OneShots♡ (Bradga)

Welcome Home

Hey everyone, I really hope you're doing good. I don't think I'll be able to publish a new chapter everyday, but I'm definitely gonna try and update more often. 👐🏻🥰 
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Less than twenty-four hours earlier she had been under stadium lights in Paris, sweat drying under moving spotlights, fans roaring her name like a war chant. Now, she was wearing a black hoodie pulled halfway over tired eyes, one hand gripping her passport, the other still holding her phone as if it might vibrate with something that could make her sprint.
Paris had been electric. The final European show had been her best one of the entire run, the kind of night that stayed in your bones. The crowd had pulsed like a single body. Sparks from pyrotechnics had rained like artificial stars. Her voice had been flawless, her costumes relentless, her presence untouchable. And yet, in the moments between songs, when her band faded down and the arena exhaled, she had felt the pull of a different silence entirely. A silence that knew her name not as a roar, but as a whisper.
He was woven into her nervous system now, the habitual thought that came before she could catch it. Her bow songs were love confessions, just for him. And she loved the way he had texted her right after he figured that her last song for this leg of the tour was 'la vie en rose'- their song.
On the tour he had returned to her every chance he got, sometimes flying in and out in a blur just to see her for twelve hours, bodies colliding like magnets before they had to run again. But the past week had been the longest gap in months. No stolen morning coffee together, no leaning into him backstage during soundcheck, no calls from a hotel room where she pretended to be composed while missing him like a wound.
The entire week she had felt like a taut string, vibrating with distance.
She had barely slept the night after the show. Exhausted, yes. But full with that soft, miserable ache for home, which in her case meant only things: him.
At 6:15 AM, Paris time, her alarm buzzed. She blinked up to a ceiling she didn't recognize, took a second to remember which country she was even in, and then groaned quietly at the dull press of jet lag on the edges of her skull. She swung her legs off the bed, the sheets still warm from a night of near-collapse sleep, hair wild, no makeup, barefoot feet hitting the carpet like she had a mission.
Her team was already up. She found them in the lounge of their private terminal access: Freddie stood with a cup of coffee and the kind of amused smirk only stylists who see everything can possess and with everything she really meant everything. Freddie knew it all.
Bobby was reviewing documents on a tablet, sleeves rolled, eyes soft but alert. Sarah was spooning yogurt from a small glass jar, Michael was reading something official-looking that could have been a contract or a briefing, nothing she was really interested in, Kim was organizing chargers, and Ashley was quietly biting a croissant.
They all glanced up when she padded in like a ghost of last night's adrenaline.

Morning.

Stefani murmured, scrubbing a hand down her face.

Tell me there's espresso. Please.

There is if you ask nicely.

Freddie replied, pushing a cup toward her before she even finished the sentence.
She wrapped both hands around it and inhaled like it was oxygen. Her voice was shot lower than usual, the kind of register she only had at sunrise or heartbreak.

You were insane last night.

Bobby said without looking up.

Accor Arena might as well belong to you now.

She smiled into the cup.

It felt like it did. For a second, at least.

That's what you call pre-sex energy.

Ashley teased lightly.

Ash ...

Stefani warned, but there was a trace of a smile that betrayed she didn't actually want them to stop. Sarah lifted a brow.