Page 223 of Becoming Us

I set my lips in a grim line, recalling every tip I’d managed to pick up—keep the heat low, don’t overcook, add a little cream cheese—and voilà, perfect scrambled eggs. Kinda. Good enough, anyway.

Once they were plated, I grabbed my phone and turned on the music, raising the volume just enough to lure him out.

While the music played, I moved around the kitchen, cleaning as I went, half-mumbling the lyrics. Sure enough, after a minute, the bedroom door creaked open and Atty peeked his head out.

Our eyes met, and I grinned.

I turned away from him, still singing softly. I knew exactly what playlist was on, even if he didn’t recognize the newer songs.

“Breakfast?” His voice was low and rough from sleep, but warm.

I hummed in response, sliding the plates across the counter. He sat on the stool opposite me, that soft, shy smile still lingering on his lips.

“I’ve gotten better,” I said. “I promise.”

We just stared for a second. Something silent passed between us, and then the song ended. Right on cue, the next one started.

“Have you ever heard this one?”

He shook his head.

“That’s a shame. It’s perfect for us.”

“Yeah?”

“It is.”

His blue eyes sparked with something soft and unguarded. The emotion hit me hard and fast, swelling in my chest, thick in my throat.

But he beat me to it.

“Are you going to sing it to me?”

My heart stuttered. “Try to stop me.” I picked up my phone and made sure the volume filled the room.

At the sight of the spatula in my hand, Atty let out a half-choked laugh—one of those beautiful, watery ones. His eyes glistened, which only made mine tear up too.

I climbed over the counter, nudging the plate aside and settling on his lap.

He kept his gaze down, and I held his face gently as the music played around us.

“Okay,” I whispered, “maybe I won’t sing this one. Because somehow this feels a million times more emotional than I thought it would.”

I brushed away the tear trailing down his cheek.

He nodded, lip trembling before he bit down to steady it.

“But I’ll do it,” I said. “A million songs, over a million breakfasts. And every one will be a love song for you. There will never be enough to say everything I feel for you. And I’ll never stop singing them again.”

His arms came around me. He lifted his head, and I met him halfway, resting my forehead against his.

Love Is Only a Feelingplayed on, its lyrics folding around us like a promise.

And in that moment, it struck me.

This wasn’t supposed to be just mine.

It had never been about being mine.