We step over the threshold, and the warm glow of the hallway lamp wraps around us like a cozy blanket after a long day. The walls breathe calmness, and the air smells of vanilla and something deeply familiar—maybe the remnants of morning coffee or her perfume, soaked into the furniture, the curtains, the very air itself.
Katrin doesn't rush to take off her jacket. She pauses in the half-light, tilting her head slightly, and her eyes—those bottomless, alive eyes—light up again with that same fire that drives me crazy.
"I never doubted you," she whispers, as if afraid louder words might shatter the fragile thread of this moment. Her voice is quiet, but it carries so much certainty that heat prickles under my skin. "It's just… you wanted so badly to win it for me. I was afraid you'd be upset if you lost."
Her voice wavers on the last words, and I feel something tighten in my chest. Not pity—something deeper. Her worry for me touches something raw, almost painful.
I step closer slowly, trace my fingers over her palm, and speak, my voice rough:
"Was I afraid to lose? Yeah," I admit, squeezing her hand tighter than I mean to. "But you stood there… watching. And it—" I hesitate, searching for the right words, "it's like you charged me up. Like you already believed I'd win, even when I wasn't sure yet."
She looks at me like I've just made the most important confession in the world.
Then suddenly, she closes the distance between us. Her hands slide around my waist, her face pressing against my chest. I freeze, feeling her breath burn through the fabric of my shirt. She clings to me like I'm her only anchor.
"I never doubted you," she repeats, firmer this time, stubborn, with a childlike sincerity. "I just… I cared more that you wouldn't be upset. That our date wouldn't end with you looking sad. You—your mood means more to me than any bear."
Her words cut deep. I pull her into me, holding her so tightly it feels like I want to press her into my ribs, dissolve her into the embrace. I hold her until our heartbeats sync—one rhythm, one breath.
"I know," I murmur into her hair, breathing in her scent—something light, warm, with a hint of sweet vanilla. "But that just makes me want to win even more."
She leans back slightly, looks up, and I see her lips tremble before stretching into that smile—soft, a little sly, utterly real. Her eyes shine, playful sparks dancing in the corners.
And in that moment, I understand: no bears, no victories, nothing is worth more than seeing her like this. Soft. Warm. Mine.
"Surprisingly, I love it," my girl admits, fiddling with a button on my shirt. "Though, honestly… I didn't expect so many emotions. Now I'm burning with curiosity—where are you taking me next time?"
Her eyes glow, reflecting the light like two tiny suns. And right then, I know—I've done everything right. The date, the fights, that stupid shooting gallery… all of it has erased the shadow that's hung between us these past days.
"Nowhere," I say calmly, watching her eyebrows shoot up.
Confusion flickers in her eyes, her lips parting slightly as if words have lodged in her throat.
"Wh-what do you mean?" Her voice trembles, a thread of fear slipping through. "Don't tell me you've changed your mind!"
Panic flares in her gaze like a match struck in the dark, quickly burning into full-blown worry.
"Is it because of me? Did I ruin everything again?" The words tumble out of her, rapid and scattered. "I always break what's between us—"
Her voice cracks, her eyes glistening, but she blinks hard, trying to hide it.
I don't let her finish. Stepping forward, I grip her shoulders firmly, feeling her breath hitch, her muscles tense slightly under my touch.
"Look at me," I whisper, and she freezes, her eyes locking onto mine.
"Are you… leaving me?" she asks, so quietly I barely hear it.
The pain in her voice makes my chest constrict.
"No."
My fingers tighten on her shoulders, as if I can press that single word into her skin—never.
"Then what?"
Her voice is pleading now, almost childlike in its vulnerability.
"The problem is, you never let me finish," I sigh, but the corners of my lips curl into a faint, almost teasing smile.
"I am listening!" Katrin exhales, and finally, her gaze steadies, clinging to mine like she's afraid to miss a single word.
I slowly brush my thumb over her cheek, feeling the heat rise under her skin. Her breath falters, lashes fluttering.
"I'm not taking you anywhere, because next Sunday's date? We're staying in. That's what I mean."
"That's it?" she drawls, arching a brow.
There's a hint of disappointment in her voice, and a flicker of dissatisfaction flashes in her eyes—as if she's been expecting something more, some magical continuation that never comes.
