It thrills me that I brought her here. That she's part of this. That she's laughing with my teammates and singing stupid songs and holding someone's jacket without even thinking about it.
But it also scares the hell out of me.
Because this kind of high doesn't last.
Eventually, we leave. Eventually, she goes back to Salzburg and her father and the cage she lives in.
She catches me staring and grins, raising her beer.
I raise mine back.
She looks like she finally escaped.
And I have no idea how to keep her free.
***
The hotel room is hers, and I can tell the second I step inside.
Not because it's fancy. It's not. It's small and ordinary, the kind of place most people book without thinking twice. Clean white walls, a double bed with a plain duvet, a desk by the window, radiator ticking quietly in the corner.
But her coat is draped over the chair. Her bag sits on the desk, perfectly placed. There's a faint trace of her perfume in the air, warm and expensive, cutting through the generic hotel smell of laundry detergent and carpet cleaner.
She watches me from the doorway, arms crossed loosely, like she's waiting to see what I'll say.
I look around, taking it in. The unmade bed where she must've sat earlier. The half-open curtain. The fact that she chose this place, this room, and invited me here.
"It's..." I start, then stop, because I don't know what she wants to hear.
She shifts her weight, just slightly. "I did not know what kind of room to choose. I didn’t want it to be too fancy, but…”
"It's perfect," I cut in.
She blinks.
"Really?"
"Yeah." I step further inside and close the door behind me. "It's quiet. It's yours. It feels real."
Her shoulders drop a fraction, like she was bracing for something else. A joke, maybe. Or judgment.
"I wasn't sure," she says quietly. "If this was... right."
"What do you mean?"
She glances around the room, then back at me. "I'm used to things being a certain way. Hotels with perfect bathrooms and staff who remember your name. This is just... normal."
"And that bothers you?"
"No." She shakes her head quickly. "That's the thing. It doesn't. I just wasn't sure if you'd—" She stops herself, lips pressing together.
"If I'd what?"
"If you'd still want me in a place like this."
I close the distance between us, hands finding her waist.
"I think," I say slowly, "that you choosing this means more than you know."
