Condo of sorts

They slipped out quietly.

No announcement, no lingering in the chaos of backstage congratulations or crew chatter or the kind of noise that usually followed a night like that. Lennon had learned a long time ago that if she stayed too long after, the high had a way of turning on her—too many voices, too many eyes, too much room for her own thoughts to creep back in and rewrite what had just happened.

So they left.

Through a side exit, quick and clean, the night air hitting her skin still warm from the stage lights. She hadn’t changed. Still in the last outfit of the night—dark, fitted, a little rumpled now, makeup still intact but softened at the edges.

And behind her—

Kai, steady as ever, carrying Wren.

Out cold.

Curled into him like she’d been switched off mid-sentence, her cheek pressed into his shoulder, the tiny leather jacket still on, the plastic princess crown barely clinging to her hair. One hand hung loose against his chest, fingers slack, the other still faintly curled like she’d been holding something before sleep took her.

Lennon glanced back at them as they crossed toward the waiting SUV, something in her chest easing just at the sight of it.

“She didn’t make it,” she said softly, more observation than anything else, opening the back door.

Kai ducked in with her, careful, settling Wren against him as the door shut and the city swallowed them up again.

The drive was quiet.

Not empty—just… full in a different way.

Lennon leaned back into the seat, head tipping slightly, watching the lights smear across the tinted windows as downtown drew closer.

It had gone well.

That thought came back again, quieter this time, but heavier.

Not the kind of “well” people said because they were supposed to.

Not surviving.

Not getting through it.

She’d been there.

Fully.

She’d felt the crowd instead of bracing against it. Let herself lean into it. There had been a moment—somewhere in the middle—where she’d forgotten to be afraid.

And it hadn’t snapped her back after.

It had… stayed.

Lennon swallowed lightly, her fingers curling loosely in her lap.

Maybe she could do this again.

Not like before.

Not like something she had to endure.

Something she could actually want.

The SUV eased into the underground garage of her building, smooth and unnoticed. The driver stepped out, opening the door without a word.

Kai moved first, adjusting Wren instinctively as he stepped out. Lennon followed, pulling her jacket a little tighter around herself as they crossed into the lobby.

The space was quiet at this hour—low lighting, polished floors, the faint hum of late-night stillness.

The bellman looked up.

Recognition flickered, but he didn’t make a thing of it.

Just a small nod.

“Evening, Ms. Lennon.”

“Hey,” she returned softly, a faint, tired smile that didn’t ask for anything more.

They moved past without stopping.

The elevator doors slid shut behind them, sealing them into a smaller, quieter space. Lennon leaned lightly back against the wall, her eyes drifting to the reflection in the mirrored panel.

Kai, still steady, still holding Wren like it was nothing.

Wren, completely gone, trusting him without question.

Something about that sat deep in her chest.

Not overwhelming.

Just… grounding.

The doors opened with a soft chime.

Down the hall. Keys. The door unlocking.

Lennon stepped aside automatically as Kai moved in first, carrying Wren down the short hallway toward the spare room.

She’d already set it up earlier.

Not overthought—just… prepared.

A drawer with a few things. A set of pajamas she’d picked out without making a big deal of it. A blanket that felt soft enough to matter.

Malibu had been off the table before they even stepped on stage.

Too far. Too late.

No reason to push it.

She lingered in the doorway as Kai set Wren down on the bed.

Wren stirred faintly, a soft, incoherent sound leaving her as the crown slipped sideways.

“She’s fine,” Lennon murmured quietly, stepping in just enough to hand him the pajamas. “She won’t wake up for this.”

He worked carefully, changing her with slow, practiced movements, easing her out of the jacket first, then the rest. Wren barely reacted—just shifted once, then settled again, curling instinctively into the pillow.

The blanket came up over her. Tucked in.

For a second, Lennon just watched.

Then she stepped back.

“Night, bug,” she said softly, even though Wren wouldn’t hear it.

And then she left them there.

Her room was darker.

Quieter.

The second the door closed behind her, the last of the night seemed to finally catch up.

Lennon moved on instinct.

Bathroom light. Sink. Makeup wipes.

She took her time with it, watching the stage version of herself disappear in pieces—liner smudging away, gloss gone, the polished edges softening until it was just her again.

Her hair came down next, falling loose around her shoulders.

A slow exhale.

She changed without thinking too hard about it—peeling off the stage clothes, trading them for something that felt like relief instead of performance.

A soft crop t-shirt.

Loose cotton shorts that sat easy on her hips.

Nothing tight. Nothing styled.

Just… hers.

By the time she stepped back into the bedroom, the quiet felt different.

Not empty.

Settled.

She slipped into bed, pulling the covers up, the cool sheets grounding against her skin as she sank into them. Her body finally let go of the last of the tension, muscles loosening one by one.

For a second, she just lay there.

Staring at the ceiling.

Not replaying the mistakes.

Not searching for the cracks.

Just… remembering the good parts.

The way it felt to stay.

The door opened softly behind her.

Lennon turned her head just as Kai stepped in.

Her expression shifted immediately.

Not dramatic.

Just warmer. Softer. A little more open than it had been earlier.

“You good?” she asked quietly, her voice stripped down now, no stage left in it.

She shifted slightly under the covers, making space without making a thing of it.

And then she just watched him.

No rush.

No pressure.

Just the quiet, steady feeling of something finally… landing.

Kai paused in the doorway for half a second before answering.

Not because he didn’t know.

Because he did.

He’d known the second he stepped into the spare room and found the pajamas already laid out. The second he noticed the soft blanket, the extra toothbrush still in its packaging on the dresser, the quiet, unshowy way Lennon had prepared for the possibility of Wren staying without ever making it feel like a production.

He’d known when she handed him the pajamas like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He’d known when she said goodnight to a sleeping kid who couldn’t hear her.

And he definitely knew now.

Standing there in her doorway with the overhead hall light at his back and her room all shadow and soft edges in front of him, looking at Lennon scrubbed clean of stage and glitter and adrenaline, tucked into bed in a cropped tee and little sleep shorts like she’d already come all the way back down to herself.

Or maybe not all the way.

Maybe just enough to let him in.

His hand stayed on the doorknob for a second longer than necessary as he looked at her.

At the looseness in her hair. The faint tiredness around her eyes. The way she’d made room for him without announcing it, like she trusted he’d understand what it meant.

His chest tightened low and warm.

“Yeah,” he said finally, voice quiet enough to match the room. Then, with the smallest pull at one corner of his mouth, “I’m good.”

A beat.

“Better now.”

That got him exactly what he wanted—that tiny shift in her face, the one where softness deepened instead of retreating.

Kai let the door swing shut behind him and crossed the room slowly, shrugging off the last of the outside world as he moved. His jacket landed over the chair by the window. His phone went facedown on the dresser without a second glance. The whole night was still humming under his skin—lights, music, her voice, Wren asleep on his shoulder, the feel of Lennon’s hand in his in the hallway—but in here it all started settling into something quieter.

Something he wanted to keep.

He sat on the edge of the bed first, just looking at her for a second like he still hadn’t gotten used to being allowed to.

