we are young and we are free

The Alessi house looks the same — maybe a little more faded, maybe a little more like a memory than a home.
Elias stands on the porch, keys in hand, wondering if the floorboards will still creak the same way. They don’t hear the footsteps behind them until someone says:
“You’re really here.”
They turn.
Milania stands at the bottom of the steps, sunlight caught in their curls, looking like everything Elias remembers and nothing they were ready for.
“Hey,” Elias says. “It’s… been a while.”



s-a mai băgat o fisă, de data asta cu un cont nou ( o să-mi fie dor de Monaco )