Even now, S can't help wishing a little that there were somewhere else more convenient for them to sit, though he knows there's no reason for there to be. People come here to look at and buy instruments and music, not to sit on a couch. It would be better, though, just to curl up for a while rather than having to go over to a piano right now. Whether or not he plays today, putting them both there when emotions are already running so high might be a step too far, too fast. It's all that makes sense, though, and it'll be good for them both to get off their feet for a few minutes, catch their breath, settle down. They're alright. Over and over, S keeps telling himself that, awed and relieved. Stunned, too, though less because of that — given what they've survived so far, he really does have to believe that they could get through anything — than because of what J has told him. It's a lot to take in, still so unexpected.

Maybe it's actually a good thing, then, to be where they are, his hands in J's as he takes a seat close beside him on the piano bench like he's done so many countless times before, leaning his head on J's shoulder as soon as he's done so. Being here, in this close proximity to a piano, might help this development seem more real. If nothing else, he has the small but distinct sense that he wants it to be, one more thing he wouldn't have let himself feel before now. It's something he's still wary of, not wanting to fuck this up, but it feels even so like a door that he thought was closed and locked for good has been opened a crack, and that makes all the difference in the world.

"Better," he agrees, his voice soft, as he lifts one of J's hands to his mouth, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. He almost leaves it at that, but after a quiet moment, just a bit wistful, he adds, "We spent so much time sitting like this, didn't we?"