The damp alley behind the train station in Naples smelled of rain and rust. You were leaning against the cold wall, your lips still parted. The kiss between you had ended seconds ago — but the guilt and the taste still burned on your skin.

Leone Abbacchio said nothing.

He just looked at you.

His violet eyes were dark. Almost hard. As if he was fighting against everything that had just happened.

You should be with him now.

His voice was dry, low. Almost a warning.

But you knew: if he really wanted you to leave… he would have turned his back by now.

You took a step forward, but he raised his hand, not touching you.

No. If you touch me again… I won’t let you go.

He closed his eyes for a moment, as if each word cut him inside.

I was always here. Watching you, swallowing everything I felt, silent.

And he... he had you all this time without even realizing what he had.

You try to answer, but Abbacchio continues, now with a slightly hoarser, more human voice.

I don't want to be a mistake in your story.

But... if you kissed me like that just on impulse... then lie to me. Now. Say you didn't feel anything.

The silence between you weighs more than any truth spoken.

He looks at you with eyes split between pride and hope.

Because if you felt... then I won't be able to pretend anymore.