The car had been moving for quite a while. Dylan leaned back against the seat, his gaze fixed on the blur of city lights passing by outside the window. Buildings rose and fell, shadows stretched across the sidewalks, neon signs flickered with life. Yet for him, the city looked like nothing more than shapes on glass—he was too tired to notice its charm.
The day had been long, filled with demands that pressed against his patience and drained his body of strength. His flight, than awhole day of tiresome mission. By the time he left, he felt like a thread unraveling.
Still, in his exhaustion, one thought persisted, pulling at him like gravity. Where's Lena?
He reached for his phone and quickly typed:
Where are you?
His eyes stayed fixed on the screen as he waited, the small typing indicator he hoped for never appearing. After a moment, he sighed and pressed the call button. The line rang once, twice… and then silence. It didn't connect.
"Looks like you've done wrong again," a voice beside him said. Half-serious, half-mocking. It was that voice that has been companion of Dylan for a long time, long enough to catch the shifts in his mood.
Dylan ignored him, but the words settled like stones inside his chest. He scrolled to another app, one he rarely touched, and tried to check Lena's location. His jaw tightened when he saw the result. Nothing.
She had turned off her phone.
A heaviness fell over him, stronger than his fatigue. He slipped the phone into his pocket, pressing his forehead against the window for a moment. The city lights glimmered back at him, but they offered no comfort.
Meanwhile, across town, Lena's night had taken a very different turn.
The famous bar in Leal was alive—music pulsed from the speakers, laughter and chatter filled the air, glasses clinked, and colored lights cut across the dance floor. It was the kind of place that demanded you forget everything else.
Lena, swept by the moment, had already surrendered to it. She was wasted, leaning forward with a silly grin, talking to someone with a sweetness that made even strangers smile. Her words slurred, but her tone was playful, almost childlike.
Eva sat across from her, a glass in hand. She had drunk too, but nowhere near as much as her sister. Her eyes, sharper even through the haze, never strayed far from Lena.
"She's kinda sober," Lena whispered to the boy beside her, pointing at Eva with a laugh.
The boy chuckled, nodding politely. He had been kind enough, exchanging words with her for a while, but it was clear Lena's attention drifted in and out like the flicker of the neon signs above them.
Eventually, Lena slid off her seat, wobbling as she moved toward the dance floor. Music thumped beneath her feet, drawing her toward it. Her laughter echoed faintly in the chaos.
Eva, however, was already moving her fingers across her phone. Her instincts told her something her sister was too drunk to see—this night was tilting, dangerous in its own way. Quickly, she texted Dylan.
Dylan didn't need more than that.
As soon as Eva's message arrived, he ordered the driver to speed up. They cut through the streets recklessly, headlights streaking against the black glass of the night. Every second mattered. Dylan's chest tightened with each turn. He had been tired, yes—but now only urgency lived inside him.
On the dance floor, Lena's steps faltered. She never reached the center, because someone caught her wrist mid-movement.
She froze, turning sharply, anger sparking even through her drunken haze.
"Who are you?" she snapped, her voice sharp, her eyes blazing despite the blur in them. She tried to pull free, but the hold was firm.
"I don't recognize you. Let me go!"
A fragrance drifted from the stranger, something unsettlingly familiar yet misplaced. Her chest tightened with discomfort, her instincts—though dulled by alcohol—screamed at her to escape.
But then, before fear could take root, another presence swept in.
Dylan.
He was there, cutting through the noise and shadows, his hand firm as he pulled her close. The stranger released her immediately, slipping away like smoke in the crowd.
"Lena, let's go home,"
Dylan whispered, his breath brushing against her ear. His voice carried both urgency and tenderness, a plea wrapped in strength.
"It's not safe here."
The words tugged at her, drawing her out of the fog. Her gaze lifted to his face, and for a moment, she blinked in disbelief.
