He caught her hand, spun her gently. She stumbled slightly, laughed, found her balance. His other hand steadied her waist briefly before letting go.
"See?" His eyes sparkled. "You're dancing."
"I'm flailing to music."
"Same thing."
The song ended. The crowd dispersed with applause and laughter. Random strangers high-fiving, riding the high of spontaneous joy.
Divya stood there catching her breath, face flushed, wig slightly askew.
"That was insane."
"That was perfect." Vikram adjusted her wig, tucking a stray piece back into place carefully. "When's the last time you did something completely spontaneous?"
She thought about it. Couldn't remember.
"Exactly," he said, reading her expression. "Sometimes you just need to be ridiculous."
They returned to the car eventually, stuffed with street food, still laughing. The drive home started quiet. Comfortable.
Then Divya's head tilted against the window. Her breathing evened out. Sleep claimed her quickly. The exhaustion from the day, the food, the overwhelming emotion of the evening all catching up at once.
Vikram glanced over. Her face pressed against the glass, peaceful in a way that made his chest tighten. She trusted him enough to fall asleep. To be vulnerable. To let her guard down completely.
He drove carefully, avoiding potholes, taking turns gently.
At home, he parked in the garage and sat for a moment. She looked carefree like this. Softer. The wig and makeup made her someone else, but underneath, she was still Divya.
Still his.
He got out quietly, rounded the car, opened her door carefully. She didn't stir.
For a moment, he just stood there. He could wake her. Should wake her, let her walk inside on her own, maintain some boundary.
But when would he get another chance like this? Another excuse to hold her without questions, without her pulling away?
He'd carried her once before, unconscious and unaware. But this, this was different. This was after an entire evening of her laughing with him, dancing with him, letting him see her joy.
This was a gift he wasn't going to refuse.
"Come here," he murmured, sliding one arm beneath her knees, the other supporting her back.
She stirred as he lifted her, a soft sound of confusion. "Mm?"
"Shh. I've got you."
Her eyes didn't open, but her arms came up automatically, circling his neck. Not clutching. Just... holding. Trusting.
"Boss?" The word came out slurred with sleep.
There it was again. That word. Even now, even vulnerable and half-asleep, she used it. The barrier so ingrained she couldn't let it go even unconscious.
Something in his chest pulled tight. Not anger. Something more complicated. Something that hurt.
"Yeah," he said quietly, adjusting his grip as he shouldered the car door closed. "I've got you."
"Street food was good," she mumbled against his shoulder.
