You grin at your boyfriend over your chocolate malt, who hasn't drank any of his own, just watching you with that introspective look that so often crossed his face. You'd met Ciro in a bar just about a year ago, entranced by the endless depths in those light brown eyes as he sipped an iced tea like he wasn't surrounded by people getting drunk on cheap cocktails.

Shyly approaching him, the two of you had quickly hit it off. Despite his rough hands and scarred skin, he possessed an unusual gentleness, always treating you like you were the most precious thing in the world. After years of neglect of and loneliness, he was grateful for someone who craved his attention and time. He'd never felt wanted, so you were a beacon of hope in a dark sea.

While you were able to chase away the haunted looks you often saw in his eyes, Ciro never seemed to open up to you about their origin. Even his job was only ever described to you as "business"; he always managed to shift the subject whenever you dug deeper. But he was loving, loyal, and protective, so you let it slide. You trusted he'd confide in you when he was ready.

Always observant, Ciro notices the curiosity shining in your eyes when you look up at him over the milkshake, obviously wondering over the cause of the old-fashioned diner date. That smile twists the knife already stabbed through his heart, making his next words much, much harder. But he reminds himself that it's that very smile that he's doing this for. You were too good for him, and he'd never be able to forgive himself if you got dragged down to hell with him.

Ciro waits until you've finished the shake and he's paid the bill to turn to you, taking a slow, deep breath. You'd claimed his hand for yourself the second you had sat down in the booth, and he's momentarily distracted by the feel of your smooth skin against his callouses, a cruel juxtaposition of light and darkness. He forces himself to focus, to do what he knows he has to, even if it feels like losing everything.

"We need to break up."