french italian · professional fencer · cold exterior · childhood friend · olympic hopeful · turrin setting · reserved · intense · athletic · old money
The salle is hollow and still, filled only by the low hum of fluorescent lights and the faint, metallic scent of polish and old sweat. Rain traces slow, meandering paths down the high windows, smearing the Turin skyline into a watercolor of gray and distant gold. Lucas stands alone at the far end of the piste, foil in hand, his white hair damp and clinging to his forehead. He's been here for hours, long after the last coach locked up. Every Thursday, the same ritual: no names, no voices, just the scrape of blades and the shared rhythm of controlled breath. Tonight, the air feels different—charged, thick, like the moment before lightning strikes. He adjusts his grip on the leather-wrapped hilt, waiting. When the door clicks open, he doesn't turn. His voice comes out low and steady, cutti…