The sunlight was unforgiving.
It pushed past the blackout curtains, seeping through the edges like it had a mission to remind me that night was no longer a concept, it was real and happening now.
I stirred.
My back ached slightly from the softness of the mattress, too comfortable for someone who never really got to rest.
My eyes cracked open, already adjusting to the light.
And then the realization hit.
This wasn't my bed.
This wasn't my room.
This wasn't… my life.
I sat up in a snap, the cotton sheets slipping off my bare chest.
Lorenzo's scent lingered on the pillow beside me something deep, masculine, tinged with traces of coffee and musk.
But the space was empty.
He wasn't there.
Panic wrapped its cold fingers around my ribcage.
No. No no no.
Did i say too much last night?
Did he leave?
Did he regret everything?
Was i just another name, another shadow to him?
I pushed the blanket aside, rushed out of bed, barely slipping on the oversized shirt i assumed was his.
My legs were shaking.
My chest was tight.
This wasn't me.
I don't chase people.
I don't panic over someone not being in bed the morning after.
I don't feel this… vulnerable.
But with Lorenzo?
Everything felt like a risk i never thought i'd take.
My heart pounded as i walked down the hallway, barefoot on the cold tiles of his condo.
The place was quiet, too quiet.
Until i heard it.
Sizzling.
And the low hum of an old vinyl playing in the background.
I followed the smell, eggs, butter, something rich and warm and turned the corner.
There he was.
Standing in his kitchen in a plain black shirt and joggers, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, flipping something in the pan like it was second nature.
Like he belonged here.
Like we belonged here.
He didn't see me yet.
And for a moment, I just stood there, taking him in.
This version of Lorenzo, domestic, quiet, peaceful.
The sunlight hit the side of his face just enough to soften his usually sharp features.
He wasn't cold now.
Not the same Lorenzo who would scoff and act indifferent.
This one was... present.
And it did something to my chest that made it flutter and ache all at once.
Without thinking, I walked up behind him and wrapped my arms around his waist.
He stiffened at first, surprised, but then let out a quiet breath and relaxed into my touch.
His free hand found mine, resting gently over it.
"I thought you left," I whispered against his back, my voice still hoarse from sleep.
He didn't say anything at first.
Just flipped the eggs, turned the stove off, and placed the pan aside.
Then he slowly turned to face me.
"I don't leave," he said simply, his voice low. "Not wheni i finally get to wake up with you."
That was it.
No flowery promises.
No dramatic declarations.
But that one line?
It felt like air after drowning.
I looked up at him, lips parting slightly.
He reached forward, brushing a strand of hair from my face.
For the first time, he wasn't wearing that detached expression.
For the first time, he smiled at me.
And it was… real.
Soft. Honest. Undeniably warm.
"You should eat," he said, clearing his throat and backing away. "You're going to pass out if you don't."
"Let me shower first," I muttered, suddenly shy, pulling his shirt lower to cover myself.
"Then we'll go to my place. I need clothes."
He nodded once. "Okay."
But before i turned away, I looked back at him. "Lorenzo?"
"Yeah?"
I hesitated. "Thank you."
He didn't reply.
He just gave me that same smile again, but this time—there was something else in his eyes.
Something i couldn't name, but felt.
After a quick shower, we left his place.
The car ride was comfortably silent, the windows down, wind blowing in through my damp hair.
I caught him glancing at me at one point when we stopped at a red light.
He didn't say anything.
Just looked.
I didn't either.
But i felt it again—that shift.
Like the distance between us wasn't made of pride anymore.
Like it was finally dissolving.
When we got to my house, I changed into something casual, denim shorts, a loose white tee, and sneakers.
I didn't even try to look too made up.
Today wasn't about being someone else.
It was about being myself.
We had no plans.
Nothing fancy. No event. No bar. No training.
Just the two of us.
Existing.
We got iced coffee from the small café near the racetrack, the one i usually avoided because it reminded me too much of failure.
But this time, I didn't mind.
We sat on a bench near the empty stables, sipping our drinks.
"I've been thinking," I said after a while, voice quiet.
Lorenzo turned to me. "About?"
"Racing. The car kind," I added. "I think I'm done with it."
He raised an eyebrow. "Why?"
I shrugged, fingers tapping against the condensation on my cup. "Maybe it's not for me. Maybe… I just liked the idea of it. But actually doing it? Losing my first race? I didn't feel motivated to fight back. I felt… relieved."
He looked at me longer than i was comfortable with.
"What?" I asked, uncomfortable under his gaze.
"Nothing," he said. "You're just honest. Brutally, sometimes. But it suits you."
I scoffed, hiding a small smile. "I'm not giving up though. I'm going back to horseback racing. I think… I think that's where i really belong."
He nodded slowly. "Makes sense. You've been doing that since you were sixteen, right?"
"Yeah. Four wins. One loss. But that loss didn't make me feel like quitting."
"Because it still feels like you," he said.
"Exactly," I muttered, more to myself.
I glanced at him. "You okay with that?"
"What? You quitting?"
"No," I laughed dryly. "Me maybe not having a reason to see you as often."
He smirked, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I'm not a reason anymore?"
I blinked. "That's not what i meant—"
He cut me off. "Don't worry. I get it."
And just like that, he stood up, brushing off his jeans.
The coldness returned in a blink, like a door slamming shut.
I stared after him, confused. "Lorenzo—"
But he was already walking toward the car.