“You know,” he said, reaching down to untie one boot, “I was gonna tell you you were incredible tonight.”

He looked up at her then, warmth and certainty sitting plain in his face.

“But I feel like ‘incredible’ might actually be underselling it.”

The second boot hit the floor.

Kai bent to pull off his socks, then straightened again and rested his forearms on his thighs, letting himself stay turned toward her instead of rushing through the motions.

“I’ve seen a lot of shows,” he said, low and easy. “A stupid amount, actually. I’ve played them, I’ve watched them from side stage, I’ve watched people walk out there and do exactly what they’re supposed to do.”

His gaze held hers.

“That wasn’t what tonight was.”

He let that sit a second.

“You were there,” he said. “The whole time. Not just doing it. Not surviving it. You were in it.”

A faint shake of his head, like he was still replaying parts of it.

“And everybody in that room knew it.”

Lennon didn’t say anything right away. She didn’t need to. He could see it land anyway—that quiet, careful way she took in praise when it wasn’t inflated, when it didn’t ask anything from her in return.

Kai’s expression softened.

“You looked like yourself out there,” he said. “Maybe more than that. You looked like somebody who actually wanted to be there.”

He smiled then, small and real.

“That was my favorite part.”

He stood and peeled off his shirt next, tossing it toward the chair. It missed. He didn’t care. He was too tired to pretend he did.

Then he reached for his belt, unfastening it without hurry before shoving his pants down and stepping out of them, leaving himself in his boxers. He nudged them aside with one foot, glanced back at her, and there was something a little looser in him too.

A little more open.

“Also,” he added, quieter now, “watching you with Wren tonight almost killed me.”

That got a softer kind of warmth into his voice. The kind he couldn’t fake if he tried.

“The jacket. The room. The way she kept looking at you like you’d built Disneyland in backstage furniture.” He huffed a short laugh. “She’s gonna tell people about that for years.”

He crossed to the other side of the bed, but instead of getting in immediately, he paused there, hand resting lightly on the mattress.

“And she’s right to.”

His gaze flicked to hers again.

“What you do for her…” He exhaled slowly. “I know I already thanked you. I just don’t think I’m gonna be done being grateful for it anytime soon.”

There was no heaviness in the way he said it. Just honesty. Deep and steady and impossible to make smaller than it was.

“She feels safe with you,” he said. “Seen. Like she belongs.”

His mouth curved a little, softening the weight of it.

“So do I, apparently.”

That one came out a little more vulnerable than he’d planned.

Kai let out a quiet breath through his nose and gave her a look like he knew exactly what he’d just admitted.

Then he pulled back the covers and slid into bed beside her.

The mattress dipped. The sheets shifted cool against his legs. He settled onto his back first, then turned slightly toward her, one arm folding under his head as he took her in at eye level now.

The room felt even quieter like this.

Not empty.

Intimate.

The kind of quiet that had nothing to prove.

For a second he just looked at her.

At how different she was now than she’d been under the lights—and somehow exactly the same, too. The same woman who had stood in front of thousands of people and stayed. The same woman who had crouched down in a pink dressing room and told his daughter she belonged there. The same woman who had looked him in the face tonight and told him she loved him like it was already true enough to stop being afraid of saying it.

Kai’s eyes dropped briefly to her mouth, then back up.

“You tired?” he asked.

But the question was gentler than that.

Not really about sleep.

More like: how far down have you come? how much of the night is still humming in you? are you okay in the aftermath, now that it’s quiet?

He reached out then, fingertips brushing lightly over the sheet near her hip before he let his hand settle there, warm and unhurried over the blanket.

“You don’t have that look,” he said softly.

A faint furrow touched his brow, but there was almost wonder in it.

“The after-show look.”

He tipped his head slightly against the pillow.

“The one where you disappear halfway through being in the room.”

His thumb moved once against the fabric over her side.

“It’s not there.”

That mattered to him more than he could probably explain without sounding wrecked by it.

Kai smiled a little, tired and affectionate and entirely too honest for this hour.

“I keep waiting for you to start picking it apart,” he admitted. “The missed note that wasn’t missed. The thing you think you did weird with your hand that nobody noticed. The five seconds between songs where you’ll somehow convince yourself the whole room turned on you.”

His expression softened as soon as he said it.

“But you’re not doing that.”

A beat.

“And I really love that for me.”

There it was—just enough dry humor to keep the tenderness from swallowing the room whole.

His smile deepened when he saw the effect it had on her.

Then he shifted closer, no hesitation in it now, and reached for her properly—one arm sliding beneath the blanket and around her waist, drawing her toward him until there wasn’t much space left between them at all.

Not urgent.

Just certain.

Like he knew exactly where he wanted her.

He tucked her in against him and kissed the top of her head first, then her temple, lingering there for a second.

“You did it,” he murmured.

Simple. Undeniable.

“And now it’s over. Nobody gets anything else from you tonight.”

His hand moved slowly over her back beneath the blanket, a steady rhythm more than a touch.

“No interviews. No replaying it into dust. No deciding tomorrow that it didn’t count because you were scared beforehand.”

He leaned back just enough to look at her.

“It counted.”

His voice dropped lower.

“Every second of it.”

The room held still around them.

Outside, somewhere beyond the windows and walls and polished building hush, the city kept doing what it did—sirens in the distance, traffic thinning, some late-night life still carrying on like nothing monumental had happened at all.

But in here it felt suspended.

Private.

Earned.

Kai studied her face like he was learning a version of relief he’d wanted for her longer than he’d realized.

Then, because he couldn’t seem to help saying the truth when it came to her anymore, he brushed his thumb lightly under her jaw and said, “I’m really proud of you, Len.”

He’d already said it once.

He meant it more now, somehow.

“Not just because you sounded insane out there,” he added. “Which you did.”

A small smile.

“But because you stayed in it. You let yourself have it.”

His gaze moved between her eyes, steady and warm.

“That’s harder than people think.”

He let the silence stretch after that.

Let her breathe in it.

Then his mouth tugged again, a little more tired now, a little more playful.

“Also, I’d like formal recognition for getting your child co-star out of a leather jacket without waking her.”

There it was. The ease. The low hum of something lived-in and real.

“She was basically a tiny rock star casualty. Crown sideways. Dead asleep. Still clutching air like she had unfinished business.”

Kai huffed a quiet laugh at the memory, then tucked a strand of hair behind Lennon’s ear where it had fallen forward.

“You should’ve seen your face when you looked back at us outside the arena,” he said. “Like you were trying not to let it hit you.”

His eyes softened again.

“But it did.”

And maybe that was the whole thing.

Maybe that was why tonight felt different.

Not because it went perfectly. Not because fear never showed up. Not because the room had magically stopped being big or the stakes had disappeared.

Because it hit her.

And she stayed.

Kai leaned in and kissed her gently this time, slow and warm and without any rush in it. Just the quiet kind of kiss people gave when the whole world had finally stopped asking things of them.

When he pulled back, he kept his forehead close to hers.

“Come down with me,” he murmured.

Not a request to do anything. Not pressure.

Just that.

Stay here. In this. With me, while the rest of it fades out.

