Private Anchored in Darkness

[Aren D'Shade]

The neon lights of the bar flickered across the wet pavement, casting streaks of pink and blue across Aren's blurred vision. The warmth in her chest wasn't comforting; it was sharp, a lingering ache from a breakup that hadn't yet dulled. Each sip had been an attempt to wash it away, but now the alcohol only made the pain wobble through her veins with the rhythm of her unsteady steps.


She swayed on her boots, laughter spilling out in fits that felt hollow, broken at the edges. Her fingers fumbled against the strap of her bag as she tried and failed to keep her balance, the world tipping in uneven angles.

A strong arm slid around her waist, steadying her, and another hand caught hers as she stumbled, guiding her away from the street. She leaned into him without thinking, letting his quiet presence keep her upright as the pavement wobbled beneath her.

"I'm fine," she whispered to herself, voice cracked and slurred. Her grin was crooked, a fragile attempt at masking the ache in her chest. The alcohol, the heartbreak, the dizzying blur of lights, they had turned her into a bundle of chaos.


Step by careful step, he led her through the quiet streets, his hands firm at her waist and shoulder, steering her with patient precision. The sounds of the city, the distant speeders, the hum of neon, the occasional laugh from late-night pedestrians- filtered around her like fog. She clung to the rhythm of his steps, each one keeping her from collapsing, each one a tether to reality she wasn't quite ready to face alone.

The night stretched on, cool and dark, and Aren let herself be guided, the sting of heartbreak and the haze of alcohol mingling together. Somewhere ahead, Andrew's place waited, and she let the thought anchor her just enough to keep moving.

Andrew Lonek

 

[Andrew Lonek]

Andrew didn't argue. He just tightened his grip slightly, his tone steady and confident, as if the chaos of the night couldn't touch him.
"Sure you are," he murmured, his usual cool sarcasm softened at the edges. "But maybe let's trade the bar floor for something that doesn't spin."

He guided her through the narrow street, his pace unhurried, boots echoing against the slick ground. The faint glow of the Raucous Bounty dimmed behind them as the skyline opened up—Mandalore's steel bones rising against the faint stars.

Andrew spoke again, casual but precise, like every word was chosen on purpose.
"You know," he said, glancing at her sidelong through his black-out shades, "a night like this? It's why I keep a place nearby. Malibu-style loft. Skylights, imported fabric, soundproof glass—the whole narcissist package." A small smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Comes in handy for nights when people think they're fine."

As they turned the corner, the faint hum of his L.T.I. shuttle pulsed in the distance. He touched the comm at his wrist.
"C.E.R.A.," he said under his breath, "I'm inbound with a guest. Clear entry and keep all armor and weaponry out of sight. Let's not give her a heart attack."

The AI's crisp tone replied instantly, only he could hear it.

"Acknowledged. Loft is secure. Lighting adjusted to comfort setting. Refreshments are being prepped."

"Good," Andrew murmured, then turned his focus back to Aren. He adjusted his jacket with one hand, the other still guiding her carefully as they neared the landing pad. "You're lucky," he said lightly, "most people don't get first-class recovery treatment. But you looked like someone who could use a reset."

The shuttle's soft blue lights flared to life ahead, cutting through the night mist.

"C'mon," he said, voice low but steady. "Let's get you some water, a warm seat, and maybe figure out why you're letting ghosts rent space in your head."

Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren swayed slightly, catching herself on his arm with a lopsided grin. "You… really think of everything, don't you?" she slurred, voice warm and unsteady, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Loft…skylights…fancy fabrics…soundproof…wow. Not that I've ever had anyone do this for me before. I just hope you're not going to try and murder me in that soundproofed area."

She hiccuped softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. "Ghosts…bah! They don't stand a chance…not with someone…like you around," she said, letting the words trail teasingly, playful but completely unserious.

Her gaze flicked toward the skyline, then back at him, mischievous and a little bold. "First-class recovery, huh? Don't need instructions… though you might need to make sure I don't…topple over," she added, voice dipping teasingly, letting the words linger just enough to draw a reaction.

Aren leaned slightly closer, a wobbly but deliberate tilt of her head, letting her grin widen. "Careful," she said, smirking, "I might start thinking you're…dangerously good at this."

She gave a soft, unsteady laugh and let her fingers tap lightly against the railing. Not looking for a man…she thought, shaking her head with a wry, tipsy smile. But I can't resist teasing him a little.

Her eyes sparkled with challenge, bright and daring. "Don't think I'm going to fall for you…not that fast," she said, voice playful, "but…hmm…you're definitely entertaining."

She swayed on her feet, still steady enough, letting her tipsy energy linger between them—fun, teasing, and mischievous, with just enough flirt to keep him guessing, but nothing more serious than that.

Andrew Lonek