He wasn’t supposed to matter
a/n: I promised I didn't forget about this series! I've been really busy and especially with the holidays coming up. I'm going insane...might be a little rushed soo excuse the mistake.
Sypnosis: After watching your brother, Rick Flag, die at the hands of the man you just started to trust—Peacemaker—your world shatters, but later you’re offered a chance for revenge, you take it without hesitation. But then someone unexpected walks into your life and your vengeance started to blur into something dangerously close to feeling again.
Parings: Adrian chase x grumpy!reader
warnings/Tags: 18+ Slow burn, somewhat enemies to lovers, mutual pining, no use of (y/n), reader is an asshole, stalking, drinking, reader and Adrian basically fight.
Word count: 15,556
chapters: pt.i | pt.ii | pt.iii | pt.iv | pt.v | pt.vi | pt.vii | pt.viii | pt.ix | pt.x | pt. xi | pt.xii | pt.xiii |
(divider credits:@strangergraphics)
It was such a weird feeling, confusing, and completely out of place. That night, after you dropped Adrian off, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. Which was insane, because just yesterday, you couldn’t stand him. Now your mind wouldn’t shut up about him.
Apparently, you weren’t the only one losing it. Adrian spent the whole night replaying everything too. God, he was going crazy. He shouldn’t be feeling like that. You were rude, yet somehow still… confusing. Chaotic in a way he weirdly liked. It made his brain spark in all the wrong—or maybe the right—ways.
He wasn’t used to caring about being liked. He pretended it didn’t matter, acted like he was fine being the odd one out. But deep down, he wanted it. Especially from you.
He kept replaying the entire car ride in his mind. The way you looked so serious as you drove. The slight furrow of your brows as you focused on the road. The way your lashes fluttered when you blinked, soft and unguarded. He remembered every detail like his brain refused to let him forget a single second.
While he was replaying the whole thing, you were in your bed, tossing and twisting like you were trying to out-maneuver your own thoughts. Fighting off those sudden, stupid feelings for him. You hated it. You hated him for making you feel something you never asked for.
You’d spent so long convincing yourself you didn’t need anyone—didn’t want anyone. The idea of being with someone made your skin crawl and getting attached wasn't part of the plan.
But Adrian wasn’t even that bad. He was just weird. Strange in a way that didn’t quite fit anywhere—but somehow that was the one thing you liked about him.
And you didn’t trust him. Not yet. He was friends with Peacemaker—your enemy at the moment—and that alone was enough to keep every instinct in you on guard. So no matter how curious he made you, or how close he kept accidentally getting, you weren’t about to let Adrian slip anywhere near your guard. For now.
That didn’t exactly mean you couldn’t dig up his life in the system. If anything, it made the idea feel… necessary. You needed to know everything about him—every detail, every quiet corner of his life he probably assumed no one ever noticed.
But not because you cared. You refused to care. You told yourself it was just curiosity. A simple study of who Adrian was. You’d knit together the version of him you needed to understand—without ever actually knowing him.
Eventually, you gave in your thought of stalking adrians life. So early that morning, you found yourself heading to the video store. The bell over the door gave a faint jingle as you slipped inside. Your bag hung heavy on your shoulder, packed with your work things. The door clicked shut behind you, sealing you in with the quiet.
The room was dark, empty except for the pale wash of streetlight spilling through the windows and stretching long shadows across the floor.
You moved carefully, your boots tapping softly against the tile — the sound sharp in the stillness. You made your way toward the front desk, trying to stay calm, focused—
“What are you doing here?”
The deep voice cut through the dark like a knife. You jumped, heart lurching in your chest. Before you could even react, harsh fluorescent light flooded the room. You flinched, throwing up a hand to shield your eyes. Blinking against the glare, you squinted toward the source.
Economos stood near the light switch, one hand holding a Ziploc bag of Goldfish, while the other still held onto the light switch on the wall. He stared at you with a mix of confusion and suspicion, crumbs dusting his beard.
You let out a sight of annoyance. You rolled your eyes. The place was supposed to be empty — that was the whole point of coming early. “Why are you here?” you asked, dropping your bag on the desk with a dull thud.
Economos wandered over, crunching on another handful of Goldfish, then plopped down at the desk across from yours.
“Uh, I’m always here,” he said flatly, gesturing around the room like it was the most obvious fact in the world. You stared at him with a hard, unamused look, not in the mood for whatever nonsense he thought he was being funny about.
He cleared his throat and straightened up. “I needed to edit a few things on the PowerPoint for the meeting later,” he added, adjusting the bridge of his glasses with a quick, habitual touch.
“At five in the morning?” you muttered, irritation bleeding through every word. Your gaze dropped to your bag as you pulled out your laptop. Honestly, you could’ve done this from home—but the encrypted network Economos had set up here was much safer. If you were going to dig into restricted government files, you weren’t taking chances.
He kept watching you as he chewed, one eyebrow inching up in suspicion. “Uh, yeah. Murn likes to get here fucking early. I need this done now,” he said, crumbs clinging to his beard.
You watched a couple of crumbs drop into it, blinked hard, then finally sat down. “How early?” you asked.
Economos thought for a second, eyes drifting upward. “Six… ish,” he said with a shrug.
You hummed as you opened your laptop. You had exactly one hour to dig into your little “research.” Economos watched you as you started typing rapidly, his eyes narrowing like he was trying to figure out what crime you were about to commit.
You were logging into the system. Honestly, this was the best part of working for ARGUS—you had access to almost everything. Almost. But with your dad being higher up, you had access to even more than you should’ve.
“Okay,” he said eventually, voice slow and lazy. “why are you here? It’s five in the morning. You’re not exactly a morning person.”
You didn’t answer right away — because there was no way you were going to say, “I’m here to get into the government site and dig up Adrian’s entire life.” Instead you dropped your voice into something flatter, more boring. “Work. Just like you.”
Economos stared at you for a long second. He chewed slowly, eyes narrowing like he was trying to line up a glitch in the Matrix. “At five a.m.?” he finally asked, disbelief dripping off every syllable.
You didn’t bother answering. Mostly because you didn’t have one. And partly because you knew he was right—there was absolutely no universe where you’d be voluntarily doing work at this ungodly hour.
But here you were anyway, pretending you weren’t scanning through Adrian’s file. “You sure you’re feeling okay?” he asked. “Because the you I know doesn’t… function until at least Ten.”
You kept your expression neutral, eyes locked on the screen—anything to avoid the possibility of him seeing the real reason you were awake. No, not because you cared about Adrian. You didn’t. Obviously.
You took a slow, heavy breath before finally looking up at him. “Shut up,” you said flatly. Economos froze mid-chew, a Goldfish cracker half-crushed between his fingers.
“I need to focus, okay?” you continued, your tone clipped, eyes narrowing. “So shut up and work on your fucking Power Point.” He blinked at you, mouth still full, then held up both hands in surrender. “Alright, jeez.” He wisely turned back to his computer, the only sound left in the room the faint crunch of crackers and the rapid clacking of your keys.
Finally, the room fell silent. Economos was buried in his Power Point slides and you were lost in your own mission—typing Adrian’s name into every secured database you could access.
There he was. His file opened like a neatly wrapped secret waiting to be torn apart. You started small: his birth certificate, the hospital he was born in, the date. You leaned closer to the screen, humming under your breath. Two years older than you. Born and raised in Washington. Never moved or anything. How boring.
You kept scrolling. School records. You clicked on his graduation photo and your brows shot up. A laugh slipped out before you could stop it. God, he was a nerd. He still looked like one but better than before.
Economos watched as you laughed to yourself, squinting at your screen like you were trying to zoom in with your eyeballs. He should’ve been focusing on his Power Point, but how could he? You were acting suspicious as hell, and curiosity had him by the throat.
You looked at his employment history, arrest reports, medical data—you opened tab after tab, collecting pieces of him like puzzle fragments you had no business touching.
Adrian’s life was… honestly kind of boring. Clean record—well, except for the arrest from yesterday. He didn’t have much going on in his life besides that his little vigilante secret.
“What are you doing?” Economos asked suddenly, his voice cutting through your focus. You froze, fingers pausing mid-keystroke before slowly looking up. He was already staring at you, eyebrows raised, suspicion written all over his face. “What?” you snapped, a little too sharp.
He squinted, chewing on another Goldfish like it was part of his interrogation process. “Well, you keep humming every few seconds,” he said. “And honestly. I’m starting to think you’re doing something bad."
“What? Economos, focus on your shit. I have work to do.” You turned back to the screen, pointedly ignoring him. You clicked something—anything—just to look occupied. The glow of the screen lit your eyes, and the faint hum of the early-morning office buzzed around you.
Economos didn’t buy it. You could practically feel his stare punching into your skull—like a suspicious dad watching his kid insist they weren’t the one who shattered the living room lamp.
And he knew he shouldn’t do it. He really did. He’d done it once years ago, and the one time he did, he ended up being right. And now? Economos was absolutely about to hack into your laptop to see what you were up to.
He straightened suddenly, shifting forward in his chair and typing with new purpose. You glanced over just enough to see him laser-focused on his screen. Finally, he was minding his own business—leaving you free to continue stalking Adrian’s life without an audience.
You kept digging through Adrian’s files, nosing around more than you probably should’ve—hell, you even poked into his family. Turns out he did have an older brother. The same one Peacemaker used to talk about back in Corto Maltese. You remembered peacemaker griping about how the guy had turned into a total goody two-shoes, getting his life together or whatever.
The timeline matched up: he’d moved out of Washington a few years back, went off to college—something Adrian never bothered with. On paper, his life looked… stable. Predictable. Honestly? Kind of miserable and boring.
You clicked on his picture and raised a brow. He looked like Adrian, sure… if Adrian were a complete dick. Which he wasn’t. Honestly, you could totally see why that guy was friends with Peacemaker.
Economos let out a small, dramatic gasp. Your eyes snapped up at him, but he kept his gaze glued to his laptop screen like nothing had happened. You blinked, irritated, and turned back to your own screen. “Stalking Adrian Chase’s life is work to you?” he blurted.
