When his lips find mine, the world goes dark.
The dusty room disappears. The pain, the chaos, they vanish. All that's left is him.
His hand at my neck tightens, firm but deliberate, and my skin hums under his touch. Every movement of his lips, his tongue, ignites my nerves—slow, deep… then suddenly ravenous, like he wants to consume me.
His warm breath mixes with mine, uneven and shallow, and every time his mouth pushes deeper, a shiver snakes through my stomach, spreading, scorching.
I feel him everywhere—in my hammering heart, in my hands clutching his mesh sweater, in the heat pooling low in my belly.
I feel everything about him: his impatience, his gentleness, his need. That need becomes mine, until we blur and I can't tell anymore where I end and he begins.
Every emotion crashes over me, like someone flung wide the doors of my mind. Joy. Fear. Desire. Hunger. All of it floods in, too much to hold.
Another sound escapes me—a half-gasp, half-moan. I don't know if it's from the pleasure or the vertigo of being this exposed, this seen.
My hands grip his shoulders, hauling him closer, searching for something solid to cling to, but it's useless: I'm falling.
This isn't a normal kiss. It's irreversible.
Anxiety spikes; I have to break away.
I push myself back with every ounce of strength I have left, breathless and dizzy.
Feverish, unmoored, I meet his eyes.
Fiore just brushes a hand through my hair, laughing softly, like he finds the whole thing utterly amusing.
"What's wrong, you glitched or something?"
"No," I snap, pushing him away without looking. My legs feel like jelly, my hands shake, my breath comes in ragged gasps, like I just climbed a whole mountain.
"So what happened then?"
"It's… too much. You are too much. Don't touch me."
"Oh, so it's my fault now?" He smiles, tilting his head. "Maybe because you're all knotted up. You need to let go."
"Don't tell me what to do." I shove him harder than I should. A flash of anger lights up inside me, senseless and burning.
"Hey, I'm telling you for your own good. If you keep this up, you're going to explode," he shoots back, raising an eyebrow.
"You're the one making me explode!" I yell, my voice cracking. "I was fine before I met you!"
I leap up from the chair, realizing my reaction is over the top, but I can't stop myself. Tears sting my eyes. Panic grips me.
What the hell is happening to me?
We stay apart for a while as I take deep breaths, trying to calm myself. It doesn't work much. Fiore watches me closely, like he's piecing something together.
"Ah, got it!" then he exclaims, smacking his palm like he just solved a puzzle. "Could be your Intuitive power. It's waking up."
"What?" I stammer, huge drops spilling from my eyes, impossible to hold back.
"Every Intuitive has a psychic ability, right? Yours could be Empathy."
"Empathy isn't a psychic power."
"That's what you think. If there was more of it in the world, it would be a better place. But instead, it's unevenly distributed. Most people barely get any, some get way too much. You're probably one of the lucky few."
"That doesn't make sense."
"It doesn't, if you think like a normal human." He steps closer again, calmer now. "An empathic Intuitive doesn't just 'understand' others. They feel them. They take in others' emotions, and it hits them in the core, way stronger than normal—almost dizzying."
A knot tightens in my stomach. I've felt exactly like that.
"The skilled ones can even influence others' emotions," Fiore continues. "But it's a double-edged sword: too much contact and you risk losing the line between yourself and others, getting lost inside someone else's mind."
I take a moment to think. It's all so damn new to me, I don't even know what to believe anymore. But… it kind of makes sense.
"Maybe… maybe that's what happened," I say softly.
"Or maybe I'm just way too skilled with my tongue," he teases, smirking.
"Oh, shut up." I smack his shoulder. He chuckles under his breath.
I feel a little more grounded.
"Wipe those tears, Cinderella," he says, gently brushing my cheeks with the back of his hand. "Only when you let go you can see how far you can go."
I nod silently.
"I'll help you whenever you want," he adds slyly, but at my second smack on his shoulder, he slips away just out of reach, grinning.
"Why did you bring me here instead of the infirmary? Trying to take advantage of me?"
"That too, but not only that," Fiore chuckles, then quickly turns serious again. "I wanted to talk to you in private. What happened tonight… was weird."
"Do tell, a demonic deer crashing through the window is totally normal," I reply, dripping sarcasm.
"I mean, why would a demonic deer crash through your window. Demons so far have attacked in dark, isolated places. This one went straight to your apartment."
"What are you saying?"
"That someone sent it precisely there. And there are only two options: either it was after you… or something inside your home."
"That doesn't make sense," I repeat for the second time. "I only just rediscovered this… 'intuitive' side of me. And I don't have anything valuable at home."
Fiore tilts his head, thoughtful. "Mmm… I've got an idea, but I don't like it."
"You think someone's following me?"
"Didn't notice anyone, but I could be wrong. Still, be more careful… and I'll do the same." Then he gives me a grave look. "Talk about where you are and what you're doing only with people you trust."
"Easy. Romina and uncle Bruno."
"Ouch. That one stung," he sighs dramatically.
"You earned it. That's what you get for getting handsy with a wounded man."
"Shame. And I was about to lend you my sweater, since your T-shirt's beyond saving. But I might change my mind now."
"I've got no problem walking out naked." I turn toward the door, but something hits me on the head: Fiore's mesh sweater.
"Come on, get dressed. Let's check on Romina," he says, brushing past me before walking out of the office.
I pause for a moment, gripping the fabric in my hands. I can still taste him from our kiss, and the thought of putting something of his on me sets my face on fire.
Finally, I pull it on: it's loose and barely covers anything, but—even if I'll never admit it—it's still better than wandering around the Council topless.
We step out of the dusty office. I move slowly, every step a struggle, following him to the infirmary. The door creaks open, hitting me with the sharp scent of disinfectant and a white light that stings my eyes after the darkness. We enter carefully.
"Milo?" Romina's cheeks are rosier now, lying on a bed with crisp white sheets. I let out a relieved breath. "Are you okay?"
I reach her bed and press a kiss to her forehead, gently brushing her face.
"I should be the one asking that. How do you feel?"
"Dazed. Confused. But a little less sore; they loaded me up on painkillers."
"And your foot?"
"Just a sprain. If I rest a bit, I'll be back to normal in no time."
"Thank goodness."
I sit beside her on the bed, holding her hand. My chest tightens. I don't know what I would've done if anything had really happened to her.
"Milo, we'll step out for a moment," uncle Bruno calls from the corner of the room. "Come on, Fiorenzo. Let's have a quick chat, just you and me."
"Uh… if I really have to," Fiore mutters, and the door clicks shut behind them.
I stay still, anxiety tightening in my chest: here it comes. This is the moment. I have to tell her everything. My mouth is dry. I swallow twice. She stays quiet but gives my hand a gentle squeeze.
"Milo, this time I'm not going to pry the words out of your mouth like usual."
I look into her eyes. What does that mean? She won't ask any questions?
"I'll just listen to whatever you want to say. As much and whenever you want."