“Being the emotional support person is overrated.”
Kai stepped into the kitchen, hair hanging limp past his shoulders, oversized sweatpants and a hoodie enveloping his form. Kieran was pretty sure that was the hoodie given out to all of the team at the end of last season, a dull gold shade with a stylizedChicago Wildcatsin script across the front. His cat, a pretty little tabby with a bright red collar, followed him into the room before finding a small, round bed in the corner to curl up in.
Sammie huffed a laugh. “Would you have it any other way?”
Kai narrowed his eyes at her. “No.”
“I brought soup.” Kieran held up the lunchbox.
“Thank god.” Kai snatched it out of his hands. “Wasn’t looking forward to scraping together something from the pantry. We’ve been getting takeout a lot lately.”
“I told you, I’ll help with cooking until he’s back on his feet.” Sammie bumped Kai with her hip as he walked past to grab some bowls from a cabinet.
“I know,” Kai said, chewing on his bottom lip. “Thanks, Sammie.”
Kieran watched them, Kai setting out four bowls, Sammie ladling the soup in. They already moved so seamlessly together, even though Kai had only been dating her brother for a few months.
A family. They were already a family.
Sammie mumbled something about going to pull Atticus away from his game, and Kieran was left with Kai, who was carrying the warm bowls to the small table across the room. Kieran grabbed the other two bowls and followed, sitting down across from Kai.
“He’s not upset with you.”
Kieran hadn’t yet had much reason to interact with his friend’s partner. He didn’t quite know how to take the streamer, who always seemed so guarded, intelligence sparking behind his bored stare.
“I know,” Kieran said with a shrug.
“Dinner more than makes up for it, so thank you.” Kai watched him, and Kieran felt like he was being examined down to his soul. Kai tilted his head to the side. “Attie trusts you.”
The words were heavy, knowing. The emotion behind them seemed so much bigger than three little words. An implication there that Kieran couldn’t look away from, reminiscent of the text conversation he’d had the night before.
Atticus trusted him not to hurt Sammie.
“Soup?”
There was that loud, bright voice that Kieran knew so well.
Atticus limped into the room, leaning his crutch against the counter before he flopped into the seat next to Kieran. “Isn’t soup for when you have a cold? Or the flu? What’s soup supposed to do for my ankle?”
“You aresuchan asshole.” Sammie slid into the seat on Kieran’s other side, glaring at her twin.
“You can’t be mean to me while I’m sick.” Atticus grinned as he pulled a spoonful of the soup to his lips. The tiniest smile curled the corner of Kai’s mouth.
“It’s apology soup,” Kieran said plainly. “That’s all.”
Atticus slurped a noodle. “It’s good. Apology formally accepted.”
Sammie rolled her eyes, but even she couldn’t keep fighting back her smile.
It was easy with the twins, it always had been. They’d latched onto Kieran as children, and he’d been happy to follow along with their plots and schemes. And now with Kai there too, it still felt easy. Like he was with family.
The realization didn’t hit him as hard as it had the night before. The understanding that family didn’t mean one thing. Shared blood was not a requirement. The knowledge that he, Kieran, hadso manypeople around him that cared for him unconditionally. People that accepted him into their circles, that pulled him into their jokes, sharing their lives with him and listening to every word he said.
Sammie and Atticus were bickering now, an easy back and forth that was innate. Kai caught Kieran’s eye from across the small table, quirking a commiserating brow as if to saywill we ever get used to their shit?
“Kieran will back me up.” Atticus smashed his fist down on the table dramatically, earning a sigh from his sister. He turned his full, beaming attention on Kieran. “Socks in bed, yes or no?”
Kieran hesitated, unsure which answer would earn him more ire. He’d been so lost in his own thoughts that he’d missed which side of the argument belonged to who. “No?”
