The Unraveling Truth

Finn’s confession hung in the air between them, thick and sweet like the honeysuckle that climbed the cottage walls. Leo, who had been braced for a lecture, a bewildered question, or even a swift, brotherly pat on the back, found himself utterly speechless. Finn’s eyes, usually so bright and full of a musician’s easy grace, were now wide and earnest, mirroring the uncharacteristic tremor in Leo’s own hands.

“You… you mean that?” Leo finally managed, his voice a reedy squeak that sounded suspiciously like a mouse being stepped on. He mentally cursed the lingering effects of the potion, which had a nasty habit of amplifying his anxieties tenfold.

Finn blinked, a slow, deliberate movement that Leo, in his heightened state of panic and elation, felt was happening in slow motion. “Mean what, Leo? That I’m utterly bewildered by your sudden fascination with my lute solos? That I’ve spent the last week wanting to sneak into your lab just to watch you stir bubbling concoctions, even though I usually find the smell of sulphur rather… aggressive? Or that,” Finn’s voice dropped, a low murmur that sent a shiver down Leo’s spine, “I’ve been finding myself staring at your lips a lot lately, wondering what they’d feel like against mine?”