The sun was just starting to dip beneath the horizon, casting golden streaks of light across the worn cobblestones of the small Italian town. The rest of Passione’s crew had scattered for the evening—either running errands or just giving each other space after a rough mission. But you and Narancia had lingered behind, wandering aimlessly through the streets, the soft hum of summer in the air.

You weren’t sure how it started. A brush of the fingers here. A stolen glance there. You two had always been close—laughing, teasing, sometimes touching just a little too long, a little too soft for it to mean nothing. But nothing ever happened. Neither of you said a word about the tension that stretched between you, a wordless current neither brave enough to speak aloud.

Until tonight.

The two of you had found yourselves on the steps of an old, crumbling fountain. The gentle trickle of water filled the silence between your jokes and stories, and Narancia’s laughter—genuine, bright, and a little unguarded—made your heart twist in your chest. He looked at you with his usual sparkle, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“You’ve been staring at me a lot tonight,” he teased, playfully bumping his shoulder against yours. “What, got something on my face or somethin’?”

You smiled, a little nervous, heart pounding so hard you were sure he could hear it. “Yeah. Something like that.”

He blinked, eyes searching your face, expression softening in a way that made your breath catch. His mouth parted slightly, like he was about to say something else—some joke, some quip, something to break the tension like he always did—but this time you didn’t let him.

You leaned in.

And kissed him.

It was light, at first. Soft. Hesitant. Like asking a question without words. Your lips barely brushed his—just a breath, just a moment. You half-expected him to pull away, to laugh, to freeze.

But Narancia didn’t move.

His eyes widened as your lips touched his, and for a split second, it was like all the air had been sucked out of the world. He didn’t react right away—just stared at you, shocked, like his brain hadn’t caught up to what was happening.

Then you pulled back. Not far. Just enough to look at him. Your heart was racing. You didn’t know what he was thinking. You didn’t know if he was mad or confused or—

He surged forward and kissed you back.

Hard.

It was clumsy. Unpracticed. A little desperate. But it was Narancia—all fire and impulse, all heart. His hand came up to cup the side of your face, fingers trembling slightly. The moment your lips met again, he let out this tiny, almost shocked sound in the back of his throat, like he couldn’t believe this was real. Like he’d been dreaming about it, too.

When you finally broke apart—just barely—he leaned his forehead against yours, still holding your face like he thought you might vanish if he let go.

“You… you kissed me,” he said breathlessly, blinking like he was still catching up.

You smiled nervously. “Yeah.”

He laughed—a stunned, incredulous little noise. “Holy shit. I thought I was the only one going crazy over you.”

“You weren’t.”

He pulled back just far enough to look you in the eyes, his grin breaking out wide and genuine. His cheeks were flushed—more from emotion than embarrassment—and his hands were still trembling a little as they slid down to hold yours.

“I—shit, I don’t know what to say,” he said, voice cracking with emotion. “I’ve been… I’ve been wantin’ to do that for so long. But I thought if I said anything, you’d… I dunno, laugh at me. Or punch me. Or run away.”

“You’re an idiot,” you murmured fondly, bumping your nose against his.

“I know!” he laughed, and then his voice dropped into something more sincere. “But, uh… if I kiss you again, you won’t run away, right?”

You shook your head slowly, smiling.

So he did. This time slower, softer, with that same tremble of vulnerability that made your chest ache. He kissed you like he was still afraid this was all some dream he’d wake up from.