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The scent that greets us at the top creates a wave of nostalgia that barrels into me, threatening to send me right back downstairs. But how? I don’t remember ever smelling banana bread in this house.

In the kitchen, Khaos beelines to the oven, so I busy myself with getting us forks and plates.

How can I yearn for a memory I know I’ve never even experienced? My dad wasn’t a cook either. Just because we had dinners together once upon a time doesn’t mean he actually made the food himself. He’s the one that taught me how to master the microwave. We’ve always reheated prepared meals in it. If anything was ever heated in the oven, I don’t remember it. I definitely don’t remember anyone ever baking bread in it.

Maybe it’s a memory of visiting someone else’s house. Other people cook, they bake, they…home. That’s what this smells like—home.

Except, this is not a home. It’s a hotel without the guests.

When I turn around, Khaos is placing the bread on the counter, his back muscles flexing with the movement, and the sight triggers a second wave of nostalgia. My heart aches, my breath catches, and I… I don’t remember ever feeling this either, not here, not anywhere. So why does it feel…normal?

And why am I sad it isn’t?

“You good?” he asks.

Choking on emotion I have no explanation for, all I manage is a nod.

“Need mouth-to-mouth?”

“No, thanks,” somehow makes it out.

None of this makes sense. Up to the last ninety seconds, I’ve never felt like this was home. The fact that after nineteen years, one unfamiliar scent could make it so is confusing. And Khaos being a part of this…this…longing, even more so.

Sitting down, another wave of feeling emerges, this one gentler. It settles over me like a warm blanket.

Belonging. I’ve been craving this moment all my life. I know that in my heart, my body, my soul.

“Moment of truth.”

I look up at Khaos, finding him watching me closely.

“For?”

“Our bread.”

He doesn’t feel it. I don’t even know why, or how, I do. I just do. It’s not an unwelcome feeling. It’s just unwelcome right now. Why couldn’t I feel this when Guy’s here? Or my mom? Or when I’m by myself?

“It doesn’t look burnt at least,” I remark to fill the awkward silence. Is it awkward or is that just me?

“Told you we had time.”

After Khaos cuts us both a piece, I rip off a chunk of mine, blow on it, then shove the whole thing into my mouth still steaming.

“Not too bad,” I say when I can.

Khaos is quiet though, his expression unreadable as he chews.

“What do you think? Did we do a good job?”

“I think…” Khaos pulls something out of his mouth, and keeping it pinched between his middle finger and thumb, looks from it to me. “I’ll let you take the credit on this one.”

“Why? What’s that?”

“Eggshell.”

I groan. That would be my doing.

“So I did fail.”