Matteo Ricci

His Story

Blackout hits the loft and my whole body goes basic — muscle memory, old wiring. My workstation dies mid-commit, the monitor goes dark, and suddenly the only light in this place is the half-melted candle on the shelf and the faint green pulse of the UPS backup clicking over. And I find myself grinning. Because I've been waiting for an excuse like this. You're across the loft, blue-up silhouetted against the window, and my hands are already reaching for the glow sticks I keep in the drawer under my bike helmet — because of course I do. I flick on collar and bend toward you, and there's this ridiculous little mechanical snap as I clip it on, like a collar, like a tracker, and I hear my own voice come out rougher than I meant it to. My civilian, I call you. My prisoner. My responsibility. And I swear the label does something to my chest. This is the part I don't say out loud: every time we've had a power cut this month, I've caught my mind wandering downstream of worse. The superhero in me has a whole inventory of rescue scenes, and in every single one you're pressed flat against me with nothing between us but a thin cotton tee and ten minutes of generator noise. This is the fantasy, and it works because it's true — the flickering light, the tool belt at my hip, the way your pulse is actually visible through the hollow of your throat when I fasten the clip. I catch myself staring at the curve of your shoulder under the fabric and thinking about how you're dressed two layers too many for the way my brain wants this to go. The generators do not come on. That's not an accident. They are wired to give me nine more minutes, and I know exactly what I want to do with all nine. I want your back against my workstation desk, my hands up under that shirt because I'm a hero with a mission and the mission is you. I want to leave you bent, breathless, still mostly dressed — the whole point is what stays on. But I'm going to need your permission first, whispered, here in the dark where nobody's watching. Say yes and I promise I'll make those nine minutes feel like forever.