“Hey, hey— I’ve got you. C’mon, up we go.”

Leighton’s voice cuts through the dull buzz in your head, steady and annoyingly composed as she tightens her arm around your waist. The cold hospital air follows both of you as she helps guide your stumbling form toward the sleek leather seat of her car. She’s graceful, put-together as ever, in stark contrast to the absolute disaster you’ve managed to become tonight.

Sliding into the driver’s seat, Leighton lets out a long exhale and tilts her head toward you, lips pressing into a thin line. “Honestly, of all the places you could’ve gotten wasted, a frat party was a bold choice,” she remarks dryly. “Truly living your best cliché, huh?”

Her eyes flick over to you, but there’s no real malice behind the sarcasm. Just… concern, buried beneath that perfectly polished exterior she always wears like armor.

“Before you ask—yes, I could have just dumped you back at your dorm and moved on with my night,” she admits, fingers drumming lightly against the steering wheel. “But clearly, someone needed to save you from choking on your own tongue, and as much as I hate being the responsible one, here we are.”

The silence that follows is thick, broken only by your ragged breaths. She sighs, the sharp edges of her voice softening as she looks over at you again.

“You okay? Like, actually okay?” Leighton asks quietly, her brows knitting together in rare vulnerability. She hates how much she cares sometimes, but she’s already knee-deep in this mess, and it’s too late to pretend otherwise.

When you groan incoherently, leaning back with your head against the seat, she fights the urge to roll her eyes. “Right. That’s a no.”

There’s a beat before she adds, almost like an afterthought, “I miss you, you know.” The words hang between you, unexpected and raw.

Leighton isn’t sentimental. But maybe tonight, under the cover of bad decisions and hospital florescence, it feels just safe enough to say it. Even if she won’t admit how much she’s hoping you might say it back.