J considers that, nodding. It seems like a reasonable compromise, he supposes. S can't just assume, after all, that he'll be in the mood to try whenever it seems convenient. It took most of a year even for him to touch a piano again. It's been a frustratingly slow process, letting himself play at all, and he still finds himself afraid at times. He still doesn't understand why he thinks and feels and behaves the way he does, or why he started to do so at all; how can he really be sure what will or won't set him off? The times when he feels confident enough to try aren't consistent. Even planning ahead may not help, when he might easily change his mind on the day, but at least he's likelier to go through with it if he has a day set.

"Okay," he says. "I want to." He's not ready right this minute, he knows that. If he were, there'd be no need to talk about scheduling this. He would make a go of it here and now. But, no matter how well they've resolved things now, he's still worn out from the emotions of the last half hour or so — he really has no idea how to measure time anymore, he thinks — and still feels shaky and unsure. He knows he wants to try, he knows he wants to change things, but he doesn't think he could do it now, not without crying or panicking. He's too shaky for that. S's presence makes him feel a lot better, but that doesn't mean the worries are gone or that his body has caught up to his mind. It just makes all that easier to bear.

If anything, it would be simpler to do as he has done before, to say yes, he'd like that, he'll think about it, come by sometime, then never follow through. He doesn't want to make it so easy for himself to wriggle out, though.