Chapter 58
KAI
The world came back both suddenly and in a haze - a thudding head, a stiff neck, and the sharp sting of morning light breaking through my eyelids. I groaned, lifting a hand to shield my face as the sky above us shifted from pale gold to white and the sun pierced through the clouds.
“Kai,” Alex said, his voice low and rough with sleep. A gentle shake tugged me back into my body. “We fell asleep.”
He muttered it like he couldn’t quite believe it, blinking hard as he pushed himself upright. His hair was flattened on one side, sticking up on the other, and the imprint of my shoulder was still warm against his cheek.
“What time is it?” I asked, pressing my palm to my forehead like I could hold the ache in place.
Alex blinked the sleep from his eyes and checked his phone. “06:58,” he said quietly, like saying it any louder might make it worse.
“Shit.” I rubbed my eyes. “We really slept on a park bench,” I said with a chuckle.
“I know.” Alex laughed back, still bleary, still warm from sleep. Then his eyes lingered on mine - longer than they should have, longer than either of us pretended to notice.
“Morning,” I said, a smile tugging at my lips.
“Morning.” His cheeks flushed pink, the colour rising slowly. “How’s your head?”
“Been better,” I admitted with a soft laugh. “I should not have drunk that much.”
Alex fiddled with his hands in his lap, suddenly shy in a way he hadn’t been last night. “Do you even remember what you said to me?” His voice was small, careful.
“Every word.” I smiled, and he swallowed.
“And?” he asked, shifting in his seat like the bench had suddenly become too narrow. “You don’t want to change your mind… about liking me, you know… now you’re sober, because that’s totally okay. I mean, I would understand-”
I stopped his rambling with a kiss, and for a moment we both held our breaths.
That feeling rushed through me again - the quiet burst in my chest, the way my body eased as I leaned into him, wanting his warmth, wanting to stay in his orbit just a little longer.
When I finally pulled back, his big brown eyes searched mine, like he was checking he hadn’t imagined any of it.
His lips pressed into a small line as he smiled to himself.
“I like you when I’m drunk,” I said with a smirk, brushing my thumb across my lower lip. “And I like you even more when I’m sober.” I couldn’t help smiling at the way he blushed.
Alex’s knee stayed pressed against mine, warm through the morning chill. He didn’t move away, and neither did I. For a moment, we just breathed in the same quiet air, the world still soft around the edges.
I pushed myself up slowly, stretching the stiffness from my back. “Come on,” I said, offering him my hand. “Let me walk you home.”
Alex blinked up at me, the sunlight catching in his eyes. “You don’t have to-”
“I want to,” I said it simply, because it was true.
He hesitated only a second before slipping his hand into mine. His fingers were cold, but they curled around mine like he wasn’t ready to let go yet. I pulled him gently to his feet, steadying him when he swayed from drowsiness.
We started walking, side by side, our shoulders brushing every few steps. The town was still half-asleep - shutters closed, streets empty, the kind of quiet that made everything feel more intimate than it should.
Alex shoved his hands into his pockets, but he kept close, close enough that our arms touched now and then. Every time they did, he didn’t pull away, but I could notice a change in him. It was subtle but there.
“You okay?” I asked softly.
He nodded, but it wasn’t convincing. His jaw was tight, his eyes fixed on the pavement ahead. The closer we got to his street, the more his steps slowed, like his body was trying to delay the inevitable.
I noticed.
Of course, I noticed.
I nudged him lightly with my shoulder. “Hey.”
He didn’t look up.
So I stopped walking.
He took two more steps before realising I wasn’t beside him anymore. When he turned back, the dread was written all over his face, even if he tried to blink it away.
I stepped closer, lowering my voice. “You don’t have to go back yet.”
His brows pulled together, confused. “What do you mean?”
“I mean…” I exhaled, rubbing the back of my neck. “We could go to mine. Mum will be up, she won’t mind. Or we can grab something from the café by the station - they open stupidly early.”
He stared at me, like he wasn’t sure he’d heard right.
I softened my tone. “Only if you want to?”
His throat bobbed as he swallowed. The morning light caught the pink still lingering on his cheeks, and for a second he looked younger, smaller, like the weight he carried was too big for him.
“I just…” he started, voice thin. “I don’t want to go home yet.”
“I know.” I stepped close enough that our arms brushed again. “We can go wherever you want,” I said. “Just say the word.”
And I meant it. Every syllable.
“I haven’t got any money,” he said quietly, eyes dropping to the pavement like the admission embarrassed him.
“Well, it’s a good thing I do then,” I said, letting a smirk pull at my mouth as I held my hand out to him.
He looked at it for a second - really looked - like he was checking if the offer was real, if I meant it, if I was actually choosing him in the clear light of morning.
Then he smiled. Slow. Soft. The kind of smile that crept up on him before he could hide it.
And took my hand.
His fingers curled around mine, tentative at first, then firmer when he realised I wasn’t letting go. His palm was cold, but the warmth that shot through me was anything but.
“I could go for a hot chocolate,” I smirked, knowing exactly how much he liked chocolate. “How about you?”
He nodded immediately, brightening in that way he did when something small made him happy. “That sounds amazing,” he said cheerily.
The thing was… I didn’t even want a hot chocolate.
I’d drink one, sure, but it wasn’t in my diet plan.
Too much sugar, too many empty calories.
Normally I’d avoid it without thinking. But Alex wouldn’t let me pay for him to get one if I wasn’t getting something too.
He’d feel guilty. He’d refuse. He’d go without.
So I’d drink a hot chocolate so that Alex Taylor could drink a hot chocolate.
He didn’t know that, of course. He didn’t need to.
I just smiled at him, soft and easy, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Come on then,” I said, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “Let’s go get you one.”
His fingers tightened around mine, that slow smile spreading across his face again.
And as we started walking toward the café, I realised something simple and stupid and huge:
I’d drink a hundred hot chocolates if it meant keeping that smile on him.
I knew something was going on at home for Alex. I just couldn’t prove it. And I couldn’t ask, because the second I did, he’d shut down on me. He’d fold in on himself like he always did when anything got too close to the truth.
So I hoped - stupidly, stubbornly - that if I just stayed, if I kept showing him I wasn’t going anywhere, he’d open up to me eventually. That he’d realise I wasn’t judging him. That I wasn’t scared off by the mess he came from.
It can’t be easy, having a mum who’s always drunk or a brother who’s a literal criminal. Anyone would struggle under that. But Alex… he carried it like it was his fault. Like he had to apologise for the people who were supposed to protect him.
And he didn’t talk about it. Not a word. Not unless he slipped by accident.
I didn’t want to push him. Not when he was finally letting me close.
The bruise on his cheek was more visible in the daylight - a dark, ugly mark against skin that should never have had to learn how to hide pain. I’d been ignoring it. Or trying to. Pretending I didn’t see it every time he turned his head.
I knew he’d caught me staring. He always noticed more than he let on.
But he didn’t say anything. And I wasn’t about to.
Not here. Not now. Not when he was walking beside me with his hand in mine, trusting me with something he didn’t have words for yet.
So I squeezed his fingers gently, like I could tell him without speaking:
I see you. I’m not going anywhere. You don’t have to tell me yet.
And he squeezed back - small, almost imperceptible - but enough.
Enough to tell me he felt it too.