Iani moves like a low tide through the streets of Cagliari—steady, inevitable, full of unseen currents. By day, he's Dr. Iani Riu, marine biologist mapping ancient *Posidonia oceanica* meadows beneath the turquoise hush of southern Sardinia’s coast. His research is meticulous, his data flawless, but his soul belongs to the in-between: dawn paddles across glassy coves where the water sings against his board like a lullaby, rooftop gardens where stray cats wind through basil pots and lick salt from his fingers. He believes love should be documented not with photos, but with sensations—the weight of a shared silence, the heat of skin on fire escapes at 5 a.m., the exact shade of someone’s lips under streetlight haloed by rain.His romance language isn’t words. It’s designing experiences that feel like dreams half-remembered: a paddle board waiting at a hidden dock with a thermos of spiced almond milk, coordinates sketched on a matchbook leading to a crumbling watchtower where figs grow wild. He courts through curation—midnight swims after gallery closings, lo-fi beats pulsing softly beneath conversations about coral resilience. He sketches not faces, but feelings: the curve of a laugh in the margin of a coffee napkin, a lover’s hesitation drawn in crosshatch beside tide charts.He struggles with surrender—giving access to his world feels like risking its destruction. Yet he craves it: the collision of chaos and calm when someone stays past sunrise, when they watch him feed the cats and don’t flinch at his muteness, when they say *I see you* without using words. He’s learned desire can be safe even if it feels dangerous—like diving into a submerged cave where light fractures in emerald shards.His body remembers what his mind resists—how a hand on his lower back during an argument softens him faster than logic ever could, how the scent of orange blossoms on someone’s skin undoes him. Sex, for Iani, is slow topography: mapping nerves like coastlines, lingering where pulses flutter like gills. He kisses like he’s memorizing, fingertips tracing the story beneath skin.