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Yusuf al-Kaysani had long lost track of how many days he had been in the hospital. The nurses kept the curtains drawn for most of the day; something about sunlight being damaging to the fragile eyesight of the recovering veterans or some other type of bullshit Yusuf is sure they must have gotten off an internet psychologist claims they know better than someone who has experienced it. If he spent one more day in the damn place, he knew he would lose his mind; he would have already if not for occupying the hospital at the same time as Lykon, who’d been in the same infantry as him and had gotten out mere days apart from Yusuf. They got on well enough, and a friendly face was more than welcome. It had been almost a year since Yusuf had seen his family, and it was beginning to seem as if he wouldn’t be making it home for the holidays this year either if the nurses had their way. Everything was micromanaged. How much he ate, how much television he watched; hell, even his phone calls were monitored. The nurses were kind, but Yusuf got the sense that they were tip-toeing around him and the others, afraid to say the wrong thing. It was maddening, but Yusuf couldn’t bring himself to be too particularly angry in good conscious. 

“You’re rereading those essays?” said Lykon as he wheeled into the rec room and settled in next to Yusuf, who had been sitting in an old russet-colored armchair for most of the morning. “What is this? The third time this week?” he teased. 

Yusuf shrugged. “What can I say? They’re some damn good essays.” 

The book was precisely five hundred pages and contained a collection of essays written by a successful philosophy professor, Nicolo di Genova detailing his life experiences. He told stories of his travels, and the classes he taught, and all of the charity work he had done in his life, and these stories lit Yusuf up on the inside. They made his heart beat faster with every turn of the page. He just wanted to know more; he wanted to know everything. In one essay, Nicolo detailed his life in Genova, a beautiful Italian villa with a view of the coast that he shared alongside his husband and their rescue dog. It was nice, getting away, to escape into the perfect life even if only for a few hours, when Yusuf’s own life felt so uncertain. 

“Maybe if you ask the nurses nicely, they’ll order his other books for you,” said Lykon. 

Yusuf groaned. “I hope I’m not here that much longer,” he murmured. 

“Oh, it isn’t that bad,” Lykon said. 

“Not that bad,” Yusuf echoed. “You’re only saying that because you’ve got a crush on one of the med students. What was his name again?” 

Lykon shrugged and scratched sheepishly at the back of his head. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” he said. Yusuf gave his friend a look. “Fine. His name is Mustafa King, and can you blame me? He’s the most handsome man I’ve ever seen.” 

“I think it’s sweet,” Yusuf said.

“He told me to call him Moose,” Lykon said, practically pouting. “Come on, that’s fucking adorable. He’s fucking adorable.” 

“Very,” Yusuf agreed. “Well, I’m happy for you, buddy. I hope it works out.” He paused. “Hey, maybe good ol’ Moose will let you stay at his place for the holidays.” 

Lykon laughed. “I don’t think we’re quite there yet.” 

“I think you should ask him out on a date,” Yusuf suggested. “If you ask him nicely, I’m sure he’ll wheel you around the courtyard.” 

Lykon rolled his eyes. “You’re an asshole, Joe,” he said, though the tone of his words held no real bite. 

“I’m serious!” Yusuf exclaimed. “It could be romantic.” 

“Any other ideas?” Lykon mused as he folded both his hands behind his head. “Less humiliating ones, maybe?” 

Yusuf nodded. “Okay. How about a movie night. I’m sure Moose could move some things around and reserve the rec room one night. Or, if you think he likes you, maybe you can convince him to bring you some good food.” 

“That would be nice,” said Lykon. He sighed dramatically. “God, I’m so sick of hospital food.” Lykon lifted an eyebrow. “Do you think your man can cook?” 

Yusuf frowned. “My what?” 

“Your man,” said Lykon, gesturing to the book still held in Yusuf’s hands. He tapped the back of the book with the tip of his finger. “He looks like he can cook.” 

“ He does actually,” Yusuf said, “In one of his essays, he talks about spending an entire summer in Sudan volunteering as a cook in a women’s shelter, and in another essay, he tells this amazing story about spending several years working in a French restaurant just outside of Paris. So, yeah, Lykon. I think he can cook.”

Lykon smirked. “It sounds like you’ve got a little crush.” 

“Maybe I do,” Yusuf said. “It’s not like I’ll ever meet the guy, though. When am I going to find the time and the money to travel to Italy? And even if I could make the trip, he’s married.”  

“Never say never,” Lykon said. “Life is full of surprises.” 

“I don’t know, Lyk,” said Yusuf, “I think I’ve had enough surprises for one lifetime.” 

Lykon shrugged. “If you say so.” He jerked his thumb towards the door. “Come on. There’s supposed to be ice cream cups in the cafeteria.” 

Yusuf smiled, nodded, and tucked the book under his arm. He stood, making a gesture with his hand. “Why not. Gentlemen first,” said Yusuf, letting Lykon roll a few feet ahead of him before he followed his friend out of the rec room. 

Unbeknownst to either man, twenty miles away from Queen Elizabeth (most notably not 1,000 miles as it should have been), Nicolo di Genova sat hunched over his laptop, furiously finishing the edits on his latest essay. This essay, in particular, had been giving him relatively some trouble. The topic Andy had proposed was a piece about the Mercato Orientale during the summer. It had been years since Nicolo had strolled through the market, and his memory of the place was exceedingly unreliable, but of course, he couldn’t tell her this. Booker had been in Italy for several months now on business, and Nicolo was tempted to pick up the phone and have him make the trip down from Sicily and take some notes and photographs. The screen in front of Nicolo was mostly blank, only a few sentences to show for, and it had been this way for most of the day. His head ached. He desperately needed a smoke. He only had two more weeks left to finish this essay by Andy’s deadline, and then he had another two weeks to finish one more essay in time to complete his fourth collection. It was all a bit much, and if you asked Nicolo, entirely too much to expect of him during the holiday season. When there was a knock on his front door, Nicolo breathed a sigh of relief at the excuse to take a moment’s break away from the complete lack of progress he was making. 

Nicolo opened the door to reveal the beaming face of his neighbor, Nile. She was holding a large glass container with both of her hands. “Lasagna,” said Nile, holding the box out in front of her. “So you don’t order crappy takeout food for the third night in a row.” 

“Gracie, Nile,” Nicolo said, hand over his heart. “You are truly too kind. How did I get so lucky as to live across the hall from a culinary arts graduate?” 

Nile shrugged. “Someone has to look after you. How’s the essay coming along?” Nicolo winced. “That bad, huh?” 

“Please,” said Nicolo, stepping to the side. “Come in.” 

“I still don’t understand it,” Nile stated as she walked through the threshold. “Why can’t you just write about your real life? What’s so wrong about being honest?” 

Nicolo closed the door, shoulders slumping. “I am not sure how many people would find me so interesting if they knew the truth,” he pointed out. “Who wants to hear about a failed college professor when instead they could be reading about a successful scholar of many travels?” 

“I think you’re plenty interesting,” Nile said. 

“ Mi stai prendendo in giro ,” Nicolo chastised. 

“Not at all,” Nile argued. “Trust me. If I thought you were a drip, I wouldn’t waste ten minutes with you, yet here I am, with dinner. And do I not spend hours with you every other Saturday night when I could be out with other ‘more interesting people.’” She opened the refrigerator and dropped the container inside. “I think you’re too hard on yourself, Nicky.” 

Nicolo shrugged. “Perhaps.” 

“It’s never too late to tell Andy the truth.” 

“I’m not so sure,” Nicolo sighed. “I have made my entire professional writing career on these essays. They are good essays.” 

“They’re great essays,” said Nile. “But wouldn’t it be nice to write something true?”

“Another life,” Nicolo said. 

Nile rolled her eyes as she closed the refrigerator door and leaned against it. “Are all you Italians this dramatic, or is it just you?” she mused. 

“ Non ho idea di cosa stai parlando,” said Nicolo, a tiny smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Please, sit. I will get you something to drink.” 

Nile raised an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t you be working?” she asked, though even as she said it, she was pulling out one of the stools situated around the kitchen island. 

“I have been working since seven in the morning,” Nicolo said, running a tired hand through his hair. 

“Any progress?” Nile said, and Nicolo shook his head. “Writer’s block?” 

“Molti writer’s block,” Nicolo murmured. 

Nile nodded somberly. “ The most debilitating of illnesses,” she commented. “Is there anything I can do to help?” 

“I don’t think so.” 

“If someone could event a magic cure to writer’s block, they could make a fortune,” said Nile. 

“Maybe that will be your great endeavor,” Nicolo said. “Your… how do you say… call to fame?” 

“Claim to fame,” Nile corrected lightly. She paused. “Yeah. Yeah, I could do that. But only if you help me construct my master plan.” 

Nicolo smiled softly. “That would be fun.” 

“We’ll start after the holidays,” Nile declared. She pressed her elbows into the white marble of the island and dropped her chin into her hands, leaning forward. “Speaking of which, what’re you doing for Christmas? Do you think you’ll go back home?” 

Nicolo’s shoulder stiffened incrementally. “Probabilmente no,” he said offhandedly. 

“So… what?” Nile gawked. “You’ll just be here alone?” 

“I suppose so.” 

“You’re okay with that?” Nile asked. 

Nicolo huffed out a short breath. “Nile, I have been spending Christmas alone for years now,” he said. “I am okay with it.” 

“Are you sure?” said Nile. “I couldn’t imagine going a Christmas without my mom and brother.” She paused. “Why don’t you come home with me to Chicago? My family would love you.” 

“That’s very nice of you,” Nicolo said. 

“They really would.” 

Nicolo nodded. “I know, but...” The muscles beneath his jaw jumped. “I would not want to impose.” 

“You wouldn’t be imposing,” Nile assured him. “What would you be doing otherwise?” 

Nicolo blinked, looking away somewhat sheepishly. “Oh, I’m not sure,” he said. 

“What you usually do?” Nile asked. “When you’re spending the holidays alone?” 

“Nothing particularly exciting. Sometimes I rent a movie and make hot chocolate.” 

“So you won’t be missing anything,” Nile said. “Come on, what’s the harm? My mother always said, the more, the merrier.” 

Nicolo sighed softly. “I’ll think about it,” he said. “Thank you.” 

“You don’t need to thank me,” said Nile. “No one should be alone on Christmas.” She jumped down from the stool. “You know what I’m craving right now?” she mused. Nicolo shook his head. “A good craft beer.” Nile made a motion over her shoulder. “And since it seems like you won’t be getting anything productive done today, why don’t you come with me. There’s this new bar down the street that I’ve heard amazing things about.” 

Nicolo glanced at his watch. “It’s only three o’clock,” he pointed out. 

“Nicky,” Nile said, “I am going to teach you a very, very important phrase we Americans  like to say when we want an excuse to day drink.” She paused dramatically. “It’s five o’clock somewhere.” 

“I’m sure Booker would love that,” Nicolo commented lightly. 

Nile laughed. “You’re probably right.” She walked around the island and looped her arm through his. “Hey, maybe this is the great cure to writer’s block.”

“Getting drunk in the middle of the day?” said Nicolo.

“Getting drunk with a good friend in the middle of the day,” Nile corrected. “Letting loose? Taking a moment to breathe? Perhaps you’ve heard of the concept.” 

“With you by my side,” Nicolo said, “How could I not?” 

Nile beamed. “That’s the spirit.” Together they walked from the apartment and out onto the street. “Tell me you’ll at least consider joining my family and me for Christmas?”

“I will,” said Nicolo. 

Nile squeezed his bicep. “Good.” They parted ways temporarily to clear the sidewalk for a couple coming towards them, their hands interwoven and too engrossed in one another to pay Nile or Nicolo much mind. “I’m not sure if that’s adorable or completely infuriating?” Nile sighed. 

“Tutti e due,” Nicolo decided after a moment. 

“What is Sebastien up to lately?” Nile asked. 

“Traveling,” said Nicolo. He lifted an eyebrow. “Why?” 

Nile shrugged. She ducked her head. “No reason.” 

“Why am I having difficulty believing you,” said Nicolo. 

“I don’t know,” Nile said. “That sort of sounds like a you problem.” 

Nicolo stopped walking, forcing Nile to stop with him. “Dio Mio, you like him. Don’t you?” 

“What? No,” said Nile, a fraction too quickly. 

“You do,” Nicolo said. “What else could it be? You are bringing him up so soon after we see that young couple.” 

“That’s ridiculous,” Nile dismissed. “He was on my mind because we’d mentioned him before.” 

“Or was he on your mind for other reasons?” 

