Before you start Ride or Die…🎬

One guy plays by the rules. The other doesn’t care about them. What starts as friction slowly turns into something harder to walk away from. 

Watch the trailer for Ride or Die, then get to reading.

https://youtu.be/TaWGARLtvoE

^_^

Wassup my slippity slappity divas. Welcome to Ride or Die.

Spotify playlist: (check this comment)

Physical book available! (check this comment)

Prepare to drop tears, jaws, and panties all at once.

(none of the main characters cheat or anything. Important information.)

(It contains quite a lot of smut, don’t say I didn’t warn y’all.)

And the smut is raw but earned, trust me.😔

(There are EXTRA smut scenes in the physical book and in the Kindle ebook version 😼)

This story has ruined my sleep and healed my soul. Hope it does both to you.

I want you to treat my characters with love, okay? I’m OBSESSED with them.

My writing style is pretty raw, because I want you to relate to my characters🌸

I made them as real as I possibly could.

Lastly, since I’m nosy, what brought you to this story? :)

stirs my disgusting tea while staring into your soul with a smile

*Whatever the reason is, you’re here now, so I will smooch you.

And please spam comments cause i love seeing y’all’s reactions and reply with dirty lines.💔

CHARACTER AESTHETICS:

If someone has already read the story, tell me if these are accurate:)

Gio Fontana:

Bold, confident, magnetic, flirty.

Songs that match his vibe: • You Got The Devil In You - (Red means run) • Gangsta - (Kehlani)

Rava Weston:

Reserved, studious, and composed, he keeps to himself and plays by the rules. (until Gio happens, oop.)

Songs that match his vibe: • Dirty Diana - (Michael Jackson) • Art Deco - (Lana Del Rey)

Lorenzo Fontana:

Loud, raw. Zero filter, zero shame. Drinks, flirts and dances. When it comes to family, he’s loyal, and dead serious. Under the wild, he’s someone you can trust with everything.

Songs that match his vibe: • XOXO - (rvfv) • Like A G6 - (Far East Movement)

Noah Kaiser:

Chaotic, he never sits still. The second tequila hits his system, he goes off the rails.

Songs that match his vibe: • La Romana - (El Alfa) • The Way I Are - (Timbaland)

Marco Vitale:

He starts off shy, usually the soft-spoken one in the room, but with the right people around, he’s a wildcard. One second quiet, the next doing something completely insane, like he was just waiting for an excuse to lose control.

Songs that match his vibe: • Lady Killers II - (G-Easy) • En Nuit - (Videoclub)

Daisy Weston:

She is all energy and sunshine, bright, cheerful. She adores her two brothers even if half the time she’s teasing them.

Songs that match her vibe:

• Who Loves The Sun - (Jo.Ke, Nu) • Mestral - (pink noisy)

Jin Weston:

Classic younger brother vibe, sarcastic, always roasting everyone. He bullies because he cares, even if no one believes it. He is obsessed with Gio’s bike.

PHYSICAL BOOK APPRECIATION MOMENT

ITS ON AMAZON :)

THATS ALL POOKIES (please don’t forget to vote, I need to know if y’all are into this story 🥲)

ALSO haters are getting blocked 🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

LESGOOOOOO

1) Another Deal

Rava’s POV

“Do I seriously have to spend my whole summer there?”

I sound like I’m seconds away from flipping a table.

I don’t even know why I’m asking. It’s not like my family has ever cared about what I want.

They didn’t before, they won’t now, they’re never going to.

If they could take my entire brain out and replace it with one of theirs, they’d do it with zero hesitation.

Like woop , problem solved, Rava upgraded to Family-Approved Edition.

“Rava, we’ve talked about this,” my mom says, calmly.

“This deal is the biggest one our family has ever negotiated. We need you there.”

Nonsense.

I roll my eyes, pacing across my apartment.

It’s always the same freaking script. This is important, Rava. This is family, Rava. We need you, Rava.

Translation: Cancel your plans, Rava. Forget what you want, Rava. Be a good little accessory to the empire, Rava.

Bend over so we can fuck you too, Rava.

“It’s wild to me how everyone suddenly pretends they forgot what happened the last time we teamed up with Gio’s family.”

I swear, the way like the past just evaporates or something.

I still remember the last time our families tried to work together, years ago, it was a freaking disaster.

“It’s different this time, Rava. I promise. We made a huge deal . We won’t mess up again. It’s important, please don’t make this hard. You’re coming, okay?”

Sure. I’ll come.

Crying.

Jesus. I pinch the bridge of my nose.

I will actually go. I don’t actually want to, but I know myself. If I don’t go, I’ll spend the next three months feeling like a trash human.

“Fine.”

She softens immediately. “Great! Thank you, Rava. We really miss you here. And you have to save me from your siblings. They keep getting more and more annoying.”

I smile a little. I miss Daisy and Jin.

“Oh, right! How’s Sophia? Are you… still together?”

Oh good. Sermon number two.

Sophia. My girlfriend. For… whatever amount of months we’re pretending we’ve been normal.

My family hates her without even meeting her.

’ She looks snobbish ,’ they say. ’ She’s using you for your money ,’ they say.

Which is actually insane, because who the hell dates someone just for money?!

Like… hello? Are they saying I’m ugly? That I can’t pull a girl on my own?

Wait—did they mean that the whole time?!

Anyway. I clear my throat. “She’s fine. Yes, we’re still together.”

Mom goes silent for a beat. “Well… would you be happier if she came here in Italy too? Ask her if she can. We will take care of everything.”

Oh. Okay. So she’s good enough to judge from afar, but also good enough to sacrifice to the Gio-Fontana-Family-Circus?

I rub my face.

Sure. Let me just throw her in the deep end.

Like ‘Ay, Sophia, girl, follow me into this beautiful disaster we call a family. It’ll be fun. No one cries on the first day.’

Yeah. This is gonna go great.

“…Yeah, okay. I’ll ask her. I’ll go pack now… sorry for snapping.”

I end the call before she can say anything else.

My whole summer, trapped in Italy with the Fontana family.

Fuck me!

I let out a deep sigh and rub my forehead.

I’m not saying I don’t miss my family, I do.

But if I’m trying to build my own life, shouldn’t I be putting my future first?

My choices?

I’m already neck-deep in this company more than I should be.

They have a handful of hotels across Europe, and one of them basically runs on me.

And apparently, that’s still not enough.

I don’t want more responsibility. I’m not signing up for another family ‘favor’ dressed up as an opportunity.

Because it’s not my dream, it never was.

My dream, as stupid or soft or unrealistic as it sounds, is to be a teacher.

I love kids. I love learning.

That’s what I’ve been studying for years. Education. Teaching. That’s what I cared about.

It wasn’t just a degree to me, it was mine .

Something I had chosen for myself, not something handed to me with a hundred expectations attached.

I wanted to be in classrooms, learning how to make a difference, how to help kids grow into people who actually felt seen.

I wanted to spend my time around people who cared about things that weren’t just money, power, and networking over overpriced dinners.

Of course, my parents don’t see any of this as something real.

To them it’s just a distraction. Something like a phase.

Some temporary rebellion I’ll ‘grow out of’ once I get whatever is in my system out.

Especially to my dad.

He thinks I’m wasting time.

He thinks I’ll wake up one morning, snap my fingers, and magically realize my ‘place’ is back there.

They keep waiting for the moment I’ll ‘come to my senses.’

They are acting like wanting a different life is an illness I’ll eventually recover from.

Sometimes I swear they’re watching me like I’m a toddler having a tantrum, waiting for me to stop crying and go pick up the responsibilities they decided are mine.

But that’s the thing. I’m not confused or lost. And this isn’t just a phase.

They just can’t handle the idea that the life they want for me, isn’t the life I want for myself.

And I guess, to some extent… I played along.

I never outright rebelled, never said the words they feared the most: I don’t want this life.

Instead, I nodded when I needed to, pretended to be interested when they talked about “business opportunities,” and made just enough effort to keep them from thinking I was a lost cause.

But in reality I didn’t give a single fuck.

Not even a tiny bit.

Not about their company, not about the meetings, not about any of it. I just wanted them off my back long enough for me to carve out my own path.

And now I had to drop everything and fly back to Italy, because they had some huge deal that suddenly required my presence.

I scoff under my breath, shaking my head as I pull the suitcase down.

And the part that pisses me off the most is that it’s not just some random agreement.

It’s with Gio’s damn family.

GIO’S. FAMILY.

Like… aren’t our families supposed to hate each other?

Generational beef, cold wars, silent wars, loud wars, you pick one.

I let out a long exhausted sigh, and stare at my suitcase with my hand on my waist.

Then I drop to the floor.

I hated this.

Hated how, no matter what I wanted, I always ended up doing what they expected.

Hated how I could fight so hard to have my own life, and yet, with one phone call, they could pull me right back in.

And maybe what I hated the most was that a part of me still missed Italy.

No matter how much I tried to distance myself from it, no matter how much I wanted to prove I didn’t need that world, it was still home.

But this summer was supposed to be mine .

And now, just like that, it’s not.

I toss another shirt into my suitcase, barely caring if it lands folded or not.

Let my clothes suffer like I’m about to.

Years ago, we tried ‘collaborating’ with the Fontanas.

It was a disaster from the first meeting.

They wanted to invest in our hotels, and my dad shut down every single suggestion like they were asking him to sacrifice his firstborn.

Just cause he needed more and more money.

The Fontanas wanted a more traditional vibe, my dad wanted… whatever he wanted, probably the opposite, purely out of spite.

I swear, from what I remember, they were this close to actually ripping each other’s hair out.

And yet, here we are!

Another deal.

Another attempt at a partnership. What the hell kind of agreement did they strike this time?

Now… Gio. God, don’t even get me started.

Thank God he is abroad too, and I won’t have to deal with his ass too.

That son of a bitch made my life a living hell back then.

I scoff under my breath, shoving a pair of shoes into the suitcase with more force than necessary.

Gio had always been a smug little asshole, and I’d never liked him.

He never liked me. Not even a little. And he made sure I knew it every damn day.

He wouldn’t leave me alone, which is insane, because if you hate someone that much, wouldn’t you ignore them?

But no. Gio Fontana was built differently. Annoying on a spiritual level.

Whenever I talked about the things I actually cared about, astronomy, the books I loved, how I wanted to be a teacher, he and his pack of jackals would laugh.

Mock me.

Turn whatever I said into a joke for their amusement.

I have never met anyone that full of himself. Ever.

The guy walked around like he was God’s favorite problem.

The only way to shut him up, or, ironically, get his attention, was to yell BIKES straight in his face.

Instant reaction. Like you pressed a button on a very expensive, very irritating robot.

He genuinely believed being pretty automatically made him better than all of us.

Which is hilarious in a depressing way.

The last clear memory I had of him was from when I was eleven or something.

Gio and the rest of his idiot crew were twelve, riding around on their little fake motorbikes with those stupid plastic helmets, pretending to be mafiosi while I stood off to the side, trying to convince my mother that we needed to leave.

That was eleven years ago. Then he left the country.

His dad died, I don’t remember why or how.

He didn’t want to live with his mom or something like that, so he went to Spain to live with his father’s family.

For years, literal years, I thought about checking his social media.

Just to see what happened to him. If he’s alive, dead, in jail, married, missing, bald, anything.

But I never did it. Because it felt like the second I typed his name, he’d somehow know .

Like he’d pop out of the screen, smirk, and roast me from whatever dimension he lives in.

I am twenty-two now.

He is twenty-three.

People change.

He could be completely different. Right?!

Especially after a loss like this. He could have matured, grown up, let go of whatever bullshit he used to pull.

Hell, maybe he didn’t even remember me.

Whatever the case is, fortunately I don’t have to give a damn.

Cause he won’t even be there.

---

WOHOOOO WE ARE SO BACK BABY.

Let’s all take a moment to appreciate Wattpad for promoting the hell out of this book.

I’m in my main character era rn.

just so you know, yeah I drag them through hell and back, but the story has a happy ending. a very happy ending.

2) Finally Home

Rava’s POV

Italy.

The heat is unreal. I swear my eyeballs are melting. I can feel my soul sweating.

I grab my shirt and start fanning myself, but it does absolutely nothing.

My whole existence is currently liquefying.

I drop my suitcase in front of me and hunch over my phone, trying to shade the screen with my hand so I can read Daisy’s directions. Daisy is my older sister.

I can’t see shit with this sun.

I hear a loud car horn and I jump.

I swear Daisy really wants me dead before I even make it home.

I drag my suitcase toward her white car.

She’s got both hands on the wheel.

Her sunglasses are halfway down her nose. Jin, my younger brother, is in the backseat…

How the hell did they convince him to come? This dude gets bored by oxygen.

I’m betting Daisy bribed him with some limited-edition nonsense.

I get close and both of them climb out.

Daisy hugs me first, so tight I swear I see the afterlife for a second.

But I smile, because meetings aside, yeah. I missed them.

“Welcome, you little shit,” she says, grinning. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too. A little.” I answer.

She punches my shoulder.

“Unfortunately, you made it,” Jin adds. “They said you might miss your flight. I got my hopes up.”

I drop my bag by his feet. “Missed you too, bro.”

Daisy sighs. I grin and throw my bag into the back seat before sliding into the passenger seat.

The leather burns the shit out of my skin, but I don’t bother complaining.

It’s Italy during summer.

Everything is burning.

As Daisy pulls out of the airport, I glance at her.

“So where are mom and dad? Kind of weird how he didn’t show up just to throw me into a meeting straight from the runway.”

Daisy smirks. “Oh, don’t worry. You’ll be at your first one by the end of the day.”

I groan. “I wanna cry. Why don’t they ever bother you ? Why is it always ME?”

“Because our dad is the classic old-school, European, traditional, sexist and homophobic father,” she says in this mocking tone.

“Boys are superior, boys know more, women belong in the house. Only work builds men, meh meh meh.”

I cringe so hard I want to eject myself from the car.

She’s not wrong. And let’s say that I’m not exactly proud of him either.

He’s embarrassed us more times than I can count.

The things he says in public, the arguments he starts, the way he tries to convince everyone that he is the one with the right opinions.

“So yeah,” Daisy continues, shrugging. “I make plans with Mom. I don’t give him any attention.” She points at me. “You, on the other hand, are cooked, brother.”

“Shut up,” I mutter, covering my face. “Let’s not talk about this anymore.”

Jin leans forward, propping his chin on the back of my headrest. “You know,” he muses, “I kinda still think I’d be a better heir than you.”

I scoff. “How? You’re only sixteen.”

He shrugs. “And?”

I turn to look at him. “And if you want the job so bad, be my fucking guest. I’ll even print you a nameplate.”

He hums, pretending to think about it, then sits back. “Nah. I have a life.”

I snort, rolling down the window as the warm wind rushes in.

I’m in one of the nicest countries on the planet and somehow I’m still about to have the most miserable summer of my life.

Daisy turns up the music, claiming that “Mestral” is her favorite song.

I lean back, looking outside.

We pass by a familiar neon sign.

“Huh.” I tilt my head. “That ice cream place is still open?! Thought it’d be gone by now. Wow.”

Daisy turns around with a grin. “That’s a sign. We have to stop.”

Jin scoffs. “Damn, Rava. You sound ancient. ‘Back in my day, this place used to be—’”

I flip him off. “Go do your homework.”

We step out, and the heat slaps me again.

Shit.

As we approach the crosswalk, Jin moves first, but my arm instinctively shoots out, stopping him.

“Wait, you dumb idiot!”

And then, a motorcycle tears through the intersection, moving so fast it barely seems real.

Two police cars speed after him, sirens wailing.

The three of us stand there, completely frozen.

The whole thing lasts maybe three seconds, but it feels stretched out.

I’m probably half deaf right now.

“Holy shit,” Jin mutters.

Daisy lets out a low impressed hum.

“Damn,” she murmurs, “That was… kinda hot.”

I snap my head toward her, incredulous. “I hope they catch him.”

Daisy just smirks. “Yeah… they’re not catching him.”

I whip my head toward her. “What does that even mean?! If nobody stops him, he’s gonna die doing that shit.”

We step inside the ice cream shop mid-rant.

Finally, cold air. Actual mercy.

“Stop being a Karen,” Daisy says, flicking her hair while checking the flavors. “You like bikes. You used to doodle them everywhere. Why draw them if you hated them? Huh?”

I stare at her.

This woman really dug up my entire childhood for this argument.

“I didn’t like them,” I hiss. “I don’t like them now. I will NEVER like them. I was practicing my drawing. On everything.”

I lean closer, lowering my voice. “By that logic… since Jin keeps drawing dicks on his desk and giggling to himself like a psycho, does that mean he—”

A cookie gets stuffed straight into my mouth.

“Eat it and shut up,” Jin says. “Dicks are funny.”

I chew aggressively, glaring at both of them while we pay and head back to the car.

Daisy starts the engine. “Alright, troops. Five minutes till we’re home. Get your souls ready.”

• 5 minutes later *

The car rolls to a stop.

Daisy parks, hops out, and both she and Jin start grabbing my things to help me.

I see my dad.

Standing at the entrance like a museum statue, checking his watch.

Tell me I’m a bad person, go on, but yeah, I showed up already pissed, already biased, already mentally exhausted.

I came here pre-annoyed.

But the second I actually look at the house, I soften a little. And tense up at the same time.

This place holds both the best memories I have and the ones that still kick me in the teeth at night.

I walk up to him slowly.

He’s dressed formal, inside the house, like he’s expecting royalty instead of just me.

Rava.

I lean in and give him a careful hug.

“Finally home,” he says, patting my back. “How was the trip?”

“Long. Hot.” I pull away, squinting up at him. “You look more like a fisherman every time I see you.”

He laughs. “And you look like you’ve been locked in a library for months.”

“I mean, that’s not too far from the truth,” I admit, stretching my arms. “Where’s mom?”

“Inside, cooking. You hungry?”

That’s when I smell roasted potatoes.

Jesus Christ.

It takes me straight back to childhood summers, running barefoot on sunburnt tiles, sneaking bites of food before dinner.

I wipe the sweat from my forehead, grab the rest of my bags, and follow my dad inside.

I feel like I’m twelve again.

I haven’t been back to Italy much these past years, like, what, twice? Three times max.

I was always drowning in assignments, deadlines, practicum hours… There was never time.

So they came to Canada instead. A lot. Especially mom.

God, I missed this house.

My place back home is all dark colors, calm, muted.

This one is extremely bright.

I walk into the kitchen.

The second I see my mom, I smile.

She throws her arms up while still holding a wooden spoon. “There he is!! My baby!”

She practically tackles me with a hug. “My love, I missed you so much,” she says, squeezing the life out of me.

I wrap my arms around her and run my hand through her hair.

“I missed you too, mom.”

She pulls back to look at me… and does the classic mom stare. “Oh my God, Rava. What are they feeding you over there? You get more handsome every time I see you.”

I fix my glasses, tug on my shirt, trying not to look like a melted tourist. “Mom, I don’t look handsome right now. I look like I survived a war. You don’t have to lie.”

“I’m not lying,” she snaps. “When your hair looks terrible and sticks up everywhere, I tell you.”

“…Okay, fair.”

“I know.” She smirks.

“I’m gonna take a quick shower and come back,” I say, stepping toward the hallway.

“Yes, go! Food is almost ready.”

Up in my room, I drop my bag by the bed and sit on the mattress.

The window is open just a crack, letting in a gentle, nice breeze.

I stand and walk over to it, pushing it open wider.

The view is exactly how I remember it. The sea in the distance, the long main road stretching out below.

…

Wait a damn minute.

There is a whole-ass house next to ours. A giant one.

This wasn’t here. This plot used to be dead grass and a sad goalpost where Jin and I played soccer until someone cried.

Usually me.

But this??? Someone definitely tried to one-up us.

It looks like a honeymoon Airbnb for influencers. Or a bachelor party mansion where someone inevitably ends up in jail.

I’m not bothered. Totally unbothered. Zen.

Except… the house is so close I might as well wave good morning to the neighbor while I’m changing underwear.

At this point we should just share closets. And food.

My phone buzzes.

Sophia.

“Hey!” I answer.

“Heeey,” she says. “How was the flight?”

“God , a mess,” I breathe out. “Don’t even ask. The guy next to me cried the entire way. I don’t know what his life story was, but I felt bad.” I pause, remembering.

“Then they served food though, and suddenly he was fine. Whatever trauma he had was automatically g one . Cured instantly. It was kinda adorable actually,” I laugh.

“I should go,” she says, cutting me off mid-sentence.

Her tone changes.

“Oh. Why?”

“I just—I’ll call you later, okay?”

And then she hangs up.

I frown at the phone, confused.

That was weird.

She didn’t even say goodbye.

Every insecure neuron in my brain wakes up at once.

Was I annoying? Maybe I over-shared.

I don’t know. Maybe she was busy.

Anyway. Great start.

I pull a clean white T-shirt from my bag and grab a pair of gray shorts.

The bathroom is just across the hallway, and I head over, turning on the light.

Everything looks clean, like my mom made sure it was ready for me.

I love her.

I turn on the shower, waiting for the water to warm up as I strip off my clothes.

The second I step under the stream, I let out a slow breath.

The hot water is exactly what I needed. It washes away all the stiffness from the trip.

By the time I step out and wrap myself in a towel, I literally feel lighter, like I’ve shed the weight of the day. I take a deep breath, running a hand through my wet hair.

Time to head downstairs.

3) The Meeting

Rava’s POV

I walk back downstairs and mom is still going crazy.

She’s acting like she’s catering for New Year’s Eve and half the country’s invited.

“Do you want help?” I ask, because after living alone in Canada, cooking for myself every damn day, I’ve realized how much she did.

I used to take it for granted until the day I cried over overcooked pasta.

“No, baby, I’ve got it,” she says, waving me off with the ladle.

“Thank you though. Just go sit outside. Bring some water if you can.”

I sigh but do as she says.

Our little balcony looks like something out of a fairytale.

If I have to thank the family company for anything, it’s this house.

As annoying as the meetings are, mom built all this from scratch. Total girl boss energy.

The hotel business was her idea before anyone listened.

I drop into the seat next to Jin and Daisy.

Jin looks up from his plate, squinting at me. “You got taller,” he says.

I almost choke on my water. “Whoa. A compliment? From you? Okay, the end of the world is officially coming.”

Daisy snorts, kicking his chair lightly. “I gave him a whole lecture. Emotional damage and everything. Now he loves you. For like… two days. Max.”

I shake my head, laughing under my breath.

I don’t answer, because my dad clears his throat. “And you still want to go into education?”

This man.

Here we go. “If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have spent four years studying it. Or looking into ways to grow in it.”

He laughs. “You know the salary will be miserable, right?”

Daisy groans. “Dad, he just got here. For God’s sake.”

I clench my jaw. “Yes, I know. And trust me, I’d rather live with less doing something I love than be a depressed, miserable man with cash in my pocket.”

He exhales, disappointed.

“And you’re forgetting,” I add, “I’m the one managing the hotel in France. The last one we opened. And the one in Spain. So I already help.”

Mom turns from the stove and raises a hand. “He’s right, Charles. Enough. Leave it for the meeting. Now sit. Eat.”

I exhale hard and pull off my glasses, rubbing my eyes.

I start passing around plates.

Daisy nods. “By the way, how’s Sophia?”

“She’s good,” I say quickly.

No way I’m mentioning what happened earlier.

It’s embarrassing enough as it is.

Jin scoffs. “Still can’t believe you got a girlfriend.”

Here we go again. I already missed the old Jin.

I shoot him a glare. “And I can’t believe anyone willingly talks to you.”

Jin rolls his eyes.

We eat. We clean up.

And finally, I collapse onto my bed.

Being sun-drunk and food-drunk at the same time is freaking elite.

I close my eyes and let go.

---

I wake up to the sound of knocking.

Well, more like pounding, on my door.

My eyes snap open. I blink at my phone screen.

7:02 PM.

Before I can react, my bedroom door swings open, and my mother steps in.

“Ten minutes. Be ready. We’re leaving for the meeting.”

She looks stressed, and that stresses me out too. “And dress properly. This is important.”

I sigh as she leaves, rubbing my face before pushing myself up.

Great.

I flip through my options, knowing anything too casual will get me another lecture.

I settle on a fitted charcoal-gray blazer over a crisp white button-down, pairing it with dark slacks and polished black shoes.

It’s sharp but not too much.

Formal enough to look like I care, but not enough to suggest I actually do.

Stepping in front of the mirror, I run a hand through my straight, light-colored hair, slicking it back just enough to look put together.

A quick adjustment of my glasses, and that’s as much effort as I’m willing to put in.

Corporate hostage chic.  Love that for me.

“Let’s get this over with,” I mutter to myself.

As I step out of my room, I catch sight of Jin at the dining table, eating what looks like his second afternoon snack.

He glances up at me, and smirks. “Wow, you actually clean up nice. Trying to impress someone at your little cult meeting?”

I lift my middle finger as I pass.

The car pulls up in front of a towering glass building.

Holy shit.

The entrance is grand, with polished floors and high ceilings.

My mother leads the way, her heels clicking against the marble.

I follow, adjusting my blazer cause I don’t know what to do with my hands.

We step into the elevator. When the doors slide open, the space that greets us is something straight out of a high-end magazine.

The office is massive. There’s dark wood paneling and modern, minimalist furniture.

A long conference table sits in the center, surrounded by high-backed chairs.

Everyone looks expensive. Everyone smells expensive. 

Someone bathed in cologne, and I’m offended.

But what really catches my eye is the view.

Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the whole city. 

For a moment, I almost understand why people choose business over therapy.

Then movement brings me back. People are greeting each other and shaking their hands.

It’s funny, knowing we are all secretly hate each other.

“Eden, Charles!” a familiar voice says.

Gio’s mother.

Claudia.

I haven’t seen her in years, but she looks almost exactly the same.

Maybe a few more lines beneath her eyes, but still elegant.

What am I even supposed to say to her?

“Hi, sorry your husband died and also… your son is painfully irritating?”

Yeah, no. Perfect way to get kicked out.

Or maybe,

“Hello, I’m the number-one hater of your son. Truly. I have no idea how you’ve tolerated him this long.”

Amazing.

I rub my face.

The thing is… I never had a problem with her. She was always sweet to me.

The issue was never the mom.

It was always Gio.

Gio, who managed to be an asshole to me specifically, and somehow charming with everyone else.

He talked to my siblings normally. Never snapped at them. Never messed with them.

But with me, he was a total dick. He acted like tormenting me was his birthright.

Like he was born with one mission: make Rava suffer 24/7.

Literally since we were babies.

She extends a hand toward me, and I take it, offering a polite nod.

“It’s been a long time,” she says with a smile.

“Yeah,” I reply simply, releasing her hand.

As the small talk continues around me, I glance back at the view.

Maybe this whole thing won’t be as miserable as I thought.

Maybe i’m overreacting.

• 20 minutes later -

Okay, I wasn’t overreacting.

This was hell.

I wasn’t really listening.

My dad had been rambling about expanding hotel investments for what felt like hours .

I sat there, spinning my pen fast between my fingers, barely even pretending to care.

“Rava?”

Shit.

I straightened immediately, and snapped back into the moment.

My dad and a few others were looking at me like they expected an answer.

No clue what I’d just missed, but I knew how to fake it, because I know my dad.

“Sounds like a solid strategy,” I said, nodding like I meant it.

My dad seemed satisfied and went right back to talking, and I exhaled quietly.

And then the door opened.

I didn’t look right away.

I only noticed the sudden, subtle change in atmosphere that felt like someone had walked in and sucked all the oxygen out with them.

I turned my head.

A tall guy, around his early twenties.

Black, slightly wavy hair.

Ink trailing all over his one hand. His sleeves were rolled up.

A helmet dangling from the other hand.

Piercings. Many, fucking piercings.

Ears.

Eyebrow.

Even on the bottom lip?! Ouch.

I barely had time to process the sheer audacity of this guy, before Gio’s mom stood up to greet him.

…

Huh.

Gio’s mom…

Stood up to greet…

The guy that looked like he was around his…

Twenties oh my God no .

No .

No, no, no the fuck she didn’t.

The man beside her stood up too.

“Welcome, Gio. Though you’re late.”

…

No.

How .

For a second, I thought I had misheard, that there was no fucking way.

I swear I left him in Spain.

Last update I had, Gio Fontana was miles away, busy being loud and annoying in another country.

But no. No, it was real.

Too real.

“Shameless, filthy boy.” My father told my mother.

She didn’t respond, she just gave him a side-eye.

My survival instinct kicks in. Bathroom. Go to the bathroom. Hide. Say you’re dying. Anything.

I was getting the hell out of here, but before I could even move, my mother grabbed my wrist.

Her fingers squeezed. She smiled like nothing was wrong.

I let her drag me back into my seat.

I turned to her.

“Why didn’t you tell me this asshole was gonna be here?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she got up to shake his hand.

And I had to sit there boiling , while she greeted him.

No escape.

I look at him again.

Is that… Gio?

Now that he’s closer, yeah. It’s him.

The single most unbearable person I had ever met.

He has that very specific fake-ass smile, with the corners way too sharp, like it’s carved in with a knife.

Yup. That’s Gio. Unfortunately.

And then he looked at me.

His gaze settled.

His expression was completely unreadable.

And then, because he was physically incapable of not being an insufferable dick , he reached out a hand, like this was the first time we were meeting.

“What’s your name?

This bitch.

I let out a disbelieving laugh before I could stop myself. “Oh, come on .”

My mother’s elbow caught my side.

I forced down the pure fucking irritation burning through me and exhaled through my nose. “It’s me, Rava Weston.”

He gasped.

His eyebrows lifted, and then…

…he laughed.

Genuinely laughed.

Why does nobody ever tell him to shut up? Why am I the only one suffering here?

“It’s Ravioli!” he says. “No way.”

I wanted to strangle him.

His mother swallowed hard, looking clearly tense.

Gio, on the other hand, didn’t seem fazed at all.

He just gave me one last look, and then dropped into the empty chair across from me.

My mom leans in, whispering, “Rava, please don’t make it a thing. Not now.”

Oh, don’t worry. I won’t make it a thing now . I’ll just store it deep inside until it explodes later in a violent emotional meltdown.

I stare anywhere but at him, the wall, the floor, a plant, the air, anything.

Suddenly it’s insanely hot in here. Like, heat-stroke hot.

I swear my anxiety is cooking me alive.

Either he leaves, or I do.

One of us has to go before I spontaneously combust.

---

In the next chapter Gio comes out :) Do NOT start hating him, because this guy has, confirmed by thousands of people, the biggest character development.

So don’t start with the “omg he’s so cocky, he’s so full of himself”😭 yes, he is.

A LOT.

That’s the whole point. Literally.

4) Gio Is Insufferable

Rava’s POV

I hold my phone to my ear, pacing around my room as I vent to Sophia.

“I’m telling you, Gio is insufferable. I want to leave already. Help me.”

“Just don’t talk to him. Seriously,” she says.

And instantly I feel like an idiot.

“…I am already not talking to him. I’m just stating facts. He’s just insufferable. That’s all.”

Sophia’s response is dry. “Mhm.”

Great.

Now I’m the annoying boyfriend again.

The one who talks too much, complains too much, overshadows her, whatever.

No. Nope, that’s not fair. I’m not taking the blame for everything today.

I pause, frowning. “Are you even listening?”

“Yeah,” she replies, just as flat.

I wait for more, but she gives me nothing.

I sigh. “Whatever. I’ll let you go. I have…stuff to do.”

“Cool, talk to you later.” She hangs up before I can even say bye.

Unbelievable.

It’s like she pressed end call with the energy of, please shut up, you’re exhausting me.

As if I didn’t already have enough going on, now I have to stress about what I say, how I say it, when I say it, whether I’m too much, not enough, too dramatic, too quiet.

I stare at my screen for a second.

Truth was, I had nothing to do.

Something’s off with her. I’m sure of it.

I step outside onto the balcony.

Daisy is curled up on the small couch near the plants, scrolling on her phone.

Jin sits at the table nearby, eating an apple.

Daisy looks up as I sit beside her. “What’s with the face?”

I exhale sharply. “Guess who showed up at the meeting today?”

“Gio?”

I nod. “Yes?!”

Daisy and Jin exchange looks, then laugh.

“What’s funny, you traitors?”

Jin smirks. “We already knew.”

“And you didn’t tell me because…?!”

Jin shrugs. “Don’t ask me. I don’t get it though. He’s chill. We play basketball sometimes. In the afternoons. In secret, of course. Cause if dad knew, he would kill us both.”

My jaw nearly drops. “You what ?”

Jin just nods, unbothered.

“How the hell do you play with him?” I demand. “The guy is the worst! Made my life a living hell and you know it. You saw it!”

Jin raises an eyebrow. “Oh, come on. He was just messing with you, dude. You still hate him that much?”

“Of course I do?! Why would I stop.”

“I don’t know… maybe because you’re not eight anymore?”

I scoff. “Remember when I was ten, I asked to ride his stupid little bike, and he goes, ’ Of course! Just leave me a deposit first .’ I was like, ‘Deposit? What deposit?’ And he deadass tells me I have to give him my new sneakers as collateral. He made it a whole joke. ‘Gotta protect my investment!’ And when I refused, he just shrugged and said, ‘Guess you don’t want it that bad.’ Asshole.”

Daisy rolls her eyes. “That was over a decade ago.”

“ Oh there’s more. We were at this huge outdoor event, and I lose my way back to our group. Gio, being so helpful, tells me there’s a shortcut behind this tent. So I go. Turns out it’s the staff-only area. I walk right into the middle of workers on their break, and everyone just stares at me like I’m trespassing. Security

had to escort me out! Gio was watching the whole time, dying laughing.“

“Get over it Rava, y’all were kids.”

“Hell no,” I snap. “I’m never letting that go. I’m also never letting go the fact that he kept calling me Ravioli, instead of Rava , and everyone would follow, just because - the cool guy- said it.

She sighs. “Well you might have to. Especially now that you’re neighbors.”

I freeze. “What?”

She nods toward the house across from us. “Look.”

I turn.

Gio sits on his motorcycle, two other guys beside him, all ready to leave.

He adjusts his helmet, but then he sees me.

Our eyes meet for a second.

He winks at me, and then starts his bike.

I turn back to Daisy and Jin, still processing.

“Are you kidding me? First the meeting, now this ? What’s next, he’s gonna start having dinner with us too?”

Jin hums, tapping his fingers against the table.

“Yeah, over dad’s dead body. It would be cool though. He’s got humor. And honestly, impressive biceps.”

I glare at him. “What is wrong with you?”

Jin just grins. “Nothing. But it’s funny how worked up you get over him.”

“I hate you for this.”

Jin sips his drink, completely unfazed. “Mhm. Sounds like you’ve got a Gio problem, not a me problem.”

---

Gio’s POV

Red light. Forearm on the throttle.

My spine is still screaming from the race, which, let’s be real, wasn’t even a fucking race.

It was me stretching my legs while the rest of them choked on my dust.

One by one. Like fucking worshippers.

I crack my neck and lean back a bit.

Swear to God, if I keep riding like this, my spine’s gonna bury me before the cops or my enemies do.

Speaking of death.

Can you die from an orgasm?

Like heart-attack mid-nut?

Cause that’s the only type of death I’m down for.

When they say, riding will be the death of you, I just laugh. Because yeah. Obviously. That tracks.

The only mystery left is whether I’ll be gripping handlebars… or someone’s hips.

Both require balance. Both feel better the faster you go.

And don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to die. I’m just not exactly afraid of the concept if it’s gonna be… memorable.

Like imagine dying mid-thrust. Not even mad. Just mildly impressed.

People cry at funerals. Mine would be awkward as fuck. Everyone pretending not to know. Everyone knowing.

I kept thinking about it during today’s meeting, trying to keep myself awake.

Seriously, how the fuck do these people live.

I’d rather die on the highway than rot in one of those conference rooms.

My Ducati is the only reason my heart still beats the way it does.

People hate it. Some say I’m an asshole.

That one day I’m gonna crash and they’ll laugh at my funeral.

But let’s be real, those people have never seen me ride.

Never heard the sound she makes when I push her past 180.

Never watched jaws drop when I lean into a corner.

If this bike drops anything, it’s not my body.

It’s panties.

It’s boxers.

It’s every goddamn jaw in a five-mile radius.

Half the time, they don’t even care about the bike.

They just wanna ride me.

Can’t even blame them.

If I wasn’t me, I’d wanna fuck me too.

And they’re not even subtle about it. Straight up, “That was a hot ride. Can I bounce on that dick next?”

Like??? Damn, at least buy me a snack first.

Okay, I’m joking. Kinda.

I’m not a whore.

Shocking , I know.

But I can’t fuck randoms. I hate it.

And not in some moral high-ground type of way.

It’s just pointless.

Why?

’Cause they didn’t fucking earn it.

Simple as that.

I could fuck whoever I want. Literally.

But do they deserve me? Hell no.

Yeah, I love sex.

But I only do it with people who hit at least an 8.5 out of 10.

Mentally. Physically.

They gotta have… something. A brain. A reason.

Call me a prude if you want.

But this dick? Not for just anyone.

And I don’t even hide it. I say it with my whole chest.

It’s not an L. It’s a flex.

I’ve got the option, and I choose not to.

That doesn’t make me pathetic. That makes me a fucking legend.

I pull up outside my place, kill the engine.

Do I regret coming back from Spain? Fuck no.

I’ve got my own house now, and I’m thriving.

Of course, people ran their mouths about it.

Said I don’t take life seriously.

That I switch countries and homes like underwear.

Like stability’s some badge of honor.

I say they’re just bitter ’cause they’re stuck and I’m not.

I built this whole-ass house from scratch, right next door to Charles fucking Weston.

Yeah.

That Charles. Daddy Dearest.

Biggest hater on the block.

Now he gets to see me every damn day.

Gets to watch me park this red beast of a bike right outside his prim little porch.

I swear, sometimes I rev the engine on purpose.

Just a little good morning gift.

Rise and shine, old man.

Start your day with the sound of me winning.

I know he fucking loves it. Fucker.

I lock the bike, swing my leg over. Toss my helmet under one arm.

I step inside.

The place is quiet, just the way I like it.

No fake pleasantries, no one hovering with expectations. Just me.

Well, me and Lulu.

She trots over, moving her long tail.

The only creature in this world that has my whole heart.

This tiny ball of fluff trotting up to me.

My cat.

“Hey, princess,” I murmur, scooping her up. She purrs instantly, rubbing her face against my chin. “You missed me, huh? Of course, you did. Who else treats you like a queen around here?” I press a kiss to her soft head.

I head for the bathroom and obviously, she follows.

Start peeling clothes off one by one.

Fuck it. I’ve got all day to myself ’til tonight.

I’m filling this damn tub and melting into it like I deserve.

Because I do.

Flex in the mirror while the water rises.

Goddamn. Why the fuck do I look this good naked?

Like, it’s almost criminal. High-key offensive.

I turn to Lulu, my biggest fan.

Pick her up again, cradle her soft little body.

We spin. Dance like psychos to music that’s only in my head.

I scratch her chin. She purrs like I gave her the world.

If she was human, she would be my best fucking friend, no question.

I set her down gently, cut the water, step in, and immediately regret it.

Cold. So cold my dick goes into hiding.

I pause mid-submersion.

Let it… adjust. Mental pep talk.

Okay.

I slide down, and my back hits the marble.

My head falls against the edge.

Ohhh yeah. This is life. This is the top of the pyramid.

No emails. No people.

… Only the doorbell.

My head snaps up.

No. Absolutely fucking not.

I’m not doing this. Whoever it is, if they really love me, they’ll come back later.

If not… well, natural selection, baby.

I lean back again. Close my eyes. Let peace take me.

Doorbell again. And again. And again.

Yup. That’s my mom.

I’d bet my soul on it.

I put on some clean clothes, and I’m walking to the entrance.

Oh, look. My mother stands there. And she’s dressed too perfectly for just a casual visit.

Her eyes are on me like she’s scanning for flaws.

“Mom,” I say flatly.

“Giovanni,” she replies.

“Have you been eating well? You look thinner. You’re not working too hard, are you?” She steps in without waiting for an invitation.

Her eyes are drifting over my place like she’s tallying up everything she disapproves of.

I let out a slow breath, tilting my head back against the doorframe. “Can we skip this part?”

“What part, son?”

My whole mood flips.

“The part where you act like you care about my life. You didn’t come here to check on me, so whatever it is, just get to it.”

She looks bothered.

She’s been here not even two minutes and the mask’s already slipping.

Good. I’m too tired for the act today.

Even though I used to care about that look.

There was a time I really tried. Like, really fucking tried.

Wanted us to be normal.

Have family dinners, family moments, vacation together, reassurance.

Anything.

But nah. She didn’t want that. So I left.

Packed up and dipped to Spain. Because I was broken.

Cracked in every fucking direction after my dad died.

She didn’t get it. Didn’t even try to get it.

That was the real shock for her.

Not that I was grieving, not that I was alone, just that I had the audacity to leave.

To choose something other than the life she mapped out for me.

But I couldn’t stay.

I swear the house felt like a tomb after dad was gone.

Every room was heavy with what used to be there, with what would never be again.

And she didn’t fall apart.

She kept moving, kept running the company, kept making sure everything looked fine from the outside.

She treated his absence like it was just an inconvenience to be managed.

So yeah.

I moved to Spain, to my dad’s brothers, to something that felt… I don’t know. Different.

At least I had people who listened and who gave a shit.

They built me up. She tore me down.

And now she’s standing in my doorway, playing the role of the concerned mother like we’re not years past the point of fixing this.

So, yeah. She can skip the script. I’m not fucking buying it.

5) “Hey, Ravioli.”

Gio’s POV

I throw myself onto the couch, landing in the most careless position possible.

One leg over the armrest, an elbow digging into the cushions, head tilted back, ready to pass out from boredom.

My mother’s eyes flick over me.

I know that look. She hates this.

The way I sit, the way I exist.

I can practically hear the judgment grinding in her head.

I’m sure her brain is screaming right now.

I smirk. “Does it bother you? The way I’m lying down?”

Her lips purse. “It would be nice if you had some manners, Giovanni. For your own sake.”

That makes me laugh. “Right, because my biggest problem in life is my posture.” I stretch even further, just to piss her off.

She exhales sharply, then she gets to the point.

“It’s about the Weston family.”

Oh, fuck me.

I bite the inside of my cheek, knowing this can’t be good.

“What about them.”

She exhales.

“I want you to start spending time with Rava.”

Rava.

God, even the meetings sound more exciting than this.

I laugh. Loud. “Excuse me? What do you want us to do exactly? Go sit in a library together and read poetry? Or you think Rava’s the type to show up at a fucking street race?”

“I don’t care, Giovanni. Figure it out. You find solutions for dumber shit all the time. Figure this one out too.”

I sit back, arms crossed tight over my chest. “You’ve got some fucking nerve.”

“Gio—”

“No,” I cut her off.

“Give me one good reason, just one, why I should waste my time playing besties with that uptight little plant. That walking Charles 2.0. The son of the man who worked my dad into the ground like he was some corporate slave. Like he wasn’t even human.”

Her jaw tenses. She knew this was coming.

“You remember that, right?” I go on, raising my voice.

“You remember the late nights? The way he’d come home dead behind the eyes? Because of Charles.”

“I do,” she says quietly. “I remember everything.”

“And now you want me to do what? Grab a drink with his golden boy and pretend that never happened?”

“Gio, listen to me,” she says.

“Charles made a lot of mistakes. He probably still does. I won’t defend him. He was cruel to your father, to you. I’m not pretending that didn’t happen.”

“Then why the hell are you asking me to do this?”

“Because the deal we closed with their family is good. Genuinely good. For the business and for us.”

I laugh, but it’s obviously humorless. “And what? You think I’m going to hold hands with his son just to keep the peace?”

“Rava isn’t Charles,” she says.

“He’s not responsible for what his father did. Plus, you are already friends with his siblings. Why not him too? Why’s he the only one you freeze out? He’s a good boy. He’s polite. He’s kind. If anyone should have an attitude in this equation, it’s him , not you.”

Well. Shit.

She’s not wrong. If I were him, I wouldn’t talk to me either.

I sigh, rub my jaw. “So let’s say I say okay. Let’s pretend I’m down. What makes you think he wants me around?”

She smirks. “Make him want you. Be nice to him for once. Please.”

I don’t respond.

“He’s only here for the summer,” she says, carefully. “By September, he’ll be back in Canada. This is temporary. You can do temporary.”

I look away, clenching my jaw.

“Why do I always have to be the one to pretend nothing happened?”

“Because people are watching,” she says softly. “Because if we act like there’s bad blood, this deal collapses, and we go down with it. We don’t have the luxury of grudges, Gio. Not anymore.”

Of course. The image. That fucking image.

I snort. “You really think pretending fixes anything?”

“I think it buys us time.”

I shake my head. “You care too much about what they see.”

She meets my eyes. “And you care too much about what they don’t.”

We stare at each other for a long second.

Finally, I exhale, pissed off. “Fine. I’ll try to take him out. Tonight.”

11:00PM

I’m staring at him through the window like a creep.

He’s reading a book while lying on his back.

Who the fuck reads books while lying on their back.

He is still so random.

I’ll admit it, I did a double take when I saw him at the meeting.

He’s changed. A lot.

He used to be easy to mock. The posture, the shirts, the wide-eyed puppy vibe.

A walking stereotype of “good boy raised by Charles.”

Now I can’t clown him anymore, at least not for the way he looks.

The asshole had the nerve to grow up decent-looking.

I had to come up with new material.

His hair’s different now. Lighter color, longer on top, messier.

He has new glasses, too. Not those tragic blue ones he used to wear.

These are cleaner. Silver.

His build changed too.

He’s not that soft cute little thing he used to be. He’s got shoulders now.

An ass, too. A fat one.

I swear on my bike, he did NOT have that back then.

I would’ve remembered. I would’ve bullied him differently. Hell, maybe I’d have bullied myself.

And he doesn’t even look shy anymore.

Doesn’t look like he needs saving, or like he’s searching for the nearest exit.

He looks steady. Annoyed, even.

Like I’m the one throwing him off. Like I’m the chaos in the room now.

The wide-eyed flinches are gone. The nervous half-smiles are replaced.

Now he just crosses his arms and stares me down like he’s already over it.

That gets under my skin a little.

’Cause I’m used to making people flinch. Not lean in.

And he looks like he wants me dead.

And I kinda like it.

Little change of pace never hurt anybody. God knows I’ve been bored stiff with everyone else lately.

All doing whatever I want, laughing at whatever I say.

It’s predictable.

Maybe I was a little dramatic earlier. Maybe I overreacted.

It’s not like I have to marry the guy.

Just a few months.

Then he’ll disappear back to Canada or wherever they’ve been keeping him frozen all these years.

I can survive that.

And holy shit, if I’m stuck with him, I might as well make the most of it.

At least now I’ve got someone to mess with again.

Rava’s POV

I’m lying on my back, holding my book up, not bothering anyone.

Peace and quiet.

Then the door creaked open behind me. I didn’t even look. “Jin, if that’s you again, I swear to God, get a life, man. Or a hobby. Preferably far away from me.”

BAM. Two hands land hard on my shoulders.

I flinch so bad the book flies out of my hands and smacks me right in the face.

I sit up furious. No, no, no. Not in my room, too.

“ Hey, Ravioli. “

I swear to God. I’m going to murder him. I’m going to jail today.

I hate being scared out of nowhere.

Hate it. Makes my skin crawl.

Especially when it’s by people I barely tolerate.

He’s sitting near the door.

He doesn’t look anything like he did this morning at the meeting.

Now he looks like he just walked out of some back alley fight club.

Black baggy pants. Tight black tank top glued to his chest.

Of course.

God forbid we step outside without showing off the arms and the tattoos.

That would be unthinkable. A crime, really.

His black hair is slicked back just a little.

And that piercing on his lip? God. Trashy. All of it.

I just know the lawyers hate seeing him walk through the door. Because there’s no way he’s ever innocent.

“What the hell are you doing in my room?” I snapped. “If you came here to be a dick, you’re wasting your time. I’m not that little kid anymore who cared what you thought.”

I lay back down, picked up my book again.

That was it. End of conversation.

Except it wasn’t.

I felt him walk closer again.

The next second, he was right above me, and his shadow was blocking out the light.

He grabbed the book from my hands.

“What are you reading? Can I see?” he asks.

I get up. Snatch the book right out of his hands.

He looks disappointed.

I almost feel bad for a second.

Then I remember who I’m dealing with. Gio.

“What do you want, Gio?”

He tilted his head. “Get ready. We’re going out.”

“Huh?”

“You heard me. And you’re coming,” Gio said like it was obvious.

“From what universe do you think that’s happening?” I shot back, raising my eyebrows. “We don’t hang out. That’s not a thing. I don’t want anything to do with you outside these stupid meetings. I thought you already knew that.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just stared at me, then sucked in the inside of his cheek, trying not to snap.

“Look, Ravioli,” he said.

I flinched at the name but didn’t respond.

“The way you feel right now is exactly how I feel, too. I just gotta take you out. Just for tonight. That’s it.”

He shrugs. “It’s my mom. She asked. You know how she gets. I don’t need to explain it to you. She’s gonna keep nagging me till I fucking die. And I don’t plan on dying any time soon.”

I folded my arms. Smiled. “Still not my problem.”

He rolled his eyes. “Come on. It’s that new open-air club, the one that just launched a few weeks ago. We don’t have to talk. Just come with me.”

My laugh was still dry. I closed the book with a firm snap.

“Hard pass.”

He stepped closer.

“Well, if you don’t come, I’ll tell her we had sex. And you’ll have her texting you for weekly hangouts. Dinners, walks, maybe even a movie night.”

He tilted his head. “She still likes you, you know. Thinks you’re sweet. I can use that against you.”

I stared at him. That asshole.

Manipulative, and somehow still one step ahead.

“You wouldn’t,” I muttered, looking at him dead in the eyes.

“Don’t make this hard. Just come with me.”

I smile.

He’s desperate. And I’m enjoying every second of it.

It’s kinda funny. Kinda satisfying.

Like the universe giving the little me, a little justice.

I smirk. “If you really want it, beg a little.”

He exhales hard. “I don’t beg.”

I stand up. “Then have fun going alone.” Start heading for the door.

His body blocks me before I even take three steps.

Chest to chest.

He’s taller, so now I’m standing in front of his throat, glaring up at him.

“Move,” I say.

“Please,” he says, and his voice actually drops a little. “Let me take you out tonight.”

I grin. “Say my actual name.”

He groans. “That’s too far.”

I tilt my head. “Then I’m walking.”

He sighs, fake smile creeping in. “Please, let me take you out tonight, Rava.”

I nod like I just closed a deal. “Okay.”

I walk away from him.

He’s still staring at me. Frozen.

What a dumbass.

I snap my fingers in his face. “Wake up, idiot.”

His focus returns. “Right. Great.”

He claps his hands once.

“Heading out now so I don’t witness the vein on your dad’s forehead pop when he sees me still breathing.”

“Didn’t know the hatred was mutual. I thought it was just him that couldn’t stand you. He is pretty convinced you’re the human version of a crime wave in designer clothes.”

My eyes dropped to his rings, the dark shirt, the scars on his knuckles, then back to his face.

I gave a slow, fake-thoughtful nod. “To be fair… he’s not entirely wrong,” I tell him.

Gio stops. Turns back. “Don’t make this harder than it is,” he says, clearly pissed.

What the fuck? We stare at each other.

“I’ll be waiting downstairs. Don’t take forever, please.”

6) Gio On A Leash

Rava’s POV

What do people even wear to clubs?

God, this is embarrassing. I’m twenty-two and I still don’t know how to dress for going out.

And now I’m doing it in Italy, where everyone looks like they stepped out of a magazine.

Since I’m already being dragged out, I wanted to at least look decent.

Nice and presentable.

But nothing I own looks anything like Gio’s clothes…

His wardrobe screams I’m here to ruin your peace while mine still screams please don’t look at me too long, this is humiliating.

I think I’m just overthinking.

He wouldn’t think about what I’m wearing. He wouldn’t care. So why should I?

Actually… no. You know what? Not only am I not dressing nicely, I’m dressing on purpose badly.

Let everyone judge him for the people he hangs out with.

Let them think, wow, Fontana brought… that?

Perfect.

I pull on khaki pants and a plain white polo. Very “I’m here by force.”

I adjust the chain on my wrist. That’s the only thing about me that looks remotely alive.

Do I look out of place? Absolutely.

Great. Maybe that means we can leave earlier.

I step outside.

There’s a burgundy SF90 Stradale fucking Ferrari.

Of course it’s his.

Because Gio Fontana wouldn’t be caught dead driving something normal.

God forbid he breathes the same air as the rest of us.

I stop in front of it, cross my arms, and just stare.

The audacity of this man.

I bite the inside of my cheek.

“Seriously?” I snap. “You’re taking a Ferrari to a club? You want to get robbed or shot first?”

He looks at me over the frames. “Ravioli,” he says, lazily. “Shut up and get in. You don’t get many chances to ride this hard.”

I groan under my breath and get in.

Mostly because I’d rather die than give him the satisfaction of thinking I hesitated.

Inside smells like leather.

It is too… clean. Weird.

Gio was never the “wipe down your car every morning” kind of guy. Feels off.

I snap my seatbelt hard. I turn toward the window.

Not giving him the satisfaction of eye contact.

He’s already looking. I can feel it.

“What?” he says. “Don’t trust me?”

I laugh once. “Of course I don’t fucking trust you.”

He lets out this quiet laugh that’s more like mocking than laughing. I hate it.

“Cut the attitude,” he says. “Watch and learn.”

He starts the car.

The sound… holy fuck. Pure temptation on wheels.

Okay. Fine. It’s hot and sexy. I’ll admit that.

The driver though is unbearable.

He drives slow… Shockingly.

Ugh. Now I can’t even roast him properly.

I glance at him for a second, and he immediately looks at me too.

Instant eye contact.

I turn my head fast.

He clears his throat, enjoying himself. “How’s Canada?”

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t.”

Fuck you.

Silence.

“Then don’t ask,” I mutter. “Do the world a favor.”

He hums low. “Sounds perfect.”

He pauses.

“Oh, maybe buckle up properly. You should probably be ready for what’s about to happen.” he adds.

I turn to look at him. “What the hell are you—”

He turns down some random side street and before I can even ask, he fucking drifts.

The whole car screams while the tires are shredding against the asphalt.

My hand shoots out, gripping the seat and the door. “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!?!”

The Ferrari slides like it’s dancing with death, and he just laughs.

We shoot straight into a tunnel. The sound triples and suddenly I feel like I’m in a blender.

“Gio!” I shout, “are you—do you have a death wish?!?!”

He doesn’t answer.

His one hand is on the wheel, the other one is resting casually on the gear stick.

His hair’s moving with the wind. His tattooed hand is tapping the steering wheel like he’s bored.

What. The. Actual. Fuck.

I grip the door handle tighter.

I look at him fully panicked, and he has the audacity to look at me like I’m the crazy one.

When he finally slows down, I realize I’m half-hunched over, breathing like I just escaped a hostage situation.

My hand’s shaking.

He glances at me, then he smirks. “Relax. That was nothing.”

My mouth hangs open. “NOTHING? You psycho! Do you have a brain injury or something?!”

He just shrugs. “Chill. You’re just boring.”

“Sorry for valuing my life?!” I snap. “Not all of us have a death fetish!”

He grins wider. “The only thing I’m hearing is: I’m boring, I love books, I probably eat paper for breakfast, I’m a little academic caterpillar.”

I just stare at him.

My hand goes straight to my face and I rub my temples hard.

“Oh my god,” I mutter.

How am I supposed to survive this man.

How do I make him shut up.

We got to the entrance and could already hear the bass shaking the balcony.

Capo Plaza was blasting at full volume, people leaning over the railings with drinks in their hands, shouting over the music.

Holy shit. The place was packed .

I turned to him. “One of us should go in first. I’m not walking in with you.”

He smirked. “Couldn’t agree more, love.”

He snatched my phone out of my hand before I could react. “What the hell are you doing?”

He doesn’t look up. “Putting my number in your phone,” he says. “For when it’s time to leave. I’m not running around a club trying to find you.”

Okay. That’s actually logical. Annoying, but logical.

He hands it back, and I take it quietly.

“Oh I almost forgot.”

I was about to turn away, when his hand suddenly grabbed my arm and pulled me sideways.

I stumbled straight into him.

“What the hell—”

His arm drops over my shoulders, and he leans his head against mine.

Before I could even process what was happening, he actually took a picture of us.

“Beautiful.”

“What the hell was that for?”

“To jerk off to it tonight,” he says instantly.

My eyes and my mouth go wide at the same time.

Gio BURSTS out laughing next to me.

Was that a joke? If it was, then I’m stupid. How am I already falling for his dumb lines? It’s the FIRST DAY. I was supposed to stop being a victim and now I’ve been clowned like three times already.

He reaches over and pats my head.

“My mom. She wanted proof that I actually took you out and didn’t just ditch you for a poker night.”

I stare at him. “Oh. Hilarious. Ha.”

He grins. “You got scared. You thought I was gonna jerk off to you.”

I want to disappear.

“Anyway,” he adds, stepping back, “please don’t get drunk. I’m not dragging you out of here. Have fun, Ravioli.”

2 Hours later

I’m sitting on a random chair, looking like a lost child someone forgot to pick up.

I must look pathetic.

‘Abandoned’ vibes.

I even tried calling Sophia so I wouldn’t rot alone, but she’s “out with her friends,” apparently.

So now it’s just me, myself, and this Malibu in my hand.

At least it tastes good. It makes me feel silly.

The place itself is actually nice. Almost distracts me from how awkward I am.

There are so many flashing lights, though, that I’m one strobe away from developing epilepsy on the spot.

But the vibe… sure. It’s not terrible.

Then finally, something decent plays.

Poison Lips by Vitalic. Bless whoever picked that.

After hours of straight-up noise pollution, this is the first song that it’s actually good.

“Rava?”

I turned.

Carla. Dario.

Holy

shit!

It was like seeing ghosts from my past life.

We were classmates back in elementary and middle school, literally the only two kids I ever actually got along with.

Then we switched schools, drifted apart, life happened… and that was that.

I think my mouth actually dropped open because Carla just laughed and grabbed my arm like no time had passed.

She had glitter on her cheeks, and a drink in hand.

“Oh my god, it is you,” she said, wide-eyed. “You look insane, Rava. Like—insanely good.”

Dario nodded.

Carla looks exactly the same. I don’t know how she pulled that off. Same face, same blond hair, same energy. Same everything.

Dario, though… yeah, he changed. A lot.

He was now taller, relaxed, with messy dark curls that fell over his forehead. A cigarette half-lit.

Back then he was the biggest anti-smoking warrior I’d ever met.

Lectured everyone, threw fits if someone lit a cigarette near him.

And now he’s standing there proudly holding one.

Life is insane.

He gave me that same cocky smirk he used to have in gym class. “What the hell, man. You grew up hot. This isn’t fair.”

I felt my face heat up instantly.

It was strange seeing them and hearing them again, especially Dario.

I hadn’t seen him since… well.

Since I was going through that identity crisis I never admitted to anyone.

He had asked me out, back then.

A real date. Just the two of us.

I freaked out.

I didn’t say yes. Didn’t say no, either.

I was too young and confused.

Too scared of what a yes might mean. So I just disappeared.

And now he’s in front of me again.

I ducked my head, waving a hand like that would make the compliments go away. “Okay, no—shut up,” I muttered, laughing. “I literally look like I got lost in the club and just gave up.”

“You look like you belong here,” Carla said, eyes scanning me like she was seeing someone brand new. “Seriously. You glow. What are you even doing here all alone?”

I laugh under my breath. “Oh, you’re not gonna believe it.” I tilt my head toward Gio.

He’s cornered, shirt still unbuttoned halfway down his chest, his silver chain catching the light every time he moves.

He’s surrounded, or more like devoured by at least three people.

Two guys, one girl.

Her eyes go huge. “You came because you WANT Gio?!”

“NO!” I shout immediately. “No! Of course not. We just came together. That’s it. Literally it.”

I look back at him.

His lips are now on a shot glass.

He downs it, or at least, that’s what I think.

But he doesn’t swallow.

He turns. He stops behind some guy.

He slides a hand around the guy’s neck, fingers pressing just enough to make him lean back into him.

He grabs the guy’s jaw. Tilts his head back. And then—slow as sin— spits the shot straight into the guys mouth.

The guy looks happy too. Swallows right away.

Gio leans in, bites the guy’s lower lip, and kisses him deep.

It’s not even sensual, it’s absolutely raw.

Watching it felt illegal.

“Jesus,” I murmur, probably too loud. “Is he—? Is this normal?”

Dario leans in, sipping something neon green. “Oh dude, this is Gio on a leash . You should’ve seen him last month. I swear everyone gets a chance, except for us.”

“What?”

Carla chokes on her drink, laughing. “Oh, tell him, Dario.”

Dario groans. “I once asked him out too. One time.”

I turn to him. “You wanted him ? Are you insane?”

“He was hot and I was horny.” he mutters.

Carla grins. “Gio shut him down with one sentence.”

Dario mimics Gio’s deep, amused voice.

“ You look like someone who moans too early and apologizes after .“

I lose it. “What the actual—? He said that?”

“Verbatim,” Carla nods. “And then he left with a bartender and a DJ. At the same time. Who knows what they did.”

I stare back toward Gio.

His hand is now resting on someone’s waist while he whispers something into another person’s ear.

There’s something magnetic about the way he moves, but not in a good way.

If that even makes sense.

I sip my drink, trying not to let the heat creep up my neck.

“So… this is just him?” I ask, casual as I can manage.

“Oh, babe,” Carla says, “you haven’t even heard the good stuff yet.”

“Like what?”

Dario smirks. “He tagged his name on a cop car. Middle of the day. I don’t know how he got away with that.”

“He what ?”

“Jumped a flight of stairs. Landed clean. Took off his helmet and bowed to the cops when they caught up with him at a red light ten minutes later. They couldn’t even be mad.”

Carla nods. “And there was the time he rode his bike into a hotel lobby because someone dared him to.”

“You never know if tonight’s the night you’ll watch him fly too close to the sun.”

“And somehow not fucking burn,” Dario adds.

I glance back at Gio.

He meets my eyes.

And smirks.

I get it now.

The whole “performance” thing…

Always daring someone to stop him. It wasn’t just chaos for fun.

It’s classic defense.

Push the world before it pushes you.

It’s control, in his own twisted way.

He breaks rules because it’s the only thing no one can take from him. He probably thinks that if he sets the fire, he can’t get burned.

I’ve read about people like him. But this is the first time I’ve seen it up close.

7) Sophia?

Gio’s POV

I’m not gonna lie, I didn’t even bother tying my tie properly.

It’s hanging loose around my neck like a peace treaty I never signed.

And I don’t give a fuck about it.

Judging by the way Rava looked at me when I walked in, I think he took it personally.

Good.

The meeting hasn’t started yet.

Everyone’s still sipping espresso and pretending to like each other.

I can feel angry faces on me.

Rava looks like he slept in a business plan.

His hair’s perfect and his sleeves are rolled exactly once. No more, no less.

I slide into the seat across from him.

I lean back. He doesn’t look at me.

Someone, I think it’s his uncle, looks at me.

“So, Gio, how’s the alliance going? You two learning to play nice?”

I lean forward a little, resting my elbows on the table.

“We’re surviving it, sir. We manage to stay in the same room without flipping tables. That’s step one, isn’t it?”

Soft laughter.

Then Rava’s father speaks.

Ugh.

“Well, survival’s a strong word. But I suppose when your life’s more speed than structure, staying upright must feel like an accomplishment.”

He chuckles at his own joke.

Son of a bitch.

I don’t laugh. My eyes settle on him.

“Charles,” I say, “you speak with the confidence of a man who thinks I don’t remember.”

The smile freezes on his face.

I tilt my head just slightly, now smiling. “I do. So don’t sit there and pretend you’re some moral authority.”

No one dares to interrupt me.

I lean back in my chair, relaxed.

“Don’t worry though,” I add lightly. “I’m here to work. Not to settle debts.”

Rava’s mother intervenes. “Let’s move forward, shall we?”

⸻

They start the actual meeting. Talk turns to expansion and new properties across Europe, all about fresh experiences and blah blah blah.

I zone out five minutes in.

My pen spins between my fingers, my ankle bouncing under the table.

Rava keeps nodding and smiling once in a while.

I stretch my legs just enough to nudge his under the table.

He flinches, but doesn’t look at me.

So I lean forward to whisper to him. “Bet you rehearsed your nod for this meeting.”

He turns his head slightly. “Grow up.”

“But then who would keep you awake?”

He doesn’t answer. So I sit back.

⸻

He’s in full presentation mode now.

He’s actually good at this blah blah blah thing.

I hate it, cause he doesn’t even notice how everyone hangs on his every sentence.

“…we need a stable model,” he’s saying. “We need predictability in this case.”

Predictability. Cute.

I yawn loudly on purpose.

He ignores me.

But his left hand, the one holding the clicker, grips tighter.

I look at his profile, and think about how that word doesn’t suit him at all.

He’s a walking contradiction. Predictable is the last thing this man is.

“But predictable doesn’t always mean good,” I say, because I’m bored and also because I like poking him. “Sometimes it just means you’re playing it safe.”

Everyone freezes a little, probably because they know what happens when I open my mouth.

And they usually don’t like it. Well… they never like it.

But I’m used to it. And they will have to get used to it too, since they dragged me in here.

Rava turns his head toward me with that please don’t start look.

“Um, what do you mean, exactly? Safe keeps the business running,” he fires back. “People want to know what they’re getting.”

“How do you know? Maybe people want something they’ve never had before,” I say. “Something that actually makes them look up.”

He clenches the clicker in his hand again.

Poor thing is pissed.

“We can’t rely on ’ something different ’ every time,” he says. “We need consistency, Giovanni .”

“Consistency or routine?” I ask. “Because those aren’t the same thing, Rava .”

“We’re talking about hotels, Gio,” he snaps.

“Sure, Rava,” I say.

He inhales, trying to hold himself together.

“You know, in business, some things need to stay stable to work,” he says. “If you shake them too much, they fall apart.”

I lean in.

“Or maybe they fall apart because they’re already weak,” I answer. “And you’re just scared to admit it.”

Rava looks at me with a straight face.

“We’re doing business here,” he says, “enough.”

I smile.

“This is business, Rava,” I tell him. “You just hate when someone pushes you.”

“I don’t hate it.”

Good to know.

Very good to know.

⸻

When it finally ended, a few people drifted over. Polite smiles, neutral voices, the usual nonsense.

One of the older women, a board member, looked between us with a smirk.

“There’s something between you two,” she said lightly.

“Opposites with teeth,” she added, clearly enjoying herself. “Keep that going. It’ll play well at the next summit.”

She walked away before either of us could answer.

So I raise my glass of water in his direction, subtle, almost lazy.

“To the golden boy and the disappointment,” I murmur. “Perfect little partnership, isn’t it?”

“You’re not a disappointment, Gio. You just love acting like one.”

I smile widely.

Because that almost sounded personal. And we’re just getting started.

Rava’s POV

I gather my things, making sure my notes are neat, my pen capped, and my phone silent.

The elevator doors close and suddenly it’s just me and him.

A nightmare in metal box form.

Please, God, any god , all gods, keep Gio’s mouth shut for the entire ride.

I stare at the floor, the ceiling, the corner, anywhere but his face.

Then I make the mistake of glancing up.

He’s right across from me, staring straight at me.

Stop looking into my soul, you freak.

“Remember when you were little and too shy to disagree with me?” he says. “I’m almost proud of what you pulled today.”

I let out the most dramatic sigh of my life. “I’m not ten anymore,” I mutter. “And I’m not scared of you, Gio.”

“Good for you,” he says, all casual. “I just wanted to tell you you’ve still got the same expression. You’re kinda cute.”

“Stop. Nothing about me is cute.”

He smirks.

“Rava… you dating someone?”

Oh my God.

This elevator is too slow. I’m going to sue the entire building.

“That’s none of your business,” I say.

He grins wider. “Is it a girl or a guy?”

“I’m straight. Leave me alone.”

He raises both hands like he’s surrendering. “Hey, I didn’t say anything. Not my fault where your mind went. But damn, noted.”

I stare at the floor again. If hell has an elevator, this is it.

I roll my eyes. He takes a step closer.

“You know, Rav… I think I might missed you.”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Fine. Ravioli.”

The elevator dings.

Thank God.

⸻

We step out.

And then I see…

Sophia .

Standing in the lobby. She smiles the second she sees me.

Great timing.

I feel Gio watching us.

“Sophia?”

“Surprise,” she says, already walking toward me. “Thought I’d stop by to scare you.”

We hug and I press a kiss to her cheek.

When I pull back, she’s smiling.

And over her shoulder, I see Gio.

Putting on his helmet. Smirking.

“Well, this is adorable,” he calls out.

“You two still doing the whole heteronormative nostalgia thing? Vintage.”

I flinch. Sophia turns, confused. “Who’s that?”

“No one,” I say too fast, only cause I know he can hear me.

Gio swings a leg over his bike, tightens the strap under his chin.

“Nice to meet you, Sophia,” he says. “You’ve got yourself a real romantic. Just don’t leave him alone in elevators.”

He starts the bike, and then he’s gone.

---

OKAY SO From this moment forward, the true story unfolds pookies. If you’re still here, brace yourself cause the good stuff starts now:)

8) Don’t Touch Me

Rava’s POV

I couldn’t stop smiling.

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me you were coming to Italy?” I said, wrapping my arms around her before she could even finish looking up.

She hugged me back, warm but off somehow.

She hugged me like we were buddies, if that makes sense. Not too tight, the safe polite kind.

“We would’ve paid for everything,” I added.

“You could’ve stayed with us, you know. We’ve got the space.”

She stepped back a little, brushing hair behind her ear. “I don’t know…I just…Well I don’t think we’re there yet. You know? As a relationship.”

That hit me weird.

Not hard exactly, just unexpected.

We’d been together ten months.

I thought… Well I don’t know what I thought.

That it meant something more, maybe?

I nodded slowly, forcing a fake smile. “Okay. Fair.”

“So… how long are you staying? And where?!”

“Half a month, probably.” She glanced at her phone again. “I’m staying at a friend’s summer house.”

My eyebrows lifted. “Wait, you have friends here?”

She laughed. “Just one. Maria. She’s Greek, actually. Her family’s got this place out by the coast.”

Maria. Nice. First time I’d heard that name.

I tried not to sound weird about it.

It’s not like she had to report all her friendships to me, right?

Still, it was strange, me clearly being Italian, and her never once mentioning anyone she knew around here…

I cleared my throat. “Well, if you’re free now, you could come by the house. We’re having lunch. You’d finally meet my siblings!”

She wrinkled her nose. “You know I don’t really do well with kids…”

Kids.

Did I… mess up? Did I accidentally tell her Daisy is six instead of twenty-six? Am I actually stupid?

I gave her a look. “Soph. One is twenty-six and the other is sixteen. They’re not exactly kids.”

She chuckled softly. “Still. Another day, maybe.”

I nodded again, but the pit in my stomach had gotten heavier. Yeah, it made me sad. The fact that she didn’t even remember the age of my siblings. I tried not to show it, I didn’t want to come off as needy .

Or clingy.

But it was hard not to feel like she was actively avoiding the whole part of my life that was… well, my life.

Ten months is both a long time and… not long enough to sit her at a family table without risking emotional death.

I scratch my eyebrow, trying to act normal.

Maybe she’s just not a family person.

That’s okay. Some people aren’t.

But also… she’s never taken me to meet her parents. Not once. Not even a “drive by the house so you can wave from the car” situation.

Do they even know I exist?!

God, ten months and we’re still strangers in some ways.

I changed the subject, or tried to, but then she asked about Gio.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Everything. His job, his friend group, his location…

“Why are you asking about him?”

She just shrugged casually.

I didn’t push. But it stuck in the back of my mind.

-5 Hours Later-

I checked the time.

Damn I overslept.

Sophia is going to kill me. And this time she’d be right.

Okay. Okay. Focus.

I get dressed. Fast.

Shirt: acceptable. Jeans: eh, passable.

My shoes. Where the fuck are my shoes.

Shit. My hair looks like I got attacked by an angry squirrel.

I grabbed a comb, did two swipes, then gave up. I could fix it in the bathroom while brushing my teeth.

As I passed the hallway mirror, I tried to flatten my shirt with one hand and loop my belt with the other.

I reached the bathroom and twisted the handle.

Opened it.

“Jesus—Gio?!?!”

I immediately slammed the door back shut with a loud bang.

I took two full steps backward, practically reeling.

“What the hell are you doing here?!”

“Um, peeing?”

He sounds completely unbothered.

I shut my eyes, dragging my hands down my face. “In my bathroom?!”

“You weren’t in it.”

“You don’t live here!”

He didn’t even pause. “I knocked. No answer. Nature doesn’t wait, princess.”

I exhaled sharply. I’d just opened a door on Gio freaking Fontana.

“Why are you even here?” I snapped.

“Jin invited me,” he said. “Apparently, I’m very cool for an old guy.”

“You’re twenty-three.”

“And yet, still cooler than you.”

I groaned, massaging my temples.

Then the door opened. Gio again.

Fully dressed, thank God , but still drying his hands with a towel.

He gave me a once-over, and I felt his eyes moving shamelessly, from my tousled hair down to the untied laces on my shoes.

And then he smiled. “Well, well,” he said. “Getting all fancy for someone?”

“Don’t.”

He stepped closer, cocking his head. “Wait… is it her?”

I stiffened.

“Oh my God,” he grinned. “It is her. The mystery girlfriend. You’re actually dressing up for the girl. I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“Shut up.”

“You two look more like siblings than a couple, though. Honestly.”

I turned away, heading back toward the bathroom.

Before I could stop him, both his hands were on my hair, brushing them down.

I froze just for a second.

Then I swatted them down, hard.

“Don’t touch me,” I said sharply.

He lifted both hands in mock surrender. “I was helping. You look like shit. No need to bite.”

I pushed past him into the bathroom and slammed the door. Leaned against it.

Tried to breathe.

Just Gio.

Just annoying, stupid Gio.

I turned on the tap.

This was fine. I was fine.

“Jin!” I barked, already halfway into his room. “Did you take my sunglasses again? Because this isn’t funny, man.”

Both of them were on the bed.

Jin, on his phone and Gio with his elbows on his knees, holding…

My freaking sketchbook.

“Wow,” Gio said, not even looking up.

“Barging in, yelling. Dating is clearly not good for your nerves. “

I ignored him, tore through the pile of clothes on the chair, checked under the desk, crouched by the bed.

Nothing.

Jin stretched lazily. “I didn’t touch your sunglasses.”

I shot him a glare. “You didn’t touch them last time either, and then you ‘found’ them in your drawer a week later.”

He smirked. “Accidents happen.”

“You’re not funny.”

“Neither are you,” Gio muttered, flipping another page of my sketchbook. “This one’s kinda good though. Can I keep it?”

I snatched it from his hands. “Give me that.”

He raised both brows. “Touchy.”

Jin laughed. “You’re just mad because you’re flustered. You’re totally flustered.”

“I’m not—” I stopped. Took a deep breath. “Whatever.”

Gio patted the empty space on the bed. “Sit down, Rava. I can massage you if you want.”

“I’m not sitting.”

“Suit yourself,” he said, stretching again like a cat in sunlight. “Anyway. I should go wash the bike.”

Jin’s eyes lit up. “DUDE. Your bike’s insane. Sexier than half the girls I’ve wanted.”

“Bet she is,” Gio said with a smirk.

“Jesus,” I muttered, rifling through a drawer.

“You should let me ride it sometime,” Jin said, grinning.

Gio laughed. “Sure. I’ll even dig my own grave after. Save your dad the trouble.”

He leaned back on his elbows and looked at me with fake innocence.

“So, Ravioli,” he said, softly. “This dinner with Sophia… romantic candlelight or casual public humiliation?”

Jin immediately picked up the game.

He sat straighter, hands folded like a schoolgirl. “ Oh Rava ,“ he said in a high-pitched voice. “ You always know how to make me feel special .“

Gio jumped in: “ And you, Sophia, complete me in ways I can’t even begin to sketch properly. “

They both burst out laughing.

I turned slowly. Tried not to laugh. I hated myself for finding this shit funny.

That’s seriously the same dude that my dad is afraid of?

Stared at them both.

“At least I have a date,” I said. “You two are just sitting here talking shit and wasting air.”

Jin made a dramatic gasp.

But Gio just smiled.

“Babe,” he said, “I’m on a break from the dating world today. Gotta recharge, you know? I’m currently sick of everyone.”

Jin nodded solemnly. “Self-care.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Yeah, okay. Enjoy your deep spiritual journey,” I muttered, grabbing my cologne off the dresser.

I walked out without looking back. I could still hear them laughing.

Maybe I slammed the door a little harder than I meant to.

Whatever.

9) You’re Overreacting

Rava’s POV

We’d picked up takeout from that place she liked. Some grilled seafood, lemon rice, fresh bread.

She laughed when I pulled out the cheap bottle of red wine I’d grabbed on the way.

Said it felt “romantically trashy.”

We sat on the sand. Laid out a blanket. Watched the last streaks of sun melt into the sea.

It was kind of quiet. Nice quiet, I guess.

We didn’t come to do anything crazy. No clubs, no plans, no drama.

Just watch the sun hit the water, talk a bit, exist together.

We came in the late afternoon so we wouldn’t literally die from the heat.

There was just the sound of the waves, the clink of the wine bottle, the occasional laugh when one of us tried to eat too fast and dropped something.

And I thought, “you know what? this is nice.”

It wasn’t electric or perfect, but it was easy and familiar.

I looked over at her. She was playing with the sand in front of her.

I felt the corners of my mouth twitch into a smile, even though part of me was always on edge around her lately.

Then, she checked her phone.

…

Again.

And again.

And again.

I pretended not to notice. For the first five times, at least.

But then she started typing. And didn’t stop.

I tried to distract myself. I really fucking did. I poured more wine, looked at the sky, picked at the bread.

She laughed softly at something on the screen.

Whoever she’s texting must be delivering the secrets of the universe, because she hasn’t looked up in ten minutes.

I stare at the sand, trying not to feel stupid.

The napkin. Perfect.

Rava, you genius. I’ll make her a pretty flower.

Romantic, right? Cute and sweet.

I pick up the napkin, all excited.

Okay… twist here… bend there…

Yes. YES. It’s actually coming out really nice.

She’s gonna like this. Who doesn’t like a little handmade flower?!

Even if it’s made of… you know… paper trash.

I finish it proudly and sit there holding it, waiting for her to notice.

Still no reaction. Her eyes are glued to her screen.

I shift a little, lean forward so she can see me in her peripheral vision.

I’m still smiling like crazy.

Finally, she looks up, and my heart jumps.

I hand her the flower.

She starts laughing. “What is this silly thing?“she giggles. “It’s silly. But it’s… cute. Thank you.”

She kisses my cheek, tosses the flower next to her in the sand, and goes right back to typing.

I just stare at her like a clown. Then I look down and laugh at myself.

That was it.

I set down my cup.

“…You know we’re on a date, right?” I said, trying to keep my tone even.

She looked up, surprised. Like I had no reason to snap at her. “What?”

“Your phone,” I nodded toward it.

“I was just checking something.”

“You were texting. For fifteen minutes.”

She rolled her eyes. “Okay, sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude. It was just—someone sent me something funny.”

“Funny enough to ignore me?!”

Shit. That accidentally came out sharper than I meant.

She sighed. “You’re overreacting.”

“I’m just saying it’s kind of hard to connect with someone who’s not even here.”

“I am here.”

“No, girl, you’re not. Not really.”

She pulled her legs tighter against herself. “So now I’m the bad guy for replying to a text?”

“That’s not what I—”

I rubbed the back of my neck. “Forget it.”

She stood up.

Brushed the sand from her legs and looked down at me.

“You know what? Maybe this was a bad idea.”

Right. Of course it’s my fault now. “Wait—Sophia, come on. I didn’t mean—”

“No, it’s fine. You clearly have some idea of what this is supposed to be, and I’m not doing it right. So maybe… don’t force it.”

I stood too quickly. “That’s not fair.”

She didn’t answer, just turned and started walking.

I stayed there, shocked.

I didn’t feel angry, not even sad, actually.

More like confused. Really fucking confused.

Like I’d missed something.

I looked down at the wine bottle, now half-buried in the sand.

What even happened?

What did I do wrong?

Was it me?

Was it her?

Was it… both?

The sky is darker now. I’m still here, sitting like a loser. Trying to understand what’s happening.

I dropped the bag by my door, kicked it shut with my foot. The silence hit hard.

I checked my phone for the 5th time. No messages. No calls. No footsteps behind me.

Just me.

I moved on autopilot. I peeled off my shirt, let it fall to the floor, stepped out of my shoes.

I grabbed my book. My comfort book.

And I stepped out onto the balcony. The air smelled like salt and lemon blossoms.

My eyes kept drifting to the phone beside me though.

Still nothing.

No texts from her.

No “sorry.” No “I’m home.” No anything.

I tapped the screen again.

The last message I’d sent stared back at me. This was humiliating.

And I didn’t get it.

I didn’t understand what I’d done wrong.

I’d always tried with her. Always.

I was the one who remembered her coffee order in winter and switched it to cold brew the second June hit.

I was the one who’d stayed up helping her rehearse that presentation when she was panicking at midnight.

I was the one who booked the museum trip just because she mentioned she missed quiet days in big rooms.

I gave her all the soft parts of me. And she liked that.

At first.

But then came the late replies. The quick excuses.

The way she started flinching when I touched her shoulder. And the way she called me dramatic for noticing.

She said I overthought things.

Maybe I did. But maybe she underfelt them.

Maybe I pushed too hard. Maybe I expected too much from someone who wasn’t built for effort.

I leaned back, staring up at the sky. It was too cloudy for stars tonight.

I sighed.

Italy at night.

People walking, laughing, eating gelato, living their best lives… and I’m here like some side character reading the same book for the 7th time because my actual reality feels off.

My girlfriend is literally in the same city as me. And I can’t even talk to her properly or say, “Hey, come meet my old friends,” or “Come see this place I grew up in,” or “Come sit with me for ten minutes.”

She doesn’t even speak Italian. Only English.

Which shouldn’t be a problem, but I can already hear the awkward silence, feel the confusion, imagine the way she’d look at me like she wants to leave.

So I sit alone. On my stupid balcony with my stupid book, pretending I’m satisfied with that.

10) Get Dressed

Gio’s POV

I swear I keep forgetting Rava’s room is actually in use now.

For months I could walk around my floor naked, half-naked, no one cared.

Now one second of autopilot and I’ll end up giving him the best live show of his life.

I grab a pair of shorts, throw on a plain black tee, and head to the window.

I go and sit right there on the windowsill. Lulu hops up and parks herself right on top of me.

Rava’s out here too. On his balcony.

All alone, with a book in his hand.

Expression somewhere between “melancholic Italian poet” and “rejected contestant on a cooking show.”

What a nerd.

He looks like the human version of a rainy Sunday.

That’s all I can think of when I see him like this. It’s hilarious.

I don’t know what made me grab the pebbles from the sad little pot of basil next to me, but I did.

I flicked one.

It pinged off his book. He grabbed it, and dropped it on the ground.

Oh, no. No, no, no. You don’t get to ignore me , sweetheart.

I threw another.

Ping.

Still nothing.

I leaned out the window. “Look at me, you fucker.”

That did it.

He looked up, like my very existence offended his delicate post-date grief.

I smirked and grabbed another pebble, tossing it up and down in my palm.

“Why are you sad? I thought I was the only problem in your life right now.”

He didn’t answer.

So I flicked one more stone, this time it hit him on the head.

He flinched.

Then slowly turned, his eyes full of murder.

I smiled sweetly. “There he is.”

He glared like he wanted to strangle me with his shoelaces.

God, how I missed that look.

I now I’m being annoying, but I don’t like this Rava.

Give me the Rava who throws attitude like knives.

Not this soft, wilted one that makes me feel… weird.

“Really, Ravioli? Out here, at 10 PM, reading like you’re eighty and the TV’s broken?”

Still nothing. So I kept going.

“Come on. Don’t make me work for it. What happened? She stood you up? Was it the cologne? Did you talk too much about child development again?”

Oh. That one earned me a sharper glare.

His girlfriend is the problem.

Yeah, of course. Should’ve fucking guessed.

I leaned forward, elbow on the sill, chin in hand. “So it went badly, huh?”

He muttered something but I didn’t catch it.

Then his phone lit up.

He lunged for it like it was oxygen.

Checked it. Locked it.

Face dropped.

Goddamn .

That hurt to watch.

I tried not to let it show, but my grin softened.

“There’s my answer,” I said.

He narrowed his eyes at me. “Why do you even care? So you can make fun of me for it later?”

“Tempting,” I admitted. “But no.”

He raised an eyebrow.

I shrugged. “You’re not exactly my favorite person in the universe, but I don’t need to watch you crumble in slow motion. That’s more depressing than funny.”

He scoffed.

I didn’t blame him.

If I were in his place, I wouldn’t believe me either.

But still, I don’t know.

Something about the way he was sitting pissed me off.

Not because he looked broken.

Because it didn’t suit him.

Wait.

What if… Should I… take him out?

No. No, absolutely not, that’s loser behavior. I don’t do good-guy rescue missions.

He hates me.

And last time I tried to get him out of the house I had to pass, what, seven emotional boss levels?

I swear at this point I’m dreaming of Rava saying “leave me alone” fifty times.

So why the hell am I even thinking about this?

I don’t know. But he looks…

Jesus Christ, he looks dead.

What fixes that? What even wakes him up?

He doesn’t want soft shit. He doesn’t want talking.

He’d need something extreme. Something chaotic.

Something that actually shocks him back into being alive.

My eyes go wide.

Oh. Oh shit. I know exactly what would wake him up.

And it’s a terrible idea. A catastrophically, beautifully terrible idea.

“Fuck it,” I muttered, more to myself than to him.

“What?” he asked warily.

“Get dressed.”

He stared at me, confused.

“What?”

“I said get dressed. You’re coming with me.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Gio—”

“Don’t ‘Gio’ me. I’m not letting you rot out here with your book and your sad little sighs like some rejected opera character.”

He crossed his arms. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not, love. You look like someone stole your wallet, and then made fun of your favorite sweater, too.”

“I don’t have a favorite sweater.”

“Exactly. That’s how low you’ve sunk.”

He tried to glare again, but it didn’t land as hard this time.

I grinned.

“Come on,” I said, tone softening just a notch. “You clearly need saving. And I’m bored enough to do it.”

He didn’t move.

“Don’t you have like a bank to rob? Or flirt with a cop?”

“It can wait.”

I leaned farther out the window. “We’re going somewhere loud and cheap. Probably smells like fried dough and beer. It’ll be fun.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Gio—”

“Ten minutes,” I interrupted, disappearing back inside. “If you’re not at the front door, I’m breaking in and dragging you out in whatever sad pajama pants you’re wearing.”

I slammed the window shut.

Waited.

Counted.

Five minutes passed.

No sign.

I opened the window again.

He was gone from the balcony.

My smile curled.

Knew it.

---

update 11/05/26: I’m gonna start adding questions because I’m curious to see your opinions :)

Question: who’s your favorite character so far and why? :)

11) Full Of Surprises

Gio’s POV

He finally came down.

Took him a whole twelve minutes, but I let it slide.

I was leaning on the bike, flipping my keys between my fingers when I saw him push open the front door.

Hmm okay. Not bad.

Burgundy polo, black pants. His usual uptight “I tried but not too hard” look.

Honey-colored strands falling loosely over his forehead.

He looks so… put together.

And yet he has this same damn expression.

Like someone forced him to go out with his least favorite person.

Wait, now that I think about it, this might actually be me.

Should that bother me? Probably.

Does it? Not even a little.

I grin.

“Ay, why are you already frowning?” I ask.

He looks at me with no shame. “I’m already annoyed by the way you talk, and by the way you act.”

I laugh.“What? How do I ‘act’?”

He raises his eyebrows at me.

“You really wanna see how you act?” he asks.

“Sure,” I say, crossing my arms.

Rava clears his throat. Straightens up. And then he looks right into my eyes.

Stares, actually. “…Okay. Watch.”

His eyes drop to my mouth.

“Why are you looking at my mouth?” I ask.

“Because that’s where your eyes usually go when I talk. You know, for someone who claims he ‘doesn’t do anything,’ you study me a lot.”

I scoff, crossing my arms. “I don’t study you. I just have eyes.”

He leans in a little. “Yeah? You ‘just have eyes’ way too close to my face, then.”

I blink fast. “You’re the one in my face right now.”

“Obviously,” he murmurs, and before I can move, his fingers wrap around my wrist.

His thumb presses against my pulse.

“Your pulse is racing,” he says.

Fucker.

“Because you’re being weird,” I shoot back.

“So you admit you’re uncomfortable.”

I swallow nervously. “I’m not uncomfortable.”

“Then hold eye contact,” he says softly. “If it doesn’t bother you.”

“I am holding it.”

“You broke it twice already.”

“No I didn’t.”

“You did.”

“I didn’t.”

I take a step back.

“Look at you,” he says, stepping closer. “You’re already pressing into the wall.”

“Where the hell do you want me to go?” I laugh. “You caged me in.”

“ Exactly . Feels familiar yet?“

“No.”

“Liar. I said keep your eyes on me.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

“You used to tell me what to do all the time.”

His face gets closer.

“Rava,” I warn.

“Hmm?”

“You’re too close.”

“There’s no such thing. Not for you, anyway.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you live in this distance,” he says. “ This space.“

He taps his forehead to mine, mocking me. “Right here.”

I look down for half a second, then drag my gaze back up to him. “Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?” he says.

“Touching me like that.”

“Hmm, guess who else does that.”

I try to laugh, but it cracks. “I know what I’m doing, you don’t know shit.”

He tilts his head, still holding my gaze. “I know you haven’t pushed me away.”

“I can push you away whenever I want.”

He smirks. “So do it, Giovanni.”

I glare at him. “I hate you now.”

“No, you don’t,” he says.

“I do.”

“Then why are you still here?”

“Because you’re blocking the exit, you idiot.”

He grins, and his eyes are flicking down to my lips again.

“You’re taller. Step over me.”

“Okay, God, stop. That’s enough,” I snap, rubbing a hand over my face because my whole system is glitching.

“I get it. Stop. Before I change my mind and leave you on that damn balcony with your depression.”

“I’m not here because you forced me. I’m here by choice. So even if you regret it, that doesn’t change anything.”

I stare at him.

Who is this man? Where is the shy, soft-spoken Rava I used to torture for sport?

Who swapped him out for the cold, confident version?

It feels illegal.

I feel like I’m witnessing some forbidden version of him I wasn’t supposed to unlock.

He’s changed. So fucking much. It’s a little terrifying.

I hope tonight I manage to crack that ice you’re carrying around, Ravioli.

Because damn. You’re freezing, man.

I tossed him the second helmet.

He caught it and started putting it on.

That’s when I saw something, when he lifted his arms to adjust the strap.

Ink.

On the back of his arm.

“…Wait. Is that a tattoo?”

“Yeah.”

“You? You have a tattoo?”

He clipped the helmet, shrugged. “That’s not the only one.”

I actually took a step closer. “You’re shitting me.”

He just raised an eyebrow.

I let out a short laugh. “Unbelievable.”

“Guess we’re both full of surprises,” he said coolly. “I’m serious. I can’t believe you still dress like a villain in a low-budget biker movie.”

I smiled so hard it reached my eyes.

I reached for the chin strap and tightened his helmet for him.

We were close. Too close.

His eyes met mine. They were super green and super big, like doll eyes.

“You remember,” I said with a low voice, “when you were like seven, and you wouldn’t shut up about how much you wanted to ride my tiny motorcycle at that amusement park?”

He stared at me.

“I remember,” he said, and then, “Screw you.”

“Just saying. Look at you now, all grown up and finally getting your dream. Weston on wheels.”

“How fast is that thing?”

“Fast fast.”

“What does that mean—”

“It means you’ll scream before we even hit the good part.”

I laughed, stepped back, and opened my storage compartment.

Pulled out my jacket and held it out to him.

He eyed it, scared.

I sighed. “Take it. I can’t afford to pay compensation to the great Weston estate if you fly off and get road burn.”

He rolled his eyes but took it. Slipped it on without a word.

I swung my leg over the bike.

“Get on.”

He hesitated.

“What, scared?”

“No.”

“Then stop staring at it like it’s a wild animal.”

He climbed on behind me, awkwardly.

So I turned my head slightly.

“You ever been on a bike?”

He shrugged. “A couple times. Nothing special.”

I smirked.

“That’s because you haven’t been on mine yet.” I said while putting my gloves on. “The last guy who rode with me said it was the best he ever had.”

I revved the engine.

I felt him shift.

“Hold on,” I said.

“I’m fine.”

“Rava,” I muttered, “hold on.”

“I said I’m—”

I reached back, grabbed his wrists, and pulled them to my waist. Clipped his hands together like a seatbelt.

“God, you’re so fucking stubborn,” I muttered.

And then we were off.

⸻

The road flew past in streaks of gold and black.

The city lights blurred.

This is fucking living.

I felt him tighten behind me. His arms locked just a bit more around my waist.

We hit a long stretch of open road and I opened the throttle just enough to make it interesting.

His hands didn’t let go.

And then, at a red light, two other bikes pulled up beside us.

Older, bigger guys, with loud engines, the sexy type, and loud music.

Wait.

I know these guys!

One of them nodded at me.

“Yo, Gio.”

“Hey,” I called back casually.

Rava leaned close.

“Who the hell are they?”

I grinned. “Just a couple guys I race with sometimes.”

He went quiet.

I didn’t turn around, but I swear could feel the judgment radiating through the helmet.

I laughed. “They’re not murderers, Rava. I promise. You’re safe.”

He didn’t answer.

Light turned green. I let them speed ahead.

Didn’t need to show off tonight. Not to them, anyway.

Maybe to him, a tiny bit.

I don’t know if it’s because I know how annoyingly critical he is, but yes, I feel this insane urge to flex every skill I’ve ever learned on two wheels.

I could do so many things right now.

A tight lean through traffic. A sharp overtake.

That stupid little trick where I lift the front wheel just an inch.

I could make him scream if I wanted.

But… yeah.

Who’s gonna listen to the lecture afterward?

“I trusted you,” “You’re reckless,” “You almost killed me,” blah blah blah.

I can already hear it.

So instead I drive clean.

Like a gentleman.

And it’s hilarious, because he’s still scared. I can feel it from the way he’s holding me.

Relax, baby. If I wanted to scare you, I promise you would know.

But I won’t.

Unless you ask.

Finally, I turned off onto a dirt path and pulled into a gravel lot lit by strings of flickering lights.

I can already hear the music and the laughter.

That smell of fried everything and beer.

I parked the bike, kicked the stand down, turned my head slightly over my shoulder.

“We’re here.”

He didn’t move right away, just stared for a few seconds.

“…This is a fair.”

“Yup.”

“You brought me to a fair.”

“I brought you somewhere you wouldn’t be alone!”

I got off the bike. Held out a hand.

“Come on, Weston. Let’s ruin your reputation.”

---

Question: Who do you think is going to fall in love first and why? :)

12) That Was Hot

Gio’s POV

I should’ve filmed it.

I swear to God, the look on Rava’s face when we walked up to that food stand, was Oscar-worthy.

He was looking at everything and nothing at once.

The guy behind the counter was losing his mind.

There were kids screaming, someone dropping coins, music playing five different tempos at once.

Rava was staring at the menu.

“Just pick something!” I shouted over the chaos.

“I don’t know what any of this is!”

“Then close your eyes and point!”

He turned to me with that classic wide-eyed “I don’t trust anything about this” expression.

So I pointed for him.

One fried thing. One meat thing. Two beers.

The guy shoved everything at us and I grabbed it. Rava grabbed napkins, and we fled to the nearest open bench.

I grabbed something that looked like a fried brick, bit into it…

And immediately choked.

“Jesus flaming Christ, this thing’s hotter than Satan’s asshole on a summer day—”

Rava’s frozen face cracked. Literally shattered.

His dignity was on the floor.

He actually bent forward, clutching his stomach. He was laughing loudly.

First time I’ve ever seen him look like something other than a marble statue carved by an angry god.

It was just as terrifying.

But holy shit, it was also the cutest thing I’ve ever seen, and I kinda wanna burn my tongue again just to replay it.

“You okay?” he wheezed.

I fanned my mouth. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“You look like you’re dying.”

“I am. And it’s your fault.”

“You’re the one who ordered mystery lava food.”

“You said you trusted me.”

“I lied.” he said.

Then he took a cautious bite of his own and immediately coughed.

We both wheezed for a minute straight, crying, coughing.

He was trying to get relived by drinking more and more beer, almost spilling it, then just laughing again.

“Jesus,” he said, wiping his eyes, “this is disgusting.”

“It’s amazing,” I argued.

“It’s burning my soul.”

“That’s flavor.”

He laughed again.

We finished eating with sticky fingers and zero dignity. And then I dragged him toward the booths.

“Time to win a prize,” I said, pointing at one of those old-school games with metal cans stacked in pyramids.

Rava eyed them warily. “You really want to get scammed tonight?”

“Don’t disrespect the game.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I don’t even know how to throw.”

“Exactly,” I smirked. “Which is why I’m betting you miss every single shot.”

“You’re betting ?”

“Yup. Loser buys dessert.”

“Fine.”

He turned.

I sat right behind him, fully ready to watch him get absolutely humbled by a bunch of tiny plastic bottles.

His face was killing me.

So serious. Painfully serious.

But at the same time not serious at all, because the tip of his tongue was sticking out just a little while he was trying to concentrate.

He picked up the first ball. Took a second. Squinted.

And knocked down the whole stack with one clean hit.

My mouth opened but no sound came out.

He looked over his shoulder, deadpan. “Still betting?”

I blinked. “What the f—okay, okay, okay. Fluke. Do it again.”

Second stack. Second ball. Another perfect knockdown.

He turned to me, smiling like a cocky bastard. “Dessert’s on you.”

I stared at him. “That was hot.”

He raised a brow. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You did.”

“I didn’t.”

“You did.”

“I didn’t.”

We locked eyes. Smiling. Not smiling. Both.

I looked away first.

“Anyway,” I said, clearing my throat. “Pick your stupid prize.”

He stepped up, pointed at a little black cat plush with red eyes. “That one.”

“Of course,” I muttered. “Creepy and judgmental. Just like you.”

He threw it at me. I caught it.

I turn my head to the right.

I saw the best worst idea I could’ve possibly found.

That beautiful, awful machine towering in the distance like a death wish wrapped in neon.

The one with the flashing rainbow lights, the insane up-and-down drop.

The one that makes you scream and slam your legs against the seat.

Perfect for shaking every ounce of stress out of him.

Perfect for making him forget whatever crap that tiny girlfriend of his dumped on him.

Not because I care if he relaxes. Let’s get that straight.

Just because I’d like to survive the rest of the night without him murdering me with attitude.

I’m fucking awesome.

I couldn’t have planned it better if I tried.

I turned my head, and looked at him.

He was licking sugar off his thumb from some fried disaster I shoved at him earlier.

Smiling a little without even realizing it.

Too peaceful.

I grinned. “Hey, Ravioli.”

He paused. “What?”

I pointed at the ride.

He looked.

And immediately said, “No.”

“Oh, come on.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“You’re such a coward.”

He crossed his arms. “That’s not fear. That’s common sense., you idiot.”

“You used to love this shit,” I said, already walking toward it. “Didn’t you do your birthday at a place like this, like, every damn year?”

He frowned. “How would you know? I never invited you.”

I smirked. “I had my ways.”

“Okay, stalker,” he mutters.

Then I placed a hand on the center of his back and gave him a little shove.

“Let’s go. No time for therapy tonight.”

“I didn’t even finish my beer,” he muttered.

“You’ll survive. Probably.”

We made our way to the line.

And right in front of us, there was a couple making out aggressively.

Rava immediately turns his back to them, facing me.

The girl keeps bumping into him without noticing.

I just grab him by the waist and pull him a step back.

“Jesus. Get a room,” he mutters under his breath, annoyed.

“What??” I yell over the music, even though I heard him, because annoying him is a hobby.

He leans in, right to my ear. “GET. A. ROOM.”

I grin instantly.

“For us?” I shout back.

He shoves me with both hands. “OH my god—I’m leaving.”

“I brought you here,” I say, laughing. “Shut up. I was joking.”

He leaned against the railing while we waited, rubbing the back of his neck.

Sweat clung to his skin.

I reached over without asking and wiped his forehead with the edge of my sleeve.

He blinked at me. “Did you just—?”

“You looked like you were melting.”

“Next time just let me die.”

“Nah. That’s less fun.”

We stood side by side, close enough that our arms brushed sometimes.

I didn’t move, and neither did he.

“So,” I said after a beat, “still afraid of heights?”

“No. Just small spaces.”

I looked at him. “Still?”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, Gio. Still.”

Before he could say anything else, the safety gate clicked and the next round opened. I shoved him forward.

He stumbled, caught himself, glared at me. “Do we seriously have to—?”

I handed our tokens to the guy and nodded.

He didn’t resist.

We took our seats. Side by side, locked the fuck in.

The safety bar slammed down in front of us.

Rava grabbed it and took a deep breath.

I glanced over. “Relax. You look like you’re bracing for death.”

“I am,” he said through clenched teeth.

I grinned. “What happened to ‘I used to love this shit’?”

“I grew up. My standards changed.”

“You’re the one who used to scream to ride the biggest thing in the park.”

“I was ten. I also ate glue.”

“You still look like someone who eats glue…”

He looked at me sideways. “I hate you.”

“I bet you do.”

A voice crackled over the speakers. The ride hissed and jolted.

He instantly went pale.

“Wait—” he said, “is this one of those rides where you literally feel your organs shift?”

I held back a laugh. “No.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You’re lying.”

“Probably.”

The machine rose slowly, the seats tilting back as it climbed.

He’s trying so hard not to look terrified.

The drop comes.

Full speed, upside down.

“I HOPE YOU CHOKE ON YOUR OWN BLOOD, GIOVANNI!”

I’m crying from laughter.

He’s gripping the seat like a man betrayed by God Himself. I feel my stomach ache.

The wind smacks us so hard his perfectly styled hair explodes in every direction.

Mine too, obviously.

I swear I can SEE his soul lifting out of his body and waving us goodbye.

I’m fucking howling. I’m laughing so loud I’m probably ruining the audio for the entire ride.

This serious, judgey little prince lets go of the bar JUST TO STICK HIS MIDDLE FINGER IN MY FACE.

Right in front of my eyes.

And then he grabs the bar again like the grim reaper tapped his shoulder.

I almost fell off from laughing.

“YOU LIAR—YOU SON OF A BITCH—”

Every time I looked at him, he was trying to glare at me with whatever dignity he had left.

“Rava,” I choked out mid-spin, “your face—”

“OH IF I DIE I’M HAUNTING YOU.”

“Please do.”

Another drop.

Another scream from Rava.

I swear, I’ve never felt more alive.

Or more lucky to have dragged him here.

We stumbled off the ride like survivors.

Best ride of my life.

Rava nearly tripped over the exit ramp.

His hair was a complete mess, his face was flushed, and he was breathing heavily.

He looked like he’d just come back from a bar fight, not a carnival ride.

I couldn’t stop laughing.

He turned to me, hands flailing. “That—was actual torture—”

“I told you it wasn’t bad.”

“You lied! I felt my brain slide down into my spine! I saw my ancestors, Gio.”

I wiped my eyes, still wheezing. “Your ancestors think you’re dramatic.”

“My ancestors think I should murder you.”

I grinned, walking backwards as he followed, still fuming. “Admit it. You had fun.”

“I blacked out for a second. That’s not fun.”

“You screamed so loud. The kid next to you almost cried.”

“I was the kid next to me.”

I laughed again, and the impossible happened again.

He cracked. Just for a second. A small sound, almost like a snort, escaped him.

I stopped walking.

Raised an eyebrow.

He tried to straighten up, regain control. “Shut up.”

“You laughed.”

“I did not.”

“You did .”

“Did not .”

“You did,” I grinned. “You’re laughing now.”

“I’m having a nervous breakdown.”

“Whatever makes you feel better, Ravioli.”

He shoved me lightly in the shoulder, but he was still smiling.

We passed a stand selling wine in plastic cups.

Cheap, probably terrible, but Rava made a beeline for it, all excited.

He grabbed one, tossed back a full gulp like it was water.

I stared. “Holy shit.”

He turned to me, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, shrugged.

I blinked again. “Who are you?”

He smirked. “You said I needed to loosen up.”

I held up both hands. “Didn’t say I wanted you to self-destruct.”

He just walked past me, still drinking, eyes scanning the crowd for his next bad idea.

So of course, I decided to help.

I darted toward a random drink stand.

I grabbed the most neon-looking concoction they had.

It was in a small cup with fruit on top and some kind of chili-rimmed edge that screamed “ew.”

I turned back to him, raised it high, and yelled, “RAVIOLI! TRY THIS!”

He looked over, skeptical as hell.

I jogged toward him.

“It’s amazing,” I shouted, trying to be louder than the music. “Trust me!”

He gave me that look again.

I’m pretty sure he knows I’m full of shit.

He took the cup. Held it up. Sniffed it.

Wrinkled his nose. “What is it?”

“Liquid heaven.” I said while dancing to the rhythm of ‘NUEVAYoL’ by ‘Bad Bunny’.

He narrowed his eyes.

“Gio, what’s IN this?” he yells.

“Doesn’t matter!” I shout, spinning around him. “If it doesn’t kill you, it’ll fix your mood!”

He sniffs it again .

Looks at me like he’s considering throwing it at my head.

“Drink iiiit!” I chant.

He takes one big sip.

And immediately…

Cough. Gag. Spit.

Right on the ground.

He doubled over, coughing.

His eyes screamed ‘betrayal’.

I completely lost it.

I fell back against a pole, dying.

I was wheezing, bent over, face in my hands.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?!” he shouted, wiping his mouth.

“You drank it!” I gasped.

“Because you told me to!”

“Because you’re finally listening to me! I didn’t expect it to work!” I yell back.

He flipped me off. “That was disgusting. What even was that?!”

“No idea,” I said through laughter. “But your face was fucking worth it.”

He glared harder, still wiping his mouth.

And then he smiled.

With a… weird smile. Not a real one.

“You’re dead, Gio.”

I held out my arms. “Come on, baby. I die for less every day.”

He lunged.

I ran.

We crashed into each other seconds later in the middle of the crowd, laughing, breathless, moving through people.

And for a moment, nothing else existed.

Just me and that little fucker.

We stopped running because he eventually felt like throwing up.

Suddenly, the music changed.

Drums. Bass.

Fucking nostalgia.

“Sara perché ti amo… Damn I haven’t heard this song in years,” he said under his breath.

And the entire square lost its mind.

People started screaming like it was a damn war anthem.

Old ladies tossed their purses aside, a group of teenagers grabbed each other and immediately started spinning.

And then, a woman appeared.

This glorious woman, late 50s maybe, glowing with sweat and joy and way too much perfume.

She pointed straight at Rava.

“TU!”

He points at himself. “Me?”

“SI, BELLO. VIENI!”

Before he could argue, her hand was on his wrist, tugging him toward the middle of the chaos.

He turned to me, wide-eyed, lips parted in betrayal. “Gio—help me—”

I took a bite of my souvlaki.

“Goodbye, Rava.” I nodded solemnly. “Duty calls.”

He glared. But he didn’t fight it.

With a dramatic sigh and the world’s most reluctant shuffle, he let himself be pulled into the dance floor.

And then he danced.

I don’t know if it was the wine or the adrenaline.

Or just the perfect storm of music, lights, and fried sugar in the bloodstream…

But Rava transformed.

There was no awkward “what’s happening” moment.

One second he was standing next to me, holding his wine like a confused tourist, and the next he was in the circle.

Surrounded by five women easily twice our age, clapping, laughing, spinning around him like satellites.

He moved with the rhythm. Snapping his fingers, laughing with his whole face.

The older women adored him. They cheered for every move, dragged him by the wrists to spin, shouted “bravooooo!” like he was headlining the damn show.

And he didn’t hold back. Didn’t fake-shy. Didn’t glance around to see if anyone was judging.

He let go.

His hands were in the air, his hair was wild.

The guy finally looked fucking alive. Not the stiff, polite version of himself that’s always too careful.

He was glowing.

And I—

Goddamn , I was staring.

A group of kids ran past me. Someone dropped a bottle nearby. People were yelling, clapping, singing out of tune.

He was still dancing and shouting the lyrics with a random beer bottle in one hand, possessed by the spirit of every Mediterranean auntie ever.

A tall woman, mid-fifties maybe, bold red lipstick, came closer.

They danced, they clapped.

And then, she winked at him .

He blinked. Then, he grinned.

Oh, he deadass grinned.

“CHE CAZZO?!” The words came out of me loud. I almost dropped my food.

People turned.

I didn’t care.

I was laughing, offended.

The guy I dragged here???

Mr. ‘I hate fun’, ‘I don’t dance’, ‘I read books alone on balconies’ Rava???

Was currently winking back at a MILF with rhythm.

“ARE YOU FLIRTING RIGHT NOW?!” I shouted across the square.

He didn’t even look at me. Just danced harder.

I threw my napkin down in defeat. “I give up. That son of a bitch is unrecognizable.”

But my chest hurt from laughing.

---

Omg I loved this chapter so much DO I DESERVE A STAR?

(also follow me for chapter announcements hehe)

Question: Who do you think would make the first move and why :)

13) Kinda Sexted Me

Rava’s POV

Christ. What is this headache? It feels like someone took a hammer, aimed directly at my skull, and went at it all night while I was screaming PLEASE STOP.

I groan into the pillow. My whole body feels greasy.

I lift my head a little. The room tilts like it’s on a boat.

Jesus Christ.

I smell like burnt oil, food, and cigarette smoke.

Note to self:

Never fall asleep without showering again, no matter how exhausted, or drunk I am.

Because waking up like this is DISGUSTING .

My skin feels sticky.

I curl into a ball.

I’m never drinking again.

Well, that’s probably a lie, but I need the emotional support right now.

My phone was buzzing against the nightstand, muted, but insistent.

I reached for it, rubbing my eyes.

3 new messages.

From Sophia .

Nice.

She probably wants to break up after the absolute circus that happened yesterday.

Yeah. This is it. Take me, Lord.

SOPHIA:

-I’ve been thinking all night.

-I messed up, Rava. I said things I didn’t mean because I was scared of how much you mattered.

-Please… can we talk? I don’t think I’ll ever find someone like you again.

I read them once. Then again. And again.

She wanted to talk. She missed me .

And maybe, maybe, she still believed in us.

I flopped back onto the pillow, phone resting on my chest, staring at the ceiling with a weird little laugh escaping me.

“Rava Weston, you better be ready in half an hour. We are going to the office.” I hear my mother yelling from downstairs.

“Oh fuck me in the ass,” I mutter, dragging the pillow over my face like it can suffocate the memory of last night.

But of course it can’t.

It all comes rushing back.

The lights. The spinning ride. The goddamn laughter.

And him.

Of all people.

Of all the possible versions of stupid decisions I could’ve made while buzzed and emotionally compromised, I had to pick him.

Why did I even go with him?! Why did I laugh like that?! Who told me to have fun?? Who gave permission???

I press my palms into my eyes.

I can’t believe I did that in front of Gio.

Gio.

The man who literally wakes up every morning ready to bully me recreationally.

What possessed me to scream in his face while the ride was throwing us around?

Why did I let him see me with my hair looking like a fried broom after that wind??

GOD.

He saw me happy. He saw me comfortable. He saw me laughing, not the polite “ hehe “ laugh, no… the full demon cackle with the ugly scrunched nose and everything.

I NEVER laugh like that around him.

Because he notices everything. Every weakness, every crack.

And now he has AMMUNITION.

I roll onto my side and groan into the pillow again.

WHY, why of all people did it have to be Gio Fontana that saw me like that?

Why not literally ANYONE else?

A stranger? A random tourist?

No. It had to be him.

Because apparently I’m cursed.

And now I have to see him again today, with the memory of me dancing off-beat to Bad Bunny and drinking god-knows-what he shoved into my hand.

Right.

It was the desperation. That’s all.

It was the drinks, the music, the stupid, stupid nostalgia.

And it’s not happening again.

He got to me because I was vulnerable. Because he knew I was.

He took one look at me and thought, easy target.

Dragged me to that hellhole of fried food and neon lights, pumped me full of beer and bad ideas.

Fucking Gio, man.

Human chaos with piercings.

If temptation had a middle finger and a Ducati, it would look like him.

Next time he tries to ‘cheer me up,’ I’m spiking his drink with holy water.

I finish showering, and now I’m wrestling with my tie.

I’m dragging a comb through my disaster of a hair.

I look more like a human now.

Barely. The headache is still knocking behind my eyes.

I descend the stairs slowly, adjusting my tie.

In the kitchen, chaos is already served.

Jin and Daisy are at the table, halfway through breakfast.

Jin’s inhaling a toast, and Daisy looks like death in a sundress.

Dad’s sitting at the head of the table, suited and extremely polished, completely ignoring the madness around him as he reads the newspaper.

“Jesus, Daisy,” I say, heading to the counter to grab coffee. “You look like someone sucked your soul out in your sleep.”

She doesn’t even flinch. “Says the guy who stumbled in at 2AM smelling like cotton candy, smoke, and Gio .”

I freeze mid-pour.

Oh she didn’t.

My father looks up from his newspaper.

Daisy. Daisy, babe. Sister of my blood. Why would you.

I shoot her a stare that practically screams WHAT THE HELL DID YOU JUST DO.

She has the audacity to whisper “Sorry.”

Sorry.

What am I supposed to do with “sorry”? Use it to shield my body from death?

I swear the temperature drops ten degrees.

There’s a long silence.

“Were you with that punk?”

I swirl my coffee around lazily in the mug.

How the hell do I explain this?

Do I say, “Yes, father, my girlfriend abandoned me, and your favorite disappointment of a neighbor found me in pieces and he dragged those pieces into a carnival full of fried food, cheap alcohol, and rides that tried to kill me.”

No. Can’t say that.

“He just happened to be there,” I say flatly. “It’s not like we planned it.”

He sets the paper down, every movement too precise.

“Do you have any idea how dangerous that boy is?”

I sip my coffee. Too hot.

Burns my tongue a little.

“Yeah,” I say. “I know.”

“And you still thought it wise to keep his company?”

“I don’t plan on being his friend,” I say. “So I’m not too concerned.”

It’s not a lie. But it’s not the full truth either.

My father leans back in his chair.

“That boy—he’s reckless. Arrogant.”

He is now actually mad.

“He used to do lines off stripper’s thighs! Probably still does! He got arrested twice last month, and instead of coming to his senses, the asshole came out smiling! Don’t you see the problem here?”

He gives me the dirtiest look, like he is about to make it worse.

“He used to run packages for a dealer. Said he ‘never looked inside,’ but come on…of course he knew. What if he puts you in trouble too? What are you gonna do then?”

I hear it all.

He starts listing Gio’s ‘crimes’.

Illegal racing. Noise complaints. Property damage.

He keeps going. And going. And going.

And all I can think is: Yeah. That sounds like Gio.

I don’t even interrupt. I just let him talk.

I don’t even know why he’s telling me any of this.

Yes, it’s concerning. Yes, Gio is objectively a walking red flag factory. But also why does he think I care? He’s not my problem.

“I’ve heard one too.” Daisy says.

“Someone I know, who hooked up with someone who knows Gio, said he has this one tattoo…”

My hand froze on my mug.

Jin smirked. “Well, obviously he has tattoos, you fool. Half the time he looks like a walking warning label.”

“No,” Daisy said, leaning in further, lowering her voice.

“a specific tattoo. Right above his—”

She made a vague motion below the table.

I choked.

The coffee went the wrong way, straight down my windpipe.

I coughed hard, heat rushing to my face.

I didn’t even know if I was embarrassed or just dying.

Probably both.

“—like, literally right above it. And it says—”

“Enough.”

My father’s voice cracked through the room like a whip.

Daisy went dead silent.

Jin lets out a low whistle from the table.

“I wanna be this guy.”

Daisy snaps toward him. “No, you don’t. You’d need balls to pull that off.”

My father set his newspaper down.

“That boy is a walking embarrassment. And the fact that any of you sit here laughing about it is pathetic.”

Daisy finally looks up. “I mean, no offense, but you gotta admit, Gio’s hot. Like, annoyingly hot. If he was straight, I’d definitely make a move, and no one could stop me. No offense dad.”

The air immediately changes.

My father’s jaw drops.

“He’s…into guys?! Well, that just made it worse. Good thing you are…normal. Because if he ever turned that filthy charm on you, I’d bury him myself.”

I bite the inside of my cheek.

I don’t say anything.

Because I don’t like Gio enough to defend him. He has done too much to me.

But I also don’t dislike him enough to agree with the absolute bullshit coming out of my father’s mouth.

Jin leans toward Daisy and says under his breath, “So…How do you feel about the fact that I have more chances than you?”

Daisy snorts and smacks his arm playfully.

I hide my smirk in the mug.

I check my watch, and shoot a look at mom as she finally appears in the hallway in full elegant armor.

“We leaving?” I ask.

She nods, already smoothing down her blouse and grabbing her purse.

Dad folds his paper. “Let’s go close some deals.”

I mutter under my breath, “Let’s go pretend we’re not all mildly unhinged.”

I’m mad.

Because even in my own house, at my own damn breakfast table, he somehow found a way to hijack the spotlight.

Fucking Gio.

—

I swear, these conferences only get worse.

Same boring voices, same blue suits, same empty promises about “the future”.

I sat through the third presentation of the day trying not to yawn in front of my parents.

Canada couldn’t come soon enough.

I glanced at my phone under the table, scrolling back to Sophia’s messages.

We’d texted earlier.

She wanted to meet after the conference.

Go for a swim. Talk.

It definitely felt hopeful.

Like maybe I still had something waiting for me that wasn’t made of marble floors and fake smiles.

I looked around the room, bored out of my mind.

And then I noticed.

Gio was still not here.

I leaned toward my mom, whispering, “Where’s Gio?”

She barely turned her head. “I don’t know, sweetheart. I haven’t seen him all morning.”

I pulled out my phone.

ME :

-Where the hell are you?

-Did the cops finally get you?

It took him a second, but eventually the bubble popped up.

GIO :

-I’m with someone. Doing unholy things. Can’t come. Wish me luck.

I rolled my eyes.

ME :

-You’re disgusting. Literally rotting.

-You’re missing a very important discussion. Your loss.

GIO :

-Just say you’re jealous, sweetheart.

I sent a middle finger.

I should’ve ignored him.

Should’ve focused on the speaker droning on up there about legacy and responsibility and all that crap.

GIO :

-Btw you good?

-’Cause your little girlfriend kinda sexted me last night.

-Either that or she’s REALLY damn generous with her compliments after midnight.

My heart starts beating fast.

“Bathroom,” I mumble to my mom.

I speed-walk. Then I run.

I slam the door shut behind me, lock it, and then press my back to it.

This can’t be real.

If he’s joking? I’m killing him.

If he’s not joking? I’m killing him louder.

This is too much.

ME :

-What are you talking about?

-What messages? What did she say?

-Does she even have your phone number?!

-You’re making this up. She literally just asked me to meet today. We’re fixing things.

GIO :

-Wow, fixing things?

Bold of her to multitask like that.

ME :

-Send screenshots.

GIO :

-Nope. Can’t do. Confidentiality clause. She might be crazy and sue me.

ME :

-You’re lying.

GIO :

-Go through her damn phone if you don’t believe me, Ravioli. Take deep breaths though, it’s pretty messed up.

ME :

-You’re trying to screw this up for me, just because I’m happy for once. What the hell is wrong with you?

GIO :

-Tranquillo, tesoro. You asked. I answered. Now if you’ll excuse me, someone’s calling my name, and it’s definitely not you. Kisses.

The typing bubble vanished.

I stared at the screen, heat crawling up my neck.

I’m confused.

Absolutely not. No. I refuse that reality.

Why would she even do that?

Why would GIO say that?

Why would he even think that was funny? What did I do to deserve this level of emotional violence?

I’m actually angry this time. Who does he think he is?

Dropping that bomb on me like it’s nothing?

Like “Oh by the way, your girlfriend sexts me haha pass the salt.”

What if…

No. NO.

Not possible. She wouldn’t. Not with him.

I shake my head, frustrated.

He’s lying. He’s lying. He’s lying. He’s lying.

He is messing with me.

That’s what Gio does. He pushes until something breaks.

But I wasn’t giving him that satisfaction.

Not this time.

---

Question: From 1 to 10 how much do we hate Sophia the First 🌸

14) What If…

Rava’s POV

The meeting ends.

Thank God.

I swear I feel like I’m about to throw up. My stomach is doing that ugly anxious flip.

I hate this, more than anything. I hate when anxiety hits this hard. My head is buzzing, my hands are cold.

I wasn’t even in the meeting mentally.

I don’t even know what was said in there. Could’ve agreed to sell my kidney and I wouldn’t have noticed.

I was too busy thinking about Sophia.

And Gio.

Mostly Gio, unfortunately. His words.

I should’ve been with her.

We could’ve already been at the beach by now.

Swimming, laughing, being together like a normal couple.

Or even something simple, me, on the balcony, with a good book, eating cold watermelon, sipping iced lemonade, and not pretending to care about business strategies or “future partnerships.”

But no.

I went to the damn meeting. Not because I wanted to.

Because I didn’t want to disappoint my family. Because it matters to them. Because I fucking try for everything.

And Gio ditched it!

To go make out with some random person at some random beach bar.

He wasted my time with his constant games, and now he’s trying to mess with the one thing that actually makes sense in my life.

He lied about Sophia. I’m sure of it.

I know her. I know what we have.

She made a mistake, yes, but people do that, right?

She reached out because she realized it.

Because we’re real.

We’re going to fix it together.

She wouldn’t send him those kinds of messages.

And even if she did… no.

No

.

Gio’s just…Gio.

That’s what he does. Pushes buttons. Throws bombs just to watch things burn.

But this isn’t funny. It’s not some dumb game.

I’m mad at him. Really mad. He still doesn’t care what damage he leaves behind.

He doesn’t care what it costs me.

He’s turning everything into chaos just because he can.

And I’m not letting him ruin this. Not this time.

I pulled out my phone, stared at the screen for a second, then put it back in my pocket.

No. I wouldn’t let Gio’s voice be the one I listened to today.

I had better things to do.

And I still do.

I pulled open the drawer and grabbed my swimsuit. It’s dark blue and simple, nothing flashy.

I hated the ones with logos all over them.

Threw a towel over my shoulder, grabbed my slides from under the bed, and tossed some sunscreen and water in my bag.

As I turned toward the mirror on the opposite wall, I paused.

I wasn’t one of those guys who stared at themselves for hours, flexing or whatever.

But I looked.

My body was alright.

Broad shoulders. Defined back.

I worked for that.

Not obsessively, but consistently.

Swimming helped. Walking everywhere helped.

I liked feeling strong without needing to prove I was strong.

And then there was my waist, noticeably narrower than my upper body.

It always made shirts fit weird, like they didn’t know which part of me to commit to.

Some people liked it.

Said it made me look like I had a “nice shape.” Whatever that meant.

But a few girls in the past… they’d laughed.

Not cruelly, they were just surprised.

One of them once asked, mid-laugh, “What kind of workouts do you do to have such a tiny waist?” I didn’t know what to say.

I remember just shrugging, pretending to laugh along, eyes darting anywhere but her face.

It’s not like I hated it. But it stuck. The awkwardness of not fitting the image people expected.

Or feeling like I had to explain something I didn’t even do on purpose.

I pulled a loose white t-shirt over my head and zipped up my bag.

Slinging it over my shoulder, I took one last glance at myself in the mirror.

I looked fine. Sophia liked the way I looked.

That’s what mattered.

As I walked toward the door, Daisy appeared in the hallway, holding her coffee.

“Where are you off to?” she asked, one eyebrow arched.

I smiled a little. “Beach. I’m meeting Sophia.”

She lit up, in that overly curious way she always did when I mentioned her.

“When do we finally get to meet this mysterious girlfriend of yours?”

I hesitated.

The words came back to me…

Sophia, saying she wasn’t ready to meet my family.

That she didn’t want the pressure. That it was too soon.

I remember how I nodded and said, “Okay,” even though it stung.

But today felt different, because she reached out. Said she missed me.

So I smiled again, more confidently this time. “Don’t be impatient. You’ll meet her soon.”

“Dude, she better be real. Starting to feel like you made her up.”

I laughed, shook my head, and pushed the door open. “You’ll see.”

Outside, the sun hit my face instantly.

Almost enough to melt the frustration still lingering from Gio.

I took a deep breath, pulled my phone from my pocket, and sent Sophia a message.

ME:

-Just left. Where are you?

Then I kept walking toward the sea.

My palms are sweating.

I’m not messing this up again. No overthinking, no stupid napkin-origami gestures, no oversharing.

I’m going to be normal and stable.

Romantic but not pathetic. A functioning boyfriend.

I turn the corner.

She’s already waiting for me. Wow.

Standing by the water.

She’s wearing a black swimsuit, simple, classic.

She looks happy.

Now I feel stupid.

She’s here, acting all sweet and excited to see me… and I spent the entire morning convincing myself she was not some kind of Gio-sexting supervillain.

I stopped walking for a second. I hadn’t seen her like that in a long time.

She’s extremely light for some reason.

I didn’t realize how much I missed that.

I started walking again. I wanted this to be easy.

I needed it to be.

She turned, and her eyes locked on mine.

“Hey,” I started to say—

But she didn’t let me finish. She stepped forward and kissed me.

I just stood still, caught off guard.

Then I gently pulled back. My hand found hers.

“Wait,” I said softly, smiling. “Let’s drop our stuff first. Come in the water with me. Then I’ll give you all the attention you want.”

Her eyes sparkled, and she gave me that teasing, playful smile that used to make my stomach turn. “Fine. But you owe me.”

“Big time,” I said.

We walked down toward the sea hand in hand.

She looked up at me, and I saw her grin.

For a moment, I believed it.

I believed we were good.

Because the truth is, I’d been worried.

Really fucking worried.

Worried that things between us had shifted too far.

That something had cracked in the foundation and maybe I hadn’t noticed it in time.

Worried about the way I felt after that stupid night at the fair with Gio, how free I’d felt.

How… alive.

And it had scared the hell out of me.

What if I’d been chasing the wrong things in the wrong places?

What if I was sabotaging everything good just because I couldn’t make sense of my own head?

But now, walking next to Sophia, watching her squeeze my hand and laugh, I felt a wave of relief wash over me.

It had just been a moment. A little storm in my brain.

A little crisis.

But this was real.

This made sense. Everything was going to be okay.

Right?

The sun had just set, but the light still lingered.

That deep blue sky was streaked with soft pink and hints of orange.

We were deep in the water.

Far enough that we could barely touch the bottom.

Sophia had her arms around my neck, and her fingers tangled in my hair.

She was playing with it, twirling a few strands, while I looked at her face.

“You still do that thing,” I said.

She raised an eyebrow. “What thing?”

“With your nose. When you’re trying not to laugh. It crinkles.”

Sophia laughed.

“I do not,” she said, splashing water toward me.

“You totally do.”

“Okay, maybe I do. But you bite your lip when you’re nervous.”

“No, I don’t.”

“You are right now,” she said with a grin.

I hadn’t even realized it.

“You know,” she said, brushing her wet hair over one shoulder, “my brother keeps asking about you.”

I looked at her, a little surprised. “He does?”

“Yeah. I think he misses having someone to gang up on me with.”

I laughed. “Tell him I’m still on his side. Always.”

“Traitor,” she muttered, flicking a few drops of water at me.

But then it hit me.

“Shit,” I said.

“What?” she asked.

“I was supposed to remind my brother to stop by the grocery store on his way home.” I ran a hand through my wet hair.

“He asked me to help with dinner tonight, and I forgot to tell him to get tomatoes.”

She laughed. “Very dramatic emergency.”

“Hey, no tomatoes, no dinner. It’s serious.”

I gave her a quick smile and started swimming toward the shore. “I’ll text him real quick. Be right back.”

She waved me off. “Fine. I’ll just float here and try not to drown.”

I pulled away from her and headed for the shore with quick steps.

The sand stuck to my feet. I found my phone in the side pocket of my bag, dried my fingers on the towel, and opened it to shoot a message to Jin.

Don’t forget tomatoes. You forget, we starve.

I dropped the phone on the towel and was about to head back when I noticed something.

Sophia’s phone was lit up.

Her phone was sitting right

there .

Screen lit up from a recent message.

God. I hated myself in that moment.

I didn’t want to be that guy. The suspicious boyfriend.

The paranoid one. The one who snoops.

I’m not built like that. I don’t WANT to be built like that.

But my traitor of a brain has other plans.

Check. It. Check. It. Check. It.

I clenched my jaw.

I forced my eyes away, only to accidentally look back.

I didn’t wanna look.

But my hand moved before I could stop it.

Something about tonight… about how perfect it was… felt off.

Maybe it wasn’t mine to hold onto.

Maybe Gio’s voice, still echoing in the back of my head, was more than just noise.

I picked up the phone.

And my heart started to beat a little faster.

I needed to know.

I needed to be sure that Gio was wrong. That he was messing with me.

That Sophia was all in, like I was trying to be.

Because what if he wasn’t?

What if I was smiling in the water, letting her play with my hair, laughing like an idiot… and it was all a lie?

I stared at the screen.

And then, against every promise I’d ever made to myself,

I opened her messages.

---

Question: What would you scream at Rava if you were standing next to him? :)

I would lowkey throw the slipper on his head for not checking earlier

15) We’re Done

Rava’s POV

My thumb hovered over her screen. I didn’t even realize I was holding my breath.

…

Come on…

Gio . That was the last person she talked to. Gio.

My heart didn’t just sink, it shattered .

Shattered like glass hitting pavement.

I stared at the name.

Still hoping desperately, that this wasn’t what it looked like.

That maybe she just wanted to ask something about me.

Maybe something innocent.

Yeah.

It could be innocent. People text him. People text me. People text people.

Maybe Gio had lied just to mess with me.

I tapped it open.

And I read.

⸻

SOPHIA:

-heyyyysir. are u still as hot as i remember? bc i’ve had a few drinks and i’m thinking baaaad things

SOPHIA:

-i keep wondering if u ever thought about me since u met meeeee at that conference

SOPHIA:

-like what would’ve happened if i wasn’t with him. He’s good………I can’t complain but…

SOPHIA:

-he touches me like I’m breakable. I bet you’d fuck me like you hate me:) Don’t tell him tho

I blinked, rereading.

GIO:

-Hell nah

GIO:

-get your drunk ass off my phone, princess

GIO:

-You hurt him and now you’re out here horny-texting the dude he hates the most? -You freak

GIO:

-Even Rava deserves better than this pathetic shit

I wanted to throw the fucking phone. I wanted to scream.

It didn’t feel real. I wanted it not to be real.

But it kept going.

⸻

SOPHIA:

-we literally fought today, it’s not like he even cares if I do stuff i guess

GIO:

-He stayed in, reading some sad fucking book, afraid he would never see your boring ass smile again. sit down.

GIO:

-Rava deserves at least someone with a brain

She kept talking. She had the audacity to keep talking.

SOPHIA:

-you’re such an asshole

SOPHIA:

-You know what, Rava would never talk to me like this

SOPHIA:

-he actually appreciates me I guess. unlike you. dickhead.

One stupid tear slid down before I could stop it.

I wiped it away fast, angry at myself, angry at everything.

I lifted the phone again and reread the messages.

Because I enjoy emotional self-destruction.

That’s me, right?

The placeholder. The soft, safe, boring guy she keeps around while she drools over people who look like they’d break her back.

The more I read, the worse it got.

I was officially the biggest clown in Europe.

Full certified circus idiot.

She flirted with him. She insulted me.

And I’d been here thinking I was being dramatic. Paranoid, and unfair.

No.

I was just fucking blind.

How could she?

How the hell could she?

I clenched the phone in my hand.

I felt cold and hot all at once.

“Rava?” Her voice behind me.

I turned around slowly.

She was walking out of the water, smiling like nothing had happened.

“Hey, what took you so—”

Her eyes landed on her phone in my hand.

Everything in her face changed.

First confusion.

Then guilt.

Then panic.

“Give me that.”

She reached out, but I didn’t let go.

“You lied to me,” I said.

“Rava, I can explain—”

“Explain what? That you’ve been sexting freaking Gio behind my back? The guy that you saw for ONE minute?”

I laughed, mocking her. “Jesus, Sophia. Gio.”

“You weren’t supposed to—”

“Don’t,” I snapped. “Don’t fucking turn this on me.”

She tried to grab the phone again. “It was a mistake, okay? I was drunk—”

“Oh I have been drunk too, my love. And you know what I did? I spent twenty minutes trying to convince a cat to talk back to me. I poured water into a cereal box because I thought it was the milk. But what I didn’t do? I didn’t start texting your girl friends. I didn’t flirt with girls you can’t stand. I didn’t get so wasted that I magically ‘forgot’ what boundaries are. So don’t give me that -I was drunk- shit! Because when I’m drunk, I’m still me. Still thinking about you. Still caring about you. So no, being drunk doesn’t mean a goddamn thing. Not to me.”

I let out another hollow laugh.

“Is that why you kissed me earlier?! To make yourself feel better? Or were you trying to cover your tracks?”

Her mouth opened, then closed. No words.

I wanted to scream at her. I wanted to cry. I wanted to disappear.

“I believed you,” I said, quieter now. “I really… fucking believed in us. That’s your impression of me? That was absolutely humiliating!”

“You don’t understand—”

“I understand perfectly,” I say. “I wasn’t enough. That’s all there is to it.”

She finally ripped the phone from my hand, her face flushed with shame and fury.

“You had no right—”

“No right? You don’t get to talk about rights when you’re trying to screw around behind my back.”

I didn’t even feel sad in that moment.

What I felt was anger.

And not even at her.

At me .

Definitely at me.

At the idiot version of myself who had all these stupid, pretty little hopes lined up.

“This is so pathetic.” I muttered.

I looked her straight in the eyes. “Obviously, this is over. You already embarrassed both of us enough by sexting someone who isn’t even straight.”

Her face shifted. She looked surprised, and confused.

“Wait… he’s not straight?”

I laughed.

Oh my fucking God, this girl.

That’s what she heard?

“That’s seriously your takeaway right now?” My voice cracked. “I just told you I’m breaking up with you, and you’re asking if he’s straight?”

She stayed frozen, without saying anything.

I shook my head, already stepping back.

“Don’t come near me again. Not me, not Gio, not anyone in my circle. We’re done. Thankfully.”

I was furious.

Furious at every moment I defended her.

Every time I made excuses.

Every time I convinced myself that the bare minimum was just her ‘style.’

Furious at the way I softened myself just to fit around her sharp edges.

Furious at how small I let myself feel.

Furious that I believed even for a second that I was enough for someone who never even tried.

I walked off.

I felt like I could finally breathe, away from her.

And all I could hear was Gio’s voice again in my head. But this time, he wasn’t wrong.

He was right.

And it hurt worse than anything.

—

I walked into the house with wet feet and humbled soul.

There was loud music coming from upstairs.

Voices too.

Laughing, talking over each other loudly.

I wiped my feet on the mat, and glanced toward the living room.

My parents were on the couch, chilling.

Mom reading a stack of papers. Dad nursing a drink.

I stepped closer. “What’s going on upstairs?”

Mom didn’t look up. “Daisy brought her friends over. They’re sleeping here tonight.” She flipped a page. “One of them found a boyfriend, apparently. They’re planning their next moves.”

Great. That felt like a slap.

Then dad chimed in. “Have you started the presentation with that punk, yet? It’s due next week.”

I lowered my eyes instantly.

I envied Daisy. God, I did.

She can scream with her friends about some boy, got to laugh too loud, got to sleep in late and basically have a normal summer.

Meanwhile, I had just scrolled through the most disgusting, vile, humiliating texts of my now ex-girlfriend, and then came home to this.

The reminder that even heartbreak didn’t grant me the luxury of time.

I still had to deal with a stupid presentation.

With Gio of all people.

“We’ll do the presentation as soon as we can,” I told my dad, trying to keep my voice steady.

He gave a nod, checking something on his phone, clearly expecting it to be done yesterday.

“And his name is Gio,” I added, already turning toward the door.

“I’m heading out.”

Then I shut the door behind me before he could ask anything else.

---

Hey divas if you like my fuckass story please follow me, bye ❤️

16) Hug Me Back

Rava’s POV

I left the house again, feeling like shit.

Today was the biggest failure and the biggest win of my life.

A success because I escaped a cheater.

A disaster because I did it in the most humiliating way possible.

I needed to get away from everyone, somewhere quiet, somewhere no one would bother me.

I knew exactly where to go.

To the same beach I’d always escape to when I was younger.

Back when my parents fought constantly, when I wanted to read my fantasy books without anyone laughing at me, when I secretly ate snacks my mom wouldn’t allow because “ you’ll get fat, Rava. “

Eventually, I’d stopped coming.

People had discovered the spot as the perfect hidden corner to have sex once the sun went down, and I couldn’t exactly relax with random couples fooling around nearby.

I paused by the kiosk next to me.

Yeah, tonight definitely called for some cheap wine to take the edge off. I bought a bottle, slipped it into my bag, and continued toward the beach.

I know I said I’m never drinking again.

Yeah, well.

I also said I wouldn’t let my relationship fall apart, and look at me now.

You can’t be sure of anything.

Ever.

Not people, not promises, not yourself.

One day you’re convinced you’re building something real, and the next you’re reading messages of your girlfriend throwing herself at the one man on earth designed specifically to ruin your peace.

When I reached my old hiding spot, it was exactly how I remembered it.

Just a small cave right by the sea, with the entrance facing straight toward the horizon.

I tossed down my bag and towel, ready to finally breathe.

And that’s when I saw a fucking used condom lying next to my towel.

“Fucking hell,” I cursed, grabbing my things quickly and moving a bit further outside.

Great. Other people are out here having sex, and I’m sitting alone with a bottle of wine, crying over my failed relationship right on top of someone else’s crime scene.

I laid everything out again. This time I was closer to the water, though the sea barely moved right now.

Safe enough.

I finally sat down.

I stared at the sea, taking slow sips from the bitter wine, but my mind kept drifting back to Sophia. It wasn’t fair. None of it was fucking fair.

Why did my overthinking have to be right?

I always overthink. Always imagine the worst. Always scare myself with scenarios that probably won’t happen.

Except this time… they did. Exactly the way I feared.

It felt like my own brain betrayed me by predicting the truth.

What did I do so wrong? Why didn’t she talk to me?

Why didn’t she just say she wasn’t happy? Why didn’t she tell me she wanted something else?

Someone else?

If she didn’t want me, we could’ve broken up. We could’ve talked. We could’ve fixed it or ended it cleanly.

Instead she told him . She flirted with him .

She insulted me to his face…

And I know I’m not perfect.

I know I’m inexperienced. It was my first relationship.

I was learning everything from scratch, how to communicate, how to be supportive, how to love someone out loud without feeling embarrassed.

But I swear, I tried. Every day. I did my best.

Even when I didn’t know what “best” looked like.

I wiped my face with my sleeve, frustrated at the tears I didn’t want to shed.

The way she’d acted, especially with Gio, the way she’d so openly flirted… it felt like she’d stabbed me in the chest.

And for what? Because he was Gio?

Because he was wild and confident and… looked like that?

It wasn’t like I didn’t try.

I always took care of her, noticed the smallest things about her, remembered her favorite ice cream flavor, the exact spot on her neck that made her laugh when I kissed it.

I mean, fine, I didn’t have Gio’s biceps or his height or his irritating fucking swagger, but I wasn’t ugly.

Girls flirted with me all the time.

She knew that.

She knew how often I’d reject people.

I’d chosen her every single time, without hesitation.

And what did she do?

She told him about our sex life.

Of all people walking on Earth, she picked the one person who treats my dignity like a chew toy.

The wine was hitting me hard.

My head felt heavy and dizzy. I pressed my palms against my cheeks, holding myself steady, closing my eyes tight, trying to fight off the hurt swirling around in my stomach.

Then, somewhere nearby, voices broke the silence.

I lifted my head slowly, squinting at the blurry shapes emerging from around the rocky corner.

My brain tried to piece it together, but the wine wasn’t exactly helping.

When the figures finally came into focus, I nearly choked.

Gio. And some guy pressed way too close to him.

My eyes widened instantly as I connected the dots.

“Oh fuck no,” I muttered under my breath, scrambling to get my stuff. “I’m getting out of here.”

Not tonight. I can’t take another plot twist.

I barely made it halfway up before Gio shoved me back down onto the pebbles, gently but firmly.

Perfect. Absolutely normal behavior.

And what did I do?

I sat. Like a well trained little soldier.

Gio ignored my reaction entirely, turning toward his companion instead.

The guy was undeniably attractive. Extremely tall, tanned, and clearly athletic.

His messy dark curls framed a sharp, defined face. Perfect jawline, annoyingly perfect abs beneath his open shirt.

Seriously, of course Gio’s hookups looked like that .

“Sorry,” Gio said smoothly to the guy, trying to whisper so that I won’t hear him.

“that’s…my ex. You better go. He once lit his own shirt on fire just so I’d notice him. Yeah. I’ll handle this before he starts being crazy again.”

What—

“Are you…gonna be…okay?!” the dude asked Gio and then looked at me.

Amazing.

Hit me with more humiliation, why not? Pile it on!

I’m apparently built like a granite countertop today, I can take EVERYTHING!

First I was the gentle, soft, idiot boyfriend… and now I’m the crazy ex who almost set himself on fire.

A full character arc in a few hours.

Great job, Rava.

Really killing it.

“Of course I will. I will text you later.”

He leaned forward, planting a casual kiss on the guy’s neck, who gave me one final curious glance before disappearing back up the beach.

Cause to his eyes, I was a psychopath now.

My cheeks burned hot with anger.

“Crazy ex?” I snapped, glaring up at Gio.

“I lit my own shirt on fire? Seriously? What the hell was that?”

Gio just stared down at me. “You prefer I told him the truth?”

I scoffed bitterly, turning my head away.

Gio sighed and sank down right in front of me, his elbows resting casually on his knees.

The moonlight was hitting him, and it made those two silver beads on his bottom lip shine like they were glowing.

It wasn’t fair, not at all.

I hated how obviously attractive he was, hated how easy it was to see exactly why Sophia had thrown herself at him.

“If you came here just to make me feel even shittier, Gio, you can leave,” I said, avoiding his gaze. “It’s not funny. Not this time.”

Gio rolled his eyes, looking annoyed. “You really think I ditched the hot Spanish just to come and mess with you? Believe me, I had better things to do.”

I swallowed, feeling suddenly small again, and stared numbly out at the calm sea.

Gio’s eyes moved toward the wine bottle beside me. “Wow,” he smirked, nudging it lightly with his foot. “Looks like someone’s had enough fun for tonight.”

“Shut up,” I muttered.

Gio ignored me, reaching down to pick up the bottle, swirling it briefly before taking a sip.

His eyebrows rose slightly as he tasted it.

“Hm, not bad,” he teased lightly. “Pretty mild stuff though, Rava. How are you even drunk off this?”

I glanced at him sideways, feeling a small stab of irritation. “Why are you drinking anyway? Aren’t you driving?”

He shrugged, passing the bottle casually back to me. “Walked here,” he replied simply. “No bike tonight.”

I took another sip, feeling my throat burn, my head spin.

He kept staring at me with that confused look, like he wanted to say something, or maybe do something, but at the same time wanted to do absolutely nothing and leave me to rot in peace.

“You saw the texts, didn’t you?” he asked quietly, already knowing the answer.

I nodded slowly, my eyes fixed on the gentle waves rolling onto the shore.

I didn’t even know what to expect from him now. A joke? A pity look? Silence?

All of it felt terrible.

I hated how easily he could see through me.

Suddenly, Gio moved closer, stepping directly in front of me, blocking my view of the sea. His eyes were hesitant, something I’d rarely seen before.

He took a shaky breath. “Can’t fucking believe I’m doing this.”

Before I could ask what he meant, Gio wrapped his arms around my neck, pulling me into a careful, awkward hug.

He actually pulled me into a hug.

A hug.

Out of everything that could’ve happened, a joke, an insult, a “wow bro that sucks,” literally anything, that was the last thing I ever expected from him.

My heart went insane.

I froze completely, unsure how to respond, my arms hanging uselessly by my sides.

“For fuck’s sake, Rava,” Gio muttered, grabbing my wrists roughly and forcing my arms around his waist. “Hug me back, you idiot.”

I held onto him stiffly, barely breathing, terrified he could feel the way my heart raced uncontrollably.

“We are never talking about this . Ever. This moment dies with us,” he said, and for some reason, I laughed.

Because if this hug was going to be buried in a grave forever, I might as well enjoy it while it existed.

So I hugged him back. Properly.

And Jesus Christ… I didn’t realize how badly I needed a hug today.

Gio’s hand rose gently to my hair, softly brushing through it, surprising me again with tenderness I absolutely didn’t know he had.

“Don’t get any ideas,” he murmured against my ear. “We’re not friends, and I’m still gonna mess with you whenever I want. But what happened today was fucked up, even by my standards.”

I swallowed hard, completely unable to process this sudden softness from him.

He slowly released me and stepped back, and I stared at him in stunned silence.

“Yeah, I agree,” I mumbled, staring at my feet, feeling incredibly exposed.

We stood quietly for a few moments.

“Next time, I better catch you drinking rum.”

I let out a cold little laugh. “I don’t like rum,” I said.

Gio froze. “…For real?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Keep the rum to yourself, Fontana.”

“Wow. Give me my hug back. I didn’t know you were THAT weird,” he said, bumping my shoulder with his.

I laughed.

“Sorry,” I muttered, still smiling. “Didn’t realize my drink preferences were a character flaw.”

“It is,” he said immediately. “No joke. Fix it, Weston.”

Then he looked straight ahead again.

I kept staring at him, laughing a little under my breath.

Then I finally looked forward too.

Eventually, I cleared my throat. “Thanks, Gio.”

He raised an eyebrow, confusion flickering briefly across his annoyingly handsome face. “For what?”

I hesitated, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks. “For backing me up. In the messages with Sophia, I mean. You could’ve easily used it all against me, but you didn’t.”

Gio smirked slightly, rolling his eyes, pretending innocence. “Who said I was backing you up? Maybe you misread it.” He drinks another sip from my bottle.

We both cracked a smile, knowing he was lying.

The air felt lighter suddenly.

Gio suddenly stood up, stretching lazily in front of me. “Come on, I wanna show you something nice,” he said casually, nudging me with his foot.

I looked up at him skeptically, hesitating.

But curiosity got the better of me, and with a resigned sigh, I stood up, following him cautiously toward the water.

He stopped near the shoreline, squatting down close to the gentle waves.

I stared blankly at him, confused. Gio glanced up impatiently, urging me closer.

“What the hell are you waiting for?” he asked, gesturing toward the water. “Come here, you’ve gotta see this.”

I groaned. “If this is another one of your—”

“Move your ass, Weston.”

Slowly, suspiciously, I crouched down beside him, squinting into the clear water, then back at Gio. “What exactly am I supposed to be looking at?”

He leaned in closer, voice lowered conspiratorially. “They say if you dip your hand into the water really slowly… just like this, you’ll see tiny little bubbles rise up from the bottom.”

I frowned, more confused than ever, my thoughts fuzzy from the wine.

What the hell was he talking about?

I leaned forward cautiously, trying to see what he meant.

My face hovered inches above the calm surface.

And that’s when ice-cold seawater slapped right into my face, stinging my skin and flooding my eyes.

“Fucking hell, Gio!” I shouted, spitting salty water, half-blinded and furious. “I swear I’ll kill you!”

But Gio was already running and laughing.

I chased after him, stumbling slightly, cursing him loudly into the darkness.

---

HEY GUYS it’s me again, I just wanted to remind you that I post Gio & Rava art on my insta and many updates for my new story 😎

my username is @ dirtydiscospam

Follow me and you can also vote for plot stuff and covers for my stories muahahah

Also I’m yapping about my life a lot so…

17) Don’t Touch Him

Rava’s POV - After The Beach

Finally, I sit down on my bed, rubbing my wet hair with a towel.

There’s still lots of noise coming from the next room, even though it’s 2:00AM in the morning.

I get up to close my door, but then realize I’m out of water. I sigh, heading downstairs to fill up a jug from the kitchen.

It’s dark and quiet downstairs, which feels good.

Then, suddenly, someone speaks from the corner, startling me.

“Oh, hey Rava,” a soft voice says. “Can’t sleep either?”

It’s one of Daisy’s friends, I think her name is Eleanor?!

I don’t care.

She’s leaning against the kitchen counter, holding a glass.

“Yeah, just came to grab some water,” I say, feeling awkward.

She smiles, looking straight at me. “You know, I really like your glasses. They suit you.”

“Oh,” I mumble, feeling my cheeks burn a little.

I adjust my glasses nervously, cause what the hell do you even do or say after a compliment like this— thanks, got them cause I can’t see shit without them?

I should probably say something. Anything.

She might think I’m crazy for just looking at her.

“Uh, thanks.”

She keeps smiling, stepping closer.

Is she…? Nah, can’t be.

“Anyway, um, goodnight,” I say quickly, grabbing the glass and practically sprinting up the stairs before she can reply.

Closing my door behind me, I sit on the bed and let out a breath.

What was that about?

This summer isn’t going as planned at all.

My phone buzzed, startling me.

I glanced down, confused.

A message from Gio .

What the hell?

Without thinking, I tapped the notification. My heart is going crazy for no reason.

GIO:

Hey. How’s your heart? I’m worried.

I frowned, typing quickly.

ME:

What do you mean?!

Dots appeared instantly.

GIO:

Just wondering. Because it was beating way too fast when I hugged you earlier.

Heat rushed up my neck and face.

Shit.

I hadn’t realized he’d noticed.

My heart was racing again.

I forced myself to type, keeping my reply curt and harsh.

ME:

Maybe you imagined it.

The dots danced again, and Gio replied almost immediately.

GIO:

I’m pretty damn sure it’s racing right now, too. Wait, I think I can actually hear it from here.

God.

How the hell does he even know something like that?!

Is he stalking me? Does he have bat-level hearing?? What is he?

This is actually terrifying. Genuinely terrifying.

Gritting my teeth, I tried to steady my trembling fingers, replying coldly.

ME:

Normal resting heart rate is between 60 and 100 bpm. Nothing unusual about mine.

GIO:

Okay, nerd. Maybe try controlling yourself better next time.

My cheeks burned hotter.

How did he always manage to do this?

ME:

Goodnight, asshole.

I typed angrily, hitting send and shoving my phone roughly away.

I lay back.

Another notification chimed sharply, startling me again.

Without thinking, I snatched the phone back.

Him again.

GIO:

Don’t dream of me, Rava. I’ll know if you do.

I stared at his words, breath hitching in my chest.

I opened the camera, ready to flip him off straight to his smug face. Like he fucking deserves.

…

Nope. Changed my mind. That’s not me.

I lock the screen and toss my phone to the side.

Damn him.

• 3:00 AM -

I’m on my back. I’m blinking at the ceiling.

My fingers are tapping slowly against my abs.

I’m bored. And hungry as fuck. But I’m not getting up. Not eating. Not fucking this up.

I worked hard for this. V-line’s finally showing up like a reward.

Like a “hey, you just got cheated on, but you don’t completely suck!”

I will workout tomorrow. Discipline. No late snacks. No fuckups.

I open my phone. Camera’s already on.

No way I’m walking to the mirror.

I lift it above me. Angle down. Okay. Okay wait. Holy shit.

I smile. What the fuck.

I look good, too. Gio can fuck off.

My chest looks solid. Even the light’s helping me out for once.

Okay yeah, fuck it, I’m kind of hot too.

I toss the phone to the side for a second.

Peel off my shirt.

Push my sweatpants down a little.

Waistband sitting low now. Real low.

Maybe too much.

Let the shadows do the work. Let the lighting flex with me.

I pick the phone back up. Tilt it.

Right side, better side.

Frame the shot from the waistband up to my chest.

I bite down a laugh.

I never used to take pics like this. Never let myself. Felt too weird. Too much.

Now I wanna save this version of me.

In case I lose him again. In case one day I’m fifty and soft and wondering if I ever had it.

I adjust the phone again, and I take the picture.

I smile proudly. I don’t look like I just got cheated on.

I look like I fuck. I look like I know I fuck.

Tuck.

…

My phone just fell and slammed me in the face.

My nose would scream if that was possible.

I hate it here. I hate myself.

Every time I try to feel like a functioning person, I end up doing dumb shit like this.

Okay. I’m fine.

I grab the phone again to check the—

…

Wait. Wait wait wait.

No. No no no. NO.

What the actual fuck.

I’m going to cry. I’m literally about to cry.

What the fuck do you mean ‘To Gio’.

I freeze. That’s HIS chat.

His goddamn name is at the top of the screen. I was literally inside HIS chat.

…

I delete it fast but… he already fucking opened it.

While I was complaining about my stupid nose.

Oh my God.

I remember. It clicks.

I opened the camera earlier. To flip him off. To send him a picture of my middle finger because he was being an asshole.

I never closed it.

That’s why my camera was open.

I just sent my sluttiest thirst trap to the man I insult on instinct.

To the walking red flag with a face I wanna punch.

GOD.

I SENT HIM MY “I’m hot and alone and maybe a little feral” PIC.

I slap both hands over my mouth.

I yeet the phone across the bed. HARD.

It bounces. Lands face down.

Good. Stay there. DIE there.

My heart is doing laps in my chest.

Oh my fucking god, I can’t breathe. I’m crouched in the corner of my room.

I’m NOT touching that phone.

Nope. I’m not going near it. I’m not even gonna LOOK at it.

He opened it. HE OPENED IT. IT SAYS “SEEN.”

WHY DID HE OPEN IT SO FAST. WHY IS HE EVEN AWAKE. GO TO SLEEP YOU MOTORBIKE DEMON.

WHAT IF HE THINKS I SENT IT ON PURPOSE.

…

That’s it. I ruined my life.

I deserve pain now. Because I am an idiot. Capital I. I am pure shame. The president of Idiotland.

My eyes are wide.

Pure humiliation.

It’s over.

He’s gonna bring this up on my wedding day.

I’m gripping the wall.

I’m done. I’m not going to the meeting tomorrow. Or ever.

I’m leaving Italy. I’m deleting my number. I’m changing my name.

I’m gonna live in a cave and eat bark and moss.

I’m NEVER leaving this fucking house again.

I’m gonna explode. No joke. I’m pacing like a crackhead ghost in an exorcism movie.

I’m fanning myself.

I’m walking in circles.

I can feel the heat crawling up my neck.

My cheeks are boiling. My ears too.

I don’t wanna see the reply.

Nope. I know he’s making fun of me. Probably laughing with his whole disgusting smirk on.

Probably already saved it to some cursed folder called “lol look what the nerd sent me.”

I’m gonna block him. I swear to god, I’m gonna block him tonight.

My brain is fully committed to not touching the phone.

My body picks up the phone without asking.

God. Why am I holding my breath like I’m about to get stabbed.

Nothing. NO REPLY. Silence. Empty.

Worse. That’s WORSE. That’s way fucking worse, you idiot!

I feel the tears forming. The actual tears. I’m gonna cry into my pillow.

THE DOTS. Oh my fucking GOD the typing dots.

I stop moving. I physically freeze.

Typing. He’s still typing…

For fuck’s sake STOP TYPING. JUST SAY IT.

He stops. NO. COME BACK.

He does.

GIO:

i’m trying really hard to hate you, and you’re not helping.

I burst into flames. I’m red. I’m scarlet.

RAVA:

stop. I didn’t mean to

GIO:

to what? bless my night?

RAVA:

Gio, delete that right now.

GIO:

Delete what? My new lockscreen?

I actually scream. Into my pillow.

RAVA:

DELETE IT.

GIO:

Say please.

RAVA:

Please delete it. Swear to God.

GIO:

Bold of you to assume i fear God

I grab my hair. Both hands.

GIO:

I’m trying to delete it.

RAVA:

The fuck you mean trying?!

GIO:

My thumb keeps missing the button.

I need to punch him.

RAVA:

You’re unbelievable.

GIO:

You’re beautiful.

I stop. I drop the phone.

I fall backwards onto the bed and just lie there.

I’m deceased. I’m in the arms of Jesus now.

I’m leaving Italy.

Gio’s POV

Next Morning

Life is great when people make mistakes.

I checked my phone. No messages.

Good. Means he’s probably still embarrassed as hell.

Which is my favorite version of him.

Yeah, I deleted the photo. Actually did it. Not because I had to, because I wanted to.

Power move. I don’t need proof. Knowing I could’ve kept it is enough.

Still, can’t lie, the picture is stuck in my head.

In 4K. Not my fault.

I can’t wait to get to that meeting.

I slicked my hair back.

Tightened the tie one last time.

I tilted my head, checking the angle in the mirror.

Yeah. Looked like someone important. And I was.

At least in those rooms full of fake-ass smiles.

Rolled my sleeves halfway, slowly.

No reason to hide the ink.

The tattoos were part of the image now.

Part of me .

My eyes dropped to my hands, calloused knuckles, faded reds and blacks.

Still room for more, though.

A couple small ones between the fingers maybe. Something bold on the wrist.

The phone buzzed on the counter.

Mom .

Of course.

I let out a breath through my nose, pressed the green button.

“Yeah?”

“Are you home?”

“Yeah,” I said, glancing back at the mirror. “Getting ready to come over.”

Ding-dong.

My brow lifted.

I turned toward the door.

It’s her.

Only my mom would do this.

1. Call son.
2. Interrupt call by showing up at son’s house.

“Seriously? Why?”

“Open up,” she said on the phone.

I pulled the door open, still holding the phone to my ear.

She was standing there in her usual full-power outfit.

“Wow,” I muttered. “Couldn’t wait, huh?”

She stepped in without missing a beat.

Reached for Lulu, all sweet and motherly for about half a second, until Lulu jumped, darting up to her little hideout and vanishing.

I smirked.

“Snobbish little creature,” Mom said, brushing invisible lint off her sleeve.

“She’s not like that with everyone,” I said, watching Lulu’s tail disappear. “Just people who act like they’re above her.”

Mom ignored the comment. Classic.

I leaned against the doorframe, crossed my arms.

“So. What’s the real reason you’re here? Could’ve said whatever it is at the conference.”

“I wanted to talk to you before. Alone.”

Wow. She wants to talk to me.

Only me. Outside the meeting.

Last time this happened, she sent me on that sweet little date with Rava.

“…Talk to me about what?”

She didn’t waste time. That’s the thing about my mother, she never did.

“I heard Rava broke up with his girlfriend last night,” she said, smooth as ice. “And you comforted him…with your company. On the beach.”

…Okay. Pause.

How the fuck did she find that out?!

We were literally in the middle of nowhere.

Even if we had sex on that rock, nobody would’ve seen.

That’s how isolated it was.

“How the hell did that reach your ears?” I ask.

She shrugs. “Be careful who you go out with. Everybody knows everybody. The world is smaller than you think.”

“Oh my god, you’re making it sound like a horror movie,” I mutter. “The Spanish guy told you or what?!”

“What Spanish guy?”

“Never mind,” I say, waving it off. “Yeah. I happened to find Rava there and I kept him company. What’s the big deal?”

I laugh under my breath.

“Weren’t you the one who told me to hang out with him? Spend time with him? So I’m doing it.”

She exhaled slowly, like she knew something I didn’t.

Then she locked eyes with me.

“Don’t touch him.”

Woah. Hold on.

We have a situation.

Rava sends me thirst traps at three in the morning, but I’m the one getting scolded for laying a finger on him?

Make it make sense.

If only she knew.

If she ever saw what I saw last night, she’d start praying in Latin.

“What makes you think I want to touch Charles’s son?”

“I know my son,” she said flatly. “Even if…we’re not exactly best friends.”

…

I almost laugh.

“Tell me my favorite foods,” I say. “Go ahead. Biggest fear? Childhood comfort thing? I’m listening.”

She looks around. Left. Right. Up at the ceiling.

Exactly.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought. You only know whatever you want to know. Whatever affects you . You never bothered to learn anything else.”

She exhales through her nose.

“Don’t act like you’ve got the upper hand,” I add, softer. “You don’t.”

I cross my arms, tilt my head.

“Anyway. I’m sorry. Go on. Let’s hear it.”

She stepped closer. “If people find out you’re involved romantically with Rava, especially right now, it could ruin everything. The family name. The company. The deal. His side and ours… it’s already delicate. Do you understand me, Gio?”

I tilted my head, gave her a little smirk. “Didn’t plan on touching him, but the way you’re putting it… I gotta admit it Ma, it sounds kind of tempting.”

She stared at me, disappointed.

“He’s not like you, Gio. He’s soft and more sensitive. You’ll ruin him.”

I almost choke on my water.

Ruin him? Lady. He’s the one who ruins me .

That boy’s the reason I had to take a cold shower at 3:10 AM.

A small grin escaped me. “I’m kidding. I won’t touch him.”

She nodded, finally easing a little. “Good. Because today, you and Rava are working together. On the presentation. It’s due this week.”

“Why am I just now hearing about this?”

“Maybe you’d know,” she said, “if you showed up to the last meeting.”

“Fair.”

She adjusted her cuffs. “It might be smart to go to Rava’s place to work. Just to avoid being… completely alone in here.”

I snorted. “What, you don’t trust me?”

“No.”

I chuckled. “Makes sense.”

She turned to leave. “Get ready. See you at the conference. Please… don’t lead him on.”

The door clicked shut.

Damn.

She really said that.

Don’t touch him.

Don’t lead him on.

I let my head fall back against the wall, exhaling slowly.

I wasn’t planning to touch him.

Hell, I truly wasn’t.

But now that she told me not to? Now that she laid down rules like I’m still sixteen?

Yeah. That might’ve have changed things a little.

Look at that. Rava, the forbidden fruit .

That’s new.

Kinda hot, actually.

Sure, Mom. No leading.

Just riding.

Telling me not to go there is basically rolling out a red carpet now, and handing me champagne.

---

Letting the new readers know too:

in the paperback version, (check this comment for the link) there’s also Gio’s POV from the exact moment Rava sent him the photo :)

There’s also the Kindle ebook version, the bonus scene is there too 😼

and no, I absolutely did not hold back on the juice 👹

18) Fighting Or Flirting ?

Rava’s POV

I was trying to focus. I really was.

The guy up front was rambling about brand direction or sustainable markets or whatever new corporate buzzword they’d slapped on the powerpoint to make us feel like this meeting wasn’t slowly killing us.

Killing ME.

I had my notebook open, pen in hand, my face arranged in that perfect neutral I’ve been mastering since elementary school.

Gio kicked me under the table.

Great.

Exactly what I needed.

I can’t even look at him after last night.

After that half-naked photo that basically looked like an invitation to my room at 3 fucking am.

I don’t know what’s worse.

That he saw it, that he commented on it, or that my heart went suicidal the second his notification popped up.

I glanced sideways at him.

He didn’t look at me.

Just leaned back in his chair like he hadn’t done anything.

I narrowed my eyes.

A minute passed. I tried to get back to my notes.

Then a crumpled piece of paper landed in my lap.

I looked down.

It was the corner of one of the conference handouts. Folded and thrown like we were in high school.

I opened it.

“nice shirt. shame you looked better without it.”

— in Gio’s messy, slanted handwriting.

I snapped it shut fast.

He laughed.

Nope. Absolutely not. No one could see that. If anyone around us read even one word of it, they’d think that we did… stuff.

Together.

Yeah. Not happening.

I wrote one word at the bottom of the page, folded it again, and flicked it back across the table while no one was looking.

“ Child .“

He opened it. Grinned.

And winked at me.

My jaw clenched.

God, he loved ruining my life.

It pissed me off so much because he was just sitting there, teasing me on purpose.

He made me uncomfortable just enough so people would look over like, “Um, hey, Rava… are you okay? What’s wrong?”

And what was I supposed to say? “Oh, nothing, my new neighbor is just flirting with me and my face just doesn’t know how to behave!”

Thank God no one else noticed a thing.

They were all busy nodding at the presentation, checking their watches, or pretending to take notes.

I was the only one squirming in my seat.

He kicked me again .

Lighter this time.

Just a nudge with the side of his shoe against my ankle. I glared at him.

He mouthed, “Miss me?”

I could’ve strangled him. Definitely.

And yet, and this is the part I hate the most, there was a split second, a tiny microscopic one, where I almost smiled.

Almost.

When the speaker finally wrapped up, the room filled with polite applause.

“Rava,” my mother said, coming up behind me.

Her eyes flicked from me to Gio. “When are you two planning to work on that presentation?”

Gio stepped in like he’d been waiting for the cue. “We could work on it today… but only if you promise to be around. I’ve been missing your cooking.”

He said it with a little bow. Like a prince playing peasant.

My mother laughed.

“Oh, I adore this one,” she said, turning slightly toward me.

Oh my god. Please.

What a kiss-up. He couldn’t have made it more obvious if he’d dropped to his knees and begged her to adopt him.

What was that tone? Why was he smiling like that? Why was she blushing?

I swear, he lays it on thick and suddenly my mom is acting like he’s God’s gift to hospitality.

And for what?

What does he even gain from charming her like that?

I side-eye him.

He catches it and smirks.

I opened my mouth in exaggerated mockery, mouthing her exact words: “Oh, I adore this one.”

Ugh.

She caught it and gave me a look. I rolled my eyes.

My mom always liked him, a lot, since he was little. I never really got why.

She’d smile when he came around, talk to him like he was some poor kid who needed saving.

Half the time she gave him food, leftovers, pies, especially pies. Like he was part of the family or something.

Probably cause his dad died, and she felt really bad about him.

“Then it’s settled,” she said, addressing us both now. “Rava, work. Don’t kill each other.”

“No promises,” I muttered.

Gio clapped me on the back. “Come on, Rava. I’ll even let you boss me around. Just a little.”

Excuse me?

Let me?

Who said I wanted to boss him around?

And if I ever did , it sure as hell wouldn’t be because he “allowed” it.

It would be because I felt like it, end of story.

We walked out of the conference hall together. His shoulder brushed mine once.

I didn’t step away. And I don’t know what that meant.

The elevator doors closes.

Please don’t say anything. Please don’t say anything. Please don’t—

“So…” His voice. That fucking voice. “You always send half-nudes to your coworkers at 3AM? Or am I just special?”

…

I just stare at the floor.

I knew he was gonna bring it up.

“I’m not having this conversation,” I mutter, through my teeth.

God. Fuck.

“It was sudden, man,” he says. “That V-line though? Jesus Christ. Warn a guy before sending art.”

“It was an accident, Gio. Cut it out.”

He chuckles. I hate him.

“Imagine if I accidentally sent you something back,” he says. “Like, oops. There goes my towel.”

This can’t be real.

“I’m gonna cry,” I whisper, staring up at the ceiling, willing the doors to open.

“Do it shirtless,” he says.

“Fuck you, Gio.”

He shrugs. “Well. I thought it was too soon. But if you insist…”

I sprint the second the elevator dings.

I hate this building. I hate this day.

“See you at your place, Ravioli!” he yells.

7:00 P.M

He knocked six times.

Six.

I could’ve opened on the first one, obviously, but making him wait is one of the few joys I have left in this cursed dynamic.

What’s he gonna do about it? Nothing. Exactly.

Stand there and take it.

When I finally opened the door, he was leaning on the frame, smiling.

Black sleeveless shirt. Arms out. Veins out. Hair a whole wavy black disaster.

“Hey, Ravioli,” he said. “Let’s get fucking educational.”

I stepped aside so he could walk in.

At least he always smelled good. I’ll give him that.

I’m not an asshole, I know how to acknowledge someone’s good traits.

It’s just that his good traits… yeah, they get stuck somewhere in my throat on the way out.

He walked straight past me like it was his house, dropped his helmet on the hallway cabinet, and made a beeline for my room.

By the time I caught up, he was lying on my bed, hands behind his head.

“You’re disgusting,” I muttered.

He stretched out even more, clearly enjoying himself. “Comfortable bed. You should be honored.”

“It’s not a hotel.”

He smirked without even opening his eyes. “Could’ve fooled me. Excellent service so far.”

I shot him a sharp look.

The weirdness hit me like a brick when I realized.

Him. Spread out.

On my bed.

The same bed I’d literally disgraced myself over last night by sending him that… photo.

I wonder if he’s thinking about it too… or if I’m the only freak in the room replaying it on a loop like an idiot.

I turned toward my desk. “We’re here to work.”

“Speak for yourself,” he said. “I came for the view.”

I ignored him completely and flipped open my laptop, praying the assignment would drown out at least half of last night’s humiliation.

Let’s just finish this stupid thing so he can leave.

“Did I ever tell you about the time I saw you talking to yourself before a test in middle school?” he asked suddenly.

I didn’t look back. “No. And I don’t care.”

“You were psyching yourself up. Like, full-on pep talk mode. ‘Come on, Rava. You’ve got this. Be the king of the essay.’ It was adorable.”

“I did not say that.”

“You kinda did. I thought you were unwell.”

I rolled my eyes, trying to stay focused.

Slide one: introduction. Topic overview.

“But now that I think about it…” His voice dropped. “Maybe you had a thing for me back then.”

My hands froze on the keyboard.

He was joking. Obviously. Probably.

But still my heart started beating super fast again.

I turned.

“I didn’t have a ‘thing’ for anyone,” I snapped a little too fast. “Back then I only had three categories. People I liked, people I didn’t like, and people I tolerated. If you were anywhere, you were firmly in the third category.”

He laughed quietly to himself. “Okay.”

He started wandering around my room like it was a museum exhibit from a tragic era of my life.

“Do you ever sit still?” I muttered, not looking up.

“Do you ever have fun?” he shot back.

And then silence.

“Oh my God,” Gio said, half-choking on his laughter.

I didn’t look up. I didn’t want to look up.

“Is this yours?” he said, barely holding it in.

I turned. He was holding the stupid plush dinosaur my aunt gave me when I was, like, nine.

Green, fluffy, and unfortunately still sitting on the bottom shelf of my bookcase.

“Don’t,” I warned him.

Too late.

“You still have this?” Gio wheezed, already laughing like a maniac. “This ugly thing? I remember this! You used to sleep with it at summer camp! What was its name again—Dino? Dippy?”

“Duke,” I snapped.

He collapsed onto my bed dramatically, clutching the dinosaur. “DUKE! Of course you named it Duke. That’s so painfully you.”

Lord. Stop laughing.

I swear, I physically cannot handle people who laugh that hard, it’s contagious in the worst way.

And of course my stupid mouth twitched, like it wanted to join him.

I bit it back immediately.

No. Absolutely not. I am not laughing with him AGAIN.

“Shut up.”

I focused on the screen. My heart had picked up speed, and I hated that.

He was always like this, flirting, teasing, messing with people just to see if they’d flinch.

And I refused to flinch.

We were halfway into slide three when Daisy knocked and leaned into the room.

She didn’t knock, actually. Just burst in.

“Mom says there’s pie if you want some. Fridge is full,” she said.

Then she saw Gio and grinned wide. “Hey, punk.”

“Daisy,” he said, raising a hand.

“What, are you living here now?”

“Thinking about it,” he said, smirking.

I groaned. “Please go away.”

But Daisy ignored me, walked in, and dropped onto the edge of my bed. “You two fighting or flirting?”

“Can’t it be both?” Gio asked.

She burst out laughing.

I snapped back. “Neither. We were working. So go.”

She rolled her eyes. “Ugh. Boring. Bye.”

She left the room.

I pretended to focus.

On bullet points and font sizes.

Anything but what she’d just said. Anything but the fact that Gio hadn’t denied it.

We kept working. Or, I tried to.

His knee was brushing mine every so often. He didn’t move. I didn’t either.

At some point, he got up and grabbed two water bottles from the fridge. Tossed me one, sat back down, took a long sip. Water dripped down his neck, onto his chest.

I looked.

Of course he couldn’t even drink like a normal human, he had to do it in that ‘accidentally sexy’, annoying, Gio way.

I forced my eyes back to the screen.

“Can’t even drink properly.”

“You’re staring,” he said.

“I’m regretting inviting you.”

“Liar.”

I wanted to throw something at him.

Preferably the laptop.

Or myself, out the window.

Instead, I turned the laptop toward him. “Focus. If we don’t finish this, I’m blaming you.”

“You always blame me.”

We ended up taking so long that the sun had already gone down. It was basically evening.

He dragged himself closer to me so he could read what I’d written.

Literally pressed up against me. I didn’t move, because I didn’t want to make it awkward.

I just stayed exactly where I was, pretending he had zero effect on me.

Except for my heartbeat, which was absolutely betraying me.

What can I do? Apparently I’m the anxious type.

When he finally stood up to leave, helmet in hand, I followed him to the door without speaking.

“You’ve changed, you know,” he said, looking back at me.

I raised an eyebrow. “How?”

“You let me stay.”

He didn’t wait for a reply. He opened the door and stepped out. Then, halfway through, he paused.

“Don’t sleep with the window open,” he said over his shoulder.

“Why?”

“Uninvited things might sneak in.”

And he was gone.

---

19) You Should Kiss Him

5 Days Later - Rava’s POV

I was halfway through an espresso and some reading I wasn’t really doing when my phone lit up.

It’s my friend, back from Canada.

Noah.

Thank God for that idiot.

Half German, half Italian.

Which meant I could actually talk to him in Italian without my brain exploding.

A blessing, honestly.

I hadn’t talked to him in weeks.

“Hey.”

“Dude,” Noah’s voice came through. “what’s up? You still alive or did the Italian sun fry your brain?”

“Still alive. Barely.”

“That doesn’t sound convincing. You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good. Just… stuff. Busy.”

“Sophia?”

I leaned back against the headboard. “Don’t even. We broke up.”

Noah whistled. “DAMN. For real??”

“For real.”

“Holy sh—what happened?”

I hesitated. Now I had to mentally re-live my humiliation.

“She was sexting behind my back,” I said. “With Gio.”

“WOAH— wait. Bully Gio?”

I rubbed my face. “Yes. That Gio.”

“Oh my GOD. Okay, no offense, but I hated her, bro. I TOLD YOU. I. Told. You.”

“What?” I muttered.

“What?? The same things I’ve been saying since day one. How did your innocent little baby-angel soul not see it? She was EVIL! And the way she talked about herself? Jesus Christ, I wanted to scoop my eyes out with spoons. I’ve never met a more narcissistic human being.”

I let out a weak little laugh.

“I’m glad it’s over,” I said. “Really. I think I was trying to force something that wasn’t right.”

Noah went quiet. “So what now?”

I looked over at his house.

Gio was in his room.

Working out.

Shirtless.

He was lifting a heavy metal, and then he looked up.

Right at me.

Oh God no.

I froze for a second, like I’d been caught doing something I wasn’t supposed to.

His eyes locked on mine.

I stood up fast and yanked the curtain closed.

“Rava?” His voice cracked through. “You still there?”

“Yeah. Just got distracted. Shut up.”

I sat back down and looked at the wall instead of the window. “Hey, do you remember that story I told you once? About that guy who pushed me into the lake on purpose and made everyone laugh like I was the joke of the summer? It was the same guy. Gio.”

“What?”

“Yeah. He’s here. We’re…working together. Sort of. He came back from Spain.”

There was a dramatic gasp on the other end.

“Oh no, my poor little bitch. Did he bully you again? Say the word, I can send people to his house. I have connections.”

I actually laughed. If only he knew.

If only he knew what kind of people Gio hangs out with.

Sure. He and Noah look like they’re mafia bosses, but Gio’s circle scares me the most.

They look like actual gang members who eat “connections” and people like me for breakfast.

“He’s different now. I think. I don’t even know. He’s still insufferable, but with more tattoos and piercings.”

He snorted. “Sounds about right.”

I shifted. “Yeah. Different appearance, same level of annoying.”

“Wait,” He said. “So let me get this straight. Sophia wanted this guy, who used to bully you, and he didn’t want her back?”

“No. He’s gay.”

“Oh my God!” He laughed. “This is

delicious

. Dude, you should kiss him!“

“ What ?!“

“You heard me! Use him to make her jealous. You know she’s watching. Hell, post it on your story. Or even better, do it in front of her. With tongue and teeth and everything. The sweet taste of revenge.”

“Noah—”

“Just imagine it,” he went on like he hadn’t heard me.

“She sees you locking lips with the guy she threw herself at, and he’s clearly more into you than her! That’s Shakespearean-level payback. Biggest plot twist. I’d cry if I was her.”

I was already shaking my head, heat crawling up my neck. “That’s insane.”

“Not if you enjoy it.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t you?” His voice was teasing now, but lowkey probing. “Come on. Why not?! Is he ugly or something?”

Ugly. If only.

“He’s…normal.” I finally muttered.

“So he’s hot.”

“No. Well, kinda?! I don’t know. No. Shut up. That’s not the point.”

“Exactly. The point is that you deserve to feel like you won. And if you get a little fun along the way…”

“What makes you think he’d ever want to kiss me, you idiot?!”

Oh. I said that too loud.

Way too loud.

I shut my bedroom door fast.

I drop my voice to a whisper. “The only thing he wants is to piss me off all day.”

“My sweet innocent boy,” Noah says, dead serious and mocking at the same time. “I would bet my entire life and my tattoo career that he absolutely would.”

I let my head fall back against the wall.

My mind played the scenario in a fast-forwarded blur.

Her shocked face.

Gio’s usual smirk.

My hands on him.

His hand on the back of my neck.

No.

I shut it down.

“I’m not doing that,” I said finally. “I’m not that guy.”

Noah sighed. “Fine. Be noble. Boring, but noble.”

I smiled faintly. “Thanks for calling.”

“Always. Don’t let the jerk win.”

“Which one?”

He laughed. “You tell me.”

When I hung up, I sat in silence for a long time.

I cannot believe my life has already turned into this soup of chaos.

I was perfectly fine in Canada. Peaceful and most importantly, predictable.

Zero half-naked Italians ruining my mental stability.

I glance at the window again.

Tch. He’s not gonna be the only one who works out.

I can do it too. And I will .

Afternoon

It’s time for the presentation.

The one I’d basically done alone, while Gio played DJ, threw almonds at me, and somehow still managed to consider himself ‘ready’.

He said he’d “helped.”

He’d shown up, sure.

He’d scrolled through my slides, nodded dramatically, and then handed me a chocolate saying, “Brilliant. Now go conquer the empire, little prince.”

I was scared.

Genuinely scared.

Not of public speaking, I could fake my way through that, but of Gio screwing everything up.

Saying something wildly inappropriate.

Laughing at the wrong time. Insulting one of the investors by accident or on purpose.

I didn’t trust him.

I didn’t trust that he knew what was at stake for me. For my parents.

For how important this was.

I grabbed my folder, my laptop, checked both twice, then went downstairs where my parents were already waiting.

Damn.

They looked like they were headed to a royal gala.

My mother had this structured navy suit and diamond earrings, her lips perfectly red.

My father wore the same expression he always did before meetings, a mix of pride and pressure.

As I slid into the backseat beside them, my mother turned toward me. “You finished the presentation, right?”

I nodded. “Yes. It’s ready.”

She looked satisfied, but I could feel the tremor in my chest.

What if he ruins it?

What if I ruin it?

My father chimed in without turning his head. “Gio and his mother are already there. They arrived early.”

Yeah.

Probably to charm the staff and drink Aperol Spritz, like it was a photoshoot.

I kept my eyes on the road.

The trees outside blurred into lines of green and gold.

The hotel was only twenty minutes away, but I felt like I was headed to trial.

---

Sorry I’m still not giving you guys lots of Gio POVs. I promise you’ll get a ton soon :)

20) You’re Staring.

Rava’s POV

Walking into the hotel felt like stepping into a chandelier that decided to become a building.

Crystals everywhere, the whole place screaming “rich people only.”

I should’ve felt proud.

Like, wow, look at my legacy, look at my parents’ empire.

But I couldn’t, because I was too busy trying not to throw up from nerves.

I’ll feel proud later.

After I survive this corporate torture session.

My parents walked ahead, shaking hands, smiling, already sliding into business mode.

I scanned the room.

Gio.

Standing near the entrance to the conference hall, talking to some guy in a suit.

But it wasn’t my version of Gio.

No piercings. None. He took all of them out.

He looked softer. Almost harmless.

For a second, I just stared.

Something about his face looked cleaner. Sharper without the metal.

I walked up to him. “What happened to your face?”

He turned, raising an eyebrow. “Nice to see you too, Rava.”

I pointed at his ear, then looked at his mouth. “No piercings?”

He shrugged. “Took them out. Thought I’d try something new.”

“You? Voluntarily blending in?! Wow. The end is near.”

I laugh at my own joke.

“You like it?” he asked, tilting his head slightly.

“No,” I said too quickly. “I feel like I’m talking to a very tame clone.”

He smirked, then gave me a once-over.

His eyes lingered on my shirt.

“You dressed nice,” he says. “See? You can do it without your mom’s help.”

I actually let out a gasp.

“Gio, that was rude,” I say, staring him straight in the eyes. “I was little. Obviously I needed help… but thanks for the satanic compliment.”

“You’re welcome. The tight collar suits you. Brings out the panic in those pretty eyes of yours.”

He winks at me.

I said nothing.

We just stood like that.

Then I cleared my throat. “Do you even remember what you’re supposed to say?!”

Gio took a lazy sip from his drink, and raised an eyebrow at me.

“Rava. I’m not an idiot.”

“I didn’t say you were.”

Even though you are .

“You didn’t have to. You’re twitching like I’m about to set the place on fire.”

You could.

“That’s not completely out of the question.”

He smirked again. “Relax, I’ve got this. You made the slides. I’ll follow your lead. Don’t stress. We will kill it.”

Right. Sure.

It’s honestly cute how confident he sounds when I’m 99% sure he hasn’t even opened the damn file I sent him.

Hell, I don’t even know if he knows I sent it.

These thoughts are going to kill me.

It’s not even that he doesn’t care. Fine, whatever, let him live in his delusional chill bubble.

It’s that I’m the one who’s gonna look stupid standing next to him if he screws up.

Me.

The one who actually stayed up working while he was sprawled on my bed.

I looked at his hand, and suddenly, Noah’s voice came rushing back.

“You should kiss him.”

“Just imagine it, her face when she sees it.”

I hate my brain. I genuinely, wholeheartedly hate it.

I can’t believe that thought even showed up right now, in this moment, in this setting.

I don’t want to kiss him.

“Are you okay?” Gio asked.

“What?”

“You’re staring. At me.”

“I was—I wasn’t staring.” I forced a scoff. “I was just wondering how your skin isn’t melting under all that perfume.”

He grinned, slowly. “You’re so sweet to me.”

I crossed my arms, trying to shut him out.

Suddenly I felt that damn shift in the air.

“Boys,” a voice called.

I turned and saw her walking toward us in heels that clicked across the marble.

Claudia. Gio’s mother.

I straightened up immediately. “Good evening, Mrs. Claudia.”

She smiled faintly. “Rava. Always polite.”

Her eyes shifted to Gio, and something passed between them, a look.

I didn’t know what it meant, but Gio noticed it too.

Like she was talking to him without actually talking to him.

He shrugged. “Don’t worry, we’re ready.”

She tilted her head. “Are you?”

He flashed a grin. “Let’s just get it over with.”

Claudia didn’t respond. She just gave us both a small nod and walked ahead.

Gio turned to me. “Well, prince charming. Shall we?”

I nodded, too fast. “Yeah. Let’s do this.”

I don’t know what I expected.

Maybe for him to forget half the slides or call one of the board members by the wrong name and embarrass us both.

Something, anything , to prove he didn’t take it seriously.

But he didn’t. Not even close .

From the moment we stepped into that conference room, he was… different.

Still Gio, but so much sharper. Confident in a way that didn’t feel like an act.

People were paying attention.

Real attention.

And when I started the presentation, he let me lead.

He didn’t interrupt me. Not even once!

He just nodded when he was supposed to, clicked the slides at the right pace, and gave small comments that somehow made the data feel more alive.

But the real surprise came when I froze and had nothing to say.

Someone asked a question I hadn’t prepared for, something about the restructuring of the marketing team, and how it would impact the launch timeline or something.

I opened my mouth, but literally nothing came out.

My mind went completely blank. Like I had no brain.

“Well,” Gio said smoothly, “that’s a great question. What we’ve discussed, actually, is shifting the rollout slightly to align with key seasonal trends. It’s about precision, not speed.”

It was almost funny. He said it like we’d talked about it all morning.

I glanced at him from the side. He gave me the smallest nod.

I took a breath and picked it up from there, as if I’d just paused for effect.

And it worked.

The room didn’t notice the glitch. Or maybe they did, but they liked how we recovered.

By the time the presentation ended, I was still catching up with the fact that I was impressed.

Genuinely impressed.

Gio was charming, professional, and ridiculously quick on his feet.

I admit it. I’m not a dick. I noticed it.

And then came the questions.

A man from the back, someone from upper management I didn’t know well, raised his hand. “What’s your long-term vision for the new hotel in Palermo?”

I stepped forward. “ Great question. We’re actually focusing on blending modern luxury with cultural authenticity. The architecture pulls from local history, and we’re partnering with many Sicilian artists and chefs to give guests a truly immersive experience.“

Another hand. This time, a woman. “What about sustainability? Any green initiatives in the construction?”

Before I could respond, Gio jumped in. “Yes. Of course. The building will use solar energy, and rainwater recycling. We want it to be beautiful and responsible.”

I glanced at him again. The way he said we .

Like we were a team.

My mom near the front smiled. “How do you two work together so well?”

That wasn’t even part of the presentation.

Jesus, mom.

Please.

We get it. You adore him.

Gio smiled and leaned slightly toward me.

I swallowed.

He turned to the room. “He is the mind. I’m just here to make sure people listen to it.”

People laughed softly. It wasn’t a joke, not really, but it kind of landed like one.

In a good way.

I looked at him again. And he was already looking at me.

He winked at me.

I immediately turned my head the other way, but my stupid mouth still pulled into a smile.

The moment it was over, I exhaled like I’d been holding my breath for an hour straight.

People clapped.

I should’ve been happy.

I was happy, but also tired, and kind of…floating.

Half an hour later

I scanned the room and found Gio standing near the refreshment table, sipping what was probably his second glass of Aperol.

This was the part I’d been dreading. The exact moment where I had to… congratulate him.

Like actually say the words out loud, because yeah, he deserved it.

He took half the weight off my shoulders today.

He didn’t mess up. He actually helped.

So I kind of owed him this.

No matter how much it stung.

I walked over.

He saw me coming and raised his eyebrows. I stopped a few feet away.

Crossed my arms. “So…”

He tilted his head. “So?”

“You didn’t completely mess it up.”

He grinned. “Woah. Was that a compliment?!”

“I said didn’t mess it up. That’s not the same.”

“Oh, come on. Say it. Say I did great .”

“I’d rather choke on a breadstick.”

He leaned in slightly. “You’re dying to admit it. I can feel it.”

I rolled my eyes, but he wasn’t wrong.

He had done great.

Way better than I ever thought he could.

And I was tired of feeling like a scared idiot around him.

I wanted the upper hand for once. I wanted to sound like the composed, mature one.

So I lifted my chin, and met his eyes dead-on.

“Fine. You were perfect. Happy?”

His grin hit instantly. “Very,” he said, laughing under his breath.

I didn’t look away. Didn’t let him have the satisfaction of seeing me flustered.

I just kept staring at him.

“You should kiss him,”

Noah’s voice whispered again in my brain, like a fucking devil on my shoulder.

Shut up, Noah.

Seriously.

He’d scrambled my brain like an egg. I was starting to hate him. My own best friend.

Before I could respond, we heard footsteps.

My father. Gio noticed him a second later.

“Here comes the devil in designer.”

“Please don’t,” I muttered under my breath.

I’m already prepared for the worst.

Because putting these two in the same place is literally like shoving two feral rodents in a shoebox and shaking it.

“Rava.”

“Father,” I said, forcing a polite nod.

Eyes already locked on Gio.

“Mr. Giovanni.”

“Charles.”

We could choke on that tension.

My father turned to me. “I must say, the presentation was… surprisingly competent.”

I felt my jaw tighten. “Thank you. We both worked hard—”

“I’m sure you did.”

His gaze flicked back to Gio. “As for your associate…well. I suppose theatrics always help distract from lack of substance.”

Gio laughed. “Ah. There it is. I was starting to worry you’d gone soft.”

My father’s eyes narrowed. “And I was starting to hope you’d grown out of your childish need to provoke.”

“I’m not provoking,” Gio replied smoothly. “This is just who I am. Dangerous, huh?”

My father exhaled dramatically.

“Dangerous,” he repeated. “Yes, that’s the word people use for men who gamble with reputation and drag others down with them. For men who think recklessness is charm.”

Oh God. Here we go. The theatrics.

Gio just lifted his glass and took another slow sip while staring my father down. “Funny. I thought you liked winners.”

“Only the ones who earn it,” my father snapped. “Not the ones who stumble through life and land on their feet because someone cleared the path for them.”

I covered my mouth slowly.

Holy shit.

He was talking about Gio’s dad. His company, actually.

The one Gio basically runs alone now, ever since everything went to hell.

Heard that from my mom.

Gio set his drink down gently.

Which meant he was pissed.

“Charles, my dad didn’t clear anything for me. He got wiped off the map and left me with a company that I had absolutely no fucking idea how to run.”

My father stiffened.

“It takes actual skill to keep that business running. Actual brain cells. We all get it, you can’t stand me. But you don’t get to erase what I’ve done.”

He took a step closer. “I run it because I had to,” he said. “No one held my hand.”

My dad didn’t even reply. Turned to me.

I’m embarrassed.

“Rava, you should be careful who you associate with. Especially now. You’re stepping into rooms where image matters. Where family matters.”

Gio’s voice dropped. “Oh, I get it now. You’re scared. Not for him. For you . Scared people might start asking what kind of father lets his son stand next to someone like me.”

My father’s eyes flashed. “You think this is a joke? You think this is just a game of charm and defiance? You’ll learn, boy . One way or another, the world doesn’t run on cheeky smiles and motorcycles. It runs on discipline, whether you like it or not.”

“Then why are you so rattled right now?” Gio said, and I felt the whole thing about to tip.

He looked down at me for a second. He seemed almost amused.

And exhaled, then he looked back at my father.

“Anyway. I’m not scared of you, sir,” he said. “And I don’t need your approval.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

My father’s face had gone cold. He turned to me. “We’ll talk later.”

And then he walked off.

I turned to Gio.

I wasn’t used to hearing him talk like that.

Hell, I didn’t even know he could talk like that.

But objectively, I liked the way he defended his work.

I respect that in people.

Probably because the same person who just tried to tear him down… does the exact same to me.

He raised a brow. “What?”

“Nothing.” I said fast. “Um, we will probably be doing another one soon. Same team.”

“Don’t act so tortured,” Gio said with a smirk. “You love having me around.”

I glared at him. He winked.

AGAIN.

“Anyway,” Gio said, adjusting his suit, “I’ve got places to be. But, for the record…” He leaned in slightly. “You were great up there.”

I looked at him. “You’re just saying that because I didn’t strangle you halfway through.”

He grinned. “Maybe. But you were.”

And then he walked away, while I just stood there.

Thinking about presentations. Definitely, presentations.

Nothing else.

---

GUYS.

TOMORROW IM GONNA FEED YOU SO GOOD THAT YOU MIGHT THROW UP i will post 3 chapters (i think they are 3?!) don’t remember. and for the whole week we will be making happy noises all together.

KISSES

probably useless note: No i didn’t write 3 chapters in one day lmao all these were already written before i started actually posting the story here on wattpad muhehehe

21) Adult Stuff

Gio’s POV

I was mid-set, fifty push-ups in.

Muscles don’t build themselves, unfortunately.

My phone buzzed on the floor next to me.

I glanced over, and saw Rava’s name.

Let’s see what accidental nude he sent this time.

Rava:

Hey. Not that I care, but I think a stray cat just walked into your room. Through your window.

I blinked at the screen. What?!

Buzz.

Rava:

No joke. Black and white. She just hopped in.

God. This silly little human.

I looked toward the window.

Then at Lulu. Sitting on the edge of my desk.

This little fucker thought my girl was a stray.

I wiped sweat off my face with the bottom of my shirt and flopped back onto the floor, grabbing the phone again.

Me:

That’s my cat, you little dumb shit.

Buzz.

Rava:

YOU have a cat?

-Wow. I thought you couldn’t even take care of your own self.

-Don’t let her eat trash. Or cocaine. Or whatever’s on your floor.

I rolled my eyes.

Someone is bored as hell.

Funny how he claims he can’t stand me, but suddenly he’s blowing up my phone.

Well… not that I can blame him.

I almost feel bad for the guy.

If my summer was just meetings, sleep, meetings, sleep, I’d be blowing up someone’s phone too.

At least I’m getting some adrenaline in my bloodstream.

I don’t think he does anything else. I haven’t seen him do anything else.

Poor little spreadsheet gremlin.

Me:

Her name’s Lulu. She’s cleaner than you’ll ever be. And she doesn’t take shit from anyone. We have a lot in common.

Buzz.

Rava:

Where are you?

Nosy little bitch.

Me:

I’m in my room.

-I just don’t feel like talking to you.

-Now leave me alone.

I meant it. Sort of.

Okay, no I didn’t. But he didn’t need to know that.

I tossed the phone away, stood, grabbed the dumbbells, rolled my shoulders back.

Buzz.

Ignored it.

Buzz again.

God. He’s so clingy when he’s bored.

I grabbed it.

Rava:

There’s a guy on your roof.

I shot up.

The fuck?!

I got up, yanked the curtain, leaned out.

I saw Rava, leaning smugly out of his window, one hand on the sill, the other holding his phone, smiling like he just played the best card of the game.

His whole face was literally glowing .

I stared at him, deadpan.

“ Very funny, Rava.“

“Yup.” He grinned wider. “But look at you. Couldn’t stay away.”

I exhaled sharply, shook my head.

“You’re a dick.”

“Takes one to know one.”

And then he winked.

I give him the middle finger and go back to my workout.

He was still leaning out of his window.

I could hear Lulu jumping onto my bed behind me, purring even though she betrayed me five minutes ago.

Rava tilted his head, and yelled. “What are you doing inside at this hour anyway?”

His voice was a little too curious.

I smirked, leaned on the frame. “Resting up.”

“Resting up?”

I nodded slowly. “Yup. Gotta gather strength for tonight.”

He raised his eyebrows, already judging me.

I sighed. “Relax. It’s adult stuff. You wouldn’t last ten minutes.”

“You are literally one year older than me. That doesn’t make me a kid. What’s happening tonight?”

I pretended to think.

Then shrugged. “Nothing your polo-wearing soul could handle, baby.”

“You think I’ve never done anything wild?”

I snorted. “Rava, your version of ‘wild’ is probably missing a deadline.”

He looked around him, probably making sure no one can hear him, and then he leaned forward, resting his arms on the sill.

“I once helped set fire to a stolen car to cover a drug drop in Montreal. Don’t ask why. The tires kinda exploded, too. Swear to God. I have pictures.”

…

The fuck?

Okay… Okay…

That was hot.

No.

That was concerning.

But also kind of hot.

What was it again that he wanted to be?

A teacher?

For real?

Sure, baby.

Looks like he’s fishing for a hangout.

Cute.

Last time I practically had to drag his stiff little academic ass out of the house, and now he’s the one poking me like “hey… activity?”

Well. I don’t have anything to lose.

…Okay, lie.

I have everything to lose.

If he mentions the spot to his dad and they sic the cops on us.

That would be great. Exactly what I need.

But I don’t think he’s that much of an asshole. Not today , at least.

“I will ask about that later, cause, what the hell, but, alright. Fine. I will take you with me tonight. But if you cry…I’m not taking you back. Deal with your own trauma, prince.”

• Later the same day -

I tossed on a loose black tank, worn just right at the collar.

Neckline wide enough to let the new tattoos show a bit on my chest.

Dark pants, and old black Converse, scuffed as hell, not pretending to be clean.

Ran a hand through my hair.

Phone, keys, second helmet. I stepped out.

There is my baby.

My red Ducati. Fucking beautiful.

Loud even when she was off.

I flipped the second helmet onto the back.

Then leaned all the way back across the seat, and my legs kicked up over the handlebars.

Looking like I was not waiting for anyone and I had nothing better to do than be hot and unbothered.

But I was waiting.

For a certain someone upstairs who took longer to get dressed than half the men I’d slept with.

The front door creaked.

It was Jin.

Why’s the kid walking like that?

“Where the hell you goin’, little man? You got a secret late-night snack mission?”

Jin raises his eyebrows. “Better question, where’s your prince? Still picking the right black T-shirt?”

I barked a laugh. “Touché.”

Jin looked at me with those big dumb excited eyes. “Can you make your bike go vroom vroom?”

“…Vroom vroom?” I actually laughed.

“Yes, like that,” he insisted, twisting his hand like he was gripping the throttle.

Alright, kid. You asked for it.

I grabbed my actual throttle and cranked it hard.

The engine screamed .

Jin instantly slapped his hands over his ears but he was smiling like crazy.

Even my bike is sexy.

Right on cue, upstairs window flung open.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP, YOU LOUD MOTORBIKE DEMON!”

I leaned up, looked at the window, grinning.

“Glad to know you’re awake, Rava!”

Jin snorted. “Dude… sometimes, he’s actually kinda funny.”

I shrugged. “It happens. Like a solar eclipse.”

Jin started walking off down the street. “Try not make him cry tonight.”

“No promises.”

“Basketball tomorrow or the day after?” he called out over his shoulder.

“Tomorrow.”

He vanished.

I leaned back again, made myself comfortable on the Ducati.

I couldn’t fucking wait.

He came out slower this time.

Not like he was stalling, more like he was trying not to show that he was thinking.

Which meant, of course, that he was definitely thinking.

Black shirt. Dark pants. Cute. He probably wanted to match with me.

His hair looked good too.

He walked up to me, so I held out the helmet.

“Turn around” I said.

He sighed, annoyed, and turned around.

I stepped off the bike.

Slid the helmet over his head.

I reached under his chin to fasten the strap.

He was looking everywhere but me.

To the street.

To the door behind me.

To the bike.

To fucking space.

I smiled a little. “You’re looking everywhere but here.”

He didn’t answer.

So I tugged the strap snug. “What? My face too much for you?”

He finally looked at me. And not just a glance.

A stare.

I raised an eyebrow. “Oh. Now you’re doing the staring contest thing.”

Still no words.

I finished buckling the helmet, brushing his throat with the back of my hand.

I stepped back.

That fucker.

“You’re really not scared you’ll die on this thing?” he asks.

“No.”

“Just… no?”

“No,” I repeat, leaning on the bike. “I actually prefer not dying. Keeps the schedule clean.”

He rolls his eyes. “I’m being serious.”

“So am I.”

“And what if you crash?”

“Then we crash.”

“That’s your answer?”

“Yeah. Did you want poetry?”

He glares at me. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you,” I say, pointing at him, “God, you are acting like someone’s cautious grandfather.”

He opens his mouth. “I—”

“No, seriously.” I laugh. “You’re giving big ‘I need to speak to the manager’ energy right now.”

He groans. “Why do I even talk to you.”

I laugh. “Alright, pretty boy. Stop talking. Let’s see if you survive the night.”

He didn’t say anything else. Just finally climbed on the bike behind me.

His hands hovered at first. Then landed on my sides.

I smirked.

Kicked up the stand, and revved the engine.

---

Not to sound needy or anything, but IM BEGGING YOU to vote for my chapters, divas💔

22) That Turned Me On

Rava’s POV

We’re riding.

I don’t know if I should be scared out of my mind or… trusting him.

Both feel equally stupid.

I tell myself I’m fine. That he knows what he’s doing. That this isn’t how I die.

I’m holding on to the tank in front of him like an idiot.

One hand flat on the metal, the other barely hooked around his waist.

My wrist feels like it’s literally gonna snap but whatever, better than grabbing him like he’s my safety net or something…

The bike tilts into another turn and my helmet knocks against his shoulder again.

Fuck you, Gio.

He’s probably smiling.

Maniac.

I want to hold on tighter.

Well, I don’t want to, I need to.

But no way in hell am I letting him feel me clinging to him like some terrified passenger.

He’d never shut up about it.

So I keep it loose.

My grip on him, my balance on the tank.

I’d rather dislocate my arm than hug Gio Fontana right now.

He accelerates.

Goddamn it.

If we crash, fine .

At least I won’t die giving him the satisfaction of knowing I needed him.

He just pulled into a dark alley, cut the engine, and kicked down the stand.

He got off first.

Stretched.

Cracked his neck.

Then turned to me and grinned like we were about to rob a bank.

“Off the bike, Canadian.”

I slid off.

He pulled his helmet off, shook out his hair and walked toward a metal door on the side of a graffiti-covered building.

No signs. No light.

Damn.

This looks like the kind of place you see in movies where someone always ends up in a body bag.

“Promise me you won’t tell your father about this place.”

“I promise, you are scaring me.”

He knocked three times. Pause. Then once.

The door opened.

We stepped into noise. Underground. Literally.

A long hallway, stairs, and then open space.

A room full of smoke. So much smoke, I’m coughing already.

I don’t know where to look. Or if I even should . Every face that turns toward me feels like it knows I don’t belong.

There are couches that should’ve been thrown away years ago.

Crates. Broken lights.

And poker tables.

Many of them.

People were already sitting with cards in their hands, chips clacking together.

Guys in ripped shirts, a few faces I was pretty sure I’d seen on the news once?!

Gio didn’t slow down.

People nodded at him as he passed.

I followed. They looked at me too, but not the same way.

It’s like they were testing me. Like they couldn’t tell if I was a threat or a mascot Gio brought for fun.

I kept walking, cause what the hell could I do.

Nod? Smile? Pretend I don’t notice?

No.

“Chill,” Gio whispered without even looking at me.

Chill. CHILL. In this literal dungeon of testosterone and blades.

He led me to a back room, smaller, but quieter.

He moved through the room with his head high.

I stayed close. Didn’t talk. Didn’t look anyone in the eye.

Then he slowed.

Two guys stood near the far end, leaning on a wall, both smoking.

One had his shirt half unbuttoned. The other wore rings on almost every finger.

Gio grinned when he saw them.

They dapped him up fast.

“Look who finally showed up,” one of them said. “And he brought a souvenir!”

Right. It’s time for greetings and introductions.

Do I know how to do this? Absolutely not.

Do I know how to properly shake hands with a billionaire? Yes.

A politician? Unfortunately yes.

A hotel investor? Obviously.

But this ? These street-level guys?

First time in my life.

Do I do… the little polite handshake thing?

Do they even do handshakes here, or is this the kind of crowd that greets you by punching your chest like gorillas?

Gio turned toward me with that damn smirk. “You remember them?”

I looked at the two guys. Nothing clicked.

I shook my head, clueless.

They looked at each other, then at me.

“Elio,” the one on the left said.

“Luigi,” the other added, taking a slow drag.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

My brain just throws me straight back into every stupid memory I begged myself to forget.

Suddenly I’m nine again, sitting in that shitty school cafeteria while they laugh at the way I eat.

The way I hold my pencil. The way I talk. The way I look at people.

Every time they made me feel small. Every time I swallowed it because I didn’t know how else to survive.

I shouldn’t care. I’m grown. I’ve changed.

But it feels like there’s a kid inside me pounding on the walls, yelling don’t let them see you shake .

“Ravioli.”

“Little Rava, the golden boy.”

Sneers. Shoves.

And always, somewhere in the background,

Gio.

Laughing with them. Not stopping it.

Never stopping it.

They are taller now.

I glare, not caring if it shows.

The idea that I wanted to “introduce myself” thirty seconds ago makes me want to peel my skin off.

Elio squinted, stepped closer, and his eyes widened. “No fucking way,” he said, exhaling smoke.

“ That’s Ravioli?“

I didn’t answer.

Every time they open their mouths, I swear, all I want to do is spit right in their faces.

Luigi gave me that look.

The smirk, the sizing me up, the quiet let’s see what makes him flinch vibe.

He flicked ash off his cigarette. “So, you still cry when someone calls you Ravioli?”

Elio chuckled low. “Poor thing used to turn red like a tomato.”

I get it.

These were basically the same two kids, just taller.

And smoke in their lungs.

Elio lifts his hand, brushing the ash he dropped on me off my shirt. “Don’t wanna stain you, sweetheart. You might cry,” he says.

Gio’s hand snaps out and smacks his wrist down.

“Okay, okay, back the fuck off.”

Luigi raised both hands, smiling. “Relax. It’s just a joke.”

“Am I laughing?”

I stepped forward, placed a hand on Gio’s chest.

He looked at me, confused.

“I got it, I’m not a baby,” I said.

He hesitated, but he stepped back.

My eyes went to Elio and Luigi.

“You really wanna dig up that old shit? Cause I remember everything, too. Every damn shove. Every joke. Every time you made comments about my fucking body when I was only fourteen.”

“I mean… we were just kids, man, we didn’t really know—”

“Oh, please . I’m not interested in hearing how hard it was for you to be a shitty person. I was a kid too. But I used to fucking skip lunch to avoid you. I remember crying in bathrooms. I remember hating my own face because of the shit you said.”

He looks down now.

“I used to stare at my closet every morning, trying to figure out what outfit would make me the smallest target. Because of you .”

I laugh. “You think just because you’re uncomfortable now, we’re even?”

They can’t even look me in the eye now.

“Oh, and let’s not skip the part where karma beat the shit out of you, Elio. That’s what bullying got you?! A beer belly and rotten lungs?!”

Elio freezes.

“And you, Luigi, you think staying quiet made you innocent? Cause it didn’t. It made you useless . Always lurking behind him, snickering like a little hyena, but never brave enough to lead your own destruction. You’re the kind of person people forget was even in the room.”

Gio shifts next to me. I see him. He’s staring.

That’s right. Keep watching.

I tell them exactly what they did, and I don’t sugarcoat shit.

They look embarrassed.

Good. Let it sting.

I’ve spent way too many nights feeling like garbage because of them to care about their feelings now.

If they feel guilty, embarrassed,and uncomfortable, that’s good.

They can choke on it.

“Two fucking cowards hiding behind each other, picking at someone smaller just to feel big. Pathetic as fuck . You think this place makes you tough? The smoke?! The noise?! The poker tables?”

Elio stares at the floor now.

“I could fold you both with one hand and still have the other free to flip you off.”

Gio lets out half a laugh, then covers it.

I step back.

“Damn, Rav-”

“Don’t ever fucking say my name again.” I reply to Elio.

I felt like I’d been holding something in my ribs since I was a kid and it had finally cracked out of me.

They both turned to Gio, silently begging for backup.

Gio just raised his eyebrows, threw up his hands, “Don’t look at me! You heard the man!”

Good call, Fontana.

Because if you still backed them after everything, I swear I’d lose every ounce of hope I have for you.

I shifted, ready to walk away.

He followed.

An arm draped casually over my shoulders. Like we were besties.

I tensed on instinct. Then he leaned in.

“Damn. That shit kinda turned me on.”

…

What the fuck.

I turned to look at him, wide-eyed, not sure whether I’d misheard or just couldn’t compute what he’d just said.

My mouth opened but nothing came out.

Nothing intelligible, anyway.

Gio grinned.

“Relax,” he said, like I was the insane one.

“Don’t look at me like I just said I’m gonna throw you down and fuck the lights outta you right here.”

Holy mother of God.

These jokes need to be banned.

Because the last thing I need is to picture me and Gio having sex.

He laughed softly, looking directly into my eyes like he could see my thoughts.

Then he tilted his head. “Cute.”

I hated that word in his mouth.

Or maybe I didn’t.

I don’t know.

I wasn’t sure of anything at that point.

Someone called out from behind us. “Yo, Gio, you in for poker?”

Oh? Hold on.

This… this might actually be my shot to look like I’m not the awkward extra chair in the room.

Poker is literally the one thing I have in common with these people.

The one thing they can’t laugh at me for.

I know the game. I’m good at it.

I might even be better than half of them.

“Yeah,” he called back, still looking at me. “Count me in.”

Then he pulled away. “Catch you later, unless you wanna sit next to me. Watch and learn.”

“I want to play.”

He turned.

“You know what poker is, or are you just high on your own ego right now?”

Poor guy.

I met his eyes. “I know exactly what it is.”

He stared at me.

“…Shit,” he muttered. “Okay then.”

23) Watch Your Mouth

Rava’s POV

I stood near the table, trying not to look like I was analyzing every molecule of air, when a guy sat down next to me.

He looked over and smiled.

“You ever played before?” he asked.

“Poker?”

He nodded. “Yeah. It’s a rough crowd tonight. If you need help, just, y’know, nudge me or whatever. I’ll watch your back.”

It caught me off guard.

I kinda love how much they’re underestimating me.

It feels… fun.

Will I get punched if they go all-in and I wipe the table with them?

Probably.

Will I do it anyway? Absolutely.

I smiled. “Thanks,” I said. “I’m good.”

I was more than good.

Inside, I was calm.

Because while everyone here was high or loud or posturing…

I could read them.

And they had no idea what I could do with a quiet hand.

I looked across the table.

Where Gio was.

Flicking a chip between his fingers.

He caught my eye.

He smiled, then winked.

My stomach did something stupid .

I sat down, waiting for the rest of the players to get ready.

Some guy across from me points at me with his chin.

“You. Shuffle.”

“But I’m not the dealer.”

“Shuffle.”

Well, if you insist.

Not to brag, but I’ve been waiting for this exact moment.

I like poker. I like cards. I don’t like gambling, I don’t like gambling at all. I roasted people for it back in Canada…

But poker is different. It’s a thinking game. A mind game.

It’s like a quiet art.

Especially that first year in Canada… I had to join many poker games just to meet people, figure out who I liked, who to avoid.

Somewhere in between pretending I belonged, I realized I actually enjoyed it.

And Noah taught me all the tricks. Card manipulation, flourishes, riffling methods, the pretty stuff.

So I take the deck, and I break it in half.

Slide one stack into the other, card by card.

My fingers move automatically. I can fold, fan, weave, flip.

God bless Noah.

I can feel eyes on me.

Well… one pair in particular.

I look up.

Gio’s staring with his mouth slightly open.

“Do it again,” he says.

I laugh. “…Is this what we’re doing here?”

“Yes. Do it again.”

God, he’s five years old.

I sigh and shuffle again, slower this time, letting the cards arc between my fingers. He watches every movement, carefully.

“Again,” he says.

“Say please,” I shoot back.

He ignores that completely. “Give me the damn cards.”

I hand them over, already knowing where this is going.

He tries to replicate what I did. Fails instantly.

The cards slip everywhere. It’s like they’re actively rejecting him.

It’s… impressive, honestly. I’ve never seen a deck fight for its life like that.

He looks at me, pissed, with that why you and not me look.

I gently take the cards back from his hands, brushing his fingers for half a second.

“Watch my hands, Fontana,” I say quietly.

And I do it slowly.

His head moves with my hands, fully entranced, like he’s a marionette and I’m pulling the strings.

It’s… weirdly fun. Weirdly intimate.

Then I snap the deck closed and place it on the table hard.

“You zoned out,” I tell him. “Wake up.”

Gio sits there looking confident as hell. And I get it. I really do.

He probably wins at everything, races, fights, arguments.

He has that face that says I don’t lose.

Good for him.

But I’m used to winning too now.

And God, do I want to beat him. Like… really beat him.

Not just ’ oh good game ’ beat him. I mean humble the shit out of him.

Take that stupid smirk off his face for five whole seconds.

Etch a little crack into that giant ego of his.

In any other situation, I wouldn’t care this much. It’s just cards. It’s a game. Whatever.

But hell, he needs the lesson. Somebody has to drag him off his imaginary throne.

And I think it should be me.

I owe that to little Rava, the kid he used to torment, tease, outshine, talk over.

The kid who never stood a chance against him.

So yeah. Tonight I’m not folding.

I kept my shoulders relaxed.

This should be easy.

People who talk too much in games like this are just begging to lose.

First round started quiet. A few chips tossed. A few bluffs.

I stayed out and watched.

I studied the way Gio leaned back when he was confident, and how he tapped his thumb when he wasn’t.

Cute.

The way the guy next to me scratched his chin every single time he lied.

The girl across the table tilted her head left when she had something good.

And then came the hand that mattered.

It was me and Gio. The others had folded early.

It was just the two of us now, facing each other across the table.

He grinned.

“Damn, Ravioli…” he mutters, shaking his head.

I glare. “Don’t call me that.”

He smirks. “I’ll call you whatever I want. You always this good, or are you going above and beyond to impress me?”

I check my cards again, then lift my eyes to him. “Oh, you’d know if I was trying to impress you,” I say. “Trust me.”

His eyebrows jump. “Is that right?”

“Mhm,” I hum, dropping a few chips into the pot. “Bet.”

He looks down at his cards, rubs his thumb along his jawline. Then he looks back at me.

“Going all in already?” he asks. “At least take me on a date first.”

I exhale hard, leaning back in my chair. “Call or fold, Fontana. Pick one. I’m getting bored.”

He flicks his tongue against his teeth.

“Call,” he says, pushing his chips forward.

“What do I get if I win?” he asks.

I laugh. “You’re not going to win.”

“But if I do?” he presses. “What do I get?”

I lean in.

Poor thing. This is gonna be fun.

I smile.

Then I tap my cards on the felt. “Hm. If you win, I’ll be your slave for a whole day. Anything you want. I’ll do it. Bet.”

He laughs. “Raise.”

“Sure about that?”

“Play, slave,” he shoots back.

I smile wider.

I shove my entire stack forward. “All in. You’re gonna match it,” I ask sweetly, “or are you tapping out?”

“All in, baby.”

I lean back, laugh once. “Last chance to back out, Fontana.”

“Flip the damn cards, Ravioli.”

We turn them over at the same time.

Shock . Actual shock.

His jaw clenched. He tossed his hand face-up.

…

He’d lost.

I pulled the chips toward me slowly. Very proud of myself.

Gio was staring at me like he’d never seen me before.

I met his eyes.

Adjusted my glasses, and winked.

His lips twitched. He leaned forward.

“Where the hell have you been hiding this side of you?”

“Just because I wear glasses and read books doesn’t mean I don’t know how to wreck a table sometimes.”

Gio stared at me.

Then let out this half-choked laugh.

I won the next round without even trying too hard.

Not a big win, a few chips here, a couple there, but enough to make the table notice.

Enough to make him notice.

The man that was sitting two seats to my right.

Buzz cut. Big jaw.

I can’t lie, he looked like the kind of guy who always looked ready to fight or fuck something up.

I didn’t catch his name earlier, but his presence was loud. Very loud.

He slammed a hand on the table after the flop.

Didn’t say anything at first, just sucked his teeth and leaned back.

Gio glanced at him. “You good, man?”

He didn’t answer right away. His eyes were on me.

“Didn’t know they were teaching poker at poetry school in Canada.”

Oh.

A few people chuckled. I stayed quiet. Just stacked my chips.

“How much of that’s beginner’s luck?” he pushed.

“You tell me,” I said, not even looking up.

“You’ve been watching me win for twenty minutes.” I smiled.

That got a louder reaction.

He leaned forward now, elbows on the table.

“You sure you’re not hiding something?”

I tilted my head. “Like what?!”

He smirked.

“Like someone feeding you hands. Or maybe Giovanni whispering you tips between rounds, so that you don’t get humiliated.”

My blood went cold.

Across the table, Gio’s smile dropped.

He sat up straighter.

“Watch your mouth.”

Everything stops.

The guy turns his head slowly.

And yeah, the look on his face matches mine exactly.

Full shock.

“What did you say?” the guy asks, laughing.

“You slow and deaf?” Gio mutters.

I feel my stomach drop. The guy pushes his chair back and stands.

Everyone automatically leans back to make space, he steps closer to Gio, trying to look big.

Gio just lifts his chin and looks up at him. Bored almost.

“Am I supposed to be… scared now?” Gio asks, all casual sarcasm. “Is this the part where you try to intimidate me or something? ’Cause you’re not selling it, man.”

He’s too calm. I hate when he’s this calm.

It means he’s past annoyed.

I clear my throat. “Um, if it’s just about the money, I can give it back. I don’t need it.” I shrug weakly. “It’s not a big deal.”

The guy’s head whips toward me.

“Oh please ,” he snaps. “Don’t start playing fucking charity now, baby boy.”

Gio kicks him lightly.

He taps his chest with two fingers. “Right here,” he says to the guy. “You’re talking to me, not him. Why do you think our baby boy is stealing?”

The guy’s jaw works. No sound comes out.

I can literally hear my pulse in my ears.

“Don’t do that clueless act with me,” the guy finally manages, looking between us. “Gio, we’re not playing for the first time. He’s won how many hands now? And you expect me to believe he’s just lucky?”

Gio laughs. “He’s winning because he’s got an actual fucking brain,” he says. “And maybe because you hold your cards out like a kindergarten kid showing off a drawing. Anyone with eyes can see them. That’s just you being careless.”

He leans back in his chair. “Maybe that’s a sign you should quit. I don’t know.”

The guy glares. “Why the fuck are you defending him so hard? He beat you too. He’s taking money off all of us. He’s robbing us right in front of our faces.”

“Then leave,” Gio says, shrugging. “Door’s that way. No one’s chaining you to the table.”

The guy stares at him.

Gio stares back.

The guy looks at me like he’s expecting shame.

I look right back. I’m not apologizing for knowing how to play.

As Gio said, if he doesn’t like it, he can go.

He scoffs, shakes his head and grabs his jacket off the back of his chair.

“Fuck this, man,” he mutters.

Then he actually leaves.

Gio exhales through his nose like he’s bored. “There we go,” he murmurs. “One less crybaby at the table.”

Everyone at the table is still looking at Gio.

He’s acting like nothing happened.

He’s leaned back in his chair, trying to do those dumb card tricks I showed him earlier.

He glances at me over the mess of cards. “What?” he says.

I shrug, holding his gaze. “Nothing.”

His eyes narrow a little. “You’re staring.”

“You did it again,” I say.

“Did what?”

“Defended me.”

He drops the cards onto the table with this dramatic little sigh and stretches.

His shirt rides up and I catch a sliver of his stomach. “Nah,” he says. “I would never.”

He shoves the cards toward the dealer like he’s bored of being alive.

I turn back to my side of the table, pretending my face isn’t hot.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see him lean sideways and casually steal the cigarette from the guy next to him.

He puts it between his lips, tilts his head back and blows a perfect smoke ring up into the air.

I watch it float above us.

“Don’t smoke,” I tell him.

His head drops back down. He looks straight at me, amused.

“Why?” he asks.

“Every time you smoke, you’re literally inhaling over seven thousand chemicals,” I say automatically. “A lot of them are toxic, and at least seventy are known carcinogens. And just so you know, your lung tissue doesn’t regenerate. Once it’s damaged, it’s done. You’re voluntarily shortening your life expectancy right now.”

He holds my stare… and blows another smoke ring.

This time, he aims it right at me.

I glare.

He snubs the cigarette out on the edge of the table with two fingers, flicks the dead butt toward the ashtray, then spreads his arms a little, palms up, like ta-da.

“There,” he says. “Happy now? No more cancer stick. You’re not gonna say thank you?”

“Don’t do things just so people will praise you,” I shoot back. “Do them because they’re good for you.”

The guy next to us lets out a low whistle. “I love you, man,” he tells me. “Finally someone humbling his ass. Please continue.”

I choke on a laugh.

Gio stands up.

“Where are you going?” I ask.

“Bathroom,” he says, already turning away.

I look at the guy next to us.

He raises both hands. “He probably got a boner. Good job.”

“Why?!” I demand, horrified.

He shrugs, already grabbing his cards again. “Ask him, not me.”

He turns back to his hand.

What the hell is happening in here?

It all feels… tilted.

Like I slipped sideways into some alternate reality where I play poker, Gio is my guard dog with a nicotine problem, strangers ship us out loud, and I’m the one telling him not to die young.

Very normal. Very me.

---

If what I wrote made zero sense, sorry divas. I don’t know poker. I just tried to write it the way I remembered it from New Year’s when I play a little with my family. I have no idea what I’m doing oops.

24) Partners In Crime

Rava’s POV

“COPS!”

Someone screamed it from the hallway.

Oh, fuck. Of course. Of course this would happen the one night I decide to act cool and gamble with Fontana.

Everything shattered.

I knew I shouldn’t have come.

This is it. I’m done. I’m going to jail. I’m never becoming a teacher. I’m gonna rot in a cell with actual wild animals.

I survived high school bullying just to get arrested in a random dungeon.

Someone screamed again.

Gio’s head snapped up. His eyes blew wide.

“Fuck,” he muttered, already moving.

He was on his feet in a second, faster than I’d ever seen him. He dove behind the bar, yanked two black trash bags full of God-knows-what, and turned to me.

“Move!”

I didn’t even have time to stand before he grabbed my wrist.

And he pulled me.

We started running and shoving through people. My heart was in my throat from the anxiety.

A guy tripped next to me. A girl was screaming for someone desperately.

I’m confused as shit.

Gio didn’t stop. He reached for the back door. We burst through it.

We rush out into the alley. And then I hear sirens.

Sirens. Blue lights bouncing off the buildings.

Shit. Real cops. Real fucking chase. Everyone runs to the bikes. There’s like fifteen of them.

Cars too.

Many .

All scattered in the alley, like some kind of fast and furious movie about to start.

I’m still staring when Gio throws me a helmet.

“Get on, sweetheart.” He said. “Showtime.”

I don’t even argue. I don’t have the time to argue. My hands are shaking as I put it on and jump on behind him.

I grip his waist.

He’s already turning the throttle.

He leaned forward, and called out to the guys around us:

“Someone get behind me. I’ve got the stash!”

What?!

Two bikes immediately pulled up on either side of us. Another two circled back behind us, like guards.

Gio was at the center, and that made me feel… something.

“Head down!” he yells at me. I duck into his back.

All of them take off at once.

Gio’s bike shoots forward so hard I nearly fall off.

“GIO, WE ARE GOING TO DIE!”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP AND ENJOY THE RIDE.”

We cut between two cars, missing a mirror by maybe a centimeter.

This man is fucking insane.

I hear the sirens behind us. Getting closer.

“They are right behind us!”

He doesn’t look back.

He just leans in and presses harder.

I look back, and thankfully I see his fucking plate.

Wide open. Fully fucking visible.

It’s like saying ARREST US PLEASE .

Oh my God. Oh my actual God.

We’re dead. We’re actually dead. This is it.

Jesus, Fontana.

Why is he like this?! Why is he allergic to survival?!

I grab him with my left arm, squeezing his waist as hard as I can.

Then I twist my body back, stretch my right arm out, and slap my palm over the plate.

The sirens get louder.

My palm covers the numbers.

…

The plate wasn’t like this earlier.

It was tucked up. Hidden.

Someone here lowered it. Someone wanted him caught.

“Someone hates you,” I shout over the wind. “They set you up!”

He doesn’t hear me.

He’s too busy outrunning the entire police force.

Fine.

If the universe wants him in jail tonight, it’s gonna have to go through me.

Cause I don’t want to go.

He looks back at me.

“Drive, Fontana,” I yell. “I’ve got you.”

And I start laughing.

I swear to God I lose it.

Not because it’s funny.

Because I’m freaking scared out of my mind.

Because this is insane.

And I’m gonna puke.

He slid past a cop car like a shadow, ducked between two trucks, and exploded forward.

There are like ten bikes behind us, all his guys.

Holy shit.

One of them veered off, making the police go after him.

Another guy did a U-turn, dramatically, just to lead another car away from us.

Damn, they were really protecting him.

“You’re like the Italian Pablo Escobar,” I scream, laughing.

He’s enjoying this.

We’re still racing down the road.

Streetlights flash past like we’re in a damn video game.

Two bikes in front of us. Three behind.

Police sirens all around us.

I can barely hold on.

Apparently, everyone else is having fun, while I’m trying not to die back here.

Gio swerves left.

I nearly slide off. I press myself tighter against him.

He yells back, “You still hanging on?”

“Do I have a freaking choice?!”

The bike jumps onto a small road, then dirt.

We’re off the pavement now.

The sirens fade a little. We’re losing them.

Oh my God we are actually losing them.

After a while, Gio slows down. We pull into some random spot, high up, quiet.

A broken wall and a clear view of the whole damn city.

He parks.

Other bikes arrive too.

I take off the helmet. My hands are still shaking.

Gio turns around, grinning.

His hair’s wild. His eyes still burning from the rush.

“Fun, right?” he says.

I just stare at him.

He’s actually insane.

Around us, engines cut one by one.

Laughter spilled out immediately.

The other bikers started falling onto benches, into grass, onto pavement, drunk off the adrenaline.

Someone lit a cigarette with shaking hands. “Did you see me jump that curb?! I swear I almost died!”

“Bro, the cop was right behind me, I dead-ass smelled his fucking cologne.”

A guy in a tank top collapsed on the ground and just laid there with his arms out like a starfish.

I laughed.

And suddenly everyone was laughing harder.

I leaned against a railing, trying to catch my breath.

A guy I hadn’t even spoken to during the game dropped next to me on the bench.

He looked over, still grinning.

“You’re alright, man.” He nudged me with his elbow. “For someone Gio dragged into the fire?! Dude you didn’t even blink.”

I shook my head, still smiling.

I almost passed out, but yeah, sure, I didn’t blink.

He laughed again.

Then looked toward the Ducati, where Gio was leaning back, sipping from a water bottle like he hadn’t just committed several crimes and burned rubber through the entire city.

“So, you’re his date or what?”

…

What .

I laughed.

Too loud.

“What? No. No. Absolutely not. What?”

He raised his eyebrows, amused. “Okay, okay, chill.”

“I’m not his date,” I said again, because apparently once wasn’t enough.

“We’re just, I don’t know, we kind of work together. Not even that close. I mean, ugh, we kind of hate each other, actually. I think?”

He gave me a slow look. “You came to an illegal poker night with him, on his bike, sat across from him like you were flirting with the deck, and then ran from the cops together. That’s… a lot for not-close.”

I opened my mouth. Closed it.

My brain was stalling.

“I mean, sure, man. No judgment. Just saying, if I had Gio looking at me like that , I’d be a little dizzy too.”

I whipped my head toward where Gio was standing, still at his bike, completely unaware of the internal crisis happening thirty feet away.

Or maybe he was aware.

Because just then, he glanced over.

His eyes met mine.

Three seconds exactly.

Then I looked away. Fast. Too fast.

The guy beside me laughed again and clapped me on the back.

“You’re cute. Good luck, Romeo.”

I buried my face in my hands.

What is up with that damn summer.

At this point I don’t even know who am I.

The Ducati rolled to a stop in front of our houses.

My thighs were absolutely killing me. My back hurt. My heart hadn’t decided if it was impressed or traumatized.

But I was standing.

I slid off the bike and handed him the helmet.

“Gio, you know your plate was down the whole time, right?” I say the moment we stop.

He turns to me slowly. Stares at me with his mouth open.

He covers it.

I can feel my face heating up. “What?” I snap. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

I cross my arms, defensive. “I literally held it with my hand the entire ride. I have nerve damage. You’re welcome.”

He just keeps staring.

He smirks. “So you want me,” he says, tilting his head.

“Excuse me?” My soul leaves my body.

He points at me. “You protected me. With your hand. Therefore—” He shrugs. “—you want me.”

My jaw drops. “No. No. NO. I did not save your criminal ass because I ‘want’ you.”

“Oh yeah?” Gio asks, leaning closer. “Then why’d you do it?”

“Because,” I say, staring right into his eyes, “I don’t want to go to prison. There’s a difference.”

He grins even harder.

“Sure,” he says softly. “Whatever helps you sleep at night. You’re still my partner in crime.”

“I’m not.”

“You kinda are. And see? You didn’t cry.”

Then he smirked and punched my shoulder.

“Proud of you, Ravioli.”

I glared at him. “Say that again and I’ll throw the helmet at your face.”

He laughed.

The sky was starting to turn blue.

We stood there a second too long, without moving.

Then he looked me up and down.

“Still can’t believe you nearly fell off the bike when I turned left. I almost made my speech for your funeral.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You cornered like a maniac.”

“You screamed like a maniac.”

“Whatever. What about my poker skills?” I asked, unable to keep the smugness out of my voice.

I was still riding the high of the bluff, of the way he looked at me across the table like I’d just flipped the whole game on its head.

Gio let out a low whistle, head tilting with that crooked half-smile of his.

“I’m impressed. And you will become a teacher? What a lucky class. A little poker shark teaching them the alphabet. Adorable.”

I looked down, pretending to focus on the floor.

I rubbed my thumb over a crease in my pants.

“Yeah,” I mumbled. “It’s kind of stupid, I guess.”

I hated how fast he could take that spark and crush it.

He did that slow, sideways smile that made my stomach betray me.

“Aw. Come here.”

And before I could move — he pulled me into a hug.

Arms around my neck.

I froze.

I’m pretty sure my brian just melted. My heart started racing.

“I’m messing with you. You would be a badass teacher.”

What the fuck.

He rested his chin on my freaking head.

“Your heart’s betraying you. Again. Just like last time.” That snapped me out of it.

“Fuck off,” I muttered, shoving him back too fast, trying not to combust on the sidewalk.

He just laughed.

“Goodnight, Ravioli.”

“Goodnight… Don’t forget about tomorrow. We have to work on new presentation.”

“Man, shut the fuck up and let me rot in peace. It’s 6 a.m.”

I flipped him off hard.

He laughed harder.

And I was left staring at his back… realizing I hadn’t exhaled since he touched me.

25) His Place

Gio’s POV

The heat today is stupid.

I swing onto the bike and everything else shuts up. Best part of my day.

I take the long road out of the industrial zone, passing the same grey buildings my dad used to walk through twenty years ago…

I’m not gonna lie, I’m proud of being my father’s kid. The man was a damn legend.

I don’t talk about his business much, because people usually hear “family company” and think paperwork and offices, and mostly family drama.

Which I can’t even have, because my dad is not alive.

He built something smart.

Fontana Risk Solutions, on paper.

Sounds legit, probably boring as hell.

Like we sell insurance for car crashes and floods.

But what we really did, what I do now , is protection.

Literally.

Not exactly the mafia type. No threats and guns type of shit.

Unless, of course, someone tries to outsmart me.

Everything is clean. Clean enough to pass every tax check, every police inspection.

But if you’re a business owner and someone keeps smashing your windows, you come to me.

If someone’s threatening you, asking you for money, you come to me.

If you need security guards, drivers or whatever, I send them.

If you need cameras, alarms, high-end locks, I install them.

If you need someone to watch your store at night because the neighborhood is full of evil people, I’m here.

I’m just there.

Many people pay monthly, like a subscription.

It’s actually stupid how much money comes in.

Sometimes I look at the numbers and just laugh.

I kept his clients. All of them. Built a few new ones, too.

I don’t run the actual office, I’m the one who goes out there to the houses, the offices, the back rooms.

I just knock, I talk, and I collect. Simple.

I’ve got other people sitting in the actual office. I like it that way.

I swear, I don’t enjoy being the bad guy. Deep down, I’m basically a softie. A menace, sure, but a soft one.

But if someone’s got the audacity to ask for help while they still owe money…

Nah. Absolutely not. Miss me with that bullshit.

If you wanna cry poor, cry somewhere else. Don’t come knocking on my door with empty pockets and big dumb stories.

Because that’s when the switch flips.

People always act shocked, too.

“Oh my God, Giovanni, you don’t have to be so harsh—”

Actually, yeah, bitch, I do. ’Cause if you can’t respect your own word, you’ll damn sure respect mine.

I’m not cruel. Hell, I’m definitely not heartless. I’m just not the idiot you test.

So yes, I didn’t choose this job, but I’m good at it.

Too good, probably.

It’s not the safest lifestyle, but hell, it fucking pays, and it keeps people safe.

If there’s one thing I’m built for… It’s protecting shit.

People, places, anything you give me.

I guess I inherited that. Whether I wanted to or not.

I pull into the alley behind a dusty little auto shop. Routine stuff.

I leave the bike running. No need to turn it off. I’m not planning on staying long.

The metal door’s open a crack, so I walk right in.

The guy behind the desk jumps.

Matteo. Mid-forties, always pretending he didn’t see me walk in. His office always smells like death, something rotten, I swear.

Yuck.

“Gio,” he says, exhaling. “Didn’t know you were coming by today.”

“That’s the point,” I say, closing the door behind me.

I don’t sit. Because I don’t trust him and his stinky place.

I stay standing, cause that usually makes them more uncomfortable, too.

Keeps things… tilted in my favor. He clears his throat. “Everything good?”

“You tell me.” I pull out my phone, tap once, show him the screen. “Invoice. Due last Friday. It’s Monday now. You see the problem?”

Matteo scratches the back of his neck, stalling. “Yeah, yeah, I just… things’ve been a little tight, you know how it is—”

“I don’t.”

He looks up, confused.

“I don’t know how it is to be late. I don’t know how it is to promise something and not deliver. That’s not how my father built this business. That’s not how I run it now .”

His lips press together. I can see the nerves building behind his eyes.

Good.

“Look, Gio, I just need a few more days—”

I take a step forward.

“You’ve already had a few more days. Now I need to explain to the other guys why you get extra time and they don’t. You think that makes me look fair?”

He shakes his head.

“You think it makes me look weak?”

He hesitates. That’s enough of an answer.

I smile.

“Didn’t think so.”

I slide a folded envelope onto his desk. “Here. New agreement. Interest included. You pay this by Friday, no more extensions. You’re lucky I’m not charging for the insult.”

He opens it with shaky fingers, and his eyes are scanning the number.

I see him swallow it down. “Understood,” he mumbles.

I turn to leave, then pause with my hand on the door.

“Oh. And Matteo?”

“Yeah?”

“Next time you ignore my call, I come here with someone who doesn’t do talk.”

I walk out before he can answer.

One down.

Three more today.

Maybe four, if I’m in the mood.

I also have to stop by Rava’s, for that presentation that we have to prepare, cause otherwise he will start twitching again.

After last night, Rava kinda stresses me the fuck out.

I don’t know why. Okay, maybe I do know why, it was hot. The whole thing.

I just don’t wanna say it out loud because I’m not fucking insane.

And because it’s Rava.

Every time he talked, I felt this weird… thing. In my stomach. Like a drop.

Like nausea but also not nausea?

Especially when we were playing cards and he kept looking at me.

My organs are rotting. That’s the only explanation.

I’m going to his house later but I think I should probably go to a doctor first.

No way all that was normal.

Red light.

I hate red lights.

I tap my fingers on the throttle, waiting.

Across the street, some old lady’s trying to feed a seagull a croissant twice its size.

She keeps breaking off pieces and talking to it like it’s her grandson. The bird just stares at her.

I smirk. This is actually cute.

It’s exactly the kind of stupid shit Rava would point at and go, “Why is this happening in public?”

And for some reason…

I laugh.

Like, actually laugh. Out loud.

I reach for my phone, already unlocking it, ready to snap a photo and send it to him with some dumb caption.

But my thumb hovers over the screen.

What am I doing?!

This is Rava. Rava.

I do not send him personal shit. I do not open a private chat to be like “haha look.”

I’m not his girlfriend. I’m not his anything.

If I send him a meme he’s gonna think I can’t go five minutes without hearing from him.

No thank you.

I stare at the screen.

My own reflection looks back at me.

I look stupid.

I shut the phone off. Stuff it back in my jacket.

I grip the handles.

Jesus.

I just laughed… because of Rava.

That’s disgusting.

What’s next? Gonna start texting him goodnight?

I mean sure, he is super fun to mess with, seeing his face turn all angry.

He does this thing with his eyebrows too.

One goes up like it’s judging your entire bloodline, and the other furrows like it’s offended by your existence.

It’s… impressive.

But texting him first?!

And a meme?!

Hell nah.

That felt… too personal.

I shake my head hard, like I can rattle the thought loose.

Light turns green. Thank God..

Rava’s POV

I checked the time. 7PM sharp.

Gio was supposed to come over so we could start working on the presentation.

But of course, everything around me was falling apart.

Dad was yelling at mom because Jin had brought home a stray dog.

A huge one, completely covered in mud, shaking its fur all over the entrance.

Daisy had her music blasting upstairs.

I’m embarrassed to bring Gio into this chaos. Not Gio specifically , literally anyone. Anyone with functioning ears and nerves.

It’s not that I’m ashamed of my family. Okay… I’m not ashamed of all of them.

It’s just, I don’t know, they don’t match my peace. Not even close.

This is why I used to do homework in cafés.

This is why I go silent mode for hours.

I love them. I really do.

But God… sometimes I feel like I was swapped at birth with the wrong family, and the real me is somewhere out there taking deep breaths in a quiet room with plants and soft lighting.

They step on my peace. They punt my peace across the room like a football.

If Gio shows up, he’s gonna take one look at this house and say, “Ravioli… blink twice if you need me to kidnap you.”

I couldn’t think straight.

I slammed my laptop shut and made a decision.

I have to go next door.

His place.

He was probably heading this way anyway, and if I caught him before he left, we could just work there.

Neutral ground.

Or… well, as neutral as his place could ever be.

I shoved my laptop into my bag, I brushed my teeth and washed my face.

I hesitated in front of the mirror.

I should definitely fix my hair. I should probably iron my shirt.

Yeah. Sure. Why “should,” though? Why am I panicking like I’m going on a date?

I’m literally going to Gio’s house.

You know what, I refuse to look like I tried. I refuse to give him that satisfaction.

I grab my hair, and I mess it up on purpose.

Then I pull on the most basic white t-shirt I own. A little wrinkled. Exactly the energy he deserves.

“Where are you going?” my dad asks. Instant anxiety.

Then I pause. Why am I even stressing?

He threw me into this mess.

He made the deal with Gio’s mom.

He is the reason I’m drowning in meetings and presentations.

I’m just the idiot who has to clean up the fallout.

“I’m going to finish the presentation,” I say.

His eyebrows go up. “Where?”

Oh my God. Why is this a whole interrogation?

“At Gio’s,” I say flatly.

“At Gio’s?” His voice does that dramatic dad-thing. “You know I don’t want you around that delinquent a lot.”

This is actually crazy.

Rava, I want you to do a project with him,

but I don’t want you to be around him.

OH. Right! Of course. Makes total sense.

Let me just spiritually teleport the presentation into his house.

What does he want me to do? FaceTime from across the street? Send smoke signals? Work together but not together?

I swear, sometimes my dad talks like he’s the main character in a telenovela and I’m just the confused sidekick trying to keep up with the plot.

I shrug. “Well, maybe you shouldn’t have made me work with him then! I’m not getting punished AND doing the punisher’s homework. That’s double suffering and I’m not built for that.”

I grab my bag, swing it over my shoulder.

“I just don’t want any trouble—”

“Then don’t send me into trouble,” I mutter.

And I walk out.

I let out a long sigh.

I swear to God, I miss Canada. At least there, when people stressed me out, they apologized after.

I looked up.

Okay. What the hell.

His house was… huge.

Like, ridiculously huge.

I’d seen it before, of course, but I’d never really looked at it like this.

There was a little balcony on the second floor, a curved iron railing, and flower pots that weren’t dead.

Who waters those?

Everything looked like it belonged in one of those Italian countryside movies.

Like a villa someone would rent for a honeymoon.

And the most annoying part is that it was spotless.

The front steps were clean, the plants trimmed, the walls not even chipped.

How does he keep it like this?!

Gio barely remembers to wear matching socks.

I’m sure.

All he ever seems to care about is how cool he looks and making sure his Ducati shines like a mirror.

I reached the door and stopped.

I’m trying to convince myself this was normal.

No big deal. Just ringing Gio’s doorbell.

People do this all the time.

I pressed it once. Nothing.

I waited. Still nothing.

I pressed it again. And again. And again.

Was he messing with me? Wouldn’t be the first time. I knocked on the door this time, louder.

“Gio,” I muttered under my breath, “come on…”

The house was too quiet and it made the whole thing feel worse.

Like I was standing outside some fancy museum I couldn’t afford to get into.

I rang again.

Click.

The door creaked open.

And I froze.

26) Check For Yourself

Rava’s POV

“What the hell?” Gio squinted down at me.

“ You’re the impatient little hell-pig banging on my door like the world’s ending?“

I couldn’t speak.

I literally could not get my mouth to work.

He’s basically naked.

No, he’s almost naked, which is somehow worse.

He had a white towel slung low around his hips, one hand holding it up carelessly, like it didn’t matter at all if it slipped.

He’s glistening. He’s wet.

I didn’t even like arms and I was staring at his.

Fuck me.

Big, solid, veins visible under his skin.

A puddle started forming around his feet.

Gio is disgusting. Obviously. But the visual is anything but.

Lord have mercy. The visual is objectively, scientifically good.

“Hey.” His voice dropped a little, playful. “You alive in there?”

I blinked hard.

“I…yeah, just trying not to go blind from the visual assault you’ve got going on.”

He raised an eyebrow, smiling, cocky as ever. “Yeah?”

“Obviously.”

“Right,” he said, grinning. “So what, you break into my porch just to insult my superior form?”

“I came for the presentation,” I muttered, stepping back a little. “Can’t work at my place. It’s chaos.”

His whole posture shifted then, like someone flipped a switch.

He straightened up, stopped smirking quite as much.

“Alright, come in then,” he said, stepping aside with a low laugh.

“If you’d be so kind as to let me finish the damn shower I’ve been waiting for all day, until you showed up banging like a maniac. My room’s upstairs, first door on the left. Try not to get lost.”

I walked in.

Everything smelled like something musky, expensive.

I tried not to stare again as I passed him, but my eyes still caught the edge of the towel.

And then I was alone.

The house was actually beautiful.

Not like, magazine-perfect. It was lived-in but intentional.

The floor was clean, the wood dark and glossy.

The walls had paintings, probably from his trips or something, and the furniture looked like it had been picked by someone with taste.

Not Gio. His mom, maybe.

Or maybe… he did have taste.

Who knows.

I climbed the stairs and found his door.

I hesitated for a full second because it felt like I was about to step into the heart of hell.

I had no idea what to expect.

Drugs? Handcuffs? More sex toys? Uh… maybe a whole corpse in the corner?

I finally stepped inside.

Okay, wow.

It was actually normal. Like, suspiciously normal.

Not a single illegal object in sight.

