Silverlight Terrace here's to the ones who dream

Were it another time and place, he would have endeavored to include Rannoch and Cypress in his present thoughts but Rian was caught up in her riptide. A repetition of events past—the once-forgotten boy saw only her. 

But the set of her vice-like jaw beget a internal struggle evoked by him, and he wished it weren't so. He cursed his fool heart thrice over as he had done countless times before for letting his fears drive this wedge between them. Though he was not so bold as to presume he knew her as he had when they were children, Rian sensed an inherent longing in her—it called to him; a siren's song so sweet was like to beckon him into the jaws of death itself were he to surrender to this blind, seasonal madness. 

Gods, why did she need to stand so near and yet so far. 

Answer the question, her eyes demanded. And so Rian stepped into the abyss—

"By—" he trailed off and swallowed thickly; the narrow column of his furred throat bobbing with the effort. He exhaled and, on it, spared no tears, nor demands, or falsehoods in words colored by vulnerability granted to her ears alone: "By listening." 

Rian drew deep a slightly unsteady breath and continued, quicker now as if fearing she may take advantage of her position and turn a cold shoulder. "I tore out what didn't belong and replaced it with who I wanted t'be. We're always changing, but I hope that my progress is—that it'll be enough to start with."