#timo

“I know!” you yelled, matching her energy.

“Timo Meier asked for your number!”

“Emma!” you said, laughing loudly at her response.

“He asked!” she yelled, still hyped with everything that happened.

“I was there!”

She was pacing now, hands in her hair, while you leaned against the front door, trying and failing to process what had just happened. Five weeks ago, you'd made an offhand comment on a podcast. Now there was a contact on your phone labelled "Timo," and nothing about it felt real.

Emma suddenly froze, and her eyes widened. “Oh.”

“What?” you asked her, very confused by her change of behaviour.

“He said he'd text you.”

You stared, then looked down at your phone, then back at her, and then back at your phone. “Oh no.”

“Oh yes. When?”

“I don't know!” you exclaimed. How would you know?

“What if it's right now? What if it's tomorrow? What if—” But the buzz of your phone cut her off. Both of you screamed so loud that you nearly dropped it again. Emma nearly climbed onto the couch. “What is it?”

You looked down and then sighed. “It's my mom.”

“Rude,” Emma groaned.

“My mother is rude?” You let out a small laugh.

“Not your mother. The timing.”

You laughed despite yourself. The two of you spent another hour replaying every second of the afternoon: every joke, every smile, and every moment by the kitchen counter. Emma had apparently memorised your entire interaction with Timo. “You know he smiled every time you talked, right?”

“No, he didn't.” You tried to deny it, but you knew that she was probably right. Emma always notices these things.

“He did. He absolutely did.”

“You are imagining things.”

She pointed triumphantly. “And you smiled every time he talked.”

“That's because he was funny.”

“Mhm.”

“Emma.” You threw a pillow at her, but she caught it. Of course she did.

Meanwhile, in the car, Nico had never looked happier. He was practically vibrating with excitement behind the wheel. Timo, sitting in the passenger seat, had been trying to ignore him for the last fifteen minutes. Trying but failing because every thirty seconds Nico looked over and grinned, he would look back at the road and grinned again. Finally, Timo had enough. “What?”

“What what?” Nico laughed.

“You keep smiling,” Timo noted, keeping his eyes on Nico.

“I'm happy.”

“Why?” he questioned. For all he knew, he got your number, not Nico.

“You got her number.”

“Nico,” Timo groaned.

“What?”

“Just drive.”

“I am driving,” Nico said and made a motion with one hand to the car, while the other stayed steady on the steering wheel.

“Drive quieter.”

“Drive quieter?” Nico laughed so hard he almost missed the turn. “What does that even mean?”

“It means stop talking,” Timo said. Already knowing where this conversation was going.

“No.”

“Please.”

“No,” Nico repeated, “Timo.”

That made Timo blink. “What?”

Nico pointed at him. “That's her.”

“What?” Timo gave him a confused look.

“You said please.” Nico pointed out, and Timo just stared at him, not understanding what he was getting at. “You never say please to me.”

“I absolutely do,” Timo scoffed, his brows drawn together. “I literally said it thirty seconds ago.”

Nico grinned. “Love changes a man.”

Timo buried his face in his hands. “Oh my God.”

“Too early?”

“Way too early.”

“Fine.” Nico smiled. “But she likes you.”

Timo looked out the window. The smile he tried to hide gave him away immediately. Nico noticed, of course. “You're smiling again.”

“I know.”

“Interesting.”

“Don't.”

“Sorry.” Three seconds passed. “I'm not sorry.”

Timo laughed despite himself. “You are the worst.”

“You love me.”

“I really don't,” Timo laughed.

“Sure.” That was the end of that conversation. They sat in comfortable silence for a few moments before Nico glanced over.

“So,” he started.

“No,” Timo said. “Can we please drive in silence?”

“When are you texting her?” Nico questioned him, completely ignoring Timo’s question, which made Timo sigh.

“I don't know,” he admitted softly.

“What do you mean you don't know?” Nico looked over at him.

“I mean, I don't know,” he said again, this time more annoyed, because he did wanted to text her but didn't want to sound or look desperate.

“Now,” Nico said in a stern voice.

“No.”

“Why?” Even though Timo wasn't looking at his friend, he could picture the confused frown on his face.

“Because,” Timo let out a sigh.

Nico looked horrified. “Because what?”

“I don't know.” He threw his in the air.

“You have her number.” Nico started, his thumb sticking from fist, as he listed out things.

“I know.” Timo admitted softly, and that followed sounded suspiciously close to a whine.

“She literally told you, 'you better text me.'” Now his pointer finger was out.

“I know.”

“And you're waiting?” Nico stopped at a red light, finally looking at his best friend with furrowed brows.

“I don't want to seem weird.” Timo groaned.

Nico nearly drove off the road. “Weird?”

“Yes.”

“Brother.” Nico groaned, because right now his friend was acting the stupidest he had ever seen him act.

“What?” Timo looked offended by the sound.

“She publicly called you attractive.”

“Nico.” Timo closed his eyes.

“She spent four hours laughing at your jokes,” Nico noted. “She smiled every time you talked,” Nico said with a smirk when he noticed the smile creeping up to his friend’s lips.

“Nico.” A loud groan filled the car.

The red light turned green, and Nico took off. “You think you're the weird one?”

“I hate that you're making sense.” Timo laughed helplessly.

“I know.”

“So, stop.”

“No.” Nico shook his head with a chuckle.

Back in your apartment, Emma had finally gone home. Not before hugging you three times and warning you not to “mess this up.” You'd kicked her out after that. But now the apartment was quiet, a little too quiet. The equipment was still half packed away, coffee mugs sat forgotten on the counter, and for the first time all day, you were alone. You changed into comfortable clothes and sat on the couch with your phone beside you. Not that you were waiting, you were definitely not waiting, you were simply aware of its existence.

To distract yourself, you turned on a film. Five minutes into the film, you checked your phone, but it still showed no messages. You went to the kitchen and made yourself some tea before you checked, still nothing. You tried to focus on reading a book, still nothing. You were halfway through brushing your teeth when your phone buzzed. You nearly choked. Foam still in your mouth, you ran back into the living room, and there it was. A text from Timo. Your heart immediately started racing as you opened it.

Timo Hey, I made it back alive. Just wanted to say thank you again for today. I had a really good time. Also, Nico says hi.

