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“So now that we’ve studied both the Solow and Romer models individually, we can combine the two for a more comprehensive model of economic growth. The first step is…”
Francesco trailed off as a knock sounded on the classroom door, which opened a second afterwards to reveal—to his annoyance and utter lack of surprise—Lorenzo de’ Medici. A classics professor like Lorenzo should have no reason to talk to an economics professor like Francesco at all, let alone to barge into his class every other week to ask him stupid questions, yet here they were.
Francesco never would’ve spared a thought for Lorenzo if Lorenzo hadn’t made it his business to antagonize him. Always interrupting his classes and wasting his time, and looking annoyingly pleased with himself as he did so.
He never would’ve spared a thought for Lorenzo, except that Lorenzo clearly hated him and so now Francesco hated him right back. Pretentious idiot acting like it actually mattered what some Greek guys thought two thousand years ago. The entire classics department should be abolished, in Francesco’s opinion. As for Lorenzo specifically, he’d probably only gotten a job at the University of Florence because his mother—the econ department chair, Francesco’s former PhD adviser, and now current colleague—was a legend here.
Francesco had long ago stopped wondering how Lorenzo had even figured out when and where all his classes were. The information was available to any student or faculty member who felt like stalking Francesco in the class listings database, and the minor time waste would be no deterrent to someone who hated him as much as Lorenzo did. The bastard was determined to bother Francesco at all costs.
And Francesco was just as determined not to give him the satisfaction. “Professor Medici,” he said calmly. “Can I help you?”
Lorenzo sauntered into the room and smirked at him. “Hey, Francesco,” he said, ignoring Francesco’s more polite term of address and flagrantly undermining his authority in front of his students. “Sorry to interrupt.” No, he wasn’t. “But I was wondering if…”
“Yes?” Francesco prompted as he trailed off. No doubt purposely stalling to be as disruptive as possible in the hopes that Francesco’s students would start filing complaints that Francesco was an incompetent teacher, if they hadn’t already. Francesco shuddered to think how much learning time had been lost because of Lorenzo over the past two months.
“I was wondering if…I could borrow a pen?” Lorenzo said at last. “Mine ran out.”
What an evil little shit. This was a new low even for him. “A pen,” Francesco repeated. “You interrupted my class because you need a pen?”
“Um. Yes.”
Several students were snickering. Grinding his teeth, Francesco picked up a spare pen off his desk and handed it to Lorenzo. “There you go,” he said. “May I get back to my lecture?”
“Okay. Sorry,” Lorenzo said, still looking not at all sorry. “I’ll return it to you later.”
“Keep it, I don’t need you wasting any more of my time,” Francesco said, managing to maintain an even, neutral tone. He silently congratulated himself for what an impressive job he was doing in keeping his cool in the face of such absurdity.
Lorenzo threw him one last smirk and mercifully left. The snickers from the students were even louder now; Lorenzo had clearly achieved his goal of making Francesco look like an idiot who couldn’t even maintain control in his own classroom.
Francesco took a deep breath to calm his temper, then cleared his throat pointedly and resumed his lecture like nothing had happened.
1 minute earlier
Lorenzo took a deep breath to bolster his confidence, then squared his shoulders and lifted his hand to knock on the classroom door.
By this point in the semester, he had Francesco’s class schedule all but memorized. It wasn’t like he went out of his way to do so, he always insisted when his friends made fun of him. The information was available to any student or faculty member who felt like stalking Francesco in the class listings database, and the minor time waste was no deterrent to someone who liked him as much as Lorenzo did. He was determined to flirt with Francesco at all costs.
Well, flirting was a bit of a stretch. All Lorenzo did on these visits was stammer out some pointless question, then beat a hasty retreat at Francesco’s obvious annoyance. But getting to see Francesco’s stupidly beautiful face for one whole minute was worth it.
Right now, that stupidly beautiful face was glaring at Lorenzo as he pushed open the door. Francesco’s hair was perfectly gelled and his suit perfectly crisp as always, and he was wearing glasses today—a rare treat. Lorenzo tried not to swoon.
“Professor Medici,” Francesco said coldly. “Can I help you?”
Lorenzo ventured into the room and smiled at him. “Hey, Francesco,” he said, going for a more friendly tone. “Sorry to interrupt. But I was wondering if…”
He realized he’d forgotten to think of an actual purpose for today’s interruption. There was only so many times he could pretend to have an emergency question about the start-of-term faculty-wide meeting which none of his humanities colleagues could answer for him. Or to say Lucrezia sent him to tell Francesco to come to her office after class, and then get a text from her later asking why he was sending Francesco on wild goose chases.
“Yes?” Francesco said impatiently.
“I was wondering if…I could borrow a pen?” was the feeble excuse Lorenzo came up with. “Mine ran out.”
Well, so much for his so-called silver tongue. This was a new low even for him. “A pen,” Francesco said. “You interrupted my class because you need a pen?”
“Um. Yes,” Lorenzo mumbled, feeling his face burning.
Looking seriously pissed off, Francesco grabbed a spare pen off his desk and shoved it at Lorenzo. “There you go,” he said. “May I get back to my lecture?”
“Okay. Sorry,” Lorenzo said sheepishly. “I’ll return it to you later.”
“Keep it, I don’t need you wasting any more of my time,” Francesco snapped. On the one hand, oof, on the other hand, Francesco was hot when he was mad.
Lorenzo gave him one last apologetic smile and left, hearing Francesco’s students snickering as he went. They’d definitely long since caught on to Lorenzo’s crush, seeing as growth theory was the class he always visited because it coincided with his Tuesday free hour.
