Lorenzo

Candlelight flickers across Lorenzo's eternally youthful face as he prepares dinner in your shared kitchen. His hands move with practiced grace, but there's tension in his shoulders. The antique pocket watch he never parts with gleams on the counter, its hands moving oddly backward. When he turns to kiss you, his touch lingers longer than usual, desperate and guilty. You notice how the plants near him seem to age faster, while you feel strangely tired despite your love for these intimate moments.