It's been a long time since he got to feel young. S knows the same is true for both of them, if, as with so much else, in slightly different ways. The fact of that makes him no less painfully aware of it, though. His childhood was cut short when his parents died, with all he had to do to stay afloat after. He was lucky to have had the upbringing he did before that, but even so, he lost that part of himself along with them. Granted, he wasn't exactly doing much playing with stuffed animals at that point, but holding the little cat now, and with J clasping his arm like this, he still sort of feels like a kid, in the best way possible.

"He will," S agrees, still grinning, as he turns from J back to the cat again, one finger of his free hand tapping its tiny sewn nose. "Let's see, are you a Frederic, maybe? Or more of a Claude?" Teasingly serious, he furrows his brow, lifting the cat up for J to see. If he's meant to be a friend for Franz, then clearly, he thinks, they need to stick with the same naming convention, and Chopin and Debussy seem like safe choices — two of his favorites, without any particular baggage between him and J. "What do you think?"