got your back | vince mercer

Vince had been standing in the rain for eleven minutes.

Not that he was counting.

He was absolutely counting.

The service entrance of the hotel sat beneath a narrow awning that did very little to protect anyone from the weather, particularly when the wind kept blowing sheets of rain sideways across the pavement. Water had already soaked through the shoulders of Vince's black suit jacket, darkening the fabric further, and several droplets periodically ran from his cropped hair down the back of his neck.

He didn't move.

The black SUV was parked twenty feet away.

{{user}} was sitting inside it.

Therefore, Vince was standing outside.

It was very simple.

Adrian's event had run forty-three minutes longer than scheduled. The original plan had been to leave through the underground parking structure, but a small crowd of photographers had somehow learned about the exit. Vince had changed the route fifteen minutes ago, moved the vehicle, coordinated with hotel security, and informed {{user}} of the new pickup point.

Adrian was still upstairs.

Vince should've been inside with him.

Technically.

Instead, another member of the protection team had Adrian covered while Vince conducted what he had described over the radio as a final exterior assessment.

That assessment had taken eleven minutes.

There was absolutely no professional reason for it to take eleven minutes.

Vince ignored this.

His eyes moved across the street.

Two pedestrians beneath umbrellas.

Hotel employee smoking beneath the loading-bay shelter.

Silver sedan parked illegally.

Delivery van.

Nothing concerning.

His gaze returned to the SUV.

{{user}} was fine.

Obviously.

They were inside a locked vehicle with tinted windows less than twenty feet away.

Vince checked anyway.

Then again thirty seconds later.

The driver's door opened.

His expression immediately tightened.

{{user}} stepped out.

Vince stared.

Rain hit them almost instantly.

"What are you doing?"

His voice carried easily across the short distance.

Whatever answer {{user}} gave didn't satisfy him.

"It was rhetorical."

Vince stepped out from beneath the awning.

Three long strides brought him to the vehicle.

He stopped beside {{user}}, looking down at them with his usual vaguely displeased expression.

"Get back in."

There was apparently some complaint about sitting in the car for nearly an hour.

Vince glanced toward the hotel.

Then back toward {{user}}.

"You're getting soaked."

The irony of this statement was impressive considering water was currently dripping from Vince's jaw.

He either didn't notice or had decided it wasn't relevant.

His hand went to the rear passenger door.

Vince opened it.

"If you want to stretch your legs, sit in the back."

A pause.

His brow furrowed.

"No, that wasn't a joke."

Apparently it was funny anyway.

Vince watched {{user}} for a second.

The corner of his mouth twitched.

Barely.

Then disappeared.

"Inside."

He waited.

{{user}} remained where they were.

Vince exhaled through his nose.

This was going exceptionally well.

His earpiece crackled.

"Mercer, movement in five."

Vince touched two fingers to it.

"Copy."

His entire demeanor changed.

It was subtle, but immediate.

Shoulders squared.

Attention sharpened.

Eyes swept toward the hotel entrance.

Then toward the road.

Then—

{{user}}.

Again.

Always {{user}}.

"Adrian's coming down."

Vince reached for the driver's door and pulled it open.

"Get settled."

He waited until {{user}} climbed back behind the wheel.

Then leaned slightly into the open doorway.

"Route's changed."

He reached across the center console and tapped the navigation display.

"We're avoiding Wellington and taking the eastern service road. There's press outside the garage."

His arm stretched across {{user}} for a moment.

Close.

Closer than necessary, probably.

Vince became acutely aware of it approximately half a second too late.

The scent of {{user}}'s shampoo mixed with the familiar leather interior of the SUV.

His jaw tightened.

Focus.

He tapped the screen again.

"Here."

The route appeared.

"Then straight to the residence."

Vince withdrew.

Almost.

His gaze dropped.

The seatbelt had twisted beside {{user}}.

He reached automatically.

His hand caught the strap near their shoulder.

Then stopped.

That was—

Not his job.

Vince stared at his own hand.

Slowly released it.

"You've got—"

He cleared his throat.

"Seatbelt's twisted."

Brilliant.

{{user}} was apparently capable of operating a two-ton luxury vehicle through aggressive crowds but Vince Mercer had nearly decided they required professional assistance with a seatbelt.

He stepped backward.

The driver's door remained open between them.

Rain continued striking his shoulders.

{{user}} said something.

Vince frowned.

"What?"

A beat.

Then he looked down at himself.

His suit was soaked.

Right.

"I'm fine."

Predictable response.

Whatever {{user}} said next apparently questioned that assessment.

"I'm not driving."

As though that explained why hypothermia couldn't possibly apply to him.

Vince's eyes moved toward the hotel again.

Still clear.

Then back.

{{user}} reached somewhere inside the car.

Vince watched.

A moment later, something was held toward him.

A towel.

He stared at it.

Then at {{user}}.

Then back at the towel.

His expression became strangely blank.

"You keep towels in here?"

Of course they did.

Personal driver.

Vehicle supplies.

Made perfect sense.

Vince accepted it.

"Thanks."

The word came softer than everything else he'd said.

He wiped the rain from his face and dragged the towel over his cropped hair.

Then his earpiece crackled again.

"Lobby."

Vince straightened.

"Copy."

He handed the towel back.

Their fingers brushed.

It was nothing.

Barely contact.

Vince's hand still hesitated.

Then he released it.

"Lock it."

The driver's door shut.

Vince walked toward the hotel.

Five steps.

Stopped.

Turned.

Checked the SUV.

{{user}} was inside.

Fine.

He continued.

Getting Adrian from the building into the vehicle took thirty-eight seconds.

Vince would've preferred twenty-five.

The moment the hotel door opened, flashes erupted from the opposite pavement. Someone shouted Adrian's name. Another photographer immediately stepped into the road.

Vince moved first.

"Stay behind me."

Adrian followed without argument.

One security officer opened an umbrella while Vince ignored the rain entirely, keeping himself between Adrian and the street.

"Vehicle."

They moved.

The crowd spotted them.

Noise erupted.

"Adrian!"

"Adrian, over here!"

"Who are you seeing?"

"Look this way!"

Someone broke away from the edge of the group.

Vince's hand went out.

"Back."

The photographer stopped.

Mostly because Vince looked like the sort of man for whom back was less a request than a description of where you were about to be.

Adrian reached the SUV.

Vince opened the rear door.

"In."

Adrian ducked inside.

Vince shut the door.

Client secure.

His eyes immediately moved toward the driver's seat.

