The morning light filtered through Rome's ancient dust, casting long shadows across cobblestones that had witnessed a thousand confrontations. Juno stepped from the hostel's entrance, espresso in hand, ready to lose herself in the city's labyrinth of history and solitude.
Instead, she found Leo.
He leaned against a weathered pillar, his leather satchel slung across his chest, dark hair catching the early sun. He looked like he'd been waiting—not just this morning, but for days.
"What are you doing here?" The words escaped before she could stop them.
Leo straightened, his brown eyes meeting hers with an intensity that made her stomach clench. "I could ask you the same, but I think I know. Rome's good for people who need to figure things out."
Juno turned to walk away, but his voice followed her.
"You didn't answer my calls."
"That's because I didn't have answers." She kept walking, her boots clicking against stone.
"Neither do I. But I'm tired of pretending that means we should stop trying."
The Colosseum rose before them like a broken crown, its arches framing blue sky where gladiators once fought for their lives. Tourists clustered around the entrance, but Juno and Leo found themselves drawn to the quieter perimeter, where wild grass grew between ancient stones.
They walked in silence until the weight of unspoken words became unbearable.
"You always run," Leo said, his voice cutting through the morning air. "Every time it gets real."
Juno stopped walking. "You pull away when it matters. That morning in Barcelona? You disappeared without even leaving."
"I was scared." He faced her, his usual armor of sarcasm stripped away. "You think you're the only one?"
"But you made me feel like—"
"Like what?"
"Like I was asking for too much by wanting something real."
Leo's laugh held no humor. "You want epic stories, Juno. Adventures. I'm not a story. I'm just a mess trying to figure out why everyone I care about eventually leaves."
"So am I," she said, her voice rising. "But I'm not afraid to feel it."
"You feel everything—until you don't. Until you pack up and move on to the next city, the next experience, the next person who might finally be interesting enough to hold your attention."
The words hit like a slap. Juno flinched, and Leo immediately looked like he wanted to take them back.
"That's not fair," she whispered.
"Neither is pretending you're unbreakable when you clearly aren't."
They ducked into a small church to escape both the heat and the tension crackling between them like live wire. The interior was cool and dim, scented with centuries of incense and whispered prayers. Juno lit a candle—not for faith, but for the ritual of it, the small act of creating light in darkness.
Leo sat several pews behind her, his sketchbook closed in his lap. She could feel him watching, but he didn't approach. The silence between them felt different here, less like avoidance and more like respect for something sacred, even if they weren't sure what.
Outside, the Roman afternoon blazed white-hot. Leo bought gelato from a vendor—pistachio for himself, lemon for her. He remembered. The gesture was small, but it cracked something in her chest.
They walked through the piazza without speaking, licking melting edges as the gelato threatened to escape their cones. It wasn't forgiveness, but it was a truce.
"I keep chasing people who can't stay," Juno said finally, settling on the edge of a fountain. "Maybe because staying feels like settling."
"Or maybe because you don't think you're worth staying for."
She turned to look at him. "You don't get to psychoanalyze me. Not after everything."
"I'm not trying to analyze. I'm just... trying."
The honesty in his voice made her throat tight. "I don't know what you want from me."
"Honesty. Even if it's ugly. Even if it hurts."
Juno stared at the water cascading from the fountain's center, watching it catch the light. "Fine. I wanted it to mean something. What happened between us. And then I hated you for making me doubt that it did."
"It meant something."
"Did it? Or was it just another story for your blog? Another chapter in the travel romance that makes your readers feel like they're living vicariously through your adventures?"
Leo's face darkened. "That's not—"
"Isn't it? You document everything, Leo. Every sunset, every conversation, every moment that might look good in a photograph. How do I know I'm not just content to you?"
"Because you're sitting here yelling at me instead of reading about it online."
Despite everything, Juno almost smiled. "That's not an answer."
"Yes, it is." Leo shifted closer, close enough that she could see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes. "I don't write about the things that matter. I write about the things I can afford to lose."
The admission hung between them like a bridge neither was sure they wanted to cross.
As evening approached, they found themselves on a bridge over the Tiber, the water below reflecting fragments of sunset. Rome spread around them in all directions—eternal, indifferent, beautiful in its decay.
"I'll be in Rome for a few more days," Leo said, breaking the silence. "I'm not chasing you again, Juno Sinclair."
"And I'm not apologizing for needing space."
They stood side by side, not touching, both looking out over the water. The anger had burned itself out, leaving behind something more complex—understanding, maybe, or at least the beginning of it.
"What happens now?" Juno asked.
"I don't know. Maybe nothing. Maybe something. Maybe we figure out how to be in the same city without breaking each other."
"Maybe."
Leo shouldered his satchel. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry. For making you feel like you were asking for too much. You weren't."
He walked away before she could respond, his footsteps echoing off stone. Juno watched him go, then opened her journal and wrote a single line:
Not every ruin needs rebuilding. Some just need to be acknowledged.
The wind lifted her scarf as she closed the journal, and for the first time in days, she felt something like peace. Not resolution—that would take longer—but acceptance. They had broken something, yes. Maybe it needed breaking. Or maybe they just hadn't learned how to hold it yet.
Either way, she was still here. Still figuring it out. Still becoming whoever she was meant to be, one honest word at a time.