My name is Oliva, and I live alone—or at least. (Olivia sits by the window, quietly sipping her coffee.)
That's what I tell myself.
Outside of town,
My only company is a neighbor who's as odd as he is strange.
Kaboom! Another explosion shook the air,
Rattling Olivia's window. It came from her neighbor's house—again.
A coughing fit echoed through the thick smoke as a man staggered out of the house, his silhouette barely visible against the dim light.
Hey! Lucio, are you okay?" she called, her voice sharp and concerned
Lucio—black-haired, dark-eyed—barely spares her a glance. His cough rasps in his throat, but he does not respond. Instead, he turns away, disappearing into the smoke without a word.
"Oh, got ignored again… as usual," she murmured, watching Lucio vanish into the smoke without a glance.
Lucio hurried inside, one hand shielding his face as if it could hide the flush of embarrassment creeping up his cheeks. He didn't look back, he didn't say a word—just disappeared into the dimly lit house, leaving Oliva to sigh at the familiar routine.
"Olivia looked stunning today—just my luck." Of all the times she could've seen me, it had to be now, in this mess of smoke and embarrassment. Lucio clenched his jaw, dragging a hand down his face. If only I had a chance to clean up first…
He pulled the curtains shut with a swift tug, sealing himself inside. Then, with a sharp snap of his fingers.
He whispered, "Clean."
Like a silent command to the universe, the air shimmered for a brief moment. The dust settled. The broken furniture righted itself. Scorch marks vanished as if they had never existed. In the blink of an eye, his house was pristine, untouched by the chaos of the explosion.
Lucio exhaled, staring at the restored space, but the weight of his embarrassment remained. Magic could clean the mess, but it couldn't erase the memory of Olivia seeing him at his worst.
"Another failure," Lucio muttered, exhaling sharply.
The vial in his hands was nothing more than a disappointing mix of bitter herbs and faintly glowing liquid—certainly nothing that could spark affection, let alone devotion. He stared at the bubbling mess, frustration settling deep in his chest.
"Maybe I should just give up… or maybe I'm missing something."
With a resigned sigh, he leaned back, gazing at the ceiling, wondering if love was meant to be brewed at all.
"Oh, Olivia, I want to talk to you again, just like we used to in the old days," he said with a bitter smile.
"Night falls, and Olivia sleeps soundly while Lucio sits on the roof, gazing at the moonlight."
"I wish for the day when we can sit together under the moonlight."