Some tiny part of J has wanted to come here for a long time. That's the problem, precisely why he hasn't, not for real. He's stopped in very briefly once or twice to see S, to bring him coffee during his shift or because he was nearby, but he doesn't stay. S has invited him to do so before, under other circumstances, suggested he come in and play when the shop is closed, but that, too, is why he hasn't. Having access to the piano at Kagura meant a chance to slowly accustom himself once more to the possibility of playing safely, but being near music like this, instruments and sheet music all around, it's felt like too much, like if he lingered, he'd give in.
He didn't even consciously mean to end up here today, but he was nearby, taking pictures — mostly with his phone, though his camera is in the bag over his shoulder — and then he figured he might as well. S's shift is nearly over, and J doesn't know what he wants here, if he means to take the opportunity S has offered before or just wants to walk his boyfriend home. But Kagura has been closed for a couple months now, and the itch to play still rises up from time to time. It's small, and it scares him a little and soothes him a little. Mostly it makes him sad. It won't ever be what it was again. In many ways, that's for the best, but it still feels odd.
Just walking into the shop stirs that feeling again, something quietly melancholy, underlining by the sound of a Tchaikovsky piece from elsewhere in the store. It doesn't take him long to find the source, his steps halting instinctively at the sight of S playing.
He doesn't know what to do. The last time he saw S play was over a year ago, the one bright spot in a night that turned terrible very quickly. He's wanted this, wanted to think that S could play again if he wanted that, too, even if J never saw again, even if they never talked about it. But they don't talk about it, so he's not expecting it at all, his throat going tight as he listens, watching the gentle, meticulous way S plays, casually perfect even now.
Standing here until S looks up seems like a very bad idea, but he doesn't know how he should respond. Clearing his throat quietly, he swallows hard. "I like that piece."
no subject
He didn't even consciously mean to end up here today, but he was nearby, taking pictures — mostly with his phone, though his camera is in the bag over his shoulder — and then he figured he might as well. S's shift is nearly over, and J doesn't know what he wants here, if he means to take the opportunity S has offered before or just wants to walk his boyfriend home. But Kagura has been closed for a couple months now, and the itch to play still rises up from time to time. It's small, and it scares him a little and soothes him a little. Mostly it makes him sad. It won't ever be what it was again. In many ways, that's for the best, but it still feels odd.
Just walking into the shop stirs that feeling again, something quietly melancholy, underlining by the sound of a Tchaikovsky piece from elsewhere in the store. It doesn't take him long to find the source, his steps halting instinctively at the sight of S playing.
He doesn't know what to do. The last time he saw S play was over a year ago, the one bright spot in a night that turned terrible very quickly. He's wanted this, wanted to think that S could play again if he wanted that, too, even if J never saw again, even if they never talked about it. But they don't talk about it, so he's not expecting it at all, his throat going tight as he listens, watching the gentle, meticulous way S plays, casually perfect even now.
Standing here until S looks up seems like a very bad idea, but he doesn't know how he should respond. Clearing his throat quietly, he swallows hard. "I like that piece."