“You do care about me?” “God yes,” Wes said, and he sounded so thoroughly broken that Vincent couldn’t bear to look at him in case what he saw there really was Wes’s raw and bleeding heart, because if he did, he was fairly certain he’d have to find a way to heal it, even if it meant cutting himself back open to do so. The little sob the man gave turned suddenly to a laugh, tight and bright and aching. “Does that make it better or worse?” I don’t know, Vincent thought, and couldn’t say it.
