𝕞𝕣. 𝕗𝕚𝕩 𝕚𝕥

"I heard about it but who doesn't like ice cream. It's kind of hard to fuck up, isn't it?" She'd heard of people doing stupid flavors like ketchup or mustard. But ultimately, there was enough stupid people in this world that they probably worked on them because people were curious and would try things to say they did. "Goat cheese sounds vile, though when you think about it, it's probably not that bad since ice cream is cold cream." There wasn't a big difference between cheese and cream, was there? "I might just end up with some chocolate, too. Just in case I need something to wash it all down with."

Kian hadn't expected Sienna's ice cream logic to make so much sense. After surviving on prison food, he'd gotten pretty excited about eating normal stuff again, but her point about goat cheese being basically fancy cream was kind of genius. "You know what? That cream theory is actually pretty solid. I'm strawberry getting chocolate. Trust me, after jail food, even plain vanilla would be incredible. But hey, you try the weird flavors first and maybe I'll be brave." Something as simple as ice cream felt like a lifeline back to normalcy. "Should we head over now? I really need something sweet to celebrate being out. These taste buds need some serious making up to."

He absorbed her prison survival guide with a cocktail of skepticism and desperate hope. The idea of reading romance novels with shirtless guys on the covers almost made him laugh…almost. The routine stuff sounded good on paper, but prison had a way of making even basic tasks feel like climbing Mount Everest. Those silly stories about Mrs. Chen kept him sane, a tiny window to his old life. He couldn't stop staring at the four walls, wondering how they managed to get closer every time he blinked. "Getting obsessed with something sounds good, but I don't know if I can focus on anything in here," he admitted. "And yeah, making my bed might help... but what about the nights? Those are the worst." Great, now he was getting emotional over a simple offer of help. When did he become such a softie? Oh who was he kidding, he always was one. "I really hope you're right, Zuri. Right now, it just feels like this nightmare will never end."

A Barbie-themed Christmas tree made him want to run for the hills. A Grinch theme though? That actually appealed to his inner grump. Kian watched Armi's animated suggestions with a mix of amusement and reluctant acceptance—he'd probably end up doing whatever made her happy anyway. "Does this mean I need to wear a furry green suit? Because I draw the line at face paint," he said, the weird flutter in his stomach returning at how domestic this all felt. The whole Christmas planning thing was bringing up feelings he hadn't expected. But at least he wasn’t thinking about his upcoming trial, so that’s a win in his book. "You know what? Let's do the Grinch theme. But only if you promise to help me keep Jax from eating all the ornaments. That dog thinks everything's a snack."

Something shifted in Kian's brain when Atlas started laughing. The arrest, the rumors, the sideways looks from people—none of it mattered for a second. Making jokes about mugshots shouldn't have helped, but it did. This must be what moving forward looked like—finding stupid things to laugh about even when life kept throwing curveballs his way. "I could deal with weekly meetings. We could do a slideshow presentation of everyone's worst photos. Make it real official," he said, amazed at how easy it was to find humor in this mess. The idea of turning their photo disasters into some kind of support group was ridiculous, but that's what made it perfect. His mind raced with possibilities. "At least my mugshot had decent lighting. Though I bet your DMV photo would give me a run for my money in the disaster department. Imagine if there was a gallery, and it’s called Faces That Made Our Mothers Cry? Yikes."

Talking about Marco's weird naming tradition made Kian realize how much he needed this kind of distraction. "Marco's going to go crazy over your car. He named this minivan Her Royal Highness because it kept dramatically quitting at red lights," he said, letting out his first real laugh in days. The Netflix show idea got his mind spinning. "We need to make The Real Machines of Wilmington happen. Betty would be perfect as the wise old sage to your car's rookie season." It felt nice to take a break from reality and just be ridiculous for a minute. "Just so you know though, once Marco names something, there's no going back. My sisters have been calling my truck Betty for three years straight. I wouldn’t be surprised if one of them starts a social media account for her. Sometimes I think they forgot the truck actually belongs to me."

“I can’t help it!!!!” she whined before crossing her arms. However as Kian answered her question, the heiress nodded in understanding before replying with, “You don’t have to explain yourself further, it’s a lot and sometimes there’s just no words to even describe the feeling.” Most days she felt numb and on autopilot mode that sometimes she didn’t even realize until time had passed. Her gaze softened after hearing Kian’s experience and as she proceed to continue folding clothes, she simply nodded in understanding and said, “If it’s any consolation, you're doing what you can. It's okay if not everyday is all fine and dandy...So as long as you don’t quit on yourself and those around you.” Although she had heard about Kian's case, it wasn't going to change how she viewed him as she understood that he probably had his reasons.

