Though they probably shouldn't, when he's the one who just said it, the words make Jerry go still, if only for a fraction of a second, his breath caught in his throat like he doesn't know what to do with it. That part, he does, but with what she's said, he doesn't. On some level, he thinks he ought to have known already, that it isn't really any kind of a surprise. The night he found her here, she said she'd gone back to Los Angeles for him, at least in part, and he doesn't think she would have done anything so crazy for anything more casual. Even so, it's more than he can quite wrap his head around.

Though it's not like he doesn't believe her, he wants to tell her not to say it if it isn't true. He wants to tell her not to say it just because he did, which, in retrospect, might have been the point of saying it while she was asleep, or while he thought she was. There's no obligation that way, as opposed to this, when he doubts she'd be saying so if he hadn't already. It occurs to him that she might have been waiting for him to, but he doesn't see why. He's loved her for ages, since before the morning they fought at his place, though he might not have known how to say so at the time. She was the one who was always caught up with someone else.

Not sure what, if any of it, he should try to tell her, he just climbs more fully back into bed instead, leaning in to kiss her again, lingering a little longer this time. It's true, what he said, and now that he's said so, he can't for a second try to pretend like it isn't, something made clear just by the way his mouth meets hers, his thumb smoothing along her cheek. "I... didn't really think you'd hear that," he admits, a little sheepish, his forehead against hers. He can't fathom how she wouldn't have known already, but he couldn't have held it back, either. He has for too long.