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Chapter Text

SUNDAY, 14 OCTOBER 2018

In hindsight, Martino should have just kept his mouth shut and let Elia humiliate them all with his inhuman FIFA skills. But his own spectacular win over Gio last week made him bold and stupid. So he took the bet.

“Let’s give it six tries. If Martino beats me, I will print his face on a t-shirt and wear it to class every day for a week. Sounds good?”

“Let’s make it two weeks.”

“You’re a goddamn narcissist, Martino. But ok. And if I win…you’ll have to join the girls in their pilates class. For a month.”

“How do you get two weeks and I get a month?”

“They have pilates three times a week. That’s 12 days of humiliation only.”

“So you just have to wear a t-shirt and I have to sweat for 12 days.”

“It might be good for you anyway, you’re getting chubby.”

Martino swats Elia for that, but in the end the deal is struck, with Gio and Luchino as witnesses. And this is how, just three hours later, Martino dumps his entire wardrobe on the floor in the futile search for his only pair of gym shorts.

Fuck Elia, fuck FIFA, and fuck his life.

MONDAY, 15 OCTOBER 2018

On the way to the gym he almost manages to persuade himself that he doesn’t care. So what if he’s going to spend 12 hours in a room full of giggling girls and do some stretches. Their laughter doesn’t scare him, because unlike his friends, he doesn’t care whether girls find him cool and attractive. But it’s not like his friends need to know that.

Ah, perfect. He’s going to THANK Elia for putting him in the same room with the girls and then watch the triumph in his eyes die and be replaced with helpless envy.

Martino is still congratulating himself on this brilliantly cruel idea when he joins the flock of girls entering the pilates room. Some of them are total strangers (he gets weird looks and giggles from those), while Eva and her squad look informed about his situation (so it’s just giggles from them).

Whatever. He picks a spot well behind everyone else, puts down his mom’s blue yoga mat (a gift from a friend that she ended up using twice), and bends down to retie a shoelace. The girls’ chatter is suddenly replaced by hushed, excited murmurs, and Martino lifts his head from his task.

His eyes zero in on a lean figure clad in grey shorts and a red tank top. The guy is crouching next to an ancient-looking boombox that he must have brought with him, carefully feeding it a CD. A fricking CD, in this day and age, when the mobile speaker stand is right there on the windowsill.

Martino is distracted from his scornful musings by Silvia’s anxious voice. “Excuse me, is Coach Patrizia not coming today?”

The guy stands up gracefully, revealing a mop of unruly black curls kept off his forehead with a bandana headband. He sweeps the room with a friendly look before finding Silvia and her limply raised hand.

“Unfortunately, Coach Patrizia had a bad fall on her hiking trip this weekend and will need a couple of weeks to recover at least. My name is Niccolò, I’m studying Sports and Exercise Medicine. I also work as a substitute coach in my spare time, so you ladies-“ his eyes suddenly jump to the last row and Martino feels like a deer in the headlights, “-and a gentleman, will be in my care for the time being. Questions?”

Eva’s hand flies up immediately. Martino would love to mentally berate her for acting like a first-grader, but his knees feel kinda weak and his throat is dry and he thinks he might be in big big trouble.

“Are we going to follow the same program as with Patrizia?”

“Generally, yes, but if you don’t mind I’ll teach you some good moves from pump and stretching programs as well.” His whole body does a peculiar little wiggle and Martino swears he can hear Silvia go awwwww. “Let’s spice things up a bit!”

The smile that follows that announcement is so devastating that the girls don’t ask any more questions. Or if they do, Martino doesn’t hear it. His brain is filled with static.

Bella merda, eh?

Chapter Text

WEDNESDAY, 17 OCTOBER 2018

“In…and out…and in…and out…keep going…feels so good…you feeling it?”

Oh I’m feeling it, Martino thinks, sweating. His ass is burning and he knows he’ll be feeling it for days after. But he is going to keep that leg up high if it’s the last thing he does.

See, no one told him that Pilates was serious business and not just waving your arms around and wiggling your ass, as he used to believe. And Pilates with Niccolò is.. on another level altogether, what with him being incredibly hot and incredibly demanding at the same time.

“Give me four! And three…and two…and one…and hold it! Hooooooold it…”

Martino hears Eva swear quietly as she’s struggling not to drop her wobbling leg.

“Very nice, people! 15 seconds for rest and we switch sides!”

This gets a collective groan, quickly swallowed up by the booming music. Martino sits up to grab a towel and hastily wipes his face and neck. He throws a quick glance at their trainer, now only one line of neon leggings and swishing ponytails between them.

After spending the first class craning his neck from the back row, Martino boldly occupied a better spot for the second outing. He had a very reasonable explanation. He needed to see the moves from up close to perform them just right, after all. The spectacular view of the incredibly flexible and boundlessly energetic Niccolò was just an added bonus.

“Down, up, down, up! Let’s go, guys! Don’t forget to breathe! Keep those tummies tucked in!”

Easy for you to say, with abs like that.

The wonder of Niccolò’s abs has been revealed to him half an hour earlier, when the guy had the audacity to lift the bottom of his tank top and wipe his forehead with it. Marti almost dropped the weight plate that he was pressing away from his chest. He was this close to smashing his toes, it wasn’t even funny anymore.

Oh, but Niccolò is funny. He’s funny and cheeky and cute, and to have that on top of his dashing looks is just unfair.

“Stellar job, people. One last forearm plank and we’re done. I know, I know, it’s killing me too!”

Martino met his share of hot straight guys, and he has a routine for handling those fleeting crushes, which effectively consists in getting to know the guy and discovering an inevitable turn-off. Most of them are either mean or stupid, so Martino has been able to preserve his peace of mind just fine.

“20 seconds left! I’m so proud of you! We can do this, come on!”

Whines of complaint are coming from all sides now. Silvia and a couple of other girls drop helplessly to their stomachs, and Martino loses his train of thought as his entire body starts quaking with exhaustion.

“10 seconds! Marti, don’t give up now! You’re doing great!”

Marti.  Mar. Ti.

There’s no explanation, no warning. Niccolò’s voice just wraps around the nickname like it’s the most natural thing, and Martino feels himself blush from the praise.  

Niccolò puts on a slow track for the final stretches and starts to walk between the rows to ensure 100% commitment from the grunting girls. Martino suddenly  regrets every single time he was lazy during Boccia’s classes, because he surely cannot reach his toes. The struggle takes so much of his attention that he doesn’t notice Niccolò kneeling behind him. Two hot palms land softly just below his shoulder blades, making him jump a little. Niccolò starts pushing ever so gently, and then there’s a deep voice in Martino's ear.

“Breathe, Marti. Breeeeeathe.”

This is one thing Martino absolutely cannot do right now.

The rest of the class passes in a daze. Niccolò gets them to applaud their own great effort, the girls surround him with urgent concerns about their diets and training regimes, and everyone drags their dumbbells and body bars to their rightful places. For once, Martino is grateful for all the commotion. It gives him the perfect cover to slip out, pick up his bag and leave the gym unnoticed.

He needs a beer, and some space to think.

Chapter Text

WEDNESDAY, 17 OCTOBER 2018

“Bro, not to be ungrateful, but this tastes like piss.” 

“And how would you know that? Do you want to tell us something?” 

“Fuck off. I’m not taking that back.” 

“The door is right there, Santini.” 

“No, guys...guys. Calm down. Nobody’s going anywhere. He’s joking, Peccio, your beer is sublime. Can I have some more?”

Appeased, Peccio pats Luchino on the back and gets off the couch. He sways dangerously, but manages to stumble in the general direction of the kitchen. Elia groans into Giovanni’s shoulder.  

“Why couldn’t we get proper beers at the Coop and go to your place like we always do?” 

Martino’s thoughts are running along similar lines. The plan was slightly different when he was leaving the gym, but then the squad summoned him to Peccio’s and he couldn’t find it in him to refuse. Also, free beer. Who says no to that?

Now, he’s half-lying in an armchair, feeling dizzy and sweaty, his body at the mercy of bad alcohol and his mind replaying Marti, Marti on a loop.

“Marti, oh! Stay with us!” 

God he hates Elia right now.

“How are your booty workouts going, by the way?”

Luchino perks up immediately. “Yeah, Marti, give us the nasty details!” 

“Ugh… there are no nasty details. It’s okay. I guess.” Why does my tongue feel so big? Gross.  

“Look at this little liar. You’re not fooling us.” 

“Trust me, it’s boring as hell. The music is stupid and Silvia never shuts up.” Martino manages to sit up and congratulates himself on not puking. “Actually…Elì, bro, I wanted to ask you a favor. I know I lost and I’m totally ready to honor the bet, but.. maybe you could think of something else for me to do? Like.. I could wash your dad’s car. Or, I don’t know, piggyback you from class to class?”

For a moment it looks like Elia is considering it. But when a smug grin takes over his friend’s face, Martino knows he’s doomed. 

“Sorry, bro. Dura lex, sed lex. Let this trying experience help you grow as a person.” Elia is cackling like a cartoon witch now. Gio gives them both a concerned look. “And no slacking. We check in with Eva every time, so I’ll know if you try to skip.” 

Helpless rage rises in Martino, but before he can say anything foolish, Peccio is back with more beers. He demands to know what they’re discussing and Martino takes his phone out, making it obvious that he doesn’t care to hear that story retold.

There’s nothing of note happening on Twitter, and his battery is too low to start playing a game. He opens WhatsApp, sends a bunch of furious emojis to Gio, informs his mom he’s going to be home late and finally looks at the chat on top of the list – the one with over 200 unread messages. 

Silvia dutifully added him to the Pilates group chat the first day he showed up, and that was coincidentally the same day he muted it (just leaving would be rude). And now, well. Martino really has nothing better to do than scroll through it. The last 15 or so messages turn out to be Instagram links followed by tons of emojis and keysmashing, so he taps one at random. 

Madonna. 

It’s a photo of Niccolò. He looks slightly younger, his hair even crazier than it is now, snapping a mirror selfie at the gym. His left arm is flexed to show off the bicep, his chin is raised in mock defiance, and his tank says LET’S GET IT in bold black letters. It’s simultaneously the best and the worst image Martino has ever seen.

Head swimming, he taps on the profile name (restless_nico_2000) and then it’s a deluge of images, a lot of them from the gym, some from the beach, and a handful from what must be Niccolò’s bathroom. Almost all are selfies featuring some part of Niccolò’s sculpted body, sunkissed, glistening with sweat, or thrown into sharp relief by artificial lighting. 

Martino’s mouth fills with saliva. He can’t stop scrolling. 

“Woah, who’s that?” 

Luchino’s voice jerks him out of his trance and he drops the phone on his face. Cazzocazzocazzo. 

“No one. A fitness coach. That I know. From…the gym.” That didn’t sound weird at all! Bravo Marti. 

“Really? Can I have a look?” 

Martino wants to say no, but then he notices how quiet the room has become. Gio and Elia and Peccio must be smoking on the porch or inspecting the craft beer factory. 

“I think I need to start working out. Girls like buff dudes, no? Maybe your coach can help me.” Luchino is slurring but he sounds sincere and sort of sad, so Marti hands over the phone and stalks off to the bathroom.

After peeing some of Peccio’s poison out and splashing his face with cold water, Martino feels somewhat more human. At the very least he’s able to return to the living room without using the wall for balance. 

Luchino is sitting on the floor, his eyes fixated on Martino’s phone as he mutters “woah, cool” every few seconds. Peccio and Elia are peeking at the screen over his shoulder, poking each other’s sides and laughing. 

Martino stops in his tracks, his insides twisting with dread. “What’s going on?” 

Elia answers him, but only after another fit of giggles. “Luchi found some tamarro da palestra on Instagram and keeps liking his photos!” 

Martino lunges over the coffee table, knocking off paper cups and fast food boxes, and tackles a shrieking Luchino to the ground. In a matter of seconds, he’s on his stomach, trying to reach his phone that has ended up under Peccio’s sofa. Elia is laughing like a madman, Peccio is cursing him for breaking the table, and Gio is pleading with everyone to calm down. 

Eventually, the device is retrieved, although dusty and with a fresh crack across the screen. Panting, Martino scrolls up and up through dozens of Niccolò’s cocky photos. Every single one is now marked by a red heart in the bottom left corner. Unbelievable. 

“Fucking hell! Luchi, why would you do that?!” His angry outburst stuns the room into silence. 

Luchino looks up at him warily and shrugs. “They're cool photos. I’d hire him.” 

Martino wants to scream, but he’s made enough of a scene already. “I’m out of here.”

Without giving himself time to reconsider, he grabs his backpack and heads for the door. Gio catches up with him on the porch. 

“What’s gotten into you, bro? You know Luchi didn’t do it to piss you off. He’s just wasted.” 

He wishes he could explain. Gio has always been so good at helping him sort out messy feelings. But this time, Martino has to do it on his own. 

“I know, okay? I know. I’m just.. really not feeling it tonight, Gio. I need to get home. Please, tell Luchi I didn’t mean to yell.” 

Gio nods and squeezes his shoulder. “Okay. Text me when you arrive.” 

“Sure, mom.”

Martino’s barely a block away from Peccio's when his long-suffering mobile buzzes in his pocket. 

restless_nico_2000: Hello stalker? 

Martino sucks in a breath. Just great. Niccolò must be quite amused after getting fifty Instagram notifications in a row. Or annoyed. Either way, Martino looks like a dumbass. He starts typing out a response, but his fingers keep slipping and none of it wants to make any sense. Finally, he presses the microphone icon and explains as best he can.  

"Hi coach... I mean, Niccolò. Sorry for stalking I swear it was Luchino, my friend, he liked all the photos because- he had my phone and- we were drinking, I wasn’t, wasn't  trying to freak you out or anything. I’m still a bit buzzed so sorry if I sound weird... nevermindokaybye!"

Martino rests his shoulder against a streetlight, gripping his phone in both hands.  

restless_nico_2000: Marti you ok? Are you home? 

Martino gulps. His thumbs hover over the screen. 

no I’m not home  

restless_nico_2000: Do you need someone to come pick you up? 

He stares at the words, dumbfounded. Is Niccolò offering to pick him up? Is he telling him to get a taxi? What is he supposed to say? He doesn’t get the time to decide when, out of nowhere, a dizzying wave of nausea hits him. He sticks up his chin and draws deep breaths until the feeling passes. When he checks his phone again, there’s just one message before the screen goes dark. 

Please connect your charger.

Chapter Text

THURSDAY, 18 OCTOBER 2018

Martino wakes up feeling like he fell down the stairs the night before. Everything rustles and wobbles and sparkles as he’s finding his way to the bathroom by touch, the world jumping at him like an overexcited Labrador puppy. He tries to puke, but nothing comes up-his stomach is empty. He accepts the fact without trying to remember how that came to be.

The notepad on the fridge says Dear son, I was extremely disappointed to see you in such a state yesterday. We shall talk about it later. Martino rolls his eyes and tears that slip of paper off, only to find another note underneath. And don’t you dare roll your eyes. He tears that one off, too. We ran out of coffee. The last pod is in the machine. Love you. Mom.

“Love you too”, he chuckles, and goes rummaging for his favorite espresso cup.

Breakfast manages to lift his spirits until he recalls last night’s Instagram fiasco. Martino finds the charger, checks his phone anxiously and finds no new messages from Niccolò or the boys. The cursed Pilates chat, however, is full of vibrant conversation. Martino feels an urge to quit it, once and for all, but curiosity takes over. Just a peep. 

oh my god guys. OH. MY. GOD. his shoulders. his waist. his everything. 

move aside, Coach Patrizia! is he single, does anyone know? 

he looks like a total fuckboy, come on... Pass. 

who cares! I would let Niccolò raw me right there on my little mat 

Martino coughs out a bit of buttered toast.

He scrolls through dozens of similar messages in sick fascination. It never occurred to him that girls could be so explicit. Seeing Niccolò’s body discussed in such detail gives him a weirdly protective feeling that he doesn’t care to explore.

On the way to class Martino plucks up the courage to re-read his chat with Niccolò. It’s much more embarrassing than he remembered, and listening to his own panicky, incoherent voice message makes him want to walk into traffic. No wonder Niccolò decided that Martino needed rescuing.

Would he really get in the car to come and find me?

Martino shakes his head to banish the thought. Nothing good can come out of daydreaming.

He thinks about texting Niccolò. Sorry for yesterday. I was drunk and looking at your pictures. I looked at them again when I was sober and I think you’re hot as fu-

No. He needs to talk to Niccolò and explain what happened. In person. Like an adult. Tomorrow.

The boys accept his apology easily enough, Luchino apologizing in return for taking liberties with his phone.

“Did that guy react in any way?” Luchino asks, and Martino wills his face to stay neutral.

“No. Not a peep from the guy.”

“Huh. He must be getting tons of likes all the time.”

 “Yeah, must be it. You guys finished the essay?” Martino is desperate to change the topic, and thankfully, Elia catches his drift.

 “I don’t know bro, did I finish the essay, or did the essay finish me?”

FRIDAY, 19 OCTOBER 2018

Thursday and most of Friday go by quietly, with very little to distract Martino from agonizing over the approaching talk with Niccolò. He acts out at least five possible scenarios in his head. All of them end with Niccolò asking why Martino was looking at his profile in the first place, and Martino swallowing his tongue. 

His nerves bring him to the gym twenty minutes early. Martino wanders into the eerily quiet Pilates room, walks up to the mirror wall to check his hair, finds a new pimple on his chin and a toothpaste stain on his shorts, picks up every size of dumbbell from yellow to grey, jumps to touch the ceiling... he can’t stay still. Finally, he sits on a gym ball and tries to keep his feet off the ground without sliding down. It's a daunting task, but eventually Martino finds his balance and starts counting in his mind.

“I like ambitious students!” Niccolò’s cheerful voice rings across the empty room, and Martino immediately flops over to the floor. “Oops, you okay? Sorry, I didn’t mean to spook you.”

Martino scrambles up hastily and dusts himself off. Why am I like this?

“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s fine. No worries.”

Niccolò swaggers over to him, one hand occupied with the boombox. It’s a blue tank top day. Martino bites the inside of his cheek, tears his eyes away from Niccolò’s collarbone and meets his eyes. They’re green, he realizes now, translucent, crinkling at the corners to match Niccolò’s wide smile.

“Early bird?” Niccolò asks, and Martino stares back at him in confusion.

“What? Ah, no, I just… I wanted to apologize to you. For Wednesday night. It was really stupid, my friends played a joke on me and then my phone died before I could explain…” Niccolò squeezes his shoulder gently and Martino’s speech dies in his throat.

“Marti, you don’t have to explain anything. I’m just glad you’re alright.”

“Niccolò…”

“Don’t worry about it, ok? And call me Nico.” 

Martino feels a huge weight lift off his chest. A relieved smile blooms on his face. “Okay…Nico.”

For a second they just stand there, beaming at each other, until Nico turns away to put the boombox down and plug it in.

“Since you’re here already, you can help me with a thing.” 

“A thing?” Martino crouches next to Nico, curious. 

“You can help me pick the music. We’ll be doing a lot of cardio today, no more lazing about.” Nico winks at him and Martino rolls his eyes, laughing. 

“So, what we were doing before, that was the easy part? I almost died in that plank.” 

Nico pouts. “Aw, don’t underestimate yourself. You might be new to this, but you have good core strength. It just takes a bit of practice. You’ll get there.” 

Once again, Martino feels absurdly pleased at the compliment. To distract himself, he grabs a CD from the pile that Nico seems to have conjured out of thin air. 

“MC Hammer, Spice Girls, and Destiny’s Child? How old is this thing?” 

“Well, what would you suggest, Mr Fresh Face? The 90s are where it’s at! Here, have your pick. Madonna, Ricky Martin, or Fatboy Slim for today. Final proposal.” 

“Nooooo….” Martino hides his face in his hands, giggling, feels Nico’s shoulder bump into his. “Alright, alright, Ricky Martin. My mom used to be crazy about him.” 

Nico looks impressed. “Your mom has taste. You should bring her along.” His smile is teasing, but Martino still gasps in fake horror. 

“I’m not doing Pilates next to my mom. She would surely tell Gio and he would never stop teasing me.” 

“Oh? And who’s Gio? Your brother?” 

“Gio’s my best friend.”

Nico stays silent, eyes searching Martino’s face, and Martino finds himself compelled to continue. He tells Nico about his squad, about the lost bet, about Peccio’s beer and Luchino’s plans to work out. He slyly omits the source of the Instagram link, but Nico doesn’t ask about that. He seems incredibly easy to talk to and so amused by Martino’s shenanigans that he can’t help but laugh out loud. Martino rakes his brain for more and more stories just to hear that sound again. 

The girls start filing in, chattering and laughing. Nico stands up to greet them warmly, giving out smiles and high fives, inquiring after absentees. Martino tries to tamp down his annoyance about the interruption. Somehow, he managed to forget there was a class about to start.

The Ricky Martin cardio routine goes about as well as Martino expected – by the end of it he’s so exhausted he can barely stand. Before leaving, Nico claps him on the back and calls him a trooper, and there’s a warm burst of feeling in Martino’s chest that bubbles up to his lips. 

“See you Monday, Nico?” 

The guy seems surprised, then gives Marti one of his million dollar smiles. “See you Monday, Marti! Enjoy your weekend.” 

Nico raises his fist, and after a moment’s confusion, Martino bumps his own against it. 

He's half-dressed in the locker room when his phone chimes with a series of texts from Elia. 

hey bro 

I thought about it and I’m ready to swap your punishment if you help me with translation homework

10 pages by the end of next week and you’re off the hook

deal? 

Martino chews on his lower lip. Taps his foot a few of times. Then starts typing. 

no deal

Chapter Text

SATURDAY, 20 OCTOBER 2018

Quiet weekends are the worst, Martino thinks. He tries to avoid them at any cost, tries to plan ahead, get out of the house this way or another. But this week, the week he started going to pilates, turned out to be so distracting that he forgot about such precautions.

Now he finds himself stuck in an empty house, his mom off to visit his aunt, Gio dragged away for another nephew’s christening, Elia doing the translation that Martino refused to help him with, and Luchi grounded after his porn folder got discovered. There’s nothing good in cinemas and he doesn’t feel like going out anyway, the sky over Rome overcast since morning.

It’s barely 12am, and here’s the full list of Martino’s doings so far:

• stayed in bed so late he felt like a literal sloth
• brushed his teeth
• watched Scottecs* videos over breakfast
• turned on the washing machine with his and his mom’s sheets
• played some FIFA
• tried to message Elia and got the middle finger emoji in response
• fin

His last resort – the pilates chat – has seemingly come to a standstill around 11pm yesterday. One of the girls announced she couldn’t find any signs of Nico having a girlfriend on his Instagram, prompting Eva to go on a long emoji-peppered rant about respecting other people’s privacy. Martino was torn between applauding Eva and feeling irrationally pleased about the ‘no girlfriend’ intelligence. As if that’s any of your business.  

It’s 3pm and here’s what's been added to the list:

• talked to mom on the phone, found out she’ll be back later than planned
• received an eye-wateringly cute picture of Gio holding his tiny pink-cheeked nephew
• overboiled his pasta while playing FIFA
• did half of his Latin homework
• looked out of the window to see that it started raining

Martino is still playing FIFA when his phone chimes. And chimes again. And again. It happens five more times before he finally pauses the game with a groan and goes to retrieve the device. The screen is crowded with Instagram notifications.

tuttaromaapiedi started following you

tuttaromaapiedi liked your post

tuttaromaapiedi liked your post

tuttaromaapiedi liked your post

tuttaromaapiedi liked your post

tuttaromaapiedi liked your post…

Brow knitted, Marti clicks through to see a profile filled with pictures of… shoes. Shoes of different styles and colors, old and new, captured candidly as their owner was standing in front of or walking past the camera. The captions are laconic: date and place, no tags. 24.09.2018, Trastevere. 5.10.2018, Termini. 14.10.2018, Piazza Navona.

Meanwhile, new likes keep rolling in and Martino feels weirdly on display, someone’s eyes browsing through his selfies and silly squad escapades in real time.

Then he gets a DM.

tuttaromaapiedi: Eye for an eye, stalker;)

martino.rametta: Nico?

tuttaromaapiedi: Hi Marti. How’s it going?

Martino’s face splits into a smile that he tries to smother before remembering he’s alone in the room. He flops onto the sofa, legs up, joystick abandoned on the floor.

martino.rametta: Bored. You?

tuttaromaapiedi: Same.

martino.rametta: No iron to pump?

As soon as he presses send, Martino wants to slap himself, but he doesn’t have to fret for long.

tuttaromaapiedi: Muscles need rest to grow, Marti. You lack the basics:P

tuttaromaapiedi: Shoulder ok after yesterday?

So Nico noticed how Martino was rolling his shoulder and wincing after another endless plank. Martino doesn’t know what to do with this information. 

martino.rametta: Fine and dandy. What’s up with all the shoes?

tuttaromaapiedi: Long story… Can I call you?

tuttaromaapiedi: If you’re not busy that is

Martino swallows loudly. For the first time since the chat started he stops to think where this is going. And where he wants it to go. And whether Nico has any idea about Martino’s inner turmoil. The safe option, reason tells him, would be to put a lid on it. Tell Nico he’s busy with something, out with friends, shopping with mom. Anything. But the day has been such a drag before Nico reached out to him. What’s the worst that could happen?

He sends Nico his number. 

“So, you stalk people and put pictures of them on Instagram without their consent.”

“No, I pick a spot and watch the passers-by. If I think someone’s shoes are interesting, I snap a picture. It’s not a crime, Marti.”

“Mhm.” Martino makes sure to put as much scepticism into his hum as possible.

Nico huffs, exasperated. “The important thing is that those shoes tell a story. About the person’s life, about where they’re going, how they feel about themselves.”

“You can deduce that from looking at someone’s shoes? What about the shoes I wear to the gym then?”

Nico is making thoughtful sounds, like he’s actually pondering the question. “Okay...You have several pairs of Nikes but those are your favorite. You also wear them outside – which is against the gym’s policy, by the way – and you’ve been taking good care of them, so it’s not obvious that you’ve had them for almost two years. How did I do?”

Martino gapes at the kitchen wall, the knife in his right hand suspended above the chopping board.

“How do you know all this?”

Nico’s laugh on the other end of the line is warm and a little smug. He starts explaining the thought process, how the color of Martino’s shoelaces points to the year the shoes were issued, etc., etc. Martino’s eyes land on the oven’s clock and he realizes that they’ve been talking about everything and nothing for two hours already.

He’s been wandering around the house, phone sandwiched between ear and shoulder, completing chores and touching things absentmindedly as Nico told him about his shoe Instagram and his volunteering experience in London, the weird people he meets at the gym and the professors he has at uni. Nico's been asking a lot of questions as well, about Martino's favorite sports teams and albums and video games. It doesn’t seem to matter to him that Martino is not well-traveled or in any way cool. They never run out of things to discuss.

“Marti? You there?”

Nico’s concerned tone snaps Martino back to the present. He tosses the finely chopped garlic into the bowl, sprinkles it with olive oil.

“I’m listening, go on.”

Nico sighs. “I must be boring you already.”

“Not true!” Martino protests. “Please, keep talking. I’ll just put you on speaker ok, I need to put the focaccia in the oven.”

Putting Nico on speaker is a great decision, because suddenly his deep voice is filling every corner of the little kitchen.

“So you’re a great cook, huh?”

Martino shakes his head as if Nico could see him. “I’m not a great anything, I just don’t like going hungry.” He opens the oven and winces against the wave of heat that hits his face. “This is an easy recipe anyway, I learned it from my grandmother in Cecina.”

“A recipe passed down through generations? I’m sure it’s going to be delicious.”

Martino smirks as he slides in the tray with the dough and shuts the oven door. “Not as delicious as a protein shake, I bet.”

There it is again, Nico’s infectious laugh. “I’ll have you know, my grandma makes the best protein shakes in all of Umbria.”

Martino snorts and returns to the sofa, places the phone on the armrest by his side. They continue trading silly jokes about grandmas and sports nutrition until Martino hears a distant ping followed by the rustle of freshly-made popcorn pouring into a bowl. “Getting ready for a movie night, Nico?” He’s going to hang up soon.

“Eh, you know. Caught a rerun of Judgment Day on Rai 4.”

“Yeah? I never saw it.”

A scandalized gasp. “Are you serious? You can’t be serious. You’re telling me you missed the best action movie of the 90s?”

“There he goes with his 90s fetish, again.” Martino feigns nonchalance, although Nico’s reaction is making him self-conscious. Way to let him know how boring you are.

Nico ignores the dig entirely. “We’re going to fix this. Turn the TV on, quick.”

“You do realize you can’t order me around when we’re not in the gym?”

“You got anything better to do?”

And suddenly Martino knows, deep in his gut, that he’d do whatever Nico asks of him. “Not really.”

“Go on then, I’ll explain the plot on the go. You didn’t miss much.”

Martino is flipping through the channels to Rai 4 while Nico goes off about Skynet and the war of humans against the machines. It slowly dawns on him that Nico is not planning to hang up. They're going to watch a whole movie together.

“You’re gonna LOVE Sarah Connor, Marti. We can’t be friends if you don’t, sorry.”

Martino is smiling so hard his cheeks hurt.

The chase scene has Martino on the edge of his seat, and both of them whoop when the truck of the bad Terminator goes up in flames as Arnold and the boy speed away on their bike.

“Was he destroyed?”

“We’re not even halfway through the movie, Marti, what do you think? Ah, it’s on commercial break again. You have time to grab some snacks.”

“Shit, the focaccia!” Martino shoots up from the sofa and half-runs, half-slides to the kitchen in his socks. Thankfully, he gets there just in time to save a slightly overdone focaccia from burning to a crisp.  

“Did it turn out ok?” Nico’s voice filters in from the living room where Martino left the phone. Like he’s actually sitting there, waiting for Martino to come back with a plate of food for them both... 

Martino has to yell to make sure Nico hears him across the room. “My nonna would bin this, but I think it’s good enough!”

“Snap a picture! I want to judge for myself.”

“Bossy,” Martino murmurs to himself, carefully cutting the focaccia and arranging it on the plate to bring along.  

“I know now why you cry….but it’s something I can never do.”

The good Terminator starts lowering himself into a pool of molten steel, John and his mother looking on solemnly. Martino is barely holding it together.

“Oh, by the way, did you know they changed the Hasta la vista, baby for Spanish-speaking audiences? He says Sayonara, baby instead. I didn’t even know until last year when I was in Madrid... I’d watched this scene like a million times before and I never knew! Crazy, right?...Marti?”

“What?” Martino’s voice breaks, giving him away.

Nico’s voice goes soft, uncertain. “Are you crying?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Awww, Marti... I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have rambled when you were having a moment.” Nico sounds genuinely guilty.

“Oh, fuck off. I just thought they’d be, like, a family by the end and now it’s just him and his mom against the world and... yeah.”

“It’s really a bittersweet ending. But you liked it overall, no?”

“I loved it. Thank you.” For everything.

“You’re welcome.”

