beklemmt | 아프더라도 너만 있으면 돼

In an odd sort of way, it's nice to hear, maybe even a little relieving. J said as much yesterday, too, but yesterday was long and emotional, and in the light of day, after a good night's sleep, at least for one of them, it means that much more. It wasn't always true, or at least S came to feel like it wasn't, that J resented any attempts to take care of him as much as he seemed to resent — well, everything else, for a while. S supposes there are going to be a lot of things like this, though, that it's going to take some work to get used to the idea of J wanting or liking after pushing him away for so long. As natural as it is to be here, moving around the kitchen together like they might have any morning in the studio they shared, it's hard not to second-guess all of this a little, too — not as far as it being what he wants, because it is, unquestionably, but being something he gets to have at all, that J wants, too, that might just work this time.

Still, this all feels a little like hope, too, and S holds fast to that, glancing away from the food to smile briefly over at J in turn. "So are you," he says, half-expecting that J might protest to being called cute again. That's all the more reason to say it; it's true, the sight of J smiling, pouring coffee, wearing clothes that are newly purchased but borrowed from him all the same, is one of the sweetest things he's seen in longer than he can remember. It makes S want to stop and kiss him again, but they're both busy, and, he reminds himself, he can do plenty of that later, a thought that's incredibly nice to consider, making his smile widen a little as he turns back to the food again.

"And of course I do," he adds, simple and light, like it's self-explanatory. "It's more fun to cook for both of us anyway."

J rolls his eyes at that, albeit fondly, still not sure cute is the right word for him. Even so, it's kind of nice to hear. Maybe it's because cute is so simple and friendly, unthreatening. He wants that, at least for a little while, to pretend he's harmless. He'll have to deal with the truth eventually, but not yet. He'd rather spend this time enjoying their morning as best he can, taking in the way S smiles, his pretty profile as he stands over the stove.

He prepares the coffee purely by habit, not thinking much of that now. "I didn't know it was cute to make coffee," he says wryly. He can't argue with the rest though. Having to cook for himself was tiresome. He never got very good at it, and even making simple dishes was frustrating, knowing there was no one to share it, trying to figure out how to make enough for himself but not so much leftovers would go bad before he could eat them. And that S likes to take care of him is just a fact they both know. He's resented that before, and they know that, too. Relying on anyone, even S, felt like unbearable weakness then.

Now, as much as he wishes he could stand on his own, he knows it's not wise to try, at least not yet. They'll both be better off if he lets S guide him for a while. He just wishes he could explain that to him, that he sees now that it's necessary, sees the love in it, but if he does, he'll end up dwelling on why, and the very notion of that is exhausting.

Instead he walks over, a cup of coffee in each hand, and sets one down next to S, the way he remembers him liking it. He takes advantage of the proximity to kiss S's cheek.

"It is when you do it," S replies without missing a beat, shrugging easily and smiling as he does. He would think the same about anything right now, probably, if it involved J standing in his kitchen — their kitchen, maybe, hopefully — and at least seemingly at ease, the two of them close and comfortably moving around each other, finding old rhythms again already. It's not quite as if they were never apart, better than that by far, despite the reasons why they were, but rediscovering it, falling back into it, just makes sense, feels right when he hasn't otherwise felt right in so long. Despite how many times he told himself yesterday that this was a bad idea, he really doesn't think so now. Nothing that feels this good, that has J looking peaceful, could be all that bad.

With J still close, S turns away from the stove for a moment again to kiss him quickly on the lips. "Thank you," he says, pivoting back to the food once more, picking up his coffee so he can gently blow on it. He knows better than to try to drink it when it's only just finished brewing, as much as he really could use it to help him wake up a little. For now, he's fine, but staying up all night — and after a day as exhausting as yesterday — is going to take its toll sooner or later. It's worth it, though. He just couldn't have taken the chance that something might have happened overnight, that J might not have slept so well after all and woken up distraught again.

This is infinitely better, in every possible way. "Can you get dishes out, too, please?" he asks, pointing over to the cupboard where they're put away. "They're up there."

