He hated how fake his voice sounded. He hated how very far from fine he actually felt. Christ, it was so stupid. He’d known the guy for thirteen days. He shouldn’t have been such a mess when he couldn’t even define what Damiano had become to him. Someone not quite a friend and not quite a lover. Someone he loathed, needed, and adored. Someone he understood on an intimate level and didn’t understand at all. Someone who, in different circumstances, in another life, might have become more.
