This, too, is difficult for S to articulate, all the more so because he's still so emotional. He doesn't regret it either, he wants to say, at least not when he thinks about the time they spent so happy together, the piano a part of their falling in love. He's just pretty sure he fucked up, latching onto the same thing that J was already so dedicated to, J's first composition inspiring him to try to write his own. Maybe everything wouldn't have fallen apart so disastrously otherwise. There would have been no stupid sense of competition between them, no pieces for the professor to blackmail him for. As much as he knows, like they've said before, that there's no real way to predict what else might have changed and how, if at all, it could have been different, he's not sure he'll ever fully shake off that sense of self-blame for the damage his playing and composing did. J wasn't fair to him, lashing out the way he so often did back then; S can admit that, and he knows J wouldn't want him to pretend otherwise. But he was there too, and he could have done things differently, realized the harm he was doing instead of stubbornly pushing forward the way he so often does.
"It is," he agrees, and at that, he cracks the tiniest of smiles, wrinkling his nose as he does. "I'm still not sure I'm managing it very well." At least they seem to be understanding each other now, though. Despite the state they're both in, this still seems vastly better than those first few minutes after J walked in and he stopped playing, both just slightly misunderstanding each other. It stings a little, actually, to consider what J thought he felt, but S knows better than to take it personally. It's not like he can't understand why J might make an assumption like that, even if S thinks he's been as clear as he can about not holding that last, worst night against him. He's too focused on trying to work through the rest of this to get hung up on that now, anyway.
Gentle and instinctive, he leans into J's hand at his cheek. No matter how ridiculous he feels, it still helps, having J close and comforting like this, in no small part because this subject has done so much damage before. They may not be getting it all right this time, but they're working through it far better than they used to, and that has to count for something. "Even when you gave me that music on Christmas, I... I didn't really think you would want to hear me play. Or that you would have missed it."
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"It is," he agrees, and at that, he cracks the tiniest of smiles, wrinkling his nose as he does. "I'm still not sure I'm managing it very well." At least they seem to be understanding each other now, though. Despite the state they're both in, this still seems vastly better than those first few minutes after J walked in and he stopped playing, both just slightly misunderstanding each other. It stings a little, actually, to consider what J thought he felt, but S knows better than to take it personally. It's not like he can't understand why J might make an assumption like that, even if S thinks he's been as clear as he can about not holding that last, worst night against him. He's too focused on trying to work through the rest of this to get hung up on that now, anyway.
Gentle and instinctive, he leans into J's hand at his cheek. No matter how ridiculous he feels, it still helps, having J close and comforting like this, in no small part because this subject has done so much damage before. They may not be getting it all right this time, but they're working through it far better than they used to, and that has to count for something. "Even when you gave me that music on Christmas, I... I didn't really think you would want to hear me play. Or that you would have missed it."