Chapter 62

Chapter 62
KAT’S POV
Percy helps me out of the bathroom once I’m dry. His arm is firm around my waist as if he’s prepared for me to collapse again at any second. I’m wrapped in one of his hoodies - the one he must have taken off earlier and put on a hanger in my room. It’s ridiculously big, soft, warm, and it smells like him. For some reason, his scent comforts me. it feels oddly calming.
Every time I breathe in, my chest loosens just a little, as if the scent alone is grounding me. He guides me to bed tight slowly.
When I sit on the edge of the mattress, he tucks the covers around me. No one has tucked me into bed since… I can’t even remember. It feels strange. It feels vulnerable. It feels too much.
“You don’t have to stay,” I whisper as he adjusts the blanket at my shoulders. “Percy, I’m fine now.”
He shoots me a look instantly. Not angry. It’s just filled with this deep, stubborn conviction that makes it impossible to argue.
“Yes,” he says, his voice low and firm, “I do.”
Before I can protest again, he places the back of his hand on my forehead, checking my temperature. His touch is warm, gentle, and it makes my stomach twist in a way that has nothing to do with injury.
“Still warm,” he murmurs. “Not feverish… but you’re exhausted.”
He reaches for the glass of water he set earlier on the nightstand and presses it into my hand. “Drink.”
I sip, because somehow disobeying him feels harder than just… listening. Then he sets a small array of pills on the nightstand: painkillers, anti-nausea tablets, vitamins.
 “You’ll take these after you eat,” he says. “I’m going to make something simple. Something you can stomach.”
I blink at him. “You’re cooking?”
He folds his arms in a mock-offended way. “I can cook.”
I raise a brow. “Can you?”
I remember the disaster in Paris.
“Watch me,” he mutters.
He leaves the room before I can tease him again. As soon as he disappears down the hallway, I let out a deep breath. My nerves feel raw. My chest feels too small for my heart. I grab my phone, needing distraction. Messages flood the screen. Missed calls from my PR team. Emails from sponsors. And then - Melissa’s live is still everywhere. It’s trending. Now? It’s even being remixed. Commented on. Torn apart.
I stare at the stream of notifications until guilt stabs through me. She’s spiraling publicly… and all I’ve done is spiral privately. Before I can sink deeper into the feeling, the sound hits me. A sharp hiss. Then a muffled curse. Then something that sounds like a small explosion.
My eyes widen. “Oh God.”
I push myself out of bed and limp toward the kitchen. The moment I step inside, the sight almost knocks me over - not from pain, but from sheer disbelief. Smoke fills the room in a light, cloudy haze. Percy is standing in front of the stove, aggressively waving a dish towel like he’s battling an invisible demon.
On the counter sits a frying pan so charred it looks like it needs a funeral. And inside it is what I assume used to be an omelette but now resembles a pancake from hell.
“What… what is happening here?” I choke out, clutching the doorframe.
Percy stops mid-swat, looks at me, and groans dramatically. “This stove is possessed, Kat. I swear it.”
“Percy,” I say, fighting a grin, “did you burn an omelette?”
“It was an ambush,” he insists. “The pan attacked first.”
That’s it. I crack. The laugh bursting out of me is loud, sudden, and real. I lean against the counter, laughing so hard my ribs ache.
“Oh my God,” I gasp. “Oh – Percy – stop - my ribs—”
He tosses the towel onto the counter and throws his hands up. “Fine. Whatever. I tried. You saw me try.” “
You tried to commit arson,” I say, wiping tears from my eyes.
He points at the ruined omelette. “Takeout. I’m ordering takeout. Before I burn your entire apartment complex down.”
“Good idea.”
“I have good ideas all the time,” he says proudly. “Cooking is just… not one of them.”
We open windows to let the smoke out. Then he starts washing the pan which looks like it might never recover while I rinse bowls and plates. Percy, for reasons known only to him, puts music on. Something upbeat. It’s loud and absolutely ridiculous.
“No,” I groan, laughing again. “Percy, no, my neighbors-”
He ignores me completely. He starts dancing terribly, dramatically, shaking his head and shoulders in exaggerated movements as he scrubs the pan. I laugh so hard I actually have to hold my ribs.
“Stop—stop—”
 “Never,” he declares.
Then he grabs my hand and pulls me toward him. I stumble, still laughing, and he spins me around. My feet barely stay under me. My hoodie sways with the motion, and I cling to him because I’m dizzy in every possible way.
“Percy!” I squeal, but he just laughs, lifts me off the ground, and twirls me in slow circles. I cling to his shoulders, breathless and overwhelmed by the closeness of him.
“Put me down,” I whisper against his neck.
“Never,” he murmurs back.
He eventually sets me on my feet, but his hands stay on my waist, holding me steady. We’re both a little breathless when the doorbell rings. He kisses my forehead quickly like it’s nothing. But to me, it feels like everything. Dinner is spicy noodles and dumplings.
We sit on the couch, sharing from the containers, our knees touching. The atmosphere feels warm. Percy picks up a dumpling with his chopsticks, holds it out to me.
“Eat.” He says.
“I can feed myself,” I argue quietly.
“I know,” he replies. “But I want to.”
Something in my chest tightens painfully. I let him. The room goes quiet for a moment. It’s not awkward, but heavy in a way I can’t explain. Something warm. Something dangerous. I look at him, really look at him the man who tracked my location at 2 a.m., who dragged me out of a wrecked car, who bathed me, who ruined a pan trying to cook for me.
 “Why do you care so much?” The question slips out before I can stop it.
Percy freezes. His jaw clenches, and for a moment he looks like he wants to lie, or joke, or deflect. But he doesn’t.
He exhales slowly, sets the food down, and turns to me fully.
“Because losing you…” His voice cracks, just once. “…feels like losing a part of myself.”
My breath catches. I look away instantly because if I look at him for even a second longer, I might break apart completely. He reaches out and gently lifts my chin, forcing my eyes back to his.
“You matter to me,” he says quietly. “More than you think.”
My heart stumbles.
When I was falling apart, drunk and terrified, bleeding on the pavement… the name I cried for the moment everything blurred… wasn’t Matt. It was his. Percy.
And that truth scares me more than I want to admit.