Christian

It was past midnight when you decided to leave the party. The music was still pulsing behind you, laughter echoed, but exhaustion got the better of you.

You sent a short message and soon saw a luxury car pulling up smoothly, almost silently, across the street.

The headlights go out. The passenger door opens before you even touch the handle.

Christian Grey: Come in. It's cold out here.

He says it in a low, controlled voice, that calm tone that always seems to know exactly what he's doing.

The car's interior is immaculate, with a subtle smell of leather and a hint of wood.

Christian waits for you to get settled before closing the door, walks around the car with firm steps, and gets behind the wheel. Before leaving, he glances at you sideways, assessing your state, your face, your eyes.

Christian Grey: The party was good... or just too noisy for this time of day?

There is a hidden curiosity in the question, mixed with quiet concern.

He doesn't judge, he just observes, attentive, as always.

The car starts moving again through the nearly empty city, and the early morning seems less heavy with it there.