As you stepped out onto the sidewalk, you paused as the cool and crisp evening autumn air dried up any tears that still threatened to fall. Looking down the street, you quickly spotted Oakley's tall frame a few shops down leaning against a sleek, black car. Sure enough, it was parked in a handicapped spot, and despite how handsome he might've looked in his formal wear, it was not a good look.

You trekked towards him with a disappointed stare, the sound of your heels clicking against the sidewalk drawing his attention to you. His eyes slowly roamed your body, and an almost hungry grin spit across his face as he met your eyes.

"You, darling, are a work of art," he declared as he opened the passenger door for you.

You grunted a short 'thanks' as you slid into the warm leather seat and placed your purse on the floor, but you were met with resistance as you tried to pull the door closed. You looked up to see Oakley holding it open as he stared down at you, confusion etched across his features.

"Are you alright?" he asked. "You seem a bit cross."

"I'm fine," you mumbled. If you weren't going to get into things with Piper earlier, there was no shot in hell you would with Oakley now. "Get in the car so you can open up the handicap space. It's not polite to park in these spots without a permit."

The man sighed, reluctantly shutting the door and sauntering around to the driver's side. He was quick to take his seat and start the car, but you could feel his sharp eyes were still studying you. After waiting in the still, softly rumbling car for what felt like forever, you snapped your head to face him.

"Are we going or what?"

"Yes, of course," he replied softly, shifting the car to drive.

Quiet jazz music played through his speakers as he pulled out of the spot and began to cruise through the city. He was a pretty smooth driver, you noticed, much better than Piper at least, but you still wished– no. You weren't thinking about him anymore tonight. You weren't thinking about anyone else. Just Oakley.

You glanced over at him absent-mindedly to find his gaze was on you yet again. "Eyes on the road, man."

"I'm sorry, you just look so divine," he smirked, eyes fixing back on the road. "Although your eye bags are still quite alarming."

You lifted your hands reflexively, fingertips lightly patting the skin beneath your eyes. You'd tried to cover up your sorry state with makeup, but now you were beginning to feel a little self-conscious.

"Have you been getting a full– how many hours is it that you people need– eight? Ten? Well, however many hours of rest are recommended– are you sleeping that long regularly?"

"I'm sleeping fine enough, yeah," you lied, your tone clipped.

"Are you certain? You don't–"

"Fucking drop it, Oakley. I said I'm sleeping fine. Are you trying to make me feel like shit?"

"No, I would never try to do that," he replied indignantly. "Can't I worry for you? Can't I care for you?"

"Please don't ask me that," you sighed. "Can we just not talk until we get to the restaurant? I have a headache."

He hesitated a moment before responding. "If that's what you want."

You yawned as you went back to looking out the window. You quickly realized he was driving into the more affluent part of the city, closer to where– nope. You bunched up the fabric of your dress as you pushed your thoughts of James away, thinking again about the thick, expensive material and–

For fuck's sake. Oakley had dressed you in a fancy dress and was driving you in his fancy car into the fancy part of town, so it was pretty safe to assume he was taking you to a similarly fancy restaurant you'd never be able to afford to eat at on your own, because of course he would. This was Oakley Williams, CEO of being needlessly extra at all times.

This was just what you needed! You loved lacking proper etiquette and being judged by people who made more in a day than you did in a month! It was fine though– it wasn't like the rich assholes who'd be dining around you could make you feel worse than you already did! It was all super fine!

A few minutes spent dreading your near future later, Oakley pulled the car up to what looked like some insanely tall, luxury hotel building's valet as he commanded both you and the attendant not to touch your door so he might do the honors. Cornball. You rolled your eyes but you obliged him, grabbing his arm as he helped you out of the car.

He made sure your arm remained wrapped around his with a firm grip as he led you inside, and the woman at the front desk sent him a polite smile. He nodded at her with a straight face as he led you to the elevator where a whole ass elevator button pusher guy– or whatever his official title was– was waiting inside. Hiring someone to push buttons for you was a type of wealthiness you couldn't even hope to understand, but you made no mention of this as Oakley somehow managed to wordlessly communicate to the elevator man your desired floor, as whatever button he selected earned a satisfied hum from your dinner companion.

You began to move upwards, sore legs aching to be seated again. You leaned a bit more of your weight on Oakley with a long yawn, and you caught him smiling down at you triumphantly like he'd won some unspoken competition. It annoyed you greatly how much pleasure he seemed to take in your exhausted state, but you didn't really feel like spending the entire night bickering needlessly, so you made a point to ignore him.

Soon enough the elevator came to a stop, its doors opening up to a smaller lobby than the one on the ground floor, though it was just as intricately designed. You made sure to thank the elevator man, who looked surprised you were even speaking to him but still flashed you a small, appreciative smile that you attempted to mirror before you were yanked away by Oakley.

"So I see we're being sweet to irrelevant strangers but not to those whose company we're sharing," he huffed, still nearly dragging you through the lobby. "I suppose it's fine. You've already proven yourself at this point, and I doubt anything could change how much I admire you."

At your zoned-out self's lack of response, he guided you to a pair of double doors and scoffed, presumably at the lack of employees there to open them for you. So he swung the doors open himself, and you blinked in surprise at the rooftop setting before you, as you hadn't clocked in the elevator that you'd been brought to the very top floor. It was all extremely classy in its design– nothing too personable or cozy, but still visually appealing enough.

