I don't know how today managed to feel both like a fever dream and the softest day I've ever lived.
Right now, I'm in the back seat of a car worth more than my father's house, dressed in a gown that took a small army to build, with my mask in my lap and my head on Adrien's shoulder.
His hand is resting lightly on my thigh. His thumb keeps tracing slow, steady circles—like he knows I need grounding.
But all I can think about is how it started.
This morning, I woke up to an empty bed. And for a moment, I panicked. The kind of stupid panic you only get when you wake up alone after doing something as heinous as... falling asleep in the middle of kissing someone who looks like Adrien Walton.
I thought maybe I'd upset him. Maybe I'd ruined the mood. Maybe he was brooding somewhere on one of the many balconies, looking devastatingly handsome and tragic in the morning light.
But no.
He was in the kitchen.
Cooking.