Lorenzo started walking back to his office, smiling a little as he glanced down at the pen in his hands. He was totally going to return it later, regardless of what Francesco said. But maybe he’d try to at least catch Francesco in his office instead of interrupting a class, because he was walking a very fine line between “getting to see Francesco” and “earning Francesco’s undying hatred.”
“I had another visit from your son today,” Francesco told Lucrezia that afternoon. It was his first semester at the University of Florence as a faculty member (he’d been teaching at Sapienza in Rome for the past three years), and she liked to check in with him once a week to see how he was settling in.
“Oh really?” Lucrezia said. “What did he want this time?”
“A pen. Can you believe that? Interrupting my whole class for a pen, when he must have a dozen writing utensils lying around his office.” Francesco shook his head. “He really hates me.”
Lucrezia looked surprised. “Hates you? Of course he doesn’t.”
“Well, why else would he badger me so often? He’s doing it on purpose to waste my time and make me look bad in front of my students.”
“Lorenzo wouldn’t do something like that. I’m sure there’s another explanation for his behavior,” Lucrezia said with the hint of a weirdly mysterious smile. “Either way, I’ll speak to him about it.”
“Thanks.”
“What reason do you think he could have for hating you anyway?”
Francesco shrugged. “I don’t know, I thought…maybe he was jealous of me since I’m kind of like a protégé of yours,” he said. “Whereas he went into a completely useless field instead of making you proud.”
Lucrezia chuckled. “You’ll find academia a much friendlier place if you don’t go around disrespecting other fields.”
“I guess,” Francesco said with an eyeroll.
“Besides, Lorenzo does make me proud,” Lucrezia said. “I may not understand any of his research, but I know how hard he works and how much he loves it, and that’s all I could want for him. I don’t care that he didn’t follow exactly in my footsteps. He doesn’t need to be my protégé because he’s already my son.”
So of course he’s not jealous of you, was left unsaid. There’s nothing for him to be jealous of. And of course there wasn’t. Francesco was the one with mommy (and daddy) issues. Just because he latched onto any older adult who showed him a scrap of kindness didn’t mean Lucrezia returned those feelings. Just because he saw her as a mother figure didn’t mean she saw him as a son.
He forced a quick smile and was about to change the subject when Lucrezia placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “And for what it’s worth,” she said, “I’m very proud of you too.”
Francesco smiled again, a genuine one this time, his throat feeling tight because apparently his mommy issues were so pathetic he couldn’t even receive a compliment from his mentor without crying about it.
“Lorenzo, stop harassing Francesco Pazzi,” Lucrezia said at dinner that weekend.
Lorenzo nearly choked on his wine, and Giuliano, Bianca, and Sandro all burst out laughing. Thank God Guglielmo wasn’t here this evening to report this conversation back to Francesco. “I don’t—um—what are you talking about?” Lorenzo said when he’d recovered.
“He says you’ve spent the whole semester interrupting his classes to talk to him for pointless reasons,” Lucrezia said. “He thinks you hate him and are antagonizing him, or at the very least that you’re hazing him since he’s new.”
“What?!” Lorenzo said, horrified that his actions had been perceived so falsely. Sure, he’d known Francesco found him annoying, but he’d had no idea he thought Lorenzo was hostile towards him.
“Probably for the best,” Giuliano said. “Knowing the actual reason would just make him even madder.” Neither he nor Bianca worked in academia, but Sandro, an art professor at the university, was keeping them in the loop about Lorenzo’s crush, much to Lorenzo’s chagrin.
“Shut up,” Lorenzo said, blushing.
“I told him I doubted you had any malicious intent,” Lucrezia continued, seeming not to hear this interruption. Aside from a slight twinkle in her eye. “But even so, I’d appreciate it if you would leave him in peace to do the job he was hired to do, all right?”
“Fine, sorry,” Lorenzo said, sinking lower in his chair. “I was just trying to be friendly, but I’ll stop if it makes him so mad.”
“Yeah, sure. Friendly,” Bianca said, making Giuliano and Sandro snicker again.
1 month later
Francesco’s growth theory class was his smallest and was comprised only of upperclassmen, which meant that there was more of a rapport than in his big intro-level lectures. His intro students were terrified of him, but his growth theory students were comfortable bantering with him.
Usually he enjoyed this banter, but not today when Caterina Sforza was saying in the minutes before class started, “Where’s Professor Medici been? We haven’t seen him in weeks.”
The other students laughed, and Francesco felt his face heating up. Truth be told, he’d been wondering the same thing. He hadn't realized how much he’d come to count on Lorenzo’s weekly interruptions until they’d suddenly stopped coming.
“I don’t know, I guess he’s found better things to do with his free hour,” he said, trying to keep his tone light and joking.
Caterina’s grin widened. “Aww, you miss him!”
Caterina was an international relations student who only needed a few econ classes as part of her degree, but she was smarter than most of the actual econ students in the class and she was secretly Francesco’s favorite student of the semester. But right now he wished she wasn’t quite so sharp and perceptive.
“Of course I don’t,” Francesco said, maybe a little too quickly. “I’m perfectly happy being able to get through an entire class without getting interrupted. Speaking of, it’s just about that time, so let’s get started.”
Throughout the class he kept glancing at the door waiting for Lorenzo to appear, but he never did.
At lunch, Francesco brought the subject up with Novella, a political science professor and his only friend (on or off campus). “What’s his game?” Francesco said. “He’s up to something, I just know it. Probably trying to lull me into a false sense of security only to…”
“Only to what? Kill you in your sleep?” Novella said, rolling her eyes. “You’re so paranoid. He used to like bothering you in his spare time, but now he’s no longer interested. It’s not that deep.”
“No longer interested in me, you mean?” Francesco said.
“No longer interested in using his spare time to bother you, specifically, is what I meant,” Novella said. “Why are you pouting at the thought that he’s no longer interested in you?”