His hand smoothed once along her side beneath the blanket.

“We can be done now,” he said softly. “At least for tonight.”

And because he knew her, because he knew there was always one last part of her still scanning for the catch, still bracing for the thing after the thing, he added in the same low tone:

“You don’t have to earn the quiet.”

Lennon didn’t answer him right away.

She watched him first.

The way he lingered in the doorway like it mattered that he got this moment right. The way he looked at her now—like there wasn’t a version of her he was bracing for anymore. Just… her.

That alone softened something in her chest.

By the time he said he was good—better now—her mouth had already curved faintly, something quiet and knowing in it. Not teasing. Not deflecting. Just… receiving it.

Letting it land.

She shifted slightly under the covers as he moved around the room, her eyes following without making it obvious, taking in the small, grounding details of him settling in. Jacket off. Phone down. The night shedding off him piece by piece the same way she had in the bathroom.

It made the room feel even smaller.

Safer.

When he started talking about the show, she didn’t interrupt. Didn’t brush it off. That was new, too.

She let him say it.

Let him mean it.

And it hit differently than the noise she was used to—the post-show praise, the overblown reactions, the people who loved the idea of her more than the reality. This wasn’t that. There was no performance in it. No expectation tied to it.

Just… truth.

Her gaze dropped for a second, fingers lightly gripping the edge of the blanket near her chest, not defensive—just steadying.

Because he was right.

She had been there.

And she knew exactly what that meant.

By the time he said it out loud, she felt it settle deeper instead of bouncing off.

“You’re right,” she said quietly, voice softer than it had been all night, stripped down to something more honest. “It didn’t feel like before.”

Her eyes lifted back to his.

“I wasn’t trying to get through it.”

That part mattered.

Her mouth curved a little more, something warmer now. “I actually wanted to stay.”

And God—that was new enough that she felt it as she said it.

She watched him move, listened when he mentioned Wren, and something in her expression shifted again—softer, almost instinctive. There was no hesitation there. No second-guessing.

“That part’s easy,” she murmured, glancing toward the hallway without thinking, like she could still picture her there. “She makes it easy.”

There was no performance in that either.

Just truth.

When he talked about her feeling safe, about Wren feeling seen, Lennon’s throat tightened just slightly—but she didn’t deflect it. Didn’t joke her way out of it. She let it sit where it belonged.

“That’s all I want for her,” she said quietly. “I don’t need anything else from it.”

A small pause.

Then, softer—

“And you don’t have to thank me for that.”

Her eyes flicked back to his, something steadier there now. “You didn’t have to let me in like that.”

That part stayed unspoken for a second longer than the rest, but it was there—in the way she looked at him. In the way she didn’t look away after.

When he got into bed beside her, when the space between them disappeared as naturally as breathing, Lennon didn’t hesitate.

She turned toward him easily, like that had already become instinct.

His question—if she was tired—earned a quiet exhale, her head tipping slightly on the pillow.

“Yeah,” she admitted. “But not the bad kind.”

Not the kind that came with emptiness or the crash after everything.

This felt… earned.

When he pointed out the absence of that after-show spiral, her brows knit faintly—not in disagreement, but in quiet recognition. Like she hadn’t realized it until he said it.

She wasn’t picking it apart.

She wasn’t replaying it into something smaller.

That alone almost made her laugh.

“Give me time,” she murmured lightly, but there was no real bite to it.

Because she knew he was right.

She wasn’t doing it.

And for once, she didn’t feel the urge to start.

When he pulled her closer, she went without resistance, settling into him like that space had already been made for her. Her hand came up naturally, resting against his chest, fingers curling lightly into the fabric—or what was left of it.

His words—about it counting, about being done for the night—landed deeper than the rest.

That old instinct to keep going, to prove something, to earn the quiet even after the work was done—

It didn’t flare the way it usually did.

She let out a slow breath against him, her head tucking just slightly under his chin.

“That’s the weird part,” she admitted softly. “I’m not waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

A beat.

“I used to finish shows and immediately feel like I had to keep going. Like if I stopped moving, it would all catch up.”

Her fingers traced a slow, absent line along his side beneath the blanket, grounding herself in the reality of him being there.

“Go to some after party I didn’t even want to be at. Stay too long. Be too loud. Try to keep the high going because I didn’t know what happened when it went quiet.”

Her voice softened further.

“And then I’d come home and it would be… empty.”

Not dramatic. Just factual.

She shifted slightly, tilting her head back enough to look at him again, something warmer settling in her eyes.

“This?” she murmured.

Her hand pressed lightly against his chest, then moved, brushing his jaw for a second before settling again.

“This is better.”

A small smile.

“Coming back here. Just… you. And her in the other room.” Her voice dropped slightly. “This is the best after-show I’ve ever had.”

That wasn’t exaggerated.

It landed between them as something solid and real.

When he said he was proud of her again, something in her chest gave a little—softer this time, less sharp, more like something being allowed instead of fought.

She didn’t brush it off.

Didn’t redirect it.

She just nodded, slow.

“Thank you,” she said, and meant it.

Not for the words themselves.

For how he said them. For knowing when they mattered.

When he joked about Wren, about the jacket and the crown, Lennon huffed a quiet laugh, her forehead pressing lightly against his for a second.

“I believe it,” she murmured. “She takes her role very seriously.”

Then, softer, almost to herself—

“I like that she has something to remember it by.”

Her gaze lifted again, catching his.

“I like that it’s not just… the stage.”

That mattered more than anything else.

The kiss he gave her shifted something.

Not rushed. Not searching.

Just… certain.

And Lennon answered it differently than she had earlier.

Not tentative.

Not testing.

She moved into it fully, her hand sliding up to his jaw, fingers curling lightly there as she kissed him back—deeper, slower, something steady and grounded in it instead of adrenaline or fear.

It lingered.

Because she let it.

Because she wasn’t rushing past it.

When she finally pulled back, her breath was softer, her forehead resting against his again.

“I’m really glad it’s you,” she said quietly.

No overthinking. No second-guessing.

Just truth.

Her hand drifted back down to his chest, settling there, feeling the steady rhythm under her palm.

“And I mean that in every way.”

A small pause.

Then, softer—

“You know me better than I do sometimes.”

There was no defensiveness in it.

Just… trust.

Her thumb moved absently once, tracing a slow line before stilling again.

“And I think that’s the only reason tonight went the way it did.”

Because she hadn’t been alone in it.

Even when she was on stage.

Even when she didn’t look for him.

He was there.

That had changed something.

When he told her she didn’t have to earn the quiet, she didn’t argue.

Didn’t instinctively push back.

She just let herself settle deeper into him, her body finally giving in to the weight of the night in the right way.

“Okay,” she whispered.

Not agreement.

Acceptance.

Her eyes slipped closed for a second, her breathing evening out—not asleep, not gone, just… finally at rest in a way she hadn’t felt after a show in a long time.

And she stayed there.

With him.

Kai stayed quiet for a second after she said it.

Not because he didn’t have an answer.

Because he did—and it hit hard enough that he wanted to feel it before he touched it with words.

I’m really glad it’s you.
And I mean that in every way.

Jesus.

