up at S, amused, brow raising slightly. "Oh, do you?" he asks. "I had no idea. I'll try to remember that." He moves his hand lower as he speaks so he can rest it at S's waist, leaning in to close what little distance remains between them for another kiss. He could be content, he thinks, even without that, just sitting, talking about nothing, but he can't quite help seeking it out all the same, and if S mentions he likes it, well, then who is he not to give him what he wants? They've kissed so many times now he's long since lost track, and that makes him happy, too, to have this simple affection back, to be able to express it so easily and readily. He was a fool ever to build a wall between them. They're both so much happier like this, wrapped up in each other, the way they're supposed to be.

He nips gently at S's lower lip, more playful than anything else. "You might have to keep reminding me," he adds. "You know how forgetful I can be."

At that, S doesn't try to hide the way his smile widens, still soft but unmistakably pleased. He knows that's not really true, of course, but that's no reason not to play along. Anyway, just to have this levity is nice in its own right. It wasn't all that long ago, really, that they were both sitting here sobbing. Important as it may have been to say the things that prompted it, he likes this much better — teasing each other, kissing, flirting a little, even without trying to seek out anything more right now. Of course, he likes that, too, but they'll have time for more later if this good mood lasts, when they won't be interrupted before too long by needing to retrieve their laundry. Easy as it would be to decide not to care about leaving it to sit for a while, he would rather get it over with than get distracted and put it off. Once it's done, once they're back here, they'll have the rest of the day and all of tomorrow at least to themselves. Small a thing as that might be, he still finds that he's looking forward to it. With as long as it's been since they were together, nothing really seems insignificant anyway.

"And here I thought it was so obvious," he teases, wry and amused, leaning in for another quick kiss as soon as the words have left his mouth. "In that case, I'll remind you as often as you need." Even though he's sure J doesn't need any reminders of that, specifically, S thinks they'll be doing a lot of it anyway. There are other reminders that will probably be more pressing. Content as he is now, it isn't as if he can forget all of what was said earlier. He still doesn't really get it, how things went so wrong, but he'll do everything in his power to ensure that doesn't happen again, including making it clear as often as necessary that he loves J exactly as he is.

For now, though, with yet another kiss, he grins. "I very much like kissing you."

"I need a lot of reminding," J murmurs, chasing another kiss, and it would be so, so easy to get carried away. It feels so good just to be in this kind of a mood, light and playful, and to be happy together, and kissing S is such a heady thing, at once both satisfying and something that leaves him craving more. Again he considers moving closer still, shifting so he can settle in S's lap, but he's perfectly comfortable just where he is, and if he does move, he will get carried away, which would be fine except he doesn't want to be interrupted by chores.

Fingers curling in S's shirt, he presses against him, getting as close as this position will allow, taking his time kissing him slow and deep. S very much likes that, after all, and J is more than happy to oblige. As much as he enjoys the shared quiet, he likes this, too, the kind of quiet that comes with getting all wrapped up in each other like this. With a contented little sigh, he smiles against S's mouth. "Coincidentally I like kissing you too. How lucky we have a shared interest."

There are, of course, more than a few they share, and always have been. Now, though, this seems a much safer thing to have in common than music is.

S can't help but laugh at that, a quiet little exhale against J's mouth. It's far from the only thing they've ever had in common, of course; if anything, the kissing came long after all the rest of it, the two of them falling for each other after years of friendship, which probably wouldn't have been the case if they'd had no shared interests. Right now, at least, it's certainly the most noteworthy of them, the others not seeming worth mentioning now. As unusual as it is for them to go so long in each other's company without playing or even talking about music, he isn't sure he can bring that up without almost certainly ruining the mood. Between the fact that he's barely played and hasn't written at all since J died, never mind everything else that's happened since, and his increasing certainty that he'll give it up if it will help keep J from becoming so resentful again, it wouldn't be worth it. They've been emotional enough for the time being. Right now, he just wants to enjoy this.

"Very lucky," he agrees, a bit breathless from the kiss, his nose brushing J's again. That much is unquestionably true. From the very beginning, when J first confessed to having the same feelings that S had been secretly harboring for months, S has known how lucky he is — lucky to have fallen in love with his best friend, to have that friend love him back. That's infinitely truer now that they were never supposed to have been able to be together again, enough so that luck doesn't really seem like a strong enough word for it. That, too, he doesn't say. He thinks he's made his feelings on that matter clear already, anyway.