Francesco felt himself turning red. “I’m not pouting.”
“Yes, you are. It’s an extreme pout, as opposed to your usual resting pout face.”
Francesco tried to put his expression back into resting pout face. “Anyway,” he said, “I couldn’t care less if Lorenzo is interested in me or cares about me or thinks about me, because I don’t care or think about him, ever.”
“Right,” Novella said, looking amused. “That explains why you’ve been talking about him constantly all semester.”
Francesco scowled at her but, to his embarrassment, couldn’t actually think of a counterargument.
The following week, Lorenzo was spending his lunchbreak bemoaning how long it had been since his eyes had been blessed by the sight of Francesco. “I miss his face,” he said. “And his voice. His voice is like porn.”
“Gross,” Sandro and Clarice said in unison, while Lucrezia Donati and Ippolita just laughed at him. This was Lorenzo’s “professor squad,” as Giuliano referred to it. Ippolita was his colleague in the classics department, and Lucrezia and Clarice weren’t far away in the literature and theology departments respectively.
“I still can’t believe your own mother had to give you a restraining order for stalking him,” Lucrezia said.
“I wasn’t stalking him,” Lorenzo grumbled. (He totally had been stalking him.)
“Caterina says you’re embarrassingly whipped for him,” Ippolita said.
“And what does she know about it?” Lorenzo said, affronted.
“Oh, she’s in that class of his you’re always walking into. Haven’t you seen her there?”
Of course Ippolita’s devil of a niece (not that Lorenzo would ever call her that to Ippolita) had to be in that class, witnessing Lorenzo humiliate himself day in and day out and spreading that information around the whole campus, like the Gossip Girl of Florence. Lorenzo’s fault for not noticing her sitting right under his nose.
“Obviously he’s too busy drooling over Francesco to notice anyone else who’s in the room,” Sandro said, making the others laugh.
“I hate you all,” Lorenzo said mournfully. “Since when do you go around gossiping with your twenty-year-old niece anyway? I thought you were better than that.”
“Of course I’m not. She’s got dirt on everyone on campus, I don’t know how she does it,” Ippolita said with what Lorenzo felt to be an inappropriate amount of pride.
“Even Clarice?” Sandro said, looking intrigued. “It’d be impossible to have dirt on Clarice, she’s never so much as cut in line.”
“We’ll all get there eventually, what’s the point of cutting?” Clarice said.
“No dirt on Clarice, you’re right,” Ippolita said, nodding. “Caterina did want to know if she was single, but luckily I talked her out of trying to hook up with a professor.” Clarice turned bright red. “But for anyone who might hypothetically be interested, there’s competition out there waiting to snatch Clarice up, so if someone hypothetically wanted to make a move, they’d better do it soon before they lose their chance. Hypothetically.” Ippolita raised her eyebrows meaningfully at Lucrezia, who also turned bright red, but Clarice was still too busy being bright red to notice.
(Sandro, meanwhile, was cheerfully munching on his sandwich and looking relieved not to be involved in any romantic drama. How Lorenzo envied him.)
“Anyway, Lorenzo,” Clarice said when she’d recovered, “isn’t Francesco Guglielmo’s brother? Surely you must run into each other in your personal lives since your siblings are dating.”
“You’d be surprised. I’d never even met Francesco before he started working here and my mom introduced us,” Lorenzo said. “He never comes to family events or holidays. Although, that could just be because he was living in Rome for the past few years while they’ve been dating. Maybe now that he’s in Florence…”
He smiled and took another bite of his salad, feeling more optimistic. Then almost swallowed his fork when he saw none other than Francesco himself crossing the piazza towards their café.
Sandro thumped him on the back. “Francesco. Over there,” Lorenzo wheezed, nodding his head in Francesco’s direction as subtly as he could. “Don’t look.” So of course all four of them swiveled around to stare right at him.
Lucrezia whistled. “Damn. I didn’t think your ‘face carved from marble by angels which would make Michelangelo weep’ description could be anything but a lovesick exaggeration, and yet.”
Sandro was grabbing his sketchbook and pencil from his bag. “That’s one hell of a profile,” he agreed, starting to sketch him.
Francesco caught Lorenzo’s eye and Lorenzo did a very awkward half-stand-and-wave. To his surprise, joy, and anxiety, Francesco obligingly started walking towards them. “Shit, okay, he’s coming this way,” Lorenzo said, quickly smoothing out his hair and shirt. “Don’t be weird. Sandro, put that away, he’ll think you’re a creep.”
“Yeah, one creep is enough for the poor man to be dealing with,” Ippolita joked, and Lorenzo elbowed her to be quiet as Francesco arrived at their table.
Accompanied by a woman, he realized belatedly. She had bright orange hair and looked familiar; Lorenzo quickly placed her as another professor, though they’d never spoken. Was this Francesco’s girlfriend? Was he straight? Had Lorenzo’s gaydar led him astray? Maybe it had actually been pleasebegaydar all along making him think there were vibes there just because he wanted there to be.
This panic-spiral all happened in the five seconds between Lorenzo noticing the woman and Francesco opening his mouth and saying, “Hi.”
“Hey,” Lorenzo said, trying to sound chill and casual. “What’s up?”
“I don’t know. You’re the one who summoned me over here.”
“Oh, um, well, I just saw you so I wanted to say hi,” Lorenzo fumbled. “Is that okay?”
Francesco looked unimpressed. “Why wouldn’t it be okay? Saying hi isn’t against the law, last I checked.”
“I-I don’t know, I didn’t mean—”
“Hi. Sandro Botticelli,” Sandro interrupted, sticking his hand out for Francesco to shake. “Your bone structure is stunning.”
Francesco wrinkled his nose and his forehead, torn between disgust and alarm. “What?”
