Monday morning arrived with the kind of nervous energy that made Matteo check his passport three times and the ring box four.
Their suitcases stood by the door—Felix's slightly overpacked because "what if we need formal clothes?" and Matteo's efficiently organized because some habits died hard.
The car was waiting downstairs to take them to the airport.
Felix stood at the window, coffee in hand, looking out at the city one last time before they left. "I still can't believe we're doing this."
"Having second thoughts?"
"Never." Felix turned, his smile radiant. "I'm just... I don't know. My mother talked about this trip my whole childhood. It was always 'someday, when things settle down' or 'next year, I promise.' And then there was no next year." His voice caught slightly. "And now you're taking me. It feels like a dream."
Matteo crossed to him, pulling him close. "It's real. I promise."
"Thank you. For understanding how much this means."
"Always."