Mentally apologizing to myself for all the dramatic assumptions I had prepared.

Me and my negative expectations.

His room was big.

Way bigger than mine.

It smelled like…Gio.

It had a king-sized bed with charcoal gray sheets, a messy pile of black clothes on a chair, and a heavy wooden desk under the window.

There were…books scattered everywhere, some on architecture, some on cars.

Photos on the wall, not framed but pinned.

Him as a kid.

Him with friends.

Him kissing his Ducati.

Him with his dad. That one made me stop.

Gio was probably around ten.

He had the same grin he still wears, but smaller, more innocent.

His dad had one hand on his shoulder. Same hair, same eyes.

That actually hit different.

I remembered him a little.

Mr. Antonio.

He’d picked me up from school once when my parents were both working late.

Maybe in some parallel universe, where Gio and I were actually friends instead of… whatever the hell we are, I would’ve asked him.

What happened. How it happened. Why it happened.

Because the truth is, no one ever told me.

I just heard he was gone, and Gio disappeared, and that was that.

I swallowed, suddenly feeling like I was somewhere too private.

Suddenly…

Meow.

I turned.

A sleek, black and white cat walked in.

Her tail curled high, her eyes big and gray.

She looked at me for a second, like she was deciding whether I was worth her time, then jumped on the bed.

“Hey,” I said quietly, stepping closer. “You live here too, huh?”

She blinked slowly, then started purring as I scratched behind her ears.

“Well, at least you don’t yell at me naked.”

She pushed her head into my hand like we were best friends.

“Smart girl. You probably know all his secrets, don’t you?” I smiled, and for a second, it felt like the world had stopped yelling.

But then I heard the water shut off.

My heart did something stupid in my chest.

I kept petting the cat.

I kept looking around his room, trying not to think too hard about the fact that he was just downstairs, probably still half-naked.

But then something caught my eye.

Something I knew.

My heart actually stopped for a second.

No.

No fucking way.

I walked closer, until I was standing right in front of it.

It was a black fountain pen.

Scratched on the side, a tiny dent on the cap.

My initials still faintly visible near the clip.

I picked it up carefully.

“That son of a bitch,” I whispered.

“Miss me already?”

I jumped.

Gio strolled in, towel around his neck, rubbing it through his wet hair.

He had on a sleeveless black shirt and gray sweatpants, the kind of outfit that should’ve looked lazy, careless.

But no.

On him, it looked like a campaign ad for how unfair genetics could be.

“This was mine,” I snapped, turning to face him and holding the pen up. “ You stole this from me?!“

He looked at it. Then laughed.

“Didn’t know it was yours.”

“Bullshit,” I shot back. “You knew exactly what you were doing.”

He smirked and dropped onto his bed, arms behind his head. “Well, too late now. I’m emotionally attached. We’ve been through things together, me and that pen.”

He made a mock-sad face, like he was about to start sobbing.

I rolled my eyes and turned back to the bed, where his cat, apparently still fully invested in my existence, rubbed up against my hand again.

“She likes you already,” Gio said from behind me. “No idea why. She’s got horrible taste.”

I glanced over my shoulder.

He was sprawled out like a king, the smug expression not leaving his face for a second.

“She clearly recognizes intelligence,” I muttered, still petting her.

“Right.” He stretched, then looked at me with that irritating calm. “So you’re just gonna sit all the way over there, huh?”

“What?”

He gestured lazily to the chair I was hovering near. “That’s like… miles away. How are we supposed to work like this? Yelling across the room?”

I didn’t answer.

“Come on,” he said, patting the mattress beside him. “Sit.”

Panic shot through me. Instantly.

On one side, I have my dad telling me, “Don’t even go to that boy’s house.”

And on the other side, I have Gio telling me, “Sit on my bed.”

Peak contrast.

Why was this even a thing?

I was straight. This wasn’t a big deal. This was just Gio being Gio.

Half-naked in my head for way too long.

I hesitated, staring at the space beside him.

Then, trying to keep my face as neutral as possible, I stood up and crossed the room.

And I sat down.

Not too close. But not too far either.

He looked at me out of the corner of his eye. I didn’t look back.

“See?” he said casually. “Much better.”

I nodded, stiff. Like hell I was going to admit I couldn’t breathe.

“So,” I said, trying to sound calm while my body was still adjusting to the fact that I was sitting on his bed, next to him . “Presentation. Let’s actually start, yeah?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, Gio reached under the bed and pulled out a box.

He dropped it between us on the mattress.

“What the hell is that?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Stuff.”

“Stuff,” I repeated, blankly.

He leaned back on one hand, totally relaxed.

“You do the actual work. I’ll read it all before we present, like last time. I’ll sound charming, we’ll win. Boom.”

My mouth opened, then closed again. “Wait what? That’s your plan?”

He tilted his head toward me, smirking. “Worked before.”

I stared at him, searching for a single sign he might be joking. There wasn’t one.

“So you’re just… letting me do everything?”

“I’m letting you shine,” he said, grinning. “Don’t be ungrateful.”

“And this is—what? your big contribution to the family legacy? Dump a box and sit back?”

His smirk faded a little. “That’s as far as I go for this company.”

Oh.

So it wasn’t just me forced into this circus. Both of us were here against our will.

Me, who wanted to become a teacher, and him… doing whatever the hell it is he does.

We were both trapped. Just in different flavors.

Two idiots shoved into a business deal neither of us asked for.

Two sons drafted into a war our parents started.

I glanced down at the mess between us, then back at him.

“You really hate it, huh?”

He didn’t answer right away.

I shifted, a little slower this time. “Gio, what does your mom say? About everything they…you know…say about you. The rumors and all.”

He laughed.

“She says the rumors would be more fun if they were actually true.”

“Seriously?”

“She thinks it’s all dramatic nonsense. And she’s not wrong.”

I looked at him.

I didn’t stop myself this time.

“So which part is true?”

He raised an eyebrow, not expecting that.

“Depends,” he said slowly. “Which rumor do you want to believe the most?”

“Well…” I shifted on the bed, trying to sound casual, even though my heart was not cooperating. “Is it true you’re banned from two countries?”

Gio leaned back on his elbows, smirk on his lips like he’d been waiting for that question.

“Technically, one ban and one… strong suggestion not to come back.”

Who is this guy.

He shrugged. “I call that diplomacy.”

I snorted. “You call that insanity.”

“Tomayto, tomahto.”

I bit the inside of my cheek to hold back a laugh.

“And the other thing,” I said, lowering my voice. “That rumor about the lines. On the strippers.”

He looked at me with raised eyebrows. “That one got around, huh?”

“So it’s true?!”

He gave a slow nod, amused. “Vegas. Bachelor party. No big deal.”

I stared at him like he was from another planet. “You’re a freak.”

“Thanks, I do try.”

The corners of my mouth curled before I could stop it.

Im pretty sure he noticed.

“And the arrests?” I asked. “Two?”

“Yup. Once for trespassing. Once for… it was a misunderstanding.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You ran from the cops.”

“Misunderstanding,” he repeated with a grin. “Wrong place, right time.”

I shook my head, smiling despite myself. There was something about how easily he said these things, like he knew how ridiculous he was but didn’t care if the world agreed.

But then I looked away.

Okay. I had to ask. I HAD to.

It was eating me alive.

My curiosity was literally clawing at my brain.

What was I supposed to do, ignore it? Let it haunt me forever? Die wondering?

No. Absolutely not. This was my chance.

I needed to know if he had that tattoo. The one Daisy mentioned.

I didn’t know why I cared so much.

I just needed to know.

I cleared my throat. “Okay, but, uh, okay listen.”

I looked anywhere but at him.

“This one’s not from me. It’s Daisy’s fault I even know about it.”

He tilted his head. “Go on.”

I took a breath.

Shit.

My ears were burning.

“Do you actually…” I paused, glanced at him, then looked back down. “Do you have… that tattoo?”

“You’re gonna have to be a little more specific.”

Of course. Of course he was gonna make this hard.

I gave him a look and then quickly jerked my chin down—toward his pants.

My face was on fire.

He froze for half a second. Then smiled.

“Ohhh. So you’ve heard about that .”

“I didn’t want to!” I said quickly. “She wouldn’t shut up about it!”

“So?” he said, still grinning. “You think it’s true?”

I swallowed hard. “I don’t know. Is it?”

He leaned back, arms behind his head now, body stretching out right beside me.

The edge of his shirt lifted slightly, teasing skin.

His biceps flexed under the pillow of his hands. His eyes were smiling.

“Right in front of you,” he said smoothly. “Check for yourself. If you’ve got the balls .”

I swear. Every single part of me just stopped working.

That was it.

I wanted to collapse on the spot.

Why would he say that? To me? A fragile poor little educator-in-training?

I stood up so fast, my leg hit the corner of the bed.

“Okay! That’s it. Nope. I’m done.” I moved to leave.

But he grabbed my wrist.

“Sit down, you freak.”

I hesitated.

He tugged gently, and somehow I found myself back on the bed before I even thought it through.

My cheeks were scorching. I turned away from him, refusing to look.

Refusing to breathe.

“Guess you’ll never find out,” he said in a low voice, almost a whisper.

I clenched my jaw. “Fine by me. Better that way.”

And without looking, without speaking again, I opened my laptop and started typing.

---

Hey do i deserve a vote? :) pretty please

27) Let Me Go

Rava’s POV

It had been an hour. Maybe more.

My fingers were cramping from all the typing, my eyes were dry, and my brain felt like mashed potatoes.

I let out a quiet sigh, rubbing the back of my neck.

“Will you stop mumbling already?” Gio said without looking up, still going through that box of his.

Crap. I had been mumbling.

I always did when I was concentrating too hard.

“I was about to take a break, anyway,” I muttered. “I’m tired.”

I shut the laptop and pushed it aside. My hands were stiff.

I leaned back a little, stretching, and glanced over at him.

He was still bent over the box, sorting through stacks of old photos.

“I’m hungry,” I said, rubbing my eyes.

Without looking up, he said, “I thought you’d be, after staring at me so much.”

I swear every time I finally calm down, he has to open his mouth and say something that launches me straight back into rage.

It’s like he’s allergic to my peace. “Shut up, asshole.”

He snorted, flipping through another handful of pictures.

I watched him for a second longer, then frowned.

“What are you even looking for?” I asked, pressing my palms to my cheeks to make myself comfortable.

“Photo of me and my dad. I know it’s here somewhere. The rest of this is just… old crap.”

I leaned over, curiosity getting the better of me.

The photos were mostly faded, warm-toned, clearly years old.

Birthdays. Family trips.

Parties I definitely wasn’t invited to.

“I have got some of you in here,” Gio said casually, tossing one stack aside.

I snapped my head toward him. “Where?”

Before he could answer, he pulled one out and suddenly burst out laughing.

Oh no.

He found a picture of me.

And judging by the expression on his face, it was definitely not a good photo.

“What? What is it? Let me see.”

He held it out of reach, laughing harder now. “Damn, I forgot you had braces and blue glasses. That’s a crime.”

“Give it to me!” I lunged toward him, grabbing for the picture.

“No way! This is gold.”

“Gio—give it!”

I reached across, but he leaned back on the bed, holding the photo above his head like a goddamn trophy.

I climbed up after it, practically on top of him now.

He kept twisting, dodging, blocking me with one arm while he laughed like a maniac.

“You’re such a little shit,” I hissed, reaching for his hand.

“Try harder,” he grinned.

I did.

He raised his arm higher, right out of reach.

So I shoved myself upward, and my palm landed right on his chest.

I stretched further, literally hovering over his pants.

My fingers grazed the edge of the photo, and then suddenly, I was on my back.

Gio had flipped us in one fluid movement.

My head hit the mattress, and he was above me, pinning both my wrists against my chest with one hand.

The photo was nowhere in sight now.

Well. This was definitely not part of the plan.

Annoyance shot through me instantly.

Mainly because he was using his physical strength against me.

He was so close it literally felt illegal.

So close that if our families walked in, they would both pass out, wake up, scream, and pass out again.

His face so close I could see the flecks of gold in his eyes.

His breath was warm. The room went still.

My heart started pounding so loud I couldn’t even hear myself think.

“Let me go,” I said.

He tilted his head, with a lazy smirk. “Why? You look good under me. You look pretty.”

… Pretty.

I froze like an idiot.

Because let’s get this straight: I was not in a pretty position.

I was pinned down like a helpless little ragdoll, his one hand wrapped around both my wrists, my legs tangled under him.

I looked pathetic, weak and cornered.

And apparently, in Gio’s twisted universe, THAT counted as “pretty.”

He keeps looking at me.

He suddenly smiled, slowly.

“I’m sure your dad would kill us both if he walked in right now…” His voice dropped. “I just don’t know who he’d shoot first, me or you.”

I tensed.

Tried to pull my hands back. His grip tightened.

“You’re insane,” I whispered. “I’ll tell him you started it. You’re hitting on me. That’s what I’ll say. You’ll get the blame, and I’ll finally have some peace.”

He leaned in, close enough that his breath brushed my cheek.

“Yeah?” he said. “Tell him. But I bet he won’t believe you. Not when I describe to him the way that you are looking at me right now.”

He let go.

I shot up like I’d been electrocuted, scrambling to the edge of the goddamn bed.

My face was on fire.

I adjusted my glasses with shaking hands and forced my legs to carry me to the desk like nothing happened.

“Whatever,” I said, sitting down. “Don’t show me the picture. I don’t care.”

He didn’t say anything.

I needed him not to say anything.

So I added quickly, “You know… people who constantly tease others as a form of connection usually have unresolved attachment issues or are subconsciously testing boundaries for intimacy.”

Gio laughed.

“You are such a fucking nerd.”

He chuckled again, shaking his head as he flopped back on the bed.

I pulled the laptop toward me once more.

Still so much work to do.

“Get up,” Gio said.

I turned and gave him a flat look from over my shoulder. “No.”

He raised an eyebrow, already smirking.

“Come on. Take a break. I’ll feed you or something. Maybe then you’ll shut up for five seconds.”

“I’m fine.”

“If you don’t get up, I swear I’ll drag you and that squeaky-ass chair downstairs together.”

I rolled my eyes and turned back to my laptop.

“There’s not much left to finish anyway. I’ll…just head out. Consider yourself relieved of my presence.”

He didn’t push back. Typical.

“Finally,” he muttered, flopping onto his bed dramatically and reaching out to scratch Lulu’s chin. “Go back to your peaceful, nerd-filled world. You’ve served your sentence.”

I leaned down toward Lulu.

“Pspspspsps.”

She looked up, blinked… and jumped off the bed, trotting straight over to me.

I grinned.

Victory.

I crouched and gave her a few slow strokes down her back.

She purred like I was the chosen one.

Gio clicked his tongue behind me, annoyed.

I straightened up, slinging my bag over my shoulder. “I’m going.”

He didn’t move from the bed, just waved lazily with two fingers. “Bye, Ravaaa…”

I rolled my eyes again and made my way downstairs.

He followed this time. Unfortunately.

He opened it for me and leaned against the doorframe. “You gonna be weird about this tomorrow, or are we pretending like none of this happened?”

I glanced at him. “What exactly do you think this was?”

He grinned. “Your awakening ?”

I snorted. “You’re insufferable.”

“Yeah, yeah. Get outta here.”

As soon as I stepped out of his yard and onto the street, I stopped and looked back at his house.

What the hell just happened in there?

I rubbed the back of my neck and kept walking.

---

Hey I just wanted to remind you to follow me to get notified when I yap on my message board please and thank you I need people to talk to BYE.

28) It’s Happening

Rava’s POV

I closed the door behind me with a bit more force than needed, dropped my keys in the bowl and just stood there.

My chest was on fucking fire.

I kicked off my shoes and walked straight to my desk.

That moment when Gio leaned over me, so close I could feel his breath, the moment he challenged me…

I actually looked. I shouldn’t have looked. I fucking looked.

I groaned and opened my laptop.

Presentation time.

Yes. Safe, boring, educational presentation, because that’s what normal people do at night.

They don’t go semi-catatonic because some guy with a tattoo and a smirk decided to lean over them like some damn scene from a Netflix show.

I stared at the screen.

Typed one sentence.

Deleted it.

Typed another.

“Nope,” I muttered. “Absolutely not.”

I slammed the laptop shut and picked up my phone, scrolling down to Noah’s name.

Calling…

He picked up on the second ring.

“DUDE.”

“Hello to you, too! What?” I flopped down on my bed.

“Yeah yeah, hello. You will not believe what happened. Remember Ethan?”

“The one with the ears?”

“The one with the perfect jawline.”

“Oh, right.” I sat up a little. “What happened?”

“He proposed to his ex’s sister. IN A SKI LODGE. With her mom in the room.”

“…What the actual fuck.”

“I KNOW. She said yes.”

I covered my face. “Your life is like reality TV without the cameras.”

“Yeah right, while yours is totally normal. Nothing special, you know.”

We laughed. I hated that he was right.

“So, did you pitch my genius idea to that Gio guy?”

“What idea?”

“BRO.” He sounded personally offended.

“The plan! The revenge arc! The fake makeout sabotage moment!”

I choked. “The what now?”

I act like I don’t even remember.

“You know! You and Gio. Pretending. In front of Sophia. At the party. This Saturday. Ring a bell?”

I sat straight. “Party? What party? How do you even know about that?”

“She posted it on her story, dumbass.”

“I don’t follow her anymore.”

“Well, I do . For research purposes.”

He sent a screenshot.

“Check your messages.”

I opened it and…

oh, come on.

The caption was:

“See you in 48 hours… unless you’re too scared to show up.”

This childish bitch.

“The audacity.” I hissed.

“Told you. Now, question is, do you wanna let her walk around like she’s queen of manipulative bitches, or do you wanna put on a show?”

“I don’t know Noah…it feels weird. I’m not that guy.” I muttered.

“Okay picture this. Pay attention.”

Oh god.

“Average-looking girl cheats on her hot boyfriend by sliding into some hot dude’s DMs.”

“Okay—”

“She thinks she’s gonna end up with both of them.”

“Noah.”

“And then, plot fucking twist! The two guys are making out at her party. Her ego will be CRUSHED. For once, hear me out, man .”

I turned beet red. “Stop.”

“No, because it’s hot. You know it’s hot.”

“Why is this your passion project?”

“Because I love you and I want revenge, and also, because Gio is objectively hot. I did a little stalking.”

“Don’t—” I groaned. “Don’t say that.”

“Are you blushing?”

“Shut up.”

“You’re totally blushing.”

I threw a pillow across the room and missed my lamp by an inch. “This is stupid.”

“This is brilliant .”

He sensed the shift, probably.

Absolutely not. Not in this lifetime.

“Noah, if anyone finds out about this, literally anyone, they’re going to kill me. And Gio. I’m not even being dramatic. They will end us.”

“Bro, that’s so sexy. You don’t get it. Just don’t let them find out.”

Don’t let them find out.

Christ, I was going to throw up. My heart was sprinting.

And yeah, fine, I admit it.

It would make her boil.

But kiss Gio?? Kiss Gio on the mouth??? Are we insane?

I’m stressed just thinking about it. My palms are sweating.

And let’s be real, he’s not even going to say yes. Absolutely not.

Gio kisses like… I don’t know… elite criminals only?

The chosen sinners?

People with status and confidence and no fear of death?

I’m none of those things. I’m a teacher-in-progress with anxiety and a soft voice.

And I’ve never kissed a guy before. Ever.

Okay well, once , when I was eight, during a dare. But it was on the cheek.

So it doesn’t count.

I don’t know how to kiss men. Is it different? Is it the same? Is it worse? Is it better?

“I don’t know,” I muttered, pacing. “I don’t know and I don’t WANT to know, Noah.”

But my brain kept replaying it anyway.

What if Gio laughed?

What if he said no?

What if he told someone?

But also…

What if he didn’t?

“…Fuck,” I whispered.

“YES!” Noah screamed. “IS THAT A YES? THAT WAS A YES.”

“I didn’t say—”

“You said fuck, and in my language, that’s a YES. Oh my god, this is happening. I’m so proud. I’m actually emotional. I don’t even hate you right now.”

“I haven’t even asked him yet.”

“Then GO. NOW. You have two days.”

“Now?” I squeaked.

“Yes, NOW. Go. March your ass over there and pitch the sexiest plan of the year.”

He hung up.

I stared at my screen, still flushed. Then I slowly turned toward my window.

Light.

His room.

He’s awake.

My stomach flipped. Not in a romantic way.

In a panic attack pending way.

Okay.

Okay.

I’m doing this.

I’m actually doing this.

I pulled on a hoodie, why, I don’t know, it’s still like 27 degrees outside, but my hands were cold.

Maybe that’s what panic does to your circulation.

I walked toward the door, stopped, turned back.

Then sat on my bed.

Then stood up again.

This is stupid.

This is so stupid.

What if someone finds out?

What if my dad hears about this somehow?

No. No, that’s not possible.

Still. It’s Gio.

What if I’m actually terrible at this?

What if it’s obvious I’ve never done…

That? With a guy?

Noah made it sound so easy.

But it’s not.

What if I just freeze? Or worse, miss?

God, what if I go in too fast and break his nose or something?

I sat back down and buried my face in my hands.

It’s just a kiss.

Just a kiss.

Kisses are kisses.

Doesn’t matter if it’s with a guy or a girl.

It’s the same mechanics, right?

Right.

But what if I…

…like it?

No.

That’s not possible.

He’s still Gio.

Loud, smug, cocky Gio who never shuts up.

Just because he was kind of close to me tonight, just because he looked at me a couple more seconds without swearing at me, that doesn’t mean anything.

He’s the same.

Besides, it’s summer.

That’s all this is.

A weird summer with weird moments and weird choices.

And when it’s over, I go back to studying all day.

He goes back to whatever it is he does.

We don’t talk.

We don’t run into each other.

I don’t have weird thoughts.

This doesn’t have to be a big deal.

Right?

Right.

I’m standing outside his house again, like a pathetic loser.

I shouldn’t be here.

This is insane.

But I was already walking. Past the hedges.

Again.

I paused at the door.

I raised my hand and knocked.

For a second, nothing.

Then the door opened.

I dropped my eyes immediately.

He smirked.

“Didn’t get enough of me the first time?”

I cleared my throat, trying to sound normal.

“I was just… bored. Thought I’d come back.”

He raised an eyebrow, like he wasn’t buying a single word. Then he started to close the door.

“Yeah, no thanks.”

Panic kicked in.

Pure reflex, I reached out and stopped the door with my hand.

“Wait—please.”

His eyes flicked down to my hand, then back up to my face.

“Ah.” He grinned. “So you do want something.”

I exhaled, defeated. “Yeah. I do.”

That seemed to throw him a little.

His grin faltered just for a moment. Then he stepped back and let the door swing open.

“Well then. Come in, Ravioli. Let’s hear it.”

I stepped past him.

He led the way upstairs. His room looked exactly the same.

Like him.

I stood there, suddenly feeling like I was literally on stage without knowing my lines.

He turned to face me, one brow raised.

“So? What’s the favor, Ravioli?”

Hell. I was really about to do this.

No backing out now.

29) You Have To Kiss Me

Rava’s POV

I stood there like an idiot. My eyes were everywhere except on him.

Gio was stretched out across the bed with his arms behind his head, his shirt slightly riding up.

I hated that he always had the upper hand in these moments, even when I was the one with the secret.

“So?” he said lazily, one eyebrow lifting. “You gonna confess something, or just keep standing there like you forgot your lines?”

I clenched my jaw. “Shut up.”

“Oh, okay. That clears it up.” He sat up slightly, his smirk already forming.

“Let me guess… you’re pregnant?”

My head snapped toward him. “What the hell?”

“I knew it,” he said, laughing. “Should’ve used protection. Classic Rava mistake.”

I glared. “I swear to God—”

“Okay, okay,” he waved a hand, still grinning.

“You got kicked out of your precious little pedagogy program? You finally snapped and told your dad to go f—”

“No.”

“Then what?” He leaned forward, narrowing his eyes dramatically. “You need me to help you bury a body?”

I huffed. “I’d trust an actual corpse more than you.”

He leaned back with a fake-wounded expression. “Wow. That almost hurt, sweetheart.”

I rolled my eyes.

It would’ve been easier to just walk out and never speak again.

But I was already here. I was already this far in.

And I hated that I needed him.

Him , of all people.

I had to find a way to tell him I wanted us to kiss.

Indirectly.

Because there was no universe where I’d look Gio Fontana in the eyes and go, “Hey Gio, please kiss me. Thanks.”

No. Absolutely not.

I needed a sneaky approach.

I looked over my shoulder. “Sophia’s throwing a party.”

Good opener.

Neutral.

Non-kiss-threatening.

Gio scoffed immediately. “Oh, that’s the emergency? Let me guess, she’s planning a theme: ‘Queen of Passive Aggression’?”

I ignored the urge to smile. “It’s in two days.”

“Good for her,” he said, flopping back down.

I pressed my lips together. “It’s… at her house.”

“Shocking.” He reached for the glass beside the bed and took a long sip. “What, you need a plus one?”

That was close. I actually need us to make out aggressively in front of her!

Oh God.

Is it too late to back out? Yes? No?

Suddenly I didn’t care if she got jealous. Let her think I’m boring. I don’t care anymore.

“No. I…” I hesitated.

My palms were actually sweaty.

I had faced professors scarier than him.

“I just think maybe there’s a way to… you know… make her feel bad too.”

Gio raised an eyebrow without lifting his head. “What kind of way, exactly?”

My voice was tight. “Something to make her… jealous.”

He looked amused. “Sounds like a personal problem.”

I glared. “I’m asking you for help, asshole.”

He grinned again, slow and sly. “You’ve got a weird way of asking. Try ‘please, Gio, you gorgeous bastard—’”

“Don’t make me regret this.”

He took another sip, eyes on mine, all playfulness. “Then don’t make me think this hard at night, sweetheart. Be clear.”

I took a breath. Then another.

“You have to kiss me.”

Gio choked.

He literally choked on his drink, coughing and doubling over.

My face is on fire. I’m two seconds away from writing my will.

If he says yes, I’m done. If he says no, I’m also done. If he laughs, I will simply pass away.

Any second now, he’s gonna look up at me, and that moment will decide if I survive or if I start digging my own grave from embarrassment.

“Jesus—” he wheezed. “What?”

I stood perfectly still. Embarrassing.

When he finally recovered, he looked at me like I’d lost my damn mind.

Then he laughed. “Rava,” he said, wiping his mouth, “I think you walked into the wrong house.”

“I walked into the right one.”

The silence that followed wasn’t playful, at all.

He stared at me.

Something in his face shifted.

The laughter was gone.

The room felt different now.

He sat there, not saying a word, and I suddenly became very aware of how close I was to him.

“Why do I have to kiss you, Weston?”

I looked at the floor. My voice came out rough. “Because… she flirted with you .”

I pressed on, the words tumbling faster now. “She was looking at you like she’d forgotten I even existed.” I broke off, swallowing.

“So since she used you to get under my skin,” I muttered, staring at the floor, “maybe I can use you to get under hers…”

Oh dear God.

If he tells me to get the hell out, I’ll just nod.

I’ll nod and walk out and disappear into the mountains forever.

Because after that line, I fucking deserve it.

His brow lifted slowly. “So… you’re using me?”

He laughed.

“Damn,” he said, shaking his head with a crooked grin. “Didn’t think you had it in you, Rava.”

I stiffened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugged lazily. “I always thought you were the type to take the moral high ground. You know, let her go, be the better man, blah blah. But no. You wanna hit her where it hurts.” He leaned in, smirking. “And where it hurts is me, huh?”

I exhaled sharply through my nose. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Oh, sweetheart. Too late.”

He took a sip of his drink, studying me over the rim.

He enjoyed this.

“But still,” he said, setting the glass down, “asking me to kiss you? That’s wild. I thought you were straight.”

I stared at him. “This isn’t about that.”

“Oh, I think it’s very much about that.”

I looked away, regretting everything again.

“Maybe this was a mistake, I’m sorry, I don’t even know what I’m doing, “ I muttered.

I stood, ready to leave, but he grabbed my wrist before I could go far and pulled me back down.

I sat on the edge of the bed.

He didn’t let go. Even when I was sat.

“Why do you want this, really?” he asked again, quieter now.

I hesitated. “Because I don’t want her to think she can win. I don’t want to feel like I’m the one who cared more. She humiliated me, Gio. And you…you could make it look like I’ve already moved on. Like I don’t even see her anymore.”

“Well,” he said, head tilting, “you’d wish you’d moved on with me. That would actually be an upgrade.”

My jaw dropped.

I shoved him softly.

“It’s fake,” I muttered. “And I want it to stay fake.”

He didn’t laugh.

Instead he stepped in front of me, and while I was sitting on his bed, he reached down and hooked a finger under my chin.

He lifted my face toward his, slowly.

“First of all,” he murmured, lips curving, “don’t use the word is like we’ve already agreed. I don’t remember saying yes.”

I swallowed hard.

He was right.

I swear, the room tightened.

His finger was still under my chin, keeping my face tilted up, not letting me look away.

I shut my mouth, fast. I didn’t trust myself to speak.

He moved his tongue slowly across his teeth, exhaling through his nose as he crossed his arms.

“So, let me get this straight,” he said coldly. “You want me to risk your dad skinning us alive, throwing me out of the next meeting, blacklisting me, physically torture me, maybe even having one of his guards kill me, all so you can pretend to be over your ex?”

I looked away.

He tilted his head. “For a kiss meant to belong to a girl who tried to crawl into my lap a few days ago? That’s what we’re doing?”

I looked down again.

Shit.

“That’s… disgusting,” he said. “It’s sick.”

I stayed quiet.

But then he let out a sigh.

A smirk crept back on his lips, too slow to be innocent.

“But I’m Gio,” he said, shrugging. “I live for sick things.”

I looked up, surprised.

He met my gaze. “Damn, first time someone risks this much just to kiss me. You owe me. Big.”

“I know,” I said softly, standing again, half-smiling. “Thank you.”

I turned to leave.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Where do you think you’re going?”

I froze. “What? It’s in two days.”

He tilted his head, eyebrows raised. “You really are clueless.”

I turned back to him. “What?”

---

30) Beg

Rava’s POV

The door clicked shut behind me.

His hand pressed against it, trapping me between the cold wood and his presence.

I could feel him even if he wasn’t touching me.

Gio moved slowly, taking the chair across from me and straddling it backward, his arms resting on the backrest as he stared.

“What?” I said, my voice tighter than I wanted.

He tilted his head. “You ever kissed a guy before?”

No. And I’m probably gonna die from anxiety in your room because you’re the first.

My stomach clenched. “No…”

“Good to know,” he said, like he was mentally taking notes. “So… since we’re doing this… we’re gonna do it right.”

I narrowed my eyes. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” he said slowly, “I’m not letting you walk into that stupid party and kiss me like you’re scared of your own mouth.”

He grinned. “I’ve kissed a straight guy before. Once. Disaster. I could tell it was his first second in the deep end.”

I rolled my eyes, hard. “I don’t care what you’ve done with other guys.”

That got him. His eyebrows lifted.

“Jealous?” he said, smile sharp.

“No,” I snapped too quickly. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Mhm,” he murmured, leaning back. “Sure.”

He stood.

He moved toward me slowly again.

My back was still against the door.

The way he moved… it felt like I wasn’t a person anymore.

I was nothing but a prey. Food.

The boy my father hates the most, the one with the sharp tongue, was standing right in front of me, about to put that same tongue in my mouth.

His voice dropped lower.

“I’m not gonna be the guy you awkwardly freeze up in front of, in public, like some teenage crush. So if you’re gonna fuck it up, better you do it now.”

My whole body locked up. I stepped closer to him. “Gio, wait—”

“No one’s watching,” he said. “No evil parents. No Sophia. Just me. And you.”

I should’ve said no. I wanted to say no.

The room feels too small suddenly, too hot. Every breath is too loud.

“Just kiss me and get it over with,” I mutter.

He laughs.

“Oh no,” he says, stepping in with that smug, infuriating look. “You don’t get to rush me now.”

I glare at him. “Gio—”

He tilts his head, pulling me closer to him. “Go on, Weston. Beg for it.”

“I’m not begging.”

“Mm.” He circles me.

Not touching, just orbiting, like a goddamn heat source. “You sure? You’re standing there like someone pressed pause on your body.”

“I’m not—”

“I can hear your heart from here,” he murmurs, lips ghosting close to my ear.

“She’ll never believe it unless you sell it.”

“I am selling it.”

“Please.” His breath warms my neck. “You look like you’re being held at gunpoint.”

He finally stops pacing.

Stares at me, like he realized what he just said.

“If it helps,” he murmured, “if you actually freak out, we stop. You say the word, we’re done.”

Okay. That was… comforting. Kind of.

“But if you don’t freak out…”

His hand came up, and he let his thumb drag under my jaw.

“I promise,” he murmured, eyes dropping to my lips, “I can make it worth your while.”

I swallowed hard. Still looking at him.

“I’m not freaking out,” I snap. “Just do it.”

“No.”

He grins. He leans in, hand curling in the collar of my shirt.

He’s not pulling me in. Not exactly.

Just holding me there. Making sure I can’t go anywhere.

Making sure I don’t want to go anywhere.

“Come on,” he whispers. “Just once. Say you want it.”

My throat’s dry.

My face is burning.

My legs feel like jelly.

He’s too close.

“I want—”

“Yeah?” he breathes.

Our lips are nearly touching.

Then he pauses, smiling.

“Too slow.”

And he kisses me.

He kisses me nothing like I expected. He kisses me slow.

Painfully slow.

Almost… hesitant.

Like it’s his first kiss ever.

A soft exhale leaves him, and I swallow it right away.

“I’m gonna walk you through it,” he says, soft like a secret. “If you want this to look real, we’re doing it right.”

His hand finds my jaw.

Fingers slide into my hair like he’s done it a thousand times in dreams I should never know about.

The first spark of something that should not be here.

He sucks on my bottom lip.

His mouth moves slow, and then I feel it.

That faint brush of cool metal.

His lip ring.

The one I pretended not to notice, the one I tried so hard not to stare at every time he talked.

God.

Even that’s unfair.

Even his mouth comes with attitude.

It makes it worse.

Better.

Hotter.

Like he marked the danger right on his lips so I wouldn’t forget who I’m kissing.

He yanks my head back just a little, like I’m something he’s about to devour.

Like he needs my face exactly where he wants it.

Not an inch off.

He brushes the strands of hair out of my face, like they were getting in his way.

And then his hand just… stays there. Right on the side of my head, holding my hair back for him.

“Open your mouth.”

I do.

Our tongues are basically at war, and somehow he’s winning without even trying.

I swear, when I realized he’d be here, I was expecting arguments-and-insults type of war.

Not a tongue war.

Then his mouth brushes against my jaw.

“Touch me.”

I pause.

“Put your hands on me,” he says, that low teasing tone curling around every word. “She’ll be watching where they go.”

I hate how easily I listen.

I raise a hand and touch his jaw. Gently. My fingertips brush the stubble and I feel him lean into it.

Oh fuck.

Then I rest the other hand on his chest. Right over his heart.

It’s beating like crazy. Good. He’s not as calm as he acts.

He bites my lower lip with a smirk and says, “Lower.”

I exhale through my nose, fingers dragging down his sides until I feel the hem of his shirt.

He laughs quietly, like this is fun for him.

Our mouths find each other again, slower now.

He bites my lip. Just once. My breath catches.

His hands stay in my hair, steady, grounding me, making sure I don’t run.

“You’re getting it,” he whispers. “Good boy.”

I flinch.

I am not okay. I am the opposite of okay. I want to die.

I hate how much that does to me.

I kiss him harder.

Because I don’t know what else to do.

Because I want to drown this feeling before it gets too real.

It’s too much.

The way his hand fists my shirt. The way he tilts his head and deepens it, like he wants more.

The way he moves against me, confident and slow and…

Shit.

Shit .

No.

That can’t—that shouldn’t—

My body betrays me.

No .

I freeze.

Gio doesn’t notice.

I break the kiss.

He breathes out slowly, dazed.

He leans in again. Instinctively. Like something in him’s being pulled back to me.

Like my mouth is gravity.

He quickly steps back.

I flinch, just slightly.

His eyes open. Confused. “What—?”

“I’m—” I swallow. “Just give me a second.”

I step away too fast.

I lock the bathroom door like Gio’s about to bust through it and finish what we started.

He’s not. Obviously .

But my hands are still shaking, my lips are still wet, and…

…I’m hard.

So hard I can barely think.

I stare down at myself, horrified.

“No, no, no, no, no,” I whisper, pacing, one hand clutching my hair, the other hovering awkwardly near my waistband like that’s going to help. “What the fuck.”

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

This was a kiss. A fake kiss.

With a guy .

A stupid plan to make someone jealous.

And now I’m in Gio freaking Fontana’s bathroom with a fucking boner from hell.

It hurts.

It actually, physically hurts.

My pants are suffocating me.

I sit on the closed toilet lid and bury my face in my hands, trying not to scream.

This is bad.

This is so bad.

And then, like the genius I am, I try to distract myself.

“Okay,” I whisper to myself, “let’s think about literally anything else.”

I press my fists to my forehead and start listing the dumbest things I can think of.

“Turtles wearing hats. My grandma’s meatloaf. That one time I fell into a bush during soccer practice. Uh—taxes. Boring taxes. Unpaid taxes. My professor’s eyebrows. The weird sound the fridge makes when it’s mad.”

I snort. Fuck. It’s not working.

Because every few seconds, without warning, my brain flashes right back to him—to Gio’s hands on my face, that fucking lip ring pressing into me, the soft moan he made when I kissed him back.

I groan and squeeze my eyes shut, rubbing them like that’ll somehow erase the memory.

“Nope. Stop. Cut it out.”

You’re not into guys.

You’re not .

You’re into girls. You’ve always been into girls.

This was just… the body reacting. Right?

I mean, I had my eyes closed.

That’s a thing.

That counts.

That could’ve been anyone. Technically.

It was just the kiss that did it.

That’s it.

The contact.

I slap my hand against my mouth and exhale hard.

Jesus Christ.

Why does my brain hates him but my body loves him??

I can’t stay in here forever. I can’t go out there either.

I’m stuck between erection and existential crisis.

I grip the edge of the sink and look up at myself in the mirror.

My face is red.

My lips are visibly swollen.

I look like someone who’s been kissed stupid.

Because I have.

By Gio Fontana.

And apparently, I liked it.

God help me—I wanted it.

Even though he’s a man.

A MAN.

I want to cry and throw up at the same time.

I lean my forehead against the mirror and whisper to my reflection:

“You are so, so fucked.”

“Rava?”

I spin toward the door. Christ.

It feels like he’s calling my name the same way my assignments do.

The ones that are impossible to ignore.

“…yeah?”

“You alive? I’m bored. I don’t like talking to my bathroom door.”

I drag a hand through my hair. It calms me.

Okay. I’m not still that hard. Thank God.

I breathe out, step to the door, and crack it open slowly.

I look down.

He’s sitting on the floor with his knees up.

Back against the wall.

He lifts a hand toward me. “Help me up?”

I give him mine, stupid mistake.

Because instead of pulling himself up, he yanks me down.

Right in front of him. Our knees touch.

I don’t even have the energy to fight him. I just… settle on the floor like a defeated houseplant.

I stare at literally everything that is not his face.

The wall. The floor. My own knees.

I bite my lip from nerves, and I refuse, REFUSE to look at his.

Which is insane, because I can still feel them on mine.

“The fact you ran straight into the bathroom,” he says, “means we’ve got work to do.”

He leans his elbow on his knee, tilting his head toward me.

“And lucky for you?” He smirks. “I’ve got time today.”

“Why are we sitting on the floor?” I mutter.

“It makes it less awkward.”

“What?”

“Don’t talk,” he cuts in. “Just listen.”

Before I can react, his hands wrap around my calves and he drags me closer.

Too close, actually.

He settles back on his hands, legs open, and I end up right between them.

Face to face. Almost nose to nose.

I’m going to literally drop dead from tachycardia at twenty-two.

There’s no way this is medically safe.

“If you want this fake-couple shit to work,” he says calmly, “so your little ex gets jealous?”

He tilts his head, keeping his eyes glued on me.

“Then you need to get used to me.”

My skin burns. Everywhere.

“You need to be this close without running to the bathroom every five minutes,” he adds. “Otherwise we’re both gonna look stupid.”

Unfortunately… he’s right. And I hate that he’s right. And I hate that it makes sense.

I nod once.

He grabs my waist, and pulls me even closer. Right between his legs.

He leans forward slowly.

Our noses almost touch.

He’s calm. I don’t know how.

He’s calm like this is nothing.

I’m seconds away from evaporating.

His voice drops.

“We’re gonna do exactly what I say,” he murmurs, “until you can look at me without turning pale like you’re being held hostage.”

I swallow.

Hard.

He smirks because he hears it.

Then he lifts his chin just a little, eyes locked on mine.

“Stare at me.”

My breath catches.

“Prove it,” he says, leaning in until our lips are a breath apart. “Prove you’re not the weak little kid anymore.”

I look at him even though it’s killing me.

He hit a nerve. A deep one.

Fine.

He wants proof? He’ll get it.

I lock my eyes on his, and I refuse to look away.

My jaw tightens. I stare back.

He lifts a brow, impressed.

“Good… don’t look away.”

I don’t. Not for a second. I won’t let him win. I won’t let her win either.

I force my body to relax, even though every bone in me is vibrating.

I lean forward, closing the space he left between us.

He notices immediately.

“See?” he murmurs. “You’re already better.”

Yeah… no. Disagree.

My heart is slamming so hard against my ribs.

It probably thinks I’m being chased by a wild animal.

And okay, same energy.

Looking at Gio does feel like that. Like survival mode.

He tilts his head a tiny bit.

“If you break eye contact first…” he smirks, “…we start over.”

I swallow so loud it’s embarrassing.

His gaze drops fast to my mouth. Then jumps right back to my eyes.

“Gio—”

“Shut it.” His voice drops to a low command. “Eyes on me.”

I’m gonna die. Literally. Any second now.

I keep staring. My palms are sweating.

This is torture.

He smiles, satisfied.

“Such an obedient boy.”

I need to stop. I NEED to stop.

He knows.

He KNOWS I respond to praise, that my pulse goes insane when someone throws a single approving word at me.

He’s the one who planted that into me. He’s the one who made me crave approval. He’s the one who mocked me for being sensitive. He’s the one who taught me to flinch and then laugh it off.

He put the weakness there.

He sowed it. He watered it. He made it grow.

And now he’s trying to “fix” the same wounds he created.

Like he’s some kind of antidote to his own poison.

It’s twisted. It’s wrong. It’s sick. It’s working.

“…Why are you helping me?”

Gio exhales through his nose.

“I don’t know,” he says. “Maybe because what she did was pure bullshit. And I don’t like when people get played like that.”

A laugh slips out of me.

“Kinda ironic coming from you,” I mutter. “Considering you spent your whole childhood making fun of me.”

He tilts his head.

“What makes you think I haven’t changed?” He speaks softly. “Maybe I’m trying to be a better person now.”

I look down, because eye contact feels like stepping in front of a train.

I reach for a loose thread on his pants.

And instantly yank my hand back when I realize I’m touching him.

“…Okay.” I clear my throat. “Thanks, then.”

He rises to his full height. His shadow hits me before his voice does.

“Last step,” he says. “How would you touch me if we were actually a couple?”

My brain empties.

“I… I don’t know.”

Heat crawls up my neck, because the truth is humiliating.

I’ve never been good at touching. Never been told it was wanted. Never been encouraged to do it more.

Cause of her.

I swallow.

“I’d… hold your hand?”

He laughs. “That’s it?” His eyebrow arches. “That’s all you did in your relationship?”

I feel something ugly twist in my chest.

Yeah. Laugh. Go ahead.

You don’t know what it feels like to be with someone who never wants you touching them.

He steps closer.

“What would you do?” I ask quietly.

“What wouldn’t I do is the question.”

His eyes drag down my chest, then climb back up.

“If I liked you enough to be with you,” he murmurs, “I’d touch you everywhere. Not just your hand.”

He leans in, brushing the corner of my mouth.

“And lucky for you… Ravioli,” He grins. “…she wanted my touch.”

My stomach drops.

“So she’s gonna break when she sees it on you. I’m guessing you know I’ll have to touch you when she’s watching us.”

I nod before my brain can catch up.

“Good.” He smiles a little. “I’ll leave what kind of touching for a surprise. You can go now,” he says.

“Unless you want to stay.”

He leans in. Crowds my space again. “There’s room in the bathtub.”

Jesus Christ.

“Gio, no.”

I slip out past him for the second time today and make it all the way to the entryway.

He follows me, and his hand slides into my hair. Fixing it.

He smooths out the front strands, tucks one behind my ear, and steps back.

“Don’t want your dad suspecting anything,” he says with a shrug. “He’ll kill us both before the big show.”

Oh my God. My dad.

Reality hits me like a truck.

A few hours ago, I told that man:

“Don’t worry. Don’t stress. It’s just work.”

And then I came here and I shoved my tongue down his throat.

My father would actually bury me alive.

I cover my face with my hands.

I’m awful. I’m literally the worst son on earth.

He opens the door for me, leaning on the frame.

“See you tomorrow… partner.”

I don’t say anything. I just nod awkwardly.

And I leave his house absolutely dying inside.

---

I’m so sorry for being annoying but please vote divas 😔🤚

ALSO LOOK AT THIS OH MY GOD!!

Are you guys proud of me

31) In Your Dreams

Gio’s POV

The ball bounced loudly on the ground. Jin ran towards me, sweating and breathing hard.

“Come on, Gio!” he yelled, clearly frustrated. “Aren’t you embarrassed to never let a 16-year-old win?”

I laughed, dribbling the ball casually. “Embarrassed? Nah. I’m helping you get tougher, kid.”

“Jerk,” Jin mumbled, lunging again.

I faked left, quickly moved right, and easily tossed the ball.

It went straight through the hoop.

“Nice,” I said with a grin.

Jin groaned loudly, kicking at the ground.

God, I fucking love this family.

Not in the wholesome way. In the they get pissed so easily it’s entertaining way.

There’s something deeply healing in watching a Weston go from calm to murder-mode in 0.5 seconds.

“You’re too much,” he complained. “Isn’t your ego big enough yet?”

I shrugged, picking up the ball again. “Not yet.”

Little angry Weston goblin number two.

Rava’s the first one, obviously. He’s like a premium edition goblin.

He was determined, but way too easy to predict.

Another fake, another spin, and he stumbled, leaving me free to shoot.

The ball went in smoothly again.

I fucking love this.

“Showoff, I’m never playing again,” Jin muttered, bent over and panting.

Their whole family has this baseline level of irritation that just soothes my soul.

Every time they get annoyed, a part of me that died in childhood comes back to life.

It’s poetic.

“You’ll thank me someday,” I told him, putting the ball aside and walking toward my bike. “If you can’t handle me , real jerks will eat you alive.”

He rolled his eyes but followed, standing hopefully by the motorcycle. “Can I ride back with you?” he asked.

I scoffed, grabbing my helmet. “Kid, your dad would probably make me break my own bones if he saw that.”

Well… If only the old man knew.

Jesus Christ.

If only he knew what I was doing yesterday with his other son.

Who the hell am I even? Today I’m out here playing casual basketball with one Weston boy, and last night I had the other Weston boy in my room, basically begging me to make out with him.

Okay, fine, he didn’t beg.

Not out loud.

But he needed me . And that shoots my ego into outer fucking space.

Too bad it’s top-secret. Would’ve been iconic to brag about.

Jin kicks a pebble at me.

“Come on, Gio, I’m not a baby—”

“Nope.” I spin the ball on my finger. “I’m not putting you on my bike. I’m not dying today.”

Not when life is finally getting interesting.

He groans dramatically and walks off to grab the ball.

I smirk. Yeah.

One Weston on my bike would kill me.

But the other Weston in front of my face last night almost killed me too.

But in a much more enjoyable way.

What can I do? I’m a man. I liked our kiss. I’m not gonna lie to myself.

Or to my dick.

At least I admit I like men. I don’t make it a crisis every time a guy looks attractive.

My body doesn’t sit there like, “Wait, is this the correct gender? Let me check my internal rulebook.”

Nah. If it feels good, it feels good. End of story.

That kiss was memorable, and my body had opinions.

Strong ones.

My dick especially. He practically wrote a sonnet about it.

A kiss is a kiss.

Of course I liked it. I fucking loved it.

Jin’s face fell, and he shoved his hands in his pockets, clearly disappointed.

I got on the bike, then glanced across the street.

Oh?

Rava.

I spot him by the side of the road, half-shaded under that crooked olive tree like he’s trying to blend into the damn landscape.

Poor thing’s hilarious without even trying.

He sees me, and immediately whips his head the other way.

Now he’s glued to his phone, tapping absolutely nothing on the screen, pretending I don’t exist.

Adorable.

He’s dressed well today.

But I can’t tell if that’s his normal, or if he’s going somewhere, or if he accidentally dressed nice and now regrets it because I’m here.

Wouldn’t blame him.

“Maybe next time,” I said to Jin, a bit more distracted this time, kicking the engine to life.

“Yeah, sure…” He sighed heavily, and then he left.

I roll the bike straight toward Rava, and I stop without killing the engine off.

This dumbass is still pretending he doesn’t see me.

Unreal. Still playing Mr. Mystery.

Be fucking serious.

You could suck on my lip ring just fine. But now you can’t look up?

Sure. Makes sense.

I rest one hand on the throttle, keep the engine rumbling under me, and stare him down blatantly.

You’re gonna look at me today.

Whether you want to or not. Whether you’re ready or not.

He can pretend all he wants.

I grab the hem of my shirt and wipe the sweat off my forehead, lifting it just enough to feel the air hit my abs.

I know he saw it.

He definitely saw it.

“Are you serious right now?” he mutters without looking.

I blink innocently. “What?”

“You’re literally showing off your abs.”

I chuckle, surprised, genuinely. “Oh? So now you can look at me?” I smirk. “Funny, ’cause when I talk, you just stare at the ground.”

He tries to walk past me, probably hoping I’ll just let him go.

Obviously, I don’t.

I’m not gonna leave him alone now that I know what his mouth tastes like.

I rev the engine once, then start riding small circles around him like a damn hawk.

His head follows me every time I pass.

I pass behind him, lean a little, and flick my hand out just enough to gently smack his ass.

A quick tap. Barely anything.

He turns around with this scandalized, betrayed expression like I just stole his innocence.

I stop the bike, throw my hands in the air dramatically.

“Swear to God,” I say, “you had dust on you. Cement or some shit.”

He narrows his eyes at me, full suspicion.

Does this little self-pat-down like I’m lying and he’s about to press charges.

“…thanks.”

I cup my ear.

“What was that? Didn’t hear you.”

He snaps his head up.

“I said THANK YOU, idiot.”

I grin.

“Much better.”

God, he’s fun to bother.

“You always do this?” I shout over the sound. “Storm off dramatically just ’cause you got kissed ?”

He clenches his jaw. Doesn’t respond.

“Come on, Rava,” I grin, leaning on the handlebars as I pass by him again. “It’s not like I’m gonna bite. Unless you want me to.”

He shoots me a death glare. I almost die laughing.

“Where are you even going?” he finally snaps.

I slow down, make one last loop, then pull up in front of him.

“Picking up a friend from the station,” I say, casual as hell. “Station?” “Yeah. They took him in last night.” “For what?” “He headbutted some asshole at a club. The dude was being gross with a girl. My guy stepped in, and, well… now I gotta play Uber from jail.”

Rava lifts a brow. “Classic day for you street rats.”

Street rats. That’s what he calls us.

I lean back on my bike.

“Street rats, huh?”

He looks away like he’s innocent.

I push off the bike and walk toward him. “You played poker with me.” I tilt my head. “And you won.”

He swallows.

I take one more step. “Then you hopped on this bike,” I remind him, “while we were being chased by the police.”

His eyes flicker. I smirk. God, he’s easy to ruin.

“And while we were running for our lives?” I lean in just a little. “You covered my license plate with your damn hand.”

My voice drops. “Which innocent little angel does that?”

He swallows again, he’s nervous.

I get even closer. “You’re a lot less pure than you think you are, Ravioli.”

I wink. “And that’s not a bad thing. Anyway. Where are you going?”

He crosses his arms. “I’m waiting for Dario and Carla.”

“Damn! Those two still exist?”

He gives me the flattest look imaginable.

I grin wider. “What, you three gonna sit in a circle and talk about your feelings over iced tea? Damn, Rava, you know how to live.”

“At least we don’t spend our time dodging cops or selling coke to undergrads,” he snaps.

Oof.

Right in the lifestyle.

“You done judging, or do you want a ride to church next?”

He doesn’t answer. He clears his throat.

“They’re waiting for me. I have to go. I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ll text you before I come to your place for Sophia’s thing.”

I nod once, leaning back against the bike again.

“Yeah, yeah.” I wave him off lazily. “Go enjoy your little butter-walk.”

He freezes.

“…My what?”

I shrug.

He rolls his eyes.

“Bye, Gio.”

“Later.”

I rev the engine just once as he turns just to watch him flinch.

Worth it.

Rava’s POV - One Day Later

I stood by the wall with my arms crossed, regretting every second of thinking that Noah’s idea was actually good.

Gio is getting dressed.

That’s a lie.

He’s pretending to get dressed.

In reality he’s shirtless again, flexing his body every two seconds.

Chest. Arms. Back. Veins. Tattoo on tattoo on tattoo.

Okay, we get it.

You’re built like a Greek God and your biceps have their own zip code.

Enough .

He shoots me this slow smirk over his shoulder.

“Come on, Ravioli. Admit it. You wanna touch it.”

I look at him like he slapped me. “Why would I want to touch it?!” I snap. “I had a girlfriend like… couple of days ago.”

Gio laughs. “Aha. There it is.” He points at me.

“So you are seeing this as something sexual.”

I literally turn away so I don’t throw something at him.

God, I hate when people try to outsmart me.

Hate it. Hate it even more when they succeed.

He keeps going. “You know, I’ve got straight friends at the gym.”

He’s digging through drawers now, still shirtless. “They’re super chilled about touching. Spotting each other, checking form, grabbing arms, whatever. They don’t freak out. They know touching me doesn’t mean they want me.”

I clench my jaw.

He pauses. Looks at me from head to toe.

“You, on the other hand…”

I whip around. “Cut it.”

Okay. Fine. If that’s what his “straight friends” do, then maybe that’s what I have to do too.

I take a breath, roll my shoulders back.

He raises an eyebrow, amused.

I grab his arm first, using both hands. Slide down from shoulder to wrist, squeezing hard.

Then I nod like I’m inspecting produce at a supermarket. “Right. Sure. Okay.”

I grab his other arm. Same thing. Up, down, slow, thorough.

Then I place both hands on his shoulders. My thumbs keep pressing into the muscle. He’s warm.

I pretend I’m not dying.

His chest now. God help me.

I put my palms flat on it, and squeeze.

He inhales sharply. I pretend not to notice.

Then I drag my hand down.

Over his ribs. His abs. My fingers follow every line.

When I reach his waistband, I stop.

Look up at him, dead serious. “Is this straight enough for you?”

He stares back at me. “I love how straight you are.”

He pulls his shirt on, still smiling to himself.

“Good,” I mutter, stepping back. “Now get dressed properly. We’re late.”

He laughs under his breath as he fixes his collar.

“You’re the slowest asshole I’ve ever met,” I said. “Even your damn cat gets ready faster.”

He grinned without looking up. “Relax, fake boyfriend. You’ll still be the prettiest one there.”

“Fake boyfriend, my ass. I’m only doing this with you cause unfortunately you were the one that Sophia chose to sext to.”

“And because you secretly love spending time with me.”

I snorted. “The day I ’ love ’ spending time with you, shoot me in the face.”

“Hey. Don’t tempt me.”

“Just get dressed, Gio. Jesus.”

He fixes his hair. “You’re acting like this isn’t our first date.”

“It’s not. It’s not even a date. It’s damage control.”

“Oh, baby,” he said, hand on his chest in mock offense. “If it wasn’t for the meetings, you wouldn’t have the balls to get within five feet of me.”

I laughed. “Please. If it wasn’t for meetings, I’d never even see you and I would be happy about it. You think I’d hang out with someone like you willingly ?”

He walked toward me, half-buttoning his black shirt, eyes on mine. “Someone like me?”

“Loud, cocky, half-naked 80% of the time. And definitely not my type.”

“Oh, you’ve got a type now?”

“Yeah. People who don’t piss me off on sight.”

He was standing right in front of me, taller by just enough to make it annoying.

“You’re so full of shit, Ravioli,” he said, grinning.

“You’d ride me if I let you.”

I shoved his shoulder, pissed. “In your dreams, Gio.”

I stared at him for half a second too long before rolling my eyes. “Put on your goddamn boots. I’m not showing up with you barefoot.”

“Yes, sir,” he muttered, smirking like the devil himself.

Finally. We step out of his house. I really thought we were gonna die in there.

“You remember how to hold on?” he asked, tossing me the helmet.

“I remember how to strangle you with this strap.”

He snatched it back before I could put it on, stepped into my space again. “Let me.”

His fingers brushed my neck, a little too long on the buckle.

“There,” he murmured. “Wouldn’t want you falling off and dying. Not before I ruin your night properly.”

“You’ve already ruined it,” I snapped.

He laughed and got on the bike.

I hesitated, then climbed on, my hands resting awkwardly before I wrapped them around his waist.

His back was warm. His voice came back over his shoulder.

“Try not to get a boner, angel.”

“Drive the damn bike, Gio!”

⸻

Jesus Christ.

Has this man ever driven like a normal human being in his entire life?!

We’ve been on the bike for maybe thirty seconds and he’s already acting like we’re competing for a world title in “Who Can Kill Their Passenger Fastest.”

Someone please tell him this is a casual ride, not the fucking MotoGP.

I have no choice. If I don’t hold onto him, I’m going to fly off this bike, die instantly, and haunt him forever.

My arms tighten around his waist on reflex.

I bury my face against his shoulder blade for one second just so the air doesn’t rip my skin off.

“Slow the hell down,” I shouted over the wind.

He just laughed. Typical.

…

Blue lights.

My stomach dropped as a police car pulled out from the side and signaled for us to stop.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” I muttered.

Gio slowed, pulling off to the side.

We stopped.

He didn’t even seem surprised.

He pulled off his helmet with one hand, shaking out his hair like this was a damn photo shoot.

I climbed off behind him, helmet still on.

A cop approached.

“License and registration,” he said firmly.

He glanced between us.

His eyes lingered on me, then shifted back to Gio.

Gio didn’t move. Just smiled lazily. “Evening, officer. Was I speeding?”

“You were weaving lanes like it was a video game. Again .”

“You caught me in a good mood.”

I wanted to punch him.

“Gio,” I hissed. “Just give him the damn license.”

He sighed like I’d just asked him to donate a kidney, but finally pulled out his wallet and handed over his info.

The cop took it and walked back to the car.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I snapped under my breath.

“Relax. He’s just doing his job.”

“You were driving like a maniac!”

“You were holding on tight. Thought you liked it rough.”

“You think this is funny?”

He smirked. “A little.”

I shoved him. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Aw, come on, baby. I got us here in one piece.”

“Barely.”

The cop came back a minute later, handed the papers back.

“Watch the speed, ragazzi,” he said. “And wear that helmet properly.” He looked directly at me. “He’s reckless.”

Tell me something I don’t know.

Once he left, I turned on Gio again. “You could’ve gotten us arrested.”

“But I didn’t.”

“You think because you smile like a fucking god you’re invincible?”

He leaned in close, voice soft and full of venomous amusement. “You think I smile like a god?”

God, he is so delusional.

“Fuck you, Gio.” I muttered.

He chuckled and got back on the bike. “Come on, golden boy. Party’s waiting. Don’t wanna be late, right? Wouldn’t want people to think we’re riding each other.”

I hesitated, then got on behind him again, pissed but burning.

“Next time, hold on tighter. Might save your life.”

And we sped off again.

---

Do I get a vote?

32) Sure, Baby

Rava’s POV

Finally. We make it to the house. Calling it a “house” is generous. It’s a mansion.

I’m hit with the smell of alcohol, and we’re not even in yet.

There are lights everywhere, mostly blue.

The music is so loud I feel it in my ribs. Gio parks near the garage.

He turned his head toward me. “You ready, pretty boy?”

I took off the helmet, threw him a glare. “Fuck you.”

He grinned wider. “Perfect. That’s the energy I need from my fake boyfriend tonight.”

“Keep calling me that and I’ll make it real just to dump you publicly.”

He laughed. “Make sure she’s watching when you do.”

Her.

Right.

That was the whole point of this.

S o p h i a.

I’m using this wall of muscle next to me to make her jealous.

Will she get jealous? I don’t know. I don’t care. It’s kinda entertaining.

We step through the gate together, and Gio instantly drapes an arm over my shoulders.

His fingers brush my throat as we walk.

He’s already spotting people he knows.

Imagine being social. Imagine leaving your house voluntarily.

Every single person he greets looks shocked, like saying: What are YOU doing here?!

And meanwhile I’m just scanning the room, trying to avoid eye contact so no one asks me the obvious: “How the hell did YOU end up dating this maniac?”

I tug him forward, before someone traps us into conversation.

Because I’m not mentally prepared to explain my life choices to strangers, especially the part where I made out with Gio in his bedroom for strategic reasons.

“Play the part,” he murmured against my ear. “She’s watching.”

I loop my arm around Gio’s bicep, tightly.

I hate this. I know it’s fake. But oh my God it’s worth it.

Someone whistled as we passed. “That’s new.”

Tell me about it.

Gio laughs. “What can I say? I finally found someone who can keep up.”

I gritted my teeth. “Barely.”

He squeezed my shoulder in warning. “Don’t blow it now, lover.”

We push deeper into the house and the music somehow gets even louder.

Some guy stumbles past us and nearly shoves me straight into the pool. I swear I see my life flash before my eyes.

My hand tightens around Gio’s bicep on instinct.

He pats my hand twice. “See? My arm saves lives.”

I roll my eyes. “I wouldn’t die if I fell in.”

He shrugs, “You would die from the embarrassment.”

I… Okay. Fair point. I exhale. “…Right. Thanks then.”

He gives me that stupid little smirk.

Sophia stood near the drinks. Her expression is unreadable, her gaze was locked on us.

I saw her lips part. Good.

This was working.

Gio pulled me closer.

“You look hot when you’re shy,” he whispered.

“I look homicidal.”

“Even better.”

He grabbed one drink from a passing tray and handed it to me.

Then he randomly looped his arm around my waist and kissed me hard.

Literally making out in the middle of the crowd.

His other hand comes up to the back of my head, sliding into my hair, holding me exactly where he wants me.

My knees actually wobble cause… I don’t even get a warning.

Before my panic even catches up, I’m kissing him back.

Then I break it.

“You absolute son of a—”

“She saw that,” he said softly, without even looking.

I turned my head just enough to catch Sophia across the room.

She looks mad.

Perfect.

And then Gio turned to me fully, tilting his head like he was genuinely amused. “You gonna keep looking at her , or at me?”

Ugh… my brain is soup.

My emotions are… whatever comes after soup.

I don’t know what I’m feeling, why I’m doing this, why my body is reacting like this.

Everything’s blurry.

I turn back to look at Gio. “Right… sorry.”

His eyes flick down to my lips again.

He clinked his glass of water against mine. “Let’s go say hi to her, boyfriend.”

He dragged me through the crowd toward her.

He didn’t let go of my waist the whole way across the room.

He leans to my ear. “Your waist is hot.”

Enough. Enough of this insanity.

My stomach does that stupid thing.

Compliments and I have a toxic relationship. I crave them, I hate needing them, and now he’s giving me one on the exact thing people used to mock me for.

Which makes it ten times worse.

I force a fake smile.

“Thanks,” I mutter, knowing full well Sophia can’t hear a thing yet. “You don’t have to talk like we’re a thing. She can’t hear you.”

He shrugs, completely unbothered. “It was just a compliment. Who gives a fuck about her.”

I swallow.

If only my body would stop reacting like he whispered something filthier.

His hand slid from my waist to the small of my back.

I could feel eyes on us now.

“Don’t you dare fucking overdo it,” I muttered under my breath as we neared her.

Gio smirked and ran his fingers through my hair.

I look at him suspiciously.

“Relax,” he said, tugging lightly at a strand near my ear. “You’ve got great hair. Might as well use it.”

I swatted his hand away.

Sophia came to us.

“Wow,” she said, smiling too wide. “Didn’t expect to see you two here. Or…like this.”

Her voice was sweet, but I knew her too well.

There was acid under the sugar.

Gio pats my head. “Yeah, we weren’t gonna come, but I convinced him.”

I wanted to scream.

She looked between us, head tilting. “Really? I didn’t know you two were…”

“Yeah… shocking,” he says with a sigh so dramatic it deserves an award. “Just like you couldn’t keep your hands off me… I couldn’t keep mine off your man.”

He squeezes my waist for emphasis. “Difference is… I actually succeeded.”

Damn. Beautiful performance. Oscar-worthy.

And also complete bullshit. Because this is fake.

Sophia crosses her arms, scoffs. “Don’t make this a thing. It’s embarrassing.”

Gio smiles. “Fuck yeah. It is embarrassing.”

He tilts his head at her. “For you. For him… it’s definitely an upgrade.”

I swear something inside me purrs.

Because watching him drag her like this?!

Yeah, he’s evil. But God, he’s good at it.

I don’t even like him, but right now I love what he’s doing.

His free hand came up again, this time to the back of my neck.

He played with the hair there, brushing fingers along my skin.

I could feel her watching every second of it.

Sophia keeps flicking her gaze between us. “Didn’t you say Gio gets on your nerves?!” she asks, annoyed.

Before I can get a word out, Gio’s fingers slide into the hair at the back of my neck and tug, hard. Like saying “Fuck you, Rava.”

Oh, right. Act surprised now.

Like you didn’t know.

He steps closer. “We were always like that. I’m pretty sure he hated how I made him feel, not me.”

His fingers trail down my neck.

Then he turns to her again. “And you definitely know what I mean… since you dove into my DMs while you had this next to you.”

Holy shit. He threw it at her.

He drinks the last drop of his water. “‘Shame’ is a small word for what I’d feel if I were you.”

The look on her face is priceless.

“But sure. He acted like he hated me at first. It was adorable.”

“I still hate you.”

He grinned, and kissed my neck. “Sure, baby.”

Sophia took a sip of her drink. “That’s…cute.”

I was dying inside.

Gio rested his chin on my shoulder, his fucking chin on my shoulder, and started tracing invisible shapes on my arm.

“He gets shy in public,” he said. “But in private… Lord, have mercy on us.”

“Gio,” I warned, heat rising to my face.

“What?” he said innocently, but his eyes were gleaming. “I was just saying you’re more talkative when it’s just us.”

Sophia raised an eyebrow. “I thought you weren’t…his… type .”

“I’m everyone’s type eventually,” Gio said, grinning.

He pulled away then. “I need a refill.”

“I’ll come with,” I said instantly.

“No,” he said. “Stay. Entertain your audience.”

He squeezed my shoulder. “Call me if you get lonely,” he said as he walked away.

Now it’s just me and Sophia.

And thankfully, I don’t feel awkward, not even a little.

I’ve got so much anger simmering in my chest that the awkwardness doesn’t even get the chance to show up.

If anything, she’s the one who should feel uncomfortable.

For the first time in forever, I’m looking at her and I don’t feel like that weak, disposable little boyfriend she used to make me feel like.

That pathetic guy who was always trying to earn a crumb of affection.

Right now I feel taller for some reason.

“You always were that evil?” Sophia said, as if she didn’t fuck this whole thing up first.

I turned, slowly. “Takes one to know one.”

“Didn’t expect you to play the arm candy,” she said, looking past me toward Gio.

Oh my God. I swear I walked over here with zero intention of fighting.

But the tone, oh my God. It’s like she is begging for humiliation.

I smiled. “Well, someone had to keep him entertained. You clearly couldn’t.”

She narrowed her eyes. “So it’s true. You and him.”

I stepped closer, to make her look up. “Mmhmm. And before you ask, yes, he’s as good as he looks. Maybe even better. Thanks for the warm-up.”

She scoffed. “You’re seriously proud of being someone’s distraction?”

“Oh no, sweetie,” I said, tilting my head slightly. “The only distraction here, was you.”

She looks so pissed. Which is honestly hilarious, because she started all of this.

She couldn’t keep her hands to herself, couldn’t keep her mouth shut, couldn’t stop chasing attention for five damn minutes.

And now she’s the angry one?? Now she wants to play the victim??

She lit the match, poured the gasoline, threw it on my life, and suddenly she’s upset the fire burned her too?!

Please.

“He’ll get tired of your games.”

“Maybe. But at least I didn’t have to beg for his attention through DMs at 2 AM. Those were cute, by the way. He could fuck you like he hates you .’ That line was actually iconic. We read that one together again and lost it.”

“You picked him , of all people?” she said with an expression full of disgust. “Do you even realize what you’re doing?”

I clenched my jaw. “Don’t talk about him like he’s some disease.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Yes, you did.”

She took a sip from her drink, then exhaled. “Fine. You win.”

“What?”

“You wanted to get under my skin. Congrats, it worked.” She laughed once. “I actually believed you were boring.”

“Guess I’m full of surprises.”

---

33) One More Word…

Gio’s POV

I sit in a corner alone.

I’m watching him talk to that… thing. That waste of oxygen, Sophia.

God, even looking at her pisses me off. Her face, her voice, her empty fucking brain.

The audacity. The absolute fucking nerve.

She dares look Rava in the eyes after what she pulled?

She looks pissed.

I smiled.

Looks like Ravioli’s little revenge plan worked.

She turns again, and gaze drops to his mouth. For exactly three seconds.

She does it again.

Rava leans his head back with that same annoyed tilt he gives me when I say something and he pretends he’s mad.

Sophia puts her hand on the table beside them, too close to his.

He moves his hand away.

Good boy.

I finish my disgusting juice in one swallow. Toss the cup aside.

I stand.

Sophia was in my way, I passed her like she was nothing but some random background noice. Nothing to do with me.

I stopped behind Rava.

I didn’t say a word.

I just reached up and slid my hand along the side of his neck, slow, my fingers curling just under his jaw, tilting his head slightly toward me, just enough to take his eyes off her.

“Don’t waste that glare on her,” I murmured, close to his ear. “It looks better when it’s aimed at me.”

And he blushes.

God… What a sweet little thing. His body melts the second I compliment him.

I step in closer, making sure Sophia’s got front row seats.

I loop an arm around his shoulders again, dragging him closer, and my hand immediately finds his throat.

I go up and down over his Adam’s apple. It’s calming.

Well. It was supposed to be calming. But it only makes me want to squeeze his throat harder.

Which I don’t, because…

Rava’s nervous. Real nervous.

Why the hell is he nervous? It’s all fake. An act.

But the way he bites his lip is not acting. That’s him trying not to peel it open again.

He does that in meetings too, every time Charles talks to him like he’s disposable.

And then there’s the other thing, that stupid little habit he has with his hands.

Left thumb, rubbed over and over with the other hand like he’s trying to sand his own nerves down.

I noticed that more than five times.

I don’t know if I should do anything. Probably crosses some line I don’t even know how to define.

But I want to see what he does when I do it.

So I catch his hand, slide it behind my back, and take his thumb between my fingers.

Start rubbing it with the exact same pressure, exact same rhythm, exactly the way he does it to calm himself down.

And yeah, he feels it immediately. His whole body goes still, and he turns to look at me with a face that screams, “No fucking way you noticed that.”

His eyebrows lift a little. He looks at me suspicious.

I’m seconds from laughing, because the way he’s looking at me is actually funny. It’s like I just did a magic trick he didn’t agree to participate in.

So I stick my tongue out at him.

He mirrors it right back at me.

“What the hell is this?” she snapped.

God. I forgot that one was still here.

I grinned, lips still near Rava’s jaw. “This? Oh, this is just foreplay.”

He elbowed me in the ribs lightly, but it still made me chuckle.

I turned to her, with my hand still rubbing his thumb. “He gets feisty when people doubt us.”

“Cut the shit, Gio,” she snapped.

Oh.

Oh, hell no.

I hate her voice even more.

I look at her dead in the eyes.

“Watch your tone. You’re not untouchable, and I’m not the one you wanna push.”

She stepped forward. Rava tensed in my grip, but I held him still.

“You’re just doing this to humiliate me.”

“Nah,” I said. “We’re doing this ’cause we look good together.” I reply.

Then I glanced over her shoulder and spotted someone in the crowd, a familiar flash of bleach-blond hair and too many bracelets.

“Shit,” I muttered.

“Gonna go say hi, lover,” I murmur, then press a quick kiss to his cheek.

I turn away and my gaze lands right back on Sophia.

Then I looked at her and winked. “Be a doll and don’t stress out my boyfriend too much while I’m gone.”

And I left.

I honestly don’t get how he lasted ten months with her. I can barely handle ten seconds.

I walk toward Enzo.

My old friend. He’s genuinely insane, not in the cute way.

What the hell is he doing here?

Last time I saw him, he was half-dead from an overdose and screaming at a dealer because they wouldn’t give him more. Ready to swing at anyone.

His hair is still bleached, obviously. It’s always bleached.

“What the hell are you doing at this stupid party?!” I ask.

Enzo just grins, and taps his nose.

Ah. He’s got coke.

“And you?” he shoots back.

I drop my head. “Work stuff…” Then I lift my chin and tilt it toward Rava and Sophia.

Enzo follows my glance and lets out a low whistle. “Ohhh. I love this type of work. Is it a love triangle? What’s going on? You quitting the whore business?”

I snap my eyes to him.

Excuse me? A whore?

I’m selective with who gets access to this dick. And I sure as hell don’t sell it.

“It’s not a love triangle,” I mutter, rubbing my eyes. “It’s just a fake thing I don’t even fucking know why I’m doing.”

Enzo nods. “Well, man… your ‘fake thing’ is too good to be real anyway.”

He laughs.

I don’t.

Let him feel awkward. I’m not saving him.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs. “I dunno. Is he not?”

Tch. I look down.

“Anyway,” he says, smacking my shoulder. “Look.”

He gestures to the corner where his little crew is huddled.

I recognize a few faces.

Everyone here showed up for the drugs, obviously.

This party is ridiculous.

It’s like someone grabbed characters from a crime film, and dumped them in a teenage American show.

“You wanna join us?” Enzo asked, smiling wide. “We got a good batch tonight. None of that stepped-on shit. Real clean.”

I raised an eyebrow. “That why you’re grinning like a lunatic?”

He laughed. “It’s so good, Gio. I’m telling you, you’re missing out.”

I hesitated for half a second.

“I’ll just say hi.”

We move toward the rest of them.

I glance back, just to make sure Rava sees where I’m going.

Last thing I need is him wandering around alone in this circus looking like a lost duckling.

Not that I want him here with these idiots, but he should at least know where to find me if he wants to bail.

I shove a couple of bottles aside with my knee and drop onto the couch between them.

The whole place smells like weed.

Shit. I can already feel it creeping into my lungs.

I can’t get high tonight.

Rava will absolutely whoop my ass, and he’d be right.

One of the girls passed me a bottle.

I didn’t take it. And I’m fucking proud of myself.

As carefree as I am, I would never ride back home while being drunk.

Especially when I’m not alone.

⸻

Twenty minutes pass and they’re still talking about the same damn thing.

Yes, that time Enzo almost died . I’m the one who brought it up, but it wasn’t supposed to become a full documentary screening.

It’s not funny. That was the whole point of the story.

But coke has clearly melted his brain to fondue, because he’s retelling it like it’s peak comedy.

Someone drops into the spot right in front of me.

Before I even focus on his face, he flicks a rolling-paper wrapper straight at my forehead.

The audacity in this room is honestly unbelievable.

It’s… Mark? …Maybe? I think his name is Mark.

He’s got rings on every single finger, both hands.

Mark. Yeah. It’s him.

Because I remember thinking Mark marks his hands.

I laughed at my own joke for three straight minutes back then.

Still kinda funny.

“Yo, was that Rava Weston I saw you with earlier?” he asked, smirking.

I didn’t react.

“I swear to God, I thought he was dead or something,” another guy chimed in from the armrest, already laughing. “Did you see him like…a decade ago? He was fucking tragic. Little guy looked like he’d cry if you touched his shoulder.”

They all burst out laughing and my own laugh just cuts.

My heart spikes so fast it feels wrong, like they’re talking shit about me , not Rava.

I stare at them. All of them.

I don’t get what’s funny.

Mark leaned forward. “But damn. Boy grew up . Got the jawline. That mouth. You hit that yet?”

The world slowed.

That. He called Rava that . Like he’s a sex toy.

What do I do? Fuck, I don’t know what to do.

I can’t look offended. I can’t act weird. This group talks like this about everyone. I can’t just snap for one person.

But….

It feels like I’m betraying Rava just by sitting here.

By letting them talk about him like… that. By not saying anything.

And it makes no fucking sense. He’s not even here. He wouldn’t even know.

But it feels so, so wrong. So wrong my chest actually hurts. It feels… filthy.

Like they’re smearing something innocent that shouldn’t be touched by them at all.

Enzo grinned. “Guess not yet.”

Another voice joined, one of the younger guys, barely twenty.

Eyes gleaming like a sick dog. “Bro, not gonna lie, Rava looks like the type you’d have to mentally prep before sex. Right? You think he’d be into it? Looks like the type you have to train a little first, no?”

What the hell am I hearing?

I snap my head toward Rava, even though he’s far, to make sure he’s not hearing this filth spill out of their mouths.

My brain is killing me. It keeps making pictures I don’t want to see.

If he were beside me right now… God, I don’t even know if he’d answer.

He is strong, I know that. He pushes back when he needs to.

But I also know the limits of that strength. I know what crosses the line.

And this would fucking crush him.

He wouldn’t fight them. He’d laugh it off. Pretend it doesn’t get to him.

Then he’d go home and overthink everything.

Replay every syllable. Ask himself if it’s true, if he really looks “difficult.”

He’d stare at the ceiling all night. He’d lose sleep over people who don’t even remember his last name. He’d ask what’s wrong with him again.

I’m angry. Really fucking angry. And their stupid smiles are making it ten times harder to hold it in.

“I bet he’s the kind that acts all shy till you get your hand on his neck,” the kid went on, laughing. “Then he melts. Fuck, I’d—”

“Shut up,” I said.

“Wait, think about it, if we got him drunk enough, we could share him,” Mark offered, grinning at me like we were boys. “Come on, Gio. You’ve had enough of him. Let us play too.”

My body moved before I could even name what I was feeling.

I lunged across the table—fist meeting jaw with a sound so sharp it made someone gasp.

His head snapped sideways.

He tries to cover his face, but I rip his hands away and hit him again and again, angrier every time.

I can’t fucking stop. I can’t stop.

He planted that disgusting image in my head. Rava being drunk and weak.

Someone’s hands on him. Someone laughing. Someone doing something he can’t fight off.

The Rava I know, treated like some pretty little thing to pass around while he’s not even conscious enough to say no!

I swear to God, I’m gonna kill him. I don’t give a fuck if they hold me back, if they scream my name, if I get locked the fuck up.

I’m not stopping.

Not when he had the balls to say that out loud.

You’ll call me violent. You’ll call me crazy. But I’ll be the one who made sure Rava never ends up another fucking victim.

I’ll be the one who split open the face of a would-be fucking rapist.

’Cause that’s what you fucking are.

That’s what you just confessed to being.

A future fucking rapist.

But Rava won’t be on your list.

“One more word…” I whispered to him.

“…and I’ll rip your spine out like a fucking zipper.”

Enzo tried to stop me, but I shoved him off and kept going.

He swung back, caught me across the cheek.

I laughed, tasting blood, and went in again.

I’m not gonna sit here and feel sorry for a rapist, or any sick fuck who even thinks like one.

You hit me, I hit harder.

I’m not wasting mercy on someone who opens his mouth and lets that kind of filth fall out.

You want to know why I didn’t back off?

’Cause people like you don’t stop unless someone makes them.

“Say his name again,” I spat, slamming him back against the couch. “I fucking dare you.”

“Gio?!”

Rava.

Through the chaos, through the blur of fists and yelling, I saw him.

“Are you fucking insane?!” he shouted, grabbing my arm, yanking me back. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

Shit.

I stared down at the guy under me, his nose was broken, face swelling already.

Good.

“Gio!” Rava shouted again, furious. “Answer me, what the hell happened?!”

I didn’t say a word.

I grabbed his wrist. “We’re leaving. Please.”

“The fuck we are—”

“I said we’re leaving, Rava.”

And I pulled him through the crowd, past the shocked faces and the bloodstained floor.

Where no one else could look at him like that again.

__ Update: 3/12/2025

Y’all oh my god… this chapter was so hard to write. I’m not used to writing “darker” stuff like actual fighting and shit, and this feels so weird 😭 Was it good? Please tell me it was good. I need reassurance. Or like tell me what to change 💔 Help me

34) Lick It Off

Gio’s POV

We walk back to my place in total silence.

My face feels like someone parked a damn truck on it. My knuckles sting so bad, and I probably look insane.

The second we walk through the door, I drop my keys on the dresser with a dull clack and head straight for the bathroom.

I don’t even look at him. I need cold water first.

And yeah… I’m basically bracing for impact. Because he’s definitely going to rip into me.

As he should.

He didn’t see what I saw. He didn’t hear what was said about him. He doesn’t know about the disgusting shit that pushed me over the edge.

All he saw was me losing my fucking mind. Fighting like an animal in the middle of a party for no reason he understands.

So yeah. I deserve the yelling. The disappointed look. The “what the hell is wrong with you, Gio?” speech.

I lean over the sink and splash cold water on my face.

Rava paced near the wall, arms folded, hair messy from the wind, still furious.

He spun around. “You gonna talk now?”

“No.”

He laughed bitterly. “Of course not. Because God forbid Gio fucking explains himself.”

“I don’t owe you a goddamn explanation.”

“You don’t?” he snapped. “ You dragged me out of there like a maniac, started a goddamn brawl, and I don’t even get to know why?!“

I stepped closer. “You don’t want to know why.”

“Try me.”

He asks for the truth.

And it’s so fucking fair of him to ask.

But literally, how the hell am I supposed to give him the truth?

What am I meant to do? Clap my hands together and go: “Oh yeah, babe, super casual, they were talking about you like you’re some drunk sex toy on legs, wondering how easy you’d be to take advantage of, and my brain cracked in half, so I beat the guy until his nose stopped pointing in the right direction. Nothing crazy. Very chill of me.”

Yeah. That’ll go over great.

How do I tell him without putting that poison in his head?

How do I explain what set me off without making him picture it?

Without making him think there was even a world where someone could look at him that way?

He doesn’t deserve this filth.

And now he’s confused. He wants answers. He should want answers.

I wiped my face with the back of my hand. “We just had beef. Old shit. You know how it is.”

I could feel him freeze behind me.

“Seriously?” he finally said. “You started a goddamn fight over some ego bullshit from years ago?”

I shrugged, even though it made my shoulder scream. “Felt right.”

He scoffed. “You’re insane.”

“Probably.”

“You embarrassed everyone.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

He took a step closer, and I could practically hear the tension in his body. “You could’ve gotten arrested.”

“But I didn’t.”

He let out a bitter laugh. “You’re unbelievable.”

I turn around to look at him. Jesus Christ.

He looks so damn innocent with that expression that it almost makes me sick.

Not in a bad way. In the fuck, you really have no idea what world you’re standing in right now way.

He’s angry at me. I can see it all over his face.

But this time, I don’t give a shit. Not even a little.

Because I know exactly what I’m doing. I know what filth I’m shielding him from.

I know what kind of sewer words were being thrown around about him.

And if he ever heard them, if those images ever touched his head, they’d rot him from the inside.

So yeah. He can be pissed. He can yell. He can be disappointed. He can think I’m reckless and violent and stupid.

Let him.

Because for once, I know I’m right.

“I handled it,” I said softly.

“You made a scene , Gio.”

I smiled at that. Couldn’t help it.

Bad move.

Pain cracked across my cheek.

I winced, and the smile turned to a grimace.

He stepped closer. “Why are you smiling?”

“Because it hurts when I do.”

He stared at me. And something in his expression shifted, just a fraction.

“I’m still pissed at you,” he muttered, dropping his eyes. “Like. Really pissed.”

“I know.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“I know that too.”

Silence again.

“Sit down.”

“What?”

“Sit,” he repeated, pointing at the couch like he owned the place. “I’ll get the first aid kit.”

I hesitated.

Wanted to say no.

Wanted to keep standing, stay angry, stay in control.

But I sat.

He disappeared down the hall like it was his place, and I exhaled, trying to unclench my fists.

The bruises were blooming now.

My cheek throbbed. My ribs ached every time I breathed too deep.

But none of that compared to what was eating me from the inside out.

I lied to him.

I watched his face when I did it.

And I felt like the biggest piece of shit alive.

He came back with the little white box and tossed it onto the table next to us.

“We should make you a subscription card for this thing.”

“Frequent flyer miles?”

“Yeah. Every five fights you get a free punch in the face.”

I laughed. It hurt like hell.

He pulled out antiseptic, cotton pads, tape.

“You don’t have to do this,” I said.

“I don’t want my dad bringing up another dinner table story about how ’ Gio the stray dog’ got into another mess .”

I winced. “That bad?”

“You should hear what he calls you when you’re not around.”

Fantastic.

Exactly what I needed after breaking someone’s face.

Very comforting, Rava.

Your family probably thinks I’m the antichrist.

And the messed-up part is that it actually stings. More than I want it to.

Now I’m wondering. Do they sit around imagining scenarios where I’m the villain ruining their precious son?

Do they picture me as some monster he needs saving from?

Because I don’t see them that way. As much as I pretend I don’t care, they’ve been in my head more than I realize. Their opinions. Their reactions.

I don’t think I’m a bad person. Not at the core.

Yeah, I’m rough around the edges. Yeah, my brain likes to test limits just to see who flinches.

I poke, I push, I fuck around with danger more than I should.

But it’s not because I’m evil. It’s just… I don’t know.

I like to see where the line is. Sometimes I step over it on purpose, just to feel something.

He came closer.

Sat down.

Right in front of me.

On the couch.

Face to face.

My legs were on the couch.

He sat like he was being judged by God.

I just stared.

And he felt it.

“You know, I’m not always like this,” I said.

He dabbed alcohol on the cut.

I hissed.

“You mean violent?” he asked.

I shook my head. “No. I mean… dangerous.”

He slowly, so slowly, reached out toward my face.

And he’s so careful with it.

It throws me off.

Because this is the first time I’ve ever seen someone hesitate to touch me. Actually hesitate. Like he’s scared he’ll hurt me.

All of them are fearless fucking idiots.

They grab my arm, my neck, my shoulder, like I’m public property just because I’m loud and chaotic and always in motion.

Like being the loud one gives them some kind of free pass to invade my space.

Excuse me? No the hell it doesn’t.

Me talking a lot does NOT equal “touch me whenever you feel like it.”

But Rava comes closer like he’s approaching a wounded animal.

He starts cleaning it.

I let him.

Until he got close to the cut under my cheekbone.

Then I flinched hard, and hissed through my teeth on purpose, to see his reaction.

He jumped back like he’d been electrocuted. “Shit, I’m so sorry!”

I grabbed the side of my face, choking a laugh.

“Fuck. That hurts.”

His eyes went wide. “I didn’t mean to—are you okay?”

I paused.

Then smirked. “Nah. Just fucking with you.”

His face twisted with disbelief, rage, embarrassment all at once.

“Asshole.” he shouted. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

“Hey,” I said, laughing now, even though it made my whole face sting. “You should’ve seen your face. You looked like you were about to cry.”

“Because you suck, Gio.”

I shrugged, grinning. “Yeah. I do.”

He cursed under his breath but grabbed the cotton pads again, soaking one in antiseptic.

But he laughed.

Is he actually sick ?

How does he still look at me like that?!

After everything?!

After the shit I say, the shit I do, the way I blow up, disappear, lose control, lose everything?

I don’t get it.

I don’t fucking get it.

I’ve burned people for less. I’ve destroyed things that made me feel half as much.

But he walks into the fire and doesn’t flinch.

He’s almost seen my worst side, and somehow he is still here, after I’ve spent years of making fun of him too.

It pisses me off. It scares the hell out of me.

And deep down it makes me want to fall to my knees and ask him why the fuck he hasn’t run yet.

I want him to leave Italy as soon as possible.

Tomorrow.

Now , if possible.

Cause I’m so fucking scared right now.

“Don’t move,” he muttered. “I should let it sting.”

“Oh, baby. It always stings.”

He didn’t respond. Just pressed the pad gently against my temple.

But his hands…

His hands were so careful.

Like I was glass.

And now I remember those messages Sophia sent me.

Her complaining about this exact thing. How Rava treated her like she was fragile.

I let out this bitter little laugh, because the irony is fucking unreal.

The world doesn’t appreciate shit.

People like her get something good and treat it like an inconvenience.

God knows what he went through with her. What she twisted. What she demanded.

You poor bastard. No wonder you’re tired.

I didn’t understand how someone could be that soft and still burn me like that.

His knee bumped mine.

His face was close now, focused, lips parted slightly. I could feel his breath.

I didn’t breathe.

He hesitated.

His eyes dropped to my mouth. Paused there.

“There’s blood,” he said quietly.

“On…your lip.”

“Oh?” I asked.

He nodded. “Yeah.”

I tilted my head just a bit. “Lick it off.”

His gaze snapped to mine.

Like I’d just slapped him.

And then he stood up. “I’m done. You’re exhausting.”

I caught his wrist before he could walk off, laughing through the ache in my ribs. “Whoa, hey. Come back. My wounds aren’t healed yet.”

He tried to pull away, but I tightened my grip just enough.

“Rava,” I said, dragging his name out slowly. “You gonna abandon your patient? I’m gonna tell your future students about it. They won’t be happy.”

He looked down at me, exasperated. Flushed.

Then he sat back down with a sigh, rolling his eyes. “You’re the worst.”

I smiled.

But it didn’t reach my eyes.

Because under all the games, all the flirting and teasing and fucking tension, we both knew something had shifted.

He went back to dabbing gently at my cheek, and I watched him.

Memorized him.

The way he bit the inside of his lip when he concentrated.

The way his fingers trembled when they got too close to my mouth.

I wanted to grab him.

Pull him in.

Bite his fucking lip until he moaned.

Make him admit it.

…But I know I shouldn’t.

Not only cause I am technically not allowed, but because I would definitely destroy him.

Ηe was still close. Too close.

His hand moves up without warning.

Fingers on my jaw.

He grips me like he’s done this before, like

he’s allowed , like I’m something he can just hold and move.

And then he tilts my face toward the light, toward him, like I’m nothing more than a goddamn object he’s fixing.

And I let him.

Fuck.

Fuck .

He doesn’t even realize what he’s doing.

That his thumb’s pressing right beneath my cheekbone, and his fingers are curled just tight enough to hold me there.

Motherfucker .

This is so hot I could punch a wall.

What the fuck is wrong with me.

He’s not even trying.

That’s the worst part.

I should flip the table, break something, remind him who the fuck I am.

But I can’t. Not now. Not with his hand on me like that.

He leans in a little, eyes narrowing as he inspects the cut near my ear.

His brows furrow, focused, professional, and that just pisses me off more.

Like this means nothing to him.

Like I’m just a task.

I could bite him.

Or kiss him.

Or grab his wrist and shove him away and—

“Hold still,” he mutters, almost absently, like I’m the one making this complicated.

Like I’m not sitting here trying not to groan at how fucking good it feels to be held like that.

I swallow hard. I didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Because if I opened my mouth, I might fucking beg.

His eyes kept flicking up to mine.

Each time he did, I stared back.

I wanted him to feel it.

The heat. The pressure. The weight of every single what if choking the air between us.

“You missed a spot,” I said.

He paused, cotton pad hovering.

“Where?”

I leaned forward just a little. Just enough.

He didn’t back away.

“Here,” I whispered, nodding toward the corner of my mouth. “Right there.”

His gaze dropped.

He hesitated.

Then slowly, he lifted his hand and touched the spot with his thumb instead of the pad.

My breath caught.

He felt it.

He heard it.

And still didn’t move.

His thumb lingered, dragging just slightly across my lower lip.

A sound escaped me.

And he looked up again.

His face was right there.

I could feel the heat radiating off him.

His thigh brushing against mine.

His other hand still resting lightly on my shoulder.

Gio, get your shit together.

He’s just Rava.

I repeat it, again and again.

Just Rava.

The guy I used to make fun of for color-coding his bookshelves.

The guy who used to flinch when I said “fuck” too loud.

The guy who gets anxious when there’s no plan.

Not the guy who has me paralyzed with a goddamn touch.

I need to snap out of it.

Right now.

So I open my mouth and let instinct take over.

“You give off ‘I apologize to chairs when I bump into them’ energy.”

He pauses.

Looks at me.

“What the fuck did I do now?!”

Like I ruined his day.

And I break.

I laugh.

One of those ugly ones, from deep in the chest, unfiltered, almost painful.

Because the only thing I can do is roast him to stop myself from pulling him into my lap and kissing the breath out of him.

He stares at me, wide-eyed and vaguely offended, like he’s not sure whether to slap me or ask if I’m having a stroke.

But I didn’t move.

Not yet.

Because this tension was unfortunately better than any fucking drug I’d ever touched.

And fuck, I am so not ready to get addicted.

---

Okay admit it, this one was good 💔 I deserve my star 🥲

35) You Were Warned

Rava’s POV

I button my shirt slowly. One button… then the next… then the next…

Everything feels wrong on my skin.

The fabric irritates me a lot. The collar feels too tight. The sleeves feel like they belong to someone else, even though it’s the same shirt I wore last week.

Same size. Same fit. Nothing changed on my body.

Only maybe my head, that feels swollen from everything I’ve been holding in since last night.

I hardly slept. I swear.

Every time I closed my eyes, I’d just spin. Roll over. Flip to the other side. Kick the blankets off. Drag them back on. My brain replaying things I shouldn’t replay.

The way Gio had looked at me on that damn couch. Like he was bored and starving at the same time. Like he knew exactly how close I was to snapping and loved it.

The way my fingers touched his face.

The way his voice dropped to almost nothing, like every word was just for me.

How close we got.

I shut the drawer harder than I meant to.

It pisses me off. Actually pisses me off.

He ruined my sleep without even being here.

Like, whose side are you on, brain? Seriously. What the hell?

This wasn’t helping.

I needed to focus. Meeting today. Big names.

My father would be watching. I had to be on point, sharp.

I adjusted my jacket. Checked my reflection. I looked fine. Tired, maybe. But presentable.

He will be there.

And the most annoying part, the part that makes me want to slam my head into the wall, is that my brain is actually excited to see him again.

Excited .

Like a dog waiting by the door. Oh, when’s Gio coming back to ruin our peace again?

Pathetic.

For what reason?! What exactly am I looking forward to?

More bruises? More arguments that somehow feel too… something?

Maybe my brain is just bored. Maybe it wants drama because I’ve been too calm for too long.

Maybe I got used to my quiet routine, and then he walked in and my whole system went:

Oh? This is new. This is loud.

This is dangerous. We like this?

Hell yeah, apparently we like this.

I don’t know. I genuinely don’t know.

All I know is that he has me upside down and inside out for absolutely no logical reason, and it’s making me lose my mind.

I sat on the edge of the bed to put on my shoes and tried to breathe through the chaos in my chest.

I didn’t even know what this was.

We weren’t friends.

We weren’t enemies anymore, either.

And we definitely weren’t just pretending, not after last night.

But what were we?

What the fuck was I?

By the time we pulled up to the building, I already had a headache.

I took the elevator to the top floor, nodded at two assistants, kept walking.

I knew how to wear this version of me. The clean, professional, “yes sir” version.

The one my father didn’t yell at.

The one the others respected just enough to leave alone.

The doors opened and I stepped into the meeting room.

And immediately felt it.

Something was off.

The room was half full, people standing around, chatting softly. The usual.

But my father was already seated at the far end of the table.

And he didn’t look at me.

Not even a nod.

Okay.

I walked to my seat, greeted two people politely, sat down.

Waited.

Still nothing.

No glance. No greeting.

Nothing.

My mother sat beside him, sipping from a tiny glass of water.

I leaned toward her. “Is he… mad at me?”

She kept her face forward. Smiled softly.

“We’ll talk after.”

That meant yes.

And bad.

What the hell did I do?

What did I forget? Did I slip up somehow? Did I send the wrong file? Did I miss a check-in for the hotel?

Did he hear something?

See something?

My brain sprints through every possibility at once, none of them helpful.

I bite my lip hard, trying to ground myself. …

He couldn’t know.

There was no way.

Maybe I forgot a signature. Maybe a shipment was delayed. Maybe I misfiled one stupid document and he’s blowing it out of proportion.

But the fear doesn’t listen.

He knows something. He knows and he’s disappointed. He knows and I messed up.

I have no idea what’s happening. And that makes it ten times worse.

I adjusted my glasses again and tried to focus on the notes in front of me, but the words blurred.

The door opened.

And every single thought in my head fell away.

Gio walked in.

He strolled in like this was his living room.

Like he hadn’t been in a fight less than twenty-four hours ago.

My eyes locked on him before I even realized it.

And something… loosened.

I hated it.

But I also didn’t.

He looked like he hadn’t slept.

But he was here.

And for some stupid reason, I felt relieved.

Like the pressure in my chest cracked open just enough for me to breathe.

He scanned the room, gave a lazy nod to someone, and then his eyes found me.

We stared.

No smile.

No words.

And suddenly, I didn’t care what my dad thought.

I didn’t care why he was angry.

I didn’t care about the stupid meeting or the people talking around me.

Gio had taken the seat directly in front of me.

His eyes flicked lazily from speaker to speaker, but every few seconds, they landed back on me.

He looked so casual, like none of this mattered.

Like he hadn’t almost kissed me yesterday,

for real this time.

I hated him for that.

Except I didn’t.

I freaking couldn’t.

Because when he looked at me like that, I forgot my own name.

I glanced down at my notes. Tried to concentrate.

My phone buzzed under the table.

I jumped slightly.

No one noticed.

I reached for it slowly. Tilted it up.

The message preview was already there.

Gio:

You look like you’re about to faint.

Is it the tie? Or me?

I clenched my jaw.

I didn’t answer.

I looked up.

He was already watching me.

My phone buzzed again.

Gio:

Want me to stop?

Pause.

Then a second message.

Gio:

Or go harder?

Jesus.

He knew exactly what he was doing.

He was enjoying this.

I typed quickly, without looking up.

Me:

Grow up, Gio.

Buzz.

Gio:

You first. You’re the one blushing.

I wasn’t.

I hope.

I shot him a glare across the table.

He raised one eyebrow. Innocent. Almost.

Another message came through.

Gio:

What are you thinking about?

I hesitated.

Then typed:

Me:

Your bruises. You look like shit.

He didn’t respond immediately.

When I looked up, he was smiling.

His fingers moved slowly over his phone again.

Gio:

They don’t hurt.

Pause.

Gio:

You do.

I stared at the screen.

Wide eyes.

I couldn’t breathe for a second.

Then my mother nudged my elbow gently.

“You’re not listening,” she whispered, still smiling politely.

“Sorry.”

I put the phone down.

Shoved it into my jacket pocket.

Now I get to sit here for the next two hours listening to people drone on about hotel logistics while my curiosity eats me alive from the inside out.

I hate when they do this.

Show me you’re upset, show me something’s wrong, throw the vibe completely off, and then go, “We’ll talk later.”

Later??

Ma’am, I might not live until later.

I will literally combust from anxiety.

⸻

The ride home felt like walking blindfolded toward something waiting to hurt me.

No one spoke.

The tension is so thick I could slice it with a butter knife.

Every time my dad sighs, my heart drops into my stomach.

Every time he taps the wheel, I wonder if it’s about me.

I tried to ask.

“Dad—”

“Silence,” he said.

Perfect. I die now.

I’m twenty-two and this is how I go out.

Not from a car crash, not from illness, but from stress because my dad has attitude.

I’m actually so scared right now.

God, please. Let it be something else. Let it be anything else.

Yell about my paperwork, my hotel schedules, my stupid signature on the contracts.

Yell about my shirt being wrinkled, my hair being weird, my breathing being too loud.

I’ll take it. I’ll survive it.

Just… please don’t let it be the thing I’m afraid it is.

When we got home, we walked in quietly.

My mother’s heels on the floor were the only sound.

My father closed the door behind us.

And then…he slapped me.

Hard.

One sharp slap across the face, so sudden that for a second I wasn’t sure it had really happened.

It burns. God , it burns.

Not a dream then. This is real, this actually happened.

I just got slapped. By my dad.

At twenty-two years old.

He’d never hit me before.

Not once.

Not even when I was younger.

Not even when I failed exams or skipped out on company dinners.

He shouted, sure.

Gave me the cold shoulder, threw words like knives.

But this

was new.

My mother didn’t move.

She looked sad.

“Dad, why would y—”

“I told you,” he shouted. “I told you to stay away from him!”

I blinked, stunned. “Who—?”

“Don’t fucking play stupid,” he snapped. “That Gio boy. That parasite. I warned you. I fucking warned you. And you went and shoved your tongue down his throat?”

I want to disappear. I want to crawl out of my skin. I want to go back in time and erase every second that led to this.

“I told you, countless of times, Rava,” he said.

“No contact. No association. No appearances, outside those meetings. That boy has nothing to offer you but rot .”

I tried to speak. “It wasn’t—”

He raised his voice. “Don’t fucking lie to me!”

He slammed his hand on the table.

“I wasn’t—Dad, it’s not like that. It was just—”

“I saw the photos,” he hissed. “I heard what people were saying. What they saw. You are disgusting.”

I swallowed hard.

He stepped closer.

“You let him kiss you,” he said. “In public. Surrounded by people who know your name. Who know mine .”

“It wasn’t real,” I said quickly. “It was for—someone else. It was fake.”

He looked at me like I was filth on his shoe.

“You think that matters ? You think they care why it happened? They don’t see a strategy. They see weakness.”

He paced.

“You let someone like him touch you. Someone who’s made of scandal and garbage. Someone who’s never done a clean day’s work in his life.”

I flinched. “You don’t know that.”

“I know enough,” he said sharply. “I know what his father was. You think this Gio will help you? That he cares ? He’ll pull you under with him, and laugh when you drown.”

“It’s not like that—”

“You were warned,” he said, voice rising. “I told you. You don’t mix with him. You don’t speak to him. You don’t look at him.”

“I didn’t plan it,” I said, desperate now. “It just happened. I didn’t— I didn’t think—”

“No,” he said. “You didn’t, Rava. That’s the problem.”

He stepped closer again.

“You’re too soft,” he said. “Too easy. That boy sees it. He knows it. He’ll break you just like he breaks everything he touches.”

“You’re wrong,” I said, almost breathless.

“Am I?” he snapped. “Then why are you defending him? Why are you standing there looking like you’re about to cry for him?”

I bit the inside of my cheek.

He stared at me.

“You’re not like him,” he said. “And you won’t become like him.”

“I’m not.”

“Good,” he said coldly. “Then let this be the last time I hear his name come up next to yours.”

He turned his back like it was over.

Like the conversation never even happened.

But my head was spinning.

My cheek burned.

My chest hurt worse.

Because the truth was, I didn’t know how to stay away from Gio.

Not anymore.

36) I’m Not Scared

Rava’s POV

I’m way too humiliated to stay home after that.

I get dressed on autopilot, grab just my keys, and walk out without saying goodbye.

They don’t deserve a goodbye.

Not him for hitting me, not my mom for standing there and doing absolutely nothing.

I end up in front of this old building I remember from when I was a kid, the one with the crazy view from the rooftop.

There’s a big red DO NOT ENTER sign on the door.

I ignore it.

No one ever checked before. No one stopped me then.

I push my way up the stairs, and I finally reach the top.

I stand there for a minute, staring like an idiot, at all these tiny lights.

Then I walk over to the edge, sit down, and let my legs dangle over the side.

I’m genuinely sad. Not angry.

Not at Noah, not at Gio, not at anyone.

Just… sad.

Because I knew. That’s the thing that hurts the most. I knew exactly how this could go wrong.

I knew what my dad was capable of. I knew what would happen if something slipped. I knew the risk.

And I still didn’t stop. I still kissed him.

I pulled my knees up, hugged them loosely.

Why did it feel worse than I expected?

Why did it feel like I couldn’t fix it?

I pulled out my phone.

One new message.

Carla:

OMG.

-Did you actually kiss Gio??

For a second… I smiled.

I thought she was impressed.

Excited.

Like she saw me.

Me:

Yeah. Are you jealous?

The reply came fast.

Carla:

ARE YOU INSANE???

My smile vanished.

Carla:

What the hell were you thinking?!

-He’s Gio.

-Like, actual disaster Gio. Remember?!

-You’re not like him. He’s a joke.

I stared at the screen.

Of course she says that.

Honestly, that’s on me.

Shame on me for even thinking, that someone might actually be on my side.

Carla:

Don’t be stupid. You’re not one of his games.

-Stay away from that idiot.

Whatever, Carla.

I locked the phone.

Let it drop next to me on the rooftop.

I don’t get it.

I know it was fake. That’s the part that keeps looping in my head.

It was just a fake kiss, a stupid little stunt to piss off my ex.

So why do I feel like shit?

My cheek is still burning from my dad’s slap and somehow that annoys me less than the way everyone talks about it.

About him.

About “that disgusting kiss” like we stood up in the middle of the room and licked their eyeballs or something, Jesus.

At least I had a real reason to talk shit about him. He used to mess with me nonstop for years.

But them? What’s their excuse?

They talk about Gio like he’s literally the worst human being on earth.

Like he’s some disease I caught and I should be ashamed.

Why am I bothered?

He’s the one who grabbed my waist. I’m the one who went along with it. We both knew exactly what we were doing. It wasn’t love, it wasn’t some romantic moment. It was strategy. It was revenge.

So why do I feel this weird urge to defend him every time someone opens their mouth?!

Why do I want to say, “Oh my God, people, relax, it was just a kiss,” or “You don’t even know him,” instead of just shutting up and letting them hate him?

The kiss… wasn’t even that bad.

There, I said it.

It wasn’t horrible. It wasn’t traumatizing.

It wasn’t “what the hell was that, ew, men,” level.

If anything, it was… annoyingly okay.

Way too good for something that was supposed to be a joke.

Maybe that’s why everyone’s comments sting so much.

Because they’re dragging something I don’t fully understand yet.

Because when they rip into it, it feels like they’re ripping into me too.

I keep thinking about that second when our mouths touched for the first time and the room disappeared and my brain went quiet and loud at the same time.

Why the hell do I feel the need to protect that?

Why do I feel… guilty?

I’m confused. I’m tired. I’m annoyed at myself.

It was fake.

So why does it feel so real in my chest?

Gio’s POV

I’m in the bathroom, cleaning my cut again like a responsible citizen, because Rava gave me a whole lecture last night.

“If you don’t follow the steps, you’ll scar,” he said.

So now I’m doing it exactly the way he showed me.

He would be so proud.

Someone knocks on the door.

If that’s him, if he somehow showed up at my place right now while I’m mid-thought about him?

I’m kissing him. Straight to the wall, make out session.

I walk to the door, already smirking.

Deep breath. I open.

…Oops.

It’s my mom.

Yeah, no. I’m definitely not making out with my mom.

“You could’ve called,” I muttered.

“I did,” she said. “You ignored it.”

“Did I?” I clicked the lighter once. “Must’ve been busy.”

She walks in with this energy I instantly hate. My peace gets kicked in the face the second her heels hit the floor.

She starts pacing in little circles with her arms crossed, like I’m fifteen and she just caught me sneaking out.

Newsflash: I’m twenty-three. Twenty. Three.

As absent as she was back then, she’s trying to overcompensate now.

Now she wants to be involved. Now she wants to be present. Now she wants to spin around my house like a disapproving satellite.

It pisses me off.

She wasn’t there when I needed a mom. And now that I’ve figured out how to live without one, she wants to clock in and do overtime.

Great timing.

“Pistachio?” I ask, holding up the bag and popping one in my mouth.

“No.”

Oh wow. She really woke up and chose zero fun today.

“Your loss,” I shrug and eat another one, crunching extra loud on purpose.

“You’re busy with nonsense,” she says.

“Something you wanna say, Ma? Cause I’m pretty fucking sure me eating pistachios is NOT the downfall of this family.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Should I even say something?”

“You don’t usually come here unless someone’s dead. Or I’m about to be.”

She didn’t laugh.

“I saw…a video,” she said.

My smile vanished.

Oh.

That could mean a lot of things.

Did you see a video of… me running from the cops? A video of me throwing punches? A video of me kissing the golden boy?

I have options. None of them are good.

She dropped her bag on the table, took off her coat slow, like she was trying to buy time, or let me.

“Rava,” she said, finally. “ Really ?!“

I look away. Okay. We’re fucked.

Properly, royally fucked.

Not even twenty-four hours and the Big Brains already found out.

Game over. They’re gonna ship him back to Canada with a bow on his head and toss me to Spain like a problem they can export.

It pisses me off how she’s looking at me. Like she’s cracked some deep moral code about me and him.

You don’t know shit, woman. You just saw a thirty–second video.

I didn’t just walk up and kiss him because I ran out of mouths in the area.

It wasn’t “ah, same old Gio, can’t keep it in his pants.”

“It was for his ex,” I said.

My mother leaned back in the chair. “You kissed him for her?”

I nodded once. “Yep.”

Her brow furrowed. “That makes zero sense.”

“Not my problem.”

She stared at me. “Are you telling me that whole scene was just for drama?”

“You raised me,” I said. “Are you surprised?”

“You know this isn’t a game,” she said.

I took a sip of water. “You think I don’t know that?”

“You act like you don’t, Gio,” she snaps. “For God’s sake! I told you not to touch one person! Just one! How much longer are you going to go against me?”

I bite back ten replies and rub my face instead.

“Can you calm down for three seconds?” I mutter. “You’re acting like I ruined a treaty.”

She stares at me like I’m the dumbest thing she’s ever created. “You kissed him,” she hisses. “Do you realize what you’ve done?”

“Yes,” I say. “I kissed him.”

I make it sound as flat as possible.

Her eyes narrow. “He’s the son of our biggest partner. The company cares. His parents care. Everyone cares, Gio.”

“Yeah, well, tell them to relax,” I say. “It wasn’t him. It was me.”

She scoffs. “You’re both in that video.”

I drag a hand through my hair, already annoyed, and look at her.

“Be honest,” I say. “Do you seriously have Rava in your head as the type of guy who’d walk up to me like, ‘hey, psst, come here so we can start making out’?”

She frowns. “Gio…”

“No, really,” I push. “You see him doing that? You see him starting it? Because I don’t. I have him barely able to say hi without overthinking it for three business days.”

She doesn’t answer, and that’s my point.

“I’m the one who suggested it,” I lie, shrugging like it’s nothing. “I’m the one who pushed. I said we should do it and he just went along with it. Because I can be convincing. Because I’m a bad influence. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“So if anyone asks?” I go on. “If the Big Company People or Mr. Proud Canadian Father want to know whose brilliant idea it was, just throw me under the bus. Say it was mine. Say I dragged him into it.”

She looks uncomfortable, but I don’t stop.

“Don’t stress about their perfect, brilliant little Canadian boy,” I say. “He’s already got too many people ready to blame him for breathing wrong. You want a villain in this story? You’ve got me.”

I tap my own chest with two fingers. “Point here.”

She folds her arms. “Do you have any idea what this could do to his future? To his reputation? To his family?”

“Yes,” I say, and for once I don’t joke. “And that’s why I’m telling you it was my fault. Because it was.”

I hold her stare.

“He didn’t ask for any of this,” I go on. “I pushed it. I always push everything too far, you know it. That’s my thing. I’m the screw-up. So keep it that way.”

She studies me, trying to see if I’m covering for him.

Because I am. Obviously.

“What? I’ve been kissing people I shouldn’t since I was… what, thirteen? This is not new behavior.”

“You’d really take all the blame?” she asks.

“Already did,” I say. “I’m the Fontana disaster. It’s literally my brand.”

I grab my keys off the table.

“Where are you going?” she demands.

“To fix what I can,” I say. “And probably make everything worse. But I’d rather they crucify me to my face than him behind his back.”

She opens her mouth to argue, but I’m already heading for the door.

37) I Didn’t Know

Rava’s POV

I hear the door open behind me.

Either someone’s here to drag me out by the hood, or someone’s about to sit down and listen to me emotionally malfunction.

I turn my head, already exhausted by the idea of both.

Whoever it is, I honestly don’t care anymore.

I’ve already hit my quota of pain for today. Got slapped. Got yelled at. Got called a disappointment in stereo.

What’s left? Kick me off the roof? Add it to the list.

Of course. Who else would it be?

Fontana.

“I brought beer,” he said.

Like this was normal.

Like anything about us was.

He comes closer and swings a bag next to me, all proud.

“It’s the good stuff,” he says. “Not that tragic wine you were drinking last time.”

I huff out a laugh, still staring at the lights in front of me.

My voice came out quieter than I meant. “How’d you know I was here, you creep…”

He drops down beside me.

“Jin told me,” he said simply.

I stared straight ahead.

Jin.

Traitor.

“If anyone saw you coming up here?” I ask, anxiety kicking back in. “Did they?”

“Don’t worry. No cameras. No one knows I’m here.”

He grabs one of the beers, lifts it to his mouth, and opens it with his teeth.

I stare at him, completely offended on behalf of… everything. “Are you insane? Don’t ever do that again!”

He just laughs and hands me the bottle like I’m the dramatic one here.

“Why, what are you scared of?” he says. “That I’ll ruin my smile and turn ugly?”

I look at him over the rim as I take my first sip.

“You’re already ugly, Fontana,” I tell him, smiling.

“I hope you brought tissues,” he says, taking his own first sip. “Because I can start crying in the next minute.”

I burst out laughing, loudly, because the way he says it with a completely straight face is ridiculous.

It’s ironic, really. Because objectively, he’s one of the most beautiful men I’ve ever seen. If not the most.

And that’s annoying as hell.

Because he’s Gio. But I can’t pretend it’s not true.

He is beautiful in that kind of way that should come with sirens.

Messy hair. Split lip.

A faint bruise near his jawline that looked too fresh to ignore.

Every mark on his face screamed one thing at me:

Stay away.

I looked down. Took a sip.

Gio shifted next to me.

“You’re staring.”

I didn’t answer.

He turned toward me, leaned back on one hand.

“Worried about me?”

My voice was flat. “Your lip.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“It’s… healing.”

There was a long pause.

“Stop looking at my mouth, ravioli.” he said, taking another sip.

I turned to him.

He was smiling, but there was nothing sweet about it.

It was bitter.

“Didn’t those lips cause enough damage,” he added, eyes locked on mine, “when they touched yours?”

My jaw literally drops.

I turn my head back to the lights. My face is burning.

I take a sip of beer. Then another. And another.

He’s right, though.

Those lips did cause damage.

Not just one kind, either. From every possible angle.

First, there’s the obvious one, my father’s hand across my face. His disgust.

All because of that kiss. Because of those lips touching mine for a few seconds.

Then there’s my brain. My quiet, boring, organized little brain.

I can’t stop thinking about it. About how it felt.

How easy it was to lean into him.

That kiss took everything I thought I knew about myself and tipped it over.

And then there’s the… other damage. The worst kind.

It made me want more.

More kisses. More closeness.

That kiss created a version of me I don’t know how to handle.

A version that doesn’t want to go back. A version that’s sitting on a rooftop right now wishing the world would disappear and leave just us and this view and this stupid beer.

So yeah. His lips did cause damage.

He has no idea how much.

“Anyway,” he says after a minute, like we’re talking about the weather, “you kiss nice.”

My head snaps a little in his direction.

“I didn’t expect it,” he goes on, taking another sip. “Thought you’d be stiff and awkward. But you… surprised me.”

I immediately look away again, staring at the buildings.

In another life, in another version of this night, I’d probably laugh.

Maybe tease him back. Maybe say you weren’t bad yourself and pretend I’m not dying inside.

But right now my anxiety is so loud I can’t enjoy any of it.

My mind is on my future. My family.

All the possible outcomes where everything falls apart because of that one moment.

I take another sip, then turn back to him.

“How do you do that?” I ask.

He looks at me, confused. “Do what?”

I gesture at him vaguely. “This. All of this. Doing things and acting like nothing touches you.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“I feel like my whole world is going to get fucked because of that kiss,” I say.

He stared at me for a second.

Then leaned forward.

“I don’t know what kind of world you live in,” he said, voice tighter now, “but mine’s been fucked since long before that kiss.”

He looked down. Picked at the label on his bottle.

“And for the record,” he added, not looking at me, “it touched me.”

I stayed quiet.

I think we both needed a second.

Then he took a sip, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and spoke again.

“People think I don’t care,” he said softly. “That I don’t feel shit. That I just… float through all of it.”

He looked up at the sky.

“They look at me like I’m already a warning sign. Like I came broken.”

I didn’t breathe.

“They act like I woke up one day and decided to be the walking disaster for fun,” he goes on. “Like bad shit never happened to me. Like I’ve just been vibing my whole life and chose violence as a hobby.”

He scoffs, shaking his head again.

“No one ever stops to think maybe I got this way because of things,” he says. “Because people fucked me up. Because adults weren’t actually adults. Because I had to grow up way too fast and figure shit out by myself.”

I stay quiet. He never talks like this.

Not with me. Not with anyone, I think. And I’m not about to stop it.

“They look at me and see chaos,” Gio says. “So they decide that’s all I can be. The loud one. The crazy one. The one who doesn’t care about anything. It’s easy. It saves them from asking questions.”

He takes another sip, slower this time.

“You know what happens when you try to say something real?” he continues. “You probably know. They laugh. Or they change the subject. Or they go, ‘oh, that’s just Gio being dramatic.’”

He’s not wrong.

“So I stopped,” he shrugs. “Stopped telling anyone when shit hurt. Stopped saying when something wasn’t okay. Just turned it into jokes. Fights. Parties. Easier to be the problem than the person.”

“I’m not untouched, Rava,” he says quietly. “You’re not the only one who’s had a rough time. You just… show it different. You go quiet. I go loud. Same crap, different fonts.”

He glances at me, I look down.

“It hits me too, you know? I’m not walking out of this spotless. Your dad hates my guts. My family’s on my ass. The company will love having another reason to call me unstable. You already know that.”

I nod.

“But nobody’s going to ask how I feel about it. They’re just going to point and go, ‘of course it was Gio. He ruins everything.’”

Shit.

I’m impressed and terrified at the same time.

Gio… feels.

Like, properly feels. Real things. Deep things. Messy things he clearly doesn’t show anyone.

For the first time, I’m seeing a side of him that isn’t performative or pre-loaded for shock value. This wasn’t a show.

This was… him.

Proof that he’s just a person who got cracked in the wrong places and learned to scream instead of cry.

And I feel kind of awful, honestly, because I realize I’ve done it too.

I’ve treated him like he’s “broken.”

Like he can’t possibly get hurt because he’s always the one doing the damage.

I know he’s had it rough after everything with his dad.

I know more than he thinks I know. I know what happens to someone when the person who was supposed to love them unconditionally dies and leaves behind more chaos than comfort.

Do I… ask? Is this the moment?

I don’t know if it’s the right time. I don’t know if there is a right time with him.

He’s like a door that never fully opens, and right now it’s cracked just enough for me to see inside.

He trusted me with that. And we’re alone.

No audience to perform for.

I don’t know if I’ll ever get another chance to learn him like this.

Without yelling, without sarcasm, without us barking at each other like a dog and a cat locked in the same room.

I’m scared to ask. Scared he’ll shut down. Scared I’ll touch a wound that still bleeds.

But I’m also scared of not asking.

Because for the first time, I actually want to know who Gio is when he’s not being “Gio Fontana, problem child of the universe.”

“…Gio?”

He turned his head slowly.

I met his eyes.

“What happened to your dad?”

He didn’t answer right away.

His jaw tightened first.

Then his shoulders.

He looked away, nodding to himself like he’d been expecting it.

Like maybe he was surprised it took me this long.

“He killed himself.”

Oh.

Gio stared at the ground now, both hands on the edge of the rooftop, gripping it.

“Many years ago,” he said. “Took a walk. Never came back. They found him…at the base of a building…four towns over.”

He laughed. “No note. Not even a goddamn text. Just…gone.”

My fingers tightened around the bottle in my hand.

How many times has he said this out loud to sound that calm?

How many times did he cry before he got to this version, where the words come out so clean?

Because nobody gets to that tone for free. You don’t just wake up one day and say “oh yeah, my dad killed himself” like that unless you’ve already bled over it a hundred times where no one could see.

I imagine him hearing that news. Or finding out how.

How many nights did he fall asleep with swollen eyes before he learned to say it like a trivia fact?

“I—” My voice cracked. I cleared my throat. “Gio…”

He didn’t look up.

I swallowed hard. “I didn’t know.”

“I don’t blame you,” he said. “Most people don’t. My mother probably lied about it to everyone.”

I didn’t know how to hold all of this.

This boy who looked untouchable.

And he was carrying this .

He was carrying

this

.

My voice was barely audible. “I’m so sorry.”

He gave a tiny shrug. “It is what it is.”

“No, it’s not,” I said quickly. “It’s—fuck. That’s—”

“After it happened, everyone who knew, talked like they were experts. Like they knew what led to it. They said he was tired. Depressed. Overworked.”

He paused.

“No one mentioned your father.”

“What?”

He looked up now.

“Not that it’s your fault, but your dad ruined him.”

He went on, slower. “They built the company together. Partners. At first. But then your father decided mine was ‘dead weight.’ Started shutting him out. Undermining him. Publicly. Humiliating him in front of clients. Took all the credit. Took everything.”

I shook my head. “I didn’t know that.”

He stared at me. “Of course you didn’t. Why would they tell you?”

I’m so embarrassed.

My eyes stung.

I don’t know what to say.

There’s no right sentence for “my dad killed himself.”

Nothing I say is going to make that smaller, or less ugly.

So I do the only thing that makes sense in my head.

I do what he did for me when I needed it.

I put my bottle down, turn toward him, and wrap my arms around him.

For a second he goes completely still. Whatever. He can make fun of me tomorrow.

Right now, I’m doing what I feel like he actually needs.

I press my cheek against his shoulder, hold him a little tighter.

I don’t let go.

Because when I was falling apart, he didn’t give me a speech. He just showed up.

So that’s what I’m doing now.

“I’m so sorry,” I said again, but this time it cracked. “Gio, I… I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t.”

He pats my back.

“I wish I could go back,” I whispered. “Undo it. All of it.”

“Don’t,” he said, finally.

I looked at him.

He shook his head. “Don’t apologize for something that wasn’t yours.”

“But it feels like it is,” I said. “Because I have his name. His blood. His house. And you—”

I stopped.

Because saying the rest out loud hurt.

And because he was looking at me with something I hadn’t seen before.

Ache.

“…That’s why I used to mess with you.”

He still didn’t look.

“You were always so… perfect. Quiet. Smart. You had this family that looked like they had it all together. You had him .”

I swallowed.

He let out a small, bitter laugh.

“And I had just lost mine.”

Silence.

But not empty.

He added, softer now, “I looked at you and saw what I lost. What he should’ve been. What we should’ve been.”

His voice cracked barely.

“So I kinda took it out on you.”

The world around me went quiet.

Everything in my head was white noise.

All those years…

All those jokes, offensive comments…

They weren’t just him being a jerk.

They were a boy falling apart.

A boy in pain.

And I didn’t know.

He tipped the bottle to his lips again slowly. His throat moved as he swallowed, and I caught myself staring too long.

“So…” he said.

“How’d your old man take the news that his golden boy got tragically seduced by my filthy mouth?” he asks, and he actually laughs.

The sound is so out of place after what he just told me that I can’t help it, I start laughing too.

I laugh because I can hear the shift. The way he’s trying to drag us out of that heavy place and throw us back into something lighter.

Something that doesn’t involve death.

I’m not about to press him back into that wound.

“Oh, you should’ve seen it,” I said, settling into the rhythm he’d set. “He looked at me like I’d set fire to the family crest. Zero out of ten. Would not recommend.”

Gio starts laughing.

His eyes stayed on me.

I didn’t look away.

But I didn’t say it.

I didn’t tell him what really happened.

That my father actually slapped me.

That I stood there, stunned, while my mother didn’t say a word.

Because Gio would’ve felt something.

And I could already see the flicker of tension behind his smirk.

So I kept it light.

“I thought he was gonna throw me off the damn balcony.”

We both laugh at my joke, but holy shit… the way he’s looking at me, and the way I’m looking back, is not funny at all .

The whole mood shifts.

His eyes stay on mine a little too long, while mine don’t move away fast enough.

And suddenly I feel… warm. Very warm. Maybe it’s the beer. It has to be the beer. My face feels hot for no reason.

My brain starts throwing up thoughts I’m not ready for. Stupid thoughts.

Like hm, what it would be like to kiss him up here without an audience.

No plan, no fake story, no “helping.”

Just because I want to. Just because why not.

I take another sip just to have something to do, but it doesn’t help.

I blame the beer. I have to blame the beer.

And then he… leaned closer.

“What do you think they’d do if they saw me…touch you here?”

His fingers trailed up the inside of my forearm.

Probably drag us straight to a quick public decapitation, I think.

Clean cut. Fast. No time to scream.

And maybe it would be worth it.

“Or,” he continued, the ghost of a smile on his lips, “if I kissed you again… properly this time. Tongue and teeth and all. In front of everyone.”

Yeah. That one would earn us the slow decapitation. Extra dramatic. Let us suffer a little first…

And maybe that would be worth it too.

I know I should wake up and do something. Say something.

Push him away, remind him of fathers and companies and contracts and everything waiting to crush us on the ground floor.

I should stop him. I know I should. But I literally can’t. My body just refuses to cooperate.

His hand moves higher.

From my side… to my ribs. From my ribs… to my collarbone. From my collarbone… to my neck.

The higher his hand goes, the faster my pulse climbs.

He moves closer, when I already thought there was no space left between us.

It’s dangerously close now. He moves like… slowly hypnotic.

He doesn’t give me time to feel awkward.

He just slides us straight past this is weird into oh, I’m melting, okay.

He tilts his head, and his fingers slide up, landing right on my throat, right over my Adam’s apple.

He moves them slowly, up and down, using barely any pressure.

I force myself to look at him.

He’s already watching me, with the hungriest, sluttiest look I’ve ever seen, while still tracing those slow lines up and down my throat.

“And what if I said I want you to make that sound again?” he whispered. “The one you made when I grabbed your beautiful hair…”

No…

No, no, Gio, please. Don’t throw compliments at me like that. That’s torture. For my body and my brain.

I try not to show it, I keep looking at him, pretending I’m fine.

I fail. I turn my head away, because it’s too much.

He brushed his nose along my jaw. “You want me to stop?”

No, I don’t. God, I really, really don’t.

And that’s exactly why you need to stop, Fontana. Because I don’t want you to.

I’m not strong enough for this.

His hand moves again.

It starts at my neck, then lower. Across my chest. Down my sternum. Further, over my stomach.

He stops right above my waistband.

“You’d let me,” he said, lips brushing mine now.

“You’d let me do it right here, wouldn’t you? If I told you to. If I pushed you down and—”

I choked out a breath.

My hands dug into the stone beside me.

My dick was throbbing.

For him.

Again .

He was so close I could taste him.

“I’d let them cut my fucking legs off just to do it.” he said softly.

I made a sound. I didn’t even recognize myself anymore.

I turned my head, just enough.

Our lips brushed.

One breath.

That was all it would take.

One slip, and I’d be gone.

But then he pulled back.

He stood.

He didn’t look at me as he threw his jacket over his shoulder.

“Stay out of trouble, Rava,” he said.

And then he just left me there.

That’s… perfect.

Now it’s just me, hard as fuck, on a random roof overthinking about a person I’m not even allowed to have thoughts about.

I laugh under my breath. It’s kinda stupid.

Because… who’s gonna stop me from thinking?

Literally no one.

Boom.

I just pictured him kissing me again.

Easy. Too easy.

I can think about him doing other things, too.

Why? I don’t know. Maybe because I’m touch-starved.

I have no idea.

I push myself up, brush the dust off my pants.

I need a cold shower. Urgently. Ice, preferably.

I have to get it together. Slow my heart, cool my head.

I go downstairs and Gio’s already gone.

I walk fast, almost running.

When I finally get home, I head straight upstairs.

No eye contact, no nothing. I’m not ready for conversation. I don’t want to be ready for a conversation.

If anyone tries to talk to me right now, I might actually combust.

I shut my bedroom door, then go straight into my bathroom and lock that one too.

Finally. Two doors between me and the world. I can breathe.

I turn on the water and step under it.

I start scrubbing hard. Too hard. My skin goes pink, then red, but I don’t stop.

If I just rub hard enough, maybe I can wash it off.

Maybe if I scrub enough, the sponge will somehow wipe away the not-very-straight thoughts that are currently haunting me.

It doesn’t. At all.

If anything, it makes it worse .

The hotter the water gets, the worse my head gets.

Every pass over my chest makes me think of his hand there instead.

I’m pretty sure all the dirty thoughts are at their peak right now.

What the fuck is wrong with me.

Seriously. Like what the actual fuck.

I am thinking about him.

Again .

Arrogant, cocky little shit with his stupid rings.

I hate him again. I literally hate him.

Yet I’m so hard it hurts.

My hand’s already down there before I can talk myself out of it…

Fuck.

No. Nope. This is fucked. I should not be doing this. I shouldn’t.

I should be thinking about literally anyone else.

Literally. Anyone.

Not Gio.

Please, not Gio.

My hand curls around my dick and I gasp before I can stop it.

God, it feels good. Too good.

It’s not fair how good it feels when I think about him.

Why does he look like that? Why does he move like that? Why do I know what his back looks like when he stretches after a long ride?

Why do I remember it? In detail.

God. I’m disgusting. I hate this. I hate him.

I stroke myself, again and again and again.

I roll my hips into my palm and choke on my own breath.

And it’s not even something cute. Like holding hands. No.

I imagine him spitting in my mouth. I imagine him biting my collarbone. I imagine him saying “you like that, don’t you?” cause that’s something he would definitely say.

This is so wrong. I shouldn’t want this. I shouldn’t crave this. I shouldn’t need this.

But I do. God help me, I do.

I clench my teeth.

This is the best I’ve felt in days.

It’s almost here. This is actually happening.

I’m gonna cum because of him.

I feel sick. I feel amazing.

I wanna cry and jerk off at the same time.

This is hell. Literal, actual hell.

And he’d laugh if he knew. He’d fucking laugh.

He’d say something like, “ Told you. Closet cases always hate me the most. “

And he’d be right.

Fuck. No.

I need a lobotomy. I need to never see that asshole again.

I want him gone. But I also want him.

And I’m not ready for what that means.

The walk from the bathroom to my room feels like the walk of shame…

Except… it’s not shame. Not exactly.

I’m not horny anymore. That burned out under the water.

What’s left is worse. Something heavier.

I’ve been dodging this thought all day, pushing it away every time it got too close.

But today felt like the universe took me by the back of the neck and shoved my face into it.

I feel… wrong. Inside my skin, inside my head, inside fucking everything.

My brain keeps looping the same sentence:

“I might like Gio Fontana.”

And every time it pops up, it’s like an alarm going off inside my head.

An annoying one, that stresses me out more than it should.

Wanting… guys in general? Okay, I guess… I can almost work with that.

People exist. The world is big. It’s not that crazy anymore, probably.

But wanting him specifically feels like I just picked “hard mode” on life!

Because it’s not just about me. It’s… him. It’s who he is. It’s who I am. It’s everyone around us.

I press my forehead to my knees.

No one would EVER look at us and think,

“Oh, yeah, that makes sense.”

They’d think,

“What is he doing with Gio?!”

“He’s too soft for him.”

“He’s stupid.”

“He’s just a phase.”

And I can already hear my dad’s voice in my head, so loud.

“You want to be a teacher and you show up with him?!”

“You think anyone will take you seriously?!”

“You think our family will accept that?!”

I feel sick.

Even if I woke up tomorrow and said, Okay, hey family, I like guys , I still can’t picture a world where I show up to dinner holding Gio’s hand and everyone says, “Nice choice, we’re happy for you.”

That’s not my family. That’s not how they are.

They already think I’m dramatic and difficult just because I don’t want their business.

What are they gonna do if I tell them I want the local menace with the bike and the tattoos and the piercings and the “fuck you” attitude.

I swallow hard.

Even outside my family, who would ever think we match?

He’s chaos. I’m… not.

He’s loud. I’m careful.

He’s all risk and trouble. I’m the boring kid who literally wants to teach children how to spell their names.

We don’t look like a couple.

And then there’s this OTHER fear, the one I don’t even want to touch.

What if he doesn’t even want me like that?

What if this is just a game for him? Just fun. Just a summer thing he’ll forget once he gets bored.

He kisses me because it’s… convenient. He touches me because it fits the plan. He defends me because it pisses Sophia off.

And I’m the idiot whose heart can’t tell the freaking difference.

I wrap my arms around my knees tighter.

I’m scared of so many things at once I can’t separate them…

I’m scared of people finding out. I’m scared of being judged. I’m scared of my dad. I’m scared of losing my family. I’m scared of losing this version of “me” that everyone thinks they know.

And on top of that, I’m scared of wanting him and him not wanting me back.

Or worse.

Wanting me, but only halfway . Only in secret. Only when it’s fun, but not when it gets hard.

I can’t even imagine us… actually together.

Like… really together. Waking up in the same house.

People whispering. Parents at school judging me. Moms not wanting “the gay teacher with the biker boyfriend” around their kids.

I’d lose everything I’ve worked for. And for what?

For someone who might get tired of me by winter?

It feels like I’m standing between two doors.

One where I stay the version of myself everyone understands, boring, straight, obedient enough.

And another door where I admit I want him, and everything explodes.

He makes that second door look… tempting.

Very tempting.

He noticed the thumb thing…

For fuck’s sake, he noticed the thumb thing .

Nobody ever did.

Not my family, not Sophia, not anyone. He sees it once and suddenly he’s… helping.

And when he told Sophia off, I felt something. I don’t know what exactly, but it was something.

The way he said those things, so casually, so brutally. “Shame is a small word.” He made me feel… backed up.

Defended. Like I wasn’t crazy for hurting.

Nobody else ever made me feel like that.

These thoughts make my stomach twist.

I don’t know.

What if this is just because I’m hurt? What if this is just because Sophia crushed my ego and he showed up at the exact wrong/right time?

What if it’s not real and I’m just… latching onto the first person who made me feel wanted?

But then I remember the way my heart jumped when he teased me at the poker table.

The way I blushed when he said my glare looked better on him.

The stupid way my chest warmed when he called my dream “badass” instead of “stupid” like everyone else…

So yeah, I might like him. I want more of those moments.

But I don’t know if I’m allowed to want that.

I don’t know if I’m strong enough to deal with everything that comes with it.

And I don’t know if he’d even stand next to me when it stops being fun and starts being ugly.

When people talk. When family yells. When things get real.

I press my face into my sleeve and breathe.

Maybe it would be easier if this was just some random crush. On some random guy.

But it’s not.

It’s Gio.

The worst option and the best feeling, all at once.

I want him gone so my heart can calm down.

I want him far away so I can go back to my plan, my degree, my safe little future.

But I also want him close.

And that’s what terrifies me the most.

Not that I might like guys.

But that I might already like him .

This is not okay.

I want to talk to someone. I need to fucking talk to someone.

This is too much.

But I don’t want to actually talk. Not really. Definitely not about him.

I stand in the middle of my room for a second, biting my lips.

Then I find myself walking out.

I stop outside Daisy’s room.

I lift my hand and knock.

“Yeah?”

I open the door a little and peek in.

She’s sitting cross-legged on her bed with her laptop, hair up in a messy bun, glasses halfway down her nose.

She looks up and immediately pauses her show.

“Hey,” she says. “You look… weird.” Her eyebrows pinch. “Is it good-weird or bad-weird?”

I step inside and shut the door behind me.

“Bad-weird,” I admit, forcing a small smile. “Do you have a minute?”

She pats the bed next to her without hesitating.

I sit down.

For a second I think about just saying it.

Hey, I might like Gio.

Nope.

Coward mode it is.

I clear my throat. “So, um… I have a friend, back in Canada. A very annoying one.”

Daisy’s mouth twitches.

“Ah. The classic.” She leans back on her hands. “Okay. Tell me about your friend, Rava.”

“He’s…” I pick at a loose thread on her blanket. “…confused. About something. About himself. And I don’t know how to help him.”

She waits.

“He, um…” I swallow. “He’s always dated girls. Only girls. But lately he’s been… thinking. That’s what he told me.”

“Thinking how?”

I stare at my fingers.

“Maybe he’s not just into girls. Maybe he’s… I don’t know. Bi. Or something?”

“Okay,” she says simply. “Sure. That happens.”

“Is that… normal?”

She shrugs. “Yeah. People figure that out at all ages. Sometimes later. Sometimes way later.”

She tilts her head. “Your friend isn’t broken, if that’s what he’s worried about.”

“He’s also scared,” I add quietly.

“Of what?”

I hesitate, then let it spill.

“Of… people.” I lick my lips. “Of his family. Of what they’d say. They’re just like our family. They… already think he’s dramatic for not wanting the life they picked. If he adds this on top of everything? He’s scared they’ll never look at him the same.”

“Then his family sucks,” she says. “And they’ll need to catch up.”

I huff a tiny laugh.

She nudges my knee with hers.

“What else?”

I stare down.

This is the part that burns.

“There’s also… a guy.”

Daisy’s eyes soften immediately.

“Is it the first time your friend likes a guy?”

I nod.

“He doesn’t even know if it’s ‘like’ or if he’s just… losing it.”

“What’s the problem with the guy?” she asks gently.

I bite the inside of my cheek.

“He’s… not exactly the type everyone would be thrilled about.”

That’s an understatement.

“He’s loud. Gets in trouble. People already talk about him. And my—”

“So he’s like Gio.”

I pause. “Well… maybe? Yeah, kinda.”

“Got it.”

“His family would freak if they knew. If they saw them together, they’d say it’s a phase, or a rebellion, or something gross.”

Daisy gives me a long look, like she wants to ask who it is.

But she doesn’t. “Does your friend feel safe with him?”

The question hits harder than I expect.

I nod slowly.

“Yeah. Actually. Weirdly… yeah. That’s what he told me.”

“Does he feel seen?”

Another nod.

“And does the guy treat him like shit or like he is important?”

I think of Gio calling my dream “badass,” of his hand on my waist, of him yelling at Sophia on my behalf, of his thumb on mine.

“…Like he matters,” I admit softly.

Daisy exhales.

“Okay. Then that sounds less like ‘problem’ and more like… ‘complicated good thing.’”

I stare at her.

“He doesn’t think they’d work,” I say quickly, needing that distance. “He thinks no one would accept them. That people would talk. That it’d ruin everything he’s building. His career, his reputation, his relationship with his family, all of it.”

Daisy shrugs one shoulder.

“ Come on . People talk anyway. If your friend dates some ‘perfect’ person his parents approve of? People will still talk. If he stays single forever? People will still talk. If he breathes wrong? People will still talk.“

She looks me right in the eyes. “The question isn’t ‘will they talk?’ It’s ‘is he okay living a life that doesn’t belong to him just so they shut up?’”

I don’t answer.

She leans forward a little. “Does your friend like this guy?”

“He doesn’t know.”

She smiles the tiniest bit.

“Okay, let me rephrase.” Her voice is gentle. “Does your friend feel better when he’s around him, even when it’s chaotic?”

Images flash through my head again.

The fair. The bike. The laugh. The Proud of you, Ravioli.

My voice comes out small. “…Yes. I guess.”

Daisy nods like that’s all she needed.

She sits back, picks at the hem of her sleeve.

“Then here’s what you tell your friend.”

I look up.

“Tell him it’s okay if he’s bi. Or gay. Or still figuring it out.” She shrugs. “None of those words make him less. They’re just… words. He’s still him.”

I swallow. She continues.

“Tell him he doesn’t owe anyone a performance. Not his family, not strangers, not some reputation they built for him in their heads.”

Her eyes soften. “His life is his! Not theirs.”

“And about the guy?” I ask quietly. She smiles a little.

“Tell your friend he doesn’t have to rush anything.” She taps her fingers on her knee. “But if being near him feels right? If he feels safe and seen and… more like himself?”

She tilts her head. “Then he’s allowed to want that. Even if it scares him.”

Daisy nudges my shoulder with hers.

“He can take it slow,” she adds. “He can talk to the guy. Be honest. Set boundaries. But he shouldn’t kill something good just because other people might not get it.”

I stare at the floor and whisper, more to myself than to her. “And if no one ever supports him?”

Daisy doesn’t even hesitate.

“Then he finds the people who will,” she says. “Because he deserves that. Your friend deserves people who actually want him to be happy, not just ‘acceptable.’”

She reaches over and squeezes my hand.

“Tell him that from me, okay?” She smiles. “Tell your friend he’s not disgusting. He’s not broken. He’s not wrong for wanting what he wants.”

My eyes sting. I blink hard.

“Yeah,” I say. “I’ll… tell him.”

She watches me for a second like she wants to ask a million extra questions.

I let out a shaky breath and stand up.

“Thanks, Daisy.”

“Anytime.”

I step out of her room and close the door quietly behind me.

In the hallway, alone again, I press my back to the wall.

Tell your friend his life is his.

My life is mine.

---

AYY reminder that this story has a playlist hehe. (Check my comment) —>

Do i deserve a star this time?💔 it’s my favorite chapter

38) You’re Both Dead

Rava’s POV

I groaned, rubbing my eyes, reaching blindly for the glass of water I swore I’d left on the nightstand last night.

Instead of the cool touch of glass, I got a sharp gasp, not from me.

From someone else.

Daisy is sitting right across from me at my desk, staring at me like a psychopath.

I sleep to avoid people’s stares and now people are staring at me while I sleep???

“What the f— Jesus!” I jumped, nearly knocking the lamp over. “What the hell are you doing here?”

She tilted her head, her grin widening. “Well, well. Good morning to you, sunshine. How was it?”

Oh God. She knows about the kiss.

“No. Nope. Not you too. Stop it. All of you—stop.” I flopped back down, dragging the blanket over my head.

Daisy didn’t move. “Relax, Rava. I didn’t come here just for that—though I should have, because this is so juicy. And I need details.”

“There are no details,” I snapped from under the blanket.

“Okay, drama queen. I actually came to ask if you wanna come with me, at the village festival. Since you can’t go out with your beloved Gio—” she dropped her voice, “—you’ll come with me instead.”

I poked my head out. “Why the hell would I want to come with you and your friends to some random village festival? I don’t even know them.”

“You know Layla,” she said.

Oh God.

Her.

Jesus, that girl is a witch. Literally.

Every time I see her she hands me crystals like I’m supposed to charge them with my feelings or something, and then she tries to read my aura and psychoanalyze me and predict my future in the same breath.

She terrifies me. Like… sincerely.

I groaned. “Yeah. And I’d rather chew glass than hear her talk about her chakras again.”

Daisy cackled and crossed the room, sitting beside me and pulling me into a tight, warm hug. “Come on. Please? I barely get to see you since you ran off to Canada, Mr. International. Can I not spend one evening with my brother?”

Ugh. That’s unfair.

Everyone knows emotional manipulation is my weakness. They exploit it like it’s a coupon.

I let out a long sigh, resting my forehead against her shoulder.

“Okay,” I muttered.

She squealed and pulled back, hands on my cheeks. “Yes! We are leaving at 7:00pm. Wear something that won’t scare my girls.”

I walk downstairs to the kitchen.

My dad’s already at the table, signing documents.

I honestly feel sorry for the people who start deals with him.

They have no idea what they’re getting into.

I feel insanely uncomfortable being in the same room as him right now. Ideally, I wouldn’t be anywhere near him after last night.

All of last night.

The slap, and then everything I found out about him from Gio.

I didn’t know he was one of the reasons someone, Gio’s dad, ended his own life…

I didn’t know my father’s name sat in someone else’s tragedy like that.

And now that I do, I can’t look at him the same way.

I feel… ashamed.

“Good morning,” he said without looking up.

I didn’t answer.

I grabbed a glass, poured water, drank.

Turned my back to him on purpose.

Do I feel bad? No.

And on the off chance I start to feel bad, I just replay the sound of his hand hitting my face in my head.

“You sleep alright?” he tried again.

I hate that. God, I hate it so much.

He always does this. Snaps one day, acts like nothing happened the next.

I stared at the wall above the sink.

“Fine,” I said flatly.

He cleared his throat. “I, uh… I shouldn’t have raised my voice yesterday.”

… Excuse me?

I actually turn my head to see if anyone else heard that or if I’m hallucinating.

Raised his voice ?

Am I delusional?

My cheek literally had a full red handprint stamped on it for ten minutes.

Did I imagine that part? Was that just my overactive imagination and some light breeze that happened to feel like an open palm across my face?

Because as far as I remember, his “voice” was very much attached to his hand.

“You didn’t just raise your voice,” I said. “You slapped me.”

He shifted in his seat, the mask slipping just for a second. “I— That’s not— You were provoking me.”

I go cold, then I laugh.

Someone please stop this insanity.

I provoked him!

Of course! Of course that’s the story.

He steps closer and puts his hand on my shoulder, trying to turn me so I’ll face him.

I grab his wrist and shove his hand down off me.

First time I’ve ever reacted that fast. He’s almost… startled.

I stepped back, eyes steady. “Don’t raise your hand to me again,” I said, low. “Ever.”

He froze.

I held his stare a moment longer.

What is he gonna do? Hit me again?

I grab my glass and walk upstairs without waiting for an answer.

My heart is beating concerningly fast, but I’m… proud of myself.

Actually proud.

If he knew what I went through yesterday after the slap though…

If he knew the thoughts I had, the roof, Gio, all of it, I’d probably have earned ten more.

I go back up to my room, close the door and fall onto the bed.

Maybe I’ll go to the beach today. The sun is insane.

I feel like I’m literally cooking right now.

Give me fifteen minutes and open curtains and I’ll have the tan everyone’s jealous of.

Peace. Silence.

Until—

“JIN! YOU ABSOLUTE PIECE OF—”

I flinched. My eyes snapped open.

What the hell.

Footsteps—no, stampede—rushed up the stairs.

I barely had time to sit up when my door slammed open and in came Jin, wild-eyed, hair all over the place, panting like he’d just outrun a bear.

“Why doesn’t your door have a lock?!” he shouted, slamming it shut behind him and leaning against it like he was in a horror movie.

“What the f—what’s going on?!”

“Help me,” he wheezed. “We need to hold it!”

“What?!”

“JUST HOLD THE DAMN DOOR, MAN!”

I stumbled up, still shirtless and slightly cooked, and grabbed the handle next to him just as Daisy’s fists pounded against the other side like she was summoning demons.

“JIN OPEN THIS DOOR OR I SWEAR TO GOD I’LL RIP YOUR FACE OFF.”

My entire body jerked.

“WHAT DID YOU DO TO HER?” I shouted over the chaos.

Jin turned to me, completely unbothered, barely hiding a grin.

“I may have added a little blue color shampoo to her conditioner,” he said.

“…You what?”

He shrugged. “Her hair was looking too peaceful. It needed drama!”

I stared at him. Absolutely horrified. “You didn’t.”

“Oh, I did ,” he said, and then started laughing like a gremlin. And I hate myself, but I laughed too.

I couldn’t help it.

The image of Daisy, stomping around with Smurf highlights, was just too much.

“DAISY,” I yelled through the door between giggles. “It’s not permanent! It’s just… uh… a slight enhancement!”

“I’M GONNA ENHANCE YOUR GRAVES.”

Jin coughed from laughing. “Technically it’s semi-permanent! Big difference!”

Another bang on the door. The whole thing rattled like it was gonna fly off the hinges.

I looked at him. “She’s actually gonna kill you.”

“I know,” he grinned. “But worth it, right?”

“…Honestly, hell yeah.”

I could barely hold the door anymore.

Jin’s shoulder was pressed against mine, both of us gasping, and barely keeping Daisy out with all the force in the world.

She was pounding on the other side like she wanted to break the laws of physics.

I could hear drawers slamming in the hallway. She was looking for weapons.

Probably a shoe.

Or a lamp.

“Rava, how dare you help this little shit?” she shrieked.

My whole name. Full volume. Not a good sign.

Jin mumbled, “She’s gone nuclear.”

“You think I won’t tell everyone about your secrets?”

My brain went blank.

For exactly 1.5 seconds.

This bitch.

I opened the door.

Jin shrieked, “RAVA NO—WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!”

“I’m handling it,” I said, grabbed the handle, and swung the door open like an idiot walking into war.

I looked at Daisy.

And her hair… God.

Her hair was… so blue.

Not “cool-girl” blue.

No…

This was accidentally rinsed my head in pool chemicals blue.

A weird, patchy, angry smurf blue. Like the ocean had beef with her and spat back.

She looked like she had murdered a unicorn and was now here to murder us next.

I didn’t mean to laugh. I really didn’t.

But it happened. It escaped me.

And once it started, it didn’t stop. I doubled over, grabbed my stomach, and laughed until I wheezed.

Daisy’s head snapped toward me like a horror movie doll.

“You think this is FUNNY?” she screamed.

I raised a hand, still breathless. “It’s just—it’s so blue. I mean… wow.”

She didn’t say a word. Just turned to Jin.

“JIN, YOU’RE DEAD.”

And he ran.

Like full-on cartoon-style bolted.

Around my room. Knocking into furniture, tripping over my shoes, yelling like he was being chased by death itself.

“Rava HELP ME—SHE’S INSANE—SHE’S GOT SOAP IN HER EYES SHE CAN’T EVEN SEE—”

“SHUT UP AND LET ME KILL YOU!” Daisy shrieked, right behind him, slipping on my rug and launching a throw pillow at his head.

I leaned against the wall, crying with laughter, watching them sprint in circles around my bed.

She was swearing so fast I couldn’t even keep up with the insults.

Jin knocked into my desk, nearly toppled my lamp, and kept going.

He looked back at me mid-run and yelled, “YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE THE OLDER BROTHER—DO SOMETHING!”

“I am,” I said through gasps. “I’m documenting your last moments.”

They kept running. She kept screaming.

And I just laughed harder.

And for a moment, I forgot about everything else. All the noise in my head, all the pressure, the fear, the things I couldn’t say.

Gone.

Just me, my brother, and a blue-haired banshee trying to kill us both.

Perfect.

We sat in the wreckage of what used to be my room.

There are pillows everywhere. My comforter is halfway off the bed.

A single sandal is on my desk.

Daisy sat stiffly on the edge of my mattress, still soaking wet, radiating murder energy.

Jin had slumped onto the floor, gasping.

I half expected him to crawl under my bed and stay there for the rest of his life.

I picked up the bottle of shampoo from where it had rolled near the door.

It had glittery letters and a very misleading mermaid on the front.

“Let’s see,” I said, trying to sound casual. “Color-infused hydrating magic… intense pigment… NOT for light-colored hair… oh look, side effects may include dramatic family fights.” I looked at her, smiling. “Classic Jin product choice.”

She didn’t move.

Just kept glaring at Jin like she was calculating which part of his body to start with.

“Daisy,” I tried, putting on my most reasonable voice. “It’s just blue. Blue’s in…Right? E-girls, fairies, uh…Avatar?! Yeah, people love it.”

“Shut up, Rava,” she said, deadpan. “I’m not an e-girl. I’m a victim.”

Jin made a squeaking sound that might’ve been a laugh or a leftover wheeze.

I sat down next to her, holding the bottle up. “You’ve got about seventy-two hours until it fades completely. And look on the bright side—” I gestured vaguely at her head. “You kind of look magical. Like a vengeful sea witch.”

She whipped her head toward me so fast I flinched.

Her eyes narrowed.

Then, slowly, she turned that death-glare back to Jin.

He whimpered.

I laughed again.

Her whole aura screamed I’m plotting your death in three stages and Jin sitting there like a guilty gremlin only made it funnier.

“You’re both dead,” she muttered.

“Maybe,” I shrugged. “But at least we’re dying together.”

---

That next chapter man… I LUV IT.

I AM SO EVIL.

39) Cousin.

Rava’s POV

I pick out a white shirt and leave the top buttons open because I’m boiling.

And because… well. It looks good.

Let’s not lie .

I fix the silver chain around my wrist, checking how it sits against my skin.

I’m fully prepared for every local grandma to clutch her pearls and tell me shame on you, young man , over the bit of tattoo peeking out from under my sleeve.

If they saw the other one, the good one…

They’d probably start throwing holy water at me.

I glance at Daisy in the mirror, exhaling slowly.

“You look so Italian right now,” she said, squinting at me.

I laugh so hard I almost choke. It’s like telling a fish, “wow, you look SO much like a fish right now.”

BITCH, I AM A FISH.

Maybe that’s why it’s so funny.

I blinked. “What is that supposed to mean?”

She tilted her head, all drama. “I mean—you’re giving… coastal summer heartbreak energy. Meanwhile, I look like I tried to cosplay as a Smurf and gave up halfway.”

I snorted and walked over to her, wrapping my arms around her from behind.

“You look like a magical sea fairy,” I said, resting my chin gently on top of her head.

I ran a hand through her damp strands, pretending to be sweet.

Then added, “…a sea fairy who lost a battle with a pool noodle and some printer ink.”

“YOU—” she shoved me off instantly.

I stumbled back, laughing.

“You’re such an ass,” she muttered, but there was a smile tugging at her lips.

She grabbed her bag and tossed her brush into it.

“Five minutes, okay? Be downstairs. The girls are coming.”

I nodded, still adjusting my sleeves. “Are we all going in the same car?”

She gave me a look like I’d just asked if the Earth was flat. “No. Two cars. Mine and yours.”

I raised an eyebrow. “So you’re leaving me alone… with how many girls exactly?”

She grinned. “Three. You’ll survive. They don’t bite.”

I stared at her.

Do they not?

Do we know that for sure?

I fear women.

They’re unpredictable.

They notice things.

They do… too much.

They compliment each other constantly and it stresses me out.

At my university it’s mostly girls, and I swear they compliment everything. Every tiny detail.

“I love your bag.” “I love your eyebrows.” “I love your existence.”

Anything .

So one time, to avoid sitting there like a mute statue, I tried to participate.

I told a girl I liked her scarf.

She literally ran away. Then started whispering with her friends.

They probably thought I was some kind of pervert.

I just liked the scarf.

It hurt my feelings, lowkey.

So yeah. Never again. No compliments. They can compliment each other all they want. I’m staying out of it.

I walk out of the room, and head to the car.

We get there in like ten minutes. Not as bad as I expected.

We don’t even make it all the way into the chaos and it already smells like food.

A lot of food. Grilled, roasted, fried, everything.

There’s loud traditional Italian music blasting too which… isn’t bad. It’s different.

After all these years in Canada, where every corner only plays American pop, my heart kind of needed a little Toto Cutugno screaming through the speakers.

The sky is pink, and thank God it’s not that unbearable heat today.

There’s this soft breeze, just enough to cool my skin.

We walk straight into the chaos.

There’s so many people. Like, an insane amount.

And… I like it. I don’t even know why, but suddenly I feel kind of happy.

I like being in crowded places.

Too many faces, too much movement. No time to notice what I do.

Which means I can relax and have fun. Do stupid things without feeling like there’s a spotlight on me.

In front of us there are endless rows of white plastic tables, all covered in half-empty plates, crumpled napkins, and abandoned forks.

A complete mess, in a comforting way.

Everyone’s dancing like crazy. People keep bumping into us by accident as we squeeze through, trying to find a spot.

I almost knock over a whole tower of beer cans.

Wow. That is… a big tower.

The whole place is such a disaster, in the best way, that it feels like we’re in some kind of dance battle.

“THERE—THERE’S A TABLE—COME ON!”

Daisy grabbed my wrist without waiting and pulled me into the mess.

We dodged between dancers and drunk old men singing with their arms around each other, past trays of pasta, clinking bottles, and bursts of laughter.

Someone shoved a glass of limoncello into my hand and I didn’t even see who it was.

When we finally reached the table she’d spotted, I realized it had three chairs and definitely no room for seven people.

She turned to me, beaming like she had just led us to El Dorado.

“I TOLD YOU I’D FIND ONE!”

I stared at the chaos around us. “Daisy,” I said, raising my voice, “are you sure this is a small gathering and not an active fever dream?”

Daisy just grins. “I never said it was a small gathering!”

…Right.

True.

That one’s on me.

One of Daisy’s friends, I think her name was Chiara, or maybe it started with an L, appeared with her arms full.

Two bottles of wine, three glasses dangling from her fingers.

“Vino!” she called out, laughing as she approached, like she was bringing treasure from a quest.

“Here—let me help,” I said, reaching out quickly before she dropped something.

She handed me the bottles, and I crouched to place them carefully on the ground beside the table.

She followed, laying down the glasses, and more hands joined in from every direction.

They all start pouring wine. And pouring. And pouring. And of course, pouring more.

Naturally. Why worry when you’re not the one driving?

Just get absolutely wasted. Who cares.

They lift the plastic cups up high, trying not to spill.

“Alla vita!” “To the chaos!” someone yelled.

I smiled, raised my glass with the rest, and took a sip.

It was sweet. A little too sweet.

I really like this vibe.

Going out was definitely the right call. My brain needed a rinse after yesterday’s little meltdown.

The panic about Gio and the fact that I… probably like him.

Here, I can forget.

No Gio. No labels. No nothing.

Just grilled meat, potatoes, and dancing.

Obviously I’m not getting drunk, though. I don’t want to push it to the edge.

One glass, I told myself.

Just to be part of it.

Just enough to smile and laugh and toast without giving anyone a reason to push.

As I set my glass down, one of Daisy’s friends leaned in toward me.

“If you’re worried about drinking, I can drive after,” she said with a wink. “Seriously. Don’t stress.”

I shook my head, smiling politely. “No, it’s not that.”

I picked up the glass again, lifted it slightly, and said, “This is my first and last for the night. That’s a promise.”

One hour later

“I’M VIBRATING LIKE A FUCKING DIVORCED UNCLE IN A NIGHTCLUB!” I shouted, breathless, but so far past the point of caring it felt like freedom.

Who even said getting drunk once in a while is bad?

Wasn’t me.

This is amazing. I’m having the time of my life. Everything is perfect.

I’ve got my arms wrapped around Daisy in the middle of a dancing circle with a bunch of drunk middle–aged strangers, and we are using every last bit of our physical and emotional strength to copy some traditional dance an old man just tried to teach us.

That man smelled like lemon. That’s literally all I remember about him.

I can feel sweat rolling down the back of my neck.

My face is probably RED like a TOMATO right now. I can feel it. It’s burning.

My hair keeps bouncing and flying up every time we hop around like baby goats, and we’re laughing so hard my stomach hurts.

I can’t breathe after all this moving, I’m actually going to die.

My arms feel like boiled spaghetti.

Everyone around me is screaming and shouting and drinking and dancing.

When was the last time I felt this alive?

Hm. At the fair with Gio.

Before that, I don’t even fucking remember.

Someone next to me is banging on a drum.

Another guy nearby, for some reason, is holding a massive wheel of cheese and just slicing pieces off for everyone, for free.

I don’t even bother questioning any of it.

I love it. All of it.

Keep doing whatever you’re doing, people.

Daisy nearly tripped into me, grabbing my shoulder to steady herself.

Her face was flushed, her mascara halfway to her chin, her blue-streaked hair completely frizzed out from the heat and the chaos.

She leaned in, shouting over the music, “GOOD THING YOU WEREN’T GONNA DRINK, RIGHT?”

I let out a loud, cracked laugh.

My voice was raspy, wrecked, but I yelled back, “I’M SO DRUNK! THIS IS A CRIME!”

She cackled.

I kept moving, throwing my hands up, nearly elbowing someone in the face. “I DON’T EVEN REMEMBER WHO POURED WHAT—BUT IT’S IN ME NOW!”

We twirled… again. I slipped.

Recovered.

Slapped my foot down in the completely wrong part of the step and shouted, “NAILED IT!”

Everything around us blurred into heat, motion, and neon string lights.

I had a piece of lemon in my pocket and no memory of how it got there.

And in that moment I didn’t care.

Because I was sweaty. Breathless. Wrong-footed and half-falling.

But I was happy.

God, I was so stupidly happy.

⸻

I manage to escape the chaos and collapse onto some random chair at some random table.

What. The. Hell.

I drop my head straight onto the table.

Okay, maybe I overdid it. Yeah. No, I definitely overdid it.

I laugh to myself. I’m so gone it’s actually funny. My head feels like it’s full of rocks. Heavy, clunky, rolling around every time I move.

The girls are still a little further away, dancing. Love that for them.

I, on the other hand, feel like a grandfather. I’m done. Logged out.

I lift my head with whatever strength I have left.

Just to see…

Gio.

No, no, no.

Oh my God.

I thought about him so much my brain actually dragged him into reality.

He’s here. In front of me. Sitting on a stone ledge. And he’s real.

He’s everywhere. He’s literally haunting me.

I’m going to cry.

What is he even doing here? He didn’t tell me he was coming. Then again… why would he? It’s not like we’ve talked since the rooftop.

My stupid heart starts beating faster the second it registers him. Instantly.

Fucking excitement. It’s going to kill me.

I bring my hands up, pressing my fingers against my temples like I’m trying to hold my head in place, keep it from falling off my neck.

I’m probably staring. No, not probably, I am staring.

Like I’m hypnotized.

But I don’t think he sees me.

He’s busy with that dumb drink he’s holding, swirling it around and around.

A voice broke the trance.

“You’re staring like you want to kill him. Or kiss him.”

I turned, startled.

The voice belonged to a boy sitting at the table in front of me.

Maybe my age.

Dark hair, soft eyes, a silver earring that caught the last of the sun.

He leaned back in his chair, smiling.

“You good?” he asked.

I didn’t answer to him. I looked back toward Gio.

I grabbed the wine glass in front of me and took a long sip. Too long.

It burned now.

It didn’t taste sweet anymore.

The boy from the other table got up.

Walked around. Sat in the empty chair beside me.

“Okay, that was dramatic,” he said.

I didn’t look at him.

I kept staring at Gio.

Everything else faded. The music, the dancing, the laughter.

Just him.

Standing in the distance.

And me.

Still so far behind him I could barely breathe.

The guy tilted his head, swirling lazily his wine.

“You’re really not okay, huh?”

I exhaled through my nose. “That obvious?”

He smirked. “You’re still staring at him.”

That made me laugh, kind of.

“Yeah,” I said. “That’s…probably something I’m not even allowed to do.”

He leaned in just slightly. “So who is he?”

I stared at my wine.

Took another sip. Didn’t wince this time.

“Gio,” I said, like the name itself carried weight. Because it did. For me. “His name’s Gio.”

The guy nodded.

“I used to hate him,” I said. “Like, really hate him. He was loud. Reckless. Got under my skin like nobody else. Made fun of me constantly. Called me names.”

A pause.

I looked up, hazy-eyed.

“But now I can’t stop thinking about him.”

The guy raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like the classic enemies-to-lovers slow burn.”

I pointed at him dramatically. “Exactly. But, like… in real life. And it’s not fun. It’s fucking painful. Because I can’t do anything.”

“Why not?”

I let out a bitter laugh.

“Because my father would literally kill him. Or me. Or both. He already hates his guts. He even slapped me cause he found out about our kiss. Gio doesn’t know though.”

“Damn,” he said, still calm, but amused.

“This is juicier than anything my friends are talking about right now.”

I dropped my head into my hand.

“I’m so screwed, man.” I muttered.

He grins. “So what’s the story, huh? You in love with him or just want a piece of that?”

I finally turn to him, blink hard, then lean forward and gently grab the collar of his shirt.

“I’m ruined for him, man,” I shout over the loud music. “Like, actually brain-damaged.”

He laughs, but I’m not kidding. Not even a little.

“I thought I was straight,” I say. “Swear to God. I was living a calm, hetero life. Then Gio walked back into my life with those shoulders, and I started fantasizing about resting my legs on them.”

The guy chokes on his drink. Laughing. “Oh, shit. I like you already.”

“Yeah,” I nod. “He could even tell me to drop to my knees and I wouldn’t even ask why. I’d just do it. I wouldn’t even care if he left me there.”

“You’re gone, man,” he says, laughing under his breath.

I turn to him, desperate.

I grab his shoulders, not rough, but not gentle either, and pull him a little closer, like I need him to feel this.

“I’m serious,” I slur, my forehead almost touching his. “Listen to me, random guy!”

He raises his hands like, okay, okay, but he’s still grinning.

I squeeze his shoulders a little tighter.

“Normally? I’m all about doing the right thing. But if Gio asked me to hide a body? I’m already digging. He could literally ruin my life. Like, fully wreck it. Burn everything down, walk out without looking back, and I’d still probably defend him. I’d be like, ‘Well, he’s just misunderstood, officer. Look at his face, how could you stay mad at that face?’”

I drop my hand, slump back in my chair.

He stares like I’ve just confessed to murder.

“Jesus… So that’s the case, huh?! I guess you are not so straight after all?!”

“Fuck being straight, man. I’m telling you, I caught a glimpse of his V-line one day when his shirt lifted, and genuinely thought I saw God.”

Pause.

“I’m so helpless.”

Silence.

The guy blinks, stunned. Then lets out a long exhale, and starts laughing.

“Well, holy shit.”

I nod solemnly, eyes back on Gio.

“Yeah,” I whisper. “Holy shit is exactly where I’m at.”

He looked over at Gio again, then back at me, raising his glass.

“Cheers to terrible decisions and…Gio, I guess.”

He clinked it lightly against mine.

I barely had the strength to smile.

I downed the last of the wine.

“Also I’m drunk,” I added. “But like… very eloquently drunk.”

“You’re beautifully wasted,” he said, still grinning.

“Thank you,” I said, deadly serious. “That means a lot.”

I see Gio getting up.

Wait. Hold on. That was not in the script.

I turn to the guy next to me. “Why is he coming over here??”

He doesn’t answer. He just shrugs and laughs like this is the funniest thing he’s ever seen.

Did he realize I was talking about Gio? Did I say his name out loud?

I don’t even remember.

I ask again with my eyes and the guy just does the same shrug.

Useless. Random people. What did I expect.

Gio keeps walking closer and… I don’t know. He doesn’t look like the usual Gio.

He looks a little… colder. Quieter.

Then he spoke.

Not…to me.

To the guy next to me.

“Lorenzo,” he said. “We’re heading out. You coming?”

…

Lorenzo?

LORENZO?!

I turned. Stared at the boy next to me. He was sipping wine, casual as ever. Turned to me. Smiled.

I wanted to die.

“You—he—you’re—”

“Cousin,” Gio said flatly. “Didn’t he mention that?”

I turned fully now. Looked at Lorenzo.

He raised both hands in mock innocence, grinning.

“Oops?”

FUCK .

I had just told Gio’s cousin—the man’s actual family—how badly I wanted to climb him like a tree.

How obsessed I was.

How down bad I was for him.

I can’t believe this.

I actually want the ground to open up and swallow me whole.

Right here, right now. No funeral, no goodbyes.

I seriously embarrassed myself like that.

Why. Why. WHY. Why me? Why tonight? Why did I have to choose that guy to overshare to?

Why did I speak to a stranger at all??!

Every time I try to be social, the universe punishes me.

I bury my face in my hands.

I can feel my ears burning.

Next time I think about opening my mouth in public? Someone please just pour the wine over my head and reboot me.

I looked between them—Gio, Lorenzo, Gio again.

My mouth was dry. My brain was melting.

I opened my mouth to say something, anything, but Gio beat me to it.

His voice cut clean. “Nice to see you’re having fun, Rava.”

And that was it.

No greeting. No grin. No teasing smirk. Nothing.

What the hell?

What happened now? What did I do this time?

Why does everyone react like this? Like something flips in their head and suddenly I’m ice they’re not allowed to touch.

Is it me? Did I say something wrong yesterday? Did I not say enough? Did I hug him for too long? Did I not hug him enough?

He doesn’t even look at me. Doesn’t nudge my shoulder like he usually does. Just… nothing.

I’d rather he yell at me. I’d rather we fight right here, in front of everyone, than feel this weird cold wall between us.

I’m actually angry now.

Why is it so easy for people to shut down instead of just… telling me what’s wrong?

If you’re mad, just say you’re fucking mad! If you regret the kiss, say you regret it! If you don’t want me around, just say it!

Don’t freeze me out and act like I don’t exist?!

It makes me feel pathetic, standing here waiting for a glance that doesn’t come.

I bite the inside of my cheek and look away, like I don’t care.

Lorenzo stood up, adjusted his shirt, and looked down at me.

“Well. This was fun.”

He smiled again. “Lovely to meet you, Rava.”

And then he was gone too.

I sat there.

My heart was pounding so loud I could barely hear the music anymore.

I had never felt so exposed.

So stupid.

So fucking small.

---

Okay I KNOW that was mean, okay? Please be patient. Gio had a reason 💔 I’m not crazy. I feel bad for my baby Rava BUT ITS FOR THE DAMN PLOT.

So this is your reassurance. Everything is going to be fine, people. Please have faith in me.

Mwah

40) Terrified

For once again,

sorry for all the comments that got deleted :( I’m just editing the text for the physical book, and when you change a line, the comments disappear :( oops…

Gio’s POV

I swear this bike used to go faster.

There’s no way this is the limit. I want more. I need more, fuck.

The whole tunnel fills up with the sound of our engines. It’s like riding inside a thunderstorm.

Lorenzo’s right next to me, trying so hard to overtake me.

Son of a bitch. He’s good. But I’m better.

He’s even doing tricks with the bike.

I lean forward more, and push it.

Test my limits again.

We weave in and out, zigzagging between each other, playing this stupid game of who’s going to die first.

He edges closer. I edge closer.

One bad move and we’re both on the floor, but that’s the point, isn’t it?

I live for this. For the speed, for the risk…

If this is the limit, I’m going to break it.

Red lights. Yellow lights. Who cares.

I’m gone before they decide.

If a cop shows up, great. Maybe he’ll give me something easier to deal with than whatever the fuck is happening in my head right now.

The wind slaps my face. My eyes sting. Must be the air. Definitely not almost-tears.

I wish I could ride far enough that the rooftop stops replaying.

The way we laughed together. The way we talked.

Why did it have to feel so easy? It felt too easy with him to open up.

That’s what freaks me out.

I’ve hooked up with people, I’ve had flings, I’ve played the game.

I never felt that… click.

And I didn’t even fuck him.

We just talked.

And it felt way more dangerous than any shit I’ve done in bed.

Part of me wants to scrape my knee on the wall just to feel something sharp and simple.

The kind of pain that I understand, the kind of pain that makes total fucking sense.

Pain that doesn’t talk back. Pain that doesn’t look at me with big green eyes and say, “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

I wish I could outrun last night. Leave that rooftop behind me.

I hate that it felt that good. I hate that I was so happy after it.

Because I know that I’m not built for that.

I’m not the guy who opens up and gets the happy ending.

I am “the annoying Ducati guy.”

With the fucked-up family. With a mother who loves her company more than my feelings.

A dead dad and a neighborhood that knows my name for all the wrong reasons, obviously.

I slam the throttle again.

If I don’t push Ravioli away now, he’ll realize it later.

He’ll see how wrong this is for him.

How wrong I am.

So yeah. Today I kept my distance.

I saw his face when he noticed. He got quiet. Confused.

It hurt.

So now I do what I do best.

I ride it off.

Because I’d rather chew myself up than have him do it later.

And thank God I’m not doing it alone.

I’ve got Lorenzo riding next to me.

Lorenzo’s the only one who ever kept up.

My favorite cousin.

My fucking partner in every crime we never got caught for.

He now came down for the meetings, yeah. Business crap.

But with this dude, it never feels like just business.

He doesn’t look at me like I’m disgusting.

That’s why I let him stay.

That’s why I can breathe when he’s around.

We stop on this little hill and both of us are panting.

“Holy shit,” Lorenzo groans, tossing his helmet to the side. “My ass hurts. My back hurts. I need to lie flat, now.”

He just full-on flops onto the ground.

I look at him with pure disgust. “You’re nasty,” I say.

“Shut up,” he mutters. “You’re taking a shower after this anyway. Come on, live a little. Lay down.”

He pats the spot next to him.

I sigh, then drop down beside him.

Whatever. A dirty outfit is the smallest of my problems right now.

Lorenzo lights a cigarette.

Gives me one.

“I don’t smoke.”

He shrugs. Doesn’t push.

That’s why he’s always been the only one I trust with the mess in my head.

Maybe I should talk to him.

Out of everyone, he’s the one who would actually understand.

Or at least not make it fucking worse.

We’ve been through shit. He’s seen me at my worst.

He’s held my head when I was drunk out of my mind.

He’s pulled me away from fights, from cops.

If there’s anyone I could say it to, it’s him.

Still, I don’t know if I can.

I don’t even know if I need to. Actually… do I really have to tell anyone?!

Can’t I just deal with it in my own fucked-up way, like I do with everything else?

Maybe I can kill it before it grows. Before it gets bigger. Before it turns into something I can’t control.

You know. Just starve it out. Less time with him. More distance.

I’m good at pushing people. I’ve had years of practice.

But right now it’s the first time in my life I’m actually feeling something big for someone, and I’m managing it by screaming on a bike and venting to a cat.

Lulu listens, sure.

The picture frames listen.

The walls of my house listen.

But they don’t talk back.

It would be so fucking nice to talk to an actual person.

I glance at Lorenzo from the corner of my eye.

Eh. He’d probably take it well. He’d probably say something stupid first, then something good after.

I don’t know. I will never know.

He turns his head toward me, squinting at my face.

“Dude, why the fuck do you look so depressed?” he asks. “Who pissed you off? IS LULU OKAY?”

“Lulu’s fine,” I mumble. “It’s not that.”

“Aha, so it is something,” he says immediately. “Spill.”

Oh, believe me, you do not want me to spill here, I think.

If I start talking about this, we’re leaving this hill tomorrow. Maybe next week. Maybe never.

“I’m not spilling,” I say out loud.

“Okay, then I’ll talk. Hmmm.”

He looks at me. Way too focused. Way too suspicious.

Don’t say anything about what happened before, please.

“So. That kid… Rava.”

Fuck you, Lorenzo.

“He’s our age,” I correct him. “Don’t start.”

Lorenzo looks over at me. “Didn’t say anything.”

“You said enough.”

He actually laughs, surprised. “Woooah,” he drags it out, all dramatic.

“Don’t woah me,” I snap. “I’m not in the mood to talk about him. Please.”

Lorenzo elbows me in the ribs. “Why not? Is my… tough little nut finally seeing hearts and clouds and sparkles over his head while he does pirouettes?”

FUCK.

I laugh because the way he says it is stupidly funny, but my face drops right after.

“No,” I say. “Don’t say that again.”

“The fuck? I don’t get it then,” he says casually.

“He must be special,” Lorenzo goes on. “You’ve literally been beaten up, spent nights at the station, gone through all kinds of shit, and you talked about all that just fine. But now suddenly you can’t talk about one angel-looking, green–eyed nerd with glasses?”

I stare at him.

Damn. He’s going hard with the compliments.

Angel-looking. Green eyes. Glasses.

Relax, Romeo.

That was supposed to be my line.

“Please. Rava’s…nothing special.”

He arches a brow. “Sure about that?”

No.

“He’s… boring. Judgmental. Walks around like he’s better than the rest of us.”

Lorenzo smirks. “Didn’t seem that way when I met him. If anything…” he adds, and I can feel his eyes on me. “He seemed very much like your type of person.”

He looks at me.

I look at him.

He keeps looking at me.

I turn my head away.

“Then you don’t know my type,” I mutter.

“Right.” He stretches and gets to his feet. “Back in a sec. Gonna piss before I fucking explode.”

“Don’t get lost into the woods,” I mutter.

He laughs and disappears down the hill.

What the fuck am I doing.

I’m literally sitting here, lying to the one person who actually knows me best.

Because I’m trying to convince myself.

If I keep calling him boring, annoying, whatever, maybe at some point my body will believe me and stop reacting like that every time I see him.

Because right now, I’m fucking terrified of him.

Not of Rava-the-person.

He’s not scary. He’s soft. Does everything right. Smiles a lot.

I’m scared of what he does to me .

Yesterday on that rooftop, I felt it.

That thing I’ve been shoving into a dark corner for years, locking the door, piling shit on top of it.

It moved. I swear it moved.

The second I had him in my arms, it pushed.

Aggressively.

Like, hey, remember me? You tried to kill me? Guess what, I’m still here.

And I can’t let that happen. I can’t let that out. I spent too long forcing it down.

So yeah. I talk about him like he’s nothing. I roll my eyes when his name comes up.

Because the alternative is admitting that I care.

That I’m kinda curious.

That I want to know what would happen if I stopped pulling away.

I can’t do that, I’m fucked.

If I look this thing in the eye now , after all these years of pretending it’s dead, I don’t know what it’ll do to me.

I hate that I’m doing this.

I hate that I’m scared.

But people are forcing me to be scared.

Lorenzo comes back, zipping up his jeans with one hand and grabbing his cigarette with the other.

“Miss me?” he grins.

“Like a hole in the head.”

He drops back beside me, smoke back in the air between us.

We sit in silence for a beat.

Then I turn to him again. “So, what the hell did he say to you? Earlier, back there.”

Lorenzo smirks. “Can’t tell you. Confidential.”

I shove his shoulder. “Oh fuck off, you’re not his lawyer.”

He laughs. “I’m serious. He told me some pretty messed up shit. I’m not gonna throw it back in his face.”

“Come on.”

“Nope.”

I glare. “What, you think we’re gonna fall in love and you’ll be the asshole who betrayed his trust?”

“Exactly,” he grins. “I’m not risking getting called a traitor when you two eventually make out and then you start crying in his arms or some shit.”

I shove him harder. “Fuck you, Lo.”

He chuckles. “Hey, I’m just playing the long game.”

“Well, play a different game,” I snap. “Because that one’s not happening. Not now. Not ever.”

He looks at me for a long second. “Whatever you say, cousin.”

But I know what that look means.

He doesn’t believe me.

I feel Lorenzo shift beside me.

Then I feel his eyes on me.

“So…” he starts, voice casual. “If you’re really not into Rava…”

I turn my head slightly, just enough to catch his smirk out the corner of my eye.

“…mind if I shoot my shot?”

My jaw locks.

He shrugs, still staring at the sky like he didn’t just drop a bomb.

“I mean, if you’re so sure there’s nothing there. He’s cute. Smart. Got that whole forbidden fruit vibe going.”

I sit up halfway and look at him.

“What?!” I snap.

He lifts his brows. “What? You don’t want him. Waste not, you know?”

“You’re not good for Rava,” I shoot back without thinking.

“Oh?” he says. “Since when do you know what’s good for Rava, hm?”

I flop back onto the ground, staring at the sky.

“I don’t know,” I mutter. “But I know it’s definitely not you. Also, what the hell do you mean, ‘forbidden fruit’?” I add, turning my head toward him. “What do you know?”

He shrugs. “I know everything. Should I go?”

“Yeah. Sure. Go. If you want him that bad, go for it.”

“Really? Can you really picture me and him together?”

“Go for it,” I mutter. “Knock yourself out.” Even I can hear the venom in my voice.

Lorenzo chuckles. “Nah. Wouldn’t be worth it.”

I glance at him again.

“Why not?”

He exhales smoke slowly. “’Cause the man’s already somewhere else. Emotionally, mentally… whatever. He’s pretty fucked up.”

I sit up again. “Jesus, just tell me what he said. Did he say anything about me?”

“I told you, man. It’s private.”

“Fuck private. He was drunk off his ass. He doesn’t even know you.”

“And still talked to me, not to you.”

I punch him in the arm, hard. “You’re such a dick.”

He laughs, wincing. “God, you’re jealous and violent. No wonder you’re single.”

I roll my eyes and flop back down.

We sit there for like ten minutes, me trying to drag it out of him.

Nothing.

He actually holds his ground. Doesn’t tell me a single word.

I give up eventually, realizing he really isn’t going to crack.

Wow. Defending a stranger over your favorite cousin?

Fake-ass.

…It’s kind of sweet, though.

Rava would be happy to have a friend like Lorenzo.

I actually believe that.

I lock the bike, and I get in my house.

Helmet drops on the counter, keys on the floor, jacket somewhere in the hallway, because who’s gonna yell at me anyway.

I live alone.

I don’t even bother turning the lights on properly, just one lamp in the corner.

I walk two steps into the living room and my knees just… give out.

I drop on the floor. Flat on my back.

For a second I just stare at the ceiling and try not to scream.

Tiny paws patter against the tiles.

“Here we go,” I mutter.

Lulu appears out of nowhere, and comes straight for my chest.

She climbs on me, spins once, and then just flops down.

I put a hand over my face.

“Why is he starting to grow on me, Lulu?” I mumble into my palm.

“Explain that. Since you’re the big genius around here.”

She purrs louder.

I move my hand, stare at the ceiling again.

“This is bad,” I tell her. “This is really fucking bad.”

“I might like him,” I say out loud, just to hear how ugly it sounds. “I might actually fucking like him, Lulu.”

The word tastes so wrong in my mouth.

I slam the back of my head lightly on the floor.

“Fuck.”

Lulu lifts her head, offended by the movement. I scratch behind her ear in apology.

I can’t do this. I’m not allowed to like him like that.

Of all people. Of all the fuckers in this city, it had to be him?!

A couple of tears slide out before I can even decide if I’m crying or not.

They run into my hairline.

This is humiliating.

I rub my face with both hands, then drop them to the floor.

That’s it. I’m desperate.

I don’t have a choice here. I can’t get attached to someone who’s leaving at the end of summer.

He’s not staying. He’s not mine. He’s a fucking tourist.

He does his little Italian drama arc, learns something about himself, goes back to Canada, becomes a teacher, lives his good boy life.

That’s the script.

I’m the one who stays in the same streets. With the same shit. That’s my part.

I grit my teeth.

And even if he didn’t leave, even if, I don’t know, he magically stayed… what then?

We can’t be together. Not out loud. Not the way he deserves.

I’m a fucking street rat with a record and a bike, while he wants to teach kids.

Little kids. He wants this soft, safe life where parents trust him and nobody looks at him twice in the staff room.

Who’s gonna trust the sweet little teacher who shows up with me on his arm?

I’m not ruining his career because I don’t know how to control my dick and my feelings.

I’m not doing that to him. I am not that selfish.

Lulu headbutts my chin. My eyes sting harder.

I can’t give him hope. I won’t let him think this could actually work.

That’d be cruel. I swallow, hard.

I’ll do what I have to do.

I’ll try to… step back. A bit. Keep it light. Keep it jokes and summer shit, nothing deeper.

Or… I don’t know. Maybe I just pull away altogether.

That thought hits like a punch.

Pulling away means no late-night rides. No fake kisses. No real kisses. No hand on his thumb when he panics. No watching him get brave in front of people who hurt him.

Christ. This is fucking killing me.

Another tear slips out. I wipe it away angrily.

However much I like him, I’ve gotta choke this thing out before it chokes me.

Or him.

I can’t fall for him more than I already have.

I just can’t.

I won’t let myself. I know how this story ends. It’s either him shattered or me shattered or both.

And he already had enough shit.

I’ll do whatever it takes.

Joke more. Touch less. Make him think I don’t take any of this seriously.

Push him a little away if I have to. Let him walk back to his perfect safe life thinking this was just a crazy summer.

I’ll deal with it. I always do. But he… he’s not allowed to leave here broken because of me.

I shut my eyes.

For a second I imagine a different universe where I don’t have to let go.

Where he stays. Where no one cares.

It hurts worse than reality.

No falling in love, Fontana. Not with him. Not all the way.

Don’t you fucking dare.

---

Oh and ummm don’t hate on my baby Gio too much JUST TRUST ME PLEASE

41) Spain Is Waiting

Rava’s POV

I’m dying.

What is this.

I feel like a shaved raisin that’s been left out in the sun all day to dry. I’m going to cry.

And I have a meeting in 40 minutes. In forty minutes I’m supposed to transform back into a functioning human being.

I drag myself up and rub my eyes over and over.

I’m definitely going to have to google “how to cure a hangover fast” for the hundredth time.

I turn around and see Daisy at the edge of my room, also sitting there like a corpse.

A laugh slips out of me.

She still has blue hair. She looks like a drunk Smurf.

“Jesus,” she mumbles. “Are we alive?”

“Debatable,” I say, dragging myself to the bathroom.

I stumble into the bathroom.

No time for hot water, so I shut up and deal with it.

Cold shower it is. I’m gonna wash myself like a man.

I survive. Somehow. I get out, brush my teeth, then I sprint back into my room to get dressed.

I grab a white shirt and start buttoning it up way too fast.

Daisy sits up, hair an absolute war zone. “You look like shit.”

“Thank you. So do you.”

“I know,” she grins.

Then she staggers over to the window, still in yesterday’s clothes. “Do you think they’d cancel the meeting if you collapsed dramatically in front of the venue?”

I laugh while I’m cleaning the lenses of my glasses.

“They wouldn’t cancel it,” I say. “They’d step over my dead body to get to the room, and maybe even kick me out of the way so I don’t block the door.”

“My poor baby,” Daisy says.

Yeah. Your poor baby is corporate roadkill.

I hear her voice shift.

“Holy shit.”

I turn.

She’s glued to the window, palm flat right on the glass, like we’re in a drama series.

“Oh my God,” she says. “Who. Is. That.”

“What?”

She turns to me, pointing to Gio’s house. “There. That guy. Dark hair. Shirtless. Literally carved from stone. Like, Greek statue energy. Who the hell is that?”

I step closer to look.

Oh.

Of course. Obviously that Lorenzo guy is still here.

He’s at Gio’s room, shirtless, talking passionately.

Talking. It hits me like a slap.

Oh my God.

What if they’re talking about… last night?

Lord, I want to pull my hair out, strand by strand.

Actually, no, not pull. RIP.

I embarrassed myself so badly.

That cursed wine. That wine I thought was my friend.

I trusted it.

And in the end it turned around and shot me straight in the forehead in front of EVERYONE.

I want to crawl into a crack in the wall and die.

I mutter, “That’s Gio’s cousin.”

Daisy spins toward me, stunned. “THAT is the cousin?! You didn’t say he was a sex god.”

“Yeah. Sorry. Must’ve slipped my mind.”

She fans herself dramatically. “Rava. I’m making a move. I don’t care if he speaks another language or where did he come from. I will Google Translate my way into his lap if I have to.”

I groan. “He’s Italian, you idiot. So please don’t.”

“Oh, I will. This is fate .”

I go back to getting dressed.

I’m going to start screaming.

Leave, Lorenzo. Please.

You did your part, thank you so much, really, now get the hell out of Gio’s house before I dissolve into dust from humiliation.

I can’t handle this. This is one more reason to bury every single feeling I have for Gio six feet under and then build a church on top of it.

There is no way I can ever be normal around that cousin of his again.

Not after he knows I had a whole embarrassing drunken fantasy where his cousin was riding me.

It’s humiliating. Biblical-level humiliation.

And I truly believed I wouldn’t have to see him again.

But no. Of course not.

He’s right fucking there.

Probably laughing about it.

Probably told Gio everything already.

God.

And imagine, after all this, him hearing that I just want to grow up and be a humble little elementary school teacher.

A wholesome educator.

After everything he overheard last night?

Yeah. Very on-brand for me.

“Hi, I want to teach children their ABCs, also please ignore the part where I drunkenly confessed I want your cousin to fuck me stupid.”

Yeah, sounds great.

I tighten my tie, trying not to choke myself with it, then grab my shoes.

“Where are you going?” Daisy asks.

“To the car. To go throw myself under it.”

She laughs. I don’t.

I head out the door feeling like an exposed nerve.

Let’s pretend I’m functional.

My parents already left without me, so I drive my hungover ass to the meeting alone.

Honestly? Better.

I can insult the entire existence of meeting people without anyone telling me to shut up and be kind.

Maybe after the meeting I’ll go for a walk. Alone.

Far, far away from all this madness and the two Italian men currently haunting my soul.

I park, drag myself out of the car, and head inside.

Everything looks exactly the same as I left it, shiny to the bone and aggressively quiet.

I walk into the meeting room. Everyone’s in there, but no one’s sat down yet.

I see my dad. I walk right past him.

I go to my mom.

Everyone is… smiling.

Like, way too much. Big smiles. Creepy smiles.

And it terrifies me.

Did they hear about my humiliation, too?

At this point, anything is possible.

“Sweetheart, finally. You look so pale—are you sick?” My mom asks.

“Just…hangover,” I mutter.

She laughs like I’ve said something clever.

“What’s going on?” I ask, squinting through the light. “Why’s everyone so excited?”

She beams. “We might have a new strategic partner joining the expansion. If all goes well today, it could mean a major breakthrough for both families.”

“Okay…” I clear my throat. “And that means…?”

Her hand lands on my arm like she’s giving me good news.

“You, Gio, and a new representative from their side—he just arrived—will be traveling together to Spain next week. You’ll be handling all the meetings with the clients. Just for a few days.”

I stare at her.

Someone is messing with me. There’s no other explanation.

They scream at me to stay away from him, to not touch him, to not look at him, and now they’re sending me on a cute little business trip with him??

“You’re sending me to Spain. With Gio.”

“Yes, and one more. A young man, very promising. He’s a cousin of Gio’s. I believe his name is… Lorenzo?”

I start laughing.

Because this is funny. This is actually funny.

The universe keeps telling me “fuck you” right to my face with zero mercy.

“Lorenzo,” I repeat, like maybe she didn’t say it right the first time.

She nods happily. “Yes. I don’t think you’ve met him yet. Very polite. Very sharp. You’ll like him.”

Oh, I met him, mom.

Well, no. I didn’t meet him. He met me .

And not in a normal, civilized, professional way.

The only things he knows about me are:

1. I’m a horny 22-year-old in deep denial.
2. His cousin makes me feel things I’m not ready to unpack.
3. I get slapped because I like Gio.
4. And I apparently talk to strangers about it while drunk.

Yes. This is definitely a great first impression.

Very impressive. Very “future teacher of small children” vibes.

He is absolutely going to look at me with side-eye our entire trip.

“What’s his role exactly?” I ask, trying to sound neutral.

My voice cracks halfway through.

She waves it off. “He’ll explain more when he arrives. Don’t worry about that now. We’ll talk when everyone’s here. Just smile, okay?”

Smile. Right.

I nod slowly, but inside I’m screaming.

Spain. A week. Alone. With Gio. And Lorenzo.

Kill me. Now.

God, the minutes stretch out like years. Every second that ticks by just twists the knife deeper.

Then the door opens.

And they walk in.

Gio and Lorenzo.

It’s almost unfair how they look.

Sharp suits, sunglasses pushed up into their hair, gold watches flashing under their cuffs.

And the way they walk?? It’s like they own the entire country of Italy.

I can’t explain it, but that’s exactly the vibe: “You’re welcome for our presence.”

That face of theirs, that posture… Like the meeting was waiting on them personally to begin.

I swallow hard.

Okay. Maybe I’ll repress my feelings tomorrow. Right now I just want to feel something good, for once.

So I let myself admire him quietly as he walks, greeting people.

He comes closer, toward my side of the room.

I stand up, ready to greet him properly…

But he just places his hand on my shoulder, squeezes, and then walks right past me.

Just… walks past me like I’m background furniture.

I smile. My head drops.

Shame crawls up my spine.

He hates me.

He’s disgusted with me.

He probably laughed all night with Lorenzo about the shit I said, how pathetic I was.

I want to melt through the floor.

I want to cry.

“Sweetheart,” my mother says brightly, leading me a few steps forward, “this is Lorenzo. The young man I told you about—you three will be going to Spain together.”

I make myself look up.

Lorenzo’s smiling at me.

Like we didn’t share the most humiliating night of my life a few hours ago.

He offers his hand. “Nice to officially meet you, Rava.”

I shake it, because what else can I do?

My palm is clammy. Perfect.

“Yeah. You too.”

I let a few minutes pass before I risk another glance at Gio, just to check.

Just to see if maybe, maybe he’s looking at me too.

I look up.

And the exact second my eyes land on him…

He turns away.

Heat hits my face. Embarrassment? Shame? Humiliation? Who knows. It all feels the same right now.

I look away just as fast, pretending I was looking at the wall or the ceiling or the air.

Anything but him.

We sit down.

Me across from Lorenzo. Gio next to him.

I can’t focus on a single word anyone’s saying.

All I can think about is how Gio looked right through me like I’m nothing .

Like I never even existed.

That hurts worse than if he’d punched me in the face.

The meeting starts. God, it’s so boring.

So painfully boring I’m reconsidering every decision that led me here.

And I hate admitting this, but Gio’s bullshit actually kept me awake all this time.

Turns out without all that, I’m just… dying in silence.

I drop my gaze across the table.

Gio looks like he’d rather be in prison.

He starts folding the seminar handout.

He makes… a little paper boat.

A whole paper boat. In the middle of a corporate meeting.

I bite back a smile.

Screw it.

I pull out my phone under the table and type out a quick message.

“Did your personality die, or are you always this boring at meetings?”

I hit send and watch him out of the corner of my eye.

Gio’s phone buzzes in his lap.

He shifts, glances down.

For a second, nothing.

Then he smirks, barely, and finally lifts his eyes to meet mine across the table.

My heart kicks against my ribs.

But that’s it.

No reply. No snarky comeback.

He just locks the screen and turns back to the presentation like I didn’t exist.

I sit there, stunned.

Weirdly… pissed.

What the hell was that ?

I glance down at my notes, pretending to read them.

Maybe he’s dealing with something. Who knows.

He always has something going on, problems stacked on problems stacked on that stubborn spine of his.

Maybe this is just another one of those times.

1 hour later

The meeting finally ends, and everyone starts gathering their things.

I pack my stuff too.

“We’ll need you packed and ready to leave in two days,” one of the executives says.

“Spain is waiting.”

Everyone agrees. Handshakes. Congratulations. Fake excitement.

We’re dismissed, and the three of us, me, Gio, and Lorenzo, move toward the elevators.

The second the doors close, the silence hits like a brick wall.

Thick.

Freaking suffocating.

Exactly what I deserved.

Gio on my left. Lorenzo on my right.

And me in the middle, staring at the ceiling.

I want to drown myself.

This is officially the most awkward moment of my entire existence.

I’m standing between the man who now knows way too much about my fantasies, and the man who happens to be the star of those fantasies.

Lucky me.

I clear my throat.

“So…” I start awkwardly, “what time’s the flight?”

Gio doesn’t even turn his head.

“Early,” he says, clipped.

Lorenzo snorts a laugh, like he’s loving this.

“This is gonna be so much fun,” he says, grinning like an asshole.

The elevator dings.

Gio walks out without a word.

I’m left standing there with Lorenzo, who slaps my back like we’re old drinking buddies and follows him out.

I head straight for my car.

If I crash on the way home?

At this point it would feel like release.

---

We step into the house.

I sit behind the door with my arms crossed.

My parents move around like everything is normal.

“Can I ask something?” I mumble, staring at the floor.

“You must ask something,” my dad says while taking off his jacket.

“Why do we have to go to Spain? The three of us? Why not… literally anyone else? You didn’t even ask me. You just announced it.”

My mom ties her hair into a ponytail. “Well… it wasn’t exactly our decision. The company requested it. You’re the three youngest members, and they thought this would be a good opportunity for you to handle something on your own.”

I sigh and rub my eyes under my glasses.

“Where are we staying?”

“I booked a room at your hotel,” he says.

My head snaps up.

“What do you mean a room?”

“It was the only one left, Rava. It’s summer in Spain. Everything is full.”

I stare back at the floor, because I truly do not need the image of sharing a room with Gio Fontana while trying to pretend I’m normal.

My dad steps closer. “You’d better behave and keep your hands to yourself. It’s for your own good.”

I clench my jaw. I hate when he talks like that.

“I’ll behave because I decide to, not because you told me to.”

“Good,” he says. “Because if anything happens and I find out that delinquent laid a hand on you again, I’ll break his arms myself.”

I exhale sharply.

Yeah.

In no universe does telling him the truth sound like a good idea.

That I feel something for Gio.

That the thing he’s terrified of… is already happening inside me.

And it sucks. Because if Gio were a girl, I could just say it.

Even if she was awful or messy or absolutely wrong for me…

I could still say, “You know what? I like her.”

But with Gio?!

I can’t say anything. Not a word. Not here. Not to them.

So I just nod and swallow everything whole.

“Don’t worry,” I said, my voice sharper than it needed to be. “He won’t touch me.”

42) Viva España!

Gio’s POV

The airport is a fucking zoo.

People are pushing, and it pisses me the fuck off.

Come to the damn airport at a normal time if you don’t wanna sprint, Karen.

It’s not my fault you woke up twelve minutes before boarding.

Move.

I’m trying to have a peaceful morning meltdown over here.

Everyone’s losing their minds.

Everyone except him.

Rava’s walking ahead of me, and he’s so calm it actually freaks me out a little.

He hasn’t said a word to me besides one sleepy “good morning,” and now he’s just… gliding.

With his stupid suitcase.

Every three minutes exactly, he shoves his shoulder bag higher because it keeps sliding off.

And every time he does it, he gets slightly angrier at the bag.

It’s hysterical.

If we were alone, I’d probably say something like, “good job, Rava, your patience is actually insane.”

He’d melt.

He pretends he wouldn’t, but come on… the guy lights up like a traffic light when I praise him.

I accidentally let out a laugh.

He spins around instantly.

He’s staring at me like a confused baby deer.

Good.

Let him stay confused.

Let him wonder what he broke.

We reach the check-in counter.

Lorenzo’s already ahead of us, flirting shamelessly with the poor girl behind the desk.

She’s laughing, twirling her hair.

My guy is eating it up.

I slam my passport down on the counter next to him, not bothering to smile.

Rava drops his next to mine.

Our hands almost brush.

I pull mine back.

Instantly, like an asshole.

I can feel what that does to him without even looking.

And it pisses me off.

Not at him. At me.

Because I don’t fucking hate it. That’s the worst part.

I don’t hate him touching me. I like it.

Way too much for something that’s not supposed to mean anything.

I still feel this fucking thing crawling under my skin whenever he’s around.

It’s there. I know it. He probably knows it too.

And I can’t afford it.

I can’t afford to let this turn into something real.

I’m not about to drag him into that just because my heart decided to grow a personality all of a sudden.

So yeah, I pull away.

I hurt him a little.

Because the alternative is me not stopping.

Is me letting it happen, letting it grow, and then watching him bleed for it later.

If one of us is gonna get cut open, I’d rather it be me.

Not him.

And I can’t even fucking tell him!

I can’t just turn around and be like, “Hey, by the way, I’m gonna act like a bitch every time you get too close because you and my heart apparently have beef now.”

… No. Absolutely not.

That’s the kind of thing he would never let go of. He’d tease me for the rest of my life.

Every time I’d look at him for one second too long, he’d be like, “Careful, Gio, your heart’s starting a fight again,” and I’d have to throw myself into oncoming traffic.

I don’t want that. I don’t want him seeing through me like that.

I’d rather he just thinks I’m still the same annoying Gio.

“Relax,” he mutters under his breath, barely loud enough for anyone else to hear. “It’s not contagious.”

I turn to him, slowly.

“Maybe not,” I say, voice like a blade, “but your desperation is.”

His whole soul drops. It’s not even subtle.

Part of me actually wants him to snap at me.

To push back. To get mad.

Call me an asshole, Rava, tell me to fuck off, tell me I’m being weird, Rava, please.

At least then I’d deserve it.

Instead, he just takes it.

And that makes me feel ten times worse.

Cause I want the fight.

Want him angry enough to finally start fucking hate me.

But he doesn’t.

He just exhales sharply through his nose and turns back to the counter.

We drop our suitcases a few minutes later.

Lorenzo’s with us physically, but mentally? Different fucking planet.

I’m convinced this man has nothing in his brain except cotton candy, dicks, and pussies.

That’s it. Just three tabs open.

He looks at both of us, all bright and happy.

Then he throws an arm around each of our necks and drags us in closer.

“This trip’s gonna be a fucking BLAST,” he says, all excited.

Rava gives him this tiny polite smile. Not because he’s actually happy.

Just because Lorenzo’s looking at him and he feels like he has to give a reaction back.

I don’t smile. My face stays blank.

This trip is going to break me. I know it.

I just don’t know how it’s going to happen yet.

We go sit in the waiting area.

Rava drops into the seat right across from me.

And then he just zones out. On me.

Full-on staring.

He looks like some pissed-off teddy bear with his arms crossed.

I’d bet my bike he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. His brain has clearly left the chat.

I wonder what’s going on in there. What he’s replaying. What he’s mad at.

He looks hot when he’s annoyed though. I’ll give him that.

Makes me wonder what kind of sounds he’d make underneath me.

Not my fault. That’s just where my brain lives now.

I’m already cutting down my actual behavior by 90%.

I’m not sacrificing my thoughts too. For the love of god.

Besides, it’s not on me that he decided to grow up and turn into… that.

A man with broad shoulders and a pretty mouth.

He’s still staring. I stare right back, waiting for him to catch himself.

He doesn’t. No awareness. Nothing behind the eyes.

Just vibes.

I snap my fingers at him.

He jolts, and his eyebrows are immediately folding into that angry little frown.

“Leave me alone,” he mutters, grabbing his phone.

“You were staring,” I say.

Lorenzo starts fake-coughing dramatically between words. “Get a room.”

I shoot him a death glare, and he sends me an exaggerated air-kiss.

I ignore him and turn back to Rava.

He kicks my foot. “Look somewhere else.”

“Or what?” I ask, crossing my arms.

That throws him off. He wasn’t ready for that one.

He just stares at me for a second.

Then he stands up.

Picks his stuff up, and to another seat further away.

Good for him.

Yeah, it stings. More than I want to admit.

BUT I kind of like that he finally has the fucking guts to pull himself out of situations he doesn’t like.

He never used to do that. He used to just sit there and take it.

I’m… almost proud.

We’re on the plane, finally, waiting to take off for Spain.

And of course.

Of course Rava took the window seat.

The actual ticket had my name on the window, but sure. Go off, little thief.

Now he’s next to me, fidgeting nonstop.

I’m trying to calm down, but having him right there is like traveling with a toddler who refuses to sit still.

“Maybe next time you could learn how to sit like an adult,” I mutter.

He whips his head toward me.

“I’m sitting fine . You’re the one who’s spread out like you own the whole damn row.”

He genuinely looks annoyed.

It’s actually so funny I have to look away for a second.

He’s mad, I’m squashed, he stole my window, and somehow I’m the problem!

I turn, smirking. “Cry about it.”

He glares harder. “You’re seriously such an asshole.”

“Jesus Christ, can you two chill for five minutes? We’re on our way to Spain, not war,” Lorenzo groans.

We don’t answer.

We’re too busy burning holes into each other’s skulls with our eyes.

Rava shifts again, this time bumping my foot.

I lean back, throwing my head against the seat.

“You have two feet of personal space and you still can’t stay the fuck on your side,” I snap.

“You’re unbelievable,” Rava hisses.

“No,” I say. “You’re just pathetic at basic motor skills.”

I flick his ear.

Then I realize what I’ve done.

He slaps his hand over it. His eyes are now wide open, his mouth too. “You did NOT just do that 2010 shit to me.”

He reaches over and flicks me right in the middle of my fucking forehead.

My head actually clicks.

Oh, he’s done.

Lorenzo laughs under his breath like he’s watching a reality show.

“ Seriously . You two are like divorced parents fighting over who gets the armrest.“

Rava turns toward the window. I stare at the back of his head.

Tch. I can’t. How the hell am I supposed to survive this trip?

We haven’t even taken off yet and I’m already two seconds away from losing my mind.

I’m gonna hit my breaking point with him, I know it.

I already feel bad for him.

He has no idea what it’s like to be trapped next to the person you want and refuse to want at the same time.

Poor thing thinks I’m just annoying.

If only he knew I’m actively trying not to ruin both our lives.

So I turn away.

Don’t. Don’t fucking soften.

I bite the inside of my cheek.

Lorenzo sighs dramatically beside me. “God, is that what we’re doing now? We’re going to fucking Spain, man. Lighten up. Drink some shitty airplane coffee. Do something besides murder each other with your eyeballs.”

I snort under my breath but don’t look at him.

I literally don’t even dare turn my head.

I know myself.

If I look, I won’t just look. I’ll do other shit too. Shit I’m not supposed to do.

Wrong word.

It’s not that I won’t like it. I’ll love it. That’s the problem.

Right now I’m holding back both my heart and my dick.

Me. Gio Fontana. What a fall from grace.

I went from having a whole menu to choose from, like I’m at an all-you-can-fuck buffet, to wanting exactly one person… and I can’t even pick him.

And it’s not even like a game.

In games, if you level up enough, everything unlocks sooner or later.

With him, it’s the fucking opposite.

He’s like some premium character with a big fat warning sign stamped on his forehead that says “DO NOT TOUCH OR APPROACH.”

We’re in Spain.

The airport spat us out on the curb, and now we’re sitting on the sidewalk, waiting, while our bodies are getting cooked alive.

We love calling ourselves rich, talking about business, deals, big money and all that, but apparently we can’t manage to have a car or a driver to take us to the hotel.

No, no. We have a taxi holding us hostage and keeping us humble.

Rich in drama, broke in logistics.

Lorenzo lets out this loud, ridiculous whoop.

“¡Viva España!” he shouts, throwing his arms up, spinning once in a stupid little dance move right there on the curb.

People stare.

He doesn’t give a shit.

He grabs the straps of his backpack and starts half-dancing, half-walking toward the line of taxis.

Bisexual king came to conquer Spain.

Rava stifles a laugh next to me. “Don’t forget the hotel info,” he says, nudging me.

“I have it,” I snap.

“You sure?” he says, that slight edge in his voice again.

I turn on him.

“You wanna babysit the trip? Be my fucking guest.”

He squares his shoulders. “I’m just trying to make sure we don’t end up sleeping on the beach, jackass.”

“Maybe you’d like that,” I sneer. “You could cry under the stars about how unfair life is.”

His mouth drops open, shocked.

Lorenzo, dragging his suitcase behind him, glances back at us and calls, “Guys. Seriously. Chill. We’re on vacation.”

Vacation my ass.

We spot a taxi and Lorenzo sprints.

He almost throws himself in front of it, ready to scream, “STOP FOR MEEE.”

Somehow it actually works. The car pulls over.

We shove the suitcases in the trunk. Lorenzo’s doesn’t fit so they throw his in the front.

We cram into the back, all three of us.

Thigh on thigh on thigh. No personal space.

Rava has the audacity to shove my knee away with his own.

I stare at him. I shove his knee back. “You act like a baby. We have a long drive ahead. Go to sleep or something.”

He turns his head away. “That’s exactly what I’m gonna do. Bye.”

Sure, princess.

I look over at Lorenzo. “What are you doing?” I ask.

“Looking up the best clubs in Spain,” he says, dead serious.

“You’re an idiot. Why don’t you just ask me ? You forget I lived here for years?”

Lorenzo snorts. “Every time we talked, you were in some underground dungeon with monsters, not at a club drinking tequila. I’ll ask you when I wanna go to a dungeon.”

I actually laugh. “Wow. Okay.”

I turn back to Rava.

He’s already asleep.

The little pig.

The driver takes a sharp turn and Rava’s body tips over, swaying.

No. No, no, no, no—

Yeah.

His head lands right on my shoulder.

My first instinct is pure panic.

Move him. Push him off. Do something before my brain starts doing that thing again.

This is exactly the kind of small, harmless thing that isn’t small or harmless at all when it’s him.

His hair tickles my jaw. He makes this tiny sound in his sleep as he adjusts, like he’s getting comfortable on me .

I should wake him up. I should tell him to move.

I don’t.

Instead, I shift just enough to make it easier for him.

Rest my head back. Pretend it’s no big deal.

That’s the last good thing I’m allowed to have.

Just a sleeping man.

---

DO NOT DARE DROP THE BOOK CAUSE GIO IS AN ASSHOLE OKAY??????

It just has to get worse before it gets better 🎀

Like dafuq, I need this kiss to hit HARDD so let me cook in peace

YOURE ALMOST THERE I PROMISE.

43) Marks Over The Marks

Rava’s POV

We finally make it to our floor, and we stop outside the room.

Gio slides the keycard in, the little light thing turns green, and he pushes the door open.

I follow him in with Lorenzo right behind me.

Holy shit.

It’s huge.

Like… actually huge.

Bigger-than-my-Canadian-apartment huge.

Everything shines.

The floor is so polished I’m scared to step on it.

The windows are floor-to-ceiling, crystal clear.

I laugh a little. Okay, a lot. Because this is like a movie set view.

It’s exactly the kind of glass rich people lean on while they drink whiskey and talk about stocks and serious stuff.

The lights are warm, the furniture looks expensive as hell, every little detail is screaming one thing.

Money.

I can’t believe we’re actually staying here.

It all looks so perfect and expensive that for a second I feel like someone’s going to walk in, look me up and down, and say, “Sorry, sir, you don’t belong here.”

And I will be able to say, “Well, this hotel is actually mine.”

Because it is.

There’s a big double bed against the wall, and just beside it, a single one.

Naturally, I assume the double’s for Gio and Lorenzo—they’re family, so I move toward the single to drop my bag.

“España, baby! WOOHOO!” Lorenzo shouts, spinning once like a lunatic before throwing himself onto the single bed with a dramatic fall, like he’s claiming territory.

No. No, absolutely not.

There is no way I’m just casually sharing a bed with him.

I will die and haunt this beautiful hotel room.

I keep staring at Gio.

He’ll say something.

He has to.

He can’t seriously let his dumbass cousin leave us with one bed.

“Don’t even think about it,” Lorenzo says, kicking off his shoes. “I’m not sleeping next to Gio. The guy spreads out like a damn starfish. Last time I woke up with his elbow in my ribs. I’d rather sleep in the hallway.”

My mouth opens slightly. “I… I don’t want to sleep next to Gio either.”

Gio snorts without even turning. “Nobody’s begging you to.”

Lorenzo stretches, totally unbothered. “Well, you’re out of luck. You were too slow. This bed’s mine now.”

I glance back at the double bed.

Then at Gio.

One bed.

One option.

Gio finally looks at me. “Guess we’re stuck.”

Yeah. We’re stuck.

Keep saying it like that and I swear I’ll glue your face to the wall, Fontana.

You’re being such a bitch about this.

Gio’s POV

Lorenzo’s bouncing on the mattress like a fucking kid.

“So, what’s the plan, gentlemen?” he grins. “Pool? Drinks? Conquer the town?”

I shrug, leaning back on my hands.

“Don’t know about you,” I mutter, “but I’m gonna crash.”

I feel Rava’s head snap toward me before I even see it.

He’s judging me with his eyes.

“Wow,” he says, sarcastically.

“Real tough guy. Comes all the way to Spain just to nap like a seventy-year-old.”

I turn my head slowly, meeting his eyes.

I like that. I like that he doesn’t baby me.

He gets pissed at me.

He talks back. He rolls his eyes. He has the guts to call me out, to talk to me with zero respect when he thinks I deserve it.

Maybe I have a problem, but… I kinda love that.

Everyone else either fears me, wants something from me, or shuts their mouth.

I want to hit back.

I want to grab him.

I want to ruin him with my dick.

But of course not.

I just sit there, pretending I don’t want to destroy him just to have a reason to touch him.

I just smile.

Lorenzo laughs, throwing his arms behind his head.

“Yeah, Gio. Lighten the fuck up. We’re in Spain, man, not a nursing home.”

He pushes up off the mattress and stretches with a loud groan.

“Alright, you boring assholes. I’m hitting the pool,” he says, heading toward the bathroom.

“See if you can figure your shit out while I’m gone.”

The bathroom door closes.

Now it’s just me and Rava.

He looks pissed.

Annoyed with the room. Annoyed with the bed situation. Annoyed with me.

Do I blame him? No.

Am I gonna do anything to fix it?

Also fucking no.

Because what’s there to fix, really? This is the whole point, isn’t it?

He’s not supposed to want this as much as I do. He’s not supposed to want me as much as I want him .

That’s the balance. That’s the punishment.

And no, it’s not fun.

I’m not some masochist who enjoys talking like this about the person I like.

I fucking hate this.

I fucking hate him for making me want this.

And deep down, I know, I hate myself even more.

He looks like he’s thinking about all the ways he could kill me without leaving a trace.

Good.

But then…he exhales sharply, like he’s giving up.

“Fuck this,” he mutters.

I glance over.

He grabs his bag, and opens it fast.

“I’m going to the pool too,” he says, voice dripping with disdain. “Pretty much anything sounds better than staying locked up in here with you .”

Okay.

That’s my boy.

The words hit harder than I want to admit.

But it’s also exactly what’s supposed to happen, right?

This is the script. This is the plan.

He’s meant to be annoyed with me. He’s meant to keep his distance.

I’m the guy he can’t stand. That’s how we keep it safe.

If he hates me, or at least thinks he does, he won’t get close enough to find out I’m already gone for him.

So yeah. His words hurt. But they also feel like confirmation.

Everything is going according to plan.

Until it… doesn’t.

He pulls his shirt off and I nearly groan out loud.

Oh, fuck me.

Fuck me sideways, raw.

That fucking back.

That ink sprawled across this back like black veins crawling under his skin, cyber tribal, jagged and chaotic, bleeding into each other like something feral—I lose it.

It dips low, just barely disappearing into his pants, and I swear to God I want to tear those off with my teeth and follow the line all the way down with my tongue.

My dick’s already hard.

This idiot— this polished, perfect little poster boy with his buttoned shirts and bookish glasses — has a goddamn cyber tribal back tattoo?!

Something that raw?

Something that hungry?!

I want to press him against the fucking wall and bite into that tattoo until he screams.

Forget what I said.

I want to fuck the ink into his skin.

I want to leave marks over the marks.

I want to grab his hips and pull him back onto me until he forgets his own name.

I want to hear him beg while I choke him.

He’s standing there like he doesn’t know. Like he doesn’t feel what he’s doing to me.

God , he’s art I want to destroy.

Beauty I want to wreck with my mouth, my hands, my dick.

Over and over until we both cry.

But I can’t say that.

I can’t do that.

So I spit out the first lie I can think of.

“What the hell is that mess?” I say, sharply. “You look like a video game character from 2002.”

He shrugs one shoulder like it’s no big deal. Like we’re talking about a fuckin’ haircut.

“Got it last fall,” he says casually, tilting his head just enough for me to get a clearer view of the ink.

My throat’s dry. I don’t say shit. I can’t.

I’m gone.

Completely hypnotized.

My eyes just saw God or a crime, I’m not sure which, but I definitely feel blessed and cursed at the same time.

I can feel the blessing in my retinas. They did not deserve this.

I wasn’t supposed to see that. That should be illegal.

Up until now, my thoughts were… contained.

Messy, yeah, but contained.

I’d built this little bubble in my head where I kept everything under control.

And now that bubble just fucking exploded. Shattered.

And I know the pieces are sharp.

Sharp enough to cut both me and him if I don’t find a way to tape it back together fast.

I nod slowly, my eyes still glued to the damn thing, those black lines slicing across his spine, sharp and fucking gorgeous.

He goes on, too calm. Too fucking nonchalant.

“Noah said it would look good on me. Thought my back was the right canvas for it.”

“…Noah?”

He hums. “Yeah. My best friend. He’s a tattoo artist. Kinda begged me to try it. Said the placement would be insane on my skin. So I let him.”

I don’t say anything.

Because I can’t.

Noah. Best friend. Tattoo artist.

So this Noah… this conveniently talented, overly familiar best friend…

He got to touch Rava’s back for what—five? six hours?

Got to sit behind him, up close, pressing his palm flat between those perfect shoulder blades to test symmetry?

Got to brush ink over that smooth, golden skin and say dumb shit like “Hold still” or “Just breathe”?

He got to see Rava’s jaw tighten when it hurt.

He got to see how good it looked when he sat shirtless and tense, letting someone else fuckin’ mark him?

Fucking kill me.

My throat burns.

I want him under me right now.

Now .

I’m so jealous of that Noah guy I might fucking cry.

I roll my eyes, mask it with a snort. “Yeah. Well. You look like a try-hard.”

He grins, and it’s deadly. “You look like you’re trying really hard not to stare.”

Fuck.

He knows.

He knows.

I look away.

My dick is raging, straining against my pants like it wants to rip free and go after him on its own.

He smirks, walks to the door and doesn’t even look back.

I stand there, trying not to rip the room apart.

Because the truth is…

I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything hotter in my fucking life.

And I can’t touch it.

I can’t even want it.

So all I can do is destroy it.

Or let it destroy me.

Rava’s POV

The bathroom door swings open and Lorenzo steps out, sunscreen all over his face, wearing nothing but swim trunks.

He spots me with a towel in my hand and no shirt on and instantly lights up.

“Okay, thank god one of you isn’t boring,” he says, looking straight at Gio. “Bravo, Rava. Didn’t think you’d actually come with me.”

I shrug, trying to keep it casual. “Better than sitting here all day.”

He laughs, slapping me lightly on the shoulder as he walks past.

Then he comes back. “Wait. What?”

He grabs my shoulder and spins me around.

“Madonna mia! What in the horny universe is that?” he yells.

His hand lands on my back, right over the tattoo. “Is this permanent?!”

I laugh and glance at Gio. “Yeah. Judging by how much it hurt, I’m gonna say it’s pretty permanent.”

Lorenzo squints at the tattoo. “Did it hurt a lot? Be honest. I wanna do mine too but I’m a little bitch.”

I look at Gio again, just to make sure he’s listening.

“Oh, it hurt,” I say. “A lot.”

He looks interested, so I keep going.

“At first it was manageable. But then it just kept going deeper. Same spot, over and over, until my whole back was on fire.”

Gio’s staring.

“I was shaking at one point,” I add. “Had to bite down on my arm so I wouldn’t make too much noise.”

Lorenzo winces. “Jesus.”

“Yeah,” I say, still looking at Gio. “There were moments I really thought I’d tell him to stop. But he kept asking if I could take a little more and…” I shrug. “Turns out I could.”

He coughs. He’s dying.

“We had to take a lot of breaks, though, he said I was too tense. Needed time to breathe before he went back in.”

Lorenzo throws his hands up. “Okay, message received. I don’t even know why I asked or what I thought you were gonna say.”

I laugh under my breath.

I like this.

I like messing with Gio’s head a little.

He’s not the only one allowed to play games and make me feel things I’m not ready to admit.

Two can play this game.

And I’m going to hit him exactly where it hurts.

“Put your swimsuit on, pretty boy,” Lorenzo says, tossing his towel onto his bed. “I’ll wait for you.”

I nod and head into the bathroom.

I strip and pull on my swim trunks.

Run my fingers through my hair.

I can still feel Gio’s stare on my back like a ghost.

I hate it.

I hate how much I don’t hate it.

When I come back out, Lorenzo’s waiting at the door.

He grabs my shoulder again, squeezing playfully.

Then he turns, and throws a look over his shoulder at Gio, who’s slouched on the bed, pretending not to watch.

“Don’t wait up, cousin,” Lorenzo says, grinning.

“I’m off to rub sunscreen on your husband’s beautiful back and steal the hearts of beautiful Spanish women and men. Catch you later.”

Before Gio can say a word, Lorenzo pulls the door open, shoves me out into the hallway with him, and slams it shut behind us.

I’m wondering if Gio’s burning a hole through the door right now with the way he looked at me.

Lorenzo slings an arm around my shoulders.

“C’mon, Rava,” he says, laughing. “Let’s go make Spain fall in love with us.”

We step outside.

Lorenzo immediately sprints ahead and yelps.

Of course he went out barefoot on tiles that feel like an oven tray.

He does this little hopping dance and then practically dives to stick his feet in the pool.

What a strange man.

Genuinely.

I follow slower. My cheeks are already hot and it’s not just from the heat.

Because now I remember.

I remember everything this strange guy knows about me.

God.

He knows I want his cousin to ride me.

He knows that in my free time my brain goes on loops about Gio’s v-line.

He knows that while I act like Gio gets on my nerves, when I’m alone I replay us making out against a wall until it turns into rough, messy sex in my head.

I’m gonna throw up.

We go sit on the edge of the pool.

I slide my feet into the water.

“Hey,” he said, bumping his shoulder against mine, “so…was it true?”

“What was true?”

“You know…” He grinned, flashing all his white teeth. “You want Gio to fuck y—”

Nope. Hell no.

I shove him into the pool before he can finish the sentence.

A couple of people nearby actually jump from the wave.

I throw them an apologetic little wave. “Sorry! He deserved it,” I add under my breath.

I turn back to Lorenzo.

He’s fighting with the water, wiping his eyes, spitting out whatever went in his mouth, still laughing through all of it.

He finally gets his footing and climbs out of the pool, shaking his hair out like a damn golden retriever.

“So, did I really say it that directly?” I asked, mortified.

Lorenzo threw his arms wide. “Ohhh, you so said that,” he teased. “And more! You got graphic, my dude!”

Fucking hell.

Sometimes I genuinely regret having a mouth.

Why can’t I just shut up when I’m supposed to?

Why do I always have to say one extra thing and completely humiliate myself?

“And honestly,” Lorenzo kept going, just roasting me, “it was impressive. Like, the way you were drooling over him? Legendary. Hall of fame material.”

I can’t even look at him.

I’m actually embarrassed.

I have no idea how he’s still talking to me after that.

I hate myself right now. I just want to slide into the pool and drown at the bottom like a brick.

“So,” he said, drawing it out slow, “now that you’re sober … do you still want him like that?”

My mouth opens automatically… but nothing comes out.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

The longer I stay quiet, the more suspicious this looks. I can feel it.

But I can’t lie!

I can’t suddenly go, “haha no, all good, it was just the alcohol,” when I know damn well it wasn’t.

I didn’t say those things because I was drunk. Being drunk just turned the damn filter off.

Now I’m sober, and the feelings are still here.

Lorenzo’s eyes widened.

“AHHHH!!!”

He screamed, pure joy, loud enough that people turned their heads.

“HE STILL WANTS HIM!” he shouted, bouncing around like an excited kid. “OH MY GOD YOU’RE STILL DOWN BAD!”

I cover my face with both hands, embarrassed.

I want to throw myself in the pool. I want to scream back and also cry into the tiles.

I can’t look at him. If I look at him, I’ll either start laughing hysterically or burst into tears, and honestly I’m not sure which one would be more humiliating.

---

Rava’s back drawing, thank you very much.

44) Face To Face

Please, I’m begging you, play some music while you read the club scene :) It completely changes the vibe for the better.

Preferably something sexy 😼 I was listening to secrets by tiesto.

Gio’s POV

Rava was pulling a shirt over his head.

He caught me staring, and smirked, cocky, like he knew exactly what was running through my head.

“For a guy who supposedly hates me,” he said, adjusting his belt, “you sure can’t stop staring.”

I dragged my eyes up to his face.

“You wish,” I bit out.

He just laughed under his breath, like I was the one fooling myself.

Before I could say something I’d probably regret, Lorenzo burst out of the bathroom, shirt half-open, hair still wet, a fucking bottle of Bacardi in one hand, a speaker in the other blasting some Spanish reggaeton shit that shook the walls.

The whole room turned into a mini club in seconds.

Normally, I’d be the first one to rip shots with him, to get wasted before we even made it out the door.

Normally, I wouldn’t have given a fuck about anything except how hard we were partying.

But tonight there is a problem.

And the problem is standing across from me, adjusting his bracelet, running his fingers through that messy hair, looking like he doesn’t even realize he is the problem.

No.

That’s a lie.

He fucking knows.

And that’s what pisses me off even more.

Because deep down, I didn’t just want to get drunk tonight.

I wanted to hear that problem moaning my name against the sheets.

I stood up fast.

“I’m coming,” I said. “No way I’m letting you two dumbasses loose in a foreign country without supervision.”

Rava chuckled, amused.

“Aw, look at you,” he said, tossing a chain around his neck, “so responsible all of a sudden.”

I turned to him, slowly.

“You have no idea,” I said.

His smirk faltered for half a second.

Neither of us moved.

10 minutes later

I slide into the driver’s seat.

Rava sits next to me, and he immediately just turns his face to the window like I don’t exist.

Cool.

Real mature.

Rental car smells like Dior now, because of him.

I look mad. I look like I’m pissed off at him.

But the truth is… I’m not mad.

I’m fucking sad.

Because my dumb, stubborn, piece-of-shit heart picked him.

Him.

The one person I’m not allowed to want. The one person I could maybe have, in some upside-down secret reality, but only in the dark.

Only in rooms with locked doors and a bunch of lies.

No one could know. It’d have to be a secret. And I’m really bad at secrets. Especially the ones that matter. The big ones. The ones that feel good.

I wanted a life where I could show him off.

Call him mine, maybe.

Let people see. But that’s not what we get.

So now I just lie to myself. Pretend I don’t want him.

Tell myself he doesn’t need me.

That I’m the wrong guy for him anyway. That I’d fuck him up eventually and it’s better this way.

Then Lorenzo throws himself in the back seat. “What’s up, sluts?”

I don’t answer. The silence is loud. Awkward as hell.

Usually I’d fill it with some bullshit. Talk about anything.

Music, his stupid hair, flirt without thinking, I don’t know.

But now I don’t get to do any of that.

We drive a few blocks.

I feel Rava’s eyes on me.

Dragging down my arms, across my chest, my legs.

Fuck.

Not now. Stop.

Not like this.

I pretend I don’t feel him watching. I hate when he does that. It messes with my head.

Makes me feel like he sees too much.

“What now?” I snap.

He shrugs, still staring. “Nothing. Just… Jesus,” Rava mutters. “Slow the fuck down. It’s not a street race. Stop trying so hard to prove something.”

“Rava, you were literally fixing your hair for ten minutes, and I’m the one trying to prove something?”

“I didn’t do it for you.”

“Never said you did. But you’re awfully defensive.”

“I’m not defensive.”

“Cool. Then shut your mouth.”

Lorenzo fake coughs. “Foreplay. Literal foreplay. I’m watching porn with clothes on.”

“I won’t shut up just because you said so. There’s nothing between us,” Rava says immediately.

“Thank god,” I mutter. “Can’t imagine anything worse.”

“Same,” he snaps. “You’re literally the last person I’d ever look at like that.”

“You looked last night.”

“I was literally just zoning out.”

“You were zoning into my mouth.”

Lorenzo claps once. “Okay! THAT was hot. I’m sweating. You two are two insults away from fucking in the backseat.”

Rava scoffs. “You’re delusional, Gio.”

“Right,” I shoot back. “Because the way you looked at me during the last meeting was totally platonic. ‘Accidental’ eye contact, my ass.”

“I literally looked at you the same way I look at traffic lights. Impatient and waiting to leave.”

“Oh my god,” Lorenzo groans. “Just have sex already, and let me out of this threesome of denial.”

Okay. Cool. Time to shut the fuck up.

I can’t keep doing this.

I’m too shit at pretending.

Sure, I can flirt. I can joke. I can snap back and act like I don’t give a fuck.

But inside I’m screaming. Constantly.

So yeah. No more.

No more fake fights. No more sharp comments just to get a rise out of him.

I’m done.

I’ll just accept my fate like a goddamn mature adult.

I won’t have him. I won’t get to have him.

And I have to live with that. Sit with it. Let it rot in my ribs.

So I’ll shut up. I’ll drive. I’ll cry later if I have to.

Alone. Like always.

He’ll never be mine. And I have to stop acting like there’s even a fucking chance.

Lorenzo leans up between the seats. “Rava, if you don’t find anyone at the club tonight… don’t stress. We can always make out.”

…

I’m gonna strangle my own cousin. He’s doing this on purpose. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

He’s throwing himself at Rava just to watch me lose it.

It’s actually insane. He’s manifesting images in my head I don’t need.

“Sure,” Rava says calmly. “Sounds fun.”

My phone lights up against my thigh.

I glance down.

The fuck? It’s Lorenzo.

I tilt the screen away from Rava.

LORENZO:

—if that made you uncomfortable, make your move. bc what I just said as a joke? someone else could say it to him tomorrow, for real this time. They won’t give a fuck about you.

Fuck.

The thought makes me want to throw up.

Because what if some random guy touches him first, kisses him first, gets him first while I’m sitting here pretending I don’t care?

That’ll break me. And I’ll have no one to blame but myself.

We squeeze into the entrance, through all these bodies.

Music is already punching through my ribs.

The whole place is this massive open-roof fever dream.

Blue lights everywhere, red lights, silhouettes grinding on each other.

One word.

Horny .

It looks horny. It feels horny.

Like we just walked into someone’s wet dream by mistake.

I put my hand on Rava’s back and push him forward through the crowd, and because I’m not trying to get murdered later, I do the same to Lorenzo.

Equal opportunity touching.

Can’t have Rava saying I only put my hands on him.

Even though I did. And I wanted to.

And I’ll probably do it again, because my brain is not my friend.

Rava’s still pissed. He doesn’t even look at me.

Great. Amazing night ahead.

Him with that angry face, and me acting like a starving hawk circling his head.

I know exactly how many people are going to look at him tonight and think, goddamn, who’s that pretty boy with the attitude?

And my delusional brain is absolutely not ready to see him pressed up against someone else.

I said I’d get over him. I said I’d try. But I’m not made of steel.

My fist, though could feel like steel hitting the jaw of whoever touches him.

No. No.

I shouldn’t think like that. That’s wrong. That’s sick. I need a drink. One drink. Just one.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Lorenzo making out with a girl — then immediately turning to kiss the dude next to her.

Spain, man.

Fucking Spain.

Rava grabs me, fast.

He pulls me around to face him.

“What do you wanna drink?” he asks, with a voice louder than the beat.

“What??” I shout back.

He rolls his eyes, and grabs me by the collar.

Drags my face down to his, closer than I’ve had him since… I don’t even fucking know.

Too close. Close enough that for half a second I swear he’s gonna kiss me.

My heart nearly throws itself out of my chest.

“What. Do. You. Want. To. Drink.” he yells, but my heartbeat is screaming louder because the way he pulled me?

Yeah. That was lethal.

What I want to drink isn’t served in this club, baby.

At least not in a bottle.

I lean in closer, right into his neck on purpose. “Surprise me.”

He nods but his eyes drop to my neck.

His hands come up again, and he fixes the collar he just destroyed.

Slowly, focused. He’s tilting his head.

“There,” he says, looking at me.

Amazing. He broke it, then fixed it better than it was before.

Story of my life, probably.

I thought my collar looked perfect. Turns out he can make even my clothes look better by touching them.

And God, if he could do to me what he just did to that damn collar…

I’d let him ruin me and fix me in the same breath.

“Back in five,” he says and walks off.

Why the hell is he even updating me? Why is he going to get me a drink? Why is he making everything so goddamn complicated?

I push my hair back with both hands. I’m trying to hold my head together.

I can’t keep doing this. If I keep going like this, Rava is actually going to put me in a psychiatric ward.

He’s gonna make me sick. The person I used to make fun of has become the reason I can’t sleep at night.

The reason I need therapy.

Me. The guy everyone used to fall over for, the one who was always in control.

Now I’m the one ready to drop to my knees and beg him, throw my pride out the window, tell him he fucking wins.

He comes back.

My walking disaster returns holding two identical drinks.

He hands me one.

“What’s this?” I yell into his neck.

“Drink,” he says. “It’s not poison, Gio.”

I look at him while I lift the glass, take a sip, taste it, and lean into his neck again.

“I thought you hated rum.”

Rava grabs my shoulder and pulls me closer so he can speak directly into my ear.

“I like it now,” he says. “I could drink rum all day.”

Perfect. Before, I wanted to be a damn collar. Now I want to be a bottle of rum.

I’m not well. I’m genuinely not well.

Rava takes another sip, eyes on me, moving with the beat of “Secrets” by Tiesto in that slow, hypnotic way he has, like he’s barely trying, and still ruining my life.

I’m terrified my head is actually swaying with him, like my body just synced itself to his movements without asking me first.

Everything about him is a dream. The way he stands. The way he looks. The little expressions he doesn’t even know he’s making.

He hypnotizes me against my will.

Cancels every coping strategy I’ve tried to build.

I take another sip, let the burn scrape down my throat.

If I wasn’t driving, I’d be drunk already.

But I’m honestly scared that even that wouldn’t help, it’d probably make me think about him even more.

Someone tries to pass behind him, and Rava just collapses into me.

Our drinks are literally the only things keeping our chests from locking together.

He’s so close I’m basically inhaling his hair.

Thank God for the loud music, because if it was even a little quieter, he’d hear my heart exploding against my ribs.

It’s embarrassing. Humiliating, even.

He looks to the side.

Please, Rava, do not turn your face toward me.

Don’t look at me.

I admit it, you’ve made me weak, but don’t make it worse. Don’t kill me here, in public.

I lift my hand and place it on his chest, gently, just enough to move him back one step.

He laughs.

Then he downs his whole drink in one go, sets his glass down next to mine, and steps back again, farther now, far enough that I can’t reach him, far enough he’s safe from my sanity.

Instantly, a girl grabs him like he’s fresh merchandise put out on display.

Her hand goes instantly on his neck, twirls him around, circles him like she was out shopping for men, and chose him.

Her fingers are running over his shoulders.

Rava hasn’t given her a single second of eye contact.

Not one.

He’s just letting her orbit him.

She leans into his ear, whispers something.

Christ, for the first time in my entire life I want to rip someone’s hair out.

Second time, actually. First was Sophia.

Then Rava reaches up, touches her hair, pushes it behind her ear and whispers something back.

The girl covers her mouth, laughs, and disappears instantly.

He stays there.

I turn my eyes away before I combust.

No. Not tonight. Tonight is not the night I lose my mind.

I need to get a grip.

It’s normal for people to hit on him. He doesn’t belong to anyone. The weird thing would be if they didn’t try.

He doesn’t have a threatening aura. He has a hypnotic one. A pull. A quiet magnetism. Of course they all drift toward him.

One look, one fucking movement from him is enough to reel them in.

He moves out of my line of sight. Just slips away. About to get swallowed whole by all those bodies.

The girl is still beside him, but this time a guy grabs his hand out of nowhere.

And the second I lose Rava from my eyes, I feel like passing out.

I don’t want to feel like this, but my first instinct is to grab the guy by the head and slam it against the wall until it shatters.

That’s not normal. That’s not even close to sane.

I feel threatened over something that doesn’t belong to me at all.

I throw back the rest of my drink, and shove myself into the crowd after him.

I’m pushing people aside like none of them exist.

Pride? Gone. Dignity? Fuck that.

No one is touching him tonight. Not while I’m breathing. Not ever, honestly.

I spot them again. The guy looks thrilled, Rava looks calm.

I grab him by the arm. “Lorenzo wants us,” I shout into his ear. “Come on.”

I don’t even let him say goodbye. I have my hand on his back again, pushing him forward, pulling him out of reach.

I’m keeping him in front of me so I never lose sight of him again.

“What does Lorenzo want?” he yells back.

“Us to leave,” I shout. “Come on.”

“Why? What?!”

“Just move,” I say. No explanation.

For now.

He doesn’t argue. He just follows. Lets me drag him away.

Behind us, Lorenzo laughed, pulling away from the two people he was practically eating alive.

“Go on without me!” he called, waving the Bacardi bottle. “Duty calls!”

He winked, throwing an arm around both the girl and the guy, and disappeared into the madness.

Rava didn’t even fight back.

Not yet.

I know I’m being insane. I know it.

But I also know one thing.

I’d rather be insane than watch someone else put their hands on my problem.

I swear this is karma. Actual, personalized, karma.

I like him. I actually like him.

And of course the universe is laughing its ass off, because once upon a time I used to tease him nonstop. Push his buttons for fun. Call him soft.

Call him everything except what he really was.

Now it’s like the universe is saying: Remember when you were an asshole to him? Cute. Let’s make you… obsessed this time.

Rava’s POV

We step into the room.

The door clicks shut behind us, but Gio doesn’t say a word.

Just tosses the car keys on the table and starts pulling off his shirt like nothing happened.

“I’m taking a shower,” he mutters. Already heading toward the bathroom.

That’s it. No explanation. No look. Just… cold.

I sit on the edge of the bed. What the hell was that back there?

One second he’s grabbing me like he can’t stand the idea of anyone else touching me.

The next, nothing.

Silence. Avoidance. Like I imagined it all. Like I made him up.

Maybe I did.

Maybe this whole thing is in my head.

Just summer heat and hormones and too much wanting.

And even if it wasn’t… it can’t go anywhere.

When this summer ends, Gio disappears.

That was always the deal, spoken or not.

And even if I wanted more… even if I thought there could be more…

No.

I know what my father thinks of him.

And he’s not wrong.

Gio is crazy. Gio is risk. Chaos. Trouble.

Definitely trouble.

The kind of person who takes you down with him when he burns out.

The bathroom door creaks open.

Steam spills into the room.

“You can come in,” Gio says.

I hesitate.

Then I get up and step into the heat.

It’s like walking into his skin. His scent.

The mirror’s fogged.

He is leaning against the sink, towel riding low on his hips, beads of water still sliding down his chest.

His hair’s dripping, clinging to his forehead.

Heavy-lidded eyes.

He’s doing it again.

He looks at me like he’s already undressed me in his head. Like he’s daring me to say something.

I can’t look away.

I pull my shirt over my head, slowly. My skin’s too hot and I haven’t even touched the water yet.

I fold it and set it aside, hyper-aware of every inch of me he might be watching.

He doesn’t move.

“You done?” I ask. Not quite meeting his eyes.

His mouth twitches. That damn smirk.

He spreads his arms out like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Standing right here, aren’t I?”

“Yeah, and I’m trying to shower,” I snap.

“So shower, Rava.”

“Not with you watching me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like that ,” I hiss. “Just go.”

He chuckles.

He pushes off the sink and walks past me slow, dragging the heat with him.

As he brushes by, his shoulder grazes mine. On purpose.

He leans in close enough to make my skin prickle.

“Try not to moan too loud,” he whispers.

And then he’s gone.

I’m left alone in the steam.

20 minutes later

We brush our teeth without looking at each other.

On purpose.

I stare at literally anything else. Mostly the corner of the ceiling, because for some reason he’s still half naked.

That alone should be illegal. The fact that he’s acting like it’s normal is even worse.

Walking around the bathroom with just a towel on like it’s his house.

That’s not confidence, that’s spiritual audacity.

He spits, rinses his mouth, wipes his face, and heads for the door.

I stay there for a bit longer, putting on my face cream.

Then I step out of the bathroom.

He’s now lying on his back, wearing a black sleeveless shirt.

In bed.

His grey shorts ride low on his hips, one knee bent.

His eyes are on the ceiling. Not on me.

He doesn’t even glance my way.

Great.

I dry off, slip into a clean tee and boxers, then just… stand there.

Like an idiot.

Staring at the bed.

Like it’s a trap.

I clear my throat. “So… I guess we’re both sleeping here.”

He shrugs. “I’m not kicking you to the floor.”

I hesitate. “There’s not much room.”

He finally looks at me. “I’m not gonna eat you, Rava.”

I roll my eyes and walk over, slow.

The space next to him looks way smaller up close. I sit on the edge first, feeling awkward as hell.

Then I lie down stiffly, as close to the edge as possible, like touching him might set something off.

The air between us is thick.

We still haven’t talked about earlier. About him dragging me out of the club. About how I let him.

I almost say something.

My mouth opens. But I shut it again.

Instead, I turn to the side, my back to him.

A second later, I hear the sheets shift. He turns too. Same direction.

Now we’re facing the same way, barely inches apart, not touching, but every breath feels like it might crash into his.

My heart’s beating way too fast.

I swallow. “Good night,” I whisper.

He doesn’t say anything.

Just yanks the sheet tighter to his side.

I blink into the dark.

Seriously?

I clench my jaw and tug the sheet back, petty and pissed off.

Screw him.

A few minutes pass.

I try to breathe normal. Try to sleep.

Then I feel a push. From behind.

Subtle, but there. His knee. Or his hip. Something.

I shift forward, trying not to fall off the bed.

Then he does it again.

I snap.

“For fuck’s sake,” I hiss. I roll onto my back. “Are you serious right now?”

He doesn’t move.

“Why do you hate me so much?” I ask.

That gets him.

He turns slowly.

Silence.

“Why do you hate me so much?”

I can’t help it. I’m tired.

I’m done pretending I don’t fucking feel it, every look, every silence, every time he pulls away like I’ve burned him.

Gio turns toward me. “I don’t hate you.”

“You sure about that?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just stares. “Maybe I do. Maybe I should.”

It hits too hard. I sit up.

“Why?”

No answer.

“I thought…” My voice cracks. I swallow it down. “I thought we were doing better lately. I thought you didn’t—” I pause. “I thought you didn’t mind me.”

He shrugs like it’s nothing. “That was probably just in your head.”

…

It’s like a slap.

“You’re fucking crazy,” I say. “You really think I imagined all of it?”

He just looks at me.

I laugh.

I exhale hard. “Okay. Listen.”

He lifts an eyebrow. “Here we go.”

“No, seriously.” I point at him. “We need to stop acting like toddlers. This tension is driving me insane.”

He snorts. “You started it.”

“Oh my god, shut up.” I take a breath before I scream.

“Look, if we don’t want this to keep getting worse, there’s one simple solution.”

He stares at me, ready to mock me.

Whatever. I’m committed now.

“One kiss,” I say.

“Just one. Fast. No overthinking. No drama. We get it out of our system. Boom. Done.”

His mouth parts, confused as hell. “That’s your plan?!”

“Yes, Gio. That is my plan,” I fire back. “Because clearly avoiding it makes it ten times worse.”

He shifts closer. “You’re telling me we kiss, and then everything magically resets?”

I shrug, trying to look casual while my heart is beating like crazy.

“If we just let it happen without attaching all these what-ifs, it could actually calm us down.”

My voice softens. “A quick kiss could clear the fog.”

He huffs a weak laugh, shaking his head. “You’re actually unbelievable, Rava.”

“I’m practical,” I correct, jabbing him with my foot.

“And hey, if we handle it like adults, it doesn’t have to turn into a big emotional meltdown.” I nudge his knee. “One simple kiss might be enough to ground both of us.”

He looks at me for a second.

Then he nods once. “So. One kiss. Just that.”

“One,” I confirm.

“No extra,” he says.

“ Zero extra.“

“No leaning in for round two.”

“Gio,” I warn, “obviously no leaning in for round two. Jesus.”

He grins.