“Sorry, he’s an artist. He just means he’d like to draw you, that’s all,” Clarice said. “I’m Clarice Orsini, and this is Lucrezia Donati and Ippolita Sforza. We’re all professors at the university. What’s your name?”
As if she didn’t know full well who he was. Lorenzo would never have expected such slyness from Clarice, but he didn’t dwell on it because he was too busy texting Guglielmo under the table, hey quick question does your brother like guys???? Then, thinking he’d better clarify the question, added, sexually I mean.
He couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought to ask Guglielmo this before, but to be fair, he’d been doing his level best to keep him from finding out he had a crush on Francesco because then he might tell Francesco, and Lorenzo would die. Of either embarrassment or Francesco murdering him.
“Francesco Pazzi,” Francesco was saying. “I’m a professor too. Economics, I work with Lorenzo’s mother. And this is my friend Novella Foscari, she’s poli sci.”
Just friend? There was still hope. “I think I’ve seen most of you around, but it’s nice to meet you all properly,” Novella said. “What departments are you in?”
Everyone started answering, and Lorenzo checked his phone. His heart leapt when he saw Guglielmo’s response. Really hate that you phrased it like that but yes he’s bi, why?
THANK FUCK!!!!!!
Why?
Gotta go I have class bye
Lorenzo pocketed his phone and beamed up at Francesco, who raised his eyebrows. “What are you smiling at?” Francesco said.
“Nothing! Just…a beautiful day,” Lorenzo said, gesturing around. It was cold and cloudy and December. Oh well. Francesco already thought he was insane anyway.
And indeed, Francesco apparently decided to pass over that comment altogether. “Well, we should get going,” he said. “We just wanted to grab a quick lunch before heading back.”
They said their goodbyes and Francesco and Novella went inside to order food, then came back out with to-go containers and gave the others one last wave (Novella did, Francesco just frowned in their direction). “You were right,” Ippolita said once they were out of earshot. “His voice is like porn.”
A few days later, Francesco was finishing up his weekly chat with Lucrezia and doing his best to fight down the inexplicable urge to ask if she happened to know whether her son liked men. Was he dating one of the people he’d been having lunch with the other day? Those people consisted of three gorgeous women and one gay artist, so Francesco didn’t know what to think. Any one of them seemed like fair game.
It was ridiculous. What did he care what Lorenzo was into or if he was single? He didn’t care. Because he didn’t care or think about Lorenzo, ever.
Francesco tuned back into the conversation in time to hear Lucrezia ask, “Any plans for the holidays?” And that just made him wish he still wasn’t listening.
It had been years since Francesco had had plans for the holidays. He hated this time of year. It always reminded him painfully of the happy Christmas mornings with his parents that he hadn’t cherished enough at the time, or of the cold and formal Christmas dinners at his uncle’s house after they were gone.
Since Jacopo’s death, Francesco’s holidays had consisted of spending Christmas Day alone in his apartment in Rome working on research and coming up to Florence a couple days later to see Guglielmo. This would be his first Christmas in Florence in recent years, but he was expecting it to be the same as his Christmases in Rome. After all, Guglielmo had a new family with the Medici and would be spending Christmas with them, and far be it from Francesco to intrude on that, no matter how many times Guglielmo insisted they’d be happy for him to join them.
But he didn’t want Lucrezia to know how pathetic he was, so he gave a casual shrug and said, “Nothing concrete yet. I’ll see Guglielmo at some point, and I might be seeing some friends too.” Total lie, seeing as his only friend was Novella and she’d be in Venice for the holidays.
Lucrezia was giving him an uncannily perceptive look, like she saw right through him. She always did. “Well, if you do end up being free, you’re more than welcome to come to our house and celebrate with us,” she said.
Francesco blinked at her. “What?”
“I know Guglielmo’s planning to be with us for Christmas Eve and Day, which means he won’t be with you, and I would guess your friends would be with their own families then,” Lucrezia said. “Which would leave you to spend those days alone, and I hate the thought of that. Come with Guglielmo, we’d love to have you.”
She was inviting him over? To her house? For Christmas? “I-I wouldn’t want to intrude,” Francesco stammered. “It’s really no big deal, I’m used to not doing much for Christmas—”
“All the more reason for you to join us,” Lucrezia declared. “You wouldn’t be intruding at all. Christmas is about family.”
“But I don’t have any,” Francesco blurted out before he could stop himself.
Lucrezia just gave him this look, like pity but kinder, and then she reached out and pulled him into a hug. “Yes, you do,” she said as Francesco buried his face in her shoulder, his eyes burning. “Yes, you do.”
Francesco tentatively hugged her back and sniffled a little. “So, will you come?” Lucrezia asked. “You should know I won’t take no for an answer, and neither will Guglielmo and Bianca once I get them on your case. And as a last resort, I’ll put Lorenzo up to the task of convincing you, and I’m sure you know he’s very persistent.”
Francesco let out a watery laugh. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll come.”
Christmas Eve
“Francesco is coming here?!” Lorenzo practically shouted, springing up off the couch. “When?”
Lucrezia checked the time. “Any minute now. I’m sorry, Lorenzo, I could’ve sworn I’d already mentioned to you that he was coming,” she said in a would-be innocent tone. “He’s staying the night and spending tomorrow here too.”
Lorenzo looked around wildly and saw that no one else in the room looked the slightest bit surprised, and that they were all laughing at him. Clearly the bastards had all conspired to keep him in the dark until the last minute, just for the amusement of seeing him panic like this. Even Carlo was laughing at him. The betrayal was total.
“I have to get changed,” Lorenzo said, and then he was flying up the stairs and towards his room.
