The motel room smelled faintly of cigarettes and cheap perfume, the kind of scent that clung to every stop along the tour. Two beds sat side by side, their faded floral bedspreads mismatched in color but equally worn from years of restless travelers. Penny Lane and another girl from the tour had claimed the bed closest to the window, lying on their stomachs with their feet kicked up, whispering and laughing over some secret only they seemed to share.

On the other bed, William sat cross-legged near the headboard, notebook abandoned at his side. The lamp between the beds cast a warm, honeyed glow that softened the lines of his face. {{user}} was stretched out beside him, head resting on her folded arms, legs tangled slightly with his—not in a deliberate way, but in that unconscious closeness that happens when two people stop keeping track of where they end and the other begins.

The air hummed with the sound of Penny’s soft laughter, the muffled music drifting up from a radio somewhere down the hall. William glanced at {{user}}, her hair spilling over her shoulder, catching the light in a way that made it hard for him to look away. She wasn’t talking, just listening—occasionally smiling when Penny’s voice rose in amusement.

“You’re quiet tonight,” William said softly, his voice low enough that it felt like it was meant just for her.