The morning sun poured into the Monroe kitchen in long, gentle rays, illuminating the faint mist of flour floating through the air. The faint hum of the refrigerator mixed with the soft sizzling from the stove. River stood barefoot by the counter, a picture of quiet focus and warmth—his long hair tied back in a messy bun, the strands at his temples already escaping to frame his face.
He wore a simple white T-shirt tucked into loose pajama pants, covered by an apron that had long since lost its battle with flour. The fabric was dusted from his chest to his thighs, a white handprint standing out over his hip where he had wiped his palms clean earlier.
The counter in front of him was a chaos that smelled like heaven—croissants golden and flaky, their edges glistening from a brush of butter; pancakes stacked tall and fluffy, dotted with melting chocolate chips; and a bowl of freshly cut fruit, colors vivid under the kitchen light. The blender, still damp, sat beside the sink, having already done its job—two jugs of mixed fruit juice now rested in the fridge, cooling, waiting.
He was carefully spreading whipped cream between the pancakes when a soft, yawning voice floated through the air.
“Mmm… what’s smelling so good?”
River’s head jerked up immediately. His whisk stilled midair. Turning, he saw Elena standing in the doorway, her hair messy and falling to her shoulders, still wearing her pale satin nightgown and robe. Her feet were snug in slippers, her eyes half-open with sleep, but her face softened as she inhaled deeply.
Then her expression shifted—surprise flickering across her features as she realized who was behind the stove.
“River?” she asked, blinking in disbelief. “You’re the one in here?”
He nearly dropped the whisk.
“Uh—y-yeah,” he stammered quickly, rubbing the back of his neck with a nervous laugh. “I… woke up early and thought maybe I could make breakfast for everyone. I’m so sorry—I should have asked you first before touching anything—”
Elena laughed, the sound light and genuine as she crossed the tiled floor.
“No, no, dear, there’s no need to apologize. I’m just… surprised. You’re a guest, you didn’t have to do all this.”
River’s nervous smile faltered slightly, his gaze dropping to the counter.
“I know. I just… missed this. Cooking. It’s something I love doing, I guess.” His voice softened as he added, “It felt nice to make something for everyone.”
“Well, you’ve certainly outdone yourself,” she said with amusement, picking up one of the cooling croissants. “But please, none of this ‘Mrs. Monroe’ formality.”
He blinked, confused for a moment.
“Oh—I’m sorry, Mrs. Mon—”
She raised a finger, smiling warmly.
“No. Not that. You can call me ‘Mom’ if that feels right… or if that’s too early, ‘Aunt.’”
The words caught him off guard, and for a heartbeat, his throat tightened. He forced a laugh that came out thin.
“Aunt sounds… perfect, for now.” Then, with a faint, trembling smile, he added, “We’ll… upgrade with time. If fate allows it.”
Elena’s eyes softened, something tender flickering there. She moved closer to him, picking up a spatula to help with the pancakes.
“And why wouldn’t fate allow it?” she asked quietly. “You’ve already done more for my son than I could’ve hoped. I can’t thank you enough for that.”
River’s hands hesitated mid-motion.
“It’s all him, really,” he said lightly, eyes on the stove. “Guess it just… came with age.”
Elena chuckled knowingly.
“Growing up, Zayn was always naughty. Mischievous, stubborn, and more trouble than his brother ever was.” Her tone turned nostalgic, her gaze drifting as she flipped a pancake beside him. “His father used to spoil him so much. Leonardo adored him.”
River’s head snapped up, surprise flashing in his eyes.
“Sir Leonardo? Spoil Zayn?”
She laughed softly.
“You’d better believe it. He wasn’t always the stern man everyone sees. He loved his boys. He still does, in his own way.” Her voice dimmed then, a shadow passing over it. “But when he found out Zayn was gay, he… changed. He was disappointed. Every gay man he had ever met was lost in one way or another, reckless, unstable, and he thought Zayn would end up the same. It broke something in him.”
River’s lips parted, but no words came. The pain in her tone was enough to silence him.
Elena went on, voice trembling slightly.
“Leonardo hoped he’d grow out of it, a childish experiment. He wanted him to be ‘normal,’ whatever that meant. But when he didn’t… he tried to fix him. Tried to turn him straight.” She swallowed hard. “That was when Zayn began to rebel.
They’re too much alike — both stubborn, both proud. When Leonardo couldn’t control him, he cut him off. Thought that would make Zayn come back begging. But instead, it only pushed him away. I begged them both to talk, to forgive each other, but… neither would bend.”
She looked away then, her voice trembling just slightly.
“A mother’s heart breaks when her family falls apart like that.”
River hesitated before setting the spatula down and resting a gentle hand on her shoulder. His voice dropped, soft and sincere.
“I’m so sorry you went through that. I know what it’s like to have a bond with your mom that’s… everything. I’d give anything just to spend one more day with mine, even 5 seconds.”
Elena’s eyes lifted, glistening faintly, but her smile was tender.
“I’m sure she’s proud of you, River. Very proud.”
