Noah promised himself that he wouldn't fall again. He wouldn't allow Kai to breach the walls he had so painstakingly rebuilt after the betrayal. But Kai made it impossible.
Kai was persistent—not in a dominating fashion, but in a manner that whispered of dedication, of unshakeable love. He arrived not only with words but with actions. He didn't intrude, didn't insist—he simply remained. At a respectful distance, proving himself piece by piece.
The first time Noah caught himself being soft was when he came home to find that a cup of coffee was set out for him outside his apartment door—his precise order from his preferred coffee shop, still warm. No note, no message, but he knew who had left it there.
Then there was the occasion when Kai intervened when Noah was struggling to lug his groceries home from the store during a sudden rainstorm. Kai didn't say a word, but he relieved Noah of the bags and accompanied him. Noah allowed him, their silence heavy with all the unspoken things.
