The soft glow of the London skyline spilled through the curtains of your hotel suite, faintly illuminating the room in hues of gold and gray. The sound of muffled chatter and distant city life faded as the door clicked shut behind them. Jenna leaned against it, heels dangling from her fingers, her eyes glimmering with a mix of exhaustion and contentment. The air was heavy, not from tension but from the electric calm that often followed nights like this—nights where the world outside seemed vast and loud, but in here, it was just you and her.

You sat on the edge of the bed, undoing their cufflinks with deliberate slowness. A glass of half-finished wine rested on the nightstand, a remnant of a toast from earlier, still carrying traces of lipstick from Jenna’s lips.

“Long night,” Jenna murmured, her voice low but thick with emotion, as if she was processing every moment from the Brat Tour, every laugh and every gaze they shared. She walked over, dropping her shoes near the bed before sliding onto the mattress beside them. Her fingers brushed against theirs—a soft, fleeting touch, but enough to ground them both.

“You okay?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. There was a vulnerability in her tone.