A Helping Hand (AJS Roleplaying x Kita-san)

[AJS Roleplaying]

A HELPING HAND A Roleplay Brought to You By: ​

Adrian Wolfe written by AJS Roleplaying ​

Delilah (Lilah) Hayward written by Kita-san ​

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[AJS Roleplaying]

Adrian didn't let go of Delilah's hand when the music came to its sudden, staccato halt. Around them, other couples pulled apart - some laughing, others breathless and flushed with the lingering thrill of movement. The small crowd clapped enthusiastically for the musicians, who grinned beneath a veil of sweat and the fading golden hour light. The air still buzzed with the rhythm, residual pulses of energy echoing in Adrian's blood. But through it all, her hand remained in his. He hadn't meant to hold it so long. He hadn't planned to. It had simply… happened. And now, with fingers intertwined like a closing loop, he realized just how reluctant he was to break contact.

There was something about the shape of her hand in his - something inexplicably complete. As though his palm had been waiting all along for this exact shape to fill it. There were thousands of explanations he could have given himself for that feeling - neural chemistry, mild infatuation, the high of dancing. But none of them would've come close to describing the calm that settled over him just from the weight and warmth of her hand. It was too simple to be rational. Too quiet to be denied.

He turned to her then, still tethered by touch, and gave a half-smile that barely masked the thoughts flickering just beneath the surface. "That was fun. Now excuse me for a moment. I need to use the bathroom. Meet you back here?"

He saw her nod from the corner of his eye, already beginning to look back toward the square where dancers still lingered, partners swapping out for new rounds. But he didn't head toward the restroom as he'd said. His stride curved away once he was out of her line of sight, slipping through the press of people with practiced ease, his thoughts focused now on something entirely different - something he hadn't allowed himself to decide on until the very moment his feet started moving. The jewellery stall.

They had stopped there earlier, both of them slowing without speaking, their attention snagged by the soft gleam of gemstones and the delicate glint of fine metalwork. He remembered how she'd hovered in front of one particular display—hesitant, but undeniably drawn. She hadn't touched anything. Just stood there, eyes tracing the lines of a necklace and then a ring, gaze lingering a beat too long to be accidental. She hadn't said a word about wanting them, hadn't tried anything on. But Adrian had seen it. The way desire can live quiet and careful in a person's expression. Not the loud, hungry kind that wants to possess, but something more private. A longing that doesn't even admit itself aloud.

He wasn't sure what made him care so much about that brief moment, or why the memory of her gaze kept circling in his head like a haunting. Maybe it was the way her stillness had felt louder than any words. Or maybe it was that - just for a moment - he'd caught a glimpse of something unguarded in her.

When he reached the stall, he was half-expecting disappointment. But the pieces were still there. Waiting. As though they'd been left behind just for him. The necklace was simple, but impossibly elegant - a slender gold chain anchored by a tear-shaped opal. The stone shimmered with pale iridescence, its colours subtle, shifting like mist behind glass: hints of blue, lavender, even the softest green. It wasn't a bold piece. It didn't clamour for attention. It carried a quiet sort of magic, like it held within it a secret that refused to stay still. Something like Delilah herself. The ring beside it was no less compelling - its band twisted delicately, almost organically, into a vine-like pattern that curled around a single oval-cut stone. A pink tourmaline, luminous and understated, its hue both romantic and restrained. It looked like it belonged on a hand that never made loud declarations, but held truths in the gentlest of grips. A hand like hers.

Adrian didn't hesitate. He asked the vendor to wrap both items carefully. The man obliged with the grace of someone who had seen this kind of thing before, and knew better than to speak into it. Once the little paper bag was folded and sealed, Adrian slipped it into the pocket of his jacket and offered only a nod in thanks. Later. He'd give them to her later. Not now, not here. There was something sacred about the moment that was coming, and he wanted to protect it from the noise, the crowd, the casualness of the market. A small offering, yes - but one that meant more to him than he could easily say. It wasn't just about the jewellery. It wasn't even about impressing her. It was about wanting to be the person who noticed. Who remembered. Who gave, simply because something about her deserved to be adorned.

