Chapa POV:
I woke up to the sound of the doorbell ringing, cutting through the peaceful silence of the early morning. My eyes fluttered open, still groggy, and I squinted at the clock on the nightstandâit was just after 6 a.m. The sky outside the tall windows was still that gray-blue color that comes before dawn. Everything felt quiet, still. I stretched a little, feeling the warmth of Bose's body next to mine, and glanced over at him.
Bose was still dead asleep, sprawled out under the blankets. His dark long hair was slightly messy, falling across his forehead, and his soft breathing was rhythmic and soothing. He looked peaceful, like nothing could wake him up.
The doorbell rang again, a bit louder this time, pulling me out of my thoughts. I groaned softly and slipped out from under the covers, making sure not to disturb Bose. He didn't even stir, still in his own little world, probably dreaming about something ridiculous. I grabbed one of his oversized hoodies from the chair nearby and threw it on, its warmth and his scent enveloping me.
The doorbell rang a third time just as I reached the door. I opened it, expecting to find some neighbor complaining about the music we never played or someone from the building's staff.
Instead, it was a delivery man, holding a small, square package. He looked just as tired as I felt.
"Delivery for Mr. O'Brien," he said, handing the box over to me with a quick nod.
I took the package from him, blinking in surprise. "Thanks," I muttered, more out of reflex than anything, and watched as he left.
Closing the door, I stared down at the package in my hands. It was light, almost like there was nothing in it. There wasn't any return address or company labelâjust a small, plain box. My curiosity spiked. Bose rarely received personal deliveries at home. I carried the box over to the couch and sat down, the early morning light filtering through the windows, casting long shadows across the penthouse. Everything was quiet, except for the distant hum of the city slowly waking up.
I couldn't resist. Carefully, I tore the packaging away and opened the box.
Inside, nestled in tissue paper, was a small statue of a goat. It was intricately carved, made of dark wood or something similar, with careful attention to detail. Its eyes were especially lifelike, eerily so, and it looked almost exactly like Cookie.
What the hell? I thought, turning the statue over in my hands. Underneath it, I noticed a folded piece of paper, tucked between the statue and the box's base. My heartbeat quickened. Who would send this?
I unfolded the paper, revealing a single line of jagged, uneven handwriting:
"The gift returns to where it belongs. Don't let him forget his roots."
I read the message twice, then a third time, trying to make sense of it. What roots? Bose wasn't exactly shy about his past, but he also didn't share much about his familyâespecially his birth father.
Was this from him? The goat statue made it seem likely, but the note... there was something off about it. Something unsettling.
I glanced toward the bedroom. Bose was still sound asleep, unaware of any of this. My mind raced as I stared down at the statue again, my fingers tracing the carved details. Should I wake him up? Tell him about this? It felt... important, like something I shouldn't keep from him, but at the same time, I didn't want to disturb him, not now. Not with how peaceful he looked.
What would I even say? "Hey, Bose, you've got a creepy statue and an even creepier note from someone who might be your long-lost father. Thoughts?"
As I placed the package down on the coffee table, still mulling over the strange note, a sudden movement behind me made me jump. Strong arms wrapped around my waist from behind, pulling me back into a warm, solid body.
I gasped, my reflexes kicking in before my mind even processed what was happening. Without thinking, I swung my elbow back, catching whoever it was right in the ribs, hard. There was a grunt of pain, and I spun around, my fists still clenched.
"Bose!" I exclaimed, my heart pounding. Bose stood there, doubled over slightly, rubbing his side with a pained, but amused look on his face.
"Ow," he muttered, wincing. "Okay, remind me never to sneak up on you again."
I stared at him for a moment, my breath still coming fast. The adrenaline coursing through me slowly began to fade as I realized it had just been him playing around. "What the hell, Bose?" I said, swatting him on the arm. "You can't just grab me like that!"
He straightened up, still grinning despite the blow he'd taken. "Didn't think you'd react like that," he said, teasing. "You've got a mean punch, you know."
"Yeah, well, maybe don't sneak up on me before 7 a.m.," I retorted, crossing my arms over my chest, trying to slow my racing heartbeat.
Bose's grin faltered a little as his eyes flicked toward the package on the table. His expression became more serious. "A package?" he said, stepping closer to the coffee table. "What was in it?"
I hesitated for a second, then turned and gestured toward the box. "A goat statue. And this really cryptic note." I watched as he crouched down, picking up the small statue from the box. His fingers traced the carved surface, his brow furrowing.
"A goat," he murmured under his breath, sounding both confused and unsurprised. "Like Cookie."
