As Jae and I walk away from the house, I glance back once, half-expecting to see Sofia pressed against a window.
Nothing.
Good.
"Hey," I say. "Thanks for being cool with her back there. Not everyone knows how to handle Sofia."
He gives a small smirk, hands tucked into his jacket pockets. "She's intense," he says, not unkindly. "But she's got a good heart. You can tell."
I nod. "I worry about her. She gets so wrapped up in fantasy that real life doesn't always stand a chance."
"Someone's gotta keep her grounded," he says easily, eyes forward. "That's you."
The words sit between us, heavier than they should.
After a few steps, he speaks again. "You okay after… earlier?"
My heart stutters. "Earlier?"
He glances at me once.
Just once. Calm. Intentional.
"In your room," he says. "Before we got interrupted."
Oh.
"Yeah," I say, hoping I sound steadier than I feel. "I'm fine."
A faint smile touches his mouth. "I know."
I look at him.
"I just wanted to hear it from you," he adds.
Something warm sparks in my chest, and I look away before he can read too much into it.
"You mentioned you have a sister," I say quickly. "Right?"
He lets me change the subject. Like he knows exactly why I need to.
"Yeah. Jessica. Thirteen."
"What's she like?"
His expression shifts—not softer, exactly, but more real. Guarded and protective all at once. "Smart. Sweet. Stubborn," he says. "She sees things most people don't."
"She sounds amazing."
"She is," he says without hesitation. Then, more evenly, "She's autistic. So the world doesn't always meet her where she is."
I choose my words carefully. "What's that like? For her… for you?"
He thinks for a moment. "Some days are hard. Some days aren't." He shrugs. "It teaches you patience. Control. You don't force her to fit the world—you figure out how to protect her from the parts that won't bend."
The way he says protect makes my chest tighten.
"She likes structure," he continues. "Clear expectations. Routine. Social stuff can be tough, but once she trusts someone?" A small nod. "She's loyal. All in."
"That's really good," I say quietly.
"When she fixates on something, I don't shut it down," he adds. "I guide it. Helps her feel understood." A pause. "She's happy. That's what matters."
I watch him, realizing none of this feels rehearsed. He isn't trying to impress me. If anything, it feels like he's letting me see something he usually keeps locked up.
After a moment, I ask, "Do you think she'd like Sofia?"
He smiles, quick and genuine. "Yeah. I think they'd get each other."
Then his expression sharpens, like a decision clicking into place. "I'll talk to Jessica. We'll set something up."
Not maybe.
Not if.
"We will," I say. "I think they'd be good for each other." And I mean it.
We keep walking, the night quiet around us. Just before we reach the corner, he slows—and stops.
He turns to me, eyes locking onto mine. "You sure you're okay?"
My stomach flips.
"You don't have to pretend," he adds quietly. Not accusing. Certain.
"I´m sure," I whisper. This time, I mean it.
A small smirk curves at his mouth. "Good," he says. "Because I wasn't going to let that moment slip away again."
Before I can respond, he steps closer.
Close enough that I feel his warmth.
His hand comes up, firm but careful, cupping my jaw. His thumb brushes my cheek, slow and deliberate.
He doesn't ask.
He already knows.
I don't pull away.
He leans in, and when our lips meet, it's slow, sure, and intense.
Not rushed. Not hesitant.
His kiss is confident and controlled, like he's been holding it back on purpose.
My hands find his jacket, pulling him closer, and he slides an arm around my waist, steadying me without even thinking about it.
Everything else fades—streetlights, night air, time—until it's just him.
The kiss deepens just enough to make my knees wobble.
He keeps me upright, grounded, like he's got me exactly where I'm supposed to be.
When he pulls back, it's barely an inch. His forehead rests against mine, his thumb still warm against my skin.
"About time," he murmurs, voice low, rough in that way that makes my chest tighten.
I let out a shaky laugh. "Yeah… finally."
He smirks, calm, confident, like he's completely in control. "Not finally in my mind," he says, like this has been a long time coming.
He drops his hand from my jaw, but instantly takes mine, fingers lacing with mine.
Firm, warm, protective.
We start walking again, slower this time.
My chest is still racing. I'm still dizzy. But for the first time, it feels like everything's exactly how it's supposed to be.
Because he's here.
Because in this moment, he's mine—and I'm his.
And neither of us is letting go.