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George studied her for a moment, his expression softening. “So why don’t you do more of this?”

“Ha!” Her laugh was short but genuine. “Do you know how impossible my schedule is? Between the tours and the press junkets and everything else, it’s like running downhill with no brakes. There’s no time to stop and think, let alone change direction.”

“Maybe it’s time to find the brakes,” George said simply, his deep voice steady and calm. “You’ve earned that, haven’t you?”

“Easy for you to say, Mr. Off-Season,” she quipped, though there was no bite in her words. “But...yeah. Maybe.” She glanced down at her hands, her fingers suddenly still. “It’d be nice to breathe again. To remember what it feels like.”

“Then do it,” he said, leaning forward slightly, his elbows resting on the table. “Myst, you’ve got the kind of talent that doesn’t just disappear because you take a break. If you need time to figure things out, you should take it. People will wait for you.”

“Will you?” she asked, the words slipping out before she could stop them. Her gaze lifted to meet his, and for a moment, the noise of the club seemed to fade, leaving only the quiet weight of her question hanging between them.

“Of course I will,” George said without hesitation, his tone as direct and unwavering as the man himself. “But I’m not the one you need to convince.”

“Right,” Myst murmured, a small, bittersweet smile tugging at her lips. “Management. Contracts. Expectations. It’s all so...big. Bigger than me.”

“Nothing’s bigger than you, Myst,” he said, the earnestness in his voice making her throat tighten. “Not when you’re the one standing in the spotlight.”

The music shifted, the tempo slowing into something achingly tender, and Myst blinked rapidly, willing herself to stay present.

They sat in silence for a while, letting the melody wrap around them like a shared secret.

She reached across the table, her delicate hand finding his, and gave it a squeeze. He squeezed back.

“Thanks,” she said softly, the word carrying more weight than she could explain.

“Anytime,” George replied, his thumb brushing lightly against her knuckles. And for the rest of the night, they didn’t talk about schedules or distance or anything else that might make this moment feel smaller than it was.

The stage lights dimmed to a sultry amber glow, and the crowd roared as Myst took her final bow.

Her cheeks flushed with exhilaration, she waved one last time before disappearing offstage, her heart thrumming harder than the bassline that had shaken the stage floor beneath her feet minutes earlier.

Backstage was a chaotic blur of hugs from her team, high-fives, and Jessie shouting over the din, “That’s how you close out Rome, girl! ”

“Not bad, huh?” Myst said, grinning as she swiped at the sweat trickling down her temple. Her body buzzed with that familiar post-show buzz that always left her feeling equal parts electric and exhausted.

“Not bad? You killed it,” George’s deep voice cut through, standing tall in the doorway of her dressing room. He wore his signature crooked smile, hands stuffed casually into his jeans pockets. Even now, amidst the bustling backstage frenzy, he looked completely at ease.

“Yeah? Wasn’t too much glitter for your rugby sensibilities?” she teased, collapsing onto the couch as Jessie handed her a bottle of water.

“Don’t know about the glitter, but I reckon the ‘Myst-mania’ chant during your encore might’ve been a bit overkill,” he replied, stepping closer, his eyes alight with humour. “I mean, who needs an ego boost like that?”

“Shut up.” She threw the nearest object, an unopened granola bar, at him. He caught it mid-air without effort, laughing.

“Alright, superstar,” George said, sitting on the armrest beside her. “What’s next? Celebratory gelato? Or are we going full tourist mode and hunting down midnight pizza?”

“How about both?” Myst asked, leaning back with a satisfied sigh. She tilted her head toward him, her dark hair spilling across the cushion like a cascade of ink. “If you’re buying.”

“Always,” he said softly, his playful tone ebbing into something gentler. His hand found hers, giving it a reassuring squeeze. For a moment, they just sat there, the chaos of the concert fading into the background.

Unspoken between them was the bitter truth that tonight was the last night. Tomorrow morning they’d catch planes heading in different directions and everything would get infinitely more complicated, but tonight… well, tonight Myst didn’t plan to waste a minute.

---

Morning came too quickly, the Roman sun casting soft golden rays through the airport windows where Myst and George stood side by side. The soft hum of announcements overhead and the shuffle of travelers rolling luggage felt oddly distant, like white noise against the palpable silence between them.

“Budapest for you, Gold Coast for me,” George said, his Australian accent making the farewell sound more casual than it felt.

“Funny how that works,” Myst murmured, tugging her oversized scarf tighter around her neck. Her pale blue eyes flickered up to meet his, and for a fleeting second, she almost hated how steady and comforting his gaze was. It made leaving even harder.

“Hey,” George said, tilting her chin up gently with his finger. “None of that sad stuff now. We’ve agreed that distance is just a number, right?”

“True,” she admitted, letting out a small laugh. “But let’s not pretend this doesn’t suck.”

“Alright, it sucks,” he conceded with a grin. “But I’ll call you the second I land. And I don’t care if you’re mid-encore or halfway through a power ballad, you better answer.”

“Deal,” she said, her voice catching slightly on the word. She leaned into him, wrapping her arms around his waist as his strong arms folded over her shoulders, holding her tightly. She inhaled the familiar scent of his cologne, something crisp and woodsy that somehow always reminded her of home.

“Take care of yourself, angel,” he whispered into her hair. “And don’t let those suits push you too hard, yeah?”

“Only if you promise not to get tackled too hard,” she shot back, her words muffled against his chest. She pulled back just enough to look up at him. “You’re kind of important to me, you know.”

“Good,” he said simply, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Because you’re everything to me.”

“Ugh, stop. You’re gonna make me cry in an airport,” she groaned, though her teasing tone couldn’t mask the shimmer in her eyes.

He kissed her then; soft and lingering, as if trying to memorize the taste of her. When they finally pulled apart, neither moved for a long moment, reluctant to break the fragile bubble around them.

“Go on, then,” he said gruffly, stepping back. His hands fell to his sides, clenched briefly into fists before relaxing again. “You’ve got Budapest waiting.”

“And you’ve got pre-season training,” she said, trying for a smile but falling short. Still, she nodded, steeling herself. “Take care of yourself, yeah?”

“Always do,” George said, but the cockiness in his tone didn’t quite land.

Jessie was waving frantically; their flight was on final call. Taking a deep breath, Myst tore herself away, though she felt like she was leaving a part of herself behind. And though she didn’t turn around, she felt the weight of his gaze until she disappeared beyond the gate.