There’s a quiet moment while Nico arranges some plates and rinses his glass. Martino turns the speaker off, puts the phone to his ear. “I’m running out of battery again.”

Nico laughs, clearly remembering Wednesday night. Before Martino can add anything else, he hears the telltale sounds of his mom entering the flat and dropping her bag in the hallway. 

“I’m home! Wow, what’s that wonderful smell? I’m hungry like a wolf!”

“Is that your mom? She seems cool.”

“Yeah, gotta go, sorry.” It feels wrong to end the conversation this way. “Was a pleasure talking to you.” A pleasure talking to you? Are you sixty?

“Same. Goodnight, Marti.”

Martino can tell Nico is smiling, and he can’t help smiling back. “Goodnight, Nico. Cià cià.”

He hangs up. 

The call timer says 5:05:43.

Chapter Text

MONDAY, 22 OCTOBER 2018

“And then he started crying, actually screaming, and his face was all red. He looked like a big angry plum.” 

“I would probably do the same if I accidentally peed all over my godmother during my christening.” 

“Gross! And you had to hold him right after?!”

“Nah, they changed him into a clean dress for the photos. Look.” 

Gio sits down between Luca and Elia on the windowsill and starts swiping through photos of himself, all dressed up and holding a white bundle with his nephew’s pink head sticking out of it.

Luchino squints at the baby suspiciously. “He doesn’t look like Gio, I don’t think.”

Gio’s eyes roll back as Elia guffaws and starts explaining to Luchino that the baby of Gio’s cousin has no business looking like Gio. Martino misses all of it, eyes glued to his own phone. 

Nico didn’t call again, but Martino received a text from him on Sunday morning – a very serious one, ordering him to keep away from Terminator 3 and any sequel that came after, on pain of death from planking. 

Since then, Nico's been sending him pictures of the most ridiculous shoes he encountered on the streets of Rome, from Spongebob-themed clogs to stilettos so thin and high they looked like candy-colored torture devices. Martino responded with silly memes and pictures of his grandma’s panettone from last Christmas. 

Right now, Martino is waiting for the latest of Nico’s videos to load. By the looks of it, it’s a puppy climbing a gym ball. 

“What are you smiling at?”

A sense of déjà vu washes over Martino as he turns to face a curious Elia. “Pictures of your mom,” he retorts readily, sliding off the windowsill to his feet. “Let’s go, I don’t want to miss the test because Gio is daydreaming about having babies with Eva.” 

“Oh, fuck off!” Gio feigns offence but his eyes are all soft. Martino shakes his head. Sottone. 

Marti’s heart feels light on the way to pilates. He managed to do it, he thinks. In less than a week, he nipped his lewd impulses in the bud and made a cool friend instead. Not that he doesn’t appreciate his squad (he’d die for them), but he’s known them for a very long time. Sometimes it feels like he knows what each of them is going to say before they open their mouths.

And Nico – Nico is so exciting and unpredictable. Martino wants to know more about him, wants to have him in his life in whatever capacity. Wants to be funny and interesting for Nico's sake.

He must be glad to connect with someone from the group who wouldn't develop a stupid crush on him after some friendly conversation. How ironic that his only option is a closeted gay guy! 

On Sunday, Marti made the momentous decision to block the account of restless_nico_2000. No more stalking. Nico deserves respect, like all of his friends. So what if Nico is hot and dorky and his voice can dip so low that Martino feels it flow over him like a warm wave? 

You can do this. After Gio, you can definitely do this. 

Martino finds Nico surrounded by the girls, their expressions serious and focused as he demonstrates how to use resistance bands properly. Nico's eyebrows shoot up and all but disappear under his curls when he sees Martino enter, his smile somewhat apologetic. Martino smiles in return and waves his hand in a don’t-get-distracted-for-my-sake gesture as he walks to his spot and drops down his mat. 

The soundtrack for today is Sugababes (not that Martino could tell, Nico just announces it proudly before pressing play). Martino thoroughly enjoys the workout – the resistance band adds difficulty to the most mundane exercises. Obviously, Nico has invented some ungodly way to use the band while planking, and he winks at Martino as he explains it. Martino huffs and rolls his eyes, but still considers it a point of pride that he’s able to hold the plank till the end. 

He wants to stay and chat with Nico afterward, but Eva and Silvia just won’t leave the room. Martino feels constrained by their presence, unable to slip back into the easy banter he had with Nico over the phone. Next time, I guess. He nods at Nico with a tight-lipped smile and leaves. 

His mood is sour as he peels off his sweaty clothes, grabs a towel and heads for the gym showers. A couple of guys from the weights section are there, their heavily tattooed, heavily muscled bodies almost too big for the stalls they’re in. Martino squashes down the intimidation that floods his gut every time he encounters such a grotesque display of masculinity. Nothing about this view is appealing to him. If he had the choice, he’d pick a human-sized guy for a boyfriend, thank you very much. 

Martino has just started lathering his hair, eyes squeezed shut to keep the foam out, when there’s the sound of bare feet slapping the tiles, getting closer and closer. Someone turns on the shower in the stall next to his, sighs contentedly as the stream picks up temperature. 

“Good session, no? I like using elastic bands. Really helps with building stamina.” 

Oh fuck. Before he can stop himself, his traitor eyes are open and darting to the right. Even distorted by the frosted glass, the outline of Nico’s body – gloriously naked, arching towards the stream – turns Martino’s knees to jelly. He holds onto the wall, hand almost slipping, and wills his tongue to work, but it seems to be glued to his palate. 

“Mhm.” This is the best he can manage, and he hopes Nico will take it as a hint that the shower room is not the place for chit-chat. Please, don’t make me talk. 

“I’m thinking ankle weights for next time. They don’t have those in this gym so I’ll have to borrow them somewhere. But they’re fun. You’ll see.” 

Martino can barely breathe. The water pelts down on his shoulders, the hiss of it combining with the thumping of blood in his ears. Behind the partition, Nico is never still, turning this way and that under the stream, raising his arms to sluice water over his armpits, bending his long neck to the side, busy hands running up and down his torso. Blessed Virgin Mary, have mercy on me. 

“Ah, shit. Hey, Marti, can I borrow some of your shampoo? Left mine in the locker.” 

Without a conscious thought, Martino grabs the bottle and jams it into Nico’s open hand, outstretched over the top of the partition. He’s careful not to let their fingers touch. 

“Sandalwood? How fancy of you, Marti! Ohhh, smells amazing.” There’s a loud squelch, like Nico's emptied half the bottle onto his head. 

Martino’s eyes fixate on the floor, where he can see Nico’s feet shuffle slightly by the shower drain. The shampoo suds reach his ankles, then heels, sliding lazily down onto the tiles.

Martino can’t take this anymore. 

“Gotta go, see ya.” He shuts the water off and steps out of the stall, wrapping the towel clumsily around his hips. 

“Wait, what about your–“ Nico tries helplessly. His wet hair is plastered all over his face, blinding him. 

For an endless second, Martino is rooted to the spot, taking all of Nico in.

Then, he flees. 

It’s only in the locker room that he realizes he still has shampoo in his hair.

Chapter Text

TUESDAY, 23 OCTOBER 2018

Stepping back under the stream feels like relief, Martino’s chilled skin instantly warming up again. He takes his time, running his fingers carefully through the wet strands, rinsing the shampoo out. Completely soaked and slicked back, his hair loses the curl and gets so dark you can hardly tell it’s actually red. Only the freckles always give him away.

He’s not scared or surprised to hear someone join him in the stall. Two familiar hands come to rest on his waist, thumbs caressing the skin. Martino smiles to himself. There you are.

“Is this ok, Marti?” The water is so hot, and still this voice makes him shiver.

“Closer.”

A step. They’re both under water now, hidden, protected. It’s still not enough.

“Closer, Ni.” He doesn’t know why he says Nico’s name like that, but it sits right on his tongue. Nobody else is allowed to call you that.

In response, a smooth wide chest presses into Martino from behind. The hands on his waist tug him back, guiding him to lean fully into the embrace. Letting Martino feel Nico’s desire against his body. Nico rolls his hips, then again, like he can’t help himself. Martino never felt so wanted in his life.

Face tilted up, he rests the back of his head on Nico’s strong shoulder. Martino’s arms have been hanging uselessly by his sides, and now he reaches back blindly to grab Nico’s firm butt and force him closer still. Martino smirks at the gasp that earns him.

“Marti…tell me what you want.”

Nico’s hands roam over his body, unashamed. Fingertips catching on his nipples, dipping into his belly button. Nico breathes faster and Martino rises and falls with the movements of the other's chest.

“I want you.” He says it so quietly, it shouldn’t be audible over the water beating down on the tiles. But Nico hears him.  

One of his hands comes up to the exposed column of Martino’s throat. When Martino swallows, his Adam’s apple grazes Nico’s palm like a caress. The other hand slides quickly down Martino’s stomach, following the narrow trail of hair straight to his dick. Martino is so hard, the first touch makes him keen and clutch Nico’s forearm.

Nico shushes him gently, nuzzles his cheek. After a moment, Martino calms down and nods, relaxing his grip. Nico starts jerking him off slow, observing Martino’s reactions, and picks up pace little by little when he meets no resistance. Martino tries to stay quiet, but it’s impossible when he’s so close already. By some miracle, Nico knows exactly how Marti likes to be touched, his fingers clever and confident on his dick, his hand never tiring.

Just as Martino thinks it can’t get any better, Nico whispers hotly in his ear God, Marti, you’re so gorgeous, you have no idea what you do to me, I want to make you all mine... It drives Martino crazy, he can’t hold on any longer.

“Ni…I’m…” His back arches and he pants through the cloud of steam around them, struggling to get the words out.

Nico turns his head and licks a long stripe from the base of Martino’s neck up to his ear. Then another one over his cheek, making Martino wince. And another one, from his chin to his nose. Nico’s tongue is hot but his nose is so, so cold… Martino recoils, trying to escape the relentless licking, swatting Nico away. His palm meets a hairy muzzle, and he opens his eyes with a whole-body shudder.

Dark glossy eyes stare curiously at him, two droopy ears half-cocked above them. A beat passes, then he’s being licked again.

“Argh!” Martino shoves the dog off the bed, head spinning with a mix of disgust and residue arousal. The beast pounces right back, excited to have found a playmate, and starts tugging the duvet off, which makes Martino instantly aware of the unfortunate situation in his pants that he’d rather keep private.

He grabs the edge of the escaping duvet and holds on for dear life. “Fuck off! Fuck off you big dumb–”

“Sweetheart, are you awake? Is Silvio bothering you?” His mother’s voice sounds closer and closer and the damned dog has already dragged the duvet halfway off. Martino has no choice. 

He tumbles to the floor and yanks the sweaty sheet into his lap just as Giulia Rametta appears in the doorframe, radiating cheer.

“Good morning, my favorite child!”

“I am your only child,” Martino grunts, not taking his eyes off the dog.

“So? Breakfast is served, hurry up. Silvio already had his.”

“Take him away, I beg you. What is he doing here anyway?” His stomach sinks. “Is grandma alright?”

Giulia’s face softens. “Grandma’s fine, she just asked me to take Silvio to the good vet today. She doesn’t trust the one in Cecina.”

Of course. Only the best for the dog named after Berlusconi. Martino’s grandma has the weirdest sense of humor, and the opinion in the family is that Martino inherited it.

He watches anxiously as his mother detaches Silvio from the duvet and nudges him out of the room. A couple more steps and he’ll be on his own, dealing with…whatever that was earlier.

“You want me to close the door?”

“Yes!” Please, go away already.

“But the breakfast…”

“I’ll be ready in five minutes, I swear, just PLEASE—“

“Alright, alright.” She pauses with her hand on the door handle. Martino is instantly alarmed by the sly expression on her face.

“Martino.” Her eyes narrow and flick to the balled up sheet he’s still clutching in his lap. “Is this what I think it is?”

“MOM!” Blood rushes to his face in a mortifying wave, but she just shuts the door on him, laughing merrily all the way to the kitchen.

“You can’t lie to your mother, Martino! Five minutes, or Silvio gets your breakfast!”

Martino stretches out on the floor with a sigh, rubbing his eyes to push away the images from the dream. Fuck, it felt so real. It doesn’t help that Martino knows for a fact what Nico’s hands feel like on his body, how his voice sounds in Martino’s ear, has seen the routes water droplets take down Nico's spine. There's just too much material available for his wayward imagination. 

As if in a trance, Martino lifts his hand and lays it on his throat. His pulse throbs against the grounding weight of it, still coming down from the high. His eyes slide shut. Tell me what you want.

One of the best things about his mother, Martino thinks, is that she doesn’t push unless the situation calls for it. When he shows up for breakfast exactly five minutes later, there is no prying, no smirks, and no teasing. They talk plans for the rest of the week over coffee and toast (her: taking the dog to Cecina on Friday, him: nothing much apart from homework), she ruffles his bedhead, puts Silvio on a leash, and promptly leaves the house.

The front door clicks shut behind them and Martino is alone with his thoughts again.

Taking a shower seems like the worst kind of irony right now, but an experimental armpit sniff persuades him there’s no way around it. The plan is to do a quick rinse, throw some clothes on, and run like mad to catch the bus to school. What Martino ends up doing is staring into the void for a full ten minutes, the old pipes turning the water hotter or colder at random without him noticing.

He’s promised himself it won’t happen again. He won’t ruin another friendship over a pointless crush on a straight guy. Above all, he won’t go back to being a scheming, two-faced asshole.

You’re better than this. Nico deserves better than this.

What is wrong with him? Why is his heart latching onto every guy with an easy smile who shows him the smallest bit of kindness? Ok, not Elia and Luchino maybe, but that’s different.

Gio's different, too. You never dreamed of Gio’s hands on your dick.

It's true. His feelings for Gio were overwhelming sometimes, and he wanted Gio’s undivided attention so much that he almost succeeded in breaking him and Eva up. Martino hated seeing them together, kissing and touching and cooing over each other. He wanted Eva out of the picture, but it never occurred to him to put himself in Eva’s place, even in his fantasies.

Nico, though… Martino exhales, his shoulders sagging in defeat. Nico's goofy grin across the pilates room. Nico’s animated voice, prattling on and on about Martino’s shoelaces. Nico, holding him tight, grazing his teeth over Martino’s neck.

What’s the point of lying to yourself if you’re too weak to stick to the lie?

Martino wants all of Nico, and he needs Nico to want all of him. As impossible as it is.

He shows up on time for the second period, nodding at the boys and immediately sticking his face into the textbook. Rows of formulas dance before his eyes, the explanation underneath making less and less sense with every rereading. He didn’t get any homework done yesterday night.

During the break, Elia plays spacca nocche with Luca, betting on coffees from the school's macchinetta. They make an awful lot of noise, but somehow Martino is still able to space out, staring out of the window. 

His phone vibrates with a new message. Seeing Nico’s name in the notification makes Martino’s heart thump uncomfortably in his chest. Calm down, stupid, he has no idea about your wet dreams. Still, he opens their chat with trepidation, as if expecting Nico to scold him.

Nico (pilates): hi Marti, you forgot this yesterday!

Attached is a photo of his shampoo bottle. Judging by the background, it was taken in the locker room. Martino swallows, fighting the tide of recent memories, when another message pops up.

Nico (pilates): I can bring it over if you need it?

Oh god, the image of Nico on Martino's doorstep, grinning ear to ear with the goddamn shampoo in hand... He’d have to invite him in, get him a coffee as a thank you... No way. Yes. Absolutely not. YES. Nico starts typing again and Martino feels helpless, pinned to his seat like a butterfly on display, staring at the empty text bubble and waiting for the next blow.

Nico (pilates): Or I’ll just bring it to the gym tomorrow. You choose:)

“Marti! Tell him what you want!”

Martino’s head whips up to stare at Gio. “Huh?”

“Luchino lost three times in a row, means he owes coffees to all of us. What do you want?”

“Uh... nothing for me, thanks.”

“Come onnnn, bro, you’re missing the point!” Elia throws up his arms like he’s in a Greek tragedy. Luchino shrugs and runs off to get two orders instead of three while Gio gives Martino a puzzled look.

“You ok, Marti?”

“Why wouldn’t I be ok.” Now he surely knows something’s up.

Gio frowns and perches on the desk in front of Martino. ”All I know is that you were all chirpy yesterday and now you’re... the opposite of that. Something's troubling you. Maybe I can help?”

Sweet, self-sacrificing Gio. What does he want Martino to say? Yeah, so there’s this guy that I see every time I close my eyes, and he has no idea how I feel about him. I don’t know if I can stay away and I’m afraid this will hurt me very badly. There’s fuck all you can do about any of that, bro.

“I didn’t sleep well. That stupid dog...”

Martino spends the rest of his classes thinking of a proper reply to send Nico. In the end, he doesn’t send any.

Chapter Text

WEDNESDAY, 24 OCTOBER 2018

The bus jumps on a pothole and Martino sways sharply, one hand tightening on the handrail just in time to keep him from falling over. He does accidentally step on an elderly man’s foot and apologizes profusely, only to have the man stare back in unblinking fury until a bunch of people get off and Martino escapes to the seat in the back. The whole thing is ridiculous, but it unsettles him even more than he already was. Focus. Only two stops left. 

Only two stops before he will get off the bus, cross the street, and find himself in front of the gym. Only two stops before he will see Nico again. Nico, who is most likely confused and irritated after Martino walked out on him and ignored his messages. 

This is not normal, this is not how friends are supposed to behave. What are you going to say, Martino? Will you be able to look him in the eye? 

Surely, he can’t tell the truth. That he couldn’t concentrate in class all day. That he reread all of their messages in the last three days and cringed at his own blatant flirting. That he stayed up very late, exhausting himself with trashy TV. That it didn’t help at all and he was waking up throughout the night with Nico’s phantom touch on his skin. That in the dark his weakness took over, his mind chasing those fake memories and replaying them until their sweetness faded away. 

No, Martino can’t say any of that. But he can’t make himself lie to Nico either. He steps off the bus without a decision.

The walk from the bus stop to the gym is way too short, no matter how he drags his feet. He stops at the entrance. His watch tells him he’s seven minutes late already. Martino has never been late to pilates before – Nico praised him for that, too. Maybe this is a sign. He could turn on his heel right now, catch another bus, be home in half an hour. Fuck Elia and his checkups with Eva. Fuck Eva, too, for cooperating. He doesn’t owe them shit. 

This could be simple. Just message Nico that you don’t feel well. Technically, you wouldn’t even be lying. If he did that several times in a row, maybe Nico would get the hint and find someone else to watch movies with over the phone. Martino’s jaw clenches at the thought. 

He checks his watch again. Ten minutes late. Oh well. 

Martino makes a few hesitant steps away from the building, staring down at his sneakers. Then he turns around and sprints to the entrance. 

The class is in full swing when Martino sneaks into the room, the music upbeat and decidedly more modern than usual. All spots in the front are taken, so he has to make his way between the stretching girls and set up camp in the corner. For a few seconds Martino can’t find Nico, but then he catches sight of him two rows away, occupied with adjusting Silvia’s posture. Nico looks serious, lips in a thin line and eyebrows knitted, like the task at hand is barely distracting him from some deep-seated worry. He nods at Silvia gravely and heads for his commanding post by the boombox. 

“Martino, hi!” Silvia’s voice rings over the music. This girl has eyes on her back, I swear. 

Nico turns sharply back to Silvia, eyes following her line of sight to a quietly panicking Martino. Their eyes meet. The corners of Nico’s mouth twitch and go up, up, up, the furrow between his brows smoothing out, every line of his face rearranging into a look of surprised delight. It’s like watching a time-lapse of a sunrise. 

Martino misses the moment his own face splits into the stupidest smile, and then it’s too late to hide it. Nico is still happy to see him. 

They mouth hi at each other, grinning. Nico’s eyes sweep over Marti, like he can’t quite believe he’s really here. Martino’s palms start to sweat under such scrutiny. Luckily, the track changes and Nico’s attention is snapped back to the group. He claps his hands, making Silvia jump.

“Alright, everyone, let’s move on to squats!” 

About halfway into the session, the same authoritative clap announces a five-minute break for water and “gearing up”. Nico drags out a cardboard box and tells everyone to come and grab a pair of ankle weights. Martino comes up to the box last, wondering what color of the rainbow his pair is going to be. 

“I’ve got something special for you,” Nico smiles and sits down Indian-style, inviting Martino to join him with a pat on the floor. Martino obeys while Nico rummages through his duffel bag. 

“There you go! A heavier set for the gentleman.” Nico’s head bobs joyfully, like he’s offering Martino a pair of kittens instead of plain black ankle weights. “Try them on.” 

Martino is wrapping one of the strips around his leg when he feels warm, timid fingers wrap around his left arm, sending electric sparks through his entire body. He turns to see Nico inspecting his elbow. 

“This looks painful. What happened?” 

It takes an embarrassingly long moment for Martino to catch on. Right. The bruise. 

“It’s nothing. I uhhh, fell off the bed. By accident.” 

“Bad dreams?” Nico tears his eyes from the bruise to look up at Martino with concern. His thumb sweeps over the purple mark.

Is this happening. Am I imagining this. “Not... really?”

Right now, he couldn’t lie if he wanted to. Nico is so close – Nico’s face is so close – Martino’s stomach feels like it did when he was eight, going too high on the swing at the park. He glances down for something to do, to keep his composure, and stretches his arm as if to peek at the offending elbow. Nico must take it for discomfort, because he snatches his hand back at once. Martino’s skin tingles where his fingertips have just been.

Nico clears his throat. “Look, Marti, about Monday… I’m sorry.” He sounds uncomfortable, sheepish. Martino doesn’t like that. 

“Sorry about what?” 

Nico’s eyes scan his face for some confirmation that Martino is being ironic, but there’s nothing but genuine confusion there. What can Nico possibly be sorry for? 

“I shouldn’t have…” Nico shakes his head, starts again. “I used up all your shampoo.” 

Martino has never heard a lie delivered so poorly before. “It's fine, really.” 

“I’ll get you a new one, okay?”   

“Okay.” 

“Okay!”

Nico perks up, let off the hook. The smile takes over his face again and he springs to his feet, urging the group to get ready for act two. Martino watches him bustle about, checking the straps on everyone’s ankles, tinkering with the boombox, re-tying the bandana tighter around his forehead, and it strikes him how much he missed being around Nico. It’s pathetic, he knows. They haven’t seen each other for a day and a half at the most, but it felt much longer.

The idea of skipping pilates today, and every time after that, seems preposterous. He would never go through with it. 

Martino has no idea what he’s doing here anymore, but it’s the only place he wants to be. 

If you asked Martino about his top three epiphanies, he would reply with a shrug. He doesn’t remember the exact moment he realized that Babbo Natale was not real, or that he wasn't into girls. Maybe those things came to him gradually. But right now, this very second, he thinks he might be having the first full-blown epiphany of his life. 

It starts with Nico putting on a funky tune and telling them to do twenty pushups and twenty crunches as the last challenge for today. Just one minute in, the enthusiasm of the group is rapidly dwindling, but Martino’s mind is set on completing his task. He’s done with the pushups before everyone else, sitting up on his heels to catch his breath. His eyes pan over dozens of girls huffing and groaning into the floor, and suddenly lock with Nico’s in the mirror. 

Martino wouldn’t be able to explain what’s so special about this one look. Maybe it’s the illusion of them being alone in the room, or maybe it’s every smile and every word they exchanged today surging to the surface with a new power. It feels like the first time they are completely honest with each other, layers of double meanings falling away with a whoosh. 

Time grinds to a halt. All he can see is Nico’s face, open and hopeful and longing. All he can hear is the silly song.  

Come to me, baby
Don’t be shy
Don’t be shy
Don’t be shy 

The tip of Nico’s tongue darts out to wet his lips, and Martino takes a shaky breath. It’s not just me, is it?

Chapter Text

THURSDAY, 25 OCTOBER 2018

Martino waits at the school gate, digging the nose of his shoe into the cracked pavement and chewing his lip. He ditched the last class of the day to avoid a test that he didn’t prepare for, and now he needs to know how it went. But that’s not the only reason he’s here.

The clarity that yesterday’s revelation brought didn’t last long. One moment it felt like he was looking straight into Nico’s soul. The next, they were back in the room full of people, eye contact broken, reality rushing in like cold water. The whiplash was so strong that he walked out of the room with Nico’s ankle weights still on. Another achievement on your dumbass resume. 

He stayed in the showers way longer than necessary, half-expecting Nico to turn up and half-dreading seeing him again after what just happened. Nico didn’t turn up, though, not even to get his property back. A peculiar mixture of relief and disappointment stayed with Martino the whole ride home.

God knows he tried to do some homework last night — seated on the floor of his room, surrounded by textbooks, door locked to keep Silvio away. But his mind kept doubling back to Nico, retracing their conversations, searching for deeper meaning in every touch.

It’s all in your head. He’s the same with the girls.

Thoughts like these would be immediately countered with the mental screenshot of Nico as he saw him in the mirror: kneeling on the mat, one stray curl plastered to his temple with sweat, eyes so warm and unguarded. And his mouth.

“Ground control to Rametta! You there, bro?”

Martino startles, as he seems to do more and more these days. Gio is in front of him, alone, thumbing the strap of his backpack. Just the sight of him helps Martino’s anxiety wind down a bit.

“Oh, hi. How did the test go?”

They start walking slowly down the street with no real direction or purpose. Martino savors the feeling of peace for long minutes, letting Gio fill in the silences between his responses, using the time to pluck up his courage. They have almost reached the Tiber when he’s finally ready to say the thing.

“Listen, Gio… I wanted to ask for your advice. On a private matter.”

Giovanni immediately abandons his rant about Boccia and throws a glance at the side of Marti’s face. “Sure. Go on.”

This is it. His chance to unburden himself to the only person in the world capable of sorting out his messy feelings. But Martino still has his doubts. So he goes about it with extra caution.

“I think I like someone.” He peeks over at Gio.

“Ok, bro. Glad to hear it.” A pause. “Does this…someone…like you back?”

How Gio manages to always ask the right questions, Martino doesn’t know, but he wants to hug him right now.

“Could be. I’m not sure. It’s complicated.” More complicated than I can admit right now.

Gio bites the inside of his cheek. “Hmm. Well, why do you think they might like you? Did you notice any signs? Is there a pull?”

“A pull?” Martino has to huff out a laugh. Gio sounds like a relationships expert off daytime TV. 

“Yeah, bro. It’s like gravity between two people. If you have it, you want to learn more about them, to make them smile. You find reasons to touch them. Did you notice any of that?”

Giovanni’s words reassure and terrify Martino in equal measure. Maybe he did notice some of that. “I suppose. We met several times and we texted quite a lot over the weekend…”

“So far so good…”

“And we saw each other naked once.”

Gio's eyebrows shoot up. “Oh?”

“It was kind of by accident. But now that I think about it, maybe it wasn't.” The thought of Nico deliberately undressing to get Martino’s attention...  He’s not going to dwell on that now.

“Also... that person is always noticing me. Little things about me that nobody else cares about. You know?” Too much is slipping out now. He’s been aching to talk about Nico with someone. “The last time we met, I think we had a moment.”

Giovanni is intrigued. “Like what? A touch?”

“No, we looked at each other and I felt something, like... an understanding.” There’s really no better way to put it, but Gio seems to understand.

“From what you told me, I’d say you have a chance here, Marti.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. The signs are good. I say, give it a shot. If you want to.”

If I want to. Until this moment, Martino hasn’t really pictured himself approaching Nico with the intention to – what? Flirt with him? Ask him out? He has no idea how to do any of those things. Not with boys, for sure.

“Why are you wincing? You don’t think it's worth the trouble?”

“I just don’t want to fuck it up, I guess? Maybe I read it all wrong.”

Gio’s eyebrows arch in the way they do when Martino is being dense. “Come on, what’s the worst that could happen?”

I could get my nose broken? No, it’s hard to believe Nico would do a thing like that. Almost as hard as to believe he’s interested in someone like Martino.

Once again, Gio proves to be a mindreader. “Marti, you’re a catch, trust me. Everybody says so.”

“Yeah, you and my mom.”

This makes Giovanni laugh heartily, clapping Martino on the back. “Don’t forget your grandma.”

“Fuck off.” Now Martino is laughing, too. A terrible hope starts to grow in his chest.

“Is that someone from your pilates thing?” After a quick glance at Gio Martino decides it’s safe to admit this much. He nods, getting an impressed whistle in return. “Fuck me, Elia is going to hate this!”

“Please don’t tell anyone. I’m serious.”

Gio pretends to zip up his mouth and throw the key into the Tiber. “If you want to be absolutely sure that person is into you, there’s one thing you could do. I tried it on Eva with great results.”

Martino’s skeptical look doesn’t deter Giovanni. “Come on, let’s grab a bus to my place and I’ll show you.”

It must be past 12, because Martino can’t hear anything from the restaurant on the ground floor of their building. The only sounds in the room are his own breathing and the creaking of his bedframe as he wiggles into a more comfortable position.  

He thought that another night of inappropriate dreams about Nico would be the worst scenario, but now his brain won’t let him sleep at all. 

It’s been two hours since he sent the message. Sorry for abducting these. I had to leave early and forgot I had them on. The attached picture of the ankle weights on the floor of his room took him five tries to get right.

But Nico hasn’t responded. Maybe he is busy, maybe he is asleep, or maybe he doesn't care. Martino sighs and turns to his side. The room is dark but his eyes have adjusted enough to see the outline of his backpack, saggy and unassuming, Giovanni’s secret weapon hidden in its depths. Would he dare to use it on Nico?

His phone hums and floods the room with eerie blue light. Martino fumbles to get it, squints against the brightness of the screen.

Nico (pilates): And I still have your shampoo. Hostage exchange tomorrow?

Martino presses his lips together to keep the smile from spreading and quickly taps out his reply. Ok see you then! Goodnight

Nico (pilates): Goodnight Marti

He flops to his belly, hugs the pillow tight, and falls asleep in minutes.

FRIDAY, 26 OCTOBER 2018

Giggles and whispers follow him from the door to his usual spot in the second row. Martino tries to pay them no mind, but it’s really difficult to stay unfazed when he accidentally meets Eva’s eyes, widened in surprise. The smirk that starts spreading over her lips makes his heart sink.

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.

<15 hours earlier >

“Believe me, Marti, this is the bomb. Nobody will be able to resist you in my Lucky Tank Top of Seduction. 100% effectiveness, Garau guarantee.”

Martino eyes himself in Giovanni’s (woefully small) mirror. The so-called tank top of seduction is just a wisp of light blue cotton, loose and soft and draping over his body in a way that shows off three times more skin than he’s used to.

“Gio, it’s almost see-through. I feel naked.”

“This is the point! You show off your muscles, you get noticed, and then it’s a matter of natural charm. Just try to look cool and collected.”

Martino isn’t sure he has much to show off, but Giovanni’s confidence is infectious. “Where did you get this? Magic Mike fandom convention?”

“Ha, ha. How about some gratitude? I kept this tucked away ever since that time I wore it to P.E. and Eva agreed to go out with me. Luchino would kill for a chance to wear this.”

