Because even after knowing you for three years, he just can’t look you in your eyes and tell you that he is so fucking in love with you. He instead resorts to small gestures and acts of service so you’d hopefully be able to tell that he wants to spend the rest of his life with you.

It doesn’t work.

And then he’ll have to pick himself back again and have will-induced conversations, laughing at the pathetic corner of love inside his head. He’ll have to look you in the eyes again and pretend he isn’t affected when you look up and smile at him, or when you whisper a little too closely during shared library visits with your students.

He’ll be stuck at square one again.

And quite frankly, Colt can’t handle it anymore. If he has to listen to Ryland laughing at himself again for his inability to confess to you–whereby laughing, it’s melancholic, lonely chuckling–he will throw himself off the window of their shared apartment.

Which is something Colt can definitely do, and will do if he has to hear the heavy tone of love laced in his brother’s voice as he talks about you (because apparently, you are Top 5 Topics in their shared space) again. Besides, Colt has always been his polar opposite. When Ryland hesitates, Colt just does it.

“You’re too hesitant.” Colt says, grabbing a few papers Ryland has yet to grade on the living room table to look over what he was checking. He returns it immediately with no interest. 

Ryland is stressed, his glasses askew on his face and his hands pulling at the ends of his hair. “I know I am! It’s not like I’m not self aware. In fact, I’m too self aware and that’s the problem.”

“Just go up to her and tell her you like her.”

Ryland really wants to strangle his brother right now. “That’s easy for you to say. You’re….you! You jump into fire and fall out of tall buildings without hesitation. I’m not– I’m not brave like you.”

Colt nods sympathetically, whispering an “I am”, and murder is almost committed. Instead, Ryland chooses to just drop his face into his hands. This plan was futile from the beginning. Colt doesn’t know shit about giving advice. He has approximately one brain cell. That is almost close to none.

“Ryland.” His twin brother tries to get his attention, and Ryland slowly peels his hands off his face. “Just tell her. Tomorrow. Get it over with.”

“No, not tomorrow.”

“Okay, then how about next week?”

“No. That’s– it’s too fast.”

“Before the end of the world?”

“Uh, yeah. I can… I can do that. I like those chances.” 

“Good. Glad we're narrowing it down.” Colt sighs so loudly that the sound resonates through the room. In return, Ryland throws his pen at him in irritation, but it's caught one-handed by his brother without even looking. This only pisses him even more.

“You are approaching this like it's one of those big scary conferences you nerds like going to. It’s not. It’s way simpler than that.”

“Actually, I’d argue conferences are way fudging easier than confessing. I’d be backed up with evidence and years of research, but this?! It’s like I’m going in naked. That’s never a good thing.”

“Ew, don’t say that. I don’t want to picture you naked.” Colt cringes, and twists his face especially more at the self-censoring. “But didn’t you write a step-by-step process on what to do when she rejects you written on the whiteboard in your room?”

“That is for emotional preparedne– wait, you were in my room?!”

“Dude, you’re doing too much. You’re already assuming she doesn’t like you back before giving it a chance. And you’re refusing to give it a chance by not confessing to her. You’ve liked her for three fucking years, and I’ve had to listen!”

Ryland opens his mouth to say something, but words don’t come out. Because Colt was right, it had been three years of rambling about you, of assuming you could never feel the same way, of refusing to confess because he’d already feared the worst.

“So just,” Colt says after a heartbeat passes, stressed out of his goddamn mind. “Okay, how about this? Walk me through your ideal confession. I’m sure you’ve played this out in your head multiple times, so just tell me.”

Ryland’s eyes widen tenfold, shaking his head with so much adamancy, even with his hands flouncing around. You’d have thought somebody had asked him to go skinny dipping in front of all his co-workers.

“No way. Absolutely no way. No no no no no.” 

“Why not?”

“Because you'll make fun of me.”

“I make fun of you regardless. That's unrelated.”

Ryland stares at him in a deadpan. Colt just stares back, shrugging his shoulders.

