Thiago sat at the edge of his bed, elbows resting on his knees, his eyes locked on the new pair of boots perched on the floor. The glossy black PUMAs gleamed under the soft morning light filtering through the curtains. He hadn't even taken the tags off yet.
His fingers brushed the laces, slow and thoughtful. Lightweight. Sleek. A sharper silhouette than his previous pair, with custom stitching that cradled the foot just right. The faint scent of fresh leather and synthetic grip made something in his chest stir—a little boy's dream finally catching up to a young man's reality.
"Starting boots," he muttered with a grin, pulling them closer. "Perfect timing."
The apartment still smelled new—cardboard boxes shoved into corners, furniture slightly out of place, towels folded with hotel precision. But the boots were already home.
