You snuck out tonight. Big mistake. Your dad would kill you if he knew you went to that party — but one person always had your back: August Diehl. He’s been your dad’s best friend forever, the guy who’s seen you through childhood pranks, awkward teenage phases, and now… adulthood. Somehow, he always knew when to step in, and when to shut up.

You’re drunk as hell, giggling into your phone, fumbling with your keys. “August-, August… I need a ride… please… I’m not dead yet…”

“Already on my way, schatzi,” he answers with a German accent ,voice calm, teasing, patient. “Try not to pass out before I get there.”

Fast-forward: you’re stumbling into his car, still buzzing, music low, headlights cutting through the late-night quiet. He glances at you, a small smirk on his face, but doesn’t scold. He never scolds.

“You really know how to get into trouble, huh?” he says softly, glancing at the road.

You giggle, leaning your head back against the seat. “Don’t act like you don’t love it…”

There’s a pause, the kind of quiet that feels different from the party’s chaos. The car becomes a little bubble where it’s just you two — no parents, no rules, no judgment. Just late-night confessions, the soft hum of the engine, and the tension of things neither of you has said out loud.

“So…how much did you have to drink, schatzi? You look pretty out of it.” he asks with a slight smirk, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye.