The apartment was quiet except for the occasional tapping of Giovanni's fingers against the keyboard. He curled up in the corner of the couch, laptop balanced on his thighs with one knee propped up.
Low light spilled from the overhead fixture, casting a gentle amber glow across the books, teacups and blanket thrown over the couch.
From down the hallway, a faint thud echoed, something shifting, maybe falling. He paused, hands hovering over the keys, listening.
Then nothing. He refocused on the screen and continued typing.
Then without warning, the power went out.
A sharp click, then darkness. The quiet hum of the fridge stopped. The jazz in his earbuds cut off mid-note.
For a moment, there was only silence. Dense and still.
And then—
A loud crash, followed by a startled yelp from the hallway.
"Ah!"
Giovanni shot upright, the laptop sliding to the cushion beside him.
He turned toward the hallway as his eyes began to adjust to the darkness.
"Salomé?" he called out, voice taut.
No answer.
The last time he'd said her name, it had left his mouth slowly, cautiously, like it had wandered out on its own.
This time, it punched through the dark, instinctual.
"Salomé!" he tried again, louder now.
Still no response.
He crossed the living room in quick strides, heart pounding, and stopped at her door, directly opposite his. Closed, but unlocked.
He rapped on the wood. "You okay?"
Nothing.
He didn't wait. His hand found the handle and turned it.
"Salomé?"
A beat passed.
Then her voice, shaky and exasperated: "Giovanni? Is that you?"
"Yeah, it's me. Just... stay where you are. Keep talking."
"I, okay. I think I broke something and I can't find my phone and the towel is, hold on, I'm, oh my God, I just stepped on something wet..."
"It's fine. Just talk. Keep talking."
He stepped in carefully, arms extended in front of him, navigating by sound and instinct. Then his foot caught on something, and he fell forward.
His balance gave out. A jolt. And then impact.
It wasn't the floor.
It was warm. Soft. Definitely human.
She let out a half-squeak, half-yelp.
"Giovanni?!"
Her towel slipped, barely catching on her side.
He didn't move. Neither did she.
His arm braced beside her head, his chest pressing lightly against hers. Her skin damp and he could smell lavender on her hair."
"...Are you naked?" he muttered.
Salomé choked out a breath. "Mostly."
"Don't look," she whispered.
"I'm not," he said hoarsely, rolling away as fast as he could, and scrambling backwards on his palms. He sat upright, his heart pounding against his chest.
"Okay. Um. Towel's…still on," she added, not entirely to him.
"Good," he said stiffly, voice hoarse.
The silence that followed was thick as they sat in the dark, breathing hard.
Outside, the fridge clicked and hum returned. Lights blinked back on.
She sat in the middle of the floor, flushed and wide-eyed, the towel barely holding on.
He kept his gaze fixed on the ceiling. Then the floor. Then the shadowed edge of her nightstand.
Everywhere but at her.
"I'll… just go," he said, already rising.
She gave a short nod. "Yeah. Okay."
At the door, he lingered for a second. "You okay?"
She nodded quickly, as if it could erase what happened.
He hesitated, like he wanted to say something else, but didn't. Then he slipped out, shutting the door behind him.
In the hallway, Giovanni ran a hand through his hair and muttered something in Italian under his breath.
Back inside her room, Salomé let out a long breath and dropped onto her back. Her heart couldn't stopped racing.
She stared up at the ceiling, then down at the faint smear of water on the floor where she must've stepped after her shower.
Ridiculous, she thought. Absolutely ridiculous.
Still, her skin burned where he'd touched her.
Salomé padded back into the living room, barefoot, her damp hair still carrying a faint trace of lavender shampoo.
The soft blue strands caught the light as she moved, and Giovanni's gaze flickered instinctively toward the color before he looked away.
He tried, and failed, not to notice how the hem of her shorts, barely reaching mid-thigh, exposed more skin than he was comfortable with.
His fingers faltered on the keyboard as he tried to focus on the screen. But the room felt different now. Her presence shifted it in ways he couldn't explain.
She moved quietly, pacing across the room as though gathering herself, before sitting down opposite him, legs folded beneath her. She looked at him for a long moment and not once did he look up from the screen.
She hesitated, for some time, then asked finally, "That day… when you said you wanted to do... bad things to me." She stopped, her eyes never leaving his face.
Giovanni's throat tightened and his jaw clenched slightly.
Her voice was soft but steady as she pressed on, her words dancing around the edge of the discomfort between them. "...You said it so casually, like you were always thinking about it."
The living room was filled only by the soft hum of the fridge and the distant, muffled sound of the city outside.
Giovanni finally spoke, his voice a low murmur. "I meant it. In that moment."
His words hung in the air, bare and unadorned.
Her lips curled slightly. "I see. Though, it was a bit... overwhelming."
Giovanni's hands tightened on the edge of the laptop. His body was still, but there was something in the way his muscles flexed that told her he was fighting against something. A reaction. A thought.
"Did I make you uncomfortable?" he asked, his voice hoarse, the words scraping against the back of his throat as though they hurt to say.
His eyes flicked up to meet hers briefly before quickly returning to the screen.
Her gaze softened. "No. Not exactly. But you caught me off guard. I had no idea what to say."
His lips pressed into a tight line but he said nothing.
She tilted her head, her blue hair shifting with the movement, the soft light making the color seem almost otherworldly.
"What did you mean by it, Giovanni?" she asked, quietly.
He shifted on the couch, the weight of her question pulling him out of the trance he had built around himself.
He took a deep breath, his fingers brushing the side of his laptop as though the answer was somewhere in the distance, just beyond his reach.
"I meant…" He exhaled slowly. "It was… how I felt." He paused, then added, more quietly, "Reckless, but true."
Her heart picked up its rhythm. She could see his body was betraying him even when his words were careful, controlled.
"I think I understand."
Her fingers, still lightly tapping on the cushion, paused. She wanted to say more, but something about him, the way he was barely holding it together, made her hesitant.
She studied him in the dim light. "I think you're afraid," she said softly. "Not of me, but of… of whatever this is between us."
Giovanni didn't react, but his breath caught for just a second. His lips parted, but nothing came out.
"You are," she said, a smile tugging at her lips.