Aye worry not, your boy be cooking like Uncle Rogers on steroids. Three fantastic chapters... Pay attention to these three chapters cause it's important for the plot.
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The kitchen light flicked on with a click.
I flinched like a raccoon caught mid-snack.
Because that's what I was.
Pizza slice in mouth, half a liter of chocolate milk in hand, hoodie half-off my shoulder like I just got mugged by bedtime.
Carol stood in the doorway, arms crossed, eyebrow arched like she was deciding whether to scold me or call Child Services.
"You know," she said, "most people don't emotionally spiral through mozzarella."
I blinked. "It's called coping, Carol. Welcome to Earth."
She walked in, bare feet silent against the tile.
I watched her pour herself coffee. At 1 a.m. Like a psychopath.
She always smelled like jet fuel and starlight. Like the sky itself owed her rent.
"You okay, Leon?" she asked gently.
I shrugged. "Define 'okay.' Existential dread? Check. Public humiliation? Check. Possibly haunted by a cosmic feather? Triple check."
She sipped her coffee and leaned against the counter. "High school's a bitch." (📌)
"Understatement of the century." Author due note to pin that section!
Carol glanced over at me—really looked. The way adults rarely do. Not at my face, but through it.
She set her cup down.
"Come here."
I hesitated.
Then she opened her arms.
And suddenly, I wasn't too cool or too jaded or too whatever.
I was just human.
A tired, messy, sarcastic, lonely human with a bunch of liabilities.
And I collapsed into her hug like my whole body was made of loose screws.
She held me. Not like a soldier. Like a home.
Warm. Firm. Quiet.
"I'm not even yours," I muttered against her shoulder.
She pulled back just enough to look me in the eye.
"No. But you're mine. That counts more."
Something in my chest cracked open.
I laughed.
Because I was crying. And laughing.
"God, that was corny. That was Nicholas Sparks-level corn. I think I just lactated."
She snorted. "You get your sense of drama from me."
"You're not that dramatic."
"I punched a moon once."
"Touche."
Silence settled between us like a soft blanket.
Then she surprised me.
"You remind me of me at your age," she said.
I blinked. "Please don't say that. I like having a will to live."
"I was angry. Lost. Scared I'd never be normal again. After a life changing incident . After the noise."
Her voice dropped, small and real.
"I used to stare at my hands and wonder if they were still mine."
That shut me up.
Because yeah. That? That hit a little too close. It hit home real fast.
She touched my cheek. Her thumb grazed a tear I didn't notice.
"You hide behind jokes. But you feel everything."
I sniffed. "You rehearsed that?"
Carol smiled. "Maybe."
And then the moment twisted—just a bit.
Because the way she was looking at me wasn't entirely maternal.
And the way I noticed?
Yeah. That was new.
I cleared my throat. "So. You come here often?"
She grinned. "Wow. That's the line you're going with?"
"I'm emotionally vulnerable. I'm allowed one creepy flirt."
"You get three," she teased.
"I only need one."
Pause.
Stare.
And then—
BOOM.
Thunder cracked. The lights flickered. The fridge moaned like it had ghosts.
Carol grabbed her coffee. I grabbed my hoodie drawstrings like a Victorian maiden in distress.
"Cool cool cool," I said quickly. "Let's not have a cosmic entity jump out of my pantry tonight. I already have trust issues."
She leaned in close, eyes twinkling. "Want me to check the pantry for you, tough guy?"
"Only if you scream first so I can run."
"Deal."
She turned, walked toward the pantry with exaggerated tiptoes like a cartoon spy.
I watched her go.
And then I stared at the sky outside. At the storm.
For the first time in a long time, I didn't feel alone in it. Having nothing else to do, I walked intn my room and dove straight into the comfort of my bed....
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The kitchen light snapped on. The second time this evening.
I didn't jump or scream or ninja-roll to cover the stash of cold pizza and milk.
But I did flinch and knock over a bag of chips like a war criminal caught in the act. Dang it, I was planning on eating those.
Carol stood in the doorway, her silhouette backlit like some celestial mom-angel crossed with a gym instructor.
Baggy sweats. Hair in a knot. No makeup. Still looked like she could bench press a comet.
"You look like a sad raccoon who lost custody," she said.
"Bold of you to assume I ever had custody," I replied, chewing.
She padded in, opened the fridge, grabbed nothing, closed it, sighed like someone looking for answers in a vegetable drawer.
"You couldn't sleep either?" I asked, trying to sound casual.
She leaned on the counter, arms folded. "You screamed during your sleep. Twice."
"Oh."
Right.
That was a thing.
"Sorry. Just... weird dreams. Cosmic horror. Feathers. Felt like an acid trip in IKEA."
She smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "You're not alone in that, y'know."
I stayed quiet.
Let the storm outside fill the silence.
She finally walked over, gently ruffled my hair—then instantly looked like she regretted it.
"You're too tall for this now," she mumbled, half-laughing.
Haha! The power of a 6'7ft man! (LIES!!)
