POV: Kaiden
I've fought vampires. Outmaneuvered warlocks. Once disarmed a soul-sucking rune trap while hungover and wearing a glitter-stained hoodie.
But nothing—absolutely nothing—prepared me for this.
Feelings.
Specifically, the ones I was having for a five-foot-eight, espresso-fueled succubus with sarcasm sharper than her cheekbones.
I sat cross-legged on the couch, laptop perched on my knees like an altar, fingers typing with the intensity of someone writing a dissertation on how not to humiliate himself.
Search tabs open:
"Optimal gift-giving strategies for new romantic entanglements"
"Succubus-safe skincare recommendations"
"How to approach a powerful woman without dying (emotionally or physically)"
"Does standing outside someone's apartment with flowers count as stalking if you look hot doing it?"
Theodore looked up from his book with the exhausted concern of a Victorian governess. "You've been typing for two hours straight. The keyboard's developing trauma."
"I need answers, not judgment." I refreshed a psychology forum titled Crush Crisis Anonymous.
"Maybe just try... talking to her?" Theo offered gently.
"Great idea," I deadpanned. "Should I open with a haiku or a spreadsheet?"
"Gods help us," Zaire muttered from the kitchen. "You're going to PowerPoint her into celibacy."
"You say that," I muttered, "but what if she responds to data? She seems like the efficient type."
"She responded to a broom," Theodore added helpfully.
Point.
---
POV: Theodore
Kaiden had typed himself into a full-blown midlife crisis, and Zaire was two grunts away from throwing himself out the window.
Me? I was reading Whispers of the Highlands under a weighted blanket while wondering if now was the right time to learn the lute.
She deserved romance. Not just, like, flowers and basic respect — but epic, tragic, soul-binding, moonlit-confession kind of romance.
"Do you think she likes poetry?" I asked aloud.
Kaiden didn't look up. "Do you think you're in a 90s rom-com?"
"She might be the kind of woman who needs a man to fight for her in a kilt," I said.
"You don't even own a kilt."
"Not with that attitude."
Zaire choked on his protein bar. "Try not to recreate Braveheart, lover boy."
"You're just jealous of my emotionally stable masculinity," I said with great dignity.
Kaiden muttered, "There's nothing stable about memorizing an entire romance novel and quoting it aloud in the shower."
"That was practice," I whispered.
It had been a dramatic scene. There were cliffs.
The worst part? They only found out because I accidentally left A Duke's Dangerous Desires open on the kitchen counter next to a protein bar. Kaiden opened it, read one line—something about forbidden kisses and misty moors—and now I'll never hear the end of it.
"Is this a Highland smut novella?" Kaiden had asked.
"It's literary!" I had shouted, while Zaire took a picture of the page and made it his lockscreen.
I hate them.
---
POV: Zaire
They were idiots. Beautiful, over-invested, emotionally constipated idiots.
But unfortunately... they were my idiots.
Meanwhile, I was in crisis mode.
I sat across from a therapist who looked like she moonlighted as a crystal-healing influencer. Her glasses were heart-shaped. Her notepad was pink. I immediately regretted everything.
"So," she said, clicking her pen. "You think you've been... brainwashed?"
"I've been compromised," I said gravely. "The feelings are too strong. Too fast. It's unnatural. Possibly magical."
She blinked. "You're describing attraction."
"No, this is different. I'm having dreams. Thoughts. I caught myself smiling at the memory of her voice."
She smiled softly. "It sounds like love."
I recoiled like she slapped me with a warm tortilla. "It sounds like symptoms."
"Zaire. Love isn't a disease."
"That's exactly what someone infected would say."
She set her clipboard down. "Have you considered that maybe... you just genuinely like her?"
"I've considered every outcome. Every angle. She's—she's beautiful, she's strong, she's smart, and terrifying, and might own a whip."
"...And?"
"And I think she could step on me and I'd say thank you. That's a problem."
"Only if you say it during a work meeting."