Martino rolls his eyes, but the tank top ends up in his bag with Giovanni’s blessing upon it.

“Martino Rametta, I’m entrusting this to you because I love you and I want you to find happiness. Go get them, tiger.”

<Now>

Martino risks a glance in the mirror and feels an immediate desire to flee. What was he thinking, letting Gio talk him into this? He looks like an idiot, and a shameless idiot at that. Pale noodle arms littered with freckles all the way to his shoulders, barely there chest hair, and if that wasn’t enough, the wide opening under his arm reveals another bruise that he apparently got falling off the bed.

I can’t let him see me like this. Abort mission. Martino takes a step toward the door – he had the foresight to bring a spare T-shirt with him – but it’s too late. Nico is already walking to the front of the group, boombox in hand, a serene smile on his face. The smile falters when his eyes fall on Martino.

Under Nico’s bewildered gaze, Martino feels more exposed than he was in the showers on Monday (light years ago). His face is hot and his throat is suddenly dry, but he finds the courage to square his shoulders and tilt his chin up in a greeting. Cool and collected. Nico mirrors the movement and quickly turns away. He looks a bit lost for a moment before remembering to turn the music on.

“Uh… Quick warm-up, guys, you know the drill.”

It’s their sixth pilates class with Nico, so they do, in fact, know the motions by heart. Martino is grateful for his muscle memory taking over, because he definitely wouldn’t be able to concentrate on anything right now. Not with the way Nico keeps stealing glances at him, seemingly unable to stop his head from turning in Martino’s direction. 

He can’t believe it’s actually working. Giovanni is a genius!

Martino lets Nico get away with it for a few minutes before he dares to catch him staring. Nico looks away almost immediately. Soon enough, though, his eyes stray right back and Martino holds his gaze for longer. Sorry for being so slow, he wants to say, and I’m catching up now and I’m here if you still want me. He can only hope that it’s written on his face.

This time, when Nico turns to the rest of the group to demonstrate a new stretch, he’s biting his lip to hide a smile of his own. 

It’s going to be a long pilates session.

Eva comes up to him almost as soon as the music cuts off, her step too bouncy for someone who was just faking death after a series of boat crunches. “Nice outfit!”

“Thanks.” Over her shoulder, Martino watches Nico gather his things and throw a quick look at Eva. 

Eva’s voice drops to a dramatic whisper. “I think I saw it somewhere before.”

Martino shrugs, feeling the tank top stick to his chest and back with quickly cooling sweat. Eva is about to add something when they’re interrupted by another girl – one of the first-row enthusiasts that Martino hasn’t yet learned to tell apart.

“Hiii, Martino, how are you?” She continues without giving him a chance to reply. “I have a tiny favor to ask, actually. You seem to be friends with Nico, could you maybe get his number for me? It’s kind of important and I’m shy so I can’t ask him myself.”

Martino just gapes at her.

Eva’s eyes narrow. “I’m sorry, what is your name?”  

The girl replies but Martino misses it, eyes scanning the room once again. Nico seems to have evaporated.

“Stalker behavior is never okay, and if you think you can just…” Eva’s cheeks go pink with indignation as the other girl rolls her eyes.

Martino sees an opportunity and takes it. “Sorry, girls, gotta run. Bye!”

He’s out the door in seconds, happy to be rid of them both.

Nico’s not in the locker room, and he’s not in the showers. He wouldn’t leave without talking to Martino, would he? They agreed to exchange hostages, after all. Martino walks out of the building with his head down, typing out a message. Hey where did y–

“Going home by bus, Marti?”

Martino looks up and forgets how to string words together. Nico’s leaning against the wall of the gym, a half-finished cigarette in the corner of his smiling mouth. The headband is gone, leaving his curls to fall over his forehead in an artful mess. Martino wants to touch them.

Right, he needs to answer the question. “Yeah, same as usual.”

Nico’s smile widens. He flicks some ash off the cigarette and cocks his head to the side. “I could give you a lift, if you want?”

Martino pretends to consider the offer, pretends to be cool and collected. “Ok, thanks.”

Nico pushes himself away from the wall and picks up his bag. “This way.”

Martino follows him to the parking lot, using the time of the short walk to study the way Nico moves in the outside world. The way his body fills out a simple black T-shirt and jeans. He’s never seen Nico in anything but gym clothes before. Black looks great on you. Fuck, anything would look great on you. Martino is distracted from his thoughts when Nico stops at the last car in the row and starts rummaging in his bag for the keys.

“That’s your car?”

“My dad’s, actually. Ford Cortina Lotus.” There’s unmistakable pride in his voice. “You like it?”

Martino nods, then shrugs. “I don’t know the first thing about cars. It looks nice.” Nice and old as balls.

For a moment he worries that Nico will be insulted, but the other boy just laughs, shaking his head. “Get in, then.”

Martino tosses his stuff to the back and sinks into the soft seat. Nico grins at him, turns the key in the ignition. “You mind if I put on some music?”

Martino doesn’t mind in the slightest.  

Chapter Text

FRIDAY, 26 OCTOBER 2018

It happens when they stop at the red light, the car purring along to Anni 90 FM that immediately started playing when Nico turned on the car radio. (“You don’t have a player for CDs or something?” “It’s an ancient car, Marti. It doesn’t even play tapes.”) First, Martino remembers that he never told Nico his address and has no idea where Nico’s taking him. Then, as if on cue, Nico speaks up.

“Are you very tired after today?”

“No, why?”

Nico clears his throat, business-like. “We could take a detour. If you don’t have other plans, of course.”

When Martino raises his eyes, Nico seems preoccupied by something in the rearview mirror. His hands are a bit too tight on the steering wheel.

A tendril of warmth unravels in Marti’s stomach. “No, I don’t have any plans.”

“Okay.” Nico finally looks over at Martino, a soft smile on his lips. “Hope you like the beach.” He wiggles his head mischievously, but there’s a question in his voice.

It’s almost November, Martino thinks. “I love the beach,” he says. He hasn’t been on one for weeks.

Nico nods, reassured, and returns his attention to the road.

I’m going on a date. As sneakily as possible, Martino tugs up the sleeve of his hoodie and pinches his forearm. Everything stays in place. Holy shit.

He’s going on a date with Nico Fares.

“You don’t have to adore it, just admit that it’s the defining animation feature of the decade and we'll move on.”

“I’m sorry, but if you expect me to pick Beauty and the Beast over Lion King, we’re not moving anywhere.”

Martino crosses his arms over his chest and sucks in his lips to emphasize the point, making Nico burst out laughing. It’s a deep, throaty sound that dances in the air between them like a living thing.

“Ah, at least we agree on Hercules. You’re not completely hopeless.” The remark is accompanied by a look of such fondness that Martino’s protests melt somewhere between his brain and his tongue.

This keeps happening, by the way – his brain short-circuiting at the most inopportune times. They must be halfway to Ostia by now, and with every minute alone with Nico, Martino’s self-control is slipping more and more. There’s just so much of Nico, and so close, that Martino doesn’t know what to react to first. Nico’s toned arms, relaxed but confident in front of him as he’s driving. Nico’s muscular chest in his too-tight shirt, shaking with laughter. Nico’s face, divided sharply in two: cheeks and lips gilded by the lowering sun, the rest obscured by the shadow of the vizor.

Martino knows he’s staring. Nico must notice it, too. There are lulls in conversation when some 90’s disco hit fills the silence and Nico throws him one of those looks, like he has plans for Martino… Martino swallows, turns to the window to look at the smudged silhouettes of the trees they’re passing. He has to remind himself not to be nervous. They’re in this, together, because they want to be. And there’s nothing wrong in wanting to be close to Nico, to know him. Everything is just so new.

“Can I roll the window down?”

“Sure. Ah, don’t be shy, Marti, put some force into it.”

With a grunt, Martino manages to turn the crank handle. Fresh salty air hits him in the face and cools his skin until he feels more put together. He sticks one hand out and moves his fingers through the stream, thick like water. They're going fast.

“By the way, you can pick up your present now. In the glove compartment.”

Nico’s eyes are on the road, but the little smirk gives away just how much he’s enjoying this. Intrigued, Martino scoots forward and fiddles with the lock of the glove box. The lid drops open and he pulls out a heavy, expensive-looking bottle of shampoo.

“Uh… Radiant Red Curl Sculptor for Natural and Colored Hair?”

“Ta-daaa! Sorry, couldn’t find your brand anywhere. Hope this is good enough.”

Technically, it’s not a present. This is Nico replacing something he borrowed from Marti. But he obviously put some thought and effort into it, and this knowledge makes Martino’s heart clench sweetly.

“Thank you, Nico, it’s amazing.” Well, this came out a bit sappy. The voice of reason in his head sounds suspiciously like Gio.

Nico’s you’re welcome is soft and confused, like he expected a witty comeback from Marti and doesn’t quite know how to proceed.

It only lasts a moment, though. “Oh! Oh, you’re gonna love this!”

Nico’s hand shoots to the radio to crank up the volume.

She's into superstitions

Black cats and voodoo dolls

I feel a premonition

That girl's gonna make me fall

Nico is headbanging to Ricky Martin wildly out of sync, the tip of his tongue peeking impishly between his teeth. He’s so adorable Martino’s hands itch to grab his face and- 

And then Nico starts singing. “She'll make you take your clothes off and go daaaancing in the rain! Come on, Marti, you know the words!”

Marti does know the words. This is his mother’s clean-the-kitchen song, the one that chased away his precious sleep on many a Sunday morning.

“…take away your pain! Like a bullet to your brain! Come on!”

Are we seriously doing this. Then again, who is Martino to resist?

“Upside inside out! She’s livin’ la vida loca!” First timidly, then louder and louder, he joins his voice to Nico’s, brandishing the shampoo bottle like a microphone. “She’ll push and pull you down! Livin’ la vida loca!”

It’s the silliest thing he’s done in ages. It’s fantastic. They yell themselves hoarse, laughing like a pair of maniacs, Martino jamming on the air guitar and the shampoo almost flying out the window at some point. He’s not sure how he stays in his seat, because his chest feels like a hot air balloon ready for takeoff.

They arrive in Lido di Ostia with the last notes of the chorus.

After the Ricky Martin euphoria, a beach walk seems almost too peaceful, as if they have entered a different point in space-time. Long shadows on the sand, lazy waves, a flock of pink-bellied clouds almost static above the horizon.

“Favorite food?”

“Cacio e pepe.”

“Favorite color?”

“Mmm…blue.”

“Favorite season?”

“Winter.”

“Winter? Why?!”

“Because then I have less of these stupid freckles.”

“Pity. I think your freckles are lovely.”

Martino huffs and kicks a piece of driftwood, trying to will away the blush that’s spreading from his cheeks to the tips of his ears quick as wildfire. I walked right into that one.

Blushing is not the only problem. His body seems to have developed a mind of its own. For example: his feet keep carrying him just that tiny bit closer to Nico with every other step along the shore. Maybe he should have taken Giovanni’s words more literally, maybe there is a kind of gravity between them.

“Anyway, it’s my turn to ask questions.”

Three questions, then they switch. That was the agreement.

Nico raises his hands, palms out in mini-surrender. “Anything you want to know.”

Martino chews on his lip. He wants to know everything, it’s so hard to pick. “Favorite kind of gelato?”

“Raspberry sorbet.”

“Okay, favorite place in the whole world?”

Nico squints at something on the horizon, then points straight ahead.

“Your favorite place in the world is over there?”

“Try to sound a bit more excited,” Nico laughs, swatting Martino’s shoulder. “We would reach it sooner if someone stopped dragging his feet.”

A rebuttal is already forming on Martino’s lips when the sun suddenly peeks out from under a cloud. The light pours lovingly over Nico’s face, turns the green of his irises luminous and strange, throws soft curl-shaped shadows on his forehead. There’s a sway of longing in Martino’s chest, like a wave cresting before its breaking point. He has to look at his feet to catch himself. 

Not even Peccio’s beer could have prepared Martino for being so drunk on another person.

“You have to ask one more question, Marti.”

Nico’s voice comes out so rough that Martino’s eyes snap back to his face to check if he’s crying. He’s not. Nico's eyes are clear, studying Martino’s features in a way that makes him wonder what he looks like right now. Whether he seems even half as beautiful to Nico as Nico is to him.

They stopped walking, Marti realizes. The nose of his shoe starts digging into the wet sand on autopilot.

“Your... favorite memory?”

“I’m working on it,” Nico smiles. Another cloud hides the sun from view and the moment is gone. “Come on, we need to reach the pier before dark.”

They pick up the pace and cross the rest of the beach in twelve minutes tops. Meanwhile, Nico retells the life and times of Sandro, his rally racer grandpa, who took little Nico to speed festivals and who left him the Cortina. (“Dad’s the official owner, but the whole family knows the true heir is me.”)  

A little incident occurs right by the pier, when Nico stops to snap a picture of his suede sneakers next to some shells and seaweed. The lighting is not to his satisfaction and he keeps emitting annoyed little tsks as he turns his phone this way and that.

“Nico…”

“Just a moment, Marti, I almost…got...”

“Nico, careful!”

Out of nowhere, a big wave breaks against the shore, releasing a foamy tide that threatens to submerge Nico’s feet up to his ankles. Without a second thought, Martino rushes to his side and half-drags the other boy to higher ground, cold water licking at their heels. For a few blissful seconds, his arms are full of Nico, both of them laughing and stumbling into each other. Martino is overwhelmed by his warmth, the easy comfort of his body against his own. Letting go of Nico is a new, unfamiliar kind of loss.

“What size are they, 41?” Nico glances down at Martino’s seaweed-splattered Nikes.

“42, actually. Why?” Don’t joke about big feet don’t joke about big feet-

“Looks like I owe you new shoes now, to repay this valiant rescue.” Nico's smile is guilty and cheeky all at once.

“Idiot,” Martino breathes, and Nico smiles even brighter.

The white marble of the pier is painted pink with the last rays of the setting sun when Martino and Nico finally step onto it. It’s full of strolling couples and little kids zigzagging between them. An old man is strumming something intricate and Spanish-sounding on his guitar. The place is not as serene as the empty beach, but it’s a different kind of peace. Martino feels invisible in a good way. A person like any other, free to just be.

“So, this is your favorite spot?” He asks to be sure, but also to hear Nico’s voice again.

“Yes. You like it here?” Nico looks up at him hopefully from under a mess of curls. Martino’s fingers itch to tuck them to the side. He grabs the straps of his backpack instead.

“Yeah. It’s pretty cool.”

“You know what’s cool? Come, I’ll show you.”

Nico takes Martino by the elbow and tugs him to the northern side of the pier. Martino squints at the horizon before realizing Nico is pointing at something on top of the banister. Words, written in a slanted hand, black marker on white marble. Vorrei portarti al mare, anzi portarti il mare.

“Huh, I know this song.” It might be overplayed by now, but Martino still likes it.

Nico nods, tracing the letters with his finger. “Every time I come here I find something new. It’s like a living book of quotes.”

They move slowly along the railing, discovering more messages in every language and color. È sempre bello averti intorno. M+D=<3. Cercami dove il mare finisce. I love pUssY.

“How romantic,” Martino snorts at the last one. They stop to look at the sun instead, the burning disk dipping slowly into the water.

“You got a pen? We could write something, too.”

Truth be told, Martino had the same idea. He flops his backpack on top of the banister and goes through every compartment. “No...nope...nothing here...ah! I forgot I even had this. But it's red.”

“Even better.” Nico snatches the marker from Martino and starts scribbling, covering the letters with his free hand.

“Let me see, Nico!”

“Wait.”

“Is it a bad word? Nico, we'll get arrested. Come on, show me.”

Finally, Nico caps the pen, letting Martino slide closer to read the words out loud. “Marti...and Nico.” Nico put little hearts above the i's in place of dots.

“Good?” Nico knocks his shoulder into Marti's. Their arms stay pressed together shoulder to elbow. 

“Yeah,” Martino replies, almost in a whisper.

The air seems to shift around them, and suddenly Martino feels light-headed. When Nico turns to look at him, their faces are so close that the longest of Nico's curls is tickling his temple. Martino’s eyes drop to Nico's lips, half-open and shiny where Nico just licked them. Without checking, he knows that Nico is looking at his mouth as well. If you don't kiss me soon I think I might go mad. 

But they can't, not here in full view of all the people gathered to admire the sunset. Not here. 

Martino bites his lip and pushes back from Nico to put some distance between their bodies. Before he gathers his scattered thoughts, there's a loud splash below, followed by Nico's quiet fuck. They crane their necks to watch Martino's backpack get swallowed by the waves.

“Shit, I must have knocked it off with my elbow… shit.” His wallet. His headphones. His keys. Nico's ankle weights. All gone. And worst of all— Porca troia. Giovanni is going to kill me. 

“God, I’m such a dumbass.”

“Hey, hey, Marti. Look at me. You’re not a dumbass. It’ll be ok.” Nico rubs his shoulder, trying to catch Martino’s eye.

“No, you don’t get it, I drowned my keys, mom’s gone to Cecina to see my nonna, and if I call Gio he’ll ask about the tank top, so I can’t stay with him either...” Martino pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Great. Now the battery’s dead, too.”

“You could stay at mine?” Nico smiles at him, gentle and reassuring. “My parents will be home late, but I’m sure they won’t mind. You can charge your phone and call your mom in the morning.”

The decision to spend the night at Nico’s should probably feel more momentous. But all it takes in the end is Martino nodding and breathing out, the pressure easing off his chest. “Thank you. And sorry about... the hostages. They sank with all the rest.”

Nico scrunches his nose and shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it.”

They watch the sea for a while, the evening flights taking off from Fiumicino, the reds and yellows in the west that are turning colder by the minute.

On the way back to the car, the whole world around them is pale blue. The back of Nico's hand brushes Martino’s once, and then a second time. The third time, as they turn into a quiet street, Martino links their pinkies together.

Chapter Text

FRIDAY, 26 OCTOBER 2018

A gentle hand rubbing his shoulder is the first thing he’s aware of.

“Marti. Marti, wake up.”

With a grumble, Martino scrunches his eyes and stretches his limbs as far as they would go. Which isn’t far, really, because he's in a car. He fell asleep in Nico’s car. The realization makes his eyes snap open.

“We just arrived. Hi there, Sleeping Beauty.” Nico’s voice is soft, on the edge of a whisper, and the expression on his face... Well. Elia would probably describe it as looking at someone like they shit rainbows, but all Martino knows is that no one has ever looked at him this way before.

“Shut up.” He can’t help smiling as he closes one eye to rub the sleep out of it.

Nico’s smile grows from a quirk of lips to full-scale beaming. He squeezes Martino’s shoulder quickly and turns off the engine.

“Come on, I’ll find you a better place to sleep.”

There’s no shade of innuendo in the words but Martino blushes anyway, stupidly, and thanks the dark outside as he gets out of the car and follows Nico to the entrance. The heavy glass door opens into a brightly-lit foyer paved with polished stone. The shimmering crystal chandelier above makes Martino’s eyes hurt.

“You live here?” It comes out more incredulous than he intended.

“Too much?” Nico laughs over his shoulder. “The apartment is not this flashy. My parents aren’t home yet so you’ll get a full tour.”

“Lucky me,” Martino retorts easily. Nico laughs again, starting up the spotless marble stairs with Martino a step behind.

They have cleared one flight when one of Nico’s arms reaches back, blindly, grabby fingers clenching and unclenching around empty air. Martino looks up at the back of Nico’s head, at the gentle roll of his shoulders under the simple black shirt, and catches Nico’s hand with one of his own. Nico doesn’t stop or turn around, but Martino can tell how wide his smile is just from the way his cheek pulls up. They walk up two more floors like this, Nico tugging Martino along and taking two steps at a time. Martino’s heart is in his throat, equal parts from anticipation and the effort of keeping up.

“This is it,” Nico tells him with a reassuring press of his fingers.

They follow a short corridor and stop in front of a tall wooden door with an ornate handle. It reminds Martino of doors to magic castles in storybooks.

Nico fishes the keys out of his pocket with his free hand. The door swings open with some reluctance and in the same instant, they hear a faint sound of music. Somewhere in the depths of the apartment, a pan lands heavily on the stove and hot oil gives out a hiss before it’s smothered with a lid.

“No, this is impossible…” Nico moves towards the sound in quick strides. Martino has no choice but to follow, catching a glimpse of overflowing bookshelves and a stately leather couch.

They make a turn and there it is, a spacious, meticulously organized kitchen, and in the middle of it, a wild-haired elderly woman with a cooking apron tied over a dress so colourful it’s almost psychedelic. She’s tapping a wooden spoon on the edge of a steaming pan as her hips sway to a bouncy Latino tune coming from a small portable radio. The singer goes into the chorus and the woman joins her with an air of a natural-born performer.

“Y yo no soy abusadora, yo no soy abusadora, yo no soy abusadora, yo no soy!” Every soy is accompanied by a dramatic hand movement.

Martino tries to stifle a giggle and loses. “Is this your…”

“This is Marisol, our housekeeper.” Nico lets go of Martino's hand with a heavy sigh. 

Martino quickly learns the two main things about Marisol:

1. she is a generous soul, ready to ensure the comfort of everyone in the house;
2. she is not to be argued with.

The boys are not allowed to move a single step further before they sit down and consume a healthy amount of Marisol’s signature risotto. On top of that, Nico (or “Nicolás, corazoncito” as she calls him) has to retell every single thing that happened to him in the last 48 hours, including a detailed description of every meal. 

In Nico’s story, Martino turns into a pal from uni who had his bag stolen and has no other option but to take advantage of Nico’s hospitality. Something along those lines — it’s hard to pay attention when Nico’s shin keeps brushing his under the table. Every time Marisol turns away to check on her pans, Nico throws Marti a cheeky smile, but the tightness around his eyes betrays just how annoyed this interruption really makes him. Martino tries to make his own smile comforting. I know. I want to be alone with you as well.

Finally, they are sent on their way with a kiss on each cheek and an order to show up later for the sampling of amaretti cookies. Nico bustles around, moving a pile of books from his bed to his desk and turning on several mismatched lamps. Every new ring of light reveals another corner of the room, walls covered in anatomy posters, printouts about healthy eating, hand-written notes, and countless polaroids. There’s a treadmill on one side of the room with a box of random sports gear on it, topped by a glass weighing scale.  

“Get comfy, I just need to grab my laptop and a charger for your phone.” Nico shoves something shapeless and heavy under his bed and scurries out of the room.

Left on his own, Martino perches cautiously on the edge of the bed, suddenly unsure about possible boundaries and whether he’s crossing them already. It’s obvious that Nico doesn’t want Marisol to be aware of anything happening between them. Maybe I should call Gio and ask to stay with him after all. 

But he doesn’t want to leave Nico like this — too many questions asked and too few answers given. It might be his intuition, or his heart, but something tells him that they must put their cards on the table tonight. Marti doesn’t want to guess anymore.

When Nico returns, he's wearing a different shirt and his hair is significantly less wild than the sea breeze made it. Martino doesn’t comment, taking the proffered charger and finally plugging his phone into the socket above Nico’s desk. A deluge of notifications makes the device buzz hysterically in his hand.

Mamma: Just arrived! Nonna and Silvio say hi. Left you some money in the usual place. Don’t spend it all on takeaway.

Luchino: pizza and Marvel this weekend? You guys can come over to my place but food’s on you because I’m broke

Pilates groupchat: 57 new messages

Gio: Hey zozzone how did it go with the tank top?? My guess is very well since you’re not picking up my calls

“Good news?”

Martino turns around to see Nico sitting cross-legged on one half of the bed. He must have noticed Martino smirking at his phone.

“Just silly messages from the gang.” Martino shrugs and types out a quick reply. It worked, but there's a little problem. I’ll explain later.

“You have to see Firefly, ok? It’s not from the 90s but the atmosphere is amazing and I’m pretty sure you’ll dig it.”

“Okay, if you say so.”

Martino would say yes to anything right now. This is the cosiest he's been in his entire life, if lying on the bed with one side of your body virtually smouldering can be called that. Everything about Nico is warm. His eyes. His smile. His excited voice. His body where it’s pressed to Martino’s, shoulder to hip and hip to ankle, the razor-thin laptop balanced on their stomachs. Nico seems unsure where his hand should go after pressing play, so Martino decides for him and takes it; and that’s warm, too.

They are sharing a pair of earphones, which creates a peculiar sound effect: Martino’s left ear is filled with the banter of Serenity’s space crew, while the right one picks up the passionate arguments of Paola and Carlos, the protagonists of Marisol’s favorite telenovela.

Nico laughs easy and often, mouthing his favorite lines along with the characters, stealing glances at his companion to see what effect they have on him. Martino soon learns to anticipate those moments from the little twitches of Nico’s fingers between his. Feeling them floods his chest with such tenderness that his eyes start to prickle.

Before he knows it, the pilot episode is over and Nico's tugging on the wire to pop out their earbuds. He cranes his long neck to have a proper look at Martino’s face. “Well?”

“You were right, it’s a cool show. Weird how I never heard of it before.”

“It was cancelled after one season.”

“What? No!”

“Ha. Wait till you learn about the fandom petition and the terrible movie that came out of it.” Nico’s head does the wiggle again, eyes sparkling.

Martino squirms to his side, still holding Nico’s hand and Nico’s gaze. “I think I know why you like Firefly so much.”

Nico cocks an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because of Zoe. Bet she’s your favorite character. No-nonsense lady with a big gun, like Sarah Connor and Ellen Ripley. You have a type.”

Nico hides a snort in his pillow and peeks slyly at Martino with half his face still buried in it.

“Then I know who’s your favorite character. Simon Tam, the handsome doctor.”

And just like that, Martino is tired of playing it cool. Everything that’s been building up in him (since the beach, since the drive, since Nico met his eyes in the gym) is ready to spill over. “He’s alright. But he has nothing on you.”

It’s hard to tell in this lighting, but it looks like Nico’s cheeks go pink. He looks down, bashful, then back at Marti with a pleased little smile. Now. With deliberate care, Martino untangles their fingers, gets up on one elbow, and waits for Nico to mirror his position. Long seconds pass with them facing each other, eager eyes darting to smiling lips and up again. Double-checking. Daring.  

Nico gives in first. “Marti... can I kiss you?”

I thought you’d never ask. Martino swallows and closes his eyes. Between this breath and the next, he'll give Nico his answer.

“Nicolás, mijo! I made cocoa for you and your friend! I’m bringing it over!”

The sound that leaves Nico’s chest is pure frustration. Martino sympathizes, he really does, but somehow the ridiculousness of it all overtakes every other thought. He sucks in a breath to make a quip—

“Freeze.” Nico presses a finger to Martino’s lips, completely derailing his train of thought. “Don’t move, don’t open your eyes. I’ll be back in a second. Please?”

It’s so desperate that Martino doesn’t have the heart to disobey. He hums a yes. The finger disappears.

“No, no, I’ll get it!” Nico is up and out of the room in a flash, leaving Martino amused and motionless and sightless on his bed.

“Take care, Nicolito, you’ll scald yourself!”

“It’s fine, Marisol, thank you so much.”

“I told you, no running!”

“I’m not running!”

The hurried shuffle of socked feet.

The bang of the door closed with a hip.

The thump of two mugs on the tabletop.

The tiny squeak of the mattress dipping under a body.

The almost-painful pounding of Marti’s heart.

“Unfreeze.” It fans across Martino’s cheek, followed by a soft palm. Nico tilts Martino’s face up and kisses him.

Martino only kissed one person before — a spindly, big-eyed girl called Emma. The whole experience lasted about four seconds and left him very underwhelmed. Kissing Nico feels nothing like that. His lips are full and sweet, tasting faintly of almonds from the cookies. The first touch is brief and dry. The second one, slower and wetter. Nico’s fingers slide into the hair on Martino’s nape, angling his head to deepen the kiss. The tip of Nico’s nose pushes into his cheek; the tips of Nico’s curls brush silkily over his forehead. As if everything in Nico is reaching out to him, caressing him.

Martino wants to touch, too, wants Nico to know just how right this feels, after waiting and holding back for so long. But his elbow is getting sort of numb from keeping his weight on it, so he pulls away with a satisfied hum and stretches on his back, smiling up at Nico’s puzzled face.

“Tsk, tsk. You didn’t wait for my answer there.”

“Ah, no?” Nico sees through the ploy immediately, leaning closer until Martino thinks they will both go cross-eyed. “And what was your answer going to be?”

This close, Martino can smell his own shampoo on Nico’s hair. His stomach fills with big fluffy butterflies, and each of them is crazy about Nico.

“Yes. Yes, you can kiss me.” He pulls Nico’s head down with both hands.

“Quiero que te olvides de cada chico que te sonrío...cada hombre con el que hayas coqueteado…de todos menos de mí.”

“Sí, Carlos….sí… ”

Martino giggles into Nico’s shoulder. “Does she have to watch it so loud?”

“Want me to go ask her to turn the volume down?”

Nico moves to sit up and Marti’s arm tightens around his chest convulsively to prevent it.

“No! Don’t you dare.” He doesn’t care if it makes him a sottone . He’s not letting Nico go.

Nico settles back down, pleased with himself. Slides his hand against the golden hairs on Martino's arm, up to his shoulder and neck. Reaches his face and stays there, tracing the arch of an eyebrow with his finger. Martino feels so spoiled he could purr.

They could probably stay like this for hours, limbs tangled and eyes locked, but in truth, it's just a short break. A moment to catch their breath, to make sure all of this is really happening. And then I can kiss him some more. The thought has Martino bite his lip in anticipation and Nico notices, because of course he does. Nico always pays attention with Marti.

They move in at the same time, mouths lazy but thorough, stealing each other’s air. Nico’s heartbeat is fast and strong against Marti’s palm where he flattens it over his chest. It’s too much at the same time — the heat of their kiss and the tangible evidence of Nico’s feelings for him. Marti pulls back a bit, but Nico chases him and lands two wet smooches as Martino laughs and scrunches up his nose. 

He lays his head on its favorite spot on Nico’s shoulder, but Nico’s attention is not so easily diverted. Green eyes are pulled to his mouth in an instant, and soon, there’s a thumb pushing gently into Martino’s tingly lower lip. Dragging it down a little.

Nico sounds dazed. “Now your lips are the color of raspberry sorbet.”

The noise of the TV in the next room cuts off, and Martino is saved from swallowing his tongue by the arrival of Nico’s parents.

It goes like this:

“Hi mom, hi dad. How was the concert?”

“Oh, spectacular. Me and dad are very tired so...”

“Um, is it okay if my friend Martino stays over tonight? He can’t get into his flat and…”

“Of course darling, of course. Friends are very important. Marisol dear, some chamomile tea would be splendid.”

“Just a moment, señora Fares.”

“And please make sure this boy Maurizio gets everything he needs.”

“It’s Martino, mom.”

“Clean sheets and pyjamas already prepared in the living room, señora Fares.”

“Wait, Marisol, there’s really no need…”

“Thank you, Marisol, you are a gem. And good night to you, dear.” A maternal kiss on Nico’s forehead seals the deal.

