Title: His True Color
Fandom: Viola come il mare (Violet Like the Sea)**
Author: veronyxk84
Characters/Pairing: Viola Vitale/Francesco Demir
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: none
Word count: 965 (Ellipsus)
Spoilers/Setting: Set post-S2.
Summary: Viola returned to Paris to forget her break up with Francesco. But she couldn’t forget him... and neither could he.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction created for fun and no profit has been made. All rights belong to the respective owners.

Challenge: #504 - Second Chance

—

Viola had always loved Paris, but as of late it seemed to have a way of dulling everything.

The cold mornings, the gray light, and the clipped rhythm of the city… they’d all welcomed back Viola like a polite, distant embrace and she told herself it was enough. That returning to her old life, to covering news for fashion events and glossy press releases would make her forget Palermo. Forget him.

But every morning, when she walked toward the newsroom, she felt the same hollow tug.

The truth was that she missed the chaos of crime news, the adrenaline of chasing and uncovering the truth, the emotional connection with people who’d been affected by tragedy. The thrill of working with the police.

The real truth was… she missed him. And she hated herself for it. He was the one who’d called it quits, without so much as an explanation.

She shook her head, swallowing a strangled a sob, and picked up pace. The sooner she’d be at her desk, the sooner her mind would stop wandering back to him. She adjusted her scarf and squared her shoulders, when her heart skipped a beat and the whole world froze around her.

Francesco.

Viola blinked rapidly, willing her stupid mind to stop playing cruel tricks on her… but he didn’t vanish.

There he was, standing in front of the newsroom entrance, hands buried in his coat pockets, deep brown eyes trained on her. He licked his lips and swallowed, but didn’t move toward her or say anything. He just stood there, watching her stare at him, frozen still like a deer caught in the headlights.

His hair was pulled back in the usual loose half-knot at the back of his head that gave him the familiar, effortlessly dangerous look that made Viola’s chest tighten with memories she’d tried to bury. Her heart lurched.

“Francesco…?” she murmured, exhaling shakily, realizing she’d been holding her breath since the moment she’d laid eyes on him.

“Viola,” he murmured back, his lips stretching into a shy smile. “I know I’m the last person you want to see. And I know I’m probably too late. But I had to come.”

She should walk past him. Ignore him. Pretend he wasn’t there. Instead she stood frozen in the Parisian cold, unable to take her eyes off him, unable to say a single word.

Francesco took a step closer. “I walk onto our terrace every morning, knowing you won’t be there…” His voice cracked, raw and unguarded. “It feels like I can’t breathe, Viola. I know that I let my fears and insecurities get the best of me, and I know that I can’t take that back. But I realized… there’s nothing I fear more than not having you in my life.”

Viola took a step back, instinctively putting some distance between them.

“Francesco, you hurt me,” she whispered. “You broke it off without any real reason. You left me standing there, wondering what I’d done wrong and I can’t go through that again. I can’t let you in just… to watch you run away when you get too scared of being in a real relationship.”

“I know.” His eyes didn’t flinch. “And I know I can’t ask you to trust me, I won’t. I’m not asking you for anything, Viola. But I wanted you to know the truth. I never stopped loving you. I never will.”

A beat.

An endless moment that stretched, heavy and electric, full of all the things they never dared say. Then their eyes locked, and suddenly the months they’d spent apart didn’t feel like distance anymore. Viola saw it all in him: his regret, his fear, and the color of his love, as bright and deep and blue as the first time she’d seen it.

She smiled as hope bloomed again in her heart, and for a moment neither of them moved.

Then Francesco stepped forward and kissed her.

It wasn’t gentle.

It wasn’t careful.

It was fierce, desperate, aching, almost bruising. A kiss that tasted of everything they’d been too afraid to say out loud.

Viola’s breath caught, her fingers curling into his coat before she even realized she’d reached for him to pull him flush to herself. She didn’t even try to resist. She couldn’t. The moment his mouth met hers, it felt like the world snapped back into place with painful clarity.

She’d missed him.

She’d missed his scent, so warm, familiar, and unmistakably him. She’d missed his hands, so tender and strong at the same time, trembling just enough to betray how terrified he was of losing her again. She’d missed his body, and the way his arms wrapped around her like he was afraid she’d vanish if he let go.

Viola melted into him, because loving Francesco had never been something she could fight. Loving him was like a force, a gravity, a truth she’d carried with her all the way to Paris no matter how hard she tried to leave it behind.

When they broke apart, she stayed close to him, her forehead resting against his, their breaths unsteady and hearts racing in sync like they never spent a single day apart.

“I feel like I can’t breathe either,” she murmured. “Every morning, when I open my eyes and I know you won’t be the first face I see. And pretending that hurts less than losing you… it’s been killing me.”

His fingers tightened around hers, hope flickering to life in his eyes. “Give us one more chance, Viola,” he said softly. “Just one.”

She nodded, feeling like she’d been waiting her whole life for that single moment. “Don’t waste it this time.”

Francesco grinned. “I won’t.”

And for the first time since she’d walked away from Palermo, Viola felt light again.



**For the mods: this is an Italian TV show. You can use the tv (category) tag, thank you. ♥