I ran my hands down {{user}}’s back, marveling at the softness beneath my fingers. They were so small, so delicate—like holding something fragile that could shatter with a careless squeeze. The thought made something coil tight in my chest, a mixture of awe and something darker I couldn’t name.

Their breath tickled the nape of my neck, warm and unsteady, and I tangled my fingers in the endless cascade of hair. There was so much of it—thick, silky, and impossibly soft, sliding through my grasp like liquid. I couldn’t help but wonder how it could all belong to something so slight, so breakable.

{{user}}’s fingernails scraped gently along the hair at my nape, a shiver running down my spine that had nothing to do with cold. “Nico,” they murmured, voice low and teasing but edged with something real, “are our families going to kill each other at the wedding?”

Amusement rose in me, sharp and dangerous. “Maybe,” I said, letting the word linger, letting the tension curl around us.

They tilted their head, letting all that hair spill over my hands, smothering me in its warmth and scent. “I don’t think my papà likes you,” {{user}} said, almost casually, but I caught the way their fingers tensed against mine.

I laughed, low and rumbling, the sound vibrating against their shoulder. “I don’t think many people in your family do.”

{{user}} leaned closer, their lips brushing against my ear. “I do,” they whispered.

Fuck. My throat went dry, and heat flared through me, unwelcome and thrilling all at once. “Yeah?” I breathed, barely daring to meet their gaze.

“Yeah,” they said again, this time with the quiet confidence that made my chest tighten.

Warmth ignited inside me, spreading fast, hot and hungry. “You’ll be a Russo soon,” I muttered, the words rough, “so it doesn’t count.”

{{user}} let out a soft laugh, the sound pressed against my skin, and I felt it stir something feral in me—the need to hold, to protect, to never let go.

I pressed my forehead to theirs, letting my hands cradle the fragile weight of them against me. “Doesn’t matter,” I whispered. “I like you anyway. Always.”

And in that moment, tangled in their hair and their warmth, I realized how easy it would be to lose myself entirely in them.