We finally reach Mel's house, sweaty, exhausted, and starving, like hikers who took the wrong trail but pretended all the way to the end that everything was under control.
The moment Romina spots her blue compact car, she runs toward it like it's a long-lost relative returning from abroad.
"My little car! I missed you so muuuch," she squeaks, throwing her arms wide toward the hood. At the last second she thinks better of it. "No wait, never mind, you're scorching hot. I'd burn myself."
And she collapses onto the ground, utterly spent.
I try to stretch my legs, but it's less of a stretch and more of a desperate attempt to convince my muscles that we're still alive. Sure, I'm in shape, but endurance? Not enough to come out of this walk in one piece.
"Are you alive, or do I need to scoop you up with a teaspoon?" Fiore teases us. Of course, he looks immaculate. Not a drop of sweat, hair perfect, clothes unwrinkled.
"Alive, yeah," I mutter. "But I could really use a shower. I smell awful."
I lift the hem of my T-shirt with very little grace to wipe my face and that's when I see it.
Fiore is staring at my bare stomach.
Not looking. Staring. With an expression that leaves very little to the imagination.
The second his gaze drags across my skin, that familiar electric jolt snaps through me, one I know all too well by now.
Oh no.
NO hormones. Stay put.
"W-what are you staring at?" I blurt, dropping my shirt.
Fiore blinks, like he's waking up from a dream. "What? Sorry?"
His eyes slide away immediately.
I cross my arms, trying not to look like a human red traffic light. "I asked what you were looking at."
"Uh… nothing. I thought I saw… I was mistaken."
He scratches his nose, then turns his back to me, his expression screaming strategic retreat.
"I'll go talk to Mel. Be right back."
And off he goes, dodging the conversation like a pro.
I stay there, heart pounding at a four-on-the-floor beat, one thought flashing through my mind: He was undressing me with his eyes.
For a split second my stomach does a happy little dance. I mentally punch it into submission. There is nothing to dance about, you idiot.
About ten minutes pass before Fiore returns, Mel at his side. He's carrying three bulging bags. Our packed lunches, carefully prepared and gifted by Mel.
Romina nearly cries with happiness, clutching Mel's hands in pure gratitude.
We also freshen up at the spring near her house, and now we're ready to head out again. Next stop: a few kilometers south of Verona, deep in the countryside.
We get into the car, with Fiore driving. Romina is, according to her, too exhausted, and I don't have a license.
"I assume you found the answers you were looking for," Mel says, resting a hand on the open window.
"We did. Thank you again for everything. And be careful," Fiore replies, placing his hand over hers.
"You too. And Milo…" Mel adds, turning to me. "You have more strength inside you than you think. Don't forget that."
With a small nod, she says goodbye and goes back inside.
"Alright, let's go," Fiore says, shifting into first gear.
The car moves smoothly, gliding over the asphalt as if potholes didn't exist. We head downhill toward the plains, accompanied only by the steady sound of the tires.
"I see you know how to handle my blue baby, so I'm taking a nap," Romina grumbles from the back seat. Fiore laughs, the clear sound filling the car.
Romina stretches out. Ten seconds later, she's out cold.
"She really was tired," I murmur, watching her in the rearview mirror.
"Yeah. She didn't sleep much," Fiore replies, wearing that I know why smile.
"And you? Aren't you tired?" I tease him. After all, he spent the evening, and most of the night, doing anything but sleeping.
"Not really," he says. "And driving relaxes me."
As he speaks, he takes an intersection, shifts gears with a precision that affects me more than I'd like to admit.
"I have to give in to the evidence," I click my tongue. "You're annoyingly good at everything."
He smiles faintly, says nothing.
The mood is relaxed, but I still feel subtly on edge. I can't stop noticing certain details: his hands steady on the wheel, relaxed yet ready to correct any tiny drift; his torso leaning slightly forward, as if he's always half a second more alert than the rest of the world.
"So tell me," I sigh, crossing my arms. "Is there one thing, at least, that you can't do? It's frustrating watching you excel at literally everything."
"Oh, there are many more than you think," he replies easily.
"Like what?"
"I can't tame a lion."
"Pff," I stifle a laugh so I don't wake Romina. "Really? How often does that even come up? I want details."
Fiore runs a hand through his hair and snickers. "You'd be surprised."
"I bet it's an incredible story."
"It is. I'll tell you next time we go for drinks."
"Why not now?" I ask, amused.
"No. I need to show you. It deserves a proper performance" he says, easing into a roundabout.
"Now you've officially killed me with curiosity," I prod. "What else can't you do?"
"I can't draw. I tried for decades, but I always suck. There's something in the process that just doesn't click."
He pauses.
"That's why, once upon a time, it was nice to watch you draw."
He glances at me from the side, a slow smile on his lips, almost nostalgic.
