Kieran watched this exchange with thinly veiled amusement, which Aariz chose to ignore. He pulled out eggs, bread, butter, and the ridiculously expensive coffee beans that Mira claimed tasted less like sadness than her instant coffee.
The kitchen was large enough that all three of them could move around without bumping into each other, though it still felt slightly crowded with Kieran standing near the island, tablet in hand, rattling off Aariz's schedule while he cracked eggs into a pan.
"—and then your father wants you in the office by nine tomorrow for the pre-meeting meeting, which you know he'll use as an opportunity to remind you about—"
"Professional responsibility, the family legacy, and how I need to take things more seriously," Aariz finished. "Yeah, I know the speech."
"He means well."
"He means to drive me insane."
Mira had perched on one of the barstools, watching the kitchen chaos with a small smile. "Your dad still on your case about the CEO thing?"
"Always. Apparently inheriting a company means you have to actually care about it."
"Radical concept."
"Revolutionary."
Kieran cleared his throat. "If you two are done being sarcastic, we should probably discuss the Singapore call. They're expecting concrete numbers for the expansion project, and you can't wing it like you did last time."
"That's hurtful. I didn't wing it."
"You made up statistics."
"I made educated guesses based on available data."
"You said 'approximately a billion dollars, give or take a billion.'"
Mira burst out laughing, nearly falling off her stool. "You didn't."
"He did," Kieran confirmed, but even he was fighting a smile now. "It took me three hours to do damage control with the accounting department."
"In my defense, I was very hungover."
"That's not actually a defense," Mira pointed out.
The eggs were done, perfectly scrambled because he'd had enough practice to get at least this one thing right. He added toast - slightly burned on one side, which was his signature style - and put everything on plates. Two plates, because Kieran had already eaten, but he poured three mugs of coffee from his fancy machine that Mira coveted.
They sat at the kitchen island, an odd trio of wealth and chaos and order. Kieran continued going through the schedule on his tablet while Aariz and Mira ate, interjecting occasionally with commentary that ranged from helpful to sarcastic.
"This is actually good," Mira admitted, gesturing with her fork at the eggs. "I didn't know you could cook anything that didn't come from a restaurant."
"I'm a man of many talents."
"Name three."
"I can make eggs. I can drive fast cars. And I can punch guys who grab my friends inappropriately."
Kieran looked up from his tablet. "Context?"
"Bar fight last night," Aariz said casually, as if this was completely normal. "Some guy got handsy, Mira handled it, his friends got aggressive, and I handled them."
"Hence the late night and the staying over," Mira added.
"Ah." Kieran made a note on his tablet. "Should I expect any legal issues?"
"From what?"
"The bar fight you just admitted to?"
"Oh. No, probably not. We left before security could get involved."
"And this is why I get paid extra," Kieran muttered, but he was smiling slightly as he added something else to his notes.
They finished breakfast in companionable chaos, with Kieran continuing to organize Aariz's life while Mira and Aariz traded insults and inside jokes. It was comfortable, natural, like this was just another Sunday morning rather than the morning after they'd woken up nearly naked in the same bed.
Finally, Mira pushed back from the counter, empty plate in front of her. "Okay, I really do need to go now. Work won't tolerate me being late, unlike some people who have assistants to reschedule their lives."
"That's a different kind of prison," Aariz said, standing as well. "Let me grab my keys. I'll drive you."
"You don't have to—"
"I'm going out anyway. Might as well give you a ride."
Kieran stood smoothly, tablet tucked under his arm. "I'll follow you to the office after you drop her off. We can go over the Singapore materials on the way."
"You're very organized and it's mildly threatening."
"That's literally my job."
Aariz grabbed his keys from the bowl by the door, the Porsche key fob heavy and expensive in his hand. Mira collected her purse - from the couch this time, apparently it had migrated again - and the dress she'd worn last night, folded neatly.
"Thanks for the loaner," she said, gesturing to the sundress. "I'll get it back to you."
"Keep it. My sister has a million of them."
"Rich people are so weird about clothes."
"Says the girl with twenty pairs of expensive heels."
"Those are investments. Completely different."
They headed out to the driveway where the Porsche waited, black and gleaming in the late morning sun. Kieran's sensible sedan was parked behind it, a study in contrasts - Aariz's need for speed and luxury versus Kieran's practical efficiency.
Mira slid into the passenger seat like she belonged there, which, after countless nights of driving around the city and getting into trouble, she kind of did. Aariz started the engine, that familiar purr that meant freedom and possibilities and usually poor decisions.
"Where to?" he asked, pulling out of the driveway with Kieran following at a responsible distance behind them.
"My apartment. I need to change before work."
"What time do you have to be there?"
"Two. I'm covering someone's shift at the gallery."
She worked at a high-end art gallery downtown, selling expensive pieces to rich people who probably didn't appreciate them. It was the kind of job that required patience and diplomacy, two things Mira had in limited supply, but somehow she made it work.
They drove in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the city passing by outside the windows. Sunday morning traffic was light, mostly families heading to brunch and people nursing their hangovers with coffee and regret.
"So," Mira said finally, breaking the silence. "That was weird, right? This morning?"
"Which part? Waking up nearly naked together or having to explain it to my assistant?"
"Both. All of it. The entire situation."
"Yeah, it was weird."
"But we're okay, right? We're still us?"
He glanced over at her, saw the genuine concern in her eyes despite her casual tone. "We're still us. Nothing's changed."
"Good." She relaxed back into the seat, satisfied. "Because I really can't afford to lose my favorite person over something stupid like drunken cuddling."
"Is that what we're calling it?"
"That's exactly what we're calling it. Drunken cuddling. Very platonic. Very normal."
"If you say so."
They pulled up outside her apartment building, a decent place in a decent neighborhood that she could just barely afford. She gathered her things, opened the door, then paused.
"Thanks," she said. "For last night. For having my back with those assholes. And for breakfast. And for not making this morning weirder than it had to be."
"Anytime. That's what friends are for."
"Even friends who occasionally wake up half-naked together?"
"Especially those friends."
She grinned, then leaned over and kissed his cheek - quick, casual, the way she'd done a hundred times before. "See you later, troublemaker."
"Says the girl who started a bar fight."
"Started and won. There's a difference."
She climbed out of the car, gave him a little wave, and headed into her building. He watched until she disappeared inside, then pulled back into traffic where Kieran was waiting patiently a few cars back.
His phone buzzed with a text: Following you to the office. Try not to get into any fights on the way.
He smiled and headed toward the company headquarters, where his father's legacy and expectations and all the responsibilities he usually avoided were waiting for him.
But for now, driving through the city with the windows down and the morning sun warming his face, he could pretend he was just a guy who'd had a weird morning with his best friend.
Just two people who definitely, absolutely, certainly had not changed anything between them.
Nothing at all.