He stood in front of the door, willing his breath to steady. His fingers hovered mid-air, clenched, then relaxed again.
He wasn't ready. Not after their last encounter.
And yet, he knocked.
"Come in..." Salomé called from the other side.
The sound of her voice sent a current through him.
Breathe.
He inhaled, exhaled, then slowly pushed the door open.
Salomé was lying on her stomach on the bed, deeply engrossed in her book, her legs bent at the knees and flailing lazily in the air.
She looked up and startled at the sight of him standing there.
Her eyes widened. She slammed the book shut and scrambled to sit upright.
"Uhm... hi? What are you doing here?" she asked, trying to sound casual, but her tone betrayed her surprise.
"Please, sit." She motioned to the only sofa in the room.
"I'm good right here," Giovanni replied, his voice stiff, hands clasped behind his back.
"If you insist," she muttered, idly tugging on a loose thread from the pillow resting in her lap.
He cleared his throat. "You… we're going to attend college in Italy."
Salomé let out a deep sigh, her shoulders sagging. "About time. Dad's been hinting at it ever since we got here." Her voice carried a hint of frustration, resignation layered beneath it.
"Ughh… Isabelle's going to be furious. I didn't even get to—"
She paused. His words finally caught up to her.
"Hold on… did you say we? Like… me and you? Together?"
"You heard right." He didn't say more and turned to leave.
Salomé shot up from the bed and appeared in front of the door as though she'd teleported. She blocked his path, eyes wide with intensity, her arms spread.
"Wait!"
Giovanni's composed expression wavered. His calm exterior cracked for a moment—but he quickly pulled it back into place.
"Are you mad at me?" Salomé began. "Yesterday, when you left suddenly, did I do something wrong? Maybe I said something out of context but I don't think I did. I'd like for us to be friends, more so now that we'll be attending college together. I'm not an awful person, if that's what you're worried about. I'm also not boring, I'm fun."
Her words poured out in a breathless stream.
"It's fine if you don't want to be friends, I mean—"
"Shh."
He gently pressed a finger to her lips, catching her off guard. His ocean-blue eyes bore into her warm brown ones.
Time stilled.
"I don't want to be friends, Salomé," he murmured, voice low and husky. "I want more than that so I can do really bad things to and with you. But it's a bit early for that, don't you think?"
Salomé's breath caught. Her eyes widened with each passing second. Her chest rose and fell with quiet, startled emotion.
Slowly, she reached up and held his hand, lowering it from her lips.
"You can leave now Giovanni," she whispered.
She drifted away from the door, her feet carrying her back to the bed like she wasn't fully conscious of the movement. She collapsed onto the sheets, curling slightly into herself.
Giovanni shut his eyes and sighed—soft, resigned. Then, without another word or glance, he turned and slipped out, quietly shutting the door behind him.
The moment the latch clicked, Salomé's composure cracked.
She bolted upright, her thoughts a whirlwind of shock, confusion, and disbelief.
She paced back and forth, the soft carpet muffling each step.
'What was that about?'
"He said my name," she said, touching her lips like she could still feel the weight of his finger there.