Nile rolled her eyes and bumped her shoulder into his. “Oh, shut up, you. I don’t even know that guy that well. I’ve only met him a handful of times, and half of those times, he was completely wasted. Honestly, I don’t know how he still holds down that job of his.” 

“La tua ipotesi è buona quanto la mia,” said Nicolo with a one-shouldered shrug. “It is quite miraculous.” 

Sebastien Le Livre (Booker to his good friends) worked as a real estate agent between France and Italy. He and Nicolo had been roommates in university years ago before Nicolo started down his path as an acclaimed non-fiction writer. Booker was quite happy then. He was a good, hard-working student, personable with others, and very kind. Booker was on a fast track towards a promising business career until things had taken a turn for the worst in his personal life. He had known his girlfriend since grade school. She was the only woman he’d ever loved or would ever love, Booker often claimed. Before the incident, in a haze of adoration. After, in a new sort of haze, drowned in cheap vodka. There had been an accident. As simple as that. A sad, horrific accident, but an accident all the same. It amazed Nicolo how quickly life could change, how it could change in a matter of seconds, and Booker’s life changed in precisely three. There were the rain and the dark of the night. A crosswalk and a driver moving too fast. The morning of her funeral, Booker blacked out. He awoke in a stranger’s house on the other side of France, just barely making it to the funeral on time, much to the disgust and judgment of his wife’s family, and the next five years had been a blur of hangovers and alcohol. 

“He keeps the job because he is good at it,” Nicolo ventured. “Despite everything, he is good at it. Sometimes I think it may be the only thing keeping him afloat. Sure he comes into work smelling terrible, but he always manages to close the deal.” Nicolo sighed. “Booker is a good man. But you would do well in remembering, mio caro, that he carries an enormous weight upon his shoulders that he is not yet ready to release.” 

Nile nodded. “I get it,” she said quietly, kicking at a ball of snow on the ground. For several moments she said nothing before turning her face towards Nicolo’s again, as bright as ever, and she said, “Well then, what about you? Any man catch your eyes?” 

“Not one,” said Nicolo, shaking his head. “I don’t have much time…” 

Nile held up a finger. “Nuh-uh, I don’t want to hear it,” she said. “There’s always time for a little romance.” 

“Alright,” said Nicolo, “Then there’s no one in London I am interested in.” 

Nile gave him a look. “You’re telling me that out of the 4 million men living in London right now, there’s not a single one that you might be interested in?” she said dubiously. Nicolo shrugged. “I’m having a hard time believing that.” 

“I’m not looking for love right now, Nile,” Nicolo said. 

“Never say never,” Nile responded. When they reached the bar, Nile paused at the door. “Okay, but then what do you do if someone starts flirting with you? Do you just tell them ‘no thanks’?” 

“Suppongo di sì.”

Nile groaned. “You’re hopeless.” 

They stepped inside together and quickly found a seat at the far right corner of the bar. After the bartender had taken their orders and brought them their drinks, Nicolo angled his body towards Nile. “Seriously,” he Nicolo, “I’m fine with my life the way it is. You don’t have to worry so much about me.”

“You shouldn’t be just fine , though,” Nile pressed. “You should be happy.” 

Nicolo snorted and shook his head. “Dice chi?” 

“Says me,” Nile quipped. 

Nicolo stared blankly into the murky liquid of the drink that had been placed in front of him. “Who said I wanted to be happy?” he mused. “Is it not enough to just be comfortable?” 

“Are you?” asked Nile. “Comfortable?” 

Before Nicolo could answer, a heavy hand came down upon his shoulder, and he nearly leaped from his seat in shock. “Nicolo di Genova,” Andy said. “What are the odds?” 

Nicolo cleared his throat and turned to face her. “Andy,” he said. “It’s good to see you. What brings you to London?” 

“I had a meeting this morning with a potential new author for Scythian Publishing,” Andy explained. 

“How exciting,” Nicolo commented. 

Andy nodded in agreement. “Her name’s Quynh. She specializes in oceanic studies. Her most recent project involved the discovery of a brand new coral.”

“Impressive,” said Nicolo.

“She’s promising,” Andy said as she hoisted herself into the chair directly to Nicolo’s right. “Who’s this?” she mused, nodding her head towards Nile.

Nicolo placed a hand on Nile’s shoulder. “This is my friend. Nile. Nile, this is my boss Andy.” 

“Nice to meet you,” Nile said as the two women shook hands. “You must be so proud to have a talent like Nicky under your wing.” She smirked at Nicolo. “I’ve read some of his essays myself, and I must say he is very impressive.” 

“We’re lucky to have him,” said Andy. She placed a hand on the top of Nicolo’s back. “I’m glad I ran into you because there’s something I need to ask of you.” 

Nicolo blinked. His hand tightened around the glass of beer. “What is it?” 

“I was going to call you, but seeing as you are here, I might as well tell you now. An old friend of mine has asked a favor of me, and I’m afraid I can’t accommodate it properly,”  Andy said. “This friend works at a hospital in London, and there’s one man there in particular who doesn’t seem to have anywhere to go for the holiday season. I would have offered him a room in my apartment, but then he mentioned that the man is a fan of yours.” 

Nicolo stiffened. Behind him, he thought he heard Nile snicker. “I see,” said Nicolo, as calmly as he could. 

“And I know that you have plenty of rooms in your home back in Genoa,” Andy went on. “I was hoping that you may be willing to open your doors this Christmas.” 

“I think that sounds lovely,” Nile said. 

Nicolo glanced over his shoulder, casting her a withering stare, before turning back to Andy. “How…” he cleared his throat. “How long would he need to stay?” 

“Not too long,” Andy said. “Just through New Year’s.” 

“Not too long at all,” Nicolo agreed. 

“I know you have your essays to finish,” Andy said. “But I was thinking, if that you were willing to do this, I could give you an extension into next year.” 

Nicolo smiled tightly. “That is very kind of you, Andromache.” 

“Think about it,” Andy said. “Let me know by tomorrow.” She paused, her eyebrows furrowing. “Hold on. What are you doing in London, Nicky?” 

Nicolo glanced at Nile again, his face slowly turning bright red. “It’s for one of the essays,” Nile said. “Nicky was telling me he wants to do a piece comparing how different countries celebrate the holidays, and I had never been to London before, so he was sweet enough to take me along with him.” 

“Good.” Andy nodded approvingly. “I think that’s a great idea,” she said. 

“Oh, I’m glad you think so,” Nicolo said as he reached behind himself to grab Nile’s hand, squeezing it in his. 

The rest of the day was excruciating, and it wasn’t until Nile chimed in that she and Nicolo had to catch an eight o’clock flight that they finally managed to leave. Nicolo thought he might collapse on top of his friend when they’d made it back to his apartment. 

“What am I going to do, Nile?” Nicolo groaned. 

“Just say no,” Nile said with a shrug. 

“I can’t just say no.” 

Nile frowned. “Why not? Sure it’ll kind of make you look like a jackass, but I think it’s worth it to look like a jerk if it means keeping your secret.” 

Nicolo shook his head. “You don’t know Andy,” he said. “She’ll want to know why. She’ll ask too many questions. If I say no, she’ll find out.” Nicolo ran a hand through his hair. “And if I say yes, she’ll find out too.” 

“So it’s a lose/lose situation,” Nile said. 

“Yes,” Nicolo sighed. 

“There has to be something you can do.” 

“If you think of something, let me know,” Nicolo sighed again. He walked over to the sofa and dropped himself lazily into the cushions. “Scythian Publishing prides itself on telling real, raw, true stories. If this comes out, it’ll destroy Andy’s reputation and I… I can’t do that to her.” 

Nile observed his face for a moment or two before sitting down next to him. “We’ll come up with something,” she assured him. “Alright? We’ll come up with something. I promise.” 

“You don’t have to help me,” Nicolo said, “I should not be dragging you into my mess.” 

“Hey, enough of that,” Nile scolded. “I’m your friend, and what else are friends for but to help each other?” She squeezed his shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. We’re going to get through this.” 

Nicolo smiled with only half of his mouth. “Grazie mille. What would I do without you?” 

“I shudder to think,” Nile said, winking. She straightened her back. “Let’s think about this. What do you need to make this miraculous fictional life of yours a reality?” 

“A husband,” said Nicolo. 

“Easy,” Nile stated. “You’ll be amazed what people are willing to do on these dating sites lately if you pay them enough.” 

“A villa in Genoa,” said Nicolo. 

“Okay, maybe not as easy. Go on.” 

“And cooking skills worthy of a Micheline star French restaurant,” said Nicolo. 

Nile stared at him. “You really couldn’t have just made yourself a home cook, could you?” she mused. 

“I’m sorry,” Nicolo sighed. 

Nile clapped her hands together. “It’s fine,” she said, “It’s fine. We can figure this out.” She paused, and Nicolo could swear he heard the gears turning inside of her head. Nile clapped again. “Sebastien.” 

“Sebastien?” 

“You said he splits his time between Italy and France, right?” Nile mused, and when Nicolo nodded, she pressed, “Where is he right now?” 

Nicolo stopped to think for a moment. “Merda santa.” 

“I’ll take that as he’s in Italy,” said Nile. “Is there any chance, any small, tiny chance that there’s a property for sale in Genova?” 

“There is an excellent chance,” said Nicolo. “He’s had several listings available since August. But what good will that do? I know how much money Booker makes on those houses; I couldn’t even begin to afford one right now.” 

Nile rolled her eyes. “I’m not saying we buy a place, Nicky,” she said. “I’m saying we borrow one. It’s like Andy said, it’ll only be through New Year’s. What harm could be done as long as we clean the place up afterward? Get on the phone and call Sebastien now.” 

Nicolo chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Do you think this has a chance of working?” he said. 

“I have no idea if it’ll work,” Nile admitted, “But it’s better to try than just to sit there and do nothing.” 

“Hai ragione.” 

“I know I’m right,” Nile said, smiling. “Aren’t I always?” 

Nicolo nodded the affirmative. “You are,” he said. “Sempre. There’s the house. Possibly. What about the husband? And cooking.” 

“I’ll take care of the cooking,” Nile said without a moment’s hesitation. 

Nicolo stared at her. “What about your family? You were going to spend Christmas with them.” 

Nile shrugged. “They’ll understand.” 

“Nile…” 

“Like I said,” Nile interrupted. “I’m your friend, and you’re mine. You’re in need during the holiday season. I’m here to stay. For as long as you need me. Just accept it because I won’t go down easy without a fight.” 

Nicolo nodded. He reached for her hand. “Okay.” 

“Good.” Nile cleared her throat. “As for this elusive husband of yours, it occurred to me that if we’re going to be in Italy, there will just so happen to be a perfect single man at our convenience and what do you know, it will be his very house we’re borrowing.” 

Nicolo blinked slowly. “You are not serious.” 

“I am always serious.” 

Nicolo squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Okay… okay, okay, okay…” 

“Hey, it’s better than no husband at all,” Nile pointed out. 

“I know,” said Nicolo, opening his eyes again. “It is a lot to ask of him.” 

Nile smiled empathetically. “You’re worried he won’t pull through.” 

“I care for Sebastien very much,” Nicolo said. “But he is not known for his reliability.” 

“If he knows this is important to you,” said Nile, “He won’t let you down. You just need to trust him.” 

Nicolo inhaled sharply. “I do. I have always trusted him.” He quirked his head to the side. “How did you figure this out so quickly?” 

Nile shrugged. “I started thinking of a plan the moment Andy made that suggestion in the bar. It’s been milling about my head for hours.” 

“Sei brillante, mia cara,” Nicolo said, taking Nile’s face in his hands and bringing her forehead to his lips. “Molta brillante.” 

“You know it,” Nile exclaimed, beaming. “If you want to make it up to me, you’ll share that champagne I saw in your fridge earlier today.” 

“Anything you’d like,” Nicolo conceded. He stood and walked into the kitchen, pausing just in the doorway and glancing over his shoulder. “Nile.”
Nile lifted her head. “Yes?”

“Where are we going to get a dog?” 

Yusuf had been in the middle of a delightful dream when he felt the entire world rock around him, and he was unceremoniously awoken from his slumber. With a groan, Yusuf rolled over, glaring into the face of his friend. “What do you want, Lyk?” he grumbled. 

“Merry early Christmas,” Lykon said smugly. 

Yusuf narrowed his eyes. “I don’t celebrate Christmas.” 

“Then Happy-Almost-December-25th,” Lykon said, grinning with his teeth and practically glowing. “I’ve got a present for you.” 

“What time is it?” Yusuf groaned, reaching for the pillow beneath his head and tugging it over his face. 

