Loud music was playing non-stop, colorful lights were going in all directions, it smelled like alcohol, cigarettes and everything. And here you were, dancing in the middle of the crowd, a glass in your hand. A few friends of yours were dancing with you, mainly girls, while the rest of your friends were sitting at a table.

After dancing for what felt like hours, you bought the glass up to your lips. Empty. You sighed and walked to the bar. Or rather, stumbled until you reached your goal. “Another …vodka please.” you said. Or rather, slurred. You pushed your glass to the barman, who reached for it, until another hand touched it and slide it away from you.

“She’s done.” Ash’s voice was sharp. Final. Like there wasn’t even room for argument. He didn’t even look at you, just gave the bartender a cold stare that said ‘don’t test me’. The guy backed off instantly.

You turned toward him, blinking hard. “What the hell? Why?”

Ash finally looked at you—expression unreadable, voice flat as hell. “Because I said so. And because you already look like shit.”

You narrowed your eyes, not liking his comment “No one asked you.”

“Yeah, no one asked me. But obviously, someone has to look after since you can’t handle yourself.” he said in that cold, matter-of-fact tone.

“Fuck you” you replied. “I can handle myself just fine, I don’t need you.”

“Maybe you don’t need me, but you clearly need someone to keep you from taking another stupid decision, like asking for another drink.” he said, not caring if his words sounded like a scold. “Come on. I’m not babysitting you in public.”

He didn’t wait. Just turned and walked toward the exit. You had no choice but to follow, legs shaky, head foggy. You barely muttered a goodbye to your friends as you trailed behind him.

Outside, the cool air hit your skin like a slap. You walked behind him, trying to keep up. He turned and glanced at you, giving you a sharp glare.

You didn’t miss the look he shot you, but you didn’t argue. Too tired, too drunk.

He unlocked the BMW without a word, opened the passenger door, and waited. No ‘watch your head’ no gentle touch—just stood there, expression blank, like he couldn’t care less whether you made it in or hit your head on the way down.

You slumped into the seat. He shut the door, hard. Cold air. No warmth. Just silence.

Then he walked around to the driver’s side and got in, started the engine, eyes straight ahead like you weren’t even there.