There still must be, S thinks, something he isn't entirely grasping here. Something is obviously wrong, and there are certainly wires crossed, when the thing he was doing to stop J from getting upset has wound up having completely the opposite effect. He just can't grasp what the problem is, at least in that regard. Some of the rest, he's heard J say before. As much as it hurts, he's pretty sure that, no matter how many times he says otherwise, J will never stop believing that he ruined it. S is convinced instead that that's on him. If he'd just fucking stopped sooner — pursued something else, not persistently been right there for J to compare himself to, turning it into a competition despite wanting nothing of the sort — then maybe everything wouldn't have fallen apart so catastrophically. Maybe J could still let himself have this.
For a moment, S stays quiet, trying to take all of this in. At least he has J here and close, turning his head a little so he can brush a kiss against J's hair. "You didn't," he murmurs shakily. "You didn't ruin it." He can't negate the rest. It was theirs, and it's not anymore, and he misses it, too. Even when he plays, he misses it, a part of him hoping every single time he does that he'll get back a little of the passion he once felt for it. So far, it hasn't happened. There's no way that could possibly be J's fault when J hasn't done anything but encourage him to continue if he wants to. "I just... I know you don't play much anymore, and..."
This is all wrong. It makes his chest feel tight, frustration building in him, though he tries hard not to let it show, not wanting J to misconstrue it as being directed at him. It's entirely at himself, and his stupid, stupid habit of saying the wrong thing, words coming out all twisted and making his intention seem different than it is. He might not have fucked this up too badly yet, but there's still every chance he could do so. Sighing, he curls his fingers absently in J's shirt. "I didn't want to hurt you," he finishes, quieter still, aware that he's being redundant but not knowing what else to say. "But I guess I did anyway."
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For a moment, S stays quiet, trying to take all of this in. At least he has J here and close, turning his head a little so he can brush a kiss against J's hair. "You didn't," he murmurs shakily. "You didn't ruin it." He can't negate the rest. It was theirs, and it's not anymore, and he misses it, too. Even when he plays, he misses it, a part of him hoping every single time he does that he'll get back a little of the passion he once felt for it. So far, it hasn't happened. There's no way that could possibly be J's fault when J hasn't done anything but encourage him to continue if he wants to. "I just... I know you don't play much anymore, and..."
This is all wrong. It makes his chest feel tight, frustration building in him, though he tries hard not to let it show, not wanting J to misconstrue it as being directed at him. It's entirely at himself, and his stupid, stupid habit of saying the wrong thing, words coming out all twisted and making his intention seem different than it is. He might not have fucked this up too badly yet, but there's still every chance he could do so. Sighing, he curls his fingers absently in J's shirt. "I didn't want to hurt you," he finishes, quieter still, aware that he's being redundant but not knowing what else to say. "But I guess I did anyway."