I roll my eyes. “This is exactly why we need to get it over with.”

He inches forward on the mattress. “So we’re really doing this?” he murmurs.

“Yes,” I say, trying not to choke on the word. “We kiss once. The tension dies. We go back to normal. We’ll be fine.”

He nods again.

“Okay,” he whispers. “One kiss. Then it’s over.”

My pulse spikes, but I keep my face flat. “Exactly. Simple. No problems. See?”

We keep staring at each other.

Then Gio shifts. And moves closer.

And then closer.

“Ay,” I accidentally say before I can stop myself.

His eyebrows lift. “What? Does it bother you that I’m close? We are literally about to kiss. What did you expect.”

I nod. I sit up straighter, trying to act normal even though I know deep down, that nothing about this moment is normal.

“Okay,” I say, tapping my thigh in a pathetic attempt to stay calm.

“It’s just a tiny kiss. Two seconds. It’s basically a reset button.”

“Mhm,” he hums, eyes glued on my mouth.

“It’s not deep,” I add. “It’s not romantic. It’s just a practical solution to stop us from acting like five-year-olds.”

“Totally practical,” Gio repeats, still looking.

I ignore him.

“So do I do it? Do I kiss you?” he asks.

My heart stops. Then comes back with a vengeance.

“No,” I say instantly. Probably too instantly. “I’ll do it. It’s my idea.”

I scoot closer.

He nods once.

Okay. It’s just a kiss. A tiny kiss. Do I remember how to kiss? Of course I remember. Probably.

I mean… how hard can it be? People do it every day.

Two seconds. I cannot possibly embarrass myself in two seconds.

“Okay, wait,” I mumble. “Do you mind closing your eyes?”

Gio’s mouth curls into the tiniest smirk. “Why?”

“Because you’re looking at me and I’m getting stressed.”

He actually laughs under his breath.

“Alright,” he murmurs, and slowly, he closes his eyes.

So I lean in, carefully. My lips brush his.

Barely. But enough to feel the cold metal of his lip ring.

I slowly kiss his lips.

My hand touches his neck. Accidentally.

Shit.

I yank it back.

We now just stare at each other, wide-eyed.

He licks his lips, dragging his tongue over the spot my mouth was.

“So…” I manage. “Do you… feel any different?”

He doesn’t answer.

I laugh awkwardly. “Because I feel like… okay, maybe a little calmer? I think it worked. Now we’ll definitely be cal—”

He cuts me off by stealing another kiss.

Right on the same spot.

Oh my God. I freeze. My brain shuts down.

He pulls back half an inch, watching me, daring me to do something about it.

And then it hits both of us at the same time.

We crash into each other.

45) Choke Harder

Gio’s POV

Fuck it.

Fuck him and his two seconds.

I don’t even wait. I don’t want to wait.

I’ve been good. I’ve been so good. But I’m not fucking holy. And he’s not helping.

I grab him, fist in his hair, and slam my mouth into his.

And the way he kisses me back…

Yeah. That motherfucker’s been pretending too.

There’s no fucking build-up, no warning.

Finally, I get to shut him up the only way I know how.

It’s like my body’s been waiting YEARS for this exact second.

Now I’m actually kissing the ridiculous, perfect, infuriating mouth of Rava Weston.

And it’s not just a gentle kiss, fuck no. It’s a very rough one.

Full of desperation and desire.

He makes a needy noise, and grabs at me like he’s trying to tear me apart.

His fingernails are digging into my sides.

I don’t care. I want it. So badly.

I shove him down, crawl over him like a fucking animal.

My thigh slots between his legs and he grinds up.

Our mouths still locked, fighting more than kissing.

Fuck. Fuck, I can’t breathe but I don’t stop.

He tastes like something forbidden, and I want more.

I want all of him .

I bite his bottom lip and he gasps, and I lose my fucking mind.

I grind down. His hips jerk up. We’re hard. Both of us.

This is too much, yet not fucking enough.

He pulls my shirt, no, yanks it, and his fingers are clawing under it like he needs skin fast.

He pulls back for a second.

We just stare at each other.

There’s terror there. In his eyes, in mine.

We both know what this means. What it could cost. How fast it could all blow up in our faces.

But there’s something else too.

Want.

“We really shouldn’t…” he starts.

“I know,” I say.

But then I kiss him again.

Because yeah, they might kill us if they find out.

Yeah, this might ruin everything.

But right now our desire is bigger than our fear.

I grab his jaw, tilt his head, kiss him harder.

Sloppier.

I don’t care what this means.

I don’t care what happens next.

I just want him.

I fucking need him.

Right now.

Right here.

Fuck the consequences. Let them burn.

I break the kiss, panting, forehead to his. He’s wrecked already. His lips are red.

He looks at me like he doesn’t know whether to hit me or kiss me again.

So I kiss him again. Harder.

Because this is happening.

Because I don’t care if it ruins everything.

Because I want him more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my fucking life.

And I’m not stopping.

Not now. Not ever.

He pulls my hair. I groan. It hurts. I want more.

“You want me,” I whisper.

“No.”

“Liar.”

I suck a bruise into his neck. He gasps. Arching.

I’m obsessed. Sick with it. I want him.

He’s so hard. I smile against his skin.

“You hate me, huh?”

“So much,” he whispers.

I press my palm between his legs.

“Then why are you so fucking hard for me?”

He whimpers. Just a little. And I lose it.

I don’t want to kiss him.

I want to eat him.

He flips me.

Fast, with no warning.

One second I’m kissing him like I’m starving, the next I’m flat on my back, staring up at him, chest rising like I’ve run a marathon.

What the fuck .

He’s on top of me. His thighs are on my sides.

Fuck me, he looks like every fucking thing I’ve ever wanted.

“Rava—”

He drops his hips, grinds down.

His dick presses right up against mine and I gasp.

Fuck.

I grab his hips, grind up into him.

I’m seriously gonna lose it.

I can already feel the edge rushing in.

His forehead brushes mine. His hair falls into my face.

I reach up. Push it back with both hands, holding him there.

Holding his face.

His mouth.

And we kiss again.

Then he pulls back. Smirking.

That fucking smile is gonna be the death of me.

He dips his head to my neck and bites with zero softness.

Sucks and licks and groans like he’s starving for my skin.

“Fuck,” I pant. My hands fist the sheets. “This is so bad, Rava.”

He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even slow down.

“Then we don’t let them find out,” he mumbles against my throat.

He kisses lower. My collarbone. My chest. My stomach.

I can’t fucking breathe properly.

He gets between my legs, grabs the waistband of my sweats and starts…undoing the knot with his teeth.

“Holy shit,” I whisper. “Is this real?”

He looks up, grinning.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this…” He licks his lips. “But if your dick isn’t down my throat in the next thirty seconds I might actually cry.”

My eyes go wide.

He starts to tug my pants down.

He stops.

He’s staring. At my lower stomach.

And I know what he sees.

The tattoo.

-CHOKE HARDER-

Black. Bold. Just above my dick.

His jaw drops.

“They weren’t lying,” he whispers.

“Someone said I wouldn’t. So now I had to.”

He smiles, and all I can do is smile too.

Then he leans in.

No way. No fucking way.

And he licks it. He licks the tattoo. Slowly.

His wet tongue is dragging across the ink.

My whole body jerks. My hand flies to his hair, grabbing.

He fucking looks up at me while doing it.

Eyes locked. Tongue flat against my skin.

Right above my dick.

If someone walks in right now , that’s three funerals, minimum.

I almost lose it.

My brain is gone. Burnt. Wiped.

He’s licking my tattoo.

My fucking tattoo.

Oh my god. Oh my fucking god.

I want to scream. I want to cry.

I want to fuck his throat until I forget my name.

I want to thank him for existing.

“Holy shit,” I gasp. “You’re a fucking demon.”

He just smirks.

My hips twitch. I’m begging and I haven’t said a word.

I can feel the sweat on my chest, the way my dick is pulsing, literally aching , and all he’s done is lick me.

I’m gone. I’m not a man. I’m not Gio. I’m just need.

He tugs my pants all the way down.

He pulls my dick out.

His hand wraps around it, and fuck, I twitch in his grip, leaking at the tip.

He stares at it.

Then he smirks.

That cocky, sideways little smile.

And he swallows.

Hard.

I see his throat move. I hear the breath he takes.

Shit. Right.

He’s never done this before.

And I’m not small.

And this, THIS is how it starts?

I feel guilt slide through the haze of lust.

Just for a second.

“Rava,” I say with a rough, almost shaky voice. “You don’t… you don’t have to do this if you don’t w—”

He cuts me off.

“If you try to stop me,” he says, low, deadly, “I’ll bite it.”

…

Holy fuck?

I can’t believe this is happening. I don’t deserve this. But I’m not about to stop it.

He sinks in. Okay, I’m ready for nerves, hesitation, something soft, slow, sweet.

But what I get?

What I fucking get?

His mouth opens like he’s hungry. No stuttering. No second-guessing.

Just lips around my dick like he’s been training for this moment in his head forever.

“Shit—Rava,” I whisper, gripping the edge of the bed.

His eyes flick up to meet mine.

And he moans around me.

Jesus Christ .

No one’s ever done it like this.

No one’s ever made me feel this close to detonating just from a fucking blowjob.

And I’ve had my fair share of head.

But this is new shit.

The guy is not just sucking dick.

He’s baptizing it in spit and moans.

His mouth is so hot, so wet and tight, like he was built to suck me off.

I can feel every inch of me surrounded by him. His tongue is working the underside.

What the hell is this man doing to me. What the fuck is that tongue doing.

“You said you’ve never—fuck,” I pant.

He pulls back just enough to breathe, and smirks, fucking smirks, before swallowing me again.

He’s slow with it. Then fast.

I’m getting humbled.

I’m whimpering. Me. I’m whimpering like a damn virgin.

I can’t stop staring at his lips wrapped around my dick.

So fucking beautiful.

Can’t stop watching the way his throat tightens when he takes more.

Can’t believe the sounds coming out of him, little hums and gasps while he’s choking on me.

“Jesus Christ, you’re good at this,” I pant.

He looks up at me, with a full mouth.

He smiles with his eyes.

Then goes even deeper.

I curse. Loud. Grab the back of his head.

“You were made for this,” I moan. “You’re so fucking good—Rava, fuck.”

He moans again.

Oh fuck, the moans.

He’s trying to hold some of them back. Like he’s shy about it.

As if I don’t live for them.

I feel them in my balls.

That sound. That fucking desire.

He moans like a porn soundtrack.

It drives me insane .

If this is a crime, then so fucking be it.

I’ll take every consequence.

He starts moving faster. Sloppier. The wet sounds are obscene, and I fucking love it.

His throat flutters again as he tries to take more, gagging just a little, and I groan, because it’s real.

Because he’s pushing himself for me and I’m not even asking.

My hips buck and he lets me.

“God, Rava, fuck—I’m gonna lose it.”

My thighs tremble. I’m sweating. My dick is pulsing like I’m about to cum.

And still he doesn’t stop.

He’s sucking me deeper.

And I can’t fucking take it.

I smile, completely fucking wrecked.

Bet you never saw this coming, Charles?

Your honor student. Your golden ticket. Choking on my dick like he was born for it.

He loves this. God, he’s filthy.

And he’s yours. What a fucking tragedy.

I grip his hair, tight.

Not to guide him, just to hold on.

“That’s it, Rava,” I whisper. “Just like that.”

He moans around me. Again.

“Rava I’m gonna—” My voice breaks. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum—”

He lets me cum in his mouth.

He tries to take it all, bless his perfect fucking mouth, but some of it drips out from the corner.

Most of it lands all over his hand. The same hand that’s still stroking me.

He lets it linger.

Watches me as it drips from his tongue, catches it with slow, deliberate licks, smearing it, tasting it, like I’m his fucking dessert.

Like he’s savoring me.

Then he leans in, fuck… and licks it off me.

Every drop. Every fucking smear.

Lapping it from my skin with slow, kittenish strokes like he’s cleaning up the mess he wanted to make.

I stare down at him, completely wrecked.

He looks up, and he smiles.

I grip his jaw, hard.

Pull him up, crash our mouths together. Taste myself on him and don’t care.

I’m sorry.

After that? After what he just did to me?

He deserves it all.

He deserves everything. Every bit of praise this planet’s got to offer.

He earned it. He fucking earned it with his mouth.

Take the crown. Take the throne. Take my fucking name while you’re at it.

Rava Weston is the standard.

Rava’s POV

We’re both in the bathroom. My hands are under the running water, watching Gio’s cum swirl down the drain.

I’m still smiling.

My mouth hurts so bad, and I don’t even know if it’s from the blowjob or from grinning for the last ten minutes straight.

Gio’s back in the tub again, because one cold shower wasn’t enough.

I’m looking at the mirror. My lips are still swollen.

My knees feel wrecked in the best way.

If this is so wrong, why the fuck do I feel this good?

Why does it feel like I just left my body for a second and came back with a new name?

Did it feel like that for him?

He came. That’s a good sign, right? That means he liked it.

God, I hope he liked it.

No. No hoping. I know he did. I gave everything.

Everything .

I wanted to. Shit. I think I wanted it more than I even realized.

Jesus Christ. What the hell is happening to me.

He hopes out.

He ruffles his wet hair with the towel, then slings it over his shoulder, glancing at me in the mirror.

“Um,” he grins, “you look like you just saw Jesus.”

“I might’ve,” I mumble.

He laughs. “Is it my turn now, then?”

I smile, looking down at him. “I thought I would have to beg for it—”

BANG.

The front door.

“What the fuck?!”

Lorenzo.

Our eyes snap to each other. Panic.

Gio drops the towel, scrambles for his pants. “Fuckfuckfuck—”

He shuts the bathroom door, locks it. “Don’t move.”

“What the hell are you two doing in there?!” Lorenzo’s voice is slurred, loud.

“Is someone fucking in our cute little bathroom?!”

I panic.

“NO, UH, HE SAID HE NEEDED A SECOND OPINION ON THE COLOR OF HIS TOOTHBRUSH.”,“ I shout.

Silence.

Dead. Silence.

Gio pauses mid-zip. Looks at me like I just punched his soul.

“What?!”

“I panicked!”

I burst out laughing. He covers my mouth with his palm.

I grab his wrist, and I kiss him quickly.

His mouth opens into it.

“Idiot,” he mutters. But he’s smiling.

He grabs my face, and kisses me deeper.

I melt into it. Absolutely melt.

Then he pulls back.

Fixes his shirt. Runs a hand through his damp hair.

Rolls his neck like nothing happened.

And opens the door.

Walks out like a saint.

I follow right behind Gio.

Lorenzo’s eyes narrow for a second.

Maybe he knows.

I smile.

Yeah, Lorenzo. I’ve got a secret now.

A big one.

He stares.

I hold eye contact for exactly 1.5 seconds before pretending to look for my phone charger.

Lorenzo shrugs it off, and faceplants into his pillow.

That’s right. Don’t ask questions.

Stay in your lane, king.

He groans. “Two Spanish girls. Or maybe four. I dunno. They had… legs. Probably.”

Gio raises an eyebrow and grabs a water bottle from the nightstand, pressing it into Lorenzo’s hand.

“Drink. Bathroom. Sleep,” Gio says.

Lorenzo goes for a hug.

“Aw, look at you, acting like someone’s dad.” Then he squints at me. “Forget about me. You better fix things with your boyfriend so we can all get some peace this week.”

Gio smirks.

I laugh quietly.

If only he knew.

If he knew I was still hard just thinking about the way Gio moaned when I… did stuff to him.

Lorenzo walks into the bathroom and Gio doesn’t even wait a full second.

He launches himself at me.

I lose my balance and go straight back onto the bed with a soft crash.

Gio lands on top of me like a very heavy blanket.

“Get off,” I say, laughing. “Lorenzo’s gonna see us.”

Gio laughs too and taps me lightly on the side of the head. “Get a grip. You think he’s gonna go tell anyone? He’s a freak, he’ll want details.”

Well. True.

We eventually calm down enough to stop wrestling and slide back under the covers like nothing happened.

My heart, however, did not get the memo.

We’re staring at the ceiling.

“Well… goodnight. Again,” I mumble.

“Goodnight, dick sucker,” he says instantly.

I whip my head toward him and smack his arm. “Tch.”

He laughs under his breath.

I turn back to the ceiling.

I have no idea how I’m supposed to sleep after this.

---

Pookies…

Y’all better not drop the story just because they finally did something… because trust me, I’m nowhere near done playing with your pain. And theirs :) But for now, enjoy these little gems.

46) Take A Picture Of Us

Rava’s POV

I’m going to explode.

Gio is literally lying on top of me.

His whole leg is thrown over my ass, like he’s gatekeeping it from the rest of the world.

As if someone is going to walk in here at 3AM and try to steal my ass and he’s just… guarding it.

His arm is spread across my back.

He really said, “Rava won’t be needing oxygen tonight.”

I can feel his hair near my mouth. If I move even a little, I’m going to inhale it and die.

“Gio,” I muttered. “You’re heavy. Move.”

“No,” he groaned, half-asleep. “I’m comfortable. Don’t ruin it.”

From the other bed, I heard sheets rustling.

Lorenzo stretched with a loud sigh. “Told you,” he mumbled. “He sleeps like a starfish. Takes up everything.”

I grab Gio’s wrist gently, peel his arm off my back and toss it to the side so I can actually move.

He makes this tiny annoyed noise.

Lorenzo groaned again, rubbing his face. “Man… last night was chaos .”

Last night.

My eyes snap open.

Everything hits me at once. Oh my God.

Apparently I’m the dick sucker now.

I can’t believe I actually did that. In real life. With my actual mouth. On an actual person.

And I did it with so much ease it’s almost embarrassing.

I didn’t hesitate. Because I wanted it.

Now I’m panicking because what if he thinks I’m… easy?

Which is not true.

AT ALL.

It was insane, though. Too good.

I can hear his sounds replaying in my head.

I also really didn’t expect him to be that… pretty.

Down there.

Like, I don’t have anything to compare it to, I’ve never done this with a guy before, I’ve only seen whatever you accidentally scroll past on the internet and immediately exit out of, but holy shit??

I wasn’t ready.

Plus… now I get why he has that much confidence.

I used to think, okay, relax, Fontana, it’s not that serious.

Now I’ve seen him naked and… yeah.

It kind of is that serious.

He has every right to be cocky.

I want it again.

I don’t even know what I want, exactly. More of that? Less? Different? Closer? Further?

I just know I want something from him.

Everything and nothing at the same time.

I squeezed my eyes shut and rubbed my face hard.

It was too early for this.

Too early for memories like that to be playing on repeat in my head.

Lorenzo dragged himself off the bed and shuffled to the bathroom.

I took the chance to sit up, at least I tried to.

The second I moved, Gio made a low noise and pulled me straight back down.

His arm curled tight around my waist.

“Seriously, Gio?”

“Mm-hmm,” he mumbled into my skin. “Shut up. Your heart’s going nuts.”

“It’s called suffocation,” I said.

But he wasn’t wrong. My heart was beating like crazy again.

“You’re very dramatic,” he added.

I rolled my eyes. “Get up, Gio. We’re meeting the clients today, remember?”

“Fuck you, Rava, why would you say that out loud?”

“Because it’s true.”

“Because you’re cruel.”

I grinned to myself. “Because we can’t go in like this.”

That got him.

He drags himself out of bed.

A tiny laugh slips out of me because… his hair is a disaster.

Some strands are literally sticking straight up. I didn’t even know hair could do that naturally.

You can clearly tell which side he was sleeping on.

One half of his head is completely flattened, the other is chaos.

I turn away fast so he doesn’t see me laughing. I head for my clothes and start getting dressed.

The faster we get out of here, the better.

We manage to all shower, get dressed, and drag ourselves to the car.

It’s funny how we each look like we’re going to a different life.

Gio looks like he’s about to rob a bank in style.

Lorenzo looks like he’s on his way to a beach rave.

I look like I’m going to my first day at a slightly illegal office job.

If someone sees us together, they’ll think we met by accident at a bus stop.

We get inside the car.

Ugh.

Morning car smell is honestly one of the WORST things on this planet.

There are no words strong enough for how much it disgusts me right now.

Gio takes the driver’s seat. I sit next to him in the front. Lorenzo immediately collapses in the back like a corpse.

He groaned. “Is the world always this loud?”

Gio smirked. “What the hell did you get up to last night?”

Lorenzo made a noise that was half-laugh, half-death rattle. “I went upstairs with a girl and a guy. Ended up in someone else’s suite. There was whipped cream. And maybe… a harness? I’m not sure. I think they were influencers. Or cult leaders. Or both.”

“That’s my boy,” Gio said, glancing at him in the mirror, proud.

Lorenzo sat up just enough to rest his chin on the headrest between us.

His hair was a mess. “And what about you two?” he said. “What did you get up to back at the hotel?”

Silence.

The only sound in the car is Gio’s fingers tapping on the steering wheel.

I stare straight ahead.

What are we even supposed to say? “I was choking on your cousin’s dick”?

Neither of us answers.

Gio keeps pretending he didn’t even hear the question.

I rub my thumb with my other thumb. The second I notice, I stop.

Lorenzo looks between us in the mirror, suspicious as hell.

I looked out the window. “Nothing. Just… stuff.”

Lorenzo raised an eyebrow. “Stuff? Like the kind of stuff you were telling me the other night when you were drunk?”

I turned in my seat. Looked at him shocked.

Gio opened his mouth. “Can I know what kind of st—”

“No,” I snapped.

Lorenzo let out an evil laugh. “You didn’t answer me though.” His smile got even bigger.

“I get it. I get it. I just hope you didn’t have sex on my beautiful bed.”

“We didn’t have sex!” I shouted, a little too loud, a little too fast.

Jesus. Gio burst out laughing.

“God, I wish we could keep this beautiful conversation going,” he said. “But we’re here. So. Act like people. Lorenzo, get your shit together. You look like a drunk uncle. Don’t embarrass us.”

He pulls into the parking spot. Lorenzo is out of the backseat instantly.

I’m still unbuckling my belt.

Gio leans over, so fast I don’t even process it and… he presses a quick kiss to my neck.

Then he’s gone, like nothing happened.

Cool. Very normal. Totally casual.

Just Gio Fontana leaving stray kisses on my throat when no one’s looking.

I get out of the car and follow them.

I think we’re at a café? Or a restaurant? I’m not totally sure. It’s one of those places that looks like it costs more than my existence anyway.

Huge glass building right in front of the sea. It’s stupidly beautiful.

Honestly, that’s the only part of this life I really like.

We get to walk into places like this all the time. Shiny, clean places.

Lorenzo’s on my left, running his finger along the metal railing the whole way like a five-year-old.

Gio’s on my right.

Sometimes his hand brushes against mine as we walk, but I pretend I don’t notice.

I do notice. My body notices.

My body is also on a very thin line between fine and hello boner , and I cannot afford the second one here.

“I’m taking the stairs, maybe I’ll wake up,” Lorenzo says. “I’ll meet you up there.”

“Don’t fall and die,” Gio tells him.

Then he grabs me and pulls me straight into the elevator.

The doors close behind us.

He looks around immediately.

Up. Corners. Ceiling.

I do the same without even thinking about it.

No cameras.

There really aren’t any cameras.

The second we both confirm that, he hooks his fingers around my throat and drags me in, crashing his mouth onto mine so fast I barely have time to gasp.

I’m pissed for like half a second because he caught me completely off guard, but my body doesn’t care.

I kiss him back instantly, with zero hesitation.

His hand is still on my throat. I like it way too much.

I want to tell him, harder. Press more. Hold me there. Don’t let me move.

Instead, I grab his hair.

My fingers sink into it, tugging at the back of his head as I kiss him, pulling him closer and making him tilt his face just the way I want.

His free hand finds my waist. My back bumps the wall of the elevator.

For a second, it feels like the whole box slows down.

Then it actually does.

The lift shudders and starts moving slower.

We break apart extremely fast.

He steps back, running a hand through his hair, trying to fix the complete mess I just made of it.

I straighten my shirt, smooth my collar, trying not to look like I was just making out with the driver.

He looks at me.

I look at him.

A little laugh slips out of me before I can stop it.

We step out of the elevator, and immediately spot Lorenzo.

Gio lifts his hand to clap him on the back and Lorenzo flinches away.

“No touching, please,” he says. “I don’t trust where your hands have been.”

My jaw actually drops.

I choke on a laugh and immediately look away, because if I make eye contact with Gio OR Lorenzo right now I’m going to lose it.

We head inside the meeting space.

Yeah, okay. It’s definitely a café. It’s nice.

We sit at a corner table and wait.

“They said they’ll be here any minute,” Lorenzo mutters, checking his phone.

I nod.

5 minutes later

Three guys walk into the café.

I’m not totally sure if they’re our guys.

They look… younger than I expected? Not exactly, like, baby young, but not “I run an empire and yell on the phone all day” old either.

Maybe mid-thirties? Thirty-five? I don’t know.

Old enough to have back pain, young enough to still be annoying.

They’re dressed like they just came back from a beach party.

Except for one of them.

One of them already scares the shit out of me.

He’s got that… vibe.

He looks like a cult leader.

I swallow hard.

Lorenzo leaned in, squinting. “Is that them?” He lowered his voice. “Jesus. The one on the right looks like he owns a boat and a cult.”

Gio didn’t even look at him. “Shut the fuck up, Lorenzo.”

I stepped in quickly before Lorenzo could escalate it. “Good morning! Welcome. Thanks for meeting us up here.”

They all smiled.

One of them clapped Gio on the shoulder.

“Figured it was time for a setting with some air, right?” said the older guy. “No more stiff, soulless conference rooms. Let’s talk like people.”

Lorenzo muttered, “Yeah, God forbid we be professional,” and Gio elbowed him under the table.

We started with some basic stuff about our hotels.

Obviously Lorenzo was lost. Gio was the one carrying the whole thing, again.

I don’t get how he “hates” this job so much but somehow knows everything and is up to date on every detail.

I swear he’s lying. Deep down he probably likes it and just doesn’t want to admit it.

Everything was going fine until one of the guys asked something about his dad, not knowing that he’s… not alive anymore.

From that moment, Gio’s mood didn’t exactly crash, but it was like someone turned his volume down.

He talked less. His answers got shorter. I felt awful.

Luckily, he snapped out of it pretty fast once the men started rambling non-stop about business again.

It took them two freaking hours to decide if we’re “good enough” to work with.

Two. Whole. Hours.

At some point I genuinely wanted to get up, shake all their hands, say “thank you, but at this point, I don’t even know if it’s worth it,” and leave.

They went over the same points THREE times. Asked questions Gio had already answered.

Cross-checked things they could’ve checked in an email.

Half of it was just them hearing themselves talk.

But in the end? I think we pulled it off.

They really liked us.

“You,” he said, nodding. “You’re sharp. I like how your mind works.”

I smiled, a little startled but grateful. “Thanks. I like how your budget works, so I’d say we’re even.”

They laughed.

Gio leaned back in his chair. “Don’t let him fool you,” he said, smirking. “He looks smart, but he once emailed a client an attachment called ‘Final FINAL please use THIS ONE.pdf.’”

I rolled my eyes. “You used that file, though.”

“Because I was scared to open any of the other ten.”

The older guy turned to Gio. “You, Giovanni… you remind me of my daughter’s type. She’s always showing me random guys on the street with tattoos, big arms, black hair, and going, ‘Dad, get me one of those for Christmas.’”

All three of them burst out laughing.

We don’t.

We look absolutely terrified.

There’s no way he just said that so casually.

He basically looked at Gio and said, “Yep. Perfect Christmas gift for my child.”

I have no idea what face I’m making, but it’s definitely not fucking professional.

He twisted around in his chair and shouted into the cafe, “Allegra! Come here a second!”

Gio froze slightly. “Uh—”

“You got a girlfriend?” the man asked, smiling wide.

Gio hesitated. “No, but I’m—”

“Perfect!” the guy cut him off. “She’s here alone, bored out of her mind. I’ve got meetings all day. Why don’t you take her for a spin around the city? Show her a little Spain. Who knows, maybe I’ll end up being your father-in-law, eh?”

I straight up choke on my water.

It goes down the wrong way and I start hacking my lungs out, bending forward like I’m fighting for my life.

No one even pats my back. I’m just there, publicly malfunctioning.

Lorenzo was trying not to choke on his water from laughing.

And what did we do?

We actually took her. Of course we did.

Allergy girl is now officially part of the squad.

Because God forbid we ruin our reputation and say, “no thanks, we don’t want to babysit your horny daughter while you talk numbers.”

No, no. We have to be the good boys. The charming gentlemen.

Give me a break.

Now we’re stuck dragging her around Spain like a bonus side mission.

Lorenzo was on my left, Gio somewhere in the middle, and she, Allegra, was keeping pace like she’d always been part of this crew.

She wasn’t.

She didn’t fit, no matter how much her expensive stupid sunglasses and designer boots tried to convince me otherwise.

“So,” she said, “what are we doing now?”

We’re ditching you and going home. That sound good? Sounds good to me.

Lorenzo, ever the diplomat, turned to her with a polite smile. “What do you want to do?”

She tilted her head a little. “Hmm… I don’t know.”

Then she turned fully to Gio. “What do you want to do?”

Of course.

Of course she was gonna play that card.

I drift closer to Lorenzo, annoyed. “She’s so smooth with it,” I say, deadpan.

He snorts. “I’m desperate Gio, please notice me.’”

I choke on a laugh and immediately hide it behind my hand, pretending to cough.

We are evil. But it’s not our fault.

She only talks to him!

Every sentence starts with “Gio” and ends with a giggle.

She’s fully locked in.

We get it, girl.

You want to know what Gio tastes like. Relax. Take a number.

“Can I get your number?” she asked, looking right at Gio like no one else existed.

I turn away fast.

Why am I this angry? Why?

I’m pissed.

First of all, it’s rude. Hi, hello, we’re here too. What are we, background furniture?

Do we not exist unless we have tattoos and a jawline you want to sit on?

Let him breathe, girl.

“We have numbers too, you know,” Lorenzo said suddenly, trying to cut the tension.

She didn’t even look at him.

“Good for you,” she said, with this smile that wasn’t a smile.

My jaw actually drops.

I’m sorry?

Who does she think she is?

The disrespect is insane.

Good for us?

Yes, actually, it is good for us.

We have numbers, jobs, lives, and functioning personalities that don’t revolve around “teehee, Gio, you’re sooo funny oh my god.”

Get out.

I look at Gio.

He actually typed something in hers.

I watched his fingers move on the screen.

Watched her face light up like she’d won.

“Food?” Lorenzo suggested, clapping his hands once.

“Sure,” I said through gritted teeth.

Gio laughs. He looks like he’s actually enjoying this.

We start walking and she moves ahead a little.

A hand grabs my ass.

I spin around fast, so fast I nearly collide with him.

Gio is smirking.

In your face, Allegra.

He just grabbed my ass instead of yours, and the chances that was an accident are exactly zero.

Zero.

I bite back a smile and keep walking like nothing happened.

⸻

We sit down.

She’s across from me, trying to lock eyes with Gio every few seconds like she’s casting some kind of cheap spell.

Gio, of course, acts like he doesn’t notice.

But I know him. He does.

Lorenzo makes a comment about the wine.

She laughs too hard.

Gio gets up. “Bathroom,” he says. No one stops him.

The second he’s gone, it’s like she takes a breath and starts performing.

“So,” she turns to me, all sugar, “what does Gio like to eat?”

Men.

She is staring at the seafood menu.

Gio’s allergic to seafood.

Once, years ago, he ate a single piece of shrimp without knowing and everything went to hell in ten seconds.

It was… bad. Genuinely traumatic to watch.

I still think about it sometimes when someone orders prawns.

“Not seafood,” I say before she even gets her sentence out.

“Why not?” she blinks at me. “Guys like him love seafood. It’s very… macho.”

Macho.

That’s the word she went with.

“He’s allergic,” I say. “To seafood. Like, dangerously.”

She twirls a strand of hair around her finger. “Sometimes allergies go away. I saw a video about it. Maybe if he tries a little now, it’ll be fine. The body changes. You know. I’ll just get him a salad, with crab on the side so he can try if he wants.”

I stare at her.

“Are you… okay?” I ask slowly.

She glares. “I’m just trying to do something nice.”

“Trying to send him to the ER is NOT ‘nice’,” I say.

Lorenzo chuckles low. He’s enjoying this.

Freak.

“He’s a grown man,” she says, more annoyed now. “I think he can order for himself.”

“Well, he didn’t,” I say. “And you’re making up allergies for him.”

“I’m guessing. That’s how people get to know each other, you know? Take a risk?”

“On his life ?”

She leans forward, irritated. “What is your problem?”

“You’re wasting your time,” I mutter.

“Excuse me?”

“You asked,” I say, sipping my water.

“Okay!” Lorenzo suddenly cuts in, grinning like he’s watching a rom-com. “Since Gio is apparently seconds from death, I’ll order for him. He’ll have the steak, medium rare, with fries. Simple.”

The waiter takes our order and escapes.

She’s still staring at me. I don’t look away.

“What’s your deal with him?” she asks. “You act like he’s your boyfriend or something.”

I almost laugh. “You wouldn’t get it,” I say.

And honestly, neither do I.

Gio returns then, wiping his hands on his jeans. “What’s up?” he asks, scanning our faces.

He stops on mine.

I raise an eyebrow. “You’re having steak.”

He grins. “Thanks, doctor.”

Lorenzo whistles. “You two need a sitcom.”

No one laughs but him.

⸻

We finally get back to the hotel.

Finally.

I feel like I’ve aged five years today.

She hasn’t stopped talking since dessert.

About music, yoga, whatever book she pretended to have read last month.

I tune in and out, mostly out.

My brain’s fried.

My patience thinner than tissue paper.

We stop in front of the entrance.

Gio’s beside me.

Close but not close enough.

“So, Gio,” she says, casual like she’s asking for the time. “Is there someone you like?”

I turn my head slowly. He’s looking at her. Then at me. Then back at her.

“Sort of,” he says.

She puts her hand on her heart. “Aw. That actually makes me a little sad.”

Oh, no.

“But,” she adds, beaming now, “you’re amazing. So I’ll help. Let’s make her jealous. Maybe she just needs a push.”

Before I can even breathe, she turns to me.

“Rava, take a picture of us, will you?” she says, already stepping up close to him. Too close. She grabs his face gently and kisses his cheek.

Lorenzo lets out a cackle like he’s watching the greatest twist ending in cinema history. “No way. No way,” he says.

I raise the phone with all the enthusiasm of a funeral director and snap the picture.

Click.

“She better be blind if that doesn’t work,” she says proudly.

I hand her the phone. “Yeah,” I mutter. “She’d have to be blind, deaf, and desperate.”

No one hears me. Good.

“I’m heading to a summer fest,” she says, suddenly lighting up again. “It happens every year. You guys should come!”

“Nope,” Gio says immediately.

That… surprised me.

She tilts her head. “What? Why not?”

He shrugs. “Not my scene.”

I stare at him. He didn’t even think about it.

“I’m in!” Lorenzo cuts in. “I live for that stuff. Give me five minutes, I’ll come with you.”

He runs inside like a dog off leash.

She laughs and waits by the curb.

Five minutes later, Lorenzo explodes out of the hotel lobby.

“LET’S GO GET DRAMATICALLY WASTED, ALPACA!” he shouts, already halfway down the steps, wearing an offensively bright shirt open halfway down his chest and sunglasses, at night.

He throws his arms in the air. “Spain, baby! I’m gonna get DRUNK, DANCE LIKE A WHORE, and REGRET NOTHING!”

She cheers like it’s normal behavior.

“I live for this chaos!” he yells back at us, spinning in place. “Don’t wait up! Unless it’s with tequila!”

He shoots finger guns in the air.

“And if I don’t come back by sunrise, assume I’m either dead or in love!”

Then he vanishes down the street.

Now there’s just silence.

Me and Gio.

47) Gone For Him

Gio’s POV

The second the door shuts behind us, I grab him by the throat and slam him back against it.

His eyes go wide for half a second.

Then I kiss him.

I devour him.

I feel like I’m crossing some invisible line between sane and absolutely fucking feral.

My dick’s throbbing. If it had a voice, it’d be on its knees right now, worshipping the ground he walks on.

I’m gonna lose my fucking mind.

I swear to God, how the fuck did I miss this?

How the hell did I let this man walk around all these years with that mouth, that fuck-me face, just out here???

In public???

That’s criminal. I should’ve had him cuffed to me the second I met him.

Should’ve called the cops on myself for letting him out of my sight.

He’s addictive. That’s the word.

Rava Weston is addictive.

He’s a drug and I’m overdosing with a goddamn smile on my face.

I’m his victim.

I pull back just an inch, my lips brushing his as I speak.

“I’ve been losing my fucking mind waiting for this.”

His eyes meet mine. His voice is low, rough. “Poor Allegra.”

I grin.

And I kiss his neck again, softer.

Fuck Allegra. And every other Allegra walking the earth.

Let them all be happy, sure.

But none of them are him.

He’s got it. That thing.

He’s what I want.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” I murmur. “Guests are welcome.”

I undo my belt, slowly. I toss my pants on the chair next to me without even looking.

He does, though.

His eyes come back, and drop straight down.

I grab his chin, tilt his face back up. “Up here, angel,” I tell him. “My eyes are up here.”

He swallows hard.

I let go of his chin.

He looks so fucking sweet it’s unreal.

I want to pet him and fuck him at the same time.

I let go of his chin and head to the bathroom.

No idea if he’ll follow. Honestly.

Maybe he’s too shy. Maybe I pushed it.

I’m not expecting anything. I made the move. I opened the door.

It’s up to him now. Yes or no. He’s got the choice.

…

God, I hope he comes.

Please come.

Fuck playing it cool, I need him.

I crank the water hotter, way hotter than normal, letting it burn across my shoulders.

Everything is already blurry from the steam.

I rub my hands over my face, drag the heat out of my eyes, and when I open them… he’s there.

Pressed against the glass door.

Wearing nothing but his underwear.

I stare.

From his messy hair all the way down to his legs.

I’m genuinely trying to process that he’s real. About to step into the shower with me.

He hooks his thumbs under the band of his underwear and slides them down.

Lets them fall to the floor.

Fuck me sideways.

I’m about to faint and crack my skull open from thirst.

He stands right in front of me.

The water is sliding down his hair, over his face, his chest.

My eyes? Yeah.

They’re glued down there.

I’m trying, I swear. I swear I’m trying to look away, but that dick’s got its own gravitational pull.

I’ve become a man hypnotized by a dick.

He snaps his fingers. Right in my face.

“Up here, Giovanni,” he smiles. “My eyes are up here.”

Caught red-eyed and dick-dazed.

I smile.

But I hold the eye contact.

I let the water soak through my hair, pour down my back, but my gaze stays locked on his.

I swear, our bodies might not be doing anything right now, but our eyes? They’re already fucking.

I’ve never seen anyone look at me like that.

So hungry.

“Did you actually give her your number?” he says, finally.

I smirk. My voice comes out rough. “Jealous?”

He doesn’t answer. His silence is loud.

I laugh, low and close to his throat. “Gave her a fake number. That’s hot though, you know. That look you had, just because she looked at me.”

He scowls. “She wasn’t just looking. How do you do it? How do you have everyone on their knees?”

That makes me stop.

I look him dead in the eyes.

Then I slide my hands to his waist.

And slowly, without a word, I sink to my knees in front of him.

Yeah, I got everyone on their knees. Always have. Whole damn world at my feet.

But me? Who the fuck’s got me on my knees?

“You think they get this version of me?” I whisper.

I look up at him.

His chest looks so much bigger from down here.

And his dick? Right in front of me.

Right there. Close enough to haunt me, too far to have.

Thick and flushed and fucking beautiful .

We’re locked in eye contact and it’s killing me.

I can’t touch him. Can’t do anything unless he says yes.

I glance up again. “Can I?”

He smiles, and brushes the wet hair out of my face. “Say please.”

“Please,” I whisper. “Please, Rava.”

He leans in slightly. “Then please do.”

And that’s all I need.

I start with his thighs. I kiss them slow, one side, then the other. My fingers sink into the meat of them.

I trail my mouth up, getting closer. Closer. My tongue is teasing around the base, not touching his dick yet.

“Do you want me to stop?” I murmur.

Nothing.

“I need to hear you, Rava.” My voice is a rasp. “You want me to stop?”

His voice is hoarse. “Gio, please don’t stop.”

I don’t waste a fucking second. I take him in.

Weston. Rava fucking Weston. The same guy I swore I hated, the same guy I swore I’d never touch.

Now I’ve got him deep in my throat, testing how far I can go before my eyes sting.

I want more. I want everything. I want to worship him.

His head tips back, and both his hands grip my hair like he’s hanging on for dear life.

He moves with me, dragging me down like he needs it too.

I glance up. Shit. He’s looking right at me.

And I’ve never wanted to be better at anything in my life.

I want to thank his whole body with my mouth. I want to make him cum so hard he forgets his own name.

He’s mine. No one gets this. No one sees him like this. No one will ever make him sound like this. And if they tried, I’d kill them.

I suck him deeper.

I make it wetter on purpose. Sloppier.

The more noise he makes, the filthier I get.

My hands explore him.

His hips, his thighs, his lower back, his ass. I grab all of it.

I squeeze.

He tugs harder on my hair. My scalp burns, and I love it.

I love it so much.

Because I’m not doing this just for his pleasure.

This is my pleasure too.

This is my thing. My fix. My high.

His pleasure is my possession.

I hum around him, and his knees almost give out.

The bathroom is a fucking steam room.

Everything is wet. The mirror’s fogged up, the air is thick with heat.

And I’m gone. Gone for him. Gone like he’s some god and I’m just the fool who touched divinity and can’t go back.

I take him deeper. I let him hit the back of my throat, again and again, and I don’t pull away.

I stay there. I want to choke on him.

I want to ruin myself for him.

He moans broken, like he can’t hold it in anymore.

I pull back just enough to whisper, voice wrecked, “You like that, angel?”

He nods, pupils blown wide.

His hand is still in my hair, but gentler now.

Like he doesn’t know whether to hold me there or pull me back and kiss me.

But I’m not done.

I wrap my arms around his waist and go again.

His stomach is twitching every time I slide my mouth back down his dick.

He’s saying my name again and again.

Gio. Gio. Fuck—Gio.

God, I want to live inside that fucking sound.

His grip in my hair tightens, this time not gentle.

I know that rhythm.

He’s about to cum.

I look up at him, and I go harder.

I flatten my tongue and hollow my cheeks.

And suck.

I’m trying to rip the orgasm out of him with my mouth.

My hands dig into his ass, pulling him forward, forcing him deeper. He gasps.

I can feel him pulse on my tongue.

“You gonna cum for me, pretty boy?” I rasp, pulling back just enough to breathe.

He nods, frantic. “Fuck, Gio don’t stop, please.”

I don’t.

I suck more.

His whole body tenses, his head is thrown back against the wall.

His moan turns into something raw.

I feel that first rush of heat spilling against my tongue and I smile.

Finally.

Finally, his cum’s in my mouth.

My fingers are gripping his ass tighter.

He’s about to slap his hand over his mouth. He wants to swallow those pretty little sounds he’s making.

No the fuck you’re not.

I snatch his wrist and push it down, pin it to his thigh.

I wanna hear you fall apart, Weston.

He slumps back against the wall, dazed.

I crawl up his body, kissing his hip, his chest, his throat.

I’m gonna miss this.

Rava’s POV

Who would’ve told me this is how I’d end up?

In a hotel bed in a different country, with Fontana on me, and me playing with his hair.

His head is resting on my stomach, and I’m just… twisting little strands of his hair around my fingers. Slowly, over and over.

Watching them spring back, watching him relax even more every time I do it.

It’s weirdly quiet.

If someone from my old life could see me right now, they’d think I got replaced by an alien.

But I’m not panicking.

…

I’m not panicking.

I stop.

My hand stills in his hair.

Because I realize what I’m doing.

Not the touching.

The way I’m doing it.

I’m being soft and careful. Like I’m scared to break him.

Like I care too much.

He pulls back just a little. “You okay?”

I nod.

Lie.

“Yeah. Just—” I shift under him slightly. “I don’t know. I spaced out.”

He watches me closely.

And then he does exactly what I was scared he’d do.

He shifts higher on me.

His head leaves my stomach and ends up on my chest.

Now he’s almost fully on top of me.

He kisses my neck. “You’re allowed to think, you know. Even with me on top of you.”

I manage a smile. “Dangerous thought.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Why?”

I don’t answer right away.

He’s making it so fucking hard.

One second he’s calling me desperate, and the next he’s sucking me off like he’s the desperate one.

One second he’s mocking my tattoo, then staring at it like he wants to lick the ink right off my skin.

He says I’m annoying, and then rubs slow circles on my thumb to calm me down.

And the way he ate me out in the shower??

That wasn’t casual.

That was him doing me the way I do him .

And I already know I like him.

“We’re getting good at this,” I murmur. “You and me.”

His mouth curls. “Yeah. Practice makes perfect.”

“But it wasn’t supposed to feel… easy.”

“It’s not easy,” he says softly.

Our eyes meet.

There it is.

That thing we’re not naming.

I look at him too long.

And he looks back, just as long.

I love it and I absolutely hate it at the same time.

I don’t pull away.

And he doesn’t either.

I should kiss him again.

But I don’t.

“Do you think about what happens when I leave?”

Yeah, I know. Killed the vibe. But we already crossed the damn line, someone had to say it.

We shouldn’t act like this question wasn’t coming.

He knew it was. He just didn’t wanna hear it out loud.

“What?”

I don’t back down.

“I mean,” I say, quietly, carefully, “we don’t really talk about it. But we both know it’s coming.”

He looks down.

“I’m not trying to ruin anything,” I add quickly.

“I’m not trying to end it, I just… I need to know what this is. What we’re pretending it isn’t. I know I’m not staying, and you’re definitely not coming with me. So what are we even doing?”

He’s not happy, I can see it. And for some reason it makes me feel like maybe I matter more than he wants to admit.

It also makes me want to throw up, ’cause what the hell do we even do with that now?

It’s selfish, I know.

But a part of me wants him to miss me so bad it hurts. The same way I’m already hurting.

“For now?” he says finally, “I guess we’re just… in it. That’s all.”

We’re in it. That’s all this is. Just in it.

Do I wanna cry? Yeah. Badly. Because I want more.

But of course I know better.

I know this can’t be anything else. It’s just two hungry bodies.

I search his face. “Right. Just physical.”

He nods. “No thinking. No planning. Just this. This summer.”

“And when it ends?”

His jaw tightens. “Then it ends.”

I bite the inside of my cheek.

“It’s not supposed to last, Rava. We weren’t made for that. You have a life. A whole damn country waiting for you.”

I look at him.

“And you?”

He shrugs. “I’m not part of the future. I never was. I don’t even pretend.”

My throat goes tight. “So we’re just… fucking our way through the calendar?”

He gives me a small, crooked smile. “Don’t make it sound ugly.”

I smile back.

It is ugly. Really fucking ugly.

But I’ll get over it.

I guess it’s easier to survive something you never fully had in the first place.

He pulls back just enough to look at me. “Okay. So let’s make a deal.”

“A deal?!”

He nods.

“Yeah,” he says. “Two months. That’s what we’ve got, right?”

I nod slowly.

“So we stay in it. We enjoy it. No pressure, no… delusions.”

I study his face.

He keeps going.

“We don’t fall in love. We don’t say it. We don’t let it get to that point.”

“And if it does?” I ask.

Don’t even know if I wanna hear the answer.

He laughs. “Damn. From hating me down to the bone to not being able not to fall for me? That’s a hell of a jump.”

I know, Fontana, don’t make it worse.

I shove him. “I didn’t say I did. I’m just asking. Just in case. You might fall for me. Not the other way around.”

He lets out this bitter little laugh.

His fingers are playing with the drawstring of my sweatpants. Then lets go.

“Alright. Since you’re asking, jokes aside…”

He meets my eyes. There’s no smile now.

“If one of us starts to feel something real…we walk.”

I go quiet.

The ceiling spins just a little. Or maybe it’s me.

Yeah, probably just me.

“Just like that?” I ask.

He nods. “Just…like that.”

He’s not touching me anymore.

And it hurts.

I want to say I already feel it.

I want to say please don’t make me pretend.

But I just swallow hard and nod.

“Okay,” I say. “Two months. No feelings. No falling.”

“Exactly. We’re just… bodies. Pleasure. Escape.”

“Right.”

“We don’t owe each other anything after.”

“Right.”

He leans in, brushes his lips against mine again.

I kiss him back, but I feel like crying.

I wonder if he can taste it.

We pull apart.

And for a second, we just stare at each other.

Both of us pretending that nothing’s already broken.

---

GUYS BE PATIENT, PLEASE, I PROMISE IM NOT EVIL💔

Okay I am, but like BE PATIENT, i know what I’m doing.

ALSO⚠️

Reminder that in the physical book, (check this comment for the link) Gio does a few extra things to Rava in the shower 😼

(yes, ass eating, oops)

If you want to read it, it’ll be in there as a little extra gift scene :)

48) We’ve Got Company

Rava’s POV

We survived another meeting.

Different men this time. Older. More “I drink whiskey at 11AM,” energy.

Now it’s just the three of us walking down the hallway to our hotel room. Lorenzo is fighting with the keycard.

Gio lifts a finger and taps his shoulder.

“Hey dude, why don’t you go for a walk or something? Find a girl, live a little?”

Lorenzo stops. “You’re kicking me out so you can spend time with him ?”

Gio smiles. “Obviously? Look at you. You’re smarter than you look.”

Lorenzo rolls his eyes. “You’re lucky you’re my cousin. And that I actually like Rava. Otherwise, I’d plant myself right here just to stop you two from misbehaving.”

“Who the hell still says misbehaving?” Gio says, smirking.

“I do,” Lorenzo says proudly, and points at me.

“And I bet he does too, in spirit. Don’t let this innocent face fool you.”

I laugh, because he’s saying that without even knowing.

Well… okay. That’s a lie.

He does know how my brain works.

He knows the kind of thoughts I have.

He knows because I showed him. I let him in there.

But he doesn’t know this part.

He doesn’t know that Gio and I already… did things.

Plural.

Bathroom things, bed things, elevator things. “If our parents find out we’re dead” things.

No one knows.

Lorenzo groans dramatically. “Ugh. Fine. I’ll go. But if you’re not dressed when I get back, I’m telling your dad.”

Gio just winks. “Give him details.”

Lorenzo disappears down the hall. “Horny idiots.”

We walk into the room.

Gio immediately takes his shirt off, and falls straight to the bed.

“I can’t take another fucking meeting,” he muttered into the sheets.

“Agreed,” I said, kicking off my shoes.

He pushes himself up on his elbows, and starts scanning the room slowly. The big bed, the view, the stupidly nice furniture.

“All of this is yours, huh?” he says.

I turn and look at him, suspicious.

I don’t really remember telling him that.

But it weirdly makes me happy he knows.

I smile a little, kind of shy, and pick his T-shirt up from the floor, smoothing it out.

“It’s just under my name,” I say. “I don’t really… do much for this one.”

“Still,” Gio says. “It’s sick. You’ve got a whole dowry out of nowhere. Other people in your place wouldn’t work at all, they’d just chill and let the money roll in.”

I shrug. “Yeah, well. I still wanna be a teacher. That doesn’t change.”

I fold his shirt and set it on the nightstand. Gio watches me.

“That’s cute,” he says.

He pushes himself up a little and reaches for me. His hand hooks around my wrist and he yanks me down onto the bed next to him.

And he doesn’t stop there.

He immediately climbs over me.

If someone looked in from the outside, they’d probably think this is his favorite place to be.

On me.

“What the hell are you doing?” I asked, trying to sound calm.

Then he leans in, clearly going for a kiss.

On purpose, I turn my head to the side so he gets cheek instead of mouth.

Just to tease him.

“Look at you,” I said. “Pathetic. You used to mock me, remember? And now you can’t even go five minutes without needing to touch me.”

He reached up, slow, and removed my glasses.

He placed them carefully on the nightstand like they were worth more than anything else in the room.

Then he started running his fingers through my hair.

“You’re no better, Ravioli,” he says. “All your hate turned into hunger, and it showed in your sucking. If that was you ‘hating’ me, I don’t even wanna know how you’d suck me if you actually liked me.”

I burst out laughing, right in his face.

“Yeah, well,” I say, looking him straight in the eyes, “guess you’ll never find out.”

He snorted.

And then, while I was still talking, he grabbed my cheeks with both hands and squeezed them, squishing my face into some ridiculous shape.

I blinked at him, baffled. “Seriously?”

He burst out laughing.

“You’re an idiot,” I mumble, my cheeks still squished between his hands while he laughs.

“And you’re kinda adorable like this,” he laughs.

I swat his hands away. “Get off me. You’re heavy.”

“You’re just soft,” he teases.

“Soft? Where?” I lean in a little, meeting his gaze. “I could knock you flat if I wanted to.”

He grins, still not moving. “You want to be on top? Say the word.”

I roll my eyes. “You’re disgusting.”

“And yet you’re still underneath me.” He lowers his face just enough that his breath brushes against my lips. “Funny how that works.”

I push at his chest, to make a point. “You’re unbearable.”

“You’re adorable.”

We stare at each other. Too long. I’m the one who breaks eye contact first.

He gets up and goes to his suitcase, digs around, and pulls out… his swim shorts.

“Come on,” he says. “Let’s hit the beach for a bit. I promise I won’t drown you.”

And then he just… pulls his pants down.

My head snaps away fast.

I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. Do I look? Do I not look? Do I show “respect”? Do I pretend I’m blind?

“Oh, come on , Rava. You had my dick in your mouth two days ago. You physically cannot get closer than that.”

…You can.

Sex will do that for us. Eventually. Maybe. If I don’t die first.

My whole face feels like it’s on fire.

He’s right though.

I turn my head back, slowly, and steal a couple of quick glances.

Holy. Shit.

My stomach does… weird things. Something is wrong with me. This is not normal.

I was not like this.

I wasn’t the type to act like a thirsty animal over dick.

Not that I ever had the chance to see one this close to compare, but… yeah.

Wow.

He slides on his black swim trunks.

“Sorry I ruined the show for you,” he says.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” I say. “You’re not all that.”

I mutter it with a little laugh.

“Thank you for keeping me humble,” he says, grinning.

I roll my eyes.

I’m pretty sure my stupid blush gives me away.

I reach for my shirt, but he’s already on me. “Let me,” he murmurs.

In the heat of the moment the other times, taking his clothes off felt… normal. Expected.

Now there’s no heavy breathing, no “we’re about to do something stupid” tension.

Now it’s quiet. And somehow this feels ten times more intimate.

He grabs my shirt from the hem and starts lifting it, slowly.

The fabric drags over my skin, up my stomach, my chest, my arms, until he finally pulls it over my head and tosses it gently on the bed.

His eyes are on me the whole time.

I can feel them burning little holes into my skin.

He reaches his hand out like he’s going to touch me, then stops halfway and pulls back, pretending he was never planning to in the first place.

I laugh, because the idea that someone like Gio Fontana is scared to touch me is… hilarious.

And kinda hot.

“You know you can touch me any time , right?” I say.

“Of course I know,” he answers.

We just look at each other.

“Okay, I didn’t know. I’m glad. Turn around,” he says. “I wanna see your back.”

Of course you wanna see my back. Liar.

Acting like you didn’t like it when you first saw it.

I roll my eyes a little and turn slowly, letting him see the whole thing.

My heart is beating stupidly fast.

He moves behind me.

“Oh fuck,” he whispers.

I feel his hand on my back.

Right on the tattoo.

His thumb runs over it like he’s memorizing it.

“This one… this one is insane,” he says, voice lower now. “You’re gonna be the most badass teacher on the planet, you know that?”

Second time.

It’s the second time he’s said that to me. Second time he takes my dream seriously instead of laughing at it or telling me to be realistic.

Second time he talks like it’s already decided, like of course I’m going to make it, of course I’m going to stand in a classroom one day and actually be that.

He doesn’t say “if.” He says it like a fact.

I’m turned away from him, so he can’t see my face, and I’m weirdly grateful for that.

Because I’m smiling.

His palm presses flat between my shoulder blades. “They’ll see this in the office and shit themselves.”

His hand is running up and down my back while he talks.

And then, for some reason, he changes the path. His hand slides lower.

Right on my waist.

That’s it.

I want to have sex with him.

Properly. All the way.

I want to pull him on top of me and not stop.

But… I’ve never done that with a guy before.

Like yeah, I’ve imagined things, I’ve thought about it, I’ve had stupid little daydreams where I fade to black before anything actually happens.

But now my body’s like, no, no fade to black.

Keep going.

Show everything.

And it freaking terrifies me.

Because it’s not just horny. It’s not “ugh, I need to get off.”

It’s this insane, aching need to be close to him.

But it’s scary as fuck.

Because there’s no manual. No tutorial.

I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be scared of first, the physical part, the emotional part, OR the part where once I cross that line, I can’t ever pretend I’m “ just curious “ again.

Because if I go there with Gio, that’s it.

There’s no “oops, it was just one night.” No “haha, we were drunk, it doesn’t count.”

It will count. For everything.

The more I panic, the more my body pushes back, like, shut up and let me have him already.

I’m stuck between I’m not ready and I don’t think I’ll ever be more ready than right now .

And then there’s the part that really makes me want to throw up.

We can’t even be together.

Realistically.

This isn’t some slow-burn friends-to-lovers shit where we move in together, adopt a cat and a dog and cook pasta on Sundays.

I’m going back to Canada. That’s already written.

I know that. He knows that. Everyone around us knows that.

We can’t be public.

We can’t be anything more than… whatever this is.

Secret.

It scares the hell out of me.

Because it’s not just, “oh, let’s do it before I leave, YOLO.”

It feels so much bigger.

I feel like I’m standing at the edge of a cliff with two choices.

Stay safe. Keep my first time with a guy locked away for some hypothetical future where being with a man is simple and allowed and stable.

Or…

Jump. Give it to him. Now. Even if I know he won’t be there forever.

And yeah I want to jump.

Even knowing I’m going back to Canada.

Even knowing we’ll probably go back to pretending, to distance, to video calls and time zones, or maybe even nothing at all.

There’s a part of me that’s like: If I’m going to cross that line with a man, I want it to be with the one who makes me feel everything. Even if it hurts later. Even if I’m alone in my tiny Canadian house replaying it in my head like a movie.

It feels almost like… giving him a piece of me I know I won’t get back.

On purpose.

Not because “we’re meant to be” or “we’ll end up married” or any of that fairytale shit.

Because I’m here now. Because he’s here now.

Because this version of us, in this hotel, in this city, at this age, is never going to exist again.

And that makes me panic.

I’m terrified that I’m willingly signing up to have my heart ripped in half by my first time with a guy.

But my body doesn’t care. My feelings don’t care.

They’re both saying the same thing.

Even if it’s not forever… even if it breaks you later… you want your first time with him.

And that’s what really fucks me up.

Because deep down, I know it’s true.

Jesus Christ.

All he did was take off my shirt.

All he did was touch my fucking tattoo.

What the hell is wrong with me?

We make it to the beach.

We picked one with barely any people, on purpose.

You never know. The less eyes on us, the better.

Because yeah, the better we get, the more we have to hide.

Depressing but true.

The waves are a little wild. I can already see us fighting for our lives in the water in like ten minutes.

We drop our towels in a corner of the sand, away from everyone else.

I’m still adjusting my shorts, when Gio just… peaces out.

He runs straight into the sea and dives in headfirst.

He comes back out a few seconds later and my jaw nearly hits the sand.

Jesus Christ. There is nothing average about this man.

His body was already perfect, but now, under the sunset, it’s unfair.

The light hits his chest, his shoulders, the lines on his stomach…

Everything looks sharper, almost like it’s fake.

He drags his hands through his hair, pushing it back slowly, shaking the water out of his eyes.

I pause at the edge, just letting the water touch my feet.

It’s cooler than I expected.

I cross my arms, acting unbothered.

I could pretend I’m not dying to join him.

I could hold this pose forever.

“Rava,” Gio shouts from the waves, “don’t be a little bitch.”

I smirk, but stay still. “I’m appreciating the view.”

He comes way too close.

“If you dunk me, I swear I’m not—”

Before I even finish, he whips his head and shakes his hair out all over me.

For a second I literally see Jesus.

“What is wrong with the Fontana family?” I splutter. “You and Lorenzo have this deep need to soak me at every opportunity.”

Gio looks up at me while his fingers are messing with the sand beneath his feet, eyes locked on mine.

“That sounded so dirty, Ravioli,” he says.

I kick water at him. “I mean it literally. He did the exact same thing in the pool the other day.”

He laughs. “Aw, poor Weston, under attack from the Fontanas. What should we do?”

I don’t even get to laugh back.

His hand comes up out of the water.

He grabs my wrist.

Before I can stop him, his wet, strong hand yanks me forward.

My feet lose the sand, and I crash into the sea with a gasp, water exploding up around my shoulders, soaking my face, my hair, my everything.

“Shit, fuck—you asshole!” I yell, blinking salt out of my eyes.

I’m half-blind from the first baptism, and before I can even breathe, he dunks me again.

The wave hits us hard and throws him right into me.

I swear to God, I almost made out with his dick underwater.

The water settles. We break the surface, both of us coughing and laughing.

“You didn’t have to drag me in, you idiot!”

He swims a little closer, lazy strokes through the crystal. “You don’t have to act like you hate me, angel. Your dad’s not here. No one is. We’re in another fucking country.”

The words hit harder than the wave that crashed over me.

Jesus.

I’m not used to agreeing with Gio. That’s never been our thing.

Our thing was always snapping at each other, rolling our eyes, competing over who can be more annoying.

And now he says shit like that and I actually… agree.

I hate that he’s right. I hate that I like that he’s right.

I glare. “You’ve got a pretty big opinion of yourself.”

He tilts his head. That dangerous smile returning.

“If I didn’t,” he leans in, “you wouldn’t have moaned so fucking hard last night in the shower.”

My jaw drops.

“You—” I start to say, but he’s too close.

So I shove him. Hard.

He stumbles back into the water, laughing, and I dive after him, tackling him under the surface, and when we both come up, I grab his face and kiss him.

His hands go straight to my hips, gripping tight as he kisses me back with everything he has.

He bites my lower lip.

I gasp into his mouth.

I kiss him the way I wanted to in Italy and couldn’t.

Our tongues are literally fighting. My hand goes to the back of his head and I accidentally yank his hair a little too hard.

I didn’t mean to. Okay, I did. A little.

What do you want from me? I’m repressed.

His fingers dig into my waist under the water, pulling me even closer.

We laugh. We wrestle. We kiss again.

For once, I don’t care who I’m supposed to be.

I’m not the “good son,” not the “innocent one,” not the future teacher with the decent life plan.

I’m just Rava.

Rava with Gio.

But Gio suddenly stiffens.

He blinks past me, up toward the rocks.

“What?” I whisper.

He doesn’t answer right away. He lowers me back into the water.

“Don’t look,” he mutters, his lips still brushing mine. “But we’ve got company. From the meeting.”

“What?”

I glance up without thinking.

Oh, fuck.

Standing right above us, at the edge of the cliff, is someone we know.

One of the old men from the table today.

The one with the beige polo shirt and the bald spot.

Fucking hell.

Instinctively, I turn to look again.

“Don’t—don’t move like that,” he hisses. “Slow. We’re going under that rock. Now.”

Adrenaline kicks in.

That’s it. They’re going to kill us.

This man is gonna go back, sit his overpriced espresso down and be like, “Hey, funny story, just saw Fontana’s son and Weston’s son making out in the ocean!”

My dad will faint and Gio’s family will start planning a funeral while we’re still alive.

This was my last good moment.

Of course the universe sends some random business guy as a witness.

I didn’t even get to find out what his dick feels like.

I could scream.

We’re going down for this, and I didn’t even get the full experience.

My heartbeat pounds in my ears as Gio takes my wrist, gently this time.

Not yanking like before.

Guiding.

The sunlight disappears as we slide under the cliff’s overhang.

It’s dark, and just barely enough to cover us.

Gio presses his back gently against the rock, as far in as he can go, and pulls me with him.

He’s trying not to make a single wave give us away.

He keeps his eyes up, checking if that guy is still there.

I keep my eyes… not where they should be.

I’m glued to his chest.

He lifts his arms to grab the top edge of the rock and push us both further in, using his strength to wedge us into the safest spot possible.

I’m looking at his hands like a pervert.

Those big forearms. His veins popping under wet skin. The water dripping down from his wrists.

I feel disgusting.

We’re hiding for our lives in a rock crevice like illegal crabs, and I’m down here staring at Gio Fontana’s hands like a thirsty animal.

But I can’t help it.

They’re huge. Too big for my sanity.

I open my mouth to whisper something, but Gio turns and shuts me up.

His hand covers my lips.

His other hand is at my waist, holding me still against him, my thighs brushing his under the surface. My skin is hypersensitive.

He turns his head slowly, just enough to face me.

He lets his hand fall gently, away from my mouth.

I look at him, smiling. “You’re awful.”

‘You’re beautiful’.

…

My head drops instantly.

God, sometimes I hate being a guy.

Mostly because right now I have a massive, borderline-agonizing boner.

One of those that actually hurt, and there is absolutely zero chance of hiding it.

None. My body doesn’t just betray me, it announces it.

I want to sink to the bottom and let the fish have me.

And the more I try to back up, the more the water pushes us together, so now I’m basically grinding on him like the neediest slut Spain has ever seen.

His eyes drop for just a second.

And he smirks.

His hand slides lower.

Lower.

Then it disappears into the water.

And finds its way inside my swimsuit.

I make a sound. Tiny. Muffled by my own bitten-down moan.

His fingers curl around my dick, slowly, even though someone is still standing
just above us.

I grab his shoulders, my nails digging into his wet skin.

I’m supposed to be terrified . Someone could look down and see us. We could get ourselves in such a big trouble.

But I don’t care.

What is wrong with me? I used to be composed and respectable.

I don’t know what kind of spell this man cast on me, but I swear to god, I didn’t used to be this horny.

Not like this.

But now it’s like my brain is permanently broken. He breathes near my neck and I’m ready to drop to my knees in public.

It’s like he transferred his feral sex demon energy into me and now I’m just… infected.

His hand moves under the water. Back and forth, back and forth.

My forehead drops to his collarbone. I try to stay quiet.

Try.

“Still pretending you hate me?” he whispers.

I shake my head.

It’s unbearable. Maddening.

And of course… he stops.

His hand stills, then slowly pulls away.

I look up at him.

“What—why did you stop?”

Gio opens his mouth to answer and I don’t even let him. “Actually, wait.”

I can’t do this halfway anymore. I swear to God, I’m gonna lose my mind if I don’t do it.

“Gio,” I say, quieter now. “Let’s have sex.”

I said it.

And no, I don’t regret it. Not even a little. I need it.

I’ve reached this humiliating, feral point where holding it in hurts more than saying it.

Where my body already made the decision weeks ago and my mouth is just catching up.

A tiny sound slips from his throat, he’s surprised.

He covers his mouth fast, and he pulls back from me.

We both go still.

Up above, footsteps.

“Strange tide today,” says a familiar voice, echoing slightly against the rock.

It’s him. The guy from the meeting. He’s right above us. Talking to himself. I’m so fucking scared right now.

“Should’ve brought a damn hat…”

Gio is breathing through his nose, eyes locked on mine, like he’s afraid even blinking will make a sound.

I’m still panting from what almost happened.

I’m going to die .

I’m going to pass out right here in the water from panic and arousal and shame and everything.

I close my eyes. Please go away.

I can hear footsteps. Then silence.

I open my eyes and see Gio very slowly lifting his head. He peeks around the rock.

Nothing. Empty.

He exhales sharply, then turns to me. His hand grabs mine fast.

“Let’s move,” he says.

We push out from under the overhang, swimming fast, kicking up water everywhere.

We scramble for our towels and bags, grabbing clothes with slippery fingers. My pulse is still erratic, everything in me soaked and on edge.

We run.

49) Can You Draw Me?

Rava’s POV

We stumble out of the bathroom both soaking wet.

Everything’s super foggy.

I’m half blind as I grab a towel and start rubbing it through my hair, trying to get the worst of it out so he won’t complain later that I’m getting the bed wet.

Gio doesn’t even try.

He just collapses face-first on the mattress.

Shirtless.

He stretches out like a sun-drenched animal.

I tear my gaze away.

There’s this tiny, annoying weight sitting in my chest.

I feel a bit… embarrassed. Because I never got an answer.

Did he even hear me in there? When I told him I wanted to have sex?

Did he hear and decide to ignore it? Did he hear and think nope and just… change the subject?

I have no idea.

And it’s killing me not to ask.

I want to ask so many things. Did you hear me? Do you want me too? Did I overstep? Am I reading this wrong? But if I ask and he says no, I’ll want the ground to open and swallow me whole.

The truth is I do want to sleep with him.

Not because I just want to cum, I can do that alone, no problem, zero help needed.

It’s not about that.

I just want him as close as possible. Now that I can.

Now that we’re alone, no family, no meetings, no eyes watching us.

It’s perfect.

He yawns. “Wonder where Lorenzo ended up.”

I drop the towel from my head. “Probably in the middle of some orgy with six horny Spaniards.”

Gio laughs. I don’t.

He could’ve been out there too.

Instead, he’s here. Locked in this quiet hotel room with me.

I suddenly feel like I’m keeping him prisoner.

Like I dragged him away from the world and trapped him in this soft moment he never asked for.

He could be out there flirting, dancing, doing shots off someone’s stomach, doing whatever Gio does when everyone is watching.

But he’s not.

And some selfish, ugly part of me is glad.

The rest of me feels guilty as hell about it.

“Do you…” I start, then stop.

He turns his head lazily toward me. “Do I what?”

I sit at the edge of the bed, facing away from him.

“Do you feel like you’re missing out? That you could be out there, like Lorenzo, doing whatever you want, instead of being here. With me. Wasting time. When I’m not even staying…”

I trail off and lie back with a sigh, folding an arm over my eyes.

I want to melt into the mattress.

“You think this is a waste of time?”

I snap my head up fast.

A waste of time?

If he knew.

If he had any idea.

These are my favorite days.

His expression isn’t angry.

It’s… wounded.

“No,” I say, too fast. “No. I didn’t mean it like that.”

I turn toward him fully now. “I just meant… I’m sorry if you feel stuck. Because I don’t. I wish it didn’t have to end. I wish I could—”

He’s already moving.

His hand finds mine.

He squeezes.

“There’s nothing else I want right now,” he says.

His voice is so certain it makes me want to cry.

“They could tell me to stay in a room and not move for the rest of the trip—as long as you’re in that room too? I’d pick that. Every time.”

We both freeze.

Mostly him.

“I mean—I really like spending time with you. A lot. That’s what I meant.”

Bitter, Gio.

But same.

Before I can overthink it, I kiss him.

He laughs against my lips, immediately gripping my neck, pulling me closer.

I chuckle against his. “Damn. I ruined you.”

He laughs. “More like you fixed me.”

He kisses me again, smiling.

Something shifts.

I feel it.

The kiss isn’t just “haha Spain vacation, enemies to something.”

It’s… hungrier.

It feels like we’re both saying it without words,

“Yeah. I want more than just this.”

He must feel it too. I can see it in his expression when we break apart for a second.

He looks at me like we just crossed another invisible line together.

Then he leans in again.

His lips are now brushing over my throat, so softly I almost doubt it’s happening.

He kisses a little lower, at the base of my neck.

Then my chest. Then the curve of my shoulder.

His hand rests over the other side of my chest.

He watches me.

He’s checking.

Waiting for the tiniest sign I want him to stop.

I don’t give him one.

I don’t want him to stop.

His hand’s at the waistband of my sweats. Barely there. “Should I keep going?”

Jesus. I should be nervous. I should be overthinking this. Why am I not overthinking this?

“You don’t need to ask.”

He pauses. “I do. Trust me. Should I keep going?” he asks again.

“Yeah. Keep going.”

And he does. In one smooth motion, he tugs everything down.

I’m half naked, again .

It should feel awkward but it doesn’t.

I’m too busy trying to figure out how the hell I’m this okay with it.

I’m not just okay.

I’m calm.

Maybe it’s because it’s him. Or maybe it’s because I want it so bad it’s tipping into need.

His hands settle on my thighs. He shifts between them and my legs open a little.

Okay, yeah, there’s a tiny flicker of panic, but not the bad kind.

It’s not fear.

More like holy shit this is really happening and I have no idea what I’m doing but I wanna know.

I wanna know what it feels like.

I wanna know what he feels like.

“You good?” he murmurs.

I nod. Then I shake my head. “No. I mean— yes . Yes, I’m very good. Just nervous.”

He smiles.

“I’ve got you,” he says. “You trust me?”

I answer without thinking. “Yes.”

His hand slides lower between my thighs. I spread them more, instinctive, like I’m giving him something.

Like I want to be opened.

Because I do.

My heart is a mess in my chest.

I’ve never done this.

Never even touched myself like that.

Not there.

It always felt… too much.

Too intimate.

Too foreign.

But now, with him, it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

He leans down and kisses me, soft at first, then deeper.

His tongue touches mine and it distracts me just enough that when his fingers finally slip lower, between my cheeks, I gasp into his mouth.

He pulls back just enough to watch me.

“You okay?”

My voice is thin. “Yeah. Just…go on.”

He chuckles.

I smile.

He grabbed the lube.

Why the hell did he even bring lube to Spain?

I have no idea. But I’m so glad he did.

Because now his fingers are slick and I can’t stop staring.

It’s stupid. It shouldn’t turn me on this much. But it does. It makes my dick even more hard than it already is.

I’m twitching. Literally.

And he notices. His eyes flick up with that look that says yeah, I saw that.

Well. At least now he knows I want this.

No room for second guesses.

My whole body’s basically screaming it.

And he hasn’t even touched me yet.

“You tell me to stop, I stop. Understand?”

I nodded. Way too fast. He smirked but didn’t tease me this time.

He kisses me right as the first finger slides in.

I kiss him back automatically, trying to distract myself from the stretch.

But then I smile against his mouth.

I don’t even know why.

It’s not funny.

Gio kisses my cheek, my neck. “Breathe, Rava. Just breathe. I’m not going to do anything you don’t want.”

I nod, holding his shoulder, grounding myself. “I want this.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

His finger slides back in. I gasp. My lips part on instinct, and a soft moan is slipping out before I can catch it.

He hums against my mouth. “I can feel you loosening up,” he murmurs. “You’re taking it good.”

Another finger. He kisses me again.

He’s pushing in, curling.

Again. And again. And again.

My eyes snap open. My hands fly up and latch around his neck. I press my face into his skin to muffle the sound that almost breaks out of me.

He finds the spot. Fuck. He knows he finds it. And he doesn’t let up.

His breath hits my ear, “There you go.”

I squeeze my eyes shut.

Not because it hurts.

Because fuck, it’s starting to feel good.

“That’s it,” he whispers. “You’re doing so good.”

I moan again. I don’t even try to stop it.

“Holy shit,” I breathe. “That feels…”

He waits.

“…weird. But good.”

He grins.

He kisses my chest. My stomach.

And keeps moving.

“You feel so good,” he murmurs.

“Gio…”

“Hm?”

I stare up at the ceiling, trying to find air. “Can I—can we do more?”

He stills. Pulls up enough to see my face.

“You still want to?”

“Yes.”

He swallows. His voice lowers. “Rava. You can’t imagine how much I want it too. Right now. How many times I’ve thought about it. Probably every goddamn hour since I met you.”

My heart could fall apart.

“But,” he adds, softer now, brushing my hair back, “not yet. I don’t want to go too fast and scare you off. I don’t want to be something you regret.”

“I won’t—”

“I know,” he says. “But still. Let’s take our time. You deserve that.”

He leans in. Kisses me slow. Strokes my cheek.

We will wait, I won’t argue.

Even though in my head, the decision’s already made.

We walk out of the bathroom together, and he follows me all the way to my suitcase while I go to grab my face cream.

I bend down to unzip it and he immediately swoops in and snatches my sketchbook.

“GIO—”

I shoot up so fast I nearly hit his chin and go straight for it.

I don’t want him to see. I can’t let him see.

I have stuff in there I never planned on anyone seeing, especially not him.

We’re wrestling in the middle of the hotel room while he runs around with my sketchbook held up.

“Gio, please, give it back, it’s not funny,” I say, reaching for it.

“Then why are you laughing?” he throws back, yanking it further away and shoving me toward the bed with his shoulder.

I get up again immediately. “Because I’m fucking nervous, that’s why! Give it!”

I grab his arm and yank him back toward me, using way more strength than I meant to.

Whoops.

He drops the sketchbook and falls right on top of me.

“Who do you think you are?” he says, laughing against my chest. “Why did you push me?”

“I’M SORRY—” I wheeze. “Get off.”

“No.”

“It was an accident! I panicked. I swear. Get off.”

I start backing away as soon as he gets up.

I’m out of breath.

He suddenly goes completely still.

I stop too.

“What?” I ask.

“Did you hear something at the window?”

I instantly whip my head around to look.

The second I turn, he grabs me from behind and drags me back toward him and I let out this absolutely tragic scream, like I’m being murdered.

He tackles me onto the bed and before I can process anything, he’s on top of me again, pinning both of my wrists above my head with one hand.

His other hand grabs my face.

“Gio,” I shout, breathless and laughing. “You can’t hit me, I’m wearing glasses.”

“Oh, shit…” he mutters.

He reaches for them.

“No, no, NO, leave them—”

I try to twist my head away from him but it’s useless, his hand follows.

He slides the glasses off my face and then makes the one move I was praying he wouldn’t.

He tickles me.

I scream.

Not a cute scream.

I try to kick, to twist, to roll away, but he’s a bit stronger and has all the leverage.

“STOP, LET ME TALK—”

I throw everything I have into one last shove, manage to slip out from under him, and basically launch myself off the bed.

Now I’m sitting with my back against the wall, completely out of breath, my hair a mess, while he sits there on the bed laughing.

“Listen,” I say between breaths, lifting a hand.

“Okay. I’ll show you. I’ll show you what’s inside. Just… leave me alone.”

He grins and raises both hands in the air like he’s surrendering. “Okay,” he says.

I walk toward him slowly, watching him the whole time, then I grab the sketchbook.

He laughs. “I’m not gonna mess with you, I swear. Come on. I wanna see. How bad can it be? I can’t draw shit.”

I laugh under my breath and sit next to him on the bed, carefully.

“If you touch me, I’m giving Allegra your number,” I warn him.

“I won’t touch you!! Just show me.”

I hand him the sketchbook, still hesitant.

“Okay, listen,” I start rambling immediately, “some of these are super rough, I did them at university, don’t start judging and—”

“Shut your mouth, Weston. Art is art.”

“…Okay,” I mumble.

He opens it.

First page: a cat.

He lets out this soft little laugh. “She kinda looks like my cat.”

“She does, actually. It was a random cat outside campus.”

“Very pretty,” he says, looking straight at me when he says it.

Then he turns the page.

His eyes go huge.

Yeah.

This is the part I didn’t want.

“You draw bikes???” he asks, shocked.

I laugh. “I just wanted something challenging. Bikes have a lot of detail, they’re not easy…”

He nods and studies it way too carefully.

My heart starts beating like crazy, because he actually knows about bikes.

If anyone’s gonna see something wrong, it’s him.

“Wow. You really paid attention to every detail, you made it look easy,” he says.

“I try,” I mumble.

He flips to the next page and finds two faces.

He looks at me, stunned.

“What?” I ask, laughing.

“Holy shit. You can actually draw. Who are they?”

“A classmate of mine and her brother.”

“They’ve seen these??“he asks, genuinely curious.

I nod.

He keeps looking, turning more pages.

I can feel my cheeks heating up, but he’s not mocking me.

He’s actually looking. Respectfully.

It’s embarrassing as hell, but also kind of… nice.

He touches one of the drawings with his fingertip, like he’s checking something.

“What are you doing?” I laugh.

“I wanna see if it rubs off. There’s no way you did these.”

“Why ‘no way’?” I protest. “You think I’m useless or something? I like drawing.”

He looks at me for a second.

“Can you draw me?”

I freeze.

Just… stare at him.

Me.

Drawing Gio Fontana.

He’s asking me to draw him .

My throat goes dry and I swallow hard. “Uh… now?”

“Now,” he says.

I stare at the pencils in my bag for a second.

Then I look back at him.

“You’ll have to sit still for a long time,” I warn. “I’m not fast…”

“I don’t mind,” Gio says immediately. “I’ve got as long as you need. All night.”

“I don’t know if it’ll turn out good, though,” I mumble. “I might make you ugly.”

He snorts. “You’re not gonna make me ugly, I’m sure. From what I saw, you know exactly how to draw faces. You’re good. Please draw me.”

That “please” hits way too hard.

I laugh a little. “Okay,” I say quietly. “I’ll try.”

I get up and grab my pencil case from the suitcase.

Am I nervous?

Absolutely.

I’m terrified , actually.

I don’t want to mess it up and have him laugh.

I’m going to use every single brain cell and neuron I have for this.

I come back to the bed, clutching my stuff. “Are we doing it here?” I ask, pointing at the mattress.

“You’re the artist,” he says. “You decide.”

I give him a tiny smile and look around the room.

My eyes land on the small table with the two chairs.

“There,” I say, nodding toward it. “Come here.”

I sit in one chair and motion for him to sit in the other, directly across from me.

“You need to be close,” I say, softer. “So I can see the details.”

He leans forward immediately, resting on his elbows, and just… looks at me.

Straight into my soul.

“Is this okay?” he asks.

Yeah.

If you want me dead.

I swallow it down and just nod. “Yeah. It’s good,” I say.

I open the sketchbook.

“Okay, what do I do now?” he asks.

“Just… stay like that,” I say quietly. “Don’t move too much.”

My fingers are already tense around the pencil.

I hate him a little bit for how calm he looks.

I sketch the outline of his head first.

Easy stuff.

If I pretend it’s some random model from Pinterest, my heart doesn’t beat this fast.

But then I look up, and it’s not Pinterest.

It’s Gio.

I’ve never done it on someone who’s looking straight back at me like that.

Every time I look up, he’s already looking at me.

There’s no break.

He doesn’t glance away, he doesn’t even pretend to be shy. I don’t know how he does it.

He’s just watching me watch him.

“Stop staring,” I mutter, focusing on the slope of his brow.

“I thought that was the point,” he says.

“It’s the point that I stare at you, not the other way around,” I say, trying to sound annoyed instead of flustered.

He grins.

I sketch the eyebrows next. They’re darker, thicker towards the center.

I try to capture the way they dip when he’s concentrating.

He’s concentrating now.

On me.

My pulse is so loud it’s actually embarrassing.

I move down to his nose, tracing the bridge with my eyes first.

There’s a very tiny bump from when he broke it, when we were younger.

Then my gaze drops to his mouth.

That’s where it gets complicated.

He opens it to say something.

“Don’t talk,” I blurt out.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m sorry, I’m just drawing your lips,” I say, way too honestly. “If you talk, they move.”

He goes quiet.

He has a full bottom lip, a sharper edge on the top one.

I sketch the curves lightly, trying to get the shape exactly right.

I take a deep breath when I go over the part where the piercing sits.

I look at the real thing again.

That silver hoop on the side of his mouth.

I draw it with a couple of simple strokes, a tiny highlight where the light hits.

It’s really such a small detail, but without it, it wouldn’t be him.

“Is that my piercing?” he asks quietly.

“Obviously,” I say. “Kind of the main event.”

He laughs softly and it ruins the angle, so I click my tongue. “Hold it like before. You moved.”

“Yes, sir,” he says.

I move up to his eyes.

I never noticed how long his lashes are.

I draw the outline slowly, trying to get his gaze right.

There’s no point in drawing someone if you don’t get the way they look at you .

“Why are you frowning?” he asks softly.

“Because you’re annoying to draw,” I say.

He smiles again. “Annoying how?”

“Your face has… a lot going on.”

“Is that a compliment?”

“Take it however you want, Fontana,” I mutter.

He shifts again, this time just to lean even closer.

“You’re really into this.”

“No, Gio, I’m casually drawing your entire face from memory and live reference for fun,” I say.

“Of course I’m into this. Now stop talking. I need to get the shadows right.”

He chuckles but obeys.

Half an hour later

My hand finally starts to relax.

The drawing is starting to look like him, almost painfully like him.

I’m proud.

Because the more it looks like him, the more it feels like proof.

That I saw him like this. That I studied every line. That I sat here and memorized him.

I take a step back in my mind and look at the page.

His eyes. His brows. His stupid mouth with the ring. His jawline.

Gio tilts his head a little. “How’s it going, Picasso?”

“Don’t move,” I say, but my voice comes out softer now.

I keep looking up and down.

Gio. Paper. Gio. Paper.

I shade under his eyes, trying to copy the way the shadows fall.

My hand is shaking.

“Relax, Weston,” he says softly. “You’re red like a tomato.”

I snort, not looking up. “It’s because I’m terrified of making you look like shit.”

“You’re not gonna make me look like shit.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do,” he says.

I swallow and force my hand to calm down.

I go over his lips again, darkening the line of the bottom one, fixing the ring, adding the little shadow it casts.

“Ravioli,” he says.

I look up.

He’s leaning closer now.

“You’re doing great,” he says.

No. This is torture and heaven.

“I haven’t even finished,” I mutter.

I look back down just to survive the eye contact.

I add a few last touches around his eyes, deepen the pupils.

A bit more shading along his jaw. A line under his neck.

Done.

I drop the pencil and exhale. “Okay. Now you can look.”

He drags his chair closer instead of getting up.

He goes quiet. Too quiet.

“…you absolute son of a bitch.”

My heart starts beating faster.

“That good or that bad?” I ask, trying to sound casual.

He doesn’t answer right away. His eyes are glued to the drawing.

“Holy shit, Weston,” he says finally.

“That’s… that’s actually me.”

I shrug, rubbing my thumbs together. “That was the goal, yeah.”

He turns his head and looks at me instead. “What the actual fuck? That’s impressive. You got everything. The nose, the eyes, the ring. You even got that tiny mole on my neck. Who the fuck notices that?”

“I do, apparently,” I mumble, proudly.

“You’re really good at this. Like, scary good. I knew you could draw, but this? This is insane. I look hot as fuck.”

“You already knew that.”

“Yeah, but seeing it through your eyes?” he says. “Makes it hit different.”

I’m trying not to cry and embarrass myself.

“You’ve got talent, Weston. Real talent. The way you see shit? The way you put it on paper? That’s not normal. You’re amazing at this.”

My face is officially on fire.

“Stop,” I mutter, staring at the table. “You’re being dramatic.”

“I’m being honest,” he says. “You could show this to anyone and they’d think you’ve been doing portraits for years. You nailed all of it. You nailed me.”

My heart beats so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t echo in the room.

He taps the paper gently. “I’m serious. I’m proud of you.”

Yeah, okay.

And I’m supposed to stay away from him.

He keeps staring. “This looks… expensive.”

I laugh, shaky. “Calm down.”

He ignores me, still staring. “Sign it.”

“Why would I sign it?”

He whips his head toward me, offended.

“What do you mean why?!” he says. “Obviously you’re gonna sign it. Sign it. Now. And put the date.”

I laugh. No one’s ever been this excited about my drawings.

People usually go “oh that’s nice” and move on.

He wants a whole ceremony.

“Okay, okay,” I say.

I take the pencil again, and sign my name in the corner.

Add the date under it.

It feels weirdly official.

The second I pull my hand back, he’s already grabbing his phone.

“Gio—” I start, but too late.

He’s taking pictures. One, two, three, different angles like it’s a photoshoot.

I start laughing. “I think you’re overreacting a little.”

He stops. Turns to me slowly with this lethal look.

“Stop downgrading yourself, Weston,” he says, snapping another photo. “I’m serious. Your drawing deserves all the attention I’m giving it. Let me give it.”

That lands deep.

No one’s ever talked about something I made like that.

I don’t know how I’m supposed to go back to pretending we’re nothing after this.

Because I know now. I know I’m not going to want another guy after him.

He’s already ruined me for everyone else without even trying.

He walked into my life like a problem I had to tolerate, and turned into the only person I actually want to let this close.

And I know I’ve never been with a guy before.

I know how girls work.

But with guys, I have no freaking idea.

I don’t know how it feels. I don’t know where my hands are supposed to go, how my body is supposed to react, what it’s supposed to mean after.

I don’t know if I’ll freak out, if I’ll overthink it, if I’ll like it too much.

All I know is that I want to cross that line, and I want it to be with him.

Even if I’m clueless. Even if I’m terrified I’ll do something wrong.

I want to figure it out with him.

I don’t want some random boy to be the first.

I don’t want a drunk mistake, or a blur I will later pretend I don’t remember.

I want to learn this with Gio. Even if I mess up. Even if I’m awkward.

If I’m going to find out what it’s like to be with a guy, I want my first lesson to be him.

I don’t want it to be anybody else.

---

Lord have mercy… this chapter drained me.

I’m exhausted, I just hope it came out as intimate as I had it in my head.

Honestly, this is the point where all my repressed frustration slipped out, because I’ve literally never had a single person talk about my art like that.

Even my own family, ESPECIALLY my family, treat it like something insignificant, and I don’t know, it just hurts sometimes.

So I made Rava get the attention I always wanted.

Muheheheh.

50) Answer It

Rava’s POV

It’s night, so our chances of doing anything “productive” are basically zero.

Our last night in Spain. Last night we get to be something more than two coworkers. Last night we don’t have to act.

I’m not ready to say goodbye to something that hasn’t even started yet.

I already miss these days, and they’re not even over.

God, I hope Gio feels a fraction of this.

He tries to fold his shirt, but all he does is turn it into a wrinkled ball. “Turn around,” he says. “I’m failing because you’re watching me.”

“Oh, definitely,” I laugh. “I’m sure that’s it.”

I keep watching anyway.

His hands move, frustrated.

He pushes his wet hair back.

The shirt he’s wearing tonight? Way too tight.

Probably on purpose.

“Is that your strategy?” I asked, trying to focus on rolling up my belt. “Distract the airport security with your biceps so they don’t check your overweight baggage?”

He grinned. “You think these are distracting?”

Then flexed.

Fully.

Unironically.

“You’re a menace.”

“Say thank you.”

I’m this close.

I’m literally one breath away from thanking him for waking up whatever the hell he woke up inside me.

And I have so many reasons to thank him, it’s embarrassing.

I loop my belt, bend over the suitcase to shove it in, and he taps my ass with his foot, gently.

Like he’s saying this is mine without actually saying it.

I whip around immediately.

He’s sprawled across the bed now, stretching like some spoiled cat.

He winks at me.

I look down by accident, and catch a full view of his thighs.

His ridiculous, unfair, massive thighs.

I swallow hard.

How did I manage to make… that want me?

How did someone like him look at someone like me and decide: yeah, I’ll take that one?

I want to scream it. Show it off. Wear it like a medal.

But no, I have to shove it deep down and pretend it doesn’t exist.

Because back home, “Gio” is the forbidden word. Back home, you say his name and everyone crosses themselves like he’s the devil.

If they only knew.

“How are you so calm?” I muttered.

“Because I don’t believe in panic,” he said, then paused. “Except in bed. There I fully support it.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

He looked at me.

“But you’re gonna miss me.”

I tried to laugh. Tried. “You wish.”

“Oh, I know.”

I smiled, because I’m a liar.

Of course I’m gonna miss him. I already do and I haven’t even left yet.

I’m already grieving something that technically… never started. “You gonna cry when I leave?”

“Only if you don’t kiss me goodbye.”

That almost killed me. Seriously.

“Didn’t think I would ever say this, but I’m gonna miss sharing a bed with you, Ravioli.”

“I mean,” I said, fingers barely brushing his thigh, “we can keep doing this. Even in Italy. If we’re careful.”

He smirked like he already knew we wouldn’t be.

“You think we can pull that off?”

I tilted my head. “You doubting me, Fontana?”

His hand crept onto my knee. “Never. I just think… you’re gonna be the one who cracks.”

“Me?” I scoff. “Why? You couldn’t handle it and kissed me twice after the club.”

“Yeah, but you were the one who suggested we kiss in the first place,” he shoots back, fingers sliding into my hair. “So you were already done for.”

Shit. From that angle… okay, he’s got a point.

“What are you gonna do,” he goes on, “when I sit on your right and your terrifying father sits on your left?”

I lean back on my hands, staring at the ceiling. “I’ll do what I did before,” I say. “I’ll look at you like you’re trash.”

“Mhm,” he hums. “But inside, you’ll have already stripped me.”

I laugh. “True. But no one is gonna know that,” I say. “That’s between me and my brain.”

“And me.”

“Yes, and you. We’ll time everything. Strategize.”

“Use Lorenzo as a decoy.”

“Absolutely.”

“Make out behind doors like it’s a heist.”

“I love a theme.”

The funny thing is… his life was already full of chaos and noise before I showed up.

Mine only just started to feel like it meant something.

For him, hiding will probably feel like just another task on his daily to-do list.

Fuck around, flirt, run from cops, dodge family drama, keep me a secret.

Another Tuesday.

For me, this is the only thing that’s going to fill me up for a while.

“It’s kinda funny when you think about it,” I say.

Gio laughs. “ Funny ? If they catch us, they’re sending both of us straight to the execution center. Especially you. At least my mom already accepted I like guys. Your family has no idea, I think. And wait till they find out you picked me.“

I smile, even though it’s not actually funny. He’s right.

For me, the damage is double. I’m suffocating just thinking about it.

“I still wanna risk it,” I say quietly.

“Am I allowed to send nudes?” he asks, grinning.

I laugh. “I think it’s mandatory.”

I look at him.

The most painful part is… all of this makes me appreciate every little thing more.

Because a straight couple? If they want someone, they can just walk up and say it.

I like you. I love you. I want you. Be with me.

Nothing complicated. Nothing risky in the same way .

No family apocalypse attached to the confession.

Me?

I have to learn to live off crumbs.

Off stolen, fast glances. Off the way our knees touch under the table and neither of us pulls away. Off the way his arm brushes mine when he passes behind my chair. Off his foot resting against my ankle under a desk.

All those tiny, stupid things become codes. Signals.

A whole secret language that means I see you, I want you, I’m here, without us ever saying it.

This is how I have to learn to give and receive affection, through hints and pressure points and accidental-on-purpose touches, while other people just… walk outside, hold hands, kiss in public, say “this is my boyfriend” and call it a day.

Because the world is cruel.

Because it’s stuck in this bubble of what it thinks is right and wrong.

Because we grow up breathing that air until it sticks to us, too, and we start feeling guilty for things that were never wrong in the first place.

“Am I allowed to send nudes back then?” I ask, laughing.

“If you don’t send them,” he says, “I swear I’ll show up myself, strip you, take the pictures and send them to me.”

I throw my head back, laughing. “Do you really think we’ll pull this off?” I ask. “With so many people around? My family, your family, work, the hotel… all of it?”

I’m not even sure what answer I want. A promise? A lie? Something to hold onto when I’m stuck.

“Of course we will,” he says, like it’s obvious. “I dodge cops and criminals every day, baby. Charles is not gonna be the one who stops me.”

I don’t know why that hits so hard. Maybe because he says it like a fact. Like us trying is non-negotiable.

Before I can overthink it, I lean in and kiss him.

Just because I can. Because we’re alone. Because this might be one of the last times I get to do it without looking over my shoulder.

His hand is in my hair immediately, and he pulls me in again, harder.

He kisses me with everything he’s got.

Suddenly… my phone rang.

I froze.

That ringtone.

His ringtone.

My father.

Gio paused too.

Pulled back slightly.

He glanced at the screen, then at me.

And grinned.

“No,” I hissed, half-laughing, already trying to sit up. “No, Gio, don’t—”

He kissed the corner of my jaw. “Answer it.”

“I can’t.”

“You will.”

My brain scrambled as my traitorous finger hit accept.

“…Dad?” I said, voice way too high.

“Ah, finally,” his voice crackled through the speaker. “How are you? Did you pack your bags, or are you leaving it for the last minute again?”

How am I…

I’m lying on a hotel bed with Gio on top of me, his mouth on my neck, and his hand under my shirt, brushing over my stomach.

I’m actually fantastic. Just not in the way my dad means.

“I’m fine,” I say.

Gio smirks against my throat. His other hand slides up my ribs, and I have to tighten my grip on the phone so I don’t fling it across the room.

I clamp my legs together, praying my dad can’t hear how not-okay I am.

“Uh… did I pack my bags? Yeah. Almost. Everything’s good.”

Gio lets out this low hum right against my throat, and then he grinds down on me.

Yeah. That’s his boner.

I slap my hand over my mouth before the noise escapes.

Because I will make a noise. Something embarrassing.

Something he’ll never let me forget.

“How’s everything been? I heard there was more work than expected.”

Gio drags his hand over my dick, through the thin fabric of my sweats.

His fingers trail lower, and then they creep up to the waistband.

Right on the edge.

Like he’s asking without asking.

“I-it was. Yeah. We worked a lot,” I said, nearly choking.

“And Gio? Everything alright with him? Do you keep distance?”

This should be a fucking crime.

I’m horny and anxious at the exact same time. It’s like my body is split in half-one side aching to cum, the other seconds away from a nervous breakdown.

The biggest source of stress is in my ear. The biggest source of desire is right in front of me.

Gio takes one slow step back. Like he’s giving me space.

He locks eyes with me, pulling his pants down.

Then wraps his hand around his dick, and starts jerking off slowly.

“Keeping my distance,” he whispers, smirking.

I want to scream.

“Rava?”

“YES!” I shouted. “Yes! Everything’s great with Gio! He barely looks at me!”

He strokes himself harder, staring at me.

Jesus Christ.

He’s actually touching himself. While I’m on the phone with my dad.

I swear these people will get me killed one day.

“You’re being careful, right? I don’t want to hear any nonsense when you’re back. I’ll kill him if he touches you. You know how I feel about this guy.”

Oh I do.

Loud and clear.

“Of course,” I said.

Gio comes closer again.

His tongue drags across my abs, and I grab his hair without thinking.

“I’ll be at the airport tomorrow. Don’t be late.”

“We won’t! We’ll be on time, I swear!”

His hands grab at my chest, and I almost let out a whimper.

Barely bite it back.

“What was that?”

“Nothing! The soap just fell on me. Not now. Earlier. Everything’s fine. Okay. We’ll talk tomorrow! Bye!”

I hang up. Then I throw the phone to the other side of the bed.

Gio leans in and kisses my fucking forehead.

“You just lied to your scary dad,” he whispered, dark and silky. “You’re so bad. You’re kind of a criminal now. Should I be scared? Should he be?”

I laugh at the whole mess we just made.

That was easily one of the most terrifying phone calls of my life, and somehow, I’m fucking horny now.

But I mean, who wouldn’t be after the view I just had?

Gio Fontana jerking himself off, mouthing shit at me while my dad was on the phone asking if I’ve been behaving.

My life’s a joke. A really hot joke.

If little me saw this shit?

He’d pass out. Straight up faint on the floor.

“Shut up,” I mutter.

I pull him in and kiss him.

He melts into it immediately. His tongue slips into my mouth with zero hesitation, and both his hands come up to smooth my hair back, like he doesn’t want anything in the way.

The kiss slows.

He pulls back just a little, his lips still brushing mine, and looks at me.

Something shifts. In his whole body.

Like suddenly he’s more… careful. Like he’s not just touching me, he’s holding me.

That sets my whole body on fire even more.

Careful Gio is dangerous. Because that means he’s feeling something.

I kiss him again, slower this time, just like he did.

Like I’m answering a question he never asked out loud.

His hand presses against my waist, and I tug his neck closer, just enough to lean in and whisper against his ear.

“I want you.”

He stills.

His eyes change, like I’ve cracked something open in him he didn’t know was there.

And then he leans in.

Mouth grazing my throat.

“Then let me take care of you.”

---

51) Ready For Me?

Rava’s POV

I know what I said. I know exactly what it means. And I don’t take it back.

I’m glad he didn’t say no. But more than that, I’m glad he didn’t rush me.

He’s willing to show me.

Not take .

Show me.

His hand finds my face.

His thumb traces my cheekbone.

“You sure?” he asks.

I nod. “I don’t wanna stop.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

I swallow.

But he doesn’t move yet.

“I need to hear you say it,” he whispers. “I need to know you want this.”

“I want this and you, Gio. I’m sure.”

He exhales. It sounds like relief.

“Good,” he murmurs. “Because I’ve been losing my mind wanting you.”

He kisses me. It starts soft, with our mouths brushing, breathing into each other.

Then his tongue slides against mine.

I kiss him back, pulling him closer. My fingers are twisting in his hair.

His lip ring presses into my lower lip, and I literally shiver. It couldn’t be more perfect.

“Fuck, Rava,” he murmurs into my mouth. “Keep making these sounds. I need them.”

He trails kisses down my jaw, my throat, my collarbone.

“You’re so beautiful, Rava,” he breathes. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

He smiles. “But that’s okay. I’ll show you.”

His mouth maps me. It’s everywhere.

My chest, my stomach, my ribs, all kissed, tasted, worshipped.

My whole body feels like it’s waiting.

He moves between my legs slowly, spreads them even slower.

“We’ll take our time. I want you relaxed, okay? No pressure.”

I nod, trying not to moan just from the sound of his voice.

I thought the second I said I want to have sex with him he’d flip me, pin me down, do that thing where he forgets the world exists.

“Why are you being so careful all of a sudden? How come you’re not attacking me?” I ask.

He answers me with a kiss first. Right on the inside of my thigh.

“The more I want something,” he murmurs against me, “the gentler it makes me.”

He lets his mouth hover there. “I want it so bad it slows me down instead of speeding me up.”

My shoulders drop without me even realizing.

I’m emotional and horny in the same breath.

Which is honestly his fault.

His hand slides between my thighs, spreading lube.

“You still good?” he asks.

“Yes,” I whisper.

I hide my face with my arm. I’m not good at this. I’m not good at being seen.

“Look at me,” he says.

I do.

He pulls my arm down. “Don’t do that.”

“What?”

“Don’t hide from me.”

His eyes are locked on mine as he presses a finger into me.

“There you go,” he murmurs. “You’re taking me so well already.”

He leans down and kisses my thigh.

Adds a second finger. The stretch makes me gasp, but his free hand grips mine instantly, holding me steady.

“I’ve got you,” he says. “I’ll never hurt you. You hear me?”

I nod.

But I keep hearing my father’s voice in my head. What he’d say if he saw this. What he’d do.

“You’re thinking again,” Gio mutters. He’s smiling a little, but his eyes are serious. “Get outta your head.”

“Trying.”

“You trust me?”

I nod.

“Say it.”

“I trust you.”

His mouth softens at that.

“That’s all I need.”

He works me open gently, patiently, curling his fingers just enough to make my back arch, my eyes flutter shut.

“That’s the spot, isn’t it?” he whispers, smiling against my skin.

I nod. Fast.

His fingers shouldn’t feel this good.

If his hands feel like this, what the hell is his actual dick gonna feel like?

I’m already hanging by a thread and we’re not even there yet.

“Keep being responsive, please. Just like that. I want to know what you feel,” he whispers.

I melt into it.

It hurts in a different way. Because the better this feels, the worse it’s going to be to lose it…

To lose him .

He pulls back to slick himself, but his eyes are never leaving me.

He’s gorgeous like this…

“I’m gonna go slow,” he says. “The second it’s too much, you tell me.”

“Okay,” I whisper.

“Are you ready for me?”

“Yes,” I say. “Please.”

He nods, kisses me once, and then he lines up.

The second I feel him inside me, I freeze.

It’s just… foreign. Too new. I tighten up like my body’s got brakes.

“Okay,” he says, pulling back. “That’s okay.”

He breathes against my collarbone. “I need you to relax, angel.”

“I’m trying.”

“I know.” His hand rubs circles on my hip.

I feel stupid. Like I should be doing better. Like I’m ruining it. Like he’ll get bored if I take too long.

“I’m sorry,” I mumble.

“Don’t be.” He kisses my cheek. “Rava, I’m not going anywhere. We got time.”

He waits. Lets me pull him close again. Lets me breathe into his chest and not say anything.

Then we try again. Slower this time. More lube.

It still burns. I bite my lip, and he sees it immediately. “You okay?”

“It just—hurts a little.”

“You want me to stop?”

“No. No, just go slow. I still want this.”

He does.

“I’m not good at this,” I whisper.

He smiles. “You’re better than you think.”

After a while, it shifts. It’s like the pain dulls.

It felt like everything was changing at once.

I gasped a little.

He stilled. “Too much?”

“No—” I breathed out. “Just…give me a second. It’s already better.”

“Take your time. You’re allowed to feel nervous, baby.” His forehead rested on mine, and we stayed like that.

Until my body relaxed around him. And I whispered, “Okay. You can move now.”

He starts to push in.

And I feel everything. I feel him sliding deeper and deeper.

Stretching me open.

Gio’s inside me.

After everything, Gio’s inside me.

“You’re doing perfect,” he says. “God, you feel so good already.”

He kisses my cheek. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He pushes in deeper while his hands are holding my hips.

When he bottoms out, we both moan.

He stays still.

“You okay?” he whispers again.

I nod, breathless. “I’m full. But…yeah.”

His lips brush mine. “I’m so proud of you. You’re taking me so well.”

He starts to move, gently, his hips rocking into me like he’s afraid to go too fast.

The rhythm is slow, but perfect.

I couldn’t stop touching him.

My hands ran over his back, down his biceps, into his hair.

His body was so warm on top of mine, his hips grinding with that perfect rhythm, making me feel wanted. Cherished.

The bed creaks.

I move just a little, trying to shift. Gio thrusts back in right as I tilt my head.

I hit my head on the damn headboard.

“Shit—sorry,” he mutters.

I burst out laughing. “Shut up and keep going.”

He keeps going, rolling his hips back and forth. I swear I start to like it. Like really like it.

My body starts to move with his without even thinking. Like it finally caught up to my head and saying, yeah.

This. This is exactly what we wanted.

My legs wrap tighter around him.

“You like it now?” he pants.

I nod, out of breath. “Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t stop.”

He wraps his fingers around my dick, strokes in time with his thrusts.

“Let me take care of you,” he says. “Let go. I’ve got you.”

He shifts slightly.

His next thrust hits somewhere devastating inside me.

My mouth drops open, breath leaving in a broken moan.

I am so relaxed now. So open. Letting him take me fully, without fear, without hesitation.

“There,” I gasp. “Gio, fuck—there.”

He finds it again, and again, and again.

He doesn’t speed up recklessly, he just learns me.

Perfectly. Holds me still with one hand on my thigh and rocks into me again.

His fingers slip up to my face. He brushes the hair out of my eyes, pushes it back behind my ear.

Then he leans in and kisses me. “Why didn’t we do this sooner?” he whispers.

I shiver. My hands come up to his shoulders, hold him tighter.

“We’ve got time,” I breathe. “We’ll make up for every second we lost.”

His mouth finds mine again. But this time he catches my bottom lip between his teeth and tugs.

“I fucking love the way you think,” he whispers, and then he kisses me again, while he’s still inside me.

Still fucking me.

Every wet, filthy sound filling the room like proof of what we’re doing.

Of what he’s doing to me.

The pleasure builds fast.

My body’s too sensitive, too full. Literally.

His thumb swipes over the head of my dick and I break.

I cum with an almost cry, loud and raw, my body shaking violently beneath him.

It’s like something inside me has cracked open.

Like I’m being born again.

Like I’ve never existed until this moment.

He keeps fucking me through it, and then he exhales wrecked, and thrusts deep one final time, cumming inside of me, gasping my name. We don’t separate.

He stays inside me.

His arms wrap around me, pulling me close, kissing my temple, my shoulder, my mouth.

“You okay?” he whispers.

I nod. “I’ve never been more okay.”

He exhaled hard. Like he’d been holding that answer in suspense. Then he kissed me again and stayed there, still inside me.

God, I’m screwed…

I can’t picture myself actually getting on that plane to Canada.

I don’t feel strong enough for it. I don’t feel built for this kind of goodbye.

And I can’t picture him moving on.

Saying, “Yeah, there was this thing once with Weston, but he left. Had to move on with my life.”

I think I might actually throw up.

The idea of the only person who ever made me feel this much turning around a few weeks later and doing the exact same shit with someone else makes me feel… sick.

Like real, physical disgust.

I see it all, him pinning someone else to a wall, calling them “angel,” smirking against their mouth instead of mine, putting his hand on their neck the way he does with me.

Them laughing at his stupid jokes.

Them getting the forehead kisses.

Them getting the soft version of him he swears he doesn’t have.

I hate it.

I hate it so much I almost hate him for it and it hasn’t even happened.

But here’s the worst part. I can’t stop it.

He’s not mine.

We’re not together. We’re not boyfriends.

We’re not anything we can say out loud without blowing our lives up.

So what am I supposed to say?

Hey, I’m leaving the continent, but can you promise to stay emotionally celibate forever just in case I can’t get over you?

Like… be serious.

I don’t have the right to ask him for that. I don’t have the right to be this jealous. I don’t have the right to want him to be miserable without me.

But I do.

Some ugly part of me wants him to hurt. To miss me so much he can’t even look at someone else.

Wants him to sit on that stupid couch, see someone pretty, and think, yeah, but they’re not Rava.

And at the same time, I know I should want him happy.

Even if I’m not there. Even if it kills me.

So I’m stuck.

Between I hope he moves on

and

if he moves on, I’ll never forgive him.

I don’t know why I’m doing this to myself.

We literally just had sex.

But maybe that’s the reason I’m dying inside.

I look at him, smiling, and he smiles back.

Please don’t let me be just a chapter you skip over when you talk about your life, Gio.

Please don’t let me be the boy you forget as soon as someone closer, easier, safer shows up.

---

Gio’s POV

We finish cleaning up ourselves, and we step out of the bathroom.

I collapse onto the bed with all the grace of a dying man.

Absolutely wrecked.

And completely, fully, disgustingly happy.

My heart’s pounding like I ran ten miles. My thighs are shaking.

I think my soul is levitating somewhere above the ceiling fan.

I glance over.

He’s beside me all flushed.

His hair is messy, strands falling over his forehead in the most obnoxiously perfect way possible.

I grin. “You have sex hair.”

He turns his head, eyes half-lidded. “You literally gave it to me.”

“I know. And you’re welcome.”

He groans, throws a pillow at me, but he’s smiling. Like really smiling.

I catch it midair and throw it aside, rolling toward him.

“Hey,” I murmur. “You don’t regret doing this…right?”

I stop.

He’s looking at me.

“Not even a bit.”

I kiss him. Quick at first, just a press of lips.

Then again. Deeper this time. Slower.

He kisses back. Fingers sliding into my hair. Our legs tangle. My hand finds his waist.

How am I supposed to let him go away now?

We pull away eventually, breathless and grinning.

“I think you might’ve blacked me out,” I say.

“I mean it. I saw some kind of celestial event.”

He snorts. “You’re such a dumbass.”

“A dumbass who rocked your entire existence.”

He smirks. “One time. Let’s not get cocky.”

“Oh baby,” I laugh. “I was already cocky. Now I’m historically legendary.”

He slaps my chest.

I catch his wrist, kiss the inside of it just to be annoying.

He rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. “You are unbelievable.”

“I’m unforgettable.”

“Unbearable.”

“Unbutton me again and say that.”

“Gio.”

I grin and kiss him again, his jaw, his cheek, everything.

I’ve probably kissed this man more times than I’ve kissed anyone else in my entire life.

I grab the back of his head and pull him down onto my chest.

I run my fingers through his hair.

If before I felt like he was mine, now it’s double.

Triple. Off the fucking charts.

I don’t care if he feels the same. I like living in my own version of reality.

In my head, he’s mine. End of story.

This right here… this is my heaven.

I used to think nothing could beat the feeling of flying down the road on the Ducati.

Thought that was peak happiness, that rush, that insane speed.

But look at this.

Something this slow just beat it.

Him breathing against my chest.

This feels better than any highway, any race, any night ride.

Everything is perfect right now.

But…

My stomach growls. Loudly.

Rava lifts his head. “Was that… you?”

“I’m starving,” I say, without shame.

He squints. “We just had sex.”

“Exactly. I burned calories.”

“You’re impossible.”

I sit up dramatically. “I need food. Real food. Or I’ll perish.”

He groans, flopping onto his back. “There’s nothing up here.”

I grin. “Then we go downstairs.”

His head snaps toward me. “What?”

“The bar. Maybe the kitchen’s still stocked. I bet there’s something.”

“Gio. It’s the middle of the night.”

“Which is exactly when snacks hit hardest.”

“You’re not serious.”

I sit up and start getting dressed.

Yeah, okay, feelings are cute and all, but I don’t play games when it comes to food.

I’ll go out to eat even if it’s four in the morning and snowing.

If my stomach says move, I move. End of discussion.

“Oh my god. You are serious.”

“I’m a man of action,” I declare, grabbing his shirt off the chair and tossing it at him. “Put this on and come with me.”

He stares at me. Then at the shirt. Then back at me.

“You dragged me to emotional hell and back and basically kinda took my virginity, and now you want me to put on clothes?”

“First of all,” I say, pulling my hoodie over my head, “you came willingly to emotional hell. You dove. Second, if I go alone, I might end up eating pickles and ketchup. Do you really want that on your conscience?”

He sighs, covers his face with both hands, then peeks out at me.

“You’re actually the worst.”

“And yet, here you are, getting dressed for me.”

“I hate you.”

“Sure, ravioli.”

He groans dramatically but slips into his pants anyway.

Now he’s standing in front of the mirror, staring at himself. “I look like a corpse,” he mutters.

“Yeah, well, you’re a fine ass corpse then,” I say.

He laughs. And because he laughs, I laugh too.

That’s the annoying part. How automatic it is.

I feel weird around him now. Not in a bad way.

It’s like my heart clocked in for a shift instead of just our bodies, if that makes any sense.

Before it was all touch and heat and tension.

Now there’s this extra layer on top of everything, like someone slapped a label on him.

I don’t know if it’s because I’m carrying the title of his first now, but I feel like he’s under my protection.

Like I owe him something just for trusting me with that.

Does it bother me? No.

Is it gonna be a problem for our future? Hundred fucking percent.

As we sneak into the hallway, I lean close to him.

“Don’t worry. If someone sees us, I’ll just say you got hungry after ruining my entire life.”

“Shut up,” he hisses, but he’s smiling. Blushing.

We’re making our way down the stairs, slowly.

“You alright?” I ask. “Need a break? Want me to carry you bridal-style or piggyback?”

He doesn’t even let me finish the joke. He elbows me in the side.

“You dumb fuck—!” I shove him back.

“Keep doing that and I’ll throw your ass down the stairs. I was gonna say, you remind me of this annoying little shit from middle school… then I remembered. You are that annoying little shit.”

I grab his jaw, pull him in, and kiss him.

When I pull back, I smirk right into his mouth. “The annoying little shit just fu—”

Smack.

He slaps the back of my head mid-sentence.

I slap him right back, just as dramatic.

We start bickering and shoving each other like twelve-year-olds on a staircase.

A sweet little old lady at the bottom of the steps is staring at us.

She looks concerned.

Which is fair. We’re literally beating each other mid-makeout.

So I throw my arms around Rava’s face, squish him to my chest like a damn teddy bear, and flash her the fakest, most angelic smile I’ve got.

“Don’t worry, ma’am,” I say sweetly. “We only beat each other up when we’re bored. Deep down, he’s obsessed with me.”

She makes the sign of the cross like we’re contagious and scurries off.

I lose it. Laughing so hard my abs hurt.

Rava’s trying not to smile.

“You’re sick,” he mutters. “Shut up. Keep walking.”

“I love when you talk dirty.”

“Gio.”

It’s 2:17AM.

We’re sitting on a bench outside the hotel, eating cold chocolate cake out of a takeout container with one fork because we forgot to grab a second.

I keep stealing bites when Rava talks.

He keeps slapping my hand and letting me anyway.

Across the little courtyard, a few leftover guests from whatever event was going on are still lingering, older people chatting in low voices, a guy playing soft music on a speaker, some kids running around with glow-sticks.

I swear, this is the shit I love about Europe.

I’ve been everywhere. Like, everywhere everywhere.

But nothing hits like this.

Europeans don’t shut down. They live.

They eat at midnight. They dance on sidewalks. They let their kids stay up until 5AM like it’s nothing.

It’s literally 2AM right now and it feels like 7PM.

I stretch, kicking my feet out.

Rava’s beside me, watching the group across the way with that sleepy, content look on his face.

He’s got that post-me softness about him that’s making it incredibly hard not to lean over and kiss the absolute shit out of him.

“You still stealing my cake?” he asks without looking at me.

“You’re the one who moaned my name like it was a prayer, Rava. I deserve cake.”

He kicks my leg lightly. I grin.

Suddenly… a voice.

Small. Nervous.

“Um…hi?”

We both turn.

It’s a little girl, maybe five.

Wearing bright purple leggings and a glittery unicorn hoodie that’s too big for her.

Her curls are wild and her glasses, silver, oversized.

They look exactly like Rava’s.

So cute.

Behind her, a woman stands a few feet away, clearly her mom, encouraging her forward with a gentle nudge and a whispered “It’s okay, go on.”

The girl takes two hesitant steps toward us, clutching something to her chest.

“Sorry,” the mom says, hurrying forward to close the gap. “I’m so sorry. We didn’t mean to bother you. It’s just that my daughter noticed you earlier, your glasses, and she just got hers too, and… she drew you.”

Rava straightens. “She—what?”

“She drew you,” the mom says. “Well, both of you, actually. For her ‘people who look cool’ journal. You’re the first person she’s seen with glasses like hers.”

The girl holds out the paper, shy but proud.

Two stick figures.

One with a mess of curls and glasses. The other with messy hair and what looks like a chain necklace.

They’re holding hands.

There are stars around them.

Hearts, too.

Big ones.

Rava takes it carefully, like it might disintegrate in his hands.

“This is…” he says, and his voice cracks a little.

“This is amazing. What’s your name?”

“Lila,” she whispers.

“Lila,” he repeats. “That’s a beautiful name. You’re really talented, sweetheart. You know that?”

She nods, wide-eyed, cheeks pink.

“And your glasses?” He leans in a little, drops his voice like it’s a secret. “I think they’re way cooler than mine.”

She lights up. Absolutely beams.

He crouches, right there in front of the bench, so they’re eye-level.

So he’s not towering.

So she feels seen.

He asks her questions. About the drawing. Her crayons. Her sparkly hoodie.

He listens. Genuinely listens. Like she’s important. Like she matters.

And she looks at him like she’s in love.

I’m just eating and watching him talk softly to this tiny, bright-eyed stranger.

And then he hugs her when she shyly leans in, carefully, gentle with it. One arm. Safe.

The mom thanks him again and again, a little flustered, saying stuff like “She’s just little,” and “She doesn’t understand yet,” but Rava just smiles and says:

“She understands enough.”

And he folds the drawing like it’s priceless and tucks it into his shirt pocket.

And I…

I fucking break .

Not visibly.

But inside?

My brain splits in half.

Because suddenly all I can think is:

He’s gonna be the best teacher those kids ever have.

He’s gonna stand in front of a classroom and smile like that every day.

He’s gonna go to parent-teacher nights with papers in his bag and stickers on his hands and maybe one day, if the world doesn’t ruin him, he’s gonna be a dad and be so fucking good at it.

My stomach drops.

My heart tries to climb out of my throat.

He turns to me as he sits back down.

And he laughs. “God, that was adorable,” he says.

And I say nothing.

Because in my head, something’s screaming.

Oh no. Oh no no no.

Fuck.

FUCK.

…

I love him.

I love him.

I fucking love him.

It’s real.

I sit forward, hands in my hair.

He looks over.

“You okay?”

I don’t answer.

I can’t.

Because it’s over.

I can’t un-know it now.

I want everything.

I want all of him.

And that was never the deal.

“Shit.”

Then again.

“Fuck.”

Then louder. “Jesus Christ.”

He blinks. “Are you—?”

“I need to—I just—”

I stand up.

Pace once.

Sit down again.

My hands are shaking.

He raises an eyebrow. “Gio.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine.”

“I’m great.”

“You’re freaking out.”

“Not freaking out. Just having… a moment.”

“A moment?”

“Of clarity.”

He stares at me.

I stare at the courtyard.

And in my head?

It’s just three words. Over and over and over again.

I love him.

I love him.

I love him.

Fuck me sideways.

---

Alright, to my horny pookies… this was Rava’s first time, so I hope you understand there was no way I was gonna let Gio absolutely wreck him just yet :D

Not this time.

Now for the next ones… I can already see your unholy comments coming.

---

Update: 21/12/25

Congratulations, you’ve finished reading Ride or Die Pt. 1

In the physical book, (check this comment for the link) there’s also Gio’s POV, from the moment Rava asks him to have sex, and basically all of Gio’s thoughts throughout the whole thing :)

Just a reminder that this story has the happiest ending, for my sensitive babies, this is your reassurance❤️

52) Don’t Know What To Do

Gio’s POV

I stare out the window, watching clouds drift past like I’m in some fucking indie film I’d make fun of.

One week.

That’s all it took.

Seven days in Spain. And somehow, it feels like everything before it was grayscale.

I didn’t expect it. None of it.

I thought it’d be work, maybe some drinks, a little heat. I thought I’d keep my distance. Keep control.

But… Oh well.

Guess that didn’t age well.

I think about the first night.

Holy shit.

The teasing. The tension. The way he touched me.

Fuck.

I had sex with Rava Weston.

The one person I was almost convinced I’d never touch.

The one person I thought I couldn’t have.

The one I almost fucking gave up on.

It was the best week of my life. And I didn’t even see it coming.

I close my eyes for a second. And I see his smile again. The way he looked at that little girl.

How he kept the drawing.

The way he fell apart for me, with me.

I mean, I liked the guy, sure. Always did.

But now? Now fuck me sideways.

I love the guy. Good job, Gio.

And now?

Now we’re flying back to reality.

Back to being business friends. Back to fucking pretending. Back to danger.

Because in Italy, it’s different.

Because if anyone sees it, if anyone even suspects, it’s over.

Not like, “oh no, awkward.”

Like dead .

His dad’s gonna blow.

I can handle a lot of shit. But I don’t think I can handle watching him suffer because of me.

In Italy, there are eyes everywhere . Expectations. Names that mean something. Rules. Now it’s not just wrong, it’s fucking risky.

And fuck me if that doesn’t make it worse.

Worse, as in… better . Hotter.

Now that it’s dangerous just to look at him too long, I want to look longer.

Now that I’m not supposed to want him, I want him even more.

My body remembers everything.

I want more than a moment.

I think I’d burn the whole fucking world down if it meant I could have him here with me for a little longer.

He’s a problem.

My favorite one.

And I don’t know how the fuck I’m supposed to walk off this plane and pretend I’m fine.

The automatic doors are ahead of us, just a few feet of smooth, empty floor, and then we’re back in hell.

Back in Italy.

Back in silence, expectation, performance.

Rava’s walking next to me, pulling his suitcase with one hand and rubbing his eye with the other like he’s still half asleep.

Lorenzo’s a step ahead, yawning, checking his phone.

We’re all pretending we’re not crashing after the best goddamn week of our lives.

I reach for Rava’s wrist.

He stops. Looks at me. I lean in. Kiss him once quickly.

A whisper of what we were in Spain.

Because as soon as we cross that line, out those doors…

We’re nothing again.

Nothing out loud .

I adjust my jacket. Grab the handle of my bag. Take a breath.

And step outside.

Ugh.

Charles fucking Weston.

Leaning against a sleek black car. His eyes are locked on us the second we appear.

Like he’s been tracking our shadows since we landed.

I hate him.

I’ve always hated him.

But now?

Now I see him differently.

Not just as the bastard who tried to humiliate my family, not just as the man who looks at me like I’m filth on his shoe.

Now I see him as Rava’s father.

And that? That fucks me up.

Because I’m not just furious at him anymore. I’m terrified of him.

He’s the father of the boy I’m

in love with .

And he hates me.

And I don’t know if I can keep pretending I don’t care.

Rava slows down when he sees him. His whole body tenses.

“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath. “This is bad.”

Lorenzo glances back. “Oh yeah. He looks thrilled.”

We approach like we’re walking into a firing squad.

Charles doesn’t say hello.

His eyes flick to Lorenzo. “Boys.”

Lorenzo forces a tight nod. “Mr. Weston.”

Then his gaze lands on me.

“Giovanni.”

I clench my jaw. “Charles.”

He doesn’t respond.

His eyes shift to Rava. “Ready?”

Rava nods. “Yeah.”

“How was Spain?”

I glance at Rava. He’s frozen. Like a statue about to crack.

Lorenzo jumps in. “Productive. Very productive.”

Charles hums. “I’m sure.”

I cross my arms. “You should’ve come. The weather was great. Real good for the nerves.”

He turns his head slowly to me. His mouth twitches. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.”

Oh, sir, I so did. Inside your pretty boy.

Would absolutely do it again. Will do it again.

“What did you get up to, exactly?”

I raise an eyebrow. “Work. Meetings. Walked around a bit.”

He nods slowly, pretending to believe me. “No sightseeing?”

“Some. I don’t remember the names of half the places.”

I remember what it felt like when your son moaned into my chest, though.

“Anything else you wanna know?” I ask.

Ask me. Go ahead. Ask me what we did in Spain. I dare you. I’ll lie straight to your face while remembering exactly how your son’s cum tastes like.

He clears his throat. “No. That’s all for now.”

I bet he knows. He just can’t prove it.

I can feel Rava start to fold beside me.

And suddenly I’m angry.

Angry that this is the man he has to shrink around.

Angry that this man is the reason we have to pretend we were never anything more than roommates in a hotel.

“How long’s the ride back?” I ask.

Charles ignores me. Opens the door for Rava.

And it hits me again, how the hell did he raise someone like Rava?

How did a man this cold, this arrogant, this cruel… create someone so warm, so kind, so good?

Rava hesitates.

Then climbs into the car.

And he doesn’t look back.

But I can see it in his shoulders. He’s still shaking.

And I swear to god…

If Charles ever lays a hand on him—

I’ll burn this city to the fucking ground.

-Back Home-

The gate creaks open, and the first thing I see like a sign from the gods, is my bike.

Parked where I left it.

I grin.

Then I see Lorenzo’s next to it, matte black, still dusty from before Spain.

We both pause, bags still in hand.

“Miss her?” I ask, nodding at his bike.

He smirks. “Like hell .”

“Wanna take ’em out later?”

He shrugs. “You offering a race or a funeral?”

“Same thing,” I say.

“Good. I’m in.”

We drag ourselves inside. Feels like I’ve been gone a year, not a week.

I toss my keys on the table.

And then I glance up.

Rava’s room. Still closed. Quiet.

I want him again.

It’s insane.

Like I just left him. I was buried inside him less than twelve hours ago.

But my hands twitch.

I want him on his back again. I want his fingers in my hair. His voice in my ear.

I want it all. Again. And again. And again.

It’s like a fucking addiction.

“Dude,” Lorenzo says, suddenly next to me. “You gonna stare at his door all day or are we gonna talk about it?”

I blink. “Talk about what ?”

He gives me a look.

“The Spain thing. Come on. Spill it. I saw the way you looked at him on the plane.”

I lean against the wall. Rub my face.

“I love him.”

Lorenzo loses it.

He throws his head back and laughs so hard I think he might actually choke.

“I fucking KNEW it,” he wheezes. “Oh my god—oh my god. This is the best day of my life.”

I glare at him. “You’re enjoying this?”

“Are you kidding me? I’ve been waiting for this. Since day one. You strutted in here all smug and ‘I don’t do feelings,’ and now look at you. Look at you! You’re in agony.”

“I hate you.”

“You love him.”

I groan, dragging a hand over my face and flopping onto the couch like I’ve been shot.

“This isn’t funny.”

“It’s hilarious.”

“I’m serious, Lorenzo. He’s going to leave. He’s going back to Canada in a few weeks. This is a disaster.”

“Yeah, but it’s a beautiful disaster. Like a slow-motion car crash with sexy lighting and dramatic music.”

“I swear to god—”

“You should’ve seen your face when he was getting dressed. You looked like someone unplugged your brain.”

I throw a pillow at him.

He dodges.

“I don’t know what to do,” I mutter. “Like, I actually don’t fucking know what to do.”

“Well…” He sits on the armrest next to me, fake serious. “Option one: confess everything. Option two: suffer in silence and spiral into madness.”

“I’m already spiraling!”

“Then we’re ahead of schedule.”

“I was supposed to keep it casual,” I say, more to myself now. “I said I didn’t want anything serious. That I’d ruin him if we tried, and I already knew that there was no future for us.”

“And yet here you are,” Lorenzo says, “all ruined and romantic. Honestly, it’s kind of hot.”

“Shut up.”

“Admit it. You don’t want it to end.”

“No,” I snap. “I fucking don’t. I want to wake up next to him every day. I want to kiss him in public. I want to fight with him about where to eat and then ignore him for five minutes and then fuck him against the kitchen counter.”

Lorenzo holds up his hands. “Okay, okay, okay, no need for visual aids.”

“But he’s going to leave, and I can’t stop him.”

“Maybe you don’t have to.”

I shake my head. “No. We agreed. It was temporary. Just… what it was. He said it. I said it. And now if I say more, I ruin it.”

“Or maybe,” he says, “you give him a reason to stay.”

I go quiet.

Because deep down?

That’s what I fucking want.

But I’m too scared to say it.

Too scared that if I do, he’ll run faster.

He walks over and throws a pack of gum at me.

“What’s this for?” I ask.

“For when you go full panic and start smoking everything in the house.”

I roll my eyes.

Then sigh.

Lorenzo claps his hands once, standing up.

“Anyway. While you stew in your romantic misery, I’m gonna shower and pretend I don’t live in a goddamn telenovela.”

He walks away, still laughing.

And I sit there.

Staring at nothing.

Still whispering, like it might somehow fix it.

“I love him.”

And he’s leaving.

And I have no fucking idea what to do.

I’m screwed.

---

Congratulations, you’ve finished reading Ride or Die Pt. 1

Just a reminder that this story has the happiest ending, for my sensitive babies, this is your reassurance❤️

53) Gay Panic

Rava’s POV

Perfect.

I haven’t even walked in properly and the door is already wide open for me.

My personal life has been screaming in agony ever since I got into my dad’s car. I should’ve taken a fucking taxi. Honestly.

The whole ride here felt like I was on trial for murder, trying to convince everyone I didn’t kill anybody… while my hands are still covered in blood.

Except in my case, the “blood” is hickeys all over my neck.

And the DNA is Gio’s, spread all over me and still inside me.

“Look who’s back,” Jin says, leaning against the staircase.

“Didn’t get deported, huh?” Daisy calls from the living room, legs up on the couch, a bowl of popcorn in her lap.

I drop my bag by the door. “Wow. Missed the warmth.”

“Missed your whining,” she fires back, popping a kernel into her mouth. “Your hair’s a mess. Spain’s humid?”

“Orgasms’ll do that to you,” Jin mutters, and I flip him off without even turning.

My heart’s beating too fast.

I feel fine physically, but I’m pretty sure I’m about to die from anxiety.

I know he doesn’t actually know anything. He’s just talking shit like always.

But now? After everything? I’m going to be suspicious of everyone and everything.

Every comment. Every look. Every joke.

It all feels like a trap waiting to catch Gio’s name on my face.

Daisy arches a brow at me. “Well, your hair survived, at least. Mine didn’t. The blue’s gone.”

I glance at her. “Yeah, noticed. Shame. You looked like a depressed Smurf. It suited you.”

She throws popcorn at me. I catch a piece and eat it just to piss her off.

I make my way up the stairs, their laughter trailing behind me.

Room’s the same. Bed untouched. Window cracked open slightly.

I open my bag, drop my charger on the desk, and don’t bother unpacking anything else.

Shower.

I step into the bathroom and shut the door behind.

Clothes come off slowly, and the second I’m naked, I feel that weird rush of relief again.

This room is even more of a hiding place now than it ever was.

In here, I’m 100% myself. No pretending.

When I look at my body in the mirror, the first thing that hits me is… yeah.

Sex.

With Gio.

I had sex with Gio.

I still can’t believe it.

The anxiety kicks in. Secrets eat me alive.

I feel like one day I’m going to slip at the dinner table like an idiot. “Yes, mom, the food’s great, also Gio fucked me, can you pass the bread?”

I groan into my hands. I don’t trust my own mouth.

I’m a liability.

But then I smile. Alone.

Like a fool. Because it happened. Because I want it again.

I look closer in the mirror. Yeah, he definitely left proof.

My neck is a disaster. Hickeys everywhere.

Gio has never understood the concept of subtlety in his entire life.

They look even worse under the bathroom light.

It looks like he tried to sign his name on me with his mouth.

Why not just tattoo his initials on my throat while we’re at it.

I had to wear that stupid neck pillow in the car.

That ugly grey travel thing dad keeps for long trips.

I shoved it on, looking like I was seventy years old with spine issues.

Just so he wouldn’t turn around, see my neck, and straight-up faint behind the damn wheel.

I’m such a good person. I am SO considerate. Thinking of everyone’s safety and emotional stability.

I run my fingers over one mark and my face heats up.

Because I remember exactly how he made it. It’s insane how much that memory hits.

I cannot walk out there like this.

---

I step out of the shower. I lean down and grab Daisy’s makeup bag from under the sink.

It’s overflowing with little bottles and sponges and creams that all look the same to me.

Please, let this stuff work on my skin too. Not just hers.

I grab the first thing that looks normal, a liquid foundation.

I dab a bit on my finger and tap it over one of the marks.

It instantly makes it look worse.

Not a little worse. Violently worse. The purple becomes this muddy, sickly brown.

Fuck.

I try another product, a dusty one.

…

Now the hickey is beige. Beige and purple. I look diseased.

I stare at myself, horrified.

How does Daisy do this every morning without crying?!

I’m two minutes away from giving up and just wearing a scarf inside the house.

I grab another random bottle.

BB cream.

What the fuck is a BB cream?

Why is it BB?? Where’s AA?? CC??

Why are there letters?

No.

Let’s see.

A tiny green tube. Color Corrector.

I squint at it.

Green… Green cancels out red and purple… right?

Or was that something about the color wheel?

God, school was useless.

I dab the tiniest bit on my neck. Blend with my finger.

Oh. OH.

The purple disappears.

I grab more, working carefully, trying not to overdo it.

Slowly, the marks start fading like magic. Then I brush a little foundation on top, this time carefully, not like a wild animal.

My neck starts looking normal again.

I did it. I actually fixed it. This is it.

I throw on an old t-shirt and sweats, and head downstairs.

Jin’s already at the table, digging into a bowl of rice like he hasn’t eaten since I left.

Daisy’s on her phone, half-watching a show.

I sit down. Fork in hand.

But everything tastes like cardboard.

Because Gio’s not here.

Because Gio’s close, but still so far away.

And I miss him like I’ve been gone a year.

The rice is too hot.

The room is too loud.

We’re all around the table now.

“So,” my dad says, knife tapping against his plate. “How really was Spain?”

I swallow.

“It was… fine,” I say.

Fine.

It was Gio’s hand between my thighs under the hotel sheets.

It was Gio whispering “let me take care of you” before pushing inside me.

It was his voice.

“Fine?” Daisy echoes. “That’s it?”

“It was work, what did you expect?” I mumble.

Jin leans in. “Was Gio there the whole time?”

Yes.

In my bed. In my mouth. In my head.

“Yeah,” I say casually. “He and Lorenzo ran most of the meetings.”

Daisy smirks. “He’s such a dick. Right, Rava?”

I shrug. “Yeah. He’s…intense.”

My mom smiles, cutting her food. “But brilliant. He always impressed me.”

He made me forget my name. He called me beautiful.

“Yeah,” I say, voice tight. “He’s sharp.”

Jin snickers. “Sharp and hot. That tattoo, though—” he whistles.

Daisy chimes in, dramatic: “ Ugh , that one right on top of his…yeah? Yeah. Real subtle, Mr. Bad Boy.“

I nearly choke on my drink.

I licked it.

I kissed it while I was on my knees.

“Gross,” I mutter, forcing a frown. “Trashy.”

Daisy side-eyes me.

This bitch.

Mom tilts her head. “Did you get along with him this time?”

I came for him. With him. All over him.

“Yeah,” I say flatly. “We were…professional.”

Dad watches me for a beat too long. I can feel it. That stare that cuts straight through me.

Jin squints. “What’s that on your neck?”

I freeze.

My fork clinks against the plate.

“What?”

“That—” he points. “Right there. Looks like a bruise.”

I don’t believe this.

He left one where I can’t even SEE it unless I tilt my head like a flamingo.

A place I don’t remember him touching. A place I definitely didn’t cover.

Daisy leans in. “Oh my god, is that a hickey ?”

That’s it. It’s over.

They’re gonna lock me in my room until I’m forty.

“It’s nothing.”

“Looks like someone did have fun in Spain.” she sings.

Well. Yes.

And then again. And again. And again until my legs shook.

Dad clears his throat. “Well?”

Fuck.

I can’t say a guy .

They don’t know. They’ve never known. I didn’t even know.

So I lie.

“I… It was a random girl,” I say quietly. “We went out one night. It was stupid.”

The silence at the table is filled with amusement, but my stomach twists.

It hurts.

To say it. To take Gio and shove him into the dark.

Mom raises her eyebrows, but she’s smiling. “Didn’t expect that from you.”

Neither would he.

Jin starts clapping. “My boy! Finally got some.”

Daisy groans. “That poor girl.”

He’s not a girl.

He’s everything.

I nod, laugh like I’m in on the joke.

But my chest is burning.

Dad finally speaks again. “Just be careful who you’re seen with. You’re still a Weston. Don’t get involved with the wrong people.”

Too late.

He’s everything you hate.

I don’t say anything.

I just keep chewing. Swallowing lies.

While every part of me screams:

Gio. Gio. Gio.

Dad stands up from the table, smooths down his shirt. “We have that meeting tomorrow morning. Be ready.”

I nod.

Not that I could say anything else without starting another lecture, or risk getting slapped again.

I take my plate to the sink, rinse it under cold water, then head upstairs, grateful to escape.

As I reach my room, I automatically head toward the window, hoping to see Fontana.

He’s outside. Soaked to the fucking bone.

He and Lorenzo are washing their bikes. Soap and water are erotic tools now. And obviously, they’re doing it shirtless.

Because apparently, shirts are optional when you’ve got abs and zero shame.

I am staring like a loser. Like a fucking fangirl at her little window seat moment.

His whole body’s wet.

Lorenzo’s laughing, aiming the hose right at him on purpose, so Gio flinches and swears and wipes at his face.

Why is this so hot?

Why is soap this hot?

Those dumb butterflies doing laps in my chest.

I had sex with that.

That wet, reckless, chaos of a man out there? I’ve touched him. I’ve had him moaning into my neck.

And now I’m blushing like a little bitch just watching him rinse a Ducati.

SLAM.

“Move over!” Daisy barges in, slamming the door behind her. “I came to tell you to look out the window but oh my god, you’re already here.” She’s grinning like a little gremlin. “Make room, I wanna see too.”

She wedges herself next to me and shoves a fistful of popcorn into her mouth.

Now we’re both just standing there.

Staring. Silently. Like creeps.

“Okay, this is… this is illegal,” Daisy mutters with her mouth full. “How dare Lorenzo look that good just washing a bike. He could sell soap with that jawline alone.”

I laugh, still watching Gio like I’m hypnotized. “He’s not even trying,” I murmur.

We both sigh. Then glance at each other and burst out laughing.

“I swear to god,” Daisy groans, “I’m gonna do something crazy. Like bring him lemonade. Or a marriage proposal.”

“Please do the lemonade first.”

“I’m gonna win him over, Rava. I’ve made a plan in my head. It starts with a compliment and ends with us making out in the garage.”

I snort. “That escalated quickly.”

She side-eyes me. “Not as quickly as you and Gio in Spain, apparently.”

I freeze.

“Don’t play dumb,” she teases. “Something happened. Spill.”

My mouth curls into a nervous smile. I try not to look at her, but I can feel the flush rising to my ears.

“You’re blushing!” she shrieks, jumping on the bed like a toddler high on sugar. “You never blush. Rava. What the hell happened?! Did you kiss? Did you—?”

I throw a pillow at her. “Shut up.”

“YOU TOTALLY DID. Oh my god, tell me everything.”

I flop down beside her. My heart’s doing jumping jacks, but I let the words slip out.

“I don’t know what happened, honestly. I think I might be…bisexual? Maybe. Probably. Definitely . But I’m not telling anyone, especially dad, okay?”

Daisy softens instantly. “Hey. You don’t have to.”

“I’m just… I’m not gonna survive it if our parents find out. Especially not if it’s about him . They’d kill me. Literally kill me . Cause it’s Gio. And it’s not like it’s gonna last. I’m going back when summer ends.”

She’s quiet for a second. Then she links her pinky with mine. “I don’t care if it lasts a week or a lifetime. If it made you smile like that, then I’m team Gio until further notice.”

I smile.

We look back out the window. Gio has picked up a sponge and is dragging it slowly along the seat of his bike. I swallow hard.

Daisy shoots up like she just got electrocuted. “Okay. You sit here and have a gay panic. I’ve got a mission.”

“What are you doing?” I call out as she sprints to the door.

“Lemonade, bitch!” she shouts over her shoulder.

I rush to the window again just in time to see her jogging toward them. She says something to Lorenzo, and he smiles. Daisy practically lights up.

But Gio doesn’t even look at her. His eyes slide past her and land straight on mine.

We lock eyes.

I should look away. But I don’t. I can’t.

He takes his phone out, and starts typing.

My phone buzzes.

GIO:

-Come to my place tonight.

-Tell them you’re out with friends. We’re going somewhere, and I want you with me.

-Don’t make me wait, ravioli.

My entire body goes up in flames.

I just sit there and stare at the screen.

He wants me with him.

Out.

We actually got here.

Spain wasn’t a glitch in my brain, then. It wasn’t some holiday fever dream I made up because I was touch-starved and obsessed.

We really did change there. We came back different and now it shows in three lines on my phone.

And a few hickeys on my neck.

I feel my mouth tug up before I even realise I’m smiling.

54) That’s His Boyfriend

quick note for rereaders: this racing scene is similar to the one in Raise or Die, I included it here for paperback reasons. ✨Ignore it and just read ✨

Rava’s POV

I sneak out the back door like a criminal.

Honestly, I don’t think I’d be this dramatic if I was meeting an actual murderer.

For the love of God. Look at this. Look at what I have to do just to go out with the person I actually want to be with.

All because he’s got a dick and muscles and can’t get pregnant.

All because he’s a man.

As I get closer to his place, I spot him already on his bike.

Of course he’s in all black. Obviously.

He’s got his cheeks resting in his palms, elbows propped on the tank.

My Gio.

He spots me and instantly gets off the bike.

“Okay, meeting up is definitely going to be—”

I don’t even finish the thought.

His hand is already on my jaw and his tongue is in my mouth like my personal space never existed.

I jolt, a small surprised laugh slipping out against his lips, but my body catches up real fast.

I grab his face with both hands and kiss him back with everything I’ve got.

His palm is at my waist, dragging me closer when there is literally no closer left.

“Hey,” he mumbles into my mouth, still kissing me.

I laugh, staring at his stupid perfect face. “Hi. You look ugly, Giovanni.”

He smirks and kisses me again like that’s the best compliment he’s ever received.

“You taste nice,” he says, giving me one more soft kiss before turning back to the bike.

He reaches for the second helmet, then comes back and stops right in front of me.

“Where are your glasses?” he asks, squinting at my face like something’s missing.

“I put contacts in… They don’t work well with the helmet. I don’t wanna break them.”

He nods like this is a very serious issue. “Fair. But when you’re sucking my dick, I want them on.”

I swear I actually die for a second.

How does he say stuff like that so easily?? And why does it sound so hot coming from him and so tragic in my head when I even think about talking like that?

Maybe it’s the confidence. I need more of that.

“Freak,” I mutter, smiling.

He just grins and starts settling the helmet over my head.

“When are you gonna let me put the helmet on by myself?” I ask, looking at him through the visor.

I don’t even know why I’m asking. I like it when he does it.

He huffs a laugh. “When you leave and go back to your little Canada,” he says, tightening the strap, “you’ll be like, oh no, I don’t have a sexy, amazing biker to put my helmet on for me anymore.”

I smack his shoulder. “I won’t be saying that. I don’t get on other people’s bikes. Ever.”

His brows lift. “You literally told me you’d been on a bike once before.”

“I lied so you wouldn’t start roasting me,” I admit.

“So your first time on a bike was with me?” he asks.

I nod. “Your honor.”

He doesn’t even argue. “As it should be.”

While he’s focused on the strap under my chin, my hand slides down to his waistband, fingers brushing over his black pants, squeezing down there, definitely not innocently.

He tugs the strap a little tighter in revenge.

“Don’t be impatient,” he says, completely straight-faced.

Impatient. So there is something coming. Something I’m apparently waiting for.

Involving dicks.

Fine. I can be patient.

For that? I’ll be a saint.

“Get on, pretty boy.”

I climb on behind him and wrap my arms around his waist.

“Where are we going?” I ask, leaning in so he can hear me through the helmet.

“To burn rubber,” he says. “Get ready to scream.”

“What?” I choke out.

“You’ll see. I’m not explaining.” Of course he isn’t.

He starts the bike, and pulls out onto the road.

• 10 minutes later -

We pull up to this place and… yeah, okay.

There are bikes and cars everywhere. Not normal cars. Not “I take my kids to school” cars.

Racing monsters.

The kind of cars I’ve only ever seen in edits and video games. I honestly didn’t think people in real life actually owned stuff like this.

I’m in shock.

There’s loud music blasting from somewhere, I can’t even tell where it’s coming from. It just vibrates through the ground.

Everyone here looks wild in every possible way. Tattoos, chains, piercings.

Even the women look like they could beat the shit out of me with one hand and not smudge their lipstick.

I feel personally attacked.

My dad would have a full cultural breakdown if he ever stepped foot in this place.

He’d probably start praying on the spot and trying to “fix” everyone.

We walk a bit and I notice something else.

Everyone also seems to know Gio.

“GIO!” A wave of cheers.

Slaps on the back.

People fist-bumping him, calling his name, laughing like the fucking prodigal devil returned.

“You’re fucking back, man! Where the hell you been?”

Gio just shrugs, “I was busy.”

Before I can ask with what exactly, another bike rolls up beside us.

“BUONASERA, AMICI!” a voice yells.

Lorenzo.

He pulls up way too close on purpose, parks, and drops his feet to the ground.

He leans over to sit next to us.

Because obviously this night wasn’t chaotic enough without him.

I turn and see a man hugging Gio, and then he turns to me.

“Hey man! I’m Paulo,” he grins and gives me a handshake.

Ok. Wow. This is going way better than I thought.

I’m not a ghost here after all.

“Rava, nice to meet you.”

We weave carefully through the hot cars.

Paulo throws his arms over Gio and Lorenzo.

“Alright, listen up,” he says. “I’ve got some wild opponents for you tonight.”

He looks at Lorenzo first. “You, Lorenzo, you will take Teo Garcia. Spanish. New-ish. INSANE. You’re gonna shit yourself.”

Lorenzo scoffs. “Eh, I don’t want fresh meat. You underestimate me, cookie.”

Paulo raises a brow. “I’m telling you, he’s tough.”

Then Paulo turns to Gio with dramatic flair.

“And you…”

He stretches a hand out toward the chaos.

“Miro fucking Escobar.”

My stomach drops and I don’t even know who that guy is.

Paulo keeps going.

“Bro. Only YOU could take him. See that Ferrari SF90 Stradale?”

He points at a neon-red monster that looks like it kills people for fun. Like Gio’s.

“That’s his. He’s wanted to race you for YEARS.”

He drops his voice. “But uh… he’s a little crazy. So, like… you CAN say no. Totally fine. You could pick that other guy instead.”

He gestures to another rider, this one on a bike. “Whatever you want. Tell me in ten.”

And then Paolo just spins and disappears into the crowd.

I look at Gio.

This can’t be good.

I came here thinking we’d watch something chill, clap twice, kiss once, go home.

Not… this.

“Gio, you’re not taking the car, right? That Escobar guy?”

I’m staring at him from afar.

Yup. He 100% looks like a mythological creature that eats men.

“Of course I’m taking the car. The Escobar guy.”

I gasp. “Are you INSANE?”

Lorenzo pats my shoulder like I’m five. “Relax, sweetheart. Gio knows what he’s doing. Escobar is a brick. A literal brick. Racing a bike with a car is the dumbest matchup. The dude is probably high and wants to prove a point.”

Before I can yell again, Gio grips my shoulders and sits me down on a low wall like I’m about to faint.

“Ravioli,” he says gently, kneeling a little so he’s eye-level.

“Didn’t expect to say that… but bigger doesn’t always mean better. This is easy for me.”

I look at the car again.

The demon Ferrari with murder in its headlights.

I’m not convinced. Not at all.

Gio nudges my shoulder with his elbow.

“Don’t let that car scare you. It looks crazy, yeah… but that doesn’t mean it can beat me.”

I raise a brow.

“Okay, listen,” he says, pointing at the Ferrari. “The car? It’s heavy. Like, fifteen hundred kilos heavy. My bike isn’t even two hundred. Light means fast reactions. I move quicker than he ever will.”

He steps in front of me a little, tilting his head, making sure I’m not spiraling.

“And that car needs space. Long roads, wide turns. My bike doesn’t. I can switch directions in half a second. He can’t.”

I start nodding.

Slowly.

Still terrified.

But listening.

“And his engine has to think. Computers, systems, traction control. Sure, it’s fast, but it needs perfect conditions.”

He taps his bike behind him. “Mine moves the second I twist the grip. No delay. No bullshit.”

I hate that he’s right. Cause I’m scared but he makes total sense.

“And braking?” he adds. “I stop faster. WAY faster. In a race like this, that’s everything. If he brakes late, he slides. If I brake late, my bike listens to me.”

He glances back at the Ferrari, then at me again.

“So yeah, he’s strong. But I’m quicker, lighter, better. I can weave through space he doesn’t even fit in.”

He shrugs. I exhale.

“Come on. You’ve seen me ride, Rava,” he says softly. “You know I can beat him. Easy.”

I let out a long breath. Then another. And another.

“…Okay, I trust you.”

He nods, relieved.

Then he grins and kisses me quickly.

“Go get a front-row spot,” he says against my lips. “I want you to see me win. And reward me after.”

I laugh, finally standing up.

“I like the spirit,” I tell him. “I’m going.”

Gio heads off with Lorenzo right behind him, and I push my way through the crowd.

People shove me and I shove back, ALWAYS with gentle, polite shoves.

Because I don’t want to die tonight.

I somehow manage to squeeze up close enough to see everything.

There are giant screens overhead so all of us peasants who aren’t behind a wheel can follow every turn.

Gio walks straight toward Escobar.

I watch them talk.

Well… Gio talks. Escobar just… glares.

He looks pissed for absolutely no reason.

Why would you be angry at someone you want to race?

What’s the logic?

Shouldn’t you be like, “yeah man let’s have fun”?

Not “I hope you die so I look cool”?

They shake hands, and even the handshake feels hostile.

Great. I hate him already.

The race hasn’t even started yet and everyone around me transforms into animals.

They are shouting. They are screaming. They are jumping.

Gio’s circle is fun, chaotic… but some of the randoms here?

They look like they stab innocent people for entertainment I swear.

Not gonna lie, though, watching him in gear, that focused?

Holy shit.

Two young guys go first. Barely nineteen.

They race hard, to the point they almost crash.

But they hug each other after the race.

Now…

It’s Gio’s turn.

I’m sweating bullets.

Not because I think he’ll lose, hell no.

Because Escobar looks like a feral street goblin who wants Gio dead.

He’s giving murder energy.

Zero softness. Just “I have anger issues and drive expensive things.”

They honk horns. Crowd goes wild.

Lorenzo is perched on his bike in the corner.

“WOOP HIS ASS, GIOVANNI,” he screams.

The crowd yells back.

Gio spots me.

He waves.

My heart does a back flip.

Then he shuts his visor…

The girl in front raises the flags.

Everyone goes dead quiet.

Three… Two… One.

Flags drop.

They explode forward.

The whole crowd lurches with them as if we’re all tied to invisible ropes.

I grip the metal barrier in front of me just so I don’t start ripping my own hair out from the stress.

Gio takes the lead for exactly half a second, then Escobar swerves WAY too close, forcing Gio to pull back… unless he wants to lose a leg immediately.

“HEY!” I yell out loud. “HE DID THAT ON PURPOSE!”

The guy next to me laughs. “Yeah, man. It’s underground. Anything goes.”

“Anything?!” I’m offended.

Escobar cuts Gio off AGAIN, this time almost pushing him onto the side line!

I jab the elbow of the dude on my other side. “Is THAT allowed?!”

“Yep.” He shrugs. “Dirty racing is normal. If you complain, they’ll hit harder.”

Great. WONDERFUL. Let me just go vomit in a bush.

The Ferrari sends a burst of acceleration and gains distance.

My heart sinks.

Gio stays on him though, with zero panic.

Every time Escobar tries something shady, Gio moves with this impossible precision, slipping away.

He’s not shook at ALL.

I’m dying. He’s having the time of his life.

The first tight turn comes fast.

Escobar brakes late, tries to slide the back of the car out to block the road.

But Gio does exactly what he told me earlier.

He leans in and cuts the angle so sharply I gasp out loud.

He hugs the inside line.

And for the first time, he actually fucking gets ahead.

The crowd ROARS.

I nearly cry from relief.

Then Escobar hits him with another cheap move.

Shady bitch accelerates just enough to try and force Gio off balance on the next straight.

Gio’s bike shakes a little.

I freak out. “IS THAT LEGAL?!”

“YES,” the same guys answer in unison.

“How?!”

“IT JUST IS!”

I want to pass out.

But then Gio’s plan starts to unfold exactly like he explained.

Escobar’s Ferrari speeds up… but it takes too long to react.

Cause it’s too heavy.

Too fucking slow in the turns.

Gio slices past him again, this time smoother.

He ducks low and slips through the tiniest pocket of space on the track.

He’s in front now.

For real this time.

Escobar floors it.

Gio just nods his head like, yeah, I expected you to do that, asshole, and pulls away with this terrifying confidence.

Someone has to pick up my jaw. Cause, WOW.

He’s… he’s actually doing it.

He’s beating the giant red demon.

The crowd is losing their minds.

“Holy shit… holy shit holy shit he’s winning,” I say, grabbing my hair.

The second they hit the final stretch, my whole body leans forward like I’m the one steering the damn bike.

Gio is in front.

Exactly like he promised. Exactly like he told me he could.

Please, Gio… just finish. Please, before I pass out.

He pushes more throttle.

I can hear it even from here.

I clench my fists.

Here he comes…

When he crosses the line, I launch myself into the air.

I scream so loud half the crowd jumps.

I accidentally smacked someone.

People around me start cheering with me, howling like wild animals because HE DID IT.

Lorenzo bolts straight toward me and basically throws himself on top of me.

I stumble back a step and catch him, and then we’re hugging and jumping up and down like two escaped mental patients, laughing so hard I can’t even breathe.

Everyone’s staring at us and laughing.

Lorenzo throws an arm around me and physically turns me to face them.

“THAT’S HIS BOYFRIEND!”

My heart stopped.

The stranger blinked. “No shit?”

“No shit!” Lorenzo crowed. “Look at his face. You think he screamed like that for fun ?”

I nearly choked. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

Lorenzo didn’t even look at me. “Sure, sure. Whatever you say, tesoro.” He winked. And I died.

Gio climbs off the bike, rips his helmet off, and actually starts running toward us, all excited.

Pushing through bodies like they were air.

Eyes locked on me like I was the finish line.

I’m pretty sure he didn’t even turn the engine off. Amazing.

Environmental king.

I laugh, and a second later he crashes straight into me, and we’re just standing there, laughing like idiots in the middle of all the noise.

He goes straight for my mouth before I even catch my breath.

I kiss him back just as hard, fingers digging into his neck a little more than necessary.

Not my fault. He shouldn’t be this hot.

And the fact he’s doing this in front of so many people?

Somehow makes it even hotter.

He’s not shy about it at all. He doesn’t care who’s watching or what they think, he just makes it very clear he’s focused on me.

His hand finds my wrist and he starts dragging me away from the crowd.

He pushes through bodies and I shuffle behind him, mumbling “sorry, excuse me, sorry” to everyone he shoulder-checks.

We end up in a corner behind someone’s car and he pins me there, mouth on mine again.

I kiss him back, then pull away just enough to talk. “What if the owner comes and yells at us for making out on their car?”

He smiles, arrogant as hell. “I’ll buy it so we can make out on my car.”

I snort, and he kisses me again, laughing into my mouth.

“How was I?” he mumbles against my lips.

“My screaming didn’t give you a hint?” I shoot back.

He looked fucking possessed. “Didn’t know you could cheer that loud,” he muttered.

“Didn’t know you could make me,” I fired back, trying to sound smug.

“Can you do it in bed, too? Please?” He’s so close our mouths are basically sharing the same air. “Bent over this time. I wanna see your back tattoo.”

I smile against his lips and bite his lip ring, just to be annoying. “I can,” I murmur.

His eyes flicker a little at that.

“Too bad we’re not in your room right now,” I add, letting my fingers slide down and rub lightly over his dick through his pants.

His gaze drops, then lifts back up to mine.

“Let’s go home.”

“What— already?” I protest.

“They’ll survive without me,” he says, already turning, already shoving his way back through the crowd toward the bikes.

I follow behind him, nodding at everyone who claps his shoulder or tells him “nice run” or “you killed it.”

Yeah, yeah. You get to touch him for two seconds. He’s the one touching me later.

He stops by Lorenzo. “We’re heading out,” Gio says.

Lorenzo nods, still talking to Paulo, barely looking over.

“At least TRY not to break the bed!” he shouted.

I froze. “Lorenzo!”

We were two seconds away from getting caught.

Again.

Gio had parked the bike just far enough down the road, killing the engine with surgical precision, and now we were running, laughing like fucking delinquents who stole a goddamn Ferrari.

“Shhh!” I hissed, gripping his shirt and yanking him back behind a bush.

“You’re the one laughing!” he whispered, eyes wild with mischief. “You’re the one with the loud ass giggle!”

“It’s not a giggle. It’s stress—”

“It’s horny panic.”

I smacked his arm, and he grabbed my wrist, pulled me into him, and kissed me fast.

When we broke apart, I whispered, “My dad is literally on the fucking balcony. Right now. If he looks left—”

Gio peeked around the bush. And froze. “…Shit. That is your dad.”

He turned back to me slowly, grinning.

“I’m gonna fuck you ten meters from your father’s espresso,” he whispered.

“Gio!” I shoved him, hard. He caught me before I fell. We were choking on our own laughter, trying to stay quiet and failing miserably.

“Okay,” he whispered, breathless. “Plan B.”

He led me around the side of the house, through a row of hedges, to the back fence.

“Climb.”

“What?”

He knelt down and laced his fingers together. “Climb, pretty boy. I’ll boost you.”

“You’re out of your mind—”

“Yeah. For you. Now move.”

I stepped into his hands and pushed myself up, grabbing onto a wooden ledge above the back gate.

My foot slipped. My chest hit the edge. I grunted, very unsexily, and flopped over into the backyard like a fucking bag of laundry.

“Shit!” Gio hissed. “You good?”

I was on the grass, face down, wheezing.

“I landed like a watermelon,” I said.

He snorted so hard I thought he’d fall over.

I rolled onto my back, looked up at the stars. “I hate you.”

He swung himself over the fence, dropped beside me, and kissed my forehead.

“No you don’t.”

“No, I really don’t.”

And then he kissed me again, this time slower. Sweeter.

His hand slipped under my shirt. “Let’s get inside before your dad sees me sucking your soul out.”

We managed to sneak in through the back door, silent as ghosts, shoes in hand, shoulders hitting walls, holding back laughter with our lips pressed to each other’s necks.

We made it.

But the second the door clicked shut, the tension snapped.

55) Keep Your Eyes On Me

Sorry for the tense switches, guys. I don’t know why I was using both 💀 For the paperback, the whole book is in present tense.

Gio’s POV

The second the door clicked shut, I fucking cracked.

I slammed him back against the wall.

He smirked. “Someone’s desperate.”

Hell yes, I’m desperate.

I’ve been desperate. For months. For years.

The walls in this room know how bad I’ve wanted this.

They’ve heard it all, every fucking time I touched myself thinking about him.

“Are we about to have sex for the first time in Italy?” he murmurs against my mouth.

I pull his shirt up in one move and toss it somewhere over my shoulder, not even looking where it lands.

“So it seems,” I mutter, then kiss him like I’m starving.

He claws at my waist. His mouth trails down to my neck, and I tilt my head back automatically, giving him space.

“This is so bad,” he mumbles, lips still on me.

So fucking bad.

Tell me about it. Say it again.

I want to hear him say how wrong it is. How stupid. How risky.

I want him to spell out every reason we shouldn’t be doing this while I pull him deeper into it.

Because I know.

I know this is dangerous.

I know we could get caught. I know if anyone finds out we’re doing this under my roof, it’s game over.

But there’s something about the wrongness that makes it so much hotter.

Like we’re breaking some ancient law and grinning while we do it.

No one knows. No one can hear us. And that makes me want it more.

It’s ours. Our secret. Our game.

Our fucked-up little rebellion in a house that’s never seen this side of me.

I’m way too excited for this. Like, unreasonably excited.

I’m not even trying to play it cool anymore. There’s no point.

I want him on his knees on my bed.

I want him face down, ass up. Like, that exact fucking position.

No bullshit. No distractions.

I want the filth.

I want him arched so deep his spine turns into a damn question mark.

Palms flat on my sheets, face buried in my pillow.

I want to watch him.

Wanna see that ass tilt just right.

Cheeks spread from the pressure of my grip.

I want to watch it bounce every time I push in.

Like a wave. Like a fucking wave. Back and forth. Hypnotic.

A rhythm that’s only ours.

Am I exaggerating?

I’m not.

Is this just some casual sex?

It’s fucking not.

This is an event. I’ve waited so fucking long for this.

For this specific man with his killer thighs and impossible back dimples to be bent over and completely mine.

Call me obsessed, whatever. I am.

He deserves to be worshipped in the filthiest way possible.

I’m not a bad guy for wanting that. I’m just honest.

He’s got a dream body. That’s not my fault.

That’s the universe’s fault. That’s genetics and whatever divine chaos made this man a walking wet dream.

I get to fuck this. I get to bend him over my bed and fuck him stupid.

He moaned into my mouth. “Don’t stop touching me.”

I didn’t. Couldn’t even I fucking tried to. Pushed his pants and boxers down. Looked up at him.

Fuck.

That slim waist.

I grabbed him and dragged him onto the bed.

I climbed on top of him and he yanked my shirt off in one go, threw it somewhere on the floor, then his hands were on my face for a second before they dropped to my chest, squeezing hard.

“You want it?” I said.

He nodded.

I kissed him satisfied, tongue fucking his mouth while my fingers slid between his legs.

Our mouths moved fast, messy, our tongues fighting for dominance, but I let him win, just this once.

“Turn around.” I whisper, and he does, right away.

Rolls over, face going down into the pillow, arms slipping up by his head.

He shifts his legs just enough, and now he’s all laid out, chest to the mattress, ass still low.

But that’s not what I asked for.

So I reach for his hips, grip him, and pull.

Now he’s up.

Ass in the air, back arched, legs parted the perfect amount.

Head dropping onto the pillow, face turned sideways. As he should.

And his back… God, his back. I want to cum all over this thing.

Three times in a row.

Tattoo stretched across his shoulder blades. Spine a perfect line down to that ass I’d dreamed of touching for weeks .

I knelt between his thighs. My hands smoothed over his lower back.

My thumbs dug into his hips, pushing his ass up a little more.

He tilted it back without me asking.

Fuck . He wants this. He’s offering it to me.

I grabbed the lube, squeezed a line across my fingers, and coated him with slow, purposeful strokes. My index finger circled his hole. Then pressed in, steady, until he gasped, bit it down in the pillow, but I heard it.

It’s the struggle that gets me.

When he wants to moan, but bites it back like it’ll ruin something if he lets it out.

That little shaky inhale. It’s fucking beautiful.

I watch for it and I wait for it, every single time.

Because it’s proof. That he’s feeling everything.

Even when he’s trying to stay quiet, his body always tells on him.

And I eat that shit up.

I love watching him fall apart in silence. Makes me feel special.

I leaned forward, mouth brushing his shoulder. “Don’t hide those sounds from me, love.”

“I can’t help it,” he murmured, breath shaky.

I added a second finger, curling them gently inside him. His back arched.

The slick sounds and his little gasps… Jesus Christ.

“You’re pretty like this,” I whispered, sliding deeper.

He whimpered, and that sound made my dick twitch against his thigh.

Once he is ready, I guide myself into place.

I just let the tip press right up against him, for him to feel it.

Let him know it’s coming, let his body process it.

I run my hands over his hips.

Then I push in.

Holy Mother of Mercy.

I see God. I see the ceiling blur. I see stars.

He’s so warm, so tight, so fucking perfect.

He moans into the pillow.

I bottom out and just stay there, buried to the hilt.

I can feel his body pulsing around me, still adjusting.

“Holy fuck,” I groaned, teeth gritted. “You feel unreal.”

I held still, buried to the base inside him. His ass snug against my hips.

I leaned over him, chest brushing his spine, and kissed the back of his neck.

“Tell me you’re okay.”

He nodded hard. “I’m okay. Just… move. Please.”

I pulled out a few inches. Then thrust back in. Deeper this time.

The sound he made was muffled, but desperate. His hands fisted the sheets.

I set a slow rhythm, grinding thrusts, hips rolling forward.

I wanted him to feel everything.

God, I’ve had sex before. But never like this. I’ve never wanted anyone this fucking much.

His skin burned under my palms.

I watched his back muscles flex beneath me, his thighs tighten, his ass bounce every time I hit it.

I was hypnotized.

By the sounds. The rhythm.

Every moan he let slip… Every twitch of his hips… It dragged me deeper under.

My hips keep snapping forward. I don’t even know how many times I’ve slid back in, just that every single time feels fucking better than the last.

I stare down at the way my dick disappears inside him, the way his hole pulls me in.

It wants me there, I swear.

I moan again, because I want him to hear it. I want him to know how good this feels.

Every sound I make is for him.

His hands grip the sheets. He’s gone. Fully gone.

“I want to see you,” I rasped.

I pulled out slowly, and turned him onto his back.

I lifted his legs, brought them over my shoulders. His knees framed my face. His body looked wrecked. Spread open. Needing me.

“I dreamed of this,” he whispered. “Of this exact moment.”

I held his hips and lined myself back up. “You’re such a whore.”

And I slid back inside him.

We both moaned at once.

I lean in to kiss him, and I don’t even think I’m gonna reach, but then he lifts his face, and meets me halfway.

My hands gripped behind his thighs, keeping his legs high, angling just right so I could go deeper.

I grab his chest, because need to feel them bounce while I’m fucking into him.

And they do.

Fuck.

I squeeze hard. Digging my fingers into his skin as I thrust.

Tomorrow morning I gotta walk into that stiff-ass conference room and pretend I barely tolerate this man.

I’m supposed to look at him and go, “I disagree with your assessment, Rava.”

Like I wasn’t just balls deep in that exact assessment a few hours ago.

What a fucking joke.

Everyone in that room thinks we hate each other.

And we’re fucking like animals.

They don’t know shit.

Tomorrow, I’ll be sipping shitty coffee while he talks logistics with a straight face, and all I’ll be thinking about is his fat ass.

And the best part is that he’ll be doing the same exact thing.

Sitting there like a good boy, nodding along, acting like he wasn’t swallowing my dick last night.

I swear, if someone finds out, it’s over. But until then… let them think we hate each other.

Let them believe the tension’s from some dumb work rivalry.

Let them wonder why I can’t stop smirking every time he talks.

They’ll never guess it’s because he was screaming my name while we were having sex.

He is louder now. No pillow to hide behind. I kissed the inside of his knee. Drove into him harder.

Our skin slapped.

“Look at me,” I demanded. “Keep your eyes on me.”

He did.

And fuck, those super green eyes. They undressed me.

The bed creaked.

The headboard tapped the wall. Again and again.

I don’t care. I fuck him harder now, and he smiles.

My hand wrapped around his dick, stroking him in rhythm, making him shudder under me.

Every thrust hit deep, sharp and I felt his body start to tremble.

“I can’t, fuck, Gio—”

“I got you,” I whispered, breath ragged.

I knew he was close.

“Rava,” I gasped, grabbing his jaw, forcing his eyes on mine, “look at me. Look at me while you cum.”

He did.

And that was it .

His body arched, and he came between us, his dick twitching in my hand, white ropes hitting his stomach, his chest, all the way up to his collarbone.

My brain shut down.

“Fuck—” I moaned, voice cracking as the tight grip of his body around me dragged me under. “Oh, Rava—”

I cum hard.

So hard it stole my breath. My body jerked, every muscle locking as I spilled into him, whole world spinning.

My arms gave out. I dropped forward, collapsing onto him with a loud, broken groan, our sweat-slicked skin sticking.

But I didn’t stop.

I kissed him.

Sloppy. Open-mouthed. My tongue was everywhere obviously, his lips, his neck, because I needed more. I needed all of him.

I pulled back just an inch and looked down at him.

His hair was stuck to his forehead. His eyes dazed, half-lidded. His chest was flushed pink and splattered with his own cum.

The view was beautiful.

Art.

My hand trembled as I ran two fingers through the mess on his chest.

I brought them to my mouth.

Tasted him.

And I swear I could go hard again.

He was staring up at me, mouth barely parted, and I melted.

“You taste fucking perfect,” I whispered.

Then I leaned down and licked it off his chest. Every drop. Slowly. My tongue dragging from his sternum to the hollow of his throat. I licked his collarbone. My hand stayed on his ribs, feeling his breath stutter.

He was trying to recover.

I wouldn’t let him.

I came back up, still breathing hard, and kissed him again. Licked into his mouth like I couldn’t get enough.

Because I couldn’t.

I’m not gonna survive this. I’m not gonna survive him.

—

“She really likes me,” Rava says, scratching Lulu’s belly while she kicks at his hand with her little paws. “Like, dangerously obsessed.”

I’m sitting next to him, watching him.

“She doesn’t like anyone this much. She usually hisses when someone even looks at her.”

“She’s got excellent taste,” he says, grinning. “I’m clearly irresistible.”

I roll my eyes but don’t deny it.

Because how could I? How could she not like him?

How could anyone not?

He’s the kind of good that doesn’t even try. It’s just there, naturally.

He glances around the room, eyes scanning the shelves. “So…Besides your illegal charm, what else in here is gonna get you arrested?”

I let out a quiet laugh. “You asking as my lawyer or what?”

He shrugs. “Depending on the severity.”

I toss a pillow at him. “Shut up. I’m not a murderer.”

He catches it. “No, really. What do you have? That camera, for example? Are there dead bodies in this?”

I pause. “I don’t know…It’s stolen. Don’t ask. My dudes insisted. I was dumb back then.”

“Gio!” he gasps. “That’s vintage!”

“You think I stole cheap shit?”

He laughs, then puts Lulu gently aside and shifts to sit closer to me. “You’re ridiculous.”

There’s a pause. I should leave it there. Joke, flirt, deflect. It’s what I’m good at.

But something in his eyes makes the usual instinct feel…wrong.

“I wanna show you something,” I say, quietly.

Rava raises a brow. “What?”

“I don’t know. I just—fuck.” I run a hand through my hair. “I’ve never shown anyone this. But I want you to see it. No jokes this time.”

He nods once, immediately serious.

I get up, but then I sit back down again. My brain won’t shut the fuck up.

I should probably keep my mouth shut. That’s how I’ve survived this long.

But my head keeps circling back to that one thought.

He doesn’t know shit about me.

He knows the funny stuff. The cocky, loud, “I don’t give a fuck” Gio. The one that jokes fights and flirts.

He doesn’t know about the box.

That ugly beat-up thing at the back of my closet, taped on the edges, full of all the shit I should’ve burned a long time ago.

Proof I wasn’t just some loud-mouthed kid hanging around the wrong people, I was in it.

If anyone ever wanted to bury me, they wouldn’t even have to dig very far.

What if I showed him?

I scoff at myself internally.

Genius move. “Hey Ravioli, since I just almost broke your spine, here’s a fun little felony scrapbook for you to flip through!”

For some reason, post-sex, my brain goes soft in ways I hate.

Maybe I’ll wake up tomorrow and regret even thinking about it.

Maybe I should just shut up and enjoy the fact that I haven’t ruined this yet.

But the thought doesn’t leave.

Show him.

Show him.

Show him.

I swallow.

Can I even trust him with it? Like fully, actually trust him?

If one day he wakes up and decides he’s had enough of my shit, what then?

What if he gets tired. What if he hates me. What if we break the way everything else in my life breaks, and he walks away with a loaded gun worth of information he can hand over with a pretty little bow?

He’d destroy me without even meaning to.

I don’t know. I don’t fucking know.

But then another thought hits, quieter…

What if he doesn’t?

What if he never uses it. What if he hears it, knows it, sees it, and stays.

For some reason, with him, it feels like maybe this is the first time I could actually share it.

Maybe it is a sign. Or maybe I’m just being reckless again.

Either way, the need won’t shut up.

I’ll risk it.

If I lose because of this, maybe I deserve it.

Maybe I’ve been playing with the fire long enough.

56) It Hurts

Gio’s POV

I stand up, go to the closet, and reach behind the old books and a box of tangled cords.

My hand finds it.

When I sit beside him again, he’s watching me closely.

“What’s in there?”

“My kind of awful past,” I mutter. “A few really bad choices.”

For the first time… I don’t feel proud of what’s inside.

But I open the box anyway.

The lid creaks.

An old burner phone, dead and chipped. A USB, taped shut. A fake ID with my seventeen-year-old face and a fake name. A folded list of numbers and names in my handwriting. A wad of cash, mostly euros. A silver ring. Dented. Blood on the edge.

Usually when I look at this box, I feel that little spark of pride.

Like, yeah, I fucking did that. I saw it as proof I’m not just some random loser on a bike, I’m someone people fear, someone people owe, someone who’s capable of things they only pretend they’d do.

Now it just looks… ugly.

Kinda pathetic.

It’s not like there’s a straight-up murder confession in here or something, but there’s definitely enough to put me behind bars if it ever lands in the wrong hands.

It’s “hey officer, here’s twenty different reasons to lock this guy up” energy.

I feel small and embarrassed.

Like some kid trying to convince himself he’s scary.

I kinda hate it.

I can’t tell if I’m making it better or worse by not saying anything now.

All the times I thought I’m built different. Now it just feels like I’m fucked differently.

Now I just see a list of every reason he should get dressed and walk out the door.

If he gets up and leaves, I can’t even be mad. It’d be the most logical thing he’s ever done.

“Guy I’m sleeping with pulls out a crime starter pack”?

Yeah, you go home, babe. You run.

Fuck me.

Why did I bring this out? Why did I think this was a good idea?

Post-sex sensitivity my ass. This is actual insanity.

I glance at him finally, ready for the worst.

If he stands up right now, puts his clothes back on and says “I can’t do this,” I’ll get it.

Rava leans in, carefully.

“You kept all this?!”

“Yeah.” My voice comes out low. “I used to think it made me untouchable. Like I was ahead of the game or some shit.”

He says nothing. Just picks up the ID, studies it.

“You look like a baby here.”

“I was.”

He looks at the list, then back at me. “And now?”

“Now?” I let out a breath. “Now I just feel like an idiot.”

He doesn’t laugh.

“I was proud of this once,” I admit. “Thought it meant I had control. That I didn’t need anyone.”

“And now?”

“Now you’re sitting here. And I can’t stop thinking how if someone found this, if someone traced it back to me, I’d lose everything . Including… you know. You.”

I realized that this sounded way too real. And I almost forgot we are not supposed to do real.

“By saying you, I mean…you know…whatever this is…”

His expression softens. “You showed me anyway.”

“I didn’t want to hide it from you,” I say.

Rava puts a hand on my knee. “Thank you. For trusting me with it.”

The fuck?

I’m still waiting for the earthquake.

It doesn’t come.

My brain can’t handle that.

“So what now?” I scoff, leaning back a little. “You’re just… what, fine with this? That’s it? Box of crimes, little show-and-tell, end of story?”

His brows twitch. “Did I say I’m fine with it?”

“That’s what it feels like,” I throw back, because I’m wired and uncomfortable and this is my natural habitat. “You looked at all that as if these were old school photos. ‘Oh wow, Gio, what a fun little scrapbook of fucking felony.’”

“Okay, first of all,” he says, shifting to sit cross-legged, “nothing about that is ‘fun.’ Or ‘little.’ Or a ‘scrapbook’.”

“Yeah.” I shrug. “No shit.”

He looks at me again. “I’m not saying it’s okay,” he says. “And I’m definitely not saying I like it.”

“Right,” I mutter, looking away.

“Hey.” His voice sharpens. “Look at me.”

I do. He holds my stare.

“What I am saying,” he continues, “is that you did the right thing by showing me. If this is part of your life, part of whatever the hell you’ve been doing, then I’d rather know. I’d rather you trust me with it than keep it rotting in a box alone.”

“Congrats,” I say dryly. “You’re now an accessory by knowledge.”

He actually snorts. “Yeah, well. Can’t unsee it now, can I?”

I huff a laugh. “I just don’t get you,” I admit. “You’re too calm, if that makes sense. This isn’t harmless. If this ever ends up in the wrong place, I’m literally fucked. And by extension, so are you, now that you’ve seen it.”

He tilts his head, thinking, then does the last thing I expect.

He lifts his hand to his lips, pantomimes zipping them shut, and twists his fingers like he’s throwing away an invisible key.

Then he shrugs.

“Okay?” he says simply. “Now it’s between us.”

I blink at him. “Did you just—” I squint. “Did you just mime zipping your mouth about my crimes?”

“Alleged,” he corrects automatically, which is insane, “and yes.”

I stare.

Then laugh, incredulous. “You’re fucking unbelievable.”

“Look.” His voice softens. “I’m not your judge. I’m not your lawyer either, so please don’t make me one, but I’m not here to punish you for who you were before I showed up.”

He taps the box again. “This is scary. I’m not gonna pretend it isn’t. But the part that matters to me is that you looked at all this and thought, I want him to know.”

He holds my gaze. “That means something,” he says.

“Yeah,” I mutter. “Means I’m dumb and reckless.”

“Or,” he counters, “it means you’re tired of carrying all of it alone.”

I look away. “Still. You should’ve freaked out more. Screamed. Thrown something. Told me I’m insane. I don’t know. That would’ve made more sense.”

“Well… Would that have helped you?!” he asks.

I open my mouth, and… nothing comes out.

“I’m not saying I’m okay with the things you’ve done. But I’m not scared of you. If I thought you were gonna hurt me, I wouldn’t be in your bed. Trust me on this one.”

“So no snitch?”

He rolls his eyes and does the zipped-mouth gesture again, more dramatic this time.

“Cross my heart, shut my mouth, be annoying about it forever,” he says. “If I ever talk, it’ll be to tell you to stop getting yourself killed.”

“You’re actually not scared?”

He shrugs a little. “Not of you. Just scared of the world that made you feel like this was the only way.”

That hits me harder than I expect.

He leans against me, his shoulder warm on mine.

“Please don’t get caught though,” he adds, smiling.

“I won’t.”

“Good. ’Cause I just had sex with a guy with a criminal record and a cat, and I’m not doing this twice.”

I laugh, leaning my head against his. “You’re insane.”

“You’re the one with the crime box, punk.”

We sit like that for a while. Lulu crawls back into Rava’s lap.

And even though the box is still open, nothing feels heavy anymore.

Not when I know I’m not hiding this side of me anymore.

He asked me why I don’t just throw it all away.

And I couldn’t answer him right.

Because the truth?

The truth is I’m fucking terrified.

Not of jail. Not of the cops. Not even of getting caught.

I’m terrified because for the first time in my life, I think I don’t want to be that guy anymore. The one who needed this box. The one who kept it like a medal, proof that I was sharp enough, fast enough, dangerous enough to survive on my own.

But I look at him, and suddenly none of that feels like power anymore.

It feels like armor that’s rotting inside me.

I don’t need to be that guy around him. I don’t need to perform. I don’t need to flash my middle fingers or crack my jaw or show off like some fucking cartoon of a man.

He’s the first person who’s ever looked at me and seen me. Not just the biceps, not the tattoos, not the Ducati.

Me.

And it’s fucking unbearable .

Because I’ve built this whole world around the idea that no one ever would. That I was too much, too selfish, too burnt out to ever be someone anyone could stay for.

But he’s still here. Even after this.

And he’s not asking me to prove anything.

He’s not scared of me. He’s scared for me.

He gives a shit. Really, truly gives a shit.

And that?

That makes me love him and hurt myself even more.

Because no one ever stayed. They only ever showed up for a ride, a thrill, a story.

They liked the version of me they could brag about. Touch him, but don’t get too close. He’ll bite. That was always the game.

But Rava wanted to understand me.

And now I’m holding everything I’ve ever done wrong in a rusted metal box, and I don’t even want it anymore. I don’t want the thrill. I don’t want the weight.

I don’t want to be the guy with a lockpick smile and no one to come home to.

I just want him. His voice. His hand on mine when I’m shaking. His eyes when he looks at me like I’m not just a walking trash. Like I’m worth something. Like maybe, just maybe, I could be good.

I deserve to be treated well.

And I hate how much I want that. But at the same time, I’m glad that he is leaving. Because I don’t know how to be that guy.

Because what if I try and fail?

What if he wakes up one day and realizes he made a mistake?

What if I lose him and there’s nothing left of me to go back to?

I swallow hard.

1 hour later

He’s slipping his shirt on. I should probably be helping him gather his things, but I just…stand there.

He looks up at me as he stuffs his phone into his pocket. “You’re staring.”

“Hell yes I do.”

He laughs under his breath. “Why?”

“’Cause I can.”

He rolls his eyes, but I catch the way his ears go a little pink. He’s trying to look chill, even though he just spent the night kissing me non stop, moaning my name, cuddling Lulu, and learning creepy stuff about my past.

He’s definitely the most dangerous thing that’s ever happened to me. Not ’cause he could ruin me. Because I’d let him.

He leans down to tie his shoelaces. “Okay. I’m heading out. Unfortunately. Tell Lorenzo I said hi when he comes here.”

I nod, pushing off the doorframe. I walk to the kitchen counter, pretending to fumble with something until my fingers find the little silver key in the bowl.

Shit.

I hold it for a second.

Don’t do it.

“Hey,” I say, turning around. My voice comes out rougher than I want it to. “Come here.”

He straightens, a little confused. “Yeah?”

I hold out the key.

He doesn’t take it at first. Just stares at it, then at me.

“What’s that?”

“A key,” I mutter. “To this place.”

He doesn’t move. But his eyes went wide open.

I swallow. “It’s not—look, it’s not a big thing. It’s just… practical. Makes it easier. So you don’t have to knock. Or wait outside. Or text me from the sidewalk like a dumbass.”

He still doesn’t take it. Just watches me like I’ve grown a second head.

I exhale. “And… I trust you. With this.”

He finally reaches out.

“You trust me, with your whole…house?” he repeats.

I nod. “You trusted me. With… you know.” My voice dips. “With you. With your body. With something that mattered.”

His fingers tighten around the key.

“And I know what that meant. So I just wanted you to know I get it. I see it. And this is me giving something back.”

His throat bobs. “Gio…”

“Don’t make a thing out of it,” I say quickly, suddenly needing to look anywhere but at him.

He smiles.

Then he whispers, almost joking. “Should I take it with me to Canada? To remind me of us.”

…

And everything in me goes still.

Us.

He tries to smile, but it’s shaky. It doesn’t reach his eyes.

And neither of us laughs.

Because it hurts.

It hurts so, so fucking much.

He’s still holding the key like it might disappear.

Like we might. Cause probably we will.

We will disappear.

The ache is too close to the surface.

Then he finally looks up again, and his eyes are glassy.

“I should go, unfortunately.” he says.

And I should let him.

But instead, I step forward. Grab his wrist. Pull him in.

Our lips meet somewhere between stay and don’t forget me.

It’s not rushed. It’s very gentle. It’s the kind of kiss that says everything we don’t know how to say.

Like maybe this is home now. More than just sex or safety.

And that’s what makes it hurt.

When we break apart, we don’t speak.

He just squeezes my hand once, and leaves.

The door shuts behind him.

And the key is no longer mine. But I truly don’t feel like I’ve lost something.

---

Pookies… I swear, some insane scenes are coming. I feel EXACTLY like that guy who says “oh no… I can’t laugh yet… I’ve got to hold it in.” LMAO. Completely alone. Laughing at my phone like a maniac, writing like if I stop, someone will drop dead instantly. Anyway, yeah, an insane plot twist is coming and I think you’re gonna love it.

You can all drop ideas too, i might actually like something and make it part of the story. The plot twist i’m talking about came from a random comment lol.

I’m about to shit myself from excitement. Bye.

57) Fifteen Minutes

Rava’s POV

I have a key to Gio Fontana’s house.

I have a key to Gio Fontana’s house .

I have a key to Gio Fontana’s house.

What the fuck am I supposed to do with this?

I’ve opened and closed my palm at least twenty times, and it’s still there. Cold and very much real.

I’m losing it. Fully losing it. Because he gave it to me .

Casually. Like it was nothing.

Who does that?!

I’m pacing. I’m sweating. I’m smiling like an idiot. I’m losing my goddamn mind.

Because what the hell am I supposed to do, walk in and say: “Hey. I know we’re just hooking up and you don’t love me or whatever, but—surprise! I have a key to your place?”

Or maybe: “Hi. I think I might be secretly, stupidly, desperately in love with you but I can’t tell you because if I do you’ll panic and run before I get the chance to leave first?”

Cool. Chill.

Totally fine.

I rest my forehead against my room door. I think I’m laughing? Or maybe crying? I’m both. Probably both.

I mean, imagine telling eleven-year-old me, awkward little me, still figuring shit out, that one day I’d have a key to the house of the hottest, rudest, most infuriatingly perfect guy I’ve ever met.

Who also happens to be the best sex of my freaking life.

And the reason I can’t sleep right anymore.

Even though he used to mock me nonstop. And my dad hates him. And he has a literal criminal record.

But still, every time I see him, it feels like watching an angel who is surrounded by awful people.

I mean…

It’s a key.

It opens his door. His place. The one where he sleeps. Where he showers. Where he exists when he’s not with me, pretending we’re not something we absolutely fucking are.

And now I can go in. Just like that.

I

have a key.

I could walk in, see his jacket on the back of a chair, hear his playlist playing in some other room.

That should scare me. It does scare me.

But I’m also…God, I’m so happy about it.

And that’s the worst part. I should be panicking.

I am panicking. But underneath it there’s this…hum.

I shake my head, laugh under my breath, and finally pull myself together.

The real world’s still spinning.

We have a meeting. I’m supposed to look professional. Composed.

I looked up and I saw Gio enter the room in a black button-up.

Sleeves rolled just enough to show the tattoos on his forearms. His trousers were dark.

Black hair slicked back but a little undone.

Sharp jawline. That chain glinting against his throat.

He looked like the kind of man people lied for. Or killed for. Or gave up everything for.

And… I had sex with him. I kissed that mouth. I moaned into that neck. I left nail marks on that back. I fell asleep on that chest.

And then he gave me a key.

To his house.

To him.

Oh my God who am I.

And now he’s across the table, cool as anything, not even looking at me.

I almost smiled to myself. Almost. Because for a second I forgot…

This had an expiration date.

But it’s just harder to walk away from someone once you’ve seen them scared.

Harder to pretend they were just a good time.

I know I don’t have the kind of heart that… cares lightly.

I know myself. It’s always all or nothing with me, even when I swear I’ll keep it casual.

I swallow hard. Don’t think about it. Not now. Live the moment.

He finally looked at me. Just once.

We sat. Right across from each other. Not close enough to touch, but close enough to feel the static.

He glanced down at my fingers on the table. I glanced at his lips. Neither of us spoke. But we almost smiled.

Almost.

Phone buzzes. I shouldn’t check it. I really shouldn’t.

I check it.

LORENZO:

-Rava. I’m literally BEGGING you. Could you say something smooth to Daisy about me. Please. In exchange, I give you 12–15 uninterrupted, nobody-else-knows-about-this-minutes with Gio. Right now. Door locked. No cameras. Say yes <3.

I blink.

I read it again.

Then again.

ME:

-Wait. Hold on. What?!

Buzz.

LORENZO:

-You heard me. I need your help with your sister. And I know

exactly

what you and Gio need.

ME:

-Waitwaitwait. You want DAISY?

LORENZO:

Yes, Romeo, I want your very smart, very hot, very terrifying sister. Don’t judge me.

ME:

-Since when?!

LORENZO:

-Since she yelled at the guy at a rental car desk and I almost proposed on the spot.

ME:

-…you need therapy.

LORENZO:

-Probably. But you need my cousin. So. Trade?

I cover my mouth with my hand and look around like someone might have read that over my shoulder.

Across the table, Gio still looks unfazed. His finger is tracing slow circles on his notepad.

ME:

-Okay. But if she murders you, I want it on record that I tried to stop this.

LORENZO:

-Accepted. If she kills me, scatter my ashes over your Spanish hotel bed. The one where Gio probably almost broke your spine.

ME:

-LORENZO WHAT THE FUCK.

He sends me a heart emoji. And a key.

⸻

Five minutes later, Lorenzo raises his voice like he just remembered something genius. “Wait—before we move on, the Spain samples, did anyone grab those?”

A couple of people glance around, confused.

He continues, effortlessly: “They’re locked in the back room. Only I have the key. Rava, Gio—you two saw the real ones in person. Go grab what you think fits best.”

My heart stops.

Gio stands slowly. Straightens his shirt. Doesn’t say a word.

I follow, doing my best not to look like I’ve just been sold into some secret deal with the mafia.

As we pass by Lorenzo, he leans in with the cockiest smirk I’ve ever seen.

“Fifteen minutes,” he whispers. “Make them count.”

I don’t respond. Because I already know we will.

We have fifteen minutes.

That’s all Lorenzo gave us. Fifteen minutes away from that suffocating table. Fifteen minutes where I get to stop pretending I’m not going out of my fucking mind.

And the second Gio slammed the door shut and locked it, I was on him.

I grabbed him by the collar, shoved him back against the metal shelf, and kissed him violently.

I gasp and he takes that as an invitation to shove his tongue deeper.

I’ve got his bottom lip between my teeth, and I bite it.

He fists one hand in my hair and the other wraps around my throat.

My knees nearly give out.

I’m gasping, already drunk off the tension, and his hand squeezes just a little harder around my neck.

Yeah. Yeah, that’s exactly what I wanted.

I smirk against his mouth, barely able to talk through how wrecked I sound. “Harder.”

His eyes flash.

The pressure tightens and I moan, whimpering silently into his mouth.

“You like that?” he whispers, lips brushing my jaw as he pins me to the wall.

“Obviously,” I pant, kissing his neck multiple times. “What gave it away?” I ask, smiling.

He smiles back, and then crashes his mouth back onto mine like he’s done letting me talk.

I bite his lip again.

“You look so hot in that shirt,” I breathed against his mouth. “I couldn’t stop staring at you.”

He chuckled, low. “Yeah? You gonna do something about it?”

I kissed him harder.

He grabbed my ass. Hard. Dragged me into him. I gasped.

“You were thinking about last night.”

“I was thinking about your mouth.” He slid a hand between my thighs.

I almost buckled. “Oh my god—”

“Thinking about the noises you made when you came between us.”

I moaned, and he kissed me again to shut me up. I melted into him. Couldn’t even breathe straight.

“Don’t be loud, love” he said, “your whole family is two rooms away.”

“I know,” I gasped.

He laughed. Fucking laughed. I bit his neck.

“Can I go down on you?” I whispered. His hand slipped under my shirt, dragging up my stomach, fingers rough, greedy.

“Please?” I was already so hard it hurt.

“You’re gorgeous when you beg,” he muttered. “You should see yourself. So fucking needy.”

I grabbed his belt. Yanked him closer.

“Take it off,” I said.

He raised an eyebrow. “ You giving orders now?“

“I’m desperate,” I breathed. “Don’t pretend like you don’t love it.”

He pushed me against the shelf this time, lips back on mine, hips grinding into mine.

“I do,” he whispered. “I fucking love it.”

We kissed like animals. Moaning silently into each other’s mouths.

My hands in his hair, his mouth at my jaw, my ear, my throat.

I was burning.

“Fuck—” He gasped. “Fifteen minutes isn’t enough.”

“Then we better start now.”

I dropped to my knees like I belonged there.

Eyes up, waiting for him to give me permission to touch.

He was already hard and so fucking beautiful I almost whimpered.

His shirt was open, abs glistening with sweat, chain hanging low between his collarbones. He looked down at me like I was the filthiest thing he’d ever seen.

God, I wanted that look. I craved it.

I reached for his zipper, but he grabbed a fistful of my hair first, lifting my head up.

“Look at me,” he said.

I did. Knees pressed to the floor. My dick already throbbing from nothing but the weight of his stare.

“You want this?” he asked.

I nodded. “Please.”

His lips curled, half-smile. “Such a good boy.”

Fuck. I almost came right then.

He let me go, and I moved carefully, unzipping him, pulling him out.

I kissed the head first. Worshipful. Just to hear his breath hitch.

Then I licked a stripe up the underside and tried not to moan.

“You’re so hard already,” I whispered. “Did I do that to you?”

“You did. You on your knees like this? Shit, Rava… fuck me sideways.”

He tangled his fingers in my hair again, tighter this time, guiding me.

Reminding me who I was doing this for.

And I loved it.

I opened my mouth and took him in, slow at first, lips wrapping around the head, tongue teasing the slit, hand stroking what I couldn’t reach.

My throat was already stretching for him. My jaw burned. But I didn’t care at all.

I wanted to feel used. I wanted to be good for him.

“Just like that,” he hissed, hips jerking forward. “Fuck, your mouth should be illegal.”

His praise made me moan around him. The vibration made him grunt.

“You’re made for this,” he said. “You’re made to suck my dick.”

I pulled off just long enough to nod.

“I love it,” I breathed. “I love making you feel good.”

“Then keep going,” he said. “Show me how much.”

And I did.

I sank back down, let him slide deeper this time. Gagged once, and he moaned. I could feel his dick twitch on my tongue as I sucked harder, faster, worshipping every inch of him.

He held my hair tight now, guiding me. His hips rolled slow and deep into my mouth, controlled but desperate.

Every time I looked up, he was already watching me.

“Look at you,” he whispered. “So fucking pretty like this. You’re the fucking standard now.”

I moaned again, while my spit was soaking his dick. My hand was shaking around the base.

I didn’t want to stop. I wanted to make him cum down my throat and praise me for it.

Begging with my actions and I don’t even care. Because when Gio talks? When Gio praises me? It’s like the whole world fucking tilts.

I need to be told I’m doing it right. That I’m making him feel good. That I’m giving him what he needs.

“God, Rava—” His voice cracked. “What the fuck did you just do with your tongue, do it again, don’t stop—”

His grip in my hair went rigid.

His thighs locked. And I let him fuck my mouth.

He was close. I could feel it. In the way his thighs trembled. In the death grip he had on my hair.

But most of all, in the way he kept trying not to make a fucking sound.

We weren’t alone. There were voices down the hall.

He knew it.

I knew it.

And it made everything worse. But better.

I hollow my cheeks, suck harder.

They don’t know I’ve got Gio’s dick down my throat.

God. God, it’s hot.

The secret. The silence.

Me on my knees, him barely holding it together.

The risk of someone knocking.

The idea that anyone could hear if he’s too loud.

“Rava,” he hissed through gritted teeth, “fuck, I’m gonna—”

I sucked deeper. Wanted him to cum completely undone, right here, right now, and not be able to moan about it.

His body jerked and his hand flew up, clamped hard over his own mouth just as his hips bucked and I felt the first hot pulse of his orgasm shoot down my throat.

I wanted to smile.

His head slammed back against the wall. His hand over his mouth. The other one yanking my hair tight, like he was hanging on for dear life, like he was trying not to scream.

And fuck, I loved it so much.

His dick twitched in my mouth, spilling over my tongue. His abs clenched, the whole time he was muffling himself with his own hand, desperately quiet.

I reached up and gripped his wrist, pulling his hand away from his mouth just a little, to hear the sound that slipped out.

It was a gasp. A guttural, broken one.

I smiled.

He was still on it.

So I sucked harder. Let him have it. Let him fuck my throat until he had nothing left.

And when he finally stopped, I pulled back.

I swallowed, licked my lips, looked up at him.

He was flushed.

But his grip in my hair didn’t loosen.

Instead, he tugged me forward.

“You like that?” he rasped. “Watching me bite my tongue so I don’t moan your name out loud?”

I nodded, breathless. “So fucking much.”

He tugged again, rougher.

“You’re sick.”

I smiled.

“I know.”

“Your head game is dangerous. I should report you.”

My skin shivered.

Then he kissed me.

I could barely stand. My knees were numb.

But we moved, grinning, hands on each other until I was leaning against the wall and he was fixing his pants.

I reached up and started buttoning his shirt for him.

He watched me with a lazy smirk.

“You good?” he asked.

I smirked right back. “I just got throat-fucked into another dimension. So yeah. I’m good.”

He snorted, but there was affection in it. He grabbed a tissue, wiped the corner of my mouth gently.

“Can’t let them see you like this,” he muttered.

“Like what?”

“Like you just blew me so good I almost blacked out.”

I laughed.

I straightened my collar, brushed invisible wrinkles off my shoulders, fingers lingering on my chest for just a second too long.

“Your glasses are fogged up.” he laughed.

“Guess I was working hard.”

I finished the last button on his shirt. Let my fingers skim down his abs through the fabric.

“You trying to start again?”

“Just admiring the view.”

We both laughed quietly.

I checked the mirror. Ran a hand through my hair.

He stood behind me, watching me through the reflection.

My throat still ached.

His lips were a little too red.

“You ready?” he asked, already reaching for the door.

I exhaled. Grabbed the actual papers. “Yeah.”

He glanced at me one last time, slow drag of his eyes over my body.

Then he opened the door.

And we were back in character.

Buttoned-up. Straight-faced. Like nothing had happened.

But his hand brushed mine for half a second as we stepped into the hallway.

And I knew we were both still burning.

My phone buzzes under the table.

I glance around, everyone’s focused on the numbers on the screen. I slide the phone into my lap and check the notification.

LORENZO:

-So?

-You gonna tell Daisy I’m reliable?

-Or should I just let her know I held your boyfriend’s cum-stained documents while you got throatfucked behind a door?

I freeze.

I can feel the color drain from my face, then rush right back in, burning hot across my cheeks.

Oh my fucking God.

I type back quickly.

ME:

-Can you be normal for ONE minute?

Buzz.

LORENZO:

-You’re welcome, btw.

-You should endorse me for “oral support logistics” on LinkedIn.

I press the bridge of my nose. I want to disappear. Literally melt into the floor and vanish. The guy across from me is talking about contract clauses and all I can hear is Lorenzo in my brain going “cum-stained documents.”

Another buzz.

LORENZO:

-Soooo was it good?

-Like “moaning into the paperwork” good?

-Or “soul leaving your body through your dick” good?

Jesus fucking Christ.

ME:

-Lorenzo. Shut the fuck up.

-Please.

LORENZO:

-Was it on-your-knees-shaking good

Or eyes-rolling-can’t-walk-after good

-I need DATA

I bite the inside of my cheek.

I can’t look up.

And here I am, getting grilled via iMessage by his damn cousin.

ME:

-I hate you.

LORENZO:

-No you don’t.

-You just need electrolytes.

I physically flinch.

Gio shifts slightly in his seat. Leans closer.

“Everything good?” he murmurs under his breath.

I don’t look at him. “Your cousin’s being disgusting.”

“What’d he say?”

I pause. My mouth twitches. “He wants credit for ‘oral diplomacy.’”

Gio exhales a laugh through his nose.

“Reasonable.”

I shake my head and lock my phone.

What the fuck is going on in my life.

---

LMAO i wrote this with 6% battery so if there are any mistakes it’s probably cause i was in a rush.

(My charger is in the same room i’m just comfy and don’t want to move.)

Also, if you’re still here, you better follow me💔 you know, join the little disco cult.

58) Come To Italy

Rava’s POV — August 2nd

This past week was fucking insane.

We were careful. So careful. Ducking into bathrooms, sneaking down hallways, texting in code like criminals. Every second we were together felt like we were walking a tightrope.

I still can’t believe we didn’t get caught. There were at least five moments I thought this is it. Someone’s gonna open the wrong door, glance over at the wrong time, or hear something they shouldn’t.

But somehow, we kept it together. Somehow, we got away with it.

At the meetings, it’s our eyes that fight. But in the dark… it’s our tongues that do the battling.

And in between all that hiding…

We devoured each other.

There’s no other word. We fucked like we were starving.

In the garage, in the shower, once behind his locked room door while his mom was downstairs.

She didn’t even know I was in the house.

I don’t even know what day it is anymore.

We’ve literally fucked in every room that has a surface.

On tables, against walls, in chairs that definitely weren’t made for that shit.

I think at one point I bent over the bathroom sink after showering, and he just went for it.

It’s been nonstop. Like we’ve both been possessed.

Morning? Sex.

Midday? Yeah, sex. Didn’t matter where. Car. Storage room. Hallway.

If there was half an hour and something to lean on? It was happening.

At night? Forget it. That’s when it got feral.

We tried every position. Every. Position.

I didn’t even know some of them were physically possible.

We went rough. We went slow. We edged each other so bad one night we both ended up panting on the floor, sweating and laughing, our whole bodies shaking.

There was choking, biting, spitting, crying. Like, actual crying from overstimulation.

I don’t think we ate real food. I think we survived off each other.

I think I literally lived off his mouth and hands for 7 days straight.

Every time I looked at him, I got hard.

Every time he touched me, I got desperate.

Every time he praised me, I came.

We almost didn’t leave the house. The only reason we did was to fuck in other places.

I’m talking “how are we still alive” kind of sex.

Now it makes sense.

Why Gio is so cocky and so full of himself.

Because the way he fucks… Holy shit.

He’s fucking me so good I start thanking him, as if he’s doing me a favor.

He knows how to praise me and punish me in the same fucking breath.

Now I catch myself waiting for it.

I used to be serious. I had freaking dignity.

Now I’m the guy who begs. I literally beg him to touch me. I ask for his hands, his mouth, his dick, his hands, whatever he’s willing to give.

Because yeah, Gio’s good at sex.

But…

Let’s not get it twisted. I’ve had him on his knees too. I’ve made him shake and whimper.

So, yeah. Maybe I’m down bad.

But so is he.

We’re basically soldiers at this point. Two insane, addicted soldiers, fully trained in the art of each other.

He says “get over here,” and I move. I say “don’t stop,” and he doesn’t.

He drops to his knees, I spread my legs. I drop to mine, he loses his fucking mind.

I’ve never done anything like it. Never felt anything like it.

But then I’d lie in bed afterward, alone, and feel something blooming in my chest that I shouldn’t be feeling.

Because this wasn’t part of the deal.

We had rules. We made rules.

If one of us caught feelings, we’d stop. No drama, no heartbreak.

I promised I wouldn’t catch feelings.

That we’d just fuck and that’s it.

Nothing serious. Nothing with a capital N.

But I keep catching myself doing things that scare the shit out of me.

Yesterday we were walking down the street and my hand almost went to his on its own. It was like his hand had a magnet and mine was stupid metal. I swear.

Then at night, I caught myself hovering over my phone, ready to type:

Hellooo Gio, can I come to your bed so we can just cuddle while I tell you about my family problems and how terrified I am of whatever this is?

And the worst thing now.

I almost told him I love him.

In the middle of sex…

I tried to gaslight myself afterwards. Told myself, it was just the heat of the moment, it’s the adrenaline, it doesn’t count.

But I know me. I know my fucked up little heart. It wasn’t just that.

And now I’m… desperate, honestly. Because I can’t afford to be in love with him.

I tried to ignore it. I swear I did.

Every time I felt it creep in, I’d shove it back down.

Because if I let myself say it out loud, then it becomes real. And if it’s real, then I’ve already broken the agreement.

What if I tell him and he pulls away? What if it scares him?

He’s not like me. He probably doesn’t do love.

Especially with someone who has to be back in Canada by September 15th.

If I go too far, if I say the wrong thing, if I show too much… he’ll leave.

And I can’t have that. I’d rather pretend I don’t feel anything than lose what little I have of him.

So I keep pretending it’s just lust. That I don’t care. That I can handle this. That all these feelings building inside me will eventually go away if I just don’t look at them too closely.

But they won’t. And deep down, I know it.

I have to tell Noah about this. I completely forgot, oh my God. He is going to be so surprised.

I closed the door quietly, then double-checked the lock. Everyone else was asleep, or pretending to be. I didn’t want to risk it. I sat down by the window, pulled my knees up, and stared out into the garden as I tapped on Noah’s contact.

My finger hovered for a second before I hit “Call.”

“Yoooo! You alive or did the mafia eat you? What’s up, Rome-o?”

I laughed. Fuck. I hadn’t realized how much I missed that voice.

“Hey. Sorry I didn’t call sooner.”

“You’re damn right you didn’t. I’ve been dying over here. I thought I sent you off to flirt with him, not disappear into the witness protection program.”

I exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of my neck.

“Well yeah about that…you know that whole fake kiss idea you had?”

“…Yeah?”

“It didn’t stay fake.”

“…WHAT.”

“Yeah.” I smiled, embarrassed. “We…kind of kept going. And then we didn’t stop.”

He went silent again. Then came the gasp.

“Rava. RAVA. No way. No actual way. You—? With him? What the hell, are you serious? Like—doing stuff-stuff?”

“Yes. Everything.” I bit my lip trying not to smile too hard. “ Everything .“

“EVERYTHING?! RAVA WHAT THE HELL, DUDE.” He was practically shouting. “I told you to fake kiss him to piss him off, not start an affair of the century!”

“It’s not like I planned it—”

“Wait wait wait. First of all, is he hotter in person?”

“Oh, man…”

“Be honest, or I hang up right now.”

I groaned into my hand. “He’s…unbelievably hot. It’s almost unfair. Stupidly hot. He’s the definition of beauty, actually.”

“Oh my God…” Noah sounded like he was fanning himself. “I KNEW IT. And? Is he better than Sophia?”

That made me stop.

“What?”

“You heard me. Is he better than Sophia?”

I stared at the window, stunned. I hadn’t even thought about her. Not once.

“I forgot Sophia existed until you just said her name.”

And I meant it.

“This isn’t even the same planet.”

Noah let out a scandalized shriek. “Rava, I’m gonna cry. Wait. Does that mean…? Are you…?”

“Well I think I’m bi.” It felt strange saying it out loud.

“Or something. I don’t know. And it’s not just that. I—fuck, I think I’m actually in love with him. And it’s making me sick.”

“RAVAAAAA.” He sounded like he was about to jump out of his skin. “Holy shit! I am so proud of you. This is, like, a moment. Do you hear me? This is THE MOMENT. I have to break something this is so unexpected.”

I laughed. “You’re so dramatic.”

“Bitch, you’re the one in a secret romance with a tattooed Italian bad boy. I earned the right to scream.”

“You sound like Lorenzo.”

“Is he your other affair or something?”

“Gio’s cousin. You’d love him. Same brain. It’s actually disturbing. You’d probably become best friends in two minutes and then ruin my life.”

“I already love him. Tell him I said hi. And also thank you for not letting Gio be a complete menace. Okay, wait—tell me everything. Like, what’s he like? What do you do? How did it start? What’s the vibe?”

So I told him. Everything. From that first kiss in Spain to the stolen glances, all that fucking, the whispered conversations. The key to his house. The way Gio looked at me. The way I felt safe and alive and terrified all at once.

“But I don’t know what happens when I leave,” I admitted, quieter now. “We made this agreement—if someone falls, we stop. But fuck me , I already might did. And I’m scared if he finds out, he’ll back off before I even get on the plane. Like he’ll just… disappear. Before I can even ask him to stay with me.”

Noah was quiet for a second. “Dude… you obviously deserve to love someone who wants to stay. And from everything you just told me, he sounds like he fucking does want to stay with you. Maybe he already broke the rules too, and he’s just as scared to tell you.”

I pressed my forehead against the cool glass. “What if I mess it up?”

“Then at least you tried. But if you don’t say anything, you’ll regret it every day after. Just… think about what you want. What you really want.”

“I want him.”

Noah sighed dramatically.

“Okay. That’s it. I’m flying over. I need to meet this man. I need to see the face of the guy who made you forget that bitch Sophia existed. And also, I want gelato. And Lorenzo. And chaos.”

“You’re insane.”

“I’m your best friend. Same thing.”

And I smiled.

“Wait…” I paused mid-laugh, something lighting up in my chest. “Noah. Hold on. Actually…What if you came?”

There was silence on the line.

“Came where?” His tone shifted instantly.

“Here. To Italy. I’m serious.”

I was already picturing Noah strutting off a plane in a hideous airport outfit with a suitcase full of chaos. “You should totally come. It would be legendary.”

“Rava…” he whispered. “You’re not messing with me, right?”

“No, dude, I’m serious! Stay for a week—or two! You’ll meet everyone. You can finally see this madness in real life. Lorenzo will lose his mind. You two will end up lighting something on fire, I already know it.”

“Oh my GOD.” He was breathing heavier. “You don’t understand. I’ve been bored, man. I’m dying out here. Everyone sucks. I need drama. I need Italians. I need espresso and forbidden romance. I need to see Gio the Legend with my own eyes. I need to judge him in person.”

“Please do. He needs to be humbled.”

“I was born to humble tattooed men.”

I grinned so hard it hurt.

“You’re not joking though? You’re actually inviting me?”

“I’ve never been more serious. I miss you like hell. And I need you here. Even for a little bit.”

He was quiet for a second. “Alright. Give me three days. I’ll make something up for my work, find a flight, and pack. You better be at the airport with snacks.”

“I’ll bring an espresso and a t-shirt that says Team Gio is Mid.”

“Perfect. And I swear to God, Rava, if you and Gio fight or anything before I get there, I will fight you . I’ve been emotionally invested since forever. Don’t do this to me.”

“I’ll try not to ruin your gay summer vacation, I promise.”

He cackled. “Italy’s not ready for me.”

3 hours later

It was quiet.

Late afternoon light spilled through the curtains.

I had my feet pulled up on the chair, knees to my chest, a pen tapping gently against the side of my glasses.

I’d been scrolling for the past hour, looking up programs, requirements, tuition costs.

Master’s in education. Teaching.

The plan was to graduate officially in October, walk the stage, hold that diploma up high…and then go after it.

It was supposed to be simple. Supposed to be about me. Just me.

But now… There’s him.

Gio…

And the thing is, I can’t think straight anymore.

Not when I wake up and the first thing on my mind is whether he’s eaten.

Not when I see him riding that damn bike and all I want to do is scream at him to slow down.

Not when I used to hope the cops would catch him for all the shit he pulls, and now I spend whole nights lying awake wondering what lies I’d tell if they ever came asking.

What I’d cover. What I’d burn.

What I’d do to keep him safe.

Is that pathetic?

That the guy who used to laugh at me in the hallways, who used to call me “teacher’s pet” and mock my books…

The same guy I used to curse under my breath…

He’s now the one I’d sell my soul to protect.

It’s terrifying. To care this much.

To love—

I can’t even say it. Not even to myself.

I let the pen fall into my lap and rubbed the back of my neck, staring blankly at the screen in front of me.

CLACK.

I jumped.

My heart stopped.

I turned toward the window…

And it was Gio.

Half in, half out.

Right. Climbing through my window was completely reasonable behavior for a guy like him.

“Missed me?” he whispered.

59) ‘It Was Fine’

Rava’s POV

Totally normal to have someone climbing into your room through the window.

Who even uses the door anymore?! That’s so outdated.

Here, we do things deluxe edition: window.

Actually, wait. I keep forgetting.

They’d skin him alive if they found out he was here. We don’t even have a project as an excuse, and Jin isn’t around either, so I literally have zero reason to explain why there is a whole Gio in my bedroom right now.

“Look at you,” he whispered. “Sitting there all sweet and innocent with your little glasses and those filthy tattoos.”

I swallowed hard. “You’re gonna get us caught.”

He swings his whole body inside, lands on the floor, dusts off his shirt, and before I can say anything, he leans in and presses a quick kiss to my mouth.

He pulls back, eyes flicking over my face, and then he does it again. Another quick kiss, a little slower this time.

“I was gonna handle some business,” he said, stepping closer, “but then I remembered I hadn’t had my daily dose of my favorite nerd’s mouth yet.”

“Gio—”

“No.” He pressed a finger to my lips, then dragged it down, slow, across my chest, which kind of gave me goosebumps. “You don’t get to look like that and act like I’m the problem.”

“You are the problem.”

He smirked. “Then solve me, little genius.”

I grabbed his wrist, pulse in my throat. Tugged him closer. The room shrank around us.

“You’ve got two minutes.”

He leaned in, lips ghosting mine.

“I only need one.” Then, smirking again: “But I’m greedy.”

He pins me to the wall and starts absolutely wrecking my mouth.

I’m smiling into the kiss, and he clearly doesn’t like that, because his hand comes up to grab my jaw, fingers pressing into my cheeks to hold me still, like saying  focus, Weston, I’m busy here.

My hands fly up to his hair, digging into the dark strands, messing them up while I drag him even closer.

I swear I can’t get enough. It’s ridiculous. Maybe he’s secretly putting drugs on his tongue or something, because there is no other logical explanation for how addicting this is.

His hands slide down my sides and then lower, squeezing my ass, and my breath stutters against his lips.

“Rava? Are you home?”

Fuck.

Footsteps. Getting closer.

My mother.

My blood ran cold.

I ripped myself away from Gio.

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck—”

We locked eyes. Both of us wide-eyed, frozen.

Then I moved. Fast.

I grabbed Gio’s arm, didn’t care how hard I pulled, and dragged him toward the closet. He stumbled, almost tripped over my backpack. I didn’t stop.

“Get in. Get in, now—”

“What—”

“Shut up and get in!”

I shoved him inside. Hard. Didn’t care if he hit the wall or knocked something over. Didn’t care if he hated me in that moment.

“Don’t move. Don’t breathe. Don’t make a fucking sound.”

I slammed the door shut. Turned just as the handle to my room clicked.

She was already coming in.

My heart tried to escape my chest.

The door opened.

“Oh, there you are.”

My mother walked in.

“Yeah. Yes.” My voice cracked.

She gave me a look.

I smile. Too much? Too little?

Do I look guilty? Shit.

Don’t touch your face. Guilty people touch their faces.

I drop my hand from my mouth and pretend to look through my drawer.

Not the closet. Never the closet. That’s a no-go zone now.

Closet equals Gio. Gio equals chaos. Chaos equals grounded until I’m thirty.

She’s still watching me.

Please don’t smell the cologne. Please don’t notice how flushed I am.

Please don’t open the closet and find a six-foot-tall Italian man crouched next to my shirts.

I could feel Gio’s presence like a fucking spotlight behind that closet door.

She walked over to my desk, glanced at my laptop.

“Still looking for your Masters degree?”

I nodded. Dying.

She sat on the edge of my bed.

“There’s something I wanted to talk to you about…”

No. No. Not now. Please not now.

“Okay,” I said. Tried to sound casual. My mouth was dry. I scratched at my neck like a lunatic.

“It’s about Gio.”

I choked.

Coughed. Grabbed my water bottle and chugged half of it.

Why now.

“I just—” she continued, completely calm, “I’ve been watching the way you…act around him lately. And honestly…I’m not blind.”

This is it. We’re done.

Behind me, in the fucking closet, Gio was listening to all of this.

Jesus Christ. “Mom—”

“No, let me finish, sweetheart. Please.”

She gave me this soft look.

Way too sincere for this moment.

“I know things have always been…tense between you two. But I’ve seen the way you look at him now. The way he looks at you. And I just—” She paused. Smiled faintly.

“I’ve always liked him. You know that. Don’t tell your father, but I think he’s…good for you.”

…

Wait a fucking minute.

What?

That’s not what she just said. That can’t be what she meant.

I was mentally prepared for a lecture.

A fucking guilt trip.

A “we raised you better than this.” At minimum a disappointed sigh and some speech about God.

I search her face, trying to find the sarcasm. The trap.

Nothing.

I sit up straighter. “Wait… what?”

“Come on. Don’t act surprised. You already knew I liked him. I always have. He’s different around you. And you laugh more. You’re barely home these days, too… and your car is here. I’m not dumb.”

What the actual hell is happening right now.

Is this a trick? A decoy? Did I miss a whole conversation?

Did Gio bribe her? Did someone swap my mother with a cooler, less emotionally repressed version?

Because I was fully prepared to lie. I had stories ready. A backup plan.

A fake excuse for why Gio might’ve been in my room.

Instead, she’s saying he’s good for me?

What did I miss? When did this become safe?

“It’s not—”

“I don’t need you to explain anything,” she said.

“But I want you to know…if something’s happening between you two—really happening, I’m not going to judge you for it.”

I could barely look at her.

And in the closet, he was hearing every word.

She stayed sitting there.

“You can talk to me, don’t be scared,” she said gently. “Your father’s not here.”

Yeah. He’s not.

But the man we’re talking about is literally in the fucking closet.

Right there. Listening to us.

“Mom, please—”

“No, baby, it’s okay.” Her voice dropped into that gentle tone she used when I got sick as a kid.

“I just want to understand. Have you always known you were bisexual? Are you still trying to figure it out or…?”

Oh God.

My eyes shot toward the closet, then back to her. I tried to speak. Nothing came out.

She leaned forward.

“Have you and Gio…done anything?”

My hands clenched around the arms of the chair.

“Mom stop—”

“You don’t have to be embarrassed,” she whispered.

“Please, just tell me. I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”

My heart was on fire. My brain was sliding off its axis. I couldn’t do this.

I stayed silent.

She stared at me for a few seconds.

She smiled.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

This cannot be real life.

I cannot believe I’m having this conversation with my mother.

I cannot believe I’m having it now .

I cannot believe I’m having it while Gio is literally hidden behind a sliding wooden door with my winter coats and my suitcase.

“Mom,” I say, “can we… not?”

She raises an eyebrow. “But I’m not judging,” she says gently. “I just want to know if you’re okay.”

I want the floor to open and swallow me whole.

“So?” she asked, eyes twinkling now.

“How was it?”

I almost cried.

I laughed.

Someone please shoot me in the head.

A sharp, stupid, disbelieving sound came out of me. I pulled off my glasses and rubbed my face like I could squeeze the moment out of existence.

“It was…fine,” I muttered.

My voice was weird. I was glowing red.

She tilted her head.

“You’ve been so happy lately. Is there any chance that maybe…you love him? I’m not judging, I love him too you already know th—”

“Oh my GOD, mom.”

I jumped up from the chair.

Grabbed her gently but firmly by the arm.

“Okay, okay—no. Enough. I love you. I really do. But I can’t—”

I started guiding her toward the door.

“Not now. Not here. Please. We will talk about this later, I promise.”

She laughed.

“I’m not judging, Rava!”

“I know, and that’s worse somehow—”

“You can tell me—”

“Later, okay? I swear. Just—please go.”

I opened the door.

She walked out slowly, smiling like she’d just won something.

“I love you too,” she said before I shut the door.

The moment it clicked shut, I pressed my forehead against it.

Stayed there. Completely and utterly ruined.

Leant against it for a second.

Then I turned. Slowly.

The closet was still shut.

I walked to it, embarrassed as fuck.

Opened it.

He was still there.

Sitting down, back against the inside wall, one arm draped lazily over his knee, the other tapping slow circles against his thigh.

His eyes locked on me the second the door opened.

I can’t even look at him right now.

I’m still trying to recover from the fact that I had a literal sex talk with my mother while he was hiding in the closet and then she basically said “you’re glowing, sweetie, keep fucking with him.”

I might never emotionally recover.

“So…” His voice was silk dipped in sarcasm.

“How long have you been in love with me?”

I wanted to die .

Right there. Collapse. Bury myself in the floorboards.

“Please don’t.” I rubbed my temples. “Just—don’t do this.”

“Do what?” He stretched a little, still in the closet, knees drawn up like he lived there now.

“Ask valid follow-up questions? Try to process the fact that I just listened to your mother have a very heartfelt conversation about your bisexual crisis while my ass was jammed between your winter coats?”

I shut my eyes.

“God.”

“I mean, she was sweet. Really. Supportive. Almost made me tear up. I always knew she was a real one.’”

I dropped onto the bed, red all over.

He stayed where he was. Still sitting inside the damn closet.

“And the ’ it was fine ’ part?” he continued.

“Rava. Baby. You’re breaking my heart.”

I groaned into my palms.

“Can we please pretend that never happened?”

“Nope.” He grinned.

“That one’s staying with me. Forever . Maybe I’ll get it tattooed on me. ‘It was fine’—right over my heart.”

“You’re a demon.”

“I’m your demon, apparently.”

I looked at him.

He stayed in the closet a little longer.

Then slowly, he shifted. One knee hit the floor first. Then the other.

He crawled out. I sat frozen on the bed.

He stood up. Rolled his neck like he’d just woken up from a nap.

“Cozy in there,” he said. “But I think I prefer this view.”

His eyes dragged over me.

I hated him. Except not at all.

He took a step closer. “So?” Another step. “Should we talk about it?”

“About what.”

“You know what.” He leaned forward slightly. “You. Me. Love. Closets. The usual.”

I shut my eyes.

I fall back on the bed, flat on my back, staring at the ceiling.

What am I supposed to say now?

I feel awkward. I didn’t want it to go there tonight. Not when my head is already a mess.

I definitely don’t want to open my mouth and accidentally tell him I feel something.

He steps closer, grabs my wrists gently and pulls me back up, dragging me into a sitting position in front of him.

I look straight into his eyes, but I don’t say anything.

“She said you were happier lately.”

I look away.

“You think that’s ‘fine’ too?”

My jaw clenched.

He leaned down, real close to my ear.

“Because to me, it feels fucking phenomenal.”

“Stop. You don’t get to act like this isn’t a big deal.” I looked up at him.

“You don’t get to tease me like I’m some game when I’m still trying to breathe after what just happened.”

“I’m not playing, Rava.”

He reached out. Fingers brushed my jaw.

“You look good when you’re flustered,” he said softly. “Like your brain can’t decide whether to punch me or ride me.”

My eyes widened.

“Oh, please .”

His thumb traced my lower lip.

“Relax,” he whispered.

“No one’s getting ridden.” Pause. “Yet.”

He stepped back.

Turned. Walked to the window.

“This was fun.” He lifted the window. “Terrifying. Hot. Probably illegal. Ten out of ten.”

He looked back at me once more.

“Best closet experience of my life.”

And then he was gone.

I stood there for a second.

Window half open. Lips swollen. Closet door still cracked from where I’d yanked it open.

And then it hit me.

All of it. All at once.

She knows.

My mom…

She knows.

Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.

I spun around the room like a maniac.

“What the fuck was that?!”

I ran a hand through my hair, paced once. Almost tripped on the goddamn rug.

She KNOWS.

And she’s fine with it. Worse, she likes him.

SHE LOVES HIM.

My mom loves Gio.

She thinks he’s good for me . She sat there and smiled like this wasn’t the most insane thing in the world.

And it’s not just her.

My brother Jin talks to him about basketball like they’re best friends now.

And my sister?

She looks me dead in the eye every other day and goes, “Honestly, I’m team Gio.”

Like this is a fucking reality show.

I groaned, dropped to sit on the edge of the bed, elbows on my knees, face in my hands.

It’s supposed to be hard.

It’s supposed to be complicated.

That’s how I survive it.

If everyone hated him, like dad does, If they warned me away, made it feel dangerous, stupid, wrong, maybe I could walk away.

Maybe I’d have to.

But now?

Now I’ve got a mother who calls it love .

And a house full of people who already picked a side.

And it’s not mine.

It’s his.

And I don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to do with that.

60) You’ve Been Blessed

Rava’s POV

We’re in the car, me and my mom, on the way to pick Noah up from the airport.

I’m not gonna lie, it’s awkward as fuck. The whole drive.

We both know why.

The more I think about the fact that my mother currently knows I’m having sex with a man, the more I want to open the car door, roll onto the highway and let natural selection handle it.

Just launch myself into the road. Let me die. Honestly, I’d feel less embarrassed than I do right now.

And it’s not shame because it’s Gio. That’s actually the flex part. If anything, a little voice in my head is like, hell yeah, at least your questionable life choices are hot.

It’s the fact that it’s my mom. And I don’t care that I’m twenty-two, it’s still weird as hell.

On one hand, she’s my mom and I love her, and I hate having secrets from her. On the other hand, I can’t do this.

I can’t sit here and basically confirm, out loud,

“Yeah, mom, something is happening, but it’s nothing serious. We’re just fucking like animals.”

It sounds awful. It is awful.

“So… remind me, Noah’s the tattoo artist, right?”

“Yeah.”

“You two met in college?”

“Yeah.”

“He’s the one who did your tattoos, isn’t he?”

I glanced at her.

“Yes. He’s really good at this.”

She smiled faintly.

Silence again.

“Does he…know about Gio?”

I hesitated.

“Yeah.” I looked out the window. “He knows too much.”

Another beat of silence.

“So are you and Gio…seeing each other?”

“Kind of. In secret.”

She nodded, like that made perfect sense.

“Who knows?”

“Lorenzo. Daisy. Noah.”

She didn’t say anything for a moment.

“And how do you feel about him?”

I inhaled slowly.

“It’s not simple.”

“I didn’t ask if it was. I asked how you feel .”

I shifted in my seat. My hands were tight in my lap.

“I feel like he ruins everything and makes it better at the same time. I feel like…like I’m not in control anymore.”

She nodded.

Another pause.

“Do you think it’s serious?”

I looked down. Swallowed.

“It feels serious. At least for me.”

She smiled, gently.

“That’s not a bad thing, you know.”

“Sometimes it feels like it is.”

She sighed. Didn’t push more. Which, honestly, made it worse.

Then she shifted gears, literally and figuratively.

“What are you planning for October?”

I stared ahead.

“I don’t know…”

“You don’t know?”

“I thought I did. But now…” I trailed off.

She gave me a look.

“Rava. I know you. You’ve wanted to be a teacher since you were what—eight?”

I said nothing.

“I know it might seem hard, but don’t throw that away because everything feels confusing right now.”

Her voice stayed calm, but it hit damn hard. “You love working with kids! You love that world! Don’t bury it just because it hurts to have to choose!”

And it did. It hurt.

Because I knew she was right. And that’s what made it worse.

The airport exit appeared up ahead.

I rubbed my face with both hands.

Great. Time to make things even messier.

The sliding doors opened.

First person who came out was him.

Noah.

Flannel tied around his waist, hoodie half-zipped, tattooed hands gripping the handle of a beat-up suitcase that looked like it had been to war.

And those stupid sunglasses, inside the airport.

“MY BOY RAVA!” He threw both arms in the air like we hadn’t spoken yesterday.

I felt myself smile, despite everything.

He jogged over and wrapped me in a tight hug.

“Shit, I missed you, man!”

“You saw my face yesterday.”

“Yeah, well, FaceTime doesn’t smell like Dior and anxiety.”

I elbowed him.

He pulled back, looked past me.

“Is that your mom?”

“Yeah.”

He stood straighter instantly, adjusted his sleeves. Suddenly well-behaved. Which was terrifying.

“Mrs. Weston?” He offered his hand. “I’m Noah. I’ve heard about you for years. But I swear it was all good things.”

My mom smiled. “Welcome to Italy, Noah. We’re so happy you’re here!”

“Trust me, I’m happier!” He winked, but nothing over the line. “You raised a good one.”

She gave me a smile. I turned away.

We started walking to the car.

Noah kept the conversation flowing.

Flight stories, weird snacks, the couple that cried the whole time behind him. He knew exactly how to charm adults.

But then as we reached the car and my mom moved to the driver’s side… he leaned closer.

Real close.

“Sooo… is Tattoo Boy real or was that all dramatic pining for nothing?”

I turn and look at him. “No, man. I lied. He doesn’t exist. I’m actually just seeing things.”

Noah laughs. “At least you’re seeing hot things. Your brain clearly knows what it wants. I just hope I find an Italian of my own.”

We got in the car.

I should’ve filmed the moment Noah saw the house. His jaw literally dropped.

“DUDE. You live here? You never told me it was a palace. This looks like a Vogue photoshoot location, not a family home.”

My mom laughed beside us, clearly charmed. “It’s not that fancy.”

“Ma’am,” Noah said, placing a hand over his chest like he was pledging allegiance, “this staircase alone has more class than my entire apartment. Do you guys have a wine cellar? Don’t tell me. I’ll cry.”

“You’ll see it all soon. Come meet the rest,” she said, already leading us into the living room.

I exhaled sharply. “Please behave.”

“Relax,” he whispered. “I’m on my best guest behavior. Five-star version. Promise.”

We stepped into the living room where my dad, Daisy, and Jin were already waiting. I could practically feel the curiosity radiating off them.

Noah didn’t miss a beat.

“Sir,” he said, shaking my dad’s hand, “thank you for letting me stay. I promise I’ll be on my best behavior. Which isn’t great, but it’s better than nothing.”

My dad gave a single nod. “We’re happy to have you.”

Daisy jumped in immediately. “I’m so excited to finally meet you. I’ve heard so many stories.”

“Only the good ones, I hope,” Noah grinned. “Or the hot ones. I accept both.”

And then, of course Jin.

He looked him up and down with that judgey little squint of his and asked, “Wait…are you the tattoo artist who used Rava’s back as a sketchbook?”

Noah lit up. “HELL yeah, I am. Want proof?”

“Noah, don’t you da—”

Too late.

He grabbed the hem of my shirt and yanked it up with zero warning.

“BOOM. Look at that! That’s a Noah original, people. Clean lines. Sexy placement. Bleeding? Minimal. Trauma? Only emotional.”

Jin blinked. “It looks like a motherboard had a baby with a scorpion.”

“And it’s HOT,” Noah replied without missing a beat. “I’d hang it in the Louvre. But instead it’s on this canvas, where it belongs.”

I yanked my shirt back down, face burning. “Can you not strip me in front of my entire family?”

Noah grinned at them. “Sorry. Kinda proud of my work. He screamed, by the way.”

My mom stifled a laugh. Daisy howled. My dad looked mildly alarmed. And Jin just looked like he regretted asking in the first place.

As soon as we got to my room, Noah threw himself onto the floor.

“I already feel like this room has seen unholy things.”

Well…

This room’s been mostly innocent. Relatively.

I mean, sure, some very intense makeouts might’ve happened against that wall. And yeah, Gio’s definitely touched me a lot but, in the grand scale of disasters?

This room’s tame.

Now Gio’s room?

That’s the room we converted into a live-action porn set.

With a recurring cast of two and zero moral boundaries.

I side-eye Noah, dragging the folded extra mattress out from under my bed. “Come on, help me set this up, gremlin.”

He popped his head up. “RUDE. But fair.”

We started unfolding it together, the whole thing creaking like it hadn’t seen daylight since 2012.

Noah grinned. “Okay, spill. You and Gio—what’s the damage? How many times? Have you done it in here? On this bed? Against that wall? On the floor? On that desk?”

“Shut the hell up,” I snapped, throwing a pillow at him.

“Come on!” he laughed, catching it midair. “You’re glowing like a guilty little bitch. I know you’ve done it in this room. Look at you!”

“Shut up, idiot,” I hissed, slamming the door shut. “They’ll hear you!”

“Oh please,” he said. “If you were loud enough to be heard through these walls, this whole house would be haunted by now.”

I glared. He winked.

Then he walked over to the window casually, and froze.

Like, physically froze.

His hand was still on the curtain. His mouth dropped open.

“Rava.”

No response.

“Rava.”

“What now.”

He turned to me. “Is that—is that him?”

I look over at Gio’s window.

He’s on the floor, doing abs with no shirt on.

His whole body is shining every time he comes up and goes back down.

Lulu is sitting right next to him like his little furry personal trainer.

He finishes his set and just stays there, sprawled out on the floor, chest rising and falling.

I’m one second away from drooling all over the glass. I want to jump through the window and just land on him.

I glance at Noah, who looks just as shocked as I feel.

That’s right, baby.

Your poor friend Rava made that sex god drop to his knees.

Couldn’t be prouder of myself, honestly.

Noah let out a gasp. “Holy mother of delusion. That’s him ? The one that’s been rearranging your spine and your worldview?”

I groaned. “Shut up, you maniac!”

“YOU HAD SEX WITH THAT?!”

I put my hand right on his stupid mouth.

“Do you want my dad to show up with a shotgun?!?!?!?!” I snapped.

He put both hands over his mouth like he was praying.

“…You are the luckiest bitch I’ve ever met. I see the appeal now. You’ve been blessed, my dude. This explains your post-glow.”

“I swear to god, if you call it a glow one more time—”

“I’m naming your sex tape Ride or Die, by the way.”

I facepalmed so hard I nearly passed out.

“I can’t believe this is your actual life,” he murmured. “I thought you were being dramatic, but no. He really is that hot. And he knows it, too. Look at the way he wipes that sweat.”

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t stop the stupid smile tugging at my lips.

I glanced out the window again.

Okay. Yeah. He was.

His hair was pushed back, messy and wet.

I smiled wider, before I could stop myself.

“You’re smiling like a teenager in a coming-of-age movie,” Noah said suddenly, turning to look at me. “Bro. You’re in deep .”

I tried to play it cool. “Shut up.”

“No, no. This is adorable. You’re completely gone. You’re finished. I’m so proud. I always knew you needed someone to break you a little.”

I laughed under my breath.

He grinned and turned back to the window. “He’s got good hands. You can tell. Big, veiny, probably heavy. I bet they leave marks.”

“Noah—”

“No, no, hear me out.” He turned toward me, suddenly intense. “His right arm. You saw it, right? That blank space under the inner bicep?”

“Yeah?”

“I know exactly what tattoo would go there,” he said, eyes gleaming. “It just hit me. It would be perfect.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You are not tattooing Gio.”

“Oh, I am tattooing Gio,” he said. “It’s destiny. I brought my kit. You think I flew across the world without my needles? Please.”

“Noah—”

“No, listen to me. I’m doing it. Free of charge. As a gift. From me, to him. To say thank you for transforming your nerdy Canadian ass into a functioning, slightly emotionally available human being.”

“You are insane.”

“I’m in awe,” he corrected, hands over his heart. “Let me give this man some ink. Let me honor this.”

I laughed.

I laughed until I had to sit on the edge of the bed, shaking my head while Noah mumbled something about “goth angels” and “tattoo ceremony of gratitude.”

My life had officially become a fever dream. And somehow, I was okay with it.

61) The Tattoo Guy

Gio’s POV

“Seriously?” I stared at Jin like he’d just confessed to forgetting his own name. “We literally said it two minutes ago, dude! Two. Minutes.”

Jin blinked at me, confused as fuck. “Was it… 1814?”

I dropped the flashcard on the floor and dragged a hand down my face. “No. Try again. With brain cells this time, man.”

“Ugh,” he groaned, flopping back dramatically onto the couch. “Why is everything about the 1800s so confusing?”

“Because history hates you,” I said. “Just like me right now.”

He shot me a look, then sat back up, already sweating through his T-shirt. The fan by the window was useless.

It was August, the air was heavy, and we were two idiots buried in European history instead of doing literally anything else.

I pointed at him. “And why are you even studying?! It’s August. People are at the beach. There are pool parties happening. The world is out there—”

“My dad told me to,” he muttered. “He said I should be ahead for next year. Prepared and ‘disciplined’.”

I rolled my eyes hard.

Of course Charles did.

He probably handed Jin a textbook instead of sunscreen and told him, ‘Son, knowledge is your summer tan.’

I didn’t say it out loud.

Instead, I grabbed another flashcard and waved it in his face.

“Okay, let’s get this over with. I skipped a car meetup for this. I hope you know the sacrifice I’ve made.”

Jin crossed his arms. “Well, I was supposed to go out with a girl from school today. I’ve been trying to ask her out for like three months. But now i’m freaking stuck here.”

I raised an eyebrow. “She must be thrilled you ditched her for me.”

He groaned. “This is a disaster.”

“A romantic tragedy,” I said, fake-sighing. “Star-crossed lovers torn apart by the Treaty of Vienna.”

He threw a cushion at my face. I caught it and laughed.

Just then, his mom, Mrs. Eden appeared in the doorway, hands on her hips, and looked straight at Jin.

“Really, Jin?” she said, exasperated. “Not only is Gio the only one who offered to help you, while your siblings have all abandoned you, but you’re also complaining? Sit down and stop making his life harder!”

I gave her the most smug, angelic smile of my entire existence.

“Thank you, Mrs. Eden,” I said sweetly. “Your children yell at me all the time. Only you care. I’ll remember this while writing my will. I promise.”

She actually laughed.

“There’s food in the kitchen,” she said. “You’ve got time to eat before Charles gets home.”

“Oh, perfect,” I grinned. “Just what I need. A meal before I get murdered by Napoleon reincarnated.”

She snorted and walked off. I turned back to Jin with renewed focus.

“Alright, let’s go. Say it. What happened in 1848?”

Jin flopped onto the cushions like he was dying.

“Kill me.”

I leaned in, lowering my voice just enough.

“Read a little more,” I murmured, “and I’ll take you for a ride on the bike. For real. Just you and me. No speeding though.”

His eyes lit up. “Seriously??”

I nodded. “Helmet’s already in the back. But if you mess up again, I’m making you walk.”

He immediately sat up and reached for his notes.

Goddamn right he did.

“Going to say hi to your donkey of a brother,” I muttered, getting up from the couch.

Jin didn’t even look up. “Try not to choke him. With your tongue .”

I froze. “…What did you just say?”

He flipped a page, calm as ever. “Nothing. Something in the book.”

I smiled.

The hallway was quiet. My shoes barely made a sound on the wooden floor as I approached Rava’s door. My fingers were already at the handle before I even realized I was smirking.

I didn’t knock.

I just opened it, stepped inside and stretched.

“Lock the door. I’ve been hard since forever.”

…

Silence. Not Rava turning to look at me.

I froze.

The second my mouth closed, the air changed. Embarrassing. There was a guy.

A fucking guy.

Sitting on Rava’s bed, legs crossed, phone in one hand. He slowly raised his eyes from the screen.

Looked at me.

Oh, God. The smile.

The biggest, brightest, most terrifyingly unhinged grin I’d ever seen in my life.

I blinked. Did I just say that out loud in front of someone? To the wrong person?

The guy’s eyes widened with joy.

“No. No fucking way. This is real?” His voice was shaking with excitement.

“This is ACTUALLY happening?! BRO!”

The fuck?

He was spinning in a slow half-circle.

“I swear to GOD—this is better than sex. This is cinematic. This is historical. Gio—GIO, right? You just walked in here and said that?!”

He pointed to the floor where I stood, jaw clenched. “Bro. I can leave. I will. I’ll walk out right now. Do whatever you want to him. Break his spine. Fold him. Shatter his dignity. Make him cry into the sheets, I don’t care. End him with love.”

I stepped back.

I swear I didn’t even know if I was still breathing.

“Who the hell are you ?” I asked.

“Oh. Right. Introductions.” He stepped forward and put a hand over his heart. “Noah. I’m Noah. Best friend, life coach, emergency contact and tattoo therapist of your very pretty boy.”

Oh.

Oh.

The tattoo guy.

So basically this guy…had touched him. Sat with him for hours. Created art on his skin.

Had access to his body before I even knew it was mine to crave.

But I can’t say anything cause i’m covered in tattoos even more.

I didn’t know if I wanted to hug the bastard or strangle him for making this masterpiece on Rava’s body.

I looked at the bed.. “You’re staying here?”

“Duh. Guest room was boring.” Then he clapped again.

“Dude. DUDE. You don’t understand. I’m the reason he even made a move on you. Me. Me! I told him to go for it. I gave him the speech. I prepped him. I said, ‘if you don’t kiss that man, I’m calling immigration.’”

He was walking in circles around the room, arms flailing, face lit up like a drunk saint.

“And now here you are! You said you’ve been hard since forever ?! I’ve never been prouder of anything in my life! I’ve nearly had an aneurysm watching this slow-burn mess unfold like a Netflix series. You’re real. He’s real. AND YOU’RE IN HIS ROOM WITH THAT VOICE.”

“You’re insane.”

He pointed at me.

“And you’re fucking iconic.”

The door creaked open behind me.

It’s Rava.

“Damn…seeing you two in the same room…” His voice was calm. Too calm. “…feels illegal.”

I closed my eyes for half a second.

“Oh it’s illegal alright,” Noah jumped in immediately. “He walks in, drops the most pornographic line I’ve ever heard in real life and means it , and I’m just here, spiritually ascending in the corner!”

Rava looked at me.

I turned to him with both hands in the air.

“I thought you were alone, you idiot!”

He just stood there. No reaction. One eyebrow up.

Noah was laughing. Literally clapping.

“No no no, don’t blame him. He thought it was just you. He came in full horny mode. Like, ‘door’s closed, time to sin.’ It was BEAUTIFUL. I’m honored to have witnessed it.”

I groaned and dragged my hands down my face.

“I will kill you in your sleep,” I muttered toward Noah without even looking at him.

“Do it. As long as Rava’s crying into your shoulder afterwards, I’ll die a proud man.”

Rava walked deeper into the room, finally closing the door behind him.

“So… this is how you greet me now?” His voice dropped half a tone. “Hard since forever?”

I shot him a glare.

“Shut the fuck up.”

“You said it.”

“I DIDN’T KNOW THERE WAS A THIRD PERSON IN THE ROOM.”

Noah lost it. Full body laughter.

“I’m never letting this go. Ever. I want it tattooed on my ribs.”

Rava just leaned back against the desk, arms crossed.

Noah blinked at us, hand on the door.

“Excuse me,” he said, dramatically. “Panic made my bladder go suicidal. I’ll be back in two.” He looked right at Rava, then at me—grinning. “Don’t be too loud.”

Click. The door shut behind him.

Silence.

Rava.

Still near the desk.

And then he moved. Toward me. Smiling.

His hand found my chest. And then he kissed me softly.

I melted.

I actually melted.

Smiled into his mouth without meaning to. One of my hands found his waist. The other slid behind his neck.

