[ The fact of the matter is that he doesn't remember his mom. It is an absence, a curiosity and sense of loss that comes from never having had something in the first place, but not a sharp grief—the magnitude of JJ's emotion seems greater than his. It startles him, tensing slightly at the sudden hug, too dumbfounded to come up with a good response.
Instead: ]
Sorry.
[ He says, stupidly. How else is he supposed to respond? He's received support from his friends before, quiet sympathy that he can accept and shrug off in favor of their collective, fighting spirit—but this, he can't. His hands hover, uncertain (when was the last time he'd been embraced like this?), before he pats JJ on the head, choosing not to voice how his fever is warm enough to feel. It's a wobbly, inexperienced gesture. His words are more level. ]
I don't mean to keep secrets. [ It isn't as though he's a bad friend for not knowing... Maybe it's just the flu making him emotional. ] It was a very long time ago—I'm at peace with it.
no subject
Instead: ]
Sorry.
[ He says, stupidly. How else is he supposed to respond? He's received support from his friends before, quiet sympathy that he can accept and shrug off in favor of their collective, fighting spirit—but this, he can't. His hands hover, uncertain (when was the last time he'd been embraced like this?), before he pats JJ on the head, choosing not to voice how his fever is warm enough to feel. It's a wobbly, inexperienced gesture. His words are more level. ]
I don't mean to keep secrets. [ It isn't as though he's a bad friend for not knowing... Maybe it's just the flu making him emotional. ] It was a very long time ago—I'm at peace with it.