It's strange how he can feel at odds even with himself, part of him aching when he hears J start to cry again, part of him guiltily relieved that at least he doesn't seem angry. S hates that, too, that it even has to be a consideration, that part of him braces himself for it. Even with as much of it as they've both already done tonight, it always hurts when J cries, but it's still preferable to a full-blown fight, easier to respond to, something he's just a little less helpless in the face of. Instinctively, he draws J close again, holding him gently but securely, his breath hitching, though he doesn't start to cry again himself, at least not yet. With as fraught a subject as this is, with as long as they've put off having any sort of conversation about it, he half-suspects that it might only be a matter of time. He's never said any of this, for that matter. Back in Seoul, there was no one for him to say it to.
"You are, I think," he murmurs, because it's really all he can say. It's not the most coherent, but S is fairly sure that he can piece all of it together even so. Like he was thinking just a few moments ago, it seems again like they're approaching the same thing from entirely opposite perspectives, both not wanting to let their relationship fall apart like it did before, both not wanting to pursue music if it will mean winding up where they did before. S doesn't really think he would anyway. Before he got here, he sort of suspected that he would get back to it eventually, but it would have been for both of their sakes then, with him continuing largely because J couldn't. His heart wouldn't have been in it, though. He would never have felt about it like he did in the early days of his and J's relationship, when it was something that brought them together, that they shared, when everything seemed as full of promise as it could for people like them, despite the awful circumstances at the time.
Although it's easier to speak his mind when he's less worried about provoking an argument, it still isn't easy to make sense of his own thoughts, at least in any way that he could articulate. Maybe that's why he thinks he can follow J's, because his own are likewise somewhat incoherent. Taking as deep a breath as he can, he hums thoughtfully, considering his words again for another moment. What comes out instead of anything he intended, though, is a whispered "I want to love it again." Caught off-guard by his own words, the weight of it hits him hard, something he has to sit with for a beat before he continues. "But I think... stepping back is maybe the best way for me to do that. And I don't want to do it if we're going to fight about it, either. I feel like I broke it, too, you know? Like if I'd realized the damage it was doing... if I'd had the sense to walk away sooner... maybe things wouldn't have gotten as bad as they did. Like maybe you would still have loved it, too, if it weren't for me."
This, too, must be a thought he was just barely holding back, something vaguely present but unformed, clearly making itself known as he puts it into words. Doing so, though he doesn't actually start crying again yet, prompts an unintended sniffle from him, shoulders tensing like he's half-expecting this, too, to go over poorly. "I don't want you not to do it because of me. I really don't."
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"You are, I think," he murmurs, because it's really all he can say. It's not the most coherent, but S is fairly sure that he can piece all of it together even so. Like he was thinking just a few moments ago, it seems again like they're approaching the same thing from entirely opposite perspectives, both not wanting to let their relationship fall apart like it did before, both not wanting to pursue music if it will mean winding up where they did before. S doesn't really think he would anyway. Before he got here, he sort of suspected that he would get back to it eventually, but it would have been for both of their sakes then, with him continuing largely because J couldn't. His heart wouldn't have been in it, though. He would never have felt about it like he did in the early days of his and J's relationship, when it was something that brought them together, that they shared, when everything seemed as full of promise as it could for people like them, despite the awful circumstances at the time.
Although it's easier to speak his mind when he's less worried about provoking an argument, it still isn't easy to make sense of his own thoughts, at least in any way that he could articulate. Maybe that's why he thinks he can follow J's, because his own are likewise somewhat incoherent. Taking as deep a breath as he can, he hums thoughtfully, considering his words again for another moment. What comes out instead of anything he intended, though, is a whispered "I want to love it again." Caught off-guard by his own words, the weight of it hits him hard, something he has to sit with for a beat before he continues. "But I think... stepping back is maybe the best way for me to do that. And I don't want to do it if we're going to fight about it, either. I feel like I broke it, too, you know? Like if I'd realized the damage it was doing... if I'd had the sense to walk away sooner... maybe things wouldn't have gotten as bad as they did. Like maybe you would still have loved it, too, if it weren't for me."
This, too, must be a thought he was just barely holding back, something vaguely present but unformed, clearly making itself known as he puts it into words. Doing so, though he doesn't actually start crying again yet, prompts an unintended sniffle from him, shoulders tensing like he's half-expecting this, too, to go over poorly. "I don't want you not to do it because of me. I really don't."