I slid a pancake onto Car's pte, the scent of melted chocote and crisp bacon clinging to me the same way she did when we slept—comforting, familiar, impossible to ignore.

  When I gnced over my shoulder, I caught her just standing there, leaning against the counter, watching me with those deep brown eyes of hers. If hearts could repce pupils, hers would've been overflowing.

  I poured the st of the batter into the pan, the soft hiss filling the kitchen as it spread into a perfect circle. I scattered bacon pieces and chocote chips over the surface, watching them sink slowly as the batter bubbled and set, the edges firming up in seconds.

  The whole room smelled warm and indulgent, like a morning that had nowhere else to be.

  "Only thing that's better than those pancakes is you," Car said from behind me, her voice zy and fond.

  I couldn't help the smile that tugged at my lips. I chuckled softly as I slipped the spatu underneath and flipped the pancake, the golden underside fshing for a moment before settling back into the pan.

  My chest felt light, full—like this simple, quiet moment was exactly where I was meant to be.

  In seconds, the pancake was ready. I slid it from the pan and added it to the stack on Car's pte—six perfect pancakes, warm and golden, made just for her.

  My queen deserved nothing less. I finished it off with a couple extra strips of bacon on top, a small indulgence she'd definitely appreciate.

  Pte in hand, I walked over to where she was sitting and set it down carefully in front of her. She looked up at me with that slow, satisfied smile, then slipped an arm around my waist, pulling me just a little closer. Her hand rested on my hip, fingers warm and familiar.

  "Seeing you in an apron makes you look so... yummy," she purred, her voice low and pyful.

  I ughed softly, shaking my head as heat crept up my neck. "Eat up, Car," I said, amused and fond all at once.

  I moved around to the opposite side of the table and sat down, watching her admire the pte. Seeing her happy—rexed, spoiled, smiling because of something I made—felt better than any compliment.

  "I never get tired of these," she said, taking a generous bite. A soft, satisfied smile spread across her face as she chewed, eyes half-lidded like she was savoring every second. "So good..." she murmured, almost to herself.

  I watched her fondly, then smirked. "Hopefully they don't steal your abs away," I muttered.

  She let out a low ugh, unfazed. "Never," she said confidently, still chewing. "I know when to hold back."

  She reached for her coffee next, lifting the mug and taking a slow sip. The warmth clearly hit just right—her shoulders rexed, and she hummed quietly in pleasure. "My god..." she breathed, perfectly content.

  She took another bite, slower this time, like she didn't want it to end. A soft sigh slipped from her lips, eyes fluttering shut for half a second. "The saltiness... the sweetness... the fluffiness..." she listed, almost reverently, before opening her eyes and looking straight at me. "God, I love you, Miguel."

  I was half-lost in my phone, thumb zily scrolling through Instagram, but that snapped my attention right back to her. I looked up, smiling without even meaning to. "I love you more."

  She scoffed lightly, pointing her fork at me mid-chew. "No. I love you more."

  I ughed, shaking my head. "I'm not doing this back-and-forth," I said, amused. "We'll be here all day."

  She grinned like she'd won anyway and went back to her pancakes, clearly pleased.

  As I gnced back down at my phone, something tugged at the back of my mind. My mind drifted past the screen, toward Le who was in the same pce as st night. She hadn't moved since yesterday, not really.

  Only this morning, when I said good morning, she shot a smile back to me.

  My voice dropped without me meaning it to. "Le stood in the same pce all night... that can't be healthy at all."

  Car paused mid-bite. Just for a heartbeat. Her fork hovered over her pte before she lowered it, chewing slowly like she was thinking through her response instead of reacting. "She takes her job seriously," she said finally, shrugging one shoulder. "I can't really do anything about it."

  That answer didn't fully sit right with me. "Has she ever been on vacation?" I asked.

  Car shook her head once, clean and final. "Never." She cut another piece of pancake, speared it with her fork, and ate it like the conversation weighed nothing. But I noticed it—the way her jaw tightened just slightly, the way she avoided looking toward the windows this time.

  There was a brief, comfortable silence. The kind filled with clinking cutlery, the smell of coffee, the warmth of morning sunlight stretching across the kitchen tiles.

  Then, out of nowhere, she looked up at me, eyes bright again, a spark of mischief returning like a switch had been flipped.

  "Hey, Miguel," she said casually, tilting her head. "Do you like partying?"

  The question caught me off guard. I blinked, my brain scrambling gears—from quiet concern to... partying? I ughed softly under my breath, rubbing the back of my neck. "Uh... define partying."

  She shrugged, still chewing, completely unbothered. "You know—loud music, drinks, other drugs, dancing. All that jazz," she said around a mouthful of pancake, licking a bit of chocote off her fork like it was nothing.

