Salomé opened her eyes slowly, blinking against the morning light. She sat up and stretched, her gaze drifting over the unfamiliar room.
Pale walls. A neat desk in the corner. The lingering scent of sandalwood.
Then it hit her.
She was in Giovanni's room.
Her memory returned in fragments—the knock on his door, his sleepy eyes, her whispered confession.
"Sleep." That was all he'd said.
Then he walked to the other side of the bed, lay down, and drifted off like it was the most natural thing in the world.
She'd stood frozen, unsure. Was she meant to sleep there—with him?
Before she could overthink it, the slow pull of incense worked its way into her system, lulling her into calm.
Now the sun spilled through the open blinds in soft, golden waves, warming her skin.
She rubbed her face and reached instinctively for her phone on the nightstand—then remembered she hadn't brought it.
She pulled back the covers slowly, planted her feet on the floor and sat there for a moment.
It was her first time in his room.
She stood and walked to the window. The sun kissed her face, and she let her eyes flutter shut.
A knock sounded on the door.
She turned.
The door creaked open and Giovanni poked his head inside. Their eyes met, and for a second, the rest of the world stilled.
She gave him a quiet smile. Not shy. Not forced.
"Sleep okay?"
Salomé nodded. "Yeah," she murmured. "Better than I expected."
"Freshen up," he said, already pulling the door shut. "Breakfast's almost ready."
She nodded again, and then he was gone.
Salomé padded barefoot into the kitchen, the smell of eggs and something buttery lulling her..
She wore a soft cotton tee with a cartoon shark on it, a pair of loose shorts that barely reached mid-thigh.
Her blue hair was piled into a messy bun at the top of her head, strands falling loose around her face like they couldn't decide if they wanted to behave or not.
She rubbed one eye and dropped into a chair at the kitchen table, legs folded under her.
Giovanni glanced her way from the stove, then turned back to flip whatever was in the pan. A small smile flickered across his face before vanishing.
He set a plate down in front of her and one for himself. Scrambled eggs, toast, avocado slices.
She looked at the plate, then at him. "Thanks."
He nodded and sat across from her, already digging in.
They ate in silence, the quiet almost comfortable. The clink of cutlery. The occasional sip of tea. A kind of rhythm that felt lived-in, familiar.
She picked at her toast, then spoke, voice low.
"I'm not letting my apartment go," she said.
Giovanni didn't look up right away, just nodded slowly.
"But…" she continued, glancing up at him now, "I don't want to go back... yet."
The last part came out in a rush. For the illusion of logic.
She took another bite and chewed slowly, avoiding his gaze.
Giovanni didn't say anything. Just took a sip from his mug.
But she caught the way his jaw eased, just slightly. Like something inside him settled.
Like he'd been hoping all along that she would say exactly that.
*
The campus buzzed with life, a tangle of students cutting across the courtyard, earbuds in, paper cups in hand.
Salomé sat on the low wall just outside her department building, legs swinging slightly, and her tote bag slumped beside her.
Mason leaned against the wall next to her, sipping a smoothie with a bored look on his face.
"I'm already exhausted," she muttered, rubbing her temple. "And it's only first year."
Mason snorted. "You've been here five weeks."
"Exactly," she groaned. "Five weeks and I'm already dreaming about dropping out and opening a flower shop in Sicily."
He raised a brow. "You like flowers?"
"No, but I like the idea of not writing another research summary on Sigmund freaking Freud."
Mason chuckled. "At least you're not wearing microscopic glasses to draw a perfect ten cm line only for it get three out of ten score."
"Tell me it gets better."
"You're literally just getting started," he said cheerfully, "but your tolerance for stress improves. So… win-win?"
She huffed a laugh and leaned back on her hands. The late morning sun caught in her lashes as she squinted across the courtyard.
Her eyes landed on a familiar figure weaving through the crowd—tall, broad-shouldered, hoodie half-zipped and a backpack slung lazily over one shoulder.
Without thinking, she lifted her hand and waved. "Giovanni!" she called out.
Mason turned his head slightly. "Who?"
Salomé smiled. "I'll introduce you."
Giovanni spotted Salomé, her eyes lighting up as she called his name. He felt a strange warmth spread in his chest as he made his way through the crowd.
His eyes flicked to the guy beside her.
Must be the one she'd been hanging out with. What was his name again? Something with an M...
Salomé jumped down from the wall and slipped her arm through his, catching both guys off guard.
She turned toward Mason, her smile widening.
"Mason, meet Giovanni Rossi, my roommate. Giovanni, meet Mason..." She paused, and her eyes widened. "Oh shit. I've forgotten your last name."
"Virelli," he said flatly, crossing his arms, his tone betraying no humor.
Salomé giggled. "Oh, don't be like that," she said. "Where was I...? Oh right. Meet Mason Virelli—the only friend I've made since we came to Italy."
Both men locked eyes, the tension palpable as they sized each other up. Salomé glanced between them, catching their stares, before raising her hands slightly and giving them a mock serious look.
"Okay, this is the part where you shake hands," she ordered.
Mason stretched out his hand first. Giovanni didn't make a move immediately, his expression unreadable.
His hand hovered for a moment, before Giovanni finally reached out and shook it, his grasp firm but brief.
"Pleasure to meet you," Mason said, still holding the handshake.
Giovanni grunted a reply and took his hand back.
Salomé watched the exchange, and could practically feel the temperature drop between them.
A handshake wasn't supposed to feel like a duel, was it?