For so, so long, J felt uncertain of nearly everything except his own failures. Here, though, little by little, he's had the chance to regain his confidence. If there's anything he's sure of, it's this. Tipping his head into S's cheek, he nods, his gaze lowered because if he meets S's eyes before he's pulled himself together, he'll probably start sobbing for no reason at all. It's just that this has been such a long time coming, something he thought he'd never have again. He was so certain it was his own fault. To some extent, it was, because he was too afraid to make his worries clear or voice his fears; this could have happened much sooner if he hadn't let guilt get the better of him. He's really tried to tell himself that it doesn't matter how long it takes them to get somewhere as long as they get there, tried to curb the regret of all the lost time, and he's mostly succeeded, at least most of the time. It still takes a while to apply that understanding to each new occurrence.
Even so, there's relief, too, a lot of it. They made it here when he thought they never would. He was wrong, as he so often is, but in a way that makes him thankful to have been wrong. And when S is so close that J can feel his breath when he speaks, when he's saying such sweet things, it's a little easier to let himself get distracted from the lingering hurt that he's still trying to pull away from. Instead he leans closer, nose nudging S's, resting their foreheads gently together. "I love you," he murmurs, brushing a soft kiss against S's lips. "You can have both. If you want it. We can have both. But you're all I need."
The last year has proven that pretty thoroughly. On one hand, J knows, they've been incredibly lucky and that's extended past the impossible and into day-to-day things he didn't think they'd get to have that have made life much, much easier. In every material way, they're better off than they were before. Money is less of a concern, their safety isn't the worry it once was, and their home is more than spacious enough for two. But he knows even so that he'd take the cramped studio and a hidden love in a heartbeat, even if they never played again, as long as he could have S. He made a mistake before, he knows that. But he also knows now that he can survive things he didn't think were survivable, and that he can live happily without the piano. He still feels its absence, but not in any way he can't handle. Not like he feels S's absence when they're apart. It's not a trade he'd ever make again.
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Even so, there's relief, too, a lot of it. They made it here when he thought they never would. He was wrong, as he so often is, but in a way that makes him thankful to have been wrong. And when S is so close that J can feel his breath when he speaks, when he's saying such sweet things, it's a little easier to let himself get distracted from the lingering hurt that he's still trying to pull away from. Instead he leans closer, nose nudging S's, resting their foreheads gently together. "I love you," he murmurs, brushing a soft kiss against S's lips. "You can have both. If you want it. We can have both. But you're all I need."
The last year has proven that pretty thoroughly. On one hand, J knows, they've been incredibly lucky and that's extended past the impossible and into day-to-day things he didn't think they'd get to have that have made life much, much easier. In every material way, they're better off than they were before. Money is less of a concern, their safety isn't the worry it once was, and their home is more than spacious enough for two. But he knows even so that he'd take the cramped studio and a hidden love in a heartbeat, even if they never played again, as long as he could have S. He made a mistake before, he knows that. But he also knows now that he can survive things he didn't think were survivable, and that he can live happily without the piano. He still feels its absence, but not in any way he can't handle. Not like he feels S's absence when they're apart. It's not a trade he'd ever make again.