He looked down at her where she was tucked against him, one hand on his chest, all the sharp edges of the night finally worn smooth enough that she could just be here. Not stage-Lennon. Not comeback-Lennon. Not the version everybody else got to celebrate from a distance.

Just her.

Soft. Open. Still humming a little from the night, but not frayed by it.

That alone did something dangerous to his composure.

His mouth curved slowly, that easy kind of smile that came from somewhere lower than amusement.

“Yeah?” he murmured.

It was teasing, technically.

But only barely.

His hand moved under the blanket, slow and warm along her back, settling there like he had no plans to put distance between them tonight unless she asked for it. His thumb brushed once over the line of her spine.

“Good,” he said quietly. “Because I’m pretty attached to it being me at this point.”

There was that faint edge of humor in it, but the truth sat underneath plain as day.

He dipped his head and kissed her temple. Then the corner of her mouth. Then—because she’d already undone him enough for one night and apparently he still wasn’t interested in learning restraint—he kissed her properly.

Not rushed. Not trying to prove anything.

Just deep enough to match what she’d given him.

When he pulled back, he stayed close. Close enough that her breath still mingled with his, close enough that if she shifted even a little he’d feel it everywhere.

Her words about him knowing her better than she did stayed with him.

Kai huffed a quiet breath through his nose, the sound almost a laugh.

“I don’t know if I know you better than you do,” he said, voice low and roughened by how close they still were. “I think I just pay attention like it’s my full-time job.”

His hand slid up, fingertips tracing lightly at the back of her neck beneath her hair.

“And you’re not exactly subtle with me,” he added, one brow lifting just slightly. “Which, for the record, I enjoy. A lot.”

That earned the smallest pull of a smile from her, and he felt absurdly rewarded by it.

He let his gaze move over her face for a second—really take her in—before he went on, quieter now.

“But tonight didn’t go the way it did because I cracked some secret code.” He gave the smallest shake of his head. “It went that way because you let it.”

That mattered.

He wanted her to hear that part.

“You walked out there and stayed open,” he said. “You didn’t slam the door on yourself the second it got real. That wasn’t me, Len.”

A beat.

“That was you deciding not to disappear.”

There was nothing inflated about the way he said it. No speech. No polishing.

Just a clean truth, handed back to her.

His thumb moved once beneath the blanket, a slow line at her waist.

“I was there,” he said. “I’ll take the win for excellent moral support and elite backstage presence.”

A brief grin.

“Maybe even some heroic daughter transport.”

That one he let hang just long enough for the joke to do what it was supposed to do—ease the weight without breaking it.

Then he softened again.

“But you did the hard part.”

He looked at her like he needed her to really hear that.

Not because he thought she’d argue.

Because he knew how easy it would be for her to quietly hand all the credit away the second she felt safe enough to do it.

Kai wasn’t letting her.

He shifted slightly under the blanket, one leg tangling more fully with hers, pulling her in tighter until there was even less space between them than before. Not possession. Not urgency.

Just certainty.

This is where I want you.

“You know what I think?” he murmured.

His mouth grazed her forehead when he spoke.

“I think the reason this feels weird is because it’s actually good.”

A soft kiss to her hairline.

“No crash. No stupid afterparty. No you standing in some loud room in heels you hate pretending you’re still having fun while your soul leaves your body.”

His mouth twitched.

“No drunk producer cornering you to tell you tonight ‘felt iconic.’”

A beat.

“Which is maybe the darkest part of this business, honestly.”

That got more of his actual personality into it now—dry, amused, fully himself.

He leaned back just enough to look at her again.

“This?” he said, glancing briefly around the room before coming back to her. “This is a better system.”

His hand spread at her side beneath the blanket, steady and unhurried.

“You. Me. Menace child passed out in the other room after one historic leather-jacket performance. Building security still intact. Zero required socializing. Strong close.”

He smiled.

That one lingered.

Because he meant that too.

And because he could feel her still settling, still coming down in the right direction this time instead of the old one.

Kai brushed his knuckles lightly along her jaw.

“I’m keeping this version,” he said. “Just so you know.”

There was enough humor in it to make it easy.

Enough sincerity in it to make it land.

“The one that comes home instead of running herself into the ground for another three hours because she thinks she has to wring every last drop out of the night.”

His eyes moved between hers.

“She can stay.”

That sat between them for a second.

Then his mouth curved again, slower now, more boyish in a way that only showed up when he was relaxed enough to stop managing himself.

“Also,” he added, “you saying this is the best after-show you’ve ever had is gonna make me unbearable.”

That got the reaction he wanted.

So he kept going.

“I’m already insufferable with less. You understand that, right?” He tipped his head slightly against the pillow. “Tomorrow I’m gonna be impossible. Cocky. Smug. Deeply attractive about it.”

He paused.

“Actually, scratch that last part. That’s just baseline.”

There it was.

The humor. The confidence. The low, easy arrogance that only worked because he wore it lightly enough to laugh at himself while he used it.

His hand smoothed once up her back, then back down.

And when he spoke again, his voice quieted without losing any of the certainty.

“I’m glad it was us waiting for you after.”

Not dramatic.

Not dressed up.

Just true.

“The room. The ride home. You coming back here instead of to something hollow.”

His mouth brushed briefly against her forehead again.

“That feels right.”

He stayed there for a moment, breathing her in, letting the quiet do its job.

Then he drew back enough to study her face with a softer sort of amusement.

“You know what I don’t hear right now?” he asked.

He didn’t wait long enough for her to answer.

“The post-show spiral.” A small, satisfied tilt of his mouth. “She’s quiet.”

He meant the version of her that turned sharp and restless and impossible to soothe. The one that made everything feel provisional. The one always waiting to turn a good night into a suspicious one.

Kai’s eyes held hers.

“I like beating her,” he said simply.

Then, because of course he did, “Not to get competitive with your inner demons. But if she wants to keep losing to me, I’m available.”

His hand slipped from her back to the side of her thigh beneath the blanket, thumb stroking once through the soft cotton of her shorts.

“You still with me?” he asked quietly.

Again, not about sleep.

About presence. About whether she was here in the room with him and not halfway back on the stage in her head.

When she stayed there, when she didn’t pull away or start explaining herself into distance, something in him loosened even more.

He smiled, softer now.

“Thought so.”

Then he kissed her again.

Slow. Warm. A little deeper this time because he could, because she’d already said the thing that changed the air between them and neither of them were pretending otherwise anymore.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested lightly to hers.

“No sleeping,” he murmured, the words brushing against her mouth with the faintest hint of a grin. “You don’t get to pass out on me right after handing me a line like ‘I’m glad it’s you in every way.’ That’s insane behavior.”

A beat.

“I have follow-up questions.”

His hand slid a little higher at her waist, holding her there beneath the blanket, not letting the room get too quiet too fast.

“Like how long you’ve been sitting on that,” he said.

Then, softer—

“And whether I get to kiss you again before you answer.”

Lennon’s breath caught—quiet, not sharp—when he said it like that, like he’d already decided and there wasn’t a version of this where he backed out of it.

Her fingers pressed a little more firmly into his chest, not pushing him away—just anchoring herself there.

