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Bob’s search stares him down, the most recent in a string of increasingly pathetic sounding enquiries that had started with how do you know you really love someone? and spiralled into when is the right time to tell someone you love them? and then devolved into how can I tell she loves me back. He’d been hoping to find some sort of manual, maybe; a guide complete with universal phrases and body language to watch out for.

Instead, he’d found vague, realistic, unusable advice.

Did they make you feel safe? How do they show up for you? Can you communicate with them easily?

He’s trawled long-abandoned forums and subreddits for answers. He has the term ‘leap of faith’ burned into every fold of his brain and he knows. He knows, he knows, he knows that he just has to trust that you love him — you’d never indicated otherwise — but there’s something in Bob that doesn’t trust how easy this has been.

The early morning talks while you waited for your final final alarm to go off. The way you listened, never dismissed him even when he knew he was being a bit ridiculous. He loves the way you play with his hands while you talk about your day, turning them over in yours while you talk about clients and slacking coworkers. How easily you accepted his past, and never held it against him when you found out some sordid, humiliating fact from some of his worst days. Walking Angie, game nights with Yelena and Ava, the soft back hugs you gave him while he did dishes where you buried your nose and took a big whiff and then pretended to be offended when he called you a freak.

All the little moments that built until that eight letter phrase sat heavy in his chest, waiting for the right opportunity to be set free.

“You’re overthinking it,” Joaquín tells Bob when he goes to him for advice. “Worst case scenario, she doesn’t say it back because she’s not quite there yet, but that doesn’t mean she hates you or doesn’t want to be with you. You’ve told me all these great things about your relationship and now you’re worried she’ll think you’re too intense… for being in love with her?”

It sounds ridiculous when it’s explained back to him like this but he can’t help the doubt that festers.

“Okay but what if she just isn’t ready and saying I love you now, is too intense. I just need some sort of sign that it’ll be okay when I tell her.”

“She lives with you. She’s practically in your lap every time I video call. She wants to be with you literally all the time and you think she doesn’t love you even a little? Have a little faith, Bob.”

Bob supposes that sounds reasonable. That someone who wants to be with him day in, day out might be in love with him even if they haven’t uttered the specific phrase yet, but he vows to keep his declarations of love to himself until everything’s a little clearer.

Just to be safe.

However, once Bob has acknowledged what he feels, it gets harder and harder to keep it to himself. He wants to say it when you guys are walking Angie and you coo at her every time she finds a new leaf to play with. It’s on the tip of his tongue when you’re eating breakfast in the morning and you get crumbs on your breakfast shirt. It blows through his mind when you press yourself into him every time you guys settle on the couch to watch movies together, his hand in yours.

Over and over and over again he pushes down the urge to just tell you how he feels, opting instead for safer words.

“I just think you look really pretty today,” when you caught him staring at you one afternoon when the two of you are laying out in the backyard. You’d just laughed and returned the compliment, scooting closer so you could put your head on his chest and feel the steady rhythm of his breathing.

“I really like the way you do that,” he says on another night as you rub his back gently. He’d been having a bad week, days riddled with small misfortunes and all he wanted to do was curl up in his bed and sleep it away, but you’d dragged him out of bed that night with a stern warning.

“Not saying you have to smile, just saying you have to sit here with me. It’s not good to be alone when you’re sad,” you say as your palm rubs small warm circles into his back. “I mean, what am I here for, if not to help you feel a little better?”

Bob is sure he’s gonna burst from the pressure of trying to keep it in, but he loves you and he loves the bubble he’s built with you and the longer he waits the more he feels like the wrong timing will burst it.

Bob realises he shouldn’t have worried when you burst the bubble yourself on a regular Saturday afternoon. It’s one of your “clean everything” days. Big loads of laundry, deep cleans of the bathrooms, and unloading and cleaning the fridge in the kitchen, and — most importantly — giving Angie her monthly-ish bath.

You guys had woken up early, as you usually did and knocked out all the regular household things. The only thing left was bathing Angie, who had conveniently gone missing — like she always did on bath day. The two of you comb the house from top to bottom, shaking her favourite toy and calling for her until you find her half-tucked behind the entertainment unit, tail swishing as she tries t o squeeze her way behind it.

“Oh Angie, we do this every month,” Bob coaxes as he gently wriggles her out.

She responds in sad mewls, pathetically pawing at him as he carries her into the big bathroom.

“Stop. Stop, it’s just a little bit, stop it,” he argues with her as she tries to squirm out of his arms, throwing pathetic looks at you

Everything’s set out and after almost forty-five minutes of wrangling and cooing and bribing with treats you have her claws trimmed and her fur brushed.

“Maybe we can skip the bath this month, she was kinda good. She didn’t even try to scratch me this time,” Bob says as he scratches behind her ears. As if understanding he was on her side she climbs into his lap, looking up at you with her sweetest eyes, mewling softly.

“Bob. You’re too soft on her,” you say as you run the water, checking the temperature before plugging the sink.

“She’s just a baby,” he sighs as he squeezes out the final dregs of her treat.

“She is using her saddest little cat sounds on you and you’re falling for it. Again,” you chastise as you roll your sleeves up. “She’s a big girl, we’ve done this for as long as we’ve had her and we never had any problems until she realised that you are an easy target.”

Begrudgingly he hands her to you as you lower her into the sink, ignoring her pathetic pleas.

“I’m sorry sweetie,” he sighs as he opens up another treat.

“We’ll be done soon, won’t we Angie?” you ask her as you gently scoop water into her fur. She’s stopped complaining, letting you move her gently to avoid water getting into her eyes. It’s easy once she’s in the sink, and she lets you lather and rinse her with no further complaints. As promised, it’s quick but thorough, and you let Bob feed her some of her treat as you work.

“See. She’s in one piece. Like she always is when we do this,” you laugh as you towel dry her.

“She just looks so sad. Look at her. We betrayed her,” he pouts.

“It’s not betrayal if we do this every month.”

“It feels like betrayal.”

“It only feels like betrayal because she senses the softness in you. Remember when you first moved in and you used to double up her feeds because she’d look at you all sad?”

Bob laughs. “In my defence I didn’t know. And you’re very persuasive aren’t you sweet girl?”

She sits as still as she can while Bob starts the blow dryer up, and you wrap your arms around his middle while he gets to work on drying her.

“Nothing wrong with being a softie for my little angel is there?”

She seems to purr in agreement, preening as he dries her.

“I love you so much,” you laugh into his back as he waves the blow dryer over Angie, cooing sweet words to her while she purrs at the warmth.

He thinks he’s misheard you for a moment, but he can’t think of anything else you might’ve said.

“What?” he laughs, nervous. In all his anxiety, he’d never thought you’d say it first. Or say it like this.

“Sorry. Is that too much? You don’t have to say it back if-”

“No, no I do. I love you too, I just thought the moment would be way bigger you know. Not that this isn’t big, of course this is big I’m just…” he trails off, trying to find the words for what he feels besides dizzying relief.

“Well I love you now, so I figured I’d say it now,” you laugh as you press your nose into the fabric of his shirt. “I love you I love you I love you,” you say as you squeeze him tighter. “Even when you’re being a helicopter parent over a routine cat bath.”

“And I love you. Even when you make me betray our baby.”