You stared at the message and then smiled to yourself before you started laughing out loud, because somehow the “Nico says hi” at the end felt completely on brand. And before you could even think about what to say, three dots appeared. He was typing another message.

And for the record… I wasn't kidding earlier. This really was better than I expected.

Your smile softened and then widened. Without even realising it, you curled up deeper into the couch, your tea completely forgotten on the coffee table. Because suddenly, after one ridiculous podcast episode and weeks of chaos caused by one stupid little comment, you found yourself smiling at your phone like an idiot. And somewhere, several miles away, Timo Meier was probably doing the exact same thing. Neither of you knew it yet, but Nico and Emma certainly did. And unfortunately for the two of you those two had already started a group chat.

You spent far too long staring at the text. Not because you didn't know what to say. Okay, partly because you didn't know what to say, but mostly because there was something almost unbelievably normal about it. He could’ve said “Hey, this is Timo Meier.” Or “Great meeting you.” But it wasn’t anything formal or awkward, just “Hey, I made it back alive.” And somehow, the normalcy of the message made you laugh as you reread the messages for the fifth time.

Your phone buzzed as a text notification popped up. Your eyes widened, was he already texting you again? But when you tap the notification, you saw that it wasn’t Timo, it was Emma.

EMMA HAS HE TEXTED YET?

You groaned immediately. Two seconds later another message appeared. ANSWER ME.

Then another. I KNOW YOU'RE AWAKE. IF YOU DON'T ANSWER I'M COMING OVER.

You typed back quickly: HE TEXTED. The typing bubble appeared so quickly you were convinced she'd been holding the phone.

OH MY GOD. SCREENSHOTS. NOW.

You laughed out loud.

No. You texted back.

Y/N.

EMMA.

Y/NNNNNN.

You smiled and put your phone down. You loved her, truly, but there was no chance she was seeing those texts. Not tonight. Instead, you opened Timo's chat again and finally typed back.

Hey Glad you survived Nico's driving. I had a really good time too.

You hesitated. Then smiled to yourself. Tell Nico I said hi back.

Not even ten seconds passed before the little typing bubble appeared. Your eyebrows shot up. He had been waiting, and apparently so had you, because you sat up straighter without even thinking about it.

T: He's actually sitting next to me.

You laughed immediately. Then another message came.

T: He says, “Tell Emma she's my favourite.”

The laugh that escaped you echoed through the apartment. You could practically hear Nico saying it.

You: She's going to frame that message.

The reply came instantly.

T: Honestly, I think he would too.

You smiled. Then another bubble appeared.

T: Also, he's offended you assumed he's a bad driver.

Your phone rang, not a text, an actual call. For a second you were scared that it was Timo, but it was Emma. You answered immediately.

“Hello?”

“YOU DIDN'T SEND SCREENSHOTS,” she screamed through the phone.

“Hi, Emma.”

“DO NOT HI EMMA ME.” she yelled so hard, you had to pull the phone away from your ear.

You burst out laughing. “I'm talking to him.”

There was silence and then you heard a gasp on the other side of the line. “Talking talking?”

“Texting talking.”

Another gasp. “OH.”

“He's with Nico.” You laughed harder.

“OF COURSE HE IS.” You could hear her pacing through the phone.

“Okay, okay, okay. Stay calm.” you said, still laughing, and picturing the look on her face.

“I'm calm.” Emma says, trying to sound unbothered, but she is practically bouncing on her sofa with excitement.

“No, you're not.” you shake your head, putting the call on speaker.

“No, I'm not.” she giggles.

“Good.”

Then she paused. “Wait.”

“What?” you asked her.

“Ask him if Nico really said I'm his favourite.” she said in teasing, yet nervous tone, which you noticed immediately, but let it go, since you didn't think much of it.

“I'm not asking him that.” You snorted.

“Ask.” she insisted.

“No, Emma.”

“Fine,” she sighed dramatically, “but I need updates.”

“I know.”

“Constant updates,” she said, sass dripping from her voice.

“I know,” you groaned.

“And if you get married—” Hearing her say that made you end the call immediately.

Meanwhile, several miles away, Timo sat on the couch in the hotel lounge while Nico sprawled across the opposite end, stealing fries from a takeout container.

“What did Emma say?” Nico asked around a mouthful of food.

Timo laughed softly as he typed another reply. “Nothing.”

“That's a lie.” Nico narrowed his eyes.

“It's mostly screaming.”

“Good.”

Timo smiled. “You're weirdly proud of yourself.”

“I brought joy into this world.” Nico pointed a fry at him.

“You caused chaos.”

“Same thing,” Nico said as he popped another fry into his mouth.

Timo shook his head. His phone buzzed, he looked down and smiled.

“There it is.” Nico immediately sat upright.

“What?”

“The smile.”

Timo frowned. “What smile? There isn't one.”

“There absolutely is,” Nico pointed out, “You've been smiling at your phone for ten minutes.” Nico leaned across the couch dramatically.

“I'm texting.”

“You're glowing,” he said with a smug grin on his face.

Timo laughed. “I'm not glowing.”

“Brother, if you glow any harder, I'm putting sunglasses on.”

Timo threw a napkin at him. Nico caught it and grinned.

“So...” Nico started, Timo warned him, but he didn’t listen of course. “What are you talking about?”

“Nothing.” Timo shrugged his shoulders. “It's just normal conversation.”

“Oh?” Nico leaned over and tried to look at Timo’s screen.

“Yes.”

“Normal conversation with the girl who called you attractive on a podcast.” Nico recounted.

“Nico,” Timo warned him.

“The girl who smiled at you all afternoon,” Nico continued to list, “The girl whose number you asked for.”

“Nico,” Timo repeated.

“The girl—”

“Nico!”

He burst out laughing. “I'm sorry.”

“No, you're not.”

“No, I'm really not.” The smug look on his face not wavering. Timo shook his head, but he was laughing too. Because the truth was, Nico wasn't wrong. He had been smiling. Not because anything extraordinary had happened or because the conversation was particularly exciting, but because it felt easy and comfortable. And somehow, after only one afternoon together, it already let natural, which was both wonderful and terrifying.

