Jamey’s typewriter sat in the middle of his desk, flanked on either side by his books, notebooks, and binders. Franklin had teased him that he was too neat. Jamey wondered what Henry would say about his bedroom, if he ever got the chance to share it with him. I want to show him my room. I love him. I love him.
“I love you, Henry,” Jamey said out loud.
Orange pushed his head into Jamey’s chest. Purring loudly, he dropped down and started kneading Jamey’s stomach. “I missed you, too, big guy,” he whispered.
I love him, I love him. “I love him, I love him.”
There, he had said out it out loud a second time, even if there was no one there to hear it but him and Orange. If only Henry had been able to hear it. He wished Henry was near enough that he could reach out and touch him. He didn’t think he was brave enough to say I love Henryout loud one more time in front of all these people.