He pulled back just an inch, dazed. Eyes glassy.

And then again.

And again.

I smiled against his mouth.

“ You came to me ?“ I whispered, not bothering to hide the smirk in my voice.

“Shut up,” he whispered back, laughing, already pulling me down to him again.

Our mouths met in a messy, quiet rhythm.

“What are you doing here?” he murmured, lips brushing mine.

I barely opened my eyes. “Teaching history.”

I kissed his jaw.

“To your brother.”

Another kiss.

“He sucks at it.”

Rava laughed against my neck. His hands slipped up under my shirt.

“Of course you’re corrupting Jin.”

“I’m a public service,” I whispered, biting down gently on his lower lip.

He gasped. Bit it back. His fingers tangled in my shirt.

“So this is how we say hi now?” I murmured, lips barely brushing his. “Because I’m a fan.”

“Me too,” he breathed. And pulled me back in.

Our mouths collided again, with quick deep kisses.

When we finally came up for air, still holding each other, we locked eyes.

Longer than we should’ve.

He looked like he wanted to say something but didn’t.

He looked away first.

And I swear, I felt the smirk curl at the edge of my mouth.

Yeah. I won that one.

The door creaked again.

Noah walked back in, wiping his hands on his pants.

He stopped mid-step. Looked at us. His eyes scanned the room, and then narrowed, suspicious.

The corner of his mouth curled.

“So…” he said, tone deadly calm. “…did someone end up pregnant, or was I early?”

I burst out laughing.

It shot out of me like a reaction. Head dropped back. “Fuck’s sake, man.”

Rava hid a smirk behind his hand, shaking his head.

“He reminds me of Lorenzo,” I muttered, still chuckling as I ran a hand through my hair.

Rava pointed instantly. “THANK you. I said the exact same thing.”

Noah threw his arms up in mock outrage.

“Okay, WHO is this Lorenzo and WHY haven’t I met my Italian soulmate yet?” He crossed his arms. “You two keep talking about him like he’s some lost twin I was separated from at birth.”

I grinned.

“You’ll meet him tonight.”

Noah’s brows shot up. Rava blinked. “…Tonight?”

“Yeah.” I leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, casually smug. “There’s a massive party a couple towns over. We’re going with Lorenzo. You’re both coming.”

Rava raised a brow. Noah leaned in, already excited.

“How are we getting there?”

“My car. All of us.” I paused. Let it hang.

“We’re staying overnight.”

Rava squinted. Noah tilted his head. “…Why?”

I smiled.

“Because we’re gonna get so blind, so absolutely destroyed, no one’s gonna be able to drive back. Not even in a dream.”

Rava’s eyes widened.

Noah yelled. “Holy SHIT. I’m going to bed now so I’m fully charged by then.” He spun on his heel toward his bag, muttering curses of joy.

I turned toward the door, already stepping out. “I’m gonna go teach your little brother some history before he bombs his future completely.”

As I passed Rava, I threw an arm around his neck. Pulled him in.

Kissed the top of his head.

“See you later, professor.”

Behind me, Noah made a dramatic noise and covered his face.

“I can’t take this. I can’t take this. You’re disgusting. I’m crying. I’m so happy. Fuck you both.”

And I walked out smiling.

---

Rava’s POV

It’s night.

I folded a clean shirt and tossed it into my bag, glancing over at Noah who was making a mess of his clothes.

He looked weirdly excited.

“So?” I asked, trying to sound casual. “What did you think of Gio?”

Noah zipped his bag halfway, then froze. He raised his eyebrows like the answer was obvious. “Okay—at first? I thought you were exaggerating. Like, classic crush syndrome or whatever,” he said, shaking his head. “But nah. You fucking undersold him, man.”

I smiled before I could stop myself.

It didn’t mean anything, I know. Gio and I weren’t together or anything. But still… it mattered. That Noah liked him.

“What are you even bringing?” I asked, trying to cover the fact I was still smiling.

“Boxers. Toothbrush. Condoms.”

I shot him a look.

He laughed. “I’m joking. Relax.”

Noah slung his bag over his shoulder. “Dude. Life in Italy is already goddamn perfect.” He grinned at me. “I might never go back.”

Honestly, I wasn’t sure I wanted to go back either.

Noah was buttoning up his ridiculous yellow-and-white floral shirt.

White pants. Gold chain.

He looked like the human version of a cocktail.

And somehow he made it work.

I was finishing up with my hair, slicking it back with a quick swipe of my fingers. Black polo. Black trousers. Clean, simple and safe.

Daisy sat cross-legged on my bed, watching us. “Okay, damn,” she said. “You guys look like you just walked out of a magazine. A really hot, really expensive magazine.”

Noah turned to her, struck a pose. “I know, right? Should I be worried your brother’s outshining me?”

She laughed. “Both of you are giving dangerously fine. Like, dangerously.”

“Good,” Noah grinned, grabbing his bag. “We’re going to be surrounded by drunk Italians. Gotta be ready.”

I rolled my eyes and reached for my phone and wallet.

We walked downstairs, where my mom and brother were still up. Dad was in his office, thank god. We got the usual barrage of questions.

Where are you going? Who’s driving? When will you be back?

“We’ll see you tomorrow,” I said as we reached the door. “ If we’re alive.“

Jin threw a pillow at us. “Don’t die. I need your charger.”

“Touch my charger and you’re dead,” I shot back, grinning.

And with that, we stepped outside.

---

HEY HORNY POOKIES

I swear the next chapter is the most chaotic thing I’ve ever written. You have to picture everything I describe. I was literally laughing alone, banging the table and crying. I’ll post it tomorrow or the day after, depends on how much you pressure me :)

GOODBYE I LOVE YOU

62) - Record This! -

Rava’s POV

There’s this sound.

The rumble. That damn exhaust growl that could only belong to one person.

Gio.

I smirked without meaning to.

Noah moaned.

“I’m shitting myself. That fucking engine. That fucking man. Your boyfriend is a walking violation, Rava.”

I side-eyed him. “He’s not my boyfriend, but holy damn, back off, dude.”

He cracked up.

And then we turned the corner, the car was already waiting.

Lorenzo was outside the passenger door, bottle of tequila in one hand, moving to the rhythm of ‘XOXO’ by ‘Rvfv’, which was blasting through the car speakers. His white shirt was open, hair messy.

Noah stopped walking.

Stared.

Then, really slowly raised his own tequila bottle.

Lorenzo looked up.

Eyes locked.

He looked at his own bottle again.

And then they both exploded, laughing, cursing in every language they knew.

“YOU’RE SHITTING ME!” Noah yelled.

“TEQUILA TWINS, BABY!” Lorenzo screamed back.

“FINALLY I DON’T HAVE TO BE THE DAMN THIRD WHEEL FOR THESE TWO SEXUAL EYE-CONTACT FREAKS!”

From inside the car, Gio leaned out the driver’s window.

“It’s actually an honor, Lorenzo. Now shut the fuck up and get in.”

We piled in.

Lorenzo and Noah took the back, bottles clinking and already talking over each other.

Noah leaned forward toward Gio.

“Okay, real question, what’s under that hood? That exhaust is porn. Literal porn. Filthy. Sexy. I’m in love. What is it?”

Gio turned slightly, lifting an eyebrow. “Custom. Straight pipe. Did the whole system myself.”

Noah let out a low whistle.

“Damn. Respect. I’ve got a Lamborghini Huracán EVO back in Toronto. You don’t even need music, the car is the soundtrack. It sounds like war .”

Gio’s head actually turned.

Slow.

One eyebrow lifted over his sunglasses.

“…No shit.”

“No shit.” Noah grinned wider. “You should hear her redline in a tunnel. Makes people duck.”

Gio blinked once, visibly impressed, then clicked his tongue.

“Okay. Didn’t expect ravioli to be friends with someone cool.”

I twisted in my seat immediately, fake offended.

“ Excuse you?“

Gio shrugged, cocky as hell. “Come on. You look like you correct people’s grammar in texts.”

“First of all, I do correct grammar in texts. Because I’m allergic to stupidity and I refuse to let ’ there ’ instead of ’ their ’ exist in my inbox. Also, your name probably autocorrects to ‘arrested’ on half the damn police reports. So shut the hell up.”

From the back, Lorenzo leaned forward, cackling.

“Don’t mind them,” he whispered to Noah. “This is just dirty talk in their language.”

Gio rolled his eyes, one hand on the wheel, the other flipping him off.

“Everyone shut up. Let’s go. If anyone pukes in this car, they’re cleaning it with their fucking tongue. If anyone spills tequila, I’m leaving them on the side of the road.”

Lorenzo grinned and reached forward, dragging two fingers along Gio’s neck with zero shame.

“Okay, daddy.” He blew him a kiss.

Noah looks at Lorenzo.

“Did I just witness an Alabama plot twist in real time?”

I laughed so hard I nearly choked.

We had just dumped our stuff at the house that we were staying after, bags half-open, clothes everywhere, and now we were here.

At the party. The actual party.

And it was chaos .

The second we stepped into the backyard, it felt like we got punched in the face by bass and humidity.

People everywhere. Loud music. Someone was already doing pushups on a speaker.

Lorenzo appeared out of nowhere.

Holding four drinks in both hands.

“I GOT THEM!” he yelled over the music, eyes shining. “They’re disgusting and flammable! Drink up!”

He shoved a glass into Noah’s chest. Then Gio’s. Mine. Kept one for himself.

Gio sniffed his. “Why does it smell like cough syrup?”

“Because it’s liquid destiny, now SHUT UP and raise your cup!” Lorenzo replied.

We huddled in a crooked circle.

Lorenzo stepped into the middle. Shirt unbuttoned. Wearing sunglasses. At night. Like a criminal.

He held up his shot, serious as hell.

“Gentlemen,” he said, voice deep like he was about to knight us, “after tonight… I hope we wake up alive.” Pause. “And I pray to every god in existence…that we’re not waking up in France.”

I snorted.

Noah leaned in, raising his glass. “And if I wake up next to someone ugly, may I at least have no memory of it.”

“And may the CCTV footage be fucking merciful,” Gio added.

I smiled.

“To us,” I said.

We all clinked glasses.

And we drank.

• 2 Hours Later *

The music became louder.

It’s 3am and Gio has completely lost his mind.

There was a freaking circle forming in the middle of the garden. Bodies pushing back. Cups lifted. Voices rising.

And in the middle?

Him.

His shirt was gone, bottle in hand, already yelling and breathing heavily.

“WATCH ME OUTDRINK THIS BRAIDED FREAK!”

Across from him, there’s…

A girl. Sharp jawline, braids, nose ring.

She stepped forward.

“I’ve seen toddlers handle their juice better than you, fucker.”

Gio laughed. Loud. Disrespectful. He licked his lips, turned to the crowd and said: “We got a dead bitch walking!”

Everyone LOST IT.

They sat down cross-legged, face to face, one shot glass each. Two bottles between them.

People started chanting yelling their names.

The first shot slammed.

Then the second.

Third.

No chasers. No breaks.

By the fourth, they were both leaning in, sweat on their temples, insults flying in every direction.

The girl yells at him. “I drink bitches like you for warmup!”

“Sit the fuck down, woman, your liver’s gonna tap out before your fake lashes do.”

The tough Gio is WASTED. So wasted it’s hilarious .

The fifth shot hit.

The sixth.

Gio wipes the alcohol from his mouth with the back of his hand.

“What’s next? You pass out and I carry your pride home, asshole?” She keeps talking, gagging a little.

“Try touching my pride and I’ll make sure your mascara runs for days.”

People screaming and laughing.

It was a fucking warzone with alcohol.

I was standing off to the side half drunk, not being able to fully understand what the hell is happening.

Gio’s pupils were blown. His voice was raw.

The girl swayed.

Then, after a couple more shots…

SPLASH.

She threw up. Everywhere. On her hands. Her shirt. The floor.

Gio stood up instantly, arms raised like a gladiator. “GET. FUCKED!”

Then leaned in, and yelled in her face. “YOU THOUGHT, BITCH. YOU FUCKING THOUGHT!”

People jumped. Drinks flew. Someone lit a flare.

I was just standing there, holding a half-empty cup, staring at Gio like he was both the love of my life and the end of the world.

And in that moment, I swear… I wanted to kiss him and punch him and maybe marry him at the same fucking time.

I was still breathing like I’d run a marathon.

Gio was still in full gladiator mode, bottle still in hand.

Yelling and laughing nonstop.

The poor girl he drank under the table was still half-collapsed next to a bush, complaining that it was unfair since she already had many drinks.

And Gio? Gio was still giving her middle fingers.

“STAY DOWN, YOU COWARD!”

She lifted her middle finger back with a groan, and Gio just shouted louder: “FUCK YOU!”

I grabbed his arm, yanked him close, chest to chest, both of us sticky and drunk.

“That was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen!” I screamed.

He smirked. I kissed his jaw.

“But,” I said, pulling back, “we need to find Lorenzo and Noah. I don’t know where the fuck they went!”

Gio groaned. “Of course we do. They probably joined a gang again.”

⸻

We pushed open a side door into what looked like a storage room turned temple of chaos.

Low lighting. Candles. Rugs everywhere. Bodies sitting cross-legged. Music completely gone . Replaced by a soft beat and whisper chanting.

Holy fuck, what is this place.

There were people shirtless. One guy with glitter in his beard.

And dead center, Noah and Lorenzo.

Both shirtless. Both sitting on cushions. Lorenzo holding a lemon slice. Noah holding…what looked like a ladle?

They turned to us like they were expecting us. Noah smiled way too wide.

“Sit. You’re late.”

I blinked. “Late for what?”

Lorenzo nodded solemnly. “The body shot ritual of fire.”

Gio burst out laughing.

“What the fuck are you two on?”

“Tradition,” Lorenzo said, dead serious. “Respect it.”

We looked around. Everyone in the room was so fucking high.

Some girl was painting someone else’s shoulder with hot sauce.

A guy across from us had a tequila shot resting on his abs.

I turned to Gio.

“We should go.”

“We should definitely go. Smells like weed in here.”

We stayed.

We sat. Cross-legged. Confused. Whispering.

“Is that guy asleep or just transcending?” I whispered.

“Both.”

We giggled.

“Shhh!” someone hissed. “This is sacred.”

“You’re wearing a SpongeBob tank top,” Gio muttered.

Noah leaned forward, eyes glassy. “Don’t mock the process. In ten minutes we ascend.”

“Ascend where?” Gio asked.

“Doesn’t matter,” Lorenzo answered, eyes locked on the candle flame. “I’m ready.”

“He’s gone,” Gio whispered to me, while wheezing.

“We’ve lost him.”

We both collapsed in silent laughter.

And then, someone clapped their hands.

“Everyone switch partners!”

“For what?!” I hissed.

“TRUST.”

Gio and I just stared at each other, holding back tears of chaotic joy and terror.

“We need to leave.”

“We can’t.”

“Why?”

“Because Lorenzo’s crying and hugging a stranger named Suzana.”

“Fuck.”

And so we stayed.

In the sacred tequila temple.

Pretending to believe in a ritual we didn’t understand, surrounded by people too drunk to care, whispering nonsense to each other while Noah blessed a lime and Lorenzo screamed:

“LET THE AGAVE CLEANSE US!”

Lorenzo stood up.

“I AM EL DIABLO DEL SUR. I SPEAK FOR THE TEQUILA.”

He had a shot glass balanced on his head.

Someone poured directly into it from above. It overflowed instantly. He didn’t flinch.

Then a guy in a cowboy hat screamed, grabbed the bottle of mezcal, and chased another dude around the room.

“CLEANSE YOUR SOUL, YOU COWARD!”

A girl tackled someone into the cushions.

We ran.

Literally ran out of that tequila cult.

Gio had his arm around Lorenzo’s neck, dragging him like a hostage while Noah was behind us, waving at the ritual people.

“Thank you! I love you! May the agave bless you forever!”

The door slammed shut behind us.

And then Noah turned to me, out of breath.

“Rava, record this!”

He handed me a half-dead lime like it was sacred. “This is going to be Episode 1.”

I lifted my phone, already wheezing from laughter.

“Of what?”

He looked at the camera like it was HBO. “Of my new series: ‘Things My Therapist Said Not To Do.’”

The video was already recording. I was crying from laughter. I couldn’t feel my legs. Everything was wet and sticky and smelled like tequila.

Noah stood in front of me.

Hair soaked. Shirt ripped down the side. Holding a firework in one hand and a traffic cone in the other.

“this one’s called Operation Flaming Unicorn.”

I nearly dropped my phone.

“Noah, what the actual fuck—”

“TRUST THE VISION, YOU DICK.”

Gio appeared out of nowhere, holding a half-eaten sandwich and a Red Bull. Looked Noah up and down.

“Nope. No. Absolutely not. Rava, stop recording.”

“Too late,” I wheezed.

Lorenzo was five feet away, leaned against a lemon tree, violently throwing up, then raising a thumbs-up with his free hand.

Fucking Legend.

Noah had wedged the traffic cone onto his head like a helmet. “I’M A CREATURE OF LIGHT AND FIRE!”

“You’re gonna light your hair on fire,” Gio yelled, already tossing the sandwich and running after him.

Suddenly—BOOM.

A nearby firework went off from someone else’s yard.

Noah SCREAMED. Dropped the firework. It slid across the lawn, spinning.

Straight toward a group of people trying to climb a tree for no reason.

“INCOMING!”

…

Sparks flew. Screams. A guy fell out of the tree and landed in a kiddie pool with a saxophone.

Gio dove on Noah, dragging him to the ground like they were in war. “I FUCKING TOLD YOU.”

Meanwhile—

A random girl ran past me yelling, “DOES ANYONE HAVE ICE FOR MY PIGEON?!”

…

I didn’t ask.

Somehow, a guy was now DJing using a car battery and a Bluetooth speaker. Someone else rode a bicycle through the living room.

And through it all, I just kept filming.

I turned the camera on myself. My hair plastered to my face.

“If we survive this night,” I said, dead serious, “we’re never speaking of it again.”

Flash. The firework exploded in the sky behind me.

Noah sat up, blinking.

“Did I win?”

“You fucking almost killed a saxophone player, bro.” Gio yelled at him while laughing.

Lorenzo threw up again.

Make space for more drinks, king.

I was still filming Noah, when it happened.

Sirens. Flashing blue and red.

I froze.

My brain fully drowned in tequila and questionable decisions, took half a second too long to process.

“Oh shit—GUYS!”

I turned off the phone, grabbed Noah by the arm, who screamed, and yanked Gio away from a group of people chanting his name like he was a Roman emperor.

Lorenzo was holding a cup full of cereal. With no milk.

We ran. More like chaotic stumbling.

I slammed into the back of a delivery truck and tripped, crashing against Gio, who caught me by the shirt.

“Get DOWN!” I hissed, shoving them all behind the vehicle like we were in a war movie.

We crouched.

My heart beating like it was trying to escape my chest.

FLASHLIGHT. FOOTSTEPS.

“YOU FOUR. DON’T MOVE.”

We all froze like raccoons caught in a spotlight.

The officer stepped closer. Tall. Stern. Holding a notepad and an aura of “I hate my job”.

Gio stood up instantly, arms crossed. “You got a problem?”

I elbowed him in the gut. “Not. Now.”

“We didn’t do shit,” Gio added, rubbing his side. “We’re just…hanging out. Behind a truck. In total silence. That’s… that’s allowed.”

“You’re trespassing and breaking noise ordinance.”

“Well technically,” I started, standing up slowly and wobbling a bit, “the sound radius at which the bass was operating didn’t qualify as—”

I forgot the word. Literally just… forgot how to talk.

“As… acoustic… terrorism?” Noah offered, smiling.

The cop turned to him.

Noah tilted his head. “You look really good in that uniform, by the way, officer. Like. Distractingly good.”

I almost died.

“Are you flirting with the police?” I whispered.

“Do you want me to stop?” he whispered back.

Lorenzo, still crouched, groaned and clutched his head.

“I swear to God, if I get arrested while this human disaster is trying to get laid, I’m throwing myself into traffic.”

Gio was leaning back against the truck, legs stretched out, arms crossed, grin smeared across his face.

“We didn’t throw this party. We’re just better looking than the people who did, so we got blamed, right?”

“Sir, please,” I tried again.

“We’re leaving. We’re literally leaving. You can watch us leave. Watch me walk. It’ll be great.”

The officer just stared. “You’re drunk.”

“Technically, yes. But spiritually, I’m very focused right now.”

There was a long pause.

A really long one.

Then—he sighed.

“Get out. All of you. Quietly. Before I change my mind.”

“See?” Noah whispered. “He totally likes me.”

Lorenzo made a sound that was either a laugh or a dry heave.

Gio grabbed my wrist as we stumbled away and muttered in my ear.

“You just talked down a cop while Noah flirted, I almost fought him, and Lorenzo was actively dying. I’m gonna fuck you so hard for that, ravioli.”

I looked at him wide eyed.

Still drunk.

What the fuck happened tonight.

Gio was hunched over the door, swearing under his breath and trying to fit the key into the lock like it was a boss fight.

He took deep breaths.

He had insisted—“Let me do it. I need to feel in control again.”

Control.

Sure .

Noah was lying flat on the welcome mat, eyes closed, face against the concrete.

Lorenzo was asleep on my shoulder, deadweight, full body leaning into mine, breathing like a dying animal. I gently stroked the back of his head and whispered, “Please don’t puke on me. Please. I’ve done nothing to deserve this.”

Gio is still at war with the keyhole. Muttering. “I got it. I GOT it. It’s upside down. Wait. Why is this hole backwards?”

Lorenzo sighed, eyes still closed. “Gio, if you don’t open that fucking door in the next ten seconds I will strangle you with Noah’s shoelaces.”

Noah lifted a hand weakly from the floor. “You can use them. I no longer require shoes. Or dignity.”

“I SAID I GOT IT!”

Click.

The door creaked open.

He turned around like he’d just disarmed a bomb.

We all shuffled inside.

Noah army-crawled across the floor. Lorenzo let out a sigh and collapsed face-first on the nearest couch.

I looked around the entryway, blinking hard to stay upright.

“Okay. Nobody die until I drink water and burn these clothes.”

Gio turned around, pointed the key at me like it was a knife.

“Told you I had it.”

I nodded slowly. “I’m proud of you, baby.” Paused.

He winked.

And slammed the door shut behind us.

---

Pookies… y’all better vote this one, because I had to squeeze every last drop of brain juice and whip my imagination into submission to make this chapter happen, and trust me, I earned it. Make your bitch happy, HEH.

Also, the next chapter? It’s even better. I PROMISE I mean that.

Made me kick my own feet hehe.

BYE BYE SEE YA IN TWO DAYS :)

63) What Happened Last Night.

I wrote this bathroom scene with “I wanna be yours” on repeat. I hope it shows. Heh:)

Rava’s POV

We came home from the party 20 minutes ago, and Lorenzo and Noah are already sleeping.

Gio was chilling fully dressed inside the bathtub, legs stretched out, head back.

I was brushing my teeth, feeling his eyes on me, burning into my face.

“You look so gone right now,” I muttered around the toothbrush, foam in the corner of my mouth.

He chuckled low.

“Oh I am so gone,” he said, grinning. “…for you.”

I rolled my eyes, trying so hard not to smile. My face was already hot. Could’ve been the alcohol. Could’ve been him.

I looked in the mirror and saw him moving slowly.

The tub creaked as he stepped out. He came to stand behind me, and for some reason, suddenly he looked taller. Or I became shorter. Whatever.

I bend over the sink to spit the toothpaste out.

My ass was brushing right up against Gio.

“Woah, woah, woah,” he said, slurring just a little. “It’s too late, Ravioli. Stop turning me on.”

I froze. Then burst out laughing.

He’s practically draped over me while I’m rinsing my mouth.

His whole body presses into my back, and then his hands slide up under my shirt.

He grabs my chest.

His cheek smushes against my back, right between my shoulder blades.

He squeezes.

“It’s so…” he mumbles, almost to himself.

I pause, still hunched over the sink. “So… what?” I ask, raising an eyebrow even though he can’t see it.

He just giggles. Against my spine.

“I don’t know,” he says. Still laughing.

And I start laughing too.

He’s so stupid. And so fucking adorable.

“You’re such an idiot,” I said wiping my mouth, shoving his face away.

He laughed too, stumbling back a little.

He tilted his head like a confused puppy. “Can I wash your face?”

I blinked. “You? You can barely walk.”

“I know,” he said, and his voice dropped a little. “But I want to.”

I should’ve laughed again. Brushed it off.

But I didn’t.

Because deep down, I already knew. This? Him? It wasn’t going to last. A month from now I’d be wishing I could come back to this exact second.

So I nodded.

“Okay, drunk idiot,” I said. “Come on.”

He stepped in behind me, carefully.

He reached up, gently pulled my hair out of my face, holding it back. Then dipped his hand in the sink, scooped up water, and pressed it to my skin.

The water was freezing. His hand was hot.

I laughed as the cold slid down my neck. “Try not to drown me, please. Drowning is not an option.”

He grinned against my cheek. “No promises, angel.”

He grabbed the soap, used way too much, and smeared it across my face. So messy and uneven.

I couldn’t stop laughing. “Gio, seriously, this is awful.”

He just hummed like he was proud of his masterpiece.

Then, out of nowhere, he turned me around and sat me down on the toilet lid. Gently. Took a small towel, and wiped my face with slow, focused movements.

I stared at him.

His face was all concentration. His mouth slightly open. He looked like he was doing something so serious.

“I didn’t know you got so soft when you’re drunk,” I said, teasing.

He didn’t answer.

He just kept wiping, so gently.

And that silence said everything.

If this is “nothing,” then why does it feel like everything?

My head is a mess of questions I’ll never ask him.

Do you want me or do you just want access to me?

Am I temporary, or are you just too scared to admit I’m not?

Is this just comfort for you, or is it something deeper you’re too stubborn to name?

I keep hoping he’ll slip. That one day he’ll say something he can’t take back.

That he’ll get tired of standing in the doorway and either step in or walk out.

That he’ll finally pick a side.

Yes, you’re mine or no, you never were.

He makes it so hard to believe we’re nothing. But he still refuses to give me a reason to call us something.

Only signs. Never solutions.

And it’s draining.

He looked around, kind of lost, until his eyes landed on my cream. He picked it up real slow. Opened the lid.

Smelled it.

“I remember this,” he mumbled. “You used this every night in Spain.”

He dipped his finger in.

And my breath caught.

He turned toward me.

Right there.

And started applying it to my face.

I could feel every breath between us.

I could see every little detail, his lashes, the scar at the corner of his mouth from that fight he had back in Sophia’s party, his lip ring glinting in the bathroom light.

My heart went insane .

It didn’t make any sense, how could this feel brand new when we’d already touched? When we’d already gone there?

We’re not even doing anything dirty. He’s literally just putting cream on my face. That’s it.

No hands down my pants, no making out against a wall, nothing. And somehow I feel more exposed than when I’m naked in front of him.

I use the moment to stare.

If he notices, he doesn’t say anything. His brows are pulled together in concentration.

I wish I could make this face mine. Like, officially.

I wish I at least had the option to claim him like a normal person.

To stand next to him in public without feeling like I’m doing something illegal.

Not this. Not pretending this doesn’t mean anything.

There’s a tiny leaf stuck in his hair, probably from earlier.

I reach up and pluck it out while he’s still rubbing the cream into my skin.

He blinks at me. I just shrug.

He really doesn’t look as terrifying as everyone makes him sound.

They talk about Gio Fontana like he’s some nightmare on a motorbike.

I look at him up close and all I see is… soft.

A little grumpy. Very pretty.

And yeah, obviously sexy. I’m not blind.

But not scary.

He catches me staring and instead of saying anything he just flicks me in the middle of the forehead.

I flinch. “Ow—”

Okay. I take it all back. Everything nice I just thought about him? Cancelled.

I smack him lightly on the side of the head in revenge.

He laughs and leans in, giving me a quick kiss.

He pulls back like nothing happened, going back to spreading cream on my face.

He smirked, out of nowhere, and talked in a fake version of my voice.

“You have to massage it upwards. It activates the skin barrier.”

I blinked. “Dude. I don’t sound like that.”

“Yes, you do,” he said, grinning. “And I love it.”

My whole body froze.

Just stopped…

He didn’t even notice what he said. He just kept rubbing the cream in like it was nothing.

But it wasn’t nothing. Not to me.

My brain kind of shut down. Because right then, in that stupid bathroom, everything clicked.

…

I love him.

I’m sure now.

I love Gio Fontana.

It’s chaos. It’s all-consuming. It’s already living inside me.

And with him right there on his knees, lips inches from mine…

I wanted to fall into him. I wanted to scream it so bad.

But I didn’t.

I just stared. Silently.

Dear God, I love this man so much.

And someday, when it finally slips out of my mouth, I just hope I’m not too late.

Gio’s POV - Next Morning

Fuck .

My entire body felt like it had been dragged through sand, then microwaved for five minutes. My skull was splitting in three distinct directions, and my mouth tasted like I’d made out with an ashtray and then chased it with tequila.

I didn’t just feel like shit—I felt like someone else’s shit.

I need to stop testing my limits like I’m some sexy invincible party god.

I’m not. I’m twenty-three and I feel seventy-three right now. What the fuck.

And to top it off, I couldn’t move. Because there was a whole-ass human blanket on top of me.

Rava.

Pressed chest to chest. Leg thrown over mine. Arm across my stomach. Head buried in the crook of my neck like I was his goddamn pillow.

And Jesus Christ, the guy was overheating . A few strands of his hair had stuck to my collarbone, damp from the heat.

I was melting. But instead of pushing him off, I let out a quiet groan and tilted my head just enough to breathe.

He looked too peaceful. Too comfortable. His whole body was molded into mine.

So… yeah. I didn’t move.

I turned my head slightly, careful not to disturb the furnace clinging to me, and spotted Lorenzo.

Half off the bed, one leg dangling in the void, one sock gone, a trail of god-knows-what down his shirt. He looked like a medieval painting of “man vs tequila.” Just… wrecked.

Then, further across, I caught sight of Noah, barely alive, hunched over the table, eyes half-closed, sipping coffee.

I raised my arm, and pointed to the air conditioner on the wall.

“Turn it on. I’m dying over here.”

Noah looked up, blinked, and snorted quietly.

Then whispered across the room:

“Aww. Is the buffalo on top of you overheating?”

I glared at him. Whispered back:

“Yes. And I’m not the one waking him up.”

Noah grinned.

“That’s sweet. Protecting the big boy snuggle monster.”

I couldn’t feel my goddamn arm anymore, but Rava was still breathing softly against my throat.

And maybe it was the hangover.

But lying there, with Rava tangled around me, I kind of never wanted to move again. Ever.

The low hum of the air conditioner kicked on with a click and a blessed gust of cold air washed over the room.

“FINALLY,” Lorenzo moaned from across the room. “Some fucking breeze, man, I thought I was gonna combust.”

I shot up a finger to my lips—“Shut. The fuck. Up.” but it was too late.

Rava groaned softly against me, then shifted. His body turned, and he rolled away, giving me his back.

His hair was a mess, and his shoulder blades poked out just enough to make me want to touch him again.

Instead, I stared at Lorenzo like I was about to end his bloodline.

“Oops,” he whispered, completely unbothered.

I swear to God, sometimes I don’t care that he’s family.

Shit like this makes me want to drown him.

Lorenzo was fully awake now, sitting up slowly with one leg still dangling off the bed.

“Oh my God,” he groaned, holding his face.

“What happened last night? Why do I feel like I made out with a blender and then got hit by a bus?”

“I feel like I’m inside out,” Noah mumbled from the table, slouched and sipping coffee.

I blinked, trying to remember anything past the third round of shots.

“What the fuck did happen?” I muttered, dragging a hand through my hair.

Noah held up his phone.

“Oh, we’re about to find out. This,” he said, shaking it slightly, “has over five hundred photos and videos from last night.”

Lorenzo let out a long groan. “Oh no. Oh no no no.”

“This,” Noah continued, “will be our downfall.”

He stood up. “They have a projector. A fucking projector in this house. This is an elite level Airbnb.”

He pointed to the hallway. “Go puke. Go pee. Go cry. Whatever you need to do—get it done. Because in ten minutes? We’re pressing play.”

I dropped my head into my hands.

“We’re so fucked.”

I had just survived the shower. Barely. My body was still screaming. My soul had already left. But I’d made it back to the bed, clean-ish, damp hair, water bottle in one hand.

I sat down with my back to the wall, letting my spine settle into the cold concrete.

Then Rava came over.

He just dropped between my legs, head right on my chest. He let out a soft exhale against my shirt and immediately went still.

And that was it.

Except— Fuck.

It’s here again.

Emotion. Love. Real, fucking aching.

This little piece of shit can’t stop making me feel things.

I cursed under my breath and tilted my head back against the wall, trying to ignore it.

His hair kept falling into his eyes, so I reached up and gently pushed it back. Kept one hand there, resting on the side of his head. My other hand reached for his glasses on the nightstand. I handed them down to him.

“Here.”

Rava slid them on without moving from my chest. “Thanks,” he murmured, voice still thick with sleep.

“Can I join the hangover cuddle puddle?” Lorenzo asked.

I didn’t even look at him. “Not a chance.”

Noah groaned dramatically, flopping into the chair with a coffee cup clutched. “I’d take you,” he said to Lorenzo, “but I’m busy presenting the absolute unraveling of our collective dignity.”

He held up his phone, then sighed.

Palm to forehead. Full-on funeral director mode.

“Gentlemen… It’s time.”

…

The projector clicks.

First image.

Me and Rava, face to face, tongues touching, eyes locked like we’re starring in the horniest indie romance of the decade. We’re laughing. We look fucking good. Too good.

Silence.

Noah turns around. “Tell me that’s not a fucking Spotify album cover!”

Lorenzo is half-melted on the floor. “That’s actually kind of… iconic. It’s art. I hope I have a photo like this in here.”

Rava, deadpan, from my chest: “Can we not thirst over this and just continue, please?”

I’m staring.

There’s absolutely no way I’m jerking off to that photo at some point.

Zero chance.

“…Agreed,” I mutter. “But also… send me that. For science.”

…

The next photo hits the wall.

The fuck?!

It’s me—on some sketchy mattress, leg stretched, some guy tattooing the back of my calf like it’s fucking Tuesday and we’re not completely hammered. I look halfway between euphoria and full mental collapse.

I freeze.

Everyone leans in.

I twist around, lift the leg of my sweatpants.

…

I have…

A small, perfectly outlined… something.

I stare. Oh God.

Noah, squinting at the screen like he’s trying to crack a code: “…I can’t tell if that’s a condom wrapper or a piece of ravioli.”

I look up.

We all look at each other.

Instant panic.

“It’s a condom wrapper,” I blurt. “It’s definitely a condom wrapper. Why would I get a ravioli tattooed on me?!”

Lorenzo turns and stares at Noah, face unreadable.

Noah starts wheezing. Like actual tears forming.

“You two are the worst,” I snap. “Go fuck yourselves. Both of you. I’m getting it removed. No big deal.”

I drop my pant leg. “Next photo, let’s go. I’m already dead inside.”

The photo hits the wall, and the room explodes again.

Noah, mid push-up. Lorenzo, fully perched on his back, grinning.

And in his hand? A small, very real , very alive-looking mouse.

I blink. “What the actual—”

But Lorenzo gasps. Loud.

“THAT’S GIUSEPPE.”

He sits up straighter like he’s just recognized a long-lost lover. “I found him before I got completely wasted! He was just in the hallway, like… vibing. I took him in. We bonded.”

He clutches his chest. “I don’t know what happened to him after that. I blacked out.”

“Damn. The alcohol gave me strength. You think I could do push-ups with your entire body on my back while you held a rodent? Sober? Never.”

Rava is wheezing into my shoulder. I can feel his body shaking from how hard he’s laughing.

I love that sound.

I’m just staring at the mouse.

“…We need to find Giuseppe.”

Lorenzo adds while nodding.

Noah whispers: “He lives on. In our hearts. And possibly the pantry.”

I cover my face. “Next photo before this turns into a eulogy.”

Next slide.

Oh, fuck me sideways .

It’s me and Rava. Tiny-ass bathroom. I’m standing, laughing like a maniac, one hand reaching out toward the camera, clearly trying to hide it.

Rava’s on his knees. Head tilted up. Glasses on. Both hands on my thighs. The look on his face? Ready and starving.

It is, without question, a photo taken 0.3 seconds before he went down on me.

That motherfucker couldn’t stay away from my dick for one night.

Or I couldn’t stay away from his mouth.

I literally don’t know.

I stare at the screen. Mouth open.

“YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!” Lorenzo absolutely screams, nearly knocking over his coffee.

Noah is choking. Hard. On what? Who knows.

Rava lets out a noise I can’t even describe, dives into my chest like he’s trying to disappear into another dimension. Face fully buried. Ears red. Entire body stiff as hell.

I’m processing. Slowly.

“That…” I say, blinking at the photo. “That is art you fuckers, don’t laugh.”

“Gio—” Noah gasps, tears forming. “Your fucking face in it. You look like you’re about to pitch a reality show called Blowjobs & Betrayal.”

“I was laughing ,” I defend. “I was trying to stop the photo—”

“You failed,” Lorenzo yells. “And I’ve never been happier.”

This photo is fire .

The lighting? Perfect. The timing? Suspiciously perfect. The expressions? Filthy. It looks like a high-budget screenshot from the sexiest film of the decade.

“Send me that,” I say, pointing.

“I’m gonna make it a poster. Right on my door. So everyone knows who the fuck I am.”

Next slide.

And it’s me—mid-arm-wrestle with a girl that looks like she could throw me through a brick wall and then sue me for bleeding on her boots.

Braids down her back. Tank top. Arms like a Greek statue. She’s gritting her teeth, and I’m struggling. Veins out. Face red. Sweat forming. Pure battle.

The second I see it, something clicks.

“OH MY FUCKING GOD—I REMEMBER THAT BITCH.”

Everyone jumps.

“I don’t know what she did, but I remember her face. That evil, snake-ass face.”

Rava is wheezing, shaking in my arms again. “You almost fought her, dude. You challenged her to a drinking contest after she beat you at arm wrestling.”

I blink. Processing. “I lost?”

“No,” he laughs harder. “You won. You made her throw up like exorcist-style. It was kind of… impressive?”

I grin, proud. “I bet it fucking was.”

I glance down at Rava, smirking. “That’s probably why we ended up in the bathroom. You were rewarding me.”

Lorenzo groans from the floor. “Can you not—I’m trying to heal. You two are the reason I crave human touch.”

Noah, sipping his coffee, eyes squinting: “I genuinely can’t decide if I’d rather be Gio or Rava right now.”

Lorenzo, without missing a beat: “Be the lube. That way you get to touch both.”

…

Noah’s mouth falls open. Just pure stunned expression.

Rava whips his head up like he just got struck by lightning. “DUDE WHAT THE FUCK?! Are you still drunk or something?!”

I press my hand to his forehead, calmly, and push him back down onto my chest.

“Relax. It’s just Lorenzo.”

We saw more photos, each one worse than the other.

Rava dancing tango with Lorenzo. Shirtless.

Noah passed out inside a trash bin.

Me shaving some random guy’s eyebrow in the hallway. With a hotel razor.

Rava lying on a poker table, sunglasses on, eating Pringles straight from a random plate.

Lorenzo giving a motivational speech to a group of…ducks.

Me and Rava in the back of a random car, he’s kissing my neck, I’m giving lorenzo my middle finger.

Noah carrying Lorenzo bridal-style through a fountain. Both soaked.

Rava holding a churro in his mouth while I lit a sparkler. Damn.

Lorenzo flossing with the string of a balloon. Like aggressively.

All four of us under the dining table. Just lying there. Dead.

I’m pretty sure one of those photos is gonna end up in court someday.

And honestly… fair.

---

PLEASE TELL ME YOU LOVED THIS AS MUCH AS I DID i’ve read this chapter over 5 times cause I like it so much.

Anyway.

SEE YA IN TWO DAYS WITH TWO JUICY CHAPTERS  :)

64) Worth Staring At

Gio’s POV

I’m waiting for Rava to come over.

Using my key.

It’s just a key, right? Piece of metal.

I keep looking at the door.

Then my own key on the table.

Then the door again.

Then the key.

Did I do good? I don’t know. Feels good.

What’s the worst that could happen? He robs me? Yeah, right.

I’ve seen this man take ten minutes to decide which biscuit to choose with his coffee because he doesn’t want the other biscuits to feel “left out”.

He’s not robbing shit.

He doesn’t look like the type anyway. He’s too polite.

He still asks if he can use my bathroom.

I swear he thinks the sink is gonna file a complaint or something.

I’ve met thieves.

Hell, I’ve been a thief.

Rava has main-character anxiety, not felony energy.

Still. It’s a lot.

A key means… “Come in even if I’m not ready.” “Come in even if I’m asleep.” “Come in and see the mess I didn’t have time to hide.”

It means you’re allowed to see the unedited version.

And I don’t really do that.

The unedited version of me usually tells everyone to fuck off.

I could still take it back. Say it was a joke.

Say I gave it to him just in case of emergency.

Say, “Hey, Weston, actually can I have that back, I remembered I like being unavailable.”

I’m not gonna lie, there’s still that part of me screaming I’m being too much.

But that part has been screaming since the first night I kissed him and didn’t manage to stop.

“Are you sure I can just…walk in?”

“Yes, Rava. It’s my house, not the Vatican.”

Still, he made it sound like he was planning a heist.

I hear the key in the lock.

He takes the stairs way too fast, I can hear his footsteps rushing up.

I smiled a little.

Then the door flies open.

He just throws it wide like he wanted to scare me, even though I already heard him coming upstairs.

“Subtle entrance, Weston,” I say, biting back a grin.

He looked like a kid who’d just crossed a tightrope without falling.

He scooped up Lulu.

“I did it,” he announced. “I broke in!”

I grinned from where I was stretched across my bed.

“Congratulations, lovely felon.” I reached up and kissed him on the forehead.

“Now hand over my cat.”

He laughed, clutching Lulu a little tighter.

“She came to me willingly , you know. We have a bond now.”

“Tch, you’re about to make her love you more than she loves me.”

“Wouldn’t be the first.” He smirked as he handed her over.

I took Lulu in my arms, but my eyes stayed on him.

Bad idea.

Because now my brain is like, oh cool, so we’re parents and the cat is our child.

This is humiliating.

He’s staring at her like she’s literally his kid.

Poor thing is sitting there stiff like a cucumber, still kind of frozen, like he hasn’t fully processed that I actually want him around all the time.

It kills me. He’s so fucking adorable.

We’ve had sex more times than I can count and he STILL acts a little shy around me.

Which is insane, if you think about it.

You’re not shy when you’re moaning my name with my dick buried inside you, little Weston.

That part you handle just fine.

I scratched the back of my neck, glancing at him.

“Give me five minutes. I need a quick shower.” I smirked. “Unless, of course, you want to join.”

He tilted his head, pretending to think.

Dramatic as always.

“I literally just showered…” He ran a hand through his still-damp hair. “Five minutes before coming here. My hair’s still wet.”

Then raised an eyebrow. “But damn, suddenly I feel dirty again. Guess I have no choice.”

He comes closer.

“Let’s go!”

Unbelievable.

Look at this level of enthusiasm just to see me naked. He’s not even trying to hide it anymore.

At this point just say it, Weston.

Just say, “don’t bother putting clothes on ever again, Gio, I prefer you without them.”

Honestly, I wouldn’t mind.

He laughs and just throws himself at me.

I grab him by the back of his neck and push him forward toward the bathroom.

I swear, I wanna just grab him and squeeze the life out of him when he’s this happy.

I feel that stupid warmth in my chest because of this evil nerd.

Like my heart and my dick finally shook hands and went, “finally, bro, we agree on something.”

Of course my brain is standing to the side, watching them, cackling.

Because while my heart and my dick are celebrating, my brain is already picturing Rava on a plane.

My brain is that one loser kid in class that yells, “Miss, you forgot to give us homework,” right when we’re about to leave.

Fuck off.

Canada is the homework I’m avoiding.

Because for second, for a stupid , reckless, fragile second…

I thought that I’d do literally anything just to have this exact version of the future. Him. Us. This chaos. Every single day.

But I didn’t say it.

I just kissed his forehead, pulled him tighter and walked us both toward the bathroom.

Rava steps under the water first.

I watch his body in slow motion.

My eyes are everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

I can’t help it, I swear. I’ve never seen a body like this before.

It’s the combo that fucks me up. That body with that skin.

I know gym guys with big arms, big shoulders, all that shit, but they’re so pumped with testosterone and whatever else that their skin is just rashes and red patches and madness.

His? His skin only has stretch marks.

He made me like them.

I never cared about them before.

Now they look like art on him. Little pale lines scratching across his hips and thighs, like somebody designed them on purpose to make him look cooler.

I don’t know how he does it. He’s got the greatest skin I’ve ever seen.

My dad would be proud of me right now. I’m finally complimenting someone other than myself.

Character development.

First time I wished the place was smaller. Tighter.

I need him closer.

Our eyes meet immediately.

“You’re staring,” he says with a low voice.

“You’re worth staring at.” I don’t even try to hide it.

He bites back a smile, but his cheeks color. Even now.

I reach for the body wash, flip the cap open with one hand.

“Turn around.”

He does, without question.

I pour soap onto his sponge. Yeah, he has a sponge in my house now. That’s a thing.

Because every time after sex we’re both literally dripping, covered in sweat and cum, so we just get in the shower together to wash the sex off.

And then do it again two hours later.

Balance.

I start scrubbing his back and his shoulders, pushing my body against his because I’m a menace.

How am I supposed to behave when I have this tattoo in front of me?

I feel genuinely blessed. Like, who did I blackmail in a past life to end up being the one who gets to touch this body?

He turns his head, and we lock eyes again. His lips are slightly parted. His breath hits my throat.

I trail my hands down to his hips, then up across his chest, pulling him gently back against me. Water slides between us, but we’re skin to skin now.

“You do this with all your guests?” he whispers.

“Only the ones I want to ruin.”

Not a single soul has entered this shower since I got that house.

Ever .

But I didn’t plan on telling him.

He laughs, but his hand finds my jaw, guiding my face until we’re nose to nose.

We don’t kiss yet. His thumb brushes just under my bottom lip.

“I like you like this,” he says softly. “Warm. Quiet. Less asshole.”

“Bold of you to say in my shower.” I grin.

He smirks, but doesn’t move away.

My hands slide to his stomach, his skin twitching under my touch.

He leans in like he might kiss me.

Instead, he grabs the shampoo bottle and tips it over my head with an evil little smile.

“The fuck?”

“Payback.”

Soap runs down my face. I blink it off.

We’re laughing, kissing each other’s mouths, hands slipping everywhere and nowhere at once.

Every touch is affectionate but charged.

Like we’re holding ourselves back without even knowing why.

And somewhere between the laughter and the water and the tangled breath, I forget this is fucking temporary.

We step out of the bathroom and everything feels slower now.

The air between us is heavy, very charged, like something’s about to happen and we both know it.

He’s pulling his shirt on and his fingers are fumbling slightly at the hem as he drags it down over his chest.

His hair’s sticking to his forehead.

He looks so fucking good I almost forget to breathe.

I don’t even think. I just reach out and grab him by the waist, gently but firmly, and pull him down onto me where I’m already half lying on the bed.

He lets out a small sound as he straddles me.

He ends up sitting on my hips, facing me, and for a second… we just stay like that.

His legs are on either side of me, locking me in like a cage.

If I twitch my dick on purpose, he’s gonna feel it.

He’s literally sitting on it.

I lace my hands behind my head and sink back, getting comfortable with Rava on top of me like this.

We’re not doing anything.

We’re just… sitting here.

Watching each other like neither of us knows what we’re supposed to do next, but we both feel it.

That pressure. That slow, magnetic pull.

His knees press into the bed on either side of me, grounding himself. His hands rest on my chest for balance, and my fingers are already back on his waist.

My favorite place on his body. There’s just something about it… about how my hands fit there, how warm and alive he feels. I could stay like this forever. Just holding him here. Letting him breathe on me. Letting him look at me like that.

And then he reaches up. Slowly. His fingers brush against my mouth. No, not my mouth.

My lip ring.

He touches it like he’s never seen one before. Just barely, almost not touching it at all, but I feel it everywhere.

“Shit,” I whisper, almost under my breath. I grin without even meaning to.“This stupid little piercing has never been worth it until right now.”

He smiles and traces it again, gently. I feel my pulse in my jaw.

“Did it hurt?”

“Oh, like hell ,” I mutter. “They had to clamp it, then pierce it through. Whole thing bled like crazy.”

His eyes narrow like he’s trying to imagine it. “So why’d you do it?”

I tilt my head, still smiling. “Honestly? I thought it looked hot. But now?”

I slide my hands slowly up under his shirt, brushing my thumbs across his warm skin. “Now I know I did it just for this moment. So you could touch it like that.”

He rolls his eyes, but he’s biting back a smile.

His thumb grazes the edge of the ring again, slower this time. Less curious, more… fond.

I exhale through my nose, try to keep it cool, but it’s fucking useless.

“Come here,” I whisper, not even sure if I said it out loud or just thought it.

But he leans down anyway.

And starts kissing me slowly. Super slowly.

I kiss him back just as slow, one hand sliding up his back under his shirt, the other still clutching his waist.

When he pulls back, just a little, his lips hover over mine. Our noses touch. His breath is shaky. His voice is quieter than I’ve ever heard it.

“I like it,” he says.

“What?”

“The ring,” he murmurs. “It’s very…you.”

I laugh, my forehead resting against his. “Yeah? Good. ’Cause I’m not taking it out anytime soon.”

“You better not,” he says. “I’m kind of obsessed with it now.”

“Good,” I whisper, then nudge his chin with mine and kiss him again, longer this time, deeper.

This is definitely NOT what we agreed on. Not even fucking close.

But we don’t seem to care. We melt into it.

This kiss is all the things we don’t say.

All the feelings neither of us is ready to admit out loud but can’t hide when we’re like this.

He shifts a little, settling more comfortably over me, and I groan softly against his mouth.

“Fuck, I love when you’re on top of me,” I murmur, not even trying to filter it.

He chuckles against my lips. “Yeah, I noticed. You’re hard.”

And we both laugh.

And now I’m scared.

Because for a second, it doesn’t feel forbidden. It just feels right.

I kiss the side of his head. I can’t stop touching him.

Now I fucking get it.

This is what people mean when they say they’re happy.

That thing that makes you want to stay frozen in time.

And it’s the first time ever I’m feeling it too. I can finally relate.

And maybe he feels it too.

Because slowly…he goes quiet.

I feel his breath change.

He lifts his head just slightly, enough to meet my eyes. And something’s different now. His smile is softer. Smaller.

“We’re having too much fun,” he says quietly.

I blink.

“Yeah? That’s kind of the point.”

He doesn’t smile this time. Just looks at me like he’s trying to memorize something.

“It’s gonna make it worse.”

My stomach drops.

“What?”

He pulls back, just a little. Not off me. But away enough that I feel the cold rush in.

“When I leave,” he says.

And it’s fucking back.

That crack in the glass.

That stupid little voice neither of us wanted to hear tonight.

I stare at him.

Still holding his waist.

Still hard.

Still madly in love.

And I don’t say anything.

Because I know he’s right.

And I fucking hate it.

He’s sitting on the edge of the bed now, just a few inches away but suddenly feeling miles. His fingers are laced together like he’s physically holding himself back.

He knows that if he lets go he’ll crawl right back onto me.

And I’m just… staring at him, trying not to fall apart while pretending I’m totally cool with all this.

“So…” I start, “what exactly are you suggesting? That we…count?”

He glances at me. “Count?”

“Kisses,” I say. “Touches. Eye contact longer than five seconds. Gotta keep it under control, right?”

He lets out a weird laugh-sigh. “I mean…it sounds stupid when you say it like that.”

“It is stupid,” I mutter. “But here we are.”

“I don’t know,” he says finally. “Maybe we just… make some kind of plan.”

“A plan,” I repeat flatly. “For not touching each other.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” I nod, trying to play along, even though every part of me wants to scream. “So like…no kissing after dark? Unless it’s—what—accidental?”

“Accidental kisses?” he says, a little amused.

“It could happen,” I shrug. “You trip, I fall, our mouths collide. Boom. Innocent.”

He bites his lip to hide a smile, but I can see it trying to break through.

“All right,” he says. “Rule one: no kissing after dark.”

“Unless it’s a full moon,” I add.

He chuckles. “Sure. Full moon exception.”

“And rule two…” I pretend to think. “No cuddling. Ever again. Unless one of us is, like, emotionally compromised or has hypothermia.”

“Can I claim hypothermia if I just miss your body heat?”

I glance at him, dead serious. “You’re already breaking the spirit of the rules, man.”

We both laugh, but it dies too fast.

Because the room’s still full of heat. The air is still thick.

He’s still there, and I still want to reach out, and we’re pretending this isn’t torture.

“Do we even know how to do this?” he asks softly. “The…not being close thing?”

“Nope,” I say immediately. “Not even a little.”

He nods, looking down at his hands.

And I swear, the only reason I don’t pull him back into my lap is because I know the second I do… none of these rules will mean a damn thing.

He stands up. Adjusts his glasses.

And I just sit there. Watching him. Every part of me screaming.

Please, Rava.

Don’t go. Don’t go. Don’t you fucking dare go.

But I don’t say shit.

Because I’m stubborn. Because I’m stupid .

Because I think maybe if I let him walk out, it means I’m strong or some crap like that.

He grabs his phone. Doesn’t even look at me when he opens the door.

And then he’s gone.

I sit completely still.

Wow.

He left.

For real.

I stare at the door like I could will him back with pure rage and longing.

How could I let him leave?!

I should’ve grabbed his throat and shoved him back on the bed, remind him who the fuck I am.

Who we are.

But I didn’t.

Cause this was mature. Smart. Protective.

But now the room feels like shit. Everything feels wrong. I keep pacing, hands in my hair, telling myself this is what I wanted.

It’s good, right? Less contact. Less damage. We’re making it easier.

It’s the right thing. It has to be the right thing.

And then—knock knock.

I’m on my feet so fast my foot hits the leg of the bed and I nearly faceplant. I don’t care. I stumble straight to the door like some desperate idiot.

I fling it open.

He’s there.

Breathing hard.

We stare at each other.

Then he swallows, and lowers his voice.

“Start the rules tomorrow?”

“Fuck yeah,” I blurt.

65) Use Me

Gio’s POV

I grab him by the shirt and drag him inside.

The door slams behind him and I’ve already got my mouth on his before he can breathe.

He gasps into it, grabbing my hair, and I walk him backwards toward the bed.

“I mean it this time,” he says between kisses, voice wrecked. “Last time for this week.”

“Obviously,” I say, already pushing his shirt up.

“This is an almost-goodbye-sex,” he breathes, laughing into my mouth.

“The most respectful kind,” I mutter, biting his neck. “Gotta send you off properly.”

His knees hit the edge of the bed. I push him down and crawl over him.

“I’m serious,” he says. “Tomorrow? We stop.”

“Swear to god,” I whisper, fingers undoing his pants. “Right after I make you cum so hard you forget why we even needed rules.”

He laughs, then pulls me back down by the collar and kisses me harder.

His hands are everywhere. My lips are swollen. We can’t stop looking at each other even when we’re breaking apart to breathe.

“This is so dumb,” he whispers.

“Mhm,” I agree.

I’m gonna make him remember it in every cell of his goddamn body.

His glasses were fogged as hell, sliding halfway down his nose, and I couldn’t stop staring at how fucking good he looked like that.

Between kisses, I murmured against his mouth, “Did I ever tell you… how fucking hot these glasses are?” Licked into his mouth. “’Cause they are. Fuck.” Another kiss, rougher now. “Disgustingly hot.”

He moaned into me, hips bucking up, and that was it. I reached up, grabbed the frame, slid them off slow. My fingers brushed his cheek, gentle.

“But I need to see you,” I muttered.

“Need you to watch every fucking second of what I’m about to do to you.”

I set his glasses down like they were precious.

Looked back at him like he wasn’t.

“Eyes on me, angel,” I whispered, dragging my hips down against his. “Don’t look away now.”

He doesn’t.

“I wanna ride you.” He says it low. Quick. Like a threat.

My whole body jerks.

Holy shit .

Don’t be shy, Weston.

Take me.

Ride me until the neighbors, your parents, call the cops.

Ride me till I see heaven and spit in its face.

Ride me to death, baby. And if I survive?

Round two. No mercy.

I push his pants down while kissing him.

“Come on then, baby,” I whisper, breathless. “Fucking ride me.”

…

One move and he’s on top of me now.

Naked. Knees on either side of my waist. Hands on my chest. Breathing hard. Eyes blown wide. We’re done prepping, and fuck, he’s about to take me again.

My hands are glued to his waist. My breath is shaking.

I know how Rava rides. This ain’t gonna be gentle.

Last time, I swear I saw the light. I legit thought that was it for me.

I had a whole out-of-body experience.

I still don’t know what the hell came over him.

Maybe he was born on a porn set.

Who knows.

He grabs my dick, and smiles.

And then… He sinks down.

Slowly.

My jaw drops open. My head hits the pillow.

Swear to God, every single time I slide into him, it hits the same.

That “fuck, I’m home” after a day full of bullshit and running around.

That exact second when you drop your keys on the counter, kick your shoes off, and finally breathe.

That’s what he feels like.

I look down and watch his ass swallow my dick.

His face kills me.

He looks so grateful.

I smile.

Look at you. Look how your fucking body takes it, Weston.

Having a girlfriend was never your destiny.

This was.

You were born to be taken like this. Bent over, spread out.

This is your place.

He moans, and sinks further.

More. More. All the way down.

Until he’s seated. Fully. Deep.

We both go still.

His palms on my chest. My hands still locked on his waist. We’re breathing hard.

He takes me all the way in.

All of it.

My soul left my fucking body.

He exhales like it’s the best thing he’s ever felt.

He starts slow.

Moves his hips forward and back, right over my dick, smooth as fuck.

And then he went faster.

Started to ride. Hard. Slamming down again and again.

My dick’s pulsing inside him, and I literally can’t stop watching him.

His face. The way his head tilts back when he finds the right angle. The way he moans when I thrust up to meet him.

Sweet mother of God and every other divine being listening, I’m gonna die.

Rava’s not showing any mercy.

He’s riding me like he’s mad at me. The whole bed’s shaking.

I’ve got both hands locked on his ass, guiding him up and down, up and down, again and again. Fuck.

I reached up, grabbed the wooden headboard, fingers curling around it so tight I thought it’d snap. I needed something to hold on to, because Rava was grinding on my dick like he was going to take my freaking soul with him.

His ass hit my hips with wet, ruthless rhythm, skin slapping loudly. He leans in close, panting against my lips.

“You like this?” he whispers.

I choke on a laugh. “Are you fucking serious?”

I’m obsessed. I’m addicted. I’m going to have to write a goddamn will after this.

My hands slide down to his ass again, squeezing hard as I buck up into him.

God , the sounds.

Little whimpers escaping his throat, sharp gasps when I thrust up to meet him, he was losing it, right in front of me, and it was the hottest fucking thing I’d ever seen.

His hands clawed at my chest, nails raking down my pecs, then lower, across my abs, grabbing my sides.

He was worshipping my body. Possessing it. Owning it.

“That’s right. Ride me just like that. Use me. Take what you need, baby.”

He slammed down harder. Faster.

And all I could do was hold that headboard.

My arms were shaking. My whole body burning. I was biting back groans, shouts, every second a fight not to lose it completely.

He bends down while riding me, and kisses me with the messiest fucking mouth I’ve ever tasted.

The kiss is sloppy, filthy. Fucking wet.

His lips are hot and swollen. I grab his jaw, holding his face still, trying to get something stable while the rest of him is putting on a fucking show.

He moans against my mouth.

I moan straight back into his, right as I yank his hair to keep myself from fucking passing out.

“You’re perfect,” I groaned into his mouth. “You’re fucking perfect, Rava.”

He brings his hands to either side of my head, grabbing the headboard behind me, and then fucks down harder.

The wood creaks under his grip.

I grab onto his forearms.

He was so fucking tight, so slick, so deep around me I thought I’d lose consciousness.

My legs trembled. My hands slipped from his arms, found his waist. I held him there, dragged him down hard, fucked up into him with everything I had.

He leaned in again, mouth parted like he wanted to kiss me again.

But this time, all he managed was a moan, right into my mouth.

Just this broken, breathless sound, like even that was too much for him.

And fuck, it went straight to my dick.

I grinned against his lips, grabbing his throat with one hand and holding him there.

“You’re riding me so good you can’t even kiss straight,” I groaned, thrusting up into him hard.

I thought I was gonna lose my shit already, and then his mouth brushed my ear.

“I wanna scream your name so loud they hear it across the fucking street, Gio.”

I snapped.

I grabbed the back of his neck, yanked him down into me, bit his fucking lip.

I slammed my hips up into him, fucking him harder. He gasped, loud.

He moaned into my mouth and I didn’t even let him breathe.

He was smiling, barely.

He’s crazy.

I gripped his thighs, pushed them wider open, my thumbs digging into the soft muscle as he rode me faster. His skin was burning, raw from the friction and perfect. “You’re shaking. You close?”

“I’m barely holding it, Gio.”

My hand slipped between us. Found him hard and leaking. I stroked him in time with the rhythm, just to see him fall apart.

He did. He always did for me.

I leaned up, tongue dragging over the hollow of his throat, tasting sweat and desperation.

He is slamming down harder, again and again, until the whole bed shook.

He clenches around me.

His whole body jerks under my hands. He starts cumming between us. His moan punches straight into my chest.

And then he kisses me.

Still moaning against my mouth while he fucking finishes.

And that’s it.

I cum too.

My whole body arches. I swear my vision goes white. I’m making noises I didn’t even know I could make.

I can’t breathe.

My hands grip his waist like he’s the only thing anchoring me to the goddamn earth.

I’m cumming so hard it hurts. I feel every pulse. Every twitch. Every second dragging out forever.

My fingers dig into his back. He’s still kissing me, swallowing every broken moan, and I swear…

I think I’m dying.

No, worse.

I’m addicted.

This is it. This is the bar. Nothing’s ever gonna come close. Not this tight. Not this hot. Not this fucking perfect.

He rides out the last of it with me, rocking his hips and I whimper into his mouth.

I fucking whimper.

“Shit—Rava, what the fuck—”

I’m trembling. Sweating. Still inside him.

My brain’s fried. My body’s done.

I run a hand up his spine, and the other goes to his face, brushing damp hair off his forehead.

He’s sweating, lips parted, chest pressed to mine.

His cheeks are super red.

“You good?” I murmur, voice rough and low.

He just nods. Breathless.

I smile. Wipe the sweat off his forehead with the back of my fingers. Lean in and kiss his cheek.

He closes his eyes, smiles back.

“So…” “From tomorrow…we should stop this, right?”

My stomach knots, but I don’t let it show.

I chuckle. Softly. Brush my thumb down his cheek.

“Right.” I kiss him again. “Starting tomorrow.”

He snorts. His hands are still on my chest. His thighs still around my hips. Neither of us moves.

“We mean it this time.”

“ Absolutely .“ I say, and drag my hand down to rest on the small of his back.

“Super serious. No more…

this

.“

He rolls his hips just slightly, barely a grind, and I groan.

“Fucking menace,” I whisper, kissing under his jaw.

He laughs again. God, I love that sound.

I love him .

---

LMAO this whole time my brain was like 💃I WANNA ROCK RIGHT NOW💃 💃I WANNA I WANNA ROCK RIGHT NOW💃 💃I WANNA I WANNA ROCK RIGHT NOW💃 💃NOW NOW ROCK RIGHT NOW💃

(from the song..rock that body..)

I need to calm down.

Anyways. Y’all had enough fun, I might shake things up a little. I don’t know. Depends on my mood.

AND VOTE. Or don’t. I know you love it anyway, pookies.

SEE YA IN TWO DAYS ❤️

66) Walking Red Flag

Rava’s POV

We’re on my balcony.

Noah’s tattooing my shoulder and I want to scream, but I keep it together.

I cannot complain right now.

I sat through a whole damn back piece like a champ.

If I whine now, over a tiny shoulder tattoo, I’ll look pathetic.

“Doing okay up there, cookie?” Noah grins.

“Yeah,” I lie. “All good.”

My face probably says otherwise.

“Stop moving, dude,” he snapped, pulling back slightly. “You’re gonna end up with a trashy tattoo, and I won’t take responsibility.”

“I’m not moving,” I said, gritting my teeth.

“You just twitched!”

“I breathed!”

“You twitched while breathing. That’s worse.”

I let out a sigh and tried to keep my body frozen, which only made me ten times more aware of every stupid muscle there.

My neck was tense and my whole spine felt like it was clenching in protest.

“Why the hell did I let you do this here?” I mumbled.

“Because you’re a masochist. And because deep down, you trust me.”

I side eyed him.

“One day I’m gonna be the best damn tattoo artist and you’re gonna beg me to ink you, you dickhead. I’ll be too busy tattooing other hot men.”

I take a slow sip of water. “I hope you make it.”

He snorts, nudges my leg with his foot. “You don’t even deny it. You know I’m gonna be booked and blessed. Also, you twitch one more time and I’m tattooing a dick on your neck.”

“I swear to God—”

“Try me.”

“You better not mess this up,” I said.

“I’m literally doing god’s work right now. Shut up and let me tattoo you.”

He winked. I rolled my eyes.

Then I heard the sliding door open behind us.

My dad stepped out.

He looked at us for a second. Then pulled out a chair and sat down.

Perfect. Right on time.

Here comes the sermon about how ink causes cancer, how God is disappointed, how I’m definitely going to hell, and how my soul is basically already packed and shipped.

Can’t wait.

This man sees a tattoo needle and hears the devil sharpening his pitchfork.

“Hope I’m not interrupting.”

Noah smiled. “Nah, you’re good, sir.”

My dad gave a small smile.

They started talking about Noah’s machines. Sterilization. Speed. Whatever.

I try to talk as little as possible.

Short answers. One-word replies.

I don’t want to make him think we’re suddenly good.

Because we’re not.

Just because he showed up and didn’t start screaming doesn’t mean everything’s fine.

I’m not handing out forgiveness like candy.

It’s been weird with him ever since he slapped me that day. We both pretend it didn’t happen. But it’s always there. In how careful he is now. And in how careful I’m not.

Sometimes I think about the fact that I’m having sex with the one person he hates most.

And honestly? It doesn’t scare me anymore. It turns me on.

I don’t even know why. Maybe I’m just pissed. Or proud. Or both.

My phone vibrated. It was Gio.

GIO:

-Are you with noah?

ME:

-Yeah, why?

GIO:

-Can I come too?

I froze for a second. Glanced at my dad. Then back at the screen.

Typed fast with one hand:

ME:

-My dad’s here. So you

definitely

can’t.

I was about to hit send when Noah looked up.

“Don’t move, you idiot.”

“Shut up,” I mumbled, sending the message anyway.

Then I waited.

And waited.

He saw it.

Didn’t answer.

Oh my god.

Did I say it wrong? Did he think I didn’t want him here?

Shit.

He probably thinks I prefer spending time with them instead of him.

I’m not. I just— Fuck.

I picked up the phone again. Typed quickly:

ME:

-We can still meet after. Still daytime, remember? :)

Sent.

Still no answer.

I set the phone down, screen down. Pretended to listen to Noah and my dad talk about ink quality. But all I could hear was my heartbeat pounding in my ears.

What if I hurt him? What if he’s mad? What if he just… doesn’t want to anymore?

I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, shoulder angled just enough to catch a full view of the tattoo.

The skin around it was still red, raw, slightly swollen, but holy shit. It looked perfect.

Clean lines, deep black ink, exactly how I pictured it.

Behind me, Noah whistled low. “Damn, I outdid myself,” he said, arms crossed. “That’s what I call premium shoulder real estate.”

I rolled my eyes, but I was smiling.

“Alright,” he added, snapping his gloves off. “Go next door and show it to your man. But tell him not to lick it or anything, it’s still fresh.”

I blinked. “He’s not my man. And why the hell would he lick my shoulder?”

Noah shrugged. “I don’t know, man. Maybe he’s got a shoulder kink. People are weird. Your man especially.”

I stared at him.

He stared back.

Then I sighed. “Don’t tell anyone I’m going over there.”

Noah smirked. “What am I, twelve?”

“Yes,” I said. “And while I’m gone, go outside. Walk around or something. Make it look like we’re hanging out together.”

He gave me a two-finger salute. “You got it, boss.”

We both walked out at the same time.

Oh. I have the key.

I can go in by myself again.

I think this time I just… need to do it.

No warning text like “hey, just so you know, I’m coming in with your key.”

I’ll just unlock the door and walk in.

What am I even scared of? Catching him naked? Please.

He’s gonna strip the second I show up anyway.

So yeah. I’m going in.

“I let myself in,” I called, loud enough for him to hear. “I was gonna knock, but then I remembered I’m special.”

No answer.

I walked through the house, placed my shoes near the stairs. He was in the kitchen. Leant back on the counter, scrolling through his phone.

His face didn’t light up when he saw me. Just a quiet, flat “Hey.”

Still, I smiled. Walked over, touched his waist.

“You alright?”

He nodded. Kind of.

“You’re acting weird.”

“I’m fine.”

Pause. I knew he wasn’t.

But I didn’t push. I just leaned in, pressed a soft kiss to his jaw. He didn’t stop me, but he didn’t lean into it either.

“You saw my texts?” I asked quietly.

“Yeah.”

I waited for more. Nothing.

Perfect.

Once again, the overthinking was right. He’s pissed.

Why? I don’t exactly know.

And it sucks not knowing. It really, really sucks.

Was it because I was with Noah? I don’t think so. He knows I don’t see Noah like that. He knows.

Was it because he wanted to be with me and couldn’t? Does he think I picked them over him?

I have no idea. But I can feel it. There’s definitely been a miscommunication.

“Gio, I tried to make it better,” I said. “I told you we could meet later.”

“I know, I know.”

“I just saw you,” he said. “On the balcony.”

“Okay…” I said, waiting for the rest.

“You looked happy. With Noah. With your dad.”

My heart stuttered a bit.

“I mean, I was just sitting there—”

“No, I get it,” he said, cutting me off gently. “I’m not mad, Rava. Seriously.”

That made it worse.

He ran a hand through his hair. Smiled a little.

“It’s just… funny, I guess. Watching him sit there like it’s nothing. Talking to your dad. Laughing. Like it’s easy.”

“Gio…”

“I don’t think I’ll ever have that with your dad.”

I took a breath. Stepped closer.

“You don’t have to—”

“I know. I know I don’t.” He looked down at his hands.

“It just hit me, I guess. Seeing it. What it looks like when someone actually fits.”

My throat closed. I didn’t know what to say.

“I’m not blaming you,” Gio said, again.

But the more he repeated it, the more it sounded like he was.

I shifted my weight, crossing my arms. “You act like I haven’t tried to make things easier.”

“I act like that?”

I nodded. “I get it. My dad’s not… the easiest person. But come on, Gio. You’ve never exactly tried either.”

Yeah. Okay. That didn’t come out great.

I hope he knows what I meant.

I’m not defending my dad. Not even a little. He’s been awful. Unforgivable, even.

But like… objectively? What dad wouldn’t freak out if his kid was into a guy with an actual criminal record?

I’m not saying he’s right. He’s not. He’s judgmental and mean and refuses to see Gio for who he really is.

But it’s not like Gio makes it easy either. He doesn’t exactly walk into a room and scream “I’m healing, give me a chance.”

They bait each other. Constantly.

It’s like watching two angry dogs circling each other, waiting to see who snaps first.

I’m stuck in the middle trying to keep the damn peace, and they’re both over here acting like it’s a competition for who can piss off the other more.

“You’re kidding, right?”

I held my ground. “I’m just saying—he doesn’t hate you for no reason. You literally do illegal stuff for fun.”

Now the flicker was fire. “Are we really doing this?”

“He doesn’t even know you, Gio. He just doesn’t like your—”

“My what?”

“Your whole… attitude. The way you walk around like you don’t give a shit about anyone.”

“I wonder why.”

His voice dropped lower. The tension spiked.

“You think I give attitude to him for fun?” he said. “Your dad made my life hell. And my father’s. He threatened him. Lied. Manipulated him. You know that.”

I stayed quiet.

“And now,” Gio continued, voice cracking just a little, “he gets to sit on balconies in the sun and drink espresso like a decent human being—while mine’s six feet under.”

…

Oh God.

That hit like a punch.

I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.

“I’m the one without a dad now,” Gio said, smiling without joy. “Me. Not him. Not you. Me.”

I took a step closer, slowly.

“Gio…”

He shook his head.

“And still,” he continued, “you want me to sit there and make small talk with him. Smile. Dress nicer. Be a good little boy so he’ll maybe stop hating me for who I am.”

“I never asked you to do that.”

“You didn’t have to. You just asked me to not be me.”

That silence again. Thicker this time. Almost suffocating.

He looked at me, breathing a little too fast.

I couldn’t even respond right away. My lips parted but no words came out. Not because I didn’t have something to say. Because I didn’t know how to say any of it without sounding like a liar.

“Gio,” I finally whispered. “That’s really not… what I meant. You know I love y—”

…

“—your whole style and all…”

He shook his head once, like he’d already decided where this was going. His expression had shifted.

“I think I need a second,” he muttered. “Just—just some time. Alone.”

“No,” I said quickly. “Please. We should talk. We’re not gonna leave it like this, are we?”

“I’m not trying to leave it.” His voice was soft. “I just… don’t think I can talk right now without saying something I’ll regret.”

He was being gentle. Even now.

“I’m not trying to push you away,” he replied. “I’m just asking for space. Just for a bit. Please.”

I stared at him, throat tight. I wanted to say no. I wanted to stay. I wanted to fix it.

But he was already turning away. Already pulling back into himself.

So I nodded, even though it felt like ripping my chest open.

“Okay,” I said quietly.

And then I left.

I’m back home.

The door clicked shut behind me, and suddenly it was too quiet.

I stood in my room for a second.

I ran a hand through my hair. It was shaking.

He looked like he was trying not to fall apart in front of me. And what did I do?

I told him he never tried. I told him he made it harder.

Like he hadn’t spent his whole life already fighting to survive people like my dad.

God, I am so, so stupid.

I hated the sound of my own voice in my head.

And what broke me wasn’t the fight. It was how gently he asked to be alone. How calm his voice was, like he was trying to protect me from whatever else he had to say.

I sat on the floor.

I never wanted him to change. I just wanted him to be safe. To be accepted.

But maybe in trying to make it easier… I just made it lonelier.

Gio’s POV

I can’t fucking breathe.

My fists are clenched and I swear to God if I stay in this house for another second I’m gonna scream.

What the fuck just happened.

I told him to go. I meant it.

I told him I needed space.

But now he’s gone and I feel like I’m gonna throw up.

Why do I always do this? Why can’t I just shut the fuck up for once and let something good stay?

He didn’t even yell. He just stood there, looking at me like I was slipping through his hands and he couldn’t stop it. And I still pushed him out the door.

Because I’m scared. Because I’m tired. Because I’m so fucking tired of being the one everyone tolerates instead of wants.

They don’t say it. But they don’t have to. I see it. I feel it. Like I’m something they put up with. Like I’m dirt they can’t scrub off the floor. Too wild. Too loud. Too angry. Too fucking broken.

And Rava… Rava never looked at me like that. Never once made me feel like I had to dial it down or clean myself up. Not even when he saw me after all these years.

He touched me like I wasn’t disgusting. Spoke to me like I made sense.

And now he has to leave.

He’s going back to Canada.

In a few weeks he’ll be gone and I’ll still be here, in this same fucking room, trying to pretend it didn’t matter.

Trying to act like I didn’t fall so fucking hard for someone who was never meant to stay.

And what’s left for me?

What the fuck is left after this?

Another life full of gold, but still emptier than ever. Another silent night.

And the only good thing I had, the only person who made me feel like maybe I wasn’t completely fucked, is walking away.

Not because he wants to. Because life’s just that cruel.

And I’m supposed to just take it.

Again.

Like always.

I was sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on my knees, fingers tangled in my hair.

He’s probably out there again. On the balcony. With Noah. With his dad. Laughing. Sipping iced tea or some shit. Being the good son. The golden boy.

Me? I was just the asshole hidden behind closed doors.

I hated this feeling. Jealousy or whatever the fuck it was.

Made me think things I shouldn’t. Like how I’d never be allowed to sit out there with them.

How I’d always be the mistake in the shadows.

The bad decision Rava makes when no one’s looking.

The door clicked and I jerked upright, straightening out fast.

My face probably still looked like shit but I forced the smirk on anyway.

“Daddy Gio,” Lorenzo’s voice dragged out like a damn cartoon. “Why the hell are you hiding in here like a sad little vampire?”

He walked in with that cocky grin, followed by Daisy, who shut the door behind her and plopped on the armchair.

“Weird how you and Rava aren’t currently making out in some dark alleyway. You guys always disappear like horny raccoons.”

I let out a dry laugh and shook my head. “He’s busy.” I leaned back on my elbows, eyes on the ceiling. “He’s outside, you know. Strengthening the family bond. Having a bonding moment with Noah and your dad.”

Daisy froze. Subtle, but I caught it. Girl’s sharp. She looked at me a little too long.

Lorenzo didn’t notice a thing. He was busy messing with something on the dresser.

I kept my voice light, even though everything inside me was just boiling. “Didn’t wanna interrupt. Would’ve ruined the vibes.”

Because that’s what I do, right? I ruin shit. I’m the guy you kiss when no one’s watching. And maybe that’s the real problem.

Because I don’t wanna kiss him in secret anymore.

I wanna kiss him like I fucking mean it. Like I’m proud. Like he’s mine.

But I can’t. Because his dad would rather gut me.

Daisy tilted her head a little, eyes softening. She didn’t say anything yet, but I could feel it coming.

The talk. The one where she tries to figure out what’s actually going on.

She just stared at me for a second, like she was waiting for me to crack. “You do realize you’re being a little dramatic, right?”

I turned to look at her. “Thanks, princess. That really helps.”

“Gio. No, seriously. Listen.” She paused like she was trying to pick her words carefully, which was rare for her.

“Noah was literally just outside talking to my dad about your bike. Like, full-on pitch mode. Said it was the sexiest thing he’s ever seen and that the guy riding it clearly has excellent taste.”

“For real?”

“Deadass,” she said, making a little cross over her heart. “He was trying to hype you up, Gio. To my dad . That’s like… trying to sell tequila to a nun.”

Lorenzo let out a laugh. “That’s because Noah has balls of steel. And no survival instinct.”

“Exactly!” Daisy pointed at him, then looked back at me. “So don’t do that thing where you spiral and convince yourself everyone’s out to erase you.”

I shrugged. “I’m not spiraling.”

“You’re totally spiraling,” Lorenzo cut in, giving me a look. “You’ve got that ‘one sad song away from riding off into the night’ energy.”

I let out a laugh through my nose. “It’s a good exit, don’t knock it.”

Daisy leaned forward, elbows on her knees, her tone dropping a little. “Look, I know it’s not easy. My dad is… complicated. But the way Rava looks at you? Gio, he’s never looked at anyone like that.”

I stayed quiet, swallowing down the lump in my throat that tried to sneak up.

“He wants this,” she added, softer now. “You. He wants you. He’s just trying to protect it the only way he knows how.”

Lorenzo smirked. “And let’s be honest, you’re not exactly giving ‘low-risk boyfriend’ vibes.”

I rolled my eyes. “Gee, thanks.”

“Hey, I’m just saying,” he said, raising his hands. “You’re a walking red flag. But like, a hot one. I’d climb you too, if we weren’t family.”

“You’re disgusting.” Daisy threw a pillow at him.

I just sat there, soaking it in. A weird warmth in my chest. I hated how much I needed that. How much I wanted someone to just fucking say it, that I wasn’t invisible.

That I wasn’t the mistake.

I looked away, blinking fast.

“He’s kinda right. I would be concerned too.”

“God, you’re such a bitch for saying that,” I muttered, trying to roll my eyes, put my mask back on. The usual.

Daisy didn’t even flinch. “Shut up, love. You don’t have to be tough right now.”

“I am tough.”

“Yeah, okay, Mr. Emotional Breakdown.” She leaned closer and started…petting me.

“Let me show some damn affection to the guy who somehow brought my miserable ass brother back to life. Just this once. Don’t ruin it.”

I groaned. “You’re annoying.”

“And you’re lucky I like you, asshole.”

Lorenzo chimed in from across the room. “Aww. Group hug?”

“Touch me and you die,” I snapped.

---

WOOHOO HELLO POOKIES.

Fun fact that i can’t hide no more. Lorenzo and Noah are literally inspired by my real life friends, named Lorenzo and Noah. And they have this exact type of personality, which is probably why i can write their characters so well. Cause i’ve literally lived through it.

Also, the next days i will post some really good chapters, i hope you enjoy them, cause things will get kinda messy after that :D

BYE BYE

67) Not Just A Bowl

Rava’s POV

I swear the living room looked like a battlefield.

Except instead of corpses, it was just us, five human slugs melted across Gio’s furniture playing dead.

Lorenzo was upside down on the couch for some reason.

Daisy had her face buried in a pillow, mumbling to herself.

Gio was lying shirtless on the floor with an ice pack on his chest.

And I… I had become part of the beanbag. A singular organism. A sad one.

Noah suddenly shot up from the floor.

“OKAY WHAT THE FUCK. This is PATHETIC. We are DISGUSTING. It’s my last day and we’re all rotting like wet bread. Get the fuck up!”

Lorenzo, without opening his eyes, just raised a hand and murmured, “Respectfully… die.”

Daisy lifted her head. “We could go for a swim?”

And that’s when Noah lost it.

“No we fucking can’t, Daisy! We ALL got fresh tattoos like absolute morons. We’re walking infections. We’re human scabs. We go in the sea, we die .”

Gio, still on the floor, grunted. “At least you idiots chose your tattoos willingly. I don’t even know who picked mine. Or if they were clean. I was blacked out. There could be actual bacteria in it with a name and a family.”

I snorted. We all did. It was so dumb it looped back to iconic.

Lorenzo finally sat up. “Alright. We can’t swim, but we can still go to the beach. Sit in the sand. Drink. Listen to music. Play cards. Touch grass.”

“I’m not playing shit unless it’s for real money,” Gio said, stretching his arms behind his head, flexing like a walking thirst trap. “Otherwise y’all can keep your peasant decks.”

I. Wanted. To. Die.

The way his arms stretched, his chest arched, the muscles on his legs tensing like they were sculpted by war gods… Jesus Christ .

I wanted to leap across the room and grab his stupid massive thighs like a feral animal, but no.

No.

Because we were still in that post-fight weirdness.

That awkward, nothing happened last night even though we both wanted it limbo.

It had been twenty-four hours, but my body acted like it had been months since I touched him.

Noah clapped his hands so loud it snapped me out of my misery. “UP. ALL OF YOU. LET’S GO HOME. SHOWER. PUT ON YOUR STUPID CLOTHES. WE’RE GOING TO THE BEACH EVEN IF WE HAVE TO DO IT IN PLAGUE MODE.”

He didn’t have to tell me twice. Anything to distract me from the way Gio’s back flexed when he stood up.

I’m fine . Everything is fine . We’re all just friends . Who thirst silently. And rot in sync.

Great.

My room looked like a war zone made out of swimsuits, half-zipped tote bags, and Daisy screaming at Noah for trying to pack three different sunscreens “just in case.”

“No one needs SPF 90, you’re not fighting the sun god, Noah!”

He rolled his eyes and held the bottle up. “Speak for yourself, bitch. I burn like a Victorian ghost in direct sunlight. I will not be crispy in group pictures.”

I was sitting cross-legged on the bed, holding up two pairs of shorts. “Which one says —I didn’t cry in the shower this morning—more?”

Daisy pointed at the left one. “That one.”

The door creaked open.

My mom walked in, smiling.

“God, it smells like sunscreen in here,” she said, walking over with a bowl in her hands.

“Welcome to the jungle,” Noah said, dramatically stepping out with a Hawaiian shirt he absolutely did not own five minutes ago.

She laughed and walked over, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “So… are you guys… going with Gio?”

Dead silence.

Noah stopped mid-button.

Daisy froze mid-lip gloss.

I blinked once.

Daisy slowly turned her head. “Is that… a trap question?”

Mom tilted her head, feigning innocence. “Why would it be a trap, sweetie? I know about Gio.”

Daisy dropped her lip gloss. “You— what ?!”

Noah gasped theatrically. “You people don’t even know what group chat means, huh?”

She just smiled. “I’ve known for a while.”

“She knows??” Daisy whisper-shouted. “You KNEW?? And you didn’t TELL ME THAT YOU KNEW?!?! WE COULD HAVE TALKED ABOUT IT TOGETHER!”

Mom snorted. “I thought you knew that I knew!”

Noah raised both eyebrows. “There’s more secrecy in this house than a Vatican vault.”

“I’m sorry,” I cut in, “are we not gonna circle back to the fact that my mother just casually brought up Gio like she’s part of the group chat now?”

She lifted the bowl. “I just wanted you to give him this.”

I looked at her hands. “…A bowl?”

“Not just a bowl,” she said, gently. “Pies. His favorite. The ones he used to inhale when he was little. We used to make them together. With his dad…”

Her voice softened. So had her eyes.

“Before he passed, obviously.”

. Right.

Sometimes I forget how much Gio loved his dad.

Swear to God, he acted all tough with the rest of us, but the second his dad showed up?

He’d shift. Completely.

Suddenly he’d light up, let himself be excited. Didn’t try to hide it, didn’t tone it down.

He became someone else. Like the armor dropped for a second.

And I think that’s what makes all of this worse.

He knows what it’s like to have a dad who sees you, who roots for you.

He had that, until he didn’t.

There was this moment, just a second, where none of us knew what to say.

Not even Noah.

And that says a lot.

I stepped forward and hugged her, wrapping my arms around her smaller frame.

“You didn’t have to do this,” I said into her shoulder. “It’s not like we’re— I mean, you’re acting like we’re married or something.”

She pulled back just enough to flick my forehead. “Oh, shut up. I was taking care of him before you even figured out you liked him.”

My jaw dropped. “Okay wow. First of all, rude . Second, accurate but… rude.”

Noah shook his head, grinning. “I’m surrounded by clowns.”

But I saw the way his grin dropped a little when he looked at the bowl. “Gio’s dad…?”

Mom nodded. “Yeah. Many years ago. Suicide. He doesn’t talk about it much, but… I know it still sits heavy. Poor baby.”

I looked down at the bowl in my hands.

Pies. Like some kind of portal to a childhood memory he probably didn’t bring up anymore.

I still remember them coming over to our house to talk business, and Gio sneaking up to my room with like five pies stacked in his tiny-ass hands, half of them already sliding off.

Sometimes he’d drop one and he would just look me dead in the eye and go, “I dropped it on purpose. So you could eat it.”

One time he was eating so fast he literally choked.

I freaked out, tried to help him, but he went, “Don’t you dare touch me.”

So I let him choke. For like ten minutes.

Sat there watching this stubborn little idiot cough up pie crumbs and pride.

Noah’s voice cut through the quiet. “So… if I eat one now, is that, like… disrespectful to his trauma or—”

“Don’t you dare touch one,” I snapped, hugging the bowl like a dragon with gold.

“Jesus,” Daisy said. “You’re already acting like his husband.”

I groaned. “Someone get me a veil.”

My mom just smiled and kissed my cheek. “I’ll be downstairs. Try not to kill each other.”

She left, and I looked at the bowl again.

Gio didn’t know it yet, but he was about to get handed a tray of love disguised as pie.

And maybe a little of my heart too. But… you know. Casual.

We finally made it to the top of the stairs, overloaded, when my dad stepped out of his office, looking up from a folder with his usual stern-CEO-of-this-household expression.

He gave us all a once-over. “Heading out?”

Noah, who had a bag on each shoulder and a drink already in his hand, gave him a thumbs up. “Just embracing our identities as dehydrated beach rats.”

My dad’s eyes landed on me. “Rava, before you go, don’t forget you still have to sign those documents for the next meeting. We need them sent out by tomorrow.”

Before I could even answer, Daisy stepped in like she was ready to throw hands.

“Oh my GOD, Dad. Let the man enjoy one summer day without reminding him of corporate doom!”

My dad rolled his eyes. “It’s not—”

“Let him live!” she said dramatically, spreading her arms like she was defending my honor.

I stifled a laugh and held up my hands. “Okay, okay, we’ll talk later. It’s fine.”

I adjusted the bowl of pies under one arm, holding three bags. “Wait,” I said suddenly. “Before we leave. We need a photo.”

Everyone paused mid-complaint.

“Seriously,” I said, already pulling out my phone. “Who knows when we’ll get this idiot back in Italy again.” I jerked my head toward Noah.

He placed a hand on his chest. “Wow. Emotional damage.”

“Stand together,” I said, grinning, and turned to my dad. “Can you take one of us? Please?”

He looked a little surprised, but nodded. “Sure.”

He set his folder aside and walked over, taking the phone from my hand. I watched him step back, squint a little at the light, and raise the phone with both hands.

I looked at Daisy and Noah, who were already nudging each other and fighting over who got to stand on which side.

I looked at my dad, who was now crouching down a little to get the “perfect angle.”

My dad’s face changed.

He was still holding my phone, but he wasn’t looking at the screen anymore.

He was looking at me.

Frowning.

“Why is Gio calling you?” he asked.

Everything inside me dropped.

The bags in my hands might as well have vanished. My heart slammed into my ribs like it was trying to escape my body. Time slowed.

“What?” I croaked.

He turned the screen toward me. My phone. Gio’s name.

Incoming Call.

Fuck.

I lunged forward and grabbed the phone from him, hands slightly shaking, and turned away.

“Yes, Gio?” I answered, trying to sound normal.

His voice hit me like a gut punch. But I didn’t let myself feel it. I couldn’t.

“NO,” I snapped suddenly, louder than I meant to. “I don’t have the client info yet—because I wasn’t sent the files, Gio. I told you that. The brief came in late last night. I’ll update you when I get to my laptop, okay?” I said sharper than I ever had to him in my life.

It hurt.

Every word felt like I was cutting my own skin open. I wanted to apologize. I wanted to tell him it was fake, that I was scared, that I had no choice.

Instead, I just hung up.

And for a moment, I stood there staring at the black screen.

My throat burned.

I wanted to cry.

I had just lied to him. Lied at him. And I could hear how it must’ve sounded, cold. Dismissive.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and turned back around, my face burning.

My dad was still watching me, like he was trying to read something behind my eyes.

I wiped my forehead with the back of my hand and forced a breath.

“Alright,” I said with a flat voice. “Let’s go. Everyone out.”

Noah blinked. “You okay?”

“I said let’s go.”

I walked to the door without waiting. I couldn’t stay in that moment a second longer.

If I did, I might’ve broken down. Right there. In front of everyone.

And Gio would’ve heard it in my voice. And I couldn’t let him know.

Not yet.

---

Pookies i know this was kinda small, but i promise, the next two chapters are so MWAH 🤌 and bigger.

Have faith in me, okay ? :)

68) Back Away From Him

Rava’s POV

I instantly spotted Gio.

Leaning against his car, arms crossed, sunglasses on, black tank top hugging him in all the wrong (or right) ways.

He looked dangerous, hot, and slightly pissed.

Probably because of me.

And I couldn’t even look him in the eyes.

Not after the way I spoke to him.

Not after lying to him.

Not after making him feel like some… secret.

Especially when that’s the exact reason we’d stopped talking in the first place.

I forced a smile as we reached him, holding the bowl.

“Hey,” I said, trying to sound upbeat. “Uh, this is for you. My mom made them. Cause you used to devour them as a kid.”

He blinked, clearly caught off guard.

Then something soft passed over his face. A flicker of warmth.

Noah stepped in dramatically. “She literally protected that bowl like it held the cure for cancer. I tried to eat one, and I nearly lost a finger.”

Daisy grinned. “She said ‘these are for Gio and ONLY Gio.’ And then glared at us for like twenty minutes.”

Gio laughed under his breath.

“Okay, your mom is a legend. I will ask her if she can adopt me.”

Noah burst out laughing. “You tryna be Rava’s stepbrother now? Should we leave y’all alone so you can recreate one of those forbidden videos or…?”

I groaned. “Jesus Christ, Noah.”

Daisy shoved him toward the backseat. “Come on, shut up and get in. It’s boiling out here.”

Everyone started moving toward the car. I lingered for a second, my hand brushing the side mirror. I didn’t deserve that smile he gave me. But I wanted to believe he meant it anyway.

“Front seat, Rava,” Noah said, opening the back door and literally shoving me forward. “If you even think about sitting in the back, I’m divorcing you as my best friend.”

“Yes, sir,” I muttered, sliding into the passenger seat before he could start a legal process.

I looked over, Gio was already behind the wheel, sunglasses pushed up, bowl balanced right on top of his ridiculously big thighs.

Lorenzo leaned into the window from outside. “You want me to hold that for you?”

Gio turned his head slowly, like he was staring death in the face. “Touch the bowl and I’ll make sure you feel pain in places you didn’t know could hurt.”

“Ooooh,” Lorenzo said with a grin. “Okay, sexy. I’m into the threats.”

I laughed before I could stop myself. God. It was such a stupid exchange, but it felt good. Gio holding onto that bowl like it was the most important thing in the world? I didn’t even care if he said thank you. Just the fact that he didn’t let it go, like it mattered to him, meant everything.

The music was blasting. Windows down, sun pouring in, everyone yelling over each other.

I was finally starting to relax, watching the trees blur by, glancing over at Gio every few seconds. He looked good. One hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on the gearshift, sunglasses sliding down his nose.

The bowl of pies still sat carefully on his lap, and yeah, maybe I checked on it like, thirteen times.

“STOP HERE!!” Lorenzo screamed from the back seat.

Gio slammed the brakes so hard the tires screeched.

I instinctively shot my arm out across the bowl, steadying it.

Neither of us commented on it. But he noticed. I know he did.

Gio turned in his seat, his entire expression a cocktail of rage, confusion, and what the fuckery.

“Are you insane?!” he snapped. “You’re lucky this is the only car in the damn street or I’d be peeling your intestines off the pavement right now! What the actual fuck, Lorenzo?!”

Lorenzo, entirely unbothered, ducked into Daisy’s shoulder like he was a toddler being scolded. “We have to stop at the supermarket. We’re out of the tiny grape babies.”

I almost choked on my own laugh. Gio looked like he was going to combust.

“The what ?”

“The little grapes,” Lorenzo said. “The sexy small ones. They come in that cute clear box.”

Gio was gripping the steering wheel so hard I thought it might snap. “I swear to God, if you ever scream like that again, I’ll take those grapes and shove them so far up your ass they’ll ferment.”

I had to turn and look out the window to hide the laugh trying to break out of my mouth. His face. The fury. The absurdity of it all.

Gio turned forward again, sighing. “So? Are you going or not?”

Lorenzo lifted his hands in surrender. “ You have to go. I’m trapped in here between two idiots and roughly eight hundred tote bags. I literally can’t feel my legs.“

Gio laughed through his teeth, head falling back on the seat like he was begging for divine intervention.

“I’ll go,” I offered, already opening the door. “I wanted to grab something anyway.”

“Perfect!” Lorenzo chirped. “Go together. Gio knows what grapes I want.”

Gio turned his head slowly toward me, raising one eyebrow like you sure about this?

I shrugged. “Let’s go.”

He groaned, but put the car in park and got out.

The supermarket air-conditioning hit like a blessing from the gods.

I exhaled slowly, dragging a basket behind me as Gio walked a few steps ahead.

He hadn’t said much since we stepped out of the car. I kept trying to think of something normal to say—Nice weather we’re having? So how’s your trauma?—but nothing came out right.

We were walking down the produce aisle when he finally spoke.

“So what are you grabbing?”

I blinked. “Uh. I don’t know. I just said that so Lorenzo wouldn’t make you go alone.”

He stopped. Turned. “Seriously?”

I shrugged, trying to look cool and failing. “I figured you didn’t want to be left alone with the grapes and your rage.”

That earned me a breath of a laugh.

“You’re not wrong.”

God, this is awkward.

I can’t believe we’re back here.

If I don’t say something, this is it. We’ll split. I’ll leave Italy and we won’t even say goodbye. Not even a hey, take care.

I need to do something. Say something. Anything.

We kept walking. He found the grapes easily. He inspected it with the intensity of a bomb technician.

I was pretending to examine some overpriced peaches, when I heard a voice.

“Hey—you.”

Unfamiliar voice.

I turned.

A guy, some dude with sunglasses on his head and cargo shorts that screamed ‘thinks he’s funny’ was pointing at me.

“I know you,” he said. “You were at the protest outside the mayor’s office, right? You’re that teacher’s assistant who got in that argument with the security guy. What was your name? Don? Dave?”

My stomach dropped. Not because I was embarrassed, but because of the tone.

My brain blanked.

“Um, I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else, man.”

“No. I remember you. You looked nervous then too.”

What the hell?

I took a step back. My hands were cold even though I was sweating. He was staring me down like I was some criminal on the run.

“I really think you’re confusing me—”

“Bullshit,” he snapped. “I don’t forget faces. Especially ones sneaking out of shady shit.”

No one around us was doing anything. Just passing glances, pretending not to see.

“Back away from him.”

The guy froze. Turned. And so did I.

Gio was there, and his expression was unreadable.

“Who the hell are you supposed to be?” the guy muttered.

“I’m the one who can make you regret talking to him like that,” Gio said. “Last warning. Back off.”

The man laughed awkwardly. “What, is he your little pet?”

Gio smiles. “Keep your mouth clean, sir. I won’t be embarrassed to make a scene right here.”

The man snorts. “Oh, fuck off, I’m not even talking to you, dude. Why are you getting involved? He knows what he did.”

Do I?

Gio smiles. “Tell me your name.”

“Why the hell would I tell you my name?”

“So I can remember it when I’m explaining to security why you ended up on the floor.”

The guy is trying to decide if Gio is bluffing.

Gio stares. “You think I’m kidding?”

Silence.

“Leave. Now. Before I make sure you can’t walk into another store without remembering me.”

And he did. He left.

Like a roach scurrying from light.

I stood there, shaking, trying to pull air into my lungs.

Gio finally turned to me. His jaw clenched.

“Don’t let people talk to you like that.”

“I didn’t expect—”

“I never expect. That’s why I’m always ready.”

He paused.

“You okay now?”

I nodded, slowly. “Yeah.”

“Good.” He looked away. “Idiot.”

I swallowed hard.

“Thanks,” I said, quietly.

He didn’t say anything.

Just kept walking.

So I followed. Quiet. But also… weirdly safe.

We walked towards the line, the basket between us filled with tiny grapes, a bottle of water, and some random snacks Gio had aggressively tossed in without thinking, probably just to distract himself. Or me. Or both of us.

I shifted on my feet, heart still thumping from the guy earlier.

But that wasn’t what was killing me now.

It was him.

Acting like nothing had happened.

And I couldn’t leave it like that.

I took a breath, eyes fixed on the rows of gum and overpriced batteries.

“About earlier,” I said quietly. “The call.”

Gio didn’t look at me, just scratched the back of his neck.

“You don’t have to explain.”

“No,” I said quickly. “I do.”

He stayed silent.

I pushed on. “You called, and my dad was holding my phone, and I panicked. That’s why I spoke to you like that. Like it was some… business thing.”

Still nothing.

My voice cracked a little. “I hated how I sounded. I hated it. I swear I wasn’t trying to push you away. I just—he was watching and I didn’t know what else to do.”

Finally, he turned his head.

His eyes met mine for a second, calm and unreadable. Then he shrugged softly.

“It’s fine.”

I blinked. “It’s not fine.”

“It is,” he said, eyes already drifting back toward the fridge near the counter. “Seriously. I get it.”

But I knew that tone. That don’t poke it tone. He didn’t want to talk about it.

Still, I wasn’t ready to let it go. My mouth opened again, one last try—

And that’s when it happened.

Without warning, he leaned in and kissed me.

It was super quick. Nothing crazy.

But it hit me like a freaking car crash in slow motion.

By the time I processed it, he was already walking away, grabbing a bottle of orange juice like nothing happened.

Cool. Chill.

I just stood there.

Frozen.

Mouth slightly parted. Basket still in hand. Staring at the back of his neck.

Holy. Shit.

He kissed me. On the lips. In public. And he’s sober.

I felt my knees go weird. Like I was about to fold into myself and ascend to another dimension.

My brain: Say something. Do something. Breathe.

I did none of the above. I just stood there, feeling like I was fifteen and had just been kissed for the first time in my entire goddamn life.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to giggle. I wanted to kiss him back so hard until the homophobic grandmas nearby gasp.

But all I could do was stare.

And maybe smile like an idiot.

We walked back to the car in silence.

Correction: He walked. I floated.

I followed him like a dog that had just been given its first-ever treat and didn’t know what to do with its body anymore.

Gio looked completely unaffected.

I, meanwhile, was having the most dramatic internal breakdown in the history of crushes.

I had officially entered the “Replay The Kiss Every 0.3 Seconds” mental loop.

Is that cause I secretly love him?

The pressure of his lips. The warmth. The way he didn’t say a single word before or after. The softness of it.

Was I supposed to just carry on? Pretend my world didn’t just rearrange itself around one tiny kiss?

As we reached the car, I almost tripped on my own feet trying to open the door. Noah noticed immediately.

“Jesus,” he said, squinting at me. “You okay?”

“Yup,” I said. Voice two octaves too high. “Great. Grapes acquired. Juice secured. Life’s good.”

Daisy looked between me and Gio, suspicious as always. “You two take a while. What, you get lost in the cracker aisle?”

“Nope,” Gio said, already sliding back into the driver’s seat, as if he hadn’t just kissed me for the first time in public while SOBER.

Lorenzo, still wedged in the middle seat, perked up. “You got the sexy tiny grapes?”

Gio tossed the container back at him without looking. “Don’t scream next time and I won’t run us into a wall.”

Lorenzo hugged the grapes. “My grapes, my rules.”

I got in, shut the door, and stared straight ahead. I could see Gio’s profile out of the corner of my eye.

Was it a one-time thing? A thank you kiss? A shut up kiss? A we’re okay kiss?

God, I wanted to ask.

But instead, I just sat there, pretending to be normal.

Inside?

Screaming.

Outside?

Cool. Collected. Maybe a little flushed. But totally fine.

Probably.

The sand was already burning through my shoes when I stepped out of the car.

Somewhere behind me, Noah was yelling about how his sunscreen had exploded inside his bag.

Daisy was carrying the speaker. Lorenzo was trying to carry the cooler and the beach umbrella at the same time, looking like a drunk flamingo.

And Gio?

Gio was carrying one thing.

That damn bowl.

He hadn’t let it go once.

And maybe I shouldn’t have found that so ridiculously sweet. But I did.

We finally reached a half-empty spot near the edge of the beach, shaded by a few crooked umbrellas someone had abandoned. The sea stretched out in front of us, blue and shiny.

We dropped our stuff.

Noah immediately ripped his shirt off and launched himself onto a towel. “If anyone tries to touch me for the next ten minutes, I will scream.”

Daisy kicked off her flip flops and threw a bag at Lorenzo. “Set up the umbrella, strongman.”

“Yes ma’am.”

I knelt on the towel, wiping my forehead with the back of my hand. Sweat clung to my back, and the sun felt like it was trying to devour us whole.

Gio finally set the bowl down on a towel carefully, and then sat beside it.

“You gonna share those?” Noah asked, squinting.

Gio shot him a look. “I’ll consider it. If you behave.”

“Then it’s a no,” Daisy muttered, pouring herself water.

I was sitting close. Not close close, but close enough to feel the tension again. That quiet space between our bodies that felt like it could go boom with one wrong movement.

I leaned back, sunglasses sliding down my nose.

He hadn’t looked at me since the kiss. Not really.

I didn’t know if I should say something. I didn’t know if I could.

But every time his fingers brushed the rim of that bowl, I wanted to kiss him again. Just once. Just to prove it wasn’t a dream.

Daisy pulled out the playing cards. “Okay. We’re tan. We’re sweaty. We’re legally stupid. Time for blackjack.”

Lorenzo was already halfway into a beer. “High stakes?”

“Bragging rights and one of Gio’s pies,” Noah offered, grinning.

Gio clutched the bowl. “You’ll die before I give you one willingly.”

I finally smiled.

The deck of cards hit the towel like a declaration of war.

“Alright, degenerates,” Daisy said, fanning them out like she was dealing at a Vegas table. “Standard rules. Cheating is allowed. Crying is not.”

Noah immediately pulled his sunglasses down. “Define cheating.”

“Anything Lorenzo does,” she replied.

“Hey!” Lorenzo said, full offense in his voice. “I only cheated once.”

“You flashed Noah your abs to distract him and stole two cards,” I pointed out.

“That’s called strategy, babe.”

We broke into teams. Me and Gio against Lorenzo and Noah, with Daisy as the chaotic dealer-slash-commentator who switched sides whenever it was funny.

The sun was hot. The music was low. The cards were flying. And I was pretty sure Lorenzo was inventing rules as we went.

“No one draws on a seven,” he said.

“That’s not a rule,” Gio muttered.

“It is now.”

Somewhere in the middle of this beautifully stupid chaos, Gio reached into the bowl beside him.

I wasn’t paying attention, still arguing with Noah over whether or not his five of hearts had always had peanut butter on it, when I felt something press against my arm.

I looked over—and Gio was holding out one of the pies.

For me.

Just like that.

His face was unreadable.

I blinked. “…For me?”

“You gonna make me take it back?” he said, pretending to look bored.

I took it. Carefully.

And I swear, I swear the moment my fingers touched his, my soul left my body.

Noah gasped so dramatically he nearly fell over. “EXCUSE ME?”

Lorenzo dropped his hand of cards. “You gave him a pie?!”

“You’ve known me since birth!” Lorenzo cried. “Where’s my pie?!”

“You two are so embarrassing,” Daisy groaned. “They’re being adorable and you’re over here acting like you lost custody.”

She pointed a dramatic finger at Gio. “Look at you. My brother turned you from a punch-happy maniac into a pie-sharing man. It’s disgusting.”

I was still holding the pie in both hands. I hadn’t even taken a bite yet. I was too busy being emotionally overwhelmed.

Lorenzo, dramatically offended, cracked open a bottle of something strong.

Noah turned on him immediately. “I thought you said you weren’t drinking anymore after that party.”

Lorenzo shrugged. “Forgive and forget.”

“You threw up on a cop car.”

“Forgive. And forget.”

We were all laughing.

I couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that he gave me a pie.

He didn’t have to share it. He just did.

And somehow, that meant more than words ever could.

---

HEY sorry for posting a bit late, i had to listen to my sister yapping about her red flag boyfriend ❤️

But here we are now, Im sure you loved this chapter:) I did.

The next one is even better in my opinion, but i think i will post it in TWO days instead of one.

DONT FORGET TO VOTE THIS BEAUTIFUL CHAPTER, IT WAS HARD TO WRITE OKAY?!?!

I NEED MY REASSURANCE FROM YOU PEOPLE.

BYE BYE!!!

69) He Loves You Too

Gio’s POV

I noticed some kids near us.

They’d been circling like sharks for the past ten minutes, whispering and giggling, darting behind their moms like we were some kind of zoo exhibit.

One of them pointed at Daisy. Another one stared way too long at Lorenzo, which, honestly, mood.

Rava saw them too.

The group approached.

Tiny feet stomping in the sand. Big eyes. Little braids. One of them had sand on her face like she just came from battle.

They marched up to Daisy.

“Can we sit with you and do your hair?”

And Daisy? She straight-up squealed.

“Oh my GOD,” she said, nearly throwing her cards in the air. “YES!”

Suddenly we were surrounded. Like surrounded surrounded. Five, six, seven kids—where the hell did they come from? Were they spawning?

One plopped between me and Rava. Another started unpacking tiny hair clips from her pink unicorn purse like she was clocking in for a shift.

“What just happened?” Noah whispered from across the towel.

“I think we got adopted,” Lorenzo said, letting a kid draw hearts on his arm with sunscreen.

…

Rava had a little boy crawling over his legs with a toy shark. Daisy was a human salon chair.

Lorenzo was teaching a toddler how to say the word “tequila” for some reason.

I looked around.

I looked at us.

Sunburnt idiots, covered in sand and surrounded by children like we were running a very illegal summer camp.

“Okay,” I muttered, “what the actual fuck.”

There’s a tiny human next to me.

She’s got glitter on her hair, sand in her face, and this very serious expression, like she just got back from filing taxes.

And she’s been staring at me.

Not in a “wow, you’re so cool” way.

In a “you better not screw this up” kind of way. Like she’s five and already disappointed in me.

Meanwhile, Rava is sitting right next to me being some sort of mythical, storybook prince.

This little boy is perched on his knee, clinging to him like a koala, eyes wide and locked onto Rava’s face, acting like he just met Jesus Christ himself.

And of course, Rava is smiling, talking to him about sharks and what it’s like to swim in deep water, all soft and patient and glowing.

And I’m just here. Sweating. Under surveillance by a child who’s clearly not impressed.

Across from us, it’s even more chaotic.

Noah is teaching a group of girls how to fist bump, except they’ve misunderstood the assignment and now they’re just smacking his hands over and over while he yells “ow!” and pretends to die dramatically.

Lorenzo is lying flat on his back while a boy tries to stack Pringles on his forehead. He’s not moving. He’s treating it like a religious experience.

Daisy, meanwhile, is getting her fourth braid and has officially entered her queen of the kingdom era.

I glance at the girl next to me again.

Still staring.

I clear my throat.

“Uh… hey,” I say.

She blinks.

“Nice… clips?” I offer.

Nothing.

She squints. “Why are you so grumpy?”

I almost die.

“I’m not grumpy,” I say, and it comes out grumpy, obviously.

“You have grumpy eyebrows,” she informs me, very seriously. “And your arms are all crossed.”

I uncross my arms on instinct.

She nods approvingly.

Okay. One point for me.

I look at Rava. He’s laughing at something the kid just told him. The boy is now resting his head on his shoulder.

And for a moment, watching that, I forget to panic.

I forget about sand, and glitter, and the terrifying child next to me.

Because I’m watching Rava be soft and kind and perfect. And I feel something tug in my chest.

The glitter goblin was still eyeing me, when her gaze dropped to my arms.

“Why do you have so many tattoos?”

I glanced down. Most of them were visible. The dragon, the lettering, the smoke on my wrist.

I shrugged. “Because I didn’t want to look boring.”

She tilted her head. “You look like someone scribbled on you with marker.”

I almost laughed. “Coolest marker ever, though.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Are they real?”

“No, I put these on with stickers this morning.”

She gasped.

I rolled my eyes. “Kidding. They’re real. Forever real.”

She stared harder. “Do they hurt?”

“Sometimes,” I said. “But you get used to it.”

She keeps looking at me.

I try again. “So, uh… do you like… sand?”

What the fuck, Gio.

She blinks once. “No. Sand is for babies. But I do make good sandcastles. I bet you don’t know how to build a sandcastle.”

“What?”

“You just look like someone who doesn’t.”

“What does that even mean?”

She shrugged. “You’re tall and angry. People like that don’t build castles. They stomp on them.”

“Oh, really?” I leaned forward. “You think I can’t build a little castle?”

“A little one? No. You probably can’t even make one of the baby ones with the tiny bucket.”

My ego.

My entire fucking ego just took psychic damage.

I stood up.

Took my shirt off.

“Where are you going?” Rava asked, eyebrows raised.

“I’ve been challenged,” I said, pointing down at the tiny glitter assassin. “She thinks I can’t build a sandcastle.”

Noah gasped dramatically. “A duel?!”

Lorenzo raised his beer. “A beach battle!”

I looked down at her again. “Alright, little sand demon. Let’s go. I’m about to build you the best damn castle this beach has ever seen.”

She stood up like a knight preparing for combat. “If it’s ugly, I’m telling my mom.”

“I’d expect nothing less.”

I, Gio-the-human-punching-bag, walked off into the sand…

To prove myself to a six-year-old.

Because pride? Pride is fucking dangerous.

But glitter-goblin judgment? That’s worse.

We’re in full castle mode now.

Kid next to me is barking orders like she’s running a construction site and I’m the underpaid intern.

I’m building the second tower. She’s making a little shell path up to the “royal entrance.” She’s muttering about symmetry. I’m sweating.

We’re arguing about if the moat should have a bridge, when I hear footsteps behind me.

I turn.

Rava’s walking up again.

And just like that—boom.

Everything slows down.

My tone shifts. My back straightens. I suddenly become a functioning human with customer service energy.

“Hey,” I say, calm as hell.

Rava smiles a little. “Need more shells?”

“Could use a few. Or maybe another set of hands.”

He laughs, real soft, then kneels down across from me. For a second, we’re just… looking at each other. Not talking. Just breathing the same warm air and pretending this castle matters more than it does.

But then he gets pulled into something by one of the other kids, and after a minute, he gets up to help carry something back to the group.

Young thief.

Now it’s just me again.

Me and the glitter goblin.

She’s sitting cross-legged in the sand now, like a tiny therapist who charges in juice boxes instead of money. Arms crossed, head tilted.

“You like him,” she says.

“Who?”

She gives me the slowest, most dramatic blink back. “The boy with the green eyes.”

“Rava?”

“Yeah. Him.”

I scoff, trying to play it off. “What makes you think that?”

She shrugs like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “You looked different when he came.”

“Different how?”

She points at my face. “Your eyebrows went less mad. And you stopped sitting all grumpy like a potato.”

I blink. “I sat like a what ?”

She ignores me and keeps going. “And when you gave him that little pie before, your mouth did a smile. But not like a ‘haha’ one. Like a ‘I want to give you ten pies’ one.”

My jaw drops a little. “You’ve been… watching us since then?!”

“Yeah,” she says, like I’m the weird one. “You keep looking at him when he’s not looking at you. And when the little boy, my friend, sat on his lap, your eyes went funny.”

I stare at her. “What kind of funny?”

She squints. “Like… shiny. Not wet, just shiny. My mom says it’s when people feel stuff in their heart.”

Okay, that’s it. I’m going to dissolve into the sand.

“You’re a child,” I mumble. “You shouldn’t know things like that.”

She shrugs again. “My best friend has two dads. One of them makes cookies and the other helps with math. They smile at each other like you do at him. Only you try to hide it.”

I look down. My fingers are playing with the corner of a shell without realizing.

She scoots closer, brushing sand off her knee.

“It’s okay, you know. My mommy says love is when you want to share your snacks and your space.”

I let out a weird half-laugh. “Is that so?”

She nods, serious. “And you gave him your pie. So.”

I shake my head, smiling despite myself. “You’re dangerous.”

She just grins, proud of herself. “I know.”

And I sit there. Quiet for a second. Thinking way too much.

Then I pick up another shell and start building again.

She’s quiet for a bit. Just poking the sand with that same tiny stick, drawing shapes that don’t really look like anything.

I think she’s finally run out of things to say, and honestly, I’m kinda relieved.

“Do you love him?”

I sigh. Loud. “You really don’t let stuff go, huh?”

She shrugs, eyes still on the sand. “It’s not my fault. You look like you do.”

I don’t answer. I pick at the shell wall on the castle. Fix a crack. Anything to keep my hands busy.

She looks up at me. Her face is round, cheeks still pink from the sun, little glitter flakes stuck to her forehead.

“How long have you known him?”

I pause. “Since I was about your age.”

Her eyes go huge. “That’s forever !”

I chuckle. “Feels like it.”

She tilts her head. “Then… why aren’t you together?”

I let out a breath, slow. “It’s… complicated.”

She frowns. “But you love him. And he looks at you like my dog looks at pancakes.”

“What?”

She nods seriously. “Maybe he loves you too.”

I actually laugh. First real one in a bit. “That’s messed up.”

She giggles. “But true.”

I squint at her. “Okay. Then what makes you think he loves me?”

She blinks at me, like it’s the dumbest question she’s heard all day.

“Because he does, duh.”

I groan. “You can’t just say ‘duh.’ You don’t even know him.”

She holds up a hand like she’s about to present a case in court. “I watched him.”

I stare. “…You watched him?”

“Yup.”

She starts counting on her fingers again. Tiny, sandy fingers, all serious.

“First, when you gave him the pie, he looked like he was gonna cry. But, happy-cry. Not sad-cry. My dog does that when I give her chicken.”

“That’s… oddly specific.”

She keeps going.

“Also, when you weren’t looking, he fixed your towel twice so it wouldn’t get sand on your water bottle. I saw it!”

I pause. That… I didn’t see.

“And one time,” she adds, “when your friend said something really loud and dumb, Rava laughed, but then he looked at you to see if you were laughing too.”

I go still.

That one gets me. Because I know that look. I’ve done that look.

“And,” she says, like a finishing move, “he always puts his arm like this when you sit near him.”

She makes a crooked shape with her elbow in the air.

“Like a little shield. Like he’s saving a space for you.”

I stare at her.

“See?” she says. “He loves you too!”

I don’t know what to say. I just sit there, looking down at my hands.

A six-year-old just told me more about my own life than I’ve let myself believe in months.

I stare at her. I don’t even know what to say. She’s not wrong. And that makes it worse.

“He’s going to Canada.”

She stops. “Where’s that?”

“Far,” I say. “ Really far.“

She thinks. “Why doesn’t he stay here?”

“Because…” I swallow. “He wants to be a teacher. He’s doing school there.”

She frowns again. “That’s dumb. Why can’t he teach here?”

“Because sometimes people need to leave to get where they’re going.”

She picks up a shell. “Do you live with your mommy and daddy?”

I smile.

“No. I live alone. With my cat.”

She looks up, surprised. “Why?”

“Cause I want space.”

She stares for a second, then looks down. “Oh.”

Her voice is really soft now.

“My teacher yells a lot. I wish he was like your friend. He looks like he’s nice. And he has that kind face. Not like Mr. Bruno.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Mr. Bruno?”

She groans. “He’s always sweaty. And his nose makes a weird noise when he breathes.”

I laugh again. “Hey, that’s not very nice.”

She looks up at me, shocked. “Are you being nice right now?”

I shrug. “Maybe.”

She smiles. Then after a second: “You should tell him.”

“Tell him what?”

She rolls her eyes like it’s obvious. “That you love him. Before he leaves. Otherwise your heart will explode. My friend said that happened to her aunt.”

I grin. “Your friend is full of stories.”

She nods. “She’s in third grade. She knows everything . She’s so cool.”

I look out at the water, feel the sun on my back, hear the others laughing in the distance.

I stand up, brush some sand off my legs, and glance down at the tattoo on my calf.

Still holding up. Not red, not peeling, not looking like it’s gonna fall off my body.

Cool. Guess I won’t die.

The sun is roasting my back like I’m a rotisserie chicken.

“Alright, I’m going in,” I say to the kid. “My whole spine is melting.”

She looks up from where she’s adding glitter shells to the castle gate. “Don’t drown.”

“Thanks, princess. So supportive.”

“It’s Emiliana.”

“Well thanks then, Emiliana. Beautiful name, by the way. I’m Gio. Don’t forget to mention it when you talk to your friends about my beautiful castle.”

I head toward the water. The second I dive in, it’s like my brain resets. The salt stings a little, but it’s worth it. Everything slows down.

I float for a second, arms out, just… breathing.

Then I drag myself out, wet hair in my face, board shorts dripping, and I’m already mentally preparing to say something fake-macho like “water’s for the weak” even though I nearly moaned when I hit the cold.

I walk back toward the towels, and stop.

Because Daisy now has every single strand of hair in braids.

Tiny, perfect braids. She looks like she’s auditioning for a fantasy princess role and winning.

Lorenzo’s staring at her like she might levitate.

Rava’s sitting cross-legged with two little boys next to him, completely surrounded by crayon drawings, dragons, rockets, what looks like me but with devil horns and a motorcycle.

The kid army has clearly made him their art king.

I walk up, grab my towel, and Daisy turns to me.

“Oh, look who survived his dramatic dip.”

Rava doesn’t even look up. “Was the ocean kind to you, oh castle knight?”

Lorenzo appears from behind the cooler. “More importantly, how’s your little friend doing?”

I squint. “Excuse me?”

“The child,” Daisy says. “You’ve basically adopted her. You do realize with that castle-building and soft-voice routine, she’s gonna grow up thinking dangerous tattooed men are a love language?”

“She’s gonna walk around the playground looking for emotionally unavailable bad boys,” Noah adds, sipping from a juice pouch he stole from some child’s lunchbox.

“She’s doomed,” Lorenzo says, nodding seriously. “Next week she’s gonna be like, ‘I made eye contact with a biker.’”

I point my towel at them. “You’re all sick.”

“You were kneeling in the sand building a castle,” Daisy says. “You looked like a sad Disney prince with commitment issues.”

I open my mouth. Close it. Open it again.

“…It was a structurally solid castle.”

“Sure it was,” Rava says, finally looking at me and smiling.

And damn it. Now I’m smiling.

I flop down next to the towel, still dripping.

The little girl’s not even around right now.

But I’m still hearing her voice in the back of my head.

“He loves you too.”

---

Hey guys:) In the kindle version on Amazon, there is an extra scene with Gio and emiliana :))

If you wanna read it (and support my broke ass), the link is in this comment section:) ➡️

THANK YOU BYE ❤️❤️

70) You’ll Come Back

Rava’s POV

Noah was lying on his back, arms stretched out across my bed.

His suitcase was half-zipped on the floor.

I sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on my knees.

Neither of us spoke for a while.

Then Noah sighed. “This sucks.”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t wanna go.”

“I know.”

We went quiet again.

“I’m really glad I came, man.”

I looked at him. His eyes were on the ceiling.

“I know I’ve only been here a couple days, but it feels like I’ve lived three lifetimes since I landed. I made a complete fool of myself at least five times. I got sunburnt in places that shouldn’t be sunburnt. I almost got kicked out of a restaurant because of Lorenzo, TWICE.”

I snorted. “Three times.”

He grinned. “THREE times.”

Then his voice dropped a little.

“But I met them. I met Gio. And I got to know your life here. Your people.”

He turned his head toward me.

“Aw man, I finally got to see what it feels like to be around the person who’s gonna be my best friend’s future husband.”

I shook my head. “He’s not my future husband.”

“Right. Cause you’re flying back to Canada in two weeks,” he said, raising his eyebrows.

And then it hit me. Harder than I was ready for.

That sentence.

“You’re flying back to Canada in two weeks.”

I swallowed.

It was like my chest cracked open on its own.

Shit.

Before I could stop it, my eyes started to sting.

Noah sat up the second he saw.

“No. No no no no no no. Don’t you do that. Don’t do that to me.”

I tried to turn my face away, wipe my eyes fast, but it was already happening.

I felt like I couldn’t keep anything in anymore.

“I don’t want to leave him,” I choked.

“I know.”

“I don’t want to leave any of this.”

Noah pulled me into a hug, arms tight around my shoulders.

“Hey. Hey, it’s okay. Cry like a little bitch. You’re safe.”

I let out a broken laugh, but it collapsed into a sob halfway through.

“I love him so much.”

“I know you do.”

“It hurts. It hurts, Noah.”

“I know.”

I pulled back just enough to breathe, wiping my face with the sleeve of his shirt.

“I would never ask him to come with me,” I said, shaking my head. “He has the business. His dad’s business. It’s all he has left of him. He’d never leave it. And I’d never ask.”

Noah rubbed my shoulder.

“I get it. I do. Trust me—if it were up to me, I’d lock you both in a house together until you got married and had three overly dramatic kids with tattoos.”

I laughed again.

“But Rava,” he said, more serious now, “I’ve known you for four years. I’ve heard you talk about your plan for your life a thousand times. I could recite your plan like a speech. And yeah, it’s annoyingly solid. School, degree, teaching, a life you built for yourself.”

He paused.

“I’m not saying Gio doesn’t deserve you. But that plan… it deserves a shot too.”

I stared at him, quiet.

And he added, “I just hate that sometimes the people we love aren’t on the same page at the same time.”

I nodded slowly.

“I’ve never loved anyone like this.”

And that was it. I cracked again. Caved into him, forehead pressed to his shoulder.

Noah just held me.

Didn’t say anything.

I stayed folded into him for a minute. Maybe two. I don’t know. Everything felt blurry and sharp at the same time.

“You know you two have to talk, right?”

I didn’t answer.

“I mean it,” he said gently. “You guys are like—painfully in love. It’s obvious to everyone except you two, apparently.”

I sniffed. “We do talk.”

“Yeah. About grapes. And pies. And emotional eye contact. Not your actual feelings.”

I mumbled, “It’s hard.”

“I know it’s hard,” he said. “But you’re both acting like this whole thing is just gonna… sort itself out. Like feelings are furniture you can push around until the room feels right.”

That actually made me laugh. Just a little.

Noah pulled back to look at me. “You keep saying you love him. You cry over him. You talk about him like he’s the moon.”

I groaned. “Oh my God—”

“The MOON, Rava.”

I shoved him lightly. “You’re disgusting.”

“I’m right, though.”

I wiped my face again.

“I don’t want to make it harder for him,” I said. “What if I tell him all of it and it makes leaving worse?”

Noah shook his head.

“No. See, that’s the problem. You keep protecting him from your feelings. But that’s not love, Rava. That’s fear.”

I stared at him.

He softened. “You owe him honesty. You owe yourself honesty. Even if it’s messy. Even if it hurts.”

I swallowed.

“You don’t have to fix everything,” he added. “But at least give him the truth.”

I looked down.

“I don’t want to say goodbye.”

He leaned his head against mine.

“Then don’t,” he said. “Say everything else instead.”

He looked at me for a second. Then walked over and pulled me into one last hug.

Tight.

Neither of us said anything for a few seconds.

“You good?” he mumbled into my shoulder.

“No.”

He chuckled. “Same.”

We pulled apart. He looked at me with that stupid, soft expression he always gave me when he knew I was about to spiral again.

“Come on, I have to say my goodbyes now.”

We stepped out of my house and started walking toward Gio’s.

He reached over and wiped under my eye with his thumb.

“There. Pretty again,” he said, all smug.

I rolled my eyes, but it made me laugh. “You cried too.”

“Yeah, cause you did, bitch.”

When we reached Gio’s, Daisy opened to us.

---

Gio’s POV

They walked in and the first thing I noticed, hell, the only thing I noticed, was him.

Rava.

Always those damn green eyes.

But this time? They were red, puffy. Like he’d been crying. Hard. Still looked beautiful, though.

I glanced away, quick. Tried to play it cool. Probably just crying because Noah’s leaving, I told myself. Yeah. That’s gotta be it. Sweet little idiot.

But then he looked at me.

And I remembered what that little girl said at the beach.

Emiliana.

The way she sat there with sand on her knees and told me without blinking that Rava loved me. And worse, showed me how .

It was ridiculous. She was six. What the hell did she know?

“Can I sit here?” he asked, quiet.

I looked at the empty spot next to me like I hadn’t been saving it for him all night.

I squinted. “No.”

He blinked, caught off guard.

And then I smirked and grabbed his wrist, yanking him down onto the couch beside me.

“Idiot,” I muttered, but it came out softer than I meant.

He laughed, and bumped his shoulder into mine.

Then, of course, Lorenzo happened.

“NoooOOOOAH!”

He launched himself at him.

Noah yelped as he was pulled down into Lorenzo’s lap. “What the—?!”

“My sun! My moon! My bisexual legend!” Lorenzo sobbed dramatically, cradling him. “Don’t leave me with Romeo and Juliet and the human embodiment of domestic violence!”

“I heard that!” Daisy yelled from my desk, rummaging through God knows what.

Noah tossed his head back against Lorenzo’s chest. “I’ll miss you most, my love. I’ll think of you every time I smell tequila.”

Lorenzo gasped. “Say that again but slower.”

Rava snorted quietly beside me. I caught it. I always catch it when he laughs. It’s this breathy little thing, like he’s trying not to disturb the moment but also can’t help it.

“Seriously,” I mumbled, nodding toward Daisy. “What the hell’s she doing?”

“Now you’ll see,” she called out, vibrating with excitement.

Daisy dropped the album in Noah’s lap. “Open it,” she said, grinning.

Rava leaned closer to see. I caught his shoulder brushing mine and didn’t even care that my skin was burning from the sun. Worth it.

Noah opened to the first page.

Photo 1:

Rava in the middle, Noah kissing one cheek, me kissing the other.

“No fucking way,” I muttered.

Daisy laughed. “The symmetry is insane.”

“Rava looks like he’s about to be sacrificed to the gods of chaos,” Lorenzo added, biting into a chip.

Noah fake gasped. “This is art. This is love. This is betrayal. I knew you wanted me and Gio to fight over you.”

“Shut up,” Rava mumbled, smiling so hard his dimples nearly cracked his face in half.

I looked away before I got soft about it.

Photo 2:

Lorenzo and Noah doing the Titanic pose on the balcony.

Lorenzo screamed. “YES! MY FAVORITE!”

“I almost fell off the damn rail,” Noah muttered.

“You begged me to do it,” Lorenzo said. “You said ‘I wanna feel like a Disney princess.’”

“Lies,” Noah said, then paused. “Okay not lies. But look at my arms. Iconic.”

“Look at the pot you kicked over,” Daisy pointed. “That succulent never recovered.”

Photo 3:

Rava chugging a comically large beer, me staring at him like a creep.

The room went silent.

Daisy snorted. “You look like you’re about to propose.”

“I was not, I was just—watching your poor life choices. Closely.”

Noah slapped his leg. “He’s looking at you like the beer doesn’t even matter. That’s romance.”

Rava blushed. Fully.

I rolled my eyes and flipped the page.

Fast.

Photo 4:

Daisy taking a selfie while the three of them are getting tattoos.

“You’re all nerds,” I said.

“I look hot,” Daisy said.

“You look like a photographer for National Geographic: Tattoo Edition,” I muttered.

Noah said, “That’s the one where I flirted with the tattoo artist and she gave me an extra heart.”

“She also charged you double,” Lorenzo reminded him.

Photo 5:

Lorenzo mid-grab trying to steal a pie from me. I’m yelling.

“As I should,” I said proudly.

“You screamed, ‘I will break your fingers.’” Daisy reminded me.

“He was asking for it.”

“You were holding the last one,” Lorenzo said dramatically. “Like a dragon guards its gold.”

“You are not worthy of their mother’s cooking,” I said.

Photo 6:

Lorenzo clinging to Daisy’s leg while she drags him across the living room.

“I forgot this happened,” Lorenzo said, squinting.

“I didn’t,” Daisy replied. “My knee still hurts.”

“You called her your emotional support human,” Noah laughed. “You cried.”

“I did not cry.”

“Your voice cracked,” Rava said.

Photo 7:

Me digging in the sand with Emiliana.

Everyone just stared.

“Oh my god,” Daisy said, “look at your face!”

“Shut up.”

“You’re so serious,” Rava whispered. “Like you’re building a fortress.”

“She called me out,” I said. “She said I couldn’t do it. I had to prove myself.”

“She’s six,” Noah said, wheezing. “You got schooled by a toddler.”

“I built her a castle and she thanked me,” I snapped. “Respect the bond.”

Noah flipped to the last page.

I leaned over his shoulder to see what he was looking at.

All five of us, crammed into my car this afternoon. Me holding that damn bowl of pies like it was a newborn.

Rava, with that tired, sun-hazy smile of his, one hand braced on the dashboard, the other tossing his hair out of his face.

Daisy in the back, sunglasses crooked, trying to elbow Lorenzo away from the aux cord.

Lorenzo, screaming laughing with a half-eaten peach in his hand, mouth wide open like he was being murdered.

And Noah, blurry but glowing in the corner, pressed up against the window, snapping the pic.

We all looked wrecked. Wrecked and stupid and sun-drunk and perfect.

Noah let out this long, shaky sigh.

“This,” he said, “this is the one that’s gonna kill me.”

Rava leaned in, head nearly on his shoulder. “You took that with your front camera?” “I was sacrificing oxygen, I was squished against the glass,” Noah snapped. “You’re welcome.”

Lorenzo pointed at the screen. “Bro, why do I look like I’m about to get exorcised?”

Daisy was wheezing. “Because you are.”

Rava smiled, a quiet, soft one. “That was a good day.”

“It was today,” I said. He shrugged. “Still counts.”

Noah looked at all of us, eyes glassy again, but smiling. “You fuckers, I’m gonna be insufferable on the plane.”

I nudged his arm with my elbow. “You already are.”

We all laughed.

Then I looked down again. At the picture.

No filters. No fake poses. Just us.

Noah sniffed. “Fuck you guys.”

Daisy leaned into him. “Aww, is the little bitch gonna cry?”

“I will cry,” he said proudly. “In the damn plane. Loudly. People are gonna ask if I’m okay.”

Rava reached for the album. “This is actually… really sweet.”

Noah stood up slowly, like his limbs were ten times heavier than usual. His eyes were glassy, his mouth in that half-smile he does when he’s trying not to cry. Rava got up with him, without a word.

The mood shifted. Just a little.

“I guess,” Noah said, “I should go sleep before I miss my damn flight.”

Lorenzo grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him in like they were reuniting after a war.

“Promise me you’ll come back. Or I’ll come to Canada and make it everyone’s problem.”

“I’d pay to see that,” I muttered.

“I’d pay not to,” Noah shot back, but his voice cracked.

They hugged. It was dramatic and stupid.

Daisy pulled him in next. Kissed his cheek. “You better text every day.” “Every day? Girl I have a life.” She smacked his arm. “You don’t.”

Then all three of them looked at me.

I stood.

Felt Rava glance at me, just for a second, before turning back to Noah.

I gave Noah a nod. “You’re alright, tattoo boy.” He smiled at me like I’d just proposed marriage. “Coming from you ? I’m framing that.”

He stepped in for a quick hug. I let him. Squeezed his shoulder maybe a second too long. Just enough to say thanks without saying anything at all.

“You’ll come back,” I said. “Don’t be a stranger.” “You’ll miss me.” “Shut up.”

He turned to Rava last.

Neither of them spoke.

Rava just looked at him like he was trying to memorize him.

Noah’s lips twitched. “Come on, bro. Walk me out before I start sobbing in front of your almost-boyfriend.”

Rava rolled his watery eyes, and pushed him.

They walked out together.

And the room felt… smaller.

Like something big had just left it.

---

Okay okay pookies listen.

I can’t lie, this chapter isn’t my favorite, I wrote this while being on my period crying from the pain lmao.

But for those next chapters that i’m about to post on Saturday and Monday………..

Be prepared, okay?

And bring tissues maybe?!

71) Hospital

Rava’s POV

I didn’t let go of him right away.

Noah was hugging my mom and I still had one of the backpack straps in my hand.

Mom gave him a long hug. Dad just offered a polite nod. I was watching him walk away like I was never going to see him again.

Super dramatic.

He turned one last time.

“I’ll text you the second I land,” he said.

“You better.”

“And Rava?”

“Yeah?”

He reached up, grabbed my face with both hands.

“ Talk to him.“

I rolled my eyes, but I didn’t pull away. “Okay.”

“Not just moody glances and soft sighs. Talk to him.”

“Okay.”

“I mean it.”

“I said okay, Noah.”

He squinted at me. “I’ll make Lorenzo hit you and scream at you if you don’t.”

“Okay!”

He smirked and finally let go.

“Text me when you land,” I called out.

He gave me a thumbs up and a stupid little smile.

And then he was gone.

⸻

We got into the car. I sat in the back, behind dad. Mom next to him. Quiet.

I stared at my phone screen for a while.

Then texted Gio.

ME:

-Are you coming to the meeting?

A couple minutes passed.

GIO:

-I’ll be late. My mom’s not feeling great.

My heart dropped.

What does that mean? Not feeling great how? I typed again.

ME:

-What’s wrong?“

-Is she okay?“

Nothing.

I sent another. And another.

Still nothing.

⸻

“That Noah kid,” my dad said, suddenly. “He had a bit of that… edge too.”

I’m not even surprised at this. Dad doesn’t like anyone.

“He cleaned up nice though,” he added. “Not like that boy.”

My jaw locked.

“Dad—” I said, sharp.

“I’m just saying,” he went on, too casually. “He had that same roughness. Not as loud. Just more… polite.”

“Enough,” I snapped.

He went quiet. For a second.

Then mom exhaled. Real slow.

“Don’t,” she said to him. “Let it go.”

Dad didn’t argue. Just kept driving.

Mom reached out and gently rested her hand on my leg.

I didn’t look at her. I just stared out the window. My phone was in my hand, screen still dark.

Gio wasn’t answering. His mom wasn’t well. I wasn’t with him. And I hated everything about this day.

I kept checking the door.

Then the clock.

Then the door again.

My knee wouldn’t stop bouncing under the table. My hands were locked in front of me, trying to keep my face neutral.

And then finally, the door opened.

He walked in.

Gio.

And his mom.

Everyone turned. A few polite murmurs. Some nods. His mom gave a soft smile. She looked… pale. Way too pale.

Gio, on the other hand, looked like he hadn’t slept. He scanned the room once, then landed on me.

Our eyes met.

And I forgot to breathe.

He didn’t smile. I didn’t either.

They took the empty seats across from me. Directly across.

Gio sat down slow with his elbows on the table.

I could see the tension in his shoulders from here. His mom sat quietly beside him, her hands folded over a small leather notebook, saying nothing.

I tried to find something in his face.

Something that told me she was okay.

Something that told me he was okay.

But he didn’t look at me again.

Not once.

God, I was worried.

I hated that he hadn’t replied to my messages. Hated that I didn’t know what happened with his mom.

My eyes kept flicking up to him between words.

He was sitting too still.

Then he did something. Something small. Almost nothing.

He scratched his jaw with the back of his hand, and that was when I noticed it.

His fingers.

Covered in ink.

And not the kind from a pen.

It took me a second to realize… it was from drawing.

No way.

He had drawn something on his hand. A small sketch.

I tried to see it better without being obvious. Leaned just a little forward.

And then he looked up.

Caught me.

My heart jumped like I was sixteen again.

He didn’t smile. Just raised his brow slightly. Like: Yeah?

So I mouthed: “What’s that on your hand?”

He looked down, as if he’d forgotten. Then turned his hand subtly, just enough for me to see.

A tiny sketch of a beach. A little umbrella. A weird, crooked crab.

It looked exactly like the one that Emiliana, the kid from the beach had drawn in the sand yesterday.

He’s cute.

I almost laughed. Right in the middle of the damn meeting.

He saw that.

And finally, GOD finally, he gave me the tiniest smile.

I looked down fast.

Tried to hide the grin tugging at my mouth.

But suddenly, his mom started coughing.

The second I heard her cough, I froze.

It wasn’t a normal cough.

It sounded sharp. Wet.

I gripped the side of my chair without even realizing. Gio was already on his feet, one hand on her back, steadying her as she waved him off.

“I’m fine,” she said.

Gio stayed standing. I did too.

She coughed again.

This time—

Oh my God.

Blood.

Everything stopped.

People gasped. A chair scraped. Gio was moving fast, wrapping his arm around her, lifting her from the chair.

“Hospital,” he said to her. “Now.”

His mom didn’t even argue. Just leaned into him.

My mom stood up instantly and followed them.

So did I.

My father’s hand gripped my arm.

“Sit down,” he hissed. “They’ve got it handled.”

I didn’t even think. “Let me go.”

I yanked my arm out of his grip and bolted.

Down the stairs. Three at a time. I didn’t care. I was already out of breath by the time I hit the street, and they were just reaching Gio’s bike.

He was trying to hold his mom up and dig in his pocket for the keys at the same time. His hands were shaking.

“You can’t take her on a damn bike!” I shouted, running over. “What if she passes out mid-drive?!”

He looked at me, completely panicked, like he hadn’t thought of that until now. His jaw clenched. “Then what do I do?!”

“Car,” I snapped. “Take a car—”

“Whose?!”

“Mine!”

“No, fuck—”

Then my mom stepped in, holding out the keys. “Rava. Take them. Go. Just drive.”

I stared at her. She trusted me. She was letting me.

I hugged her. So fast I almost knocked her back. Kissed her cheek.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

Gio did the same. A second later we were in the car.

I floored it.

Didn’t even care about the noise. Or the red light we ran two blocks away.

His mom kept coughing in the back. Gio was trying to hold her upright, his voice whispering soft nothings I couldn’t hear over the roaring in my ears.

I couldn’t stop looking in the rearview mirror.

She didn’t deserve this.

He didn’t deserve this.

None of them did.

Please don’t take her from him. Not now. Not after everything.

I couldn’t feel my fingers on the wheel. I kept gripping tighter just to make sure they were still there.

“Is she breathing okay?” I asked fast without thinking, eyes locked on the road.

Gio didn’t answer right away. He was in the back, crouched next to her, one hand behind her neck, the other pressed over hers.

“She’s awake,” he said.

But his voice… It sounded like it was falling apart.

I ran another light.

A car honked. I didn’t care.

“You’re doing good,” I muttered. To myself. To them. I didn’t even know. I just needed to say something.

Then I looked in the mirror again.

Gio was staring down at her like the world was ending.

He kept brushing her hair back, whispering things I couldn’t make out. His mouth was right near her temple. He looked so…

So scared.

I wasn’t used to seeing him like that.

It broke me.

He was the one who always held it together. Who talked back, who fought, who laughed when things got bad. But right now? He looked like a kid trying not to break.

Fuck.

I gritted my teeth and took a sharp turn, tires screeching under us. “I’m sorry,” I said suddenly. I don’t even know why. “I’m sorry, Gio.”

He didn’t respond. But I saw his hand tighten around hers.

“I’ll get us there,” I said again, barely breathing. “I promise. I’m getting us there.”

My heart was pounding so loud it hurt. I kept thinking of everything at once.

Her cough. The blood. The way Gio’s hands were shaking.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. I just kept driving.

“Two minutes,” I said. “Just two more minutes.”

Please. Just hold on.

We pulled up like we were crashing.

I don’t even remember parking. I think I left the keys in the ignition. Maybe the door wide open. I didn’t care. I was already halfway around the car.

“Help me!” Gio shouted as soon as I opened the back door. He had her in his arms, arms that looked way too strong to be holding something that fragile.

Her head was tilted against his shoulder. She was conscious. Her lips were pale. Her fingers clutched at his shirt.

“Move!” I shouted toward the entrance. “Someone help us—”

And finally, finally , a nurse came running. Another one followed with a wheelchair.

“She coughed up blood,” Gio barked. “She’s been dizzy—she collapsed, just do something,” I added, out of breath, my hands on my knees, trying not to black out.

They took her.

They fucking took her and she disappeared behind those sliding doors and Gio just stood there.

Like someone had ripped out every part of him that knew how to move.

And then he turned to me. Eyes wide and glassy and destroyed.

And I did the only thing I could think of.

I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around him. Didn’t even care if he pushed me off or cursed at me or told me to leave. I just held him. Hard. Like I could glue the pieces of him back together.

“She’ll be okay,” I whispered, even though I had no fucking clue.

“She has to be.”

And for a moment, he let me. He just… let himself collapse. Just a little.

We’d been sitting there a while. Long enough for the panic to simmer into a sharp, pressing ache in my chest.

The walls felt too white. The hallway too quiet. And I was starting to shake a little. Not from fear. From not knowing what the fuck to do.

I looked over at him.

“Did she…” I cleared my throat. “Did she ever have anything before? Like… history with something? Any illness?”

His jaw tensed. He didn’t look at me.

“No. Not that I know of.” He swallowed. “I came back to Italy three years ago. She never said anything. She’s never… never been sick around me.”

Footsteps. A soft voice.

“Excuse me? Are you here for Claudia Fontana?”

We both looked up.

The woman wore scrubs. Clipboard in her hand.

Gio stood immediately. “I’m her son.”

She nodded, gentle. “We’d like to speak with you, if that’s okay.”

He froze for a second.

I stood up beside him and wrapped my arms around him without thinking.

“Go,” I whispered. “It’s okay. Go.”

He didn’t say anything, but I felt his hand touch my back for just a second before he stepped away.

And then he followed her down the hall. And I stayed behind. Alone. Waiting. Again.

Gio’s POV

I followed the nurse. Fast. Too fast maybe. My legs didn’t feel steady but I wasn’t slowing down.

Room smelled like disinfectant. Too white. Too quiet. Disgusting.

My mom was lying there, with tubes and wires and machines. I felt sick .

Then the doctor started talking. Some middle-aged guy in a white coat.

“She’s stable, but… there’s something you should know.”

I didn’t breathe. Here it comes.

“She’s had an underlying lung condition for a while. Possibly years. Might’ve ignored the symptoms. It’s chronic.”

I blinked at him. My jaw clenched. “What the hell are you talking about? Chronic?”

“She might’ve known. Or maybe didn’t want to worry anyone.”

“No. No way,” I said, shaking my head. “She would’ve told me.”

“It’s not uncommon,” he added, like that would fix it. “The coughing, the fatigue—it can be subtle until it’s not.”

I wanted to punch the wall.

I wanted to grab a chair and smash it.

But I just stood there, swallowing whatever the fuck was building up in my throat.

I asked him flat out. “Is she gonna die?”

He looked at me like he wished I hadn’t asked.

“It’s not terminal, but it’s serious. We’ll manage it. But you need to be prepared. This doesn’t just go away.”

I nodded, once.

“She’s gonna be asleep for the night,” he said. “You should go home, get rest. We’ll call you if anything changes.”

“No,” I said, quick. “No, what if something happens? What if she stops breathing again? You think I’m just gonna go home and chill?”

“We’re monitoring her constantly. I promise it’s all under control. If anything changes, we contact you first.”

My fingers were digging into my palm so hard I thought I’d bleed.

Eventually, I gave a nod. Tiny one. Didn’t mean shit.

Turned around.

Didn’t say bye. Didn’t look at her again. Couldn’t.

Walked out the room stiff as hell.

Opened the door and saw Rava waiting.

And I swear, the second I saw his face, I nearly fucking lost it.

But I didn’t. Not yet.

His eyes searched my face. “How is she?” His voice was too soft. It made it worse somehow.

I swallowed. Felt like there was glass in my throat.

“She’s… sleeping.” It came out clipped. “She’ll be here for the night. They’re monitoring her.”

He took a step closer. “Are you okay?”

I didn’t answer.

I looked at the ground. Then back at him. “We’re leaving.”

Rava frowned. “Now?”

“Yeah.” My voice cracked a little and I fucking hated it. “I’m coming back later. But not now.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” I started walking toward the exit. “Anywhere but here. Anywhere.”

He followed. Like he knew better than to push. But of course he still did.

“You want me to come back with you later?”

“No,” I muttered. “You don’t have to.”

“Gio.”

I stopped. Closed my eyes.

“You think I’m not coming?” he said. “Don’t say dumb shit.”

I let out this dry, humorless breath. Not even a laugh. “Fine.”

We reached the car. I got in. He got in next to me.

“I don’t wanna go back to the meeting,” he said.

“Good,” I said immediately. “’Cause if you suggested that, I would’ve punched you.”

He smirked, just a little. “Wanna go somewhere else?”

“Yeah. Anywhere that isn’t a hospital or a fucking conference room.”

He didn’t say anything. Just nodded and started the engine.

I let my head fall back against the seat.

I still felt like I couldn’t breathe. But at least I wasn’t doing it alone.

72) GIO ♡ RAVA

Alright loves… for this chapter, I need you to play some sad fucking music because you better cry on this one. “Blue Jeans” was on repeat as I was writing this. I made myself cry.

Rava’s POV

I parked the car a few streets down and made him follow me on foot. He didn’t ask questions. Just walked close behind, holding a bag with two beers I brought earlier.

We reached the old playground. The wooden bridge. The two metal swings that still creaked with every gust of wind.

He paused.

I watched his face shift. He recognized it.

“This used to be your spot, right?” I said quietly. “You, Luigi, Elio… after school, you always came here.”

He blinked slowly. “How do you know that?”

I sat down on the small bridge and tapped the spot next to me. He followed, letting out a breath as he sat. His legs hung down, brushing the gravel.

“I used to hear my mom,” I said. “She’d talk to yours sometimes. Ask why you never invited me to hang out with you guys.”

I smiled a little. “Not that I would’ve come. Even if you had asked. I would’ve said no. Just to be annoying.” I laughed.

He looked at me then. His eyes were tired. So tired.

He took a slow sip of his beer.

“…I’m sorry,” he muttered. “Don’t hate me for that.”

I bumped my shoulder against his, gentle. “Do I look like I hate you?”

He didn’t answer.

His eyes drifted away, and before I could say anything else, he reached out and brushed the sweat off my forehead.

I stiffened a little, surprised.

“Sorry,” I said. “I’m just… burning up.”

“Don’t say sorry,” he mumbled.

I hesitated. Then scratched the back of my neck. “Would you… mind if I unbuttoned this? I’m dying in this shirt.”

“I’ve been inside you,” he said flatly. “I think I’ll survive seeing your chest.”

I felt myself blush, even in the cool night air.

I pulled at the knot in my tie, slid it off with a nervous tug, then undid the top few buttons slowly, one at a time.

He still wasn’t looking at me.

But he hadn’t pulled away either.

I opened the little bag I’d brought and handed him the candy first.

He stared at it like he didn’t expect it. Typical.

I’m trying to lighten the air.

I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing. Maybe I’m messing it all up.

But I’m doing what I wish someone would do for me.

Not force me to talk. Just be there and sit with me.

Make me feel a little better, even if it’s stupid or small or sugar-filled.

That’s all I’m trying to do. Be that person for him.

“They’re your favorite, right?” I said, trying to sound casual.

He nodded once, and took them without a word. I could tell he was trying not to react.

I didn’t push. Just let the silence sit there a bit, then looked around.

My eyes landed on the old wooden part of the bridge behind us, and I started shifting, turning over my shoulder to look closer.

“What are you doing?” Gio asked, sounding tired but still curious.

“There,” I pointed. “You guys carved your names here. You, Luigi, Elio.”

He leaned a little, looking.

I traced one of the marks with my finger. “And this? That was supposed to be mine.”

He glanced at me, confused. “What do you mean?”

“I started writing it once. I don’t know, I was what—eight? Nine?” I said. “You were here with your friends, and I followed. I tried to carve my name under yours. But you saw me and started throwing pebbles at my head like a little menace.”

I smiled. “I got so mad I ran after you for ten minutes straight. Never finished it.”

And I laughed. Just from the memory.

Then, without meaning to, he laughed too.

I looked at him, kind of shocked. It was the first sound I’d heard from him all day that wasn’t full of sadness.

“You laughed,” I said, grinning now.

He rolled his eyes like he didn’t mean to, but I caught it.

I didn’t say anything more. I just turned forward again, let our shoulders brush a little, and sat there with him.

I knew he wasn’t okay. Of course I knew. I wasn’t stupid. And I wasn’t trying to pretend nothing happened. Not with his mom.

Everyone was gonna tell him how serious it is. Doctors, nurses. They’d all sit him down and say it out loud, clean and clinical: this is serious.

He didn’t need me to add to that.

So I figured… if I could just make him feel a little lighter for five minutes. If I could get one small smile out of him, even a half one, then maybe I was helping.

I stood up, brushed off my pants, and stretched a little.

“Wait here,” I said, trying to sound casual. “I’m going on a very important mission.”

He didn’t answer, just raised an eyebrow.

I pointed toward the dirt under the swings. “I’m gonna find a sharp enough rock to finish carving my name. And maybe freshen up yours too, since I’m such a good person.”

I saw his mouth twitch a little.

I stepped off the bridge and started poking around in the grass. Bent down, picked up a pebble, tossed it. Too round.

Another one, too flat. I muttered to myself the whole time like I was doing surgery.

“This one’s a maybe,” I said out loud, holding it up for inspection like a rare gem. “Nope. Disqualified.”

Behind me, I heard the faintest sound. A soft little breath that might’ve been a laugh. I didn’t look back. Just grinned to myself and kept looking.

If I couldn’t fix anything else right now…

Maybe I could at least give him a break. One more minute. One more second.

Something stupid. Something ours.

But then I heard him.

A sound I’d never heard from him before.

Shaky. Raw.

I turned—and fucking froze.

Gio was sitting there, legs pulled up, arms on his knees, head buried between them…

Crying. No—breaking.

Oh, no.

“No no no no no no no—” I sprinted over, didn’t think, just dropped to my knees in front of him.

“Baby—” I reached out, heart pounding out of my fucking chest. “I’m here. I’m right here.”

He didn’t look up. His whole body shook.

I wrapped my arms around him without even thinking. Pulled him in, so tight. One hand on the back of his neck, the other cradling his ribs.

“You’re okay,” I whispered, voice cracking. “I got you, I got you—just let it out, baby, let it all out.”

His fingers clawed at my back. He gasped like he couldn’t get air in.

I pull him even closer. Tighter than before.

I kiss the top of his head, again and again.

I can’t even imagine how bad he has to feel to get to this point.

“She’s gonna die,” he choked out. “I’m gonna lose her. Just like him.”

I shook my head fast. “No—hey, hey—look at me. Look at me, Gio.”

He didn’t. I cupped his face. His cheeks were soaked.

“You’re not losing her. And even if shit gets bad, you are not going through it alone.”

He shook his head like a scared fucking kid. “I can’t do it again, Rava—”

“You won’t have to.”

I pulled him in again. Held his head to my chest. “Just breathe. Breathe with me.” I kissed the top of his head, again, my lips trembling. “I know you’re scared. You’re totally allowed to be. But you’re not alone, baby. Your mom is not going anywhere. And I’m right here.”

He let out this broken sound, and my hands moved automatically, stroking his hair, his back, his arms, anywhere I could touch.

“You don’t have to be strong right now,” I whispered. “Not with me. You can fall apart. I’ll catch every piece.”

I kissed his temple again, again, again.

“You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

“Everyone leaves,”. Voice wrecked. Barely there.

“Slowly and quietly. Like they’re trying not to wake me while they disappear.”

My throat burned.

He pulled back just a little, eyes red, lashes stuck together from crying so hard. Still not really looking at me.

“My dad…” He swallowed. “Now her. She’s next. I know it. I fucking know it, Rava—”

“No.” I cupped his face before he could spiral deeper. “No, baby, stop—”

He tried to pull away but I didn’t let him.

“I can’t fucking do this again,” he choked. “I can’t watch someone I love die and still pretend I’m okay after. I’m fucking not. I haven’t been since him.”

My heart cracked in half right there.

“You’re not pretending anymore,” I said quietly, my thumbs brushing his cheeks. “You’re not alone in this. Not now. Not ever.”

He shook his head again, but this time softer. Like he wanted to believe it. Like he needed to.

“I’m so fucking tired, Rava.” his voice came out broken.

I leaned forward, pressed my forehead to his.

“I’m here for you, Gio.”

“No,” he said. “No, you’re not here. Not really.”

“What? Gio, I’m—”

He pulled back just enough to look at me. And fuck. His eyes. Shattered.

“You’re leaving,” he said. “Two weeks from now. You’re going back and I’ll be here again, with nothing.”

I shook my head, trying to reach for him, but he pulled just a little further.

He looked away again.

“I love you, Rava.”

No hesitation. “Fuck, I love you so much.”

My mouth opened but nothing came out.

“I don’t even know how not to anymore.” His voice broke completely now, barely holding together. “I wake up and it’s you. I go to sleep and it’s you. You ruin me and I fucking want it.”

He was crying again. Not just from fear anymore, but grief.

“I tried. I really fucking tried not to. I knew this would happen. I knew I’d end up here.”

He laughed. Bitter.

“Of course it’s me saying it first.”

He looked up at me again. And god he looked destroyed.

“So there you go. You win. I said it. I fucking love you.” A pause. “And I’m so scared that in two weeks, you’ll walk away and I’ll have to pretend again that I can survive without you.”

He pressed his face into my neck, almost like he was trying to disappear into me.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he murmured. “I’ve never had this. I don’t even know what it is—just that I’m so fucking scared of losing it.”

…

I couldn’t hold it back anymore. The tears. The shock. The fucking weight of what he’d just said.

He loved me. Gio Fontana just said that he loved me .

I didn’t even realize I was crying until a tear hit my own wrist.

He kept talking, still spiraling. “I know I’m not easy to love,” he said, voice raw. “I’m not even easy to like. I mean—look at how your dad—”

“Gio. No.” My voice came out fast, broken.

I reached out, gripped his face, wiping his tears away with both hands before he could even finish that sentence.

“Don’t. Don’t you fucking dare bring him into this.”

I was shaking. So in love I could barely breathe.

“Fuck what he thinks. Fuck everything he ever said about you. Fuck him.” I leaned in closer, forehead nearly touching his. “He doesn’t know you. He doesn’t see you . He never has.”

“But I do.”

I pressed my thumbs gently against his cheeks, still wiping the tears away.

“You’re easy to love, Gio. You’re so fucking easy to love, it’s stupid.”

My voice cracked again.

“Do you wanna know something?” I took a deep breath, but I kept talking. I had to keep talking.

I had to finally get that out of me.

“You used to throw spitballs at my notebook, remember that? You’d call me ‘glasses boy’ like it was some world-ending insult, and I’d pretend I didn’t care. But when I went home…”

I took a shaky breath. I swallowed. My fingers were brushing his cheeks. He was crying, but so was I.

“I used to draw little motorcycles in the corners of my pages. Just because you liked them. And I didn’t even know why I cared that much. I started liking them because you wouldn’t shut up about them.”

His eyes flickered, confused, but I smiled.

“I used to print pictures of Ducatis and pretend I knew what I was looking at. I had no freaking idea what a clutch was. But every time I heard an engine rev on the street, I looked up. Thought maybe it was you, finally getting your dream bike.”

He was still. Listening. He even gave me a smile while wiping his tears.

“I also used to write fake homework just to stay late at school when I knew you had detention. Just to sit outside and hear you yell at the teacher. Again, I didn’t know why. I just… couldn’t help it.”

My thumb brushed his knuckles.

“You used to walk like you owned the street. Head high, like nothing scared you. And I thought… God, I wish I could be like that.” My hands dropped to his shoulders. I gripped him.

“You think you’re broken. You think you’re the problem. But Gio… all my life, I’ve looked at you and seen someone I could never be. Someone fearless.”

He shook his head. “I was never fearless.”

“I know,” I said. “That’s what makes it more impressive. You’re scared, and you still fight. Still protect people. Still carry everything without letting anyone see how heavy it is.”

I leaned my forehead against his. My voice barely a whisper now.

“I’ve been in love with you for so long , Gio. Long before I knew what the hell love even meant.”

He choked back a sob. I wiped the tears fast.

“I loved the way you laughed when you thought no one could hear. I loved that you never backed down. I loved that even when you were a total dick, you still gave your sandwich to the kid who forgot his lunch. You remember that? You probably don’t. But I do.”

I pulled back a little. Just enough to see his eyes.

“I remember everything. “

He looked at me like I was breaking him and putting him back together at the same time.

“You’re the kind of person who walks through hell and comes back holding flowers for someone else.” I exhaled.

“And if you think,

for even a second , that I’m ashamed of you—then I’ve failed you worse than anyone else ever has.“

I swallowed hard, letting my thumbs fall from his cheeks to rest on his collarbone.

“I’m proud of you, Gio. So proud I could scream it. I could fucking tattoo your name on my chest and it still wouldn’t be loud enough.”

I took his hand. Brought it to my lips.

“You are so easy to love, Gio Fontana. And I love you. God, I love you and I’m finally saying out loud.”

He kissed me before I could say anything else. Quick, sharp, like I’d said too much.

But the second his lips left mine, I smiled like an idiot.

I leaned my forehead against his. Breathed him in. Let the silence hold us for a moment, long enough for my heart to catch up.

Then I spoke again, quiet this time.

“I’m gonna tell him.” “My dad. I’m gonna tell him everything.”

His eyes flicked up to meet mine, panicked.

“I don’t care what he says. I don’t care what he thinks. I can’t keep hiding the best thing that ever happened to me just because he doesn’t know how to love properly.”

I cupped his face, gently, both hands this time. His cheeks were still damp from the crying, his eyelashes clumped together. Still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

“I don’t want to sneak around anymore. I don’t want to pretend I don’t look at you like this.” “You are the thing I’m most proud of, Gio. Not school. Not my career. You .”

“I’ll tell him,” I said, quietly but certain. “I don’t care what he says. And if a stupid kiss for Sophia made him slap me, then let this one make him—”

“Woah, woah. Wait. WAIT.”

Gio’s voice snapped through the air like a whip.

He turned to me, his eyes blown wide.

“Run that shit back. Did you just say he fucking slapped you?”

I froze.

Fuck.

He wiped his own cheeks fast, and lifted my head up.

“What the fuck are you talking about, Rava?”

“Um,” I looked away. “It wasn’t— It was nothing, I didn’t even—”

“He hit you. Because of me.”

“Well the whole thing was my idea—”

“He hit you.”

His voice cracked on the second repeat. His face looked… like he didn’t know if he wanted to scream or throw something. Or cry.

“That son of a bitch is fearless.” He laughed. Not in a good way.

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?!”

“Because I was ashamed, I guess?” I snapped, voice higher than I meant. “Because I thought if you knew, you’d— I don’t know! Think I was pathetic or something. A 22-year-old who can’t escape his own dad?!”

He laughed again.

That kind of disbelieving, furious laughter that sounds like it hurts.

“Pathetic? You think I’d ever think you’re pathetic? You—” His voice broke again. “You took a hit because of me, and you’re the one that’s ashamed?!”

He stepped in again, grabbed my face with both hands.

“You don’t fucking hide that kind of shit from me, Rava!” he shouted. “I’m not some guy you just sleep with! You are loved by me. You hear me?”

My eyes were wet.

“I hear you,” I whispered.

“Good.”

His face softened. Just slightly. His thumb wiped under my eye.

He was holding me like he never wanted to let go. And I was perfectly okay with that.

My back was against his chest, his legs wrapped loosely around me. We were leaning against the back of the little wooden bridge like it was our damn castle or something.

I could feel his breath on my shoulder.

I ran my fingers along his arm where it circled me. “This night’s insane.”

He hummed. “You think?”

I smiled. “Did you expect to cry your guts out on a bridge next to the guy you swore you wouldn’t fall in love with?”

“Fuck off,” he muttered. I could feel his smile against my neck.

I tilted my head to look at him. “Be honest.”

He groaned. “I’ve been trying not to tell you since Spain happened.”

I laughed, impressed.

“Don’t laugh. You know how hard that shit was? Or how hard it is to keep a straight face when you’re wearing those stupid-ass glasses and reading in a corner like a fucking romcom librarian? I want to eat you alive.”

“Charming,” I deadpanned.

“You’re lucky I didn’t combust.”

I was fully giggling. And he was grinning behind me, proud of himself.

He shifted, just enough to press his nose into my hair. “I hated keeping it quiet,” he mumbled. “I wanted to yell it. All the time. Every time you walked in a room.”

I turned fully in his arms this time and cupped his face.

“You could’ve said something,” I whispered, teasing.

He rolled his eyes. “And what? Risk losing you before I even had you?”

My heart squeezed.

“So what now?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Now I stay right here. And if you tell me to move, I’ll cry again. Your fault.”

I laughed and kissed his cheek. “Deal.”

He leaned in until our foreheads touched, and we stayed like that for a while.

I didn’t feel like I had to be anywhere else.

I suddenly felt him shift slightly, then his hand slid into his pocket. “Wait,” he said, like he’d just remembered something important. “I almost forgot.”

He pulled out a tiny bracelet made of colorful beads—pink, green, blue, way too many sparkles. I blinked.

“What’s that?”

He cleared his throat. “A gift. From Emiliana.”

My eyebrows shot up. “The girl from the beach?”

“Yeah. She made one for you. Said I had to give it to you if I ever grew a pair and told you how I felt.”

I reached for it slowly, and Gio gently placed it in my hand.

It was a little crooked. The letters were mismatched. But there it was:

GIO

♡

RAVA

spelled out in tiny plastic beads.

I bit my lip.

“She made two,” Gio added, quietly.

He turned his wrist, and I saw his, already on him, snug against his skin. The same beads. Same crooked heart.

I stared.

“ You’ve been wearing it ?“

He looked defensive immediately. “Don’t start.”

I laughed. “You, you Mr. ‘I scare people for fun’ Fontana, walking around with this on your wrist?”

“Hey,” he said, raising a brow. “It’s a limited edition. One-of-a-kind Emiliana original. Very exclusive. You gotta be someone special to earn it.”

“Oh, I’m honored,” I said, grinning.

“You should be. I had to pass six emotional boss levels to get the damn thing.”

We both laughed.

Then I adjusted mine, twisting it gently around my wrist.

“I love it,” I said. “I’m never taking it off.”

Gio’s hand closed over mine again.

“Good,” he said quietly. “Now we match.”

And for a second, that tiny bracelet felt like armor. Like a promise. Like we were finally, seen.

I lifted my head a little, just enough to see his face in the faint streetlight.

My voice came out low. “So… what do we do?”

He blinked, still stroking my arm absently. “About?”

I hesitated, then said it. “I have to go back…on September 15th. University issues. I graduate on October 26th.”

He let out this soft little laugh—more air than sound. “No shit?”

“What?”

He looked at me, and for once, his smile was genuine. “That’s my birthday!”

I blinked. “I know, I have an alarm that rings every year on the 26th. To remind myself that the trouble is still very much alive and very much growing.”

He laughed. “And they say romance is dead.”

I let out a breathy laugh, but it caught somewhere in my chest. “That’s so fucked.”

He grinned, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah. Tell me about it.”

I sat up a bit straighter, turning toward him, and our legs shifted, tangling again.

“I wish I could be with you that day,” I said.

He leaned his head back with a sigh. “Yours is way more important. You’ll be walking across a stage, diploma in hand. And I’ll be getting yelled at by some cop again for disturbing the peace because my bike’s too loud.”

I huffed out a laugh. “Sounds about right.”

My phone buzzed against my thigh. I looked down. “It’s…my mom,” I muttered.

Gio raised a brow, curious.

I slid my thumb across the screen and brought it to my ear. “Hello, mom.”

“Hi, sweetheart. Where are you right now? Is everything okay? How’s Gio? How’s his mom?”

“Okay, hold on—one question at a time.”

She was nervous. I could hear it in her breath.

“Are you far from the house?” she asked quickly. I looked at Gio, who was still playing with the frayed end of his shoelace like he wasn’t listening.

“Not really,” I said carefully. “We’re not that far.”

“Do you think you could come pick me up? I want to go see her. I’m just so worried—”

“I don’t think we’ll be able to—”

Gio suddenly snatched the phone out of my hand. “Give me that, you idiot.”

He didn’t even look at me, just pressed the phone to his ear and shifted his voice instantly.

“Hi, ma’am—of course we’ll come get you.”

His tone changed, softer now. Almost guilty. “My mom’s not doing so great…They will do everything they can.”

He paused, then I gently reached over and touched his shoulder.

“I’m sure she’ll be just fine, love,” my mom said.

Then, louder, muffled in the background: “FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, CHARLES, STOP TALKING!”

Gio yanked the phone away from his ear, laughing in disbelief. I burst out too.

He looked at me and whispered, “I love your mom.”

“Right, where were we…” He cleared his throat and put the phone back to his ear.

“You know… I’m really down right now. It’s been a rough day. But I think your pies could help me feel a little better. Do you think maybe you could…”

“Of course, honey. Anything for you. You don’t even need to ask. I’m starting them now.”

I smiled so wide my cheeks hurt. Gio leaned against my side, happy.

When he hung up, Gio passed me the phone again and let out a deep breath.

We sat there quietly for a second, leaning into each other like magnets finally allowed to rest.

“You really like my mom, huh?” I mumbled, nudging his arm with mine.

He smirked. “She threatened Charles and promised me pies. PIES. What’s not to love?”

I let out a soft laugh, resting my chin on his shoulder.

He wrapped his arm around me and pulled me close again, resting his chin on top of my head.

“Your mom actually makes pies for me this late at night?” he asked, his voice all soft and sleepy.

I snorted. “I was scared she would actually make an entire Balkan bakery just for you not to be sad.”

He laughed.

Yay me.

We stayed like that, tangled in each other, surrounded by the scent of grass and too many things we hadn’t even said yet, but we would.

We would.

Because somehow, tonight, it felt like the beginning.

---

Tissues, anyone?

Water?

A gun?

A cigarette?

Whiskey shots?

Maybe pain killers?

No? Just me?

Anyways I deserve that vote. I posted early AND THE CHAPTER WAS GOOD OKAY?!?!?! IT TOOK HOURS TO MAKE T_T

Update: I MADE THE BRACELET, LOOK

ISN’T IT CUTE?

By the way, in the paperback/kindle version I’m gonna publish in early march, there’s gonna be an extra scene with Gio helping Emiliana make the bracelet at the beach 🥹🩷

73) How Do We Tell Charles

Gio’s POV

We’re in the car. My fingers tapped against my thigh. I hadn’t said anything since we left the playground.

I looked at Rava’s face.

Have I mentioned how much I dislike his father?

God, I swear I’ve never disliked someone the way I dislike Charles.

Not only because he hit him. But because he thought he could.

He thought he had the right. He thought he could put his hands on him and walk away like it meant nothing.

My hands were still, still resting on my thighs, but fuck me , they felt like they could crush stone.

I cleared my throat, soft. “Rava, can I ask you something?”

He glanced over, eyes still on the road. “Shoot.”

“I don’t mean it in a bad way or anything,” I mumbled, watching the passing trees. “Or maybe I do. But seriously… how the fuck is your mom with him ?”

He didn’t answer. I kept going.

“I mean, she’s sweet. Lovely. She actually gives a shit. She makes pies. She talks to me like I’m not a lost cause. She’s a great person.”

Still nothing.

I turned to him. “And then there’s Charles, whose entire personality is ‘I hate joy.’ And I’m just…” I paused. “I’m trying to figure out how someone like him made someone like you …”

He exhaled through his nose. Real slow.

Then muttered, “Genetic lottery.”

I snorted.

“At least he got a son who’s really good at riding.” I muttered.

He turned his head halfway to glare at me, jaw tense. “…Shut up.”

I grinned.

He kept driving. Didn’t say a word for a moment.

Then he gasped.

“We should fuck on your bike.”

I choked. “Jesus—”

I stared at him, genuinely impressed. “ Wow .“

He smirked like he’d just unlocked a new level.

I leaned back into the seat, nodding. “I’m proud of you. Look at you. You’re actually learning.”

He shook his head, biting back a smile. “I hate that you’re enjoying this.”

“Impossible not to,” I said, reaching to rest my hand on his thigh. “You’re so hot when you’re filthy, Ravioli.”

He groaned. “You’re impossible.”

“You already said that tonight.”

“I meant it then. I mean it now.”

We both laughed.

“Noah would be so fucking proud of me and you right now,” Rava said suddenly, hands tight around the wheel, eyes on the road but smiling like he was still replaying everything from earlier.

I smirked. “Oh, he’d be insufferable. He’d scream, cry, record a voice memo, post a story, and probably get a ‘FINALLY’ tattoo across his chest.”

Rava laughed.

“He’d say, ‘My boys did it. My beautiful, emotionally constipated lovebirds finally pulled their heads out of their asses.’”

I threw my head back, grinning. “You forgot dysfunctional. He loves calling us dysfunctional.”

“Because we are,” Rava shot back, glancing at me with raised brows.

For a second, I just looked out the window. And then I turned my head a little.

“You know what’s insane?” I said.

“What?”

“That your best friend, is Noah . He’s like, feral energy in human form. And you’re… well. You’re you .”

He shot me a side-eye. “What the hell is ‘you’re you’ supposed to mean?”

“It means you are all quiet and bookish and saintly,” I said, leaning closer, “and then climb on top of me and whisper shit like—”

“Gio, DO NOT.”

“—’ I wanna scream your name so loud they hear it across the fucking street, Gio .’”

“Oh my God, stop.”

“I won’t.”

Rava groaned, letting out this deep, frustrated sigh that made me laugh so hard my stomach hurt.

“You’re a menace.”

“And yet your legs were shaking.”

He didn’t answer.

Just tightened his grip on the wheel.

Which meant I’d won.

I leaned back, and stared up at the roof of the car.

As soon as Rava pulled into the driveway, he reached for the keys and turned off the engine.

“Wait here,” he said, already unbuckling his seatbelt. “I’ll go grab my mom and we’ll head to the hospital. You want anything?”

I opened my mouth to say no, but then I remembered— “Yeah. The pies. I’m coming in to get my damn pies.”

He laughed, shook his head. “Obviously.”

We stepped inside the house. It was quiet except for the sound of a show playing faintly in the living room.

“Why the hell haven’t you answered your phone, you idiot?!” Daisy’s voice shot out like a bullet.

She rushed up to me, then wrapped her arms tight around me before I could even say anything. “We were worried sick!”

I blinked, surprised. “Sorry. I—thanks.”

She pulled back a little, looking me over. “I hope everything goes well, okay?”

And that’s when it hit me again. The anxiety. The weight of it all. It had been hovering in the background the whole time, dulled by everything else. Rava’s confessions, the kisses, the laughter in the car, but now it was back.

And then someone slapped me on the arm.

“Why the fuck aren’t you answering your texts, huh?” Lorenzo barked.

“Why the fuck are you in his house?” I asked.

Rava turned, eyebrows shooting up. “Yeah, seriously. What the hell are you doing here?”

Lorenzo shrugged. “I am worried about my aunt too, everyone was here, so I figured I’d come too. Also…” He nodded toward the couch. “My amazing girlfriend kinda lives here, in case you forgot.”

Daisy flipped him off, and he looked at her like she was a star.

Jin, sitting criss-cross on the rug, headphones around his neck, mumbled just loud enough for us to hear:

“Dating in this family is like borrowing sugar from your neighbor and ending up pregnant with his cousin’s baby.”

I glanced at Rava, who tried to hold in a laugh and failed completely.

Rava’s mom popped her head out from the kitchen. “Pies are ready! Grab anything you need, we’ll be leaving soon.”

She turned to me with a warm smile.

“Eat up. Now. We’re staying with her tonight. I’m not letting my friend go through this alone.”

My chest squeezed at her words.

God, I loved this woman.

I’m eating my pies, and Rava is sitting next to me.

“Your mom puts actual fucking drugs in these, I’m convinced. Black market addictive shit.”

Lorenzo laughed. “Mrs. Weston, I swear, the other day, I tried to grab one and he nearly broke my wrist.”

“Worth it,” I said, mouth full, already eyeing my next one.

I swear, her pies could end world wars. In another universe, I’d trade my bike for one. If I died right now, I’d want to be buried with one in each hand.

Suddenly the universe spat in my face.

Charles walked in.

No hello. No soul.

He just walked into the kitchen, zero eye contact, zero acknowledgment of the room—and reached into the goddamn bowl in front of me.

Took the last two pies.

He bit into one.

Loud.

Smacked his lips like a villain in a fucking cartoon.

Silence.

Rava dropped his head into his hands and dragged them down his face. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” he muttered.

Lorenzo looked like someone slapped him. “Did he just—”

He did not .

He did fucking

not .

My entire body locked. I looked down at the now empty bowl. I looked back up at him. I could feel my soul leaving my body.

“You didn’t just do that,” I said, standing very, very still.

He shrugged, chewing. “Didn’t think it was a crime.”

“Oh, it’s not a crime,” I muttered, stepping forward, “but I might fucking commit one in about five seconds.”

Mrs. Weston just took a deep breath. “Charles, we need to have a serious talk when I come back home.”

Charles waved her off. “Come on. He’ll live. Doubt missing two pies is the worst thing that’s happened to him.”

I smiled. Full teeth. No joy.

“Oh, wow,” I said. “You really went there.”

“Oh no…” Rava said behind me.

“Funny,” I said, still staring at Charles, “You didn’t care when I was the street trash you thought I was. But now you care enough to steal my fucking pie?”

“I didn’t steal anything,” Charles replied smoothly. “Food on the table’s for everyone. Unless we’re doing class systems now.”

Lorenzo whispers to Daisy. “Is this conversation real?”

“Charles, what is wrong with you?” Mrs. Weston snapped, pushing past Rava. “You saw him waiting for those! You know what tonight means to all of us. Especially to him. His mom is literally in the hospital. Aren’t you ashamed at all? Don’t you have a soul?!”

Charles didn’t flinch. “Ashamed cause I ate something in my own house? Maybe if the boy had a little discipline, he’d be less attached to some stupid pies.”

Rava stepped in front of me, fast. “Dad, for the love of God, stop talking. For once. You’re embarrassing yourself. And you’re making me sick.”

I grabbed Rava’s arm, firm. “Let it go.”

Jin whispered to me as we got up. “I should’ve spit in those pies earlier.”

I froze. He winked at me.

I sighed. Rubbed my face. Tried not to throw the bowl at Charles face.

Rava whispered, “Let’s go. Move, people.”

I nodded.

But before we left, I turned back.

Pointed at Charles with my whole soul. “Hope those pies taste better than the respect you’ll never get from your family.”

I turned slowly, teeth clenched behind a calm smile.

Rava and the others went to the car.

I walked back toward him again.

“Don’t touch him again.”

He blinked. “Excuse me?”

I stepped closer. No rush. I wanted him to hear every word.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. Next time you lay a hand on him , you better hope someone else is around to pull me off you.”

I tilted my head. Smile still there. I could see it. The flicker of uncertainty behind his eyes.

He scoffed. “Is that supposed to scare me?”

He reached for my shoulder, like I was some damn stray he could dismiss.

He pushed me.

And something inside me snapped.

My smile widened.

Oh. Oh, that was fucking cute.

I laughed. I could feel it twist inside my chest.

His hand was still frozen midair, as if he realized too late.

Don’t kill him, he’s Rava’s father. Don’t kill him, he’s Rava’s father.

I bite the inside of my cheek.

“You should be on your knees thanking every fucking god you’ve ever believed in,” I whispered, “that I’m trying to be a better man these days.”

I tilted my head, eyes sharp. “But don’t confuse my silence for weakness. Or my restraint for forgiveness.”

My pulse was steady. But in my head? It was chaos.

I could see it, what I could do. His wrist snapping beneath my hand. His face slammed against the wall. The crack of ribs if I drove my knee just right—

But instead I stepped back.

Smiling.

Dead calm.

“I’ll leave now,” I said, nodding toward the door. “But do me a favor, Charles.”

I looked at him one last time, that fucking pathetic shell of a man pretending to hold power.

“Don’t test your luck again.”

The car was warm.

Rava’s head was on my shoulder, his hair brushing against my jaw, and my fingers were running through it. I didn’t even notice I was doing it until he sighed and leaned closer. His hand was on my knee, just sitting there like it belonged.

Up front, his mom was driving. Lorenzo was next to her, legs wide open.

“I’m so sorry that happened,” she said suddenly, voice low but firm. “I really didn’t expect Charles to… behave that way. Or maybe I did. I don’t know what to do with this man…”

I looked at her through the mirror. Gave her a small smile. “It’s okay,” I said. “It’s just pies.”

Then I leaned toward Rava and whispered right in his ear:

“He eats my pies. I eat his son.”

Rava let out a choked laugh so fast I thought he was gonna die.

Lorenzo’s head snapped around. “What. What did he say. What are you two whispering about. Tell me. I know it’s something disgusting.”

Rava was wheezing into my shirt, shoulders shaking.

“Tell me!” Lorenzo whined. “You degenerates! I hate being left out, you know that!”

I grinned and leaned back in to whisper something else, on purpose.

“Hey, hey HEY,” Lorenzo shouted, twisting in his seat like a child. “I swear to God if you whisper ONE more thing I will turn this car around. Let me hear too!”

Mrs. Weston burst out laughing, shaking her head.

We’re in the waiting room.

That awful plastic light is buzzing above us, the kind that makes your skin look sick even if you’re fine.

Chairs that squeak. Vending machines humming louder than they should. Rava’s next to me, my leg is touching his. Lorenzo’s pacing in slow circles. Rava’s mom’s flipping through an old magazine without reading a single page.

I hear footsteps before I see her. A nurse, early 30s maybe, holding a clipboard. She looks straight at me.

I stand before she even says anything.

“She’s stable,” the nurse says, and I swear I stop breathing for half a second.

“But her oxygen levels are still low. They’re adjusting the treatment. She’s resting now, but… there’s no real improvement yet. It’s still early. We just have to wait and see.”

That phrase. Wait and see. Fucking hate that phrase.

I nod, but everything’s blurry for a second.

“Thanks,” I manage. My voice sounds fake to my own ears.

When the nurse leaves, I sit down hard. Rava’s already got his hand on my back, rubbing slow circles without saying anything. I’m trying to breathe but it’s like my ribs are too stiff.

I hate this. I hate feeling like this.

“I really thought we’d hear something better,” I mumble.

Rava leans in and pulls me closer, until his lips brush just behind my ear.

“I know. I was hoping too. But we got you, okay? You’re not going through this alone.”

His arm wraps around my shoulders, and I let myself sink into it.

“Well…” Lorenzo starts, with a serious face, “at least she’s not—”

Rava’s elbow hits him.

Lorenzo jerks his head toward him. “What?”

Rava doesn’t even look at him. Just says it flat. “Don’t.”

Lorenzo shifts gears, deadpan.

“Anyway. I found a vending machine that sells chocolate milk two days past the expiration date. Thinking of chugging it, going full martyr mode.”

I blink, barely keeping up.

“What?”

“If I end up in a hospital bed next to your mom, you’ll feel less alone. Hero shit, really.”

Rava lets out a breathy laugh through his nose. His hand slides up and down my back again.

Lorenzo continues, still straight-faced: “Or we both end up in the ICU and start a band. I call bass. Your mom can be lead vocals when she wakes up.”

Despite myself, I let out a quiet sound that might be a laugh.

“Thanks,” I mutter, not looking at him.

He shrugs. “Don’t thank me. I’m still drinking the milk.”

I snort. It’s pathetic, but God, it helps.

Rava’s mom sets her magazine down and looks right at me.

“Gio, you’re doing good,” she says. “Better than you think.”

I shake my head. “Doesn’t feel like it.”

She reaches across and grabs my hand.

“That’s because you’re inside it. But from here? You’re showing up. You’re staying. That’s brave.”

I don’t know what to say. So I don’t say anything. I just sit there with all of them around me.

3 hours later

Rava’s mom is up front, talking to the receptionist.

Something about her posture makes me think she’s trying to control the situation just by standing tall.

I watch her for a second, then glance down.

Rava’s head is resting on my shoulder, perfectly still. He’s curled into me.

My fingers drift up without thinking, brushing through his hair, slow and careful.

I trace behind his ear, then run my thumb across the side of his head, where his hair softens near the nape.

He’s so pretty.

Then, of course, Lorenzo ruins it.

“Okay, but seriously, is this nap time for couples or am I just third-wheeling at an elite level?”

I glare at him. “Shut up, idiot. He’s sleeping.”

“I’m not sleeping,” Rava mumbles into my shoulder, completely asleep.

I glance down at him, soft as hell. “Sure, angel.”

Lorenzo snorts. “Wow. You got the angel, huh? Meanwhile I got Daisy, the human caffeine pill. By the way, isn’t it amazing that we’re seeing two siblings who literally share the same face?! Fucking awesome, dude!”

I smile. “You’re sick. It’s true though.”

My eyes stay on Rava. I think about everything he said earlier about love, about how I’m not alone.

I replay it in my head like I don’t believe it, just to make sure I still remember every word.

Then I tilt my head down just slightly, resting my head against his. Just to be a little closer.

Lorenzo doesn’t let it go.

“Awww. Look at you two. Can I get a little affection too, or is this a closed club?”

“No. Leave,” I say, still not looking at him.

He throws his arms up. “Okay, rude. Fine. I’m actually leaving. I’m going to find food. If I have to beg in the parking lot, I will. Otherwise I’m gonna faint from hunger and get admitted before your mom.”

He stands up, dramatic as hell, grabs his jacket, and storms off toward the exit.

I’m still running my fingers through Rava’s hair.

He is still asleep on me. Peaceful. His breathing slow and steady, his fingers gently curled into the fabric of my shirt.

Cute. He’s holding onto me even in his sleep.

I glance down at him again. I shift him slightly, just enough to pull him even closer to my chest. My arms wrap around him, tighter. My lips press to the top of his head.

I hear footsteps.

I look up. It’s his mom, walking back into the waiting room.

I straighten up instinctively, spine snapping like I got caught doing something wrong.

My hands don’t leave Rava, but I’m suddenly way too aware of them. Of how close we are. Of how he’s draped on me like we’re already something permanent.

I never used to care about this stuff. Never felt awkward touching someone.

But this is her son. This is different.

“I—I can let go of him,” I say quickly, my voice low. “If it makes you uncomfortable. I didn’t mean to—”

She holds up a hand gently, shaking her head before I can finish.

“Please don’t,” she says. Her voice is soft but firm. “He’s finally relaxing. With you.”

Good. My shoulders drop an inch.

She smiles, sitting down across from us again. “I haven’t seen him like this in a while.”

I glance back at Rava. His cheek is pressed into my chest now. His lashes flutter slightly, but he’s still out.

“I’m glad he finally let himself feel what he’s been holding back for so long,” she says.

I look up at her slowly. “What do you mean?”

She lets out a quiet laugh, warm and fond. “Oh, come on, Gio. It was obvious.”

“It was?”

“Oh absolutely,” she says, grinning now. “The boy once kept a tissue in his diary labeled ‘Given by Gio Fontana (Thursday)’.”

I choke on a breath. “He—what?”

She laughs. “Yup. Folded neatly. In a plastic sleeve. I wasn’t snooping, I swear—I was dusting his shelves and it fell open. Nearly gave me a heart attack. Thought I’d stumbled on some forensic evidence.”

I laugh.

That little cute fucker.

“God,” I murmur, smiling. “That’s so him.”

She watches me for a second. “Do you love him, Gio?”

I nod, slowly. “You have no idea how much. How can anyone not love him? Seriously.”

I look down at his hand resting on my stomach and cover it gently with mine, brushing my thumb over his knuckles.

She watches us both. “He’s lucky to have someone who sees him the way you do.”

I don’t answer. I just keep holding him. Because I’m the lucky one.

“So… how exactly do we tell Charles… you know… that we’re in love without getting murdered?”

Her expression shifts.

She leans back a little, arms crossed tightly.

“Carefully,” she says, with zero sarcasm. “And not alone.”

“Do you think he’d really lose it?”

“I think he’ll pretend it’s not real. Or worse, blame you for ‘corrupting’ him. That’s how Charles works. Everything is someone else’s fault.”

I nod slowly. That tracks.

“Rava’s not ashamed,” I say.

“I know. And that’s what scares his father most. He’s losing control. Rava’s finally living for himself.”

She pauses, glancing between us.

“And you’re a big part of that.”

I don’t say anything right away. Just keep my palm pressed to Rava’s back. Keep him close.

Then she adds quietly, “When the time comes to tell him… I’ll be there too.”

I nod.

I don’t know when we’ll have that fight, but I know I won’t be alone in it.

Not anymore.

74) Tell Me More, Baby

Rava’s POV

I was dressed for the final meeting.

Navy blue shirt, light fabric. Glasses fixed, collar adjusted, back straight.

This is actually the last meeting. And I’m actually leaving in less than two weeks.

This wasn’t how I thought my summer would go.

Honestly, I thought I’d spend it reading lesson plans. Maybe tutoring.

Definitely not… falling in love with an annoying, impossible, broken but sweet man who somehow made me feel more whole than I ever had.

And yeah, it would’ve been even better if my dad hadn’t had so much venom inside him.

But… whatever. I was still glad I came. No, I was so fucking glad I came.

I spotted his key on my desk.

His key.

Mine now.

I smiled like an idiot as I picked it up and slipped it into my pocket.

Then I remembered something. I opened the cabinet.

There, tucked behind a stack of half-used notebooks, was the old one. My journal.

The one I started when I was little, when all Gio was to me was a problem I couldn’t figure out.

I had two.

I flipped the first one open.

The last entry read:

“Gio said my shirt looked stupid and childish. He also wore sunglasses indoors today. Again. (Friday)”

I snorted. Yeah. Sounds about right.

Then, without thinking, I grabbed a pen.

Scrawled quickly beneath it:

“He told me he loves me. (Tuesday)”

I closed the journal. Put it back. Tried to ignore how warm my face felt.

I checked myself once in the mirror, and I made my way down the stairs. Mom was in the kitchen, humming to herself, her back to me.

I walked up and wrapped my arms around her. “I’m going to see Gio. I’ll be right back.”

“Wait,” she said, turning around. She held out a bowl. Warm. Wrapped in foil.

I blinked. “Are you trying to make him gain weight or what?”

She laughed.

I grinned. Shook my head. “He’s going to cry when he sees this.”

She nodded toward the door, then paused. “Tell Gio I’m sorry… for last night. I feel awful .”

I looked at her. The way her eyes softened at the sound of his name.

“You’re the best mom,” I whispered. “Thank you.”

I kissed her cheek and walked out into the sun, bowl in hand.

I slipped the key into the lock, quietly pushed the door open, and stepped into Gio’s house.

His scent hit me instantly. God, it’s so addictive.

I left my shoes near the entrance I headed upstairs. The bedroom door was cracked open. He wasn’t inside.

But Lulu was.

She was curled in the middle of Gio’s unmade bed. I grinned, set the bowl of pies down on his desk, and walked over to her.

“Hey, queen,” I whispered, scooping her up into my arms. She blinked lazily, nuzzled my jaw. “Brought you tribute. I mean, technically it’s for your human, but let’s be real… you run this household.”

That’s when I heard the door creak behind me.

I turned, and nearly choked.

Gio was standing there, toothbrush still in his mouth, blinking at me with those half-awake eyes.

His black hair was a mess, sticking out in every direction. No shirt. Just a pair of low-slung, grey sweatpants, and I mean low. So low I could almost see the start of that damn tattoo. The one that made my brain turn off.

My eyes stayed there for a second too long.

He smirked, pulled the toothbrush out of his mouth. “You gonna help me brush or are you just planning to stare all day?”

“I wasn’t—shut up.”

He started laughing, walking toward the sink. Lulu wiggled in my arms like she was embarrassed for me.

I cleared my throat, still warm in the face. Spoke directly to the cat.

“You have the most inappropriate owner. You know that, right? Just absolutely unhinged.”

Lulu meowed like she agreed. I petted her little head.

He took Lulu from my hands, gently laid her down on the bed.

Then he turned to me.

Pushed me backward, not hard, just enough to catch me off guard. “Wait what are you—”

Before I could react, he grabbed me by the waist and pulled me down onto him.

Straight up yanked me on top of his bare chest.

I froze.

Full body contact. Face to face. Skin on skin.

And he just… closed his eyes.

Like that.

“Hey,” I muttered, trying not to completely lose it. “Don’t fall asleep now.”

He didn’t answer.

A strand of his hair had fallen over his face, so I brushed it aside without thinking. “We’ve got one last meeting, remember?”

Still nothing.

I swallowed. My hands were placed on his chest and I was trying really hard not to notice how warm he was. How freaking good he smelled.

He exhaled slowly.

I panicked.

“Your bed gives me the worst flashbacks.”

At that, he smirked, eyes still shut.

“The worst?” he muttered. “You mean the best orgasms of your life?”

I blinked. “Was it that obvious?”

He moved.

Quick.

He flipped me over so fast I didn’t even process it until I was flat on my back, staring up at him.

He was grinning like a fucking demon.

My heart was racing. His eyes were locked on mine.

Then his voice went lazy.

“Tell me what you did this morning.”

I blinked. “What?”

He leaned in, almost smiling. “You heard me.”

I swallowed hard. “Um…I got some really bad coffee. With Daisy. And then we—”

His fingers went to my belt. Unbuckled it. One click. Then another.

I froze. My voice cracked. “Gio—what are you doing?”

He didn’t even blink. “Keep going, I was listening.”

My mouth went dry. But I nodded. I tried. I really tried.

“Uh, yeah, then we walked a bit. Talked about… something stupid, I think? And she—”

His hand slipped down.

Inside.

I stuttered mid-sentence.

He probably felt the butterflies in my stomach.

He ran his other hand through my hair, tilting my head just enough so my glasses slipped a little down my nose. I saw him through the blur, and fuck, he looked fucking unreal.

I was supposed to keep talking. I knew that. But he moved again, his hand stroking me, dragging me apart, and I could barely breathe.

“I don’t even—fuck, Gio…”

He hummed against my neck. “What was that?”

I groaned. My hips bucked without permission..

“You’re doing it on purpose,” I whispered, barely.

His mouth was on my throat. Hot, open-mouthed kisses.

“Keep talking,” he whispered. “Or I stop.”

And I swear, I could cry.

“Okay,” I replied fast. “Okay, I will, just—don’t stop.”

My voice trembled. I tried to speak again. Tried to finish the dumb story. But every word died on my tongue when he stroked me harder.

He kissed just under my jaw. “Still listening.”

I was gone.

His hand was around me. I couldn’t breathe right. My back was already lifting off the bed, hips chasing every stroke.

“She said, um, Lorenzo was gonna—I think he was gonna pass by later and—”

His thumb rolled over the tip and I breathed in too hard.

“Tell me more, baby, I know you can.”

I died a little.

I tried to keep talking.

And then…it stopped.

His hand pulled away.

The heat vanished.

And before I could even process what the fuck was happening, I felt him-

Buttoning my pants.

Zipper up.

What?

I looked at him. “No.” My voice cracked. “No, no— what?! “

I reached for his hand, desperate. “The fuck?! Put it back in. Gio I’m serious—”

He laughed.

“Look at you,” he said, grinning. “You’ve gotten so desperate for me.”

He kissed my neck. Once. Then again. Then again.

“You’re fucking evil,” I breathed, still shaking. “That was cruel, Gio.”

He pulled back just enough to look at me, that cocky glint in his eyes.

“Aww,” he cooed, kissing my lips this time, soft but smug. “Poor baby.”

And then he stood up.

Grabbed his shirt, started putting it on like nothing happened.

Fixing his cuffs. Brushing his hair.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I asked, still breathless, still hard.

He smirked over his shoulder. “Getting ready for that meeting.”

He was putting his pants on.

I sat on the bed half wrecked and more than a little pissed.

Then he fixed his damn chain. That silver one on his wrist I hated because it made his hands look even hotter.

“Yeah, okay,” I muttered. “That wasn’t cool.”

He looked at me over his shoulder. Smiled.

Smiled .

“You’re such a prick.”

Still smiling.

“No, seriously,” I snapped. “You don’t get to pull that and then leave like nothing happened.”

He raised a brow. “Pretty sure I just did.”

I glared. Sat back on my elbows.

“We’re not going anywhere,” I said. “You’re staying right there. You can sit your ass down and wait until I’m good. Because I’m not walking out like this. I’m not going home with a boner thanks to your unfinished business.”

He laughed. Loud.

“Oh my god,” he said. “I’d pay money to see your dad’s face if he saw you walking out of my place like that.”

I actually laughed too, even though I wanted to kick him.

And then I got quiet.

Looked up at him, a little more serious.

“I’m gonna talk to him today,” I said. “I’m nervous. I won’t lie. But I swear to god, Gio, I can’t listen to his bullshit anymore.”

Gio’s face changed. He didn’t smile this time. Just looked at me with something like pride.

“I wanna see that,” he said. “I’ll stand behind you. Just in case a stray punch lands my way.”

I snorted. Shook my head.

“Look what we’ve come to…”

I was spinning my pen between my fingers just to keep from clenching them. One look at my father’s face across the room and my whole chest burned.

Lorenzo plopped down beside me like he was entering a café, not a time bomb. “Your sister’s super hot,” he whispered. “Like, I-hope-she-runs-me-over-with-her-car hot.”

I turned my head slowly, narrowed my eyes. “She’s my blood relative. Gio’s yours. What does that make you and me?”

Without missing a beat, he smirked. “Unstable.”

Then, wiggling his brows: “By the way, where’s your man? Got stopped at a checkpoint again?”

I stared at him. Deadpan. “He’s eating pies.”

Pause. “Because someone awful stole his last ones last night.”

Lorenzo snorted, trying not to laugh too loudly. “You’re never letting that go, huh?”

I didn’t answer. I glanced across the table at my father again.

His eyes were scanning the room like we were all beneath him. My stomach knotted.

Lorenzo leaned toward me. “What’s this guy’s deal?” he whispered, nodding subtly at my dad. “He terrifies me. And not in a cool way. In a ‘man-who-yells-at-waiters’ kind of way.”

I kept my eyes on him. “He’s always been bitter,” I muttered. “But lately it’s like… aging is eating his soul.”

Lorenzo whistled low. “Spicy.”

The pen clicked between my fingers again. The air felt heavier now. Gio still hadn’t shown up. But I could feel it, things were going to blow soon.

I was resting my cheek on my hand, trying not to yawn from the boredom, or punch something from the tension.

Maybe both.

And then the door creaked open.

He walked in like he always did, not giving a single shit about anything or anyone inside that room.

White shirt, half-buttoned, slightly wrinkled but clinging in all the right places. Silver rings on both hands. Helmet in one. Black pants. The chain around his neck caught the light. His hair was messy.

Everyone looked up when he walked in.

“Gio,” someone said near the back, “how’s your mother doing?”

“Doing better already,” he said.

“Real shame she’s missing the last one of these absolutely riveting meetings, huh?”

A few chuckles. Mostly silence.

My heart did this annoying thing. That quick, full thump it always did when he entered a room.

I already knew his mom was doing better, and I couldn’t be happier about it. My mom is at the hospital, keeping an eye on her.

He didn’t look at me at first. Just walked down the aisle, calm as ever, and slid into the empty seat across from me.

Next to my father.

Of course.

He put the helmet down on the floor. Sat back. Crossed his arms lazily. Then tilted his head slightly toward my dad.

“Hey there, Charles!”

My father didn’t flinch. Didn’t even pretend to be polite.

Just looked at him out of the corner of his eye, then turned his head forward.

Didn’t say a word.

I stared at Gio.

He met my eyes for half a second. Smiled. Shrugged. That look on his face, the one that said “I tried.”

He leaned back in his chair.

I couldn’t stop looking at him. And he knew it.

His fingers tapped against the edge of the table. Then he mouthed something across to me.

“You okay?”

I nodded once, slowly.

He mouthed again, smirking just a little:

“You look hot.”

I nearly choked on air.

I shot him a glare.

“Not now, Gio.”

He texted me.

GIO:

-You still thinking about this morning?

My stomach did a flip.

I glanced around to make sure no one saw that, then texted back.

ME:

-You will regret this.

His tongue ran over his bottom lip, and he gave me a wink.

GIO:

-I’m bored

-Your lips look so good

-How is your skin so flawless?

ME:

-Are you ovulating?!

-Or are you just a big man whore?

I clenched my jaw. Smiled. Glanced to the side.

Lorenzo caught my eye and raised an eyebrow at me like, what the hell are you two doing.

The meeting carried on.

I kept my eyes on the notepad in front of me, writing down what I could, nodding when it was expected, trying to be normal. Or at least fake it. My pen tapped against the page in an anxious rhythm.

Someone across the table mentioned final budget allocations, another brought up outreach, logistics, reports.

It was all stuff we’d covered before, but since it was the last meeting of the summer, it mattered now.

Our numbers had to be spotless. Our results clear.

I tried to speak up once, my voice cracked, and I had to clear my freaking throat like five times before continuing.

We agreed on two final community sessions, the last one being next Thursday. Everyone clapped. It felt forced.

People started packing up.

I rubbed my temples.

And then it was over.

I stayed seated for a moment, watching the room slowly empty out. Gio hadn’t moved.

He was still lounging in his chair, arm slung over the backrest.

Only my dad, Gio, and I were left in the room now.

That’s when I felt the air change.

Like someone cracked open a window and all the oxygen decided to dip.

---

GUYS

Reminder that in the kindle version there is also a bonus scene with Gio when he was nine years old, chatting with his dad 💔

I’m leaving the link here again JUST IN CASE YOU WANNA CRY :)

75) Never Been Prouder

Rava’s POV

It was just the three of us now. Me. Gio. My dad.

Gio leaned back in his chair, legs stretched out.

“You know, Charles,” he said, “I was actually gonna tell you, your son’s got this habit of—”

“Of getting involved with people beneath him?” my father interrupted, voice sharp as a blade, eyes cutting into Gio. “Yes, I’m well aware.”

I froze.

He looked at me like he was asking for permission.

And I knew. I knew it was going to be a disaster. It was always going to be. We’ve just been postponing it.

Fine. Let it happen now.

I’m tired of hiding the main source of my happiness.

I’m tired of shrinking it down so other people can breathe easier.

I don’t just want to tell him. I want it to hurt.

The way he hurt me. The way he hurt Gio.

Maybe that makes me cruel. Maybe it makes me petty.

But I’m done being gentle with someone who was never gentle with us.

I nodded.

He smiled.

That slow, dangerous smile, which kinda makes me scared.

“Interesting choice of words,” Gio said softly, voice dipping just slightly, eyes narrowing. “Though I wouldn’t exactly say I’m beneath him.”

He paused.

“If anything…” he leaned back just a little, eyes still locked on my father— “ he’s usually the one underneath.“

My father’s chair scraped violently as he shot up, face red with fury.

I didn’t even register it at first, just heard it.

Then my brain caught up and my heart fucking exploded.

He moved like a goddamn lunatic.

One second Gio was sitting, the next he was slammed against the wall, my father’s hand holding his throat.

I stumbled forward, tripping over my own feet to get to them.

“DAD, STOP—HAVE YOU LOST IT?!”

Gio was laughing.

Laughing .

His eyes glinted like he was loving this.

His head hit the wall but he didn’t flinch.

I’m gonna fucking kill him.

I told him to start a conversation, not go get himself murdered?!

I grab my dad’s shoulder fast, trying to pull him away from Gio, but he shakes my hand off.

No. No, not this fucking time.

I shove him harder.

I never thought it would come to this. I never thought I’d reach a point where I’d have to put my hands on my own father like this.

But I will not let anyone touch Gio with that kind of disrespect.

Not even him.

“Are you out of your mind??!” I yell. “Seriously?? Is violence the only language you speak? What are you, an animal?”

My dad looks at me. Then at Gio.

Back and forth.

Same disgust on his face for both of us.

It should hurt. It should break me.

Instead, it makes me furious.

I stood in front of Gio like a shield. My hands were fucking shaking.

“You’ve actually fucking lost it, haven’t you?! Completely and absolutely . You’re not just angry, you’re not just bitter, you’re fucking broken!”

He didn’t move.

I laughed.

“How do you live like this, huh? How does it not kill you to carry this much hate around?”

I look at Gio.

He’s rubbing his neck, right where my dad had his hand.

Jesus…

If Gio doesn’t press charges, it’ll be a miracle.

I looked back at dad.

Fuck it.

I take a deep breath.

“I was gonna tell you, you know? Genuinely. Calmly. Thought maybe for once, you’d actually fucking listen to me.”

I stepped closer to him. Not afraid. Not anymore.

“But you don’t deserve calm. You don’t deserve respect. Or trust. Or answers.”

I could feel my whole body buzzing. Like I was going to shatter from the inside out.

“You remember what you said, right? That time? How sick it is for guys to like guys? About people being gay? Or as your homophobic-ass calls them—broken, ‘unnatural’, is that correct?”

I took a step forward.

“‘They’re disgusting .’” Another step.

“‘They deserve hell .’” My voice dropped.

“‘Thank God my son is normal.’”

I smiled.

It hurt.

“Fucking watch me.”

I turned, grabbed Gio by the shirt and kissed him fucking hard.

His mouth crashed into mine like we’d both been starving. He clutched my waist and I clutched his face, moving fast. Like my father didn’t even exist.

Just him.

“Oh dear God—”

My dad steps forward, and right as he lifts his arm, about to hit either me or Gio, Gio moves.

He grabs my dad’s wrist, holds it there for a second, and then he drops it hard.

Even my dad looks shocked. Like he forgot for a second that Gio’s not a kid.

“If you wanna leave this room with that hand still attached,” Gio whispered calmly, “I’d suggest you fucking don’t.”

“I knew it,” dad spat, his voice shaking with rage as he looked Gio up and down like he was filth.

“ You’re the fucking problem. You did this. What did you say to him, huh? What things have you been whispering in his ear to turn my son into this absolute mess?!“

Gio tilted his head.

Smiled.

“I didn’t say things to your son,” he murmured, cool as ice. “I did things to your son. Many, many things.”

And that was it.

That was the moment.

My father’s fist slammed into Gio’s face…

Making it snap to the side.

“DAD—”

I shove my dad away without even thinking and grab Gio’s face, checking everywhere at once.

His lip starts bleeding. A little at first, then more.

And that’s when my eyes fill with tears.

That’s when it clicks.

Being hit myself hurt, yeah.

But watching him hit Gio?

That finished me.

Everything inside me broke.

My throat burned. I couldn’t even think properly.

My voice broke in half as I pushed past and stood between them, shaking.

I looked at Gio. Blood. Real. Fucking. Blood.

My hands were shaking. My whole body was shaking. “Oh you’re a fucking monster.”

I felt a tear on my cheek.

“You think this makes you right? This makes you strong ? You’re just a fucking miserable old man who can’t stand seeing people happy! Do you understand that?”

I’m yelling now. I can’t stop.

“Who the fuck are you? Who the fuck wakes up every day and chooses to be this cruel?”

I took a step closer.

“You ruin everything! Everyone! You poison every room you’re in! You can’t stand the idea of someone being loved when you’re too fucking bitter to feel anything anymore!”

My throat burned, my eyes were stinging, but I kept going.

“You’re not a father. You’re not a man. You’re a fucking infection. You’ve made my life hell!You’ve made his life hell, probably mom’s too, and guess what, we’re not fucking doing this anymore.”

I’m shaking. Head to toe.

But fuck it, I’m tired.

I’m tired of flinching.

Tired of swallowing things whole just to keep the peace.

Tired of pretending this is survivable.

Something in me hardens through the tremor. Because I can’t keep living inside this loop.

It’s time. Time to end this whole fucking tragedy.

He now pointing at us. “You’ll regret this. You both will—”

I cut him off, laughing bitterly.

“Regret?” I laughed. “The only thing I regret is every fucking year I spent trying to earn your love!”

I leaned down to Gio, wiped the blood from the corner of his bottom lip gently, then stood up straight again.

“You really think this whole act would work on me forever? I’m not twelve anymore. I’m twenty-fucking-two. Get a grip.”

His jaw clenched. Good. He was swallowing every word like poison.

“You wanna pretend I’m still some scared kid you can shame into submission? You want me to listen to you when you’re saying stuff like “Rava, don’t let that street rat get inside your head” . Well guess fucking what, that ‘street rat’ has already been inside my body ! Cry if you want. I don’t care anymore.“

“Stop talking.”

“No. I won’t fucking stop talking. Cause you didn’t stop hating when I just needed some acceptance! Or at least some fucking tolerance, God!”

I look at him.

“You know what really pisses me off?” I throw at him. “If you had just loved me right… if you had given me the bare minimum of attention, maybe I would’ve tried harder to make you understand what the hell was going on inside me.”

I slam a hand against my own chest.

“Because God, I feel so goddamn much! More than you ever bothered to see! And you never, not once , asked me if I needed you! Not one time. You just assumed I was fine, or dramatic, or weak, or whatever the hell made it easier for you. I kept begging in ways you never noticed. Every good grade. Every achievement. Every time I shut my mouth instead of talking back. Every time I tried to make myself smaller so you wouldn’t get disappointed again.”

My voice cracks but I keep going.

“You had every chance to show up for me. To be a father. To ask me why I was hurting, why I felt like I was drowning, why I kept shrinking around you. But you didn’t. You just blamed. Judged. Compared me to everyone you actually liked.”

I shake my head, almost laughing.

“And now suddenly you’re shocked I turned to Gio? The one person who actually listens? Who held me when I was falling apart because of you ?”

I step even closer, my heartbeat loud in my ears.

“You want me to take your advice? Earn it. Earn the right to talk about my life. Earn the right to tell me who I should love. Because you lost that the moment you made me feel like I wasn’t worth loving in the first place.”

I breathe out, ragged and furious.

“If you wanted a son who listened, you should’ve tried being a dad who cared.”

He looked like he wanted to throw up.

“Jesus Christ, Rava,” he says, “you’re being dramatic. Again.”

My stomach drops.

“I provided for you! I put a roof over your head. Clothes on your back. Education. Opportunities. If you didn’t feel loved, that’s something you need to work through, not something you blame on me.”

My breath freezes in my chest.

“That boy behind you didn’t ‘save’ you,” he continues, waving a hand like I’m talking nonsense. “He just happened to be around while you were… emotional. You’re young. You confuse comfort with love. You always have.”

I blink, shocked.

“And as for all this crying and shouting… honestly, I don’t know what you expect me to say. I raised you the way I thought was best. Maybe you’re just too sensitive to handle real life.”

My heart splits clean down the middle.

He exhales sharply, annoyed. “You think he loves you? Enjoy it while it lasts. But don’t stand there and rewrite history to make me the villain because you feel guilty about your choices. I did my part. And if you needed more love?” he finishes, shrugging. “You should’ve said something. I’m not a mind reader.”

… Oh my god.

He still doesn’t get it. He never did. He never will.

Not because I didn’t explain it right. Not because I didn’t cry hard enough. Not because I didn’t try.

But because he doesn’t want to.

He’ll always twist things so he’s right. Always make my pain look like exaggeration. Always act like surviving under his roof was some kind of blessing I should thank him for.

I could bleed my heart out in front of him and he’d still complain about the mess on the floor.

Why did I try so hard? Why did I spend years bending myself into shapes he wouldn’t bother looking at? Why did I keep waiting for a version of him that doesn’t exist?

He’s the same man he’s always been. A wall pretending to be a father.

I drag the back of my hand across my cheek, wiping away the last tear I will ever shed because of him.

That’s it. I’m done bleeding for you.

If I hurt you now? That’s on you.

You made this version of me.

“You spent your life trying to make me fear you. I don’t. I don’t fucking care anymore. I love who I am. I love what I do. And I sure as hell love him, whether you like it or not.”

I pointed straight at Gio without breaking eye contact.

I stepped even closer.

“Take your threats,” I hissed, eyes locked on Charles, “and shove them so far up your ass maybe they’ll knock whatever human decency you had left back into place. Whatever you try to do, I’ll find a way out of it. I’ll do whatever it takes. I’m fucking done with you and your bullshit.”

He moves toward me.

My heart goes from already-bad to full siren mode.

Because I don’t trust him. Not like this. Not with that look in his eyes.

He’s capable of anything when he’s this angry.

And it’s insane, it’s actually insane, that all of this is happening because I love the “wrong” person too much.

I barely get one breath in before Gio grabs me. “Rava, let’s go.”

He pulls me back hard, and my feet trip over themselves.

He shoves the door open, drags me through, and slams it in Charles’ face before he can do anything.

I’m shaking so badly my hands don’t feel attached to me anymore.

Gio kisses me, while we’re still moving.

Probably because he is insane in the way that makes me survive.

And that kiss is pure panic dressed up as affection.

I taste adrenaline and fear.

He pulls away just enough to breathe against my mouth.

“I’m pretty sure I fell for you even harder.”

I blinked. Swallowed hard.

“Let’s get the hell out of this place.”

I nod, but then I see my mom.

“Mom—?”

She was rushing up, breathless, holding onto the rail with one hand, her eyes wide. “What happened? I heard shouting, are you—!”

And then she saw Gio.

She stopped cold.

Her eyes locked on the bruise. The blood.

She gasped. “Oh my God.”

We don’t even get to answer to her.

I see Charles coming down the stairs again and my whole body goes cold.

I grab my mom’s arm. “Mom, I’ll tell you everything later, okay? Please. Go somewhere else. Not home. Please.” I kiss her cheek way too fast and don’t wait for an answer.

I grab Gio’s hand and run.

We’re literally sprinting down the hallway. Gio drags me behind him and shoves us into the first empty room he finds.

He locks. We freeze.

Both of us are pressed flat against the door, holding it with our backs.

I can hear my heartbeat in my ears.

“Open the door now, you little shit!” Charles yells from the hallway.

The whole door shakes. My eyes squeeze shut on instinct.

I hate his voice. Every word is a fucking flashback.

“Rava!” he yells. “You open this door right now! Do you hear me?!”

I don’t answer. Tears spill before I even realize I’m crying.

One second my vision is fine, the next everything is blurry.

“You disgusting sinners !” he yells, punching the door again. “You think you can hide from God behind a fucking door?”

I jump at the hit.

Gio’s hands fly up to my ears.

He turns toward me, grabs my face with both hands and pulls me away from the door. My back hits the wall beside it.

“Ravioli. Look at me,” he says.

Another slam on the door. “OPEN IT, RAVA! NOW!”

A quiet sob rips out of me. I try to swallow it back, but it doesn’t work.

Gio presses his forehead against mine.

“Rava, it’s okay. Look at me,” he repeats, firmer.

He presses his palms over my ears again, blocking the sound as much as he can. “Focus here for a bit. Okay?”

“You filthy boy!” Charles keeps screaming from the other side. “You bring SHAME into this family—”

My tears fall faster. One drops onto Gio’s hand.

“You’re perfect, Rava. Listen to me. You are fucking perfect, baby. There is nothing wrong with you.”

Charles hits the door so hard it rattles in the frame.

“Come out and face what you ARE!” he yells. “Look at you, clinging to that—”

“I said don’t fucking listen to him,” Gio snaps, and his forehead pushes harder into mine.

His fingers tighten in my hair. “You’re the best fucking thing that ever happened to me. You hear that?”

A broken laugh escapes me through the tears. “Don’t—don’t say that now.”

“I’m saying it now exactly,” he insists. “You’re the best. The best . That man out there?” He jerks his chin toward the door, never breaking our contact. “He doesn’t know shit.”

Another slam. “YOU’RE SICK, BOTH OF YOU!”

I flinch again. Gio’s hands press harder over my ears, almost completely muffling the voice.

Our noses brush. His eyes are wet too.

“You hear me, Ravioli?” he says. “You are not dirty. You are not wrong. You’re a blessing.”

More tears fall. I can’t even wipe them. They just slide down my face, onto his hands.

He leans in and kisses me.

Our lips crash together right as Charles slams the door again.

I’m crying into it. I can taste the salt. My fingers clutch at his shirt, pulling him closer.

I don’t even know if I’m seeking comfort or trying to hold myself up.

“You’re perfect, Rava,” he murmurs against my lips, between kisses. “You’re perfect. You’re perfect. He’s just a man yelling at a door. You’re more than that.”

He kisses me again, softer this time. His thumbs swipe at the tears on my cheeks.

“You’re the best thing,” he whispers. “The absolute best thing. I swear.”

Another slam, another insult.

And even as my tears keep falling, I kiss him back.

Because if I’m going to be called a sinner either way, I’d rather do it with his mouth on mine.

His eyes sweep the room now.

“Listen to me,” he whispers. “We’re going out the window. Okay?”

I nod, too many times.

We move together toward the window. Gio gets there first and shoves it open.

“We’ve got this, okay?” he says, already halfway outside. “We’ll go down the stairs. It’s nothing. He won’t see us. Trust me.”

I nod again and again. And then I climb out.

The second my feet hit the outside ledge, I laugh.

I don’t even know why.

Maybe because this is absolutely, completely, insanely real.

Maybe because the adrenaline is flooding my veins.

Gio follows me out, he hears me laugh, and he starts laughing too.

Is it funny?

No. Nothing about this is funny.

It’s tragic, humiliating, and fucking terrifying.

But we’re doing it together.

Gio reaches back in and slides the window shut.

Then he turns to me and motions down.

The fire escape. The stupid metal stairs that are suddenly our best idea.

I grip the railing and start down. Gio stays close behind me. We’re almost down.

“Remind me later,” he says between panting breaths, “to show you how proud I am of you.”

I laugh again, because who says that right now? Who flirts with courage?

“I’ll try,” I whisper back.

Suddenly I feel…

Happiness.

Yes, in the middle of all this terror.

Maybe it’s the adrenaline. Maybe it’s the freedom. I don’t fucking know.

We are now in front of the ducati.

Gio gave me his helmet. Climbed on.

“Lock ourselves up at my place?” he said, raising a brow.

I smiled, and nodded.

“Yes please.”

Red light.

My arms were around his waist, tight. I didn’t care who saw. I didn’t even try to play it cool. Not tonight.

“Are you okay?” I ask him, rubbing his abs.

“Never been better.”

I smile.

I let my hands slide just slightly lower, not much, just enough. Just to test the waters.

His head turned fast.

I met his eyes, and I laughed.

I’d never felt prouder. Of him. Of me. Of us.

I feel like I got out of a shell I didn’t even know I was in.

Right now I was fucking proud, and exactly where I was supposed to be.

⸻

Gio parks the bike on this random little hill that is definitely not his house or my house.

I look around.

“What are we doing here?” I ask, but he doesn’t even answer.

He just lifts the visor on his helmet. “Get off for a sec.”

I scratch my head, confused.

But I actually get off.

He takes my hand, and leads me to this tiny bench a few steps away.

The view is insane, all these houses and little lights below us.

I laugh under my breath. “What?”

He doesn’t say anything.

He just pops off my helmet gently, puts it on the ground, then takes his off too and drops it next to mine.

Then he sits in front of me, just staring.

“What?” I ask again, laughing because I suddenly feel… weirdly shy.

He leans in, and out of nowhere, he wraps his arms around me.

One hand in my hair, the other rubbing circles on my back while he squeezes the back of my neck.

I smile into his shoulder because… wow.

This.

This was exactly what I needed after everything that happened and I didn’t even know it myself.

And no, he’s not a mind reader, like my dad said.

He just knows how to read me.

He presses a soft kiss to my cheek, then my forehead, then my hair.

I hug him back, tight, and one stupid tear slips out even though I’m literally smiling.

He pulls back a little.

“I don’t want to bring that energy home,” he murmurs. “So I wanna fix this before we go. Okay?”

He wipes my tear with his thumb.

I nod. “Yeah… you’re right.”

“How do you feel?” Gio asks.

And God, I honestly don’t even know. I just lift my shoulders because my brain is a mess.

“Um… I don’t know,” I say. “I’m glad I stood up for us, I don’t regret that for a second. But I’m also kinda sad he didn’t get it. I thought I explained it perfectly.”

Gio smiles. “You did explain it perfectly,” he says. “I’m really proud of you. I swear. You said everything you needed to say. And he said everything he needed to say for you to finally see the truth… that the problem isn’t you.”

His thumb brushes my cheek, gentle.

“You’re not asking for too much,” he adds. “And no, you don’t need to be a mind reader to know when your kid needs love. Not everyone is meant to be a parent. You were just… unlucky.”

He clears the fog off my glasses with his shirt.

“I don’t want you sad, okay?” he murmurs. “You look cute with puffy eyes, but I prefer you happy. Not cute because of tears.”

I nod again, smiling a little. “I’m not sad. I’m proud of us. Maybe… a little too proud.”

A smirk creeps up before I can stop it.

His eyes go wide. “Tell me you’re not—”

I nod.

He covers his face instantly. “You whore! Stop. If you’re horny, I’m horny.”

I start laughing, wiping the last bit of wetness from my eyes. “Sorry. You’re hot. What do you want me to do? I poured my whole soul out for this. I deserve to be horny.”

Gio laughs too, throwing his hands up. “Okay, okay. You’re right. You’ve earned the right. I’m not stopping you.”

He pulls me all the way into him.

Our foreheads touch, and I breathe out slowly, like everything in me is finally settling.

“I feel relieved,” I admit, watching the lights glitter under us.

“Me too,” he says.

I hesitate for half a second before whispering, “So can I have my gift later?”

Gio groans. “Horny freak.”

I burst out laughing. “Sorry, sorry—”

“Don’t apologize,” he cuts in, squeezing my shoulder. “I love that about you. And honestly? I’m glad my incredible, irresistible body makes you lose focus.”

I nudge his shoulder with a fake-offended gasp. “Shut up.”

He laughs.

He leans back just enough to look at me properly with his hand still around my shoulders.

“You feel okay?” he asks.

I nod. Again and again.

“Hundred percent?” he presses, raising an eyebrow.

I nod harder. “Yeah. I’m good. Really good.”

And I mean it. All that heaviness, all that noise, it’s finally quiet.

Because of him. Only him.

He watches me for a second to make sure I’m not faking it, then he smiles.

“Alright,” he says, squeezing my arm. “Then we can go back.”

---

He stopped in front of my house.

“Go park the bike, I will grab some stuff and I will come over,” I said, and slid off.

Inside, the house was quiet.

Jin was in the kitchen, hunched over a bowl of cereal, watching YouTube with one AirPod in.

Daisy was curled up on the couch, working on her laptop.

I tossed my keys on the counter. “Hey,” I said. “Might be a good idea for you two to disappear before… dad gets home. Unless you wanna hear a full sermon about how cursed and fucked up your brother is.”

Both their heads snapped up.

Daisy left her laptop on the couch. “Wait, what happened?”

I smile, tossing open my closet. “Nothing major. Just finally said everything I’ve been shoving down for the last twenty-two years. Oh—and he punched Gio in the face.”

“WHAT?!” They said that at the same time, same tone.

Jin nearly choked on his cereal. Daisy stood up like she’d been electrocuted.

“Is dad still breathing?!” Jin asked.

“For now,” I muttered, grabbing sweatpants, an oversized shirt, stuffing them into a bag.

Daisy pressed her hands over her face. “Jesus, Rava… I’m proud of you, okay? I really am. But God, what’s his problem? He’s been getting worse and worse… is Gio okay?!”

“Gio’s okay,” I said. “Don’t worry.”

“But what about you?”

“Oh I’m done pretending this house is a home. Not as long as he lives here too.”

“Are you staying with Gio?” Jin asked from the kitchen doorway.

“For tonight, yeah.” I zipped the bag. “Because if I see our father’s face again, I might do something I’ll regret.”

Daisy’s voice lowered. “Does Lorenzo know?”

“He left early,” I said. “Best thing he could’ve done, actually.”

I grabbed my charger. Almost walked out—then panicked, patted my wrist.

It was still there.

The bracelet.

I let out a breath. Calmed myself down.

Slinging the bag over my shoulder, I headed for the door.

“If he starts acting weird, please leave, guys. I’ll be next door, call me if anything happens.”

Jin nods, and I close the door behind me.

---

HELLO

I don’t even know what to say, I’m so proud of myself for this one. I hope it was worth the wait :)

Spoiler alert: It’s not over, lmao.

I’m posting again on Tuesday, and then on Thursday:) Heartwarming chapters, cause you need them after all that mess.

(Well one is freaky but the other one is SO LOVELY I COULD DIE okay i have to stop with the spoilers i’m just so excited:)

BYE BYE LOVE YOU POOKIES ❤️

76) Revenge

Gio’s POV

I feel like a starved animal.

We step into my place, and I trail behind him, shutting the door and locking it.

He takes off his blazer and hangs it up on the hook, like this is his house too.

I’m so fucking horny I could combust.

Rava fucking stood up. For me. For us.

But mostly, for himself.

I don’t even care that Charles hit me. It was worth it. Every second.

Because I got to see Rava become a fucking storm.

And yeah, maybe he said some shit that cut deep, but I’ve never been so goddamn proud.

I want to press him up against this door and make him forget every single awful second that came before it.

“So, uh…I kinda invited myself to stay here for tonight I guess.”

I smirk.

Could he be any cuter?

I almost explode on the spot.

We haven’t slept together, like actually slept, since Spain.

Because it always felt too intimate. And we weren’t ‘doing serious’.

Yeah, bullshit.

Jesus Christ, I’ve wanted this.

Wanted it so bad.

Not sex. I mean literally sleeping together.

In my bed.

If he hadn’t said it himself, I was this close to dropping to my knees and begging with my hands clasped like a damn sinner, saying “please, Rava, please sleep with me.”

So yeah. Today, I’m twice as happy.

I step forward and kiss him on the forehead. Let it linger, because he deserves the softness too.

Hell, he deserves the world.

“Stay as long as you want.” I whisper.

He looks up at me with that face, that sweet, stupidly pretty face.

There’s tension in the air. Thick. Sticky.

My hands are aching to be on him again.

“Let’s go clean you up,” he says then. He’s trying to sound calm, but his voice…it’s shaky.

“ Again ,“ he adds, and I can tell he’s trying to play it cool.

Bless him.

I grin.

“Lead the way, pretty boy,” I say.

And as he turns to walk down the hall, I’m already thinking about all the ways I want to thank him for taking care of me.

With my hands. With my mouth. With my entire fucking soul.

We reached the couch.

He just grabbed my wrist and pushed me down like it was nothing.

I blinked, caught off guard, then laughed.

“Shit, okay,” I said. “Didn’t know we were doing that now.”

He turned red.

“Shut up,” he muttered, already avoiding my eyes.

I smirked.

“Nah. I said I like it when you act like that. It’s so hot.”

I leaned back, legs spread, pulled my shirt off, and let it fall behind me.

I lift my arms and stretch hard, right in front of him.

He stared. A lot.

“You’re seriously gonna sit like that?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said. “You can handle it. I know you can.”

I winked at him.

He didn’t answer. Just dropped to his knees between my legs.

He opened the first aid kit like nothing was happening.

I feel guilty for being so freaking turned on right now.

But that thing that Rava did back there?

The guy is my new idol.

He grabs his phone.

“Sorry,” he says. “I’m texting my mom… I just need to tell her we’re okay, and make sure she’s okay too.

I nod. “Of course.”

Poor woman. Seriously. If she doesn’t divorce that man by tomorrow, I swear I’ll do it for her.

Not even joking.

I reach out and run my fingers through Rava’s hair, gentle, just to calm him. He jerks his head up immediately.

“Don’t do that.”

I smirk. “Why not?”

“You know why,” he says.

“Do I?” I spread my legs a little wider on the couch, still watching him. “I don’t know. Show me.”

He locks his phone, drops it somewhere beside him.

His eyes flick from my mouth to my throat and back again.

I swear, he’s sick, just as sick as me.

And I like it.

He grabbed the cotton pad.

He reached up, one hand under my jaw, turning my face so he could see the cut.

And he did it so surely, like I belonged to him and he could move me however he wanted.

God, this was turning me on even more.

His thumb pressed under my cheekbone, fingers curled around my jaw. He was so close I could feel his breath.

I kissed him.

He froze, pulled back a little.

“Can you not?” he said, smiling. “I’m trying to clean you up!”

“My bad, angel,” I said, grinning like an idiot.

He rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything else.

Just went back to work.

He puts his hand on my thigh to steady himself and leans in, closer.

My hands find his waist. They just land there.

What am I supposed to do? It’s not my fault he’s right here.

I look up at him, straight into those green eyes.

Thank God he got all the good genes from his mom.

Because if he looked like his dad, this would be way harder.

Charles could rot in hell.

Right now, it was just us.

He leaned in more, sliding one knee between my thighs so he could get closer.

“It’s done. Now we kiss.”

He climbs on top of me, and kisses me.

I’m grinning into it.

He cups my face with both hands, then slides them down to my neck while his tongue tangles with mine. It’s clearly a fight he plans to win.

My hands go straight to his ass. Muscle memory at this point.

I grab him, pull him down harder onto me.

I can already feel how not chill my body’s being about this.

I want the pants off. Now.

I want skin. I want the real thing.

I’m going through Rava withdrawal and it’s not cute.

I’m not handling it well.

He dropped between my legs again.

He looked up at me as he undid my belt, smiling.

He pulled my dick out, and I swear he licked his lips and kissed the tip, freaking watching me while he did it.

I’m in love with this guy.

He took me in his mouth.

My whole body jerked.

Fuck.

Fuck .

I let out this long, shaky exhale.

He doesn’t even tease. He takes my whole dick in.

See? I told him practice makes it perfect.

I glance down and watch my dick disappear into his mouth.

I nearly close my legs from the pressure, but he grabs my thighs and keeps them spread, like no, you’re staying right here.

His head starts moving, up and down, on my dick.

A moan punches right out of my chest without permission.

My hand finds his hair and pushes it back, sweeping it away from his face.

He looks too fucking pretty to be hidden right now.

I keep my hand there, and yeah, maybe I give him a little extra push.

My head fell back against the couch. I squeezed my eyes.

I wanted to grab his face and fuck into his mouth more.

He looked so fucking good like that. Lips wrapped around me. Green eyes up.

Shit .

His hands were still on my thighs, grounding me while his mouth moved up, down, grinding at the base, then back up again with a twist of his tongue that made me literally groan.

His cheeks were red.

Lips perfectly swollen around my dick.

And he didn’t break eye contact, not once.

This can’t be real.

I felt his hand sliding. Finding mine.

He’s unreal.

I didn’t even know my hand was clenched into a fist until he wrapped his fingers around it and squeezed.

Tight.

My free hand was locked on the top of his head, trying not to push and fuck into that perfect mouth.

He’s not even mine yet.

He’s everything and nothing at the same time.

He’s not my official boyfriend. And I already want to make him my fucking husband.

Cause there’s no way in fucking hell i’m leaving him do these stuff to someone else. Giving them that look.

Ever .

My thighs were trembling, my hands gripping his hair harder.

I was so fucking close.

My mouth fell open. I couldn’t breathe.

“Rava,” I groaned. “Please don’t fucking stop, I’m—”

And then he pulled off.

Just like that.

Gone.

I froze.

“What the hell—”

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning like the little demon he is.

“I told you. I would get my revenge.”

That motherfucker just sat back and smirked at me.

“No, you did not just—” I started, breathless.

He kept grinning as he reached for my zipper and started pulling it up, nice and slow, like a goddamn tease.

“Hey. Hey. HEY!” I yelled, swatting his hands, but he just laughed harder, buttoning my jeans like he was tucking away his little prank.

“NO! No no no Rava don’t you dare—”

But he was already standing up, backing away with that wicked grin on his face.

That asshole knew exactly what kind of hell he just put me through.

“Oh you little—” I scrambled up, fumbling with my zipper, chasing after him while still half-closing my damn pants.

“Get back here you dickhead I thought you loved me!”

He darted toward the hallway, and before I could even fully process it, he flung open the nearest door.

The garage.

The door slammed behind him as he disappeared inside.

I heard the key. The bastard locked the door.

I caught up two seconds later, pounding on the door with my palm. “OPEN THE DOOR, YOU FUCKER!”

From the other side, I heard him laughing.

Then his voice, mocking, playful, pure evil: “Oh nooo… horny Gio is going to end me!”

I couldn’t help but laugh, my forehead pressing against the door for a second, still painfully hard. “Okay. Alright. You wanna play? Fine.”

I sprinted toward my room.

I yanked open the drawer, grabbed the second key.

And that’s when my brain froze.

I turned, fast.

I almost tripped over my own feet, stumbling sideways like a drunk idiot. Caught myself on the wall.

I grabbed the lube bottle and some paper towels off the desk, fingers shaking.

The guy is getting his guts rearranged.

The garage door stood in front of me. I pressed my ear against it.

Nothing but my own breathing at first.

“Where are you?” I asked with a low, innocent voice, calm, already knowing he could hear the grin behind my words.

“On your bike,” he called back casually. “I’m scratching it as we speak.”

That little shit.

I exhaled a dry laugh, shaking my head as I slid the key into the lock. “Big mistake, Ravioli.”

I turned it.

The door swung open fast.

—

Rava’s POV

I heard the door unlock behind me, and I knew I was fucked.

Shit.

Before I could even breathe, the door flew open. Hard.

Gio.

His eyes were already locked on me.

He was so far gone it made my head spin.

I froze for half a second.

And then I ran.

Spinning around the Ducati, grinning even though my pulse was hammering.

I could feel how badly he wanted to catch me. I could see it.

“God, you’re so desperate for me,” I threw at him, voice breathless. “Who would’ve thought? Look at you.”

He tried to cut me off, stumbling forward. “Rava—”

But I ducked him again. I couldn’t help it, I loved this part.

“Where’s all that pride, huh?” I taunted, voice coming out lighter than I expected. “Gone. Completely fucking gone.”

His jaw clenched. Hard.

“I DON’T CARE!” he yelled, faking his sadness, practically tripping after me. “SHUT UP AND FINISH THE FUCKING JOB ALREADY!”

God, he was fucking feral.

I couldn’t stop smiling. The tension was crawling under my skin like electricity.

“Oh man… is it getting hot in here?” I teased again, still breathless. “Maybe I should take my shirt off.”

I was playing with him.

Every time I slipped out of his reach, my chest felt tighter. My legs were shaking and not just from running.

“Damn, I’m still so hot,” I kept going, pretending to wipe sweat off my chest. “I might have to take my pants off t—”

And then he snapped.

Before I could finish the sentence, he lunged forward, grabbed my shoulders, and slammed me back against the garage wall.

I gasped, breath catching hard. The air knocked out of my chest for a second.

Then his hand flew up, wrapping around my throat, pinning me there.

Oh I want him so badly.

His grip wasn’t even tight yet but my head spun instantly.

And God, I loved it.

I smiled up at him, half-laughing through my breathless voice. “Oooh… I see you, Chokey Gio.”

I was so hard I could barely think.

His eyes were low. The low lighting made his piercings shine more.

He was barely holding himself together.

I licked my bottom lip, knowing exactly what I was doing. I wanted him to lose it. I wanted him to wreck me.

He leaned in, close, so fucking close.

But he didn’t kiss me. He just hovered there, driving me insane.

I couldn’t take it. I pushed forward, tried to catch his mouth. He pulled back just enough to make me chase it, smirking.

“See? Now we’re both desperate,” he whispered.

The tension was crushing.

And then he finally crashed into me.

Our mouths collided like we hadn’t kissed in years.

I wrap both arms around his head, cradling him.

He’s already right up against me, forehead to forehead, but he still tries to pull me closer, even though closer is literally physically impossible.

I don’t know what’s going through his head. But whatever it is?

I’m in.

If he wants me closer, I’ll disappear into him.

He broke the kiss for half a second, panting hard.

“Bike. Now.”

And I was so fucking ready.

His hands grabbed my hips, and with one solid motion he shoved me, setting me right on the bike.

My back hit the tank, and he was already leaning over me, caging me in. His breath was heavy, eyes locked straight into mine.

The tension was so thick it almost choked me.

He kissed me hard again, desperately.

He couldn’t get enough.

I definitely couldn’t. Especially after today.

His bare chest burned against me.

Between gasps, he whispered right into my mouth. “You were so fucking hot earlier.”

I barely managed a shaky breath between kisses. “I was stressed.”

He chuckled under his breath, his hands already on my waistband, undoing my pants, breath speeding up. “You stood up for this right here.”

I just grinned against his mouth.

My pants hit the ground before I could say anything. His hands dragged down my thighs, palms sliding up again, fingers digging into my waist as he yanked me closer.

“I’m so proud of you,” he murmured, his voice rasping against my lips, breathless.

I swallowed, panting, smirking through the heat building inside me. “Then show it.”

His hands flexed on my waist.

“Gladly.”

He spun me toward the bike, backing me up until the metal touched my thighs.

His hand slid between my thighs.

Fingers dipping lower.

“Let’s get you ready, baby,” he whispered, voice filthy and low.

His fingers teased me for a moment, barely circling, just enough to make me squirm under his hand.

And then he pushed in.

Slow.

The stretch hit instantly. My lips parted with a shaky moan, back arching against the bike as his first finger sank inside me.

His second finger was inside me too now, steady and fucking perfect.

He moved them with this maddening rhythm, curling up inside me just enough to make my whole body jolt.

Every time he pressed in, it was like he knew exactly where to touch, where to make me feel it the most.

We’ve had sex so many times that sometimes, honestly, prep feels optional.

Like, I can literally feel it.

But he always does it anyway.

Because he wants to. Because he enjoys it.

And who am I to complain?

If it’s his hands, his mouth, his focus on me, he can do whatever he wants. Anything.

I don’t care what it is. If it’s him, and it’s on my body, I’m fucking saying yes.

Every time.

I was shaking already. My thighs kept tensing without my permission.

I wanted more. God, I always wanted more with him.

Then his free hand started moving too.

First it slid up my waist, gripping my side like he was holding me still.

Then higher, across my chest. His palm flattened over my heart, feeling how fast it was beating. It was fucking racing.

I swallowed hard, breath catching when his fingers inside me twisted slightly, opening me more, pushing a little deeper.

“Please don’t stop…” I whispered, voice shaking.

He smiled. His fingers kept moving, pressing up, pulling back, slipping in deeper with every stroke.

I couldn’t stop looking at him.

I never got over it. The way his hand looked inside me. The veins on his wrist flexing as he worked me open. His long, beautiful fucking fingers disappearing into me, filling me up so slowly it made my head spin.

“You feel that? You feel how good you take me?” he whispered.

“So fucking perfect, only for me.”

He licked my throat.

I whimpered. I actually whimpered. My entire body was burning.

And he hadn’t even started yet.

He lined himself up, one hand gripping my thigh, the other steadying himself.

His eyes locked on mine, completely gone, but soft, too.

“Can I?” he breathed.

I nodded.

And then he pushed in.

More, and more.

Until he was fully buried inside me.

My whole body arched into him, my mouth falling open with a soft, broken moan.

“You’re killing me, Rava…”

His hand tightened on my thigh, grounding me, pulling me further into him.

I could feel everything. Every inch. Every fucking inch.

When he bottomed out, we both gasped. My nails dug into his arms, gripping hard.

“I missed this,” I whispered.

He kissed me. He didn’t move right away. Just stayed there, buried fully inside me, his forehead resting lightly against mine, breath heavy.

“You feel that?” he whispered, voice rough, barely holding back. “You’re full of me.”

I whimpered, eyes glazing over. My heart felt like it was going to burst.

And then he started moving.

Slow but deep, controlled thrusts that made my back press harder against the bike. Every roll of his hips sent shockwaves through me, my legs instinctively wrapping tighter around his waist.

The sounds started immediately… the wet slap of skin against skin filling the air as he was bouncing on me, mixing with our breathless moans.

He moaned, and lowered his head.

“Fuck… listen to this,” He thrust again, deeper. Clap. “That’s my favorite fucking sound.”

I gasped, my head rolling back, mouth open, moaning louder now with every sharp, perfect snap of his hips.

He slammed into me again and again, the sounds of our bodies crashing together echoing in my ears, and I couldn’t help but moan.

“God, listen to you,” he said with a shaky voice, completely wrecked. “You fucking sing for me when I go deep.”

I couldn’t answer.

My nails scraped down his back as I clung to him.

The noise was getting louder, wetter.

“Fuck—” I choked out, voice cracking. “I can’t Gio—”

His hand wrapped around my throat gently, just enough to ground me again, to keep me from falling apart too soon.

“Yes, baby, you can,” he whispered. “Take it. You’re doing so fucking good for me.”

Another hard thrust. Clap.

He knew exactly what he was fucking doing.

Every thrust was deep, sharp, and just slow enough to make me crazy.

“You hear that?” he whispered near my ear. “That’s how much you want me.”

I squeezed my eyes, head rolling back. “Gio please—”

He grinned. I felt it against my neck.

“Please what?” His voice was fucking evil. “Please fuck you harder? Please make you cum? Or you just like begging?”

I gasped, trying to speak but my words got swallowed by another brutal thrust that made my entire body jolt.

“You sound so pretty when you’re this desperate,” he whispered, his teeth grazing my jaw.

My nails dug into his back, scraping down his skin, needing him closer and deeper.

“Gio stop with the teasing—”

He laughed, breathless.

“Why would I stop?” Another deep thrust.

“You’re a fucking mess for me.” Another one, even harder.

“You love it.” Again.

“You fucking love when I wreck you like this.” And again.

I was shaking under him.

My voice broke completely. “I’m so close…”

“I know,” he whispered. “I can feel you clenching around me, baby.”

And then he picked up the pace.

His hips started slamming into me again, faster, wet slaps filling the air like music.

I felt his hand wrap around my dick.

My back arched hard against the tank as his fist started stroking me, matching the brutal rhythm of his hips.

I screamed his name, eyes rolling back as I lost it completely.

And he didn’t stop.

My body was still twitching.

I was already on the edge.

I looked up.

His face.

The way his eyes squeezed shut, brows furrowed, jaw tight, the tension rolling off him like he was hanging on by a thread.

His hips started stuttering, his hands trembling slightly on my waist.

He was close. He was trying so hard not to lose it.

I let out a broken laugh through the moans, breathless. “You’re trying so hard,” I whispered.

His jaw clenched tighter.

I smirked. And then I squeezed around him on purpose.

Tight.

He choked on a breath.

“Let it go, fill me up.” I panted.

His hips slammed harder, sloppier, erratic now.

I’m squeezing even tighter, my body gripping him like I never wanted to let go. “Fuck me full, Gio, give it to me.”

He lost it.

“You’re evil,” he barely said, with a broken voice.

He slammed into me one last time, burying himself completely as his whole body shook.

His head dropped, forehead against mine, moaning straight into my mouth.

The heat flooded inside me.

That was it for me.

The second I felt him spill into me, my whole body snapped.

My orgasm ripped through me like lightning, my vision blurring as my cum shot between us, coating both our stomachs while my legs shook violently.

We came together.

Our sounds mixed in the air like some filthy fucking symphony.

I couldn’t stop shaking.

He was still pulsing inside me. Everything was spinning.

Then I noticed something.

One thick line of my cum had dripped down, sliding off my stomach, landing right onto the side of his Ducati..

My heart dropped.

I blinked, panicked, looking up at him, still panting.

“Shit, Gio, I’m so sorry—”

He blinked too, still trying to catch his breath.

He looked down at the mess.

Stared at it.

For a second, I thought he was about to lose his mind.

His eyes went wide, mouth parting.

“The fuck you’re sorry for?!” he asked, still breathless. He gestured at the streak with one hand like he was pointing at a fucking masterpiece.

“I’m the luckiest motherfucker alive right now.”

He shook his head, eyes full of something between lust and awe.

“This—” he panted, still staring at the mess, “this is art, baby.”

I let out a breathless laugh, still trying to process everything.

He looked back at me, eyes softening but still wild.

“Fucking art,” he whispered again, and kissed me hard.

---

YALL BETTER THANK Amygdalum FOR THE BIKE BOOMBAYAH IDEA.

ALSO I DREW A PICTURE FOR YOU.
In case you had trouble picturing the thing😭🤚.

It’s bad I know but, you get the point:)

Picasso would be ON HIS KNEES FOR ME 💪😔

I need to make a spotify playlist with that cover LMAO

Anyways, those two next chapters MANNNNNN I’m melting like a fucking snowball inside a microwave:) I can’t wait.

BYE BYE!!

77) Let Me Be The First.

Rava’s POV

We’re sitting in the bathtub.

The water is still warm.

I leaned back against his chest, fully sinking into him, like his body was the safest place in the world.

