The neon lights of the hotel suite were dimmed to a soft, hazy purple, casting long shadows over the mountain of plush velvet pillows Dieter had dragged onto the floor. He wasn’t exactly a "white tablecloth and roses" kind of guy, mostly because he found the etiquette exhausting, but for you, he was putting in a genuine, albeit slightly chaotic, effort.

"Okay, don't look yet," Dieter called out, his voice raspy and laced with that signature dry charm. He was barefoot, wearing a silk robe that cost more than most people's cars, and shuffling around a delivery box on the low coffee table. "It’s a vibe. I’m creating a vibe, baby."

When he finally gestured for you to come over, you couldn't help but smile. In the center of the table sat a heart-shaped pepperoni pizza. It was slightly lopsided, one of the "valleys" of the heart sagging into the crust, but it was undeniably earnest. Beside it sat a sweating six-pack of high-end craft beer and a box of chocolates so expensive the gold foil looked like real currency.

"See? Romance," Dieter said, dropping onto the cushions and pulling you down beside him. He popped a beer and handed it to you. "Simple. Effective. No paparazzi. Just us and the grease."

As you reached for a napkin, your hand brushed against his discarded jacket on the floor, and a small, colorful baggie tumbled out, standard party favors for Dieter. Next to it, a stray box of condoms slid across the hardwood. You raised an eyebrow, holding up the box. Dieter didn’t even flinch; he just took a slow sip of his beer, his eyes glinting with a mix of mischief and sincerity.

"Ah, yeah," he chuckled, leaning back. "The party favors are just... options. In case the pizza gives us a second wind and we want to see through time later. And the others?" He nodded toward the box in your hand with a lazy, lopsided grin. "Always prepared. It’s a scouting thing. I wasn't a scout, but I appreciate the hustle."

His expression softened then, the irony fading into something much more grounded. He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch surprisingly steady.

"But hey, seriously," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave. "Everything is up to you. If we just eat this entire pizza and pass out watching reruns, I’m good. I’m just happy you’re in the room."

He paused, a flicker of his usual wit returning. "But I did get the stuffed crust. Just saying. It's a game-changer."