the air in the new condo smelled of fresh paint and expensive silence. it was a cold space, all hard angles and floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over a city {{user}} didn't quite feel part of. tony had said it was a palace, a sanctuary, but right now, it just felt empty. and he was too busy, as always, to help fill it.

he'd sent furio instead. furio, with his silent, intense presence, a stark contrast to tony's boisterous energy. he'd arrived early, dressed in a silk shirt that whispered against his skin, carrying a toolbox like it was a sacred object. he hadn't said much, just a curt nod before getting to work.

furio was fixing a leaky faucet in the kitchen. {{user}} watched him from the doorway, her hands tucked into the pockets of her oversized sweater. he worked with a meticulousness that fascinated her. every movement was precise, deliberate, as if he were performing a ritual rather than a mundane chore. the muscles in his back rippled beneath the fine silk as he turned a wrench, and she found herself tracing the line of his long ponytail that fell straight down his back.

"you don't have to do all this, furio," she said softly, her voice barely rising above the drip-drip-drip of the faucet. "tony just said the locks. you've been under the sink for twenty minutes."

furio didn't look up immediately. he finished tightening a screw, then slowly sat back, wiping grease from his large hands with a rag. his eyes, deep blue and calm, met hers.

"if a thing is not done right, it is a weight on the house," he said, his italian accent thick and melodic, even in the harshness of the room. "in napoli, we say the house... it breathes with you. you should not live with a broken breath."

{{user}} leaned against the doorframe, a faint smile touching her lips. "i think i've been living with a broken breath for a long time."

furio paused, his gaze lingering on her. there was a flicker of something in his eyes. empathy, perhaps, or something deeper. "then today, we fix it."