Lorenzo frantically rifled through his suitcase and bureau, cursing the fact that he’d left all his nice clothes at his apartment and had only packed casual things for the week at his mother’s house, seeing as he hadn’t anticipated having to do anything but lounge about at home with his family. Well, he did have a suit for Christmas mass, but that would be overkill for right now.
Bianca appeared in the doorway as he had the entire contents of his bureau spread out all over the bed and floor. “Get ahold of yourself, you are thirty-two years old and this is embarrassing,” she said. “And Francesco’s car just pulled up, so Mom says to get your ass downstairs to greet him.”
Francesco was here already? “No! I’m not ready! I look like trash!”
But Bianca was marching over and grabbing his arm and dragging him away, utterly unsympathetic. “You look fine. It’s Francesco, not the president, he’s not going to care that you’re in jeans and a T-shirt,” she said. “Plus, he always sees you in your professor clothes, so if anything maybe he’ll be into seeing you dressed casual.”
“I guess,” Lorenzo said doubtfully, trying to fix his hair without a mirror as he followed her downstairs.
He heard Francesco’s unmistakable porn voice coming from the living room, and then Lorenzo turned the corner and there he was. Francesco. In jeans. In Lorenzo’s mother’s house. Fuck, he looked really good in jeans.
“Oh, there you are, Lorenzo,” Lucrezia said, and Francesco turned to look at him and Lorenzo tried not to pass out.
“Hi, Francesco,” he said with a nervous smile. “Welcome.”
“Thanks,” Francesco said. “I appreciate you having me over.”
“Lorenzo, why don’t you show him to the spare room?”
Lorenzo obediently turned right around to go back upstairs, and he heard Francesco following him. “So, this is it,” he said when they got there, and Francesco went into the room and set his overnight bag down. “It looks like my mom laid out towels and stuff for you already. The bathroom’s there.” Lorenzo pointed.
“Okay,” Francesco said. “Thank you.”
“My room’s right next door if you need anything,” Lorenzo said, then blushed. “I mean, not—not anything weird, just, you know. If you need anything.”
Francesco looked perplexed. “What do you mean, not anything weird? What kinds of things do you think I’d be asking you for in the middle of the night?” And then he turned red too, so Lorenzo figured his own dumb brain wasn’t the only one going down the gutter.
He coughed. “Anyway, I’ll let you get settled in.” And hurried out of there before he could make any more of a fool of himself.
Lorenzo was a thirty-two-year-old university professor and acting like a twelve-year-old around his first crush. Hell, Lorenzo hadn’t even been this awkward as a twelve-year-old. What the fuck was wrong with him?
His phone buzzed with a text, and he pulled it out of his pocket and saw it was from Ippolita, reporting on her own Christmas Eve. It was usually just her and Caterina since neither was exactly on the best terms with the rest of their family in Milan, but this year Lucrezia and Clarice were there too. Clarice had been unable to get a train to Rome until Christmas Day, so Ippolita had invited her over for Christmas Eve, so Lucrezia had invited herself over too because apparently getting to spend extra time with Clarice was worth the price of her own family being furious at her for ditching them on Christmas Eve.
Good news, Clarice and Lucrezia have finally worked their shit out and put me out of my misery, Ippolita had written. Bad news, they immediately caused me new misery bc Caterina walked in on them kissing and now she and Lucrezia are being passive-aggressive and Clarice is trying to ease the tension by talking about bible verses and I’m seconds away from chugging wine straight out of the bottle. Merry fucking Christmas, this is the last time I ever invite anyone to my apartment.
Lorenzo grinned at the mental image. You think that’s bad, imagine if the love of your life SHOWED UP AT YOUR HOUSE LOOKING LIKE A FUCKING RENAISSANCE PAINTING WHILE YOU’RE STANDING THERE IN A 10-YEAR-OLD T-SHIRT BC NO ONE BOTHERED TO TELL YOU HE WAS COMING!!!
oh my god WHAT
FRANCESCO IS HERE AND I’M SUFFERING
I would pay literally EVERY euro I have to be there witnessing that right now
Don’t worry I’m sure Sandro will be taking notes to tell you guys all the ways I’m about to humiliate myself
Lorenzo was still standing right outside the slightly-ajar door to the spare room, which now opened fully as Francesco came out and almost stepped on him. “Oh, sorry!” Lorenzo said, taking a step back to give him space.
“Were you…waiting for me?” Francesco said.
Great, now Lorenzo looked like even more of a creep. “No! I was on my way downstairs and I got distracted by my friend texting me,” Lorenzo said quickly, holding his phone up as proof. “Ippolita, you met her at lunch that time. She has Lucrezia and Clarice over right now with her niece Caterina—you know Caterina Sforza—anyway, there’s some love triangle drama because Lucrezia and Clarice have been pining after each other for ages and apparently they finally got together except Caterina has a thing for Clarice after taking some theology class with her for a gen ed requirement so now she’s jealous and—”
“Sounds eventful,” Francesco interrupted, probably trying to signal he wasn’t interested in hearing any more. Lorenzo was an excessive talker on a good day, and being nervous just made him ramble even more.
He gave Francesco a sheepish smile and led the way back downstairs. “So if Lucrezia and Clarice are together, is Ippolita your girlfriend?” Francesco asked in a would-be casual tone.
Lorenzo’s heart skipped a beat. Why would Francesco care about his relationship status if not for the obvious reason? But he sternly told himself not to get his hopes up. “No, we’re just friends. Well, we did fool around a little when we were at university together, but that’s ancient history now,” Lorenzo said. “Same with Lucrezia and me. And Clarice and I did go on a few dates. But that’s all in the past.”
“So all your friends are just people you’ve slept with?” Francesco said, but to Lorenzo’s delight, he sounded amused rather than judgmental.
“When you put it like that…” Lorenzo said with a chuckle. “I didn’t sleep with Clarice, though, we just had a couple awkward lunch dates to please our mothers.”