What you also hadn't anticipated was the lack of other guests, and there only appeared to be one pristinely set table, implying that no one else would be arriving after you. Given your earlier anxieties, you hoped this would be the case, seeing as now you'd only have to embarrass yourself in front of the employees waiting on you and Oakley– and he was pretty embarrassing himself, so you wouldn't really mind giving him a taste of his own medicine anyways.

"Are we the only ones eating?" you asked him, seeking further clarification.

He didn't reply, his attention locked on the few smartly dressed hosts and waiters chatting idly with each other by a front stand, seemingly unaware of your presence. Oakley cleared his throat, the employees' heads whipping towards you as they put an immediate pause on their conversation.

"Mr. Williams, we're so sorry!" a woman who looked no more than a few years older than you cried out, bowing her head profusely. "We didn't know you'd be arriving now, or we'd have been more prepared! We– I'm so, so sorry!"

"Strange, because I'm here right on time for my reservation, indicating you did know I was arriving now. You don't need to apologize to me, though. Apologize to your families that you'll no longer be able to feed when I inform Mr. Harrison of your inadequacy to prepare for his guests of honor. I've spent a large sum of money to treat this beautiful woman to the perfect experience and was promised the most exceptional staff would be waiting on us. Safe to say that thus far I am entirely unsatisfied with your service and utterly repulsed by your lack of etiquette."

So... what the hell! You gaped between Oakley and the poor staff, headache only intensifying at the man's severe approach to the not-that-deep situation. You sent a small smile to the dismayed hosts who looked like they were holding back tears, hoping to diffuse the extremely unnecessary tension.

"Um, he's not actually gonna get you guys fired... at least I don't think he is," you chuckled weakly. "They're all good, right, Oakley?"

They shared wary glances with each other, appreciative of your words but likely unsure of their actual weight in the situation. You frowned at Oakley, silently imploring him not to be an asshole for once, and he sighed as he sent the staff a slightly less intense scowl.

"If you wish for them to keep their jobs, then they'd better give job-saving performances the rest of the night."

"I'll take it," you exhaled dejectedly. "So, uh... should we go sit?"

"Of course, Miss (L/n)," a different host chimed, leading you towards the sole table. He pulled out your seat for you and you sat down hesitantly while Oakley sent you a snide little smirk– or maybe that was just his resting face? Either way, it was obnoxious.

"How did he know my name?" you whispered dubiously to him as the host walked away.

He chuckled at you, like your discomfort was endearing to him... which it probably was, actually. Ugh.

"I informed them beforehand, obviously. Like I said, we're the guests of honor. It's their job to be aware of those who dine in the establishment."

"Oh... okay then."

You took a sip from the chilled glass of water that sat before you, taking in the rest of the place settings while you were at it. Both you and Oakley had what you felt was an excessive amount of silverware surrounding an elegant white plate topped with an embroidered cloth napkin, and in the center of the table was a small vase that housed a solitary red rose.

This whole experience was so grand already, and just as you'd predicted, you felt entirely out of place. You took another sip from your glass nervously... was it possible for water to taste rich? Cause this water tasted pretty damn rich. You squinted at your cup as you studied its deceptively normal-appearing contents, only looking up when Oakley laughed at you again.

"What's so funny?" you sulked.

"Nothing, nothing," he waved you off, and you bit back a groan at the smug way he tried to hide his smile behind his hand.

"Why are we the only ones here?" you asked him, though you were more focused on carefully setting back down your water than you were on his answer. What if you dropped and shattered the crystal-like glass and then had to devote the rest of your life's paychecks to repaying what you didn't doubt would be an incredibly steep debt? And since you were fighting right now, you couldn't even ask for a loan from– no! You seriously needed to stop thinking about James, so you tuned back into whatever Oakley was saying, catching only the long-winded second half of his response to your question you hardly recalled even asking.

"–so that the night could be extra special and intimate. I know the owner so it wasn't too difficult, but even if it had been a hassle, I'd still have done it. Anything for you."

Your lips pulled into a small frown. What you'd heard sounded thoughtful, you could admit, but tonight was just too romantic after your constant insistence that you wished to exclusively remain friends with him. Still, your options were to spend your night slightly creeped out and frustrated with Oakley or spend it suffering, tossing and turning in bed unable to sleep as you thought of your other friends. Unfortunately, the first option was preferable.

You sent him a bored glance, raking through your mind for more appropriate topics of conversation. "So you're friends with the owner, then? That's nice."

"No. I'm not friends with anyone. I know the owner because we went to school together, but honestly, I detest him."

Right. How could you forget that he was genuine-human-connection-phobic and had no real friends aside from you?

"What was that, sweetheart? You really shouldn't mumble."

Your eyes widened as you realized you'd verbalized your thoughts. Apparently, you were tired enough that you were losing the ability to filter what inside thoughts became outside ones. Slightly concerning, but good to be aware of.

"Don't, uh... don't worry about it. So, did you get a discount or anything? Since you know the man in charge. Or did you still have to pay the normal price?"

"I paid in full. I don't do handouts. It was costly, but there truly isn't a single cent that I wouldn't spend to ensure you get to experience the lavish intricacies and joys of life."

You squirmed a bit at his words, unsure how to address his blatant affection. Even if you did like him romantically, this over-the-top princess treatment made you feel so uncomfortable. Also, damn. You had so many wealthy friends. It was starting to get a bit ridiculous. As you shifted around in your seat your eyes dipped down to your dress again, and you looked back to Oakley curiously.

"This dress was expensive too, right?"

"Of course. It's a one-of-a-kind piece I had imported, tailored to suit your desires and preferences in a dress."

