More Than Just Us

The Words That Almost Slipped

Kaye drummed her fingers on the café table, eyes flicking toward the entrance every few seconds. Her iced latte had already started to sweat, a little puddle forming beneath the glass.

Kiko was late. Again.

She pulled out her phone, scrolling mindlessly through her feed, until his name finally lit up her screen.

Kiko: “On my way! Sorry, Lianne needed help with her script for class. Just ten more mins.”

Kaye’s throat tightened. Lianne again.

She typed out a quick “Okay. Hurry.” But as she hit send, a bitter thought slipped through: When was the last time I was his priority?

By the time Kiko arrived, hair slightly disheveled, smile sheepish, Kaye had rehearsed a dozen versions of “It’s fine.”

“Sorry, Kayekins,” he said, sliding into the seat across from her. “She was stressing out, and I couldn’t just—”

“Of course,” Kaye cut in, sharper than she intended.

Kiko blinked. “Uh… what?”

Her chest tightened. She had said it too fast, too flat. She quickly forced a smile, stirring her drink. “I mean—of course you couldn’t. That’s who you are. Always saving the day.”

The silence that followed was heavier than she liked.

Kiko chuckled awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. “Well… you know me.”

And she did. Too well. Maybe that was the problem.

They tried to settle into their usual rhythm, trading jokes, sharing fries. But Kaye felt it—a thin c***k threading between them, widening with every laugh that didn’t quite land.

“So,” Kiko said midway, “I think Lianne’s finally getting the hang of scriptwriting. She’s been improving a lot.” His tone carried that same bright warmth, the kind he usually saved for stories about Kaye.

Kaye’s grip on her straw tightened. “You talk about her a lot.”

It slipped out before she could stop it.

Kiko froze, fry halfway to his mouth. “Huh?”

Her heart lurched. Say it’s a joke. Make it light. She forced a laugh, waving her hand. “I mean—you’ve basically turned into her personal cheerleader.”

Relief flickered across his face, but only for a moment. “Well… she’s a friend. I just want to help.”

“Right. A friend,” Kaye echoed, her voice too thin.

When they left the café, Kaye shoved her hands into her pockets, walking a little faster than usual. The night air was cool, but her cheeks burned.

Kiko jogged to catch up. “Hey, what’s up with you?”

“Nothing.”

“Kaye.” His voice softened, that familiar coaxing tone he always used when she tried to hide.

She swallowed hard, eyes fixed on the pavement. “It’s just… sometimes I feel like I’m not really part of your stories anymore. Like… you save your best parts for her.”

There. The truth, jagged and raw.

Kiko stopped in his tracks, eyes wide. “That’s not true.”

She turned, meeting his gaze for the first time that night. “Isn’t it? You’ve canceled on me three times this week, Kiks. Three. And every time, it’s because of Lianne.”

Her voice wavered, but she held steady.

Kiko’s brows knit, guilt flickering across his face. “I didn’t realize… I just thought… I didn’t think it bothered you.”

“It doesn’t,” Kaye lied quickly, stepping back, shoving her hands deeper into her pockets. “I mean, why would it? You’re free to hang out with whoever you want. I was just… joking. Forget it.”

The lie hung heavy between them, obvious and painful.

Kiko studied her, lips parted like he wanted to say more. But then he exhaled, nodding slowly. “Okay. If you say so.”

They walked the rest of the way in silence.

Later that night, Kaye sat on her bed, hugging her pillow. Her chest felt bruised from holding everything in.

She replayed the moment in her head—the way Kiko’s eyes had softened when she admitted feeling left out, the way he’d looked guilty.

For a second, she had almost told him everything. That it wasn’t just about Lianne. That it was about her. About the way her heart ached every time he chose someone else.

But she didn’t. She couldn’t.

Because what if saying it out loud ruined everything?

She typed a message instead:

Kaye: “Got home safe. Thanks for today.”

Kiko replied almost instantly.

Kiko: “Good. And… I’ll make it up to you. Promise.”

Kaye stared at the words, her chest heavy.

Promises. That’s all they ever were now.