There's a strange kind of peace in waking up without guilt. No panic. No shame. Just this… steady warmth pressed into my skin.
Ken's hoodie still smelled like him.
Like fresh laundry, rain, and a hint of something i could never place but always felt like safety.
I was sprawled on his couch like i belonged there.
No one told me to leave.
No one rushed me out.
No one made me feel like i was only good until sunrise.
And maybe that's why i stayed.
It was still early 8-something, maybe, but the curtains were already open, sunlight spilling lazily across the floor. I blinked a few times, letting my eyes adjust, until i realized Ken wasn't beside me.
"Ken?" I called softly, sitting up.
He didn't answer, but i heard sounds coming from the kitchen. A cupboard closing. A faucet running. A soft hum of some old Coldplay song under his breath.
I followed the sound until i saw him.
Hair still messy from sleep. No shirt. Just gray joggers hanging low on his hips and a towel slung over one shoulder. He was making eggs, of all things. And toast.
Like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"Good morning," he said when he noticed me. His smile? It did something to me. Like everything inside me softened at once.
"I didn't want to wake you," he added, sliding a plate onto the counter.
I blinked. "You're cooking again?"
Yeah, if you suddenly pass out, i'm not responsible."
I let out a small laugh and took a seat across from him, pulling my knees to my chest.
"I've never done this," I whispered.
He paused, spatula mid-air. "What, eat eggs?"
"No." I shook my head. "Wake up in someone else's apartment and not feel like i should disappear."
His expression changed, softened, like a crease in his chest that didn't know whether to ache or hold me.
"You don't have to disappear, Cass."
Not today.
Not here.
I didn't say anything after that. I just watched him quietly, the way his back moved, the way he reached for things without looking, the way his shoulders relaxed when i didn't flinch away.
This… was peace.
We didn't talk about us after breakfast.
And maybe that was the best part. There was no pressure. No questions. Just… the quiet agreement that today, we'd exist together.
No walls.
No headlines.
No histories.
Just the now.
Ken said it was his day off and asked if i wanted to do something "normal."
"Like what?" I asked.
He just grinned and said, "You'll see."
Turns out, "normal" meant the basketball court three blocks away.
It was tucked between apartment buildings, half shaded, the court cracked in places, the net slightly torn. And yet, it was perfect.
There was no one there.
Just us.
And a faded orange ball Ken picked up from a nearby locker like he'd used it a hundred times before.
"You know how to play?" he asked, tossing the ball lightly in the air.
"Do i look like i do?" I snorted.
He laughed. "You look like someone who wore Dior at a McDonald's once."
"I did. And i slayed."
Ken grinned. "Then let's see if you can slay here too."
I was terrible at basketball.
Like… unbelievably bad.
I couldn't dribble without losing the ball, couldn't shoot for shit, and nearly tripped over my own feet at least twice.
Ken, on the other hand, was good. Too good.
And annoyingly graceful.
"Show off," I muttered when he made another shot with one hand.
"Come on, you're getting better!" he laughed, jogging after the rebound. His hair was damp with sweat now, shirt clinging to his back, cheeks flushed. It was a sight.
"You're just saying that because you like me."
"I love you, actually."
I froze.
He didn't.
He just kept dribbling, as if he didn't just casually drop that.
I narrowed my eyes, my chest tightening in all the best ways.
"You can't just say that after dunking on me."
"Sure i can."
And then he threw the ball at me, gently and shouted, "Shoot!"
I caught it with both hands, still stunned. Still replaying those words in my head.
I love you, actually.
What kind of person says that so easily?
So boldly?
And why did it feel like my whole life was quietly realigning because of it?
I shot the ball.
It bounced off the rim and hit Ken straight in the chest.
"Okay, maybe i do need more practice," I admitted, laughing.
Ken caught the ball and walked over. He didn't say anything. Just handed me the ball again and this time, stood behind me.
His arms came around mine, guiding my hands to the right position.
"Try again," he murmured, voice warm in my ear.
I did.
And for the first time, it went in.
We spent hours there.
Laughing. Teasing. Racing to see who could run to the other side of the court fastest (he won, obviously). I even tried to block one of his shots — failed, of course, but still.
By noon, we were both sweating. Starving.
He pulled me into a 7-Eleven for drinks and junk food. I picked sour tape and an egg sandwich. He chose Pocari Sweat and siopao and we ate outside like two people who didn't come from complicated backgrounds or messy headlines.
Just us.
Legs swinging from the curb.
Laughing at nothing.
"I used to think i had to earn everything," I said suddenly.
Ken turned to me.
"I don't mean money or trophies or awards. I mean… affection. People. Love."
I picked at the sour tape in my hand. "Like i had to prove i was worth staying for. Like i had to be perfect or they'd walk away."
Ken didn't say anything.
He just reached out and held my hand.
And maybe that said more than any reply ever could.
Later that afternoon, we walked around the nearby park. There were kids screaming on the monkey bars, couples walking dogs, old ladies playing cards on a bench.
And no one looked at us.
No one whispered.
No one pulled out their phone.
No one cared.
It was bliss.
"Do you miss being famous?" Ken asked out of nowhere.
I thought about it.
Sometimes i did.
The applause. The lights. The validation.
But mostly, I missed the parts that were never real to begin with.
"No," I finally said. "I miss being seen. But not the kind that comes with cameras. The kind that makes you feel… real."
Ken nodded.
Then he reached for my hand again.
"Can i ask you something?"
"Shoot."
"Do you feel real with me?"
I looked at him, sweat-damp hair, dark eyes, gentle smile and realized…
"Yes," I whispered. "I've never felt more real in my life."
By the time we got back to our building, the sun was already setting.
Ken dropped his keys into a bowl near the door, kicked off his shoes, and collapsed on the couch.
I followed, but instead of sitting beside him, I sat on the floor in front of him, legs crossed, back against the couch.
He leaned down and rested his chin on the top of my head.
"This was the best day i've had in a while," he murmured.
"Same," I whispered.
We stayed like that for minutes. Maybe hours. Just… breathing.
And when i looked up at him again, I couldn't help but ask:
"Ken?"
"Hm?"
"Why me?"
He blinked, surprised. "What do you mean?"
"You could've had anyone. Someone uncomplicated. Someone who didn't come with… all this." I gestured vaguely at myself.
He tilted his head. "I didn't fall for you because you were easy, Cass."
"Then why?"
"I fell for you because when you laugh, it feels like a rebellion. Because you say you don't care, but you care too much. Because even when you're scared, you still show up."
I didn't know what to say.
So i kissed him.
Right there on the floor, with the whole world paused outside.
And when he kissed me back, slow, certain, hands cradling my face like i was the most precious thing in the room, I knew.
I was home.