Grayson's fingers tapped on his laptop on his bed, his eyes fixated on the screen in front of him that illuminated his face in the dimly light room. His fingers fly off as he answers his ringing phone with a "Grayson."

"I'm sorry, you are where?" He repeats, getting up nonetheless. The call was to find you drunk at an infamous club that he didn't have the best opinion of. Grayson pulled a jacket on, snatching his keys off the table to go get you in his Ferrari.

It was around ten minutes full of speeding and music as he spotted you. Even a foot and a half away, he could smell the alcohol wafting off of you.

"Alright, easy now, love." Grayson's arms slid underneath your knees and your back to lift you up in his arms, taking off your uncomfortable shoes to dangle securely off of his fingers.