"Strings Between Us"

Ch.10-"Encore"

They didn’t go back to the band hotel.
Tom took her somewhere quiet—outside the city, where no one knew them.
A tiny stone cottage tucked in the hills, still echoing with rain.

They didn’t talk much that first night.
Words didn’t reach what needed healing.
But his arms did. His lips did.
And when she crawled into his bed—barefoot, silent, still unsure—he didn’t grab her. He waited.

Waited until her fingertips brushed his chest, her lips found his, and her body slowly, trustingly, melted into his.

And then, he kissed her like he was apologizing with every breath.

---

Morning broke slow.

They were tangled in white sheets, the window cracked open to the sound of birds and wind through trees. Y/N woke first, Tom’s arm draped over her waist, his fingers twitching in sleep like he was still holding her even in his dreams.

She turned to face him.

“Are we doing this?” she whispered.

Tom blinked his eyes open. “What?”

“This. Us. For real.”

He reached for her face, brushing her hair back with the softest touch she’d ever known from him.

“I want to,” he said, raw. “No hiding. No games. Just… you and me.”

A beat passed.
Then her lips curved into a smile.

“Okay.”

---

They stayed in that cabin for three days.

No phones. No cameras. No manager knocking on the door.

They cooked together—badly.
Tom burned pasta. Y/N dropped a whole pan of vegetables trying to be “sexy.”
They laughed so hard they ended up on the floor, breathless and clutching each other like it was the only thing that made sense.

And the nights…

The nights were slow.

Spicy.
Yes—spicy. But more than that, they were honest.

---

The first night:

He took his time.

Not like Milan.
Not like the rooftop tension.
This was different.

He kissed every scar. Every soft place. Every inch she once tried to hide.

She straddled his lap in the candlelight, both of them bare in more ways than one, and when she sank down onto him—eyes locked, breath caught—they didn’t look away.

No teasing.
No masks.

Just two people who had finally stopped running.

“Say it,” she whispered, hands on his chest.

Tom swallowed, voice low.

“I love you.”

She kissed him like the words had been hers all along.

---

The second night:

Rougher.

Needier.

Clothes ripped.
Fingers clenched.
Her back hit the wall, his hand between her thighs, his voice in her ear.

“You make me lose my mind.”
“You make me want to.”

When he bent her over the table, her name on his lips like prayer, she let go of every doubt that he wasn’t hers.

And when he finished—shaky, forehead pressed to her back, arms wrapped tight—she whispered, “Mine.”

He only nodded.

---

The third night:

Quiet.

They bathed together. He washed her hair. She kissed his scars.

They didn’t make love until after midnight, when they both couldn’t sleep—souls humming under the covers, legs tangled, hands seeking something soft.

It was the kind of night where you didn’t need to speak.
Just breathe together.
Feel each other.
Trust.

And when it was over, Tom didn’t pull away.

He held her.
And for the first time in years—he felt safe, too.

---

Back in Berlin.

The band sat in silence as Tom and Y/N walked into rehearsal—hand in hand.

“No more secrets,” Tom said calmly. “We’re together.”

Bill blinked. “Well… it’s about damn time.”

The label hated it. Fans had mixed reactions.
But the band?

They were stronger than ever.

Every performance now had new energy. Every note Y/N played seemed fuller. Every time Tom looked her way on stage—every girl in the audience knew.

He was hers.

---

Six months later.

A new album.
A worldwide tour.
And a single inspired by her.

“Encore.”
A soft, haunting love song.

And at the end of each show—spotlight on her, guitars quiet, only Tom’s voice left—

He’d whisper into the mic:

> “For the girl who made me stop running.
I don’t need a second chance.
Just one more encore with you.”

The End.

But maybe…
just the beginning..
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