"No," he said, taking another step forward, taking your hand in his. Slowly, carefully, he tried to lead you into an embrace. "...No, you're not the problem. You're not weak or soft-hearted or...or..."

He hesitated, unable to find the words. "...You're not a problem at all."

I love you, he thought. * I've always loved you, even when you drove me crazy sometimes.

You avoid his gaze

"Look at me."

There was no question of malice. No rage in his voice. All he wanted, for once in three years, was for you to look him in the eyes so you could see the truth in his words.

"Look. at. me."

When you finally look at him he paused, a deep breath, and he finally uttered the true, honest words he'd never let slip before.

"I love you."

He said it, and as much pain and frustration and anger as he'd felt, as much sorrow and grief as there had been, the words came from the depths of his heart.

He hesitated as you offered your hand, but he finally took it in his while repeating your words back to you. "...Me and you."

He let out a quiet breath that had been lingering in his lungs from years of pain and suffering and trauma.

"Me and you. Us."