They are both men--young men--of silence. Jude more obviously than Bodhi, who takes the hum of Bodhi's babbling and sinks into it, sees it often for what it is. Just because Bodhi puts noise around his silences doesn't mean they aren't there. In this, he's more traditionally quiet, though Jude's pink-tipped ears haven't forgotten anything he's said, so far.

Jude understands most things by putting his hands on them, or drawing them, and he's limited on the ability to openly do either with Bodhi. If Bodhi hadn't been in his lap, kissing him, would he have known to ask? Would anything have even been wrong?

At least it's something he understands without much external input. "Me too," he admits, for all the steadiness of his hand on Bodhi's chest, failing to hold Bodhi up until he's sunk precisely close enough to kiss again. Jude echoes the trail of a finger over his cheek by turning his head, kissing where the line of Bodhi's rounds along his face. It's a little silly, and very up-close, and Jude winds up forehead to forehead with him in the silence that follows. Spent like this, he likes their silences just fine.