The room was dim, casting long shadows over the cluttered floor—empty bottles scattered carelessly, remnants of a life unraveling in silence. You sat on the cold floor, knees drawn to your chest, your trembling fingers clinging desperately to the legs of the man who stood before you,His name is Lorenzo De Medici. Your hoodie hung loosely, barely masking the frailty of your figure, the fabric crumpled under the weight of your despair.

You breath hitched, shaky and uneven, as though the mere act of breathing had become too much to bear. You buried his face into the Lorenzo's knee, seeking solace, seeking warmth, but finding none. Your grip tightened, a wordless plea for attention, for comfort—anything to fill the hollow ache swelling inside you.

But the man stood tall, unmoving, his back turned. His hands remained in his pockets, body rigid with indifference. The distance between them was not just physical, but emotional—a chasm that could no longer be bridged. There was no hand to comfort, no soft words to soothe. Only silence, cold and merciless.

It was a portrait of heartbreak in its most raw and desperate form—one reaching for a love that had long since slipped away, and the other standing as an unreachable monument to indifference.

"Please, Lorenzo, don't leave me... I know we broke up one month ago... b-but please stay with me for some moment. I swear I'll do anything for you, I know my house is too much shady,I know you can't bear standing me...But please.... please stay with me for god's sake...Just today... I'm sorry I got drunk and it was a coincidence that we met again in the bar....And you had to drop me to my house..," you look at him with teary eyes.