Midnight Pancakes
875 Words
The café had long closed, but the night was still young. Instead of heading home, Kiko insisted on walking Kaye to her house, their steps falling into the same rhythm they had shared since high school.
“Why do you always walk me home?” Kaye asked, though she already knew the answer.
“Because you’re hopeless without me,” he replied easily. “What if some shady guy tries to talk to you? Or what if you trip over your own feet?”
She laughed. “I’m not that clumsy.”
“You literally tripped on a flat surface last week.”
“That was different. My shoelaces—”
“Were tied.”
Kaye swatted his arm, and he laughed, the sound echoing down the quiet street. She hated how much she loved hearing it.
By the time they reached her gate, neither of them moved to say goodbye. Instead, Kiko leaned against the post, looking at her with that familiar half-smile.
“You hungry?” he asked suddenly.
Kaye blinked. “We just ate.”
“Yeah, but that was hours ago. And besides—” He leaned closer, lowering his voice dramatically. “—I’m craving pancakes.”
She stared at him. “It’s midnight.”
“Exactly. Midnight pancakes are the best kind.”
Kaye shook her head, already knowing she would say yes. “Fine. But we’re using my kitchen.”
“Perfect. Your house, your mess.”
They ended up in her small kitchen, laughter bouncing off the tiled walls as Kiko dug through the cabinets like he owned the place.
“Flour, eggs, milk… Do you even have syrup?” he asked, peering inside the fridge.
“Of course I do. I’m not a monster,” Kaye said, pulling her hair into a loose bun.
Kiko grinned. “Good. Can’t have pancakes without syrup.”
The two of them moved around the kitchen in practiced ease, as though they’d done this a thousand times before. Kiko cracked eggs while Kaye measured flour, their shoulders bumping occasionally, each touch sending sparks she pretended not to notice.
At one point, he smeared a streak of flour across her cheek.
“Kiko!” she gasped, eyes wide.
“What?” he said innocently. “You had a spot there.”
“You put it there!”
He grinned. “Maybe. You look cute, though.”
Her breath hitched, but she quickly rolled her eyes. “You’re impossible.”
“And you like it,” he teased.
Kaye turned away, hiding her smile.
When the pancakes were finally done, they sat cross-legged on the floor with the plate between them, sharing bites straight from the pan.
“These are actually good,” Kaye admitted.
“Of course. I’m a man of many talents,” Kiko said, stuffing another piece into his mouth.
She raised a brow. “Oh really? Like what?”
“Well…” He pretended to think. “Basketball, presentations, making you laugh…” He paused, his eyes softening as they met hers. “…being your bestfriend.”
The words made her chest ache. She forced a small smile, picking at her pancake. “You forgot ‘being late all the time.’ That’s your greatest skill.”
Kiko laughed, tossing a piece of pancake at her. It bounced off her shoulder, and they both dissolved into giggles, the kind that left them breathless and lightheaded.
When the laughter faded, silence lingered. But it wasn’t empty—it was heavy with everything unspoken.
Kaye looked at him, really looked at him. His messy hair, his tired eyes, the faint smile he only wore when it was just the two of them.
She wanted to say it. I love you.
Instead, she whispered, “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For always being here.”
Kiko’s expression softened. He reached out, brushing his thumb gently across her cheek where the flour still lingered.
“Always,” he said quietly.
Her heart stumbled, and for a moment, it felt like time had stopped in that little kitchen.
It was past two when they finally settled on the couch, the empty plate forgotten on the counter. Kaye curled up with her notebook while Kiko stretched out beside her, his head resting lazily on the armrest.
“What are you writing now?” he asked, his voice low with sleep.
“Nothing,” she lied, covering the page with her hand.
“Let me see.” He reached for it, but she pulled it away.
“Kiko!”
“What? I just want to know if I’m in it again.”
“You’re so full of yourself.”
“Because I know you,” he said simply, his grin sleepy but certain.
Kaye rolled her eyes but pressed the notebook tighter to her chest. He was right. Most of her pages were about him—about nights like this, where they laughed until their stomachs hurt, where silence felt safe, where love hung unspoken between them.
She glanced at him, his eyes half-closed, his breathing steady. And she thought about how easily he fit into every corner of her life.
If only he knew how much of her heart he already owned.
- Writer
