It's not as if S didn't know that already. He saw how frustrated J was in the months before he moved out; he read about how bad it was after, when he was so desperate for any kind of inspiration that he took the most horrific route possible to find it. Still, hearing him say it outright is touching, bittersweet, in context like this. S had no idea it would mean this much. He vaguely thought that having an outlet of that sort, in the absence of a piano, might be good for J, but he didn't go nearly that far with it, the pieces there but not quite put together. Now, though a part of him still feels guilty for having made their Christmas morning so emotional right off the bat, it feels good, too, comforting to have taken a chance and had it go this well. Had J not looked like he was on the verge of tears a moment ago, it would be tempting to say that he told him so — that he knows him, that he always did, well enough to have figured this out without even consciously making total sense of it. The moment isn't right for that sort of teasing, though, too gentle for that, too tender.
Instead, he lets go of J only to rest both hands at his jaw instead, holding his gaze for a moment and then drawing him into another kiss. "I love you so much," he murmurs. "I know it's been hard. And I know you missed it." That much, at least, he did have in mind. He's never once equated J's worth with his ability to play or write music, but even from his perspective, it's been strange, going so long without J playing at all, the fact that he's done so little of it now. Maybe it's a hypocritical thought when he barely plays, too — or maybe he's just ignoring what he's lost in that regard — but he still thought it would be nice for J to have something else creative to do. "I hope this... helps with that, a little. And I hope you have fun with it."
Although he has the sense not to say so, he wonders if it might be that much better under the circumstances for it to be something relatively new. J is bound to be a perfectionist about it anyway, but there won't be old standards of his own to try to live up to like there were with the piano after a while. For that matter, it isn't something he'll be doing, either; it can be all J's.
Smiling slightly, he exhales a laugh. "Even if I complain about it the whole time, I'll let you take as many pictures of me as you want."
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Instead, he lets go of J only to rest both hands at his jaw instead, holding his gaze for a moment and then drawing him into another kiss. "I love you so much," he murmurs. "I know it's been hard. And I know you missed it." That much, at least, he did have in mind. He's never once equated J's worth with his ability to play or write music, but even from his perspective, it's been strange, going so long without J playing at all, the fact that he's done so little of it now. Maybe it's a hypocritical thought when he barely plays, too — or maybe he's just ignoring what he's lost in that regard — but he still thought it would be nice for J to have something else creative to do. "I hope this... helps with that, a little. And I hope you have fun with it."
Although he has the sense not to say so, he wonders if it might be that much better under the circumstances for it to be something relatively new. J is bound to be a perfectionist about it anyway, but there won't be old standards of his own to try to live up to like there were with the piano after a while. For that matter, it isn't something he'll be doing, either; it can be all J's.
Smiling slightly, he exhales a laugh. "Even if I complain about it the whole time, I'll let you take as many pictures of me as you want."