Kian hadn't expected Kim's words to affect him so much, but they did. Her acceptance made everything suck a little less. The thing about Kim was she didn't give him the usual BS pity party—she just got it without making him feel like some tragic headline. Unlike everyone else's cookie-cutter comfort lines, she actually made him feel like a person instead of a problem to solve. "You know what's weird? I've heard that same thing from like fifty people, but only a handful truly got to me," he said, cracking the first real smile in days. Everything still sucked, but talking about it didn't feel impossible anymore. She got it without him having to explain every detail, and that meant something. "Thanks for not running for the hills when you heard," he said, trying to keep it breezy even though it wasn't. "I can’t blame you if you did, though."

"Can't say I blame them. Even the Michelin guide has been really stingy with those stars recently. But you know Mario's would need at least two." There's a nonchalant raise of her shoulder in a shrug to accompany the soft smile on her lips as they easily fell into their familiar banter back and forth. And for a moment, she can dull the sound and feel of the cold metal table between them, of the inmates chattering, of that bright orange that makes Kian look unrecognizable. She can pretend that this is a table at their favorite pizzeria. Just for a moment. Her smile briefly grew, and then shrunk once again. "I did. It's nothing. It's just something to.. feel more like home until you're back home." Her gaze sought out his, watching as he took in each photo, and the memories that gleamed in his eyes. "I'm glad. I hope so. It was Zuri's idea, actually--the photos. So we've got her to thank."

Mario's pizza made him miss life outside these walls—back when everything made sense and his biggest problem was splitting the bill. Nicole's joke about Michelin stars let him escape reality for a second. "Mario would've paid good money for those stars," he said, pushing past the sting in his throat. The photos in front of him showed snapshots of his old life and it made him wonder if he would ever be able to feel normal again, before things went south. Finding out Zuri planned this knocked the air from his lungs. Leave it to his friend to know the perfect thing to do. "Let Zuri know she nailed it with these. They make this place suck less," he said, studying a picture from the festival where he and Armi looked stupidly happy. "You think Mario delivers to prison? His secret ingredients might raise some red flags at security though. Pretty sure they'd confiscate the basil—looks too much like contraband."

"it's completely delicious." that's something that she wasn't going to lie about. alara was serious about her coffee, her business, her girlfriend, and her family. "you know what? you've got yourself a deal. have any recommendations or should i choose something i haven't tried myself?" she didn't mind either way, she just wanted to make sure that it was fair at the end of the day.

Hearing Alara talk about coffee, he felt like she'd unlocked some secret happy-mug recipe. "The maple pecan nitro sounds good to me. I’ve tried it before. It's got this rich sweetness that might be interesting if you haven't tried it yet," he said, before a crash from behind made him jump, followed by someone's nervous "oops" and laughter. "Well, at least we know the cups are sturdy," he said, spinning around to see how the cup hadn’t shattered.

Kian Lawson took in the sight of his customer's exhausted demeanor with understanding. The mention of the gaps in the door made him shake his head in sympathy—he'd dealt with enough renovation projects to know exactly what that meant. "Let me guess, you can hear your neighbors as clearly as they hear you?" he asked, already mentally cataloging the supplies Isaac was going to need. "A mess is nothing new to me. I've seen it all in this line of work. Tell you what—we'll start with the foam panels and door seals today. Once those are in place, we can tackle the bigger stuff." He wanted to help get this sorted properly. After all, everyone deserved a decent night's sleep, including the neighbors. "At least you're trying to fix it. Some folks just crank up the volume and call it a day."

Kian had to admit, Atlas’s tornado comment was solid. It was the kind of ridiculous imagery that made him forget, even for a second, how suffocating the town’s judgment felt. He appreciated moments like this—where things weren’t so heavy, where someone wasn’t looking at him like he was a headline. “Man, if your license photo’s that bad, maybe we should start a support group for tragic IDs. Mugshots and DMV disasters anonymous,” he quipped, his tone lighter than it had been in days. Atlas wasn’t wrong—give it a week, and someone else would screw up spectacularly enough to steal the spotlight. “Guess I’ll just have to wait my turn to fade into obscurity.”

TO: @kianlawson

Kian had stared at the cart, wondering how they’d managed to fit half the store into it without it tipping over. His first thought when Armi mentioned a white tree wasn't about how elegant it would look—no, he went straight to calculating how long it would take Jax to turn it into confetti. The black tree idea, though? That sounded like something out of a Tim Burton movie—kind of cool, actually. But green was classic. He mulled over the idea of a theme, imagining the chaos of trying to stick to one when they both had wildly different tastes. “Alright,” he said with a smile, “white if we’re feeling fancy, black if we’re feeling like Batman, and green if we’re feeling lazy. Theme? Sure, but only if it’s not something that’ll make me regret my life choices halfway through decorating.”

