Although it really isn't funny at all, what J says is such an understatement that S can't help the soft laugh he lets out as well, thin and watery. Things were such a mess, increasingly so, that last year. Of course J wasn't supportive. S doesn't want to say anything about it, though, mostly because he fears that if he does, it will seem like some sign of resentment or a grudge being held when that really isn't true. It's the same reason why he doesn't want to say outright that he can't play for J. There isn't a single doubt in his mind that things won't go back to the way they were then, and while he can acknowledge that J, at his worst, could be cruel, it isn't something S holds against him now. Things have changed. They've changed, and it isn't as if only one of them can be blamed for their relationship falling apart.

He just can't see how he would ever be comfortable, how he'd get out of his head, worried that any note could bring some of J's insecurity back or seem like an issued challenge. Any playing he does now will be for himself and because he wants to do it. Even leaving any room for comparison seems like too much. However much he might miss playing more often and how it used to make him feel, he's been fine these last months, and he'll continue to be. That's just the only way forward he can see for now.

"I know," he murmurs, not wanting to let what J has said go without a response. Understatement or not, this is still a serious subject, and not one about which he wants to risk seeming dismissive. Leaning forward just a little, he rests his forehead against J's, thumb idly stroking his wrist where his hand still rests. "I love you, too. And this... Ah, it's such a nice gift."