Kelly’s street was quiet.

Late enough that the few people still out were moving with purpose, not looking at anything they didn’t need to look at.

The streetlights threw orange pools onto the pavement at intervals and the spaces between them were dark.

Somewhere a few blocks over a car alarm went off for three seconds and then stopped like it had thought better of it.

Liam stood in front of her door.

’I didn’t want to come here,’ he thought. ’But she wasn’t going to stop until I did.’ He glanced back down the corridor the way he had come. Empty. ’At least I know I wasn’t followed. Silent Stride the whole way to here.’

He knocked.

Footsteps from inside. Light and quick.

The door opened.

Miss Kelly stood in the doorway in a light blue nightwear gown, the top thin enough that her nipples pressed clearly through the fabric, dark and visible, her chest rising and falling with her breathing.

Her blonde hair was loose, falling past her shoulders in soft waves, not styled, just down.

Blue eyes finding him immediately and doing a full scan of him before she stepped back and opened the door wider.

He walked in.

The apartment was warm and dim, just the lamp in the corner on, throwing soft light across the couch and the coffee table.

The television was on with the sound almost all the way down.

The place smelled clean, something faintly floral underneath it.

Liam dropped onto the couch and leaned back, his head going to the cushions, his legs stretching out. He exhaled slowly.

Kelly sat on the other end, pulling her legs up under her, turning to face him. She looked at him for a moment.

"I’ve been worried sick about you," she said.

Liam looked at the ceiling. "I’m fine."

"Liam."

"I’m serious."

She shifted slightly on the couch, her top moving with her, the fabric pulling tighter across her chest for a second before settling back. "You missed my lecture. That’s twice now."

"I know."

"The first time your mum was in the hospital." She looked at him. "What happened this time?"

’How do I even begin to tell her any of it? The superpowers. Offending one of the seven families. Watching one of them die because of me. Where do I even start?.’ Liam thought to himself, silently studying her face, the words refusing to come.

"What?" she asked, her eyes searching his. 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝘦𝘸𝑒𝒷𝓃ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝒸ℴ𝘮

"Nothing happened," he said. "I just wasn’t feeling it."

She stared at him. "You just weren’t feeling it."

"Yeah."

"So you just decided not to come."

"Pretty much."

She was quiet for a moment. He could feel her looking at him even without looking back.

"Why are you lying to me," she said.

He looked at her then. "I’m not lying."

"You absolutely are." She said it plainly, no accusation in it, just a statement of something she was certain of. "Something is going on with you and you’re sitting there acting like everything is fine and I can tell it isn’t so just—" She stopped herself. Took a breath. "You know you can talk to me right. About anything."

"There’s nothing to talk about."

"Liam—"

"I told you I’m fine." He said it with more edge than he meant to and she went quiet.

The television murmured something in the other room. Neither of them looked at it.

Liam exhaled and shifted on the couch. "Look," he said, his voice easier now. "I just needed to get out of my head for a bit. That’s all. You can help with that."

He reached over and put his hand on her chest, his palm cupping one of her boobs through the thin fabric, his thumb moving slowly. He leaned toward her.

She turned her face away.

Liam stopped.

He pulled back and looked at her. She was looking at the far wall, her jaw working slightly, her expression doing something he hadn’t seen on her in this context before.

He looked up at her head.

Three hearts. All three full and glowing above her.

’They’re there,’ he thought, genuinely confused. ’So why—’

"It’s not that I don’t want you to wreck me on the floor or fuck me crazy on that couch," she said. Still looking at the wall. "That’s not what this is." She turned and looked at him directly. "I genuinely don’t know much about you Liam. Like actually know you. You come to my class, you come here, and I love that, I really do but—" She stopped. Started again. "Something is wrong right now and you won’t tell me what it is and I’m sitting here and I can’t just switch that off and act like everything is normal."

Liam looked at her.

’Her care is drowning out everything else,’ he thought.’That’s something I should definitely keep in mind’

He reached over. Not for her chest this time.

He just put his arm around her and pulled her toward him and she let him, her head settling against his shoulder, her legs still folded under her. Her hair fell across his arm, soft and loose.

He held her there.

"I’m good," he said quietly. "Nothing is wrong that I can’t handle. I just had a rough couple of days."

She was quiet for a moment. He felt her breathe.

"Okay," she said. Still not fully convinced but choosing to let it go.

They sat like that for a moment.

Then Liam said, "Let’s just hang. Not do anything. Just be here."

She lifted her head and looked at him. "Hang out."

"Yeah."

"Just—"

"Talk. Do something. Whatever." He looked toward the kitchen. "You got food?"

She blinked. "Food."

"I haven’t eaten properly today."

She stared at him for a second. Then she unfolded her legs and stood up from the couch. "Come on then."

---

The kitchen was small but organised, the counter space limited and used well. Kelly moved through it with the ease of someone who knew exactly where everything was, pulling the fridge open, assessing, closing it, opening the cupboard above the counter.

