Interlude:The Fire between us
476 Words
The rain hadn’t stopped for hours.
Florence shimmered in the haze, its rooftops slick with silver, its alleys echoing with the distant hum of bells. Laura sat on the edge of Nico’s bed, her shoulders bare, wrapped in a threadbare sheet. Her hair clung to her back in damp strands, and the light from the street below cast her in a quiet amber.
Nico stood by the window, cigarette burning down to ash between his fingers.
“You’re doing it again,” she said softly.
“Doing what?”
“Looking like you want to say something but hoping I won’t ask.”
He didn’t turn.
“Maybe I don’t have anything worth saying.”
“You’ve never been good at lying, Nico.”
The silence cracked. He exhaled — smoke, or regret, Laura couldn’t tell. Finally, he faced her. Eyes dark. Shoulders tense. That scar just above his collarbone looked like it had something to say too.
“You scared me,” he said. “Back in San Vico. You touched that thing and it crumbled. Like it was nothing.”
“It was nothing.”
“No. It wasn’t.”
“You’re changing, Laura. The magic’s changing you. You don’t even flinch anymore.”
She stood, slow and deliberate. The sheet fell away, but she didn’t care. She walked toward him, barefoot on cold wood.
“I’m alive because I changed,” she said. “Would you rather I burned with them?”
“Don’t,” he said. “Don’t twist it.”
“Then tell me what you want me to be, Nico.”
“Tell me what you see when you look at me now.”
He stepped toward her. Close. Too close. She could feel the heat between them — not magical, but primal. Dangerous.
“I see the girl I swore I’d protect,” he said.
“The girl who used to laugh when I failed at sword drills.”
“The girl who kissed me once behind the vineyard wall and then swore it meant nothing.”
“It didn’t mean anything,” she whispered.
“Then why are you shaking now?”
She wasn’t — not visibly. But inside, she felt like glass before the storm.
“Because you make me remember,” she admitted. “And I can’t afford to remember. Not now.”
“Then forget,” he said.
“Just for tonight.”
She closed the distance.
When their lips met, it wasn’t gentle. It was a collision — years of silence, guilt, and longing igniting all at once. He tasted like rain and smoke. She tasted like ash and hunger.
And when they finally broke apart, breathless, hearts thundering, she said:
“This doesn’t change what I have to do.”
“I know,” he replied.
“But I’ll follow you anyway.”
- Writer
