Page 74 of Loverboy

He had no idea how impossible it was for me to hate anything he gave me.

“Why would I hate being kissed by you?” I asked achingly.

“You kissed me last night. If I ask too often, you’ll start to hate it. You’ll start to hate me,” Milo answered with a certainty that spoke of a lived experience, one that he was replaying in his mind.

I felt like a failure for not being able to protect him from lovers who would never understand. Lovers who would never be able to give him the patience and reassurance he deserved, all things that I knew I could provide.

I hated that I’d spent half of my life pretending my love was strictly fraternal when I knew what we really were. We weren’t long-lost brothers born to different parents. Milo was a black hole, and I was the light, pulled past the event horizon until I didn’t exist without him.

“Don’t speak for me.” I released his chin to pinch his cheek.

“I’m sorry.” Milo let out a half-laugh, half-sob.

“Now you’re apologizing?” I said in disgust. “Who are you, and what have you done with my Milo?”

He laughed some more, and I wished I could bottle the sound. I swallowed it instead, kissing him, the rumbles of laughter vibrating against my lips. It was an impulsive move, risky with the uncertainty of last night. I couldn’t help it. He didn’t know how badly I wanted to be the source of everything he felt. Every emotion, positive or negative, I’d take it if only he’d give it to me.

“You are being so fucking gross right now,” he squealed.

“Oh, so you prefer it when I’m insulting you?” I snorted, grinning against his skin.

“No, it’s just… weird.”

“Oh yeah. Genuine affection? Weird as hell,” I agreed jokingly.

Milo slid his arms around my neck, and I went down willingly as he dragged me closer. I peppered his face with kisses, paying particular attention to the freckles on his rosy cheeks. He wiggled and protested beneath me between breathless bouts of laughter, and I chased the high it gave me.

The tightrope we walked frayed with every playful kiss, the sound of giggles and the soft rustle of sheets simultaneously healing something in me and tearing me apart. I rolled onto my side and took him with me, our breathing laboured, the moment verging cinematic. In a movie, the couple would confess their love to each other right here, and their happily ever after would unfold.

For us, nothing was that simple.

Several minutes passed in silence, save for a few disgruntled noises while I ran my fingers through his hair again. When I pulled my hand back, he glared up at me like I’d done something offensive.

An awful lot of attitude for someone who was pretending they didn’t want their hair pet in the first place.

“I’m sorry I ruined your photo.” He sniffled, and I was sure the waterworks were about to start. The events of yesterday were hitting him all at once now that the dust had settled.

The photo hadn’t even crossed my mind. When I’d seen him, the only thing I thought about was the way I’d nearly lost him to a bottle of pills, and the overwhelming certainty that there was no way in hell I was about to lose him for good.

“It’s just a photo.” I shrugged it off. “It had it coming anyway. The audacity of it, just sitting on that shelf, minding its own business. Criminal.”

“Stop it, I’m trying to be serious.” He choked on more laughter, a stray tear escaping the corner of his eye.

“Fine. Tell me why you did it, and I’ll think of a fitting punishment for your crime,” I suggested.

“It should’ve been me.”

“In the photo?” I clarified.

“Making you happy.”

It broke me.

“You do make me happy,” I whispered.

“I make you worried and angry.”

“You’re my brother, it’s my job to worry about you.”