J nestles into S, face tucked against his shoulder, nodding a little. It's so utterly stupid, which only makes it all even worse. If he were upset for a reason that makes sense or that was somehow justified, at least there would be that bit of solace, but this is absurd and unfair. That makes it harder to pull himself together, though, hurt and guilt building on each other until it's difficult to speak.
"I know," he mumbles. That's the problem. S has every reason to worry that he'd react badly, every reason to think J might become mean or jealous or petty. J spent long enough afraid of the very possibility of playing again to understand why. As it is, he's still a bit nervous about it, even though he's let himself play a little bit a handful of times over the last several months. Playing in public for a few minutes here and there at least removes him from the habit of trying to do more than just play. He's not there to write music and there are people around, their quiet chatter helping to keep him present. Of course, when he has to work up his nerve to let himself play at all because of the terrible things he did in the past, of course S would worry he'd be upset. J has no right to want or expect anything else.
He still does, though. "Sorry," he murmurs again. "I know — I know it's not the same... I know it won't ever be." As hard as he tries to hold himself together, just saying that makes his chest ache, throat tight, tears welling up. He doesn't want to go back to the past. What they have now is what he wants. That doesn't mean there aren't parts he loves, parts that mattered, things he wishes he could have kept. "It hurts though. It was ours and I ruined it. I missed — fuck, I miss it, and just for a moment —" His voice is too shaky now, the way he shuts his eyes tight still not enough to keep him from crying. It's so stupid, so cruel, saying these things, pushing his guilt onto S. The last thing he wants is for S to stop playing again because of him. Not being able to keep that part of their past shouldn't have to mean it can't be part of S's future. It just hurts desperately to know that he is himself the reason he doesn't get to share in that.
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"I know," he mumbles. That's the problem. S has every reason to worry that he'd react badly, every reason to think J might become mean or jealous or petty. J spent long enough afraid of the very possibility of playing again to understand why. As it is, he's still a bit nervous about it, even though he's let himself play a little bit a handful of times over the last several months. Playing in public for a few minutes here and there at least removes him from the habit of trying to do more than just play. He's not there to write music and there are people around, their quiet chatter helping to keep him present. Of course, when he has to work up his nerve to let himself play at all because of the terrible things he did in the past, of course S would worry he'd be upset. J has no right to want or expect anything else.
He still does, though. "Sorry," he murmurs again. "I know — I know it's not the same... I know it won't ever be." As hard as he tries to hold himself together, just saying that makes his chest ache, throat tight, tears welling up. He doesn't want to go back to the past. What they have now is what he wants. That doesn't mean there aren't parts he loves, parts that mattered, things he wishes he could have kept. "It hurts though. It was ours and I ruined it. I missed — fuck, I miss it, and just for a moment —" His voice is too shaky now, the way he shuts his eyes tight still not enough to keep him from crying. It's so stupid, so cruel, saying these things, pushing his guilt onto S. The last thing he wants is for S to stop playing again because of him. Not being able to keep that part of their past shouldn't have to mean it can't be part of S's future. It just hurts desperately to know that he is himself the reason he doesn't get to share in that.