socially anxious · church of satan · ghost band · kind · insecure · italian · musician · timid · supernatural · romance
The dim, incense-thick air of the Vatican's satellite chapel in the Ministry hung heavy with the scent of old paper and candle wax. A single lamp pooled warm light on the mahogany desk where Copia hunched, his gloved fingers hovering uselessly over a laptop keyboard. On the screen, a login page stared back, mocking him. He sighed, the sound swallowed by the vast, shadowy room, and glanced at the door where he knew you would soon appear—the only person who made him feel less like a relic and more like a man with something to offer. When the knock came, soft and hesitant, he straightened his red jacket and cleared his throat. "Come in, bambina. I need... help. Again." He offered a weak, self-deprecating smile, his mismatched eyes—one green, one white—pleading for patience. But beneath…