J turns his head, hiding his face against S's shoulder for a few moments. It feels foolish to be overwhelmed by this, to want it this much. It's not really about what S plays, in the end, just that he plays, that he wants to, that he can. It's about how J has to fight his way to feeling bit by bit like he hasn't ruined everything. Things are different now, but parts of the past are worth preserving.
He wants to explain that. He wants to tell S what it means to him, except he doesn't yet know how to put it into words himself. There's a whole part of their life, their story, that he thought he'd cut himself off from forever, and here S is, giving it back, opening it up to him again. "I do," he says again, a little petulant, a little more embarrassed. He sniffles, head turning slowly again so he can glance up at S, hair just slightly in the way. "I... I miss it. And sitting together and music and..." He sighs. It isn't, precisely, the past itself he longs for or even those particular moments. It's the comfort and ease they once felt over this shared pastime, something that brought them so close together. It's how their love story began, how the next chapter unfolded when he accidentally let his secrets spill out of him.
"We were at the piano," he murmurs, "when I told you. When we first kissed. We shared that. I thought I'd made it so we never could again." He doesn't know if they'll ever play together like they did before. He wouldn't want to try yet, when it's a big enough gift to hear S play at all. But it would be enough just to sit there and watch him and listen, to take back one more thing he thought he wrecked. "So... so yes. I do want to hear."
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He wants to explain that. He wants to tell S what it means to him, except he doesn't yet know how to put it into words himself. There's a whole part of their life, their story, that he thought he'd cut himself off from forever, and here S is, giving it back, opening it up to him again. "I do," he says again, a little petulant, a little more embarrassed. He sniffles, head turning slowly again so he can glance up at S, hair just slightly in the way. "I... I miss it. And sitting together and music and..." He sighs. It isn't, precisely, the past itself he longs for or even those particular moments. It's the comfort and ease they once felt over this shared pastime, something that brought them so close together. It's how their love story began, how the next chapter unfolded when he accidentally let his secrets spill out of him.
"We were at the piano," he murmurs, "when I told you. When we first kissed. We shared that. I thought I'd made it so we never could again." He doesn't know if they'll ever play together like they did before. He wouldn't want to try yet, when it's a big enough gift to hear S play at all. But it would be enough just to sit there and watch him and listen, to take back one more thing he thought he wrecked. "So... so yes. I do want to hear."