Okay, maybe 6'2 on a bad day.
"I'm only a kid," I said before I could stop myself.
Because yeah—part of me wanted to be.
Just for one more night.
"Technically," she smirked. "Emotionally, you're like a middle-aged poet on his second divorce."
"Hahaha! What do you know about divorce?" I retorted back in-between chuckles. Since the first day she stepped foot in this household, I've never seen her with a man. But that earned a real laugh out of me. Sharp. Loud. A little wet.
I wiped my face with my sleeve before she could see.
"Come on," she said, tugging me off the counter by the hand. "Couch therapy."
"Again?" I groaned, dragging myself over to the "B" shaped couch.
We collapsed onto the couch in the living room. The TV was off. The storm outside cracked again.
She pulled a blanket over us like muscle memory.
"I used to have nights like this," she said quietly. "Back when I first... changed."
"Changed?"
"I mean, experienced puberty... No I mean, growth!" She shamelessly lied to the face of a professional liar. Touche
I turned to look at her.
She looked different like this.
No starships. No power stance. Just... human. Warm.
"You were scared?" I asked, going along with the flow.
She nodded. "Terrified. I thought I'd lose myself. I did, for a while."
I swallowed. "How'd you come back?"
Carol smiled, soft and sad. "Someone reminded me who I was."
I stared at her.
She stared back.
And the silence between us started shifting.
Not in a weird way.
Not in a bad way.
Just...
Different.
She reached out to brush a crumb off my cheek. Her fingers lingered for a second too long.
"Leon..."
Her voice was a whisper.
"Yeah?"
Mine cracked. A little too honest.
"I know I'm not your real aunt."
"I know," I whispered back.
And neither of us moved.
Like if we stayed perfectly still, the moment wouldn't ask for more.
Then—mercifully, hilariously—my stomach growled. Violently.
We both froze.
Then cracked up. Laughing into each other's shoulders like idiots.
She shoved me with a grin. "You're ruining my dramatic moment, you pizza demon."
"You're the one who started the therapy cuddle. I was coping."
"You were hoarding dairy-based sorrow!"
We laughed harder. Cackling. Wheezing. The storm raged outside like a tantrum and we just sat there, under blankets, pretending we weren't both quietly drowning in things we didn't know how to say.
After a while, the laughter faded.
But her hand was still near mine.
Close enough to touch.
Not touching.
But close.
And I didn't pull away. Soon enough, our Pinky's connected. Inching close till we were almost interlocking fingers.
We sat there like kids afraid to tip the world over.
Like one wrong word would cause a landslide of truth neither of us were ready for.
Then—
BANG.
The door burst open like someone kicked it off its hinges with emotional damage.
"GOOD HEAVENS!"
A British voice, scandalized.
"IS THIS—AM I INTERRUPTING A HALLMARK ORIGINAL?!"
We jolted apart like we'd been tased.
Carol nearly threw the blanket into the next dimension. I fell off the couch like a slapped pancake face first.
Jesse stood there—still as a fountain but with the famous serial killer slowed head tilt, silver tray still in hand, mouth open like he'd caught us making out under a Christmas tree.
He blinked. Then squinted.
"Miss Danvers, Master Leon... I was merely bringing hot cocoa. I did not intend to stumble into a slow-burning Netflix adaptation of forbidden familial affection."
Alabama Friendly!
Carol coughed. "It's not what it looks like."
"Oh, excellent!" Jesse said brightly. "Because it looked like emotional intimacy spiced with longing and unresolved sexual tension."
I choked on air.
"JESSE—"
He raised a hand. "Say no more, young sir. I have seen many a torrid saga in this household, but I do draw the line at blanket-bundled ambiguity with one's non-biological aunt."
Carol's face was fifty shades of I will atomize you.
I scrambled up, tripping over my own foot, again. "We were just talking! She was sharing wisdom and, and—trauma! Yes! Aunt Trauma Talks! A harmless therapy session!"
Jesse gave me a look so smug I wanted to phase through the floor. "Yes. Quite. The ol' 'trauma snuggle.' A classic."
Carol was standing now, arms folded, trying hard not to blast him into the sun.
"Jesse. Out."
He gave an exaggerated bow. "Very well. Just know—should this... relationship evolve, I've already prepared a guest list, wedding playlist, and twelve backup excuses for the press."
"I hate you," I muttered.
"Oh, Master Leon," Jesse said with a wink, backing away dramatically. "If I had a nickel for every time someone said that right before falling in love..."
Door slam.
Silence.
We were alone again.
But the moment was gone.
Carol rubbed her face with both hands. "I'm gonna kill him."
I nodded, red-faced, but secretly grateful. "He deserves it."
Another beat of quiet.
"I should go to bed," she said.
"Yeah," I echoed. "Me too."
We lingered again. One second longer.
Then she ruffled my hair—quickly this time—and walked away.
I stood there in the dark, still warm from her touch, still cold from what didn't happen.
And Jesse's voice echoed faintly from down the hall:
"I SHIP IT!"
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