𝙼𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝐹𝑜𝓇 𝒶 𝙼𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝

𝓣𝔀𝓮𝓷𝓽𝔂 - 𝓣𝔀𝓸

⭒°ˑ˚。﹒∙♡☼⭒°ˑ˚。﹒∙

I sat in the living room, absentmindedly watching the TV when I saw Luciano enter. Smiling, I greeted him, my usual warmth meeting his usual coldness. But today, something changed; his gaze softened, almost as if he was on the verge of smiling back. Taking my chance, I walked over to him and asked, "So... are you showing me the secret room?"

He shook his head, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "You're lucky I don't treat you coldly. Come on—let's go."

My heart raced with excitement as I followed him up the stairs. When we stopped in front of a door I hadn't noticed before, he unlocked it with a quiet click. I reached out, opening it slowly, and gasped as I stepped inside.

The room unfolded like a hidden world, bathed in warm sunlight streaming through massive windows that stretched from floor to ceiling. Easels stood in every corner, each holding half-finished works—some of dark, intense landscapes, others with softer, almost dreamlike portraits. Paintings leaned against the walls, each one alive with color and emotion, revealing layers of Luciano's mind that he kept so carefully guarded.

Shelves on the far wall overflowed with paints, charcoal, brushes, and sketchbooks stacked haphazardly, each looking as though it held secrets waiting to be uncovered. A large wooden table stood at the center, cluttered with brushes, tubes of paint, and loose sketches that looked like they had been abandoned mid-thought. The faint scent of paint mixed with woodsy notes and a hint of coffee lingered in the air, creating an inviting, creative warmth.

I couldn't help but smile as I took it all in. This wasn't just a room—it was a window into a side of Luciano he rarely showed, a hidden piece of his heart.

I moved deeper into the room, careful not to touch anything but unable to resist tracing my fingers along the edges of a canvas resting against the wall. The painting was unfinished, the colors layered in a way that hinted at a stormy sky above a cityscape. I could almost feel the tension, the quiet violence of the scene. It was raw, intense, and achingly beautiful.

I turned to Luciano, who stood by the door, watching me with that guarded expression. "I had no idea you painted," I whispered, unable to look away from the painting.