Ryan had just finished setting the plates on the dining table when he heard slow, confident footsteps coming down the stairs.
At first, he didn't look up.
He didn't need more unnecessary heart attacks.
But then—
then the scent hit him.
Clean. Cool. Refreshing.
Like mint, soap, and trouble.
Ryan lifted his eyes.
And froze.
Kia was descending the stairs like he owned the whole building. His hair was damp but neatly brushed back, the stray curls framing his forehead in a way that made Ryan's throat tighten painfully. He wore a simple black shirt, sleeves pushed up, fitting him too well. His skin looked fresh, his lips slightly pink from the shower, and his eyes—
God.
Soft. Sharp. Alive again.
Ryan felt his face paralysis crack—
for the first time in forever.
His mouth almost fell open.
He almost stepped forward.
He almost—
almost tasted those lips.
He swallowed hard and gripped the chair instead.
If the kids weren't here…
If this table wasn't here…
If life had just a little mercy on him…
He wouldn't be standing this far away.
He forced himself to look away, busying his hands with cutlery, anything to hide how violently his heart was reacting.
"Dinner?" Kia asked softly, approaching the table.
Ryan nodded once, a tight jerk of the head, like someone trying not to choke.
The kids were the only reason he was still sane.
Kia took a seat across from him, and Ryan immediately regretted how close that was.
He cleared his throat. "Liam and Max aren't joining us tonight."
Kia blinked. "Really? Why?"
"Max said he's going home. Liam said he's going to a friend's place."
His voice was casual, but internally Ryan was thanking the universe.
He didn't need those two witnessing how useless he was becoming.
Kia hummed, leaning back slightly.
And then Ryan saw it.
The twitch of his lips.
The tightening at the corners of his eyes.
The smile that Kia was fighting very hard to suppress.
And Ryan stared at him, confused.
"What's funny?"
Kia pressed his lips together, trying to appear normal, but the smile broke through anyway—small, involuntary, devastating.
"Nothing," Kia said, failing spectacularly.
Ryan narrowed his eyes.
His heart thudded.
God, he hated how cute Kia was when he tried not to smile.
Dinner began quietly.
The kids ate happily, swinging their legs and laughing with each other. Kia complimented the food. Ryan tried not to stare at Kia's lips every time they touched the fork.
The atmosphere was…
Soft.
Warm.
Dangerous.
Kia kept sneaking glances at Ryan, and every time their eyes met, Ryan looked away too fast, like he was afraid the table would catch fire.
The silence wasn't empty.
It wasn't uncomfortable.
It was… full.
Every breath felt like a confession.
Every small smile felt like a promise.
Ryan served Kia rice. Kia thanked him in a low voice that brushed against Ryan's skin like a fingertip.
Ryan nearly forgot how to breathe.
The kids didn't notice anything. They were too busy praising Kia for coming back, asking him silly questions, and telling him about their day.
And Kia?
He answered every question. Gently. Patiently. With that soft, newly restored calm that made Ryan's chest hurt.
The dinner was slow.
Warm.
Steady.
One of the first truly peaceful moments since Kia came back.
And as the meal wrapped up, the kids laughing, Kia smiling softly, Ryan realized something he didn't want to admit yet—
He could get used to this.
Too easily.
Too dangerously.
And that was exactly the problem or maybe what he really was scared of.