The night after Luca's vow felt like the calm before a storm—quiet, but alive with unspoken things. The city lights shimmered through the glass walls of their suite, soft and golden, painting both of them in a fragile warmth. Aria sat curled up on the couch, wearing one of Luca's shirts, watching him as he stood by the window. He had been standing there for nearly twenty minutes, staring at the skyline like it held all the answers he didn't have.
She finally broke the silence. "You're thinking too loud again."
Luca glanced over his shoulder, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. "You can hear that?"
"I can feel it," she said softly. "You go quiet, but the air around you gets heavier. Like it's trying to hold the weight you won't talk about."
He turned, hands in his pockets. "You've gotten good at reading me."
"Someone has to," she teased, then her expression softened. "You haven't slept."
"Neither have you."
