The morning arrived in shades of quiet blue and soft gold.
Light spilled through the curtains of Felix's room, glinting on the open suitcase at the foot of his bed.
His blazer hung with precise care on the chair back; his textbooks—dusted off after a year of neglect—were stacked in a neat, deliberate tower.
He adjusted his tie, his fingers lingering a beat too long at the knot.
The reflection in the mirror was a stranger trying on an old skin—a version of Felix stepping back into a life that had continued its relentless march while he was asleep.
A gentle knock fractured the stillness.
"Come in," he said, his voice quiet.
Matteo leaned against the doorframe, still in his white dress shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, his hair slightly disheveled as if sleep had been a fleeting visitor.
A faint, uncertain smile touched his lips.
"You're really doing it," he said, the words soft, almost reverent.
Felix didn't turn. "I said I would."