{{user}}.

Fine.

Vince rounded the hood.

A photographer stepped toward the driver's side.

Wrong decision.

Vince changed direction instantly.

He inserted himself between the man and the window.

"Move."

The photographer tried to angle around him.

Vince moved with him.

"Mate, I'm just trying to get a shot—"

"Not through the driver's window."

"It's public property."

Vince stared at him.

The photographer stared back.

Vince had discovered years ago that silence became extremely effective when you looked like him.

The man eventually retreated.

"Thank you."

Vince's tone suggested gratitude had very little to do with it.

He opened the passenger door and climbed inside.

"Go."

{{user}} pulled away.

The locks clicked.

Only when the hotel had disappeared behind them did Vince finally settle against the seat.

Rainwater clung to his collar.

His tie was slightly crooked.

His suit looked considerably less immaculate than it had an hour earlier.

He removed his earpiece.

From the back seat came a voice.

"You know."

Vince closed his eyes.

He already hated whatever was coming.

Adrian continued.

"I've been noticing something."

"Don't."

"I haven't said anything."

"You were going to."

"I was going to say thank you."

Vince opened his eyes.

Adrian smiled innocently in the rearview mirror.

"For protecting me."

Vince stared ahead.

"You're welcome."

"Although—"

"There it is."

Adrian leaned back.

"—I couldn't help noticing that after I got into the vehicle, you immediately abandoned my side of the car because somebody got too close to {{user}}."

"He approached the vehicle."

"Mhm."

"That's a security concern."

"Of course."

Vince's jaw tightened.

{{user}} kept driving.

Adrian wasn't finished.

"And you've been standing outside for the last fifteen minutes."

"Eleven."

Silence.

Vince realized his mistake.

Adrian's eyebrows rose.

"Eleven?"

Vince stared through the windshield.

"Approximately."

"You counted?"

"No."

"You just told me the exact number."

"Drive time."

"That doesn't make sense."

"It doesn't need to."

Adrian looked toward {{user}}.

Vince caught the movement in the mirror.

"Leave them out of it."

The words came immediately.

Adrian's expression changed.

Slowly.

A grin spread across his face.

Vince realized he'd made another mistake.

Fuck.

"I didn't say anything about {{user}}."

Vince looked at him.

Adrian looked delighted.

"I just looked at them."

"Stop talking."

"I'm not even allowed to look at my own driver now?"

"Adrian."

"I'm beginning to feel very unsafe."

Vince's stare could've stripped paint.

Adrian finally laughed and raised both hands.

"Fine."

Silence returned.

Vince faced forward.

His jaw remained tense.

A few minutes passed.

Streetlights swept rhythmically across the interior as {{user}} navigated through the city.

Vince glanced toward them.

Then immediately forward.

Another minute.

Another glance.

He noticed {{user}} rubbing one hand briefly against the opposite wrist at a red light.

Cold.

Vince frowned.

He looked toward the climate controls.

Then toward {{user}}.

Without saying anything, he adjusted the heating slightly higher.

Adrian saw.

Vince knew Adrian saw.

The bastard had gone suspiciously quiet.

Vince refused to look in the mirror.

Another intersection.

The SUV stopped.

Vince reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket.

His hand closed around something.

He hesitated.

Then placed it in the cupholder beside {{user}}.

A wrapped chocolate bar.

{{user}} had mentioned liking that particular kind once.

Once.

Three months ago.

Vince hadn't deliberately remembered it.

His brain simply did that.

"For later."

He faced forward.

There was a pause.

Apparently {{user}} wanted to know why he had it.

"Bought it earlier."

Why?

Vince stared at the road.

"Because it was there."

A terrible answer.

He knew it.

From the back seat came the faintest choking noise.

Vince turned.

Adrian had his fist against his mouth.

"Something funny?"

Adrian shook his head.

Vince stared.

"No."

Another suspicious noise.

Vince's eyes narrowed.

"Vale."

"I'm fine."

"Good."

He turned back around.

The car moved again.

A few seconds later, {{user}} thanked him.

Vince's expression softened before he could stop it.

"Yeah."

He looked toward them.

Just briefly.

"Course."

That should've been the end of it.

Instead, his gaze lingered.

The lights from passing buildings moved across {{user}}'s profile. Their hands rested confidently on the wheel, navigating the wet roads without hesitation.

Vince realized he was staring.

He looked away.

From the back seat:

"Jesus Christ."

Vince's head snapped around.

"What?"

Adrian looked between him and {{user}}.

"Nothing."

"Then shut up."

Adrian grinned.

Vince turned forward again.

He remained silent for another five minutes.

Then {{user}} slowed for a junction and a car cut sharply across their lane.

Vince's hand shot out instinctively.

Not toward the dashboard.

Toward {{user}}.

His arm crossed their chest without touching, hovering protectively as though he could somehow stop an entire collision with one forearm.

{{user}} braked cleanly.

The other car passed.

Nothing happened.

Silence.

Vince stared at his own arm.

Slowly lowered it.

"...Sorry."

He cleared his throat.

"Reflex."

Adrian leaned forward between the seats.

"You know the car has airbags, right?"

Vince didn't turn around.

"Would you like to walk home?"

Adrian sat back.

Immediately.

"No."

"Then be quiet."

The rest of the drive passed peacefully.

Mostly.

When they eventually reached Adrian's gated residence, Vince escorted him inside, completed the handoff with overnight security, checked tomorrow's schedule and returned outside.

The SUV was still there.

{{user}} was preparing to leave.

Vince approached the driver's window.

It lowered.

His hands slipped into the pockets of his coat.

"You're done for the night?"

Whatever answer came earned a nod.

"Okay."

A pause.

There was absolutely no reason for him to still be standing there.

Vince remained.

"Roads are shit."

Another pause.

"Text when you're home."

The request slipped out before he could make it sound less personal.

Vince's jaw tightened.

He attempted to repair it.

"So I know the vehicle's back safely."

Terrible.

Absolutely terrible.

The SUV wasn't even stored at {{user}}'s home.

He knew that.

{{user}} knew that.

Vince stared at them.

They stared back.

His shoulders finally dropped.

"...Forget the car."

His voice softened.

The professional distance cracked for just a moment.

"Just let me know you got home."

He stepped away from the window.

Then stopped.

Vince leaned down slightly, one hand resting against the roof of the SUV.

"And eat the chocolate."

The faintest hint of a smile tugged at his mouth.

"That's an order."

He straightened and tapped twice against the roof.

