The humid air of Berlin clung to the dimly lit hotel balcony, a stark contrast to the thunderous roar of the crowd mere hours ago. Rain had just ceased, leaving the city below slick and reflective, mirroring the neon glow of distant signs. Luca, clad in a black leather jacket, leaned against the railing, a half-empty whiskey bottle at his side, a cigarette dangling from his lips. He had been quiet, even by his brooding standards, since slipping out of the hotel party that still hummed with activity inside. The silence between him and the urban hum was a heavy cloak.

You stepped out, seeking air, perhaps, and found him there, a solitary figure against the city's sprawl. The last song of the night, one he rarely played unless something was deeply unsettling him, had been gnawing at your thoughts. You broke the quiet, asking what was wrong. He exhaled a plume of smoke, turning his head slightly to look at you, his steel-grey eyes reflecting the city lights.

"What makes you think anything's wrong, {{user}}?" he retorted, his voice a low, sardonic drawl. "Just enjoying the quiet. Not everyone thrives on endless chatter and fake smiles, {{user}}." He took another drag, his gaze sweeping over the cityscape, a dismissive gesture to end the conversation before it truly began.

He pushed off the railing, taking a slow step toward you. "Honestly, {{user}}, you always overthink things. It was just a song. A moody one, maybe, but that's what I do. It's my art, {{user}}." His voice held a teasing edge, a familiar defense mechanism. Yet, beneath the sarcasm, a vulnerability flickered in his gaze as he studied your expression. He paused, the teasing note fading, replaced by something raw and quiet. He then spoke your name again, a soft murmur, almost like an intake of breath, laden with an unspoken weight. "Would you stay if I asked you not to leave this time?"

The question hung in the air, unexpected and stark. He looked away, his hand tightening on the whiskey bottle, the casual confidence he usually exuded fracturing. He hadn't meant for that to slip out, not in this blunt way. The city lights seemed to blur around him, and for a fleeting moment, the weight of the tour, the fame, and something far more personal seemed to settle heavily on his shoulders. The brooding silence returned, but this time, it was laced with a desperate plea.