He kisses J again, but quick this time, soft. "I guess we'll have to do more of it, then."

J laughs, quiet, pressing a kiss to S's cheek. "Well, I won't argue with that," he says, "but I think we're doing pretty well so far." He doubts they've been quite this aggressively wrapped up in each other since they first started dating. Until he started drifting away and then actively pushing away, they were always like this to some extent, always happy in each other's embrace, and coming home from being out in public always made them a little extra eager and needy, but he's fairly certain this is a little much even for them. But it's been so long, he's not even entirely sure, and he really doesn't care. It's merited, after all. In the face of such impossible circumstances and such a long period of separation, he thinks any couple would be the same.

"Not that I'm complaining either," he adds. How could he when this is the happiest he's been in years? When S sounds like that, sweet and hushed and a little breathless? His legs have been halfway tucked beneath him to let him get closer, but he's tired of that and wants closer still, so he compromises with himself, shifting to drape them over S's leg — not quite in his lap, technically, but much closer to it. Taking advantage of the change in proximity and angle, he lifts a hand to the back of S's head, pulling him in for another kiss. Making up for lost time, he thinks, would be impossible; they missed out on so much. That won't stop him from trying, but maybe what would be better would be simply to enjoy the time he currently has.

"We are," S just manages to murmur in the moment before J pulls him into another kiss, soft and sure. That much, he has no doubt of, and not just where the kissing is concerned, either. Emotional as the past day has been, with as many times as they've both wound up in tears, to be here at all means they have to be doing pretty well for themselves. Of course, the same does go for kissing, too, and careful as he knows they ought to be, he's hardly about to object to J moving closer, his hand skimming along the side of J's thigh up over his hip and to his waist when he shifts. It's dangerous, really, but he thinks he still has his wits about him enough to stay somewhat restrained for the time being rather than seeking out more. Just this is so nice in its own right. Maybe a little excessive, too, but as he's thought already today, if they're both a little clingier than usual, he thinks that's reasonable enough, after everything. They've both been alone for such a long time, and he had every reason to believe it would stay that way. It only stands to reason that they would be particularly enthusiastic now that they've been reunited.

Still, he does no more than that for now. Later they can get carried away and lost in each other; just knowing that they have a later is a remarkably reassuring thought all on its own. In the back of his head, there's still the sense of not wanting to get too far ahead of himself, not wanting to plan a future they might not get to have, but thinking ahead for today, he reasons, must be okay. The mood could change at any moment, of course, but he doubts anything too catastrophic is going to happen.

Difficult as it is to convince himself to do so, he draws back again, though not by very much, a deeper kiss giving way to a softer, briefer one. "Definitely don't see anything worth complaining about."

"Didn't think you would," J says, voice light, though he makes himself pull back just a little more. His instinct is to keep kissing, and with S's hand moving over his body, it's difficult not to want more still, but he's trying very hard to behave. Once the laundry is done, he can see how he feels, what they want, but for now, it's best if they restrain themselves a little. That's what he tells himself, at least, hand lifting to S's cheek as he draws back a bit, smiling as he looks at him.

There's plenty to complain about, really, and he's sure the pair of them will have more reasons to fuss and cry and maybe even argue in the very near future. In this moment, though, it doesn't have to matter. All of that can wait. He's still caught up in wonder at how surreal it is that this is happening at all, and how, even so, it's the most grounded he's felt in the longest time. They could think of complaints if they wanted to. Right now, he doesn't want to. In itself, that feels significant. Switching focus, he ducks his head, brushing kisses along S's neck and below his ear, soft and idle. He spent too much time complaining when they were together before. He knows he hasn't changed entirely, that he is, after all, still the same person in many ways, and that he's likely to fall back into at least some old habits, but he hopes he remembers that — that so much of what he got irritated about wasn't worth his getting worked up.

"Neither do I," he murmurs, nipping lightly at S's ear. "So enjoy that while it lasts."