J can't even really argue that one. Whether or not he agrees, he'd say the same had S been the one preparing their coffee. The task doesn't matter in the end. It makes J's heart ache a little, though with a kind of overwhelming happiness, knowing they only say such stupid things because they're still so in love. It's hard to believe he ever let himself take this for granted.

Instead of protesting, he does as asked, heading over to the cabinet S indicates. "Of course," he says, peering into it to see what's inside first. These, as with the cups, are limited. It makes sense. It isn't like S would need more than a couple of each kind of dish or cup or silverware or whatnot. Why would he? This is just enough so he doesn't have to worry about doing the dishes constantly, just enough for the two of them now. Even their tiny studio must have felt unbearably big, the way J's living space did, too much space for all those awful thoughts bouncing around.

Pulling down a couple of bowls, he sets them on the counter for S. Presumably he's got some kimchi or pickled ginger somewhere, too, and J will look for that in a moment, but first he sets about looking into various drawers, seeking out the chopsticks. "Smells good."

It's probably lucky, S thinks, that he has enough of anything for the both of them now, just as it was with clothes and towels yesterday. He had no reason to expect that anyone else would be staying here, eating or bathing or getting dressed; really, he's been in Darrow such a short time that he didn't even anticipate having company anytime soon. Right now, though, he doesn't see a need to comment on the sparseness of his purchases. They have enough for the moment, and even if J decides not to move in, his presence makes S feel more inclined to fill the place up a bit more, to make sure there's enough of everything for the times when he is here. That feels like a good approach, he thinks, a safe one, a way of not getting too ahead of himself while still trying to help J feel at home here. Even if they don't live with each other, he thinks, they'll still belong together.

"In there," he says without giving it much thought, gesturing with his elbow to the drawer where the chopsticks are, instinctively guessing that that's what J is looking for. This much, too, is just natural, though J knew where everything was in their studio, not needing to go searching. It still feels like an extension of that, similar but different, familiar even in an unfamiliar place. "Should be enough for two, I think."

J opens the drawer and grabs two pairs of chopsticks, glancing back to S with a smile. "Perfect," he says. There's something so satisfying about S knowing exactly what he wants, what he's trying to accomplish. There was a time when that felt vanishingly rare. Having it back feels good, a small detail but still something slotting back into place the way it should be.

He takes them over to the table to set at their spots, mostly because there's nowhere in the kitchen itself that makes sense. It is, he realizes abruptly, the furthest he's been from S since he got to this city at all. It's not very far and he doesn't stay gone long, doesn't linger, but even that seems like a step. He's trying hard to capture what fleeting hope he can and hold onto it tight.

There's more of it than he thought there could be in the world. There's more by the stove even, a whole human's worth of it, and J slips up behind him, hands resting briefly at S's waist as he presses a kiss to his cheek. He doesn't stay put, as much as he'd like to, not wanting to get in the way while S cooks. Instead he opens the fridge again, rooting around for any kind of banchan. There's not much here, but he didn't really expect any. It's not like there would be any point in making an array of side dishes for one. He never did, not in the whole time he was gone. It made sense when they lived together, stuff they could throw together to add to meals through the week. On his own, it seemed pointless.

What is here is clearly store-bought, which is more than fine; it serves its purpose and at least means S has had a little flavor for his meals. J grabs the ginger and takes that to the table too, looking at the jar as he does, the label in a mix of languages. "Ah, all this English," he says with a surprised laugh. "I forgot you said this is America. Or not America, but like it?"

S remembers thinking yesterday how strange it was for J to be like a guest here, so unusual for the two of them after all this time, even considering the months in which they were separated. This, he likes much better, having J move around his kitchen like he's comfortable doing so, just looking for whatever he wants, hands and lips warm in the moment when he steps in close. For a moment, S is tempted to turn again, to pull him back in and kiss him properly, but he has the food to focus on, and really, he doesn't need to let himself get distracted right now. Just this is nice enough all on its own, S letting out a soft laugh in turn when J remarks on the English on the jar's label. With everything that's happened since then, he can barely remember what he's said and hasn't said so far, feeling like he hardly understands this place well enough to explain it to anyone anyway. Going out later will probably be interesting because of it, but he meant what he said earlier about it not being for long, and hopefully their being together will help keep J steady and not too overwhelmed.

