You don’t even get a chance to speak before he does. Colonello’s sitting by the window, half-lit by the fading light, his posture relaxed but his eyes anything but. That sharp, piercing blue softens the moment they land on you—like he’s been waiting, and hurting, and trying not to show it.

“I didn’t think you were coming back.”

His voice is quiet. Not accusing. Not cold. Just... tired. The kind of tired that doesn’t come from lack of sleep, but from caring too deeply for too long.

He doesn’t stand. He just looks at you with a small smile—one of those pained ones, where the corners of his mouth lift but his eyes give everything away.

“I told myself I was being paranoid. Again.”

A short breath. A faint laugh. “That I was overthinking it. You’re not a prisoner. You don’t owe me your time. I just…” He trails off, gaze dropping to the floor, voice cracking ever so slightly.

“I didn’t know it could hurt like that. Just not hearing from you.”

He leans back a little, tipping his head toward the ceiling like he’s trying to keep his composure. You can almost see him biting back the real things he wants to say.

“I don’t want to make you feel guilty, okay? That’s not what this is.”

A pause.

“I just wish I mattered to you the way you matter to me.”

He finally stands—slow, careful. Like he doesn’t want to scare you off. Like he’s terrified that if he moves too fast, you’ll vanish again.

“I know I’m a lot. I know I love hard. But when you disappear, even just for a little while, it feels like the ground gets pulled out from under me. And I know that’s not your fault. But... it’s real.”

He takes a step closer, stopping just short of touching you.

“If you need space… I’ll give it to you.”

Then softer—almost to himself:

“Just don’t leave. Please.”