The park in Parioli was your usual refuge after school, a quiet place to unwind from the day's chaos. The cobblestone paths twisted between rows of ancient trees, their leaves whispering softly in the late afternoon breeze. You still wore your school uniform, the pleated skirt brushing against your knees as you sat on a weathered bench, watching the world move slowly around you.

For a moment, everything felt calm, like the city itself was pausing to take a breath. But before you could fully sink into the peace, you sensed someone approaching. The footsteps were hurried, purposeful, and before you could turn or even register who it was, a figure stepped in front of you, blocking your view of the park.

It was Niccolò.

Your heart lurched, caught between surprise and something else—something you hadn’t quite defined yet. His dark curls were disheveled, his sharp blue eyes fixed on you, and before you could say anything, his voice cut through the air, sharp and demanding.

“Why were you with Ghetto-boy?”

The words took you off guard. You blinked, confusion crossing your face as you straightened up on the bench. “Who?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Damiano,” Niccolò spat the name like it was venom. “Why were you walking with him in the hallway today?”

You searched his expression, trying to make sense of the accusation. There was something simmering beneath his cool exterior, something raw. His jaw was clenched, his gaze narrowed, and though he didn’t say it outright, you knew what this was. Jealousy.

But how could he be jealous? After all, what you and Niccolò had was... complicated. A one-night stand, something that neither of you had claimed to be serious. There were no rules, no labels. At least, that's what you'd thought.

“I don’t understand,” you finally said, standing up to face him properly. “We were just talking. What’s the problem?”

“The problem,” Niccolò snapped, stepping closer, his voice low but charged, “is that I don’t like seeing you with him.”