Around midnight, the conversation between you and Timo had somehow wandered from the podcast to favourite films, then to bad cooking experiences, and finally to childhood stories. You were sitting sideways on your couch with a blanket wrapped around you when a new message appeared.

T: Can I confess something?

You smiled.

You: Depends.

Three dots appeared, disappeared, and then appeared again. As if he was debating with himself. Then finally he sent the message.

T: I listened to way more episodes than I admitted today.

You burst out laughing.

You: How many is way more?

There was a suspiciously long pause.

T: Enough that I knew the hammock story already.

You stared. Then laughed so hard tears formed in your eyes.

You: TIMO.

T: I know.

You: That's slightly embarrassing.

T: I know.

You: Okay, very embarrassing.

T: I KNOW.

You were still laughing when another message appeared.

T: For the record, though… I'm really glad Nico sent me that clip.

Your smile softened. And then, before you could think too much about it, another message arrived.

T: Because otherwise I wouldn't have met you.

You stared at the screen and slowly the smile came back to your face.

And somewhere, sitting on a hotel couch while Nico snored in the other room after falling asleep watching television, Timo was staring at his own phone with the same ridiculous smile. Neither of you noticed the time. Neither of you noticed midnight turning into one in the morning. And neither of you noticed that what had started with one stupid podcast comment had somehow turned into hours of talking. But Emma noticed, because at 1:17 a.m., your phone buzzed with one final message.

EMMA ARE YOU STILL TEXTING HIM??? BLINK TWICE IF YOU NEED ME TO START PLANNING THE WEDDING.

The next few days passed in a strange blur. Not because anything dramatic happened, quite the opposite, thing simply settled. And somehow, that was more dangerous because texting Timo quickly became part of your day. There were ‘good morning’ messages, random pictures of coffee, stories about Emma injuring herself again after somehow walking into a glass door, pictures of Nico stealing his food, videos of terrible singing in the locker room. The conversation was easy and comfortable, neither of you seemed interested in ending them. Which was why, when the quarterfinals of the World Championship approached, you found yourself surprisingly nervous. Not for yourself, but for him and the Swiss team. And, as Emma delighted in reminding you, “for your man.”

“He is not my man.”

Emma grinned as she settled onto your couch with two bowls of popcorn balanced in her arms. “Yet.”

“Emma.”

“What?”

“He is not,” you reminded her, and mostly yourself.

“Mhm.” She handed you one of the bowls before curling up beside you. The television was already showing the pregame coverage. The Swiss players skated across the ice during warmups. And there he was. Your stomach immediately flipped and a smile appeared on your face, big enough for Emma to notice.

“There,” she said pointing to your face.

“What?” you asked innocently, but you knew what she meant.

“The smile.”

“What smile?”

“The one you get.” She said and nodded her head in your direction as if that would suddenly explain what she was hinting towards.

“I don't have a smile.”

“You absolutely do.” You ignored her. Mostly because your phone buzzed.

Emma practically levitated. “IS THAT HIM?”

“Can you not scream?” You stared at her.

“No.”

You opened the message.

Timo Heading to the rink. Wish us luck.

Without thinking, you smiled again. Emma saw. “Oh my God.”

“What? Emma.”

“Nothing.” She shoved popcorn into her mouth to stop herself from speaking. It didn't work. “You smile at your phone.”

“Everyone smiles.”

“You smile differently.”

“Stop talking.” You quickly typed back. Good luck ❤️

You hit sent before you could think about it and then you froze. Heart emoji. There was a heart emoji! You stared at the screen in horror. “Oh no.”

“What?”

“I sent a heart,” you confessed not interested in another back and forth.

“You sent a WHAT?” Emma nearly dropped the popcorn.

“A heart!”

Her mouth fell open. “The red one?!”

“Yes!”

“THE RED ONE?” She grabbed your arm.

“I KNOW!” you screamed, matching her energy.

“OH MY GOD.” She screamed again.

“Delete me.” You buried your face in a pillow.

“You can't unsend love,” she said with a smirk on her face

“EMMA!” You looked back down, it was too late. He had seen it. The little “seen” appeared underneath the message. And then it said he was typing, it took a little while before his message appeared and your heart sank. What if he thought it was weird? You held your breath, only to let it out when you saw what he sent back.

❤️ Thank you 🙂

Emma screamed, actually screamed, and you screamed as well. So loud that your cat jumped up and ran out of the room. Someone downstairs hit the ceiling with a broom but neither of you cared.

Meanwhile, inside the arena, Timo sat in the locker room trying very hard not to smile like an idiot. Unfortunately, Nico had known him too long. The second Timo put his phone away, Nico narrowed his eyes.

“What?” Timo asked nonchalantly.

“Nothing.” Nico squinted. “You're smiling.”

“I'm not.”

“You are,” Nico pointed out, “You absolutely are.” Nico sat down beside him and bumped his shoulder. “Was it podcast girl?”

Timo laughed. “She has a name.”

“Oh.” Nico gasped dramatically.

“What?”

“We've reached first-name territory,” Nico said with a big grin on his face.

“Shut up.”

“What did she say?”

“Nothing.” Timo shrugged.

“What.” Nico was already getting up to grab Timo’s phone. Timo just laughed and shook his head.

“She wished us luck,” he simply said, bracing himself for Nico’s reaction to the second part.

“Aw.” Nico grinned.

“And sent a heart,” he said quietly, hoping that Nico wouldn’t pick up on it.

Nico froze. Then his eyes widened. “No. The red one?”

“Why are you reacting like Emma?” Timo burst out laughing.

“The RED one?” Timo nodded. Nico stood up immediately, and stretched out his arm before saying, “GENTLEMEN!”

“No.” Timo covered his face.

The entire room looked over. “Timo got a heart!” Nico announced.

“NICO!” Timo screamed and tried to cover Nico’s mouth with his hand. Several players started laughing. One yelled, “About time!”

Another shouted, “Quarterfinal win guaranteed!”

Timo buried his face in his hands while Nico looked outrageously pleased with himself. “Manifesting victory through romance.”

“I hate you,” Timo said behind his hands.

“No, you don't.”

“No, I really do.”

By the start of the game, you and Emma had transformed the living room into mission control. There were blankets, snacks, drinks and stress. Well, mostly stress. Neither of you could sit still. Every time Switzerland got close to scoring, Emma grabbed your arm. Every save had both of you shouting. By the third period, you were standing and pacing.

