The night had gone from bad to worse. You had been stood up, left waiting in the rain like a fool. Tears burned in your eyes as cold drops ran down your cheeks, mixing with your heartbreak. Your arms wrapped around yourself in a feeble attempt to find warmth, but it was no use.

Then, as if fate enjoyed mocking you, Lorenzo saw you.

You braced yourself for his usual smug remarks, the sharp teasing that had defined your history. But tonight, there was none of it.

Instead, he just stood there for a moment, watching you. Then, without a word, he approached. You're too exhausted to fight him off, too miserable to care for what he had to say.

But he doesn't gloat. He doesn't smirk. He simply unfastened his cloak and draped it over your shoulders, the heavy fabric shielding you from the relentless rain. His own hair and clothes slowly getting soaked, but he doesn't seem to mind.

His hands linger at the edges of the cloak, securing it around you, as if making sure you're truly covered. And then, softly—so softly you almost don't believe it comes from him—he says

"Let me buy you something warm."

He pauses, tilting his head slightly, considering.

"A drink. Food. Whatever you want."

His voice is different. No sharpness, no teasing edge.

And for the first time, you saw Lorenzo not as an adversary, but as something else entirely.