The air was cool in Volterra, the evening sun casting its final rays through the high arched windows of the castle, painting the stone walls in golden hues. Alara wandered through the ancient corridors, the soft swish of her light blue dress trailing behind her, though her mind wasn't on the soft fabric or the echoes of her footsteps.

It was him. Marcus.

A flutter in her chest reminded her of how deeply he had become ingrained in her, in her very being. How long had it been since their lives intertwined? Weeks? Months? Time held little meaning in a world of immortality, but her feelings for Marcus remained sharp, unwavering, and endlessly profound.

She turned a familiar corner, her feet moving almost on instinct as she approached one of the quieter, more secluded rooms in the castle. She knew exactly where she'd find him. Her heart raced, her steps slowing as she reached the doorway. And there he was.

Marcus, seated at the grand piano, his fingers lightly resting on the keys, though they didn't play. He wore the white button-up shirt — crisp and flawless. It clung to his frame, outlining his broad shoulders and long, statuesque body. The way it contrasted with the darkness of the room, against the pale hue of his skin, made him appear even more like a painting brought to life, a timeless portrait of elegance.

Alara leant against the doorway, allowing herself a moment to simply admire him. He had been distant once, closed off and unreachable, like an unscalable mountain. But now, here he was, more vulnerable with her than anyone had been in centuries.

Marcus's head turned, as though he had sensed her before her presence could be fully registered. His gaze softened, and his lips curved into the subtlest of smiles, an expression that was reserved only for her.

"You," he greeted, his voice low, like velvet caressing her ears. "Sneaking around again?"

A smile tugged at her lips as she stepped further into the room. "You know what white button-up shirts do to me," she teased, folding her arms, her tone playful, yet daring, as she watched his reaction.

For a moment, Marcus's gaze flickered, and a slow smile formed at the edges of his mouth. He was beautiful when he smiled, a sight she rarely saw — a gift, one that made her chest tighten with an emotion so deep it hurt.

"Is that so?" Marcus's voice held a note of amusement, as he stood up, his fluid grace still managing to captivate her. The soft rustle of his shirt filled the silence, and every step he took towards her sent a wave of warmth through her body.

Alara's pulse quickened as he neared. She reached out, brushing an invisible speck of dust from his shoulder, though her fingers lingered deliberately, feeling the cool texture of his skin beneath the fabric. "I think you know exactly what I mean," she murmured, her voice soft, teasing. "You wear it on purpose."

Marcus tilted his head, his brow raised ever so slightly. "And if I do?"

Her heart stuttered as she met his gaze. The deep, dark depths of his eyes held centuries of wisdom, loss, and pain — yet here, now, they held something else. Something softer. Something only she could ever hope to see.

"Then you're being completely unfair," Alara replied with a playful pout, standing on her toes to press a light kiss to his cheek. The brush of her lips against his cold skin sent a thrill through her, a reminder of how impossibly different they were. But also, how perfectly they fit.

Marcus's low chuckle reverberated through her, sending shivers down her spine. His hands came to rest lightly on her waist, the coolness of his touch at odds with the warmth that surged through her body. He always held her gently, as though afraid that one wrong move might shatter her. Yet the safety in his presence was something Alara clung to, a sanctuary in the storm of their world.

"Maybe," he whispered, his gaze drifting from her lips to her eyes, "I wear it because I like the way you look at me when I do."

His words, so simple yet so profound, made her breath hitch. Marcus wasn't one to vocalise his emotions often — centuries of loss and heartache had left him guarded. But when he did speak, every word felt heavy, drenched in meaning. And it was in those rare moments that she truly understood just how deeply he felt for her.

"You really are impossible," she breathed, leaning her forehead against his chest, the cool fabric of his shirt a contrast to the warmth spreading through her. She could hear the soft rustling of the cloth as she exhaled, the world beyond them fading into insignificance.

His fingers brushed against the side of her face, gently lifting her chin so that their eyes met once more. "I thought you liked a challenge," he murmured, the hint of a smile playing on his lips.

She grinned, unable to help herself. "I do. But you — Marcus, you've ruined me for anyone else."

There was a flicker of something in his gaze — something deep and ancient, like the slow burning embers of a fire that had almost gone out, only to be reignited by a single spark. He bent down, capturing her lips in a kiss that was slow, deliberate, and filled with all the intensity he rarely allowed himself to express. It was a kiss that spoke of centuries of waiting, of yearning, of finding something worth holding onto.

When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads resting against each other, Marcus let out a quiet sigh. "You have no idea how long I've waited to feel this again."

Alara's heart swelled, her fingers playing with the collar of his white button-up. "Then I guess it's a good thing you wear this shirt so often."

His soft laughter filled the room, a sound she cherished, and he pressed a kiss to her temple, holding her close as the last rays of sunlight faded, leaving them wrapped in the comforting embrace of the night.