Sebastian's POV
It's early.
Too early for her to be awake—but I know she is. She always is.
She's in the kitchen when I walk in, back turned, humming something under her breath. She's making pancakes. Blueberry ones. My favorite.
She always makes them when she misses me.
Her hair is tied up in that messy high ponytail. She's wearing those ridiculous fluffy pink slippers. The ones I got her for Mother's Day when I was ten. She still wears them like they're designer.
She hasn't looked at me yet. Not really. Not in weeks.
But I need her to.
"Ava," I say, softly.
She freezes.
Turns slowly.
And when her eyes meet mine, I can see she's already crying.
Not the dramatic kind.
The quiet, watery kind. The kind that says she didn't expect me to speak first.
I take a step forward.
"I'm sorry," I whisper.
Her lip trembles.
"I didn't mean it. That day. What I said. I was—stupid. And tired. And I just…" I exhale. "I took it out on you. And I'm so, so sorry."
She doesn't speak.
I panic a little.
"I miss your voice," I say, more desperate now. "I miss you yelling at me to drink water. I miss you hugging me when I come back from practice. I even miss you waking me up at 6 a.m. with your stupid playlists—"
She throws her arms around me.
Just like that.
Her face buries into my chest. She's hugging me so tight, I can barely breathe. And she's sobbing—but also laughing.
"You dumb boy," she cries, voice muffled. "You thought I wouldn't forgive you?"
I blink. "Wait, really?"
"I was mad at myself for being so sensitive," she hiccups. "You were just being a teenager. But I'm your mom, Sebby. I don't care how big you get or how moody you are. You'll always be my baby."
I press my face into her hair. It smells like vanilla and strawberry shampoo.
And I realize—I feel like I can breathe again.
"I love you," I whisper.
She squeezes me tighter. "I love you more."
"Impossible," I murmur.
She pulls back, hands cupping my face, her eyes red but glowing.
"Now sit your tall self down. Your pancakes are burning."
---
Ray's POV
I hear soft voices as I walk into the kitchen, the smell of burnt pancakes already assaulting my senses.
Figures.
I round the corner—and there they are.
Ava, wrapped around Sebastian like a koala, barefoot, still in those pink slippers, face puffy from crying. Sebastian, standing there like he doesn't know where to put his arms, clearly trying not to cry again.
She sees me and lights up instantly.
"Ray!" she squeals, beaming.
Then—like it's the most natural thing in the world—she peels herself off Sebastian and throws her arms around me instead.
I blink.
"What happened?" I murmur, letting her hug me. She's warm. Always is.
She grins up at me, nose slightly red.
"Sebby made me cry," she says cheerfully.
I glance at him. He looks like someone just kicked his puppy.
"But," she continues dramatically, "he's forgiven. Because he looked like a very sad puppy. And because he said he missed my voice." She rests her head against my chest. "And you know I'm weak for emotional confessions."
Sebastian groans. "Can we not tell the entire state of California?"
I chuckle, ruffling his hair as I pass him. "Too late."
Ava pulls away and waves her hand toward the stove.
"Also, um... I may have burned the pancakes."
"Obviously."
"Ray," she whines. "Be supportive."
I smile despite myself. "I'll make new ones."
She gasps. "You love me!"
"No," I deadpan. "I just love edible food."
But as she laughs and drags Sebastian to the table, still holding his hand like she's scared to let go, I realize something:
This—right here—is the softest kind of peace.
And I wouldn't trade it for the world.