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Summary
“I didn’t think—it didn’t mean anything between us.”
“And with me?” Naim’s piercing eyes urged Ryan to lay his soul bare.
“You’re different.” Was what he settled on to not reveal his true feelings. Naim was different. He was gentle and touched Ryan as if he would break. At night he played a montage of all the different versions of Naim that he memorized over the time they spent together. Naim, with his pupils blown from the weed, regarding him lazily. Naim’s warm body under his, letting out soft whimpers whenever Ryan pressed him harder against the concrete. Naim, holding his gaze at school and at church, the same way he held their secrets between them. Naim, Naim, Naim. Only ever Naim. Ryan knew what made him happy (late night talks and baggy clothes), what scared him (a lot of things but mostly heights and stagnancy and being forgotten), what turned him on (Ryan mouthing at his neck and when he pushed his tongue past Naim’s lips).
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Ryan has lived with this curse long enough to be able to tell the entity and the real Naim apart. Or does he?