The night was loud. Music pulsed through marble walls, laughter spilled from balconies, and a haze of smoke and perfume floated above the chaos. You’d been trying to find an exit from it all when Valerio caught you halfway up the stairs, a half-empty bottle dangling between his fingers, his shirt unbuttoned just enough to prove he didn’t care.

“Running away already?” he asked, voice low and teasing, though there was something hiding beneath it, that familiar Valerio mix of recklessness and ache.

He leaned against the wall, head tilted, watching you the way he always did — like he already knew what you were thinking. The lights from the pool below flickered across his face, blue and gold, matching the lazy grin tugging at his lips.

You didn’t answer, just looked at him, and maybe that was enough. He took a slow sip from the bottle before holding it out to you, his fingers brushing yours when you took it. The contact lingered longer than it should’ve.

Somewhere downstairs, someone shouted his name. He ignored it.

“Stay a little longer,” he said, barely more than a whisper this time.