The smell of frying eggs filled the quiet kitchen. Morning light slid lazily through the blinds, painting the counter in soft gold. Raye moved barefoot across the tiled floor, her hair loose, wearing one of Kyle's shirts that nearly swallowed her whole.
She was humming to herself when strong arms suddenly lifted her from behind.
"Kyle—!" she gasped, laughing as he set her on the counter.
He leaned against the edge beside her, hair still a mess from sleep, eyes unreadable but softer than usual.
"You're cooking in my kitchen. I didn't think I'd live to see that," he muttered, voice rough with amusement.
She stuck her tongue out. "Some gratitude would be nice."
Her cheeks warmed up , thinking about it was almost absurd .
If it was a month ago or so , Raye would have completely denied the thought of her ever doing such , but here she was cooking .
DAMN.
Things went fast , but she couldn't deny that she actually liked it .
But when the laughter faded, she noticed how quiet he'd become again—his gaze somewhere far away, like a storm forming behind his calm expression.
Raye hesitated, then asked softly, "Kyle… why did you fight that guy?"
He didn't answer at first. His jaw tightened; his fingers drummed against the counter.
"It doesn't matter, forget about it " he said finally.
Raye didn't want to push . They had just settled from one argument she didn't want another.
Beside she doubt he would even open up , if she asked further .
But she promised herself , she would try to learn something about this guy , even though he sends a scowl through the entire conversation.
"It does," she whispered, placing a hand on his arm. "You can tell me."
He gave her a long, cautious look. "You won't understand."
Raye leaned forward, brushing her lips gently against his. "Try me."
Something inside him cracked—just a little. He exhaled, then spoke, voice low and careful.
"My parents died in a car crash three years ago," he began. "It was a Friday night. I was supposed to go with them, but I stayed behind because of basketball practice." He paused, the memory tightening his throat. "They were driving home after picking up my little sister from her recital. Some drunk driver ran a red light."
He swallowed hard. "They didn't make it."
Raye's breath caught. "Kyle…"
He closed his eyes.
She let the silence stretch not knowing what else to say .
This was too much , for someone to bare .
Raye could understand how he felt cause in a way they were in the same situation.
She also lost her parents too . She didn't know who her mum was .
Her father died when she was five , due to depression, he couldn't handle the loss of his wife .
She had even stopped staying with her dad before that time , because he couldn't take care of her . He kept drinking and coming late ,leaving her in the care of her uncle and aunty .
Raye sighed slowly patting Kyle hand in a soothening way ,trying to comfort him .
"I wasn't supposed to be there that night,"
he continued, his voice hoarse. "They went to pick me up after practice. I stayed back 'cause Coach said I needed to work harder if I wanted to make captain." He swallowed. "I thought I had time. I thought—"
His words faltered. She touched his cheek, urging him on.
"They were hit by a drunk driver. Dad died instantly. Mom and Anna… didn't make it to the hospital."
The silence stretched. Raye's chest tightened as she watched his expression crack—something he'd never let anyone see.
He looked up, eyes glassy. "I keep thinking… if I'd gone with them, maybe—"
She placed a hand over his mouth gently. "Don't. You can't keep living in that moment, Kyle."
He shook his head. "That's why I don't trust people. Because everyone I've ever trusted—left."
Her heart ached at the raw honesty in his voice. Slowly, she slid off the counter, standing in front of him. Her fingers brushed his hair back, her voice trembling but firm.
"Then let me stay," she whispered. "Let me be the one who doesn't."
He didn't reply—not in words. He just pulled her close, burying his face in her neck, and for once, Raye didn't speak either. The coffee grew cold on the stove. The morning sun climbed higher. And in that quiet kitchen, the silence wasn't empty anymore—it was healing.
He gave a short, bitter laugh. "The guy I hit—he thought it'd be funny to bring up my family. Said I am still that orphan boy , who lost his parents _ "
Raye's heart twisted.
She suddenly felt like punching that guy face twice .
Damn , she was thankful Kyle did a number on the boy's face .
Though she wouldn't say it out loud , now wasn't the time to praise someone for a fight .
She reached up, touching his face, tracing the faint bruise near his jaw. "You didn't deserve that."
He didn't answer, but his shoulders eased when she pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.
She stayed there, his forehead resting lightly against hers. The kitchen smelled of toast, and the quiet between them felt heavier—but also safer.
The sound of rain began before she even realized it—soft at first, then heavier, tapping gently against the kitchen window. Raye didn't move. Neither did Kyle.
His forehead was now pressed against her shoulder, his breathing uneven. It wasn't loud crying—Kyle wasn't the kind to break in obvious ways—but every exhale sounded like a quiet collapse.
Raye's arms circled his back carefully, her palms tracing slow, steady paths up and down the tense lines of his spine. She didn't tell him to stop, didn't whisper it would be okay. She just let him breathe—let him fall apart in the only way he knew how.
The air felt thick with the kind of silence that held everything—grief, guilt, and something else she couldn't name.
After a long while, he mumbled against her skin, his voice hoarse, "You shouldn't have to see me like this."
She smiled faintly, the kind that trembles but doesn't break. "Then maybe you don't know me well enough yet," she whispered, running her fingers through his hair. "Because this is exactly where I want to be."
He didn't answer, but his grip around her waist tightened—almost desperate, as though he was afraid she'd vanish if he blinked too long.
Kyle raised his head a little to look at her face , he then intertwined their fingers together maintaining a steady gaze .
"Fuck Raye I am not good at this , this whole relationship thing , but I am gonna try . I haven't talked about my parent death , but all you had to do was ask and I let it all out . " He took a deep breath , while Raye gulped softly .
She knew this was hard for him , it was for her to ,she wondered what he was heading to .
"Please don't leave me Raye I don't know the heck am going to _ "
Before he could finish , Raye pressed her lips to his ,stopping whatever he wanted to say .
She didn't deepened the kiss ,as she pulled back staring at him .
" I am not leaving ,not now or ever , I scme to stay Kyle , with you , for you ..I will be here ".
"No take backs ".
She grinned . " No take backs ".
Raye leaned her chin lightly on his shoulder, her voice barely above the rain. "You've carried too much alone, Kyle. No one's strong enough to hold that kind of weight forever."
For a moment, his gaze searched hers. He didn't say anything—just watched her, like he was trying to decide if she was real.
The rain softened, tapering into a whisper.
His thumb brushed against her wrist, tracing invisible circles there, grounding himself in her warmth.
Raye felt her chest tighten with emotion. She could feel his heartbeat through his touch—fast, uneven, alive. She didn't move away.
They stood there until the smell of burnt toast filled the air. It made him let out a quiet laugh, the first real one in hours.
She sighed, smiling through the ache. "Well, so much for breakfast."
Kyle shook his head. "You're impossible."
"And you," she said softly, "are finally breathing."
He looked at her then—really looked. Something unspoken flickered in his eyes, something tender and terrifying all at once.
And though neither of them said it out loud, they both felt it.
The moment she became his quiet place.