Wes can't breathe, but it's a good sort of not-breathing now, and he's trying to control his grin. "You-- do--?" And he never realised how much he was doubting himself about it until now.

He swallows and leans forward over the table, not paying attention to the little army men he knocks down. "Yeah, I--" But he can't say it. But he can. Because he knows it. "--the same-- I think-- I love you."

And now he's terrified.