"Yeah, that's what I thought. The note's... strange, though." I handed it to him, feeling a weird mix of concern and curiosity.
Bose unfolded the paper and read it silently, his expression darkening as his eyes scanned the jagged handwriting. The playful, easygoing air he'd had just moments ago was gone, replaced by something much more serious.
He crumpled the note slightly in his hand and let out a breath. "It could be from him," he said quietly, telling me what I'd already suspected.
"Your birth dad?" I asked, my voice softening. "What could he possibly want?"
Bose didn't answer right away. He just stared at the statue in his hand, lost in thought. His face was hard to read, like he was trying to piece together something complicatedâsomething painful. Finally, he spoke, his voice low. "I don't know. But this isn't just some gift. It's a message."
I frowned, stepping closer to him. "A message about what?"
"Probably about where I came from," he said, his tone bitter. "Mom said he's always been obsessed with me not forgetting 'my roots.' Like I would care. He left me." He let out a humorless laugh. "Guess he's trying to remind me again."
The weight of his words hung in the air. I didn't know all the details about the situation with his birth dad, but from what little I did know, it wasn't good. Bose rarely talked about it, and when he did, there was always this tension in his voice, like he was holding back more than he was saying.
I reached out and placed a hand on his arm, squeezing gently. "You don't have to deal with this, Bose."
He looked up at me, his eyes softening slightly. "I know," he said, managing a small smile. "Thanks, Chapa."
I smiled back, relieved that he seemed to be okayâat least for now. "You sure you're good?"
Bose nodded, setting the statue back in the box. "Yeah. I'll figure this out later. Right now, I just want to forget about it for a while." He glanced at the clock. "Let's make some breakfast or something. I need coffee before I deal with any more mysterious goat statues."
I laughed, the tension easing as we headed toward the kitchen. But even as we tried to move past it, I couldn't help but feel that this wasn't over.
Andrew POV:
At noon, I decided to swing by Mika's place on my break. I rang the doorbell, but no one answered. I tried again, but still nothing. That was weird. She should be at home resting. I sent her a quick text but got no reply. I couldn't shake the uneasy feeling, so I figured I'd check in on her after work.
Later, around seven, I headed back to her place, feeling a bit anxious. This time, she answered. She looked tired but surprised to see me.
"Andrew? What are you doing here?"
"I stopped by earlier, but you weren't home. Where were you?" I asked, stepping into her apartment. She didn't seem to mind me coming in, but her expression shifted slightly.
"I had some work to take care of," she said casually, walking towards the living room. "Nothing major."
"Work? Mika, you should be resting, not running around."
She shrugged, not making a big deal of it. "I'm fine, Andrew. Really."
I wasn't buying it. "You were shot yesterday. Shouldn't you at least be taking it easy?"
She sighed, walking to the couch and sitting down. "You don't have to worry about me. I'm good."
I crossed my arms, standing in front of her. "I'm serious. You push yourself too hard."
Mika rolled her eyes. "I don't know how to do anything else. I can't just sit around, Andrew. You know that."
"Yeah, but you don't have to act like nothing happened."
She was quiet for a moment, then changed the subject. "So, how was work today?"
I sighed, realizing she wasn't going to budge on this. "Same old stuff. But let's not talk about, it's not why I came over."
She looked up at me, curious. "Then why?"
I sat down across from her, rubbing the back of my neck. "I wanted to check on you. And... we haven't really talked since, you know, the kiss."
Mika raised an eyebrow, clearly not wanting to go down that road. "Andrew, about that..."
I quickly cut her off, shaking my head. "Look, I'm not trying to make things weird. I just... I don't know what to think."
She leaned back, crossing her arms. "It was a moment. Let's not overthink it."
"Maybe," I said, leaning forward a bit. "But you don't kiss someone like that for no reason."
She didn't answer right away. Instead, she glanced toward the window, looking like she was weighing her next words carefully. "Andrew, I'm not trying to complicate things between us."
I let out a small laugh. "Yeah, well, it feels pretty complicated."
She stood up, brushing her hands over her pants, like she needed something to do. "Andrew, you really don't need to worry about it," she said again, more firmly this time, but with a hint of something else in her voice. "It's not like we did anything wrong."
I stayed seated, watching her carefully. "I'm not saying we did. But it felt like something, Mika. Don't tell me you didn't feel it."
She glanced at me, and for a split second, I could see a crack in that calm, collected exterior she always wore. She let out a breath, her shoulders dropping just a bit. "It's not about what I felt or didn't feel. It's about... it being a mistake. We can't do this."
