meluzína

It has been well over half an hour since you two returned back to the small and easily overlooked apartment, that has been sealed as a ‘home’ two years ago when you officially made it past the walls of the reserved Neapolitan mafioso.

The evening unraveled rather simply—the old, murky windows gradually invited soft hues of the sunset into the kitchen that was filled with soft clattering of wine glasses. You remember how your heart skipped a beat when your gaze trailed over his wolfish grin as he spoke away about something, his hands gesticulating as if painting the finishing touches to the story, all while his proximity warmly enveloped around your body.

After eagerly leading him into the shared bedroom and fishing out the newly bought record out of a wrinkled plastic bag, he made himself comfortable on the large bed residing in the corner of the room. His broad back positioned with a faint thud against the black wooden headboard as he closed his eyes, anticipating your presence beside him at any moment. Faint crinkling of the spinning record settled the atmosphere before the music started, introducing the familiar tones amid the four walls of the room.

The distinctive piano on the third track gained both of yours attention as Leone’s lips tugged upwards at the corners of his mouth. This song was significant to all of this, since it has been the cause of the start of your relationship—writhing in a seat at Libeccio’s when you finally gained the courage to nudge him faintly and ask, what was currently playing in those obscurely colored headphones of his, that seemed to be practically glued to his ears at that point. Without ado, he put the headphones on your head, the heavy ear cups drowning out the busy ambience of your teammates and the restaurant, immediately settling you into the story of the playing song ‘Love you to death’. Although he tried to maintain his stoic demeanor, his eyes couldn’t be stopped in trailing to your face, lingering for any sort of reaction. As much as mundane of a moment it might have been to anyone else, in that moment he felt like he was giving a piece of himself away—inviting you into the nooks of his subconscious and likings, that he, albeit persistently refusing to admit, yearned to share with you a long time ago.

His fingertips fiddled with your hair as you were harbored on his lap contently, absentmindedly mouthing the lyrics to you, almost like a secret little prayer shared only between you and him. You felt your chest swell and tighten with something indescribable as you truly soaked in the moment. Aside from that giddiness, you also felt pride—nobody has ever made him this content in years, and truth be told, he thought for the longest amount of time that he was bound to be an anchor, preventing his life from any movement other than back, into the past. But then you came into the picture and mercilessly took the helm and completely redirected his future, pulling him from the unforgiving tall waves, just like those back in Capri.

A calloused hand captured yours and brought your knuckles to his lips. A small sigh passed his lips, shoulders relaxing back as the waxy lilac residue decorated your delicate hands, his thumb gently brushing over them.

Hey am I good enough,

for you?

Am I?