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1.
With the way the paperwork for the latest set of mortgage frauds* they had was going, Peter was muttering a 'Thank God' under his breath as a knock disrupted the silence (save except for the scratches of Peter's pen on paper) of Peter's office.
(*As Neal had once put it, 'Mortgage fraud is the only torture you can submit someone to legally with the same effect as breaking a dozen of Geneva Conventions for the treatment of War Prisoners,' )
"Come in," Peter said, looking up from the paperwork a little too eagerly.
Franklin opened the door to let himself in. "Hope I'm not disturbing,"
Franklin was staying at the New York White Collar division for a while, before his transfer to DC, his own suggestion.
"Franklin, come in,"
"It's–" Franklin began hesitantly, closing the door behind him. "It's a bit, well–"
Peter sat a bit straighter. "Everything alright?"
"Yeah, everything's fine," Franklin replied in a manner which told Peter that he was being truthful. "I know we're not exactly friends, so I don't want you think I'm crossing a boundary or something,"
"Okay," Peter replied, not really knowing what he's supposed to say here.
With a breath in, sitting at one of the chairs, Franklin began, "I know you love your team, you care for them and frankly, the like you back. They respect you,"
"Th–"
Franklin held up a hand, signaling he had more to say, "I don't want you to lose that. I don't want you to do anything to jeopardize that,"
"You think I'm doing something to jeopardize that?" Peter asked, feeling the slightest bit defensive.
"No, of course you're not," Franklin replied, once again in that truthful manner. He threw a look over to his shoulders, to where his agents were working. Neal was reading over some files, Diana was talking with Jones at his desk, and yeah, it just seemed like a normal day at any office. Franklin turned back, his face a bit creased with worry, "You know they can use Caffrey to get to you, right?"
Ah, it was about that. The that being Caffrey being on the field, doing fieldwork. He was probably the only CI who did as much fieldwork as agents. If Peter's not wrong, Rebecca might not have ever been on field doing her CI run (or at least on fields as dangerous as Caffrey goes on).
The sudden change in topic didn't make sense, but Peter's never been too good with conversations that tread lightly anyway.
"Caffrey did okay for four years before we caught him," Peter replied, placative. "He'd hold his own just fine,"
"Right," Franklin said. He looked as if he wanted to say more on the matter but he didn't.
Franklin got up, "Look, what me and Rebecca had. . . I won't lie, it was great,"
Another jump in topic, Peter thought but he stayed silent as Franklin went on.
Franklin moved out of the chair, moving closer to the door as he kept on talking.
"It was fantastic even," There was a look in Franklin's eyes; of reminiscence of a time well-loved and well-past.
Peter got the feeling that while yes, Franklin was comparing Rebecca and him to Peter and his CI, this specific thing was not included in the said comparison.
"We reached heights I didn't even dream of reaching," Then Franklin's face changed, becoming a shade more morose. "But the fallout was equally bad,"
Franklin reached for the handle and his eyes met Peter's, "I don't want that for you, Burke,"
Franklin was sincere, Peter could hear it in his voice.
"Be careful," He said as he opened the door.
"You too, Franklin," Peter told back with a smile.
2.
It was at dinner that night that Peter decided to vocalise the thought that had been at the back of his mind the entire day.
Or well, it was at dinner that El decided he needed to say it.
"New case?" She asked nonchalantly, cutting up her meat.
"No,"
She looked up. "Neal?"
Peter let out a huff of laugh, "Surprisingly, no,"
"What is it, then?"
Peter let out a sigh, "It's not much, honestly. Just something Franklin said at the office today that doesn't make sense,"
"Your instincts say otherwise?"
"It's not dangerous," Peter said, waving his arm. "It was just a very cryptic advice,"
"What did he say?" El asked, slightly interested in what the other agent had said now.
"Told me to be careful, mentioned Neal a lot," Peter informed. "He's probably just worried about Neal being on the field and all,"
"That's a nice change of pace,"
El explained what she meant when she saw Peter's confused look. "You say most of your new agents are usually wary of Neal. Once in a while, someone being worried about him is nice,"
"Franklin had a CI of his own before," Peter explained. "That's probably why,"
He was glad that he finally got the thought that had been bugging his mind off his chest.
"Hm, Franklin?" El said, questioningly. "Was that the guy who had been dating his CI? The CI Neal had a 'CI-off with?"
"Yup," Peter replied simply. He was ready to give the entirety of his attention to what El had prepared since the compulsion to rethink about Franklin's words finally wore off.
