The first thing i noticed was the sound.
Not birds. Not the hum of the AC. Not even the faint buzz of the city waking up.
Voices.
Familiar ones.
I blinked, disoriented, eyes adjusting to the soft light bleeding through the curtains. My back was warm, and for a moment, I thought i was home. My own bed. My own room. My own safe little bubble.
But when i turned, my cheek pressed against a different pillow. The scent hit me, faint cedar, laundry detergent, and something unmistakably him.
Ken.
It all came rushing back. The confession. The kiss. The way he looked at me like he meant every word. How he let me stay. How i let myself fall asleep wrapped in a kind of quiet i didn't even know i craved.
And now… voices?
I sat up slowly, heart hammering.
There was no way. No. Way.
I tiptoed out of the room, barefoot and still wearing Ken's hoodie from last night. It fell halfway to my thighs, swallowing me whole, and yet somehow i still felt exposed.
The voices grew louder as i crept into the living room.
And there they were.
Franco. Ellie. And of course Celine.
Frozen on the couch. Mid-sip. Mid-bite. Mid-laughter.
All three of them stopped talking the moment they saw me step out of Ken's bedroom.
And the look on their faces?
Utter disbelief.
Like i was a glitch in the system.
Like i wasn't supposed to be there.
Like i'd just broken some universal rule.
I could feel their eyes scanning everything, my face, my messy hair, the hoodie that obviously wasn't mine, the bare legs, the awkward silence clinging to the air like static.
And for a full second, no one said a word.
Not even Ken.
But then—
"Come here," he said, suddenly beside me, tugging me gently by the hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Like we weren't standing in front of three people who looked like they'd just walked into a scandal.
I let him pull me into the kitchen. My heartbeat still hadn't caught up with my body.
He smiled. Calm. Unbothered. Like this was any other morning.
Like nothing about this was unusual.
"Hungry?" he asked, opening the fridge like the world wasn't spinning slightly off-center.
I looked at him, then back toward the living room.
Franco was whispering something to Ellie, who had her hand half-covering her mouth. Celine hadn't moved.
I turned back to Ken. "Did you forget to tell me you were hosting brunch?"
He chuckled under his breath, cracking two eggs into a pan like we were in a romcom. "They just showed up. I didn't know they'd be here either."
"Perfect," I muttered.
"Relax." His voice softened. "They won't ask."
"That's worse."
But he didn't answer. He just kept moving like everything was normal, handing me a plate with toast and scrambled eggs, and placing his own beside mine on the counter.
I took a seat, unsure of where to put my emotions. The silence from the living room stretched on, but they didn't say anything. No teasing. No questions.
They just… ate.
Like they hadn't caught me walking out of his room.
Like this didn't mean something.
Maybe it didn't. Not to them. Or maybe Ken was right, maybe they knew better than to ask.
I focused on chewing.
On breathing.
On acting unbothered.
But deep down, I was panicking. Because i knew what this looked like.
I knew what they were thinking.
I knew the headlines that would've already written themselves if this weren't a quiet little secret between four walls and two plates of eggs.
Eventually, they left. One by one. A polite excuse. A vague wave. A not-so-subtle glance in my direction.
And then it was just us again.
I let out a long, shaky breath the moment the door clicked shut.
Ken glanced at me. "That wasn't so bad."
I gave him a look. "You cannot be serious."
He grinned. "You're still alive."
"Barely."
He leaned against the counter, crossing his arms. "You know, you didn't have to come out of the room. You could've waited for them to leave."
I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, well, next time i'll throw myself out the window instead."
He laughed at that. Like really laughed. And i couldn't help but smile, even if my cheeks still burned from the embarrassment.
I stood, brushing imaginary crumbs off my thigh. "I should shower."
Ken raised a brow. "You're leaving?"
I hesitated. "Just going to my place. I'll be back. You said something about groceries, right?"
His smile returned. "Finally. Real food."
"Hey, I eat actual meals!"
"Chips and gummy bears don't count."
"They absolutely do."
He walked me to the door, still smiling, still soft. "Go. But come back."
And i did.
Twenty-seven minutes later, I was knocking on his door again, hair damp, wearing clean clothes, and pretending like my morning hadn't been emotionally chaotic.
He opened the door, holding a shopping bag and car keys. "Ready?"
I nodded.
The grocery store was only a few blocks away, but he insisted we drive. "So we can carry more," he said.
But i knew it was also so we'd have more time. Together.
We walked through the aisles like we'd done this a hundred times before.
I held the list.
He pushed the cart.
"Do you even know how to cook?" he asked as we passed the pasta section.
"Define cook."
He gave me a look.
"I mean, if survival counts, then yes."
He laughed. "Remind me to teach you something easy. Like rice."
"I know how to use a rice cooker!"
"But do you wash the rice?"
"…No comment."
We ended up buying way too much.
Fresh veggies. Eggs. Three types of noodles. A bunch of sauces i didn't recognize. Ice cream, because i begged.
Ken even threw in a tiny basil plant "for aesthetic," he claimed.
By the time we made it back to his apartment, it was already late afternoon.
We unpacked everything together. I put things away while he wiped down the counters. It felt… absurdly domestic. Almost scarily natural.
Like we'd done this a thousand times before in another life.
"Alright," Ken said, cracking his knuckles. "Let's cook."
I leaned against the counter. "Now?"
"No time like the present."
He pulled out ingredients like he actually knew what he was doing. Sliced garlic, onions, tomatoes. Heated up a pan. Moved around the kitchen like it belonged to him, which it did but also like he'd been waiting for this moment to fill it with more than just silence and takeout.
I watched him.
Really watched him.
The curve of his back as he leaned over the stove. The way his hair curled slightly at the ends when it got humid. How he kept glancing over his shoulder to check if i was still there, still watching.
I was.
Without meaning to, I crossed the kitchen and wrapped my arms around him from behind.
He stilled.
His hands froze mid-stir, but his shoulders relaxed almost instantly.
"Hey," I said softly against his back.
He turned slightly, enough to look at me over his shoulder.
"What's this for?" he asked.
I shrugged. "I don't know."
But i did.
I wasn't scared.
Because for the first time, someone was standing in front of me, cooking for me, showing up for me not for the cameras, not for the headlines, not because i was useful, but just because i was me.
I held him tighter.
Ken reached down, turned the stove off, and faced me fully.
His voice was soft. "Cass…"
"I like you," I said again. "Not because i need you. Not because i'm lonely. And not because this is easy."
His eyes searched mine.
"I like you," I continued, "because when i'm with you, I don't feel like a version of myself i have to perform. I feel like… me. Just me."
Ken didn't say anything right away.
Then—
He kissed me.
Not rushed. Not explosive. Just… honest.
When he pulled away, his forehead pressed against mine.
"I love you," he whispered.
I smiled. "Good."
"Good?"
"Because I love you, too."
He blinked. Like he couldn't believe it.
But i meant it.
Every word.