“It’s one o’clock in the afternoon,” Lykon said. “You missed lunch.” He grabbed the pillow in his hand and yanked it away. “Don’t you want to know what your present is?”

Yusuf sighed and sat up. “Isn’t the point of a Christmas present to wait until Christmas to open it?” he mused. 

“Typically, yes. But this one’s special.” 

“Okay,” said Yusuf. “I’ll bite. What is it?” 

Lykon was smiling so much it looked almost painful. “Not what, my dear friend,” said Lykon. “Where.” 

Yusuf frowned. “What?” 

“Where,” Lykon repeated. 

“Okay. Where is my present?” Yusuf mused. 

Lykon moved the palms of his hands up and down on his thighs as if trying to recreate a drumbeat. This went on for seven more seconds. “Genova, Italy,” Lykon exclaimed. 

“What?” said Yusuf. 

“Your present is in Genova, Italy,” Lykon said. 

“What are you talking about?” 

Lykon laughed. “You’ll never believe this. I talked with Moose a few days ago, and he was telling me all about his college friend, Andy. Andy owns a publishing company for nonfiction authors, and you’ll never fucking guess who’s contract she manages.” 

Yusuf grabbed at the sheets with his fingers. His heart had begun to beat a fraction faster, and his face suddenly felt very hot. “Who’s?” Yusuf asked, though there was a large part of him that very much already knew the answer. 

Still, Lykon leaned across the bed and whispered in a sharp, excited tone, “Nicolo di fucking Genova.” 

At the sound of the first syllable, Yusuf nearly choked on his delighted laughter. “You’re messing with me!” Yusuf exclaimed, reaching over and shoving Lykon’s shoulders playfully. “You’re messing with me!” 

Lykon laughed again in return. He placed a hand on Yusuf’s upper arm and squeezed lightly. “Come on, Joe, I wouldn’t do that to you,” Lykon said, and he smiled. “This is happening, my friend.” He hadn’t even finished speaking before Yusuf pulled himself from the bed and wrapped his arms around Lykon’s neck, pressing his face into the other man’s neck. 

“This is amazing, Lykon,” Yusuf chuckled as he moved back, hands still on Lykon’s shoulders. “I can’t believe this.” 

“Small world, in’it,” said Lykon. 

Yusuf nodded. “Small world,” he echoed. “So… how is this going to work?” 

“I mentioned you to Moose, and I told him I was worried about you, being here alone over the holidays,” Lykon explained, “And then I brought up that book of yours that you’re so obsessed with; how it’s been helping you keep your mind off of things and well, Moose asked what book and I told him, and he said, my friend, Andy knows that guy. She knows him well. She was there when he published his first book.” 

Yusuf touched his palm to his heart. “Aww, Lyk,” he said, “You worry about me?” 

“I always worry about you, Joe,” Lykon said. “Moose told me Nicolo’s got at least two guest room’s in his house and that he would ask Andy to talk to Nicolo, and she talked to him, and here we are. Boom. You’ve got a home for the holidays.” 

“That’s…” Yusuf shook his head. “That is incredible. You’re incredible.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” said Lykon, with a wave of the hand. “I was happy to do it. Moose says that Andy and the publishing company can pay for your plane. Your flight is the day before Christmas Eve.” 

Yusuf scratched the back of his head. “I can’t believe this is happening.” 

“Well, believe it, buddy!” Lykon exclaimed. He pointed at Yusuf. “Oh, and don’t get too out of control when you get down there. Remember, he’s married.” 

“Shit, yeah,” said Yusuf, and he cleared his throat. “That’s fine with me. It’ll be nice just getting to know him.” 

Lykon raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Are you sure about that?” he mused. 

“Completly,” said Yusuf. “I don’t think I’m ready for a relationship anyway.” Lykon laughed. “What?” 

“Yusuf al-Kaysani? Not ready for a relationship?” Lykon gawked. “You’ve been ready for a relationship for at least half a decade. You won’t stop talking about how ready you are for a relationship,” he taunted lightly, “How you can’t wait to find the perfect man; how you can’t wait to treat him like a prince.” 

“Alright, shut up,” Yusuf huffed. “I’m a romantic. Is there anything so wrong with that?” 

“Not at all. But Nicolo’s a married man.” 

Yusuf groaned. “I know he’s a married man.” 

“A married man is not going to be your soulmate,” said Lykon, “But he can make a really good friend, and I think you need a few more of those because you deserve it, Joe. You do.” 

“That means a lot, Lykon,” Joe said softly. He smiled. “I’m going to Genoa, Italy for Christmas.” 

“You’re going to Genoa, Italy for Christmas!” Lykon echoed. 

The two embraced again, their laughter ringing through the hallways. 

One week before Christmas, Nicolo was in a car on his way to the airport. Nile would be meeting him there. She said she surprised him as if everything that was happening wasn’t enough of a shock already. They’d called Booker minutes after Nile and Nicolo had worked out their plan, and he’d responded with a long pause, an exasperated groan, and he had hung up only to call back twenty minutes later, words notably more slurred, promising he would help. 

Nile was standing outside of the airport’s left-wing door, a suitcase handle in one hand and a medium-sized crate in the other. She leaned the suitcase against her leg, waved, and then she reached down and pulled the door open for Nicolo. He stepped out, pulling uncomfortably at the bottom of his shirt. 

“Do you think this is going to work?” Nicolo asked as he grabbed his suitcase from the back of the car. 

“I think we’ve got an eighty-nine percent chance of success,” said Nile. 

“B+,” Nicolo said. He breathed in and then out again. “Those are good odds.” Nicolo turned back to the car, paying and thanking the driver before looking back at Nile, pointing at the crate. “What’s that?” Nicolo asked. 

Nile grinned. She placed the crate on the ground and bent to unlock it, clicking softly with her teeth. Moments later, the snout of a small animal poked it’s nose out into the open, slowly at first, taking one careful step and then another, and soon it’s entire head had emerged. Nile hoisted the creature up into her arms and cradled it to her chest. 

“Nicky,” she said, “Meet Noriko.”

“Noriko?” Nicolo said. 

“You needed a dog. Your girl got you a dog.”  

Noriko was a small Shiba Inu puppy with big dark eyes and tiny baby teeth. Her nose twitched wildly as she tried to take in all the smells of the airport. She squirmed in Nile’s arms, panting heavily; jaws parted in a toothy smile, her tongue lolled out. 

“Where did you get a dog?” Nicolo asked, reaching out to stroke his hand over Noriko’s head. 

Nile cradled Noriko like she was a baby. “I did some searching around, and as it turns out, the elderly couple who lives above me happens to have a dog that they need someone to look after during the holidays.” 

“That’s very lucky,” said Nicolo. “And how do they feel about you taking their puppy to another country?” 

Nile grimaced. “I may have left that part out when I offered to dogsit for them,” she said. 

“Perfecto,” Nicolo snorted. 

“Shouldn’t be too much of a problem,” Nile said. “As long as we take care of her and get her home safe at the end of the day, I don’t think it matters where I do the dogsitting.” 

Nicolo wrapped his arm around Nile’s shoulder and pulled her to his chest in a sideways hug. “Thank you,” he said, “For everything. Words cannot express how much I appreciate you.” 

Nile stood on her toes and kissed the side of Nicolo’s face. “Come on,” she said softly. “Let’s go catch our plane.” 

Booker was waiting for them outside of the house with a cigarette between his fingers and a grimace plastered on his face. “At least he’s not drinking,” Nile commented as she and Nicolo stepped out of the car. 

“You both realize how insane this plan is, right?” Booker said as he dropped his cigarette on the ground and snuffed it out with the tip of his boot. “This place is the closest one I could find that looks like the descriptions in Nicky’s essays, and even then, it’s not an exact match.” 

“I didn’t realize you read my work,” said Nicolo. 

Booker shrugged. “It’s good for the washroom.” 

“Lovely,” Nile snickered. 

“What’s that?” Booker grumbled, gesturing to Noriko’s crate, and as if on cue, she started barking with an excited rigor. “Jésus christ de Nazareth…” 

“Nicky has a dog!” Nile exclaimed. 

Booker’s frown deepened. “And who’s meant to take care of it?” he questioned. “Do you know how messy those things can be? We need to make sure this house is spotless; I’ve still got to sell it, and no one’s going to buy a house with piss stains from an untrained mutt.”

“Noriko is a purebred, mind you,” said Nile. “You don’t have to worry about it. I’ll keep an eye on her.”

Booker still looked wildly unimpressed. His arms were crossed tightly over his chest, and he glared at Nicolo. “You had to have a goddamn dog, didn’t you,” Booker murmured. “You couldn’t have just written about a fish?” 

“Rescue fish are significantly less appealing to the audience than a rescue dog,” Nicolo stated. 

“He’s right,” Nile agreed. “You see a story about a rescue fish, and you just flip to the next page. You see a story about a rescue dog, and you’re crying before you’ve even started the first sentence. It’s a known fact about humankind. Dogs strike a chord.” 

“Vous êtes tous les deux insupportables,” Booker sighed. He reached out and carefully eased Nile’s suitcase handle into his own hand. “Come on. I’ll give you both the tour, so you’re at least somewhat familiar with the place when the soldier gets here.”

As Nicolo and Nile followed Booker inside, Nicolo leaned over and whispered, “He didn’t take my bags.” Nile elbowed him hard in the chest. 

“Hush, you,” Nile scolded. She paused, placing her hand on Nicolo’s back. “Are you okay?” Nile asked. “Being back here?” 

Nicolo inhaled sharply. “I’ll be alright,” he said. “I will. We’re far enough from my home town that I am sure we won’t run into anyone.” 

“If you need to sit down for a moment and take a break, let me know, and I will cover for you,” Nile said. 

“Thank you,” Nicolo said. “I appreciate that. More than words can express.” 

They spent the rest of the day familiarizing themselves with the house. “Nicky, you need to know this place top to bottom,” said Booker. “You need to know this place like the back of your hand. Remember, you’ve lived in this place for almost seven years. Don’t screw this up, di Genova. I’m going out on a limb for you here,” the Frenchman added teasingly. 

“I know,” Nicolo said weakly.

Nile threw her arms around both of the men, straining slightly to reach both of them as they explored through the hallways. “Are you two going to have to share a room?” she asked. “Probably. Right?” Nicolo blushed, and Nile pinched his cheek. “Lucky, lucky man, Nicky.”

“Sta’zitto,” Nicolo groaned, ducking out from under Nile’s arm. 

Booker shrugged. “That’s fine by me. Just no funny business, Nicolo,” he said. 

“Sta’zitto,” Nicolo exclaimed as his friends laughed. 

The group had walked around the property four times when Booker sat Nile and Nicolo down in the living room, quizzing them on different locations across a map he had drawn up the other day; Noriko curled up peacefully at Booker’s feet. The Frenchman was stroking his hand over the dog’s head, seemingly already won over. 

“You’re committed to this, aren’t you, Book?” said Nile, admiring the detail in the chart. 

Booker smiled, glancing at her sideways. “What can I say?” he mused. “When I agree to something, I follow through. The entire house is stocked up too. Food, utilities. Everything.” 

“I like that quality in a man,” Nile taunted, raising one eyebrow. She shimmied her shoulders. “Alright, next question.” 

Booker cleared his throat. “Alright,” the Frenchman echoed. “Nicky. Show me which of these is the cobalt guest room.” 

It was early the next day when the soldier arrived. Nicolo, Nile, and Booker had been seated in the living room, not a word to be passed among any of them, the only sound the quiet music drifting up from the radio. The clock had just struck 10:15 when the chime of the doorbell echoed through the house. 

Nicolo looked at Nile and looked back at him, then they both looked at Booker, who sighed heavily and shook his head, and for several uncomfortable moments, they all sat quietly, none of them moving and all of them unsure of what to do. After the doorbell rang again, Nile angled her body towards Nicolo and reached over, resting her hand on his knee. “I think you should be the one to answer the door,” she said somberly. 

“Me?” said Nicolo.

“Yes, you,” Booker corroborated. “You’re the one who got us into this mess, to begin with; it only seems fitting that you are also the one who gets this whole shit show started.” 

Nicolo glanced at Nile helplessly, but she only nodded in quiet agreement. “Alright,” said Nicolo, jaw clenching. He stood and brushed his hands over the front of his pants. 

“You’ve got this di Genova!” Nile said. 