You blinked at him, taken aback by his answer. You didn't know what you were expecting him to say, but it wasn't that.

"Wait, how'd you know my preferences in a dress? And the sizing, too?"

"I know you."

"Wha-okay," you sighed, too out of it to process why that answer didn't feel like much of an answer at all. "Anyways, I don't wanna be rude or anything, but–"

"Feel free to say or ask me anything, It makes sense for us to be entirely transparent with each other, no? Besides, I couldn't think of you as rude no matter what you say."

"Okay then." You paused, still a bit unsure how to frame your concerns or really even recall what your concerns were. Boy, did you need a nap. Or maybe not a nap at this point, but rather a good whole night's sleep. You'd take anything, frankly. "Um, how can you afford this lifestyle if your only job is at Francesca's? I know you said you did advocacy work before you worked for me, but I didn't think that was the most financially rewarding career path. Is it your family? Or... I don't really know– I'm sorry."

He smiled at you and reached a hand over the table to rest atop yours. You wanted to pull it back, but his fingers curled around yours the second you moved them, and his grip was tight enough that you didn't even bother trying to pull it back again.

"Your questions don't offend me, sweetheart. Of course you'd be confused, seeing as you live in such a... hmm... well, you live such a humble lifestyle."

"Sure," you retorted flatly.

"No, don't be upset! It's sweet how frugal life has required you to be, and it makes me want to spoil you even more. But, to answer your questions, the last endeavor I took on my job, while quite... emotionally taxing in a way, was exceptionally fulfilling financially. I was able to save up so I could afford to continue living the way I do– the way you deserve to live too, and you will now that I'm a part of your life. As for my current family, if you wish to call them that, they're similarly well off, but I've never taken a cent from them since I became a legal adult. Everything I have and everything I've spent on you has been acquired on my own, and I hope you'll remember that."

You rubbed lightly at your makeup-coated eyes and struggled to cognitively process his words. That was a lot of yapping he'd just done, and all you really took away from it was the realization that when Oakley used big words it annoyed you, but when Piper did it you found it endearing and–

Wow! How simple and persistent your thoughts were tonight! And they all went back to James and Piper! It was time for a subject change before you ended up a teary-eyed, blubbery mess.

"They forgot to give us menus," was what you decided on, but the way Oakley's face lit up with glee told you you'd made another poor person's mistake.

"How adorably clueless you are," he cooed. "It's almost like your little hero friend never treated you to fine dining! Shameful on his part, but so rewarding for me now."

Really. Really?

"He didn't," you snapped. "We don't need to talk about him tonight. Or anyone else."

"You're right– that pathetic excuse of a superhuman doesn't deserve a second of your time, and neither do any of the other fools around you. Especially not when you've got me right in front of you."

"About the menus..."

"Oh, right. No menus because the courses are set already," he explained. "I selected them ahead of time so you don't need to worry about deciding between dishes whose names you likely couldn't translate or even pronounce."

"Dick," you mumbled, taking another sip of your water.

He gave you a look, but before he could say anything two servers and an older man came and began placing a few small dishes on the table. The latter, who introduced himself as the head chef, began some long spiel about the history of the restaurant, the flavor profiles in the first dish, and some other fancy food jargon that you truly could not bring yourself to care about, so after a couple minutes spent smiling and nodding politely, you ended up opting to gaze at the skyline while he droned on and on to Oakley. The sun had practically set now, a dark orange and red haze decorating the bottom of the otherwise dark blue sky. Pretty.

At the sound of liquid being poured, you turned your head back to find it was just you and Oakley again, and he was preparing you a glass of red wine. An impractically small portion of a dish you'd never really seen before also sat on your plate, and you weren't that hungry in the first place, but it wasn't too visually appetizing to you anyway, so you made no move to take a bite.

"You didn't need to pour that," you muttered as Oakley placed the bottle back in the small bucket of ice by your table.

"You don't drink?" he asked, taking a small, elegant sip from his own glass.

"I'm not sober or anything, but I'm not exactly a frequent partaker, I guess. I've never really been drunk either, I don't think," you answered, picking up your glass and gently swirling its contents around.

"You don't need to get drunk, but you've been so tense tonight and I think you should try and enjoy yourself. No harm in drinking a bit to let loose."

You blinked lethargically as you stared into the deep red liquid, contemplating his words. You were trying to forget, which you didn't doubt drinking would assist you in, but you had drunk so little in your life that you didn't really know your tolerance. Just because you wanted a few hours of reprieve from your mind, it didn't mean you were willing to suffer through a pounding hangover tomorrow. You still had to work, after all.

How easy was it to get drunk off of wine, anyway? You'd only ever had cheap stuff, so you wondered if the alcohol content was higher in whatever expensive kinds you were being served tonight. You could probably ask Oakley, but he'd definitely say something condescending about your upbringing much like he had been all night. Ugh. He could be so unbearable sometimes.

"I guess I can have a little," you decided, taking a tiny sip from your glass. Your nose scrunched up as the bitter flavor coated your tongue– maybe you wouldn't be drinking any more tonight, 'cause it was sort of nasty.

"Wonderful," Oakley cheered, taking another sip. "They actually paired this course with one of my favorite reds. Tell me, what does it taste like to you, darling?"

"Uh, like wine...?"

"I know that," he laughed. "What notes are you detecting?"

"I don't know, man" you yawned. "It's not really as sweet as the boxed wine I've had before. It's kinda dry, I guess? I'm not loving it, but if you do then that's cool for you."

