"Of course I know it wasn't easy," John gritted out, standing up from the couch in frustration, staring at Bobby's back. That was just like him, to retreat, after all the progress they'd made. It stuck in his craw, driving him not simply to anger, but to seek understanding. Anger alone was insufficient. "Running out on you in the first place was not easy. Staying away....after I realised what I'd gotten myself into...that was not easy, too. We've both done a lot of not easy things, and they both hurt us, and hurt those we cared about." It was probably insulting on some level to equate their actions and their choices, but John had always wanted to be Bobby's equal.

John's voice broke on the next words. "I'm sorry that I was too busy being locked up to be there for you, to be whatever you needed then. But you're not perfect and you're not the golden child and I don't think you are. The golden child doesn't end up with someone like me," John added, with a sad smile. Because yeah, there was gonna be a bit of self-pity about that. He was entitled. "I just don't get it sometimes, the way you can be so good and so right and make the proper moral choice, the one I never see. But I'm glad you ain't perfect, because that means you can be with me, and I do love you, Bobby Drake. It just hurt," he admitted, face crumpling, tears welling again, his voice a low and broken thing. Waking up in custody had felt like a betrayal, as if he deserved nothing less than to wake up in the mansion basement in some suitably civilised confinement, and get to cook pancakes and engage in snarky banter. "And I hate what they did to me in there. And I hate that they made me feel weak and helpless." A moment passed: he needed a moment to collect himself, drawing in a shaky breath. "And I'm sorry I took that out on you."

John's posture was cowed, even ashamed, seeking something from his boyfriend, trying to ignore the litany of murmurings that concluded that this was it, the end, that Bobby would leave him, that Bobby had to leave him.