The restaurant was one of those places Aster had only seen in magazines.
Elegant, yet warm. Floor-to-ceiling windows bathed the room in golden evening light. Soft jazz played somewhere in the background, and the waitstaff were dressed better than Aster had been in most of his red carpet events from his first life.
The maître d' greeted Adrian by name, of course.
"This way, Mr. West. Your private room is ready."
Private room.
Of course.
Aster followed with Finn's small hand in his, eyes wide but lips pressed in a polite line. He wore one of the new outfits Adrian had insisted he pick during their shopping spree: a muted slate-blue shirt, perfectly tailored slacks, and sleek shoes that he still wasn't used to.
Finn, meanwhile, looked adorable in a little collared shirt with dinosaurs embroidered on the pocket, sneakers lighting up with every bounce.
Adrian, naturally, looked like he belonged here.
He wore a dark green button-up, sleeves rolled neatly to the forearm, paired with black slacks and a watch that probably cost more than Aster's entire wardrobe.
But even surrounded by polished marble floors and glimmering chandeliers, it was Finn who stole the spotlight.
"Woahhh," the boy whispered, eyes round. "It's so sparkly here! Can we touch the plates?"
"No, baby," Aster chuckled, steering him gently toward their table. "No touching anything shiny."
"But what if the forks are magic?"
Adrian laughed from behind them. "They might be. Be careful or they'll turn you into a broccoli."
Finn gasped. "Nooo! Broccoli is yucky!"
"You have to be careful, then," Adrian teased, crouching to meet his eye. "Eat your dinner properly or the broccoli spell activates."
Finn looked scandalized. "Brother! Don't let the forks eat me!"
Aster snorted, barely holding in his laugh as they settled into the plush booth.
Dinner was a blur of warmth and laughter.
Adrian had pre-ordered a set menu tailored to both Aster's preferences and Finn's allergies (how he even knew those, Aster didn't want to ask), and the food came in perfect timing.
Aster found himself reaching across the table more than once to cut up Finn's chicken fingers. Finn, in return, insisted on feeding both his Brother and Uncle Adrian tiny pieces of french fry, much to the amusement of the waitstaff.
Aster smiled more than he expected.
He even laughed—really laughed—when Finn proudly declared that he was "a big boy now" because he didn't drop his spoon even once.
"You did fling a pea across the table, though," Aster pointed out, dabbing Finn's cheek with a napkin.
"Accident," Finn said seriously. "The pea jumped. Not me."
Adrian leaned back in his seat, grinning as he watched the two of them. "I think I should start hiring you both for entertainment."
"I can sing!" Finn offered brightly. "I know the dinosaur song!"
"Nooo," Aster groaned, eyes widening. "Baby, not here—"
But it was too late.
Finn launched into a confident, slightly off-key rendition of "Dino March," complete with clapping and dramatic chomping gestures.
The staff outside probably heard every word.
Adrian laughed so hard he nearly choked on his wine.
Later, when the food was cleared and dessert arrived—an elaborate chocolate fondant shaped like a volcano, complete with dry ice "smoke"—Finn was fully reclined in his chair, belly round and content.
"Too full," he groaned. "No more food. I'm gonna explode."
Aster leaned over and tapped his nose. "You're not exploding. You're just full like a little hamster."
Adrian reached over and gently ruffled Finn's hair. "You two really do look like hamsters when you eat."
Aster scowled. "Excuse me?"
"Cute. Round eyes. Cheeks full. Always chewing."
"You're calling me cute and rodent-like."
"It's a compliment," Adrian said with a wink.
Aster flushed, caught between annoyance and embarrassment. "You're impossible."
"And you're blushing."
"I am not—"
But he was.
And Adrian didn't stop smiling at him for the rest of the evening.
On the ride home, Finn fell asleep in the backseat, his head lolling to one side, mouth parted in the soft, unbothered way of children who had played too much and eaten too well.
Aster turned in his seat to check on him, then settled back with a sigh.
"That was too much," he murmured.
Adrian glanced at him. "Too much?"
"All of it. The private room. The chocolate volcano. Even this ride feels too luxurious. You're not... making this easy."
"Should it be hard?"
Aster stared out the window.
"...No," he admitted. "But it makes it harder to remember that this is temporary."
Adrian didn't reply.
The silence wasn't tense—just... open.
Aster folded his hands on his lap. "We're only supposed to do this for six months. Remember?"
"I haven't forgotten," Adrian said calmly.
Aster nodded, as if to himself. "I'll be good. As good as I can be. An actor worth investing in. Someone who pays back his debts."
Adrian's gaze flicked toward him, unreadable.
"But after the six months," Aster continued, "I just... hope we can still talk sometimes. Even just professionally. If I get more work, you'll still be my boss, right?"
Adrian didn't speak immediately.
Then, softly: "If that's what you want."
Aster smiled faintly, eyes on the passing city lights.
He didn't say what else he wanted. Didn't dare.
Because hope was dangerous.
Hope could make you forget the limits of your contract.
But for tonight—
Just tonight—
He let himself enjoy the warmth of Adrian's voice. The soft sound of Finn breathing in the backseat. The quiet hum of the engine. The light press of Adrian's fingers brushing his hand once, briefly, like a whisper.
And that was enough.