That's something to deal with later, though. For now, he nods, looking over in J's direction. "Not America, but like it," he echoes. He doesn't know what Darrow is, really, how or where it exists. Right now, he's just grateful that it does, that it brought the two of them back together, his gaze warm as he takes in the sight of J over by the table. Wherever they are, however they're here, it's home now. "I found a few good shops, though, more like home." It was a relief at the time, a welcome bit of familiarity; it's even more of one now, when he thinks that's likely to help J at least as much as it's helped him.

"That's where I thought we'd go later."

It's a relief to hear. There's Korean on the jar with the English, but that's so much what J expects that he hardly even notices it. America is quite literally a foreign concept, somewhere far from home he never expected to visit. He wouldn't have minded doing so at some point. When he was younger, he liked the idea of traveling, though it never seemed practically possible, both of them too broke to get far. Now the idea of getting on a plane and flying off to some country where he only kind of speaks the language is daunting. But here he is, in a place something like it. The whole idea of it is still overwhelming and he's not looking forward to going outside, but at least he didn't have to take a twelve-hour flight to get here.

It helps, too, to think of shops that are like home, places they can get things like this, little staples that make things more familiar. Just being here is jarring enough without complete culture shock. As bad as he is remembering to eat regularly, food is still a key component of making a place feel like home.

"Pickled ginger," he reads out in English, half under his breath, getting a feeling for the words on his tongue. He's not sure he gets it quite right, and he doesn't like being bad at things, but the fact he can read it at all means his high school classes must have stuck at least somewhat.

Setting it down, he heads back over, leaning against a counter to watch S again. "That sounds good. Familiar food. I don't think I even know any American foods but hamburgers and fries." They're not bad, that kind of thing. Right now, though, he thinks he craves anything that feels more like home.

For S, these past several days, it's been one of the few comforts he's had. Although even before he found J, he hadn't really minded being here, supposing that it was just as well when there was nothing left for him back home anyway, it's still been daunting to try to adjust to so much at once. At least there are some consistencies, even if he had to make a point of looking to be able to find them. Knowing that J will likely think so, too, makes him newly grateful for it. Any familiarity among so much that's unfamiliar goes a long way, or at least that's what he's found to be the case, having never been so far from home before.

"Well, there's also plenty of that," he says, a little wry and amused, glancing at J over his shoulder. He hasn't tried any of the restaurants here, though, American food or otherwise, not wanting to spend his limited funds on takeout; he wouldn't be able to say which ones are good. With their money pooled, though, even that seems more possible, and he finds that he likes the idea of that, too, getting to try food from different restaurants together, figuring out which ones they like best. Gradually, of course, and within reason, but just as he's more inclined to go all out cooking for two, ordering something has more appeal when it's for both of them as well.

Right now, though, S likes this most of all, J standing close while he cooks something simple and familiar, that easy contentedness probably remarkably fragile but so far still bearing the weight of everything they seem to have tacitly decided not to mention yet. "But I just wanted familiar food when I got here, too." He has so much more than that now, so much that he thought he would never get again. "And it seemed better to get groceries I knew how to cook with than takeout or something I'd never tried to make before."

It would have been so easy to be lost here. Hard as he's trying to keep his thoughts as calm as he can, J can't help thinking that again. They could have missed each other. He doesn't know how big this city is, but a place doesn't have to be that big for two people not to end up in the same spot at the same time. A different day, a different street, a different hour — S could have looked the other way in that moment and missed him entirely. If it hadn't happened that they found each other right when they did, it might never have happened at all.

