Ruz's POV
The crowd thinned behind me as I walked away from the gate, students dispersing in different directions. Voices faded into the distance, laughter and chatter becoming softer with every step I took.
But the tension was still there.
I did not slow down. Not after that fight. Not after him.
So I walked faster, my footsteps sharp against the pavement, my bag bumping against my back with each hurried step.
One step. Two. Then a car horn cut through the afternoon air.
Short. Sharp. Totally annoying.
I stopped walking immediately. I closed my eyes for half a second, drawing a slow breath through my nose, already knowing exactly who I was going to see when I turned around.
"…Adrian," I muttered under my breath. "Of course."
He parked his car right outside the gate, slightly away from the crowd where the other cars had already begun to thin out.
He leaning against it like he owned not just the car, but the road.
His arms were crossed over his chest. His expression was unreadable,
I sighed, long and loud, letting him hear my exasperation from where I stood.
"Great," I said to myself. "Round two. Exactly what I wanted after the day I have had."
I walked toward him anyway, because ignoring Adrian had never worked in all the years I had known him, and I did not expect today to be the exception.
"Get in."
No greeting. No expression. Just those two words, flat and commanding, like he expected me to obey without question.
I stopped in front of him, close enough to see the slight tension in his jaw, the way his eyes flickered over my face like he was checking for injuries.
"…Try again," I said, crossing my own arms to mirror his posture.
Adrian raised an eyebrow, the only sign he'd even heard me.
"Get in," he said, then added, "please."
The "please" sounded like it had been dragged out of him.
"Better," I said.
"You're still not moving."
"I never said I'd get in just because you said it nicely."
"You walked into a fight again," he said casually, changing the subject like he had not just been giving me orders a moment ago.
I kept my expression neutral.
"I did not walk into a fight. The fight came to me. I was minding my own business and your so call friend decided to be a problem."
He tilted his head slightly, studying me.
"That seems to happen a lot around you. Fights. Confrontations. Drama. It follows you like a shadow."
"Because people are annoying," I said simply. "If people stopped being annoying, I would stop having confrontations. It is basic cause and effect."
"You are people," he pointed out. "By your own logic, you are also annoying."
I stared at him, my eyes narrowing slightly. "…Say that again. I dare you."
He smirked slightly, the corner of his mouth curving upward in that infuriating way that made me want to kick him again. "Get in the car."
"No."
"Ruz."
"No."
"Ruz."
"No."
"…Ruzelle."
"Adrian."
Silence fell between us as we stared at each other for three full seconds, neither of us willing to break first.
Then he pushed off from the car and walked around to the passenger side. He opened the door and stood there, holding it open, his expression expectant.
"Get. In," he said, each word separated by a pause that suggested he was running out of patience.
I rolled my eyes so hard I was surprised they did not get stuck that way.
But I got in.
The door shut behind me, and the world outside dimmed. The noise of the remaining students faded. The afternoon light softened through the tinted windows. For about two seconds, everything was quiet and almost peaceful.
Then Adrian walked around and got into the driver's seat, and the peace ended.
"You embarrassed me today," he said as he started the engine, not looking at me.
I leaned back in my seat, letting my head rest against the headrest. "You are welcome. I aim to please."
"Pouring a drink on me in front of the entire cafeteria is not pleasing," he said dryly. "It is embarrassing. It is humiliating. It is the kind of thing that damages a person's reputation."
"You deserved it," I said without missing a beat.
"It was my new shirt," he said, and there was genuine complaint in his voice now. "I wore it once. One time. And you ruined it."
"It works better now," I said. "The stain adds character. It makes you look interesting."
He glanced at me, one hand on the steering wheel, his expression caught somewhere between annoyance and reluctant amusement. "…You are unbelievable. You know that, right? You are the most unbelievable person I have ever met."
"You are dramatic," I said. " It is your worst quality."
"I am realistic," he corrected, pulling the car away from the curb and into the flow of traffic. "And I am always right about everything."
