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"You know, " Richard says, his voice barely above a whisper, "I think we could probably move the loft bed down a rung. So you wouldn't hit your head again."
He's quiet, like he usually is when they're together. Richard makes mental notes of where their bodies touch -- tactile places, like Jared's hand loose around his wrist or his knee poking slightly into his calf. Richard's head is in the crook of his neck, which took the longest for him to get comfortable with, out of fear of sweat or drool or talking in his sleep.
“Jared?”
He turns his head, his nose bumping his brow. “Yes, Richard?”
“Was that weird? Too much?”
“No, of course not.” He smiles at him uneasily in the dark. "It's your choice, that's all. I was staying impartial."
"I mean--" Richard clears his throat to combat the sudden wobbliness in his voice. "What you think is important too. That's why I'm asking. I just -- um, I don't know what you want. To happen. With, you know, all this."
Jared reaches out for his hand, but waits for Richard to take it first. The touching had been a learning curve between both of them -- Richard wishes there was an easy way to indicate when it was and wasn't the right time. He hooks his little finger with Jared's and tugs it, the only way he can think of to encourage him to talk.
"I just don't want to pressure you into anything," Jared finally says, to the ceiling.
"I mean, I appreciate that, but it's been, like, three months since we, you know, started doing this."
“Three months and four days. Very close."
"Whatever it is. I mean, sneaking around in front of the guys has been --"
"Richard, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but it's not a very well-kept secret." Jared turns back to him, meeting his troubled expression. "Actually, I'd say it's the bulk of Dinesh and Gilfoyle's jokes nowadays. Usually when you're out of the room."
"Oh."
"Sorry."
He shakes his head. "It's fine. It's just that, you know, if we both care about each other a lot, why don't we be honest about it? With each other?"
Jared falls silent, deep in thought. Richard, while he can usually intuit it, has no idea what he’s going to say.
“Would it be okay with you,” he says, like he’s suggesting something “if we assessed how we felt more formally?”
“What, do you want to SWOT this?”
“No, silly,” Jared says, and smiles at him in a way that makes Richard’s chest twinge. “We wouldn’t even need to use a whiteboard. Just words. Or pieces of paper, if you needed more time. I also have some worksheets, but that’s never really gone over well with the gang, so…”
Richard turns onto his side to face him. “Would that make you happy?”
“It would,” he says, and Richard believes it — he’s beaming at him, brighter than he’s seen in a long time. “It might be a little intimidating at first, but it can be just as rewarding.”
“Okay, then yeah. I’ll go first.” There’s no way he could get Jared talking before him. (For once his tendency to babble is useful.) “I think you’re really — important, you know? And you’re always just there and you’re never a dick. And you’re always there. I already said that. But I really love — all those things. About you.”
Richard sits up, running his hand back through his hair. “And, uh, I love you.”
“Oh. Wow! That’s—“ Jared’s cut off by a resounding thunk, the unmistakeable sound of his head hitting the ceiling.
“Shit.” Suddenly Richard’s leaning over him, cradling the back of his head, and they’re both laughing, even though they both see how terrified the other looks. “Are you okay?”
“Fine, yeah.” He looks like an idiotic wounded gazelle, and Richard’s almost embarrassed how endearing it is to him. “I’m pretty good at self-identifying early signs of a concussion. I—“
“What were you going to say? Before you hit your head.”
“I was going to say you did a great job, even though I didn’t really give you all the instructions.” Jared reaches for the edge of Richard’s sleeve, enough to get him to relax. “And, um. I feel the same way."
"Then — that's great. That's really great." He's lying back down, with his head on his chest. Richard feels a calm, steady pulse beneath his ear, the hesitation in his breath before he speaks again.
"But it kind of defeats the purpose of the exercise if I don't speak, too. I actually thought of some things a minute ago. Is that OK?"
Richard nods, and then he listens — when Jared finally opens up, he can tell there's a palpable weight lifted from his shoulders, being able to say things neither of them had even considered saying before. Then he keeps talking, and doesn't stop until either of them can barely keep their eyes open, until the sound of each other's breath is enough to help them drift away.