Booker said something too low for Nicolo to hear, but whatever it was, it caused Nile to erupt into laughter. The hallway’s distance to the front door felt much smaller than it did yesterday, and Nicolo found himself dragging his feet, scuffling along the wood floorboards. His heart was beating at what felt like a dangerously rapid pace, and for a wild, illogical moment, Nicolo feared it would burst past his chest and land right in the hands of the soldier when he opened the door. For a moment, his hand hovered over the doorknob, and he paused, breathing in and then out again before he reached down and pulled the door open. 

Standing before Nicolo was what he knew to be the most beautiful man he had ever seen and probably would ever see in his entire life. The man was tall; he had sunkissed brown skin. He had depthless dark eyes. His eyes were the sort of eyes that Nicolo was sure he would be lost in for hours should he forget himself and look for too long. Despite their shade, they seemed to glow and dance with a light that appeared to come from within. On top of his head was a wild mane of lush black curls, and his face was adorned with a thick, neatly groomed beard. The uniform he wore hugged his biceps and his shoulders and his smile; his smile was unlike anything Nicolo had ever seen before. It was pure sunshine personified and condensed into a singular human being.

“Nicolo,” said the man, and it was as if no one had ever spoken Nicolo’s name before, as if he was hearing the sound and the syllables altogether for the very first time. The man smiled, and Nicolo knew he was in trouble. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Yusuf. Yusuf al-Kaysani.” 

Yusuf. Yusuf, Yusuf, Yusuf. “It’s nice to meet you too,” said Nicolo, and when Yusuf holds out his hand, Nicolo takes it. 

“Thank you,” said Yusuf as he clasped his other hand over the both of theirs. “For welcoming me into your home.” 

Yusuf’s voice was honey smooth; it was like a song you could listen to for hours on end without getting tired of it. “I’m happy to,” Nicolo said. He cleared his throat. “Do you need help with your baggage?” 

“I’ve only got the one,” said Yusuf, gesturing to the blue suitcase at his feet, “But thank you.” 

Nicolo wasn’t sure how long they had been standing there inside of the threshold, just staring silently at each other, but he found that it wasn’t awkward; none of it felt awkward, none of it uncomfortable. It was peaceful. There was a calm that fell between them. 

“Why don’t you come inside,” Nicolo said. “I can show you to your room.” 

“I’d like that,” Yusuf said, his voice suddenly much softer. 

Nicolo led the soldier inside of the house. His heart was like an unhinged jackhammer inside of his chest, skittering across the ground at an uncontrollable pace. They walked past the living room, and out of the corner of his eye, Nicolo saw both Nile and Booker stand in unison. 

“Nicky,” Nile said. 

Nicolo blinked, nearly tripping over himself, forgetting himself for a moment, and it wasn’t until Booker cleared his throat that he came back down to himself again, the reality of the situation bringing him back to earth. “Mi dispiace,” said Nicolo. “How very rude of me.” He turned to Yusuf. “This is my…” Nicolo paused for a brief second, feeling a thick lump catch in his throat, “This is my husband, Sebastien. Sebastien, this is Sergent Yusuf al-Kaysani.” 

Booker coughed harshly into his elbow before taking several uneasy steps forward. “Hey, Serg,” he said roughly, taking the soldier’s hand in his. 

“Good to meet you, Sebastien,” said Yusuf. “I’ve told your wonderful husband already, but thank you. I appreciate you having me in your home for the holidays.” 

“Don’t mention it,” Booker said offhandedly. “Seriously.” 

“You’re both too kind,” Yusuf said.

When he smiled, Nicolo noticed the corners of his eyes carved into crow’s feet crinkles. Nicolo just wanted to reach out and touch them; run his thumb over the delicate skin there. He motioned for Nile to come forward. She practically bounced as she approached them, her own dark eyes bright and luminous. 

“Yusuf, this is my friend Nile,” Nicolo introduced, placing his hand on her shoulder. He hesitated. Of course, he couldn’t tell Yusuf the truth. She’s here because I can’t cook for shit, and she is practically a genius and a prodigy in the kitchen. 

“I’m kind of going through a rough patch with my folks right now,” Nile chimed in, a remorseful look curtaining over her face. She reached up to close her hand around Nicolo’s. “And Nicky was sweet enough to offer me one of his rooms for the holidays. He’s a very firm believer in the idea that no one should be alone for Christmas.” Nile turned to Nicolo, a tiny, soft smile across her lips, a smile that said, ‘it’s okay, it’s all going to be okay.’ “I’ll tell you one thing, Sergent, Nicolo di Genova’s kindness knows no bounds.” 

“Yes.” Yusuf’s grin widened. “I’m beginning to see that.” 

Nile glanced at Nicolo, one eyebrow raised, and Nicolo recognized the face she was making. Slightly smug. Gentle and teasing. She turned back to Yusuf. “Booker, would you mind taking the Sergent to his room? There’s something I need to talk to Nicolo about.” 

Booker looked at Nile with a barley concealed scowl before seeming to concede with a lengthy sigh. “I can do that,” he said. “It’s just this way, Sergent.” Yusuf glanced once more over at Nicolo, that same bright smile on his face, before turning to follow Booker down the hallway. 

“He’s gorgeous, isn’t he?” said Nile once the other two men were out of earshot. 

“Madre di Dio, penso di essere nei guai,” Nicolo groaned, tilting his head back.

Nile laughed. “You are,” she taunted, shoving Nicolo’s chest gently. “Careful, Nicolo. You’re a married man now.” 

Nicolo groaned again. “What are we doing, Nile…” 

“We’re protecting your job,” Nile reminded him firmly. “We’re protecting Andy’s reputation, and hey, we’re giving this seemingly very nice man home for the holidays. I don’t see anything wrong with what we’re doing. Okay?” 

“Okay,” Nicolo sighed. 

“There’s nothing wrong with window shopping,” Nile whispered with a wink. “Just don’t get too close to the glass, alright?” 

Nicolo snorted. “Is this another one of your American idioms?” he mused. 

“Yes,” Nile said, “A crucial one.” She shifted from foot to foot, eyebrows furrowing slightly. “What do you think Book is telling him?” 

Nicolo shrugged. “I don’t think he’s saying much of anything.” 

“Probably for the best.” They both laughed. Nile bumped her shoulder into Nicolo’s. “We’ve got this,” she said. “Our plan is full proof.” 

“Completly full proof,” Nicolo echoed, nodding his head. 

Nile reached out and squeezed Nicolo’s upper arm. “Why don’t you sit. Relax. I’ll get us all something to drink from the wine cellar. I’ll put together something to eat.” She smiled. “Breathe, alright? Just breathe. Don’t freak out on me. Be calm.” 

“Me? Sono sempre calmo.”

“That’s the spirit,” Nile said, squeezing his arm once more before heading towards the kitchen. She turned and walked backward, miming a dramatized motion of breathing in and out again before mouthing ‘we’ve got this’ and flipping both of her thumbs upwards and spinning around again. 

Nicolo staggered uneasily over to the couch and let himself fall back onto the cushions. He ducked his head and ran a hand through his hair. “Che cazzo sto facendo…” Nicolo murmured to himself. 

Several minutes later, Booker and Yusuf remerged in the living room, Yusuf taking the mahogany rocking chair, Booker hesitating for a moment before placing himself beside Nicolo on the couch. His hand hovered awkwardly over Nicolo’s knee before he slowly lowered it to come rest on top of the other’s man. “This place is stunning,” Yusuf said. “You’re both so lucky.” 

“Thank you,” said Nicolo. “I feel fortunate.” 

“How long have you two been together?” Yusuf asked, gesturing between Nicolo and Booker. 

“Five years,” Nicolo replied in the same instance that Booker also answered gruffly, “seven years.” They looked at each other. Nicolo smiled tightly. “We’ve been together for seven years, but we’ve been married for five.” 

Yusuf smiled; he always seemed to be smiling, Nicolo noted. “That’s fantastic,” Yusuf exclaimed. “And how did you meet?” 

“Oh, I think Nicky should tell this one,” Booker said. “He’s always been a great storyteller.” 

“Trust me, I know,” Yusuf laughed. “This is embarrassing, but I’ve read his Genoa collection at least ten times over.” 

Nicolo’s face felt hot, and he knew he must be beet red. “You have?” 

“I mean… Nicolo, you’re brilliant,” Yusuf said. 

“Questo è molto gentile da parte tua. Grazie,” said Nicolo, fearing for a moment that he might melt entirely into the earth, and he very much might have if not for Booker’s hand still resting on his knee. “Sei molto, molto gentile.” 

Nicolo thought he saw Booker smirking. “So how about that story, chérie?” said Booker, lifting his hand from Nicolo’s knee and moving his arm around the other man’s shoulder. 

“Sì…” said Nicolo, wringing his hands together. He lifted his head. Yusuf was watching him with a rapture so intense; he thought he would fold in on himself. “I never had that many friends in my youth, in my childhood. I… always had difficulty speaking with others; making connections. My confidence was not always there. But there was something different about Sebastien. We met at the university. When I first saw him, I knew he was different. He wouldn’t care how awkward I was, and he didn’t. Sebastien brought me out of myself. I owe so much to him. He certainly took his time. I think he likes to believe he was respectful. Our first date was in this… how do you say buco nel muro? Restaurant. I wasn’t sure how long we were there, but it felt like minutes. Mere minutes and soon the waitresses were asking us to leave because they needed to close.” 

It was amazing, Nicolo thought, how easy the lie fell from his lips, almost terrifying, and he couldn’t help the pang of nerves and guilt, especially with the way Yusuf was looking at him with that same beautiful, earnest smile on his face. “That’s lovely,” said Yusuf. “I hope I can find a love like that of the kind that exists between the two of you one day.” 

“Well…” Booker said. 

“I’m sure you will,” said Nicolo. 

Yusuf looked at him, and it seemed as if he wanted to say more when Nile suddenly reappeared. Impressively, she was holding four long-stemmed wine glasses in one hand and a bottle of rose in the other; a cheeseboard balanced in her elbow. Booker jumped to his feet and went to her in record speed, grabbing the board from her. 

“Thanks, Book,” said Nile. “Are you settling in alright, Sergent?” 

Yusuf waved his hand dismissively. “Please,” he said, “You guys can just call me Joe. This place is beautiful. Seriously. Words cannot express how appreciative I am of all of you.” 

“Nicolo and Sebastien are very generous people,” Nile agreed. 

“They are,” Yusuf echoed. 

Nile passed out the glasses and filled each one in turn. “So, Joe,” she said, “What made you want to join the army?” 

Yusuf laughed, a bit more reserved than his smiles would imply he could be. He ran a hand through his hair. “Do you all want the honest answer, or the nice, flowery one?” 

“If you’d feel comfortable,” said Nile, “I think we’d all be alright hearing the honest one.” 

Yusuf nodded, and he leaned back in the chair, both of his hands folded behind his head. “I always wanted to be an artist,” Yusuf began, “I’d always dreamt of being an artist. I wanted to go to school for it. But my parents disagreed with it. They saw a different future for me, and I don’t want you all to get the wrong idea. They love me. I love them. We’re incredibly close… they just wanted what was best for me, and being an artist was not their idea of what was best for me. My father came from a military family, so I made a deal with him. I enlist. I spend some time serving, and then I can go to the college of my choice.” 

Nicolo nodded. His heart swelled at how Yusuf spoke of his family, of how his eye lit up just at the mention of him, even when what he was talking about seemed to be painful. It reminded him of his own family, and he realized suddenly and with a bittersweet jab straight through the heart that there was another lie. Nicolo had never been incredibly close to his family. His parents weren’t known for being the loving sort. Sometimes, they felt like total strangers, and like most of his fabricated life within the essays, Nicolo had entirely reworked his family inside the fiction. 

“This was when I was twenty-two,” Yusuf continued. “Clearly…” he paused, laughing, “I’m not twenty-two anymore.” 

“What happened?” asked Nicolo. 

“I ended up loving it,” Yusuf confessed. “I ended up staying for eleven more years.” 

Nicolo smiled, small and careful. “È fantastico,” he said quietly. “Have you continued with your artwork?” 

“When I can,” Yusuf said. “Hell, half of my luggage overseas was sketchbooks and colored pencils.” 

“Perhaps you would be willing to show us some of your work,” said Nicolo. 

Yusuf met his gaze, warm and tender, and Nicolo could swear that he had never been looked at by anyone the way Yusuf is looking at him. “I would be happy to.” 

Booker and Nile exchanged a glance before both of them quickly downed their glasses. Just then, Noriko came skittering into the room, as if just realizing there was a guest among them for the first time that afternoon. Her tail wagged rapidly back and forth, and she took turns racing between each person, bouncing on top of them, little high-pitched yelps pitching past her jaw. 

“Hello, you,” Yusuf cooed, reaching down to ruffle the top of Noriko’s head. “Aren’t you a sweetheart?” 

