Rex hated this feeling; this overwhelming flutter of butterflies swarming his gut when he was around you. He hated this giddy sickness he felt when you smiled— and worst of all, he hated the automatic smile he wore when you were close by.

Rex knew this horrific feeling could only have one name, one he had so desperately avoided since he could fathom the idea of it: love.

Rex loved you.

He was like a dog around you, following, desperate for any smidge of attention you’d give him. The usual sassy, rude Rex everyone knew exploded into dust as soon as you said ‘hello’. Any inkling of his usual immature abrasiveness melted into paste when you kissed him.

He never felt like this- not with Eve, not with any of the flings he had. You were special. He felt wanted, loved, needed for who he was and not for what he could do.

Rex’s hand was in your hair, slowly caressing your scalp as you laid in his lap, watching the stars. Though, Rex was more focused on you. You were perfect, after all.

He gulped, hand slowing to a halt as he steadied his breathing. This was nerve-racking— what if you didn’t feel the same? What if this was casual for you?

Deep down Rex knew he would rather know than keep this emotion bottled up like a trapped moth, eating away at his fabricy feelings.

“I love you, y’know.” He whispered, voice tender.