J lets out the breath he's been holding, nodding slightly. He knew he was nervous to give this, but it felt too right not to. He just hadn't quite realized how nervous until S was holding it, opening it. "You don't have to play it if you don't want to," he says, careful, not wanting to trip over his words when it feels important. "I... I don't think you play much anymore. But if you wanted to... I like that one." S knows that. It came to J first that day, not because it mattered most — he would have played their song first had it not still felt fraught — but because it's one he still thinks of fondly. He never played it for a competition, he didn't write it clearly, it was never homework. There's nothing unpleasant attached to it, except for how it reminds him of missing his mother, but that's always going to be something bittersweet. Between playing it at Kagura and S's reaction now, he has tentative hopes to bring out more of the sweet.
The fact that he's not even sure how often S plays anymore, that he's only guessing based on the briefest of references and a lot of omission — he knows that's on him. He doubts S would want him to call it his own fault, but it is. Still, S has been so patient with him as he figures out how he wants to approach music again, but he loved music too. If he doesn't really anymore, that would be on J too. He can't say he never wanted that. There were, he's sure of it, jealous moments in his past when he wished S would stop, when it hurt to hear him play, light and effortless, while J struggled so desperately. And he can't just dismiss all that as something that wasn't real, a product of his being out of his mind, because even if he was half-mad at the time, even if he's still a bit so now, the hurt he caused was too real by far.
"And," he says, still cautious, trying not to sound more casual than he feels, "if you don't play for me, I'll understand. Do what you want with it." He misses it in a way he wouldn't have thought possible for a long time. But if he were S, he wouldn't want to play for him either. Still, even if that's the case, maybe S will enjoy playing it at work. At least he'll know J feels the same way S has expressed towards him so many times now, that great wealth of patience and compassion S shows him every time the subject comes up, supporting him whatever he chooses. He should have been able to show S the same love a long time ago, but that doesn't mean he can't start now.
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The fact that he's not even sure how often S plays anymore, that he's only guessing based on the briefest of references and a lot of omission — he knows that's on him. He doubts S would want him to call it his own fault, but it is. Still, S has been so patient with him as he figures out how he wants to approach music again, but he loved music too. If he doesn't really anymore, that would be on J too. He can't say he never wanted that. There were, he's sure of it, jealous moments in his past when he wished S would stop, when it hurt to hear him play, light and effortless, while J struggled so desperately. And he can't just dismiss all that as something that wasn't real, a product of his being out of his mind, because even if he was half-mad at the time, even if he's still a bit so now, the hurt he caused was too real by far.
"And," he says, still cautious, trying not to sound more casual than he feels, "if you don't play for me, I'll understand. Do what you want with it." He misses it in a way he wouldn't have thought possible for a long time. But if he were S, he wouldn't want to play for him either. Still, even if that's the case, maybe S will enjoy playing it at work. At least he'll know J feels the same way S has expressed towards him so many times now, that great wealth of patience and compassion S shows him every time the subject comes up, supporting him whatever he chooses. He should have been able to show S the same love a long time ago, but that doesn't mean he can't start now.