But those words weren't quite ready to relinquish the sole monopoly it had over his thoughts just yet.
With the question El had just asked about Franklin's previous romantic ventures and just how Caffrey-oriented Franklin's cryptic advice had been, Peter connected some wild dots.
"Holy fuck," He muttered out slowly, as the realization solidified in his mind.
Due to the only sounds in the entire house being the scraping of the cutlery against the plates, no matter how softly Peter had whispered it, his exclamation rang out clear in the Burke household.
"Peter!" El said, scandalized, snapping Peter out of his recent revelation.
"What?"
El pointed to the yellow Labrador next to them, wagging his tail, patiently waiting for scraps.
"Oh Satchmo," Peter said with a shake of his head.
"Don't listen to what daddy said, Satchmo," El told, as she fed him a few of the peas from her plate. Satchmo gobbled them eagerly. "Go on,"
Once Satchmo moved out of earshot, El asked, turning back to Peter, "What was that? An epiphany? Or were you just trying to corrupt our innocent child?"
"What I'm about say may sound strange," Peter lead with carefully.
El let out a snort. "Hon, I've been married to you for ten years. Nothing you could say now would sound strange,"
"Okay," He sucked in a breath. "I think Franklin might've thought that Neal and I were . . . well, dating,"
El let out a huff of breath.
"I know!" Peter exclaimed, assuming that El was agreeing with him on the absurdity of the notion. "Why would he think that?"
"Why would he?"
"Where did he even get that idea from?"
"Yeah, from where?" El said, as she toyed with the mashed potatoes on her plate.
"Why are you saying it like that?" Peter asked, confused. There was something about El's tone that sounded like she was agreeing with him to just to appease him and not because she actually agrees with him. Which doesn't makes sense, unless–
"You don't agree with me, do you?"
"Now–"
"God, you think I'm dating Neal?" Peter said, shocked. He was taken aback by the idea El would even think that. He was more taken aback by the idea he had done something to make El think that. "El, I would never do that to you!"
"Of course, you won't," El said, firmly, stopping Peter's eventual spiel of apologies and 'love you's and whatnot before it began. "I know you're not dating Neal,"
"Okay," Peter said, relieved.
"As good of an agent you are," El said, "You would never be able to hide an affair from me,"
"You're right," Peter replied, acquiescing easily. Then he added quickly, "Not that there would be an affair. I love you too much for that,"
"I know," El said with a smile. "I love you too,"
At this point, Peter should have just let the matter of Franklin's assumption go. He had just recently had the scare that his wife thought he was having an affair with his CI. He had just recovered from the said scare. He should, at the very least, let the matter go now and bring it up the next day, give it a twenty-four hour, minimum, cooling time. But Peter's never been good at letting something go (for reference, ask his CI.)
After a few moments of blessed silence, Peter brought the discussion up again, "But why would Franklin think that?"
"You're really not going to let that go, are you?"
"It just doesn't–"
"–'make sense', yeah," El completed. "Well," She said, slowly. She said it with a tone of voice that conveyed the message she might have an inkling of an idea as to why.
"What?"
"It's not a wild thought," El reasoned.
"What do you mean?" Peter asked, furrowing his brows.
"Well, you're different with him," El said with a shrug, slightly struggling on how to broach this subject without being blunt about it. (Though, sometimes, being blunt about stuff like this is the only way her husband would get it.)
"Define 'different',"
"Okay," El said, sitting a little straighter. She was getting the vague feeling of being questioned by her professor who just caught her falling asleep in class. She was going to answer this so damn well (like how she had answered Prof. Smith's question. The crumbling smug face of a teacher who had been about to humiliate a student had given her enough of a boost to stay up the rest of the class.) "You don't treat him like your other agents,"
"Yeah, because he isn't one of my agents. He's my CI," Peter argued back. "Besides, I think I treat him too much like my agents. I should not be sending him out on the fields as much as I do,"
"Fine," El said slowly, putting together her next argument. "But you still treat him differently,"
"I don't get it,"
"The general way you are around him,"
Peter gave her a confused look.
"The way you talk to him, talk about him," El listed, "Oh, and the love-eyes,"
"Love what now?"
"Eyes, love-eyes," El repeated. "You know, the– Peter, I'm not going to explain what 'love eyes' are to you,"
"El," Peter began, "Are you suggesting that I'm in love with Neal Caffrey?"
