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To Felix Taylor-Brooke I’m something else altogether. We’re something to each other whether he realises it or not. So even if the most likely outcome is that we kill each other, this is something I have to do.
Because in all of the realities where I’m better and I’m healed and I’m allowed to have the life I want, it’s him who’s there next to me. It’s Felix Taylor-Brooke holding my fucking hand and looking into my fucking eyes and telling me how I’m his and he’s mine. He’s not getting cream-pied by twinks he meets in Ibiza. He’s mine. And I fucking hate him for it.
But mostly, I hate myself—for being infatuated with my biggest fucking rival since I was fifteen years old. For being so embarrassingly and stupidly in love with him all these years.
“You’re doing incredibly well, Nico. I’m so proud of you. Your attempts to get to know this person who has been a fixture in your mind for so long, to push past this limerence you have when it relates to him and get to know him, honestly. It’s progress.”
He’s fucking magnificent, and I can’t help the smile that settles over my face.
Then we’re running. He’s holding my hand and we’re running like two fucking idiots in the rain to God knows where.
“Beautiful, perfect, good boy. I’ll answer to any of those.” Smiling, I lean in to kiss him again. “You’re a fucking nightmare.” As I begin to move, he bites my lip so hard that I feel blood leak onto my tongue. “Best fucking nightmare you’ve ever had,” he laughs.
“This is just biology, sweetheart.” “I think technically this is called chemistry, sweetheart,” I say as I lean in to kiss him again.
I’d rather it wasn’t these stolen moments that no one can ever know about, but it still feels like a gift every moment I get to spend alone with him.
Something alchemical happened when we were close, something that our muscles and bones seemed to already know the way to, but which left our minds trailing to catch up.
“Raphael Scott is fucking a K-pop idol.”
I want you to want me the way I can’t seem to stop myself wanting you. I want you to want something real with me. I want whatever a real relationship looks like with you. I want to go to the ruins of Pompeii and take sickening couple photos with you and post them on Instagram.
“Let’s go then. Oh, and don’t worry, sweetheart, I won’t hold it against you if it’s all over pretty quickly this time.” “Just you worry about yourself, sweetheart,” he says.
“The only reason I came back at all was because Ben offered me the chance to dance with you.”
He’s the only thing I don’t think I could live without. Fuck. I love him. I love Nico Savini. Fuck.
