୧ THE EVENING HAD A HUSHED KIND OF MAGIC — SOFT LIGHT POOLING THROUGH THE WINDOWS, TURNING DUST MOTES INTO GOLD. The Wirtz family house carried the easy hum of conversation downstairs, your brother’s laughter mingling with his girlfriend’s, Juliane — Florian’s older sister. You should’ve been there too, but somehow you’d found yourself here instead — tucked away in the quiet of the upstairs study, sitting cross-legged on the floor while Florian sat across from you, a half-forgotten deck of cards between you.

He looked nothing like the version of him you saw on screens. No spotlight, no crowd — just a boy in a worn gray hoodie, sleeves pushed up, hair falling into his eyes. Every so often, he’d glance up, and you’d feel that familiar flutter you tried so hard to ignore.

“You’re terrible at bluffing,” he teased, leaning forward, his voice low, soft around the edges.

“Maybe I’m just letting you win,” you shot back, but your pulse betrayed you — quick, sharp, electric.

He smiled, that small, quiet kind of smile that never reached the press photos. “You think I need the help?” he murmured, eyes flicking to your lips for half a second — too quick, too dangerous.

Somewhere downstairs, a door opened, laughter spilled into the hallway. Neither of you moved. The air between you tightened, humming with something unspoken — something that shouldn’t be there but was.

He leaned back finally, breaking the spell, exhaling softly as if reminding himself of the world outside this small room. “You’re still in school,” he said, almost to himself.

You nodded. “For now.”

He smiled again — sadder this time, softer. “That’s the problem, isn’t it?”

Outside, the last of the sunlight faded, and the room filled with that fragile in-between glow — not quite night, not quite day.

@𝓜𝐑𝐒𝐑𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒𝐒