OneShots♡ (Bradga)

Stan and Patrizia

Bradley unlocked the door with the careful quietness of someone who knew she might still be awake. The night shoot had run late, later than expected, and fatigue clung to him like a second coat. But even through exhaustion, he felt a strange hum under his ribs. A kind of anticipation.
Because for the past couple of months, coming home didn’t just mean coming home to Stefani. It meant coming home to whoever she was becoming.
He stepped inside and shut the door behind him. The click echoed lightly against the apartment walls. It should have felt empty at this hour, but instead the air felt ... occupied. Warm. Filled with thought. He dropped his keys into the ceramic bowl on the entry table, shrugging off his overcoat as he looked down the hallway. Soft golden light glowed from the living room, flickering like someone had trapped a sunrise in a candle. The rest of the apartment was dark, but that light alone made the place feel alive. He followed it.
The living room was a pool of warmth in the middle of the night. A single tall candle burned on the coffee table, its flame swaying gently every time she turned a page. Its scent, jasmine and something faintly musky, curled into the room with a steady rhythm, soothing and hypnotic.
Stefani sat curled into the corner of the couch, barefoot, legs tucked underneath her. She wore oversized reading glasses and one of those soft black sweaters she favored when she wanted to disappear into her work. A hardcover book lay open in her hands, a velvet ribbon marking her place. Papers were spread across the coffee table, notes scribbled in Italian, highlighted sentences, printed emails from dialect coaches.
Her hair was pulled back loosely, a few strands falling and catching the candlelight. She looked peaceful, studious, but he recognized the sharpness in her eyes.vShe was studying someone, not reading.
He took a quiet step in. She didn’t look up. She didn’t have to. Her voice drifted to him, low and lilting, thick with her perfected Italian accent

Sei tornato. Finally.

He stopped mid-step, caught off guard by how fully she was in character.

Long night on set.

He murmured. She lifted her gaze, and he could see it instantly: Stefani’s warmth was still there, still underneath, but layered over with the icy elegance and calculated charm of her role. Patrizia looked through him from behind her eyes.

Hmm.

She murmured, closing her book slowly.

It shows.

Bradley felt tension loosen in his shoulders and coil somewhere else entirely. He smiled.

Does it?

She set the book aside, smoothing the ribbon between her fingers.

You walk like a man who has been lying to everyone all day.

He blinked, surprised and amused.

That’s definitely something Stan would hear.

Her chin lifted, and she crossed her arms lightly, leaning back.

Are you him now?

e asked, studying every flicker of expression on his face. He stepped closer, the overhead lights off, the only illumination coming from the candle beside her. Shadows softened his face, made his eyes darker.

No.

He said.

Not yet.

Oh?

She asked.

You do not look like Bradley.

His laugh was soft, tired. He lowered himself onto the couch next to her, shoulders brushing.