22 - a video

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MUSE had officially moved into Adrien's apartment. (Not the slut hut.) 

     Adrien should have felt it―the strangeness, the vague unfamiliarity of a new presence in her home. Fuzzy green towels added to the bathroom counters and painted flower magnets on the fridge and a vintage radio on the guest room's nightstand. She'd come home this past week and things were just different. A bag of silver macarons left on the table, one half-eaten. A blanket on the reclining chair instead of the L-shaped couch. The curtains drawn, letting in sunlight, when Adrien knew she'd left them shut.

     None of it bothered Adrien. If anything, it unnerved her how much she didn't mind. Muse's presence didn't feel off―it felt like she'd always been there, warm and bright and soft, like candlelight.

     "And you guys haven't fucked?" Ezra said, raising doubtful eyes above his glass of champagne.

     Adrien winced. "No. We're just . . . friends. Glorified roommates, really. She sleeps in my guest room, and I . . ."

    "Please. Finish that." Ezra's full lips twisted into a sultry half-smile. "You what, Adrien? She's your friend? Your roommate? And you're happy with that?"

     The two of them, tucked onto the balcony of Ezra's apartment, were hiding. Music from the party inside, muted, flowed out into the night beyond them. Ezra and his wife had decided to throw a baby shower. New York's elite had naturally shown up. Adrien had mingled for a while, but it was three a.m. now, and her ability to make small talk had run out. She hated the fawning, the endless flirtation, and the not-so-subtle changes in topic towards stock investments and business deals and―worst of all―her father's diagnosis. It'd all gotten worse now that they knew he'd be dead soon. The public thought she'd inherit everything, because how could they know her father had threatened to hand it all over to Grey?

    Still, Adrien probably would have tolerated the petty socialites―at least a little longer―if Muse were here. Something about Muse eased her anxiety. But Muse had work at the Moth Cafe until seven a.m.

    It had been a week, and Adrien had memorized her schedule. Which wasn't even the worst part. No, the worst part was that if Adrien knew Muse had a night shift, then it didn't matter when she got home, and if she was exhausted right down to her bones. She always waited for Muse to come home.

    Hopefully Muse thought it was a coincidence.

    "Yes, I'm happy," said Adrien, with a swallow.

    It would have to be enough for her―these fragments of Muse, random and domestic and sweet. To come home early on the weekend and find Muse napping on the couch, a slant of golden afternoon sunlight on her cheek. And to catch her at midnight, sitting on the kitchen counter, with a spoon and an entire tub of strawberry Greek yogurt, with Cher Lloyd's Want U Back radiating from her phone in a cereal bowl.

     Adrien would make that enough. 

     Risking all of it . . . risking Muse's smile, and the bubble of her laughter, and the morning frizzy of her curls . . . just to fuck once?

     No, it was better to have Muse as a friend, a wife in contract only.

     "Well," said Ezra. He rolled his eyes heavenward. "I guess some things you just have to figure out for yourself."

     "Hey!" Adrien playfully flicked at him. "Tell me about you, now."

     "Nothing's new. Besides this baby shower, I guess."

     "I'm not buying."

     "Okay, I'm scared." Ezra set down the glass of champagne and leaned over the railing, bowing his head. "Like, I've always wanted kids. And Jodie's always wanted kids. It's not just about it being conventional, you know? Happiness to me is a family, screaming kids and soccer games and a messy kitchen."

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