My head rested under his chin while his hands lazily ran through my wet hair, combing it back over and over like he was trying to memorize every strand.

I could feel his heartbeat against my back. I swallowed, breathing him in, before speaking.

“I’m… I’m really sorry my dad hit you,” I said softly. “This is ridiculous. Calling him dad sounds so wrong.”

His fingers paused for a moment, brushing gently over my forehead before moving again, slower this time.

“Hey,” he whispered. “Don’t you dare carry that shit on your shoulders.”

He kissed the side of my temple.

“None of it is on you, baby. And for the record?” He smiled a little. “I’m so fucking proud of you. You were… God, you were something else back there.”

I let out a weak laugh.

“To be honest? I’ve been too busy falling in love with you back in there to even care that he hit me.” He chuckled softly. “And that kiss? In front of him?”

He laughed again, a little breathless this time.

“Top one sexiest fucking thing anyone’s ever done for me. That took balls, baby.”

His arms were locked tight around my stomach, fingers interlaced like a belt, making sure I wouldn’t even think about leaving.

The water sloshed quietly around us, warm, but not half as warm as his skin behind me. His breath tickled the side of my neck every time he exhaled.

I stared at the tiled wall ahead of us, my fingers brushing lightly over his forearms.

I could feel his lips occasionally grazing my shoulder.

I freaking loved it.

This didn’t feel real. Not after everything. Not after tonight.

I swallowed, my voice softer than I expected when I finally spoke.

“Gio, can I ask you something?”

He shifted a little behind me, tightening his grip, pulling me closer.

“Anything,” he murmured against my skin.

I hesitated, biting down gently on my lip before continuing.

“When you saw me again… at that first meeting… did you really not recognize me right away?”

There was a pause.

And then he chuckled, sending a vibration through my back.

“Of course I recognized you.”

I blinked, tilting my head just slightly toward him. “You did?”

“Yeah.” His voice was teasing. “I just panicked.”

“Panicked?”

He laughed again, and I felt his lips press briefly against my neck. “Yeah. I was so fucking mad.”

“Mad?” I frowned. “At what?”

“At you, Ravioli.”

“Me?” I twisted a bit, trying to glance back at him.

“At how fucking hot you got,” he said. Even though I couldn’t fully see his face, I’m sure he was smiling.

A smile pulled at my own lips despite myself. My cheeks burned. “You’re insane.”

“Insanely into you ,” he whispered right into my ear, making me shiver.

God, he knew exactly what he was doing.

I shifted a little, turning fully toward him now, the water rippling around us. His arms immediately settled around my waist again.

My fingers found his jaw, gently steadying his face so I could look at him properly.

God, he was beautiful up close. His lips, his perfect nose, the curve of his jaw, the softness in his eyes when he looked at me.

“Tell me,” I smiled softly. “Were you jealous of Sophia too?”

His head fell back slightly with a groan, rolling his eyes.

“Fuck that bitch,” he mumbled. “I wanted to strangle her every time she was near us.”

I bit my lip to hide my grin.

“And what about,” I started, lowering my voice even more, “when I told you about the fake kiss? You know…when we ‘practiced’.”

The minute the words left my mouth, I saw it in his face. That same spark of frustration, of pure want that had probably eaten him alive back then.

“Was it fake for you?” I asked.

He scoffed, almost laughing. “That was the first real fucking kiss I’d ever had in my life. Man, there was nothing fake about it. Not even one goddamn percent.”

His voice dropped again, rougher now: “I couldn’t sleep for three days. My head was a fucking mess.”

I swallowed, my heart tightening in my chest. The amount of happiness I felt was unreal.

I smiled and turned around again, tilting my head a little against his chest.

“Now can I ask you something kinda… personal?”

He raised an eyebrow. “You’re sitting naked between my legs in my bathtub, Rava. I think we passed personal a long time ago.”

“Fair point.” I laughed, my fingers playing with his on my stomach.

“Have you ever… you know. Bottomed before?”

His whole body froze for a split second.

“Wow.” He leaned back with dramatic flair. “First night sleeping over and you’re already trying to bend me over, Ravioli?”

I laughed out loud, covering my face with one hand. “I knew you were gonna say something like that.”

He grinned, proud. “I mean, damn. At least let a guy take you to breakfast first.”

“Okay stop, leave me alone.”

“You’re so cute, Rava.”

I smiled, but then I turned just enough to look at him properly.

My voice softer.

“I’m serious, though.”

His smile faded a little.

“No,” he said, after a moment. “I haven’t.”

I blinked. “Never?!”

He shook his head, running a hand back through his wet hair. “Not once.”

I looked at him, curious. “Why not?”

There was a pause. He wasn’t avoiding the question, he was thinking.

He rubbed his thumb along the inside of my arm. “I think, for me, it’s always been about control. Not in the way people usually mean it. Not power. Just…”

He let out a breath. “Safety.”

I stayed quiet. I knew better than to interrupt.

“I’ve been with people,” he said honestly. “But none of them ever made me feel like I could… give up control. Not fully. I couldn’t afford to.”

I rested my hand over his, squeezing it gently.

He looked down at me.

“It’s not about the act itself. It’s about what it means. Letting someone in like that, letting someone hold that kind of weight… You have to really trust them. And that’s not something I’ve had a lot of in my life.”

I felt my heart ache, even as I leaned closer to him. “That makes sense. It’s not weird.”

He smiled a little, almost relieved. “Most people just ask why I’m not more ‘vers.’ Like it’s a fucking checklist I’m supposed to complete.”

“You’re not a spreadsheet, Gio.”

“Damn, that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

I grinned, and then took a breath.

“Then let me be the first.”

He blinked. “What?”

“I want to be the first,” I said again. “If and when you’re ever ready. I want to be someone you trust that much. Also you were my first. I want to be your ‘first’ something too.”

His eyes didn’t leave mine.

“You already are,” he muttered.

That threw me. I frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” He smiled faintly, fingers brushing over my stomach. “You already were my ‘first’ something. Twice.”

I tilted my head, confused.

“The first is the love part. God, my dad used to talk to me about this all the time.”

I turned my head slightly. “About what?”

He kept his eyes on the water, his fingers moving gently.

“About the day I’d fall for someone,” he said. “He used to tell me, ‘you’ll know when it’s not just a fling. When your chest starts acting like it’s got a mind of its own.’”

I smiled softly.

“I’d always roll my eyes. Tell him, ‘Nah, not me. I’m too cool for that romantic crap. That’s for other people.’”

I let out a little laugh. “You, too cool?”

“I was ,” he insisted, grinning faintly. “I used to make fun of people who said shit like ‘I miss you’ or ‘be safe’ like it was poetry. I’d gag every time.”

I turned fully in his arms, just to look at him.

“Now?” he said. “If he could see me now, he’d lose it. He’d laugh his ass off.”

“Why?”

He smiled, and his thumb brushed slowly over my ribs, right beneath my heart.

“Because you’ve turned me into one of those people. The ones who think in all the soft, dumb, lovesick ways I swore I never would.”

My breath caught in my throat.

“All those things I said I’d never feel? They’re all I think about. When it comes to you.”

I didn’t say anything.

He leaned forward and kissed my shoulder, lips barely touching skin.

“And…well, then there’s the other thing.”

“What thing?”

“First time I ever went raw.”

I froze.

“Wait. What?!”

He chuckled. “Yeah.”

I stared at him. “ You ?? First time??“

He smirked. “Every single time before you, I used protection. Always. Hell, I used to wrap it like it was going to war. Full gear. I never trusted anyone enough to do otherwise.”

“Why me?”

He leaned in a little.

“Because you’re not just some body I wanted. You were… you. And for once in my life, it felt like I was doing something real. Like I didn’t need a barrier between us.”

I swallowed, eyes locked on his.

“I was still getting tested, though,” he added gently. “I’m clean. I swear. I’d never do something that would hurt you. Not ever.”

“I trust you,” I said instantly. “I didn’t even think about that, I just— wow.”

“Yeah I know,” he murmured.

We sat in silence for a moment. My fingers were laced with his, resting on my stomach.

Then he smirked again. “Still. Bold-ass guest, Ravioli. First night sleeping over and you’re already asking to take my ass.”

“Oh my god,” I groaned, sliding lower into the water, wishing it would drown me.

He laughed, tilting his head back. “I’m joking. Mostly. But I’ll keep you in mind.”

He grinned and pulled me even closer.

“You know what, it’s fine, I don’t even want it now. Keep all that ass to yourself.” I said, pretending to be annoyed.

“Yeah?!” he grinned—and then, out of nowhere, he scooped a handful of water and splashed it right into my face.

“NOW WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS!” I gasped, wiping my face as he laughed uncontrollably.

Before I could even look at him, his hands found my neck. Soft, warm fingers curling around my throat gently as he leaned in and kissed me, slow, tender, but deep enough that it made my heart stop.

His lips barely pulled back, but his forehead stayed pressed against mine. His voice dropped to a whisper.

“Don’t ever change, Ravioli.”

I smiled.

Suddenly, we both heard the faintest little scratch on the door. Then it slowly creaked open.

Lulu.

She slipped into the bathroom, tail up, totally unfazed.

Gio laughed, shaking his head. “Well, well, look who’s here.”

I gasped, throwing my hands up dramatically. “Noooo don’t look! You’re too little for this!”

Gio lost it, laughing loud as hell behind me, his chest shaking against my back.

“She’s fine,” he grinned. “She’s seen worse, probably. She lives with me.”

I groaned, burying my face in my hands. “This was supposed to be our moment.”

“Ravioli,” Gio smirked, wrapping his arms tighter around my waist, “our moment just got interrupted by a six-pound furball. I think we’ll survive.”

I bit my lip, still smiling. “Yeah,” I mumbled. “But next time we lock the door.”

We walked into the kitchen, Lulu still tucked into my arms like a little queen. Gio flipped on the light and stretched his arms out, glancing over his shoulder.

“So, what do you wanna eat? ’Cause I’m not going to bed hungry.”

I chuckled, running my fingers through Lulu’s fur while she purred. “I don’t know… you pick.”

He grinned, turning to face me fully. “Alright, leave it to me. I got this. In another universe, I swear I’m a chef. A very sexy, very talented chef.”

I laughed. “Is that right?”

He moved closer to the counter, already opening a few cabinets. “You can help me while you tell me about your life in Canada.”

I blinked. Honestly… I wasn’t expecting that. “You…want to hear about that?”

“Obviously.” He glanced back at me like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Why wouldn’t I want to? Tell me everything.”

His eyes were so warm. He really wanted to know. About me.

“Alright,” I said, smiling like an idiot. “Well… where do I start?”

“Start with the good stuff.” Gio said, leaning casually on the counter, arms crossed, watching me.

I shook my head, heart swelling as I held Lulu a little closer. “Okay. The good stuff it is.”

“I mean… when I first got there, it was weird, you know? Everything felt… huge. Cold. And I didn’t know anyone. It felt like everyone already had their little groups, like I came in too late.”

Gio pulled the tomatoes out of the fridge, nodding as he sliced through one of them. “Sounds kinda lonely.”

“It was, at first,” I admitted. “But then Noah found me.”

Gio chuckled. “Found you?”

“Yeah.” I smiled. “At a party, actually. Tiny apartment, too many people, horrible music.”

I rolled my eyes at the memory. “I was standing awkwardly near the door, ready to leave, and Noah just… showed up. Started talking like we were already friends. I swear, ten minutes later he declared me his responsibility. Said, and I quote, ‘you’re too lost to survive out here alone, man.’”

Gio laughed. “That sounds like him.”

“It was him.” I grinned. “And that was it. He adopted me.”

There was a small pause as Gio chopped another tomato. “Did you ever… you know… like him?”

I blinked. “Like him?”

He nodded, eyes still on the cutting board. “Yeah. Like… like like him.”

“Oh yeah,” I said immediately. “Head over heels. You have no idea.”

His head snapped around so fast I heard his neck crack.

I burst out laughing, grabbing onto the counter as my stomach hurt. “I’m kidding. Jesus, Gio.”

He stared at me, half relieved, half glaring. “You’re awful.”

I wiped my eyes, still chuckling. “Never. Never even thought about him that way. Noah’s like… I don’t know. A second brother or something.”

Gio grumbled under his breath and kept chopping.

Then my face lit up, remembering. “Oh, oh—remind me to tell you about the time when my chair fucking betrayed me in the library.”

He raised his eyebrow. “What?”

I nodded, hands flying as I explained.

“I was in the silent study zone, full-on academic mode, hoodie up, highlighter in mouth, doing calculus like I was born to suffer.”

I started laughing.

“And then my freaking chair broke. It literally sank . My body just descended, inch by inch. There was no creak or any type of warning.”

I was fully wheezing. Laughing at my own suffering.

“I didn’t even get up. I just sat in my shame puddle for a moment. And that’s not the only time I embarrassed myself. Gio, I swear, Canada hates me.”

I placed Lulu gently on my lap.

“Picture me: walking home from the store, headphones in, feeling accomplished. I had eggs, bread, chocolate, milk.”

I tried to hold my laughter back.

“And then the bag breaks. Right in the middle of the sidewalk. Bread was rolling into the street dramatically. My chocolate somehow landed in snow. As for the milk…I don’t even have to explain.”

I rested my cheeks on my hands, still laughing.

“I just stood there like an idiot, holding the empty bag. A woman walked by, handed me a reusable tote, and said, ‘We’ve all been there, sweetie.’ I almost CRIED, GIO!”

Gio had stopped cooking entirely now, just staring at me with this soft, stupid grin.

I caught him looking, and my heart did a little flip.

“What?” I asked.

He shook his head, still smiling. “Nothing.”

He kept staring.

“The oil!” I yelled.

Gio cursed, spinning back to the stove just in time to save the pan from burning.

The moment he turned back to the stove, my phone buzzed on the counter.

I glanced down.

Dad.

Nope.

Not tonight.

I silenced the call without hesitation and slipped the phone into my pocket, already walking toward Gio.

My whole mood lightened as I reached him.

“So… what are we making?” I asked, sliding up behind him.

He smirked over his shoulder. “Pasta al forno.”

My eyes widened. “Ohhh, I make that too in Canada. When I manage to make it home with all the ingredients inside the bag and not rolling down the street!”

He turned fully this time, brows raising like he didn’t quite believe me. “You cook?”

I gasped, hand to my chest. “ Excuse me ? Of course I cook. I’ve been living alone for four years. I had to survive somehow?!“

He chuckled. “I just… I don’t know, I pictured you living on takeout and sad sandwiches.”

“Wow.” I blinked, pretending to be offended. “I’ll have you know my lasagna is world-class. Competition level.”

He snorted. “Right. And I’m sure you didn’t almost set your kitchen on fire once or twice?”

I pointed a finger at him. “The fire was very small. Technically, it didn’t even count. All students have been there.”

“Mmhm.” He narrowed his eyes, teasing.

“Shut up!” I huffed, laughing despite myself. “I know how to cook!”

Before I could say more, he reached out, slipping his arm gently around my neck and pulling me close.

His lips pressed softly to the top of my head. “I know you do, angel,” he said softly. “I’m just messing with you.”

My cheeks burned a little, and I smiled against his chest.

We sat side by side on the back balcony, plates balanced on our laps.

No lights. Just the moon.

It lit up Gio’s face. The piercings in his ear caught the glow, a tiny glimmer every time he moved. His lip ring too.

He reached for the pitcher and poured water into my glass.

And I just sat there. Watching him.

God. How was this my life?

“Didn’t bring you to the front balcony,” he said, breaking the silence. His voice was calm, almost teasing. “Figured your dad might take a shot at us while we eat.”

I let out a bitter laugh. “Good call.”

He smiled sideways and scooped up a bite from my plate with his fork.

“Alright,” he said, holding it up to my lips, eyes shining. “Moment of truth. You tell me who cooks this better. Me or Canadian-you.”

I raised an eyebrow, trying to hide the way my heart jumped just from the stupid way he was feeding me.

I leaned in, wrapped my lips around the fork, and let him pull it back.

The second I swallowed, I put on my best fake serious face.

“Hmmm…”

I rubbed my chin dramatically, acting like I was thinking it over. “Texture’s good. Flavors are balanced. Presentation’s… charmingly chaotic.”

He narrowed his eyes, amused. “That’s not an answer.”

I bit back a grin. “Fine.” I leaned closer, dropping my voice slightly. “You win.”

A smirk spread across his lips. “Obviously.”

He licked his bottom lip, eyes flicking down at mine before returning to my gaze.

I was chewing the last bite, finally slowing down after inhaling half the plate.

That’s when my phone buzzed on the table.

“Could you check that for me?” I managed to say with a full mouth.

Gio glanced at the screen.

“It’s an international number,” he said simply, sliding it across to me.

I froze mid-chew.

---

HELLO:) So UMMM guys please vote the chapters :))) I need to know if yall are still into these SO GIMME MY STAR PLEASE IM ON MY KNEES FOR YOU

BYE BYE!!!

78) That’s My Boy

Gio’s POV

“Can you put it on speaker for me?” he said.

So I did. Put it right there, middle of the table.

It was some international number. Weird.

“Good evening, may I speak to Mr. Rava Weston?”

The second he heard it, he froze.

Like completely froze.

His entire posture straightened, his face went pale.

“This is… this is Rava Weston speaking,” he answered, but his voice? It wasn’t steady. Not even close.

I sat up straighter too, my stomach dropping.

What the fuck was this?

“We’re calling regarding your recent application for postgraduate studies. We’re pleased to inform you—”

I didn’t even hear the rest.

Because I was staring at him.

At his wide fucking eyes. His tight jaw.

And it hit me.

Oh.

Oh, shit .

The Canada thing.

The fucking future thing.

Of course.

I forgot that life isn’t just showers together, cooking side by side, falling asleep with his foot tangled in mine.

No.

It can’t just be that simple.

Everything had to fall apart now.

Right when it was starting to feel like maybe, maybe, we could breathe.

Should’ve known better.

He shook his head like don’t say anything.

And for a second, everything was just… still.

Except my heart. That was losing its goddamn mind.

I lifted my brows at him, mouthing silently:

What is this?

Rava’s eyes darted toward me, wide, slightly panicked.

He hit mute.

“It’s—it’s that master’s program. The one. From a month ago. I applied… I didn’t think I’d even hear back.”

My heart slammed inside my chest.

It suddenly felt like this voice, this woman, had just walked into our moment, into our night, and was here to rip him away from me.

I swallowed hard.

“Okay,” I whispered, nodding fast like an idiot. “Okay. Go, take the call.”

I stopped hearing the words.

It all felt distant now, like we were sitting underwater and her voice was coming through glass.

He was really being offered this. This was real. Too fucking real. It wasn’t some vague possibility anymore.

“We are pleased to offer you a full scholarship for your master’s studies, Mr. Weston. Your application was excellent . Your professors spoke very highly of you. We believe you’ll thrive in our program.”

Rava blinked, frozen for a moment.

And then God, that small smile of his.

That polite, tiny, grateful smile. The one you give when you know you’re supposed to feel happy but your chest’s too fucking tight to breathe.

He was trying so hard. To be calm. To be collected. To not crumble right in front of me.

And me?

I was smiling too. Wide. Supportive. Proud.

And dying inside.

Because I could already see him, in lecture halls. In classrooms. With books in his arms, papers in his hands, changing kids’ lives the way only someone like him could.

He’d be brilliant. The best teacher. Exactly who he was always meant to be.

And I’d be… Here. Stuck.

My jaw clenched, but I kept the smile on.

“That’s… that’s incredible,” Rava finally managed to say into the phone.

“We’ll need your confirmation within the next 48 hours, Mr. Weston,” the woman continued, politely. “Please take your time, but do let us know by then.”

Rava dragged a hand over his face, rubbing his eyes like he was trying to push the reality of it back for just one second longer.

“Of course,” he breathed. “Thank you so much.”

Click.

He hung up and turned to me with that look, like he didn’t know if he was allowed to be happy. Like he was waiting to see if I’d fall apart first.

But I didn’t.

I smiled. Big. Like an idiot.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. I wanted to take that phone and throw it off the goddamn balcony.

“Hey,” I said quietly, reaching for his hand. “Rava?”

His eyes flicked up, glassy.

“You did it, baby,” I whispered, squeezing his hand. “You fucking did it.”

I grabbed him, and kissed his forehead like he was five years old and just won gold at the school spelling bee. He laughed a little, but I felt how tight his arms were around me.

Like he was scared to let go.

I won’t let him think that going is the wrong choice. Not even for a second.

Not even a flicker of doubt. He’s worked too hard for this. Wanted it too bad.

And if there’s one thing I’ve learned from him, it’s what love actually is.

It’s this . It’s pushing someone forward, not holding them back.

It’s letting go of your own fear just so they can fucking fly.

And right now? I’m his biggest fan.

Louder than the voice in his head. Louder than the part of me that’s breaking.

He needs to see it. Needs to see me clapping for him with both hands, even if my heart’s holding a white flag.

Because that’s love, right? Even when it hurts like hell, you still want them to win.

His jaw trembled for a second. “I… I don’t even know if I—”

“Shh,” I cut him off, leaning closer, my thumb stroking over his knuckles. “You were made for this. Do you hear me? This is what you were meant to do. And you deserve every fucking second of it.”

I was lying.

Not about him deserving it — God, no.

He deserved everything good this world had to offer. But about how okay I was.

Because inside? I was fucking crumbling. I was trying not to picture him gone. Trying not to imagine this house empty, my mornings empty, my nights…fuck.

I rubbed his arm gently, pulling him closer into my chest. His head found my shoulder.

“I’m so proud of you,” I whispered again, pressing a kiss to his temple. “So fucking proud.”

My heart was screaming: What the hell am I supposed to do without you?

But my mouth only said: “They will be so lucky to have you.”

His breath hitched against my neck, like he was fighting not to cry.

And still, I smiled.

Because someone had to be strong for him. I had to be strong for him. Because no one else ever fucking was.

He was quiet for a second, staring down at his hands.

“Do you really think I deserve this?” his voice came out small, raw.

I didn’t even let him finish the breath after. “ Nobody deserves this more than you,“ I said firmly.

“You hear me? Nobody. You’ve worked your ass off for this. You earned it.”

He swallowed, nodding slowly, like he was trying to force himself to believe it.

I’m so fucking sorry that his first instinct was guilt.

That the second he got what he’s been dreaming of, the first thing that hit him was doubt.

I hate that he’s been trained to flinch at his own wins.

To question whether he’s allowed to want more.

To look at the door opening and wonder if stepping through makes him selfish.

It doesn’t.

He deserves every good thing coming to him.

Every degree, every classroom full of loud-ass kids that are gonna love him without even trying.

I’ve never met anyone more worthy of it all. And it breaks me that he still doesn’t know it.

“Okay,” he whispered finally. “Okay… yeah. You’re right.”

I gave him a soft smile. “There you go. That’s my boy.”

I started gathering the plates to take them inside, but as I moved, I caught him wiping his face quickly with the back of his hand.

I paused. Tilted my head. Raised my eyebrow.

“Rava.”

He didn’t look at me.

“Yes?”

I narrowed my gaze at him. “…Was that a tear?”

He blinked. “No?”

The way his voice cracked made me bite back a laugh, even as my own chest ached.

I set the plates right back on the table. Slowly.

“What am I gonna do with this guy,” I muttered under my breath.

I reached for his hand, tugged him gently toward me. “Come here.”

He followed, letting me pull him onto the small balcony couch. I wrapped my arms tight around him, tucking him into my chest like I was protecting the most fragile thing in the world.

My fingers slid into his hair, stroking it softly, grounding both of us.

“Hey, “ I whispered against his temple. “Look at me.”

His eyes were glassy, lips trembling just a bit. I cupped his face, brushing my thumbs over his cheeks.

“Do you realize what this means?” I grinned. “You’re officially the hottest academic weapon in North America. I should be jealous, but instead I’m just proud as hell.”

He looked at me then.

That look.

That fuck, what about us look.

And I felt it hit me like a truck.

I couldn’t follow him. As much as I fucking wanted to. As much as every damn cell in my body wanted to just get on a plane and go with him, wake up next to him every day, kiss him before his lectures, pick him up on my bike like some dumb rom-com fantasy, I couldn’t.

Because someone’s gotta be here. Someone’s gotta take care of my mom. Someone’s gotta keep my father’s business alive. That thing—it’s him. And I can’t let that die too. Not when he already did.

So I did the only thing I knew how to do.

I cupped Rava’s face, made him look at me, and I smiled.

“You’re gonna go there and kill it. You’re gonna make them wish they had three more of you. And I’ll be here, clapping from this side of the ocean like a lunatic every time you do something amazing.”

He tried to say something, but I cut him off with a kiss.

“Don’t think about what we’re leaving behind,” I whispered against his lips. “Think about where you’re going. Think about what you’ve worked for. You earned this, Ravioli. You earned it.”

He was shaking his head, eyes shining, and yeah, I couldn’t take it anymore either.

So I pulled him in, held him like he was already slipping through my fingers.

“If I could, I’d already have two tickets booked. You have no idea how fucking bad I wanna go with you. But… I have to stay. I have to… be what’s left for her. And for him. And I hope—”

I swallowed.

“I hope that doesn’t make you think I love you any less. ’Cause it’s the opposite. I love you too much to keep you here.”

Then I forced another smile, the Gio special, messy, cocky.

He opened his mouth, but I saw it coming. “But what if—”

I cut him off instantly. “You’ll handle it. Because you always do.”

His brows furrowed. “But what if I can’t—”

“You can. And I’ll be right here to remind you of that whenever you forget.”

“But what if I fail—”

“You won’t, Rava,” I said firmly. “But even if you stumble? You’ll stand the fuck back up. Like you always have.”

He blinked hard, his throat bobbing as he tried to swallow the lump forming.

I smiled softly, leaning closer. “I don’t care if you’re on the other side of the world or sitting right here beside me. You’re still my Ravioli. And you’re still gonna make me the proudest bastard on this damn planet.”

His voice cracked, barely a whisper. “You’ve changed so much, Gio.”

I tilted my head, wiping a tear off his jaw. “What does that mean?”

He took a shaky breath, eyes locked on mine. “You once said… you didn’t know how to be there for people who needed you.”

He smiled weakly, his voice breaking as more tears filled his eyes. “And look at you now.”

“Yeah, well,” I whispered, kissing his forehead, “turns out… I just needed you to teach me how.”

He buried his face against my chest after that, arms wrapping around my waist.

I’m not gonna get to do this all the time anymore.

Every hug now? It’s a fucking countdown.

One less.

Each time I pull him into me, it’s another step closer to the last time I’ll get to.

So I hold him like I’m starving.

I want to stockpile hugs. I want to overdose on him.

Because I’m in love with a man I can’t keep in my arms forever, and I just want as many moments as I can steal before the clock runs out.

“I want you to call that lady tomorrow,” I told him, brushing my fingers through his hair, steady, no room for argument. “And you’re gonna tell her not only are you going — you’re gonna fucking crush it.”

He smiled weakly, and I leaned in, dropping my voice like I was delivering some secret plan. “You’ll be the most badass, sexiest teacher they’ve ever seen. I’m talking jaws on the floor. Parents will want parent-teacher conferences just to stare at you. Students will actually want to show up to class for once. You’ll ruin education for everyone else, baby.”

Rava laughed, shaking his head as tears still clung to his lashes. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Damn right I am,” I grinned. “But I’m also right.”

Then I pressed my forehead to his. “I’ll wait for you. For us. As long as it takes. No one’s taking my filthy nerd from me.”

Rava laughed again, but softer this time, voice cracking just a little. “How would you even wait for me? You’re Gio. The Gio. The no-relationships-ever Gio.”

I pulled back and squinted at him, pretending to be offended. “Dude. Don’t make me start. I shared my pies with you.”

He burst out laughing, but I kept going, dead serious now.

“I’m wearing a colorful bracelet with your name on it. Your name, Rava. I cried on your shoulder, man. I showed you the box. The fucking box . I let you borrow my gear on the bike because if anyone’s gonna get hurt, it’s me, not you.”

His eyes widened, but I wasn’t done.

“I even got a fucking ravioli tattoo while I was completely fucking wasted!”

I threw my hands up. “And I punched and threatened a guy at Sophia’s party for you.”

“Wait—what?!” he blinked. “You said the fight was about old crap?!”

“Eh, long story. Not the point right now.” I smiled softly, taking his face in my hands again, my thumb brushing away the last tear.

“The point is, Rava—I fucking love you.”

He collapsed against me after that. “I love you too.”

We brushed our teeth, washed our faces and left the bathroom.

We were both lying flat on the bed, staring up at the ceiling like two idiots who’d just run a marathon emotionally, mentally… and physically.

Then, out of nowhere, I rolled and climbed on top of him, my body draping over his like a blanket.

I needed to feel him. Right now.

“Gio,” he laughed, breath catching slightly. “Babe. Oxygen. I kinda need it.”

I smirked against his collarbone. “Your father hit me, Rava. This is the family tax. I get to crush you now.”

He snorted, his chest shaking beneath me as his hand found my hair, fingers threading gently through it. “Can’t argue with that.”

I closed my eyes for a second. Fuck, I loved when he did that.

Like his touch could glue me together, no matter how messy everything was.

I knew his father.

That bastard wouldn’t let today slide. But I wasn’t about to say that. Not now. Not tonight.

Because tonight? I was too fucking proud of him to even let my brain go there.

The way he stood up, the way he screamed back, the way he grabbed my face and kissed me like he didn’t give a single shit who was watching… he earned this peace.

He earned everything.

So I just kept my hand in his hair, running my fingers through it slowly, as he exhaled under me.

“You did good today, filthy nerd,” I whispered against his cheek. “Better than good. You were fucking perfect.”

I laid back fully.

His voice came out soft. “Thanks a lot, street rat. Goodnight.”

And before I could even reply, his hand slipped under the waistband of my boxers. Not doing anything. Just existing there.

Resting… on my dick. Casual as hell.

I froze for a second, staring at the ceiling, trying to process my life choices.

“You are such a whore,” I muttered.

“What?” His voice was already half-asleep. “It helps me relax.”

I shook my head, letting out a breathless laugh. Un-fucking-believable.

I turned my head slightly, just enough to look at him again. His lashes were already low, completely at peace.

Suddenly, Lulu jumped on the bed, and made herself right at home, curled up like a cinnamon bun directly on Rava’s ass.

Rava’s head lifted slowly.

He turned, eyes wide, mouth hanging open.

First he looked at Lulu. Then at me.

Dead silent.

“She chose me…”

His hand was still down my underwear.

“Out of every spot…she chose MY ass…”

I lost it.

Laughed right in his stunned face.

He looked stunned.

“Blink, dude!”

“I am the prophecy…”

My abs hurt. I’m wheezing. I’m gonna die laughing.

She started purring.

He went completely still.

Like, deathly still.

Then his mouth twitched. Just a little. His eyes got all glassy, like he was actually about to cry.

“Gio, I think i’m gonna faint.”

He looked at me, dead serious.

“The queen… has chosen my ass. I’m not strong enough for this. She could’ve curled up anywhere . On your chest. On the pillow. On your dick. But she didn’t.”

“That’s right, Ravioli, she chose your ass. Now sleep. Goodnight.”

I petted Lulu once, kissed his cheek, and then I finally closed my eyes.

I found myself smiling like a complete idiot.

I was so fucking happy.

Right now, right here, this was it . This was all I ever wanted, and I didn’t even know.

Until now.

---

LOOK WHAT I DID FOR YOU :)

I don’t know why the room is that color don’t ask anything and also i don’t know why the bed takes the whole space LMAO it’s 2:26am I can barely see it 💔

Anyway

Y’all are my biggest hear me out.

79) Holy Goddamn Mouth

Rava’s POV

I didn’t want to open my eyes.

Not because I was tired.

I wasn’t.

I slept better than I had in weeks, my whole body felt like it had finally been allowed to rest.

But I didn’t open them.

Because if I did, the day would start. And days mean hours . And hours mean countdowns .

So I stayed still, with my eyes closed, breathing him in. His scent was on the pillow, on my skin, on everything.

Eventually, I blinked.

Gio was still asleep.

Lying on his side, one arm draped over my waist.

His face is calm and relaxed, none of that usual face of sarcasm. Just peace.

And I just lay there.

Staring.

How could someone look that good when they were unconscious? It didn’t make sense.

It should be illegal. Honestly.

He looked even younger like this.

Like he hadn’t bruised or bled or fought tooth and nail to be who he was. But I knew better. I knew every sharp edge behind that softness.

And still, all I wanted to do was kiss him.

I swallowed hard, a lump rising in my throat before I could stop it.

How was I supposed to walk away from this?

From him?

Getting that call last night, it was like the universe handed me the brightest star in the sky and then whispered, “but you can’t take it with you.”

It felt like winning a race only to realize I’d been running in the wrong direction. Like being handed the key to a door I never wanted to open.

Suddenly the dream feels like a trade.

Because what’s the point of achieving something great if it rips the best part of you away?

Don’t get me wrong, I love education. I really fucking do.

My first love was learning. My second was him. And they couldn’t be more different, one gave me control, the other stole it completely.

I keep asking myself, can’t I have both?

Can’t I be the person I want to be and stay with the person I love?

Why does it feel like the universe is holding two ropes and telling me to pick one?

I hate that I’m even thinking like this.

Gio would tell me I’m being dramatic. He’d roll his eyes, shove my shoulder, tell me, “Baby, you’re acting like there’s no Wi-Fi in Canada.”

He’d make it sound so simple.

You go, you study, we call, we visit, we make it work.

He believes in me so hard it physically hurts.

And while he was talking about how this is huge and how I’ll be the hottest teacher in North America, I was thinking, you’re not coming with me.

I can’t say it out loud. I can’t look at him and say, “Hey, I’m so happy I got this, but the idea of not seeing you every day makes me want to throw up.”

How selfish is that?

He’s always pushing me forward. Always telling me I deserve more, that I’m smart, that I’m capable, that I’m not my father, not my past, not the scared kid who thought he’d never get out.

And now that “out” is literally in my inbox, I’m sitting here wondering if maybe staying would hurt less.

I hate myself a little for even thinking it.

Because I know what it took to get here.

The late nights. The exams. The anxiety. The papers I almost deleted because my brain was screaming you’re not good enough for this.

I’m sad. I’m scared. I feel guilty for all of it.

I’m terrified of losing him if I go. And I’m terrified of losing myself if I stay.

So yeah. I got what I wanted.

I just wish it didn’t feel so much like breaking my own heart in the process.

I looked at him again.

I reached out and touched his jaw gently, tracing the edge of his stubble with the back of my fingers.

And then his eyes opened.

Shit.

I froze.

He blinked slowly, eyes still heavy with sleep, and I could see the exact second he registered what I was doing.

“Um,” I started, panic rising in my throat. “That’s not— I wasn’t staring, I just—”

Before I could finish that absolute trainwreck of a sentence, his arm shot out.

With one lazy move, he pulled me in. I landed on the other side with a soft thump, half sprawled across his chest, and his hand slid around my waist, locking me in place.

What the hell.

My heart was thudding like I’d just been caught stealing something.

Which… I guess, technically, I was. A moment. A look.

A little piece of peace.

“You were staring,” he muttered, his lips brushing the top of my head. “Creep.”

“I was not ,” I mumbled into his skin, already melting.

I turned, stretching a little, then started to sit up. “I need water,” I mumbled, my voice still heavy with sleep.

Before I could even lift myself off the bed, Gio’s hand landed on my chest and pushed me back down, gently but firmly.

Then he sat up with a grunt, rubbing his eyes, clearly still half-asleep.

“I’ll get it,” he said, already getting up, wobbling just a little as he moved toward the mini fridge in the corner of the room. “Stay there.”

I just lay there, watching him move.

He wasn’t even fully awake, his hair was still a mess, walking like a zombie, but still he was acting like he was on some stupid mission.

I rubbed my eyes, trying not to laugh. “You don’t have to be a gentleman in your sleep, you know.”

He crouched down in front of the fridge, pulled out two cold bottles of water, and turned to look at me with the most serious face.

“Let me live my dream in peace, Rava.”

That made me smile. He walked back over, cracked one of the bottles open, and handed it to me without a word.

“Thanks,” I whispered.

He stretched, let out a soft groan, then ruffled his hair.

“I’m gonna shower,” he said, already halfway to the bathroom. “Then I’ll head to the hospital. Gonna visit my mom.”

I sat up a little. “Do you want me to come with you?”

He turned, eyebrows raised. “To the shower? Please do. To the hospital? Nah. I need someone to keep Lulu company.”

He tilted his head. “She finally found a friend. You.”

I tried not to smile, but failed miserably. “You sure?”

He pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it aside. His skin caught the morning light, and it felt freaking unfair how easy it was for him to look like that.

“For the shower? One hundred percent sure.” He winked. “And for Lulu? Yeah. She will kill me in my sleep if I take that fat ass of yours away from her.”

I laughed quietly, watching him brushing his teeth.

I grabbed my phone.

Three unread messages. All from my father.

Shit.

I hesitated, then opened them.

CHARLES:

-I’m not letting that bastard get away with what he did.

-You think I’ll just sit back and watch you ruin yourself?

-He’s not getting off easy.

My hands clenched around the phone. My heart was beating too fast. My stomach twisted.

But then… I breathed.

And typed.

ME:

-You’re so obsessed with him, I’m starting to think you have a crush on him too.

-Leave him the fuck alone.

I locked the screen.

Stood up.

And walked straight to the bathroom.

The mirror was already fogged, the air heavy, and behind the glass, Gio was a blur of movement under the water.

I brushed my teeth, and peeled my shirt off slow. My skin prickled with anticipation.

The rest followed, sweats, boxers, until I was bare.

I slide the glass door open slowly.

Gio turns mid-motion, still lathering up his shoulder.

The second he sees me, he looks .

Top to bottom. Slow as hell.

His eyes drag down my chest, my stomach, pause at my waist, then crawl their way back up to my face.

He’s smirking now.

I step in. Close the door behind me.

Warm water hits my chest, then my face, then he runs his hand through my hair and pushes it all back, soaking me.

His hands slide straight down, grabbing my ass, pulling me right into him.

His dick is pressing against mine.

I look down.

He lifts my chin with two fingers, and kisses me.

Then I dragged my eyes down his body again, devouring every inch.

Fuck.

He was obscene .

All abs and veins and that perfect V-line that disappeared where my eyes…kept landing.

I didn’t know what to touch first. My hand was already moving on its own across his stomach.

He was art.

The kind that demands silence. The kind you stare at for hours and still never understand how it exists. His chest, his waist, the way his body curved…

I could study him forever and never run out of things to admire.

We stared at each other, breathing the same air. Every inch of me was flushed, hard, and still it wasn’t enough.

I wanted him closer. Inside. Everywhere.

The soap slid over his chest, over the lines of muscle, down his stomach, the water making his skin shine under the dim bathroom light.

My hands followed the path slowly.

I was supposed to be washing him, but let’s be honest, I was worshipping.

His body flexed under my touch.

I rinsed the lather off him with my palms.

My fingers moved lower, brushing his hips, his thighs, trailing places I was pretending to clean.

And then my hand slipped lower.

He kissed me. Harder this time.

And then he pulled back, his lips were slick,  and his eyes locked on mine.

“Still thirsty, huh?” he murmured.

I looked down.

He was hard.

Fuck .

I swallowed and looked up again, my eyes meeting his.

My voice came out rough. “You don’t seem to mind.”

He didn’t.

He stepped in closer, curling a hand behind my neck, then slicking back my wet hair.

He leaned in, mouth brushing the shell of my ear. “On your knees.”

…

I blinked up at him, literally stunned, heat flooding through me so fast it made me dizzy.

“Please?” he whispered.

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

He didn’t need to ask me twice.

I dropped slowly, mouth brushing down his stomach as I sank, kissing the trail of water over his skin with my hands on his thighs, and my heart pounding so loud I couldn’t hear anything else.

I dropped to my knees before I even thought.

Like my body already knew that this is where I belong.

This is where I shut the fuck up and serve.

He was leaning against the wall, skin flushed from the steam.

I kissed up his thigh slowly. Desperately.

And when I took him in my mouth.

The second my tongue touches his dick, he starts to fall apart.

Both his hands go straight to my head, locking there, balancing himself, and this low moan slips out of him.

Giving him head is addictive.

I don’t even know if I’m doing it for him anymore or for me.

Might be both. Might be I’ve fully lost the plot. I just wanna lick him and taste him. Always.

I go deeper without thinking twice, not caring if it makes me choke a little. It’s worth it. Every time.

I moaned around him.

He tilted his head back, and I got greedy.

I pressed deeper. Hollowed my cheeks. Gripped his thighs. His breath hitched, and that sound? That fucking sound made my spine arch.

Because if he was loving this , if I was the reason for that little tremble in his legs, then I’d never stop.

He kept staring.

His hand tightened in my hair, steady, grounding. “you look so pretty like this.”

…

P

retty .

He said I looked pretty .

Like this mess of me on my knees was art.

I moaned as I swallowed him deeper, desperate to deserve that fucking word.

My hand gripped the back of his thigh.

He let out a groan, and I couldn’t stop.

I was addicted. To the way he gasped. To the way his hips stuttered.

My name in that voice. I swear, I could’ve come just from that.

So I worshipped harder.

I flattened my tongue, sucked deeper.

He kept moaning like I was killing him in the best fucking way.

I pulled back just enough to breathe a little.

His dick glistened.

I licked lower.

Traced my tongue down the base slowly.

He shuddered.

His thighs tensed on either side of me.

I licked upward. Slow.

So slow.

From the base to the tip, every inch, worshipping him.

And when I finally took him in again, deeper and smoother…

He whimpered.

“Holy goddamn mouth,” he whispered, voice cracking mid-sentence.

His hand shot into my hair, fisting it hard, and I moaned around him.

He started moving my head, using me.

And fuck me if that didn’t do something to me.

The way he held me. The way he moaned above me. The way his body throbbed in my mouth with every push.

I was so far gone.

He tasted like everything I wasn’t allowed to crave.

But I couldn’t care less.

I knew exactly where to go. Exactly how to finish him.

I pulled back just enough to focus on the tip, my tongue flicking over the slit.

Right on that sweet spot, the one I knew drove him insane.

His whole body jerked. A sharp inhale tore from his throat.

He clenched his eyes shut.

His abs locked.

There. That’s it.

I smiled around him, tasting his reaction before it even came.

And then he broke.

He came.

Deep in my throat, and I didn’t pull back.

Not for a second.

I took it.

All of it.

The warm taste hit my tongue, and I moaned from how real it was. How heavy it felt in my mouth. How fucking perfect.

But I didn’t stop. I kept moving, gentle now and slow, literally dragging the pleasure out, milking every last drop from him.

My lips sliding up and down, savoring the shudders that ran through him.

His hand tightened in my hair again. His breath was a wreck. His stomach was tight and trembling, his whole body still reacting.

And me?

Oh I was flying.

because I did that. I made him fall apart.

Me.

He was breathless. And ruined. Because of me .

And I swallowed every part of it with a grin against his skin.

Because there was no better taste in the world than Gio when he let go.

His breath was still wrecked. Hot.

Fanning over my cheek as he pulled me up, hands rough but careful, one sliding around my waist, the other curling firm around my neck.

His thumb pressed into my throat.

Our mouths were inches apart.

His eyes locked on mine.

“How the fuck am I supposed to let you leave?”

His tongue slid into my mouth and he groaned when he felt himself.

He actually kissed me, tasting himself on my tongue.

His hand stayed tight around my neck, his thumb brushing just below my jaw.

He held me there, kissed me again, not giving a fuck about time or leaving or anything but this.

But us.

80) No More Secrets

Gio’s POV

I was pulling on my shirt, still damp from the bathroom.

My buttons were fucking refusing to cooperate.

Rava was quiet behind me, too quiet.

I’m sure his cute little brain was spinning.

I glanced over my shoulder.

He was sitting on my bed, knees tucked up, Lulu curled on his lap.

His fingers were holding that photo frame I kept next to my bed.

The one I didn’t let people touch.

Me, maybe seven. Gap-toothed smile. Helmet too big for my head. Sitting on the tank of my dad’s old motorcycle while he held the handlebars behind me. Both of us laughing. Like nothing bad had ever existed.

Rava looked up at me, holding the photo so carefully.

“Was that your dad’s bike?” he asked softly.

My hands froze mid-button.

“Yeah,” I muttered. “That was his.”

He looked back down at the picture. “Where is it now?”

I swallowed. Hard.

“They took it,” I said. “After he—after what happened.”

I didn’t have to say after he killed himself. Rava knew. He always knew when to read the silence.

“Because it was tied to the case or some shit. Evidence. Emotional contamination. Whatever term they used.” I let out a laugh with no humor in it.

“I’ve tried to take this bike back. So many fucking times. Letters, calls, lawyers. But I’ve got a damn record. They see my name and shut the door before I even open my mouth.”

I looked at him, still holding that photo like it hurt him too.

“I loved that bike,” I said, quieter now. “He did too. It was the only thing we built together. I remember every sound it made.”

I stepped into my boots. Bent down to lace them up.

“It’s stupid, I know. It’s just metal, but it felt like home.”

He reached out, fingers brushing mine.

We ended up standing by the door. Me fully dressed now, jacket in hand. Him still barefoot in my shirt, Lulu circling his ankles like he was hers now.

I’m sorry girl, I was there first.

I looked at him and smirked, trying to lighten the air again.

“Funny, huh? Little Ravioli never thought he’d end up alone in my house with my cat.”

He raised an eyebrow. Smirked right back.

“Little Gio probably did not imagine moaning my name out loud in pleasure. Stay humble.”

I laugh, grabbing the doorknob. “Wait who says I didn’t—”

He shoved my shoulder. “Go. Text me how your mom’s doing.”

---

I kicked the stand up, rolled out of the alley, and the engine purred.

Wind hit my face as I took the first left. Morning sun, too fucking bright.

At the red light, I drummed my fingers on the tank, in rhythm with that fucking song Rava wouldn’t stop humming in my kitchen last night.

«Dance with somebody».

Goddamn Mando Diao.

Swear to god, I didn’t even like that song at first.

I’ve known it for years, never hit me.

But the second I found out it’s Rava’s favorite??

Boom. Suddenly it slaps.

Like my brain just went, “Hey, maybe you didn’t really listen to it the first time.”

And now? Now it hits different.

Maybe it’s just because I’m obsessed with anything that makes him feel something.

I don’t even care. If he told me his favorite sound was static, I’d probably loop a fucking radio station with no signal just to see what he hears in it.

The light was still red when another bike pulled up beside me.

Clean machine. Sleek lines. Matte black. Someone who knew what the hell they were doing.

I could feel eyes on me.

Then came the click. The visor lifted.

A girl. She looked young.

She winked.

I stared forward.

“Nice Ducati,” she said with a casual voice.

I nodded. “Thanks.”

She tilted her head, amused. “Wanna race?”

For a second…

just a second…

I thought about it.

The wind. The roar. The burn.

Used to ride like that was all I had left. Like nothing mattered. Like my life was mine to throw away, and I wanted it to go down in flames.

But now…

Now I had a man in my bed.

Not just a man.

That man .

Smart-mouth, glasses, too-good-for-this-world and sitting in my shirt with my cat on his lap.

So I shook my head.

“Maybe another time. Ride safe.” I said.

Then the light changed and I took off.

Balanced.

And that’s the part that scared me most.

Because I’d never been balanced before.

Every turn was clean. Every movement natural.

He changed something in me. And I could feel it every time I didn’t lean into the chaos. Every time I pulled back. Every time I said not now instead of fuck it .

That wasn’t me.

But it was becoming me.

Because I had something to lose now.

And it was home, curled up in my bed, probably rereading the same page three times ’cause Lulu wouldn’t stop pawing at his book.

And I fucking loved that.

Loved knowing he was there. Safe. In my space.

I pulled into the hospital lot. Parked slow.

Engine died with a final purr.

Helmet off.

I looked up at the building. Mom was up there.

I pushed the door open with my elbow, helmet still in my hand.

I stepped in quiet. Didn’t want to wake her, if she was sleeping.

But she wasn’t.

She turned her head toward me the second I entered.

Her eyes lit up.

“Giovanni,” she said, smiling.

I dropped the helmet gently on the little side table, walked toward her slow, letting the quiet stretch a few seconds longer.

“You look better,” I said with a weird calm voice.

Not the one I use with cops or bartenders or even Lorenzo.

She laughed, small. “I feel better today.”

And yeah, she looked better too. Color back in her cheeks. Hair brushed. A book open beside her. Less wires. Less fragility.

I exhaled through my nose.

It’s such a fucking relief seeing her like this.

We weren’t even that close, not really, but what happened scared the shit out of me.

Shook me in a way I didn’t expect. Made me realize how much I actually care.

Deep down, no matter how messy things were, I do.

I care. I don’t want anything bad to happen to her.

Yeah, she wasn’t the best mom. She wasn’t around when I needed her most.

But she didn’t hurt me either. And sometimes, that’s enough to keep the hate from sticking.

Sometimes, it’s enough to still give a fuck.

I sat down beside her, leaned my elbows on my knees. “How’s the food?” I asked.

“Still tastes like cardboard.”

I smiled.

“How’s the nurse who smells like garlic?”

She grinned. “He was off today. Thank god .”

I laughed. She watched me.

Then, after a moment, she tilted her head. Her eyes narrowed slightly. That mom-squint that meant she was scanning me like a laser.

“…what’s that on your cheekbone?”

I blinked.

Shit.

Reflexively, I touched it, didn’t even feel the bruise anymore, but I knew it was still there. Dull purple, edge of yellow.

“That?” I shrugged. “Ah… Charles.”

Her jaw dropped.

Her face shifted. Even in the goddamn hospital bed she started to sit up, like she was ready to go fight him herself.

“Hey,” I leaned forward fast, placing my hand on her arm. “Don’t. Don’t do that.”

“Giovanni, he—”

“I know,” I said, cutting her off quietly. “I know. But I’m fine.”

“Did he—”

“It’s a long story,” I said, shaking my head. “And not one I want you stressing over right now.”

Her lips pressed tight.

I ran my thumb over her wrist slowly.

“It’s handled. I swear.” “Rava handled it.” I added.

Something passed through her face. Surprise. Then something warmer.

I sat back in the chair, let go of her wrist, but not her hand.

I stared at the edge of the bed, then at the window, then at the little blinking light on her IV.

My heart was hammering.

God.

This was stupid.

She didn’t need to hear this now. She was recovering. She didn’t need my drama.

But still,

Still.

I’d spent years feeling like I didn’t have a mom anymore. Not really.

She was there, breathing, existing. But not with me.

And I missed her. I missed having someone to tell things to. Even the soft things. Especially the soft things.

I took a breath. Then another.

Then I turned to her, lifted my gaze.

“So… I’ve got something to tell you.”

Her whole body perked up.

“You’re going to jail?” she said instantly.

I choked. “What the hell, mom?! No.”

“Is Lorenzo going to jail?”

I started laughing. “Jesus—no!”

“Did you kill someone?”

“Mom—”

“Is it drugs?”

“No!”

Her eyes widened. Gasp. “Oh god—did Lorenzo kill himself on accident?!”

I lost it.

I bent forward, laughing into my palm, my shoulders shaking.

“Nobody killed anyone! Nobody’s in jail!” I looked up, breathless. “You’re insane, woman.”

She grinned. A little proud of herself.

“So what is it then?” she asked.

Christ. I feel like I’m fifteen again, about to confess some dumb shit about my first kiss.

It’s ridiculous. Actually ridiculous.

“I can’t say it if you’re looking at me like that,” I muttered.

“Giovanni,” she said. “You’re scaring me.”

I exhaled. Ran a hand through my hair.

Then I looked her in the eyes and said it.

Everything I’d been holding in my chest for weeks.

“I told Rava I love him.”

There was a pause.

A beat of silence too long. Her fingers tightened just a little in mine.

Her eyes welled. Not with tears, but with some mix of panic and softness and motherly instinct that didn’t know which direction to go.

She looked like she wanted to hug me and shield me from the world in the same breath.

“Oh… oh, sweetheart. I— I’m so sorry.”

My head jerked. My brows shot up.

“Wait, what? Why are you apologizing?”

She blinked, eyes wide like she’d startled herself. “I just— I thought he was, you know… straight, after all. I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

I snorted. Loud.

Leaning back in the chair.

“Trust me,” I said, smirking. “He’s not . Not even close.”

She stared at me.

“And he said it back,” I added. “That he loves me too. Actually, he doesn’t just say it. He… shows it. Every day.”

Her hand was still in mine. I rubbed my thumb over her knuckles, gaze softening as I spoke.

I leaned back in the chair again, resting my ankle on my knee.

I glanced down at our hands.

Then looked up at her again.

“I don’t think you understand how good he is,” I said quietly.

She tilted her head.

“He’s smart,” I continued. “Like, scary smart. He remembers everything, and he notices shit no one else sees. But he doesn’t show off about it. He just… watches. And listens. And helps when no one’s looking.”

A smile crept up my face before I even realized it.

“And he’s beautiful. Ridiculously beautiful. Come on, you know that too.”

She rolled her eyes, but I caught the smirk tugging at her mouth.

“And he’s kind,” I added. “Not just polite. Like… gentle. Thoughtful. Not the fake kind of good. The real shit.”

I let the moment breathe.

“Even Lorenzo’s obsessed with him,” I said, laughing a little. “You know that’s not easy.”

Her eyes widened. “Lorenzo? Our Lorenzo?”

“Yeah, you have no idea,” I said.

She laughed. I looked down again.

“And he’s amazing with kids, mom. The kind of guy who actually listens when a five-year-old tells a story about dragons or bugs. And he never talks down to them.”

I bit my lip, letting the truth of it sink in.

“But the best thing is…” I looked up at her. “He sees all my worst parts.”

I paused.

“And he doesn’t leave. He doesn’t try to fix me like I’m broken. He just helps me be better.”

Her expression softened into something deeper.

“And remember when you used to call him a dork?”

She raised a brow, suddenly defensive. “I did not—”

“You absolutely did .”

She tried to look innocent. Failed.

“Well,” I said, smirking, “that ‘dork’ made Charles shut the fuck up. For real. With words. Didn’t raise a hand. Just… straight-up verbal annihilation.”

Her jaw dropped a little.

“You should’ve seen it. The way he stood up for me. And for him. You’d have been shocked . Mouth on the floor. He turned Charles into a statue.”

I grinned wide.

“The man totally snapped, I swear to God.”

I glanced at her.

“Oh my god.” She shook her head, stunned. “You’re actually in love.”

She blinked rapidly.

“My little Giovanni… You finally fell in love with something other than a chunk of metal on wheels.”

I burst out laughing.

“Okay, rude, but… accurate,” I said, grinning like an idiot.

She reached over and pinched my cheek with mock annoyance.

“You’re glowing, you brat.”

I shrugged. Didn’t even argue.

Maybe I was.

She looked at me with the softest expression.

Then she reached over, brushed her thumb against my hand.

“I’m so happy to see you like this,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry I used to tell you to stay away. From everything. From him. From… from feeling anything, really.”

I frowned a little. “Mom—”

She cut me off gently. “No. I mean it. I thought I was protecting you. But—look at us. Look where we are.”

She smiled, sad and warm all at once. “This life is too unpredictable for us to hide from the things we feel.”

And for once, I didn’t push back. Didn’t deflect. I just nodded.

“Yeah,” I said. “I’m glad you said that.”

Because truth was, this moment? This quiet, open, real moment?

I hadn’t had one like this with her in years. And I needed it more than I knew.

Then, after a few seconds, she tilted her head. “So… what are you going to do?”

“About what?”

She gave me a look. “About Rava. About the fact that he has to leave.”

I sighed. Sat back in the chair again.

“I don’t know yet,” I admitted. “But I’ll figure it out. I know I will. Whatever happens, I can’t lose him. I won’t. Not this time.”

Her eyes filled, and she started crying.

“Hey,” I said, sitting forward. “Why are you crying?”

She sniffled. Shook her head, laughing through it.

“I just wish your father could be here.”

Her voice cracked.

“He would’ve been so proud of you, Giovanni. Not just for loving someone. But for the man you’ve become.”

I froze. Shit. My throat tightened like a fist.

“Stop,” I said quickly. “Don’t make me cry too. We’ll look pathetic in here.”

She laughed, wiping under her eyes.

“Sorry, sorry.”

Then she reached up, touched my cheek. Her thumb hovered over the bruise.

“You didn’t just get his face,” she said softly. “You got his good heart too.”

I looked down. Smiled.

Then looked back up at her.

“That means more than you know.”

She reached toward my wrist.

“…Wait a minute. What’s that?”

I followed her gaze to the colorful bracelet.

GIO ♡ RAVA.

I grinned without meaning to.

“This?” I asked.

She gave me the look. The I-birthed-you-don’t-play-dumb-with-me look.

“You didn’t make that.”

“Obviously not ,” I said, holding my hand up. “Do I look like a guy who can handle string and beads? Please. I’d probably glue my fingers together somehow.”

She laughed.

“So who did?”

I leaned back. Let the grin spread.

“A little girl we met on the beach. Emiliana.”

She raised an eyebrow. “…Go on.”

“She was like… six? Maybe? I don’t know, she had this plastic shovel and a scary amount of insight into my soul.”

My mom tilted her head, already amused.

“I helped her build a sandcastle,” I said. “We were just messing around at first. But then she started asking questions.”

“Questions?”

I nodded. “About Rava. She clocked it immediately. Said I looked at him like I wanted to kiss him and also cry. I didn’t even know I was doing that.”

She laughed out loud.

“At the end of the day, she gave me two bracelets. This one, and a matching one for him. Said I should give it to him when I grew a pair and told him how I feel.”

My mom clutched her chest dramatically. “Oh my god. God bless that little girl.”

“Right?!” I laughed. “Honestly, she had more emotional intelligence than most adults I know.”

“And did you give it to him?”

“Yeah,” I said, running my thumb across the beads. “After I told him I love him.”

She looked at me.

Soft. Proud. A little in awe.

“God bless that little girl.”

She laughed harder, then looked at it again.

“Wow,” she said quietly. “You lived through all that… and I had no idea.”

I looked at her.

“You will now.”

She blinked.

“I mean it. I won’t hide anything else. No more secrets, no more half-truths. I want this to be real again. You and me.”

I touched her hand again. Firmer this time.

“So hurry up and get better, alright? Get out of this ridiculously clean place.”

She wiped a tear from her eye, then smiled.

“I’ll do my best,” she whispered.

---

HELLO PEOPLE okay listen listen, the next chapter is EVERYTHING you will love it I promise. Also, prepare yourselves for some drama cause I’ve been missing jealous Gio.

SEE YOU TOMORROW :)

BYE BYE <3

81) Husband Behavior

Rava’s POV

The house was quiet. Still, not the kind of quiet that felt lonely.

I stood in the middle of Gio’s living room like I’d accidentally broken into my favorite place.

In his shirt.

Lulu was curled on the rug like a tiny, spoiled dictator.

I had no idea what I was supposed to do.

Like…what does someone do when they’re alone in the house of the person they love?

Wait on the couch like a polite guest? Bake something? Rearrange his spice rack?

I ended up doing nothing for ten minutes.

Just sat at his desk, staring at a cup of pens and a few receipts from god knows where.

And then it hit me.

He’s done so much for me. Protected me. Fed me. Slept beside me. Laughed when I couldn’t.

I wanted to do something for him. Even something small.

I stood up, suddenly determined.

Okay. Housework. That’s a thing people do. I’ll clean.

Where do I start?

I looked around.

And then Lulu meowed.

She was staring directly at me. Right beside her litter box.

“Oh,” I said out loud. “Right.”

She blinked. Judging me. Obviously.

I walked over, adjusting my glasses. “Alright, Your Majesty, we’ll refresh your royal throne.”

As I grabbed the scoop, I reached for my phone at the same time.

There was one person who needed to know what had happened last night. And the night before.

Noah.

I hadn’t told him yet.

God, he was gonna lose his mind.

I tapped his contact.

Noah (DO NOT LET HIM NAME MY FUTURE KIDS)

It rang once.

And I was already smiling.

Just thinking about it. About telling him that I said it. That Gio said it too. That I was standing barefoot in Gio’s house, wearing his shirt, cleaning his cat’s litter box.

I looked down at the bracelet on my wrist as the phone rang.

I’m so happy.

I had the scoop in one hand and my phone tucked between my ear and my shoulder, crouched over Lulu’s litter box.

She sat beside me, tail twitching, watching.

Noah picked up and immediately started shouting.

“OH MY GOD. Is this the Canadian virgin? The man, the myth??”

I grinned, shaking my head.

“Hi, Noah.”

“Is Lorenzo there?” he snapped, like it was life or death.

“No?”

“Good. Then tell that greasy bastard to check the reels I sent him RIGHT NOW or I’m buying a one-way ticket just to beat his ass with a sandal.”

I laughed. “Amazing. Truly. Missed you too.”

“Aw,” he said, suddenly soft. “Sorry, my dramatic little affection sponge. I missed you so much I could eat drywall.”

“I—what?”

“Anyway, pause that thought. Rava… You will NOT believe who Sophia’s dating.”

I froze mid-scoop. “…I’m scared.”

“You should be.”

“I don’t know if I want to know. I’m too mature to care about stuff like th—”

“My brother.”

I stopped.

Just stared at Lulu like she might confirm I’d heard that right.

“WHAT?!”

He immediately burst into fake sobbing over the phone. “Bro. She’s with Dylan! She says he has a good heart! A good heart, Rava! I’m gonna kill myself!”

“Are you serious?!”

“Deadass. I told him she was a cheating ass whore and this man said—and I quote—‘maybe I can change her.’ MAYBE I CAN CHANGE HER.”

I sat back, scoop still in hand.

“Okay. I actually felt brain cells die.”

“I hope she cheats on him,” he sniffled. “I hope she cheats on him so I can walk up to the altar and say ‘I TOLD YOU SO’ with cannons. Made of red flags.”

“You are so unbelievably unwell.” “Wait,” I said, shifting the phone. “I’m putting you on video so I can prop you on the floor. This is hard one-handed.”

“You just wanna see my face again,” Noah said smugly. “Admit it. You missed me.”

“Shut up, you clingy bitch.”

I flipped the camera and set him on the floor beside me, next to a new bag of litter. Lulu was sitting there too, regal as hell.

I looked at her.

“For such a pretty and well-groomed cat,” I muttered, “your litter box is fucking disgusting.”

“Wait—wait—wait,” Noah cut in.

His face zoomed in too close on the screen. “Where are you right now?”

I grinned. “Gio’s place.”

He froze.

“…And what exactly are you doing there?” he asked slowly.

I shrugged, casually scooping. “Cleaning Lulu’s litter box. Gio’s coming back soon.”

Noah immediately started laughing. Not cute giggling. Demonic, wheeze-snorting chaos.

“What?” I frowned at the screen. “What’s so funny?”

“Bro,” he said, pointing into the camera. “That’s marriage. This is domestic. You’re cleaning his cat’s shit. In his shirt.”

I looked up at the ceiling.

Shit.

My cheeks were definitely turning red.

Noah squinted. “Wait. Wait. Were you about to fold his laundry next? Were you gonna sweep the floors too? Don’t lie to me, Rava.”

I stayed silent.

“…Oh my god,” he whispered. “You were.”

“I hate you.”

“I respect it!” he cackled. “Gio must be giving you insane dick. You’re gone.”

“Shut the fuck up, idiot!” I snatched the phone up from the floor. “It’s not about the sex, Jesus—he did something good for me and I’m returning the favor in my own way, alright?!”

Noah just kept laughing. “That’s what they all say until they’re crocheting his initials onto dish towels. You’re in deep, baby. I’m proud of you.”

I groaned, grabbed the scoop again, and went back to cleaning.

“God,” I muttered. “I should’ve called Lorenzo instead.”

“Too late,” he sang. “You called me, and now I’m part of the domestic drama. So tell me, did you feed the cat, too? Are you brushing her next? Want me to send you a wife apron?”

“Shut. Up.”

Lulu meowed approvingly.

“At least my brother isn’t dating a cheater,” I said while scooping the last bit of Lulu’s litter.

Noah went quiet for a second. “…Fair. Low blow. But fair. I accept that.”

I looked at Lulu, who was still watching me like I was her butler.

“Your throne is ready,” I told her. “You may now poop like royalty.”

Noah lost it on the video call. “Why do I picture you building her a little golden staircase and monogrammed toilet paper?!”

I rolled my eyes, picking up the litter bag. “You’re so dumb.”

I left the room, phone propped against the wall, and headed into the bathroom.

“Wait there,” I called over my shoulder. “Be right back.”

I pulled all the clothes from Gio’s washer, arms full of soft black T-shirts and that one hoodie that still smelled like him, then pushed open the back door.

The heat hit me like a wall. Cicadas were screaming. I could barely see with the sun in my face.

I started hanging the clothes one by one while Noah’s voice carried through the speaker.

“So?” he said. “Catch me up. What did I miss?”

I smirked to myself. “Oh, you missed a lot .”

“Start talking. I hope you can wrap it in four hours because I have a tattoo appointment.”

“Don’t care. Listen.”

I clipped a shirt onto the line.

“The day you left? Gio’s mom ended up in the hospital. I was the one who drove them there. I swear I nearly shit myself, I was so scared.”

Noah’s voice changed instantly. “Wait, what?! Is she okay? Was it serious?!”

“She has a chronic condition,” I said, pausing to hang a towel. “It got bad for a bit, but she’s doing better now. Gio’s with her as we speak.”

He was quiet for a second. “Damn…”

I kept working, arms moving on autopilot.

“After that… Gio and I went to this park. With swings.”

There was a pause.

“…Swings?” he said slowly. “You two went to swings? Bro. I’ve always questioned your taste.”

“Shut the hell up,” I muttered. “They were important swings.”

I clipped another shirt onto the line and just… stood there for a second.

“It was one of the best nights of my life,” I said.

Noah went quiet on the other end.

“I’m talking full breakdown, man. Like, tears. Voice cracking. Hyperventilation. The whole package.”

I leaned against the balcony rail, letting my forehead rest on my arm.

“I told him everything. Literally, everything. Stuff I didn’t even know I was still carrying. I just let it pour out. And he did too. Like we were cracking open at the same time.”

Noah’s face on the screen was frozen in awe. Literally mouth open.

“I even told him,” I said, laughing under my breath, “about that one time in middle school? When I purposely got detention so I could stay behind after school just to sit near him longer.”

“YOU—WHAT?!”

I looked at the phone. His face was lit up like a stage.

“No. No. Don’t talk. I need a second. Jesus Christ. You finally listened to my prayers for you two fuckers. You actually did it. You felt things. And said them. To each other.”

He grabbed his own face in his hands. “Oh my god.”

I rolled my eyes, but couldn’t stop the smile.

“I told him I loved him,” I said.

Silence.

I could hear his breathing pick up like he was charging up for something catastrophic.

Then the scream.

Lulu bolted under the table like the house was on fire.

“YOU DID WHAT?!”

“I said it,” I said, laughing now. “Out loud. To his face.”

“YOU SAID ‘I LOVE YOU’ TO GIO?!”

“Yes, Noah.”

“And?!”

“He said it back. Well, to be fair, he said it first . And I said it back.”

There was this one, weird beat of total stillness.

Then he slowly sank to the floor on his end of the video call, clutching his chest.

“I can’t feel my legs,” he whispered. “This is it. This is how I die.”

I groaned and walked over to the line, grabbing the last damp shirt to hang.

“You’re such a freak.”

“NO. FINALLY MY CHILDREN HAVE COME HOME.”

“I hate you.”

“I AM SO PROUD I COULD COMBUST. You’re in love. He loves you. You’re doing laundry at his place. THIS IS HUSBAND BEHAVIOR, RAVA.”

I snorted. “It’s laundry . Not a wedding.”

“Don’t play with me. I know your type. You’re probably folding his socks by color. Did you wipe down the counter? Are you gonna alphabetize his spice rack next?”

“Yes I might, Noah, leave me alone.”

“God, Gio so deserves you.”

I looked back at the phone while folding Gio’s shirt badly, but it’s the thought that counts.

“Oh—and it doesn’t stop there,” I said casually.

Noah, from the floor, still had his hands on his face like he was watching a season finale.

“Remember that little girl from the beach? The one who was making sand castles with Gio?”

His eyebrows rose, suspicious. “…Yes?”

“She made us matching bracelets.”

Noah blinked. “Oh okay. So, basically wedding rings. Got it. What else?”

“Shut up.”

“No, please. Continue. I’m just ordering your engraved champagne flutes.”

I rolled my eyes. “Listen.”

I took a breath.

“Yesterday… my dad punched Gio.”

The sound of scribbling on Noah’s desk stopped. Hard.

His head snapped up into the frame like someone had electrocuted him.

“WHAT?!”

I nodded. Slowly. “Oh yeah.”

His mouth was already half-open to scream again.

“And you know what I did after that?”

He shook his head, muttering, “Please don’t say murder…”

“I kissed Gio.”

Pause.

“In front of my father.”

“Wait, like—”

“Tongue. Hands. Everything.”

Noah’s scream echoed so loud Lulu hissed from the other room.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON IN YOUR LIFE RIGHT NOW?!”

I folded another T-shirt. “I don’t know, man. I just—I snapped. I told him everything.”

I swallowed, rubbing my eyebrow.

“He hates Gio. You know that.”

“YEAH. THE WHOLE PLANET KNOWS THAT.”

I exhaled. “So… maybe I yelled in his face that I’ve been sleeping with Gio. And that I love him.”

Noah’s screen froze for a second. He wasn’t blinking.

“…Hello?” I asked.

He raised one finger.

“Give me a moment,” he said. “I’m trying to process the fact that my quiet, passive-aggressive, cardigan-wearing best friend just casually dropped a declaration of love and sex and emotional war on his psychotic father like it was a damn school presentation.”

I sat down on the little bench on the balcony, wiped my forehead.

“…Yeah.”

“Bro.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m gonna need you to sit me down and walk me through your trauma because this plotline is out of control.”

I wiped my hands on my shorts and sat back down on the step, still staring at the phone.

“Okay…anyway. After all that… we came back here.”

I gestured vaguely behind me.

“To Gio’s place. As you can see.”

Noah narrowed his eyes. “Wait wait wait… You went through all that emotional warfare, and then what? You came back and had the ‘I’m proud of you’ sex?”

I blinked.

Paused.

Leaned closer to the screen.

“…On. The freaking. Bike.”

His eyes went wide.

“Deadass?”

I nodded solemnly. “Deadass.”

There was a beat of silence.

He just blinked.

“…You absolute slut.”

I snorted.

“You unhinged, glorious, filthy little animal.”

I laughed harder.

“You had swing-set confessions and then got railed on a Ducati? Who are you?!”

“Shut up.”

“Railed by Gio, king of brooding sexual tension, on his bike, like this is some gay Fast & Furious sequel?!”

I covered my face with my hand.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, not even loud. “I need holy water. I need a priest. I need to disinfect my brain and also frame this moment.”

I was wheezing.

“And excuse me,” he continued, “do I get an award or what?”

“What?”

He pointed at the screen like I was forgetting the sacred origin story.

“I was the one who told you to make a move! Me! I was out here planting seeds like some chaotic gay Cupid, and look at you now. In love. Getting bike-fucked.”

“Oh my God—”

“No, no, don’t you dare downplay this. I deserve a plaque. A medal. One of those sashes that says Matchmaker of the Year.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“You know what’s unbelievable? That you didn’t jump him sooner.”

I sighed, still grinning. “I should’ve known you’d milk this forever.”

“Oh, baby,” he said, leaning in close to the camera, smiling like the devil. “I’m never letting it go.”

I blinked at the screen.

“Noah,” I said, quieter this time, “thank you. I mean it.”

He smiled.

He paused for a breath, and I cleared my throat. “Oh—yeah. By the way. The Master’s program called.”

Silence.

“Oh,” I could hear the chair creak as he sat up straighter. “They called you?”

“Yeah. I got offered a full scholarship. They want an answer. Soon.”

A beat. Then Noah’s voice, deadpan but loaded again. “Bro. What is this life you’re living?”

He groaned into the phone. “I don’t even know if I could keep up with your life right now. I feel like I’m watching a limited series. With cliffhangers. And trauma. And a hot lead.”

I grinned. “You’re being dramatic.”

“You’re being main character and I’m just trying to get a recap every four hours so I don’t emotionally combust.”

I laughed. And then stared out at the sunlit trees a little longer than I meant to.

“…I don’t know what I’m gonna do, Noah.”

“You’ll figure it out.” He was quiet for a second. “But whatever you choose, you better not ghost me when this shit goes global. I was here before it was cool.”

I smiled. “Noted.”

But before he could even answer,

BANG.

The front door slammed open like a hurricane, and Lorenzo’s voice detonated through the hallway:

“I HEARD THE VOICE OF MY BELOVED, WHERE IS THAT FUCKING BITCH?!”

I turned so fast I nearly dropped the phone.

“Lorenzo?!”

He marched into the room like a possessed villain, sunglasses on indoors, hair a mess, shirt only halfway buttoned.

He looked around, sniffing the air for drama.

Then he saw my phone, snatched it from my hand, and held it up like Simba in The Lion King.

“Noah,” he said dramatically. “My precious forbidden fruit. I’ve missed you.”

Noah on the screen: mid-scream. “OPEN YOUR GODDAMN MESSAGES YOU GREMLIN!”

“Don’t yell at me,” Lorenzo cooed. “I’m sensitive.”

I sighed and left him there seducing my best friend via FaceTime, and started heading downstairs to make sense of my life again.

As I stepped into the main room, I froze.

There they were.

All of them.

Gio.

Daisy.

My mom.

And Jin.

Just standing there. In Gio’s house.

I blinked, completely thrown.

Jin walked up to me first, grinning.

“Your man’s about to cook for all of us,” he said, patting my shoulder. “We’ve claimed him. He belongs to the stove now.”

“…Huh?”

I turned.

Gio was standing in the kitchen, already chatting with my mom about whether his back-left stove burner was better than ours.

“What… the hell is going on?”

Gio looked up at me, completely calm.

“Oh,” he said casually. “Your dad hasn’t come home since yesterday. I found them on the balcony so I invited everyone over.”

I opened my mouth. Failed to form words.

“After last night I’ve decided to commit fully to my culinary path,” he added. “Chef Gio is back, baby.”

---

Okay PLEASE WATTPAD LET ME HAVE MY MOMENTS WITH MY DRAWINGS 🙏

LOOK HOW CUTE THAT IS

BAHAHAAHAHAHHAHAHA The fine shyt

Okay so now I will post again in two days and I’m working on something reaaaally good hope it turns out as good as it is in my head hehe.

THAT’S ALL BYE BYE <3

82) Humble Servant Gio

Gio’s POV

I had a wooden spoon in one hand and the burner on low, trying to coax the damn thing to stay lit without giving up my dignity.

The kitchen was full. Rava’s entire family was in here.

Jin was sitting in a chair directly in front of me, eyeing me.

“That bruise on your face?” he said. “Well…It’s kinda badass. You look like someone tried to take you down and failed.”

I smirked, stirring the sauce. “Glad to know I’m giving post-brawl vibes.”

He pointed at his own cheek. “Think you could give me one just like it? Small. Strategic. Just enough to make people scared of me.”

I turned to him fully.

“Jin,” I said, completely serious, “it would be my honor to be the one who punches you.”

He beamed. “I can handle it. I’m tough.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You almost cried when I beat you at basketball, idiot.”

“That was different.”

“Was it?”

“That was betrayal,” he argued. “You humiliated me.”

“You missed a lay-up and threw yourself on the ground.”

“I was one month younger back then.”

“Bitch, you literally cried.”

“I teared up. There’s a difference.”

I was chopping peppers, then he screamed.

“YOU HAVE A CAT?!”

I glanced over my shoulder and saw him holding Lulu at arm’s length.

I raised an eyebrow. “No, I just enjoy letting strays walk into my house and claim my furniture. Keeps me humble.”

He squinted at Lulu, then cautiously set her down on his lap. She immediately curled into a purring ball of royalty.

“Oh my god. A fluffy ball of perfection.” His voice dropped into full awe.

“I brought a stray dog home once, but dad made me take it back. I’m hoping Daisy adopts him for her new place.”

I turned to say something when I caught sight of Lorenzo and Rava on the other side of the kitchen, fully engaged in a chaotic wrestling match over Rava’s phone like two toddlers fighting over a toy truck.

“Give it back, you ass!”

“No. I’m talking with my baby.”

“Lorenzo, I’m warning you—”

Suddenly Daisy walked in, and the entire energy in the room shifted.

Lorenzo froze.

He blinked once, and then without a single ounce of shame, dropped the phone back into Rava’s hand and threw himself dramatically into Daisy’s arms like a man returning from war.

“There she is. My terrifying girlfriend. The reason I breathe.”

“You’re such a freak,” she muttered, trying not to smile as she gently shoved him off.

I was checking the pasta, just about done, when I heard soft footsteps behind me.

“Do you want help, Gio?” Rava’s mom appeared by my side, rolling up the sleeves of her linen blouse. “You do the pasta, I’ll do the salad and the—”

I shook my head immediately. “No, no, I got it. You relax for once. Take the day off from being Kitchen Commander.”

She chuckled. “Well, cooking is the only damn thing I do anymore—cook for these ungrateful little creatures.”

She glanced toward the living room like she was expecting them to hear. “Can’t even rinse a dish, let alone say thank you!”

I laughed. I’d heard this exact speech from my own mother too many times to count.

“Speaking of which…” she turned to me. “How’s your mom, sweetheart?”

That hit a little deeper.

I turned down the heat and nodded. “She’s doing a lot better. Honestly. With a bit of care, I think she might bounce back fully.”

I meant it. Saying it out loud made it feel even more possible.

She gave me a warm smile and gently patted my back. “That’s good. That’s really good, Gio.” Then she turned away, wiping her hands on a towel. “I’m gonna go set the table before these animals decide the floor is good enough.”

I smirked, watching her walk off. “You’re raising legends, honestly.”

Then I went back to the stove.

We started gathering around the table, one by one.

I was still by the counter, holding way too many plates in one arm.

Rava came up beside me quietly, took half the stack from my hands before I dropped them all.

“Thanks,” I muttered, bumping my shoulder against his.

He just nodded, and I leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek without even thinking.

That was it. That was all it took.

“MOM! RAVA’S MAKING OUT!” Jin’s voice shattered the moment like a goddamn siren.

Rava, already red in the face, snapped back. “IT WAS A KISS ON THE CHEEK YOU STUPID DELAYED GREMLIN CHILD.”

“Wow,” Lorenzo said, completely unfazed. “I think you guys are convincing me I actually want siblings.”

Daisy just reached over and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, gently patting his head like he was a golden retriever that just discovered emotions.

Lorenzo didn’t fight it.

I set the plates down on the table and looked around.

We all finally sat around the table.

Of course, Lorenzo had to open his mouth first.

“So Gio’s a chef now?” he said, grinning like a little shit. “Didn’t know prison cafeterias were hiring.”

Daisy rolled her eyes. “Shut up and take notes instead.”

I chuckled, but my eyes drifted toward Rava, who looked at his mom.

“Has dad really not come home since yesterday?” he asked softly.

His mom gave a half-shrug, not looking up from her plate. “No… I assume he’s staying at a friend’s. Couldn’t stand the sight of us after what happened, I guess.”

I watched Rava’s expression shift.

Barely there, but I saw it.

The guilt.

The way he looked like trying to push something heavy away from behind his eyes.

That’s when I jumped in.

“Okay!” I clapped my hands once. “Rava has a huge announcement to make, and I promise you’re not ready for it.”

Rava looked at me, startled. “Gio—”

“No no no. No backing out.” I turned to the rest. “Guess. Go.”

Lorenzo leaned over, clamping a hand on Rava’s shoulder. “You finally realized Gio’s insufferable, huh? Took you long enough.”

“What? No!” Rava said, immediately offended.

Jin squinted across the table. “Did Gio get you pregnant?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Rava snapped, and his mom lightly smacked Jin’s arm with her napkin.

Daisy leaned in next. “Wait—I know. You’re staying in Italy!”

The table fell silent.

Damn.

Okay, maybe not the best guess.

I jumped in again. “No, no, it’s none of that. Yesterday, he got a call. Rava tell them.”

He hesitated. His eyes met mine. I knew that look. The what if this changes everything look. But I just gave him a tiny nod.

So he took a breath. And started.

“I got a call from my Master’s program,” he said. “In Canada. They’re offering me a full scholarship. All of it. Tuition, housing, everything.”

Chaos.

“AH, I KNEW YOU WERE A BEAUTIFUL GENIUS!” Lorenzo roared, pounding the table.

Daisy gasped and squealed. “Oh my god, Rava!! That’s amazing! Wait—does that mean we’ll have a reason to visit Canada again? I hope so. I need to shop there.”

His mom reached across and squeezed his hand with both of hers. “I’m so proud of you, sweetheart. I mean it. You deserve this. You worked so hard.”

He just smiled.

A little shy. A little overwhelmed. But glowing.

I looked at him, at that quiet joy in his eyes.

My heart did that thing again.

That clench that’s not quite pain but way too big to be just happiness.

Because that’s all I ever wanted. For him to be seen. To be celebrated. To finally feel like he mattered. Like he earned a place in the world and the world was finally giving it to him.

God, he looked so damn beautiful when he smiled like that.

“Wait—how long is the program?” Daisy asked, already scooting closer, about to start taking notes.

“Two years,” Rava said quietly, fingers fidgeting with the edge of his napkin.

Lorenzo opened his mouth too fast.

“So that means you guys will br—”

Before he could finish the sentence, Daisy snatched a piece of bread and shoved it straight into his mouth.

“Eat,” she ordered sweetly. “This is amazing. Shut up and eat.”

Lorenzo mumbled something through the carbs, shooting her a betrayed look.

I just watched her. And I smiled.

Thank you, Daisy.

There was this unspoken thing between us lately, like she could read the things I couldn’t say out loud.

That I was scared. That I didn’t want anyone planting doubts in Rava’s head. That I needed this moment to stay golden for just a little longer.

She got it.

And Rava?

He looked at me. And I could tell, he knew exactly what had just happened too.

He gave me the softest smile.

And it grounded me.

Like… maybe we still had time. Maybe two years didn’t have to mean the end.

Maybe this wasn’t the beginning of the goodbye, maybe it was just the start of us figuring out how far we’d go to stay together.

And damn if that wasn’t the most terrifying, beautiful thing I’d ever felt.

“Someone say something about the food,” I finally said, pretending to be annoyed. “Don’t let the dramatic announcements overshadow the fact that I slaved over a stove for this.”

Lorenzo looked up at me with the most ridiculous fake serious face I’ve ever seen.

“You sound like my mom,” he said. “But I gotta admit… I love your food, daddy Gio.”

Jin burst out laughing, nearly spitting out his water. “Daddy Gio?!”

Lorenzo slammed a hand on the table and jumped to his feet.

“Guys. We are NOT letting this man’s achievement go uncelebrated. Tonight—we’re getting absolutely fucked up. There’s an open beach party down by the shore. We’re going. We’re dancing. We’re honoring the genius that lives among us.”

Jin opened his mouth immediately. “Can I come t—”

“No,” Daisy cut in, already pointing a stern finger at him. “You can go drink some milk. You’re sixteen. You’re not getting drunk. Mom, tell him something—”

“No need,” Jin said, cutting her off with a huff. “I don’t wanna hang out with you guys anyway. You’re old. You’ll embarrass me. I’m going out with my own friends. And if I do see you there, Rava’s paying the price. I’m stealing his glasses again and watching him squint like a grandpa.”

Rava whipped his head toward him. “Say that again and I’ll donate every single one of your stupid ugly Funko Pops or whatever they’re called to charity, you little shit.”

Jin gasped. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.”

Daisy just shook her head like a disappointed mom.

“For the love of god,” Rava’s mom groaned, raising her hands. “You two are acting like you’re five. Clearly, I stopped grounding you way too early.”

“I’m actually excited now,” Daisy grinned. “This is gonna be so fun.”

Lorenzo was leaned back in his chair. One hand on his stomach, the other waving me over like I was his personal waiter.

“All right, chef,” he said. “Food was amazing. Now be a good boy and bring us some watermelon or something, okay? Chop-chop, come on, look alive.”

I blinked at him. “Oh you want watermelon now? Get your lazy ass up and fetch it yourself before I shove the whole thing where the sun doesn’t shine.”

He grinned. “Oh, kinky. I like it.”

I threw the towel on my shoulder. “Bet you’d like a slap too, you freak.”

“Depends,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Open palm or leather belt?”

Before I could even think of a comeback, Jin groaned, dramatic as hell. “Can I NOT be here for this conversation?!”

Rava didn’t even look up from his glass. “You are here. Shut up and suffer.”

Daisy was biting her lip, clearly trying not to laugh. “Honestly, I support it. Let Lorenzo be Gio’s little watermelon bitch for once.”

Lorenzo gasped and clutched his chest. “You sick woman.”

I rolled my eyes and headed to the fridge. “Say one more thing and I’m feeding you the seeds first.”

Lorenzo called after me, loud and proud, “Spit them in my mouth, daddy Gio.”

Jin banged the table. “WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE.”

Lorenzo laughed, then stretched again and pointed at Rava.

“All right, lover boy, since we are NOT eating that watermelon, come give us the full scoop on what went down yesterday after I left the meeting—while our humble servant Gio scrubs the dishes.”

I didn’t even flinch. “Keep talking and I’ll scrub the dishes with your face.”

He grinned and leaned toward Rava’s mom. “Don’t get us wrong. I’m still his favorite cousin. I would take a bullet for this freak.”

He then turns his head to Rava. “Come on. I wanna hear everything before we crash. Gotta rest up for tonight.”

I flicked water at him. “No crashing. We’re doing abs in the afternoon.”

He actually looked offended. “What?!”

“Yeah. Your abs are about to disappear, and then you’re gonna cry to Daisy that she made you fat.”

Rava laughed under his breath. Daisy just went, “Facts.”

Lorenzo pointed at all of us like he was being personally attacked. “I hate this house.”

---

Guys….

Are you ready…

…

TADAAAAAAAAAA

COME ON THAT IS BEAUTIFUL 😭 I’m so proud of myself.

LOOK AT THEIR FACES they are so suitable T_T

Anyway, IM POSTING AGAIN IN TWO DAYS:)

It will be a good chapter hehe. I promise.

THATS ALL BYE BYE I LOVE YOU ❤️

83) Cheers To That!

Rava’s POV

I rolled the sleeves of my white shirt up to my elbows and adjusted the chain around my neck. Swim shorts on, shirt unbuttoned, hair finally doing what I wanted.

I turned around to say something to Daisy and she was already on her third shot of Bacardi.

Her cheeks flushed, hands on her face, staring dreamily out the window.

“You’re gonna be wasted before we even leave,” I said.

She ignored me. Her eyes were stuck on something outside.

I followed her gaze.

Gio’s house.

Daisy let out a soft gasp. “Isn’t he just… perfect?”

I blinked. “Uh, yeah? Why do you think I cried over him?”

She shot me a look. “I meant Lorenzo, you dumbass.”

I looked through Gio’s open window, and Lorenzo was there too.

Shirtless. Putting on his rings.

“Oh.”

She grabbed her drink and leaned on the windowsill. “Look at him. He’s a vision. I wanna bite him.”

I laughed. “Must be something in their blood. Genetics working overtime in that family.”

She nodded solemnly. “If I die tonight, let it be crushed under that man.”

“Jesus Christ.”

Daisy looked at me.

“Man, I’m just so proud of my little baby brother who’s gonna be a tiny sweet schoolteacher,” she said, voice cracking dramatically. “Come on. One shot for us.”

She handed me one. I squinted at her.

“I’m only drinking this because that sentence almost made me cry.”

We clinked and downed it. Right then, the door creaked open and mom stepped inside.

“Oh great,” she said flatly. “Pour one for me too.”

I looked at her, surprised. “What’s going on with you?”

She walked in, pulled my chair back, and dropped herself onto it like a queen sick of her kingdom.

“I think I’m getting a divorce,” she said, like she was announcing the weather. “I’ve had it.”

Daisy and I froze. Then looked at each other like—okay?!?

Daisy reached over and turned the speaker volume down, mid-Freek-A-Leek.

Because apparently, discussing our parents’ potential divorce with Petey Pablo moaning in the background would’ve been… inappropriate.

“Honestly,” I said slowly, “I’m very neutral on the subject.”

Mom raised an eyebrow.

“And just so you know, he keeps threatening to hurt Gio,” I added. “Also, I’m not over that slap. I’m sorry, but he has completely lost my respect. He treats all of us so poorly.”

Daisy moved toward her and wrapped her arms around her shoulders.

“Look… between us? Rava’s right. We all deserve better. You, us. I’m sorry dad doesn’t see what a great woman he has. And how lucky he is with the kids he got. No offense.”

She leaned back, staring her in the eye.

“I’m not gonna tell you ‘don’t divorce’ or ‘try harder.’ I know you already have. Whatever you decide — you’ve got us. That’s not changing.”

Mom blinked. Then smiled. “You mean that? Or is that the Bacardi talking?”

“I mean every damn word,” Daisy said. Then she shooed her toward the door. “Go do something distracting. We’ll talk when the honorable Mr. Father decides to return to his home. Jesus.”

As we were getting ready to walk out, mom looked at us over her glasses.

“Be careful where you’re going,” she warned.

“Don’t drink anything you didn’t see opened yourself. Watch your stuff. And go easy on your little boyfriends.”

I snorted. “Mom, you realize I’m not seventeen anymore, right? The fact that I’ve been gone for four years doesn’t mean I stopped aging.”

“As for Daisy… She’s practically a grandma now,” I added, smirking as I grabbed my towel.

Daisy spun around mid bikini-adjustment.

“BITCH, WE ARE BOTH STILL IN OUR TWENTIES.”

“Not in my head,” I muttered, dodging a flip-flop she launched at me.

She lunged, and I swerved behind the chair.

Mom rolled her eyes.

“I swear to God, I will put you two on sale. I’ll find some old lady who’ll gladly take you as rescue cases. Calm the hell down!”

I laughed and grabbed my bottle of water and my towel. “Alright, alright—we’re going. Breathe.”

Daisy sprinted ahead of me, grabbing the speaker, two bottles, and like six random things we did not need.

“For God’s sake,” I yelled after her, “we’re going out for one night, not relocating!”

At the beach

Gio’s POV

We stepped onto the beach and the party was already halfway to hell. People everywhere. Bare feet, loud music, lights from portable speakers flashing in pinks and reds.

Bottles half-buried in the sand, smoke in the air, weed, probably.

Or oregano, who knew with these kids.

Daisy was two steps ahead of us, dragging Lorenzo by the wrist and screaming something about body shots. The speakers were blasting reggaeton.

Rava’s walking next to me. His chain catches the moonlight.

He looks good. Too good. Too good to be walking next to someone like me.

And he’s mine.

I almost wanna fight someone just to prove it.

We make it past a circle of drunk college kids singing aggressively off-key.

Someone throws a glow stick at Lorenzo’s head.

He doesn’t even blink—he’s too busy doing a ridiculous dance move and yelling, “TONIGHT WE CELEBRATE OUR ACADEMIC BITCH!”

“Is this what it’s like dating a celebrity?” I shout to Rava’s ear.

He shrugs, pretending to be modest, and shouts back. “You’ll get used to it.”

We finally found a spot—under some crooked-ass tree near the edge of the party, just enough space to dump our stuff without losing sight of the bonfires.

Lorenzo’s already unzipping his bag, kicks off his slippers and groans. “I’m sweating in places I didn’t even know I could sweat.”

Then he turns to a dude leaning against the tree, sipping something pink and probably deadly.

“I’ve known you for exactly two seconds,” he says, pointing at him, “but you don’t give off thief energy. Can you watch our stuff while we take a dive, right after a shot?”

The dude raises an eyebrow but smiles. “Only if we get a shot too. What are we celebrating?”

Daisy, already holding the bottle like a prize, raises it proudly. “We’re celebrating our genius over here!” She slaps Rava’s chest and nearly spills half the liquor. “He got a full scholarship. He’s gonna be a hot teacher or something.”

The guy lights up. “Yo, that’s actually dope.” He high-fives Rava, who’s redder than the damn sunset.

I swear, it never gets old watching him shy like that.

Lorenzo tosses plastic shot cups around like confetti. “Ravioli. When’s your birthday?”

“January seventh, 2003,” Rava says, still trying to wipe the grin off his face.

Lorenzo pauses.

Thinks.

Then full-volume: “TO THE ONLY 22-YEAR-OLD I WOULD TRUST WITH MY CHILDREN!”

Everyone: “CHEERS TO THAT!”

I laugh so hard I nearly choke on the tequila. The cups go flying, the tree dude and his friends join the toast, Daisy’s already pouring more.

And Rava is standing in the middle of it all, glowing like a star that finally figured out how much it’s worth.

I’m just trying to keep my damn heart from falling out of my chest.

We’d barely finished the shots when Lorenzo started stripping.

“Let’s hit the water, assholes! The lovely tree guy’s got our backs!”

Before anyone could answer, Lorenzo slapped hands with our new bestie, then spun dramatically toward the sea. “Alright! Let’s GO, YOU NASTY BITCHES!”

He took off sprinting and launched himself into a front-flip.

Rava ran in right behind him, arms spread like a martyr, flopped on his back. He screamed immediately. “FUCK, THAT IS COLD!”

I was last, dove in like an idiot, headfirst into shallow water. Pretty sure I kissed sand with my forehead.

We’re all blinking, wiping seawater out of our eyes. Lorenzo’s shaking his hair. Rava’s shivering dramatically.

Daisy? Still dry, arms crossed, standing at the edge.

Lorenzo waves at her. “Come on, hot girlfriend, you’re ruining the aesthetic. Don’t make me drag you.”

Daisy points a threatening finger. “Touch me and you die in your sleep.”

Rava swims up slowly. I can already tell he’s scheming.

“Rava—” she warns.

Too late. He slaps the surface of the water hard, a beautiful, explosive splash hits her dead in the face.

“YOU PIECE OF SHIT!” she screams, stomping into the water, chasing after Rava while he cackles and swims away yelling something about diplomatic immunity.

We were all bobbing in the water, half-drunk and freezing.

“Bro, Italy is heaven, I swear to God, I’m gonna fucking die from how beautiful this is!” Lorenzo shouted and launched a wave of water directly at Daisy’s face.

She blinked, unimpressed. “Then die quieter.”

I was laughing when I turned and caught Rava floating near me.

I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him hard against me.

He gasped. “You’re gonna drown me, Gio! HELP—”

But I just laughed and hugged him tighter. I had waited so long to do that. To grab him like that without checking who was looking, without fear, without shame.

Years .

And now I had him in my arms, soaking wet and yelling for help like the brat he was.

I let him go and touched his chest, leaned in until my mouth was near his ear.

“Did you call them?” I asked. “To confirm you’re going?”

Rava looked at me, eyes shining. He leaned into my neck and shouted.

“Yeah, Gio. I called. You don’t need to keep reminding me that I’m leaving.”

And just like that, my smile cracked a little.

Before I could say anything, Lorenzo swam up between us like a goddamn sea goblin. “You two whispering again? Is it a sex joke? Are we plotting something? Is there a plan I’m not in on?”

Rava rolled his eyes. “Bro, you’re the biggest gossip I’ve ever met. I swear to God.”

Lorenzo grinned. “Yeah, but I’m charming. I made you spill your whole tragic little love story at that carnival when you were blackout drunk, didn’t I?”

I turned sharply. “Can someone please tell me what he said that night?”

“NO,” Rava said.

“Don’t worry, you probably have already done the things he was telling me.” Lorenzo replied.

Daisy cut in, raising a brow. “Can I know?”

Lorenzo immediately turned to her like the traitor he was. “So your not-so-innocent brother said—”

But before he could continue, Rava grabbed him by the wrist and yanked him underwater with a massive splash.

From beneath, I heard Lorenzo’s muffled scream: “HE’S ACTUALLY DROWNING ME, THIS IS HOW I GO—”

Then I hear some girl floating next to us, talking to her friend, tipsy and loud.

“My mouth tastes like Malibu and seawater.”

Rava lights up.

“Wait—Malibu?” He looks over, eyes wide. “She’s drinking Malibu. That’s what I want. I’m getting one. Get off me, you freak.”

“I’m going to the bar.”

I don’t even hesitate. “I’ll come with.”

He doesn’t say no. We push out of the water together, still dripping, and immediately we’re swallowed by the crowd.

Wet bodies everywhere. Bare skin. Towels, sand, someone wrapped in a floatie drinking straight from the bottle. It’s mayhem.

I reach for his hand.

“Hold onto me,” I mutter. “We’ll get lost.”

… Oh fuck.

I’m holding his hand. I’m holding his hand.

My heart is losing its fucking mind.

I don’t get it. I really don’t.

We’ve had sex a stupid amount of times.

We’ve done things that would make priests combust on sight.

I’ve literally had my tongue between his asscheeks.

But this??

Hands?

I’m ascending.

Our hands look good together. If someone took a picture right now I wouldn’t even flinch.

This is nice. Why didn’t we do this sooner?

I could get used to this.

We make it to the bar.

The bartender looks like he’s aged ten years in five minutes. He’s darting between trays, screaming at a blender. We wait. Rava’s still holding my hand.

I let my eyes drift.

Big mistake.

Couple meters down—some dude. Red hair. Too red. Like artificially flame-colored. More freckles than skin. And he’s looking at Rava like he wants to lick him.

Is that bitch actually looking at Rava like that?

I check. Maybe he’s staring past us.

… Nope. It’s my boy. Of course it is. My Rava. And this dude’s eyeballs are about to fall out of his skull.

I step closer, real slow. My hands go to the sides of Rava’s neck, fingers resting just at his temples.

The guy doesn’t look away. I stare back.

Try me, freckle boy. Fucking try me.

Finally, the bartender gestures to us.

“We’re up!” Rava says to me.

He bounces a little. “Hi! Can I get a Malibu with pineapple and cranberry?”

The bartender nods. I fish out my credit card.

“You’re adorable,” I mumble.

He grins. His whole face lights up.

I pay. We take the drink. We walk away.

I don’t let go of his hand.

Not yet.

Rava’s smiling. A lot.

Like… a lot a lot.

Too much.

I narrow my eyes at him.

Why is he smiling like that? Wait—shit.

Did he see the ginger?! Did he catch that whole thing?

Fuck, fuck, fuck, act natural.

“Why are you smiling so much?” I ask, trying to sound casual. Like my heartbeat isn’t currently setting land-speed records.

Rava swings our hands lightly back and forth. Like we’re twelve.

“It’s gonna sound dumb,” he says, “but… this is the first time we’ve held hands.”

I freeze.

I feel the words ‘oh my god I love you’ crawling up my throat like bile.

Hold it, Gio. Hold it down. Don’t fall to your knees. Don’t grab a piece of seaweed and turn it into a ring. Don’t ask him to marry you right here while he’s sipping Malibu. He’ll choke. He’ll die . You’ll have to bury him right next to the ‘Tree Guy’.

I force a laugh. Channel the cool. “Now that you say it… yeah. You’re right.”

He beams.

I die.

We make it back to our spot, and thank fuck, the universe gives me a distraction. Lorenzo and Daisy are lounging like gremlins under the tree.

Lorenzo raises his drink. “See? Told you it was a good idea trusting Tree Guy. He’s a real one.”

We laugh.

And I pretend my soul isn’t currently levitating five inches above my body.

We sit down, sand sticking everywhere.

Daisy grabs his drink. Rava immediately snatches it back.

“Use your own, goblin,” he says, deadpan. “Leave mine alone.”

She rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue.

Lorenzo’s next to us, leaning back on his elbows, staring at the stars with that glazed look that screams ‘I’m not drunk, but I’ve definitely stopped being fully sober’.

“Guys…” he mumbles dramatically, “I think I’m starting to feel it…”

I snort into my cup. “You think?”

He tries to flip me off but ends up smacking himself in the face.

Beautiful.

I sip my drink, watching all of them.

I feel like I’m in a documentary about dysfunctional Mediterranean fauna.

…

Half an hour later, and Daisy’s three drinks deep into her musical era—giving lectures about love and the female psyche.

She suddenly shoots up.

“OKAY. I need movement. Movement or I’m gonna start oversharing and you’ll all cry. Come on, beach rats—volleyball!”

Lorenzo lifts a lazy hand. “Whatever the lady says.”

Rava hesitates. “I don’t know…”

“You do know,” Lorenzo says and grabs him by the wrist. “Up.”

I groan from where I’m sprawled in the sand like an emotionally compromised starfish.

“Leave me here. Have mercy. My arms are sore. Unlike some people, I didn’t quit working out.”

Lorenzo turns, scandalized. “Excuse me?! I still have sexy back, thank you very much.”

“You have something back there. Can’t confirm the sexy part.”

“Rude. Tragic. I’m hurt.”

“Don’t care. Not playing. I’m suffering.”

They ignore me and start doing a sloppy triangle toss. Daisy’s flailing.

Lorenzo’s yelling instructions that make no sense.

Then I see him.

A new voice. Too friendly.

“Sorry, are you guys playing? Mind if I join?”

I lift my head.

No.

Nope . Hell no.

It’s him. HIM.

The ginger bastard from the bar. The freckles. The eyes. The “I wanna eat your man” energy.

Lorenzo, the welcoming idiot, says, “Yeah, come on in!”

I shoot up so fast I almost throw my spine out. “Count me in,” I yell.

Daisy looks at me. “I thought you said—”

“I changed my mind.”

Rava turns to look at me, confused.

This will be fun.

---

HELLO PEOPLE don’t hate me but there is no drawing this time…

IM SO TIRED OF DRAWING I NEED A SMALL TINY LITTLE BREAK

SEE YOU IN TWO DAYS BYE BYE I LOVE YOU

84) That Was So Hot

Gio’s POV

I step into the circle.

Everyone’s giggling. Rava’s cheeks are flushed. Daisy’s talking way too loud.

Lorenzo is holding the ball.

I’m looking at him.

The new guy.

The annoying ginger.

Of course he had to be hot. Tall. Shirt unbuttoned just enough to make me hate him. One of those stupid lean builds that says “I do yoga and emotionally support women” or whatever.

Confident smirk. Clean fingers. Freckles.

Get out.

I want to punch every single one.

He sits right next to Rava. Too close.

Way too close.

I want to slap the smugness off his stupid symmetrical face.

“I’m Jasper,” he says, grinning at Rava. Not even fucking glancing at the rest of us.

Rava blinks, clearly caught off guard. He puts down his Malibu slowly, then nods once.

“I’m Rava. This is Gio,” he gestures toward me. His fingers brush my arm. “This is Daisy. And Lorenzo.”

Jasper doesn’t even react. Just throws Rava a casual “Nice to meet you” before stretching his long-ass limbs.

I glance at Daisy.

She’s now holding the ball in her hand and giving me full side eye.

We start playing.

Just a few lazy passes, Lorenzo’s making dumb spins, Daisy’s serving with all the fury of a woman who’s been wronged.

And then there’s this fucker.

Jasper.

Every time the ball goes near Rava, suddenly ooohh, Jasper’s right there.

Like a fucking shadow. He slips in from nowhere, brushes against Rava’s shoulder, his lower back, pretending it’s casual, but it’s not.

Every few minutes he throws in a, “You’re really good at this,” eyes on Rava’s mouth like he wants to lick the words off his lips.

I’m trying not to choke him with my own fucking necklace.

The ball comes to me. I go for it, my arms scream. It lands off. Not terrible, but not great either.

Jasper jumps in instantly. Laughs.

“Guess not everyone trained for the big leagues,” he says with that snaky smile, like he just said, “Nice weather we’re having.”

I stare at him.

God…

I want to drag my thumb across his teeth like a piano, feel which ones are loose enough to remove.

But I don’t. I pass the fucking ball.

I can’t say anything. That’s the worst fucking part.

What do I even say? “Hey, Rava, I don’t like another male organism standing that close to you.”

Fucking pathetic.

So I shut up. I press my lips hard together. And I keep playing.

Rava makes a killer pass, honestly, it’s so good I almost forget I want to commit murder.

Lorenzo whistles. “Damn, bro,” he laughs, shaking sand out of his hair. “What’s this? Planning on being a volleyball pro on the side of your sexy schoolteacher job?”

Rava laughs too.

“Wait, what?” It’s him. Jasper, with his fucking wide-eyed fake surprise.

“You’re gonna be a teacher? No way! I’m in education too, that’s crazy!”

I freeze.

There’s no fucking way.

I don’t even hide the eye-roll.

If my eyes rolled any harder, they’d do a backflip and fall out of my skull.

He studies education?

Yeah, sure, buddy.

He’s just saying that to impress him. Obviously.

Basic shit. The oooooldest move in the fucking book. Say whatever the hot guy says, pretend to have something in common, boom—bonding.

Fucking pathetic.

“I just finished a thesis on linguistic scaffolding for bilingual toddlers.”

…

He’s telling the truth.

Oh, fuck off.

Somebody please rail me into the fucking sand because I can’t be living this.

Of course he fucking looked at me.

The moment he found out Rava studies education too, of course he turned his smug freckled face toward me like he’d just scored a fucking goal.

I didn’t look back. I refused.

I just kept staring at the ball in my hands, pretending I hadn’t noticed the universe spitting directly in my face.

Because honestly?

What are the fucking chances??

Out of every guy on this damn beach, he just had to pick mine .

He just had to study the exact same thing, didn’t he? Couldn’t have been a plumber or a barista or literally anything else that wouldn’t make my teeth grind.

No.

He had to be smart, charming, pretty-boy adjacent with his dumb perfect cheekbones and his “wow that’s such a cool field” voice and his fucking interest in my Rava’s future.

Like great. Awesome. Sexy teacher-off in the sand. That’s what we’re doing now?

Someone kill me.

Better yet, someone kill him .

Preferably before he asks Rava if he wants to co-teach summer camp together.

…

You know what?

No.

I won’t get mad. I refuse to get more mad.

Let him stand there like some pretty little charity case, talking about education and childhood development like he’s auditioning for Rava’s diary.

Let him laugh at all the right moments, tilt his head like he cares.

Let him fucking try.

Because while he’s busy starving for Rava’s attention, begging for a crumb of it…

I have Rava shaking under me, crying out, begging me not to stop. I’m stuffing him full of me until he’s gasping into my mouth.

And then I wash my hands, fix my shirt, and sit down to eat lunch with his entire fucking family like the good man that I am.

So yeah. He can talk about pedagogy all he wants. I’ve got Rava’s moans memorized like scripture.

Fuck outta here.

We’re still playing.

Whack.

The volleyball flies straight into Jasper’s head.

Full impact. Clean shot. Courtesy of Daisy, unintentionally the MVP of my fucking week.

My lip twitches.

No. Don’t laugh. You’re a serious man. You’re working on yourself.

Deep breath. Inhale. Exhale. You’ve read one and a half chapters of that self-help book Rava recommended. You are growth. You are patience. You are—

…

Okay but that noise he made when the ball hit him? That little “oof” like a malfunctioning printer?

No.

No .

Stop .

Don’t smirk .

You’re a man of composure. You’re healing. You’re in love.

…But holy shit that was satisfying.

Lorenzo let the ball drop and threw his hands up dramatically.

“I’m done. I need Bacardi. My soul needs Bacardi. I’m going to sit down before I die.”

“I’m coming with you!” Daisy chimed in, jogging after him toward the towels.

Jasper lingered behind. Then he turned to Rava.

“See that girl sitting by the shore? Where the waves hit the sand?” Rava followed his gaze, squinting.

“She just got appointed to a primary school nearby.”

Rava shifted awkwardly, offering a polite half-smile. “Wow… did she do a Master’s? Or, like, have connections?”

Jasper smiled, that annoying soft kind of smile that pretends to be humble. “Come talk to her. We’re leaving soon, but you’ve got time.”

…

Jesus Christ. How much more obvious can this get?

What’s next? Is he gonna pull out a damn ukulele and start singing a lullaby about inclusive education?

But no. No, I’m not gonna get jealous. He’s just going to say hi to a girl who works in the same field. Big deal. Normal people do that. It’s called networking. It’s healthy.

Rava looks over at me. Like he’s asking for permission.

God, I love him.

I nod.

Go ahead, babe. Go talk to Miss Kindergarten Enlightenment or whatever he said.

Rava hesitates, then walks off slowly, down to where the waves reach the sand.

He sits beside her. And Jasper? Jasper sits right next to him.

I drop down under our tree, grab the rest of Rava’s drink, and finish it in one long swallow.

I didn’t throw a fit. I didn’t punch anyone. I didn’t mark my territory like a wild animal. I let him go. Calmly.

That’s growth. That’s maturity. That’s me being an emotionally developed adult man. Right?

Jesus, I deserve an award.

10 minutes later

…

Fuck everything I just said. I take it back. All of it.

I don’t wanna be mature. I don’t wanna be calm. I wanna kill him.

Every seven goddamn seconds he touches Rava’s shoulder. Like Rava’s gonna fly away if he doesn’t keep a hand on him.

Fuck the music. Fuck this party. Fuck Jasper.

I’m sitting under this tree while that asshole is over there playing beach therapist.

“You don’t think he’s hitting on him?” I ask, eyes still glued on them like a sniper.

Daisy doesn’t hesitate. “Oh, he’s hitting on him hard .”

I whip my head toward her.

Lorenzo goes, “One hundred percent. That man wants to climb him like a tree. It’s almost funny.”

“You should have seen the way he looked at him at the bar,” I mutter. “Like he wanted to raise his kids or something.”

Daisy blinks. “Wait—he was at the bar?”

“I saw him. Rava didn’t see shit.”

I keep watching. I can’t not watch. I hate this. I hate how I feel. I hate how close that little shit is sitting.

“Should I go say something? I don’t know, just… grab him, pull him aside, whatever.”

Lorenzo laughs. “And say what, idiot? ‘Hey, sorry, I’m insecure that my literal angel is talking to other humans’? Sit your jealous ass down.”

Then Jasper laughs. Before Rava even says anything. He’s laughing at things that don’t exist yet. He’s reading his lips like subtitles and reacting like it’s a fucking comedy special.

Then the girl leaves. She fucking gets up and walks away. She leaves them alone.

My eyes widen. My brain actually twitches.

What the fuck. What the fuck.

She just… left them. There. Together. Alone. Like this is a rom-com and she’s giving them space to bond.

Daisy goes, “Maybe she went to get something—calm down, wild animal.”

I don’t say anything. I can’t. I’m chewing the inside of my cheek hard.

Then he does it. He touches Rava’s knee. With his whole palm. Like it’s his fucking right.

Nope. That’s it. I’m done.

The guy who was keeping our stuff nudges me. He leans over. Says, “If I were you, man? I’d go over there.”

I don’t even nod. I just stand the fuck up.

I’m already moving before my brain catches up. I’m not thinking. I’m definitely not planning.

I’m going.

I walk straight to them.

Jasper’s hand is still on Rava’s knee.

I don’t stop walking. I just let my body do what it wants.

I shove Jasper, not hard, but not light either, and drop myself right between them.

Tight fit. Good. Let him feel me here. Let him choke on it.

Rava’s eyes widen. He bites his lip like he’s about to laugh.

Good. Laugh. Watch me ruin the moment.

I turn to Jasper slowly. Meet his eyes, dead cold.

“Hey,” I say, calm as ever.

He blinks. Doesn’t answer. Doesn’t know what the hell just happened.

I tilt my head. Smile faintly. “Don’t stop. Sounded like you were saying something fascinating.”

Jasper laughs.

“Bit tense, aren’t you?” he says.

“Bit fucking close, aren’t you?”

He looks at me like I just slapped him.

I tap his shoulder.

“Hey,” I say. “I’m kidding, I’m sorry.”

He blinks, surprised. “Oh. Uh, it’s okay—”

I cut in, grinning. “Nah, seriously. You seem like a good kid. I was just messing around.”

He laughs nervously. Even Rava looks confused now, flicking his eyes between us.

I keep the smile up, all warm and casual. “Wait, I think I saw you earlier at the bar, actually! Were you actually there?”

Jasper nods, easing up. “Yeah, I was!”

“Right, right—” I say, chuckling. “We were in the line. I was the one with my hands around Rava’s neck. He was rubbing my arm, remember that?”

Jasper lets out a little laugh. “Yeah, I—yeah, I saw you!”

My smile drops.

“Good.”

And the shift happens.

“Then if you’ve got even a little bit of a fucking brain,” I say, voice suddenly flat, deadly, “you’ll understand that Rava is not someone you get to play your pathetic little fucking games with.”

His face freezes.

“Have some fucking respect. Jesus Christ.”

Rava’s eyebrows jump. Jasper opens his mouth to speak.

I keep going.

“You’re hovering around him like a lost dog, and I’ve let it go. I’ve watched you stare at him like he’s candy and you forgot your fucking manners. I’ve watched you lean in every goddamn second like maybe if you breathe enough of his air he’ll fall into your lap.”

I point at him.

“I’ve been nice. I’ve let you talk. I’ve let you smile. I even let you sit next to him. Touch him. But if you don’t back the fuck off—”

Pause.

“—I will make sure the next guy you crush on doesn’t even look your way again.”

Jasper just sits there, stunned. I tilt my head. Smile again.

“I think your friend’s calling you,” I say, nodding toward the girl from earlier. “You’ve left her alone for so long. Why don’t you go check on her?”

One last glance. I soften my voice, like I’m talking to a kid.

“Go on. Like the good boy you are.”

Jasper stands up, brushing sand off his shorts. He doesn’t look at either of us, just lets out a breathy little laugh.

“Damn,” he mutters. “I don’t have the energy for this.”

He shakes his head once. “You win, alright?”

I lean back on my elbows, cocky as hell. “There wasn’t a fucking competition to begin with, you fucker.”

He doesn’t answer. Just walks off.

“Enjoy the party,” I call after him. Cheerful.

When I turn back, Daisy, Lorenzo, and the guy from the tree are already watching. I flash them a thumbs up like I just won a round of Mortal Kombat.

They all return it at once, grinning. Daisy mimes wiping a tear. Lorenzo claps once like I deserve a medal.

I turn back to Rava.

“Give me your hand.”

He doesn’t ask questions. Just gives it to me.

I grip it and pull him up to his feet.

“Come on,” I say, already walking. “Let’s go over there. I’m not letting our literal family watch us make out.”

We head toward the water, feet sinking into the cool sand.

Rava looks at me like I’ve grown wings or dropped out of the sky.

“What?” I ask, narrowing my eyes, water lapping around our waists.

He blinks, then grins. “That was so hot.”

“Hot?” I scoff. “I almost strangled him.”

“Exactly,” he says, without hesitation.

I shove him lightly, splashing water between us. “Don’t laugh. Why didn’t you say something?!”

“I wanted to see when you’d lose it,” he shrugs, smug. “Good thing I waited. That was incredible.”

He steps forward. His hand finds my chest. Then my jaw.

He kisses me. Soft at first.

I melt.

God, I’ll never get tired of those lips.

I grab his face with both hands and kiss him harder, hungrier. It turns messy fast, mouths open, tongues sliding, his breath catching between kisses.

We sink deeper into the sea.

My hands move down, gripping his ass, pulling him in flush against me.

“Feel that?” I murmur against his mouth.

Rava laughs, flushed, his forehead against mine. “In cold water?! That’s actually impressive.”

I smirk.

“You bring it out of me, sweetheart.”

---

it’s almost time FOR CHAPTER 85 yes i’m super excited okay? Cause i worked hard for this chapter.

Useless information: I’m currently at a villa where we stayed for a bachelorette party last night, and of course I got my period—so now everyone’s swimming while I sit here like a little grandpa popping painkillers. But at least I’m doing it in front of a pool heheheh.

That’s all.

SEE YOU IN TWO DAYS BYE BYE I LOVE YOU

❤️Bonus Chapter❤️

So… I had a draft I was planning to post later in the story, but y’all are so horny in here that you convinced me it’s the perfect time to drop it now, even if it’s kinda off-script from what I originally had in mind. Readers are the ones that give life to our stories so we must listen to them, hehe.

So yeah, consider this a bonus smutty chapter :)

And you better appreciate it, because I lost a lot of sleep trying to get it done in time for today. Imma go to sleep now. ENJOY you filthy animals <3

Gio’s POV

We are still into the sea. The water is warm around us. But I’m burning. From the inside out.

He’s so close I can feel his breath against my mouth.

His lips almost touch mine.

I lean in. Ready to take it. To kiss him properly.

And that little fucker pulls back. Smiling.

I feel it. His smile brushes my lips.

His eyes…God. Those green fucking eyes.

I swear if that look could talk it would go like: “Bend me over and fuck the thoughts out of my head, please.”

I swear I almost choke. I’m hard. So hard it fucking hurts.

Then his hand slides down. Over my abs.

Then lower.

He palms me over the wet fabric of my swim shorts.

Fuck.

I can’t even talk.

His mouth is back by mine, his breath mixing with mine, lips barely grazing.

“You trying to get us arrested?” I say.

He shrugs, mouth curling into that perfect fucking grin. “Maybe.” And then he kisses me.

His lips crash into mine, tongue already in my mouth, hungry and rough. My brain whites out.

His tongue is fighting mine.

I’m kissing him back like I want to swallow him whole.

I grab his waist. Pull him in.

My dick is grinding against his hip. My hands are digging into his back. I want him.

I want to tear his fucking swim shorts off with my teeth and fuck him against the rocks like an animal.

…

But of course I can’t.

A voice.

“Do you two have to be so goddamn obvious?”

We both freeze. Turn.

Jasper. Back again.

Voice like a fucking mosquito in heat.

I rip my mouth off Rava and turn.

Not again, you boring fucker. Not now.

Rava breathes out through his nose. Annoyed now. Calm, but annoyed.

He turns to Jasper with that polite teacher look.

“Look, Jasper. Maybe you’re uncomfortable or surprised, I don’t know. But this is starting to get invasive. We’re not hurting anyone—”

“—except maybe your pride,” I add, smiling and stepping slightly in front of Rava, half-shielding him.

Rava calmly continues, voice still diplomatic: “You’ve made it clear how you feel.”

“And we don’t give a fuck,” I snap, eyes locked on him like I dare him to say something back.

“Well… I don’t know what you’re trying to do. But I think it’s clear I’m not interested. I never was.”

I smirk. Fucking finally.

But Rava’s not done. He takes a little step forward, half in front of me now, hands calm at his sides, eyes sharp.

“You’re not a bad person, you’re just… persistent. But that doesn’t change the fact that I have a whole boyfriend right here. And you need to respect that and back off.”

I freeze.

Everything just shuts down.

…Boyfriend?

BOYFRIEND?!

I got called boyfriend.

My brain collapses like a sandcastle under a wave attack.

I’m boyfriend. Me. Fucking Gio. Is boyfriend. Officially. Out loud. In public.

Christ. Jesus. Mary. The whole holy family. I think I blacked out.

I stare at him. Still grinning.

He raises a brow.

“You coming?”

I snap back into my body.

“Yeah,” I rasp. Then louder: “Let’s go, boyfriend.”

I shoot Jasper the dirtiest, yet the most clear middle finger in existence as we turn to walk away.

No words. No mercy. Just a solid fuck-you.

My hands twitch in the water.

I might drown. I might cry. I might get hard again. Actually, I already am. Fuck.

Was it just for show? Did it just slip out? Does he know what he did?

We walk a little further down the beach, away from the lights, the voices, the rest of the world.

It’s darker here. Quieter. Just the crash of the waves.

I’m super hard. Still fucked up from the way he said it.

Boyfriend. Like it was nothing.

Rava pulls me back into the water.

We fall, chest to chest, until we’re submerged up to our shoulders again, bodies pressed.

He’s on me again.

His lips graze my neck. Then his mouth opens.

He whispers, right against my skin: “Now… where were we, boyfriend?”

FUCK.

I full-body jerk. I feel it. I feel myself twitch.

His hand’s already on me. Inside my shorts.

Touching me. Stroking.

My mouth drops open, and all I manage is a low, broken noise.

He chuckles softly.

“You’re twitching,” he whispers, like it’s the most innocent observation in the world.

“I’m gonna drown you if you keep doing that.”

He grins.

“Doing what?” His hand moves again slowly, fingers teasing the head of my dick underwater.

“This?”

He leans in, mouth brushing my ear.

“Tell me, Gio… any chance you’d prefer we take this home?”

That’s it.

I move. Fast.

I grab him—both hands around his thighs, lift him clear out of the water and toss him over my shoulder like a man possessed.

“We’re done here.”

“Gio—” he laughs, arms flailing. “Put me down, you horny beast!”

“No.” I stomp toward the shore, water flying around us. “You’re finished. You hear me? You’re done.”

“You keep saying that like it’s not the goal,” he wheezes.

“I’m gonna ruin that huge, round ass of yours.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” he grins.

That freak actually slaps my ass while I carry him.

His laugh is vibrating against my back. The only thing on my mind?

Home. Bed. Hands. Teeth. Moans. Skin. Him. Now.

We reach the spot where we left our stuff.

Daisy. Lorenzo. Tree Guy.

All three of them staring at us like we just walked out of a porno.

I drop Rava to the ground. He lands on his feet, laughing.

I bend down, grab our shirts, towels, shoes, whatever, and sling it over my shoulder.

Daisy squints at me, horrified. “Tell me you’re not about to go have sex with my brother.”

I glance at her as I fumble with my shirt. “You’re sleeping with my cousin. So yes.”

Tree Guy looks genuinely distressed. “Woah… What is going on here?”

Lorenzo’s already doubled over, laughing. “Just go. Please. Leave before I witness something that scars me.”

I turn as we start walking off and call over my shoulder: “If the ginger shows up, tell him to go fuck himself.”

Tree Guy raises his hand, all serious. “Can I have the honor of saying that?”

I nod. “Yes. Please. Say it with feeling.”

Lorenzo slaps his knee and points at Tree Guy.

“I told you. I told you Tree Guy was giving good vibes. He’s loyal. He’s blunt. He gets it.”

He waves a hand dismissively.

“Anyway. For the love of God, please don’t come back pregnant.”

Rava chokes on his own laugh. I smirk and grab his hand as we walk away.

We’re almost at the house. I can see the door. Just a few more steps.

But I can barely fucking walk.

I’m so hard it hurts. I’m so wound up I can’t even breathe properly. And every time I glance over at him, it just gets worse.

I’m falling apart.

I need him. Not just sex. Not just release.

I need to feel him against me. Need to bury my face in his neck and lose myself. Need him to remind me that I didn’t imagine this. That this is real.

God, I want him.

We reach the door. My hand slightly shakes as I unlock it. I get it open, and the second it creaks, I grab him.

I pull him inside. Shut the door.

And for a second, I just stare.

He’s mine.

Just us.

Please, I think, as I grab his jaw and kiss him roughly.

Please, I need you. I need you so fucking bad. I don’t even know who I am without your hands on me right now.

No more Jasper. No more beach. No more eyes.

Just mine.

Only mine.

I shove him back against the wall.

No need to pretend I’m calm anymore.

I grab the hem of his shirt and rip it over his head in one motion. Throw it on the floor like trash. My hands are on his chest before he can even take a breath.

I press my palm flat between his pecs. Feel his heartbeat thumping ,trying to match mine but it can’t. Because mine’s fucking exploding.

I trail my hand down. To his ribs. His stomach. Then his waist. That fucking waist.

That slim, sinful, unfair waist. I grab it with both hands and yank him toward me.

Let him feel the boner.

“You feel that?” I whisper. “That’s all you. Every fucking inch of it.”

He groans, head falling back slightly, and then he grabs my hair. Hard. Yanks me forward by the scalp, dragging my mouth to his neck, his jaw, whatever he can reach.

He’s smirking.

What a great day to be a boyfriend.

He called me boyfriend. He said it proud.

He said it in front of that useless stupid motherfucker who thought he had a shot.

We get to the room. I don’t wait. I just grab him and push.

His back hits the mattress and I’m on him in seconds, straddling his waist.

I lean down and start kissing his neck. Over and over again.

I kiss like I want to leave bruises he won’t be able to hide tomorrow.

His hands are grabbing my hips.

“You like that?” I whisper against his skin. He nods, breathless.

I grab the waistband of his swim shorts and pull them down fast and rough, mad they even exist.

Oh fuck me, he’s already leaking.

He’s so fucking perfect.

My fingers now shine in the low light as I coat them with lube.

I’m breathing hard.

I line myself up behind him while my hand is gripping his thigh, the other between his legs, and just before I go any further, I freeze.

Just to look at him.

“Please?” I ask, voice quiet, wrecked.

His eyes meet mine.

“Please go faster.”

That’s all I needed.

I grin.

“That’s my boy.”

And I slide my fingers into him fast.

His mouth falls open, and he lets out a soft, broken moan.

Jesus Christ. That sound. That face.

I’m gonna fucking kill myself.

His brows drawn together. His lips parted.

My fingers are buried in him deep, and I’m not being gentle. I curl them. I move them. And I watch his face.

There. Right there. His eyes flutter, and his whole body tenses.

Found it.

I press again. Harder. Right against that spot inside him that makes him fucking melt.

And he moans. A whimper trying to escape his throat.

I fucking feel him falling apart on my hand.

God, he’s beautiful like this.

I keep my fingers moving, hitting that same spot again and again, until his mouth is open and his head falls back like he’s overwhelmed.

I grin.

Then I lean down.

Take his dick in my mouth. Not all the way. Just the head.

Let my tongue swirl over the slit.

He gasps, and his hips are jerking up instinctively.

But when he tries to close his legs from the pressure, I shove my free hand between his thigh and the bed. Hold him open. Wide.

“Don’t even think about it,” I whisper against his skin. My mouth still warm around his dick, my fingers still pumping inside him.

He whines.

“You gonna cum already?” I murmur, tongue flicking his tip. “Just from this? From my fingers and a little tongue?”

He tries to answer, but his voice cracks.

I thrust my fingers deep, slam into that spot again.

His back arches.

And I love it. The way he shakes. The way his body begs without speaking. The way I have to hold him down to stop him from squirming away.

Because that’s what I like most. Watching him try to escape the pleasure I’m giving him. Knowing he can’t. Knowing he doesn’t really want to.

My eyes are dragging down his body.

Fuck every Jasper in the world.

Every smug little piece of shit who ever thought he deserved this. This view. This body. These sounds.

They don’t get it. They don’t get him like this.

They don’t get to see his thighs shaking. They don’t get to feel him twitch around their fingers. They don’t get to hear that wrecked fucking moan when you hit the right spot.

I do.

I earned this.

And now? Now it’s my turn.

I move between his legs, eyes always locked on him, and he’s looking up at me like he knows.

“I’m gonna show you,” I breathe, lining myself up. “What I wanted to do all fucking day.”

To shut you up when you were teasing. To shut them up when they were watching. To make you forget every name but mine .

He nods. Hands grabbing at the sheets.

“Don’t turn around.” I told him.

He paused. His eyes met mine.

“I want to see your face when I ruin you.”

Rava smiled.

“So sweet,” he whispered, “even when you’re choking on your own need.”

I leaned in close, let my mouth brush against his, barely touching. “There’s not gonna be anything sweet left on that face in one fucking minute.”

I lined up. No teasing this time. Just pure, unfiltered hunger.

I sank in.

Slow, all the way, until I got fully in, and lost every thought I ever had.

“How the hell do you feel too good,” I hissed, already grinding in deep before I’d even pulled back.

His legs locked tight around my waist, like he was dragging me in deeper, like he couldn’t stand even an inch of space between us.

And then his nails raked down my back.

I buried my face in his neck.

“Don’t stop that,” I muttered, voice shaking from how deep I was hitting.

I slammed into him again. Harder. Rougher. His back arched. His hands clawed again. His thighs trembled around me.

The sounds…fucking hell, the sounds were filthy. The bed was slamming against the wall. The headboard banging over and over. Skin clapping so loud it echoed around the room.

“You hear that?” I murmured against his mouth. “That’s the sound of you getting fucked exactly the way you need.”

I grabbed his wrists and pinned them over his head, pounded into him.

His legs locked around me tighter than before. His body didn’t want me to ever leave.

And I fucking loved it. Every ugly scratch. Every tremble. Every sound we made together, echoing off the walls.

I leaned in, and grabbed his jaw with one hand, thumb dragging over his lips.

He looked up at me with dazed eyes, mouth open, still panting from how hard I was fucking into him. And I crashed into him.

Sloppy.

He tried to keep up with the kiss, but he was already gone, fucked out, needy.

His head tipped back against the pillow, like he couldn’t keep up with my pace.

And I loved it. I fucking thrived on it.

“Aww,” I whispered against his lips, biting the bottom one before I pulled back just enough to speak. “You can’t even kiss me back right now.” I thrust in deep, fast, made him jump.

I licked and kissed his neck. “You’re so fucking gorgeous like this, baby.”

I pulled back just enough to get leverage and slammed into him, hard enough to shove the air out of his lungs. He gasped. Arched. And I kept going. Giving him everything.

“Take it.” Another thrust. “Fucking take it, angel.” One more. Harder.

His hands scrambled over my back, trying to find something to hold on to, anything, and I didn’t stop. Didn’t slow.

I couldn’t stop looking.

I was deep inside him, fucking deep, and I kept watching my dick disappear into him, slide in and out.

Every time I pulled back and saw the way he clenched around me, I swore under my breath.

It was hypnotizing.

Addictive.

We weren’t talking anymore. We were just fucking like crazy.

I was so far gone I didn’t even register his movement. Didn’t realize what he was doing until he shoved me.

My back hit the bed.

And the next thing I knew, he was climbing on top of me, legs spread, hands on my chest.

I gasped.

Rava looked down at me, flushed and panting, a wild smile on his lips.

“Sorry,” he said, catching his breath. “But I missed riding you.”

…

I dragged a hand over my face.

Holy fuck.

How am I this lucky.

That was the hottest thing he could do.

His hands land on my chest as he settles over me.

He leans forward, grabs my dick, and guides it back in himself.

Slow.

My head snaps back against the pillow.

“Holy shit, Rava…”

I can’t stop watching.

He sinks down, eyes locked on mine, and I feel it as he takes me in inch by inch.

He opens for me, swallows me whole again.

I groan, watching my dick vanish inside him, being devoured.

He just starts to move.

Slow at first, grinding down, and then he picks up speed.

Starts bouncing.

And grinding. Back and forth.

Loud. The sound of skin hitting skin mixes with our breathy fucked out moans.

And while he rides me, his hand drags up my chest.

He pets my sternum.

I’m unable to do anything but lose my mind over how good he looks fucking himself on my dick.

He’s slamming down on me, sweat dripping off his chest, ass bouncing on me with a rhythm so perfect it feels like a fucking setup from the universe.

And then he leans down. Mouth brushing against my neck. “This is what I was thinking about while Jasper was running his mouth with all that fucking bullshit.”

He grinds harder.

“I was sitting there,” he keeps going, still bouncing on me, “smiling like an idiot, pretending to listen—when all I wanted was to do this .”

Smack. Down on me again.

“To feel you inside me.” Again. “To fuck myself on you until you couldn’t think of anything else but me.”

Help. Help.

This shouldn’t be legal.

Help. Fucking help me.

This man’s so hot I want to cry.

My throat’s closing up, my eyes sting, my chest feels too full.

This is it. I predicted it.

I’m gonna die while I’m having sex.

It’s too much. It’s too fucking much. How does someone look like that while fucking themselves on me? How the hell is he real?

I can’t stop staring. I don’t want to. I reach up, hand shaking, and grab his dick.

As soon as I wrap my fingers around it, he moans, head falling forward, body twitching.

“If you keep—” he pants, voice barely holding on, “I’m gonna cum if you don’t stop.”

I squeeze harder. Stroke him faster.

“Do it.” My voice comes out desperate. “Let it go, baby. Come on. Let it fucking fall on me.”

His thighs are shaking as he grinds down on me again. I keep jerking him.

His rhythm’s breaking.

And then…those sounds.

Those helpless, broken moans spilling out of his throat, so fucking beautiful it hurts.

It’s like a melody I want to live inside forever.

And then he loses it.

His whole body tenses above me.

His cum spills out in thick, messy stripes, hitting my chest, my stomach, my neck, fucking everywhere.

The sight of it, the sound of him, the feel of him tightening around me…

It wrecks me.

I snap my hips up once, burying myself as deep as I can, and then I finally, finally let go.

I cum hard. So hard I swear I black out for half a second.

I see stars, actual fucking stars.

My back arches off the bed. My fingers dig into his beautiful thighs. My whole body shakes as I pour everything I have into him.

He leans forward and scratches down my biceps. Hard. Clawing at my arms, trying to stay grounded.

His eyes squeeze shut, breath stuttering, mouth open in a silent gasp as he rides the last waves of it.

We’re now still.

Just lying there, our chests rising and falling out of sync. His cum’s cooling on my skin. I’m still buried deep inside him. Neither of us moves.

Only the sound of our breathing fills the room.

Rava’s forehead rests against mine, eyes still shut.

“Please tell me… that after that, you don’t still feel jealous.”

I let out a lazy, half-crazy laugh. Brush my knuckles over his flushed cheek.

“Depends,” I say, breathless, grin already spreading across my face.

“If I say I do…” I thrust my hips up the slightest bit, still inside him, just enough to make him gasp. “…does that automatically mean round two?”

His eyes fly open. His mouth drops open. He blinks like he can’t believe I still have that in me.

I’m grinning through the ache.

“’Cause in that case…” I whisper, licking my lips, “…I’m still so fucking jealous, angel.”

---

I’m sleeping now. My phone is NOT on silent, so your notifications are probably annoying my sister right now.

85) The Box

Rava’s POV

The bathroom mirror is fogged from our shower, but I can still see him through it.

He has that sleepy, half-lidded look. Toothbrush in his mouth.

He catches me staring.

I look away, smiling.

He bumps his elbow into mine gently while we both brush.

We rinse, then we head to the kitchen in silence.

Lulu’s already up, stretched out on the sunny part of the floor.

I crouch down and run my hand over her soft little head.

She purrs and flops dramatically.

“Alright,” I say, looking up at him. “What should we make?”

But before I can even straighten up, Gio’s already moving.

He gently takes me by the arm and guides me down into the kitchen chair.

“You,” he says, firm but soft. “Sit.”

“Gio—”

“I’m cooking.”

“I want to help—”

“You are helping,” he says, walking to the fridge. “A lot.”

I laugh, leaning my arms on the table. “You do know you don’t have to serve me, right?”

He looks back at me over his shoulder, smirking.

“I know,” he says. “But I want to.

“Why?”

He turns around then, spatula in hand.

“Because,” he says, “I want to make breakfast for my boyfriend.”

My chest does this tight fluttery thing.

“…Oh,” I say, totally useless.

He grins. “Yeah. That’s right. Say it again.”

I lean on the counter. “Say what?”

“The thing. The b-word.”

I raise an eyebrow.

“Don’t play dumb,” he says, stepping closer. “Come on. I’ve been waiting my whole damn life to hear it from someone like you.”

I swallow.

“…My boyfriend?”

He closes his eyes like he’s savoring it.

“That one.”

I laugh under my breath. I feel like I’m glowing.

“You’re really leaning into this, huh?” I tease.

Gio turns back to the pan. “I’ve never had a boyfriend before,” he says, quieter now. “Let me be annoying about it.”

I walk over to him and wrap my arms around his waist from behind, rest my chin on his shoulder.

“You’re not annoying, Gio.”

_

We sit down to eat. His cooking smells better than anything I’ve ever had at a restaurant. Not only because it’s good, because it’s his.

We eat in comfortable silence, legs brushing under the table now and then, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the wood.

Halfway through, I swallow and lean back. “I’m thirsty.”

Before I’ve even finished the sentence, Gio is already halfway out of his chair.

“Do you want water? Milk? Juice? Fresh-squeezed? Cold? Warm? Sparkling? Still? Wine? I’ve got beer. Tequila. Champagne, I think. I’ll check.”

I blink at him, mouth half-open, chewing slowly.

He looks so serious about it too.

I laugh. My hand goes to my face.

“For the love of God, Gio,” I say through a grin. “Just bring me some water.”

He pauses, stares at me for a second, then nods three times.

“Water. Got it. Only the finest.”

We’re both laughing.

He sets the glass of water in front of me with a flourish like he’s a five-star waiter. I shake my head, still giggling, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

He’s about to sit again.

But…

The loud knock on the door slices through the moment.

We freeze.

I blink, eyes snapping toward the front of the house.

“What was that?” I ask, my voice already quieter.

Another knock. Louder this time. My stomach drops.

I stand. Too fast. My chair screeches.

“Gio—” I breathe, but I don’t even know what I’m asking.

He’s already up, his entire body alert. But his voice comes out calm.

“Hey. Look at me.” He puts a hand on my arm. “Go upstairs.”

My pulse is in my throat. I can’t hear anything but my own heart pounding in my ears.

“Why, Gio what’s happening?”

Another bang.

Then the voice.

“Police. Open the door.”

My eyes snap open. I look at Gio. My mouth opens, but no sound comes out.

His grip on my arm tightens. “Listen to me,” he says. “It’s fine. I’ve got it.”

I shake my head. I’m already spiraling. My hands are shaking.

He steps closer. Lowers his voice.

“Go upstairs. To my room. Don’t come out.”

“But—”

“Rava.” His voice snaps a little, sounding like he’s scared. “Please. Just go.”

My body doesn’t feel like mine anymore. It moves on instinct.

I turn toward the stairs.

He stays by the kitchen, staring at the front door.

I look back at him once.

He nods. Just once.

I go up, into his room.

And then nothing but silence and the sound of my own breath breaking apart.

I don’t shut the door all the way. I leave it just cracked. Just enough to hear. My back is pressed against the wall. I can barely breathe.

Voices. Footsteps. Something metal clinks downstairs.

“Mr. Fontana, there has been a formal complaint claiming that prohibited items are being stored in this residence. Under this authorization, we are required to search the house.”

No. No.

Shit.

My knees immediately go weak. My fingers dig into the wall behind me. I feel like I’m gonna throw up.

They’re going to search the house. Every room. Every drawer.

They think Gio has drugs. Or weapons. Or—I don’t even know. I don’t even fucking know.

But I know what they do.

They put people in handcuffs. They drag them out. They lock them up.

I bite down on my tongue. Hard. Trying not to cry.

He’s down there. Alone.

What’s he thinking right now?

Is he scared? Is he pretending not to be? Is he trying to look calm for them, while he’s just as fucking terrified as I am?

I squeeze my eyes shut.

God, please… don’t let them take him.

I slide down the wall, my back still pressed to it, hands trembling in my lap. I can hear them moving things now. Opening cupboards. Doors.

If they find something, anything, he’s gone.

And then it hits me.

The box.

The fucking box.

My head snaps up.

Fuck.

FUCK .

That’s where everything is.

Whatever he couldn’t risk leaving out in the open, whatever he couldn’t burn or lose…

It’s in there.

And if they find it?

He’s done.

And I’m just sitting here.

No. No, get up. Get the fuck up.

I stumble to my feet, heart racing, and rush to the closet.

I have to find it. I have to move. I have to save him.

Please, Gio.

Please tell me you didn’t hide it too well.

Please tell me I can still get to it first.

I try not to touch anything I don’t have to.

I open drawers carefully, quietly.

If they come in and see a mess, they’ll know someone’s been up here.

And then they’ll look for me.

And then they’ll find the fucking box.

I swallow hard, chest rising and falling too fast.

I want to cry.

God, I want to fucking cry.

But I can’t.

I’m too scared.

Focus.

I crouch low and start moving things. Behind shirts. Under blankets. I’m moving quick but trying to keep it neat, like I was never here.

Please don’t let them come up yet. Please, please, please.

Thank you, Gio, I think, voice cracking inside my head.

Thank you for letting me know.

You fucking idiot.

You knew. You knew this might happen. You didn’t say it, but you fucking knew. And you trusted me with it.

God. You’re crazy. You’re brilliant. You’re—fuck.

“We’ll check upstairs next.”

My breath stops.

I start shaking again. Full-body tremble.

My fingers go faster. I’m moving like a maniac now, but still trying to make it look untouched.

My vision blurs for a second. My hands go numb.

Don’t faint. Don’t you fucking faint.

“Come on,” I whisper soundlessly, “come on, come on, come on—”

Then I knock into something. A picture frame. It tips.

Cracks.

A sharp, broken edge slices across my palm.

You goddamn stupid fuck—

I freeze. Suck in air. Eyes stinging.

I don’t make a sound. I don’t have the luxury.

I just clamp my hand shut and swear a thousand times inside my head.

Fucking hell.

Blood drips. I wipe it.

Keep searching.

Then—

Metal.

The box.

I grab it. Both arms. Tight.

Then I hear footsteps.

Stairs.

Oh God.

I don’t even think. I spin, run to the balcony door.

“Come on, fucking open.”

I slip outside.

Close the door behind me.

I’m breathing like I ran for miles.

The box is still in my arms.

I’m bleeding.

I’m scared out of my fucking mind.

But I got it.

I’m outside.

Fuckfuckfuckfuck—

I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t— I’m shaking so bad I can’t feel my legs. The box is heavy. My hand is bleeding. Shit. Shit.

Where do I go? Where the fuck do I go?

They’re coming. They’re inside. They’re going to check here. They’re gonna fucking find him, they’re gonna find me—

I spin around, eyes darting everywhere. There’s nowhere. There’s nothing.

…

There.

Corner. All the fucking rugs. Rolled up like fucking towers.

I rush over. Practically fall. Stumble. My foot slips. My knee hits concrete. I bite my lip to stop from crying out.

Get in. Get the fuck in. Now.

I shove one rug. Doesn’t move. Shove again. “Move, fuck, MOVE—”

I wedge myself behind them. Box in my lap. Arms around it. Pressed to my chest.

I pull one rug toward me. Grab a chunk of it and yank it over my head, over my shoulders. I bury myself in it. Squeeze my knees up.

I try to stop breathing so loud.

My hand’s burning. It’s wet. Blood’s still coming out.

“Shit, shit, shit,” I whisper.

I can’t cry. If I cry I’ll choke. If I choke I’ll get caught. If I get caught—

He’s done.

He’s going to jail because of me. Because I was too fucking slow.

Please don’t come out here. Please don’t see me. Please don’t open that fucking door. Please.

I press my forehead to my knees. The box is cold against my stomach.

I’m going to pass out. Don’t pass out. Stay still. Shut the fuck up. Please.

Gio I’m sorry. I’m trying. I swear to god I’m trying.

Footsteps. Boots.

Someone’s out here. Someone’s fucking out here.

No.

No no no no no no—

The balcony door creaks open.

“Clear so far.”

A woman’s voice. Calm.

Too close to me and the box.

My heart almost explodes out of my chest. I clamp a hand over my mouth.

I’m shaking so hard the rugs around me are probably moving. I try to stop it. I press my knees together. Dig my elbow into my stomach. Anything.

She steps closer.

She’s right fucking there.

And I’m sitting here. Holding a box that could end Gio’s life.

That will end his life.

If she sees me. If she finds me. That’s it. It’s over.

I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. There’s too much air and none at all.

She shifts something.

I don’t see what. Just hear it.

Metal. Something falls. Rolls.

It hits me. Right in the shoulder.

God.

I almost scream. Almost.

Instead I press my hand harder over my mouth and bite my own palm.

Don’t scream. Don’t make a fucking sound. Don’t move. Don’t breathe.

Tears rush to my eyes instantly. From pain. From fear. From everything.

It hurts. God, it hurts.

And not just the shoulder.

My chest. My throat. My entire fucking brain. I want to scream. I want to cry. I want to vanish.

Please leave. Please don’t see me. Please.

I hear her take a breath. She hesitates. I squeeze my eyes shut.

My fingers are digging into my lips so hard I think I might bleed again.

She’s still. For one long second. One heartbeat.

…

She turns.

Steps back inside.

I don’t move. I can’t.

Everything hurts. Everything fucking hurts.

“Clear.”

Her voice slices through the air.

I still don’t move.

I can’t move.

Then I hear them again. From inside.

Closer to the door.

“Sorry for the trouble.”

“Got a tip, had to check. Protocol.”

Then I hear…

Gio.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says. “You know I’ve been clean. I’m a changed man, officer. Ask my mother.”

He laughs.

They laugh.

God, Gio. You’re insane.

I’m still curled up. Still buried.

My shoulder is on fire. My hand is still wet. Everything inside me is buzzing.

I don’t breathe. Not until I hear the door close.

Car doors.

Engine.

Then silence.

I wait.

Five seconds. Ten.

Still nothing.

My fingers twitch.

I shove the rug off me.

It rolls forward and flops to the ground with a heavy thud.

I stay still.

Knees pulled in. Hair in my eyes. Arms wrapped around that fucking box like it’s the only thing that matters in the world.

And it is.

Because it’s what I did. It’s what I saved.

Gio didn’t go to jail today.

I kept him here. With me.

But I still feel sick.

And definitely not okay.

I stare ahead.

Unmoving.

Like my body hasn’t realized I’m safe yet.

Because I’m not.

Not really.

“Rava?”

His voice.

It breaks me.

“Rava?!” he calls again, louder this time.

I want to answer.

I can’t.

I’m shaking. Hard.

My throat closes. I can’t get air in. I can’t breathe.

Fuck. Fuck, I can’t—

“Rava!”

The other rug lifts.

I flinch.

His face. His eyes. He looks like he’s seen a ghost.

“Rava,” he breathes.

He dropped to his knees beside me. “Hey, hey, hey, look at me. Baby, it’s me. It’s Gio. I got you. I got you. You’re okay now.”

I can’t move.

He was touching my face, brushing the dust from my lips, cupping my cheek. His eyes were teary. Furious and terrified all at once.

“They’re gone, alright? The cops are gone. No one’s gonna touch you. I swear to God, Rava, breathe. Just breathe, baby.”

His arms wrap around me. Tight. My body collapses into him like I was waiting for it.

I gasp.

…

Then I sob.

I cry so hard my whole body shakes. I’m choking. I can’t stop it. It won’t stop. I can’t make it stop.

He pulls me into his chest. One hand on my back. The other cradling the back of my head.

“I’m here. Baby—I’m here. I’m right here. You’re okay. You’re safe. You’re safe now. They’re gone. I promise. I’ve got you.”

My fingers grip his shirt.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, over and over. His voice cracks. “I’m so fucking sorry. Rava…”

He pulls back. Just a little.

Sees my face.

Sees my mouth that can’t form words.

Sees my bleeding hand.

“Wait what the fuck, why are you—why are you bleeding so much?!”

He’s taking a look at the cut. I pull my hand.

I don’t even know why. I’m panicking. I can’t get up. I don’t want to.

He doesn’t wait for an answer.

He kisses my forehead. My temple. My hair. I still can’t breathe.

“I’ll be right back,” he says. “Don’t move. I’m not leaving. I’m just getting water. Stay here. Stay with me.”

He’s gone.

My breath hitches.

A scream builds in my chest and I swallow it down, hard.

He’s back.

He kneels again. Hands shaking. Water bottle in one hand.

“Here. Drink. Come on, baby. Please.”

He holds it to my lips. I can barely hold it. He does it for me.

Cool water. My throat burns.

His hand touches my cheek.

I lean into it.

Tears keep falling.

“Can we go back inside and clean your—”

“No.”

I don’t even know why I said it. I just don’t want to go back inside.

He leans in and kisses my forehead again, slower now.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry for everything. For all of this. For putting you through it.”

His voice shakes.

“I never wanted you to see this part of me,” he says.

I close my eyes. Let myself fall forward. Into him. Into whatever the fuck is left of this moment.

Into us.

“You did so good,” he whispers. “Rava, you did something fucking amazing.”

My hands are cold. I feel him kiss the side of my face.

“You didn’t freeze. You didn’t run. You—God, you found the box. You saved it. You saved me.”

I want to talk. I want to say I was scared out of my mind, that I didn’t know what the hell I was doing, that my chest hurts and my fingers are going numb.

But he won’t stop.

And I don’t want him to.

“You saved my ass. You saved everything. I don’t even know how you did it. You were alone. You were scared. You were terrified, and you still knew what to do.”

My fingers clutch the back of his shirt.

It’s the only thing holding me upright.

“I owe you my fucking life,” he whispers, forehead to mine. “And I’m not saying that to be dramatic. I mean it. You saved me. You’re the bravest person I’ve ever met.”

My eyes flutter shut.

“I’m not joking, baby,” he breathes. “You thought quicker than me. You acted. You protected me. That’s supposed to be my job.”

I let out a choked breath, something like a laugh.

His hand grips the back of my neck.

“I’m so fucking proud of you.”

Gio’s voice is quieter now. Softer.

“Hey,” he says gently, brushing my hair back. “Wanna go inside? Let me take care of your hand. Please.”

I nod fast. Everything still feels like it’s spinning.

“Did you hit anything else?” he asks, crouched in front of me.

I don’t answer right away. I just move my head.

He nods, like that alone is a miracle. “Good. That’s it. Deep breath, baby. You’re doing amazing.”

“I thought—” My voice breaks immediately. “God, she was so close. Gio, I could hear her, she was right there. I thought—I thought she was gonna find me.”

His arms are around me again before I finish the sentence. He holds me tighter this time.

“I know,” he murmurs, voice shaking. “I know, baby. I’m so fucking sorry.”

“And then—” I let out a sharp breath, almost a laugh, almost a sob. “She threw some kind of metal thing. It hit my shoulder. I had to stay completely still. I—fuck—I wanted to scream so bad.”

He presses his lips to my temple. I close my eyes. My fingers are still clutching that goddamn box.

“You did it,” he says, voice barely a whisper. “Rava, you did it. You saved everything.”

I finally open my eyes. And just as the adrenaline starts to crash, something clicks in my brain.

“It was my dad,” I say suddenly. “He told me. That night. He said he’d make you pay.”

Gio stiffens. “Don’t worry about this now. You’re here. That’s all that matters. So let’s clean this up. Please. Before it gets worse.”

My shoulder hurts. My hand is still bleeding.

But Gio is still here.

And I’m not hiding anymore.

---

COME ON. That was a good one you have to agree. My heart was literally beating so fast when I was writing this.

The next one will probably make you cry from happiness HEJEHEHE.

Posting it in two days.

BYE BYE I LOVE YOU <3

86) Smile For The Camera

Rava’s POV

Gio lifts me off the balcony floor gently. I’m still clutching the box. It feels wrong to bring it back into the house.

Letting poison seep in again.

He sees it on my face.

“Listen to me,” he says.

“We’ll take care of your hand first. Then we’re getting rid of that thing for good, okay?”

I sniff, nod. He nods too, like we’re making a pact. “Okay.”

We step back inside.

The bedroom… it’s a fucking mess. Things are everywhere. Open, torn through, scattered. It doesn’t feel like his room anymore. Not the warm, quiet space I woke up in this morning.

I feel tears start to sting, but I hold them back.

Gio notices. “Don’t let this stress you out,” he says softly. “I’ll fix it. All of it. It’ll look exactly the way it did before.”

Then he smiles a little. “Good excuse to actually dust under the bed.”

I let out the smallest laugh. Barely there.

I sit down slowly on the edge of the bed, still holding the box in my lap.

I hate that this happened to him. I hate that I know who did it. And I hate that I’m definitely right.

“Stay here,” he says gently. “I’ll grab everything we need.”

He jogs off down the hallway. I hear him rummaging through drawers, cabinets. Then he’s back, nudging aside the scattered mess on the floor with his foot as he makes his way to me.

He kneels beside me, places the stuff down carefully, and looks up at me.

“Wanna give me your hand?” he asks, quietly.

I nod and offer it.

“It’s gonna hurt,” he says. “But if it doesn’t hurt now, it’ll hurt worse later. You probably already know that.”

“You’re right,” I murmur. “I know.”

He starts cleaning the wound. It does hurt, a lot, and I flinch.

His face twists with guilt like he’s the one causing it. Like I didn’t do this for him.

Like he wouldn’t do worse for me if the roles were reversed.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment. Just works gently, with his fingers steady on mine.

For the first time since I saw the lights of that goddamn police car, I start to feel kinda warm again.

He finishes tying the bandage around my hand. His fingers are slow.

I can feel how carefully he’s touching me.

Then he looks up. “How’d this happen?”

I swallow hard.

My throat’s still tight. “I cut it,” I say quietly. “While I was looking for the box. I knocked over a frame. Didn’t even notice the glass until it was already in my hand.”

I watch his expression shift. His jaw tenses, holding back something heavy. Guilt, probably.

Pain. I don’t know. For a second, it looks like he might fall apart.

But then… he smiles, like he’s proud of me.

He leans closer, still holding my bandaged hand. “You’re my hero, Rava.” His voice cracks a little.

“I’m not exaggerating. Not even a little.”

He runs a hand down my back, slowly.

“If you weren’t here… If you hadn’t been with me this morning… God, I don’t even want to finish that sentence.”

He exhales, breath shaking.

“They searched, baby. They searched right where the box was. I stood there, trying to keep my face calm, trying to act normal, and inside I was dying . My heart was pounding so fucking hard, I thought it would crack my ribs.”

I’m silent. Just watching him. Letting him talk.

“I could almost feel the cuffs, Rava. I was one second away from losing everything. From losing you. My life, my mom, all of it. Gone.”

His voice breaks a little.

“But then she turned. She turned around, and I saw her leave that spot without finding anything, and I—” He pauses. Swallows.

“I swear to you, I’ve never felt anything like that. Never. It was like being pulled out of a nightmare while still screaming in it.”

He leans forward, pressing his forehead to mine.

“And you. You were the reason. You’re the reason they found nothing. You’re the reason I’m still here, sitting across from you, talking like this instead of in a fucking cell. You did that. For me.”

“You saved my ass. You didn’t have to, but you did. And I don’t—” he stops, shaking his head. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget what you did for me today.”

My eyes sting again, but I smile through it. “I had to. I wanted to. It’s you.”

He pulls me into his arms, presses his face against the side of my neck. “I’m gonna spend the rest of my life making this up to you,” he murmurs. “I swear to God. Whatever it takes.”

I close my eyes and let myself fall into him, into this moment. I don’t care how much it hurts. I don’t care what comes next.

He’s safe. He’s here. And that’s all I wanted.

Lulu climbs up beside me.

My girl. Always knowing exactly when to show up.

I stroke her gently behind the ears. My hand still aches.

But I can breathe now.

Gio watches us, eyes a little softer now.

I try to lighten the mood. “If they’d taken you in, could I have filed for custody of Lulu?”

He blinks at me. Then bursts out laughing.

“I’d probably be thinking about it in the back of the police car,” he says, wiping his face, still grinning. “Would’ve asked them to deliver my final decision in an envelope. Dramatic and official.”

We both laugh. Lulu lets out a tiny meow like she approves.

But then I exhale.

Because I know what’s coming.

The next storm.

“I’m gonna go,” I say quietly, petting Lulu once more. “Next door. I’ll grab a few things. I’ll be right back and then… we’ll get rid of the box. For good.”

Gio straightens a little. “You sure you’re okay?”

I nod. “Yeah. I just… need a moment. I’ll be quick. Don’t touch anything, okay? I want to help you clean this up.”

His brow furrows. “Absolutely not. Don’t even think about it.”

He leans in, kisses my forehead gently.

“I’ll have as much cleaned as I can by the time you come back.”

I smile, just a little. Then stand.

Because we still have a job to finish.

I step outside.

I saw his car.

Fuck.

My steps quickened without permission, heart pounding.

Felt like I was running toward the scene of a crime.

I didn’t hesitate.

Pushed my house’s door open.

Didn’t even register Lorenzo or Daisy as I stormed past them.

I heard her call my name, confused, but I couldn’t stop. Not now. Not when the only thing in my head was his face.

My father’s fucking face.

I found him in the hallway. Cool and composed like always.

I didn’t stop.

“Are you out of your fucking mind??” I yelled, slamming my hands against his chest.

He staggered slightly.

I shoved him again.

“Do you even understand what you’ve done??”

“Rava—”

“No. No! Shut up! You don’t get to speak first!”

My throat burned already. My vision was blurry from the tears. I didn’t care.

“You sent the police to Gio’s house. To his fucking house, you sick monster!” I was shaking.

“They came with a warrant! That means you actually put effort to destroy someone! Him! They searched everything. They almost—”

I couldn’t finish. I was crying.

“You almost ruined everything! You almost ruined him. You—” My voice cracked. Fury and heartbreak are choking me at once.

“What kind of person does that to their own

son ? To someone I love?! What kind of monster are you?“

He stepped forward, hands raised. “I was trying to protect you.”

“Protect me?!” I laughed, bitter and broken.

“From what? From someone who actually gives a shit about me? From the only person who’s ever made me feel safe in my own skin? You call that protection?”

His mouth opened again. I didn’t let him speak.

“You have no fucking idea what I had to do! What I had to do to protect him , to protect us .” My voice was broken.

“You made me feel hunted in my own fucking life!”

He flinched.

“I had to clean up your mess. And you know what’s worse?” I stepped closer.

“You knew exactly what you were doing. You knew it would destroy him. You wanted it to. Cause you’re evil.”

“Rava, it was a mistake you weren’t supposed to be there—”

“No.” My eyes locked with his. “You’re not allowed to call it that. A mistake is forgetting a birthday! A mistake is leaving the oven on! What you did was calculated cruelty! You don’t make mistakes like that unless something in you is just rotten!”

He stared at me, mouth pressed tight.

“I fucking hate you.”

It came out quiet and extremely honest. Truth should hurt.

“You don’t deserve peace. You don’t deserve happiness. You don’t deserve to look at me and pretend for one second you still get to be my father.” My voice cracked again.

“I’m done with you. And I hope one day you pay for everything you’ve done.”

I turned my back. But I wasn’t done.

I catch a glimpse of Lorenzo out of the corner of my eye.

That smart son of a bitch.

He has his phone raised just enough for me to know he is now recording.

Perfect.

I turn back to my father.

My skin is still buzzing with fury, but now I’m not just pissed.

Now I’m calculating.

“You know what’s funny?” I say, casual, almost amused.

“No matter how many people you threaten, no matter how many favors you cash in, at the end of the day, you’re just a scared old man. Scared of anyone who doesn’t bow down to your crap.”

He steps closer. His jaw tightens.

Perfect.

“You don’t control me anymore,” I say, taking a slow step into his space. “You don’t scare me. You couldn’t even keep your wife from leaving you. God, you’re pathetic.”

There’s a twitch in his temple. His fingers curl.

Please do it.

I lean in, calm, cruel, and whisper just for him, “You’re gonna be left alone. And no one will give a damn—”

Crack.

His palm hits my face hard and fast.

Let my head jerk sideways, let the red sting bloom on my cheek.

I don’t touch him back. Don’t yell. Just… stare.

My cheek burns. But I don’t move.

I don’t give him the satisfaction.

He stares at me, chest rising, lips curled back, furious that I didn’t flinch. That I’m still standing. Still his son, but not his pawn.

“You little shit,” he spits. “You think you’re better than me? Hiding behind your faggot boyfriend like a coward?”

He grabs me, shoves me hard into the wall.

My back hits the plaster with a dull thud. Pain shoots through my ribs, but I bite it down.

I let him.

Because I need him to show the world who he really is. I need him to prove that all this time, it wasn’t me. Wasn’t Gio. Wasn’t anyone else he’s tried to ruin.

It’s him.

“I gave you everything!” he growls, inches from my face. “Your school. Your goddamn future. And this is how you repay me? Throwing it all away for a street rat? A criminal ?”

He shakes me.

“I did it. I freaking did it, yeah. I called the police to his house.” He hissed.

“But you keep pushing, keep defending that thug, and I swear to God, I’ll bury you both. You being my son won’t stop me.”

Perfect.

Fucking perfect.

I can feel the phone still recording from across the room.

I can feel Lorenzo’s presence like a silent shield.

Every word Charles says is another nail in his own coffin.

My eyes sting, but I don’t look away.

I let him see me. Let him see that I’m hurting, yeah, he’s still my father. He still knows how to hit where it cuts.

But I also let him see that I’m not going to stop.

Not now. Not when Gio is finally safe.

“Stop trying to scare me.”

He reels back like he wants to hit me again, but something changes in his face.

He looks around. Realizes how quiet the room’s gone.

Realizes he’s not alone.

And then he sees Lorenzo.

Phone still up. Still rolling.

“Smile for the camera, sir!” Lorenzo says coldly.

Phone still in his hand.

Behind him, my mother. Her hands are shaking as she wipes her tears, and I can tell… they told her.

She knows the plan. She’s crying, but she’s not stopping it.

She lets it happen.

Because this is the only way out.

I swallow the lump in my throat, but guilt still curls in my chest.

She doesn’t deserve this.

But it has to happen. This has to fucking end

today.

Charles starts to move, toward Lorenzo now, but Lorenzo doesn’t even flinch.

He lifts the phone higher.

“Eh? Touch me and I send it. Trust me, you don’t want that. Prison’s not a fun place these days!”

His tone is light, but his eyes? Dead serious.

Charles freezes for a moment, calculating, like he’s just now realizing he might’ve underestimated the guy who wears loud shirts and makes weed jokes before breakfast.

“Look,” Lorenzo starts again, casual, sharp, cocky, “you so much as breathe in the direction of my cousin ever again, or lay one finger on this family…” He waves the phone lazily.

“I swear to God, I’ll upload this footage to every cloud in existence. I’ll fax it to the pope. Don’t test me!”

Charles clenches his fists, but says nothing.

“You think you’re the only one with money and connections? Please.” Lorenzo scoffs.

“Don’t be fooled just ’cause I play the clown?! I am funny. But I’m not fucking playing.”

For the first time ever, Charles looks cornered.

He snaps.

“You’re all fucking sick. Every single one of you!” he yells, red creeping into his face.

“This? This is what you’ve become? A house full of degenerates and traitors, defending him ? That boy?”

He points at me like I’m dirt. Less than.

Lorenzo raises an eyebrow and says nothing.

Charles turns to my mother now.

“And you. You just stand there? Crying like some helpless little thing while they ambush me in my own home? You’ve always been weak. Always—”

“Enough!”

Her voice cuts.

She steps forward, her hands shaking but her spine straight.

And her eyes, God, I’ve never seen her like this.

“Don’t you dare blame me for this! You did this! You created this mess, Charles! I’ve been cleaning up after you for years . Covering, explaining, lying. I did it for the children. I did it because I thought maybe, maybe , you’d change. But you didn’t. You got worse. You are a monster. And I’m done protecting you.”

He stares at her, stunned. And for the first time… speechless.

She breathes hard. Her chest is rising and falling, her face streaked with tears, but she doesn’t look away.

“Don’t ever come back here,” she whispers. “You don’t belong in this family anymore. You never did.”

Charles clenches his jaw, breathes through his nose.

He doesn’t move.

His pride bleeding out in front of everyone. He looks at me again.

“I feel sorry for your future students,” he says, eyes cold. “God help them.”

I clench my jaw. My stomach twists. But I don’t speak. I don’t need to. His words don’t carry weight anymore. Not here. Not after this.

Then he turns to my mother.

“Send me the divorce papers,” he mutters. “I’m done. I’m leaving this sickness behind. Good luck keeping the company alive without me.”

Mom flinches, but she doesn’t back down. Her hand stays on my shoulder. She’s grounded. For the first time in a long time.

“Don’t worry, boss man,” Lorenzo says casually. “She’s got us. We know business too. Bye bye now!”

Charles pauses.

But there’s nothing left for him here. Not control. Not respect. Not family.

He walks out. Slams the door.

And suddenly there’s air in the room again.

---

So………

CHARLES IS GONE :)

Should we all have a party?

PLEASE DONT BE MAD I COULD NOT ACTUALLY KILL HIM THAT WOULD BE SO DARK😭

please tell me you liked it:)

Please:)

SEE YOU IN TWO DAYS AGAIN

BYE BYE I LOVE YOU

87) Canada Plan

Gio’s POV

As soon as the door clicked, as soon as Rava’s shadow was gone…

I collapsed.

Something cracked open inside me, and everything I’d kept shoved down just came pouring out.

I sat on the floor, pulled my knees up, fists clenched in my hair, my face already wet and burning.

Why didn’t I burn the box? Why the fuck didn’t I BURN THE BOX?

I knew. I knew it was a risk. I knew it was a fucking liability. And I still kept it. I kept it like a fucking idiot, like I was untouchable, like no one would ever get close enough to suffer.

And look what happened.

Rava.

Fucking Rava.

The one good thing I’ve ever had in my life.

The one thing I didn’t want to destroy.

The softest, kindest, brightest soul.

The one who believed in me. Who trusted me. Slept in my bed. Laughed at my dumb jokes.

And what did I do?

I nearly got him dragged away by the fucking police.

I made him hide like a criminal.

He was bleeding, shaking, hyperventilating, and I wasn’t even there.

I couldn’t even protect him when it mattered.

What the fuck kind of man does that make me?

Why didn’t I get rid of it? Why didn’t I listen to myself? Why did I bring him into my mess, into my rotting past?

Cause I’m a fucking idiot.

I got greedy. I got selfish. I wanted to keep him. I thought maybe, maybe , I could have something normal. Something good.

And now look.

He could’ve been taken. He could’ve had a record. A future ruined. A life shattered. And all for what?

For me?

God, I hate myself.

He risked everything, for a box I was too much of a coward to destroy.

I should’ve handled it. I should’ve handled it.

But instead he did.

Because I wasn’t fucking there. Because I was too busy smiling at cops and pretending I was in control while the person I love most in this fucking world was falling apart alone.

He had a panic attack in my arms and the only thing I could think was, please don’t leave me .

Like I had any fucking right to ask that of him.

He deserves peace. He deserves to feel safe when he wakes up. To laugh. To chase dreams. To hold hands with someone without looking over his shoulder.

And instead, he was hiding on my fucking balcony behind rolled-up rugs. Clutching a box that could ruin my life.

And his.

Because I put it there. Because I let him in.

I let him in.

And now? Now he’s hurt. And scared. And still too fucking kind to blame me for it.

…

Lulu jumped into my lap without a sound, like she knew I needed her.

I held her close, pressing my face into her soft fur.

“There you are,” I whispered. “My little sunshine.”

She gave a tiny sneeze, then curled into me.

“You didn’t ask for any of this, huh?” I murmured. “Just wanted cuddles and snacks and naps in the sun.”

I kissed her head gently. “I’m so sorry you had to hear yelling. You didn’t deserve that, baby.”

She looked up at me.

“I promise… I’ll make things quiet again. For you. And for him.”

She licked my hand.

I smiled through the sting in my eyes. “Yeah. I love you too, fuzzball.”

Knock.

I froze.

Rava.

I shot up. Wiped my face, slapped my cheeks, forced myself to breathe.

Had to look okay. Had to look strong. He couldn’t see this.

Not after what he went through.

I opened the door.

Smiled.

Pretended like my soul wasn’t in pieces at his feet.

He was smiling, and holding a huge bag in one hand.

That smile, though… it flickered the second his eyes met mine.

“You okay?” he asked, voice immediately softer, searching my face.

I nodded. “Now, yeah.” I glanced at the bag. “What is all that?”

He smiled again, smaller this time, and raised the bag a little. “You’ll see. I have a really good idea. But first, we clean the house.”

…

We started picking things up in silence, tossing broken pieces into a trash bag, folding crumpled clothes, lifting books from the floor.

“Gio?”

“Rava?”

He smiled.

“I’m glad I was the reason you’re safe. I’m really happy right now.”

Happy.

This man, this fucking radiant, complicated man just had a panic attack in my arms, bled while being hidden, went through God knows what while he was next door, and now he was here, picking up my broken furniture, telling me he was happy .

My heart did something stupid and painful in my chest.

He’s happy.

He’s happy .

God, I swear, I’ll protect this man with my life. I don’t care what it costs.

Even if I have to burn every last piece of myself, I’ll keep him safe. This light. This softness. This strength in his quiet little smile.

He doesn’t even know what kind of miracle he is.

And I’ll never, ever let the world ruin that again.

Rava suddenly froze.

Then, like something just hit him, he jumped up.

I spun around. “What? What happened?”

He grabbed his wrist tight. His voice was breaking.

“Gio,” he said, eyes wide. “The bracelet. The one Emi gave us—mine’s gone. I’m not wearing it, shit—I’m not wearing it.”

It hit me like a punch.

Rava was already tearing through the couch cushions.

I bolted to the balcony.

And there, on the cold stone floor, near the wall…

Beads. Everywhere. Tiny letters staring up at me. The tiny heart. A piece of blue cord.

“Oh fuck…” I whispered.

I dropped to my knees, gently pushing the rugs aside.

Rava appeared behind me, breathing hard, and the second he saw them, he deflated.

He didn’t say a word. Just stood there, hollowed out.

I got up fast and cupped his face.

“Hey. Look at me.”

He did.

“They’re all here,” I said gently. “All the pieces. I’ll fix it, Rava. I swear. It’ll be just like before. Like it never broke.”

He looked like he might cry.

“It didn’t break,” I said softly. “It just… came undone for a second! That’s all. It happens. I’ve got it. I’ll put it back together.”

He didn’t answer, but he leaned into me, forehead resting against my shoulder.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

We’re now sitting on the floor in front of the couch, boxes pushed aside, everything half-done but finally quiet.

Rava turns his head and looks at me.

I stare back.

His eyes… they’re still red around the edges.

“Gio?”

I hum, “Hm?” without looking away.

He hesitates, just for a breath, “I know today’s been… hard. For you. For my family, too. I will explain later. I was just thinking… maybe you could stay over at our house tonight? In my room. I just think… it might help. Being there. Together.”

I stare at him.

I don’t deserve this man. I don’t deserve his calm or his softness or the way he still wants me near after all of it.

He reaches for my hand. “Please?”

I nod right away. “Of course,” I whisper. “Whatever you want. I’ll be there.”

He exhales, smiling, and pulls me into a hug.

Then he stands up, brushes off his hands, and gives me this little grin.

“Okay,” he says, holding out a hand for me to take. “Come on. We’re about to do something amazing.”

Now we’re out.

I hand him his helmet. Buckle it on myself while my fingers are brushing his jaw on purpose.

He looks at me with those goddamn eyes.

I smile. Because what else can I do?

We climb on.

As I start driving, Rava leans closer, resting his chin on my shoulder. “Can we go to that cave spot,” he says, loud over the wind. “The one by the beach. Where you comforted me when my ex tried to cheat on me with you.”

I laugh. “Okay, okay, don’t go into details. I remember.”

We ride. The sky’s stupidly pink.

Like some painter went way too hard on the romance filter.

The air slaps our skin.

By the time we reach the beach, everything’s gone quiet.

Just a few birds in the distance.

Empty sand.

That same narrow path down to the rocks.

We slide off the bike.

He grabs the bag. I grab him.

We duck into the little opening in front of the sea.

It’s still there, quiet. A tiny hidden pocket of the world.

We sit cross-legged on the towel.

The ocean hums in the distance. The sky is now a pinky purple.

Rava pulls out a plastic container, pops the lid.

The smell of the food hits me.

I blink. “Wait. Is that—? Is that our breakfast?!”

He shrugs, casually. “Yeah. You didn’t touch yours. I packed it up while you were in the shower.”

I gape at him. “You packed it? In a container? Like a… like a picnic mom?”

He looks at me like he’s about to end me. “You want to eat or not?”

I throw my hands up, grinning. “I love you, I love you—no notes.”

He takes a few bites, groaning like he hasn’t eaten in days. “We need something good after this though. Like… stupid good. Pizza. Gelato. We deserve it.”

He reaches into the bag he brought and carefully pulls out the box.

My smile drops.

My heart kicks against my chest.

Rava places it gently on the towel between us.

Then he reaches in again… and starts pulling out things that make absolutely zero sense.

Paintbrushes. Scissors. Tape. Acrylics. Colored paper.

I stare. “Did you bring the wrong bag?”

He lifts his head slowly and gives me an offended look.

“…Sorry. Sorry.”

He breathes in. Points at the mess in front of us.

“Okay. So here’s what we’re gonna do. I learned this in school, actually. When you’re struggling with something, like… emotionally or psychologically, turning it into art, into something you create instead of just fear, can help you take the power back. It rewires how your brain stores the memory. You’re not just remembering pain anymore. You’re remembering what you made out of it.”

I blink again.

“God, I love you when you’re a nerd.”

He side-eyes me. “Start cutting paper, punk.”

And we begin.

⸻

We start with the papers. Rava hands me one. Keeps one for himself.

I glance down.

Well… shit.

Purchase receipts for weapons I never touched. My name scrawled in ink on transactions that weren’t mine. Drug deals. Shady agreements. So much filth printed in neat little rows.

It makes my skin crawl.

I really was disgusting.

I stare at the page. I look at Rava.

“You’re not gonna ask me what any of this is?”

He shakes his head. “Nope.”

Then, as if it’s nothing, he hands me a big paintbrush.

“Dip it in a color,” he says. “Any one you want. Just… cover it. Trust me.”

I swallow hard.

Look at the paints.

My fingers reach for the purple. It’s the deepest one.

Rava picks red.

We start brushing.

Paint is covering signatures, words, numbers, dates.

All of it vanishes beneath the strokes.

Gone.

When it dries, Rava grabs the scissors and starts cutting the papers into really tiny squares.

Confetti.

He dumps it all into the now-empty box.

I stare at him. “You’re not real. You’re an alien.”

He smirks. “First piece done.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Piece?”

He nods toward the box. “That paper? Was supposed to put you in handcuffs. Now? It’s just some simple confetti.”

I laugh, loudly.

God, I fucking love this guy.

The USB.

Rava hands me his laptop gently.

“Here,” he says. “Delete whatever’s in it yourself. Then give it back to me.”

I hesitate. “You’re not even gonna ask what’s on it?”

Rava shakes his head. “No.”

Fucking hell. That does something weird to my chest. Because I know what’s on it.

And it’s not pretty.

It’s footage of people breaking. Footage of people being broken. Files that were leverage. Insurance. Ugly places.

My stomach turns. I don’t even open it. I just plug the USB in, drag everything to the trash, and hit delete.

That’s it.

Gone.

I let out a breath, relieved, and hand the laptop back to him.

He doesn’t waste a second. Starts typing immediately. His fingers move fast over the keys.

He pushes his glasses up his nose, clearly forgetting they’d slid down a while ago.

Determined little thing.

I walk over and gently wipe the sweat off his forehead.

He pauses, looks up at me, and blushes.

Of course.

His usual.

“So helpful,” he murmurs, “since day one.”

I smirk. “Not my fault you’re constantly melting, angel.”

He smiles wider, then hands the USB back to me.

“It has all the pictures and videos we took at that party with Lorenzo and Noah.”

I look at him.

He grins. “The dangerous files became dangerously sexy content. See? Our bathroom selfie is in there. And the one where our tongues are touching, ten out of ten experience. I’d absolutely do it again.”

I snort out a laugh. “Oh, I know you would.”

So would I.

Rava picks up the old fake ID.

The one I had when I was seventeen. A disaster of a photo, hair too long, jawline still figuring itself out, name fake as hell.

He holds it up, squinting at it. “Would you mind if I… cut this up a bit?”

I raise an eyebrow. “Yes, I’d mind. I was planning on using it next week, actually.”

“For what? Getting arrested on purpose?”

He’s already slicing off the picture before I can come up with a comeback.

The rest of the ID? Shredded and dumped straight into the trash.

But the photo, he glues it onto a piece of blue paper. It’s the same size as an actual ID.

“What are you doing?”

“Making it better,” he mumbles, tongue peeking out a little as he concentrates.

And then he starts writing.

Name : — Gio “Too Hot To Be Arrested” Fontana

Hobbies : — Threatening people who flirt with his man — Riding dangerously (both ways) — Eating every single one of my mom’s pies — Pretending he’s heartless when he’s actually full of love and gay panic

Warning Label:

— Contains high levels of testosterone, tattoos, and repressed emotions

Affiliated with:

— One (1) very proud boyfriend — Several traumatized dates — One traumatized Ducati

Emergency Protocol:

— If found unconscious, whisper: “He was talking to someone else.” He’ll rise. Fast.

Valid Until : — He stops being hot. So… never.

By the time he finishes, I’m trying not to laugh, and absolutely failing.

“Are you done exposing me?”

“Just documenting facts,” he says with a straight face, and tucks the fake ID into the now-empty box.

—

The illegal crap’s gone. The mess. The evidence. What’s left?

Things made by the only person who’s ever made me want to be better.

I look down at him. He looks so happy about his stupid creation. I lean over and kiss his cheek.

“Shut up,” I mutter.

He grins. “Didn’t say anything.”

Rava hands me the box.

“All done,” he says. “Not a single illegal item left. Completely innocent. You can still throw it away, if you want. But even if you don’t… it’s just a box now. Looks like you stole it from a goddamn daycare.”

I let out a small laugh.

God, he really did it.

“Alright,” I say after a beat. “What happened at your house earlier? Everything okay?”

Rava pauses.

“Well… not exactly. Dad hit me BUT it was part of the plan. Lorenzo was filming. Got the whole thing. And everything he said. Mom divorced him. He’s gone.”

I drop back onto the sand.

Rub my hands over my face.

Then I sit up, grab him gently but firmly by the shoulders.

“Please. I’m begging you. Let me just give this man the tiniest, most discreet little punch. One . Just one. I swear I think I’ll explode if I don’t.”

Rava raises an eyebrow. “Don’t stoop to his level. You’ve been doing so well, Gio.”

“Okay, yeah. But how would you feel if my dad laid hands on me like that, treated me like fucking trash? And you just had to sit there doing absolutely nothing?”

He looks at me, and it hits him. That image. I regret it immediately.

“Wait—shit, no, don’t think about that. I’m sorry,” I mutter. “I’m just so fucking pissed. Because anyone else who touched you like that? I’d have ripped them apart. But your goddamn family? That’s unfair. I can’t touch them. He doesn’t even realize how lucky he is.”

Rava sighs. “Let’s not talk about him anymore. I don’t want to spend our last moments talking about him.”

I nod. No point wasting breath.

All I want, all I freaking want,

is for my Canada plan to work.

Just this one thing.

Let it work.

Please.

---

HEEEEEEEEEY YALL.

I’m taking a break from the cute drawings unfortunately cause I have no time to do them :(

The next chapter might take 3 days instead of 2…

But y’all still love me, righ?

RIGHT.

And I love YOU❤️

BYE BYE smooching every single one of you

rawr 🦖

88) That Notebook

Gio’s POV

We get back from the beach, and the second we step inside my house, Rava’s already got his bag open, gathering stuff.

I do the same, tossing in chargers and a half-eaten protein bar I’ll definitely pretend I didn’t see.

“Hey,” I mutter, zipping up my bag, “does your mom know I’m coming over tonight, or is this gonna be one of those surprise ‘guess who’s sleeping over’ situations?”

He glances at me out of the corner of his eye, while folding a T-shirt.

“Gio. If I didn’t tell you to come over, she would’ve told you to come over. You’re fine. Don’t stress.”

Right. Okay. Casual. Totally normal to be welcomed into your boyfriend’s house like you’re the long-lost son.

We head out, and Rava, of course , stops in the hallway to crouch down and talk to Lulu like he’s saying goodbye to our child.

He’s whispering sweet nothings to her while petting her head like, “I’ll see you soon, my cute little baby princess, I love you so so much, you’re so brave—”

“Jesus Christ, we’re going literally one door over. Chill. What are you gonna be like when you have actual kids?”

He stands up, offended. “I’m just giving her reassurance. She’s sensitive and she loves me.”

I snort. “Yeah, I can tell. She’s devastated .”

But I smile, and it hits me…

He’d make a really good dad.

And that thought? That one innocent, sweet, domestic-ass thought?

It fucking wrecks me.

I picture it for half a second.

Him. As a dad.

Holding a toddler with messy hair. Reading a bedtime story with all the voices. Trying to explain multiplication to someone way too small to understand but doing it anyway, patiently, with no frustration at all.

He’d probably remember every allergy of every kid at a birthday party.

He’d definitely cry at a preschool graduation.

…

Butterflies.

Actual, disgusting butterflies flutter in my stomach.

I want to punch myself in the throat.

What the hell is wrong with me.

I shake it off.

Unless… Unless the Canada plan works.

Unless I somehow pull it off.

In that case?

Rava’s not having just one kid. He’s having five. All of them mine.

And one of them’s gonna be named Lulu. I don’t care what he says.

“There they are—Charles’s survivors!” Lorenzo calls out, pulling Rava into a dramatic hug.

“Come here, my emotionally damaged angel.”

Then he turns to me. “You too, my favorite little shit.”

I just cross my arms. “No.”

“Alright, suit yourself. I’ll just keep my baby Rava, then.” He winks at Rava and kisses him on the cheek like he’s trying to piss me off on purpose.

I am pissed off. I’m actually jealous of my own cousin.

And he knows it.

“What are you still doing here?” Rava asks, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

“I’m waiting for your hot sister,” Lorenzo says. “We’re going out. With tree guy!”

“THE tree guy?!” I ask.

“Yeah. Marco. He’s a freaking lawyer! A hot one. Honestly, our group is becoming dangerously elite.”

Rava sighs beside me. “ Your group. I’ll be in Canada, crying with Noah in a week.“

Lorenzo turns fast. “Do you want me to hit you now, too?”

I don’t laugh.

Not because it’s not funny, but because the plan.

The fucking plan. It has to work. It will work. I’m not letting him go away. Not for long.

Then Daisy walks out.

Looking super good, as usual. Her eyes light up when she sees us.

“Oh my God,” she says, “I honestly don’t know who needs a hug more right now.”

She pulls us both into her arms without asking.

“Copycat,” Lorenzo mutters.

“Shut up,” Daisy says back.

“Yes ma’am.”

She squeezes us a little tighter before stepping back. “I love you both. Don’t die while I’m gone.”

“We’ll try,” Rava says.

Then he turns to Lorenzo. “Please use the video.”

Lorenzo nods. His usual smugness softens just for a second. “Of course.”

And then they’re gone.

---

Rava’s POV

We step into the house.

My mom’s on the couch, reading some papers with her glasses halfway down her nose. She looks up and her whole face softens.

“Welcome back, sweetheart.”

I smile, and I lean closer to kiss the top of her head. “Hey mom. I told Gio to stay over tonight.”

She glances at him, her smile doesn’t even waver.

“Of course. I was planning on making your pies anyway.”

Gio doesn’t miss a beat. He sets his bag down neatly by the wall, then looks at her.

“You’re gonna break me, Mrs. Eden,” he says, brushing a hand through his hair. “I’m doing my best to keep a six-pack going here and you’re out here sabotaging me with baked goods.”

She laughs, waving a hand. “You’ll survive. Go get settled, I’ll call you when everything’s ready.”

As we head toward my room, I roll my eyes. “You make me feel like I’m fifteen again.”

She calls after us, “Leave me alone. I miss it. You boys were the sweetest back then.”

“Sweetest?!” I stop in the hallway, turning around like I’ve just heard slander.

“Mom, this guy threw pebbles at my head during recess. Don’t act like you forgot!”

She looks back over her glasses. Gio smirks behind me, unbothered.

“He mocked my poor poem at the winter performance,” I continue. “The one about the moon? You remember that, right? I cried for half an hour.”

“Oh no,” she says with a half-smile, “I remember, sweetheart.”

Gio exhales a soft laugh, and then walks back to the living room.

He stands beside her, a hand on the back of the couch, looking… strangely sincere.

“Mrs. Eden,” he says, “I feel I owe you an apology.”

She looks up, curious.

“I wasn’t the easiest kid. I did… things. Threw things. Said things.”

“Juice box theft,” I mutter from the hallway.

He glances back at me, then smiles again, more gentle this time.

“Yeah. That too. But if it means anything now… I never really hated Rava. Not even close. He was just—”

He pauses, tongue against his cheek.

“—hard to ignore. That kind of sweetness doesn’t really go unnoticed, even when you’re twelve and stupid.”

My mom gives him the fondest look imaginable. “You were just figuring it out, both of you.”

“Still am,” he admits softly, turning back toward me. “But I know enough now to say I’m glad I get to be here.”

Okay, this might made me feel a little better.

We walk into my room.

And I realize how freaking strange and perfect it is that this man, who once made me cry over a poem, is now in my home, staying the night.

He’s my boyfriend.

God, how did we get here?!

I close the door behind us and toss my bag onto the chair.

It’s still early, but the weight of the day already feels heavy on my shoulders.

I pull off my shirt without much thought.

“Oh. We’re doing that now? Like, now ?!”

I roll my eyes and grin. “Calm your dick, Fontana. It’s too early for you to be horny.”

I step closer, lower my voice. “I just got comfortable. You’ll know when I’m really undressing for you.”

Before I can even finish blinking, the door swings open and Jin stands there. The judgement on his face.

“MOM—RAVA IS NAKED!”

I whip around, nearly trip over my bag. “I’M JUST SHIRTLESS YOU LITTLE PIECE OF DOGSHIT—”

Jin’s already down the hallway screaming for reinforcements.

“This is so inappropriate, Ravioli! Jin is right.” Gio’s laughing so hard he’s hunched over the bed.

Traitor.

“You’re really gonna defend him?” I ask, glaring at him while I dig through my bag for a shirt.

Gio, still wheezing, pats the bed like he’s proud of himself. “I’m just saying, he has a point. You were very exposed.”

“Right. That’s it,” I say, crossing my arms. “Back scratches are cancelled. Indefinitely.”

His face drops. Dramatically.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Watch me.”

He stares at me.

“You stop scratching my back, and I won’t fix your bracelet.”

Gasp.

“You wouldn’t dare, you evil—” I throw a pillow at him.

He just smirks. “Thought so.”

Jin appears again at the doorway.

We both turn to look at him.

“You good…?” Gio asks, narrowing his eyes.

Jin takes a few steps in.

His hands are in his pockets, his shoulders are stiff. He sighs, dramatic as ever.

Weird.

“Don’t let it get to your head,” he says, eyes darting away. “This doesn’t mean anything.”

I squint at him. “Are you okay? What are you talking about?”

He bites the inside of his cheek like he’s forcing himself to continue. “God, you’re making this harder than it is—whatever. I heard what happened today. With you. And dad.”

He pauses. Then just… steps forward.

And hugs me.

I freeze.

Completely unexpected. Completely out of nowhere.

But I don’t fight it. I hug him back, even if my arms move a little slower than his.

Gio stares like he’s seeing a UFO land in the room. “I don’t believe what I’m seeing.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Jin mutters at me.

Gio grins. “Hey. I’ve had a rough day too, you know? The guy sent a whole police squad after me. I don’t get a hug?”

Jin looks at him. Rolls his eyes. “Fine. But only because I’m in a good mood and because you still owe me that ride on the bike.”

Gio holds up his hands like he’s been judged in court and found guilty. “Fair enough. You’re absolutely right.”

Two hours later

We’re quiet. Finally.

Gio’s back is against the headboard. I’m lying down, my head resting between his thighs, looking up at the ceiling.

His fingers lost in my hair, moving slow, lazy, like he’s tracing thoughts instead of strands.

Christ.

I could fall asleep like this. I want to fall asleep like this.

But of course, he can’t let me have peace for more than ten seconds.

He plucks my glasses off.

“Hey,” I mutter, turning my head up to him. “Give those back.”

“Do they look good on me?” he asks, already putting them on.

I stare at him. Too long. Goddamn it. This man could wear anything. Or nothing. He’s unfair.

“No,” I say, reaching up and snatching them back. “They don’t.”

He laughs. “I remember those blue ones you had,” he says. “Back when you were tiny. Always writing in that dumb little notebook, shooting me those killer looks.”

I snort. “Yeah, well. The irony is, I was probably writing something like, ‘Gio accidentally touched my hand today. That was cool. Gonna tell Daisy.’”

He narrows his eyes. “Liar. You’re just saying that to make me feel good.”

“Nope,” I say, sitting up with a jolt. “Wait here.”

I slide off the bed, practically tripping over myself to get to the desk. “I still have that notebook.”

“No way. There’s no way you kept it.”

He has no idea.

I hand him the notebook.

“I never thought I’d actually do this,” I admit. “But… here. Take it.”

He looks at me, actually shocked.

Then I crawl back into place, settling between his legs again.

He flips open the first page. “We’re living historical moments right now,” he murmurs dramatically.

“Shut up,” I groan, without even looking up.

He opens the notebook, landing on a random page.

Monday

Today Gio threw a rock at my foot again. He said it was an accident, but it wasn’t. He was smirking. Luigi laughed but I didn’t, because it hurt. (It wasn’t that bad but still.)

Then Gio climbed the fence by the football field without using his hands. Nobody else can do that. Not even Elio. Gio just acts like he doesn’t care but it’s obvious he’s cool. Like… really cool. But also rude.

Also he got in trouble for talking back to Mr. Romano, and he didn’t even cry. I think I would’ve fainted. Or actually cried. Or both. Gio just put his feet up on the desk and said “whatever”.

I hate that.

(But I don’t. Not really. It’s kind of impressive. But annoying. But cool.)

Anyway, Daisy said I should write down my feelings more. I don’t know what that means. I just wish Gio would stop looking so mean all the time and maybe once, just once, say something nice to me. Or, like, not throw things at me. That would be fine too. I wouldn’t mind.

Today he was sitting next to me during lunch break. He smells kinda nice. Something sweet. Probably pie. He always eats some stupid pies.

I don’t like him.

(I think.)

The end.

I can feel his chest shaking behind me.

He’s laughing. Of course he’s freaking laughing.

“‘He smells kinda nice?!’” Gio reads the line out loud like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever seen, and then buries his face in my hair. “You were so obsessed with me. I love this.”

I groan and I get up, trying to snatch the notebook back, but his arm wraps around my waist and holds me still.

“Shut up,” I mutter. “I was ten.”

“And clearly in love,” he says, kissing the side of my neck. “You just didn’t know it yet. Or maybe you did. You little repressed genius.”

I tilt my head back to look at him and he’s grinning hard, completely unbothered.

He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “You’re the cutest thing I’ve ever read.”

My face burns. I roll my eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

“Yeah,” he says, still holding me. “But I’m yours.”

I pause for a second. And then I smile.

“Okay,” I mumble. “Next page. Let’s see how cringe I got after that.”

Dear Diary,

Today Gio did that thing again where he jumps off the stairs like he’s in a movie. It’s so dumb. He thinks he’s so cool.

Everyone was watching and clapping and stuff. It’s not even that hard to jump four stairs.

I could do it too if I wanted. I just don’t want to.

Anyway, he landed and then looked around like he was in some superhero movie. Then he winked at someone. I think it was me. But maybe not. But probably me. Not that I care.

His jacket was flapping in the wind. It was kind of awesome. Like a cape. Not that I was impressed or anything. I’m just saying it looked scientifically dramatic. That’s all.

Also… he fixed my bike chain after school because it broke. He said “don’t tell anyone, Ravioli.

“

I didn’t.

He really likes bikes and motorcycles. He said my hands were too soft to fix it myself. Rude.

He’s so annoying.

I think I hate him.

I definitely don’t like him.

Stop looking at me like that, diary.

—R

Gio’s already laughing as he finishes reading the page.

I can feel the teasing bubbling up in his throat before he even opens his mouth.

“Oh? Scientifically dramatic?” he grins, nudging my leg with his knee. “Damn, Ravioli. You were practically in love with me and I didn’t even know.”

I roll my eyes, grabbing the pillow behind me and shoving it lightly against his chest. “I was ten. Nothing I wrote in there is valid.”

He holds up the notebook. “This is the cutest, most incriminating evidence I’ve ever seen.”

“Shut up.”

“ Stop looking at me like that, diary, “ he mimics in a terrible impression of my voice.

“Gio—”

Before I can finish, he leans down suddenly and starts planting kiss after kiss after kiss all over my face—my cheeks, my nose, my forehead, even the corner of my mouth.

One after the other.

I’m laughing so hard I almost fall back, trying to push him away, but not really.

“Gio, stop,” I wheeze between giggles, “I’m trying to be mad at you.”

But he just kisses me again, this time slower. “Too late. You’re mine now, science boy.”

I feel so loved. So home.

Gio’s already reaching for another page.

I try to stop him.

“Please,” he says, dragging the word out and pouting dramatically. “Just one more. I’m begging you.”

I groan and bury my face in his thigh. “Only one,” I mumble. “I can’t take any more emotional public nudity.”

He laughs. “You’re literally hiding in my lap right now, that’s not very private either.”

I glare up at him. “Read it and shut up.”

“Deal,” he says.

He flips to the next page gently.

I brace myself. I don’t even remember what’s on that one, but I know it’s going to kill me either way.

Here it goes.

Today was weird. Like… really weird.

In the morning, everyone was acting strange. Mom was crying in the kitchen but told me she was “just chopping onions” even though we weren’t having anything with onions. I’m not stupid. She thinks I don’t notice things but I do. Then she hugged me for way too long and said I was “so strong.” I don’t know why she said that. I didn’t do anything strong. I just brushed my teeth.

Then Daisy came over and tried to distract me by watching cartoons. But she kept glancing at her phone like she was waiting for something bad to happen. I hate when people do that. It makes me nervous.

Later, I heard someone whispering in the hallway. I think they said Gio’s leaving. Like… not just leaving town, but leaving the country. Leaving Italy. For good. I don’t know if it’s true. Nobody told me. But if it is… I don’t know what to do.

I went up to mom and asked, and she said “sweetheart, we’ll talk soon,” which is code for “I’m hiding something.” And then I asked Daisy and she said, “I don’t know the whole story.” But her voice went all quiet so I think she does know the whole story and doesn’t want to tell me.

Why would Gio leave? Is it something I did?

…Did something happen to him?

Update:

I think…someone died. I think his dad died. I don’t know how. Nobody will tell me. But everyone has the same face they had when nana died. That weird, quiet face like they’re walking on glass. But I also might have heard wrong.

And then, to make it even more confusing, this girl from the other class, her name is Giulia, tried to kiss me after school today.

She just leaned in and I froze. I didn’t move at all. I think she thought I was being polite but honestly, I didn’t want to.

She’s pretty. She smells like strawberries. I like strawberries. So I should have wanted to.

But I didn’t.

And now I feel weird.

I just kept thinking… I wonder if Gio’s okay. I wonder where he is. I wonder if he’s already gone. And I wonder why it hurts my stomach when I think about not seeing him again.

I told Daisy once that I think Gio’s annoying. That he pulls my hair and calls me “nerd” and “Ravioli” because my name is Rava.

But the truth is…

I don’t want him to go.

Even if he calls me names. Even if he acts like I’m invisible half the time.

I don’t want Gio to leave.

I know I always act like he’s annoying. Like he’s just this loud, stupid guy who messes with my hair and makes fun of how I hold my pen. But…

But I made something for him. Something small.

To cheer him up, since his friends don’t seem to know what happened.

It’s this fake motorcycle, I made it out of wires and pieces of broken pencils and some foil from the kitchen.

It doesn’t move or anything, obviously. But it kinda looks like a real bike. I was gonna paint it tomorrow. I used red and black, ’cause those are his favorite colors, and I shaped it like that Ducati he keeps talking about. The one he says he’ll ride “straight into the sunset one day.”

I am going to give it to him

on

Monday.

I even have a whole sentence in my head, like a movie or something. I’m gonna say: “Here. Now maybe you’ll think I’m kinda cool too.”

Maybe then he’d stop looking at me like I’m just a boring little kid with glasses and a million books.

Maybe he’d think I’m like his friend, Luigi.

Or… maybe even Elio.

But I don’t think I’ll get to give it to him.

Okay.

Maybe he won’t go.

I mean… I heard them whispering something about Spain. But Spain is far, right? Maybe he just said that to scare people. Gio does that. He likes making things dramatic.

But… maybe he’ll change his mind.

Maybe he’ll stay here. Italy’s nicer, right? Better food. Better sunsets. Better motorbikes.

Better people. Me!

And I bet in Spain he won’t find anyone like me.

No one to throw books at him when he’s being stupid. No one to glare at him across the classroom. No one to kick him under the table when he deserves it.

No one who pretends to be annoyed but actually really…

…doesn’t mind when he sits next to me. Or steals my snacks. Or laughs too loud.

Yeah. Maybe he’ll stay.

Maybe he’ll remember me and think:

Wait. Rava was kinda cool sometimes. Maybe I won’t go.

We have hope.

I’m gonna believe in that.

UPDATE

:

He’s gone.

He left.

Like actually left. Took his stupid bag and his stupid everything and he didn’t even say goodbye.

No note.

No message.

No joke.

No dumb wink from across the room like always.

He just left.

And now? I hate him.

I hate him for making me think he might stay. I hate him for making me build that stupid tiny motorcycle. I threw it under my bed. I don’t even want to see it.

Why would he leave?

Why would he go to Spain of all places? There are probably zero cool kids in Spain. Spain sucks. Motorbikes probably don’t even work there. The roads are probably made of slime or something.

I hope he hates it.

I hope he misses my face every day.

And I hope he knows I’m mad. Really mad.

Because I would’ve said goodbye.

I would’ve said goodbye.

…

Gio closes the notebook. I see it.

A tear. Just one. Slipping down his cheek. He brushes it away quickly, almost angrily, like it betrayed him.

And suddenly I feel awful.

“Gio…” I whisper, shifting closer. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have— I didn’t mean to bring back all that stuff. With your dad. That time, I know it was—”

But he doesn’t let me finish.

He pulls me onto him. Fast. Hard.

I land on his chest, and he wraps both arms around me tightly. He buries his face into the side of my neck.

He doesn’t say anything at first. He just keeps running his fingers slowly through my hair, but now there’s something different about the way he touches me.

Like he’s holding ten-year-old me in his hands too. And he’s scared of breaking him.

“The irony is…” he says, exhaling, “now I’m the one who doesn’t want you to leave.”

I blink at him. Slowly. I know what he means. The ticking clock. The last few days. The goodbye that’s looming again, and this time, it’s mine to give.

I glance up at him, and I see the shift in his eyes.

His throat moves like he’s trying to swallow something down.

“Please don’t cry,” I whisper, nudging his leg with my elbow. “Because if you cry, I’ll cry. And then we’re gonna be a mess.”

He lets out a soft laugh through his nose. His hand slides down from my hair to my jaw, tilting my face up a little.

“I’m not crying,” he says. “I’m just… blaming the dust in your room.”

I smile, leaning into his touch. And then he speaks again, quieter this time.

“You know…” he murmurs, thumb brushing the edge of my cheek, “your younger self—he was right.”

I raise an eyebrow. “About what? That you’re cooler than Luigi?”

Gio huffs. “No. I mean, about Italy. It’s better here. Way better.”

He pauses.

“And… I didn’t find anyone to tease like I teased you. Not even close.”

I smile.

“And maybe…” he says, eyes meeting mine again, “maybe I missed you. A little.”

My heart squeezes.

“Maybe I thought about you,” he continues, barely above a whisper now. “Sometimes. More than I wanted to.”

He lets his forehead rest against mine, and we stay like that, breathing the same air, literally holding the same memory.

“I was annoying,” I say after a while. “You don’t have to lie to me.”

He chuckles. “You were. But you were also sweet. And smart. And apparently head-over-heels in love with me.”

I groan and bury my face into his chest.

He laughs harder, wrapping his arms around me.

I get up without thinking.

I go to the desk, my old one, the one I’ve had since I was a kid, and start opening drawers.

One after the other. I know exactly what I’m looking for. I just… I don’t know if I’m ready to hold it again.

Gio watches from the bed but doesn’t say anything until I finally pull it out.

“Don’t tell me…” he says.

I turn around, walk over, and place it gently in his hand.

It’s so small in his palm.

Just a messy little red motorcycle I made out of plastic and wire and hours of overthinking.

He exhales like it physically hurts to hold it. His voice is soft. “You kept this?”

I nod. “I don’t know why. I guess I thought… maybe one day I’d give it to you. But I never thought you’d actually see it. Or take it.”

He turns it over slowly.

“I was gonna give it to you that Monday,” I say.

“I really thought maybe if I gave it to you, you’d think I was cool. Like… not as boring as I looked.”

He smiles, but doesn’t laugh.

I sit down again, between his legs, and lean my head against his chest. His arms come around me naturally, and I let them. I let myself sink into the warmth of him, the safety.

And then it hits me.

It always does, at some point in the night.

That he’s mine now.

That Gio Fontana, the man who used to steal my pencils and make fun of my handwriting and give me way too many butterflies, is now mine.

He’s my boyfriend. I can just say that. Out loud.

Gio is my boyfriend.

If I want to kiss him, I can. If I want to tell him I love him, I can.

And even if I don’t say it, he knows.

How does that make sense?

How did the man I used to write about in a notebook with cartoon stickers become the person who kisses me goodnight now?

“I still can’t believe it’s you.”

He kisses the top of my head.

“You’re here,” I murmur. “And you love me. And if I want to kiss you, I can just… do it. I won’t have to write 7 pages about me wanting to do it.”

He squeezes me tighter.

I don’t say anything else.

I just stay like that for a while, wrapped in him, wondering how something that once felt so impossible is suddenly the most real thing in my whole life.

---

okay PHEW that chapter is definitely one of my favorites:)

I can’t even describe it, I think you get it tho.

I love wattpad.

ALSO :)

I GOT MY FIRST FAN ART YALL 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

FROM Monster69k !!!!

GO SEE IT :)

THATS ALL BYE BYE I LOVE YOU

89) I Need A Favor

— 5 DAYS LATER —

Gio’s POV

Tomorrow is the day.

Rava is leaving.

I wake up next to him.

He’s still asleep, with one hand tucked under his cheek.

I’m gonna punch him.

He is beautiful.

Not just hot. Not just cute.

Fucking beautiful.

Like, so beautiful it makes me wanna punch myself too.

Like something out of a dream I never thought I’d be allowed to have.

I look at him, and I can’t help but think about that younger version of him, the cute tiny Rava with the shy smile and the oversized backpack and the huge green eyes that didn’t know how to actually look mad.

That kid… That kid would’ve been so happy to see this.

To see us .

To see that we made it here somehow , after everything.

To know that he ends up in bed with someone who looks at him like this.

Like I am right now.

But then the guilt creeps in.

Because I haven’t always been good to him.

Hell, I’ve been awful more times than I want to count.

I’ve pushed him, scared him, broken him in ways I still don’t understand how the fuck he forgave.

And sometimes I wonder if he really forgave me.

Or if he just loves me so much he forgot how to stop.

I reach out, trace his jaw with the back of my fingers. He doesn’t move.

God, even his face made it hard.

Back then, that sweet little baby face he had, it used to piss me off how fast it made my anger fade.

He’d look at me all wide-eyed and soft and I’d feel like the biggest fucking monster for yelling at him.

Even when I was ten.

But now… Now his face is something else.

Angelic.

That’s the word.

It doesn’t even sound right coming from me but it’s true.

It’s scary how good looking he is.

The lines of his face are sharper, grown.

It’s the kind of face that should belong to someone in paintings. Someone untouchable.

And yet he’s mine.

He’s right here, in my bed.

And I’m supposed to let him leave?

No. No fucking way.

I stare at him a second longer, soaking it in. The tiny faint freckles near his nose that you can notice only if you’re too close.

Then I pull away gently, trying not to wake him.

Because today, I’ve got shit to do.

I’ve got a plan to set in motion.

My only shot to make him come back. To make him stay here with me.

I lean in and press a kiss against his cheek.

“Don’t go anywhere, baby,” I whisper. “I’ll be back fast.”

He doesn’t wake up.

Good.

In the bathroom, I splash cold water on my face.

Today’s not just about him.

My mom’s coming home. Finally. After the hospital. After the pain and the waiting and the machines and the nights I thought I’d lose her.

She’s okay now. She’s coming back.

And so will he.

I’m going back to the room, to get dressed.

Black shirt. I leave a few buttons undone. Rava always plays with them when he’s nervous.

Or when he’s thinking about doing things that’ll ruin me.

Jeans. Chain. Watch.

My rings. The ones he turns on my fingers when he’s too shy to ask for a kiss.

The tattoos on my arms peek through the sleeves.

I glance in the mirror one last time.

Good. I look like me.

The bar is open early.

I spot my interest.

Slick hair, pressed shirt.

Nicola.

I almost laugh.

He looks exactly like the kind of guy who got punched at private school and told the principal his father would hear about this .

In my case, I punched his brother.

At Sophia’s party, that night.

He fucking deserved it.

I take a breath.

This is for Rava.

I walk over.

“Mind if I sit?”

He doesn’t look up from his drink.

“You’re already doing it.”

Right. Off to a great start.

I sit.

He sighs. “To what do I owe the honor, Fontana? You here to throw another punch or just ruin someone else’s day?”

“I need a favor.”

That gets his attention.

He raises an eyebrow, finally looking at me over the rim of his glass. “This should be good.”

“Your mom works at this university. You’ve got contacts on the graduate board. There’s a program in education, starting this fall.”

“You want in?”

“Not for me.”

He blinks. Then smirks.

“Oh.”

I don’t say anything.

He lets the silence stretch, like he’s enjoying this.

“You want your boy to stay.”

I nod. “He deserves to.”

He leans back. “And I’m supposed to do what ? Pull strings? Write letters? Call in favors?”

“Yes.”

He laughs. “You’re out of your mind.”

“Please.”

“You beat the shit out of my brother at that party. Broke his nose.”

“He insulted Rava.”

“And you put fists in his face.”

“He’s lucky that’s all I put.”

He leans forward. “Do you hear yourself?”

“I’m not here to fight. I’m here to ask.”

“Then ask someone else.”

He starts to stand.

I stop him with just a word.

“Please.”

He freezes.

Looks at me again.

“Do you love him?”

I nod once. “Of course I do.”

He studies me for a moment. Then scoffs.

“I don’t give a fuck.”

And just like that, he walks out.

Leaves me sitting there. Pride in pieces.

I sit for another minute. Then another.

Then I get up.

I catch up to him outside the bar, but I don’t grab him this time.

I just walk.

Quiet and controlled, which is honestly saying a lot for me.

“Nicola,” I say. “Just hear me out.”

He doesn’t slow down. Doesn’t look at me.

“You had your shot.”

“I’m asking again.”

“Then you clearly didn’t listen the first time.”

“I did,” I mutter. “Loud and clear.”

He stops.

Turns.

And I brace.

“You think just because you came in here with a pretty shirt and your tragic little love story, I’m supposed to forget that you broke my brother’s face and humiliated him?!”

“I’m not asking you to forget.”

“You snapped his nose like a twig.”

“He was talking about Rava like his a fucking sex toy.”

“Oh, poor Rava,” he says mockingly. “Can’t stand to hear anyone say a bad word about him so you turn into a rabid dog?”

“He said—” I clench my jaw. “He said we should get him drunk and fucking share him. Does that sound normal to you?!”

Nicola just stares. No sympathy. No shift.

“He’s my brother,” he says, flat. “You don’t get to touch my family.”

“Fine, let him hit me back.”

Nicola’s eyes narrow. “What?”

I don’t flinch.

“Let him hit me. Or you hit me. Doesn’t matter. Just get it out. If that’s what it takes for you to listen.”

“Jesus Christ,” he snaps. “You think this is some kind of noble act?”

“I don’t care what it is. I just want him to stay.”

He laughs. Bitter. “You are out of your fucking mind.”

“Maybe,” I say, “but I’d rather get punched in the mouth than watch him disappear thinking he wasn’t worth fighting for.”

He just shakes his head. “You never change.”

I swallow hard. Keep my voice steady.

“I’m trying.”

He turns to leave again.

But I follow, a step behind.

“I know I’m not the kind of guy anyone wants to root for,” I say softer now. “And I know what I did to your brother won’t ever go away. But I didn’t hit him because he insulted me .”

I look at him now.

“And maybe you still think I’m trash. That’s fine. But Rava’s not. And if you let him leave when he has a chance to thrive here, to do what he loves, just because of me, then maybe you’re not as different from your brother as you think.”

That lands.

I see it in the way his face twitches, just for a second.

But then he shuts down again.

“Don’t push your luck, Fontana.”

“I’m not. I’m just… trying.”

He pauses.

And this time, he doesn’t say no.

He just walks away.

…

Shit.

I have to pick up mom.

But I won’t let go that easily. That bastard will see my face again.

I stop outside her room. Take a breath. Knock twice, even though the door’s open.

She’s sitting up. Hair tied back.

“Hey, Ma,” I say.

“Giovanni.” Her eyes light up.

I step in, and she opens her arms without saying a word.

I drop my guard and fall into them.

God, she looks smaller now. Fragile.

“I told you I’d be okay,” she whispers.

The doctor walks in a few minutes later, clipboard in hand, expression neutral…

too neutral.

He gives me the rundown. Medication schedule. Check-ins. Rest. No stress.

“She needs help,” he says gently. “You’ll need to keep a close eye. The recovery isn’t just physical.”

“I’ve got her,” I say immediately.

But a part of me clenches.

Because I know what it means when doctors say “recovery takes time.”

I’ve heard it before. It means it’s not over. It means be ready.

Still, I look at her again. She smiles at me.

And I nod. “Let’s take you home, Ma.”

As we leave the room, I hold her hand.

Not only because she needs it.

Because I do too.

Because today I’ve got two things I refuse to lose.

My mother.

And Rava.

And I’m not going down without a fucking war.

I drop her off at the house, holding the bags even though she told me three times she could do it herself.

“No stress, remember?” I say, half-serious.

She rolls her eyes. “You’re more dramatic than the doctors.”

We walk to the door, and Rava’s mom is already there.

They look at each other and light up like two high school girls who haven’t gossiped in a week.

“Oh, you’re here,” she says to me, barely glancing. Then, to my mom: “I brought the good coffee, girl.”

“Finally,” my mom grins. “That hospital swill almost killed me.”

I stare. “Okay… should I leave you two alone?”

“Yes,” they say in unison.

I blink. “Wow.”

My mom turns to me and cups my face like I’m five again. “Go, Giovanni. Let me have girl time.”

“I literally just got you out of the hospital—”

“Exactly. I deserve it.”

I laugh, and let her push me gently.

“Fine. Just don’t talk too much shit about me.”

“No promises.”

I walk back into my place, not expecting much.

Maybe a quiet mess.

Maybe Rava still sleeping.

What I get is domestic heaven.

The bed’s made.

Kitchen smells good.

And there on the couch, one hand petting Lulu, the other holding a glass of water like some kind of half naked husband from a movie, is Rava.

No shirt. Sleep hair. Content.

I stop in the doorway and just stare.

For the first time today my brain shuts up.

My heart? Not so much.

Is this what married mornings feel like?!

Jesus freaking Christ.

Because if it is, I’m so fucking in.

I walk over, until I’m right in front of him. He looks up to me with those stupidly green eyes.

I don’t say anything. Just lean in.

And kiss him.

His hand is sliding up to the back of my neck.

He pulls back, and smiles.

But then his smile fades.

“Once we eat… I need to go next door.”

I pause.

“…To, um… pack my stuff. For…tomorrow.”

Fuck.

There it is. Reality.

I try not to show it. Try to stay cool.

But fuck me.

He’s really going. And all this softness, this sweetness, this morning that feels like forever… it’s got an expiration date.

“What time’s your flight?” I ask.

He looks up at me, a little hesitant. “6:15.”

I nod once. Swallow it down.

“Alright,” I say. “Pack your stuff. After that, we’re going somewhere.”

His eyebrows rise. “Somewhere?”

I smirk. “Surprise.”

He grins wide. “Ooh, okay! I’ll be quick then.”

Then he pulls my hand and leads me toward the kitchen.

“But first,” he says, “come eat. I made breakfast. Hope you don’t mind I used your kitchen.”

I blink at him.

“What?” he laughs nervously.

“You’re the sweetest little creature I’ve ever seen in my life. I wanna punch you.”

His eyes go wide.

“Like, I wanna shake you. You’re too much.”

I pull him into me, wrap my arms around him tight. “I’m gonna eat you instead.”

He melts against me with a soft chuckle.

“I’d like to see you try.”

“Oh, I will,” I murmur into his hair.

“But first… breakfast.”

---

YALL DONT HATE ME DONT HATE ME

I know this chapter was small:(

These past few days have been insane. I haven’t had a moment to just sit down and breathe like a NORMAL HUMAN BEING, so writing has been… HARD.

BUT starting today I’ll finally have more time, and I’m ready to come back (I think)

Forgive me.

BYE BYE I LOVE YOU I HOPE YOU STILL LOVE ME TOO

I still have many things to write btw forgive me if this story ends up being like 100 chapters T_T

90) Our Last One

Rava’s POV

I’m packing slower than I should.

Folding things too carefully.

Shirts, socks, a book I probably won’t read but still want with me…

Everything goes in.

And still, I feel like I’m forgetting something.

Maybe not something…

Maybe someone .

I think back to the beginning of the summer.

When everything felt messy and loud and too much.

I remember saying, “At least I’ll leave after the summer. At least I won’t have to see him every day.”

And now I can’t believe I actually said that.

Because from tomorrow on, I’m going to miss his face every day.

His voice. His arms. The way he calls me names.

And I just know that the second I think about him, my throat’s gonna close up and I’ll probably cry like a loser in the middle of some hallway.

I zip up a side pocket. Then glance over my shoulder.

Gio’s sitting on my bed completely hunched over.

He looks… serious.

“How’s it going?” I ask gently.

“Trying to fix it,” he mumbles, not even looking up.

I walk over a little and see all the tiny beads laid out in front of him, Emiliana’s bracelet.

“I didn’t even notice when it broke…” I say quietly.

He lets out a frustrated sigh. Still focused.

“We’re missing an A,” he says. “So now it spells ‘RAV’. Guess that’s what I’m calling you from now on.”

I laugh softly.

“I don’t mind,” I say. “If I ever see Emiliana again, I’ll ask her for a new A.”

He chuckles under his breath, but it’s kind of sad.

And I guess I understand why.

Because we probably won’t see her again.

I sit back down on the edge of the bed and look at the bracelet in his hands.

He’s trying so hard to fix it.

“Hey… how’s your mom?” I ask, trying to sound casual while folding the last pair of socks.

Gio looks up from the sea of beads. “She’s good. Still tired, but better. Doctors gave us a whole list of things to keep in mind, but she’s home. That’s what matters.”

I smile, relieved. “That’s really good. I’m glad.”

Then I pause. Think.

“…Can we stop by tomorrow?” I add. “To say goodbye? I’d really like to see her.”

He glances up at me and nods, smiling. “Of course.”

And then it hits me.

Wait.

Oh my God.

WAIT.

I freeze mid-step.

I haven’t talked to her since before.

Since before Gio and I became… this.

In other words, I haven’t spoken to her since I became her son’s boyfriend.

And suddenly it feels like I can’t breathe.

Oh no. Oh my god. What if she hates me now?!

What if she thinks I’m just some awkward, quiet boy who latched onto her son and tricked him into dating me with sad puppy eyes and good grammar?

What if she thinks I’m a phase?!

What if she thinks I’m boring ?!

She probably expected Gio to date someone cool. Someone with edge. With way more tattoos and a past and a sharp tongue.

Not me.

I’m the guy who makes color-coded study guides. I say “thank you” too often. I eat with both hands on the table.

Jesus Christ. She probably thinks I’m the human version of lukewarm tea.

And now I’m going to show up at her house like: Hi! I’ve been secretly sucking, riding and dating your son this whole time and I forgot to tell you because I’m emotionally stunted!

I spiral so hard I almost forget where I am.

“Gio…” I say slowly, turning toward him. “Your mom… does she… does she know about us?”

He nods. Chill. Unbothered.

“And… what did she say?”

He shrugs. “Ehh. She was a little disappointed. Said I could do better.”

I stare at him.

My soul detaches from my body.

“WHAT?!”

He doesn’t even flinch.

“She hates me,” I whisper. “She hates me. I’m boring. I’m awkward. I speak too politely. She thinks I’m a loser, doesn’t she?!”

Gio finally looks up. “Ravioli—”

“I wasn’t charming enough, oh my God. I didn’t even offer to help with the dishes the last time I was there, what the fuck was I THINKING—”

“Rava.”

“I’m gonna cry. I’m literally going to cry. I should’ve brought her flowers. I should’ve learned how to bake. I’m going to get broken up with by your mother.”

Gio starts laughing. Quiet at first, then full on.

I keep going.

“She’s gonna hate me forever. She’s going to sit you down and say, ‘Gio, that boy is the reason you’re tired all the time.’ She’s going to say I suck the joy out of you like a mosquito.”

He’s losing it now.

“Don’t laugh! This is serious! She’s your mother, Gio. If she doesn’t like me, I’ll have no choice but to set myself on fire. It’s over. I’ll die.”

He gets off the bed and sits on the floor next to me, still laughing, still shaking his head.

He pulls me into his arms, hugs me so tight I can barely breathe, and kisses the top of my head.

“Baby,” he says, smiling against my temple, “I’m messing with you. She loves you. She was really happy when I told her.”

I freeze in his arms.

Pull back slowly.

“Gio.”

“Mm?”

“I swear to God, I’m going to slap you. I don’t care who you are.”

He bursts out laughing again. “Oh no! Rava’s mad! What ever shall I do?”

“You deserve it.”

“You love me.”

“Against my will.”

He kisses my cheek. “Too late now.”

“…You’re serious?” I ask, softer now. “She really likes me? Even after you told her about us?”

He pulls back just enough to look at me.

“Yeah, Rava,” he says, like it’s obvious. “She loves you.”

I smile a little. Then a lot.

“Really?”

“Yes,” he says, smiling back. “Really.”

I beam. “Of course she likes me. How could she not? I’m great. I’m a great guy.”

Gio looks at me, shocked. “You’re insane.”

“Excuse you,” I say with full fake offense. “I’m polite. I’m respectful. I remember birthdays. I’d love me too.”

He rolls his eyes but I see the way he’s biting back a smile.

Then I change the subject before I can embarrass myself further.

“So…” I say casually. “Where are we going after this?”

He stretches and leans back on his palms. “Finish packing your stuff and you’ll see.”

“Gio…” I whine. “Come on. Just one hint. Please. I deserve it after the emotional rollercoaster you put me through.”

He tilts his head, pretending to consider it. “Hmm… okay. You’re right. You do.”

I blink. “Wait, really?!”

He grins.

“Come on,” I say, walking next to him. “Just tell me. I’m gonna explode.”

Gio smirks.

“Hmm… alright,” he says. “There was a lot of noise. Most of it was you complaining.”

I blink at him. “That could literally be anywhere we’ve ever gone.”

He laughs. Doesn’t even pretend to argue.

I narrow my eyes. “You’re seriously giving me that as a clue?”

“Yup. That’s all you get.”

I stare at him. “That’s so vague it’s disrespectful.”

He turns to me, grinning. “You’ll see.”

---

Gio’s POV - hours later

I’m sitting on his bed, leaning back on my elbows, just watching.

He’s standing in front of the mirror with no shirt and messy hair.

We’re not talking about the fact that this is the last date.

The last night.

No. Not today.

Today, we’re just… here.

He’s digging through his drawer humming some song under his breath, completely unaware of the way I’m staring at him.

And yeah, sure. I’ve seen him like this a hundred times.

But today, for some reason, it hits harder.

And when he bends forward just a little…

Yeah, okay.

I get up, walk over, and slap his ass.

Hard.

He spins around wide eyed, hands flying to his butt like I just committed a crime.

“You horny freak!”

I raise both hands like I’m innocent. “Sorry! That juicy ass was provoking me.”

He glares.

I nod thoughtfully. “I might make it my phone wallpaper. For motivation.”

He squints at me like he’s trying not to laugh. “Go ahead. Just don’t ever pull out your phone in front of my future students.”

My heart skips.

…

Future students.

He sees us in the future.

We’re still… something. Together.

He’s not planning to leave and never look back.

That shouldn’t be enough to calm me, but it is.

I smirk and point toward the closet. “So. What are you gonna wear to this mysterious date?”

He pauses, thinking. “No clue.”

I try to remember what he wore back then.

That night.

Then it hits me. That ridiculous wine-red polo. That pair of black pants that actually fit him too well.

“Wear that burgundy polo,” I say. “And the black pants. You know the ones.”

He turns and looks at me like I’ve said something suspicious. “You hated that outfit.”

I shrug. “I love everything you wear.”

He smiles.

Like, really smiles. Dimples. Eyes crinkling. Head tilted just a little.

God. He’s gonna be the death of me.

I clear my throat and head for the door. “Get ready. I’ll be waiting outside.”

He nods, still smiling.

I turn to leave, and just as I’m walking out, I hear him murmur.

“…This feels like the beginning a little. When you used to always wait for me outside.”

I stop at the doorway. Look back at him.

And smile.

I roll the bike out front, park it right in front of Rava’s house.

Start her up.

I swing one leg over and stretch out across the seat, feet propped up on the handlebars.

The sky’s getting that hazy gold.

Woah. Look who it is.

Charles

.

Walking up the sidewalk.

I sit up straight immediately, feet hitting the ground.

He scoffs.

“Calm the fuck down, punk,” he says, not even looking at me. “I’m just here to grab whatever crap I left in that shithole.”

I clench my jaw, say nothing.

Because I promised myself, no fights today.

Not in front of Rava.

Not when we’re supposed to be having a good goodbye.

I pull out my phone and text him real quick:

ME:

• Charles is here. Don’t say anything.

-He’s in a mood.

The reply comes almost instantly:

RAVA:

• He can’t afford to be in a mood. Thanks to lorenzo’s genius.

I blink.

And smile.

Right. Forgot about that little video.

Rava steps outside.

Sweet as ever.

I slide off the bike, walk up to him, and press a kiss to his forehead.

“Did he say anything to you?” I ask quietly.

He shakes his head. “No. I don’t think he knows I’m leaving tomorrow. Or he does… and he just doesn’t care.”

I nod. Not surprised. But it still stings, hearing him say it like that.

“How do you feel?” I ask.

He takes a breath. “Like I’m gonna explode if you don’t tell me where we’re going.”

I snort. “Patience, baby.”

I grab the helmet and place it gently on his head, adjusting the strap as he stares at me.

I glance up at him while I fasten the clip. “What?”

He just shrugs. “Nothing.”

__

I slow the bike and stop just outside the gates.

The lights. The colors. The music. It’s all still here.

Rava gets off behind me and just… stares. Amazed.

Like he can’t believe it’s real.

He turns to me shocked. “I can’t believe it. The fair?! I didn’t expect you to be this romantic.”

I smirk. “Well… here we are.”

He looks around again. “This was the first time I ever went out with you willingly. While also wanting to strangle you the entire time. And now you brought us here for our last date.”

“Please dont call it our last one.”

“Right… sorry.”

I laugh. “This is where I discovered you had really nice lips.”

He snaps his head toward me. “You were looking at my lips?!”

I raise an eyebrow. “Of course I was fucking looking at your lips.”

I step closer.

“Back then I had to pretend I wasn’t. Now I can finally kiss you without holding it in.”

He tilts his head. “Only if I want it too. Takes two for a ki—”

I grab his face with both hands and kiss him hard.

He doesn’t resist.

He melts into it like he’s been waiting just as long.

When I pull back, I grin against his mouth. “See? Not so hard.”

He’s still catching his breath.

I take his hand.

“Now come on,” I say. “Let’s go inside.”

---

Okay okay I KNOW this one is small too but that’s because…

I’m working on the next one which will be bigger and VERY GOOD:)

I promise. You will love it.

Also, off topic, I just need to share, I’m going to my summer house back in my island on Monday and i’m gonna shit myself from excitement ❤️

THATS ALL BYE BYE I LOVE YOU <3

91) Guess Who

GUYS I’ve split this night into two chapters because it’s a long one. The second part will be up tomorrow :) Because I literally can’t wait. Tomorrow’s chapter is my FAVORITE one so far. Play some happy music while you read this:)

Rava’s POV

We step through the gates.

The lights are everywhere. Spinning and pulsing, neon pinks and golds, purples mixed with blues.

Laughter comes from every direction. Screams too, the good kind. Probably?!

A ride whips people into the air somewhere behind me, and they’re yelling like crazy.

Honestly, I get it.

To our left, a group dances on plastic white tables, stomping to old Italian songs with arms around each other.

On the far side, kids race to games and throw little plastic balls.

Vendors are shouting prices in a dozen accents. The scent of fried sugar and roasted chestnuts floats through the air and I’m loving it.

It’s a fucking dream. One of those scenes people paint. Too loud, too bright and basically too perfect.

And still, the best thing here… is standing next to me.

I glance sideways.

My Gio.

“I can’t believe how different this place feels now,” I murmur. “The first time we came here… I was so tense I could’ve shattered.”

He doesn’t even look away from the chaos in front of us. Just grins. “I know. It’s fucking great.”

Then he turns to me, smiling. “Who would’ve guessed that day, you were slowly driving yourself into the best sex of your life? And also, incidentally, the best relationship of your life.”

I blink. Raise a brow. Consider punching him. Instead…

I nod. “…I can’t even deny it. Facts.”

Then pause. “Actually, no. I can. I just remembered the bullying. We’re done. I’m breaking up with you.”

He puts a hand on his chest, mock-offended. “Wow. No dick for you tonight, I guess.”

I snort. “Please. Not even you believe that.”

He squints at me. Then shrugs. “…True. Now come on. I see a food stall over there that’s calling us.”

He grabs my hand and starts walking.

…

Okay. First of all, this food shouldn’t legally be called food. It’s… fluorescent.

I stare at it, confused.

It’s hot pink, oozing in six different directions, and soaked in something that smells like… like synthetic strawberries mixed with nacho cheese.

Help.

It looks like someone deep fried a children’s toy and added whipped cream for drama.

I’m holding it in one hand.

“Ravioli,” Gio says behind me, mouth already full. “You’re missing the full experience, man. Eat the thing.”

I glance over. He’s holding a paper tray so overstuffed with curly fries it’s bending, about to give up on life. Ketchup dripping down his wrist.

I scoff. “This isn’t food. This is calories in a napkin.”

He shrugs and takes another demonic bite, eyes rolling back like he just had a religious experience. “I think I’m gonna cum if I take another bite.”

“Come on, you horny piece of meat, let’s find a place to sit.” I grab his hand and start walking.

We push through the crowd, dodging bubble guns, and at least three parents arguing about strollers.

I’m still trying to find a place to sit when I see something and my heart melts.

A tiny kid, maybe four. Alone. Balloon string looped around his little wrist. Mouth wobbling like he’s about to cry.

I freeze. Shit.

Nope. Not letting this kid end up in a sad Netflix documentary.

I grab Gio’s sleeve. “Stay here. I think that kid’s lost.”

He’s in the middle of chewing his fries. “Babe. Please don’t get in tr—”

Too late. I’m already walking.

I crouch a little, soften my voice. “Hey, sweetheart. Are you lost? Did you lose your parents?”

The boy nods. Slowly. Bottom lip trembling. Oh god. My heart is crushed. I glance around, trying to stay calm. Where are the parents?!

I spot a man, mid-30s, holding a balloon but… with no kid beside him.

Huh.

I walk over.

“Excuse me, sir,” I ask gently. “Is this your child, by any chance?”

He spins around, face twisted in shock. “WHAT?! NO!”

“Oh, okay I thought—”

“I DON’T HAVE A CHILD!”

“Okay, sir, I believe you!”

And that’s when everything detonates.

A woman suddenly screeches from behind: “WHY ARE YOU HOLDING MY CHILD?!”

My stomach drops.

Oh no.

Another woman, standing next to the balloon guy, turns to him in horror. “YOU HAVE A CHILD?!”

“What?! No— I don’t even know—”

The first woman points at me. “DID YOU TWO JUST TRY TO TAKE MY KID?!”

I want to cry.

“I—I was just trying to help I swear—”

Another voice joins. “Are you a pedophile?!” Another one!—glares at me.

Oh my god.

Before I can breathe, a man stomps up from the other side of the crowd, wraps an arm around the shrieking woman, and looks at me: “Who the hell is THIS string bean holding my kid?”

I am. I am the string bean.

I step back, still holding the child’s hand.

Which I immediately, gently release. “I think there’s been a miscommunication,” I stammer.

“SECURITY!” It’s the dad. He’s red in the face and coming at me like a cartoon bull.

Panic detonates. I literally don’t know what to do. I start running.

I barrel through the crowd, spot Gio still by the food stand, pouring ketchup on fries.

I grab his wrist so hard I nearly send his fries flying.

“RUN, YOU GREASY LUMP!”

“WHAT?!” He’s still chewing. “What the hell did you do?!”

“I WAS TRYING TO BE A GOOD PERSON AND NOW I’M A PEDOPHILE!!”

We’re sprinting through the screams.

Gio’s cackling. Like howling with laughter. His fingers are laced with mine, and he yells something about how I owe him for making him leave half his fries behind.

We duck into a narrow alley between two games.

The noise dims. We’re panting, sweat clinging to our necks.

I peek out.

Oops.

He’s there. The dad. Looking around. Scanning the crowd.

I shove Gio back. “Don’t talk. Don’t breathe. Please.”

He opens his mouth to say something.

“I SAID DON’T—”

The guy turns. He’s walking toward us.

I panic. Fully.

I do the first thing that comes to mind.

I grab Gio’s shirt, yank him toward me, and kiss him. Hard.

Shove us back behind a curtain of some old photo booth backdrop.

I press against him until his body blocks mine. Hiding me.

I hear his sharp inhale. His hands come up to grip my waist.

And then he kisses me back. Full tilt. Laughing into my mouth.

We stay like that, tangled and half hidden, until the footsteps pass.

He breaks the kiss with his forehead on mine. “Okay. That was the hottest getaway kiss of all time.”

I whisper, “Is he gone?”

He peeks. “Yep. But you might’ve traumatized four families.”

I groan and hide my face in his shirt. “I just wanted to help…”

He snorts. “I know, baby. But you tried to return a kid like it was a lost umbrella.”

“I panicked.”

“You kissed me to hide.”

“I panicked again.”

“You owe me seven blowjobs.” he whispers while smiling.

We’re both laughing now. His hands find my face. He kisses me again, softer this time.

“I love you,” he whispers.

“Even though I almost got myself arrested?”

“ Especially because you almost got yourself arrested.“ He grins. “That was sexy as hell.”

“Then I guess I love you back,” My forehead rests against his. I feel his smile on my lips.

I glance around. We’re still tucked between two food stalls, behind a half-hanging curtain of forgotten photo booth fabric. The lights from the rides flicker in the distance, but here there’s shadow.

It’s just us.

Hm.

“About those seven blowjobs…” I smile into his mouth. “Maybe we make them six?” I whisper.

Gio freezes.

His eyes widen. He stares at me like I’m crazy.

“Here?” he says, the tip of his tongue running over the inside of his cheek.

His eyes dart around, scanning the alley like we’re in the middle of a damn heist. “ Now ?“

I nod, almost innocently, brushing my lips across his. “Why not?” I murmur against his mouth.

His hands grip my sides. Harder now.

“Fuck… If someone sees—”

“They won’t.” I smile against his jaw. “I’ll be fast.”

I kiss his neck. “Please?”

He takes a deep breath.

I watch the war behind his eyes.

Logic, lust, fear, thrill.

It lasts maybe two seconds.

Then he lets out a sharp breath, and grabs my face. “You’re fucking dangerous, Ravioli.”

“Mm,” I hum. “That makes two of us.”

He looks at me for one more beat, then slides his hand into my hair.

And pushes me down.

Slowly. My knees hit the ground before my thoughts catch up.

I glance up.

He’s staring down at me. He’s already hard.

He rests his hand on the back of my neck and his thumb is brushing against my skin.

“You better not stop.”

I smirk. Adjusting my glasses. “I won’t.”

The ground is rough beneath me. But I don’t care.

I’m already undoing his belt.

Adrenaline is making everything sharper. The fact that we could get caught at any second.

I pull him out and I don’t waste a second.

I take him into my mouth. Deep. Pretty much like I’ve been starving for it.

He moans and throws his head back.

His hand finds my hair immediately and grips it, not gentle at all.

I breathe through my nose, focus on the heat of him. I love this.

Fuck. Seeing him hard, makes me hard.

His hand hits the back of my head. And then both of them are there, gripping my hair.

Gag reflex? Fucking gone.

Buried somewhere between my pride and the last ounce of shame I had before I crawled onto this floor.

He tilts my head back, slowly at first, then rougher.

Back. Forth. Back. Forth.

“Fuck, Rava…” he hisses. “You’re gonna get us fucking arrested.”

I glance up. Just enough for our eyes to lock.

My glasses are foggy. But I don’t stop. I go even deeper.

He bites down on his fist to muffle a sound, and I take that as a win.

His thighs tighten. His other hand slams against the wall above us, holding him steady.

The alley is too quiet. Every soft suck and every gasp, feels dangerously loud.

I work faster. My hand wraps around the base of him.

My lips ache, but hell, I don’t slow down.

He starts whispering my name.

“Rava fuck— whatever you’re doing don’t stop—”

He tenses. One long, shuddering breath… Then he comes.

All in my throat.

I swallow it all, while my hands are still gripping his hips to hold him steady while he twitches and gasps above me.

His hand is still in my hair, tighter now. Possessive. I love it.

I stay there a moment longer, breathing hard.

My jaw is sore. I slowly pull back.

My lips are red and wet.

I stand.

He looks wrecked.

His mouth is parted. He looks like someone who just narrowly escaped death and found heaven instead.

“Told you I’d be quick,” I murmur, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

He blinks. Doesn’t speak. Just stares at me like he wants to drop to his knees now.

Then he surges forward and grabs me. His hand on my throat. The other tangled in my shirt.

And kisses me.

Completely breathless. Just the kind that I like. The kind that says you’re mine.

I moan into his mouth.

Wish I could frame this moment.

…

We step back into the lights. Back into the noise and the chaos.

My knees are red. My throat is dry.

Do I regret it? Hell no.

I wipe the corner of my mouth with my thumb. Quickly.

Then reach out and grab Gio’s bicep like I didn’t just try to blow him into another dimension behind a curtain.

His arm’s warm.

He leads. “Follow me,” he says.

“Where are we going?” I ask, narrowing my eyes as I try to act chill, casual, my knees still recovering from what I just did.

He doesn’t answer. He stops mid-step, pulls out his phone, types something fast.

I raise an eyebrow.

“What are you doing?”

He glances up. Smirks. “Okay. Come here.”

I follow. Hesitant. We turn the corner.

No. NO.

I stop dead in my tracks.

It’s that ride. The death trap.

The spinning, upside-down, scream-extracting machine of suffering that he made me get on two months ago when we had our first solo outing.

He knows what that ride did to me. He knows I sounded like a pterodactyl giving birth that night.

“No.” I shake my head, immediately taking a step back. “Absolutely not.”

“Rava…” he says, dragging it out, hands clasped together dramatically. “Please?”

“Not again. No. I value my life. My soul. My vocal cords.”

I gesture toward a fish-themed game next to us. “Look, we can just go there instead! Win a prize! Maybe take home a little goldfish! Very wholesome! Very non-lethal.”

He tilts his head.

“Oh, so now you’re not a fan of dangerous things… even though five minutes ago you were on your knees—”

“WE’RE DOING THE DAMN RIDE.”

I turn around. March toward the line. I don’t look back.

Behind me, I hear him laugh.

He jogs to catch up, wrapping his arm around my shoulders. “Wow. That worked better than I thought.”

“Shut up.” I’m blushing. I can feel it.

He kisses the top of my head as we get in line. And I let him. Because I’d scream myself hoarse a thousand times if it means hearing him laugh like that again. Really.

__

We’re in line. And by “in line” I mean waiting to die .

I watch the ride spin with demonic energy, people screaming.

I grip Gio’s arm tighter with every shriek.

He glances at me, grinning. Rubs slow circles on my back.

“Breathe. I got you. I’ll even win you a goldfish after, baby. Swear to God. You deserve your goldfish.”

I open my mouth to answer but… Someone covers my eyes from behind.

“GUESS WHO, BITCH.”

I flinch. Gio’s already laughing. I turn—

Lorenzo.

Wearing sunglasses. Inside a semi-covered ride zone. With an unbuttoned floral shirt exposing too much chest.

Next to him: Daisy. Her crop top matching the chaotic colors of Lorenzo’s shirt, hair up like a girlboss who just crushed five men and ordered churros after.

And then… Marco.

Our Tree Guy. Standing silently.

Holding a… plush cockroach.

An actual cockroach teddy bear the size of a newborn.

I blink at it.

He holds it out to me, proudly but kinda shy.

“Rava, dude,” he says solemnly. “I met you late. But I feel you. You’re my guy. Take this cockroach.”

I take it with both hands. Like a knight accepting a cursed relic. “Thank you, Tree Guy. I’m hanging this above my bed.”

He nods. Serious. “Good. That’s where she belongs.”

Lorenzo claps his hands. “Right. Tonight is your night. Your farewell. Your chaos coronation. We are here to humiliate you with love, one last time.”

Before I can answer, the ride operator shouts, “NEXT GROUP.”

Fuck me.

We walk up the metal stairs. Lorenzo’s already doing a shoulder-shimmy to Happy Birthday by El Alfa blaring from the speakers.

He slaps the rail with the beat.

Daisy’s filming him and mouthing “I love this man so much but he’s mentally gone.”

We sit. My hands are shaking.

Gio helps me buckle the harness. Leans in close, and shouts over the song. “Inhale! You got this, love!”

I turn, wide-eyed. “If I survive, you owe me eight blowjobs! Back to back! I want to pass out!”

He grins. “Deal!”

I face forward, barely breathing.

Marco’s next to me. Calm. Like he’s getting a facial, not about to be catapulted into the stratosphere.

He nods toward my arm.

“That’s a sick tattoo! You get that here in Italy?”

I light up.

Finally, something I’m not scared of.

“Nah, Canada. My best friend did it! His name’s Noah! He’s insanely good.” I shout back.

Marco’s head tilts. He raises an eyebrow. “Noah? Wait—Lorenzo never shuts up about a Noah guy. Same dude?”

I smirk. “Yep. That’s him.”

Marco stares ahead. Serious.

“Tell that Noah I’m gonna touch him.”

I don’t even blink. “Got it!”

We all hear the sound of metal clamping. The final lock. The ride operator waves dramatically.

The ride jolts. Metal grinds. The lights flicker red.

And then the machine moves. Just a little.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA—” Lorenzo screams like a banshee before anything even happens.

Instant. Over-the-top. Full-body screech.

“SHUT UP, YOU MORON!” Daisy yells beside him. He immediately stops. Like a switch flipped.

“…sorry,” he mutters.

Next to me, Gio is grinning.

His hand slides over mine and squeezes gently.

I take a deep breath.

You got this, Rava. It’s just metal. And physics. And screaming. And regret. You got this. It’s fine. You lived through worse. You’re dating a fine tatted rider with a criminal record and a cat.

We start rising. Higher. The sky’s closer now.

My stomach is already arguing with gravity.

DROP.

The world disappears beneath us.

And so do my manners.

“FUCK YOU GIO. FUCK YOU. YOU STUPID DUMB-ASS BASTARD. I SHOULD’VE NEVER TRUSTED YOU—”

“THINK OF THE GOLDFISH!” Gio yells, laughing so hard he can’t breathe.

“FUCK THE GOLDFISH! I DON’T LOVE YOU ANYMORE—”

“WHAT GOLDFISH??” Lorenzo screams from behind. “GUYS I MIGHT VOMIT. I’M NOT EVEN JOKING. WHO BROUGHT ME HERE??”

Daisy yells back at him. “YOU BROUGHT YOURSELF HERE!”

The ride spins. The ground is up. The sky is sideways.

My soul has left the group chat.

And through it all?

Marco. That man is cackling. Not screaming. Laughing. Hands in the air like he just got laid and won the lottery at the same time.

Noah and him would vibe so hard.

I stare at him for one full rotation. Then I snap back into survival mode.

Lock in. Come on, Rava.

Focus. Ignore the flips. The pressure. The nausea.

Eight blowjobs.

Eight.

One. Two. Three. On the couch. In the shower. On the bike. Back of the car— NO. FOCUS.

You have a goal. You have a future. You have a Gio.

I grit my teeth. I breathe.

You will survive this. A few more minutes.

We come off the ride like it spit us out.

Lorenzo’s swaying, dramatic as ever. He throws his arm around Marco and immediately trips.

They both hit the ground in a messy heap, laughing like idiots.

Daisy just stands there, looking down at them like a single mom who regrets taking the neighborhood kids to the carnival.

She sighs. Loudly. “I should’ve left you both at home.”

I find Gio, still smirking.

Walk right up to him.

“I did it.” I grin. “You owe me eight blowjobs. And a goldfish.”

He catches both my hands in his like I’m about to propose.

“I have a better idea.”

---

Okay okay okay okay LISTEN TO ME. I AM SERIOUS RIGHT NOW.

Tomorrow I’m posting part 2, which is honestly one of the BEST FREAKING CHAPTERS I HAVE EVER WRITTEN!

ALSO PLEASE VOTE THE CHAPTERS IF YOU LIKE THEM OR LIKE FOLLOW ME TO GET UPDATES FOR MORE STUFF.

THATS ALL BYE BYE I LOVE YOU ❤️

92) Quack

Rava’s POV

“Get up, you disgusting gremlins!” Gio shouts at them.

He leads us straight to the claw machines.

We follow. Obviously.

He points at one in the far corner. “That one. Been eyeing it since we got here.”

Squints.

“This teddy looks like you, Ravioli.” Smirk. “Kinda pissed off, but still cute.”

I blink. “I’m not pissed off.”

“No,” Daisy chimes in. “He’s right. That thing is you.”

“Traitor.”

Gio drops a coin into the slot, cracks his neck like he’s about to enter a street fight. “Okay. I got this. Everyone shut the fuck up.”

He moves the claw. Adjusts. Backs it up. Re-adjusts while cursing silently.

The level of focus on his face is absurd. I’m pretty sure NASA engineers don’t look this serious.

Tongue peeking out of the side of his mouth. It’s… adorable.

He hits the button.

The claw dips.

For a second, it looks like it’s going to miss. But it grips the bear by the leg and lifts it clean off the pile.

Daisy gasps.

It drops into the chute.

Gio turns to me, all excited.

Smirking proudly. Holding the little angry bear.

He hands it to me with both hands. “For you,” he says. “It’s grumpy and cute. It’s definitely you.”

I take it.

My angel.

He’s so damn proud of himself.

I stare at the bear. Then at him. Then at the bear again.

“Thanks,” I mumble. “I’m gonna name it Judgy Bastard.”

He grins. “I love it.”

And I don’t even care how stupid this is.

This is already my favorite gift in the world.

I look back at the machine.

There’s a tiny girl. Barely taller than the prize counter. Standing next to Gio.

Just…staring at him.

Like she’s watching the most intense superhero movie of her life.

Her mouth’s hanging open. And then she reaches out. Taps his hand. With her little finger.

Gio turns to me in shock.

