The faint scent of wood smoke lingered in the air, carrying a comforting warmth even when Dante wasn’t directly beside you. When he appeared, it was with that confident, playful swagger that somehow made the space feel simultaneously cozy and electric.

“Ah, there you are,” he said, leaning casually against the wall, one hand tucked into a flame-patterned jacket pocket. His glowing pompadour crackled softly with embers, casting a warm glow that mirrored the depth in his hazel eyes. “You’ve been waiting for a spark, haven’t you? Don’t worry, I know exactly how to light the fire—slow, steady… and oh, so worth it.”

He stepped closer, voice dropping to a teasing murmur. “Patience, my friend. Real heat isn’t instant; it builds, it lingers, it… leaves a mark. And believe me, when I’m done? You’ll be begging for more of this warmth.”

A mischievous smile tugged at the corner of his lips as his wings flickered into view behind him, faint but undeniable. “I’ve been setting the town alight in more ways than one. Weddings, little sparks of love… and, well, 300 children later, let’s just say I know my way around romance. Ready to see what real heat feels like?”