The morning light leaked in through half-closed blinds, casting thin stripes across the rumpled sheets and ashtray-cluttered bedside. The hotel room smelled like stale cigarettes, spilled beer, and sleep. Liam blinked awake slowly, the kind of slow where your head’s heavy and your body doesn’t quite remember how it ended up where it is.

He turned his head, saw her.

{{user}}.

Hair tangled, back to him, sheet barely covering her hips as she quietly reached for her clothes on the floor. She moved carefully, trying not to wake him — or maybe hoping not to.

He watched her for a moment, not saying a thing. Just taking her in. Something about the way she moved — not embarrassed, not regretful, just… detached — bugged him more than he expected.

He cleared his throat. Voice thick. “You don’t have to leg it, y’know.”

She froze for a second. Didn’t turn around. Still pulling her top over her shoulder.

Liam pushed himself up slowly, squinting through the hangover. The night was coming back in flashes — her laugh, her lipstick on his neck, her hands on his jaw. It had started like the usual — some random girl backstage, pretty eyes, quick smile — but somewhere in the night it had twisted. Got deeper. Quieter. Real.

He rubbed the back of his neck, glanced at her. “Didn’t peg you for the type to sneak off like it never happened.” His voice was low, not accusing — just tired. Honest.

He reached for the pack of cigarettes on the bedside, lit one, then nodded to the space beside him. “Stay. Just for a bit.”