J turns his head, brushing a kiss against S's hair, a soft laugh muffled there. "So much time," he says, hushed. There may not be anyone else here, but that's never mattered. Some things are meant so utterly just for the two of them, there's no need to speak any louder. When S kisses his hand like that, when there's a beautiful instrument in front of them, he doesn't want to break the moment.

"Nearly every day," he adds. It may not actually have been every single day — he knows that, for much of his life, he played every day, if only a very tiny bit, but there were plenty of times they just didn't have a chance to sit together like this, bogged down in work and studies. It was near enough, though, just a simple, ordinary part of their lives. It was home. He really doesn't want to go backwards. As happy as they were, they weren't equipped to handle how he changed. They're better prepared now.

He smiles a bit brighter, though it'd be hard to tell, his face hidden against S's hair like this. "Though this is a little bit nicer than the one we had. On the surface, anyway." On the surface, it's a hell of a lot nicer, a much better quality and type of piano than the one they owned. He never cared, though. It worked and they knew the instrument well, knew how to coax beauty out of it. He used to dream of playing something like this. He's not sure he really wants to today, but maybe he'll come back again sometime and try it after all.