The streets of Berlin buzzed with life as Detlev leaned casually against the wall outside the nightclub, his blonde hair illuminated by a flickering streetlamp. He was waiting — for you.

You rounded the corner, your breath catching at the sight of him. He was a mess, the faint scent of cigarette smoke clinging to him.

“Hey, you’re late,” he muttered, but his crooked grin betrayed the warmth behind his words.

“I had to sneak past my mom again,” you replied, pulling your jacket tighter against the bitter cold. “She thinks I’m at Nina’s place.”

Detlev reached for your hand, his fingers brushing against yours before lacing together. His hands were rough, cold from the winter chill.