They finished their meal without another word, at least, not about the bacon. The bill came, Kafka paid without hesitation, and Olivia remained quiet, eyes down, lips pink from chewing and blushing alike.
She didn't even argue when he said they were walking the rest of the way, saying that the lingerie shop was just nearby, and the day was too nice to waste on scooters. So now, they walked side by side.
The town was nothing special, tree-lined sidewalks, cracked pavement, the lazy bustle of late morning foot traffic, but Kafka couldn't help noticing, again, how every pair of eyes was quietly, unconsciously magnetized to his mother walking beside him.
Olivia didn't try to draw attention, but she didn't need to. Men with coffee cups paused mid-sip to glance over the rim. Women turned their heads, whispering to each other. Even children stared up with wide-eyed confusion like they'd caught sight of something ethereal.
And the dogs? They were the worst offenders.
Leashed to their distracted owners, the furry creatures would slow their pace, heads tilted, ears perking up as they passed Olivia like they were catching the scent of something divine.
Kafka had come to terms with it.
Of course she was admired. Of course she pulled eyes wherever she walked. Beauty like hers didn't ask permission. It simply existed. It bloomed. It demanded to be noticed.
But what he couldn't quite understand, what tugged at his thoughts more than the onlookers, was how quiet she'd become.
He'd expected a flood of questions. The usual innocent curiosity. His mother pointing at storefronts, squinting at unfamiliar signs, asking "What's that?" or "Is that normal here?" like a tourist seeing the world for the first time.
But instead, she was silent.
Walking with a furrow between her brows, her lips gently pressed together, her hands twitching now and then at her sides like she was working through something.
Kafka watched her for a few more seconds before speaking.
"You're quiet, Mom." He said. "Too quiet."
Olivia blinked and glanced at him like she'd only just remembered he was there.
He chuckled lightly and reached over, draping an arm over her shoulders and tugging her in for a sideways squeeze.
"Still embarrassed about the bacon?"
She looked up at him fast, eyes wide, startled, but not quite angry. Her lips parted, breath caught in her throat, and he waited for her to explode into that classic fluster, red-faced, whimpering "Don't talk about that, Kafi!" Style...But instead, her expression softened.
"No." She said simply.
His brow raised.
"No?"
She shook her head, her fingers beginning to fidget in front of her now, curling and uncurling against her stomach.
"I mean...yes, it was really embarrassing. Shameful, even. I can't believe I did something like that in public, ate that in front of someone who had no idea what was going on."
"And the way she just accepted it, Kafka. She smiled. She complimented the flavor. Like I was just eating some delicious little treat."
She paused, pressing her fingers together, her steps a bit more timid now.
"Even now, I can...I can still feel it inside me. The grease. It's weird. It's like...like someone poured oil into my body and rubbed it in."
Her ears turned a brighter shade of red.
"But..." She added quickly. "I'm not thinking about it now. I've moved past it."
"...Huh." Kafka blinked.
She looked up at him again, confused by his confusion. "What?"
"I just...didn't expect that." He said honestly. "I thought for sure you were going to be agonizing over it for the next twelve hours. Maybe until next week. I mean, that what's what you normally do, right, being the most innocent person when it comes to this kind of thing."
Olivia laughed weakly. "You're not wrong."
She exhaled, her fingers playing with the hem of her dress now, her voice dropping to a quieter register.
"If this had happened yesterday, if I'd done anything remotely like that, I probably would've wanted to bury myself in a ditch and never show my face again. I would've cancelled everything and gone straight home and hidden under the blanket until my brain erased itself."
Kafka laughed. "Sounds about right."
"But now..."
She trailed off, her eyes lifting to meet his again. Her face was still red, still shy, but something deeper had settled behind the blush. Something more accepting. Warm.
"Now I'm here. With you. And after everything we've done...all the perverted things you've made me do..." She paused, blushing furiously. "...I think I've gotten...used to it."
"I mean, yes, I was embarrassed. Mortified even. But the more I think about it, the less it...lingers. Like it's just another thing now. Normal."