“Rava. Rava. A tiny human just touched me—”

I snort. “Well maybe see what she wants?”

He turns back. Exhales.

“Hi there, little one.”

She gives him a shy smile. “…Mister… can you help me win a teddy bear?”

She holds up a single coin.

Her dad’s standing nearby, just smiling. Totally relaxed. Chill.

For once, a decent dad with no complex. No judgment.

Gio softens like that.

“Of course I’ll help you, sweetheart. Come here, it’s actually super easy.”

She hands him the coin, but he shakes his head. “Nope. You keep that. This one’s on me.”

He gently guides her to the joystick, crouches behind her like a coach.

“Okay, you’re doing so good, a small push to the left, now just—yep, there. Let it drop! See? You’re even better than me!”

The claw lowers.

And it grabs a fuzzy orange bunny. Lifts. Drops it into the prize slot.

She squeals. Practically tackles Gio’s legs. Laughing and clutching the bunny.

And me? I turn away.

Quick. Head down.

Because…

God. I’m tearing up. God, I’m such a loser.

I don’t even know why.

It’s just— It was sweet. That’s all.

I blink a few times, pretending I’m fixing my hair or something.

That’s when I hear a voice behind me.

Lorenzo.

Softly. “…Me too, bro… Me too.”

I groan. “Shut up.” Sniff once. Subtle. “Don’t ruin it. It was just— sweet.”

“Sure was.” He pats my back dramatically. “We love a sensitive king.”

I roll my eyes. “Stop talking. The tears will fall.”

And when I glance back, Gio’s crouched again, petting the little girls head. She hugs him. Her dad gives him a handshake.

Yeah. I might die a little bit.

From love. From this chaos. From everything.

—

Gio turns to me.

“I’m on fire tonight. Don’t talk to me.” He’s rubbing his hands together like a villain. “Gimme one minute. I’m feeling lucky.”

He jogs over to the next claw machine, one of those trashy little ones with rubber duckies, plastic toys, keychains… literal junk.

I raise a brow. “What the hell are you even trying to win—”

“Shhh.” He drops in a coin, tongue sticking out again as he lines it up.

Presses the button.

The claw drops. Grabs something. Lifts.

“…What even is that?”

It drops into the chute. Gio reaches in, pulls it out.

What. A tiny duck-shaped capsule.

He blinks. “What the f—”

Opens it.

…

Inside is a plastic ring. With a yellow rubber ducky on it. Like a cursed engagement ring from a bathtub-themed nightmare.

Marco explodes with laughter behind us.

Lorenzo gasps like someone just got murdered. “YOU PLANNED THIS, YOU LITTLE SHIT.”

Gio’s already doubled over, dying.

He takes a dramatic breath. Wipes his fake tear.

Turns to me with a mock-serious expression.

Drops to one knee.

Daisy screeches from behind him, already doubled over.

“Rava, baby.”

He says it in that tone. That mocking, flirtatious tone.

“From the moment you threatened to call the cops on me for staring too much, I knew you were the one. I couldn’t wait any longer. I couldn’t let time steal us away. Not another moment.”

He holds up the duck ring between two fingers like it’s a Tiffany diamond. He’s trying not to laugh.

“Accept this 1€ ring, Rava Weston. Not asking. Just— take it. Be a Fontana for one night.”

He’s grinning. The others are crying from laughter.

I black out a little.

My face is on fire. Like, I can feel it glowing red. Somehow my hands are shaking even though I know it’s a joke. Obviously.

But something about him kneeling there, goofy as hell, with his crooked smile and eyes only on me and calling ME a Fontana…

Oh God, I swear my heart does a somersault.

He takes my hand. Slides the ridiculous duck ring onto my finger.

It’s too small. It squeaks when he forces it past my knuckle.

I blink down at it. A yellow duck. Just staring at me like “quack, bitch, you’re a fake Fontana now.”

I exhale. And try to laugh it off.

But Gio’s looking up at me.

He hasn’t stopped smiling.

And it’s funny. It’s stupid.

But also weirdly satisfying.

Lorenzo gives Gio a playful shove in the back. “Wow. My cousin really just proposed with a duck ring. You are so ghetto.”

Gio’s still kneeling while still holding my hand, proud of himself.

He just shrugs. “You say ghetto, I say cute .”

Before Lorenzo can throw another insult, Marco casually steps between them.

He slings an arm around Gio’s shoulder.

“Let’s not disrespect the emotional gravity of this moment,” he says. His voice suddenly sounds like he’s in court.

Everyone goes quiet.

Marco straightens his back, about to deliver a closing statement. “As a certified attorney in three jurisdictions—”

Lorenzo cuts in. “You’re not.”

Marco ignores him. “I hereby state that this duck ring represents a legally binding emotional contract, under Article 47 of Public Displays of Devotion.”

I squint at him. Laughing. “What the hell is Article 47?”

Marco doesn’t miss a beat. “The ‘Shit That Makes You Go Aww’ clause. Look it up.”

Lorenzo groans. “Gio is unwell.”

Marco points at him. “Gio is romantic .”

Then he turns to me, places a solemn hand on my shoulder. “You two are now spiritually married in my heart. May the duck bless your union.”

Gio nods, serious all of a sudden. “Thank you, Tree Guy. You’re officially my lawyer. I might actually need you soon.”

Marco smirks. “My fee is one lemon pie per emotional breakdown.”

Gio says, “Perfect. You’ll be rich by the end of the week.”

I look down at the stupid little duck on my finger.

I’m never taking it off.

I don’t care if it turns my finger green. I don’t care if Gio forgets our fake anniversary and never mentions it again.

I don’t care if I have to walk into a job interview one day and the recruiter asks, “Sir, is that… a duck?”

Yes, bitch. It is . And it’s love.

I’m not taking it off if we fight. I’m not taking it off if we move to different countries. Hell, I’m not even taking it off if I lose the actual finger. I’ll glue the ring to my damn stump.

This duck is staying with me. Because Gio gave it to me, and it means absolutely everything…

—

Hours have passed.

We’re all sitting—well, barely hanging on, on this wobbly ass wooden bench.

Lorenzo’s absolutely gone. He’s holding a half-empty wine cup with his legs stretched out, talking to the stars.

“I miss Noah…” he sighs dramatically. “That bitch… his stupid face…”

I’m leaning on Gio’s shoulder.

My head’s right where it belongs, and I think I can hear his heart beating if I stay still enough.

His bag’s stuffed to the brim with all the plushies he won for me.

He looks like a six-year-old crime boss. I smile into his shirt.

“Hey, Lorenzo,” I mumble. “When I come back, whenever that is, I’ll try to bring Noah. He’s got no one in Canada. He’s like me.”

Marco perks up.

He and Lorenzo had been drinking beer and wine like it was water. His eyes are soft and blurry. “Wait… is this Noah guy… fruity?”

All of us turn.

Daisy’s whole body jolts. “YES. YES HE IS. RAVA. BRING HIM TO ITALY. PERMANENTLY. PLEASE.”

I blink, laughing. “Okay okay. Jesus. I’ll try. He’d actually kill it here. And the tattoo studios wouldn’t know what hit them.”

CRACK.

The bench dies.

We all hit the ground. I think my soul left my body for a second.

“My ass!” Daisy cries.

Marco groans. “That’s it. I’m filing for worker’s comp. My ass is gone.”

And then Gio and Lorenzo start laughing. Loudly. Same time, same pitch.

It’s almost like they’re family.

I look at Gio, who’s wiping tears from his eyes. He points at me.

“Look what your fat ass did. Whole bench gone. Total collapse.”

I gasp. “I’m suffering from success.”

Suddenly, “Sara Perche Ti Amo” starts blasting from the speakers across the place.

It’s exactly like the last time.

Lorenzo shoots upright like someone just tased him.

“STAND UP NOW MOTHERFUCKERS. WE’RE NOT MISSING THIS.”

We all stare at him.

He points a dramatic finger toward the speakers. His eyes have gone wide.

“THIS IS TRADITION. THIS IS CULTURE. THIS IS THE ITALIAN NATIONAL ANTHEM!”

Daisy’s still holding her ass. “…I kinda agree.”

“EVERYONE’S DANCING EXCEPT US!” Lorenzo shouts, already jogging sideways. “DO YOU WANT TO BE EXCOMMUNICATED FROM ITALY?”

He disappears into the crowd of tipsy middle-aged dancers.

Gio and I exchange a look. He shrugs, grinning. “He’s got a point.”

And then we’re all scrambling to our feet.

Marco nearly trips over the destroyed bench. I get pulled up by Gio’s hand and suddenly we’re running.

We chase after Lorenzo, Daisy yelling “WAIT FOR US, YOU PSYCHOPATH” and we’re laughing so hard it hurts.

We reach the dance place and, god it’s like stepping straight into the heart of Italy.

Everyone’s dancing.

And not just dancing, but drunk dancing. The best kind. The kind where everyone’s just loose and laughing and somehow perfectly in sync despite the wine.

People are singing the lyrics so loud, I can barely hear the actual speaker. It’s chaos. Beautiful, musical chaos.

Gio stops walking. Just stands there, not knowing what to do first. Daisy grabs his hand and spins him in a full circle, and he laughs.

Lorenzo’s in the middle of a random dance circle, yelling the lyrics directly into Marco’s face like he’s serenading him. Marco’s laughing and dancing and making these dumb dramatic faces like he’s flattered by the whole thing.

Daisy’s hands reach for mine, and she starts moving them side to side in rhythm with the song.

It’s ridiculous. I start laughing. I can’t not.

Everything’s glowing.

It literally feels like we’ve wandered into the last scene of a movie.

So we’re dancing.

In the corner of the fair where a group of strangers just pulled us in.

Lorenzo’s stomping, while Daisy is doing ballerina twirls in freaking boots.

Marco is dancing with a grandma.

Gio moves my hands with his, matching the rhythm of the song, and he somehow still looks like he belongs on a fucking Vogue cover.

I can’t stop laughing.

And just when I think this can’t get more chaotic, I hear it.

The unmistakable hiss of a garden hose.

I turn my head.

It’s a tiny but old man. White tank top. Flip-flops. Red cheeks. Holding a garden hose. He’s standing on the edge of the table. Beaming.

He yells something like, “PER LA FORTUNA!” and swings the hose up in the air.

Water everywhere.

The stream arches beautifully, and slaps Gio right in the face.

He gasps.

I scream.

Daisy shrieks.

Marco howls, “RAIN BAPTISM!” and runs straight into it.

We’re all soaked in seconds.

The old man spins in place, laughing so hard he almost falls over, waving the hose.

I gasp, duck, try to shield my face.

Too late. I’m drenched in seconds.

Gio grabs my wrist and pulls me into him, both of us laughing, slipping, pushing through the spray.

His hair is soaked, curling around his forehead. His shirt clings to his chest. There’s a drop of water sliding down the bridge of his annoyingly perfect nose.

My arms wrap around his neck slowly. Tight.

He blinks down at me, confused for a second. Then he sees it.

That look in my eyes I’ve been trying to hide all night.

I can’t hold it back anymore.

I lean in. Press my lips to his. Gently. Like I’m memorizing the way he feels. I feel him pull me closer.

It’s not just a regular, normal kiss. It’s a goodbye I don’t want to say. It’s an I love you without words. It’s an I’m coming back, I promise.

And he knows.

His hand cups the back of my head. His lips tremble against mine like he’s trying not to fall apart. We kiss again. And again. And again. Until I feel his smile through it.

He whispers, “Don’t cry.”

I laugh. Just a little. Because I’m trying so hard not to.

But it’s okay. Because he kisses me like we have forever.

Holding hands, feet splashing in puddles, our clothes clinging to our bodies, strangers clapping and stomping around us.

The music gets louder. The laughter too. The hose doesn’t stop.

I can’t stop smiling.

This is the happiest I’ve ever been in my whole fucking life.

---

A few minutes later, we break away from the crowd soaked and breathless, still tripping over puddles as we laugh our way through the mess.

Gio’s hand never leaves mine. He’s still chuckling, shaking his hair like a dog and spraying more water in my face.

“STOP,” I yell, laughing.

We pass the old arcade booths, the candy stands, the last few stragglers swaying to fading music in the distance.

Then I see…

The photo booth.

I pull Gio back by the arm.

“Wait—WAIT!” I say, breathless.

He turns. “What?”

“I’ve always wanted to do this,” I say, pointing. “Before we leave. Please?”

He doesn’t hesitate.

“Say less,” he grins. “Let’s go.”

We squeeze into the photo booth, dripping wet and laughing like idiots. My shirt’s sticking to my chest, and Gio’s hair is falling into his eyes.

He reaches out, brushes my hair to the side with both hands, then leans in close.

“You ready to take the best photos of your life?” He grins. “I hope you’ve got room on your wall for these.”

I nod, eyes already stinging from smiling. And then the countdown starts.

We step out of the booth, the photos still printing behind us, and I wipe my wet hands on my pants.

The machine whirs and spits out the photo strip.

I take one look.

Photo #1

In the first photo, he kisses my cheek, while grabbing my jaw. I laugh so hard I can barely stay upright.

Photo #2

We held up my hand with the duck ring. Proudly. Like idiots. His hand was over mine, and we were pointing at it like it was the most expensive jewelry we’d ever seen.

Photo #3

In this one I’m squishing his cheeks between my hands so hard he can’t speak, it’s a revenge pic. I regret nothing.

Photo #4

Gio is holding the cockroach plush up to the camera like it’s his child and he’s proud. I’m next to him, clutching the grumpy bear like it’s about to fight someone. We look like two unhinged parents defending our weird, mismatched babies.

Photo #5

One of my favorites: we’re both serious, deadpan, looking into the camera like we’re doing a mafia mugshot. Me trying not to burst out laughing.

Photo #6

There’s one where I just… stare at him. That’s it. I forgot about the camera cause he was talking. I’m just looking at him, fully gone.

Photo #7

Here Gio grabs my jaw with both hands, kisses me aggressively, and I melt. Of course.

Photo #8

Gio again, completely out of nowhere, just leans in and licks my neck. Like full tongue. No warning. You can see the betrayal on my face.

Gio’s flipping through the strip, grinning.

“This is what I like to call art, baby.” he says, holding it up dramatically.

I roll my eyes, still trying to stop laughing. “You’re unbelievable.”

He smirks, nudging me with his elbow. “And you’re lucky I’m letting you stand this close to me, peasant.”

I turn to him, dead serious, brows raised. “Oh? Big talk for someone whose lip ring has touched my dick more times than I can count.”

He freezes.

I grin. “I’m just saying… maybe let the ring rest for five minutes, yeah?”

“I’m actually impressed with this comeback. I’m proud of you, Ravioli.”

The others finally catch up with us, soaked to the bone and dripping water.

Lorenzo throws both arms around our necks dramatically, pulling us close. “I hope your last night was enjoyable, my love,” he says to me, deadly serious.

“Stop,” I groan, already feeling my eyes sting. “Don’t do that. I’m not crying again.”

Daisy pulls me into a hug. “My poor baby brother, off to Canada all by himself…” Then she pulls back a little and adds, “Next time you visit, I’ll have my own place. You can stay with me.”

“Objection,” Gio jumps in immediately. “Why wouldn’t he stay with me?”

Marco, hands in his pockets, chimes in like a bored judge. “Had a couple in court last month having this exact argument. I said the same thing I’ll say now: shut up.”

Daisy rolls her eyes and goes, “Fine. I’ll let it slide because I love you, Gio. If you were anyone else, I’d skin you.”

We start heading toward the exit, the fair behind us still glowing and echoing with music and laughter.

I look at them all. “Thank you, guys. This night was… everything. Marco, thanks for the cockroach.”

Marco puffs out his chest like I gave him an award.

“See you tomorrow, Ravioli!” Lorenzo yells after me.

And then I turn to Gio. He’s slipping on his helmet. I lean in, a little quieter. “Shame this night’s already over…I don’t wanna go home yet.”

He glances at me with a smirk. “Who said anything about going home?”

---

Y’all…….

Are you ready.

TADAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!

Please tell me you loved it, cause I was too excited.

I’m also drained so next chapter won’t be posted on Monday :(

Maybe Tuesday :)

That’s all. I’m at work rn and I want to cry.

BYE BYE I LOVE YOU POOKIES ❤️

93) Promise Me

Gio’s POV

It’s 2AM.

We’re at a red light. The streets are dead quiet.

Rava’s got his arms wrapped tight around me, holding my waist.

His fingers are brushing over my abs, real slow.

I smirk. “You’re not falling asleep on me, are you?”

He snorts behind me. “After everything that just happened in there? I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep again for at least five days.”

“Good,” I say, revving the engine. “Cause I need you awake. For one last time.”

But then I correct myself.

No. Not one last time. Fuck that. I’m not letting it be the last.

I’m gonna make this plan work. I’m gonna get him back here fast. I don’t care what I have to do to that bastard Nicola.

I’ll pull every string, burn every bridge, bribe whoever the hell I need to.

I don’t have a choice. I can’t do two fucking years without Rava. I won’t.

---

I pull up outside my place and kill the engine. “Off,” I say.

He hesitates. “Wait… you said we weren’t going home.”

“We’re not,” I say, already dismounting. “I just need to feed Lulu and grab a couple things. We’re walking from here.”

Inside, Lulu’s waiting like she sensed sadness.

She runs over like she hasn’t seen me in years. I kneel down, scratch her head.

“My girl,” I whisper. “You’re sleeping solo tonight. Sorry, love, but our baby leaves tomorrow.”

I kiss the top of her head.

Upstairs, I move fast. Two beach towels. Some snacks to nibble on.

A few… essential supplies.

Rava’s swimsuit. The one he left here that night with that idiot Jasper.

I toss it in the bag. One more night. One more shot before I have to let him go.

—

He’s standing there waiting for me.

Fuck me sideways, he looks like a painting.

His skin’s still glowing from the fair, his cheeks are a little flushed from dancing, hair wet and clinging to his forehead. His eyes catch mine and hold them hostage.

I walk up and take his hand.

We start walking. It’s just us and us.

“Why are we walking?” he asks.

“You tired?” I say, right away. “Cause I can carry you if you want. All you gotta do is ask.”

He laughs, tilts his head and rests it against my shoulder.

God, I could melt right here. I could collapse into the pavement and die a very happy man.

“I don’t need to be carried,” he murmurs. “I can walk.”

I grin. “That’s the problem,” I mutter. “Means I didn’t do a good enough job yesterday.”

He hits my arm lightly, laughing again.

A black car drives past us. Slowly. It keeps going.

But then it brakes. Reverse lights flash.

The window rolls down.

“…Rava?!”

Rava turns his head, doesn’t let go of my hand.

“…Carla?!”

The driver leans closer.

Ugh.

It’s Dario.

Of fucking course.

His eyes land on me, and his whole face shifts, like someone just farted in his personal space.

I can’t tell if it’s shock or disgust or both.

“…Gio?”

I grin. Lean a little closer to the car.

“Hello, Dario.”

Dario laughs like this is the funniest shit he’s seen all year. “What, did you guys lose a bet or something? Someone dared you two to go out together?”

Carla leans forward from the passenger seat, squints at us like we’re an illusion.

She lowers her voice. “…You’re not still doing the whole Sophia lie, are you?”

I tilt my head and smirk. “Oh yeah, going strong . We even have sex sometimes, you know, just to make the chemistry more convincing when she’s around.”

Dario’s eyes go comically wide. Oops.

He turns to Rava like he’s trying to read a language he doesn’t speak.

“We didn’t lose any bet. He’s my boyfriend now.” Rava says.

Silence.

Just crickets.

Dario’s mouth opens like he wants to say something but forgot the alphabet.

“Oh…” he breathes out, small and stupid.

Carla tries to jump in. “But didn’t you use to hate hi—”

“Where are you going?” Rava cuts her off sharp as hell.

Good boy.

She blinks, stunned. “Uh—we were going to meet up with some friends…”

Her eyes flick over to me. She hesitates.

“Please don’t ruin him. He doesn’t deserve it.”

Respectfully, fuck you, girl.

I smile, but it’s cold.

“I’m not the one who disappeared for two months without even asking how he was doing,” I say. “So maybe sit this one out.”

Her mouth opens, but nothing comes out. She glances at Rava, like she needs his help.

“Okay…wow. Cold. I guess you’re not in a good mood. Bye, guys,” she mutters. Dario waves awkwardly.

And just like that, they’re gone.

And I swear to God if she ever says some shit like that again… I won’t be so polite.

Now it’s just us again.

Rava exhales. “Wow… You really said that.” He looks over at me. “I mean—you’re not wrong. We haven’t said a single word since they found out I kissed you. I think Carla still has my last message sitting on ‘delivered’.”

I shrug. “Fuck her.”

I slip my fingers between his. “Come on. I want all of your attention.”

We walk down the narrow path to the beach, our spot.

No people. No noise. Just the waves and the faint hum of streetlights somewhere in the distance.

The breeze blows his hair right into his forehead and I swear to God, I wanna punch a wall.

He’s so pretty it physically fucking hurts.

We reach the spot and I drop the bag on the sand.

“Want me to help?” he asks.

“No,” I say, already unzipping the bag. “I got it.”

I pull out the big towel and lay it flat.

Then some snacks, his favorites. Water. The swimsuit.

I hold it out to him. He raises an eyebrow. “You want us to swim? At this hour?”

“There’s a heatwave,” I say, trying not to sound like I’m begging. “And it’s my last chance to see you wet and shirtless.”

He laughs. “Come on, Gio.”

I grin, a little too fast. “You literally just accepted my proposal, with a duck ring. You won’t do this one little favor for your husband?”

And I hate that I’m using it as a joke.

Because it’s not. Not to me. Not when my heart feels like an ice cream scoop melting in a goddamn microwave.

Rava takes the swimsuit from my hand. He shakes his head, smiling.

“Alright,” he says softly. “Hand it over, mister husband.”

I win.

He slips on the swimsuit. Jesus.

I’m just staring.

No shirt, those sharp fucking collarbones, that tight little slutty waist.

And that swimsuit? Low.

Pretty sure it was made by the gods for my eyes only.

“Are you done staring?” he asks without even looking at me.

“No,” I say. “I’ll die staring.”

I pull on my own swimsuit in a daze, then walk up behind him and press my palm to his back.

“Let’s go, you sexy thing.”

I don’t wait for a reply. I sprint forward and dive in. 2AM water is warmer than the 3PM water.

When I come up, I shake my hair out, right at him.

He flinches, gasps.

“If you do that again, I’ll file for divorce,” he says.

I grin.

I walk back toward him slowly.

“Don’t,” he warns. “Don’t what?” I ask, like I’m innocent.

I come behind him, grab his shoulders, and pull him down into the water.

We sink. And when we come up again, he’s breathless, hair in his face. His eyes are so angry it’s hilarious.

“I can’t stand you,” he says.

I raise an eyebrow. “You can’t stand seeing me outside of you, huh?”

He snorts, wipes water from his eyes. “In your dreams, Fontana.”

I lean in. “I dream every night, Weston.”

He rolls his eyes, but his cheeks are pink.

“Get away from me.”

“No.”

“You’re obsessed.”

“With you? Obviously.”

He splashes water at me. I splash back. Then we’re chasing each other, soaked. He’s begging me to stop but he’s laughing at the same time.

— 10 minutes later —

“Let’s go lie down,” I say, shaking water out of my hair.

Rava squints down at the sand. “Eh. I’m gonna get sand on it from my feet.”

“Tragic,” I mutter, walking toward him.

I hook my arms under his thighs and lift him up onto my back.

“PUT ME DOWN YOU’RE MAKING ME LOOK WEAK.” he shouts.

“You’re so dramatic,” I grunt, adjusting my grip. “Just rinse your royal feet, Prince Sandphobic.”

He actually does it. Dips his feet in the water like he’s at a damn spa. Flicks his hair.

“You serious right now?” he huffs.

“I’m literally carrying you like a bridal sacrifice,” I say. “You don’t get to be mad.”

“You’re not even doing it right, my ass is sliding.”

“That’s because your ass is heavy,” I mutter. “In a good way.”

I carry him all the way to the towel and drop him onto it gently.

“There you go,” I say, brushing sand off his calf. “Delivered like a pizza. Extra hot.”

Rava stretches out dramatically, smirking at me. “You’re lucky you’re hot. Otherwise I’d press charges.”

I flop down next to him.

“I’d let you win,” I say. “Just to see your little courtroom victory face.”

He turns his head to look at me. “And then I’d demand conjugal visits.”

“…I’d bring lube to the trial.”

He laughs.

I love it when he laughs with my jokes.

We lie down side by side, both of us still wet.

I place my hands behind my head and stare up at the sky, the stars.

Beside me, Rava shifts, then lays his head on my stomach.

“You comfy?” I murmur, raising an eyebrow even though he can’t see me.

He hums. “Your abs make a surprisingly good pillow.”

“Better enjoy them now,” I say. “Might get softer while you’re gone. I emotionally eat.”

“Cool. I’ll eat you emotionally when I come back.”

I chuckle. “That sounded weirdly hot.”

Rava just grins without opening his eyes, his fingers are spreading a little across my stomach, and it’s the most relaxing thing ever.

“Don’t go falling asleep on me, Weston,” I say, nudging him gently with my elbow.

“I’m not,” he murmurs. “Just… soaking this in.”

I’m stroking his hair gently.

My thumb is brushing his forehead.

“I feel bad that my graduation is on October 26th… the same day as your birthday.”

I smile a little, still playing with his hair. “It’s okay. That day should be about you anyway.”

He shifts. Lifts his head. Then turns to lie beside me, facing me. His eyes… Oh no.

His eyes are glassy.

I freeze.

My fingers stop. I sit up slowly. I wasn’t expecting that look. Not now.

“What are you thinking about?” I ask, already bracing for it.

His voice comes out shakier now. “What are we going to do, Gio? Actually… what the fuck are we going to do?” His lips press together. “Are we going to break up?”

I stare at him, offended.

“What—no. Don’t say that.”

Shit.

I sit all the way up now, facing him completely. “Don’t say that again.”

His eyes flicker. “Then how’s it going to work?” His throat clenches. “Tell me how, Gio. Please.”

I can’t take it. I reach for him, grip his hands.

“I have a plan. Okay? I wasn’t going to tell you yet because it’s not simple, but I do. Listen, I know someone who might be able to transfer you here. To Italy. Same program. Same everything.”

Rava blinks hard. “What? Who the hell do you know that can do that?”

I hesitate for a second. “An old connection. Not exactly a buddy. But I’ll deal with it. I’ll make it work. Whatever it takes, I swear. It’s worth a shot.”

I pull him into me. Hold him tightly. My hand cradles the back of his head.

“Just promise me you won’t fall for anyone else while you’re gone,” I whisper.

“ Promise me . I’ll figure this out. And we’ll be together again. For real. No ticking clock.“

He sniffs and looks up at me with this crooked smile that both breaks me and puts me back together.

“You better,” he says. “You fake proposed with a rubber duck ring. My expectations are dangerously high now.”

I laugh, but it’s wobbly. Because yeah, sure, he’s joking.

But I’m so fucking serious.

I look at him.

And I hate it. I hate that I can’t stop time. I hate that I can’t fix this now. That he’s still thinking about the damn plane.

So I try something else.

“I remember once,” I say, brushing a hand through his hair again, “when we were little… I almost invited you to one of my birthday parties.”

His head lifts from my chest.

His eyes look like tennis balls.

“WHAT?! Almost?”

He’s so cute.

I melt. Full fucking puddle. Right here on this towel.

“Yeah,” I say with a laugh. “I was like… eleven maybe? My mom made me write a list of names. And I actually wrote yours. First.”

I pause, then grin. “And then I panicked and erased it.”

His jaw drops. “Gio!”

“I panicked!” I say, raising my hands like I’m still defending eleven-year-old me. “You were the stupidly smart kid. Quiet. Always reading. And I was this loud little shit with grass stains on my knees and dirt under my nails that wouldn’t stop making fun of you. I thought—no way he’d wanna come to my party. He’s not that stupid.”

Rava shakes his head in disbelief. “I would’ve gone, you idiot.”

I smirk. “Yeah, and I would’ve stared at you the whole time like a creep.”

“You already did,” he fires back, grinning.

“I know,” I say, softer now. “I always did.”

And in that moment, I’m eleven again. And he’s still that boy I couldn’t stop watching. And now, all these years later, he’s here.

“I have something for you,” I say, reaching into my bag again. “I want you to take it with you. It’s a little gift.”

He looks at me, confused but curious. I pull out the notebook, a bit worn out around the edges.

Literally my darkest secrets are now in his hands.

I hand it to him carefully.

He takes it but he looks hesitant. “What is this?” he asks, eyebrows raising. “Is it full of all the insults you used to throw at me when we were kids?”

I laugh. “No. Though honestly… that would’ve been kind of cute.”

He looks at it again, then me. “Can I open it?”

“Nope.” I shake my head fast. “Don’t open it here. I want you to read it in Canada. I swear, if you open it in front of me, I’ll evaporate. I’ll vanish into the fucking ocean. It’ll ruin my entire reputation.”

He laughs, hugging it to his chest. “I’m scared now.”

“You should be,” I say, nudging him. “Let’s just say that… you weren’t the only one who used to keep a journal back in the day.”

His head snaps toward me, fast.

I’ll have to check on his neck later.

“WHAT?! Gio Fontana kept a journal?!”

“I’m human too!” I protest. “I’m a soft little creature deep down. A good little guy. Stop acting like you didn’t know!”

He’s dying laughing now. “No no. I love this. You mean to tell me that while you were out being a menace on the playground, you were going home to—what? Write about your feelings?!”

“Feelings. Thoughts. Dreams. Vivid sexual fantasies about a certain someone. You know. Normal stuff.”

He chokes. “Stop it right now.”

I just smirk, stretching my arms behind my head, pretending to be casual while my heart is literally vibrating inside my chest.

Because yeah, I gave him a piece of me. A big one. And I want him to keep it safe over there. Until I can get it back.

---

OKAY GUYS.

Sorry if this chapter was a bit all over the place, it took me days to finish and it feels kind of scattered. I don’t know. I think I like tomorrow’s chapter more.

Actually… I’m SURE 😏

So yeah, see you again tomorrow

BYE BYE POOKIES I LOVE YOU❤️

94) Don’t Forget Me

Gio’s POV

I pull Rava closer, right between my legs, wrapping my arms around his waist from behind.

His back fits so perfectly against my chest, it’s ridiculous. I rest my head in the space between his neck and shoulder. I press a soft kiss there, and then I do it again and again.

He smells so good I could get drunk off it.

“Hey… remind me tomorrow to give you the bracelet. I did it! I actually made it. While you were getting ready for the fair earlier.” I murmur.

He turns his head just enough to see me, smiling relieved.

“You did?” he says.

I nod, still against his neck.

He laughs softly.

I can’t let him go. I can’t.

I’d do anything. I’d crawl through fire if it meant he’d stay. I’d go back and fix every single thing I ever fucked up just to be good enough for him.

I want years with him. Not just nights. Not stolen time.

I want Christmas mornings. Him half-asleep in one of my oversized shirts, decorating a crooked little tree in our living room with the lights tangled around his legs and stupid holiday playlists.

I want to see him sick and grumpy with a cold, bundled up in our bed, while I force him to drink gross tea, and he tells me I’m being dramatic while secretly loving it.

I want him cooking with me, barefoot in our kitchen while pasta boils on the stove.

I want him to yell at me for putting wet towels on the floor.

I want to kiss him after every stupid fight.

I want to hear him laugh in rooms we haven’t even lived in yet.

I want to fall asleep next to him for the rest of my life.

I’m gonna miss the way he looks at me when I’m inside him, that dazed, ruined look in his eyes when he’s so far gone he can’t even speak, just gasps my name and clings to me.

And yeah, the way his thighs tighten around my waist when I hit that spot.

The way he scratches at my back and pulls my hair like he needs more, always more.

That little gasp he makes when I bite his collarbone? I’m addicted to that shit.

But it’s not just that. It’s not just the sex, even if that’s heaven on earth.

It’s the way he always crawls on top of me after. Messy hair, swollen lips, that soft sleepy grin.

The way he tugs the sheet up and hides under it like he’s embarrassed, even though he just screamed my name twenty minutes ago.

I live for that shit.

It’s the way he lays on my chest and draws little circles with his fingers while I try not to cry like an idiot.

The way he says “baby” when he’s half asleep. The way he lets me hold him.

I’ll miss that more than anything. The warmth of his skin against mine. The weight of his body when he’s tired and just throws himself on top of me like I’m his mattress. The sound of his heartbeat under my palm.

I’ll miss brushing the hair out of his face. Kissing the tip of his nose. Telling him he’s safe.

I wanna be there when he has a nightmare. I wanna be there when he passes his exams. I wanna be there when he’s sick and dramatic and wants to be babied. I wanna bring him soup and stroke his hair and tell him he’s still pretty even with tissues stuffed up his nose.

Rolling his eyes when I call him sexy with a mouth full of toothpaste.

God, I’m going to cry like a loser.

I want all of it. Every single version of him. The fucked out, blissed out, passed out on my chest version.

He’s mine. And I’m his. Ride or die.

And I swear to God I’ll bring him back soon.

---

After what felt like a lifetime of talking, about everything and nothing, about stupid memories and impossible dreams, about what we’d miss and what we’d never forget, and after what felt like even more hours of kisses, of soft grazes, of our hands memorizing every inch of each other like they were scared to forget,

It is 6AM.

The sky is starting to shift. The first colors of sunrise are creeping above the water.

That terrible day, the one we’ve been pretending doesn’t exist, is here.

Actually here.

Rava is lying on top of me while his fingers are lazily running up and down my side. He looks at me like he can see straight through me.

“How are we not tired?” he whispers.

I shake my head. “I don’t know… but I like it.” And then I kiss him.

It isn’t soft this time. It isn’t lazy or playful.

It is heavy. Desperate. A goodbye in disguise.

We both know. We don’t say it, but we know.

I grab the back of his head and deepen the kiss, rolling us so he’s underneath me.

The moment our lips break, I stay there, staring at him like he’s my whole damn world.

Because he is.

My hand slowly slides down from his chest to his stomach. I don’t rush it. Don’t say a word.

He looks up at me. Nods once.

And that’s all I need.

I lean down and kiss him again, this time slower. Full of everything I literally don’t know how to say.

I’m going to make sure he feels every ounce of love I’ve been too scared to put into words sometimes.

I don’t want to fuck him.

Not this time.

I want to make love to him.

The kind that’s slow and selfish.

I kiss the corner of his mouth. Then his jaw. Then lower.

When I reach the waistband of his swim trunks, I pause.

He watches me.

Then I slide them down slow. His thighs shift slightly.

I bend lower and kiss his hipbone.

Then lower.

He lets out a soft sound, and I get goosebumps.

But I’m not rushing…

I drag my slicked fingers down, letting him know before going any further.

I begin to work him open as gently and as carefully as I can, cause he deserves this.

He bites his lip. His whole body tenses under mine.

“You okay?” I whisper.

He nods. “Yeah…keep going.”

So I do.

Take my time.

Watch the way his back arches when I slide my fingers in a little deeper. The way he whimpers.

His hands grip the towel. Then me.

I pull my fingers out slowly, and I’m watching the way his body clenches, trying to hold onto me.

He’s breathing harder now, and his cheeks are flushed already.

I pause.

Just for a second. Just to look at him.

To take him in, and the fact that he’s trusting me completely. Letting me see him like this.

I love it.

I slick my hand and wrap it around myself with zero rushing.

God, the way he watches me like he’s mesmerized, like he needs this as much as I do, makes me want to fall apart before I even touch him again.

Makes me want to get on my knees and beg for him.

I stroke myself slowly, trying to coat every inch, making sure there’s no rush, no tension, no edge to any of this.

Because this isn’t about release.

It’s about him.

About being inside him one last time, not to claim him, but to stay with him.

He opens his legs a little wider. Brings his knees up, inviting me in.

His eyes are never leaving mine.

There’s no fear.

I line myself up. Hold his hips.

Lean in, our foreheads touching.

And then I start pushing inside.

I drop my forehead to his.

This is fucking heaven.

This time it feels like the whole world narrows to this one moment.

I let out a shaky breath. “Fuck…”

He pulls me closer and hugs my shoulders while his legs are locking around my waist.

“Don’t go slow,” he whispers. “Just be with me.”

I kiss him softly.

And I start to move.

In and out.

Not for friction. Not for pace.

But like I’m saying I love you with every thrust.

Because I am.

There’s no one else out here.

Just us. The sea. The wind. And the slow, soft sound of my hips meeting his.

I keep moving in and out of him like I’ve got nowhere else to be. Like time isn’t chasing us. My hand slides down his side, to feel the way he shivers when I hit the right spot.

He gasps, and his fingers are digging into my back.

“I’m so lucky it’s you, Gio,” he breathes.

I kiss his mouth gently.

“Say it again and I swear I won’t let you go.” I murmur against his lips.

My thrusts are still steady and not rushed. Just deep.

The waves crash behind us. There are birds somewhere nearby, singing like idiots, like they don’t know.

His hands roam, my shoulders, my jaw, my hair, not able to decide what part of me to hold on to.

My lips find his throat, his collarbone, the shell of his ear.

I whisper his name more than once.

And him?

Whining it.

Begging with it.

“Gio… don’t stop—”

“Not gonna.”

“Please—”

“I’ve got you, baby. Just stay with me.”

He moans when I angle my hips just right, and God, he clenches around me so perfectly I almost lose it.

But I don’t.

Not yet.

Because I want this to last.

I want him to feel everything.

I want him to remember the sound of our skin.

And the way his name sounds on my tongue when I’m not holding anything back.

The sky brightens a little more.

The air smells like salt.

And I keep moving, in, out, in, slow and deep.

Because if this is the last time?

Then I’m making it count.

His nails drag down my back, just enough to sting.

Just enough to make me move a little deeper, a little harder.

He gasps quietly. That only happens when it’s me inside him.

His mouth finds my jaw.

“Gio—”

I press my forehead to his. My hand slips under his thigh, lifting him slightly.

I’m changing the angle until I feel him clench and cry out beneath me.

“Right there?” I ask, even though I know the answer.

He nods, desperate.

I give it to him again. Harder now. Deeper.

My hips roll slowly, again, and again, and again and again.

Until we’re both shaking.

His legs tighten around my waist, locking me in.

His hands are on my neck, my hair.

I kiss him again.

The waves crash behind us. The birds are still singing.

The sun’s starting to spill light over the sand, gold and soft and too beautiful for a moment that hurts this much.

He moans into my mouth. My hand moves between us, wraps around him, strokes him in sync with every thrust.

Every thrust says stay. Every kiss says… please don’t forget me.

“Gio I’m close—”

“I know, baby. I got you. Just let go.”

He chokes on a sound, jerks in my hand, his back arching hard beneath me.

He buries his face in my neck and shatters in my arms.

Right between us.

Whimpering my name.

I lose it.

The second I feel him come undone, the second I hear his voice crack like that, I bury myself deep and come so hard I see stars.

My hand on his chest. My mouth on his shoulder.

Whispering his name.

I stay there.

Inside him.

Wrapped around him. Afraid to move.

Because if I do… this ends.

I’ve never loved anyone like this.

Not even close.

The kind of love that makes you want to give up your name just to take theirs. The kind of love that makes a future feel less like a dream and more like a fight worth bleeding for.

He shifts a little, just enough for our noses to touch.

Our legs are still tangled, my hips still pressed deep into his.

We click like two puzzle pieces.

“You okay?”

I nod against his skin.

“Yeah,” I say. “I just don’t wanna let go yet.”

He exhales like he understands.

So I stay. Holding him. Loving him. Saying everything without saying a word.

Because if this is the last time?

He needs to know.

He’s it for me.

---

Hello :)

Turns out I have mixed feelings for this one, I feel like it could’ve been better I don’t know :/

I’m sad cause now that i’m on vacation I can’t concentrate 100%…

Don’t worry tho I will still cook:))))

THATS ALL BYE BYE I LOVE YOU <3

95) No Gio

Rava’s POV

I zip the suitcase shut slowly.

Mom is sitting on the edge of my bed. “Are you sure there’s no program here, in Italy?” she says with a small voice. “Silvia’s mom became a teacher just a few years ago! She didn’t go all the way to Canada…”

It hurts.

I hate that nobody really gets it.

They all act like this was some impulsive dramatic move, like I woke up one day and went, “Hm, what if I just disappear to Canada for vibes.”

Like I didn’t sit there with five different tabs open, comparing salaries and hiring rates and how long it takes to actually get a stable job in a school.

Didn’t talk to advisors, read forums, watch videos of people explaining the process.

I didn’t just spin a globe and land here?!

They think I chose distance over love and family.

What they don’t see is the math behind it.

The ugly, boring, adult shit.

Canada counts more.

This degree counts more. The experience counts more.

The fact that if I stay in Canada, do my hours, get my license, I can have a job in an actual classroom in a few years.

Maybe even right away.

Not in twenty years.

Not “maybe when I’m forty if the system decides I exist.”

If I chose to stay here, I’d be sending CVs and praying, watching my life stuck on pause, doing something that has nothing to do with what I studied, while I “wait my turn.”

Like a number in a deli queue.

Next! Not you.

Next!

Still not you.

And they act offended because I didn’t want that.

Like, what do they think? That I enjoy being on the other side of the world, in some cold city where no one knows how to spell my name and everything closes too early and the weather wants me dead??

They think if I really wanted, I could’ve stayed.

You know, “Find a master’s program here, look around, there must be something.”

Yeah. There are things. And I looked.

But be for real, how many people have you seen stuck in the same town, overqualified, underpaid, waiting for an opening that never comes?

Substitute teacher here, temp contract there. No stability. No guarantee. Just a “Maybe next year.”

I don’t want “maybe” when I’m thirty-five.

So Canada is clearer.

You do this program, you pass this exam, you get this license, you apply.

Is it perfect? No.

Is it easy? God, no.

But at least there’s a line you can actually follow.

At least when they say, “If you do A, B, C,” something actually happens at the end.

Here, it feels like, “Do A, B, C, D, E, F, G, sacrifice your soul, wait ten years, and maybe you’ll get half a contract if someone retires or dies.”

Why is it so hard to understand that I didn’t want to build my entire life on that?

They act like I chose myself over them.

They don’t get that choosing this was also choosing them .

Because what was the other option, really?

Stay near Gio, near my family, sure.

Physically close.

But constantly stressed, constantly hoping that “one day” I’ll get the call that says, “Congratulations, you can finally do the job you’ve wanted since you were a kid.”

How long before that stress eats everything??

Before it turns me bitter, resentful, exhausted.

Before I start snapping at the people I love because I’m stuck and it’s not their fault but they’re the ones in front of me.

Do they seriously think that would’ve been better?

That some half-version of me, frustrated and trapped, would be more present than the version of me who’s far but actually building something?

I want to be the guy who comes back and says, “I did it. I got the job. I can stand in a classroom and actually teach.” Not the guy who shows up to dinner like, “Yup, still waiting. Still temporary. Still maybe next year.”

And do they really think I don’t miss them?

Like, honestly. Do they think I get off on walking through a city where nobody knows me?

Where I can’t just bump into Daisy at a store or Jin at some random bus stop.

Do they think I like counting time zones in my head to see when it’s okay to call?

Do they think I enjoy watching my mother’s face glitch on video call because the Wi-Fi sucks and I miss half of what she says?

Do they really think I chose loneliness on purpose?

If there was a master’s program in Italy that gave me similar security, similar respect for my profession, do they think I wouldn’t have taken it?

I walk over and kneel in front of my mom, resting my hands on her knees.

“Mom,” I say gently, “what I’m doing now… it’s so I can get placed in a school in two or three years. Not twenty-three.”

She stares at me for a second. Then lets out a soft laugh while wiping her eyes. “Right. Of course. That makes sense,” she murmurs, brushing her fingers through my hair the way she always does when she’s trying not to cry.

“I’m so proud of you, Rava,” she says. “For everything. You’re incredible, and your future students… they’ll be the luckiest little kids in the world.”

I wasn’t planning to cry. But I feel it building in my throat. It burns. I bite the inside of my cheek, nodding.

Then Daisy barges in.

“Ehhhh?! Don’t have a family moment without me, you traitors.”

She throws her arms around both of us dramatically, and I can’t help but laugh through the tears. Jin appears at the door like he’s debating whether he’s allowed to be soft today.

He ends up coming over and hugging us too, awkward but warm.

Mom sniffs, looking at all of us. “You see? The four of us… we’re doing just fine. I’m so proud of you. All of you. You’re such wonderful kids.”

Then she pauses.

“I just wish your father ever saw it.”

I take her hand. “Don’t be sad. He didn’t deserve to.”

That makes everyone smile. Even her.

Then Daisy eyes me sideways. “Sooo… you and Gio. What are you two gonna do?”

I sigh. Hard.

I don’t answer right away, because there is no easy answer. No clear next step. We are just two guys in love with the world trying to literally pull us apart.

“We’re… figuring it out,” I say finally. “Even we don’t know yet. But we’ll find a way. I promise.”

Mom stands and strokes my cheek. “We don’t have much time left. When you’re ready… let’s head to the car.”

I nod. I’m definitely not ready. But I nod anyway.

I zip my shoulder bag too, and take one long look around the room.

God, it looks empty. Not physically, everything’s still here, but it feels empty.

Like it’s already mourning me.

I sigh, throw myself face-first onto the bed, and stretch out like a starfish.

My spine lets out a crack of gratitude. Finally.

After hours of packing, crouching, folding, organizing.

I let my cheek sink into the pillow, try to freeze time for just one more minute.

Bang.

Something lightly hits the back of my head.

What the flip.

I turn my face to the side.

Oh?

It’s Gio.

Sitting at my bedroom door. Wearing those gray sweatpants that should be illegal, low on his hips, and definitely not hiding a damn thing.

Black tight tee that hugs his chest and his arms.

I blink.

Nope. Real. Unfortunately.

“You good, angel?” he asks, with that little smirk that says he knows exactly what he’s doing.

I bury my face in the pillow again.

I just made peace with leaving. I was this close to accepting reality.

And now my reality has biceps and dick print and no sense of timing.

My brain is in emotional survival mode. But my body’s planning crimes.

Gio lies down next to me.

He doesn’t say anything at first, just lets out a deep sigh.

“Can you tell Noah I said hi?”

I smile into the pillow. “Of course.”

“And maybe slap him too?” he adds casually. “Wait—no. Forget it. He might be into that. You know, masochist vibes. He’s crazy. Might end up liking you.”

I let out a short laugh and turn my face toward him. “He won’t like me. I’m not his type.”

Gio raises an eyebrow, grinning. “Good. Real good.”

I lift my hand and admire the duck ring like it’s made of actual diamonds. I move it a bit, just for effect.

“I can’t wait for some guy in Canada to hit on me,” I say dramatically. “So I can flash this and go: I am a married man, you certified headache!”

Gio full-on wheezes next to me.

“My married man’s so unhinged,” he says, grinning.

“Damn right I am.” I keep staring at the ring. “This face? Off the market. This ass? Protected by duck law.”

He doesn’t say anything.

He grabs my jaw with both hands and starts attacking my face with the most chaotic, rushed little kisses, cheeks, nose, forehead, chin, everywhere.

I’m dying laughing, trying to push him off. “Gio, what the hell—stop,” He kisses me again, right on the mouth.

“Mine,” he mumbles.

God help me, I love this man so much I’m gonna start crying.

He stands up, brushing his palms on his sweatpants.

“Don’t forget to read that notebook I gave you,” he says, nodding toward my bag. “Take it on the plane. You’ve got a long-ass trip.”

I nod. “Of course. I’ll read the whole thing.”

He groans. “Fuck— I forgot the bracelet. I’ll bring it to the airport, alright?”

Then he leans down and ruffles my hair one last time.

“Alright. I’m heading to my mom’s home to check on her for a bit.”

“Shit,” I blurt, sitting up. “I didn’t say goodbye to her. She’s gonna think I’m some horrible rude-ass boyfriend—”

He laughs and kisses my forehead. “Don’t stress. I’ll bring her. You’ll say bye to everyone. Chill.”

I smile at him, still in survival mode but still comforted just by that.

“See you at the airport, okay?” he says quietly. “I love you.”

He’s already halfway down the hallway.

“Love you too!”

He throws a hand up in the air without turning around. “Stop lying, Weston!”

I laugh.

---

I’m dragging my suitcase across the shiny airport floor, the wheels squeaking every now and then. Time to buy a new one I guess.

My carry-on is heavy as hell, and I have to shrug the strap back onto my shoulder every five seconds, which is driving me crazy.

Daisy walks beside me, chewing gum.

“When’s Gio coming?” she asks casually.

“Relax,” I tell her. “He’ll be here. He just went to check on his mom first.”

“Aww,” she sighs, clasping her hands together like a little dramatic theater kid. “I love that man. He’s such a green flag. Please don’t cheat on him with some random Canadian.”

I stop. Literally stop walking.

“Do I look like someone who cheats?!” I snap, completely offended.

She smirks. “I mean—”

“And more importantly,” I cut her off, “do I look like someone who would cheat on freaking Gio ?! That would be a downgrade. A cosmic downgrade.”

She starts laughing, but I just keep walking.

Let her laugh. I meant that shit.

__

It’s been… an hour.

We’re sitting in a random corner on the floor. There isn’t a single empty chair in this godforsaken airport, and I’m starting to feel every bone in my back scream.

Daisy leans her head toward me. “I know there’s still time,” she says quietly. “But… does he know you’re actually leaving?”

I swallow hard. “Yeah. He knows,” I say quickly, almost too quickly. “He’ll come.”

I know he’ll come.

He has to.

Because anything else… just isn’t possible.

I pull out my phone. Send a message.

ME:

-Gio?

• It’s almost time. You on your way?“

No answer.

Hm.

My stomach twists. He hasn’t opened any of them.

Nothing.

I stare at the three grey dots that do not appear.

Maybe he’s driving. He shouldn’t text while he’s driving. That’s good. That’s… responsible. Right.

Good job, Gio.

Safety first, I love that for you, I hate that for me.

I try to stay calm.

Maybe he’s just busy with his mom.

Maybe I’m overthinking.

If something had happened… he would’ve told me.

Right?

He’s at home. That’s what he said.

He’s coming. I believe it. I have to.

__

Shit.

Another thirty minutes.

My knee is bouncing so fast.

I’m pretty sure I’ve circled the same ten feet of terminal at least six times, running my fingers through my hair like I’m trying to rip it out of my skull.

I’ve called. Again. And again.

Voicemail.

Voicemail.

That’s it. He’s not coming.

He’s not fucking coming.

“He’s not coming,” I say, breathless, like I’m choking on the words. “He’s not gonna make it.”

Daisy stands up. “Rava—”

“No. No, don’t—please.”

I sit down on the cold tile floor with my elbows on my knees, and my head in my hands.

He fucking promised. He promised me.

And I believed him. Like a goddamn idiot.

Why isn’t he answering? Why won’t he pick up?

Did something happen? Did he change his mind?

Did he remember that I’m just the stupid little kid he used to roll his eyes at and decide I’m not worth the trouble after all?

Or worse—

Did something happen to his mom?

My hands are shaking.

I don’t know. I don’t know anything.

And I fucking hate not knowing.

I just want someone to tell me what’s going on.

Just tell me why he’s not here.

The announcement comes through.

Flight to Toronto. Gate 12. Now boarding.

It’s real. I try to close my eyes and open them again like a fool.

It’s not a nightmare. Everything inside me shuts down.

The world around me becomes pure static.

The voice on the speaker, people saying goodbye, doors hissing open, none of it registers clearly anymore.

I want to cry. Not sweetly. Not quietly.

I want to cry like someone just pulled the ground out from under me and told me to keep fucking walking.

My mom wraps her arms around me. It should help. It doesn’t.

Not even a little.

He said he’d be here. He promised.

I pull away and look at her. “Did you try calling him again? Or his mom?”

She nods slowly, with sympathy already in her eyes. “I did, sweetheart. You saw me try. There’s still nothing.”

I shake my head. This can’t be real. “No. No, this doesn’t make sense.”

I know Gio. I know the chaos, the carelessness, the rough edges.

But this? Leaving me like this ? This isn’t Gio. It can’t be.

I swallow hard. Trying to think of a possible reason why.

He wouldn’t do this to me. He wouldn’t.

But what if he didn’t change his mind? What if something happened and I just don’t know?

And I hate this part the most. The not knowing.

Ten minutes later.

It’s over.

It’s actually over.

I’m standing. Moving. Dragging myself toward the line, falling apart inside.

My name’s not being called. There’s no sprinting through the terminal. No dramatic entrance.

No Gio.

No nothing.

He didn’t come. He’s not coming. He’s not going to come.

And I still can’t make myself believe it.

My brain is still screaming that this isn’t real. That maybe I missed him.

That he’s outside arguing with security or stuck in traffic or something, anything.

But every step I take toward that gate feels like a nail being driven in deeper.

He didn’t even say goodbye.

I wasn’t worth a goodbye.

I leave my family behind as I walk to the queue. They don’t say anything. I think they can feel it too, that I’m not here. Not really.

It’s finished. And somehow I still can’t let go. Because it’s Gio. And Gio was supposed to fight…

…

The plane smells like plastic. Everyone around me is either scrolling on their phones or flipping through safety pamphlets like nothing’s wrong.

I’m dying quietly in seat 24A.

I sit by the window. Hug my arms tight to my chest.

Maybe it’s all some kind of joke, right?

Some twisted, cruel surprise Gio planned. Maybe… I don’t know.

Maybe he bought a last-minute ticket.

Maybe he’s going to come strolling down the aisle and sit next to me and whisper something cocky like “Missed me already, Weston?”

Maybe…

But then the plane lurches.

The engines start. We begin to move.

And something inside me just breaks.

Because that’s it. It’s over. It’s real.

He’s not coming.

All this time, I thought I’d accepted it.

That maybe something had happened and he’d explain it all later and we’d laugh and cry and kiss in the middle of the street.

But I was lying to myself.

Because somewhere deep down, I was still waiting for him to show up.

Still hoping.

And now…

Now the runway is sliding past. The city is growing smaller. Italy is fading, and with it, him.

My throat tightens. My eyes burn. And I cry.

Silently and desperately. I press my forehead to the window so nobody can see. But the tears are there. Sliding hot down my face, and I can’t stop them even if I wanted to.

I watch the land shrink beneath the clouds. And all I can think is that I’m leaving without him.

I’m leaving behind everything I wanted. Everything I loved. And I don’t know how I’m supposed to survive this.

A part of me is still down there, on the ground. Still waiting.

I hold the notebook like it’s proof that any of this was real. That he’s real. That I didn’t just dream him up, this man with his stupid smirk and the sexy smile.

It’s black. Of course it is. Big. Worn.

Covered in ridiculous stickers of motorcycles, flames, traffic lights, tiny racing cars.

So Gio. So… painfully Gio.

I run my fingers over the cover.

Then I open it.

The first page hits me like a brick.

The handwriting is chaos. Some letters are huge, like he actually shouted them.

Others are small and messy, crammed into corners like secrets. The ink smudges in places.

I start reading.

PAGE 1:

“OKAY. First of all, I don’t even know why I have to write in this dumb notebook. Miss Bianchi said it’s good for ‘processing my emotions’. Ew. I don’t have emotions. I have muscles. And I punch stuff.

But fine. If I have to write, I’m gonna write like a boss. Like a cool dude. Like someone who can ride a motorcycle without holding on.

(Not saying I’ve done that. But I COULD.)

So. This is MY notebook now. And if anyone reads it without permission, I hope they step on a LEGO and never find a good pizza again.

Anyway. Today was boring. School sucked, as usual. We had math first, and Mr. Lupo is such a nerd. He said I ‘need to apply myself’. I told him to apply his face to a wall! Hahaha. I didn’t actually say it out loud, but I thought it really hard, and I think he felt it. lunch was meatballs. I traded mine for chips. BEST DEAL. I’m a genius.

Oh, also Elio fell on the stairs and said a bad word and everyone laughed, and I laughed too but not at him, just with him. (Maybe a little at him.)

My favorite part of the day is when I go home and dad’s back from work. He smells like engine stuff all the time, and it’s the best smell in the world. He’s the strongest person I know. One time he fixed a whole car engine with just a wrench and some cursing. He says I’m gonna be tougher than him one day. I believe him. He calls me ‘il mio piccolo terrore’ and that’s way cooler than being called ‘Giovanni’ like I’m some fancy violin boy.

Anyway. I don’t know if I’m doing this right. But whatever. If this notebook is gonna be mine, it’s not for feelings. It’s for facts. Like:

1. Pizza is life.

2. Homework is evil.

3. I will own a motorcycle before I turn 14.

4. Kicking is not always the answer, but it’s usually the answer.

5. My dad is cooler than your dad. (Unless you’re reading this, dad, then hi. You’re the best. (Don’t tell mom I said that.)

6. I don’t cry. Ever. Except that one time I got shampoo in my eyes. That doesn’t count.

7. No one messes with Gio Fontana.

– GIO FONTANA

…

I laugh through a sob, covering my mouth. People probably think I’m insane. Let them. I keep reading. This is too good.

PAGE 2:

Okay so today sucked again, obviously.

Mr. Roberto made me sit in the front of the class which is illegal. Pretty sure. He said I talk too much. I don’t even talk that much. People just listen too slow. Not my fault.

Also, I stepped in MUD. Not regular mud. Evil mud. It got in my SOCK. I screamed a little.

Man scream. Not baby scream.

My mom said “Giovanni, breathe.” I WAS.

That was me breathing aggressively.

Anyway.

Everyone at school’s acting dumb lately.

Talking about crushes. Barf. All the boys are like “Ooooh Giulia smiled at me,” and “I think I wanna kiss Martina,” and I’m just sitting there like: shut up and die. Who cares.

They asked me who I like and I said “I like fast engines and the smell of burnt rubber.”

That shut them up. Luigi said I’m gonna die alone and I said “Good. Peace and quiet.”

Oh right. Today I had to go to this kid’s house after school ’cause our moms had “work stuff” to talk about. Boring. Adults are SO LOUD.

They laugh like everything’s funny even when it’s not.

And they drink weird juice that smells like butt.

Guess whose house it was. Rava’s. Yeah. That guy. He’s in my class too which is so unfair. Like I can’t escape him. He’s everywhere. And now he’s also the son of my mom’s “business friend” or whatever. So now I have to see his face EVEN AFTER SCHOOL.

At least his mom makes good pies.

Like, really good. I almost asked for a third slice but then he looked at me with his “manners” eyes like “you already had two” and I had to act like I wasn’t gonna. RUDE.

Anyway.

Rava’s a total nerd. He raises his hand for EVERYTHING. One time he corrected the teacher. Like, who even does that?

His notebooks are so neat it’s disgusting. And he’s always got pencils sharpened like weapons. I bet he’d survive a zombie attack with just a ruler and a stapler. I told him that and he laughed. Which was weird.

While our moms were doing their adult blah blah, we were stuck in his living room.

I was gonna turn on the TV but he said “We don’t watch too much television on weekdays.”

I thought I was gonna die right there.

So I tried to talk about bikes. I said if I had a Ducati I’d never come home again. I’d ride across the whole world and make everyone eat my dust. He blinked. Said something like “That sounds dangerous. Why would you want that?”

HE ACTUALLY SAID THAT. I was like “Dangerous IS the point, nerd.” Then he said he wants to be a teacher when he grows up.

Like a TEACHER. Like Mr. Roberto but tiny and with no mustache .

I said “Why would you want to be stuck in a school forever??” And he said “Because I like helping people learn.” Ughhhhh. Help yourself to some fun maybe??

I stole a cupcake and gave it to him. Because I felt bad. He said “thank you.” Like that. All soft.

And smiled.

Then I said “wanna see a trick?” And I made a fork disappear into my sleeve. He said “that’s just stealing.” WHATEVER. It was COOL.

My cousin Lorenzo would’ve clapped.

We ended up playing cards. He beat me five times but I think he cheated. His face is too calm. It’s suspicious.

I don’t get it. He’s not cool. He doesn’t like bikes. He organizes his crayons. He says “please” and “thank you.”

He’s like… a grandpa in a kid’s body.

So why do I keep writing about him???

Stupid notebook. You’re making me sound obsessed. I’m not. He’s just annoying. Whatever.

I’m gonna draw a bike now to fix my brain.

— Gio

…

I can’t believe this is real. I’m actually sitting on a plane to Canada, crying like a loser into my shirt, and this idiot gave me a whole ass diary.

And now I’m reading about me. Apparently I’m “that guy.” Okay. Cool.

Now I want to read every single page. Every stupid, angry, messy thought he ever scribbled down.

PAGE 3

TODAY I went for a ride with Dad on the motorbike and it was SO FREAKIN’ COOL. I love it. My dad is the coolest dad in the world. I’m not even saying that to be nice. It’s just a fact. He lets me sit in front and he doesn’t even care if I yell like “VROOOOM” really loud.

But… lately he looks kinda sad. I don’t like that.

When he smiles it’s like the sun is out, and when he’s quiet it’s like a thunderstorm is sitting on the couch. I wish I could fix it. But I’m just a kid.

A cool kid. But still a kid.

OH. Speaking of bad dads… Rava’s dad SUCKS.

He’s always yelling at him like Rava did something horrible, but Rava literally just exists and breathes and reads stupid long books. Like, okay? That’s ugly but not a crime? He also yells at my dad. If that man yells at him again I’m gonna throw a pie in his face. A real one. Like from cartoons. SMACK.

Anyway. GUESS WHAT. My cousin LORENZO is coming today from his little village and he’s NOT a nerd. He’s hilarious. He always makes me laugh even when I try to act mysterious and serious like a mafia boss. He gets it. He likes motorbikes too. I can’t wait to see him and roast Rava together. It’s gonna be epic.

Even though dad said I should give Rava another chance because he’s “a sweet boy deep down.” Yeah, well, DEEP DEEP DOWN maybe. Like, underground. Under the basement. Of hell.

Today we had to do group work at school.

He said we should write about the history of our town. I said no. We’re writing about motorcycles through time. He said that’s not educational.

I said your FACE isn’t educational.

He said that doesn’t make sense.

I said your MOM doesn’t make sense.

Then he blinked at me for like five minutes straight.

I think I won.

But then he actually started writing??

Like… FAST. He made a timeline and used colored pencils and everything. He had green, blue, and pink. Who even OWNS pink?

Then he said, “we should take this seriously, Giovanni.” I said “I am taking it seriously.”

(While drawing fire on the wheel of a bike.)

He said “you spelled ‘transmission’ wrong.”

SO WHAT.

I spelled it like it sounds: tranzmishun.

It’s called phonetics. Look it up.

Then the teacher came.

She said “you two make a good team.”

I almost puked.

Rava smiled again. I hate that smile. I hate how he fixes his dumb collar every two seconds.

I hate that he says “bless you” when I cough.

I hate that when I said “I don’t need anyone,”

he said “that’s okay, I’ll just be here.”

WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT.

WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU’LL JUST BE HERE.

GET OUT OF HERE.

I’m FINE.

He left his eraser on my desk. I kept it. Not because I like him. Just because I might need it.

For emergencies. Like erasing his face from my brain.

He’s such a nerd that when he’s near me my heart starts beating real fast. Probably because my body is WARNING ME that I’m about to DIE from too much nerd energy.

Gross.

– GIO

(p.s. I’m awesome.)

…

I’m literally laughing through tears because Gio, at ten years old, was trying so hard to be an outlaw. Big bad rebel boy, writing “gross” in all caps just because his heart fluttered when I stood near him. And now? That same man is the reason I’m breaking apart thirty thousand feet above sea level.

I sniffle, trying to make it quiet, but I sound like a broken bike horn.

“Here,” someone says beside me.

I turn my head. A boy about our age is holding out a tissue. He’s blonde, pale, Swedish-looking as hell.

I blink. Then I give him a polite smile and take the tissue. “Thanks,” I mumble and turn my face away so he doesn’t see how pathetic I look.

“So emotional, huh?” he says gently. I pause. Then I glance back at him.

“It’s my boyfriend’s journal,” I say.

His eyebrows lift and he props his chin on his hand. “Aw. That’s adorable. He keeps a journal? What a sweet guy.”

I snort. “No, he’s not sweet,” I say. “Once, he sent someone to the hospital for saying something about me.”

The guy blinks. “He did, huh?”

Then he tilts his head. “So… why were you crying before you even started reading?”

Oof.

There’s a thousand things I could say. A thousand real things. But I don’t want to make Gio look like he’s not… here.

Like he didn’t show up. Like he forgot me. Because I want to believe he didn’t.

So I lie. “…I’m scared of planes.”

Seriously, Rava? That’s what you came up with?

You were crying your eyes out cause you’re scared.

The guy laughs. “That’s cute.” Then he stretches a little in his seat and says, “I’m Hugo, by the way. What’s your name?”

I panic. The word Rava gets stuck in my throat.

“…It’s Roy.”

Nice. What are you, a fake cowboy now?

“Nice to meet you, Roy,” Hugo says with a sleepy grin. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna pass out. But hey, if you run out of tissues, give me a nudge.” He smiles again and leans back.

I just nod. Still holding Gio’s journal.

---

🩷END OF RIDE OR DIE PART TWO!!!🩷

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96) Nicola

Gio’s POV

I open the front door to my mom’s place.

She’s in her room, lying down.

Her face is pale but weirdly calm.

Okay, she still manages to smile. That’s good.

I swallow whatever’s fucking choking me and force a small smile back, walking in.

I sit next to her, leaning in and wrapping my arms around her carefully. “How are you feeling?” I ask.

She exhales slowly. Her hand rests on mine, her fingers feel weirdly cold. “I’m okay,” she says. “This morning, I had this pressure in my chest. It hurt, but… now it’s better!”

I nod, brushing some hair from her face. “I’m really glad it’s better,” I say, but I’m concerned. “You should’ve told me, Ma. About the whole thing. You think I wouldn’t want to know?”

She closes her eyes for a second, and she looks guilty. “I didn’t want to worry you. You’ve already lost your father… I didn’t want to pile more on you.”

Shit.

“Don’t say dumb stuff like that. You’re not a burden. Don’t ever think you have to go through this alone.”

I press a kiss to her forehead. “You’ve got me. Always.”

She coughs again.

Well, shit.

That didn’t sound healthy at all.

She smiles at me through it. “So… Rava’s leaving today?”

I nod. I can’t talk for a second, because my throat’s tight again. “Yeah. Today,” I manage.

She watches me like she sees right through me. “Oh, baby…” she murmurs. “I’m so sorry. He’s such a good boy. And smart. You two… you’re so different, but you fit. Like puzzle pieces.”

I glance down and smile a little. Yeah, we do.

“He wanted to say goodbye before he left,” I tell her. “But I thought maybe if you were feeling up to it… we could both go to the airport. What do you think?”

She lights up, just a little. “Yes,” she says, and reaches up to touch my cheek. “Of course. I’d love to see him before he goes. I’ll rest after. Let me get ready!”

I nod, helping her sit up gently.

I grab the bracelet from my desk.

It’s finally done.

God, I’ve put together exhaust systems. I’ve rebuilt entire engines from scratch. I’ve taken machines that were rusted, forgotten, broken and made them scream down the highway like they were born again.

But nothing, nothing , has ever made me prouder than this dumb little bracelet.

The damn thing fought me like hell. The knots were too tight, then too loose. The beads wouldn’t sit right. The string snapped. Twice. I almost snapped, too.

Swear to God.

Emiliana made it look easy, with her tiny hands and that serious little face.

That kid… I hope she gets every good thing in this life. All the magic. All the softness. She gave me more courage than she’ll ever know.

I double-check the little plastic pill organizer I set up for mom.

My brow furrows.

“Ma… I think you skipped one.”

She leans over, squinting. “Ah, that? It’s nothing, don’t worry, Giovanni. I’m fine.”

I don’t fucking like that answer.

“Why didn’t you take it?” I ask, clearly annoyed.

“Aaaah, don’t raise your voice,” she says, waving me off like I’m making a scene. “I’ll take it now. I just got distracted with work.”

Oh, man. I’m gonna lose it.

“ Work ? What work? You looked at numbers yesterday? They told you to rest. The company’s under control. Your only job is to get better.“

She nods calmly. “That’s exactly what I’m doing. Trust me.”

I just stare at her for a second. I hate this. I hate that she’s trying to keep things normal, like I won’t notice when something’s off.

I have been watching her like a hawk since that first goddamn cough.

During the meeting.

“Just… don’t skip anything again, okay?” I mutter. “Don’t scare me.”

“I won’t,” she promises gently, placing her hand over mine.

10 Minutes Later

“Ma, seriously, are you ready? We’re gonna miss Rava!”

Nothing.

Okay. Maybe she didn’t hear me. Maybe she’s taking her pills or fixing her hair or, I don’t know?! Stuff that women do.

Still nothing.

“Mom?”

She always answers. Even if it’s just a grunt. Even if she’s annoyed.

I stand up slowly. Not panicking.

Something feels off.

I walk down the hallway.

“Ma?”

Louder this time.

Silence.

My heart’s in my throat now. I speed up. I knock lightly on her door, trying not to sound like I’m freaking out.

“Don’t make me get dramatic, woman,” I joke. Sort of. “You alive in there?”

Still. Nothing.

Shit.

I push the door open.

She turns toward me fast, wide eyes, a tissue pressed over her mouth, soaked red.

My whole body locks.

This is my nightmare coming true.

“What—mom??” I rush toward her. “What the fuck-what is that?! What happened??”

She tries to speak but coughs again, hard, and more blood hits the tissue.

No, no no no.

Why, WHY.

“I’m fine, baby, don’t—” she tries to say, but she’s pale and shaking.

“No. Fuck! No, we’re not doing this. I’m not—Ma, we’re going to the hospital. Now.”

“I just need a minute,” she whispers. “It’ll pass.”

“I don’t care if it passes, we’re going. Now. Fuck.”

My hands are shaking like hers. I’m trying not to cry. I grab her bag, throw my keys in my pocket.

All I can think is hospital. Her. She needs to breathe.

Rava— fuck . Rava’s literally fucking leaving and I’m not there.

I help her into the car with shaking hands. I’m trying not to drop her bag. I’m trying not to drop her.

My mind’s louder than the fucking engine.

She’s coughing again. Jesus Christ, she’s coughing again.

“Here, slow—easy,” I mumble, guiding her into the seat. She leans back and shuts her eyes. Her hand clutches the bloody tissue.

I shut the door, run around to the driver’s side. Slam it shut.

Start the engine. My hands are fucking trembling. I hate this.

I pull out fast.

Not recklessly. But not safe either. There’s no time to be careful when your whole world is bleeding beside you.

“Just breathe, Ma, come on,” I whisper, glancing at her.

Fuck. Her face is pale. I swallow down the panic. “You’re gonna be okay, alright? We’re almost there!”

She opens her eyes just a little. “I’m sorry, Giovanni…”

“Don’t—don’t apologize,” I choke out. “Just… just breathe. Breathe, Ma. We’re going to the hospital, okay? You’ll be fine. I got you.”

God, Rava. Rava’s at the airport. He’s probably looking at his phone, wondering where the hell I am.

Right. My phone.

…

I left my fucking phone on the table.

I grip the wheel tighter. My knuckles go white.

Why now. Why the fuck now .

Why today, out of all fucking days.

This is literally the worst thing that could happen.

Too bad to even consider it possible.

She coughs again.

Fuck me.

“Try to breathe, Ma,” I say quickly. “Focus on that, not me, not anything else. We’re going. You’re gonna be okay. Just hold on.”

Her voice is barely there. “Rava…”

“No,” I cut her off, blinking fast. “Don’t talk. You’re bleeding. Just… please. Just breathe. Please.”

I run a red light.

I swear I’m gonna fucking break.

But I don’t.

I keep my eyes on the road, my hand ready to catch her if she slips.

Another fucking red light.

I slam on the brake just in time. A sea of people starts crossing like it’s the fucking Venice Carnival. Slowly. Laughing. Talking. Eating fucking gelato.

I pound the steering wheel. “Are you fucking kidding me?!”

I clench my jaw. My leg’s bouncing so hard. I lean forward, my forehead is almost hitting the wheel while my fists are gripping it like I could tear it off.

Why.

Why the fuck is this happening to me.

To her.

To Rava.. I had one fucking good thing.

A boyfriend who for fuck’s sake ,now he probably thinks I forgot him.

Thinks I bailed. Thinks I didn’t care enough to say goodbye. And I do. I fucking do.

I care so, so much it’s almost embarrassing.

I squeeze my eyes shut for a second.

And then there’s Ma. Bleeding beside me. My fucking mother.

I turn and glance at her. Her head’s tilted back against the seat and her lips parted like she’s trying to get air that won’t come.

I want to scream. I want to punch through the windshield.

Instead I grip the wheel tighter.

I have to stay calm. I have to.

But inside I’m breaking. Cracking down the middle.

The one person I love is at the airport, leaving. The other is bleeding out beside me.

The world didn’t even give me a goddamn chance.

No time to fix it.

No time to explain.

Just pain. Right where it hurts the most.

This is what I get, huh?

For finally wanting something. For finally loving someone. For finally feeling like I deserve a little fucking light.

And life turns around and punches me straight in the gut.

The light turns green. I floor it.

I slam the car door and run to her side.

“Come on, Ma—one more push, one more.” I’m trying to sound calm but my voice is a fucking mess.

I wrap her arm around my shoulders, hold her close, half-carry her through the sliding doors.

She’s coughing again.

A nurse runs over, pushing a wheelchair. I help lower her in, trying to keep her upright while my hands are freaking shaking.

She won’t stop coughing.

“Name?” “Claudia Fontana,” I spit out. “She’s forty seven. She’s been fine, just—just—” “Okay, okay,” the nurse cuts in gently. “We’ve got her. You her son?” “Yes. Giovanni. Fontana. I’m her son.”

Someone’s already wheeling her away.

She reaches back, weakly. I don’t follow.

I just stand there, watching the doors close behind her.

Then I turn to the woman at the reception desk. “Can I… Can I make a call? Please.”

She nods, already passing me the landline.

I sit next to her, pressing the receiver to my ear.

Come on. Come on, Gio, you just need to call Rava.

I stare at the numbers.

Nothing comes.

My brain blanks.

I try again.

Nothing.

“Fuck,” I whisper.

Fuck fuck fuck.

I grip the receiver tighter.

I try to picture the numbers. I try to imagine texting him.

Nothing.

Fucking nothing.

I never memorized his number.

Why didn’t I?

Why the fuck didn’t I?

My leg starts bouncing.

I drop the phone into its cradle. Cover my face with both hands.

God, I’m so stupid.

I leave the phone there.

And I don’t call anyone.

I sit back down.

My knee bounces. Then my foot. Then I’m tapping my fingers. Rhythmically. Desperately.

I look over at the woman at the reception desk.

“Ma’am… is there any update? Anything at all?” She sighs, not even looking up.

“Sir, if I knew something, I’d tell you. You need to wait.”

Hell.

I’m waiting.

I’ve been waiting.

I stare at the ceiling. At the floor. At the fucking wall. Then back at her.

“What time is it?” I ask. She finally lifts her head, looks at the clock behind her. “5:46pm.”

FUCK.

I sit forward. Grip my hair.

His flight is in half an hour.

He boards in fifteen, maybe less.

I want to scream.

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t fucking know.

He’ll think I changed my mind. He’ll think I left him. He’ll think I couldn’t be bothered. That it didn’t mean anything. That I didn’t mean any of it.

He’ll think I forgot. That I fell asleep. That I just didn’t care.

He’ll sit there. Looking at the door.

And I won’t be there.

I press my palms against my face. Fuck, Rava.

I’m so sorry.

I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.

Everything aches.

You’re sitting there with your suitcase and your heart in your hands, and I left you.

I didn’t mean to, baby. I swear. I swear I was on my way. I had your bracelet. I was coming.

But I couldn’t let her bleed in front of me. I couldn’t let her die on me too. I had to save her.

I rock back in the chair. Let my head hit the wall.

I’ve never hated time more in my life.

—

She walks out.

A nurse.

Blond ponytail, white shoes, clipboard in hand.

I launch to my feet. “Hey—hi, is she okay? What happened?”

She holds her hand up calmly. “She’s okay,” she says. “It was from irritation in the bronchial tubes. Likely triggered because she missed one of her doses yesterday.”

My stomach drops.

“I knew it,” I mutter. “I fucking told her—”

The nurse gently continues. “If she sticks to her medication now, there’s no long-term issue. She just needs rest. She’s stable. You can go home if you want. We’ll monitor her. If things stay like this, she might be discharged by tonight.”

I nod. I nod way too many times. “Thank you, thank you—fuck. Thank you.”

I run. I run like hell .

Out the door. Into the car. I shove the key in, and check the time on the dash.

6:02.

“Please be delayed,” I whisper. “Please, baby, just be delayed—just this once—”

I shift into gear. I drive.

My eyes sting. But I don’t cry.

I hold the wheel with both hands.

I weave through the streets.

I don’t care if I hit every red light or run every green. I just need to get there.

He’s waiting. He’s waiting for me.

I finally pull into the airport. Slam the door shut.

I’m running.

I’m actually fucking running through the airport.

I push past people, bump into someone’s suitcase, mutter a “Sorry” I don’t even mean.

I’m on fire. My lungs are burning. My heart is doing that thing where it feels like it’s gonna punch through my ribs and leave me here.

I look up at the big digital clock.

6:18.

Please, please, please be late.

Please, Rava, be here. Be waiting. Be safe.

I keep running. I see someone ahead—tall, light hair, headphones around his neck.

That’s him.

It has to be.

I sprint toward him. My hand already reaching.

He turns around.

Nope.

Not him.

Fuck. Not even close.

I keep going. I don’t stop.

I finally get to the desk.

“Hi, please, Canada flight—Toronto, where is it,” I pant.

All my words are one big pile of shit tumbling out of my mouth.

The woman looks up. Calm. Way too calm for someone who’s about to crush me.

She types.

She clicks.

She reads.

And then:

“It took off a few minutes ago. Around 6:13. You just missed it. I’m sorry.”

…

No.

No, no, no, no.

She says something else. I don’t hear it. I don’t hear anything.

I just stand there. Staring at her like she told me someone died.

I’m outside now.

I see it.

The plane. Up there. Tiny. Gliding through the orange sky like it didn’t just rip me apart.

I fall onto a bench.

And I break.

I cry.

No, I sob. Like some fucking wreck. I cover my face with my hands, and it still comes out.

I didn’t make it.

I let him down.

I let him go.

He needed me. And I wasn’t there.

He was probably sitting with that innocent fucking expression of his, waiting. Looking around. Hopeful.

Turning that little hair tie around his wrist the way he always does when he’s nervous.

Scanning the crowd for me, like a kid after a school play, looking for the one person who promised they’d show up.

And I never did.

I never showed.

He probably thinks I changed my mind.

That I didn’t love him enough.

That he wasn’t important enough.

That he didn’t even deserve a goodbye.

I fucked it all up.

I said I’d be there, and I wasn’t. I said I’d fight for him, and I failed. I said I’d never hurt him like everyone else, and I just did it in the worst fucking way.

I wasn’t there.

And now he’s gone.

And I’m here.

Crying like a loser on a bench, while the boy I love flies away thinking I didn’t care.

Because life chose the worst fucking timing in the universe.

Someone sits next to me.

Arms wrap around my back.

Daisy.

She pulls me into her and I don’t even hesitate. I just fall into her chest and cry like a loser, with his bracelet on my hand.

The tears come so hard I can’t even breathe. I clutch her like I’m drowning.

“I didn’t want this,” I sob. “I tried. The hospital—I had to take her, I didn’t even have my phone, I didn’t—I didn’t mean to leave him like that—”

She rubs my back. Soft circles. Safe.

“He loves you, Gio,” she says. “He’ll understand.”

“He’s not even gonna believe me.”

“You’ll explain. When you can.”

I’m shaking so bad I can’t sit still. My hands won’t stop trembling.

__

I dropped onto the floor the second I stepped back inside my house.

Didn’t even bother taking off my shoes. Didn’t go upstairs. Just sat there like a fucking ghost, in the middle of the hallway, holding my head in both hands.

What the hell did I do.

What the fuck did I just do.

Rava’s really gone.

I didn’t say goodbye. Didn’t get to touch him one last time. Didn’t even get to see his face at the gate.

All I can see now is the look he must’ve had when he realized I wasn’t coming.

And the worst part?

He won’t even know why .

Not yet.

He’ll think I just didn’t care enough to show up.

I sat there on the floor, pulling at my hair, trying to breathe through the pounding in my skull.

He’s now in the air somewhere, flying across the world, heart probably splitting open, thinking the worst of me.

And honestly, he’s not wrong.

I failed him.

In the worst way.

I finally drag myself upstairs after God knows how long. Every step feels heavier than the last. Like I’m dragging guilt up every stair.

I fall onto the bed, not even under the covers.

Just lie there, useless.

Until I grab my phone, which I had left on my mom’s table earlier, cause I was stressed.

I open the gallery.

I scroll to the very beginning of this fucking summer.

And there it is.

The first photo.

The night my mom begged me and forced me, to take him out so he wouldn’t feel awkward being alone on his first night back in Italy.

I remember rolling my eyes, telling her that I can’t stand him, that I wasn’t his babysitter.

She said, just make sure he doesn’t sit home alone on his first night in Italy. Please.

So I dragged him along.

He sat by himself most of the night, nursing some drink he probably hated.

And I was acting all mysterious and shit. But I was glancing back, even though I didn’t want to admit it.

Just to make sure he was still okay.

I never told him that.

I acted like I didn’t care.

I made him take a picture with me, before we got in.

Just so I could send it to my mom and prove I didn’t ditch him.

That was the only reason.

I look at it now.

And it kills me.

He looks so confused in it. A little annoyed. A little shy. That perfect “what the fuck are you doing” face he makes when he doesn’t know whether to be mad or just disappointed.

And I’m grinning next to him.

And fuck, if I could go back to that night…

If I could walk up to that version of me, I’d punch him straight in the face.

I’d scream don’t you dare lose him.

Don’t you dare let him get on that plane alone.

Don’t you dare make him think, even for a second, that you didn’t love him like hell.

But I did.

I do.

And I let him go thinking he wasn’t enough.

That he wasn’t worth showing up for.

God, I have to explain.

I wipe my face with the back of my hand. It’s soaked.

I sit there on the bed, staring at a blurry picture of a night I didn’t know would be the start of everything .

And now it might’ve been the start of something I just lost.

__

The pan was still hot, but I turned the stove off anyway.

No point letting it burn for someone who wasn’t here.

Just one dish this time. No second plate. No second fork.

No dumb little “don’t put olives in mine” reminder.

Just me. Alone.

I sat at the counter and stared at the food for a solid minute before I touched it. Didn’t even taste like anything. Could’ve been cardboard.

Across from me, on his chair, Lulu had hopped up and was sitting proper with her little paws curled, looking at me like she knew something was wrong.

I grabbed my phone, snapped a photo.

Lulu, perfectly still. In his seat.

Fucking traitor.

I hovered over the chat.

Should I send it?

Should I just… voice record something? Explain what happened?

No. I need to do better than this.

I took one more bite. Cold now.

Swallowed it like a rock and pushed the plate away.

I stood up, grabbed my keys.

Didn’t brush my hair. Didn’t do anything.

I’m gonna fight. For him.

Because if I really want him back, then fuck it.

I’m doing this the hard way.

I’m going to Nicola.

That smug, snobby, pretentious asshole who would love to see me beg.

Fine.

He can see me on my knees.

He can laugh in my face.

But he’s going to listen.

Because Rava deserves to come back here.

To stay.

And if that means giving up something of mine, if that means bruises, debts, fucking war, so be it.

I’ll trade every piece of me for one more chance.

Let’s see where that bastard is.

I put on my helmet. Swing my leg over the bike. Kick the engine to life.

Nicola.

Fucking Nicola.

He’s probably buried in that filthy bar again, tossing his last fifty into the poker pit and whining about how the world’s unfair.

I drive fast.

When I pull up, it’s just like I remember.

Same flickering neon sign. Same piss-soaked pavement. Same cloud of smoke and desperation hanging over the place like a curse.

Last time I came here, it was with Rava. God, that memory hits hard.

I kill the engine, drop my helmet on the seat, and head inside.

The moment I open the door, it’s like stepping into rot.

Sticky floors. Burnt-out music. People who look like they’ve been losing for decades.

I push through the mess of bodies.

I spot him.

Back corner.

He’s leaning against a wall, cigarette between his lips, laughing at nothing. He slips a few pills into some loser’s hand, pocketing something small in return. Classic.

Then he sees me.

His laugh dies.

He takes one last drag, flicks the cigarette to the floor, crushes it under his boot.

And smiles.

That smile I fucking hate.

“Well, well,” he says. “Look what the cat dragged in.”

Fuck you.

He walks toward me, like this is just entertainment for him.

“To what do I owe this radiant presence, Fontana? Haven’t seen you in here in what, two months? Got bored playing house? Did the domestic bliss run out of wine?”

“You know why I’m here,” I say.

His eyes gleam. “Do I?”

I don’t answer.

“Let me guess,” he continues, turning to the bar. “You came to break my brother’s jaw again? Or maybe this time you’re here to finish the job?”

My teeth clench.

“I didn’t come to fight.”

“You sure?” he says, ordering something. “Because last time you said that, you left with blood on your knuckles and my brother spitting teeth.”

He taps the counter, then jerks a thumb at me.

“Put it on this kid’s tab. He’s paying tonight,” he says to the bartender.

Then he turns to me with a mocking smile. “C’mon, Fontana. Let’s talk.”

He walks outside.

I follow.

Nicola drops down onto the concrete step.

He doesn’t even look at me at first, just stares ahead, bored.

“So… where’s your little puppy?”

I exhale through my nose.

Don’t hit him.

“His name’s Rava. Not puppy. And he left. Canada.”

Nicola makes a mock sad face, pouting like a five-year-old.

“Awww. Poor thing got left all alone? Tragic.”

“Stop.”

He grins wider. “Touchy.”

I say nothing. My hands are in fists, but I keep them down. He wants a reaction. Not tonight.

He finally looks at me.

“So tell me,” he says slowly, like dragging the words out brings him pleasure, “why the fuck would I help you?”

“Because I’m willing to do whatever it takes,” I say. “You talk to your mom, I know she can get him a spot. She’s got the connections.”

He barks a laugh.

“Oh, you want me to go to my sweet old mother and say ‘Hey, remember the asshole who made your son’s face look like raw meat? Let’s do him a solid!’”

“I’m sorry.”

Nicola blinks, mock surprise on his face.

“You’re… what now?”

“I said I’m sorry.” My jaw tightens. “I fucked up, okay? What else do you want from me?”

He stands up slowly. Walks closer.

“For starters?” His voice drops. “You can lower your fucking tone when you talk to me.”

I shut up instantly.

Fuck. I look pathetic right now.

I don’t care.

If this gets Rava back, I’ll take it.

Nicola stares at me a beat longer, enjoying the power shift. Then chuckles under his breath.

“This is gonna be fun.”

God, Rava, you better not decide you like it up there. Because I swear to God, if I go through all this and you don’t come back.

I’ll kill you. Then myself.

Probably in that order.

“What do you want?” I ask. “Money? I’ve got it. Just name the number.”

Nicola squints at me, amused. Shakes his head.

“No,” he says, dragging the word out. “That’s too easy.”

He looks me up and down. Licks his lips like he’s picking from a menu.

Then points to my chain.

“Start with that.”

I instinctively touch it. “The fuck you want with this?!”

“I don’t,” he shrugs. “I just don’t want you to have it.”

My hand curls around the pendant for a second. Fine. At least I left the bracelet at home.

Emiliana’s bracelet. He’s not touching that.

I yank the chain off and toss it to him.

He catches it, inspecting it like he just won a prize at a carnival.

Then he grins.

“Here’s what we’re gonna do, dumbass.”

“I’m not—”

“Did I say you could speak?” he snaps. “Shut your mouth unless you want to walk away empty-handed.”

I clench my fists.

“Good boy,” he says mockingly. “Now. I’ve got some… deliveries. You’re going to help me pass them around.”

I look at him like he just offered me bleach to drink. “You mean drugs.”

He spreads his arms. “Big word. Scary. But yes.”

“Fuck off.”

“What did I just say?” he asks. “You want help or not?”

I stare at the ground.

This is humiliating. It’s dirty. It’s wrong.

But I’ve done worse. I was worse.

And right now, I’m oddly grateful for all the fucked-up things I learned back then. Because at least I know how to do this right.

“This all you want?” I mutter.

He looks around.

“No.”

He scans the lot.

Then his eyes land on it.

… My bike.

No. No no no no no.

I turn.

I spin back to him, desperate. “Nicola, please…”

“Bring it here,” he says, already standing. “For starters, it’ll help me forget what you did to my brother. While I talk to mommy.”

I stare at the bike like it’s bleeding.

Like I’m bleeding.

It’s not just metal. It’s mine. It’s who I am.

But so is he.

I close my eyes. Think of Rava. Think of his face when he laughs. Think of his voice. Think of that little “hmm” he does when he’s thinking too hard.

For him.

I pull the keys from my pocket.

And throw them.

Nicola catches them. Smiles.

“Good boy.”

He steps up beside me.

“I like you like this,” he says. “Broken. Quiet. Obedient. It’s funny.”

“None of this is fucking funny, Nicola.”

“Oh, it is,” he says. “Look at you. All this… for a chance at one little phone call.”

He pockets the keys.

“Congrats. You’ve earned it.”

“Swear you’ll talk to her.”

He winks.

“Don’t worry, love. Your little pasta dumpling will be back in no time…”

He leans in close.

“…only if you keep being a good boy.”

---

HELLO GUYS i think this was my biggest chapter so far, I LOVE IT:)

Please don’t hate me, heh.

EVERYTHING IS GOING TO BE OKAY. I PROMISE.

It’s hard i know but it’s the plot, I promise they will be happy again 😭

that’s all.

BYE BYE I LOVE YOU❤️

97) I Miss You

Rava’s POV

I swear, if Hugo told me one more fact about his uncle’s dog’s peanut allergy I was gonna launch myself out the window. He’s sweet, okay, but my brain is actual mashed potatoes right now.

I learned: – Hugo has seven cousins. – One of them is a “DJ” but really just plays Spotify. – He lives fifteen minutes from my house. – He’s studying computer science. – He talks. Like. A LOT.

And I listened. Because I’m polite. But holy hell.

When the plane finally landed, I think I cried a little. Mostly from relief.

I turned off airplane mode and…

one missed call.

From Gio.

That’s it. That’s the sign. He didn’t forget. He didn’t just ditch me. Something happened. Something had to.

I need to call him back. I need to know. God, please let it be something explainable.

We walk through the terminal and what the actual fuck.

Noah.

Holding a dessert box. Smiling like crazy. It’s probably something chocolate.

Or lemon. He loves lemon.

I missed his chaos, not gonna lie.

“Bye, Roy!” Hugo waves.

Already forgot I gave him a fake name. Oops.

“Bye, Hugo,” I say, still staring at Noah. “Hope I see you around!”

Yeah, sure, buddy. Maybe when I recover emotionally.

Noah’s already halfway to me, arms open. “My favorite teacher is BACK and I’m about to shit myself from happiness!” He hugs me so tight I grunt. I hug back. God, that felt grounding.

But I can’t match his energy. I feel like I’m still somewhere above the Atlantic, floating.

He pulls back. “Why do you look like a sad unfortunate child?” I let out a breath.

“Gio didn’t come to the airport.”

He stares. “WHAT?!” “Shut up,” I mutter.

We’re in the car now. It’s quiet for a second. I keep staring at my phone.

One missed call. One.

Noah’s driving with one hand, the other holding the pastry box on his lap. “I’m sad you left,” he says finally, “but I won’t lie, I’ve been dying for you to get here.”

I look over at him. He grins. “I need a tattoo victim. I’ve got a new machine and zero self-control.”

He pops open the box like it’s some grand reveal. “I even brought cake for you!”

It’s a little squished. Kind of lopsided. The frosting’s smudged.

It says: “WELCOME BACK FUTURE F—” in bright red, barely legible letters.

I cover my mouth and laugh. “Noah, what is ‘Future F—’?”

“Oh, that stands for Gio’s last name! I know it starts with ‘F’, couldn’t remember the rest, but you get it.” he explains, hella proud.

“I meant that shit. I don’t care that you’re 22. Marry him. Lock that man down before some slutty bitch with attitude comes and steals him.”

I laugh harder. God. He always knows how to pull me out of it. Even when I’m halfway to breaking down.

Noah glances at me, then back to the road. “But seriously,” he says, quieter now, “Find out what happened. Why he didn’t come. And if it’s a dumb reason…”

He taps the steering wheel. “Let me hit him. Just once! In the jaw. I’ve always wanted to punch someone gorgeous.”

“If you hit him,” I say, side-eyeing Noah, “we’re gonna go from best friends to enemies real fast. Like, two villages feuding for generations fast.”

Noah laughs so hard he almost swerves. “That was the most adorable threat I’ve ever received. God, you’re cute when you try to sound dangerous.”

Then he narrows his eyes at me. “Also… who the hell was that Hugo dude you said goodbye to? You got yourself a new bestie mid-flight?”

I groan and drop my head back on the seat. “Oh my God, no. Absolutely not. He just felt bad for me ’cause I was crying like a psycho on the plane and gave me a tissue. And then he would not stop talking! Like. I know his grandma’s favorite soup, Noah! His grandma’s. Soup.”

Noah snorts. “You attract the emotionally unhinged.” I shrug. “Guess I have a type.”

I open the door to my apartment like I’m stepping back into a dream I forgot I had.

No sound of crashing waves. No screaming Daisy. No Jin kicking his flip-flops off aggressively.

No Gio.

Just… me. Back. After the craziest summer of my life.

“Noah,” I mumble, dropping my bag by the door, reaching for the rest.

“No,” he says, already halfway out, “you sit down. I’ll bring your stuff in. Welcome back, drama queen.”

I ignore him. Go straight to the couch. Take a breath.

I grab my phone, press Gio’s name, and hit video call.

Please pick up. Please don’t be mad at me. Please don’t tell me you changed your mind.

My heart’s going insane by the time the screen lights up.

And instead of Gio, Lulu’s fuzzy face fills the camera, blinking at me like I owe her rent or something?!

I laugh out loud.

“Oh! Excuse me, Miss Fontana. I was hoping to speak to the property owner? Do you have an appointment book or—?”

Lulu meows like she’s fed up with my existence.

I grin. “Tell him I’m here. I’ll wait. But not for long. My patience is limited and my heart is fragile. GIO I KNOW YOU ARE HIDING.”

Gio’s voice finally comes from behind the camera. “I’m not hiding, idiot. She just wanted to see your face first.”

And there he is. Hair a mess. Looking tired. Looking so damn beautiful.

Like, annoyingly beautiful.

He looks like one of those Snapchat filters. The ones where it feels like you’re video calling some celebrity or whatever, just for fun. Just for the fantasy. Because why the hell would someone like that talk to someone like you in real life?

But he is. He’s here. On my screen. In my life.

Looking at me.

Calling me baby.

“Tell me you’re okay,” I say. “What happened yesterday? Gio, I swear to God, I wanted to dismantle you.”

“I still think you should,” he says, propping his chin on his palm. “You have every right, baby.”

I blink. He said baby .

He keeps going. “I was on my way, Rava. I swear. I had the bracelet. I was even feeling cocky enough to think I’d look cool crying in public…But then my mom pulled a classic European mom move. Ignored her damn pills. Started coughing up blood again. I took her straight to the ER. I didn’t mean for you to be alone. I didn’t want that.”

My stomach drops. I sit all the way down. “…What?”

“She’s okay now,” Gio adds quickly. “I picked her up last night. She said when you come back she owes you seven gifts and thirteen hugs. She feels horrible. And I do too.”

I don’t speak for a second. I’m just looking at him. Like my eyes don’t believe he’s real again.

It wasn’t what I thought. And my heart doesn’t hurt in the same way anymore.

Gio smiles, all crooked and tired and stupidly beautiful.

“You got there okay?” he asks. “How was the flight?”

I groan. “Long. Loud. I think I can recite the family tree of every stranger I sat near. I’m emotionally scarred. My legs are permanently shaped like airplane seats.”

He laughs under his breath, and it’s so dumb and warm I forget I’m supposed to still be mad at him.

“I missed your drama,” he says.

“I missed my boyfriend showing up at the airport, but let’s not keep score or anything.”

He winces. “Okay, deserved.”

I smirk, then pause.

“Hey… I read a few pages of your journal.”

Gio freezes.

He runs a hand down his face. “Christ.”

“It’s literally the best thing I’ve ever read. You used to write like you were trying to be cool but accidentally said the sweetest shit ever. Also, you were kinda obsessed with me. Like. Deeply. It’s a little creepy.”

He groans again, face in his hands. “Don’t say that, I will crawl into the earth.”

“I’m just saying,” I grin. “You really studied me.”

“I WAS TEN.”

“And in love.”

“Maybe.”

“I’m just saying.” I lean into the camera, trying to look smug. “I can’t wait to read more tonight. I’m bingeing this like it’s a Netflix series.”

Oh my lord.

He’s blushing. I made Gio Fontana blush. Fully. I win.

I glance to the side. “Okay, unfortunately I gotta go. Noah’s threatening to starve me if we don’t get groceries.”

From across the room, Noah yells, “I NEVER SAID THAT. I SAID I REFUSE TO GO GROCERY SHOPPING RIGHT NOW. I JUST CARRIED FOUR SUITCASES. I’M A VICTIM.”

I don’t even turn around. “Shut up. You’re going.”

“EAT A SOCK, RAVA.”

Gio snorts.

Noah storms into the room and snatches my phone.

“Gio,” he says, like he’s on the verge of tears, “please take him back. I was happy for…the first five minutes. But now I want to punch him again.”

Gio narrows his eyes. “Don’t you dare lay a finger on him, Noah. I’ll find you. I’ll break your entire face and redesign it from scratch.”

Noah gasps dramatically. “Oh my God, threats of violence from both of you in one day. You’re such a sweet couple. I’m honestly touched. Like, hit me. Together. I’m not even kidding, I’d let you. Should we talk about this?!.”

I’m wheezing now, doubled over on the couch.

“You give that back,” I say, grabbing my phone again. “I need a nap.”

Gio grins again.

“I miss you,” he says softly.

“I miss you too,” I reply, suddenly quiet.

Then Noah throws a pillow at my head.

“I SAID LET’S GO.”

“I’M COMING,” I yell.

---

9:00PM

I’m finally alone.

Noah left an hour ago after finishing half the welcome cake and “accidentally” stealing my fruits.

I took a long shower. The kind where you just stand there, letting the water run until your fingers wrinkle.

Now I’m lying on my bed, staring at my ceiling.

Everything feels too quiet.

I glance around the room, and my eyes land on a frame.

A photo of me and Sophia.

Jesus Christ . Hell no.

I sit up immediately and yank it off the shelf.

What the hell is that still doing there?

That wasn’t a relationship. That was a cautionary tale. That was me trying to be something I wasn’t.

I set the frame down face-first on my desk like it’s grounded.

I miss Gio.

I miss everyone, yeah. But Gio? I miss him the most.

I hope he meant it. About trying to get me to do the program from Italy.

Even just thinking about it feels dangerous, like I’ll jinx it.

But God, if there’s a chance…

I glance over at my hand.

The duck ring’s sitting there. The same ridiculous plastic thing he fake-proposed with.

If someone told young Gio he’d one day pretend to propose to Rava with a duck ring and then go on to do…

all the things he did with me at the fair…

He would’ve screamed, spat on the ground, and then tried to strangle me with a licorice rope.

I snort at the thought and pick up his journal again. It’s heavy in my hands.

I grab my phone and call him.

He answers after two rings. Sleepy as hell. Bare chest. Hair sticking up in every direction.

I nearly laugh.

“You’re going to bed at nine now?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

He rubs his face. “It’s 3AM here, baby. Time zones? Ring a bell?”

My eyes widen. “Oh my god. I forgot. Shit—I didn’t mean to wake you.”

He chuckles and shifts under the bedsheet. “Too late. You woke me. I’m up. I’m staying. Don’t even try to hang up.”

A smile stretches across my face before I can stop it.

“I was about to read more of your journal,” I say, holding it up to the camera. “And I figured I’d call you so I can roast you live.”

He groans into his pillow. “Christ. Goodbye, sleep. Nice knowing you.”

I flip it open.

“Shut up,” I tell him. “This is sacred literature. You were a child genius. I’m just here to honor your legacy.”

I settle back into my pillows, journal in hand, Gio blinking sleepily at me through the screen.

“Alright,” I say, licking my thumb and flipping to the next page. “Let’s see what embarrassing, heartfelt nonsense you gave me tonight.”

PAGE -??-

Okay so I kinda forgot to write for like… a year.

Whatever. I was busy.

(And by busy I mean I didn’t feel like it.)

I’m in middle school now. Which is exactly like elementary school but worse. Same people. More pimples. I got the back row seat. Dead center. Best spot in class. I can see everything and no one can see me. And guess what. Guess who sat right in front of me.

Rava Weston. He said he wanted a front row seat but didn’t make it in time, so he got stuck right in front of me. Too bad for him, because now I get to mess with him all day.

I kicked his chair four times already this morning. He turned around and told me to grow up. I told him to shrink back down. He didn’t laugh. But I did.

Also?

His voice is different now. It’s not soft anymore.

It used to be kinda squeaky and now it’s like… normal?? I don’t know. I hate it.

He grew taller too. Like, a lot. What the hell did his mom feed him this summer?

Miracle Grow?

It’s weird.

He looks weird. Not bad-weird. Just weird-weird. Too grown up or something.

Oh, and Chiara, the girl who sits next to him now? She won’t stop staring at him. Like she’s obsessed. Every time he raises his hand (which is every five seconds because he’s still a know-it-all), she looks at him like he’s the Pope.

It’s gross. She even touched his sleeve today. I almost choked on my pen cap.

She said, “I like your handwriting, Rava.”

His handwriting.

WHO SAYS THAT??

He blushed. Loser. Whatever.

I kicked his chair again after that. I poked him with a ruler I may or may not have broken in half on purpose.

He kept turning around all “Giovanni, stop it.” Said my full name like he’s my mom. It made me do it more. Because I’m petty. And he makes this furious little face like >:|

That face is the highlight of my school year, honestly.

Then Matteo decided he was funny. Copied me.

Started calling Rava “princess” and “pretty boy.” Had the audacity to mess with my favorite victim.

Nah. You don’t get to do that. Rava looked real quiet after. Didn’t even bite back. Which is weird for him. So I knew he was actually upset.

And I didn’t say anything. But I was fuming.

So at break I told everyone I had to “finish my notes.”

(Which, lol, I don’t even own notes.)

I sharpened three pencils until the shavings piled like Mount Vesuvius. Then I opened Matteo’s backpack and dumped every single disgusting, splintery, colorful bit into the main pocket.

Zipped it back up like a damn ninja. Sat down.

Sharpened one more pencil for fun.

Tomorrow when he opens it, he’ll be breathing glittery wood dust for weeks.

Hope his dumb pretty-boy jokes were worth it.

—Gio

…

I finish reading and slap the journal shut dramatically.

There’s a pause.

And then Gio starts laughing.

“Oh my god,” he mumbles, rubbing one eye, still half in a dream. “You’re actually insane for enjoying this.”

“ You dumped pencil shavings in Matteo’s bag?“

“Hell yeah I did,” he says, proud as anything. “That little shit thought he could call you princess? Absolutely not. Only I get to bully you. Territorial rights.”

I grin so hard it hurts. “You said ‘my favorite victim.’”

“Don’t start.”

“You totally liked me back then,” I tease, leaning closer to the camera.

“Shut up,” he groans, dragging the sheet over half his face. “I was just emotionally confused and full of rage. That doesn’t count.”

“You were so possessive.”

“You were so annoying.”

I laugh and fall back against my pillows, hugging the journal to my chest for a second.

Gio exhales.

“I really said ‘Miracle Grow’?”

“You really did,” I say. “And it still makes zero sense.”

He laughs again, a little wheeze this time. “Jesus. I was a menace.”

“You still are.”

“Yeah, well…” He yawns. “At least now I’m your menace and I don’t have to hide it.”

I freeze a second. Then I smile.

“Okay,” I say, flipping to the next page. “You ready for your next crime, Fontana?”

He grins sleepily. “Read it, baby. Let’s go.”

Wednesday.

A.K.A. The Most Boring Day of My Life.

Rava didn’t come to school today. Said he was “sick.” I almost died of boredom.

No one to mess with. No annoyed face staring at me. No dumb voice correcting the teacher in math.

I poked Dario’s chair once just for fun and he laughed. Like a maniac. I’ve never wanted to transfer schools more in my life.

Anyway.

We had a group project thing due and obviously, because life hates me, I’m paired with Rava.

Which means I had to go to his house after school to work on it. Which is when I found out he wasn’t actually sick. Little liar.

His nose wasn’t even runny. His throat wasn’t even scratchy. His eyeballs were fine. He just wanted to study more.

Said he had a history test next week and wanted to “get ahead.” Who even does that?? WHO GETS AHEAD?? Am I the only normal one here??

Whatever.

I told him he sucks for ditching me and making me suffer alone. He made me hot chocolate.

So I only hate him a little bit.

Then he got stuck on a math problem and kinda stared at it like it killed his family. So I… helped.

I fixed it actually. Because I’m a genius.

(And because he looked stressed and it wasn’t fun.)

He said thanks and I said don’t mention it.

Then I looked him dead in the eye and said:

“No, really. Don’t mention it. Not at school. Not to anyone. I’ll deny everything.”

He rolled his eyes. I kicked his ankle under the table. Then he kicked mine. I think we’re even now.

Kind of. Anyway.

He still sucks for skipping school. But I guess I’ll forgive him. Eventually. Maybe.

Also, something weird happened today.

I asked dad if he wanted to help me with the bike and he said “Maybe later.” But then later came and he was still sitting on the couch. Didn’t move. Just stared at the TV like it was hypnotizing him. The TV wasn’t even on.

I said “are you coming or what” and he just kinda blinked and said “I’m tired, Gio. Not now.”

Not now. He always wants to fix the bike. He always says “you’ll never ride a machine you can’t respect.” He used to talk about it like it was sacred or something.

Now he doesn’t even look at it. I checked the garage. It’s all dusty. My helmet’s still on the floor from last time.

I don’t get it. Maybe he’s sick or something.

Or maybe work is bad again. Or maybe he’s mad at me and not saying it. I tried asking mom but she just said he’s been “off lately” and not to bother him.

But I am bothered. I don’t like it when things change and nobody tells me why. I don’t like it when people go quiet and pretend it’s normal.

Just say what’s wrong. Just say it. I’d rather be yelled at than ignored.

— Gio

…

I go quiet after that page.

I think Gio does too.

It makes sense now. Why his dad went quiet. Why the bike stopped mattering. Why Gio talks about him the way he does.

I look at the screen. Gio’s rubbing his face with both hands now, like he’s trying to wipe off a whole year’s worth of exhaustion. His hair’s a mess. His eyes look heavy.

He’s not crying. But I know what that face means.

So I try to shift it. Just a little.

“Wow,” I say. “Seeing you write like that… honestly makes me even prouder that you have your own bike now. And that you love it so much. I don’t remember your dad that well, Gio, but I know for a fact he’d be so proud. You’re so much like him.”

He doesn’t answer right away.

Just exhales long and slow and blinks like he’s trying to stay awake.

“Okay,” I say softly. “That’s enough pages for tonight. Go to sleep, baby.”

He mumbles something.

“Ravioli?”

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

I smile.

Not because I didn’t know. Just the way he said it. Out of nowhere. Like it had to come out or he’d explode.

I tuck my face into my pillow a little.

“I love you more than anything. You know that, right?”

He nods sleepily.

“Goodnight, Gio.”

“Night, Ravioli.”

Screen goes dark. And I’m alone again.

But not lonely.

Not even a little.

---

Hugs for me cause I didn’t write another sad chapter? :)

Eh?

As for the next one, JSSHLSJSHSPDKDI AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

I will gain your love back i’m so sure IM LITERALLY LAUGHING CAUSE I KNOW ITS GONNA BE SO GOOD!

THATS ALL BYE BYE I WILL SEE YOU ON SATURDAY CAUSE TOMORROW I WILL BE SWIMMING ALL DAY

and buying things that i don’t actually need.

I LOVE YOU ❤️

98) A Fair Deal

Gio’s POV

Lorenzo’s sitting on my back. His legs are on me too.

I’m doing push-ups with his entire weight on me, gritting my teeth as my arms scream.

“One more, dog,” he says with a lazy voice. “Think of this—if you don’t make it, someone hot as fuck is about to hit on Rava in five minutes.”

That fucker.

I push harder, my chest is barely lifting off the ground. I grind it out, one more rep, and then with a pissed grunt, I flip him off me like dead weight.

He lands with a dramatic thud and starts laughing while I roll onto my back, gasping for air.

My shirt’s stuck to me, sweat running down my chest, but I feel good. Spent, but strong.

I glance over at him.

He’s already pulling out a cigarette like nothing happened.

“You little—” I kick his leg. “WHAT DID I TELL YOU, ASSHOLE? I SAID YOU’RE QUITTING THAT SHIT.”

He jumps, while the cigarette is halfway to his mouth. “I’M TRYING, STOP YELLING!” he yells back around the filter.

“You’re hopeless,” I mutter, dragging a hand down my face.

He snorts, biting the filter, then waves toward his bike. “Let’s go wash the girls. Mine’s covered in enough dust to start a farm. I think she’s turning gray.”

He squints. “Where’s yours, by the way?”

I stay on the floor for a second. Shit.

I exhale pretty heavily.

“You might wanna sit down for this one.”

He looks at me.

“I gave it.”

He stops chewing the filter and just stares at me.

“You what ?”

I don’t answer right away. I sit up slow, wipe the sweat off my face with the hem of my shirt, and avoid looking at him.

“I gave it, to Nicola.”

There’s silence. Not the usual kind. Heavy.

“You what ?” he repeats, louder this time.

I glance at him. He’s not laughing anymore.

“You gave your fucking bike to Nicola?”

I sigh. “I didn’t give it like a gift. He took it. As a condition.”

Lorenzo throws the cigarette to the trash angrily. He’s pacing already. “Tell me you didn’t trade your whole damn self for that slimy bastard.”

“I had no choice.”

“Bullshit,” he snaps.

I stand up. “You weren’t there.”

He turns, finger in my face. “And you didn’t tell me. You went to Nicola, the biggest walking STD in town instead of your own fuckin’ family.”

“I didn’t want a fight,” I mutter. “Not when it was my only chance to get Rava back.”

Lorenzo squints at me. “You really think Nicola’s gonna do anything out of the kindness of his roach heart?”

“I don’t think he has a heart,” I say flatly. “But I had nothing on him. No dirt. No leverage. Just a hope he’d talk to his mom.”

Lorenzo barks a laugh. “Lucky for you, I do have dirt. A whole fuckin’ landfill of it.”

Right.

Sometimes I forget my cousin knows everything about everyone .

He crosses his arms. “You remember two summers ago when the cops raided the poker den in Marina district? Guess who tipped Nicola off ten minutes before it happened?”

I blink.

“Guess who sold fake IDs to three underage kids and got away with it because someone erased the security footage?”

“What the hell are you—”

“I’m saying I’ve cleaned up after his shit more than once. And I kept proof.”

I just stare at him.

He steps closer. “You’re not fighting alone on this one. You never were. That piece of trash took your bike, threatened you, made you run his dirty errands, and you just stood there like a kicked dog.”

“I didn’t want to drag anyone into it—”

He smacks the side of my head. “Too late.”

I glare. “Don’t hit me.”

“Then don’t be dumb.”

I sigh and sit back down, elbows on my knees. “He said if I help him deliver some stuff, he’ll talk to his mom about getting Rava into the program here.”

Lorenzo whistles. “You think he’s really gonna hold up his end?”

“I don’t know,” I admit.

“Well,” he says, pulling out his phone, “then let’s give him a reason to keep his word.”

I look up.

“Text him,” Lorenzo says. “Tell him you’re doing the run tonight, but you’re bringing a friend.”

“What excuse should I give?”

“Say I have goods for the same guy. Or that you need backup ’cause of last time. I don’t care. Just get us in the room.”

“…And then what?”

Lorenzo grins, all teeth. “Then we remind little Nicky what fear feels like. I’m so excited.”

Lorenzo’s already typing something on his phone. “Before we go there… we’re stopping by my place.”

I squint at him. “Why?”

He doesn’t even look up. “Need to feed my hamster.”

“…Your what ?”

He finally glances at me. “My hamster. What, you think I let him starve while I’m out threatening drug dealers for you?”

I just blink. “You… you have a hamster?”

“Yeah. His name’s Riccardo. He’s got asthma and a little bald patch, but he’s a survivor.”

I stare at him.

I sigh, shaking my head. “You’re so— I don’t even know the word. You’re like… bipolar.”

He frowns. “I’m not bipolar.”

“You literally just said you’re gonna terrorize Nicola and now you’re baby-talking a hamster.”

Lorenzo raises an eyebrow. “I’m normal. You’re just not used to people being capable of multiple dimensions.”

I give him a look.

He smirks. “Look. I’m an asshole, yeah. I’ll own that. But when it comes to family? When someone hurts one of ours? You know I’d burn the whole goddamn city down.”

I glance away at that. Cause that’s true.

He softens. “You’re not the only one who’d do anything for Rava, Gio.”

I don’t answer.

He claps me on the shoulder. “Let’s feed Riccardo. Then we go get your boy and your bike back.”

We pull up outside Lorenzo’s building.

It’s nothing fancy, and it’s weird.

The dude is rich, but his house looks like it’s constantly one earthquake away from collapse.

Inside, it actually smells nice. The place is cleaner than I expected. Except for the pile of dishes in the sink.

“Disgusting,” I mutter, eyeing them.

“Shut up,” he shoots back. “I’m a father now. I have responsibilities.”

I blink at him. “You mean the balding hamster with asthma?”

“Yes,” he says proudly. “I’m living the dad life on hard mode.”

I snort. “Remind me to call Child Protective Services.”

He walks over to a tiny cage near the window, drops in some pellets and a slice of cucumber.

“Daisy said he was cute, so I kept him. Not my fault I’m emotionally manipulated by hot people.”

I roll my eyes and flop on the couch, which makes a weird noise I try not to think about.

Lorenzo, meanwhile, grabs a broken broomstick from behind the door and starts swinging it like a sword.

“If I hit Nicola with this, you think I could give him a mild concussion? Nothing fatal. Just… humbling.”

“Lorenzo.”

“Relax, I’m joking,” he says, twirling it like some cracked-out samurai. “But I can’t wait to see his face when I show up. He used to hate me just for existing. Said I smiled too much.”

I raise a brow. “He wasn’t wrong.”

“He was jealous of my glow,” Lorenzo says, tossing the stick back down. “Just… don’t tell Daisy what happens tonight, alright?”

“Why?”

“Because she’ll kill me. And probably you, too, just for association. But this is for a good cause.”

I nod slowly.

He glances at me. “He’s her brother after all. And you’re her brother’s boyfriend.”

That hits different. I love the word boyfriend.

“Let’s go get your bike back, Giovanni .”

We’re finally in the car.

Lorenzo’s next to me, phone in his lap, scrolling through the location Nicola sent me.

He squints at the screen, then lets out a little laugh through his nose.

“This dumbass,” he says. “I’ve been to that place a bunch of times. We used to do lines together there. Off broken glass. Good times.”

I glare at him. “Shut the fuck up. Not cool. I’ll tell Daisy.”

“She knows. I told her everything. My past, my screw-ups, all of it. She calls me a walking red flag. Makes me wanna marry her when she yells at me.”

I look at him sideways. “You’re so messed up.”

“I know,” he grins. “It’s part of my appeal.”

I roll my eyes and focus back on the road.

For once, I’m not running toward a fight for me.

I’m doing it for Rava.

I walk through the side hallway, toward the drop spot Nicola sent me.

The walls reek of piss and mold, and the floor crunches under my boots like it’s covered in dried glass. Great.

The buyer’s already there.

Tall guy, tattooed neck, hoodie halfway on, tapping his foot against the metal frame of a busted chair.

“Damn,” he says when he sees me. “Didn’t think you were still alive.”

I say nothing. I just hand him the zip bag.

He weighs it in his hand, nods, and hands me the cash. I flip through it, fast. All there.

He chuckles. “So what happened, man? You vanish for, what—months? And now you’re crawling back? Back in the game?”

I shrug. “I think we’re done here.”

He whistles. “Cold. You always were a quiet bastard.”

I ignore him. Pocket the money. “Later,” I mutter.

“Catch you on the next drop.”

I step outside and spot Nicola by the broken steps, lighting a cigarette.

He looks way too proud of himself for someone who’s just hiding behind other people’s dirt.

He starts walking beside me like we’re fucking friends.

“You’re good at this,” he says. “Natural. Kinda sexy, honestly.”

I keep walking.

“Silent, obedient. You know, I never imagined you’d be the type. But maybe that’s why I like it so much.”

“Shut up, Nicola.”

“Why? You don’t like the truth?” he smirks. “You move like a fucking dog now. Heel, Gio. Sit. Stay. Roll over.”

I stop.

Breathe in through my nose.

Keep walking.

“Don’t be like that,” he says. “I’m complimenting you. You’re better this way. Less… mouthy. More useful. Like a proper mutt.”

“Drop it.”

He leans in. “You think Rava would like seeing you like this? You think he’d be proud? Or maybe he’d finally realize you’re exactly what his dad said you were.”

I grab him by the collar and slam him into the nearest wall, hard enough to shake the rust off the bolts.

“Don’t fucking say his name.”

He laughs through grit teeth. “Touched a nerve, did I?”

“You think this is funny?” My voice breaks. “You think any of this is a fucking game?”

His smirk stays, but his eyes shift. Testing how far I’ll go.

“You’re actually in love with that kid, huh?” he breathes. “God, it’s pathetic. I could have him crying with one voicemail if I wanted.”

I slam my arm against his chest, pressing hard enough to make him wheeze. “Say one more word, Nicola.”

“And then what, bitch?”

We stare each other down.

My heart is racing.

God, I could hit him. Right now. Break his fucking nose.

I hear footsteps behind me. Calm. Lazy almost.

“Eeeeeeeeeey, Nico!” a voice calls out, way too cheerful for this alley.

Lorenzo.

He strolls in like nothing’s wrong, hands in the air, grinning.

He claps Nicola on the shoulder like they’re old friends. “Good dog, huh? Gio listens real well, doesn’t he?”

Nicola smirks. “So well, it makes me wanna—”

Wham.

Lorenzo doesn’t let him finish.

One clean movement and Nicola’s on the ground, coughing.

“What the fuck?!” Nicola spits, wiping his chin. “Who the hell are you again?”

Lorenzo chuckles. “Bro… c’mon. A haircut isn’t that big of a disguise.”

Nicola blinks, confused.

“You wanna play dumb?” Lorenzo says. “Fine. Hold that thought.”

He starts scrolling through his phone.

Nicola tries to get up—

Lorenzo kicks him flat again. “I didn’t say get up, dickweed.”

He holds the phone out. “Remember this?”

I can’t see the screen. But Nicola’s face goes pale.

His eyes lock onto Lorenzo’s, like he’s trying to figure out if this is real.

“Where the fuck did you get that?” he whispers.

Lorenzo shrugs. “I filmed it!”

Nicola looks at him harder.

“No… no. The guy filming was this skinny loser, real twitchy, talked like he was on helium—”

“That’s still me, you fucker!” Lorenzo snaps. “You were so baked you didn’t know which way was up.”

Nicola opens his mouth again. Still confused. Still trying to regain control.

“What was the guy’s name in the video then, huh?” he challenges.

Lorenzo grins.

“Teo. From Napoli. Dated a girl named Dani, liked red lollipops and getting high during poker night. Always wore that ugly-ass dragon ring on his thumb.”

Nicola gulps. Hard.

I almost feel bad.

Almost.

Lorenzo leans closer. “And I also know what you did to a few of my girl friends. You’re fucking filth.”

Nicola’s voice goes sharp. “They came to my place! What, we were supposed to just sit there and make eye contact all night?”

“You drugged her, you fucking idiot!” Lorenzo barks. “She ended up in the hospital!”

He yanks Nicola to his feet by the collar.

Then turns to me, absolutely beaming. “You see that? All those push-ups paid off!”

I stare at him.

Yeah.

This man is insane.

But… right now, I’m really fucking glad he’s on my side.

“I can take this public any damn second. We can make this a fucking courtroom saga if you want.”

And that’s when I step in with my arms out, trying to separate two storms before they rip each other apart.

“Guys… fuck, can we just not do this right now?”

I look between them, both of them charged, wild-eyed, waiting to explode again.

“Lorenzo, you don’t show that video. Nicola, you just talk to your mom. That’s all. No cops, no lawyers, no more goddamn mess.”

Nicola wipes his bloody lip and smiles, that slimy grin that makes me want to throw up.

“Of course. Your little princess is the only thing that matters to you, huh? You f—”

“What did I say, you filthy piece of trash?” Lorenzo snaps, cutting him off before the last word can even leave his mouth.

I shove between them again, palm on Lorenzo’s chest.

“Lorenzo, stop. We’re not fucking doing this.”

Lorenzo lets me hold him back, but only just. He pushes his hair back, breathing hard.

“Alright then,” he says calmly now. Too calm.

“Either we go now and work out exactly what you’re gonna say to your sweet mommy, or I send that little video straight to her inbox.”

Nicola stiffens. “Don’t bring my mom into this.”

Lorenzo shrugs. “Only if you include her in what I want.”

A beat.

“Fine,” Nicola mutters, and then… spits, right into Lorenzo’s face.

Shit.

Lorenzo doesn’t even blink. He slaps him hard, across the face, so loud it echoes off the walls.

Jesus Christ.

I don’t even want to think about Rava in this moment.

About how this is what I’m doing while he’s home, probably reading a cute book or baking something delicious.

My heart’s breaking and I’m here, watching two psychos rip each other apart over a goddamn favor.

Lorenzo grabs Nicola by the shirt. “The keys. Now.”

Nicola hesitates. That flicker of defiance.

No answer.

Lorenzo turns to me. “Gio, be a sweetheart and send the first video in my phone, yeah?”

Nicola’s face crumbles. “Wait, you impatient fucker! Fine!”

He tosses Lorenzo the keys. Lorenzo catches them and smirks.

“Good boy.”

Lorenzo stands up, then yanks Nicola off the ground like he weighs nothing.

He brushes off his own jacket, looks him up and down, and flashes that same smug grin.

“Alright,” he says. “Wipe that little bloodstain off your nose, Nico. We’re going to a bar.”

I raise an eyebrow. “A bar?”

“Yeah. Somewhere cozy.” he says, nudging Nicola hard enough to make him stumble. “We’ll sit our asses down and find the exact words you’re gonna use to convince your mommy dearest to bring our Rava back.”

He glances over his shoulder at me, winks.

“And if you’re really good about it,” he adds to Nicola, “maybe one day I’ll even take you for a ride on my bike. Since Gio’s didn’t quite work out for you, hm?”

Jesus Christ.

Nicola wipes the corner of his mouth, muttering under his breath. “…You two are fucking insane. I don’t even know why I’m in the middle of this shit.”

Lorenzo snorts. “Oh please. You don’t know why?” He spreads his arms like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You blackmailed him, made him run your dirty errands, took his bike like some fucking cartoon villain, and you don’t know why?”

Nicola huffs. “It’s not like I held a gun to his head.”

“You didn’t need to. You knew exactly what you were doing.”

He looks between the two of us, a bit dazed. “Okay but this ? Really? All this just for some guy?”

Lorenzo’s smile fades. He steps closer. “No. Not ‘some guy.’ He’s family. And you don’t get to fuck with family.”

Nicola raises his hands, sarcastic. “Alright, alright, Jesus. I get it. Loyalty, honor, whatever.”

Lorenzo shrugs. “We’re not asking for a damn statue, Nico. Just… a little cooperation. You make the call, and then we disappear from your life. Sounds like a fair deal, no?”

Nicola looks at both of us like we’re two rats in a sewer, one uglier than the other.

Then he turns to me.

“Give me the cash he gave you.”

“Right.” I pull it out of my pocket and throw it at him. No ceremony, no respect. He deserves neither. He catches it mid-air and does a lazy count with his eyes.

“I’m not going to any bar with you two. Just swear you’ll keep those videos to yourself. They’re confidential.”

Lorenzo mutters without even glancing at him, “Well, you didn’t even remember it was me filming in the first place.”

Nicola shoots him a glare. “Do you want Rava back or not?”

Lorenzo raises both hands like he’s surrendering. “Right, right—sorry. Of course I do.”

Nicola snorts. “Good. Then it’s settled.” He turns to leave, and just before stepping off the curb, throws one last jab over his shoulder.

“Also, your bike sucks. I don’t know how you ride that piece of crap.”

Lorenzo grins. “You’ll learn eventually. Bye, Nicolaki!”

He waves like they’re best friends. I just stand there, barely breathing. Part of me wants to believe this is actually happening. The other part? Still waiting to wake up.

Nicola disappears down the street, and the second he’s out of sight, Lorenzo spins toward me like he’s about to explode.

“DUDE! Bro, we fucking did it! You got your bike back and Rava’s coming home!”

A tiny smile breaks out on my face the moment I see my bike again. Shit, I missed her. But then I shake my head and the smile fades.

“I’m not believing anything until I see actual paperwork. Until then, I’m not letting myself get excited.”

Lorenzo nods. “Okay. Fair. Although, with that kind of blackmail hanging over his head, trust me, he won’t even think about backing out.”

I glance at him. “What the hell was that video you showed him?”

Lorenzo bursts out laughing. “Dude. One time he got so high, he started giving a handjob to a friend of ours. Just for fun.”

I blink. “Nicola? That Nicola?”

“Oh yeah,” he grins. “Straight as a pole. Just your classic homophobic dickhead. That night he was totally out of it, and somehow things escalated.”

I stare at him, stunned. “Wow. It really does come from the ones you least expect. I never would’ve guessed.”

“Me neither,” Lorenzo shrugs. “Don’t worry, I’m never showing that to anyone. I’m not an asshole. But if he ever messes with one of us again?” He looks me dead in the eyes. “His whole family’s gonna watch that video over Sunday lunch.”

I let out a long, exhausted breath, shoulders finally sinking now that Nikola’s gone. For now.

Lorenzo claps his hands once, like we just wrapped up a business meeting. “Alright,” he says. “I’ll drive the car.”

I raise an eyebrow at him. He just points his thumb toward my bike with a half-smile.

“You take the bike. You’ve earned that ride tonight.”

I look at her, my girl, standing there and waiting for me. Like she knew I’d come back for her.

I could cry like a child. I almost don’t move. I almost say no, just because it feels too soon to believe in good things again.

But Lorenzo nudges my shoulder. “Go on, Fon-TÁ-na. Take her home.”

I glance back one more time, then swing my leg over. The second I grip the handles, it feels like I can fucking breathe properly again.

“She missed you,” Lorenzo calls out, grinning.

I look over my shoulder, engine purring beneath me. “Let’s hope Rava does too.”

---

Okay shit I won’t lie, I thought this would turn out much better 😔 I have mixed feelings again.

BUT HEY WE ARE ON 999K READS ON RIDE OR DIE

YIPPEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!

THATS AMAZING YALL I have so many great things to write on this story I won’t disappoint yall❤️

BYE BYE I LOVE YOU ALWAYS AND FOREVER

99) Sweet Drunk Thing

Rava’s POV

I’m lying on my bed with my face half-buried in the blanket, hugging that stupid cockroach teddy Marco gave me. I hate how comforting it is.

“I miss everyone,” I mumble. “I miss my Gio. I miss Lorenzo. I miss Daisy. I even miss Jin. I wanna go back.”

Noah’s sitting on the desk chair all relaxed with his legs splayed like he’s the owner of my house or something.

He doesn’t even try to joke about it this time.

“Can’t even blame you,” he says. “I miss them all too, fuck.”

He stands up suddenly, rubbing his neck, pacing like he’s about to say something dumb.

Classic Noah.

“You know what I was thinking?” he says. “When you’re done with your degree, in what, two years?let’s get out of here. I want to go to Italy. My mom’s gonna lose her shit if she finds out I’m moving there. She’ll straight up piss herself. Insane.”

I blink at him. “Insane,” I echo, laughing a little.

But then the weight returns. “Two years though, dude? How am I supposed to do that?”

Noah shrugs. “You and Gio are both disgustingly rich with your hotels and everything. You can visit each other. Fly back and forth. Get dramatic airport reunions and shit.”

I let my fingers run over one of the teddy’s weird felt legs. The thought of Gio waiting for me at some terminal already makes me want to cry my eyes out.

Noah’s already walking toward the door when he turns back. “But hey—if you’re in Italy on your birthday, invite me too. I want in on the chaos.”

“Speaking of birthdays…” I reach over and grab my phone from the nightstand, unlocking it fast.

A few taps, one glance at my inbox, and there it is.

Confirmation email. I smile. Wide. My cheeks actually hurt from how wide.

I set the phone down gently on my chest, then sink deeper into the bed with my arms folded behind my head.

Noah squints at me like I just grew a halo. “What?”

“I’m gonna give Gio the best birthday present he’s ever gotten,” I say, grinning smugly.

Noah practically lunges. “TELL ME. Is it a dildo?”

I snort and throw a tiny pillow at him. “No!”

“Okay, wait—lemme guess again. Is it that Ride or Die sex tape I suggested—?”

“Noah!”

“Alright, alright. Is it a one-way ticket for him to visit you here so y’all can break the bed again?”

“Dude,” I groan, half-laughing, half-horrified.

“A signed thong from that wrestler he likes? A jar of your bathwater? Matching tramp stamps?”

“NO.”

He pauses dramatically. “…a tattoo of his name on your ass.”

“I’M NOT TELLING YOU,” I yell, hugging the pillow now to shield myself from further guesses. “But he’s gonna love it.”

Noah crosses his arms, fake-pouting. “Unfair.”

I just grin even more and whisper to myself, “God, I’m the best boyfriend ever.”

Noah flops back onto the beanbag with a dramatic sigh. “You are the best. But only because I haven’t become a boyfriend yet. My time will come. Hopefully with some hot Italian guy who looks like he fell out of a fashion magazine.”

I laugh softly, but my mind goes straight to Marco.

I glance at Noah and say, “Well… turns out I might know someone who’s kinda into you.”

His eyes light up like someone just handed him a winning lottery ticket. “NO.”

I gesture at the plushie in my arms. “He’s actually the one who gave me this.”

Noah’s eyes widen. “WHO?! TELL ME.”

“Nope,” I smirk. “You’ll meet him when the time’s right.”

“DON’T DO THIS TO ME,” he groans, flailing. “I’m so hyped now I’m shaking. Who is it?? Just give me a name, an initial, a blood type, something.”

“Nu-uh.” I roll over to face the wall. “You’ll see for yourself.”

Noah is silent for two full seconds. Then he springs up. “Okay. I feel like drinking. And maybe dancing. If I drink enough. I don’t work tomorrow. The girl who booked a tattoo bailed on me—said she wants one last swim before she ‘says goodbye to the sea.’ Whatever that means.”

He looks at me pointedly. “Doesn’t your university have some kind of party tonight?”

I groan. “Leave me alone. I want to sit here and mourn the absence of my boyfriend in peace.”

Noah rolls his eyes. “Get up, you tragic mess. Gio wouldn’t be proud of you rotting in bed like this. Go get ready. We’re going.”

“It’s midnight,” I protest, checking my phone. “Where are we even going at this hour?”

“Oh right, I forgot you’re our little nerd boy,” he teases. “In Canada you only leave the house to walk to the library.”

“That’s a lie and you know it,” I argue, laughing. “I go on walks all the time!”

“Just not at midnight,” he grins.

I raise a brow. “Exactly.”

“Come on,” he says, tugging at my blanket. “Don’t be scared. We won’t stay long. Besides—it’s your farewell party. You’ve been at this university for four freaking years. Don’t they at least deserve your presence for one last time?”

…I hate how good he is at this.

“Fine, but please don’t get too wasted.”

I step out of the bathroom towel-drying my hair, thinking maybe I should call Gio.

Just to hear his voice while I get ready. But it’s almost 8 am. in Italy.

He’s probably asleep. Still, I unlock my phone, open the camera, and start recording a video to send him anyway.

Before I even finish fixing my hair, my screen lights up with an incoming FaceTime.

Gio.

I blink, surprised. “You’re awake?!”

He’s still half-buried in his sheets, face mushed into his pillow. “Wanna start waking up earlier. So I can talk to you before you fall asleep.”

Oh, sweet Jesus.

My heart just melts. Fully liquefies. I was out here calling myself the best boyfriend and then he pulls that .

“You’re actually insane,” I whisper, smiling like a fool. “But in a good way.”

He yawns into the screen. “Where you headed, pretty boy?”

I turn slightly to show him the mess on my bed. “Noah convinced me to go to my university’s farewell party. Apparently mourning your absence in my pajamas isn’t the correct way to spend a night.”

He smirks, already waking up a little. “Tell that bitch not to get drunk again and end up in some cult like last time. I’m still traumatized from when he joined Lorenzo’s tequila religion. What was it? El Diablo del Sur?”

I burst out laughing. “Shut up.”

While we talk, I grab the shirt I picked out and pull it over my head. Gio doesn’t say anything. Just props his chin on both hands and stares like I’m performing a sacred ritual.

I pause mid-button. “What.”

“Nothing,” he murmurs, eyes glued to me.

I roll my eyes and keep buttoning, then walk over and change out of my pajama pants, slipping into the black ones.

His voice drops even lower. “You’re gonna make me jerk off at 7:47 in the morning.”

I freeze mid-movement. Look straight at the screen. “ That got you horny?“

In response, he picks up his phone and tilts it down.

Yep. He’s hard.

Very .

I sit down on the edge of the bed, holding the phone with both hands now, eyes wide open. My voice goes barely above a breath.

“I could lick my screen right now. Show me again.”

He chuckles sleepily, burrows back into his pillow with a smirk. “Too slow, baby. What you saw is what you get.”

I groan but smile. “Okay, maybe it’s for the best. Don’t want to walk into a party with a boner. People will think I’m a menace.”

“You are a menace,” he mumbles. “A hot one.”

I shake my head, still blushing. “Alright. I should go. But hey, if I get bored… I might call you again.”

He winks. “I’ll be here.”

I stare at him for a second longer. “Gio?”

“Hm?”

“Do you think there’s a chance I can still come to Italy?”

He blinks, then softens. “I’m working on it. Trust me, I probably want it even more than you do. I miss you, idiot.”

“I miss you too,” I murmur. “When I get back home, I’m reading more of your diary. It’s better than any book I’ve ever read. And I’ve read a lot .”

He grins, eyes half-lidded. “Glad you enjoy my desperate ramblings, baby.”

I throw on my necklace and glance in the mirror. “Do I look okay?”

“You look beautiful.”

I roll my eyes, turning away before I combust. “Go. Sleep. And don’t let anything too good happen while I’m gone.”

“That won’t happen,” he says. “Unless you show up out of nowhere.”

My lips curl. “You never know.”

Before I hang up, I narrow my eyes. “Did you change Lulu’s litter?”

“I did! Last night.”

I blink. “You did?! Gio. I love you. Good job, baby.”

He gives me that cocky little smirk and waves lazily. “Have fun. But not too much.”

We say bye.

I end the call.

And yeah. I’m definitely smiling like an idiot the whole way out.

I slip into the driver’s seat. My hair is still a little damp, but it should be fine.

I start the engine. The night air’s cool.

I scroll through Gio’s playlist for something to match the mood and land on Square Hammer by Ghost.

It blares through the speakers.

I smile.

Gio loves this song. Which means I love it too.

I like knowing what makes him feel alive. I like knowing what gets stuck in his head. I like pretending he’s in the passenger seat with me, drumming his fingers on the door like he always does.

By the time I pull up outside Noah’s place, I’ve replayed the song three times.

He bursts out the door dramatically, jacket half-on, yelling before even reaching the car, “You said half an hour! It’s been 45 minutes! Were you jerking off?”

“Yeah,” I say flatly.

He squints. “Wait—actually?”

“No. Get in the car, freak.”

He throws himself into the passenger seat with a sigh. “You’re the freak. Making me stand out here like someone’s abandoned Tinder date.”

“I’m not staying all night,” I warn, pulling off down the street. “Just so we’re clear. I have other things I’d rather be doing.”

He turns to me, one brow raised. “Like what?”

I keep my eyes on the road. “Things.”

Noah whistles low. “Damn, okay. Point taken. We’ll stay a bit then dip. But—while we’re there, I want tequila. Immediately. No weak-ass beer. I want to burn.”

I laugh under my breath. “Tequila it is.”

We pull up to the party, and I already regret this.

Bass is shaking the pavement. People are spilling out onto the lawn, cups in hand, laughing like they’ve already blacked out.

Inside, it’s even worse. There’s too much heat, lights, chaos.

We barely make it past the doorway before someone grabs my arm.

“RAVA!”

It’s Madison. One of my classmates from second year. She yanks me straight through the crowd with zero warning. I barely manage to throw a quick side hug at her as we push through dancing bodies.

She yells over the music, “HOW’S SOPHIAAA?!”

I laugh, almost tripping. “I HAVE NO FUCKING IDEA! I HAVE A BOYFRIEND NOW!”

She screams-laughs and disappears into the mess again.

Noah and I keep walking deeper into the chaos until we stop in front of a massive table of drinks. Beer cans, liquor bottles, questionable… mixers. I blink at a bottle of something blue.

Noah slings his arm around my shoulders like we’re about to go to war.

“Okay,” he says seriously. “There’s a high chance we’re gonna get separated. The music’s loud, people are wasted, and there are distractions. We need to stay united.”

I glance at him. “Bro. That’s what phones are for. We’ll be fine.”

He narrows his eyes at me like a concerned dad. “If you get drunk, we’re walking to my house. You hear me? Walking .”

“I’m not gonna get drunk,” I say, grabbing a plastic cup and filling it halfway with something vaguely resembling tequila.

He gives me a look.

I raise the cup. “I’m not!”

One Hour Later

The couch feels like it’s swallowing me whole. One hour in, and the alcohol’s settled like concrete in my veins.

“I swear,” I mumble, staring at the spinning ceiling, “walking home is starting to sound like the best decision I’ve ever made.”

Next to me, Noah groans. “Bro… if Lorenzo were here, I’d already be on a rooftop. Shirtless. Screaming about freedom or some dumb shit. Or drinking dish soap just to see if I’d start seeing colors.”

He stands up, swaying. “I gotta pee. Don’t. move. I’ll be back.”

I snort. “Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t.”

He vanishes into the mess of flashing lights and drunk limbs.

I close my eyes for a moment. Just breathe.

Flop. One weight to my left. Another. Right side.

I blink open, barely turning my head.

Hugo.

Of course. And on the other side, someone new.

Buzzed bleached hair. Oversized black shirt. Faded black nail polish. He looks like a walking Tumblr post.

They both lean in, like I’ve somehow invited them.

I stare straight ahead.

“Hey, Roy,” Hugo says, way too casual.

I squint. “Who’s Roy?”

He laughs like I told the best joke ever. “Damn. You’re that drunk? You forgot your own name?”

Oops. Right. Roy. The fake name I gave at the airport. Fuck.

The other guy speaks. His voice is lazy. “Why do you look so sad, Roy?”

I sigh, not turning. “I miss my boyfriend.”

I close my eyes again.

“Oh?” the guy hums. “Don’t see him anywhere. He leave you?”

I open my eyes. Look straight at him. “No.”

He raises his hands like it’s all a game. “Okay, okay. Don’t get defensive. Just saying.”

Then, he glances over, eyes narrowing a little. “You know… you’ve got the greenest eyes I’ve ever seen. Damn.”

I laugh softly. But there’s no warmth in it.

He tilts his head. “What’s funny?”

I finally look at him. “Just thinking about how my boyfriend would turn your face green if he heard you say that.”

He freezes for a second. Then scoffs. “Alright. Chill. No one’s getting punched.”

He reaches a hand out, slowly—going for my forehead like I’m some overheated child.

I catch his wrist before he makes contact. “No. You don’t get to do that.”

He chuckles, raising both hands in surrender. “Okay, damn. Relax, sweet drunk thing.”

From the left, Hugo pipes up again. “Poor Roy. I feel you. But between us? If I were your boyfriend, I wouldn’t be cool with you being here. Alone. Wasted.”

Then he moves his fingers, stretching toward my hair.

I grab his wrist too. Push it away.

“I can protect my fucking self,” I snap. “Leave me alone.”

They both freeze.

“Relax,” the bleached guy says again, this time quieter. “We believe you.”

I don’t answer.

My head is spinning. My vision blurs.

How long has Noah been gone? Five minutes? Twenty?

“Wake up, Roy!” the stranger says, tapping the couch beside me.

I don’t even speak.

I just stand. Slowly. Carefully.

I shove through the crowd. No anger. No drama.

Just a single goal: get out.

I find a glass door. Push it open.

Empty, quiet balcony.

Thank God.

I sit on the ground. Pull my knees up. Breathe.

My hands rub my face, trying to snap me out of the haze.

Why does everyone hit on me the moment Gio’s not around?! Why does no one ever feel like him?

I pull out my phone, trying to call him.

The moment Gio picks up, his sleepy face appears on my screen.

I immediately see his messy hair, his freaking golden skin.

His lips are half swollen and lazy with exhaustion.

His voice is sleepy too.

“What happened to you, baby?” he asks, already smiling. “Party didn’t go well?”

I rub my eyes, slouched against the balcony wall. “Uh… not really. Noah vanished mid-piss break, and I may have accidentally threatened two guys using your name.”

He raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean ‘threatened’?”

“I think they were trying to flirt, maybe they didn’t, I don’t fucking know,” I mutter.

Gio laughs and runs a hand down his face. “Of course they were trying. You’re probably the most gorgeous thing in that whole damn party.”

I shake my head. “I’m not.”

“I’d bet my bike on it,” he says.

And then he walks into his kitchen and sets the phone down. The camera catches a perfect angle.

He’s shirtless. Wearing only boxers. Hair pushed back, that deep V-line peeking, his hips slung low like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

I forget how to speak.

He turns to the fridge casually.

His abs are flexing with every shift, and I just… stare.

Open-mouthed. Pathetically.

All I can think about is dropping to my knees on that cold kitchen tile. Letting him grab the back of my head and force me down. Taking him until my eyes tear up, until he says my name the way he does when he’s wrecked.

I wanna pull those boxers down with my teeth, and sit him down and bury my face between his thighs.

He glances at the screen and grins. “I love when you look at me like that.”

“How else am I supposed to look,” I breathe, “when you’re literally cooking shirtless like some kind of horny Greek god?”

He tosses something in the pan. I don’t care what it is.

“I want to eat my phone,” I murmur while staring.

He laughs. “Is there anyone around you?”

“No,” I say quickly. “It’s just me.”

His voice lowers. “Then if I were there right now, we’d definitely be fucking.”

My thighs press together on instinct. I feel so warm all of a sudden.

“Gio, stop.”

He smirks. “Don’t act like you wouldn’t love it. Me pinning you to the counter, pulling those pants down, making you b—”

“Seriously, shut up!” I cover my face, shaking. “You’re doing this on purpose!”

“I am,” he admits. “I miss your needy little moans, baby.”

I swallow hard. “Well… I’m not the only one who makes noises, just so you know.”

He smirks. “Okay. Laugh it up. But if you saw what I see during sex, you’d come in like… two seconds. I’m fighting for my life every single time.”

I whimper under my breath and drag a hand down my face.

I’m desperate.

“Well,” I mutter, trying to pull myself together, “Now I have to go find Noah and walk through a crowd of drunk strangers with a fucking boner. So thanks for that.”

“NO,” Gio says immediately, sitting up. “Noah is a pervert. He’ll see it and get ideas. He might try to put you on all fours right there. Stay the hell where you are until it goes away.”

I choke on a laugh. “STOP. Don’t say that. My eyes hurt!”

Gio grins devilishly. “YOU PICTURED IT?!”

I slap my hand over my face. “I DIDN’T MEAN TO! IT’S LIKE WATCHING YOUR SIBLINGS DOING IT—”

He’s dying laughing now.

“I hate you,” I mutter, flushed. “I didn’t deserve that mental image. I’m a victim here.”

“You’re not a victim,” he grins. “You’re just mad you pictured Noah’s face and not mine.”

“GIO. SHUT UP.”

He’s cackling. “I love you, baby.”

“I DON’T.”

“Sure, Ravioli.”

---

Y’all… THIS WAS TORTURE, IT TOOK SO LONG FOR NO REASON?!

Anyway. I’m eating fried squid right now:)

and later i’m gonna play mermaids in the sea with my sisters LMAO

I love you my pookies don’t go bald please.

BYE BYE ❤️

100) The Wrong Rava

Gio’s POV

It’s…October 20th.

A whole month of jerking off, only hugging Lulu , and eating lunch alone at a table that used to feel full.

My mom’s doing better, thank God. She’s stable. Still tired, still pale, but she laughs more. And she’s taking her pills.

Nicola’s being an even bigger asshole than usual. The paperwork’s taking forever . But I can’t push. Can’t yell. Can’t fucking risk anything.

So I wait.

“Yo, you coming or what?!” Jin yells from the hallway.

“Gimme a fucking minute, dumbass!” I shout back.

I unlock my phone.

ME:

Taking your little brother for a ride on the same bike I made you come on.

-Tsk tsk tsk.

Seconds later, Rava replies.

RAVIOLI:

-Did you?! Don’t remember. Might need a redo.

I smirk. My fingers fly over the screen.

ME:

-Would be my fucking pleasure.

-I’m going now.

-Don’t send nudes, I don’t wanna flash your brother.

He types fast.

RAVIOLI:

-Then… don’t open our chat in front of him. I’m jumping in the shower.

I grin harder than I should.

ME:

-Is there any kind soul out there who might accidentally record the whole thing and send it to me?

RAVIOLI:

-Yes, me :)

-Now hurry the fuck back.

I shake my head.

ME:

-That’s a crime.

-I’m going.

-Bye.

-I fucking adore you.

I put my phone into my pocket, grab my keys, and stand.

I step outside and see Jin already waiting by the bike, bouncing like he’s had five sodas.

“Can you get on or you need help?” I ask, lifting an eyebrow.

He scoffs. “I can. I’m not a baby. One of my friends has a bike too, you know.”

I roll my eyes. “Then why don’t you go ride with him?”

“Because yours is better, obviously. I’m gonna flex so hard tomorrow at school.”

He climbs on and wiggles into place behind me.

“…Also, how the hell does Rava sit back here all the time?! It’s not even comfortable.”

Well… Sitting is not the only thing Rava’s doing on this.

“Shut up and hold on,” I mutter. “Be a good kid and I might even buy you food.”

Jin zips his mouth and throws his arms around me like a little monkey. We take off.

⸻

We ride through the side streets.

Jin’s humming behind me, probably imagining himself in a Fast & Furious movie.

We stop for gas.

I slide off the bike, swipe my card, start filling the tank.

My phone buzzes.

I glance down.

A video from Rava.

I don’t even open it. I just smile like an idiot and lock the screen.

I know what it is. Or at least I want to believe I do.

Buzz.

Another notification.

NICOLA:

-It’s done.

My stomach drops.

My eyes go wide.

What ?

I stare at the screen.

“Jin,” I say, “we’re heading back.”

“What?! We barely even went anywhere! That’s not fair!”

“Yeah, well…” I’m already throwing my leg over the bike again.

“Life’s not fair. Get on. I’ll take you again tomorrow. Promise.”

He groans, “Ughhh, this is so lame—”

I start the engine while my eyes are still on the message.

We ride off.

And my heart’s already racing.

We pull up outside Jin’s place.

Rava’s place.

I kill the engine and toss Jin a lazy “Later.” He complains. I don’t hear him. I’m already half-running to the front door.

“Ciao!” I shout as I breeze past Rava’s mom, hugging her with one arm. She laughs. I don’t stop. My feet take the stairs two at a time, almost trip, no big deal since no one saw, and I burst into Daisy’s room without knocking.

Marco and Lorenzo are lounging on her bed, sharing a bag of chips like it’s a damn slumber party.

I throw myself between them.

“Guys,” I say. “We might’ve actually done it. We might be able to bring Rava back.”

Lorenzo shoots up like he got electrocuted.

Marco, always calm, says, “Does he happen to be bringing that hot friend of his with him?”

Daisy yells, “GIO, SPILL, WHAT HAPPENED?!”

Lorenzo’s already pacing, Marco’s stretching his neck like he’s about to do yoga, Daisy’s kicking her feet against the floor.

“SHUT UP!” I bark. “I’m calling him.”

They all drop what they’re doing and crowd around me. My phone rings. Nicola answers.

“Yeah?”

“So?” I say. “Do you have the papers?”

“Yeah,” he replies. “Just sent them to you.”

The room explodes.

Cheers. Whooping. Lorenzo throws a pillow at the ceiling. Daisy claps. Marco fake-gasps like he just got proposed to.

I scroll to the message and wave a hand. “SHUT UP AND LISTEN, YOU IDIOTS.”

I tap the file.

Start reading.

…

I stop.

Mid-sentence. Like someone sliced through me with a blade made of pure what-the-fuck.

My blood starts to boil.

“…Nicola?” I say slowly.

“Yeah?”

“Who THE FUCK is Rava Grayson?”

Silence.

Then Nicola, as if I’m the one being dramatic: “Um… the teacher-boyfriend of yours?”

I blink.

My eye twitches.

My soul leaves my body.

I’m gonna murder him.

“Do you have a death wish?” I ask.

I inhale hard through my nose and say, as calmly as I possibly can without actually combusting: “I told you. Rava. WESTON. You fucking IDIOT!”

Nicola doesn’t reply.

My face is hot. I can literally feel a vein throbbing in my temple.

Marco goes, “Guess I better prep some documents. If Rava Grayson finds out someone’s using his name, he’s definitely lawyering up.”

I shoot out of the bed, pacing.

“Cancel it,” I say.

Nicola scoffs. “It’s not that simple, smartass—”

“DUDE, I DON’T CARE!” I explode. “YOU SENT ME A RANDOM MAN! A WHOLE OTHER HUMAN BEING!”

Lorenzo snatches the phone from my hand.

“Okay. Listen here, you cement-headed dumbfuck,” he says. “You’re gonna tell us how to cancel this. Right now. Quickly.”

Nicola dares to huff. Like he’s the one being pressured.

Lorenzo’s voice drops.

“I still have that video of you. You know which one.”

Silence on the other end.

Then Nicola says: “…Fine. Let me think.”

Lorenzo smirks. “You’ve got thirty seconds. Make it count.”

I flop back on the bed, arm over my eyes.

I was this close to having him back.

This close.

Nicola exhales on the other end of the line, pissed like we’re the inconvenience.

“I’m not even in Italy anymore,” he mutters. “You think I was gonna stick around for you idiots?”

Lorenzo snaps, “THEN WHY DID YOU TAKE THE FUCKING JOB?!”

Nicola keeps going like the world’s biggest martyr. “If you want to cancel the request, you’ll have to go to the administrative office in Tuscany. Like—now. You’re barely gonna make it.”

Lorenzo’s voice hits eleven.

“AND YOU’RE TELLING US THIS NOW?! YOU ABSOLUTE TOASTER-FACED MORON?!”

Nicola fires back, “How was I supposed to know there was more than one person with that shitty name?!”

My whole body tenses.

“Rava is a beautiful fucking name!” I yell. “If any name sucks balls, it’s yours, you sad little fucker.”

Marco gives me a silent thumbs up.

So does Daisy.

“Alright,” I grit, pacing like a caged animal. “What documents do we need?”

Nicola’s voice is bored again. “They’ll tell you there. Just hurry. Cancel the damn thing before they send an official email to Rava Grayson asking for his documents and we end up on the evening news.”

Lorenzo scoffs. “Yeah, sure, let me just teleport us there real quick. It’s a 90-minute drive if we’re lucky and traffic doesn’t bend us over!”

I’m already moving.

“Get up,” I say. “We’re going. Now.”

Lorenzo grabs his jacket. Marco’s already at the door. Daisy runs to throw shoes at them.

I raise the phone one last time.

“Nicola,” I snap. “You better write a goddamn apology email explaining your massive fuck-up, and it better be waiting in my inbox by the time I get there. I’m showing it to the office.”

He sighs, full of self-pity.

“God, what the hell did I get myself into…”

I hang up.

No time.

We all pile into Lorenzo’s car. He takes the wheel.

Marco’s in the back, typing something.

Daisy waves from the porch like she’s sending us to war.

We peel out of the driveway like hell’s on our heels.

No one talks for the first 20 minutes.

The only sound is the car engine and the occasional death squeal of Lorenzo’s brakes.

He flicks on the radio. Reggaeton starts blasting through the speakers.

“Turn it off,” I snap. “You dumbass.”

“No,” he says flatly. “Your thoughts are already loud enough, Gio. They’re echoing like a tortured ghost in here. I’m trying to drown them out.”

I glare at him, then turn around to Marco in the back.

He’s holding a half-empty bottle of tequila we didn’t even know was in the car.

“…Marco,” I say slowly, “you’re a lawyer. You should know. If I beat Nicola’s face in until he turns purple, is there any legal way I don’t go to jail?”

Marco doesn’t even blink. “Of course. You have me.”

He lifts the bottle like he’s toasting something.

“Does he have anything dark in his record I can use for your defense?”

“Ohhh,” I grin bitterly. “We’d run out of fingers if we tried to count.”

Lorenzo barks a laugh.

“I still can’t believe he filed the application for the wrong fucking Rava. I’m sorry, but that’s kind of hilarious.”

Marco chimes in. “It’d be even funnier if the guy accepts it. Like, let’s be real, who says no to Italy? Gio would just end up bringing a total stranger into the city.”

I stare at the ceiling. They’re both laughing now.

I press my palms into my face, dragging them down slow.

“I can’t believe this is happening. You think they’ll actually accept the cancellation?”

Marco shrugs. “They better. Because if they don’t, I’m gonna start yapping legal jargon so fast I’ll give someone a nosebleed.”

Lorenzo glances at me from the corner of his eye.

“See? I knew we were meant to meet the tree guy! Not a boring lawyer. A badass lawyer.”

“Thank fuck,” I mutter. “How much longer?”

Lorenzo checks the dash.

“Half an hour. If I push it a little. But today’s not a day for speeding tickets. Close your eyes. Breathe. We’re gonna make it.”

We screech to a stop in front of the building.

I don’t even wait for the car to stop fully, I’m already out, sprinting to the front doors.

I grab the handle.

Pull.

Nothing.

I pull again.

Still nothing.

“No. No no no—” I turn around. “It’s closed. It’s fucking closed.”

They catch up. Marco reads the sign taped to the glass.

Closed for the election period.

Back in two days.

I point at it.

“It’s closed,” I repeat, pacing in a circle. “It’s fucking closed. I’m gonna kill myself. I’m gonna kill Nicola.”

“Gio,” Marco says, stepping in front of me, hands on my shoulders. “Listen. Chill. I know you don’t wanna hear this right now, but this is actually a good thing.”

I blink.

“Good?”

He nods. “Yeah. If the office is closed, it means they haven’t processed the Grayson application yet. Which means they haven’t sent him an email asking for ID numbers, tax forms, blood type, whatever the fuck. We were this close to being publicly humiliated. This saves us.”

I pause.

Fuck. He’s right.

“Okay,” I say slowly. “Okay. Fine. You have a point.”

Lorenzo suddenly grabs both of us by the arms like he’s about to deliver divine revelation.

“GUYS. I KNOW. I KNOW.”

Marco: “Jesus Christ—”

“I know a guy who works here,” Lorenzo says, eyes wide. “The boss, actually.”

Marco mutters. “Of course you do.”

“I used to date his daughter.”

I squint. “Wait, what—”

“AND THEN,” he says dramatically, “I accidentally dated his nephew. He was so hot. I don’t know if she ever told her dad. But let’s hope not. Anyway. The guy loves me. He’ll get us in. We just need to find him.”

I stare at him.

“And how exactly do we do that, you fucking idiot? Do we wave a wand and feel his bureaucratic aura calling to us from the void?!”

Marco bursts out laughing.

Lorenzo waves us off and pulls out his phone. “Chill. I still follow the daughter on Instagram. And I bet she follows him. And he probably has his account public because, you know, civil servant with a God complex.”

He scrolls fast.

“Hurry the fuck up,” I say.

“Gio, I will fuck you. Don’t test me.”

Marco wheezes. “Alabama type shit.”

Lorenzo suddenly yells, “FOUND HIM! My sweet little idiot’s at the beach. Let’s go!”

He’s already heading back to the car.

“GET IN. We’re bringing him here ourselves. C’mon. LOOK ALIVE.”

I don’t even question it anymore.

We pile into the car again.

Because of course we’re about to hunt down a civil servant on vacation to fix a mistake Nicola made because he couldn’t spell fucking Weston.

Of course we are.

This is our life now.

Back in the car.

Again.

I stare out the window, fists clenched between my knees, watching the road blur past.

“So what’s the plan, exactly?” I ask. “We just walk up to this guy’s sunbed and go, ‘Hi, sorry to interrupt your salted skin and sunburn, but could you maybe come to the office because I wanna fix a clerical error and bring my boyfriend back to Italy?’”

Lorenzo doesn’t even blink. “Leave it to me.”

I stare at him.

“That’s not comforting.”

He shrugs. “I know the guy. We’ll handle it.”

“Lorenzo,” I mutter, “have I ever told you how many times you’ve disappointed me?”

He flashes a smile in the mirror. “Yeah. And every time, I bounce back stronger. Like herpes.”

Marco snorts in the back. “That’s a t-shirt quote.”

Lorenzo points a finger at me. “Anyway, show some respect. I’m your favorite cousin.”

“You’re my only cousin,” I say.

“Exactly,” he says smugly. “And I love your Rava. So you’re lucky. Otherwise? You’d be cooked.”

Marco raises the tequila bottle again. “To Gio, barely surviving through family loyalty!”

Lorenzo slows the car. “Alright. Shut up. We’re here.”

He pulls over near the beach entrance.

We can already see umbrellas, sand, and a hundred sunburnt people pretending they’re relaxed while their kids scream in the background.

Lorenzo cuts the engine.

“Time to go ruin someone’s vacation,” he says.

I take a deep breath.

God help us.

We step onto the sand.

Marco immediately takes off his shoes. “Why the hell is there so many people at the beach? It’s October. Go home, you psychos.”

There’s a breeze, warm but weird. I’m already sweating from the nerves.

Lorenzo shades his eyes with his hand, scanning the sunbeds.

“I see him,” he says suddenly. “Alright. Focus up. Game faces. This is it.”

My stomach drops. My heart’s in my throat.

As we get closer, Lorenzo breaks into a huge grin and throws a hand in the air like he’s greeting a long-lost uncle.

“HEYYYY! Long time no see!”

The guy blinks at him like he’s trying to remember if he’s being robbed.

Lorenzo walks up confidently. “It’s me! Lorenzo! I dated your daughter!”

The man’s eyes narrow. “Oh…right. She cried for a week after you ghosted her.”

I throw Lorenzo the most lethal side-eye I can muster. Lorenzo shrugs at me like, oops?

“Anyway,” Lorenzo presses on, smiling like he’s never caused a single problem in his life, “I was wondering if I could ask a teeny-tiny bureaucratic favor.”

Marco and I hover a little behind him like backup dancers in a very badly choreographed heist.

“There’s been a small… issue,” Lorenzo continues. “You see, our friend Nicola—very sweet, but he has some… mild brain damage… He made an application for the wrong Rava. Can you believe that? The wrong Rava!”

Marco chokes on a laugh behind me. I elbow him in the ribs.

Lorenzo gestures to me.

“And this kid? This kid right here? Best guy I know.”

I blink.

“He goes to nursing homes on Sundays,” Lorenzo continues smoothly, “and plays poker with the elderly. Lets them win too. Isn’t that adorable?”

I shoot him another look.

What the fuck are you saying.

The man narrows his eyes. “Which nursing home?”

Fuck.

Marco steps in instantly, stone-faced. “Santa Lucia. My grandma lives there! She loves this guy. Calls him ‘the good boy with the tragic tattoos.’”

Lorenzo puts a hand on his heart like he’s about to cry.

“The person we’re trying to bring here?” he says. “He’s an angel. Pure. He needs to finish school here. His mother just went through… a rough divorce… from a very violent man. And she needs her son.”

The guy looks mildly horrified.

“Well,” he mutters, “that’s… horrible. But… I don’t have my car. My daughter took it. I can’t drive anywhere.”

I shoot forward.

“We’ll take our car. We’ll drive you! No stress!”

He hesitates.

I keep going.

“We’ll buy you lunch. Anything you want. Lobster. Crabs. Double the order. We’ll buy the most expensive wine on the menu. I don’t even care if it tastes like piss. If you want it, it’s yours, sir.”

The man stares at me.

Then at Lorenzo.

He sighs.

“…Fine. Let’s go. Just…don’t tell my wife.”

Lorenzo claps his hands. “Of course! Right this way, sir!”

He throws me a wink behind his back.

We’ve got him.

We’re in.

The first few minutes in the car are dead silent.

Not even the radio dares to speak.

Lorenzo’s staring at the road like he’s never driven before.

Marco’s chewing gum. I’m in the backseat next to the guy, who still smells faintly of sunscreen and fish.

I can feel the salt sticking to his arm hairs.

Every breath I take feels illegal.

“So,” Lorenzo says eventually, “how’s the beach today? Good waves?”

The guy grunts. “Fine. Too many kids.”

“Yeah. Kids suck,” Marco mutters.

More silence.

“So,” Lorenzo tries again. “You still live in… uh… the place?”

The guy looks confused. “What?”

“You know, the place. With the… traffic lights. And the weird dog statue?”

“…No?”

Marco snorts.

I’m slowly melting into my seat.

We kidnapped a civil servant. We kidnapped a civil servant.

“Anyway,” Lorenzo mumbles. “Good place.”

More silence.

“Do you like lobster?” I blurt.

Everyone turns to look at me.

The man raises a brow. “What?”

“For lunch. I just—wanted to check. If we’re kidnapping you, sir, might as well feed you something…decent.”

Lorenzo coughs. “Not kidnapping.”

Marco: “Gray area.”

Another silence.

The guy shifts in his seat. “What exactly did your friend write in the application? The one for the wrong person?”

Lorenzo waves a hand. “Just… Some Rava that we don’t know. Rava Grayson, instead of Rava Weston. Total accident.”

Marco mutters, “Still can’t believe it wasn’t flagged. Our government really is held together by tape and prayers.”

The guy sighs. “You know what the worst part is? I believe you.”

I almost smile.

Lorenzo adds, “You’re doing a good thing today, sir. A great thing. A noble thing.”

Marco leans forward. “Also, your shirt’s inside out.”

The man glances down.

“…Shit.”

Silence again.

Then Lorenzo softly, sweetly: “So, uh… What’s your zodiac sign?”

I close my eyes.

Marco wheezes. “Bro, no…”

The man just says, “I don’t believe in that bullshit.”

Lorenzo: “Okay. Scorpio energy.”

I lean my head against the window.

This is the weirdest car ride I’ve ever survived.

And we’re still only halfway there.

We walk into the building.

Everything looks sterile, polished.

Except for the man we dragged in wearing his swim trunks, and flip-flops.

He leads us into an office and sits behind a big-ass desk. He doesn’t even towel off. Just plops down, turns on the computer, and starts typing.

The three of us sit down across from him.

I don’t know why, but the second my ass touches that chair, I feel like I’m fifteen again, sitting in the principal’s office, about to get suspended for something stupid.

Lorenzo grabs my hand dramatically.

“We got this,” he whispers, like we’re adopting a child.

I whisper back, “Bro. We’re not a couple trying to adopt. Relax.”

The guy clicks around, eyes on the screen.

“So,” he says. “We’re not going with Rava Grayson.”

“Correct,” I say, already bracing for humiliation. “Not him. If we cancel, you won’t notify him or anything, right? He won’t get an email asking for his documents?”

The man shakes his head. “No.”

“Great,” I breathe out. “That’s… great. Thank you.”

More typing. His fingers slap the keyboard like he’s playing a fucking rhythm game.

We sit there.

We look at each other.

We say nothing.

He looks up. “Canceled.”

I slump in my chair. “Perfect. Thank you. Seriously. So much. We appreciate it.”

I lean forward.

“Is it possible to file a new application here? For the correct person? Our… friend’s mom works in the education office for the program. You might know her.”

He squints at me. “I’ve heard of her. Didn’t know her son was having brain issues, though.”

Lorenzo shoots me a look.

I side eye him.

“Yeah, well… We’re just acquaintances. She told us we could have Rava Weston continue the program locally instead of going back to Canada.”

He nods. “So, correct name is Rava Weston?”

“Yes,” I say. “One hundred percent.”

He types again.

“Alright. Give me his tax number and ID.”

My whole body freezes.

Shit.

My head whips toward Marco and Lorenzo like they might magically know it.

They don’t.

I smile weakly at the guy.

“Give me… one minute. I’ll be right back with both.”

I speed-walk across the office like I’m about to shit myself and duck into a corner by the water cooler.

Dialing.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

“Pick up. Pick up. Pick up—”

“Gio?” Noah’s voice.

“Noah,” I whisper, “tell me you’re at Rava’s.”

“I am. You want me to put him on?”

“NO. No. Don’t. Listen to me very carefully. I need you to go into his room, and find two things: his tax number and his ID number. Snap a photo of each. Send them to me. Right now. Please.”

“Wait—what? You want me to rummage through his shit? Shouldn’t I just ask him where they are?”

“NO,” I hiss. “It’s a surprise, dumbass. We’re bringing him back. So find the papers. Now.”

There’s a pause.

“…If I do this, will you finally let me pierce your nipples?”

“Noah.”

“I’m serious. They’re crying for it. It’s hot. Just let me—”

“YES. FINE. DO IT. JUST HURRY THE FUCK UP!”

He cackles. “You’re the best. Two minutes. I’m so excited. This is the second best day of my life.”

He hangs up.

I stand there.

In a government office.

Begging for photos of legal documents.

Bartering my nipples for bureaucracy.

This is my life.

Ping.

The photos come in.

Noah delivered.

Two perfectly clear shots—one of Rava’s tax number, the other his ID.

I don’t know how he found them so fast. Actually, I do know. He’s probably holding Rava’s whole drawer upside down right now.

I rush back to the desk, phone in hand. “Here. These are his documents.”

The guy, still in swim trunks, squints at the photos. His face twitches.

“Does this Rava know you’re sharing his personal information like this?”

I nod, instantly. “Of course. He’s super into this. Wants it more than anyone.”

The man mutters, “Is this even legal…?”

Marco leans forward suddenly.

“Actually, yes. Under Article 6 of the Italian Data Protection Code, consent can be assumed for purposes directly related to the individual’s benefit, when acting on their behalf in good faith, especially in cases involving educational continuity.”

Pause.

“And in plain English,” Marco adds, “we’re not stealing his identity. We’re helping him stay in school.”

The man looks at him. “You’re a lawyer?”

Marco smiles. “Yup.”

The guy tilts his head. “Can I introduce you to my single daughter?”

Marco’s grin doesn’t even fade. “If your daughter’s a man, then absolutely!”

The man blinks.

Lorenzo dies laughing.

I lean forward. “How’s it looking? Is everything alright?”

Lorenzo jumps in dramatically. “We trust you, sir… after today, I swear this Fontana right here is gonna light candles for you at church every Sunday.”

The guy blinks.

“…Did you say Fontana?”

I hesitate. “Yeah…? That’s me.”

The man stares. “You wouldn’t happen to know an Antonio Fontana, would you?”

It hits like a blade through my chest.

I smile, soft and a little dizzy. “That’s… probably my dad.”

The man GASPS. “YOU’RE Giovanni?! THE Giovanni?!”

Lorenzo blinks. “Okay that was unexpected.”

I blink too. “You knew my dad?”

The man leans back. “Knew him?! He was the best! That bastard made me laugh so hard once I nearly choked on a cannoli. He was a legend. A menace. But a legend.”

Something breaks open in my chest.

I haven’t heard anyone talk about him like that in so long.

Just his name in someone else’s mouth feels like warmth I forgot existed.

He wasn’t just mine. He mattered. Still matters.

The guy exhales. “It’s always the good ones, huh?”

He claps his hands and stands.

“Well,” he says, “since that’s the case—let’s go finalize this paperwork.”

We move to a big table near the back. He prints a fresh form.

“Application for Rava Weston is now complete. All we need is his signature, and he’s officially continuing his postgrad program in Italy.”

…

Lorenzo and Marco leap to their feet like we just won a championship game.

“YESSSSSSS!” Lorenzo yells.

Marco grabs him and they start jumping like maniacs.

I’m frozen for a second. Then I lose it.

I jump into the chaos, arms thrown around both of them, shouting and laughing and gasping for air.

“I can’t fucking believe it!”

Marco’s yelling “WE SAVED HIM” and Lorenzo’s screaming “SOMEONE POUR ME WINE” and I’m just— fucking overwhelmed.

Marco is laughing so hard he’s choking. “I’M GONNA THROW UP. WE’RE GENIUSES!”

We did it. We actually did it.

I grin so hard it hurts.

I throw my arms around their shoulders, drag them back into me, and shout:

“OKAY. LISTEN UP. EVERYBODY SHUT THE FUCK UP.”

They pause, breathing like they just ran a marathon.

I look at them. Dead serious.

“The second we get home— I don’t give a shit what plans you had, you’re packing your fucking bags. We’re going to Canada. I’m paying for everything. Flights. Hotels. Food. I don’t care. We’re bringing him back.”

Lorenzo gasps so loud it echoes.

Marco yells, “YESSSS!”

“BUT—” I raise a finger, “—he can’t know. We’re showing up like a goddamn Christmas miracle, got it?”

Lorenzo practically cries out: “I’M GONNA SEE NOAH AGAIN, SWEET BABY JESUS.”

Marco: “I don’t even KNOW this Noah guy but you’ve got me SO HYPED, I’m packing my hottest outfit.”

Lorenzo exhales. “I’m texting my barber. My Canada cut’s gotta hit.”

Marco: “I’m buying new underwear. I don’t know why. But I am.”

I can’t stop smiling.

I’m laughing so hard my ribs hurt. I feel like I could punch through a wall and then cry about it after.

This is it.

My Rava is coming back to fucking Italy.

Canada can suck my dick.

---

YIPPEEEEEEEEEEE GUYS THIS CHAPTER WAS THE BIGGEST I HAVE EVER WRITTEN I THINK.

My thoughts are really getting more and more detailed every day.

I hope you liked this one, i wrote this with sea water on my screen.

ANYWAY I HOPE YOU STILL LOVE ME BYE BYE GUYS ❤️

let me know if there are any spelling mistakes cause I can’t really see what i’m typing most of the time

101) Flower Attack

Gio’s POV

We look like a gang. Not a cute little family trip group, like a full-on crew, strutting through the airport.

Lorenzo is dancing while listening to “XOXO” by “Rvfv” again, and people are staring, but he’s eating it up.

Daisy’s rolling her suitcase with one hand, phone in the other, looking unbothered.

Marco’s got his hands in his pockets like he’s in a mafia film.

Jin is trailing behind us, backpack half-open, like a kid on a school trip.

Rava’s mom, Eden, is keeping a calm, polite smile, because someone has to be normal during this.

I’m losing my fucking mind inside. I’m so hyped I can’t feel my feet.

Canada with all of them and Rava doesn’t know a damn thing.

Last time I saw him? September 15th. It’s October 24th now.

Feels like a fucking lifetime.

“I’m starving,” Jin complains. “Can we eat before we go in?”

Eden gives him the classic mom look. “Seriously? You want to spend your allowance on an overpriced airport sandwich?”

I wave her off, grinning. “I told you—I’m covering food too. Here.” I pull out cash and shove it into Jin’s hand. “Go get something. And grab me something too. Anyone else? I’m paying for everything today.”

Lorenzo’s eyes light up. “Can I get that Dior perfume I’ve been wan—”

“No,” I cut him off immediately. “Offer’s valid for everyone except my dear cousin Lorenzo.”

He puts a hand to his chest, fake-offended. “Nothing’s stopping me from kissing Rava in front of you, you know.”

I don’t even hesitate. “Nothing’s stopping me from beating your ass black and blue if you try.”

He smirks. “Kinky. I like it.”

Marco groans under his breath. “Oh God… here we go again…”

We are finally in.

We’re all crammed into the same row. Rava’s mom by the window, then Jin, then me, then Lorenzo, Daisy, and Marco.

In two days, Rava’s gonna see me and lose his mind.

I hope I won’t pass out in front of him.

My phone buzzes. It’s him.

I light up instantly, like a proud idiot with the best secret in the world. “Rava?!”

“Morning!” His voice is soft, like he just woke up. “What are you doing?”

“Uhh… nothing special. Just… sitting.” My eyes flick to the others, making sure no one makes a sound.

I can’t stop smiling. We are evil.

“You? Why are you even awake at six in the morning?”

“Gotta study. I wanna finish before graduation rehearsal.”

God, he’s adorable. I can’t help but grin. “You’re so cute. Fuck, I miss you so much.”

He starts to say “I miss you t—”

Click. I hang up.

Fuck.

The airplane announcement kicks in over the speakers and my stomach drops.

If he heard that, I’m doomed.

“How’s Rava?” his mom asks.

“He’s… studying. Six in the morning.”

Daisy leans forward, hands on her knees. “Awww, what a little angel. I wanna eat him.”

So do I. You have no idea how bad.

The announcement ends, and we’re ready to take off.

I call him back. “Hey, sorry, Ravioli.”

“All good. You okay?”

“Yeah—accidentally hung up. Listen, I’ll call you later, okay? Gotta… cook right now. Busy day. Lots of… uh… collections to do around here, so I won’t be able to talk much.”

“Alright. We’ll talk when you’re done. I’ve got rehearsal for a while anyway, then I need to do some grocery shopping for the kitchen.”

“Perfect. Good luck with studying and rehearsal. Love you so much.”

“Good luck cooking. Love you too!”

We hang up.

I turn, and Lorenzo’s staring straight into my soul. “What?” I ask, immediately suspicious.

“Are you two gonna have birthday sex the day after tomorrow?” He raises one eyebrow like the devil.

I glance at Daisy. “Please get your man away from me. I can’t stand him.”

“Neither can I. That’s why I love him.” She loops her arms around his neck, squishing his cheeks together and shaking his head side to side like he’s a rag doll.

With mashed-up cheeks, Lorenzo mumbles, “You didn’t answer me though.”

I turn forward, dead serious. “I’ve been waiting for that day since I was thirteen and found out our dick isn’t just for peeing.”

3 Hours Later

Lorenzo’s finally knocked out.

He’s curled up into Daisy’s neck like a damn cat, and she’s got her head resting right on top of his like she’s claiming him as property.

It’s disgusting. And also kinda cute. But mostly disgusting.

I’ve been sitting here for God knows how long, absolutely destroying Marco and Rava’s mom in poker on my phone.

I’m not even trying, I’m just that good.

Only Rava can beat me. This little shit.

Marco suddenly gets up, stretches like he’s posing for a cologne ad with a very low budget.

“Bathroom. If I lose the next round, count it as a win for me.” “Sure thing, Marco.”

Just a few more hours. A few more hours and I’ll be in the same city as my Rava. Same freaking street.

And the best part? He has no idea I’m coming.

We step off the plane.

Holy shit.

The cold Canadian air is hitting us like a slap right in the face.

Jin groans the second his feet hit the stairs. “Finally. My ass has been numb for hours .”

“I second that,” Marco says, rolling his shoulders like he just survived a war.

“I’m gonna shit myself,” Daisy blurts, practically bouncing. “I’m so ready to shop here.”

“Me too,” Lorenzo grins, “I’m so ready for you to financially ruin me. As long as you…pay me back later. In kind.”

“Tone it down,” I mutter, glancing over my shoulder. “Her mom’s right behind us.”

Lorenzo smirks without missing a beat. “Should I remind you that her mom is also your neighbor? You seem to forget that A LOT when you’re doing certain things.”

…Yeah, I shut the hell up after that.

Lorenzo’s phone starts ringing while we’re in the car, heading to our hotel.

I lean over to glance at the screen and almost choke.

“Why the hell do you have Noah saved as ‘Sexy Onion’?”

He shrugs without looking at me.

“Did I lie?”

Before I can say anything, he’s already hit answer.

“Hey, baby.”

On the other end:

“Who is this?”

“Oh, fuck off,” Lorenzo snaps, and Noah bursts out laughing.

“Is you-know-who with you?” Lorenzo asks.

Noah replies. “Right now, you-know-who is making me food because I accidentally dropped a frying pan on my glass stove top and shattered it.”

Marco stifles a laugh next to me. I glance at him, but keep my attention on the call.

“Do you have a decent outfit for the graduation?” I ask Noah.

“…When you say ‘decent outfit’—”

“Got it,” I cut him off. “You’re coming with us this afternoon. We’re buying clothes. I’m not letting you show up to Rava’s graduation in pajamas. Only Marco here actually dresses like a human.”

“Who’s Marco? Wait, IS HE THE GUY THAT RAVA TOLD ME AB—”

Click. Lorenzo hangs up.

I look over at Marco. Marco looks at me.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says. “You’re making my little heart beat too fast.”

Lorenzo reaches over and ruffles his hair.

“My poor, sweet child…”

__

The hotel is only five minutes from Rava’s place.

Five minutes.

That’s scary.

That thought alone is enough to make my stomach feel like I’ve swallowed a blender.

Half of me wants to run over there right now, bang on his door, and kiss the living daylights out of him.

The other half is terrified I’ll ruin the surprise and get strangled by Lorenzo in my sleep.

We roll into the lobby like a herd of jet-lagged criminals.

Lorenzo is dragging his suitcase one-handed while texting, Marco is balancing a duffel bag and a coffee he stole from the plane, Daisy has somehow acquired three extra bags since the airport, Jin is carrying a blanket that’s almost bigger than him, and Rava’s mom is making sure nobody forgets anything in the car.

I push through the revolving door.

Wow. The burgundy carpet smells really expensive. The receptionist gives us that polite, “you look like trouble but we’ll let you in anyway” smile.

“Three rooms. Under Fontana.”

Marco is already eyeing the snack fridge next to the reception desk. Daisy’s pulling Jin away from the candy display. Rava’s mom is making small talk with the concierge, I don’t know what is it about.

Keys in hand, we shuffle toward the elevators. I notice Lorenzo keeps glancing toward the glass doors, probably the same thought as me.

Rava is literally five minutes away.

In the elevator, everyone’s leaning on their bags like they might pass out.

Once we’re inside the rooms and the luggage hits the floor, I clap my hands together.

“Alright, here’s the plan—”

Groans. Actual groans from the group.

“No, listen. First, we rest. Then, we go out for food, stock the room. After that, we get outfits for graduation. And finally, we buy a gift for Rava. Cool?”

Lorenzo throws himself face-first onto the bed and waves me off without looking.

“Shut up and sleep, Fontana.”

Eden adjusts her coat, glancing around the room like she’s mentally checking off a safety list.

“Jin and I will be right next door. If you need anything, just let me know, okay?”

Lorenzo suddenly sits up, grabs Daisy by the hand, and heads for the door.

“And we’ll be right across the hall. Don’t need us.”

Marco, still sprawled out on the armchair, raises his hand lazily.

“I’ll stay here with my poker buddy.”

He points at me.

Eden is smiling all innocent.

“If you start a game, text me so I can join.”

Lorenzo freezes mid-step.

“You’ve been playing without me?!”

I smirk.

“You were sleeping like a pig. Now go. We’ll see you in two hours.”

Lorenzo is muttering something about betrayal, and drags Daisy out with him. Eden and Jin follow a second later, and the room falls quiet except for the soft hum of the heater.

— Two hours later —

My phone buzzing is the only thing that drags me out of sleep.

I groan, fumble for it on the nightstand, and answer without even looking at the screen.

“Mmm… there’s my favorite nerd,” I mumble.

“I’m not a nerd,” Rava shoots back instantly. “Hi to you, too. What are you doing?”

“Sleeping,” I admit. “Good thing you called. I want lunch.”

There’s a beat of silence before he says,

“Uh… isn’t it, like… nine at night in Italy right now?”

Fuck.

I’m stupid.

My eyes snap open. I sit up so fast the blanket tangles around my legs.

Marco, from the armchair, looks up.

“What happened?”

“Who’s with you?” Rava asks immediately, suspicion creeping in.

I force a laugh.

“Sorry, still half-asleep standing up. I meant dinner. Marco’s here. Lorenzo and Daisy, too. We’re just… hanging out.”

Holy shit , that was close.

“Tell them I said hi! Wish I was there with you guys. I feel kind of alone here…”

Mhm. That stabs a little deeper than I expect.

“We miss you, too. Wish we were with you…” I say, glancing at Marco, who meets my eyes with a little knowing smile. “I wanted to come, but… the doctor told me to watch over my mom.”

He sighs softly.

“I know… I know. I hope she gets better soon, the sweet lady.”

“She will,” I say.

“What are you gonna do for your birthday?”

“Uh… nothing, probably. Just… be bored.”

“Gio, is everything okay?” His tone shifts, hesitant. “Sorry if I sound weird, but… I don’t know… It feels like… you’re not that excited to talk to me lately.”

My stomach drops.

“Don’t you dare say that again,” I tell him, sharper than I mean to. “You’re my favorite person. Don’t even think like that. I swear everything’s fine.”

“Okay… it’s just… lately everyone’s been a bit distant. Even Noah keeps running off to the corners to take calls. He never does that.”

I swallow a laugh because I know exactly why Noah’s sneaking off, but my heart aches for him all the same.

My sweet, clueless baby.

“It’s nothing bad,” I say gently. “Promise.”

“Alright. I’m gonna go lie down for a bit, okay? Take care. I love you a lot.”

“You better dream about me,” I tell him. “Bye. I love you more.”

I hang up and let the phone drop onto the bed, staring at the ceiling with a stupid mix of guilt and anticipation.

I’m so sad he’s feeling like this, but I really have to wait. He has to wait.

Marco grins at me.

“You guys are so cute it makes me jealous.”

Before I can throw a pillow at him, there’s a knock on the door.

“That’s Lorenzo,” I tell him. “He texted me a minute ago saying he’s coming up. Here—”

I point to a vase on the side table, stuffed with tiny, colorful decorative flowers.

“Grab a handful of those. The second I open the door, you throw them straight at him.”

Marco’s eyes light up.

“Perfect. I’m ready.”

I twist the handle, swing the door open.

And Marco launches the flowers with Olympic-level commitment.

He freezes.

His mouth is open like he’s just seen the face of God.

I turn to see what stopped him.

Noah stands there. Completely covered in the little flowers. From his hair to his jacket, down to the cuff of his baggy pants.

And behind him, Lorenzo is lazily chewing on a candy like nothing happened.

Marco instantly covers his face with both hands.

“Why is it always me? I’m sorry! I thought it was Lorenzo!”

He steps forward flustered, plucking the flowers off Noah one by one.

From his hair, his clothes, even the tiny one caught in the hoop of his earring.

The flowers cling like they want to stay on him, and Marco has to coax them off gently.

Noah squints at us.

“What are you staring at, idiots? Go get the vase and dump the rest on me.”

Lorenzo flicks a candy at Marco’s head. “Idiot.”

“Leave me alone! It wasn’t on purpose!” Marco protests. “You’re lucky I didn’t cry. Gio’s the one who started this!”

Noah just keeps looking at Marco, slow, like he’s sizing him up for dinner.

Lorenzo notices immediately and smirks.

“I’ve seen certain videos start exactly like this.”

Marco’s face turns red.

He laughs.

“Shut up.”

We step inside the room and Marco immediately announces,

“My anxiety makes me need to pee. See you in two.”

He shuts the bathroom door behind him.

Noah rubs his face with both hands.

“First of all—GIO, man, I missed you!”

He pulls me into a hug. I pat his back.

“Weirdly enough… I missed you too.”

Noah pulls back.

“Okay, now to the point. WHO is that guy you dragged here?”

He’s whispering, but it’s that angry, intense whisper.

Lorenzo, lounging against the dresser, flicks a candy at him.

“That’s Marco. He’s a lawyer—like, a real one, not the fake TV kind. Super chill. And he wants to touch you.”

“ME???” Noah points at himself with wide open eyes.

“Yeah, you. A lot,” I add, smirking.

Noah drags his hands down his face.

“Oh, man… I had so much confidence because, well… I’m me. But now? Now I’m freaking nervous.”

Lorenzo mutters under his breath, “Shut up, he’s coming.”

The bathroom door clicks open and Marco steps out, drying his hands on his pants.

He glances at Noah.

“Sorry about the flower attack.”

Noah tilts his head, pretending to think, and says with exaggerated seriousness,

“Well… no. I don’t forgive you. That was a deeply traumatic experience.”

Marco’s smile falters, like he’s not sure if Noah’s joking.

Noah props his head in his palm, elbow on the armrest, his eyes are locked on Marco.

There’s a slow but wide smile curling his lips, and it looks like he’s saying “please jump me”.

They just… stare.

I shoot up from my seat.

“Okay, we’re leaving in five minutes. I know that look. I also know the thoughts behind it. Let’s hit pause on this for an hour and go buy food.”

I wave toward the door, herding them both out before anything irreversible happens.

I put on my shirt, brush my teeth, and follow.

—

Noah hooks his arm through mine the second we’re in the fruit aisle.

“Spill everything. I want your moves. How’d you bag Rava?”

I grab a bunch of bananas, drop them into the cart.

“Not telling you. No one told me.”

“You owe me!” he says, pointing a finger in my face. “Need I remind you that I’m the one who told you-know-who to kiss you?”

…Shit. He’s right. If it wasn’t for Noah giving Rava that shove, we might not even be a thing right now.

I sigh.

“Fine. I’ll help you with Marco—”

“RAVA,” Noah cuts me off.

My head snaps toward him.

“What, you want Rava??”

“No, you idiot—Rava’s here! Right there! Shit! Turn around—”

Before I can even process, he shoves me into the employees-only door.

My back hits the wall.

I press myself flat against the door, listening.

“Noah?!” Rava’s voice is right there. “What are you doing here?”

“Uh… shopping?” Noah says like it’s the dumbest question in the world.

Oh my God.

He’s right there.

My boyfriend is right there.

If I so much as breathe too loud, he’ll hear me.

I want nothing more than to burst out, wrap him in my arms, and never let go, but I can’t.

“I think I’m going paranoid,” Rava says quietly. “I swear I smell Gio. Even before I saw you, in another aisle—”

I wonder why.

“Probably someone wearing the same cologne,” Noah says. “Anyway, I’m not getting anything. Want to just go to checkout?”

“Yeah. If I smell it any longer, I might start crying.”

I press my forehead to the door, and I close my eyes trying not to completely lose it.

My baby. He’s so close… and he has no idea.

As soon as they head out, I slip a few steps behind, curiosity getting the better of me.

Through the sliding doors, I spot them at the checkout.

God… he’s even more beautiful now. Painfully, terrifyingly beautiful.

I freeze in place, watching him open shopping bags and rush to fit everything inside before the cashier can hand over the next item.

He pauses for a split second, pushes his glasses up in that quick, and keeps going.

Anything this man does… I could watch forever. But not now. Not yet.

I pull out my phone and text Noah:

ME:

-Go with him. Keep him busy. We’ll get your clothes for you.

Then I head out before my self-control gives in.

Daisy, Jin, and Eden have arrived, all three of them huddled around a giant crepe.

“Noah?” Lorenzo asks.

“Sent him to keep Rava busy,” I explain, still a little breathless. “Just ran into him inside the store.”

“YOU DID?! Did he see you?” Daisy blurts out, nearly dropping her fork.

“No. Thankfully,” I say.

“Perfect. That’s so exciting,” she grins.

“We saw a good clothing shop right next door,” she adds. “Should we go?”

Everyone agrees, and we head off.

—

We’re in the clothing store, and Lorenzo and Daisy are already bickering like an eighty-year-old married couple over whether dark grey or navy blue looks better on him.

I wander over, pretending I haven’t been eavesdropping for the past five minutes.

“Blue,” I tell Lorenzo flatly.

“THANK YOU!” Daisy throws her hands up. “I’ve been trying to tell him this for so long.”

Lorenzo sighs like we’ve all just ruined his day. “Fine, fine, I’ll take the blue. Noah can wear the grey.” Then he turns to me. “What about you, Gio?”

“That black one over there, if I’m lucky and they’ve got my size in stock. This one’s tiny.”

Lorenzo looks me up and down, then behind me, then back at my ass. “Where’s it gonna fit with all that ass back there?”

“Okay,” I mutter, “leaving before we get kicked out.”

“I’m coming with you,” Daisy says, trotting along beside me.

We stroll down the aisle, and I’m half-focused on the racks, half-scanning the room for trouble.

And it’s a damn good thing I am, because trouble is here .

I grab Daisy’s arm, pulling her down with me behind a row of hanging coats, both of us crouching low like we’re in a spy movie.

I grab a random pair of shoes to make it look like we’re very invested in footwear.

“What? What? Who is it? Is it Rava?” she hisses.

“Worse,” I say.

“…Worse?”

“His ex.”

“WHAT?!”

We both peek out just enough to see her, Sophia, picking through a rack of dresses, wearing that permanent sour expression like someone just told her brunch was cancelled.

“What a cow,” Daisy mutters. “Remind me again what happened with her?”

I rub my eyes like I’m trying to erase the memory. “Doesn’t matter. What matters is who’s got Rava now, and it’s not her. But yeah… she tried sexting me behind Rava’s back. Wanted to ‘hook up.’”

Daisy stifles a laugh.

“She had no idea I wanted her boyfriend,” I say, grinning.

“This is actually incredible,” Daisy says, biting her lip to keep from cackling. “Imagine trying to cheat on your boyfriend with someone, and the only thing you succeed at is pushing him closer to that person. You end up alone, and they end up in love. Karma served hot.”

“Thanks, Daisy.”

“Obviously,” she says, pulling me into a quick hug while we’re still crouched on the floor.

Then Marco strolls up like nothing’s weird. “Guys, look what I’m getting. I just hope it’s hot enough on me that Noah wants to take it off. Also… why are you both on the floor?”

“We’re watching Rava’s ex over there,” Daisy explains.

Marco’s eyes light up. “Ooooo. Who is he?”

“The blonde,” I tell him.

“Wait—she?!” Marco gawks. “Aw, man. I’ve missed so many episodes.”

“Don’t worry,” Daisy says, patting his arm. “Noah will tell you the whole thing like a bedtime story.”

“Stop,” Marco groans. “That shit actually gives me butterflies.”

I glance at the two of them sitting cross-legged beside me now, and I can’t help picturing how hard Rava would laugh if he saw us like this.

Tomorrow we’ll all be together.

Tomorrow, I get to feel alive again.

---

HELLO MY POOKIES SORRY FOR POSTING SO LATE

i’m a busy woman 😌🤚 And a mermaid from 6 to 8pm.

I’m so scared to write the next chapter I DONT WANT TO RUIN IT AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

that’s all..💔

BYE BYE MY POOKIES I LOVE YOU

102) Graduation Pt.1

Alright guys, since the chapter was turning out HUGE, I decided to split it into two parts, this is part 1 and the next part will be up tomorrow :))) heh.

Rava’s POV

I wake up to this aggressive banging on my door like someone’s trying to collect a debt.

Which is impossible, since I’m very careful with my bills.

My brain’s still loading. I rub my eyes, grope around for something to wear, and my hand lands on one of Gio’s shirts.

I throw it on, even though it looks kind of huge on me, and shuffle to the door.

I open it and Noah’s there, holding up two grocery bags. “There he is! My favorite almost-graduate asshole! WOOHOO!” he shouts, already barging in.

I rub my face. “What time is it?”

“It’s time for you to call your sexy-ass boyfriend and wish him happy birthday. Maybe even flash him with a nude photo. He deserves it.”

Oh. My. God. Gio’s birthday.

I literally launch myself back into my room to grab my phone. My hands are shaking already, like I just drank ten espressos.

I’m more excited than when it’s my own birthday.

I hit video call. Sit on the bed. My leg’s bouncing like a jackhammer. I’m grinning so wide I probably look insane.

And I wait. And wait.

He answers.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAYYYYY!” I scream straight into the camera.

He bursts out laughing, clutching his face like I just assaulted his ears.

“I’d wish you a boring ‘may you live to be a hundred,’” I say, leaning back, “but that’s lame. I’ve got better ones.”

Gio’s brows lift. “I’m scared…”

“Good,” I smirk, reaching into my pocket. “I made a list.” I pull out a crumpled piece of paper.

“Number one, may you always get exactly what you want… especially when it’s me. May your ego never deflate, because honestly… it’s kind of hot when you’re unbearable. I’m serious. May every competitor you have go bankrupt in the most satisfying way possible. May every cop you meet be too attracted to you to give you a ticket. And… May your bike stay as loud as you are in bed.”

He’s doubled over laughing now, shaking his head. “Rava, what the hell—”

“Oh, and may you live to be 100,” I add innocently, “but your sex drive stays exactly like it is now.”

“Best. Wishes. Ever.” He’s smiling so hard, my chest feels like it might explode.

Then he tilts his head. “Thank you so much, baby, oh, you’re wearing my shirt!”

I glance down, smile. “Still smells like you. Haven’t worn it for a month so I wouldn’t lose the smell of your soap. But today’s your day, so… I wanted you close.”

He melts for a second, then smirks. “No, today’s your day. How do you feel?”

“Nervous, happy… but I’m gonna be alone. Definitely not the graduation I imagined.”

Suddenly Noah’s face fills the screen, grabbing my phone like a raccoon stealing shiny objects. “Not to brag, but I remembered your birthday all on my own. Even though you didn’t say a word about it yesterday.”

I blink. “Wait. You talked to him yesterday?”

Noah waves it off. “Yeah, just called him to help me with something on my car. Your man’s a mechanic and a model.”

I roll my eyes but can’t stop smiling. My boyfriend and my best friend like each other enough to call.

Gio chuckles. “Alright, I’m hanging up. Gotta go eat br— LUNCH. Fucking lunch. Thanks again, baby. Best birthday ever. I love you.”

“You better be here for mine,” I warn. “Talk to you later. I love you more!”

The screen goes dark, but I’m still grinning like a fool, sitting there in his shirt like some love-drunk idiot.

Alone or not, he’s still all over me today.

I’m staring at the ceiling. Somehow, after talking to Gio, I feel even sadder that he’s not here.

I try not to think about it like that, at least I’ve got Noah.

“Get up, you rotten corpse. Get ready.”

I groan. “For what? It’s seven in the morning. Graduation’s at four.”

“Can’t be. You must have something to do.”

“Nope. Nothing.”

He tilts his head. “What time do you have to be there?”

“Three. Which means I’ll be ready by two, because I get stressed.”

“Wanna go together?” I ask.

He makes this face. “Mmmm… I’d love to, but I have something urgent with my friends from the studio.”

I feel that little sting in my chest, but of course I don’t let it show. It’s fine. The world doesn’t revolve around my graduation, obviously.

“That’s fine,” I tell him. “I’ll just go with some classmates. They’ll be heading there anyway.”

“Cool. You got this. I’ll come a bit later.”

“Alright, no problem.”

“Anyway,” he says, grabbing his bag, “I’m off to the studio. I’ve got this guy who wants a tattoo at 7:30 am. Because apparently he’s got a flight after. See you later, you overachieving nerd.” He pulls me into a hug.

I hug him back, watch him walk toward the door. “Noah!” I call after him.

He pokes his head back in. “Yeah?”

“What’s in the bags?”

“For the after party, obviously. You think we’re letting you graduate empty-handed?”

I can’t help smiling. “Thanks…”

He grins. “Don’t thank me yet.” Then he’s gone.

I’m alone again. Just me and the ceiling.

I drag myself into the bathroom, brush my teeth, fix my hair. I take my shirt off. I catch a glimpse of my back in the mirror. The tattoo. Sometimes I forget it’s even there. Noah really outdid himself with that one.

I throw Gio’s shirt back on and head to the kitchen to make breakfast… but I’m not even hungry.

I wander back to my room instead.

The graduation outfit’s already laid out on the bed, my cap, my gown, everything.

I’ll probably just sit here staring at it until one o’clock.

What else am I supposed to do?

I’ll call Daisy. She always picks up. I hit her contact.

It rings.

“NO, THAT’S WHAT I SAID, YOU IDIOTS!” Her voice blasts through the speaker, chaos behind her. “Yeah? Rava? Can you hear me?”

“Yeah… you okay?”

“Lorenzo, I swear to God we’re breaking up! NO, YOU ARE NOT BUYING A PILLOW SHAPED LIKE A DICK!”

I chuckle. “Tell him to get one for me too.”

She doesn’t even hear me.

“Rava? You still there?”

“I’m here.”

“Listen, we’re out… shopping. Urgent. A gift. For a friend. I’ll call you back, okay? Love you!” And she hangs up.

I drop my phone on the bed and just sit there. And yeah, I’m pissed. But underneath that? I’m… hurt.

It’s stupid, I know the world doesn’t revolve around my graduation. People have their own lives.

But still… it’s my day. And somehow it feels like I’m the only one who cares.

I just… feel invisible. Like everyone has somewhere else they’d rather be.

If Gio was here, I’d bury my face in his chest and tell him exactly how much it sucks. And he’d listen. He always does. And before I knew it, I’d be laughing instead of sulking.

But he’s not here. None of them are.

I glance around the room.

My eyes land on Gio’s journal. Fine. If the current Gio isn’t here to talk to, maybe I can spend some time with the old one.

I flip it open.

Let’s begin…

March 14th

Today I officially became the most feared guy in school. Okay, maybe not feared, but at least… uh… noticed. It started in the hallway after lunch .

Rava was being his usual annoying self, holding his books all neat, talking to some girl about “science club” or whatever nerd stuff. And then, I don’t even remember why, but we started arguing. He said something about me being “immature” (like, excuse me?? I am EXTREMELY mature).

So I go, “Say that again, four-eyes.” And he did.

So naturally, I flicked his ear. He tried to shove me, I stepped back, and in the process my hand kind of… accidentally smacked his face. Which would’ve been fine except

..

. His glasses flew off his face like a freaking action movie slow-motion scene. They hit the floor. One lens popped out.

And the worst part? EVERYONE saw. Some kid yelled, people laughed. I wanted to laugh too but… he looked so… I don’t know. Not mad. Not even embarrassed. Just… sad.

So I stood there like an idiot, holding half his glasses frame in my hand, and I mumbled, “Uh… my bad.” He didn’t say anything. Just picked up the lens, shoved the glasses in his pocket, and walked away.

The rest of the day, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I mean, yeah, we fight all the time, but I never meant to actually break his stuff. I feel like a complete jerk.

I was gonna offer him my sunglasses, but then I remembered they’re fake Ray-Bans I got for five bucks at the flea market, and also they’re neon green. Pretty sure that’d just make him hate me more.

I’ll… figure out a way to fix it tomorrow. Maybe glue? Do people glue glasses? Or I could… I don’t know… steal someone else’s and give them to him.

Anyway, note to self:

Next time Rava calls you immature, maybe just tell him to shut up instead of accidentally making him half-blind.

— Gio

…

No. Way.

I read the paragraph again, just to make sure my eyes aren’t messing with me. March 14th. The hallway. My glasses. This idiot actually wrote about it.

I feel my stomach do this weird flip, partly because it’s hilarious, partly because I remember exactly how I felt that day.

And partly because… oh my God, I wrote about it too.

I get up, heading straight for the bottom drawer of my desk.

There it is. My own middle school journal.

My handwriting back then was a war crime. I sit cross-legged on the floor, flipping through pages of nonsense about school lunch being “literal poison” and which Pokémon card trades I regretted.

Then I see it:

March 14th.

My hands actually shake as I open it.

March 14th

Today was supposed to be simple. I wasn’t even going to say much

,

just, “Hey, Gio, do you want to come over later so I can help you with math?” That’s it. I’ve been watching him struggle for weeks and I thought, maybe, if I make the first move, he’d finally let me help him without turning it into some joke.

I actually waited until the hallway was a bit emptier because I didn’t want him to get embarrassed. I know he hates when people think he’s not good at something. I was trying to be considerate.

But one thing led to another, and BOOM. My glasses went flying. I heard them hit the floor before I even realized what happened. And when I bent down to pick them up, I saw it

…

the frame was snapped in two.

Those weren’t just “glasses” to me. They were my favorite pair. I know my parents can replace them in a day, but… I didn’t want new ones. I wanted those.

And the thing that really gets me? He didn’t even apologize. Just this blank, careless look, like it didn’t matter. Like I didn’t matter. I could feel my ears burning.

I didn’t tell him why I’d come over. I didn’t mention the math. I didn’t mention that I’d been thinking all week about how to ask without sounding like I was insulting him. I just shoved the broken pieces into my pocket and walked away.

And yeah… I was mad. Still am. Not even about the glasses anymore. It’s the fact that I was there to do something nice and he made me feel like an idiot for even trying.

What’s worse? I know myself. There’s a part of me that’ll probably try again tomorrow. I don’t know why. It’s like no matter what he does, I can’t completely hate him. And maybe that’s the stupidest thing about all of this.

— Rava

…

I start laughing. Not just a little chuckle. Hell no.

Actually -oh my God- laughing.

“This bitch,” I mutter under my breath, grinning.

Gio freaking Fontana. All these years I thought he didn’t give a damn, and meanwhile he’s over here writing like a tragic antihero in his little angsty journal.

I grab my phone, flip to the camera, and take a picture of his entry.

Then I flip back to mine and take a picture of that too.

ME:

-I’m a little late, but I’m glad to know you actually felt bad. THEY WERE MY FAVORITE.

I toss the phone onto the bed, still smiling to myself.

I’ve still got time before graduation. No one’s rushing me, not yet, anyway.

I pull both journals closer. Mine. And Gio’s.

Two totally different books, two totally different handwritings, two totally different people… yet somehow they feel like they belong together.

Like we’re two versions of the same story.

I flip them both open at the same time, fingers spreading the pages apart so I can see them side-by-side.

Yeah, that’s right, double-reading. My inner chaos loves this.

I start with his.

This idiot. His letters are running into each other like he didn’t have time to stop his own thoughts before they hit the paper.

I glance at my own journal, my handwriting neater, calmer, but reading the two next to each other, it’s insane how the same day looks so different from two different brains.

March 18

Had to go to Rava’s place today because our parents were doing some dinner thing for business. Again. I wasn’t thrilled, but whatever. Free food. Big house. I can deal.

I’m on his bed, while he’s at his desk doing what he does best: being painfully studious. He’s so focused it’s annoying. Makes me want to throw something at him just to see if he’s human .

My friends have been talking a lot lately. About… friendship. And, uh… other stuff. Kissing. Random romantic crap. They make it sound so simple

,

stomach flips, butterflies, random thoughts during the day, your heart racing out of nowhere

, blah blah blah

. And I get it. I mean, I feel all that. The thing is… it’s not with

…

a girl.

I keep thinking, should I talk to someone about this? Does everyone go through it?! Is it normal?! Maybe I could ask Rava. But what would he know? The guy only knows how to read and correct people’s grammar.

Still… before I can overthink it, I blurt out, “Rava?” He turns immediately, like he never expected to hear his name from me without it sounding like an insult. I hesitate for half a second, then ask, “Have you ever kissed anyone?”

Boom. Instant tomato. His whole face goes red in two seconds flat. I want to laugh so bad, but somehow I’m embarrassed too.

He spins back to face forward. “Why do you care?” “Just asking,” I say. “You don’t seem like the type who would.”

His eyebrows knit together. “Why? Have you kissed anyone?” “Of course. Loads of people.”

… Well, no. Not really. But he doesn’t need to know that.

He squints at me. “Really?”

I smirk. “Why do you sound so surprised? Do you want a kiss from me too?”

His eyes almost pop out of his head. “NO, obviously not! Why would you even say that? Why would I want a kiss from you? No thanks. You’re a troublemaker. And you’re terrible at math. I don’t kiss people who are bad at math. Ever. And even if you were good at math, I still wouldn’t do it.”

“Alright, relax,” I say. “I wouldn’t kiss you either. You’re not my type anyway.”

“Good,” he says quickly.

Shit.

That stupid fast heartbeat. It doesn’t stop me though. I grin and go

“I know you’re thinking about it.”

“Stop, Gio. I’m not. Leave me alone.”

I stretch, stand up, and toss over my shoulder, “I’m going downstairs for a pie.”

He doesn’t even look away from his notebook. “Bring me one of those pies my mom makes.”

And I’m like, “No.” Because rule number one: never give him what he wants just because he asked.

I head downstairs. Open the plate. There’s only one left. Just one. And instantly I’m like… ugh.

I don’t know why I feel bad, okay, maybe I do. Maybe it’s the whole glasses thing still hanging over me. Or maybe it’s because I kind of like when he’s not annoyed at me. Whatever.

So I take the pie and go back up. He’s still sitting there, pretending I don’t exist. I drop it on his desk. He glances at it, then at me. “You didn’t get one for yourself?” I shrug. “Ate mine on the way up. Didn’t feel like sitting here eating together like we’re some couple.”

It’s a lie.

— Gio

… I lean back, shaking my head and grinning.

“Ah, look at him,” I mumble to myself.

Acting all tough, but he wanted to kiss me. And gave me the last pie.

Which, by the way, I already knew. Ha.

I take a quick photo of the page, open our chat, and type:

ME:

-If you wanted to kiss me so badly, you should’ve just done it.

I’m already laughing as I hit send. There’s no way he’s not going to call me names for this.

Dropping my phone onto the desk, I reach for my own journal.

Time to see what I wrote about that day.

March 18

Our parents had a dinner for business today, so Gio came over. I didn’t mind that much. We fight a lot but… I’m used to it now.

He came in my room without knocking (again) and sat on my bed. Playing on his phone. Not even looking at me. He always does that.

But I was looking at him. Sometimes.

Then he said my name. I turned really fast because his voice sounded different. Not angry, not making fun of me. Just… normal. It felt strange.

He asked me, “Have you ever kissed anyone?”

I froze. My face got hot. My heart started beating really fast. We don’t talk about stuff like that. It felt… weird.

I asked, “Why do you care?”

He said, “Just asking. You don’t seem like the type who would.”

So I asked, “Have you?”

“Of course. Loads of people,” he said.

And I believed him. Of course he has. He’s annoying but… he’s also the best-looking guy in our school. And his hair is perfect. Not that I care about hair. I could have great hair too if I wanted. But I have more important things to do. Like studying.

He’s good at history, I’ll give him that. But in math? He’s useless.

Then he looked at me and asked if I wanted a kiss FROM HIM. I said no right away. What else was I supposed to say? My face felt like it was on fire.

A few minutes later he said he was going downstairs for a pie. I knew there was only one left because I saw it before. So I told him to bring me one. He said no.

When he came back, he put a plate in front of me. Just one pie.

I asked if he got one for himself. He said he ate it on the way up so we wouldn’t “eat together like a couple.”

That’s not true. I know it’s not.

And when I realized he gave me the last one, I didn’t feel annoyed anymore. It made me feel… nice. For a second, I wanted to say thank you. Or even hug him. But I didn’t. Because if I did, he’d probably make fun of me for the whole week at school.

But I really wanted to.

— Rava

…

Wow. We were so sweet back then… and look at us now.

Gio, after all the bullying, ends up giving me a fake marriage proposal with a rubber duck ring.

I put the journal down and glance at my phone.

Still no reply from him.

Probably off doing something reckless and forgetting I exist for a few hours.

I sigh, drop the phone on the bed, and pull the blanket over my head.

Fine.

I’ll just go back to sleep for a bit.

Let the time pass faster.

—

I wake up and the first thing I see is the time. 1:37 PM.

My stomach drops. I sit up too fast, the blanket tangling around my legs. No time. No time at all.

I pull off my shirt as I walk to the bathroom, turn on the shower, and step in without even waiting for it to heat up.

The water is cold at first, and it shocks me awake, but it doesn’t matter. I’m in and out in minutes, towel over my head, rubbing my hair as I walk back to my room.

White shirt. Black pants. Belt. The movements are sharp, fast, almost mechanical.

My tie.

Fuck.

Where is it? Drawer. There. I loop it around my neck, my fingers are moving on autopilot.

I glance at my phone on the desk, and for some reason, I think to send Gio a picture of how I look so far. It’s dumb, but I still reach for it. The screen lights up.

Nothing. No reply. Not even to the messages I sent hours ago.

I stand there a moment, phone heavy in my hand.

Fine. Whatever. I don’t need them.

I can do this myself. I don’t need Gio to show up in my inbox just to make me feel like today matters more.

I don’t need anyone cheering me on from the sidelines.

I’ve worked for this, and I’m the one walking across that stage. That’s enough.

I tell myself that twice. Three times.

I grab the gown and throw it over my shoulders.

Smooth it down like I’m ironing out the feeling in my chest.

I can do this on my own. I want to do this on my own.

…No, that’s not true. But if I keep saying it, maybe I’ll believe it.

I shove the cap under my arm, fix the chain on my wrist.

I tell myself it’s anger. It’s easier to be angry than sad.

I stop. I’m not angry. I’m just… disappointed.

And that makes me angrier.

Because it means I cared. And I hate that.

I pick up the phone again, just to prove to myself I’m fine without his name lighting up my screen. I will call my classmate instead, and we will go to the ceremony together.

Actually, I’ll go by myself.

That’s fine. It might even be better this way. I can take my time, put on some music, get into the right headspace. No distractions. Just me.

I slip my shoes on and straighten up, catching my reflection in the mirror.

Today I have myself and myself only.

And for a moment, I tell myself that’s enough. That I can be proud of that. Proud of me .

Because if no one else is going to stand beside me today… then I will.

---

Oop guys I know i’m late…

But at least you’re getting another chapter tomorrow even tho IM SICK and my throat BURNSSSSSS LIKE HELL.

No more mermaids I guess…

Does anyone have tips on how to make the burning feeling go away T_T

I HATE IT. I HATE COLDS. I HATE MERMAIDS.

that’s all bye bye i love you ❤️🎀

103) Graduation Pt.2

Rava’s POV

The first thing that hits me when I walk in is how bright everything is.

Not the kind of bright that makes you squint hard and having trouble to see, but still, the polished kind.

There are chandeliers hanging low, their crystals catching the light and scattering it across the room like little sparks.

The ceiling is very high, painted in dark red with gold trimming that curves along the edges.

The walls are lined with tall windows draped in heavy fabric, deep navy with a faint shimmer, pulled back just enough to let the late afternoon sun in.

The floor… marble. White with faint gray veins running through it, so clean it almost feels wrong to step on it.

Rows of white chairs stretch across the hall, perfectly aligned, each one with a small rolled program tied neatly with a gold ribbon.

The stage is at the far end, framed by two massive arrangements of white lilies and roses.

In the center, a podium stands ready, the school’s crest shining under the spotlight.

It smells faintly of flowers and fresh polish.

Everyone’s dressed for the moment.

I spot my classmates across the room.

Everyone looks… older somehow. Like we’ve been rehearsing for this day without even realizing it.

I make my way over. A few heads turn.

“Rava!” someone calls, lifting a hand.

It’s Madison.

The girl from the party the other night, the same night Hugo and his bleached-haired friend practically tried to eat me alive .

Before I can even say anything, she’s wrapping her arms around me.

She smells like floral perfume and hairspray, and she’s grinning like she’s been waiting all day for this.

She’s in a black dress, her gown over it, graduation cap already in place.

“Oh my god, Rava, you look so good!” she says, pulling back just enough to look me up and down before hugging me again. “I’m so excited!”

I can’t help but smile. “You look really nice too, Madison.”

Inside I’m panicking just a little, I’ve always been bad at giving compliments to girls.

“I really like your dress,” I add, hoping it doesn’t sound forced.

Her smile softens. “Thanks,” she says, like she actually believes me.

She even does a cute spin.

She takes my hand without warning, and starts leading me through the crowd toward our seats.

The hum of voices grows louder, but I feel a bit calmer now.

We sit down, but the ceremony hasn’t started yet. People are still moving around, chatting and taking photos.

Madison leans closer, eyes glinting. “Sooo… tell me, did I hear right at the party the other night? You said you have a boyfriend ?!?!”

I smile and lower my head, not because I’m embarrassed, but because… God, I’m lucky as hell.

Lucky that Gio is mine, in whatever messy, perfect way we have each other. “Yeah,” I say quietly. “You heard right.”

“Show me pictures!” she says immediately.

I don’t even hesitate. I open my album, scroll for half a second before realizing it doesn’t matter which one I pick. In all of them, Gio looks… unreal. So I just hand her the phone.

Her mouth drops open. “WHAT.”

I laugh, shaking my head.

“What time is he getting here?” she asks, still staring at my phone.

And that’s when it hits me. That pang.

I wish I could say, Oh, any minute now, and look toward the door, knowing he’d walk in.

But I can’t.

“He… his mom’s sick,” I say, trying to keep my tone light. “So he stayed in Italy to take care of her.”

“Oh… I see,” Madison says softly.

Before I can say anything else, her family appears a few seats away. Her face lights up instantly. “Excuse me for a bit! I’ll be right back!”

“Don’t worry about it,” I say with a small smile. “I need to go to the bathroom anyway.”

I slip out of the row and head toward the restrooms.

I push the bathroom door open and step inside.

It’s empty, thank God.

I walk past the sinks, straight into a stall, and lock the door behind me. The second the lock clicks, it’s like I’m breaking.

I sit down on the closed lid with my elbows on my knees, and I bury my face in my hands.

I tell myself I’m fine. I tell myself I’m strong. I tell myself I don’t need anyone here for me.

And then my throat burns, and my eyes sting, and the first tear slides out before I can stop it.

I clamp my mouth shut so hard it hurts. No one can hear me. Not here. Not today.

But the more I try to swallow it, the worse it gets, my whole body shaking, my chest is hurting against my will.

I press the heel of my palm to my mouth, my breath coming out in these sharp, uneven bursts. It’s pathetic, but I can’t make it stop.

It’s not just that Gio’s not here. It’s that he’s not here .

It’s the empty seat in the back of my mind I’ve been saving for him all day.

It’s the way I kept looking at the door in case, just in case, he’d walk in.

It’s the way I wanted to say, Look, I made it! I did it. And see him smile.

I worked years for this moment, and when I walk across that stage, I’ll be walking for an audience that doesn’t even know me.

I’ll hear the claps, but none of them will be for me. Not really.

And now? Now I’m in a bathroom stall, trying to keep my sobs silent, wiping my face with shaking hands so no one will see when I walk out.

What’s the point? Why am I even here? Why am I dressed up in this stupid gown and tie, sitting in a stall trying to pretend this matters?

Because right now, it doesn’t feel like it. Right now it feels like I’m nothing more than a name they’ll read out before moving on to the next person.

I hate this. I hate feeling like this. I hate that no matter how much I try to tell myself I’m fine, I know I’m lying.

I press my palms against my eyes until I see spots, force my breathing to slow. It’s not perfect, my face still feels raw, but it’s quiet again.

And quiet is all I can afford right now.

I stay in the stall for a few more minutes, just breathing.

In. Out. In. Out.

My heartbeat slows, my eyes stop stinging, and I keep telling myself that it’s fine. I’m fine.

When I finally stand, my legs feel super heavy.

I check my reflection in the mirror on the way out, my eyes are a little red, but passable I guess.

I straighten my tie, fix my gown, and push my shoulders back like nothing happened.

The noise hits me as soon as I step back into the hall.

Laughter and happy voices.

I weave through the crowd until I find my seat.

I sit down slowly.

All around me, people are hugging, waving, calling out to family members.

I take a deep breath. My fingers tighten around the cap in my lap.

And then, movement on stage. The lights shift. Someone steps up to the podium.

It’s starting.

The chatter dies down as the microphone crackles to life.

A soft hum of feedback, then a clear voice fills the hall.

“Welcome, graduates, families, and friends…”

The sound echoes off the high ceilings.

I can feel the energy in the room shift from scattered conversations to one collective focus.

All eyes are on the stage.

The principal stands at the podium, smiling like he’s waited all year for this.

Behind him, a row of faculty members sit in their black robes with their hands folded neatly in their laps.

The school crest glints under the spotlights, framed by two towering vases of white lilies and roses.

“Today, we celebrate not just your academic achievements, but the resilience, the determination, and the countless hours of work that brought you here.”

I glance around. Cameras flash. Parents lean forward in their seats, clutching their programs. Classmates in front of me are sitting a little straighter now, some biting back nervous smiles.

“You’ve faced challenges inside and outside the classroom, and yet you’ve arrived here, ready to step into the next chapter of your lives.”

The words roll over me, and for a moment, I try to let them mean something.

I think about the late nights, the exams, the projects that felt impossible until they were done. About the people I met, the ones who stayed, and the ones who didn’t.

“Take pride in yourselves,” the principal continues. “Today, you walk across this stage as proof of your own strength.”

The audience claps.

The principal steps back from the microphone, and the applause fades into a quiet hum.

A faculty member in a dark robe walks up with a stack of neatly arranged diplomas, and the podium microphone shifts to a deeper, more formal tone.

“And now,” a voice announces, “we begin the conferring of degrees.”

The moment is here.

The first name is called. A student stands, straightens their gown, and makes the walk toward the stage.

The sound of their shoes on the marble is sharp. Applause follows them.

I watch as they cross, shake hands, smile for the camera. The flash pops. They step down the other side, clutching the diploma hard.

Name after name, the rhythm builds.

Stand. Walk. Applause. Smile. Flash. Sit.

Each one feels like a tick of the clock pulling me closer to my own turn.

My palms are damp, so I press them against my gown, hoping no one notices.

They call another name. Applause. Then another.

The air feels thicker the closer it gets to me. My heart’s pacing in time with the names, every beat louder in my ears.

I keep glancing toward the crowd without meaning to, scanning faces.

None of them are here for me.

I swallow hard. One more name. Then another. The list is shrinking, and my turn is waiting just around the corner.

I take one long, steady breath, because when they call me, I want my steps to be steady. Even if my chest feels anything but.

“Madison Silverwood.”

She stands with a bright smile, straightening her gown before stepping into the aisle.

The sound hits almost instantly, her mom’s voice, her dad’s too, calling her name over the applause.

“Go, Maddy!” “That’s our girl!”

It’s loud, and full of pride. I can’t help smiling as I watch her cross the stage. She deserves it. She’s worked hard.

Her parents know me. I think. Maybe they’ll remember me when it’s my turn.

Maybe they’ll clap, just so it’s not completely silent.

Madison takes her diploma, shakes hands, flashes a photo-perfect grin. The crowd roars again as she steps down, and she catches my eye on the way back to her seat, still beaming.

“Your turn’s coming up,” she whispers as she sits.

I nod, trying to keep my breathing steady.

I’m at the very end of the line. Last in the queue. Last name of the ceremony. The one who closes it all.

There’s one person in front of me, and my pulse is already loud in my ears. I can feel it in my fingertips, in the back of my throat.

One more. Just one.

They step forward when their name is called.

I glance down at my hands, clenched, and force them to loosen.

This is my moment. Something I earned. Something no one can take from me.

The person ahead of me shakes hands, smiles, walks down the other side.

My turn.

The announcer’s voice fills the room: “And now… for our final graduate of the day…”

The pause stretches just long enough to make my heart stumble.

“…Rava Weston.”

I take the first step toward the stage, steady, focused, ready to make this walk mine.

…

And then it happens.

The room… erupts.

It starts with a deafening air horn from somewhere in the back, I turn and I see…Marco, shouting like a maniac, leaning on the button and not letting go.

Then come the screams, high-pitched and unapologetic.

“RAVA!!!” “WOOOOO!!!”

Oh my God.

I look over and I see… all my people .

Gio is in the middle, one arm thrown around Daisy, as he shouts something I can’t even hear over the noise.

Daisy’s laughing so hard she’s nearly doubled over, still screaming my name.

Lorenzo and Noah are jumping, holding up this ridiculous giant banner with my face photoshopped onto some bodybuilder’s body, flexing, with big block letters reading “ BRAINS AND BUNS CHAMPION“ .

It’s so stupidly perfect I almost choke on my own laugh.

Jin’s got his fingers in his mouth, blasting a whistle sharp enough to pierce through everything else, and Marco’s still leaning on that damn air horn.

Right next to Gio is my mom, holding up her phone, recording the entire thing.

She’s smiling so big I can see it from here.

The sound hits me all at once, cheers, whistles, laughter from the rest of the audience.

People are turning in their seats to watch my section of chaos.

I bring my hand to my mouth, trying to hold in the laugh that bursts out anyway.

My eyes sting, and I feel that dangerous pressure of tears building, the good kind.

I keep walking, the stage getting closer, but I can’t stop looking at them.

They’re still yelling my name, this is almost funny.

When I step onto the stage, one of the faculty members leans toward me with a grin.

“I see you’ve got your own personal fan club.”

The crowd laughs. My people cheer even louder.

I shake hands, take my diploma, but my eyes keep darting back to them.

I literally can’t stop smiling. I don’t want to.

The seat in my mind I’d been saving for him isn’t empty.

It’s freaking overflowing.

Diploma in hand, I look straight at them.

Every part of me wants to run up into the stands and just pull them all into the biggest, messiest group hug of my life.

Then Lorenzo’s voice cuts through the hall, so loud it’s impossible to miss. “GRADUATE, DUDE! GO SIT DOWN AND SAVE THE HUGS FOR LATER!”

It’s the only voice in the sudden lull, and it echoes. The entire audience bursts into laughter.

I’m laughing too, so hard my cheeks ache.

I head back to my seat quicker than I probably should, but I can’t stop glancing at Gio.

He’s grinning, eyes locked on mine, mouthing things like “You’re the best” and “That’s my man”.

I swear if I blink too long, I’ll cry again.

I can’t believe he’s actually here.

In the same room. Close enough that if I start walking, I could touch him.

He’s right there.

This is it. This is my person.

And right now, all I want is to get to him, touch him, hold him, and make sure he’s real.

Because I’ve been counting the days, and now I want to stop counting, because I don’t want to let him go again.

Madison leans in from beside me. “See? From sitting here thinking you were alone… to having the loudest and most supportive crowd in the whole place!”

I still can’t stop smiling. “I swear I had no idea,” I say, still shaking my head.

The principal steps up to the podium one last time.

“To our graduates,” he begins, “today is not the end, it is the beginning. You’ve worked, you’ve stumbled, you’ve risen again. And now, you stand ready for whatever comes next.”

I glance around. Every face I see is lit with a mix of relief, and that unspoken we did it.

“Take this moment with you,” he continues. “Remember the people who stood by you, and remember that you, too, are capable of standing for yourself. From here on out, the world is yours to shape.”

The applause starts slow, then swells.

My heart’s already beating faster, knowing what’s coming.

“And now,” he says, smiling wide, “graduates… you may move your tassels.”

Hundreds of hands shifting tassels from one side to the other.

“Congratulations to the Class of—”

The last word is swallowed by chaos.

Confetti cannons go off in bursts of color, raining down gold and white streamers from the ceiling.

Caps fly into the air.

The noise is deafening.

All we can hear is cheering, shouting, the thud of caps hitting the floor, and laughter.

The whole room is moving.

People are now hugging and yelling.

I don’t walk. I run .

I cut through rows of chairs and stray hugs and flying caps, shouldering past robes and bouquets.

Someone laughs, someone says “Careful!” I don’t care.

The only thing I see is him.

My Gio.

He turns just as I reach him and I slam into him so hard we stumble back two steps.

My arms lock around his neck and I bury my face there, and it’s like the last month drains out of me in one breath.

I’m laughing and crying at the same time, loud and very much relieved, and I don’t even try to stop it.

“I’m here,” Gio murmurs into my hair, arms crushing me back. “I’m here, baby. We all are.”

“I missed you,” I choke. “So much. I—God, you’re real.”

“I missed you too, Ravioli,” he says and his forehead is pressed to mine now, even his eyes are smiling. “You fucking did it. I’m so proud of you.”

Daisy slams into us from the side with a squeal. “MY BOYS!!!” She wraps us both up and I wheeze-laugh because I can’t breathe but it’s perfect.

“Make room, make room,” Noah shouts, and then he and Lorenzo body-check the hug like linebackers.

Lorenzo throws the BRAINS AND BUNS CHAMPION banner over my shoulders like a cape. “Kneel before your king,” he cackles.

Marco’s still murdering that air horn right next to my ear.

“SALUTE FOR THE GRADUATE!” he yells, and I start laughing so hard I sob again.

“My baby!” my mom says, breathless with wet eyes.

She kisses my cheek between taking photos. “I’m so proud of you baby, look at you!”

She’s laughing and crying and I’m gone. I’m just gone.

Around us, people are giggling, pointing at the ridiculous banner, at the confetti in Gio’s hair, at me absolutely losing it.

Someone from the crowd yells, “We love love!” and the whole section laughs.

In less than a heartbeat, I’m leaning in again, sliding both arms around his waist and clinging to him.

My chest presses to his, my face finds that perfect spot at his shoulder, and I just breathe him in.

His arms come around me instantly.

One hand strokes the back of my neck, the other squeezes my side, trying to pull me even closer.

Noah leans in, smirking. “Let me hug him, Gio, and I—” “No,” Gio cuts in without even looking at him. “Hug Marco.”

Noah turns his head slowly toward Marco.

Marco, instantly red, stares back. They hold eye contact for a little too long. Lorenzo, deadpan, says, “Just fuck already.”

I look at Gio, silently asking what the hell is happening here? He grins. “I’ve got a lot to tell you.”

… Oh my God.

That makes me lean back a little, wary.

“What do you—” “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” I yell suddenly, and before he can react, I pull him close again, he’s laughing into my hair.

God, he smells so good. It’s ridiculous. That him scent makes my stomach twist in the best way.

He pulls back just enough to flick a couple of stray ribbon bits off my tie.

“Thank you, baby,” he says softly.

“Oh,” I say, remembering. “Your gift is… in Italy.”

He smiles like that’s exactly what he wanted to hear, leaning close until his breath is right at my ear. “I know a gift you can give me here. At your place.”

And that’s it. Every nerve ending in my body lights up like fireworks, and if someone doesn’t physically hold me up I might just collapse. The butterflies are disgustingly aggressive.

I want to kiss him so badly right now.

He’s food and I am starving.

A whole month without him, without the taste of him, without the feel of his lip ring sliding against my tongue… I didn’t realize how much I missed that until this second.

But I can’t do it right. Not now. Not with my entire family standing right there.

The thought alone makes my ears burn. So I just hold him tighter, burying my face against him. That’s enough for now.

“What are you two whispering about?” Lorenzo demands from somewhere behind Gio. “Tell me. Now.” “Shut up, gossip,” Daisy shoots back, sliding in to wrap her arms around me. “Congratulations, little brother. I am so proud of you.”

Jin sighs dramatically. “Unfortunately, I have to admit… I’m proud too. Come here.” He wedges in and clings to my waist like a koala.

“PHOTO! PHOTO!” Marco yells suddenly, whipping out his phone. “It’s the first time these siblings have hugged without trying to kill each other!”

My mom laughs out loud at that and joins in, looping her arms around both me and Jin.

Gio steps back just enough to grin at me. “Come on, let’s get a photo with your diploma, Mr. Teacher.”

I roll my eyes. “I don’t think—”

“Shut up and let us be proud of you!” Noah interrupts, grinning.

I laugh, shaking my head, but I sit down where they tell me, holding the diploma.

The second I do, it’s chaos, Daisy leaning over my shoulder, Jin smirking at the camera like this is his graduation, Lorenzo making ridiculous faces behind us, Marco adjusting the lighting, Noah yelling for everyone to “make it iconic.” My mom’s still snapping pictures on her phone.

And right next to me, Gio is crouched down, one arm draped casually around my shoulders, smiling at me instead of the camera like he’s the one who just won something.

The flash goes off. I want to frame all of it, because hell, it’s the best thing I’ve ever been part of.

“Alright,” I say, finally pulling back just enough to look at all of them.

My face still feels tight from smiling so much. “Do you guys wanna come over? I’ll cook! And you owe me a lot of explanations. Idiots. You actually made me cry.” I point at them.

Lorenzo just grins, running a hand through my hair in the most annoying but somehow comforting way.

“Awwwww, poor baby. Come on, take us home and feed us. We haven’t had a proper meal since we got here.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Two days,” Gio says casually.

My jaw drops. “Two days. TWO DAYS. So that’s why you told me you were ‘having lunch’ when it was literally one in the morning!”

He laughs, shameless. “I got confused, leave me alone.”

I shake my head, but I’m still smiling. I hook my arm tightly around his, pressing my cheek to his shoulder.

The rest of the noise and chaos around us fades.

We start walking toward the exit.

All of them are laughing and talking over each other.

My heart feels so full it might actually burst. After a month of feeling alone, I’m finally here with my people.

My family.

Now I’m not just proud of what I’ve done.

I’m happy. Shamelessly happy.

---

Guess who’s alive, whores. 🕺🏾

ME WOOHOO This chapter gave me strength 😼 I was so excited to post it muheheheh. I still have so many things to write TvT

ALSO DONT FORGET THAT THERES GONNA BE ANOTHER STORY POSTED ON MY PROFILE SOON with one shots from their lives 😼

anyway, i will lay my ass down now cause i’m tired, I saw everyone’s messages about my sore throat I love you my pookies wish I could smooch you all…

THATS ALL BYE BYE I LOVE YOU❤️

104) Birthday

Gio’s POV

Rava’s driving. His eyes are glued to the road, one hand is loose on the wheel. I’m sitting next to him, Noah and Marco crammed in the back.

Rava’s phone buzzes in the cupholder. He looks at me for a second. “Can you check that for me?”

Before I can even move, Noah leans forward like a little gossip lady. “Show us too.”

Marco side-eyes him. “Leave them alone. Here—dig through mine instead.” He shoves his phone into Noah’s lap.

Noah gasps dramatically. “Even your photo gallery?” Marco freezes. “Okay GIVE IT BACK.”

Noah’s grin spreads as he swipes anyway. Marco lunges and now both of them are wrestling in the back seat like five-year-olds fighting over a toy.

Ha.

They would actually look good together.

I pick up Rava’s phone, unlock it. My stomach drops. “Oh shit,” I mutter before I can stop myself.

Rava flicks his eyes toward me, wide. “What? Who is it?” I swallow. “…It’s from your dad.”

I swear the color drains from his face.

“Seriously?” His voice cracks. “Yeah. Do you… want me to open it?”

He nods quickly. “Yeah. Open it.”

And right then I hate it, how he still hopes.

How even after everything, some part of him thinks maybe this is the moment his father says sorry.

My baby.

I swipe. The message pops up.

CHARLES:

• I saw the photos. Congratulations.

I read the rest.

My eyes go wide.

“Rava…”

“What?” he says fast, panicked. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

I hesitate, then read it to him.

CHARLES:

• I like Gio’s tie.

…

The words feel unreal in my mouth.

Is this a joke?

I glance at Rava.

He makes a weird, questioning face. “…The fuck? Why would he say that?”

“I don’t know,” I say, shaking my head. “It’s… weird. What do you want me to reply?”

He keeps one hand steady on the wheel, the other presses against his lips, covering half his face like he’s holding himself together.

He breathes hard through his nose.

“Just write ‘thanks.’ That’s all. More than enough. After everything? He thinks that counts as making peace? No way. He doesn’t get more than that from me.”

That’s my boy.

I type the single word: Thanks. Hit send. Lock the phone.

Rava exhales, and drops his shoulders. “Anyway. Forget him. We’re almost there. Can’t wait for you guys to see my place.”

I glance sideways at him.

I’m so fucking proud of him.

He finally knows what he deserves, and he’s not taking less.

As soon as Rava fumbles with the keys at the door, his smile gets bigger.

He’s glowing. My baby is glowing.

“You guys ready to see the wonderful house where I’ve cried, bled—”

“JUST OPEN THE DOOR,” Noah cuts in, loud as ever.

Rava bursts out laughing, shakes his head. “You’re right, sorry.” He finally pushes the door open.

We step inside, and the place hits me instantly.

It’s him. Every corner, every color, warm, careful, a little nerdy but still grounded.

It smells like him, feels like him. Like I just walked straight into Rava’s heart.

I can’t look away from him.

“Forgive the sheet on the couch,” he says, motioning to it. “Didn’t expect visitors.” Then he cracks himself up at his own joke.

I don’t even notice Lorenzo moving until he drapes an arm around my shoulders. “I can’t tell if you’re romantic or just a psycho,” he mutters. “Should we be calling the cops on you for staring like this?”

“Shut the fuck up, idiot,” I say, eyes still locked on Rava as he wipes his glasses against his shirt, pushing the frames back up his nose. “You’re just jealous.”

“Jealous?” Lorenzo snorts. “I’m dating his sister, dumbass. Same face.”

“It’s not the same,” I snap.

“I know, relax. I’m kidding. …So, did you tell him about the fact that he’s coming back? I’m so excited please record his reaction or something.”

That makes me finally tear my gaze away. I can feel the smile spreading across my face before I can stop it. “Not yet. Tonight. With the other two gifts.”

“Uh-huh.” Lorenzo arches a brow. “Is sex included in those gifts?”

I smack him lightly on the back of the head. “No. That’s his gift to me.”

He freezes, and his mouth literally dropped open. “Wow. Love turned you into a whole new man.” He points at me, grinning. “Wait, watch this.”

“Rava! Come here!” he calls.

Rava looks over, curious, then strolls closer. Lorenzo slings an arm around him too.

“So, Rava, you ever heard of a guy named Rava Grayson?”

Rava raises an eyebrow, smirking. “Yeah, I’ve heard of him. Kind of an asshole. Rough as hell.”

Lorenzo shoots me a side-eye, then leans back toward him. “So you know him?”

Rava tilts his head. “Not really. Just heard the name floating around.”

“Right, right,” Lorenzo says with a grin.

“Come on, you have to see my room.”

Rava pushes the door open to his room and everyone scatters like kids in a candy store.

I can’t stop looking around again.

Every wall, every little detail, it screams him.

His books are stacked too neatly on the desk, his graduation cap is now tossed on the chair, the faint scent of his cologne is hanging in the air.

It feels… intimate. Like I’ve stepped straight into his head.

Daisy goes straight for the nightstand, reaching for… our journals. “What’s this—”

“Don’t touch those,” Rava cuts in immediately.

He gives her a small smile before tucking them under his pillow.

Then Jin picks up a decorated flower by the window. “Can I keep this?”

Rava snatches it out of his hands. “No.”

Marco’s crouched in the corner, holding the cockroach plush like it’s a holy relic. “Oh my god, you actually put this on display? I’m touched. Truly.”

From across the room, his mom asks, “When’s the last time you dusted in here?”

“Yesterday,” Rava says.

“It was definitely the day before,” she shoots back, and they’re suddenly bickering like it’s life or death.

Lorenzo’s already wearing Rava’s graduation cap, taking selfies.

And Noah… Noah nudges me in the ribs, lowering his voice. “Nice bed, huh?”

My stomach drops. I look at him, then at the bed, then back at him. “…Yeah. Looks comfortable.”

He grins, muttering, “If you don’t help me get closer to Marco tonight, I swear I’ll sit right here the whole evening and you won’t get a single second alone with Rava.”

A laugh slips out of me despite myself. “Relax. I’ve got you. You’ll get your chance.”

Rava finally snaps. “Alright, that’s it. Everyone out. Except Gio.”

Jin groans dramatically on his way to the door. I salute him like he’s a soldier. He flips me off in return before slamming it shut.

Silence falls.

I brace my hands on Rava’s desk, trying not to fucking explode from how much I want him.

He’s brushing a kiss against my neck. His voice is almost like a whisper. “Are you staying tonight?”

A smile curls on my lips. “Hm. I thought that was a given.”

He grins, leaning in to kiss me properly.

I pull back just an inch, holding him there. “Not yet,” I whisper. “Save it. I want to do this right, take my time. For that… we need to be alone.”

“Okay. Then let’s eat fast.”

We all spill into the kitchen and Rava opens the cabinet like he’s about to reveal a feast. Instead, he freezes.

“Shit. No potatoes.” He slams the door shut, groaning. “Of course.” Then he turns to Lorenzo. “Come with me to the store?”

Inside my head, I’m screaming.

Really? You pick my cousin over me? Traitor.

Rava glances back at me like he feels it. “Gio, can you help my mom while I’m gone? I won’t take long.”

I snap out of my sulk and smirk. “Of course. I’m at your service,” I say, giving his mom a little bow.

She laughs. “You’re trouble.”

Rava grabs his keys. “Don’t let him burn anything while I’m gone.”

Half an hour later

I’m starting to wonder if Rava and Lorenzo fell into a fucking potato dimension.

I wipe the sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand and finally let myself sink into a chair.

Daisy and Marco are whisper-arguing about something so quietly it’s almost comical. Then Marco turns to me, defeated.

“Gio? Can you please bring Rava’s cockroach bear from his room? I really wanna show it to the guys here again…”

I just stare at him. Blank.

But Rava’s mom is right there, watching. I need to keep making a good impression. So I stand up immediately, forcing a polite smile. “Sure. I’ll get it.”

I head down the hall, push open Rava’s door, and scan the room.

I grab it, shake my head, and turn back toward the kitchen.

The second I step out, BAM .

Confetti rains down from everywhere .

My eyes widen.

Everyone is standing there, singing the ‘happy birthday’ song to me…

And right in the middle of it, Rava’s holding a birthday cake.

He has the biggest fucking smile I’ve ever seen on him, like it’s his birthday, not mine.

The cake is a disaster, and the words HAPPY BIRTHDAY GIO are scrawled in shaky letters, and on the bottom, it looks like someone tried to draw a motorcycle.

These cute fuckers.

It looks like a deformed beetle with wheels, but I swear my heart nearly bursts because of it.

I just stand there frozen. Like a statue.

No one’s ever done this for me. Not like this. Not with noise and laughter and effort. Growing up it was always just my dad trying his best with whatever he had. But this chaos, this warmth, this family

?!

I didn’t even know it could feel like this.

Rava locks eyes with me, still trying to hold the cake steady.

His grin is so pure, so proud, like he’s been waiting his whole life to hand me this damn cake.

Fuck, if happiness had a face, it would be his right now.

By the time they finish singing, my cheeks actually hurt from smiling so much.

I blow out the candles, trying to seem nonchalant.

Even though I want to cry from happiness.

The second the flames vanish, everyone surges forward.

Daisy is throwing her arms around me, Marco is laughing as he claps my back, Jin is squeezing in like a kid, Rava’s mom is kissing my cheek, even Lorenzo is pulling me into a half-headlock hug.

I grab Rava’s face in both hands, and I brush my thumbs over his cheekbones.

“I love you, idiot.”

He instantly smiles. “I love you more.”

Then he grins wider, slips out of my grip, and bounces off toward the counter. “Alright, food time!” he calls.

The chaos kicks in again.

—

We eat until we can’t breathe. Food and cake.

At the end, we’re all slumped around the table like a pack of overfed strays.

I shift in my chair, glance at Noah across from me. “Noah? You going to the studio tomorrow?”

He squints at me. “Yeah, why?”

I flick my chin toward Marco. “Marco told me he wants a tattoo. Right here—” I point at my chest, grinning, “—and I think you’re the guy for the job.”

Marco freezes like a deer in headlights, then slowly nods, eyes glued to Noah. “Y-yeah. I actually do. I want one.”

Noah’s brows fly up. “Wow. Okay… what design?”

Marco stutters. “It’s… it’s a lot. Maybe you could help me choose? If you want, we could, uh… go out tonight for a dri—”

Noah doesn’t let him finish. He shoots up from his chair so fast it rattles. “Excuse us, everyone. We’re leaving. We’ve got tattoos to plan.” He points at me as he grabs Marco by the arm. “And Gio? Tomorrow you’re piercing your nipples like you promised.”

The table erupts.

Rava gasps. “Wait—what?!”

Lorenzo bursts out laughing, almost choking. “Oh my god, YES.”

Rava’s mom covers her face. “Oh, God…”

Rava turns to me, wide-eyed. “How did that even come up?”

I smirk. “Long story.”

Daisy shrugs, calm as anything. “I don’t see the issue. It’ll look hot.”

Marco nods seriously. “Yeah. It would.”

I throw my hands up. “Okay, I’ll do it. Leave me alone.”

The second the noise dies down, I feel it.

As much as I love all of them, one by one, I can’t stand another minute of sharing Rava.

I need him. Alone. Just us.

I push back from the table and stand. “I’m gonna grab my stuff. And your present.”

Rava beams at me. “Go. Hurry.”

Marco, ever the opportunist, leans forward. “Wait—you’re staying here tonight?”

I smirk, tossing him a look. “Yeah. Which means… the room’s all yours, by the way.”

Marco nods. Hard. Too many times.

I shake my head while biting back a laugh.

I can only think of Rava.

We stand by the door and everyone is slowly peeling off in different directions.

Rava turns to me. He presses his house keys into my hand.

“Here. In case I’m in the shower when you come back. Just let yourself in.”

I stare at the keys for a second too long. “You sure?”

He nods, like it’s nothing. “Yeah. See you in a bit.”

I can’t help it, I grin, wide. “I’ll be back before you even miss me.”

And then I’m gone. Sprinting.

I slam the hotel door shut behind me, yank my shirt off, and head straight for the shower. The water’s ice cold at first, but I don’t give a shit.

Towel off, throw on the first set of soft clothes I find, loose sweats, a black t-shirt.

My bag’s open on the bed, and I start cramming in the essentials: toothbrush, charger, wallet, a few clothes. Fast. No hesitation.

Then I see the gift bag sitting on the dresser. Three presents. Three pieces of him and me wrapped up, waiting. He’s gonna fucking love them, I know it.

I grab the bag, zip up my stuff, and sling it over my shoulder.

I’m already picturing his face when he opens them.

He’s only mine now.

---

BOOOOOO

So I know I’m late posting this, BUT it had to go up today. Because I need your FULL attention for the next chapter. HEHEHEHEHE. I promise it’s GOOOOOD, I can’t wait for you guys to read it. Anyway, I’m off to sleep because it’s 3:37…

BYE BYE POOKIES I LOVE YOU ❤️

105) Let The World Burn

Put on your sluttiest playlist, bitches, we’re starting.

Gio’s POV

I slip the key into the lock and step inside. Silence swallows me whole.

The lights are low and warm. Just a couple of lamps spilling soft yellow across the walls, shadows stretching long and lazy over the floor.

