J sniffs, shifting closer the moment S gets nearer, ducking his head to hide his face against S's shoulder. He doesn't want to be emotional about this, not in this way. He doesn't want S to have to worry, not now, not on a day that's so special, so important, when he knows he must cause S enough worry on an ordinary day. He doesn't want, either, for S to think he got this wrong. It must have felt like taking such a chance, picking out something for him that he's never pursued in any seriousness. And that's the thing, really, that it doesn't have to be serious. He can do it differently, maybe even get better at it, but it's not a career, a calling. It's something he can just do, a way to give himself more of a voice without anyone assessing the final outcome, and that — that's as much of a gift as the camera itself. It's hard to put that into words without saying too much, but he also wants S to know just how right he got it.

"I'm sure," he whispers. He reaches out, camera perched in his lap as he wraps his arms around S's waist, lifting his head, pressing a kiss to S's cheek in turn. "I just... when you said that... I didn't — I didn't know how much I wanted that. Creative, but new. It just..." He swallows hard, taking a shaky breath. "It hit hard. But it's good, it really is." Times like this are a vital reminder, too, of how thoroughly his mind lies to him, something he can point to in the future when certainty wavers. How could he doubt this man knows him better than anyone ever has? How could he ever have doubted that?

Leaning in, he kisses S on the lips, soft and sweet. "I didn't know I wanted this, but I love it, darling." He huffs out a soft laugh, wrinkling up his nose before he blinks away at lingering tears in his eyes. "I hope you're prepared to be my model. More than you already are." He'll never get sick of that, capturing S from every angle, in every mood, whether in still image or song.