It would be easy, too, to be terrified of that fact. One small detail different and he'd probably be dead again now. It's frightening to have any reminder at all of how fragile his existence is, how precariously he's perched at the edge of an abyss, wavering between love and death. Tumbling down wouldn't take any effort at all. It's keeping himself on solid ground that's difficult. Still, he thinks now, it isn't entirely scary. With how easily they could have been kept apart, the fact that they found each other instead is nothing short of a miracle.

Standing here aware of that, looking at S, J's heart aching with the bittersweet comfort of coming home after so long, it's hard, too, not to step over and kiss him. They've survived worse than burnt food, and he badly wants just to get wrapped up in each other again, painfully grateful to have this chance. "I'm glad you did," he says instead, pushing slightly off the counter and leaning back again, back and forth, a restless child. "And not just because it means you're feeding me. It just..." He stops his fidgeting and gestures vaguely at the room. "It smells more like home right now. Not the same, but more than yesterday."

As tempting as it is, S doesn't let himself turn around to watch J like he wants to. He'd get too distracted, probably, and while it is just food, he doesn't have very much of it here. Starting from scratch might not be a possibility, and they have too much they need to do today to be fueled by coffee alone, especially when he hasn't slept, even if he has no intention of mentioning that to J. Even without looking fully away from the stove, though, he can sense it, the way J shifts restlessly, and he extends a hand, wanting a little contact for a moment anyway. It's just nice, having J close. Just because his attention is somewhat elsewhere right now doesn't mean he can't still make the most of that, especially when talking about this place being at all like home.

He doesn't point that he could have cooked yesterday, too. It's true, and he still sort of wishes he'd insisted on that, but dwelling on or saying that wouldn't accomplish anything now. They made it through the night — a significant step in its own right, he thinks, especially since J seemed to actually sleep — and he's cooking now. That matters more than whatever he didn't get to when they were both emotional and tired and all caught up in each other.

For that matter, all of those things are likely still true, too, just not as present or oppressive. He can reach for J's hand without being unable to step away; they can stand on their feet here in the kitchen. This won't be too much longer, and then they'll both finally be able to get some — much-needed, especially in J's case — food in them. "I am, too," he says. It's one of the nicest things about this, how it's so much like before except in the ways it's so different, too, the two of them, at least in S's opinion, more on the same page with each other than they've been in a long time. "Glad I did, glad it does."

He hadn't thought this place could be like home at all. Being proven wrong on that front feels wonderful. "Glad you're here."

S holds out his hand and J takes it, curling his fingers around S's, letting the contact steady him. He's fine — he thinks he is, at least — but it still helps. Even feeling better today than he has in months, he's almost always a little bit on edge. On his own, it's hard to keep in check. Holding S's hand isn't a cure-all, but right now, it helps. That it does helps in turn, a comforting reminder that he's not trying to do this by himself anymore.

He wants to say he'll stay — live here, stay alive. He wants to keep making S happy. Saying it feels unfair, though. He's not sure. It's hard to be sure of much of anything. Promising such things wouldn't be right when he's not sure they're promises he can keep.

Instead he just gives S's hand a gentle squeeze, stepping closer so he can lift it and press a kiss to the back. "So am I," he says. That much he can say with certainty. Being here is good. This is one of those rare things he's sure of, being with S again in a warm kitchen, holding hands. He lets go in the next moment, though, only because cooking one-handed seems like a bad idea.

As much as it feels like home again, as he steps away, he's glad, too, that it isn't. Going back to their little studio would have felt too much like regressing. Instead they have a fresh start, a chance to make a new home. As much as he's still not sure that's something he deserves, it's something he wants, and something he doesn't want to take from S.

"Anything else I can do?"

It's such simple contact, nothing they haven't had plenty of in the last day or so. Still, S smiles when J takes his offered hand, and a little wider when he kisses the back of it. For that matter, what they've just said isn't new, either, but the reminder is nice all the same. Although S wouldn't know how to outright say so, he thinks he needs that a little, to have J repeat that he wants to be here, that he's happy to be. It isn't just out of his fear for J's safety. He just can barely wrap his head around it, still almost as awed by J choosing this after rejecting him for so long as he is by J's presence in the first place. Needy as it makes him feel to want to hear it, those few words and that small gesture go a long way.

