Chapter 6.
1194 Words
Chapter 6: Sacred Smile.
Dream Dauntson.
I remembered passing out. Not dramatically or poetically, just poof—gone. One second I was pointing vaguely at the stars, the next, I was in someone’s arms. Not just anyone’s, mind you.
Two creepy alley creeps. Two fists of fury. A rescue mission that had no business being that cinematic. And then… him.
He was warm. Solid. His scent? Stupidly illegal. Expensive cologne and judgment.
He carried me like I weighed nothing, like I was some fragile royal pain in a red dress. My heels dangling, my hair a wild halo, me mumbling incoherently about the moon owing me money. Then the softness of a bed. A duvet I didn’t own. A mattress that probably cost more than my rent and my future children’s college fund.
I stirred slightly. He turned away, but before he could leave, some ghost in me latched onto his wrist.
"Please... don't leave," I mumbled.
I tugged.
He stumbled.
And landed on me.
Right. On. Me.
A heavy warmth. My face smashed against a chest that could probably bench press a car. His breath hitched, mine stopped, and then…
Darkness.
Curtains. Out.
---
The next morning…
My phone betrayed me first. That cursed ringtone blaring like a marching band in my skull.
BZZZZZ. BZZZZZ.
I groaned and slapped around for it like a half-dead octopus, flailing until my fingers finally closed around it. I pressed it to my ear without checking the caller. Mistake.
"Dream Davina Dauntson!!! WHERE ARE YOU?!"
I winced. That voice could split cement and summon demons back to hell.
"Lucy?" I croaked, barely opening one eye. My tongue felt like sandpaper. My head? Like someone had hosted a rave inside my skull.
"YES. Lucy. I went to your apartment last night. YOU. WERE. GONE."
"I... don't know where I am," I admitted, squinting around the room. Cream walls. Tall windows. Curtains that looked like they had stock options. And a ridiculous painting of a horse that looked like it paid taxes and audited people for fun.
"You’re in my boss’ house," I heard Leo shout in the background.
"Leo?!" I wheezed.
"Yup. I messaged my boss last night. He said you were safe and you were with him."
With him.
Mr. Drowning Demon?
My brain loaded slowly, like dial-up internet.
The club.
The wine.
The creepy alley men.
A man with Mr. Drowning Demon punching someone’s jaw into another postcode.
Me… clinging to him like Velcro with abandonment issues.
Mr. Drowning Demon.
Oh, as sweet as pancakes and tea, Mr. Drowning Demon, wait! What am I thinking?
"I TOLD YOU GUYS I DIDN'T WANT TO GO TO THAT STUPID CLUB!" I yelled, regretting it instantly as pain ricocheted inside my skull.
"We didn’t ask you to chug two bottles of Moscato like it was apple juice," Lucy clapped back, voice sharp enough to shave my soul.
"You’re so lightheaded, you can get drunk off communion wine," Leo added helpfully, clearly eating something crunchy in the background.
"Bye," I hissed. "Let me sleep before I call all your ancestors and assign them homework."
"Have fun!" they both sang in chaotic unison.
"Mad people," I muttered, tossing my phone across the bed like it had personally ruined my life.
I snuggled deeper into the blanket, wrapping myself like a rebellious burrito. Warm. Safe. Almost forgetting the hangover apocalypse setting off fireworks in my head.
Until…
"RISE AND SHINE, DAUNTING DUCKLING!"
I levitated.
No, I’m not exaggerating.
I JUMPED out of bed, tangled in the sheet like a discount mummy, and crashed flat on the marble floor with a sound that could’ve been used in horror movies.
"ARRHH!" I yelped.
My elbow screamed. My dignity took a smoke break. My pride packed a bag and left the country. I flopped there, a tragic bundle of fabric and regret.
Then, that voice again.
"Good morning to you too."
Wait.
No.
Wait a damn dramatic second.
That voice.
I whipped my head up so fast I gave myself whiplash.
Mr. Drowning Demon.
We meet again.
Standing there, holding a tray of what looked like pancakes and tea—my favorite breakfast. He is the best. (Wait, what? Focus, Davey.)
Then I looked at him.
And he was smiling.
Smiling!!??
"You!" I accused my finger of trembling like a sword in a soap opera.
He raised one brow, amused. "Me."
"You… you… SMILED!"
He paused. His lips curled, slow and easy, like a sunrise that didn’t need permission.
Oh, no. There it was again.
That smile.
Like the sun decided to rent a penthouse in his face.
White teeth. Dimples. Slight scruff. Casual damnation.
My lungs forgot their job. My heart? It did cartwheels it had never trained for. My brain is short-circuited. Sparks, fizzles, chaos.
"What... what is this sorcery?" I gasped, clutching my chest like an underpaid actress in a Victorian drama.
He chuckled—yes, chuckled like a Disney prince with trauma. "You were drunk. I saved you. You passed out. End of story."
"You SMILED!" I shouted again, still pointing at him like he was a criminal caught mid-crime.
"I do that sometimes."
"No, you don’t! You glower. You brood. You raise eyebrows and judge the living. You don’t SMILE."
He tilted his head. "Well, maybe you earned this one."
I blinked.
Then I gasped dramatically, hands flying to my cheeks. "A sacred smile. That’s what it is."
He blinked back. "What now?"
"A Sacred Smile," I repeated reverently. "Rare. Dangerous. Possibly a portal to another realm. Should be studied by scientists. Written into legends. Etched on cave walls."
He shook his head, stifling a grin, which only made things worse because OH NO HE WAS DOING IT AGAIN.
I narrowed my eyes. "You’re doing it again."
"Doing what?"
"That... face thing! With the teeth and the cheek muscles!"
"It’s called being pleasant."
"Well, stop it! It’s confusing. You’re supposed to be Mr. Drowning Demon. Not Mr. Dashing Dimples."
He handed me the tray. "Eat. You’ll need it. There are painkillers too. Your head must be a fireworks show right now."
I accepted the tray slowly, like it was evidence in court.
"Thank you," I muttered, eyes narrowed suspiciously at both him and the pancakes, like either might betray me.
The tray was warm. The tea smelled like lavender dreams. The pancakes were fluffy—clouds stacked neatly on a plate. I stared at them like they held the secrets to world peace.
He nodded and turned to go.
But I had to say it. I just had to.
"You’re not too bad, you know. When you’re not acting like a freezer."
He paused at the door.
Then slowly—slowly—he looked over his shoulder. His smirk crooked up just a little.
His eyes softened.
And then…
"You’re not too loud either. When you’re unconscious."
I gasped. "I KNEW you dropped me!"
He gave me that look. That smug, unreadable, I-know-I’m-trouble look.
And then, he winked.
"What a morning."
Then, he walked out.
And I was left alone.
Clutching pancakes.
And trying very, very hard not to blush.
What a beautiful morning.
And what a Sacred Smile, indeed.
- Writer
