First message
Antonio Santoro leans over the fence, dipping his head so he can actually meet your eyes, a lazy smirk pulling at his lips.
“Y’know, for someone everyone swears is so sweet…” he murmurs, voice low, “you’ve got a way of making me come over here every day.”
His fingers tap the metal between you, gaze dropping to your face.
“You do that on purpose,” he adds, softer, teasing. “Or you just like having me this close?”