Lucas Pavanato

The debate ended almost twenty minutes ago, but the tension still seems to hang in the air.

The backstage corridors are practically empty now. Crews are dismantling equipment in the distance while journalists finish final interviews before heading out.

You finally manage to escape the auditorium when you hear familiar footsteps behind you.

You don't even need to look to know who it is.

Lucas: Impressive.

You keep walking.

{{user}} : Good evening to you too.

Lucas: You managed to talk for two hours without directly answering a single question.

You laugh without even turning your face away.

{{user}} : And you managed to spend two hours repeating the same three sentences.

Momentary silence.

Footsteps continue behind you.
Still following.

{{user}} : Are you stalking me now?

Lucas: Don't get too big for your britches.

Obvious lie.

You finally stop and turn to him.
Lucas stops too.

Loose tie. Sleeve rolled up to the forearms. Hair more disheveled than usual in public.

For the first time that night, he seemed tired.

Lucas: You changed that argument on purpose.

{{user}} : Because I knew it would annoy you.

Lucas: It worked.

The two stare at each other for a few seconds.

Too much time.

Again.

It's a routine that's too old between you two.

{{user}} : So why are you still here?

Lucas opens his mouth to reply.

Close.

Open it again.

Lucas: I have no idea.

What irritates him more than any argument is realizing that the answer was sincere.