The day after his makeover, Adrian returned to the psychiatric ward wearing black and silence.
A fitted dress shirt, dark as ink. Slacks tailored to precision. His hair, once shapeless and unkempt, now swept neatly back. No stubble on his jaw. No shadows under his eyes. Only calm features, sharpened by polish and control.
He didn't walk faster. He didn't smile. But every step made people turn.
By the time he passed the reception counter on the 25th floor, the entire front desk had gone quiet. By the time he stepped into the corridor leading to the patient wing, two nurses had nearly bumped into each other. Even a few patients stared openly, blinking like they'd seen a movie star stroll through their ward.
"Is that—?"
"No way. That's Doctor Vale?"
"Since when does he look like that?"
He said nothing. He didn't need to.
The attention followed him like perfume. Warm, weightless, strangely satisfying.
So this is what the original Adrian wanted, he thought.
A version of himself that people couldn't ignore.
He moved with the same posture, the same clipped tone in meetings. But the energy around him had shifted.
The silence he used to carry like a shield was now mistaken for confidence. His disinterest rebranded as mystery.
Staff paused longer than necessary when speaking to him. Colleagues leaned in when he gave answers. Nurses laughed a little too loudly when they passed him in the hall.
It felt good at first. Like claiming something he'd always owned.
But by midday, it had become tiresome.
Everyone expected something from him a look, a word, a longer conversation. People lingered outside his office. Questions came wrapped in flattery. Patients who once avoided his eyes now asked if he'd always been "this handsome."
Adrian exhaled quietly as he leaned back in his chair, glancing at the muted ceiling light.
Charm was useful. But like all useful things, it had a cost.
Still, there were benefits.
Nurse Kaito had begun teasing him lightly in the breakroom, as if testing his reactions.
A cup of coffee showed up on his desk mid-morning. She didn't say it was from her. She didn't need to.
Then there was Lauren.
His junior.
Once a little awkward around him, Lauren had started finding excuses to stop by his office.
A misplaced file. A clarification she "just wanted to double-check." A ten-second summary that turned into ten minutes.
He didn't need to chase attention. He just had to show up.
Today was no different.
Near the end of the shift, Lauren appeared at his door subtle makeup, soft perfume, and that not-quite-shy smile that wanted to be seen.
She knocked with the back of her hand and leaned in.
"Well," she said, eyes scanning him. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were trying to give the rest of us inferiority complexes."
Adrian looked up from a report and blinked once.
"I needed a change," he said. "Seemed effective."
Lauren gave a mock offended gasp. "That's not fair. You can't just admit it. You're supposed to pretend like it happened on accident."
He closed the folder. "Should I lie next time?"
"You? Lying?" She laughed. "Not in that suit."
Adrian stood, brushing invisible dust from his cuff.
She straightened slightly. "Cab's waiting downstairs. I picked somewhere low-key. No crowds. No loud music."
"I appreciate the mercy."
She grinned. "Besides, if we go somewhere flashy, people might think I kidnapped a celebrity."
They walked together down the long hall. The elevator ride was quiet, broken only by Lauren's occasional glance. She looked at him like she wasn't sure if this was real if this version of him was someone she was allowed to stand beside.
Adrian didn't say anything.
Let her draw her own conclusions.
The evening air outside was cool. The city lights had already begun bleeding across the glass buildings and steel fences. Their cab waited along the curb white with a blue stripe, engine idling soft.
Lauren slid in first. Adrian followed.
Inside, the driver gave them a glance, then looked away.
The city passed them by in streaks of orange and silver. Through the window, storefront signs blurred into faint colors. Adrian sat comfortably, eyes on the road, fingers resting calmly on his thigh.
Lauren leaned slightly toward him, voice softer now.
"You know… I used to ride motorcycles," she said. "My cousin had this old silver cruiser. We'd take it out on weekends down the coast, no helmets, no rules."
Adrian turned to glance at her.
Her smile held nostalgia. "I know it's dumb, but I loved it. The wind, the speed. It felt like freedom."
"I can imagine," he said.
She hesitated. Then:
"I was kinda hoping you rode one too."
Adrian gave a short chuckle. "Is that why you wanted to go out tonight? Hoping for a backseat ride?"
Her eyes lit up. "Maybe just a little."
"I took a cab," he said. "No drink and drive."
Lauren pouted. "Shame. Would've looked good, though. You in black, me hanging on behind you… That's cinematic."
He gave a faint smile. "You want the fantasy. Not the crash."
"Exactly. I don't have a death wish. Just… a vibe."
They shared a glance.
Then Lauren looked away, cheeks warm.
"I'm glad we're doing this," she said, voice lower. "It's been a while since I've gone out with someone who doesn't make everything weird."
Adrian turned back to the window.
So far, so good.
The bar Lauren had chosen sat near the river, tucked beneath the corner of an old library-turned-restaurant. The sign was in dark wood with soft backlit letters: The Lamplight Room.
Warm light bled through its windows, casting golden rectangles on the sidewalk. Inside, the music was slow and ambient jazz, maybe, or something older.
Adrian stepped in behind her, scanning the space.
