"I love you, Rava."
No hesitation. "Fuck, I love you so much."
My mouth opens but nothing comes out.
"I don’t even know hownotto anymore. I wake up and it’s you. I go to sleep and it’s you."
He’s crying again. Not just from fear anymore, but grief. "I tried. Ireallyfucking tried not to love you. I knew this would happen. I knew I’d end up here."
He laughs. Bitter. "Of course it’s me saying it first." He looks up at me again. And god he looks destroyed. "So there you go. You win. I said it. I fucking love you."
A pause. "And I’m so scared that in two weeks, you’ll walk away and I’ll have to pretend again that I can survive without you." He presses his face into my neck, almost like he’s trying to disappear into me. "I don’t know how to do this," he murmurs. "I’ve never had this. I don’t even know what it is—just that I’m so fucking scared of losing it."
I can’t hold it back anymore.
The tears. The shock.
The fucking weight of what he just said.
He loves me. Gio Fontana just said that helovesme.
I don’t even realize I’m crying until a tear hits my own wrist. He keeps talking, still spiraling. "I know I’m not easy to love," he says. "I’m not even easy to like. I mean, look at how your dad—"
"Gio. No."
My voice comes out fast, broken.
I reach out, grip his face, wiping his tears away with both hands before he can even finish that sentence. "Don’t. Don’t you fucking dare bring him into this."
I’m shaking. So in love I can barely breathe. "Fuck what he thinks. Fuck everything he ever said about you. Fuck him." I lean in closer, forehead nearly touching his.
"He doesn’t know you. He doesn’t see you. He never has. But I do." I press my thumbs gently against his cheeks, still wiping the tears away.
"You are easy to love, Gio. You are so fucking easy to love, it’s stupid."
My voice cracks again.
"Do you wanna know something?" I take a deep breath, but I keep talking. I have to keep talking. I have to finally get that out of me.
"You used to throw spitballs at my notebook, remember that? Calling me 'glasses boy' like it was some world-endinginsult, and I’d pretend I didn’t care. But later when I went home…"
I take a shaky breath. I swallow. My fingers brush his cheeks.
He’s crying, but so am I.
"I used to draw little motorcycles in the corners of my pages. Just becauseyouliked them. And I didn’t even know why I cared that much. I started liking them because you wouldn’t shut up about them."
His eyes flicker, confused, but I smile. "I used to print pictures of Ducatis and pretend I knew what I was looking at. I had no freaking idea what a clutch was. But every time I heard an engine rev on the street, I looked up."
He’s still. Listening. He even gives me a small smile while wiping his tears. "I also used to write fake homework just to stay late at school when I knew you had detention. Just to sit outside and hear you yell at the teacher. Again, I didn’t know why. I just…couldn’t help it."
My thumb brushes his knuckles. "You used to walk like you owned the street. Head high, like nothing scared you. And I thought…God, I wish I could be like that." My hands drop to his shoulders. I grip him. "You think you’re broken. You think you’re the problem. But Gio…all my life, I’ve looked at you and seen someone I couldneverbe. Someone fearless."
He shakes his head. "I was never fearless."
"I know," I say. "That’s what makes it more impressive. You’re scared, and you still fight. Still protect people. Still carry everything without letting anyone see how heavy it is." I lean my forehead against his. My voice is barely a whisper now.
"I’ve been in love with you for so, so long, Gio. Long before I knew what the hell love even meant." He chokes back a sob. I wipe the tears fast.
