Although S likes presents as much as the next person, he's been far more focused on the giving of them than the receiving this year. In a way, having gotten J something that's turned out to be so meaningful is like a gift in itself, the most he hoped for and better still. They've never been able to get each other much, anyway. Even while assuring J that he won't be disappointed with any of his gifts, he hasn't been thinking that much about them. J holding the wrapped box out is, amusingly enough, a reminder that he has presents to open now, prompting a small, pleased smile from him as he reaches out in turn to take it. Now that his attention has been turned in that direction, it's impossible not to be curious, a little eager, having no idea what J might have gotten him.
"Ah, what is it?" he asks, though the question is clearly rhetorical. The package is small and thin and light, and he gives it a little shake — quiet, too — before carefully beginning to peel the tape away from the paper, one more or less smooth sheet falling away, leaving him with just the box to take the lid off.
He expected clothes, a shirt or maybe a vest or some other sort of accessory, which in retrospect is silly when they've always had different taste in fashion, enough that they wouldn't normally pick things out for each other. Really, he would have been less surprised by anything other than what he sees, crisp new sheet music staring up at him, making his breath catch and his heart lodge in his throat. They don't even have a piano, part of him wants to protest. He doesn't even play anymore, not really, only a very little at work, something he's largely avoided talking about but that he thinks he's made clear even so.
The words don't come out. "You got me music?" he asks instead, realizing only when he hears the waver in his voice that his eyes have gotten hot, his turn, apparently, to be brought to the verge of tears by a Christmas present. He can't help it. J resented him and his playing so much for so long, or at least it came to feel that way. The last Christmas they spent together, they were already falling apart, cracks in their relationship lengthening, deepening. It's hard to imagine J doing anything back then to encourage him to play; it's hard now to read this in any other way, harder still to know what to do with that. While he would never say so outright, he can at least admit to himself that he gave it up mostly for J's sake. Not entirely, because he already wasn't playing much so it didn't feel like that much of a loss, but before this place, he expected that he would get back to it eventually, if only to carry on for the both of them when one of them couldn't anymore. Here, it's just seemed better, smarter, to let it be J's, to leave space for that even when J wasn't playing at all, not to risk doing anything that would stoke that jealous fire again.
Now, instead, there's this, the piece one he recognizes as the one J played when they took that first day trip to Kagura, and even if he doesn't know what to do with it, he does know that it means more than he could say. It makes him sad, in a way, a reminder of what he lost, but it makes him far more grateful. "Thank you," he whispers, looking up from the cover page, where his fingers delicately trace the title, to J. "I love it. I do."
Even if he never uses it, even if he never touches a piano again, just the meaning behind it is enough of a gift in itself. He doesn't know how to say that, though, so he'll just have to hope that J understands.
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"Ah, what is it?" he asks, though the question is clearly rhetorical. The package is small and thin and light, and he gives it a little shake — quiet, too — before carefully beginning to peel the tape away from the paper, one more or less smooth sheet falling away, leaving him with just the box to take the lid off.
He expected clothes, a shirt or maybe a vest or some other sort of accessory, which in retrospect is silly when they've always had different taste in fashion, enough that they wouldn't normally pick things out for each other. Really, he would have been less surprised by anything other than what he sees, crisp new sheet music staring up at him, making his breath catch and his heart lodge in his throat. They don't even have a piano, part of him wants to protest. He doesn't even play anymore, not really, only a very little at work, something he's largely avoided talking about but that he thinks he's made clear even so.
The words don't come out. "You got me music?" he asks instead, realizing only when he hears the waver in his voice that his eyes have gotten hot, his turn, apparently, to be brought to the verge of tears by a Christmas present. He can't help it. J resented him and his playing so much for so long, or at least it came to feel that way. The last Christmas they spent together, they were already falling apart, cracks in their relationship lengthening, deepening. It's hard to imagine J doing anything back then to encourage him to play; it's hard now to read this in any other way, harder still to know what to do with that. While he would never say so outright, he can at least admit to himself that he gave it up mostly for J's sake. Not entirely, because he already wasn't playing much so it didn't feel like that much of a loss, but before this place, he expected that he would get back to it eventually, if only to carry on for the both of them when one of them couldn't anymore. Here, it's just seemed better, smarter, to let it be J's, to leave space for that even when J wasn't playing at all, not to risk doing anything that would stoke that jealous fire again.
Now, instead, there's this, the piece one he recognizes as the one J played when they took that first day trip to Kagura, and even if he doesn't know what to do with it, he does know that it means more than he could say. It makes him sad, in a way, a reminder of what he lost, but it makes him far more grateful. "Thank you," he whispers, looking up from the cover page, where his fingers delicately trace the title, to J. "I love it. I do."
Even if he never uses it, even if he never touches a piano again, just the meaning behind it is enough of a gift in itself. He doesn't know how to say that, though, so he'll just have to hope that J understands.