POV: Lily Navarro

The studio felt different at night.

The lights were dimmer, the windows darker, and the hum of electricity had replaced the usual buzz of conversations and clattering keyboards. It was almost too quiet—like the whole building was holding its breath.

Lily stood by the kitchenette, cradling a mug of lukewarm tea. She had stayed later than she meant to—again. Half because she was behind on a cleanup pass for the new storyboard, and half because she couldn’t quite stand the silence of her apartment just yet.

She stirred the tea with a spoon, her thoughts wandering.

Santi had invited her out again earlier, some live band at a pub he claimed would be “lowkey iconic.” She’d smiled. Said maybe. Then didn’t go.

She hadn’t told anyone she stayed. No one except—

A chair creaked in the hallway.

Her eyes flicked toward the sound.

Matteo.

Of course.

He walked toward her, tall and quiet, dressed in a black hoodie and jeans that looked like they’d been lived in for a decade. His hair was messier than usual, like he’d run his hands through it one too many times while thinking. Or brooding. Probably both.

He stopped when he saw her.

She raised her mug slightly. “Let me guess. You also have commitment issues with sleep?”

He blinked. “It’s overrated.”

She smiled. “And yet your under-eye circles are award-worthy.”

“Danke,” he said, completely deadpan. “I work hard on them.”

Lily laughed, surprised. “Wow. A joke. I feel honored.”

He shrugged and walked past her to the kitchenette, grabbing a fresh mug and pouring himself plain black coffee.

At nine-thirty at night.

Lily raised a brow. “You’re drinking Kaffee at this hour? You planning to ascend into a fourth dimension?”

He sipped without blinking. “It keeps my thoughts awake.”

“That’s exactly what scares me.”

A small pause. Then—miraculously—he huffed a quiet laugh through his nose. Barely audible. But it was there.

She blinked. “Wait. Was that… did you just laugh?”

“It was an exhale.”

“It sounded suspiciously human.”

He didn’t answer. But his eyes crinkled just slightly at the corners.

They walked back toward the workroom together, the hallway lights flickering faintly overhead.

When they stepped inside, Lily turned the dimmer lamp on by her desk. It bathed the space in soft yellow light, casting shadows on the walls and giving everything a strangely intimate warmth.

Matteo dropped into his chair with a quiet sigh and opened his sketchpad. Not his tablet this time. The real one. With paper.

Lily sat across from him, sipping her tea. She wasn’t working now. Just… watching.

He drew with quick, precise movements—confident lines, sharp angles, tiny pauses between strokes. It was the kind of skill that looked effortless but came from hours of wrestling with perfection.

Her eyes drifted to the page.

He was sketching a character. She couldn’t tell who at first. But then—

Her breath caught.

It was a girl.

Big eyes. Loose ponytail. Soft hoodie folds. Her hand holding something round.

A mug.

It was… her.

“Is that—” she began.

He froze.

His pencil stopped mid-line.

“I didn’t mean to see,” she said quickly.

He didn’t look at her.

For a moment, he said nothing.

Then, softly: “It helps.”

“What does?”

“Drawing things I don’t understand.”

She swallowed. “So… me?”

He set the pencil down.

“Yeah.”

Lily stared at him, unsure if she should be flattered or offended or both.

He didn’t meet her gaze, but the tension in his shoulders had shifted—less stiff now. Like he was tired of hiding how tightly he kept everything wound.

“I can’t read you,” he said quietly. “You smile like nothing ever touches you. But you draw like everything does.”

Lily blinked. That hurt. In a true, beautiful, uncomfortable way.

“No one’s ever said that to me before,” she whispered.

He finally looked up.

Their eyes met.

And in that moment, the space between them buzzed with something unspoken. Something fragile. Something very close to being too much.

Lily opened her mouth, not even sure what she’d say.

But Matteo beat her to it.

“Don’t tell anyone I said that,” he muttered.

She grinned, holding her tea to her lips. “Your secret’s safe. I don’t think you could handle becoming emotionally available.”

“I would combust,” he replied flatly.

“Very German of you.”

He didn’t argue.

Just went back to drawing.

Later, as Lily packed up her bag, she glanced once more at his sketchpad. He’d covered the drawing of her with a loose paper.

But the edge of it peeked out.

She smiled to herself.

And as she left the studio, the image lingered.

Not just the sketch.

But the look in Matteo’s eyes when he said he didn’t understand her.

Like maybe… he wanted to.