“Oh my god, you’re so corny,” The janitor chuckled, and he was lost in thought, away from all worries. Momentarily, though.
He was faced with having to answer - or imply that he did - if he loved him - he did. But he was afraid. Not of him, no. Mostly of what would happen to Tate if the damned serial killer found out (why couldn’t he be stupid?), or to even Viktor himself.
“Of course I do. I wouldn’t let you touch me or be this intimate with me if I didn’t like you,” Viktor looked away, his cheeks flushed rosy red and voice wavering. “But if you like me soo much, that means you love me, don’t ya?” He teased, his sing song voice high pitched and annoying, almost obnoxious.
He was going to get that sentence out of him, but really, he loved him too. It’d just be painful to deal with.