The first time that Matthew Williams tried to tell Gilbert Beilschmidt that he was in love, they were at a party. The music was loud enough that Matthew was sure that his ears would be ringing later, and the place stank of cigarette smoke and sweat. Roving, colored lights passed over the both of them, lighting up Gil's grin.
"I think I love you!" Matthew said, but it came out as a loud whisper—utterly impossible to hear over the din.
Gil frowned and cupped a hand around his ear, mouthing, I can't hear you.
Matthew grabbed Gil's arm and tried to pull him closer before his confidence flagged—and accidentally yanked off the leather jacket that Gil was wearing. Blood rushed to Matthew's cheeks—Gil was only wearing a sweaty muscle shirt underneath it. Gil flushed, too, as the dancers around them started to wolf whistle.
"Time to get you out of that hoodie, then!" Gil said, pouncing on Matthew. Matthew quickly wriggled out of Gil's grasp and disappeared into the sea of bodies. He could see Gil from their table, but, to the crowd, Matthew was invisible; they jostled him and ran right into him as they milled about. Many of them eyed Gil, though—Matthew couldn't see his face through the smoky, dull light, but he saw Gil go up to the DJ. They talked for a while, and it almost looked like Gil was flirting with her before he headed back to the dance floor. Eventually a young woman walked up to him, and Matthew turned away.
He was still holding Gil's leather jacket when tinny, obnoxious pop music started to play. "So what am I so afraid of?" rang in Matthew's ears as he ran for the exit.
The second time that Matthew Williams tried to tell Gilbert Beilschmidt that he was in love, he was drunk out of his mind at some hole-in-the-wall bar.
"I love you, man," Matthew said. Gil froze, then laughed, patting Matthew on the back.
"Sure you do, Mattie," he said, and Matthew didn't know what to think of Gil's expression. "That's a sure sign that I need to get you home."
"No, I mean it!" Matthew insisted, grabbing Gil's shoulders. The room swayed. "I love you, man. Like, really love you, eh?"
Gil sighed, and he made that same expression again—his eyebrows drawn together like he was in pain, his mouth forcing a smile.
"You, too, kiddo," Gil said. "Now, let's get that drunk butt of yours into bed."
Matthew very much liked that idea. He drunkenly stumbled out (with Gil's help) and let Gil call a cab to get them back to Gil's apartment.
"Why your place and not mine?" Matthew asked.
"You're too drunk to remember your address," Gil said, helping Matthew into the car. "Come on."
The next morning, Matthew woke up with a ringing headache. He had on soft, fluffy pajamas that were actually clean (and had little yellow birds on them, he noticed). There was a glass of water and some aspirin by his bedside, and a note next to that.
Good morning, birdie! the note began, I've got breakfast ready for you downstairs. Press the little buzzer and I'll bring it up.
Matthew squinted through the shouting, angry morning light. There was a plastic remote thingy by the glass of water. He grabbed it and pressed the button. Immediately, he heard cheerful whistling and the sound of feet running up the stairs two at a time. Gil waltzed into the room with a glass of orange juice and some pancakes. A little jar of syrup sat beside them on the tray. Gil looked criminally happy.
"What happened last night?" Matthew asked. He couldn't remember anything past the cab ride. Gil set down the tray and chuckled.
"You threw up on my entryway, my shoes, and my bathroom floor," Gil said. "I cleaned you up and changed you—your clothes should be out of the drier pretty soon. You kept trying to strip once I got you into bed, so I turned down the heat and left extra blankets in case you got cold again later in the night."
Matthew buried his face in his knees.
"Ooh, sorry, Mattie," Gil said, "I forgot to draw the shades. I hope that you like the pancakes. They're not as awesome as you—yours."
With that, Gil ran to the shades, pulled them shut so that welcome darkness flooded the room, then ran out of the room, pausing only to turn on the small, bedside lamp. Matthew slid the breakfast tray onto his lap. The maple syrup was some of the best he'd ever tasted.
The third time that Matthew Williams tried to tell Gilbert Beilschmidt that he was in love, they were sitting on a dock, eating ice cream, and talking about their future.
"I want to settle down, eh?" Matthew said softly. The maple ice cream was sweet and perfect for the hot day. The sun was starting to set; they'd been on the dock for at least five hours. Gil had only left to grab them ice cream and other provisions. "I think that I've found someone I really care about."
Gil froze, then clapped Matthew on the back.
"Good for you!" Gil said. "Bet she's a bombshell, yeah?"
"He's very handsome," Matthew said, his heart hammering danger, danger, danger!in his chest. "Everyone stares at him when we're together. It's like I don't exist."
"That's not healthy," Gil frowns. "He should make you feel like you're the most special, amazing, awesome person on the planet. 'Cause you are. I mean, if it were me—" Gil backpedaled, turning red as Matthew turned to look at him. "I mean, not that it's me you're talking about, but if it were me that you're talking about—not that—I mean, I would call you beautiful and stuff and—and maybe that's mushy and maybe you don't like that. I mean. I mean that I'd, you know, I'd try to take care of you. Of the person I loved. I mean. Not that." Gil drew up his knees and buried his face into them, groaning. "My mouth is just not being awesome enough right now."
"It is you," Matthew found himself saying. Gil went very still and quiet. Matthew's heart galloped along in his chest, so frantic and panicked that Matthew felt lightheaded. He felt as though the precipice he'd been so precariously balanced on was crumbling beneath his feet. "The one that I'm talking about. The one that I love. It's you."
Gil swallowed hard as he looked up at Matthew.
"But," he said, "But I'm in love with you, too."
Matthew felt dizzy and giddy, but he was sure that he'd misheard. "What?"
"I just tried to show you," Gil said, "Since being around you makes my tongue do stupid stuff." He paused; Matthew said nothing, so Gil turned away. "You know, like that time at the club when you wanted to listen to 'I Think I Love You,' and I went to the DJ to get her to play it for you. Or that time when you got totally smashed and I got you home safely. I've been buying fresh maple syrup from a specialty store in Canada every week just in case you came over for pancakes. And I brought you here because I know that place that sells maple ice cream, and I thought, you know, that you'd want to try it or something."
"But why would you love me?" Matthew asked. "I'm invisible. No one remembers my name. I'm not spec—"
"Don't say it," Gil snapped. "I don't want to hear you say that!" Gil turned to Matthew and gently guided his face to look him in the eye. "You are awesome, Mattie. In fact, you're the only person awesome enough for me."
So far, Matthew realized, words hadn't explained anything the way that he'd wanted them to.
So he just kissed Gilbert instead.