As I step into the apartment, I'm met with complete chaos—the mess the girl has made while I was away.
The room looks as if a hurricane swept through. Things are scattered everywhere—clothes, books, even the pillows she loved arranging into cozy corners now lie on the floor, as if thrown down in a fit of rage or despair. The chairs are overturned, one even crushing her favorite blanket. All of it screams that Katrin wasn't just missing me… she was raging.
I freeze, stunned, trying to decipher what emotions exploded into this chaos. Anger? Loneliness? Or just that rebellious nature of hers that can't sit still?
"I may have rebelled a little," Katrin answers my silent question with a laugh.
Her voice sounds light, but there's something deeper in her eyes—maybe embarrassment, maybe defiance. I don't press. Instead, I smile, step behind her, and pull her into an embrace, pressing her close.
"I appreciate the wordplay, Rebel Girl," I whisper softly, kissing her temple.
Her hair smells like strawberries and something else—a faint, bitter trace of smoke, as if she nervously smoked a cigarette to calm her nerves. The scent clings to her strands, mixing with her sweet perfume, creating a strange yet intoxicating cocktail. I breathe deeper, memorizing it—a blend of soft sweetness and the sharp aftertaste of desperation.
She relaxes in my arms, her body softening as if the weight on her shoulders has finally eased. I feel her breathing gradually steady. Her warm exhales brush against my neck, sending pleasant heat across my skin. She leans into me trustingly, as if believing I can shield her from everything outside.
"Let's clean up, then talk," I suggest, letting her go.
"Talk about what?" She tenses at my words.
I see her shoulders hunch slightly, like she's bracing herself—not for a physical blow, but for a verbal one, something scalding. There's tension in her posture, as if she's already defending herself against accusations. Her fingers tremble faintly, and her usually bold, defiant gaze flickers with wariness, like she expects me to scold her or demand answers.
But I just smirk. Instinctively, almost mechanically. A teasing smile tugs at the corners of my lips—calm, almost lazy, but with a glint of mischief in my eyes. Her brows twitch, confusion flashing in her gaze. She didn't expect this reaction.
"Well, about what? You're my girl again, and I've got my week of wishes. So tomorrow, we're going on a date. Or are you against it?"
For a moment, we just stare at each other—her wary, me faintly amused. I feel her shoulders slowly relax, the tension leaving her body, relief flickering in her eyes. She realizes I'm not angry. And that throws her off. Her face transforms instantly. The strain melts away, replaced by warm, almost childlike joy.
"I'm all for it. Where are we going?" Curiosity sparks in her eyes.
"We'll discuss that after cleaning," I reply mysteriously, booping her nose.
And we get to work. Without a word, silently, as if by unspoken agreement. We start cleaning the apartment, erasing the traces of her loneliness from its walls.
First—the bottles. There aren't many, but enough to know Katrin definitely wasn't bored alone. A few beer cans lie under the table, and a couple of stronger glass bottles are strewn near the couch—one half-full, the other empty. I pick up the latter, give it a slight shake, and drop it into the trash with a quiet clink. We keep the second one—for later.
Next—the wrappers. Chaotic evidence of her little binge. Crushed chip bags, scattered cracker crumbs, colorful candy wrappers forgotten on the armrest. I shake my head, glancing at Katrin, but a faint smile tugs at my lips. Deep down, I'm almost jealous of her recklessness. It's been so long since we let go like this—just surrendered to the moment, consequences be damned. Screw order, screw rules. We'll have to catch up.
The reason is obvious—we both know why studying isn't on the agenda today. But why dwell on it?
"Yeah, wake me up, and we'll go," she agrees without hesitation.
Her answer comes so easily, as if it's the most natural thing in the world. As if being by my side is now effortless.
"So, what should we do now?" she asks, closing her eyes briefly as she takes another sip of coffee.
