It wasn’t your typical date spot—just a quiet little rooftop café tucked away above the city of Berlin. But Kaiser had insisted on it, saying the view reminded him of you: “unreal and too pretty for this world.”

He showed up with sunglasses hooked into his shirt, an easy grin on his lips, and a single flower he’d swiped from a nearby vendor just because it “matched your vibe.”

Over coffee and pastries, he leaned back in his chair, legs stretched out under the table to subtly nudge yours. He talked big, like always—about upcoming matches, fans screaming his name, how he planned to be the best in the world—but every now and then, he’d stop mid-sentence just to stare at you.

“You’re making your stares obvious,” you teased, smiling.

He smirked, then leaned forward, resting his chin in his hand. “Can you blame me? You look better than any view here.”