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Summary
At the time, Ryland subconsciously hadn't let himself put a name to that gooey, fluttering feeling that had been steadily building when he was around you. But now, after being accosted by the memory of it presenting so unabashedly, it feels so painfully blatant. He loves you. Or did. Or was beginning to, at the very least.
Which feels wrong to say, since if that's the case, that means the person he loves (or loved) is currently in an unrousable state of paralysis, literally over seventy trillion miles from any kind of professional medical help.
He tries to convince himself that won't come around to bite him on the behind.
OR: you wake up on the Hail Mary four months late.