He laughed weakly, blinking away the blur in his eyes.
“You really think so?”
“I know so,” she said simply.
He hesitated, then whispered,
“Would it be… okay if I hugged you?”
Elena didn’t even hesitate.
“Of course.”
He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her. She smelled faintly of lavender and warmth—like comfort itself. Her embrace was steady, motherly, and something in him broke a little. They stood like that for what felt like forever, holding on, as if they were both filling old empty spaces.
When they finally pulled apart, Elena smiled through the emotion.
“Well,” she said softly, dabbing at the corner of her eye, “I suppose we’ve managed to turn breakfast into a therapy session.”
River laughed wetly, brushing his face with his sleeve.
“I guess we did. Emotional pancakes.”
“Perfect name,” she teased, reaching for another bowl. “Now, tell me what else you need me to do before I burn something.”
Together, they fell into a comfortable rhythm—Elena mixing, River flipping, both laughing softly as she told him stories of Zayn’s childhood. She described how he once tried to dye the family dog’s fur blue, how he’d sneak into the kitchen at midnight to eat cookie dough, how he’d throw tantrums whenever his father scolded him.
River couldn’t stop smiling. The way she spoke about her son, the warmth in her voice—it made his heart swell.
For Elena, it was even more precious. Watching this young man cook, laugh, and listen with genuine affection, she felt a strange, grateful peace settle over her. For the first time in a long time, her kitchen felt alive again—not from noise, but from love.
***
Damian leaned back in his chair, a warm croissant in his hand. He bit into it, eyes closing as an audible moan slipped from his throat.
“Oh my God,” he muttered, chewing slowly, bliss practically melting on his tongue. “This is unreal.”
Everyone turned toward him, startled and amused, as he pointed at the half-eaten croissant.
“River, I’m serious—these are the best I’ve ever tasted. And I mean it.”
Across the table, River smiled bashfully, his face pink under the praise. He sat closely beside Zayn, who looked smugly pleased, one arm resting casually along the back of River’s chair.
Liana, sitting beside Damian, raised a brow and nudged him playfully with her elbow.
“Watch what you’re saying, babe,” she teased with a grin. “Remember who made breakfast for you last weekend?”
Damian froze, then chuckled awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck.
“Right, right. Second best croissants. Obviously.”
The whole table erupted with laughter—Elena’s melodic giggle, Damian’s sheepish grin, Zayn’s low amused hum—but not everyone was smiling. Veronica sat rigidly across from them, her fork clinking against her plate, her eyes flicking toward River with thinly veiled disdain. Beside her, Harry rolled his eyes dramatically, sighing like he’d been forced to attend a comedy show he didn’t buy tickets for.
Elena, oblivious or deliberately ignoring the tension, leaned forward with a radiant smile.
“I’m just so happy,” she said, her voice soft but full of warmth. “Both my sons finally found someone who will take care of them. It’s all a mother could ever hope for.”
River smiled faintly, glancing at Zayn. Their eyes met across the brief silence—his soft and grateful, Zayn’s flickering with something sadder, more complicated. They both smiled, though, because what else could they do?
Then Veronica broke the peace like a dropped plate.
“Oh, please,” she muttered, slicing into her croissant with unnecessary force. “Damian’s the one who hit the jackpot. He’s marrying someone who’ll give him stability. But Zayn?” She smirked thinly, eyes flicking to River. “I don’t get what everyone’s praising him for. His breakfast’s… fine. A little basic. Honestly, it tastes like something off a food truck.”
A stunned silence followed. Even Harry’s eyes widened slightly at her tone.
Elena, however, didn’t flinch. She smiled sweetly but her words hit like a well-aimed dart.
“You shouldn’t judge someone’s cooking, dear, when you’ve never set foot in a kitchen yourself.”
Veronica let out a dry laugh.
“Why should I? I have staff for that.”
River, who’d been quietly taking a sip of juice, muttered under his breath,
“That—or she’s just a pathetic cook.”
The sound of a fork hitting a plate broke the silence. Veronica’s head snapped up, eyes narrowing.
“What was that?”
River blinked innocently.
“Nothing. I didn’t say anything.”
Veronica opened her mouth, ready to unleash something vicious, but Leonardo’s deep voice interrupted.
“River,” he said, turning to him with surprising calm. “Who taught you to cook like this?”
River sat up straight, startled.
“My mom, sir,” he said softly. “I spent most of my time with her in the kitchen before she passed away. So, all credit goes to her.”
Leonardo nodded slowly, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
“She must have been a remarkable woman.” Then, turning to Zayn, his tone shifted—gentler, almost teasing. “You know, son, River isn’t just smart—he’s also an excellent cook. Tell me, why do you still call him your boyfriend when it’s been what, over 3 years? Aren’t you worried someone will steal a gem like him away?”
The room froze. Zayn’s fork paused halfway to his mouth, his throat bobbing. That was the first time since returning home that his father had spoken to him without coldness or disappointment.
He blinked rapidly, caught off guard.
