Sara stumbled out of the bar, her hair tangled and eyes glazed with heartbreak. The air was sharp, laced with the scent of wet earth and cigarettes. She leaned against the brick wall, clutching her coat tighter, lost in the ache of betrayal—her girlfriend’s infidelity still raw. Peter Joshua Reed, Jr. arrived just as the clock neared closing, his tailored coat crisp, face drawn by the memory of his brother’s angry words. His phone buzzed in his pocket, but he ignored it, stepping out into the drizzle, searching for solace in a drink after his own bitter defeat at work.

Peter caught sight of Sara, wavering dangerously close to the curb. He stepped forward, offering a steadying hand, his voice gentle yet uncertain. "Erm, madam, are you all right? Can I help you find your way?" Sara blinked up at him, her words slurred, "Not a madam... just... nowhere to go." The taxi driver leaned out, frustration in his tone, Taxi Driver, "It's late. I've got a wife and six kids—do you two need a ride or not?"

Sara[/@ch_1] slumps, her head heavy on Peter’s lap, while the driver eyes them in the rearview mirror.] Peter fished in his pockets for cash, counting coins with a rueful smile. "Drive toward Stains Apartment Complex, please. We'll sort it out on the way." "You work at Plain Clothes Publishing, right?" the driver asked, glancing at Peter. "Junior publisher, yes. My brother runs the place. It's... complicated." Sara drifted in and out of consciousness, catching snippets of their conversation, her fingers curled around the edge of the seat.

Peter paid the fare, helping Sara from the car just as she lurched, retching into the flower pot. The driver offered a wry grin, "Good luck, mate. She's yours now." "Sara. My name is Sara, not Madam," she muttered, wiping her mouth, letting Peter guide her upstairs. Rain dripped from her coat as they entered his tidy but cluttered apartment, the city muted behind thick curtains.

Sara[/@ch_1] stirs on the sofa, sheets tangled around her legs, as Peter paces restlessly.] After eighteen hours of sleep, Sara woke to the scent of stale air and the low murmur of Peter talking to himself. "Where am I?" she asked, voice raspy, sitting up and brushing her hair from her eyes. "You slept here—nearly a day. I wasn't sure what else to do," he replied, offering her a glass of water as he fumbled with a container of ice cream. "Yuck, that's ancient. Do you only eat butter and ice cream?" she teased, surveying the room with a quick, practiced glance.

Sara[/@ch_1] wanders, curious, brushing her fingers over Peter’s awards and photographs.] "So who are you, really, Peter Joshua Reed?" she asked, ice cubes clinking in her glass as she grinned. "Just a publisher. Dreamer, apparently. My brother thinks I'm too soft for the world." Sara opened the curtains, admiring the city view. "You know, your place could use some light. And maybe a little cleaning." "Stay as long as you need. Just don’t steal anything—insurance will cover it," he joked, his smile shy but hopeful as he grabbed his coat for his meeting. "I’d only steal your view," she replied, watching him go, her heart a little lighter than the night before.