  I let out a small, awkward ugh, rubbing my thumb against the edge of my phone. "Ah—no, not really. Never cared much for that stuff." I hesitated, then added, "Maybe when I was younger... but even then, not really."

  A fsh of old memories crossed my mind—seventeen year old me selling myself in clubs for money, random women groping me—My embarrassing past that I'd rather keep buried. I shook it off, smiling sheepishly. "I was never a huge partying person..."

  Car watched me closely as she swallowed, her expression softening instead of judging. "That's okay," she said easily. "Not everyone likes chaos."

  "Y-Yeah... I just have bad memories, you know?" My voice wavered despite me trying to keep it light. "You understand my past."

  The moment the words left my mouth, my body betrayed me. A sharp flinch. A tightness in my chest. Images I didn't invite crept in anyway—crying so hard I couldn't breathe, my face buried in her shoulder that night, hands gripping fabric like it was the only thing keeping me grounded. I hadn't meant to remember it so vividly.

  My eyes burned, gssy before I could stop them.

  Car noticed instantly.

  "Hey..." Her voice dropped, softer, slower. She reached across the table and covered my hand with hers, warm and steady. "It's done with, cari?o. You don't have to carry that anymore." Her thumb brushed over my knuckles, slow and deliberate. "That happened... but we're here now. In the present. With each other."

  I swallowed, forcing air back into my lungs. The tight knot in my chest loosened just a little. I nodded, lifting my coffee and taking a careful sip, letting the warmth ground me.

  "You're right," I said quietly.

  "That's right," she murmured, smiling gently. She lifted her hand and cupped my face, her palm firm, reassuring. Her thumb traced slow circles along my cheek, wiping away the threat of tears before they could fall. "Smile."

  I did—small at first, then real.

  Her eyes softened even more when she saw it. She leaned in just slightly, close enough that I could feel her presence without her even touching me again.

  "I can't wait to live the rest of my life with you," she said.

  The words hit me deep—heavy, but in the best way. Not overwhelming. Not scary. Just... certain.

  My throat tightened, this time not from fear, but from something warm and aching and good. I leaned into her touch without thinking, closing my eyes for a second.

  "Yeah," I whispered. "Me too."

  Without really thinking about it, my hand drifted to the fork resting on her pte. I speared a soft corner of pancake—still steaming, chocote melting, bacon peeking through the fluff—and lifted it toward her.

  "Say ahh," I teased quietly.

  She actually blushed. Properly blushed. Color blooming across her cheeks as she leaned forward and opened her mouth, letting me feed her.

  The fork slid away and she hummed the second the pancake touched her tongue, eyes fluttering shut for just a beat.

  "These are so... delicious," she said once she started chewing, voice low and sincere. "I know I keep saying it—but it's true." She swallowed, smiling at me like I'd personally invented happiness.

  "Have you ever tried spreading Nutel between the pancakes? Like a yer. It's dangerous."

  I shook my head, a little ugh slipping out. "That's never crossed my mind."

  "Well," she said, pointing the fork lightly at me, pyful but firm, "tomorrow we're doing that. Together." Then her expression softened, the teasing easing into something more caring. "And you're eating with me. Properly."

  I raised a brow. "I eat."

  She gave me that look. "Miguel... you snack. You survive." Her thumb brushed my wrist where I was holding the fork. "I don't want you getting sick. You're already thin—any more and you'll be pure bones."

  She was joking, but there was concern underneath it. Real concern.

  I nodded slowly. "Yeah... okay. I can do that."

  One actual real meal a day suddenly didn't sound bad when she was looking at me like that.

  Her smile widened, satisfied. "Good. Then it's settled." She leaned back in her chair, utterly content, and added softly, "I like taking care of you."

  Her saying that settled something deep in my chest. Chosen. Safe. Wanted. Feelings I wasn't used to having all at once—if ever.

  I really did love her, and the realization didn't feel scary. It felt quiet. Certain.

  My mind drifted, uninvited, to Elena.

  Every time she caught me eating, there was always a look. A sigh. A comment. "Do you really need that?" or "You've already eaten today."

  Sometimes she'd ugh like it was a joke, sometimes she'd say nothing at all—but the shame was always there, heavy and wordless.

  I learned quickly that it was easier not to eat than to feel watched. Easier to ignore hunger than to feel small.

  And over time, it stopped being a choice.

  It just became a habit. A reflex. Something I didn't even question anymore.

  Sitting here now, though—Car watching me with warmth instead of judgment, concern instead of control—it felt different.

  Like food wasn't something to earn or hide anymore. Like eating wasn't a fw.

  I looked at her pancakes, half gone, and then at her face. No disappointment. No scrutiny. Just care.

  Maybe this was what healing actually looked like.

  Not fixing everything at once—but being with someone who didn't punish you for existing.

  "I love you Car."