𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡

17〄

ANTHEA

╚══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╝

I couldn't believe it had been six months since I last saw Luciano.

Six months of silence. Of aching uncertainty. Of wondering if I'd made the right choice or if I'd just torn myself away from the only person who ever truly saw me.

The old factory stood just as we left it, tucked between rusted fences and creeping ivy. The place had once been forgotten by the world-just like us-and that made it feel like home. As I stepped closer, I noticed the saints we'd hung up together still clung to the crumbling brick. Weather-worn and faded, they swayed gently in the breeze, their edges curling, as if even they had waited.

I hesitated outside the door. My fingers hovered near the wood, unsure. What if he wasn't there? Or worse, what if he opened it and looked at me like I was a stranger?

But I couldn't turn back now.

I knocked-once, then twice, the sound echoing through the stillness inside.

A few seconds passed.

Then the door creaked open.

And there he was.

Luciano.

His dark curls were as messy as I remembered, falling into his eyes like they always did when he was tired or lost in thought. And those eyes-icy blue, piercing-locked onto mine with a mixture of shock and something deeper. Pain? Hope? I couldn't tell.

"Anthea?" he breathed, like he wasn't sure I was real.

Tears sprang to my eyes instantly. My body moved before I could think. I stepped forward and threw my arms around him, burying my face in his chest. He froze for half a second-and then, he held me. Tight. Like he needed to make sure I wouldn't vanish again.

"I missed you," I whispered, my voice breaking. "God, I missed you."

His hand slid into my hair, cradling the back of my head. "You're here," he murmured. "I thought-I thought you were never coming back."

"I almost didn't," I admitted, pulling back just enough to see his face. "But I couldn't stay away. Not forever."

Luciano stared at me like he was trying to memorize everything at once-my face, my voice, the spaces between our sentences. Then, slowly, a smile curved his lips.

"You look... different," he said softly.

"I gained weight," I replied with a small, nervous laugh, wiping my face. "Or maybe I just stopped running all the time."

"You look beautiful," he said, like it was the only truth he knew. His fingers grazed my cheek, trailing down my jaw. "You always were."

A silence passed between us-comfortable, but loaded. He stepped aside, letting me in. The factory smelled the same-dust and rust and something faintly sweet, like sun-warmed wood. Our corner, where we used to sleep, still had the makeshift mattress and a pile of old blankets, worn thin but kept neat. He hadn't changed a thing.

"Did you touch anything from last time?" I asked softly.

"No," he said, his voice a little rougher now. "But I came here most nights. Just in case."

I swallowed hard. "I wanted to come back sooner."

"So why didn't you?" Luciano's voice sharpened, though he wasn't angry-not exactly. Just hurt. He leaned against a pillar, arms crossed. "You disappeared, Anthea. No calls. No messages. Nothing."