The rain had stopped by the time Adrien returned to the bar, leaving the streets glistening under the pale glow of streetlights. A thin mist hung in the air, curling around the neon signs like smoke from a distant fire. Adrien's shoes made no sound on the wet asphalt; he moved with the same quiet precision that had earned him fear and respect among both allies and enemies. Tonight, he walked alone. His minions had been told to wait in the shadows, their presence unnecessary. This was his decision, his mission, and he didn't need witnesses.
Le Rêve looked the same as it had the night before. Its amber lights flickered against the blackened sidewalk, and the soft hum of the bar spilled out into the street. Adrien paused outside, surveying it carefully. The door was unlocked, slightly ajar, the faint sound of guitar strumming floating through the frame.
He pushed it open slowly. The warmth of the bar hit him immediately: the comforting scent of polished wood, faint traces of coffee and aged whiskey, the faint tang of guitar polish. He stepped inside, careful to keep his presence quiet, letting his eyes adjust to the soft golden glow.
And there he was.
Luka.
Tall, relaxed, lost entirely in the music. His hair fell into his face as his fingers moved over the strings, humming along with a soft, melancholy tune. Adrien's chest tightened in a way he didn't like, didn't understand, and yet… he couldn't look away. Every movement was deliberate, fluid, and utterly entrancing. The subtle tilt of Luka's head, the way he pressed his thumb to mute a string, the faint smile he offered himself whenever a note sounded just right—it all pulled Adrien deeper into an orbit he didn't know he wanted to enter.
Adrien's presence went unnoticed at first. Luka's focus was total, almost sacred, as if the outside world, including the storm of the city, could not touch him. Adrien felt a strange, almost painful longing. He had everything in the world he wanted—power, influence, fear—but none of it mattered compared to this simple, quiet music, this man who could pull calm from the chaos of his mind with nothing but strings and a melody.
He moved closer, a predator wrapped in elegance, though the thought made him uncomfortable. This was not a business deal. There was no negotiation here, no leverage. He wanted something else entirely.
Luka's eyes flicked up briefly, catching Adrien's reflection in the window behind him. For a split second, there was recognition, curiosity, and a hint of something softer. Then he returned to the guitar. Adrien's jaw tightened. The fleeting acknowledgment had ignited something impossible to ignore.
He took a seat at the bar without speaking, ordering a glass of water—not that he was thirsty, but that he needed a reason to linger. The bartender nodded silently, accustomed to night owls, and refilled a jar of toothpicks. Adrien didn't care. His gaze never left Luka.
Minutes passed. The music shifted, slower now, deeper, carrying a weight that mirrored Adrien's own exhaustion. He could feel it in his chest, in his bones. The song was quiet, intimate, almost confessional. Every note seemed to whisper directly to him, unraveling the tension that had gripped him for weeks. He leaned forward slightly, unconsciously mirroring Luka's posture.
Finally, the song ended. Luka set the guitar down with delicate care, running a hand through his hair. He looked up, finally meeting Adrien's gaze fully. Blue-gray eyes studied him with calm, deliberate curiosity. No fear, no awe, just measured attention. Adrien found himself caught off guard. Few dared to look at him like that without flinching.
"You… come here a lot?" Luka asked, voice low, soft, tinged with amusement.
Adrien's lips pressed into a line. "Not… usually," he admitted, realizing how weak it sounded. He was the man who commanded fear across the city, yet here he was, admitting he had been drawn to someone's music like a moth to a flame.
Luka tilted his head, evaluating him. "You were here last night," he said gently. "Staring through the window like you were… not sure what you wanted."
Adrien felt heat rise to his cheeks—not embarrassment, exactly, but something unfamiliar. Vulnerability. He hated the feeling. "Something like that," he said, voice controlled, precise, but betraying nothing.
Luka's smile was small but knowing. "Then you liked what you heard?"
Adrien paused. The truth hovered on the edge of his tongue. He wanted to say more—so much more—but the words were dangerous, exposing something no one should ever see. "I… needed it," he said finally, the confession slipping past his lips almost against his will.