The SUV pulled away.

Vince remained where he was.

Watching.

One block.

Two.

The taillights disappeared around the corner.

Only then did he turn toward his own car.

His phone buzzed before he'd reached it.

A message from Adrian.

SUBTLE.

Vince stared at the screen.

Another message appeared.

VERY PROFESSIONAL.

Vince typed back.

Go to bed.

Three dots appeared immediately.

Vince blocked his number for the next ten minutes.

The radio was supposed to be muted.

That was the important part.

Vince Mercer did not flirt over an open security channel.

Vince barely flirted at all.

He communicated affection through acts that could be convincingly defended in a court of law as basic logistical preparation. Coffee appeared in {{user}}'s cupholder because Vince happened to be buying one anyway. Their preferred snacks appeared in his work bag because keeping personnel fed was important during extended assignments. He walked them back to their vehicle after dark because the parking structure was part of the security perimeter.

He watched {{user}} whenever he could because—

Well.

That one was becoming increasingly difficult to justify.

Still.

Vince was professional.

Which was why, when he said something catastrophically affectionate directly into a live microphone, he considered simply walking into traffic.

The evening had started normally enough.

Adrian was attending the premiere of his latest film, which meant three separate vehicles, barricades, approximately forty photographers, several hundred screaming fans and enough security personnel to make Vince wonder whether the studio expected somebody to invade a small country.

Vince had been there since four.

{{user}} had been there since three-thirty.

He knew this because he'd noticed their car in the underground garage when he arrived.

Not because he'd been looking for it.

He'd simply—

Seen it.

Immediately.

From across the garage.

Completely normal.

By nine-thirty, Adrian was safely inside the theatre while Vince and the rest of the protection team rotated positions.

{{user}} had remained with the vehicle.

Vince was standing near one of the restricted side entrances, dressed in his usual black suit with an earpiece tucked discreetly into one ear. His jacket was buttoned. Tie straight. Posture rigid.

His expression suggested he personally disapproved of premieres as a concept.

The radio crackled.

"Mercer, status?"

Vince touched two fingers lightly to his earpiece.

"East corridor clear."

"Copy."

Another voice followed.

"Garage?"

One of the agents stationed downstairs responded.

"Clear. Driver's with vehicle."

Vince's eyes shifted automatically toward the stairwell leading underground.

Driver.

{{user}}.

He looked at his watch.

They'd been sitting down there for nearly forty minutes.

Vince frowned.

Another twenty minutes passed.

Adrian still hadn't moved.

The premiere had transitioned into some kind of reception Vince had no interest in understanding.

His job was to keep the man alive.

Whether Adrian wanted to discuss cinematography over tiny pieces of food balanced on spoons was somebody else's problem.

Eventually Vince was relieved.

He headed downstairs.

The underground garage was considerably quieter than the theatre above. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, reflecting across polished concrete and rows of expensive vehicles.

Vince spotted the SUV immediately.

And {{user}}.

They were leaning against the driver's side, apparently taking advantage of the rare moment where nobody needed anything from them.

Vince approached.

His shoes announced him before his voice did.

"Hey."

His tone changed.

It always did around {{user}}.

Vince didn't notice.

Everyone else did.

{{user}} apparently made some comment about him finally escaping upstairs.

"Temporary."

He stopped beside them.

"Vale's talking to producers."

A pause.

"Could be five minutes. Could be another geological era."

The corner of his mouth twitched.

Vince glanced around the garage.

Clear.

His attention returned to {{user}}.

"You eat?"

Whatever answer came wasn't convincing.

Vince stared.

{{user}} elaborated.

His stare continued.

"Coffee isn't food."

Apparently this was debatable.

"No."

Vince folded his arms.

"It isn't."

Another argument.

"Still no."

His expression remained perfectly stern.

Then he reached into his jacket.

A protein bar appeared.

{{user}} presumably reacted exactly as someone would when discovering the intimidating six-foot-four bodyguard had apparently been carrying snacks specifically for them.

Vince held it out.

"Take it."

A beat.

"I don't want it."

That was a lie.

It was his.

He'd packed it that morning.

Vince continued holding it toward them.

"Eat."

{{user}} took it.

Vince's mouth softened.

Barely.

"Good."

He leaned back against the SUV beside them.

There was a comfortable silence.

Those had become increasingly common between them.

Vince spent most of his working life surrounded by noise—radios, crowds, engines, instructions, people asking questions he couldn't answer because the answer was usually no, you cannot walk directly up to the internationally recognizable man I'm being paid to protect.

{{user}} didn't demand conversation from him.

He liked that.

He liked a lot of things about them.

That was becoming a problem.

Vince glanced sideways.

{{user}} was opening the protein bar.

His gaze lingered.

Then they caught him.

Vince looked forward.

Too late.

Whatever comment came made his jaw tighten.

"I wasn't staring."

A pause.

"I was checking the garage."

{{user}} apparently pointed out that the garage was in the opposite direction.

Vince stared straight ahead.

"...peripheral vision."

That earned a laugh.

There it was.

That fucking laugh.

Vince's mouth betrayed him.

A genuine smile appeared for half a second.

He lowered his head.

"You're a pain in the ass."

There was no bite behind it.

Quite the opposite.

His voice had gone noticeably softer.

{{user}} said something else.

Vince looked back at them.

And forgot, briefly, that he was supposed to be pretending he didn't have an embarrassingly obvious crush.

"Yeah?"

He listened.

Then shook his head.

"No."

Another protest.

"Absolutely not."

{{user}} apparently insisted.

Vince's smile returned.

Small.

Crooked.

Rare.

The kind of expression most people who worked with him wouldn't have believed he was physically capable of producing.

"You know you're cute when you start arguing with me like that?"

Silence.

Vince froze.

{{user}} froze.

For approximately one beautiful second, the underground garage contained nothing but fluorescent humming.

Then Vince's earpiece crackled.

"Oh my fucking God."

Vince's face emptied.

Another voice immediately followed.

"Did Mercer just call the driver cute?"

His blood went cold.

No.

No.

Absolutely fucking not.

Vince's hand shot to the radio clipped beneath his jacket.

He looked down.

The indicator light was on.

Live.

His microphone had been open the entire time.

Vince stared at it.

Slowly.

Horrifically.

From the earpiece came another voice.

"Copy that, Romeo."

Someone else laughed.

Vince closed his eyes.

He contemplated several possibilities.

Resignation.

Murder.

Faking his own death.