Everything feels slowed down in here, like the world outside doesn’t exist, like time got locked out at the door.

I drop my bag on his desk, but my eyes are already dragging toward the bathroom.

Steam leaks from the door, curling into the air. “Rava?”

The door opens.

He steps out. Hair damp, dark strands clinging to his forehead.

A fresh T-shirt clings to his chest, loose sweatpants riding low on his hips. The towel around his neck is the only trace left of the shower. He looks… ordinary. Comfortable.

And yet I feel like I’ve just been gutted.

His eyes catch mine, those green fucking eyes. They hit me like a punch to the ribs, knocking the breath clean out of me.

I’m standing there like it’s the first time I’ve ever seen him, like Italy never even happened, like I’ve been starving and he’s the only thing left to eat.

He smirks.

And then he walks past. Doesn’t stop. Doesn’t touch me. Just brushes by, leaving the faint scent of soap clinging to my skin while he walks to the kitchen.

My hands curl into fists at my sides. Every nerve in me wants to slam him against the wall, bury my mouth against his until he can’t breathe. To pin him. To mark him. To prove that he’s mine.

But I don’t move. I just stand there. Staring at him like a loser.

I want him. Not just want, I ache for him. It’s madness, definitely obsession, worship and violence all tangled together.

He doesn’t even need to be half-naked to undo me. He just has to exist, and I’m completely gone.

I turn, watching him cross the room.

“Really? You’re just gonna walk past me like that?”

He doesn’t even look back at first, just tosses the towel onto a kitchen chair. Then he glances over his shoulder, and his face looks like he knows he’s killing me.

“What did you expect me to do?”

That fucker.

I stalk after him. I grab his arm, shove him against the nearest wall.

My hand slams flat beside his head, caging him in. Our chests brush.

My mouth hovers an inch from his, and I can feel him smiling.

“Don’t fucking play with me.”

He tilts his head. “Then maybe stop letting me.”

Before I can crush my mouth against his, he slips out from under my arm with that sharp grace, and drops onto the couch.

He doesn’t just sit. He sprawls.

His legs are open, his eyes are on me while one hand is patting the cushion like he’s inviting a servant, not a lover.

The room is dark except for the low glow of a single lamp in the corner.

And fuck, it’s like the lamp knows exactly where to shine to remind me he’s the most beautiful thing I’ll ever touch.

I move toward him, but before I can decide whether I’m dragging him up or pinning him down, he grabs me by the wrist and pulls.

Hard.

My body crashes back onto the couch with force. I let out a sharp breath.

Before I can react, he climbs on top of me. Slowly, like he’s claiming the space, claiming me .

The air between us is thick and heavy, 41 days of hunger coiled tight.

He’s so close I can feel the heat of his body bleeding into mine, but he won’t move. He’s just watching me.

I smirk up at him. “Look at you, acting like you’re in control right now.”

His lips twitch into a grin. “I am. You haven’t moved since I got on top of you.”

Fuck. Well. He’s not lying.

Having Rava on top of me is a kind of worship I never knew I craved.

He’s sitting on me like a goddamn king and I’m nothing but the throne. His thighs lock tight around my hips, pinning me, and I can’t fucking move, not that I want to.

His fingers dig into the back of my head, tugging my hair back so I’m forced to look at him, to drown in those eyes.

He hovers, lips brushing mine, ghosting over them, rubbing them together like he’s trying to drive me insane. Every nerve in my body screams for it, for him, but he doesn’t give. He plays.

I can feel my lungs burning like I’ve run miles, when all I’ve done is lay here and beg silently for him.

He knows.

He knows .

I can see it in that smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth, he can feel how insane he’s making me, how close I am to snapping in half just from the weight of him.

And then his tongue is on my throat. It’s freaking hot.

He licks up the vein like he’s marking territory.

My hands claw at his waist, his back. Everything.

I’m obsessed. I’m fucking feral. I’d get on my knees right here, in front of anyone, everyone , if he told me to. I’d crawl after him just to taste that mouth again.

All I can think is that I want more.

His grip in my hair tightens. He knows I’d give him everything, rip myself wide open if he asked.

I pant against his lips. “Please. Don’t make me beg for it.”

“You know,” he murmurs, “your younger self would’ve written twenty-seven pages about this exact moment.”

“Like you wouldn’t,” I fire back.

He smirks against my mouth, and instead of kissing me like a sane person, he leans down slow, his nose brushing mine, and his fingers are on my mouth.

He drags his thumb across my bottom lip, presses right where the metal is, that cold little circle I know he’s obsessed with.

Then he does it, he hooks his fingertip under the ring and tugs.

Tugs .

“God, you’re so easy,” he whispers, smirking. “One little touch here and you lose your mind.” He rubs the pad of his finger over it again, back and forth.

“Rava…” My voice breaks. “Don’t do this to me, please.”

He leans closer, lips brushing but never sealing, and I can feel him breathing against my mouth. His finger still plays with the ring. “Why not? You love it.”

And he’s right. I do fucking love it. So much it makes me sick.

Every tiny pull of that ring feels like a leash, and I’m the fucking dog.

“I missed it,” he admits suddenly. His eyes drop to my mouth while his fingers are still on the ring. “The way it feels against my tongue. The way you taste with metal in between.”

“Then take it. Please.”

He laughs, finally pressing the ring harder into my lip before releasing it, watching it snap back into place. He leans in until our mouths are a breath apart, his hand sliding into my hair. “You’re begging so pretty,” he whispers. “But I’m not done watching you fall apart yet.”

I swear, if he doesn’t kiss me in the next thirty seconds, I’m going to lose my fucking mind.

He shifts on my lap. I can feel myself straining through my pants, and he knows. Of course he fucking knows. He’s sitting on it.

His eyes flick down, then up, and he smirks, fake-innocent. “Oh… poor Gio,” he whispers, grinding just enough to make me grunt. “Look at you. You’re suffering.”

“Fuck you,” I shoot back, looking at him dead in the eyes.

I buck up against him without meaning to, desperate for friction, and he laughs.

He leans forward, whispering, “You always break so fast. Just a little pressure and you’re gone.” His hips roll again, while his hands frame my face like he’s about to kiss me, but he doesn’t.

I swear, I’m seconds away from snapping.

My dick is aching, and he just keeps rubbing against me like it’s nothing. He even tilts his head, pretending to look all innocent while his lips curl into that wicked smile.

He drags his tongue across my bottom lip, stopping right at the ring, and bites it.

Like he’s daring me.

Fuck you, Rava.

That’s it. My brain blanks.

I flip us, hard enough that the couch bounces, and now he’s the one flat on his back, with his wrists pinned above his head in my grip.

His eyes widen, but he’s laughing satisfied, like he got exactly what he wanted.

I hover over him. “Enough. Don’t you think?”

And he just grins up at me, smug as hell. “Mmm… finally.” He tilts his head, eyes gleaming. “Do your worst, Gio.”

I tighten my hold on his wrists, leaning down so close our noses brush. “Oh, baby,” I whisper, “you don’t even know what you’ve started.”

I don’t hold back. I crash into him so hard it knocks the breath out of both of us. My mouth slams against his, biting at his lip. It’s brutal and wet. Exactly the way I like it. I don’t even know if I’m kissing him or devouring him.

My hands are everywhere, grabbing fistfuls of his hair, yanking his head back so I can attack his throat. I bite down, sucking hard, leaving red blotches across his neck while he moans into my ear. He claws at my shoulders, his nails are dragging hard lines down my arms.

I’m dizzy, drunk off his taste, his heat, the way he bites my lip and then soothes it with his tongue. Every nerve in my body screams for more.

I rip at his shirt, yank it over his head, tossing it to the floor.

“Don’t need this.” I go straight back to his chest, kissing, biting, licking, but not gentle.

His hands push at my shirt next, but he’s too careful, so I grab the hem and tear it off myself, throwing it aside.

Our bare chests slam together, slick with sweat already. He gasps and I seize his jaw, letting my fingers dig into his cheek as I force his mouth open.

I’m kissing him rougher now, deeper, it looks like I’m trying to swallow him whole. He whimpers into it while grinding against me, and it drives me insane.

My mouth drags down his throat, biting again, sucking until he flinches from the sting.

I don’t stop, no. I press harder.

He tilts his head back, exposing more skin, and I attack it, marking him everywhere.

His moan is so needy I almost lose my mind.

“Missed this,” I murmur. “Missed you.”

My hand slips inside his pants and I finally wrap my fingers around him.

He’s already so fucking hard, throbbing in my grip. The second I stroke him, he lets out a moan straight into my mouth, and it makes me moan back.

“Yeah… that’s it,” I murmur against his lips, jerking him slowly. “That’s right. Don’t hold it in. I wanna hear everything.”

He tries to swallow his sounds, but I squeeze tighter, stroke harder, and he breaks with another shameless moan.

My whole body shudders. Fuck, he’s perfect. He’s mine. I’d do anything just to keep hearing him like this.

He gasps. I push my forehead to his, forcing him to look at me while I pump him.

His moans spill out, and fuck me if this isn’t the hottest sound ever.

“Good boy,” I pant, biting his lip. “That’s what I want. Give me all of it.”

Rava shoves me back like he’s had enough of my teasing.

I’m sprawled across the couch.

His eyes pin me down harder than his body ever could.

“Don’t interrupt me,” he whispers, and his fingers are finally ripping at the drawstring of my pants.

I swear my lungs stop. His gaze locks with mine, and I can’t fucking breathe.

That look… It enslaves me. I’d burn for it. Die for it. I don’t even want to fight it.

“I wouldn’t dare,” I choke out, almost laughing from how undone I am. My hands claw at his back, drag down to his waist, pulling him closer.

He yanks my pants down.

His mouth is crashing against that one tattoo.

My body jerks, and a strangled moan is tearing out of me.

I fist his hair to hold him there.

His lips drag lower, but he keeps fucking avoiding where I need him most. He licks at my thigh, then my hipbone, then the lines of muscle leading down.

Everywhere but my dick.

It’s fucking torture. I can’t stand it.

“Rava, please—”

His head snaps up. “I told you. Don’t interrupt me.”

Fuck, that makes me even harder.

He teases, ghosting his lips over the base.

Then he finally takes me into his mouth.

It’s like a bomb goes off in my chest.

My body arches.

He doesn’t just suck me, he devours me, like he’s starving for it.

His tongue swirls, drags, pushes deeper until my vision’s going blurry.

God, I want to grab his head, fuck his throat.

He is gagging a little when he takes me deeper. I grip his hair, watching him choke himself on me.

He pulls off just enough to slap my tip against his tongue, then sucks it back in with this filthy pop that makes my hips buck. He moans on purpose, humming like a vibrator around me.

I’m gripping his hair, forcing him back down.

I’m destroyed and worshiped all at once.

And I love it. I love him. I love that he can wreck me like this. I don’t care if it’s selfish, if it’s ugly, if it’s wrong, I would let the whole world burn if it meant keeping this, keeping him.

Nothing else matters. Just Rava.

I can barely breathe, and he keeps staring at me, daring me to look away.

“Fuck,” I groan while my grip is tightening in his hair as his head bobs faster and his throat is opening to take me deep.

I’m almost ready to snap. His head game is insane.

He pulls off just enough to breathe. “Don’t hold it back. I want it.”

That’s it. That’s the end of me. “Good—’cause I can’t fucking hold it.”

He swallows me down again. The thought of what I’m gonna do to him next flashes, and then I’m gone.

I explode.

The orgasm rips through me so fast I swear it almost hurts. My dick jerks in his mouth and the cum shoots out so sudden, so hard.

He doesn’t let a drop go. He gulps it all, milking me until I’m twitching, like the good boy he is.

By the time he pulls back, I’m nothing but a gasping mess.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, then leans up to kiss me, shoving my own taste back into my mouth.

“Happy birthday, baby.”

I swear he’s gonna kill me. Best birthday gift I’ve ever had, no contest.

But the hunger doesn’t fade. Not even close. My body’s still thrumming, desperate. I push up from the couch, pulling him with me.

“Wanna go to my room?”

I grin, feral. “You know I do.”

The second we’re inside, I pin him against the wall, caging him with my arms braced on either side of his head. We’re kissing like lunatics, biting, devouring. His hand grabs my jaw, his fingers are digging in like he wants to break me apart, and all I can fucking think is how terrifying it is that we never get tired of each other. It’s obsession. Pure, beautiful madness.

I get him to the bed, sit him down on the edge, and when I slide his pants off, I freeze for a second, not because of hesitation, but because I’m hit with this insane rush of gratitude.

Like I can’t believe I’m the one who gets this. The one who gets him.

It feels like an honor, a privilege.

A prize I’ll never deserve but will protect with my life.

I grip his ass tight as we kiss, pulling him flush against me, hungry and completely out of control.

His arms lock around my neck, and his voice is immediately breaking into my ear. “I need you. Now.”

I lick his swollen bottom lip, smile against it, and reach into my bag.

Fast, greedy. I want him begging, trembling, undone beneath me.

I slick up my fingers and press one to him to tease him while circling him. When I finally push in, the heat of him grips me so tight it makes me want to cry. I curl my finger up, right into that spot I know makes him weak.

The sound he makes…God, it shatters me. His eyes squeeze shut, and his whole body arches off the bed. I can’t stop. I keep pressing there, over and over.

It’s addicting, the way his face twists with pure pleasure.

I add a second finger, then a third, stretching him, working him open, always, always curling them to hammer that spot inside him.

Every time I hit it, his eyes go wide, his back bows, and his mouth falls open in a broken moan.

He goes to kiss me but can’t, he just moans into my mouth, spilling all that raw sound straight into me.

“You like that?” I whisper against his lips, grinding my fingers just a little deeper, hitting it again.

His voice cracks. “You already know I do.”

I laugh and do it again just to see his face melt all over. His nails rake the back of my neck.

I drop my mouth to his throat, and I’m now biting and sucking hard enough to leave angry red marks. I don’t care who sees.

I want them to know he’s mine.

I finally pull my fingers free.

I brush his cheek, kiss him deep.

“You’re ready.”

He wipes his brow, nods hard. I’ve never wanted anything more.

I line myself up, and push in slow.

The tip first, his moan shatters me. I pull out, push back in, just a little deeper this time.

I keep doing it, out, in, teasing him, stretching him, while his voice cracks into desperate moans. Every time I slide back, his hole clings to me, begging me not to leave.

Finally, I grab his throat, lean down so close our lips brush, and slam all the way inside.

Hard. Deep.

All the way in.

We both cry out. My body jerks, his back arches.

“Fuck, baby…” I breathe, my forehead pressed to his, “you’re gonna fucking kill me like this.”

I drag out slow, then go back in harder.

I start moving faster, deeper. Each thrust hits harder, until I’m burying myself inside him again and again.

His body clenches around me, and the sound of our skin slamming together fills the room, clap after clap, relentless.

I grab his wrists, shove them up against the headboard rail, pinning them there.

He gasps.

I hold him down, keep him stretched beneath me, and fuck him harder.

The bed rattles, the frame creaks, but none of it matters.

I stare down at him, sweat dripping off my face onto his, and I can barely breathe. “My obsession with you is eating me alive.”

His gaze locks with mine, and even as the clapping of our bodies echoes through the room, he won’t look away.

Neither will I.

“Thank God obsession looks good on you.”

Fuck. Me. Every thrust feels like possession.

I pull out, and flip him over onto his stomach. His back arches beautifully, begging for me. I grab his hips, line myself up, and slam back inside him in one hard thrust.

I grab his ass with both hands, squeezing hard, spreading him wider as I slam into him.

The moan he lets out nearly kills me.

I pin both his wrists behind his back with one hand, holding him down. With the other, I lean over, wrapping tight around his throat, pulling him back into me while I pound into him.

The sounds are so filthy it’s killing me.

“Don’t come yet, baby,” I whisper against his ear, thrusting deep. “Not yet.”

He nods quickly while whimpering at the same time, trying so hard to hold it in. I squeeze his throat just enough to remind him he’s mine, then lean down, pressing a kiss right at the corner of his eye, while my hips hammer into him mercilessly.

Over and over. Again and again. Each thrust harder, faster.

I yank out and flip him onto his back again, needing to see his face while I ruin him. I grab his legs and throw them over my shoulders, right into those hollows like they were built just to hold him there. Perfect fit.

His body is shining with sweat.

His hair is plastered to his forehead from the heat, his lips are red and swollen from all the kissing and moaning. He looks absolutely destroyed.

I drive into him, setting a rhythm that makes the mattress quake.

I can’t stop staring at how his eyes roll back, how his hands claw at the sheets, how his body squeezes around me.

“Fuck…” I rasp, slamming in harder. “Look at me.”

He does, barely.

His moans tear through the air each time our skin smacks together.

I lean forward, folding him in half under me, fucking him deep and raw, sweat still dripping down my face onto his chest, and I can barely hold it in.

“I missed your body so fucking much.”

His legs tighten around me, dragging me deeper. “And my—” his voice cracks on a moan, “my body missed yours.”

That line tears me apart. I slam my mouth against his, kissing him hard, fucking him harder.

Faster, trying to make up for every second we’ve been apart.

Our moans swallow each other, and it feels endless.

Only it’s not endless.

I can feel it building, ready to tear me open. I’m this close to finishing, and it’s killing me.

How could I not? Look at him, spread out beneath me. He’s the best fucking sight I’ve ever had in front of me, and it’s mine .

“Gio—” his voice cracks. “I can’t… I can’t hold it anymore.”

I look down at him. “Touch yourself.”

Fuck me, he obeys instantly.

His hand wraps around his dick without hesitation.

The sight of him jerking himself off while I’m buried inside him destroys me.

I can feel the sweat dripping down my spine. My brain is spitting curses I can’t even say out loud.

Fuck. Fuck . He’s too hot. He’s gonna kill me.

That’s it. I explode inside him.

I’m cumming so hard I’m fucking dizzy.

Second time for tonight.

Fuck my head, this man’s a blessing, a curse, everything.

I slam into him harder, forcing every drop into him.

His moans are mixing with mine until it’s chaos. My hand clamps on his throat, the other digging into his thigh, holding him down as he strokes himself faster.

He scratches my back, I bite his jaw, and it’s all heat and desperation.

He cries out my name, spilling over his stomach, trembling hard under me.

The air is thick with the sounds of it.

We clutch at each other.

Sweat drips into his hair.

I lean down, kiss him slowly, nothing like the madness from a moment ago.

My hand brushes over his face, and I use my thumb to wipe the dampness from his forehead.

He laughs softly.

“Wow,” he pants, grinning. “You just saved me with this one. I’m dripping everywhere.”

I bark out a laugh, shaking my head. “Come on. Let’s get a shower. Then I’ll give you your presents.”

His eyes light up even though he looks half-dead, and he nods. “Yeah.”

I shift, ready to pull out.

The damn aftershocks.

“Gio?”

“Hm?” I murmur, still catching my breath.

He looks at me with the gentlest expression I’ve ever seen on him.

“I love you.”

For a second, I forget how to breathe. I feel dangerously close to breaking, to crying right here on top of him. But I don’t. I hold it down, just enough to stay steady.

Instead, I press a kiss to his damp forehead, then another to his lips. “I love you double,” I whisper back.

And fuck, if I wasn’t already ruined, that just finished the job.

---

This chapter had me like:

If there are any spelling mistakes, I DONT GIVE A FUQ IM EXHAUSTED.

THIS CHAPTER DRAINED ME YAAAAAAAAA

I need a damn break.

anyway. Oof.

BYE BYE I LOVE YOU POOKIES ❤️

106) He Kissed Me

Rava’s POV

The bathroom is filled with steam.

Gio’s hands dig into my hair.

He isn’t washing me properly, of course not.

He’s messing around, twisting the foam into ridiculous shapes and laughing at his own work.

I spit out the water that slips into my mouth, glaring at him through wet lashes. “What are you doing?” I ask.

He grins. “Giving you a spike. Your hair’s got a boner.” He cracks up at his own joke, laughing like an idiot.

I roll my eyes but lift both hands, grabbing his wet hair between my fingers.

My tongue pokes out slightly as I try to focus, molding it stubbornly while he leans closer, brushing his tongue against mine just to throw me off.

“Wait,” I laugh, refusing to give up. “I’m trying something.”

After a struggle that leaves both of us giggling like kids, I finally manage to twist his hair into two ridiculous tufts sticking out on either side.

He looks so stupid. I burst out laughing.

He tilts his head, proud. “Amazing. Keep practicing on me, ’cause I know your students are gonna beg you to fix their ruined little braids.” He kisses my forehead softly.

“I know,” I smirk. “I’ll be the best teacher. You’re jealous.”

“Damn right I am,” he mutters, pressing closer. “I’m jealous of your students… getting to sit and listen to you for seven hours straight.”

I smile.

I snatch the showerhead from him and aim it at his chest, rinsing the foam off in wide, dramatic sweeps.

He laughs when the spray hits his face, but I don’t stop, I keep going, sliding my hands over his shoulders, down his arms, across the tattoos.

The veins on his arms stand out, the water racing down them, and for some reason that makes me laugh out loud.

He glances down at me, amused. “What?”

“Nothing,” I grin, biting back another laugh.

Nothing at all.

Just trying to process the fact that I bagged the hottest guy in Europe… and I get to lick him whenever I feel like it.

We leave the bathroom still dripping, towels slung low around our waists as we walk into my room.

I start sliding into my pants, glancing up just in time to catch Gio stepping into his own.

It’s strange, thinking back.

Before, Gio used to drive me insane, stealing my pens, tugging at my ears just to piss me off.

He made me roll my eyes so hard out of frustration, I swore I’d see the back of my skull.

And now he’s here, in my room, in a whole other country, towel-drying his hair like he lives here.

Like he isn’t the same guy who just had me rolling my eyes for a completely different reason a few minutes ago… the kind that leaves my body shaking instead of pissed off.

He throws the towel aside and smirks. “Alright. Sit on the bed. Close your eyes.”

Suspicious, I raise a brow. “Why?”

“Because,” he says. “I’ve got something for you. Actually… three things.”

“Three?! Wasn’t one enough?”

“Nope.” He leans back on his hands, eyes glinting. “Definitely not.”

I climb onto the bed and sit cross-legged, tugging my glasses off and covering my eyes with both hands.

A grin stretches across my face so wide it almost hurts. I can feel the mattress shifting as Gio moves around.

“Hurry up,” I laugh. “I’m gonna explode.”

“Relax,” he teases. “I’m saving the best for last.”

“Fine, fine,” I bounce a little on the spot. “Just give me something already.”

“Alright,” he says. “You can open them for the first one.”

I rip my hands away instantly and the first thing I see is something glinting in his palm.

My heart jumps as I snatch it out of his hand way too fast. “The bracelet—?! Oh my God, you fixed it?!”

He grins huge, nodding.

I turn it over in my hands, completely lit up. “How the hell did you find the missing ‘A’?”

“I searched the house again,” he shrugs, smirking like it’s nothing. “Turns out it got stuck inside a rug. People probably thought I was planning to start laying carpets already.”

I burst out laughing, and he joins in. Sliding the bracelet onto my wrist, I look at it like it’s treasure, then press it proudly against his arm.

“Now we’re matching again.” I tug him closer and kiss him hard, still grinning against his lips. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

I can’t stop staring at it. That stupid little bracelet, something so small, and yet the second it’s back on my wrist, I feel like I’m glowing.

Gio exhales dramatically, then smirks. “Alright… time for the second one. You ready?”

I straighten up, nodding fast. “More than ready.”

“This one took a little more effort than the bracelet,” he says, handing me a wrapped package.

I tear at the paper, impatient, and the second the cover peeks out, my entire body freezes.

My heart actually skips. I yank the rest of the wrapping off, staring like I’ve just seen a ghost.

“No way. No way, no fucking way—” My voice cracks. “Is this real?”

It is. A rare edition of one of my favorite author’s works.

The author. The one I have worshiped since I was a kid. I own every single book, every single translation, every essay I can get my hands on.

But this is legendary . I don’t even think it exists outside of private collections.

“How— Gio, how did you do this? How?!” I demand.

He leans back, smug. “With a little charm and a lot of begging, anything’s possible.”

My head spins. “But… how did you even know he was my favorite?”

He gives me that look. “I paid attention. Back when we were doing those projects for the meetings, I noticed how many of his books you had around your room. And you mentioned him once in Italy, remember?”

I swallow hard. He noticed. He remembered. Things I’d barely remembered saying.

I love him. God, I love him so much. I don’t even know what to do with it.

Before I can speak, he nods at the book again. “It’s not over. Open it.”

I flip it open.

The second my eyes land on the handwriting scrawled in ink, I slam it shut again, with wide eyes.

Gio bursts out laughing. “Go on. Open it!”

I force it open again, blinking hard. My name is there. My actual name.

-For Rava Weston. Every author dreams of a reader like you.-

I gasp so loud I nearly choke and fall backwards onto the bed, clutching the book to my chest. “No way. No fucking way.”

“How the hell did you—?!” I demand.

“I found out he was on tour,” Gio shrugs, grinning. “He happened to be in Italy while you were here in Canada, so I went. Stood in line for two hours. The kid in front of me was crying his eyes out, but when it was my turn, I told him about you. Told him you’ve probably read every single book he’s ever put out.”

I let out a half-disbelieving laugh. “I haven’t! …I don’t think I have?!”

“And then,” Gio goes on, ignoring me, “he wrote that. He told me to tell you you’re lucky, because usually he just signs. He doesn’t do personal notes.”

I press the book to my chest, shaking my head, grinning like an idiot and fighting tears at the same time. “You’re insane. You’re completely insane. And I don’t deserve you.”

Gio exhales. “Okay… close your eyes again,” he says quietly.

I groan, already laughing, and slap both hands over my face. “At this point I’m fully expecting you to pull out a NASA contract saying they want me on the next mission.”

His voice drops. “This is better.”

My laugh gets shaky. “Better than space? …Can I look?”

“Open them.”

I peel my hands away and blink down at a plain envelope. My smile tilts, suspicious. “What’s this? …And why are you staring at me like that?”

He props his chin on his fists, elbows on his knees, watching me.

I slide the paper out.

My eyes scan the words…

…

Oh my God. It’s an actual transfer form. My program. My exact master’s degree. Except it’s not here—it’s remote. Distance-based. Which means I can stay. I can be here. With him. The only thing missing is my signature.

My body explodes before my brain can catch up. I’m grinning so hard my face actually hurts. “You didn’t.”

He smirks, infuriatingly calm. “I did.”

I point at him, then at the paper, nearly shouting. “No—no, no, you didn’t!”

He points at himself, then at the form. “I did!”

I launch myself at him before I even realize it, crashing us both backward onto the bed.

My arms lock around him so tight he actually loses his breath, but I don’t care. We roll across the sheets in a tangled mess, laughing, shouting, my voice breaking.

“I don’t believe it, you actually freaking did it!”

He catches me mid-roll, hugging me just as tight, and we don’t stop moving, don’t stop laughing.

It feels like the walls can’t even contain the joy exploding out of me.

I stop spinning, straddling him, grabbing his face between both hands. I kiss him everywhere, his cheeks, his jaw, his forehead, his nose, every patch of skin I can reach, really fast.

He laughs through it, grabbing me and smothering my face in kisses right back until we’re both breathless, wheezing with laughter.

I shoot up so fast the bed jolts under us. “Wait—this means we’re spending Christmas together?!”

Gio grins. “And the New Year’s kiss.”

I grab his wrist, practically vibrating. “And my birthday!”

He smirks, leaning closer. “And unlimited sex.”

My jaw drops, then I burst out laughing. “And unlimited head.”

He grins wider. “And waking up with your hair in my mouth every morning.”

I clap my hands together, eyes huge. “And long bike rides!”

He laughs, pointing at me. “And movie marathons where you cry before the sad part even starts.”

I can’t hold it in anymore—I scream into my hands, then grab his and we’re bouncing on the bed like idiots, swinging our arms, laughing so hard we can’t breathe. I spin him, half dancing, until we both trip on the sheets and collapse flat onto the mattress.

He lands on top of me and I’m still laughing, rolling, wrapping myself around him.

I grab his face again, peppering his skin with messy kisses, and he does the same again. My chest feels like it might burst from joy.

I finally flop back, breathless. “I swear to God, Gio I’m so happy I’m actually starving now. Get up. We’re cooking. Right now.”

He just laughs into my neck, and I’m still shaking from all the energy, buzzing like I could lift off the bed.

I stand at the counter stirring, the smell of tomato filling the kitchen, and Gio is right behind me.

His arms are wrapped tight around my waist, his chest pressed against my back, his chin resting lazily on my shoulder.

“Don’t burn it,” he mumbles into my neck, his lips brushing my skin.

I roll my eyes, smiling despite myself. His hands squeeze my hips, then slide up to my shoulders, thumbs digging in gently. He starts kneading at the knots there, slow circles along my neck. A shiver runs down my spine so strong I almost drop the spoon.

I close my eyes for a second, just breathing him in, and I can’t stop the thoughts that hit me all at once.

He really did it. He didn’t just talk. He didn’t just promise. He found a way, made it real, made it possible.

I’ve never met anyone who says something and then breaks his back to make it happen the way Gio does. He’s not all words, he’s action. He’s proof.

My chest aches with gratitude so heavy it almost hurts. I love that about him. I love him for that. I love him for everything.

I open my eyes again, still smiling at the pan, while his lips graze the side of my throat and his hands work at my shoulders.

Gio reaches over me, opening the cabinet, and pulls out two plates.

Just as he sets them on the counter, the doorbell rings.

We freeze, exchanging a look.

Without missing a beat, Gio sighs, grabs a third plate, and mutters, “Maybe the thief’s hungry.”

I laugh, shaking my head, and hurry to the door before he can.

The second I pull it open, Gio leans around me and blurts, “What the hell—?!”

Because standing there, swaying in the doorway, is Marco.

He stumbles inside without asking, flopping straight onto our couch.

“Well, well,” I say, stunned. “Look who it is. What are you doing here?”

He waves his hand dramatically. “I went to Lorenzo and Daisy’s first, so I wouldn’t bother you guys—but I guess they were fucking too.”

My jaw drops. “Shut up! She’s my sister!”

Beside me, Gio grins like an idiot. “My boy’s getting it,” he laughs, actually proud.

“Gio!” I shove his shoulder, but Marco doesn’t even hear us.

He’s already sprawled out, staring at the ceiling, voice breaking. “And I could’ve had it too… I could’ve had it!” He smacks his own chest. “But nooo. I’m fucking cursed. DOOMED. Absolutely condemned, man!”

I blink at him, dumbfounded. “Marco, what are you even talking about?”

That’s when it starts.

He rolls onto his side, clutching a pillow, and his voice cracks. “We were out—me and Noah. We were drinking, we were being idiots, throwing shit, laughing…”

His hand waves vaguely in the air. “And then—”

He shoots up suddenly, eyes wild. “HE KISSED ME.”

Marco collapses backward again, groaning like the world’s ending. “He kissed me, man! Just out of nowhere! And it wasn’t some dumb little thing, no, it was…”

He throws his hands around his face. “You don’t understand,” he whines, peeking between his fingers. “That kiss… that kiss was not just a kiss. It was biblical. It was like, like God himself pressed play on the soundtrack of my life and it was just violins and fireworks and I swear to God I saw a white dove fly across the room!”

I stand frozen, my jaw on the floor, glancing at Gio, who’s just sitting there wide-eyed but way too entertained.

I set the food down with a loud clatter. “Alright. Sit. You’re explaining this while you eat. You’re a wreck.”

Marco drags himself over, Gio trailing him with this entertained smirk, and the three of us sit around the table.

“Start,” I tell him, pointing at his plate. “What happened?”

Instead of answering, Marco shovels food into his mouth at lightning speed.

I glance at Gio, and we both break into laughter.

“Eat all you want,” Gio mutters under his breath. “Still not Noah.”

Marco freezes mid-bite, stares at him like he just got stabbed, then slams his fork down.

“Fuck you.” His eyes are glassy, his words a little slurred, but he keeps going.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, his voice breaking.

“It was fucking amazing, okay? The kiss. He grabbed me like—” Marco gestures wildly, hands gripping the air. “One hand on my neck, the other pulling at my shirt. It wasn’t some weak thing, it was real!”

I freeze, fork halfway to my mouth. Beside me, Gio has actually stopped chewing.

Marco slumps forward, groaning into his hands. “But I’m a fucking idiot. I liked it—no, I loved it. Too much. And I can’t. I can’t fall for him completely. What’s the point? In a few days we’re going back to Italy. He stays here. I’d rather die than make it worse.”

I blink at him, stunned.

“So I panicked, okay? I left. I literally walked away. Now he probably thinks I wasn’t even enjoying myself.” His voice cracks into a whine.

“He’s gonna think I didn’t want it. That I didn’t want him .”

He collapses face-first into his arms on the table, groaning dramatically.

Me and Gio just stare at each other, wide-eyed, caught between laughing and not knowing what the fuck to say.

Marco drags his hands down his face, groaning like his soul just left his body. “And the worst part isn’t even me leaving. It’s what I fucking said before I walked out.”

I frown, bracing myself. “What did you say?”

He looks at me with watery eyes, his hair falling over his forehead. “He kissed me, Noah kissed me like it was the end of the world, and instead of staying there, instead of saying literally anything good, I panicked and told him I had to… go study for a client case. From Italy.”

I just… stare. “…A client case?”

Next to me, Gio starts laughing under his breath. “At one in the morning?”

“Yes!” Marco yells, throwing his hands up. “At one in the fucking morning! Who studies case files drunk, in a hotel, at one am? I don’t even have the damn documents with me! What was I thinking?!”

I drop my face into my palms. “Oh my God…”

Marco slams his fork down. “So now he thinks I cared more about some imaginary case than about kissing him again. He thinks I wasn’t into it. He thinks I didn’t want him.” He presses his forehead against the table, his words muffled. “When in reality, it was the best kiss of my entire life.”

He suddenly lifts his head, his eyes bloodshot and wild. “And do you know what makes it worse? What makes it a hundred times worse?”

I brace myself. “What now?”

He points a shaky finger at me. “Tomorrow—I have an appointment. For a tattoo.”

I nod. “…Okay?”

“On my chest, Rava!” he cries, smacking his own sternum. “Do you understand what that means?!”

Beside me, Gio tilts his head, half-grinning. “Means you’re about to cry even more?”

Marco ignores him, full meltdown mode. “It means, his face. His beautiful fucking face is going to be right here!” He slaps his chest again, eyes wide with horror. “Right in front of mine. Inches away. For hours!”

My mouth drops open, speechless.

He clutches his hair. “How am I supposed to survive that?! How am I supposed to sit there, while his hands are on me, his breath is on me, after I ran away like an idiot and told him I had to study case files at one in the morning?!”

I can feel Gio shaking next to me, trying not to burst into laughter.

“He’s gonna think I don’t care. He’s gonna think I didn’t like the kiss. Meanwhile I’m sitting here wondering how the fuck I’m not gonna moan the second he leans over me with that stupid tattoo machine!”

I cover my face with both hands. I cannot believe the words coming out of his mouth.

Marco’s still going, hands in his hair. “I want him so bad,” he mutters, half to himself, half to us.

He buries his face into the pillow, groaning like the world’s ending. “I’m cursed. Cursed, guys. He’s gonna be right here tomorrow, breathing on me while he tattoos me, and I’m gonna combust. And I’ll deserve it, because I ruined everything.”

The room goes quiet for a beat, until a sharp knock knock knock rattles the door.

All three of us freeze and whip our heads toward it.

I bolt up, hurrying to the door, and the second I peek through the peephole, my whole body seizes.

I spin back around so fast I nearly trip over my own feet.

“It’s Noah.” My voice cracks. “It’s fucking Noah. Hide. Hide right now and don’t make a sound!”

Marco’s eyes go wide. He half-rolls, half-falls off the couch in panic.

Beside me, Gio’s already doubled over in laughter, wheezing as he grips the counter. “Oh, this is gonna be fucking good.”

The door creaks open and there’s Noah, standing there with his hair a mess, looking like someone just kicked him.

I drag a hand down my face. “Come in…”

He steps inside slowly, his eyes flicking around the room, then land on the table.

On the third plate.

His brows knit together.

He turns to Gio, almost suspicious. “…You guys have company?”

Before Gio can say anything stupid, I jump in fast. “No. It’s just… an extra portion we set out in case we got hungry later.”

Noah stares at me for a beat, then shrugs, clearly too drained to question it.

He moves toward the couch, but stumbles a little on the rug.

“Careful,” I say quickly, grabbing his arm before he can crash. “Here. Sit here.”

He drops onto the cushion, shoulders slouched, elbows on his knees.

And then it starts.

His voice comes out cracked, almost a whine. “He doesn’t want me. Marco doesn’t want me.”

My entire body tenses, because directly behind him, squished in the gap between the wall and the couch, Marco lets out a strangled breath that only Gio and I hear.

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Here we go…”

“No, listen!” he whines. “I swear, it was going so good. We were drinking, talking shit, throwing peanuts at each other, like, real fun, Rava. He was smiling at me, and I was like, this is it, this is the vibe. So I kissed him. I finally did it. I kissed him.”

He presses both hands against his chest like he’s reenacting a play. “And for a split second, I swear to God, it was perfect. His mouth was so warm, and he actually kissed me back. Like, hand-on-my-neck kissed me back.”

Behind him, I see Marco’s knees jerk inside the death-gap like he’s about to faint.

Noah’s voice cracks as he keeps going. “And then this man pulls away, looks me dead in the face, and goes, ‘I have to study case files for a client in Italy.’”

He throws his arms up in despair. “CASE FILES. From ITALY. At one in the morning. Who the fuck does that?!”

Beside me Gio snorts so loud he almost chokes, burying his face in his arm.

“I felt like the dumbest bitch alive,” Noah groans, flopping sideways into the couch cushions. “Like, here I am pouring my soul out with my lips, and he basically tells me paperwork is hotter than me. PAPERWORK.”

He pauses, rubbing his temples. “And I can’t even be mad, because I wanted him so bad I would’ve studied those case files with him.”

I stare at him, speechless, caught between pity and a headache.

Noah sighs dramatically. “I don’t get it. For a moment, it felt like everything. And then it felt like nothing. And now I’m just here, humiliating myself on your couch.”

I lean back, folding my arms, trying to sound casual even though my brain is doing somersaults.

“Look, Noah… even if it did mean something, Marco’s going back to Italy in a few days. You’ll still be here.”

Noah’s head snaps up. “See, that’s where you’re wrong.”

I blink. “…What?”

He jabs a finger into his own chest. “I don’t have anyone here, Rava. The only reason I even came was because the tattoo program was good. That’s it. No family, no ties. Just the school.”

His voice cracks with frustration. “And by the way, the studio I work at is a total rip-off. They take massive cuts from my work. It’s bullshit.”

Across from me, Gio perks up, eyes glinting. “So… technically… you could actually move to Italy?”

Noah’s mouth curves into this defiant little smirk. “Find me one reason why I shouldn’t. I can already speak Italian. I’ve got all of you there. Hell, I even have some distant aunt who lives outside Florence. You see? It’s meant to be.”

I sit there frozen, while Gio looks two seconds away from high-fiving him.

I grin, leaning on the table. “So if you came to Italy… would you wanna keep seeing Marco?”

Noah groans, dragging his hands down his face. “Don’t make me sound like a lovesick idiot, man. We’ve only known each other three days and I’m already losing it.”

He throws his hands up. “What do you want me to say? He’s fucking gorgeous. Like, obnoxiously gorgeous. Tall, sharp jaw, that whole brooding lawyer vibe? Exactly my fucking type. I was literally thinking, ‘wow, where the hell has this guy been hiding?’”

He slumps forward, groaning into his arms. “And then we’re hanging out, laughing, drinking, doing dumb shit, and I swear to God, it felt like I’d known him way longer. So yeah, I kissed him. Couldn’t not. And for a second I thought he wanted it too. But then he hit me with that bullshit about needing to go study case files.”

He peeks up at me, with a miserable look. “Who the fuck ditches a kiss like that to go study? Like… was that just code for ‘sorry kid, not interested’? ’Cause if it was, I’m screwed.”

Gio lets out a strangled laugh into his fist. I bite my lip, fighting back a smile.

Noah groans again, shoving his face back into his hands. “I don’t know. Maybe I read it all wrong. But I can’t stop thinking about him. And it sucks, ’cause he’s literally everything I was hoping to find here, and now I feel like an idiot for even trying.”

Gio finally leans forward, slapping his hand on the table. “Alright, man. Enough with the whining. Here’s what you’re gonna do. Stop complaining, go back to his hotel room, and just… keep him company while he ‘studies.’ Be there. Sit with him. Who knows what might happen.”

Noah blinks at him, like he’s just been handed the Ten Commandments.

I add, “But—before you go, don’t show up empty-handed. Grab something. A dessert, at least. Bring him something sweet.”

Noah nods quickly, like he’s taking notes in class. “Right. Yeah. Something sweet. Got it.”

“Exactly,” I say, trying not to smirk. “Show him you thought about it.”

His eyes go wide with sudden inspiration. “That red velvet place. The one that’s always open. I’ll get him that. Perfect.”

He pushes up from the couch, straightening his jacket, determination written all over his face.

“Okay. I’m doing this. I’m really doing this.” He points dramatically at us. “Wish me luck. If this works out—I owe you my life.”

He starts for the door, then spins back, throws his arms wide. “I love you guys. Goodbye.”

And just like that, he’s gone.

The silence he leaves behind is deafening, until I hear a muffled groan from behind the couch.

I step over to the couch, crouch down, and grab Marco by the arm. “Get up,” I hiss, yanking him out of the ridiculous gap he’s wedged himself into. “You heard him, right? You’ve got a few minutes to sprint to that hotel, plant yourself in your room, and pretend you’ve been studying this whole damn time.”

Marco stumbles to his feet.

He shoves his hands through his hair frantically. “Okay. Okay, I got this. I can do this. I’m fine.” He exhales, nodding to himself. “I’m running. I’m running right now.”

Before either of us can react, he grabs me and Gio by the faces at the same time, pulling us in and planting kisses on our cheeks. “You guys are the best. I fucking love you. Thank you, thank you!”

And then, without another word, he bolts for the door, practically tripping over his own shoes.

The door slams behind Marco.

Me and Gio just stand there, side by side, staring at the door like two old people who just finished hosting a family dinner.

After a long silence, Gio looks at me. “They’re definitely gonna fuck.”

“One hundred percent.”

---

BOO Guys this chapter made me go like:

LMAO I LUV IT

I’m so invested in Marco and Noah rn.

💎 Bonus Chapter 💎

Marco’s POV

I’m sprinting down the hall like someone’s chasing me, but it’s actually just me chasing my own goddamn dignity.

Key card, door, slam, and done. I’m inside.

Straight to the bathroom. Clothes flying everywhere.

Shower on, hottest setting possible. I jump in like the water’s gonna baptize me for all my sins tonight. I’m scrubbing like crazy.

Jesus Christ, my heart won’t calm down.

Why am I moving this fast?! It’s like I’m preparing for a date with the Pope.

I’m preparing for Noah .

Which is way worse, because the Pope won’t notice if my hair looks like shit.

I trip on the damn bath mat, swear under my breath, nearly die , get back up, keep going.

Out of the shower, towel around my waist, sprint to the suitcase.

Rummaging. Rummaging.

Why do I only own clothes that make me look like a depressed law student?!

No, no, no. Not tonight. Not when he could literally knock on the door any second.

I grab the first clean T-shirt I find. White. Simple. Pray it makes me look approachable.

Sweatpants. Comfy, casual. Like, “Oh, look at me, I’m just relaxed, not dying inside.”

I throw them on, glance at the mirror. My hair’s dripping, curling weirdly, and I look like I lost a fight with a showerhead.

It looks like a crime scene. Clothes everywhere, suitcase half-exploded, empty water bottles rolling around the floor like tumbleweeds.

No. No, no, no. I can’t let Noah walk into this, oh God.

He’ll think I live like an overworked raccoon.

I jump up, start grabbing clothes in both hands, tossing them into the suitcase like I’m playing laundry basketball. Miss half the shots, curse out loud, keep going.

The desk is a disaster, receipts, chargers, gum wrappers. I swipe my arm across it like I’m in some dramatic courtroom scene, shove everything into the drawer.

Out of sight, out of mind!

Then my brain screams: The papers. The case files. Right. If I’m supposed to be “studying,” there better be evidence.

I yank the folder out of my bag, scatter the pages across the bed in the messiest “organized” way possible.

Contracts, affidavits, random Latin words—perfect.

I even grab a pen, click it twice, and toss it right on top like a cherry on a cake.

I step back, trying to admire my masterpiece.

Do I look like a lawyer? No. Do I look like a lawyer who’s having a breakdown? Yes. Which might actually be more convincing.

I catch my reflection in the mirror again. Red cheeks, hair still damp, T-shirt sticking to me.

Oh, God. I look like I just committed arson.

My stomach twists. I flop back onto the bed, right in the middle of my “evidence,” surrounded by papers like I’m about to be buried alive by my own lies. My foot won’t stop tapping.

Knock on the door. Fuck.

That’s him.

I almost snap my neck looking at the clock, then at the mess I just half-covered with papers. Okay. Breathe. Pretend you’re normal.

I yank the door open too fast and, boom. Noah.

Standing there with a huge bag. He actually went. He got the cake. He’s here.

And then it hits me like a brick in the face…

We kissed. Earlier. Tongue, teeth, all of it.

And now he’s just standing there in the hallway like nothing happened. My face is on fire.

“Uh—can I come in?” he smirks. “Or are you, busy studying?”

Studying. Yeah, sure. I trashed my own room just to look like I was. I probably smell more like shampoo than law books right now.

“No get in—please,” I blurt. Way too quick. Way too needy. Oh my God.

The second it leaves my mouth, I realize how it sounds. Begging. Straight-up begging.

He tilts his head. Then he cracks up.

“‘Please’? Damn. Didn’t know you lawyers folded that easy.”

I groan, dragging a hand down my face, but I can’t stop grinning. “Don’t do this.”

He walks in and the first thing his eyes land on is… yeah. My brilliant plan. A whole damn crime scene of files and folders exploded across the bed.

“Wow,” he whistles, dropping the bag on the desk. “That’s… a lot.”

Shit. Shit. Shit. “I can clean it up if you want,” I blurt before my brain catches up. “Like—now. Doesn’t have to look like this. We don’t need to do this right now.”

His brows shoot up. “Are you insane?” He steps closer, grin tugging at his lips. “This is interesting.”

Interesting. That’s one word for it. My pulse is choking me out, because he’s actually looking at my mess like it’s some kind of treasure hunt.

I sit down on the edge of the bed.

I keep sneaking looks at him every few seconds, painfully obvious about it.

If anyone from my law office saw me standing next to him right now, they’d immediately assume I’m the lawyer and he’s the criminal I’m about to defend in court.

He has that whole edge to him. Rings, leather, earrings. And then there’s me, basically the human form of structure.

We make no sense standing next to each other.

And maybe that’s exactly the problem.

Because this EXACT type of man has always been my fucking weak spot.

My guilty pleasure since I discovered I liked guys.

My leg bounces a little and I pat the spot beside me. “You can… sit here if you want.”

Smooth. Real smooth. My voice cracks halfway through.

He glances at the spot, then back at me, smirking like he knows exactly what he’s doing to my nervous system.

And inside, I’m screaming, don’t sit there, don’t sit that close, I’m literally on fire.

But at the same time yeah, sit there.

Please . God.

He sits down next to me, way too close.

Then he sighs. “Sorry, I’m roasting in this. I gotta take one off.”

He tugs at his long-sleeve, no big deal, right?

Just a shirt.

Except when it lifts, the T-shirt underneath comes up with it and suddenly, I’m staring at skin .

Not just skin. Skin with tattoos. Skin with arms that could probably choke me out in three seconds if they wanted to.

My face is redder than a stop sign.

Jesus Christ. His collarbones are right there, his arms flex as he tries to wrestle the sleeve off, and his cheeks are pink from the heat.

Or maybe from me looking at him like a pervert.

Great.

Perfect .

I snap my head the other way, fast. I’m about three seconds from passing out.

“Sorry about that,” he mutters, embarrassed.

Sorry about that ?

Yeah, buddy, sorry for giving me fuel for my late-night mental breakdowns.

Sorry for putting your sweet body on display while I’m trying to breathe like a normal person.

“I don’t mind.”

“So,” Noah says, tilting his head at me with that grin that already feels illegal, “what’s the case?”

My stomach drops.

Did he just—?

“The case?” I repeat, trying to stop my voice from cracking.

Is he asking about us? Is this like… his way of saying what are we ?

But then he waves a hand toward the stack of files on the bed. “Your client. Why does he need a lawyer?”

Oh. Right.

That case.

Not the case of me being stupid enough to think he meant us.

Smooth, Marco.

Real smooth.

I rub the back of my neck, stalling, but Noah’s staring at me expectantly.

Fine. Go big or go home.

“It’s a custody mess. Dad wants the kid, mom’s a walking casino with a coke problem. She disappears, doesn’t feed him, doesn’t do shit—dad’s basically raising him alone. But you know courts—‘oh, the mother, she must be fit,’ blah blah. So I’ve gotta flip the whole thing upside down and prove the obvious.”

Noah whistles, wide-eyed. “Holy shit. That’s… dark.”

“Welcome to my life,” I mutter, throwing a file back on the bed for dramatic effect. “Kid can’t stand up in court and be like ‘yo, mom left me with a slot machine for three days,’ so I do it for him.”

Noah blinks at me like I just pulled a sword from a stone. “You actually sound… kinda hot right now. Like superhero hot.”

I groan, covering my face. “Don’t do that.”

But he’s already grinning, eyes sparkling. “Okay but wait. Let’s roleplay. Courtroom edition.”

I look at him like he’s lost his damn mind. “Roleplay? In this economy?”

“Yes!” He’s bouncing on the bed now. “Come on, Marco. Pick a case.”

I laugh in his face. “Me?”

He’s dead serious. Or at least pretending to be. “No wait. I got this. The case is this: you got caught having sex in a public place. I’m the prosecutor. You defend yourself.”

My jaw actually drops. “That’s the charge?!” I throw my hands up. “Out of all possible crimes, you’re sending me to horny jail?”

He smirks. “Exactly. You’re disgusting. I want you locked up.”

I sit up like I’m at the witness stand. “First of all, Your Honor, may I just say—whoever saw me doing that was lucky . Free show. You’re welcome.”

Noah slams his imaginary papers on the bed. “Objection. Exhibitionism is a crime.”

I clap my hands like an idiot. “Objection sustained. Wait, no. Overruled.” I’m laughing so hard my stomach hurts.

He leans closer, his voice is much lower now. “So you admit it?”

“Admit it? I’d do it again. And louder. With better lighting this time.”

He grabs a pillow like it’s evidence. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, he has confessed!”

I grab the pillow back, almost hitting him with it. “Confessed? No, no, no. That was a hypothetical statement made under extreme duress and—listen, I deserve a medal, not a sentence. Do you know how much core strength it takes to—”

“No further questions, Your Honor,” he cuts me off, grinning.

I’m wheezing at this point. “Okay, fine, send me to prison.”

We both crack up, sitting shoulder to shoulder on the hotel bed.

He’s holding this stupid pillow like it’s the case file, and I’m barely breathing from laughing so hard.

He wipes a fake tear from his eye. “You’d last two minutes in prison. Max.”

“Two minutes?” I gasp, clutching my chest. “Excuse me? I’d be running the yard. I’d have… I don’t know, a gang of accountants.”

He snorts. “What are they gonna do, balance everyone’s checkbooks?”

“Yes!” I shout, pointing at him like I just won. “Fear the financially literate!”

He laughs.

I watch.

And then without warning…

I just kiss him. Mid-laugh. Like my mouth had a mind of its own. No countdown, no logic, no trial.

He smiles against my mouth, like he saw it coming from ten miles away.

“That,” he says, mock-formal, “was highly unprofessional conduct.”

My laugh comes out shaky and desperate. “Yeah? File a complaint. I dare you.”

Noah doesn’t hesitate. He just kisses me back. Hard. Like it was always supposed to happen.

And my brain is now officially gone.

Literally fireworks, sirens, confetti cannons. I’m losing it. I’m kissing him back like a madman with my fingers in his shirt, and my mouth open.

We break for half a second, our mouths still brushing, both of us panting.

Noah smirks, breathless, and says, “Extreme lawyer. Extreme kisser. Christ, who even are you?”

And my brain just explodes.

Like, HELLO??? SIR???

Did he just call me both hot and competent in the same sentence? My entire soul just collapsed.

Inside I’m melting into a puddle. He thinks I’m good at kissing. He thinks I’m cool.

He laughs into another kiss, and I swear I’m about to pass out. My heart’s doing gymnastics.

I want to fistfight the version of me that ran out earlier. Look at us now.

LOOK. AT. US.

Now he’s saying insane lines like that and I’m literally ready to marry him on the spot.

He bites my lip lightly and I let out the most embarrassing noise of my life, cause honestly, holy shit .

Brain screaming, your honor strike that from the record, holy fuck I’m in love.

He grips my jaw tighter.

I should probably thank his parents, I should build him a shrine, I should change my last name to Kaiser right now.

His shirt is gone, thank God , his body bare over me, and I’m already wrecked just looking at him.

Then he shifts his hips…

Holy fuck he’s pressing against my dick and it’s like a jolt straight through me.

I can feel how hard he is. He’s doing it on purpose. He wants me to know.

I don’t deserve this, I’m literally blessed, this is divine intervention, I’m touching heaven with my dick.

My hands are clutching his bare waist.

He grinds harder and I moan straight into his mouth, shameless.

God bless Rava. God bless Gio.

May they both live to 200 years old.

Thank you for existing long enough to introduce me to this absolute sex god currently dry-humping me into the mattress.

If I survive this night, I’m buying those two matching thrones. Golden thrones. Carved with angels. They are kings, they are heroes, they are my personal saints.

Noah’s hand sliding lower. I feel him tug at my waistband while his fingers are working at the drawstring of my sweats.

He’s really doing it, he’s really about to get my pants off, holy shit, holy shit—

Knock knock.

Noah freezes with his lips still on mine, and we both stare at each other, breathless.

Then a voice through the door: “Heeey, it’s me. Open up.”

Lorenzo.

Ohhhh, NOW you show up. Now you’re at my door.

Where the fuck were you when I was knocking on yours earlier, huh?

Busy getting RAILED? Yeah, thought so.

I burst out laughing, forehead pressed to Noah’s shoulder. “Oh my fucking god. Of course. He picks now.”

Noah groans, dragging his hand away from my waistband.

I roll off the bed, stumbling toward the door, still flushed, my sweats halfway undone. “Leave it. I’ll deal with him.”

I lean against the door, still giggling. “Lorenzo, can you hear me?”

“Yeah. Open up.”

I grin so wide my face hurts. “Sorry, can’t do that.”

A pause. “What? Why not?”

I laugh, breathless, looking back at Noah sprawled shirtless on the bed, lips red from kissing. “Because it’s our turn now, man.”

---

UPDATE:

GUYS if you wanna read about their first time having sex… I’m publishing it this April :) On kindle hehehehbebe✨

update:

ITS UP!! check this comment for the link if you wanna see the marco x noah smut

107) My Type

Gio’s POV

He’s right here, finally. My arms locked around him, chest pressed into his back, his hair in my damn mouth, and I don’t even care.

I’ve missed this too much to care. A whole month without it, without him … it was hell. I couldn’t fall asleep right, couldn’t wake up right.

I missed his weight next to me, the way he kicks the sheet off, the way he rolls around like he is alone. I missed his voice when he’s half asleep, the stupid little noises he makes when I squeeze him tighter.

A month apart felt like a year. I thought about him nonstop, what he was doing, if he was eating, if he was tired.

I hated not being here to see it myself, to keep him close. And now he’s here, in my arms, and I don’t wanna let go. I don’t give a shit if I can’t breathe with his hair in my face, I’d rather choke on it than spend another night without him.

I can’t stop touching him. My hand runs slow through his hair, down the side of his face, over his shoulder.

He’s soft everywhere, warm everywhere, like a damn cat that belongs in my arms.

I trace his waist, the curve of it driving me insane, and I feel him press himself back against me.

Yeah, he’s awake.

I slide my hand under his shirt, let my fingers brush over his stomach, make lazy circles on his skin.

He shivers a little, but doesn’t pull away. Instead, with his eyes still closed and his voice all heavy with sleep, he mumbles. “Don’t stop… I’ll pay you.”

I laugh quietly. “Idiot,” I whisper, kissing the side of his neck.

I’d never take his money, but if he wants me to keep touching him, he doesn’t have to ask twice.

He suddenly rolls over and now he’s face to face with me, or more like, face to chest .

He shoves his nose right into me, breathing against my skin like I’m his pillow, then throws his leg over my waist like he’s staking a claim.

I burst out laughing, caught off guard, and poke his side with my finger. “You breathing in there?”

“I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.” he mumbles. And he says it so serious.

I can’t stop laughing, my chest shaking so hard his face moves with it.

I let my hand drift down, stroking his thigh. He doesn’t move.

My fingers wander lower, slipping under his pants, just testing.

That’s when his head snaps up, those sleepy eyes locking on me.

“What?” I grin, not backing off. “I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.”

He actually laughs, then drops his head back into my chest like he can’t be bothered.

My arms tighten around him before I even think about it.

He has no idea what he does to me. I feel like a man when he’s in my arms, like I could take on the whole world, wreck anyone who even thinks about touching him.

I know he can handle himself, he’s strong, smarter than me most days.

But some part of me still wants to stand in front of him and take every hit so he doesn’t have to.

Having him here, pressed into me, letting me hold him like this… it makes me feel like I finally got something right in my life.

He doesn’t need me to protect him, but damn, I want to.

I want him never to need to lift a finger, not when I’m here.

—

We finish up in the bathroom. Brushing our teeth, washing our face, the whole thing.

He’s neat about it, I’m fast and sloppy. Then we end up in the kitchen, him leaning on the counter.

He squints at me. “What do you wanna eat?”

I just stare at him. He stares back.

My mouth curls up.

“Don’t—” he warns.

“Your dick?” I shoot, straight face.

He groans, “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

I laugh, grab him by the head and pull him in, smashing kiss after kiss all over his face.

He tries to dodge but he’s too slow, he’s trapped. My hand’s in his hair, messing it up, holding him there.

“Come back to Italy already,” I mutter into him. “I miss sweeping up your cute little blonde hair. I’m left with Lulu’s fur.”

“I’m not even blonde ,” he argues into my shirt.

“Yeah?” I snort. “Tell that to my damn broom.”

He laughs.

“Fine, since you’re not telling me what you want, I’ll make whatever I want.”

“Go ahead,” I shrug. “Make poison, I’ll eat it. If it’s from you, I’ll take it.”

He bends down laughing. That’s my whole fucking win for the day.

He starts grabbing plates and I move in behind him, sliding one arm around his waist, the other lower, pulling him into me.

I bury my face against the back of his neck.

“You know we’re in a rush, right?” he says. “We’ve got Marco’s tattoo, and for some reason you also decided to get your nipples pierced today.”

“Oh, fuck me…” I groan, dragging it out, head falling back.

Rava spins halfway around. “Wait, wait—in that case, we’ve got time.”

I crack up, shaking my head. “Sorry, baby. Not your turn yet.”

He mutters something like “fuck you” under his breath, and I press a kiss to his cheek just to shut him up.

He leans on the counter, all serious. “Call Noah from my phone. Put it on speaker.”

I grab the phone, hit his contact.

While it’s ringing, I smirk. “You think he crashed at the hotel?”

“Bet,” Rava says, deadpan.

Then Noah picks up. “Hey, is this the Fontana family?”

Rava snorts, already laughing. “Jealous. I know deep down you wanna change Marco’s last name to Kaiser.”

Noah groans. “Oh boy, you have no idea. I’ll tell you everything tonight, can’t right now.”

I narrow my eyes. “Wait—are you in our hotel…?”

“Um… maybe?” he says, like the shadiest bastard alive.

Rava jumps in. “DID YOU GUYS—”

Noah cuts him off, whispering dramatic as hell: “I’ll spill later. Just get to my place in half an hour. Gio, prep your nipples.”

I bark out a laugh. “I don’t need prep. I’m not scared of you or your damn needle.”

Rava turns his head to me, all judgy. “Why did we even agree you’re doing this?”

Noah answers. “One, because it’s gonna look sick. Two, because—why the hell not?”

Rava looks at the phone. “Hold up—you said your place?”

Noah goes, casual as shit, “Yeah. We’re doing it at my house. If we go to the studio, Marco’s gonna have to pay, and why the hell would we let that happen? This way, I can do it for free. No one’s a sucker here.”

I snort, leaning on the counter. “So sweet of you, Noah.”

“I know,” he fires back without missing a beat. “Okay, goodbye now. See you in half an hour.”

He hangs up.

I toss the phone back to Rava, laughing. “Your boy’s out here saving Marco’s wallet and acting like he’s Mother Teresa.”

—

Rava’s driving, I’m next to him, and Jin’s in the back.

Next thing I know, he’s leaning forward, grabbing both our seats, sticking his head between us like some horror movie jump scare.

“You know how long it’s been since it was just the three of us?” he says, grinning.

Rava groans. “Don’t say it…”

“Since you were getting ready for your date with Sophia.” Jin cackles like a maniac.

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Rava slams a hand on the wheel. “Jin, I swear I’ll throw you out of this car. And no, mom won’t save you. She’ll be on my side.”

I can’t help it, I laugh.

Rava side-eyes me, then asks, “Where are mom and Daisy anyway?”

Jin shrugs. “Went shopping. Said it’s their last chance to blow through mom’s bonus before we head back to Italy. So you’re stuck with me. Question is—can I get a tattoo too?”

Rava snaps, “No. You’re sixteen.”

“I’ll be seventeen in a month,” Jin shoots back.

“Still no,” Rava says, all teacher-mode. “Legally you’re not allowed, and biologically your body is still growing. Skin and tissue develop differently at your age, and—”

I lose it.

Jin rolls his eyes. “Oh whatever , schoolboy. I’ll just ask Noah. You stick to your books.”

—

It’s been about an hour. I’m sunk into Noah’s couch, stretched out, with Rava lying across my lap. His head’s resting heavy on my thighs, hair brushing my stomach, and his legs are sprawled across Lorenzo’s lap like he owns both of us.

Lorenzo is busy messing around with Noah’s tattoo machine like it’s a toy, and Noah doesn’t even know.

Across from us, Marco’s sitting shirtless in the chair with his arms folded like he’s ready for war.

Noah went downstairs for paper towels. Not just some paper towels, he yelled “I NEED A LOT OF PAPER TOWELS,” before vanishing.

Lorenzo suddenly pipes up, holding the machine to his arm. “Can I just hit myself with one right now?”

Jin, who’s sitting on the floor, perks up instantly. “Do me too! Rava won’t let me. Can I pierce my tits too?”

Rava’s head jerks up off my lap. “Jin! Sit your ass down! Be composed.”

Jin mutters, “Says the guy literally lying across two men like some spoiled cat…”

Marco gasps, hand flying to his mouth. “Oops. He got you.”

Rava whips his head toward me for backup. His eyes are all, ‘defend me, please.’

I stroke his hair. “Sorry, baby. He’s kinda right.”

Rava smacks my chest with the back of his hand. Not hard, more like “shut up before I kill you later.”

And then Lorenzo leans forward, whisper-shouting like the world’s worst spy.

“Hey, Marco…” He flicks a folded scrap of paper at him.

Marco picks it up, frowning. “What the hell is this?”

Lorenzo smirks. “So… did you two do it last night?”

Marco freezes, face turning red, eyes darting anywhere but us.

Before I can even laugh, Jin shoots to his feet. “Okay! Time for me to help Noah with his… paper. So much paper.”

He bolts toward the door.

Rava shouts after him, “Oh, so you’re too young for sex talk but old enough for tattoos? You little dirtbag!”

Jin throws his hands up like he’s innocent and disappears down the hall.

The whole room falls quiet for a beat.

Door clicks shut.

Marco stares for a solid five seconds, making sure the coast is clear.

Then he turns back to us. His face is all red like he’s about to confess murder.

“Guys…” His voice cracks. “I’m this close to kidnapping him.”

I choke on my own spit. “What?!”

“I don’t know how the fuck I’m supposed to look him in the eye after last night!” he blurts, throwing his hands in the air like he’s at church.

Lorenzo bursts out laughing, nearly dropping the tattoo machine. “I knew it. My guy Noah had it in him.”

Marco clutches his head. “No, you don’t get it. I can’t handle it. And his looks…Christ almighty, his whole vibe. Like… he’s covered in tattoos, piercings everywhere, dresses like some street kid who sells contraband out the back of a club.”

Rava’s trying not to laugh, but he’s shaking against my legs.

Marco slams his hand against his chest. “That’s exactly the type of guy I see in court getting sentenced—and that is EXACTLY my type, LORD. Do you understand the problem here?!”

Lorenzo’s howling now. “Oh God, you’re so done for.”

Lorenzo suddenly turns his head, eyes on Rava. “You know, you’ve got a lot in common with Marco.”

Rava blinks. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I think it’s obvious,” Lorenzo says, grinning. “You both go for street rats, meanwhile you two look like the human embodiment of a textbook.”

I sit up straighter. “Hold the fuck on. Street rat? I’ve been away from the streets for how long now?”

Lorenzo doesn’t even flinch. “Yeah, but you don’t exactly look like you have.”

“Fuck you,” I snap.

He runs his tongue slowly across his teeth, smirking. “Say when and where, I’ll be there.”

“Jesus Christ,” Rava groans. “Can we stick to the subject? Marco, what happened last night?”

Marco gasps, hand on his chest like he’s about to faint. “Oh, you want the details? Fine. I’ll give you the damn details.”

Rava mutters, “Oh no…”

Marco jumps up from his chair, dramatic as hell. “We kissed. Obviously. The man grabbed me like I was the last drink of water in a desert.”

He grabs the back of his own hair, tugging. “He held me like this, tight and rough.”

Lorenzo is choking on laughter, falling sideways.

Marco keeps going, hands everywhere, re-enacting. “No, fuck, don’t laugh. You don’t get it. I swear to God, I thought I blacked out. And his tongue… Guys his tongue was doing PARKOUR. Full fucking gymnastics in my mouth! I’m talking suffocating, seeing stars, thinking this is how I go out. Crash out in a hotel bed with a dude named Noah. It wasn’t just a kiss, it was a religious fucking experience.”

I’m biting my fist trying not to laugh too hard.

“Guys—listen to me. His hand was on my neck. Right here.”

He grabs his own throat for emphasis. “And I swear to God, in that moment I wouldn’t have even minded if he choked me out. It was that fucking hot.”

He grabs his face.

“He looks like he crawled straight out of every warning sign my mother ever gave me and yet he’s EXACTLY what I want. Like, God really said, ‘let me craft Marco’s downfall’ and then created Noah fucking Kaiser.”

I’m trying not to choke.

Marco throws his hands up. “Don’t even get me started on the dick.”

Lorenzo explodes. Rava shouts, “STOP TALKING,” Lorenzo falls off the couch, and I’m crying from laughing.

And that’s exactly when the door swings open.

Noah walks in, arms loaded with mountains of paper towels, completely unfazed.

Marco freezes mid-rant. His mouth is open, and his eyes huge.

Doesn’t say a word at first, just crosses the room and snatches the tattoo machine straight out of Lorenzo’s hand.

“Gimme that,” he mutters, glaring.

Lorenzo just leans back, smirking, giving him this look like,

yeah , I know exactly what you’re doing when that door’s closed.

Doesn’t even need to say it, his eyes are screaming it.

Noah ignores him, takes the machine to the workbench, and starts setting everything up with that calm, focused energy. He looks at Marco.

“Chair’s not good for this spot. Lie down here.”

Marco doesn’t hesitate for a second. “Sure.” He gets up, moves over, stretches out on the counter like he’s auditioning for a porno shoot.

Then he actually turns his head toward us, bites his lip, and flashes this huge, wicked grin.

Rava tries, he really does, but a laugh bursts out of him before he can stop it.

Noah pulls a chair right up in front of him, all calm and collected, and starts cleaning his chest.

Marco mutters, “Does it hurt? Am I gonna scream?”

Noah smirks at him, eyes sharp. “I’m pretty damn sure you can handle it.”

Marco practically melts right there.

I lean back on the couch, running my fingers through Rava’s hair again and again. “This feels like we’re watching a porno.”

Jin, who’s been leaning forward like a little menace, blurts out, “Noah, dude, please come to Italy. When I turn eighteen, I want you to make me like you and Gio.”

Rava lifts his head off my lap, snapping. “Excuse me? My whole back is covered in ink. Why don’t you mention me too?”

Jin waves him off instantly. “You don’t count. Doesn’t matter how many tattoos you’ve got, you don’t have the street vibe I’m aiming for.”

I sit up straight, point at him. “Hey, cut it out with the digs. I’m not taking you for another ride on the bike.”

Jin groans, throws his hands up. “Okay, sorry, Rava. You’re an outlaw too. Happy?”

I laugh.

Rava smacks my chest lightly. “Don’t encourage him.”

Noah’s calm as hell, dipping the needle into the ink.

He looks down at Marco. “We can take breaks if you want. And if you need me to stop, don’t talk—just tap me lightly so I don’t mess up the desi—”

“Just stick the needle in already!” Marco blurts, chest puffed out. “I’m a strong man, I can take it!”

Marco turns his head toward us, shuts his eyes way too tight, jaw clenched, like he’s about to be executed.

And Noah hasn’t even touched him yet.

---

It’s been two hours already.

Marco finally turns his head toward us, slow as hell, lifting his eyebrows up and down with that evil grin.

Noah wipes him down, pulls the gloves off. “Done! Admire this shit, people.”

Marco groans, dragging himself upright.

And yeah… it looks good.

Sharp black lines, neo-tribal style. Bold but clean. Fits him better than I thought it would.

Lorenzo whistles low. “Nice. Now Noah, lick it.”

Rava snaps, “Can you not be disgusting for once? Marco, it’s perfect. Noah, you’re the best. Please, for the love of God, get out of this studio.”

Jin throws his hands up. “Finally. Something we agree on.”

I’m thinking.

Maybe if we’re lucky, Noah will forget all about my nipple-piercing thing.

I clap my hands together. “Great. Guess that means we can head out—”

“Nope,” Noah cuts in, dead serious. “Sit your ass down. It’s not even that bad. Look.”

He yanks his shirt up, flashing his own. “See? I’ve got them too.”

I rub my face. “Alright, that’s it. Let’s just get this over with.” I pull my shirt off and toss it straight into Rava’s lap.

Lorenzo leans back, grinning. “Flash us, please.”

Rava just kicks him in the leg.

“Sit there and wait,” Noah says to me, waving the machine. “Let me clean up first. Like the good little cleaning guy I am. Marco, you good?”

He throws at him without looking up.

Marco just nods, grinning hard, then slides right into the spot I was sitting.

I lean back, crossing my arms. “Hey, Noah, why don’t you open your own studio?”

He looks up mid-clean, shrugs, dead casual. “I dunno.”

“What if we set one up for you in Italy?” I push, smirking. “Your own place. We’ll help with the boring legal shit. I can bring you endless customers. Hell, I’ll even recruit staff for you.”

Marco’s finger shoots up like a lawyer in court. “And I’ll be your attorney whenever someone sues your ass.”

Rava adds, “And we won’t have to video call all the time.”

Lorenzo lifts his water bottle. “And we’ll get tequila on tap. Anytime we want.”

Noah just freezes for a second, then cracks, he starts laughing hard. “Man, I’d be an idiot to say no to something that tempting.”

“EXACTLY!” Marco shouts, like he just won a case in court.

Noah points at us with his glove, still laughing. “Alright, shut the fuck up. You’ve got me hyped now. We’ll talk about it later. For now, let me pierce this pretty boy’s tits.”

Oh man.

---

Noah finally pulls the clamp away, wipes me down, and snaps the little barbell in place.

“There,” he says calmly. “Done.”

I blow out a sharp breath, rubbing my face. “You son of a bitch…” I mutter under my breath.

Jin whistles. “This feels illegal to watch.”

“Can I put my shirt back on now?” I groan.

“If you want,” Noah shrugs.

I yank it back on instantly, no hesitation, then stagger over and flop right on top of Rava, who’s lying flat on the couch. I drop down on him, my back hits his chest, making him grunt.

Rava turns his head toward me, running his fingers through my hair. “They suit you. Way too well. You look…” He pauses. “Hot.”

I grin. “See? That’s all I needed. Fuck all your pain, fuck Noah’s needle—I’ll take the compliment.”

Noah, still cleaning up his tools, just smirks. “Told you it wasn’t that bad. And yeah, you rock it.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Don’t think I’m saying thank you. Let’s go home,” I mumble into his neck. “I need love and attention.”

Lorenzo claps, dramatic as hell. “Bravo, Rava. Look at you. You turned the biggest street punk into the biggest simp-slash-cuddle addict alive.”

“Shut up,” I mutter, still half buried in Rava. “Let me have this. I’ve wanted it since I was a little shit.”

Marco’s sitting up now, blinking. “Guys, I got adopted into this family kinda late, so I’ve got no clue…how did you two even meet?”

I lift my head lazily, smirking. “I’ll tell you tomorrow on the plane. While we play poker. You packed your stuff yet? ’Cause reminder, we fly out at four in the morning.”

Rava groans under me. “Ugh, don’t remind me. I’ve gotta pack all day, and I still need to call the movers to ship the rest of my stuff back.”

“That’s the least of your problems. The important part is that you’re coming to Italy.”

And I swear, saying it out loud makes my chest feel lighter than it has in months.

---

Hey guys 😼

Sorry I came back late and the chapter turned out so messy. It’s a difficult point in the story right now and my brain is kind of fried. This chapter and the next one might be a bit of a jumble, but I think the rest will flow smoothly :) I have an amazing idea.

And Noah tattooing Marco was candyt1me idea :))))

THATS ALL BYE BYE LOVE YOU POOKIES ❤️

108) Can I Ask You Something

Rava’s POV

I zip the side pocket shut, shove another folded shirt into the suitcase, and lean on it for a second like I can’t believe this is real.

I’m actually going back to Italy.

Back home.

Gio’s sprawled across my bed, bare-chested, flipping through my diary like it’s a comic book.

Typical.

“I haven’t signed the paper yet,” I tell him. “What if I just… don’t? What if I stay here?”

He doesn’t even look guilty.

Just shrugs like he couldn’t care less. “Guess I’ll take fake Rava to Italy instead. Rava Grayson, or whatever his name was.”

I laugh, throwing one of my socks at him. “Fine. Break time. I’m sick of packing.”

His head snaps up, and his voice has that bossy edge. “No, Rava. No breaks. It’s already eleven.”

I grin and correct him. “It’s Ravioli.”

We lost so much time, Gio and I, always arguing, doubting, circling each other.

It pisses me off when I think about it too long.

But then again… I wouldn’t trade a single second of this summer. Not one.

If I could change anything, it’d be that his father was still alive.

So Gio could show him who he’s become, so I could stand next to him and know his dad saw us .

The man was everything a father should be… strong, loyal, someone to look up to.

And meanwhile, mine’s still alive.

Alive, but nowhere.

Alive, but rotten.

It’s almost laughable, the way the universe works.

Gio lost someone good, and I’m stuck with someone I wish I could lose.

I shake the thought off before it shows on my face, plastering a smile back on as Gio flips another page of my diary, smirking like he’s about to roast me for it.

I walk over and yank the journal right out of Gio’s hands before he can read another word.

He doesn’t even fight me for it.

I toss it aside on the nightstand and plant myself right in front of him, my knees brush his side.

“One kiss,” I bargain, holding up my finger like I’m laying down a contract. “That’s it. Just one.”

He shakes his head, smug. “No. No kisses for you until you finish packing.”

I gasp, clutching my chest like he just stabbed me. “That’s cruel and unusual punishment.”

Then I lean forward anyway, trying to catch his mouth.

He twists his face away at the very last second.

I miss, my lips landing on his cheek. I laugh against his skin and go again, this time aiming lower, but he dodges that too.

“Come on,” I whine between giggles, climbing fully on top of him now. “Just one kiss—”

“Nope,” he cuts in, lips pressed together as if sealing the deal.

He’s enjoying this way too much.

I try again, leaning down fast, and he jerks his head to the other side. My forehead bumps into his jaw and I can’t stop laughing.

“You’re impossible,” I say, breathless.

“You’re the one not packing.” His voice is teasing but I can feel the tension in his body as he braces himself beneath me.

He’s fighting me off, but not really.

I keep chasing his mouth, laughing, until finally I catch his jaw in my hand, holding him still.

“Got you,” I murmur, and before he can escape again, I press my lips to his.

It’s quick, stolen but electric.

For a moment, he just stares up at me, breathless, as if I’ve broken some rule.

My pulse is going insane, my smile stretching wide like I can’t believe I actually pulled it off.

Then Gio’s smirk fades.

He shoves me hard onto my back. My head hits the pillow with a soft thud, and before I can react he’s straddling me, pinning me down.

I laugh breathlessly. “Aggressive much?” I tease, smirking up at him. “All this because I beat you to one little kiss?”

He doesn’t even bother answering. His hands dive straight into my hair, both of them, fisting it tight, yanking my head back so I have nowhere to go.

The dominance of it makes my stomach drop in the best fucking way.

“Shit—okay,” I laugh, but my voice breaks when his mouth crashes down on mine.

It’s hungry, nothing like my poor stolen peck.

He kisses me like he’s punishing me for even trying.

He pulls my head back even farther, forcing my mouth open to him, and I gasp into his kiss.

The pressure of him on top of me is overwhelming, suffocating in the best way.

I love it.

I love every second of him taking control, of being pinned under his weight, of knowing he’s deciding how close, how deep, how long this kiss will last.

“You think you won?” he mutters against my lips.

I grin into the kiss. “Kinda looks like I did,” I shoot back, arching into him, grinding up just enough to make his breath hitch.

Suddenly he stills, then slides one hand down, catching mine instead.

His thumb brushes across my knuckles slowly, like he’s building up to something.

“Baby,” he says quietly, softer than before, “can I ask you something?”

I tilt my head, heart giving a small jump at his tone. “Of course.”

He hesitates, smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Okay… here we go.”

“You’re scaring me.”

“Do you miss Lulu?”

I laugh, the answer already spilling out. “Of course I do. I feel like I left my child behind. Especially after I swapped out her litter myself.”

I grin at the memory. “She probably hates me by now.”

He smiles at that, squeezing my hand. “Right. And… when you’re at mine, where do you usually keep her food?”

“In the kitchen,” I answer without thinking, eyes narrowing playfully. “Next to the sink, bottom cabinet… Why?”

He shrugs, too casual. “And the coffee? You know where the machine is?”

I snort. “Please. I’m the one who actually cleans the coffee machine after you abuse it.”

His grin widens, he keeps going.

“Where do you keep your books?” he asks, smiling harder.

“My books?” I repeat, raising a brow. “In your room, stacked up on the nightstand. Where else would they be?”

He hums like I proved his point. “And the washing machine… what settings do you use?”

I roll my eyes but laugh. “The quick wash. Usually. Because you don’t have the patience for a full cycle. And don’t look at me like that, you know it’s true.”

His thumb is still stroking over my hand slowly.

The questions are piling up now, and I can feel the trap closing in.

I laugh nervously. “Why are you asking me all this?”

He leans in closer, his voice is dropping, he’s too gentle. “Just making sure you realize… you already live there.”

My heart starts to race, because I know where this is going.

Gio doesn’t let go of my hand. His thumb traces lazy circles over my skin, but his eyes are serious now, steady on me.

“I know our places are already close,” he starts, a little hesitant, like he’s not sure how this will land. “And I know maybe this sounds… fast? I don’t know.”

Something in his tone makes me sit up straighter. He’s not joking. Not this time.

He takes a breath, then keeps going, softer.

“Rava… what if we tried it? Living together. Not just you coming over a few nights. Not just leaving half your stuff in my drawers. But really staying. Making it your home too.”

My throat goes dry. I don’t interrupt. I can’t.

He studies me carefully, like he’s scared of what I’ll say, and his hand squeezes mine tighter.

“You could have your own study room if you want. A whole room just for you. Or… or a painting room! I know you like drawing. I still remember finding your sketchbook at the start of the summer.” His smile curves, soft, a bit shy.

“Of course I’m not pushing you,” he says. “I’d never do that. But I’d make it as easy as I could for you, Rava. I wouldn’t bother you when you need to study—hell, the opposite. I’d want to help if I could. Bring you food so you don’t waste time, maybe sit with you while you work just so you don’t feel alone.”

Fuck. I can already feel my throat tighten.

I laugh, trying to smother the lump rising in me.

“I just… I want to do anything I can for you,” Gio goes on. “And yeah, there’d be fights. Stupid ones. I’ll forget to hang the laundry, or you’ll get mad I left dishes in the sink. You’ll yell at me, I’ll yell back. And I’m sure there’ll be nights where we’ll want to skin each other alive.”

He pauses, looking directly into my eyes, and then his smile curves softer. “But I know the way we’ll make up after? The way we’ll find each other again? That’ll make it worth everything. Every single fucking time.”

I can’t breathe. He’s too perfect. He’s laying his entire self in front of me.

“What do you say?” he asks finally, his hand tightening around mine.

I can feel his eyes burning into me, waiting. I smile, tilt my head.

“Don’t complain when I take over your closet.”

His laugh bursts out, startled, relieved. I see it in his face, he knows what I mean.

That it’s a yes. Hell, it was always going to be a yes.

I don’t even give him time to answer. I throw my arms around him, crushing myself against his chest.

The hug is desperate, almost too tight, because suddenly I can’t hold it back anymore. The tears sting and spill before I can stop them.

Tears because I’m so damn happy, so full I can barely breathe.

His arms wrap firm around my waist, pulling me closer until there’s no space between us.

His forehead presses to mine, and when I look at him, my vision’s blurry, but his smile is so clear.

I kiss him then, hard, full of relief and love, clutching the back of his neck with both hands.

When we finally break apart, he grins at me with that crooked, infuriating smile.

“Alright. Now hurry up and pack your stuff, so we can go back to Italy already.”

I shoot up from the bed with more energy than I’ve had all week, wiping at my eyes, laughing through the tears.

“Yes, sir,” I say, shoving clothes in with clumsy urgency.

My mind’s racing ahead, past the plane ride, past the airport.

All I can think is that I’m going to live with Gio. Every morning. Every night.

And the thought is so insane, so impossible, so perfect my head feels like it might explode from it.

---

It’s four in the morning and I should be dead tired, but instead I’m vibrating in my seat.

Italy’s getting closer with every minute, Gio’s shoulder pressed against mine on the left, Lorenzo on my right.

My suitcase is somewhere below us, my whole life about to start again, and I can’t stop smiling.

Marco, though…

Marco looks dead.

Poor thing.

He’s slumped in his seat, hood pulled up, staring at the safety card in front of him.

“Marco,” I lean forward with a soft voice, “don’t be like that. He said he’s coming, remember? As soon as he sorts out his resignation. You and Noah will be together again before you know it.”

Marco groans dramatically, clutching his chest.

Daisy, sweet as ever, reaches over and strokes his hair. “Poor Marco… I understand you.”

Lorenzo cracks one eye open, immediately scoffing. “Understand him?! How? I am glued to you twenty-four seven, you never even had to miss me.”

Daisy gasps, then smiles, slipping her arm through his. “And I hope I never have to. Sometimes I want to pull all your hair out, but at the end of the day, I love you more than anything.”

She lays her head on his shoulder, and Lorenzo raises his brows at us like, yeah, that’s right, be proud of me.

Gio snorts under his breath.

Marco sits up. “Fantastic. Everyone’s in love, everyone’s coupled up, and I’m the only one abandoned here.”

From the very back, Jin pipes up, “Hey! I’m abandoned too right now, Marco. Maybe you and I could—”

“Jin,” my mom cuts him off sharply, giving him the look. “Don’t you dare.”

Marco blows him a kiss anyway. The whole row bursts out laughing, and Gio leans close to murmur, “I’m telling Noah you did that.”

Marco just sighs, pulling his hood lower. “Worth it.”

The plane lifts off and I swear I could explode from how happy I am.

We’re finally going.

I lean into Gio, who looks half-asleep already. “You should get some rest, baby. Tomorrow you’ve got a lot coming… your birthday gifts.”

His eyes snap open a little. “Gifts? Plural?”

I laugh, but before I can even say anything, Lorenzo leans over me. “Why does that surprise you, idiot? You thought only Rava was gonna get you something? We all worked our asses off for this.”

Gio blinks at us like he doesn’t know whether to argue or shut up, and I grin wider.

Tomorrow’s gonna be fun.

---

Okay hi again 😼 Sorry for small chapter, this part of the story is hard to write okay? 💔

I MEAN IT LIKE ITS LITERALLY HARD I DONT KNOW WHAT TO WRITE.

Also, sadly, there are only like…. 5-6 chapters left?! Idk….. Oh man.

Anyway, yall check the amazing drawing nashy-ra   made ❤️

😼😼😼😼😼 ITS GIO ❤️

You better congratulate her.

THATS ALL BYE BYE POOKIES I LOVE YOU ❤️❤️❤️

109) The Gift

Rava’s POV

I’m finally home again.

Back in Italy.

Only… it’s not exactly the same as last time, back in June.

Now the air’s cooler instead of hot, I’ve got a boyfriend instead of a girlfriend, one less father in my life, and a degree I didn’t have before.

I’ve got a different house waiting for me too. And Lulu.

And I love it. I love all of it.

I love that I’m not dragging myself through classes anymore, wondering if I’ll make it.

I did it. I actually graduated.

I love that I don’t feel stuck in Canada, that I’m here, where I feel like myself again.

I love that Gio’s next to me and not some distant secret I’m trying not to miss too much. He’s right here, where I can reach out and touch him whenever I want.

I love that Lulu’s waiting for me like I never left, that I get to fill the place with my things, my books, my routines.

I love that I finally get to build a life that feels like mine .

And yeah, I’m happy.

Really happy.

“Alright, ragazzi,” Lorenzo claps his hands like he’s about to make a big announcement. “I’m going to a friend’s house to pick up my hamster.”

Daisy groans, grabbing her bag. “Ugh, I have to unpack and then head to work. Shibal this life.”

Marco sighs dramatically. “And I have to study my client’s case…” He wipes fake tears from his eyes, then adds with a sniff, “…while crying for a punk-looking boy.”

Gio smirks, puffing his chest out. “Well, I have to help my boyfriend move into my house.” He slips an arm around my waist and tugs me against him, proud as hell.

Marco immediately collapses against Daisy’s shoulder, pretending to sob, while Lorenzo pats his head.

I roll my eyes, laughing, until Gio turns his attention back to me.

His voice softens. “Hey, would you mind if I went to check on my mother first?”

“Why would I mind?” I blink at him. “Do you want me to come with you?”

He squeezes my side, smiling. “Of course I do. She didn’t really get many chances to talk to you this summer. She’ll be happy to see you.”

Shit. I’m stressed.

I mean, it’s not like I don’t know her.

I’ve known Gio’s mom for years. She’s always been kind to me. But now it’s different. Now I’m not just some friend hanging around.

Now I’m the boyfriend.

The guy she’ll be looking at and thinking, Is he good enough for my son?

My palms feel sweaty already.

I nod quickly, forcing a smile, but inside my head it’s chaos. I want her to like me.

No—I need her to like me.

Because the truth is, I already feel like I’m part of Gio’s family… and I don’t want to lose that.

Lorenzo claps his hands again. “Alright. In two hours, I want all of you at the location I’ll text you. No excuses. It’s time for Gio’s gift.”

Gio freezes, narrowing his eyes. “You’re scaring me. What the hell does that mean?”

He immediately turns to me, suspicious. “Do you know what this is?”

I can’t help grinning, my chest puffing up with pride. “Of course I know. I was a big help picking it out. Trust me, you’re going to love it.”

Daisy nods, with a wide smile.

We step into the house.

The second Gio pushes the door open, he grins over at me. “I trusted an old buddy to come feed Lulu while we were away,” he says, eyebrow arched. “So… you ready to find out if our cat got fat or starved?”

That one little word, our , knocks the air right out of me.

I want to freeze this exact second and frame it.

Our cat.

He just smirks, but before I can tease him, Lulu’s cry echoes from the apartment, loud, super dramatic.

She is meowing so hard she sounds like she’s singing.

I break into hysterical laughter, doubling over. “She’s yelling at us! She’s actually yelling!”

We drop our bags right there in the hall, because there’s no way we’re making it any farther.

Both of us sink straight to the floor, and Lulu launches into chaos mode, running between Gio’s lap and mine, pawing at our legs, purring and screaming all at once.

“She doesn’t know who to pick!” Gio laughs, reaching for her.

She presses her nose to mine, purring like crazy. “My baby… you lost weight. I swear you did. Don’t worry, I’ll give you treats until you forgive us.”

She wriggles out of my arms and climbs right onto Gio’s shoulder, batting at his hair.

He chuckles, steadying her, then leans closer until his arm hooks around my back, pulling me into him while Lulu balances herself between us.

It’s ridiculous, all three of us tangled on the hallway floor. But it feels perfect. It feels like home.

I catch him looking at me, and the smile on his face nearly undoes me.

“What?” I ask, laughing nervously, brushing hair out of my face.

He shakes his head, soft, almost shy. “Nothing. Just… thinking this’ll be the best winter of my life.”

I slide my hand into his hair, tug him close, kiss him right there on the floor with Lulu squished between us.

When we pull apart, Lulu meows loudly like she’s scolding us.

Gio snorts. “She’s jealous.”

“She better get used to it,” I say, kissing Lulu’s head next before leaning back into Gio. “This is her family now.”

Gio pushes himself up from the floor, brushing off his pants.

He reaches a hand down to me. “Come on. Leave all this here, we’ll sort it out later. We’ve got all the time in the world now. Let’s go see my mom?”

“Of course,” I say, sliding my hand into his and standing.

Before we head out, I crouch again and set Lulu gently on the floor.

She blinks up at me, her tail curling around my leg like she doesn’t want to let me go.

I stroke her little head and whisper, “My love… I’m not leaving you again, okay? I’ll be back. I promise. I’ll miss you.”

I give her one last scratch under the chin, then wave like an idiot. “Bye-byeee.”

She answers with another loud meow, like she actually understood me.

I stand there for a second, just looking around.

All of it feels different now.

Because it’s not just his place anymore. It’s ours.

My books will go here. My clothes will fill the drawers I used to just borrow space in.

It hits me all at once.

I’m not visiting. I’m not “staying over.” I live here. With him.

And it’s insane how right it feels. Like the house has been waiting for me this whole time.

Like Gio has been waiting for me.

—

I keep smoothing my hair down with my palm.

My stomach’s in knots. “How do I look?” I whisper.

Gio glances at me like I just asked the dumbest question in the world. “Rava. My mom probably changed your diapers when you were a baby. She’s not seeing you for the first time. You’ve got nothing to worry about. She already adores you.”

I choke on a laugh, my face heating up. “Oh my God—don’t say that! Why would you say that?!” My hands fly back to my hair, fixing nothing. “Okay. Okay, you’re right. You’re right.” I laugh nervously, panicked but excited.

He smirks, swings the keys, and pushes the door open.

The moment we step in, the floral smell hits me.

The house is spotless, every little thing in place.

And then she’s there, standing in the living room with a light pink blanket.

“Gio! Rava!” she calls, and before I can even react, she pulls both of us into her arms.

I melt into the hug.

She looks so much better. That’s a relief.

“How was the flight? Was it long? Rava, did you eat? You look tired.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “The flight was fine. I think I was too excited to feel tired.”

Her smile grows wider. “I’m just so glad you’re back. You did it, Rava. I’m so proud of you both.”

“Thank you. It feels… really good to be here again.”

Gio steps in. “Mom, tell me you’ve been taking all your pills.”

“Of course, of course,” she waves him off, still focused on me.

“You don’t know how happy I am that you’re home, guys. Really. I was counting down the days with him.” She nudges Gio’s arm.

I can’t stop smiling.

She sighs softly, but with a smile. “And I want to say… I’m sorry for that day you left. It broke my heart that you didn’t get a proper goodbye. But look at you now… you’re back! That’s what matters.”

I shake my head quickly. “Please, don’t be sorry. Seriously. The only thing that matters is that you’re better now. That’s all I care about. I was scared for you.”

She touches my cheek for a second, smiling through shiny eyes. “You’re a good boy, Rava.”

Good boy.

…

Fuck. No.

Not that. Not from her.

My stomach drops.

All I can hear is Gio’s voice rough in my ear, dragging it out when I’m under him.

Good boy. Good boy. Over and over until I break.

And now it’s his mom saying it. Smiling at me. Proud. Pure.

I feel dirty. Corrupted. Like I ruined the word. Like I ruined her son.

I nod, pretend to smile, but inside I’m choking.

My brain is split in two, her gentle voice, his filthy one.

Both crashing together. It makes me sick.

She thinks I’m good. She doesn’t know the things I let him do, the things I beg him to say.

Doesn’t know I’ve turned that phrase into something else entirely.

I want to crawl out of my skin. I want to apologize. I want to forget. But I can’t. The word is burned into me.

Fuck.

“Come, sit. Let’s eat.”

“Mom, we can’t stay long,” Gio says, glancing at me. “We still have to meet up with the others later.”

She waves a hand. “At least sit down for some fruit! I bought way too much, I don’t even know what to do with it all.”

“We really should get back to unpacking and—” Gio starts, but I kick his leg under the table.

“Fruit,” I interrupt quickly, smiling at her. “Fruit sounds perfect. We’ll help you cut it up.”

Gio shoots me a look, but his mom beams. “See? That’s the right answer. Come on then, both of you.”

I grin at Gio as we follow her into the kitchen.

He just shakes his head. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

We’re all sitting on the living room floor, bowls of fruit in our laps.

It’s quiet, almost too quiet. Like nobody wants to be the one to break it.

Then Gio’s mom suddenly sighs, still staring down at the floor.

“I think I’ll put up the Christmas tree next week.”

Gio almost chokes on a grape. “What? Mom—it’s November fourth next week. November !”

She lifts her chin, unfazed. “So? The house feels empty like this. A little cheer won’t hurt.”

I laugh, nodding. “Actually, I used to do the same thing back in Canada. I’d decorate super early. My friend Noah made fun of me every time, but guess who always ended up helping me put the lights on the tree?”

Her eyes light up instantly. “See? Rava gets it. Next week, you’re invited here. We’ll decorate together.”

She pats my hand gently, smiling. “Let Gio sit in the garage, talk with his motorcycle if he wants to. We’ll have fun without him.”

She strokes my hand once.

I grin at her. “Deal. I’ll be here. And I’ll bring ornaments too.”

Gio leans back against the couch, tossing a piece of apple into his mouth.

“Since we’re talking about houses…”

He looks straight at me, and my heart kicks up instantly.

Then he turns to his mom. “Rava’s moving into my place.”

Before I can even panic, her whole face lights up. “Oh, finally! Do you know how long I’ve been waiting to hear that?”

I laugh nervously, rubbing the back of my neck. “So… you’re not shocked?”

“Shocked? Please,” she says with a little laugh. “It was obvious.”

Gio groans, but she keeps going, her tone softer now.

“This makes me so happy. Mostly because it means someone will make sure Gio doesn’t live off chips for dinner anymore.”

“Excuse me?” Gio shoots upright, flexing his arm.

“You think these happen with chips? Look at this. Look.” He points at his bicep, grinning like a maniac.

I burst out laughing, covering my face, while his mom rolls her eyes.

“I do know how to cook,” Gio insists, pointing at her like he’s defending his honor. “And you know it.”

She laughs and pats my knee instead. “Well, Rava, just in case, keep an eye on him. And if he gives you trouble, remember, I warned you.”

“Don’t worry,” I say, finally relaxing into a smile. “I’ll handle him.”

Gio smirks, sliding an arm around my waist like he’s proud of me. “Good luck with that,” his mom mutters, but she’s still smiling.

She lowers her voice a little, smiling to herself.

“You know… I was so sure this would happen. From when you were kids, it was obvious. That’s actually why I pushed Gio to take you out the first day you came back, Rava.”

My eyes go wide, and Gio nearly chokes on his fruit.

She goes on anyway, her smile turning a little guilty.

“Of course, later I found out you were leaving for Canada for your master’s. That’s why I told Gio to stay away. And now I feel terrible about it. But I’m so, so glad you didn’t listen to me.”

Both Gio and I sit there stunned. My jaw actually drops.

Gio narrows his eyes at her. “Evil woman…”

She bursts out laughing, swatting at his arm.

I lean forward, still trying to process. “Wait—how did you know back then? Gio and I weren’t even that close.”

She just gives me the kind of smile only a mom can.

“Oh, sweetheart… I’m a mother. Believe me, I could tell. From Gio’s silly questions about when we were going to your house again, to your own questions about him. Your mom and I used to talk about it all the time.”

My eyes widen even more. “You what?”

She nods, amused. “We tried to set you two up more than once, but you kept fighting like cats and dogs. Over the most ridiculous reasons.”

That does it. Gio groans, I bury my face in my hands, and she’s laughing so hard tears are forming.

“You two,” she says between giggles, “were the last to realize it yourselves.”

Gio points at her dramatically. “I still can’t believe you and his mom had a whole conspiracy going.”

I laugh helplessly, shaking my head. “Unbelievable…”

We sit in the living room for a while, just chatting about old times.

She keeps telling little stories about Gio as a kid, and I’m trying to remember every detail so I can tease him later.

It feels weirdly natural.

When we finally get up to leave, she walks us to the door.

“If you need anything, help, food, whatever, just tell me, alright?”

Gio shakes his head, smiling. “We’re good, mom. The house is right next door. We’ll figure it out. You, please, just rest. We’ll see you soon.”

“Alright then,” she says. “Happy moving in, Rava! I’ll see you both later.”

My cheeks hurt from smiling. “Thank you… Really.”

And then Gio’s hand finds mine, tugging me gently toward the door.

I clap my hands once. “Alright. Now let’s go for your gift.”

Gio raises an eyebrow.

I can barely stay still, I’m that hyped. “But—don’t take too long, okay?” I add quickly.

“Because I can’t wait for you to see my gift. I’m dying over here.”

He stares at me, smirking. “You’re making me nervous.”

I shake my head, practically bouncing on my feet. “Oh… you’re not ready. You’re gonna love me for this.”

His smile softens, his eyes steady on me. “Rava, I already love you. I don’t think it’s possible to love you more than I do.”

I step closer, grin spreading wider. “Trust me,” I tell him, low but certain. “It is possible.”

Gio’s POV

We pull up to this massive open lot.

I kill the bike, swing my leg off, and set my helmet down on the seat.

Rava does the same.

My eyes are already scanning the space. Big, empty, like a playground for machines.

Lorenzo is leaning against his Ducati and Daisy is perched on the back.

…

Okay hold the fuck on.

Marco.

Marco is standing there like some smug bastard, hand resting on a beast of a bike.

“The fuck—” I mutter, walking closer, eyes locked on the thing.

“No fucking way.”

Lorenzo claps his hands together. “Finally. You two made it. Now we can get to the gift.”

But I can’t even hear him right now.

My brain shuts down as I turn to Marco.

“Wait, wait, wait. You have a bike? That— is that a BMW M 1000 RR?”

Marco smirks, runs his hand over the tank like it’s a lover. “Yeah. You like it?”

“Like it?! Are you kidding me?!”

I circle it like a starving man, eyes glued to every curve.

“You son of a bitch. This is beyond sick. Fuck—this thing is sexy. Straight-up porn. Look at those aero fins! That’s MotoGP-level downforce, man.”

Rava laughs nervously behind me, probably realizing I’ve blacked out into full bike-nerd mode.

Marco raises a brow. “Want to race?”

I throw my hands up immediately. “Hell no. Doesn’t make sense. Yours is way better than mine—you’d smoke me.”

That smug little smile spreads on his face. “Then let’s switch. Come on. Take her for a spin.”

My jaw drops.

Rava pipes up, “Uh, what about the gift?”

I wave him off, eyes glued to the BMW.

“The gift can wait. Ravioli, please, you don’t understand—I have to live this.”

Lorenzo whistles, swinging a leg over his Ducati. “Ehhh, wait the fuck up. Don’t leave me out.”

He fires it up and rolls closer, Daisy squealing and holding on behind him.

“Come on, let’s run this stretch. Big roundabout down there, perfect loop. Loser buys drinks tomorrow.”

My head snaps toward him.

Fuck, it’s been a while since I’ve had a proper race.

I forgot how much I miss that rush, the engine screaming under you, wind in your face, pushing till your chest feels like it’s gonna fucking crack open.

God, I need this.

I turn to Rava, who’s already giving me the look. “Grab your helmet, Ravioli. Let’s go. We’re about to fucking fly.”

Then I turn back to Marco’s bike, this goddamn vision in black and blue sitting in front of me.

My mouth’s dry just staring at it. “Wait, can I actually get on this? Like, for real?”

Marco smirks. “Of course.”

“Holy shit,” I mutter, already throwing my leg over.

My ass hits the seat and I swear I almost cum.

“Oh my fucking God. This thing is insane. Jesus Christ, Marco, this is sex on two wheels.”

My hands grip the bars and I’m shaking. “I swear to God, I could cry right now.”

Behind me, Rava climbs on, arms immediately locking tight around my waist.

I feel his chest press to my back, his helmet knocking against mine as he settles in.

I’m fucking feral.

We line up, three bikes across the stretch of open road.

This is it. This is what I’ve missed.

Rava tightens his grip around my waist.

“You better win.”

I laugh. “On this thing? Please . I’ll give them a head start, out of pity.”

He chuckles, shaking his head against my back.

Lorenzo lifts a hand, glances at us. “Alright, on three, yeah?”

My fingers tighten on the bars, while my legs are buzzing with the hum of Marco’s BMW under me.

Marco drops his visor. I’m ready to explode.

“One—”

“Two—”

And that bastard Lorenzo launches early. Just slingshots forward like a cheating piece of shit.

Marco guns it right after him.

I laugh.“Unbelievable.”

Then I twist the throttle.

We rocket forward.

I’m screaming with excitement inside the helmet.

The second I hit the throttle, the bike damn near rips out from under me.

This thing screams . Rava’s arms lock around my waist, and I can’t stop laughing inside my helmet.

I’m already hooked.

Lorenzo’s ahead, ducked low, Daisy clinging onto him.

Marco’s right behind, his stupid smug head bobbing like he’s already celebrating.

Fuck that.

I drop a gear, twist harder, and the BMW launches. The pull is insane.

Like the road is folding under me, like I’ve been strapped to a jet.

I lean in, eyes locked on Lorenzo’s tail light.

Rava squeezes me tighter, helmet bumping my shoulder. “Gio!”

I laugh. “Don’t worry, baby, I’ve got this!”

The loop is coming fast. Lorenzo tilts in hard, sparks flying as his footpeg kisses asphalt.

Marco tries to cut inside, cocky bastard, but I’m right there.

I lean, knee out, whole bike dragging low.

Rava stiffens behind me, but he doesn’t scream.

I shoot Lorenzo a look as I creep up on his side. He glances back.

I flip him off mid-turn, and he laughs, throttle snapping harder.

Marco guns it too, trying to box me out.

Not happening.

I slam the gear, open it all the way, and the BMW howls.

“Holy SHIT!” Rava yells, and I swear I’m my cheeks hurt from smiling too much.

The curve’s coming at us fast. My arms are steady on the bars, but I can feel Rava stiffen against my back.

This one’s low, stupid low.

I tilt my head. “Do you trust me?”

His voice rips out. He’s laughing. “WITH MY LIFE! RIDE OR DIE, WOOHOO!”

I smirk under the helmet. That’s it. That’s all I need.

I throw the bike down into the curve. Lower and lower. The world tilts, asphalt inches from my knee, engine screaming.

Rava’s shouting. His arms lock tighter around me.

My heart’s hammering, but my head’s clear.

I know this line. I know this bike. I know exactly how far we can push it.

And we cut through, slicing that corner clean, smooth, so low it feels impossible.

The straight opens up and I give it everything.

Rava’s hands dig into my stomach, holding on.

The speed’s insane.

The air’s screaming past, trying to rip me off the bike.

My shoulders ache from holding steady, but fuck if I care.

This is it. This is flying without wings.

And he’s watching. He’s feeling it. I need him to know I can fucking fly with him on my back.

The road curves again, and I throw us into it.

The finish line’s coming up fast, and I don’t even have to push anymore.

Marco’s neck-and-neck with Lorenzo, but they’re still behind me.

I ease off just enough, slide clean into the empty lot where we started, and let the BMW purr as I swing it in a wide circle before stopping dead center.

A few seconds later, Lorenzo screeches in, Marco right on his tail.

Not bad, but still late.

I yank my helmet off, sweat sticking my hair down.

I blow out a heavy breath.

“So, how was that?”

Rava just stares at me, completely gone, like he’s forgotten how to talk.

Then he grabs me by the back of the head, fist tight in my hair, and crashes his mouth onto mine.

It’s desperate and rough, like he’s trying to eat the victory right out of me.

I laugh into it, but I don’t stop him.

Hell no.

When he finally pulls back, breathless, it hurts. That kiss is better than any trophy, better than anything.

The best reward I’ve ever had.

And I’d win a hundred more races just to feel him kiss me like that again.

I ease the BMW toward Marco.

Lorenzo steps in front of him, lifts his phone, click.

Flash right in my face.

I laugh. “Why’d you do that, idiot?”

He shrugs, all smug. “What? You don’t want a photo after your first race with your new bike?”

I turn to look at him.

Lorenzo’s smiling like crazy.

I look at Rava, he’s trying not to laugh.

Daisy’s got both hands over her mouth.

Marco loses it first, snorts out a laugh. “It’s yours.”

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” Daisy screams, and then they all pile on me at once, Lorenzo crashing into my shoulders, Marco pushing me back, Daisy wrapping my neck, Rava right there at my side.

I’m getting crushed and I’m laughing so hard I can’t breathe.

“No fucking way,” I blurt.

“You’re lying—are you serious?”

Rava’s nodding. “Dead serious.”

I don’t even know who to hug first. I grab Lorenzo, then shove him off and yank Marco in, then Daisy, then I’m back to Rava because of course I am, lifting him off the ground like a lunatic.

I’m laughing and swearing and actually shaking.

My face hurts from smiling.

“Holy shit, I can’t—this is too much guys,” I set Rava down, spin to the bike, touch the fairing. “This is mine? Mine mine?!”

“It’s yours,” Marco says, still grinning. “Papers sorted. Insurance sorted. Key’s already on it.”

I look at the key, then back at the BMW, then at all of them.

My chest is doing that stupid tight thing and I have to blow out a breath just to keep from losing it. “Fuck you all, I don’t know what to say.”

Daisy boops my nose. “Say thank you, muscle boy.”

“Thank you,” I laugh, and I hug them all over again. “I love you. I love all of you. I’m gonna puke.”

Lorenzo claps my back. “Don’t puke on the M.”

“Shut up.”

I turn and just look at her, my new bike , sitting there like a damn spaceship under the lot lights.

I’m giddy. I’m pacing. I touch the bars, step back, laugh again. I can’t stand still. I hug Daisy one more time, fist-bump Marco, headlock Lorenzo, then yank Rava into my chest.

“I’m actually losing my mind,” I say into his neck, still laughing. “This is unreal. I’m gonna sleep next to it tonight.”

“Get a blanket,” Marco deadpans.

I hop back on the seat, pat the tail for Rava to climb up. “Round two. I’m taking my bike out. Now.”

I throw my arm around Marco and Lorenzo. “Alright, fine. Doesn’t matter that you lost, drinks are on me tomorrow.”

“You better,” Lorenzo shoots back immediately, smirking. “It’s been way too long since I’ve had a proper night out.”

I grin wider, already bouncing back to the BMW.

I can’t stop touching it, running my hand over the tank, the bars, even the damn mirrors like they’re made of gold.

My baby. My bike.

I hear Rava laughing behind me. When I turn, he’s got the biggest smile on his face.

He comes up, wraps his arms around me from behind, chin pressed to my shoulder. “We knew you’d love it. We were sure.”

I spin around. “But how the hell did you know it had to be this one? Like this exact bike?”

“First of all—you had it in your search history. Sorry, I saw it that time you told me to look up that recipe on your phone.”

I squint at him. “And how did you know I wasn’t just… you know, looking at random shit?”

He laughs. “Gio, you had twelve tabs open. All the same bike. One page about the specs, one about reviews, one about exhaust mods, one about insurance costs, come on. It wasn’t exactly subtle. Plus, you mentioned it once in conversation. I literally pulled out my phone that second and typed the name down so I wouldn’t forget.”

Lorenzo bursts out laughing. “Not to mention when we saw one on the street, you were staring at it like you were ready to cheat on Rava with it.”

Everyone cracks up. I rub my face, shaking my head but smiling hard. “You guys are unbelievable. Seriously. I don’t even know how to thank you properly.”

Marco smirks, leaning on his bike. “Start by buying us a drink tomorrow. That’ll do. Now go, take it for a spin. I’ll ride the Ducati back to your place.”

I’m still laughing when Rava tugs at my arm. His smile’s different now. “So… wanna go see my gift for you now?”

I blink at him, grin spreading again. “Yeah. HELL yeah, let’s go. I’m hyped now, hit me with it, Ravioli. Drop it.”

I’m driving us down the street.

This feels amazing.

“Alright, Rava, where the hell are we going?”

He leans in over the wind. “Park outside the house. Then leave it to me.”

I slow down, scanning around like an idiot, trying to catch any clue, any sign.

Nothing.

Just the usual road, the lights, our place waiting up ahead.

I frown, curious as hell, but do as he says.

Kickstand down. Engine off. Helmets off. I shake my hair out, confused as shit.

Rava grabs both my hands, his eyes locked on mine. “Alright. I trusted you back there, so now, I want you to trust me . Okay?”

I blink, smirk tugging at my mouth. “Okay? You’re kinda scaring me now.”

He laughs, squeezing my fingers. “Close your eyes. And don’t open them until I tell you to. Just follow me.”

I roll my eyes, but I can’t help smiling too.

He’s got that look, the one where he’s enjoying this way too much. And it’s infectious. The more he laughs, the more I wanna laugh too.

So I let out a little chuckle, shake my head, and close my eyes. “Alright, Ravioli. Lead the way. Don’t make me regret this.”

I’m walking blind, hands out a little just in case, but I’m trusting him not to let me eat shit against a wall.

“Don’t you dare let me trip, Rava,” I mutter, half laughing.

We keep going, his hands guiding me, and then suddenly he lets go.

“Wait here,” he says. “And don’t open your eyes.”

I laugh nervously. “I’m not opening them unless you tell me to. Promise.”

I hear him moving around in front of me, something shifting, a little scrape, like he’s setting something up.

Then silence.

Until I hear his footsteps come back, behind me this time.

“Alright, Gio,” his voice drops right by my ear.

“Open your eyes in three… two… one…”

I blink.

…

Oh fuck me…

It’s the bike.

The bike.

My father’s bike.

The one they swore I’d never get. The one I begged for, fought for, lost.

My hands go to my head, to my mouth, anywhere, like I’m trying to stop myself from throwing up.

My stomach drops. My whole body just locks up. “No…”

I get closer.

My hands are shaking when I touch the tank.

It’s cold. My chest feels like it’s about to crack open.

And then I see it. The scratches. Our names. His and mine. Still there.

I break down hard. Tears just explode out of me, loud and messy, no control.

I drop to my knees ’cause my legs give out. My face twists, I can’t fucking breathe.

Years of pushing this down, acting like I could live without it, it all hits me at once.

I don’t even know why I’m crying. I don’t know if it’s because I finally have it in front of me after all this time… or because somebody actually loves me enough to fight for it and put it right here in front of me.

That thought fucks me up worse than anything.

My dad’s gone. The bike was gone. And for so long I believed no one gave a shit about me like that ever again. And then Rava goes and does this.

I choke, sobbing into my hands, until I feel him.

He sits down on the floor beside me, pulls me against him without saying much.

“Oh baby, no…” His voice is soft and breaking.

I cling to him, I need this.

My hands grip his back, his arms, his shirt, anything to hold on.

I bury my face against him, shaking and crying into his chest.

He rocks me a little, holding me so tight I can barely move.

He pulls my face up gently, his thumbs brushing under my eyes, wiping at the mess.

“It’s yours,” he whispers. “We got it back.”

I stare at him through blurry eyes, gasping, trying to talk.

My lips move but nothing comes out at first.

“How, Rava?”

“With a little effort. A little will. Whatever it took, Gio—I would’ve done it for you.”

His hand cups my face. “You deserve this. You always did.”

I smile, tears still rolling hot down my face. I laugh and choke at the same time.

I grab his face too, my palms over his cheeks, my thumbs brushing at his skin.

Our foreheads press together, our noses are bumping.

His eyes shine wet too, but he smiles at me.

I kiss him. We are both smiling into it even while we’re crying.

His hands slide into my hair, mine tighten on his face, pulling him closer.

And for once, nothing’s missing. Nothing’s gone.

It’s all right here.

---

I was listening to “TA” by stray kids for the racing scene 😔 ABSOLUTE CINEMA PEOPLE.

ANYWAY I decided to post all your Ride Or Die drawings on my instagram account, so if you ever draw anything please send it to me:))))

my insta is: @ dirtydiscospam

I love watching these.

THATS ALL BYE BYE GUYS I LOVE YOU ❤️❤️❤️❤️

110) I Want It.

IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT

So, in this chapter (as many of you requested), Rava tops. I tried to write it as best as I could. If some of you (as you said yourselves) can’t handle the thought, you can skip it :)

Although (I feel a bit old saying it like this), for me this act isn’t just a casual “oh, we’re bored, let’s switch roles in sex.” It’s deeper than that, because it shows trust and also shows growth in the relationship. That’s all :)

Rava’s POV

The house feels quiet after the chaos of cleaning up, after the steam of the shower.

Now it’s just us, sunk deep into the couch, oversized hoodies swallowing our bodies, a blanket thrown over the both of us. I’m stretched out against the cushions, and Gio’s lying on top of me.

His hair’s still damp, and I keep running my fingers through it, over and over slowly.

The lights are low and warm, making the room glow soft gold.

Across from us, the two bikes sit side by side, his past and his future parked right there in the living room.

He brought them inside. It’s such a Gio thing to do, and somehow it feels right.

“They’re both beautiful,” I say quietly,

“I know,” he breathes, eyes fixed on them. “I can’t stop looking at them.”

I laugh, and his head shifts a little with the sound, resting heavier on my chest.

We get up from the couch, Gio still wrapped up in the blanket. We brush our teeth and then crash into bed.

My hand drifts down, brushing over his cheek, his nose, the cool edge of his lip ring.

I trace him gently.

“Wish our younger selves could see us now,” I whisper.

He makes this low sound in his throat, and burrows closer into me, like he’s trying to melt right into my chest.

I wrap the blanket tighter around us, keep my hand moving slowly in his hair, and smile to myself.

I used to think I needed someone clean, simple, uncomplicated. Someone safe.

But what I really needed was him . I didn’t need safe. I needed Gio.

Exactly Gio.

The sharp tongue, the reckless laugh, the way he never backs down from anyone. The way he cuts people off the second they say something about me, shutting them down without hesitation.

He’s brutal, unapologetic, rude as hell sometimes, and I love him for it.

Because when it’s just me, when we’re here like this, he’s the softest, sweetest person I’ve ever known.

People only see the rough edges, the anger, the trouble.

They don’t see what I see. They don’t know that underneath all that armor is someone who’s been through too much, someone who’s just tired of fighting, someone who only ever needed a little love.

And God, he deserves it. More than anyone I’ve ever met, he deserves it. All the love in the world and then some. I want to give it to him until he never has to doubt it again.

I feel his need to hold him tighter, to keep him safe. I bend down, press my lips to the top of his damp hair, and close my eyes.

He shifts against me, then suddenly he tilts his head up.

Before I can even react, he presses a quick kiss to my lips.

But when I look down, his eyes catch mine.

And something changes. His gaze holds me, pins me there.

He swallows hard, like he’s the one caught off guard.

Then he leans up again, this time kissing me deeper, hungrier.

His hand slides up against my neck, steadying me, holding me in place.

He’s breathing harder now.

“I’m ready,” he says.

His lips brush mine when he speaks. “I want it. I want you.”

For a split second I just stare, because my head can’t catch up to what my ears heard.

My pulse kicks so hard I almost push him back just to look at him properly.

“ What ?“ It rips out of me, more shock than voice.

His hand tightens at the side of my neck, grounding me there. “Don’t make me repeat it.”

My mind flashes back to that night. I told myself I’d never push again. That I’d wait as long as it took.

“Are you—are you sure?”

He swallows, stubborn as always, but there’s no hesitation in his eyes. “I’m sure. I want it, with you.”

I swear, I almost forget how to breathe.

I’ve imagined a hundred ways this could go, and none of them feel as raw and real as hearing him say it now.

Everything hits at once. Heat. Hope. Panic.

I’ve wanted this, God, I’ve wanted this, but wanting it and having him say I’m ready are two different earthquakes.

He’s trusting me with a first. With this. With a version of himself he hasn’t given to anyone.

I’m happy.

Because he chose me. Not because I pushed, not because I asked just right, not because the moment swept us. He’s choosing.

But under the light, the nerves spike.

Responsibility lands heavy in my hands.

Don’t mess this up. Don’t rush. Don’t let ego touch it. He’s not fragile, but this is tender. It matters how I move, how I breathe, how I look at him while we do this. It matters that he still feels like Gio, loud, stubborn, in control of himself, even while he’s letting me in.

I need to hold that line for him. With him.

I can already feel the checklist forming in my head.

Slow down, watch his eyes, hear the things he doesn’t say out loud.

Check in without breaking the moment. Read his breaths. If he tenses, pause. If he nods, continue.

Let him set the pace even if I’m the one guiding. Keep my hands steady. Keep my voice calm. Make it easy to stop, easy to laugh, easy to be.

There’s fear, yeah. Not fear of him, fear of hurting him.

Of turning a holy thing into something he has to recover from.

I won’t let that happen. I’d rather spend the whole night kissing him slow and telling him he’s safe than take one step he doesn’t want.

He’s waited to be ready, I can wait inside that readiness with him.

And under all of it, the truth hums, this isn’t him “giving up” anything.

This is us sharing something new.

Two people who know each other’s edges learning a gentler map.

I steady my breathing. I feel his pulse under my fingers and realize mine is matching it.

I want to tell him a dozen things, how proud I am, how much I love him, how I’ll go as slow as he needs, but I don’t want to flood the moment with words.

I can show it. With my hands and with unlimited patience.

Okay, Rava.

Let him see that you’re happy. Let him see that you’ve got him.

I move slowly on purpose.

First my palm slides from his throat to the bed, and I brace there, careful not to jolt him. One knee plants by his hip, then the other. I hover for a second, so he can see me coming, so he can decide if he wants me on top of him.

He does. His fingers tug at the hem of my hoodie like a quiet yes.

I climb the rest of the way, easing my weight over him until my thighs settle around his hips.

I let my legs close, caging him there, not to trap, but to anchor.

To say I’m here, with you, on you. His hands slide instinctively to my waist.

Slow.

I bring both hands up to his face and frame him like a photograph. My thumbs stroke along the high lines of his cheekbones, over his jaw, then back to the soft bow of his mouth.

He looks up at me.

I lean down and kiss him, one soft press, nothing to prove.

A kiss that asks rather than takes.

He exhales right into me and lifts his chin to follow, answering without words. I kiss him again, a heartbeat longer.

Keep your hands gentle. Keep the message clear: safe, wanted, chosen.

I feel the blanket slide lower with the slow rock of our bodies.

His lip ring is cool against my mouth… I graze it with my thumb and he makes that sound I love, that quiet stubborn hum.

My hands leave his face and travel down in a patient line, jaw, throat, collarbone.

I map him with my fingertips so he never has to wonder where I am.

I settle more of my weight through my thighs, keeping him framed between my knees.

He fits.

My thumbs circle at the base of his wrists, a quiet check-in.

He squeezes back once.

Green lights.

This is responsibility, yes.

But it’s also joy. Don’t let the fear drown the joy. Show him both can live here.

I want this, God, I want this, but not because it’s new.

I want it because it’s him. Because he just looked at me and chose me with both eyes open.

I want to be gentle enough to honor his first and sure enough to make it ours.

I want this because it’s one more way to choose each other.

He shoves at my hoodie and pulls it off in one quick motion.

I reach for his hoodie. My hands slide under it, brushing his sides.

He shivers, and I keep going, lifting the fabric up, not rough but not slow either.

One steady pull and it’s gone. His chest is bare under my hands now.

My lips find his neck. I kiss once. Then again.

Then again, wetter, letting my mouth stay there, tasting his skin.

He tips his head back, giving me more, and I follow the line of his throat.

My hand stays on his chest, thumb moving in small circles. My other hand cradles his jaw, keeping him still while my mouth works his throat.

I leave wet marks up and down, not rushing, just making sure he feels every second.

His hand comes up, grabs the back of my neck, and drags me closer.

He wants me right here. And it makes me grin against his skin.

“Thank you,” I murmur against his throat.

Because I mean it. He didn’t have to give me this, but he did. And I’m not going to waste it.

He tugs my hair, I breathe through it and kiss him once more, then I reach lower.

My fingers find the knot at his waistband. I look at him first, making sure.

He holds my stare and doesn’t blink. That’s my green light. I work the drawstring loose.

I hook my fingers in his waistband and get it off, then shove the blanket higher so it makes a little tent over us. He grins like he can hear my heart from there.

“Hi,” he whispers.

“Hi,” I whisper back, because my brain is a static channel.

He reaches for my waist. “You too,” he says, soft. So I push my own pants down and out, clumsy with nerves.

I don’t believe I’m actually doing this. I cup his jaw, thumb brushing the corner of his mouth. “Tell me to stop and I stop. No heroics.”

“Rava. I want this.”

I nod, swallowing. Okay. Focus. This is Gio.

I kiss him slow, then again, because every small sound he makes hits me straight in the ribs.

“Still good?” I ask.

“So good,” he says. “Don’t overthink.”

My hand slides down, tracing the ridges of Gio’s stomach.

Christ, these abs.

I pause there a second, let myself feel it, then keep going lower.

My fingers go down, back, until I’m cupping him from behind.

I squeeze, gentle at first, almost unsure. Testing.

Like I’ve never done this before even though I have.

I feel the curve of him under my hand.

“Don’t ask me,” Gio mutters. His grip tightens on the back of my neck. “I still want it.”

I laugh quietly, grinning against his mouth.

He’s so damn Gio about it, so stubborn, so sure.

And it makes me feel lighter, steadier. Like maybe I’m not screwing this up. Like maybe I’m actually doing okay.

I take my time, slicking my fingers.

My chest feels tight, because this is the first time I’ll be the one stepping into this space, the one inside another man.

Inside him.

I look down at him, and my voice comes out lower, firmer.

“I don’t care what you say, I’m still going to ask. Are you okay with this?”

He smirks. Everything about him screams confidence, even if I can feel the tension in his body.

He wants me to see him strong. Of course he does.

“I’m good,” he says, almost cocky. “Do it.”

I can’t stop the smile that spreads across my face.

“Okay,” I whisper and I nod.

My heart’s racing like I just jumped off a cliff.

My hand is braced between his shoulder and his cheek, holding myself steady above him.

The other hand… lower.

“Trust me,” I murmur. “Everything I’m doing, you’re the one who taught me.”

He huffs out a laugh, cocky even now. “Then I guess I’m in good hands.”

I touch him there.

My heart nearly stumbles, but I keep my hand steady. “Do I keep going?” I ask, searching his face.

He nods fast.

“I need to hear it,” I tell him. My voice comes out lower than I meant, demanding but careful.

He groans, rolling his eyes. “Jesus, do you have to steal my lines word for word?”

We both laugh, and I lean down to kiss him.

I press in.

My first finger slides inside, tight as hell, gripping me immediately.

My head almost drops forward from the shock of it.

Gio moans while his head is falling back into the pillow. His hand shoots to my neck, pulling me down closer.

“Christ,” I hiss, frozen there, feeling him squeeze around me. “You good?”

“Continue,” he whispers against my mouth.

I add the second finger. His breath jumps. My movements stay patient, gentle, curling my fingers just enough, pulling back, sliding in again.

I shift my weight to my elbow so I can kiss along his neck while I work him open.

Wet kisses, my grin spreading every time a sound slips out of him.

Then I find it, that spot I know too well from when it’s me beneath his hands.

The exact place that makes the world stutter for a moment.

I lean in for a kiss, and he smiles right into it, while I keep moving my fingers inside him.

His raw noises spill, and my chest feels like it’s about to split from how much I love hearing it.

“I like that,” he whispers.

I lift my head just enough to smile against his mouth.

“Good,” I whisper, kissing him again, slow and deep. “’Cause I love this .”

He’s looser around me now.

He’s breathing heavy, but his muscles give under my hand, not fighting, not resisting.

That’s the sign I needed. He’s not just enduring this, he’s with me.

I ease in a third finger slowly, and I can’t stop myself from letting it out, a half-laugh in my voice.

“Fuck… you actually want this.”

My fingers move steady inside him, checking every sound he makes.

And he’s responding. That shaky moan, the way he tilts his hips, the way he doesn’t look away from me, it’s all green lights that I can’t help but notice.

I press my forehead to his.

I’m not rushing. I’m not screwing this up. I’m making him feel good. I’m proving him right for trusting me. Finally, finally , this is ours.

I pull my hand back slowly, fingers sliding free.

I grab a tissue from the side to wipe my hand.

“You are ready, “ I whisper, meeting his eyes. “I promise.”

He shifts under me, “You’ve got me so worked up right now. Is it really that good?”

I reach for the lube, squeezing it into my palm, slicking myself up for the first time like this.

The sound alone makes my stomach flip.

“Trust me,” I say, my voice drops lower. “It’s really that good.”

He swallows hard.

I glance down at his thighs, spread wide.

Christ.

I stroke myself once, and line up against him.

“I’m going in now. Any second you want me to stop, you tell me. Don’t play the tough guy just because you’re Gio. It can still feel too much, even if you want it.”

His lips curl into a grin, but his eyes are heavy like he’s drunk on me already.

“I’m not playing tough, baby,” he mutters, with a sure voice. “I want you.”

Butterflies rip through my stomach so hard I almost laugh, but I don’t.

I shift lower.

The tip of me presses against him.

I look at him once more, he’s watching me.

“Take a deep breath.”

He doesn’t argue. Doesn’t roll his eyes or make a joke. He just nods once and inhales.

I press the tip against him and push forward.

Just the head slips in.

I grit my teeth, force myself not to slam forward, inching deeper instead.

We’re both gasping.

I’m inside him. Inside fucking Gio.

Don’t cum in two seconds, don’t cum in two seconds, please God…

He squeezes around me and I swear my eyes almost roll back.

“Can I go deeper?” I ask, needing to hear him say it.

Gio lets out this nervous laugh, his grin breaking through his moan. “If you don’t, I’ll do it myself.”

I smile.

I plant both hands on the mattress, one on each side of his head.

I push. Deeper.

Again. And again.

Inch after inch until I’m fully buried inside him.

His legs lock tighter around me, dragging me closer, and we’re both moaning into each other’s mouths.

Fuck. This is heaven. I swear to God, I died and went to heaven.

I’ve got both hands on the bars of the headboard, right above his head.

My chain keeps swinging, smacking his cheek every time I move.

I’m moving slowly, pulling out, pushing back in, all the way until my hips slam his.

He moans loud, head tipping back.

“No, fuck—don’t do this…” The words fall out between gasps as I keep sliding in and out.

He grabs my waist.

His eyes are on me. “Why? You gonna cum?”

“Yes.” I admit while my forehead is almost hitting the bar as I breathe heavy against his face.

Every time I push back in, I hear it. That wet, slick sound. It’s obscene. Dirty.

The bed creaks with the rhythm.

I let go of the headboard, sweat dripping down my forehead.

I drag my wrist across my brow, trying to catch my breath.

The second my hands drop, Gio grabs them.

He shoves them right back up against the wood, pinning me there like he’s setting the rules.

I huff out a laugh between heavy breaths, still moving inside him. “What? Missed having me locked up like that? You like the control?”

His head tips back into the pillow, his mouth is slightly open. “No,” he mutters between soft moans. His eyes lock on mine.

“I just really like that view.”

I grin wide. “Yeah? Then I’ll keep giving you the show.”

And I grip the headboard harder this time, driving back into him, both of us gasping loud.

Christ, how the hell did we end up here? A couple months ago we were sitting on this exact bed, laptops open, arguing over slides for some stupid meeting.

I was ready to strangle him half the time.

Now it’s the same bed. Same us. Only difference is I’m buried inside him, sweating all over him, holding the headboard like it’s saving my life while he moans into my mouth.

Back then it was “fix your bullet points.” Now it’s “fuck me deeper.”

It’s filthy. It’s surreal. It’s hot as hell.

The same mattress that squeaked under us when we fought is creaking now because we’re having sex.

I can’t stop grinning.

We used to fight about fonts. Now I’m fighting not to cum inside him too fast.

I’m not even going fast… I’m going slow. And it feels so fucking good I could cry.

Gio lets out a shaky moan. “I like this,” he smiles.

I shove my hair back with one hand, slick with sweat, staring down at him. “You do?”

He nods, still smiling through the moans.

That smile kills me.

“Then let me make it even better,” I murmur.

I grab him, wrap my hand around his dick, stroke him up and down, syncing it with the way I’m pushing in and out of him.

His whole body jerks, head tipping back into the pillow.

“Fuck—” he groans, and his thighs are tightening around my waist.

I keep the rhythm, thrust, stroke, thrust, stroke, his moans getting louder.

He’s not real. He can’t be. He’s fucking mythical.

He’s still smirking like he’s in control when I’m the one inside him.

He clenches down hard around me. No accident.

My head drops fast, breath tearing out of me like I’ve been punched.

For a second the room spins. Fuck. He’s doing it on purpose. He knows exactly what that does to me.

Probably because I do that to him all the time.

I’m gripping the sheets, fighting not to lose it right there.

Gio tilts his head, watching me crumble. “Oops.”

Oops.

That’s it. That’s all he gives me.

I force myself to lift my head, dizzy, just to watch my dick sliding in and out of him. The sight alone nearly knocks the air out of my lungs.

God, look at him taking me, look at me disappearing inside him.

Every thrust drags another sound out of both of us.

I shove my palm over my face, dragging it down hard, trying to ground myself.

My whole body’s fighting not to let go too soon.

Don’t cum yet, don’t fucking cum yet.

But the sounds are killing me, the wet slap every time I slide back in, the obscene squelch when I push all the way down.

It’s filthy, loud, and it’s all I can hear.

And the heat of him, clenching around me, it’s like my dick is being strangled in the best way possible.

He’s got his own hand wrapped around himself now, stroking.

Our breaths are heavy.

I can feel the orgasm burning up my spine already, and I’m just trying to hold it off for one more thrust, one more sound out of him.

“Gio—” I manage to say, still sliding in and out of him.

“Yes, baby?”

“I don’t… fuck—I don’t think I can hold it anymore.” I gasp hard, thrusting deep, almost losing it right there. “You’re unreal. It’s too much.”

His hand works faster on himself, his eyes locked on mine through half-lidded lashes.

“Then we finish together,” he pants, stroking himself harder. “Don’t hold back, Rava. Come with me.”

Fuck. It’s happening.

He’s squeezing the life out of me.

I drop my mouth to his, trying to kiss him, but I’m moaning too hard.

The sound rips out of my throat and spills right into his mouth.

It’s now just us moaning into each other’s mouths while I spill inside him.

Holy shit, I’m actually coming inside Gio.

My Gio.

My grip on the headboard slips, I claw at his face instead, holding him still while I ride it out.

He breaks.

Thick streams shoot across his own stomach, landing hot on his abs, dripping down between the lines of muscle.

Fuck me sideways.

I’ve never seen this before.

Never . He always finishes inside me. Or in my mouth. Always hidden. And now it’s right there.

On him. On those perfect abs. Dripping, shining.

He’s coming on himself while I’m inside him.

I swear I just witnessed the birth of a new universe.

This is the filthiest, hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.

My head’s ringing and I’m dizzy, like the earth tilted just because Gio decided to cum on his own abs for me to see.

I’m barely holding myself up so I don’t collapse on top of him.

We’re both breathing like we ran for miles, sweat dripping down our temples, my dick still buried deep inside him, twitching with every aftershock.

I lift my head, just to look at him…

And Gio’s eyes suddenly go wide.

My chest seizes.

Panic hits fast.

“What?!” My voice cracks, frantic.

“Did I hurt you? Did something happen?”

He holds up a hand, still breathless. “Stay still. Don’t move.”

I freeze.

Then he smirks.

“I can feel your dick every time it twitches inside me.”

I blink at him, stunned, then start laughing, relieved.

“You just did it again,” he grins.

I’m still laughing, dropping my forehead against his shoulder. “Fuck’s sake…”

“And now,” he says, eyes sharp with amusement.

I shake my head, laughing harder. “Stop.”

“And now.”

I look at him, smiling, still out of breath. “…You feel this from me too?” he asks quietly, actually curious.

I nod, grin softening into something raw. “Every single fucking time.” I kiss him.

—

We’re both dead after showering together again, tangled up under the blanket.

I’m on my side, staring at him in the dim light.

“You okay?” I mumble, half-teasing but not really. “Still love me?”

He cracks one eye at me. “Are you okay? You just fucked a guy for the first time.”

I laugh, shake my head. “Yeah. And it was perfect. I wouldn’t trade it, wouldn’t take it back.”

He smiles and then leans over and kisses my forehead. “I’m glad it was you, Ravioli.”

I can’t help myself.

“I’m not glad.”

“Okay, fuck you, Rava,” he throws at me, rolling to face the other way.

I snort, tug at his shoulder, trying to flip him back over. “You’re nothing but a bratty baby in a stupidly hot body, you know that?”

He laughs but keeps his back to me.

“Fine. Stay like that,” I mutter, pretending to give up.

I start to roll away, but he grabs me, hauls me back, and suddenly we’re nose to nose again.

“There he is,” I grin, breathing him in.

That’s when Lulu hops onto the bed and curls at our feet.

Gio pets her lazily, already half-asleep. “Alright, family… I’m sleeping now. Goodnight. I love you both.” He pulls me into his chest, voice fading. “Welcome in, by the way.”

My heart stutters. Family. He actually said it.

Me and him and Lulu.

I press my face against his throat, smiling like an idiot. “Goodnight, Gio. Goodnight, Lulu. Thanks for having me… I love you both.”

---

Hello guys :) Umm sorry if this chapter didn’t make you happy or didn’t make you feel things, lately I’ve been juggling a lot of things at once, so writing is harder than it was during the winter.

I promise to put a lot of focus into the upcoming chapters, since they’re also the last ones:(

That’s all, bye bye pookies I love you❤️

(Don’t tell my mother about the stuff that I’m writing 💔)

111) First Day In A Classroom

— 2 Years Later —

Rava’s POV

Two years later, I’m twenty-four.

Life feels… calmer.

Not boring, not boring at all.

Just steadier.

Like I can actually stand on it without waiting for the ground to give out.

Daisy lives with Lorenzo now. Their place is this weird mix of spotless and chaotic, like she cleans everything, and then he leaves weights, random hamsters, and empty coffee mugs everywhere.

She’s glowing, he pretends to complain, but then he buys her flowers and new markers before she even asks.

Noah’s here in Italy too.

Marco basically kidnapped him the second he arrived and now they’re always traveling. One weekend it’s Sicily, the next it’s Spain, then some random island I can’t even find on the map.

They come back sunburned and fighting over who almost lost the tickets, but you can see it, they’re happy.

I love that for them.

Gio’s mom got better. Thank God. She’s back to being loud and bossy, now she and my mom run the hotel business together.

They’re killing it.

Jin finished high school. Soon he’s moving across the country for university.

He says it proudly, like he’s ready to fly. I am proud of him, but… I’ll miss him. Especially the dumb fights.

The cereal wars, him admiring Gio’s bike when no one’s looking, him calling me “grandpa” every time I try to talk to him.

My father is absolutely gone. Moved away.

About a year ago, Gio and I ran into him on the street.

He was with another woman. It was the most awkward, suffocating moment of my life.

He had the nerve to pat Gio’s shoulder like they were old friends. Gio just put his hand on my back and said, “We’re late.”

And that was it. We walked away. That’s all it deserved.

Oh, and we got a dog! Blu.

Beige-white fur, brown eyes, and he somehow looks like a puppy even though he’s grown.

He worships Gio. Follows him everywhere.

Lulu, on the other hand, pretends she hates him, but then I find her curled up right next to him, like she can’t help it.

And Gio turns into full-on dad mode with them.

“You’re acting like babies. Lulu, stop stealing Blu’s treats. Blu, stop messing with Lulu’s tail or both of you are grounded.” He says it dead serious too.

Blu tilts his head like he’s thinking hard about it, and Lulu just blinks.

I watch from the doorway and try not to laugh. Truth is, I love it. I love all of it.

Sometimes Gio sits on the floor, explaining life lessons to Blu.

Why we stop at red lights.

Why we don’t eat socks.

Why love means making the bed even when you’re tired because it’s better to come back to later.

Blu looks like he gets it. And I do too.

Today is my first real day in a classroom.

My name’s on the door. Tiny chairs, lesson plans.

Gio leans on the doorframe, watching me fuss with the collar. “Come here,” he says.

He fixes the button, smooths the fabric over my shoulders.

He tilts my chin. “You look perfect.”

“Do I?” I ask. “Be honest. Do I look like a teacher or like a scared substitute who forgot the attendance sheet?”

He laughs. “You look like Mr. Weston, champion of tiny humans.”

He starts counting on his fingers. “Listen to me. The kids are going to love you. The parents are going to email the principal to say ‘thank you for this angel.’ The teachers are going to be jealous of your calm. The art teacher will ask you to co-host an assembly. The principal will ‘just drop by’ to watch you teach because you’re that good. And the copier? Will it jam for you? No, it will fucking not. It respects you.”

“That’s a lot of pressure for a copier,” I mutter, smiling.

He kisses my forehead. “You’ve got this.”

I crouch by the door to say goodbye. “Blu, I’m coming back after work, okay? Guard the house. No sock eating.”

He wags so hard his whole back half wiggles.

Lulu flicks her tail like she’s reviewing my performance.

“Your Majesty,” I tell her. “Please don’t bully your brother.”

We head out.

We get into the car.

The morning is soft and gray. I realize my right leg is bouncing, knee up, knee down, repeat.

Gio reaches over, rests his palm warm on my thigh, and the leg listens to him more than it listens to me.

He keeps one hand on the wheel, eyes on the road.

“I know you’re anxious,” he says. “But believe me, you’re going to be amazing. I’ve watched you every day for three years. The way you plan. The way you listen. How patient you are when people are slow or loud or both.”

He squeezes gently. “You were built for this.”

I breathe out. “What if I forget something?”

“Then you’ll improvise. You’re good at that. What if a kid cries? You’ll kneel, make space, fix it. What if someone asks why the sky is blue? You’ll explain, and if you blank, you’ll turn it into a mini science investigation because that’s who you are.”

He glances at me, smiling. “What if the class falls in love with you immediately? Then I’ll deal with the jealousy.”

At a red light, he leans over and kisses me. Quick, right on the mouth.

“I’m insanely proud of you,” he says. “Prepare to be clapped for when you get back in this car.”

I swallow. The buzz in my chest evens out. “Okay.”

We pull up to the school.

Small backpacks bob by the gate. A kid is holding a sunflower taller than him. My stomach flips once, but it’s not fear now, it’s that good rollercoaster click.

I open the door. Gio taps the back of my hand. “Text me when you’re done. I want to be the one who picks you up.”

“Yes, sir,” I say, grinning. “I will.”

I step out, shoulder my bag, and shut the door.

He gives me a little salute through the window. I wave back, take one breath, and walk toward the building with my name on the door.

The office smells like coffee and paper.

A copier’s rattling in the corner, spitting out worksheets, and the second I step in, a few heads turn my way.

“Good morning,” I say, trying to sound casual.

Some faces light up right away.

A couple of others… not so much.

One guy gives me a quick once-over and goes back to his papers.

Another woman looks at me over her glasses, lips pressed together like she already decided I’m going to make her week harder.

Oh God.

Before I can decide where to stand, a woman in a bright scarf comes over, grinning. “You must be Rava! Welcome. Coffee’s disgusting but free, copier hates everyone , and if you need markers, I’ve got a stash.” She taps her pocket like it’s a secret deal.

“Thanks,” I say, and I mean it. My shoulders drop an inch.

From across the room, the older teacher still hasn’t warmed up. She forces a tiny smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.

It clicks. She is not thrilled I’m here.

“Mr. Weston!” The principal sweeps in with a folder under his arm, shaking my hand.

“So, as we talked about, you’ll be with third grade!”

He lowers his voice a little. “It’s not the easiest class. They are… a bit challenging. But after seeing you during your trial lesson, I know you can handle it. You’ve got what it takes!”

“Thank you, I’ll try my best.” I say.

From the mail cubbies, another teacher pipes up, half-laughing. “Yeah, ‘challenging’ is putting it nicely. And let’s just say… someone else here wanted that class, but looks like you beat her to it.” He tips his head toward the older woman.

Ah.

That explains the looks. I took her class.

The principal clears his throat. “We try to match people where they fit best. Your classroom’s down the hall, all the way to the left. Attendance sheets are in here.”

“Perfect,” I nod.

The guy by the cubbies grins. “Good luck, my friend! You’ll need it.”

I laugh once. “Thanks for the warning.”

I head for the hallway.

“All the way left,” I remind myself, gripping the strap of my bag.

This is it.

The hallway is loud enough that I can already hear my class before I even open the door.

When I push it open, the noise hits like a slap. Chairs scraping, pencils tapping.

Chaos. Kid-sized chaos.

A paper airplane flies past my ear and dies bravely on the floor.

A boy is hopping from tile to tile yelling “lava!”

Another boy in a cape is standing on a chair surfing, arms out.

Two girls are arguing over a glitter pen and one is… about to cry.

A little one by the window is feeding crackers to a class plant.

Someone has drawn a very accurate shark on the whiteboard and also given it… boobs.

Lorenzo would 100% laugh. I can see him encouraging the artist.

I bite back a smile and step fully inside.

“Good morning,” I try. Half the room doesn’t hear me.

My mouth goes dry. Okay, Rava. Say something else—

Before I can, a girl with two neat space-buns stands up on tiptoe by the front row, plants her hands on her hips. “EVERYBODY, QUIET!”

It’s like hitting pause on a remote. Half the room freezes. The three boys in the back don’t.

She whips around. “You three, stop yelling! He’s the teacher. You’re being rude.”

They blink at her, blink at me, then sit.

The room doesn’t go silent, but it settles.

I can’t help it; I laugh. “Thank you for your services, sweetheart,” I tell her, hand over my heart.

She glows, suddenly shy, and sits down.

I put my bag on the desk and breathe once. I’m still nervous, but it’s a good, live kind of nervous, like the second before a race start.

“Hi,” I say, warm and calm. “I’m Mr. Weston. You can call me Mr. Weston, or Mr. Rava if Weston is tricky. I’m your teacher this year, and I’m really happy to be here.”

All the eyes are on me now.

“I know most of you probably weren’t too excited to come back to school after the holidays. I get it, I’ve been in your shoes, and trust me, I know exactly how it feels. So here’s my promise: I won’t make things harder than they need to be, and I’ll do my best not to tire you out too much. We’ll learn a lot, but I want us to have fun too!”

I clap once, soft. “Before we go around and say our names, does anyone have a question?”

…

Oh God.

Every single hand flies up.

Some kids raise both.

One boy just stands. I laugh again, because it’s perfect. “Okay. I’m ready. I’ll try to answer all of them. One at a time.”

I point to the front row.

“Are you our real teacher or just for today?” a girl asks.

“I’m your real teacher,” I say. “All year.”

Another hand waves like it’s trying to take off. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-four.”

“Do you have kids?”

“Not human kids,” I say. “But I live with a very dramatic cat named Lulu and a very sweet dog named Blu.”

“Can you bring them to school?”

“We’ll see about a visit,” I say. “For now, they are in charge of protecting my socks.”

“Are you a model?” a boy asks, deadpan.

I laugh.

“Nope,” I say. “Full-time teacher, but thank you.”

A girl squints at me, serious. “Aren’t you too young to be a teacher? You look like my brother.”

“I do look young,” I say, smiling. “But I finished my training and I’m ready. Being a good teacher isn’t about how old you are, it’s about caring, practicing, and helping you learn. Also, tell your brother he has great style.”

Giggles. I point to the back.

A kid with big glasses points at my ear. “Why do you have an earring? My nonna says only pirates and footballers wear those.”

“People wear jewelry for lots of reasons,” I say. “I wear mine because I like it. And pirates and footballers both sound pretty cool to me.

“What’s your favorite color?”

“Blue,” I say. “What’s yours?”

She whispers, “Purple,” and hides her smile.

The three former yellers are behaving now, one raises his hand like it weighs a ton. “Do you like soccer? What team?”

“I like soccer,” I say. “If I pick a team, half the class will revolt, so I’m Team Recess.”

“Can you beat my brother in FIFA?” another asks.

“Probably not,” I say gravely. “But I’ll try.”

“Are you married?” a girl asks, curious, not unkind.

“Not yet,” I say. “I have someone I love very much. We share a home, and we have Blu and Lulu, who think they’re in charge.”

A hand waves urgently. “My tooth is loose.”

“Congratulations,” I say, smiling. “Wiggle it gently. If it comes out, we have a special tooth envelope.”

“Will we have class jobs?” a girl asks, excited.

“Yes.” I hold up a chart. “Line Leader, Door Holder, Librarian, Plant Carer who will not feed crackers to the plant, Tech Helper, Board Cleaner. We’ll rotate every Monday.”

“Can I be the Boss?” Chair-Surfer asks.

“You can be our first Line Leader,” I offer. “Boss of the line. That’s a lot of trust.”

He sits up taller like I just gave him a crown.

A girl with star clips: “Do you have tattoos?”

I laugh.

“Some grown-ups do,” I say, keeping it breezy. “If I do, I keep them covered at school.”

I point to the corner.

“My mom says my last teacher hated me,” a girl says, too matter-of-fact. “Do you hate kids?”

I feel that one. “I don’t hate kids,” I say softly. “I chose this job because I like you. I don’t even know you yet, and I’m already on your team.”

She studies me for a second, then nods like she’s filing it away.

A hand flutters. “Are you allergic to anything? Because my mom said some people can’t have nuts.”

“I can’t eat kiwi,” I say. “It makes my mouth feel like bees. Nuts are fine for me, but we always check our class allergies and keep everyone safe.”

We do names around the circle, Aisha, Luca, Sofia, Matteo, Giulia, Amir, Chiara, Daniele, some shy, some loud, some testing me with silly ones first before they give me the real one.

I repeat each back the way they said it, ask if I got it right, fix it when I don’t.

I notice the kid who stutters and give him all the time he needs without finishing his words for him.

I notice the twins who are not twins but want to be, and I put them on opposite sides of the class so they don’t combust.

Time to see where their brains are without turning it into a test.

“Alright, team,” I say, sitting on the edge of my desk like I’m not nervous at all.

“Level check, but fun. First game is called Show, Don’t Shout. I ask a question, you answer with fingers or a quick move. No yelling answers, because our ears like peace.”

A few kids nod.

“Math first. Show me with fingers: What’s two plus three?”

Hands pop—five everywhere.

One kid holds up six, then slowly lowers a finger like he’s defusing a bomb.

I give him a thumbs-up for fixing it himself.

“Nice. Now, if the answer is bigger than ten, give me a quiet thumbs-up. If it’s ten or smaller, thumbs-down. Ready? Seven plus six.”

Half the class shoots up thumbs, a few scrunch their faces, counting in air.

Space-buns taps her knee, then flips a thumb up, satisfied.

“Last one: skip-count by fives in your head. When you hit thirty, touch your nose.” I start a soft rhythm with my hand on my knee.

Noses get tapped around the room at different times.

I make a mental note of who’s still counting when the rhythm stops, but I keep my face open and easy.

They’re trying. That matters.

“Okay,” I say. “Reading time, but silly.” I turn to the board and write, in my worst handwriting on purpose:

yersterday i eated pancakez with my dog blu and we was happy.

Gasps.

Actual, scandalized gasps.

Someone whispers, “He spelled ‘yesterday’ wrong,” like I just robbed a bank.

“I made a lot of mistakes,” I say, hand to chest. “Can you help me fix them?”

Hands fly. I point around the circle and correct as they catch things.

“‘Yesterday’—no ‘r,’” a girl says.

“‘Ate,’ not ‘eated,’” says Shark-shirt, triumphant.

“Capital letter at the start,” Space-buns adds.

“Blu is a name so capital B,” someone offers, then blinks. “Wait—your dog is blue?”

“Mostly beige,” I say.

“And ‘we were happy,’” says the quiet boy in the corner, voice small but sure.

I fix each word as they call it, exaggerating my “oh no” face like a clown, and the sentence straightens up. “Beautiful,” I say. “My dignity is saved.”

A spill of laughs.

“Now vocabulary. We’re going to retire the word ‘good,’ because it’s tired. Give me other words that mean ‘good.’ I’ll write them here.” “Great!” “Epic!” “Nice!” “Wonderful!” “Fire,” someone says, and half the class ooooohs.

I write them all and add, “We’ll talk about where slang fits and where it doesn’t, school essays want ‘wonderful’ more than ‘fire,’ but in stories, we can play.”

My phone, face-up on the desk, lights up. I’m not checking it, I’m being a responsible adult, except it flashes bright enough that I catch the preview.

GIO:

-Keep going, Ravioli.

I fail not to smile. My cheeks do that warm thing. I flip the phone face-down and tuck it by the pencil cup.

Space-buns squints. “Your phone is sparkly.”

“Teacher mistake,” I say lightly. “I’ll keep it face-down during learning. Thanks for the reminder.”

“Back to brains,” I say, clapping once.

“Last check: science curiosity.”

I hold up a brown paper bag.

“Mystery bag. I’m going to describe an object without naming it. You tell me what you think it is, hands only, no shouting.” I shake it, it thunks softly.

“It’s round-ish, but not a ball. It grows on a tree. You can eat it. The outside can be red or green. It crunches.”

“Apple!” five kids whisper at once, vibrating.

“Yes,” I grin, showing the apple. “Observation and clues, that’s science. We’re going to do a lot of that. Also, I might eat this at lunch.”

A hand pops up. “Can it be a class apple so we can all look at it?”

“It can be a class apple now and a Mr. Weston apple later,” I say. “Compromise.”

We’ve done a little bit of everything, names, routines, another math game, another tiny science mystery.

My shoulders feel loose, tired in a good way.

I’m at the desk, jotting quick notes in my notebook about who likes what, who needs what, little stars next to small wins.

“Mr Ravaaaaaa!”

I look up and here they come, two identical girls and a boy tucked between them like he’s their lawyer.

They’re walking with that secret-mission energy. All three are grinning at me and at each other, like they made a pact in the hallway.

I lean back in my chair. “Should I be worried? Did you three do a tiny crime?”

They giggle so hard the boy hiccups. Then, in perfect choreography, they each pull something from behind their backs.

Drawings. Three drawings. I swear my brain forgets how to blink for a second.

The first is me.

Very yellow hair with some brown lines, the little hoop in my ear, my glasses, a blue marker in my hand, and a cape.

They gave me a cape. My stick-figure smile is so wide it looks like I swallowed a watermelon.

The second, me with everyone.

Twenty-four round heads, stick arms, names floating over them in different colors. There are stars in the corners and a lopsided heart near my name and I think, honestly, stop.

Stop being this sweet. I’m going to melt through the floor.

The third, completely unhinged in the best way, a house with ice creams orbiting it like planets.

Cones, popsicles, ice-cream sandwiches, the works. The boy clears his throat, proud. “This is the classroom if we were made of dessert,” he explains. “That one is you.” He points to a tall scoop with hair. “You’re pistachio because you seem calm but probably powerful.”

Okay, I’m dead. They killed me with crayons.

“These are—wow.” I have to put my hand on my chest for a second because my body is being dramatic.

“These are incredible. Like… I want to frame them and send them to a museum.” I tap the first drawing. “The hair? That’s elite accuracy.”

I point to the crowd one. “You remembered everyone.”

I look at the ice-cream house. “And this is the greatest architectural plan I’ve ever seen.”

They are beaming. It’s like someone plugged them into the wall and turned them to max brightness.

“Can we put them on the wall?” one twin asks.

“Absolutely,” I say. “Front and center. The art corner just became the heart corner.”

They squeal and, without warning, all three fling themselves at me in a group hug.

I catch them, one arm around two small shoulders, the other around the boy.

My throat tightens. Don’t cry. Don’t cry in front of the children. Cry in the car. Later. Not now.

They peel back, still buzzing. “Bye, Mr Rava! Good afternoon!” they chorus, like they rehearsed it.

“Good afternoon!” I echo, trying to keep my voice normal. “Thank you for making my day.”

They rocket away, and I sit there for a second staring at the drawings like they might fly off on their own.

I take a photo in my head. I’m going to remember this feeling when I’m old and complaining about my knees.

Most of the class streams out, bags banging, voices echoing in the hall.

I notice one girl hanging back, staring at me a little too intently.

Earlier she was sitting with her friend, surrounded by beads, making bracelets with the kind of focus I usually only see in surgeons.

“You okay?” I ask gently.

She steps closer, eyes locked on me.

“How’s Gio?”

My heart slams. “I—sorry, what?”

She points at my wrist. “You’re wearing the bracelet I gave to him. So I guess you’re finally together.”

I actually freeze.

My whole body feels like static. I look down at the bracelet.

My stomach flips.

No. No way. It can’t be her.

I grab the roster, scan fast.

There—Emiliana.

Jesus Christ. It is her.

The little girl from three summers ago, the one who built sandcastles with Gio on the beach and handed him this bracelet.

She’s older now, taller, but that spark is the same.

She beams. “Hi, Mr. Rava.”

I have no idea what to say. My mouth feels useless.

She looks at my wrist again. “I think you’re missing some beads. What happened?”

I swallow hard. I don’t want to remember that day.

“It had… an accident,” I say softly. “But Gio tried to fix it.”

She nods like that makes perfect sense. “I can take it home and put new ones for you. I have the exact kind. It’ll look good as new!”

I’m smiling like an idiot, probably red in the face.

I want to explode with joy but also sink under the desk because I’m embarrassed by how much this means.

“That would make me very happy,” I tell her. Then I lower my voice a little. “But only if it doesn’t take you forever. Promise me you’ll still have time to rest and play.”

“I promise,” she says immediately.

And then she hugs me. Just like that. I hug back carefully, my throat tight again.

“Thank you so much, sweetheart,” I whisper.

She grins up at me. “Tell Gio I said hi. And that he owes me a sandcastle rematch.”

I laugh, helpless. “I’ll tell him. He’ll be very happy to hear from you.”

She tucks the bracelet into her pencil case like it’s gold, waves once, and runs off down the hall.

I sit there, desk covered in drawings, wrist suddenly bare, heart absolutely full.

Oh my God.

I press my hand to my chest and breathe. I’ve never felt happier in a classroom in my life.

I’m standing on the curb, waiting for Gio.

When I see his car turn the corner, I grin so wide my face hurts. The second he pulls up, I jog over, open the door, and slide in.

“Hi,” I breathe, leaning over to kiss him quick, soft, the whole world pressing pause for a second.

A head pops up from the backseat.

Noah.

“Holy SHIT!,” he says, grinning. “My best friend’s a teacher. Little Rava turned into a baby-sitter for tiny humans. This is insane!”

On his left, Marco leans forward. “So, tell us everything. Any couples in your class yet?”

I snort. “What? They’re in third grade!”

Marco shrugs. “So what?! I had a crush on my classmate at that age. We shared cake every lunch.”

Noah’s jaw drops.

“Bro, what the fuck? Tell me his name right now so I can hunt him down and break his kneecaps.”

Lorenzo claps his hands like he’s front row at a play. “God, I love when you two fight. It’s so hot.”

“Shut up, idiot,” Gio mutters, flicking him with one hand on the wheel.

Then, softer, he glances at me. “So? How’d it go?”

I can’t hold it in.

“Guys—it was amazing. Like, actually amazing. I felt like I was in an interview the whole time. I swear to God, they asked me a million questions. One kid straight up asked me if I was a model.”

Gio bursts out laughing. “No fucking way. Great. Day one and the competition’s already started.”

I roll my eyes but I’m grinning. “Another kid asked if I had tattoos. And listen to this, I got three drawings. Three . One of me as a superhero, one of me with the whole class, and one of a classroom made entirely of ice cream. Tell me that’s not the best first day ever.”

“I told you,” Gio says, smug. “I told you it would go perfectly.”

“Oh, no,” I say, leaning forward like I’ve been saving the best part. “You don’t even know the best thing yet.”

He raises a brow. “Uh oh. What?”

“Remember Emiliana? With the bracelets?”

His face freezes. “Don’t tell me.”

I nod, laughing.

Lorenzo gasps so loud it shakes the car. “SHE’S YOUR STUDENT?!”

I nod again, can’t stop laughing. Gio whips his head to me. “WHAT.”

“Oh, yeah,” I say. “She’s in my class. She saw the bracelet on my wrist, asked about it, and then, get this, she took it home to fix it. I was holding back tears the whole time.”

Marco turns to Noah, smirking. “Noah, are you gonna make me a bracelet too?”

Noah softens immediately. “Of course, baby.”

Lorenzo leans across, grinning. “What about me? Do I get one?”

Noah pats his head sweetly. “You can have our balls.”

Lorenzo throws his head back, cackling. “Knew it. You’re all in for a foursome. You filthy bitches.”

Gio actually starts laughing so hard he nearly misses the turn. “Swear to God, if I didn’t know your ages, I’d think I was driving a pack of ten-year-old boys.”

“Don’t act like you don’t love it,” Noah shoots back. “We’re chaos but we’re balance. Perfect fucking balance.”

I laugh, sinking into my seat, cheeks warm. “He’s right. I agree.”

Now the whole car is just overlapping voices, insults, and Gio swearing under his breath even while he’s smiling.

---

😼 Boo.

I don’t even know what so say lol please do it for me.

I loved this chapter so much T_T

I know the story has not many chapters left, but I will make sure to make those chapters PERFECT:)

I have a plan muhehehehehe.

That’s all BYE BYE GUYS I LOVE YOU❤️

112) “HE SAID IT!”

— April —

Gio’s POV

Rava’s buttoning up his shirt, hair still damp, and I’m just staring.

I don’t even try to hide it.

He splashes water on his face, and when he catches me leaning against the doorframe, almost sleeping, he shakes his head.

“You don’t have to wake up with me every morning, Gio.” he says softly, almost laughing.

I shrug, chewing on my lip. “I don’t have to, but I wanna keep you company.”

His eyes flick up to me, warm as hell. “You’re so sweet.”

He goes to the kitchen, bends down, puts food in Lulu’s and Blu’s bowls, and then he pulls them both into his lap like little kids.

He sets them side by side, all serious, like he’s a dad lining up his kids for a first-day-of-school picture.

“Sit still so I can get a photo,” he tells them, grinning.

My heart’s going off like a fucking engine rev.

I follow him out, lean on the doorway as he grabs his bag and heads for the car. “Bye, Gio.”

“Bye, Ravioli.”

He slides into the driver’s seat, pulls away, and I stand there until his car disappears.

Only then I move.

By the time I hit the stairs, I’m sprinting.

Phone in my hand. Pacing in circles, palm pressed to my forehead.

My mouth won’t stop twitching into this stupid grin.

Ring. Ring.

Finally.

“The fuck do you want, you asshole? It’s seven in the goddamn morning!” Lorenzo complains, voice thick with sleep and pure venom.

I don’t let him breathe. “Come to my place. As fast as you can. I’m begging you. It’s urgent. No arguments, just—please. I’ll be waiting.”

Before he can curse me out again, I hang up.

My thumb’s already flying.

“…Noah? Can you hear me?”

“Yeah, Gio, I hear you. What happened? You pregnant?”

“What—no. Not this time. Are you with Marco?”

“Yeah, he’s getting ready for court. Why?”

“Fuck.” I spin, kick the side of the bed.

“Okay, listen. You both need to come to my place. Soon as you can slip out. Please. It’s important.”

“Whoa, whoa. You good?”

“Yes. No. YES. Yeah, everything’s perfect. Totally fine. Just—get here, alright?”

Noah sighs. “Alright, count three, four hours tops.”

“Fine. Perfect.”

I call back Lorenzo.

“Sleep, love. Just come at eleven.”

There’s a beat. Then his snarl rips through the line. “Go fuck yourself.”

Click.

It’s 11:00 when I hear Lorenzo’s bike growl up the street.

I’m up from my desk.

Door. Now.

I wrench it open and there they are, both him and Daisy, helmets off, hair everywhere.

“We came, idiot,” Lorenzo says, leaning his helmet against his hip.

“This better be important. I skipped cuddles for you. We both had the day off.”

“Shut up and get in,” I say, and I’m already biting my bottom lip nervously. “Noah and Marco are on their way.”

“I know,” he says. “Texted them. They’re doing their little baby attorney court-thingies.”

Lulu and Blu rocket past my legs like furry bullets and launch themselves at Daisy’s knees.

“What happened, little criminal?” she sing-songs at me as she unlaces her boots.

“Why do you look like that? You told your dog to ‘sit’ and he didn’t sit?”

“That did happen,” I say, chewing my lip again. “But no. That’s not—Do you guys want something to drink?”

“Got juice?” Lorenzo asks, pretending to study the hallway art he’s seen eight hundred times.

“Yeah.”

“Great, make mine a vodka.”

“No.”

He turns to go. “I’m leaving.”

“The door is right there,” I say, pointing.

Daisy stands up, dusts imaginary dust off her jeans, and squints at me like she’s reading subtitles across my forehead.

“You’ve said five words and all of them were sweating.”

“I’m perfectly normal,” I say, which is what normal people definitely say.

I walk to the kitchen at a speed that screams Not Suspicious and start fussing with glasses.

“Orange? Apple? Something pressed? I can press something. I can press… a carrot. Do people press carrots?”

“Bro,” Lorenzo says, following me in and dropping onto the bar stool. “If you press a carrot I’m calling the police.”

I line up four coasters.

Then I move them a centimeter to the left. Then back.

I open the fridge, grab the orange juice, then put it back because what if someone hates oranges today.

I grab water. Water is safe. I put it down. I pick it back up. I put it down again.

Blu thumps his tail on the cabinet and looks at me like he’s embarrassed for me.

“Gio.” Daisy leans her elbows on the island, chin in her palms.

“Blink twice if you committed tax evasion.”

“I wish it was tax evasion,” I mutter. “Wait. No. Delete that from the record. This is not a deposition.”

She grins. “So something is wrong.”

“Nothing is wrong.”

Lip. Teeth. Stop.

“Everything is right. I mean fine. Do you want ice? We can have ice. Ice is a nice… thing.”

“Gimme the damn juice,” Lorenzo says, snatching the carton like a raccoon.

He pours, takes a sip, grimaces. “Needs vodka.”

“No,” I repeat, then add, softer, “Please just… be present. Okay?”

Lorenzo and Daisy exchange a look that is basically a group chat.

Daisy walks around the island and bumps my shoulder with hers. “Hey. I can see your brain trying to climb out of your eyes. Breathe.”

“I am breathing,” I say, immediately forgetting how.

I inhale and exhale. “See? Fine.”

“Uh-huh.” She plucks a coaster from my death grip and sets it down herself.

Lorenzo snatches the door. “I’ll get it. You—grab the vodka.”

He swings it open and Noah barrels in, arms wide. “HEYYYYY we’re all here!”

Marco steps in behind him in a full suit, holding a grocery bag.

Lorenzo squints. “You two look like you just left court but the lawyer ran off with the defendant.”

Noah loops an arm around Lorenzo’s neck and mock-chokes him. “Gio, permission to strangle your cousin?”

Lorenzo is wheezing. “Joke’s on you, I like choking.”

Marco points at Daisy. “Daisy, collect your dog, he’s trying to steal my man.”

Daisy stands, grabs Lorenzo by the hoodie, shoves him onto the sofa and sits on him like a human paperweight.

Lorenzo shuts up instantly.

Blu hops onto the couch, beelines to Marco’s lap and sits.

Marco gasps. “Ohhhhh my God, witness me. The Chosen One. The dog has selected his champion.”

“It’s cause you smell like food, baby. But that’s okay.”

Noah drops into the corner, laces his fingers behind his head.

“Sooo… should I ask why we’re gathered here without Rava? You planning something against my best friend? I will end all of you.”

I raise both palms. “NO. Never. Not even a little. I just… have something important to tell you.”

Three sets of eyebrows go up.

Daisy’s eyes sparkle. Noah leans forward like it’s gossip hour. Lorenzo’s grin is feral. Marco pets Blu.

“Okay,” I say, mouth dry. “Guess.”

Daisy snaps her fingers. “You’re opening a strip club. With Lorenzo as the main act. Tuesdays only.”

“I would run that place into the ground,” Lorenzo nods, proud.

“Absolutely not,” I groan.

Noah slams a fist on the armrest. “You’ve been hiding a secret twin. And he’s hotter than you.”

“Okay first of all, rude—”

“Wait,” Daisy interrupts.

“You’re into feet. That’s it, isn’t it?”

“Oh wow, you got me.”

“No, wait,” Lorenzo cuts in, finger raised. “You want to start an OnlyFans.”

“Stop.”

Marco squints, thoughtful. “You’ve been writing poetry. Dirty poetry. About Rava.”

I choke on my own breath. “No…”

Lorenzo smirks, leaning back. “You’re running for mayor.”

“Of what?! Hell?”

Marco shrugs. “Could be.”

Noah points at me, deadly serious. “You’re secretly Batman. That’s why you disappear sometimes.”

I throw a cushion at him. “I wish I was Batman.”

Lorenzo cuts me off, smirking. “You finally thought about my threesome offer?”

“WHAT THE FUCK, LORENZO.”

Noah throws his hands up. “WAIT. Don’t tell me. Rava left you pregnant, didn’t he? Is it true? Rava made you a single mother?”

“ARE YOU INSANE?!” I shout, half laughing, half dying.

I can hear the clock ticking, I can hear my own breathing, I can hear nothing else.

“I didn’t call you here for threesomes, strip clubs, or—whatever the hell you were saying,” I manage, words tumbling out fast.

“This is serious.” I swallow, hard. My throat burns.

I bite my lip one last time, force my lungs to work.

“I want to propose to Rava.”

“STOP.” Daisy rockets to her feet so fast the couch springs scream.

Lorenzo explodes a mist of vodka across the coffee table. “MADONNA, GRAZIE A TUTTI I SANTI E LE POTENZE ALTE!” he bellows, coughing, laughing.

“FINALLY! THANK YOU, UNIVERSE! THANK YOU, GRANDMA’S ROSARY!”

Noah is already airborne. “HE SAID IT!” he screams, scooping Lulu into his arms like a furry trophy and bouncing in place.

He starts doing a cracked-up victory dance. “GO, GIO! GET THAT RING! GO, GIO! GET THAT RING!”

Marco shrieks.

A pure, high, glass-polishing squeal that rips out of his soul. Then he slaps both hands over his mouth, eyes shining, and shrieks again through his fingers.

Blu catches the frequency and starts barking.

“OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD!” Daisy sprints around the coffee table and tackles me.

We spin, we thud into the chair, my knees hit the rug, she’s laughing in my ear, “YOU’RE DOING IT, YOU RIDICULOUS MAN, YOU’RE DOING IT!”

Lorenzo is pacing. “BENVENUTO AMORE! I KNEW IT! I CALLED IT!” He kisses the top of Daisy’s head in a drive-by.

Noah, still dancing with Lulu, switches to a freestyle. “HE’S GONNA PUT A RING ON IT—” he sings off-key, then points at me.

“Gio, I am your flower boy, I will throw petals like I’m getting paid commission.”

“AAAAAA—” Marco’s squeal evolves into words. “OH MY GOD, WE NEED A TIMELINE. WE NEED A BOARD.”

Blu launches onto the couch, misses, rebounds, nails it on the second try, and starts a lap around the cushions.

I’m laughing so hard my stomach hurts, my face hurts, everything hurts.

It’s like my lungs forgot how to exhale quietly.

My brain is white noise and fireworks.

Marco has tears on his cheeks. “Okay, okay,” he says to no one and all of us, “we’re going to need… lighting ideas, a music cue, a speech draft, a Plan B in case you faint, Lorenzo, stop baptizing the ficus in vodka—”

“IT IS A HOLY FICUS NOW,” Lorenzo declares, kissing two fingers, then throwing his arms in the air. “BACI.”

Daisy yanks me up by my hoodie strings and shakes me like a soda. “WHEN? WHERE? HOW BIG IS THE RING? WHAT ARE YOU SAYING? DO YOU NEED ME TO STAGE-MANAGE? I WILL BE GOD.”

“I—” I try, wheezing. “I have some ideas—”

Daisy has me by the jaw and squishes my cheeks, “YOU’RE DOING IT,” and I’m nodding like a bobblehead.

Noah launches off the table and tackles me from the side.

“GROUP HUG!” he screams.

Daisy is already attached, Lorenzo barrels in, Marco wraps us from the back, Blu is barking, and suddenly I am gone under a mountain of humans.

Someone elbows my ear. Someone kisses the top of my head.

I laugh until it turns into that silent laugh where you just shake.

Tears, good ones, prick the corners of my eyes and I don’t even bother wiping them because Daisy’s already doing it with a thumb like I’m five and she’s my chaotic aunt.

We separate by inches and then collapse back in, because apparently separation is illegal now.

“WE NEED TO MAKE IT EPIC!” Daisy interrupts, already pointing at me.

“Fireworks! Balloons! The ocean!”

“No, no, no, no,” Noah cuts her off, wild-eyed.

“It needs to be insane. Like—flash mob insane. Like hundred people in tuxedos breakdancing behind you while you drop to one knee.”

“That’s disgusting,” Marco says flatly.

“It has to be classy. Elegant. Dinner, candles, string quartet—”

“BORING!” Lorenzo yells, slapping the armrest.

“He’s Italian! He needs DRAMA. Proposal on a Ducati, sparks flying, a helicopter dropping rose petals!”

“Oh my God,” Daisy groans, grabbing her hair. “Rava’s gonna hate a helicopter! He’ll cry from embarrassment, not romance!”

“That’s still crying!” Lorenzo argues.

“NO!” Marco snaps. “You don’t traumatize someone during a proposal!”

“Okay, okay, LISTEN,” Noah shouts.

“What about a ring hidden inside a cake, and when he bites into it—BOOM. Proposal.”

“He’ll choke to death, you idiot!” Daisy fires back.

“Then you save him with the Heimlich!” Noah throws his hands up, triumphant. “Double the romance!”

I’m wheezing, actually crying with laughter.

“I’m picking the ring!” Daisy yells. “You’d all screw it up!”

“You?!” Noah gapes. “You’d buy him something pink and sparkly like he’s a Barbie doll. No way!”

“Better than you buying him a glow-in-the-dark cock ring, you menace.”

Marco slams the pastry bag down. “ENOUGH. Platinum. Simple. Solitaire diamond. Done.”

“Solitaire diamond?!” Lorenzo roars, offended. “We’re not proposing to a librarian!”

“LIBRARIANS ARE SEXY!” Marco shrieks back.

Noah is now stomping on the couch cushions like it’s a trampoline. “BLACK DIAMOND, BITCHES. EDGY. ROCK STAR. ICONIC.”

“Black diamond?!” Daisy laughs so hard she nearly tips over.

“What are you gonna do, propose in a Batman costume?”

“I’D LOOK HOT,” Noah yells.

“NO YOU WOULDN’T!” Lorenzo shouts, his hands flailing. “HE NEEDS RED. A RUBY. BLOOD. PASSION!”

“Oh my God, are you proposing or summoning Satan?” Daisy shoots back.

I’m doubled over in the chair, holding my stomach, laughing so hard I can barely breathe.

They’re all screaming over each other like children at recess, shoving, pointing, calling each other names, already planning MY proposal like it’s a Marvel movie.

Daisy stomps her foot. “It has to be emotional!”

Lorenzo shouts back, “It has to be LOUD!”

Marco cries, “It has to be BEAUTIFUL!”

Noah shrieks, “IT HAS TO BE MEME-ABLE!”

I fall backward into the cushions, tears in my eyes, gasping out. “Alright—shut up! All of you. One at a time,” I say, palms out.

Lorenzo clears his throat, sits up straighter. “Okay. Order. Calm. We are… calming.”

He inhales like a yoga teacher, then ruins it by grinning.

“Proceed.”

Noah pops a hand up immediately.

“Basics first. Can I officiate? I deserve it. I’m the one who told Rava to shoot his shot with you. You owe me. LEGALLY.”

“Ehm, objection,” Lorenzo says, finger up. “I intentionally took the single bed in Spain so they’d be forced to share one bed. Cause and effect, baby. Thanks to me, they spooned, then pounced.”

Marco puts on his lawyer voice. “Objection noted. Also, as your lawyer, I have to warn you that taking credit for fate is a minor offense. But as your friend… sustained.”

Daisy claps once. “Noah can officiate, Lorenzo can swap the crowns and be Ring Goblin, bring the bands, guard the box, do the dramatic hand stuff.”

“We’re really… assigning wedding jobs right now? We’re saying ‘crowns’ out loud? This is—”

I laugh, helpless. “This is insane in the best way.”

Lorenzo pats his own chest. “I accept my sacred duties. I will be obnoxious and holy.”

Marco leans forward, already in planner mode. “Clothes. Let me help with outfits. Tailor I trust, not at all fair prices, zero shininess. Also, I know a ridiculous venue. Think stone arches and warm light. It’s… cinematic.”

Daisy shoots a hand up.

“I’m there when you pick the ring. Non-negotiable. He’s my brother, people, I know his taste better than his taste knows itself.”

Lorenzo nods toward Noah. “And the raccoon Noah wears a thousand rings. He should come too. Field expertise.”

Noah throws both hands up, showing a mess of metal. “Do any of these say ‘marry me’ to you?” He waggles them like a dealer fanning cards.

I crack up. “We can all go. Seriously. I need you. All of you.”

“Ground rules,” Marco says, opening his notes app.

“One: Secrecy. New group chat. Code name?”

“Raviolo,” Lorenzo says instantly.

“Approved,” Daisy says.

“Two: cover story. Why we disappear randomly?”

“Bike parts,” I say.

“We’re ‘hunting a rare gasket.’ Rava will nod like he understands.”

“Alright,” Noah says, ticking items on his fingers.

“Sizing the ring without tipping him off. How?”

“I’ve got his rings, “ I say. “I can ‘borrow’ one and run it to the jeweler.”

“If that fails,” Lorenzo offers, “we do the string trick while he sleeps.”

“We are not lassoing my boyfriend’s finger at 3 am.,” I say.

Marco cough-laughs. “Plan A: Borrow ring. Plan B: While he’s sleeping. Plan C: Sizing app with a coin for scale.”

“Also,” Noah adds, hopping in place, “Timeline. When?”

I swallow, smiling. “Soon. I’m thinking… sunset window. Couple weeks. But I want it ready when it’s right, not ‘because the calendar said so.’”

Daisy softens. “Good answer.”

“Location,” Lorenzo says.

“Guys, I know,” Marco says, raising one finger.

“Gio, take him to Greece. Trust me. We went with Noah last summer, remember? It was AMAZING. It’ll be perfect.”

Noah nods. And nods. And nods. “I agree. Incredible place. Take him on a ridiculously expensive yacht and do it. Dawn, sea breeze, champagne popping, linen shirts flapping—”

“Disagree,” Lorenzo cuts in, arms folded.

“The expensive thing is not your style. I’d do it on a beach. Quiet. No glitter in my eye.”

Daisy points a spoon at me. “Greece doesn’t sound bad. How wrong can it go? Just, please, do NOT propose while he’s eating souvlaki. He will choke. On love and pork.”

“Title of my memoir,” I mutter. “Choked on Love and Pork.”

“Focus,” Marco says, clapping. “Don’t stress it. Just pick a calm, pretty island. Paros. Naxos. The Cyclades have the perfect vibe for a proposal. Plus, you two got together in summer. It’s symbolic.”

Noah squints. “Sorry, did you say ‘pass’ and Naxos? Like, pass or Naxos? We have to choose?”

“PAROS,” Marco enunciates. “Not pass! Paros and Naxos!”

“Okay but ‘pass or Naxos’ is a strong game show name,” Daisy says.

“Contestant number one, do you pass… or Naxos?”

“Stop,” Lorenzo says. “Let the man breathe.”

I rub my face. “Walk me through Paros vs. Naxos like I’m five and about to spend a lot of money.”

Marco leans forward, elbows on wood. “Paros: soft beaches, white alleys, bougainvillea. You can rent a SMALL boat, doesn’t have to be a yacht, Lorenzo, relax, and anchor near Kolymbithres at sunrise. Rocks like sculpture. It’s quiet. You say your speech. Boom.”

“Boom drowning,” Lorenzo says. “We’re not proposing IN the sea like a shampoo commercial. Beach. Feet on ground.”

Noah raises both hands. “Alternative: we still do a boat, but cheap-cute. A little kaiki. You propose. Then you eat loukoumades.”

“Do NOT hide the ring in a loukouma,” Daisy warns. “We just talked about choking.”

“Okay, yes, minimal choking,” I say.

“Naxos,” Marco continues, “has that huge marble gate, the Portara, right by the sea. Golden hour there? INSANE. You drop to one knee with the arch and the horizon behind you. People clap. Old ladies cry. He says yes. You kiss. I sell the footage to Netflix.”

“So, Naxos sounds g—” the door clicks and Blu explodes into a bark that rattles my ribs.

My soul leaves my body, returns, fucking leaves again.

For a half-second I’m convinced I’m about to propose with a half-sucked cough drop and zero plan.

Rava steps in, cheeks pink from the cold, hair a little wind-killed, and the whole room lifts.

“Oh wow,” he laughs, setting his keys down as Blu boomerangs between his legs.

“How long has it been since we were all in the same room!”

He looks tired in the way that means he worked too many hours and still somehow mined joy out of them.

I catch that joy on his face and every single doubt I don’t even have, evaporates.

I want to marry him. I want to make him mine officially, loudly, on paper.

He crosses to me without asking and drops a soft kiss on my mouth. My hands find his waist before my brain catches up.

From the table, Lorenzo goes, “Ahem. And for us? A small, sweet, humble little kiss?”

He points between his own cheeks like a child at communion.

Daisy flicks him on the back of the head. “Behave.”

“I’ll give you one,” Rava says, deadpan, already toeing off his shoes. “Maybe when your birthday comes.”

Lorenzo turns to Daisy and of course flips her off under the table.

Daisy smacks his arm again.

All of us are staring at Rava now. Not like normal staring, guilty-goldfish staring.

He blinks, smiling. “What??”

“Nothing, baby…” Daisy says too gently.

“Why are you all here? Are you staying for food?”

Under his breath Noah mutters, “You’re doing the whole housewife-spouse thing,” but he’s smiling at Rava like the sun is a person.

“Bro, I asked if you want food ,” Rava fires back over his shoulder. “I didn’t know only married people eat!”

Married. The word is a grenade today.

It rolls across the floor and only I can see the pin out.

Everyone looks at him again with that weird, glowing look, and my pulse does a runaway bike trick.

“Food would be… great,” I say, voice too bright. “Like, normal food. Casual. Zero-occasion food.”

“Uh-huh,” Lorenzo says, trying to sound casual and succeeding at suspicious.

“Anyway. What were you guys doing?”

Marco clears his throat. “We were just, um, talking travel. You know, summer stuff.”

Rava smiles, amused. “Travel where?”

“Pass,” Noah blurts.

---

…

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAALALALAALALALLALALALALALALALLALLALAALLAALALAL GUYS I NEED FEEDBACK GIMME EVERYTHING

Was it stupid enough?!

Y’all have no idea what Im planning 😼 muheheheheh.

You will luv it.

ANYWAY I SHOULD GO

BYE BYE POOKIES I LOVE YOU❤️

113) ‘Greece It Is’

Rava’s POV

The storm is awfully loud.

Rain slamming the windows, lightning flashing so bright it makes poor Blu bark downstairs every time he hears the noise.

I’m buried under the blanket, half sweating half shivering.

My nose is so clogged it feels like someone shoved a damn cork up there.

Every bone in my body aches, and I’m miserable.

Very.

I hate being sick.

Gio pushes the door open with his hip, balancing a plate and a mug.

My baby.

I sit up a little, dazed, and he grins at me before setting the plate down on the nightstand.

“Got you soup. Don’t ask what’s in it, just… eat it. And tea.”

Even though I’m a wreck, I can’t help smiling.

Just seeing him standing there taking care of me, makes me want to cry.

He sits down on the bed, leans close, and kisses my forehead.

His lips are cool against my stupid feverish skin.

“My poor baby’s sick,” he says softly, teasing.

“How does it feel knowing your students are probably celebrating right now, because they get to skip class?”

I laugh, or at least try to. “Stop. My students love me. One of their moms texted me earlier because her kid asked if I was feeling better. I’m the best.”

“Sure,” Gio says with a smirk. “If I were them, I’d be cheering.”

He picks up the mug and holds it steady while I sip, then balances the plate and spoon, feeding me soup like I am a child .

The warmth slides down into me, finally spreading some heat through my chest and my stomach.

His hand is now moving slowly through my hair while I eat.

I can barely taste anything with my nose this damn blocked, but it doesn’t matter.

It feels nice.

“You’re so sweet like this,” Gio whispers, smiling down at me.

I look up at him and laugh through my stuffed nose. “Are you kidding? I look like a zombie. I sound like one too.”

He doesn’t answer. He just keeps stroking my hair, looking at me like none of that matters to him.

Like he’s happy to sit here with me, even when I’m at my worst and I sneeze and cough like a grandpa.

“Ugh,” I mumble, rubbing my face. “I have twenty-three tests to grade…”

Gio’s eyes light up like I just offered him a Ducati.

“Rava, please let me do it. PLEASE. It’s been my dream since I was a kid. I used to get mad when teachers gave me bad grades and I’d wish just for one day I could be the teacher. I want to correct things and put dramatic checks on the right answers.”

He clasps his hands. “Please?”

I laugh, then have to reach for a tissue and blow my nose like a trumpet.

“Okay. Fine. I would love to make your lifelong dream come true.” I point, still sniffling.

“They’re in the black bag on the chair, green folder. Bring them.”

He runs, comes back holding the folder, and hops onto the bed beside me. “Time to judge.”

“You’re a grown ass man,” I say, grinning, “and you’re excited to judge third graders?”

He goes serious in an instant. “Yes.”

I stare at him for three seconds and then start laughing again, my stuffed nose making it worse.

“Alright,” I sniff, leaning into him while he opens the folder.

“Language test. Be nice.”

He clears his throat and puts on a courtroom voice. “Grammar & Punctuation, Unit 4. We proceed.”

“Gio,” I warn.

He flips the first paper. “Question one: circle the verb. Our boy Gab has circled ‘sandwich’.”

Gio taps it and gasps theatrically. “Gab must’ve been starving or asleep when you taught verbs.”

He scribbles a tiny note and then puts a big dramatic check next to the correct one.

I bite my lip to stop giggling. “Stop teasing my students.”

“I’m not teasing, I’m diagnosing,” he says, already into the next sheet.

“Okay, Marcela. She wrote ‘I go-ed to the park.’ Marcela, sweet angel, you invented a new tense, the go-ed tense.”

He draws a miniature crown above the correct answer.

“She was probably thinking about what snack she’d have after the park. Respect.”

I choke on a laugh. “Gio…”

He keeps grading.

“Homophones: there-their-they’re. Alright, Antonio. He wrote, ‘There dog lost there collar because there running.’”

Gio presses his lips together like he’s physically restraining himself.

“Okay, soldier. First ‘there’ is a location. But he used it for possession, ambition, and cardio.”

He circles each one, writing tiny reminders.

Then he adds a star. “Because at least he committed to a theme.”

I’m shaking with laughter now, which makes me cough, which makes him rub my back in little circles.

“Be kind,” I wheeze.

“I am the kindest tyrant,” he smirks and keeps going.

“Punctuation: ‘Let’s eat Grandma.’ NO COMMA. Rava, this child has murdered Grandma.”

He adds a comma, then draws a tiny heart. “We saved her. You’re welcome, family.”

I’m gone. Tears in my eyes. “You cannot write that on their paper!”

“I didn’t. I wrote ‘Commas save lives’.”

He flips another.

“Synonyms for happy. Teresa wrote ‘hungry.’ You know what? Honestly valid.”

“She was thinking about food too,” I say, wiping my eyes.

He turns the next test, gasp. “Capitalization! ‘i went to italy with mr rava.’”

He looks up at me, eyes softening at my name on the page in a kid’s bubble letters.

Then back down. “We capitalize I, Italy, and Rava, obviously.”

He fixes them, then adds:

Great sentence.

Excellent life choices.

I give him a look. “You’re flirting through my students’ work.”

“Consider it a cross-curricular activity.”

He accepts my weak punch to his arm and keeps grading.

Every two minutes he tucks the blanket tighter around my waist.

I reach for a handful of the tests.

He slaps the corner of the pile against his palm, out of reach.

“No.”

“Let me do some!”

“You,” he taps my forehead with the pen cap, “rest. Me, grade. Since I’m doing so well, let me continue a little longer.”

He says it with that extremely calm voice that somehow makes it so much funnier.

I blink at him through watery eyes. “Okay. Sorry. Continue.”

“Thank you,” he says.

He clears his throat, pulls another paper.

Stares at it.

“Hm, okay. This one is good. She’s got everything right. Clean commas, tidy quotation marks, apostrophes actually earning their salary.”

I smile, proudly.

“Oh, yes. She’s one of my best. She’s brilliant. Sometimes a little… high on her own supply. If a friend fumbles an answer, she’ll correct them like she’s on TV. I’m working on that with her.”

“Coach Rava era,” he murmurs.

Then he flips to the next paper and snorts.

His whole expression changes.

He stares at the name at the top, then looks at me. “Wait. Is this her?!”

I know who he means.

I nod, smiling, and tug the bracelet on my wrist so he can see. “Yeah. Emiliana!!!!”

“Christ. This girl. I love her. Even though she absolutely roasted my tattoo.”

He pulls up his sleeve, points at the dragon winding down his arm.

“This one. I swear. She told me it looks like someone scribbled on me.”

I burst out laughing, then lean forward and kiss the back of his hand.

“She was six years old, Gio. And if you want the truth, I think she liked it a lot. You made a huge impression on her. During art class, she puts tattoos on all her little stick figures now. Always . Every single time! “

He tips his head back and laughs. “Oh my God. That’s amazing. Yes. Teach them young. Build the army. By the time she’s eighteen, she’ll be running her own tattoo shop. Okay, Emiliana, let’s see what you did.”

He looks at it, very carefully.

“Write the plural of child. She wrote: childrens. With an S at the end. Oh well, we now have infinite children. Population crisis.”

I burst out laughing, coughing into my blanket.

“‘Correct the mistake: He have two dogs.’ She wrote: He have two good dogs.”

Gio leans back, poker-faced.

“She ignored the grammar and added moral judgement. It’s wrong… but also wholesome.”

I fall against his shoulder, laughing.

“‘Finish the sentence: I want…’ She wrote: a dragon with tattoos.”

Gio shows me the page, stone-faced.

“Do you understand? This is my legacy. The torch has been passed. I am the dragon with tattoos. She has chosen her hero.”

I can’t even speak, I’m laughing so hard.

“‘Make a question using what.’ She wrote: What is love.”

He stares at me for three seconds without blinking.

“This child is 8 years old and already asking the questions humanity has failed to answer for centuries. I am both proud and afraid.”

He gently sets the test on top of the pile.

“In conclusion, Emiliana is either going to cure cancer, open a tattoo parlor, or start a cult by the time she’s twenty. I’ll support all three.”

I laugh so hard I can’t stop coughing, and he just strokes my hair.

“Alright, we’ll continue later. Right now, you need love.”

I groan and pull the blanket tighter. “Nooo. Get out, you’re gonna catch this too.”

He just grins like an idiot and slides closer. “I don’t care. I’ll take anything that comes from you, even if it’s coughs, snot and fever.”

I smack his arm weakly, laughing through my sore throat. “Shut up, don’t say it like that!”

He laughs too. His hand comes up to my forehead, warm against my extra warm skin. “Still hot. Maybe you should take something for the fever?”

“I don’t need it,” I mumble. “I can handle it.”

“Okay, tough guy,” he says, smirking, but the way he tucks the blanket around me is stupidly gentle.

His phone buzzes. He groans, pulling away just enough to grab it.

He glances at the screen, sighs.

Lorenzo.

“What does this bitch want now…” He swipes and puts it on speaker.

“Gio?” Lorenzo’s voice crackles through.

Gio just grunts.

“Dude, when are we going to buy that—”

Click. Call ended.

I blink up at him, confused. “Why did you do that?” I can’t help laughing a little.

“Eh, forget it. He’s been bugging me nonstop about… going to pick out some part for his… bike.”

I smile, shaking my head. “Didn’t he buy a whole bunch of stuff during summer? He wants more?”

“Rava…” Gio smirks, brushing his hand through my hair. “Those kinds of purchases never end. You have no idea.”

I laugh again, and curl closer against him.

My chest feels calmer when I’m pressed to his warmth.

His fingers slide through my hair.

“Speaking of summer… I’ve got an idea.”

“Oooh, I’m all ears,” I say, sniffling and wiggling closer.

He grins. “I was thinking… Greece. You like Greece.”

I actually sit up. “Oh my God, yes. Are you kidding? Do you remember Marco and Noah’s photos? We have to go. I want to sit in stupidly fancy tavernas and say ‘efcharisto’ and ‘parakalo’ and ‘kalispera’ like I’m a local who knows things.”

We both burst out laughing, planning our summer holidays while outside the world is doing end-of-days thunder.

Another crack of lightning.

Gio immediately pulls me closer and tugs the blanket over both our heads, turning us into a tiny warm tent.

His nose brushes mine.

“Okay,” he says under our blanket fort. “It will be perfect. We can grab plastic cups and drink beer at sunset.”

I nuzzle closer. “And then we fuck on the hotel balcony,” I say, eyebrows up.

He laughs against my mouth. “And we kiss aggressively in front of anyone who glares.”

“Perfect,” I whisper while laughing.

“And the next morning we go for octopus with lemon after four hours in the sea. Salty, sunburned noses, you pretending you don’t need sunscreen like an idiot.”

My eyes are wide open. “I’ll wake you up by going down on you while the cicadas scream outside.” I add.

“And then I’ll pull you up and ride you slow with the sunrise hitting both of us.”

“We’ll dance at three in the morning at some random village festival, drunk on wine AND beer.”

“We’ll get dragged into one of those big group dances, and I’ll be terrible, but the Greeks will dance with us anyway.”

Thunder rolls again and we both flinch, then laugh at ourselves.

He adjusts the blanket so it’s snug around my shoulders and cups the back of my head, thumbs rubbing slow at my hairline.

“Greece it is,” I whisper and we kiss.

---

OOP HELLO GUYS SORRY FOR THE SMALL CHAPTER

Ummmm so, these next chapters are SUPER important and kinda hard to write, so please forgive me if it takes days to upload 😭

Cause it will. BUT I WILL MAKE IT WORTH THE WAIT RAAAAA we will all cry together.

that’s all :)

❤️ BYEBYE POOKIES I LOVE YOU ❤️

114) Ring Hunt

Gio’s POV

I’m putting my black jacket on.

Zip half way.

Collar up.

My hands are a bit shaky, which pisses me off, cause I don’t do shaky.

Belt. Tighten it, re-tighten it.

My hair is a mess, I try to fix it with my fingers, doesn’t help.

Fuck.

I stare at myself in the mirror and it just… hits me.

Kid me would be laughing his ass off right now.

The same asshole who used to mess up Rava’s little dates on purpose, throw shit at his window, pull pranks ’til he wanted to kill me.

And now I’m about to buy him a ring. Not just some chain or bracelet.

A fucking ring.

The kind that empties your bank account and changes your whole damn life.

I swallow, chew the inside of my cheek. Nervous isn’t supposed to be my thing. But here I am. Nervous as fuck.

He’s at school right now, teaching little monsters their ABCs, and I’m about to meet up with the crew like we’re secret agents on a mission.

Ring hunt.

Yesterday, I pulled my box of jewelry out and told him, “Help me sort this shit, babe.”

Knew exactly what would happen.

Rava being Rava, he started trying them all on, asking, “Does this suit me? What about this one? Do I look cool?”

I watched every move, memorized what hugged his hand right, what shined against his skin.

Didn’t say a word. Just filed it away.

This morning, I pocketed the ones that matched him perfect. That’s my guide.

Keys, helmet, phone. I grab them all in one sweep. Shove the keys in my pocket, strap the helmet under my arm. Deep breath, one last look in the mirror.

I’m good.

I pull up outside the jeweler’s, helmet under my arm, waiting for the others.

Two seconds later, Noah swings in with Marco in his car, blasting music like he’s announcing their arrival.

Classic Noah.

Then Lorenzo rolls up on his bike with Daisy, both of them dressed head to toe in black.

They get off like we’re in some photoshoot for Vogue Mafia Edition.

Black boots, sunglasses, leather jackets.

It’s almost funny.

If anyone walked by, they’d think we’re here to rob the place.

We look like we just left a funeral and decided to buy diamonds after.

Lorenzo pushes his shades up, gives us all a slow look up and down. “Damn,” he says, smirking. “We’re such a beautiful gang. We look absolutely terrifying.”

Daisy rolls her eyes. “We look terrifying. We’re not . Anyway, let’s focus. Inside, you’re all gonna behave. This is about my brother, and it has to be perfect.”

Noah raises his hand like he’s at school. “Hey, it’s important for us too, girl. He’s been my best friend for—shit… six years. Oh my god. SIX YEARS. We’re old old. Guys, we’re literally aging in real time.”

Marco pats his shoulder, grinning. “You’re not old, you’re still a twenty four year old baby. And hey, it’s important for me too. He brought me Noah.”

Lorenzo chuckles, jerks a thumb at Daisy. “And he brought me his sister.”

I shake my head, cutting them all off. “And he’s my future husband, so shut the hell up and let’s go inside before I lose my nerve.”

I push the door open.

The bell tinkles.

Noah slips in, Lorenzo’s already scanning the room with that picky rich-boy face.

The guy at the counter wipes his hands and clocks us.

His smile drops when he sees we’re all together.

Like he expected a couple buying a pendant, not a squad of idiots in leather.

We walk up.

I let the others do their dumb circling while I take point, because I’m the one carrying the stolen testing rings and the plan.

The man tilts his head, polite to the point of fear now.

“Can I help you?” he says.

Daisy grins and steps forward, dramatic as always. “We want to pick a ring!” she says, nails tapping the glass.

“For this one.” She points at me like I’m a trophy.

“For his boyfriend, actually.”

She leans in. “Who’s also my brother.”

The guy’s eyes go huge. Like, cartoon huge.

He blinks, and I swear I see judgment curl up in the corners of his mouth.

“Boyfriend…?” he says, and it’s not a question.

It’s the kind of tone that says he’s checking a box in his mind labeled Wrong.

“You mean, are you…a couple?”

The air gets sharp. My jaw tightens without thinking.

I lean in until his stupid little smile fades and look him dead in the eyes.

I press my teeth into the inside of my cheek so hard it burns.

“Yeah,” I say flat. “Boyfriend. Is there a problem, sir?”

He blinks like he’s been slapped.

For half a beat he stares at me like I’m speaking another language.

“No, I suppose… not with me , apparently.”

…

That son of a bitch.

Lorenzo muffles a grin. “Oop, someone’s getting fired today,” he whispers, all theatrical.

I don’t smile. I keep my face calm because calm is sharper than yelling.

“Did we bother you, sir? Did we harass you?” I ask directly.

The man clears his throat, tries to sound professional. “I don’t think so.”

My jaw hardens. “Then why do you behave like a fucking bitch?”

“Oh god…” Noah whispers under his breath.

“I just disagree with some life choices.”

…

Did this motherfucker just say that liking men is a choice?

Like, one morning I woke up and thought, “you know what, I’m in the mood to fuck a guy today, and tomorrow,” so I put on jeans and went hunting.

Other times I’m like, “maybe tonight I’ll let a stranger ride me silly.”

Christ.

Like it’s a bloody hobby.

“Oh, I collect vintage jackets and also, by the way, I occasionally fancy dudes.”

Bullshit.

If it was a choice, I’d have chosen easy. I’d have chosen fucking safe.

I’d have chosen not getting stared at for holding the wrong hand.

But no, I didn’t get to choose shit.

So yeah, hearing this little clerk act like my love is some lifestyle hobby makes me want to smash his glass cases and make him eat diamonds until he fucking chokes.

“Choices????” Marco snorts, laughing loud, because he can’t help it.

I turn my shoulder to the counter.

“Thanks for your time,” I say, polite enough that it stings worse than yelling.

We move. The bell tinkles behind us and we file out.

Noah glances back and says, “I don’t know what the hell just happened, but I’m glad we left. Cause what the fuck.”

He sounds relieved, like he escaped a fight he didn’t want.

“I’m not gonna buy something that important from a man like that. Come on, we go somewhere else.”

We walk into the second shop.

It’s way bigger and shiny, all polished glass and gold lights, screaming money.

Part of me wants to play it safe, say it’s for a “girl,” get it over with, walk out clean.

But fuck that. I’m not hiding him.

I step up to the counter, the guy’s maybe a year or two older than me.

Doesn’t look like the type who’s gonna bite, but I’m fucking ready if he does.

“We wanna see some rings. For my boyfriend.”

I’m braced, waiting for the flinch, the side eye, the bullshit.

Instead he smiles. “Of course! Come with me. We just got new ones in today. Though between us, I’d suggest mixing pieces, design something custom for him.”

The pressure in my chest cracks.

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

Relief hits hard, makes me feel stupid for doubting.

The guy pulls out tray after tray, velvet cases opening, rings catching every light in the room.

It’s too much shine, too many choices.

We are all leaning in like kids at a candy shop.

Marco is clutching his chest. “Wooooooowwwwww”.

The man laughs, lining up a few on the glass. “Does he prefer silver or gold?”

“Silver.” We all shoot back in unison, and a laugh escapes me.

Daisy waves her hand like it’s law. “He hates gold.”

Noah shrugs. “We don’t even know why. He just hates it.”

The guy chuckles, like he’s actually having fun with us.

“Alright, silver it is. Any idea what kind of style he likes?”

I’m chewing the inside of my cheek, staring at the spread. My head’s spinning but I know Rava.

“Well, I don’t want it too much, obviously, but at the same time it has to shine hard enough to blind every freak around him. If that makes sense.”

The guy actually laughs. I laugh too, can’t help it.

Then he clears his throat, all polite. “Okay… makes total sense. And what budget are we thinking about?”

“There’s no budget. I’ll drop whatever it takes.”

Lorenzo and Noah clutch each other. “Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!”

Daisy’s smiling and looks at Marco to make sure he heard that too. “Lucky bastard. My brother getting spoiled like this? Finally.”

The guy pulls out the heavy hitters now, bling so loud it could blind a plane mid-air.

Big ass rocks, way too much shine.

Looks like something a mafia wife would flex at Sunday brunch.

Nope. Not it.

I’m squinting, realizing real quick I’m not actually good at this stuff.

Rings, stones… Cuts? I know bikes, not geology.

Daisy points at one, all proud. “This one!”

I shake my head. “Too simple. He deserves more than that.”

Marco tilts his head. “Hmmm… I could actually see Rava with something like this.”

Noah snaps right after. “Yeah, but not red in the middle. Needs something calmer.”

I try to notice every detail, size, shine, cut, all of it.

It’s gotta be perfect. Not just good. Perfect.

My finger lands on one. “This stone, what is it?”

The guy lights up. “Ah, that’s alexandrite. One of my favorites to look at. See, under light it shifts from green to purple! Such a unique stone. Extremely rare, too.”

And fuck, it clicks. That green, it’s his eyes. Exactly.

And the flip to purple? That’s Rava too. Sweetest little angel one second, horny freak the next.

All it takes is a shadow. Literally.

Yep, that’s him.

I’m locked in now, leaning over like a psycho.

Noah squints at me. “Pretty sure I see smoke coming out of your head, bro.”

“Shhhhhh,” I wave him off. “Don’t talk. I’m building a masterpiece here.”

My eyes land on another stone, bright white, and sharp. “This one is diamond, right?”

The guy nods.

I picture it instantly. Everything lines up.

I turn to him, sure. “Alright, that’s it. I want alexandrite right in the middle. Then I want the silver band wrapping it in vintage style, something with actual character, not that boring polished crap. And around it, I want it flooded, tiny diamonds all over.”

I finish, smiling at my own vision.

Noah bursts out laughing. “Bro, who the fuck are you, Elon Musk’s cousin? Tiny diamonds all over?”

Lorenzo’s gone, bent over the glass, howling.

The guy stares at me awkward for a sec, then lets out a laugh too.

I look at them, dead serious. “God forbid a man wants to spend money on his future husband.”

Daisy’s practically melting on the spot. “Rava is so lucky…”

Lorenzo snaps his head at her, pretending to be offended. “Excuse me? You say that like I’m broke!” He’s laughing the whole time.

The guy clears his throat, smiling. “Alright, jokes aside. I’ll be straight with you, this is gonna cost you an arm and a leg, man. Are you okay with that?”

I don’t even blink. “Absolutely.”

“Okay then,” he nods, sliding another ring closer.

“So, center stone… you’re thinking something like this?”

I take one look and shake my head. “Mm, nah. Too feminine. I’d rather it be more like… this one.”

I tap another tray, firmer, more solid design.

Now we’re talking.

The guy looks at the screen next to him, he starts typing fast.

“Gimme a sec, I’ll show you what it’ll look like.”

We all crowd in, shoulder to shoulder.

I’m chewing my lip, acting like I’m cool, but my heart’s beating out of my chest.

There it is. The screen flashes and holy shit.

It’s perfect.

It knocks the breath out of me.

That’s it. That’s the ring. Our ring. This is real. This is actually fucking real.

It punches me straight in the gut.

I’m not a kid anymore. I’m not on my dad’s shoulders, arms spread like an airplane, screaming that I was gonna save the world.

That kid’s gone. Now I’m standing here about to promise my whole damn life to someone.

About to get married.

And my dad’s not here to see it. He never will be.

That thought cracks something open in me, and it hurts like hell.

But it doesn’t take away the pride.

It’s just that, looking at that ring… I wanted him here.

Even if he’d just stand there quiet, not say shit, maybe boo at how extra we are, still. I wanted him.

Maybe he would’ve laughed and called me an idiot for spending so much on a rock.

Maybe he’d tell me to be careful with my heart.

But I’d do anything just to have him see me now.

To know I didn’t drown. To know I loved somebody enough to stay.

My eyes sting. A tear slips before I can stop it. I laugh under my breath, trying to play it off, but I know they see it.

And then they’re all over me.

Marco pulls me in like he’s a priest blessing a groom. “You have my blessing. Go on man, make it real.”

Lorenzo’s patting my head. “Bag the sexy teacher, bro. Don’t waste time.”

Daisy nudges me hard, eyes all glassy. “He’s gonna love it, Gio. He’s gonna lose his mind when he sees it. And most importantly, when he sees YOU holding it.”

Noah’s wiping his face, laughing through it. “Fuck’s sake, I’m gonna cry. Nope, too late, I am crying.”

They’re piling on me.

And I can’t wait to slide that ring on Rava’s hand.

---

Guys… I’m afraid I cooked 😔🤚 (after watching 9285 videos about rings)

Also I wanted it to be a surprise, but I suck at that, so I’m just letting you know that Gio will meet Emiliana on the next chapter BAHAHAHAHAHAHHA

Also I can’t wait to write about the trip to Greece.

THATS ALL FOR NOW BYE BYE POOKIES I LOVE YOU❤️

115) Say You’re Sorry

Rava’s POV

The sky is super dark. It’s raining like crazy outside. Pouring nonstop.

The kids are hunched over their math notebooks and I’m walking between tables.

“Mr. Rava, how long is Teo going to sit by you?”

I look at Teo, sitting right next to my desk in the spare chair.

Poor kid is still clutching his pencil tight, but at least he’s writing now.

It took us half an hour earlier to calm him down…

Lots of talk about how thunder is just noise, how his puppy at home is safe and sleeping, how nothing is going to hurt him here.

I smile. “He’ll sit here for as long as he wants. That’s how it works in our class.”

A laugh slips out from Ricco’s table.

I stop and turn my head. “Hey,” I say gently but firm, “that’s not funny. We don’t tease anyone for being scared.”

I raise my eyebrows at him. “Think back to last week. When the little bug flew into the classroom and you jumped out of your chair? And the girls laughed?”

Ricco frowns, remembering. “Yeah…”

“Did you like how that felt?”

He shakes his head. “No.”

“Exactly. Fear feels big inside, even if it looks small on the outside. So we practice kindness. Deal?”

“Deal. Sorry, Teo,” Ricco says.

Teo gives a tiny nod, still looking at his notebook.

Another roll of thunder shakes the windows.

A couple kids glance up, but I keep my voice calm.

“That’s thunder saying hi from far away. And by the way, Teo’s puppy? Still fine. His mom texted me earlier. Puppy’s asleep on the couch.”

That gets a few giggles. Teo’s mouth finally curves up just a little.

We go back to math. I write the last problem on the board: 24 chocolate eggs ÷ 6 groups = ?

Before I can call on someone, Emiliana raises her hand. “Mr. Rava, when do we get to sit on the rug in a circle and eat our Easter chocolate eggs?”

I make a thinking face. “Hmm… after Ricco solves this math problem for us, we’ll head to the rug. Enough learning for today.”

Ricco straightens up a bit. “Um… six times four is twenty-four. So it’s four eggs for each group.”

“Exactly,” I say. “Good work. And thanks for explaining your thinking.”

The kids cheer quietly because they know what’s next.

“Alright, close your notebooks, put away your pencils. Let’s make our circle!”

Chairs scrape, the storm bangs outside.

I grab the basket of colorful foil wrapped eggs and sit down on the rug with them.

“Remember our sharing rules,” I remind them.

Hands go up.

“One at a time.”

“Don’t take more than you’ll eat!”

“No teasing if someone saves theirs.”

“Perfect,” I say. I hand the basket to Emiliana to start.

Teo scoots down to the rug beside me.

Another thunderclap rolls through and he presses a little closer.

I lean down and whisper to him, “Puppy’s still snoring.”

This time he actually smiles.

All the kids have their chocolate eggs now, sitting in the circle.

I check the clock.

“Okay,” I say, clapping softly, “we’ve got seventeen minutes before we head home. Perfect. We have time to talk and play.”

Right beside me, Marcela is twirling her hair around her finger.

She glances at my hand resting on my knee.

“Mr. Rava… who’s Gio?”

…

Fuck.

The school’s been very clear.

No personal talk, no partners, no names.

Too many parents were complaining in the past.

I swallow hard, but my smile stays soft. “He’s… a very important person to me. Someone special. I hope you find someone that important in your life too, Marcela.”

She blinks at me, then leans closer. “Is he by any chance, the man on your phone screen?”

…

Oops.

My eyes widen. “What?”

“Sorry!” she blurts, giggling. “I just saw it once, when you called me to your desk. He was on the screen. He’s handsome! He looks a little like my cousin, that’s why I remembered!”

A big laugh escapes me.

I rub my forehead. “Yes, Marcela. That’s him. You think he’s handsome?! I’ll tell him you said that.”

She bursts out laughing.

Across the circle, another girl chomps into her egg and speaks with her mouth full. “Does he have a pet?”

“Two,” I answer. “He has two pets.”

That gets some “oooh”s.

Then one of the boys pipes up. “My mom has me as her phone picture.”

I grin, pointing at him. “That’s a good thing. Means you’re her favorite person.”

The whole room lights up white, and then CRACK.

The thunder makes the windows shake.

Half the class screams. Teo jumps right onto me.

“Okay, okay, calm down guys, remember. When we hear thunder, we count to five together. If we get to five and there’s no second boom, that means it’s far away and we are safe. Ready?”

I hold up my fingers. “One… two… three… four… five.”

No second boom. A few shoulders drop.

“Good,” I say. “Again if we need it.”

Teo is basically a koala. I shift so he can sit more comfortably on my knee.

“You’re okay,” I whisper, smiling. “This spot is always open when you need it.”

He nods against my shoulder.

I love this job. I love every messy second of it.

But then I hear his voice in my head.

Charles.

My dad.

Clear as if he’s right here.

“You’re too soft. Too shy. You can’t even speak up for yourself, how will you ever control a classroom?”

“You’ll embarrass yourself in front of kids.”

“You think teaching is some dream job? You’ll quit after the first hard week.”

“I feel sorry for the students who get stuck with you.”

He used to say it like a joke but it wasn’t funny.

It cut deep.

And I believed him for sometimes.

I thought maybe he was right, that I wasn’t strong enough, not smart enough, not tough enough.

And now I’m here.

Sitting in the middle of twenty-four kids who run to me when they’re scared, who believe me when I say they’re safe, who trust me to explain math and life and everything in between.

I’m here, and I didn’t quit.

I wish he could see this.

I wish he could see that I proved him wrong.

But I can’t share any of it with him.

Our relationship isn’t built for joy.

He’ll never ask how my classroom is, never care that I stayed when he thought I’d walk away.

And it breaks me. Because I can’t show him that I am good at this.

That I was always meant for this.

So I just sit here in the chaos, smiling for my students, while inside I’m aching.

Because I made it. I’m a teacher.

I blink fast, because my eyes are stinging.

I tell myself it’s just the storm light, the noise.

But it’s not. It’s me. It’s everything inside me.

“Mr. Rava?”

It’s Emiliana. She’s right behind me, her voice tiny.

“Are you… crying because you miss Gio?”

I choke on a laugh, wipe quick at the corner of my eye. “What?”

She tilts her head, serious as ever. “You are, huh?”

I laugh so hard I actually have to cover my face with my hand.

“Oh my god, Emiliana…” I crouch down so we’re eye level.

My voice drops to a whisper. “The truth is… yeah. I do miss him a little.”

Her mouth curls into a grin, and then she laughs too.

Just the two of us, laughing at nothing and everything, like we’re sharing the biggest secret.

Because we are. She’s the only one who knows. The only one who’s seen.

And it feels good for once not to hide.

We’re under the awning by the school gate, parents pulling up, kids rushing into hugs.

I’m checking names off, making sure everyone’s safe.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Rava!” Emiliana chirps at my side.

“Good afternoon, sweetheart,” I answer softly.

I glance around, scanning the street.

Gio said he’d come today.

My chest already feels lighter just thinking about it.

Then BOOM.

The sudden growl of an engine right behind me.

I actually flinch.

I spin around, and there is Gio.

Helmet dangling from one hand, grin stretched across his face.

He wanted to scare me.

I can’t help it… I light up.

Smile so big it probably looks ridiculous.

He climbs off the bike slowly.

And I know, he knows too, that he can’t kiss me here, not with all the parents watching.

That makes his grin sharper.

“Hey, teacher,” he teases.

I shake my head while smiling. “Hey, terrorist.”

He steps closer, tilts his head. “You smell like chocolate,” he murmurs.

I laugh under my breath. “Yeah. Melted some on my shirt earlier.”

His mouth brushes close to my ear. “Would they fire you if I kissed you right now?”

I have to laugh, covering my mouth like it’ll hide how happy I am. “Probably. Don’t. Patience , Gio.”

And then, tap tap.

A tiny finger on his arm.

We both turn.

…

Emiliana is staring up at him like she just met a superhero.

Her smile is so wide it takes up her whole face.

Gio blinks, then laughs, hand on his chest like he’s pretending to be shocked.

He throws his hands up. “No way. No freaking way. If it isn’t my idol!”

Before I can blink he scoops her right up.

She squeals, arms wrapping tight around his neck, and Gio spins her in a slow little circle.

I’m shocked. I’ve never seen her laugh like that. Not in months. Not that big.

“Christ,” Gio says, laughing into her hair. “Look at you! You’ve doubled in size since the last time I saw you!”

She tips her head back, eyes sparkling. “And you look the same, old man!”

Gio slaps a hand over his heart like she just stabbed him. “Old man? Oh, that hurts. That really hurts.”

I can’t stop staring. My chest feels like it’s going to crack open.

I manage to speak. “Emiliana, do your parents know you’re here or are they going to start worrying?”

She shrugs. “My friend’s dad picked me up! The one I told you helps me with math!”

I glance up. Sure enough, a man about thirty lifts a hand in greeting from near the gate.

I smile back, relieved.

But Emiliana’s already twisting back to Gio, crossing her little arms. “Where’s your bracelet?”

Gio grins like she just called him out in court.

He peels off his riding glove and flashes his wrist at her, the bracelet shining there. “Right here. Still got it.”

Her mouth drops open, then she claps both hands over it, giggling so hard her shoulders shake.

Then her eyes catch the bike.

She points like it’s some monster. “All of THAT is yours??”

Gio lifts his chin, proud. “Of course. Want a picture on it?”

Her whole face lights up. “Can I? Really??”

He chuckles, setting her down, then immediately lifting her back up, carefully. “Up you go.”

He places her gently on the seat.

She looks impossibly tiny up there, her feet nowhere near the ground.

She grabs the handlebars like she’s about to take off.

“Take a picture of me!” she demands.

Gio laughs so hard he almost drops his phone. “Whatever the pretty lady says!”

He snaps a photo.

Emiliana throws her head back, striking the most dramatic pose like she owns the bike.

Gio turns his head, eyebrow cocked at me. “Teach them young,” he says smirking.

I laugh, even as my stomach flips.

Because watching him like this, all soft and patient and careful, it’s killing me in the best way.

After a few minutes of play, he lifts her down with the same care he put her up.

“Alright, princess. Time to head back. Your family’s waiting.”

But she doesn’t move.

She stares right up at him, serious now.

“Gio… will you and Mr. Rava come to my house for dinner one day?”

Gio blinks, caught off guard. “Your parents want that, or just you?”

“They do!” Emiliana bounces on her toes.

“The picture of us building the sandcastle is still on our fridge! My mother is not gonna believe me when I say I found you!”

Then she just throws her arms around his waist.

Gio laughs, wrapping her up in his arms.

Christ, I love him so much I want to smash my head against the wall and start screaming.

“Alright then. Next time your mom makes pasta soufflé, you call Mr. Rava here and we’ll show up before she even sets the table.”

Emiliana lights up, claps her hands, and spins. “Yay! You’ll meet my dog too! And I’ll draw you new tattoos. You need them.”

Gio leans down, smiling. “Absolutely. You make me one, and I’ll honor you by getting it inked for real.”

She slaps both hands over her mouth with huge eyes, staring up at him.

I laugh too, rubbing a hand down my face.

She giggles, throws us a wave, and skips off down the street.

Gio watches her go. “Man,” he mutters, shaking his head with a half-smile, “I fucking love that little one.”

“Yeah… me too… Come on, let’s head home. Maybe I’ll manage to hang the laundry before it starts pouring chairs again.”

He laughs, throws an arm around my shoulders, and pulls me close. “You and your damn laundry, Weston. You’re lucky you’re cute.”

He presses the helmet into my hands without saying anything.

I slip it on, and climb on behind him.

• 2 Hours Later *

I’m stacking plates when I can’t hold it in anymore, laughter bubbling up just from remembering.

“You know what happened yesterday?” I start, already shaking my head.

“We had the parent meeting, right? And there’s this one dad, I SWEAR , every single time he talks to me, it’s about how he’s divorced and has so much free time.” I roll my eyes, waving a hand for emphasis.

“But listen to this, yesterday, the guy brings me flowers. Actual FLOWERS. After class. Because apparently, I’m doing an ‘extraordinary job.’”

I set the plate down a little too hard and throw my hands up.

“And then, get this , he looks me dead in the eye and says, ‘How do you even have time to read so much and still look this good?’”

I stop, staring at Gio with wide eyes, half laughing, half horrified. “Like… what the hell was that?!”

I freeze with a plate still in my hand.

His palms are flat against the table like he’s holding himself back from tearing the whole kitchen apart.

That look.

“Wait, hold on,” I say, eyebrows shooting up.

“Are you mad right now?”

“No.” His voice is flat.

“Yeah, you are.” I set the plate down, staring at him hard.

“Don’t even try that with me. You act like people don’t throw themselves at you every time we walk into a bar or even a fucking grocery store. I don’t remember a single time we’ve gone out where someone hasn’t assumed we’re just ‘friends’ and then asked for your number.”

He doesn’t flinch. “This is different.”

My laugh is hollow and frustrated. “How the hell is it different, Gio?!”

His eyes cut into me. “Because when it happens to me, I can shut it down however the fuck I want, and then I never have to see their face again. You?”

He points a finger at me, voice biting. “You’re stuck with that asshole at every meeting, sitting there whispering his sad divorced-man bullshit in your ear.”

I exhale hard, pinch the bridge of my nose, fighting the heat building in my chest.

“I told him, indirectly of course, that I’m in a relationship. Believe me, there’s no way he didn’t catch it.”

Gio tilts his head. “Did he look like he caught it?”

Silence. My jaw tightens. I don’t answer.

“Thought so,” he mutters, turning back to the counter, and it feels like the air’s been ripped out of the room.

I can’t believe this.

I actually can’t fucking believe this, he’s really mad right now?

Over that ?!

Over something I didn’t even do? How the hell is that my fault?

He turns, heading for the hallway like he’s done with me.

My pulse spikes. No. No fucking way.

I move, fast, catching up with him.

“No. No, you don’t just walk away. We were talking.” I grab his shoulder, spin him back to face me, because I need those eyes on mine.

He looks down at me, head dipped just enough to close the space.

His voice drops. “Leave me alone, Rava.”

It hits me in the gut. My fists clench at my sides. For half a second, I swear I could deck him.

But I don’t. I let go. My hand slips from his shoulder.

He turns and walks into the bedroom, leaving me in the doorway like an idiot.

“Fine!” I snap. “You know what else he said? He said he wished everyone was like me!”

“Fuck you, Rava.”

I storm into the room, straight to the closet.

He’s already there, rifling through hangers.

Fine. Two can play. I walk right up, shoulder-check him “by accident,” reach for the same damn shelf.

He doesn’t even flinch. Just glances at me, then keeps digging.

Like I’m not even there.

It pisses me off more. I step right in front of him, pretend I’m looking for something exactly where he’s looking.

“Move,” he mutters, shoving me to the side with one arm.

I shove back, just enough to look like another accident.

That’s when he snaps. He grabs me, fast, and slams me against the wall.

My back hits hard.

“Let me go,” I say with a flat voice.

“You’re in my fucking way,” he spits back.

“Not my fault my clothes are right there.”

“You can change that whenever the fuck you want.”

“Gladly, asshole.”

I push off the wall, start to walk, but his arm shoots out, blocks me.

I freeze. This wasn’t in the script. I glare at him.

For a split second he looks… off.

“Sorry. Go.” He lowers his hand.

I roll my eyes, step forward.

But he immediately yanks me back.

Spins me around so fast I don’t even know how we end up like this, and his mouth crashes against mine.

For a second, my mouth betrays me.

I’m melting into his.

And just as fast, I break away.

I’m stunned, staring at him like my brain’s been knocked clean out of me.

Before I can get a single word out, he’s on me again.

I swear this isn’t kissing, this is him fucking eating me alive.

I’m so fucking angry. I am.

He slams me back against the wall so hard it knocks the air out of my chest, and before I can even spit out a curse his hand is on my jaw, forcing my head up.

My jaw is aching under his grip, but fuck if it doesn’t light me up.

He tilts my face where he wants it, drags me into him like I don’t get a choice.

His tongue shoves into my mouth like he’s staking claim.

Every movement is rage dressed up as desire.

His mouth devours, mine fights back.

His grip on my jaw tightens and I moan into his mouth, absolutely hating that it sounds needy.

My head’s screaming fuck you but my mouth is wide open for his tongue.

I yank his hair so hard he moans into my mouth too.

I scratch his neck just to leave lines he’ll feel tomorrow.

He doesn’t scare me, he feeds me.

What the fuck is wrong with me? Everything about him pisses me off because everything about him is sexy.

Why does every threat he makes sound like foreplay?

Even the way he threatens me, like his hands could actually choke the life out of me.

And what? That’s supposed to scare me? No. Say less. Try it. It sounds hot.

He grabs my waist and drags me in.

Oh, he’s hard hard.

My lips curl against his because I can’t hide it, can’t stop the grin that says you’re gone too, admit it.

His lips. Jesus Christ, his lips.

The shape of them is criminal. I can’t even hold on to my anger because the second I look at them, I just want more.

I shove him back with my palms on his chest, gasping like I need oxygen before I black out.

Gio leans right back in, instinctively, his lips are parted like he can’t stop himself.

I turn my head. He almost crashes into my cheek instead.

“Say you’re sorry.”

“Sorry,” he spits it out fast, too fast, like it costs him nothing.

I narrow my eyes.

“Do you even know what you’re apologizing for? Or are you just saying it so I’ll shut up?”

He clears his throat, jaw tight. “For acting like an animal.”

I laugh once, still trying to catch my breath.

“Good. Because it’s ridiculous to pretend you’re scared of losing me after everything we’ve been through.”

He’s pacing.

“I’m not scared he’s gonna win you over. I’m pissed. Really pissed. The fucking audacity of this guy. How brain-dead do you have to be to hit on your kid’s teacher? And keep going after being told you’re taken? Nah. Watch me show up at the next parent meeting. Let him try it again. I’ll be his worst nightmare. I’ll carve my full fucking name into his chest so it’s the first thing he sees when he wakes up. And I’ll take pictures. Me laughing, him crying.”

That tone…

Violent, possessive, filthy…

It sends a shiver straight through me. My lips curve, and I don’t even fight it.

I’m smiling. He’s out here sounding like the unhinged lead in a true crime doc, and all I can think is… yeah, I might actually be dating a psychopath.

Do I mind? …Not really.

My hand fists his shirt, dragging him down.

“God, you sound so hot when you talk like that,” I murmur, before smashing my mouth back on his.

This time it’s me who kisses first, because fuck, I want that anger all over me again.

---

BOOOOOO hello guys 😼

Don’t have anything to say so I will just share that I love rice.

Give me rice.

That’s it 😍

BYE BYE GUYS I LOVE YOU ❤️❤️❤️❤️

116) Saints Preserve Us

Rava’s POV

This can’t be real.

I’m so fucking horny it hurts.

Just looking at him makes me wanna tear him apart.

I wanna dump every bit of frustration I’ve got straight onto Gio’s dick.

It’s sick how I can’t get tired of this man, no matter how much I have him, it’s never, never enough.

He walks around so damn casual, threatening anyone who even thinks about flirting with me, and I’ve gotta sit here pretending that doesn’t make me wanna ride the shit out of him right then and there.

I want to torture him today. Not love him soft, not kiss him gentle, absolutely not.

I want to torture Gio, make him literally beg for every second.

I grab his collar again, slam my mouth on his.

My glasses are fogging instantly. I yank him closer.

He shoves me back into the wall, all strength and control, but no, not tonight.

Not fucking tonight.

I spin him around, slam him against it, and I kiss him again.

I’m lit up, completely gone, and all I can think is how bad I want to use him for me.

I smile against his mouth, because I know what I’m planning.

“What is it?” he asks like he actually wants an answer.

I don’t give him one.

I don’t need words, just thoughts about how I’ll make him suffer under me.

How I’ll bounce on his dick just to drain him, how I’ll drag every moan out of him until his throat is raw, how I’ll take and take and take until he’s empty and I’m satisfied.

That’s what’s running through my head.

My sick little plan.

Because today, he’s mine to fuck with. Mine to use. Mine to torture for my own pleasure.

My hands grab what I need, and I shove Gio straight into the living room. He laughs.

“I can’t tell if you’re pissed as hell or just horny as fuck.”

I bite his lip, smile against it. “Both.”

Then he drops his voice soft. “Please. You’re not actually mad.”

His fingers push my hair back, while his mouth keeps brushing mine.

He’s trying to calm me, but it just makes me want to tear into him more.

I kiss him again, deeper this time.

“In a minute it’s gonna be you—”

Another kiss.

“—who’s angry. Begging.”

Another kiss.

“Not me.”

He shoves back playfully. “Fuck you, Rava.”

I laugh right in his mouth, press my forehead to his. “That’s the plan, baby.”

I shove Gio onto the couch with the same force I’d use if we were actually fighting.

That’s the deal we made: when we’re arguing over dumb shit, the answer is always sex.

He hits the cushions, I climb over him in one move, pinning him down like I’m not giving him a chance to breathe.

I yank his shirt up, rip it off, throw it to the floor without a second thought.

His hands fly straight to my ass, squeezing hard, pulling me closer.

My fingers tangle in his hair, pulling way too hard, maybe too much, but I don’t care.

He can take it. It’s me.

His lips hit my throat, leaving sloppy kisses that make my head fall back.

The sound that rips out of me is pure desperation.

My eyes flick sideways. On the table.

Cookies, a little jar of chocolate spread. I smirk against his mouth, already plotting.

I pull his belt free.

Gio’s still smirking like he thinks this is a joke, like he’s already won.

I hold the belt in my hand. Then I take his wrists, lift them over his head, and cross them against the railing above the couch.

I move slowly, threading the belt around, working on it.

He breaks the kiss, eyes locked on mine and his voice is now dripping with arrogance. “You think you can actually pull this off?”

I grin, lips brushing his cold lip ring. “You think I can’t do it, you idiot?”

He chuckles, “Yeah,” like it’s funny.

So I yank the belt tight. Hard. His smile dies instantly.

His eyes widen, like he didn’t expect me to really do it.

Thank God I went to that stupid summer camp.

He tugs once, but can’t move.

His whole chest rises sharp against mine. Not a game anymore.

I press my mouth to his ear. “You’re not going anywhere.”

The belt’s biting into his wrists and all I can do is stare.

His hands locked tight above his head, veins pushing up, knuckles straining.

Fuck, even his goddamn fingers look good tied up like that.

My eyes drag down to his arms…

Huge, cut biceps, flexing every time he pulls.

He looks like a fucking weapon chained down, and it makes me want to ruin him even more.

His tattoos look perfect, spread over his skin like art only I get to touch and lick.

He looks unreal. He looks like a fucking sex toy I get to play with however I want.

I’m sitting on top of him, staring down.

The fact he’s stuck and helpless, makes it even better.

I wanna ride him until he’s drenched.

“Untie me.”

I lace his arms tighter. I lean close, lips brushing his ear.

“No way. I like you like this.”

He scoffs, cocky even now. “Useless?”

I smirk, grinding down just to feel him strain.

“You think you’re useless like this? Watch me use every inch of you. You’ll see how far from useless you are when I’m done.”

I grab a cookie, smear way too much chocolate on it, thick and dripping.

Hold it right above him. His eyes follow it, suspicious.

Then I let my wrist tilt.

All that chocolate slides straight down onto his neck, sticky, wet, running over his skin.

He tilts his head up, eyes burning holes into me.

“Oops,” I say, fake-innocent, grinning.

“Guess I have to clean that up.”

I lean down slow, and drag my tongue from the base of his neck up, all the way to his jaw.

“Fuck you, Rava.”

I lick him again, slower this time. “Pretty words, please.” I whisper against his skin.

Chocolate drips lower, right onto his chest, sliding between his pecs.

I dive in, lapping it up like a starving dog. His body arches under me.

“If you don’t untie me I’ll—”

“Yeah? What’ll you do?”

He doesn’t answer. Just stares straight through me.

I press closer, lick another streak off him.

“You can’t do a damn thing,” I mutter against his chest.

The more he pulls at the belt, the harder I smile.

He hates not being in control. Good. That’s the whole point.

I slide down slow, until I’m standing between his legs. I tug his pants off.

Those tattoos twisting around his biceps and down his chest will make me kill myself.

I grab those massive thighs, both hands full, and I’m squeezing hard.

They’re thick, strong as fuck, and it just makes me want to bury my face between them.

He’s so fucking hot like this I could lose my mind.

“Good luck stopping me with your hands tied over your head, Gio.”

I get up, kiss him hard on the mouth just to taste him once before I go down.

Then I’m on my knees, spitting right on his dick, watching it drip down while he smirks like the arrogant bastard he is.

“Such a whore,” he mutters.

“Thank you,” I shoot back. “I do try.”

I wrap my mouth around him, but I don’t rush it.

I keep it slow, working only the head, dragging my tongue around that spot I know makes him twitch.

He groans and his head is tipping back, hips are starting to arch, his abs flexing like he’s losing it.

That’s all I want, him falling apart while I control the pace.

I suck him like it’s my last meal, swallowing every sound he gives me, loving how he can’t hold still.

Then suddenly without warning, he thrusts his hips up, driving himself deeper down my throat.

I choke around him, pulling back just enough to glare up at him.

He just stares at me, and his mouth is curling into a lazy grin.

“Sorry,” he says. “Accident.”

Accident, my ass. He knows exactly what he’s doing. And fuck, it makes me harder.

I sink down on his dick again, spit coating him, swallowing him whole. He moans, his hips are bucking up, but I slam his thighs apart, forcing them wide.

He’s helpless and I’m eating him alive.

I go harder and faster, fucking my own throat on him, one hand stroking his base while the other drags across his abs.

His chest rises and falls too quick, his head thrown back like he can’t handle it.

I stare up at him while I choke on him.

I don’t stop. I want him to know exactly how it feels when I decide the pace.

His face twists, that perfect mask of control cracking apart.

He’s about to cum, I can see it in the way his mouth falls open, in the way his abs tighten under my hand.

So I pull off. Just stop.

He glares down at me. “What the fuck is your problem?”

I climb up his body again, straddling his hips and pressing him down into the couch with my weight.

My hand grabs his jaw hard, forcing his eyes on me.

I smirk, lips brushing his ear. “You talk too much,” I whisper.

I strip slow, pulling my shirt over my head and tossing it on the floor next to his.

My pants follow.

I sit on his hips, both of us naked, and the look on his face nearly makes me laugh.

“This is evil,” Gio mutters.

I smirk down at him, grinding once, just to hear him groan. “You haven’t seen shit yet.”

I reach for the lube without moving off him and coat my fingers.

I don’t prep him . I prep myself.

Absolutely teasing him, sinking my fingers inside me while he watches every second of it.

His eyes burn holes through me. I can see how much he hates and loves this at the same time.

How much it kills him that I’m doing his job for him, that I’m working myself open right in front of him, and all he can do is watch with his wrists tied above his head.

Good. I want him to see. I want him to feel powerless while I make myself ready for him.

I moan low as I stretch myself, my head tipping back for a second before I lock eyes with him again.

I don’t look away, not even once. He deserves to see the whole thing.

I wipe my fingers with a tissue, then grab his waist for balance, lining myself up.

He’s staring like he’s possessed.

I grab his dick myself since he can’t do shit, line it up, and sink down slow.

Inch by inch.

It burns in the best way, and I force myself to take it.

More. Deeper.

Then I hit bottom.

I’m fully seated, his dick is now buried to the hilt, stuffing me full until my stomach feels heavy with it.

Gio squeezes his eyes shut.

He curses under his breath. His wrists are yanking against the belt tied above his head.

He’s staring down at where our bodies meet, then back up at me, like he can’t believe I took him that deep.

I just sit there, adjusting, letting the full weight of it sink in.

“Fuck…” he groans with a broken voice. “Move.”

I look down at him, tightening the belt again just to remind him who’s in control.

“I’ll move,” I say, hips grinding once.

“But not because you said so. I’ll do it because I fucking want to.”

Then I lift myself up, dragging him out of me until I’m almost empty, then slam back down, hard enough to make the couch rattle.

His head snaps back, a guttural sound ripping out of him, and it feeds me.

I ride him rough, fucking myself on his dick like I’ve been starving for it, never breaking eye contact, loving how helpless he looks with his wrists tied above his head.

The couch is fucking begging for mercy.

Every time I slam down, the frame cracks loud and the cushions are squealing under us as I grind and bounce on him.

The whole thing shakes like it can’t handle how hard I’m riding him.

My ass slaps down on him, over and over loudly.

Each bounce throws the noise higher, a soundtrack of pure sex.

My hands claw at his shoulders for balance, using him like a seat made for me to ride until the couch splits in two.

Then I change it up, go slower, roll my hips deep, grind until he’s desperate for more.

I brush his hair back, push it off his face, wipe the sweat from his forehead with my thumb like he’s mine to take care of and destroy at the same time.

He leans forward for a kiss, trying to steal it, but I pull back with a grin, making him chase me.

I’m rolling my hips so his dick drags against every spot inside me, deep enough to make me shiver but never giving him the pace he’s dying for.

My hand clamps around his jaw, my fingers are digging into his cheeks, forcing his mouth open under mine.

We’re moaning straight into each other’s throats, both of us choking on it, fighting for control even while I’m the one on top.

That’s when I see it, his face twists, his eyes squeeze shut, his mouth drops open, and I know he’s right there, about to lose it.

So I stop. Completely.

Stay still with his dick buried inside me, clenching around him but not moving an inch.

“You son of a bitch!” he groans, tugging at the belt.

I grab his face harder, make him look at me.

“If I untie you,” I say, lips brushing his, “you promise me you’ll stop acting like a jealous fucking animal?”

“No.”

I yank the belt tighter. He still doesn’t back down. I smirk, grinding just once.

“Fuck—okay, okay, I promise!” he spits, desperate now.

“Just untie me.”

I laugh against his mouth.

I know he’s lying. He’s gonna snap the second I let him loose.

He’s gonna flip me, fuck me stupid, ruin me until I can’t even think straight.

But I want it.

So I untie him.

He doesn’t wait, he fucking launches at me.

He grabs me like I’m trash, shoves me back so hard my spine smacks the couch. His hands are everywhere.

He fists my hair, yanks it back so rough I almost scream, then crashes his mouth on mine.

“You’re a fucking bastard,” he snarls against my mouth.

He throws me like I’m weightless. My knees slam into the cushion, my chest crushed against the back of the couch.

Before I can even breathe, he’s lined up.

He slams into me in one brutal thrust with zero patience.

I choke on a moan. It’s exactly what I wanted when I set him off.

His hand is on my face, covering my mouth, shoving me down so my moans turn muffled and filthy.

He slams me flat on my back, my head hitting the arm of the couch, his shadow over me like he owns every inch of me.

“I love seeing your cheeks all red like this.”

Before I can even curse him back, he’s inside me again, hard and violent with no warning.

My legs snap tight around his waist, locking him in, dragging him deeper, forcing him to keep fucking me raw.

And he does. Christ, he does. No mercy, just pounding into me with everything he’s got.

The couch still screams beneath us as my whole body bounces with every brutal thrust.

I’m nothing but a ragdoll under him, tossed up and down by the force of his dick splitting me open.

He’s hitting it. That spot. Over and over. Each slam harder than the last.

My stomach tightens and my back arches.

I can’t control a single sound leaving my mouth.

Moans rip out of me sounding filthy and broken, like he’s fucking them out of my throat.

My nails tear down his back, carving deep lines into his skin, but he doesn’t even slow down.

If anything, it makes him rougher. Harder.

Like he wants to prove he can break me no matter how tight I cling to him.

I’m losing it. My legs are trembling but I keep them locked tight around him.

This is tragic.

I spent all that time torturing him, edging him, laughing while he begged.

Now I’m the one clenching my teeth, fighting not to cum too fast while he rails me into the couch.

I’m the one on the edge, desperate and absolutely ruined.

He sees it. Of course he does. His hand slams over my mouth, smothering my moans.

His hips never stop, pounding me so deep I see stars.

“Let’s finish together,” he whispers.

I nod three times with wide eyes, begging with every shake of my head.

My mouth is sealed shut under his hand, muffling the sounds ripping out of me.

I can’t speak, I can only agree.

That thing hits me like a gunshot.

My eyes fly open wide.

Gio’s hand is still clamped over my mouth, forcing my moans back down my throat.

I cum.

The sounds that escape are broken, muffled, pathetic, desperate whimpers that make me sound like I’m begging for my life.

My dick jerks hard, spilling across my stomach in messy hot bursts.

Thick streaks shooting up to my chest, some splattering onto Gio’s abs.

My thighs seize tight around his waist, trembling like I’m fighting for survival.

My muffled cries are pure fucking desperation.

Strangled noises that sound nothing like me, coming out broken under his palm.

And Gio doesn’t stop. His face is absolutely wrecked, twisted with pleasure.

He is grinding into me like he wants to split me open.

He groans raw and broken into my ear, and then I feel him spilling inside me.

He is burying himself as far as my body will take him, like he wants to fucking plant it there.

His forehead drops against mine, slick with sweat.

He rips his hand off my mouth, grabs a fistful of my hair instead, yanking my head back as he groans into me.

I finally breathe. My mouth flies open, gasping, moaning ragged and filthy as I feel him paint my insides with cum.

My body won’t stop clenching around him, milking him.

He slams into me one last time, and then nothing.

We just stop. Both of us frozen and locked together.

His forehead is pressed to mine.

My legs are still hooked around his waist, too weak to let go.

We both are too fucking destroyed to even speak.

Alive, but only barely .

I swear we’re corpses.

Fucked to death, left breathing only because neither of us knows how to fucking stop.

And then he laughs, exhausted.

“Saints preserve us… what the actual fuck was that.”

I burst out laughing, rubbing at my eyes like it’ll somehow bring me back to reality.

“That, Gio, was me doing God’s work.”

“My cum is inside you.”

“Exactly. Mission accomplished.”

He laughs, still gasping for air.

He looks around the room like he’s trying to remember what planet we’re on.

“Let’s shower. Then we’ll crash. Maybe even book that hotel in Greece?”

I nod, smiling wide.

Life is fucking perfect.

He leans in to kiss my cheek softly.

Gentle.

So unlike the way he just wrecked me.

… Oh no.

Lulu strolls right into the living room.

Gio snaps his head toward her.

“Jesus Christ and the Virgin Mary! Girl, give your parents some damn privacy, for God’s sake.”

I break into laughter again, covering my face with one hand. “I feel so exposed right now. Lulu, please, stop staring at us.”

But she just… keeps staring. Silent, judging.

Gio’s still inside me.

“What a perverted daughter we have.”

Then he glares at her, tone flat. “Yeah, I’m talking about you.”

I can’t stop smiling. My body is wrecked, and my heart is full.

I honestly couldn’t ask for anything more than this moment.

---

Me rn:

NOW…

117) We Need A Plan.

Gio’s POV

It’s July 19th.

Tomorrow we’re on that ferry, me and Rava, heading to Naxos.

Took us forever to decide, but of course he won, like he always does.

Said he wants a picture at the Portara, like a proper tourist.

Wants to sit in the sun, play backgammon with random Greek guys he’s never met.

I swear, sometimes he’s twenty four going on sixty.

And somehow it’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.

He insisted we go by boat instead of plane.

“It’s part of the experience, Gio,” he told me.

And what did I do? Just nodded, booked it, paid, and kept my mouth shut.

Because truth is, I’d follow him anywhere.

Back in May, I received the ring.

His ring.

The one I’ve been hiding like a lunatic ever since. It’s more than just beautiful, it’s him. Every time I crack open that little box, I feel like I see his face.

I see him laughing and brushing his stupid hair out of his eyes while wearing it.

Sometimes I have to close it fast because the smile it puts on me is way too damn obvious.

Once, he almost found it.

Was cleaning our room, like, really scrubbing around, and I swear my heart nearly stopped.

I grabbed it just in time.

He looked at me suspicious, and I probably looked guilty as fuck. But he let it go.

Thank God.

Today we packed our bags.

His suitcase is neat. Mine’s a disaster.

Right now he’s out for a walk with two moms from his school, actual moms, like forty years old.

He probably looks like their kid. My sweet little teacher.

Tomorrow we leave. Tomorrow it’s just us, the sea and the island.

And soon… it’s going to be me and him.

Official. Forever.

I slam the door shut behind me and start walking fast.

To Noah and Marco’s.

Closest house to ours.

I’m fucking nervous.

But it’s not the bad nerves. It’s the good kind, the kind that makes you grin at nothing.

We’re meeting up tonight to figure it all out.

The whole damn proposal. Where it’s happening, what time of day, what I’m supposed to wear, like my shirt matters.

What food comes after, how the night ends. Every single detail. It’s insane, but it’s gotta be perfect.

He deserves perfect.

I keep picturing it, over and over. Him, standing there. That look he gets when he’s caught between laughing and crying.

The way his hands shake when he’s excited.

That’s what I’m chasing. That exact moment.

Their house shows up at the end of the street.

I knock on the door and Noah swings it open with his mouth full of food, cheeks about to explode.

I don’t even get a hello, just a muffled grunt.

The second I step inside, BAM , confetti in my face.

I jolt back like I just got shot.

Glitter raining down, sticking literally everywhere .

“What the actual fuck?? I’m not married yet!” I yell, spitting a piece of paper off my lip. “What the hell are we celebrating?”

Lorenzo’s standing there with the empty popper in his hand.

“We’re celebrating the fact that you’ve got the balls to actually do this,” he says, raising his eyebrows.

Then he smirks. “Although honestly, I’m sure he’s gonna say no. Deep down, he wants me . I can feel it in my balls.”

I scrunch my face at him, mocking. Keep dreaming, pretty boy.

He bursts out laughing and waves a hand. “Relax, I’m kidding. We all know he’s gonna climb you like a tree the second you pull that ring out.”

Before I can even roll my eyes again, Marco shoots up from his chair like someone lit a fire under him.

“I’m getting a notebook. NOBODY MOVE. THIS IS IMPORTANT.” And off he runs down the hallway.

Dramatic as hell.

Daisy’s already got her hands on her face. “Oh my God. I can believe this. This is actually happening. I’m getting snacks.”

She storms toward the kitchen, muttering, trying not to cry and scream at the same time.

Noah finally swallows his food, clutching his chest like he just survived a near-death experience.

He grabs my shoulder, eyes dead serious for once.

“I’m expecting help from you when it’s my turn,” he says, then flicks his chin toward the hallway Marco disappeared into.

I grin. “Can’t wait,” I tell him.

I drop onto the couch next to Lorenzo, confetti still stuck in my hair.

He’s staring at me with this… weird look.

