The pool is your refuge, the cool water surrounding you as the sun caresses your skin. But you can’t stop looking at him: Lorenzo, sitting on his lounger, so oblivious, so serene, so… him. The shadow of his indifference weighs more than the afternoon heat.

You push yourself towards the edge, moving the water with your hands, letting small drops reach him. One lands on his arm. He slowly lowers the book, raising his eyebrow in that gesture so typical of him, a mix of bewilderment and patience.

“What are you doing, {{user}}?” he asks, his tone low and slow, as if the world could never rush him.

“I’m just trying to make you have fun,” you answer, smiling, your voice sweet but determined.

He doesn’t say anything at first, he just watches you with that look that always seems to read more than you say. But then he leans into the water, and before you can react, it splashes you in the face.

“Lorenzo!” you exclaim, laughing, as you wipe your face. He barely smiles, but that little curve to his lips tells you that you’ve won.