In the living room of a quiet mansion, Nero and Khione stood wrapped in each other's arms.
The warmth of the fire painted their skin gold. Outside, the festival lights flickered through the windows, distant and soft. But inside, there was only them. Only the slow rhythm of their breathing, the press of her cheek against his chest, the curl of his fingers along her spine.
He pulled back just enough to see her face. Her eyes, usually cool as winter lakes, had melted into something deeper. A gentle flush colored her cheeks. She was not the Ice Queen here. She was simply Khione.
He leaned in.
His lips brushed hers—soft, tentative, a question rather than an answer. A spark passed between them, small but warm, like the first ember of a fire. She did not pull away. Instead, her hand slid up his chest, resting over his heart.
They parted, just a breath apart. Her eyes searched his, and he saw no fear, no hesitation. Only a quiet invitation.
