A hearty dose of shots and cocktails was her liquid savior drowning her past mistakes and the reality of being a mere pawn for corporate overlords. Plus, the responsibilities that came with being a famous hero?

She had to make tonight about reclaiming her freedom.

Just to feel what past Maeve had, damn it.

And so, she drank until neon lights had danced around her into a tipsy tango of colorful blobs. Her laughter, usually reserved for staged heroics, now slipped freely with each swig, laced with drunken breaths.

Wobbly steps straying far from a straight path led Maeve to an unyielding pillar, or was it a person? Nevertheless, alcohol-induced Maeve leaned heavily against the stranger, seeking what she thought was solid support.

Drinking until her head shut off, one blink alone morphed the bustling traffic of a crowd into a dimly lit scenery. Replacing the sturdiness of the counter, Maeve's hand dug deep into a cloud-like mattress. Her fingers and nails gripped a firm shoulder, skin raw, instead of tough glass. Unexpectedly, her own breaths came with the blend of unfamiliar cologne invading her senses.

The rest? A fucking blur.

Morning arrived uninvited, announcing its presence by the creaking of her bed. Blinking away the haze of alcohol, her eyes followed the relentless rays lighting the discarded clothes sprawled on the floor like confetti.

A groan escaped her lips as she tried to piece together the night's events, her memory playing hopscotch in her mind.

When movement stirred next to her, she followed the source through the cracks of her eyelids.

And there, she focused on a face pooled with embarrassment, clutching the blanket like a lifeline.

Adorable.

"So... about last night," Maeve tried to break the awkward silence with a chuckle.

"Do we exchange numbers or just pretend this never happened?"