And The... and The... and Then

And then... and then... and then...

There are evenings when Lorenzo looks at Andrea and feels a hollow in his chest. It's not pain, not even sadness. It's a sense of absence. Of something that is there, yet just out of reach.

That night, Andrea had come home late. The usual distracted smile, a hand through his tired hair. A quick kiss on the cheek, mechanical, almost perfunctory.

"Everything okay?" Lorenzo had asked, sitting on the bed in his t-shirt and boxers.

"Yeah. Just tired."

He had undressed in silence, leaving his shirt draped over the chair. Then he'd slipped under the sheets and turned off the light. Darkness had fallen like a curtain on an empty stage.

Lorenzo stayed still for a moment. Then he turned toward the window.

The moon was high and bright, watching him with a kind of ironic detachment. He thought back to a time when nothing had to be said. When Andrea undressed him with his hands, yes--but even before that, with his eyes. When they made love on the couch with their jeans still around their knees, as if desire was more urgent than time.

He remembered one night in particular, not long after they'd reunited.

They had just left a dinner with friends, laughing like two boys discovering each other for the first time. Andrea had pulled him into the elevator and kissed him with a hunger Lorenzo had felt down to his bones.

He'd pushed him against the mirror, hands slipping beneath his shirt. No words, just breath. Just fingers. Just teeth on skin.

And then, once inside the apartment, they had stripped off their clothes like they were burning. Andrea had straddled him, naked, beautiful, eyes shining with desire and vulnerability.

He had taken control with gentle intensity, guiding him with his body, claiming him with movements both sure and needy. And Lorenzo had given in completely, offering himself as if it were the last time.

He remembered the taste of salty skin, their fingers clasped behind backs, the broken whispers. The sweat-soaked sheets, his heart pounding so hard it hurt, and Andrea collapsing against him afterward like he was the safest place in the world.

But now, everything felt distant.

And then... and then...

The bed shifted slightly. Andrea had turned toward him.

A finger brushed Lorenzo's arm.

Lorenzo turned back toward the window, but what he saw wasn't just the reflection of the moon. It was the reflection of another life, a time when he used to wake up next to a body he no longer knew how to touch.

His wife slept with her back to him, farther and farther away. At first, there had been love--of course. A love made of normal gestures, daily habits, shared plans. But something had broken, and he hadn't known when. Maybe when he started saying less, or when he found excuses to work late. Or maybe when he'd caught himself looking at certain men with a curiosity he pretended was harmless distraction.

He remembered one night in particular. She had asked if he wanted to make love, and he'd said yes, out of duty, to reassure them both. But inside... inside, it was as if his body no longer responded. As if there was a chasm between their skins, and every movement felt artificial.

The distance had become a gulf, and the most painful solitude was the kind lived beside someone who loved you but no longer knew who you were.

But with Andrea, it had never been that way.

Not even in the worst moments. Not even when they'd broken up, when they'd said cruel things and hurt each other with heavy silences... Even then, Lorenzo had never felt alone with him.

And since they'd found their way back to each other, everything was different. There was no more fear. There were shadows, of course--no relationship is constant light. But between them, there was an invisible thread that never snapped. A single touch was enough. A single breath.

Andrea looked at him, and Lorenzo felt truly seen. Andrea touched him, and his body remembered instantly who he was.

"Did I hurt you?" Andrea asked, voice rough in the dark.

Lorenzo didn't answer right away. Then he slowly turned around. Their eyes met, barely visible in the shadows.

"Sometimes I miss you even when you're right here."

Andrea moved closer, nestling into him. Lips found his neck, hands rested on his chest.

"Sometimes I'm scared of how much I love you," he whispered.

Lorenzo kissed him softly, then deeper. The kiss turned hungry, as if to erase every distance.

Andrea climbed on top of him, moving slowly, letting their bodies speak a language no silence could erase. They explored each other again, inch by inch, as if it were the first time.

Each gesture was a return. Each touch an answer.

When Andrea finally surrendered, and Lorenzo welcomed him with all of himself, it felt like their breaths had become one.

And then... silence.

But not the silence from before.

A good silence.

Andrea curled up against him, head on his chest, their legs intertwined.

"I won't make you miss me again," he whispered softly.

Lorenzo kissed his forehead.

"You can miss me. As long as you come back. Always."

And as the moon kept watching from outside, Lorenzo closed his eyes.

And then... and then... and then... they were them again.

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