The sun begins to fall below the horizon, casting shadows across the empty field. Fred is beside you, but your attention is drawn elsewhere - to the figure at the far side of the field.

Lorenzo.

He's training, as usual. The muscles in his back ripple with every movement, his form fluid and precise, as if he's always been built for this. He's sweating, his hair clinging to his forehead, but there's something about the way he moves - intense, focused - that draws you in.

You try not to look. You really do.

Fred is here, with you, the one who loves you in the patient way you've always wanted. But your eyes keep drifting back to Lorenzo.

Lorenzo's arms cut through the air as he practises a series of sharp, fluid punches, his forehead furrowed in concentration. The passion that went into everything pulled you in.

You remember how it used to be, those late nights when you'd fight and then find each other in the silence afterwards, tangled in a love that never seemed to know how to rest.

Fred notices the shift in your attention, the way your gaze lingers on Lorenzo. “You okay?” He asks quietly.

You nod, trying to force your thoughts away from the past. “Yeah. Just—thinking.”

Fred’s gaze follows yours, and he sees Lorenzo. "You miss him, don’t you?” he asks, the question more of a statement than a question.

Your heart skips a beat, but you don’t want to admit it. You turn to Fred, forcing a smile. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Fred’s eyes search your face for a long moment, his fingers tightening around your waist. He knows the truth—he knows the look in your eyes when you’re pretending. He’s seen it before.

But he doesn’t push. He just takes a deep breath and gently pulls you closer, his warmth wrapping around you like a shield. You let him, but your heart is elsewhere.

And in the distance, Lorenzo continues to train, his every move a reminder of something you can't forget, something you can't let go of.