They could have been…ha. And no remark from Desire could make that sound any less earnest than Aoba knew that Declan meant it, even before the Guardian launched into his embarrassed elaboration.
“Whatever you feel, I’m feeling it the same or worse,” he murmured, tentatively sliding his hands up Declan’s forearms. Unlike Desire, who had complained that things were going too slow, Aoba didn’t want to rush through anything—but he did want to invite it. To be closer. If Declan still only wanted to do little things, careful things, Aoba wasn’t going to be unhappy about it.
“We’re the same, that way. I’ve never…been serious about anyone, or wanted to be serious about someone, the way that I want to be serious about you, Declan.”
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“Whatever you feel, I’m feeling it the same or worse,” he murmured, tentatively sliding his hands up Declan’s forearms. Unlike Desire, who had complained that things were going too slow, Aoba didn’t want to rush through anything—but he did want to invite it. To be closer. If Declan still only wanted to do little things, careful things, Aoba wasn’t going to be unhappy about it.
“We’re the same, that way. I’ve never…been serious about anyone, or wanted to be serious about someone, the way that I want to be serious about you, Declan.”