For a few seconds, I just stared at her. Not because of the question — though that was part of it — but because my brain needed time to process why she even asked it.

Avery stood a few feet away, barefoot on my living room floor, wearing one of my shirts, the white one I usually reserved for lazy Sundays. On her, it looked… different. Too soft. Too intentional. The hem barely reached her thighs, the fabric falling just right, like it was designed that way.

She tilted her head, eyes glinting with quiet amusement. "Well?"

I blinked. "You… shouldn't have worn that."

Her lips curved. "I didn't exactly bring any extra clothes."

I was about to say something when she added, almost casually, "I could take it off if you're not okay with—"

"No," I cut in a little too fast. "It's fine. You already have it on."

Because the way her hand was already brushing the hem of the shirt told me she wasn't bluffing.

Her smile widened, not smug or flirty. Just knowing. "Okay," she said, voice dipping low in that lazy morning tone. Then, as if she'd remembered something important, she added, "I know it's rude, but I'll still ask."

I frowned. "Ask what?"

She met my eyes without a shred of hesitation. "What are we having for breakfast? I'm starving."

For a second, I just stared. The shift was too smooth, from dangerous to casual, like flipping a switch only she had access to.

I sighed, running a hand down my face. "You're serious?"

"Starvingly so," she said, her grin returning, soft but teasing.

Every instinct in me said I should end this. Now. Tell her to go home, get some rest, sleep off the alcohol, and pretend none of this ever happened. But the words that came out instead were—

"Will you leave after breakfast?"

It wasn't sharp. Not cold. Just honest.

She blinked at that, and for the first time this morning, her smile faltered. The brightness in her eyes dimmed a little, like someone had turned the lights down.

For a second, she looked down, her voice smaller when she finally spoke. "Seems you don't want me around."

I didn't answer right away. Maybe because she wasn't wrong. Maybe because hearing it out loud made it sound harsher than I meant it.

She gave a quiet laugh, the kind that didn't reach her eyes and said, "Fine. After breakfast, I'll stay an hour or two longer, then I'll leave."

Her tone tried to sound light, but there was something underneath it. Something heavy.

I wanted to argue, to say she didn't have to, that I wasn't throwing her out. But maybe this was better. Maybe distance was the right answer, even if it didn't feel like it.

So instead, I nodded. "I've got foodstuffs in the kitchen, so… you can help yourself."

That earned me a look — one of those half-curious, half-playful ones that made it impossible to tell if she was offended or amused.

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, hands slipping behind her back. Her shoulders moved slightly as she swayed, the shirt brushing her thighs as she bit her lip.

Something about it made the air feel… heavier.

"What?" I asked finally, because the silence was stretching too thin.

She hesitated, then said almost shyly, "I can't really… cook."

I blinked. "…You what?"

She winced. "Don't look at me like that. Not everyone is your girlfriend."

The mention of Val made something twist in my chest. Avery must've noticed, because she quickly added, "I mean she's amazing, obviously. I just… never learned. I was always too busy, or someone else did it for me."

I exhaled through my nose and nodded slowly. "Right."

She shrugged, still biting her lip. "So, unless you want your kitchen on fire, you might have to handle breakfast."

There was something almost childlike about the way she said it — light, teasing, but also quietly vulnerable.

I looked at her for a long second. The shirt, the mess of her hair, the faint bruise of tiredness under her eyes.

She didn't look like the Avery who always had her guard up. The one who flirted too hard, smiled too easily, and never let anyone see her alone for too long.

Right now, she looked… human.

"Fine," I said finally, pushing off the couch. "Sit down. I'll make something."

Her face softened with relief. "You sure?"

"Yeah. But only because I don't want to spend my break cleaning up a disaster."

She giggled,.a quiet, small sound that felt too out of place in my apartment but somehow fit the morning.

"Deal," she said, walking toward the dining table, her steps slow and unsteady but graceful in a way that made it hard not to notice.

When I turned toward the kitchen, I could still feel her gaze on my back, heavy, lingering, unreadable.

And as much as I told myself not to look, I did.

Just once.

She was watching me, chin resting on her hand, a faint, tired smile tugging at her lips — the kind that didn't ask for anything.

For a moment, it almost looked like peace.

Almost.

---

I made something easy. Very easy.

Scrambled eggs, toast, and coffee — the kind of breakfast you throw together when you just want to pass time without thinking too hard. It wasn't impressive, but it filled the silence. And right now, silence was the only thing keeping this morning from spiraling into something else.