“She is,” Nile agreed. “The perfect little sweetheart.” 

Yusuf set his glass aside and reached down, lifting Noriko into his lap. “Aren’t you beautiful,” he said, leaning down and pressing a kiss into the dog’s fur. He looked up, eyebrows furrowed, and he turned to Nicolo. “I could have sworn that you mentioned your dog was a german shepherd, though.” 

Nicolo and Booker, and Nile exchanged glances, Nile glaring at Nicolo. Are you kidding me? You didn’t tell me that the look said. “Yes,” said Nile, “Nicolo does have a german shepherd. This is Noriko. They just got her a few weeks ago. The… the german shepherd is… he’s timid. Very, very shy around new people. He’s up in my room right now fast asleep.” 

“Oh,” said Yusuf. “Okay. That makes sense.” 

“Yes,” agreed Booker, nodding, smiling at Nile. “It does. Thank you, Nile.” 

Yusuf pressed one more kiss to the top of Noriko’s head before setting her back down again. “Before we get too busy with the holiday festivities tomorrow, I was hoping someone could give me a quick tour. I’ve never been to this part of Italy before.” 

Booker and Nile looked at each other. Then they both looked at Nicolo. 

“I could do that,” Booker began, “if you’d like…” 

“It’s okay,” Nicolo interrupted. “I can show him around.” 

Yusuf grinned. “That would be great. Should we go now? I’m sure you’ll need time to get dinner ready.” 

Nicolo nodded. “Si. We can go now.” 

“Great,” said Yusuf, clapping both of his hands together. 

They both stood, and Nile bound up quickly, “Nicky, can I have a quick word? Before you go?” she asked. 

“I’ll meet you at the door,” Yusuf said. 

Booker, Nile, and Nicolo clustered together. “Nicky, you don’t have to do this,” Nile said. “If it’s too much, Book can just show him around.” 

Booker nodded in agreement. “I’m probably more familiar with this place than you,” he said. “I come here at least three times a year. You haven’t been back for…”

“Ten years,” Nicolo finished with a sigh. “Ten years.” 

“Do you think you might run into one of your parents?” Nile mused. 

“It is unlikely,” said Nicolo. “The last time I heard, they were living in Rome.” 

Nile reached out and squeezed Nicolo’s hand. “If you need a break,” said Nile, “Just send one of us a text, and we’ll come to rescue you.” She stood on her toes and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “Protect your heart.” 

“I will,” said Nicolo. 

“And don’t go falling in love,” Nile added with a wink. “Remember what we talked about before.” 

Nicolo flushed. “Non posso promettertelo,” he said. 

There was Yusuf, waiting for Nicolo at the door, dark eyes impossibly bright. They seemed to sparkle under the sunlight that cast its way through the windows. Nicolo felt a peculiar and sudden urge to reach out and run his fingers through those beautiful curls of Yusuf’s. “Ready?” said Yusuf. 

“Si. Pronto,” Nicolo said. He reached forward and held the door open. 

“Oh, how kind of you,” Yusuf said, grinning with his teeth. 

Nicolo followed him out into the streets; in the back of his mind, he tried to remember the details of his old home. He tried to remember the little secrets and the details of the other villas and the family-owned restaurants. He cursed himself for taking this task upon himself and wished he had least attempted to review the country beforehand. Nicolo blamed his hopeless beating heart. 

“Did you grow up here?” Yusuf asked. 

“Almost my entire life, yes,” Nicolo replied. “I spent some time studying in France. That’s where I met Sebastien. If you’ve read my essays as you say, I’ve been to many places, places in which I have fallen in love with, but Genoa… Genoa will always hold an important place inside of my heart. I took my first steps down these streets.” 

Yusuf nodded. The look on his face was so unbearably soft that Nicolo couldn’t quite bring himself to meet the other man’s eyes. “You came back,” Yusuf said, “After all those travels, after all the things you saw.” 

“I did,” Nicolo said. 

“And you started a new life of your own here,” said Yusuf. “I think that’s wonderful.” 

Nicolo felt his jaw clench against this own will, and he tried to smile. “It is,” he agreed. “It really, truly is.” 

“So tell me, Nicolo, when did you first get into writing?” Yusuf asked. 

“I’ve always enjoyed it,” said Nicolo. He felt his face grow hot. “Do not laugh at me, but… I used to keep a diary. When I was younger.” 

And Yusuf didn’t laugh. Instead, his smile only widened. “I think that’s nice. Sometimes we just need someone, who we know won’t judge us, to tell all our thoughts to.” 

“Sì. Esattamente,” said Nicolo. “Sometimes, a piece of paper and a pen are more reliable than another human being.” He paused. “So it did start with a diary. I was just writing down my thoughts. My feelings. Every moment of my day. Everything that happened. All the good and all the bad. And it felt nice. To put it all onto paper. It was easier than talking to other people.” 

“I can understand that,” Yusuf said quietly. 

“One day, Booker found one of my diary passages,” Nicolo continued, “He told me it was some of the best pieces of writing he’d ever seen. He encouraged me to turn it into more than just a hobby, so I listened to him, and I started writing down things besides my daily thoughts and daily actions. I wrote about other things. My travels. My adventures.” Nicolo laughed softly. “It was Booker, again, who encouraged me to send my essays places. To submit them to magazines and papers and publishing companies.” 

“He sounds like a great man,” Yusuf said. 

Nicolo swallowed nervously. “He is.” Yusuf paused as they walked, stopping in front of a small, kitschy looking tourist’s shop, and Nicolo stopped with him. “Would you like to go inside?” he asked. 

Yusuf beamed. “If you don’t mind. Sorry, I love these sorts of things.” 

“No apologies necessary,” Nicolo said, smiling softly back at him. 

They walked inside together, a small bell over the door chiming gently. The store was decorated for the holidays, with tiny Christmas trees on nearly every tabletop surface and yellow lights aligning the walls. Yusuf approached a t-shirt rack, spinning it around before reaching for a dark blue sweatshirt with the words “I Love Italy” written across the front in bold white letters. He turned to Nicolo, holding it against his chest. 

“What do you think?” Yusuf asked. 

Nicolo approached him, lifting one of the sleeves and laying it against Yusuf’s arm. “Non male,” said Nicolo appraisingly. He narrowed his eyes. “Ma potrebbe essere migliore. Resisti. Un momento.” 

Nicolo walked to another one of the t-shirt racks and plucked a black hoodie with the Italian flag pattered along the sleeves with the phrase “Gli Italiani Mi Amano” scrawled across the front. “Although,” said Nicolo, walking back over to Yusuf. “I think this one may be better.” 

Yusuf laughed. He hung the other sweatshirt back up and took the one that Nicolo had presented with him. “I think you might be onto something,” Yusuf said. He raised an eyebrow. “Maybe I should try it on just in case.” 

“Maybe,” said Nicolo, nearly choking. 

Yusuf laughed again. He shrugged the hoodie on over his uniform and turned left and right. “Well?” said Yusuf. “What do you think?”

“Molto bello,” Nicolo said, clapping his hands together. He held up a finger, jogged over to one of the display tables, and grabbed a red checkered flat cap, laying it on top of Yusuf’s head. The other man’s curls pillowed out dramatically on either side of the hat. “Molto bello,” Nicolo repeated, laughing so hard he started snorting. 

“I feel like a real, genuine Italian,” Yusuf exclaimed. 

“You look it,” Nicolo agreed. 

Hoodie still over his body and hat on top of his head, Yusuf lumbered through the rest of the shop, poking and prodding at almost everything he saw, his dark eyes comically wide. It amazed Nicolo. The stuff inside of this shop was cheap. These products could be found in any Italian airport, but they all seemed to astound Yusuf. He stopped, turning to grab Nicolo’s arm, and Yusuf’s touch, even over his jacket’s fabric, was as hot as a brand. 

“Are those…” said Yusuf, “Real, genuine Kinder eggs?! Not those fake shits you find in the American markets?” 

Nicolo chuckled, “Yes. Those are… il vero affare.” 

“Holy fucking shit,” Yusuf said, gasping, releasing Nicolo’s arm, and practically running over the stand. 

Nicolo watched him, a warm feeling expanding inside of his chest, and he couldn’t quite believe that this man was real. This wide-eyed, excitable man, Nicolo had never met a man who radiated quite as much light as Yusuf al-Kaysani. It was contagious, and Nicolo was very sure that he had not smiled as much in the past hour as he had in the past year; when was the last time he had laughed this much?

“How many Kinder eggs are too many Kinder eggs?” Yusuf asked over his shoulder. 

Nicolo shrugged. “I don’t think there is such a thing as too many Kinder eggs.” 

“I’m so glad you think so,” Yusuf exclaimed. He walked back over to Nicolo, both of his arms filled with the chocolate delicacies. Some of them slipped out of his grip and went bouncing onto the ground. “This is amazing.”  

“Are you planning on sharing those?” Nicolo asked.

“With you?” said Yusuf. “Of course. In a heartbeat. Whatever you want, Nicolo.” He winked. 

Nicolo smiled. “Grazie, Joe.” 

When they left the store, Yusuf was still wearing the hoodie and had a large plastic bag filled to the brim with chocolate eggs. “Do you want to pick anything up for dinner?” Yusuf asked. 

“Hmm?” said Nicolo. 

“I’ll be honest,” said Yusuf, “I’m looking forward to that cooking of yours. The way you described some of those French dishes…” he sighed. “Haunts me.” 

Nicolo nodded. “I think we could make that work for you.”
“We?” Yusuf said. 

Nicolo blinked. He cleared his throat. “Me. I meant me. Is there anything you are particularly craving?”

“You know…” said Yusuf with a short, soft laugh, “You’re going to think this is so funny… I was watching that Pixar movie. The one about the rat. And I can’t get that dish out of my head.” 

“Ratatouille,” Nicolo said, feeling a knot tighten painfully in his stomach. 

“Yes!” Yusuf exclaimed. “If it’s too much, you certainly can just make a bowl of spaghetti.” 

“No,” Nicolo said, and he said without really thinking. “You are my guest. You deserve what you want.” 

Just seeing Yusuf’s smile then, Nicolo though, was worthy of whatever anger he’d face from Nile in the wake of this promise he was making. “I can’t wait then,” Yusuf said. 

The pair came across a dog tied up outside of a small cafe, and when Yusuf bent to pet it, Nicolo took a moment to text Nile. ‘How familiar are you with French cuisine’? Nicolo asked her. 

She responded several moments later. ‘I dabble a bit. Why?’ 

‘How comfortable would you be in making ratatouille?’

There was a long pause. The three gray dots appeared and then disappeared and then reappeared again. ‘RATATOUILLE? NICKY????? ARE YOU F ING SERIOUS?’ 

Nicolo cringed. ‘I’m sorry.’ 

‘What the fuck, Nicky.’

Nicolo ran a hand through his hair. ‘I couldn’t say no to him.’ 

‘Of course, you couldn’t.’ The dots appeared and disappeared and reappeared. ‘Book is saying I could look up a Youtube video.’ 

Nicolo tilted his head back. ‘Would you be willing to do this for me? I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I know this isn’t what you signed up for’. 

Several moments passed, and Yusuf was walking back towards Nicolo when Nile responded, ‘Fine. But you owe me big time. I’m leaving it up to you to get me all the ingredients I need.’ 

Nicolo sent several enthusiastic heart emojis. He smiled as Yusuf approached him. “Everything alright?” Yusuf asked. 

“Everything is perfectly alright,” said Nicolo. “Let’s go.” 

Both Nile and Noriko greeted them at the door when they returned, Nile reaching out and taking two of Nicolo’s grocery bags as Noriko bounced happily against their legs. There was a strange look on Nile’s face. “Are you okay?” Nicolo asked as he gently pushed Noriko away.

“Just dandy,” said Nile. Her smile looked painful. “Everything is perfectly okay.” 

She turned and walked back inside the house. Yusuf looked at Nicolo questioningly, and he shrugged in response. The two men followed Nile into the kitchen. Booker was leaning against the doorframe, silver flask in hand, and there was an uncomfortable grimace on his face. ‘What’? Nicolo mouthed, and Booker tilted his head to the side; Nicolo following his movements to the long wooden dining room table, and they’re sitting at the head was Andy. 

“Andy,” said Nicolo. He cleared his throat and tried to smile. “What are you doing here? How are you here?”

“My holiday plans fell through,” Andy sighed. “Some stupid bullshit with my parents that, quite frankly, I am nowhere in the right mindset to put up with, so I have passed them over to my sisters. I know, I should have called, which is a bit out of the blue, but I know you, Nicolo. And I knew you wouldn’t mind having me over.” She gestured to Nile. “Your friend here helped me out with the address.” 