The bar seemed quieter now, the murmur of the city outside dimmed to nothing. Luka's gaze softened, a faint tilt of understanding. "Music helps," he said simply, as though stating a fact, not offering comfort.
Adrien didn't respond. He didn't have to. He could feel the honesty in Luka's words, the calm certainty that he could not command, could not manipulate. It was… infuriating. And yet, he wanted it.
Luka picked up the guitar again, tuning it casually. "Do you play?" he asked, his voice teasing but gentle.
Adrien's lips twitched. "I… don't," he admitted. Truth was, he had no time, no patience, and no peace in his hands. But he didn't care about that now. The question wasn't important. What mattered was Luka, the music, the way the soft light fell over him, casting shadows over his angular features that made Adrien's chest tighten.
"I can play," Luka said, nodding slightly, almost to himself, "but it doesn't usually calm… people like you."
Adrien froze. "People like me?" The words were sharper than he intended, edged with curiosity and something darker.
"You," Luka said simply, eyes meeting his. "You're not used to calm. You're not used to quiet. You… you're used to controlling, commanding, taking. You're used to being feared."
Adrien's chest tightened. He said nothing. Luka's words hit harder than any rival, any bullet, any business deal.
"And yet," Luka continued, softer now, leaning slightly over the guitar, "you stayed. You listened. You… let yourself feel it."
Adrien's hand curled slightly around the bar. The sensation was strange, new, unsettling. He was used to giving orders, to controlling outcomes, to being the apex of every room he entered. And yet here, in this quiet bar, with this man who played music like breathing, he felt… powerless.
It was a feeling he hated. And a feeling he could not walk away from.
He stood abruptly, the sudden motion startling Luka. "I need…" Adrien began, then stopped. The words failed him. He wasn't sure if he needed to hear the music again, to see Luka, or something else entirely. Something dangerous.
Luka tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly in curiosity. "Need what?"
Adrien's jaw tightened. He swallowed, fighting the unusual tug of vulnerability. "You," he said finally, sharp, precise. "I… need you."
The words hung in the air between them, heavy, dangerous, impossible. Luka's eyes widened slightly, a flicker of surprise passing over his features, but he didn't move away.
Instead, he smirked. "You have… interesting ways of expressing it," he said lightly, though Adrien could see the caution behind the amusement.
Adrien's lips pressed into a thin line. He was not used to being teased, especially not by someone who could so calmly meet his intensity without fear. And yet, he felt drawn to it. Pulled to it. Compelled by it in a way that made his pulse quicken.
The tension in the room thickened. Adrien's mind raced, calculating. He could not leave. Not tonight. Not without understanding this man, without bringing him… closer. His own rules didn't apply here, not fully. Luka was something different. Something untouchable and yet tantalizingly close.
He stepped closer, closing the distance between them. The warmth from Luka's presence hit him like a wave. The faint scent of coffee and wood mingled with the crisp air from outside, intoxicating, grounding. Luka didn't move away, didn't flinch. He simply regarded Adrien with steady, unwavering eyes.
"You play beautifully," Adrien said finally, his voice low, deliberate, but uncomfortably vulnerable.
Luka's smirk softened, a hint of something unreadable passing over his face. "Thank you," he said. "And you… don't just listen. You… notice."
Adrien's pulse quickened. He wanted to argue, to claim control, to do what he always did. But the truth, uncomfortably raw, was that he wanted to stay. Right here. Right now. With Luka, with the music, with the quiet.
Minutes passed. Neither spoke. Neither moved. The silence was heavy, yet comforting in its intimacy. Adrien's insomnia, for the first time in weeks, seemed to retreat, if only slightly.
And in that silence, an idea, bold and reckless, began to take shape in his mind.
Tomorrow, he would return. Alone.
Tomorrow, he would ensure Luka could not walk away so easily.
Tomorrow, he would make sure the music, the calm, and the man who wielded it became… his.
Because Adrien had decided something dangerous, something terrifying, and something exhilarating: he could not live another night without Luka in his orbit.
And he would do whatever it took to make that happen.