"I don't think so," he says, at least sensible enough not to be disappointed when J pulls away again. He does have the food to focus on, after all, and he can only spare one hand for so long while he's trying to cook. Briefly, he thinks he'll ask J again if he wants to go sit, knowing he won't be too much longer, but he holds the question back. J said before that he wanted to stay and help, and even if there's nothing more for him to do, S likes having him close, though he won't protest if J goes over to the table anyway. It isn't as if they really need to stay attached to each other's sides like this. The proximity is just nice after everything — the time they were apart, the reasons he had to believe that would permanently remain the case, the weight of all that happened yesterday.

"Should be finished soon."

If J's impatient, it's not because he wants to eat, although he does, the simple yet familiar smells reminding him he actually is hungry and isn't entirely sure when he last ate. It's mostly because he wants more — more of S's presence, more contact. He could ask questions about this place, but he's tired and lightheaded and he'll have to see it for himself firsthand soon enough. Instead he's left waiting, and aware that he's waiting and possibly being annoying by hovering. He used to worry about this a lot, more intensely than he does now. Here it's just a passing thought, the situation still too new for him to be overly nervous about being in the way. It's easier to tell himself that that's what S wants, to believe it.

"It's okay," he says, because it is. S is right here. They won't be much closer for sitting down to eat. And hurrying to finish their meal just means leaving the house sooner. While that also means coming back sooner, he's fine with delaying going out. They'll still get it done, but he's not in a rush. The more time he has to get used to the idea, the easier it'll be.

Instead, he wanders, a few pacing steps from one side of the kitchen to the other, glancing around curiously. He doesn't poke into anything yet, picking up his coffee and taking a sip. Later maybe he'll pry more. Right now, it's nice just to get a feel for the space. He didn't take in much yesterday when they were out in this part of the apartment, too distracted and bewildered by the change in circumstances, too distraught to absorb any of this. Besides, he didn't venture into the kitchen at all. He shakes his head, letting out a soft laugh. "What was our kitchen before, half the size of this?"

Although he senses the movement, S spares only a glance over his shoulder as J walks back and forth, smiling faintly as he does. It's ridiculous, he knows, to find everything so endearing right now. He's just pacing. And yet, having been on his own for so long, having missed this man so terribly, S finds his very presence a comfort, just sharing a space with someone else nice after all that time alone. In the same sort of way, making breakfast is more than just a chore like this; it's something he oddly savors instead, however much he wishes he didn't have to keep his attention divided, could turn and watch J fully or pull him close. As he said, though, the food is almost done, and as he thought before, they'll have time to keep holding and touching each other, and that's maybe the best part of all. He doesn't want to start getting too far ahead of himself — doesn't want to assume J will move in here, doesn't want to assume J will decide to live, when he knows that still isn't guaranteed — but a little looking ahead can't be so bad. They'll just take it a bit at a time.

"If that," he says, letting out a short laugh at the thought of it. He never really minded the size of the kitchen in their studio; in J's absence, even that apartment felt too big, full of space he would never be able to or want to fill. This one has been all the more so. Now, he thinks he could like having this extra room. Even if J does stay, they probably won't really need it, but they can still use it, and having additional counter space will be nice if and when he cooks anything more complicated than this. "So much more room here, I've hardly known what to do with it."

Figuring it's probably cool enough to drink, he reaches for his own coffee, almost instinctive, a little thoughtless. Only as he takes a sip does it dawn on him that he didn't actually fix it — that he set it to brew, but J is the one who poured it and brought the cup over here, and yet it's still how he would have prepared it for himself. S isn't sure why that, something so small and insignificant, feels so oddly moving, but it does, making him grateful for a moment that he's facing the stove, that he has the food to focus on. There's still a small smile on his face when he does look over again, but this one is softer, a little surprised, a little touched. "You remember how I like my coffee?"