I smirked slightly, unable to help myself. "Liam says that too. The dramatic thing.
Adrian's expression flickered. "Liam is your new friend? The loud one? The one who followed you around like a puppy all day?"
"He is entertaining," I said. "And he is funnier than you."
"I am not trying to be funny," Adrian said flatly.
"That is the problem," I said. "You should try harder. It might improve your personality."
The car moved smoothly through the streets, controlled and precise, just like Adrian himself.
Unlike me.
A few seconds passed in comfortable silence, the kind of silence that only existed between people who had known each other for years and did not need to fill every moment with words.
Then Adrian spoke again, his voice carefully neutral.
"…You fought with Rifat."
It was not a question. It was a statement.
Oh, so that guy his name is Rifat.
I looked out the window, watching the buildings pass by in a blur of concrete and glass. "Are you watching me now? Is that what you do with your free time?"
"I do not need to watch you," he said. "News spreads fast when chaos is involved, and you were the chaos. Everyone was talking about it by the time fifth period started."
"Then you already know everything," I said. "So why are you asking?"
"I want to hear it from you," he said simply. "I want to know what happened from the person who was actually there, not from the rumors that have probably exaggerated everything by now."
"That Gravity obsessed boy. Your so call friend."
"Who?"
"Rifat, he almost fell in the morning. I caught him but he wanted to fall, so I left."
"You did what, you left and…" He burst out laughing. "You really are something Ruz. And you argued with him again earlier."
He flicked my forehead first," I said, turning my head to look at him. "He touched me. He started the physical contact. I merely finished it."
"So you escalated to attempted murder?"
"It was a shove, Adriii. Not a war crime.
"…That is your justification?" he asked, one eyebrow rising. "He flicked your forehead, so you shoved him in front of the entire school?"
"Yes," I said firmly. "That is exactly my justification. He deserved it. Do not touch me if you are not prepared to be pushed back. It is a simple rule."
Adrian exhaled slowly, the way he always did when he was trying not to laugh at something I had done. "…You are going to get yourself into serious trouble one day, Ruz."
I turned my head slightly, looking at his profile as he drove.
"Then you will fix it anyway," I said.
"No, I will not," he said, though his voice lacked conviction.
"You always do," I said. "Every time. Every single time something goes wrong, you are there.
"I should not," he said quietly.
"But you will," I said, and I was not asking. I was stating a fact.
A pause stretched between us. He did not answer, which was answer enough.
The road stretched ahead of us, late afternoon light slipping through the windshield in golden streams.
"…You are quiet," I said after a while.
"I am driving," he said.
"You talk while driving all the time," I pointed out. "You have never been quiet in a car."
"Not when I am thinking," he said.
I tilted my head slightly, watching him more closely now. "Interesting. Since when did you start thinking??"
"…It is not new," he said, and something in his voice had shifted. Become softer. More serious. "I think all the time. You just do not notice, because I do not announce it."
"…You were serious earlier," I said slowly, the realization dawning on me.
"At the hallway?" he asked.
"Yes," I said. "When you told me to be careful."
"I meant it," he said simply. "Not for you, for the boys"
I blinked, then frowned slightly. "...You're annoying."
A pause.
"I thought you were worried about me," I added after a moment, quieter now.
He let out a short breath, almost a laugh, but there was no humor in it. "Why would I be worried about you?" he asked. "I was worried about those boys."
I narrowed my eyes at him.
He kept his gaze on the road, hands steady on the wheel. "I saw you clench your fist," he continued. "What if you started a fight? What if you actually hit someone?"
A beat of silence passed between us.
"I can't take that risk," he said more firmly.
I leaned back in my seat, crossing my arms. "So your concern isn't me. It's what I might do."
"You started it," he said, and some of the usual lightness returned to his voice.
"I always start it," I said. "That is my role in our relationship. I start things, and you complain about them."
"Yes," he said. "That is the problem. You start things without thinking about the consequences, and then I have to deal with the aftermath."