I squinted. "You're very bad at this."
"Zaire," she said, folding her hands. "Tell me more about this woman."
"She's small. Sharp. Probably made of caffeine and vengeance. She yells like it's an art form. And she has... this look."
"A look?"
"Like she could set your house on fire, and you'd write her a thank-you note."
"...And this is a problem because?"
"Because I respect her. And want to know what shampoo she uses. And also I'm having very inconvenient dreams about handcuffs and emotional stability."
She blinked. "You should write poetry."
"I'm not emotionally available for rhymes."
She scribbled something on her notepad. Probably the number for another therapist.
"Zaire," she said gently, "you're not cursed. You're just not used to being safe. This isn't brainwashing. It's vulnerability."
I stared.
Then left. In a flurry of panic and emotional avoidance.
---
Back at the Apartment
I slammed the door open dramatically.
Kaiden didn't look up from his screen, where he had opened a spreadsheet titled "Projected Romantic Outcomes Based on Enneagram Types."
Theodore was now attempting to enchant a single rose to stay fresh indefinitely. He'd tied a velvet ribbon around it and was whispering compliments in Elvish.
I pulled out my phone. Searched:
"Anti-succubus pheromone dampeners"
"Brainwashing counter spells"
"How to not fall in love with someone who could break you emotionally and you'd say thank you"
Kaiden muttered, "I think I need to cross-reference her favorite drinks with moon phase compatibility."
"Stop." I held up a hand.
"I'm building a compatibility matrix."
"STOP."
Theodore gently placed the rose in a vase. "What if I compose a ballad?"
I stared.
They stared.
"...I hate all of this," I muttered.
And the worst part?
I didn't hate her.
I liked her.
Like a dumbass.
---
POV: Theodore
Kaiden's whiteboard now included a Venn diagram titled "Romance vs. Restraint," and Zaire had started stress-eating his third protein bar. I'd watched this slow spiral long enough.
"Okay," I said, closing my book with a firm thud. "Time-out. We need to stop whatever this is."
Kaiden looked up from his spreadsheet, blinking. "But—data."
I gestured broadly to the room. "She just had a rough night. She's with her friends. She needs coffee, quiet, and absolutely none of this."
Zaire pointed to his protein bar. "I'm pretty sure this counts as quiet support."
"No," I said calmly, "that counts as chewing aggressively while contemplating emotional suppression."
Kaiden frowned. "So what, we do nothing?"
I shook my head. "We don't disappear. We show we care. Just... without overwhelming her. We deliver coffee. Maybe muffins. Then we leave. Simple. Respectful."
Zaire blinked. "Wait. We're... respecting boundaries now?"
"It's called growth," I said.
Kaiden nodded slowly. "Muffin Diplomacy."
"I'm printing t-shirts," I muttered.
POV: Zaire
I wasn't against kindness. I just didn't trust it.
"This feels like a trap," I muttered, still holding my protein bar like a defense wand. "What if it's misinterpreted? What if we're too distant and she thinks we don't care?"
Theodore didn't flinch. "Then she'll know we cared enough to respect her space."
"But what if she thinks we've moved on?"
Kaiden added, "Should we include a note?"
"No notes," Theo said. "No extra meaning. Just food and warmth. Zero expectations."
I leaned back and sighed. "You two are way too confident in muffins."
"I enchanted the thermos," Theo said. "It keeps the coffee warm and plays soft lo-fi beats."
Kaiden perked up. "I pre-selected two flavor combos based on her caffeine intake, energy levels, and glucose tolerance."
I stared at them. "This is either very sweet... or deeply unhinged."
Theo smirked. "Both."
Group Exit
We gathered our offerings:
One enchanted thermos
A box of carefully selected muffins
Kaiden's backup spreadsheet (just in case)
A discreet charm that buzzed when someone was about to say something dumb (Kaiden's invention — it buzzed constantly)
No grand entrances. No crashing the gates.
Just three men on a mission.