“I—I, uh…”
River could feel the tension, the way Zayn’s breath hitched beside him. Smiling gently, he came to his rescue.
“Zayn’s just… been busy, Mr. Monroe,” he said smoothly. “We’re still learning more about each other. There’s no rush.”
Leonardo gave a thoughtful hum.
“Busy, hm? I proposed to Elena while we were still in university,” he said, eyes glinting. “And as far as I know, gay marriage is perfectly legal now. You don’t find good boys like River every day.”
Zayn swallowed hard.
“Y-yeah… I’m—I’m working on it,” he said, forcing a shaky smile.
“You better be,” Leonardo said firmly, turning to Damian with pride. “Your brother’s marrying a woman with beauty and brains who’ll help run the company. You need to catch up—find yourself a good lawyer to stand beside you.”
Zayn’s heart thudded at that—an old, familiar ache twisting in his chest. He looked at his father, emotion tightening his throat. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at this strange, fragile peace.
River reached under the table, his hand finding Zayn’s thigh. He squeezed gently, reassuringly. Zayn looked at him, their eyes locking, and for a moment, the noise around them faded.
And then—
“What the hell, Leonardo?”
Veronica’s sharp voice shattered the mood.
“You’re encouraging this?” She gestured at Zayn and River with a sneer. “I could overlook the ridiculous talk of marriage, but really? It takes more than cooking and—”
“—And what?” Leonardo interrupted, voice cold. “How would you know, Veronica? Last I checked, you’ve never been married long enough to find out.”
Gasps rippled across the table. Liana’s hand flew to her mouth. Damian looked at his plate like it had suddenly become fascinating. Even Zayn coughed to hide a laugh.
Leonardo leaned back casually.
“Two minutes of marriage before your husband ran off and left you pregnant—maybe you’re not the best authority on relationships.”
Veronica’s face flushed crimson.
“You—you’re bringing that up?” she sputtered. “Over a stranger we barely know?”
Leonardo’s expression hardened.
“River isn’t a stranger. He’s Zayn’s guest—and his boyfriend. Show some respect, Veronica. You’re a grown woman, not a tantrum-throwing child.”
Everyone went silent. Even the sound of cutlery stopped.
And then—River’s quiet laugh slipped out.
He tried to hide it, biting his lip, but the corner of his mouth betrayed him.
Veronica noticed instantly.
“What’s so funny?” she snapped, slamming her fork down.
River’s eyes widened, hands raised.
“Nothing! I didn’t say anything.”
“Oh, really?” she said, voice rising. “Just because you’re warming Zayn’s bed doesn’t mean you’re a permanent resident here!”
Elena sighed, rubbing her temples.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Veronica, why is your blood always boiling?”
River couldn’t help himself. The words slipped out, barely audible but perfectly timed:
“Menopause.”
The silence that followed was explosive.
Veronica’s neck snapped toward him so fast it was a wonder she didn’t sprain something.
River froze.
“It was—a joke?” he said weakly, smile evaporating as quickly as it came.
Veronica let out a furious growl, hitting her palm on the table so hard the cutlery rattled.
“You little—!”
Before anyone could say another word, she shot up from her seat and stormed out, muttering something under her breath that sounded distinctly unholy. Adrian sighed, threw River an apologetic look, and ran after his mother.
The remaining table occupants sat in stunned silence for half a second—then Leonardo burst out laughing. A deep, genuine laugh that rolled through the dining room.
“Relax, son,” he said, clapping River on the shoulder. “We’re just having fun here.”
River blinked, then chuckled awkwardly, relief washing over him.
“Right… fun.”
Elena was still wiping tears from her eyes, half laughing, half scolding her husband.
“Leonardo, you shouldn’t encourage them!”
But the laughter was contagious. Even Damian snorted into his juice, and Liana giggled behind her hand.
And then—
The table shook.
Zayn flinched, nearly spilling his coffee, his entire body jerking upright. River looked at him in alarm.
“Zayn? Are you okay?”
Zayn swallowed hard, nodding stiffly.
“Yeah, yeah—just a muscle jerk.”
Across the table, Harry smirked, his hand disappearing casually back under the table. Zayn could still feel the phantom touch on his thigh, the teasing brush of Harry’s leg against his.
When he dared glance up, Harry was staring straight at him—eyes glinting, lips curved into a slow, knowing smirk.
Zayn’s pulse quickened. He clenched his jaw, forcing a polite smile as River turned back to his plate, oblivious.
It was only breakfast… but for Zayn, it suddenly felt like a minefield of emotions, family, and temptation all at once. And the day had only just begun.
***
The air was soft and sun high, the pool shimmering beneath the sunlight like a sheet of glass. River stood at the edge, arms wrapped around himself as a faint breeze brushed his hair across his forehead. From where he stood, he could hear the gentle hum of laughter drifting from the other side of the pool — Zayn, Damian, and Liana were huddled together, talking animatedly about the wedding. Zayn’s voice carried above the rest, warm and confident, his laughter rolling out deep and carefree.