“Yeah,” she answered, softer this time, but steadier than before. “You don’t really get an option there anymore.”

There was the faintest curve at the edge of her mouth, something warmer than teasing—something that felt a little like relief.

When he kissed her—temple, mouth, then deeper—she met him fully this time, not holding back even a fraction. Her hand slid into his hair, keeping him there for a second longer than he probably expected, like she wasn’t in a hurry to come up for air anymore.

When he pulled back, she didn’t move away. Didn’t create that old space.

She stayed right there.

His words about paying attention pulled something softer into her expression, something that flickered just beneath the surface.

“I think that’s the difference,” she said quietly. “You don’t just look—you actually see what’s there.”

Her thumb traced lightly along the line of his jaw.

“And you don’t make me feel like I have to edit it first.”

That part mattered more than she usually let anything matter.

When he shifted the credit back to her—told her she stayed—her gaze didn’t drop this time.

She let it land.

“I didn’t think I could,” she admitted, voice low but even. “Not like that.”

A small breath left her, like she was still catching up to herself.

“I’ve walked out on stages before and felt like I was already halfway gone before the first song finished. Tonight…” her head tilted slightly against his, eyes still on his, “I was there the whole time.”

Her fingers curled slightly at his side.

“And I wanted to be.”

There was no hesitation in that.

When he joked about his role in it, she let out a quiet laugh, her nose brushing his lightly.

“You’re definitely taking that win,” she said. “You earned it.”

A beat, softer—

“But don’t get it twisted. I still did the scary part.”

Her brow lifted just slightly, like she was daring him to argue—only she wasn’t shrinking from it this time.

When he pulled her closer, she followed without thinking, her leg sliding more fully against his, her hand settling against his side like it belonged there.

His words about it feeling weird because it was good made her exhale softly.

“Yeah,” she murmured. “That’s exactly it.”

Her gaze flicked over his face, slower now.

“I keep waiting for it to turn into something else. Like there’s supposed to be a catch.”

A small shake of her head.

“But there isn’t.”

That realization sat between them.

When he described everything she didn’t have to do tonight, a quiet laugh slipped out of her, more tired now but lighter.

“No afterparty,” she murmured. “No staying out just to prove I can still keep up with something I don’t even want anymore.”

Her eyes lifted back to his.

“No pretending.”

That word stayed there for a second.

“This is better,” she added, softer. “It actually feels like it belongs to me.”

When he said he was keeping this version of her, she didn’t flinch from it.

“You can,” she said. “I’m not trying to outrun her anymore.”

That was the difference.

That was the shift.

His teasing about being unbearable made her smile again, fuller this time.

“You’re already impossible,” she said. “Tomorrow’s just gonna confirm it.”

A beat.

“And yeah… you are gonna be smug about this.”

Her fingers traced lightly along his arm.

“I’ll let you have it. Just this once.”

When he said he was glad it was them waiting for her, something in her expression stilled again—quieter, deeper.

“I used to leave and feel empty,” she said. “Even when everything went right. Like it didn’t matter how loud it was out there, it never followed me home.”

Her gaze stayed on his.

“This did.”

A small breath.

“You did.”

That one came softer.

“And her.”

It rounded it out. Made it whole.

When he pointed out the quiet—where the spiral should’ve been—she felt it too.

“I noticed,” she said. “I didn’t even start picking it apart.”

A faint, almost disbelieving smile.

“No replaying it. No looking for what I messed up.”

She shook her head slightly.

“That’s… new.”

His comment about beating it made her huff a quiet laugh.

“Don’t make it a rivalry,” she murmured. “She’ll come back just to prove a point.”

But there was no tension behind it. Just ease.

When he asked if she was still with him, she didn’t hesitate.

“I’m here,” she said, steady, certain. “Not drifting. Not somewhere else.”

Just here.

His next kiss pulled her in again, deeper this time, and she met him fully—her hand tightening slightly in his hair, holding him there like she didn’t want the moment to slip past too quickly.

When he pulled back and told her she wasn’t allowed to fall asleep, a soft laugh broke from her, warm against his mouth.

“I’m not sleeping,” she murmured. “I’m just resting my eyes.”

A faint smile curved at her lips.

“I know the difference.”

Then his question—how long.

She didn’t look away this time.

Her fingers moved slowly along his cheek as she answered.

“A few months,” she said. “It wasn’t one moment. It was a bunch of small ones that didn’t go away.”

Her gaze softened.

“I think I kept waiting for a reason for it to stop. For something to make it feel less… real.”

A small pause.

“But it didn’t.”

Her thumb brushed lightly along his jaw.

“And tonight just made it harder to pretend it wasn’t there.”

That was the truth of it.

And she didn’t hesitate after that.

She leaned in again—closing the space completely, her mouth finding his in a slow, deliberate kiss. Not rushed. Not testing.

Certain.

Her hand stayed steady in his hair, the other at his side, holding him there like she meant everything she’d just said.

When she pulled back, her forehead rested lightly against his, her voice quieter now, but clear.

“You can ask whatever you want,” she murmured. “I’m not avoiding it anymore.”

A small breath against his lips—

“But yeah… you definitely get to kiss me again before I answer.”

Kai’s smile changed the second she said a few months.

Not bigger.

Just deeper.

Like something in him settled into a shape it had been reaching for without fully admitting it.

He stayed close, forehead nearly resting to hers, eyes moving over her face like he was filing every word away somewhere permanent. A few months. Not a heat-of-the-moment confession. Not adrenaline. Not the aftermath of a sold-out show and a soft room and a kid asleep down the hall.

Real.

Slow-building. Stubborn. Still there.

His hand slid from her waist up along her side beneath the blanket, steady and warm, until it settled between her shoulder blades. Holding her there without crowding her. Like he’d already made up his mind about keeping her close and saw no reason to pretend otherwise.

“A few months,” he repeated quietly.

There was a little disbelief in it.

A little satisfaction too.

Then one corner of his mouth tipped up.

“Wow.”

The word was soft, but the look he gave her wasn’t.

That one had some swagger in it now. Some earned, helpless male satisfaction he wasn’t even trying to hide.

“I’m gonna be so annoying about that,” he murmured.

That got the faintest brush of a grin back from her, and he felt absurdly pleased with himself for pulling it there.

“No, seriously,” he went on, voice low and amused, “you just handed me a completely unreasonable amount of confidence, Lennon. Months?” He let out a quiet breath that almost passed for a laugh. “That’s dangerous information.”

His thumb moved slowly at her back.

Because even with the humor in it, he was hit. Fully. In the chest, in the throat, somewhere lower too.

He could feel the truth of what she was saying in the way she held his gaze. In the fact that she wasn’t dodging it anymore. In the way she kissed him like she’d crossed something internally and wasn’t going back over it just because it made her vulnerable to stay.

Kai looked at her like he knew exactly what a gift that was.

Then, because she had literally invited it, because she’d handed him permission with that quiet, open look and the promise not to avoid him anymore, he leaned in and kissed her again.

Slow. Certain. No hesitation in it at all.

He let himself take his time this round.

Not hungry in a careless way.

