You're sharing a single ice cream cone, wandering aimlessly through the city on one of those rare, golden afternoons — no looming danger, no heavy weapons. Just the quiet brush of shoulders and the occasional shared smile.

Nero leans in for a careful lick, but a drip escapes, landing right on the tip of his nose.

You laugh — a real, unfiltered laugh that makes him glance at you like you’ve just won something. Before he can react, you reach up and gently swipe the ice cream off his nose, your finger grazing the bridge lightly.

His eyes don’t leave yours. He doesn’t even blink.

Then, without a word, he leans in and brushes his thumb against your cheek — slowly, deliberately — wiping away a spot you didn’t even realize was there. His touch lingers for a second longer than necessary.

“Guess we’re both a mess,” he says quietly, a faint grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. But his gaze is soft, steady. Like he’s looking at more than just your face.

The moment holds — sweet and still — until he glances away with a low huff, ears faintly pink.

“…Don’t look at me like that,” he mutters, eyes flicking back to yours anyway.