Disclaimer: I don't own The Last Story.

Proper Gentlemen

"Hey, make sure he finds his way home, alright?" Lowell said, peeking through the taxi window.

"For fucks sake, Lowell…I'll be fine," Dagran muttered, trying not to slip into sleep in the back seat of the taxi.

"He's had a lot to drink, make sure he finds his house alright," Lowell said, rolling his eyes at Dagran.

"Of course, sir," said the driver. He drove off with Dagran while Lowell only chuckled to himself. Since it had been Dagran's birthday, Lowell had to be the responsible one that didn't get smashed.

Completely, at least.

Whistling at midnight or whatever-the-hell-o'clock it was, Lowell walked the short distance towards his apartment. Despite his love of partying and drinking, the blond man was ready to get to sleep.

It didn't take long for Lowell to reach his home. And he would have walked right in through the door, up the stairs and straight into his bed had he not heard a sneeze.

Now at whatever-the-hell-o'clock in the morning, other people generally weren't awake. So Lowell curiously walked around the apartment building and into the back alley.

In the small, dark, stone alleyway, Lowell stumbled upon the person who sneezed. An orange haired woman with tattoos running up her arms sat against one of the alley's walls.

And she wasn't wearing a shirt.

Normally, Lowell would count this as a sign of luck and he'd put his gentlemanly charm to work. Except…the woman was unconscious. And Lowell could smell alcohol from ten feet away.

"Hey, you alright?" Lowell got down on one knee in front of the woman.

She stirred somewhat, but didn't wake. Lowell did a light search to see if she had a phone, or wallet of some sort to find out where she was from. But the woman carried nothing.

"Right, then," Lowell muttered. He bent down by the woman and wrapped one of her arms over his shoulder and lifted the woman up. She managed to shakily stand with his help and Lowell began to walk her up to his apartment.

After somehow unlocking the door to the building with one hand, almost dropping the woman down the stairs when he tripped and accidentally unclipping her bra, Lowell made it to his room.

That really was an accident. He'd put it back on, because he was just that much of a gentleman.

"C'mon, work with me," Lowell begged as he guided her to his guest bedroom. As if she was aware of what was happening, the orange haired woman practically jumped onto the bed.

Lowell chuckled and left the room. "Haha, why am I doing this?" Lowell wondered aloud. "Oh that's right, I have a weakness for beautiful women. Ah well, maybe she'll give me a reward date."

Syrenne woke up with the worst hangover she'd ever have. Like a fucking train hit her.

Twice.

Mmm…soft bed…

Bed?

Syrenne's eyes bolted open. Why was she in a bed?

She didn't own a bed.

The orange haired woman got out of the bed slowly and looked down at herself. She was wearing pants, thankfully. But somehow she'd seemed to lose her shirt.

"Someone is going to answer for this," she growled. Syrenne pushed open the bedroom door and entered the biggest area of the apartment: the living room.

"Ah, you're awake!" exclaimed a cheery man. He poked his head out from the kitchen with a grin.

Syrenne gasped and cupped her hands over her ears, "Too…loud." Damn hangovers.

"Oh, sorry," said the man sympathetically. "I'm Lowell."

"Syrenne," she replied. "Now where the fuck am I?"

"My apartment," Lowell said. "I found you in the alley behind the building drunk as hell. So, being the fantastic gentleman I am, I escorted you somewhere safe."

"And why am I not wearing a shirt?" Syrenne asked, anger resonating in her voice.

Lowell's eyes widened before he shook his head vigorously, "What? No! You weren't wearing one when I found you."

"So what, was I your sex toy for some night?" snarled Syrenne.

"Is it so hard to believe that I was just helping you?" Lowell said, aghast. "I didn't touch you, honest."

Syrenne wrinkled her nose, "All men are the same. Sex crazed pigs that can't wait to fuck the next bitch they can get their hands on."

"I wouldn't be so quick to judge men like that. We're not all like that," Lowell said, taking a step back into the kitchen. Syrenne followed him, even if she was itching to get out of there.

But it wasn't like she had anywhere to go.

"The last man I trusted stole all my money and left me with an apartment I couldn't pay for. So I may have a bit of a right to be mad at men," scowled Syrenne.

"Ouch," Lowell winced. He turned to the stove and said, "Want some pancakes?"

"…What?" Syrenne asked, taken aback by the offer.

"Pancakes are my favorite hangover food," shrugged Lowell. "And you look like you haven't had a proper meal in a while."

"I drank some booze last night," Syrenne mumbled. "That's pretty much a meal since you don't feel hungry after, at least."

Lowell laughed and gestured to the table in the kitchen. Syrenne sat down and Lowell served her like a waiter.

After Syrenne scarfed down several pancakes, Lowell asked her the question she'd been dreading.

"Do you have anywhere to go?"

Syrenne took a sip from her water to buy herself time. No, she didn't. But if she said that, then he'd want to help.

Syrenne hated getting help.

"No, I've got a place," Syrenne lied. Never mind it was likely a back alley that was sheltered from the wind.

"You know, I've spent a lot of time around women," Lowell said lightly. "And I know when women lie to me."

Syrenne bit her lip.

"If you need help, I can help," Lowell said seriously. Something Syrenne suspected Lowell wasn't too often.

"I…" Syrenne began, unsure what to say.

"Think about it," Lowell said before he started cleaning up for Syrenne.

The orange haired woman bit her lip. Such a gentleman.

Maybe she'd judged men wrong.

"Thanks, you can probably help me," Syrenne said quietly.

Lowell seemed to realize that his guest was quite proud and not in the habit of taking help, so he smiled in response and said, "You can have that room until we get everything sorted out."

"…Thanks," Syrenne whispered and looked away, too proud to look him in the eye.

Lowell only chuckled to himself. Because that was what he specialized in, being a proper gentleman.

Author Note: It has been too long since I wrote these two. Damn, I love them.

I feel like if Lowell wasn;t flirting and sleeping around so much in tLS, he'd be an upstanding gentleman since he already kind of was. So that's how I wrote him. And Syrenne was typical drunk Syrenne :D