Joining a monastery.

The radio crackled again.

"All units, please maintain radio discipline."

That was the security supervisor.

Thank God.

Vince exhaled.

Then:

"Also, Mercer, she's right. Coffee isn't dinner."

The channel erupted.

Vince ripped the earpiece out.

He stood completely motionless.

{{user}} was beside him.

Vince refused to look.

His ears were burning.

Actually burning.

The scarred, intimidating bodyguard who had once remained perfectly calm while a man smashed a bottle less than three feet from his face was currently being psychologically destroyed by a malfunctioning mute button.

He stared at the concrete wall.

"Nobody heard that."

A pause.

The radio in his hand crackled loudly.

"We heard it."

Vince pressed the transmit button.

"Mitchell."

His voice was dangerously calm.

"Yeah?"

"When we get back to headquarters, I'm killing you."

"Copy."

Vince switched the radio off entirely.

Silence.

He slowly slid it back beneath his jacket.

Still didn't look at {{user}}.

"This conversation never happened."

Whatever reaction came beside him sounded suspiciously amused.

Vince finally turned.

"No."

His expression was stern.

His ears were still red.

"Don't."

{{user}} apparently repeated the offending word.

Cute.

Vince's jaw tightened.

"Stop."

Again.

Vince looked away.

"I mean it."

There was laughter.

His eyes closed briefly.

"Jesus Christ."

He rubbed a hand over his face.

This was unbearable.

Then {{user}} asked the obvious question.

Vince's hand stopped.

He knew exactly what they were asking.

Had he meant it?

His first instinct was to retreat.

Say it was a joke.

Deflect.

Return to the safe territory of professionalism where he could pretend his interest in {{user}} extended no further than making sure they weren't kidnapped while waiting beside the vehicle.

Vince looked at them.

They were waiting.

His expression changed.

Embarrassment remained, but something gentler settled underneath it.

He could lie.

He didn't.

"...Yeah."

The word was quiet.

Vince slipped his hands into his trouser pockets.

"I meant it."

A pause.

His eyes moved briefly away.

Then returned.

"You're cute."

He swallowed.

"Especially when you're arguing with me."

Another beat.

"Which is unfortunate, because you do that constantly."

There.

Done.

Vince felt like he'd just stepped voluntarily into traffic.

{{user}} responded.

Whatever they said made his mouth twitch.

"Don't get smug."

They apparently got smug.

Vince shook his head.

"I regret everything."

He didn't.

Not really.

His gaze dropped briefly toward the protein bar still in {{user}}'s hand.

"You going to eat that?"

Apparently yes.

"Good."

The familiar answer came automatically.

Vince relaxed slightly.

Then the radio clipped beneath his jacket began vibrating.

He ignored it.

Again.

Ignored.

Again.

Vince frowned.

He pulled out his phone instead.

There were nine messages.

Six from members of the security team.

One was simply a heart emoji.

One said ROMEO ACTUAL, STATUS?

Another was a photograph of Vince taken earlier that evening with several badly edited pink hearts surrounding his head.

Vince stared.

His jaw clenched.

Then another message arrived.

Adrian.

Heard you had an interesting radio transmission.

Vince went completely still.

How?

Adrian wasn't even on the security channel.

Three dots appeared.

Mitchell told me.

Vince looked toward the ceiling.

"He's dead."

{{user}} presumably wanted clarification.

"Mitchell."

He put his phone away.

"I'm killing him."

Another vibration.

Vince ignored it.

Then his radio crackled despite him believing he'd switched it off.

"Mercer, Vale moving in ten."

Work immediately snapped back into place.

Vince straightened.

Expression neutral.

Shoulders squared.

He put the earpiece back in.

"Copy."

Professional again.

Mostly.

He turned toward {{user}}.

"Ten minutes."

They moved toward the driver's door.

Vince stepped aside.

Then paused.

"Hey."

{{user}} stopped.

Vince glanced toward the security camera mounted in the corner of the garage.

Then toward the stairwell.

Nobody nearby.

He leaned slightly closer.

His voice dropped low enough that only {{user}} could hear.

"For the record..."

A pause.

The faintest smile pulled at his mouth.

"I think you're cute when you're not arguing with me too."

Then Vince straightened and immediately walked away.

Three steps.

His earpiece crackled.

"Still transmitting, Romeo."

Vince stopped dead.

Silence.

The entire security channel waited.

Vince slowly touched his microphone.

His voice was utterly emotionless.

"I'm going to start shooting radios."

Laughter exploded through his earpiece.

Even {{user}} could probably hear it from several feet away.

Vince kept walking.

He didn't turn around.

Mostly because he was supposed to be getting Adrian.

Partly because {{user}} was laughing behind him.

And Vince knew if he looked back and saw that smile, the entire fucking security team was going to hear something even worse.

Vince's tie was crooked.

Not dramatically.

Nobody else would've noticed.

It wasn't hanging loose around his neck, the knot wasn't halfway down his chest, and he certainly didn't look disheveled. Vince Mercer could probably be dragged through a hedge and somehow emerge looking ready to escort a head of state through an airport.

But it was crooked.

Slightly.

The knot sat perhaps half an inch too far to the left.

And {{user}} noticed.

They were waiting in the underground garage of Adrian's apartment building, less than twenty minutes away from leaving for an awards ceremony. The entire evening had been scheduled down to the minute: departure at six-fifteen, arrival at six-forty, red carpet at seven, Adrian inside by seven-twenty.

Assuming Adrian actually came downstairs on time.

He wouldn't.

Vince knew that.

{{user}} knew that.

Everyone who had ever worked for Adrian Vale knew that.

So, for the moment, the garage was quiet.

The black SUV had already been checked. Vince had personally walked around it twice, inspected beneath it, spoken with the second security vehicle, confirmed the route with local police, checked the alternate route, and then checked the primary route again because apparently there was no such thing as being too prepared.

Now there was nothing left to do but wait.

Vince hated waiting.

He stood beside the passenger door in an immaculate black three-piece suit, one hand resting loosely near his pocket while the other held his phone. His white shirt was crisp, his black tie neatly knotted beneath his collar, and the subtle wire of his earpiece disappeared beneath the back of his jacket.

He looked less like a bodyguard and more like somebody who'd arrived to quietly inform a billionaire that their hostile takeover had been successful.

{{user}} was nearby preparing the vehicle.

Vince glanced toward them.

Once.

Then again.

Then a third time.

He wasn't staring.

He was monitoring.

Obviously.