By the time he made his way back, the crowd had thickened again, the heat of summer pressing gently against the skin. Delilah stood a short distance from where he had left her, her posture still relaxed, watching as a new pair took to the impromptu dance floor. There was something magnetic about the way she existed in space, not commanding attention but quietly holding it, as if the world bent around her rather than the other way around. Adrian let himself linger a second longer before stepping close again. He felt the weight of the hidden gift in his pocket, the softness of anticipation blooming inside him, rich and unrushed. There was time. No need to rush this.

He let the smile return to his lips - unforced, easy, touched with something private and new.

"So," he said, catching her eye, "where to next? Or... do you want to keep dancing?"​

 

[Kita-san]

Delilah hadn't moved from the spot where Adrian left her. She hoped he was able to find the bathroom, the place was so crowded. She didn’t know where the bathroom might be but she figured he would figure it out or ask someone if he really needed to. She didn’t think about him for too long because the music swelled again, and her thoughts drifted.

The dancers had returned—new couples now, the tempo different, more fluid, more intimate. It was a kind of movement she'd never learned, never tried. Something that didn't come from videos or formal classes, but from being carefree, from letting go. And strangely, for once… she did. Delilah let herself breathe. Really breathe.

The air was thick with night-market scents—cardamom, roasted meat, something sweet like spun sugar. Lanterns flickered above the crowd in soft golds and pinks, casting warm halos over laughing faces and turning shadows into something playful instead of heavy. She wasn't thinking about overdue tuition notices. She wasn't thinking about the half-full bottle on her mom's nightstand. She wasn't thinking about being a bottle for extra money at Velour. She really didn’t want to do that anymore. Not here. Not now. Right now, she was just here. And it was enough.

Her hands rested loosely at her sides, her weight leaned against a lamp post, and a smile—small, almost shy—had curved her lips as she watched the way strangers moved together like they had known each other for years. Even if they hadn't. When Adrian returned, she didn't hear him right away—just felt him. A soft change in the air, a presence she didn't need to look at to know. She turned, caught his eye, and for a beat, didn't say anything. Just took him in. Something about the way he looked at her made her feel steadier. Like the person she tried so hard to hold together wasn't falling apart after all.

When he asked what to do next she paused for a moment. She noticed the slow music and how close everyone was dancing. It seemed as though couples took over this song so she decided against dancing again.

"I don't know how to dance to this song. A faster beat would be better so let’s just skip the dancing for now.” She stepped forward and glanced around for a moment just wondering where else they could go. “Maybe that way, it seems a bit quiet and less crowded.” Delilah wouldn’t mind a short break.

She led him away from the crowd, weaving through booths lit by lanterns and lined with local crafts, scents, and laughter. Eventually, they found a tucked-away corner with a few worn tables and mismatched chairs. It was quieter here, the sound of the music dimmer but still present in the air, like the aftertaste of something sweet. Delilah sat, leaning forward slightly with her arms on the table, gaze drifting back toward the bustle of the market. Her features softened in the glow, and for the first time in what felt like forever, there was no trace of the usual weight behind her eyes. She turned back to him, lips curving gently.

“This is pretty fun. Better than you expected or did you not expect much?” She asked Adrian. She just wanted to know how he was feeling. She had noticed him smiling from time to time which is something he rarely did. “It’s getting kind of late. Do you have work or anything tomorrow?” She asked as she checked her cellphone for the time. She noticed a text from her mother. The message read that she was ok and won’t be home tonight but Delilah could tell by the random letters and misspelling that her mother was not sober.

The young girl sighed and ran a hand through her hair. “Well at least I get to go home to peace and quiet.” She muttered to herself and out her cellphone back in her pocket. “I think I want to grab a caramel apple before we leave this place. I can indulge by myself when I get home.” She chuckled softly. She was looking forward to it.