I pause for a second, frozen, watching the lamplight glide softly over her hair, catching glimmers in every strand. The warm, diffused glow deepens the rich copper tones, making them even more vibrant—some reddish locks seem to ignite, as if holding trapped embers within. They shimmer like smoldering coals, reflecting the light, creating the illusion of tiny flames dancing in her hair. As if sunbeams had tangled there, refusing to leave even as night settles in.
I catch myself staring, unable to look away. The light picks out faint golden threads among the darker strands, while soft shadows trace her neck, making it look even more delicate. A reddish curl slips down her cheek, and I suddenly have the almost irresistible urge to tuck it behind her ear, to feel the silkiness of her hair under my fingers.
For a moment, everything else fades—only she remains. Her silhouette haloed in warm light, her quiet breathing, the flicker of lamplight in her eyes like a distant star.
"We could just sit here. Like this," I murmur, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her closer.
Rebel Girl leans relaxed against me, her breathing steady and calm.
Outside, the city lights up as darkness falls, but here, in our little world, words aren't necessary. It's enough just to be.
The warm evening light of sunset melts into deep twilight, wrapping the room in cozy dimness. Time itself seems to dissolve into the carelessness of the day, and I suddenly realize I have no idea how late it is.
"What time is it, anyway?"
Katrin stretches lazily for her phone. The screen flares to life, its harsh brightness clashing with the muted atmosphere.
"It's ten," she says, her voice tinged with soft exhaustion and the contentment of a slow evening.
I imagine, just for a second, what it would be like if we didn't have classes tomorrow. If morning didn't start with an alarm, with rushed preparations and lectures looming. If there were no obligations, no schedules — just us.
I picture us staying in bed, lazily stretching into the morning, unhurried. Her hair tousled, cheeks still warm from sleep, voice low and rough. She'd curl against me like she intends to sleep the whole day away.
I see us wandering the city without checking the time, just drifting hand in hand, ducking into cafés, untethered. Or staying in — cooking something together, laughing at failed attempts, playing stupid games or rewatching old movies on the couch.
For a moment, it feels so easy to forget everything: the world outside this room, deadlines, plans. How simple it could be to just be happy — no overthinking, no boundaries, no outside expectations. Just us and this fleeting sense of freedom, so rare in real life.
A bittersweet ache settles in my chest — because no matter how much I wish for it, tomorrow still means class. But damn, I want to steal that freedom for just one day.
"If we didn't have to go to uni tomorrow, and if it were your week off or mine was already over… we'd hit a club," I say, nostalgia creeping in for those reckless nights when mornings feel far away. "But since I'm the one calling the shots here—" A smirk tugs at my lips as mischief takes over. "—I'd wanna play board games with you. It's been too long since I tested how sharp you really are."
My words spark a flash of competitive fire in her, her lips curling into a sly grin.
"Oh, I'm plenty sharp," she retorts, chin lifting with exaggerated pride. "How exactly are you planning to test me?"
"Trivia. Let's see who knows more answers," I suggest, already anticipating her reaction.
But the light in her eyes dims slightly.
"Nah, that's boring," she says, her playful tone fading into disappointment, as if I've suggested something stale and overdone.
I feel the shift in the air — like a faint breeze slipping between us, carrying away the moment's lightness. But I'm not about to back down.
The room falls quiet, the only sound the soft hum of her phone screen loading a game. Outside, night fully takes hold, wrapping the world in velvety darkness. A thrill runs through me — part excitement, part curiosity.
"Then how do we make it fun?" I give her the reins.
Katrin pauses, then her eyes gleam with mischief, that same sly smile playing on her lips — the one that never fails to make my pulse jump.
"Every wrong answer means you take off an item of clothing," she proposes, her voice a mix of challenge and playful teasing.
I roll my eyes for show, but my heartbeat kicks up anyway.
"Fine. But we cap it at an hour. Then bedtime," I say, fighting to keep my tone stern even as my lips betray me.
"Deal," she nods, her gaze alight with pure satisfaction.