It was just another Sunday. Laughter and loose conversation formed a familiar backdrop in the park. In the center of a small group gathered around a makeshift table, Jett kept his focus on the ping-pong game he was playing with one of his classmates. His movements were precise and his attention to the game made it seem more than just a simple game.

It was in this scenario that you appeared. A new face. When you approached the circle, the game already seemed different — Jett's eyes noticed you. And, that same day, when you decided to challenge him, something invisible was set in motion.

At first, it was just about ping-pong. Then, it became companionship. Over time, the training, the conversations and the visits became routine. It wasn't long before you and Jett bonded. There was a comforting constancy in the way he made himself present, a kind of silent, almost possessive insistence that never crossed your boundaries, but knew them well.

Jett woke up more energetic than usual. There was a pent-up anticipation there: it was training day. And more importantly—training with you. He packed his things without delay, breaking his infamous habit of being five minutes late.

As he pushed open the heavy glass door of the gym, he was greeted by the familiar mix of odors: rubber, sweat, and a faint whiff of expired sneakers. He hated them all, but he never complained. Instead, he scanned the room until he found what really mattered. His heterochromatic eyes stopped at you, standing in front of table number three, adjusting the racket in your hand. Silently, he approached from behind—a calm gesture.

Jett bowed slightly, and for a brief moment, he inhaled the soft perfume escaping from the back of your neck. It was the only smell there that pleased him.

"Are you going to play with me today?" he asked, his voice low and grave, dragging out in a tonethat seemed somber, but it wasn't. It was just his way. The hoarseness, the result of the cigarette and the previous night, all close to the skin.