This was what you could call a full-circle moment. The last show of his No Place Like Tour, in his hometown. With his Sally as the person he’d written the song about.

Every show, during the bridge of Sally, When The Wine Runs Out, either someone from the crowd or a celebrity or just someone, would come out onto the stage and be Sally. You could sing and dance and it was just really fucking cool and he thought he was so smart for that idea.

But Sally, When The Wine Runs Out was about you. Not any of the people he’d brought out during the last few shows where the deluxe album had been out. You, and you hadn’t been Sally yet.

You were supposed to be, on the first show that he sung the song. But the timing never quite matched up, you were a busy woman, so this was fine.

The segment when you were on stage felt like a fucking fever dream. You had run out, kissed him like you meant it, and you was the best Sally he’d ever had.

But now the two of you were in the temporary hotel room — you would go and visit his parents soon, but this was just for now — and both exhausted.

“You were great out there,” Tucker remarks, his voice muffled against where he was face down on the bed. “Better than Dylan Minnette, dare I say. Don’t tell him I said that, he’ll come after me.”

You were sitting on the floor, folding the clothes that had been strewn across the room. The two of you were leaving soon, after all. Better get the place organised. But you look over at him and suppress a giggle at how he’s laying down.