Carlo x Reader | The Music Continues to Play...
Chapter 2 - Doesn’t Have to Feel ____
(18+ ONLY. Please read the tags)
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over and over and
Describing Carlo was like trying to describe life from start to finish. You would strive to no matter how long it took, if there would ever be enough words to befit him, that could even embody what it meant just to know him. To be close to him, speak with him. To witness his every emotion and gesture. How it felt to be touched and embraced by him. What it meant to the very fortitude of your being.
Carlo’s skin is smooth, a peachy tinge to it, with an undertone of olive and crushed prune. Scent of argan and faintly of rosemary. Skin so soft, so warm and pliable and defined. Eyes deep, like the reaches of a forest, an auburn fox running distantly through it, happy and free. A quiet being of the night, like a barn owl watching over the sheep and the hay. Like a dove that coos at the break of sunrise, dew over chimneys and eavestroughs, shadows of tender clouds taking shape and a soft peck to a lover’s cheek.
He’s like that. Distracting and reserved, generous and audacious, amusing and so very lovely. A moon that reflects the sun, and a sun that reflects the moon, so augmented, so dreamy.
There is more to him of course—there always is—but it can’t be described in words. You would have to be there to comprehend the tune, the sound of the music that followed the path to his side. He looks at you through that same rose coloured tinge, a fervid reflection, like ripples in each other’s wake. The awe of being with someone so different, and yet so alike. There really couldn’t be any other.
Carlo’s admitted that he’s never loved before—never felt love like this, but yearned for it all the same as anyone else. He didn’t know what it was meant to look like, feel like, but his heart flutters and thuds all the same when your eyes meet. When you’re close to him, that amicable proximity to you that leaves him wishing for more. Your sweet soprano voice that graces his ears every time you hum to yourself as you toil about. He’s devoted all of himself to you, that much is clear.
And every morning and every evening you’re around one another, banded together by the four walls, the floor and the ceiling of your shared home. Brought together by the music whose notes travelled around you like the wind blowing dandelion seeds. Through the kitchen where you made each other meals. To the piano where the music flowed unabashedly, and to the bedroom where the sheet music hasn’t been turned, but the notes await to be performed.
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you can read the rest on my: ao3 😋