The Sydney night was warm, the kind that clung softly to skin and carried the scent of eucalyptus through open windows. Crickets hummed in the distance, and the breeze stirred the sheer white curtains like ghosts of summer.

He stumbled in first, the door creaking shut behind him, his boots still tracking in bits of gravel from the short walk up the driveway. The house was quiet—her parents were already asleep, the kind of deep sleep you only get in places where the stars feel closer and life slows down.

Chris barely made it down the hallway. The adrenaline from the concert was still fizzing in his veins, but it clashed hard with the exhaustion dragging his limbs. Glitter still clung to the corner of his jaw, and smudges of eyeliner framed his tired eyes as he stepped into the guest room they were sharing. Her room. Childhood posters still framed on the pale blue walls. A messy stack of books, an old teddy bear in the corner. It felt sacred, like being allowed into some soft, untouched part of her past.

He didn’t even bother changing. Just collapsed backward onto the bed, the mattress groaning in protest. His limbs splayed, breath finally slowing, heart still pounding like distant drums from the encore.

The scent of lavender from her sheets wrapped around him, grounding him. Familiar and safe.

She was near—he could sense it before he even opened his eyes. Her presence filled the room more than any light ever could.

His lips tugged into a lazy smile, still breathless from hours of performing and now overwhelmed by the sudden stillness.

“I think this might be the best place on earth.”