She narrowed her eyes at him, half-pouting. "And that's your fault, Kafi."
Kafka raised an eyebrow. "My fault?"
"Yes..." She said, poking him in the chest with a tiny jab of her finger. "You keep doing these things. And normally, I'd be thinking they're absolutely perverted. Like, vulgar and ridiculous and no self-respecting woman would even think of them...But now?"
She puffed her cheeks, glaring at nothing.
"Now I'm thinking, 'Oh, it's just Kafi being Kafi.' I'm normalizing it. As if these filthy, twisted things are just...breakfast rituals."
Kafka scratched the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. "Whoops."
"'Whoops'?" Olivia repeated incredulously.
He chuckled. "Sorry, sorry. I didn't mean to turn you into a perverted woman."
He expected her to pout harder. Or swat at him. Or stammer in denial.
But instead, Olivia looked away, bashful.
"...I don't mind." She said softly.
Kafka paused.
"...Huh?"
She peeked up at him again, her lashes fluttering shyly, her lips slightly parted. There was a faint tremble in her expression, like she was still unsure, still embarrassed, but her eyes were soft. Loving. Sure.
"I don't mind being perverted, Kafi." She whispered. "At least...not if it's with you. You seem to like perverted women. You're not very interested in normal ones."
"Or at least, I don't think you'd have much compatibility with one who doesn't do these kinds of things. So...if you like that part of me..."
She fiddled with her fingers again.
"...Then I'll be perverted for you."
Kafka blinked and slowly he turned his head to just stare at her.
There wasn't a smug comeback in his throat. No sly remark waiting on the edge of his lips. Just stillness. Silence.
Because she meant it.
She was blushing. Trembling slightly. Clearly still embarrassed by everything she'd done, and yet, she was saying she'd do it again. For him. She wasn't just enduring the perversion.
She was choosing it.
He stared. Olivia glanced back up and caught him staring, and immediately panicked.
"W-Why are you looking at me like that?!" She asked, clutching the strap of her bag. "D-Did I say something weird? I thought that'd make you happy! D-Don't look at me like that if I just ruined the mood—!"
Kafka didn't answer right away. Instead, his arm slid more tightly around her shoulders, pulling her in closer so their sides pressed together as they walked.
"It's nothing." He said softly, voice low and sincere for once. "It's just...you really know the exact words to make a man feel happy."
She blinked at him. Her brows creased slightly, lips parting. "Huh?"
She didn't quite get it. Didn't understand the gravity in his voice.
But what she did notice was how happy he looked, soft around the edges, no smirk this time, just a quiet ease that spread warmth to his eyes.
And that...made her happy too.
A smile crept across her lips, almost shyly, and without really thinking about it, she slid her own arm around his waist, letting it rest there naturally.
They kept walking like that, shoulder to shoulder, her head brushing his bicep, his hand resting on her far shoulder, looking more like a couple then a mother and son going shopping.
For a few minutes, they walked in silence, shoulder to shoulder, swaying with every step.
But Kafka couldn't help it. He glanced down at her again, his voice casual but laced with curiosity.
"So, if you weren't thinking about the restaurant..." He said slowly. "Then what were you thinking about earlier?"
Olivia stiffened again. Her fingers fidgeted at her side. "...T-That was..."
Kafka tilted his head, eyeing her with a grin.
"C'mon, Mom. You can tell me. You're already fine with all these perverted things." He added with a smirk. "So what else could be so hard to say?"
She hesitated, visibly, physically. Her fingers twisted in the fabric of her dress, her eyes darted to the sidewalk, her breath caught in her throat.
Then she looked up, her cheeks slowly turning red, and her voice came out small and hesitant.
"I was just thinking about how...it wasn't really a big thing, I guess. But..."
He waited patiently, gaze softening as she finally said it:
"You called me your girlfriend."
Kafka blinked.
Olivia's gaze dropped again. "In the café. You said it so easily. 'My girlfriend here said she's full,' or something like that...I didn't even realize at the time because I was panicking, but..."
She looked up again, her eyes searching his face.
"You really called me that."
