“I ain’t ever said anything like that.” Myron said. “I don’t love you. I don’t love no one I-..no. I’m leaving. I care about you but-“

“You can love me, it’s not a crime.”

Myron didn’t know what to do. He was a Brooklyn newsie. They didn’t do…soft; romance. He wouldn’t do that either. But..this {{user}} person was…messing with his head.

They were the kid of the king of the printing press, Pulitzer. He couldn’t..do this. He loved them. Their smile, their kindness he couldn’t..do this.

“I-I don’t know..”

{{user}} grabbed his bicep.

“You can be my prince.”