 

[AJS Roleplaying]

Adrian sank into the chair opposite her, the legs of it uneven against the cobbled stones of the night market's quiet corner. It was a relief - this pocket of hush amid the carnival of light and sound. He hadn't realized how much he'd been craving silence until it wrapped itself around them, tender and weightless, like mist. The laughter and shouts of the crowd echoed at a safe distance now, blunted by the hum of distance, and for once, he didn't feel the need to be anywhere else. The truth was, Adrian wasn't unaccustomed to chaos. His world thrived on it. The relentless, tooth-and-claw pace of corporate warfare was its own kind of noise - a roar of deadlines and data, politics and pressure, and the occasional soft undertone of backstabbing ambition masquerading as camaraderie. He had built his company from nothing but the certainty in his own spine and the bruises of every lesson hard-earned. He had become fluent in the language of power, of leverage, of using silence like a blade.

And yet, this - this calm in Delilah's company, this stolen recess from his curated life - felt like something else entirely. Not a tactic. Not a negotiation. Just the luxury of presence. He'd noticed it the moment her gaze drifted down to her phone. It was subtle, that shift - barely a flicker - but it tightened something in the air between them. Her expression didn't crumple, exactly; it braced. People who lived too long with disappointment learned to wear their heartbreaks carefully. She hadn't said anything directly, but he could see the truth of it in the shallow breath she took after reading whatever message came through.

He didn't need the full story. She only knew fragments of what he'd shared about her mother's drinking - drips of truth parcelled out in protective ration. It wasn't that he wanted to shield her, necessarily. It was just... when you spoke a thing too plainly, it became more real. More permanent. There was enough permanence in that kind of pain already. Then she'd said it, with a flash of brittle humour: "Well at least I get to go home to peace and quiet." The words clung to him, long after they'd fallen from her lips. They were light, thrown casually - too casually - but they had edges. He recognized them, recognized the loneliness baked into them. The kind that didn't just settle around you but inside you. The kind that made the quiet less of a balm and more of an indictment.

When she turned her attention back to him with that careful smile, asking if he was having fun, Adrian gave a smile of his own. This one was gentler than most people saw from him, softer around the corners. "When you first mentioned the night market," he said, "I didn't know that was a thing." That much was true - he had pictured something vastly different, something colder, more sterile. But this was vivid and strange and intimate, its stalls stitched together with string lights and foreign spices, full of odd treasures and fried sweetness and the low murmur of a hundred separate stories being lived all at once. "You did the right thing, not giving me a choice about whether to come. I'm used to being the one pulling that trick." He chuckled faintly, recalling the countless times he'd steamrolled decisions beneath a veneer of charm and logic. "But you pulled it off like a seasoned professional. That'll serve you well in the kitchen."

And there it was again - that flicker of warmth she kindled so easily. He let himself fall into it, just for a moment.

Then she mentioned caramel apples, and the laugh that escaped him this time was freer, less practiced than the ones he typically doled out in meetings or functions. This wasn't about charm or persuasion. It was just joy, simple and unguarded. "No," he replied, drawing out the word slightly, with a shake of the head that was more amusement than refusal. "We are both going to get one - and enjoy them messily, together."

The image of it filled his mind with a sudden tenderness. Fingers sticky with syrup, teeth sinking into the hard gloss of sugar shell and soft apple beneath, shared glances between bites, laughter when it inevitably smeared across her cheek. It wasn't the kind of moment he normally allowed himself. His life was too buttoned-up, too lacquered with control. He didn't do messy. He didn't do spontaneous. But here, under the dusky glow of strung lanterns and the slow drift of cooking oil in the air, he wanted to.

There was something about her that pulled him from his own orbit. She didn't try to charm him. She didn't need to. She simply existed with a kind of earnestness that chipped away at his armour, patient and quiet. And in return, he found himself giving more than he usually did. Not just information or approval, but small pieces of truth. Small glimpses of the man beneath the tailored suits and strategic silences. He didn't say any of that, of course. He wasn't ready for honesty in that shape, not aloud. But he hoped she could feel it. In the way his shoulders had dropped slightly since they'd sat down. In the smile that lingered a beat too long. In the fact that, for once, Adrian wasn't thinking of the next move, the next quarter, or the next conversation he had to manage.

