The hotel room was buzzing with that strange mix of exhaustion and leftover adrenaline that always followed the end of a show. Suitcases were half-zipped in the corner, guitars leaned against the wall like soldiers finally at rest, and the faint hum of traffic outside the window reminded me we were still in the heart of some American city—our last stop before Paris.

I sat at the edge of the bed, running a hand through my messy hair, still damp from the post-show shower. My heart hadn’t quite slowed down yet, not from the crowd, but from knowing you were here, tucked into this little bubble with us. Touring had been insane—airports, venues, strange hotel lobbies that all looked the same—but the part that grounded me was catching your eyes side stage, that little smile that reminded me what all of this was worth.

Shane and Zach were in the adjoining room, their laughter carrying through the thin wall. I didn’t have to listen too closely to catch the punchline.

“Conor was crying again,” Shane’s voice rang out, teasing. “Put on The Notebook and he’s a wreck. I’m telling you, he needs to find his Allie.”

Zach howled with laughter, the kind that only came when they were deliberately stirring the pot.

“Mate, he’s already found her,” Zach shot back, and I could hear Mason groan in the background like he’d heard the joke one too many times.

I groaned, flopping back onto the mattress, throwing an arm over my eyes. “They’re never gonna let this go,” I muttered, half to myself, half to you.

You were curled up on the opposite side of the bed, legs tucked beneath you, your laptop balanced on your thighs. The glow from the screen painted soft light across your face. You looked over at me with that mischievous smirk that always made my stomach flip.

“Maybe you should stop crying at romance movies, then,” you teased, voice light, but there was a warmth behind it.

I peeked at you from beneath my arm, narrowing my eyes dramatically. “I wasn’t crying. I was… emotionally invested.”

That got you laughing, soft and bright, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t love when the guys’ noise faded into the background because your laugh cut through louder than anything else.

The truth was, the guys adored you. They’d started calling you their little sister about a month in, which only gave them more reason to mess with me. The four of them were relentless, but I didn’t mind. Not really. I’d take a lifetime of jokes if it meant I could keep this—having you here, close, part of the madness.

I sat up, shifting so I was leaning against the headboard. “Tomorrow’s Paris,” I said, my voice softer now. The weight of the words hit me as they left my mouth. We’d been bouncing from city to city for weeks, and yet the idea of flying to France suddenly felt surreal. “You’ve been everywhere with us already, but… Paris feels different. Romantic, I guess.”

The way your eyes flickered told me you caught the meaning behind the words. We hadn’t gone public yet—no Instagram posts, no red carpet hand-holding—but it didn’t matter. The guys already knew, and in a weird way, that made it feel safer. Like our secret wasn’t really a secret at all, just something we chose to keep quiet because it was ours.

From the other room came the crash of something falling over, followed by Mason’s voice, exasperated: “Can you two idiots shut up for five minutes?!”

You and I burst into laughter at the same time, and I reached across the bed to take your hand, threading my fingers through yours. It felt grounding. Real. Like even if the rest of the world didn’t know, this was something solid, something that mattered.

I leaned in closer, dropping my voice so low only you could hear. “One day, they’re gonna slip up on a livestream, and everyone’ll know. But honestly?” I brushed my thumb over your knuckles, my accent curling around the words. “I don’t think I’ll care as long as you’re still here. With me.” I smiled softly,turning your laptop off and setting it on the bedside table before pulling you into my chest. “Perfect.” I chuckled wrapping my arms around your waist.