The Brighton night was colder than you expected. Studio lights had made it easy to forget it was pushing 3AM until your phone buzzed again— 'I’m outside'.

You glanced up from your screen to see James already pulling on a hoodie. “You’re not going out there alone,” he muttered, not looking at you, as if that somehow softened the statement.

“I’m literally just walking to a car,” you pointed out, grabbing your bag.

James didn’t respond. He just tugged the studio door open and stepped out with you, the heavy door slamming shut behind. The two of you stood on the curb, the street slick with rain, amber streetlights catching in the puddles.

Chris’s car rolled up a moment later, headlights cutting through the gloom. It wasn’t flashy—some beat-up thing that had definitely seen better days—but he always kept the inside clean, like a footballer prepping for match day.

He leaned over to push the door open, curls bouncing with the movement. “Alright?” he called out through the open window, grin warm even in the cold air.

“Not bad for someone who apparently doesn’t sleep,” you said, moving toward the car.

Chris just laughed, eyes flicking toward James behind you. “Evening, mate.”

“Morning, technically,” James corrected, hands stuffed into his pockets. His tone was casual, but his gaze lingered on Chris a beat longer than necessary. Not disapproving—just… measuring. Making sure.

Chris seemed to pass the test. “Thanks for coming out,” James added, softer now. “Late hour. Weird part of town.”

Chris shrugged like it was nothing. “They’re my flatmate. Course I’d come.”

You felt that land somewhere deep in your chest. You weren’t used to people showing up this way—no questions, no judgment, no rules or curfews or tracking apps pinging if you were ten minutes late.

Chris leaned over again once you climbed in, adjusting the aux cord before pulling away from the curb. “You cold?”

You shook your head, settling into the seat.

“Good. Got the heated seats on just in case. And I brought those little strawberry laces you like. They're in the glove box.”

The way he said it made your throat tighten unexpectedly. It wasn’t a grand gesture. Not a song, or a run across counties, or anything theatrical. But it was 3AM. And he was here. Again.

“You really didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to.” He cut in gently, glancing at you before returning his focus to the road. “You’ve had enough people trying to control you. Let someone just… take care of you for once, yeah?”

You didn’t answer right away. Just looked out the window as Brighton blurred past.

Behind you, James had already disappeared into the studio again, probably muttering something about your taste in men. But you knew he wouldn’t have let you leave with just anyone.