River’s eyes lingered on him.
Zayn really was something — tall, composed, devastatingly handsome. The way his smile curved, the way his eyes softened when he laughed — River felt that familiar warmth bloom in his chest. He shouldn’t have. Not now. Not after everything. But it was impossible not to. Zayn had that kind of charm that pulled you in even when you tried to resist.
He was still staring when a voice broke the spell, smooth and sharp all at once.
“Zayn’s such a dream, isn’t he?”
River froze. That voice — it was unmistakable. He turned sharply, and there stood Harry, arms crossed, leaning against a post with that infuriating grin spread across his face. His hair was slicked back, his shirt slightly unbuttoned, his entire posture oozing confidence and mischief.
The warmth in River’s chest immediately faded. His expression tightened, the faint smile he’d worn moments ago vanishing.
“What do you want, Harry?” he asked coolly.
Harry’s grin widened.
“Oh, don’t be like that,” he said, strolling closer. “We didn’t quite get the time to talk — get to know each other properly.”
River let out a quiet laugh, more out of disbelief than amusement.
“Talk? I think I’ve heard enough about you already. And besides…” He crossed his arms, mirroring Harry. “I don’t see any reason to get to know my boyfriend’s ex. I already know enough.”
Harry tilted his head, feigning innocence.
“Do you now? And what exactly do you know, sweetheart?”
River’s eyes flicked over him, unamused.
“Enough.”
Harry chuckled, his tone turning sharp, almost teasing.
“Really? Did he tell you that I was his greatest love? His first love?”
River’s expression faltered — only slightly — but Harry caught it. That faint flicker of discomfort. His grin deepened.
“Ah,” he murmured. “I see he didn’t.” He took a step closer, lowering his voice. “Zayn might’ve been a naughty one, but when it came to me? He was different. Passionate. Consuming.”
River’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing.
“Good for you,” he said finally, a small, forced smile crossing his lips. “But that’s the past, Harry. You’re Zayn’s past.” His tone softened, but there was a quiet firmness beneath it. “And I’m his present. Possibly his future.”
Harry gave a mock pout.
“Present, sure,” he said, his tone laced with mockery. “But future?” He clicked his tongue, smirking. “Mmm, I wouldn’t bet on that.”
River frowned.
“What are you talking about?”
Harry’s smile turned wicked.
“Oh, I thought your boyfriend told you everything.” He leaned in closer, his breath warm against River’s cheek. “Did he tell you about last night? How he bit my lip and moaned my name?”
River’s eyes widened, his breath catching.
Harry’s gaze darkened, his voice turning low and taunting.
“Did he tell you how we kissed? How it felt like fire? The way he held me like he didn’t want to let go? The way our tongues—”
“Stop,” River said sharply, his voice trembling slightly.
But Harry didn’t stop. His hand rose to his lips, and he brushed his thumb across them as if reliving the memory.
“It was… unforgettable,” he whispered, letting out a small, fake moan. “Zayn’s got quite the mouth.”
River’s chest tightened. He swallowed hard, his gaze drifting back to where Zayn still stood, laughing easily with Damian. The sight hurt more than it should have. He wanted to believe it wasn’t true, that Harry was lying, but something about the confidence in his voice — the cruel certainty — made him doubt.
Harry noticed. He saw that flicker of pain, and his smirk deepened.
“Oh, and about breakfast this morning?” he continued, his tone turning almost gleeful. “Did you notice how touchy we were under the table? The little rubs, the stolen glances?”
River’s breath hitched.
“You might be his present,” Harry said softly, “but when it comes to me… you don’t stand a chance.”
River blinked, his throat tight. He turned, trying to walk away before the sting in his eyes became visible — but Harry caught his wrist, gripping it tightly.
“Let me go,” River said, his voice cold.
Harry smirked.
“Oh, I’ll let you go… after this.”
And with one sharp pull, both of them stumbled. River’s feet slipped against the wet tiles, and before he could steady himself—
SPLASH!
The sound cracked through the air, followed by a burst of water as both men plunged into the pool.
The cold hit River like a slap. His lungs seized, and his eyes flew open beneath the churning blue. He tried to kick, to reach the surface, but panic overtook him. His arms flailed, his chest burned. He couldn’t swim. The water felt endless, dragging him down, swallowing him whole. His heart pounded violently against his ribs as he tried to cry out, but the water filled his mouth instead.
Meanwhile, Harry was splashing wildly, coughing and screaming for help.
“ZAYN! HELP! I—I can’t swim!”
Zayn, who had been mid-laugh with Damian, froze when he heard the cry. He turned sharply — his eyes widening at the sight of the two figures floundering in the pool.
“Shit!”
Without a moment’s hesitation, he sprinted toward the edge, tossing off his jacket and diving straight in.
“Zayn!” Liana gasped, rushing toward the water. Damian was right behind her, his face pale.
Zayn sliced through the pool, his arms cutting through the water with desperate force. But instead of going for River — who was sinking, his movements slowing — Zayn veered toward Harry. He wrapped an arm around him, pulling him close.
