Immediately, uselessly, S wishes they were home rather than here. This subject is one too emotional for them to be dealing with it here, at least while he knows they aren't the only ones in the store. He should text his coworker and tell her just to go, that he'll finish taking care of everything here, but even doing that seems like too much yet, a strange, uncomfortable tension hanging in the air, thick and oppressive and maybe just in his head. For the two of them to be alone would be better, but it still wouldn't really be right. The apartment is their space, one they've spent the past year turning into a home. It's safe, and it's familiar. This is decidedly his territory, somewhere he spends a significant portion of most days and that J has only stopped in briefly before. It makes this feel all the more unbalanced, the store suddenly too big and unwelcoming, what he was doing probably only making it more so. That, too, is something he has that J doesn't.
And S knows that isn't right, not really. J has played some, back when Kagura was still open. He's tried to give J opportunities to do so, or at least to feel like he safely can. Again, though, he can't help coming back to the thought that maybe he just shouldn't have been playing at all. J has never tried to stop him — the opposite, really, is true — but maybe for him just to have that opportunity while J won't allow it for himself is unfair. The whole situation is awful and confusing, and for maybe the millionth time in the last few years, S wonders how they even got here at all. Music used to be something they shared; it was one of the ways they fell in love. Now, instead, it feels like it can be only one of theirs at most. If that's going to be the case, though, then he thinks it should be J's.
He just doesn't know how to say that, at least not without making everything worse. He doesn't know what's wrong, either, and as such, he doesn't know how to fix it. Mouth still set in a frown, he curls his hands in once more, nails pressing to his palms, opening again a moment later. "You didn't do anything," he says, a gentle rebuttal, his voice soft. "I don't know what you're apologizing for." He should be the one apologizing, probably. He bites that back as best he can. "I'm — I didn't mean to upset you."
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And S knows that isn't right, not really. J has played some, back when Kagura was still open. He's tried to give J opportunities to do so, or at least to feel like he safely can. Again, though, he can't help coming back to the thought that maybe he just shouldn't have been playing at all. J has never tried to stop him — the opposite, really, is true — but maybe for him just to have that opportunity while J won't allow it for himself is unfair. The whole situation is awful and confusing, and for maybe the millionth time in the last few years, S wonders how they even got here at all. Music used to be something they shared; it was one of the ways they fell in love. Now, instead, it feels like it can be only one of theirs at most. If that's going to be the case, though, then he thinks it should be J's.
He just doesn't know how to say that, at least not without making everything worse. He doesn't know what's wrong, either, and as such, he doesn't know how to fix it. Mouth still set in a frown, he curls his hands in once more, nails pressing to his palms, opening again a moment later. "You didn't do anything," he says, a gentle rebuttal, his voice soft. "I don't know what you're apologizing for." He should be the one apologizing, probably. He bites that back as best he can. "I'm — I didn't mean to upset you."