Whenever he's thought about the size of this place or S being here alone, it's left J sad. Now, though, he finds himself thinking Good. They'll want space. They got on without it before, but it'll be nice to have more room. Now S can figure out better ways to fill the place. Besides, maybe, it might be good to have a bigger place. In the studio, it was hard to have room to be alone if he needed it, hard to get any distance. If he needs privacy here, even just to collect his thoughts, they won't be tripping over each other.

He glances up at S's question, his heart fluttering slightly at the look on S's face. He's still so in love with this man. Even a smile make his heart beat a little faster. It takes a moment for him to understand the question, though, before he realizes. "Ah, I got it right?" he asks, a small, shy smile of his own crossing his face. "I wasn't thinking. You always had it the same way."

If he'd stopped to consider it, he would have gotten too in his head about it, probably worried that S had changed his tastes in J's absence or that he was remembering it wrong. He was too out of it still to think much about it, though. It feels good to have done the right thing, even if entirely by instinct. Maybe it's just a tiny thing, knowing how S likes his coffee, as if no time has passed at all. But S looks happy about it, even moved, and a flicker of pride sparks in J's chest.

J smiles, and it only makes S's own widen a little as he nods. It's such a little thing, but it's hard for him to care. Really, it isn't even because it reminds him of before. That's such a fine line to walk, as he keeps intermittently thinking about, any familiarity so nice even as he knows this shouldn't be what it was then. They still know each other so well, though. Maybe even better now than they did then, in some ways, but that foundation is still there, too, as sturdy as it ever was despite the time they've spent apart. It's just coffee, it probably doesn't mean anything, but it's nice to know that J has held onto little details like that whether he intended to or not. S knows he's kept plenty himself, but he's the one who stayed in the space they'd once shared together. He would have been surrounded by memories no matter how much he did or didn't want them.

"Yeah, you did," he replies with that same soft, pleased expression. He's definitely glad now that he didn't mention that he can't drink very much coffee anymore, that he decided to have a cup this morning at all. Between J remembering how he likes it and the look on J's face now, he wouldn't have wanted to miss this. Finally, he makes himself turn away again, spending another few moments on the food before, satisfied that everything is ready, he turns the stove off.

With one hand, he gives an absent little wave in the direction of the table. "Alright, go sit," he says. "I'll bring the food in a minute."

Edited 2021-01-19 11:53 (UTC)

There's so much about their life together J still carries in his head, in his heart, down through his hands, habits engrained in him from years of repetition, honed even before they fell in love. He's not sure even he knows how much of that is still there, tangled up in his memories. He didn't realize he still knew this. It feels like a good sign somehow. When he doesn't overthink it, he still gets things right — still knows how to make S feel good in bed, remembers instinctively how S likes his drinks. His heart and his body want to make S happy, even when he doesn't know how to get past his own foolish mind.

It's such a small thing, so silly to get caught up on. It's just that it feels like hope. No matter how much has changed, he knows this man. That little affirmation that he did well feels impossibly good.

He doesn't even argue when S tells him to sit. As much as he'd like to help, it's not like there's some wild assortment of dishes to bring out or assemble on the plates. He'd just slow S down by trying. It's easier to get out of the way, heading over to take a seat, glancing back into the kitchen. He could get used to this, quiet mornings together, the soothing smells of fresh food, the gentle happiness in S's expression. It's impossible to look away from him for long. "You're sure you don't need help?"

For the first time, strangely, it occurs to S to be grateful that he had as long on his own as he did. The past few months have been miserable in every possible way — physically, emotionally, with too much time stuck in his own head to grieve and no one there to help see him through it this time. He wouldn't have thought anything good would come of that, really, aside from the measure of justice he was able to see taken before he arrived here, which is just one more thing he does not want to be thinking about right now. Just a few weeks ago, though, he wouldn't have been able to do this, to be on his feet for this long, to move heavier cookware around. Earlier than that and he wouldn't have wanted to eat, might not been able to stand the smell of food. As lucky as it was that they found each other in the moment they did — that he was here first, that he was just in the right place at the right time to find J when he arrived — in such an odd way, he's lucky, too, that he had enough time to recover for the most part, at least physically speaking, before he came across J.