Laughter bubbled up at Zuri's stories about Mrs. Chen's parking skills. "Three spaces? That's got to be a new record for her," he said, imagining the street drama back home. These updates from the outside world gave him a break from the prison walls. He rolled his eyes at the backup camera situation. "She got a backup camera but still drives with her eyes closed? That's peak Mrs. Chen right there. Next she'll be teaching driver's ed." Each story brought a piece of his old life right into this cell, making everything suck less for a minute. The fact that someone still shared these stupid little moments with him made prison bearable. But surviving in here? That was another story. "How do you do it? Survive prison, I mean." He didn't want to dig up bad memories, but being in jail was crushing him. The question burned in his brain and he needed answers. Since Zuri knew what it was like to be locked up for something she didn't do, maybe she could give him input.

Kian sat back, letting Zuri's words about her car problems sink in. "Marco's a miracle worker with cars. He once fixed my truck when it sounded like it was ready for the junkyard," he said, sharing the contact info from his phone. Her description of the washer situation pulled a real laugh from him. "At least your washer's providing free entertainment. Mine once flooded the entire first floor of my house. Had to replace all the baseboards." How strange it was to be discussing something as mundane as appliance problems when his life had turned upside down. "You know what's funny? Marco actually started out fixing washing machines in high school. Maybe he could take a look at yours too. I should probably warn you, he likes to name all the appliances he works on. My truck is officially 'Betty' according to his paperwork." The thought of Marco naming her washer made him smile inside.

"I feel like if I ever rushed into something and then grew to regret it...I'd be so ashamed that I'd stay in it just to avoid the backlash," he admitted with a shake of his head knowing that the fear of others judging him would cause him to do just that. He listened to his friend tell him about how pain wasn't a competition and he was allowed to voice whatever he was going to and nodded at the other man, trying to remind himself of just that. "I promise I'll keep that in mind, now can we get on with this game?" Arnav asked with a grin before mentioning the amounts for the game--whichever option Kian went with. When he heard the other's words he nodded, a chuckle leaving his lips at Kian's words. "I still feel like you're trying to bait me into taking it easy on you--sorry man, that's not happening."

Life had given Kian plenty of lessons about relationships and regrets. It also taught him not to waste time on holding back. "That's a good point, but I don't think you should be ashamed of a relationship not working out. These days, it happens more than not." When Arnav switched gears to focus on their game, he didn’t push it. His friend's competitive streak made him want to laugh—it was exactly what he needed right now. "Oh, so that's how it's going to be? Trust me, I'm not looking for sympathy points here. Prison or not, I can still kick your ass at pool." The trash talk came easy, natural. He honestly needed it. "Let's see what you've got then, if you're so confident." Maybe a night of pool with one of his best friends was the best medicine for his troubled mind.

he was right about that. the porch needed some work. "the porch is the whole reason i fell in love with the place. i like that it wraps around the whole place, even if it definitely needs some work. i know the two of us can tackle this project together." any time she got with kian was a good time as far as she was concerned. after all, they always had fun no matter what they got into. "let's do it. saturday morning we'll start replacing the bad boards and getting some point on this thing. what do you think about yellow...?"

Kian agreed with Sloane's vision for the wraparound porch—it really was the home's best feature, even in its current state. He pictured how it would look once they'd replaced the weathered boards and added a fresh coat of paint. Yellow though? That was bold. "I can see why. I'm guessing the boys like the porch too," he said, considering the cheerful color choice. "Yellow could work, actually. Give it that sunny, welcoming vibe the old houses used to have." He'd grown up working on porches just like this one at the hardware store, and doing this project with his sister felt right. "We should probably get some samples first, test out a few shades before we commit to anything too bright."

He held back a chuckle at Isaac's disheveled state. The guy looked like he'd been through a tornado, but at least the coffee would help. The mention of soundproofing had his attention—finally, a problem he knew how to fix. "We've got acoustic foam panels in aisle three. But if you want my professional opinion, you'll need more than that. I'd start with weather stripping around the doors, maybe add some mass-loaded vinyl to the walls. Trust me, I learned all about sound dampening when my sister decided to take up drums." He paused, considering the layout of a typical apartment. "Tell you what—grab those foam panels for now, and I'll swing by later to check out your space. We can figure out a proper solution that won't get you evicted."