He looks serious. Like, dead serious. It’s rare as hell. I blink at him, waiting for the punchline.

But it doesn’t come.

“I can’t believe you’re actually getting married,” he says quietly, almost like he’s talking to himself.

I tilt my head, smirk. “Maybe I won’t. Maybe deep down he wants you instead.” I crack myself up, but Lorenzo just rolls his eyes before laughing too.

“Idiot,” he says, then his face goes calm again.

“No, really. I mean it. I’m actually so proud…Feels like yesterday we were ten, running around your dad’s yard on those plastic little bikes… and being jealous as hell ’cause he had a real one. And now we’re talking about marriage and grown up stuff.”

For a second, the whole vibe changes.

“Yeah,” I say, staring straight ahead. “Feels the same to me. If it wasn’t Rava, I don’t think I’d ever do this. Any of it.”

Lorenzo lets out a low laugh, shaking his head. “Those Westons, dude. Ruined our family and blessed it at the same damn time.”

I chuckle, shooting him a sarcastic grin. “Preach it, padre. Tell me about it.”

But then he shifts, softer again. “I’m just glad I got the honor of hearing his drunk thoughts about you before either of you said anything out loud.”

My eyes snap to him. “You fucker. Can I finally know what the hell he said? I’m literally about to propose.”

Lorenzo smirks, clearly enjoying this way too much.

“Can’t tell you word for word. Promised him I wouldn’t. But trust me, everything he said, you’ve already done it. And you should’ve seen him, Gio. You could feel how much he wanted you. It was so cute.”

I can’t stop the smile creeping over my face. I lean back against the couch, let out a long breath.

Noah storms into the living room already recording.

“Here we are, future children of mine,” he announces, spinning the camera toward me and Lorenzo.

“This is our groom, about to propose to my best friend.”

“And this—” he swings the phone at Lorenzo,

“—is his problematic little cousin.”

Lorenzo kicks him.

Noah grits his teeth but keeps filming. “Don’t worry, kids. That didn’t mean anything. Your dad doesn’t get beat up by Lorenzo.”

He swings back to me. “ANYWAY. Gio. Did you bring the ring?”

I smirk, reach into my pocket, pull it out nice and slow. “Yeah. If something happens to this thing, I’m gonna fuck you up.”

His eyes widen, he gasps like a preacher. “HOW DARE YOU. Children, don’t listen to this criminal. Language like that isn’t allowed in this household. Anyway. Observe.”

He flips the box open dramatically and then gasps.

“LOOK AT THIS BAD BITCH RIGHT HERE! CLEARLY the groom wanted to flaunt his income with this rock. May the gods protect Rava from burglars who might now be planning a heist!”

Lorenzo snatches the phone and shoves it in his face.

“Kids, just so you know, when your dad was younger, he used to get blackout drunk with me, puke his guts out, and flirt with polic—”

I yank the phone out of his hands. “Kids, listen carefully. Your dad’s the one who pierced my nipp—”

“HEY!” Noah lunges for it, but Daisy explodes from behind the couch like a ninja, snatching the phone mid-air.

“YOUR DAD HAS THE COOLEST FRIENDS THANKS TO MY BROTHER!” she screams into the camera, bolting across the room.

Noah dives after her, but Daisy tosses the phone to Marco.

Marco catches it with both hands, deadly serious.

He stares straight into it. “Children of Noah, let it be known your father is the sexiest tattoo artist in Europe. The man can make us scream just by—”

Noah tackles him, ripping the phone out.

He’s red-faced, out of breath.

He stares into the camera, furious.

“My children, I apologize. These are bad influences. Truly. Now… back to the subject. Wedding proposal.”

Noah props his phone up on a stack of books, then turns back to our little circle.

Daisy slides a plate of chopped fruit onto the table.

Marco flips open the notebook, clicks his pen.

“Okay,” he says, dead serious. “Let’s start with the basics. Have you asked him what he wants to do the most?”

“Besides sex,” Lorenzo adds without even looking up.

“SHUT UP,” Daisy snaps, smacking him with a grape.

I clear my throat. “Rava wants to take a boat trip, see the Portara, and go to a Greek festival kind of thing, I don’t remember the name… a real village one, with music and food.”

Marco scribbles it all down.

“Alright, you mean panigiri. Noted. Don’t drink tsipouro. I’m warning you. Anyway. The boat trip’s got potential. Sunlight, calm sea, not a lot of people. Perfect atmosphere!”

At the edge of the couch, Lorenzo is red, doubled over, silently laughing.

On his own.

We all stare at him.

“What?” I ask.

He gasps between laughs. “I’m just picturing the owner fishing at the same time you’re proposing, and Rava getting smacked in the face with a live squid mid-yes.”

Daisy groans. “Don’t listen to him. No one’s fishing.”

Lorenzo wipes his eyes. “Okay, okay. Let’s do a test run. I’m Rava. You’re you. Come on. Propose to me.”

“No,” I shoot back.

“Do it!” he snaps, already moving like he is on a boat with waves.

He spreads his legs, arms out like he’s balancing on a deck. “We’re on the boat. I’m swaying. Oooh look at me. So authentic. Propose now.”

I roll my eyes but get up anyway, about to kneel.

He immediately throws his head back, screaming at the ceiling, “OH ZEUS OH POSEIDON, I’M GETTING MARRIED OVER OCTOPUSES!” Then he pretends to fall, clutches his chest, fake crying, wailing like a telenovela actress.

I jump back up, palms out. “WHO INVITED THIS GUY?!”

Noah’s on the floor, literally on the floor, laughing.

“That’s not how Rava would act,” I yell at Lorenzo, pointing at him.

“Shut up. You’re ruining my rehearsal.” But even as I’m saying it, I’m laughing too.

“Gio, don’t listen to him,” Noah says, waving me over like some fake guru. “Come here. Let’s do it properly.”

I drag myself over, palms up like fine, whatever, stand next to him and stare at the imaginary ocean.

“Alright,” I mutter. “We’re standing. We’re looking at the waves. Happy now? Start.”

I glance at Marco. He gives me a solemn thumbs up.

I kneel.

Noah kneels too.

Jesus.

“Get the fuck up, dumbass,” I snap at him. “ I’m proposing. Not you.“

“Sorry,” he jumps back up, brushing his knees. “I don’t get proposed to every day, okay?”

I roll my eyes and reach for the ring, already pulling it out of my pocket.

And Noah claps his hands. “Great. This is the part where Rava bursts into tears, dumps your ass and runs off with a random tourist. You’re just gonna hand it to him like here you go?! No speech?! Nothing?!”

I freeze, ring in my hand, staring at him.

My throat tightens.

I drop back onto the floor, cross-legged, the ring box still open.

“Why the fuck is this so hard?” I mutter, rubbing my face.

“It’s just words. It’s just… it’s supposed to be simple. And I’m sitting here rehearsing with you clowns like I’m about to bomb on stage.”

Everyone goes quiet for a second, then I huff out a laugh.

“I swear to God, planning to ask someone to be your forever should not feel like prepping for a fucking hostage negotiation.”

Daisy comes closer, she throws her arms over my shoulders, pulling me against her.

Her fingers mess through my hair gently.

“It’s not that hard, Gio,” she says.

“You’ve just got idiots running their mouths. Ignore them. Me and Marco got you. It’s easy.”

“Yeah, well, doesn’t feel like it when Squidward over there’s telling me Rava’s gonna run off with a tourist.”

Marco taps his pen against the notebook.

“Listen, the speech will come when it comes. You’re not gonna choke when it’s him standing there. But we do need a plan. And a plan B. Just in case.”

He points his pen at me. “Boat idea works. Sun. Calm sea. Nobody around. Perfect. Just… make sure the guy isn’t fishing.”

Daisy leans forward like she’s pitching to investors. “And if he is fishing, you hit the Portara the next day! Super romantic. Problem solved.”

I stare at both of them, dead serious. “And if both go to shit?”

Marco shrugs like it’s nothing. “Then you improvise. You’re Gio. You’ve bullshitted your way out of worse.”

I drag my palms down my face, groaning. “I swear to God, I’m gonna come back from this trip with white hair. I will even grow a gray beard. Looking like fucking Gandalf before I even turn thirty.”

Daisy laughs, scratching my head.

Marco just keeps scribbling notes.

Lorenzo finally lifts his head from laughing, wipes his eyes.

His voice drops. “Okay, no jokes for a sec. Sorry, Gio. The boat idea’s actually sweet. You just gotta find a way to make it… sudden, y’know? Like, bam. Get the owner in on it, distract Rava, and then boom. Ring’s out.”

He leans back, smirking again. “And whatever you do, film it. I wanna watch it at night, cry into Daisy’s shoulder.”

Daisy points at him dead serious. “Real.”

Noah jumps in, waving a grape around like a pointer stick. “And if you end up doing it at the Portara instead, go when it’s not packed with tourists, man. Pick your timing. And for the love of God, no heatwaves. Doesn’t matter how shiny that ring is, if Rava’s melting in 40 degrees, he’s not gonna give a fuck about diamonds.”

I’m sitting with my hands on my face, peeking through my fingers at these clowns.

“Do you guys even hear yourselves? One second you’re messing with me, next second you’re giving me meteorological advice. I can’t fucking breathe.”

Lorenzo just shrugs, all calm now. “Hey, chaos aside, we just want it to be perfect. He deserves perfect.”

Noah shakes his head, dramatic as hell. “Man, I can’t believe this. The shy little shit I met hiding in a corner at some party when he was eighteen is now marrying his first love.”

I throw my arms out. “Tell me about it. You believe the first time I ever pictured this moment I was, like… the age of his students now? Wouldn’t admit it but, it’s true.”

Daisy’s eyes go wide.

“I KNEW IT. You should’ve seen him the first day he landed in Italy and saw you. It was like he got electrocuted. And for the record? He remembers everything you’ve ever done to him.”

…

That makes me grin.

I stretch out, hands behind my head.

“Doesn’t matter. I’ve made up for it with what I do to him now .”

Daisy’s fist slams into my abs, and I bust out laughing, doubling over. “Ow! Shit, woman!”

Noah suddenly throws his hands up. “Wait—what if he says no? HUH? What do we do then?”

Marco shoves him hard in the shoulder. “Shut up, dumbass.”

Then he turns to me, stone serious. “If he says no, you grab him by the collar, dunk his head in the water, pull him back out, and ask again. Assert dominance.”

Lorenzo screams, full hyena mode, rolling off the couch.

And that’s when my phone starts buzzing.

Rava.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP, ALL OF YOU.” I yell, holding it up.

“It’s him.”

I put it on speaker so they can all say hi.

“Hey, angel. You good?”

Rava’s voice comes through all calm and soft. “Hey, yeah, I just got home! Where are you? I’ve got so much to tell you right after I suck your soul out through your d—”

“YOOOOOOOOOOO!” Noah yells at the top of his lungs.

Lorenzo covers his mouth with both hands.

Daisy slaps her forehead. “That’s it. He is DEAD.”

I scramble for the phone but Daisy snatches it first.

“GIVE ME BACK MY MAN, WOMAN.” I shout.

She presses it to her mouth. “Listen to me, you IDIOT. I don’t care if you’re twenty four, you’re still a little shit in my eyes, so watch your mouth before I talk to OUR MOM ABOUT WHAT YOU JUST SAID!!”

…

Silence.

Nothing on the line.

The only sound is Lorenzo wheezing, literally about to die from laughing.

Rava’s voice returns. “I’m sorry, Daisy. I’ll just pretend I don’t know Lorenzo’s been nutting insi—”

Daisy IMMEDIATELY hangs up, and with a very serious face, she hands it back to me.

“I think Rava wants you to go home.”

There’s one second of pure holy silence.

Then Marco bursts out laughing. “How the turns have tabled.”

“Shut the fuck up, Marco!” Daisy snaps.

How the fuck I’m supposed to marry Rava with this circus as my support system…

---

Hello 😼

Alright, QUESTIONS. Every answer counts. (Help me out, I need your ideas.)

• What do you think could go wrong with the boat? :)

• Do you want the proposal to be from Gio’s POV or Rava’s POV?

• HOW do you think the proposal will actually happen? :)

And obviously… POLL MUHEHE‼️

118) Efcharisto!

Rava’s POV

Greece is already unhinged and I love it.

It’s six in the morning. SIX. And it looks like the entire country decided to migrate at once.

There’s yelling, there’s car horns, there’s a ferry honking like it wants to eat us all.

There is a whole Greek family behind us.

Not one, not two, four kids, two dogs, twelve thousand bags, and a dad eating meatballs out of a Tupperware.

At sunrise.

I swear, I can smell the oregano from here.

One of the kids points at Gio’s arm and says something in Greek.

Okay. This is it. My moment.

I dig through my brain for Greek phrases.

I studied, right? What do I have?

•    Efcharisto (thank you). •    Geia sas (hello). •    Den milame ellinika (we don’t speak Greek).

And my personal favorite…vlakas.

Idiot.

That’s it. That’s the arsenal. Four words.

We’re doomed.

Meanwhile Gio’s just… being Gio.

Carrying both our suitcases like a human forklift.

I’m holding the tickets and the tickets only, like I’m holding the baby Jesus.

I’m smiling and vibrating all at once.

Because we’re here. In Greece.

My students were sick of me.

Every sentence during June was: “when I go to Greece—” “in Greece they—” “did you know Greece—”

BUT they only cared about Lulu and Blu.

“Where will the pets go, Mr. Weston?”

I explained multiple times, that they’re living their best spoiled lives with my sister and her boyfriend.

We move up, hand the tickets to the gate guy.

He scans them. Nods.

My brain:

say something in Greek, impress Gio, go.

“Efcharisto!”

The guy just stares.

Oof.

We walk into the ferry and there’s this huge open space just for luggage.

…Wait.

That’s… it?

Just dump your bags here?

No lock, no ticket system, no nothing?!

Hello?? That means I could literally grab any suitcase I want and walk away.

Instant new wardrobe.

I whisper to Gio, “Put ours here, in the corner. Less chance someone sees them and goes hm, let’s steal these ones.”

He blinks at me. “Steal?”

“Yes, Gio. People can steal them. Look at this setup, it’s chaos! It’s begging for thieves.”

He squints, looking way too thoughtful about it, like he’s reconsidering the entire concept of ferries.

Then he sighs, pushes the bags against the wall.

“Go upstairs. Grab seats before the crowd murders each other for them. I’ll come in two minutes. I need something from the suitcase.”

“Okay!” I say, and I take off running like I’m in the Olympics.

Of course, the second I reach the gate at the stairs, a crew guy says something rapid-fire in Greek.

Shit. My brain flatlines.

He stares at me, waiting.

Then he switches to English: “Oh! Upstairs, this way.”

I light up. “Efcharisto!” I say, proud as hell.

That’s right. Greek king.

I climb the stairs and…

Absolute pandemonium. It’s 6 am.

But it sounds like afternoon market. People are yelling.

I wander around, left, right, every seat is already full.

Some old ladies are already unpacking food.

A guy is sleeping on the floor. Chaos Olympics.

“Shit,” I mutter.

Vlakes.

Yes. Idiots. In Greek.

I’m basically local.

I keep walking, weaving through the madness.

Some guy is asleep with his head on a suitcase. Another is peeling an orange.

A group of kids is running laps around their parents.

Everyone is living in a different universe.

I go outside.

A small table, right by the railing, sea sparkling next to it.

Perfect. OUR spot.

I sprint. When I reach it, I realize.

Oh. It’s connected to another table. Already occupied.

Five of them. Our age.

Two girls in black hoodies looking like they haven’t slept since 2001.

Three guys in sunglasses. At dawn.

One is literally asleep standing up. Another is chewing on a cheese pie that honestly looks… pretty damn good.

I freeze for half a second, then I remember my secret weapon.

“Geia sas,” I say, in Greek.

Pride levels: freaking unmatched.

They look at me. I continue, switching to English. “Can I sit here? At this table?”

They smile instantly, nodding. “Of course, yes!”

I sit down, smiling like an idiot, waiting for Gio.

He comes up, finally, and just drops into the chair next to me.

He tosses his bag down and looks like he’s one step away from collapsing.

Meanwhile, I can’t stop smiling.

The view is actually insane.

The buildings behind us, the sky turning pink, the sea right there.

In a few minutes Athens will just… slide away.

“It’s beautiful,” I tell him, leaning over the railing. “Athens is beautiful.”

He shrugs. “I prefer the islands.”

I laugh. “Sure, but it has its own beauty. I like it.”

I look back and he’s just… staring at me.

Chin in his hands, eyes all soft. “Then I like it too,” he says.

I roll my eyes but I’m laughing. “It’s six in the morning, Gio, are you seriously flirting right now?”

He leans in, but he is whispering now. “Why not? We’ve had sex at six in the morning before. In Italy.”

My face heats instantly. “Why are we whispering?”

“Because the people behind us are Italian. And I’d rather they don’t know what I do to you. Even though I’m actually proud.”

I laugh way too loud, because he’s ridiculous.

And then I see it, and my heart melts.

…My baby.

He’s tired. His shoulders are sagging and his eyes are half-shut.

So I drag my chair closer, right next to him, take off my hoodie and place it on my shoulder.

“Come here. Sleep for a bit. I’ll wake you up when it’s time to eat.”

He frowns. “Your shoulder’s gonna hurt.”

“I’ll survive,” I tell him. “Just sleep.”

And he does.

He curls right into me, bag hugged tight like it’s his comfort pillow, head on my shoulder.

I’m melting as I’m watching the city get smaller and smaller.

We’re moving. We’re really leaving Athens.

— 4 Hours Later —

I wake up and swear to God it feels like I’ve been in a coma.

Ninety-two hours minimum.

My whole body’s heavy, Gio’s still glued to me, we’re stacked on top of each other like two cute stray cats.

The sun is in my face. Like directly in my eyeballs.

I blink a few times, lift my head, and boom. Sea. Nothing else.

No sound except the waves and some random Greek guy yelling somewhere in the distance.

I smile.

I stretch carefully, hug Gio a little tighter where he’s still dead asleep with his bag in his arms.

Then, pat pat.

Someone taps my shoulder.

I turn confused, and it’s the girl from the table next to us.

She leans in and whispers, “I’m really sorry… I can delete it if you want. But you two looked so perfect, sitting there against the sea… I took a picture of you from behind!”

…WHAT.

My jaw actually drops. “No. No way. Show me! Please show me.”

She smiles, turns her phone around, and oh my God.

It’s actually us. Me and Gio.

We look like we belong in a postcard or on the cover of some romantic summer movie.

“This is—Jesus Christ, this is gorgeous!” I stammer.

“I need to frame this. Literally put it on my wall. Forever. You’re amazing. Can you send it to me?”

“Of course!” she says.

A second later my phone buzzes.

There’s the photo.

I’m staring at it, smiling like I’m crazy.

I can’t stop.

My cheeks hurt but who cares.

It’s perfect.

Perfect perfect perfect.

Gio wakes up because apparently I can’t stop moving.

He rubs his eyes, all sleepy. “What time is it?”

“Eleven,” I tell him. “Pretty sure we’re close to Paros.”

He drops on my shoulder again. “I’m starving.”

“We’ll eat when it stops,” I say, but I’m already shoving my phone in his face.

“Also, look at this picture.”

He blinks at it, slow smile creeping up. “Oh? How?”

“That girl behind us took it.” I point, smiling.

He literally turns in his chair and just stares at her.

Like interrogation mode.

She’s giggling with her friend, trying not to break.

Gio keeps staring, then suddenly goes, real serious: “EFCHARISTO.”

I nearly choke laughing. The whole group loses it.

The girl smiles. “Parakalo. Means you’re welcome. I’m Athena, this is Ioanna, Nikos, Aggelos, and Giorgos.”

I’m smiling like I’m in school again.

“I’m Rava! This is Gio, my boyfriend.”

They are waving at him.

One of the guys in the back, Nikos I think, asks, “Where are you from?”

“Italy,” Gio says.

Ioanna instantly hides her entire face in her hoodie, and everyone bursts out laughing.

“She won’t shut up about Italy. Always Italy.” Aggelos says.

Then Giorgos blurts out. “Do you drink espresso 24/7?”

Gio looks at them like they are aliens.

“Do you eat souvlaki 24/7?”

Athena shrugs. “Literally, yes . We’re getting off in Paros just to buy souvlaki.”

My jaw drops. “Wait. WHAT? You’re leaving the ferry? Just for that???”

Nikos goes super chill, “Yeah. We do it all the time. Welcome to Greece.”

And then Aggelos, with the most broken English ever, waves his hands.

“We? Ferry stop? We run, run, run, buy souvlaki. Run, run, run, back! All good.”

I just blink at him, horrified. “And your bags?? You just leave them here???”

“Of course,” Nikos says, like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

Athina laughs, “We’ll be at the front. You can watch us from here!”

Greeks are insane. I’m not even sure if Lorenzo would dare to do that.

The announcement hits and boom, everyone at their table explodes out of their seats at once.

Like, zero hesitation. Total chaos.

Then Giorgos leans over to us. “Can you watch our bags for a bit?”

Ouch, my heart. That tiny question makes me soft.

Because that’s literally how we met our Marco.

Our tree guy.

We trusted him with something small, and suddenly it meant everything.

Gio just smirks. “Don’t worry. Go chase your souvlaki.”

They crack up, wave, and disappear downstairs.

Their energy is… insane. So unbothered.

So whatever happens, happens. I love it.

We push our stuff closer together on the table and turn to the railing. The dock’s right there.

Paros shining in the sun.

I’m smiling so wide my cheeks hurt.

In about two minutes, I’m about to watch a group of Greeks run like their lives depend on grilled meat wrapped in pita.

We hit land.

The second the ferry doors creak open, boom.

They run.

Like sprint for their lives down the ramp.

All five of them, yelling in Greek. Aggelos is wearing freaking flip flops.

I lose it. I’m literally doubled over, laughing so hard my stomach hurts.

“I don’t believe it. They just trusted two random strangers with all their stuff for souvlaki. SOUVLAKI. Wrapped meat in bread!”

Gio’s laughing, shaking his head. “They’re funny.”

“Seriously,” I laugh, still staring at the empty chairs.

“I feel like our friend group would actually fit in perfectly with Greeks. Total chaos. Literally deadly.”

Gio’s grin gets sharper. “Noah would definitely end up working a random Greek guy’s kitchen shift after one night of drinking.”

I choke laughing. “Absolutely he would.”

When I finally look back at him, Gio’s not laughing.

He’s just… staring at me.

Again.

“What?” I say, panicked. “Do I have something? Why are you looking at me like that?”

He doesn’t answer. Keeps staring.

I immediately cover my mouth, giggling nervously.

“Do I have something in my teeth? Tell me!”

And then out of nowhere, he smiles.

Pulls me straight into a very tight hug.

His hand is rubbing my back.

I blink, then melt into him, laughing softly. “I love you when you’re sweet like this.”

He snorts, muttering into my ear, “And when I’m not?! You don’t love me? Dirtbag.”

I laugh harder, squeeze him tighter. “When you’re not, I want you. That’s different.”

His hand slides up to my hair. “Filthy little man…”

Ten minutes later, they come back like absolute champions, with two plastic bags in the air. “EIIIIIIII SOUVLAKI!”

We’re laughing so hard while helping them move their stuff.

“Thank God you made it,” I say between laughs. “I was stressed for you guys more than you were stressed for yourselves.”

Athena grins. “Thank you so much, guys. To say thanks, we got extra. For you.”

Gio blinks. “No shit?”

Nikos nods proudly and hands us each one like it’s a golden trophy.

I’m shocked. Absolutely shocked. “You didn’t have to do that! Was it expensive? How much? I’ll pay you back.”

Ioanna cuts me off instantly, in the heaviest Greek accent I’ve ever heard.

“No. In Greece, we don’t take money from each other. We just say you owe us a coffee. Next time we see you, you buy coffee. That’s it. Now eat.”

My soul actually leaves my body. These people are too much.

They all rip open their wraps. Gio and I do the same.

It’s… massive.

A pita overflowing with meat, sauce, fries, tomato, like a whole buffet inside bread.

I stare at it.

“Wait… it’s okay to just eat this? On the ferry? Like… in the open?”

Aggelos shrugs, pointing. “Dude, look over there. That old man literally set up a cutting board and is chopping cucumbers. Don’t worry. The system here is… bouzouki.”

Gio squints. “What is bouzouki?”

Everyone bursts out laughing. Ioanna translates, “It means… there is no system. We are chaos.”

We all nod like that makes total sense.

I take my first bite and holy God.

I look at Gio, then at them, eyes wide.

“This is… this is insane. This is so good.”

Gio groans dramatically, head falling back. “I think my mouth just had an orgasm.”

“EIIIII that’s what I always say!” Giorgos yells, immediately fist-bumping Gio like they’ve been friends for years.

Jesus. We haven’t even reached Naxos yet, and I’m already having the best time of my life.

“Okay wait,” I say, turning to Athena.

“How do I say in Greek… ‘I like souvlaki’?”

She grins. “Mou aresei to souvlaki.”

I nod, practicing under my breath.

Mou aresei to souvlaki.

Got it.

Gio leans back, smirking. “Perfect. Now you might not know how to survive in a foreign country, but at least you can tell people you liked their meat wrap.”

I choke on my food laughing.

---

Hey guys 😼

Just so you know, I’ll probably write the Greece chapters in a lot of detail, both so you can picture everything clearly and because these are some of the final chapters, so they need to be beautiful :)

AND MAKE SURE TO VOTE. Or don’t. I can’t pretend like I care. Seeing y’all here in every new chapter is honestly such a huge W already.

ANYWAY polls 😼

119) Boat Ride

Gio’s POV

We step off the ferry, and the heat hits like a damn punch. It’s so hot I’m pretty sure my brain’s boiling.

First thing I see, is the huge marble thing up on the hill, the Portara. Looks like a doorway to another world.

Or like Greece just went “yeah, we’re better than everyone.”

Rava’s next to me, dragging his suitcase. His hair is sticking to his forehead.

I wipe his forehead with my forearm, ’cause he’s useless at taking care of himself.

He gives me that tiny smile, the one that kills me every damn time.

“The day you stop doing that, I’ll know you don’t love me anymore.”

I snort.

He’s got no clue what’s in my bag right now.

No clue that I’m actually planning to do it today. Propose.

Yeah, that’s right. Me.

The guy who used to laugh at marriage.

The guy who thought love was for idiots .

Now I’m out here on a Greek island, carrying a ring like it’s a loaded gun.

We walk off the ferry with the rest of the crowd.

Families screaming each other’s names like it’s the end of a family movie.

Old ladies crying.

Dogs barking and literally pissing on their owners from excitement.

A kid’s crying because his balloon flew off. Ha.

Some old guy in a truck stops traffic just to say hi to his buddy.

People are honking, cursing, laughing. Rava’s just staring at it all like it’s Disneyland.

He squints at the sun.

“We’ve been here five minutes and I already wanna find a festival and dance Zorba with old Greek men.”

I lose it.

“Ravioli, you are an old Greek man trapped in a 24-year-old body.”

He laughs, and that stupid laugh makes me wanna grab him by his throat and kiss him violently right there in the middle of the chaos.

He has no idea. No idea that before this day ends, he’s gonna be wearing my ring.

I pull out my phone to call Marco because, apparently, these two geniuses, these two complete fucking idiots , bought a damn car the last time they were here.

Yeah.

Bought . Not rented.

Bought .

Because, quote, “we’re gonna come every summer, Gio, it’s an investment.”

Jesus Christ…

They met some guy named Stefanos who was supposed to “look after it.”

Whatever that means.

So we find the place, a tiny garage off some dusty road, and I swear to God, this looks like a scene straight out of a meme.

There’s a group of dudes sitting in plastic chairs, shirts halfway open, smoking like they’ve got lungs made of steel.

A table full of beers, bread, olives, and no sign of stress anywhere in a 10-kilometer radius.

They’re all around fifty, maybe older, all tan, all chill as fuck.

And one of them, this guy with silver hair and a belly that screams “I grill every Sunday”, stands up and grins at us.

This is Stefanos? Ain’t no way.

Rava waves politely. “Geia sas! We’re friends of Marco and Noah! We are here for the car!”

The guy freezes mid-drag, lowers his cigarette slowly like he’s in a movie. “Eiiiiii! Rafael and Giorgos!”

I blink. I— What.

Rava’s cracking up. “It’s… Rava and Gio!”

“Sure, sure!” Stefanos nods like he’s been saying that his whole life. “Come, come! This car? Delicious ! Very nice, beautiful car!”

I bite the inside of my cheek so I don’t laugh. His accent’s killing me, but it’s too sweet to make fun of.

He waves us over proudly like he’s presenting a masterpiece. The car’s there, shining in the sunlight.

“Gasoline, full! Everything ready! You go!” he says, slapping the hood like it’s a damn horse.

“Come eat something! What do you eat?”

I shake my head, smiling. “We’re good, sir, thank you.”

He grabs Rava’s shoulder like they’ve known each other for years and points across the street.

“If you ever feel hungry, my friend, over there. Best souvlaki. Trust me.”

Rava lights up like he just got proposed to.

He goes, all proud of himself, “Mou aresei to souvlaki!!!”

And the whole table erupts. They’re laughing and cheering, raising their beers like Greece just won the World Cup.

Rava’s laughing too, loud and happy, totally in it like he’s one of them now.

I just stand there, watching him laugh with a bunch of old strangers.

This man could charm his way through any country.

And I’m the idiot who fell for him hard enough to buy a ring.

We say bye to Stefanos and his crew, bunch of legends , honestly, and get in the car.

It starts on the first try, which already feels like a miracle considering the guy was probably six beers deep when he “took care of it.”

We drive off, heading toward the hotel.

Something near Agios Prokopios, whatever that means. It’s close, like ten minutes tops.

The place looks unreal so far.

Tiny white houses with blue doors, flower pots everywhere, old ladies sitting on chairs outside like they run the island.

Everything’s bright and alive.

But something is not right. “The air here… you smell that?”

Rava sniffs. “Yeah… Grilled food.”

I squint at him. “Rava, no. I mean gas. It smells like gas.”

He tilts his head. “Now that you mention it… yeah, kinda.”

Three minutes later the smell’s strong enough to burn my eyebrows off.

I pull over into a patch of dry grass and kill the engine.

“Christ,” I mutter, stepping out.

The heat’s insane. It feels like opening an oven and walking inside it.

Rava gets out too, leaning against some plastic fence, looking way too calm while I’m sweating my ass off.

Cicadas are screaming like the world’s ending.

I pop the hood, wave the hot air away, and lean in.

“…of course,” I mumble. “The clamp on the fuel line’s loose, so the pressure drops before it even hits the injectors. That’s why it smells like gas and it’s sputtering when I rev, it’s not getting a steady feed.”

Rava looks confused as fuck. “…what feed?”

I laugh. “The fuel, genius. The engine needs constant flow. Clean, tight, no leaks. But right now the line’s basically spraying instead of feeding. Half the gas is just leaking out instead of going in.”

Rava blinks. “Can you say that in normal words?”

I look at him over my shoulder. “It’s like… imagine something’s supposed to be tight around the pipe, but it’s not. So everything’s leaking out.”

He frowns. “Okay, I think I get it…”

I smirk. He stills looks confused.

“Okay, um, think of it like when I pull out my dick too fast and… the cum leaks. Making a mess.”

Rava’s face does that oh my God you did not just say that thing.

Then he hides his face in his hands, groaning. “GIO. We’re in public.”

“Yeah,” I grin, “but now you get it, don’t you?”

He throws a dry blade of grass at me.

I just laugh, wipe the sweat off my forehead. “See? Educational trip already.”

I grab the toolbox from the backseat, toss it on the dry grass, and start digging through it.

Everything’s hot as hell. Feels like the metal tools are burning my fingers while the sun is fucking stabbing my neck.

I find what I need and crouch down, head half-buried under the hood.

Behind me, I hear a soft click. Then another.

I look over my shoulder. Rava’s got his phone up.

“…Why are you taking pictures?”

He grins, not even pretending to hide it.

“Because you look stupid hot right now doing your little car stuff.”

I laugh. “Stupid hot? I’m literally melting.”

He just shrugs, still snapping photos. “Exactly.”

I smile, tighten the clamp. “It’s not a big deal. You could do this too.”

Rava tilts his head. “Yeah, no. I’ll just sit here and watch. How long you need?”

I wipe my forehead with my wrist, leaving a streak of grease.

“Two minutes. Tops. Then we leave our things and hit the beach.”

He stands up straighter, proud as hell, like we just made a world-class plan.

“That’s exactly what I was gonna say. We share the same brain.”

I snort, throwing him a look.

We pull up to the hotel and holy shit. What in the island luxury is this?

White walls, blue doors, palm trees, infinity pool sparkling like it’s straight outta a damn commercial.

It’s got that mix of rich people beach vibe and Greek grandma who still waters her plants at 6 am.

Perfect.

Rava looks at me like he just walked into heaven. I park, kill the engine.

At the front desk, we grab the key, head upstairs, open the door, and he stops dead.

“You filthy bastard,” he says with a half shocked voice.

I raise a brow. “What?”

He points straight ahead. “You picked the room with the mirrors facing the bed.”

I smirk. “Yeah, obviously. You gotta appreciate the bounce from every angle.”

He throws me a look like he’s trying not to smile, drops his bags, and groans as he collapses onto a little couch in the corner. “Christ, I need the sea.”

“Agreed,” I say, wiping my face. “Throw on your swim trunks. The sea is literally two minutes away.”

He stretches, eyes half-shut. “Perfect. Sea, food, crazy sleep, sex, and then night walk. Life is great. I’m gonna change and pee first.”

He disappears into the bathroom, door clicking shut behind him.

And now it’s just me. Alone.

I exhale, drop down on the edge of the bed, and stare at the floor.

Okay. Game time.

The plan. The fucking plan.

I’m gonna take him out on one of those Greek boats, let him stare at the water like the dramatic poet he is, and then boom, ask him to marry me.

No big crowd, no drama, no fireworks. Just us. Just quiet and right.

…Except my heart’s beating like it’s about to blow through my ribs.

My palms are sweaty as hell.

I keep checking my bag like the ring’s gonna run away or something.

Two hours. Two damn hours and Rava Weston’s gonna be engaged to me .

Holy shit. I’m gonna puke.

We’re walking down the pier, and honestly, it feels like I just stepped into a damn postcard.

Blue everywhere. Boats, sky, sea. The air smells like grilled squid and lemon and summer.

I’ve got my bag slung over my shoulder, holding onto it like it’s got national secrets inside.

Everyone around us looks so calm. Laughing, tan, drinking, like stress doesn’t exist in this timezone.

Meanwhile, I’m sweating bullets.

Rava’s next to me, walking slowly, face tilted up to the sun, eyes half-closed like he’s filming a perfume commercial.

He looks too damn peaceful. I can’t handle it. I want to punch him.

“Why do you spend a kidney on sunglasses just to wear them on top of your head?” I ask.

He smirks without looking at me. “Why do you spend a month’s salary on watches when you still check the time on your phone?”

“Not the same thing.” I grab the glasses off his head and slide them down properly over his eyes.

“There. Don’t need you going blind.”

He laughs. I don’t. My heart’s doing drum solos.

I start scanning the dock, rows of boats, all sizes, all shapes. One by one.

Too big. Too flashy. Too small.

Then I see it. At the far end. White, sleek, clean lines, not over-the-top, just… right.

That’s the one, baby.

I turn to him. “You see that shop over there?”

He nods.

I pull a card out of my wallet and shove it into his hand. “Go buy something. Clothes, shoes, whatever the hell you want. Something to wear tonight.”

He blinks. “Gio, I have my own money—”

“Nope.” I cut him off, pointing. “Leave your money out of this. Go. Two pieces. Three. Twenty. I don’t care. Just pick something nice.”

He frowns, still confused. “Why?”

“Because,” I say, trying to sound chill while my brain’s on fire, “I wanna take you somewhere nice tonight. Our first night out here. Trust me, yeah?”

He opens his mouth again and I just lean in, kiss him quick. “Go. I love you. Don’t argue.”

He stares at me, totally thrown off, so I give him a gentle push toward the shop. “Go, Rava. Please. Before I change my mind.”

He finally starts walking, still giving me that suspicious what-are-you-up-to look.

As soon as he’s out of sight, I bolt in the opposite direction, straight into the supermarket next door.

“Okay, okay, okay,” I mutter under my breath.

Ice, champagne, maybe flowers, I don’t even know.

Holy shit.

My hands are shaking, I’m sweating, I’m talking to myself like a psycho.

Two more hours.

I grab my phone, my hands are literally shaking.

Call Marco. He picks up on the second ring.

“GIO! How’s it going, man?”

“Help,” I whisper.

“Help me. I’m doing it. I’m actually doing it. Like, now. I’m at a supermarket. What the fuck do I buy!?”

There’s a beat. Then chaos.

“WHAT?!” Marco yells. “NOW?! You’re doing it today?!”

Before I can even answer, another voice jumps in.

Noah. “Gio?! Can you hear me? Listen to me carefully. DO. NOT. BUY. TSIPOURO.”

“What the hell is tsipouro?” I hiss. “What do people even drink here?”

“Doesn’t matter!” Marco’s yelling again. “You’re not proposing over beer! Get champagne! A good one!”

“I—okay, okay, fine, champagne.” I look around.

There are like fifteen thousand bottles staring at me. All gold labels and Greek letters that look like math equations.

Noah’s still screaming in the background, “Also, get something to eat with it! Don’t get him drunk before the question! I’m serious! He’ll fall in the water and drown!”

“Shut up, idiot! Jesus,” I mutter, sweating. “Okay, snacks. What, like cookies? Candy?”

“BOY,” Noah yells so loud I have to hold the phone away from my ear.

“YOU’RE IN GREECE. GET GRAPES! GET CHERRIES! SOMETHING CUTE. ROMANTIC. NOT CHIPS.”

“Fuck—okay, grapes. Cherries. Fine. He’s gonna love that.”

I’m shoving fruit into a basket like I’m robbing the place.

“Do you have the ring?” Noah asks.

I roll my eyes even though they can’t see me.

“Of course I have the ring, you moron. What do you think?”

“Good!” Marco says, voice cracking with emotion. “Gio, man, you’ve got this. This is huge. I’m so proud of you, I might cry.”

Noah yells something in the background like, “IF HE SAYS NO I’M MOVING TO GREECE TO SLAP HIM MYSELF,” but I ignore that.

I’m smiling now. Actually smiling.

“Alright,” I say.

“I’m hanging up. Gotta go book a boat. Pray the owner’s not insane.”

“Good luck, Gio!” Marco shouts. “You’ve got this! Don’t mess it up!”

Noah yells, “SEND US PICS OR I’M KILLING YOU!”

I hang up, staring at my basket of fruit and overpriced champagne.

I pay in a blur, credit card, hand shaking, whatever.

Then I sprint down the pier.

My heart’s doing that stupid drum-roll thing and I feel like I’m gonna puke but also laugh.

Supposed to be the chill one, remember?

Yeah, not tonight.

I step up on the dock and walk straight to the guy lounging by the boat.

He’s wearing an old tracksuit, plastic chair, cigarette hanging.

I try to be casual.

“Hi,” I say. He doesn’t even look up.

He’s asleep half-open, like I interrupted his siesta.

“Excuse me?” I push.

He mumbles something, barely awake.

“I no do rides, friend. Sorry. I rest.”

Shit. No.

I look around. Then back at him. “Three thousand.”

The guy’s eyes snap open. Like I shouted in his ear. He sits up so fast he almost falls. Then his face cracks into this ridiculous, huge grin.

“Three thousand? Who are you?” he says, all sudden energy.

I swallow. “Giovanni. A desperate guy who needs this ride. Three hours. Me and one more man. Please.”

He stares at me a beat like I’m crazy.

“SERIOUS? SERIOUS?” He yells it like it’s the best news he’s had all week.

I nod. “Serious. Three thousand.”

He grabs his head with both hands, laughs, and slaps his knee. “Of course!!! Of course!!!”

He’s beaming. “Your friend? Your friend? He come?”

“I’ll go get him. Don’t leave.” I try to sound confident.

He squints at me, suspicious.

“I will come back. Wait here!” I say.

He smiles even wider and switches to broken English with this proud, overexcited energy.

“Me? No leave. I wait here, my friend! You go! Leave bag here!”

I drop the bag and bolt.

Inside the shop I’m looking like a man possessed.

I find Rava in the back, this tragic little shopping halo around him, and he’s standing there with his hands on a tiny basket.

I stare at it. He looks at me.

“There’s no fucking way,” I say flat.

“What did you buy?”

He opens the basket.

…

The one thing in there is a cheap T-shirt with a Greek beer logo on it, ten euro special.

I feel my head about to explode.

“I gave you the card, I told you to pick stuff. You bought a beer shirt?”

Rava’s eyes go huge.

“I panicked? Okay? I got anxious? I can’t pick without you.”

He looks like he’s about to cry from the embarrassment and the idea that he’s failed at shopping.

I shove the card back into his hand.

“Forget it,” I say, suddenly softer. “We’ll buy stuff together. Come. Now. No more shopping solo, mister.”

He nods, relieved and blinking back at me like I’m some hero.

I pay the guy at the counter for the T-shirt, because you’re not leaving your fiancé alone, are you?

We grab the bag, and we run back out to the boat.

I grab his hand without even thinking about it.

Still gives me butterflies. Every fucking time. His fingers fit right between mine.

“Didn’t you say you wanted a boat ride?” I ask, trying to sound casual even though my heart’s doing laps in my chest.

Rava looks at me like I just said we won the lottery. “Wait, are we actually going?”

I grin. “Come on.”

We walk down the dock together,

The guy by the boat spots us and lights up instantly.

“Ooo Giovanni! Come, come! Welcome, welcome!” he says, in that amazing broken Greek-English combo, waving us on like he’s known us for years.

Rava waves back, smiling wide. “Geia sas!”

His accent’s terrible, but the man beams like it’s the best thing he’s heard all day.

I slip the guy the cash while Rava’s busy looking around, quick and clean.

Worth it.

We step on board, and holy hell, it’s perfect.

All white with silver railings, smooth deck, a little table, soft seats, enough space to lie down if you want. The water around it is calm and stupidly blue, like it’s been edited by God himself.

Rava brushes his hair back, eyes shining. “I’m gonna cry,” he says. “This is insane.”

I can’t even answer. I’m just staring at him.

The wind’s messing his hair, sun hitting his cheekbones.

The plan’s in motion.

---

Guys the next chapter is so mwah🤭 Heheheh.

Sorry for the yapping sometimes, I’m just excited about this trip!

I’m trying to get into the summer vibe while outside it’s raining cats and dogs oop.

(We are almost at 2M yall…)

OH AND VOTE THE CHAPTER otherwise I will think that y’all are just here out of habit, I need my reassurance💔

THATS ALL BYEBYE !!

120) Bring The Tsipouro!

Gio’s POV

The boat’s moving and honestly, I have no idea where the hell we are.

Just blue. Everywhere.

The guys driving are inside somewhere, probably smoking and gossiping.

Good. I don’t need an audience.

Rava’s sitting at the edge of the deck with his back turned, while the sun is hitting him like it’s personal.

I squeeze sunscreen into my hand and start rubbing it slowly over his back.

I’m supposed to be helping him not burn.

But fuck that.

I’m burning.

His back looks like it was carved by God on a horny day.

He leans forward a bit and I get more skin.

More of that stupid perfect waist, those hips, those dimples at the base of his back…

Lord, I’m gonna pass out. No, worse, I’m gonna bust in my fucking shorts.

And that tattoo, still looks perfect even after all this time. I could trace it blindfolded.

I’m rubbing him down way longer than necessary, mostly because I don’t wanna stop touching him.

He chuckles. “Thanks.”

“Anytime,” I mutter.

He stands and stretches. “Can I swim now?”

“We’re stopped,” I say, leaning back on my elbows. “Go ahead.”

He walks to the railing, grins at me, and just backflips into the water like it’s nothing.

I stare. What the fuck was that? Who even taught him that?

I can’t do that. This feels offensive.

He pops back up with slick hair, smug smile. “You coming?”

“Yeah, but I’m landing on you.”

“No Gio, don’t—”

Too late.

I jump. Almost crush him. We come up laughing, both coughing up salt water.

He’s wiping his hair out of his face, and I’m just staring because he looks unbelievably good like this.

I grab him by the neck and kiss him.

He gasps, but his hands are already in my hair, tugging and pulling.

He breaks the kiss, laughing. “I’m going up.”

I grip his waist. “No, you’re not.”

“Okay.”

I grab his head with both hands, and dunk him straight back under like I’m baptizing him.

In the name of Gio, amen.

He comes up spitting water, laughing, wiping his face.

“Okay, I get it, you haven’t changed since you were ten.”

I smile. He’s right.

I’ve just upgraded from throwing water balloons at him to baptizing him with my bare hands.

Growth.

He splashes water right in my face. “Let me go, psycho.”

I finally let him, laughing, watching him climb the ladder.

Water dripping down his back, down his legs, pure torture.

My soon-to-be fiancé’s got a fat ass.

I climb up after him and I obviously shove him straight back in.

“GIO!” he yells, spluttering, laughing his ass off while I sit there like nothing happened.

By the time he climbs out again, I’ve got the whole setup ready, two glasses, champagne open, fruit laid out like I actually planned it this way.

He stops, dripping all over the deck, staring at me.

“Look at you,” he says. “Being a good boyfriend.”

I grin, handing him a glass.

You think I’m a good boyfriend? Wait ’til I’m your husband.

He drops down next to me with a towel around his neck, still dripping.

He grabs a straw hat he bought earlier and puts it on like he’s posing for a magazine cover.

Then he takes the towel, and wipes the water off his chest.

I swallow hard, try to play it cool, look away, fail immediately.

He reaches for his champagne, taps it gently against mine.

“Yamas,” he says, all proud of himself for using the Greek word.

“Yamas,” I echo, watching him instead of my drink.

He takes a sip, tilts his head back, eyes closed, sighs. “Wow. This is good.”

I smirk. “Of course it’s good. I know what I’m doing.”

Do I?

Absolutely fucking not. But I’ll die before admitting that right now.

I grab a cherry from the little plate, bite into it, and lean back against the seat. He’s stretched out next to me, hat tilted down, sunglasses on, legs crossed.

We look like those annoying rich couples in travel ads, the ones you hate until you realize you wanna be them.

And I’m sitting here thinking how far we’ve come.

Every fight, every kiss, every risk we took just to end up right here.

Soon I’m gonna ask him to stand, tell him I wanna show him something in the water.

He’ll turn, all curious and soft-eyed, and when he does, I’ll already be on my knees.

Is it a risk?

Hell yeah.

But everything between us has always been one.

And if I’ve learned anything, it’s that every risk with Rava, is worth it.

The boat starts moving again. I’m trying to act normal, sipping champagne, pretending I’m not seconds away from asking the love of my life to marry me.

Then the captain dude comes back out with a big smile and a cigarette in hand.

His eyes are squinting at the horizon.

He points ahead. “That there, Paros island! You go, Paros good!”

Rava, all polite and sweet, smiles back. “Ah! Paros! Nice!”

The guy walks over and just sits right next to us like we’re old friends. “So! Where you from?”

Rava goes, “Italy!”

The man lights up. “Oooo, Italiano! Oke, oke!”

Then silence.

Just the sea, and this guy’s cigarette smoke hitting my face.

Rava turns to him, dead serious. “Sir, what is malakas?”

The guy chokes on air. “Who call you malaka?!?!”

Rava blinks. “No one! I just—everyone says it. ‘Malaka’ this, ‘malaka’ that. Are we malakas?”

I almost spit my drink. Can we not talk about malakas five minutes before my proposal, please?

The man laughs, pats his chest. “Malakas… malakas is like brother! We greet each other like ‘Ayyyy malaka!’”

Rava nods like he’s solving math. “Malaka… nice. I like it.”

The man smiles. “So Italy, eh? I go Italy many times! But then woman, marriage, obligations…”

He waves his hand dramatically. “Life is hard now. Before marriage, me travel everywhere. Marriage is a trap.”

…

I can feel my eye twitching. Like actually twitching.

Someone give me a frying pan.

Every “marriage is a trap” earns him a mental bonk.

I bite a grape.

“It can’t be that bad,” I say.

He looks at me. “Believe me, my friend. It is.”

…

Rava, cover your ears, baby.

I want to scoop my eyes out with a spoon.

Why today?! Why on the one day I try to be soft and romantic?

How am I supposed to propose with a Greek man sitting next to us declaring marriage is a prison?

He suddenly looks at our drinks. “What is this nonsense you drink!?” he barks. “KOSTA! Bring the tsipouro!”

My head snaps up. “NO. No, we’re good. We’re fine, thank you.”

Rava gives me that relax, babe look.

Oh my God. I’m gonna die.

The man grins. “No, no! It’s a gift! From us! You cannot be in Greece and not drink tsipouro! I made it!”

Rava tilts his head, innocent. “Is it good?”

Oh shit.

I never warned him about tsipouro. I only warned myself.

“Sir, really, it’s fine—”

He waves me off. “Come, come! Little! For good luck! Yamas!”

He passes us each a shot. We clink.

I pray to every god I’ve ever heard of.

We drink.

Fuck me. It’s like swallowing fire.

I feel my soul leave my body. Rava’s coughing like he just swallowed the sun.

The Greek guy’s perfectly fine, smiling like he just had orange juice.

Rava’s eyes are watering. “You drink that… voluntarily?”

“Of course, my boy!” the man says proudly. “What you think we drink in panigiri?!”

Before I can stop him, he pours another round.

I down mine instantly, out of pure despair.

Rava’s laughing, actually enjoying this.

Which, of course, means I can’t end it.

He’s glowing. Literally glowing.

“Sir,” Rava says, smiling like a golden retriever, “we want to go to a panigiri too! The one with violins and Zorba dance and beer! When is it?”

The man slams his shot down. “Three days! The best violins! In Engares!”

He squints at Rava. “You know how to dance Zorba, boy?”

Rava blushes. “No…”

I stare into the void.

This proposal’s never happening.

It’s been an hour. Rava’s completely wrecked, drunk, sunburned, grinning, and lying all over me like a wet towel.

Three thousand euros down the drain so he could learn Zorba and get shitfaced with the captain.

Perfect.

Exactly what I paid for.

He’s heavy against my chest.

He turns his head, half his face pressed to me, eyes barely open.

Then he starts kissing my neck. Each kiss slower than the last.

Fuck.

“Gio,” he mumbles, smiling. “I’m having the best time here.”

I run a hand down his abs, trace the lines just to keep my hands busy. “Yeah, me too, baby.”

I push his wet hair back so it’s not sticking to his face, kiss the side of his cheek.

He grins. “I know how to dance Zorba now.”

“I know,” I tell him. “I saw. You killed it.”

Then he moves, sits up, cross-legged, right in front of me, puts both hands on his face.

Just… stares.

No words. Just those big, green eyes locked on me like he’s looking through me.

I laugh nervously. “What? Why’re you looking at me like that?”

He doesn’t say anything. Just keeps staring, smiling.

The sun’s hitting his eyes and they look unreal, all shiny and green.

Then the dimples show up. I’m done for.

He’s too damn cute. It’s unfair.

I actually have to stop myself from laughing because he looks so proud of existing.

“You’re pretty,” he says finally, with a soft voice and drunk as hell.

“You’re drunk,” I say. “You need food.”

He leans in, smirks a little. “Mmh. Feed me.”

I exhale, rub a hand over my face.

If the captain and his tsipouro buddy weren’t here, I’d pin him down right here by the sea and make love to him for three hours straight.

But they are. So I just sit there, biting back a laugh and a boner.

“Later. When it’s just us.”

Rava leans forward, reaching for the bag, and my brain just

dies

.

He cannot open that bag.

Not now. Not with the ring sitting in there.

“Wait, no. I got it,” I say, too fast. “Whatever you want, I’ll grab it.”

He raises an eyebrow, smirking. “Oh? What a gentleman. Bring me my phone, then.”

Yeah, fine. Easy. Normal. Except it’s not normal because the second I grab the phone, it starts ringing.

Rava squints. “Oh shit! It’s Daisy.”

Before I can stop him, he answers.

“ CONGRATULATIONS !“ she screams so loud I almost drop dead.

Rava freezes. I freeze.

This can’t be happening. Shitshitshit.

He looks at me like I just got us both arrested. “Why are you congratulating me?”

I grab the phone. “Uh—hi Daisy! Yeah, uh, Rava learned Zorba! Crazy, right? We’ve been dancing and drinking for like an hour, that’s all. Just dancing. And drinking. Nothing else. Nothing else.”

I emphasize the nothing else like five times just in case.

Thankfully, Daisy’s not an idiot. “Ohhh. I see,” she says.

Rava leans over, grinning like a drunk angel. “Daisy. Tell mom I’m never coming back to Italy. I’m staying here with Gio and tsipouro and the malaka.”

Daisy’s voice jumps an octave. “Wait—WHO did you call malaka?”

I rip the phone from his hand. “Okay, he’s done talking. He’s drunk. We’ll call you later.”

She’s laughing now. “You better. And don’t let him drown.”

“Working on it,” I mutter, and hang up before Rava can say anything else stupid.

He collapses back against me.

I look down at him.

Jesus Christ. I was supposed to propose today.

Now I’m babysitting a drunk Zorba dancer with a death wish.

I’m walking down the street in the middle of Naxos with a whole adult man on my back.

Not metaphorically. Literally.

His arms are looped around my neck, his thighs are tight around my waist, and his drunken little head is resting on my shoulder like I’m his Uber and therapist combined.

And in front of me? I’m also carrying my bag.

Just load me up like a donkey and call me Christ.

He waves at the old man from the boat.

“Bye malaka!” He says it SO sweetly. Like it’s a compliment. Like he’s blessing him.

I will not be the one telling him.

I am focusing. One foot in front of the other. His hand moves. His left hand.

He’s brushing my hair out of my face as I walk. His fingers are gentle, like he’s petting me.

Like I’m some majestic Italian horse.

I pause. Adjust his weight. Lift him a bit higher.

He mutters, right against my neck. “You’re so pretty, Gio.”

Oh dear.

He really doesn’t get it. He doesn’t get how close I am to losing it.

To saying fuck it, dropping to one knee, pulling the ring out and just start begging.

Let me call you mine, Rava.

Please.

But I don’t say any of that. I can’t. I’m too busy carrying his whole existence.

“You’re pretty too, Ravioli.”

And he giggles. Like I’ve just said it for the first time ever. Like we didn’t spend the last three years being in love.

“THERE!” he suddenly shouts in my fucking ear. I nearly drop him.

“What?!” I snap, heart doing backflips.

He points dramatically. “The souvlaki place. The one Stefanos told us about. I want it. I’m starving.”

I blink. “You already had souvlaki today.”

He leans into my neck. “Please, Fontana. I need souvlaki.”

I just stare at the sky. What will I do with this man. This divine, ridiculous, stunning, drunk creature that’s taken over every cell in my body.

“Okay,” I sigh. “Let’s get you fed before you start quoting poetry to the tzatziki.”

He’s barely conscious. Like, I don’t even know if he knows where we are.

I’m holding the food now, and he’s just slumped in this plastic chair, flipping through the restaurant menu.

“Baby, you don’t need that,” I mutter, pulling it out of his hands.

I toss it back onto the table. “It’s not coming with us. Let it go.”

He doesn’t argue. He lets me drag him out.

And then he stops.

In the middle of some random alleyway. There’s a stone ledge. Some old-ass wall. Literally nothing else.

He flops down like it’s a velvet couch at a five-star hotel. “We’re eating here?” I ask.

He nods. “Looks cozy,” he says, already undoing the bag.

I sit beside him. The stone’s kinda cold, and the alley smells like oregano and bread.

Fine. He’s glowing. So it’s fine.

He pulls out the souvlaki, opens the wrapper, takes one bite…

And instantly moans.

Like, not a little hum. Not a “yum.” A fucking moan.

Eyes shut tight, mouth full, body leaning back like he’s seeing God.

I lose it. Like actually start laughing out loud.

Because anyone walking by? They’re 100% thinking I’ve got my hand down his pants.

He’s nodding while chewing. Nodding hard. Tzatziki smeared on the tip of his nose. He looks at me, totally serious, totally proud. “This is INCREDIBLE,” he announces, holding the souvlaki like it’s a baby.

And I just sit there. Staring.

At his messy hair. At his sauce-covered face. At the way he talks with his hands even when he’s too tired to sit straight.

God, I love you, you idiot.

I actually love you.

Like, can’t breathe right love you. Like, you could ask me to rob a bank right now and I’d already be halfway through the getaway plan love you.

He doesn’t even know I’m staring. He’s too busy double-fisting fries and nodding at the wall like it’s agreeing with him.

This is it. This is what people write songs about. This dumb, sauce-stained boy who somehow turned my life into a love story.

---

You wish that was you huh😼 BAHHAHAHAHAHAH.

ATTENTION READERS.

About that mirror boombayah…

I know I said the last smut chapter was the final one, but I’m not gonna lie, you’ve got me in the mood again. So I say we vote :)

121) United By Insults

Rava’s POV

It’s freezing. Okay maybe not freezing, but definitely not the warm Greek island fantasy I signed up for. No one warned me about this.

I’m cocooned in the sheet like a human burrito, trying to keep my soul from leaving my body, when Gio pulls me right into him.

Literally drags me against him. My face is now buried in his neck, his arm around my waist, like saying you’re mine now .

It’s hard to explain, but when Gio’s around… everything just feels… softer. Like the world turns its volume down a little.

It’s not even about the hug itself, it’s the way my brain instantly stops running.

Something clicks and goes, you can rest now, he’s got you.

It’s a weird kind of safety. Not the heavy kind, like a locked door or a wall. It’s light, and it feels like being inside a clear bubble where nothing bad can reach you.

The air inside this bubble is warm, and you can still see the world outside, but you don’t care about it as much, because in here it’s quiet.

And calm. And good. Just me and Gio.

I’m watching him sleep when he suddenly opens his eyes and catches me staring. Instant guilt. I look away immediately.

He stretches his arms, yawns, and then one arm lands on his stomach, the other across my thigh.

I glance down.

Oh . Well. Someone’s definitely awake.

I bite back a laugh, smiling against the pillow. My hand moves on its own, resting on his stomach, tracing lazy shapes there. Then lower.

I pause. Waiting for any kind of reaction.

He turns his head toward me, half-asleep, eyes barely open. We just look at each other for a second, total silence.

Then he faces the ceiling again, closing his eyes. “Keep going.”

I smile, maybe too much, and slide my hand inside his boxers, wrapping around him gently.

He lets out this quiet little sound, and my stomach instantly does that butterfly-drop thing.

It’s stupid how much I love that sound.

I don’t even want to make him finish. Yet .

I just… want to feel him.

After a few seconds, I stop. Pull my hand out, rest it back on his stomach like nothing happened.

He mumbles while his eyes are still closed, “Mmh… we’re breaking up.”

I laugh immediately. “Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

So I grab the sheet and yank it off him completely.

He groans, doesn’t even open his eyes. “Now we’re definitely breaking up.”

“Get up! You have to take me for coffee, actually, all the coffees. Then we’re going swimming. And then… the Portara for the sunset.”

The second I say “Portara,” he sits up like he just saw a ghost.

I blink. “What? You don’t want to go?”

He rubs his eyes. “No, no, I do. I want to. A lot. We’ll go, I promise.”

I smile, and it’s too big, I know it. He looks like he’s still half-asleep. His hair is everywhere, so I fix it for him, running my fingers through it until he actually looks human again.

He just lets me. Doesn’t even move.

We go brush our teeth together, side by side, still not talking much.

But my brain is going crazy now.

There’s something I wanna tell him, but I’m scared it’s gonna sound… too much.

Maybe… too serious for him? I don’t know.

And it’s all because of that damn guy on the boat yesterday.

“Say it,” Gio says suddenly, out of nowhere.

I almost choke on toothpaste. “What?”

He spits, rinses his mouth, looks at me through the mirror. “You’re twisting my ring on my finger while you brush your teeth. You do that when you’re thinking too hard or when you wanna kiss me and you’re too shy. And I don’t think you wanted to kiss me while brushing your teeth.”

I blink. Wow. He’s… not wrong. But also, how dare he notice that.

He grins. “Oh my god, you’re even blushing?! What is it?”

I laugh, nervous as hell. “I just had a weird dream, that’s all.”

He steps into the shower and turns the water on. “Come in and tell me your cute little dream that played in your genius head.”

I roll my eyes but yeah, I go.

Because 1) he asked, and 2) he’s naked. And I’m not a saint.

I step under the water with him, trying to sound casual. “So… about yesterday—”

He sprays water right in my face.

I gasp, wipe my eyes. “What did I do to deserve that?!”

He laughs. “Sorry. Go on.”

I take a deep breath, praying this doesn’t come out wrong.

“Well… because yesterday that guy wouldn’t shut up about his wedding and his tsipouro, my brain got influenced and I dreamed that… WE were married. And you had left for a trip but also you were… home?! At the same time?! And you put tsipouro in Lulu’s bowl.”

He laughs.

Okay. He laughs. So he’s fine. Good.

Because if he freaked out at the word married, I’d actually have to move to another island and change my name.

After what that guy said yesterday, about how marriage is a trap and blah blah, I wasn’t sure Gio would ever wanna hear that word again.

The last thing I want, is Gio thinking I’m trying to trap him into something.

He starts rubbing soap on my chest, still smiling. “How do you know we were married and not just boyfriends?”

…

I’m so not telling him he put a ring on my finger.

Hell.

That would sound like I’m begging him to marry me, like some tragic man on a corner holding a sign that says “ husband wanted, will trade dignity! “

Well…

Not that I’d mind hearing him call me his husband. I mean, it’s a solid title. Has a nice weight to it.

“Oh, my husband’s calling.”

Yeah. That’d sound… kinda hot. Professional. Domestic.

So I swallow. “Uh, I don’t know. Maybe we weren’t. Could’ve been. I… don’t remember.”

He slicks his hand through my hair, pushing it back under the water. “You’re cute.”

Cute. He called me cute. That’s it. That’s what I get. I talk about our imaginary marriage and I get cute.

Oh God. I’ve overdone it. I sound desperate.

“It was just a dream,” I say quickly, trying to save face.

He turns off the water, leans in, and kisses my neck in a lazy, almost hypnotic way. “Was I a good husband in your dream then?”

My heart almost stops.

God, you were so good that I woke up missing a marriage I never even had.

I roll my eyes, smiling. “You were… manageable, I guess.”

“Fuck you,” he says, laughing, pulling me close. “You know I was amazing. Come on. Let’s go get you some coffee.”

We’re walking down the main street, the sun is already too hot, even though it’s 10am.

I’ve got my hand on Gio’s arm because I want to, but I told him it’s because the streets are too crowded. Heh.

“Hey, look,” I point toward the harbor. “That’s our boat from yesterday!”

He squints, then laughs. “The best failure ever.”

“Failure?” I look at him like, excuse me? “Why failure?”

“Failure? Did I say failure?”

“Yes?”

He rubs the back of his neck. “Well… You got drunk. Thought maybe it wasn’t fun for you anymore.”

I laugh. “Are you kidding me? That was great . I learned to dance Zorba. Do you think I’d ever do that sober? No chance.”

He smiles, and before I can say anything else, he grabs my hand properly, laces our fingers, and brings it up to his face to kiss it.

My stomach does that annoying butterfly thing again.

We keep walking, and I spot this tiny café tucked in a corner. It’s got faded chairs, blue windows, and a sign that probably hasn’t been repainted since 1990.

It smells absolutely amazing, strong coffee and something sweet.

“Gio,” I say, tugging his hand. “Let’s go there. It looks so nice.”

He raises an eyebrow but I don’t even let him answer, I just pull him toward it.

When we walk in, it’s super quiet. There’s only some old guys playing cards and a cat sleeping by the door.

No tourists, no noise, just us.

I don’t know why, but it makes me a little sad.

Like the place deserves more people, more life.

It smells so good, and it’s just sitting here, half-empty, waiting for someone to notice it.

We sit down at a tiny table in the corner. The chairs creak, the fan above us makes that old buzzing sound, and there’s a cat watching us.

I miss Lulu and Blu. Our children. I wonder if they ever think about me.

I look at Gio.

I can’t help it, I start laughing.

Gio looks at me. “What?”

I shake my head, grinning. “You just look so out of place here. It’s like someone dropped a nightclub bouncer in a monastery.”

He raises an eyebrow. “That accurate?”

“Pretty much,” I say. “I give it five minutes before one of the grandpas over there starts twitching.”

He chuckles, but before he can say anything else, a girl our age comes over.

She’s clearly part of the family, she’s got that look of someone who’s been forced to help out in the family business. She’s carrying a tablecloth and starts talking super fast in Greek while setting the table.

Gio turns to me with panic in his eyes. Full-on help me face.

Finally. My time to shine. I’ve been WAITING to use this phrase for weeks.

I lean forward, look serious, and say, “Den miláme elliniká.”

Which means “We don’t speak Greek.” Yeah. I learned how to say that in Greek.

The girl stops, exhales loudly, and goes, “Oh, thank God . You don’t speak Greek. Finally.”

We both blink. Gio’s mouth opens slightly.

She sighs and keeps setting the table. “So, how’s life outside Greece?”

We just stare at her.

“It’s… less blue,” Gio says slowly, “and fewer souvlakis.”

She actually laughs at that, shaking her head. “Wow… Lucky you. I’d give anything to travel. Anywhere.”

Then she glances toward the table with the old men, lowers her voice, and adds, “But, you know… my family won’t let me. I’m just helping them out. What can you do.”

“You’re really sweet for caring about them,” I tell her, smiling.

Her whole face softens. “You’re kind. I’ll be right back with menus, okay? Sorry I talk too much. No one ever comes here who isn’t related to me.”

We both laugh, and I shake my head. “Don’t worry, we like meeting new people.”

She grins and walks off, and Gio leans across the table. “Did we just accidentally become part of her family business?”

“Maybe,” I whisper, smiling. “We’ll blend in. You can be the scary cousin.”

One of the old guys from the next table has turned completely in his chair. Like, full rotation.

He’s just… staring at Gio. No blinking. No shame. Just judgment.

I bite the inside of my cheek so I don’t laugh.

The guy doesn’t even get up. He just pokes Gio’s arm with his cane.

Gio turns slowly. “Uh… hello?”

The old man narrows his eyes. “Are you… a prison guy?”

Gio blinks. “What? Prison ?!”

The man waves the cane up and down Gio’s tattooed arms, shaking his head like he’s disappointed in all of humanity. “You bad.”

The girl rushes out from the counter, looking panicked. “What’s going on?”

Gio points at the grandpa, trying so hard to stay polite. “Can you please tell him I’ve never been to prison? I just have style.”

She snorts, nods, and turns to the man. She says something in Greek.

The old guy looks back at Gio like he just heard the dumbest thing on earth.

“Style?!” he says, pointing his cane.

Gio nods. “Yes. Style.”

I swear this feels like watching a live play called Theater of Confusion: Naxos Edition.

The old man squints again. “How old is you.”

Gio sighs, holds up two fingers on one hand and five on the other.

“Fifty-two?!”

Gio slaps his own forehead. “No! Two-five!”

The girl bursts out laughing and translates. The grandpa looks unimpressed, puts out his cigarette… then hands it right to Gio.

Gio shakes his head. “No, thank you.”

The old man squints harder. “You a criminal? You have.. pow pow?”

Gio just collapses into laughter. He’s trying to explain but can’t even breathe.

The girl starts scolding the old man in Greek, something that definitely sounds like for God’s sake, stop interrogating the tourists!

Divided by language, united by insults.

The old man points to his friend across the table. “This guy? War. Very strong.”

Gio raises an eyebrow, and starts flexing his biceps too.

All the grandpas cheer at once, clapping and laughing, shouting something that’s definitely approval.

Gio just sits there confused, kind of proud, kind of scared, like he’s been adopted by them.

I lean toward him and whisper, “And you call me grandpa? You’re officially one of them now.”

He smirks. “Please. I’m their idol now.”

We’ve been here for an hour, and things have gone from chaotic to “what the actual hell is happening.”

We’re drinking this weird coffee that’s literally called Greek coffee, like, thanks for the creativity.

I’m helping one grandpa roll cigarettes because apparently that’s a group activity now, and Gio… Gio is on his 72nd round of arm wrestling with a guy who looks like he fought in every war ever.

Watching Gio interact with people is honestly my new favorite sport.

He’s trying so hard to look polite, but also refuses to lose. His veins are popping, and every time he wins, the whole table explodes like he just scored a goal for Greece.

Someone asked me five minutes ago if Gio had kidnapped me.

Then another grandpa gave me five bracelets with little blue eyes on them “to protect me from evil.”

I’m now wearing all five. I think I might be too protected.

Oh, and they gave us a jar of homemade jam. For some reason.

The girl’s still here too, translating between Gio and the table of grandpas like she’s running a United Nations summit.

Every time Gio tries to speak Italian, they just nod like he’s quoting scripture.

He teaches them Italian curse words.

At this point, we’re not customers anymore. We’re family. Help.

Now it’s time to go.

Gio stands, pulls out his wallet, and puts way too much money on the table. Like… way too much.

One of the grandpas squints at the bills, horrified. “You buying the whole café?”

Gio laughs. “No, just generous with tips. It was a good coffee.”

The grandpa shakes his head and tries to shove the money back at him.

Gio pushes it right back.

They’re having a full-on money fight now.

The old man narrows his eyes. “Are you stupid? These are too many.”

Gio shrugs, dead serious. “I know. It’s for you.”

The grandpa stares for a second, then nods slowly. “Wait here.”

He disappears inside with his cane, and I lean toward Gio, whispering, “I’m scared. He’s gonna come back with a sword or something.”

Gio snorts. “If he does, I’m hanging it on our wall. This shit is probably real.”

A minute later, the grandpa comes back, holding a huge bowl of olives.

Massive.

“Our olives. From our field. We make them. You won’t find this anywhere else. Trust.”

I swear my eyes almost water.

These people… They might not be rich in money, but they’re so rich in heart. Like, painfully rich.

Gio takes the bowl, laughing. “I don’t usually eat olives,” he says, “but I’m starting today.”

The grandpa points a finger at us. “If they ask you, you say Dimitris made them. Okay? Go now. And stay out of prison, zoccola.”

He just called Gio a whore in Italian.

We leave the café with a jar of jam, a bucket of olives, and our dignity barely intact.

We’re both laughing like idiots. I look at Gio. “You’re so charming it’s ridiculous. They literally gave us their hard work. That’s the sweetest thing ever.”

He grins. “Yeah. Greeks are something else.”

I smile, fixing my glasses. “Let’s drop these at the car and go swim? It’s getting really hot.”

He wraps an arm around my waist. “Agreed.”

We start walking, and ahead of us, the Portara shines on the hill, the sea glittering around it.

“I can’t wait to go there later,” I say quietly. “The sunset’s gonna be insane.”

Gio smiles at me. “We’ll go. I literally can’t wait.”

---

Alright, pookies.

The next two chapters, as you can probably tell, are pretty important. They have to be posted together, not separately, so I’ll probably need 1–2 extra days to finish both and upload them at the same time.

That way, we’ll celebrate two things together: Gio’s proposal and Ride or Die reaching 2 million reads 😼 hehe.

Wish me luck. And if I don’t write them perfectly… go easy on me, I’m just a girl 💔

(Please vote this chapter, I need those likes to hit 69K cause I’m immature)

That’s all. BYE, I LOVE YOU ❤️

122) Fate

Gio’s POV ♡

Rava is fixing his hair again. Like it even needs fixing.

The mirror loves him more than I do, and that’s saying something.

I’m buttoning my shirt, pretending I’m calm. White linen.

My hands are shaking a little.

Not from nerves, but from trying to hold all this love in.

He looks like summer decided to take human form.

He’s wearing a light blue shirt, white shorts, and a silver chain on his wrist.

In a few hours, I’ll slide that ring onto this hand.

He catches me staring. “What?”

Nothing. Just trying to remember you like this. Right before I change everything.

He laughs and turns to grab his stuff.

I walk over, slip my arms around his waist from behind, rest my face on his neck.

“I’m ready,” he says.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Just… let me pee first, so I don’t complain later.”

He disappears into the bathroom. The door clicks.

And I finally breathe.

Go to my bag. The ring box is there. I open it.

Alexandrite, silver, diamonds. Fucking beautiful. Still hits like the first time.

I close it, slide it in my pocket, button it shut.

Pull out my phone. Group chat.

GIO:

-second attempt. wish me luck.

NOAH:

-Don’t forget about the heat.

-And remember, straight back! Important! Don’t you dare slouch .

LORENZO:

-If you fail again, you’re gay.

MARCO:

-If he says no, remember what we said. Slap him and ask again.

-Assert dominance.

DAISY:

-You got this!! You’re gonna be engaged tonight!! 💍

I grin. Yeah. I fucking am.

I drive slow.

My right hand’s been on his thigh the whole drive.

He didn’t complain, just kept tapping along to whatever crap song’s on the radio.

The ring’s in my left pocket, on purpose.

Far away from his eyes. If he knew what I was hiding, he’d probably freak out. Or cry. Or both.

When we finally park, he’s out of the car before I even turn off the engine.

He’s staring up at the hill at the Portara, all wide-eyed like he is seeing it for the first time.

“Yay. There’s not much crowd,” he says, squinting against the sun.

“I can take as many pictures as I want.” He turns to me, excited.

“You have to get one of me on the Portara, okay?”

I laugh. “Okay.”

He doesn’t notice I’m not really looking at the ruins. I’m looking at him.

He keeps staring up.

My angel.

“Maybe I should’ve dressed as a giant foot.”

…

I blink. What the actual fuck.

“A what ?”

He tries to hold a straight face. “A foot. You know. Because we’re about to—”

“Don’t say it…”

“—step into history…”

…

We just stare at each other. Silent.

Then he loses it.

He bursts out laughing. His mouth is wide open, his head is tilted back and he’s laughing like he just told the funniest joke in the world.

I’m supposed to be planning a proposal and he’s talking about dressing like a fucking foot.

And somehow I’ve never loved him more.

Because that’s him. My beautiful, stupid idiot.

There’s a whole world out there, people clawing their way into parties just to be seen, pretending they’re important because someone tagged them in a story.

Everyone’s busy trying to outshine each other.

Snobs terrified someone might notice their necklace isn’t expensive enough, their shoes aren’t designer enough, their faces aren’t filtered enough.

They flirt with strangers just to get a drink that costs half your fucking rent.

They chase names, brands, fucking validation, as if love comes with a logo.

And then there’s him.

In a world full of people dying to look perfect, I fell for the one who wants to go out dressed as a giant foot.

The man who laughs at his own stupid jokes until he can’t breathe.

Who trips on cobblestones and apologizes to the cobblestones.

Who thinks history puns are peak comedy.

He’s everything this world forgot how to be.

Honest, ridiculous, warm.

So no. I’m not letting him go. He’s not walking away, not tomorrow, not ever.

I’m gonna marry this idiot. Even if I have to drag him to the altar myself.

We’re finally climbing the hill slow, hand in hand, after we spent five minutes talking about a foot costume and feet in general.

He keeps swinging our hands back and forth like he’s five and life’s a field trip.

I swear, I could watch him forever like that. He’s so happy.

“I can’t believe it,” he says. “We’re almost there.”

He’s looking at the Portara like it’s the fucking gates of heaven.

I look at him, then at it, then at him again.

Yeah, sorry, ruins, you lose.

I just know that his tiny brain is already running wild.

He’s probably thinking what he’s gonna tell his students when he gets back.

‘Kids, the Portara was built in—’

blah blah blah.

I can see him saying it, smiling with that teacher smile that kills me every damn time when he talks to parents and I’m just sitting there.

My heart’s going off-beat. This is it. Finally.

No heat, no chaos, not too much crowd. Just light, sea, and him.

Perfect.

He hands me his phone. “Take a photo of me, okay? Right under it.”

“Yeah,” I say. “Go.”

He takes off running.

Stops to wait for some tourists to move.

Starts making faces at me from a distance.

Crossed eyes, tongue out. Everything.

I’m here, holding a ring in my pocket, trying to breathe like a normal person, and this idiot’s doing Muppet impressions.

When the crowd clears, I start snapping photos.

My baby’s glowing.

Smiling like it’s the best day of his life.

Unbelievable. The Portara made him smile more than his own damn birthday.

God, what a nerd.

“Should I climb up on the marble?” he yells.

I squint. “Can you even do that?!”

“Yeah! I saw someone do it earlier. Must be fine.”

“Then go, before I change my mind.”

He starts climbing, laughing under his breath.

I’m about to tell him to be careful when this random kid comes sprinting past, circling him like a damn seagull.

The kid brushes past him, and the next second, Rava’s foot slips.

He hits the marble with a sharp crack.

Shit.

“Rava!”

I’m already running. I drop to my knees beside him.

“Hey—hey, does it hurt? Talk to me.”

He blinks up at me, confused. “I’m fine, I’m fine—”

“No, you’re not fine, don’t even start.”

I push his hair back, and… holy shit .

There’s a small red bump forming at his forehead.

Not bleeding, but it’s there. And his hand’s scraped.

“Oh my god, you’ve got a bump. Of course you do. Because why the fuck wouldn’t you?”

He tries to laugh, instantly winces. “Gio, I’m okay, it’s nothing.”

“Nothing? You just headbutted ancient Greek architecture!”

People start gathering. Tourists whispering, someone filming.

I turn and snap, “Yeah, no, he’s fine, thank you, maybe stop staring?!”

A woman asks if we need help. “I’ve got it,” I say too sharp.

I take his face in my hands. “Follow my finger. Yeah? Good. Eyes fine. No blood. Breathe for me.”

He exhales slow. Laughing. “See? Not dying.”

“Yet,” I mutter, checking his hand again.

“You’re scraped. Jesus. That kid—”

“Don’t yell at the kid,” he says.

“Sure, I’ll just politely curse him out in my head… Come on. Let’s take care of you.”

The sun’s down.

Everything looks flat now…

We’re at some small restaurant under the hill…

He’s across from me with a bag of ice pressed to his head.

Still smiling like nothing happened.

I’ve got my hand holding up my face, staring at the table…

Can’t even look at him for a second.

He shifts the ice, chuckles. “What’s wrong? You look like you hit your head.”

Yeah. I did. Life keeps hitting me and doesn’t even let me take a fucking break.

Every time I try to do something right, something decent, it turns into a joke.

Couldn’t just let me have a quiet, perfect moment.

Had to throw a damn kid into the mix. Had to make me watch him fall and almost smash his head open right before I was gonna ask him to marry me.

I drag my hand down my face. I’m so tired. Not sleepy, tired inside.

He’s fine. Just a bump. Some scratches.

But all I can see is that split second when he hit the ground. And I feel sick.

I should be happy he’s okay. Instead, I just feel like the universe looked at me and laughed again.

He’s still smiling and holding the ice like it’s no big deal.

Because apparently he’s built to bounce back, and I’m built to fall apart.

I stare at the table.

All I wanted was to do one thing right. Just once.

One simple, quiet, beautiful thing.

But no. Not for me. Never for me.

I let out a breath.

He looks at me again. “Seriously, Gio. You look like hell.”

Yeah. Feels about right.

He’s been staring at a column next to us for a solid minute.

Then he squints. Points.

“Hey. There’s a sign. It says there’s a panigiri festival tonight.”

I don’t even lift my head. “Cool.”

Next thing I know, he’s standing right in front of me, blocking what’s left of the sunset.

“Let’s go.”

I finally look up.

He’s smiling.

“You’ve got a lump the size of a tennis ball under your hair,” I say flatly. “And you wanna go somewhere full of drunk people dancing and eating meat off sticks?”

He grins. “Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

I just stare at him. Then laugh quietly.

If we go back to the hotel, I’ll end up staring at the ceiling and hating the universe again.

If we go there, maybe I’ll just hate the music instead.

“Is it far?” I ask.

He turns, checks the sign again. “Nah. Twenty minutes by car.”

Then looks back at me with too much excitement.

“Please. I might finally get to dance to Zorba.”

I stare. “You’re not dancing to Zorba. You’re injured.”

“I’m doing it,” he says. “And you’re filming it.”

I rub my face, sigh, push my chair back.

“Fine. Let’s go before I change my mind.”

He instantly lights up.

I toss some cash on the table, grab the keys, and follow him.

I’m back behind the wheel.

Mentally exhausted, and still pissed at fate, but following the idiot I love straight into whatever chaos waits next.

He’s already dancing in the passenger seat.

No music, just whatever tune’s in his little head.

He’s got his hand out the window, and the air is messing up his hair.

Still happy.

Meanwhile I’m driving miserably. Am I being dramatic? Yes.

Am I being a little bitch about it? Also yes.

But fuck it. I earned this.

Everything was perfect. The spot. The light. The timing.

I had it all lined up in my head, finally, finally something going right.

And then the universe went, “hm, what if a kid just… shoulder-checks him into ancient history?”

Now here we are. He’s vibing like nothing happened, and I’m sitting next to him trying not to scream.

I can’t just say, hey, wanna go back to the Portara tomorrow?

Yeah, that’s not suspicious at all.

“Oh yeah babe, remember when you almost cracked your skull there? Yeah let’s recreate that, but with romance.”

I grip the wheel tighter.

How the fuck am I supposed to top that place?

I glance over. He’s still moving his shoulders while humming something off-beat, and smiling like an idiot.

And I’m just tired. Tired of trying to make life cooperate. Tired of loving someone so much it hurts every time I try to make it perfect.

So yeah. I’m miserable.

Yes the fuck I am.

We’re here.

The place is packed. Like - can’t breathe

• packed.

Smoke everywhere, lights, people yelling, laughing, clapping.

It smells like meat, fries and beer. The holy trinity of chaos.

Plastic half broken chairs everywhere, tables covered in paper plates and lemon slices.

Some guys in the corner built an actual tower out of empty beer cans.

A big one.

A band’s going off, their violins are screaming.

Some dude’s holding a plastic bag full of fireworks like it’s… totally normal.

And in the middle of all this, there’s a massive circle of people dancing, shouting and sweating.

I have no idea what they’re celebrating.

Do these people just find random reasons to throw a party every three days?

I kinda respect it.

Rava’s already clapping along, doesn’t even know what song it is.

Didn’t hear the beginning, doesn’t care about the lyrics, just clap clap clap.

He turns to me.

“See? Cheer up! We’re gonna have an amazing time. We’ll eat souvlaki. Come on, don’t look like someone stole your bike!”

I stare at him. “Bite your tongue. Don’t jinx it, you curse magnet.”

He laughs. “Okay, okay. Then let’s get food first. You’ll eat, get your strength back, and then I’m forcing you to dance with me.”

“Not happening,” I mutter, but he’s already walking off toward the smell of grilled meat.

And I follow.

He looks high on life already. Not drunk, not tipsy, just high.

He grabs my hand and pulls me with him like we’re in some kind of parade.

He tries to copy the people dancing next to us.

Hands in the air, quick steps, a spin that fails miserably.

Kicks his own shoe. Almost trips. Keeps going anyway.

We fight our way through the crowd like two idiots on a mission.

People bump into us, we bump back.

Someone yells “sorry,” someone doesn’t.

The smell of meat and fries is everywhere. I’m starving, even though I swore I wasn’t hungry.

We finally grab food.

Two souvlakia and a pile of fries, and we squeeze onto a tiny plastic table right next to the dance circle.

Rava’s got his food in one hand, still moving his shoulders to the beat.

“EAT FASTER!” he yells. “I WANNA DANCE WITH YOU!”

I smile. The miserable cloud I’ve been dragging, starts to lift.

Just watching him laughing for no reason and trying to clap on beat and missing every single time is enough to fix me.

I’m now eating like I haven’t seen food in days. Straight up inhaling it.

I catch Rava staring at me, and I look back at him like - you’re next, sweetheart -.

He gets the message. Smiles.

Starts eating too, fast and messy, eyes still on me.

We’re both starving and borderline feral.

Then out of nowhere, he yelps. Like, actual pain noise.

He drops the souvlaki, clutching his hand with wide eyes, and then starts fake-crying, voice breaking between laughs.

“Oh my god, Gio, I bit my finger. I literally bit my own fucking finger.”

I’m gone. I’m hysterically laughing.

He’s glaring at me, still laughing through the pain.

“DON’T LAUGH, YOU ASSHOLE! IT HURT!”

I can’t even breathe. “Then maybe next time—”

I’m wheezing between words.

“—try eating your food, not your hands.”

He gasps, scandalized, and grabs a fry.

Bam—it hits me right in the face.

He’s trying not to laugh, pretending to be offended.

I grab his collar across the table, pull him in, and kiss him.

But I forgot one thing.

People .

This old lady standing next to us.

Full-on judgment mode. She shakes her head slowly, all dramatic.

Like saying “How dare you.”

And Rava…

Instead of looking away or getting awkward, he smirks.

Turns to me again, eyes still on her, and kisses me one more time.

Longer. Rougher.

Fingers in my hair.

That’s so him. That’s so Rava.

The quiet kid who used to flinch when someone raised their voice is now kissing me in front of a woman who’d probably start an exorcism if she could.

And I don’t care. Let her stare. Let everyone stare.

I’ve got the most beautiful man on this island in my arms.

He’s mine.

I grab his hand tightly. “Come on,” I tell him. “You wanted to dance. Let’s go.”

He blinks at me, confused for like half a second, and then I’m dragging him straight into the chaos.

There are fireworks in the sky.

There’s a blur of people, music, plates… literally smashing somewhere in the background, the smell of grilled meat, and before I even know it, we’re in it.

Someone I’ve never seen in my life grabs my other hand.

Another one grabs Rava’s.

And suddenly we’re in this massive circle with everyone yelling, laughing and stomping their feet.

Rava lights up instantly.

He’s laughing so hard his whole face is glowing, his hair’s bouncing up and down, his cheeks are bright red.

Meanwhile I’m just… trying not to die .

Everyone’s moving too fast.

I have no idea what I’m doing.

The guy next to me looks equally lost, so we’re basically two idiots pretending to know the steps while Rava’s out here looking like he’s been Greek this whole time.

He’s so into it that I start laughing too. Like full-on can’t-breathe laughter.

He’s turning, clapping, yelling opa ! at random times that don’t even match the music, and it’s so chaotic it’s perfect.

The circle gets tighter, people are bumping into each other, shouting, and spinning.

I grab both his hands, swing them back and forth, pull him close.

He laughs so loud I can hear it over the music.

I spin him around. He almost trips, crashes into me, and I kiss his neck, his forehead, his stupid red cheek that’s hot from dancing.

He’s breathless and wild and so, so fucking happy and I swear, I’ve never seen anything more beautiful.

If this isn’t living, I don’t know what is.

My Rava, glowing in the middle of strangers, laughing like it’s his last day on earth.

Me trying to keep up with him. And failing.

But still loving every second of it.

—

It’s been… I don’t even know. An hour? Two? Time doesn’t exist here.

Only people yelling Opa!

We’re literally dead.

We drop to a corner like corpses, both of us completely wrecked.

Rava looks like he’s been hit by a bus made of happiness.

His head is barely staying up, his shirt is half open and wrinkled, his hair is sticking to his face, but he’s smiling.

Always smiling.

I’m no better.

My shirt’s glued to me, my legs feel like they’ve been in a war.

And I haven’t even had a drink. I’m just drunk on pure chaos.

Suddenly…

The music changes. That one song.

The intro hits and Rava’s head snaps up like he’s possessed.

He grabs my arm. “Gio.”

I blink. “…Rava?”

His eyes go wide, dead serious.

“That’s the dance. Zorba. THIS IS MY MOMENT.”

And before I can even process what’s happening, he’s already on his feet.

Running.

Straight into the middle of the chaos that’s forming again.

Everyone’s already clapping, cheering, and making space.

And my boy, my sweet, soft, scholarly boy, just goes off.

He’s out there throwing his arms and spinning with strangers. Like a man reborn.

And the crowd’s loving it.

Clapping louder, shouting “OPA!” with him, hyping him up like he’s the main event.

He’s grinning, and then he just starts yelling…

“EISAI MALAKAS!!” to everyone.

Every. Single. Person.

I freeze. Cover my mouth. Oh my fucking God.

He points at one guy. “EISAI MALAKAS!”

Another one. “MALAKAS!”

The smiles drop. The clapping slows down.

People start staring at him like he just insulted their dead relatives.

Oh shit. Oh no.

And before I can even move, some dude steps up and shoves Rava right in the chest.

Rava stumbles back, still smiling like a confused angel.

I’m gonna sob.

He looks at me like, what’s happening? what did I do?

He thinks “malaka” means “my friend.” Jesus Christ.

The poor idiot.

My poor idiot.

He made the drunk Greeks angry.

I’m already pushing through people, yelling “sorry—excuse me—sorry,” until I reach him.

I grab his wrist, pull him hard against me, practically shove him behind me. “Move,” I tell him fast.

He freezes for a second, too stunned to even breathe, so I grab his face, force his eyes on mine. “We run now, okay?”

He finally gets it. Starts moving. And thank God, because behind us I can hear shouting.

In Greek. Angry Greek. Never a good sign.

We start running. Full-on sprinting through the crowd.

People are yelling non stop, bumping into us.

The music is still blasting somewhere behind like the soundtrack to our downfall.

I’m laughing and dying at the same time, holding his hand.

“Gio, what did I say?! What did I SAY?!” he yells between breaths.

“You don’t wanna know, baby! Just run!” I’m laughing so hard I can barely see.

We’re shoving through people, dodging tables, turning random corners. It’s chaos. Pure chaos.

My lungs are on fire, and my chest hurts from laughing.

Rava’s still yelling apologies to random old ladies as we pass.

“Move, love, move,” I tell him, pushing him forward.

We’re running uphill and I swear to God, how many fucking stairs does this island have?!

My legs are jelly.

Rava’s half tripping every three steps. “Jesus, babe, pick your feet up.”

“I am!” he shouts back, nearly face-planting again.

I grab his wrist, yank him up before he eats the floor again. “I got you, come on!”

I can still hear voices behind us, yelling in Greek.

They’re still following us.

Over a word! One goddamn word!

How personally can you take “malakas” coming from a freaking tourist?

I look back at him.

He’s breathless, confused as hell. “They were my friends! They were clapping…”

My poor, clueless idiot.

We take another turn, another random alley.

Then another.

Until I see this half-open gate leading into what looks like an abandoned yard. Perfect.

I pull him in, shove the door shut behind us. It’s empty. Just the hum of crickets.

I can barely see his pink cheeks.

I grab him, wrap both arms around his head and pull him against my chest.

Tuck him right under my chin, like I can hide him there.

My chin rests on his hair, his face is buried against my neck.

We’re breathing hard, both of us shaking from laughter and adrenaline. He’s got his arms tight around my waist like I’m his shield.

Footsteps echo outside, still searching.

We both freeze. Don’t even breathe.

He tilts his head up slowly, eyes finding mine. For a second we just stare, and then we both lose it.

Quiet laughter spills out between us.

Our foreheads bump, our noses brush.

We’re squeezed into this tiny corner of the yard, backs against the wall, barely enough space to breathe.

I can feel every breath he takes hitting my collarbone.

He’s trying not to laugh out loud, biting his lip.

“I didn’t mean to call them that. I just, I feel awful.”

I smile. He looks like a guilty puppy.

I run a hand through his hair, brushing them off his forehead.

“Hey, baby. It’s fine. I know you didn’t mean it.”

He sighs, pressing his forehead against my neck. “He shoved me.”

I laugh quietly. “He’s just jealous. You were killing it out there.”

He looks up. “You think so?!”

“I know so.”

“Listen. When we get back to the hotel, you can dance just for me. I’ll clap, I’ll yell opa a hundred times, make it sound like the whole island’s cheering for you.”

He laughs softly. “You’re ridiculous.”

I kiss his cheek.

It’s more quiet now. Finally.

And the sky explodes, again .

A single firework shoots up, then another, and suddenly boom, another boom, another boom.

Colors everywhere.

Gold, red, blue, green, lighting up the whole damn sky like the universe just decided to show off again.

Rava gasps, covering his mouth with both hands.

“Oh my god,” he whispers, voice full of awe. “Actually, our view is so much better from here.”

He turns to me, grinning so big I swear it hurts to look at him.

“See? Fate knew what she was doing. She brought us here for a reason.”

And that’s when it hits me.

Right there. In the glow of the fireworks, with him glowing even brighter next to me.

Yeah. Fate knew exactly what she was doing.

This is it, isn’t it?

It’s not the boat. It’s not the Portara. It’s this .

I was so fucking stupid.

Running around like some idiot trying to choreograph love, chasing sunsets, timing words, planning every second like if I got it all right, then it would finally mean something.

Like love needed scenery.

Like I had to earn it with the perfect setup.

But it’s right here. It’s always been here.

His eyes are still on the fireworks.

He’s still out of breath from running. He looks ruined and divine at the same time.

And I just… I fucking feel it. That thing in my chest that hurts because it’s too big to fit.

He’s a goddamn miracle. Not in the corny way.

In the way that shouldn’t exist. The kind of person you don’t get twice. The kind of love that doesn’t come back if you fuck it up.

And I almost did. I almost ruined it chasing “perfect.”

I wanted clean and smooth. But we’re not that. We never were.

We’re chaos and bad timing.

We’re risks and broken rules and fights that turn into kisses.

We’re stupid laughter in back alleys hiding from angry strangers.

We’re late-night bike rides, jealousy, everything they said wouldn’t last.

That’s us.

He’s the only thing I ever got right.

The only person who looked at me and didn’t just see the damage.

He saw me . And loved me anyway.

And God, I was chasing the perfect place, when the perfect thing’s been holding my hand this whole time.

So yes. This is it.

He looks up, chasing the fireworks. I’m kneeling down, chasing him .

123) “In Other Words…”

Tip: put on some cute music for better vibes ^_^

Rava’s POV ♡

The fireworks keep exploding, one after another. Pink, gold, red, blue, and this huge purple.

It’s so bright it hurts to look at, but I can’t stop.

My neck aches from staring up. I should look away, but… I don’t want to.

It feels like the whole world’s on fire and it’s beautiful.

Gio shifts beside me, probably moving so I can see better.

He’s always doing that, quietly making space for me.

I smile without looking down.

Then his hands find mine.

I squeeze them without thinking, rubbing my thumb over his knuckles while still watching the sky.

“Weston?”

My name.

I blink. He never calls me that unless he’s being serious or wants to get my attention. So I turn around.

…

Oh my god.

He is kneeling. Gio is kneeling.

He’s looking at me with this… expression I’ve never seen before. It’s not smug or playful. It’s…soft. Almost scared.

And then I see the tear.

A single tear rolling down his cheek. And that’s when my heart gives up.

It’s real.

He’s crying. He’s crying, and that means this is happening.

Right now.

Before I can stop it, my head drops and I start sobbing.

Not cute crying.

The ugly, messy, uncontrollable kind where you can’t even wipe the tears fast enough.

“Hey—hey,” Gio says softly, and I feel his hands grab mine tighter.

His thumbs trace over my knuckles. “I need you to listen, okay?”

I try to nod, but my whole body’s shaking.

I feel like my heart’s going to explode right out of my chest.

He kisses my hands once, twice.

“The day I found out you were coming back to Italy,”

Gio laughs through a broken breath, wiping at his face.

“I fucking laughed.”

He looks at me, smiling. “I was ready to make your life hell again. I thought, ‘Oh, Weston’s coming back? Perfect . Time to drive him insane again.’”

He lets out another breath. “And I did laugh when I saw you that day. Because I didn’t see you like the way you look now , I saw your eight-year-old face again. That little frown you used to make every time I walked into a room.”

I start laughing, crying harder at the same time. My vision’s a blur.

“Did I ever think we’d end up here? Absolutely fucking not. I thought I’d tease you forever, piss you off until one of us moved countries again.”

His voice trembles. He kisses my hand again.

“I used to think dying for someone was the big romantic thing. Like, boom, tragedy, fireworks, fade to black. But that’s the easy part. The hard part is staying . Waking up when you don’t feel like it. Choosing the same person again and again even when you’re both exhausted and fucked up and different.”

He laughs through his nose. “ That’s what I want with you. I want the hangovers, the stupid fights about nothing. I want all of it. I want to be there when your hair turns gray and you still roll your eyes at me.“

His hand is wiping at the corner of his eye. Never looking away. Not once.

“Every time I think I’ve hit the limit of how much I can love you, you go and do or say something completely dumb, like biting your own finger while eating or thinking about dressing up as a damn foot, and I’m gone again.”

He exhales heavily.

“So no, I don’t want to die for you. I want to live long enough to spend every day proving you weren’t wrong about me. You’re it for me, Weston.”

I pull my hand out of his quickly, just to wipe my face.

My fingers are still shaking like crazy. I probably look like a mess, but I couldn’t care less.

I swipe under my eyes across my cheeks, sniff hard, and there he is.

Finally. I can see him clearly.

On his knees, staring up at me.

I’ve never felt this full in my entire life.

If happiness could kill, I’d be gone right here, right now, smiling with tears on my face.

“In other words…”

He laughs once nervously, and his hand goes to his pocket.

And that’s when my heart stops.

He looks up at me, then he pulls out the box.

Before he even opens it, I’m crying so hard I can’t see again.

My shoulders are shaking, I’m laughing and sobbing all at once like an idiot.

“Rava, look at me. Hey—” he laughs wetly.  “You didn’t even let me say it yet!”

He opens the box.

And the ring catches the light from the fireworks.

Looking like it was made just for us.

“I don’t care where we are, Italy, Greece, Canada, hell itself. As long as it’s you, I’ll go.”

I swipe at my face once more.

“Rava Weston,”

He exhales once. Then smiles.

“Will you be my ride or die?”

…

God, never in my life have I ever nodded that fast.

I can’t stop. My whole body’s saying yes before my mouth does.

“Yes,” I choke out, laughing hard through a sob. “For fuck’s sake, a thousand times yes!”

The second the word leaves me, we crash.

Hard.

We’re laughing and crying at the same time.

He lifts me a little, and we spin like two idiots who just won something.

I’m laughing so hard I can barely breathe. I wrap my arms tighter around him, bury my face in his neck.

He pulls me closer, until we’re both shaking from how hard we’re laughing and crying at the same time.

The fireworks are still going off behind us, the final ones, the big ones, and they look like the whole sky is celebrating with us.

Like the universe finally got one thing right.

When he sets me back down, my legs almost give out, but he’s still holding me.

I try to compose myself, but I’m grinning like an idiot while my tears are still falling.

“Okay,” I say, laughing. “Okay, serious face. Do it properly.”

He’s still shaking when he laughs again. “You sure?”

I nod, wiping my face with the back of my hand.

“Yeah. Go on, Fontana. Make it official.”

He takes the ring out. His hands are trembling, it’s the cutest thing ever.

He slides it onto my finger. It fits perfectly.

He looks at me and whispers, “You’re officially mine now.”

I can’t help it. I start crying again. Then I grab his face with both hands and kiss him messy and desperately.

My elbows rest on his shoulders, his hands press against my waist, gentle but strong, like he’s saying without words ‘We made it’.

When we finally pull apart, I look down at the ring. “That thing is unfairly beautiful.”

“You’re more.”

——

We got out of our hiding spot and just ran for it, straight to the car.

One second we were tangled up, not being able to stop making out, and the next we were pulling into the hotel parking lot.

We’re now sitting in the bathtub, both of us finally clean and actually calm for once.

There are only two tiny warm lights glowing beside us and a few streetlights coming in from the window.

My legs are between Gio’s.

Sorry. I mean my fiancés .

He’s holding his glass of wine, taking lazy sips, and his hand keeps sliding down my leg.

I sat across from him instead of glued to his chest.

I want to see him. The man who asked me to marry him.

Me. Rava Weston. I’m a fiancé now.

A real one.

To Gio freaking Fontana. The coolest man I’ve ever met.

He’s twirling the ring on my finger.

“It suits you,” he smirks. “More than I expected.”

I grin. “I don’t wanna take it off. Ever.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” I say, sipping my wine and sinking deeper into the bubbles.

“You like being a fiancé that much?”

“Absolutely I do.” I nod, full serious. “I feel the fiancé in my bones.”

He nearly chokes on his wine. “The fuck does that mean?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. I feel… like elevated. Like I unlocked a new version of myself. Fiancé mode. It suits me.”

He’s laughing again.

I drink more wine. Let my foot slide up his leg just a little.

He raises an eyebrow again. I grin.

His phone starts ringing right when I’m about to tell him he looks criminally hot under bad lighting.

He picks it up, checks the screen, and smirks.

“It’s Noah.”

Then he just… holds it out to me.

“You handle it. Just don’t turn the camera this way.”

I stare at him. “You serious?”

He nods, like I’m his secretary now.

“Alright. Let’s do this.”

The second I swipe to answer, I’m hit with Noah’s face.

“Rava? Are you in the hotel?!”

“Yeah,” I say, trying to sound casual but already grinning like an idiot.

This is the moment.

“Actually… Noah, can I call you back in a bit? I’m taking a bath with my fiancé.”

There’s this pause, one second of silence…

And then Noah screams. Like a dying animal.

“HOLY BLEEDING CHRIST—MARCO BABY, GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE!!”

I lose it. I’m laughing so hard I almost drop the phone into the water.

Gio’s laughing too.

Noah’s voice explodes through the speaker again. “RAVA, DON’T MOVE. NOBODY MOVE.”

I cover my mouth, crying from laughter. Gio goes, “I think he’s… happy. A little.”

Noah comes back, with Marco right behind him. “WAIT. WAIT. We’re adding Daisy, Lorenzo, and Jin to this call.”

“Dude, we’re naked in the bathtub,” I say, still laughing.

“Shush, I don’t care,” Noah fires back, eyes wide like a man on a mission.

Behind him, Marco starts fake-thrusting at him.

Gio nearly chokes on his wine again.

Jin joins the call first. “Bro, I’m literally on the toilet. What’s going on?”

Gio throws his head back and dies with laughter.

The whole room literally echoes with it.

“Wait—” Jin squints. “Did Daddy just laugh at my joke? Rava, move over bitch, it’s my turn.”

I wipe tears off my face. “Hi to you too, Jin.”

Next, Lorenzo pops up, he’s clearly at a club, lights flashing behind him, Daisy next to him.

Noah shoves the phone closer to his face like an angry dad. “TAKE YOUR GIRL AND STEP OUTSIDE. RIGHT NOW. IT’S EMERGENCY LEVEL JOY.”

“HUH?” Lorenzo yells over the music.

“I SAID STEP OUTSIDE,” Noah repeats like he’s losing brain cells by the second.

Lorenzo shrugs and disappears out the door, Daisy following him. “Wait—are you taking a bath?!”

“Kind of,” I say.

I have everyone’s attention now.

Noah exhales dramatically. “Good. Now shut up and show us.”

I lift my hand out of the water, and hold it up to the camera.

The ring catches the light, and it hits so hard it almost blinds us all.

Marco screams. Like an actual banshee.

Everyone starts yelling at once. It’s total chaos.

Lorenzo pushes closer to his screen. “I THINK I JUST WENT BLIND AND HAD AN ORGASM AT THE SAME TIME.”

Daisy’s just frozen, jaw dropped, staring like she’s seen Jesus.

Jin leans in, squinting. “Bro. WHAT. Gio, you hearing this? I think your little plan to keep our relationship secret kinda backfired, man. People are gonna think you actually like him now.”

Gio’s dead calm, still sinking a little deeper into the water. “Don’t worry, Jin. I’m plotting.”

Noah claps his hands together like a proud mom. “Finally. After failing twice , you did it. Now my anxiety will go away.”

I blink. “Huh? this wasn’t your first attempt?!”

Gio slides lower into the water, only his eyes above the water now.

I stare at him, eyebrows way up.

“Okay. We’re definitely unpacking that later.”

Then I look back at the screen. Everyone is still losing their minds.

“Alright, I’m hanging up.” I say.

“Lorenzo, Daisy, please don’t get drunk and die.”

“Jin, I hope your dump goes great.”

“Marco, Noah, this is your sign to switch tonight. For once. Bye.”

Before anyone can react, I hit end call and drop the phone onto the marble beside the tub.

I can’t stop smiling, like my cheeks are burning at this point.

“Alright,” I say, tilting my head at him, “Tell me everything.”

Gio chuckles, sipping his wine. “Why do you wanna know everything?”

I move closer. We’re basically glued now.

“Why wouldn’t I? Come on, spill. Who knew? When’d you buy it? When were the failed proposals? Fill me in, I’m ready.”

He stares at me for a second, like he can’t believe I’m being for real.

“You’re ridiculous,” he says, still smiling.

Then he leans forward and kisses me gently. “Fine. You win.”

“So… who knew?”

“Everyone,” he says. “Except you.”

My jaw drops. “Everyone—?!”

“Mm-hm.”

“When did you even buy it?”

He shrugs. “April.”

“APRIL?!” I almost splash him. “You had it in the house since APRIL?! And I never found it?!”

He nods, proud as hell.

I groan, grabbing my wine and taking a big sip. “Damn. I really need to start cleaning better.”

“You clean perfectly,” he says, brushing his thumb along my jaw. “I just kept moving it around.”

He grins. “We all went together to pick it out, by the way.”

I blink. “Aw. I love you all so much.”

He laughs under his breath. “Okay. First attempt, you can guess. It was here. In Greece.”

“Was it… the yacht? “ I say instantly.

He nods. “Yep.”

“Oh my god, you’re joking—”

“Nope.” He’s laughing now, shaking his head.

“But you got so drunk I had to carry you to a random stairway and feed you souvlaki instead of proposing.”

I slap a hand over my mouth, laughing so hard I almost spill the wine. “I’m sorry, baby…”

“Don’t be,” he says. “I had a great time. You learned the Zorba dance, too.”

I giggle and lean down, pressing a soft kiss on his knee.

“Second attempt,” he goes on, “was at the Portara.”

I freeze. “No…”

“Oh yes ,” he says, cracking up. “But you almost died, so, you know.”

I gasp, covering my mouth again. “Nooooooo.” We both lose it.

Then it gets quiet again, just the soft sound of bubbles popping.

I look at him.

My fiancé looks like he fell straight out of heaven.

“I prefer the third attempt a thousand times more,” I mutter.

He tilts his head, smiling.

“Jesus,” I mumble, covering my face with both hands. “I think this is the best day of my life.”

He hums. “Mhm. Mine hasn’t come yet.”

I lower my hands. “ Excuse me?! What the hell does that mean?“

He smirks. “I meant our wedding day, you hollow-headed dumbass.”

I gasp, splash him in the face on purpose.

He splashes back.

We’re both laughing.

After a few minutes, I notice it. He’s way too quiet.

I glance up from my glass, and yeah.

My fiancé is not looking at my face.

His eyes are locked somewhere a lot lower. Right between my legs. Under the water.

I flick a handful of bubbles at him. “What are you staring at?”

He blinks, like I just snapped him out of a trance.

“What?” He smirks, unbothered.

“Can’t a man admire his fiancé’s body? You’ve got the best one I’ve ever seen.”

I swear, between the wine and the way he said fiancé, I’m overheating. My face feels like it’s on fire.

“Okay,” I laugh, looking anywhere but him. “Time to get dressed.”

He leans forward, grin growing. “And then what? Very innocent cuddles?”

I narrow my eyes. “Yes. Very innocent cuddles.”

He reaches over, catches my hand, and brings it to his lips, kissing it slowly.

Dear 8-year-old Gio Fontana, you cocky little shit.

You threw paper balls at my head.

You stole my glasses and held them over your head, waiting for me to climb on a chair to get them back.

You hid my pens, my books, anything you could get your little hands on.

You flicked my ears every time you walked by, just to see me flinch.

If only you knew you were flirting with your future husband.

---

Bows

Was I good? Please tell me I was good.

Also, get ready to see overprotective Gio next chapter MUHAHAHA. (We’re still on for the mirror bang bang)

Also…

*Me watching Ride Or Die hit 2 million reads *

Lastly, I know this might humble me hard, but I’m letting you vote on these two chapters.

124) “I’m Engaged, Ma’am.”

Gio’s POV

The sun’s cooking my face again. Right through the window.

I groan, roll over, and crash straight into Rava.

He’s fully wrapped up in the sheet like a little cinnamon roll.

And then it hits me.

Oh, wait.

I’m engaged.

Officially. Fiancé-level shit.

I can’t just lie here like a useless man.

No. I have to be better.

I peek at the clock.

9:26 am.

He’s out cold. No way he’s waking up before ten-thirty.

That man could sleep through an earthquake if you whispered “five more minutes” in his ear.

My heavy-sleeping angel.

I smile.

I slide out of bed as quietly as I can, and tiptoe to the bathroom.

Door shut. Cold water in my face. Boom. Awake.

I stare at myself in the mirror while brushing my teeth.

That’s a fiancé right there.

A good one. Probably.

I need to do something nice. Something cute.

What do good fiancés do? Breakfast? Flowers?

Flowers. Yeah. That’s the move.

I grin. Yeah, I’ll pick him flowers.

From outside. With my actual hands. That’s romantic as hell.

Sure, I could just go buy a fancy-ass bouquet, but nah, Rava is Rava.

He will love my bouquet more.

So yeah.

I’m going outside to find him flowers. Real ones. From the ground. Like a man on a mission.

Because that’s me now. Gio Fontana, fiancé.

Happy. So in love it’s embarrassing.

I open the door slowly.

The hallway’s dead quiet. I slide out, close the door behind me like I’m sneaking out of my own wedding.

Rava’s still wrapped like a goddamn sushi roll, clueless.

I head down the stairs, chill as ever.

The morning air hits me.

Right next to the entrance, there is a pot with roses.

Guy just got engaged, now he’s about to steal plants.

That’s growth, baby.

I look around. No one. Perfect.

I crouch a bit.

“Sorry, buddy,” I mumble at the plant.

Snap. First flower secured.

I’m a damn provider.

I step out of the hotel, start walking uphill.

Every house I pass is exploding with flowers.

Roses, vines, colors everywhere, but nah, I’m not gonna be that guy.

I’m not stealing from people’s balconies.

I have standards now. Fiancé standards.

So yeah, no flower theft.

…Except maybe this one.

There’s this purple one sticking out through a fence.

Technically it’s outside the fence, so it’s public property now, right?

I glance around. No witnesses. Snap.

The purple’s nice. Rava likes purple.

Then I see something crawling on it. A damn bug.

“Alright, little man,” I mutter, flicking it gently onto another flower.

“There. You’re someone else’s problem now.”

I keep walking.

Oh.

Jackpot.

A whole damn field full of wildflowers. Alright, Gio, this is your moment.

I start picking.

First: daisies. Three.

That’s enough. Don’t wanna overdose on yellow.

Then poppies. Yeah. Rava loves poppies. Bright red, dramatic, just like him.

I look around again.

And holy shit.

Blue roses.

Well. Not roses roses, some kind of blue flower thing but whatever, close enough.

Only problem: they’re tied to a little garden arch with balloons.

Okay, fine, technically this might be someone’s decoration.

But come on .

You’ve got thirty-five of them, Karen. My fiancé has zero.

I grin, check both sides, and yank one off.

Apologies, kind property owners. Consider it a noble cause.

Keep going. Spot some weird pink ones that look like tiny trees.

Hell yeah, they’re cool. I grab a few.

Now I’ve got a fistful of chaos. Colors everywhere, stems poking me.

I look down at the mess and laugh under my breath.

Look at you, Fontana. Domestic as fuck.

“Psps.”

I freeze.

Did someone just “psps” me? Like I’m a damn cat?

I turn my head and… yep.

A grandma. Full black outfit, black scarf thing, the whole package.

Coming down the stairs slowly, holding a piece of bread.

Oh, perfect. Caught by the village security camera herself.

I smile, awkward as hell. “Morning.”

She squints at me, eyes going straight to the flowers in my hands. “For girl?”

Oh, here we go.

I can already feel the whole conversation forming in my head, the lecture about God, and “phase,” and how I’ll find a nice girl one day.

Please no. Not today.

So I just grin and nod. “You got me.”

She looks me up and down, then softens a bit.

She bends down, surprisingly fast for her age, and starts cutting some of her own flowers.

She gives them to me, and just leaves.

Can’t decide if that was creepy or cute.

Now I’m standing there with a full damn bouquet.

Wildflowers, roses, poppies, grandma’s garden specials, the whole deal.

Look at me, a functioning adult. A good fiancé. Holy shit.

Rava’s gonna lose his mind. He’s gonna wake up, see this mess in my hands, and probably start crying or lecturing me about soil types or whatever.

And I can’t wait.

Because I’m proud of myself.

I walk back to the hotel.

I pass the breakfast area.

Oh, look. Buffet’s still alive somehow…

Don’t mind if I do.

I swipe a small cake from the counter like a professional thief and keep walking.

Up the stairs. Two at a time. I’m pumped.

I reach the door.

I slip inside.

Rava’s still asleep. My sweet idiot.

I hide the bouquet behind the couch and sneak closer.

The moment I get near, he just turns over and crashes right into me, mumbling something in his sleep.

I grin. “Good morning, Ravioli.”

He just goes “mmm.” Doesn’t even open his eyes.

Then he sits up, hair in every direction, blinking like a confused baby deer.

And then out of nowhere, he throws his hand in my face.

Like, full power. He’s flexing his ring.

I burst out laughing. “Ravioli, you’re still half asleep and you’re already flexing.”

He drops his hand, flops right back into me. “Good morning, punk.”

“Screw you,” I laugh, kissing his temple.

He smiles softly, and tugs my hand. “Come wash with me.”

“Start without me, babe. I’ll be there in a sec.”

He rubs his eyes, yawns, mutters “okay,” and shuffles into the bathroom. Door closes.

Alright. Showtime.

I grab the bouquet, fix it up in my hands, one stem sticking out like it’s trying to escape.

Cake in the other hand. My heart’s racing like an idiot.

Why am I nervous? It’s just Rava.

He opens the door, and before he can even speak, I walk to him.

Flowers right in his face. And the cake.

His whole face lights up. His eyes go wide, and his jaw drops. “WHAT—Gio, what is this?”

I’m grinning like a maniac. “I picked them while you were sleeping. And the cake, I kinda stole it on my way up. It looked good. For you.”

Rava stares at me. He looks at the bouquet like it’s the fanciest thing he’s ever seen.

Then he just throws himself at me. Arms around my neck. Tight.

“I love being your fiancé already,” he says against my shoulder.

“But now I feel bad. I don’t have anything for you. Am I… SELF-CENTERED?!?!”

I laugh into his hair, hand on his back. “No, baby. You just keep being you. That’s more than enough.”

I pull back, still holding him by the waist.

“Alright. Go get ready. We’re grabbing something to eat, then hitting the pool. I saw it earlier, it looks good.”

Rava blinks at me, half smiling. “Whatever you say, prison guy.”

I stare at him. Not the prison guy again. “Excuse me?”

He tries to hold back a laugh.

“I’M NOT A PRISON GUY,” I say, pointing at myself.

“I BROUGHT YOU FLOWERS!”

He loses it, laughing into his hand. “I know, I know. I’m kidding. I love you, deep down.”

“Yeah, sure you do.” I smirk. “Give me back the ring.”

“Touch the ring and you die .”

I just burst out laughing. That’s the energy.

That is exactly what being someone’s fiancé should feel like.

We grab a quick bite, something light, nothing fancy, then head back to the room to change.

Swim shorts, sunglasses, towels, sunscreen.

We walk out into the heat and holy hell . The sun’s aggressive today.

I squint, toss the towel over my shoulder. “Come on, babe, walk in front of me. Don’t stay behind.”

Rava smirks. “Your shoulders block the sun. I’ll stay back here, thanks.”

I bite back a grin. Good boy.

Look at me. Protecting my man from getting blinded by sunlight. I’m a fucking legend.

We reach the pool area. Summer music is playing. There are a few people around.

Couple of older folks lounging in the shade, a small group our age by the far side, and two girls chatting near the bar.

Pretty quiet. Nice.

We drop our stuff on two sunbeds. I run a hand through my hair, already sweating. “Christ, I’m boiling. I need to get wet.”

Rava shakes his head, grabbing the sunscreen. “Wait. You’re not going anywhere until I cover you.”

I groan. “Come on, come on, make it quick. I’m melting.”

He ignores me completely, squeezing way too much sunscreen into his hands.

Then he starts rubbing it all over my chest slowly, like he’s enjoying the torture.

His thumbs are tracing lines that definitely aren’t necessary for sun protection.

He just smirks, totally aware of what he’s doing.

I try to think about boring, very unattractive things.

Taxes. Bugs. His dad.

Anything.

Not his beautiful hands.

He finally pulls back. “There. Safe from the sun.”

“Your turn.”

I squeeze some into my palm and start rubbing it across his shoulders, down his back, the curve of his waist.

I can’t wait for tonight.

I drop the bottle, and dive straight into the pool.

I pop my head out of the water, push my hair back, and I look up.

He is sitting at the edge.

Feet in the pool, calm and composed, all - I’m too pretty for this chaos -.

Mhm. We’ll see about that.

I grin, swim closer, then I shake my head hard. Water flies everywhere. Straight at him.

Rava flinches, and takes a deep breath, trying to stay calm.

He stares at me. “You’re disgusting. No sex for you today.”

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing, float closer until I’m right between his legs, hands resting on the pool edge near his thighs. “Yeah?”

He nods once. “Yeah.”

I tilt my head. Smile. “Mm. Cute.”

Before he can say anything else, I grab him by the waist and yank.

He gasps, then crashes into the water next to me.

Splash everywhere.

When he comes back up, hair plastered to his face, gasping, wiping his eyes, he looks absolutely furious.

And hot. Infuriating combo.

“I hate you, Fontana,” he spits, while water is dripping from his chin.

I swim closer.

“If that’s your version of hate,” I grin, “then please hate me harder, Weston.”

And I pull him in and kiss him, then I turn around.

I find a bright orange floatie. One of those giant donut-looking ones. Perfect.

I flop into it with all the grace of a drunk seal.

Legs hanging out, drink nowhere to be found, life’s good.

Rava’s sitting at the edge again, pretending to be normal.

Then out of nowhere, he kicks my floatie.

Full send.

I start drifting away. Slowly at first. Then faster.

He’s laughing. Actually laughing. Unbelievable.

If I’d done that to him, he’d be acting like I ruined his life.

But nooo, since it’s him, it’s apparently comedy gold.

I spin around, drifting straight toward another group of people. Two guys and a girl about our age. I’m too far to paddle back.

Fuck.

“Sorry,” I call out, bumping gently into the edge near them.

“Could you, uh… maybe push me back? I can’t move.”

The girl laughs, looks me up and down, full smirk.

“Hmm,” she says. “Do we want to push you back?”

I blink. “Yes. You do. I’m engaged, ma’am.”

She laughs again, hands up in surrender. “Alright, fair. Worth a try.”

She gives the float a shove.

I spin around, drifting straight back toward Rava who’s still sitting there. “Having fun?” he calls out.

“I’ll drown you,” I mutter, still spinning in the float like a lost idiot.

He stands, stretches. “Sure. I’m going to the bar. Gonna grab a juice. Stay right there. You want something?”

I squint up at him. “Whatever you’re getting, get me the same.”

He smirks. “Okay, simp. Got it.”

I groan. “Don’t call me that in public.”

He just laughs, turns, and walks off toward the bar.

And I’m left spinning lazily in the pool, watching him go.

I’m just vibing.

He’s laughing with the bartender, doing that thing where he touches his own neck when he talks.

God. My fiancé’s adorable.

I look around. The pineapples.

Next to some old guy taking pictures of him.

How the hell do pineapples grow.

I look away. Let it go.

…

Wait .

Hold up.

I sit up slightly. Eyes shift back.

My head tilts. No way.

Is he actually taking photos of Rava?!

I straighten up in the float. Wipe water from my face. Look again.

That man.

A grown-ass, probably fifty-something-year-old, divorced-three-times-looking creep, holding up his phone.

And it’s aimed . Not at the bar. Not at the view.

Not even at the bartender who honestly deserves a shoot for putting up with tourists all day.

He did it again.

The fuck?

I squint harder.

Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe he’s photographing the bar’s… wood…paneling?

Yeah. Sure. The fucking upholstery behind my fiancé’s ass.

Come on.

Rava drops some coins. Of course he does.

Not his fault. He’s clumsy when he’s focused. I know this.

But baby… now’s not the time to be cute and innocent and bend the fuck down like that.

And right on cue, the creep tilts his phone for a better angle.

Not even trying to fucking hide it now!

Hand around the phone. Two fingers adjusting the zoom.

I shift in the float. Cross my arms. Watch.

Rava grabs the juices and starts heading back.

This greasy fossil tracks him.

Phone follows him like a fucking motion sensor light.

He has no idea. Rava is walking toward me all happy and glowy, completely unaware that there’s a desperate, pervy old man documenting his every fucking step.

I smile.

Yeah. Go ahead. Chug that beer, old man.

Eventually your bladder’s gonna tap out.

And when it does, I’ll be waiting. Inside. By the restrooms.

And we’re gonna scroll through your little photo album together.

Rava walks up to me. “Here,” he says, proud as hell. “It’s on the house.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Whose house?”

He smirks. “Mine.”

God. I love this idiot.

I drag myself out of the float and sit on the pool step next to him.

Take the juice. Take a sip.

Let him feel like a king.

The man’s been watching me pay for five-star hotels, flights and dinners like it’s pocket change, and now he’s beaming ’cause he managed to buy two drinks without checking the price.

Bless his heart.

“Thanks, baby,” I say, leaning into him for a second.

For a moment, it’s perfect.

But then I glance up.

He’s still there.

Pretending like he didn’t just treat my future husband like content for his wank bank.

But I know.

I look away again, try to focus on Rava. He’s talking about tonight.

“Today we are having our first night out as fiancés,” he says. “I’m excited.”

I smile at him. “Me too. I’ve booked us somewhere nice. You’ll see.”

He leans on me. I kiss his shoulder.

But then, movement.

I clock it immediately. The guy stands.

Heading toward the restrooms.

A smile creeps onto my face. Not because I’m in a good mood.

Because I’ve been waiting for this.

I put my juice down next to Rava’s, stand up easy. “Can you hold this for a sec? I gotta pee,” I say.

Rava nods, not thinking twice. “Don’t take long. I get bored when you’re not around to piss me off.”

I kiss the top of his head.

Then I turn.

Walk slowly.

Chill.

Like I’m just going to the bathroom.

I’m walking behind him.

I told myself I’d be better. Told Rava I was trying. Less threats. Less rage.

But when it’s my fiancé you’re pointing your crusty phone at…

Murder starts sounding like cigarettes after sex.

He slips into the garden bathroom. Door swings closed behind him.

I wait a second. Look around. No one.

Let’s go see those pictures.

Door opens again. I step in. Let it shut behind me. Quiet.

He’s halfway down the row. Heading for the last stall.

I follow. Right behind him.

He goes to close the door, but my hand’s already there.

I push it open. Step in. He spins, startled, but before he can make a sound, I shove him.

He stumbles, and in two seconds, I’ve got both his wrists locked up, mouth covered, and his knees crashing against the floor.

Right in front of the fucking toilet.

He makes a sound, some pathetic noise through his nose like he’s choking on guilt.

Good.

I tighten my grip. He winces.

“You’re gonna open that phone,” I hiss in his ear, “and you’re gonna delete every single photo you took of this man. While I watch. Or you’re about to learn what toilet water tastes like.”

His whole body shakes. He nods. Quick.

“I’m gonna take my hand off your mouth,” I whisper.

“If you scream, this room becomes your fucking coffin. So maybe think smart, yeah?”

He nods again. Repeatedly.

I let go.

He gasps. “I—I’m sorry, I didn’t know anyone was watching—”

I laugh.

Then I kick him in the side.

“ That’s your problem? That someone saw you?“

I crouch a little. “Not the fact that your brain’s leaking rotten porn fantasies into real life? You’re sick. Now where’s the phone.”

“Just let go of my hands and I’ll give it to you—” he stammers.

“Do I look fucking stupid?” I snap. “Tell me where it is. I’ll get it.”

“Right pocket. Please.”

I reach in, grab the phone. Hold it up.

“Passcode.”

“Two-three-three-two,” he says.

I try it. Wrong.

My jaw clenches. “You wanna try again before I piss and make you drink it?”

He panics. “Sorry! Sorry—it’s two-three-three-three-two.”

It opens. I go straight to the gallery.

I fucking knew it.

It’s Rava.

Mid-step. Bending.

Sandwiched between screenshots of porn and whatever twisted collection this creep keeps.

It punches me in the gut. Even though I knew it was here. Even though I expected it.

I want to break the phone.

But I don’t.

I take my phone out. Snap a photo.

His face. His phone in my hand.

One clear shot of Rava on the screen.

Evidence. Insurance. Fucking leverage.

And then I press delete.

Delete again. Empty trash.

I put his phone back into his pocket.

“Try this again, take one more photo, or even look the wrong way, and I’ll ruin your life. I have your face. And your sick little collection. With my man in it.”

He’s nodding, mouth open, saying “I’m sorry” over and over like it’s gonna fix the rot in his brain.

I stare at him a second longer. Then stand.

Wash my hands slowly.

He stays crouched like a kicked dog.

As I walk to the door, I pause.

I don’t even look back.

“I’m going now. Be a good man and think real hard before you ever point your phone again.”

I step out and the sun hits me straight in the face.

Like boom, welcome back, sinner.

I look around. Rava’s still there.

Sitting by the pool, legs still in the water, holding both juices.

Just as I’m heading back toward him, I pass the corner of the bathroom and pause.

Flowers. Purple.

A bit wilted.

Hanging out of the dirt like “yo.”

I stare at one.

Alright. One more won’t hurt.

I crouch down, snap it gently at the stem. “Come on, you’re coming with me,” I mutter.

Tuck it between my fingers and keep walking.

God, I’m in love.

I reach Rava and kiss his cheek before I even sit down.

He looks over, unimpressed. “Finally. I thought you fell into the toilet.”

I snort. Someone else almost did.

But I just smile, sit next to him, and hand him the flower like a five-year-old who found a rock and thought it was cool.

He grins, and gives me three kisses. Good.

In my head I’m like yeah, I almost drowned a guy in a toilet today.

But I did it out of love.

So. I’m innocent.

Probably.

---

AY

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IM EATING THIS SHIT UP

125) Don’t Underestimate Him

Rava’s POV

We’re going out. First real date night as fiancés. And yeah, I’m nervous. But like… the good kind.

The kind of nervous where you can’t stop glancing at the mirror just to check if you still look alright.

Even if you didn’t move.

Gio’s standing across the room. He’s fixing his sleeves. He’s in full black.

Black shirt… black pants… black belt that somehow makes his waist look criminally tiny under those broad-ass shoulders.

Silver watch, rings on his fingers (my ring is better) , sleeves pushed up enough to remind everyone he’s got those sexy forearms.

His hair is pushed back perfectly. Of course.

How the fuck did I land this man.

I’m standing here like a shy loser while Gio looks like a felony.

Sometimes I’m still a little nervous when he talks to me.

Which is ridiculous. But… super true.

He turns to me, and just flops right on top of me.

His cologne hits me instantly.

I bury my face in his neck without thinking. Just inhale.

Like a creep.

It’s stupid how good he smells.

I glance up and my eyes go right on his bottom lip.

That damn lip ring.

I smirk.

“You know,” I mumble while I’m still under him, “if someone blindfolded me and lined up twenty people for me to kiss, I’d still know exactly which lips were yours. Isn’t that cool?”

He groans dramatically. “You are never getting blindfolded and kissing twenty people, Rava. Not while I’m alive.”

I laugh. “And here I was thinking I’d find you in the line-up.”

“You wouldn’t. I wouldn’t be in the fucking line-up. I’d be dragging your dramatic little ass out of that room.”

I stretch and throw my arms over my head, playing innocent.

Gio’s now halfway admiring himself in the mirror again. Flexing.

As he should, honestly.

“So what if I decide to break up with you… let’s say… tomorrow?”

He pauses. Turns back to me. His expression shifts instantly.

He stares me down like I just told him I’m straight.

“I’ll slap the thought out of you.”

I cackle. Literally. Loud.

God. I love this man.

Let the people judge. Let them whisper. Let them stare.

They can whisper all they want. I get flowers. I get kisses. I get stolen cupcakes.

And they are sad enough to waste their night hating two idiots in love. That’s tragic behavior.

But not my problem.

My problem is sitting on my hips right now, smelling like heaven, and looking like he walked out of every fantasy I’ve ever had.

So. I think I’m winning.

We get out of the car.

Gio starts walking confidently, like he’s lived here forever, like he was born in one of those little white houses with the blue shutters and the random flower pots.

He slips into a side street. I have no idea where we’re going, but I follow anyway.

“Ooooh kitty.” I stop. Immediately.

She’s tiny. All grey with big yellow eyes, just lying there like being cute is her full time job.

I crouch and start petting her little face. She purrs.

“I miss Lulu,” I say. “And Blu.”

Gio glances back. “Same. I feel like a dad who abandoned his kids.”

I laugh. “She’s probably tired of Lorenzo’s ass.”

I give the kitty one last little forehead scratch and jog to catch up with Gio.

He still doesn’t say where we’re going.

He just moves and I go with him. Like always.

Eventually we turn a corner, and he stops.

Oh my.

There’s a restaurant. Or a bar? I don’t know.

It’s absolutely gorgeous.

There are yellow lights all over the roof, and little tables.

There’s a lot of people. Like, a lot.

Gio’s walking up to the guy at the front.

“Reservation under Fontana,” he says.

Lord , his voice. That little dip when he says his name. I need to sit down.

The guy nods and gestures for us to follow.

While we’re walking up the stairs, I’m smiling like I’m sixteen again and got kissed for the first time.

I don’t even know why. I’m just… happy.

Also maybe a little bit… in heat.

Because I don’t know how I even existed before this man entered my life.

He is so serious and so protective.

And it’s so fucking hot I actually feel like throwing him down on this floor and riding the life out of him.

And then wrapping him up and squeezing him and hugging him until he dies. In a cute way.

They seat us in this corner table on the top.

The view is ridiculous. We can see the boats, the sea shimmering, the little shops glowing below us. It’s… perfect.

I stare like a proper tourist. Then I turn my head to see him.

He’s sitting back, his legs are a little spread.

He is now adjusting his watch.

There are two buttons undone.

He’s having a good hair-day.

…

God. I feel like a whore.

Am I a whore? I might be.

I can’t stop thinking like this. I can’t stop looking at him.

He catches me. Smiles.

“What do you want to drink?” he asks, flipping the menu open.

I blink. “No one here serves what I want.”

He looks up over the top of the menu. “You’re such a whore.”

Oof. I knew it. Deep breath. Be normal.

“Okay, I’m gonna try this weird yellow thing,” I say, pointing. “You’re getting whiskey again, aren’t you?”

He smirks. “It’s like one mind.”

I love it here.

The waiter shows up and starts clearing the table.

Oh shit?

He looks like Gio. Like… a lot like Gio.

Well.

Okay .

Not the same . Let’s be real.

He’s the discount version. Like Gio, but if the printer ran out of ink halfway through.

We order. He leaves.

Gio just stares after him, blinking like he saw a ghost. “Okay, I feel significantly less unique after that.”

I lose it. “Oh my god, you saw it too.”

He shakes his head. “Only thing missing is him telling us he’s got the same bike as me.”

I snort. “I wouldn’t even be surprised if he clocked out and rode off on a Ducati.”

Boom. A hand lands on his shoulder.

We both turn.

It’s this guy from the next table. Sitting with two girls. All dressed like cocktails. Too many colors.

He’s got round glasses and a tattoo on his… face.

“Sorry, dude,” he says. “Wasn’t eavesdropping, promise. But I heard Ducati. I’m a whore for bikes. You got one?”

Gio blinks, looks at me, then laughs. “Two, actually.”

The guy whistles. “Damn, man.”

He grins and leans a little closer, totally invading Gio’s space. “So, what do you ride?”

Gio shrugs. “BMW M1000RR and a Panigale.”

The guy’s eyes go wide. “No shit. You own both?”

“Yeah,” Gio says, like it’s no big deal. “The Ducati’s mostly my main. BMW’s for when I wanna scare the fuck out of myself.”

The guy laughs loudly. “Respect. The M is insane. That throttle response… bro, you breathe wrong, and it throws you.”

That gets Gio’s attention. He looks impressed. “Yeah. Most people don’t get that. Pisses me off.”

“Oh, I get it bro,” the guy says.

“The torque curve on that thing’s lethal . I tried one once. Thought I was about to meet Jesus.”

Gio snorts. “Yeah, she doesn’t forgive mistakes.”

The guy keeps going. “Stock exhaust?”

“Hell no, swapped it for a full titanium system.”

“Bro, same! Akra?”

“Fucking obviously.”

They both laugh like they’ve just found a long lost brother.

I sit there. Smiling. Nodding at the right times.

Like yeah, totally, titanium, Akra, Jesus, love that for you.

The guy gestures with his hands like he’s throttling the air. “What tires you running?”

Gio shrugs again but now he’s into it. “Pirelli. Supercorsas.”

“ Fuck yeah , sticky as hell. I burned through a set in, like, two weeks.“

Gio laughs, shocked. “Two weeks?! Shit. You ride like a maniac.”

“Better that than babying her, man.”

I take another sip of my drink and try not to show how small I feel right now.

They’re talking in another language, and I’m just background noise.

I laugh when they laugh. I nod when Gio says something. I even mouth “nice” at one point for no reason.

But I have no idea what the hell they’re talking about.

Maybe I should’ve asked him more. Maybe I should’ve cared about what makes him come alive like that.

He’s still talking and I’m just there, smiling like background decoration.

Then I feel his hand.

He slides it across the table without even looking at me, finds mine, and starts tracing slow circles on my knuckles with his thumb.

Still talking bikes. But his fingers are anchored on me.

Instantly, I melt a little.

Yeah, okay. That helps.

The guy across from us glances down, sees it.

His smile flickers. Then he looks at me. “Oh, uh, hey. Sorry. Didn’t mean to ignore you.”

He chuckles awkwardly. “You ride too?”

I freeze. Oh god. He’s talking to me.

I stammer out a laugh. “Uh… no. I don’t. I don’t know anything about bikes.”

My cheeks are burning. “I, um… I like to draw them. Yeah, I’m good at drawing them.”

Shit. It accidentally comes out small. Dumb. I instantly regret it.

He gives me that polite look people give when they’re trying not to laugh. “That’s cute.”

Yeah. Okay. I stare at the table, wishing the floor would swallow me.

And then Gio speaks.

“Don’t underestimate him.”

The guy looks back up, startled.

Gio smirks and leans back in his chair. “He draws the best bikes I’ve ever seen. I can ride them, but he can make them. It’s impressive.”

He grabs my hand again and lifts it very proudly, just enough for the light to catch on the ring.

“I bagged the best artist alive, he’s fucking amazing,” he says. “I can’t even draw a stick man.”

The guy laughs, kind of awkward, mutters something like “fair enough,” and looks away.

My baby. Of course he didn’t let me fade. Didn’t let me look small. He pulled me back into the light. Flexed for me.

I love you, I love you, I love you .

He took a moment that could’ve made me shrink and flipped it.

Made me shine instead.

Your bikes are very cool, sir. Very shiny.

But I’m the one riding the rider.

Yep.

Me, the one who draws those bikes instead of riding them…

I sip my drink to hide the smile that’s fighting its way out.

He’s so good at this.

He didn’t even make the guy feel bad, just… fixed it.

I don’t know if it’s the drink or what just happened, but I’m so worked up I can’t even sit still.

I just want to go over there and sit on him.

I want him.

126) Mona Lisa With Stretch Marks

Gio’s POV

We are back in the hotel room.

What the fuck did they put in that whiskey?

My head’s buzzing and I can’t stop fucking staring at him and his neck and his stupid little hands.

I tug my shirt off.

“Fuck. My back’s killing me from that shitty chair,” he mutters.

Please say that you want me to massage you.

Cause I’m about to start chewing drywall if I don’t get my hands on you in the next thirty seconds.

“Wanna take a shower?” he asks innocently.

Wet skin. HIS wet skin.

It’s a yes.

“Yes. Yeah. Sure. Totally. Let’s go.”

I slap my face twice. Try to snap out of it. Doesn’t work. Of course it doesn’t.

My dick twitches the second he starts walking toward the bathroom.

I follow him like a dog about to hump a leg.

With zero dignity.

I’m behind him in a second.

His shirt hits the floor.

He’s doing this on purpose. I swear to God, he’s doing this on fucking purpose.

And if he’s not?

Even worse.

That means he’s just existing like this. Just being this hot without trying.

I feel like I’m gonna lose it. I’m gonna drop to my knees and beg like a psycho.

Again.

We step out of the bathroom dripping.

He’s in a towel. I’m in a towel. That’s it. That’s the whole crime scene.

Two men, no clothes, one bed.

I rub my hair with the hand towel, pretending to act normal.

Like I didn’t consider bending him over the fucking sink 10 minutes ago.

He walks over to the bed and just drops flat on his back with his arms and legs spread like he’s about to be sacrificed to some very lucky god.

Still not dressed. Not even trying to be dressed.

And he expects me to just… exist?

If someone could read my mind right now, they’d call the fucking police.

Lock me up. Institutionalize me. Because these thoughts?

Diabolical.

He turns his head and catches me staring again.

“I know we just showered,” he says, “but you need to give me a massage. Now . And use oil this time. You were rough the other time.”

Oil.

Oil .

The towel twitches again.

I drop the hair towel. “Of course. I’m at your service.”

I walk over, grab the bottle from my suitcase. Shake it a little.

“Turn over,” I say.

He does.

And when that towel on his hips shifts just enough to expose the top of his ass, I lose it.

Help me. This isn’t a massage. This is a set-up. This is a trap.

And I’m walking straight into it.

I’m sitting on his ass. Literally.

He’s face down. His hands are folded under his cheek like he’s some angel who wandered into the wrong goddamn room.

His tattooed back’s bare.

Poor bastard. He really thinks I’m just giving him a cute massage.

I tilt the bottle and let the oil drip. Right between his shoulder blades.

I spread it. With both hands.

He exhales, making that soft fucking sound like he’s relaxing into it.

I am not relaxing.

“Gio,” he mutters.

“Mm?” I pretend to play innocent.

I catch his smirk in the mirror across from us. He knows exactly how this looks.

“Go harder,” he says. “Please.”

Please?

I blink. Look behind me.

That’s unfair. I’m oppressed.

Help. Someone help me.

I obey. Of course I do.

He could snap his fingers and I’d drop to my knees.

Actually, he has done that. And I did drop.

He lifts his hips just a bit, and it’s enough to tease me.

I press down harder. I’m dragging my palms along his back.

His skin’s slippery with oil and I swear it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.

“Mm… lower.”

I glance at the mirror again.

And he’s looking right at me. His eyes look heavy, probably because of that two cocktails.

He winks. The little shit winks at me.

I swear under my breath. Smile despite myself.

Then push myself up on my knees and slide down, repositioning.

Directly behind that ass. That masterpiece.

I grab the oil again. Tilt it.

Let it drizzle slow over both cheeks.

He gasps, just a little.

Then I spread it. I massage him like he’s dessert.

Like I plan to eat.

I’m rubbing that spot at the bottom of his back over and over again.

I don’t even realize how low I’ve gone until my thumb’s basically flirting with his ass.

I’m doing slow and deep circles. “Hmm… maybe if you sit on me. Face to face. I’ll have better, uh… access.”

He looks at me through the mirror. That -you have no idea what you just unlocked- kinda look.

“Whatever you say.”

I’m dead.

I slide down onto the floor with my back against the wooden frame of the bed.

Between it and the mirror.

Real cozy spot to die in, honestly.

He climbs on top of me and the towel is just… gone.

Now his ass is pressing down on my balls like he’s trying to remind me who’s in charge.

Spoiler: not me.

I can’t even talk, I just look at him and then I look at us in the mirror.

His arms wrap around my neck. His body leans in. His ass is out just a little.

“Please… Gio, keep doing what you were doing. You were so good.”

I break eye contact. Fast. I can’t take that shit.

Grab the oil again. I start rubbing him, a bit slower this time, ’cause I’m trying not to die at the same time.

Lower back. Then lower. And lower.

Jesus fucking Christ. His ass is shining like two glossy-ass watermelons.

I can’t stop staring. I wanna squeeze. Bite.

I make small circles on each side. My hands go wider, then down again, and when I hit that sweet spot? He moans.

Right. Into. My. Fucking. Mouth.

He’s not even trying. Just sitting there like a goddamn prince.

Smiling all dazed while I’m fully losing it.

I’m staring at the mirror like a fucking idiot. I know I am.

And he notices. He turns his head and looks back to see what I’m staring at.

He sees his reflection. Our view.

He looks back at me with that smirk.

Nah. That’s not legal. It’s evil. That shit should be registered as a weapon.

He plays with my hair. Flips a black strand behind my ear.

“I’m almost as shiny as my ring.”

I blink. Look down at his hand. At the ring.

Then back at him.

Out of nowhere, he moves. He grinds down real slow.

And the fucker smiles.

He liked that.

“You tipsy?” I ask.

He leans in and bites my lip ring. “Maybe. A little.”

I don’t even pretend to be chill anymore.

I grab his ass with both hands and make a damn circle like I’m trying to measure a watermelon.

“Good,” I say, looking up at him. “’Cause I am too.”

His mouth’s on my neck again.

Listen. I’ve had guys kiss me. I’ve had mouths on me. But this? This isn’t about the kiss.

It’s the fuckin’ nerve. The goddamn boldness of it.

That Rava, my Rava, the one who used to stammer when I raised a brow at him, is now biting the softest part of my throat while sitting on top of me.

“You still want that massage?” I ask. My fingers barely stay steady on his back. “Or…”

His lips brush my ear.

“Fuck the massage, Gio. I’d rather have sex.”

Oh?

Oh?

That’s what we’re doing now?

I don’t say a word. I smile.

Fuck me sideways, he smiles back.

Then he tilts his head, leans in, and kisses me very gently.

He gives me this ridiculously soft, teasing kiss.

His lips barely touch mine. So gentle I could scream. Because I need more but he holds back.

I go to deepen it, to grab his jaw and drag him in, and he dodges.

Motherfucker dodges.

Instead, his mouth drops to my neck again. He starts leaving wet kisses all over.

I reach for the bag beside the bed, and yank out the lube.

While I’m stretching for it, he dives for my chest.

He fucking latches on my pierced nipples like he’s starving.

“Jesus—” My head slams back.

He’s not just licking. He is sucking, and absolutely devouring.

I knew he was horny, but he becomes something else when he’s tipsy. Something wild.

I barely register that he’s taken the lube from my hand.

He rubs it with both hands up and down my dick, coating me in a very messy way.

I’m gasping. He’s moaning.

With zero warning, he sinks onto me.

No prep. No fingers. He just took it.

My hands snap to his hips.

Fuck. He’s so hot inside. So tight it makes me even more dizzy.

And he keeps going in deeper.

Until he’s all the way there. Fully seated. Balls to skin.

But hell no.

His phone starts vibrating on the bed.

He exhales hard. Annoyed.

His hands still looped around my neck, and my dick is still buried so goddamn deep.

I smile at him. “See who it is.”

Rava groans like I just asked him to do math.

He leans over and grabs the phone.

Then rubs his eyes. Squints. Looks again.

And freezes.

“What?” I ask, raising a brow.

He just stares at the screen, then back at me.

“It’s…”

Pause.

“…Sophia.”

I laugh. Out loud. “You’re kidding.”

He shakes his head, stunned.

“Your ex?!” I smirk.

He nods.

Oh, Sophia. Sweetheart.

You really picked the worst possible time to check in on your old toy.

Because guess what?

You lost him. I kept him. And I put a ring on him.

And now he’s got me inside him while you’re calling to see how life’s treating him after two whole years.

“I say pick it up.” I grin.

Rava looks at me like I’m fucking mental. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious.”

“While we’re literally—” “Yes. While we’re literally.” I wink.

“I’ll behave. Promise, baby.”

He hesitates. Then sighs. “Only ’cause I’m actually curious what she wants.”

God, I love this man.

“Poor Sophia,” I murmur, running my hands down his back.

“Calling to check on the fiancé she lost… and I’m just letting you answer with my dick still inside you.”

He swallows. He taps the green button.

And just as he brings it to his ear, I grab his ass and shift him forward.

Position him better. Deeper.

He bites his lip, barely holds in a moan. “Hey… Sophia?”

Fuck me. This is about to be so much fun.

I drag my mouth to his ear. Bite it gently. Let my breath fan over his skin.

“Speaker. Now.” I whisper.

He hesitates. But he does it.

“Good boy,” I murmur.

The second her voice leaks through, he stiffens.

“Hey,” she says, all sweet and snake-like.

“It’s been a while. Two years?”

Beat.

“I heard you got engaged.”

My mouth stretches into a smile. My hands don’t stop moving.

He swallows. “What do you want, Sophia?”

“I don’t know. I just… missed you. Wanted to see how you’re feeling.”

Oh, fuck off.

I roll my hips up slow.

He lets out this silent moan.

He opens his mouth to answer and nothing comes out.

Exactly. “Yeah. It’s true. I’m engaged.”

“Are you… sure for the whole thing?” she pushes. “You’re not rushing things?”

I smirk. And I push again.

Deeper this time. His hands clench my shoulders.

“Yes,” he gasps. “Yes—God, I’m sure.”

Then she tries it.

“You’re not scared?” she says. “That he’ll cheat? Or leave?!”

Bold. For someone on loudspeaker.

“Not everyone thinks and cheats like you do, Sophia,” he says.

I reward him. Hand on his ass, grinding him down till he whines into my throat.

She goes silent.

Then she has the audacity.

“Well,” she says. “I didn’t like how your “perfect„ fiancé spoke to me back then. He was rude.”

I snatch the phone from his hand.

“Hey Sophia! It’s Gio. I’ll be real with you. This is not a good time, girl. Don’t worry, I keep him full in every possible way. He’s doing just fine.”

She goes silent.

“And me? I was rude. Because you’re a lying, cheating, manipulative bitch. I’m a good man. Just not to people who break him.”

“Oh,”

I add.

“And next time you call, don’t. Unless you’re asking where to send the wedding gift. Bye now!”

Click.

I toss the phone off the bed.

His hand wraps around my throat. He slams me back.

My head hits the space between the wood and the mattress.

And I fucking grin.

“Angel,” I breathe, “what happened to my soft boy?”

He glares.

“You said you’d be calm,” he says while still shaking with leftover moans. “You lied.”

I lick my teeth. “Sorry. I couldn’t help myself.”

“You almost made me moan while she was on the phone,” he snaps, but there’s a blush in his cheeks.

I give him my best fake sorry look. Real innocent. “Oops.”

He breaks and laughs once.

“Lucky for you,” he says, eyes flicking down, “you don’t have to hold back now.”

I hum. Run my fingers up his thigh.

“Lucky for you,” I mutter, “you get to see it.”

I pull out slow.

He gasps.

Then I flip him.

Face to the mirror, knees and elbows on the floor.

The lights are low, but still enough for both of us to see everything.

I kneel behind him.

Rub myself right up between those glossy cheeks.

Grip his hips.

I reach forward, wrap my hand around his throat again and pull his face up.

“Look,” I whisper in his ear.

He does. He is watching himself fall apart before it even begins.

“You handled that call like a fucking king,” I murmur. “Let me reward you.”

I grab his wrists. Pin them behind his back tight.

He barely moans, pushing back against me.

I smirk. “You ready for a show?”

“Please,” he begs. “No mercy.”

Oh, baby.

I shove his back down and I slam in.

He moans. I grunt, head falling forward.

Fuck.

I grab his waist and I thrust again. This time, we both look up at the glass.

Showtime.

I start moving. Each thrust hits harder than the last.

I’m completely fucking raw inside him.

Every time I slide in, his ass claps back.

He can’t hold himself up.

His forehead’s on the damn floor.

His whole body is giving out, melting into the floor already.

Nah.

Not happening.

I grab both his wrists with one hand this time, pin them harder to his lower back.

With the other, I fist his hair and yank his head up.

“I said watch.”

He gasps. Tries to close his eyes.

Nope.

I slam in again.

His whole body jolts. That ass?

Fucking bounces .

Like a goddamn wave. The mirror fogs up already.

“Look at that,” I say, pressing my chest to his back. “You see that bounce?”

He whimpers. His eyes are locked on his own body. On the way he’s taking me.

On the way his ass moves for me.

It’s art. Fuck paintings. Fuck galleries. This right here?

…

This is the Mona Lisa with stretch marks.

I thrust again, harder. The skin ripples like water.

“You see that?” I lick up the side of his neck. “You see that body of yours?”

He can’t speak. He nods. His mouth’s open but the moans get stuck.

So I help him.

“Say it,” I snap. “Say you see how good you look.”

“I—” he gasps and I slam in again, just to cut him off.

“Good try,” I grin.

“Keep watching. That ass is putting on a whole fucking show.”

I drag the back of my hand across my forehead.

Hell, I’m dripping.

I’m soaked in it, and he’s still fucking asking for more.

So I give it.

I grab him by the waist and flip his ass over.

Flat on the floor, face up.

Right next to the mirror so he can see exactly what kind of mess he’s become.

I climb back on top.

I pin his wrists above his head again. He lets me. I know he fucking loves it.

His thighs lock around my waist.

I kiss his chest, his throat. Then his mouth.

“You’re good at this,” he pants with a cocky smile. “Fiancé.”

“Yeah?” I mutter, rolling my hips forward till I’m inside him again. “Well you feel fucking insane, fiancé.”

And then I move.

In, out. In, out. In, out.

Grinding again and again.

His mouth drops open.

I roughly tilt his face toward the mirror with one hand.

“Look at yourself,” I whisper against his ear. “Look how fucking wrecked you are.”

He stares. And moans.

The sound of skin slapping skin is the loudest thing in the room.

Followed by heavy breathing.

Thanks for this, Charles.

You dick.

Your son’s body? Your worst nightmare?

Best thing that ever happened to me.

He’s wearing your worst enemy’s ring.

Karma’s real, old man.

And tonight I’m balls-deep in it.

I lower my mouth and kiss his forehead.

His mouth opens again, and of course I go for it.

He tries to pull his hands down, I say no.

Grips tighter.

He pulls harder. I let him win.

His hands are now on me. One yanks my neck down, pulling me closer.

The other hand claws into my back with no mercy.

Scratching.

I moan straight into his mouth. Bite his lip.

We move together, up, down, up, down.

I want more.

More.

Even though I’m balls-deep, I try to go further.

“Choke me,” he says suddenly.

Oh.

I look down at him. Still fucking him.

I kiss his cheek. “You’re extra needy today, huh?”

My hand closes around his throat. Tight.

He moans. I smile.

It makes me lose my goddamn mind.

I go deeper. Harder.

His legs squeeze tighter.

If this were a different universe, he’d be pregnant by now.

I grab him again. Flip him over.

Shove him against the mirror.

It’s fogged up, covered in handprints and heat.

Good. Feel the sex, mirror.

Feel it.

I sink back into him. I cover his mouth with my hand, because he’s loud now. And I’m not ready to stop.

His hands touch the floor, the mirror, as I rail him like some wild fucking animal.

I slap his ass hard.

Grab it. Spread it. Fuck it.

I’m losing it.

“Fuck,” I breathe.

I lean close, to his ear. “Cum. Now.”

He nods three times, very fast. His eyes squeeze shut.

White.

All over the mirror. Dripping. Running down the glass like a damn art piece. Thick.

My eyes go wide. I slow my hips for half a second, just to watch.

Holy shit .

It looks like heaven had an orgasm and picked this exact mirror to decorate.

I pull out quickly, and I finish on him.

I moan uncontrollably as I spill all over his back, his ass, his lower spine.

Covering that tattoo with my own cum.

I gasp. Swear. It feels insane.

There’s cum everywhere. On the floor. On the mirror. On him.

Everything’s white.

He’s not even moving. Just breathing. Shaking.

I tap his lower back.

“Bend,” I say. “Look in the mirror. Look at your back.”

He moves slowly and bends forward, stares at himself.

“Okay… this is better than my tattoo.”

I smirk.

“Fucking right it is.”

—

We’re in the shower. Again.

Rava’s in front of me while I run my hand down his spine.

I’ve got a cloth in my hand.

God. The oil’s stubborn. The cum too. So I rub a little harder.

“Stay still,” I mumble. “You’re slippery as hell.” He laughs through his nose.

I slide the cloth up his back, then across his shoulder, all the way to the base of his neck.

I pull him back, turn him so I can see that face.

I grab his cheeks, squishing them between my palms cause he looks cute like this.

He grins. “Bipolar punk.”

“Don’t call me punk,” I tell him, pretending to be sad.

He blinks, suddenly serious. “Wait—does that actually bother you?”

I lean in, brush my lips against his. “No. Whatever you call me… I’ll like it if it comes from you.”

A few minutes later, we’re in boxers, brushing our teeth side by side.

He keeps spitting between laughs, I keep bumping his shoulder just to make him mess up the toothpaste.

The mirror’s still fogged, streaked with fingerprints.

I drop onto the bed with my head turned toward him.

He’s cleaning the mirror as I’m scratching his back.

He finally turns. “You should’ve licked it until it shined again.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake ,” I groan, rolling onto my back. “Now I have to go for round two.”

He bursts out laughing. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

He climbs on top of me, knocking the air right out of my chest.

I laugh, grab his waist, and I pull him in until our foreheads touch.

“Know what I was thinking?” I ask.

He mumbles against my neck. “What were you thinking, my sweet, soft punk?”

I exhale. “That maybe we should get a new place together.”

That wakes him up. He lifts his head and his eyes are on mine now.

Then drops back down. “Go on.”

“I mean… you came late to the house, and that place…” I pause.

“It’s seen things. Not giving it up, obviously. That’s where we had our first kiss. Jesus.”

He laughs. “Admit it, you were just looking for an excuse to kiss me that day. With all the practicing.”

I smirk. “And the grass is green. I’m still mad you stopped to go to the bathroom.”

“DUDE, I was panicking,” he protests.

“Do you know what it’s like to get hard for a guy while you’re in denial?”

I burst out laughing, dragging him back down.

“Alright, fine. I’ll allow it. Anyway. Yeah. I want that house. But I think now that we’re getting married—”

He giggles.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he says softly. “I just love hearing it.”

I grin. “Yeah, well, me too. Now that we’re getting married, maybe it’s time for a fresh start. Not far, somewhere close to your school. So you can sleep in more.”

He lets out a sleepy hum. “Gio… I love you.”

“I love you too, baby.” I kiss his hair. “You like my idea?”

“I love your idea. And for safety reasons, Charles doesn’t get the address.”

I laugh. “Obviously.”

---

Y’all, my brain is all smut rn, help. I need to calm down.

Anyway. I hope that one person from the message board doesn’t come after me again, lmao.

Thank you guys for having my back, means more than you think.

I love you guys a lot❤️

BYE BYE!

(3 chapters left) (I think)

127) Bangolita

Rava’s POV

We’re packing up.

It’s late afternoon. The ferry leaves Naxos at six. And somehow that feels too soon.

I’m holding the dried flowers Gio picked for me days ago. They’re all crushed now, and brown around the edges, but I can’t throw them out. It feels so wrong.

“I don’t wanna get rid of these,” I say quietly.

He comes up behind me, wraps his arms around my waist while his chin is resting on my shoulder.

“Don’t feel bad,” he murmurs, kissing my hair. “I’ll pick you new ones in Italy. Better ones. Bigger ones. And more colors.” He laughs against the side of my head.

“Promise?”

He grins. “On my unborn kids.”

I turn my head, smirking. “That’s… bold.”

“I know,” he says, still moving around the room, trying to shove his last clothes into his bag.

And now I can’t stop thinking about that word.

Kids.

Kids. As in… mini people.

Okay, sure… we’re young. I’m twenty-four, he’s twenty-five.

Our lives are work, sex, airports, food, and gym sessions.

But damn .

I wouldn’t exactly mind having a tiny little human running around the house with Gio’s face.

Surrogacy exists, right ? Yeah. Totally.

God, what the hell am I even saying?

I’m still a baby myself.

A baby that’s getting married, though.

Anyway. Not the time to spiral about that.

I drag my suitcase to the door, tie my shoes, and take one last look at the room.

Feels weird leaving something behind that felt like ours, even just for a week.

Gio zips the suitcase shut and exhales, almost like a man who’s been paying taxes since the Roman Empire.

He looks at the bucket. The one with the mountain of olives those sweet old grandpas forced on us at the café.

He stares at it. “What the hell are we gonna do with all these? We can’t take them on the plane.”

I shrug. “We’ll eat them on the ferry.”

He whips around. “What?”

“Yeah. What’s the problem? You like olives, right?”

“I do,” he says, already stressed. “But I can’t eat an entire bucket, Rava.”

I cross my arms, deadly serious. “You will. I’ll help. Even if I hate them.”

He clutches his chest like I just confessed eternal love. “You’d do that for me?”

I grin. “As long as you keep opening my mouth with orgasms, I’ll open it for garbage if you ask me to.”

He freezes. “You impress me, future husband.”

“Your fault,” I shoot back. “I was a humble, quiet man once. Then you came along and turned me into a sex-starved idiot, chasing you around like a dog who just found out juicy steaks exist, not just that dry-ass kibble I thought was life.”

He bursts out laughing, so hard that he ends up coughing. “You’re a walking ball of nonsense,” he says. “I don’t think I’ll ever get bored of you.”

“Good,” I say, smirking. “Because if you ever think you’re bored of me, guess what I’ll do.”

He raises a brow. “What?”

“I’ll slap the thought out of you.”

His mouth drops open. “Oh, great. You’re stealing my lines now. Copycat.”

“We’re becoming one, ew,” I tease.

He flicks my ear hard.

“OUCH!” I yell. “Excuse me? I thought we left that shit back in 2010. We’re engaged now! You can’t do that.”

“Yes, I can,” he says. “You’re still Ravioli.”

Jesus.

We’re finally at the door.

Gio glances back one last time, holding the doorknob. “Bye, mirror,” he says, totally serious, and waves at it.

I bite my lip so I don’t start laughing like a psycho.

He actually holds his hand out toward it, like they shared a bond.

To be fair… we kinda did. That mirror’s seen things. Things it can’t unsee.

I raise my hand too, trying to keep a straight face.

“Yeah,” I mumble. “Bet that was the best show you’ve ever had, mirror. See you next year.”

We drag our suitcases out into the hallway, and the door clicks shut behind.

In the car, Gio’s driving with one hand. The air is making his hair messy.

He looks at me, smirking. “You look disappointed. Just like when you were ten and I stole your sharpener before the test.”

I laugh. “I just had a really good time, that’s all.”

“Exactly,” he says. “We had a great time. So don’t be all grumpy now.”

I sigh, staring outside. “I want a slushie.”

He chuckles. “We’ll get you one as soon as we park.”

“Okay.”

We leave the car with Stefanos again, who’s currently drinking a beer, and then we walk to a small café near the boats.

It’s breezy, smells like salt a lot.

I sit there with my pink slushie.

He didn’t get one, but he’s staring at mine.

A lot.

“Is it good?” he asks.

I nod, sip through the straw.

“Why’s it so pink?”

I shrug. Keep drinking. He’s totally acting like he doesn’t care, but I can feel it.

He wants a taste so bad.

I grin. “It’s actually amazing.”

“Is it?”

“You don’t get it.”

“Can I try it?”

“No.”

“Okay.”

I turn to him, shocked. “That’s it? You’re not even gonna fight me for it?”

“Nope.”

I start laughing. “Wow. Growth. I’m impressed. Fine, take it.”

He grabs it instantly, smirking. “Got you. You got played in your own game.”

I gasp, laughing. “You’re evil. And heartless.”

He points at himself. “And sexy.”

I roll my eyes. “Eh. Maybe a tiny bit.”

We laugh.

— Half an hour later —

We say goodbye to Naxos.

I’ll remember these days forever . Unless I get Alzheimer’s or fall off a balcony someday and forget who the hell I am.

We drop the suitcases and start walking down the narrow hallway of the ship.

“Remind me again,” I say, dragging my bag. “Why are we getting a cabin?”

Gio doesn’t even look at me. “Because there’s a storm coming, and I’d rather pass out on an actual bed than on a sticky table covered in cigarette ashes.”

“Yeah, okay. Fair point,” I say.

We find our cabin. Tiny little thing.

Dark red carpet, two bunk beds that look like they were designed for prison, a small nightstand under the window, and a bathroom that could barely fit one person if they exhaled first.

Still… it’s kinda cozy.

Gio washes his hands, throws himself onto the lower bunk, claiming it for the Fontana family bloodline.

I drop my bag, wash my hands and crawl right over him.

I’m one blink away from meeting Jesus.

— 2 hours later —

I wake up because someone out there is fighting for their fucking life.

Not in here. Out there.

In the hallway maybe.

Gio’s gone.

I reach for my phone. There’s a text.

GIO:

-I went to get us coffee.

-Fingers crossed it’s not actual sewage.

I smile.

“ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!”

The wall shakes. Jesus Christ?!

I freeze.

Then do the only logical thing.

I press my ear to the wall like a nosy bitch.

I’m not proud.

But I’m also not about to miss this drama.

Door swings open. Gio walks in with two iced coffees and pure panic on his face.

“What the fuck is happening out there?” he whispers like we’re in a war zone.

I just point to the wall like, join me, brother.

He hands me my coffee, we take two polite sips, then silently place them on the table.

Gio goes full surveillance mode.

Palms on the wall. Ear on the wall. Forehead lowkey touching it. He’s listening with his entire soul.

“They’re loud,” he hisses.

“I think they’re fighting because the wife, or some woman, slept with a guy named Frank.”

I gasp.

He nods.

“God, we were just hugging! He didn’t put it in!”

Gio pauses. Looks at me like he just witnessed death.

I choke.

“Oh, fuck off, Bangolita. That’s what you were saying to your mother about us back then, too.”

…

We go dead silent. Eye contact.

“Did he just call her Bangolita?” Gio whispers like he’s about to start crying.

“I think we’re fighting over a Bangolita.”

I’m holding my face to keep it together.

“Imagine the sex,” I say.

Wrong move.

Gio throws himself against the wall again.

Starts fake-thrusting into it slowly. Full performance.

His face is like he’s having an orgasm.

“Yes, ohh, yes, Bangolita… God— you feel like a warm croissant, Bangolita.”

Help. I fucking wheeze. Fall backwards on the bed. Can’t breathe.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” I cry. “We’re horrible people.”

Gio whispers back.

“We’re not horrible. We’re invested. We’re trying to help our fellow humans.”

“By fucking the wall?” I ask.

“It’s part of the process,” he deadpans. “It helps me understand them.”

And then we both just collapse. Ugly laughing. Face in pillow.

Maturity who?

Bangolita’s fighting for her innocence while we’re fighting for our lungs.

Then silence. Out of nowhere.

Like someone hit the mute button on the chaos.

Gio’s pressed to the wall again, holding his breath like he’s in a hostage negotiation.

He leans back. “…You think he killed her?”

I blink. “On the boat?!”

“I don’t fuckin’ know!” he whisper-yells.

Knock. Knock.

Oh no.

We freeze. I slap a hand over my mouth. My soul leaves my body.

I look at Gio. He looks at me.

I hiss, “I’m so not answering that.”

His jaw drops. “YOU THINK I’M GOING?”

“Yes. YOU’RE GOING.”

He leans in, furious whisper now. “WHAT IF IT’S HER AND SHE HEARD ME MOANING HER NAME WHILE I WAS WALL-FUCKING?!”

I lose it. Bite my knuckle to not laugh out loud. “Don’t care. JUST GO.”

He throws his arms up, hisses something I don’t catch, and marches to the door.

I dive onto the bed and fake-sleep so hard I might win an Oscar.

Door creaks open. I hear… the man’s voice.

“Hi. Sorry, um. I’m not sure if you… heard anything earlier. Some yelling. From next door. That was me. And my wife.”

Gio’s voice is fake as hell.

“Yelling? Hmm… don’t think I heard anything. Everything okay? Wanna talk about it?”

Liar. Professional level liar.

The guy says, “I’m not here to talk about it. Just. Sorry for the noise.”

Gio goes, “It’s okay.”

Closes the door.

Dead silence.

“Oh my fucking god,” Gio whispers like he just escaped death.

“Thank god he didn’t say her name cause if he said Bangolita to my face I would have died, I swear.”

I sit up from my Oscar-worthy nap, wheezing again. “I’d love to see that.”

Do we learn anything from this? No.

Are we gonna keep pressing our ears to strange walls for drama? Absolutely.

We made it.

Barely. But we fucking made it.

Two more screaming matches from the Bangolita Saga, and a whole-ass flight where Gio fell asleep on my shoulder.

Now it’s 4 am.

Italy.

We’re sitting on a random cement ledge outside the airport like abandoned sims.

We look dead. But we’re engaged. So I guess that’s something.

Gio’s slumped on my shoulder. I’m stroking his hair like he’s my sick wife.

He mumbles, “I miss our bed.”

I whisper back, “I miss our kids. Hope they’re not dead.”

“Meh. Daisy’s with them. Otherwise, yeah. They’d be toast.”

We sit in silence. Two tired bitches waiting for our ride to pick us up.

Speak of the devil. There they are.

Music. Loud. Possibly Spanish trap.

We both look up. Gio sighs.

“Ride’s here, I guess.”

He grunts. I pull my suitcase handle up.

“Get ready. Mentally.”

The car swerves into view like it just escaped prison.

Doors slam.

Out come Noah and Marco. And Jesus Christ. I need a camera.

No, a documentary crew.

Marco is wearing bunny pajamas.

Gio stares. “I’m sending this to all his clients. They’ll eat this shit up.”

Noah, surprisingly, is just in all black. Weirdly normal. Until he SCREAMS across the damn parking lot.

“MY ENGAYGED WHORES!”

And then they’re running. Deadass sprinting.

Through a crowd of confused airport strangers. People are staring.

We get tackled into a four-way hug.

Marco pulls back, hands out like I’m Cinderella. “Rava. Give me your hand.”

I lift it like I’m at a royal wedding. He sees the ring. Gasps. Audibly.

I give him that yeah bitch, I’m THAT bitch smirk.

He turns to Gio, pulls him into a hug. “You did it. I’m gonna cry. YOU DID IT.”

They’re both laughing. Gio looks exhausted and happy and about to pass out at the same time.

Noah claps his hands. “Come on, my sexy newly-engaged sluts. Lorenzo is waiting at home. With your children.”

I blink. “What.”

“He and Daisy are trying to cook for you.” Noah pauses. “I say trying because there’s a non-zero chance they’ve burned your whole house down.”

Gio groans. I laugh. “I missed you idiots.”

Marco bows. “Hop in, fiancé.”

Noah’s driving.

I’m in the backseat with Gio, who’s halfway between life and death, slumped on my shoulder like a bag of potatoes.

He’s trying to stay awake.

We just finished telling them how the proposal went down.

The Portara, the fireworks, the snot-crying, the illegal amount of emotions.

Marco turns around from the passenger seat.

“That proposal,” he says dramatically, “was the most you two thing I’ve ever heard. I’m obsessed. I can’t believe it.”

From the driver’s seat, Noah laughs. “Bro. Rava. You FELL off the Portara and didn’t send us a pic of your bruise? You’re a fake friend. Straight up.”

I groan. “Okay um. Sorry I was busy SOBBING ’cause the love of my life just asked me to be his ride or die. I forgot I yeeted myself off a national monument.”

“Oof. Okay. Fair.”

Pause.

“But I still can’t believe y’all kissed for the first time BECAUSE OF ME. I’m a legend.”

Gio lifts his head. Looks like he just woke up from a coma.

“Your man is currently sitting in this vehicle, dressed as a fucking bunny, because I told him to go get a chest tattoo from you. You’re welcome.”

Noah turns and grabs Marco’s cheeks like they’re stress balls.

Marco slaps his hands off, laughing. “Actually. Now that we’re on the topic, I think I want another one.”

Noah goes, dead serious: “You finally decided on the ass tattoo idea?”

Marco pushes him. “No. Give me some time. I want to be emotionally ready.”

I throw my hands up. “Also—Stefanos says hi.”

Marco’s neck snaps around. “STEFANOS THE LEGEND?! That man is an icon. I miss him.”

Noah nods like yeah, fair.

Then Marco leans back in his seat and claps his hands. “Alright. Let’s see if your house is still standing.”

Gio groans. “I just want my children back. My Lulu. My Blu. Give me my fucking kids.”

I pat his leg like a single dad in a courtroom.

“What a good father.”

Noah floors the gas.

Home sweet hell.

Let’s go.

The second we open the door, Blu starts barking like there’s a full-blown robbery going down.

Not a woof-woof I missed you. No.

A “ WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU, THIS IS MY HOUSE “ bark.

He’s vibrating. I’m giggling.

Then Lulu joins in with a scream-meow like she’s trying to summon demons.

Great. We’ve been back for three seconds and the zoo’s lost its shit.

Before we even get to drop the bags, my mom appears and engulfs both me and Gio in the tightest hug known to man.

“I can’t believe this. My baby is back ENGAGED. I swear it feels like yesterday I was holding you in my arms—”

She turns to Gio without pause. “—and YOU, whose mom used to skip all her meetings just to feed you like a little baby prince.”

I laugh into her shoulder. “Mom, don’t cry. We’re here now.”

She pulls back just enough to look Gio in the eyes.

“She wanted to come tonight. She really did. But it’s late and I convinced her to rest. But I promised her you’ll visit first thing tomorrow.”

“Of course we will,” I say, petting Blu’s gremlin head while he tries to bark-bite Gio’s shoelaces.

Gio? He’s on the floor holding Lulu like she’s a damn newborn.

Whispering to her. Kissing her little nose.

I’m watching him fall in love with a cat again, and it’s honestly disgusting how cute it is.

“AYYYYYY MY UGLY BITCHES!”

Lorenzo bursts in from the kitchen holding a ladle. His shirt is stained, his face is sweaty. He smells like he climbed into the oven.

He hugs us like he’s missed us for ten years.

“You have no idea how much I missed your dumbass faces. Your dog tried to eat my bald hamster. RICARDO. I gave Blu a half-hour TED talk on why we don’t eat our friends. And then Daisy felt bad and started feeding him treats like he was the victim.”

He rolls his eyes. “Whatever. It worked. Sort of.”

Daisy slides in behind him.

She squeals and throws her arms around both of us. Then grabs my hand, shoves it in Lorenzo’s face. “Look at this. LOOK AT THIS ROCK. You better take notes.”

We’re all laughing like crazy. At 4:30 am.

We should be asleep. But instead we’re now eating like it’s lunchtime.

Because fuck logic. We’re home.

---

Heeey! Okay EVERYONE STAY WITH ME. I HAVE AN ANNOUNCEMENT.

So, as many of you already know, the moment I upload the final chapter (which is very soon), I’ll be posting the first chapter of the second story on the same day:)

(You will only get the notification if you follow me)

This story will be full of bonus scenes from Gio and Rava’s life, for all of us who are not ready to say goodbye yet.

Also… guess what.

I’M STARTING TO EDIT THE ENTIRE BOOK TO PUBLISH IT!!!! LIKE, AN ACTUAL BOOK.

It’s going to be split into three books because it’s huge, and honestly, you guys can totally help me while I’m working on it.

Your ideas mean the world. You can either follow me on Instagram to vote for the covers and talk about extra scenes and fonts and everything, or just keep an eye on my announcements here on the message board:)

I’m so freaking excited. I can’t wait for the era where we can all hold Ride or Die in our hands. 😭❤️

ONLY TWO CHAPTERS LEFT.

128) We Are Not Alone

This one is for the gays who’ve got a Charles in their life. You read this one a little closer than everyone else.

Because jokes aside, I just realized that there are people out there who

actually

live through the things that I wrote in this chapter as “tragic,” every single day.

So just know that you have a stranger out here rooting for you <3

That’s all :)

Rava’s POV

It’s December 9th. Yeah, December .

Five months since Gio dropped to one knee and ruined my entire ability to function like a normal human being.

Tomorrow I’m becoming a Fontana.

Bye-bye Weston. You served me well.

Honestly I’d have taken his last name the same night he asked. I mean that. We could’ve done it in a gas station parking lot, still a yes.

Right now though, I feel like I might throw up. From happiness. From nerves. From too many shots of that cinnamon crap Daisy brought.

Gio’s not here tonight. He’s literally next door, because apparently sleeping together before the wedding is bad luck, which is ironic considering the stuff we’ve already done, but okay.

Traditions. Who am I to judge.

I’m in my mom’s living room, which has now been taken over by sweaters, blankets, plates of food, half-empty tequila bottles, and four different speakers playing four different genres because no one can agree on a vibe.

There’s a huge christmas tree in the corner, and we’re all camped around it, looking like overgrown Christmas elves.

It’s me.

My mom, looking dangerously emotional every five minutes.

Jin, who keeps teleporting between here and Gio’s party next door, trying to decide which house is “more lit.”

Noah, who’s drinking and bullying me for wearing socks with snowmen on them.

And Daisy, who’s wrapped in a giant fleece blanket and eating candy from a huge pink bowl.

Someone would call this boring. I’d punch them.

Because we’re laughing so hard we’re crying.

Jin just tried to teach my mom how to take a body shot off a clementine.

Daisy’s making toasts every two minutes and crying during ALL of them.

Noah put a fake tattoo on my neck that says “Property of Gio,” and I still haven’t gotten it off.

My mom said it’s cute. I said it’s criminal.

All the lights are low, for that cozy vibe.

I keep looking out the window, knowing he’s right there, literally next door, waiting for more of his friends to show up.

I miss him like he’s on another continent.

We’re getting married tomorrow.

What the actual hell.

Another bike just pulled up. Another one behind it.

Each one louder than the last. I swear to God, these men communicate exclusively through engine screams and revving contests.

“Is that Marco?!” Jin asks. “Only his bike sounds like a dying dragon.”

Noah snorts. “Nah. That’s Lorenzo. You can tell from the cocky little vroom-vroom at the end.”

I can feel Gio’s presence without even seeing him.

I imagine them all yelling over each other.

No one’s surprised. Of course Gio’s party sounds like a Fast & Furious spin-off.

Mine sounds like a drunk Christmas sleepover.

But I love it here.

Noah slams another shot glass down on the table. “Mrs. Eden, you have no idea how lucky I feel to be the one marrying these two tomorrow.”

He fake sobs. Stumbles into me with his arms wide open. “The baby’s all grown up!”

My mom, who’s clearly three shots deep herself, rubs her eyes and goes, “I knowwwwww.” Like she’s about to cry too.

I hit the table with my hand, still laughing.

“Guys. Please . If we all black out tonight, I’m blaming the tequila and cancelling the wedding. That’s it. I’ll just be single forever.”

Daisy lifts her head. “Do we actually trust Lorenzo with the rings though? Be honest. I love that man but he’s pure chaos. Tomorrow he’s gonna show up and say Ricardo ate them or something.”

Jin is on the couch, with Lulu fully passed out on top of him. She looks like she’s his emotional support cat.

He lifts his hand lazily and goes, “It will be fine. Trust your man. Anyway. Let’s play a game. Everyone, list the shit Rava used to say about Gio. Go.”

Noah’s already cracking his knuckles. “I’m so ready.”

Jin clears his throat dramatically, using his best Rava-voice.

“Gio is insufferable. I wanna strangle him. Ohhh look at me suffering, please mommy, kick him out of the meeting.”

Noah literally starts wheezing.

Tequila got him.

“THIS IS BULLYING,” I shout, clutching my sweater like a grandma. “I’M A VICTIM.”

“You think that’s bad? I have stories you don’t even know,” my mom says.

“MOM,” I warn.

She shushes me. “No no, listen.”

She’s glowing.

“So one time, when they were like four? Five? We used to take them out together with Gio’s mom. There was this one little —I’m sorry— asshole baby who kept throwing buckets and shovels at Rava’s head. And guess what Gio did?”

We’re all silent.

“He shoved that kid, and told him to go away. And instead of being grateful, my little emotional disaster here started bawling his eyes out, feeling sorry for the kid who got pushed. And called Gio mean. I swear Gio looked around like ‘who left this crying child alone?!’ He was so confused.”

Daisy’s wiping tears from her eyes from laughing. “Poor Gio. He’s been suffering since day one.”

I down a shot. Pull my sleeves over my hands. “Okay okay, STOP. Enough. Real talk. I’m shitting myself about tomorrow.”

Noah leans over, all soft and wobbly. “What for, baby? Marco’s handled everything. I swear he planned this wedding like it was his own. The man stayed up at night rearranging flower charts and yelling about lighting like a possessed Pinterest board.”

Jin laughs, Noah continues. “Bro, I was literally dreaming about wedding venues at one point. I’d see food in my sleep and think ‘should I tell Marco about this for the menu?’”

I gasp. “Okay that’s kind of romantic.”

Then I turn to Jin. “Wait. Is Rosa coming?”

He nods and squeezes Lulu like a pillow.

Rosa is his girlfriend.

He hasn’t shut up about her since they started dating. Met her in class, and they’ve been together for three months.

She’s super sweet. Tall, with nice blonde curls.

Dumb in the exact same way he’s dumb. I invited her. She seemed so happy.

Sometimes we talk on Instagram, she sends me her drawings, I send her mine. She’s amazing.

Noah runs to the window.

Another damn exhaust.

We all stop to look.

“Oh hell no,” I mutter, already laughing.

Jin opens the window, Noah helps him.

“THE SEXY GROOM OF GIO LIVES H—”

I nearly choke.

“GET THE FUCK BACK INSIDE,” I yell, dragging them both by their hoodies, yanking the window shut.

My face is definitely red.

I barely get a breath before they tackle me.

I’m now being spun around like a human fidget spinner while they’re acting like I won a game.

“I WANNA CELEBRATE WITH MY HUSBAND,” I scream into the air. “BRING HIM TO MEEE!”

Daisy smacks my arm. “No.”

She points a glittery nail at me. “You’re gonna wait. This time tomorrow, you’ll be family. Now suffer.”

My stomach flips. Oh God. Family. What the fuck is happening. I wanna scream and cry and vomit into my own hands.

Butterflies. Thousands. I’m infested.

Before I can spiral, my mom walks in from the kitchen holding another plate of food like we’re feeding 45 people instead of 5.

“Mom, why—”

“Let her be,” Daisy snaps. “She’s in her Greek mother era.”

Jin launches himself toward the plate.

Daisy snatches a napkin, but Jin slaps her hand. “BACK OFF, YOU NEED TO FIT IN YOUR DRESS TOMORROW.”

“I’m not wearing a fucking corset!” she shouts and eats anyway.

Noah’s swirling his drink. “If you sneak off and sleep with him tonight, I swear to God. I will share a bed with you just to make sure you don’t pull a fast one.”

“I’M NOT GONNA SNEAK OFF,” I yell.

“I don’t trust you. You’re weak.”

“Leave me alone. I’M STRONG.”

“Emotionally, yes. Hornily? No.”

“I hate all of you,” I mumble, collapsing onto the couch.

Daisy claps once. “Alright. Everyone. Couch. Now.”

I squint. “Why do you sound like a dominatrix?”

“You promised me you’d let me do this before a big day.”

I freeze. “…You don’t mean the face mask.”

She nods. Slowly.

“Oh God.”

She pulls out a neon pink packet from her bag.

“You said. And I quote. ’Daisy, the night before something important, I’ll let you do whatever you want. I trust you.”

“That was before I knew you were clinically insane.”

Jin’s filming this.

Now we’re all lined up on the couch. Dead silent. Heads back. Eyes to the ceiling.

Every single one of us is wearing a face mask.

We have green, black, pink, gold and white.

Even my mom’s got one.

My face is cold. Feels like someone finally told my skin it deserves love too.

Noah whispers next to me. “You know…I’ve drunk so much tequila this thing feels like it’s trying to rehydrate a bear that’s been asleep for five months.”

I snort.

Daisy just stares into space with terrifying stillness.

“Shut the fuck up and absorb the hydration, you dumbass.”

Her tone is dangerously flat. The - I’ve been waiting my whole life for this moment and you will not ruin it for me

• tone.

Jin raises his hand like we’re in class. “Is my face gonna be soft after this?”

Daisy’s eye twitches. “If you shut up? Yeah.”

I’m trying not to move too much because I can feel the serum dripping into my nostril, but it’s worth it.

“It’s actually… nice,” I say.

The couch creaks when Daisy turns to me.

“See? This is why you shut the fuck up and trust me once in your life.”

No one speaks after that. No music, no clinking of glasses. Just this weird silence where everyone’s too still and too slippery to function.

…

“I have to pee,” Noah mutters.

“Pee on yourself.”

I lose it. I fucking lose it. I’m laughing so hard my mask starts slipping down my jaw and I’m trying to hold it up with two fingers like a melting sticker.

Jin starts laughing too. Noah’s fake-offended.

My mom’s pretending she’s not related to any of us.

What a cute little family.

-2 hours later -

I’m alone now.

Everyone’s asleep. I open my phone. One last scroll before I crash. Unread messages. Memes. Wishes. Photos.

And… a name that doesn’t belong here.

Charles.

My stomach drops so fast I almost gag. I haven’t seen that name on my screen in over a year, I think. Maybe two.

My hands start shaking before I even tap it.

He knows. I sent him an invite. Just in case he was finally ready to talk.

Maybe he wants to come. Maybe he remembered he has a fucking son.

CHARLES:

-Call me.

Shit. My heartbeat’s in my throat. Before I can stop myself, I hit call.

It rings. He picks up immediately.

“Yeah?”

I freeze. Holy shit. That voice.

“Um, hi. You told me to um…call you?!” My voice comes out small and calm.

I hate it. I hate how I still sound like a kid begging for approval from a man who never gave a damn.

He exhales through the phone.

Yeah, it’s the same sound he used to make when I disappointed him for existing.

“I got your invitation,” he says.

“Yeah,” I whisper. “I sent it. I wanted you to… know. Thought maybe—”

He cuts me off. “That’s pretty fucking bold of you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he snaps, “I don’t know where you got the idea that I’d want to watch my son marry another boy.”

My throat burns already.

He keeps going. “I tolerated it, Rava. I kept my mouth shut when I saw you with him last year. I tried. God fucking knows I tried. But this ? This wedding crap? That’s too far. You’re making a fool of yourself.”

My hand’s over my mouth now. I want to hang up but my body’s frozen.

He sounds absolutely disgusted.

“You can live however you want,” he says. “Just don’t expect me to clap while you destroy what little dignity this family had left.”

I don’t even realize I’m crying until a tear hits the screen.

“Dad—”

“Don’t ‘Dad’ me. You made your choice. And tomorrow, don’t count on me being there. And I definitely don’t want to see photos. Understood?”

Silence.

I nod even though he can’t see it. “Yeah,” I choke out.

“Good.”

Click.

The call ends.

The screen goes black.

I’m shivering under the blanket and it’s not even cold in here.

It’s that other kind of cold, the one that starts in the ribs and spreads, and it can’t be stopped even if you throw 30 blankets on top of you.

Yeah, that one.

I press my fist to my mouth so I don’t make a sound. I don’t want to wake anyone.

I stare at the ceiling.

Is it a crime that I love this much? Is it illegal to want a life where I get to kiss my person good morning and not feel like I stole something?

All I want to give and get, is love.

A hand to squeeze when the world gets loud. So why does it feel like I’m on trial for it?

The word bold is scratching at the inside of my skull.

Bold for sending an invite to my own father. Bold for asking to be seen. Bold for not hiding.

I press my face deeper into the pillow. I can still smell the aloe from Daisy’s stupid mask.

It makes everything worse. Tenderness makes the hurt louder. I swallow until it stings.

What’s the part that offends him more, my happiness or the fact it’s with Gio?

If I loved someone quieter, would that make me easier to love back?

If I loved a girl, would I suddenly be worth showing up for?

If I loved no one , would I finally be clean?

Why do I keep reaching for a door that locks itself from the other side?

I turn on my side and stare at the engagement ring on the nightstand.

Tomorrow I get to say yes out loud. Why does saying yes to love feel like saying no to my father?

Why does loving someone turn into a dare I’m supposed to lose?

Am I really doing something that wrong?

I type Gio’s name. My thumb hovers. I don’t send anything. I delete it. He’ll worry. He’ll definitely come over.

I’ll break, and I can’t do that to him tonight.

Not the last night before we become husbands.

Husbands. God. That word puts a light in my chest and a knife right next to it.

I’m not asking for riches. Hell, I’m not asking to be famous. All I’m asking is to hold him in front of people who love us and mean it when they clap.

Is that too much? Is that greedy?

I close my eyes and the kid version of me shows up.

The one who used to listen for his dad’s car in the driveway and run.

The one who thought being good would buy him a little softness.

I want to tell him I tried. I grew up. I became gentle. I chose a good man. I did everything right, and it still wasn’t enough for him.

I’m sorry, little me. I couldn’t make him kinder.

But I am with someone who is. And I love him so much it’s disgusting.

Is it a crime that I love this much? If it is, then I’m guilty with both hands in the air.

Take the cuffs. Take the headline. Take the name.

That’s it.

I will call him, just to say goodnight.

He answers on the first ring. I can hear the loud music.

“BABY! What are you doing? I thought we weren’t talking till the wedding. You insisted .”

I laugh through a sniff I try to hide. “I just wanted to say goodnight.”

“Hold on—SHUT UP FOR A SECOND—okay. Ay, what happened?”

Don’t cry.

“My dad called,” I say.

Silence.

The line goes dead.

I stare at the screen. Okay. Panic hang-up. Makes sense.

What was I thinking, dropping that bomb while he’s out having a good night?

I’ll just try to sleep. Tomorrow is our day.

Then my window slides open.

I swear I stop breathing.

Gio climbs in like a criminal with a mission. He knocks his knee on the frame, swears under his breath, and then he’s here.

In my room.

I wipe my eyes fast. “What are you doing?! We said no seeing each other before the wedding. Bad luck.”

“I don’t care,” he says, already crossing the room. “Sit. Tell me what happened.”

We sit on the bed. The mattress dips.

He’s a furnace and I’m freezing.

“Apparently we’re bold criminals,” I say, trying to joke and failing. “He made it very clear I still disgust him.”

Gio cups the back of my head, pulls me in, presses my face to his chest.

His other hand finds the sides of my neck.

“My poor, hope-stuffed human,” he murmurs into my hair.

“Listen to me. Do not let an emotionally bankrupt stranger poison tonight. And yes, you heard right. Stranger . Sorry, but that isn’t a father.”

I curl closer.

“He said he tolerated it,” I whisper. “Tolerated me. He won’t come. He doesn’t even want photos.”

Gio kisses the top of my head. “He tolerated nothing . He hid. There’s a difference. Cowardice isn’t tolerance, Rava.”

I breathe, and it shudders on the way out.

“Is it a crime to love you?” I ask.

He tilts my face up with his knuckles, gentle. “If our love is a crime, then lock me the fuck up and throw away the key. I’ll decorate the cell with our wedding photos.”

A tiny laugh crawls out of me and dies there. “He called the invite ‘bold’.”

“Bold is good,” Gio says. “Bold is the point. Bold is you living in the light after years of people trying to shove you into corners. Bold is choosing joy in a world that keeps selling us fear.”

My eyes sting again. “I literally don’t know why, but wanted him there.”

“I know,” Gio says. “And it’s okay to want that. It’s human. But if he can’t stand in a room built from our love, that room is too holy for him anyway.”

He wipes my cheek with his thumb, then kisses me.

“Tomorrow,” he says, “you and I will stand up and promise each other the boring stuff no one writes songs about. Groceries, dishes, the hard talks, you already know. We’ll promise the fireworks too, sure, but I’m excited for the mess.”

I smile and wipe my eyes.

“We’re building a home so warm even winter gets jealous. People who can’t handle warmth, will call it wrong. Be sure of that.”

I swallow hard. “He said I’m making a fool of myself.”

“Good,” Gio says. “Let love make a fool of you. I’d rather be a fool with a full heart than a statue with empty hands. He chose stone. We choose warm.”

He leans forward and presses his forehead to mine.

“Repeat after me,” he whispers. “I am not disgusting.”

“I’m not saying that.” I laugh.

“Rava, say it.”

I exhale. “Fine. I am not disgusting.”

“I am not shame.”

“I am not shame.”

“I am loudly loved. Today and tomorrow.”

“I am loudly loved,” I say, and I stop shaking. “Today and tomorrow.”

He kisses my forehead, then my mouth, then pulls back before it turns into anything else.

Discipline on a thread.

“I’m so scared,” I admit.

“I know,” he says. “Me too. That’s how you know it’s real. But look around.”

He nods toward the door. “Your mom with her pies. Daisy with her threats. Jin with his silliness. Noah ready to throw hands with God. Marco with his obsession to make this perfect for us. Lorenzo, who by the way will absolutely misplace the rings and then find them in his shoe.”

We laugh together.

“We are not alone. We built a family that shows up. And tomorrow, they’ll scream so loud the world will write poems about it.”

I let out a small sound that ends in a laugh. “He called us criminals.”

“Then I guess we’re criminals,” Gio shrugs. “Arrested by joy. Sentenced to a life of Sunday mornings with unlimited cuddles. I’ll take that rap.”

I breathe in and out, slower.

“Stay till I fall asleep?” I ask.

“Always.” He kicks off his shoes, slides in beside me over the covers, wraps me up without trapping me.

“I’ll go before the sun,” he adds. “We can still keep the superstition happy.”

“But your party?”

“Eh. Lorenzo can keep them entertained. They’re obsessed with hamster stories. My husband needs me. That’s more important to me.”

God help me, I will cry again.

I tuck my face under his chin.

“Tell me something for tomorrow,” I whisper.

He thinks. “Hmmm okay, tomorrow, watch me walk in like a menace with two buttons open. I wink at your mom, she faints, Lorenzo catches her, Marco yells, I leave with the mom. PLOT TWIST.”

I snort. This man can’t be real. “Keep going.”

“Say less. Let me think. The DJ plays our song. I’m trying not to cry. Then we feed each other cake like civilized people for half a second, then I miss your mouth on purpose and you look like shit.”

I’m laughing into his collarbone. He squeezes me tighter. Pets my head.

“Oh, oh, and when they say ‘you may kiss,’ I’m not doing a normal kiss,” he whispers while laughing.

“I’m doing the kiss people write about in group chats and then delete the messages. The one that makes the aunties cry.”

“Stop,” I manage to say between silent laughs.

The sadness? Gone.

What’s left is my almost husband, building the day like Lego, piece by piece, until the picture looks like us.

He doesn’t just fix it, he makes it ours.

Cause tomorrow is bigger than his no. Tomorrow is us.

And fuck it.

I won’t drop Gio to make anyone comfortable.

---

All of you saying “I want Gio, I want Gio”, what you actually want is me .

I am Gio, Gio is me. Just wanted to let you know 😼

— ANYWAY, story updates —

As you can probably tell, it’s time for me to write the final chapter, of Ride or Die.

I’ll definitely take my time with it, so I don’t know exactly when it’ll be posted, and like I said, on the same day I’ll also upload the intro for the one-shots story, so keep an eye out :)

And yes, it’ll include plenty of scenes with Noah and Marco, just like most of you wanted :)

🌷 You’ll get to see Lorenzo and Noah doing some babysitting 🌷

I’m pretty sure you’ll laugh just as much as I will.

I’ll keep you updated on Instagram about the printed edition of the book :)

(my Instagram is linked in my profile)

THAT’S ALL. SEE YOU IN THE FINAL CHAPTER. I LOVE YOU, and thank you for making it this far ❤️

129) Ride or Die

Gio’s POV

My mom once told me I’d end up marrying my bike.

Like… not metaphorically. Actually. “ You’re gonna be one of those weirdos that loves his bikes more than people ,“ she said.

“ Why don’t you just marry yourself, since you think you’re so pretty. “ And everyone laughed, because it was easy to laugh at me.

I was the kid with too many problems, too much attitude, too much history.

Other people were worse. They said no one would ever put up with me and the shit I carry.

That I’d go to jail before I let anyone love me.

Too many tattoos. Too many late nights. Too many fights. Too many fucks not given. Too much Gio.

And sure, they weren’t totally wrong.

I was loud. I was messy. I was loyal to the wrong people. I was ready to burn everything when I felt cornered. I didn’t know how to do soft.

I knew bikes. I knew cars. I knew streets. I knew how to fix metal and how to take a punch.

Then he came.

He saw every ugly thing. Every cop story. Every scar I didn’t explain. Every bad decision.

And instead of doing what normal people do, smile politely and walk away, he stayed.

He took all the papers and with a bit of glue and paint he made them into confetti.

He made it look like celebration.

He saw the police and instead of running, he stood closer to me.

He saw the marks on me and instead of widening his eyes, he kissed them.

Not because he supported the mess. But because he didn’t want me to go through it alone.

He saw my name and said, “I want to wear that.”

And today… he becomes my family.

The boy who gives me his love like it’s breakfast. Every day.

Like… ‘here, take it.’

‘Here, I love you again.’

‘Here, I love you even when you’re stupid.’

‘Here, I love you even when you think you don’t deserve it.’

And today I’m giving him the only thing I ever guarded like a psycho.

My father’s name.

My father, who is not here. My father, who I still hear when I fix a bike. My father, whose surname I didn’t let anybody touch.

I didn’t let the wrong story stain it.

That name is the only thing I have.

And today I’m putting it on Rava. Because no one, no one , could carry my dad’s name better than him.

So yeah.

Now I’m in our house with Lorenzo and Noah, and the whole crew like some punk gathering before a heist.

They’re yelling, stealing my cologne, they’re asking “where’s the rings,” they’re making fun of me because I keep checking my phone like he’s gonna run.

Lorenzo is fixing my sleeves. He’s acting like I’m late for war, not a wedding.

They’ve parked me on this stupid stool in the middle of the living room.

He just grabs the hem of my shirt and yanks it up.

“Arms,” he says.

I lift them. “Damn, why the rush—”

“BRO IT’S TWELVE, YOU’RE GETTING MARRIED AT THREE, WAKE UP,” Noah screams.

I start laughing, but I can’t even finish because my friend Paulo, the same Paulo who taught me how to ride a bike without killing myself, walks in holding shaving cream like a weapon.

“No. No, no, no—”

He smears my whole face. I choke on laughter.

“I shaved yesterday!” I say while my mouth is half full of foam.

“Obviously you shave again today, idiot.”

He starts shaving me like we’re in a barber shop in 1985.

“Bro, I still remember Rava that time we went out to play poker,” he says, doing this fake-shocked voice.

“I asked him, ‘is Gio your date?’ and he goes, ‘oh my god noooo.’” He copies him perfectly.

“Look at him now. Little fucker is getting married.”

Everyone howls.

Lorenzo pumps the music louder. Reggaeton because it’s Lorenzo.

He walks over with my white shirt.

“IT’S CLOTHES TIME. GIO, UP.” he yells over the music.

I stand and he… pulls my pants down.

“Wow. Okay,” I say. “Maybe someone else could’ve done that. Not my cousin?”

“Shut up,” he says. “You used to bathe with me when we were babies.”

“Yeah, when I was two , not when I’m getting married.”

Now there’s like six dudes around me, pulling and buttoning, tucking, fixing my hair, wiping off leftover shaving cream, putting cologne on me.

They’re all talking at once.

Noah comes out of the kitchen holding a bottle of whiskey.

“OKAY,” he says. “SHOT TIME. STOP EVERYTHING.”

They stop. All of them.

“Ay,” I say, grinning. “I can’t drink, I gotta—”

“SHUT UP,” Noah says. “You’re the groom. You drink.”

They make a circle. A dumb, very criminal-looking circle.

Fifteen different colognes mix together.

We look like a gang making a deal.

My mom squeezes in the circle.

“What the fuck,” I say. “Ma, you’re not taking a shot.”

“Shut up,” she says, smack to my arm. “My only child is getting married. I deserve a shot.”

“Let the woman drink her shot.” Paulo says.

I’m dying laughing.

Noah starts pouring into tiny glasses he stole from our kitchen.

“To the groom!” he yells.

“To the groom!” they yell back.

He points at me. “You, today, you don’t stress. We stress. You just show up and kiss your man.”

I bite my lip to not cry like an idiot.

The shot goes down and everybody makes that face.

You know which one. Even my mom does it and starts fanning herself like “Woah, that burned.”

We go back to business, aka me.

Lorenzo drags me back to the stool, grabs the shirt, and starts buttoning.

I look at him. “Do you have the rings?”

He looks me dead in the eyes. “I thought you had them.”

I stare. “Lorenzo I will break your perfect nose.”

“Relax,” he says, rolling his eyes. “I’m guarding them with my life.”

Noah appears and literally slaps his phone on my forehead.

“What the—”

“Jin texted,” he says, already opening the camera.

“He told me to take a 0.5 of you. He just took one of Rava. He wants to put them next to each other in the wedding album.”

I smile. I can literally see it. Over there.

With Daisy, Marco, Jin, Mrs. Eden, probably yelling in two languages.

Rava’s grandparents came from Spain.

I haven’t seen them in years.

One time his grandma came to pick him up from school and I accidentally called her ugly.

I hope she forgot.

Actually no, I hope she remembers I was SEVEN.

Sorry, Rava’s grandma. You’re not ugly.

I was just a hater.

Noah is mumbling the lines he has to say for the ceremony while he’s taking the photo.

He’s struggling.

“Bro it is never too late to hire a professional,” I tell him.

“I AM a professional, Gio,” he says, insulted. “I am literally marrying you.”

“Mhm. Okay, father Noah.”

Lorenzo is on my hair with a comb. “Chin up. Look less like you came out of a fight.”

“I wanna text Rava,” I say, fishing for my phone.

Paulo gets up from the couch. “Don’t even think about it.”

“What if he’s nervous?”

“He IS nervous. Let him miss you.”

I groan. “How many photographers did we pay? Are they gonna circle us like vultures the whole time?”

“You remember that photographer we booked together? The bald one?” my mom says, fixing her earrings.

I look at her through the mirror while Lorenzo pulls my hair back.

“Yeah. I remember him.”

She smiles. “He’s the one who photographed me when I married your father.”

Me and Lorenzo both stop.

“For real?”

She straightens her hair like it’s no big deal. “For real. He was young then. Now he’s even better. You’re lucky.”

Lorenzo grins. “See? Now you’re gonna smile more natural in the pictures. You’re basically doing a remake.”

Then he claps his hands like a coach. “WE ARE LEAVING IN ONE HOUR, SOLDIERS.”

Shit.

In the corner, one of my friends is playing with Lulu and Blu.

They are not coming with us, Daisy’s friend will babysit them.

Lulu is on her back like a princess, Blu is chewing his tie.

I look at them. “I’m sorry, babies. Daddies are getting married without you.”

“I can put them on FaceTime.” Paulo says.

Lorenzo slips my rings off, and sets them on the table. “I gotta make room for the wedding band, sorry.”

“Of course,” I say.

And then the sky growls.

A real, Italian December thunder.

The kind that says “oh you thought you were having an outdoor wedding?” and laughs in your face.

We both look at each other.

We both do that wide-eyed “ oh shit “ face.

“Well… the food and the party are inside…” I say.

Lorenzo shrugs, totally unbothered. “Yeah. You’ll just get a little wet while you marry him. You’ll live.”

Then louder, to the whole house. “Get ready, we leave in ten!”

He disappears.

I let out a long breath. I stand.

“I’m gonna go to the room for a sec,” I say.

“DON’T TRY TO ESCAPE THROUGH A WINDOW.” Noah yells.

I smirk. “Relax.”

I head to our room and close the door behind me slow.

Silence.

I look at myself in the mirror.

Black jacket. White shirt. Collar sitting right for once.

Hair not doing that… feral thing.

I look older.

Not old, just not the asshole kid that used to run around betting on random fights.

When did that happen?!

When did I stop waking up ready to ruin my life and start waking up trying to make it softer for someone else?

I smooth the lapel with my palm, line the shoulders.

I look like a man today. Not the street rat.

A man about to get married.

I glance at Rava’s side.

I go over automatically and fix his things. Line up the pencils. Straighten the notebook.

My baby. I hope he slept well.

I hope me climbing through that damn window calmed him down.

He was shaking. That call. That man. That waste of space.

Always got a talent for ruining anything pure.

You see your son in love and the first thing you do is spit on it?

That’s not parenting. That’s ego with a voice.

How can someone be that good and still want to invite the person who keeps kicking him?

Rava’s heart is ridiculous. It forgives before people even apologize.

He gives second chances to people I’d put in the ground.

But I managed to become softer too. Not weak, just more gentle.

Not because life forced me. Because he did.

Because his face is worth behaving for.

Because I saw him last night red-eyed, trying to be strong for everyone, and I felt my heart breaking.

Fucking Charles. Always gotta break what shines.

I step outside.

This is our day. Fuck him.

“Shall we?” I say.

Lorenzo grabs me by both shoulders. “Madonna Mia, I can’t believe we’re actually going to a wedding. I’m gonna cry.”

We all laugh, cause we’re all as shocked as he is.

We sneak out the back door like fugitives.

Everyone’s yelling. Noah’s holding the marriage binder over my head like it’s a holy umbrella.

“Use your vows to stay dry, Fontana!” he yells.

Sun’s still out, thank God , but it’s misting just enough to feel cinematic.

My suit is getting these cute little freckles of rain on it. Not mad about it.

We all pile into the same car.

Me, Lorenzo, Noah, and my mom.

Lorenzo’s driving. I sit next to him.

Noah and my mother take the back. The car instantly smells like someone smashed a Dior perfume bottle in here.

I gag.

My mom fans herself with a napkin.

I look outside.

Everyone else is hopping on bikes, climbing into cars, revving engines.

This is Fast & Furious: Tuscan Edition.

My heart is beating fast.

Lorenzo turns up the music. Music that doesn’t match the moment at all and makes it exactly right.

…

He forgets that we’re not chasing the mob. He guns it down the road. Tires squeal.

“AY,” I yell. “We’re not going to a street race!”

Everyone else is doing the same though, you’d think we were racing to the altar. Horns. Revving. Everyone’s adrenaline is on max.

“We are racing,” Lorenzo says like I’m the idiot.

“Can’t you hear the horns? It’s a parade of sinners, Gio.”

I laugh. He’s insane but I love him.

Then we turn the bend and I see grass.

“STOP!” I yell.

Lorenzo panics. “Here?? What??”

“Yes! HERE! PULL OVER!”

He slams the brakes. I’m out the door before it fully stops.

Sprinting toward the little patch of woods.

Everyone’s yelling after me but I’m already on a mission.

I squat down in front of a cluster of tiny wildflowers.

Hm.

These aren’t store-bought, perfect, and Pinterest-approved.

They’re crooked and wet.

Okay, purple. Remember. He likes purple. Definitely that one.

Maybe that tiny red one too… and that yellow. The yellow’s kinda cute.

He’ll love that. Yeah. I’ll take one of each. Little bouquet of chaos.

“Finish up, dumbass, you’re getting soaked!” Lorenzo yells from behind me.

“Shut up!” I shout without looking back.

Suddenly, Noah’s beside me. He crouches too, and plucks a small purple one.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

He shrugs, kind of shy for once. “It’s for Marco. Is it okay?”

I look at him.

My guy.

“Why wouldn’t it be okay?” I say, gently.

Then I squint at the one he picked. “Nah, wait, that one’s ugly. Here, take this red one.”

I reach for it, but there’s a bug on it.

“Ew. Nope. Abort mission. Take this one instead.” I give him a better one.

We both jog back to the car.

We get in and Lorenzo turns to see my little wildflower fist.

“…That’s it?” he says. “That’s your big romantic gesture?”

I grin. “You do realize Rava’s gonna cry the second he sees this, right? Today’s about love, idiot. Not the show.”

Lorenzo covers his mouth with his hand. “You’ve gotten so mature it’s honestly kind of disgusting.”

I smile. “Yeah. I know.” And I hold the little flowers tight.

We pull up. Car still rolling to a stop, and BAM.

Flash. Right in the face.

“Oop—okay. So that’s what we’re doing now.”

Photographer’s already on me like I’m a runaway groom.

Noah cackles, and immediately strikes a proud pose. Lorenzo wraps an arm around him and they pose together like two idiots who think they’re famous.

The whole place looks like it was dipped in gold.

Holy shit.

It’s perfect. Not even trying-to-be.

Just… is.

Everything’s dewy, obviously.

The lights are strung all across the space, warm gold, little halos hanging from the sky.

And candles.

Many decor candles.

I gave in. Said yes to Marco’s candle obsession.

Didn’t regret it then, definitely don’t now.

It looks like something between a holy place and a fever dream.

White and burgundy flowers everywhere.

Not tacky and stiff, they are more messy and soft.

The chairs are white with gold frames, set up in clean little rows.

I turn to Noah. “When are the others getting here?”

He checks his phone. “Marco says they’re almost out the door. So until then—” he throws an arm around my shoulder, pulling me forward.

“—you’re doing a full photoshoot. Fifteen thousand pics minimum. Smile, bitch.”

I let him drag me a few steps.

Wait. Shit.

I panic and start slapping my jacket.

Noah looks at me like panicked. “What??”

“The vows.” My heart stutters.

I grab my inside pocket, pat my chest, dig deeper.

Got it.

Tiny folded paper. God. I let out a breath like I just avoided death.

“I have it. Jesus. I wrote this while we were fighting, by the way. So, you know. It’s real as hell.”

Noah smirks. “That’s my boy. Rava’s a lucky bastard.”

I look back at the setup.

I swallow. Holy shit, I’m actually doing this.

I’m gonna stand there and say those words to my person.

I better not cry before he even shows up.

We take a stupid amount of photos. I’ve posed with literally every person here. One by one.

Cousins. Aunts. Daisy’s random godmother who kissed my cheek twice and called me “sweet boy.”

But I kinda… like it.

Because I’m not just seeing people. I’m seeing the ones who saw me, him, us , and didn’t choose silence or judgment.

They stayed.

That feels bigger than any cathedral.

I’m laughing in every shot.

Noah’s making dumb faces.

Lorenzo’s already undone two buttons from stress.

My mom’s eyeliner is waterproof but… barely holding.

We see cars.

Fuck me.

They’re coming.

The entire Weston clan rolls in. All together. A wall of family.

I look for him but he’s not there.

Makes sense.

Daisy’s glowing. Literally sparkling.

Marco looks stressed, which is… terrifying.

Jin’s holding hands with his girlfriend.

The grandparents are there too, all three generations.

Great.

They’re all here. For this.

This is really happening.

Daisy spots me and immediately launches herself at me. Her perfume hits me like a brick.

Everything on her is flawless.

Hair, makeup, dress, nails.

She pulls her bag over her head to block the drizzle.

“Gio, I swear to God, you better cry.”

I laugh. “Sit down. I’m not gonna cry. I got this.”

She squints. “You won’t have it if you don’t cry.”

And then she floats away to the front row.

Guests are seated. People are whispering. The vibe’s shifting.

The hush before a storm.

Noah and Lorenzo come up to me.

They pull me into this tight little hug sandwich. Noah behind, Lorenzo at the side.

Noah rubs my back once. Lorenzo squeezes my shoulder.

“This is it, man,” Lorenzo says. “We’re getting a third Fontana.”

I huff a laugh. “If he says yes.”

Noah rolls his eyes. “I got you. I will slap him and ask again.”

I nod. “Right. Okay. Go. Get in position. I’ll meet you there.”

They step away.

I take one last look around. The chairs. The lights. The sky. My fists curl around the wildflowers I picked.

Where are you, baby?

Please come before my knees give out.

Marco sprints over before I start walking.

He starts fixing my hair in front of everyone.

Everyone laughs.

I squint. “Dude.”

He ignores me and keeps fluffing. “There. You’re welcome.”

I nod and smile.

I straighten my suit. Pull my shoulders back. My knees are jelly but okay, I got this. I’m Gio.

I start walking.

Marco whistles loud. My idiot friends cheer like I’m stepping into a boxing match.

I’m laughing. The nervous kind, cause I feel like I’ve had 15 shots and forgot how to be a normal person.

Now we’re just standing there.

Me. Lorenzo. Noah.

Three dudes in suits trying not to pass out.

Everyone else is seated. Whispering and watching.

I can feel eyes on me like I’ve got a target on my forehead.

Noah’s flipping through the book. “You gonna puke?”

“Probably.”

He grins. “Try to aim for the aisle.”

My legs won’t stop bouncing. I keep touching my front pocket every two seconds to make sure the vows are still there.

They are.

My mouth literally won’t stop smiling. I can’t even fake being cool.

I lock my hands together in front of me because they won’t stop shaking.

My heart is not beating, it’s sprinting. I can hear it.

Lorenzo fixes my collar real quick.

“It’s never too late to ditch him and run away with me. We get in the car, we go to the sea, we open a bar, we never tell anyone. Final chance.” He holds a laugh.

I blink at him. Side-eye. Full-body disgust. “You’re so weird. How do I look?” I hiss.

He smirks. “You look like shit.”

“Thanks baby,” I whisper back, sarcastic as hell.

Then people move.

I turn.

Oh my god.

It’s him.

It shouldn’t shock me, it’s his wedding too.

But fuck me, it does. Because somehow I forgot he’d walk in like that.

I forgot what he does to a room. I forgot what he does to me .

My vision goes blurry immediately because my eyes go wet like I’m five.

I blink hard but no, it’s happening.

I’m gonna cry in front of everybody like an idiot.

Everyone starts doing that soft clap, reaching out to fist bump him from the sides like he’s coming home from a game.

And he laughs. All teeth.

I swear to god I’m falling in love with him all over again.

He’s so beautiful it’s stupid.

His hair is slicked back, not messy like when he wakes up and comes to the kitchen half asleep, rubbing his eyes, asking “what time is it.”

He’s smiling huge, bigger than I’ve ever seen him smile. It’s the smile that reaches his eyes.

Navy blue suit, rain drops on it.

His mom lets go of his hand and sits down in the chair next to her.

Lorenzo gives me a little push. “Go get him, sposo.”

I go.

I walk down the steps and I’m smiling like I’m high.

I stand right in front of him.

Up close he’s even better. His green eyes are watery too. Of course they are. He’s soft like that.

“Hey,” I tell him, laughing. “You here too? What a coincidence.”

He laughs too.

His mom smiles like she’s been waiting for this day since we were ten.

That’s… probably true.

I try to pin the flowers on his shirt and my hands are actually trembling.

Come on.

I fix bikes, I can tie ropes, I can do shady shit with steady hands, and now the love of my life shows up in a navy suit and suddenly I don’t remember how to use fingers!

He looks straight at me, doesn’t look at the flowers, doesn’t look at the people, just me.

“You’re blushing,” he whispers.

I huff a laugh. “Shut up.”

He reaches up, touches my wrist to steady it, and I could cry just from that.

It’s so him. Even on his wedding day he’s calming me down.

We go up the steps together, and we stand in front of Noah.

Noah clears his throat.

“Okay,” he says. “Can you all hear me over the rain or do I have to yell like I’m breaking up a fight at a club?”

Everyone laughs.

Daisy wipes under her eye. Girl is already crying.

Marco whistles from somewhere in the back.

Soft rain taps on everything.

I look back at Rava.

He’s trying to stand still like a good boy.

He looks like he can’t believe it’s happening.

Noah keeps talking.

“We are gathered here today,” he says, then squints up at the sky, “in what I assume was meant to be an outdoor wedding and not a baptism .”

Everyone laughs again. Even Rava lets out this small nervous sound.

I wanna lean in and kiss that laugh right out of his mouth.

Don’t. Not yet.

“To celebrate the union of two people who, genuinely, when I first saw them together, I said ‘yup, soulmates.’”

He looks back at us, softer now.

Keeps talking.

I can’t stop staring at Rava.

He’s looking at Noah now, listening like the good student he always was.

I wanna pull him into me so bad.

“When you love someone, and you’re both idiots,” he shoots us a look.

“you have to promise stuff. That’s what today is. It’s not magic, it’s not a movie. It’s two idiots saying ‘I pick you even when you’re being an absolute idiot.’”

Rava looks at me again.

He mouths, hi.

I grin. “Hello,” I mouth back.

Noah notices and rolls his eyes. “Okay, can you two not flirt while I’m literally marrying you? Rava, focus. Gio, hands where I can see them.”

Oh God. People laugh. I look down like I’m innocent.

I’m not.

This is real. This is it. After all the shit. After Spain. After his dad. After airports. After me thinking I don’t deserve him. After me choosing him anyway. After him choosing me back.

I look at his hands.

He’s shaking a little. Not a lot. But I still wanna hold them so bad.

Noah takes a breath.

“Now,” he says, with a bit more seriousness, “normally, this is the part where I say some long, poetic, grand thing about love. But you two…”

He looks between us and smiles, “you two already lived the hard part. Everyone here saw it. Or heard about it. So I don’t have to explain your love to anyone. They already know.”

Rava is looking down now, like he’s trying not to cry.

His throat moves.

He bites the inside of his cheek. My boy.

Noah lifts the paper again and the corner just… falls off because it’s soaked.

Everyone bursts out laughing.

“Okay,” Noah says, giving the sky a look, “whoever ordered the dramatic weather package, thanks , but I can’t read like this.”

“You know what?” he says. “We’re doing it our way.”

He looks at us, grinning.

“Gio and Rava. You’ve chosen to get married in the rain like a music video because of course you need to be dramatic.”

“Facts,” Marco says.

“And maybe because nothing was ever easy with you. Not day one, not month three, not year whatever we’re on now. But you still kept finding ways. Even when it hurt. Even when people told you it wouldn’t work.”

He glances at Rava’s mom, smiles at her.

“You kept choosing each other,” he repeats, softer. “That’s marriage.”

I swallow.

Rava looks up at me again.

I wanna kiss him slow, with hands on his jaw, with forehead to forehead, with everyone watching.

I wanna show them he’s mine. I wanna show him I’m not going anywhere.

Noah inhales. “So. Now we get to my favorite part.”

He looks at the people.

“This is where they talk.”

Everyone goes awww like idiots.

Noah faces us again. His eyes are actually proud. Like an older brother.

“Gio,” he says. “You’re gonna go first.”

I exhale through my nose, nod once.

God, my heart is beating so loud I can hear it over the rain.

Noah grins. “Try not to kiss him in the middle. I know you want to. We all know you want to.”

Everyone laughs again.

I look straight at him.

Okay. It’s time. Vows.

I take a breath.

My fingers are wet and the paper is wet and I’m an idiot because I didn’t laminate this.

I pull it out anyway.

I clear my throat.

I look at him.

“Hey, Ravioli.”

Half the people laugh. Daisy claps her hand over her mouth.

Rava just… laughs through his nose and looks down, shy.

“Okay,” I say, looking down at the paper, blinking rain off.

“So. I’m not gonna stand here and say I fell in love with you immediately because you looked good.”

I pause.

“Even though…” I tilt my head, look at him again, “I did have one moment. One. When I told you you were beautiful, and your ears went red—”

“awwwwwww.”

I point at them without looking. “Yeah. I saw that. I clocked it. Thank you.”

Everyone laughs, his mom too.

Rava covers his face for a second, smiling so wide it hurts me.

I grin and shake my head.

Yeah. I’m that guy, guys. I pay attention.

“I’m going to do it my own way, through promises I never intend to break.”

Then I look at him properly.

I breathe.

“I promise to protect you. From everyone. From whoever thinks they can talk to you crazy. From anyone that ever tries to make you feel small. I promise I will be the loud one so you can be the soft one.”

I let it sit.

“I promise to brag about you. All the time. Even when you tell me to stop. I promise to protect your name when you’re not in the room. I promise to never use leaving as a threat, and to make you laugh when you wanna cry. I promise to keep telling our story so it doesn’t fade. Even when we’re old. To keep reminding you that you were the miracle in all of this, not me.”

He straight up sobs. Not loud, but he covers his mouth with his hand for a second.

Daisy cries louder, obviously. Lorenzo looks away like he can’t watch or he’ll cry too.

I laugh a little, because I’ll cry too if I don’t.

I look at Noah. “Can I hug him?”

“No.”

Everyone laughs.

I glare. “Bro, he’s crying!”

“He’s always crying,” Noah says. “Finish your vows.”

I groan, look back at Rava. “Sorry, baby. They won’t let me.”

Rava laughs through tears, shaking his head.

I lower the paper, hold it with one hand now.

“One more,” I say, softer.

“I promise to come find you. Every time. Even if you go to the other side of the world. Even if you think I won’t. Even if you think I got tired. I didn’t. I won’t.”

I breathe.

“It’s ride or die. And I’m not dying.”

Noah wipes under his own eye with the back of his hand, stares at the tear on his finger and goes, “You bitch. That was not in the program. Unbelievable.”

People laugh.

He blows out a breath. “Anyway. Incredible. We love growth.”

He turns to Rava, grin back on. “Rava, baby, your turn.”

Rava wipes his face fast, like he’s embarrassed to be crying in front of everyone.

“Sorry,” he sniffles, little laugh. “Sorry, guys.”

“Our sensitive king,” Lorenzo says.

He pulls out his paper and it’s already getting wet. He tries to cup his hand over it so the drops don’t hit it.

Without thinking, I reach too.

I cover the top of the paper with my hand. He takes a breath.

“Gio…” he starts. “I don’t really know how to talk about love in a general way, so I will do it our way.”

“I’m gonna show it through you,” he says. “Through the things you did.”

People go “awww.”

Rava looks at the paper.

“When you were mad at me,” he says, “but you still turned the heater on in the bathroom before I showered so I wouldn’t freeze.”

I smile, looking down.

“That’s love.”

“When I thought I had no one to clap for me at graduation,” he goes on, “you made sure I had the loudest crowd in the room. That’s love,” he says again, firmer.

“When you picked all the tomatoes out of my food because you know I won’t eat them—”

Laughter.

He smiles through it. “That’s love.”

“When I said, ‘I’m not fun like you,’” he says, looking right at me now, “you said, ’good, I don’t need another me, I needed you . That’s love.”

He keeps going.

“When you let me talk about books and history and… boring teacher stuff,” he says, half laughing at himself, “and you didn’t look at your phone—”

People laugh again.

“That’s love too.”

He smiles at me.

My eyes sting. Shit. Don’t cry. Not now. Not in the middle. Breathe, Gio.

He takes a breath too. Looks down. Looks up again.

“I realized I loved you the most,” he says slowly, “not when you were kissing me. Not when we were laughing. But when you weren’t close to me… and I still heard all of that in my head.”

He blinks the tears away and keeps going, stronger now.

“So if loving you means I have to argue with people I grew up with—”

I feel everyone hold their breath.

“—I will.”

I smile.

“If loving you means I have to unlearn things I was taught, I will.”

Oh god.

“If loving you means I have to choose you over being liked, I will.”

I bite my lip hard.

“If loving you means I have to stand with you no matter what happens,” he says, “then I will.”

He looks right at me now.

“If the whole planet is against you,” he says with a lower voice, “then believe me,”

He smiles.

“I’ll be against the whole planet.”

People gasp.

I choke on a laugh. And a sob. At the same time.

Love is so humiliating.

“It’s ride or die,” he says. “And I’m not dying.”

Who is this boy and how is he mine.

My baby. Look at him. Crying, defending me in front of everyone.

This is the best day of my life. I don’t care. Nothing tops this. Not races, not parties, not money, not bikes.

This.

I turn to Noah.

“Continue,” I tell him fast.

Noah’s wiping his eyes again. “Give me a second,” he says, waving the book. “I’m processing the fact that my best friend just turned into a poet for you.”

Everyone laughs.

He sighs dramatically. “Anyway… unbelievable.”

I breathe out. Okay. It’s time. It’s really fucking time.

Noah straightens a little, looks between us. “Alright. Let’s do the legal stuff.”

I feel my heart speed up again.

Legal. We’re doing legal. We’re actually binding this.

Noah turns to Rava first.

“Rava Weston,” he says, softer now but still him, “do you take this menace to be your person, your home, your loud guard dog, your ride or die?”

“I do,” he says immediately.

I almost fold.

My knees actually go weak. I grip my hands together so I don’t grab him and spin him.

Noah turns to me.

“Gio Fontana,” he says, eyes squinting like he knows I’m about to be extra, “do you take him to be your soft spot, your favorite human, your ride or die?”

“ Absolutely I do,“ I say, smiling.

He closes the little book with a wet thump.

Rain is the only sound for half a second.

“RINGS,” he says, pointing.

Lorenzo immediately jumps forward like he’s been waiting his whole life.

He lifts the box with two hands, super proud.

“GUYS,” he says loudly, “I DID IT. I DIDN’T LOSE THEM!”

Everyone bursts out laughing.

“THAT’S MY SON!” his mom says, clapping.

Lorenzo grins, and opens the box carefully so it doesn’t get drenched.

He takes Rava’s ring first, hands it over.

I take it.

I slide the ring on him.

It fits. Shit.

Then Lorenzo hands him mine.

He opens his mouth like he’s concentrating really hard, like “don’t drop it, don’t drop it,” and I stick my hand out.

Rava takes my hand so carefully.

He pushes the ring onto my finger, then he looks up at me and laughs happily.

Noah lets out this huge breath. “Alright,” he says, “we almost made it. In the rain. Without losing anyone. Kind of iconic.”

People laugh.

He looks at us. “By the power invested in me by absolutely

nobody except your chaos,“ he spreads his hands.

“I now pronounce you husbands.”

I launch.

I grab Rava, pull him right into me and kiss him like I’ve been starving for years.

The whole place erupts.

Screaming, clapping, whistling, cheering, all at once.

I kiss him like the whole world is a courtroom and we’re giving closing arguments.

I kiss him for every mouth that said our love is a crime, for every whisper that called us abnormal for loving this hard.

He laughs into my mouth.

We break just enough to breathe. Lorenzo grabs our hands, throws them up like champions. “HE BAGGED THE HOT TEACHER, Y’ALL!”

Then we’re swallowed by everyone.

Daisy is crying and cackling, Marco is yelling while he’s hugging us, Jin is bouncing, Noah is hugging Lorenzo.

It’s a wet and ridiculous pileup of joy.

This is it. I was born to marry Rava.

Built for this ring, this rain, this ridiculous, holy yes.

—————-

Rava’s POV

I’m so, SO fucking happy my dad didn’t show up.

I want to shake every molecule in the air and scream THANK YOU UNIVERSE.

Because guess what? I’m a Fontana now.

That’s right. Officially. Legally. Emotionally. Spiritually.

I’m a husband. I married Gio Fontana.

Which means we’re a family. Me and Gio. Gio and me.

Like, that’s it. That’s the headline.

We’re walking hand in hand and I swear I told myself I’d keep my face calm and photogenic and all that.

I had a whole vision, cute but composed, classic groom core.

But no.

Every photo is just me cackling. Laughing with my whole face.

Full teeth, nose scrunched, head thrown back.

And in all of them, I’m looking at him. Every. Single. One.

Like a simp!

We’re walking together now, as husbands.

Everyone’s already out there waiting.

And the moment we step out… BOOM.

Literal rice war.

I’m not exaggerating… tons of rice.

From every angle. Up, down, side.

Like we’re under siege. It’s in my hair. In my eyes. In my socks.

Marco straight up dumps a whole bag over Gio’s head.

Lorenzo hits me with a FUCKING SHOVEL of rice.

A shovel. He found a shovel! Where? Why??

I scream. I laugh.

I bury my face in Gio’s shoulder like he’s my personal umbrella and he just throws his arm around me and shields me like, “I got you, baby.”

And we’re dying laughing. Both of us.

This is the best kind of chaos.

Then grandma shows up. She wipes her face. “Your damn husband…”

I blink. “What did he do??”

I turn to look at Gio, who’s hugging people like a local celebrity, grinning and glowing and shaking rice out of his shirt.

Grandma laughs. “He made me cry, the asshole.”

I choke. “Grandma! You can’t say that!” She laughs harder. I do too.

It’s just madness around us.

All people are hugging, throwing envelopes at us, handing off shiny gift bags and boxes tied with bows.

I don’t even know where to look. Everyone’s touching us. Talking to us. Crying at us.

We start heading to the car and Gio’s across from me, still waving to people.

He sends me a kiss with two fingers like we’re still flirting in secret.

I burst out laughing. Like he’s not my husband. Like I didn’t just MARRY him under the fucking rain.

We get in the car.

Me, Marco, Rosa, and Jin, and it’s stuffed.

The back seat is drowning in envelopes, gift boxes, flower bundles, everything.

Jin’s already trying to shove stuff to the side. “Sorry, your gifts are bothering me. Can I take a few to my place? I think someone gave you those fancy crystal plate sets. I don’t have plates. You guys have plates.”

Rosa smacks him, not hard. “Shame on you. You’re stealing their wedding gifts.”

I laugh. “You know what, take them. But don’t tell Grandma.”

Jin smirks. “Say less.”

Rosa looks over. “Rava… your vows were beautiful . I was speechless!”

Marco nods like he’s mourning. “Facts. I cried like they were for me.”

“Stop, guys,” I groan, laughing. “Don’t make me cry again.”

Jin looks at me. “You’re still covered in rice.”

I glare. “ You did that.“

He shrugs. “Can I get drunk now at the party?”

“Why are you asking me?”

He thinks about it.

“Good point. Rava, I’m getting drunk. Like… so drunk I might even dance with you. After your first dance with Gio. Obviously. I respect the husband hierarchy.”

Marco groans. “Ugh… We’re all gonna be crying again.”

I know I will.

Okay.

We’re walking again. Hand in hand.

We’re heading toward the reception and I’m vibrating like an open soda can.

I keep smiling and I can’t stop. My whole face hurts.

My cheeks are SCREAMING. Like actually throbbing.

I probably look manic. I don’t care.

They open the doors and boom.

Sara Perché Ti Amo starts blasting.

Gio howls.

Throws both arms in the air like we just scored and then turns to me and grabs my waist and dips me like we’re in a dance-off in a teen movie and I SCREAM LAUGH.

We’re not even in the building yet.

He’s pointing at everyone, pulling me against him every two seconds like he’s showing me off to the whole world.

I’m blushing in front of everyone.

And do I care? No. I’m glowing.

I feel like a fucking disco light.

We step inside and the whole place is stunning.

It smells like good food.

There are fairy lights strung up all over the place, like little galaxies.

The whole room is wrapped in glass. Literally.

There are glass walls everywhere, so the rain outside looks like it’s part of the decor.

And now, my favorite part.

Right at the entrance, there’s a little white wooden table with an open guestbook, clean pages begging to be destroyed, and a vintage polaroid camera sitting next to it with a stack of fresh film and tape strips.

My idea. That was me. Thank you very much.

Everyone can write whatever they want and slap a polaroid underneath if they want.

Notes. Doodles. Inside jokes. Curses. Full-on declarations. All of it.

We’re going to read them hungover tomorrow and sobbing.

I can already feel it.

People are already crowding around it.

Noah is there, making Lorenzo pose with a rose in his mouth.

Daisy is already writing something suspiciously long.

I know she’s writing a paragraph. I know her.

She’s gonna turn it into a full poem and probably tape a second page in for extra drama.

We keep getting stopped every two seconds for pictures and hugs and Gio keeps whispering “we’re so hot” and “this is insane” and “I’m gonna cry” and “wait stand there, the light hits your face crazy” and I’m just standing there dying and melting like a maniac in love.

At some point the photographer grabs us both and goes “just one more, over here.

And here. Okay, now kiss. Okay now back-to-back. I die.

But the photos are going to SLAP. I can already tell.

We’ve taken pics in every single corner of this damn space.

Then finally, everyone makes it to their tables.

There’s still laughter and yelling.

Lorenzo is trying to drag Marco back to his seat because he’s already trying to open the wine.

Jin’s arguing with Noah about the playlist.

My mom is crying again quietly, into her napkin.

Suddenly, the place gets more quiet.

The lights go down.

All the buzz softens into this warm hush.

And I look at Gio.

‘Stop Crying Your Heart Out’ by Oasis starts playing.

The second the piano hits, I know I’m done for.

I already cried 2 times.

If I cry one more time, someone’s gonna hand me tissues and call me a crybaby.

I feel his hand. Gio’s.

It wraps around mine like we’re the only two people in the room.

He leans in close.

“May I have the honor of dancing with you, husband?”

I roll my eyes and I smile.

“Okay,” I mutter, “but only because I like the song.”

“Mhm, okay.”

And then he pulls me in.

And suddenly it’s quiet.

Not actually quiet. The music’s still playing.

But it feels like it’s just us now.

Us and this song that sounds like it was written for the ghosts we buried together.

Us and the rain sliding down the glass roof.

He is standing in front of me like a dream I never had the guts to wish for.

It doesn’t feel real.

It feels like we stepped into some alternate timeline where none of the bad stuff happened.

He presses a gentle, soft kiss to my forehead.

My arms go up, elbows brushing the sides of his face, until my hands find their place behind his neck.

I shift slightly. Look up at him.

“Have you actually processed this yet?” I ask.

He stares at me, then shakes his head.

“Nope,” he says. “Way too perfect to feel real.”

I laugh. Of course he says that.

He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.“I like your eyes, Fontana,” he murmurs.

I feel butterflies in my lungs.

My face heats up instantly.

He tilts my head down gently and pulls me in until my cheek is resting on his shoulder.

Like he’s saying, I’m here. Just breathe.

So I do. And I stay there.

He doesn’t talk. Doesn’t joke. Doesn’t rush the moment.

Just holds me while the song plays out like a soft little love letter for people like us.

People who broke and kept trying anyway.

I’m absolutely overwhelmed. Because this man looked me in the eyes and said, “Everything you thought you knew about love was fake. Let me show you how it really works.”

Every fear I had, he said ‘give it here, I’ll carry it for you.’

Every overthinking spiral, every second-guess, every what-if, he said ‘not yours anymore. I’ve got you.’

So I squeeze him tighter. Press my face into his shoulder. Wipe the tear before it falls.

He tilts my chin up.

The rain is louder now, but his voice is soft. “Look at me.”

I look. His ring glints. My ring glints back.

His mouth curves. “We ruined the odds,” he says proudly.

“Yeah,” I breathe.

“We did.”

He kisses my temple.

The dance keeps going.

His hand is at my back, my chest on his.

“Fontana?” he whispers.

“Mm?”

“ Illegal amount of beautiful right now,“ he says.

I snort, totally done. “Is it even possible to be this happy?” I whisper. “It should be against the law.”

“Then arrest me,” he says, pulling me closer. “I’m not pleading guilty. I’m bragging.”

By the time the last notes fade, I’m smiling so hard it hurts again.

He kisses my forehead, and the room exhales.

Applause.

I wipe my cheeks with the back of my hand and laugh, breathless. “This was perfect.”

We’re all at our tables with wine glasses in hand, a bit too full from all that food, kinda tipsy.

The music slams into a new gear.

“I LOVE IT” by Charli XCX blasts through the speakers.

Everyone flinches. Including me.

I immediately whip my head to Lorenzo.

This little menace has been singing that song nonstop for days.

Everywhere.

He throws both hands in the air, like YUP THAT WAS ME, and starts cackling.

All hell breaks loose.

People rush to the center.

The lights shift, bass drops.

It’s a club now. We’re in a club. The wedding’s over.

Formality? Dead. Respectability? Buried.

Gio and I are already giggling.

We’ve definitely had more wine than we should’ve.

He’s slouched in his chair, holding a half-eaten piece of bread.

I’m sipping my wine.

Lorenzo and Daisy appear out of nowhere and drag us.

Daisy’s heels are already off.

“GET UP, PRINCE,” Lorenzo screams at Gio.

I grab Noah. “Come on, idiot,” and he grabs Marco by the wrist, who shouts something about his shoes but comes anyway.

Jin yells, “WAIT FOR ME YOU GREMLINS!” and starts chasing after us, knocking a chair over in the process.

My cousins are whooping, screaming.

Even my grandma is out here with a drink in her hand and some sort of cha-cha step.

We’re all wrecked in the best way.

The ones not driving? Gone.

Red-cheeked, dancing with our whole soul kind of gone.

Lorenzo is feral. He’s screaming lyrics, with Marco on his shoulders.

“SEE, GIO, I TOLD YOU I’M GETTING STRONGER!!”

Marco’s holding onto his head for dear life like ‘sir please I’m fragile’, while Gio claps and yells “HE’S A WARRIOR!!!”

Noah’s spinning Daisy and then both collapse laughing mid-spin.

Daisy smacks his arm. “You’re drunk,” she says, grinning.

“I’m artistic,” he replies.

I’m still holding my drink.

Gio still has the bread.

He glances at me.

Then he grabs my drink and downs it in one go.

“HEY THAT WAS M—”

He kisses me.

Hard. Messy. Open mouth, wine-flavored type of kiss.

I laugh into it.

Then Jin slams into him from the side.

Gio stumbles, and Jin grabs his hand and starts bouncing up and down with the worst rhythm I’ve ever seen.

Gio joins him. Zero shame. ZERO rhythm.

I double over laughing, clutching my ribs.

The lights flash. The beat drops. Everyone’s yelling lyrics.

No one’s calm. No one’s cool.

-Two hours later-

I am dead .

Like actually.

I’m slumped in the chair at our table.

I’m borderline dehydrated, and I’ve lost count of how many drinks I’ve had.

I think someone gave me a tequila shot fifteen minutes ago and I just said thank you and drank it.

Anyway.

The table’s wrecked. Empty plates, glasses everywhere.

It’s just me now.

I’m watching Gio.

He’s in the middle of the floor with my mom and Jin, and they’re spinning in a circle like idiots.

Gio lifts Jin like he weighs nothing. My mom grabs his hands and starts clapping.

They’re so happy.

From the other side of the table, Lorenzo whistles at me.

“You’re really drunk,” he says.

I squint at him. Still watching Gio.

“…Is it that obvious?”

Lorenzo leans back. “So. Who is he?”

I blink at him. “Huh?”

…

Then it hits me.

Oh my God. He’s doing it .

He’s pulling the same line he pulled on me the night we met.

My eyes widen.

“ NO . NO WAY. STOP.“ I gasp.

Lorenzo is already wheezing. “Sorry! It just reminded me of it, okay?! The way you’re looking at him? Exactly like that night. All sad and full of repressed horny shame. It’s adorable.”

I cover my face with both hands. “I hate you.”

“You love me,” he says.

Gio jogs over.

For some reason he has a flower crown on his head.

“Whew,” he pants, dropping into the seat next to me. “I think your mom out-danced me.”

“There’s my little dancer,” Lorenzo says dramatically, toasting him.

Gio grins between us. “What’s happening here?”

Lorenzo shifts. Way too proud.

“Now that it’s just us three… and you’re married …”

I groan. “Fine. You can tell him.”

Lorenzo immediately shoots out of his chair.

“FINALLY MADONNA MIA,” he screams. Gio jumps a little.

Then he leans over.

“GIO. Remember that village fair? The first time I met your sweet innocent angel here?”

Gio raises an eyebrow. “Yep. Lay it on me. I’m ready.”

Lorenzo turns deadly serious.

“He said—and I’m NOT exaggerating—he wanted you to ride the shit out of him.”

Gio chokes.

“I’m talking legs-over-the-shoulders riding. Your little soft-spoken Rava over here was out here giving me fanfic-level detail about your sex life that hadn’t even happened yet.”

“OH MY GOD,” I groan, smacking my head on the table.

Lorenzo is on a roll. “He said, and I quote, ‘I’d fall to my knees for him if he let me.’ I was like—who is this boy.”

Gio’s face is lit. He is so clearly enjoying every second of this.

“And then,” Lorenzo adds, like he’s delivering the final blow, “he started talking about your V-line like it was the holy grail. Said you looked like a Greek god. Was clearly in love with you.”

“OKAY. ENOUGH. I’M CALLING THE HORNY POLICE,” I shout, fully laughing now.

We’re dying. All three of us.

I can’t breathe. Lorenzo’s got tears in his eyes.

He wipes his face. “Aw man. I feel so much better now. Like something heavy just lifted off my soul. Thank you for that. Truly. I’ll dance now.”

He chugs the rest of his drink, salutes us, and stumbles off dramatically.

“CIAO, MIEI AMORI!” he yells into the crowd. NOAH, DANCE WITH ME, BABY!!!“

Noah turns around like he’s been summoned, arms wide open. “COME HERE, YOU GREMLIN!”

They collide in the middle of the dance floor.

I look back at Gio, who’s just leaning back with his arm around my chair.

He bumps his shoulder against mine. “Whore.”

I groan. “Divorce.”

He kisses me.

He leans close, and yells over the music.

“Wanna come with me for a bit?”

I squint at him. “Alright. Divorce can wait.”

He laughs.

We move through the crowd, getting stopped every few steps.

More hugs. More toasts. Handshakes and cheek kisses.

We keep laughing, keep saying thanks, and then slip past the last group.

We’re out.

The air is… cold. That December kind of cold.

It stings a little, but it’s honestly refreshing.

The music is barely there now.

Rain taps against the awning above us softly.

We sit down on the edge of the stone wall under the little shelter like two guys who ditched their own wedding.

Elbows on knees.

It’s just us now.

I tilt my head, rest it against Gio’s shoulder.

He leans into me without saying a word. We look at the rain.

Somewhere behind us, there’s laughter. The Polaroid clicks again.

I think I hear Daisy. Maybe Jin. But it’s all distant now.

Gio shifts beside me. “You seen how much stuff we have to take home tonight?”

I snort. “We’re gonna be opening presents all night.”

“You ready?” he asks, laughing.

I look up at him. “Are you ?”

He grins. “I can’t wait, baby.”

And he kisses the top of my head.

I close my eyes. And breathe.

…

Charles Weston, You lost.

But not in the way you think.

You tried to break us. But every time you tried to tear us apart, we held each other tighter.

You thought you were shoving us toward an ending, but you handed us a beginning.

You never accepted me.

And for a long time, I twisted myself into someone smaller just to fit into your view of “right.”

But now I see it clearly. I didn’t lose anything.

You did.

You lost a son who still believed, against all odds, that one day you’d be proud.

You lost a home that could’ve held you even after everything.

You lost birthdays, wedding days.

I found peace. I found people who know how to stay. I found me.

So, no. I’m not angry. I don’t need revenge.

Because I’ve already won. I walked away with everything you never thought I deserved and more.

I hope one day you understand what you gave up.

But even if you don’t, I’ve already made peace with it. And I’m not looking back.

…

Antonio Fontana, I never shook your hand. Never sat across from you at a table.

But your son made sure I know you.

He talks about you like you’re still in the room. Like you just stepped out for a minute and you’ll walk back in if he believes hard enough.

He keeps you alive in every memory he refuses to let fade.

And I swear there’s pride in his voice when he says “my father.”

Real pride.

You should see the way his face softens when he remembers you.

He tries to hide it, tries to pretend he’s untouched.

But I’ve seen his face when he’s watching little boys run into their father’s arms.

He looks at them like he’s saying, ‘hey… I wanted that too.’

You made him look at the sky differently.

And you should be proud. God, you should be so proud.

He grew up into a man who loves hard and protects harder.

A man who carries everyone, even when his own shoulders shake.

He’s stubborn and reckless and loud, but underneath all that, he cares. He feels.

He deserves every good thing the world owes him.

And today… your son gave me your name.

Fontana.

I don’t take that lightly. I’ll never replace you.

I don’t want to. He only ever needed one father, and it was you.

But I promise you that I will love him enough that the empty space you left never swallows him whole.

I’ll make sure he never thinks love finishes early for him.

I’ll honor the name he gave me.

And I’ll take care of the boy you didn’t get to finish raising, the boy who became a man all by himself, and somehow still has room in his heart for softness.

If you could see him now, you’d know you didn’t just raise a son.

You raised a miracle.

And he’s okay. He’s safe. He’s loved.

Because he’s mine now. And I’m never letting him walk through anything alone again.

…

Gio Fontana, You turned my whole world upside down.

You’ve been messy. And infuriating. And annoying.

You’ve changed me in ways I can’t explain. You broke every plan I had for my life, every version of the future that didn’t have you in it.

And you made me want more.

And maybe that’s why it hurts, because I didn’t see you coming.

And now I can’t imagine the world without you in it.

Gio Fontana, You weren’t the plan.

But you were the reason I stopped needing one.

My ride or die.

THE END

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Before I start crying, here’s a little gift I made for you. It’s how I imagined the guest book after it got absolutely attacked by the friend group.

  ![](https://img.wattpad.com/d87870b56c02bdaed58f2ecfc409e516e07c23a6/68747470733a2f2f73332e616d617a6f6e6177732e636f6d2f776174747061642d6d656469612d736572766963652f53746f7279496d6167652f766a504b3775755470374d5051773d3d2d313538363833393536342e313837346337643930313235386137393932333234393632303937392e6a7067)               

I’m sobbing btw.

Please share your favorite scenes with me or a phrase that got stuck with you :) I need it.

I love you so much guys. Thank you for making me choke and cry with your horny-ass comments.

I genuinely feel like you’re my friends, not just people who liked my work.

Luckily for all of us, this isn’t really the end🎉 If you’re reading this, it means I already posted the first chapter of the one-shots :)

It’s up on my profile in case you didn’t get the notification:)

I love you so much. You can all message me on my instagram anytime, it’s on my bio :)

With all my heart, your dirty disco 🪩

Physical Book Available! ✅

HELLO long time no see 😼

I wanted to let my divas know that Ride or Die Part One is now available as a physical book!!!

It comes with 3 extra scenes (for those who missed it on Instagram):

1) Gio's POV when Rava accidentally sent him the nude photo

2) ummm... Gio eating Rava's cake 😼

3) Gio's thoughts right before the first time they made love :)

I’m leaving the link in this comment: (check the comment) ➡️

For once, I’m proud of myself

Second Book ✅

Hello again :)

The time has finally come for the second Ride or Die paperback/Kindle on Amazon,

(check this comment for the link)

with my personal favorite cover…

The book includes chapters 52–95, plus two extra scenes:

1. Gio and Emiliana at the beach, making the iconic bracelets 🩷

2. Nine-year-old Gio talking with his dad about Rava and motorcycles ❤️

ALSO inside the book there’s this drawing, which I drew myself in my sketchbook 💅

😼😼😼😼😼

If you buy the paperback, please send me a photo because I want to use them for a TikTok 😼

Thank you all for supporting me by getting my little book 🩷🪩

Last book ✅

HELLO AGAIN!! I’m here with the third and final Ride or Die paperback✨ It’s finally available on Amazon, in both paperback and Kindle!!

(it might day book 3 out of 5, ignore it it’s just a draft oops)

(check this comment for the Amazon link)

The extra scene I promised (😼) is in there, along with this drawing that I made myself :)

(ignore my alpaca LMAO)

Thank you all for this beautiful Ride or Die journey ❤️ You changed my life for the better with your love.