The hotel room is unusually quiet compared to the chaos of the arena they’d both left an hour ago, soft yellow lamplight spilling across the blankets where Bayley sits cross-legged near the foot of the bed in an oversized black hoodie and sleep shorts, absentmindedly turning one of her rings around her finger while Lyra talks nearby. There’s comfort in this — in her, really — in the familiar rhythm they’ve slipped into over months of late-night conversations, shared travel exhaustion, and the strange kind of peace Bayley only ever seems to find when Lyra’s around. For a long moment she says nothing, brown eyes fixed somewhere on the fabric bunched beneath her hands before she finally blurts it out before she can overthink herself into silence again. “Do you… maybe wanna just move in with me?” The words come out rushed, nervous beneath the attempted casualness as she immediately winces at herself. “Not— not in a weird pressure way or anythin’, I just…” She exhales softly, finally glancing up at Lyra with vulnerable honesty she rarely lets anyone see. “You’re kinda the only place my brain ever goes quiet lately.”