We sat across from each other at the small dining table. I kept my eyes on my plate, pretending to care about the perfect ratio of egg to toast. Anything but looking at her.

Because every time I looked up, I caught her staring. Not in the usual Avery way, not playful or mischievous, but something quieter. Longer.

Who knew temptation could be this subtle? Just her presence, soft-spoken and still wearing my shirt, was enough to twist reason into knots.

For a while, it was quiet. Just the sound of forks, the faint hum of the fridge, and my heart trying too hard to pretend this was normal.

Then her voice broke through it all.

] "No wonder Celestia's in love with you."

I froze mid-bite, my fork hovering in the air. "Uh?"

She looked up at me then, eyes steady, the corners of her lips tilting in a faint smile. "I just mean…" She shrugged lightly. "You're smart. Good-looking. You think before you talk, and apparently..." she waved her fork toward the food, "...you're a pretty decent cook too."

I blinked. "I'm anything but a good cook."

Avery chuckled. "Could've fooled me. The toast isn't burnt, and I haven't died yet. That's above average in my book."

That earned a small laugh from me before I could stop it. It came easy, too easy, and that was the problem.

Talking to her wasn't supposed to be easy. It wasn't supposed to feel this natural, not when the lines were already so dangerously blurred.

I sighed, setting my fork down. "Avery."

She paused, mid-bite, eyes flicking up to me. "I know that look," she said before I could continue. "That's the 'Avery, I'm not doing this' face."

I raised a brow. "Is that what it looks like?"

"Mhmm." She smiled faintly. "You wear it every time I forget to act like a responsible adult around you."

She went quiet after that, toying with her fork. The silence stretched, filling the space between us again, but it wasn't the same kind of silence as before. This one felt charged, like something was waiting to be said.

When she finally spoke, her voice was low. "You know what's funny?"

I didn't answer.

] "I really want to stop pretending to be this… 'good girl' version of me."

That made me look up. "Avery—"

She kept going, voice steady, eyes locked on mine. "If I didn't care what you'd think of me after… if I wasn't so sure you'd hate me for it…" She leaned forward slightly, her tone dipping softer, almost like a confession. "I'd probably be trying to make you forget Celestia's name right now."

I blinked. No words came out. Maybe because the way she said it — so calm, so honest — didn't sound like a tease. It sounded real.

Scarily real.

Her gaze didn't waver. "And the worst part?" she added quietly. "I could. If I wanted to."

The room felt smaller all of a sudden. My chest tightened, a quiet panic mixing with something I didn't want to name.

But before I could respond, she sat back, exhaled, and gave a small, self-deprecating smile. "See? That's why I shouldn't talk too much in the morning."

I swallowed, forcing my tone steady. "Avery…"

She waved a hand. "Don't. I'm not going to do anything, Kai. I'm just saying—" her voice softened, almost breaking, "—you make it really hard to remember where the line is sometimes."

For a long moment, neither of us moved.

Then she looked down, resumed eating like nothing happened, and I let her. Because I didn't trust myself to say anything that wouldn't make things worse.

We ate the rest of breakfast in silence.

An hour later, she was finally ready to leave. Still wearing my shirt — though she'd paired it with her jeans from last night — she looked more composed now, less fragile, but still very much Avery.

"I'll bring this back next time," she said lightly, tugging at the hem of the shirt.

I nodded, though we both knew that wasn't really about the shirt, it was just her way of finding an excuse to come back.

Outside, I called her an Uber. She waited beside me, the cool morning air brushing between us. When the car pulled up, she turned, her eyes softer now, almost unreadable.

"Next time I come over," she said quietly, "I might not have as much self-control as I did today."

Her tone wasn't a threat. It was a warning, to me, to herself, to whatever fragile balance we were holding on to.

I exhaled slowly. "Bye, Avery."

She stared at me for a few seconds, maybe hoping for something more, anything, then nodded.

] "Bye, Kai."

She got into the car, and I watched until it turned the corner and disappeared down the street.

When I finally walked back into my apartment, the silence felt different. Not peaceful. Not empty. Just… aware.

I sank onto the couch, rubbing my temples. The truth pressed hard against the inside of my chest, the kind that didn't need saying out loud.

The temptation wasn't gone. It was sitting right there, in the echo of her voice, the memory of her stare.

All it would take was one mistake. One second of weakness.

And I'd lose everything.

Myself, my peace... Val.

I leaned back, eyes closing as I whispered to the empty room, "Don't screw this up, Kai."

But even as I said it, I wasn't sure if I was convincing myself, or begging.

---

To be continued...

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