El swirled the wine around in her glass, "Hmm, less suggesting and more pointing it out to you but yeah,"
Peter let out a huff of breath at the inanity of it all. "Honey, I'm not in love with Neal,"
El gave him a face which seemed to say, 'Are you sure about that?'
"I— I can't believe I'm about to say this— but he's just a friend,"
"Your only friend,"
"One of my closest friends,"
"Your best friend," El corrected.
"Sure,"
El gave a moment as she sipped her wine, letting Peter assume that he had won the talk. And then she said, "And until recently, I held that position,"
"A man can have a wife and a best friend, El,"
"They can," El said. "You do,"
"That doesn't mean they're in love with their best friends!"
"Usually no," El said calmy. Her cool composure juxtaposing Peter's almost deranged defensive disposition. "But in your case. . ."
"I'm not in love with Neal!" Peter firmly proclaimed.
"Look, it doesn't matter," El said, at last coming to the conclusion that she can't changer her husband's internal prejudices in one night. She's good but not that good.
"Doesn't matter?" Peter parroted, incredulous. "My wife of ten years just said she thinks I'm in love with my best friend, of course it matters!"
"Neal's your pass,"
"My– my what?"
"Pass," El clarified. "If there's one person in the entire world you're allowed to love as much as you love me, it's Neal,"
". . .Huh," Peter said, slowly.
El just hummed affirmatively.
"Do– do you have a pass?"
"To make things easier," El replied, "Let's just name it Neal as well, okay?"
"Okay,"
After a few seconds, "Are you in love with–"
El had forbidden him to talk about this at home until further notice.
3.
Even though he didn't talk about it, the thought was still ever present in his mind: that both Franklin (someone he knew, admittedly, not that well) and Elizabeth (someone he knows quite well and vice versa) had thought he was in love with Neal. The thought had a way of niggling back into his mind at the most inopportune moments (like when he's talking with Neal or catches himself blanking out while staring at Neal*.)
(*Which doesn't happen a lot but does happen enough for Peter to be slightly embarrassed by it. It's not like he does it on purpose! It just– happens, you know? Sometimes he thinks about the leads, or the lack of it, on the current cases too much and his eyes go blank, and when he come backs to it, Neal is staring at him with an amused look. And— okay, this is starting to sound against his case, so he's going to stop now.)
Not to sound like a broken record here; but it just doesn't make any sense, at all!
Why would they think he's in love with Neal?!
Franklin's misconception at least makes an ounce of sense. You could argue that after his own romantic tangle with his CI, Franklin sees close friendly CI-Agent relationships where they take risks for each other as pseudo-romantic* but EL??
She should be the last person who thinks that!!
(*Which really is a big disservice to Franklin, thinking like that. Assuming that he would see romance in every CI-Agent friendships. But we're not talking this now, are we? No, we're talking about the disservice that happened to Peter, with having two people assume that his healthy friendship is a romantic endeavor!!)
And sure, okay, maybe Peter does know more about Neal than his own wife but‐ but all agents know everything about their white whales* and look, it's just–
He's not in love with Neal Caffrey.
(*Yeah, they do know the shoe size of their criminals, it's crucial information!! Okay, so maybe they don't remember said piece of information four years after they had put the guy in jail, but that's not the point.)
He should probably get this off his chest. His go-to person for this was El but since that gates is closed, his other gate (Neal) being not even in the premises, Peter decided on the next best candidate.
"Hey, boss," Diana said as she barged in without knocking. "Got the paperwork for that case done,"
Speak of the devil.
She placed the files on Peter's desk and was about to turn to leave when Peter asked her something.
"Diana–" He began.
Diana turned and assumed quickly that it was something pertaining to the case and it's paperwork. "Yeah, I did include the crossreferences, here I'll show yo–"
"It's not about the case," Peter said.
"Oh,"
"Diana," Peter began again, "I want to ask you something that's a bit. . . personal,"
Diana folded her arms, "What's up, boss?"
"Just answer honestly,"
"Okay,"
"Do you think I'm in love with Caffrey?"
Crickets. The sound of crickets. And cicadas and— is that rain?— none of the sounds make an iota of sense though because there's no such thing as crickets and cicadas in New York City! Not enough of them so that the sound of their mating calls can penetrate the roar of New York traffic, at least.
Peter vaguely realized that the 'sounds of the rainforest' was something his brain was making up to fill in the silence of his room. The one Diana was creating by staying mum.
"Diana–"
"Is this some kind of a test, boss?" She asked bluntly.