Confident.

His mouth moved against hers like he already knew she was meeting him fully now and had every intention of enjoying that fact. One of his hands stayed firm at her back; the other came up into her hair, fingers sliding into it with a measured gentleness that still held enough control to make the kiss feel grounded and unmistakably his.

When he drew back, it was only far enough to look at her.

His nose brushed hers lightly.

“Okay,” he said, voice roughened now. “That was answer-adjacent, but I still have questions.”

A beat.

“Obviously.”

His smile returned, low and easy.

“But first—” his fingers slipped through her hair once more, the slightest tug before his hand settled at the back of her neck “—I’d like it noted for the record that I’m handling this incredibly well.”

That got a soft breath of laughter from her.

Kai’s mouth curved.

“I could be so much more insufferable right now.”

He paused, considering.

“Actually, I probably still will be. Just not this second.”

He kissed the corner of her mouth, then leaned back a little more so he could see her properly.

“What were the small ones?” he asked.

Not suspicious. Not fishing.

Interested.

Very, very interested.

His thumb traced slowly just below her ear.

“Because now I need to know.” A faint lift of one brow. “Was it one particular thing, or did I just quietly wear you down with relentless charm and elite emotional support?”

He said it lightly, but the question underneath was real.

He wanted those moments.

Wanted to know what had stayed with her. What hadn’t left. What, exactly, had been building in her when he’d been having to act semi-normal about the fact that she’d started mattering too much a while ago.

And because he knew her, because he knew she answered best when the room stayed soft instead of too intent, he softened the edges of it himself.

“You can rank them if you want,” he added. “Top five. PowerPoint optional.”

His hand moved lazily down her side beneath the blanket, not wandering with any agenda beyond contact—just keeping her tucked against him while he listened, while he stayed right here with her and this version of the night that felt too good to rush.

“You know mine started smaller than it should’ve,” he said after a second, quieter now.

Her gaze flickered.

Kai huffed a faint laugh at himself.

“Not smaller, actually. That’s not true.” He shook his head once against the pillow. “Just earlier than I wanted it to.”

There it was.

His honesty, returned cleanly.

“The problem with you is that you don’t leave a room when you’re in it.” His mouth tugged at the thought. “Even when you’re trying to. Even when you think you’re being careful.”

His fingers smoothed once over the curve of her waist.

“And then you kept doing all these very inconvenient things. Looking at me like I was the only person there. Calling my kid scary smart like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Walking back onstage tonight and staying there.” He smiled faintly. “Terrible for my peace.”

He leaned in and kissed her again—quicker this time, but no less certain.

“Really selfish of you, actually.”

The joke landed right where he wanted it to, loosening the emotion without draining it out of the room.

He stayed close, his forehead resting briefly to hers again.

“A few months,” he repeated, quieter.

There was something almost reverent in the way he said it now, like the joke had passed through and left the real thing behind.

“I like that it wasn’t just tonight.” His hand flexed gently at her back. “I like that it was there even when you were trying not to say it.”

His eyes held hers.

“Means I wasn’t crazy.”

There was humor in that too, but only enough to keep it easy.

Because he’d felt it. For a while now. In the pauses. In the way she came back to him in rooms full of other people. In the way her guard with him had started feeling less like a wall and more like something she only kept out of habit.

Kai studied her for another second, then smiled again, softer this time.

“So,” he murmured, “top five moments. Or top three if you want to be mysterious about it.”

He shifted his leg more firmly between hers beneath the blanket, anchoring her there with the kind of comfortable, quiet intimacy that no longer felt new enough to fumble.

“And before you answer,” he added, voice dipping lower, “I’m taking the kiss clause very seriously.”

Then he kissed her again.

Because she’d offered. Because he wanted to. Because apparently he was incapable of hearing you can ask whatever you want and not immediately choosing both the question and the kissing.

This one lingered.

Slower than the last. A little deeper. His hand at the back of her neck holding her with enough confidence to make the point without pushing it too far. The other staying warm at her side, thumb moving once against her skin through the thin cotton of her shirt.

When he pulled back, his lips brushed hers once more before he gave her even half an inch of room.

“Now,” he said softly, a grin threatening at the corner of his mouth, “tell me when I started winning.”

Lennon felt it the second his smile shifted.

Not bigger.

Just… deeper.

Like something in him had settled into place, and the way he said a few months—half disbelief, half something warmer—hit her right in the center of her chest.

She didn’t look away.

Didn’t soften it down now that it was out there.

If anything, she held his gaze a little steadier, her hand resting against his shoulder like she meant to stay exactly where she was.

“Yeah,” she murmured, quieter this time. “A few months.”

And watching the way that landed on him—watching that flicker of satisfaction, that edge of swagger he didn’t even try to hide—pulled something out of her that felt dangerously close to fond amusement.

Her mouth curved.

“Wow?” she echoed softly, one brow lifting just a touch. “That’s all I get?”

But there was no real challenge in it. Just warmth.

When he said he was going to be annoying about it, she let out a soft breath that almost passed for a laugh, her fingers shifting slightly where they rested against him.

“Oh, you absolutely are,” she said. “I can already tell.”

Her eyes dipped briefly, catching the way his thumb moved against her back, the way he was holding her—steady, intentional—and something in her chest tightened again, but not from fear.

From how right it felt.

“Dangerous information,” she repeated under her breath, a small shake of her head. “You were already operating at a level I didn’t fully trust. This just confirms it.”

But she didn’t pull away.

Didn’t create distance.

If anything, she leaned in just a fraction more when he kissed her again.

And this time—

this time she met him differently.

Not cautious. Not holding back that last inch.

Her hand slid up into his shirt at his side, fingers curling lightly against him as she kissed him back, steady and sure, like she wasn’t bracing for the end of it anymore.

Like she’d decided to stay in it.

When he pulled back just enough to look at her, her breath lingered between them, her forehead brushing his for a second before she let her eyes lift again.

“Answer-adjacent?” she murmured, voice softer now, a little rough around the edges. “That was a full answer, actually.”

A beat.

“Just not the one you want yet.”

The corner of her mouth tipped up slightly at his questions.

“Of course you do.”

When he claimed he was handling it incredibly well, she let out a quiet laugh, her head tipping just slightly.

“You are,” she admitted. “I’m almost impressed.”

Almost.

“I feel like I should document this moment,” she added lightly. “For when the insufferable part kicks in later.”

But the humor softened as soon as he asked.

What were the small ones?

Her expression shifted.

Not guarded.

Just… thoughtful.

Her eyes flickered over his face, like she was deciding how much of this to give him all at once—and then deciding not to hold it back.

Her hand slid from his shoulder to his chest, palm settling there as she spoke.

“It started in your studio,” she said quietly.

No hesitation.

“When we first started… whatever that was.”

Her gaze dipped for a second, remembering.

“I found all our things. Just… there. Mixed in with everything else. Like they belonged.”

She looked back at him.

“You didn’t make a thing out of it. You didn’t point it out. You just—kept space for me without saying it out loud.”

Her fingers pressed lightly against him.

“That stayed.”

A breath.

“Then the beach.”

