Chapter Fourteen: Kiss Me Like You Don't Hate Me
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The silence between them wasn't as sharp as it used to be.
It still hummed, low and awkward, but this morning it felt more like a breath held too long than a scream waiting to happen. Kairo moved around the kitchen like a man trying to remember how to be human. Elián sat stiffly at the marble island, every inch of his posture screaming, Don't touch me.
But his eyes betrayed him.
They followed Kairo.
Not hungrily.
Not longingly.
Curiously.
As if he couldn't understand why the man who once slapped him was now softly placing eggs on his plate like they were something sacred.
"Do you want coffee?" Kairo asked.
Elián looked up. His voice was hoarse. "Why are you doing this?"
Kairo hesitated. "Because I should've done it sooner."
"You shouldn't have to pretend now."
"I'm not pretending."
Elián narrowed his eyes. "You loved him."
Kairo's jaw tightened. "I thought I did."
"You hurt me for him."
Silence.
Pain bloomed like a bruise in Kairo's expression. "I know."
"Do you?" Elián said quietly. "Because I slept in a locked room for two months. I flinched when you walked in. I forgot what warmth felt like in this place."
Kairo's hand clenched on the counter. "I was blind."
"No. You were cruel."
The words landed hard.
Kairo didn't defend himself this time.
He simply nodded.
"Then why now?" Elián whispered. "Why start acting like you care?"
Kairo walked around the island, slowly. Carefully. Like Elián might shatter if he came too close.
"Because I saw his phone last week," Kairo said, voice low. "He was smiling at messages from a girl. I asked him about it. He said I was always too cold—too controlling. He said you were a joke. And I... I didn't like the way he said your name."
Elián's eyes widened.
"Your name, Elián," Kairo said, softer now. "He said it like it didn't matter. But I knew better. I'd heard you say mine in a way that hurt more than any insult he'd ever thrown at me."
A beat passed.
Then another.
And suddenly—Elián's eyes shimmered. He bit down hard on his bottom lip. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because you deserve the truth."
"I don't want your guilt."
"It's not guilt," Kairo said. Then, more hesitantly: "I think it's something worse. Or better. Depending on how you look at it."
Elián blinked. "You're not making sense."
Kairo reached into his pocket and pulled something out.
A small black box.
Elián's breath hitched. "What is that?"
"I had it made the week we got married," Kairo said, voice cracking. "But I never gave it to you. I didn't think you'd want it. I didn't think you mattered. And then you stopped looking at me like I existed... and I realized I wanted nothing more than to matter to you."
He opened the box.
Inside was a simple silver ring, etched with Elián's initials.
Elián stared at it like it was a weapon.
"Don't think this fixes anything," he whispered.
"I don't," Kairo said. "I just want to start trying."
Elián didn't speak. He stood up and walked past Kairo without touching the box. But as he reached the hallway, he paused.
And turned.
"Try harder," he said, voice soft and sharp at once.
Then he disappeared into his room, leaving Kairo standing with the box still open.
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That night, thunder rolled again.
And Elián couldn't sleep.
Something about the rain reminded him of the first time he cried in this house. Of how he'd buried his sobs into the expensive sheets because he didn't want Kairo to hear. How he'd watched the city lights and prayed for someone—anyone—to see him.
Now, that same man was offering rings.
But was he offering himself?
He couldn't tell.
He couldn't trust it.
And yet… his chest ached anyway.
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The next morning, Kairo knocked.
"Come in," Elián said, too tired to pretend anymore.
Kairo stepped in holding the ring box again.
Elián sat on the bed, in his oversized hoodie, legs folded beneath him like a child caught between dreams.
"I know you said no," Kairo murmured.
"I didn't say no," Elián replied. "I said try harder."
A pause.
Kairo stepped closer. Sat beside him.
They were shoulder to shoulder. Barely breathing.
"I'm not good at soft things," Kairo confessed.
"I used to be," Elián whispered. "Until I met you."
Kairo turned. His hand brushed Elián's.
"I want to learn."
Elián met his gaze. "Then kiss me like you don't hate me."
Kairo leaned in, slow.
Their lips touched—gentle, unsure, a question written in silence.
Elián didn't close his eyes. Not at first. He watched Kairo—watched for cruelty, for doubt, for that coldness that once lived in his bones.
But it wasn't there.
Just warmth.
And regret.
And maybe—just maybe—something blooming.
When the kiss deepened, Elián trembled. His hands fisted Kairo's shirt like he was holding on for dear life.
Because maybe he was.
When they pulled apart, breathless, Kairo rested his forehead against Elián's.
"I don't hate you," he said.
"Good," Elián whispered. "Because I'm still trying not to hate you back."
And Kairo smiled. Small. But real.
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End of Chapter 14
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