Though J doesn't really have a certain answer as to what he wants or where he wants to go with music from here, he's relatively sure he doesn't want to stop, not completely. It can't ever be what it was to him, for so many reasons, and maybe he won't ever feel comfortable enough to play in any serious way. Even if he did, he's not sure he should even be permitted to write. It doesn't sit easy in his chest, that thought, and that's not entirely to do with the reasons why he thinks that's so or the part of him that wishes he felt the way he once did about composing, felt that old confidence. It's partly just that he's always hated the idea of needed permission to do things. Too many people scolded him over the years for trivial matters. Too many people thought less of him for things that weren't anything to do with him. He wanted always to follow his own passions, and to hell with anyone else's opinions.

This is more, though, than quiet disobedience. When he wrote music, he invested too much of himself in it, and it ended in death. He may be doing much, much better here most of the time, but he can't guarantee he won't start to unravel again were he ever to try his hand at composition once more. It's frustrating to feel this way, but it's better, he knows, than his dashing in headlong the way he once would have and heading into disaster.

"I know," he says first, soft, nudging S's nose with his own. "I know that now. I... I don't want to stop. Not really. But slowly, yes, and... together maybe." He doesn't want to back S into feeling they have to play together now, that his heart is set on it. As much as he'd like it, as much as he knows S would too now, he still wants to leave room for S to change his mind for whatever reason. Still, even if they don't literally play together, they can sit together like this, and he thinks it would make a big difference. "I think I feel safer when you're with me." He huffs, shaking his head. "I know I do, but I mean with music specifically."