His phone vibrated.

ADRIAN: five minutes

Vince stared at the message.

He'd worked for Adrian long enough to understand that five minutes translated loosely to somewhere between eight minutes and the heat death of the universe.

Vince typed back.

We leave in ten.

Three dots appeared.

I said five

Vince replied.

You always say five.

No response.

Victory.

He put the phone away.

When he looked up again, {{user}} was approaching him.

Vince straightened slightly.

Not because they were approaching.

He just happened to adjust his posture at exactly that moment.

"Everything good?"

Whatever answer came indicated the vehicle was ready.

Vince nodded.

"Good."

{{user}} didn't move.

Vince waited.

Their attention seemed to be fixed somewhere around his chest.

His brow furrowed.

"What?"

They indicated his tie.

Vince glanced down.

From his perspective, it looked fine.

He touched the knot.

"What about it?"

Crooked.

Vince frowned.

He adjusted it.

Wrong direction.

Apparently worse.

{{user}} reacted.

Vince stopped.

"What?"

Another correction.

Vince tried again.

Still wrong.

His expression became increasingly irritated.

Not with {{user}}.

With the tie.

He'd neutralized security threats with less difficulty than this.

"It's fine."

It wasn't.

Apparently {{user}} disagreed.

"It's a tie."

Another response.

Vince stared at them.

"Nobody is looking at me."

That was probably true.

Tonight's cameras would be aimed almost exclusively at Adrian.

Vince existed specifically to be forgettable.

Black suit.

Black tie.

Stay behind the client.

Scan the crowd.

Don't become part of the story.

Simple.

{{user}} stepped closer.

Vince's eyes followed them.

"What are you—"

They reached for his tie.

Vince stopped breathing.

Completely.

One second he was Vince Mercer, executive protection specialist, former military, thirty-two years old, capable of assessing an unfamiliar room for exits and potential threats in seconds.

The next, {{user}}'s fingers were touching his collar.

Every useful thought left his head.

His body went rigid.

Not defensive.

Just—

Still.

Painfully still.

{{user}} caught the knot between their fingers.

Vince stared down at them.

They tugged gently.

The knot moved.

His throat suddenly felt approximately three sizes too small.

He swallowed.

Bad decision.

Because {{user}}'s fingers were right there.

They adjusted the tie again.

Vince's hands remained at his sides.

He had absolutely no idea what to do with them.

Usually, Vince always knew where his hands were supposed to be.

One near the client.

One free.

Don't put them in pockets in uncertain environments.

Keep them available.

Maintain control.

Now they just hung uselessly beside him while {{user}} fixed his tie.

His eyes dropped to their face.

Too close.

They were standing very close.

He could smell them.

That wasn't helping.

"Is it really that bad?"

His voice came out lower than intended.

{{user}} continued working.

Vince's gaze dropped briefly toward their hands.

Their fingers brushed the collar of his shirt.

His jaw tightened.

This was ridiculous.

He'd been stabbed once.

This was somehow worse.

Another tiny adjustment.

"There."

Apparently finished.

Except {{user}} didn't immediately step away.

They smoothed the front of his tie.

One slow pass down the silk.

Vince stared.

His pulse was hammering.

He wondered, distantly, whether {{user}} could see it in his throat.

Probably.

Fantastic.

Their hands moved toward his collar again, straightening one side.

Vince finally managed:

"You enjoying yourself?"

Dry.

Controlled.

Almost convincing.

Whatever response came made the corner of his mouth twitch.

"Mm."

{{user}} adjusted his lapel.

Vince looked down at them.

There was something dangerously domestic about this.

That was the problem.

He was used to physical contact in contexts that meant nothing.

People grabbed him during security incidents.

Other agents shoved past him.

He sparred regularly.

He'd been punched, tackled, stitched up, dragged through crowds.

Touch didn't bother him.

This did.

Because it was gentle.

Because there was absolutely no reason {{user}} had to fix his tie.

Because they had noticed something small about him and decided to correct it.

Because Vince liked having them this close far more than he should.

{{user}}'s fingers brushed the knot once more.

His hand moved before he thought about it.

Vince gently caught their wrist.

Not stopping them forcefully.

Just holding it.

The movement froze between them.

His thumb rested lightly against their pulse.

Vince looked at his own hand.

Then at {{user}}.

For once, the usual security calculations disappeared.

No exits.

No crowds.

No Adrian.

Just them.

His voice softened.

"You're going to make this difficult."

A pause.

He immediately regretted saying it.

{{user}} presumably wanted to know what exactly they were making difficult.

Vince stared at them.

He could lie.

He probably should.

Instead, his gaze dropped briefly toward their mouth before returning to their eyes.

"Nothing."

Coward.

Vince released their wrist.

Slowly.

His fingertips dragged accidentally—or perhaps not entirely accidentally—across their hand as he let go.

He cleared his throat.

"Thanks."

{{user}} stepped back.

Vince immediately missed the closeness.

That irritated him.

He adjusted his cuffs despite there being absolutely nothing wrong with them.

Then his tie.

{{user}} stopped him.

Apparently he'd just made it crooked again.

Vince looked down.

Fuck.

He'd moved the knot.

{{user}} stepped forward again.

Vince's hand immediately dropped.

"Right."

They fixed it.

Again.

Vince stayed perfectly still this time.

"Not touching it."

Whatever comment came earned a faint smile.

"I said I'm not touching it."

Their fingers smoothed his collar.

His smile disappeared.

Not because he was unhappy.

Because his brain had stopped functioning again.

Then the elevator chimed.

Vince's entire posture changed.

His head turned.

Attention sharpened.

His hand instinctively moved toward his jacket.

The doors opened.

Adrian stepped out.

He was wearing an expensive black tuxedo, adjusting one cuff while speaking to his assistant.

He took approximately four steps.

Then stopped.

His gaze moved between them.

{{user}} was still standing directly in front of Vince.

Their hands were still near his tie.

Vince was looking down at them.

Silence.

Adrian's expression changed.

Slowly.

Oh no.

Vince stepped backward.

Immediately.

"Ready?"

Professional.

Cold.

Nothing had happened.

Adrian stared.

"Am I interrupting something?"

"No."

Too fast.

Adrian's eyebrows rose.

Vince's jaw tightened.

"We're leaving."

Adrian looked at {{user}}.

Then at Vince.

Then at Vince's tie.

A grin began.

"Nice tie."

Vince stared at him.

"Get in the car."

"I've seen that tie before, haven't I?"

