When Ryan spoke, he received an automatic reaction, but it wasn't a hopeful one. It wasn't an automatically believing one. He didn't blame Brendon. Ryan tended to be blunt (and therefore truthful), but that didn't mean he was emotionally open, it didn't mean he was trustworthy when it came to feelings like this. They were both pretty cognizant of that. His mind, not prone to nostalgia but welcoming it in that moment, blinked back to that moment on his porch when a curious stranger circled his home, clearly having just been looking for [i]any[/i] inhabitors at all. He remembers Brendon saying something innocent, like, 'um, hi,' and his response was something a little more eloquent, along the lines of - that's right. [i]Hi. What the literal fuck are you doing on my porch at eleven in the morning?[/i] He remembers that Jon had made this little delivery to him. He remembers that he should definitely say thank you for that, considering this moment, right here. (And, he remembers that Brendon often gave back as good as he got. Things like, 'don't you have a deadline?' and telling Ryan he'd just skim over the summary of his book on Wikipedia, and generally being a pain in the ass, but also just goofy enough to keep around.)

He was rewarded with a gentle smile from Brendon, finally, followed by an even gentler [i]that’s ridiculous[/i], and Ryan tilted his head honestly at him, charmed. [i]You always say I’m loud and can hear me from- wherever you are.[/i] A weak argument. Ryan kept on recounting his reasons, and in the back of his mind, memories kept coming back to him - even more rationale to go by, it seemed. He remembers a week after Brendon arrived, when he came down at two in the morning for coffee (yeah, yeah, dumb, whatever), and Brendon was in his jersey, in a state of undress otherwise. He told Ryan he was the hardest worker he'd ever met - which, y'know, was either a load of bullshit, or Brendon hadn't quite the repertoire of people necessary for comparison. He asked about whether the writing was draining, not the immediate approach most people took - 'what are you writing about?' 'What trauma are you writing from?' You know, all the invasive shit. Brendon didn't even vaguely think the way that most people did. He was considerate without putting energy towards it.

[i]That’s all you ever have to say to me, you know.[/i] Ryan took a seat, watched him, considered this. [i]That you miss me. That you want me around.[/i] Okay. All right. It's all true. Ryan wasn't just feeding him the information he wanted - it was all things that he thought, everything that passed through his mind but was funneled into something else, something more acceptable and less vulnerable. Evidently, vulnerable was okay. Look: he'd just done it, and the world hadn't imploded. Brendon wasn't shocked at him, wasn't acting like he was a different person. [i]But that’s- what I feel, Ry, it’s more than that, I- I can’t stay here if you don’t...[/i] Brendon looked like he was at a loss, but Ryan's mind had never been clearer. He was only quiet for a moment, because this wasn't exactly something he'd [i]practiced[/i] and it was very much unfamiliar territory, and fuck, what if there was a certain way to say it, but. He was in love with him. That's all he could do.

Brendon looked suspended for a moment, and Ryan took this pause to examine him, his posture, arms folded and all. Again, couldn't blame him for that. It wasn't really defensiveness - it was self-preservation, and somehow there was a distinction there, but he could tell Brendon wasn't in any profound state of disbelief. Yeah, Ryan had made it clear from the get-go that he wasn't someone who talked out of his ass. The beat that passed didn't serve to heighten his anxiety, oddly, because Brendon's feelings were already confirmed regardless of what happened - it was more peaceful, reflective, and he was almost ready to laugh at their circumstances, Brendon only halfway wrapped in his towel, still speckled with droplets of water. And then it set in that Ryan was really and truly impatient, because love was also a physical feeling, and he'd been drawn to Brendon for the longest time, and he wanted to hold him close and be forgiven for his stupid, stunted brain right away.

[i]I- why couldn’t you- why couldn’t you have just said -[/i] [b]"I know,"[/b] Ryan said quickly, shifting, shaking his head to show just how ridiculous it was to him, too. [i]Not hearing that back, it. It really hurt. You- are you serious? You’re not just...[/i] Ryan waited with baited breath until Brendon had finished (or not-quite-finished) his thought until he nodded rapidly, comprehensively. [b]"I'm sorry. I'm dumb. I don't know."[/b] He grinned at the same time as Brendon, breath rushing out almost as a relieved laugh, completely aware of the nonsense coming out of his mouth and having no idea how to right it. [i]You asshole.[/i] Ryan laughed entirely then, shifting closer, fondly. [i]God, I’m going to kill you.[/i] [b]"Then do it!"[/b] Ryan taunted, shifting onto his knees, fussing the sheets, until he leveled slightly above Brendon, beaming at him.

Almost dotingly, his hand passed through Brendon's hair, resting at the back of his head, attempting to tilt him back gently. Not much experience here, he realized belatedly, and his gaze flickered between Brendon's, to his lips, then back, the confidence still there but some unwelcome wariness arriving. [b]"Before you kill me - can I kiss you first?"[/b]