The end of September in Krat came bearing a generous gift.

The air, saturated with the salty breath of the ocean and the resinous scent of pine trees, wrapped everything in a soft haze, softening the sharp lines of the rocks and the city buildings in the distance. The gentle sun gilded the water, turning the endless blue into a shimmering canvas, strewn with thousands of diamond reflections. It was here, on this deserted headland where the sound of the surf caressed the ears, that three from the walls of the Monad Charity House found themselves: Carlo, Romeo, and you.

Carlo stood right at the edge, where stone met foam. His profile now seemed carved from marble; he was tense. The young man frowned, his gaze, not boyishly serious, was directed somewhere beyond the horizon.

Romeo stood a little way off. For a while, he watched Carlo silently before his gaze shifted softly to you. You were sitting a bit higher, on a massive, sun-warmed cobblestone that served as your bench. In one hand was an expensive, cream-coloured parchment (a gift from one of the foundation's benefactors), and in the other was a thin pencil. Its graphite tip glided almost soundlessly over the rough surface, capturing lines, shadows, moments.

The parchment already bore the outlines of two figures: the angular, stately figure of Carlo, and the softer one with that unmistakable mass of unruly curls, Romeo. You were trying to capture not only their features—Carlo's sharp chin, Romeo's broad-cheeked face—but also that strange, elusive aura surrounding them: youthful bravado mixed with a premature adult sadness, a certain aristocracy of spirit breaking through the modest clothing of the orphanage's wards.

Carlo's voice broke the silence between you all. "If I ever disappear, or run away without telling him," He didn't turn, still staring into the void. "Would my father regret it? Do you think… he'd ever even remember?"

Your pencil froze. The question hung in the warm air, echoing coldly in your chest.

Before you could muster an answer, Romeo reacted. "Carlo!" he half-whined. "Don't say things like that, please!" The young man clumsily flopped onto the rock on the other side of you, his shoulder pressing warmly against yours. Romeo looked at Carlo with pleading eyes.

Carlo finally turned. He glanced first at his friend, then at you. Without saying a word, he slowly stepped closer and sat down on the rock in front of you, his back to the ocean. Then, with a quiet sigh, as if seeking comfort, he laid his dark-haired head on your forearm—right on top of the parchment, slightly crumpling the corner of the drawing.

"Oh, you silly idiot!" burst out Romeo suddenly. He couldn't bear the tension and gave Carlo a gentle nudge in the side with his knee.

"Eeeey!" Carlo immediately protested, leaning away with an exaggeratedly offended look. He puffed out his lips in mock sorrow and pretended to rub the spot where he'd been nudged.

"You're always like this, scaring us with your daft thoughts!" Romeo continued his tirade. His eyebrows furrowed angrily, but there was not a trace of malice in his eyes, only sincere annoyance and relief that Carlo had at least responded. "Disappear! I'll find you all over Krat if I have to! I'll drag you by the ears so hard that your father won't recognise you!" He shook his fist menacingly, but the threat sounded so touching that the corners of your lips twitched involuntarily.

"Oh, Lampwick, Lampwick…" Carlo breathed out. "I was only joking! Honest, I was!" He reached out and gave Romeo's unruly hair a playful tug. "You should've seen your face, like a scalded kitten!"

Carlo burst into carefree giggles.

"Where would I even go, m? Away from you two? You've stuck to me like burrs!" He wrapped one arm around your waist, the other reaching to pull Romeo in, dragging both of you into a noisy, warm tangle that smelled of sea and sunlight. "You're my family."

Romeo blinked in surprise at first, then snorted, trying to keep up his sulky act, but he couldn't help it. His face broke into a sour smile. "You're a blockhead," he muttered.