No loud groups. No dancing. Booths half-full. Servers moved quietly between tables, and the bar itself curved in polished walnut beneath rows of bottle-lit shelves.
He approved.
They were shown to a booth in the back leather seats, candles in glass cups, enough distance from others to make conversation private.
Lauren slipped into her side and exhaled like she'd been holding her breath all day.
"This place is nicer than I remembered," she said, brushing a hand through her hair.
"I only came here once before, during residency. I think I was crying over a case."
Adrian took the seat across from her. "Seems like a better memory this time."
"Only if you're not secretly here to break my heart."
"I'm not," he said simply.
She blinked, then laughed softly. "See? Most people would've joked. You just say things like you mean them."
"I usually do."
That shut her up for a moment. She leaned forward, smiling despite herself.
"You're very hard to read."
"I prefer it that way."
They ordered drinks. Lauren went with a floral gin mix. Adrian asked for something simple a neat pour of aged whiskey. The waiter nodded, returned quickly, and set the glasses down with polite efficiency.
Lauren raised hers. "To survival."
Adrian lifted his. "To performance."
They clinked.
The first sip hit her hard her expression crinkled, then melted into a sheepish grin.
"I forgot how fast this stuff hits me," she murmured.
Adrian, by contrast, remained perfectly still. His glass barely shifted in his hand.
Realizers didn't metabolize like normal people. Toxins dulled on impact. Alcohol barely scratched the surface.
He'd have to fake it, eventually.
But for now, he let her drift.
By the second drink, her shoulders had relaxed. By the third, she was halfway into a story about a roommate she once had who tried to study medicine while also running a candle business on the side.
"She stored wax in our fridge," Lauren said, laughing into her glass.
"Can you believe that? I opened the freezer once and found a silicone mold shaped like a pancreas."
Adrian smirked. "Symbolic, at least."
"She was deranged. But sweet."
There was a moment where she just looked at him her eyes a little too soft, a little too glazed.
"You know," she said, tilting her glass toward him,
"I used to think you were a little scary."
"You weren't wrong."
She shook her head. "Not like that. Just... intense. You used to walk around like you hated being perceived."
"I did."
"And now?" she asked, eyes narrowing.
"Now you come in looking like a noir film protagonist and everyone suddenly wants to be your best friend."
He tapped the edge of his glass. "Does that include you?"
She hesitated. Then nodded, too quickly.
"Maybe," she said. "But I think I liked you even before the makeover. You were just quiet. Serious. Kind, in your own weird way."
"I'm not kind."
Lauren smiled. "You can say that all you want. I've seen the way you talk to the patients.
How you look at them. You don't just listen. You see people. "
Adrian said nothing.
Because she was right.
But not for the reasons she believed.
By the fourth drink, she was tipsy. Her cheeks were flushed, her words slower.
"You're not drinking much," she said, eyeing his glass.
"I hold it well."
"You hold everything well," she muttered. "Your face. Your voice. Your charm."
He gave a small tilt of the head. "Is that another compliment?"
"No," she said with a laugh. "It's a protest. You don't even sweat."
Adrian lifted his glass to his lips, more for show than effect.
From her side, she slumped against the booth a little, sighing.
"I didn't know how badly I needed this," she said quietly.
"Not the drinks. Just... talking. Sitting. With someone who doesn't make me feel like a case file."
He studied her for a moment.
Then said, gently, "You're not."
Her eyes flicked up to meet his. Then dropped again.
"I wish you'd been this kind back then," she said.
"During my first year. I was drowning. It felt like no one noticed. If someone like you had just said one sentence, maybe I'd have gotten through it faster."
"I'm here now."
She gave him a tired smile.
"Yeah. You are."
After a while, she excused herself to the restroom.
Adrian watched her go. Her steps were light but uncertain. She didn't stumble, but the alcohol had taken root.
He stood, pulled out a cigarette from a silver case, and stepped outside.
The night air was sharp. A low wind moved along the riverfront, carrying the smell of damp concrete and cigarette smoke from others down the block.
Adrian lit one and leaned against the outer wall, the ember flaring briefly in the dark.
He exhaled slowly, watching the smoke drift upward toward the city sky.
Everything was going as expected.
Lauren was responsive, open, leaning closer with each glass.
She trusted him not fully, but enough. Enough to speak casually. Enough to drop her guard.
Emotion always moves faster than reason, he thought.And she's already stepped past the line.
He took another drag, letting the quiet settle into his spine.
Then the door opened behind him.
Lauren stepped out, arms crossed. Her jacket was pulled around her shoulders, but loosely like she didn't care if it fell.
Her cheeks were still red. Her smile softer.
"I paid the bill," she said, brushing her bangs aside.
"Wasn't gonna let the great Doctor Vale cover it all."
Adrian turned toward her.
She stepped close. Not too close. But enough.
"Can you take me home?" she asked. "I don't want to deal with trains tonight."
Adrian took one last drag, then dropped the cigarette and stepped it out.
He leaned forward slightly, his voice low, almost a whisper.
"Maybe I can stay the night as well."
Lauren froze.
Eyes wide. Breath caught.
Then, after a long second she nodded.
"O-okay."
Adrian took out his phone.
Opened the family group chat.
Typed without pause.
Not coming home tonight.