Your fingers froze over the keyboard. The hum of the fluorescent lights suddenly felt too loud. Your stomach dropped, a cold weight settling there as you slowly looked up at him. His expression was half-guilty, half-incredulous, like he already regretted opening his mouth but couldn’t un-say it.
You stared at him for a long, tense moment, the words catching in your throat before you finally managed to speak. “Please tell me you didn’t hack into my computer just to snoop through my shit, John.” Your jaw was clenched so tight your teeth practically buzzed with anger.
“Sorry!” he burst out immediately. “You were acting so weird, I had to! I’m still traumatized from Vegas when you hacked into mine—by the way, I will never trust you again for that.” He pointed at you like the accusation still physically hurt him. “Never.”
“For fuck’s sake, you moron! That was three years ago—and, by the way, I never told anyone what I saw!” you snapped. Economos shook his head immediately. “No. No, I know you told Harcourt.”
“I didn’t,” you shot back. “ I might be a bitch, but I’m not that much of a bitch that I’d go spreading your business around.” You say as threw your hands up, exasperated.
“Fine, whatever,” he muttered, waving off the argument like it exhausted him. “Why are you looking through Adrian’s file?” he asked, switching subjects so abruptly it was almost whiplash.
Your body stiffened as you sat up straighter. “Um… I don’t trust him,” you lied. Economos raised a skeptical brow. “You don’t trust him?” he repeated.
“Yeah,” you shrugged. “He’s weird, and he’s friends with Peacemaker. For all we know, he could be a rat or something.” Economos nodded slowly at your words, clearly unconvinced—but he didn’t press it, because he knew not too.
“I mean, he showed up out of nowhere during the apartment accident. Then he showed up at the Goffs’… connect the dots, Economos! He’s a rat!” you loudly said.
“Yeah, sure. He’s a rat,” Economos said flatly. “The guy who purposefully got himself thrown in jail to kill Peacemaker’s dad is a rat?” You opened your mouth, ready to fire back, but nothing came out. Mostly because—yeah, okay—that was a good point. Didn’t mean you were gonna admit it.
You lifted your chin instead, doubling down. “People do weird stuff when they’re guilty,” you muttered.
“Right,” he said, nodding way too enthusiastically. You glared at him, cheeks warming. “Shut up. This stays between us, okay? I can’t have the team thinking he’s a rat… not until I know for sure,” you said, keeping your voice steady, feeding the lie like it was truth.
Economos hummed absentmindedly, already half on his phone, his eyes flicking up only once in a while. “Great. It’s 6:10,” he muttered, frowning. “And I didn’t even get to finish my PowerPoint.”
“You would’ve if you minded your business!” you snapped, louder than you meant to. He blinked, taken aback, then went right back to scrolling.
You turned back to your screen, pulse tapping a little too fast. Time had slipped through your fingers—fast enough that it felt like you hadn’t dug up nearly enough on Adrian. Sure, you had information. Plenty, actually. More than you needed. But it wasn’t enough.
You wanted more and you hated that.
“A year ago, Alan Kupperberg—the billionaire CEO of Waresoft—and pop singer Vandalia died in a plane crash. During their autopsies, a small insect-like, winged creature—presumably extraterrestrial—was found inside their skulls. That’s when we first became aware of the Butterflies,” Murn said.
By now, everyone had finally arrived into the old video store. The meeting was supposed to start a while ago, but Peacemaker was—shockingly—not on time. Again. He showed up eventually, bursting through the door like he was arriving at a party no one invited him to, helmet under his arm, hair a mess, slightly out of breath for no reason he would ever explain.
Now all of you sat in front of the small screen. Murn talked, steady and calm as always, while Economos clicked through the PowerPoint he’d been stressing over earlier.
Peacemaker sat surprisingly straight for once—back stiff, hands on his knees, like he was pretending to be the picture of professionalism. Harcourt, on the other hand, was slouched just enough to betray how done she already was with the day. Adebayo was scribbling notes like she was actually still in class and this was all going to be on a test.
You tried to settle in but the second Adrian walked in he made a straight, painfully obvious beeline for the empty seat across from you. He sat down like it was the most natural thing in the world—like that spot had been waiting for him.
The distance should’ve made it easier. It didn’t.
Every so often he’d glance over at you, like he was checking if you were still there, and that tiny, lopsided smile would tug at his mouth. Not big enough to call attention to, just soft enough to feel intentional—like a quiet little “hi” he didn’t dare say out loud.
You wouldn’t exactly smile back—you weren’t there yet—but you’d give him the tiniest nod. Barely anything. A flick of acknowledgement. But for him? Oh, that was plenty. He’d look away with this stupid, quiet grin like he’d just unlocked a secret achievement.
You’d roll your eyes, all irritated on the outside… but even you knew you didn’t actually hate it. Not even a little. In fact, you kinda liked the way he lit up over something so small.
Economos sighted beside you, as he clicked to the next slide, and a collage of celebrities filled the screen—actors, politicians, CEOs, all the pretty faces the world cared about way too much.
“Since then, we’ve found the creature in a handful of high-profile politicians, celebrities, and titans of industry,” he said, sounding way too casual for a guy talking about alien brain invaders.
You’d expected his PowerPoint to be… well, better. Cleaner. Less middle-school-science-fair. But it was complete garbage. Pixelated photos, mismatched fonts And apparently you weren’t the only one silently judging—Peacemaker shook his head at the screen like even he couldn’t believe how bad it was.
Economos kept going. “They enter the human body through one of its orifices and burrow through the brain… where they then take full control of the host.”
Right on cue, the slide switched to a horrifying little animation of exactly that process. The timing was so perfect it almost felt intentional. “They go through the butt?” Peacemaker asked, horrified, as the butterfly insect entered an animated persons ass.
“I think that’s just some, uh… creativity on the part of whoever did the animation,” Murn said, giving Economos a pointed look. Everyone followed his gaze. Economos sighed, shoulders slumping. “The butt is an orifice, okay?”
“That means they’d have to crawl through poop,” Adrian chimed in suddenly, sounding genuinely offended. “Just because they’re aliens doesn’t make them gross. Bigotry.”
You stared at him, eyebrows lifted, then slowly turned your attention back to Economos. “I was gonna fix it, okay?” Economos snapped. “Until someone distracted me with their weird shit on their computer.” He shot you a glare.
You narrowed your eyes at him, a slow, warning squint. Economos looked like he wanted to repeat what you’d said earlier—he wanted to so badly—but the look you were giving him made him rethink every life decision that led him to this moment.
Everyone caught it. The weird tension between you two practically hummed in the room. “Wait, what’d she have?” Peacemaker asked, leaning forward like this was suddenly the most interesting thing in the briefing.
Economos opened his mouth. “Don’t even think about it,” you cut in sharply. “I’ll tell them about Vegas.”
That shut him right up. His lips clamped together so tight he practically swallowed his own comeback. Your threat had the opposite effect you intended—now everyone looked curious. Even Peacemaker perked up like a dog who’d heard the word treat.
But you knew you’d never actually tell Economos’s secret. You wouldn’t want to traumatize anyone else the way you had been traumatized.
“Okay…” Murn said, dragging the briefing back on track. “The Butterflies’ unique genetic structure and chemistry interact with their hosts’ bodies, giving them strength far beyond that of a human being.”
Everyone reluctantly pulled their eyes off you and Economos and focused on the screen again. Economos clicked to the next slide. A human figure stood next to a chimpanzee. Nothing else.
“And what’s the chimp for?” Adebayo asked, eyebrows up.
“Chimpanzees have four times the strength of a human being, so they’re both strong,” Economos explained, as if that cleared anything up.
“Yeah, we’re supposed to get that just by looking at this, Dye-Beard,” Peacemaker muttered. Economos’s jaw tightened.
“I thought the man and the chimp were friends,” Adrian said suddenly, voice completely sincere. “I thought they were about to go on an adventure together.”
Everyone turned to look at him. Every. Single. Person. You stared too, wondering—yet again—if he was sometimes stupid on purpose… or if this was just Adrian being Adrian.
“This viscous amber fluid has been found at the sites of all the dead butterflies,” Murn said, voice steady, though the words themselves made the room heavier. “Lab studies show the fluid’s genetic structure doesn’t match anything on the planet. And…it seems to be the butterflies’ only food source. Which makes what Leota discovered last night potentially significant.”
Economos clicked to the next slide. “This was on the bulletin board at the Goffs’ home,” Murn explained, pointing to a Glan Tai card.
“Leota noticed that this is also where Annie Sturphausen worked,” Murn added, and Economos switched to the next slide, leaving the room silent for a moment, everyone staring at the growing web of connections.
The next slide flashed up, but instead of a normal layout, the screen erupted with a chaotic wave of animated explosions before fading into a clear image of Annie’s work badge.
Peacemaker burst out laughing, slapping the table. “You fucking suck at PowerPoints, Dye-beard!”
“Yeah, well, you can do it next time. It’s not like I enjoy making this,” Economos shot back, voice defensive. “Yeah, you do! It’s amazing,” Peacemaker said, still chuckling.
"The incredible amount of time you put into this presentation... and how incredibly shitty it still is." His jab carried more than just mockery—he was still pissed about Economos putting his dad in jail, and maybe that why he was going at him.
Adrian chuckled along with Peacemaker, and you looked over at him. But the smile vanished the second his eyes met yours. He straightened in his chair, expression dead serious.
“Okay, Peacemaker. Enough,” Murn said, sounding annoyed, trying to pull the team back from the chaos.
“I didn’t mean to put your father in prison,” Economos muttered, avoiding Peacemaker’s gaze. “Then why’d you do it, you fat fuck?” Peacemaker snapped, slamming his fist onto the table.
“Because… I couldn’t think of anyone else—” Economos started, but Peacemaker cut him off, shaking his head. “What about Ariana Grande? Or Drake?” he asked. “What?” Economos snapped, already fed up.