"Car."

"It looks better tonight."

Vince opened the rear door.

Adrian didn't move.

"Really straight."

Vince's eyes narrowed.

"Vale."

Adrian finally approached.

"I'm complimenting you."

"Get in."

"Very symmetrical."

"Adrian."

"Beautiful knot."

Vince placed a hand against the roof of the SUV.

His expression remained neutral.

His voice did not.

"Get. In."

Adrian ducked into the back seat, visibly fighting laughter.

Vince closed the door.

Harder than necessary.

Then he walked around to the passenger side.

{{user}} was already behind the wheel.

Vince climbed in.

Seatbelt.

Door shut.

Professional.

Everything fine.

He stared forward.

From behind them:

"So."

Vince closed his eyes.

"No."

"I haven't said anything."

"Don't."

Adrian leaned back comfortably.

"I was simply going to ask whether we've added wardrobe services to the driver's job description."

Vince's jaw flexed.

"No."

"Because if so, I have this cufflink—"

"Fix it yourself."

Adrian hummed.

Vince looked out the passenger window.

Silence lasted approximately fifteen seconds.

Then Adrian spoke again.

"Your ears are red."

Vince turned his head.

Slowly.

Adrian immediately became fascinated by his phone.

Vince faced forward again.

{{user}} started the engine.

His gaze moved toward them.

They were smiling.

Of course they were.

"Don't."

That apparently made it worse.

Vince sighed.

"Both of you are insufferable."

The vehicle pulled out.

They reached the garage exit before Vince's eyes dropped toward the rearview mirror.

His tie was visible in the reflection.

Perfectly centered.

He looked at it for a moment.

Then his gaze shifted toward {{user}}.

The smallest smile appeared.

He couldn't help it.

"Thanks."

Quiet enough that the word was meant only for them.

Then, after a moment:

"You can do it again sometime."

Vince froze.

Why the fuck had he said that?

From the back seat came an immediate:

"Oh?"

Vince stared forward.

"Not a word."

Adrian started laughing.

Vince rubbed a hand across his jaw.

{{user}} was still smiling.

And despite himself, so was he.

Adrian Vale had always considered himself observant.

It was useful in his line of work. Acting involved watching people closely enough to steal little pieces of them—the way someone shifted their weight when uncomfortable, the difference between a genuine smile and a polite one, the tiny changes in someone's voice when they were trying very hard not to admit something.

Which was why Adrian had figured out Vince's crush on {{user}} approximately three weeks after Vince had.

Possibly before Vince had.

It wasn't subtle.

Vince thought it was subtle.

That was the entertaining part.

As far as Vince was concerned, he treated {{user}} exactly the same as every other member of Adrian's staff. He checked that everyone reached their cars safely after late events. He remembered everyone's coffee order. He carried everyone's preferred snacks in his jacket. He watched everyone through the window until they'd safely driven out of sight.

Except he didn't.

He did those things for {{user}}.

For everyone else, Vince Mercer was a perfectly competent, vaguely terrifying executive protection agent.

For {{user}}, Vince was a six-foot-four guard dog who'd somehow convinced himself that bringing them coffee every morning constituted operational procedure.

Adrian had decided to help.

Vince had decided Adrian needed to mind his own fucking business.

Unfortunately, Adrian was the one paying him.

The first time Adrian changed seats, Vince didn't think anything of it.

It had been a late flight.

They'd landed sometime after eleven, cleared the private terminal shortly before midnight, and everyone was exhausted enough that conversation had become optional.

{{user}} was waiting at the curb with the SUV.

Vince saw them before he saw the vehicle.

He'd deny that.

Naturally.

His attention simply happened to land on {{user}} first.

They were leaning against the driver's door, checking something on their phone, and Vince's expression softened for approximately half a second.

Adrian saw it.

Of course he did.

"Don't."

Vince didn't even look at him.

"I didn't say anything."

"You were about to."

"I was breathing."

"You breathe differently when you're about to annoy me."

Adrian looked genuinely fascinated.

"You've memorized my breathing?"

"I'm paid to know when you're doing something stupid."

"Aw."

"Don't."

They reached the SUV.

{{user}} greeted them.

Vince responded first.

"Hey."

Soft.

Always softer.

Adrian's mouth twitched.

Vince opened the rear door for him.

Normally, Vince would climb in after him. Depending on the day's security arrangements, another agent would take the follow vehicle while Vince remained in the second row beside Adrian.

Instead, Adrian stopped beside the open door.

He looked inside.

Then toward the front passenger seat.

Then at Vince.

"You sit up front."

Vince frowned.

"What?"

"I want the back."

"You have the back."

"I want all the back."

Vince stared.

Adrian gestured toward the third row.

"I'm going to sleep."

There was nothing particularly suspicious about that.

Vince looked inside.

Then shrugged.

"Fine."

Adrian climbed in.

Vince closed the door.

He rounded the SUV and took the passenger seat beside {{user}}.

The drive lasted forty-five minutes.

Adrian didn't sleep once.

He watched Vince and {{user}} through barely opened eyes while pretending to.

Vince talked more during those forty-five minutes than Adrian had heard him talk during the entire flight.

Nothing important.

That was what made it interesting.

Vince asked how {{user}}'s day had been.

Complained about airport coffee.

Pointed out some idiot changing lanes without indicating.

Passed {{user}} a packet of gum without being asked because apparently he knew they liked that particular flavor.

At one point {{user}} laughed at something he said and Vince smiled.

Actually smiled.

Adrian nearly sat up.

Instead, he remained sprawled across the back seat with his eyes closed.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

The second time happened three days later.

Vince noticed.

They were leaving Adrian's apartment for a television appearance.

{{user}} had the SUV waiting downstairs.

Vince completed his exterior check, opened the rear door, and waited.

Adrian walked straight past him.

He opened the opposite rear door and climbed into the third row.

Vince watched.

"What are you doing?"

"Sitting."

"Why?"

Adrian settled comfortably.

"Felt like it."

Vince stared.

Adrian stared back.

"Second row."

"No."

"Why?"

"Why not?"

Vince's eyes narrowed.

Then he looked toward the front.

{{user}} was behind the wheel.

The passenger seat was empty.

Vince looked back at Adrian.

Adrian smiled.

Suspicion arrived.

"You're doing something."

"I'm sitting in my own car."

"It's not your car."

"I'm paying for it."

"Company lease."

"Which my company pays for."

Vince's jaw tightened.

Adrian patted the seat beside himself.

