The morning light bled through the curtains like a slow confession. Emilio stirred beneath the silk sheets, the warmth of Matteo's body no longer beside him. Just faint traces of his cologne, of heat, of the pressure he left on the mattress.
The room felt quieter than usual. Not empty… just still. Like something had shifted.
Emilio sat up, letting the sheets fall from his chest. The marks Matteo had left behind bloomed like stolen kisses across his skin. He traced one absentmindedly, a flush rising at the memory of the night before. The hunger, the intensity, the way Matteo had looked at him like he was already his.
But this morning was different.
No teasing words. No wandering hands. Just silence.
He found Matteo by the balcony, shirtless, suit pants riding low on his hips, a cigarette smoldering between his fingers. His profile was a painting in shadows sharp, unreadable, beautiful.
"You're up," Matteo said, voice low, without turning around.
Emilio crossed the room quietly. "You didn't wake me."
"You needed the rest." A pause. "I didn't sleep much."
Something inside Emilio tugged at that.
"Thinking about work?" he asked, leaning against the glass.
Matteo exhaled smoke into the morning. "Something like that."
That wasn't an answer. Not really. And for once, Emilio didn't press. He could feel the space between them not wide, but real.
"Last night…" Emilio said, hesitant, "was it too much?"
That made Matteo finally look at him. "No," he said. "It was everything I wanted."
But his eyes were clouded, something distant pulling at him.
"Then why do you feel so far away this morning?" Emilio asked softly.
Matteo took a long drag of his cigarette, then crushed it into the ashtray. "Because I can't always give in to what I want."
"And I'm one of those things?"
Matteo's jaw ticked. "You're not a thing, Emilio."
"Then what am I?"
Silence again. Matteo stepped forward, the tension between them crackling different now. Not lust. Not desire. But something heavier.
"You're dangerous," Matteo finally said. "Because you make me forget who I am. And I can't afford to forget."
Emilio swallowed hard. "Maybe forgetting wouldn't be so bad."
"For you, no," Matteo murmured. "But for me… it could get us both killed."
The words hung in the air like smoke. Not a threat never that. A warning. A confession.
Emilio reached out, brushing his fingers against Matteo's. "Then maybe we both need to remember what we are… before we lose it."
Matteo looked down at their hands. "Too late."
But he didn't pull away.
And in that touch, soft and steady, something cooled. The fire between them didn't burn it simmered. Quiet. Dangerous. Waiting.