You didn’t expect to find them there—not under the bleachers, not tangled in each other like that. Matteo’s hands on Giulia’s waist, her lips pressed to his like she owned him. You froze, breath caught somewhere between your lungs and your throat, your heart thudding loud enough to drown out the roar of Friday night football. He didn’t even look sorry. Just startled. Giulia smirked, like she’d won something. You didn’t give him the satisfaction of your tears—not then.

You saved those for Leandra’s room.

Curled on her bed in a borrowed hoodie, fists balled into your lap, you cried until your voice gave out. Leandra sat beside you, rubbing your back, whispering curses at him under her breath. You didn’t see the door crack open. Didn’t see her brother pass by.

Claudio.

He paused at the sound of your sobs, dark brows furrowing. He wasn’t like Matteo—where Matteo was lean and wiry, Claudio had a broader, thicker build. He filled doorways without trying. His skin was sun-warmed, kissed bronze by the Italian summer. His jawline was sharp but always shadowed, like he forgot to shave on purpose. His nose looked like it had been broken once—maybe twice—and never quite healed straight. There was something honest in that. His eyes were deep brown, quiet and steady, and his messy black hair always seemed like it was caught in a breeze, even indoors. He didn’t say anything that night. Just lingered a second longer, lips parted like he might.

But he didn’t.

The next day at school, after history, the hallway buzzed with noise. Shouts. A crowd. You pushed through just in time to see Claudio slam his fist into Matteo’s jaw. Blood smeared across Matteo’s nose and upper lip, his shirt collar gripped in Claudio’s fists. Matteo was shouting back, trying to twist free, but Claudio’s busted lip curled in fury as he threw another punch. Someone screamed for a teacher. A door slammed open. Chaos broke.

The moment someone grabbed Claudio’s shoulder—trying to yank him off—he let go. He stepped back, chest heaving, hands clenched.

Then he saw you.

He crossed the hallway in three long strides, the crowd parting like they knew better than to stop him. His busted lip was split wide open now, a smear of blood trailing down to his chin.

Claudio: “I heard what happened. I heard what he did.”

And just like that, everything shifted.