Chapter Seven

Kian’s POV

He looked exactly as he did this morning. Same soft dark hair, same broad shoulders, that familiar quiet warmth that seemed to settle around him wherever he stood. He was laughing at something the other person said, head tilted just a little, and for a heartbeat I forgot how to breathe.

Why was he still here? I thought he had gone home with his friend a while ago..

I froze there on the pavement, half-hidden beneath the glow of a streetlamp, my hand still raised uselessly in the air. 

Don’t look. Don’t see me. Just go back to your conversation..

I lowered my arm slowly, heart thudding so hard I was sure it carried on the breeze. I shouldn’t be here. Not now. Not like this — patch still settling, nerves frayed to threads, every instinct screaming at me to run and hide before I could mess anything up.

I turned on my heel, already stepping away, ready to lose myself in the small crowd waiting by the gate. Just go. Before he notices. Before—

My breath caught.

He’d turned. He fucking turned..

It wasn’t just a glance. His gaze had lifted, drifted, and locked right onto mine like he’d been looking for me all along. Like he knew exactly where I was.

Well, an omega can dream right?

My feet stopped moving. I couldn’t have run even if I wanted to. Not when he was looking at me like that — not surprised, not confused, just… there. Like seeing me was the most natural thing in the world.

Well, admittedly, it used to be. Back when we were childhood friends.. Back when we were neighbors.

The person beside him said something else, but River barely seemed to hear. He gave a small nod in dismissal and took a step toward me.

“Kian.”

Just my name, and it sent a quiet shiver straight down my spine. I stood there awkwardly clutching my bag to my chest like a shield, suddenly hyper-aware of everything — my hair, my oversized hoodie, the fact that I’d probably looked like I was trying to sneak away.

“H-hi,” I said, my voice coming out quieter than I intended. I mentally cursed myself for being so damn awkward. “I… I was just leaving. Getting a cab.”

He stopped a polite distance away, but somehow he still felt close. Close enough that I could catch the faint, warm scent of him — cedarwood and something rich and undeniably alpha — rising softly above the evening air. My new patch held firm, thank goodness for that, but my heart didn’t seem to get the memo. It was racing all the same.

“Alone?” he asked gently. It wasn’t an accusation. Just a question. But his voice had that steady, knowing weight to it — like he already knew the answer, and he wasn’t entirely happy about it.

I nodded. “It’s fine. It’s not far. I walk faster than I look.” I tried a smile. It probably looked nervous. It felt nervous to me..

He opened his mouth to reply, but then his phone rang — sharp and cheerful, cutting through the quiet hum of the streetlights. He paused, glanced at the screen, and huffed a soft, fond sort of laugh.

“Give me one moment,” he said, and answered. “What is it?”

I stood there, shifting my weight from one foot to the other, pretending to find the curb very interesting while secretly… watching him. He leaned against the lamppost, one hand tucked into the pocket of his jacket, the other holding his phone to his ear. He didn’t speak loudly, but his voice carried low and smooth in the quiet space between us. 

He listened mostly, nodding occasionally, a faint, exasperated yet incredibly affectionate sort of smile touching his lips. He’d run a hand through his hair, messing it just enough to look unfairly good — relaxed, easy, completely unaware of how freaking striking he was.

I stared. I know I did. Who wouldn't?? And somewhere deep inside my head, I thought: Oh no. I’m definitely drooling. I must be drooling. How embarrassing. Look away, Kian. Look away now!

But I couldn’t. There was something so grounding about him, something that made all that frantic panic from earlier settle just a little deeper inside my chest. He was solid. He was safe. Even if I was just someone he was nice to. Even if I didn’t matter quite the same way he mattered to me.

“Jax, for goodness’ sake,” he said, and there was that warm, resigned amusement in his tone. “I told you I’d be there. No, don’t send Caleb to come find me — I’m leaving now. Yes, I know they're impatient. You all are impossible. I’ll be there in ten minutes. Stop blowing up my phone.”

He hung up with a quiet shake of his head and let out a long, suffering sigh that sounded more like affection than frustration. “Idiots. The lot of them. I swear they can’t function unless someone’s keeping them in line.” He cursed under his breath — soft, fond, entirely harmless — and then turned those steady eyes back to me.

My heart did that stupid little flip thing again. He looked so good. Like he didn’t even have to try. It wasn’t even fair nor funny.

He tucked his phone away and gestured toward a sleek, familiar car parked nearby. “Let me drive you home, Kian.”

My first instinct — the one that was always a little too ready to retreat — kicked in immediately. “Oh, no, you don’t have to! Really, it’s okay, I can just—”

“Kian.”

Just my name again, but spoken gently, firm enough to pause me mid-sentence. His gaze was steady, warm, and underneath it all was that quiet, unyielding care that I was learning meant exactly what it looked like. He wasn’t asking. Not really. And I got the distinct feeling he wasn’t going to let me stand there arguing while he watched me wait for a cab that might not even come quickly.

“It’s late,” he said, softer now. “And I’d feel better knowing you got back safely. Please. Don’t make me leave you standing here alone.”

There it was — that look in his eyes, steady and sincere, and I knew I wasn’t going to say no. Not really. Not when part of me — the stupid, selfish part — really, really didn’t want to be alone right now. Not when every nerve in my body was still humming from the scare with the patch. Not when being near him felt like the only place I didn’t have to constantly watch my back.

I let my shoulders drop, a small, reluctant smile finding its way to my lips. “Okay. Yeah. Thank you, River.”

His expression softened, like he’d been quietly hoping I’d say yes. “Good. Come on.”

He walked me to the passenger side and opened the door for me. I slid in, setting my bag on my lap and clutching it lightly, suddenly very aware of how close I was to him — how the whole car smelled faintly of him, warm and safe. He closed the door gently, walked around to the driver’s side, and settled in beside me. The engine purred to life, quiet and steady, and as we pulled away from the curb, the campus gate fading behind us, I realized something quiet and undeniable:

I wasn’t nervous anymore. Not really. Not with him here. And that terrified me more than any failing patch ever could.

Because I was starting to realize that the more time I spent with him, the harder it was going to be to remember that I was only ever the friend from home. Just a random neighbor. Nothing more. And one day soon, I was going to have to let go.