#oooOoOOOH there's a tag for that?? and i cant believe im even using it

[starshine-selfships]

Local man is desperately in love with his boyfriend but thought too hard and managed to convince himself that he made up the whole romance aspect and his partner doesn't actually feel the same way, so why even continue the act? Also he's wrong and his boyfriend loves him very much and that's all there is to it 😤💕

I am not a writer, I'm an artist, but I felt like giving this a shot. Both of us use he/him and I didn't actually plan anything, so I went back and color coded my own pronouns and dialogue; I do have a version without the colors as a backup however. Tbh I don't really care about the quality since again, I basically never write, and I also wrote this 100% for myself lmao, almost stream of consciousness baybee

That being said, I'm sorry I write like a pretentious victorian poet lsjdkdkx 😣

Soft. Just like everything else about him. Soft hair he yearned to stroke and bury his face in, soft hands shaping the air as he spoke, hands he wanted nothing more than to take into his own, to lift them and press a gentle kiss upon them. He even spoke softly, almost seeming afraid to break the silence, whispering and enunciating words as though speaking a prayer. Hearing his own name spoken in that quiet, intimate tone was enough to make him light headed, immediately overtaken by the delicacy of the interaction. His gaze was the most stunning feature, as it betrayed his past with pinpoint accuracy. The witnessing of humanity's cruelty did nothing to harden his stare; his eyes shone with a purely kind demeanor, merciful and trusting.

And such was the gaze fixed upon him in this moment, and he fought the desperate urge to meet it. He knew he didn't like eye contact and couldn't bear committing such an act of disturbance. He kept his gaze averted, feeling how almost painfully strong his heartbeat had grown, his frail frame beginning to shudder under its force. The incessant pounding had to be audible, and if that alone didn't lie the entirety of his being on the floor in front of him, then the heat steadily spreading across his face surely did. His emotions outpaced him, rushing with such force so that he'd never had a chance to restrain them, instead left fighting a losing war in a desperate attempt to not give himself away.

His gaze flickered nervously back to his beloved. He maintained that gaze long enough to see him smile warmly in response, causing his chest to feel just a bit tighter, his heart to beat only more forcefully. In spite of knowing his error - maintaining that dreaded eye contact - , he couldn't look away; to do so would constitute a betrayal, a moment of recognition followed by willful ignorance. He folded his hands, attempting to return the smile but being far too shaken for it to seem genuine. His darling softly laughed at the awkwardness of the gesture, voice as warm as the morning sun. He could no longer bear the strain of his sight, squeezing his eyes shut and turning away as the laughter rang in his head.

He had to be mistaken. His feelings should not be so insurmountable, something even he couldn't fully grip. He had lost all subtlety, and for what? The slim chance of reciprocation? Did such a chance even exist? He felt as though he'd combust if he remained in that room with him. The initially sweet feelings became sickening as he steeped in them, becoming almost shameful as they continued. He shouldn't need this. He was better than this. Was he though? Why couldn't he stop himself?

Simply stand up and leave? His legs would give out underneath him. Voice his firm objections? His voice would fail him. Physically remove that boy? The very thought of using any force at all placed more weight onto his chest, thinking of the sheer guilt and regret that would come from even accidentally inflicting pain. His attentive nature and eye for detail was his strong suit, but it was also what had gotten him more attached than he'd prefer, faster than he could've ever thought possible.

Beginning with patterns and habits he'd found amusing and leading to finding beauty in his every step. From seeing him avidly read and stargaze, to noticing how the sunlight reflected off his hair, to noticing the colors on barely visible earrings, to seeing his eyes flit back and forth between him and the window. Did he find looking at him to be unpleasant? Was he put off by the antennas? The insect features? The status? The reputation? Did not knowing also keep him awake at night? Did he like music? Did he think brown eyes were pretty? Why was he allowing himself to even consider these questions?

Foreign touch immediately grounded him, his eyes snapping open as he gasped in surprise. How long had he been lost in thought? How had his love gotten so close to him? His hand was on his shoulder. He slid it along his back, unfolding his arm and allowing it to rest on him as well. His touch was delicate, as though afraid of leaving a mark, despite him touching something so much more durable than himself. The affectionate gesture - no. Was it? Or was it merely a means of comforting what could be mistaken for distress? He kept his doubts in mind, not wanting to put an irreparable dent into the connection the two already had. Though, perhaps it would be for the better if he did. Tears welled in his eyes at the very thought of having to walk away, despite knowing it would likely be the best, and perhaps the only, option.

He noticed his love's other, empty hand lifted in front of him, frozen in air, likely pondering his actions as he made them. It was admirable, having such a sense of confidence that he didn't seem to need a plan for his course of action. He merely acted and accepted the outcome regardless, without fear. Yet another curious aspect of this boy that occupied his thoughts. He silently observed, watching him lift his hand out of view, only to grace his fingertips across the side of his face, settling his hand upon his cheek. Surely, surely he could feel how unnaturally warm he'd grown. It was something that had seemed endlessly amusing to his darling, how he was cold blooded and naturally cool to the touch; the heat of the blush had to be tangible. He truly feared how much more strain would be placed on him, the mere shared presence in the room alone enough to almost kill him. The physical contact overwhelmed him so badly he really did feel about to cry.

