Once we step into the Council's atrium, I finally let out a breath.
I wipe my face, run both hands through my soaked hair, squeezing out the water. Even that small movement sends a stabbing pain through my side, and a groan slips out before I can stop it.
I feel like I've been hit by a car and then thrown into a pool.
"I'll go get someone," Fiore says, darting off into the vast nave of the Council. His footsteps echo for a few seconds before fading away.
Then a cold hand grips my arm.
"Milo… what is this place? Am I dreaming?"
Romina's eyes dart around, wide and dazed, taking in the opulence of the hall.
I look at her, gutted.
Her wounds make her look so fragile it hurts to see.
This is all my fault.
I should've known the day in that parking lot that my life wasn't going to be the same. That going back to that stupid office, drooling over Enrico at the gym, and doing all those normal, ordinary things with Romina—none of it would ever be possible again.
But I pretended nothing had changed. I kept her in the dark when I could've—should've—told her.
I exposed her to danger and stole her right to choose whether she wanted to stay in my life or not.
All because I was scared. Terrified of losing her.
I put my fear before her life.
Selfish.
A shitty friend.
You almost lost her forever for that.
"I wish I could tell you this was all just a dream…" I whisper, my voice breaking as I pull her into a wet, guilty hug.
There's a lump in my throat, like every cut on her arms has been carved into my skin.
We stay like that for a moment, seeking comfort from each other.
"Milo, don't worry," comes my uncle's calm voice from behind. I glance up slightly. A thousand questions are buzzing in my head…but he seems to understand and simply nods, without me saying a word. He just adds, "One thing at a time. Look, someone's coming."
Fiore, flanked by a couple of figures dressed in white, comes rushing toward us. Some of them carry first-aid kits; one even pushes a wheelchair. Without much ceremony, they help Romina into it and quickly move her away.
One of the white-clad guys turns to check on me, but Fiore intercepts him.
"Give it to me, I've got this," he says, raising his hand decisively to signal for the kit.
The guy eyes him with barely concealed annoyance, but he obeys and turns to follow his colleagues.
Fiore slips an arm under mine, naturally.
"Lean on me, come on. That chair hit must've been a full orchestra of curses."
I don't answer. I'm too drained to argue.
We start moving, uncle Bruno a few meters ahead of us.
Our steps echo through the wide halls, the sound bouncing inside my head. We reach the main archway of the amphitheater, where I'd first seen the assembly. But, instead of entering, we turn right into a narrower corridor, lit only by flickering lights that cast long quivering shadows on the walls.
Romina has already been taken ahead. I watch her disappear into a room marked 'Infirmary'. Uncle Bruno is behind her, and I instinctively move to follow, but Fiore stops me.
"Wait, there's another room ahead. More private."
"…Private?" I ask, confused.
"Let them work without witnesses. We'll check her later."
"Mmm. Okay," I answer, hesitant.
We keep going a little further, and an endless exhaustion drags at my legs. Without adrenaline, every step feels like a battle. Finally, we stop in front of a moss-green door. A small plaque above it is unreadable under a layer of dust.
"Here we are. This is it." Fiore pushes the door open and steps inside.
The switch clicks, and a yellowish light turns on, revealing a room that smells musty.
The interior of this tiny office feels like a kingdom of mites: cobwebs hang from the ceiling like drapes, the bookshelves are buried under a thick layer of gray grime, and the desk at the far end is nearly invisible beneath the accumulation of forgotten papers and clutter.
In the center, a small sitting area holds two armchairs covered with sheets. Every step stirs up particles that glitter in the dim light.
Private room, huh?
Fiore goes to remove the sheets from the armchairs: a swift gesture, and the room fills with dust.
I cough, rubbing my eyes. "Are you trying to finish me off? Because it's super effective."
He studies me for a moment, then bursts into his crystalline laughter.
"Sorry! I didn't think it would be in such a pitiful state." He sets the first aid kit on the table, sending up another little puff of dust.
I slump onto the just-cleared armchair with a groan. "I'm wrecked."
"Undress."
"...Excuse me? Why?"
"To check your wounds."
"Ah… got it."
"Were you hoping it meant something else?" he teases, grinning.
"Cut it out. Help me, lifting my arms hurts like hell."
He steps closer, grabbing the edges of my shredded t-shirt. He lifts it gently, and I tilt my gaze upward, raising my arms. He slips the shirt off, and our eyes meet again, so close it feels like a thread connects us.
Fiore drops the shirt to the floor. With the back of his fingers, he brushes my hair from my forehead. The touch is barely a whisper, but it hits me like a jolt.
A shiver runs from my forehead to my toes, my heart jumping in my chest.
My pulse drums in my ears, and my mind goes blank.
"Better disinfect these cuts first," he murmurs, breaking the tension. He turns, grabs gauze and antiseptic, then leans over me again.
His floral scent fills my nose. His hands glide lightly over my skin, precise, but every touch sends an electric shock through me.
Calm down, Milo. Okay, sure, you're alone, in a half-empty room with dim light, shirtless… and no one knows where you are. Great. Hard mode unlocked.
Not ideal. Or maybe it is. But not now.
So breathe. If you don't, this whole situation's about to derail fast.
I close my eyes, trying to get my heart rate down.
"Does it hurt?" Fiore asks, noticing.
"Just a bit," I lie, while mentally singing the Italian national anthem to find inner peace. It actually works; my pulse evens out after a few minutes.
"Okay, this is the last one," Fiore says, pressing a bandage over a cut. "Now let me check where the chair hit you."
I obey, turning to show him my side. The skin's swollen, with a huge purple bruise spreading across it.
"Mmm, nasty hit. But nothing serious. Some cream and you'll live."
I hear the click of a bottle opening, then the soft squeeze of lotion.
"I–I can do it myself," I stammer, trying to turn around. If just one slight touch makes me short-circuit, imagine a full-on massage.
"Not a chance," he stops me casually, guiding me back into place. "I'm kinda enjoying playing nurse."
The first touch makes me flinch: the cream's cold, but his hand warms it fast, spreading it slowly in small circles. The mix of hot and cold sends a shiver down my spine. His movements are steady, careful.
I shut my eyes, trying not to lose it completely. My skin feels hypersensitive under his fingers, every nerve awake.
The tension melts away, but in its place something else rises. A tingling heat that curls in my stomach and creeps up my chest, insistent.
"I'm good at this, huh?"
"Mmm… you'll do." My voice comes out lower than usual.
"Come on, give me a little credit. Or should I try harder?" He smiles and spreads the massage beyond my side, putting even more care into it, following the contours of my muscles, sliding toward the center. Every move sits right on the edge between gentleness and command.
A sigh escapes me without control. Amid the pain, a subtle pleasure sneaks in.
My breath quickens, shallow and uneven. "Stop…" I murmur. "Stop…"
His hand stills, warm against my stomach, but he doesn't move it away.
"I feel like I'm losing it…" I confess, gasping with desire.
His eyes ignite. "Maybe because you've never let go before. You're tense… but I feel it. Your body wants to be free."
My heart hammers in my ears, the room suspended in silence. His scent, the warmth of his hand, his breath brushing my skin—everything is magnified, way too magnified.
If he continues one second longer, I'll collapse. And if I collapse… something tells me I won't come back.
My mind wavers between control and surrender. Fiore, like he's reading my thoughts, leans closer. Now he's so near I can catch every tiny nuance of his eyes.
Do I really want this? Or is it just the chemistry pulling me under?
He reaches for my neck and kisses me.