I woke up before the sun.
The room was still dark, cloaked in that soft shade of blue that only happens before dawn. My eyes were heavy, but my mind wasn't. Not today. Not this morning.
There was a chest rising and falling next to mine.
Ken's arm was draped loosely around my waist, his palm warm against the fabric of my shirt. My back was to him, but i didn't have to look to know he was still asleep.
His breathing was even.
God. He stayed.
I blinked against the faint light slipping through the curtains, like the morning was trying to be gentle too.
There was no script for this. No plan. No filter. Just this, his quiet breath on my nape, the echo of last night in the way our legs tangled beneath the sheets.
I didn't move.
I didn't want to.
It was the first time in a long, long while that i didn't feel like running.
Maybe this is what peace feels like.
I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat still there from everything that led us here. The crying. The confusion. The kiss.
"I like you," I had said.
And i meant it. Every word. Every breath behind it.
He stirred slightly, tightening his hold on me, like his body already knew i was overthinking.
"You're awake?" His voice was hoarse, barely there.
I nodded, not trusting my voice yet.
Ken pressed his face into the back of my shoulder, like he was hiding from the morning. "It's early."
"Yeah," I whispered.
Silence.
But the comfortable kind.
My apartment had never felt this quiet, this still. Not the kind of silence that screamed. Just... calm.
His hand brushed up from my waist to my ribs, a featherlight touch. "How do you feel?" he asked, softly.
I thought about it.
Really thought about it.
And maybe it was the light. Maybe it was him.
But i didn't feel like j was drowning anymore.
"I don't know," I said. "Like i'm here."
He chuckled into my shirt. "That's a start."
I finally turned to face him.
His eyes were sleepy, lashes casting shadows across his cheekbones.
His hair was a mess.
His lips slightly swollen.
Beautiful.
Too beautiful.
My throat ached with emotion again, and I hated that i was always one second away from crying these days.
But he made it feel safe to be this soft. To be seen like this.
"You didn't leave," I said, barely a whisper.
He blinked slowly. "Why would I?"
I didn't have an answer.
Not one that made sense out loud.
But inside my chest, a quiet voice whispered: Because people always do.
I didn't say it. I just reached for his hand beneath the sheets and held it.
Ken stared at our fingers, then kissed the back of my palm. His lips were warm. Steady.
He didn't ask what was wrong.
He didn't push.
He just stayed.
That was enough.
We eventually moved to the kitchen when the sky started to turn orange. Neither of us said much. But it wasn't the awkward kind of silence, it was like we were still catching our breath from the night before.
I handed him a mug of coffee, and he smiled, still shirtless, still in the sweatpants he wore when he rushed to Celine's accident.
He noticed me staring.
"What?" he asked, amused.
I blinked. "Nothing. You just… look soft."
"Soft?"
"Yeah. Like a pillow that breathes."
He laughed so suddenly he almost choked on his drink.
"I don't even know what that means," he wheezed, setting the mug down.
"Me neither."
We were both smiling.
I forgot i could.
We sat by the window, coffee in hand, watching the city come alive. A dog barked. A motorcycle passed. Somewhere down the hall, someone was yelling about a misplaced shoe.
Ken turned to me, his face serious now. "Did you mean it?"
I looked down at my mug.
"Last night," he added, his voice softer. "When you said you liked me."
I nodded.
"Do you regret it?"
I met his eyes.
"No," I whispered. "I'm just scared."
He nodded like he understood.
And i think he did.
"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked.
I stared out the window. "I'm not used to feeling things this… real. It's always been messy with me. Complicated. I break things. People. Myself."
Ken reached for my hand again. "You didn't break me."
"Yet."
His thumb brushed over my knuckles. "Cass, I'm not afraid of complicated. I'm afraid of losing you before we even get to try."
That broke something in me.
And healed it too.
I leaned my head on his shoulder. He let me.
Around noon, I made eggs. Burnt them, obviously.
Ken took over.
"Why do you have a spatula if you don't know how to use it?" he teased.
"It came with the apartment," I muttered.
"You're hopeless."
I stuck my tongue out at him.
He made perfect scrambled eggs and toast.
The kind that didn't taste like sadness.
We ate on the floor. Like kids.
He told me a story about his childhood dog who chewed all his socks.
I told him about the time i hid under the sink to avoid a photoshoot when i was nine.
We laughed.
God, we laughed.
The mood shifted a little after lunch.
I saw him glance at his phone. Once. Twice.
He didn't say anything, but i knew what it was.
Celine.
I didn't flinch. I just asked.
"Did she call?"
Ken looked at me, surprised by the calm in my voice.
"She texted," he said. "Just checking in. Nothing heavy."
I nodded.
"She okay now?" I asked.
"Yeah. Her brother's with her."
"Good."
More silence.
"Cass," he said. "What happened last night, I meant every word."
"I know."
"But this doesn't have to move fast. I'm not here to pressure you."
"I know," I repeated.
He placed a hand on my knee.
"But i want this."
I looked down.
"I want you," he said.
Tears stung my eyes again. Dammit.
I took a deep breath. "I want this too," I whispered. "Even if i don't know how to do it right."
"You don't have to know. You just have to stay."
My lips trembled.
"I can try," I whispered.
By the time afternoon rolled in, we were lying on the couch. My head on his lap. His fingers stroking my hair.
The TV was on. Some nature documentary. But we weren't watching it.
"I used to think i wasn't built for this," I admitted. "Love. Connection. Letting people stay."
Ken was quiet.
"But with you, I don't want to run. And that scares the hell out of me."
His hand never stopped moving.
"Then don't run," he said simply.
I closed my eyes.
I didn't.
Not that day.