Heartbreak, Enzo realised, wasn't the unending torment he'd first feared. The initial agony had been intense, a raw wound that throbbed with every breath. But as the weeks turned into a month, the edges blurred, the pain gradually easing into a dull ache.
Sure, there were nights he woke in a cold sweat, haunted by nightmares. There were evenings when memories ambushed him, tears tracing familiar paths as he drifted to sleep. But the all-consuming misery of those first days had subsided. He was still hurting, but the wound was slowly healing.
Ronny and Harry played a huge part in his recovery. They dragged him into the bustling heart of the club, where there were always tasks to be done, fires to put out, and jokes to be cracked. Their company left no room for dwelling on Mila. It was a distraction, sure, but a lifeline in those dark early days. Enzo was grateful for their unwavering support, their ability to pull him back from the precipice and remind him that life went on, even when love faltered.
He wasn't whole yet, not by a long shot. But the heartache was no longer an impassable mountain. It was a hill he was slowly climbing, one day at a time, with his friends beside him.
"Hey, hold up!" Ronny grabbed Enzo's wrist, stopping him mid-pour as he attempted to unleash a volcanic eruption of chilli flakes into the food bowl.
It was their band's annual camping trip, and today, Enzo was the designated chef – a fact that brought either smiles or worried glances to his bandmates' faces.
"I'll just scoop it out," Enzo retorted, grabbing a spoon and attempting to salvage the situation. A few flakes escaped, but the fiery mountain remained mostly intact within the bowl.
"Just rinse the chicken," Ronny suggested, snatching the bowl away from Enzo.
"You can't wash chicken!" Enzo protested, retrieving the bowl and frantically trying to excavate the chilli flakes.
"Whatever, man," Ronny shrugged, turning his attention to the vegetables and washing them with a dramatic sigh.
Enzo watched Ronny, a small smile tugging at his lips. Their friendship had blossomed since that music history group project, evolving into something he never expected. They spent countless hours in the band room, talking about everything and nothing. Ronny's initial smirk had transformed into genuine smiles that warmed Enzo more than he cared to admit.
Ronny's eyes, once a source of irritation for Enzo, had become a familiar and even endearing feature. The right one was a warm brown, while the left was a vibrant green. At first, Enzo had thought they were mocking him somehow, but now he understood they were just part of who Ronny was. It was a rare condition called heterochromia, Ronny had explained one day.
Those mismatched eyes didn't annoy Enzo anymore - at least, not when Ronny wasn't actively teasing him. They were just another quirk of his friend, like his terrible puns or his habit of drumming on every available surface.
But there was something different about Ronny, a depth that Enzo sensed but couldn't quite pinpoint. Despite their growing closeness, Ronny remained guarded about certain aspects of his life. Enzo respected his privacy, content with the friendship they shared.
"Enzo," Harry's voice cut through his thoughts. "You gonna finish massacring that chicken, or should we just order pizza?"
Enzo blinked, refocusing on the task at hand. "Hey, I'm creating culinary art here. You'll see."
As the evening wore on, the aroma of spices filled the air. The group huddled around the campfire, plates balanced on their laps. Enzo took a tentative bite of his creation, relief washing over him as flavours exploded on his tongue.
"Not bad, chef," Ronny admitted, bumping his shoulder against Enzo's. "Guess we won't starve after all."
Under the star-studded sky, surrounded by laughter and the warmth of friendship, Enzo felt a piece of himself heal. The pain of losing Mila would always be a part of him, but here, in this moment, he found comfort in the camaraderie of his bandmates.
As the fire crackled and stories flowed, Enzo caught Ronny's eye across the flames. There was something in that gaze, a warmth that made Enzo grateful for such a good friend.
The chatter around the campfire grew more animated as the night progressed. The whole band was there, sprawled on logs and camping chairs, their laughter echoing through the trees.
"Alright, alright," Harry called out, raising his hands for attention. "Who's up for some campfire games?"
A chorus of groans and cheers met his suggestion. Enzo found himself grinning, caught up in the infectious energy of the group.
"Truth or dare?" someone suggested.
"Nah, too cliché," Ronny countered. "How about Two Truths and a Lie?"
The idea was met with approval, and soon everyone was racking their brains for interesting facts and convincing lies. Enzo watched as his bandmates took turns, revealing surprising truths and crafting elaborate falsehoods.
When it was Ronny's turn, he leaned back against a tree. The firelight caught his blonde hair, giving it a golden glow. His eyes held a playful glint as he spoke. "Okay, One, I once got lost in a corn maze for five hours. Two, I can recite the entire periodic table backward. And three, I've never been in love."
Enzo listened intently, trying to spot the lie. He watched as Ronny's gaze swept across the group,
"I'm going with number two," Enzo declared confidently. "No way you can recite the periodic table backward."
"And the third one," Enzo added, the sound of other band members agreeing with him. "It sounds impossible."
"Why?" Ronny asked with a mischievous grin. "Maybe I was too good-looking, it might have scared people away."
The booing erupted, and Ronny laughed along with them.
"Bro, you're handsome as fuck. At least someone must have confessed to you somehow," Enzo blurted out, his gaze fixed on Ronny's face. He was right, of course. Even Enzo. he had to admit, objectively speaking, that Ronny was attractive - the kind of good looks that turned heads wherever he went. It made his third statement seem even more improbable.
The firelight flickered across Ronny's features, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw and the mischievous curve of his lips. A hint of vulnerability flickered in his eyes, a fleeting moment of unguarded emotion. Then, just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by a familiar smirk.
"You think so, huh?" Ronny teased, nudging Enzo playfully with his elbow. "Maybe I should start charging for compliments."
