For you, I'd stand still

Seven O'Clock

Vienna is colder than Zurich. The frost clings to the edges of the cobblestones, catching the faint light of the streetlamps as I wander aimlessly through its winding streets. My breath fogs the air, and I keep my coat pulled tight, my scarf wrapped higher than usual. It doesn't stop the cold from creeping into my bones. I like its biting sensation. It reminds me of the blood that is being pumped through my body. It means I'm alive.

I left Zurich the same night I walked away from Mateo. My steps carried me straight to the station, and within an hour, I was gone. Running, like always, of course. The burning returned as soon as I stepped on the train, that familiar urgency to put as much distance between myself and the people who cared too much, who might get too close. Mateo's voice still echoed in my ears, his promise anchoring me even as I fled.

But as I watch Vienna unfold in fragments - its grandeur muted by my own detachment - I feel the ache of something I haven't felt in a long time. Regret.

I stop in front of a small café, its golden light spilling onto the street, casting a warm glow against the chill. Inside, a couple leans close over their cups, their voices a quiet hum of intimacy. I force myself to look away and step into the shadows of a narrow alley, leaning against the cold stone wall. My hands tremble as I search for a folded piece of paper from my pocket but find nothing.

The note.

I'd slipped it under Mateo's door before I left. I don't know why. Maybe I wanted him to understand. Or maybe it was something more selfish - a desperate attempt to hold on to the fragile connection I'd felt with him. I know how selfish I am. I keep pushing him away but cling to the hope that he'll continue following me. I close my eyes, the words written on the note etched into my memory. My words were scrawled hastily, the ink smudged from the shake in my hands.

"I'm sorry. There's something I need to find before I can come back. If you ever want to know more, go to the bookstore on Unterstrass and ask for 'Solstice'. Rose."

I don't even know if he'll find it. Or if he'll care enough to follow the thread I've left. But the thought keeps me moving, keeps me from slipping completely into the void I've spent so long running from.

A sound pulls me from my thoughts - a faint shuffle of footsteps behind me. My pulse quickens. I glance over my shoulder, my eyes scanning the dimly lit alley. Nothing. Just shadows. My heart drops and I almost laugh at the way it reacts to a mere thought of him.

I step back onto the main street, blending into the sparse crowd. The city's energy buzzes around me at seven o'clock in the evening, but I can't shake the sense that I'm being followed. Maybe it's paranoia, or maybe my past is catching up to me faster than I expected. It's probably both.

The note was a gamble. Mateo was the first person in years I'd let close enough to see even a fraction of my truth. And now, for the first time, I wonder if I've made a mistake. If trusting him could bring consequences neither of us are prepared for.

I slip into another café, this one dimly lit and nearly empty, and stand in the far corner, my back against the wall, my feet shuffling to keep moving. I order tea, letting the warmth of the cup settle into my hands as I try to calm the storm in my chest. But my thoughts keep drifting back to Zurich, to Mateo.

And then, just as I take a sip of the bitter tea, the door chimes softly. I glance up, and my breath catches in my throat. Contrary to my expectations, I'm not surprised. I smile because I am relieved.

He stands in the doorway, his dark yet comforting eyes scanning the room until they land on me. He doesn't hesitate, doesn't look away. Instead, he moves toward me with the same quiet confidence that had kept me grounded that night in Zurich.

I freeze, my mind racing. How did he find me? Did he follow me, or did the note guide him here somehow?

He stops in front of my table, his gaze steady, filled with something I can't quite decipher. Relief? Determination?

"You certainly don't make things easy," he says softly, standing next to me, both our gazes locked on to our surroundings.

I set the cup down carefully, my hands shaking. "Did you-"

"Yes. The note," he says simply. "And a lot of guessing. You left just enough breadcrumbs."

I look away, my heart pounding, and I bite my lip to keep from grinning. "I know I sound like a broken record but you shouldn't be here."

"But I am," he says shrugging, his tone unwavering. "You asked me to trust you, Rose. And I do. Now I'm asking you to do the same."

The burn in my chest quiets completely. Only he can do that, I realise. I meet his gaze, the walls I've spent years building vanishing under the familiar weight of his presence. I know I should tell him to leave, to protect him from whatever storm follows me. But I don't.

Because maybe, just maybe, I don't want to be alone anymore.

So, I smile. He smiles back. We take each other's hands and I watch our intertwined fingers. Then I smile again and whisper, "I'm not running away this time."

"Good," he says and offers a slow, lopsided grin. "Sending me to a book store with a cryptic clue was a bold move. But the thing is, you could have left me any clue in the world and I still would have followed it, because I want to be with you. I am not letting you slip away again. Not without a fight. Or, well, if you really want me gone, I'll leave. But until then, I'm here. If you'll let me stay, I'm here."