“What about Sandro?” Francesco said. “Have you guys…?”
Lorenzo burst out laughing just as they stepped into the living room where all the others were gathered. “Sandro? Oh my God, no way,” he said.
“Hmm?” Sandro said, looking up from the general conversation.
“Oh, Francesco was just asking if I’ve ever slept with you.”
Sandro scoffed. “As if you would be so lucky.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to assume that you were into guys,” Francesco said to Lorenzo a little awkwardly. “I just—I wasn’t sure—”
Wait a minute, was this a poor attempt to subtly find out if Lorenzo liked men? Why would he care if not for the obvious reason? Lorenzo’s hopes were up even higher. “Oh, I am one hundred percent into guys,” he assured him. “Just not Sandro specifically.”
“Well, you’re not my type either,” Sandro said indignantly.
“Oh,” Francesco said. Did he look happy about this, or was that just wishful thinking?
The rest of the family had craftily taken all the seats except for a small space at the end of one couch, which Lorenzo and Francesco had no choice but to cram into together. “So, that’s my love life,” Lorenzo said, still talking only to Francesco and ignoring everyone else. “What about you, are you dating anyone?”
Francesco shook his head, not quite meeting his eyes. “No, I’ve been focusing on work and my research and all of that. I don’t really have time for it.”
“I see,” Lorenzo said with a stab of disappointment.
“Not that I wouldn’t be open to dating,” Francesco added, his gaze flicking up to Lorenzo’s only briefly. “But I’m single right now.”
Lorenzo smiled. “Well, that’s good to hear,” he said without thinking, then flushed as Bianca laughed. “I-I mean, for your sake. Dating is fun, so it’s good that you’re open to it. I’m not dating either right now, though. But definitely open to it. Um, not that you’d care about that.”
“God, this is painful to watch,” Giuliano said. “Mom, can I please break out the hard alcohol?”
“Absolutely not,” Lucrezia said firmly. “One year of arriving at Christmas Eve mass with a drunk son was more than enough for me.”
Bianca nodded at where Lorenzo was downing a glass of wine in one gulp to ease his embarrassment. “At this rate you’ll be arriving with two drunk sons.”
Fortunately, as the evening went on, Lorenzo started relaxing as he got used to Francesco’s presence, and he mostly stopped embarrassing himself. Francesco, meanwhile, was…not cheerful, but much more pleasant than usual. Lorenzo supposed he didn’t want to offend Lucrezia’s hospitality, or maybe he was actually a perfectly pleasant person and Lorenzo wouldn’t know it because their only interactions thus far had been Lorenzo pissing him off by interrupting his classes.
After dinner, they all went back to sit in the living room and chat for a while before getting ready for midnight mass (which Francesco had politely excused himself from; Giuliano kept whining to Lucrezia about letting Francesco skip but not him).
Lorenzo, Francesco, Lucrezia, and Sandro were discussing the end of the semester when Giuliano said, “Francesco, have you looked at any of your reviews yet?”
“My reviews?” Francesco said.
“Yeah, on that trashy site where students anonymously rate all their professors. Lorenzo’s on it constantly.”
“Not constantly,” Lorenzo protested. “I just read you some funny ones every now and then.”
Francesco made a face. “I never look at that site, the only students who post are the ones who are mad that they did poorly and want to blame the professor.”
“For sure,” Lorenzo said, nodding in agreement. “It’s a good laugh, that’s all. I don’t take it seriously. Here, let me find some of mine.” He pulled up the site on his phone. “‘Pretentious asshole who thinks he’s God’s gift to mankind. Hot though.’ Not bad, I’ll take that.”
“Well, that’s definitely true,” Francesco said, then hastened to add, “The first part, I mean. Obviously not the second part.”
“Oh, obviously,” Guglielmo teased, earning a scowl from Francesco. Lorenzo watched this exchange with interest. What did it mean? Did Francesco really think he was hot?
With some coaxing, Francesco pulled up his own page on the website. “All right, let’s see…oh,” he said, going tomato-red.
“What?” Lorenzo asked.
Bianca pulled the phone out of Francesco’s hands, looked down at it, and cackled. “They’re all thirsty,” she said in delight as she scrolled through them. “‘Impossible to pass this class. Pazzi’s a great teacher, but he’s so hot no one can focus on what he’s teaching.’”
Lorenzo could relate. “Read all of them,” Giuliano said as everyone laughed.
“Oh God, please don’t,” Francesco said, but Bianca was holding the phone out of his reach.
“‘Holy shit that voice. He should consider a career in reading audiobooks. Preferably erotica.’” See? Lorenzo wasn’t alone.
Francesco managed to grab his phone back, but Lorenzo already had his page up on his own phone and kept reading. “Oh, this is a good one,” he said, trying to stop laughing long enough to read it. “‘Just barely stopped myself from blurting out “sorry Daddy” when he was telling me how disappointed he was with my midterm. 10/10 would be failed by this gorgeous bastard again.’”
Francesco groaned and put his face in his hands. Bianca, Giuliano, Guglielmo, and Sandro were in hysterics, Carlo looked half-disapproving and half-amused, and Lucrezia was shaking her head with a small smile tugging at her lips.
“Okay, next one,” Lorenzo called over the racket. “‘Prof—’” He quickly cut off as he saw the rest of it. “Never mind, this one’s boring.”
Unfortunately, Giuliano was looking on his own phone and promptly started losing it when he saw the next review. He looked up at Lorenzo with a shit-eating grin. “No,” Lorenzo said, sensing abject humiliation coming. “Don’t you dare—”
“‘Prof Medici is super gay for him and I can’t blame him,’” Giuliano read out. “‘He spent the whole semester coming into our class to ask Pazzi for pens and shit, just so he had an excuse to see him for a few seconds. Mood.’”
