They'd said "I love you" before—at night, over the phone, in heightened emotional moments when the darkness made vulnerability easier and emotions ran high.
But the next morning after Valentine's Day, Adrian woke before Dante and lay there watching him sleep, thinking with complete clarity: I love you.
Completely sober. Fully awake. No emotional intensity or darkness to hide behind. No special occasion or dramatic moment lending weight to the feeling.
Just morning light filtering through the window, illuminating dust particles floating in the air, and the person in his bed breathing steadily beside him.
Dante's face was relaxed in sleep, mouth slightly open, hair messed up from the pillow, a small crease on his cheek from where it had been pressed against the sheets. He looked completely ordinary and completely beautiful at the same time.
Adrian's heart felt too big for his chest.
Dante's eyes fluttered open, catching Adrian staring.