Peacemaker didn’t stop. If anything, he kept going. “Brad Pitt! Or Payne Stewart! Or Doug the Pug? Khloé Kardashian! The Red Tiger from Voltron! Fran Tarkenton! Joe Montana! Joe Mantegna—”
You all sat there, trapped, listening to his never-ending list of random celebrity names. Every now and then one of you would meet someone else’s eyes, and questioning the whole thing.
“Alright, next time I have to fucking frame somebody, it’ll be one of those thousands of people you just mentioned!” Economos snapped back. “Yeah, tell that to my dad,” Peacemaker loudly said.
“Peacemaker, shut the fuck up!” Murn finally exploded, voice echoing off the concrete walls. “Do you all wanna be here till tomorrow?” The room went dead silent. Every single one of you stared at Murn like schoolkids caught passing notes.
Nobody answered. Not until Adrian—of all people—slowly raised his hand next to you, elbow brushing yours. “Do you have cable?” he asked, completely sincere.
Murn stared at him, stone-faced. “So, I don’t wanna stay here overnight if there’s no cable,” Adrian continued, unbothered. “Fargo’s on tonight.”
“It was a rhetorical question,” Murn said through clenched teeth.
“Oh, got it.” Adrian nodded, then smiled, wide and hopelessly earnest. “In that case, I change my answer to just ignoring the question. Not another word.” He zipped his mouth shut with two fingers and pressed them together like it was some solemn vow.
“The point is… the raw amber fluid is potentially being processed and bottled at Glan Tai Bottling Company,” Murn said, pacing like his brain was five steps ahead of all of you. “Glan Tai is in Little Cork about two hours north from here. So you’re all gonna take a field trip and see what you find out. ”
He didn’t even pause to make sure anyone was on the same page. “I’m staying back to deal with the White Dragon situation.”
Nobody argued with that—not out loud, anyway. The room went quiet for a beat, the kind of silence where everyone’s pretending they’re totally fine.
But the mission wasn’t going to prep itself.
So, one by one, you all started moving. You slipped away to the back room, the one where all the weapons were stored. You scanned the room automatically—rows of rifles lined up on the long tables, heavier hardware mounted on the walls, a few knives left in places they definitely weren’t supposed to be. Typical.
With a tired yawn, you headed toward the table with the smaller handguns laid out. They sat in neat rows on a worn mat, each one cleaned, tagged, and ready. You reached for a pistol and lifted it closer, turning it in your hand to get a better look.
It was one of the basic models the team always carried. Not your favorite—kind of boring, honestly—but solid. Light. Reliable. The kind of gun that didn’t surprise you, which made it useful on days like this.
A soft creak from the floorboards snapped your attention toward the door. You looked back, catching sight of Adrian hovering there like he wasn’t sure if he should come in or back away slowly.
“What, Adrian?” you muttered, eyes already dropping back to the pistol. You tried to make it sound annoyed, irritated, dismissive—but it rang hollow even to your own ears. You weren’t mad. You were just trying way too hard to convince yourself you hated him.
“You know… you’re really confusing,” he said. You didn’t bother looking at him. The metal felt cool under your fingertips, easier to focus on than whatever he was about to unload.
“One day you’re nice, and then the next?” He let out a small breath. “It’s like your whole mood changes.” His voice wasn’t accusing—just puzzled, like he was standing in front of a puzzle he genuinely wanted to solve. And unfortunately for you, you were the puzzle.
“Yeah?” you said flatly. “Wild how moods work.” There was a beat—small, awkward, and loud with things neither of you wanted to say. He tried again, a little softer. “I’m just saying… it’s hard to know where I stand with you.”
That was the exact sentence you didn’t need. Your stomach tightened; your pulse jumped the way you hated. So you did the only thing you trusted yourself to do—push him away.
“Adrian,” you said, finally turning toward him, “you don’t stand anywhere with me.” He blinked, caught off guard. Good. You needed him off-balance. Far away. On another planet, preferably.
“I’m not your friend,” you added, sharper than you meant to. “I’m not your—whatever you think I am. And I don’t owe you consistency.”
He stared at you, the confusion in his face flickering into something that looked almost hurt. You tried not to care. You tried really, really hard. But your chest still tightened like an idiot.
“I apologized last night, but that didn’t suddenly mean we could be friends.” You kept your tone flat, clinical, like you were diagnosing him with stupidity. “So don’t read into anything I say or do,” you finished. “Ever.”
He swallowed, looking at the floor for a second. “Right,” he murmured. “Got it.”
You expected him to walk away. You wanted him to walk away. Instead, he just stood there for a moment, not moving, not speaking—like he was waiting for you to take it back. You didn’t.
You just reached for another gun, jaw set, pretending your heart wasn’t slamming against your ribs like it was trying to break out. Because you refused to let him get under your skin. Even though he already had.
You kept your gaze lowered, scanning over the handguns like you were judging them in a lineup. Adrian still lingered beside you, clearly watching you think. “I’d choose this one,” he finally said, pointing toward a revolver like he was doing you some great favor.
Your eyes slid to him. You stared a beat too long, wondering why he was still here—why he kept orbiting you like this. Not that you were gonna complain. You always had a weakness for guys who didn’t give up easily.
“A revolver?” you echoed, brow lifting. “What’s so good about a revolver?” You looked away again, sifting through the other options with deliberate disinterest.
“Well, it’s light, and it’s easy to use—but me personally?” He shrugged, a little too proudly. “I’d go for that machine gun.” You followed the direction of his gaze to the hulking weapon mounted on the wall in front of you two. Of course.
“Yeah, because I totally wanna carry around a big fucking gun,” you shot back, turning to face him fully.
Adrian’s eyes widened theatrically. “I mean—isn’t that the point of your job?” he blurted. “You kill people! I mean—bad people, obviously!” He gave you a hopeful smile, the kind that always made you want to smack him.
You stared at him, a frown tugging at your brows. “I don’t kill people for the fun of it, Adrian,” you said, voice flat. “And even if I did, a big fucking gun like that would just get in my way.”
“Oh. I just… would’ve expected you to like your job,” Adrian said carefully. “I mean, the way you killed the Goffs back there—you didn’t even think twice about it.”
“Yeah, because it’s my job,” you replied, unfazed. “And they were aliens, Adrian. Not actual people.” Your tone was clipped, but steady. You reached for the revolver anyway, thumbing it open with practiced ease. Adrian watched every movement—too closely, like he was trying to figure you out again.
The cylinder was full. You snapped it shut with a clean, metallic click and slid it inside the inner pocket of your coat.
“Hey—also, uh… thanks for driving me home last night,” he said suddenly, his voice softer as he changed the subject. “Sure,” you answered, already shifting your attention to the knife resting beside the guns. You ran your finger down the spine of the blade.
“Except for the part where I had to Uber myself back to the police station because my car was still there,” he added. That made you look up. Hard.
“What?” Your eyes narrowed at him. “I thought Murn had moved it for you.” Adrian shook his head, lips pressing together. Your chest tightened. “Oh. I had no idea. I would’ve picked you up myself if you’d called.”
He let that linger in the air, just a second too long. “Right,” he said quietly. “I would’ve… but then I remembered I don’t have your number.”
The room seemed to shrink around those words—not dramatic, just tight, like something unsaid decided to sit between you on the weapons table. And Adrian held your gaze this time—steady, nervous, but definitely intentional—waiting to see what you’d do with that information.
You stared back at him, eyebrows slightly raised. Really? After you’d just snapped at him—that’s when he decides to get bold? Your face twisted into this confused, borderline offended look, like you were trying to figure out if he was joking.
But under all that… yeah. Your heartbeat definitely ticked a little faster than you’d ever admit. Because if he was hinting he wanted your number? He was really smooth with it.
Your lips parted, the beginning of a response catching your breath—something you weren’t even sure you’d planned to say.
“Hey! We gotta go!” Harcourt’s voice sliced through the room from the doorway.
You both jerked your heads toward her. Of course. Of course she walked in right when Adrian was dangerously close to maybe, possibly, actually getting your number. Her timing was just perfect.
“Right,” you blurted, a little faster than necessary. You reached out and grabbed the nearest gun—didn’t even check what it was. Anything to break the moment before your face gave too much away.
Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Adrian’s shoulders drop just an inch. Not disappointed exactly… more like he’d been mid-step toward something and someone yanked the floor out from under him.
But when you turned to walk out, you felt his eyes still lingering on you—almost like the conversation wasn’t over. Not even close.
The car ride was pure torture. Not just for you, but for Economos, Adebayo, and Harcourt too. Peacemaker had his shitty rock playlist blasting like he was trying to summon a demon through volume alone.
You hated rock. Hated it with the kind of passion usually reserved for paper cuts and people who chew with their mouths open. It made your brain itch and your teeth grind—honestly, if it were socially acceptable, you would’ve stabbed your own ears just to make it stop.
And of course Adrian liked it. Of course he did. He kept hyping peacemaker up, telling him to “turn it higher, man, this is the good part!” like he wasn’t actively contributing to your slow, violent death.
By the time the van finally screeched to a stop outside Glan Tai, you nearly fell out. Thank. God. You were the first to step down, inhaling deeply and letting the breeze wash over you.
“Okay, here’s your earpiece!” Adebayo called, tossing it toward you. You caught it with one hand, clicked it in, and patted yourself down to make sure all your weapons were in place.
“Hey! We’re not even sure there are butterflies in there,” Harcourt shouted from behind Peacemaker, who was already hefting a large gun—the one Adrian had been eyeing earlier.
“So? Better to be prepared,” Peacemaker said, stepping off the back of the truck. Harcourt followed closely, while Economos and Adebayo stayed behind, keeping an eye on the security cameras and comms.
Then—a loud, roaring chainsaw cut through, making everyone jump. All heads turned toward the truck. Adrian stood there, holding the chainsaw like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“No!” Harcourt yelled, her voice barely audible over the engine’s roar.
Adrian just laughed “What?” he called back, tilting his head. “You’re not taking that in there!” Harcourt shouted again.
“I can’t hear you! This thing’s too fucking loud!” Adrian bellowed, revving the chainsaw one more time. The roar finally stopped when he flicked the switch off. Harcourt crossed her arms, glaring. “I said—you’re not bringing that.”