“Sit down,” Emma ordered.

“I can't,” you whined.

“You've worn a path into the carpet,” she pointed out, “This is unhealthy. You are emotionally invested.”

“I KNOW.”

Emma laughed. “You love him.”

Hearing her say that made you stop in your tracks. “What?”

“What?” Emma asked you innocently as if she didn’t just accuse you of being in love with Timo.

“You said love.”

“I said nothing.” She held up her hands in defence.

“You absolutely said—”

“SHH.” Switzerland scored. The two of you screamed, popcorn flew through the room, and your cat lifted its head already so done with your energy. Emma almost fell off the couch, and when the final horn sounded with Switzerland winning, the apartment exploded. You jumped up. Emma tackled you into a hug.

“THEY WON!” You both screamed.

“THEY'RE THROUGH!” You were both laughing like idiots when your phone buzzed. Your eyes widened and Emma gasped.

“No.”

“Yes.”

You looked down.

Timo We won!!!

Below it, another message. Can I call you?

You looked at Emma, she looked at you and then she slowly stood up, grabbing her coat.

“Where are you going?”

She pointed. “You answer that phone.”

“Emma—”

“No.” She was already backing toward the door. “I am not third-wheeling this.”

“You don't have to leave!”

“Yes, I do.” She opened the door and then pointed at you dramatically. “Tell your future husband congratulations.”

“EMMA!”

The phone started ringing.

“ANSWER IT!” She shrieked, and then she was gone. The door slammed.

You stared at the phone, the incoming call was of course from Timo. Your heart hammered. Then, smiling helplessly, you answered. “Hi.”

Immediately, his laugh came through the speaker. It was warm and happy. “Hi.”

You smiled without even realizing it. “You won.”

“We won,” he said.

You laughed softly. “You did most of the work.”

“Emotionally, I think you contributed.” His voice sounded lighter than you'd ever heard it. He sounded happy, genuinely happy, and somewhere in the background you heard shouting. And then “NICO, GIVE ME THE PHONE!”

Then Nico's voice. “SHE SENT THE HEART!”

“NICO!”

You burst out laughing. Through the chaos and shouting and laughter, you heard Timo groan. Then his voice returned. “I am so sorry.”

“No, you're not.”

“No, not really.” He laughed.

You curled up on the couch, smiling into the darkness. And several thousand miles away, sitting in a noisy locker room after a quarterfinal victory, Timo Meier was smiling right back. And for the next two hours, neither of you would hang up.

The semifinal had been another rollercoaster. You spent the night with Emma screaming at the tv. It was another night spent pacing holes into your carpet, and another victory. Another two-hour phone call afterwards, though this one had ended with Timo falling asleep halfway through telling you a story about something Nico had done during breakfast. You'd listened to his sleepy voice become quieter and quieter until you'd finally heard him mumble, “Sorry, I'm still listening,” followed by complete silence. You'd smiled for the rest of the night.

And then came the final. The whole day, your stomach had been in knots. Because this was not just some hockey game anymore, you knew how much it meant to him. How much it meant to all of them. Emma had arrived early, carrying snacks and enough nervous energy for three people.

“Okay,” she announced, dropping onto your couch. “Positive thoughts.”

“Positive thoughts.”

“They've got this.”

“They've got this,” you repeated her words again.

“Why are we saying it like we're the ones playing?” Emma laughed.

“I don't know.”

Neither of you sat still, neither of you breathed normally. And when the game began, it quickly became obvious that both teams wanted it desperately. By the third period, neither of you were eating anymore. The popcorn sat untouched. Emma had both hands over her mouth. You couldn't even sit down. The game went to overtime and the room suddenly felt too small. And then the final horn blared through the arena. There was absolute silence in your apartment, absolute silence.

Emma slowly lowered her hands. You just stared at the screen. The Fins were jumping on each other celebrating their win, but the Swiss players looked broken. And your heart broke a little. Not just because they’d lost but because you knew how devastated they would be. Emma looked over at you as the images of crying Swiss players were shown on the screen.

“Oh my God, I don’t think I can watch this.” She said as her eyes became watery.

“Timo.” Immediately, your eyes filled with tears. “He wanted this.”

“I know.” Emma nodded softly.

Neither of you celebrated anything or said much. Eventually Emma wrapped her arms around you.

“They'll be okay,” she tried to reassure you as tears were streaming down your face.

“I know,” you said quietly, wiping the tears from your cheeks.

“But probably not tonight.”

You nodded. And somewhere, in an arena full of noise and cameras and disappointment, Timo sat with his head down and silver around his neck.

You texted him immediately. I'm proud of you ❤️

But after even a few minutes and hours there was still nothing, which wasn't strange. He was probably with the team, doing interview and everything. You understood, you really did, and so you waited. That night, there was no phone call. No goodnight text. Nothing. You told yourself that was normal.

The next morning, you sent another message. Thinking of you. No pressure to answer ❤️

But you still got nothing. Emma called around lunch.

“Anything?” she asked.

“No.”

“Maybe they're traveling,” Emma tried to explain the situation.

“Maybe.”

“You okay?” The look she gave you, made you feel sad all over again.

You sat cross-legged on your couch, staring at your phone. “I'm trying to be.”

Emma sighed. “He'll answer.”

“I know.”

“You know he likes you,” she said. “So, stop overthinking.”

You laughed weakly. “Impossible.”

“Fair.” She snorted.

When evening fell there was still nothing from him and you started to get worried. The next morning, you called him, but it went straight to voicemail. You called again, still nothing. You were really worried, not angry or hurt, just very worried.

By the next evening, you had worn a path into your apartment floor. Emma had come over after work and was watching you pace with concern. “Sit.”

“I can't,” you whined and threw your arms in the arm.

“You've called him.”

“Twice,” you pointed out.

“You texted.”

“Three times.”

“And?” she asked, following your pacing with her eyes.

“Nothing.”

“That's weird.” Emma frowned.

You stopped pacing. “What if something happened?”

“Nothing happened.” But her reassurance was doing nothing but bring you down even more.

“What if—”

“Y/N.” The way she said your name, made you finally stop pacing.

“What?”

