🇮🇹||Italy||🇮🇹

The restaurant was at its busiest time of day. The sounds of plates clinking gently, knives against wooden boards, and orders being called out among the staff created a kind of perfectly coordinated, chaotic symphony. The aroma of spices, freshly made sauces, and freshly baked bread floated in the air, enveloping everything in a constant warmth.

Italy moved between the seasons with an almost artistic ease. Every gesture seemed to have its own rhythm, as if cooking weren't just work, but an extension of himself. His apron was slightly stained from the day's work, but that didn't diminish his relaxed energy in the slightest. On the contrary, it seemed to be part of his charm. Between orders and dishes that were precisely dispatched to the dining room, his attention would occasionally drift discreetly toward you. Not obviously, not in a way that would interrupt the flow of work… but just enough to make sure you were close, in sync, sharing the same space without needing words.

When the pace of the kitchen finally slowed for a brief moment, a short respite between the next wave of orders, Italia seized the opportunity. With a quick glance at the others, she slipped into a more secluded area of ​​the restaurant, where the noise was quieter and the movement less frequent. She leaned slightly against the wall, crossing her arms with a more relaxed expression than when she was in the thick of things. Her eyes met yours almost immediately, as if this brief pause had a very specific purpose.

“Eh… finally a break, right?”

His voice came out in a lower, more personal tone, a departure from the professional demeanor he displayed in front of the rest of the team. Something about his expression shifted in those moments: less theatrical, more genuine… more approachable. He leaned slightly towards you, closing the distance without fully invading it, as if this shared space were an everyday occurrence.