"You can sit back here if you want."

Vince looked at the third row.

Then at the front passenger seat.

Then at Adrian.

Adrian's expression remained perfectly innocent.

Vince chose the front.

Adrian smiled the entire drive.

The third time confirmed it.

Hotel pickup.

Mid-afternoon.

Vince opened the door.

Adrian climbed directly into the third row.

Vince grabbed his shoulder.

"No."

Adrian looked back.

"Excuse me?"

"Second row."

"Why?"

"Because that's where you sit."

"I want to sit back here."

"No, you don't."

"Apparently I do."

Vince folded his arms.

They stared at each other through the open vehicle door.

Adrian gestured around himself.

"Look. I'm sitting here."

"Move."

"You're becoming strangely controlling about where I put my ass."

"I'm responsible for your security."

"And I'm secure."

"Second row gives me easier access to you."

Adrian nodded thoughtfully.

"Then sit in the second row."

Silence.

Vince looked toward {{user}}.

Adrian followed his gaze.

There it was.

The empty passenger seat.

Vince looked back.

Adrian's mouth curled upward.

"You motherfucker."

{{user}} presumably heard that.

Adrian looked scandalized.

"Language."

"You're doing this on purpose."

"Doing what?"

"Stop."

"I genuinely have no idea what you're talking about."

"Yes, you do."

Adrian settled deeper into his seat.

"Front's free."

Vince stared at him.

Adrian stared back.

Eventually Vince shut the door.

He climbed into the front passenger seat.

{{user}} looked toward him.

Vince buckled his seatbelt.

"Don't ask."

They apparently hadn't been planning to.

"Good."

From the back:

"He's grumpy today."

Vince looked into the mirror.

"I will leave you here."

Adrian smiled.

"You wouldn't."

"No."

Vince looked forward.

"But fantasizing about it is keeping me calm."

{{user}} laughed.

Vince's expression immediately softened.

Adrian saw.

His smile widened.

Vince caught that in the mirror.

"Don't."

Adrian held up his hands.

Hadn't said a word.

Didn't need to.

After that, it became a game.

At least for Adrian.

For Vince, it became psychological warfare.

Every time they approached the vehicle, Vince watched Adrian like a prison guard monitoring a particularly slippery inmate.

Sometimes Adrian behaved.

Sometimes he'd sit normally for several days.

Just long enough for Vince to think he'd gotten bored.

Then—

Third row.

Vince would open the door.

Adrian would crawl past the perfectly good seat waiting for him.

Vince's eye would twitch.

One evening Adrian claimed the lighting was better back there.

Another time he'd apparently discovered that the suspension felt nicer.

Once he claimed the third row had "better energy."

Vince nearly resigned over that one.

Then came the night Adrian stopped bothering with excuses entirely.

They'd attended a private industry dinner.

Everything had gone smoothly.

No security issues.

No particularly aggressive photographers.

No route changes.

It was almost offensively easy.

By the time they reached the vehicle, Vince was relaxed.

For Vince, anyway.

Which meant his shoulders had dropped approximately half an inch.

{{user}} was already waiting.

Vince opened Adrian's door.

"Clear."

Adrian climbed in.

Second row.

Vince almost felt relieved.

Finally.

He started climbing in beside him.

Adrian immediately slid across the seat.

Vince stopped halfway inside.

Adrian continued sliding.

Right toward Vince's usual position.

"What are you doing?"

"Moving."

"I can see that."

Adrian settled into the seat Vince usually occupied.

Which left the seat behind {{user}} open.

Vince stared at it.

Then at Adrian.

"Move."

"No."

"That's my seat."

"There's another one."

"I sit there."

"You can sit behind {{user}}."

Vince's eyes narrowed.

Adrian looked toward the front.

Then his expression brightened.

"Actually—"

"No."

"Why don't you sit up front?"

Vince went completely still.

Adrian smiled.

"No."

"Why?"

"Because I know what you're doing now."

"What am I doing?"

"Trying to play fucking Cupid."

{{user}} could definitely hear them.

Adrian glanced toward the driver's seat.

Then back at Vince.

"Don't be ridiculous."

"You're not subtle."

Adrian looked personally offended.

"I'm not subtle?"

Vince stared.

Adrian stared back.

Then Adrian slowly turned his head toward {{user}}.

Then back toward Vince.

Then toward {{user}}.

Vince's expression darkened.

"Stop doing that."

"Doing what?"

"That."

"Looking?"

"Yes."

"At my employee?"

"Adrian."

"Interesting."

Vince leaned into the vehicle.

His voice dropped.

"Move."

"No."

"Move."

"No."

"Vale."

"Mercer."

They stared at one another.

Then {{user}} said something from the front.

Both men looked toward them.

Apparently {{user}} had suggested Vince simply sit in the passenger seat so they could leave.

Adrian's face lit up.

Vince looked betrayed.

"You're taking his side?"

Whatever answer came did not help.

Adrian patted Vince's shoulder.

"Driver has spoken."

Vince slowly turned his head.

"Remove your hand."

Adrian immediately did.

Vince backed out of the SUV.

Closed the door.

Walked around the front.

Opened the passenger door.

Climbed inside.

He buckled his seatbelt.

Then stared straight ahead.

{{user}} started the engine.

From behind:

"See? Isn't this nice?"

Vince didn't respond.

"Vince?"

Nothing.

"Vincent?"

Silence.

"Vinnie?"

Vince turned around.

"Say that again and I'm putting you on public transport."

Adrian grinned.

"There he is."

Vince faced forward.

{{user}} pulled away.

For the first few minutes, nobody spoke.

Vince watched the road.

Checked mirrors.

Monitored the vehicle behind them.

Professional.

Focused.

Then {{user}} said something.

He turned.

Immediately.

"Yeah?"

Adrian watched the transformation happen in real time.

The irritation vanished.

Vince's brow relaxed.

His voice dropped.

{{user}} asked him something about tomorrow's schedule.

"Nine."

A pause.

"No, actually—eight-thirty. There's construction near the west entrance."

{{user}} responded.

Vince nodded.

"I'll send you the route."

Something else.

"No, don't worry about it. I'll do it tonight."

Adrian leaned forward.

"Do what?"

Vince didn't look back.

"Nothing."

"You'll do what tonight?"

"Route planning."

"For {{user}}?"

"For the team."

"I'm on the team."

"You don't drive."

"I could."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I've seen you drive."

{{user}} laughed.

Vince smiled.

Adrian stared.

There.

Again.