He let out a small sigh, not annoyed, just surprised. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking almost sheepish.
"Oh. That. You're talking about that."
He scratched at his jaw, looking forward again.
"Honestly? I just thought it would be easier to explain it that way. Saying you were my girlfriend made it sound normal to the waitress. I didn't really think about it. It just slipped out."
He turned his eyes back to her, brows lightly raised.
"Did you not like it? Should I not have said that?"
Her reaction was immediate. She whipped her head up and shook it fast, eyes wide.
"No! No no, not at all! I didn't mean it that way!"
Kafka blinked again, caught off guard.
"I mean, yeah, I was surprised." She said quickly, nervously. "You caught me off guard, and I didn't know what to make of it at first, and I thought maybe you didn't really mean it and it just...came out in the moment, like you said..."
She fidgeted more, her voice growing quieter.
"But...when I thought about it...I didn't mind it."
She glanced up at him, red to her ears now.
"In fact...it made me really happy."
Kafka stopped walking.
He turned to her slowly.
And Olivia realized, crap, that she'd said it out loud. She hadn't meant to. She hadn't planned to say that.
But when he asked if she didn't like it, something inside her clenched. The idea that he might regret it, or think she didn't want to be his girlfriend, that hurt.
So the words had come out on their own.
The truth.
She had been happy.
Even now, her thoughts were spinning. She hadn't meant to confess that. She was trying so hard to not be obvious. Trying to keep some distance, to protect her heart.
But in that moment, seeing his face when he thought she didn't like it, her chest had ached, and she'd thrown her own wall down just to reach him.
Kafka tilted his head, lips parted, brow lifted.
And for once, he didn't tease her. Didn't grin. Didn't mock.
He just...smiled.
A small one. Real. No teeth, no smirk. Just a slow, blooming smile like sunlight rising after a long night.
"So." He said after a second, his voice quieter than usual. "You liked that, huh, Mom?"
She averted her gaze, fidgeting, lips twitching in a nervous line.
And then, he sighed, looked down at her, and added, "You know...I only said it on a whim to save the moment. But..."
He paused. Then looked at her fully.
"I wouldn't mind having a girlfriend like you. In fact, I think I'd be the happiest man on earth."
Her breath caught.
Her heart slammed against her chest.
She wasn't supposed to be happy about that. She knew she wasn't supposed to be happy. This wasn't supposed to be that kind of thing.
They weren't supposed to have that sort of relationship. They were a mother and son pair? Just a mother and son who did...deeply inappropriate, ridiculously intimate things together.
But when he said it, that he'd be happy to have her as his girlfriend, her insides turned to butterflies.
No, fireworks. Her grip around his waist tightened on instinct. She didn't even notice she'd done it. She just needed to hold him tighter.
Her Kafka.
The man who could have anyone. The man with the kind of smile that made women swoon and the charisma that made strangers want to follow him anywhere.
And he said he wanted her.
Not Abigaille. Not someone bold or glamorous or polished.
Her.
Kafka looked down at her again, and this time there was a soft gleam in his eyes, somewhere between affection and playful heat.
"Y'know, at first I was just thinking maybe I'd play pretend today." He said. "Act like a boyfriend. Just for fun. But..."
He gave her a lopsided grin.
"We're already doing all the things a boyfriend and girlfriend do."
He leaned closer, his mouth brushing the shell of her ear.
"In fact...we're doing even naughtier things than most couples ever would."
Her entire body seized with heat. A spark crawled down her spine and landed between her legs.
Kafka chuckled at her reaction, then whispered. "So really...calling you my girlfriend is the least scandalous part of all this."
She covered her face with one hand, burying herself into his chest with a groan.
"D-Don't say it like that..."
But he wasn't wrong.
They had gone beyond what most couples did. Hell, even married ones.
What she'd done in that café, what she'd let him do, was beyond perverse. Something that required a terrifying level of trust, intimacy, and shamelessness.
And yet...here she was.
Safe against him. Blushing. Smiling. Feeling, inexplicably, like the happiest girl on the sidewalk.
Even if she was just supposed to be his mother...