Lorenzo’s face was on fire, he could feel it. Even Carlo and Lucrezia were laughing now, and Francesco was wearing the expression of a robot struggling to process the full spectrum of human emotion all at once. “Wait. Hang on. Wait,” he said. “Is that why you always—?”
“Nope. Definitely not, not at all,” Lorenzo said, unable to meet his eyes.
“Oh, and this person’s telling everyone thirsting over Francesco that they’ll have to fight Lorenzo for him,” Giuliano added helpfully. “‘Fuck all romance except whatever the hell Professor Pazzi and Professor Medici had going on this semester.’ ‘The sexual tension every time Pazzi told Medici to fuck off’ with a bunch of fire emojis. And this one—”
He was forced to cut off when Lorenzo tackled him and flung his phone across the room.
Late that night, well after the others had returned from midnight mass and gone to bed, Francesco was sitting curled up on the sofa wrapped in an afghan. He couldn’t sleep and had decided to come downstairs rather than stay in bed because Giuliano’s snoring from down the hall was driving him insane.
He gazed out the window at the dark street outside, which was quiet and empty. Francesco was very used to solitude and preferred it (or insisted to himself that he did), but there was something particularly cozy about being the only one awake while a bunch of other people were asleep nearby in the same house. Alone but not lonely. Having a quiet moment to himself while still surrounded by people who loved him.
Not that the Medici loved him, most of them barely knew him. But Bianca and Lucrezia did, and maybe Lorenzo might be starting to…
Francesco shifted his position to get more comfortable, frowning thoughtfully as Lorenzo crossed his mind. Was it really true that Lorenzo had always come into his classes because he had a crush on Francesco? Francesco had to admit it was more plausible than his own assumption that Lorenzo was trying to cause trouble for him.
But it just didn’t make sense that someone like Lorenzo would be interested in someone like him. Francesco had seen him tonight, the way he naturally commanded everyone’s attention, the way he basked in it, practically glowed in it. Whereas Francesco, he stuck to the shadows. He was used to solitude. He didn’t know how to handle being loved. He cried when someone gave enough of a shit about him to invite him over for Christmas.
Why the hell would Lorenzo, beautiful and warm and so full of life, want anything to do with a mess like him?
A while later, footsteps sounded on the stairs and Francesco looked up to see Lorenzo coming down. His heart did a little flip-flop as he took in Lorenzo’s pajamas and adorably tousled hair and as Lorenzo met his gaze and smiled at him in a way that crinkled his eyes.
God, who had Francesco been kidding all these months when he’d insisted what he felt for Lorenzo was hatred?
“Hey,” Lorenzo whispered so as not to wake anyone else. “I was in the mood for some hot chocolate. Want any?”
“Okay,” Francesco said, and Lorenzo vanished into the kitchen.
He returned a few minutes later with two steaming mugs in hand and sat down next to Francesco on the couch. Francesco took a mug with a murmured thanks, a little thrill going through him when their legs brushed against each other.
They sipped in comfortable silence for a while. “Can’t sleep?” Lorenzo asked eventually.
Francesco nodded. “Christmas makes me…” Melancholy. Lonely. “It makes me think a lot,” he settled on. “Remember a lot.”
“Your parents?”
“Among other things.”
“I get that,” Lorenzo said. “This time of year is when I miss my dad the most.”
Francesco remembered Piero de’ Medici’s death. It was when Francesco was still a student, and Lucrezia had canceled only one of his classes before coming back for the next one seemingly like nothing had happened, but Francesco had been able to tell that her heart had been torn out. Had recognized in her that same quiet, almost unnoticeable grief that he’d experienced, that need to carry on like normal so as not to be crushed by the weight of it.
“I’m sorry about your dad,” Francesco said. “I remember it happening, I had a class with your mom that semester.”
Lorenzo gave him a soft smile. “Thank you,” he said. “And I’m sorry about your parents, and everything that happened to you. I only know bits and pieces from Guglielmo, but it sounds like you guys had a pretty rough time growing up.”
“That’s one way to put it,” Francesco said wryly.
“Tell me.”
Francesco looked at him, startled. “Tell you? About my childhood?”
“Only if you want,” Lorenzo said. “If you do, I’m listening.”
Francesco was momentarily at a loss for words. When was the last time someone had expressed interest in hearing about his past or his feelings? Guglielmo didn’t need to ask because he’d experienced it all too, and now they rarely talked about it. Too many painful memories that they preferred not to poke at. Novella knew most of it, but they didn’t talk about it either because neither were the sort of touchy-feely people who enjoyed having heart-to-hearts. Lucrezia had been able to pull little tidbits out of him over the many years they’d known each other, but they mostly stuck to professional conversation topics.
But Lorenzo was sitting here saying he was listening. And for practically the first time in his life, Francesco wanted to talk.
So he did. He told Lorenzo everything that came to mind. The increasingly vague memories of his parents that he clung to tighter and tighter the hazier they became, so afraid one day he’d no longer remember any of it. The years under Jacopo’s roof, when he was so lonely and frightened and full of pain, and aching, aching to be loved. The start of university when he’d been plagued by a need for perfection, a fear of disappointing Jacopo so intense it made him physically sick when he got less than an A on even the smallest of assignments.
When Lucrezia had found him after class close to a panic attack because he’d gotten a B on her last test, and she’d escorted him to her office and made him tea and told him he was one of the brightest students she’d ever had the pleasure of teaching and he was worth so much more than a letter on a piece of paper. She was the one who’d encouraged him to pursue a PhD, who’d believed in him more than anyone else ever had and thereby made him believe in himself.
