J's gaze lingers on the writing, fingertips drifting gently over the paper, and he feels absolutely ridiculous for the way it makes his throat a little tight, his eyes a bit too warm. It's a short, simple message, but it contains so much. S seemed a bit surprised earlier that J reacted so strongly to the camera, but this is precisely it, distilled to a sentence. J has spent months struggling to understand who he is if he isn't making or playing music, not sure how to live fully if he's not creative somehow. Whether it was wholly intentional or not, S saw what he needed and bolsters him all at once. It isn't that the medium doesn't matter. Of course it does, and music will always mean more to him than he knows how to express. But getting these gifts makes him feel hopeful. It probably shouldn't be a new idea, that he can still be an artist, still be creative, even if he finds a different form, even if he doesn't pursue it professionally, but it is, something that drifted only half-made in the back of his head, never fully coming to life and certainly never feeling like something meant for him. That acknowledgment, that revelation, is almost as much a gift as any of the rest.

He lets out an exhale of a laugh, shaking his head. "It still will," he says wryly, though his cheeks are flushed and his eyes a little damp as he looks to S again. "But I'll try not to make too much of a mess. This really is beautiful, Hyunie." He needed this, all of this, more desperately than he knew. It would be, he knows, painfully cheesy to say that S is the only present he needs, but in a way, it's true. Christmas without him was hell. Just being here, S has given him more than J could ever ask for.