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The way Ryan had exclaimed Oswald's name was new, but not necessarily unwanted. Usually, people spoke his name with scorn or even blatant hatred, and the mixture of surprise, relief, and a hint of annoyance was almost enough to overtake Oswald's heavy scowl. Almost. The other man had been moseying about in the lawn of Falcone Manor by sheer happenstance - upon seeing him, Oswald had realized he forgot to return his many calls from the past day.
"C'mon man, you ignore all my calls and just suddenly show up to - whoa. What happened?" Ryan's irritation faded away once Oswald stopped in front of him, more than close enough to see the dark, angry bruise around his eye. Just like Maroni at the precinct and the cop by the dock, Oswald was used to being treated roughly, and for the scum who did so to admire their handiwork or look down on him with some kind of twisted pity. He often let it happen - trying to fight back only made them laugh harder and torture him more. He'd learned by now there was no point in defending himself. Or, at least, not directly, anyhow.
Ryan didn't seem like the kind of person who would do such a thing, but then again, neither did most of Oswald's tormentors at first. Deep down, he was a bit wary of Ryan, though he wasn't sure if he had noticed the fact that Oswald was so guarded around him.
"Are you okay?" Ryan had lifted his hand as if to touch Oswald, but he turned his head away, scowl deepening at the hurt look that quickly crossed Ryan's face. "I don't need your pity," Oswald gritted out, hoping Ryan would drop it.
With his furrowed brow, Ryan's expression had begun to match Oswald's own. "I'm not pitying you. I'm concerned because it looks like someone decided to make your face a punching bag." Oswald opened his mouth to retort, but Ryan continued before he could speak. "If you're looking for Carmine, he's out with Liza right now." He grimaced upon mentioning Liza's name. "He should be back soon, you’re welcome to come in." With that, Ryan turned and headed inside, Oswald trailing loosely behind.
Once inside, Ryan busied himself by the sink while Oswald sat at the table, distracted by the tantalizing smell of the plate of seemingly fresh baked cookies in front of him. "You can have some if you want," Ryan said, looking at Oswald over his shoulder. "They came out of the oven right before you got here." He turned fully to face Oswald, wiping his hands on his sweater. "You made these?"
"Yep."
Handcrafted pastries weren't common for Oswald, in fact, nothing but the meals his mother made were, but when the first bite all but melted in his mouth, with the chocolate still warm and soft, he felt like the last 30 years of his life had been nothing but a waste, empty of lovingly crafted sweets. Ryan had begun humming softly, his attention now turned to the freezer, blissfully unaware of the raw emotion that welled up in Oswald’s chest. He cleared his throat as Ryan closed the freezer door and headed to the table, holding a bag of ice out to Oswald. “Here,” he said. “For your eye.”
In the grand scheme of things, it was a small gesture, but it was one that had never graced Oswald’s life. He had spent years dutifully covering up every bruise and scrape inflicted on him by his peers who did nothing but spit and walk all over him. Never had anyone shown him even a modicum of kindness like this because they wanted to. He took the ice wordlessly, afraid of how, no doubt, his voice would shake if he spoke, and pressed it to the bruised flesh. It was funny, he thought, it hadn’t hurt, but the chilling cold still felt like a soothing relief, spreading through his whole body. Perhaps he had gotten used to it.
Oswald glanced over at Ryan, who had taken a cookie of his own. There was so much he wanted to say to the other man; about the kindness he was almost afraid of, about why in God’s name Ryan decided to offer his friendship, how Oswald was tentatively letting himself believe Ryan was genuine. He wondered if Ryan knew just how enigmatic he was, how Oswald was surprised by everything he did, how he was next to impossible to read. It was what drew him in the moment he locked eyes with him.
“I’m sorry,” he eventually said, “for being cruel to you earlier.”
Ryan cocked his head. “What do you mean?”
“I wrongfully accused you of pitying me when you were just trying to be kind. It was callous of me. I’m sorry.”
“Oh!” Ryan looked surprised. “N-no, it’s okay, you don’t have to apologize. In fact, I should apologize, I called you so many times because I was worried…” He trailed off into a nervous laugh, tapping his fingers on the table. Oswald found his previous doubts about Ryan’s true intentions begin to fade away, unable to ignore his friend’s unmistakable genuinity. Any reason why Ryan had so easily given Oswald his hand in friendship eluded him, but maybe… he could start to truly believe it. “You were?”
Oswald set the bag of ice, now half melted, in front of him, feeling a small smile tug at his lips as Ryan nodded.
“Thank you,” he said sincerely. “That means a great deal to me.”
He searched Ryan’s mossy eyes, hoping to find something he could comprehend, something that would give him even a hint of would help him figure out who Ryan was. Oswald thought back to their conversation at the park. He had commented on how Ryan’s true desires eluded him in a strange but intoxicating way. You’ll have plenty of time to figure me out, Ryan had responded, and Oswald found he wanted to. He wanted to figure out who Ryan was, he wanted to learn every little thing about him. He wanted to know why, exactly, Ryan treated Oswald like he deserved kindness, and why he cared about him without asking for anything but his friendship in return.
But at the same time, he didn’t want the mystery to end.