The worst part of whatever this thing with Luca had become wasn’t the uncertainty. It wasn’t even the way my heart did gymnastics every time he looked at me like I was something worth staring at. No. The worst part was how right it felt, and how terrified I was that I’d somehow fuck it up.
We’d been doing this dance for weeks now. The stolen kisses between classes, his hand finding mine when no one was looking, the way he’d text me at midnight just to say something stupid that made me smile. But we’d never actually talked about it. Not really.
Tonight felt different though.
Luca had shown up at my house with Chinese takeout and that crooked smile that made my brain short-circuit. We’d eaten on my bedroom floor, arguing about whether The Empire Strikes Back was actually better than A New Hope, and now we were sprawled across my bed, him on his back staring at the ceiling, me curled on my side watching him think.
“Can I ask you something?” I said, because the silence was getting too comfortable and I needed to ruin it before I got used to this.
“Shoot.”
“When did you know? About yourself, I mean.”
He turned his head toward me, eyebrow raised. “That’s a loaded question, Linwood.”
“I’m serious.”
His expression softened. “Eighth grade. Tyler Chen.” He laughed, but not like it was funny. “I spent three months pretending I wanted to hang out with his sister just so I could be around him. Pathetic, right?”
“Not pathetic. Just… gay.”
“Yeah, well. Took me another year to stop pretending it was a phase.” He rolled onto his side so we were facing each other. “What about you?”
The honest answer was you, but I wasn’t ready to hand him that much ammunition yet.
“Sophomore year. There was this guy in my debate class who’d bite his pen when he was concentrating, and I spent an entire semester thinking about his mouth instead of learning anything about foreign policy.”
“Anyone I know?”
“Graduated. Went to Northwestern.”
“Good. I don’t share well.”
The casual possessiveness in his voice made my stomach flip. “Is that what this is? Sharing?”
He was quiet for a long moment, studying my face like he was trying to memorize it.
“I don’t know what this is,” he said finally. “I just know I don’t want it to stop.”
“Even though I’m—” I gestured vaguely at myself. “This?”
“What’s ‘this’ supposed to mean?”
“Inexperienced. Neurotic. The guy who color-codes his class notes and has exactly three people in his phone who aren’t family.”
“You forgot devastatingly gorgeous.”
My face burned. “Luca.”
“What? It’s true.” He reached over and tucked a piece of hair behind my ear, and I swear my heart actually stopped. “You think I care that you haven’t hooked up with half the school?”
“Don’t you? I mean, you’ve been with—”
“A few people. So what?”
“So you know what you’re doing and I—” I swallowed hard, because this was the part I’d been avoiding. “I don’t even know how to be someone’s boyfriend.”
“Who says I do?”
I stared at him. “You’ve had boyfriends before.”
“I’ve had half-secret hookups. That’s different.” His thumb traced along my cheekbone, and I forgot how to breathe. “I’ve never had someone I actually wanted to figure it out with.”
“What if I’m terrible at it?”
“At what? Dating?”
“All of it. The relationship stuff. The…” I felt my face get impossibly redder. “Other stuff.”
Luca’s smile was soft, understanding. “Noah. Look at me.”
I did, even though it felt like staring directly into the sun.
“You think I’m with you because I want some experienced guy who knows all the right moves?”
“Aren’t you?”
“I’m with you because you’re you. Because you argue with me about historical accuracy in Marvel movies and remember how I like my coffee and make me laugh until my ribs hurt.” He moved closer, until I could count his eyelashes. “Because when you look at me, I feel like the best version of myself.”
“That’s really gay.”
“Shut up.” But he was grinning. “I’m trying to be romantic here.”
“It’s working.”
“Good.” His hand slid down to rest against my chest, right over my racing heart. “We’ll figure out the rest as we go. No pressure, no timeline. Just us.”
“Just us,” I repeated, like a promise.
When he kissed me this time, it wasn’t desperate or hungry like our stolen moments in empty classrooms. It was slow, deliberate, like he had all the time in the world and planned to use every second of it. His lips were soft against mine, his hand tangling in my hair, and for the first time in weeks, I wasn’t thinking about what came next.
I was just here. With him. Finally letting myself want this without the fear chasing after it.
When we broke apart, breathless, he kept his forehead against mine.
“Come over tonight?” he murmured.
My heart stuttered. “Luca—”
“My dad’s out. I checked. It’s just me. And... I want you there.”
I blinked. “You asked your dad if I could come over?”
“I said I might have Noah over. He thinks I’d never get into trouble with you.”
I snorted. “He clearly hasn’t seen you flirt.”
“Guess that’s your exclusive content.” His grin turned crooked, dangerous. “So? You coming?”
I hesitated—for maybe half a second. Then I looked at him, really looked at him, and something in my chest just... let go.
“Yeah,” I whispered. “I’ll come over.”