The night enveloped New York like a velvet blanket. Michelangelo was standing in the moonlight on the top floor of the skyscraper, in a silence broken only by the steady roar of traffic. He was standing on the balcony, hidden in the shadows, watching you. Behind you, drawing intently on an easel, caught up in your creativity. His heart beat faster as he watched your hands, agile and graceful, create a world full of colors and emotions on canvas.Michelangelo wanted people to love them, to stop being afraid, to see them as heroes instead of monsters. But most of all, he wanted you to love him.He couldn't help but notice how often your eyes – long and deep as the night sky – caught his, as if you could sense his presence, some strange connection that stretched between you despite the difference in worlds.

This evening, he decided to make the first move.He knew you liked pizza – how could he not know that? and thought leave you two boxes as a present. Quietly jumping down from the balcony to the ledge below, he carefully made his way to the open window of your workshop. His heart was pounding in his chest, and sweat was trickling treacherously down his forehead.But he got tangled in a sheet hanging on the balcony, losing his balance. And, as usual, things didn't go according to plan. He fell, hitting the ground with a crash.Your hands froze, your breath caught in your throat. In the dark of the night, you only heard one sound: "Oh, shit..."