Chin tilting up and down, this way and that, mouth moving wordlessly in a series of attempts at finding something to say; something as simple as a place to start would be good.

He didn't have a clue how to explain the why, and ended up thumbing the edge of the screwed on lid of his thermo cup. He could feel his ears starting to burn. He'd learned the hard way to value privacy and secrecy, but this went beyond that. This tapped right into his own underlying fears of commitment - or not commitment as such, but the very real risk of losing someone once they'd gotten too close and he'd gotten too attached and started taking them (him) for granted.

"I, uh," he started, cleared his throat almost immediately after. "I haven't-- We don't really talk about..." Vague gesture goes here, to indicate the intangible thing between him and Paul.

"And I don't even think I could, so I've been writing things down here and there, and I just thought--"

Pushing air out through his nose, pressing his lips together. "I wrote him a letter. This morning. Gave it to him a few hours ago, and I'm not sure I'm coping too well."