That gets a real smile out of him—small and crooked, just like I remember. “You’re exactly the same.”
The words shouldn’t roll over me the way they do, but they wrap around something tender inside me. Something that used to feel like too much.
“Yeah,” I say, quieter now. “Took me a while to figure out that was actually a good thing.”
He doesn’t say anything, just watches me. I look down at the table for a second, then back up.
“There was this point,” I start, fingers tracing the seam of the napkin. “Right after the hospital… when I thought maybe Iwastoo much. Like, too loud, too flirty, too dramatic. Like I’d scared you away by just being me.”
“Luke—”
“I know,” I cut in gently. “I know now that’s not what happened. But back then? I spiraled. Tried to tone myself down. Tried to chase approval I didn’t even really want from people I didn’t even like.”
I take a breath, let it out slow.
“But then something weird happened. I started spending time with my friends who sawme—like the real, glitter-smeared, extra-as-hell me—and didn’t flinch. Or run. Or tell me to be less.”
His gaze softens. I press on.
“I learned how to sit with myself. To like who I was when no one else was looking. I stopped trying to be someone my parents could brag about. Stopped thinking I had to prove I wasn’t broken just because someone walked away.”
I lift my eyes to his, steady now.
“And the thing is? If you hadn’t broken my heart, I don’t think I would’ve ever figured that out.”
“You never were too much, Luke,” he says, voice quiet but firm. “Not for a second.”
I smile, and it’s real. “Yeah,” I say. “I know that now.”
The server arrives with my coffee and a plate of eggs, bacon, and toast, breaking the moment. I thank her, then glance back at him.
“Okay,” I say, grabbing my fork. “So now that I’ve trauma-dumped over breakfast—tell me how your life’s been, Silas.”
He snorts. “You always did have perfect timing.”
“And flawless delivery,” I add, lifting my mug in mock cheers.
Silas takes a sip of his coffee, gaze dropping for a second as though he’s sorting through what to say. He runs his thumb along the edge of the mug, then finally lifts his eyes back to mine.
“I started therapy.”
I blink, surprised, but not in a bad way. “Seriously?”
He nods once. “It was required at first. After everything… the university insisted I talk to someone. I didn’t think it would stick.”
“But it did.”
He exhales a short breath, almost a laugh. “Yeah. Turns out I needed it more than I thought. Not just because of what happened with Xavier… or you. But because I’d built my whole life around the idea that control would keep people safe. That if I just held tight enough, nothing would fall apart again.”
His voice is steady, but I can feel the weight in every word.
“But control wasn’t what I needed,” he says. “It was purpose. Something outside of punishment and prevention. Something that wasn’t just about fear.”
I lean forward, chin in my hand, watching him with a smile.
“Silas Gray without control,” I say, mock-serious. “Are you sure you’re not a body snatcher?”
He laughs—actually laughs—and it’s warm and rough and hits me somewhere deep.