And through it all, Lorenzo listened. He didn’t interrupt, just stayed quiet and only spoke when he had something truly meaningful to say, rather than spouting off shallow platitudes to hear the sound of his own voice. By the time Francesco ran out of words, their hot chocolates were long gone and the clock was chiming two in the morning.
“Thanks for telling me all that,” Lorenzo said finally after a long, reflective silence.
Francesco gave him a shy smile. Usually the feeling of being seen like this made him feel anxious and embarrassed, but right now it was nice. To know that Lorenzo saw him, that he knew him, and that he was still choosing to sit here and stay with him. “Thanks for listening,” Francesco replied.
They were both snuggled under the blanket together; while he was talking, Francesco had noticed Lorenzo shivering and had offered him half. Now, Francesco nestled in closer to Lorenzo’s warmth, too cozy and sleepy to worry that he was pushing their newfound intimacy too far. “You’re like a human furnace,” he said.
Lorenzo laughed. “I’ve heard that before.” He winced as Francesco’s hand brushed against his arm. “And your fingers are freezing, Jesus, are you a lizard or something?”
“I can’t say I’ve heard that before,” Francesco said, making Lorenzo laugh again.
Lorenzo took Francesco’s hands between his and rubbed them to warm them up. Francesco smiled a little, enjoying the feeling of being taken care of. And also the feeling of Lorenzo’s touch on his skin and their bodies pressed together, and the way Lorenzo’s blue eyes shone in the darkness; neither he nor Francesco had bothered turning any lights on when they’d come downstairs.
“Lorenzo,” Francesco said.
“Yes?”
“Why did you always come into my classes?”
Lorenzo let out a huff of laughter. “Do we really have to do this right now?”
“Yes,” Francesco said. “I used to think it was because you hated me and wanted to annoy me.”
“Trust me. I’ve never hated you.”
The words were quiet, but heavy with implications. They held each other’s gaze for a loaded moment, and then Francesco hesitantly leaned in, wanting, yearning, more than he’d let himself want anything non-career-related for years. But he couldn’t quite do it, some part of him still insisting that he was misunderstanding the situation and there was no way Lorenzo could possibly have feelings for him.
Luckily, Lorenzo cleared him of all doubts by closing the gap and kissing him square on the lips.
“Oh, gross, please don’t tell me you two did it on the couch last night.”
Lorenzo was jolted awake by the sound of Giuliano’s loud voice and the entire family trampling down the stairs like a herd of elephants. “Hmm?” he said groggily as Francesco huffed in sleepy annoyance and burrowed further under the blanket, pressing his face into Lorenzo’s arm.
“No, they’re wearing clothes, I think we’re safe,” Bianca said.
Lorenzo ignored all of them and shifted his position to wrap his arm around Francesco and brush a kiss to his hair. Francesco tilted his head up and smiled at him so angelically that Lorenzo had to lean down for a proper kiss. From what Lorenzo could remember, last night they’d only kissed for a little while before both passing out from exhaustion, so now that he wasn’t so sleep-deprived, he savored this kiss even more and tried to memorize every detail of Francesco’s lips against his.
Or at least he would have if they hadn’t been interrupted after one second. “Now they’re kissing,” Sandro announced. “Not safe after all.”
Lorenzo groaned and dragged himself away from Francesco’s mouth. “We did not do it on the couch last night, how low do you think my standards are? Fucking someone on my mother’s couch as our entire family is asleep upstairs?”
“Well, it wouldn’t be the first—”
“Time for breakfast,” Lucrezia intervened. “And then presents after that.”
She mercifully shepherded everyone into the dining room, leaving Lorenzo and Francesco alone. “Sorry about that,” Lorenzo said. “You’ll have to get used to my family being nosy.”
Wait, was that too presumptuous? What if Francesco didn’t intend for this to go any farther? But Lorenzo quickly realized that Francesco’s expression was one of hope rather than discomfort. “So you don’t…regret last night?” Francesco said.
“Of course not,” Lorenzo said. “Do you?”
Francesco shook his head, biting his lip to hide a smile. Lorenzo had no qualms about letting a broad smile break out across his own face, and he gave Francesco several quick kisses, laughing against his mouth as he felt Francesco finally start to smile fully.
“All right, come on,” he said at last, pushing the blanket off, stretching, and getting to his feet. “My mom will come back here to get us if we’re not at the table in the next ten seconds.”
He took Francesco’s hand to lead him into the dining room, and when the others teased them about it, Francesco blushed and complained but didn’t actually let go of Lorenzo’s hand. Or stop him from flirting with him and pecking him on the cheek all throughout breakfast.
On the contrary, whenever Lorenzo turned to look at him, he saw that Francesco was smiling wider than he’d ever seen, looking so relaxed and happy and beautiful. After last night, Lorenzo knew how many years it had been since Francesco had had a proper family Christmas (or a proper family, for that matter). They’d only been together (were they together?) for six hours, but Lorenzo found himself already hoping this would be the first of many shared Christmases to come.
After breakfast, everyone went into the living room to exchange gifts. “I didn’t get you anything,” Lorenzo said as Francesco passed him a small package. “Seeing as no one bothered to tell me you were coming until two minutes before you got here.”
“Seeing you run around like a chicken with your head cut off was so worth it,” Bianca said, grinning.
“That’s okay,” Francesco said to Lorenzo. “Mine’s just something small.”
He’d given personalized gifts to Guglielmo, Bianca, and Lucrezia, but just some generic chocolates for the others since he’d never met them before yesterday. Lorenzo got chocolate too, but as he unwrapped it he realized there was something else inside.
He held up a package of pens. “So you don’t have to keep borrowing mine next semester,” Francesco explained, smirking slightly.
Lorenzo laughed. “I guess I’ll just have to find other reasons to visit you,” he said, and he pulled him in for a kiss.