They were crying, there was no hiding it, tears disappearing into the fabric of Wesley’s shirt, leaving dark spots behind. Their chest hurt, their throat, burning, like they’d swallowed without chewing and it was stuck there, lodged in their windpipe, threatening to choke them.
It was words that were trying their hardest to stay stuck, digging in, sharp and painful and impossible to say. Samael forced them out anyway, hands against Wesley’s back and face in his chest and they’d forgotten he was taller than them, that they were small and skinny and so very little compared to them even if the gap wasn’t that big. Wes was… So much bigger than them, brighter and better and -
A sob, worked free, finally, throat clear and the words followed, muffled and accented as they tried to drag their voice back to something he could understand. Too important to be lost in translation now, too long left unsaid.
They lifted their head, Amber glittering with tears and lashes thick and damp and they were smiling, wide and ridiculous and they laughed.
“I’m sorry. I’m… So sorry. I didn’t mean, everything, I…” Another laugh, words trying their best to stay hidden, keep themselves safe. “I missed you. I…” Why was this so hard? To just tell him the truth, make him understand. A shake of their head, a deep breath.
“I love you. I did, before, I never, I didn’t want to… I thought it would, that you didn’t… I love you.”
Wesley’s heart all but stopped at the admission, eyes wide and bright and blue, staring dumbstruck at Samael’s smile in the manner of someone who had just seen sunshine for the first time in their life and didn’t quite believe it real.
To be quite honest, he wasn’t entirely sure that this wasn’t a dream itself.
A soft smile cracked its way across his face, across tear-stained cheeks, incredulous joy palpable in the way his eyes crinkled as he reached over to brush the stray hair (god, he’d missed this permanent state of disaster so much) from their face. His hands were gentle, tentative, a little fearful, a little brave.
He met Snowman’s eyes for a brief second, noting that the aisle had been all but cleared out, and caught the very edges of her smile as she turned away and he found his attention drawn back to the one in his arms. The hand that had brushed their hair back now cupped their face, a whispering touch like gossamer and secrets and faith all wrapped into one.
He let his head fall until their foreheads were pressed together, the position they’d stood in countless times, and breathed in. Maybe it wasn’t the perfect place, or the perfect time, or even the perfect way of bringing it up but--
“You don’t know how long I’ve been dreaming of hearing that.”
(Wesley Sastre has his first kiss at two o’clock in the morning in the confectionary aisle of the Mauville General Market, and it is fucking glorious.)
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