“I got you!” Zayn shouted over the splashing. “Hold on!”
Harry clung to him, gasping and trembling. His lips quivered — but not from fear. He could see River sinking behind Zayn’s back, his hand barely reaching the surface — and a faint, victorious smirk touched his lips.
“Damian!” Liana cried.
Damian didn’t hesitate. He kicked off his shoes and dove in, his strokes powerful and steady. Within seconds, he reached River, who was barely conscious, and pulled him close, holding him tightly as he swam back to the edge.
Liana knelt, reaching out her hands. Together, she and Damian hauled River out of the pool. He coughed violently, sputtering water, his entire body trembling. She wrapped a towel around him, her voice trembling with worry.
“Are you okay? River, can you hear me?”
River nodded weakly, his breaths ragged.
“I’m fine,” he rasped, though his voice cracked. He blinked through the blur of water, his gaze landing on the opposite side of the pool.
Zayn was kneeling beside Harry, one hand cupping his face, the other steadying his back.
“Are you okay?” Zayn asked urgently.
Harry nodded, his breathing uneven.
“Yeah,” he whispered. “Thanks to you.”
Then he leaned forward, wrapping his arms around Zayn in a trembling embrace — though his eyes, over Zayn’s shoulder, locked with River’s. That same evil grin returned, cruel and mocking.
River’s chest tightened painfully. He tore his gaze away, forcing a small smile as Damian placed a hand on his shoulder.
“You sure you’re okay?” Damian asked softly.
“Yeah,” River whispered. He managed a weak laugh. “Thank you… for saving me. I didn’t… I didn’t know how to swim.”
Damian smiled gently, brushing the wet hair from his forehead.
“You’re welcome.”
River nodded once more, then stood, his legs shaky but his expression calm.
“I should… go get changed.”
As he turned and walked away, Zayn asked Harry one more time if he was okay — but he couldn’t hear any of it. His heart was pounding too hard, his chest too heavy. He didn’t know what hurt more — the cold water that still clung to his skin, or the sight of Zayn’s arms around Harry.
Liana and Damian stayed behind, exchanging a look of quiet disappointment — watching as Zayn still hovered beside Harry, utterly unaware that the one who needed saving the most had already walked away.
Liana’s sandals clicked against the wet tiles as she approached the two men still kneeling by the pool. Zayn had his arm around Harry, his hand steady on the man’s back as if afraid he’d collapse again. Harry, ever the dramatist, kept leaning into him, his breathing exaggerated, his wet shirt clinging to his chest
“Zayn,” Liana said, her tone firm but calm. “He’s fine now. You can let him go.”
Zayn blinked up at her, confused, his hand still resting against Harry’s shoulder.
“I just wanted to make sure he—”
“He’s fine,” Liana repeated, sharper this time. Her eyes flicked to Harry, who shot her an annoyed glare. “You can stand now.”
Harry frowned, his jaw tightening.
“I almost drowned,” he said, feigning offense. “I think it’s fair I get a little comfort.”
Liana crossed her arms, unimpressed.
“Comfort? Zayn has a boyfriend. And if his boyfriend saw him clinging to his ex like that, what do you think it would look like?”
The words hit their mark. Harry froze, his expression faltering. Beneath the calm surface, fury simmered — a slow, hot burn that twisted his gut. She’s trying to embarrass me. He clenched his jaw, his eyes flashing with irritation as Zayn hesitated.
Zayn finally loosened his hold and stood, his hand slipping away from Harry’s shoulder. The sudden absence made Harry’s chest twist — anger, frustration, and wounded pride all tangling together.
“I can stand on my own,” Harry muttered bitterly.
“Good,” Liana said briskly, reaching for Zayn’s arm. “Come on. You’ve done enough.” She turned away, gently guiding him toward the villa.
Harry watched them go, his wet hair dripping down his cheek, his fists tightening at his sides. His jaw ticked. He could still feel the ghost of Zayn’s hand on him — and now that warmth had been ripped away because of her.
As Zayn walked off beside Liana, he glanced over his shoulder. Harry stood there glaring, his expression dark and hard to read. But there was something in his eyes — something that made Zayn’s stomach churn uneasily before he looked away.
Damian met them halfway, arms crossed, face tight with barely contained irritation.
“What the hell was that?” he asked, his voice low but sharp.
Zayn frowned, confused.
“What do you mean?”
Damian’s eyes widened in disbelief.
“What do I mean? Your boyfriend just nearly drowned, Zayn! He doesn’t even know how to swim! And you —” he jabbed a finger toward Zayn’s chest “— went to save Harry instead?”
Zayn’s heart skipped. His mouth went dry.
“Wait—River?!” His eyes widened, horror flashing across his face. “Shit. I didn’t know— I didn’t realize he—” He groaned and ran a hand through his soaked hair. “Damn it.”
Damian shook his head, his disappointment heavy.
“Of all the shifty, stupid things you’ve done,” he said, his tone dark and measured, “this one tops them all. River had every right to be upset with you.”
