Chapter 7

Ethan’s POV

The ride was quiet after the show.

I rested my head lightly against the car window, still half-sleepy from waking up on the sofa backstage. The city lights blurred past in soft streaks, and the silence between us didn’t feel awkward, it felt calm and safe.

After a few minutes, something felt strange. I frowned slightly and turned toward Adrian.

“Wait… where are we going?” I asked softly. “This isn’t the way to my house.”

He didn’t look surprised. He just kept his eyes on the road and smiled faintly.

“We’re not going to your house,” he said.

I blinked. “Then where—?”

“To mine.”

The answer came gently, but it still made my heart skip.

“Why?” I asked. Not because I didn’t want to go, but because I needed to hear him say it.

Adrian finally glanced at me, the soft streetlights catching the side of his face.

“Because I don’t want to spend the rest of the night alone,” he said quietly. “I just… want you close tonight.”

For a second, I didn’t say anything. My chest felt warm in a way I couldn’t explain.

“Okay,” I whispered.

His house felt calmer than I remembered.

The moment we stepped inside, my stomach growled loudly.

I froze in embarrassment.

Adrian laughed softly. “That answers one question already.”

“I forgot to eat,” I admitted, rubbing the back of my neck.

“Sit,” he said gently, walking toward the kitchen. “I’ll make something quick.”

I sat at the counter, watching him move around the kitchen like it was second nature. There was something strangely comforting about it — seeing someone so confident and calm doing something simple like cooking.

We ate quietly, but it didn’t feel silent. There were small comments, soft laughter, comfortable pauses. It didn’t feel like two people trying to impress each other.

It felt softer than that.

After we finished eating, Adrian leaned back slightly and looked at me.

“You want to shower first?” he asked. “You must be exhausted.”

I nodded. “Yeah… a little.”

He stood up and walked me down the hallway, opening a door.

“You can use this one. Towels are in the cabinet and…” he hesitated slightly before adding, “you can borrow one of my shirts if you want.”

I smiled faintly. “Thanks.”

A few minutes later, I stepped back into the room, hair still slightly damp, wearing one of his shirts. It was clearly too big for me — the sleeves were longer, the fabric looser, and the collar slipped slightly off one shoulder.

But instead of feeling awkward, I felt strangely comfortable in it.

I walked slowly around the room, taking everything in. The photographs on the wall, the books, the quiet order of the space. I touched a few things lightly — not just out of curiosity, but because it felt like I was finally seeing the real Adrian.

The door opened softly behind me.

Adrian stepped out in loose sweatpants, hair still damp from his own shower. He stopped the moment he saw me standing there in his shirt.

For a second, neither of us spoke.

“That shirt looks better on you than it does on me,” he said quietly.

I laughed softly. “It’s huge on me.”

“Still,” he replied, stepping closer. “I like it.”

We stood side by side near the window, not touching , but close enough to feel the warmth between us again — the same quiet intensity that had followed us since the café, the studio, the show.

I glanced at him. “Your house feels different tonight.”

He tilted his head slightly. “Different how?”

“Less lonely,” I said.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he looked at me in that calm, steady way that always made me feel seen.

“That’s because you’re here,” he said softly.

The room fell quiet again.

Adrian’s POV

My hand slipped behind Ethan’s neck. My fingers threaded gently into his damp hair, and I pulled him closer without thinking twice. The kiss that followed was slow and searching, like I needed to make sure he was really there.

His heartbeat felt so fast beneath my hand that it made my chest tighten. The softness of his mouth, the faint taste of coffee and mint, the quiet warmth of his breath — I wanted to remember every second of it.

The kiss deepened naturally, my other hand moved down his back, tracing a slow line over the thin cotton of the shirt he was wearing. The fabric was soft, but the warmth beneath it was softer. I felt his hands settle at my waist, hesitant at first, then more certain. When his fingers slipped just under the hem of my shirt, the touch sent a quiet jolt through me.

We didn’t rush, it felt like we were testing something delicate — the space between gentleness and something deeper.

Step by step, almost without noticing, we moved into the room, until the edge of the bed met the back of my legs. I wrapped my arms around him and guided him down slowly. The mattress dipped under us, and for a moment the world felt unsteady — not in a frightening way, but in a way that made everything else disappear.

We lay side by side, faces close enough that our breathing mixed. A quiet laugh escaped both of us, soft and breathless.

I brushed the back of my hand against his cheek, searching his eyes carefully.

“Is this okay?” I asked quietly, the words barely louder than a whisper.

He nodded almost immediately, then smiled in a way that made something warm spread through my chest.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “It’s… more than okay.”

I smiled and leaned down to kiss him again. This time slower. Like I wanted to take my time with every second.

My hand moved up his back again while the other traced slow circles at his side. There was no pressure, no rush — just the quiet unfolding of something that had been building between us for longer than either of us had admitted.

My fingers found the buttons of the shirt he was wearing, and for the first time my hands hesitated. Not because I didn’t want to, but because I wanted to be sure. Every time the fabric opened a little more, I looked at him again, asking silently for permission.

He didn’t look away.

A moment later I shifted slightly, half-kneeling above him, bracing myself with one arm so I wouldn’t put too much weight on him. My other hand traced the open collar of the shirt, sliding slowly lower until it reached the line of his collarbone. I paused there, almost without meaning to, trying to memorize the shape.

The room felt quieter than it had ever been. Every movement felt slow and deliberate, like time itself had decided to slow down for us.

“Is this alright?” I asked again, my voice rougher than usual.

He nodded, then reached up and pulled me closer before I could hesitate again.

This kiss was different. Deeper, warmer. Our legs tangled naturally, and when he hooked his leg around mine, the sudden closeness made my chest tighten again.

His hands moved more confidently now, sliding under my shirt, touching my side carefully at first and then with more certainty. I didn’t try to hide the way it affected me. I couldn’t.

For a few seconds, we didn’t even kiss. We just stayed close, breathing together, the silence filled with everything neither of us needed to say out loud.

When my hand finally slid across his side, he shivered slightly, and the reaction made something inside me soften instantly. I leaned down and kissed him again, deeper this time, not holding back as much as before.

The night outside the window faded into nothing. The lights blurred and time disappeared.

At some point, without noticing how, he shifted and ended up above me, the shirt slipping from one shoulder as the buttons came undone. I didn’t stop him. I just looked at him — really looked at him and something in my chest felt lighter than it had in years.

He leaned down slowly, bracing himself with his arms, and I felt his lips trace my jaw, then my neck. My breath caught, and I felt his confidence grow immediately.

My hands moved up his back, pulling the shirt until the fabric slipped completely free. My fingers rested for a moment between his shoulders before sliding down again, slow and careful, like I was learning him piece by piece.

The warmth of his body against mine felt overwhelming in the quietest way possible. Every touch felt stronger than it should have, but not in a way that scared me — in a way that made everything feel real.

I rolled us gently, not wanting the moment to break, and found myself above him again. My hand wrapped loosely around his wrists, holding them above his head just enough to stop him from pulling away, but not enough to make him uncomfortable. The other hand moved slowly down his arm, across his chest, careful and steady.

My lips found his again, then his jaw, then the sensitive space beneath his ear. Every reaction he gave me, every small movement felt like an answer I hadn’t even realized I was waiting for.

The shirt was gone now, and instead of looking embarrassed, instead of trying to hide, he looked at me like he trusted me completely.