“Seeing you like this makes me want to die,” he whispers into the still of the night. Special words meant for me and me alone. “Like what?” I whisper back. “Under the stars. In the light of the moon. Wearing my clothes and paint on your face. A smile, a beautiful fucking smile.” He huffs and shakes his head. Reverence, I think, in his next words. “It makes me feel like I’m the luckiest guy in the world. I am the luckiest guy in the world.”