The gentle contact of his love's hand grew more forceful; still gentle, but with pressure indicative of a voiceless request. He turned his head with the nudge to fully face his beloved, whose face was mere inches from his own. Why was he so intent on such sweet torture? Had he caught on and decided to play before going in for the kill? He committed the sin of eye contact once more. Hazel, he'd been told. That was the color he saw in dreams, of a content present and a blissful future, that color of brilliance. Why wasn't he moving? Why was he allowing this? Why was his darling's hand in motion once more? Keeping his hand on his cheek, he had slid his thumb to the side, lightly gracing his lower lip. An unspoken request. No longer able to bear the weight of his own desire, he conceded to his affections and attempted to assent. He spoke, wide eyed and unblinking, his voice almost pathetically weak, borderline pleading in a strained whisper,

"... please...",

feeling defeated, yet also quite excited. He may have lost the war, but was being offered a consolation prize that would, even though only briefly, take away the painful sting of his own internal, personal loss.

His love inched yet closer and his eyes fluttered shut, as though he couldn't bear looking away for even a moment. He closed his own eyes as well, as if in response, but this time to better perceive instead of closing himself off. He could feel the warmth radiating from the petit boy in front of him, warmer than anything his own body could naturally produce. Basking in sunlight each morning to fully wake; spending the morning next to someone so close to his heart would feel just as holy. Like the delicate sensation of sunlight on the body, he felt the motion of his beloved as his lips graced his own, before he finally settled into the kiss, still subtly caressing his cheek with his hand.

He felt a quick tear streak down his face. Gentle gestures, all of them. When it came to him, they always were. It was as though he was incapable of harm in any capacity; he seemed almost afraid of being unloving or anything less than cheerful. His natural disposition towards brightness was reflected by everyone he interacted with, making others feel welcome and putting them at ease. In that moment, he also felt at ease, in spite of his doubts and insecurity, he felt at ease, melting into the touch of his.. lover? Was it fair to call him that? In the light and warmth of the kissing, it certainly seemed so.

After a period of drawing it out, going back for more and more, he finally broke away, opening his eyes once more to examine him. He opened his own eyes, slowly and with an amount of care, almost as if he were guilty after the act and nervous about what he would see. He looked into the eyes of the boy who stared back at him as though he were the one who'd put the sun in the sky. He softly smiled as he took in the scene, feeling tears begin to pool in his eyes once more. He felt he'd had confirmation that he was being irrational, but needed evidence that was nothing short of absolutely damning before he could fully accept it. He realized he was likely making him uncomfortable by looking him directly in the eyes again, they'd had that conversation before, he knew he shouldn't, it must be so irritating-

"Your eyes are so pretty."

He froze. He froze, finally breaking down and beginning to cry. His partner was well acquainted with his tears, and he knew there wasn't much he could do to stem their flow. Even with that in mind, he still wanted to console and soothe sudden wave of emotion.

"Are you alright? Do you wanna talk about it?"

A sing-song query in a half whisper. He sniffled and looked down at his hands, fidgeting in discomfort. He didn't want to overwhelm or alarm him, so he felt it best to choose his words carefully. But even then, he felt the horrific weight of finality hanging over him.

"Sometimes, I find it hard to believe that you do love me."

Confusion, hurt, and mild surprise. His lover almost seemed to anticipate it, making his heart feel like it was sinking further.

"Elaborate."

He drew a deep breath, sighing in pain and bracing himself for if he began to cry harder. The lump in his throat threatened to choke him. Barely able to speak, he forced broken sentences together, making a pathetic attempt to communicate anything at all before he dissolved into tears.

"Why?"

No response.

"Why me?"

Silence. The weight of every mistake he'd ever made was bearing down on him. Surely it was apparent how disgustingly flawed he was, not suitable-

"Well, this is a new one."

.. What?

"You really think I don't love you?"

He said it almost as though it were a joke.

"We've been together for almost two years now, and that's a choice both of us made. I can't even count how many chances I had to just, get up and walk away."

He cupped his face with both of his hands now; he lifted his own hands and placed them over his. He was crying freely, falling just short of actively sobbing.

"But I never took any of those chances. I want to be with you. You're a very sweet man and. Well it's horrible that you've got the mental conditions you do, but because we have the same kind, you've never missed a beat when it comes to making me feel better. And I wanna be able to do that for you too. You make me so happy and I wanna be able to make you feel the same way."

His head was bowed as he openly wept. He needed damning proof and it was handed to him, wrapped in ribbon and sealed with a kiss. He smiled through his tears out of sheer relief. His joy, his love, lover. The light didn't scorch and burn as he feared, but rather warmed and lifted the fog that had been enveloping him. He lifted his head once more, to look at his sweetheart with a mind unclouded by guilt.

"You don't like eye contact, you kept telling me-"

"I don't mind when you do it."

His eyes widened and his vision was once more blurred with tears. The lack of regret and remorse didn't unclutter his thoughts, and he was left unable to answer. What was there to say? Thank you? I needed to know that, despite already knowing it? My irrationality occasionally makes my life a living hell and I'm grateful for your extended patience? Admittedly, there was one thought that dominated and laid his soul bare on pure impulse-

"I love you."

"I love you too."

His lover slipped his hands out from beneath his own and motioned to encircle him in a hug, a gesture he enthusiastically returned. Resting his head against him, holding him and being held by him, knowing for certain that each step he himself took was perfectly mirrored by the boy in his arms; it was all more than he could ever ask for. He wished he could etch this moment into his memory, to never again doubt his lover or himself so deeply. While he did feel guilty for harboring such needless doubt, his partner would never be upset with him for worrying, and this he felt with certainty. Some of his many chances to leave very well were occasions where he'd been in hysterics over things that later proved to be inconsequential. He'd seen the ugliest and worst of him, yet, at the end of the day, he still chose love. His memories and the words spoken to him were perfectly interlaced, leaving no room for doubt. He was loved, and that's all there was to it.