To deliver caffeine, kindness, and keep our dignity intact.
(Well. Two out of three wasn't bad.)
---
POV: Seraphine
The doorbell rang.
Instant panic. My brain short-circuited.
Who was ringing my doorbell at nine-something in the morning after the emotional equivalent of a magical root canal?
I opened it slowly, expecting a neighbor. Or a celestial tax collector. Instead—
Theodore stood there, holding a tray.
An actual tray. With coordinated napkins, two types of scones, three varieties of tea, four small enchanted thermoses, and a majestic tower of muffins in the center like some kind of breakfast crown jewel.
Behind him, Kaiden offered a sheepish half-wave. Zaire looked like someone had dared him to hold eye contact with a basilisk.
My first emotion was confusion.
Were they here to talk? To fix something? Did they hear what I told the girls? Oh gods, are they mad? Is this some kind of polite break-up baked into carbs?
My second was discomfort.
My chest pinched involuntarily, instinctively. Because this? This wasn't what I was used to. Jack and Jill didn't do soft gestures. They did manipulations wrapped in guilt-trips and passive-aggressive texts. And here were three men… just showing up with muffins?
My brain didn't know what to do.
But my third emotion—
Relief.
Warm, unrelenting, terrifying relief.
They weren't here for answers. Or to pry. Or to demand anything. They were just here. With snacks.
"We just wanted to apologize," Theodore said, his voice all soft gravel and sincerity. "For last night. And the night before."
He was like a thoughtful, oversized teddy bear.
"I know we haven't exactly met on, uh… normal terms," Kaiden added, rubbing the back of his neck. "Most relationships don't start with broom fights and apocalyptic rituals."
Zaire shifted awkwardly. "Please don't think we're distant. Or that we don't care. We do. Even more than—" He made a noise somewhere between a gasp and a strangled cat.
I bit my lip to keep from laughing. My poor flustered kitten.
Wait.
When did I start thinking of them as mine?
I reached forward and took the tray before someone dropped it. "Thank you," I said, genuinely. "You didn't have to—"
"Well, we did," Theodore said gently.
Kaiden smirked, his usual charm flickering back into place. "We'll let you get back to... whatever you were doing. Muffins await, and I'm sure Vixzen is about to start a food fight."
Zaire muttered, "I give it ten minutes."
"Five," Theodore said solemnly.
They stepped back, and Kaiden gave a small, two-finger salute. "Anyway—good morning, goodbye, and good luck. Don't judge the matcha ones too harshly. That was Zaire's choice."
Zaire grunted. "It's called palate diversity."
I bit back a laugh and nodded. "Thanks. Really."
They didn't linger.
Didn't ask questions.
Didn't demand anything.
They just... left.
With dignity, banter, and a suspicious trail of lo-fi music wafting from the enchanted thermos they left on the railing.
They turned to go, and before I could even protest, they'd already shut the door—respectful. No lingering. No pushing. Just muffins.
And then…
I turned around.
All three of my house guests were standing in the hallway. Judging me.
Vivien: one brow arched like she was cross-examining a witness.
Liora: smiling like she was about to win bingo.
Vixzen: full smirk, tails flicking, already halfway to a one-woman musical number.
"Ohhhh, they got it bad," Liora declared.
"I think you broke them," Vivien added.
"You have to teach me your muffin-summoning ritual," Vixzen said. "Sensei."
"I didn't summon anyone!" I protested.
Vixzen stole a muffin, peeled the paper back dramatically, and took a bite like she was judging a reality baking show. "Moist. Mysterious. Definitely full of repressed longing."
"I mean, if muffins are the new love language, I might be open to dating again," Liora said, reaching for a berry one.
Vivien delicately lifted a lemon scone with the precision of someone handling legal evidence. "If someone ever brought me a tray like this, I'd write them into my will."
I sat down with my own muffin and watched them dissect my emotional support carbs.
"You realize they're terrified of you," Vivien said calmly.
"Terrified and enchanted," Vixzen added. "Which is the only correct balance."
