Chapter 29: Playtime’s over

I wake up without an alarm. No dreams. Nothing. Just my eyes opening to the ceiling, with that strange calm sitting in my chest. I didn’t sleep much. My body’s heavy, my head’s still foggy. But it’s not unpleasant.
For the first time in a long while, there’s no pit in my stomach. No knot weighing me down like dead weight the second I open my eyes.

This ... this is something else. A different kind of tension. Lighter. Like a thrill I’m not even trying to hide.

I replay everything we did last night—her fingers, her mouth, her scent. And yeah, I probably look like a dumbass grinning at nothing first thing in the morning. But fuck it—I don’t care.

I get up, pull on a pair of joggers, and head downstairs for coffee. The house is quiet. Sunlight’s spilling through the windows. That kind of stillness you only get on a Sunday morning—slow, muted, suspended in time.

I walk into the kitchen, grab a mug—
And then I hear the stairs creak behind me.

I turn around. It’s her. Emma.

She comes down in an oversized t-shirt, eyes still a little hazy, hair a mess. She barely looks at me.

Emma: “Morning.”
Me: “Hey.”
That’s it. Nothing more needed.

She brushes past me, just barely. Our arms graze. I catch her breath, her scent. She doesn’t say a word, but she knows damn well I felt it.

There’s a hint of a smirk tugging at her lips. And I’m pretty sure it’s mirrored on mine.

Then our mom walks in.

Mom: “Well, well ... This is a late start for both of you, huh? That’s not like you two...”
She smiles. No hint, no weird tone. Just a casual comment. Because she’s not wrong.

It’s not like us to sleep in like this. Especially not ... together. Not that she knows that.

I clear my throat. Emma drops her eyes.

But we don’t say a thing. We just drift toward the kitchen, like it’s just any other morning. Like this whole fucking thing isn’t quietly shifting into something else. Something real.

We eat in silence for a few minutes. Just the clink of silverware, sips of coffee, the crunch of toast. But there’s this soft tension hanging in the air. Not unpleasant. Just ... there. Like a tight wire stretched between us.

I glance at her from the corner of my eye. She bites into a slice of toast, eyes a little lost in the void. And I don’t know why, but I feel the need to break the silence.
Well—no. I do know why.

Me: “So ... how’s work lately? You holding up?”
She turns to me, one brow raised. She gets exactly what I mean, then lets out a small laugh, eyes rolling toward the ceiling like she’s not sure where to start.

Emma: “It’s ... a lot right now.”
She sets the toast down, folds her arms on the table, and locks eyes with me—more serious this time. More composed.

Emma: “Between private requests, messages, uploads, planning stuff ahead ... it eats up a shitload of time. And yeah, juggling school on top? It’s not easy.”
I don’t say anything. I just listen.
And I see it in her eyes—she appreciates the question. Not because I’m judging her. Not because I’m preaching. Just ... trying to understand.

Emma: “I’ve been getting a bunch of new subs lately ... kinda freaks me out.”
She smiles, a little nervously.

There’s a pause. Then she tilts her head slightly, giving me a sideways glance.

Emma: “And you ... planning to subscribe again?”
I snort out a dry laugh.

Me: “Pfff...!”
Can’t even hold it back. And of course, right on cue, our mom walks into the room.

But I don’t stop.

Me: “Nah, I don’t think there’s any point anymore, right?”
Emma bursts into laughter too, eyes buried in her cup like she’s trying to hide behind the steam.

Our mom watches us, a little caught off guard by the sudden bond between us.

Mom: “Well, look at you two ... It’s nice seeing you like this.”
She pauses, then continues: