Adrien's safehouse was quiet once the doors clicked shut behind them. The city hummed faintly outside, distant and irrelevant. The warm glow from the antique lamps softened the edges of the sleek, modern interior, casting a golden light over polished wood and leather that spoke of control and precision.
Luka stood in the center of the room, guitar slung loosely over his shoulder, his blue-gray eyes scanning every corner. He had expected cold, sterile luxury—corporate intimidation made physical—but this was… lived-in, curated. Comfortable, in a strange, unsettling way.
Adrien watched him silently from the doorway, coat still on, hands in pockets. His gaze lingered on the curve of Luka's jaw, the way his hair fell over his forehead, the careful, controlled movements that bespoke calm and discipline.
"You can put it down," Adrien said finally, his voice low, careful. "The guitar."
Luka hesitated, fingers grazing the wood, then let it hang on the strap. "I don't like leaving it unattended," he admitted softly, still scanning the room.
Adrien's eyes narrowed slightly. "You don't have to. Not here."
There was something in the way he said it—not a command, exactly, but a promise. Luka blinked slowly, sensing the subtle shift.
"I assume the baby is… somewhere safe?" Luka asked, his tone almost casual, but eyes sharp. Protective instincts were already coiled inside him, ready to spring.
Adrien nodded. "Safe. Your son will not be harmed. But—he's sleeping in the other room. I suggest you stay here."
Luka's eyes flicked to the doorway leading to the nursery. "Aldrin?" The name left his lips almost instinctively, and Adrien caught the careful softening in his expression. Luka's son was more than a detail—he was a tether, a responsibility, and a reminder that this man was more than the calm surface of the music.
Adrien said nothing, only gestured subtly toward a plush leather chair. "Sit," he said. "Relax. For tonight, this is all about… quiet."
Luka lowered himself into the chair, legs crossed, hands resting in his lap. He kept his eyes on Adrien, assessing, reading. Adrien had the poise of a predator, the quiet danger of someone who could destroy worlds with a word—but there was something different here. Vulnerability, hidden behind layers of control.
Adrien crossed the room slowly, boots soft against the polished floor, and settled into a chair opposite Luka. The space between them was charged, silent, intimate. Adrien studied him, noting the way Luka's hands lingered near the guitar strap, the subtle tension in his shoulders, the careful alertness that spoke of a man who could protect his child from any threat.
"I…" Adrien began, then stopped. Words were rare in his world—carefully chosen, calculated. Yet here, he felt compelled to speak, compelled to admit something he had never said to anyone. "I… I don't usually do this."
Luka's eyebrows lifted slightly, curious but unafraid. "Do what?"
"This." Adrien gestured vaguely, encompassing the room, the soft warmth, the quiet. "Sit. Stay. Let someone… someone else exist in the same space without… tension."
Luka's lips pressed together, a faint smirk tugging at the corner. "You make it sound like torture."
Adrien's lips twitched, almost a smile. "Perhaps. But it's… necessary. For me."
They sat for a moment in silence, the kind that wasn't uncomfortable but heavy with unspoken understanding. Then Luka's gaze drifted toward the nursery door again. "Aldrin…" he said softly, almost to himself.
Adrien tilted his head slightly. "He's sleeping. Calm. Safe."
A faint smile broke across Luka's face. "Good," he said. "Because… if he weren't, I'd have your head in the morning."
Adrien's eyes flicked up sharply, dark with amusement. "I think you'd try."
Luka leaned back in the chair, relaxed slightly but still alert. "I always try," he said simply.
The moment stretched, soft and strange. Adrien's usual control felt unnecessary here, beside this man and the promise of quiet. And yet, it was intoxicating—how effortless Luka made it seem to occupy the same space, to radiate calm even as he remained guarded.
Adrien's gaze fell to Luka's hands again, flexing idly, brushing the chair's arm. "You play beautifully," he said, voice low, almost rough.
Luka's fingers twitched unconsciously toward the guitar. "You've said that before," he said softly, but there was warmth in his tone. "Does it need repeating?"
"Yes," Adrien admitted. His eyes flicked to Luka's face, taking in the subtle rise of his cheekbones, the tilt of his head, the calm certainty in his posture. "It does."
A soft knock at the nursery door interrupted them. Adrien's body tensed automatically, every instinct sharp. Luka rose immediately, moving toward the door.
"Aldrin?" he whispered, voice soft, cautious.
A small, cooing sound floated through the wood, and Luka's expression softened. He opened the door to reveal a small boy, swaddled in blankets, bright eyes blinking up at him. The child's tiny hands curled, reaching for Luka instinctively.
Adrien felt a tightening in his chest he couldn't name. Protective instincts flared, even though this was not his child. He watched Luka cradle Aldrin gently, rocking him, whispering soft nonsense words to calm him.
"You're okay," Luka murmured. "You're safe now, Aldrin."
Adrien's breath caught. The ease, the instinctive gentleness… it was entirely foreign to him. He had never seen anyone command such peace, such trust, in another being, let alone in a child.
Luka's eyes flicked toward him, sharp and assessing. "Stay back," he said softly, protective but not hostile. "He doesn't know you. He won't… react well if you crowd him."
Adrien inclined his head. "Understood," he said quietly. His mind was racing, calculating how to exist in this space, how to balance the need for control with the strange, growing need to be… present.
Aldrin stirred in Luka's arms, tiny fists curling and uncurling, eyes wide and curious. Luka shifted him slightly, holding him closer. "You're safe," he whispered again. "I promise."
Adrien found himself leaning slightly forward, observing, learning. He could feel the boy's pulse, small and steady, and something inside him—long dormant, buried under years of fear, control, and duty—stirred.
"You… take good care of him," Adrien said finally, his voice low, almost reverent.
Luka glanced at him, expression unreadable. "I try," he said. "It's… important."
Adrien's mind wandered briefly to his own life, to the emptiness of his apartment, the silence that never healed, the nights spent staring at ceilings, restless, alone. And here was Luka, with this small life in his arms, offering something Adrien could not name but recognized instantly: hope. Connection. Calm.
He cleared his throat. "I… I will not harm him," he said. The words were deliberate, deliberate and heavy with meaning. "He stays safe. No one touches him. Not here. Not ever."
Luka studied him for a long moment. Then, slowly, he nodded. "Good," he said, voice soft but firm. "Because if he were hurt…" He didn't finish the sentence. The weight was clear. Adrien understood it perfectly.
Aldrin yawned, tiny arms stretching instinctively, and Luka adjusted him in his arms. "Alright," he murmured, voice gentle, almost a song. "Time for sleep."
Adrien watched them, silent, his mind unusually still. The music, the calm, the domestic peace—it was disarming. He could feel the slow burn of something impossible, intoxicating, and utterly unfamiliar: care.
The night stretched on. Luka sat in the chair, Aldrin cradled in his arms, humming soft melodies to lull him back to sleep. Adrien remained nearby, silent but present, leaning against the wall, watching, listening. Every subtle movement, every soft word, every gentle touch—it all carved a space inside Adrien that had been empty for too long.
And for the first time in years, he allowed himself to hope—not just for sleep, not just for calm, but for the possibility of something he had long denied: connection.
Because Luka and Aldrin were not just people. They were anchors. And Adrien… he was beginning to understand he could not drift away from them.
Not tonight. Not ever.