Ryan gathered the dishes and carried them to the sink, rolling up his sleeves as he turned on the water. It was supposed to be a simple, normal task. Just washing plates.
But nothing was normal when Kia was in the same room.
He felt the footsteps before he heard them — slow, steady, confident.
Warm air brushed the back of his neck as Kia approached.
"Let me help," Kia murmured, standing way too close.
Ryan stiffened instantly.
Kia wasn't touching him.
He hadn't even brushed against him.
But he was close enough that Ryan could smell the faint soap from his shower and feel the quiet heat of his body radiating behind him.
Danger.
Pure, unfiltered danger.
And Ryan knew it.
"No," Ryan said sharply, trying not to breathe too deeply.
"I've got it."
Kia didn't move.
He stayed right there, close enough that Ryan could feel the space between them shrinking and tightening around his chest.
Ryan's hands trembled slightly in the water.
He hated that Kia could still do this to him — affect him with just proximity.
"Ryan," Kia said softly, voice dropping lower.
"I just want to help."
"And I said no," Ryan replied, not looking up, not trusting himself.
There was a pause — warm, heavy, almost intimate.
Then Kia exhaled softly.
"Alright."
He stepped back.
Ryan didn't release the breath he'd been holding until Kia sat down in the chair behind him.
But the peace didn't last.
Because Kia didn't look away.
He sat — elbows resting lightly on the table — and watched Ryan wash every plate, every motion, every breath.
Not blinking.
Not pretending.
Just staring.
Openly.
Curiously.
Affectionately.
Like someone drinking in a long-lost view they never wanted to forget again.
Ryan tried to ignore it.
He really did.
Until he couldn't anymore.
He turned his head slightly, voice low.
"What?" he muttered. "Why are you staring like that?"
Kia smiled — slow, warm, painfully gentle.
"I'm just curious," he said.
Ryan frowned, confused. "Curious about what?"
Kia tilted his head. "This you."
Ryan blinked. "What does that even mean?"
Kia's eyes softened in a way that made Ryan's stomach twist painfully.
"I still know you," Kia said quietly, "and I know you're still my Ryan."
Everything inside Ryan shut down.
Muscles froze.
Heartbeat crashed.
Breath stopped.
My Ryan.
Those two words echoed in his skull like a hit he wasn't prepared for.
He should be annoyed.
He should be angry.
He should punish this naughty man for disturbing his peace like that.
But instead—
Joy.
Warm, stupid, uncontrollable joy — punched through his chest.
He wanted to shout at himself.
He wanted to hide it.
He wanted to ignore the way the corner of his heart fluttered like a fool.
Kia continued softly, voice almost trembling with emotion:
"I haven't seen this side of you before. Calm. Soft. Warm… even when you're pretending not to be."
He smiled faintly.
"My Ryan was always super smart and stubborn. But this side? This… this makes me proud. And it hurts too."
Ryan didn't know what to do with the ache those words stirred.
"Stop calling me that," he muttered finally — weak, unconvincing.
But Kia only leaned back in his chair, watching him with gentle certainty.
"We both know you heard me," Kia said quietly.
"And we both know you didn't hate it."
Ryan's fingers tightened on the plate.
He didn't answer.
And Kia didn't push.
He simply smiled — small, patient, sure — the smile of someone who understood that rebuilding a heart took time.
Little by little, Kia thought.
And Ryan, even while facing the sink and pretending nothing happened, felt the truth of it settling deep in his chest.
Little by little…
Kia was coming back.
And little by little…
Ryan was letting him.