𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙏𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙗𝙡𝙚 𝙒𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙊𝙥𝙚𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙐𝙥.

Home.

The front door clicked shut behind Killian. The house was still and dim. Only the kitchen light glowed down the hall. The twins didn't even say goodnight. They just disappeared, shoes and jackets left in a pile by the door. Killian didn't blame them.

He stepped into the kitchen, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. MJ was standing over the sink, rinsing some dishes. She looked up when he walked in.

"Hey." She greeted, "You're back."

"Yeah." He nodded stiffly, setting a takeout bag on the counter. "Sorry it got late."

"No big deal. Trenton passed out easy. After his favorite bedtime story, of course."

"Of course... he'll try to trick you into reading five in a row if you're not careful."

MJ smirked. "He tried. I told him I don't negotiate after 8 PM. "

Killian laughed under his breath, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. He moved to the fridge, opened it, and then closed it again without grabbing anything.

MJ dried her hands on a dishtowel, then looked at Killian.

"You okay?" She asked gently. Not too pushy, just enough to acknowledge the heaviness he carried in with him.

Killian leaned against the counter, letting the silence stretch before he answered.

"Yeah... just had a long day."

"Long bad, or long annoying?"

He chuckled dryly, "Bit of both."

MJ tilted her head like she wanted to ask more, but didn't. She sensed the line and didn't want to cross it.

"You want me to head out?" She asked, nodding toward the door.

He almost said yes. Almost told her to go. But then he met her eyes, and something in his chest unclenched just a little.

"Nah. It's cool... You can chill for a sec if you want."

She didn't move, just stayed where she was, leaning against the sink, arms crossed loosely.

For a moment, there was nothing but the hum of the fridge between them. Then he spoke, quieter.

"My mom... showed up at dinner. Out of nowhere."

MJ raised her brows, not quite sure how to respond to that.

"Yeah." He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "Looking like she rolled out of some afterparty. Loud as hell. Ordering half the damn menu."

"You pay?"

"Of course I did."

"Damn." She frowned, "That's rough."

Killian didn't answer right away. Just stared at a chipped tile on the floor, like if he focused hard enough, it might make everything else blur out.

"She used to be different." He said finally, feeling the need to defend her behavior somehow. "Before my Dad died."

MJ didn't respond, but she didn't look away, and He could feel her watching him.

"Now it's like... we're the ones raising her."

His voice cracked a little at the end, but he recovered fast and straightened up.

"I'm sorry." He apologized, shaking his head like he shouldn't have said any of that.

"I don't even know why I'm dumping all of this on you."

MJ offered him a small smile, "You're not. You're just talking."