Her mouth softened at that, something almost nostalgic flickering through her.

“The slushies. The way it didn’t feel like… anything complicated.” She shook her head slightly. “Just easy. Like we weren’t trying to be anything for anyone else.”

Her thumb brushed once against his shirt without thinking.

“And then you let me meet her.”

That one landed deeper.

Her voice dropped, quieter.

“No hesitation. No weird build-up. No… warning me off like I might break something.”

Her eyes held his.

“You just trusted me.”

A small exhale left her.

“That doesn’t happen to me.”

She shifted slightly closer, her hand sliding higher along his chest, like she needed the contact to stay anchored in what she was saying.

“And then it kept happening,” she went on. “Going out with you and it just being… normal. Not a production. Not a thing we had to manage.”

Her mouth curved faintly.

“You’re settled. You don’t need the noise. You don’t go chasing things just because they’re there.”

A quiet beat.

“You’re steady.”

Her eyes softened then, something more vulnerable slipping through without her trying to stop it.

“You’re mature. You’re funny in a way that doesn’t feel forced.” A faint huff of breath. “And you make me really fucking happy.”

There it was.

Clean. Unfiltered.

Her gaze dropped for half a second, then lifted again, more serious now.

“And I love your kid,” she said, softer. “Like she’s mine.”

That one caught in her throat just slightly.

“And that’s… a little scary.”

Honest.

“But it’s also something I want to explore.”

Her voice steadied again, her hand sliding down to find his, fingers threading through his without hesitation.

“If you and Isla let me.”

The room felt quieter after that.

Not empty.

Just full.

She held his gaze for one more second—

and then she moved.

Slow at first.

Then sure.

She shifted over him, settling into his space like she belonged there now, her knees bracketing his thighs, her weight grounding over him as her hands tightened around his.

Not tentative.

Not asking.

Choosing.

Her hair fell forward slightly as she leaned down just enough to stay close, her eyes locked on his in a way that didn’t waver.

“This,” she said softly, breath warm between them, “feels like home, Kai.”

No hesitation.

No backtracking.

Her fingers squeezed his once.

“And I want to keep it,” she added, quieter now. “If you let me.”

Kai forgot every smooth thing he had ever said in his life for about half a second.

Not because he didn’t have a response.

Because she was over him, looking at him like that—steady, serious, not hiding behind anything now—and she had just handed him two things at once:

I love your kid like she’s mine.
This feels like home.

And if that didn’t hit a man square in the chest, then nothing did.

He lay there for one beat, just looking at her.

Really looking.

At the way her hair had fallen forward. At the way her hands were holding his like she meant it. At the fact that she wasn’t asking in some vague, careful, one-foot-out-the-door kind of way.

She was here. In it. Offering him the truth with both hands.

Something deep in him went warm and wrecked and absurdly certain all at once.

His grip tightened around her fingers before he let one hand slide free and settle at her hip, then the other at her waist—steady, familiar already, like his body had known what to do the second she moved over him.

“Lennon,” he said softly.

Not as a warning. Not as a question.

Just her name, full of too much.

His thumb pressed lightly into the curve of her side beneath her shirt, grounding himself as much as her.

Then the corner of his mouth tipped up, because of course even now, even with his heart kicking around in his ribs like it had lost all professional training, some part of him was still himself.

“You are saying insanely intense things while sitting on top of me,” he murmured. “Which feels a little unfair, if I’m being honest.”

There it was.

The humor. Low. Warm. Barely enough to break the weight of it—but enough.

Enough that the room could keep breathing.

His eyes never left hers.

“And for the record,” he added, quieter now, “you don’t need to audition for this.”

That landed exactly where he meant it to.

He let the words sit there for a second before he went on, slower this time, more deliberate.

“There’s no ‘if I let you’ in this.” His hand flexed lightly at her waist. “You’re already here.”

A beat.

“You’ve been here.”

That was the truth of it.

Not tonight. Not just because she’d said home and made his whole nervous system light up like a Christmas tree.

Before that. For a while now.

In the studio. At the beach. In the way Wren said her name like it was part of the furniture of her life now—something expected, something safe, something good.

Kai’s gaze moved over her face, softer now, but no less certain.

“And Isla?” he said. “Baby, she is not going to be the problem.”

The faintest lift of one brow.

“If anything, she’s gonna act smug about the fact that she saw it before we did and make my life unbearable.”

There was affection in it. Familiarity. The easy confidence of someone who knew that part of his world well enough not to dramatize it.

And then he sobered again, just enough to let her hear the real thing under it.

“She wants Wren loved well.” His thumb stroked once along her side. “So do I.”

His voice dropped.

“You loving her is not something you need permission to confess like you’re asking for access.” A slight shake of his head. “That kid made you part of the program a while ago.”

There was a flash of amusement there again.

“She basically assigned you a permanent role the second you let her think the leather jacket was cool.”

A beat.

“Which, to be fair, was strategic mismanagement on your part.”

That finally cracked something softer through the intensity—just enough.

Kai smiled, but his eyes stayed serious.

“What you said about loving her?” he said. “That doesn’t scare me.”

No hesitation. No flinch. No careful politician’s answer.

“If anything,” he added, and now his mouth curved in a way that gave away how deeply this had gotten into him, “it makes me want to kiss you until you forget you were worried to say it.”

He did kiss her then.

Because there was no universe where he wasn’t going to after that.

Slow at first, just enough to let the emotion stay where it belonged instead of letting it tip over into something frantic. One hand stayed secure at her waist; the other slid up her back, fingers into her hair, holding her there with a confidence that matched everything he was saying.

When he pulled back, it was only just enough to speak.

“This feels like home to me too.”

Quiet. Plain. Unhidden.

It changed something in his face to say it out loud. Took the swagger out of it. Left the truth.

“You. Her. The way tonight ended. The way you came back here instead of disappearing into something loud and empty.” His hand smoothed once at her side. “That’s not small to me, Len.”

He took a breath.

Not because he was unsure.

Because he wanted to get this right.

“I don’t do the revolving-door version of life very well anymore,” he said. “I’m not interested in good-for-now. I’m not interested in the version where everybody pretends something matters and then acts shocked when it actually does.”

His eyes held hers.

“This matters.”

There it was.

Confident. Clean. Not dressed up.

And because she’d given him that line—I want to keep it—he answered it the only way that felt honest.

“Then keep it,” he said softly.

His fingers tightened just slightly at her waist.

“Keep me. Keep her. Keep the weird little after-show ritual and the pink dressing room and the snacks in the leather jacket pockets and all of it.” A faint smile touched his mouth again. “You don’t have to ask like I might change my mind.”

He let that breathe for a second.

Then, because he knew her, because he knew some part of her might still be waiting for the catch even after all this, he tipped his head back into the pillow and looked up at her with that same maddening steadiness she’d been leaning on all night.

“I’m not easy about everything,” he said. “You know that.”

There was humor in the understatement.

“I can be stubborn. Occasionally impossible. Wildly attractive about it, which complicates matters.”

That got the smallest change in her face, and he rewarded himself with a slow grin.

“But not this.” His hand slid up to the small of her back. “I’m not conflicted about this.”

