Maybe... maybe he should just say that.I like that you’re sitting closer.Just a few simple words. And if Jake cared about him, like his mom thought, maybe Jake would tell him that.
Although, he already kind of had, hadn’t he? The other day. Outside at Jake’s car.“I like you—”
Maybethatwas where Rye should start.
He took a deep breath to steady himself and then another, and since his hands were shaking and he didn’t want to spill his drink, he leaned over and set his mug on the coffee table. Then, he hugged his knees tight to his chest, lifted his eyes to meet Jake’s, and made himself speak.
“What did you mean last week when you said y-you... like me?” His words weren’t eloquent or probably even coherent, but he’d said them nonetheless.
And Jake’s eyes widened, his lips parted slightly. He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he blinked and looked down, then he seemed to swallow hard.
“Well, I, um . . .”
Jake blew out a short breath, leaned forward to set his tea on the coffee table, too, and then raked a hand through his hair. He was... nervous?
Or maybe just unsure of what to say.
Or maybe he was nervous because he was unsure of what to say because he’d meant what he’d said before and—
“I think I like you too,” Rye blurted out, and as soon as he did, the voice in his head nearly shouted at him, telling him how juvenile he was, how broken, how unlikeable. It told him to keep his mouth shut,or else...!
But he didn’t want to listen to it. He didn’t want to hear it. He wanted to hear Jake’s answer. He wanted to hear Jake’s answer in Jake’s kind voice that always made him feel better and safe. And he wanted to know.
So he kept his eyes open and on Jake, holding his breath, waiting.
Several long seconds passed, and just as Rye started to wonder whether he’d said something terribly wrong, Jake lifted his chin and looked up again. His smile was soft, just like his eyes. Soft and hopeful.
And Rye’s heart did something strange, a warm flutter in his chest. He liked that too.
“Do you really mean that?” Jake asked quietly. “Because I don’t want to say anything that would upset you or... or pressure you or... anything.”
Rye nodded once, and he forced more words out. “Tell me. Please. Tell me what you meant.”
Jake looked back down, wringing his hands together, and he seemed to be searching for the right words. Finally, he took a deep breath and lifted his eyes. His soft smile had a hint of worry to it, but he spoke clearly and without hesitation. “When I said that—when I said I like you,” he started, “I meant that I feel a connection with you that I’ve never felt with anyone else before. I... want to be around you all the time, I want to be here for you when you need me, I want to show you how wonderful you are. You mean more to me than I can even say. That’s what I meant when I said I like you.”
Rye’s cheeks felt warm, and his heart did that strange thing again, that flutter, only it was more intense this time. And he felt a pull, like something was drawing him closer to Jake, trying to get him to move. To scoot over just to be closer.
He held himself still.
“Like... more than friends?” he asked, and because he felt like he needed even more clarity, he added, “Like in a... romantic way?”
He immediately worried that he probably sounded dumb. After all, he really had no idea what he was talking about. His mom had even had to point out to him what his feelings might mean because he just had no idea.
But Jake’s reaction didn’t make him feel dumb at all.
Jake’s cheeks flushed a deep red, and he pursed his lips and nodded and said, his voice low and deep and kind, “Yeah. Yeah, like that.”
Rye ducked his head, resting it on his knees as some overwhelming emotion rippled through him, strong and fast, and the couch shifted again. Jake had moved closer. Rye couldfeelhim, a warmth and presence that Rye had come to find so much comfort in.
“I think... I like you like that too,” he said. “I-I just—”
He sucked in a breath and pressed his forehead against his knees. God, it hurt. He hurt. Because even with Jake’s warmth there—his closeness, his comfort—the uncertainty and fear were still so strong.
“Rye,” Jake said, and Rye’s chest tightened, but he tilted his chin up so he could see Jake.
Jake had indeed moved a little closer, as Rye had felt, and he’d shifted so he was facing Rye, one leg hiked up onto the couch and his arm resting along the back cushion. Closer now and yet still too far away.
“Rye, I don’t want to pressure you. That’s the last thing I want. And I don’t want to make you feel like I expect anything from you. I’ve been so,so happy just being here for you, just being your friend. I... um, didn’t lie last week, when I said I like you, but I also appreciate your friendship more than anything, and I don’t want you to think otherwise.”
