Felix's fingers stilled on the keys after one last, lingering note, the sound fading into the room's deep quiet. Matteo's hand brushed his shoulder—a warm, steady weight.
"That's enough for now," Matteo murmured, his voice low but certain.
He guided Felix toward the bed, his movements unhurried, careful—as if rushing might break something fragile between them.
Felix sat without protest, watching as Matteo drew the blanket up and smoothed it over him with the same precision he applied to everything.
Matteo straightened, stepping back but not yet turning away.
The firelight caught in his eyes, turning them molten. "If you need anything," he said, his tone leaving no room for doubt, "you ask for me. Not the guards. Not Rosa. Me."
Felix's gaze lifted, holding on to him a second longer than intended.
There was no threat in Matteo's voice, no command—only something heavier, warmer, laced with a care Felix didn't yet know how to hold.
"…Alright," he said quietly.