Nicolo glanced at Nile. “Oh. How nice of her.” 

“You must be Sergent al-Kaysani,” said Andy. She stood and approached the soldier. Nicolo thought his pulse would skyrocket straight out of his flesh as the two shook hands. 

“And you must be the Andy, who made this all possible,” Yusuf said. “Good to meet you.” 

“You know. I’ve gotta say, Nicky; I’m looking forward to dinner tonight,” Andy said. “Reading about your cooking for years and not a single meal to try of my own. It’s about goddamn time.” 

Nicolo smiled. He hoped they couldn’t tell how much he was sweating. “I hope that I do not disappoint you,” Nicolo said. 

“I’m sure you won’t,” Booker commented gruffly, and Nicolo wasn’t quite sure whether the Frenchman was messing with him or not and did not want to entertain the possibility that he was by looking at him. 

“Speaking of dinner,” Nile said, “I think it might be a good idea to get started now, right, Nicky?” She raised her eyebrows.

“Yes,” Nicolo agreed. 

“Oh, well, if that’s the case, I’d love to watch,” Yusuf said. He rubbed the back of his head, sheepishly. “I mean if that isn’t too weird.” 

Nicolo suddenly felt as if he might collapse. “Ah…” 

“That would be fun,” Nile commented.

“Fun,” echoed Nicolo, somewhat dimly. 

Booker cleared his throat a bit too loudly, and he approached Nicolo, wrapping an arm around his waist. “It is very entertaining watching you cook.” 

Nicolo briefly contemplated the consequences of veering around and smacking Booker across the face, and Nile could use a good talk, too as well. He clenched and unclenched his fists, and he tried to remember how to breathe correctly. 

“I might take a seat to this too,” Andy said decidedly. She shrugged. “I don’t admit this easily, and you’ll all laugh, I’m sure, but those cooking shows are my guilty pleasure. I’m always so fascinated with what other people do in the kitchen.” 

Uneasy laughter passed from Nile to Booker, while Nicolo could only stand there a bit dumbfounded. He blinked. “Okay.” 

“Nicky,” said Nile. “Why don’t Book and I join you down in the wine cellar? We can help you pick something out to cook with?” 

Nicolo nodded. “Si.” 

The trio couldn’t escape the kitchen fast enough. “Why did you tell Andy where we were?” Nicolo asked as they descended the stairs. 

“What was I supposed to say, Nicky?” Nile said. “No, Nicolo’s boss, you can’t come to Nicolo’s house for Christmas that, according to the essays that you have read in great detail, has multiple guest rooms and only one other person to occupy them, and have her ask one million questions about why that is.” 

“She’s got a point there, Nico,” Booker said. 

Nicolo squeezed his eyes shut. “Lo so, lo so.” He sighed heavily as they all stood in a circle at the bottom of the wine cellar. “What are we going to do?” 

“More like what are you going to do,” said Booker.

“Molto utile, grazie,” Nicolo said flatly. 

“You know, In a way, you sort of had this coming,” Nile said, arms crossed over her chest. “For agreeing to make a dish like that.” 

Nicolo groaned. “Non posso farlo, cazzo. La mia carriera è finita!”

“Wow,” said Nile. “Never thought I’d see the day that Nicolo di Genova lost hope.” 

“Must be serious,” Booker agreed. 

“Sono contento che tu lo trovi così divertente …” Nicolo murmured. 

Nile nodded. “Right,” she said wincing. “Sorry. Look. It’s going to be okay. We’ll figure this out.” She reached into the pocket of her jacket and scrolled through her phone for several moments before sidling up beside Nicolo. “Here. We watched a few videos together, and I wrote down some easy, very, very followable instructions. All you have to do is read them.” 

“I can do that,” Nicolo said, and then he repeated it, “I can do that.”

“You can do this,” Nile reiterated, patting Nicolo on the back. 

Booker ran his finger along the bottles and pulled a particularly expensive-looking red. “This one will do the trick,” he said. “Do you need us to be in there with you?”

Nicolo smiled grimly. “Mi piacerebbe.”

“Deep breaths,” said Nile. 

Nicolo nodded. He inhaled, and he held it for five seconds before he let it out again. Together they all ascended the stairs again. When they re-entered the kitchen, Yusuf turned to Nicolo and smiled, and for a moment, Nicolo forgot every bit of stress that had happened to him in the past fourteen hours; it all melted away. Nicolo thought for one, a wild moment of leaving this whole damn crazy place with Yusuf right now. Returning to the streets and walking along them with this wonderful man for hours and hours. 

“Shall I put on some Christmas music?” Nile asked. 

“I think that would be nice,” said Booker.

Nile touched the back of Nicolo’s neck, squeezing lightly as she walked past him and over to the radio, and for a moment, Booker only watched her before he cleared his throat and followed behind Nile, the both of them moving a bit too quickly to be casual. Nicolo drifted stiffly through the kitchen, gathering the supplies and ingredients he needed. He breathed in and then out, and he stared blankly down at his phone, at the recipe that Nile had found. His entire body was trembling. Nicolo moved slowly, going about his business in the kitchen, gathering what seemed to be the necessary equipment and sorting through the ingredients. 

“Fanculo,” Nicolo cursed, and his hand hovered over the knob of the stove for one long moment and then another before he flicked it onto high.

Suddenly there was a loud crash and then, “SHIT!” 

Nicolo flinched, and he turned his head to see Booker clutching his hand, rivulets of bright crimson red splashed against his pale skin. “Sebastien?” said Nicolo. “Are you okay? What happened?” 

“I don’t know,” Booker moaned. 

“Merda santa,” Nicolo gasped, hurrying away from the stove, “You’re bleeding.” 

The blood was fountaining in bursts across Booker’s knuckles, slowly dripping onto the wood floor. As Nicolo got closer, he nearly tripped over himself when he saw the rigged, fist-sized hole in one of the windows, tiny pieces of broken glass hanging on their hinges. 

“Madre di Dio, Sebastien, cosa hai fatto?” Nicolo said under his breath.

“It’s going to be okay, Nicky,” Booker whispered. He waved his free hand over at Andy and Yusuf, who were both standing now, concerned looks on their faces. “Hey, I’m sorry folks, I might need to borrow my husband for a few minutes.”

Andy and Yusuf exchanged a glance. “Of course,” said Yusuf. “Nicolo, you do what you need to.” 

Nicolo smiled weakly, first at Yusuf, then at Booker. “Come on, tesoro,” he said, caressing Booker’s wrist, running a thumb over the pulsing vein. “Nile, could you please get things started?” 

“I can do that,” Nile said. She was smiling too, though it didn’t quite reach the eyes, and she reached out, squeezing Booker’s shoulders before hurrying over to the stove. 

Nicolo eased Booker up the stairs. When they reached their shared bedroom, Nicolo closed the door behind them. He turned to Booker, eyes wide. “Why did you do that? Why the hell did you do that?” Nicolo demanded, voice desperate and terrified. 

“I had to do something to get you away from that kitchen. For christ’s sake, Nicky, you were going to use the stove to cook ratatouille,” Booker snorted. He winced. “Fuck, that hurts.” 

“Hold on,” Nicolo said. He went to the bathroom inside their bedroom and rifled through the cabinet until he found the first aid kit. Nicolo crouched in front of Booker, where he sat at the edge of the bed. “What will you tell Yusuf and Andy?” Nicolo asked quietly. “How will you explain this?” 

Booker shrugged. “I’ll do what I always do when something like this happens; I’ll use the usual excuse,” he said, “I’ll tell them I had one too many drinks.” 

Nicolo looked at him. “Sebastien, that’s terrible. You don’t have to do this. You shouldn’t have to do that.” 

“It’s okay, Nicky,” Booker said. He touched the side of Nicolo’s face with his uninjured hand. “Just do me a favor and wrap this hand up well.” 

“I can do that.” Nicolo looked away. His voice was shaking, and he felt ill; any moment, Nicolo feared he might vomit. This was all entirely too much. “I can do that.” 

It was late in the night, and Nicolo wasn’t sure what time it was, but he knew that he wouldn’t be sleeping anytime soon. He looked over his shoulder. Booker was sound asleep, snoring lightly. The Frenchman was half sitting up, half lying down, his knee angled and pulled to his chest, an arm thrown over his eyes. Little red splotches stained through the bandages on his hand. There were at least two pillows worth of space between them. Nicolo stared aimlessly out the window at the gentle moonlight streaming in through the glass. He was exhausted. His whole body ached with it. All of the dishonesty, the years of it, felt like an impossible weight on his chest, and now his friends were involved. It hurt. It hurt more than anything he had ever felt before. Nicolo thought he might be sick. He pushed back the sheets and swung his legs over the side of the bed, shivering slightly when the pads of his feet hit the wooden panels. 

Behind Nicolo, Booker groaned and flopped onto his side. Nicolo shuffled across the floor as quietly as possible, opening the door and stepping out into the hallway. He slid his hand along the railing as he walked down the stairs; he could hear the sound of someone moving through the kitchen and prayed silently that it wasn’t Andy, and when Nicolo turned the corner, seeing Yusuf, his heart skipped several beats for more than one reason. 

Yusuf closed the cabinet that he had been peeking in. “Nicky,” he said, smiling. “Can I call you Nicky?” 

“Sure,” said Nicolo, face heating. “Can I help you with something?”

“Sorry,” Yusuf said. “Where do you keep the tea?” 

Nicolo chewed at the inside of his cheek. “Apologies. Sebastien and I have yet to restock. Could I make you something else?” 

“It’s late,” Yusuf said. “I wouldn’t want to put you out.” 

Nicolo shook his head. “Please. I would be happy to.” 

“Thank you,” Yusuf said quietly, his smile widening even further. 

Nicolo dipped his head into the refrigerator and remerged with a half-drunken tub of orange juice and a bottle of champagne. “Mimosa?” Nicolo mused. 

“Perfect.” 

Nicolo set both the orange juice and the champagne down on the kitchen counter and moved past Yusuf, a delightful shudder vibrating through his whole body when their arms brushed. He reached into the cabinet about the sink and grabbed two glasses. Nicolo was well aware of Yusuf’s gaze on him as he carefully prepared their drinks. 

“Ecco qui,” Nicolo said, turning to Yusuf. Their fingers skimmed against each other as Nicolo passed the glass to the sergeant. 

Yusuf lifted the glass, holding it out to Nicolo, and Nicolo clinked his glass with Yusuf’s. “To new friends,” Yusuf said before taking a long drink. His eyebrows furrowed. “Wow. That’s fucking good, Nicky.” 

“Faccio del mio meglio.” 

The way Yusuf was looking at him was almost too much; the look in his eyes… Nicolo knew no one had ever looked at him like that before. Like he was something real and something good and something amazing; everything that Nicolo knew in his heart he was not, and it struck him straight through his very soul knowing that Yusuf would truly despise Nicolo, should he see the real him. Yusuf’s smile dropped. 

“Are you okay?” Yusuf asked, taking a step forward and lifting his hand to the side of Nicolo’s face, his hand coming to rest gently against Nicolo’s cheek, thumb brushing beneath Nicolo’s eye. Yusuf’s touch was warm, the most tender thing Nicolo had ever felt. “You’re crying.” 

“Am I?” mused Nicolo. “Che strano.”

“Are you okay?” Yusuf asked again. 

Nicolo tried to smile. “I am always okay,” he stated. “It’s this season… the holiday season. It makes me emotional sometimes.” 

Yusuf nodded. “I get that. It’s an emotional time of the year.” He seemed to hesitate for a moment. “Can I ask you a question, Nicky?” 

“Of course,” said Nicolo. 

“Why aren’t you spending Christmas with your family?” Yusuf asked. 

Nicolo stiffened. He tapped his fingernails against the side of the glass once, twice, before he tipped the glass back and emptied it; he heard Yusuf laugh softly, felt the other man’s hand on his arm. 

“Did something happen?” Yusuf asked, and his voice was so earnest, so genuine that it was almost painful. “I know you’re pretty close with them, so it just… it surprised me that they’re not here.” 

Nicolo swallowed hard, and the ache in his heart only tightened more; Nicolo’s entire stomach was in knots. There it was. Another lie. Perhaps he could try to be just a little bit honest now. “We recently had a sort of… disaccordo,” Nicolo said, voice dropping practically to a whisper. 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Yusuf said, moving his hand up and down Nicolo’s arm for a moment before, to Nicolo’s dismay, it slipped away. “I hope it isn’t anything too serious?” Nicolo grimaced. “I’m sorry,” Yusuf echoed. 

