Something cracked in his expression.
“I don’t know how to do this,” he whispered. “I don’t know how to let someone see me like this. My whole life, I’ve been told to push through, to keep going, to never show weakness. And now I’m—” His voice broke. “I’m so tired, Derek. I’m so fucking tired of pretending I’m okay when I’m not.”
“Then stop pretending.” I pulled him back against my chest, holding him tight. “You don’t have to be strong right now. You don’t have to be anything. Just let me hold you.”
He resisted for a moment—I could feel it, that instinct to pull away, to protect himself. Then the fight went out of him all at once. He sagged against me, his fingers curling into my shirt, and started to cry.
Not the controlled, silent tears he’d probably shed on the plane. These were ugly, gasping sobs that shook his whole body. The kind of crying you did when you’d been holding everything in for too long and finally, finally let it go.
I didn’t say anything. I just held him, one hand stroking his back, the other cradling the back of his head. Aspen, sensing something was wrong, jumped onto the bed and pressed himself against Théo’s legs, a warm, steady presence.
“He asked me if it gets better,” Théo choked out between sobs. “And I told him it does. But what if I was lying? What if I’m not actually better? What if I’m just… pretending well enough that people believe me?”
“You’re not pretending.” I pulled back just enough to look at him. “Théo, look at me. You’re not pretending.”
“How do you know?”
“Because you’re here.” I wiped a tear from his cheek with my thumb. “Six months ago you would’ve hidden away. Tonight you came to me. You let me see you. That’s not pretending. That’s progress.”
He stared at me, something raw and uncertain in his eyes.
“I almost didn’t come,” he admitted. “I sat on the Blue Line for half an hour telling myself I should just go to Avery’s. That I was being weak. That you didn’t sign up for this.”
“Sign up for what? Being there for you?”
“For the mess.” His voice was barely audible. “For all of this. The baggage. The breakdowns. The ex-boyfriend in the hospital. The—”
“Théo.” I cut him off. “I’m not just here for the fun, easy parts. I’m here for all of it. The good days and the bad days and the days where you cry in my bed at 3 a.m. because you’re hurting. That’s what this is. That’s what I want.”
“Why?” The question came out broken, bewildered. Like he genuinely couldn’t understand.
“Because I love you.”
The words hung in the air between us. I hadn’t planned to say them—not like this, not now—but they were true. They’d been true for a while now but I was too scared to speak them into the universe.
Théo went very still.
“You don’t have to say it back,” I added quickly. “I’m not asking for anything. I just… need you to know you’re not a burden. Not to me.”
He didn’t say anything for a long moment. Then he buried his face in my chest and held on like I was the only solid thing in a world that kept shifting under his feet.
“I don’t deserve you,” he mumbled.
“That’s not true.”
“It feels true.”
“Feelings lie sometimes.” I kissed the top of his head. “I’ve got you, snowdrop. I’m not going anywhere.”
We lay there in the darkness, tangled together, Aspen a warm weight at our feet. Gradually, Théo’s breathing evened out. The trembling stopped. His grip on my shirt loosened as exhaustion finally won.
“Derek?” His voice was sleepy and soft.
“Yeah?”
“I love you too.” A pause. “I’m terrified. But I do.”
My chest expanded with something too big to name.