"You're hilarious," he snorted with that unrelenting edge of superiority of his that had been plaguing the night. "To see the world through such kind, unrefined eyes– it's a thrill I never knew I was missing."

"That's great. I'm so happy to provide you with such a unique perspective," you deadpanned, immediately forgoing your earlier reluctance and draining your glass in one go. "Another."

"There you go," he said, heeding your request and pouring you another glass. "Do remember there will be pairings with each course, so don't go too wild. Although you really should lean into the pleasure of a night spent with me. This is what your life is going to look like as long as I'm a part of it."

"No more vaguely romantic declarations, I'm begging you," you groaned, venturing to try the dish in front of you. You took a tiny bite from one of the countless forks surrounding the plate, ignoring the way Oakley chuckled at what most likely was the wrong choice, and you failed to place whatever it was you were consuming. "What is this?"

He replied with some series of words in French, maybe? You sighed, continuing to nibble on the fairly bland dish and sipping on your wine, while Oakley continued to yap about God-knows what. The night progressed in a similar fashion, with you wining and dining and with Oakley falling deeply in love with the sound of his voice in between his bites. The food wasn't great, but you quickly discovered that the more you drank, the less you cared about the taste (and about everything else, if you were being honest) so by the sixth lackluster course you'd fully lost count of how many glasses you'd actually downed.

You couldn't lie– you felt good. Inexperience left you unsure where you stood on a scale of tipsy to drunk, but your body was buzzing and warm, everything Oakley said was a little bit funny, and your brain was blissfully empty. Maybe drinking had been the way to go all along, because you could hardly recall what had you so moody earlier.

Oakley seemed to be holding his alcohol a better than you were, still poised and practiced in his every movement. He was also visibly entertained by how you'd progressively loosened up, and seemingly proud of himself as if he was responsible for your shift in mood. It irked you slightly, but you were so untethered to your actual emotions that you easily let it go.'

You had just finished the cheese course, you were pretty sure, and you were awaiting the next one when you began to ineptly nudge the rose centerpiece with your pointer finger. You looked up at Oakley through your droopy eyes, unsure whether they felt so heavy because of your lack of sleep, the abundance of alcohol coursing through your veins, or a dangerous combination of both, and you sent him a wary look.

"Oakley. I have a question. For you," you slurred slightly as you tried to point an assertive finger at him that probably didn't look all that imposing given your presently questionable command over your limbs.

"Yes, princess?" he replied with a tickled grin. "What is it–"

"Wait. I hate that nickname," you informed him. "It sucks. You should stop. You never stop when I tell you to, 'n I don't like it."

"Is that so? I think the name is sweet, just like you are," he chuckled, brushing off your last accusation too quickly for your intoxicated self to catch.

"Mmm, no. But, Oakley. I have a question. For you."

"So you've said."

"Right," you nodded, trying to keep your mind on track. "Why did you choose azaleas?"

"What do you mean?"

"Y'know... the flowers you got me? They made me sad, I think."

His brows furrowed and he tilted his head at you. "I made you sad, sweetheart? That's no good... I didn't mean to, but I'm not sure I'm understanding. Why did the pretty flowers make you sad?"

"They're not nice ones. They mean danger. Are you gonna hurt me or something, or are you just really stupid?"

You brought a hand to your mouth as you half-processed your blunt wording, but Oakley laughed it off, relieving you of the fear you'd offended him.

"I didn't know they meant that. The florist must not have liked me too much, because all I did was tell her that they were for the woman I was trying to charm. She asked me a bit about what I wanted to convey to you, and that's what she gave me. Maybe she's jealous that my affections weren't for her– I am quite the looker, according to you."

"What?" you gawked at him, everything he'd just said largely forgotten except the last bit, which had you utterly dumbfounded. "When'd I ever say that?"

"You've called me handsome on multiple occasions, princess," he beamed, but you tried to point at him again accusatorily.

"Hey... told you t'stop calling me that. Everyone hates it, not even just me. Say it's gross and corny, 'cause it is. Say you're the worst."

"Who's telling you that?"

"Literally everyone. The kids, Piper, Angel– even Jamie when I tell'm about you. Jamie really doesn't like you. Oh, and Piper doesn't... he wanted me to beat you up. But Jamie... he probably wants to beat you up himself." Your mood suddenly dipped, confusing you slightly. "Aw, I miss them a lot."

"I see," Oakley huffed, no longer looking too amused by your loose, candid state. "I thought you didn't want to talk about anyone else tonight."

"Why not?" you asked, leaning across the table towards him intently. "I really like them all. 'N I miss them. A lot."

"I know, you already said that," he gritted out. "And you tell me why not. They seemed to have you in a dull mood that I thought I was helping placate, but it appears I have not."

"Oh."

You tried to think back to earlier in the night... why had you been so moody then? You vaguely remembered something on your phone upsetting you, so you reached to the ground for your purse and fished it out to find an unread text message from Piper. A bittersweet feeling stirred in your chest at his contact name, but you dismissed it to further investigate your blurry memory. Your fingers clumsily unlocked the screen and opened the messaging app, revealing James' earlier texts below Piper's chat, and everything seemed to come back to you in a single instant.

Like a tsunami, your feelings of sadness and loneliness resurfaced and washed over you all over again, and the alcohol that had momentarily helped you forget instead seemed to enhance the negative emotions tenfold. Great to find out now you were an emotional drunk.

"They make you so sad, but I've made you happy tonight, haven't I?" Oakley asked, but your focus remained pinned on your phone.

