Though J wants to protest, he lets it go, if only because he can hear something in S's voice that sounds like he might be smiling. J's too close to be sure, his eyes half-shut, warmth against his palm like an echo of that kiss. S wasn't stupid. He knows that. J is the one who messed things up. And he knows he can't just pretend that S got everything right, because he didn't, and it wouldn't be fair to say otherwise. At the end of it, though, S's mistakes were made with his not having much information to go off of, and they came from sincere love. He worked with what he knew, and J worked against everything he'd once understood.

Right now, though, he doesn't want to argue or retread threadbare disagreements. Stroking his thumb along S's cheek, he nods. "I want that," he says softly. "A little at a time, I think, and this is a start, isn't it?" He hesitates a moment, not so much doubting his words as uncertain how to string them together. "Maybe... maybe it'll make the rest of it easier. I'm still... unsure about playing sometimes." He knows S is aware of that, but it still bears saying. His comfort with playing wavers, especially now that it's been a while again. "I know it's ridiculous. It's not the piano's fault. But I think too much and it becomes difficult again. But... but like this, you and me, maybe it'll be easier."