"Why not?" I asked, standing up now, closing some of the distance between us. "Why does it have to be a mistake? It wasn't just a random thing, Mika. You're not making any sense."
She turned away from me slightly, running a hand through her hair, her jaw clenched. "Andrew, I-... I was just tired and it shouldn't have happened. It was just some stupid, meaningless kiss."
I frowned, stepping closer until I was standing right behind her. "Is that really all it was?"
She stayed silent, her back still to me. The room felt heavy, the words hanging between us, waiting for something to break the tension.
"Mika, you're better than that," I said, my voice low but firm. "You don't just act on impulse. I know you. You don't kiss someone unless it means something."
Finally, she turned to face me, her eyes flashing with a mix of frustration and something elseâsomething deeper, harder to read. "You think you know me that well?" she asked, her voice sharp, but there was a tremble underneath it. "Andrew, this isn't about you. I can't... we can't start complicating things. Relationships and all that are distractions to me. I need to keep my head straight."
I stepped even closer, feeling the pull between us like a magnetic force. "Mika, I get it. But you don't have to pretend like this doesn't matter."
Her eyes met mine, and for a moment, she looked conflicted, like she was battling with herself. "Andrew," she started, her voice softer now, almost pleading. "I don't want to complicate things between us. What happened... it doesn't have to mean anything."
I let out a short, humorless laugh. "You keep saying that, but do you really believe it?"
Her eyes flickered with uncertainty. She opened her mouth to say something but stopped herself, as if the words were too hard to get out. She turned her head slightly, breaking eye contact, and I could see her walls going back up, piece by piece.
"Mika, look at me," I said, reaching out gently, touching her arm. She flinched at first, but then she let me, and that was all I needed. "Just look me in the eye and tell me. Tell me it didn't mean anything, and I'll drop it."
She stayed quiet, her lips pressed into a tight line. Her eyes darted to the floor, and I could see the conflict on her face, the way she was fighting with herself.
Finally, she exhaled, and I saw something shift in her expressionâsomething that told me she couldn't keep pretending. "Andrew, I..."
Her voice trailed off, but I knew what she was trying to say. She didn't have to spell it out for me. I could see it in her eyes, in the way she was avoiding my gaze.
"Mika," I said softly, stepping even closer, closing the last bit of space between us. "I don't regret it. Do you?"
She looked up at me, her lips parting slightly, and for the first time, I saw the vulnerability she was trying so hard to hide. "No," she whispered. "I don't regret it."
And that was all I needed to hear. Without another word, I closed the gap between us, leaning in and kissing her, slowly at first, like we were testing the waters, trying to figure out what this meant.
Her lips were soft, and for a second, the world seemed to stop. I could feel her hesitation, but then, almost like a switch flipped, she kissed me back. It wasn't hurried or frantic like last time. This time, it was slower, like we were both trying to understand what was happening between us.
Her hands found their way to my chest, and I pulled her closer, deepening the kiss as my fingers grazed her waist. The warmth of her body against mine felt right, familiar, and yet new all at once. This wasn't a dream. It wasn't a mistake. This was real, and I didn't want it to end.
When we finally broke apart, I rested my lips against her forehead, both of us catching our breath.
"Isn't this scandalous?" I said with a grin, still trying to catch my breath. "You know, because I'm from Rivalton? And you're from Swellview?"
"Then we're lucky, 'cause I was originally born in Rivalton," Mika said casually.
I leaned back, eyebrows raised in surprise. "Wait, what? You're from Rivalton?"
Mika let out a frustrated sigh. "Yeah, technically. My mom was on her way to the hospital here in Swellview, but I ended up being born in Rivalton instead."
I stared at her for a second, still processing. "But you hate Rivalton."
Mika rolled her eyes. "I know. I do. I'm Swellview through and through, Andrew. You know that."
I shook my head, slightly amused. "So all this time, you were technically a Rivaltonian? That's rich."
"It doesn't mean anything," Mika snapped, her voice a little harsher now. "I was raised here, Andrew. I love Swellview. Rivalton's the enemy, no matter where I was born."
I could feel the tension building between us. "You act like it's that serious. You know Rivalton isn't some evil place, right? It's just a city. A rivalry that's been blown out of proportion."
Mika's eyes flashed. "Easy for you to say. You didn't grow up here with all the history and everything that came with it. It's not 'just a city.' Rivalton is everything Swellview's against."
"That's ridiculous," I shot back. "People from Rivalton aren't monsters, Mika. I mean, I'm from there. Are you saying I'm a bad guy?"