You opened the text from Piper, only to find it was a picture of the sunset from around the time you had been admiring it earlier. It was incredibly sweet but also made you want to burst into tears even more, and actually, crying didn't feel too far outside the realm of possibility as you began to reread your old texts with him. Before those emotional floodgates had the chance to open, your phone was quite abruptly snatched from your hand, and your eyes widened as you looked up to see Oakley glaring at you while white-knuckling the device.

"Tonight is about us, (Y/n)," he sneered, lips curling down in disgust as he glanced at the messages on the screen. "No more thinking about other men, and no more texting them sappy photos of sunsets. Who even is this?"

"Um... 's just Piper," you replied hesitantly, unsure why his anger had escalated so suddenly. "Can I have it back, please?"

"Your time belongs to me right now, no one else."

"Oakley," you began quietly as tears began to form in your eyes at his raised voice and harsh tone. "You can't just take my phone from me– s'my property. Please give it back."

"You can have it back when we're done dining. Until then, it, like you, are mine." He dropped it into his lap, much to your further distress. "You should know better than to be on your phone when dining with someone else. You need... you need to understand what your priorities ought to be. And it seems I need to make them clearer."

He waved over one of the servers from where he stood by the kitchen doors, whispering something in his ear before shooing the man away and into the kitchen, all while sending you what felt a whole lot like a menacing, calculative stare.

Your bottom lip began to wobble, and you cursed yourself for drinking so much because keeping yourself together was feeling more and more like an impossible task if things continued like this. Both the aching in your chest for your friends as well as Oakley's cruel shift in demeanor had sobs collecting in your throat ready to be released, but servers began to approach your table so you resolved to hold things in at least until they'd left.

An intricate, pale ice cream-esque dish was presented to you, and you once again blocked out the chef's flowery ramblings as you attempted to calm down the torrent of emotions inside of you. You made eye contact with one of the servers– the slightly older woman who'd apologized to Oakley earlier– and she sent you a slightly concerned glance, likely sensing your rising discomfort. You tried to send her a minuscule, reassuring smile, but her face remained solemn as her eyes darted to Oakley and then to the other server, a silent conversation seeming to take place between the two you didn't understand. Soon after, the presentation finished and they all took their leave back into the kitchen, but not before the woman sent you a final worried glance over her shoulder.

You slowly met Oakley's gaze again, flinching at the cold look in his eyes.

"I'm so patient with you," he began, fingers curling into tight fists where they rested on the table. "Did you know that? Did you know how often I... I restrain myself, on your behalf? And yet here you are, dismissing me at every turn. It. Won't. Do. Something needs to change. Would you agree?"

"I... I don't know what you mean." You swallowed thickly, a chill running down your spine. You weren't at all acquainted with this strange version of the man seated before you. His persona was so ominous and dark, and not the usual unserious, charming one he put on around you. You didn't understand or like it at all.

"Eat, darling," he commanded you, almost emotionlessly. "This dish is special. It's the final one."

"I'm not hungry anymore," you began softly, continuing even when he tried to interject. "Oakley?"

"What?"

You took a deep breath, attempting to sober yourself better to address his unacceptable behavior towards you. You weren't the same giggly, lighthearted drunk you were earlier by any means, but there was still a thick fog in your brain hindering you from feeling like you were in control that you attributed largely to the alcohol.

"You need to give me my phone back," you said, holding your heavy hand out expectantly to him. "Can't just take my things from me. Please?"

"Please?" he mocked you, barking out a sharp laugh. "Are you going to keep talking to those other imbeciles trying to steal you away from me? To listen to the lies they spew about me? What else have they told you? How else are they painting me as some monster in your sweet, naive little brain? How have they tainted you?"

"What? I-I'm not tainted," you began, old concerns resurfacing in your mind at his intense line of questioning. "But– but, wait– Megistos told me you're a superhuman... s'that true?"

"He– how did he know that?" he seethed, something in him snapping. "Why would he– did you ask him? No, no– you wouldn't. He told you like the nosy fucking nuisance he is. Unbelievable. I really should've just–"

"Wait," you interrupted, headache beginning to pound loudly in your ears. "You are a superhuman?"

"I am," he admitted quietly. "I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to think differently of me, though of course now I know you and I know that's not an issue. It won't be an issue, will it?"

The question wasn't asked lightly, and you knew there was no room for any answer that wasn't the one he wanted.

"N-no."

"How the fuck did he find out?" he fumed, fist-slamming against the table with a loud thud.

"I-I don't know!" you replied anxiously, growing more and more uncomfortable by the second. "I think the government keeps a record of superhuman statuses, maybe? Like, similar to birth records? He didn't tell me– I was too mad at him for looking– I'm sorry–"

"No, sweetheart, I'm not angry with you," he said much more tenderly, hand reaching across the table to grab at yours again. His grip was somehow significantly tighter and more restrictive than it had been before, and your stomach churned again. "I'm mad at everyone else for coming in between us– for trying to prevent the inevitable. People like Megistos and the others whose names I don't even care to recall. I hate them all with a passion."

"Okay, I'm sorry," you repeated, not convinced at all and extremely put off by his declarations. You wanted out.

"I'm being honest. I'm never angry with you, I care about you too much to be," he sighed. "I've upset you with my temper, haven't I? Let me make it up to you now, sweetheart."

His other hand cupped your cheek gently, and you clenched your jaw. You were too intimidated to pull away, so you sat rigidly in your seat as you tried to assess if the intense fear and discomfort you were feeling was only that intense due to your wine intake and lack of sleep, or if they were warranted and you should actually be planning an escape.

