She didn't speak when he walked into her apartment. She didn't ask if he wanted tea or if he was staying long. She didn't offer the couch.
She simply turned the lock behind him, then stood there silent, breath shallow staring at the man who once broke her heart without even knowing it. And the man who, somehow, was still her gravity.
Kai took one step forward.
Aria didn't move.
Another step.
Her fingers curled against the doorframe, knuckles white.
A third.
And then—
She exhaled.
And the world broke open.
He kissed her hard like it was the only way he knew how to speak. Like he'd been drowning for three years and her mouth was the first breath of air.
Her back hit the wall. His hands gripped her thighs, lifting her until her legs wrapped around him like instinct.
No teasing. No talking just mouths and skin and need.
She tore his shirt open. Buttons scattered across the floor like confessions.
He kissed her collarbone, her shoulder, the hollow of her throat.
"I remember," he whispered against her skin.
She gasped. "What?"
"Your body. The way you trembled the first time I touched you."
Her eyes fluttered shut.
"I remember the scar behind your knee."
His mouth trailed lower.
"I remember the way you sound when you come."
She groaned. "Don't say that—"
"Why?"
He pulled her blouse over her head.
"Because I'll prove it?"
She dragged his mouth back to hers and they crashed.
Onto the couch. Onto each other.
Every inch of clothing became a burden.
She yanked his belt loose. He pulled her panties down her legs like silk secrets.
The air between them was thick with heat, hunger, memory but this wasn't desperate. It was intentional.
His fingers found her first, sliding over wetness that made his jaw clench.
She was ready.
"God, you're soaked for me."
"Shut up," she whispered.
But her hips rolled into his hand.
He kissed her breasts, sucked her nipple until she cried out.
Then again.
Harder.
She clawed at his back.
Her body begging before her pride could interfere.
"Look at me," he said, rubbing slow, deep circles.
She did and then she broke right there in his hands.
Back arched. Breath stolen. Skin flushed and he watched her like she was holy. Like he'd been starved for this moment his entire life.
He didn't stop.
Didn't rush.
He slid into her slowly, thick and hard, stretching her until her head fell back and a gasp escaped her lips that sounded like his name.
Their rhythm found itself in silence.
Slow at first. Deep. Grounded in more than lust.
Then faster.
Fiercer.
She rode him on the couch, her hair wild, her skin glowing with sweat and moonlight.
Every moan, every gasp, every stifled curse was history rewritten.
Her fingers dug into his chest as he thrust deeper, harder, groaning into her neck.
He was losing himself and she was already gone.
"I hate you," she whispered as she came again, this time tighter, wetter, more undone.
"I know," he growled. "Do it louder."
She did.
Later, they lay tangled on the rug not quite touching, but not quite separate either.
The air buzzed with what they hadn't said.
He turned to face her.
"I'm sorry."
She closed her eyes. "I know."
"I'll spend the rest of my life proving it."
"I'll spend the rest of mine trying not to fall apart again."
He reached for her hand.
She let him take it.
Not as a promise.
Not as forgiveness.
But as a beginning.
Outside, the city buzzed and burned but inside Aria's apartment?
There was only this:
Two people, half naked, half healed and nowhere left to hide.