Even if he wanted to, S wouldn't have it in him to pull away right now. His instinct, when he's upset like this, is usually to curl in on himself, though he doesn't know if that was the case before he lost J or if it only became the case after he was left to deal with everything on his own. He's reeling, though, having been struck much harder by this than he expected, struggling to find some equilibrium after so abruptly bursting into tears. J tugs him closer, and he goes easily, leaning into him again, other arm still wrapped around him. As has so often been the case, he meant to be comforting J. Instead, he cries into his boyfriend's shoulder, trying to comprehend what it is he's feeling at all. Really, this should be a good thing. Nothing has been lost — nothing new, anyway. There's the barest hint of promise in what's just come to light. For months, though, for longer, he's missed so much and tried to bury it. When music was theirs, something shared, when he loved it that much at all — it's weighed on him even when he's tried to tell himself that it hasn't. It's been worth the loss, but it's still been painful.
He doesn't know what happens now, or what J thinks he means. Upset is a pretty vague term, after all, and somewhere in the back of his head, S wants to clarify that he never thought J would be mad or resentful like he was before. They've come such a long way from that, and things are so different now. It just hasn't been worth the risk that it might still come between them somehow, or make J more aware of his distance from what used to be so prominent in his life.
"I thought it would make things worse," he mumbles, voice muffled through his tears and against J's shirt. He isn't sure if he said that before, but it still seems more accurate than just upset, so he'll take it for now. "That it would be harder for you. To play. To not play. Either way." Hearing him could have made it a competition again, or it could just have reminded J of what he hasn't been letting himself have. When S had all but stopped before he got here anyway, it was a cleaner break for him. He really thought he was doing the right thing, leaving it for J, as it should have been anyway. Now, he's not sure that he was. He's not sure of anything, really, except that the weight of how much he misses it is impossible to ignore or shake off. "I'm sorry."
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He doesn't know what happens now, or what J thinks he means. Upset is a pretty vague term, after all, and somewhere in the back of his head, S wants to clarify that he never thought J would be mad or resentful like he was before. They've come such a long way from that, and things are so different now. It just hasn't been worth the risk that it might still come between them somehow, or make J more aware of his distance from what used to be so prominent in his life.
"I thought it would make things worse," he mumbles, voice muffled through his tears and against J's shirt. He isn't sure if he said that before, but it still seems more accurate than just upset, so he'll take it for now. "That it would be harder for you. To play. To not play. Either way." Hearing him could have made it a competition again, or it could just have reminded J of what he hasn't been letting himself have. When S had all but stopped before he got here anyway, it was a cleaner break for him. He really thought he was doing the right thing, leaving it for J, as it should have been anyway. Now, he's not sure that he was. He's not sure of anything, really, except that the weight of how much he misses it is impossible to ignore or shake off. "I'm sorry."