Sasha always cleaned up after himself.

Always.

It didn’t matter that Collins waved him off, chuckling as he leaned behind the counter with a lazy, “Just leave it, kid, we’ll get it,” or that Dominic was already standing by the door, arms crossed, glaring at him impatiently like he was wasting oxygen — Sasha still gathered his crumbs and napkins and even stacked the plates into a neat little pile on the tray.

“That’s my booth,” he told Dominic primly as he wiped down the table with another napkin. “You can’t just leave it messy. It’s rude.”

Dominic’s brow arched faintly, his head tilting ever so slightly. “You’re… wiping crumbs.”

“Yeah. You’re welcome,” Sasha chirped back sweetly, not even looking at him as he dabbed at a particularly stubborn speck on the table.

Dominic muttered something under his breath — Sasha caught the word maniac in there somewhere — and then turned sharply, already stalking toward the door with his long, purposeful strides.

But Sasha, unfazed, slung his tote bag over his shoulder, scampered after him in his little sneakers, and caught up just outside, tugging firmly at his sleeve with a bossy little huff.

“C’mon,” he said firmly.

Dominic froze, his jaw tightening as he looked down at him, his dark eyes narrowing like he couldn’t quite believe the audacity. “Come on what?”

Sasha pointed to the sleek black car parked just a few feet away, its paint glinting under the streetlights. “Your car. Open it.”

Dominic blinked, his frown deepening. “…Excuse me?”

“You’re giving me a ride,” Sasha replied matter-of-factly, as though it was already decided, as though Dominic’s opinion on the matter was entirely irrelevant. “So open it. My feet hurt.”

Dominic just… stared at him for a long, quiet beat.

The wind rustled Sasha’s hair as they stood there, and for just a moment, something flickered in Dominic’s expression — something halfway between irritation and… something else.

Then — without a word — he pulled the key fob from his pocket and pressed it. The car chirped softly as the doors unlocked, headlights flashing once.

Sasha beamed.

“That’s more like it!” he said brightly, skipping ahead and pulling the passenger door open himself.

By the time Dominic slid into the driver’s seat, Sasha was already buckled in, fiddling with the glove box like it was a treasure chest.

It wasn’t about nosiness, not really. It was about patterns. Familiarity. The satisfying click of the latch, the surprise of what people kept hidden. Sasha liked compartments—glove boxes, pockets, drawers. They were mini worlds with their own logic.

“What are you doing?” Dominic asked sharply, watching Sasha tug out a half-used packet of gum, a random receipt, and what suspiciously looked like a candy wrapper from months ago.

“Exploring,” Sasha said proudly, holding up the gum like a trophy. “You have the worst snacks. Seriously. Not even a chocolate bar?”

Dominic snatched the gum and shoved it back in. “It’s a glove box. Not a vending machine.”

Sasha pouted. He didn’t really expect chocolate, but still. Rich people should at least try.

“It should be. You’re rich.”

Dominic started the engine. “And you’re annoying.”

Sasha didn’t reply. Not because he hadn’t heard—he did, loud and clear. But he was used to people calling him annoying. He didn’t always understand why, but the word was familiar. Predictable.

So instead, he focused on something that made sense: his tote bag.

He pulled out his plush cow. The soft texture grounded him. Calmed his thoughts.

“What the hell is that?” Dominic asked flatly.

“Boba Moo,” Sasha said, hugging the little thing between his fingers. “She’s lucky. I take her everywhere.”

Dominic blinked. “You brought a stuffed animal on a dinner outing.”

“She’s not stuffed,” Sasha corrected, frowning. “She’s plush. There’s a difference.” Stuffed sounded… bulky. Rigid. Plush was soft, flexible. Comforting.

Dominic rolled his eyes and shifted into gear. “You need therapy.”

“I have therapy,” Sasha chirped. He knew most people meant it as an insult. But to him, it was just Tuesday and Friday afternoons with Dr. Lanre and her stress ball collection.

He buckled Boba Moo into the seatbelt, fingers moving with care. Rituals helped. They were like instructions when the world didn’t come with any.

Dominic stared. “You’re joking.”

“I don’t joke about Boba Moo’s safety.” His voice was serious, eyes narrowed slightly. The idea of leaving her unsecured felt wrong. Unsafe. Like something bad might happen and he wouldn’t be able to fix it.

The silence after that wasn’t awkward to Sasha. Silence was safe. Noise was the hard part. Dominic was quiet now, both hands on the wheel, one lazily draped over the console. Sasha stared at that hand for a while—how still it was. Controlled. Hands said a lot about people.

He dug back into his tote.

Pulled out the mini bubble wand.

“Don’t,” Dominic said without even glancing over.

“Don’t what?”

“I can hear the cap twisting.”

Sasha blinked innocently. Dominic always seemed tense, like a rubber band stretched too far. Maybe bubbles would help.

He blew one.

It drifted across the car like a floating marble. Sasha watched it shimmer, the pink tint catching light. He smiled, small and private. The faint scent of artificial strawberry reached his nose.

Dominic turned sharply, and a bubble burst near his jaw. He twitched.

“Do you want to get thrown out of a moving car?” he asked coolly.

Sasha blew another. Just to see.

“Relax,” he said, genuinely meaning it. “They smell like strawberries!”

