The kitchen buzzed with soft laughter and clinking spoons. Camila had kicked off her shoes, feet curled under her on the chair, her elbow bumping into Billy's every few seconds as she reached across him for another bite she didn't bother to ask permission for.
"Seriously," Billy groaned, nudging her back with a gentle shove. "You have your own plate."
Camila grinned. "Yeah, but yours tastes better."
Artur smiled quietly beside him, head down as he stirred his food, but the warmth in his eyes gave him away.
He wasn't used to this—messy, casual affection—but he was taking it in like sunlight after a long winter.
"Oh, and by the way," Camila said, looking directly at Artur now, "when he gets grumpy in the morning, just toss a pillow at him. He pretends to hate it, but it resets his whole system."
Artur chuckled. "Noted."
Billy squinted at her. "I'm literally right here."
Luciana sipped her wine calmly. "And now you see how it's been for me for years."
