There's always a moment. Or, there's supposed to be a moment. But now he knows there is no moment, no defining action or words. There's nothing that makes everything click all at once.
Instead, it's like slowly waking up. Your breath in your ear, the way the bed clothes feel under your skin. Goose bumps snaking along your flesh. This is what it's like to fall. And he's realized that he's fallen, and fallen hard. He's not surprised.
There was that time, or two, or four (probably more) where his eyes skipped the smooth, soft curves and instead looked for scars and muscle.
It doesn't scare him. He only knows that it feels right when he's wrapped up in strong arms. But, it's never felt right like this. And that's the part that scares him. That he needs this almost as much as it wants it. As much as he'd like to deny it, there's a lot of things he wouldn't mind having.
The sun's begun its ascent, striking the world with a soft golden glow (almost like the colour of magic), and he smiles when he hears the mattress move and a groan escape the bruised lips waiting for him.
Sometimes what you want is right in front of you, disguised as something you already have, and the future can wait for its mighty king until the sun has fully risen.