The icy air whipped through the empty streets, biting at my skin as I walked, clutching my handbags as though they could somehow keep me warm. The whiskey had dulled the sharpness of my anger, leaving behind only a hollow ache and a deep sense of loneliness. I had walked too far, wandered too long, but I hadn't cared. I needed to be away, to be anywhere that wasn't home. Anywhere that wasn't under Daemon's cold, watchful gaze.
What I didn't know was that Daemon had been following me since the moment I stormed out. He had kept his distance, just far enough for me not to notice but close enough to ensure I wouldn't be truly alone in the dark streets. He had always been the master of indifference, the person who could make himself invisible even in plain sight. But tonight, something in him shifted as he watched me stumble through the cold, my footsteps unsteady, my head clouded by alcohol and emotion.
Daemon wasn't the type to rush to someone's rescue. He wasn't the kind of brother who would swoop in with comforting words or gestures. But as I sat down heavily on a park bench, my breath coming out in uneven puffs, he knew he couldn't leave me there. He couldn't let me spiral any further.
I slumped forward, the nearly empty bottle of whiskey slipping from my fingers and rolling onto the ground. That was when Daemon finally moved.
---
I didn't hear Daemon approach. One moment I was lost in my haze of alcohol and regret, the next I felt his strong arms around me, lifting me from the bench. My head lolled against his chest, my mind struggling to piece together what was happening. The world spun, a mixture of cold air and Daemon's warmth disorienting me.
"Daemon?" I mumbled, my voice slurred. I blinked up at him, my vision blurry, his face a mere shadow in the dim light of the streetlamps.
His jaw was tight, his expression hard to read as he adjusted his grip on me, holding me securely against him. "You shouldn't be out here," he said, his voice low but steady, the words edged with a frustration he was trying to keep in check.
I was too drunk to process the situation properly. All I knew was that Daemon was here, holding me, and for some reason, that brought a strange sense of comfort. I hadn't expected him to come after me. I hadn't expected him to care.
The alcohol coursing through my veins made me feel warm and reckless. A soft giggle escaped my lips as I leaned in closer to him, my head resting against his shoulder. "You're warm," I muttered, my voice barely more than a whisper.
Daemon's grip tightened slightly, his steps steady as he carried me through the empty streets. He didn't respond, but I could feel the tension in his body, the way he was holding himself back from saying more. That was Daemon's way—always in control, always keeping his distance, even when he was right there.
In my drunken state, everything felt fuzzy, but there was one clear thought that pushed through the haze. I tilted my head up, my lips brushing against Daemon's cheek in a sloppy, unintentional kiss. It wasn't meant to be anything significant—just a gesture of drunken affection, a thoughtless action born from the alcohol swirling in my system.
Daemon froze.
For a moment, his entire body went rigid, and I could feel the tension ripple through him as though I had crossed an invisible line. I could hear the sharp intake of his breath, the way he clenched his jaw to keep himself from reacting. But he didn't pull away. He didn't drop me. Instead, he resumed walking, his grip on me firmer now, his movements more deliberate.
I wasn't fully conscious of what I had done. The alcohol had blurred my thoughts, numbed my awareness, but even through the haze, I could sense the shift in the air between us. Something had changed, though I couldn't place exactly what.
Daemon said nothing. He carried me the rest of the way home in silence, his face set in stone, his emotions carefully hidden behind the walls he had always kept so meticulously in place. But I could feel the crack in that wall now, the way my kiss—however small and insignificant—had unsettled him.
---
By the time we reached the house, the night had settled into a deep, heavy stillness. Daemon carried me inside, his steps measured, his arms still wrapped around me, but there was a new tension in the air, one that hadn't been there before.
I was drifting in and out of consciousness by then, the whiskey and the cold having drained what little energy I had left. But I was aware of him—the way his arms held me, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath me, the quiet sound of his breath as he carried me through the dimly lit hallway.
When we reached the living room, Daemon carefully lowered me onto the couch, his hands lingering for a moment as he pulled a blanket over me. I blinked up at him, my vision still blurry, my mind struggling to catch up with everything that had happened.
"Daemon…" I mumbled, my voice barely audible.
He knelt beside me, his face still composed, though I could see the flicker of something deeper in his eyes—something I couldn't quite name. His hand brushed a strand of hair away from my face, his touch uncharacteristically gentle.
"You need to rest," he said softly, his voice low and measured. "We'll talk in the morning."
I wanted to say something, to ask why he had followed me, why he had cared enough to come after me when I had expected him to let me go. But the words wouldn't come. My eyelids were heavy, the exhaustion pulling me under, and before I could form a coherent thought, I drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep.
---
When I woke, the morning light was filtering in through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the living room. I blinked against the brightness, my head throbbing from the whiskey, my body still aching from the cold. It took me a moment to remember where I was, to piece together the events of the previous night.
The argument. The park. Daemon.
I sat up slowly, the blanket sliding off my shoulders as I looked around the room. It was quiet, the house still, but there was a cup of tea on the table beside me, steam rising from it as if it had been placed there only moments ago.
And then I saw him.
Daemon was standing by the doorway, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable as he watched me. He didn't say anything at first, didn't acknowledge what had happened the night before. But there was something different in the way he looked at me now—something softer, something complex.
I swallowed, the memory of the kiss flashing through my mind, the way he had frozen in place when my lips had brushed his cheek. I didn't know how to bring it up, didn't know if I should.
Instead, I reached for the tea, wrapping my hands around the warm cup, letting the silence stretch between us for a moment longer.
"Why did you follow me?" I finally asked, my voice quiet, unsure.
Daemon's eyes flickered, but his expression remained calm, composed. He stepped forward, his gaze steady as he looked at me. "Because," he said, his voice low but firm, "you were drunk. And it was dangerous."
It wasn't the answer I had been hoping for, but it was enough. I nodded slowly, taking a sip of the tea, feeling the warmth spread through me.
We didn't speak about the kiss. We didn't speak about the fact that he had carried me home, that he had followed me through the night when I had thought I was alone. But something had changed between us, something that didn't need to be said aloud.