LEARN THE WRONG LESSON
Boyfriend - Dove Cameron
Honeymonster
Iknock once and don’t wait for an answer. That’s the rule with Kayla. You hesitate, she’ll see you as weak and dismiss you. I shoulder the door open with my hip and come in carrying far too much food like this is a conscious lifestyle choice and not panic disguised as hospitality.
“Right,” I announce, dropping the bags onto the small table. “I have made several executive decisions, most of them questionable.”
Kayla looks up from where she’s perched on the edge of the bed, hair loose, expression neutral in a way that always makes me feel like I’ve walked into the middle of something she’s already solved. She glances at the bags, then at me.
“You over-ordered,” she says calmly.
“Incorrect,” I reply with a grin. “I planned for options.”
She snorts, which I take as a win.
Nightshade is there, but already heading towards the door. He gives Kayla a look that says something betweenbehaveandI’ll be back, then spares me a nod.
“Don’t poison her,” he says.
“No promises,” I reply cheerfully.
The door clicks shut behind him. The room exhales, or maybe that’s just me.
“Hi,” Kayla breathes softly. Almost shy. Not like her at all.
I’m going to do my damndest to get her feeling like herself again, but first, I start unloading containers like a magician revealing increasingly unnecessary props. Toast. Pastries. Fruit. Something warm that claims to be an omelette that smells better than it deserves to. Kayla watches me with a mix of amusement and suspicion.
“This is a lot,” she points out.
“I’m offended by your lack of faith,” I reply. “Also, Bones said you needed calories and I took that personally.”
She smiles – small, genuine – and something in my chest loosens a fraction.
I don’t hover. That’s the trick. Everyone else watches her like she might fracture if they blink wrong. I treat her like a person who survived something awful and now wants to eat breakfast without commentary.
I shove a fork toward her. “Eat. You can interrogate me after.”
“I wasn’t going to interrogate you.”
“Lies.”
She takes the fork anyway.
We settle on the floor because the chair situation is terrible and the bed feels too intimate, too soon. We eat cross-legged,passing containers back and forth, knees occasionally bumping. Normal. Stupidly normal.
“So,” I say around a mouthful of toast. “You slept.”
“I did.”
“Like…actually slept?”
“Yes.”
“Huh.” I squint at her. “Well. That’s inconveniently reassuring.”
She arches a brow. “You wanted me exhausted and irritable?”
