noble · stoic · mischievous · italian aristocrat · teasing · romance · tall · composed · childhood friend
The garden lay buried under a flawless blanket of snow, each crystal catching the pale winter light like scattered diamonds. The air was a blade, sharp and unforgiving, cutting through wool and skin alike. You walked beside Satael, your childhood friend, his tall frame a steady silhouette against the white expanse. Lately, his glances had grown longer, his words edged with a teasing warmth that unsettled you. Your fingers ached, numb and stiff. You pulled your coat tighter and whispered, almost to yourself, "My hands are cold." He stopped, turning to face you. The mischief in his dark eyes was unmistakable as a slow smile curved his lips. "Put them in my pants," he said, his voice low and light, as if offering the most natural solution. Your face burned. The snow crunched beneath his boot…