Rain fell softly over Florence.
Not enough to soak the streets completely.
Just enough to leave everything damp.
Reflective.
Cold.
The gray sky above the city made the afternoon feel heavier than it actually was.
School had ended almost twenty minutes ago.
Students still crowded the sidewalks outside the gates while scooters passed loudly through the wet streets nearby.
Meanwhile—
*** walked slowly beside Omar.
Hands inside his hoodie pockets.
Head lowered.
Silent.
The distance between them felt strange now.
Not physical.
Emotional.
Like both of them remembered how easy talking used to be—
and neither knew how to return there anymore.
For several minutes—
only the sound of shoes against wet pavement filled the silence.
Then finally—
*** spoke quietly.
"…You were right earlier."
Omar kept looking ahead.
Rain moved softly through his curls.
"…About what."
*** swallowed slightly.
"About me apologizing too much."
Silence.
"I keep saying sorry because it's easier than changing."
Omar's expression tightened faintly.
But he still didn't answer immediately.
*** continued softly.
"I know I hurt people."
His voice sounded exhausted now.
Not defensive.
Just tired.
"And I know I disappear whenever things get difficult."
Another pause.
"I just…"
He hesitated slightly.
"…don't really know how to stop."
Omar finally looked at him sideways.
And for a moment—
there was visible pain in his eyes.
Not hatred.
Not anger.
Pain.
"You know what the worst part is?"
His voice remained calm.
Too calm.
"I actually understand WHY you do it."
*** looked at him quietly.
Omar laughed weakly beneath his breath.
"That's what makes it harder."
The rain tapped softly against nearby parked cars.
People passed around them holding umbrellas.
Life moving naturally while the conversation slowly bled open.
Omar rubbed the back of his neck tiredly.
"You think disappearing protects people."
Silence.
"You think if you isolate yourself enough…"
His gaze lowered briefly.
"…you'll eventually stop hurting everyone around you."
***'s chest tightened slightly.
Because Omar understood him too well.
"And honestly?"
Omar sighed quietly.
"I think part of you genuinely believes people would eventually be happier without you."
Neither of them spoke afterward.
Because once something true is said out loud—
silence becomes heavier.
*** finally whispered:
"…Maybe."
Omar immediately stopped walking.
*** slowed too.
The street around them blurred slightly beneath the rain.
Omar stared directly at him now.
And for the first time in weeks—
there was actual anger inside his expression again.
Not explosive anger.
Worse.
The kind born from watching someone destroy themselves slowly.
"You don't get to decide that for people."
The sentence hit immediately.
*** lowered his gaze slightly.
Omar stepped closer.
"You don't get to choose whether people care about you or not."
His breathing became uneven now.
"That's not your decision."
*** remained silent.
Because deep down—
he still couldn't fully believe somebody would willingly stay close to him if given a healthier alternative.
Omar's jaw tightened.
"You know what hurts?"
His voice cracked slightly.
"You act like loving you is some horrible burden people are forced to carry."
The words landed brutally.
"And every time somebody reaches for you…"
Another pause.
"…you drift further away instead."
The title of the conversation settled invisibly between them.
Drifting away.
Slow.
Gradual.
Almost impossible to notice until the distance becomes irreversible.
*** stared silently at the wet pavement beneath his shoes.
Then finally whispered:
"…I'm scared."
Omar blinked slightly.
The confession sounded small.
Childlike almost.
*** continued quietly.
"I'm scared if people get too close…"
His fingers tightened inside his sleeves.
"…they'll eventually realize I'm not worth all the effort."
Silence.
Rain continued falling softly around them.
Omar looked at him for a very long time.
And slowly—
his expression softened again.
Not completely.
But enough.
"…Cri."
His voice became quieter now.
"Tired people deserve love too."
That sentence almost hurt more than anything else.
Because *** genuinely didn't know how to respond to kindness anymore.
Then suddenly—
someone brushed past him from the opposite direction.
Shoulder against shoulder.
THUD.
*** instinctively looked downward immediately.
"…Sorry."
Automatic.
Quiet.
His eyes remained fixed on the ground.
On wet pavement.
On shoes.
Anywhere except the person in front of him.
Because lately—
looking directly at people had started terrifying him.
Then silence followed.
Heavy silence.
And something inside his chest tightened instantly.
Because somehow—
he recognized the presence before the voice even arrived.
"…Cristiano."
Everything froze.
Omar slowly looked up first.
Meanwhile *** remained staring at the ground.
Unable to move.
Unable to breathe properly.
The voice sounded older now.
Rougher.
But still unmistakably his.
Chri.
Actually Chri.
Right there.
Rain moved softly between them.
For several long seconds—
*** couldn't bring himself to look at his face.
Because part of him was terrified.
Terrified that Chri had changed too much.
Or worse—
terrified that he hadn't changed at all.
Finally—
slowly—
*** lifted his gaze slightly.
Only enough to see part of him at first.
Dark jacket damp from rain.
Hands inside pockets.
Then higher.
The outline of his jaw.
The faint goatee.
Older features now.
Sharper.
More adult.
And finally—
his eyes.
The exact same eyes.
And immediately—
*** felt his chest collapse inward slightly.
Because memories returned all at once.
The football field.
The bench.
The fights.
The abandonment.
The laughter.
Everything.
Omar looked quietly between the two of them now.
Understanding immediately that this was not a conversation he belonged inside.
So softly—
he stepped backward.
"…I'll go."
Neither of them answered.
Omar hesitated briefly.
Then quietly added toward ***:
"…Don't disappear again."
And then he walked away into the rain.
Leaving the two boys alone in the middle of the street.
Facing each other for the first time in far too long.
And somehow—
even standing only a few feet apart—
they still felt impossibly distant from one another.