That mattered too.

Maybe more than anything else.

Kai reached up and brushed a piece of hair back from her face, fingertips lingering at her cheek.

“You don’t have to convince me,” he murmured. “You don’t have to prove you’ll be good for us. You already are.”

The words left him before he could overthink them, and once they were there, he meant them too much to take them back or soften them.

He watched them land.

Then, a little lighter, because if he stayed in that exact emotional register for too long he was going to ruin himself, “Also, ‘this feels like home’ is an insane thing to say to a man and then just sit there looking gorgeous like that.”

His palm spread warm at her back.

“You’re trying to kill me.”

Not accusation. Barely a complaint.

Mostly awe.

He shifted under her just enough to pull her a fraction closer, enough that her center settled more firmly against him, enough that the intimacy of it sharpened without turning into anything rushed.

Then he looked up at her and smiled again—that low, confident, impossible smile that always seemed to say he knew exactly where he was and had no intention of leaving it.

“So, just so we’re clear,” he said, voice quieter now, “I’m not letting you keep this.”

A beat.

“I’m asking you to.”

That one sat between them like a vow without the performance of one.

His hand came up to cradle the back of her neck, thumb brushing just below her ear.

“Stay,” he murmured.

It meant more than tonight. More than this bed. More than the fact that Wren was asleep in the other room and the show had gone right and the city was still moving somewhere far below them.

Stay in this. Stay with me. Stay where you don’t have to disappear.

And because he was still himself, because he couldn’t let the moment stay too immaculate for too long, he added, with the faintest edge of a grin:

“Besides, you’ve already attached yourself to my child, and she is terrifyingly difficult to break up with.”

Then softer—

“And so am I.”

Lennon didn’t interrupt him.

Not once.

She let him say all of it—the humor, the certainty, the way he kept grounding everything she’d just handed him instead of flinching from it—and somewhere in the middle of it, something in her chest started to loosen in a way that felt unfamiliar.

Dangerously unfamiliar.

Because she was used to bracing.

Used to waiting for the moment where someone would soften what she meant… or step back from it entirely.

He didn’t.

He just met her there.

Stayed there.

Her hands stayed wrapped in his at first, but when his shifted to her waist, when his voice dropped and he said her name like that, her breath hitched just slightly—small enough that most people wouldn’t catch it.

He did.

Of course he did.

“You are saying insanely intense things—”

That finally pulled a quiet laugh out of her, soft and a little breathy, her forehead dipping closer to his for a second.

“Yeah,” she murmured. “I’m aware.”

Her thumb brushed over his knuckles, grounding herself in the feel of him there.

“Timing’s not my strong suit.”

But her eyes didn’t waver.

Not now.

When he told her she didn’t need to audition for this—

that there was no if I let you—

something flickered across her face. Not doubt. Not exactly.

More like… disbelief being asked to step aside.

Her hand slid from his to his chest again, fingers pressing there like she needed to feel something solid.

“You say that like it’s obvious,” she said quietly.

A beat.

“It’s not. Not for me.”

Her voice wasn’t defensive.

Just honest.

When he mentioned Isla, she let out a small breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding, her mouth curving faintly at his comment about smugness.

“I can handle smug,” she said softly.

But when he said Wren had already made her part of things—

that landed deeper.

Her eyes dropped for a second, something softer threading through her expression.

“She kind of did,” she admitted.

A faint smile touched her mouth.

“Terrifyingly efficient kid.”

When he said it didn’t scare him—her loving Wren—her gaze snapped back up to his.

Really looking at him.

Checking for hesitation.

There wasn’t any.

That did something to her.

Something quiet and a little overwhelming.

Her hand lifted then, brushing gently across his face—quick, instinctive, like she needed to anchor herself in him for a second.

“Yeah?” she murmured, softer now. “Good. Because I was… not expecting that to go over well.”

Her thumb lingered near his cheek for just a second longer before her hand slipped back to his shoulder.

When he kissed her, she met him without hesitation.

Fully.

Like she’d already decided she wasn’t pulling away from this anymore.

Her breath mixed with his when he pulled back just enough to speak again, and when he said it—this feels like home to me too—something in her expression broke open just slightly.

Not in a way that made her fragile.

In a way that made her real.

Her forehead rested briefly against his as he kept talking, her eyes closing for half a second like she needed to let it settle.

“You have no idea how insane that sounds to me,” she murmured.

Not mocking.

Almost in awe of it.

Her fingers curled lightly into his shirt.

“I’ve spent a long time feeling like…” She hesitated, then shook her head once, choosing not to dress it up. “Like I don’t quite fit anywhere long enough for it to stick.”

A small, self-aware breath left her.

“Which is ironic, considering I’ve tried to fix that in every possible stupid way.”

Her mouth twitched faintly.

“Drugs. Alcohol. Running myself into the ground.” A pause. “None of it exactly screamed ‘stable adult.’”

There was no dramatics in it.

Just truth.

Her gaze dropped for a second before lifting again, steadier.

“And yeah,” she added quieter, “the eating stuff… that doesn’t exactly make me feel like I’m someone a kid should look up to.”

There it was.

The part she didn’t usually say out loud.

Her hand tightened slightly where it rested against him.

“So when you just… let me in like that?” she continued. “No hesitation, no ‘let’s take this slow around her’—”

She shook her head faintly.

“That messed with me. In a good way. But still.”

Her eyes searched his for a second.

“I didn’t think I was someone you’d trust with that.”

When he told her to keep it—keep all of it—her breath caught again, quieter this time.

Her expression softened in a way that had nothing to do with caution anymore.

Just feeling.

She let his words sit.

Didn’t rush to fill them.

When he joked again—wildly attractive, impossible—she huffed a soft laugh, her hand sliding up his chest to his neck.

“You’re unbearable,” she murmured, but there was no bite in it.

Only warmth.

When he said he wasn’t conflicted—

that part landed clean.

She felt it.

Believed it.

Her hand moved again, brushing gently across his face, slower this time, her thumb tracing just lightly near his cheek before she leaned down and kissed him.

Soft at first.

A quiet answer more than anything else.

“I love you,” she murmured against his lips, barely audible.

Then she kissed him again.

Deeper this time, but still grounded—her hands settling at the curve of his neck, holding him there as she stayed close, as she let herself feel it without pulling back or overthinking it.

When she drew back, it was only by a fraction, her forehead resting lightly against his again, her breath warm between them.

“Home’s not something I say lightly,” she added softly.

A beat.

“But I meant it.”

For a second, she just stayed there.

Then her hands moved.

Not abrupt. Not performative.

Just… natural.

Her fingers slipped to the hem of her shirt, pausing for half a heartbeat—not hesitation, just awareness—and then she pulled it up and over, letting it fall somewhere off to the side without looking.

No announcement.

No shift in tone.

Just another step closer.

Her hair fell forward a little as she leaned back in, one hand returning to his chest, the other sliding back to his neck, her touch warm and grounding.

Her eyes held his.

Still there.

Still steady.

Still choosing this.

“You’re not getting rid of me easily,” she murmured softly, the corner of her mouth lifting just slightly.

Then she kissed him again.