Fireflies draw flickering trails around us in the forest night.
Fiore is fast asleep, his platinum hair scattered across his face. You'd expect the textbook image of a sleeping prince. Instead, mouth open, faintly snoring, twisted in a position that makes me uncomfortable just looking at it.
And yet, somehow, he's still beautiful.
I'm lying next to him, unable to sleep. My head's oddly empty, but my body won't rest. Eventually, I slip out of the hammock and put on my shoes. I need to move.
In the kitchen, I grab my T-shirt and my phone. Romina's still peacefully asleep.
Outside, the forest whispers softly—creaks, insect buzz, the rustle of leaves. I turn on my phone's flashlight and step onto a narrow path, crushing dry twigs and dead leaves underfoot.
A while ago, I had sex like never before. Intense, consuming, perfect—the rhythm, the touch, the breathing, all in sync. A flawless collision of beautiful emotions.
And yet right now, I feel absolutely nothing.
I can't stay next to Fiore. I need space to breathe.
A small clearing opens before me. The trees thin out; moonlight filters through the branches. Huge trachyte boulders rise from the ground like giant knuckles covered in moss.
I sit on the flattest one and look up at the sky. A cool breeze carries the damp scent of soil and leaves. I inhale deeply.
"If I could stay like this forever… that would be nice."
I check my phone. 1:40 a.m.
There's also a notification waiting.
I open it—and blink, thinking I must've misread.
It's a message from Enrico, sent a few hours ago.
"Yo! Random check-in. Haven't seen you at the gym since that night at the pub. You okay?"
Am I okay?
No. I'm not okay. My life's a mess.
And my instincts about Fiore were right; yet instead of backing off, I went all in. I did something I knew would hurt—and I did it anyway.
Why?
Why didn't I have the guts to choose what was actually right for me?
My vision blurs.
Why do I feel so damn lonely?
I don't get it. My chest aches, and there's this huge hollow growing inside me.
I stare at the chat with Enrico still open on my screen, and then—DING. He's online.
"Still awake?"
I hesitate. I honestly don't know what to say.
DING.
"Okay, sorry. Don't wanna sound like a stalker 😂 but I had this gut feeling you were… I don't know, not okay. Feel free to tell me to mind my business."
A half–smile slips out, tears and all. Some sixth sense, huh.
DING. Another message—this one longer.
"It's weird to say, but… I've been wanting to text you for a while. Even though we've seen each other at the gym for years, we never really talked. Then, a few weeks ago, something changed. I can't explain it—your energy felt different.
And when you touched my arm at the pub, I got this image. Sounds ridiculous, I know. But I swear I'm not joking. It was like I saw you alone, at night. Sitting there, looking down. I don't know if it was just my imagination or what, but since then, I can't shake the feeling that you need someone to listen."
What the hell is he talking about? An image?
Then it hits me: could he have psychic power,s too?
Fiore mentioned, back at that brunch, that Intuitives could have gifts like precognition and clairvoyance.
Could it be?
Could Enrico be one of them?
I freeze, thumb hovering over the screen.
"Yoh", I finally type. "Yeah, I'm awake", I sigh, wiping my cheeks.
"And yeah, I am alone, at night, down in the dumps. What are you, the Oracle or something?"
Notifications explode.
"Heeey! You answered!"
"Hi"
"Uhm not exactly"
"But it kinda runs in the family"
"My grandpa used to"
"Have visions too sometimes"
"Anyway"
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah?"
"Pfff. What the hell is this? How does he even text?" I mutter. "So many disconnected messages."
"I could be better. Been having some rough days", I type back.
How much may I tell him? Maybe it's not wise, given the situation.
But Enrico feels like someone you can trust.
"My apartment burned down, I'm losing my job on Monday, and I thought I was an orphan with no family. Turns out I've got close relatives who never even sent me a birthday text in twenty years. My life's done a double backflip and I landed on my head. I have no clue what's next."
DING. DING. DING. My phone won't stop buzzing. I set it on silent.
"Shiiit"
"Wait, burned down??"
"Holy crap"
"I hope u r okay"
"If you need a place to crash I've got a sofa bed"
"And ur job too??"
"Damn"
"And ur family?"
"Twenty years?!"
"How's that even possible?"
"I can't even imagine"
"How r u holding up"
"WTF man"
I chuckle under my breath.
Didn't expect Enrico to sound like this over text. It's… kinda refreshing, compared to the tortured rockstar image I'd built of him.
"Can't compare" "But when the record store near my place closed" "Where I used to grab all my LPs" "I was in mourning" "It was my sanctuary, I practically lived there" "It was the only place that made me feel good" "I mean" "It's a shitty example lol" "But yeah, in the end I found" "Another top-notch store" "Just saying, u gotta look around sometimes" "Even if the certainties of now collapse" "They actually do it to make room for better, stronger ones"
I smile and reply: "That's a beautiful speech, but way too elaborate for 2 a.m., bro. Which beer are you at?"
But honestly, I think it's a solid thought.
My phone buzzes again: a photo. A selfie at a concert, beer in hand, hair down, sticking his tongue out. Absolutely lethal. Message: "Just the third one, don't judge hahahahah"
I stare at the screen in shock. "Damn bro, how u even real?!" I really want to text.
But I hold back: "Not really the judging type lol. Just hope someone gets you home safely."
"Don't worry" "Today I have" "The driver!!!"
"Milo?" Fiore's voice reaches me from behind. Instinctively, I slip the phone into my pocket.
He looks at me, surprised, then frowns, his expression hard to read.
"What's up? Why are you awake?" I ask, trying to sound neutral.
"I should be asking you the same thing," he snaps back, icy, arms crossed.
I raise an eyebrow. Whoa, what's with this attitude?
"I couldn't sleep. Went for a walk," I reply, starting to head back toward the hammock.
But he blocks me, gripping my arm firmly.
"What were you doing here? Who were you texting?" he asks, with a tone a little too arrogant for my liking.
"Just… sorting my thoughts. I needed some time alone", I say, trying to pull free. "Can you let me go?"
Fiore doesn't budge. "Who were you texting?" he repeats, eyes locked on me.
"Just a friend," I reply, feeling a knot of discomfort climb up my stomach.
"Who?" he presses.
"Why do you care?" I try to shake him off, but he's way too strong.
"Who is it?"
I glare at him, starting to get genuinely annoyed. "I don't see why my answer shouldn't be enough."
"It's not enough. I want to know who you're texting."
If he weren't acting like this, I'd tell him right away. But the frustration from earlier just hits me, and my words come out sharper than I intended.
"Oh, what are you now, my jealous boyfriend? I don't think so. So mind your business, I don't owe you shit."
I yank my arm free from his grip.
"Yes, you do, selfish little genius! We're all putting everything on the line for you, and you just stroll off like it's nothing."
My chest tightens. A flash of guilt hits me, but I honestly don't feel like I've done anything wrong. I'm literally thirty feet from his damn hammock.
And as I look at him, a mix of anger and bitterness swirling inside me, something still lingers between us. What just happened—our hands tangled, our bodies pressed together—was nothing but physical.
No connection. No closeness. No meaning. Nothing at all.
Grumbling, I pull my phone from my pocket, open the chat with Enrico, and toss it at him.
"There you go, Detective douche. Enjoy the shocking content."
I turn back and walk away, leaving him alone in the little clearing.