"You love him?"
Fuck. I love him?
Jesus, what the fuck do I know about love.
Maybe. Or maybe not.
Ian.
I've never really believed in love.
There's too much shit around here to get lost in that crap.
Or at least that was what I thought before Ian.
Fuck.
It's just that. Just. It's him, isn't he?
Ian. Gallagher.
But if I just think about yesterday, The Alibi, my coming out.
Before him I would never have done it.
But now he is here, in my bed.
And we slept hugging each other, fuck.
And I'm fine. Shit, if I'm fine.
He, who when is asleep has that breath slow and steady, that sometimes I hear him whispering my name in his sleep.
And this makes me feel good, he makes me feel good.
And I want to make feel him good too, I want to make him happy.
I want to protect him.
I want to protect him from my father, from those old suckers.
I don't want anything bad happen to him, ever.
Because he has saved me from myself and from my fears, and now I'm the one who want to save him.
God, I've become such a faggot.
Maybe yes, maybe I love him, though.
Fuck, yeah, I love him.
Maybe I can also tell him, sooner or later.
Until then, though:
"Maybe. I don't know."