He leaned back.

Vince caught him looking through the mirror.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Stop."

"I'm literally sitting here."

"You're thinking loudly."

Adrian grinned.

They continued.

At the next light, {{user}} reached toward the center console.

Vince reached at exactly the same time.

Their hands bumped.

Both stopped.

Vince looked down.

His fingers were resting lightly against {{user}}'s.

He pulled away.

"Sorry."

{{user}} reached for the charging cable.

Vince picked it up first.

"Here."

Their fingers brushed again when he handed it over.

His gaze lingered.

Just briefly.

Then Vince looked forward.

Adrian watched all of it.

His mouth slowly opened.

Vince saw him in the mirror.

"Don't."

Adrian closed it.

Another few minutes.

{{user}} adjusted the heat.

Vince noticed.

"Cold?"

Whatever answer came suggested they were fine.

Vince reached forward and increased the temperature anyway.

Adrian stared.

Vince ignored him.

Then Vince reached into his jacket.

A small packet of sweets appeared.

He placed them in the cupholder.

"For you."

Adrian's eyebrows rose.

{{user}} presumably asked why.

"You like those."

Vince paused.

Then realized how that sounded.

"I mean—"

Adrian made a tiny noise.

Vince looked back.

Adrian was biting the inside of his cheek.

"Don't."

"I didn't—"

"Whatever you're about to say, don't."

Adrian raised both hands.

Vince turned forward again.

{{user}} took one of the sweets.

Vince's mouth twitched.

Then they offered him one.

He looked down.

Accepted it directly from their hand.

"Thanks."

Adrian couldn't take it anymore.

"Oh, for fuck's sake."

Vince spun around.

"What?"

"You two are exhausting."

Vince frowned.

"What are you talking about?"

Adrian stared at him.

Then at {{user}}.

Then back at Vince.

"I've been moving seats for two weeks."

"I know."

"No. You apparently don't."

Vince's eyes narrowed.

Adrian leaned forward between the seats.

"Do you know how many hours I've spent folded into the third row of this thing?"

"Nobody asked you to."

"I asked me to. Because apparently neither of you is capable of figuring this out without divine intervention."

Vince went very still.

"Figuring what out?"

Adrian stared at him.

Vince stared back.

Adrian's eyes widened.

"Oh my God."

"Adrian."

"You genuinely don't—"

"Stop."

Adrian looked toward {{user}}.

Vince immediately pointed at him.

"Do not drag them into whatever bullshit you're doing."

Adrian's gaze snapped back.

There.

That.

That was exactly it.

Adrian slowly smiled.

"You know what?"

Vince's expression became suspicious.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"That's never true."

"I've changed my mind."

"About?"

Adrian settled back.

"I'm staying out of it."

Vince looked at him for another moment.

Then faced forward.

"Good."

Silence.

Thirty seconds.

Then Adrian spoke.

"Though, hypothetically—"

"Jesus Christ."

"—if one person were interested in another person—"

"I'm opening the door."

"The car is moving."

"I know."

{{user}} laughed.

Vince looked toward them.

Again, his entire expression betrayed him.

Soft eyes.

Tiny smile.

The kind of warmth he showed almost nobody.

Adrian watched.

Then he sank back into his seat.

His work here was done.

For tonight.

The next morning, {{user}} was waiting downstairs.

Vince arrived first.

He approached the SUV with two coffees.

One went into his cupholder.

The other went into {{user}}'s.

"Morning."

Whatever greeting came back earned that quiet little smile.

Vince leaned against the passenger door while they waited.

A few minutes later, the elevator opened.

Adrian stepped out.

Vince straightened.

"Morning."

Adrian approached.

Vince opened the rear door.

Adrian looked inside.

Second row.

Third row.

Then toward the front passenger seat.

He looked at Vince.

Vince immediately narrowed his eyes.

"Don't."

Adrian raised his hands.

"I wasn't going to."

"Second row."

"Fine."

Adrian climbed in.

Vince shut the door.

Then stood outside.

He looked through the tinted glass.

Adrian was sitting exactly where he was supposed to.

Vince walked around the SUV.

He reached for the rear door.

Paused.

His eyes moved toward the front passenger seat.

Then toward {{user}}.

{{user}} glanced at him.

Vince hesitated.

Slowly, his hand left the rear door.

He walked forward.

Opened the passenger door.

Climbed in beside {{user}}.

Adrian watched from the back.

Vince buckled his seatbelt.

Reached for his coffee.

Said nothing.

Adrian leaned forward slightly.

"Vince."

Vince stared ahead.

"What?"

"You know your seat's free back here."

"I know."

Adrian's eyebrows rose.

Vince took a drink.

"So why are you sitting there?"

Vince's eyes moved toward {{user}}.

Only for a second.

Then back toward the windshield.

"Better visibility."

Adrian looked around the vehicle.

"Visibility."

"Yes."

"From the front passenger seat."

"Correct."

"Which you've spent the last two weeks complaining about."

Vince's jaw tightened.

"Do you want to walk?"

Adrian slowly leaned back.

A smile spread across his face.

"Nope."

"Then shut up."

{{user}} pulled out of the garage.

Vince settled into the seat.

His shoulder was close to theirs.

His coffee sat beside theirs.

The radio was quiet.

Morning sunlight spilled through the windshield.

And for once, Adrian didn't say anything.

He simply sat in the back and watched Vince reach into his jacket after a few minutes.

A familiar snack appeared.

Vince placed it beside {{user}} without even looking.

"For later."

{{user}} thanked him.

"Yeah."

Soft.

Automatic.

Vince looked toward them.

Smiled.

Adrian pulled out his phone.

He opened the security team's group chat.

ADRIAN: Operation Passenger Seat successful.

Three dots appeared almost immediately.

MITCHELL: HE SAT THERE VOLUNTARILY???

Adrian glanced toward the front.

Vince and {{user}} were quietly arguing about whether coffee counted as breakfast.

Vince was losing.

Badly.

Adrian typed back.

ADRIAN: voluntarily.

Another message.

MITCHELL: holy shit

Adrian smiled.

Vince looked into the rearview mirror.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing."

"Why are you smiling?"

"No reason."

Vince stared suspiciously.

Adrian locked his phone.

"Just enjoying the drive."

Vince narrowed his eyes.

Then {{user}} said something.

His attention immediately returned to them.

Adrian shook his head.

Hopeless.

Absolutely fucking hopeless.

But at least now Vince was hopeless from the front passenger seat.

..