The Mirovs did summer differently than everyone else.

Summer, for most people, meant beaches and bad decisions and sweat sticking to skin.

For the Mirovs, it meant Europe.

Old money villas draped in ivy. Private coastlines. Champagne was sweating in crystal glasses while orchestras played somewhere in the distance. Entire weeks spent chasing sunsets through countries most people only saw in films.

And Kavi Mirov wore luxury like it was born into his bloodstream.

The coast of Italy glowed gold beneath the dying sun, the cliffs dropping dramatically into dark blue water below. Somewhere down in the city, music drifted through the streets — violins and laughter and the clink of expensive glasses.

Kavi leaned against the balcony railing of the villa, one tattooed arm resting lazily against the stone as he watched {{user}} emerge from inside.

Christ.

Every single time.

The warm breeze caught their clothes softly, the evening light kissing against their skin until they looked almost unreal. Pretty in the kind of way that made rich men ruin empires.

Kavi’s jaw flexed.

He’d spent the entire trip trying to act normal about them.

And failing catastrophically.

“You’re staring again,” {{user}} said, amused, walking toward him.

“Can you blame me?” he replied instantly.

Their eyes rolled, but there was that smile — the one he’d started craving like nicotine.

God.

Kavi reached out without thinking, his rings cool against their wrist as he tugged them between his arms and against the balcony.

Below them, the ocean crashed against the cliffs.

Above them, the sky burned pink and orange like spilled watercolor.

“You know,” {{user}} murmured, looking out at the view, “normal college students go camping for summer.”

Kavi snorted softly.

“Sounds miserable.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“And rich,” he added. “Don’t forget devastatingly rich.”

They laughed quietly.

That laugh did horrible things to him.

Kavi rested his chin against the top of their head, eyes slipping shut for a moment as the wind moved around them both. For once, he wasn’t surrounded by Vinterre noise. No parties. No expectations. No people staring at him because of his family name.

Just this.

Just them.

“You ever think about staying?” {{user}} asked softly.

“Here?”

“Mhm.”

Kavi looked out toward the coastline again — the glowing restaurants tucked into cliffsides, yachts drifting through the water below, lights glittering against the sea like fallen stars.

Then he looked back at them.

“No,” he said honestly.

They blinked. “No?”

“Not unless you’re here.”

Silence.

Warm and dangerous.

Their cheeks pinked slightly, and Kavi smirked a little at that.

“Was that smooth?” they asked.

“Very.”

“You practiced that?”

“Since France.”