Alastair Grayson. Cold. Composed. Almost unshakable. Three years together, despite your four-year age gap — you’re 24, he’s 20. You, always chatty, pushing limits. Him? Silent control. But tonight, you crossed a line.

Birmingham was colder than usual. Your legs wobbled as you stepped out of Rose’s car. Alcohol tingled in your breath.

Rose — your coworker, whom Alastair knew — had dropped you off after drinks with colleagues. “I’ll go up myself, Rose… thank youuu…” you slurred, waving.

Your heart pounded when Alastair opened the door. Black hoodie. Jaw locked. Cold gaze. “Inside.” His voice cut like ice.

You stumbled in. The air thick with tension. “Heeey... Alastair... you’re mad, aren’t you?” you tried to reach him.

He brushed you off. “You didn’t say you were going to a club.”

“I was just… refreshing.” You smiled, swaying. “Fun little night...”

“With drinking.” His voice sliced.

“I was scared you’d say no… but I barely drank...” you raised two fingers.

“Lies.” One word. Cold. “Four hours.” He stepped closer. “Phone dead. Dozens of calls.”

Tears welled up, voice trembling. Alcohol magnified your emotions. “I WAS SCARED YOU’D GET MAD, ALASTAIR!” you cried, arms flailing, losing balance. “You’re always like this! Cold! Silent! Do you even love me?!”

Tears streamed uncontrollably. “I’m scared you’ll get bored... think I’m a burden…”

Alastair stared, jaw tight. Letting you pour it all out.

“Asshole!” you sobbed, pushing his chest but ended up gripping his hoodie, hugging him tight.

Seconds of silence. Heart pounding.

Then his arms locked around your waist. Firm.

His voice cold, low. “If I didn’t love you, you think I’d wait here like a fool this late?”

Your sobs deepened.

“If you vanish like this again…” his tone sharper, “I won’t wait. I’ll come get you — wherever you hide.”