JUNO (sabrina carpenter x you)

chapter 23

Y/N's POV

*mature content*

*•☕️*•☕️*•☕️*•☕️*•☕️*•☕️•*

No sooner did we leave the venue did we make it back to my place. Sabrina was practically hauling me toward my penthouse, her fingers laced tightly with mine like she thought I might vanish if she let go. We'd barely stepped into the lobby before she was hitting the elevator button with a sharp flick of her manicured finger, her expression unreadable — tight-lipped, eyes dark with something I couldn't quite name.

The moment the elevator doors slid open, she yanked me inside without a word. It was just the two of us, surrounded by cold chrome and the low hum of instrumental holiday jazz piped in through unseen speakers. For once, she didn't hum along. Her silence was louder than anything.

I glanced at her from the corner of my eye. She stood still beside me, arms crossed, leaning against the mirrored wall with the sort of practiced nonchalance that didn't quite cover the tension coiling beneath her skin. Her jaw twitched once. The reflection showed her chewing at the inside of her cheek.

I felt a twinge of guilt. Laurie and Paloma had stayed behind, and no doubt Laurie was going to grill me for bailing without a word — especially after she'd practically dragged me into that bathroom earlier like some over-protective older sister. Paloma would laugh about it, tease me endlessly, probably send a meme in the group chat by morning. I could already hear the messages buzzing on my phone from the both of them, which I had stuffed somewhere deep in my tux pocket, entirely forgotten.

But that guilt was quickly overshadowed by the heat radiating off the girl beside me — not just the literal kind from the few drinks she'd had, or the cling of her black dress to her skin — but something deeper. That possessive tension still sizzled around her, like a lit fuse just waiting for the next spark.

When the elevator dinged softly and the doors parted on my floor, Sabrina pushed off the wall and turned to me, palm up, expectant.

"Key, baby," she murmured, voice low and taut. Her fingers flexed in the air, and I immediately scrambled for my keys, fumbling with the carabiner hooked to my belt loop like I'd never used my hands before.

"Sorry," I muttered, unclipping it and placing the cool metal in her palm. She didn't wait — just turned on her heel, marched toward the door, and jammed the key into the lock with a precision that made her irritation weirdly graceful.

The door opened, and before I could even think about slipping off my shoes or undoing the suffocating top button of my dress shirt, Sabrina had my hand again. Tugging me inside, her heels clicking sharply on the hardwood as she led me straight towards my living room.

The only light came from a floor lamp in the corner — warm amber, soft and low — casting long, romantic shadows across the space. My jacket was still draped over the back of the couch from earlier in the week, and the faint scent of pine from my miniature holiday tree lingered in the air. But the way Sabrina filled the room, stormy and intent, made it feel entirely different.

She stopped in the center of the room, turned on her heel, and pointed to my couch.

"Sit," she said.

Her voice wasn't cold — it never was with me — but it was firm. Heavy with implication. My breath caught a little.

I did what I was told.

Still in my tux, shoes pinching my feet, heart thudding somewhere in my throat — I sat, spine straight, eyes fixed on the woman in front of me. She stared for a second, just taking me in, lashes lowered as she stepped closer; the echoes of the party were miles behind us now.