“Hey, I agree with Peacemaker. Can’t go in there unprepared,” he said with a shrug. Harcourt shot him a pointed look. “We don’t even know if there are butterflies in there!”
“Oh, come on, please?” he whined, voice exaggerated. “Ah, fuck… I’m never, ever gonna kill someone with a chainsaw. It’s not fair.”
He finally set the chainsaw down, hopping out of the truck with a dramatic huff before slamming the door shut behind him, leaving everyone staring at him like he’d just lost his mind.
“Okay, Peacemaker, you’re with me. Vigilante, you’re with Flag,” Harcourt said, eyes scanning the group like she was corralling feral cats.
You let out a long, quiet sigh—not because you were stuck with Adrian, but because you needed a way to get Peacemaker alone. Which, of course, seemed impossible; the man always had someone glued to his side.
“You two, check the bays around the back,” Harcourt added, fixing you both with a sharp glance. You rolled your eyes and flicked a glance at Adrian—only to find he was already watching you. No words needed. The two of you just peeled away from the group in perfect sync and headed for the back of the building.
Neither of you bothered to talk. Your footsteps did all the speaking, quiet and quick on the concrete as you took the lead. Adrian kept close behind, practically glued to your shoulder, watching your blind spots while you scanned ahead.
The back entrance creaked open, and you slipped inside. The place was a maze—stacks of cardboard boxes towering everywhere. You both moved deeper in, guns raised, breaths held without meaning to.
Without a word, you holstered your gun and stepped up to the nearest stack of boxes. Your fingers dug into your coat pocket until you found the familiar weight of your knife. A quick flick—shhk—and you sliced through the tape like you’d done it a thousand times.
Adrian hovered behind you, eyes sweeping the area. He didn’t even glance at what you were doing—he trusted you to handle the box, and you trusted him to keep a look out.
You pried the flaps open and reached inside, pulling out a glass jar filled with a thick, weirdly glossy jelly. You lifted the jar, gave Adrian a look, then tapped your earpiece. “Uh, the shit that they eat.... there’s literally thousands of boxes of it in here.”
“Copy,” Harcourt’s voice crackled back, clipped and calm.
You straightened, sliding the jar back into the box just as you felt a light tap on your shoulder. Adrian. You turned to him, and he didn’t even speak—just pointed ahead.
You followed his line of sight. Three men. Moving fast. And before you could process anything else, one of them launched himself from the lower level up to the second floor in a single, unnatural jump.
You and Adrian exchanged a quick look before turning your attention back to the figures above. “Is it weird that I’m excited?” he whispered, practically buzzing.
You shot him a side-eye as you started moving forward, keeping low. “Yes,” you muttered.nHe trailed right behind you, still whispering like he couldn’t help himself. “I mean. I seriously don’t get how you don’t love this job. It’s exciting.” You didn’t even have to see him to know he was grinning.
You took a steadying breath and kept moving, leading the way through one of those heavy plastic freezer curtains. The strips slapped softly against you as you pushed through, and a wave of cold air wrapped around your face.
On the other side, the room opened into a production area. You and Adrian dropped into a crouch at the same time, as you both peeked into the area where the worker—if they were even workers—put the jar under a machine that poured into each jar.
Everything was going fine. Until one of them looked over And looked right at you. His eyes locked onto yours. Your breath hitched, a tiny gasp slipping out before you could stop it.
Then his mouth stretched open impossibly wide and he released a piercing, inhuman screech that rattled through the entire room. “Shit—” you hissed, already scrambling to your feet.
You and Adrian shot up at the same time and sprinted toward the nearest door. You were halfway there when the sharp crack of shattering glass exploded behind you. You risked a glance over your shoulder.
Every single worker had dropped what they were doing and was now sprinting straight at you, jars smashing around their feet, goo splattering everywhere. And they were fast.
You reached the metal gate first, yanking it open just enough for both of you to squeeze through. Adrian slammed it shut behind you and snapped the lock into place. No time to breathe—you both raised your guns in sync and opened fire through the bars.
Bullets tore into the charging workers, but the gate wasn’t slowing them down. One of them scrambled up the metal like a spider, fingers hooking through the grate. Another grabbed the bars and started ripping at them, metal screeching as it bent under his strength.
“C’mon!” you shouted, already backing away.
Adrian flicked a glance at the thing peeling the gate apart and didn’t argue—he bolted after you. Truth was, you had no idea where the hell you were going. You just aimed for the nearest room that looked even remotely empty.
You shoved the door open, both of you darted inside, and you slammed it shut so hard the frame rattled. Adrian twisted the lock, and you barely had a second of silence before the pounding started—fists, bodies, something heavier slamming into the other side.
You both backed up, but your focus stayed on the door. It wasn’t going to hold. Not for long. Every thud and crash made your chest tighten.
Adrian, meanwhile, got distracted, eyes darting over the strange machinery lining the walls like a kid in a candy store. You shot him a sharp look.
“Hey… don’t leave me,” you muttered under your breath, tension threading through your voice. He didn’t hear you, too absorbed in the blinking lights and weird panels, completely oblivious to the door slowly groaning under the pounding outside.
“This place—there’s a factory behind the warehouse,” you said into your earpiece, trying to keep your voice steady despite the chaos outside. “Some butterflies trapped us in what looks like… a computer room.”
“Copy. We’re on our way,” Harcourt replied crisply over the line.
You let your gaze sweep the room again, taking note of every odd panel, every blinking light, every wire that could hide a tripwire or worse. Adrian wandered closer to the equipment. “Hey, look,” he said, eyes wide with fascination.
You glanced over at him. He was staring down at a computer that didn’t look like any normal machine. The screen pulsed with strange colors, giving off… alien vibes. Definitely not standard tech.
You stepped closer, watching as he poked at the keyboard. Nothing happened. The screen stayed the same. “Hey, guess what I’m typing,” he said with a grin, fingers flying across the keys. You looked down at his hands, unimpressed. “I don’t know,” you muttered, tone flat.
He straightened up and turned to face you, and you tilted your head like …what? before a deep, guttural growl rolled through the room. It wasn’t human. It wasn’t even close.
Your confusion lasted exactly half a second before you looked past Adrian’s shoulder—then your stomach just dropped. Adrian saw your expression shift and twisted around. “Whoa,” he breathed. “You gotta be shitting me. There’s a fucking gori—” You didn't even get to finish.
The gorilla—easily eight feet of pissed-off muscle—lunged forward and swung a massive arm like it was swatting flies. It connected squarely with Adrian’s side, and his entire body rocketed backward… directly into you.
You didn’t even have time to yelp. Both of you were launched across the room, slamming into the wall cluttered with strange, humming tech. Your back hit first, a jolt of pain exploding through your spine—then Adrian crashed right into you, knocking the air out of your lungs as the equipment behind you rattled violently.
For a second, everything just blacked out in a burst of white pain. You barely registered hitting the floor before something warm and heavy moved beside you—Adrian. He dragged himself across the ground and grabbed you by the waist, pulling you in tight against him just as the first wave of shattered equipment rained down.
Metal panels, loose wires, and some weird glowing cube that definitely wasn’t meant to be unplugged came crashing from above. Adrian curled around you, one arm braced over your head, his body taking most of the impact as debris smacked against his shoulders and back.
Instinct kicked in; you lifted your hands anyway, even though he already had you pinned safely beneath him. Another chunk of tech slammed into the floor inches from your face, sparks hissing across the ground. You felt Adrian flinch, but he didn’t move away—if anything, he held you closer, breath rough against your ear.
“What the fuck—!” you sputtered, adrenaline spiking so fast it made your vision swim. You slapped a hand to your earpiece. “Guys, there is a fucking gorilla in here!”
Your voice cracked halfway through the word, because yeah—fair reaction. The floor vibrated again, like the creature was gearing up for another hit. The comm in your ear buzzed with confused shouting, but you barely heard any of it over the thunder of footsteps in front of you.
Adrian groaned beside you, rolling onto his side, pain etched across his face. “We… we gotta move,” he rasped. “Yeah, no shit!” you snapped.
The gorilla didn’t give you either of you even a second. It barreled forward—way too fast for something that size—its roar echoing off the walls and loud enough for harcourt and peacemaker to hear from the other room.
Instinct took over. You and Adrian each yanked a gun free and opened fire, bullets cracking through the air. The shots tore into its chest and shoulder, spraying blood, but the beast barely flinched—just slowed, eyes burning hotter.
It growled, furious, and lifted its massive hand into a tight fist. “Move!” Adrian yelled. You both dove in opposite directions just as the gorilla’s fist came down. The impact was brutal—metal flooring buckling like foil, sparks shooting up from ruptured cables. If either of you had stayed there half a second longer, you’d be paste.
You hit the ground, rolled, and forced yourself up despite every joint screaming. Adrian was already limping toward the far end of the room, grabbing your arm as he passed.
You both sprinted across the tech-filled space. Behind you, the gorilla ripped its fist free of the floor with a guttural roar, already turning to charge again.
You both took deep breaths, staring the beast down. Even without saying it, you both knew—there was no damn way you could take this thing in a straight fight.
“Where’s the machine gun when we need it,” Adrian muttered, half a joke, half a dying wish. You didn’t even look at him. Your eyes stayed locked on the gorilla, muscles tight, finger ready on the trigger.
Together, you lifted your guns and opened fire. The creature roared, fury shaking the walls, and charged straight through the hail of bullets like they were nothing but raindrops. You kept shooting—rapid, desperate bursts—until—
A violent explosion detonated by the metal door you’d both locked earlier. You didn’t fly—you were launched.
The shockwave tore through the room, hurling you and Adrian backward like rag dolls. Air ripped from your lungs as the impact slammed you into the ground hard enough that your body bounced.
Shards of metal, split wires, burning circuitry—everything became a storm of debris raining past your face. Somewhere in the chaos, Adrian shouted, or maybe that was you, but the ringing in your ears swallowed the sound whole.