“Why?” Nicolo murmured. “It isn’t your fault.” 

“I know,” said Yusuf. “I’m still sorry.” 

“What about you, Yusuf al-Kaysani? Why aren’t you spending the holiday season with your family?” Nicolo asked.

Yusuf huffed out a small, humorless laugh. 

“Soggetto permaloso?” Nicolo questioned with a wince.

“Very much so,” Yusuf chuckled. He finished his drink. There was a long silence that fell between them for several minutes. Nicolo wondered if he should have reached out to comfort Yusuf before the other man said, “Last month… after I ended up in the hospital, I called them, and I came out to them, and they did not…” Yusuf inhaled sharply. “They didn’t take it well. I think it was the final too much for them after everything that had happened that year, and it has been quite the year for us al-Kayani’s. I can’t blame them for being overwhelmed, but I haven’t heard from them since I came out, knew, nuzzled, and it’s…it’s been lonely.”  

Nicolo couldn’t stop himself; he grabbed Yusuf’s glass and set it on the kitchen counter along with his own. He pulled Yusuf into his arms, crushing the other man to his chest. He wanted to tell him; I know what you’re feeling right now. I know exactly what you feel because I have felt it too. I have felt it for more than ten fucking years, and I want to tell you everything. I want to hold you and comfort you and let you know that you aren’t alone, but I can’t. I can’t. I can’t. Nicolo lifted his hand and placed it at the back of Yusuf’s head, sinking his fingers into the thick curls. They were soft, just like Nicolo thought they would be. 

“Mi dispiace,” Nicolo whispered. 

He shivered at the feeling of Yusuf’s laughter so close to his ear. “Now, who’s the one apologizing unnecessarily,” Yusuf said, his arms wrapping tighter around Nicolo. 

“I’m still sorry,” Nicolo said, echoing Yusuf’s words. 

Yusuf laughed again. “It’s alright,” he muttered. 

“It isn’t.” 

“It isn’t,” Yusuf agreed. “But it’s going to have to be. Because it won’t change anytime soon. There isn’t any use lingering on it. I can’t let it take up space inside my head. Inside my heart. All I can do is move on with my life.” 

Nicolo snorted. “Lo fai sembrare così facile.” 

“Trust me; easy it is not,” Yusuf said. His hand was stroking up and down Nicolo’s back. “It still hurts. I don’t think it will stop hurting for a long time, but I’m trying.”

“That’s the best anyone can do, isn’t it?” Nicolo said. 

“Yes.” Nicolo felt Yusuf back away. Their arms were still bound around each other, heads bent close. “You’re astounding; you know that?” Yusuf said, voice low. 

Nicolo looked away. “Mi lusingate,” he huffed. 

“You are. Nicolo, look at me. Please.” He did, and Yusuf reached his hand up and touched Nicolo’s cheek again. His dark gaze flickered from Nicolo’s eyes to his mouth and back again. Yusuf’s lips quirked up. “I wish I was a different person.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I wish I were the sort of person who could kiss a married man without remorse,” said Yusuf. He brushed his thumb across Nicolo’s bottom lip. “Without regret. Sei l'uomo più bello che abbia mai incontrato.” 

Nicolo ducked his head again, sucking in a breath, and the sharp pang in his heart felt as if it had always been there. “E tu per me,” Nicolo said, and he loathed how it sounded like a whimper. 

Yusuf smiled, though it was smaller than the ones Nicolo had been graced with earlier that day. He cupped Nicolo’s face with both of his hands and pulled his head down, pressing his lips into Nicolo’s forehead. Nicolo’s eyelashes fluttered closed. 

“Buon Natale, Nicolò,” Yusuf murmured against his skin.“I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” When Nicolo opened his eyes again, it was to Yusuf’s retreating footsteps. Nicolo leaned against the kitchen counter and tried to still his beating heart.

The next morning, Nicolo found that the left side of the bed was empty, Booker nowhere in sight, though Nicolo was somewhat sure he knew where the Frenchman could be, and he wasn’t entirely ready to test the theory. It felt a bit like his siblings being in a relationship. Nicolo got dressed slowly, his mind still full of Yusuf and the night before. He sat on the edge of the bed, staring blankly into the ground, and he knew what he wanted to do. What he should do; he was never supposed to have feelings for the damn man. But how was he supposed to tell Andy? Nicolo loved his job, and he loved her, and he couldn’t just ruin it. 

When he reached the parlor, sure enough, Booker and Nile were there, sitting closeby on the couch, heads close. Noriko was settled on Nile’s lap, staring up at them as if she knew what was going on. “Don’t let Joe and Andy catch the two of you together,” Nicolo observed, reveling in the redness that overtook Booker’s face, and his friends moved apart. 

“Merry Christmas to you too, Nicky,” Nile chirped, seemingly unperturbed, cuddling Noriko to her chest and giggling when the dog lapped at her chin. 

“Buon Natale,” Nicolo sighed as he dropped himself down into the rocking chair.

Booker frowned. “You alright? You’re paler than usual.” 

“Grazie,” Nicolo scoffed. “J'ai besoin de vous deux pour être honnête avec moi”. They nodded. “Are we doing the right thing?” 

“Why?” Nile said, “Do you have regrets?”
“I hate to say it, but it’s a little too late for that, mon amie,” Booker said. “We are in very deep.” 

Nicolo closed his eyes. “I know.” 

“What’s going on?” Nile asked softly. “You were all-in yesterday.” Nicolo opened his eyes and looked at her mournfully. “Nicky. What did I tell you?” 

“Mi dispiace,” Nicolo groaned. 

“What’s happening?” Booker said, frown deepening. 

Nile rolled her eyes. “He’s got a crush on the soldier,” she snorted. “Nicky, it hasn’t even been 48 hours. We can’t just throw away everything that we’ve done for a man you barely know.” 

“I didn’t expect him to be so kind,” Nicolo sighed. “Il ne mérite pas qu'on lui mente.”

“I’m sorry, Nicky, but I have to side with Nile here,” Booker said. “We don’t know anything about this guy. Who’s to say that you come clean to Yusuf, and he goes right to Andy; tells her the truth about what we’re doing, and then there goes your dream job.”

Nicolo shook his head. “I don’t think he would do that.” 

“But how do you know?” Nile pressed. 

“Mi dispiace. Non lo so. Mi dispiace,” said Nicolo. “I’ve never met someone like him before.” Booker made a face. “Che cosa, Sebastien?” 

Booker sighed heavily. He scratched the back of his head. “I’m not entirely sure I trust your judgment,” Booker commented flatly. “Your taste in men has always been a bit questionable.” 

“Per l'amor di Dio. Si tratta di Keane?” Nicolo said, “Booker, per favore that was years ago.” 

Nile frowned. “Who’s Keane?” she asked. 

“Rien que des ennuis,” Booker scoffed, shaking his head, eyebrow furrowing. He met Nicolo’s gaze, face softening instantly, and he turned to Nile. “Later,” Booker said quietly. The Frenchman let out a thick breath. “What do you want to do, Nicky?” He asked. “Because whatever you want to do, you know that we’ve both got your back.” 

Nile nodded in agreement. “We always will. You know we always will.” She smirked. “Even if what you want is insane.”  

Nicolo felt a bit weepy then and was relieved to hear the sound of two pairs of footsteps coming down the stairs, less the floodgates burst. He stood and watched as Andy and Yusuf descended the staircase. Andy was laughing. Laughing. Nicolo could not remember the last time he saw that woman laughing, at least not like that. Her head was thrown back, and she was clutching her stomach as if it was hurting her. She was smiling with her teeth, reaching out and holding onto Yusuf’s arm, like she was trying to keep herself from falling over. Yusuf was grinning wide, his hair wild, sticking up on all ends. He was wearing a pair of red plaid pants and a matching sweatshirt, both of which seemed to be a size too tight. 

Christ, he’s beautiful, thought Nicolo.  

“Merry Christmas, Nicky,” Andy said, touching his shoulder before placing herself on the arm of the couch nearest to Nile. Noriko crawled off of Nile’s lap and nuzzled her snout against Andy’s side.

“Buon Natale,” Nicolo greeted. 

Yusuf rested his hand on the back of the rocking chair, his knuckles brushing against the top of Nicolo’s back. He bent his head down. “Merry Christmas, Nicolo,” Yusuf said.

“Grazie,” Nicolo returned, craning his head to look up at the other man, the lump in his throat making the word sound a bit too much like a whimper. He cleared his throat and stood quickly. “I think I’ll get breakfast started. Nile?” She lifted her head. “Ti dispiacerebbe darmi un aiuto?”

Nile nodded, smiling brightly. “Sure,” she said, bounding to her feet. 

They walked into the kitchen together, and as soon as they were far enough away from the others, Nile gave Nicolo a light, playful shove. “You’re so obvious,” she teased. “You better hope Andy didn’t notice that.” 

“Sei uno con cui parlare,” said Nicolo. “Would you like to tell me what’s going on with you and my husband?” 

Nile shrugged. She turned and opened the fridge, riffling through it for several moments before remerging with her arms full of eggs and a cluster of varying vegetables, and she placed them all on the kitchen counter; she seemed to be taking her time, humming an old Christmas carol under her breath. Nile crouched and rummaged around the cabinet under the sink, standing again with several stacked pans and placing them on top of the stove before finally turning and facing Nicolo. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Nile said, though the grin on her face. She held both of her hands up. “No idea at all.”

Nicolo clasped his hands together. “Non riderò. Lo prometto,” he vowed. Nile’s smiled widened even further until it was almost ear to ear. “Per favore. Per favore, Nile.” 

“Okay, okay,” Nile laughed. She lowered her voice and continued, “Last night, Book came to my room, and it was just…” Nile sighed. “We didn’t have sex. We didn’t kiss—nothing of the sort. But we talked. God, I don’t know how long we stayed up just talking. I don’t remember the last time I talked to someone like that.”

Nicolo nodded. “That sounds nice.” 

“It was… it was great,” Nile sighed. She dropped her face into her hands, shoulders shaking with laughter. 

“What were you talking about?” Nicolo asked gently. 

“That’s just the thing,” Nile whisper-shouted. “We didn’t talk about anything important, but we still spoke to each other for hours. We talked about old tv shows that we watched as kids—our favorite books. Hell, we talked about our favorite kind of weather. Who makes a conversation out of the weather?” 

Nicolo leaned against the counter, his gaze moving over his friend’s face. “I think this is a good thing,” Nicolo said. “You deserve a great love, sorella.” 

“You can be quite the romantic when you want to be, can’t you, Nicky?” said Nile.

Nicolo shrugged. “I’m only telling you because it is true.” He paused. “Booker has much cleaning up to do; a lot of work he needs to do on himself before he can be completely present for another person in that sort of way. You deserve someone who can give themselves entirely over to you, Nile. Booker does as well; you both do. But I would be remiss if I didn’t ensure you were careful. Per favore, stai attento con il tuo cuore.”

“I know. I will be,” Nile said. She turned on the stove, palm hovering over the surface for several moments. “You didn’t answer our question back there. What do you want to do? About the whole situation, we’ve got going on here?” 

“Well, there is what I want and what I need to do,” Nicolo sighed. “I want to be truthful with Yusuf. I want to tell him everything. I want him to know who I am. But I can’t…I can’t risk ruining Andy’s reputation. She is like family to me. I couldn’t do that to her.”

Nile nodded understandingly. She cracked one egg into the pan and then another. “Okay,” Nile said, “Do you think you could talk to Yusuf after all of this is over and tell him the truth?” 

“Non lo so…” Nicolo muttered, “The Nicolo di Genova whom Yusuf al-Kaysani is so enamored with is a complete work of fiction. He admires the person I created, not the person who I am.” 

“But isn’t there some truth to the things that you write?” Nile pressed. “Isn’t there some truth to everything and anything an author writes? The content is false, but the voice is real. The voice in your essays is totally, one hundred percent you. No one else could write the way you do. Who’s to say that Yusuf doesn’t hear what you have to say and he doesn’t care. What if he sees you, really sees you. ” 

Nicolo wrapped his arms wound around himself. “Non lo so, non lo so…” 

“The good news is you don’t have to decide right now,” Nile said as she sprinkled a dash of salt into the spitting hot pan and stirred the eggs around with the end of a red spatula. “You have until New Year’s.” 

“I have until New Year’s,” Nicolo echoed in agreement.