Marisol escorts a confused Martino to the living room couch and doesn’t leave his side until he has changed, brushed his teeth, and settled under the covers. He is almost disappointed to not get a bedtime story.

“Marti, wake up.”

The whisper is hushed but insistent, pulling Martino out of his fitful sleep. For a moment he’s completely disoriented, the outline of the room unfamiliar in the dark. He tries to blink into focus. “Nico?”

“Sshhh. Come here.”

It takes some prodding for Marti to get the message and climb off the couch with a drowsy stumble. There’s no discussion. Nico simply grabs his hand and leads him away on tiptoe, halting once or twice with an ear trained on his parents’ bedroom. Martino is about sixty percent sure he’s dreaming all of it. Nico nudges him into his room and shuts the door with a soft click. He turns around to see Martino standing dumbly by the bed, shifting from foot to foot on the stone floor.

“Get in, silly, you’re freezing.”

“Won’t Marisol notice..?”

“She went home half an hour ago.”

“And...”

“My parents won’t be up before ten on a Saturday, I guarantee. Now get in.”

The pocket of warmth under Nico’s blanket feels like heaven. Nico’s hands on his sides feel like heaven. Nico’s hot lips pressed to his neck feel… A huge yawn sneaks up on Martino so suddenly that he can’t suppress it, and then lies there mortified as Nico laughs into his skin.

“Ni, I’m sorry, you’re not boring me or anything, it’s…”

“No, it’s my fault for dragging you out of bed. You’re tired, it’s been a long day.”

But I don’t want it to end. “I’m glad that you woke me up. It’s better here, with you.”

Even at this hour of the night, Nico’s smile lights up the room. He runs his fingers through Marti’s hair, from temple to nape, tucking stray curls away from his face. “Let’s just sleep. There will be time for other things tomorrow. Ok?”

Martino nods and puckers his lips to kiss the tip of Nico’s nose. “Ok.”

With some strategic wiggling, Nico settles on his side, facing away. Martino is baffled about this arrangement until a determined hand finds his wrist and tugs, making him wrap around Nico’s back with a happy sigh.

His mind is foggy with sleep when he hears Nico’s quiet words. “Today is my favorite memory.”

Chapter Text

SATURDAY, 27 OCTOBER 2018

It’s still early in the morning when he wakes by Nico’s side. No clamor of people hurrying to work, no garbage trucks thundering down the street — just silence and the brittle light of dawn seeping in through the curtains. Normally, Martino wouldn’t give up sleep before sunrise, especially not on a Saturday. But this time it’s almost a compulsion that stirs him, his body light and his mind alert, like he had given himself a subconscious command to be awake before Nico. He looks over at the boy lying next to him. Who’s the Sleeping Beauty now?

During the night, Nico hogged most of the covers and turned over onto his stomach, trapping one of Marti’s legs. His face is half-sunk into the pillow and half-covered by curls, so all Martino can see is his mouth, opened just a bit to let out quiet, regular breaths. It’s as simple an action as it gets, this push and pull of life in Nico’s lungs, but Martino is mesmerized. He holds his own breath to listen to Nico’s, and smiles when it’s interrupted briefly by a sniff.

He realizes that his right arm is still around Nico, loose and low on his waist under the blanket. Nico’s shirt must have ridden up because there’s bare skin under Martino’s fingertips, velvety and warm: the small of his back. Martino’s cheeks heat up, fast. His first impulse is to extricate his arm without disturbing anything, but when he tries to, Nico’s thick eyebrows come together in a frown and he makes an unhappy sound. Martino stills, indecisive.

Memories from yesterday night start filtering in, one after another, like pictures tied to a string. Nico pulling him close – tucking Martino’s hand under his cheek – turning his head around in a wordless request for a goodnight kiss. Only ever asking for things that Martino is happy to give him. More touch. More Marti.

He takes a breath and splays his fingers wide to cover more skin, presses the heel of his hand into the sleep-soft muscle and brushes his thumb along the little valley down the middle of Nico’s spine. Nico sighs, melting further into the mattress. Martino can’t decide if he wants to wake Nico up and kiss him or keep watching him for another hour. To even have this choice makes his head spin.

Martino Rametta sharing a bed with his pilates instructor. Marti sharing a bed with Nico.

“This is nice.” Nico yawns and smacks his lips, encouraging Marti’s hand with a lazy wiggle of his hips.

His eyes are a different green in this light, but they give Marti the same feeling he had on the beach — a wave cresting high inside his chest, throwing him off balance. Only... there’s no need to catch himself anymore.

“You are nice.” Martino dives forward to press smiling lips to Nico’s cheek. A quick kiss and retreat, playful and giddy with joy. Buongiorno!

Nico answers him with a dopey smile of his own. “I think I like waking up with you.”

“Me too.”

Curious fingertips skim over the shell of Martino’s ear and down to his jaw, memorizing the shape. He leans into it, squinting with pleasure, tips up his chin when Nico starts tickling the morning scruff underneath. They giggle, shush each other, giggle again. Rearrange their limbs under the blanket to be as close as possible, knees knocking into knees and noses brushing.

“Why are you awake so early? Did I snore?”

“No.” Martino rolls his eyes at the silliness. “I just don’t want to give you trouble, I guess.” 

Some of it is genuine worry about Nico’s family walking in on them and raising hell. Most of it is craving reassurance.

“Marti, you’re not giving me trouble. Quite the opposite.” Nico cups his cheek and looks him in the eye with an intensity that leaves no room for doubt. “I’m happy that you’re here.”

Nico's suddenly very serious, like there is nothing more important than for Martino to believe those words. And making Nico wary was the last thing Martino wanted, so he uses the first opportunity to shift the mood. “How happy? Can you show me?”

This surprises a laugh out of Nico, deep and unguarded in the face of Martino’s cheekiness. His grin is the last thing Marti registers before he’s being pushed on his back and kissed within an inch of his life. Nico is making a point — with his lips, with his tongue, with the little sounds he makes into Martino’s mouth. He’s very, very convincing.  

They only part when their lungs start begging for air, but Nico stays close. Dark curls obscure Martino’s peripheral vision until he sees nothing but Nico. It's not like he cares about the rest of the world anyway.

“Will that do?” The pink tip of Nico’s tongue pokes out between his teeth in shameless provocation.

“For now,” Martino allows, putting on a thoughtful pout.

It’s difficult to be thoughtful, however, when Nico’s still half on top of him and both of Martino’s hands have found their way onto his back. He inches them higher, rucking up the well-worn tshirt, making Nico’s eyes flutter shut for a second.

Maybe this is the best moment to ask. “What are your plans for today?” Am I in them?

“Oh, we could do something fun. Go to Testaccio, try all the nice things off the stalls... Or how about a swimming pool? Just the two of us, hm?”

Just the two of us. Fireworks go off in Martino’s chest, golden sparks shooting in every direction. It must be showing on his face, too. He grabs at something to say to distract Nico, quick. “How can we have a whole pool to ourselves? You’re crazy.”

“Leave the details to me.”

Nico bends down to kiss away any further comments. Marti’s palms slide up to his shoulder blades, keeping him close. 

The distant buzz of his phone slowly reaches Martino through the pleasant haze. It’s hard to refocus his attention, but the early hour of the call piques his curiosity enough to tear himself from Nico and climb off the bed. 

“It could be something important, I have to check.”

Nico pats Martino’s pillow. “Ten seconds and then I need you back here.”

Martino can’t help the mushy smile he sends over his shoulder as he detaches his phone from the charger. Two missed calls and several messages, all from his mom. He taps on the notification to read them.

Nico must notice how Martino’s body freezes, hunched over the screen in his hands. “Is everything ok?”

Met with stunned silence, Nico rolls out of bed, kicking off the tangled covers. He reaches Martino in two strides and puts his hands carefully on his cheeks to lift his face.

“Hey. Marti. What’s wrong?”

Martino’s voice breaks pathetically as soon as he starts speaking. “I’m not sure... I think my grandma’s sick.”

It feels like a brick in his stomach. He reads the message again, a jumble of words — I’m at the hospital with nonna please come as soon as you can — and the stupor gives way to agitation.

“I need to go. Right now.” Then, wincing at the way Nico’s face changes, “Sorry.”

His things, where are his things? Martino twists away from the gentle hands, eyes flitting around the room before he recalls that he doesn’t have his backpack anymore. Empty-handed and helpless.

Nico appears in his field of vision again, his jaw set with a new conviction. “Where do you need to go?”

“Termini, to catch the first train to Cecina. Can you tell me where the nearest bus stop is?”

Nico looks at him like he’s crazy. “I’m driving you. Go wash up quick, I’ll bring you clothes. Yeah?”

He pauses and waits for Marti to nod, as if embarrassed by his own commanding tone. But Martino finds comfort in it, in being told what to do when his own mind is prickly with panic.

Time turns into snapshots. There is Martino, brushing his teeth in record time while trying not to sully the shiny countertop that Marisol has clearly fussed over. There is Nico, knocking politely on the door and handing over a neat pile with Marti’s jeans, a fresh t-shirt and a clean pair of socks. There is Nico, again, saving Marti when he gets stuck taking off the pyjama top. There are the two of them running down the stairs, Nico’s hand in his like yesterday.

“We’ll be in time for the 7am train,” Nico says with confidence when they get in the Cortina.

Martino checks his phone: 15 minutes left. He nods, but he doesn’t really think they’ll make it. They don’t talk much on the way, Nico biting his lip and glaring at every traffic light while Marti is trying to get through to his mom.

“Still nothing?” Nico asks, and frowns when Marti shakes his head.

All his calls go to voicemail.

They get to Termini with enough time to spare. Martino undoes his seatbelt and starts thanking Nico for the ride, but Nico, too, gets out of the car and walks into the busy station with him. They stop to check the departures board.

“Track 4,” Nico murmurs, more to his phone than to Marti. A couple more taps. “Boom. Sent the ticket to your WhatsApp. Let’s go find the train.”

Mechanically, Martino takes his phone out of his pocket. The numbers and letters on the screen refuse to make sense as he’s weaving his way through the crowd to the right platform gate.

“But...this is a seat in first class,” Martino finally realizes. He was so frantic to leave, it had completely slipped his mind that he would have to borrow some money for the ticket. And Nico just bought it for him.

Nico shrugs like it’s no big deal, then slaps his palm on his forehead. “Shit, I almost let you leave like this!” He shrugs off his backpack and unzips it with that endearing head wiggle. “Here, your breakfast-to-go from Casa Fares.”

“My breakfast?”

Marti reaches for the crinkly paper bag and peeks inside. Two sandwiches. A banana. A handful of Marisol’s amaretti cookies. A packet of parmesan cubes. A can of ice tea. The part of him that has not yet been overcome with worry about his family is telling him to kiss Nico immediately. But they’re in public, so all he can do is gather him in a hug.

“Thank you,” he mumbles into Nico’s shoulder at the same time as Nico says “I didn’t know what you’d like—”

“It’s awesome, Ni. I don’t know what to say, thank you for everything, and sorry for being like this…”

“Like what? Human?” Nico pulls away with a little smile. “I kind of dig that part.” He fixes Martino with the same intense look he had in bed just half an hour ago. “Everything is going to be fine, Marti. Trust me.”

Martino just nods. He wants to believe Nico so much.

“Good. Now go, we can’t have you miss the train. I’ll be waiting for an update, ok?”

There isn’t time for a proper goodbye – and what is a proper goodbye after you spend several hours glued to each other in bed? Martino has no reference. They embrace again, briefly, and he runs off to the gleaming Freccia. Inside the half-empty first-class carriage, Martino takes a window seat and looks out at the platform.

The angle is all wrong and he can’t really see far ahead, but somehow he knows that Nico’s still where he left him, standing vigil until Martino’s train departs.

hi:)

Nico (pilates): hi, how did it go? how’s your family?

not too bad. Silvio was chasing after another dog, got hit by a car, and grandma was so frightened for him that she fainted and broke her wrist

Nico (pilates): shit

yeah. mom thought it was a heart attack

Nico (pilates): but she'll be ok?

they’ll both be fine, grandma got a cast and Silvio has to wear a cone until his stitches heal
did your parents say anything?

Nico (pilates): about you? not really. they don’t notice anything besides their own problems 
you’re staying in Cecina tomorrow?

tomorrow and maybe on Monday, mom will decide what we do next.
grandma can’t do much by herself like this but she’s too cool to admit it...

Nico (pilates): I’m so relieved that your cool grandma will get better:)

thanks! sorry I have to go now
I’ll let you know when I’m coming back ok? I miss you already

Two blue ticks beside his message and silence. Martino taps his thumb nervously on the side of his phone. Was that too soon? Should he have kept it casual? But he does miss Nico. A lot. And he still feels lousy about leaving the way he had to. The right words don’t come easy, but he wants Nico to know how much he means to him.

The phone buzzes with another message, and Martino almost drops it in the rush to unlock the screen.

Nico (pilates): I miss you too<3 come back soon

It’s silly and Martino would never admit it to anyone, but right now he presses the phone to his chest, smiling so hard he feels it in every cell of his body.

SUNDAY, 28 OCTOBER 2018

He’s never been comfortable in churches, all but this one. Martino likes to think it’s the simplicity of the decor — no suffocating swirls of gold anywhere, no graphic depictions of hellish punishment on the ceiling. Only tall white walls and lots of air. Or maybe it’s because his grandmother has been taking him here every Sunday that he happened to be in Cecina, for as long as he can remember. Today is no exception.

He looks over at her familiar profile, eyes raised and lips moving with whispered appeals to San Giuseppe for the health of her family, this time with a special emphasis on Silvio. Her hands lie primly in her lap, the one with the cast placed on top of the other, paper-thin skin stretched over the bird-like bones of her fingers. Martino’s heart twists with unspeakable tenderness for every little detail about her, from the fluffy snow-white hair to the low-heeled black shoes she only ever wears to church.

She’s so fragile and I love her so much. The thought makes the inside of his nose tickle with the beginning of tears, and he tries to squash down the feeling. They’ll be ok — his stubborn grandma and her silly dog. He wasn’t late. He wasn’t late.

“Amen,” he hears her whisper, with a firmness that signifies she’s done with prayer for today.   

“Amen,” he echoes, and smiles to himself when she takes the bait.

“You don’t need to pretend you’re praying for my sake, Martino.”

“I know, nonna.”

That’s another thing he likes about her – she stopped trying to get him involved in the rituals of faith as soon as she realized he wasn’t interested. Instead, these trips turned into their time for bonding, for sharing secrets that not even his mom was privy to.

(When Martino was nine, he confessed to his nonna that he hated the red hair and the countless freckles that got him taunts in the school yard. Without a hint of humor, the woman told him that freckles were angel kisses, and that her grandson was closer to God than any of those mean kids. Even then, Martino doubted the God part, but the idea of angel kisses stuck. In his imagination, all angels looked like the ones in his mom’s Caravaggio art book: young and beautiful, with soft curls and toned graceful arms. He wouldn’t mind getting kisses from them.)

“Does it hurt?” He points at her injured wrist with his chin.

“Not as bad as yesterday,” she says, wiggling her fingers a little.

He hates to think of her in pain. “Bad enough for another pill?”

“When we get home,” she nods, then reaches out to squeeze his knee with her good hand. It’s a surprisingly strong grip. “Don’t worry about this elderly lady, Martino. Tell me what’s going on with you?”

“What’s going on with me?”

“Yes, dear. I’m old, but I still have my wits about me. Ever since you arrived, you’ve been very quiet. And your eyes are shining.”

“Nonna, I…”

In that moment, Father Thomas appears from the confessional, his bald head shining like an Easter egg. “Signora Pucci and young Martino!” he exclaims, spotting them, and walks over hastily to their pew to express his happiness about finding her safe and mostly sound after the accident. Martino uses the distraction to check his phone, skipping mindlessly from app to app until he opens Instagram. By the looks of it, Giovanni is spending his weekend with Eva’s folks, while Elia and Luchi teamed up for pizza and a rewatch of Captain America. He leaves a snarky comment and scrolls on.

The next photo is from tuttaromaapiedi, posted fifteen minutes ago. Martino recognizes Nico’s shoe and the tip of his own sneaker beside it, sinking into the wet sand. Apparenty, Nico managed to snap a picture of their feet on Friday without Martino noticing. 26.10.18, Ostia Lido, the caption says, followed by two heart emojis. Martino’s stomach is completing a complicated somersault when grandma finishes her conversation with Father Thomas and scoots back to his side.

“Ah, bless him, this must be the chattiest man of God this parish has seen in thirty years.” She gives Martino a side-eye and clears her throat, lips pressed together in a conspiratorial smile. “You were saying something.”

He could blame what comes next on Nico’s photo catching him off guard, on a random burst of courage, or on the ancient fear of missing his chance to be honest with her. Maybe it’s all three. 

“I met someone, nonna.” Her whole face lights up, eyes already full of questions, and he knows he has about two seconds to finish what he started. “It’s a boy. I like him a lot.”

He leans back on the bench, watching her intently. Martino knows his grandma too well for bad surprises, but he doesn’t want to assume anything, not in this moment. The smallest frown appears between her eyebrows before her cheeks pull up in that knowing smile she's always given him when she’s proud. Years and years of those smiles imprinted in every wrinkle on her face.

“This is so wonderful, Martino! But he’s a nice boy? Are you happy?”

“I am.” Martino looks down at his hands to mask his relief. “And before you ask, no, I don’t have photos of him yet.” He’s not showing his grandmother Nico’s gym selfies, that’s for sure.

“It can wait.” She waves the suggestion off with her hand before reaching up to pet his cheek. “I'm glad you told me. You have so much love in your heart, tesoro. You can't let it go to waste.”

Chapter Text

MONDAY, 29 OCTOBER 2018

“I told nonna about me.”

He says it carefully, without inflection, and waits for his mother to catch on. She doesn’t take long, shifting her weight from tiptoes to heels on the wobbly chair and dropping the wet rag she’s been wiping the shelves with. Martino’s looking up at her, a box with nonna’s freshly washed wine glasses cradled to his chest. Their eyes meet in a silent understanding that they’re on the same page here.

“And what did she say?”

He shrugs, then smiles, lopsided and soft. “That she wants me to be happy, with whoever I choose.”

Giulia smiles back, nodding like this is exactly what she expected to hear. It must be a relief for her, Martino realizes, to know that another member of the family accepts him. If not his dad, then his grandma. 

“Is there anything else you want to share?” She cocks one eyebrow at him, eyes glinting with amusement. “For example, why my son is so eager to return to Rome today, even though his classes are almost over and I allowed him to skip Monday anyway?”

He’s not going to blush. He’s not. “Just don’t want to miss the gym. I can’t skip, it’s for a bet with Elia.”

“And bets between boys are sacred.” Her tone is mock-serious, like she doesn’t believe him for a second.

“Exactly.” 

She keeps watching him with something approaching suspicion, so he adds, sheepishly, “Only if you can manage without me for a bit? I’ll be back for the long weekend, I promise.”

That seems to tip the scales. 

“In that case,” she grips his shoulder for support and hops off the chair, “you can put the glasses and plates back yourself. My head is starting to spin up there. Then you can go.”

It’s not that he seriously doubted she’d let him leave, but hearing it out loud makes him want to throw a fist in the air. Instead, Marti shoves the box on the counter, glasses clinking in protest, and envelops his mother in a hug. “Thanks, mom!” 

“Ok, ok, just don’t drop my set of keys in the Tiber, we don’t have spares.” 

She squeezes him in return and kisses his cheek, immediately reaching up to wipe away the lipstick stain. The familiar gesture makes Marti feel like a little boy again, saying goodbye to his mother at the school gate. The only difference being that he is the one towering over her now, not the other way round.

“You know you can tell your mother anything at all, right, Martino?” 

He looks down at her earnest face, her big brown eyes exactly like his own, faint laugh lines around them. Blurting his secret out right now, into the homely air of the kitchen, would be so easy. She already knows him better than anyone. But something holds him back, as if one more person finding out about Nico would be enough to jinx the whole thing. 

“Maybe later,” he says, and means it.

He wants her to know, eventually. An image of Nico being presented to his mother — smiling in that irresistible way of his, with an arm slung casually around Marti’s waist — comes unbidden. He tries to shake it off, amazed by his own mind’s audacity. 

There’s a distressed peal of barking from the other room, followed by his grandma’s frustrated voice. “Giualia! Silvio got stuck under the sofa again!”

Mother and son roll their eyes in perfect sync and smile at each other’s predictability. 

“Coming, mama!” 

Marti watches her dash off to avert this little crisis, but his mind is on a different track already. He’s going back to Rome — back to Nico — today.

Ni I’m sorry, the stupid train was 20 mins late! I’m not gonna make it in time

Nico (pilates): Don’t worry, the gym is not going anywhere... I’m waiting for you<3

On my way<3

Martino pockets his phone and peers out of the dusty window, his leg jittering with anxiety. He had to make a stop at home to change into something pilates-appropriate, which already robbed him of precious time. Now he’s stuck on the slowest bus in the universe, running into red light after red light, heaving and rattling like it’s going to fall apart any second. It’s like the gods of ATAC know exactly why he’s in a hurry and are having a good laugh at his twitching mess of a heart.

He has missed Nico even before this weekend — missed his electrifying presence and his dorky moves and his bouncing curls. Missed him before he could admit it to himself. But after those few hours he had spent alone with Nico, getting to know him, the whole thing got a thousand times worse. There’s so much more to miss now, it makes his muscles ache and his chest tighten. Lying next to him. Holding him. Making him laugh. Hearing him say Marti’s name. Watching his eyelids flutter in sleep. 

It’s been two mornings without Nico by his side. Martino feels bereft. 

Nervous, too: what if Nico has changed his mind? Has decided that Marti is too awkward, too high-maintenance? Not a good enough kisser? He catches himself touching his lips absent-mindedly and jerks his hand away. Logically, he knows that Nico wouldn’t send good morning and goodnight messages every day to someone he changed his mind about. He just needs to see Nico in the flesh again for that logic to take root. 

The packed bus spits him out near the gym about one eternity later. Marti runs inside, tosses his bag into the locker, and pushes through a mob of sweaty crossfitters on his way to the pilates room. Even before he reaches it, he can hear Nico’s voice carrying over the thumping beat, giving out directions and encouragements to the group. It’s like a hook in Marti’s ribcage — he barely feels the ground under his feet as he makes the last few steps to the door and flings it open. 

The girls are doing forward lunges with weight plates, meaning that Marti missed a good chunk of the class. Nico’s in front, setting an example with his back perfectly straight as he twists the weight plate to the side on every lunge. Methodical. Efficient. Hypnotizing. 

It takes an extra second or two for Marti’s brain to reconcile this Nico with the Nico he remembers, the dishevelled one who stretched like a cat and melted into kisses. The pause is enough for Nico to spot him and spring to his feet, a sparkle in his eyes as he looks Marti up and down. 

“Look who decided to join us! You know the rule, Marti, ten burpees and ten pushups for showing up late, come on!”

This rule sounds like something Nico made up on the spot, but Martino doesn’t argue, walking to a free spot in the back and getting straight to the task with a bitten-back smile. There’s enough energy in his body for thirty burpees, he feels so light. 

When he moves on to pushups, Nico materializes by his side. He kneels on the floor and places his hand on Marti’s lower back.

“Keep a straight line, Marti,” he murmurs, as if he’s really there to correct Marti’s form.

It dawns on Marti that Nico couldn’t wait a single minute before trying to touch him. If his heart weren’t already hammering from the burpees, that thought would surely do it. Somehow, he manages to keep going, huffing through the rest of the pushups with Nico’s palm warm and solid in its spot.

“Good job,” Nico praises as soon as the last penalty pushup is done. 

Marti sits up, short of breath and smiling through it. “Thanks.”

He puts too much feeling into the word to be casual, like it belongs to a different conversation altogether. The look he gets in response is far from casual too: soft crinkly eyes, indulgent smile. Nico licks his lower lip before sinking his teeth into it, and honestly, Marti could tackle the little shit right now, in front of everyone. Drop that thought. The threat must be evident in Marti’s expression, because Nico finally schools his face into a semblance of modesty, gives Marti’s side a tiny squeeze and jogs off to start the next set of exercises. Marti breathes out, bracing himself for forty minutes of waiting.

Ten of those go by peacefully. Marti gets into the rhythm enough to let his mind wander, eyes following Nico’s movements with a bit of a lag, as if to throw off suspicion. (From whom, he doesn’t really know. But doing this is second nature by now.) Only when Nico squats briefly by the boombox to change the track does Martino allow himself to admire the slope of his neck, his biceps, the wide shoulders trimming into a narrow waist. He can’t wait for this class to be over. 

Nico stands up and Martino’s eyes jump to the spot where he’s just been, the small pile of Nico’s stuff coming into focus. There’s Nico’s familiar duffel bag, half-unzipped. There’s a stack of CDs. There’s an empty water bottle with a cartoon giraffe on it. There’s Marti’s backpack, not a pin out of place, wrapped in plastic like a piece of evidence. Or a present.

Marti blinks forcefully a couple of times, looks at it again. Yes, definitely his backpack, presumed lost in the Mediterranean just three days ago, when Marti was so drunk on Nico he almost kissed him on the pier. Behind his lungs, a feeling swells, sudden and swift. He catches Nico’s eye across the room. The wave topples over. 

Nico sends Marti a playful wink, but his expression turns perplexed when he sees Marti put down his dumbbells, grab his phone off the floor and dash out of the room while faking the most unconvincing call in history.

“Hi! No, I’m at the gym! Gym! Give me a second, okay, the music is too loud in here!”

Marti pockets the phone as soon as he’s out of everyone’s sight. Pacing back and forth in the cool and empty hallway, he listens to the sounds from the pilates room and waits. Soon the song ends and Nico’s voice, muffled through the door, instructs the girls to take a five-minute break and get their steppers ready. The next moment he’s out the door, face twisted in concern, arms reaching out for Marti. 

“What’s going on? Is it your nonna again?”

Marti shakes his head, smiling. “No, she’s fine.” 

Without preamble, he grabs Nico’s hand and pulls him down the hallway, into the laundry room where a row of shiny washing machines are chewing on dozens of identical gym towels.

He has to raise his voice over the noise. “Ni, what did you do?”

“Marti, what— “

He takes Nico’s face in his hands, crowds him slowly into the wall. “How did you get it out? Did you dive for it?”

Understanding spreads over Nico’s face in a soft smile. Soft with a side of smug. “It’s not the bottom of the Mariana Trench, Marti! By the way, the dry cleaning people told me that some seaweed smell will stay on the clothes, but… at least your keys and your metro card are fine.” 

“You went back to Ostia and got it for me.” Marti can’t smile any wider, his cheeks are stinging.

Strong arms snake around Marti’s waist to bring him closer. “Mhm,” Nico agrees with a cute head wobble, chin raised and lips pressed together to keep in a laugh. 

How can I ever repay you for everything? “You’re a bit crazy, you know that?” Marti’s fingertips run over Nico’s cheeks, slide into the short curls above his neck. He missed this, all of this. So much.

Nico raises his eyes with a sigh, a picture of forbearance. “So do I get a thank you kiss or—” 

He covers Nico’s mouth with his own, quick and sloppy. Pulls back to align their faces better and kisses him again. His blood sings with it, his skin goes hot everywhere they’re touching. Nico holds him tight and gives as good as he gets, humming low in his throat and sucking on Marti’s bottom lip gently to make him whimper. The whirring of the machines swallows it all. 

The initial urgency of the kiss gives way to a familiar rhythm, addictive and sweet. Marti forgets where he is, how he got here, or how long they’ve been like this. Nico is so good to him, feels good against him. 

“Marti, Marti, I have to go. I left them all waiting...” Nico breathes out way too soon. His hands twitch on Marti’s back, like he can’t decide if he wants to push him away or pull him in.

“Let them wait.” Marti hides his face in Nico’s neck to press a small kiss to the slightly sticky skin. They’ve been apart for so long, this isn’t fair. 

But Nico is right. Somebody could go looking for him and walk in on them. He pushes off Nico regretfully and checks him over. The headband went askew, so he fixes that, carefully arranging the hair above it. Nico lets him, watching in amusement as Marti sets the last curl into place, takes a step back and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Done, now you can go.” 

It’s a feat of self-restraint. He must come off huffy as a result, because Nico seems hesitant. “Marti...” 

“It’s ok, go on. I’ll be right behind you, I promise.” We can’t come back together, after all.

As soon as the door closes behind Nico, Marti lets himself lean on the wall and closes his eyes. He’s pretty sure he never felt more wonderful in his life, and all he wants is to savor the feeling. 

He doesn’t get the chance to. Seconds later, the door flies open again and Nico’s all over him, fisting the front of his shirt and kissing his cheeks, his nose, his chin — anywhere he can reach. Marti’s breath rushes out of him. He tries to kiss back but misses every time, deciding at last to let Nico have his way with him.

“You — are — impossible!” Nico punctuates every word with a smooch and pulls away only to nudge their foreheads together. “Sorry. Couldn’t just walk away like that.”

I really don’t mind, Marti wants to say, but all he manages is a head shake and a faltering gulp.

Nico grins at him, his eyes right opposite Marti’s with all their glittery warmth. “How about we go and get some gelato after? You in?”

“Of course.” 

“Perfect!”

One last lingering kiss on the lips and Nico takes off, leaving Marti staring into space. A second date.  

After a long minute, he steps out into the hallway, breathes in deep, and heads back to the pilates room with a spring in his step.

“I’m not seeing you tomorrow, am I?” 

Nico pulls up to the curb near Marti’s house. He looks over at Marti in the passenger seat and bites the inside of his cheek, which doesn’t do much to hide his smile. Nico’s smiling all the time when they are together it seems; it just travels to different parts of his face or body. Sometimes his shoulders are smiling, and sometimes his curls. At least that’s how it looks to Marti.

“Don’t think so. I missed a whole day of school and I missed some last week, so...” Marti gestures vaguely in the air. “I’ll get in trouble if I don’t catch up.”

“And we don’t want that.” Nico wiggles his eyebrows, making Marti laugh. One of his hands leaves the wheel to smooth over Marti’s cheek. “I had a great time today. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Marti had a great time too — perched on top of the stone wall in Giardino degli Aranci, watching the sun set over Rome with Nico by his side. The place was crowded as usual at this time of day, which used to irritate him, but this evening it just meant that nobody batted an eyelid at them pressing their thighs and shoulders together, squeezed between all the other people lucky enough to get a sitting spot. Nico faked almost falling off the precipice once, making Marti yelp and drop his gelato in an attempt to catch him. 

“Scemo,” he scolded, and it came out sounding like an endearment. 

They did have a wonderful time.

“Can you keep something for me?” Nico’s question brings Marti back to the present.

“What is it?”

“Give me your hand.”

Martino does, suspicious and curious in equal measure. Nico takes it and pulls carefully, exposing the pale underside of Marti’s arm.

“Here.” He leans down to press a kiss to the inside of Marti’s elbow, then bends Marti’s arm up like he just gave him an injection. “Don’t lose it, I’ll want it back next time.” 