The gorilla wasn’t spared. The blast threw it sideways, its massive body smashing into a tower of machinery with a bone-shaking CRUNCH, metal collapsing beneath its weight.
Your ears were still ringing when you forced your eyes open. Reality slammed back into you all at once, sharp and disorienting. You sucked in a shaky breath as the flashback to Corto Maltese punched through your skull—another blast, same pressure, same helpless weightlessness before the ground ripped it out of you.
For a second, you weren’t here. You were there. Rocks under your knees. Smoke everywhere. Rick shouting your name over the loud sounds and then nothing.
Pain pulled you back to the present in ugly waves. Your ribs, shoulder, spine—everything throbbed like you’d been hit by a truck, then backed over for good measure. You groaned, palms scraping concrete as you pushed against the floor. Your arms trembled violently, but you managed to get one knee under you. Then the other.
You stood—barely—and the entire room spun, tilting like the floor was trying to slide out from under you. You lurched forward and grabbed onto a metal table to keep yourself upright. The legs rattled under your weight.
You limped toward the far corner, dragging your foot, each inhale scraping painfully down your throat. Smoke burned your eyes. Sparks snapped overhead, sizzling against the metal scraps strewn across the floor. Nothing in your body felt steady—your legs carried you like they were acting on instinct, not strength.
Finally, you reached a patch of wall that hadn’t caved in, and you let yourself slide down it. Your back hit the concrete with a soft thud, and you let your head drop back, eyes closing as your breath came too fast and too shallow.
Just breathe. Just—breathe.
But your body wasn’t listening. Your hands shook uncontrollably. Your throat tightened. The ringing in your ears fractured into voices—flickering in and out like a weak radio signal.
Harcourt? Economos? Adebayo? Adrian? No. It wasn't neither of them. Its was Rick.
Rick’s voice cut through the ringing—raw, panicked. Yelling your name, calling out to check if you were okay, even while he was bleeding, even while he was the one who needed help.
You flinched, squeezing your eyes tighter as his voice echoed. The explosion that had just thrown you across the room felt like an echo of that day in Corto Maltese, and your brain couldn’t tell the difference. Couldn’t separate then from now.
You knew you shouldn’t have rejoined ARGUS. You knew this job would drag the memories back. And here they were, louder than ever, clawing their way back into your head.
But you didn’t come back for the thrill. Or the paycheck. Or the crazy cool missions. You came back for him. For justice Rick never got.
Your head tipped forward, breaths uneven, throat tight. For a moment, you let the memory hold you—because fighting it only made it worse. Then, through the ringing, another sound surfaced.
A voice. A voice you’d recognize anywhere. Peacemaker.
Your eyes snapped open. The room still spun, shards of metal and sparks glittering in the smoke, but your focus zeroed in. Right—you hadn’t come back for anything else. You had only agreed to come back to kill Peacemaker. The man who had murdered your brother.
Your lungs burned as you finally crawled out from the corner, every movement stabbing through your ribs like hot wire. Dust and smoke swirled in dizzy waves, making the shattered room blur in and out of focus. You staggered upright, one hand braced on the wall, the other gripping your gun so tightly your knuckles had gone bloodless.
Harcourt’s body hit the wall first—hard—her breath punched out in a sharp, ugly sound. Then your gaze snapped to the right.
He was crumpled on the floor, half curled on his side, one hand clamped over his stomach, as he groaned as he tried to push himself up. For a second, your heart stuttered, something twisting sharp and real in your chest,—but instinct took over before emotion had a chance to settle.
Your attention then switched to peacemaker, who was full on fighting the gorilla. That thing had its back facing towars you. it roared as it winged its arm at peacemaker but he dodged it.
You watched as you glanced at the gun that was on the ground. you then reached to grab it.
You lifted it. and pointed it at the back of the gorilla. First you started shooting it. it roared once again as it turned over at you. Peacemaker stood behind him, and your gaze switched to him, you then moved the gun aime at him.
It bloomed inside you fast—a cold, savage clarity. You could end this now. You could end him. One trigger pull. One problem erased from the world forever. The idea slammed into your mind so suddenly it felt like oxygen: Just do it. Kill him.
You steadied your hand, exhaling through gritted teeth. Your pulse didn’t even spike.
Peacemaker’s eyes widened the instant he realized. He froze halfway to standing, staring down the barrel you had aimed squarely at his head. He knew—knew—you weren’t bluffing. That you weren’t warning him. This was a kill shot.
Your finger tightened on the trigger but the thunder of pounding footsteps cut through the moment. The damn gorilla burst forward, sprinting at you with terrifying speed. You whipped your aim toward it, caught off guard by how fast it was closing in—
—and then Adrian hit you. Hard.
He threw himself into you, arms wrapping around your waist as he shoved you sideways with his full body weight. The shot went wide, the recoil snapping your arm back as you were lifted clean off your feet.
You slammed into the ground for what felt like the hundredth time today, air punching out of your lungs as your shoulder scraped across the concrete.
Every inch of your body screamed. Pain radiated from your ribs, your spine, muscles you didn’t even know you had, and for a moment, you swore you heard something snap. Adrian’s weight had landed on you, pushing you further toward the edge of collapse.
Your vision blurred, dizziness washing over you like a tidal wave. The world tilted and shook, and your body finally gave in. Darkness clawed at the corners of your mind.
The last thing you remembered before blacking out was Adrian’s hands, shaking you, urgent, desperate, trying to drag you back from the edge.
You jolted awake, your body stiff and sore, every muscle protesting as if you’d spent a week in a warzone instead of a few hours. The van hummed steadily beneath you, the soft vibration of the engine oddly grounding after the chaos.
You pushed yourself upright, wincing as your shoulder reminded you just how badly you’d slammed into the concrete. Adrian sat across from you, quietly checking his gear, his eyes flicking up every so often to make sure you were actually conscious this time.
“Oh, look! She’s awake!” Economos said, grinning as he leaned back in his seat. Everyone turned to look at you—except Adebayo, who only gave a quick glance through the rearview mirror as she drove.
Harcourt straightened, setting her phone down on her lap. “Hey!” she said. You blinked at her, your head still pounding, every pulse of it a reminder of the chaos you’d just survived.
“I feel like shit,” you muttered, shifting awkwardly in the seat, trying—and failing—to find a position that didn’t send sharp jolts of pain through your shoulders and ribs. The van felt both too small and too loud, the hum of the engine and the chatter around you pressing against your temples.
“Yeah, because fucking Adrian crushed you with his weight,” Economos laughed, shaking his head.
“Hey! I basically saved her!” Adrian shot back, defensively. Well… technically, he had shoved you out of the way of the gorilla, so he had a point.
They kept going back and forth, voices rising and falling in a ridiculous, almost comical argument about who’d been the real hero. You slumped further into your seat, half in pain, half in disbelief that this was how they were choosing to process everything that had just happened.
Your gaze drifted to the passenger seat. Peacemaker was there, already watching you. His face was stone—serious in that way he always warned people with, the kind of look that made it clear he wasn’t bluffing. From now on, he’d have to keep an eye on you.
But he was the first to break the stare. Slowly, deliberately, he reached for the radio and turned the volume up, as if nothing had happened—though you could feel the weight of his awareness lingering in the space between you.
You slumped deeper into the seat as the van rattled down the road. Harcourt sat beside you, arms crossed tight, her jaw ticking with every thump of bass from the ancient speaker system. She was visibly done.
Everyone else? Having the time of their lives.
You stared at Adrian first. He sat by Economos who was still coated in dried blood from who knew where but he was jamming with him—both of them dancing in the seats like idiots.
Peacemaker blasted his shitty rock playlist from the passenger seat, strumming his invisible guitar with way too much enthusiasm. He kept flicking his head like he thought his imaginary hair would blow in the wind behind him.
Adebayo kept driving, shoulders swaying, nodding off-beat but happy anyway, like she was vibing along just enough to tolerate the chaos. Harcourt slighly moved her head to the beat, even though she tried to pretend not to enjoy it. While you Stone-faced. Suffering in silence.
But even with all that happening, your focus drifted back—again—to Adrian.
The easy grin he wore. The way he pushed his glasses up every time he shook his head to the music. The stupid little shoulder shimmy he did when the beat picked up. He was ridiculous. Ridiculous enough to make your mood dip and that annoyed you most of all.
Because no matter how much you tried to stay pissed off at the world, your gaze kept finding him. Again and again and again. You stared at him. Too long. Long enough for the realization to settle in your bones like a sickness.
He was leaning against the wall—helmet off, face still flushed from the fight while he had his hand hands up slighly as he moved them to the sound of the music playing.
And your chest… flipped. No. No, it lurched. Like your heart was tripping down a flight of stairs and dragging the rest of you with it. There was something about him. Something you hated that you noticed.
Maybe it was the way he kept on trying to get on your good side, or the way he had protected you back in Glan Tai and that he was stupid. Painfully, gloriously stupid. He said things without thinking. But the way he spoke—unfiltered, sincere even when he was being idiotic.
You leaned back in your seat, trying to act casual, but your eyes kept drifting to him. His face was flawless, smooth in a way that made your chest tighten. The brown curls fell just right, still somehow perfect even after the chaos of fighting a gorilla.
His silver glasses rested neatly on his nose, fitting him like they were made for him—an effortless, infuriating perfection. You found yourself staring, drinking in the details, until a shiver of awareness ran through you. No. Absolutely not. You wouldn’t—couldn’t—let yourself get lost in this.
Your stomach rolled, nausea crawling up your throat. Oh God. You knew this feeling. That pathetic fluttery nonsense—the one you used to get in high school when some older guy asked you to “hang out” and you thought that meant something.
You wanted to slap yourself. You did not like him.
You didn’t like the way he fought. You didn’t like the way he talked. You didn’t like how he looked in those glasses. You didn’t like the warmth in your chest when he laughed. You definitely did not like him.
Except your eyes hadn’t moved off him. And your heart wouldn’t slow down. You looked away immediately—jaw tight, expression blank, like if you didn’t acknowledge it, it didn’t exist.
