"You look like shit," Lukas says cheerfully.
"Thanks."
Katharina sets her tea down. "Where's Élise?"
The question lands heavier than it should. "Dealing with something."
"That's vague."
"It's complicated."
"It's always complicated with you two," Lukas mutters, but there's no real bite in it. Just tired amusement.
Thomas leans forward, elbows on the table, studying me with that quiet intensity he gets when he's trying to read a situation. "Did your forbidden romance blow up already? You two break up?"
I almost laugh. "No. We're moving in together."
Silence.
Complete, suffocating silence.
Lukas's grin freezes halfway. Katharina's eyebrows shoot up. Thomas just stares at me like I've announced I'm retiring to join a circus.
"You're what?" Katharina says finally.
"Moving in together. Our place—well, my place. In Reiteralm."
"Jesus Christ, Nico." Lukas sets his glass down. "You've been public for, what, a week? And now you're playing house?"
"It's not like that."
"Then what's it like?"
I don't have an answer. Or I do, but it's too messy to explain. That her father knows. That he wants to own us both. That she ran, and I couldn't let her run alone, and now we're doing something that feels less like a choice and more like the only option left.
"It's complicated," I say again, and the words taste like a cop-out.
Katharina's still looking at me, and there's something in her expression I don't like. Pity, maybe. Or concern. "Nico, do you even want this?"
"Of course I want this."
"That's not what I asked."
I meet her eyes, and for a second I can't answer. Because I do want it. I want Élise. I want to be the guy who protects her, who gives her a place to land when her whole world falls apart. But do I wantthis? The weight of it? The way it feels like I'm carrying something I don't know how to hold?
"I want her," I say finally. "So yeah. I want this."
Katharina doesn't look convinced, but she doesn't push.
"Moving your sponsor into your shoebox," Lukas says, shaking his head. "Can't wait to see how that works out. Just imagine how many shoes this one has."
It's meant to be a joke. I know it's meant to be a joke. But it doesn't land. It just sits there in the air, sharp and uncomfortable.
I don't laugh.
Nobody laughs.
"I have to go," I say, pushing back from the table. "I need to help her pack. I'll meet you guys in Reiteralm after."
