30 reasons to stay || piszczek

reason thirteen

19 June 2017.

Santorini, Greece.

Vacation central for a lot of people, maybe a common spot for those can afford the cost every year, but Rosie and Lukasz?

The experience is religious.

They've only just landed today, but it a whole new world for them...literally. While their peers were out in Ibiza (a fuck ton of them), some off getting married and in the honeymoon stage, others taking refuge in the comfort of their homes, they were busy freaking out about the fact they were in Greece.

It took a while, though. Two stops on the flight to Santorini, but they made it as the sun was about to set, and Rosie almost lost her shit. This was everything she wanted in a vacation.

"I don't see why we didn't come here earlier," Lukasz said, walking next to Rosie as they made their way back to their hotel. It was maybe eight o'clock and the sky was all sort of pink, red as the sun made its way down the horizon. "This is amazing."

"It's okay, I guess, but nothing compares to Croatia."

He gives her a look. Are you serious right now?

But thankfully, she laughs. "I'm kidding, Luka. It's beautiful."

"You know, I was really planning on having our honeymoon here, but I guess I need to find another place." He scratches the back of his head. When they get back to Dortmund, it's back to surfing the internet for another honeymoon spot. "And I promise it won't be Ibiza."

"Thank God. I was really starting to get a little fed up with everyone partying in Ibiza like it's the place Jesus was born." Honestly. The Croat was considering blocking everyone who kept on posting about their so-called "adventures" in Ibiza (cough, Roman Bürki). Over it. "How about Paris? You know, the city of love?"

"The Netherlands? I hear they have good food there."

"Oooo. Consider it done."

He laughed at her remark, walking close for his hand to brush against hers. Just by the brush, they felt so foreign, reminding him that the last time they held hands was an embarrassingly long time ago. He remembered—coming home from a home match, hand in hand out of the stadium, and into the house fuming with each other.

Tonight...tonight he couldn't help himself. She dressed in a short, flowy, white dress, and a messy bun, and regardless, she was the most beautiful girl in the world in Lukasz's eyes. He wanted to tell all the people in Santorini that Ružica fucking Špiljak was his.

Fuck, the man just wants to hold his girlfriend's hand. Give him a break.

But she snatches her hand away the moment she feels him try to intertwine them together. "Don't hold my hands. They're sweaty."

"What's the difference? My hands get sweaty every time I see you."

"My hands are still sweaty."

"Calm down, I just want to hold my girlfriend's hand." He tugs on her wrist and pulls her to him, wrapping his arms around her waist. A kiss on the nose, and a giggle from her lips. "You make being awkward beautiful. How do you do it?"