"No, this is not a test," Peter replied back calmly. "Just tell me what you think, honestly,"
"Okay," Diana said, leaning on one foot, tapping the other. She threw a look over her shoulder and then turned back to Peter. "You're head over heels in love with him, boss,"
"What?"
"Yeah,"
"You can't be serious about this?!"
"Dead serious,"
"You really think that?"
Diana rolled her eyes, "The whole office thinks that,"
"So all of you just magically forgot that I've been married to the same woman for ten years?" Peter asked. He really couldn't believe this was happening. "That you've all seen visiting me in this very office?"
"Don't know what anyone else thinks, but," Diana said with a shrug, "I just assumed Mrs. Burke was in on it,"
"God damn it!"
"So, just to clarify," Diana started, unfolding her arms, "You're not in love with Caffrey?"
"No!"
"Well, you should tell Caffrey that,"
"Why?" Peter asked, getting suspicious. Good God, what has Neal been telling people. (Peter likes to think that Neal wouldn't stoop that low, but for certain things, he might. And also, he might just do it for the fun of it). "What has he been saying?"
"Not saying. He has this smug look in his eyes,"
When Peter gave Diana a look confusion,
Diana went on to explain, "Whenever you make us do some really menial tasks, like mortgage fraud—" A shiver ran through her at the mere thought of a mortgage fraud and the boredom it possesses. "—Caffrey gets this look which says, 'unlike you guys, I can leave anytime I want' and–"
"That's not true," Peter said. To his record, the times he's let Neal out of doing mortgage fraud is negligible. "I make him do his fair share of mortgage frauds too,"
"I know that. He knows that. He knows that we know that. And yet–" Diana said, frustration oozing out of her voice. "Now that I think about, it's probably not a 'That is because your boss is in love with me' look and more of a 'I'm just a CI. I'm not on the FBI payroll' look but oh, I'm still going to enjoy wiping the smug look off his pristine little fac–"
"Don't,"
"What?" Diana asked, as if she had forgotten she was still in her boss's office, snapping out of her fantasy.
"Don't tell Caffrey about this,"
"Of course," Diana grumbled. She reached for the door, "Anything else, boss?"
"Nothing,"
She left the office.
Look, technically speaking, Diana is the office expert on homosexuality. But then again, guys are not her field of expertise. And since the latter agrees with Peter's ideas more, he's going to go with that and say that she doesn't know what she's talking about. (This reasoning would say that Peter thinks the entire office is only attracted to women but eh, whatever.)
He needs to gather more evidence.
4.
His next victim witness was Jones. Peter cornered him one early morning in the near empty break room, while Jones was getting his coffee.
"Gun to your head, yes or no question," Peter said, making the thing out to be far more serious than it is. "Do you think that I'm in love with Caffrey?"
"Um. . ."
"Answer honestly, a yes-or-no would do just fine,"
"Well, yes, sir," Jones answered hesitantly.
"Damn it!"
"Sorry, sir?"
"Don't tell anyone about this,"
And Peter left the breakroom, leaving Jones to wonder whether this was a hallucination caused by sleep deprivation and the liminal effect of the breakroom's white tiles and fluorescent lights.
5.
So far, four seperate people had told him he was in love with Neal Caffrey. One of them he knows really well and two of them he knows quite well.
But so far, none of them had said that Neal was in love with him.
And so, Peter decided he needed an outsider sort of perspective. He decided to ask one of Neal's friends. And out of all of Neal's friends, contacts, whatever he wanted to call them, Mozzie was the only consistent present one. And so Mozzie it is. (And wildly enough, out of everyone else Neal knows, Peter trust Mozzie the most on this. He finds it weird too.)
Peter let himself into Neal's apartment, knowing Neal wouldn't be here.
"Neal's not here," Mozzie said, as Peter closed the door. His eyes were intent on the western (was that a samurai?) he was seeing on the TV.
"I know," Peter said, as he took up the armchair next to couch.
Mozzie raised his eyes from the TV to stare at Peter suspiciously (there was definitely a cowboy in the film). "You came here to talk to me,"
"It's not about anything legal, or illegal." Peter clarified as he laid his gun and badge on the table, a sort of forfeit.
"Did Elizabeth put you up to this?" Mozzie asked, a smile creeping on to his face, a fond one. "Tell her she doesn't need to worry about me, I'm fine. Also, ask her how she's doing?"
