Because tonight I’m too fucking proud of him to even let my brain go there. He earned this peace. He earned everything.
So I just keep my hand in his hair, running my fingers through it slowly, as he exhales under me. "You did good today, filthy nerd," I whisper against his cheek. "Better than good. You were fucking perfect." I lay back fully.
"Thanks a lot, street rat. Goodnight." And before I can even reply, his hand slips under the waistband of my boxers. Not doing anything. Just existing there.
Resting…on my dick.
Casual as hell. I freeze for a second, staring at the ceiling, trying to process my life choices. "You are such a whore," I mutter.
"What?" His voice is already half-asleep. "It helps me relax." I shake my head, letting out a laugh.
Un-fucking-believable.
I turn my head slightly, to look at him. His lashes are already low, completely at peace. Suddenly, Lulu jumps on the bed and makes herself right at home, curled up like a cinnamon bun directly on Rava’s ass. Rava’s head lifts slowly. He turns, mouth hanging open. First he looks at Lulu. Then at me.
"She chose me…" His hand is still down my underwear. "Out of every spot, she chose MY ass…" I lose it. I laugh right in his stunned face. He looks stunned. "Blink, dude!"
"I am the prophecy..."
My abs hurt. I’m wheezing. I’m gonna die laughing. She starts purring. He goes completely still. Then his mouth twitches. His eyes get all glassy, like he’s actually about to cry.
"Gio, I think I’m gonna faint." He looks at me, dead serious. "The queen has chosen my ass. I’m not strong enough for this. She could’ve curled up anywhere. On your chest. On the pillow. On your dick. But she didn’t."
"That’s right, Ravioli, she chose your ass. Wow. Now sleep. Goodnight." I pet Lulu once, kiss his cheek, and then I finally close my eyes. I find myself smiling like a complete idiot. I’m so fucking happy. Right now, right here, this is it. This is all I ever wanted, and I didn’t even know. Until now.
28) Holy Goddamn Mouth
Rava
I don’t want to open my eyes. Not because I’m tired. I’m not. I slept better than I have in weeks, my whole body feels like it has finally been allowed to rest.
But I don’t open them. Because if I do, the day will start. And days mean hours. And hours mean countdowns. So I stay still, with my eyes closed, breathing him in. His scent is on the pillow, on my skin, on everything. Eventually, I blink.
Gio is still asleep. Lying on his side, one arm draped over my waist. His face is calm and relaxed, none of that usualsarcastic face. Just peace. And I just lie there, staring.
How can someone look that good when they’re unconscious? It doesn’t make sense. It should be illegal. Honestly. He looks even younger like this. Like he hasn’t bruised or bled or fought tooth and nail to be who he is. But I know better. I know every sharp edge behind that softness.
And still, all I want to do is kiss him. How am I supposed to walk away from this? From him? Getting that call last night, it’slike the universe hands me the brightest star in the sky and then whispers, "but you can’t take it with you."
It feels like winning a race only to realize I’ve been running in the wrong direction. Like being handed the key to a door I never wanted to open. Suddenly, the dream feels like a trade. Because what’s the point of achieving something great if it rips the best part of you away? Don’t get me wrong, I love education. I really fucking do.
My first love was learning. My second was him. And they couldn’t be more different. One gave me control, the other stole it completely.
I keep asking myself, can’t I have both? Can’t I be the person I want to be and stay with the person I love? Why does it feel like the universe is holding two ropes and telling me to pick one?
I hate that I’m even thinking like this. Gio would tell me I’m being dramatic. He’d roll his eyes, shove my shoulder, tell me, "Baby, you’re acting like there’s no Wi-Fi in Canada."
He’d make it sound so simple. You go, you study, we call, we visit, we make it work. He believes in me so hard it physically hurts. And while he’s talking about how this is huge and how I’ll be the hottest teacher in North America, I’m thinking, you’re not coming with me.
I can’t say it out loud. I can’t look at him and say, "Hey, I’m so happy I got this, but the idea of not seeing you every day makes me want to throw up." How selfish is that? He’s always pushing me forward.
Always telling me I deserve more, that I’m smart, that I’m capable, that I’m not my father, not my past, not the scared kid who thought he’d never get out.
And now that "out" is literally in my inbox, I’m sitting here wondering if maybe staying would hurt less. I hate myself a little for even thinking it. Because I know what it took to get here.
The late nights. The exams. The anxiety. The papers I almost deleted because my brain was screamingyou’re not good enough for this. I’m sad. I’m scared. I feel guilty for all of it.
I’m terrified of losing him if I go.