"O-oh yeah?" I murmur, staring out the window. Embarrassment washes over me like a sudden current, and the only thing I can do is pretend to be fascinated by the nothing passing beyond the glass.
"And there's one more thing I can't do," he adds quietly.
His voice drops a notch. "I don't know how to be in a relationship."
My heart jumps straight into my throat. I turn sharply. His profile is tense, eyes fixed on the road as if he's looking for answers in the asphalt.
"That's why… it's not a good idea. Between you and me, I mean. If I get attached, I lose clarity. And clarity…"
He stops himself. "Clarity keeps people alive."
I hold my breath, anxiety tightening my stomach. Strike two, Milo. Why do you keep hoping to hear something different?
At an intersection he brakes and finally looks at me properly.
That heavy sensation crashes back into me, like thick mud rising slowly, ready to block your breath.
But now I see something else in Fiore's eyes. Something exposed.
"I hurt you with my behavior," he says softly. "And the last thing I want is to see you in pain."
I swallow. "No… I mean… yes. It did hurt. A bit," I murmur.
"I'm sorry." He runs a hand over his face, then smiles bitterly. Not at me. "I really am awful."
"No, you're not…" I hesitate. "Romina told me it was for the mission, that thing with the anguane, so…"
"Yes, but I should have been the one to tell you." He grips the steering wheel so hard his knuckles go white.
"Okay, yeah, I would've preferred that, given our… situation? B-but clearing things up helps, in the end…"
He looks at me sideways. "You should despise me, Milo."
I frown. "That seems a bit extreme…"
"No. It's natural. You idealize me. Because you don't really know me…"
He stops, jaw tightening.
"…and maybe that's for the best."
He shakes his head, expression hard, then clicks his tongue dismissively. "Someone like me doesn't—"
"Fiore… what are you talking about?" I ask, but he walls himself off again.
"Is there something you want to tell me?" I try once more. No answer. My chest feels like it's going to burst.
"Fiore?" I gasp, touching his arm.
He shakes his head again, eyes closed. "Let it go."
I exhale deeply.
"Okay. I'm sorry…"
I gently brush his face, tucking a lock of hair behind his pointed ear.
"I didn't mean to push you."
He looks at me, devastated.
"Hey. You're talking to the King of Awkwardness when it comes to opening up. No pressure."
A half-smile slips out.
"Anyway, if the problem is that you're complicated, I'm afraid I already signed up for that."
He shakes his head slowly.
"I'm not complicated." He gives me a brief, tired look. "I'm just a bad choice."
Then he smiles faintly and turns back to the road, shifting gears.
The road stretches ahead, softening, as if it too were catching its breath. The mountains are behind us now; ahead, golden fields roll endlessly toward the horizon.
I let a few seconds hang between us before speaking.
"I don't know… you're a lot of things, Fiore. But a bad choice? No. That I don't believe."
He shoots me a sideways glance. There's still a heavy veil in his eyes, but curiosity wins out. "A lot of things? Like what?"
"Mmh…" I pretend to think. "You're vain. Egocentric. Over-the-top dramatic. Sometimes you get on my nerves so bad I want to headbutt you."
I lift my fingers as I count. "And when you shut down, you get arrogant too."
"A delight, basically," he groans theatrically.
"Shh, I'm not done," I scold him.
"But then you do things like… worrying without showing it. Or looking at me like I'm the only person in the room."
I swallow. My face warms.
"And that's when my rational side goes straight down the drain."
I shrug.
"I don't know how else to explain it. You confuse me. You throw me off. And then… you have this indecent charisma. You can enchant people without moving an inch, and when all those eyes are on you… you don't even seem to feel their weight."
I sigh. "I kind of envy you."
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Fiore smile slightly. His cheeks are faintly flushed too.
"You envy me?"
"A little. Lend me some of your confidence, come on." I nudge him lightly with my elbow.
"And you lend me your courage."
I laugh. "Courage? Please. Mine is a permanent state of controlled panic."
"Yeah, but you still go," he says, making a fond face. "With crooked eyebrows and a shaking voice… but you go. I would've given up already."
"Eh… who knows."
"I swear. I'm a professional quitter."
Silence settles between us. The engine hums low, almost hypnotic.
His words stay lodged in me like thorns, and I know I can't leave them there.
"You know…" I murmur. "Lately it feels like I'm walking without knowing where I'm going."
I pick at a bit of skin on my thumb.
I can't look at him anymore.
"This trip… this whole thing…"
I leave the sentence hanging.
Fiore says nothing.
I breathe slowly.
"It would scare me less… if I didn't have to face it alone."
I don't add anything else.
His hand reaches my leg.
The touch is light, but firm.
"You're not alone."
Half a sentence.
Enough.
Outside the window, wheat fields race endlessly, a single golden expanse that never seems to end.
I stare at the landscape, but I don't really see it.