It's stupid, J tells himself — over-dramatic again — to be upset. He can't help it, though. This hurts. He knows it won't ever be the same again, he does, but that hurts, too, and it's all worse because he knows it's his fault. He can't fix this and he can't blame S for it at all. There's no one to blame but himself, and though he does plenty of that, he knows it won't change anything. This is just how it is now. No matter how much S loves him, no matter how much S trusts him, they can't share this anymore. However much J hates it, he has to understand and be patient. Still, it makes him ache, seeing S turn away from the piano, staying where he is, not playing. It hurts that he's stopped, it hurts that he's so sweet, it hurts that there's no space for J beside him now, that he knows it's for the best. They're happy now, he knows they are, and this doesn't change that. He's known from the start that trying to recapture the past would do more harm than good, that this is a fresh start for them. Even so, it's hard to let go. They were happy then too, at least for a while.
He doesn't know what to say. He wants to push through it for S's sake, to smile and go on like nothing's wrong. If he can't change it, there's no point in getting upset or in upsetting S. But he's never been good at hiding his feelings. He can hide the reasons for them or the extent of them, he can keep all of it to himself, but he's terrible at pretending to be fine when he isn't, at least with S. It's one thing to keep a blank face with people he doesn't care about, but he cherishes his ability to be himself with S, and bringing his guard back up is too difficult. At the same time, he doesn't want to make this into a problem or a discussion, even an argument. It wouldn't fix anything.
"I should have sent you a message," he says again, shrugging, gaze darting from S to rest on the piano instead. He would have loved to play that, he thinks. Maybe another time he will. Tonight, though, the decision has been made for him. He couldn't bear to touch it right now. He fumbles for something to say, something to fill the silence and cover his thoughts. "What time is it now? How long do you have?"
no subject
He doesn't know what to say. He wants to push through it for S's sake, to smile and go on like nothing's wrong. If he can't change it, there's no point in getting upset or in upsetting S. But he's never been good at hiding his feelings. He can hide the reasons for them or the extent of them, he can keep all of it to himself, but he's terrible at pretending to be fine when he isn't, at least with S. It's one thing to keep a blank face with people he doesn't care about, but he cherishes his ability to be himself with S, and bringing his guard back up is too difficult. At the same time, he doesn't want to make this into a problem or a discussion, even an argument. It wouldn't fix anything.
"I should have sent you a message," he says again, shrugging, gaze darting from S to rest on the piano instead. He would have loved to play that, he thinks. Maybe another time he will. Tonight, though, the decision has been made for him. He couldn't bear to touch it right now. He fumbles for something to say, something to fill the silence and cover his thoughts. "What time is it now? How long do you have?"