The night air was cool, a sharp contrast to the heavy heat and noise of the mansion party. The moment Adrian guided Amara out through the gates, it was like stepping into another world. The music dulled to a distant thrum, muffled behind closed doors, and the chaos of chatter dissolved into the quiet hum of crickets and rustling trees.
Adrian steadied her as they walked toward his car, her heels clicking unevenly against the pavement. She leaned into him, her weight light but unsteady, her laughter still bubbling faintly in her throat.
"You walk like the floor is moving," Adrian said dryly.
Amara giggled, trying to straighten herself. "That's because it is moving. Don't you see it?"
He shook his head, unlocking the car. "Get in."
She obeyed clumsily, sliding into the passenger seat. Adrian closed the door behind her, exhaling slowly before circling around to the driver's side. He wasn't sure what he had expected when he'd seen her tonight.....dressed in black, glowing under the chandeliers, laughing freely with Emily. Certainly not this. And yet, there was something disarmingly human about the sight of Amara drunk and vulnerable, her usual guarded self stripped away.
The engine purred to life, headlights cutting through the night as they pulled away from the mansion. For a while, silence filled the car, broken only by Amara's soft humming of some tune she must've heard inside. Adrian kept his eyes on the road, though he couldn't help glancing at her from time to time.
Her head lolled against the window, her eyelids drooping, but a small smile lingered on her lips. She looked… peaceful, in a way he rarely saw her.
Halfway through the drive, she stirred suddenly, groaning. "Ugh… I don't feel so good."
Adrian's grip on the wheel tightened. "Amara?"
Before he could pull over, she leaned sideways, gagging. He reacted quickly, grabbing the half-empty cup still in the holder and thrusting it toward her, but it was too late. She threw up, not much, but enough to hit his sleeve and chest.
Adrian froze for a beat, then sighed. "Great."
"I'm sorry," she mumbled miserably, her voice weak.
"It's fine," he said, though his tone was clipped. He reached for a napkin from the glove compartment, wiping himself down as best as he could. "Just hang on, we're almost there."
Fifteen minutes later, they arrived at his apartment complex. Adrian parked, helped her out of the car, and guided her upstairs. She stumbled more than once, muttering apologies each time, but he said nothing, his expression a careful mask of patience.
Inside, the apartment was cool and tidy, its minimalist design a sharp contrast to the chaos of the night. Adrian flicked on the lights, setting her gently down on the couch.
"You need to clean up," he said, more to himself than to her.
Amara blinked up at him, her lashes heavy, her face pale. "You're mad at me.....don't be madd...."
"I'm not mad," Adrian said, pulling off his soiled jacket. "You just need to take a shower before you sleep. You'll feel better."
She gave him a weak thumbs-up, then dropped her hand limply.
Adrian stared at her for a long moment, debating. Leaving her like this wasn't an option, but she clearly wasn't capable of handling herself. Sighing again, he crouched down. "Can you stand?"
With his help, she managed to get up, swaying dangerously. He guided her toward the bathroom, flicking on the light.
"There," he said gently. "Shower. I'll get you something clean to wear."
She leaned against the doorframe, looking at him with bleary eyes. "You're nice, you know."
Adrian cleared his throat, looking away. "Just… don't take too long."
While she showered, Adrian stripped off his own ruined shirt, tossing it into the laundry basket. He pulled on a clean one, then searched through his wardrobe for something she could wear. His hoodies would be too heavy, so he settled on a plain black T-shirt and a pair of drawstring shorts. They'd be loose on her, but it would do.
By the time Amara emerged, damp hair clinging to her neck, cheeks flushed from the hot water, Adrian had to school his expression into neutrality. She wore the T-shirt and shorts, the hem of the shirt brushing mid-thigh, the fabric swallowing her frame. She looked… soft.
"Better?" he asked.
She nodded, her voice small. "Much."
He handed her a glass of water. "Drink."
She obeyed, sipping slowly, then setting it down. Her gaze flickered to him, lingering on his freshly changed clothes. "You showered too."
"I had to," he replied, deadpan.
A giggle escaped her, and she quickly clapped a hand over her mouth. "Sorry."
Adrian shook his head, suppressing a smile. "You're impossible."
It was late...well past two in the morning. He guided her toward his bedroom this time, not the couch.
"You're not sleeping out here again," he said firmly.
Her brows furrowed. "But… where will you sleep?"
"I'll manage," Adrian said.
Too tired to argue, she sank onto the bed, pulling the blanket over herself. Adrian lingered at the door, watching as her eyes fluttered shut, her breathing evening out.
Something in his chest tugged unexpectedly.
He crossed the room slowly, crouched by her side, and before he could stop himself....before logic could catch up....he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.
It was fleeting, almost imperceptible, but it jolted him all the same.
Adrian drew back quickly, his pulse unsteady. What had he just done?
He stared at her peaceful face, her lips slightly parted in sleep, the faint crease of stress finally gone. For a moment, he allowed himself to just look, to let the walls down, to admit what he'd been trying to bury for weeks.
Then, with a sharp inhale, he stood and stepped back.
"Goodnight, Amara," he whispered.
And with that, he turned off the lights, retreating quietly into the living room.