For a second, her lips pout in playful offense, but the corners of her mouth are already twitching with a suppressed smile.
I just smirk, watching the whirlwind of thoughts spinning in her head, colliding in a chaotic dance. She's always like this—emotional, impulsive, quick to imagine things that aren't there. A storm of emotions flares in her eyes, but I know: in a minute, she'll realize she's been overreacting.
"I just thought…" She doesn't finish, but her expression says it all—in her mind, she's already painted an entire tragedy. A flicker of disappointment passes through her gaze—reality is far more mundane.
"Stop overthinking," I say softly but firmly, catching her eye. My voice is calm, laced with warmth. "I'm an open book. If something's wrong, I'll say it. You know that."
I tilt my head slightly, studying her face, and watch as embarrassment flickers in her eyes, then melts into relief. She hesitates for a second—then her lips tremble into a small smile, her gaze softening with tenderness. Her eyes widen, her lips part… and then—whap!—her fist lightly thumps my shoulder.
"You're impossible!" She laughs, throwing her head back, and the sound is better than any music—light, bright, utterly genuine. "I was already mourning our relationship in my head!"
Mischief still dances in her eyes, but her voice is thick with relief.
"See what happens when you don't let me finish?" I chuckle and, unable to resist, pull her closer, wrapping her up in my arms. Leaning down, I brush my lips against the top of her head, breathing in the scent of her hair.
"Yeah, I just… sometimes spiral," she admits, glancing away sheepishly, as if slightly ashamed of her own dramatics.
For a moment, she looks down, scuffing the floor with the toe of her boot, but I just smile. I know how easily she can turn a molehill into a mountain.
Silence settles between us, but it's comfortable—warm, full of understanding. The wind tousles her hair, and I reach out without thinking, tucking a stray strand behind her ear. My fingers linger, tracing the curve of her cheek.
She buries her face in the crook of my neck, and I feel her breathing steady, slow. Her arms tighten around me like she's trying to hide from the world.
"Okay…" she whispers, her lips grazing my skin, sending shivers down my spine. "So what are we doing on Sunday?"
Playfulness laces her voice, mixed with anticipation.
I just smirk, deliberately leaving her in suspense.
"Let's keep it a surprise," I say, knowing full well her curiosity will torture her until then.
The sun dips lower, painting the sky in fiery shades of scarlet and gold. The air is thick with the warmth of fading daylight, and a teasing breeze tugs at Rebel Girl's unruly curls, as if mocking her. A few stubborn strands escape, and she blows them away with an irritated huff.
She stands in front of me, arms crossed, her gaze a mix of doubt and petulant annoyance. Her lips press together like she's fighting a smile.
"But what are we even doing at home? Won't it be boring?" Though the worry in her voice has faded, curiosity still flickers in her eyes.
I laugh—the question is absurd.
"When has anything with you ever been boring?" I counter, tilting my head, my voice warm with amusement.
She snorts, twisting her lips, but her eyes betray her—she's barely holding back a grin.
"Still… what's your plan?" She squints, studying my face like she could read the answer in the lines of my expression. "You wouldn't set this up without one."
She steps closer, peering up at me through her lashes, a hint of challenge in her tone.
I just smile mysteriously, savoring her impatience.
"You're right. But you'll find out when it's time."
I pause deliberately, watching her eyes narrow in mock outrage.
"That's not fair!" Katrin pouts, but a mischievous spark lights up her gaze.
Her eyes crinkle slyly, and I know—she's faking offense just to mess with me.
I can't help laughing at the adorable combination of childish sulking and stubbornness she wields so well.
"You kept quiet about the races for a week, and I didn't complain," I remind her, raising a brow. "And now you can't even wait two days?"
She freezes for a second, remembering how she hid her own plans, then rolls her eyes, realizing she's walked right into that one.
"Fine, I'll wait," she finally surrenders, though a hint of grumpiness lingers in her voice—like a kid denied candy.
But I know: she loves this. Loves the anticipation, the secrecy, the sweet, agonizing thrill of waiting for something special.
And me? I can't wait to see her reaction—the way her eyes will light up, her lips will curl into a smile, and how she'll probably punch my shoulder again, this time out of pure delight.