I open the book and turn to the next page. Day three.

I started screaming today.

And those four words hit me harder than the worst kind of physical pain.

You’re perfect,” I tell him, so overcome I forget myself. “All of you. Your entire body.
Proportionally. Symmetrically. You’re absurdly, mathematically perfect. It doesn’t even make sense
that a person could look like you,

But he grins, so brilliantly, not even paying attention. “I love it when you say my name,” he says. “I don’t even know why.”
“Warner isn't your name,” I point out. “Your name is *****.”
His smile is wide, so wide. “God, I love that.”
“Your name?”
“Only when you say it.”
“*****? Or Warner?”
His eyes close. He tilts his head back against the wall. Dimples.

Ignite, my love. Ignite.

His smile is laced with dynamite. "Go to sleep"
"Go to hell."
He works his jaw. Walks to the door. "I'm working on it.

I love you, ” he says , his words harsh and soft all at once. “ I love you and it isn’t enough . I thought it would be enough and I was wrong. I thought I could fight for you and I was wrong. Because I can’t . I can’t even face you anymore — ” “ Aaron — ” “ Tell me it isn’t true , ” he says. “ Tell me I’m wrong . Tell me I’m blind. Tell me you love me.