Truman I love you immensely which is why I need to tell you that you MUST not tuck your tail between your legs and slink away! (Too late. How had she known?) You have always wanted a partner—like a full-on, share everything, we-are-a-team PARTNER. The dickwads you’ve dated haven’t wanted that, so you’ve sanded off the corners of your desire until it’s a damn circle. Sphere. Whatever. And NOW, Ash doesn’t believe you want that because he can’t imagine someone wanting that, but you DO WANT IT SO YOU HAVE TO TELL HIM! You rock so hard but sometimes you are your own worst enemy and I want to SHAKE YOU because you’re INFURIATING but I do love you. Goodbye.

Okay, so she might also have been using voice-to-text.

Truman hadn’t had a moment to think about it because of the aforementioned bursting in, but now, as he sat on Greta’s couch with his head back and an ice pack over his eyes, as she walked around greeting her plants, he went over it again. He could see why Ash would think he would only be moving here because he did what other people wanted. He had, after all, done literally that. And he could see that Ash would suspect it in this instance, given the whole only knowing one another for three weeks thing.

But…but the part that he had to find a way to tell Ash was the other part. The wanting him part. The wanting to be with him all the time part. The wanting to be involved in all aspects of his life part. But in a partner-y way, not a stalker-y or savior-y way. The…the love part.

The doorbell rang, and Truman snatched the ice pack off his eyes, prayed it had done its job, and shoved it under the cushion. He heard Greta’s jubilant exclamation as she launched herself into a hug and cringed, because he knew so well, so intimately, what it felt like to be wrapped up in Ash’s arms.

Fuck.

“Where’s Truman?” Ash asked. Then, “Oh, Truman.”

Ash put a hand to his hair, changed his mind, and tugged on his sweater, changed his mind, and stuck his hands in his armpits, hugging himself. He looked exquisitely uncomfortable.

“Hi,” he said.

Truman’s hi stuck in his throat so only a gurgle came out. It was no more mortifying than anything else that had happened in the last twenty-four hours, so Truman just sat there, resigned to awfulness.

“I’m not gonna say this is an intervention,” Greta said, “but I fear some deep miscommunication is going on, and I want to help.”

She sat on the chair facing the couch and gestured Ash onto the couch beside Truman. Truman scrambled to the other side to make room. He could feel the air between them charge.