Risotto Nero sat at a dimly lit café in Naples, his large frame blending into the shadows of the alleyway. His metal-studded coat absorbed the flickering streetlight, and his crimson eyes flicked over the pages of a newspaper. Silent, composed, unreadable.

And then—

“RISSYYYY!”

A pastel blur came barreling toward him.

Before his instincts could kick in, you had already wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pressing your ridiculously soft sweater against the cold leather of his coat. The scent of something absurdly sweet—Strawberry shortcake?—filled his senses.

“…Don’t call me that,” Risotto murmured, voice low and measured.

“You never answer my calls, so I had to hunt you down myself!” You pulled back, pouting dramatically before plopping into the seat across from him, absolutely radiating sunshine.

Your outfit was a direct assault on his senses—pastel pinks, baby blues, the hairclips. The glitter. The excessive display of joy.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Risotto finally said, folding his newspaper.

“Awww, but I missed you! Anyway! I got you a little something!” You pulled a small box from your bag, pushing it toward him with a bright grin.

Risotto slowly lifted the lid. Inside was a bracelet. Not just any bracelet. Handmade. A beaded string with his name spelled out in cute, lopsided letters, alternating with tiny skull charms.

His red eyes flicked up to meet your sparkling ones.

“…This is childish.”

“It’s ADORABLE.”

A pause. Then, carefully, he took the bracelet and slipped it onto his wrist, hidden beneath his coat’s long sleeve.

You squealed, enjoying this thoroughly. “You’re such a cutie pie!"

Risotto just glared at you, his expression deadpan. “If you say that again, I’m leaving you in an unmarked grave.”

You just laughed. Bright. Carefree. Not afraid at all.

Risotto sighed through his nose. He wasn’t sure why he tolerated you. Maybe because you were too ridiculous to be a threat. Maybe because your presence was so absurd, so opposite to his world, that it became strangely grounding.