"How could it be just love?" Ollie asked as if defeated.
For some reason, he was pretty sure that it had to be something worse, or maybe a different strain?
Because what he'd read and why he liked romance books was that they said that love was supposed to make you feel great, floaty, warm, and starry-eyed. But he felt nauseous. His stomach churned, and his vision was blurry.
His heart thumped too loudly. His fingers were twitchy. His brain? Scrambled eggs.
This couldn't possibly be normal, right? Or maybe it was because it wasn't love?
He had grievances, which his brother apparently sympathized with. "I—I think I understand," he said solemnly. "I was like that too. Back when I didn't really get what was happening. It was scary. I thought I was dying."
Ollie perked up immediately. "You—You figured it out?! You recovered?!"
Luca nodded, face serious, tone soft. "Well, not exactly. But it was more manageable once I learned more. Once I understood myself."