Zayn’s shoulders slumped, the weight of Damian’s words crashing down on him. He pressed his palms against his face and muttered, “I’m gonna apologize. I’ll go to him right now—”
“Not like that,” Damian interrupted sharply.
Zayn dropped his hands, looking up at his brother.
“What do you mean not like that?”
“I mean,” Damian said, stepping closer, lowering his voice, “words aren’t enough this time. You need to show him you’re sorry. He nearly drowned, Zayn. He could’ve died. And all he saw when he came up was you holding Harry.”
Zayn winced, guilt twisting in his gut.
“Damian, I swear I didn’t think—”
“That’s the problem,” Damian said. “You never think when it comes to Harry.”
Zayn flinched but didn’t argue. He knew his brother was right.
Damian sighed, running a hand through his damp hair.
“Come on,” he said after a moment, his tone softening. “You wanna fix this? Then do something that’ll actually make him believe you’re sorry.”
Zayn looked at him, uncertain.
“Like what?”
A small, knowing smirk tugged at Damian’s lips.
“Come with me,” he said simply.
Zayn frowned. “Where are we going?”
Damian started walking toward the house, not bothering to answer.
“You’ll see,” he called over his shoulder.
And though Zayn’s stomach twisted with anxiety — the image of River’s hurt face still burned into his mind — he followed. Because for the first time in a long while, he realized he might have pushed things too far… and he couldn’t bear to lose the one person who’d done nothing but help him set things right.
***
The orange blush of the evening sun spread across the horizon, spilling over the manicured lawns and painting the sky with fading warmth. River stood just at the edge of the patio, his hands stuffed in his pockets, the faint scent of chlorine and cut grass hanging in the air. His hair, still slightly damp from the earlier chaos, caught the golden light like silk. He had changed into a clean shirt and soft joggers, but his body still felt heavy — not just from the water he’d swallowed but from the emotions that had drowned him far deeper than any pool could.
He took a slow breath, the kind that trembled faintly on release, and murmured under his breath,
“I shouldn’t even be thinking about this.”
But he was.
His mind kept pulling him back to the moment he’d fallen — the shock of the water hitting his face, the desperate flailing, the cold panic crawling through his chest. Then, the way he’d come up gasping only to see Zayn... holding Harry. His breath hitched at the memory. He had tried to convince himself it didn’t matter, that Zayn didn’t mean to, that maybe it was instinct. But deep down, that little ache in his heart refused to be silenced.
He rubbed his arms, trying to chase away the cold that wasn’t really there. His eyes drifted toward the pool again, but then his mind wandered elsewhere — back to when he had first seen Zayn.
He remembered that day vividly. He had been at the mall, balancing a coffee cup in one hand, a pile of textbooks in the other. The escalator had jerked slightly, and his shoe had slipped. He had nearly lost his balance — until a hand, strong and sure, had grabbed his arm. He’d looked up then, straight into a pair of brown eyes and a smile that made his pulse skip.
Zayn Monroe.
River had recognized him immediately — the same face he’d seen on billboards, in magazines, in those glossy spreads he’d secretly kept. Zayn had been polite, almost charming that day, asking if he was okay before walking off surrounded by fans. Later, River had even caught him during a photoshoot near the campus and had stood there longer than he should have, pretending he was just curious, when really, he’d been captivated.
And yet, when they finally met again… the man had been nothing like that smiling, charismatic model from the magazines. He’d been rude, defensive, distant — like someone who had built a fortress around himself and dared anyone to break through it.
River smiled faintly, shaking his head.
“Have pity on your heart,” he whispered to himself. “You should’ve known better.”
He didn’t notice the soft sound of shoes behind him until someone cleared their throat.
River turned — and immediately straightened, almost instinctively pulling himself together. Leonardo Monroe stood there, composed as ever, wearing a crisp linen shirt and slacks, his presence commanding the quiet of the fading day. His salt-and-pepper hair gleamed faintly under the light, and that unreadable expression — half stern, half thoughtful — rested easily on his face.
“Sir Leonardo,” River said quickly, bowing his head slightly out of respect.
Leonardo’s lips twitched faintly.
“You okay, son?” he asked, his tone calm but not without warmth.
River tried to smile.
“For someone who almost drowned today, I’d say I’m doing remarkably well, sir.”
Leonardo chuckled quietly, his eyes glinting with amusement.
“Yes, I heard about that. Quite the commotion, I’m told. I’m glad you’re alright.” He tilted his head. “Though I must admit, for someone with your many talents, I’m surprised swimming isn’t one of them.”
River let out a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Yeah, well… I never really got to learn. But it’s on my bucket list.”
Leonardo gave a full, genuine laugh this time — deep, rich, the kind that softened his otherwise strict demeanor.
“Well, add ‘learning quickly’ to that list too. I’ve seen people fall in love slower than you fell into that pool.”
River laughed too, cheeks warm.
“Noted, sir.”
