That there are a few fresh tear tracks running down J's cheeks when S looks over doesn't come as much of a surprise. They were both emotional already, after all, and this is no insignificant turn of events. For his own part, he thinks, there's an extent to which he's instinctively keeping himself at a distance from it. He really never thought he would do this again — sit and play the piano with J beside him, wanting him to play, not turning it into a competition or a fight. It's not the best of what it was, when it felt like home to be right here, the two of them making music together, but it's a far cry from the worst of what it was, too. If nothing else, it feels safe. He doesn't know where they'll go from here, but he doesn't need to. It's enough to have wound up here, to be able to take this step after so, so long.

"You're pretty," he counters gently. There's fondness still in his voice, and a hint of teasing, but relief, too. No matter what either of them may have said, he didn't know how this would actually go until he'd actually done it. As J has said, though, it's alright. They're both a mess, even if S mercifully hasn't started crying again himself yet, but they're alright. It seems silly now ever to have feared that they wouldn't be. They've weathered so much worse than this. Of course, he still wouldn't have wanted to hurt J unnecessarily, particularly in bringing up a subject that was so fraught for them for so long, but even so, he should have known better.

At least they're here now. Leaning in, he presses a soft, brief kiss to the corner of J's mouth, nose brushing against his cheek. "I'm glad you're alright," he murmurs. It doesn't seem quite right — doesn't begin to encompass all the complicated feelings he has surrounding this — but he thinks J might understand even so. "Ah, I haven't played for anyone else in such a long time."