Harcourt, sitting next to you, caught the whole thing. She’d already noticed the way you’d zoned out, eyes glued to Adrian like he was the only person in the damn van. And, because she was Harcourt—she lifted her phone at just the right moment and click, captured photographic evidence of your mortifying little slip.
You had no clue, not yet. But she was definitely saving that for later.
By the time you all pulled up to the video store, it was already night time. The car ride had been exhausting, loud, and irritating—your head already pounding before the music started blaring, and only getting worse from there. Not that being pissed off was anything new for you.
Everyone piled out of the van, wandering inside toward Murn, who stood waiting by the front desk with that stone-faced. But you didn’t follow them. You slipped away the moment their attention shifted, heading straight for the stairs.
The only person who noticed you break off from the group was Adrian. He’d been stealing glances at you the whole ride—catching the way your face tightened, the way you flinched every time you moved your shoulder or breathed too deep. He assumed the pain was his fault.
But he didn’t follow you. Adrian wasn’t stupid; he knew you needed space, and he supricingly respected that. So he watched you go, jaw tight, and quietly let you disappear upstairs.
You trudged upstairs, every step sending a dull ache rolling through your body. By the time you reached one of the spare rooms, your limbs felt like they were filled with wet cement. There was a couch pushed against the wall—old, lumpy, and ugly—but right now it looked like heaven. You practically collapsed onto it, a low groan slipping out as the cushions swallowed you.
Your coat suddenly felt like it weighed thirty pounds. You shrugged it off with a wince, teeth clenching when your arms protested the movement. The bruises along your ribs pulsed angrily beneath your skin.
You tossed the jacket over the arm of the couch and leaned down to grab one of your bags on the floor. Even bending hurt. Everything hurt.
With a long, defeated sigh, you pushed yourself back up. You weren’t sure how you were still functioning, but muscle memory dragged you toward the bathroom across the hallway. The lights flickered as you stepped inside, the sharp smell of antiseptic cleaner greeting you like an old, unwelcome friend. Time to fix yourself up. Again.
Who knew hold long you took In there. Definetly not hours but maybe half. You felt somewhat better, you had wiped off all the dry blood. changed out of yout other clothes and fixed your crazy mess of hair.
Who knew how long you’d been in there—definitely not hours, but long enough for your fingers to wrinkle under the sink water. Maybe half an hour. Maybe more. The bathroom was still foggy from the hot water that was running, warm steam clinging to the mirror in smeared patches where you’d wiped it clean with your palm.
You did feel better—kind of. Clean, at least. But every little throb of pain still sat there under your skin Your body felt… irritated. Like it was punishing you for even standing upright.
You’d scrubbed off every smear of dried blood, wincing each time a bruise protested the pressure. You cleaned the cut on your lip, dabbed ointment over the worst bruises, and did your best not to hiss every time your ribs reminded you they existed.
Your shirt was ruined, so you’d swapped into one from your bag—soft, worn, smelling faintly of detergent.
Your hair, though… that had been a whole separate boss battle. Damp strands kept sticking to your cheek, refusing to cooperate no matter how many times you combed your fingers through them. But eventually, finally, you got it to look presentable.
You stared at your reflection for a long second, shoulders rising and falling with a shaky breath. You still looked bruised and exhausted. And the more you looked, the more your eyes started to sting—memories from earlier crawling back in, that flash of Corto Maltese tightening your chest all over again.
The sound snapped you straight out of it. You blinked fast, wiped your eyes with the back of your hand, forcing the moment down your throat, and unlocked the door.
When you pulled it open, Adrian was standing there.
He immediately straightened like a soldier caught slacking, shoulders snapping back, face suddenly neutral in the most suspicious way possible—because yeah, he had definitely been eavesdropping.
You narrowed your eyes. “Were you listening to me?”
“No—well—not really—I was just—”
You didn’t even wait for the excuse. You brushed past him, annoyed, sore, and absolutely not in the mood to deal with whatever awkward ramble was about to spill out of him. He pivoted to follow you, swallowing hard like he was trying to decide if he should apologize or pretend nothing happened at all.
“Everyone already left, by the way. That’s literally the only reason I came up here—just to make sure you were alive. Nothing else,” he said as he trailed behind you, voice a little too quick.
“Did they?” you muttered, not even bothering to pretend you cared. Your tone made it pretty clear you absolutely did not.
You headed downstairs, and he stayed right on your heels. You walked toward one of the desks, dropped into the chair without a glance at him, and dragged your laptop closer. The familiar clack of the lid opening filled the quiet room.
Adrian just… stood there. He’d expected you to pack up, maybe limp your way home to sleep off the bruises—but instead, you were booting up your laptop like it was any other night. You typed in your password, eyes fixed on the screen.
That’s when you felt it—that prickling pressure of someone staring. You turned your head slightly, and he still stood there.
“What?” you asked. “…You’re not going home?” he asked. You shrugged. "Not in the mood.”
Adrian nodded once. Your attention dropped back to your laptop, fingers moving steadily, jaw set in that don’t bother me unless it’s serious way you had.
He hovered beside your table, hands awkwardly on his side, weight shifting between his feet. He clearly wanted to say something. You could practically feel the words bottlenecking in his throat.
So instead, he just… watched you. The steady clicking of keys.
The faint mumbling under your breath when you reread a sentence.
The light from the screen washing your face in cool blue glow.
His gaze lingered longer than it should have—on the furrow of your brow, the line of your mouth, the way your eyelashes cast shadows down your cheeks.
He looked at you the way someone looks when they’ve finally noticed something that had been sitting right in front of them the entire time. Not some dramatic realization—just a quiet oh… oh.
And yes. You were, without question, the rudest person he had ever met. Top five, easily. Maybe even top three on a bad day.
But somehow? That was exactly what drew him in.
Because you weren’t rude in the empty, cruel way people were just to feel big. You were rude like someone who had edges—sharp ones—and he found himself wanting to see what was under them. He liked the way your guard stayed up like a fortress. He liked that he had to work just to understand you. It made every tiny reveal feel earned.
You were messy and Complicated. And he loved that.
You weren’t easy to read, or predictable, or soft-spoken. You moved like a locked box that dared anyone to try the wrong key. And Adrian—God help him—was obsessed with puzzles. You didn’t look up when you spoke. “Soooo....Are you not going home?”
“Mmh– I— I—” His voice jammed up like his brain had just unplugged itself. You finally turned to look at him, brows drawn in a flat, unimpressed line. In the entire short amount of time you’d known Adrian, he had never tripped over his words—not like that.
You tilted your head. Waiting.
“Do you—do you wanna get some drinks?” he blurted, way too loud for the distance between you. The sentence practically fell out of his mouth and faceplanted. “I’ll pay,” he tacked on, like that might somehow fix it.
You just stared at him. And, unfortunately, your resting face translated that stare into Im absolutely about to punch you. But Inside? You were losing your mind. Because of course he’d ask now, when your brain was already mush and your body was barely held together.
And the worst part? He wasn’t wrong. A drink sounded amazing. You could practically taste the burn already. Even though you’d sworn you wouldn’t let this happen—God, you really did need a drink.
You hadn’t even realized you were just staring at him—completely silent, completely unreadable—while your brain wrestled itself in circles. But Adrian? Yeah, the silence was absolutely killing him.
“Okay—yeah—forget it,” he laughed, but it was the kind of laugh that sounded like it was about to cry. He rubbed the back of his neck and stepped back.
He turned away, walking slow. On purpose. You parted your lips to say his name but closed them again, then you finally took deep breath.
“You don’t have to tell me you’ll pay to get me to go,” you blurted out before your brain could veto it.
Adrian stopped and turned back toward you. His brows pulled together, confused at first—then something flickered in his expression. Because he did remember. That one girl who’d only say yes if he covered everything. The way it made him feel small, like he had to buy his way into being worth someone’s time.
That memory hit him so fast he didn’t even hide it.
You swallowed, feeling your pulse trip over itself. “I mean… if I wanna go, I’ll go. Not because of… that.” Something in his face shifted—relief first, then surprise, then this shy, hopeful pinch at the corner of his mouth like he was trying really hard not to smile too big and ruin it.
”Do you wanna get cleaned up first? I’m assuming you have spare clothes in your car.” you added, arching a brow at him—referring to the little stash he kept neatly folded in the backseat of his car.
Adrian blinked at you like his brain short-circuited. He watched you close your laptop, still processing the fact that you had actually said yes. Like… out loud. To him.
“Uh—yeah! Yeah, I do,” he said a little too eagerly. “Good. I’ll be waiting,” you said, giving him the smallest smile.
Adrian stood there for an extra beat, rooted to the floor as you shifted your attention to your phone, already scrolling, already done with the conversation like nothing.
Meanwhile his brain was doing backflips. You’d actually smiled at him. Not a glare. A real smile—tiny, sure, but still a smile.
He turned to leave and immediately tripped over absolutely nothing, and he pretended it didn’t happen. His heart was pounding, palms sweaty, adrenaline spiking harder than when he’d fought a gorilla earlier. All because you’d said yes. And smiled. At him.
If you could reverse time, you would’ve. Every fiber of you hated yourself for accepting the drinks from Adrian, yet a part of you didn’t want to admit that you were… kinda enjoying it.
You sat shoulder-to-shoulder with him on the bar stools. Neither of you had actually talked much; it was mostly you listening while Adrian spiraled into long, chaotic rants about the random facts he found online.
Normally, people who rambled made you want to walk into traffic, but somehow his ridiculous, over-detailed opinions kept pulling a quiet laugh out of you.
You weren’t sure how many drinks you were in—enough that the ache in your body had dulled, enough that you felt warm and relaxed. Whenever you got buzzed, your mouth got loose. And you hated that about yourself because it always led to saying way too much.
“So… can I ask you something?” Adrian said suddenly, turning his body slightly toward you. His knee bumped yours, and he pretended not to notice, but you caught the flicker in his eyes.
You looked up at him and nodded, a little surprised at your own willingness. He hesitated first—a rare moment of actual caution for him—then asked.