They stood side by side, the silence between them surprisingly comfortable. Leonardo placed both hands in his pockets, his gaze drifting toward the sunset.
“Days move fast, don’t they?” he murmured. “Feels like only yesterday I used to carry Damian on my shoulders. And now, in just four days, I’ll be walking him down the aisle.”
River smiled softly.
“Isn’t that the dream of every parent, though? To see their children grow up and find happiness?”
Leonardo nodded, his eyes distant.
“It is. But it also means… the child grows away. There are things we can’t do together anymore. Conversations that stop happening. Moments that vanish before you realize they mattered.”
River looked at him — at the heaviness in his eyes.
“Lucky for you, you’ve got two sons,” he said gently.
Leonardo’s lips curved into a sad smile.
“Yeah…” He exhaled slowly. “Lucky me.”
Silence stretched between them, filled only by the soft chirping of crickets.
After a long pause, River spoke.
“I know it’s not really my place, sir, but… may I ask you something?”
Leonardo turned toward him.
“Go ahead.”
“Why haven’t you had a proper conversation with Zayn?” River asked carefully. “I mean… a real father-to-son talk. From what I understand, it’s been a while.”
Leonardo didn’t speak at first. His jaw tensed. His eyes fixed on the setting sun. Then, softly, he said,
“Six years. Three months. Seven days and…” He glanced at his watch. “Three minutes… thirty-four seconds.”
River’s head snapped toward him, his eyes widening.
“You keep track of it?”
Leonardo’s lips twitched faintly.
“I’m a father,” he said simply. “No matter how far we’ve fallen apart, he’s still my son.”
River swallowed, moved by the weight of that statement.
“Then… why didn’t you reach out to him all this time?”
Leonardo sighed.
“Because I wanted him to come back on his own. I wanted him to find himself first. I thought… if I gave him time, he’d come back ready. Stronger.”
River looked down, his voice soft but earnest.
“Time’s a dangerous thing, sir. It can heal — but it can also distance. Sometimes, by the time we think they’re ready… it’s already too late.”
Leonardo turned to him, his gaze thoughtful.
River continued, “I lost my mother young. If I could spend even one more day with her, I would. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that we should never wait too long to hold on to the people we love.”
Leonardo’s expression softened.
“You’re wise for your age, River.”
River smiled faintly.
“No, sir. Just someone who’s learned the hard way.”
Leonardo looked at him for a long moment, something shifting quietly behind his eyes — admiration, maybe even regret.
“You know,” he said finally, “you’re… not what I expected.”
River arched a brow.
“Not what you expected?”
Leonardo chuckled, shaking his head.
“I used to think all gay men were… loud. Dramatic. Messy. I’ll admit it — I judged unfairly. But you…” He gestured at him vaguely. “You’re different.”
River gave him a small, kind smile.
“Maybe it’s not that I’m different, sir. Maybe you just never met enough of us.”
Leonardo laughed — genuinely laughed — and nodded.
“Maybe you’re right.”
They stood together a moment longer before Leonardo’s tone shifted.
“Tell me, River, how knowledgeable are you about legal matters?”
River blinked.
“Legal matters? Uh… I wouldn’t call myself an expert, but I’ve studied a fair bit. Why?”
Leonardo smiled faintly.
“Good. I could use your insight on something. Walk with me.”
River’s brows furrowed curiously, but he followed as Leonardo turned toward the house.
The sun finally dipped below the horizon behind them, its last rays fading as the two men walked back inside — one with quiet authority, the other with hesitant curiosity — unaware that the conversation they’d just shared would begin to reshape everything between father, son, and the boy who had unknowingly become their bridge.
***
The door creaked open, and River stepped in. It was almost ten p.m., and the room was dimly lit by the soft glow of the bedside lamp. He froze for a second when he saw Zayn sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees, his phone in his hand.
The moment River entered, Zayn shot up, eyes wide with relief.
“Where were you?” he asked, rushing to him. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere. You weren’t at dinner, you left your phone here, and—” He stopped mid-sentence, scanning River from head to toe. “Are you okay?”
River blinked, his expression calm but distant.
“I’m fine,” he said softly, his tone formal as if he were talking to someone he worked with, not someone who once made his heart pound. “I was with your father, actually. He needed help with some legal matters.”
Zayn’s brows knit together.
“My father?”
River nodded, dropping his bag on the chair.
“Yes. Company-related issues. It was… productive.”
Zayn reached for his arm, inspecting him like a worried doctor.
“You sure you’re okay? You inhaled a lot of water earlier. I’ve been freaking out thinking you were sick or something.”
River smiled faintly, his eyes soft but tired.
“I’m fine, really. Damian saved my life.”
Zayn frowned, guilt flashing across his face as he led River gently to the bed.
“I didn’t know. I swear, I didn’t see you. I thought—”
“How could you have seen me,” River interrupted dramatically, “when that other hot piece of ass was drowning right next to me?” He threw in a wink, his tone teasing but edged with bitterness.
Zayn groaned, burying his face in his hands.
