S shakes his head again, though it's the only protest he can manage for a moment. Again, he's struck by the sense that they're having two slightly different conversations, not quite understanding each other, and if there's a blame to attribute to that, he's sure it lies with him. It wouldn't be the first time he'd attempted to help and screwed everything all up instead. At least with this, though, there's one very simple rebuttal he can make. He has no idea how J has wound up thinking these things — and wonders for a moment if that's his fault, too, if maybe J wouldn't feel this way if S had spoken about this part of his life some more — but it isn't true in the slightest, and if absolutely nothing else, he can make sure J knows it now. Maybe J won't agree, but he should at least know that that's not how S sees it at all.

"You're not in my way," he replies, slightly bewildered. One arm drops from its place around J, but only so he can bring his hand to J's cheek instead, palm resting gently there, thumb brushing a few errant tears away. "How could you be? I play when I'm here. If I wanted to play more, I would." That's another whole issue, really, but he's tried to explain it before. Given the struggle he's already having to articulate himself now, it doesn't seem worth getting into without prompting. Granted, at this rate, it's likely to come up anyway, but he won't be the one to get them there. "But you..."

J loved it so much. They both did, and S misses the part of him that loved it that much. Somehow, though, it's more difficult to fathom J staying away from the piano forever than it is to do the same for himself. What he has now — a steady job, a life with the man he loves, a chance to make a little music when he feels compelled to — is all he could ever ask for. "Even if you're slow," he continues, "even if you're careful, it should be there for you. You having to hear me play when you're not playing... I don't know. It feels cruel of me. Unfair."