"I'll let her know," Peter said. "It's about Neal,"
"Neal's not out there doing anything nefarious," Mozzie said, folding his arms. His eyes went back to looking paranoid. "He just went to an art exhibit. He went with one of your lady suits,"
"I know," Peter had said again.
Diana and Neal had left the office together that day, the unbridled joy in Neal's eyes open for anyone to see as Neal informed Peter of his whereabouts. ("Diana's taking me to the art exhibit I've been talking about the entire week. I wanted to see that one for ages,")
"Suit, with the way this conversation is going, you must surely know that I'm only seconds away from making a run to the door," Mozzie said, blatantly hinting at Peter to spit it out.
"Do you think. . ." Peter trailed off. Then he strengthened his resolve and decided to just get it done with. "Do you think that I'm in love with Neal? Or the other way around?"
Mozzie stared at him. "What are we in, grade school?"
"Mozz–"
"No, what is this? 'Ask him if he likes me' 'Pass this 'do you like me, yes-or-no' note during class' ?"
"I'm serious, Mozzie,"
"So am I, Suit," Mozzie shot back. "So am I,"
"Well?"
"Yeah. He's in love with you, you're in love with him,"
"Oh,"
"Are you telling me that neither of you knew?"
Peter got up. "Thank you, Mozzie,"
"Talk to Neal about this," Mozzie called out as Peter walked out of the apartment.
He thought he heard Mozzie mutter something like, "All those love-eyes were pining love-eyes? God," as he shut the door.
+1
Peter thought about it. He asked a lot of people on what they thought about this but there were two crucial people he hadn’t asked yet. And Peter can't ask the other person if he doesn't ask one of the most crucial person: himself.
At first, the idea of him being in love with Neal was absurd. He loves El, a lot. And it wasn't a shield or anything like that. He truly does still love Elizabeth.
He then thought back on what El said, Neal being his pass and how insistent she was on that he was in love with Neal (El sometimes knew Peter better than he knows himself). He decided to think thoroughly about it.
And instead of thinking on why he is in love with Neal, he decided to think on why he isn't in love with Neal. (Maybe that would help him contextualize this better.)
Well, Neal was hot. This wasn't a 'I'm in love with him' sort of thought, it was just a fact. Neal was good looking. From his neatly parted hair, his charming smile and well-pressed suits, Neal exuded a charm that would make anyone look twice if they passed him.
To be honest about this, Peter hasn't really thought about why Neal was hot or really looked at his appearance. From what he had looked at though, it was. . . well, scary how well he could picture Neal.
If Peter had even an inkling of artistic talent, he could probably replicate the slight swirl that falls on to Neal's forehead sometimes and exact shade as well as the twinkle of Neal's blue eyes pretty accurately from memory alone.
Peter can see —the line of Neal's throat as he sips back on a glass of fancy wine that probably costs more than Peter's house and how the evening sun had hit his hair the one time Peter had visited Neal when he was painting a landscape— in his mind.
It's. . . hm.
But it wasn't just the looks that made Neal Caffrey the effective flirt that he was. There was a way in which he smiles and laughs, and truly smiles and truly laughs. The honest sincere compliments he gives that might come off as flirting. The genuine interest he has towards art and how he could spend hours talking about it even if the other person says nothing worthwhile. The silent amusement he holds towards office antics. Everything about Neal Caffrey screamed that he was perfect; as a stranger you meet on the street, as a customer in a coffee shop, as a patron in the restaurant, as an artist, as a colleague, as a friend, as something more.
There are also the rare moments, when Neal's voice is gruff in the morning when he's just woken up (Peter's only seen him like this a few times), how loose his limbs and tounge are if they drank late into the night (this has also happened only a few times).
Most of all though, it's the way Neal's eyes light up when Neal notices Peter looking at him, the slight shake of his head when Peter shares something completely ordinary but apparently isn't (it isn't that strange to say that he hasn't flirted with someone in the 21st century), the slight frown he holds when Peter wears a particularly bad combination of suit, shirt and tie. It's all those little things that makes 'like' 'love'.
And you don't notice those little things unless your down, down bad.
. . . He's in love with Neal Caffrey, isn't he?
It was two weeks after Franklin's initial cryptic advice when Peter asks Neal to meet him at the Central Park one Saturday evening.
Neal had asked nothing about it over the phone but he could see the amused mild confusion on Neal's face.
"Sure,"
And now, they were on one of the benches, sitting side by side, watching people walk their dogs, kids running and people jogging.
At the end of the day, it felt nice to see what he was fighting for, the people he was fighting for. Sure, maybe the work he did wasn't as life-saving as say the Organized Crime Division but Peter's alright with that.
