No. He was decidedly not all right. But he wanted to be—could be, he thought. He needed to do better. Be braver. He needed to take a deep breath, figure out what he wanted, and try to be honest about it. When he put it like that, it sounded so easy. But Truman’s guts knotted and his fingertips tingled.

Just be brave. Be brave like Clarion and tell the truth.

“I like you!” Truman blurted out. “We just met, and I’m, like, actively still heartbroken over this shitty person, but every time I see you, my stomach is like Jell-O, and I want you to like me!”

Ash’s eyes were wide and he was blinking owlishly.

“You don’t have to say anything, but I’ve been a coward about my feelings for basically my whole life, and Clarion would be ashamed, so. Are you happy now?”

This last he yelled up at the cave, and it sent echoes tumbling around them.

Ash smiled. He let out a small, undignified sound that might’ve been a choked-off giggle. Then he stopped trying to hide it and started laughing. It was booming in the small space, and Truman covered his ears.

“I’m sorry,” Ash said between laughs. “It’s not funny at all.”

But he kept laughing.

“Is this a panic response?” Truman asked.

Ash shook his head and clamped a hand over his mouth. “I just haven’t laughed in a really long time,” he managed. “I forgot about it.”

“You forgot about laughter? What are you, a Dickensian street waif?”

Ash snorted with more laughter.

“Well,” Truman sniffed, “I’m so glad my confession can provide a reminder of what true hilarity feels like.”

Ash grabbed his knee and shook his head. “No, no. I’m sorry. It’s not like that at all. I swear.”

His grip on Truman was firm and warm. Truman instructed the nausea roiling in his gut to recede.

“Okay,” Ash said, getting himself under control. “Fuck, I’m so sorry. I was not laughing at you. Well. I was laughing at you, but I wasn’t laughing at your feelings at all. It was just that you yelled it like you were mad about it, and it came kind of out of nowhere for me. And I’m really sorry I laughed. I like you too. Obviously.”

Obviously?

“Uh, it isn’t obvious to me,” Truman said.

“No? I gave you a rose the first time we even met.”

“Well. People give their friends roses.”

“We weren’t friends.”

“Okay, but I do this! I take ordinary, nonromantic things and make them into this whole narrative where someone is romantic and kind and lovely, and then it turns out they have husbands and children and are actually just using me as a fuck piece on the side,” Truman blurted.

“Don’t call yourself that,” Ash said softly. “Your boyfriend was an asshole.”