Page 127 of Romancing in Rot

The words land too deep because they are true.

I know how to carry. Guard. Fix. Watch. Bleed quietly if it keeps someone else standing.

I know how to be useful. How to be needed.

Wanting is harder.

Asking is worse.

“You asked me what I wanted once.”

My attention snaps to her.

“Back then, I didn’t know anyone was allowed to ask me that.” Her mouth trembles. “And you asked anyway.”

The bow slides from my shoulder and drops beside the hatchet.

“I spent so long thinking I had to earn love by taking care of everyone else. By being useful. By not asking for too much. Maybe you did too.” Her chin rises. “I’m done ignoring what’s right for me.”

Her hand rises slowly between us.

It hovers there.

Then her fingers fold into the sign for I love you.

The world tilts.

I have imagined impossible things since the dead started walking. A safe road. A full tank. My family alive. My voice coming back. Clair looking at me like I was not too late, not some man on the edge of her life who wanted too much and said too little.

None of those imaginings come close to this.

“I want you,” she says.

My hands lift before I can hide them.

No notebook. No letter. No perfect words folded safely under glass. Just me. Standing in front of her with my hands shaking and my heart trying to break through my ribs.

I sign slowly. “I love you.”

Her breath catches.

So I give her more. The thing I have wanted. The thing I have been too afraid to ask for because wanting has always felt more dangerous than guarding, carrying, fixing, protecting.

I touch my chest.

Then point to her.

Then hold my hand out between us.

I want you too.

Her lips part.

Fuck this distance.

I cross it in one stride.

My hands cup her face, thumbs brushing along her cheeks, grounding myself in the warmth of her skin.