Instinctive and determined, S nods in response to the question, though he doesn't pull away at all to do so. He should, probably. Opening the rest of their gifts would probably be the perfect distraction from the tangle of emotions that this has brought to the surface, and though he doesn't want to brush off J's gift, he likewise doesn't want to ruin the mood. It's got to be silly, really, to be so set on making today as good as possible. It's Christmas, yes, their first back together, but it's also just another day, and even the best times in their relationship haven't been without complications and sadness. Life, he's pretty sure, just doesn't work that way.
Still, this is something particularly fraught. How bad things were before, the things he still wishes he could change, how much it aches to feel like something that once was theirs never can be again — this isn't the time for any of that, if there ever will be at all. The way things are has been fine. He has use of a piano when he wants it, even if he wishes that he wanted it more than he does, and J has room to pursue it as much or as little as he wants without comparing the two of them. Every time he thinks about it, he comes to the same conclusion. It's just the best way forward, and the very fact of that hurts too much to dwell on it now, especially when he suspects it would hurt J just as much, if not more.
"I'm okay," he promises, voice soft, but steadier now. Leaning in again, he presses a kiss to J's cheek this time, then gives in and lets his head drop forward to J's shoulder. He does not let himself cry, though it would be far too easy to do so, but he breathes J in for a moment, savors how it feels to have him warm and close, the best possible reminder of why he can't risk trying to recapture that one piece of their past. "I really am. It's just a fair trade, anyway. Now we've both almost made each other cry with Christmas presents."
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Still, this is something particularly fraught. How bad things were before, the things he still wishes he could change, how much it aches to feel like something that once was theirs never can be again — this isn't the time for any of that, if there ever will be at all. The way things are has been fine. He has use of a piano when he wants it, even if he wishes that he wanted it more than he does, and J has room to pursue it as much or as little as he wants without comparing the two of them. Every time he thinks about it, he comes to the same conclusion. It's just the best way forward, and the very fact of that hurts too much to dwell on it now, especially when he suspects it would hurt J just as much, if not more.
"I'm okay," he promises, voice soft, but steadier now. Leaning in again, he presses a kiss to J's cheek this time, then gives in and lets his head drop forward to J's shoulder. He does not let himself cry, though it would be far too easy to do so, but he breathes J in for a moment, savors how it feels to have him warm and close, the best possible reminder of why he can't risk trying to recapture that one piece of their past. "I really am. It's just a fair trade, anyway. Now we've both almost made each other cry with Christmas presents."