“Okay, um… You never answered my question yesterday. About how long you've been working for you know who?" he said. Right. That question. The one you dodged on purpose.
You froze for a beat, your gaze meeting his. He wasn’t asking like it was an interrogation. He wasn’t even pretending to play it cool. He just… wanted to know you.
His eyes flicked over your face, searching, hopeful in that boyish, painfully transparent Adrian way. And for a second, you could practically feel the weight of his curiosity.
“Right,” you finally said, clearing your throat. “Uh… not long. Maybe four years.” Your eyes slid away from him like the answer weighed more than you wanted to admit.
The bartender returned with your drink, sliding the glass toward you with a soft clink. He gave you a warm, polite smile. You didn’t return it—just stared for a beat, grabbed the drink, and turned right back to Adrian.
“Really?” Adrian blinked, genuinely surprised. “I assumed… way longer. So, what did you do before?”
You let out a short, humorless huff. “Well… I was in the military at first, then worked for the CIA. After that, me and my brother were recruited by Waller for Task X,” you replied, voice even but carrying a subtle edge that hinted at the weight of your past.
Adrian blinked, clearly impressed despite himself. “Whoa… that’s—” He paused, searching for the right words, “that’s a lot. You’ve done way more than most people see in a lifetime.”
You shrugged, trying to make it seem casual, but the small lift of your brow betrayed that you weren’t used to praise.
“Which… you only did all that for your dad, right?” Adrian asked, like he was connecting dots out loud. You tilted your head at him, confused—and a little wary. “How do you know that?”
“I heard you that night at the Goffs! You were telling—”
“Yeah,” you cut in quickly, shutting it down before he could repeat the rest of that memory out loud. Your jaw flexed once, like you’d slammed a door shut inside yourself. Adrian’s expression softened immediately, the realization flickering across his face: he’d stepped onto a landmine he hadn’t meant to trigger.
“I, uh…” You cleared your throat, staring past him before you forced yourself to look back. “I dropped out of college,” you said, the words flat but heavy. “Left so I could join the military. My dad didn’t exactly love the idea of me becoming an animal doctor.”
You huffed a humorless, tiny laugh—more an exhale than anything. “He thought it was a waste. Said I’d ‘grow out of it.’” Your fingers tapped once against the bar, restless, your jaw tightening. “So… yeah. I grew out of it.”
The look on your face made it clear you hadn’t grown out of anything—you’d just gotten pushed out of it. And Adrian saw it.
Your fingers idly toyed with the edge of your glass, your gaze flickering to his face, almost like you were bracing for him to laugh or judge you or… something.
But Adrian didn’t. He blinked at you, surprise soft and warm, his expression shifting in that way he got when something legitimately touched him—a tiny crease between his brows, his mouth parting like he wasn’t sure what to say but wanted to say the right thing.
“You wanted to be a veterinarian?” Adrian asked, blinking like he was replaying the sentence in his head just to make sure he heard it right.
You hummed, lifting your glass and taking a slow sip. “Shocker, huh?”
“No—yeah! I mean—” He paused, hands lifting uselessly as he tried to sort out his own reaction. “I would’ve never thought that. Not in a bad way, just… you’re all badass and intense and—” He squinted at you, baffled in the most Adrian way possible. “You don’t give off those vibes."
You gave him that deadpan stare again, the kind that could stop a grown man mid-sentence. Adrian didn’t even flinch—just tilted his head and asked, “I’m assuming your dad’s a dick?”
You snorted under your breath and shook your head, taking another slow, steady sip of your drink—long enough to dodge the question if you wanted to. When you finally set the glass down, you shrugged.
“No. He just… wanted what was better,” you said, tone carefully even. “Plus he said the pay was better. Which—” you lifted your brows, conceding the point, “it was.”
“So, enough about me … what about you? How long have you been… you know, doing that?” you asked, carefully choosing your words. Adrian’s eyes flicked up, and he didn’t need any clarification—he knew exactly what you meant.
Adrian leaned back slightly, taking a slow sip of his drink before answering. “Hmm… I’d say a couple of years. Not too long,” he said, his tone casual, though his eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary.
“I take it you… enjoy it?” you asked. Adrian nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. It’s fun, exciting… nothing better than taking bad people out,” he added, his voice dropping into a low whisper for the last few words.
You tilted your head, raising an eyebrow. “So… is that, like, what you do besides work and reading random facts online?” The way you said it carried just a hint of teasing—but despite how it sounded, there was no mockery in your tone.
Adrian actually paused to think about it. Which was hilarious—and also exactly what you expected. He searched his brain for anything else he did with his life, but there was nothing. Just work… and the internet, and vigilante, of course. Even you knew that from when you’d stalked him.
“Hm. Wait.” He blinked, realization dawning. “Yeah, no. I actually do just spend my time online and at work.” His gaze dropped to his half-empty beer bottle, shoulders dipping like the weight of that truth finally hit him.
He went quiet, staring into the glass like it might reveal a hobby if he concentrated hard enough. You watched him think, watched his eyebrows twitch in that dorky, earnest way that almost made you smile.
You lifted your glass for another sip, and that’s when you felt it—eyes on you. The bartender. He’d been glancing your way all night, but this time you caught him mid-look.
He was tall, with broad shoulders that hinted at time spent in a gym rather than behind the bar. His dark hair was neatly swept back, a few rebellious strands falling over his forehead. Sharp green eyes met yours, unashamed, almost daring, and a tiny smirk ghosted across his lips before he finally looked away. He grabbed a glass and began polishing it, though it was already spotless, as if the gesture was meant to distract both you and himself.
You leaned back slightly, taking him in. He was… decent-looking, sure. Confident without being cocky, easy on the eyes, and carrying himself in a way that suggested he knew exactly what he was doing. You allowed yourself a brief, silent appraisal before turning your attention back to Adrian, though the impression lingered in the back of your mind.
“I’ll be right back,” Adrian muttered, getting up so abruptly you barely had time to react. You watched him disappear toward the restroom, leaving a little vacuum of silence in his wake.
You turned back toward the bar, your eyes falling on your phone facedown. Lifting it, you unlocked the screen and tapped a notification from a newly created group chat. Harcourt had added everyone.
She’d sent a picture from the car ride back from Glan Tai. You clicked it and scanned the smiling faces, your gaze eventually landing on yourself—zoned out, staring at Adrian with a faint, unintentional smile. Heat rushed to your cheeks. Embarrassment flared, and you were just about to call Harcourt, demanding she delete it, when a glass slid across the polished bar top.
You glanced up and, of course, it was him—the bartender. He nudged a small glass toward you—clear, sharp, unmistakably tequila.
“On the house,” he said, and this time he didn’t bother looking away. His eyes swept over you slow and deliberate, like he was tasting the reaction on your face before the drink even hit your hand.
And with Adrian gone, there was nothing stopping you from noticing every lingering second of it.
“I’m sure your face is probably hurting.” He said slightly pointing at your bruised nose. From the night where Goff had smashed your nose with his shotgun.
“Your face.” The guy repeated. “The tequila will take the pain away.” He added. You looked down at the glass, taking it to your hand before you slightly smelled it . The smell of the strong scent burned your nose slightly.
He watched you. “He do that to you?” He asked. Your brows furrowed as you took the shot . It burned your throat but you were already buzzed off the beer that it didn’t really affect you.
“Did who do what?” You reaped as you slid him the empty glass. “The guy. Adrian. I’m assuming that’s his name since I… over heard you call him that.” He said.
You stared at him for a moment. “You just come up to people and ask them questions like that?” you ask, sitting up straight.
“Not usually,” he said, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “But a pretty girl like you shouldn’t be treated like that.” He grabbed the glass and refilled it, the motion smooth and confident, and for a moment, the small gesture carried an odd intimacy that made you pause.
He slid the glass back across the bar. “No,” you said bluntly, grabbing it without a word. You downed the shot in one go.
He raised an eyebrow, clearly caught off guard by your bluntness. A corner of his mouth twitched, half-smirk, half-amused. “Wow,” he said, leaning slightly forward. “Rude and gorgeous. I like that.”
“I’m Quinn, by the way,” he added, as if the introduction would soften your edges. You simply stared at him, giving a slow, noncommittal nod—clearly not interested—but he didn’t seem to pick up on the hint.
“So… can I get your name?” he asked, persistent but playful. You shook your head. He leaned in slightly, a teasing glint in his eye. “If I give you another shot, will you tell me?”
You let out a dry laugh as you smiled. From across the bar, Adrian’s watched everything. He watched the interaction—the way your smile curved at the bartender, the ease you displayed after just a few hours of knowing him.
A pang of jealousy tightened in his chest. It had taken him days to get a genuine smile out of you, and here you were, flashing one at some bartender after only hours of conversation.
Adrian clenched his jaw slightly, swallowing the bitter taste of envy, while you smiled softly at Quinn’s persistence, completely unaware of the storm brewing in the corner of the room.
“So… what’s your name?” Quinn asked again, leaning a little closer, a grin tugging at his lips.
“Tsk,” you murmured, tilting your head and letting your eyes linger on him. “That’s not how this works. Give me the shot first, then I might tell you.”
You let the words hang in the air, soft but firm, watching as his smirk faltered just enough to show he was intrigued—and a little flustered. You could see the gears turning in his head, calculating whether to give in. Perfect.
Quinn’s smirk faltered, but only slightly. “Fine.” he said, sliding one shot across the bar with a little too much eagerness.
From the corner of the bar, Adrian appeared. His presence was unmistakable—quiet, controlled, but radiating a tension that made the air feel heavier. The moment Quinn noticed him, his confident smirk faltered, then vanished entirely.
You turned your full attention to Adrian, letting your expression soften in his direction. Quinn, finally catching the hint, gave a quick, awkward nod and slinked away, disappearing into the background.
“I got you a shot,” you said, a small, genuine smile tugging at your lips as you slid one of the untouched glasses toward him.
Adrian looked at you, his eyes soft but unreadable. You were smiling, but not because you were actually happy—you were just drunk. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t like this version of you, reckless and unguarded.
