I opened the door, stepped inside, and there it was.
That scent.
I don't even know how to describe it. It was just… him. Warm cotton, cinnamon, maybe cedarwood? Like a candle designed to emotionally ruin me. The second it hit my nose, my entire nervous system short-circuited.
I didn't even take my shoes off. I just stood there in the entryway, frozen. Backpack still on. Air caught in my throat.
That scent was the same one that had wrapped around me four years ago during The Hug™—yes, capital T, capital H, I've accepted it's a branded trauma now.
My legs felt like gelatin. And not the firm kind, either. The wobbly, melted-in-the-sun kind.
I heard voices from the kitchen.
Laughter.
His laughter.
Deep and smooth and richer than I remembered, like it had grown up and gotten a college degree in ruining me.
I took one cautious step forward and peeked into the room.
There he was.
Back turned, sitting on one of the kitchen stools, leaning slightly sideways to talk to Uncle Dave. Jayden sat on his other side, phone in hand, clearly in the middle of an epic monologue. Aunt Fiona was at the stove, stirring something and occasionally throwing in a "Mmm-hmm" of encouragement.
And there he was, in the center of it.
His hair was a little longer than I remembered—dark and messy in that "I don't try but somehow still look like a shampoo commercial" kind of way. His shoulders were broader, back straighter. He looked… older. Bigger. Realer.
So this is what college does to people. Terrifying.
I couldn't move. I physically could not will myself to walk into that room.
Then—
"Oh! Dali!! You're home." Aunt Fiona spotted me like a heat-seeking missile, her voice slicing through the moment like a joyful guillotine.
I flinched. My feet still refused to move.
"Aunt Fi," I managed. My voice cracked halfway through the syllables.
The entire room turned.
Three heads swiveled toward me.
Uncle Dave smiled warmly, his usual welcome-home expression. "Welcome back, kiddo."
Jayden perked up like a Jack Russell Terrier. "Daliiii! Finally!! You don't know how long I've been waiting for you. I can't beat this level—I need your brain!"
Before I could respond, he launched off the stool and bolted toward me, hugging me with enough force to knock my balance. His phone was already up in my face, the screen blinking with some infuriatingly colorful game and a pixelated dragon on fire.
"Fix this," he demanded.
I blinked at him.
Because behind him… Raven stood.
He had turned around.
And now… he was looking at me.
__________
There are certain moments in life where time feels like it forgets how to operate.
Right then, in the doorway of my foster family's kitchen, Raven Simmons looking straight at me like I wasn't just an awkward, spiraling, 5'5" puddle of hormonal chaos—that was one of those moments.
He smiled.
Not a casual "hey, what's up" smile. No. A full, dimple-on-the-left-cheek, soft-eyed, oh-God-why smile.
"Hey," he said. "Wow. You look… grown."
Grown.
Why did that word hit like a bomb? Why did it sound both mildly illegal and weirdly affirming?
I forgot the English language for a solid two seconds.
Jayden was still clinging to me, waving his phone around like a man on a mission. "Daaaaliii! I'm serious! Help me! I've died like, seven times!"
"I—uh—yeah—okay," I sputtered, not taking my eyes off Raven.
He stepped forward.
It wasn't dramatic. Just two steps, easy and smooth, his hands still in the pockets of his hoodie.
But I swear the floor shifted.
"Hey, Dali," he said again, softer this time. "It's good to see you."
Oh no.
Oh no.
He still had that voice. Low, calm, like he'd been told from birth that other people would listen when he talked. It curled at the edges like a secret. Like something you weren't supposed to want to hear on repeat.
"Hi," I squeaked.
Hi. That's all I managed. Not "Welcome back." Not "You look great." Not "Please don't ruin my life with your face." Just… "hi."
Great start.
Aunt Fiona saved me from further implosion by sweeping in with a spatula still in her hand. "Sweetheart, why don't you go get changed and come down for dinner? We're almost ready."
"Yeah," I said. "Yeah. That's… good. I'll just go do that."
I turned so fast I almost left my backpack behind. Jayden called after me, "You better fix this dragon level later!" but I didn't answer. My feet carried me up the stairs before my brain had even formed the command.
Only when I was safely in my room, door closed, backpack dropped, did I let out the scream.
It wasn't a horror-movie scream. More like a pillow-muffled "WHAT WAS THAT?" type of scream. I dove face-first onto my bed and groaned loud enough to scare a pigeon off my windowsill.
He had gotten hotter. It was official. He had aged like a fine wine with abs. His voice had matured. His jaw had angles now. And he had the audacity—the actual criminal audacity—to look happy to see me.
Four years. Four years of overanalyzing what I could have said, should have said, might have said if I hadn't been a stammering teen in post-trauma silence. And the second I see him again?
"Hi."
Unbelievable.
I rolled onto my back, stared at the ceiling, and did what any reasonable seventeen-year-old would do in this moment.
I texted Tiana one word.
HELP.