“Nothing happened.” But even she sounded less certain now. Then the doorbell rang, but neither of you moved to answer it.

“Pizza?” Emma looked up.

“We didn't order pizza.”

“Right.”

The bell rang again. You sighed and walked toward the door and opened it.

“I swear, if it's a salesman—” Halfway through your sentence you stopped and forgot how to breathe. Timo stood there. Not in his hockey gear, not on a screen or a video, he was actually here. His hair was messy. He looked exhausted. There were dark circles under his eyes, and there was a duffel bag sitting beside him.

For a second, neither of you spoke, both frozen in place, then your eyes widened.

“Timo?”

He looked nervous and all he managed to get out was, “Hi.”

You stared. “Hi?”

“Yeah.” His mouth twitched.

“What—” But he caught you off.

He laughed softly. “I know.”

“What are you doing here?” You tried again.

“Can I come in first?” He rubbed the back of his neck and smiled sheepishly.

You blinked and immediately stepped aside. “Yes. Yes, obviously.”

Behind you, Emma had emerged into the hallway. The second she saw him, her jaw dropped. Then her eyes became enormous.

“Hi, Emma.” Timo smiled politely. She pointed at him, then at you, then back at him.

And she whispered, “No way.”

You almost laughed, almost, because before you could say anything, Timo looked at Emma apologetically. “I'm sorry, but could I borrow her?”

Emma stared, then slowly smiled. “Oh, absolutely.” She practically sprinted into the living room, and a second later you heard her whispering frantically into her phone. “NICO, HE'S HERE.”

You couldn't even process that right now, because Timo was standing in your hallway looking strangely uncertain. “You scared me,” you admitted quietly.

His face immediately fell. “I know.”

“You disappeared. And I texted and called.”

“I know.” His voice was soft now as he stepped closer. “I'm sorry. I'm really sorry.”

“What happened?” You looked up at him.

He let out a breath and leaned against the wall. “I just…” He shook his head. “I didn't know what to say.”

“You didn't have to say anything.”

“I know.”

“I just wanted to know you were okay,” you said as you took a step towards him.

“I wasn't.” He smiled sadly. The honesty in his voice made your heart ache.

“I wasn't angry or anything. I just…” He laughed quietly. “I hated losing. I hated talking. I hated interviews. I hated everything for a couple days.” You nodded. “And I know I should've texted.”

“You should've.”

“I know.” He smiled.

“But?”

His eyes softened. “But honestly…” He looked down and laughed to himself. “I kept thinking about you. And then I realised I didn't want to text you.”

Your breath caught. “What?”

“I wanted to see you.” He smiled nervously.

You just stared at him because somehow that answer had never crossed your mind.

He shifted awkwardly. “Which sounded way less crazy in my head.”

“No, I think I understand.” You laughed softly.

“Good.” He smiled, then he looked genuinely unsure. “Are you still mad?”

You stared at him and shook your head.

“No?”

“No.”

His shoulders relaxed immediately. And before he could say anything else, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him. For a second, he froze but almost immediately him arms came around you, holding you tightly. You felt him exhale against your hair. And suddenly, some of the exhaustion seemed to leave him.

“I missed you,” he admitted quietly.

“I missed you too.” You smiled against his chest.

Behind you, from the living room, came Emma's muffled voice. “NICO, THEY'RE HUGGING.”

“They're unbelievable.” You burst out laughing.

Timo laughed too. “They really are.” He smiled down at you. Then, after a moment, his voice became quieter. “Can we just… sit?”

You nodded immediately. “Yeah.”

Twenty minutes later, the two of you were curled up together on the couch under a blanket. His arm wrapped around you. Your head resting against his chest. The television played something neither of you were watching. And for the first time in days, Timo looked peaceful. Every now and then, he absentmindedly played with your fingers while you traced lazy circles on his arm. Neither of you talked much, you didn’t need to.

Eventually, he rested his cheek on top of your head and murmured softly “Thanks for waiting for me.”

“Always.” You smiled sleepily.

And neither of you noticed the picture Emma had quietly sent to Nico, or his immediate reply.

NICO FINALLY. I'M PLANNING THE WEDDING.

The next morning, you woke up to the strange but wonderful realisation that Timo was still there. It wasn’t some dream, he was actually there. You blinked sleepily and immediately smiled. Sometime during the night, the two of you had migrated from sitting upright on the couch to lying sideways under the blanket. Your head rested against his chest while one of his arms stayed wrapped around you, and judging by the position of his legs, he couldn't have been particularly comfortable. Not that he seemed to mind.

You shifted slightly, and his hand absentmindedly tightened around yours. Then, above your head, his sleepy voice mumbled, “Morning.”

You smiled into his shirt. “Morning.”

He yawned and the sound made you laugh. “You know, professional athletes aren't supposed to yawn.”

“Oh, really?” he asked, eyes still closed. “Who made that rule?”

“I did.”

“Terrible rule.” He cracked one eye open and smiled down at you. “You slept okay?”

You nodded. “You?”

“Best sleep I've had in days.” Something about the quiet sincerity in his voice made your smile soften, and then his stomach growled loudly. You burst out laughing.

“No.” Timo groaned immediately.

“That was impressive.”

He buried his face in your hair. “Forget it happened.”

“I absolutely will not.”

He laughed softly. “Fair.”

By noon, after breakfast and far too much teasing from Emma, who had walked into your apartment carrying coffee and immediately stopped dead when she found Timo making pancakes in your kitchen, the subject of his vacation came up.

He'd already had the trip planned, something quiet, a chance to finally rest after the season and the World Championship. Just a few weeks, nothing dramatic. But as he sat beside you at the kitchen table, his fingers lazily playing with yours while Emma pretended very badly not to notice, he suddenly frowned.

“What?” you asked.

“Nothing.” He shook his head.

“No, what?”

He smiled. “I'm just annoyed.”

“About?”

“I'm leaving.”

Emma looked up so quickly she almost spilled her coffee. “Oh.”

Timo immediately laughed. “Not forever.”

“You nearly gave me a heart attack.” Emma pointed her spoon at him.

“I said vacation.”

“Still.”

You laughed while Timo squeezed your hand. “I'm only gone a few weeks.”

“I know.”