But then your smile faltered as you caught the way he was staring at you. “What’s wrong?” you asked, louder than you meant to, curiosity and concern bleeding together in your slurred voice.
“Nothing,” he said quickly as he took the shot from your hand. You watched him tip it back in one smooth motion. His brows pulled together the second the liquor hit his throat, like it burned a little more than he’d expected.
He set the glass down with a soft clink, but he didn’t look up. His gaze stayed fixed on it, like he could pretend you weren’t watching him so intently. But you were. Hard. Even drunk, it wasn’t difficult to tell something was gnawing at him.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” you pressed, your voice slipping out too loud, too slow, words slightly tangled.
“Yeah. No. I’m fine.” He gave a small shrug, still not facing you fully. “Should I, uh… leave again? So you can get us more shots?”
Your brows knit together. You let out a short, dry little laugh—because obviously he was joking, right? Except when you looked at him… he wasn’t joking. At all.
“Wait.” You leaned in, squinting like he was a blurry math problem. “Is that why you’re pissed off?” You even smiled at him—sweet and teasing.
Adrian finally turned his head, meeting your eyes. “No. Why would I be pissed off?” he said, shrugging so stiffly it looked like his shoulders were trying to lie for him.
You narrowed your eyes right back at him. You didn’t need sobriety to read his face—he was absolutely, one-hundred-percent pissed, and also absolutely refusing to say it. You tilted your head. “Adrian…”
He looked away for half a second—just enough time for the frustration to crack through his careful little mask. Then he snapped:
“Okay, fine! Maybe I am pissed!” His voice spiked—too loud. “Because you’re supposed to be drinking with me, not—” he gestured wildly toward the direction Quinn had vanished—“not him! The bartender guy with the… stupid hair and stupid flirty face!”
You blinked at him, surprised. He kept going, words tumbling out like he couldn’t stop them even if he tried.
“You came here with me. We were drinking. Together. And then I walk away for like two seconds and suddenly you’re—” His hands flailed again. “—making a whole… thing with the bartender!”
He crossed his arms, jaw tight, refusing to look at you now. You stared at him, one eyebrow creeping all the way up. Never in your life had you seen a grown man throw a tantrum this… dramatic.
“I got us free shots, though,” you said, reaching out and placing your hand on his shoulder. Adrian froze. Full-body stiffening. Like you’d hit him with a tranquilizer dart and his entire nervous system forgot how to function.
His eyes flicked down to your hand, then up to your face—fast. And then he snapped again, voice pitching high with frustrated honesty.
“See? This!” He flung a hand in your general direction, still weirdly rigid under your touch. “You’re all—smiling at some random guy one second, then touching me and being all soft the next! It’s—” He made an exasperated sound, like a tiny dying engine. “—it’s confusing!”
He uncrossed his arms just to throw them up dramatically.
“You’re mad, then you’re nice, then you’re rude, and I don’t—my brain doesn’t work like that! You’re giving me emotional whiplash!” He finally looked at you, face warm from jealousy or alcohol or both, eyes a little wide and defensive.
“You can’t just… switch moods and expect me not to freak out!” he added, somehow sounding both furious and flustered.
By now you took your hand off his shoulder. You cleared your throat as you looked away from him and sat up straight. “This morning, you told me you didn’t want to be friends,” he went on, voice low but razor-edged with irritation, “and now you’re having drinks with me.”
The words hit harder than they should’ve. Your chest tightened, a slow squeeze from the inside, and suddenly the warmth from the beer and tequila felt… wrong. Heavy.
That familiar lump rose in your throat—the one that always came with regret and nerves tangled together. And mixed with the alcohol swirling in your stomach, it felt like a warning siren: One more push and you could absolutely throw up all over his dramatic ass.
Not that Adrian seemed to notice or care at the moment. He was too busy freaking out in his own quiet, tightly-wound way.
Your fingers curled slightly against the bar, jaw tensing.
His little tantrum wasn’t helping. At all. But you swallowed hard, blinked through the heat in your face, and tried to breathe evenly, willing your stomach not to revolt.
Your mouth opened, but nothing came out at first—just air and panic and the faint taste of tequila threatening to make a comeback. You swallowed hard, pressed your tongue to the roof of your mouth like that would magically stabilize your entire life, then finally managed:
“…Dude, what are you even talking about?”
It came out thinner than you meant. Softer. You hated that.
Adrian’s eyes finally flicked toward you, sharp and wounded at the same time. “You said you didn’t want to be friends,” he repeated, voice cracking in that tiny way he probably didn’t even hear. “So, I don’t— I just don’t get what you’re doing.”
Your chest squeezed painfully, heat rushing everywhere—your face, your neck, your stomach twisting hard enough that you had to shift in your seat just to keep steady.
You blinked at him slowly, the room tilting just a little as your mouth worked faster than your brain. “I was just being nice,” you slurred, waving a hand in a vague little circle. “I know you have nothing else to do with yourself, so—I was being nice.”
It came out harsher than you meant. Meaner. And stupidly honest.
Adrian’s head lifted slightly, like the words physically nudged him. He didn’t snap back. He just… stared at you. His expression softened in this helpless, conflicted way—like he wasn’t sure if he should be offended or worry about you more.
He blinked a few times, trying to steady his own vision. He was drunk, sure, but nowhere near the level you were spiraling into. You were the one who’d kept flagging the bartender down, chasing refills like they were oxygen. Adrian had watched you do it with this tense little crease between his brows, sipping his drink slow like he was bracing for impact.
Now he sat there beside you, shoulders slightly hunched, thumb tracing the edge of his empty glass, breathing carefully. Watching you without letting himself… react.
You turned away first. A slow, heavy swivel of your head back toward the bar. Your eyes fixed on the wooden counter like it was the only stable thing left in the universe.
The silence between you stretched—thick, awkward, almost humming with everything neither of you wanted to say. You didn’t look at him. He didn’t look away from you.
You dug into your jacket pocket with shaking fingers, not even sure what you were looking for until you felt the crumpled bills. You pulled out a messy wad of cash—way more than the tab, but you didn’t care. You just needed out.
Adrian’s head snapped up as you pushed your stool back.
“What are you doing?” he asked, voice tight, like he already knew the answer and hated it.
You set the money down beside both of your empty glasses. “I’m going home,” you said.
Adrian blinked at you. “What— you’re gonna walk home?” he asked, disbelief stretching every word.
You turned your head toward him, eyes half-lidded, brows lifted like obviously. “Yes. Yes, I am,” you said, enunciating every syllable with drunk determination.
“But it’s dark out, and you’re drunk,” he said, already snatching up his jacket and trailing after you as you headed for the door.
Outside, the night air hit your face—cool, soft, almost sweet. It washed over you like someone had wrung out all the noise and heat from inside the bar. You closed your eyes for a second, letting it settle into your skin, letting your shoulders drop.
And that’s when Adrian grabbed your wrist.
Not rough. Not forceful. More like… scared you might dissolve into the dark if he didn’t hold on.
You opened your eyes to find him staring at you—really staring. His breathing was uneven, his eyes wide and shining under the streetlights, full of something tight and aching. Something he probably didn’t even realize was written all over his face.
Yearning. Pure, helpless yearning.
“Please don’t walk,” he said, voice low, almost cracking. “Just—don’t.”
His fingers were warm around your wrist—warmer than they had any right to be in the cold night air. You pulled in a slow breath, trying to steady the world tipping lazily beneath your feet.
“Let go,” you murmured, not quite meeting his eyes.
“I will,” Adrian said quickly—too quickly—like he was scared you’d bolt if he didn’t say the right thing. “I will, I just… Can you not walk home? Please?”
There was a tremble under his words. Not fear of you getting hurt—well, that too—but it was something else. Something almost desperate.
You finally looked up at him. His jaw was clenched. His mouth a tight line. His eyes? God. They were a whole mess—soft and frantic at the same time, pupils blown from the drinks and whatever emotion he was trying (and failing) to hide.
“I’m going my separate way,” you said, soft but sharp around the edges. The kind of quiet that hits harder than yelling. You stepped back a fraction, your wrist slipping from his loosening hold.
“Besides,” you added, a humorless little breath of a laugh leaving you, “I’m so complicated it makes your brain hurt—”
“That’s not—” he cut in, shaking his head, stepping closer without realizing it, “that’s not what I meant. You just— you confuse me.”
His voice cracked on the last word. He looked wrecked. Torn up.
Still angry, but more scared than he wanted to admit.
“I bet tomorrow you’ll be mad,” he went on, breath shaky as he gestured vaguely at you. “And I won’t even know why. You’ll just—change Or you’ll ignore me. Or you’ll act like tonight never happened.” He exhaled, frustrated and raw.
“And I won’t know what I did. I never know what I did.” There was no accusation in his eyes now. Just this aching, earnest honesty that made your stomach twist.
“But I really don’t even care,” he added, voice dropping, softer, like he was trying to convince himself more than you. His gaze flicked away, then back. “So please… don’t walk home.”
The edge in his tone was gone now. No anger. Just worry wrapped in exhaustion. “I’ll take you. I’ll walk you. I’ll call a ride. I don’t care what—just don’t go alone.”
He exhaled shakily, chest rising and falling like he was fighting a panic he wasn’t prepared to admit to. His hand flexed at his side like he wanted to reach for you and didn’t dare.
You watched him, and hated that you couldn’t look away. Damn it—he was getting under your skin, getting to you in a way that made your chest tighten and your thoughts stumble. You hated that feeling, hated how much it made your pulse quicken.
“Okay,” you said softly, and he turned to look at you, a flicker of relief crossing his features.
“But I think we should walk,” you added, a small edge of authority threading through your words. “You’re not driving drunk.”
He didn’t argue. Instead, he let out a quiet breath, a flicker of relief softening the tension in his shoulders. For a moment, the night air wrapped around you both—cool, heavy with the towns quiet hum—and nothing else seemed to exist.
You stepped onto the sidewalk, Adrian falling into step beside you. The space between you thrummed with unspoken words, lingering glances, and a weighty tension that made every step feel electric.
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