I opened my mouth, and before I can respond —
The door crashed open.
"TI’S UP," Aria announced, hands on her hips like she ran the entire dical wing of the park. "It’s getting dark, lover boy. Wrap it up."
Caron peeked behind her, raising his phone like he was docunting a historic event. "Wow. The atmosphere in here is — yes — this is award-winning tension."
I practically jump. I’d forgotten the world existed outside this tiny, spinning room.
Adrien doesn’t even look at them. His eyes stay locked on mine as he slowly straightens, then extends a hand toward .
"Co here," he says quietly.
My gaze flickered from his outstretched hand to his face, then to the grinning faces of Aria and Caron in the doorway. The spell was broken, or at least badly fractured, but the lingering shimr of it still clung to my skin like static.
"Co here," he repeated, his voice still quiet, but with an underlying current that bypassed my logic and resonated directly with that raw, ancient part of . The part that had nodded when he told to breathe. The part that trusted him more than anything.
Before I recognized what I was doing, I had taken hold of his hand. His palm felt warm and anchored; a solid and bedrock certainty about it. I don’t think I realized it was happening, but when he lifted with such a smooth grace, it was as though I were being guided from a seated position and standing upright by soone who already understood just how much physical force would be needed to lift .
"Still dizzy?" He asked softly and gently. His other hand remained near my waist, hovering but never making contact, as if it were there for support if I needed it. "If you can’t walk, I’ll carry you."
"No," I said without hesitation. "I can walk. Thank you."
His eyes flicked over my face, checking, double-checking.
He didn’t let go of my hand until I pulled it back myself.
Aria muttered under her breath, "God, the tension," and Caron nodded his head as though he were standing before his university professor.
Together — Adrien and Caron escorted us out of the building, staying close but not too close. A few people outside still whispered and stared as we walked through the park, but sohow... it didn’t feel as suffocating as before.
Maybe because he was near.
Maybe because I was still confused.
Maybe because a small, traitorous part of ... didn’t mind.
Our car was parked under a streetlamp, the sky now deep indigo, the air cooler against my flushed cheeks.
Aria clicked the fob to unlock it and slipped into the driver’s seat with an overly dramatic whistle — leaving with Adrien for one last mont while she resud her argunt with Caron.
I move to get in —
— but Adrien steps ahead, holding the door open for .
Then —
He did sothing so small, so casual, so devastatingly intimate it knocked the air out of .
He lifted his hand above my head, palm shielding from the car fra as I ducked to sit inside — like he’d done it a thousand tis before.
My breath caught.
Why did that feel familiar?
I slid in, and he leaned slightly, still bracing the door with one hand as if guarding from even gravity.
Once I’m seated, I reach for the seatbelt.
He stops softly. "Let ."
I freeze.
His voice — low, deliberate, like a secret ant only for the space between us — sends a shiver down my spine.
My fingers retreat, curling into my lap as he reaches across — slow, careful, giving space, giving ti. His forearm brushes my shoulder, and the contact burns, not with heat, but with recognition. Like a word on the tip of my tongue. Like a dream I woke from too soon. But also with heat.
His touch humd against my skin, a reminder of the breath he’d coaxed from my lungs, the calm he’d sohow imposed on my spiraling thoughts.
He buckled the seatbelt with precise, unhurried movents, like he had all the ti in the world, like this was a ritual we’d done a hundred tis in another life.
Click.
The sound echoed in my ears far louder than it should have.
"There," he murmured, voice low enough that Aria’s arguing with Caron outside almost drowned it out. Almost. His gaze lingered a heartbeat too long. "Safe."
He doesn’t pull back imdiately. Instead, he lingers just a breath too long, his eyes eting mine in the dim glow of the streetlamp. The gold in them catches the light, molten and knowing.
His hand brushed my waist as he finally withdrew.
My pulse jumped.
Before I could gather myself, he reached for my hand.
My brain shut down completely.
Before I can ask, I feel the tip of a pen drag across my palm.
Where did that even co from?
His touch was deliberate — slow enough that I could register every inch of movent, quick enough that I couldn’t pull away without making it obvious. Cool tal under warm skin. A faint pressure as the pen traced looping lines and sharp angles in my palm, leaving a ghost of ink I couldn’t yet see.
When he was done, he folded my fingers gently over whatever he’d written, like he was tucking away a secret.
"Two weeks," Adrien said again, softer this ti — less a promise, more an invocation. "Call once you’ve made up your mind."
The pen disappeared, tucked back into so hidden pocket, but his grip lingered. His thumb brushed once — just once — across my knuckles, and it was barely there, barely a touch at all, but my breath hitched like he’d kissed again.
Then he let go.
I stared at enclosed fingers.
At him.
At the world where this made absolutely no sense but felt inevitable.
He stepped back and closed the door gently, like he was afraid of startling .
Aria didn’t wait a second. The mont the door shut, she stomped the gas pedal, sending us rolling away from them.
I twisted in my seat to look back through the window —
And he was still standing there.
Hands in his pockets.
Expression unreadable.
Watching the car leave like he already knew he’d see again.
My palm burned with the ink of his number.
And when I looked down at it, my heart stuttered.
Two weeks.
A stranger who didn’t feel like one.
A kiss I shouldn’t rember but sohow did.
God help ...
I was already in trouble.
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