His hand dropped from your cheek as he grabbed your only remaining spoon, and he began to dig around your dish like he was searching for something. He finally brought it up to your face with a sweet smile that scared you even more, and he pressed the cold spoon to your lips. "Open up, my love."

Your lips parted in shock at the apparent love declaration, but he weaponized your confusion, shoving the dessert inside before you could say anything. You hurried to swallow it so you could properly freak out, but you felt something heavy and metallic–

What the fuck.

Your eyes shot open wider than they ever had in your life as you reached into your mouth and your fingers closed around something you were praying to every higher being you could think of wasn't a ring, only for your eyes to confirm it was as you pulled it out. You dropped it as though it were searing hot in your hold, and it plopped back into the desert with a splat.

You blinked rapidly at your plate, and your eyes quickly located the jewelry in the mess of melted cream. From what you could see, it was extravagant– made of shiny silver with a huge white diamond accentuated by other smaller ones. It wasn't quite to your personal taste and certainly not like anything you owned, but rather the type of ring little girls dreamed their boyfriends would give them when they proposed.

Was Oakley fucking proposing marriage to you right now? That would be insane. Right? Yes. That would be so fucking insane and not at all possible and okay now you were starting to hyperventilate as you stared at it and Oakley's low chuckle brought your horrified eyes to his joyful ones and you could only gape at him as your mind was quite literally going ballistic–

"I love you, (Y/n)," he started, somehow making your eyes widen even more. "In a way I never thought I would love anyone."

What the fuck?

"And I think you know that you love me too."

Nonononono–

"I want us to live life alongside each other forever– no more distractions and no more sub-par idiots coming between what you and I have created together. I know this might seem sudden, but that doesn't mean it's not right."

You failed to find the right words, so you tried to shake your head, but he cupped your face and held it still, smiling and seemingly unaware of how bat-shit insane he sounded. Then, amplifying your distress immeasurably, he got up from his seat and promptly kneeled before you. There was no more avoiding what this was, and there was no mistaking what his next words would be, there was just–

"Will you marry me?"

The silence that followed was heavy, but the confident look on his face– the look that screamed his steely assurance that you'd say yes– was entirely suffocating, and the final push you needed to find your voice again.

"I don't understand– what's– what are you doing?" you implored, head whipping around the rooftop only to find that you and he were completely alone, no staff present to witness the impossibility of what was occurring. "O-oakley, get up! What the fuck are you doing? This is actually insane! Oh my God– are you– is this a joke? I'm not– I–I don't-"

"Shh, darling, it's okay," he cooed as he stood up, now towering over your seated body. He fished out the ring and grabbed your hand with a deceptive amount of gentleness as he shoved the cold and sticky metal band back onto your hand. "Just say yes. That's all you have to do, and everything else will be handled by me. I've waited so long, but I can't anymore– not with so many pests threatening to steal what's mine. It was supposed to just be a necklace, hah– but I realized how dire the situation was and figured I needed to secure things sooner than intended. I'm sorry if this caught you off guard, but-"

"No," you interrupted firmly, standing from your seat and stumbling slightly as the liquor continued taking its effect.

"Pardon?" he blinked at you with a disbelieving smile.

"No. No, I'm not fucking marrying you, Oakley. Are you crazy? Genuinely– are you? We– we aren't even dating. You're not in love with me– you hardly even know me! And I'm sure as hell not in love with you! You're– you're not– I need you to tell me you know how fucking insane you sound right now. Please. Please. Say it's a joke and just– just give me some time to forget this and we can move on. We can act like-"

"This is the furthest thing from a joke that it could be," he interrupted, tone ice cold once again. "You can't even begin to understand what I've sacrificed for this. I get that it was sudden, but you'll say yes." You tried to object but he was too fast. "You will. I've become the man you needed me to be, and now I've come to collect my reward: our shared happiness. So say yes."

"N-no. Oakley– you're insane. You're– you're not well. You can't force someone to marry you, that's not– it's not how– how..." you began to lose your train of thought, regretting the wine now more than ever.

You flopped back into your seat dejectedly, trying to figure out your next course of action. Although bizarre and unthinkable, this situation was potentially an incredibly dangerous one. There was something so much more sinister and grave about the way he was flirting with you now– if you could even call whatever this was flirting– and acknowledging that had you genuinely afraid for your safety. You were a drunk, sleep-deprived woman, and Oakley was an angry, superpowered man. Odds weren't in your favor if he did try to force anything on you or retaliate your rejection violently.

Your best bet seemed to be rationalizing with him and trying to cool him down from this excited, manic state, much like you had that day in the breakroom with Tony. "Oakley, you have to understand-"

"Just– silence," he hissed before taking a deep breath and addressing you again. "I'm going to take a moment to... to collect myself. When I come back we can discuss things. Take this time to truly consider your answer, and don't even think of leaving. I'll find you."

There was no room for discussion in his words, and you saw them for what they really were: a threat. He quickly took leave of the rooftop, heading back inside the lobby.

You stared at the doors for a few seconds, weighing your options in your mind. He'd left your phone in his seat, and once you felt confident he wasn't about to barge back in you grabbed it hastily, clicking it on, and– shit. It was dead. Why was your phone always dying? You could feel a new onset of panic, entirely unsure of what your next steps should be.

