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Shiloh might have been oblivious to all things that concerned flirting and romance, but he definitely didn’t miss the catch in Ian’s voice, the nearly imperceptible start of the sorrowful word on the man’s lips. He noticed it, because he’d caught himself doing it too. Not here, thankfully, where he could pretend it had never happened, that his sister was just a letter or a phone call away. Here, no one asked, and no one knew, and for that he was grateful.

But his heart went out to Ian, and he couldn’t help but feel sympathetic for the guy, even if he still couldn’t wrap his head around the idea of not having friends. If anything, that just made the situation worse. When everything had happened, it had been his friends that Shiloh had turned to. If Ian didn’t have any, where did he turn?

He frowned, thinking about it. He was beginning to guess a little bit more about why Ian was the way he was, at least, that was the only way he could explain it. But ultimately, he was still lost. He scooted to the edge of the bed, swinging his legs over the side and making sure he was facing Ian. He might not have understood it, and he might have been asking for trouble, but like a dog with a bone, Shiloh was curious, and now determined to figure the problem out.

“But you came here anyway, and you’re still here now. What does that mean?”

Shiloh crossed his arms this time, staring at him. Except Shiloh wasn’t very good at looking stern, and after a couple minutes he gave up, flopping back onto his bed and staring at the ceiling instead. The ceiling was easy, it was drywall and plaster and paint; the ceiling made sense.

“I think to be running away, you have you, you know, actually be running, Ian. And you’re still standing, right here.” He stretched out his leg, nudging Ian with his foot. Ian’s answer hadn’t cleared up any of his confusion, he kept saying these things but he’d brought his shirt back, and brought him a gift, and apologized. He couldn’t understand why Ian was still so down on himself. He just didn’t get it.

“I’m glad you decided not to go with the tights though, I don’t think I’m ready to see you in tights,” he said to the ceiling, and by extension Ian, forcing a smile.

After a moment, the smile faded, and he asked his next question quietly.

“Are you still here because you want to use me for something?”

Shiloh listened to Ian’s answer, trying to decipher what he was saying. This entire conversation had turned out to be deeper than Shiloh had expected, and from the way Ian rambled, he guessed that the Mist hunter hadn’t been expecting such inquiries into his persona either. But by the time Ian had finished talking, his cheeks rosy and his hand shoved in his pockets, Shiloh was feeling a bit relieved and when he thought about the situation, his usual easy smile returned to his face.

He propped himself up on his elbows, looking at Ian, still smiling.

“You know, I think that’s the most roundabout way anyone has ever asked to be my friend.”

“Oh, you’re well-versed,” he said laughing, “You just needed to get to the point.”

There was an ease that had returned to the room, or at least to Shiloh. This he could handle, he wasn’t out of his element when it came to matters of friendship. He laughed again, and then apologized.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, Ian. But it’s not crap. Friends are great. And if you want to be mine, that’s cool, I mean, I am pretty awesome so I could see why.”

He grinned at him cheekily. Ian seemed hell-bent on convincing Shiloh that he was a bad guy, but Shiloh just couldn’t see it. Or rather, he refused to see it. Despite Ian’s words to the contrary, and aside from the incident, Ian had only tried his best to make it up to Shiloh. He was trying, in his own way, and Shiloh wanted to try too.

“You should stop that,” Shiloh said, watching as Ian sat down on the bed. That was a good sign, he thought. Progress. They’d be friends yet. He shifted his weight slightly, turning so he was on his side and could face Ian properly. It would be no good if he tried to hide himself away again, and Shiloh moved slowly, wondering how he ended up being the one who had to be careful how he acted.

He wrinkled his nose at the nickname.

“Well, you’re the one who decided I was a shy duck, I never said I was.” He offered him a smile. “But yeah, I guess that would be the idea. And look, you’ve already started.”

The young man chuckled, reaching out to tug at the shirt Ian had ‘borrowed’.

“Someday I’ll think of a good one for your… You’re just lucky your name isn’t easy.”

He met Ian’s smirk with one of his own, until the other man shoved his shirt in his face. The shirt smelled like Ian, and the scent filled his nose. Shiloh protested, trying to grab the shirt out of Ian’s hands, his fingers closing around Ian’s wrist for a change, and pushing his arm back. He tried to give the Mist hunter his best indignant look, but ended up grinning instead.

“Being friends just entails being friends. I dunno how to describe it, you just do it and everything falls into place.”

“Oh,” Shiloh said, blinking. He had never considered that Ian might have another name, but that was pretty cool. He gathered up Ian’s shirt, and tucked it under his chin, using it as a makeshift pillow. “Well, if you like Ian better, I’ll call you Ian but you know if you bring something up like that, it’s only going to make me want to know what your real name is. And hey! My nicknaming skills are just fine, you try making a nickname out of Ian.”

He stuck his tongue out at him childishly, both about the nicknames, and the subsequent attack on his inability to describe things.

“It is easy. We’re doing it right now. You’re just overthinking it.”

It was Shiloh’s turn to roll his eyes. He might have been gullible, but he wasn’t stupid. He reached out with his hand, pushing Ian’s face away with a groan.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be repeating that, don’t worry.”

But his tone was light, and playful, and he smiled at Ian. This was definitely better, the conversation flowing easily as it had three days ago. He made a face when Ian challenged that he had no problem thinking of nicknames, shifting the shirt a little beneath his chin.

“If you’re so good at coming up with them, what are they then, hm?”

He pulled the shirt entirely from beneath his head at that point, and threw it back at Ian with a grin, before rolling onto his backside and stretching out languidly.

“It’s not ridiculous,” he mused. “Just easier. Catch more flies with honey than vinegar, or however that goes, you know? You’ll figure it out.”