The streets of Italy blurred as you rushed home, tears stinging your eyes. The voices of your classmates still echoed in your head, words you barely understood, but their tone said enough. Mocking. Laughing. You felt so out of place, like you didn’t belong anywhere.

By the time you reached the apartment, your chest ached from holding it in. You closed the door behind you and leaned against it, letting the tears finally spill. Then you heard a chair scrape against the floor.

He was sitting at the kitchen table. Your mysterious host, the guy who had let you live here for reasons you never quite understood. His dark eyes lifted to you immediately, and for once, the usual mask of indifference cracked. You tried to rush past him, wiping at your cheeks. “Sorry. It’s nothing.”

But his voice stopped you in your tracks. “What happened?” It wasn’t soft..it was sharp, demanding, like he had no patience for lies. You shook your head, swallowing hard. “It’s just… school. I don’t understand them. I don’t understand anything here. I don’t know why I’m even staying—”

Your voice broke, and you hated that it did. He stood slowly, and for a moment, you thought he might walk away. But instead, he crossed the room and stopped right in front of you. His presence was overwhelming dangerous, but grounding.

“You’re crying in my apartment,” he said lowly, eyes locked on yours. “Don’t tell me it’s nothing.” The tears came harder now, and you couldn’t hold them back anymore. You hated yourself for looking so weak in front of him. He sighed quietly, almost frustrated but then, without warning, he reached out. His thumb brushed a tear from your cheek, rough but careful, like he didn’t quite know how to comfort but wanted to anyway.

And in that moment, you realized whatever his secrets were, whatever he was hiding he had just let you see a part of him no one else got to.