Marti doesn’t know what his face is doing, avoids checking in the rearview mirror. All the kisses they exchanged in the last four hours, and it’s this one that makes him blush the deepest. “Ok, no problem.” 

“Goodnight then, Marti. See you Wednesday.”

“Goodnight, Nico.”

He gets out of the car with his newly-recovered backpack on one shoulder, the opposite arm still folded up, a small patch of skin there tingling with the memory of Nico’s lips. The Cortina roars to life and drives away no sooner than Marti walks through the gate, making him smile at the sound.

Martino Rametta must be the luckiest boy in the world. 

Chapter Text

TUESDAY, 30 OCTOBER 2018

Marti wakes up smiling. It never happened before, not in all of his seventeen and a half years, not even when the reason of his waking was the smell of delicious food. And it has definitely been years since he woke up so well-rested before school. Nico’s Rise and shine, Marti:) is waiting for him when he pulls his phone from under the pillow, making him smile all the wider. He shoots back a Good morning! and at least five heart emojis before dropping it back on the bed and stretching his limbs far far far with a happy groan.

Without his mom there to pester him about breakfast, Marti skips it, deciding that early arrival will give him a chance to copy homework from Gio or Sana. (Gio would help him out of goodwill; Sana just can’t stand hearing a wrong answer without correcting it.) 

Rome greets him sunny and fresh, October wind sticking cool fingers under his jacket and ruffling his hair. It smells like dry leaves and new beginnings, so Marti breathes in deep and feels like a new person, too: someone important, someone who’s missed when he’s away. Someone kissable. 

Heat rises in his cheeks when he remembers their walk down from the garden last night. The sloping stretch of the road was so deserted in the dusk that Nico risked winding his arm around Marti’s waist, drew Marti close and smooched him quick and silly on the side of his neck. Back in the safety of the car, Nico’s kisses turned slow and savoring, hands holding Marti’s face up like a blossom or a holy text. 

He dips his chin, helplessly pleased with the memory and trying to hide it from the world. New Marti still has to wear his old skin when he’s at school.

The squad is at the usual spot by the school gate, Elia’s arm around Luchi’s shoulders as they talk animatedly over each other, making Gio facepalm. 

“Please don’t tell me Luchino came up to the girls with pizza sauce on his forehead.”

“I did!”

“He did! And when they told him about it, he wiped it off and licked his finger and… Hi Marti!” 

“How’s life, man?” Gio latches onto Marti like a lifeline, clearly not anxious to hear the end of the pizza sauce story. “Good weekend?”

“Not too bad,” he smiles, shaking hands and slapping shoulders until he’s done with all three boys. “What are you rascals up to?”

“You missed out on an adventure by not joining me and Luchi this Saturday.”

“Oh yeah? What kind?”

Elia starts bringing him up to speed. It sounds like a fun story, but soon Marti finds himself too distracted to follow. There seems to be an excess of joy inside him, simmering and expanding, ready to envelop the whole wide world. The day is beautiful, he feels amazing, and he loves his squad. Give Marti a genie lamp right now and he wouldn’t know what to ask for. 

Well, maybe for the freedom to talk about Nico as openly as his friends do about girls. Not that his thing with Nico is comparable to Elia and Luchi’s pathetic quests for phone numbers. 

My thing with Nico. The thought has his stomach swooping with nervous excitement. After two dates and one night together, it’s safe to say they’re dating, right? So that means they’re a couple, like Gio and Eva? Not exactly like them, of course; Gio and Eva have been together for ages. But still. Are they ‘official’? Would Nico want that? Oh god, first he needs to ask Nico to be his boyfriend... 

Wait a second. Last night, should he have asked Nico to come up to his apartment? Nico knew Marti was home alone, so maybe he was expecting an invitation? Especially since Marti stayed over at Nico’s before? On the other hand, Marti had an excuse to stay over. Spending the night because you’ve been invited must be a different case entirely.

Gio’s arm lands on his shoulders, knocking Marti’s inner debate off course. “Guess what, none of you have better news than me. I got my own scooter!”

A chorus of incredulous exclamations from the boys makes the morning school crowd turn to stare in their direction.

“A scooter! But how?”

“My aunt bought a new Vespa so she let me have the old one.”

“Is it red?!”

“No, Luchi, sorry. Plain black.”

“Can you take us for a ride? Please, Gio!”

“Technically, I still need to practice before I’m allowed to ride it in the street…” A dramatic pause. “But we can try in my yard tonight.”

“Daje! I’m calling dibs on the first ride, Eli.”

“No, you’re not, because we’re not savages. Let’s settle this like men.”

As Elia and Luchino clash in a furious match of rock-paper-scissors, Giovanni nods at Martino. “You coming? I have a spare helmet and everything. Gonna be fun.”

Marti shrugs one shoulder under Gio’s arm and smiles. “Sure, why not.” He’s not seeing Nico tonight anyway. “Oh, and Gio... I’ll need to copy some homework from you. If that’s ok.”

“No problem,” Gio pats him on the back quickly, one-two, as if to seal the promise. “I’ve missed you, man. You’ve got to tell me how it went on Friday.” 

They both know there’s no pressure behind the suggestion. Everything Marti shares with Gio are things that he wants to get off his chest. The great thing about Gio is that he’s always there: to listen when Marti wants to talk or to keep him company when he doesn’t. Marti feels terribly lucky to have him.

Elia’s scissors tear through Luchi’s paper without mercy, leaving him the winner, and then it’s time to go to class. Maybe, Marti thinks, trailing through the school gate, maybe he’s finally ready to come clean to his best friend. About himself and about Nico. 

Who knows. This morning, nothing seems impossible. 

Nico (pilates): How’s school? I dreamed of you today, you know

The message stares at him from its cozy white bubble, and Marti stares back, not sure what to do. 

He barely had the time to check his phone all day, copying other people’s homework or being grilled for missing the test or trying to read Eva’s lips when the teacher was quizzing him about historic battles. Frankly, it was hell, but at least he’s done with it and is now chilling on the sunlit terrace of the Baretto with Luchi, waiting for the other two boys to join them. The plan is to head straight to Gio’s and play FIFA until Garau senior leaves for work, then fool around with the scooter away from the man’s reproachful eye.

I dreamed of you today, you know

Dreamed how, Martino wants to ask. Was it anything like that time he dreamed of them both in the shower? Luchi starts making ungodly sucking noises, chasing the last drops of his aranciata with a straw, and Marti chuckles to himself about the timing. 

Good dream? he types out, and sends it before he can change his mind. 

Nico (pilates): Weird dream. I was cooking a huge pot of pasta and you kept tasting it and spitting it out. Don’t remember much else

Very weird. Google what it means, could be a dark prophecy:p

Nico (pilates): I think it means that I miss you again

Marti grins, grabbing the phone with both hands and hunching until he’s almost doubled over it.

I miss you more! School was super terrible today

Nico (pilates): My poor Marti:( if you need an emergency kiss you can have the one I left you, I don’t mind

He glances sideways at Luca, who’s stuffed four ice cubes in his mouth, and imagines his reaction to Marti suddenly kissing his own arm. Yeah, no. 

Can’t right now. It wouldn’t feel the same as with you, anyway

See, Nico’s not the only one who can be bold. Martino wants to be bold too. 

He spent so long second-guessing and talking himself out of things, trying to mind the consequences. He had to. But something shifted yesterday when Nico stormed back into the laundry room. Some age-old knot loosened and untied under Nico’s tender pressure, every touch of his hands and lips spelling You can have this now. It’s all for you. 

Nico types and types, making Marti increasingly curious and slightly intimidated. Then the typing stops, no message coming through, and just before Marti starts worrying for real, the screen lights up with a call. He puts the phone to his ear. “Hello?”

“Hi Marti! Oops, I didn’t even ask if you can take the call... sorry. Is this okay, are you busy?”

Luca catches his eye and mouths Gio? , making Marti shake his head and improvise.

“Uh. Yeah, I can talk right now… mom.”

“Ohhh, undercover Marti, that’s cool.”

He hears the smile in Nico’s voice and just like that, his heart starts beating faster. God, he’s really losing it.

“Right, so what I meant to say is… I know I told you I’d have uni and work all day today, but, um. I had another look at my schedule and we could still meet? It’s totally fine if you have other plans by now, no worries, I just thought I better ask—” 

“Where?” Marti surprises them both with his reply, too frank, too eager, but his voice doesn’t obey him anymore. “And when?”

Nico still sounds like he’s smiling when he says, “Can you come to the gym in an hour?”

“Sure, that’s plenty of time.”

“Bring your swim trunks.”

“...okay.” He’d say okay if Nico asked him to bring a cake and a talking parrot. “Bye, mom.” I’m seeing Nico today.

It’s not until Marti starts stuffing his jacket in the backpack that Luca realizes he’s leaving. “Wait, you’re not staying till Gio and Elia show up?”

“Nope, gotta go, bro. Urgent family business.”

“You don’t want to see the scooter?” The way Luchi says the scooter makes it sound like Gio got himself a Ferrari. 

Marti walks around the table to stand in front of him, chewing on his lip. “I might join you later, okay? Tell the guys I’m sorry.”

Luchi mumbles something that Marti doesn’t quite catch, his chin almost touching his chest.

“What?”

“You don’t want to hang with us anymore since you lost that bet.”

Oh dear. He has to crouch to get into Luchi’s eyeline, feeling absurdly like a parent with a pouting child in the middle of a store. “Not true. It’s just been a crazy couple of weeks for me. You’re my best friends, come on.”

“So you will come after FIFA?”

“Can’t say when exactly, I’ll do my best. Wouldn’t want to miss the sight of you falling off a scooter, eh?”

This earns him a reluctant smile and a shove. “Fuck off.”

“Your word is my command!” Marti stands up, using the opportunity to mess up Luchi’s hair. “See you later, bro.”

Now, he thinks, jogging down the stone steps to the bus stop, to find those swim trunks I might actually have to call mom.

For once ATAC seems to cooperate and Martino arrives at his destination way before the agreed time. There’s no rush, really, but he finds it impossible to be languid — not when the distance between him and Nico is already so short. He hops off the bus, jogs across the street to the entrance. 

Briefly, he remembers his agonizing indecision on this very spot, the anxiety of meeting Nico again after their shower encounter. How much easier it seemed to run and leave his doomed crush behind, tough it out on his own like a bad fever. That was me last week, Marti thinks incredulously. Feels like a month ago. 

The directions in Nico’s text guide him to the changing room on the second floor of the gym. It’s empty, but with signs of frantic activity all around: wet tracks of multiple feet on the floor, abandoned towels, a pair of Spiderman-themed swimming goggles under a bench. Curious, Martino rounds the lockers and sticks his head into the equally empty shower room. The door on the opposite side is ajar, letting in a whiff of chlorine and the shrill bickering of several kids splashing in the water.

“You pushed me!”

“You pushed me first!”

“Gabriella, leave Elio alone and continue kicking, please. Keep those legs as straight as you can, all of you! Long and strong like a dolphin’s tail, come on!” 

The splashes intensify, a perfect soundtrack to Martino’s heart sputtering at the sound of Nico’s voice. It doesn’t matter that they saw each other less than a day ago — Marti needs to see his face, talk to him, touch him. Waiting for the class to end is not an option. 

It takes seconds to throw on his faded t-shirt and swim trunks, and two minutes to fix his hair where it flattened against the window of the bus. Finally, he crosses the shower room and pushes on the door to sneak inside. The first thing Marti notices is a bunch of kids treading the water, the brightly-colored swimming caps making their heads look like rubber balls bobbing up and down. They’re all gathered around another kid who’s floating facedown and blowing out a steady stream of bubbles.

“See? You keep your body parallel to the surface and blow out air, calmly, out of your mouth and nose. It’s easy if you relax and let the water support you.” 

The red cap turns out to be Nico’s — he’s there in the middle of the crowd, helping the floating boy find his footing again and nodding at him reassuringly. Martino’s flip-flops give out a loud squeak against the floor, making every pair of eyes in the room fixate on him.

“Ma-arti! You’re here already!” 

Nico draws out his name like it’s something grand, like he’s never received a more treasured guest, and Marti fights the desire to dive in and close the distance between them. He waves instead, smile wide and eyes squinted against the shimmering of the water. 

“Hi! You mind if I wait here? I’ll be quiet, I promise.” Please don’t send me away, I want to watch you be yourself with others because everything you do fascinates me.

“Of course, come here. Help me keep an eye on these troublemakers.” Nico turns back to the group. “All right, everyone, out of the water, ten squats, grab a noodle, and come right back. But no running!”

The kids give out excited yips as they climb the ladder out of the pool one by one. Nico ignores the ladder and pulls himself out with his arms, easy and nimble. He reminds Marti of an otter in his shiny black wetsuit, only his hands and feet left bare. 

“Don’t laugh, ok, the kids refuse to wear them if I don’t,” Nico says when Marti walks over. 

“Hm?”

Nico points to his swimming cap. “I know I look like a tadpole.” 

Marti doesn’t answer straight away, takes his time sitting down by Nico’s side. Their knees brush as he lowers his shin in the water next to Nico’s.

“That’s too harsh, Ni. You don’t look that weird.” In all honesty, Nico has nothing to worry about. Without the curls to soften the impact, the strong lines of his face are even more striking — the perfect curve of his mouth, the thick charcoal smudges of his eyebrows. Beautiful. “On second thought, I think it even suits you.”

Nico’s smile dimples his cheeks in a most distracting way. “Thanks.” 

Marti is staring and he feels no shame — just frustration about having to wait before he can touch that face again. He never knew this kind of impatience before Nico; it’s hard to swallow down. The kids start tumbling back in the water and Nico’s head whips immediately in their direction, breaking the spell. Right. Nico is still at work. 

“Ok, now, put those things in front and try to float like I showed you. No, Elio, you need to —”

Nico slides back in the pool to demonstrate the exercise again. Martino hugs one knee to his chest and rests his chin on it, watching him fondly. Nico handles the kids well, the boisterous and the timid ones alike, and from the way they hang on his every word it's clear they adore him. Instructions delivered, Nico returns to Marti’s side but stays in the pool with his back against the wall. Even as his eyes move from student to student with unwavering focus, the tips of his fingers find Marti’s leg in the water and run up and down his instep — artless, absent-minded touches that make Marti’s stomach go fuzzy. 

Marti is not yet fluent in this wordless language Nico sometimes uses with him, but he’s getting there. This time he's sure he understands what Nico means: thank you for being here. 

Only Nico’s cajoling and angelic patience manage to get the kids out of the water when the class is over. The girls are sent off on their own but Nico escorts the boys to the lockers himself. (“Marti, you have no idea how messy they get without supervision, give me a couple minutes here.”)

A meditative quiet descends as soon as the kids and their instructor are out of the room. Miniature waves spill over the pool's edge and vanish into the grates with a tiny hiss. The afternoon sun pours in through the tall windows, reaching the bottom of the pool in a web of glowing ripples. Just like Martino, the room seems to be holding its breath for Nico’s return.

It doesn’t take long. The door creaks and Nico slips in, looking more like a surfer now with his wetsuit still on but the swimming cap missing. The curls are free at last. Nico pads over and sits down on the edge, his side flush with Marti’s as if they’re on the wall again with all of Rome sprawled out below them. His lips press to the slope of Marti’s shoulder through the t-shirt before he headbutts the same spot like a cat. 

Soft smile, tiny eyes. Pretty easy to read, that. We’re alone at last, we can do whatever we want, and I’m so very happy. 

Martino beams back at him. Me too.

He doesn’t remember when Nico took his hand in his, but they’re clasped now, resting on top of Nico’s thigh. The next thing he knows they’re kissing, Nico’s free hand a warm weight on Marti’s neck. The throb of Marti’s pulse must be obvious there, and the realization sends big fat goosebumps all over his body. 

“Are you cold?” Nico, ever the observant one, pulls back with a small frown, thumbing the skin under Marti’s jaw. His eyes run over Marti like he’s looking for signs of frostbite.

“I’m fine,” Marti whisper-laughs, suddenly remembering that he, also, has one hand free for tugging Nico back where he wants him. Nico goes easily and it’s electrifying, a rush of power that leaves Marti dizzy. I can have this now. 

The next time they break apart it’s because Marti’s stomach has no manners (to be fair, he barely had anything to eat since the morning). The growl is long and angry and, according to Nico, endearing. “I guess no point in asking if you’re hungry.” 

“Ignore it, I can grab something later.” Marti would really rather go back to kissing. 

“No, no, you’re on my turf, and I should be taking care of you. Actually, I have my favorite snack with me today. We can share it.”  

“Is it a huge pot of pasta? Because I thought we dealt with that already.” Far from his best joke, but Nico’s low, breathy laugh is worth embarrassing himself. 

“Dream food doesn’t count! I’m talking about Nutella and cheese sandwiches, the most delicious thing in the universe.” 

“Nutella and cheese together? Sounds like a ton of calories.”

“So?” Nico must know he’s irresistible like this, with his head cocked to the side and a good half of those glossy curls tumbling into his eyes. 

Marti pats his stomach, tries to match the flirty tone. “It’s an ok diet for someone like you, but Martino Rametta doesn’t hit the gym quite enough.” Nico just stares like Marti suddenly switched to Chinese. “I mean… I’m a regular guy and you’re... fit.” Bravo. Not even Petrarca could have put it better.

Nico lets out a pained kind of sigh, taking hold of Martino’s face and looking at him firmly. “Martino Rametta is not some regular guy. Not to me.” He tucks some hair behind Marti’s ear, making his brain go offline for a second. “Please tell Martino that he doesn’t need to change a single thing about himself, especially not to eat some toast. Whoever makes him think such things... can fuck off.” 

The speech starts sweet and ends defiant, like Martino’s self-doubt has become Nico’s personal enemy. Marti swallows around a sudden dryness in his throat. “Fine, you convinced me. Let’s try it.” 

Nico’s frown dissolves in a smile and he makes to stand up, but Marti beats him to it - the least he can do in exchange for free snacks is help serve them. Nico’s duffel bag is tossed at the foot of a plastic palm tree in the corner. Martino picks it up as Nico leans back on his arms and starts kicking up water. 

“Try the big pocket on the right, there should be a... yeah, the container.” 

Martino is about to zip the bag closed again when he feels a long buzz against his palm and fishes out Nico’s phone. “I think someone’s calling you, Ni.”

“Mmm? Who?”

“Some... doctor? I don’t know, it just says “therapy”. You want the phone?” 

When he looks up from the screen, Nico’s eyes are wide and his cheeks are tinged with pink. Martino gets the sinking feeling he needs to apologize for some kind of misstep.

“Oh, um. Just leave it.” Nico clears his throat. “Actually, no, let me check what it’s about. Thanks.” 

The phone has stopped buzzing by the time Nico snatches it from Martino’s outstretched hand and starts typing. Standing over him with the lunch box seems awkward, so Martino settles back down, peeking at Nico out of the corner of his eye. 

“Everything ok? If you need to make a call in private, just tell me, I can...”

“What, no!” A hand grips his knee, pressing on it before Martino even tries to move. Nico puts the phone aside and scoots closer, hooks his ankle around Marti’s like an anchor. “It's about my old wrist sprain. Whatever, I’ll call them later. Let’s eat.”

They share the sandwich, laughing and trying to smudge each other’s faces with sticky fingers. The Nutella-and-cheese combo is cloyingly sweet, but Martino is too hungry to be picky. Nico kisses the crumbs off Marti’s hand, one and two and three and four, each brush of his lips travelling up Marti’s arm to his chest and spilling out in helpless giggles. 

They’re passing a can of lemon tea back and forth when Nico’s phone vibrates shortly against the tile. 

“A teksht,” Nico says over a mouthful of toast and slides his thumb over the screen to unlock it. He stops chewing as his eyes flit over the message, swallows stiffly. “...oh for fuck’s sake.”

Marti freezes mid-sip, watching Nico hide his face in his hands with a groan. “What happened?”

“It’s from my boss, Rossi.” Nico mumbles into his fingers like he’s trying to push the words back into his mouth. “The situation... changed. I thought I’d have at least an hour and a half with you, but he decided to put me on the next water aerobics class.”

Marti kinda hates this Rossi guy already.

“He knows I need practice hours for uni, so I can't refuse.” Nico's hands drop limply into his lap. “It just had to happen today, huh. I’m sorry, Marti. Dragged you out here for nothing.”

Nico’s guilty tone and downcast eyes jolt Marti’s insides with the urge to fix something. Seeing him so deflated is almost unnatural, like hearing a favorite song played off-key. Without thinking, Martino lifts a hand and brushes Nico’s cheek with his knuckles, along the invisible line that creases so beautifully every time he smiles.

“Hey, look at me, Ni. How long do we have until that class?”

Nico looks at Marti with the resolution of someone confessing to a heinous crime. “Twenty minutes, tops.”

“So, plenty of time to race you to the other end and back? We have to use the pool while we still can.” 

At this, Nico’s eyes light up again. “You’re not mad at me? For having to send you away early?”

Marti’s hand unfurls to cradle Nico’s jaw and bring his face closer, close enough to squish the tips of their noses together. “Of course not. I wanted to see you so much. I would have come if you had five minutes to spare.”

Who cares if he sounds desperate, this is the truth. At some point last week his body decided Nico was the new oxygen. Now, with Nico’s grateful smile against his palm, the realization doesn’t intimidate Martino at all. For the first time in his life, he’s not falling alone.

“Marti, do you have any idea how cute you are?” Nico covers Martino’s mouth with a hand to smother his protest and smacks a kiss on top of it. “Unbearably cute. But you’re not racing me in this.”

Martino pries the hand off his face. “What do you mean?”

A playful finger slips under Marti’s collar and tugs the material away from his skin. “Take this off, or you stand no chance against me.” Nico’s eyebrows jump and his head teeters on his long neck like some kind of cheeky sunflower. He plants his hands on the edge and slides into the pool. “Hurry up!”

After a moment’s hesitation, Marti reaches back over his shoulders to yank the shirt off. The look on Nico’s face when he’s finally topless is equal parts gratifying and bewildering. People rarely give Marti a second glance, but Nico’s gaze is heavy like a physical touch, taking him in with the hunger of someone who might never be allowed to do so again. Which couldn’t be farther from the truth, really. Martino just doesn’t have the words yet to express how little is left of his walls, how willingly he’d give up anything Nico asks him for. 

He follows Nico into the water, hissing at the sudden change of temperature. “There and back?”

Nico nods. “On the count of three. One, two, three!”

The race is a blur. Martino tries to use every trick Elia taught him in Bracciano last summer, from arm positioning to the right tempo of exhales, but he still expects Nico to come out in front. Surprisingly, they reach the starting point together, slapping the wall with open palms, panting harshly through toothy grins when they surface.

Nico runs a hand through his wet hair, making it stick up in every direction. “I’m impressed! You’re a decent swimmer, Marti.”

Martino rolls his eyes. “I bet you went easy on me to soothe my ego.”

“Oh? Why would I need to do that?”

Nico starts inching closer, still holding onto the edge. The look of betrayed innocence coupled with the low teasing tone is doing wicked things to Marti’s stomach.

“Dunno, maybe you want something from me.” 

Nico bites down a smirk as he leans in, eyes darting to Martino’s mouth. “Maybe I do. But you know what I noticed, Marti?..” He’s almost whispering now. “You...are very shitty at accepting compliments. We need to work on that.”

A snort and half-hearted push in the chest make Nico burst out laughing, but only for a second. He catches Marti’s hand on his sternum and keeps it there, nudging his thumb into the softness of Marti’s palm. 

“I mean it, though. Let’s play the compliment game. It will be fun, I promise.”

“The compliment game? What’s that?” 

“It goes like this: I give you a compliment and you have to accept or decline.” 

“What happens if I decline?”

“I have to think of a better one. Until you’re convinced.”

“And how do I accept?”

“You say ‘thanks, Nico’, and let me kiss you. Then we move on to the next one.”

For the nth time today, a nameless emotion starts expanding from Marti’s chest outwards until he is sure if he looked down his heart would be pulsing visibly under the skin. Trust Nico to cook up the silliest excuse to flatter Marti and give him kisses. Well then, Marti is not letting him do all the work. 

“We can play, only let’s take turns. I start. You have a very nice nose.”

“Nose? Really?”

“Do you decline?”

“No, no. Thanks, Marti.” Nico receives the kiss with puckered lips that flatten in a smile halfway through. “My turn. I adore all of your tattoos. The panther. The palm tree. And the heart. They're awesome.”

“Thank you, Nico.” A soft kiss. “There’s...one more though.”

“One more tattoo?” Nico’s eyes run over him in confusion. 

Marti nods, blushing and wondering what possessed him to mention it. “You’ll see…sometime. My turn.”

It barely takes four turns for the game to turn messy. Both of them keep breaking the rules, heaping several compliments in one go, moving in for kisses without the obligatory “thank you”, and the option of declining is forgotten entirely. 

The pivotal moment comes on round six (“You’re crazy handsome when you smile, Marti. I mean, you always are, but…”). Martino pulls Nico in by the small of his back and kisses him as hard and long as he can, without any intention to let him finish or to continue the game. We’re running out of time and I didn’t get enough of you. 

Nico seems to agree with this logic, kissing him back open-mouthed and hot. Marti’s senses narrow down to Nico’s tongue in his mouth, the weight of Nico’s arms around his neck, the sloshing of water between their chests. Every sound they make seems to echo across the entire pool, and instead of embarrassing Marti it just makes him want to be louder. He’s pretty sure the temperature of the water is the only thing that helps preserve the last traces of his dignity. 

The clamor of female voices in the showers yanks them back into the present. Nico pulls away and smiles at the mopey look on Martino’s face. His lips are a richer shade of pink than normal, a darker green in his eyes too. 

“The water aerobics ladies are here, I’m afraid.”

It’s usually Luca, not Marti, who likes to dig up sci-fi bullshit about the afterlife, parallel universes, and out-of-body experiences. But today is apparently the day Marti will have to set his scepticism aside. It is, in fact, possible for the mind and the body to disconnect and go their own ways. Case in point: his body is once again at the mercy of Roman potholes, shaking and jolting in the bus seat on the way to Gio’s. His mind is still in the pool with Nico. 

They parted in a hurry, Nico trying to apologize again and Martino refusing to hear it, making Nico promise to call when he’s done for the day, if only to say goodnight. His every step after Nico finally left him on his own has felt programmed, decidedly less real than everything that just happened between them. Some woman gave Martino a dirty look as he stumbled out of the changing room and into her way, and he just smiled in response. He’s been smiling to himself ever since, looking like a weirdo and not caring one bit. 

Nothing and no one could possibly dampen his mood today. Not the disgustingly slow traffic, not the intense mix of sweat and cologne rolling off the guy in front, and not the annoying voice behind him babbling over the phone for the last ten minutes.

“Yeah, exactly. Mhm. I don’t get it either... Anyway, this is Colino we’re talking about. He always crawls back to me in the end... It’s just how he is.”

Marti fishes out his phone and plugs the earphones in. As the first sounds of Jamie XX fill his head, he slumps in the seat and closes his eyes in pure bliss. He feels invincible.

Chapter Text

WEDNESDAY, 31 OCTOBER 2018

“Are you ready for the Halloween party tonight?”

Marti looks up from his phone, one foot on the landing and the other on the step in front. He was about to pass Eva and Silvia in their nook on the windowsill without noticing. 

“Uh, the Halloween party?”

It sounds like he’s not aware of the party, but in truth, he forgot it was Halloween, too. Somehow in the last five or so days all of Martino’s attention revolved around a different subject. 

Eva frowns and pulls out her phone. “I thought I asked Gio to tell all of you...”

“I must have missed the message,” Marti shrugs. “When is it?”

“7pm tonight, Fede’s place.”

So the ire of Federica’s parents has passed since the last notorious party on the roof. Good to know. 

“But what about pilates? Are you girls ditching today?”

Silvia throws Eva a look before addressing him. “I suppose you missed those messages, too. We agreed to cancel the class, no one’s in the mood for it before the long weekend. Niccolò was fine with it, so.”

Marti’s mind goes in several directions at once, most of them Nico-related, and Eva’s impatient expression doesn’t help to organize his thoughts. Finally, he nods. “Ok, if the guys are coming. I'll be there.”

He’s about to continue on his way when Silvia makes a thoughtful noise, tapping her chin. “Do you think we should invite Niccolò as well? Fede said the more the merrier, so I was thinking… or maybe it’ll be awkward...”

“I can ask him if you want.” He blurts it out on instinct and the stab of apprehension is immediate — did I give away too much? Should I mention that Nico and I are friends and go out for beers sometimes? Before he can tie himself into knots about it, Silvia claps her hands in delight. 

“That would be sooo great! Please do, Martino!” She turns to Eva with a triumphant smile. “It’s a big advantage if we know older, handsome guys outside of school.”

Eva gives out a tired sigh. “If this is about impressing Edoardo... Silvia, we don’t know if he’ll show up. And that’s not even the main issue here.”

“He will! Don’t mind her, Marti, just ask him, ok? There will be free drinks and a DJ and everything.”

“Fine, I’ll ask him.”

“Oh, and you both should be in costume! The party theme is movie villains!”

“Uh-huh, got it. See you later, girls.” Marti hurries to leave before the list of conditions can get even longer. 

Going to a party with Nico. Introducing Nico to Marti’s friends. Watching him get tipsy and flushed and loose-limbed. Taking him to the dancefloor, yelling out the lyrics with him, holding him close for the slow songs. Locking lips in front of everyone and flipping off the wolf-whistlers without breaking the kiss. 

The images crowd Marti’s brain, some realistic and some considerably less so. All he knows is that he’s had an opportunity dropped into his lap and he wants to make the most of it. He can figure out the particulars later.

The boys’ bathroom on the third floor is empty — Marti checks every stall — so he leans against the window and gets his phone out. 

hey:) you still in class?

Nico (pilates): yeah, sports psychology:) you?

almost done with mine. Silvia and Eva told me you guys cancelled pilates?

Nico (pilates): I was going to call you about this actually. the girls asked to reschedule because of the holidays and I couldn’t say no

softie:p

Nico (pilates): that’s the effect you have on me:P anyway, more free time tonight! do you have plans? I want to see you<3

Marti bites his lip and looks up at the ceiling, letting the joy of this simple admission wash over him. He stars Nico’s last message before typing out his own.

if you don’t mind high school parties I could take you to one:)

Nico (pilates): a party with your friends?

yes, 7pm at Federica’s. Silvia will be making a fool of herself for Edoardo, it’s fun to watch. and it’s on the roof! interested?

Nico (pilates): absolutely. is there a dress code? 

Silvia mentioned movie villains but most people won’t care, so don’t worry

Nico (pilates): don’t be boring, Marti, of course I’ll be in costume! and you must be, too

I’m already regretting this...