“But I don't want to.” The way he said it was so simple, and so honest that your heart melted a little.

“You deserve a vacation,” you said as you stroked his arm.

“I know,” he said, “but I'd rather stay here.”

Emma made a choking noise. Neither of you noticed or maybe you were just pretending not to.

His flight wasn't until the following evening, which meant you had one whole day together. So, you decided to make the most of it. No cameras, no microphones, and no podcast, just the two of you. It started with lunch at a small café. Then a walk through the city. Then somehow browsing a bookstore for an hour because Timo insisted he was “just looking,” only for you to catch him holding three books fifteen minutes later.

“You said you weren't buying anything,” you teased, laughing as you held up one of the novels he'd picked.

“I lied.” He shrugged innocently.

“You lied?”

“A little.”

“Only a little?”

He grinned. “You distracted me.”

“How?”

“You kept recommending books.”

“So, it's my fault?”

“Definitely.”

You laughed and bumped your shoulder into his. “Terrible excuse.”

“It worked, though.”

“It absolutely did not.”

“It absolutely did.”

The whole afternoon felt easy and natural. As though you'd been doing this for years instead of days. Eventually, as evening settled, you found yourselves walking along the water, ice cream in hand. The sky had turned golden. People passed around you. And for a while, neither of you spoke. Not that there was anything wrong but neither of you felt the need to fill every silence.

Timo suddenly glanced over.

“What?” you said, as you took another bite of ice cream. “Hm?”

“You've got ice cream on your nose.” He smiled.

You froze. “What?”

“Right there.” He laughed and pointed at your face. You tried wiping your face. “Still there,” he said and laughed again.

“This is embarrassing.”

“No, it's cute.”

“What?” You looked up.

Immediately, his ears turned slightly red. “I mean—”

“You said cute.”

“I know.” You both smiled and then you both started laughing.

“Smooth,” you teased.

He covered his face with one hand. “I know.”

“Who would’ve thought professional athlete,” you said with a smile on your face, “but a terrible flirt.”

“Awful.” He laughed as well.

“But cute,” you noted.

He looked over immediately. “Oh?”

“Don't get used to it.” You laughed.

His grin widened. “Too late.”

Eventually, the two of you sat down on a bench overlooking the water. The evening breeze was cool, and without thinking, he slipped an arm around your shoulders. You leaned into him automatically. You were both quiet for a while before Timo quietly said, “I'm really glad I came to your apartment.”

“I'm glad too.” You smiled.

“No.” He looked down at you. “I mean it.” His thumb absentmindedly traced circles on your arm. “I almost didn't.”

You blinked. “What?”

“I thought maybe I'd ruined everything by disappearing,” he admitted honestly.

“You didn't,” you reassured him and placed a hand on his leg.

“I know that now.” He smiled softly. “But I didn't then. I'm glad you came anyway.”

You rested your head against his shoulder. “So am I.”

Silence settled again, it was peaceful, but then Timo sighed. “I hate leaving tomorrow.”

You looked up. “You'll come back.”

“I know.” He nodded. “But I hate leaving.”

“Then we'll do this again.” You smiled.

He looked over. “This?”

“This,” you repeated which made him laugh softly.

“Very specific.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I do.” He squeezed your hand. “When I get back…” He smiled. “We go on another date.”

“Another bookstore?” you asked him. “Another ice cream?”

“Maybe,” he said debatingly. “Without the nose incident.” He laughed and then held out his pinky.

You blinked. “What are you doing?”

“Making it official,” he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“You're serious?” You burst out laughing.

“I'm serious.”

“You are almost thirty,” you tried to say with a straight face.

“So?”

You laughed and wrapped your pinky around his. “So.”

He smiled. “When I get back, we go on another date.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

And as the sun disappeared below the horizon, neither of you noticed the picture Emma had just received. Because Nico, apparently still acting as an international informant, had sent her a message.

NICO He just texted me. Apparently she's cute. I give them three weeks before they're disgustingly in love.

And judging by the picture Emma took of the two of you sitting on that bench, heads resting together while your pinkies remained linked. He might not have been wrong.

The airport goodbye had been awful. It wasn’t dramatic or tearful in anyway, it just felt awful in the quiet and unfair sort of way. The kind where neither of you really wanted to let go. You'd stood near security longer than necessary, your fingers intertwined while people hurried around you. Timo had his backpack slung over one shoulder, his passport in one hand, and an expression that made it very clear he would have preferred to miss his flight entirely.

“You know,” he said, his thumb tracing circles over the back of your hand, “I could just stay.”

“You absolutely cannot.” You laughed softly.

“I think I can.” He raised a hand and combed through your hair.

“Timo.”

“What?”

“You deserve this vacation.”

“I know,” he sighed dramatically, “but I don't want to.”

“You'll survive,” you said as you looked deep into his eyes.

“Will I?” He squinted.

“Hopefully. I want you to return.” You laughed as you played with his fingers.

“Thank you.” Then his smile softened. “I'll call you and text you.”

“I know.”

“And send annoying pictures,” he added, making your smile even wider.

“I know.”

“And—”

You laughed and wrapped your arms around him. “Go.”

He hugged you tightly and buried his face briefly in your hair. “I already miss you.”

“You've been gone zero seconds.” You inhaled his cologne. God, you were going to miss that smell.

“I know.”

“It's impressive.”

“It is.” He smiled. Then, after kissing your forehead, he reluctantly walked toward security. Only to turn around ten steps later. “I mean it.”

“I know.” You smiled.

“I miss you already.”

You laughed. “Get on the plane, Meier.”

“Bossy.” He grinned, then he disappeared and somehow when you got home, your apartment felt far too quiet.

The first text came before he'd even landed.

T: Miss you.

You laughed immediately.

Y: You haven't even landed yet.

The typing bubble appeared.

T: Doesn't matter. Still true.

Emma, sitting beside you on the couch with a face mask on and absolutely no respect for privacy, immediately dropped her popcorn. “No,” she said in delayed shock.

“What?” You looked up at her with confused look.

“He texted that?” she asked, her eyes wide.

“Emma,” you let out a groan.

 “He texted ‘miss you’?” she urged, her voice full of excitement.

“Yes,” you nodded.

“He’s gone.”

“He’s on vacation,” you clarified as if she didn’t know.

