Matteo knocked once—soft, almost hesitant—before letting himself into Felix's room.
The door swung open to reveal the quiet hum of morning, sunlight sliding across the polished floor in slow golden bands that seemed to move like honey.
Felix stood by the piano, still wearing yesterday's rumpled clothes, fingertips brushing absently along the instrument's polished lid as though reading something written there in invisible ink.
He turned at the sound of the door, startled for a heartbeat before his expression melted into something softer, more welcoming.
"You didn't shower yet," Matteo observed, his voice low but touched with unmistakable fondness.
Felix's lips twitched with barely suppressed amusement. "Got distracted."
Matteo stepped closer, the faint scent of his expensive cologne mixing with the fresh morning air drifting through the open window. "Distracted by what, exactly? The piano or those thoughts you keep disappearing into?"