“River, it’s not funny. You could’ve seriously gotten hurt. I promised no harm would come to you and then—”
“There’s no need to apologize,” River cut in, smiling, trying to lighten the air. “We both survived, that’s what matters. Besides…” He smirked slightly. “If I died, who would you annoy every morning?”
Zayn’s lips twitched into a reluctant grin.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“One hundred percent,” River said, raising his hand like he was swearing an oath. “See? Breathing. Talking. Still hot.”
Zayn laughed out loud, shaking his head.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“I get that a lot,” River said proudly, tossing an imaginary strand of hair back.
Zayn reached out suddenly and poked his forehead with his finger.
“Unbelievable and dramatic.”
River stumbled back, holding his forehead as if mortally wounded.
“Ow! You monster! I nearly drowned and now you’re trying to finish the job?”
Zayn burst out laughing, clutching his stomach.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m hurt!” River huffed, dramatically collapsing onto the bed. “My soul is leaving my body.”
Still laughing, Zayn reached behind the chair and said,
“Alright, drama king. Before your spirit ascends, I’ve got something for you.”
River peeked through one eye.
“Is it an apology? Because I only accept gifts wrapped in glitter.”
“Close,” Zayn said, holding up a massive teddy bear. It was soft beige with a satin ribbon tied around its neck and the words I’m sorry, you idiot stitched in sparkly red thread across its belly.
River gasped.
“It talks?”
Zayn grinned.
“No, but it’s my peace offering. Damian’s idea, but my heart bought it.”
River squealed—actually squealed—and hugged the teddy tightly, pressing his cheek against its plush fur.
“He’s so soft! And warm! I’m naming him Zayn.”
Zayn blinked.
“You’re naming the bear after me?”
River nodded enthusiastically.
“That way I’ll have something to hold when you annoy me in real life.”
Zayn chuckled, watching him fondly.
“If you say so. But you might not need it for long. The deal ends soon, remember? We’ll be going our separate ways.”
River looked up, smiling faintly but saying nothing. The words “separate ways” felt heavier than they should have.
Zayn ruffled his hair playfully.
“You’re not as bad as I thought you’d be.”
River’s lips curved into a soft smile.
“Careful. That almost sounded like a compliment.”
“Almost,” Zayn teased, leaning closer. “Now come on, since I owe you my life, how about a massage?”
River arched a brow.
“A massage? You? You’d crush my spine.”
“Oh please, I’ve got magic hands,” Zayn said, flexing dramatically.
“Yeah, magic for breaking bones.”
“C’mere, you coward.”
“Don’t touch me, I bruise easily!”
The two rolled and laughed on the bed, playfully wrestling until Zayn pinned him down, both of them panting and grinning like fools. The air between them grew thick with laughter and something else unspoken—until a sharp knock shattered the moment.
They froze.
Another knock—harder this time.
Zayn frowned, got off the bed, and walked toward the door.
“Who the hell—”
The door flew open, and Harry stumbled inside, reeking of alcohol, his shirt half unbuttoned, his eyes glassy.
“Harry?!” Zayn exclaimed.
Harry brushed past him, nearly tripping over his own feet as he staggered toward the bed.
“I’ve been holding it in for too long,” he slurred. “I want to be with you, Zayn. You’re supposed to be with me, not four eyes!” He jabbed a finger at River.
River stiffened, his face unreadable.
Zayn rushed to steady Harry.
“You’re drunk, mate. Let’s get you to your room—”
But Harry grabbed his neck, yanking him down.
“No! I need you. You need me!” His voice cracked, desperate. “You can stop pretending.”
“Harry—” Zayn started, glancing helplessly at River, whose blank stare was far worse than anger.
Harry’s words slurred into a whisper.
“He already knows. About us. About the kiss.”
River’s chest tightened.
Harry smirked, brushing his thumb over Zayn’s lips.
“We don’t have to hide anymore.”
And then—he kissed him.
Soft. Lingering. Too long.
Zayn froze for half a second… and then—God help him—he responded. Just a little. Enough for River to see.
River stood perfectly still, the teddy bear slipping from his arms to the floor with a muffled thud.
“I’ll go,” he said softly, his voice trembling despite his effort to sound calm. “Harry can have the room.” He turned to the door, grabbing the teddy again with a shaky hand.
“River, wait!” Zayn called, trying to pull away, but Harry’s arms tightened around him.
Zayn struggled, his voice panicked.
“River, just give me a minute—”
River stopped at the doorway and looked back one last time—just in time to see Harry kiss Zayn again. And Zayn, once again, didn’t push him away.
The sound of the door slamming echoed like a gunshot.
Harry collapsed on the bed moments later, snoring loudly. Zayn stood frozen, breathing hard, guilt flooding his face. He yanked his hands through his hair and swore under his breath.
He rushed outside, calling out, “River! River, wait!”
But the hallway was empty.
No answer. No shadow. Just silence and the faint echo of his own voice fading into the night.
Zayn clenched his fists, his chest burning.
“Damn it…” he muttered, looking down the long corridor.
To be continued...
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