[It occurs to him, as though the information is arriving from a very distant place, that he is still holding Fugo's hand. Once he realizes, he clamps down, squeezes desperately before he loosens his grip just a little. Hot shame courses through him. It must seem--really pathetic.]

I love you. [He has to say this first, and it's the truest thing he's ever said--just as true as the next thing:] I'm already yours, if you want me to be. But I--

[A third, equally true thing. This one is the hardest to say, and he can't meet Fugo's eyes as he whispers it through trembling lips.]

But I'm scared. I don't want to belong to someone if--the good thing's just going to. Go away. I don't . . . want to be alone anymore.