The kitchen smelled like vanilla and lemon.

Alania sat at the breakfast bar, legs swinging gently beneath her stool, a half-eaten sugar cookie balanced on a napkin in front of her. The overhead light cast a warm glow on the marble countertops, the kind that made things feel safe. Predictable.

She was in leggings and an old Stockhelm sweatshirt. Hair still damp from a shower. Her cheeks a little flushed from standing too close to the oven. The house was quiet—Forest had texted that he’d be home late after the game.

She hadn’t expected you to come with him.

The door slammed.

Voices echoed through the hallway — sharp, bright, full of leftover adrenaline.

And then, there you were.

Walking into her kitchen like you’d always belonged there.

You were laughing, still out of breath, a red mark blooming across your cheekbone. Your jersey was grass-stained. Socks mismatched. One cleat in your hand. The other? Who knows.

Forest tossed his helmet on the counter.

You leaned on it, head tilted back, throat glistening with sweat.

Alania stopped chewing.

You hadn’t seen her yet.

Not really.

You were focused on the fridge. She watched the way your fingers gripped the handle. How your shoulders moved when you reached for a water bottle. How you cracked it open with your teeth, like you couldn’t wait a second longer.

Her face burned.

Every inch of her skin went loud.

You turned. Finally noticed her.

Her heart kicked. She sat straighter. Too fast. Her knee hit the underside of the bar. The cookie slipped from her napkin. She caught it with the wrong hand.

You gave a lazy wave. She blinked. Her reply came in the form of a twitchy nod, and then complete stillness. Like if she didn’t move, maybe you wouldn’t notice how she was unraveling.

You walked around the island, close enough for her to smell your cologne — faint under sweat and sunscreen and grass and something unnameably you.

She stared down at her cookie. Tried to remember how to bite food.

Forest pulled open a drawer. You leaned over to look. Your arm brushed hers — only slightly, only for a second.

But that second? It reset her entire nervous system.

She hadn’t seen you like this before. After. Post-game, post-win, post-whatever storm you and Forest had just survived on the field. You were loud. Charged. Alive.