These past few minutes, S has done a pretty good job of maintaining his composure, at least to some extent. Seeing J cry is never easy and always hurts, and he's felt a little shaky in turn, but he hasn't fallen into tears himself, if only because he's been too distracted. His focus has been on his words, trying to get them right, knowing he hasn't managed to do so. They understand each other now, and that goes a long way towards easing his mind a little, but he's still not sure he's actually managed to say what he means, what's in his head. He's gotten closer, but it's a difficult feeling to articulate, how he's had the sense that playing in front of J, or even talking about it all that much, would only hurt him. It didn't exactly do any good for them before — not in the end, anyway, and it's not as if that's all that matters, but of course the way it broke them apart would override the way it brought them together. That was just the progression of things. It started fine, and then it wasn't anymore. What they have now, S doesn't want to risk, not for anything, not even music.
Hearing what J says, though, that desperately clung to composure of S's shatters. It feels like a punch in the stomach, like a knife in the chest, sharp and searing, and he doesn't know how he gets from one state to the other, only that he's suddenly crying too, his hand dropping from J's cheek so he can wrap that arm around himself instead as tears begin to fall. He didn't expect it, is the thing. Even when J gifted him sheet music for Christmas, even when he cried about feeling like he took this away from S, S never actually thought that J would want to hear him play again. That last day back in Seoul, J asked him to play for him one last time, but it isn't as if that ended particularly well. Before that, through that whole last year they were together, it increasingly seemed like he hurt J — well, just by existing, but specifically by playing or writing music. S never wanted it to be a competition, and he never knew how it became one, but it was painfully clear that it was.
Maybe he's the one who's been looking at this all wrong, convinced that, no matter how much better things are now, it would come between them still in one way or another. He hasn't wanted to take that chance. He never considered for a second that he might actually make things worse that way.
"I didn't think you would, either," he says, the only thing he can say, his eyes shut tight for a moment as if that might prevent any more tears from coming. It doesn't, of course, and he doesn't want to do this here, feels fucking stupid for it, but he's not sure it would have happened anywhere else. He simply wouldn't have played in front of J on purpose. For more than a year, they've avoided this subject almost entirely, and S has had no intention of changing that. It's not like they have a piano at home anymore anyway. It could only ever have been here. He supposes they're just lucky that J came in at the very end of the day and not sometime in the middle of it, with other employees and customers around. "I thought —"
He doesn't know what he thought, and even if he did, he doubts he could get it out now anyway. Something feels changed, though, even without words put to it. For over a year, he hasn't let himself consider playing more than he does now, told himself that he'd be happy to give it up when he gets so much in return, that he should have done so sooner. Maybe none of that was right at all.
no subject
Hearing what J says, though, that desperately clung to composure of S's shatters. It feels like a punch in the stomach, like a knife in the chest, sharp and searing, and he doesn't know how he gets from one state to the other, only that he's suddenly crying too, his hand dropping from J's cheek so he can wrap that arm around himself instead as tears begin to fall. He didn't expect it, is the thing. Even when J gifted him sheet music for Christmas, even when he cried about feeling like he took this away from S, S never actually thought that J would want to hear him play again. That last day back in Seoul, J asked him to play for him one last time, but it isn't as if that ended particularly well. Before that, through that whole last year they were together, it increasingly seemed like he hurt J — well, just by existing, but specifically by playing or writing music. S never wanted it to be a competition, and he never knew how it became one, but it was painfully clear that it was.
Maybe he's the one who's been looking at this all wrong, convinced that, no matter how much better things are now, it would come between them still in one way or another. He hasn't wanted to take that chance. He never considered for a second that he might actually make things worse that way.
"I didn't think you would, either," he says, the only thing he can say, his eyes shut tight for a moment as if that might prevent any more tears from coming. It doesn't, of course, and he doesn't want to do this here, feels fucking stupid for it, but he's not sure it would have happened anywhere else. He simply wouldn't have played in front of J on purpose. For more than a year, they've avoided this subject almost entirely, and S has had no intention of changing that. It's not like they have a piano at home anymore anyway. It could only ever have been here. He supposes they're just lucky that J came in at the very end of the day and not sometime in the middle of it, with other employees and customers around. "I thought —"
He doesn't know what he thought, and even if he did, he doubts he could get it out now anyway. Something feels changed, though, even without words put to it. For over a year, he hasn't let himself consider playing more than he does now, told himself that he'd be happy to give it up when he gets so much in return, that he should have done so sooner. Maybe none of that was right at all.