“They smell like childhood regression.”

That made Sasha laugh. Like, real laugh. Snort and all. The line danced in his brain for a second before he tucked it into the mental drawer labeled Things Dominic Says That Are Funnier Than They Should Be.

The wand slipped—rolled into Dominic’s lap.

Oops.

Sasha froze. He didn’t mean to drop it. Dropping things always made people yell. Always made the air thick. His fingers twitched in his lap, unsure.

But Dominic just… handed it back.

No yelling. No snapping. Just a slow, silent handoff.

Sasha took it carefully.

“You’re banned from bringing bags.”

“I live out of my tote,” Sasha said, voice small but sure.

“Then burn it.”

He giggled again, tension slipping off his shoulders like a jacket. That was the thing with Dominic—he said the meanest things with this deadpan voice, but somehow it didn’t always feel mean. Not like other people. With Dominic, it felt like… friction, not fire.

Sasha hugged Boba Moo again and leaned his head against the seat. The fake leather was cold against his cheek, but the hum of the car and the strawberry smell made him feel sleepy. Or maybe just safe.

Dominic didn’t turn on the music.

Didn’t throw the cow out the window.

Sasha didn’t fully understand him—but for now, that was okay.

Because for the first time in a long while…

He didn’t feel like too much.

He felt… like maybe, just maybe, he could be enough.

Dominic’s car rolled to a slow stop outside the now-familiar pastel blue-and-pink bungalow.

The colors looked even brighter in the soft afternoon light, like a painting that refused to fade with time. And just like before, Sasha was already grinning—his bag clutched to his chest like a stuffed animal, seatbelt clicking loose as he hummed quietly under his breath. Something soft and catchy. Adore You, by harry styles maybe. It suited him.

Dominic said nothing at first. Just leaned his elbow on the doorframe, fingers drumming lightly against the steering wheel in an offbeat rhythm. Watching.

Sasha had been quieter on the drive back, thankfully. Not completely silent—but not as loud, either. No bubbling chatter, just that strange dreamy sway, like his body couldn’t sit still without music. Like the tune in his head was louder than the world around them.

But then — just as Sasha reached for the handle to hop out — he stopped.

Frozen, in that very still way that usually meant trouble.

Then he twisted suddenly in his seat, his whole torso pivoting to face Dominic, his expression bright and animated. One of those wide-eyed looks that always seemed a little too open, too eager, too unfiltered to be calculated.

Dominic frowned immediately. “What.”

Sasha tilted his head, his soft brown curls shifting with the motion. “You didn’t even ask for my number.”

Dominic snorted faintly, glancing out the windshield. “Didn’t want it.”

There was a beat of silence. Then a theatrical gasp.

Sasha clutched his chest like a drama student in a Shakespeare monologue. “Rude!”

Dominic sighed. “Get out.”

But before he could push him or unlock the door himself, Sasha scooted closer on the seat. Too close. The soft scent of sugar and fabric softener floated off him — bubblegum, maybe. Or some strawberry lotion. Dominic’s breath hitched, just slightly.

Then Sasha’s small hand was digging confidently into the front pocket of his jacket.

“The hell are you—!”

“Shh.” Sasha’s tone was maddeningly gentle, like he was calming a fussy toddler. His tongue poked out between his lips in concentration as his fingers fished around. “I’m helping.”

Dominic sat up straighter, half-glancing out the windows in irritation. Was anyone watching this? He looked like he was being mugged by a toddler in an anime hoodie.

In just seconds, Sasha had pulled out his phone and held it up.

Dominic blinked. “You don’t know my pass—”

But Sasha shoved it toward his face for Face ID.

Dominic scowled. “That is not consent—”

Too late. Sasha was already typing, fast and confident. The kid had no filter and apparently no boundaries. A soft hum left his lips as he finished entering his number and handed the phone back with a proud little smile.

“There. Now you don’t have to say thank you.”

Dominic looked down slowly.

🍫 Baby Sasha the Sweetest 🍼

There was a full beat of silence. Then another.

Dominic blinked.

He stared at the contact name. At the emojis. At the audacity.

Then he cut Sasha a look. Flat. Dry. “You’re insufferable.”

Sasha just giggled like it was a compliment, pushing open the door with a spring in his step. He didn’t even respond — just waved over his shoulder, practically skipping out onto the pavement. His tote bag bounced against his side as he pranced toward the gate.

“You’ll thank me later!” he sang.

Dominic watched him go, jaw slack for half a second before he caught himself.

His eyes trailed after Sasha — after the bounce of his curls, the ridiculous prints on his socks, the way he greeted his little sisters with the same over-the-top cheer he greeted everything with.

But under it all — beneath the giggles and the drama — was something else. Something quiet.

A loneliness that mirrored his own, maybe. A strange kind of innocence that wasn’t quite childlike, just…raw. Honest. Like Sasha didn’t know how to be anything else.

He looked down at his phone again.

🍫 Baby Sasha the Sweetest 🍼

Dominic’s thumb hovered over the contact.

Delete it.

He didn’t.

He scoffed under his breath instead. Tossed the phone into the passenger seat and pulled away from the curb without another word.

But as the engine purred and the road pulled him farther and farther from that pastel house…

…he realized something unsettling.

He was still smiling.