S laughs, a quick little exhale, though it comes out low and throaty for the way J's mouth trails along his neck. Yesterday, he dimly remembers that he stopped short of baring his throat, but there's no hesitation now in the way he lets his head fall to the side, giving J more room. Even just this feels good; right now, probably just about anything would that involves the two of them like this. It's hard to be sure, actually, if this will make it easier or harder to slow down and stop themselves, though he again makes a point of reminding himself that their laundry will be done before too long and they'll have to go retrieve it. There have been plenty of instances in the past when they made the most of having limited time, and it's sometimes even been fun, something hurried and frantic when they knew they didn't have long, but when this is still so new again, he would much rather be able to take his time, to really enjoy it.

"Oh, so you mean until we have to go get the laundry," he teases, fond and amused. "Got it." He knows J too well, or at least he thinks he does, not to be sure there will be plenty more. However much has changed, not everything will have. He's alright with that, even if he can't help but hope that J doesn't revert to complaining about him too soon. For so long, it seemed as if J disliked everything about him. It isn't a time that S particularly wants to go back to, though he'll take that if he has to, if J still wants to be with him anyway.

With an absent, contented hum, he adds, "That feels good."

J laughs, head ducking briefly as he leans into S. "Yes, exactly that long," he says. He can't even mind being called out on it when it's true and said with such affection. After so long on his own, assuming no one would want anything to do with him anyway, least of all S, it's wonderful, actually, to be known and seen even in insignificant ways — more than that, to be seen with as little judgment as is humanly possible, with understanding and compassion and love and clarity. More forgiveness than he deserves, too, but that's another thing J can't bring himself to complain about now. He's lucky to have it.

He doesn't stop for long, though. S's comment may not be meant to encourage him to do anything, just a little observation, a note of approval, but J likes anything that makes S feel good. He has a lot of making up to do on that front, too, and beside, he enjoys it for its own sake. There was a time when making S happy was one of his favorite things in the world, and that's a version of himself he likes much more than who he became in recent months. He picks up where he left off, kissing slowly down S's neck, shifting lower, teeth grazing just above his collar. He wants to keep going, but they still have to watch the time and, anyway, it's not like he could do as much as he'd like in that regard anyway. As much as he wishes otherwise, neither of them is ready, he's pretty sure, for him to see S shirtless again. He wants to get there; he kind of feels he needs to, for his sake, for S's sake, for the sake of his poor over-washed shirts. He just also knows, whether he likes it or not, that won't happen today.

With a soft hum against S's throat, he nudges at him with his nose. "How much time do we have?"

It takes just a moment longer than it should for S to process the question, distracted as he is by the gentle scrape of J's teeth against his neck. The more they do here, the more difficult he knows it's going to be to try to hold back, and with that being the case, he should probably figure out some way of killing time that doesn't involve being all wrapped up in each other like this. As nice as it is just to sit and kiss for a while — and it really is — maintaining any sort of restraint isn't easy when they've been apart for so long. It would be so simple to keep going, to tug his shirt further aside, to let out the whine that rises up in his throat rather than swallowing it back. Letting dry clothes and sheets sit a little longer than necessary wouldn't be the worst thing in the world.

Despite how quickly — how instinctively, really — he finds himself starting to rationalize it, he knows they'll be better off waiting. They don't have that much longer until they'll be able to go retrieve their laundry, anyway, and after that, they'll be able to do whatever they'd like. There will still, as he pointed out a few minutes ago, be clothes to fold and put away and dinner to make, but all the same, none of it will have to happen immediately. So he makes himself take a deep breath, head tilting so he can glance up at the clock on the wall, which at least doesn't involve having to move much.

"So impatient," he says, still teasing, as if the same isn't just as true of him. He still finds it a little ridiculous, actually, but they've spent so much of today out and around other people, and he can't remember the last time they really had a chance just to settle in with each other and relax. Like so much else, he enjoyed days like that before, but he never expected they would run out of them; the idea of it didn't seem as noteworthy as it does now. "About half an hour."

"Can do a lot in half an hour," J says, though he's really not thinking about it before he does. He can't help it if it's true. Still, as soon as he's said it, he knows he should try and hold back a bit. Whatever they could do in that time they could do better with more time anyway. With as readily responsive as S is, it's tempting to push for more all the same, but he doesn't, nipping at S's neck in a way that's more playful than anything else.

