You were asleep, the soft glow of the moon cutting across your room, painting everything in pale silver. The window was still cracked open from earlier, letting in a lazy breeze that shifted the sheer curtains against the wall.

The door creaked open, barely a whisper of sound, but it was enough for Niccolo to slip inside — his hand still gripping his phone tightly, like whatever he’d just read hadn’t quite settled yet. His heart was racing, adrenaline and hesitation tangling together in his chest.

“{{user}},” he half-whispered, half-laughed under his breath. “This is crazy, you w- wo-”

The words died in his throat the moment his eyes landed on you. Lingerie — soft and delicate against your skin — with only the white covers pulled up just enough to shield you from the night air. The curve of your shoulder was bare, rising and falling with every slow breath. You looked almost too perfect, too untouched by the storm outside the door.

Niccolo stood there, frozen for a second too long before he stepped closer, careful not to wake you. He sat down beside you, the mattress dipping under his weight as he let his hand rest on his knee, fingers twitching.

“{{user}},” he whispered again, quieter this time, as if speaking too loudly would shatter something fragile between you.

You looked so flattering in this state — peaceful in a way he’d rarely seen you, all the sharp edges softened by sleep. He almost didn’t want to ruin the moment. Almost.