It was almost midnight when they returned home. Giovanni opened the door with his free hand and stepped inside, Salomé trailing behind him.
She groaned as she kicked off her boots, flung her bag somewhere in the distance, and collapsed face-first onto the couch.
Giovanni made his way to the kitchen, arms full of bags—some from the cinema, and three more from their impromptu stops.
He unpacked quickly, moving between the pantry, fridge, and cupboards with quiet efficiency.
When he finally turned around, he found Salomé fast asleep, still facedown on the couch.
He let out a quiet sigh.
The night passed quicker than he expected.
Between the movie, the food, and the wandering, there hadn't been a right moment.
He was ready to tell her. But somehow, the timing never felt quite right.
There was going to be another chance. And when it came, it would be even more special.
He walked over to the couch and looked down at her gently. At some point, she'd shifted onto her back, limbs sprawled every which way, one arm dangling off the cushion. Her face was peaceful, lips slightly parted, breathing soft and even.
A smile tugged at his mouth before he even realized it.
He let himself take her in a moment longer, then bent down and carefully lifted her into his arms—princess style. She stirred and curled instinctively against his chest.
He moved down the hall toward her room, nudging the door open with his foot—and froze.
His eyes widened slightly.
The place looked like a tornado had passed through. Clothes, bags, and shoes were scattered across every surface like a storm had swept through and forgotten to clean up after itself.
Had she gone through all that just to decide what to wear?
He blinked, then looked down at the woman in his arms.
A small laugh escaped him—quiet, amused.
Shaking his head, he turned around and carried her into his own room instead.
He walked to the bed, gently laid her down, and pulled the duvet over her chest with care.
Then, with one last glance at her sleeping form, he left the room and slipped into the chaos of hers.
Then began to tidy it, in the best way he knew how.
He folded clothes and stacked them neatly on her dresser. Gathered scattered shoes and lined them by the wall.
Within twenty minutes, the room looked livable again.
Giovanni stood in the middle of it all, exhaled slowly, and rubbed the back of his neck. His body was finally starting to feel the weight of the day.
He glanced at the clock—nearly one.
He lowered himself onto the edge of her bed, careful not to disturb the arrangement he'd just made.
A second passed.
Then another.
And without meaning to, he stretched out across the mattress, resting his head on her pillow.
The scent of her—soft, clean, unmistakably hers—wrapped around him like a lullaby.
And before he knew it, his eyes had closed.
And the night went quiet.
*
Salomé stirred as a sliver of morning light spilled in through the window, brushing gently across her face.
She blinked up at the unfamiliar ceiling, disoriented for half a second—then realized where she was.
Giovanni's room.
How...? The last she remembered was crashing on the couch.
With a groggy sigh, she sat up slowly, rubbing one eye.
Then she stilled.
Her gaze had landed on the open hallway.
She could see her room from where she sat.
The sight made her pause.
There, sprawled across her bed, was Giovanni.
One leg dangling off the edge, hair tousled, one hand tucked under his head—fast asleep.
She blinked again, but he was still there.
She pushed herself to her feet and tiptoed down the hallway, pausing at her doorway.
Salomé glanced around in disbelief.
Did he...?
She looked back at him again before stepping into the room quietly, the floor cool beneath her feet.
Giovanni lay still, the rise and fall of his chest steady, almost hypnotic.
Salomé moved closer until she stood right by the bed, gazing down at him. Her eyes traced his face—sharpened in sleep yet strangely boyish, softened by the morning light.
She leaned forward to get a better look at his features but at some point, just looking wasn't enough.
Her fingers brushed the hair from his forehead first—then gently traced the curve of his brow to the soft fan of his lashes.
Her hand moved down to the bridge of his nose, lingered on the curve of his cheek, before finally stopping on his lips.
Thin. Red. Inviting.
She inched her face down till it hovered just a breath above his.
She closed her eyes, her lips barely brushing his... when suddenly, his blue eyes opened—sharp and alert.
"Ah!"
He caught her in one swift motion, rolling them over so that she landed on her back, pinning her beneath him.
They stared at each other in silence, breathless.
His weight pressed lightly over her, hands braced on either side of her head.
"Good… morning?" she greeted, her voice barely a whisper.
His brows knit, eyes narrowing slightly. "What were you trying to do?"
Heat rushed to her cheeks, spilling all the way down her neck.
"I... uh, nothing."
Giovanni stared at her for a few seconds.
Then his lips curved. Just barely. "You really want to kiss me that badly?"
Salomé scoffed dramatically. "W-what? No. Of course not."
Her face betrayed her, flushed a deep red.
Heavy silence settled again.
Then, slowly, like he was testing the waters, he leaned in—watching her the whole way, daring her to stop him.
She didn't.
Their noses brushed. His breath mixed with hers.
And just before their lips met, he stopped.
He tilted his head and whispered slowly in her ear.
"Soon Salomé. We'll do a lot more than just kissing, I promise."
He pulled back slightly to look at her, and her expression was priceless—eyes wide, lips parted, face flaming.
She looked absolutely mortified. And furious. And… maybe just a little thrilled.
He smirked again before rolling off her and getting to his feet like nothing had happened at all.
She lay there, staring at the ceiling, hands on her chest, trying to steady her heartbeat while the ghost of his breath still lingered on her skin.