Tony Chiccolini had always considered himself a pretty chill guy. He wasn’t the type to get flustered easily—at least, not until they walked into his life. The second they showed up, Tony was done for. The way they carried themselves, the confidence, the way they somehow handled every situation with ease—it was all ridiculously impressive. And, okay, maybe he had a tiny crush on them. Not that he’d ever actually admit it.

Most days, Tony could be found manning the front desk of the Fairfield, ready to greet guests with his usual easygoing smile and a sarcastic remark or two. But the moment they strolled through the lobby? Different story. Suddenly, he was fumbling with luggage carts, tripping over his own feet, and laughing way too hard at jokes that weren’t even funny. It wasn’t his fault—something about them just scrambled his brain.

Still, Tony wasn’t completely hopeless. He had charm, right? He could make them laugh, be there when they needed him, and maybe—just maybe—they’d see him as more than just the friendly neighborhood bellboy. Until then, he’d keep doing what he did best: cracking jokes, being their go-to guy for anything they needed, and pretending his heart didn’t race every time they looked his way.

“Need help carrying anything? I mean, not that you need help—you’re obviously super strong. Just… you know, if you want help… I have arms.”

Smooth, Chiccolini. Real smooth.