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Summary
“Why're you looking at me like that?” Naim says, quiet, a bit insecure. His eyes flit away, closing when Ryan reaches a finger up to trace his lips.
Ryan shrugs, unable to do anything but tell the truth. He's in his bed with a beautiful, impossible boy, and he's going to tell him that he loves him. Like something out of his dreams. Ryan is sick of not taking what he wants, of letting it flit past him like a balloon in the wind, strings cut.
No. Ryan loves Naim, is in love with him, and he's going to fucking say it.
“I love you,” Ryan says, vulnerable, eyes wet. “I don't know how else to look at you.”