Head lifting again, he kisses S on the lips before he tries to say anything else. "Of course I'm impatient," he says when he draws back. He's been impatient since long before they met, always eager for something more, looking for new chances, trying to reach his goals sooner than reasonably possible. Being with S, though, is a good reminder to slow things down a little. Back when they were younger, he was so happy, he appreciated so much, every little detail of their relationship awe-inspiring and thrilling, but at some point he lost that. He lost so much. Having this back again, he wants to go back to that early feeling, to take in everything, to enjoy it all. That doesn't make him any less who he is, though. "Why wouldn't I be? I'm ready for it to be just us for a while, no interruptions."

This time when he kisses S, it's just the corner of his mouth, soft and brief. "We've been very productive and I only cried about a dozen times; I think we've earned a break." He's pretty sure it was actually twice, but with the number of times he almost stopped and then picked back up again, he might not be far off. Either way, it's nice to be able to laugh at himself a bit and to get S to smile.

Huffing out a quiet laugh, S shakes his head a little, his smile warm, if still a bit teasing. It isn't as if he can blame J for saying something like that when he's been thinking largely the same thing himself, but hearing it from J doesn't help how tempted he is to keep going. They could do a lot in half an hour. They could also wait and really be able to enjoy it rather than hurriedly getting cleaned up and dressed so they can be somewhat presentable when they go retrieve their clothes. As it is, he's still going to have to wear his scarf again and hope no one stops to wonder why he'd have it on inside. At least this time, though, they're further removed from all that crying. He still feels somewhat worn out from it, actually, but he thinks he probably looks a little less wrecked now, which is something. With half an hour to go until their laundry is done, that could still change, of course, but with the way things have been going so far, he's hopeful it won't. Later, definitely, there will be more crying in store for both of them. That's all the more reason to try to put it off when they aren't quite done with chores yet.

"Oh, we definitely have," he agrees, kissing J again in turn, just as soft as a moment before. They really have been busy, even more so than he was on his own first full day here. All of it was important, really, nothing that could be put off, or he would have let it wait, but especially under the circumstances, it has been a lot. "Only crying a dozen times I think is pretty impressive, all things considered. And we did finish everything else we needed to." None of that would really have been his top priority anyway, but he's trying, at least, to be responsible about this, both in terms of making sure they don't get carried away with each other when they need to go back downstairs soon and trying to get through everything they need to do, when all he really wants is to focus on J. Letting everything else fade into the background would be entirely too easy, but they'll have a chance for that soon enough.

With a quiet sound of belated agreement, he lets his expression soften a little, still so fond. "We could do a lot in half an hour. But we could do a lot more when we won't get interrupted."

"Do we have to choose?" J asks, but he laughs, too, arm slipping around S's waist again as he rests his head on S's shoulder. "Yah, you're right, I know." A lot can change in half an hour, too. This bright and easy mood could vanish entirely. But he's trying not to assume the worst and to enjoy it while it lasts, and it's not like he's actually in a rush. It's nice, actually, not to be. Yesterday, tangled up in each other on the couch, newly reunited, he was desperate and frightened, some part of him sure he would only ever have the one chance. To have come so far in a day, to know how wrong that is, not to feel rushed because he knows they have time — it's all such a relief. They can do whatever it is they wind up deciding to do later. For now, he really doesn't need anything more than kissing and cuddling, and he's not about to push S either, especially when he really is right. It's better to wait and take their time now that they have time.

With that being the case, it's probably better, he decides, if he backs off a little. That doesn't mean he's budging from his new seat, though. With a small, contented sound, he tugs lightly at S's shirt, toying with it. "I guess," he says, "we'll just have to wait half an hour or so before we really start our break." He huffs, shaking his head against S's shoulder. "This really is nice, though. Don't misunderstand. I'm happy right where I am." It feels so good to say that and mean it that even that's enough to make him a little bit emotional, but at least he doesn't cry a thirteenth time. That, he thinks, counts for something. Instead he just hugs S a little tighter for a moment.

"I mean, sex would also be nice," he teases, his voice softening again a moment later. "But this really is... ah, it's like all I've been doing for so long is running in circles and finally I can just rest... right here, where I belong."

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