It's not the first time S has said as much, but it feels different now, J thinks. Maybe it's because he's had more chances to play at Kagura, even if it's been a while, or maybe it's because today has changed things. He'd been uncertain about coming here, part of him drawn to it, part of him afraid. Being alone with S and a piano — he didn't worry about what he would do, but he was scared, he thinks, that it would be uncomfortable. And it was, admittedly, when he arrived, so he wasn't wrong. It hurt as much as he'd feared, for that matter. It also gave them the chance to figure this out, and he's grateful for that. No matter how often he learns it's better just to get things out in the open, it's unnerving to do.
But here, seated beside each other, S's breath warm against his cheek, that uncertainty has melted away. He's safe, sheltered by S's presence, and it's going to be okay. Letting out a soft exhale, he leans into S, nodding a little. "Yes," he murmurs, and though he didn't think he felt particularly tense, he can feel it ebbing away from him. These conversations are hard. Somehow it surprises him every time how exhausted he feels after, drained by feeling so much in such a sustained way, but there's such a relief in feeling things piece back together again. He huffs out a tiny laugh, half-pouting. "On purpose next time. Ah, really, I'd like that, darling."
And when that happens, he thinks, they can take turns playing for each other, maybe even try to play together like he said. Whatever it is, they'll take it little by little. They'll make it work, like they always do now. "Just tell me what day is best," he says, "so I don't work myself up trying to decide, and I'll be here." He feels silly having to say that, but he knows it's true. It's one of the other reasons he'd yet to come play; he always talked himself out of it or made himself too nervous to follow through. Even now, part of him is aware they should probably wrap up here so S can finish and they can go home, but he can't bring himself to move. It's been so long since he could sit comfortably like this at the piano with the man he loves, even if he hasn't touched a single key.
no subject
But here, seated beside each other, S's breath warm against his cheek, that uncertainty has melted away. He's safe, sheltered by S's presence, and it's going to be okay. Letting out a soft exhale, he leans into S, nodding a little. "Yes," he murmurs, and though he didn't think he felt particularly tense, he can feel it ebbing away from him. These conversations are hard. Somehow it surprises him every time how exhausted he feels after, drained by feeling so much in such a sustained way, but there's such a relief in feeling things piece back together again. He huffs out a tiny laugh, half-pouting. "On purpose next time. Ah, really, I'd like that, darling."
And when that happens, he thinks, they can take turns playing for each other, maybe even try to play together like he said. Whatever it is, they'll take it little by little. They'll make it work, like they always do now. "Just tell me what day is best," he says, "so I don't work myself up trying to decide, and I'll be here." He feels silly having to say that, but he knows it's true. It's one of the other reasons he'd yet to come play; he always talked himself out of it or made himself too nervous to follow through. Even now, part of him is aware they should probably wrap up here so S can finish and they can go home, but he can't bring himself to move. It's been so long since he could sit comfortably like this at the piano with the man he loves, even if he hasn't touched a single key.