Chapter 35: The Kitchen Morning
Rosa's palm was warm against Roy's back as she carried him down the stairwell, her thumb brushing a slow, absent rhythm along his spine. The air grew cooler as they descended, carrying the faint mineral bite of stored water and the ghost of yesterday's stew. Roy let himself lean into her skin, the steady thump of her heartbeat beneath his feet a comfort he didn't want to examine too closely.
They found Jason in the kitchen, a silhouette against the boarded windows where grey morning light bled through the cracks. He sat at the long table with a chipped mug cradled in both hands, the steam from his dandelion root coffee curling into the lantern's glow like a slow, reluctant ghost. He looked up when they entered, and the tired set of his shoulders loosened.
"Couldn't sleep either?" Rosa asked, her voice low.
Jason shook his head, setting the mug down. "Lee's snoring kept waking me. Thought I'd come down and watch the sun pretend to rise."
Rosa crossed to the table and set Roy down gently on the scarred wood. He stood on his own two feet, craning his neck to look up at Jason's face. From this angle, the man was a monument, all soft edges and tired kindness, his freckles faint in the dim light. Jason cupped his hands together and lowered them to the table, an open invitation. Roy stepped into the warm hollow of his palms without hesitation.
"Hey, little man," Jason murmured, his thumb coming up to stroke Roy's hair. "You warm enough?"
"Rosa took care of that," Roy said, and he felt the subtle shift in Jason's expression, the slight softening at the corners of his eyes. "She washed me up in the sink like a stray cat."
"She didn't drown you?"
"Almost," Rosa said, settling into the chair across from them. She pulled her knees up, tucking her bare feet onto the seat's edge, wrapping her arms around them. She was wearing one of Roy's old shirts again, the collar loose around her neck. "He squirmed."
Jason snorted, the sound breaking the quiet like a stone through still water. He lifted his hands slightly, bringing Roy closer to his chest, the warmth of his breath washing over Roy's tiny frame. Roy closed his eyes for a moment, letting the sensation anchor him.
The lantern flickered, casting a brief, dancing shadow across Jason's face before settling back into its steady glow. Roy felt the slow rise and fall of Jason's chest beneath him, the rhythmic thrum of his heartbeat through the calloused palms that cradled him like something precious.
"Lee's head?" Roy asked, his voice soft in the hush of the kitchen.
Jason's thumb paused mid-stroke. "Sandy checked him again this morning. He's got a headache, but his pupils are even. She's making him stay in bed until noon."
"And Ally?"
"Already up. She's doing perimeter checks with Amie." Jason's mouth quirked. "She said, and I quote, 'Someone has to make sure the undead respect our property lines.'"
Rosa snorted into her knees. "She'd make a terrible landlord. Too many evictions."
The joke hung in the air, small and warm, and for a moment the three of them just existed in it. Roy felt the fragile edges of the peace, the way it could splinter with a single loud noise or a bad memory. He pressed his palm against Jason's skin, grounding himself in the steady pulse there.
"Today," Rosa said, her voice quieter now, "I want to check the east stairwell barricade. Sandy said the top row wobbled during the windstorm."
Jason nodded slowly. "I was thinking about reinforcing it with the brackets we pulled from the storage room. A few bolts, maybe an hour of work."
"I can help," Roy said, and the words came out smaller than he intended. Both of them looked down at him, and he felt the weight of their attention, the careful tenderness in their faces. "I mean. I can direct. Point out weak spots. Moral support."
Jason's smile was soft, crinkling the freckles at the corners of his eyes. "Best supervisor we've got."
Rosa reached across the table, her fingers brushing the edge of Jason's cupped hands, not quite touching Roy but close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating off her skin. The gesture was small, almost unconscious, but it drew all three of them into the same orbit.
"An hour," Rosa said, and there was something in her voice that was almost like a promise. "Then we come back, and we eat something that isn't dandelion root."
Jason laughed, a low, quiet sound that vibrated through his palms and into Roy's bones. "Bold words from the woman who burned the last batch of oatmeal."
"That was sabotage. The pot had a grudge."
Roy felt himself smile, the expression unfamiliar on his face but not unwelcome. The lantern flickered again, and outside, the grey light pushed harder against the boarded windows, threatening to break through. But here, in the warm hollow of Jason's hands, with Rosa's fingers hovering close enough to touch, the day still felt like it could wait just a little longer.