He was just here. With her. And that, for now, was enough.​

 

[Kita-san]

Delilah relaxed while on the bench, her hands rested in her lap as she listened to Adrian speak about her trick. She couldn’t help but smirk, she had to invite him in that manner or he wouldn’t have come. They were a lot alike, she was starting to realize that. "Pulled it off like a seasoned professional?" she repeated, raising one brow, a sly smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Well thank you. I figured you wouldn’t come if I gave you an option. I'd do it again. Hopefully you don’t regret coming here today.”

She let a soft laugh escape her then—light, proud. It danced between them like one of the market's lanterns, warm and a little defiant. But when he nodded, complimenting how it would serve her in the kitchen, the teasing faded for a heartbeat. Pride softened into something quieter. More vulnerable. Her shoulders relaxed, and her voice dropped, just a little. "That's the goal." She didn't say chef. She didn't have to. It lived in the way her eyes brightened and her back straightened just slightly when he said it. In the way her fingers curled subtly against the fabric of her skirt like she could already feel the weight of a knife in her hand, hear the hiss of oil on the stove, see the plate arranged just so. His compliment wasn't exaggerated. It wasn't flattery. It was seen. And that meant something.

She exhaled, content now. Really content. The night market still buzzed nearby, but it felt like it had shifted just far enough away that she could breathe. She watched a few children run past, small hands sticky with sugar and cotton candy, laughter trailing like music behind them. Lantern light shimmered on the cobbled stones. Somewhere, someone played a slow, twanging melody on a stringed instrument. And she was here. With Adrian. Then came the caramel apple suggestion. His mention of wanting want to and eating it together surprised her. She didn’t actually expect him to say such a thing or even want such a thing.

Delilah couldn’t hold it back, she actually giggled. Not the restrained laugh she gave when she was trying to play it cool, but a genuine, full giggle. Her eyes lit up, round with surprise and mischief. "You want to eat caramel apples?" she teased. "Together? You realize how sticky those are, right?” She was only teasing him. She felt like she could.

She looked at him like he'd just said something absurdly wonderful. "Okay, okay.
We should definitely get them and eat them right here or somewhere quiet. I could use a more quiet atmosphere. What do you think?" She grinned, standing slowly and brushing the back of her shorts off with a quick flick of her hand. She turned her back to him and quickly dusted off her thighs as just in case the wood bench left anything behind. Without thinking too much into she glanced over her shoulder, trying to see her bottom knowing it wasn’t going to work. “I don’t have anything on me right?” She asked. She just wanted to make sure her black shorts weren’t stand but she didn’t realize she was asking him to look at her ass. Once she got the ok she turned to face him.

"C'mon.” She said and began to walk to the stall where she saw the apples at. There was something easier in her movements now. No tension in her shoulders. No guarded glances. Just ease. That rare and precious thing. But as they walked toward the booth, past the glow and spice, a quiet voice in the back of her head stirred. Don't invite him back. Not because she didn't want to. The thought of him sitting on her old couch or kitchen chair, as they fill up on sugar filled her head.

But— Her mother.

The house wasn't a disaster, but it wasn't safe, either. Not safe safe. There were too many variables. Too many things she couldn't explain or control. The fear of walking in and finding her mom sprawled on the couch, mascara streaked down her cheeks, bottle in hand, and Adrian seeing that—it twisted in her chest like a cold knot. She wasn't embarrassed about money. She had worked for everything she had. But her? She didn't want him to see that part of her life. Not yet.
And maybe not just because of her mother. Maybe because inviting him in was letting him in. And that was big. Too big, too fast.

So she didn't say anything about where they'd go after. She just walked beside him, brushing her hand lightly against his once in a while like it was accidental, like she didn't need anything else in the world except this moment and maybe—just maybe—the next one after. And maybe that was enough.