I leaned back in my seat again, crossing my arms over my chest.
A few seconds passed in silence, the car humming smoothly beneath us as we turned onto a familiar street.
"You are breaking your own rules again," I said. "The ones you made this morning."
"I do not have rules," he said.
"You literally told me not to get involved with anyone," I reminded him. "Do not mess with anyone, you said. If you get into trouble, deal with it yourself, you said. Those were your exact words."
"I told you not to get involved," he said. "That advice does not apply to me."
"That includes you," I said. "You are also a person. You should also not get involved. That is how rules work. They apply to everyone."
"No, it does not," he said, his voice stubborn.
"…Hypocrite," I said.
"Smart," he replied, and the corner of his mouth twitched.
I smirked, unable to help myself. "…You missed me."
"I did not miss you," he said.
"You did," I said.
"I did not."
"You did."
"You definitely did not," he said, but there was no conviction in his voice.
I leaned slightly toward him, close enough that he could feel my presence without me touching him. "…Stop saying that," I said, my voice dropping.
"Saying what?" he asked, feigning ignorance.
"Adopted," I said, and the word came out harder than I intended. "Stop calling me that."
My expression dropped instantly, the playfulness draining out of me like water from a cracked cup. That word, that name, it was one line I did not like crossing. One reminder I did not need.
Adrian glanced at me, just for a moment, and I saw him see it. That small shift in my face. The way my shoulders had tensed. The way my jaw had tightened.
He saw the line, and he stopped.
A beat of silence passed between us.
Then, "…Fine," he said quietly, and he looked back at the road.
He did not say it again.
The car slowed as we turned into a familiar street, the on Big gate. Bigger house. The kind of house that looked like it belonged in a magazine, with manicured hedges and a front door that cost more than some people's cars.
Home.
Or at least, the place where I slept.
As soon as the car stopped in the driveway, a voice called out from the front entrance.
"You are late."
Kuya stood there, his arms crossed over his chest. He was still wearing his office clothes, a crisp white shirt and dark trousers and he looked like he had just walked out of a business meeting, which he probably had.
His left arm was still in a sling, still healing from the incident that none of us talked about.
Still a reminder of what could happen when things went wrong.
I stepped out of the car first, slamming the door behind me with more force than was strictly necessary. "…You are early," I said, walking toward him.
"I live here," he said dryly. "I am not early. I am home."
"That is not the point," I said.
"It is exactly the point," he replied.
Adrian got out of the car, locking it with a beep, and walked up the path behind me.
"You are both late," Kuya added, his eyes moving between us.
"You are both annoying," I replied.
"You are both in trouble," he said, and his voice carried the weight of someone who had been waiting to say those words all day.
I stopped in front of him, tilting my head back to meet his eyes. "I am always in trouble. That is not news. That is my natural state of being."
"That is not something to be proud of," he said.
"I am not proud," I said. "I am experienced. I have accepted my fate."
Kuya sighed, the long suffering sound of someone who had given up on winning arguments with me years ago but still felt obligated to try. Then he looked at Adrian, who had stopped a few steps behind me.
"You let her fight again," Kuya said accusingly.
"I did not let her do anything," Adrian said, his hands in his pockets. "She does what she wants. She has always done what she wants. I cannot control her."
"You did not stop her," Kuya pressed.
"I tried," Adrian said. "She does not listen."
"You failed," Kuya said flatly.
"She does not listen," Adrian repeated, as if that explained everything.
They both looked at me.
I raised my hands slightly, palms up, in a gesture of innocence I did not deserve. "…I support both arguments," I said. "You are both correct. I am uncontrollable, and Adrian is ineffective at controlling me. These are both true statements."
"…You are working with me tonight," Kuya said, his eyes narrowing.
I blinked. "…Again? I worked with you yesterday."
"Again," he confirmed. "You caused a scene at school. I heard about it from three different people before you even got home."