Nico (pilates): too late! I’m invested now, I’ve got to impress your friends

you’re impressive just as you are

Nico (pilates): thank you, Marti :-*

you're welcome :-*

Nico (pilates): I can drive you if you want? 

that’d be awesome actually, Federica lives a bit far 

Nico (pilates): deal. sorry, gotta wrap this up before prof confiscates the phone! 

oops

Nico (pilates): I’ll call you later to discuss the costumes!!

can't wait XD 

Nico’s status changes to ‘last seen’ and Martino scrolls up to re-read the conversation from the start. He can scarcely believe how unreserved Nico made him in such a short time; every hour spent with him makes affection slip easier off Marti’s tongue. He likes the aftertaste of those words. Saying them to Nico makes Marti just as happy as hearing them back. 

Martino is washing his hands when his phone starts buzzing on the edge of the sink. Wiping one hand hastily on his jeans, he catches it and taps the green button with a wet thumb. “Hello?”

“I know it’s a sore spot for teenagers, but your mother loves you and sometimes she’d even like to hear from you, Martino.”

“Hi, mom, sorry, I’ve been very busy with school and... with homework. How is everyone?”

“Nonna went to see the doctor yesterday. The swelling is down, so that’s good news. I cycle a lot. Silvio started barking every time Salvini's on TV. Cose così. How are you, dear?”

“Fine, good. School is boring. Oh, and I found my house keys.”

“Really? Didn’t you say they fell in the Tiber?”

“...Uh, no, I found them in my gym bag after all.”

“Well, thank god. So, are you taking the train today? I can bake something nice for your return.”

Right, he made his mother a promise on Monday. A promise that he managed to forget about. 

“Yeah, mom, about that… I don’t think I can go back to Cecina tonight. Silvia and Eva invited me to celebrate Halloween and I sort of promised to go, so... Tomorrow maybe?”

It’s not the fear of refusal that makes him nervous. Marti’s mom has never been particularly strict. Even after the infamous night at Peccio’s, when Marti stumbled home drunk on bad beer, he got away with a mild scolding. But recently he’s been following his heart so earnestly that he lost sight of everything not directly in the way of it. 

“Can I talk to nonna?” he adds quickly.

“Of course. Mom! Your grandson wants to have a word with you.” He hears his mother walk out into the garden, where he knows his grandma must be lounging in her chair, reading glasses on the tip of her nose and a crossword magazine spread on her lap. 

“What did you say, darling? Is Martino here?”

“No, no, he wants to stay in Rome tonight. Here, take the phone.”

Rustles and more rustles. “Hello?”

“Hello nonna, it’s me. How’s your wrist? What did the doctor say? I’m sorry I didn’t call yesterday.”

“Ah, don’t worry about that. The doctor didn’t say anything I didn’t already know. I have no idea what I’m paying him for.” Marti snorts and hears her laughing, too. “More rest and more pills until the next check-up. What’s new with you? A party, I hear?”

“Yes, with my schoolmates. That’s why I can’t make it to Cecina tonight.”

“I see. Giulia, darling, could you get me a glass of water?” When she addresses Martino again, her voice is so changed with the thrill of this little deception that it puts a big smile on his face. “She’s gone, but not for long. How are you feeling, Martino? Any news about your young man?”

I’m ridiculous, Marti thinks, feeling his stomach flutter at the cheesy title. “I’m taking him to the party tonight.” 

It’s a relief to be able to say that to someone who cares and doesn’t judge. He feels infinitely grateful to her for asking. 

“Oh, fantastic! My boy, you need to make it count. At your age, every conversation matters. Will there be dancing at the party?”

“I think so, why?” 

“I knew I’d fallen for your grandpa when I saw him dancing. No one in the entire village looked so good on the dancefloor... The way his hair kept falling in his eyes when he did a twirl... Giggle all you want, Martino, but you need to prepare some dance moves. Listen to your nonna, she wants the best for you.”

Martino clears his throat of suppressed laughter. “I know, I know. There isn’t much time left but I’ll think of some moves.”

“Wear a clean shirt and don’t use too much cologne. Too much cologne destroys romance. Ah, she’s back! Thank you, Giulia. All this talking is giving me a dry throat.” Marti hears his grandma take a sip of the water. “Right, as I was saying. Meet with your friends, have fun, I don’t want you in Cecina sulking and staring at your phone. Here, say goodbye to your mother and go about your business.”

Another handover of the phone.

“Seems like you two decided everything already,” Martino's mom sighs, but she doesn’t sound offended. “Since you’re staying for longer, can you meet the delivery guy tomorrow and sign for my package? I’m not sure he’ll show up but if you can be there around lunch...”

“Of course, I can do that.” It’s starting to look like Martino will be in Rome on Thursday, too. Tantalizing ideas about how to occupy that time start zipping around his brain. “Is there anything else i can do?” 

“No need to butter me up, Martino.”

“I wasn’t trying t— ” 

“You absolutely were.” It’s unnerving how perceptive she is sometimes. “Have fun at the party, love, we’ll talk tomorrow. Bye!”

“Bye!” Martino ends the call, shaking his head and looking at the mirror above the sinks. 

You’re crazy handsome when you smile. Nico’s voice in his head makes Marti do just that. 

The long weekend starts tomorrow. Mom won’t be home. Why not invite Nico to stay over after the party? All Marti wants is to spend some time with him without worrying about the clock or other people. This might be the best chance he’ll ever get. 

Still smiling, Marti nods at his reflection, as if a secret agreement has been reached between them. He’s going to invite Nico. There’s just one thing he needs to do first: grocery shopping.

Gio catches up with him on the way to the bus stop. “You in a hurry or something, bro? I’ve been yelling after you all the way from the gate.”

“Sorry, had my earphones in.” Martino bunches up the flimsy wire and shoves it in his pocket. “Yeah, I need to run some errands before the party tonight.”

“Is your mom home already?” Gio falls into step with Marti, kicks a pebble as they walk down the street.

“No, she’s with grandma. But she still gives me work to do. You know how it is.”

Gio snorts. “I know. By the way, do you need a ride to the party tonight?”

“On your scooter? Aren’t you taking Eva?”

“Not this time. She’ll be there early to help Fede with decorations. So I can pick you up no problem.”

Marti thinks of Nico’s car, his retro love and pride. The soothing rumble of the engine, the smell of old leather. He thinks of Nico’s hands: the left one always on the wheel, the right one making short trips — to the radio, to the gearstick, to Marti’s knee. He thinks of Nico leaning over the handbrake to kiss his cheek as they wait for the green light. 

“Thanks, Gio, there’s no need.”

“You sure?”

“One hundred percent.”

“O-kayyyy,” Gio drags out nonchalantly, puffing up his cheeks and slowly letting the air out of the side of his mouth. He’s curious, but he’s not going to push it.

Marti almost wishes he would. 

The heady feeling of wanting to tell Gio everything, asap had dwindled by the time he reached Gio’s house yesterday. There wasn’t a good moment anyway, with Elia constantly begging Gio to let him drive the Vespa and Luca, unsurprisingly, falling off the back of it at least twice. Surrounded by cheerful disorder, Marti realized he’d need quite a bit of courage to follow through with his intention.

He’d need Gio all to himself, somewhere he can watch every muscle in his face, hear every change in his voice. It’s not like he is wary of Gio’s reaction to the news. Marti knows that Gio’s not an asshole. He knows about the hangouts with Boccia and Boccia’s boyfriend, and that Gio has a degree of admiration for Eleonora’s LGBT activist brother. He knows all that. 

But Gio is also his best friend in the whole world. Marti knows him too well to miss the tiniest sign of discomfort, the smallest bit of distance. If Gio starts seeing him differently after that talk, Marti will notice, and he doesn’t think he could recover from a wound like that. It’s almost too painful to think about. 

They cross the street and check the timetable: Marti’s bus will be there in two minutes and Gio’s in twelve. 

“Lucky bastard,” Gio grunts, elbowing his side.

Marti dodges him with a laugh. “Violence is not the answer, eh.”

Gio pretends he’s counting crows only to try and elbow Marti again. They start tussling half-heartedly, making the respectable old lady at the bus stop tsk in their direction. It goes on precisely until one of Gio’s hands worms its way under Marti’s arm, making him yelp out a defeated basta, basta!

Marti has barely caught his breath when Gio unwittingly knocks it out of him again. “By the way, do you still need my tank top?”

“Actually, no. I can bring it to the party if you want?”

Gio shakes his head. “No rush. I just hope it helped solve your problem.”

It’s frank, but not intrusive. Placed between them like an offering — we can discuss this if you want — and Martino picks it up. The temptation is too strong. 

“Your tank top worked better than I expected. We… we went on a date. So, thank you.” He smiles at Gio carefully.

Gio grins at him. “Awesome! You deserve it, bro.”

“Thanks,” Marti huffs, pulled into Gio’s side with a friendly arm. 

“A date, huh. Just a date?” Gio fixes him with a wicked look (as wicked as Gio’s honest face is capable of, anyway).

Marti rolls his eyes, more at his own blush than the question. “Well, maybe a kiss or two.”

Gio’s impressed whistle shouldn’t be so gratifying, especially since he doesn’t know the whole truth, but Marti lets himself bask in it.

“Daje, Marti! I told you, my method is bulletproof. When do we get to meet your conquest?”

“My bus is coming,” Marti sing-songs, twisting away and pulling out his wallet. 

“Fine, keep your secrets, young Romeo. Just know that I’m proud and if you need any advice…”

“...I know where to find you. Got it.”

Martino fistbumps Giovanni and gets on the bus. The doors slam shut between them and soon his friend is just a little dot on the horizon. 

Cookies: check. Milk: check. Tomatoes: check. Sliced bread: check. Marti peers into his shopping cart, trying to recall whether he has enough supplies at home to throw together a dinner for two. The thought wraps around his heart like a warm little creature. He’s going to repay for Nico’s hospitality. Impress him with his cooking. Spoil him with treats and kisses so he never wants to leave.

A good focaccia can be a start, Martino decides. Nico will appreciate the reference to their first movie night together. Switching to this new quest, Martino heaves the shopping cart around and pushes it to the fresh produce section. He’s inspecting plastic-wrapped twigs of rosemary when his phone vibrates in his back pocket. A single glance at the screen makes him break into a smile.

“Nico! Hi!”

“Hey, Marti. Have you escaped the temple of knowledge yet?” 

Marti grips the phone tighter. His right ear feels warmer just from Nico’s voice in it. “Yes, I’m on my way home. If you’re calling about the costumes, I still have no idea—"

Nico doesn’t let him finish. “No, no. I mean, yes and no. First I need to know if you’re busy before the party.”

“Eh… don’t think so. Why, you want to meet up earlier?” He wants to pregame at my place and I still need to clean the stove and take out the trash and...

“What if,” Nico speaks lower, like he’s sharing a dangerous piece of intel, “I picked you up around 15.30 and took you to krav maga with me?”

The cart starts rolling away and Marti’s hand darts out to catch it. “Cr… sorry, I have no idea what that is.” 

“Krav maga, Marti, it’s an Israeli self-defence system! Don’t worry, there won’t be any extreme stuff. I’ve wanted to try it for ages and I just got an invite to the beginner class so I thought we could go together.” Nico’s excitement is almost palpable, he’s talking so fast. “It will only take an hour. We can figure out your costume after — I have some ideas — and then head straight to the party. Sounds good?”

Marti hums, trying to process, which seems to make Nico regret his words immediately. “...or, you know, it’s fine if you don’t want to. This is extremely short notice. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have ambushed you like this.” 

Thing is, Marti is not much into exercising (kicking the football with his mates doesn’t count). It took a lost bet to make him see the inside of a gym. But here’s Nico, offering Marti to do something he’s excited about, together. In the end, the choice is easy. 

“It’s okay, Ni. I’ll go with you.” How hard can a self-defence class be, really? Marti pushes his worries away. Nico only led him to good things so far.

“You will? That’s so sweet of you, Marti! Thank you.”

“Come on, you don’t have to thank me.” Nico’s enthusiasm inspires Marti to continue. “Unless you come to my place after the party and let me cook for you.”

“Wait, you want me to come over tonight?”

Marti finds himself addressing a pile of watermelons, cheeks heating up all of a sudden. “...I do.” 

Nico speaks after a pause, slower and gentler than before. “Then I’ll be there. I heard great things about your cooking.”

“Don’t expect too much,” Marti laughs, relieved. He said yes!  

“Don’t underestimate yourself! Ok, let me grab some lunch and I’ll be heading out. Don’t worry about the outfit, by the way, whatever you wear to pilates is fine. I’ll text you when I arrive.”

They say their goodbyes and Marti checks the time. He needs to get moving if he wants to take the groceries home, tidy up the place, and get himself ready (including a thorough teeth brushing). Marti grabs some rosemary at random and makes a beeline for the checkout counters. 

After an agonizing minute of staring at the condom display, placed somewhat ironically above Kinder Surprise eggs, Marti remembers something. He entrusts his spot in the queue to the girl behind him and runs to the shelves, only to return a minute later with a jar of Nutella and a block of cheese. He lowers them triumphantly into his cart. 

Nico is going to love his breakfast at Casa Rametta tomorrow.

Chapter Text

WEDNESDAY, 31 OCTOBER 2018

Nico (pilates): I’m outside!

Marti skips a few steps running down the stairs, half-empty backpack jumping behind his shoulders. Their elderly neighbor is going to complain later, but right now all Marti cares about is Nico waiting for him in the car. 

The low seat of the Cortina feels like a hug when Marti slips into it. He still doesn’t know the first thing about cars, but he’s starting to love this one.

“Helloooou,” Nico drawls in a silly accent. The part of his face between the wiggling eyebrows and the blinding smile is covered by heavy sunglasses that give him a jaunty bodyguard look. 

“Hi,” Marti replies, breathless, and grabs Nico’s cheeks.

Whatever impression Nico is going for, it can wait, because Marti has to kiss him hello. The coast is clear — he looked both ways before getting in the car. Nico makes a surprised sound but kisses back immediately. His hands find Marti’s neck and try to get him even closer, but Marti’s nose jams against plastic and they both snort into the kiss. Nico pulls away and pushes the sunglasses up over his forehead with a flourish. 

“What are these for? It’s not even sunny!” Marti’s brain might have stuttered after sudden exposure to Nico’s eyes, but he’s recovering quickly.

“They’re part of my villain costume! The rest is in the backseat.”

Martino twists around. “...a black leather jacket?”

“Not the exact replica, sadly, but close enough. Here, look.” Nico scrolls through his phone’s gallery and turns the screen to Marti. “I have the fingerless gloves, too!”

In the photo, Arnold Schwarzenegger wears a grim expression on his square-jawed face, topped with a pair of old-fashioned shades similar to Nico’s. Most importantly, his chest is bare under the open leather jacket, showing off his impressive, glistening pecs. Marti swallows. If Nico shows up to the party like this, I’m not going to survive.

“I thought T-1000 was the villain, not Arnie’s Terminator.”

“Correct, but I’m dressing up as the 1984 version, not the 1991 version. In the first movie Arnie was the villain. We can watch it tonight if you want?” 

So Nico’s already making plans for the sleepover. Marti smiles and smiles. “I like this idea.”

“Can’t wait to see your reactions! We’re gonna have so much fun!” Nico rubs his palms together in excitement. “Ok, now. Are we ready to go?” 

“Yes!”

Nico gives him a once-over and purses his lips. “Hmmm, don’t think so.”

“Eh? Why?”

“Seatbelt, Marti.” 

Marti winces and buckles himself up hastily. When he leans back in the seat, Nico flicks the tip of his nose lightly with a finger. “That’s better. I wouldn’t want to risk precious cargo.”

“I’m sorry, did you just call me cargo?” Did you just call me precious?

Nico starts the engine, laughing at Marti’s pretend indignance. “Right, so let me fill you in about krav maga…”

The drive to the martial arts club takes just under fifteen minutes. Nico parks the car in a sleepy side street and leads Marti into a nondescript gate squeezed between a Thai massage parlour and an auto repair shop. 

Through a metal door and across a small lobby and up the stairs. Left and then right and along a hallway with several training rooms. The doors to them are closed so Marti can’t peek inside, but as they pass each one he can hear the harsh cries of the coaches, followed by thuds and groans and cheers from the trainees. This is nothing like being in Nico’s gym.

In the changing room, Marti sits on a bench beside Nico to take off his shoes. He’s annoyed with himself for the intimidation that’s already stewing in his stomach. Stay cool. It’s just an introductory class for beginners. And you’re here with Nico. 

“Hey.” Marti bumps Nico’s knee with his own, needing some kind of affirmation to help him tamp down the anxious feeling.

Nico turns his head and smiles, his lips pressed together tightly, and goes back to fighting with a stubborn shoelace knot. He seems subdued ever since they got out of the car, Marti thinks. It’s there in the tense line of Nico’s shoulders and the way he keeps chewing the inside of his cheek. Maybe the atmosphere of this place is affecting him as well. If only Marti could touch him properly — brush a hand down his spine, rub his neck, anything. They’re not alone in the room, however, so Marti clasps his hands together under his chin and watches Nico in silent sympathy. 

“Ah, fucking finally.” Nico stands up and chucks his shoes into the locker.  “Let’s go.” 

They walk into the training room barefoot like the rest of the people there — mostly young guys and a couple of stern-looking girls talking in hushed voices. The room is bare apart from some flags hanging from the ceiling and bright blue foam mats covering the floor. Marti bends down to poke the foam with his finger. Doesn’t feel all that soft. 

“Nico! You showed up after all!” Martino’s head snaps up to see a tall, athletic guy approach them with a big smile on his face. He gathers Nico in a hug and rocks him from side to side before letting go. “I’m flattered.”

“I’m glad to see you, too.” Nico smiles back. 

A beat passes as Marti looks curiously between the two. The stranger is easy on the eyes: broad shoulders, trim waist, and the kind of brazenly handsome face you’d see in a shaving gel commercial. A dreamboat, Silvia would say.

Nico clears his throat and steps closer to Marti. Lays his right hand between Marti’s shoulder blades, a bit stiff but confident. “This is Martino.” 

The guy looks Marti up and down. His eyes are very blue. “Stefano. Nice to meet you.”

Marti sticks out his hand mechanically. His fingers squish together in Stefano’s firm grip but it barely registers against his racing thoughts. Has Nico just introduced him as his... someone? 

“Stefano is my old friend and an experienced self-defence instructor,” Nico continues. “He will be teaching the class today.”

“Oh, okay. Awesome,” Marti nods, not knowing what else to say. Meeting Nico’s cool workout friends is not something he prepared for. 

Stefano surveys him for another moment, scratching the underside of his strong chin. Marti wonders if he should ask something about the class. 

“What’s your background, Martino?” 

“Background? I mean, my mom was born in Tuscany...”

From the corner of his eye, Marti sees Nico opening his mouth to interject. Stefano waves him off, all attention on Marti’s face.

“No-no, your martial arts background. Is it karate? Muay Thai? Nico here did three years of judo, for example. He’s out of shape at the moment, of course, but the foundation is there. What about you?”

“I never did anything like that.” Marti holds Stefano’s stare. “Didn’t know it was required to participate.” 

“It’s not,” Nico reassures him, rolling his eyes at Stefano.

Stefano shrugs, then smiles. “It’s not, just curious. No shame in being a total rookie! Well, enjoy the class.” 

With a nod, Stefano leaves them and walks to the front of the room. He claps a few times to draw everyone’s attention. 

“Hello and welcome, guys! Please, spread out so all of you can see me and I can see you. Thanks. I’m Stefano, and today I’ll be teaching you the basic principles and techniques of krav maga, one of the most effective fighting systems in the world. Fair warning: we won’t have time to go into much detail. My goal is to give you a fast track to understanding whether urban krav maga is something you’d like to try on the regular. After the class you’ll have the opportunity to sign up for my Level 1 krav maga course. Understood?”  

As people start humming and nodding, Marti looks over at Nico and smirks. Not scary so far. Nico winks at him. Not at all. Stefano’s sharp, commanding voice makes them break eye contact.

“Ok, less talk more business! Make a circle — wider, wall to wall — and start running. Faster, no zombie crawl! Warm up those muscles, you’ll need them! And don’t forget to breathe!”

Marti runs, eyes fixed on the back of Nico’s head. Messy curls, cute ears, slender neck. It’s hours and hours still before he will have Nico to himself, but even the wait is sweeter with the knowledge that Nico will be staying the night. And he won’t be sleeping on the sofa. Don’t forget to breathe.

After plenty of running, jumping and stretching, Stefano deems them ready for actual self-defence. Most of the techniques look deceptively simple until Martino tries them, but he likes working it out with Nico (and all the touching that goes with it). If only Marti could have Nico by his side for longer than five minutes at a time. Grabs, tackles, kicks — Stefano seems to need Nico’s help for every demonstration. On the one hand, Marti feels proud. Of course Nico is Stefano’s first choice from the group, quick and strong as he is! But it’s also kind of frustrating to have him taken away so often. 

“Nico, if you don’t mind, I could use your invaluable assistance once again.” Nico springs to his feet readily and walks over to Stefano, the entire group seated on the mats to watch. “Try to choke me like you mean it.” 

Stefano turns to Nico, waiting. As soon as Nico’s hands wrap around his neck, Stefano pulls his chin into his chest, raises one arm over his head and turns around swiftly, bringing it down in a chopping motion. The move makes Nico stumble into Stefano’s back, both of his arms trapped and his face pausing millimetres from Stefano’s raised elbow. 

“See that? With a simple move, you can leverage your weight and the opponent’s surprise to get the upper hand. Try to get away, Nico.” Nico tries to pull his arms free, to no avail. “Pay attention to every step, guys. If you do the technique halfway and forget to immobilize the attacker, you what?” 

“You run?” someone from the audience suggests.

“You die,” Stefano barks. “Krav maga is the art of survival in the streets. No rules, no pretty uniforms, no mercy. You get one chance to block the attack or you’re done for. Understood? Now practice with your partner for all directions: front choke, side choke, from behind. Always check that you fixed the arms well.”

Martino stands up with the rest, hands on hips as he waits for Nico to come back. Suddenly Stefano snaps his fingers at the guy in the first row. “Marco, right? Can you go and partner with Martino over there for a while?”

Speechless, Marti watches the guy approach him sourly as Stefano murmurs something into Nico’s ear. Nico ducks his head, says something back that makes Stefano laugh out loud. Marco’s massive frame obscures the scene as he stops in front of Marti. “You ready or what?”

Marti would be hard-pressed to say which is worse: Marco’s big, sweaty hands squeezing his neck, or Marco’s clumsy blocking. It’s 50/50, really. He tries to be helpful, but Marco rejects any advice or courtesy, seemingly forgetting that this is not a competition. Every time they switch positions Marti hopes to catch Nico’s eye and silently beg him to come back. But somehow, Nico never happens to be looking his way. All Marti gets is short glimpses of Nico nodding at something Stefano is saying or trying to escape Stefano’s chokehold. Marti purses his lips and gets back to work. 

“Ok, enough of that!” Stefano announces at last. “Good job. Now let’s see how you manage with equipment. Nico.”

As Stefano goes on about the types of weapons and how to defend against them, Nico is handing out cushioned training sticks. He’s coming closer and closer and Marti’s heart starts thudding in his throat. In a weird way, it feels like Nico hasn’t talked to him in ages. How can I be missing him when we’re in the same room? 

Finally, Nico looks him in the eye. He seems unfocused, almost like he’s surprised to see Marti, but still smiling in a way Marti can’t help but return. Their fingers brush when Marti takes the stick from Nico and suddenly he’s overwhelmed with the desire to grab Nico’s hand and pull him out of this room, away from these people, and never come back.

“Nico! Speed up the process, for god’s sake!” 

With a sigh, Nico obeys and hurries to Stefano’s side, leaving Marti to stare after him. 

Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. Marti grits his teeth as the stick lands on his back and sides and legs, Marco making circles around him and hitting wherever almost without pause. Accept the pain and make peace with it, Stefano said. Close your eyes and relax your muscles. If you’re afraid of pain, you’re not ready to defend yourself. The part where Stefano warned the attackers against being too eager clearly went over Marco’s head, though. 

Marti peels one eye open to check if Nico’s going through the same ordeal. What he sees is Nico rolling up his short sleeve as Stefano gestures for him to flex his bicep. Nico does, looking anxiously between his arm and Stefano’s face. Stefano reaches up to pinch the muscle, then wraps his whole hand around it. 

Marti doesn’t get to finish the thought before Marco swats him in the stomach. “F-fucking...”

“Very nice!” Stefano addresses the group again and Marti swallows the rest of his outburst. “I see you’re getting into the spirit of krav maga. Next, we’re going to work on your reflexes and your concept of a safe distance.” 

Stefano takes the training stick and points it at the center of Nico’s chest, arm perfectly straight so there are about two steps between them. 

“Of course, the safest option is to flee. However, sometimes you have no choice but to stay and defend. In such a situation you need to feel, with your gut, that you are out of reach, but close enough to launch an effective counter-attack.”

Without warning, Stefano raises his arm and brings the stick down and to the side, cutting the air in front of Nico’s face with an audible whoosh. There are gasps from the girls and Marti’s breath hitches, but Stefano just keeps going, swinging the stick in an X that seems to miss Nico’s flesh by centimeters. Nico blinks on instinct every time, but doesn’t recoil.

“This exercise is not for the faint-hearted,” Stefano says at last. “You must conquer your fear and perceive the space in front of you. Attackers — you are also working on yourselves, okay? Make it scary, put some force into it. But always observe distance, don’t be stupid. Let’s go!”

The first in attack is Martino. As much as Marco pisses him off by now, he can’t bring himself to be aggressive and risk hurting the guy. He ends up waving the stick weakly up and down, clearly boring Marco with his incompetence. 

“Enough, my turn now!”

They switch. Immediately, Marco starts whacking at the air like he’s making his way through the jungle. Marti flinches, but tries to stay in place like Nico just showed them. Nico. Marti’s eyes drift away from Marco's face to find him. By the looks of it, Nico’s playing the aggressor in some fight scenario they haven’t been taught yet. He comes at Stefano stick in hand and Stefano lunges at him full steam, disarming Nico and tackling him with moves so perfected they blur into one.

The end of Marco’s stick flies past Marti’s face, making him blink. He opens his eyes again and Nico’s on his back, Stefano straddling him and pinning his wrists to the ground. Nico bucks his hips but Stefano doesn’t lose balance; instead, he smiles at Nico and leans in a bit closer. One of Stefano’s hands lets go of Nico’s wrist and slides up, palm to palm. Their fingers intertwine. Nico’s cheeks go red. 

The wave surges out of nowhere, frothy and dark. It smashes into Marti’s ribs from the inside and shoves him forward. He has to do something— 

BOOM. 

“Marti! Can you hear me?! Marti!! Oh my god, he’s not breathing!”

“Calm down, Nico, he just had a little knock to the head. Look, he’s back with us already.”

“We need to call an ambulance!!” 

“The doctor will be here in a minute. Step back, guys, give us some space. You’re not in a zoo.”

Marti groans, his senses coming back all at once and clashing with each other for a long confusing moment. Right. He’s on the floor. His head is pounding. Above him, Nico’s face is so pale that his eyes seem impossibly huge. But still, so beautiful.  

“Marti, hey, look at me. How are you feeling?” 

“Ugh... peachy.” 

Nico’s watery smile disappears when Marti tries to touch his own pulsing temple. He catches Marti’s hand softly and holds it between his, running his thumb over the knuckles. Nico’s hands feel cold and clammy. 

“Let’s wait for the doctor, okay? Don’t move around, Marti. Let’s just talk for a bit.”

Martino blinks at the ceiling. “Okay.”

As it turns out, the club always has a doctor on call just for this kind of situation. She checks Marti over before walking him to the bench in the hallway, gets him an ice pack for the bump and a bandaid for the shallow cut on his forehead. Nico lurks around through the whole thing, biting his nails and following the doctor’s every move like Marti is getting a heart transplant. Pretty soon all the attention starts embarrassing Marti. He’s fine. It was his fault, anyway. Finally, the doctor leaves, making Marti promise to get some rest and call her immediately in case of vision trouble or vomiting in the next few hours. 

Nico brings Marti’s bag and jacket and shoes from the lockers and drops them on the bench. “Don’t worry about a thing, ok? I’ll take the car and drive right up to the entrance. Just get dressed and I’ll come get you.”

Marti can only nod, feeling weirdly empty and outside of himself. Maybe he did get a concussion after all. Or maybe he’s just exhausted. 

Judging by the sounds from the training room, the krav maga class is still going. Martino is tying his shoelaces when Stefano walks out of there and joins him quietly on the bench. After a long moment, just as Marti starts thinking he’s not going to talk at all, Stefano sighs and shakes his head. 

“I feel bad for you, Martino. You seem like a nice guy. You didn't deserve this.”

Marti touches the bandaid and shrugs. “It’s not so bad.”

Stefano huffs, but his face stays serious. “You didn’t deserve that, either. But I’m talking about Nico’s little show.”

A chill runs down Marti’s spine. “I don’t understand.”

Another sigh. “Ok, there’s no gentle way to do this. Has he ever told you that he’s in a long-term relationship? ...I guess not. Ah, Colino.”

The word sounds familiar, like an itch at the back of Marti’s mind. He turns to face Stefano fully. “No, that’s... Nico and I, we’re dating.” 

Even as he says it, a terrible doubt starts creeping into his stomach. Nico has never actually said that they are. But it was implied, wasn’t it?

“How long have you been together, two weeks? Three?”

“...a week.”

He hates the way Stefano’s face softens, like Marti is a kid who just admitted to stealing a cookie. “See, Martino, Nico has been my boyfriend for two years now. We love each other. No relationship is perfect all the time, of course. Sometimes we have arguments — like the one last month. Not my proudest moment, I admit, but Nico can be stubborn as a mule, too. And when he wants to teach me a lesson and get me to apologize, he likes to make me jealous.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Martino doesn’t recognize his own voice. He clears his throat, but it only gets tighter. Stefano leans back on the bench, arms crossed. 

“It’s a lot to take in, I know. But this is not the first time. Nico did the same thing about a year ago, with another guy like you. Young and naive and… obviously not in his league, or mine. No offence, but, you know, let’s be real. Anyway, I saw them together, just like he planned, and I did get jealous. But he was back in my bed the very next day.”

There’s a cold, sharp pain in Marti’s chest, a perfect counterbalance to the hot dull throbbing in his skull. He digs his nails into his palms. “How do you know it’s not serious this time?”

Stefano shrugs. “You’re right, I don’t. But he did bring you here, to me, of all places. Did he take you to Ostia, too? The pier with the quotes?” Marti drops his eyes to the floor. “History repeating itself, huh.”

Marti’s phone buzzes with a new message. He paws at his backpack to take it out. 

Nico (pilates): sorry, my car was blocked! had to wake an old man to get his tin can out of the way. coming to get you in five! you ok? 

“Well, I don’t have anything to add. Gotta get back to the group before they all kill each other.” Stefano stands up and rolls his sculpted shoulders a couple times, stretches his neck. “You’re a smart kid, Martino. Don’t let yourself be played.”

The bathroom is not hard to find. He doesn’t look in the mirror this time — turns his back on it, in fact, and peers into his phone. Instead of replying to Nico’s message, Marti opens the chat with Gio. 

hi, where are you?