She sighed, frustrated. "I'm not saying that, Andrew. Although you do annoy me the same way every Rivaltonian ever did. But I'm saying there's a historyâsomething you wouldn't understand."
"And what's that supposed to mean? Just because I'm from Rivalton, I don't get it?"
She shook her head, frustration etched across her features. "Swellview and Rivalton have been rivals for decades. People here have good reason to dislike them."
"Fine, but you're painting everyone with the same brush!" I shot back. "You can't tell me there aren't good people there, just like here. My own family's from Rivalton!"
Mika rolled her eyes, clearly annoyed. "That's exactly why you're so biased! You can't see the truth because you're too attached."
"Wow, thanks for the insight," I replied sarcastically. "But it's not about being biased; it's about understanding that not everyone fits into your little stereotype."
"Maybe if you lived here, you'd get it!" she retorted, her voice rising.
"Maybe if you spent more time in Rivalton, you'd see that it's not all bad!" I shot back, stepping closer. The tension between us felt thick, almost electric.
For a moment, silence hung in the air, heavy with unresolved feelings. Then I took a breath, shifting gears. "Let's just stop arguing and make out instead."
Mika blinked at me, surprise flashing in her eyes before a smile broke through. "You're serious?"
"Dead serious," I said, closing the gap between us. "This is getting us nowhere."
She laughed, her frustration fading. "You might be onto something there."
Before I could say another word, I leaned in and pressed my lips against hers. The kiss started slow, but soon the heat between us intensified, washing away the earlier argument.
Miles POV:
I stepped through the front door, hearing the familiar sounds of my mom in the kitchen. The scent of her cooking filled the air, and it felt like home in a way only her place could.
"Hey, Ma!" I called, dropping my jacket onto the back of a chair.
She turned around, a smile on her face as she wiped her hands on a dish towel. "Miles! I wasn't sure when you'd get here. Come give your mother a hug."
I walked over and hugged her, feeling the warmth of her embrace before stepping back. "How've you been?"
"Oh, you know," she waved a hand, "keeping busy."
I chuckled, leaning against the counter. "You've been managing just fine."
She raised an eyebrow. "Don't flatter me just yet. I've still got plenty to say. Sit down, I made some soup."
As I sat down at the table, I could sense there was more on her mind. That familiar look she gave me whenever she wanted to discuss something more serious. I braced myself, knowing the conversation was coming whether I liked it or not.
"I still can't believe you broke up with Maddie," she started, her tone light but with a hint of that disappointment she was famous for.
I sighed, leaning back in the chair. "Here we go..."
"No, seriously, Miles. She was a lovely girl, and you just ended it like that?" She snapped her fingers for emphasis, and I could tell she wasn't going to let this go.
"Mom, we weren't a good fit," I replied, trying to keep my tone calm. "It wasn't going anywhere."
She gave me a look, one of those 'I'm not buying it' expressions. "You say that about everyone. Maddie was smart, kind, and good for you. And youâwell, you always find some excuse to push them away."
I grabbed the glass of water she'd placed in front of me, taking a sip before responding. "It wasn't that simple. We didn't really connect like that."
Mom put her hands on her hips, staring at me like I'd just said something completely ridiculous. "Miles, you're never going to connect with anyone at this rate! I'm getting older. I want grandbabies before I'm too old to enjoy them."
I tried not to roll my eyes, but I couldn't help the groan that escaped me. "Not this again..."
"Yes, this again!" she said, her voice rising just a bit. "And what about Mika? She's no better. She refuses to even date, and youâwell, you're just as bad. Both of you, old and alone at this rate."
I couldn't help but laugh at that. "Old and alone? Mom, I'm not even thirty yet. We've got time."
"Time?" She crossed her arms, staring me down. "Time for what? You think someone's just going to fall into your lap one day?"
"I'm not exactly worried about it," I shrugged, trying to downplay how much she was pushing this.
"Well, I am," she shot back. "I want to see you happy, settled down, with a family. Is that so much to ask?"
I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table. "Mom, I get it, okay? But Maddie wasn't the one. And I don't know when I'll meet the right person, but I'm not rushing it."
She sighed dramatically, turning back to the stove to stir the soup. "You're going to regret waiting, Miles. I just want what's best for you."
"I know, Ma," I said softly, feeling the weight of her concern. "I know."
The kitchen fell into a brief silence, the only sound being the soft bubbling of the soup on the stove. I knew this wasn't the last I'd hear about Maddieâor grandbabies, for that matterâbut for now, at least, the conversation had simmered down.