“No,” she said and pointed dramatically. “He is gone.”

“He'll survive.” You burst out laughing.

“No,” she objects.

“He absolutely will.”

“No, sweetheart.” Emma smiled. “He has it bad.”

Turns out Emma wasn't entirely wrong. Because by day three, you had received approximately forty pictures. Pictures of sunsets, coffee, beaches, books, food, and even pictures of his feet accidentally appearing in pictures of beaches. And every single one came with the same complaint.

Wish you were here.

At first, you teased him. By day four, it had become a running joke. You were editing the podcast one afternoon when your phone buzzed with another picture. A beautiful view overlooking the ocean. Written beneath it was: Wish you were here.

You smiled. Then sent back a picture of your desk.

Wish I was there too.

Three seconds later your phone rang. You smiled immediately.

“Hi,” you said as you answered the phone.

“Hi.” You could hear wind in the background, and the waves.

“Are you outside?” you asked.

“Yeah.”

“What are you doing?”

He laughed softly. “Sitting.”

“Excellent activity.”

“It is.”

“Very advanced,” you joked.

“I'm talented.”

You smiled and leaned back in your chair. “What are you looking at?”

“The ocean.”

“You sound miserable.”

“I am.”

“No, you're not.” You laughed.

“No, not really.” You could hear him smile through the phone. “But I'd like it more if you were here.”

Your heart melted. “You've said that every day.”

“I know.”

“And?” you asked him, while messing with the string on your hoodie.

“And what?”

“You still mean it?” you clarified.

“Of course.” He laughed. Then you heard movement. He must've stood up because his voice became slightly breathless. “I walked past this bookstore today.”

“Oh no. And?”

“And I almost bought you three books,” he confessed.

“Almost?”

“Bought four.”

“Timo.” You burst out laughing. “You can't spoil me.”

“I can try.”

“You really bought books?” You smiled at how thoughtful and sweet he was being.

“Yes.”

“Four?”

“I panicked.”

“You panic-bought books?”

“I miss you.” You laughed so hard you nearly fell out of your chair. And somewhere on a beach thousands of miles away, Timo was laughing too.

The calls became your favourite part of the day. Morning calls. Late-night calls. Calls where one of you talked and the other just listened. Calls where neither of you talked at all. One night, you sat in bed wrapped in blankets while Timo called from his balcony. The moonlight reflected off the water behind him. His hair was messy and he looked relaxed and happy but also very sleepy.

“You should sleep,” you told him.

“You should come here.”

You laughed. “That wasn't one of the options.”

“It should be,” he said quietly, so quietly that you almost didn’t catch it but you heard him.

“Timo.”

“What?”

“You've been gone ten days.”

“Only ten?” He frowned.

You laughed. “Yes.”

“It feels longer,” he said and shrugged his shoulders.

“It does.”

He rested his head against his hand and smiled at you through the screen. “I had a dream you were here.”

“Oh?”

“We went swimming,” he started but you quickly interrupted him.

“I don't swim in the ocean.”

“You did in the dream.” He laughed. “You splashed me.”

“Okay, that part sounds realistic.”

He smiled but then quieter, almost absentmindedly, he said, “You know what the problem is?”

“What?”

“I keep seeing things and thinking you'd like them.” You smiled softly at those words. “The books, the coffee, the beach, the restaurants, and the old couple dancing in the square.”

You blinked. “What?”

“There was this old couple dancing.” He smiled. “And I thought it was cute.”

“And?”

“And then I thought you'd think it was cute.”

Your smile widened. “And?”

“And then I missed you.”

“You're ridiculous.” You laughed softly.

“Probably.”

“But serious.”

“Definitely.” He looked away from the camera for a moment then back to you, and there was that smile. The soft one, the one you'd fallen a little bit in love with. “I really wish you were here.”

“I know.” You smiled.

“No, really.” He laughed quietly and rubbed the back of his neck. “I know I'm repeating myself.”

“You are.”

“But I mean it every time.”

Your heart squeezed. “Good.”

He smiled. “Good?”

“Because I miss you too.”

“Oh.” His grin appeared immediately.

“What? You said it first.” You laughed.

“No, I didn't.”

“You absolutely did,” he argued.

“No.”

“Yes.” He pointed triumphantly at the camera.

“You are impossible.”

“And yet.”

“And yet…” you swallowed the rest of the words, because you couldn’t already say ‘I love you’ that would be way to soon.

He smiled, and after a moment, his voice became softer. “One more week.”

“One more week.” You nodded.

“And then our second date.”

“You promised.” You smiled.

“Promise.” He held up his pinky toward the screen.

You burst out laughing. “You are such a child.”

“You love it.”

You linked your pinky with the screen. “I do.”

He smiled. Then quietly, almost too softly to hear, he said, “I miss you.”

And this time, you didn't tease him. You just smiled. “I miss you too.”

Neither of you noticed that somewhere in New Jersey, Nico was on a video call with Emma. And neither of you knew that the two of them had just spent twenty minutes discussing a very important question. Not whether you and Timo liked each other that part was obvious. No, they were debating who would say “I love you” first. And both of them were surprisingly competitive about it.

The week before Timo came home was somehow both the shortest and longest week of your life. On one hand, you talked every day. On the other hand, it wasn't enough. Not anymore. Not after falling asleep on video calls. Not after hearing his laugh through your speakers every morning. Not after listening to him complain about missing your coffee and your couch and, according to him, “the weird way you organize books.” Which was unfair, because your books were perfectly organized. He was just wrong.

The day he was supposed to come home, you had barely slept. Emma had noticed immediately. She was currently sitting in your kitchen drinking coffee while watching you rearrange flowers for the third time.

“You know,” she said, leaning against the counter, “if you move those flowers one more time, they're filing a restraining order.”

You looked up. “They're crooked.”

“They are flowers.” You moved them anyway. Emma just smiled. “You're nervous.”

“I'm not nervous.”

She pointed at the flowers. “Those poor flowers disagree.”

Before you could answer, your phone buzzed. Both of you looked down.

T: Landed

You smiled so hard your cheeks hurt. Emma noticed, “There it is.”

“What?”

“The smile.” She said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“What smile?” you ask innocently.

“The one.”