The staring contest is a battle Ryland loses, and with a sigh, he says, “I'd just want it to be ordinary, I guess.”

His brother listens intently, chin propped on his hands and perched on the living room table.

“Ordinary how?”

Ryland picks at the end of the paper he’s currently checking, rolling it and unrolling it and folding it and unfolding it. “I don't know. Maybe after work.”

“Okay.”

“We're grading papers.”

“Very romantic.” A playful smile tugs on Colt’s lips.

“Shut up.”

“Go on.” 

“And maybe she's making tea.”

“She drinks tea? I thought she drank coffee.”

“Obviously she drinks tea.”

“How is that obvious?”

Ryland rolls his eyes at the smirk forming on his brother’s lips. “Nevermind that. She’s making tea, okay? And then I just tell her. That… that I like her.”

Then, he backtracks. “But I can’t do that. I mean, statistically speaking, that's a terrible plan. If I tell her, she’ll reject me. Then I lose my best friend. Which leaves you as my only friend, and no offense, but if the entire social structure of my life can be represented by a sample size of one, something has gone horribly wrong. Like horribly wrong.”

“I feel like I should be offended. Wait, you’re trying to change topics on me. Ryland.”

“Colt.” He repeats.

“Buddy, you spend every single day together. She likes you.” Colt pushes himself out of the couch, suddenly acting like he just cracked the case. “And! And most of all, she laughs at your jokes.” He points accusingly. “Your terrible, god awful jokes. She’s into you.”

Ryland is defensive. “People laugh at my jokes!”

“Let’s not kid ourselves. Just…” Another exasperated hand is thrown around as Colt tries to embed the thought in his brother’s mind. “Stop acting like she's doing charity work by spending time with you. Sometimes you forget you’re the best thing that’s happened to a lot of people too.”

Colt grimaces as the room grows quiet, and he’s aware he’s suddenly gone sappy over his little brother (by four minutes), but Colt has never known a life without his brother, and it’s getting real annoying listening to him be so self deprecating as if he doesn’t have a doctorate in Microbiology, as if a million single mothers haven’t had crushes on him.

“Wow.” he says. “You just said something nice about me. I feel… weird.”

“Don't act like I don’t ever say anything nice about you.” Colt says, not unkindly. Because he has, on multiple occasions even. He’s always stood up for Ryland, even since they were little kids. “Now ask her out before I have to hear another two hour monologue about how she likes her coffee. Though, apparently, she drinks tea now. Unrelated. The point is I literally know everything about her, and I haven’t even met her!”

Ryland opens his mouth.

Colt points a warning finger at him. “Just do it. Do the whole world a favor and just confess. Or just do me the favor."

The room falls quiet and a moment later, Colt disappears down the hallway readying himself for another early day tomorrow, leaving Ryland alone in the living room with half-graded papers and a pit at the bottom of his stomach when he comes to the realization that his brother might actually be right.

Not about everything, obviously. Colt is wrong about a lot of things. Most things, actually.

But maybe he was right about this.

Because for three years, Ryland has done nothing but wait. Three whole years of lingering after work just to talk to you for ten more minutes, of remembering every single story you’ve ever told him, of finding any excuse to be with you.

And another three years would pass exactly the same way if he didn’t do anything.

The thought makes him grimace, makes him want to vomit. Because Ryland Grace has done things far and beyond a simple conversation. He has a list of things he can admit to without shame, and even those with shame. He could do it.

And to hell if he'd go on another day without the permission to kiss you, and hold you, and take your hand in his.

The feeling still sits heavy in his chest, but it's different now. Less like dread and more like standing at the edge of a diving board, but this time, he’s a little more ready to make the jump.

And if by some miracle you feel the same—

Oh. Could you imagine?

Ryland can't help the smile that tugs at the corner of his mouth at the possibility.

Maybe he’ll finally listen to his brother for once in his life and tell you how he feels. Tomorrow.