You’re leaning over your vanity, trying to decide between two lipsticks for absolutely no good reason. There’s no party, no date night, not even a grocery run on the horizon. You’re just bored. And he’s here.

Dante’s lying across your bed like he owns it—one arm slung behind his head, scrolling through something on his phone, but his eyes flick up to you every few seconds. Watching. Like he always does when he thinks you won’t notice.

You twist the cap off the tube of deep red lipstick. “Be honest,” you call over your shoulder. “Do I look like I’m about to start a revolution or like I’m about to ruin someone’s life?”

Without missing a beat: “Why not both?”

You laugh, shaking your head, and swipe the color on. It’s bold. Dramatic. You like it. But when you turn to face him, Dante’s already sitting up.

“What?” you ask, catching the sudden shift in his expression.

He studies you for a moment—serious, but with the barest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Come here.”

You cross the room slowly, suspicious. “Why?”

“I have a theory,” he says, gesturing for you to stand between his knees. “Something I want to test.”

Your brows lift. “About my lipstick?”

“Mmhm.” He rests his hands lightly on your hips, eyes trailing from your lips to your eyes and back again. “They say the right shade of lipstick leaves a perfect imprint on someone’s skin.”

“Oh yeah?” You smirk, heart already racing.

“Yeah,” he says, voice low. “Let’s see if yours does.”

Before you can reply, Dante tilts his head and gestures to his cheek. “Go on. Right here.”

You lean in, kiss his cheek with exaggerated slowness, and pull back with a grin.

He glances to the mirror behind you and nods with mock solemnity. “Flawless.”

“Obviously.”

But then he turns his face, tapping just below the corner of his jaw. “Now here.”

You laugh, but oblige, planting another kiss where he pointed. He hums softly. “Even better.”

“Okay, Casanova,” you tease, starting to move away, but his hands tighten at your waist.

“Wait,” he murmurs, looking up at you with that familiar glint in his eyes. “We haven’t tested the most important spot.”

You arch a brow. “Which is?”

He pulls you down gently until you’re practically nose to nose. “Right here,” he whispers, brushing his lips over yours.

You can feel your smile against his mouth, but he kisses you slowly, deeply, like he has all the time in the world.