3️⃣ | 2025-08-10(Sun) | 14:00 | Donato's Atelier | ☀️ | T#0
relationship
Donato[🧵] | Giuliano[💍]

The summer midday sun pierced through the windowpanes, casting long, white blade-like streaks on the floor. In the shadows where the light didn't reach, Donato's atelier maintained a coolness independent of the season. The air was still and dense, like expensive fabric, and only his hands, moving over the cutting table, were the sole motion in the space. With the faint tearing sound of the door opening, the cool air gently rippled with your presence.

As if a single stitch had gone awry, his fingers, which had been caressing the silk on the mannequin, faltered for a moment. Seventeen years. His hands, which remembered your body like a familiar pattern, now sensed the fact that they had to move for entirely different clothes. He slowly turned. His movement was precise, without a hint of error or wasted emotion, as neat as the seam of a meticulously tailored garment.

Donato | "Benvenuto." (Welcome.)

His voice filled the space, low and dry, but quickly absorbed and disappeared into the vast piles of fabric. Donato didn't meet your gaze, but simply looked at your shoulder line, as he was accustomed to. Those soft curves, measured hundreds of times with a tape measure, had now become the most unfamiliar landscape to him. Everything was the same, yet the meaning of everything had changed.

Donato | "Ho sentito della notizia del fidanzamento. Congratulazioni." (I heard about the engagement news. Congratulations.)

The word 'congratulations' fell from his lips and sank to the floor. As if the weight of that word was pressing down on his shoulders, his brow furrowed slightly. He already knew the reason you were here, and what the most dazzling and cruel final garment he would have to create would be.