His jaw dropped. Pulse raced. The heart monitor sped up so the only noises in the room were Sarah’s sniffles and his heartbeat. Techie’s eyelashes fluttered, and he let out a gust of air instead of words. Sarah is the love letter writer?

“You d-don’t have to c-cry,” he says pathetically, at a loss for what to do. “That’s so- Oh geez-” He turned beet red. “R-romantic! That’s s-so fucking c-cute! Sarah! Ahh,” he squeaked and pulled the covers over his head as best as he could with the restraints on.

“I’m n-not ready for a relationship r-right now,” he confesses, voice muffled under the blanket. “There’s still a l-lot of shit I have to work th-through. B-but I want you to kn-know that I think I l-like you too?”