S thinks about that fleetingly, but tries not to dwell on it, shaking his head in response to the question. "It's fine," he says. "Not like there's much to do." He fills their dishes as he does — easy, like he said, probably more so for not maneuvering around someone else, regardless of how much he likes having J close. Had he made more, then maybe it would make more sense to have J help, but this is simple, not taking long at all. The most difficult part is carrying both bowls and his cup of coffee over to the table, though at least it's not far, and although it's a little precarious, he manages without any real trouble.

"Ah, there," he says, setting the dishes down and taking advantage of the opportunity to lean down and press a quick kiss to J's cheek before going to sit in the other chair. "Finally now I can get you to eat."

The kiss is brief, but it leaves J smiling. Even as he wavers in and out of bouts of melancholy, even as he fights off the perpetual onslaught of darker thoughts, he's happier now than he thought he could ever be again.

The thing he keeps coming back to is how he feels right today, almost steady in his own skin. He's different now, he knows that. He's never going to be who he was before, and that's okay. There are parts of who he was that he likes, and he can try to find his way back to them, but he was young then. It's alright to change over time. Even so, today, he feels like himself, even if he isn't yet sure exactly who that is. He hasn't even taken a bite, still a little dizzy, and still he feels more present, more sure. As it turns out, getting a lot more sleep and a lot more love makes a big difference. It isn't enough to fix everything; there's still a lot he's dancing around in his head. It's enough, though, to make him hopeful.

He picks up his chopsticks in one hand, taking a quick sip of his water with the other. Glancing at S with a crooked smile, he arches an eyebrow. "If you have your way, I'll gain ten kilo in a week." He doubts S would mind, as long as it means he's eating well.

S can only let out a laugh at that, though it isn't so far from the truth, really. Even too skinny, J is stunningly beautiful; it certainly has no bearing on how attracted S is to him. Still, S knows that he can't have been eating well on his own. He would have guessed as much anyway even if he hadn't seen it for himself. Although he knows it's a little hypocritical when he hasn't been all that much better off lately, he still wants to do something about that, to take care of J however he can. At least this is one way in which it's easy to do so, something he would be doing anyway, just done now for two and with more care than it would have been otherwise. Even if making sure J eats, and eats well, actually meant that he'd gain ten kilo in a week, it would be more than worth it.

"You say that like this won't be the first time you've eaten anything since you got here," S says with a laugh, rolling his eyes fondly as he shakes his head. He really should have insisted yesterday, but he doesn't know when he would have done so, what he could have done differently instead. It was such a strange day, and so emotional. Save for the brief moment when he changed his shirt after they showered, he doesn't think they were ever even as far enough apart as cooking would necessitate.

He sips his coffee first, still quietly pleased that J remembered how he likes it, then reaches for his chopsticks. "Let me know if everything tastes alright."

It's a fair point, one that makes J feel just a little bit guilty. S did try to offer him food yesterday. He probably should have agreed to that. At the time, though, he was too wrung out and confused to be hungry. Given all he ended up choosing over food, he's not sorry either. As difficult a day as it was, they did the best they could, he thinks. He feels a hell of a lot better today than he did yesterday. Still, he probably should have eaten sooner.

At least he can do so now, adding some ginger before making a point of picking up a large bite to stuff in his mouth, brow arching slightly as he looks at S, lips quirked in a faint smile even as his cheeks puff out. When he closes his eyes a moment later to savor the food, it isn't even an act. As simple as it is, it's good, and he doesn't know if that's because it's genuinely that good or if it's because he's hungry or maybe because he hasn't had food someone else made that wasn't takeout in an entire year. Either way, it tastes good, and there's something comforting about enjoying the staples even as he feels a little woozy.

Despite that faintness, he nods his head emphatically once he's swallowed, pointing at S with his chopsticks. "Good," he confirms. He knows from experience that the lightheadedness will pass soon enough, once he's had some food and some time to absorb it. In the meantime, it's just nice to sit and share a meal with S again. He shrugs as he lifts another helping, hand cradled under the chopsticks in case of falling grains of rice. "I wasn't hungry yesterday. But this is good."