Giovanni: hanging around Garbatella on my scooter, why?

could you pick me up? I’m sending the location, it shouldn’t be far. please

Giovanni: no problem, be there in 10

thanks!

Martino paces the room. Splashes his face and neck with cold water, careful around the bandaid. Changes into a spare tshirt from his backpack. Nico must be looking for him already: the count of new messages on his phone screen keeps growing. After ten minutes, Nico tries to call. Marti shoves the phone into his pocket and leaves the bathroom. 

Nico catches up with him downstairs, his hair in disarray like a mad professor’s. 

“Marti, finally! I couldn’t find you anywhere!” Nico checks if they’re alone and steps closer to brush Martino’s cheek with his fingertips. “How are you? I’m so sorry you got hurt, I should have…” Martino winces and Nico drops his hand. “Right, let’s get you home. You can rest and I’ll bring you some pizza and painkillers. To hell with the party, yeah?” 

That imploring tone and the soft smile after are almost enough to make Marti’s resolution crumble. Don’t let yourself be played. He clenches his jaw. “I have to go. I’m sorry.”

He turns away from Nico and walks out of the building, swallowing around the lump in his throat. He’s not going to cry.

Gio’s already waiting for him on the scooter, visible through the bars of the gate. 

“Wait! What happened? Talk to me, Marti!” Nico follows him and blocks his way. 

“Let me go.”

Nico’s face changes. “What did Stefano tell you?”

He knows, Marti thinks. He knows what he's done. “Why did you bring me here, Nico? To make me look like an idiot? To play some sick games with your boyfriend?”

Marti knows he looks hysterical, gesticulating at Nico and jutting out his chin, but the hurt is getting too big for his body. Nico has the nerve to shake his head, to try and touch him.

“Please, Marti, you have to…” 

“LEAVE ME ALONE!”

Nico flinches, pulling his hands to his chest. For a second, Martino finds bitter satisfaction in the look on his face, wide-eyed and stunned into silence. 

He almost runs out of the gate, jumping on the back of Gio’s scooter. Nico doesn’t follow. 

“Marti, the helmet?”

“Just take me away from here, Gio, I’m begging you…”

“Ok, hold on.” 

Gio starts the scooter and soon they’re zipping down the street in the twilight, cool air blowing over Marti’s face. The area is coming alive for the party night, people in ghoulish costumes queuing in front of every bar — vampires, ghosts, zombie brides splattered with blood. All a bit drunk, all loud, all happy. 

Marti presses his face to Giovanni’s back and cries. 

Chapter Text

THURSDAY, 1 NOVEMBER 2018

“Come on, Marti, time to get up. You can’t stay like this all day.”

In the shuttered grayness of the room, Martino lifts his face from the pillow and squints at the figure by the side of the bed. A mop of curls, a warm hand on his shoulder. He closes his eyes with a sleepy smile. “Why, is Marisol back already?”

“Who?”

The fog starts to lift as Marti turns over and blinks slowly at the ceiling. This is my room. I’m home. “Gio?”

“Yeah, buddy.” Gio sits down on the bed, nudging Marti’s legs to the middle with his butt. 

“What are you doing here?”

“You don’t remember?” 

Martino is an expert in the shades of Gio’s concern. This sounds like his you’re starting to freak me out tone.

“I remember how you got here. I just don’t know why you’re still here.”

It comes out rude; not at all like he meant to say it. But a quick glance at his friend tells Marti that he doesn’t need to explain himself. 

Gio sighs. “You were a mess yesterday, bro. You refused to eat, told me you hit your head in training, and went straight to bed. In your clothes, at 6 pm. I couldn’t go to a party and leave you like this, eh?” Ever the diplomat, he doesn’t mention the frantic escape and the crying.

Martino lifts the edge of the blanket: sure enough, he still has his clothes on. The clothes he changed into in the bathroom, right after… The krav maga class, the talk with Stefano, Nico trying to stop him, the streets full of monsters. Yesterday’s events fall together like jagged pieces of a nightmarish puzzle. 

But no, it’s all real. Nico lied to him and used him. Marti never meant anything much to Nico. 

“Woah, Marti. Head okay?”

Gio frowns at him and Martino realizes he’s been staring off into space and picking at the band-aid on his forehead instead of answering.

“Yeah, better. It’s fine.” By the tight, swollen feel of it, he must be sporting a bruise above his left eye. And some on his body, too. The purple finger-shaped splotches around his wrists are definitely Marco’s doing. 

Gio clears his throat. “If you want to talk about anything... we could, you know.”

Marti considers it. Now that his thing with Nico turned into a bad joke, does he really need to let Gio in on it? Nothing has to change, a comforting little voice tells him. No one has to know. Like the last time. And Marti remembers the last time: his crush on Gio, the wild hope, the jealousy, the lying. Hating himself with Eva’s tears soaking through his tshirt. The twisted relief of watching Gio and Eva drift back together. But most of all, feeling completely, irrevocably alone every minute of it. 

“Can I, uh. Can we have coffee?” 

Gio must know this is Martinese for yeah, let’s talk because he immediately perks up and squeezes Marti’s shin in encouragement. 

“I’ll fix us some coffee. But I’m not bringing you breakfast in bed!” He dodges Marti’s half-hearted kick from under the blanket. “Up, up, up! I’ll be in the kitchen.”

The coffees sit invitingly on the low table in front of the sofa, so Marti walks straight to it while Gio is poking around the little kitchen. On the way down all of Marti’s muscles start protesting the treatment his body received yesterday. He puts a throw pillow behind his back, thinking to himself that he must be turning into his grandma. That impression is only intensified by the low murmurs of the TV that’s playing an episode of Don Matteo.

“Cookies?” Gio calls over his shoulder.

“Fine by me,” Marti calls back. 

Gio crosses the Ramettas’ living room with a plate in each hand, clucks his tongue as he arranges them on the table beside the steaming coffee cups. Marti watches him with a mix of amusement and gratitude. It’s plain to see that Gio is doing everything in his power to make Marti comfortable before they start talking about something painful. If Gio had time to get some scented candles, he’d probably put those on the table, too. 

“Hope it’s alright that I opened your Nutella. I can’t resist the stuff. Here, have some with toast.”

Just like that, the spark of normalcy is snuffed out; Marti can almost taste the curling smoke it leaves behind. He shakes his head in response and reaches for a cookie. For a few minutes they sit there sipping and chewing, Marti looking anywhere but at Gio.

“By the way, your mom called me.”

“Called you? Why?”

“She was worried because she couldn’t get through to you.”

“Shit.” Marti hasn’t touched his phone since yesterday. 

“I told her you and Elia knocked your skulls together trying to head the ball, nothing serious. I drove you home from Fede’s party, it was late, now you’re sleeping.”

“Thanks, man. You saved my ass.” 

Gio’s nod of acceptance is followed by a half-shrug. “Listen, I can’t guarantee she bought the full story. You better call her back soon.” 

Martino hums into his coffee. Maybe later. If he called his mother now, she’d know something bad happened just from his tone. At least he had the foresight to tell her nothing about Nico before leaving Cecina. 

His grandma knows, though. And Gio is about to know, too. 

“So.” Marti drinks the last dregs of his coffee and gingerly puts the cup down. Twists one leg under himself, as if a nonchalant pose will make this any easier. “Remember last week, when I asked for your advice? After school?”

Gio puts his cup on the table beside Marti’s and turns to face him. “Sure I remember, bro. You told me that you have a crush on someone in your pilates group.”

It’s incredibly hard to hold Giovanni’s gaze, but Marti resigns himself to it. He wanted this — to be able to watch his friend’s reaction from up close.

“Yes. Sort of. I mean, it’s not someone from the group. More like,” Marti swallows, fingernails digging into the upholstery, “it’s the person who trains us.” 

Blue eyes widen in realization. “But she has kids, dude!” 

What? “What? Who?”

“Coach Patrizia! Eva told me about her. You’re having an affair with a married woman?” 

The accusation knocks Martino completely off course, along with the wobbling tower of fears and resolutions he’s constructed in preparation for this talk. The truth just slips out from under the rubble. “No, I never met her! Nico is their coach now!” Then, quieter, “His name is Nico.” 

Gio looks at him, expression unreadable, for the longest five seconds of Marti’s life. Then he huffs out a laugh. “Thank god, I thought my best friend became a gigolo or something.”

“Fuck off, Garau!” 

Marti punches his shoulder and Gio starts laughing in earnest, warm and silly and perfectly contagious. It’s impossible not to join in.

When their giggles subside, Gio knocks his right knee into Marti’s, a sly glint to his eye. “Nico, huh?” He makes it sound like a curious foreign word. “Tell me what he’s like.” 

Marti fumbles for the missing piece of dialogue, as if they were reading from a script and Gio skipped over some of his lines. “You don’t seem very surprised. That it’s not... a girl.”

“I’m not surprised that you’re into guys, Marti.”

The brakes screech so loudly in Marti’s head he wonders if Gio can hear. What does it mean? Did he realize a long time ago? 

“Don’t freak out, alright? I haven’t been analyzing you or something weird like that.” Gio looks down at his clasped hands and then back at Marti’s puzzled face. “It’s just, you’re my best friend since forever. When something is bothering you and you’re trying to act normal, I can tell. And sometimes you’re not subtle about stuff.”

“I’m not?” Marti furrows his brows. He has no idea where this is going. 

“Do you remember your kiss with Emma? When we were playing ‘spin the bottle’ at Peccio’s birthday party? Ok, so, later that night I found you in the kitchen, drinking water from the tap, looking really out of it. You told me that kissing was dumb and you’d never do it again. Definitely not with a girl, you said.”

Marti’s cheeks go hot with embarrassment that's two years too late. “I don’t remember that talk.”

But it must be true. Gio wouldn’t invent something like that.

“Oh, I’m sure you don’t, bro. Minutes later you crawled under the kitchen table to sleep.” Gio rubs his knuckles over the top of his head, as rough and fond as ever. “There were other things, too. You get weird when Boccia is goofing around with us. You’re never nervous talking to hot girls. But then a girl tried to seduce you and you looked terrified.”

“Who, Federicona? It doesn’t even-” 

“Shush, it totally counts.” Gio picks his next words carefully. “And lately... you haven’t been yourself, Marti. Ever since Luchino embarrassed you in front of some dude on Instagram. That’s when I started piecing things together, I guess.”

As Martino digests this, Gio chuckles and shakes his head. “I sound like a movie detective. Time to shut up.”

“Well, I asked you about it, so.” Marti shrugs. “Don’t worry, I’m not freaking out. And you’re right, I haven’t felt like myself for weeks.” 

Gio purses his lips, eyes searching Marti’s face. “Because of Nico.”

“Because of Nico, yeah.”

“Right.” Gio lets out a decisive exhale, slaps the tops of his thighs and gets up from the couch. Marti blinks up at him, confused.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m getting my phone so we can call Luchino and say 'happy birthday'. And then you’re going to tell me what’s up with your fitness guy.”

Gio has to get going after lunch, unable to avoid his family duties any longer. 

“I know it hurts like a motherfucker right now, but I promise you, it gets better. Keep your head up, okay?” He hugs Martino like he’s trying to squeeze the ‘better’ into his bones.

“Okay.” It takes conscious effort not to melt completely into the hug. “And thanks for. You know.”

“Anytime, bro.” Gio wedges his feet into his shoes and picks up his scooter helmet. “For the record, I think you should tell the guys. Not about Nico, if you don’t feel like it. About yourself.”

“Yeah? You think they’d be cool with it?” Somehow Marti can’t imagine their reactions at all, either good or bad. 

“One hundred percent. Or I’ll have their heads off.”

Marti snorts and unlocks the door to let Gio out. “I’ll think about it. See you tomorrow.”

“You better show up, eh, or we’ll be stuck there discussing the forehead kiss Luchino got at the Halloween party.”

“Be honest, Gio, this is more than he ever hoped for from Silvia. Probably used his birthday for sympathy points.”

“Probably? I say definitely. Anyway, come over. Hanging out without you sucks.”

As soon as the door closes behind his friend, the temperature in the room seems to drop a few degrees. Martino trudges into his room and drops backwards on the bed. His eyes fall on the pillow next to his: wrinkled and deformed, like someone punched it repeatedly to get comfy. Gio, of course. 

Gio, who stayed over for the night to keep an eye on him. Gio, who listened patiently to Marti’s jumbled retelling of the events without calling him naive or suggesting what Marti should have done instead. Gio, who persuaded him to play FIFA to take Marti’s mind off his misery. 

Gio was also there to witness Marti start at the sound of the doorbell and trip over his own feet in the haste to get the door. The guy behind it wasn’t Nico. His hair wasn’t curly and his eyes weren’t a confusing green and instead of “hello, Marti!” he said “delivery for Giulia Rametta” and shoved a piece of paper in Marti’s face. After a few seconds of stupor, Marti signed it and took the box to his mother’s bedroom, rearranging the many trinkets on the dresser to place it there. He needed the extra time to overcome his disappointment — with not-Nico and with himself, for wanting him to be Nico so badly. When he finally got back to the sofa and picked up the controller, Gio didn’t comment, and Marti was grateful.

Now, without Gio for distraction, nothing is stopping Marti’s brain from going into overdrive, hunting for clues that he must have missed. If Nico was faking everything, they have to be there. In movies there’s always a clue for the audience when a character is dishonest. Kissing with their eyes open, for example: a dead giveaway. Martino tries hard to remember if anything ever felt off about Nico’s kisses, but it just makes him feel terribly lonely.

He dozes off with a wet spot under his cheek and wakes up with a headache, exhausted by nonsensical dreams of Stefano chasing him with a stick.

Rectangles of orange sunlight sit high on the bedroom wall, meaning it’s past five and Martino spent the day feeling sorry for himself. He goes to Samir’s supermarket just to get out of the house, buys some grilled chicken he doesn’t feel like eating, wanders around the streets with his hood up to hide the bruise. 

It’s dark by the time Marti gets back. There’s nothing good on TV and the bed feels like the last place he wants to be, so he throws some pillows on the floor by the window and sits there listening to Tycho, volume up to drown out his own thoughts. Three tracks later, Marti gives up and opens WhatsApp. The unbroken string of Nico’s texts from yesterday stares at him in accusation. 

Nico (pilates): sorry, my car was blocked! had to wake an old man to get his tin can out of the way. coming to get you in five! you ok? 

Nico (pilates): I’m in the locker room already, where are you?

Nico (pilates): did we miss each other? the car’s right outside, let’s meet downstairs

Nico (pilates): Marti?? 

Martino sighs and taps the arrow to go back to the chat list. Glaring at Nico’s texts is beyond pathetic at this point. He told Nico to leave him alone, and with good reason. This is how it ends. 

Nico (pilates) typing…

It feels like a sheet of sandpaper has wrapped around Marti’s ribs, tight and coarse against his chest when he tries to breathe in. Nico’s online. Nico’s online, at this hour, writing him a message.  

The typing continues for some time, with torturous pauses that get longer and longer until it just… stops. Marti peers into the screen, his heart racing, and waits for Nico's text to come through. 

And waits. 

And waits. 

FRIDAY, 2 NOVEMBER 2018

I’m sorry. 

Martino discovers the message in the morning, disoriented after short and restless sleep. It took Nico the best part of the night to decide what he wanted to say: the timestamp reads 03:47. All that typing, and just two words to show for it. Frankly speaking, Marti has no idea how to feel. He thinks about it as he’s making his bed; in the shower; slouching next to the coffee maker with his eyes trained on the kitchen wall. Can’t stop thinking about it for a single moment.

What exactly is Nico sorry about? That he lied to Martino? Or that Martino found out this way? Is it his way of saying goodbye? Does he even care what Marti thinks? What if Stefano asked him to do this? And what in the world should Marti text back?

keep your bullshit apologies, Niccolò

or,

it pisses me off that you affect me this much, Nico

or maybe,

I don’t know how to be the guy I was before you, Ni

Or he could block Nico’s number. Seems like the safest option. Looking for the settings, Martino opens Nico's contact information and is met with the blown-up picture of Nico’s face, right above the media gallery full of their silly memes. It’s a simple selfie with Lungotevere in the background, tangled hair and bright eyes and a carefree smile.

Marti tries to imagine a different Nico behind this exterior — a coy, manipulative stranger. But all he can visualize, in painful detail, is the last time he saw Nico and how his face crumpled when Marti shouted at him. Whatever vengeful satisfaction he felt at the moment is long gone; the memory just makes him feel guilty now. Which doesn’t make sense. Am I a pushover? Is this why he picked me? 

Don’t let yourself be played, Stefano said. But Martino is curious. Where is Nico going with this? If Martino blocks him, he'll never find out. 

He opens the chat again and takes a deep breath, thumbs twitching above the keys. 

I’m sorry too.

Send. 

Chapter Text

FRIDAY, 2 NOVEMBER 2018

“Hey, Marti, thanks for the chicken! I always get so hungry when we come up here. It’s the fresh air.”

“Luchi, you’re desperate for food 25 hours a day in any location. Watch him, Marti, or he’ll devour the entire thing.”

“I don’t mind. I’m not hungry.” Martino feels Gio’s eyes on the side of his face but doesn’t return the look, still addressing Elia. “I didn’t bring a cake, so.”

“Birthday chicken,” Luchino grins, tearing off a greasy strip and stuffing it into his mouth. “Awesome!”

The boys burst out laughing and Gio raises his beer to the skies. “To Luchino! Happy belated birthday, man!”

“To Luchino!”

Marti knocks his beer can against Elia’s, Gio’s, and Luchi’s and takes a swig. The brand is not his favourite but he won’t complain, since he wasn’t the one to buy the beers and haul them all the way to their lookout spot. Martino loves it out here. It’s a tight fit, four boys on one beat-up sofa dragged outside by god-knows-who, but the sun is bright, the air is crisp, and the hill provides a decent view of Rome without attracting hordes of tourists. It’s perfect. 

The only problem with the location is that the distant sight of San Pietro inevitably takes Martino's mind to a certain room with a certain bed, and to their owner. His chest starts aching with the absence of Nico’s warm weight against it. 

The empty can folds with a pitiful crackle when Marti closes his fist, reaching into Elia’s backpack for another. 

“You like it, Martino?” 

Elia’s head is thrown back, hanging upside down off the sofa cushion while his crossed legs are up on the backrest. Martino doesn’t understand how he could possibly find this position comfortable.

“The beer? Uh, let’s say I tolerate it.” 

“Ha.” Elia coughs out a cloud of spicy-sweet smoke and offers the joint to Marti. “This is better.”

Marti shakes his head. “Pass.”

It’s not that he doesn’t want to. He does. But ever since he checked WhatsApp on his way here and noticed that Nico read his reply, everything inside Martino feels stretched too thin. Weed could make this feeling go away, or make it worse. He’d rather stick to the beer. 

Elia tries to squint at him but only manages a very unfocused version of that. "By the way, are you going to tell us what happened on Halloween? Gio didn’t really explain on the phone.”

“Yeah, what happened?” Luchino chimes in, perched on the sofa's armrest next to Elia. 

“Eh, not much to tell.” Martino leans back and slots his left shoulder against Giovanni’s. “I got hit during training.”

Luca gapes at him. “Dude, what kind of hell pilates do you go to?”

“No, it was a different thing. I tried a free street fighting class... and failed, I guess. Whatever, I’m not going back.” Marti pulls the tab on his beer, too fast, and groans when it snaps clean off. “F-fuck!”

Gio sighs. “Give me that.” 

He takes the can, quickly stabs the top with some tool on his keychain, and nudges it back into Marti’s hand. Their eyes meet and it’s as good as if Gio whispered the words in his ear. You have to get it over with, bro. I’ve got your back but I can’t speak for you.

Marti knows this, alright. He promised himself that he’s not getting up from this sofa without coming out to Elia and Luca first. Which gives him a deadline, since they’re not planning to spend the night out here. But the longer he hesitates, the scarier it seems, like trying to hop on a treadmill that’s moving faster and faster.

Enough is enough. He’ll rip it off like a bandaid: hey, guys, I think I’m gay. He'll throw it out there and hope for the best. Marti takes a gulp from the can. The late afternoon sun is suddenly scorching on the back of his neck. “Uhm, guys— ” 

This brave attempt is ruined when Luchino gasps at his phone. “Shit, Marti, is that you? It kinda looks like you.” 

Luchino stretches out his arm to let them see the screen as Elia pushes himself up and Gio puts his chin on Marti’s shoulder. 

At first the video is shaky and incoherent — a mass of people shifting from side to side. Finally the owner of the phone lifts it above everyone’s heads. The new angle reveals a pixelated Martino, lying on his back and clearly knocked out. Kneeling beside him, Nico is clutching Marti’s arm like that’s his last connection to the world of the living. 

“Wow,” Elia summarizes helpfully. “It is Marti.”

“Silvia sent me the link asking if Marti’s alright,” Luchino says. “It’s from Instagram.”

Marti’s brain runs through the inventory of nonna’s strongest Tuscan profanities, and not a single one seems to do this situation justice. “Whose Instagram?”  

Luchi fiddles with his phone. “Antonio? Some guy named Antonio. 24 years old. Roma fan.”

“You know him?” Gio asks quietly, and Marti shakes his head. That room was full of people he never met before. It’s hardly surprising that some prick among them filmed this for fun. 

How Silvia found it is beyond him, but it doesn’t really matter. Could be worse, Marti thinks. Nico’s face is not visible, so no reason for Marti to mention him at all. The boys already know what happened in training, and…

“Oh! I forgot to turn up the volume!” Luchi mashes the button several times. “My phone is so fucked up since I dropped it in the toilet, you have no idea.”

“Dude, gross!” Elia moans, but shuts up immediately when he hears what comes next. 

“What have you done? Get away from him! Marti, can you hear me? Marti!! Oh my god, he’s not breathing.” “Nico, calm down, he just had a little knock to the head. Look, he’s back with us already.” “We need to call an ambulan-” 

The video cuts off and starts again, Nico’s voice so raw with panic it’s painful to listen to. On second replay, Luchino finally turns it off, and the silence that follows is even worse. Martino worries the zipper of his jacket, feeling the eyes of the group on himself. Shit. Shit. 

“Erm. That looked real bad, Marti, are you sure you're…”

“I’m fine, Elì. It was just for a second and the doctor said I’m fine.”

“Okay.” Elia’s tone leaves no doubt that he expects Marti to provide more details.

Okay. Change of plan.

There might still be a chance, however slim, to leave Nico out of this.

But Martino is tired of strategizing.

“Guys, remember how we got drunk at Peccio’s and Luchi stalked some guy on my phone?”

Elia frowns for a second, then hums. “Yeah, what about it?”

“That’s him in the video. The guy next to me.” 

Luchi lights up for some reason. “You ran into the guy from Insta at your fight club?”

Martino drinks to buy himself some time. “No, I knew him before. He teaches pilates to the girls. Also, I sort of…” From the corner of his eye, he catches Gio’s nod of encouragement. “...had a thing with him.”

“A thing? In what sense?” Luchi’s face is the personification of Google’s 'no results' page.

Martino can’t resist rolling his eyes. “I mean we went on dates with each other. Obviously.” Obviously. Nailed it, Marti.

It’s quiet again. Martino is so tense he feels sick with it. Then Elia starts clambering off the sofa, and Marti’s heart drops at the thought that he’s trying to put more space between them. But Elia just sits the right way up and points an accusing finger at Giovanni. 

“You knew about this!”

“Not before yesterday, man!”

“As if! You two tell each other everything!” The finger swirls in the air between Gio and Marti, presumably to illustrate how thick as thieves they are.

“A gross exaggeration. Marti only tells me stuff when he’s ready.” 

The sofa creaks as Elia flops back in despair. “Loses a bet and turns his punishment into a chance to get laid. You’re unbelievable, Rametta.”

Gio snorts, but Martino doesn’t feel like joining in. Maybe Elia is too stoned to understand what Martino has just admitted to? “You’re bothered about the bet? Nothing else?”

“Well, what else is there?” Elia throws an arm around Martino’s shoulders and takes another drag from the joint that he inexplicably managed to hold on to. “I’m happy for you and the guy, but now I’ll have to think of a replacement punishment. Vae victis, my friend.”

Martino would normally tease him for sticking Latin proverbs into every conversation, but there’s suddenly a lump in his throat. He looks down at his hands around the beer can and blinks away the traitorous tingle in his eyes. Now that it didn’t happen, Marti is beginning to realize it would hurt like a motherfucker if Elia hadn’t taken his confession well. 

“Everything ok, Luchi?”

Martino looks up at Giovanni, who asked the question, and then whips his head around to see Luchino deep in thought. 

“Oh no, here it comes,” Elia murmurs when Luchi opens his mouth.

“Marti, sorry for asking, but. This means you’re gay now, right?”

“Yes, Lu.”

Martino lets the ‘now’ slide. It’s obvious Luchi’s heading somewhere with this.

“And the guy that you’re dating... he’s transsexual, then?”

Marti’s mind blanks as Elia collapses into giggles next to him. 

“How… why would you think that?” Giovanni says, trying to keep a straight face.

“One of my cousins is gay and dating a transsexual guy,” Luchino deadpans. “I decided Marti is doing the same.”

Now the entire trio is staring at Luchi. “Which cousin? The nerd from Viterbo?”

“No, Matteo from Berlin. We hang out on Skype sometimes and he comes over every summer.”

“You haven’t told us before.” 

Luchi shrugs. “You haven’t asked.”

This conversation is giving Marti whiplash. “Guys, Nico’s not transsexual. And we’re not even dating, so.”

Luca’s and Elia’s scandalized expressions make them look comically alike.

“What happened? You broke up?"

"Because he knocked you out at the fight club?”

“Jesus, let up a little,” Giovanni begs, but Marti shakes his head at him. It’s ok. Now I can tell them.

Martino is not in the habit of sharing private things on impulse, but this time it feels right. Liberating. A little defiant, too, with the dome of San Pietro taunting him on the horizon as he recounts the steps that brought him to Nico. 

He’s explaining it to himself as much as to the boys, trying to be impartial, weighing each word that comes out of his mouth. Many times he expects Elia or Luca to interrupt — to call him a sottone, poke fun at his flirting skills, ask him to get to the point. But no one says a word or even moves, not even when Martino stutters, with flaming cheeks, through the tale of his first date with Nico.

His throat is dry by the time he gets to the Halloween part. Marti downs the rest of his lukewarm beer and purses his lips in distaste.

“Then it turned out that Coach Beefcake is his boyfriend, and that Nico started this whole thing with me to make the guy jealous.” Luchino swears quietly. “Yeah. I felt like the biggest clown in the whole world. So I called Gio and he got me out of there.”

Gio rubs his back with a sympathetic sigh. “I’m sorry, Marti.”

“That's tough, Marti,” Luchino agrees. “So unfair.”

Elia gives out a thoughtful hum, contemplating the scenery. Marti’s story took long enough for the sun to dip behind the trees, the streets below already in shadows. “What do you mean by ‘it turned out’? Did Nico ask you to help make his boyfriend jealous? Or what?”

“Uh, no. The boyfriend told me about it. How they’ve been dating for ages and how Nico does this shit for attention.” Thinking back to the talk with Stefano makes him want to roll off the hill and never see another human. 

“And Nico was cool with that?”

Marti rubs his face with both hands. He’s regretting the oversharing session already. “Nico wasn’t there. He went to get his car, to take me home after I talked to the doctor.”

“Didn’t you say Gio got you out of there?” Luchino asks, confused.

Oh for fuck’s sake. “Yes, I left with Gio and not with the guy who made me feel like a piece of shit. Anything else you guys want to know?”

Elia raises an eyebrow at Marti’s tone, but it doesn’t deter him one bit. “You must have talked to Nico, though, before you left. Did he admit he fucked you over?”

“Elia…” Gio begins in a warning tone.

“Let him answer.”

Martino glares at Elia for a long second. “No, he didn’t say that.” To be honest, it’s hard to remember what Nico said exactly; Martino was so distraught that the whole scene is a blur in his memory. “I didn’t stay there to hear lame excuses, ok?” As soon as Marti says it, he feels like he walked into a trap. 

“Wait, he didn’t want you to leave?” Gio asks carefully.

“No.”

“And he was trying to explain.”

“Yes.”

Elia turns to Gio with a there you go expression. “And this checked out to you?”

“What do you want from me, bro, I didn’t know all the details!" Gio exclaims. "What does it matter, anyway. Two days passed and the guy hasn’t even texted Marti.”

“He did.” Marti blurts out. “This morning.” 

He takes out his phone and shows them the messages. The reviews are mixed, from Elia suggesting Marti’s reply was too cold to Gio saying it was on point for the situation. 

Martino shrugs, putting the phone back in his pocket. “So yeah, at least he let me know he’s sorry. Guess I won’t hear from him again because he doesn’t care anymore.”

It’s painful to even think about, let alone say it out loud, but Martino forces himself to. The sooner he accepts the truth, the better. He was a fool for allowing himself to hope Nico would keep up the conversation.

“You know, Marti,” Luchino says, “in that video… he kinda sounds like he cares.”

“Good point!” Elia high-fives him. “We have video evidence!”

Martino fights the impulse to shove them both off the sofa. “Whose side are you even on?”

“Yours, asshole.” Elia says. “Whose side are you on?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Gio clears his throat. “Elia is trying to say that you give up too fast, Marti. From what you told us, it’s been going pretty smooth until Wednesday. Maybe, I don’t know, give the guy a chance to express his point of view?” 

“Exactly,” Elia nods.

Marti looks at the faces of his friends and finds the same conviction on all three. Could they be right? Is there a chance he missed something? “Ok, maybe. But what do you want me to do now?”

Another exchange of glances between Gio and Elia. 

“Call him. Make him explain.”

“And put him on speaker!”

“No, Luchi, that’s not it...”

Elia grabs Marti’s shoulders and pushes him not-so-gently off the sofa. “What are you waiting for? Go! And don’t come back without good news! Phew, I need another joint after all this drama.”

Martino stumbles over an empty wine bottle and curses under his breath. Twilight hasn’t fallen yet but he already can’t make out half the crap strewn in the grass around the lookout.This place is fucking filthy. 

He hears the boys talking and laughing from afar, but they fall quiet when he approaches the sofa and takes the vacant spot between Elia and Gio.

“How did it go?"

"Did he pick up?”

“Yeah,” Marti says, avoiding everyone’s eyes. “He said hi, I said hi, and then he said it’s not a good time.”

“Huh. Ok, did he say when…”

“He wasn’t alone.” Martino interrupts. “Stefano was there with him.” 

SUNDAY, 4 NOVEMBER 2018

As soon as Martino walks in, a full shopping bag in each hand, he hears the murmur of the TV in the sitting room and the thunk of the fridge door closing. “Mom?”

“I’m home!” A second later, his mother pops her head out of the kitchen, smiling at him brightly. “And you’re home, too! What a coincidence! Ah, don’t look at me like that, Martino. I did warn you.”

Marti huffs, toeing off his shoes and walking past her to heave the bags onto the countertop. “I thought you were taking the evening train. Otherwise I’d start cooking earlier.”