What would he do when he came back and your answer was still no? Should you just say yes to placate him? You were entirely in his hands either way, seeing as he was your ride and also the only one familiar with the area you were in, so did you even have a choice at all?

Would he force you to go home with him? Would he force himself on you? Would he attempt to hurt or even murder you in response to your rejection? Maybe you were being dramatic now, but Piper had inadvertently planted the idea in your mind earlier, and your inebriated, exhausted, and anxious self had latched onto the idea– onto the fear.

It wasn't even all that irrational to at least consider those darker outcomes, because out of all the newer additions in your life, Oakley was the person you knew the least, by far. That's what made this situation so harrowing. All you were certain of was that he was secretive, unpredictable, and clearly unhinged and that you were fucked. Incredibly so, in your fancy white dress and too-high heels with a dead phone on the top of this ridiculous building.

You were so fucking stupid. You heard a door open and your heart dropped. It was too soon– you weren't ready– you didn't know what you were gonna do, yet– and-

It wasn't Oakley. You met the kind, worried eyes of that same female server, and your heart rate slowed just a fraction as she hurried toward you. She was by your seat rubbing tiny circles across your back before you knew it, peeking anxiously over her shoulder as she answered your plea for help you hadn't even voiced yet.

"Are you uncomfortable around Mr. Williams, Miss (L/n)?"

"Y-yes," you rasped. "I don't know what to do, but he's gonna– he asked me–"

"Shh, I heard enough. We all did," she mercifully interrupted. "You just calm yourself down and don't freak out. We're going to help."

"How–"

You were silenced by the sound of the door opening again and heavy footsteps, your head snapping to meet Oakley's expectant, demanding stare. You looked back to the woman desperately, your eyes widening in shock as she nudged your glass of wine until it tipped over, the fluid splattering across your midsection. It was cold, seeping through the white satin of your dress and staining it crimson, and you struggled to understand what the server's plan was.

"You idiot!" Oakley scolded her as he picked up his pace, anger replaced with stark worry once he made it to your side and his hands hovering over your body almost aimlessly. "My poor thing, you've absolutely soiled her dress. This is outrageous, and you can consider your job lost, you deplorable excuse of a human being."

"I am, once again, so sorry, sir," the woman apologized hastily, bowing slightly as her eyes darted between you and him. "I'll resign myself tonight, but first, please allow me to assist Miss (L/n) and attempt to make amends for my error."

"Yes, just go," he scoffed, running a hand through his hair as he helped you up. "I expect her back soon, and our meal will be compensated for the night. It's the least you can do after traumatizing her."

Both you and the server knew that her 'mistake' on you was indisputably the least traumatizing thing you'd experienced in the last few minutes, but you both refrained from mentioning it as he stared her down.

"Of course, sir."

You were still wobbly on your legs as she began to lead you away, but she attempted to support you the best she could as she gave you a tiny, reassuring smile. Your brows pinched together but you nodded slightly as she brought you back inside the building's lobby.

"Here are your things," she said as she placed your phone and purse in your hands.

"When did you grab–"

"Hush, there's no time," she urged as she guided you to the elevator and pushed the call button. "I don't know the details of your relationship with Mr. Williams, but whatever just went down seems incredibly unsafe, so you need to leave. There's nothing much we can do here, so you need to just go and go far away before he realizes you've left. Hurry, Miss (L/n)."

She shoved you through the doors and gave a simple command to the elevator guy before you could ask any more questions, and the doors proceeded to close in front of you. The man with you remained silent, eyes not daring to meet yours, and soon enough you were back in the lobby.

You began to stagger towards the building's extravagant exit, escape being the only thing on your mind. You stumbled around for ages on the sidewalk, unsure how far from the building you'd gotten but still unsatisfied, the terrifying prospect of Oakley finding you providing you the energy and determination you needed to keep your legs pumping.

At some point, your exhaustion caught up with you, hot tears streaking down your face as your legs gave out. You crumpled onto the pavement, silent sobs escaping your lips as you were faced with your utter helplessness. Your phone was dead, you had no clue where you were, and you couldn't even hold up your own weight anymore.

Why hadn't you asked someone in the lobby to call you a taxi? Even though you were lucky enough to be stranded in a rich part of town with lower crime rates, that also meant that few people were traveling by sidewalk and evidently even fewer people were willing to assist your pitiful self if they did happen to shuffle past you.

You were so incredibly fucked, and there was nothing you could do other than wait for someone to find and help you, whoever that someone might be. You only prayed it wouldn't be Oakley as you sat beneath the fluorescent lights of some huge office building, the cold finally reaching your bones as your teeth began to clatter and goosebumps decorated your arms.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, cringing as the icy metal band still locked around your finger met your skin. You immediately wrenched the jewelry off and launched it as far from yourself as you could before nearly puking onto your shoes, a new round of sobs wracking through your body.

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, warmth flooded your senses– you could see its golden hue dancing on your skin, you could feel it slowly wrapping itself around you chasing away your chill, and then you could even hear it as a gentle voice called out your name from behind you, sweet as honey but weighed down with concern.

"Precious? What happened?" the voice asked– Angel's voice– and you turned to see him staring down at you with wide eyes and a furrowed brow.

Forgetting your frailty you attempted to shoot up to your feet, the only thing preventing your subsequent collapse being Angel's strong arms catching and pulling you into his chest. You held onto him as tight as you could, the soft fabric of his dark sweater absorbing your tears and providing you a cushion as his hold conveyed what you desired most: security.

"Shh, it's okay. It's okay. I'm here now," he whispered as his hand roamed your back gently. "What happened? Did Oakley hurt you?"

