How the AIB Boys Confess Their Feelings to You
(you drives them crazy, and they love it)
He’s annoyingly good at hiding emotions, so no one really sees it coming.
You catch the way his eyes linger. The way he stands a little closer than necessary. The way he always has snacks when you say you’re hungry—even though he “doesn’t care.”
One night, you call him out:
“Are you ever going to admit you like me?”
He glances up from his chair, smirks, then calmly says,
“I figured you knew already.”
You blink. “Wait—so you do?”
He shrugs. “I like you. A lot. But you’re clever enough to figure that out without a grand speech, aren’t you?”
…You roll your eyes, but your heart is doing backflips.
He confesses the only way he knows how—bluntly, and like the world might end right after.
You’re tending to his wounds again, fussing over a cut on his cheek, when he grabs your wrist.
“You make me feel… different,” he says quietly.
You tilt your head, confused. “Different how?”
His eyes meet yours. No mask. No steel. Just raw honesty.
“Like I don’t want to die anymore. Like I want to protect you. Like I love you.”
It’s not soft. It’s intense.
You just smile. “I love you too.”
He exhales like he’s been holding that breath forever.
He’s nervous. Like, visibly.
He keeps trying to say it but backs out every time.
So you corner him one evening and say, “Okay, seriously—what’s going on with you lately?”
And then it bursts out of him:
“I like you! Okay? I really, really like you. I think about you all the time and it makes everything—this place, these games—less awful.”
You stare at him, stunned.
He looks like he wants the ground to swallow him.
So you just grin and say, “Took you long enough.”
And the way he laughs after? Worth it.
He doesn’t say it in words at first—he shows it in the possessive glances, the way he always steps in front of danger when you’re around, the snacks he throws in your lap when you’re grumpy.
But one night, when you jokingly say, “You’d be sad if I died, huh?”
“I’d burn the whole Borderlands down if anything happened to you.”
You blink. “…So you like me?”
He scoffs, then mutters, “Yeah. Obviously.”
He groans. “Fine. I like you. A stupid amount. Happy now?”
You kiss his cheek and he blushes so hard, he forgets how to act tough.
He stumbles over every word. He keeps fidgeting, scratching the back of his neck, avoiding eye contact.
Finally, he blurts it out while you’re drinking water:
“I really like you! Like, in a heart-fluttering, can’t-sleep, you’re-so-pretty-it-hurts kind of way.”
He panics. “Oh my god are you okay? I didn’t mean to kill you with feelings!”
You burst into laughter and say, “You’re so cute it’s actually unfair.”
He turns tomato-red. But also? He glows.
He doesn’t plan it. It just happens.
You’re arguing about something small—like whether you should rest or keep moving—and he says, “You’re too stubborn for your own good.”
You fire back, “Well maybe I wouldn’t be if you didn’t keep risking your life!”
And he just… stares at you.
Then quietly says, “I do it for you.”
“I’d risk everything for you. Because I love you.”
He looks away, like maybe he shouldn’t have said it.
So you take his hand and whisper, “Then I guess we’re both stubborn. Because I love you too.”
Let me know if you have any requests