S knows he's a decent cook, and he's made simple dishes like this often enough to be reasonably confident that this has turned out well, too. Still, it's been a long time since he cooked for anyone other than himself — probably since the last time he cooked for J, he thinks, and that was more than a year ago by his reckoning. Even as he reaches for the ginger after J has finished with it, even as he doesn't bother trying to hold back a laugh at the size of the bite J takes, S finds that he's the slightest bit nervous, wanting J to like it, especially because it will be the first time he's eaten in a while. He smiles, then, pleased and maybe the slightest bit relieved when J says it's good, only afterwards taking a bite for himself. Cooking only for himself, it wouldn't really have mattered much. Now it very much does, and no matter how small or insignificant, it's still a little gratifying to have gotten something right here.

For that matter, it's nice just to sit here and eat together, yet another thing that he once wouldn't have thought twice about but that he savors now, his foot absently nudging J's under the table. "Good," he echoes between bites. He wants to say that he gets it, that yesterday was a lot. There's nothing they did that he would take back — things he wishes hadn't needed to happen, of course, all the crying and the fear, but those were unavoidable, and at least they've wound up here now, in spite of it or because of it or maybe, probably, both. As good as some of it was, though — and some of it was very, very good, incredible, really — it doesn't seem worth dredging up the parts that weren't.

"I haven't cooked for anyone else in a while," he explains instead, shrugging. "And you haven't eaten. I didn't want it to be disappointing."

Even the brush of S's foot is good, a pleasant, steady reminder of his presence. It's all nice, really. J can feel himself relax into familiar habits, gaze flickering from his food to S, smiling fondly as he watches him eat. Maybe this is part of why he's been so bad at feeding himself. He's never been good at it, exactly, too easily distracted by things he deems more important. This is a component of it, too, though. Eating alone meant being alone. With mediocre food being all he had on hand, it meant too much time with just his thoughts for company. Sharing a meal with S is so much better. Even without saying much, it helps just to feel him there.

"Well, now I'm hungry," he says, shaking his head. "I'd be hard to disappoint right now, I think." That may not be the case in other areas, unfortunately, but in this, he's more than satisfied. He thinks that might be true in other ways right now, too, though. Maybe it's just because the world feels so much fresher today, so much more full of possibility. He prods S's foot with his own. "Besides, I missed eating with you." Whether he ends up staying here or not, this apartment already feels more like home than the place he lived in for months. He wants so badly just to say he will stay, a bittersweet ache in the middle of this quiet contentment. Still, in a battle between his happiness and S's safety, he's learned the hard way which matters more to him.

Part of him thinks they're going to have to stop doing this, saying back and forth, over and over, that they missed each other and all these different aspects of being together. He did, though, and there's a lot that's going to feel new all over again. It's sort of nice, too, hearing his own thoughts echoed in J's words, as nice as the way their feet touch under the table, such simple, affectionate contact. "I did, too," he says, as self-explanatory as he knows it will be. Once J was gone, he missed everything; even J's darker moods would have been infinitely preferable to never seeing him again. He's here now, though, alive and eating and at least seemingly content, and it feels better even than S would have imagined, if he could ever have thought anything like this might happen at all. Although he isn't so naïve as to think it will always be like this, it feels like hope — that J will manage to pull through, that the two of them might just make it work this time.

Even just J feeling hungry seems like a good sign, though he knows better than to say so. S has already made clear enough that he wants to take care of him, and he knows how quickly and easily it can backfire if he hovers too much. This, right now, is enough. "Mm, if you'd only be hard to disappoint right now, I'll have to try harder later, then," he adds instead, smiling as he does, warm and teasing. "We'll be picking up more groceries anyway. I can make whatever you want for dinner."

For a moment, once the words have left his mouth, he has to try to convince himself that it isn't asking or assuming too much. They agreed to try this — J agreed to stay — for a few days. It only stands to reason that they'd be having dinner together tonight, too.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject