The kitchen was enveloped by a cold morning light, the kind that made everything look sharper and more merciless. Mario sat at the table, a cup of now-cold coffee in his hands. His eyes, marked by dark circles, told of a night spent battling thoughts that wouldn't subside. What was he feeling? Why did he feel this way?
On one side, he felt hurt. He never would have thought that a break would mean this. Or at least the fear was there, but he didn't think it would materialize so forcefully. He felt betrayed. Although this word applied to a break perhaps didn't make much sense.
On the other hand, seeing Lara happy, radiant, excited was beautiful. He loved her desperately. In recent months, he had seen a melancholic, sometimes dim look in her eyes. Now it seemed as if this veil had slowly disappeared. And seeing her happy made a corner of his mind feel better.
Finally, there was the darkest aspect. The excitement. That force pushing from the lower abdomen. That mixing of emotions that descended from his chest to his groin and caused an incredible erection. Why did the idea of her with another excite him so much? He couldn't explain it.
While Mario was so wrapped up in his thoughts, Lara entered with a slow step, one hand resting on her temple. Her hair was still slightly tousled and a white shirt fell softly on her shoulders. She looked rested, but her face betrayed a slight discomfort. It was that typical hangover headache, but compared to Mario's torment, it seemed trivial.
"Good morning," she murmured, heading towards the coffee machine.
Mario barely raised his gaze. His voice came out more hoarse than he wanted.
"Hi. How... how was last night? Did you have fun?"
Lara stopped for a moment, her back still turned to him. A laugh escaped her lips, brief and slightly tense. She slowly turned, her green gaze lowering to the freshly prepared coffee cup.
"Mario," she said with a hint of exasperation, "I don't want to feel controlled. We're on a break, right? I need to feel free. To let myself be guided by my thoughts, to breathe. I'm trying to focus on myself. Don't keep asking me where I am, what I'm doing, who I'm with. You're making everything more difficult."
Mario lowered his gaze to the dark surface of his coffee. His fingers played with the cup handle, almost as if wanting to grasp something concrete.
"You're doing it for us," he repeated in a low voice, as if trying to convince himself.
"Yes, I'm doing it for us. We must do it for us," Lara replied with a gentle firmness. "I know it's difficult, but I have to do this. For us."
The silence between them grew thick, full of unspoken things, of questions that burned on Mario's tongue. He wanted to ask her if that freedom really meant being with others, if she was ready to erase five years with one night's kiss. If she wanted to push further. He wanted to set boundaries or understand if there were any. But the fear of breaking that fragile balance held him back.
She looked at him for a moment, then, with a lighter tone, said:
