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“Yes.”
“Since you were eight.”
“Yes.”
Another silence.
“You are so —”
“Don’t.”
“Unbelievably —”
“Cassian —”
“Perfect,” he says.
But his voice is wrecked when he says it.
Completely, totally wrecked.
He pulls me in tighter. His face pressed into my hair.
And I feel it —
the way his whole body is shaking.
Laughing.
Silently.
The way he always laughs when something catches him completely off guard.
“Thirteen years,” he says. Into my hair. “Thirteen years and you never —”
“I was eight.”
“But then we were sixteen.”
“I was embarrassed.”
“You were twenty —”
“Cassian.”
He’s still shaking.
I’m smiling so hard it hurts.
“Okay,” he says finally.
Settling.
Still light with it.
“Okay.”
His thumb moves slow across my hand.
