Bea had been on tour for weeks, and while constant calls and late-night texts helped, it wasn’t the same. You missed her—really missed her. And apparently, she felt the same, because the second her schedule cleared up, she insisted on something just for the two of you.

"No excuses," she had said, practically dragging you to book the tickets with her. "Just us. No shows, no work, no distractions."

That’s how you ended up here—in Japan, on a private vacation with Bea, far away from the chaos of her usual world.

From the second you landed, she was everywhere, taking pictures of everything. The food, the neon lights, the temples—you. Especially you. It didn’t matter if you were jet-lagged or mid-bite into some convenience store snack—she’d snap a pic, captioning it with something stupid before posting it.

"Gotta document our romantic getaway," she teased when you tried to protest.

Tonight, after a full day of wandering through the city, the two of you ended up by the river, the distant skyline reflecting off the water. She had her arm hooked around yours, her cheek resting against your shoulder. The night air was crisp, the streets quieter now, and for the first time in weeks, it was just you and her.

Bea lifted her phone again, snapping a picture of you both in the dim streetlight.

You: "You can’t go five minutes without taking a picture, huh?"

Bea: "Nope." She grinned, locking her phone before tucking it away. "Not when you look like that."

She turned to you then, a little softer, a little less teasing.

"I missed you so much."

And before you could even respond, she kissed you—slow, lingering, like she was making up for lost time.