Liam pulled himself up onto the counter beside the fridge and sat there with his arms folded watching her.

"Pasta?" she said.

"Sure."

She looked at him over her shoulder. "You said that like I offered you a punishment."

"I said sure."

"The way you said it."

"There’s nothing wrong with the way I said it."

"There was a very specific energy behind that sure."

"I like pasta," Liam said. "What do you want from me."

She turned back to the cupboard. "Which kind do you like then."

He thought about it. "Not the ones where the sauce is just sitting at the bottom doing nothing."

"Bolognese."

"Is that the one I’m describing?"

"Yes."

"Then yeah, not that."

She pulled a box of spaghetti from the cupboard and set it on the counter. "Carbonara?"

"What’s in it."

"Eggs, bacon, cheese, pasta."

"That’s fine."

"That’s fine," she said, mimicking the flatness of it perfectly.

"I’m hungry," Liam said. "I’ll be enthusiastic after."

She pulled the bacon from the fridge and set it down, then the eggs, then reached up for the parmesan. Her top rode up slightly as she stretched, the fabric pulling, her stomach appearing for a second before she came back down. She didn’t notice or didn’t care.

"You should learn to cook," she said, setting the parmesan on the counter.

"I can cook."

She turned and looked at him with a very specific expression. "What can you make."

’Maybe I’ll just have a little fun with her first.’

"Rice."

"That’s not cooking."

"Rice requires timing, heat management and attention. That’s cooking."

"That’s survival," she said. She turned back to the counter. "Get down, I need that drawer."

He got down.

She reached past him and pulled it open and took out the grater. He stayed standing beside her at the counter looking at what she was doing.

"Show me what you’re doing," he said.

She looked at him sideways. "Why."

"I want to learn."

"You said you could cook."

"I can cook rice. I’m branching out."

She handed him the parmesan and the grater without further comment. He took them and she pointed at the bowl on the counter and he started grating over it. She watched him for exactly two seconds to check the direction and then turned back to the pan where the bacon was already starting to go.

The smell of it hit the kitchen and Liam’s stomach reacted before he could.

They stood side by side at the counter, her managing the stove and him grating the cheese, and nobody said anything for a stretch and it wasn’t uncomfortable.

"How much of this," he said, looking at the cheese.

"You’ll know."

"That’s not helpful."

"It’s very helpful. Your instincts will tell you."

"My instincts are telling me to stop now."

"Then keep going a little past that."

He kept grating. The bacon was going in the pan, the garlic she had added sending something through the kitchen that made the whole thing feel warmer than it already was.

"Do you cook a lot?" he asked.

"Enough," she said. She moved the bacon around with a wooden spoon. "I lived alone through my whole postgraduate degree. You either learn or you eat badly for three years."

"I eat badly," Liam said.

"I can tell."

"How can you tell."

She glanced at him. "You sat down on that couch like someone who hasn’t had a real meal in two days."

He didn’t say anything to that because it was accurate.

She added the cooked pasta to the pan and turned the heat down and started moving everything together, then took the bowl of cheese from him and added it in with the eggs she had already mixed, working quickly now, the whole thing coming together faster than he expected.

She plated it and handed him a bowl and they took them to the small table by the window.

Liam ate.

He got through most of it before he said anything at all.

"This is actually really good," he said.

"I know," Kelly said.

"I’m not just saying it."

"I know you’re not. You’ve barely come up for air since you started eating." She was watching him with something in her expression that was somewhere between amused and something softer than that.

He finished the bowl and sat back.

Outside the window the orange streetlights sat on the empty pavement below. A cat crossed from one side to the other and disappeared between two parked cars.

Kelly was still eating, unhurried, her spoon moving slowly. Her hair fell forward slightly over one shoulder and she didn’t push it back.

"Can I ask you something," she said, not looking up from her bowl.

"Depends."

"Just a question."

"Alright."

She looked up. "Are you happy? Like actually."

Liam looked at her across the small table.

The question sat there between them. Not heavy exactly. Just real.

He thought about it properly. Not performing thinking, actually doing it, sitting in the quiet of her kitchen with the empty bowl in front of him and the streetlight coming through the window.

"Sometimes," he said.

Kelly looked at him for a moment. Then she nodded slowly, like that was the exact answer she had been prepared to receive and had decided in advance to respect it.

"Okay," she said.

She reached across the table and put her hand over his. Not romantic. Not asking for anything. Just there. Warm and still.

He looked at her hand on his.

Then he looked at her.

She was looking back at him the way she did when none of the other things were operating. Not the lecturer. Not the woman who wanted something from him. Just her, sitting across a table late at night after a meal in a small warm kitchen.

He turned his hand over.

She didn’t move hers.

Outside the cat reappeared from between the parked cars and crossed back the other way and disappeared again.