"I still can't believe Zaire tried to speak and made that noise," Liora giggled. "It was like a cartoon cat getting stepped on."
"Oh, he's doomed," Vixzen nodded, biting into another. "He's absolutely going to be the last one to realize he's already in love."
"I think Kaiden made a compatibility chart," I muttered, watching them.
"You sound like you liked it," Vivien noted.
I blinked. "I mean… I'm not saying I didn't."
"Uh-huh."
They all stared.
"I hate you," I muttered into my muffin.
"No, you don't," Liora said sweetly.
I smiled.
No. I didn't.
---
POV: Zaire
I limped into our apartment like a wounded war veteran who had barely survived a bake sale.
My hands were covered in flour. My soul was covered in shame.
Behind me, Kaiden was snickering like the smug little imp he was born to be, and Theodore was practically dragging his feet in protest, radiating judgment like a disappointed parent after a school play gone wrong.
"I told you," Theo said icily, "you didn't need to use the enchanted oven on turbo mode."
"Oh, I'm sorry," I snapped. "I thought we were on a mission. Not an episode of Cupcake Chaos."
Kaiden flopped dramatically onto the couch. "To be fair, your muffins turned out surprisingly edible."
I glared. "I'm not sure if that's a compliment or an insult."
"It's both," Kaiden replied cheerfully. "Like most of your life choices."
I rolled my eyes so hard I saw my past trauma.
And there was a lot of it.
Why was I even baking? I don't bake. I hex. I brood. I break hexes while brooding. That's my lane. That's the Zaire brand.
But nooo. Somehow I found myself mixing gluten-free flour and muttering things like 'Are poppy seeds too aggressive?'
All because of one woman. One confusing, infuriating, brain-invading, heart-jumping, emotionally destabilizing woman.
I used to fear demons. Now I fear her smile.
"Still thinking about the door scene?" Theo asked.
"No."
"You hesitated."
"I blinked."
"You panicked."
"I had flour in my eye."
"You were smiling like a man discovering indoor plumbing."
"I was smirking sarcastically—there's a difference."
Kaiden kicked his feet up on the table. "You smiled like she invented fire and forgiveness."
I groaned and slammed my head onto the armrest. "This is what I get for caring."
"Oh," Kaiden said, eyes wide. "He cares."
Theodore looked over from the sink, where he was respectfully washing the enchanted thermos. "Are you ready to admit it now?"
"Admit what?"
"That you like her."
"I don't like her. I'm just mildly... fascinated. Medically. With concern."
"Concern," Kaiden echoed.
"For her health."
"Uh-huh."
"And safety."
"Sure."
"And her eyes. I mean, life choices. Shut up."
Theo leaned over the back of the couch. "Zaire. You baked muffins. Not for warlocks. Not to bribe a source. For a woman. On purpose. From scratch."
"I panicked!"
"You piped little whipped cream flowers on top."
"They're called rosettes, and they are an intimidation tactic."
Kaiden burst into laughter. "Yeah, that's what the chocolate chip cookies said before they died."
I threw a dishtowel at him. He caught it, spun it dramatically like a cape, and posed.
"Gods, why did I agree to live with either of you?" I muttered.
Theodore leaned back with a soft smile. "Because, deep down, you're a soft-hearted, muffin-baking fool in denial."
"I will hex your pillow."
"Make it lavender-scented," he said serenely.
Kaiden wiggled his eyebrows. "He's blushing."
"I'm overheating from rage."
He hummed a little jingle under his breath: "Zaire and Seraphine, sittin' in a tree, B-A-K-I—"
I threw another towel.
Hard.
But even as I tried to glare them into oblivion, I couldn't get the image out of my head—her face when she opened the door. The way she looked at us like she couldn't believe we were real. Like someone had handed her a kindness she wasn't sure she was allowed to keep.
And for a moment—just a moment—I didn't care about my pride.
Because that look?
It was worth every goddamn muffin.
---