You laughed. “You're obsessed with my smile.”

“No.” She stood up, grabbed her bag and pointed at the door. “I'm obsessed with leaving.”

“What?”

“I know what's happening,” she said and looked at you with a knowing look.

“Nothing's happening.”

 “Sweetheart, you've been smiling at your phone for a month.” She snorted. Then she hugged you. “Have fun.”

“And where are you going?”

“Anywhere but here.”

“Emma.”

“No, you have a second date.” She pointed dramatically.

“Technically.”

“No.” She grinned. “You have feelings.” Then she was gone.

Timo picked you up two hours later. And somehow, despite video calls and pictures and texts and everything, seeing him standing outside your building again made your stomach flip. He was leaning against his car, hands in his pockets. And the second he saw you, he smiled. The one that always made your heart do stupid things. And before you could even say hello, he crossed the distance between you and wrapped his arms around you, immediately, like he'd been waiting weeks to do it. Which, technically, he had.

“Hi.” You laughed softly into his chest.

“Hi.” He didn't let go and neither did you.

“You know,” you murmured.

“Hm?”

“You just hugged me for thirty seconds.”

“I know,” he said into your hair.

“You planning on letting go?”

“No.”

“Good.” You laughed.

He smiled against your hair. Eventually he pulled back just enough to look at you. And then he laughed quietly.

“What?” you asked him, looking directly into his eyes.

“I missed you.”

“You told me every day.”

“I know. And I still mean it.”

You smiled. “I know.”

“And you're cute.” He grinned.

You laughed. “Hello to you too.”

“Sorry,” he said with a sheepish grin on his face.

“No, don't apologize.”

“I missed your face,” he admitted.

“That's a weird sentence.”

“I know, but it's true.” He smiled. “So is your weird bookshelf organisation.”

“Excuse you.”

He laughed. “Come on.”

The date itself was perfect because it wasn't trying to be. Dinner turned into wandering around the city. Wandering turned into finding another bookstore. Which turned into Timo buying two books despite claiming he wouldn't. Which turned into the two of you laughing so hard in the café afterward that people started looking over. And somewhere between dessert and getting lost while trying to find the parking garage, neither of you stopped smiling.

By the time you found yourselves sitting on your favourite bench by the water again, the sun had disappeared. The same bench. The same view. The same place where you'd promised each other another date. And somehow, sitting beside him with his arm around your shoulders, it felt like you'd done this a hundred times. Not months or week but years.  Timo looked suspiciously quiet.

You noticed immediately. “What?”

“Hm?”

“You're thinking.”

“No,” he tried to deny.

“You're absolutely thinking.”

He smiled. “A little.”

“What about?” Instead of answering, he looked down at your intertwined fingers. Then laughed softly to himself. “What?” you asked him again.

“Nothing.” He shook his head.

“Timo.”

“I'm serious.” He smiled. “You know, Nico told me I overthink things.”

You laughed. “Did he now?”

“He said I should stop waiting.”

“Waiting for what?” He smiled nervously, actually nervous, and suddenly, you sat up slightly. “Timo?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I had this whole speech planned.”

You blinked. “A speech?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh no.”

“No, not oh no.”

“What kind of speech?” You laughed.

“The embarrassing kind.”

“Timo. You're scaring me.”

He laughed softly and looked down for a second. Then back up. And there was something in his expression you'd never seen before. Something vulnerable. Something hopeful.

“You know,” he began quietly, “I think Nico knew before I did.”

You smiled. “That doesn't surprise me.”

“He told me after the podcast episode.”

“What did he say?”

Timo laughed. “He said, 'You're smiling, idiot.'“

“That sounds like him.” You burst out laughing.

“It really does.” His thumb traced circles over your hand. “And then I went on vacation.”

“And complained every day,” you added, still smiling.

“Every day,” he repeated.

“And bought panic books,” you continued to add to him story.

“Four.” He smiled. “And I kept seeing things and wishing you were there.” Your smile softened. “And then I came to your apartment after the final.”

“And scared me half to death,” you noted.

“Sorry.”

“You should be.”

He laughed. “I know.” Silence settled between you. It didn’t feel awkward, instead it felt comfortable and warm. And then his voice became quieter. “But I think I knew before that.”

You looked over. “Knew what?”

His eyes met yours. And suddenly he looked nervous again. “I love you.”

Your breath caught. “I—”

He immediately laughed nervously. “I know.”

“No, I—”

“And you don't have to—”

“Timo.” He stopped. You stared at him, and he looked so adorably worried that you couldn't help smiling. “You interrupted me.”

“Oh.” He blinked.

“You said I love you,” you quickly recapped what happened. “You really just did that.”

“I did.”

“And now you're panicking.”

“A little.”

You burst out laughing. “A little?”

“A lot.”

You smiled, reached up and touched his cheek, and watched his entire expression soften. “I love you too.”

He froze. “You do?”

You laughed. “No, I just say that to everyone.”

“Really?” He grinned.

“No.”

His smile grew, bigger and bigger, until suddenly he was laughing. Not because there was anything funny but because he was just so happy. Really happy. And then, after a moment, he looked at you again. And somehow became nervous all over.

“You're thinking again,” you noted as you looked at him.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“A little.”

“Timo.” You laughed. “What is it?”

“I know this is probably backwards.” He smiled. “And I know we're already basically—”

You smiled. “Oh?”

“But…” He laughed nervously and rubbed the back of his neck. “Would you be my girlfriend?”

“Really?” You stared, and then you burst into laughter. “You told me you loved me first. Then asked me after.”

“I know.”

“That's backwards.” You nodded.

“I know.”

“You are ridiculous,” you commented as you leaned in closer.

“I've heard.”

You smiled. “Good.”

“Good?” His eyebrows rose. Then his smile slowly spread. “Good means yes?”

You laughed. “Good means yes.” And before he could say another word, you kissed him. For a second he seemed surprised. Then he smiled into the kiss, one hand cupping your cheek while the other held your hand tightly. And when you finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours.

“Hi, girlfriend.”

You laughed softly. “Hi, boyfriend.”

And somehow, at that exact moment, two phones buzzed. Emma and Nico both had texted at the same time.

EMMA I KNOW IT HAPPENED.

NICO ABOUT TIME.