"How was the art exhibit?" Peter asked.
Neal perked up at that. "It was wonderful. The theme was how dystopian the idea of our utopia is becoming, and I know, it sounds contradictory but it was pulled off so well. There was this one painting that–"
Peter looked at Neal. It wasn't a look that said, 'Stop talking about it' (at least Peter hoped it wasn't), it was more of a 'I don't know what you're talking about but I don't want you to stop' look.
Neal changed topics anyway. He gave a smile, and said, "You don't get a single word of what I'm saying, do you?"
"Not one," Peter replied.
Neal let out a huff of a laugh. "What are you beating around the bush for, Peter?"
"That obvious?"
"That obvious," Neal confirmed.
When Peter took a few moments to plan on how to broach this subject, averting his gaze towards the grass under his shoes,
Neal asked, "Is this about what you talked with Mozzie last night, when I was at the exhibit with Diana?"
"Mozzie told you?"
"Almost immediately,"
"Well, if you already know–"
Neal shook his head, a few untamed strands falling out of their place. "He only told me you came to visit him. And then he promptly left, claiming he can't say more,"
"Ah,"
"What's this about, Peter?" Neal asked, gently nudging the conversation forward.
"I might be in love," Peter said, enunciating each word slowly. "With you,"
Peter cringed at himself. This was probably the worst confession the alleged art thief sitting next to him has ever got.
Neal didn't say anything for a while, and Peter was too terrified to turn and see the face Neal had.
He was about to monologue on how this doesn't change anything between them, they're still good friends and Peter only said this because he's sure Neal would've figured it out just like that the moment they met each other again and Peter wanted it to be on his own terms, small mercies and—
"You went to Mozzie about it?"
"What?" Peter turned to look at Neal.
Neal was barely holding in a laugh.
"You talked to Mozzie about me?"
"Yeah," Peter's glad they're in the humor phase rather than in the 'oh-I'm-trying-so-hard-to-let-you-down-slowly' phase.
Neal laughed, "What did he say?"
"He said yes,"
"Really?" There were tears in Neal's eyes now.
"Yes, they all think we're in love with each other,"
Neal was laughing harder now. The laughing was contagious, Peter was chuckling too.
As he barely contained his laugh, Neal asked, "What do you mean 'all'? Who are they?"
"El, Jones, Diana, Franklin," Peter listed. "They think it's obvious,"
Neal was laughing again. "Wai– Peter– how do you know that?"
"Well–"
"You didn't go around asking them if they think you're in love with me, did you?"
When Peter said nothing and just gave a shrug, Neal started laughing even harder. "Please tell me you didn't phrase it like that,"
"Oh no, I said exactly," Peter said with a straight face. "Verbatim,"
"Oh my God!" Neal clutched Peter's should as he leaned forward, laughing, his free hand covering his mouth.
"You don't have any tact, do you? " Neal said, still laughing, "Does the word 'tact' even exist in your lexicon?"
"I'm not good at things like this," Peter weakly defended himself.
"No, you're terrible at it," Neal told back.
"Hey, now,"
As the laughing calmed down and they were left in companionable silence, Neal said, "You asked so many people about this, didn't you?"
"Yeah,"
"You didn't ask me,"
"Neal, you know why,"
"Okay, ask me now,"
"What?"
Neal turned himself fully to Peter. "Ask me whether I think you're in love with Neal Caffrey or not,"
"Really?"
"Yeah, just paraphrase me, say that exactly,"
Seeing the determined look in Neal's face, Peter decided to humor him, "Okay. Do you think I'm in love with Neal Caffrey?"
"Or not,"
"Or not?"
"Hm," Neal turned faux-thoughtful. "I don't know about you," And then he became sincere, looking into Peter's eyes, "But Neal Caffrey is in love with you,"
"Really?" Peter can feel his wildly beating heart. Is it because of Neal's confession or sole attention?
Neal leaned in, as if he was saying a huge secret. He whispered, "Really,"
Neal had a small smug but sincere smile on his face as he leaned back.
"Okay," Peter told, smiling, not really knowing how to continue this conversation.
When Peter said nothing, Neal supported his neck on the bench, "I think Neal Caffrey wants you to kiss him now,"
Neal looked at him, slightly looking up to Peter.
"How do you know that?"
Neal shrugged, eyes still holding contact with Peter's, "How do I know anything?"
And then Neal leaned forward.