"Oh… it's Dylan,"
she murmured. Her lips curved into a giggle as she pressed her face against his chest, hiding like a child seeking warmth.
"Eva, I'm dreaming things now…"
Her laughter softened into a whisper, her arms looping around him clumsily.
"It's my Dylan…"
She said it with such sweetness, so unguarded, that Dylan felt something break inside his chest. The bar, the noise, the danger—all of it faded as he held her.
Without wasting time, he reached for her phone and bag on the table where she had left them. Evelyn was there, helping quietly, her expression both relieved and apologetic. Dylan nodded at her, a silent thank you, then guided Lena out.
The night air hit them like a wave—cold, crisp, filled with city sounds. Lena buried her face against him, too lost in her haze to notice anything else. Dylan held her tighter, his heart pounding not from exhaustion but from the storm of fear and relief that clashed within him.
He didn't speak as they moved toward the car. There were no words that could capture what he felt in that moment—the ache of nearly losing her to carelessness, the weight of his own absence, the raw tenderness of her drunken confession.
He only knew one thing: he wouldn't let her slip out of his reach again.
And so, with Lena nestled safely against him, Dylan carried her away from the chaos of Lille's bar and back into the night, determined to guard her as if she were the very last light he had left inside him.
The ride back from Leal was quiet, except for the soft hum of the engine and Lena's uneven breaths. She leaned against Dylan the entire way, her head resting heavily on his shoulder, her warmth pressed into his side. Every now and then she mumbled something—half words, fragments of laughter, and once, so softly he almost thought he imagined it: my Dylan.
Dylan tightened his arm around her, steadying her each time the car jolted over a bump. His eyes never left her face, pale from the night's intoxication, yet innocent in its repose. Tiredness still gnawed at him, but he pushed it aside. Tonight wasn't about him.
When the car finally rolled to a stop outside Evelyn's apartment, Dylan moved carefully. He slipped out first, then bent to gather Lena into his arms. She stirred slightly at the motion, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, but she didn't wake. He carried her up the steps, his hold protective, as though the world might try to snatch her away at any moment.
Inside, the apartment was dim and warm. Eva was nowhere to be seen—already retreated to her bedroom, worn out from the day.
He brought Lena into her room, lowered her gently onto the bed, and adjusted the pillows beneath her head. For a moment, he simply stood there, watching her. Strands of hair had fallen over her face; he brushed them aside tenderly, his hand lingering just a heartbeat too long.
Leaning closer, he whispered, almost as if confessing to the silence itself,
"Sleep well, my troublesome girl. I'll always catch you before you fall."
His throat tightened, but he turned away, forcing himself to leave her side. Out in the lounge, he found a simple dinner waiting—Eva must have set it earlier. He ate in silence, the clock ticking steadily in the background, the weight of the night slowly sinking into him.
By the time the clock's hands struck twelve, exhaustion had taken root in his bones. He rose, walked quietly back into Lena's room, and spread out the bedding on the floor beside her bed. It wasn't his first time sleeping like this; it was something he would always do when he wanted to be close enough to protect her.
He lay down, facing the ceiling, listening to the sound of her soft breathing above him. Slowly, his eyes drifted shut.
But the night wasn't done with him.
Somewhere in her drunken sleep, Lena shifted. With one careless roll, she slid right off the bed and landed on top of him with a muffled thud. Dylan's eyes snapped open in surprise, but then—he laughed quietly, shaking his head.
Even in this, she was reckless. It has been a while since Lena was this carefree. Normally she would be scared out of her wits if she wasn't with him. Even in sleep, she still found her way to him.
He wrapped a warm duvet around her small frame, careful not to wake her. She stayed curled against him, breathing softly, her hand still clutching the fabric of his shirt like she had in the car.
Dylan exhaled slowly, a rare smile breaking across his tired face. "Stay here then," he murmured. "I'll guard your dreams too."
And with her nestled against him, he closed his eyes, surrendering at last to sleep.