Ronny chuckled, shaking his head, causing a lock of blonde hair to fall across his forehead. "Nice try, but that's actually true. Believe it or not, I've never been in love."
Enzo raised an eyebrow, surprised. "Really? Never?"
Ronny shrugged, his smile fading slightly. "Never. Never found the right person, I guess."
The game went on, but Enzo found himself lost in thought. He felt a strange mixture of surprise and curiosity. It was hard to believe that someone like Ronny - charismatic, good-looking, and kind - had never experienced love. Yet there was something in Ronny's tone, a hint of... something Enzo couldn't quite place.
"Maybe one day," Enzo said softly to Ronny, who had grown quiet beside him. He offered a small, encouraging smile. "You'll find the one that you can love."
Ronny turned to look at Enzo, his eyes reflecting the dancing firelight. For a moment, Enzo thought he saw a flicker of an unreadable emotion in those eyes - something deeper, more complex than the casual dismissal of his words suggested. But before Enzo could decipher it, Ronny smiled and turned back to the fire.
"Maybe," Ronny replied, his voice barely audible over the crackling flames. "Maybe one day."
Enzo nodded, mulling over Ronny's response. There was a weight to those words that he couldn't quite understand. He wondered if perhaps there was more to Ronny's story than he let on. Had Ronny loved and lost, just like Enzo had? Or was there some other reason behind his friend's apparent inexperience with love?
As the night wore on and laughter returned to the group, Enzo couldn't shake the feeling that he had glimpsed a deeper truth in that unguarded moment. But he pushed the thoughts aside, grateful for the warmth of friendship surrounding him and the bonds that had helped him heal.
He crawled into the shared tent, the cool night air a stark contrast to the warmth of the campfire. Ronny was already nestled in his sleeping bag, a lump beneath the thin fabric. The only light came from Enzo's phone screen, casting an eerie glow on his face mask and the tight ponytail that kept his hair off his forehead.
"Oh, there you are," Ronny said, pulling off his face mask and rubbing his eyes.
"Yeah, the line for the bathroom was crazy. I barely got three minutes in the shower," Enzo replied, slipping into his sleeping bag.
"I'm not sure if I stink or what," he giggled nervously.
"You'll be fine," Ronny reassured him, taking out his tight ponytail and shaking out his hair.
"Let's get some sleep," Ronny said, snuggling deeper into his blanket. "Didn't we have to wake up super early?"
"Yeah," Enzo said softly. "Good night then."
"Good night," Ronny replied, his voice barely a whisper.
A comfortable silence fell over the tent, broken only by the soft rustling of their sleeping bags and the faint crackle of the campfire outside. Enzo closed his eyes, but sleep evaded him. His mind, as always, was a whirlpool of thoughts, swirling around the same inescapable subject: Mila.
Why? He didn't understand why he continued to torture himself. It was easy to say "move on," but the reality was far more difficult. Ronny's words echoed in his mind, the confession that he had never been in love. For someone like Ronny, who seemed to exude confidence and charm, it was a surprising revelation. It made Enzo realise that everyone had their own complexities, their own hidden depths.
As someone who craved love and connection, Enzo found it easy to give his heart away. But expecting the same in return had always been a painful journey. Not just in romantic relationships, but in all aspects of life. Family, friends... sometimes the love you gave wasn't reciprocated. It was a cold, hard truth, but one that Enzo was slowly learning to accept
The overthinking thoughts swirled in Enzo's mind, fueling his insomnia. He turned on his side, facing the faint outline of Ronny's sleeping form. He stared at him with a mind full of confusion.
"Aren't you going to sleep?" Ronny mumbled, his eyes still closed.
"I'm going to. Just finding something to distract my mind," Enzo replied softly.
"And staring at me helps?" Ronny opened his eyes, a playful smirk on his face.
"Kinda," Enzo smiled sheepishly, turning back to stare at the tent's ceiling and releasing a heavy sigh.
"What?" Ronny asked, his voice tinged with concern. "Don't tell me you're thinking about her again."
Enzo remained silent, the weight of his thoughts pressing down on him. He didn't need to answer, Ronny knew him too well.
"Quit overthinking and get some sleep," Ronny suggested, his voice softening. "You can't control your dreams, but you can control how you react to them."
Enzo sighed, running a hand through his hair. "What if the dreams aren't good ones? What if I see her and it all comes rushing back?"
Ronny was quiet for a moment, When he spoke, his voice was gentle but firm. "Then you remember that you're stronger than those memories. Someone who hurt you like that doesn't deserve to haunt your dreams."
Enzo's gaze lingered on Ronny's face, a silent question in his eyes. Ronny, unable to meet the intensity of his stare, turned away,
"Seriously, Enzo," Ronny's voice was firm, yet laced with a hint of concern "Get some sleep. We've got a long hike tomorrow, and I'm not carrying you if you pass out"
Enzo, a subtle tremor in his hand, reached out and squeezed Ronny's shoulder in a silent gesture of gratitude before. he finally settled into his sleeping bag. He closed his eyes, willing sleep to come.
But sleep did not bring solace. It brought Mila and Nick – the ghosts of his past – back to haunt him in vivid, painful detail. Their laughter, their shared intimacy, felt like a cruel twist of the knife.
This time, something was different. As he watched them in the dream, tears welled up in his eyes, yet the familiar ache in his chest was strangely muted. It was as if his heart, battered and bruised, had finally grown numb to the pain. A bitter realisation washed over him – even in the depths of his own subconscious, he could no longer conjure the same level of heartache.
It was almost laughable – the absurdity of someone like him daring to discard a heart that had once felt so deeply