"That is unfair," I protested. "He started it. Rifat that guy, he started the whole thing. I was just standing there, minding my own business, and he approached me."
"And you continued it," Kuya said. " You have never walked away from a confrontation in your entire life."
"He deserved it," I said.
"You are impossible," Kuya said, shaking his head.
A pause.
Then,
"…Go inside," Kuya continued, stepping aside to let me pass. "Dinner is almost ready. Wash up."
I walked past him, brushing against his shoulder as I went, and I did not bother to hide my smirk.
"…Worth it," I said under my breath as I stepped through the front door.
Behind me, I heard Adrian's voice, low and tired. "…She is getting worse. She was not this bad before. Something has changed."
And Kuya's response, quieter but still audible: "…She is getting comfortable. That is what this is. She is settling in."
"That is dangerous," Adrian said. "Letting her guard down is dangerous. You don't even know what happened last time she...."
"That means she feels safe," Kuya interrupted, and his voice was firm. "Let her have that. She has earned it."
A pause.
Adrian did not reply.
I did not wait to hear if he would.
Inside, the house was warm and noisy in the best way.
Voices drifted from the kitchen, Tita calling out instructions about where to put the plates, The smell of food hung in the air, rich and familiar, the kind of smell that made my stomach growl even when I was not hungry.
Tito was in the living room, reading a newspaper like he did every evening, his glasses perched on the end of his nose. He looked up as I walked in and raised an eyebrow at me.
"Rough day?" he asked.
"It is always a rough day," I said, dropping my bag on the couch and collapsing onto the cushions beside it. "And I have accepted this."
" Did you make friends?" he said, and there was amusement in his voice.
"Liam, he declared himself my friend without my permission," I said. "I had no say in the matter. He simply decided, and now I cannot get rid of him."
"That sounds like a good thing," Tito said.
"That sounds like a hostage situation," I said.
He laughed, a warm sound that filled the room, and I felt some of the tension from the day begin to loosen in my chest.
Then a voice came from behind me.
"…Do not get used to it."
I turned my head.
Adrian was leaning against the doorway now, his arms crossed, watching me again. But his expression was quieter than before. Softer, somehow.
"…Too late," I said. "I am already used to it. I have decided that this is my life now, and I am making the best of it."
He crossed his arms tighter. "…Be careful."
I held his gaze for just a second, long enough to let him see that I had heard him. That I understood what he was really saying, even if he could not say it out loud.
"…You too, Adrian," I said, and my voice was softer than I intended.
Silence stretched between us. Short, but real. The kind of silence that said more than words ever could.
Then, because we were us and we could not be serious for too long without someone ruining it, he spoke again.
"You still owe me for the car ride," he said.
"I did not ask for the car ride," I said, sitting up. "You kidnapped me. That is not a service. That is a crime."
"I still gave you a ride," he said. "You could have walked. It is forty minutes on foot. I saved you forty minutes."
"I did not thank you," I said.
"I noticed," he said dryly.
"Good," I said. "Because I am not going to."
"…You are unbelievable," he said, shaking his head.
"You already said that," I pointed out. "Multiple times. Today. You are repeating yourself."
"I will say it again," he said. "Many times. Every day. Until you change."
"Get new material," I said. "Your insults are boring."
"Get better behavior," he shot back. "Your actions are exhausting."
"Not happening," I said.
"Figures," he muttered.
From the kitchen, Tita's voice rang out, loud and clear: "DINNER! Everyone to the table now, or I am throwing your portions away!"
I stood up from the couch, grabbing my bag to take to my room before I ate.
I walked past Adrian, close enough that my shoulder almost brushed his arm.
"…Try not to embarrass me again tomorrow," I said, not looking at him.
He smirked slightly, and I could hear it in his voice even without seeing his face. "…No promises. You make it too easy."
I kept walking.
And just like that, the chaos paused.
It did not end. It never really ended, not with us, not in this house, not in this family.
But it paused.
Waiting for tomorrow.