[Oh. Somehow he wasn't expecting that, either. He really should've — Joseph spends so much of his time just burying his nose in his hair, and that, at least, he's noticed. But it's such a strange thing to hear Joseph say. Is it strange like that for Joseph to hear it from him?]
[He's thinking all of this, but only distantly. It's hard to contemplate theoreticals when Joseph sounds like that, words coming out on a soft exhale. It makes him pause, readjust, cupping Joseph's face in both hands and petting his cheeks with his thumbs. He has to feel this out, he knows, because it's not . . . it's not like it was before. Not just because it's Joseph and not a girl, but . . .]
[He's not even thinking about the fact that he's dead and Joseph's alive, or how this isn't fair to other people. None of that. What he's thinking is that he feels right now as though this is the closest to feeling good, really honestly good, that he has in over a decade. Wanting someone and being wanted back, that kind of — of evenness, not having to be in charge of everything, he didn't know it would feel like this. And even if he wanted to, he couldn't get his feet back under him by doing any of the things he usually does, because Joseph would know and — and stop him, somehow, just look at him and stop him with a smile alone, probably.]
[He wonders how long Joseph's been in love with him. He wonders how long before that Joseph wanted him. Is there a difference, for Joseph? Is that why he was so angry that first day at the restaurant? Is it crazy, to think it goes that far back? But he doesn't know himself if he wanted something like that, doesn't know for sure that he didn't. That fight, it wasn't like this, but he just . . .]
[He wanted Joseph to pay attention to him. And Joseph wanted that, too. He remembers.]
[Thinking about it like that, it's a little too much. He shivers and leans up for another kiss, letting his hand slip down to rest at Joseph's waist, fingers tightening in the hem of his shirt.]
You taste good, too. Jojo. [My Jojo, he thinks, and he knows he doesn't have the right to say it out loud yet. But it still feels true.]
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[He's thinking all of this, but only distantly. It's hard to contemplate theoreticals when Joseph sounds like that, words coming out on a soft exhale. It makes him pause, readjust, cupping Joseph's face in both hands and petting his cheeks with his thumbs. He has to feel this out, he knows, because it's not . . . it's not like it was before. Not just because it's Joseph and not a girl, but . . .]
[He's not even thinking about the fact that he's dead and Joseph's alive, or how this isn't fair to other people. None of that. What he's thinking is that he feels right now as though this is the closest to feeling good, really honestly good, that he has in over a decade. Wanting someone and being wanted back, that kind of — of evenness, not having to be in charge of everything, he didn't know it would feel like this. And even if he wanted to, he couldn't get his feet back under him by doing any of the things he usually does, because Joseph would know and — and stop him, somehow, just look at him and stop him with a smile alone, probably.]
[He wonders how long Joseph's been in love with him. He wonders how long before that Joseph wanted him. Is there a difference, for Joseph? Is that why he was so angry that first day at the restaurant? Is it crazy, to think it goes that far back? But he doesn't know himself if he wanted something like that, doesn't know for sure that he didn't. That fight, it wasn't like this, but he just . . .]
[He wanted Joseph to pay attention to him. And Joseph wanted that, too. He remembers.]
[Thinking about it like that, it's a little too much. He shivers and leans up for another kiss, letting his hand slip down to rest at Joseph's waist, fingers tightening in the hem of his shirt.]
You taste good, too. Jojo. [My Jojo, he thinks, and he knows he doesn't have the right to say it out loud yet. But it still feels true.]