Raven's POV :
A quiet chuckle slipped past my lips as I swirled the wine in my glass. "Didn't take much, huh?"
Across the table, Kairus blinked at me—slow and dazed, chin resting on his palm, his body slouched with the kind of careless grace that only appeared when his guard was down. His white hair, normally slicked back with surgical precision, was a disheveled mess, falling into his eyes and catching the soft gold of the morning light.
He looked up with the most adorably perplexed expression, like he couldn't decide if I'd insulted or complimented him.
"You're drunk," I added, biting back a grin.
"And you're not?" he muttered, voice low and unsteady—lacking his usual sharpness.
I leaned back slightly in my chair, gaze dragging over him, slower now. Softer.
There was something in the way he sat there—unmade, unbothered—that tugged at a thread deep inside my chest.
Because this wasn't the version of him the world knew.
No cold, commanding presence. No deadly aura. No masks.
Just him.
Messy white hair. Glazed, sleepy blue eyes. Shirt wrinkled, collar a little too loose. Elbow planted on the wooden table as if he couldn't be bothered to hold himself upright anymore.
He looked like a painting someone left out in the rain. Softened. Blurred. More real than he'd ever been.
I let my eyes linger on the little details—the slow rise and fall of his chest, the way his fingers tapped lightly against his glass, like they were trying to follow a rhythm even his mind had forgotten. His lashes were thick and dark, brushing faint shadows on his cheeks.
"You're staring," he said, voice gentler than usual.
I didn't look away. "So are you."
His mouth quirked slightly, a tired almost-smile that held no heat.
And then, barely louder than a breath, he asked, "What did he tell you?"
The shift in him was so subtle, I almost missed it.
But I felt it.
Gone was the playful daze. In its place—something hesitant. Vulnerable.
"Your father?" I asked.
He gave the smallest nod. "Yeah."
I didn't sugarcoat it.
"He said you'd toss me aside."
His fingers twitched.
"Said you erase liabilities like you always have."
Kairus blinked slowly, like the words physically hit him. Then, he straightened up just a little. And before I could react, he leaned across the table and cupped my face, hands large and warm, thumbs resting just below my eyes like he was afraid I might disappear.
"No," he said. Not with anger. Not with desperation.
But with a conviction so tender it cracked something raw inside me.
"No, babochka. I wouldn't dare to do that. "
The nickname—usually laced with command, with ownership—sounded different this time.
It wasn't drenched in possession or wrapped in control.
The way he said it now was gentler... Like it almost meant.... Love?
His voice trembled, just slightly. "I wouldn't survive losing you too."
My heart stuttered.
I was used to his fire. His cold fury. His control.
But this? This gentle unraveling?
It disarmed me completely.
Because for once, Kairus wasn't armored in power or pride or cruelty. He was just a man—aching, scared, and for the first time, real.
He pulled back slowly, as if every second he kept touching me was another step closer to something he couldn't take back.
Then he glanced down at his shirt, unbuttoning it one by one until it slid off his shoulders.
Scars marked his skin like constellations, but one in particular—raised, pale—cut across the front of his shoulder. A gunshot scar. Old, but unmistakable.
He didn't look at me as he spoke.
"I was ten," he said, voice flat. "Training in the backyard. My father said I missed a shot. It was a millisecond delay, barely anything. But he didn't even flinch when he raised the gun and pulled the trigger."
My heart lodged somewhere in my throat.
"He said pain builds discipline. But when my mother ran out, screaming, crying—he didn't stop.Just told her I had to be broken to be rebuilt."
Kairus's jaw clenched. His eyes went far away.
I couldn't speak.
"My mother....," he said. "Said I was just a boy. She slapped him so hard I thought she'd broken her hand."
He stopped.
Didn't finish.
His mouth opened like he wanted to say more... then closed. He shrugged instead with that same quiet detachment and looked back at me.
"What about you?"
I took a breath.
"We moved from New York to Russia when I was six," I said slowly. "Dad was a structural engineer. Got transferred, and Mom said we'd make an adventure out of it."
A soft smile touched my lips at the memory.
"We were one of those weirdly happy families. Always eating dinner together, movie nights, my brother sneaking cookies behind mom's back."
Kairus said nothing, just listened.
"But when I was nine, Mom got diagnosed with breast cancer," I continued. "It spread faster than anyone expected. She was gone within the year."
His eyes didn't leave mine.
"Dad did what he could. Tried to keep things normal. But when I was seventeen... there was a car crash. I remember the call. I remember thinking they had the wrong number. That it couldn't be real."
I blinked against the burn in my throat.
"After that... it was just me and Riot. I took every fight I could find. Legal, illegal, didn't matter. As long as it paid."
"And now," I whispered, "he's gone too."
The silence that followed wasn't hollow.
It was full.
Full of the ache of everything we'd carried. The ghosts. The wars. The childhoods we never got to keep.
Kairus didn't try to comfort me.
He didn't promise anything.
He just sat there, the light of the morning brushing over his scarred skin, eyes soft and distant.
Two broken people.
One table.
And a silence that finally felt like understanding.
Kairus stood up suddenly, swaying more than he should have. I rose with a quiet breath, already moving toward him.
"Alright, majestic," I murmured with a faint smirk, "maybe less wine next time."
He chuckled—low and dazed—but it was cut short when he stumbled slightly. I reached out, catching his arm before he could tilt too far, and slipped under his arm to support his weight.
"Come on," I whispered, guiding him through the quiet halls of his penthouse toward the bedroom.
He didn't protest. Just leaned on me, warm and heavy, more pliant than I'd ever seen him. By the time we reached his bed, he let go with a soft sigh, collapsing back onto the mattress. I bent to pull the blanket over him when he caught my wrist.
His fingers were gentle. His gaze… softer than anything I'd known from him.
And then, before I could blink, he tugged me down—just enough to press a kiss to my lips.
It wasn't like the kiss from our wedding day.
Not like the one we shared in hunger and heat.
This one was different.
Featherlight.
Unhurried.
A quiet thing.
It carried no fire, no command. Just…care.
A fragile smile ghosted against my lips before he pulled back, eyes already beginning to flutter shut.
"Ty moyo sokrovishche, kotoroye ya nikogda ne khochu poteryat' , babochka. " he whispered in Russian.
"You're my treasure that I never want to lose, babochka. "
And then, just like that, he drifted into sleep.
I stood there, stunned by the way my heart throbbed in my chest. By the way his walls had crumbled so easily in that moment. Slowly, I sat down beside him, watching the rise and fall of his chest.
My fingers moved before my mind could catch up, brushing back the strands of silver-white hair from his forehead.
He looked.... Peaceful.
Something in my chest squeezed. I bent forward without thinking and pressed a soft kiss to his brow.
It wasn't for him. Not entirely.
It was for me, too.
For the part of me that was starting to ache for him.