"Y-yes," you sniffled, hiccuping as you tried calming down. "Wanted me to marry him– was so angry, and– and I was so scared, Angel he-"

"What?" he interrupted, his muscles noticeably tensing around you. "And you said no?"

You hesitated– was the answer not obvious? "'Course I said n-no."

"Okay, where is he now?"

"I don't– I don't know!" you cried, panic bubbling up again. "He could be looking for me– he was s-so mad! Is he gonna hurt me? I don't– I-"

"Hey, he's not going to hurt you," he insisted gently. "I promise. I think you've had a little too much to drink tonight... I'm gonna take you to my apartment, cause yours doesn't sound safe right now. Is that okay?"

"Y-yes– I'm sorry," you wept as he repositioned you in his arms to better carry you. "I'm s-so sorry, Angel. I'm stupid– missed you so much– I'm– I didn't-"

"Shh... it's okay, baby," he reassured you so, so softly, planting sweet kisses on the top of your head. "I'm here now, and I'm not mad at you. I'm not gonna let anyone hurt you. Let's just go home, okay?"

You hummed a soft, affirmative response. He was right. Angel was there, so you were safe now. You focused on the thought, clinging to it– clinging to him– and your eyes began to shut as your mind finally allowed itself to rest.

...

Oakley didn't know very much about women, but he was fairly certain that twenty minutes was more than enough time for you to have freshened yourself up after a spill. Anxiously, he stormed into the kitchen area demanding to be told where you were. Their apprehensive glances and half-hearted shrugs betrayed them, telling him both that you were gone as well as that they had helped you leave, something that only added fuel to his fiery rage. Every staff member would pay for what they'd aided you in– and he made sure they knew it too– but for now, his focus needed to remain locked on you.

He rushed downstairs to scour the nearby streets for your evasive little self, only to come up with nothing. This was slightly concerning, considering your phone was at a measly 5% earlier and you were so heavily intoxicated too... your self-preservation instincts left quite a bit to be desired, even for a powerless civilian. Still, you were a stubborn and resilient woman, and more than that, you had a bunch of obsessive freaks who he was certain would make sure no real harm befell you, and he was confident he could leave you in their care until he fully recalibrated.

So eventually he halted his search and made his way back to retrieve his car, mentally fuming the entirety of the short ride back home. How had he allowed you to slip through his fingers again? He was off his game, and he needed to step it up if he wanted to get you back. Which he did. More than anything.

Fury and frustration regarding the evening's sour ending aside, Oakley slept peacefully that night. He knew how sweet of a girl you were, and he knew you'd brush past your initial worries and come around to him eventually. You had to, seeing how Oakley was as perfect for you as you were for him.

So why the fuck did he wake up to a text from you the next morning brutally rejecting him again as well as officially terminating his employment at your measly little plant shop? And you'd barred him from ever interacting with you again, too? It made absolutely zero sense, and he was enraged all over again.

It wasn't like you at all, so it must've been those parasites surrounding you that had forced you into cutting him off. Those cruel nobodies constantly playing down his prowess and legitimacy to you, those vile insects waving him off and regarding him as some harmless idiot around you– they were ruining everything.

It wasn't too surprising– humans loved nothing more than polluting the innocence and purity of genuinely good people and corrupting them with lies, all due to their jealousy and own inadequacy. But something being expected didn't make it acceptable.

That being said, the hindrances surrounding you both weren't the main issues he needed to deal with. He wasn't worried about the second-rate losers who wanted you when he could easily defeat any opposition without breaking a sweat. No, his biggest roadblock was ironically you.

As sweet of a thing as you were, you couldn't seem to get it through your brain how perfect for eachother you both were. Despite your boundless empathy you'd extended to him countless times, you kept on denying that same very same nature and inclination that was screaming for you to love him just as much as you understood him.

Instead, you'd basically enacted an unofficial restraining order and spat in his face. And your adorably anxious pout as you denied him last night as well as your angry little message today might've been amusing if they hadn't complicated things so much and made him feel like such a lame-ass.

Unfortunately for you, Oakley was the definition of uncaring when it came to complying with most anything. Even if you had set up an official, legal restraining order, he saw no issue in defying the law to prove a point and to achieve what he wanted, and it appeared that was essentially what he was going to need to do. If you wouldn't join him now willingly, he supposed he'd really just have to take you.

It was a shame. Doing things by force meant you'd take so much longer to come around to his affections. But he couldn't deny that the prospect of getting to see your passionate, defiant little face every day until then excited him. He'd relish in your rebellious stint for as long as it lasted, and then, once you got it out of your system, he'd relish in your pitiful submission too. You were still powerless and a weakling at the end of the day, so your eventual submission was practically ensured.

The only question left was when to do the taking, and a work-related text you'd sent recently dropped the perfect opportunity in his lap. It was admittedly quite devious, but he'd been itching to do something devious for months now, and this would be his most thrilling, gratifying heist yet and its reward was priceless: you.

He pulled his phone from his pocket with a sickening grin and drafted up a quick text as his mind began to plan the most elaborate, romantic kidnapping he could– one that would show you and the world just how insanely serious he was about you.

8:12 - My (Y/n)

- No one on this planet can keep you from my love, and it's not over until you're in my arms again. Can't wait to be reunited so very soon. ❤️

All there was left to do was give a few of his old colleagues a call, and he'd be that much closer to having all of you beside him all the time. He'd be that much closer to pure bliss.

You never should've told him about that Gala.