“That’s sweet of you, but I didn’t want to arrive late. I have work in the morning. Now, let me have a look.” She comes up close and takes Martino’s face in her hands, turning it to the light and eyeing the bruise critically. “Hm. I think you’ll live.” 

"I think so, too."

Next thing Martino knows, she snakes an arm around him to snatch a box of grissini from the bag. 

“Don’t stuff yourself with breadsticks before I make proper food, eh.”

“Ooh, so serious. I’ll take just one. Ok, just two.” 

“Mom!”

She laughs at his exasperation and puts the box back unopened. “I have a proposition. Let’s heat up nonna’s lasagna. I’m too hungry to wait...”

As if Marti could say no to such an offer. “Proposition accepted!”

They work as a team, putting the groceries away and setting the table while the container spins around in the microwave. 

“How is nonna doing?”

“The second X-ray was better. Bones take long to heal at her age, but she’s optimistic. She’s more worried about you not calling.”

Martino winces. It’s true, he hasn’t called his grandma in days, mostly for fear she’d ask about Nico. A shitty excuse. “I’ll call tonight, thank her for the food.”

The lasagna is heavenly as expected, and they scarf it down in minutes. Martino is taking the dirty plates to the sink when his mother starts digging through her bag like a woman on a mission. 

“Where did I… no, not here… ah! There you go, Martino. It completely slipped my mind that I promised to pass this to you.”

Walking back to the table, Martino picks up a brown paper envelope with something small and rectangular inside, like a pack of cigarettes. “Nonna sent this to me?”

“No, it’s from your friend. Uh... Niccolò? I think he said Niccolò, but he was talking so fast...”

Marti’s stomach flips. “When...”

“Oh, about an hour ago. I got out of the taxi and there was this boy calling the intercom with no one answering, so I asked if he needed some help. I swear, he had one look at me and said ‘you must be Martino’s mom’. Isn’t it amazing? I invited him in to wait for you but he was in a hurry and asked me to give you this.”

Marti tears the envelope open with rigid fingers. A piece of plastic slides onto his palm and it takes him a moment to recognize what it is.

“I wasn't aware your generation uses audio tapes?” Martino’s mom peeks at it curiously as he turns the thing over. His name is written on the cover, block letters in thick blue marker.

When the epiphany hits, it surprises a laugh out of Marti. “Trust me, we don’t. It’s Nico’s thing, the 90’s.” 

“How interesting! Do you know what’s on it?” 

“No idea. And I don’t understand how he expects me to listen to it in 2018.” 

There’s a lot Marti doesn’t understand about Nico’s ways. Why take Marti on dates and be so thoughtful with him if all Nico needed was to show him off to Stefano once? Why try to stop Marti from leaving if Nico had no use for him anymore? Why keep contacting Marti if he’s back with his boyfriend? 

After the failed call, Friday evening with the boys turned sombre. Elia and Gio had no more advice to offer and Martino wasn’t in the mood to talk at all. Left to his own devices, he would have stayed inside all of Saturday, replaying the stupid video a hundred times, but Gio showed up on his doorstep with a skateboard. They spent hours on the Tiber Island trying to land a kickflip, filming each other in action and yelling out useless tips. No one mentioned Nico even once. For an entire day, Marti felt like he was beginning to get over his fitness trainer. 

“Ta-da!” 

Marti blinks, realizing that his mom left the room and came back while he was standing there completely spaced out. Now she’s smiling triumphantly, a dusty box with a tape recorder in her arms.

“I knew your father hadn't taken it with him. He was never the sentimental kind… ehm… anyway, this should work.”

“Oh, wow. Thank you!” Marti takes the box and pauses. It would be very suspicious to head straight to his room and close the door, but he can’t risk playing the tape in the open, so... 

Giulia Rametta takes in her son's expression and rolls her eyes. No secret as to where he got that habit from. “I'll go watch some TV. Really loudly.”

Martino plugs in the tape recorder and sits cross-legged on his bed, fidgeting with the tape until his fingers start leaving sweaty marks on the plastic. At last, he swallows his nerves and thumbs the case open, pulling out a slim black cassette. The back of the J-card under it is covered in tight lines of handwriting, the letters slanted and close together like they’re huddling for warmth.

Dear Marti,

If you found this, that means you didn’t throw the tape away as soon as you got it. Which lets me hope you’ll read this to the end. 
I think of you every day. I think of the time we spent together and how much every minute meant to me. Before you, I didn’t know it’s possible to be this happy. Now everything went to shit because of me. 
I lied to you about many things, Marti, and I am ashamed. But I never lied about what I feel. 
I owe you a proper explanation. You don’t have to forgive me, all I’m asking is that you hear me out. I will be waiting at the gym, tomorrow after pilates. I hope you will come see me. N.→

Martino’s eyes jump from word to word hungrily, scanning the note over and over like he’s been told to burn it afterwards. Every line makes his stomach lurch in a different direction, surprise and longing and suspicion stumbling into each other. Could it be true, Nico feeling so strongly about him? Or is this some new twist in the game with Stefano? 

And what’s the point of the tape? Martino inspects the cassette for a clue: no markings on either side. Maybe he should just play it. The buttons of the tape recorder are stiff, the indications on them faded, but he manages to pop one of the slots open and slides the cassette inside.

There’s nothing but the whirring of the mechanism for a few seconds, and then music fills the room — something slow and soothing and vaguely familiar. Martino can’t place it. The English lyrics, when they come, don’t help him either. Perplexed, Martino picks up the empty case to reread the message. This time he notices the little arrow at the end and drags his thumb against it. The paper pulls back and up, unfolding into a double panel.

There’s a second message on the inside, written in the same spiky hand:

P.S. I started making this mixtape last weekend after you went to Cecina. Maybe it’s too late for a gift like this, but it’s finished and I’d like you to have it, anyway. 

The tracklist that follows seems like a bunch of unfamiliar artists and song titles, at least until Martino's eyes reach number 6. 'Ricky Martin — Livin' La Vida Loca.' His chest tightens. The last time he heard this song, Nico was next to him, singing at the top of his lungs. 

Martino drops the plastic case on the duvet and grabs the tape recorder. He has a theory and he needs the fast forward button to test it out.

No matter how soft, the knock on the door still startles him. “Martino? Can I come in?”

“Yeah,” he calls weakly from the bed, slipping one hand into the pocket of his hoodie, fingers curled around the J-card. The other hand flies up to wipe his cheeks. Just in case, even though they’ve been dry for some time.

Martino’s mom opens the door and leans in, assessing him. “It’s been two hours and you got so quiet. I thought you fell asleep.” 

“No, just thinking.”

She takes that as an invitation to walk into the room and climb on the vacant side of the bed, sitting up against the headboard. 

“Thinking about the tape?” Then, just as Martino takes in a breath to answer, “...or about Niccolò?”

He tilts his head back to see her face properly. It’s neutral, a hint of a smile at the corners of her mouth. Expectant. Martino narrows his eyes and she raises her eyebrows, a silent battle raging between them. 

Martino tsks and looks away, admitting defeat. “What did you get from that delivery guy, a mind-reading manual?” Or am I that obvious to everyone?

“Martino, Martino,” she sing-songs. “I have eyes, you know? Something tells me a boy wouldn't get this flustered talking to the mother of a friend.”

Nico’s fault, then, for having no poker face. Not that Martino fared any better that time he had to greet Nico’s parents ten seconds after making out with him. His face starts heating up at the thought. 

Martino would like to ask his mother how exactly Nico looked today, what he sounded like, if he was scratching his eyebrow in that nervous manner of his. Instead, he settles on his side and curls into her body, smaller than his own but somehow infinitely more solid than he feels right now. Soothing fingers start carding through his hair, and Martino sighs long and tired through his nose.

“It's a romantic gesture, then? A gift?”

The whole situation must seem exciting to her, Marti muses. A handsome suitor under her son’s metaphorical balcony, serenading him with a tape full of love songs. The edge of the J-card digs into his palm as his hand tightens in his pocket. 

He went through the mixtape fastidiously, fast-forwarding from track to track and then rewinding to play the entire thing from the start. His theory proved right: it was the background music of their memories. The first time Nico touched him at the gym; the moment their eyes met across the room, dropping all pretense; the spontaneous karaoke on the way to Ostia; Marisol’s unbearably catchy Spanish bop; the Firefly opening theme; even the old Cremonini hit that came on the radio when Nico was kissing him dizzy in the car. A soundtrack to their own little movie.

“It's an apology, I think,” Martino finally replies. 

“Hmm. Apology for this?” Her finger skirts the edge of the bruise just above his eyebrow. 

Martino shakes his head slowly, one cheek brushing against the pillow. “Nico didn’t do this.” 

“But Nico did something.” 

“Yeah.” 

He's tempted to end the explanation there. The prospect of retelling any part of the Halloween events again isn’t remotely appealing. There's also the fact that he doesn’t want his mother to think badly of Nico. Doesn't matter why. He just doesn’t. Still, a part of him (evidently head rub-activated) makes Martino seek solace from her like he’s seven and there’s a thunderstorm outside. 

“He made me feel stupid. For believing that he liked me back and that... we could be together.” 

When he throws her a tentative look, she’s smiling down at him, head cocked to the side. “Ah, so he showed up at your house to say he doesn’t like you back?”

She thinks she’s sooo sly.

Whatever ‘mom it’s complicated’ defense Martino was about to mount, she doesn’t let him start. “It’s not stupid to like someone and want them to feel the same about you. The stupid thing is to pretend that nothing ever affects you.”

She ruffles his curls and bends down to stamp a kiss on his forehead, the force of it sinking Marti’s head into the pillow and making him grumble in protest. “Cheer up, patatino. I bet things are not as hopeless as you make them out to be. Okay? Oops, I think that’s my phone ringing.”

She wiggles off the bed, stepping quickly into her slippers, and almost reaches the door when Marti speaks again. “Hey, mom?”

“Hmm?”

“The note said he wants us to meet on Monday.”

She smiles at him over her shoulder and nods, as if he just confirmed her expectations. “Good.”

Chapter Text

MONDAY, 5 NOVEMBER 2018

It rains in the night. The wind spits raindrops against the window in sheets, making Martino feel like he’s the lighthouse keeper on a tiny island in the middle of the ocean. As if he needed more reasons to lose sleep. 

By morning, the sky clears enough for the sun to peek through. Sunlight reflects from the wet pavement, blinding Martino on his way to the bus stop. He gets on the bus with some difficulty, hugging his backpack to his chest. Thankfully, the crowd thins out after a few stops and he sinks into a spare seat by the window. 

Buildings that he’s seen a hundred times before crawl past, but Martino wouldn’t be able to even name the street right now. Deep in the pocket of his oversized rain jacket, he brushes a finger over Nico’s note. It seems that he can tell the words apart by touch; definitely knows them by heart already. 

i-think-of-you-every-day-i-think-of-the-time-we-spent-together...

“Whatcha smiling about?”

Martino flinches as his best friend plops down on the seat next to him, breathless from chasing the bus. They fistbump and he quickly tucks his hand back in the pocket. “Nothing.” 

Gio nods his head upwards with a non-committal hm and busies himself with ruffling his curls. That’s about as passive-aggressive as Gio can get. Passive-encouraging , Marti thinks. Oh well. “Just… Nico again.” 

Gio leaves his hair be. "Nico? He called you back?"

"He showed up at my house." Martino tries not to sound pleased about it. "I was out, so he left a message with my mom."

"Woah. What message?"

Martino describes the contents of the envelope as best he can. Nico's words travel from the tips of his fingers to the tip of his tongue, warming him up from the inside. "He said that he was happy with me. That he still thinks about me."

"Damn." Gio scratches the bridge of his nose, thoughtful. "And what about that long-term relationship of his?"

Martino shrugs. "He promised to explain everything if I come to the gym today. That’s all I know." 

"Do you want to go?" 

Last night, lying awake in his bed, Martino was asking himself the same question. He tried to weigh his options. What if he didn’t go? Then he might never hear from Nico again. And what would that feel like? In the end, Martino decided that he didn’t want to find out.

“I want to see him,” Martino announces to the back of the empty seat in front. When Gio doesn't immediately reply, he adds, “You must think I have no pride.” 

Gio shakes his head, amused. “No, Marti. I think you have an epic crush. Let’s go, that’s our stop.”

They get off the bus and make their way up the street. Asphalt is mostly dry where the sun can reach it, with yellow-brown leaves plastered here and there. Martino kicks a soggy lump of them as he waits for Gio to tie a shoelace. Gio straightens up and they move on.

“He really got to you with that mixtape, eh?” Gio teases, swinging the bag on his shoulder to bump it into Martino’s. 

Martino rolls his eyes in fake annoyance but he’s smiling. “No one's ever done anything like that for me, Gio. It’s...” He trails off with one hand in the air, like the right word escaped his literal grasp. 

“...flattering?..”

“Yeah, but not only that. Listening to the tape made me think of other times Nico did stuff for me. Like when he helped me catch the morning train, or when he rescued my backpack. He didn’t have to do that, but he did.” He didn’t have to kiss my arm or walk me to his bed in the dark, but he did. It has to mean something, no?

They reach Scalea del Tamburino and wave at Elia and Luca who are waiting at the top. Shards of glass crunch under their feet as they start up the monumental stairs — the remnants of the party weekend. Gio doesn’t ask Martino to say more on the matter. He’s had enough experience with Martinese to fill in the gaps. 

They’re halfway up the steps when Martino speaks again, almost to himself. “Can’t imagine how he’s going to disprove everything Stefano said, but I’d like to hear him try.” 

“The truth could be somewhere in the middle,” Gio suggests. “Maybe Nico did plan to play games with you, initially, and then went and caught real feelings. So now he wants to ask for a second chance.”

A second chance with Nico. Martino considered the possibility, of course he did. But Giovanni said it out loud, and what seemed like a pipe dream has taken shape and color in Martino’s mind. 

“Everything ok, Rametta? Your face is more... complicated than usual.” 

“Ha, ha. Good morning to you too, Santini. Hi, Luca.” 

The four boys exchange poorly coordinated fistbumps and head for the school, complaining to each other about the fleeting nature of weekends. Martino checks his watch: almost nine hours before he’ll see Nico again. It's somehow too long and too soon at the same time.

“So you haven’t told Nico that you’re coming?” Gio asks, bearing down on his hands to secure Martino’s feet on the floor.

“No I haven’t,” Martino huffs, sitting up with his arms crossed on his chest. “How many?”

“Thirty-two. Eighteen left.”

Martino crumbles to the floor. His abs are on fire. On his right, Luca is suffering the same fate, blond hair drenched in sweat as he contorts his body under Elia’s supervision. The collective agreement is that whoever decided to schedule P.E. last on Mondays deserves a special place in hell.

“Come on, Luchino, you can’t be losing to Marti! He’s brokenhearted and doing more situps than you?!”

Martino makes a face. “I’m not brokenhearted, Elia.” 

As petulant as it comes out, Martino’s being honest. After he turned his back on Nico and walked away, it seemed like something irreparable happened to his heart, that he’d have to survive with only a part of it functioning properly. But after four days of hurting and thinking and talking about it all, after Nico came to him — even if they didn’t get to meet — Martino’s heart doesn’t feel broken. Bruised and tender, maybe. But whole.

“How many now, Gio?”

“Just ten more. Actually, I have a theory about Nico,” Gio says to Elia and Luca, and explains it as Marti grunts through the rest of his situps. 

“Truth in the middle. Interesting,” Elia nods. “Doesn’t really explain why he made Martino meet his boyfriend, though.”

Luca hugs his knees, wide-eyed. “Guys, I have another theory! What if Nico’s in love with Marti and that’s why he broke up with him?!”

Martino frowns, catching his breath. “Eh?” 

“Listen, I saw this movie. The chick's about to get married, but one day she has a nosebleed and doctors tell her she has, like, three months left to live. So she breaks up with her fiancé because she doesn’t want him to suffer. What if...”

“Ohhh my god,” Elia moans, knocking his forehead into Giovanni’s shoulder. 

Martino is ready to unleash his sarcasm when a certain memory freezes him in place. Nico getting a call from a mysterious doctor when they were in the pool. Nico looking shaken and hurrying to change the topic. No, that's ridiculous. You don’t live in a soap opera. He’s okay. He has to be. But the icky thought sticks, no matter how Martino tries to shake it off. 

Before anyone can comment on the change in Martino’s expression, they all jump at the shrill sound of Boccia’s whistle. “Santini, Colosio, Rametta, Garau! Having a laugh, eh?” The man walks over to look down at them sternly, hands on hips. “Why is it always the four of you in need of special treatment?”

“Sorry, prof.” 

“Back to work! You can discuss your girlfriend troubles later.”

“Boyfriend troubles, actually,” Luca corrects without missing a beat.

Boccia blinks. “Nonetheless. Back to work.” 

Elia swallows a hysterical giggle as they watch the man leave without another word. “You’re a menace, Luchi. But I've got to tell you that your so-called theory sucks.”

Luca shrugs and clambers up to swap places with Elia. “Like you have a better one.”

Martino prays to all the gods who might be listening that Elia doesn’t have an even more depressing hypothesis about Nico’s behavior.

“Nah, I think you and Garau have Martino covered in the theoretical department. I’m concerned with the practical.” Elia peeks at Boccia to make sure they’re out of danger. “Nico this, Stefano that. What do you want to get out of this, Marti?”

“Uh. I want to find out the truth?” 

“Ok, and then?” 

Elia starts doing situps half-heartedly while Martino remains on the floor, peering at the ceiling. Why does it feel like he’s failing an exam about his own life? “And then… it depends on what I hear from Nico.” 

“It’s still better to come prepared, you know.”

“Prepared to what?”

“To fight for Nico, dude! Well, not physically. Or I'll have to avenge you after his supersoldier ex-boyfriend sends us your remains in a shoebox.” Gio tries to interrupt, but Elia ignores him. "All I’m saying is: you want Nico, take the bull by the horns. Tell him why he’s better off with you and not Stefano. And make it convincing.”

Luca nods enthusiastically. “Yeah, give Nico an ultimatum! That asshole or me!”

Martino bites the inside of his cheek. “I don’t know, guys... They’ve been together for two years.” Stefano’s voice is in his head again, dripping with condescension. 

“Come on, Marti, they’re not married.” This time, Giovanni joins the chorus. “I know Stefano told you they’re soulmates or whatever, but it’s hardly legit when Nico won’t leave you alone for longer than a day.” 

Elia snaps his fingers and points at Gio. “This. Marti, if your happiness depends on stealing someone’s boyfriend, I say go for it. Be shameless.”

“Ah, so I have your blessing? That’s a relief,” Martino retorts, mock-serious. If someone told him a week ago that his squad would be taking such an interest in his love life… 

“Forza Marti!” Luchino sums up, sticking out his palm.

Martino high-fives him after a moment’s hesitation. “Forza Marti.” 

Gio slaps the back of his neck for good measure, and that’s the cue for Boccia to swoop in and break up the squad for the rest of the class. 

Martino has always been good at keeping his expectations low and his feet firmly on the ground. That he couldn’t measure up to someone like Stefano in Nico’s eyes was the conclusion of a routine reality check, filed away in his brain without questioning. He’s beginning to question it now, on his way to the gym. 

It looks like it’s going to rain again, with low ragged clouds chasing one another above the city. Sharp wind tugs at Martino’s jacket, hurls dry leaves and plastic bags to his feet. When Martino pulls Nico’s note out of his pocket, he holds it with both hands. 

Weird how the same words on the same piece of paper seem to have acquired a new significance, an undertow of hope that Martino hasn’t noticed before. Could it be that his well-meaning, biased as hell, overinvested friends have a point? What if all this time Nico has been waiting — wishing — for Martino to steal him?

The plan was to walk all the way to the gym to kill some time, and yet it’s only seven minutes into the pilates class when Martino arrives. There’s no point loitering at the entrance, so he goes right in. Might as well grab a coffee as he waits for Nico to be done with work. 

The coffee machine in the lobby swallows Martino’s coins and leaves him hanging, even after he smacks it a few times (his mother raised him too well to attempt a kick). Whatever. Stupid thing. Coffee or not, there’s too much nervous energy coursing through his body to stay put.

Martino’s feet take him down the familiar route to the pilates room. He has no intention of walking in, okay. He just wants to hear Nico’s voice from a safe distance, to get used to it by the time they face each other again.

“Shoulders back, open that chest, and let’s go! Down, and up, and down, and up…”

Martino stops in his tracks two steps from the door. That’s a woman's voice. And the music can’t be Nico’s. Nico hates Imagine Dragons. Without a conscious decision, he grabs the door handle and pulls. The pilates room is full of familiar girls in skintight outfits, repeating the motions after a tall, sinewy woman that Martino doesn’t recognize.

“Can I help you?” the woman asks with a sceptical arch of her eyebrow, and Martino backs out into the hallway with an oh, sorry like a mumbling idiot.

The stomach-churning notion that Nico isn’t going to show up and the whole thing was a prank has just about crystallized in his mind when the door opens again and Eva joins him in the hallway. Her ponytail is a bit skewed and she reaches back with both hands to fix it.

“Hi, Martino. You’re not with us today?”

“Hi. No, not today.”

There’s an awkward pause. Martino has no idea where to look or how to find out what he wants to know. 

Eva starts speaking in a low voice as if the hallway weren't completely empty. “Niccolò was here when we started, you know. Then this woman came in and said ‘Director Rossi wants a word in his office’, so he left. He’s probably still there.”

“Oh.”

Why would Eva tell him this? Should Martino act confused and pretend he wasn’t looking for Nico? But what else could he be doing here?

“Alright, see you later.” Eva disappears before Martino makes up his mind. 

A half-deaf cleaning lady points Martino to the director’s office. He lands on the chair beside the door and prods a stack of fitness magazines on the glass table. 

Maybe it makes him look desperate, to be waiting around for Nico. But it’s not like Nico didn’t put himself out there first. Such a sweet, well-mannered boy, Martino can hear his mother say. He smiles, shaking his head. If it took Nico under five minutes to charm his mother, Martino never stood a chance.

He thinks of dropping Nico a text when his ears pick up a low rumble behind the door that can only be Nico’s voice. A flare of excitement ignites in Martino’s chest. He holds his breath to listen. It’s hard to make out the words, but Nico’s clearly talking to someone else—an older man. Martino throws a look down the hallway and leans closer to the door, abandoning all shame.

The muffled voices are getting closer, and the longer Martino listens, the more he frowns. Nico sounds agitated. Defensive, like he can’t believe what is happening.

“...throwing me out because of this?” 

“I don’t like this situation any more than you do. No need to make a scene. ” 

The other voice — director Rossi, Martino assumes — sounds almost indifferent. That instantly rubs Martino the wrong way. How is he so calm when Nico’s so upset?

Nico levels his tone with an audible effort. “I’m not— making a scene. I’m asking you why. Am I bad at my job?”

“That's not what I said, Niccolò. You have to understand that, as director, I must take any report of unprofessional behavior very seriously.”

The voices are right behind the door now, so Martino can clearly hear Nico’s short, joyless laugh. “Unprofessional behavior? That’s what you’re going with?!”

Shit. Martino bites his lip, rubbing the tops of his thighs with anxious palms. If Nico’s in trouble with his boss, he will hardly care about resolving things with Martino today.

“I can’t brush off complaints from long-term patrons, whether I agree with them or not.”

“So you admit the complaint is bullshit?” 

Nico’s snappy answer is followed by a long pause that has Martino even more worried. Without seeing their faces, he can’t judge if Nico pushed too far. And he still has no idea what they’re arguing about. 

When the director speaks again, it’s with poorly disguised irritation. “Trust me, I have nothing against... people of your persuasions. Your personal life does not bother me as long as it stays private.” Nico tries to interrupt, but the man talks over him. “However, since you chose to get, ahem, physical with another young man during work hours— ”

“I told you, I was on break! And there was no one in that pool, just the two of us!”

Martino’s fingers clench so hard on his thighs it’s almost painful. Nico’s words ring in his ears, loud and resentful, soft and teasing. How about a swimming pool? Just the two of us, hm? 

It has to be about them. Behind that door, Nico is losing his job because of Marti.

“It was unprofessional.” The man’s voice is steely now, any trace of appeasement gone. “There’s no point in continuing this discussion. You can pick up your papers at reception tomorrow.”

The handle dips down and the door cracks open. Martino can see the red headband stretched across the back of Nico’s head, the sweat-darkened spot where Nico’s tank is clinging to his spine, Nico’s feet in his favorite mesh sneakers. Nico's soles squeak against the floor as he takes a faltering step back, like he’s being pushed out of the office against his will. Martino hates how small his voice sounds. 

“Please, director, I need this job. I can't miss practice hours this semester.” 

“Niccolò, enough!” 

With Nico fully in the hallway, the man tries to shut the door between them. Nico manages to catch it at the last moment. “I’ll work for free! Let me handle the midday groups, I could—”

“You could, eh? And I’d have to explain to the parents that I allow some deviant to teach their children?” 

The insult is abrupt and vicious like a slap. Nico lets out a wounded noise, and Martino’s on his feet so fast his vision goes dark at the edges. “The fuck did you just call him?!”

He doesn’t take time to think, doesn’t even meet Nico’s eyes when Nico bumps into him in a startled turn around. No, Martino glares straight ahead, at the face of his enemy. It’s pinched and thin-lipped, with beady eyes that run over Martino suspiciously. 

The man addresses Nico again, with considerably less nerve than the last time. “And who’s this?” 

“I...that’s…” 

Martino grabs Nico’s hand without so much as a glance down. “I’m his boyfriend. Nice to meet you, asshole. Now answer my question.”

The only answer he gets is a scowl and a resounding slam of the door. Nico shudders, but Martino’s so high on fury that he doesn’t hesitate to bang on the wood with his palm. 

“Nothing to add, huh?” The loud click of the lock does nothing to pacify him. “Well, I’m not finished! Come out and let’s talk!”

Finally, Nico’s voice filters in through the roaring of blood in Marti’s ears. “Marti, drop it… It doesn’t matter...”

Martino steps away from the door with a derisive huff and snatches his backpack off the floor. “Fuck this coward. Let’s get out of here.” 

It’s a short walk from the director’s office to the lobby, made even shorter by Martino stalking resolutely all the way to the exit with Nico in tow. They’ve walked out of the building and then some before Martino finally runs out of steam. Several things become apparent at once. One: he doesn’t know where he’s going. Two: he just yelled at Nico’s boss without a care for the consequences. And three: he hasn’t let go of Nico’s hand yet.

This last one clearly preoccupies them both. Martino looks over at Nico and watches him watch their linked hands, completely unaware that they’ve stopped in the middle of a sidewalk. There’s no one around, so it’s not the threat of being discovered that makes Martino nervous. Did I cross the line? Did I make things worse?

Martino relaxes his fingers around Nico’s one by one, half-expecting him to resist and hold on tighter. That doesn’t happen; Nico’s hand slips away. Nico cradles it against his stomach, like he’s not sure what to do now that he has it back. 

And then they just stand there, looking at each other. Nico’s face is hard to read, sad eyes with a guarded smile. All of him guarded, as if he's waiting for Martino to speak first. Which is unfair, because Martino’s brain is busy enough processing the reality of Nico’s here, in front of me to come up with a decent conversation starter.

Guilt is the freshest of his feelings, though, so after a pause he tries: “Hey, sorry about—” 

“Thank you,” Nico interrupts. “For defending me.” 

Martino tips his head back with pursed lips, embarrassed by undeserved praise. “I didn’t do much. Just pissed the guy off even more.”

Nico looks away, one shoulder twitching. “I had no chance of keeping the job, anyway. My boss was very clear about my... unfitness.” 

“He had no right to talk to you like that.”  

Thinking about the man is making Martino angry again, but the anger dissolves in the shimmy his insides do when Nico looks back at him with admiration. Martino hurries to add something before his train of thought derails into that green abyss. “What was it all about, anyway?”

Nico’s eyebrows arrange into a mischievous arch. “Apparently, one of the matrons from water aerobics saw us kissing in the pool.” Nico bites his lip, but the smile spills out anyway, out of the corners of his mouth and over his cheeks. Martino is powerless against it — his own lips twist into a complicit smirk that he tries to hide by dipping his chin. 

While the consequences are far from amusing, they can’t tarnish the memory of that day. Maybe Martino even crossed paths with the vengeful witch — the encounter in the hallway is coming back to him now — but he remembers what happened before it in way more detail. Nico apologizing for sending Martino away early by pressing him to the lockers and covering him in kisses. The smell of chlorine on Nico’s skin. Nico’s wet hair dripping on Marti’s shirt, making them both giggle.

Martino clears his throat. “So, that woman… She ‘talked to the manager’ to get you fired?”

“And it worked.”

“That’s insane!” 

“Eh, it wasn’t all bad.” Nico shrugs like it’s no big deal and winks at Martino. “I got a knight in shining armor as compensation.” 

Why aren’t you taking this seriously, Martino wants to ask. Those people treated you like crap. You should be mad. But also: I’ll be your knight, bard, princess in the tower, anything. Just say you want it to be me and no one else. 

Nico looks kind of silly standing there, his skimpy gym outfit flapping and billowing in the wind. Silly and angelic — if angels could be interrupted during a workout. Still waiting for Martino’s reply, Nico scratches his eyebrow, and the familiar gesture twists Martino’s gut with the sweetest pain. Martino has missed Nico’s little quirks. He wants to learn more of them. He wants to learn Nico, know him like a city that’s so familiar he can navigate the streets with his eyes closed.

This can’t be the last time they see each other. Martino can’t let that happen. He’s done pretending he’s here for something other than getting Nico back.  

“Listen, what I told him, about being your boyfriend... Actually...” Marti’s mouth follows the sentiment quicker than his brain, and when it’s time for the two to catch up, he stutters. How is he supposed to continue? 

...I meant that. But they’re not technically together, are they? That would sound weird.
...I'd like that. Better. This one should work.  

“Don’t worry, Marti. I’m not planning to hold you to it.” Nico shoves his hands in the pockets of his shorts, squaring his shoulders. His playful expression has morphed into something unnerved but defiant, like he’s deliberately exposed a personal flaw before Martino got a chance to make fun of it.

It hurts. It hurts and it’s frustrating and it doesn’t make a lick of sense — Martino has a document as proof, right here in his pocket. He finds the edge of the note with his fingertips, ready to pull it out with a What’s this, then? or It's impossible to understand you, Ni or maybe without comment, just to get a genuine reaction.

Suddenly, Nico tips his face up, eyes to the sky, and, instinctively, Martino does the same. A fat drop of rain lands squarely on his nose, making him blink. Another drop glances off his cheek. The pavement around them starts darkening in dots that quickly multiply and merge, promising the same kind of downpour that kept Martino awake the night before. The boys look at each other in confusion; neither is ready to abandon the conversation, and neither feels like returning to the gym for cover. 

Nico’s mood seems to shift again, this time to sheepish. “We could talk in the car, if you don’t mind?”

This Nico is a far cry from the charmer that offered Martino a lift ten days ago. Still, just like the first time, Martino’s stomach flutters at the suggestion. “Okay,” he replies, and hitches his backpack higher on his shoulder.