With all they've just discussed, even in the face of his own nervousness saying so, S isn't expecting such a strong reaction on J's part. It makes him feel, of all things, a little guilty all over again. Had he not so stupidly assumed he knew how J would feel about it, maybe it wouldn't have to be such a big deal. God knows it was once utterly inconsequential, something they both just did daily, a cornerstone of their relationship from the time they were first becoming friends. It hurts to see J so shaken, so moved, by S's mere offer of playing. He never wanted it to be like this, for the thing they both loved so much to do so much damage to both of them in so many different ways. Music used to be the easiest thing in the world for him — not that he didn't sometimes struggle to play a piece or try to write one, but all of it just made sense to him, as natural and instinctive as loving J. It was order and logic in a world often lacking both. He'd look at black marks on paper and understand how they related to each other, set his fingers on the corresponding keys and know how to move his hands to make them come out right.
He's felt guilty for that sometimes, too. Had it not come to him quite so naturally, maybe J wouldn't have begun to feel like he came up short in comparison. It's not as if S didn't still work for it, and of the two of them, he's always believed J to be the more talented of them, anyway. He's decent, of course, he knows he is, albeit not as much so as he used to be. The thought of that makes him a little nervous now, too, ashamed of how distant he's grown from what he used to love so much. And that's probably stupid, he knows, when he wouldn't have judged J for a second for being out of practice that day at Kagura, but he can't help it if he's insecure now in ways he wasn't before. Besides, when he had no idea it would mean this much to J, S doesn't want to disappoint him now.
"You said before... that you didn't want me to feel pressured," he murmurs, ducking his head, expression thoughtful. "But hearing you say it is... it lets me feel like I can." Saying it out loud like that feels unbelievably stupid, but it's true all the same. He lifts one shoulder, a corner of his mouth twitching up the slightest bit along with it. "I would never mind playing. I'd just want to know that you'd want to hear it."
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He's felt guilty for that sometimes, too. Had it not come to him quite so naturally, maybe J wouldn't have begun to feel like he came up short in comparison. It's not as if S didn't still work for it, and of the two of them, he's always believed J to be the more talented of them, anyway. He's decent, of course, he knows he is, albeit not as much so as he used to be. The thought of that makes him a little nervous now, too, ashamed of how distant he's grown from what he used to love so much. And that's probably stupid, he knows, when he wouldn't have judged J for a second for being out of practice that day at Kagura, but he can't help it if he's insecure now in ways he wasn't before. Besides, when he had no idea it would mean this much to J, S doesn't want to disappoint him now.
"You said before... that you didn't want me to feel pressured," he murmurs, ducking his head, expression thoughtful. "But hearing you say it is... it lets me feel like I can." Saying it out loud like that feels unbelievably stupid, but it's true all the same. He lifts one shoulder, a corner of his mouth twitching up the slightest bit along with it. "I would never mind playing. I'd just want to know that you'd want to hear it."