That last statement draws another tiny laugh from S, one he follows with a kiss, as gentle and brief as that which preceded it. He still feel dangerously emotional, and he suspects he would, at any other time, just give in and fall apart, more overwhelmed than seems fair in response to a Christmas gift. It's hard, realizing just how much he's missed music and the way he used to feel about it and especially sharing it with J. Until now, it really did seem like enough to be able to play a little at work if and when he felt particularly compelled to do so. If it was, though, it can be again. It has to be. That's one thing he doesn't see how they could ever get back, and he can't be bothered by that when they've already gotten so much more than should even have been possible. He has J, and that's all he needs. All he ever should have needed, too. Maybe if he had just let music be J's instead of trying to share it, everything wouldn't have fallen apart the way it did.

And he knows, he knows it isn't fair to think like that, but the whole subject is such a mess, maybe even more so now, with J so sweetly offering this to him. He could easily be a mess, too, if he let himself. It's Christmas, though, and he really doesn't want to ruin it. J has sounded so careful and so worried. It wouldn't seem right to let him think this was a misstep when it really wasn't at all, just deeply complicated.

"It is perfect," he says, breathing slowly to try to keep himself composed. Emotional though he may be, he means it, too. It hurts, but it's still perfect; the gesture of it will be even if he doesn't wind up playing it after all. Part of him wants just to crawl into J's lap right now, but he stays put instead, still gently holding onto him. "Don't worry, the rest of yours are boring, too, now that you have the camera open."