The day had progressed carefully and amicably as the hours passed, and the hot chocolate and coffee flowed freely between the minutes. Despite the uneasy feeling that had been progressively growing worse and worse by the moment, Nicolo had begun to breathe just a little bit easier. But with every roguish look Yusuf cast him, every good-natured smile, Nicolo found himself wallowing back further into the doubt from that morning. He wasn’t even entirely sure why these terrible feelings had so suddenly consumed him; it wasn’t as if this whole concept of lying was new to him. He’d been lying for almost a decade, and he’d been lying to more than just Andy and Yusuf. How had lying come to him so easy before? It made Nicolo feel uneasy. Cold in an unreachable way. There was a sharp pain in his chest that had never seemed to exist before, and Nicolo knew why; of course, he knew what, but it felt so absurd that he loathed to acknowledge it honestly. Why did a man he barely knew, his full name he didn’t even know, so totally change everything inside his heart? To burrow themselves so deeply beneath his skin, an itch he could not reach and strike right through his soul. 

Looking at Yusuf directly was almost too difficult; there was a warm, contagious glow about him that radiated off him in wave after wave. People seemed to blossom around him. They smiled easier. They laughed louder. Yusuf fell easily in line with the rest of Nicolo’s friends. It was as if Yusuf had known Nile and Booker for as long as Nicolo himself, and truthfully, Nicolo felt a small jab of envy at how easily Yusuf moved through life; how, despite the things he had been through, he was still able to walk through life with a broad, white-toothed grin on his face. Perhaps, Nicolo thought, will all of the irrationality and unpredictability of the world and the entire universe, that if he spent enough time around Yusuf, he could absorb some of that energy for himself, and he needed that. He yearned for it an unspeakable amount. 

Late in the afternoon, Yusuf approached Nicolo, both of his hands folded behind his back, practically beaming. “Posso aiutarla?” said Nicolo. 

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Yusuf said. He could barely get the words out through his smile. “Nothing at all, Mr. di Genova.” 

“Che cosa stai facendo, Mr. al-Kaysani?” Nicolo asked, raising an eyebrow. Somewhere close by, he thought he heard Nile snickering.

Yusuf’s grin widened impossibly and revealed his hands; inside them, a small rectangular shaped object wrapped in red and white striped paper. “Per te,” he said. 

“Joe…” Nicolo said, reaching out and taking the gift. 

“It’s nothing too special,” Yusuf said sheepishly, “Just something I picked up before I came down to Genoa.” 

Nicolo teased his bottom lip between his teeth. “I don’t have anything for you.” 

“That’s alright,” Yusuf said. His gaze softened. “I’ve got all I need this Christmas. You allowing me into your home has been more than enough.” 

“I’m glad I could be that home for you,” Nicolo observed quietly. He smoothed the palms of his hands over the box before he slowly began to open it, pushing back the wrapping paper, and he felt the fragile smile that he had been keeping on his face falter. In his hands was a well cared for copy of Jack London’s Martin Eden. Nicolo lifted his head, and there were Yusuf’s dark eyes watching him with the kind of reverence one could only ever hope to find in another human being. “Is this…” 

“In one of your essays, you mentioned how that book was what inspired you to become a writer,” Yusuf stated, and he laughed. “But you already know that.” He cleared his throat. “Why don’t you take a look inside.” 

Nicolo nodded, and he felt as if his heart was stuck inside of his throat as he flipped through the pages until he reached the title page, and for a moment, Nicolo forgot what it was to breathe correctly. “This is his… this is Jack London’s real, genuine signature,” Nicolo said. “How did you…?” 

“That belonged to my grandfather,” Yusuf explained. “He was a massive Jack London fan; owned every book the man wrote. He owned multiple copies, and every time I would visit him, we would spend hours together, just reading to me. Martin Eden was my favorite, and before I went away with the army, my grandfather gifted that copy to me. It was a surprise; he’d tracked the Jack London down himself and got his signature.” 

Nicolo shook his head. “Yusuf, I can’t take this.” 

“You can,” Yusuf argued, “Because I won’t have it back.” He smirked. “It’s either yours, or it’s no one’s.” 

“Sei un uomo ridicolo,” Nicolo said, shaking his head again. His hands were trembling. 

“It’ll be better loved by you than I have ever loved it,” Yusuf dismissed gently. 

Nicolo blinked. He could feel the pressure behind his eyes, and he could hear the abrasive, erratic sound of his own heart was so loud, it was challenging to listen to his thoughts. Everything seemed to fade into white noise. It was entirely too much and not enough all at once.

“Nicky, are you okay?” Yusuf asked, reaching out to touch Nicolo’s arm, and Nicolo flinched away from him; there was unease, the most beautiful kind, that was blossoming inside of Nicolo. He knew not what would happen if he felt Yusuf’s hand on him then. “Nicky?” 

“Sto bene,” Nicolo said sharply. He gripped the book in a white-knuckled hold with one hand and ruffled his hair with the other. “Mi scusci.” 

Nicolo skittered past Yusuf and moved so quickly up the stairs he practically fell over himself, and his hand was still shaking as his fingers slid along the railing. Distantly he heard the sound of someone following him. Nicolo threw the door closed behind him, though when he didn’t hear the sound of it slamming shut, he knew that that same person was still behind him, and he knew exactly who it was. 

“Nicky, Nicky, breathe,” Nile said, pressing the palm of her hand into his back, rubbing soothing circles into the fabric of his shirt. 

“I’m alright,” Nicolo said, though he even he could hear his voice trembling. He squeezed his eyes shut, and his shoulders dropped. “Sono solo stanco.” 

Nile gently eased the book from Nicolo’s hand. She carefully flipped through the pages. “Holy shit,” Nile said, mouth falling open. “Is this for real? Is this legit?” 

“Sì,” Nicolo murmured, “Very, very real.” 

“What kind of person just gives a gift like this to another person whom they just met?” Nile pressed. “I mean, what kind of a person does that?” 

“Good people,” Nicolo sighed, opening his eyes again and turning towards his friend. “Good people do that.” A sad smile pulled gently across his face. “Non credo di essere una brava persona, Nile.”

Nile frowned. “Don’t be silly.” She touched his arm. “Nicky, you’re the best person I know.” 

Nicolo laughed softly, blinking rapidly to prevent the tears pushing at the back of his eyes from falling completely. “You flatter me, caro amica.” 

“Not flattery,” Nile assured him, “It’s the truth. I’ve never met anyone better.” 

Nicolo reached out and pulled her gently into his arms, tucking her face into the space between her neck and her shoulder. “Ti amo, Nile,” Nicolo whispered. 

“I love you too, Nicky,” Nile said, her hand lifting to caress the back of his head. “You’ll do the right thing. I know you will.” 

“Thank you,” Nicolo murmured. “Thank you.” 

Nicolo wasn’t entirely sure how long they had stood there in a soft sort of silence, holding each other, when there was a knock on the door, and he lifted his head to see Yusuf standing in the doorway. “I’m sorry,” the soldier said, “I hope I’m not interrupting anything too important.” 

“Not at all,” Nile assured him quickly, stepping away before Nicolo had the chance to interject. She squeezed Nicolo’s shoulder. “We were just talking.” Nile stood on her toes and said in a voice too low for Yusuf to hear, “It’s going to be okay.” She smiled at him before turning and walking to the door. Once Nile had left, Yusuf took an uneasy step forward. 

“I’m sorry, Nicky,” Yusuf said. He laughed, though it didn’t quite sound right. It was an uncomfortable sort of laugh. “My parents always used to tell me I could be a bit much sometimes.” 

“You don’t have anything to apologize for,” said Nicolo. 

“I feel like I do,” Yusuf sighed. “I haven’t exactly been behaving appropriately with you.” 

Nicolo frowned. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean that you’re a married man,” Yusuf said. “I know I can’t keep talking to you and acting around you as if you aren’t.” 

“Oh, right,” Nicolo said quietly. “That.” 

“Yeah,” Yusuf chuckled. “That. I’m not usually like this. I promise you; I’m not usually like this. There’s just… something about you, Nicolo di Genova.” He looked away for a moment. “Reading your essays helped me get through the day. Whenever I was feeling upset, or I was feeling sad or lonely, I would pick up your book, and I would read. I would read it over and over again. God, I think I have some of those essays memorized word for word. There were times when I convinced myself that I would never get out of that hospital. There were times when I knew I would get out of the hospital, but I had no idea what my future held once I was out, and your essays gave me hope. They were a window out into the world, a window into all of these endless possibilities. Reading your words was like having a companion, a constant companion always by my side, an invisible hand holding mine all along the way. I’ve scarcely known you for two days, and I feel like I’ve known you for years.” 

Nicolo breathed out shakily. “That’s…” 

“A lot?” said Yusuf. “I told you so,” he added softly. 

“Joe.” 

“You don’t have to say anything,” Yusuf assured him, “I just really need you to know how I felt- how I am feeling.” He took another step forward and then another, reaching out his hand to let it rest against the side of Nicolo’s face, his thumb stroking gently across the other man’s cheekbone. “Have you ever felt that way before?” Yusuf asked. 

Nicolo’s eyelashes fluttered, and against his better judgment, he felt himself lean into Yusuf’s hand, chasing the tenderness, aching for more. “Yes,” Nicolo said. 

“Are you happy, Nicolo?” Yusuf questioned, voice so quiet that Nicolo had nearly missed his words. 

“Perfettamente felice,” Nicolo said through a tight lipped smile.

“Does Sebastien make you happy?” 

Nicolo snorted. “What do you want me to say, Yusuf?” he said helplessly. 

“I want you to be happy,” Yusuf answered, shrugging with one shoulder. “If I can’t have you, I’d like to know that you are at least happy.” When Nicolo didn’t answer after several long moments, Yusuf pulled Nicolo towards him and pressed a long, lingering kiss to the top of Nicolo’s head. “Nicolo, per favore.” 

“Booker is wonderful,” Nicolo said stiffly. “He’s one of my best friends. He has his vices and his struggles, but he’s… he’s a good person.” 

Nicolo felt Yusuf’s smile against his hair. “I’m glad to hear that,” Yusuf said. “If you’re happy, then I’m happy.” He cleared his throat with an offhanded, meaningful cough. “Why don’t we head back downstairs? The others are probably wondering where we are.” 

“Sì. Hai ragione,” Nicolo agreed.

“Let’s enjoy the rest of this Christmas, hmm?” said Yusuf.

“Sì. Let’s.” 

Yusuf smiled, his fingers lingering against Nicolo’s skin for a beat longer before they slipped away, and he turned, heading for the door, pausing at the doorway, looking over his shoulder. “Coming?” Yusuf mused, and his grin widened. He winked. Even Nicolo had to laugh. 

“Yikes. Questo è male,” Nicolo snorted before he followed Yusuf back down the stairs.

The weekend passed amicably enough between Yusuf and Nicolo. Still, Nicolo could see a distinct distance that had expanded out in front of them, and it was absurd, it was exceptionally absurd, yet Nicolo missed him. He missed the casual touches as Yusuf passed by. He missed the smiles that felt as if they were just for Nicolo. Yusuf seemed to be making an effort to avoid being left alone in a room with Nicolo. Still, he was careful enough not to make such a scene that their other companions living in the same space as them, at least Andy couldn’t tell anything was amiss. Andy, who still hadn’t left. On Monday morning, she was lounging in the second-floor reading nook, coffee in one hand and a jacketless book in the other. Noriko was dozing lightly at Andy’s feet. She didn’t even lift her head when Nicolo approached.

“Andromache,” Nicolo greeted. 

“Nicolo,” Andy returned, not looking up from the pages. 

Nicolo tugged at the bottom of his shirt. He couldn’t stop fidgeting. 

“Is there something I can help you with?” Andy asked. 

“Not particularly…” Nicolo paused. “How long did you foresee your holiday vacation lasting?” 

Andy raised an eyebrow. “Trying to get rid of me, are you?” she mused. 

“Not in the slightest,” Nicolo said quickly. 

Andy finally set the book aside. She brought the mug to her lips and took a long sip, tipping it back until it was emptied, and she placed it on top of the book. “I don’t think I’ve ever told you how much I appreciate what a hard worker you are,” Andy said. “You’re the hardest working person we’ve got at Scythian Publishing, and that’s great. But you don’t need to rush back to work. It’s alright to take a moment to yourself.” She smiled. “I know I push you, and I ask a lot of you.”

“It’s alright,” said Nicolo, “I think I like the challenges you present me.” 

Andy nodded. “Relax, Nicky. Enjoy your holiday and get back to work the Monday after New Year’s.” 

“Okay,” Nicolo sighed. “I think I can do that.” 

Later in the afternoon, Nicolo walked the market place with Nile searching for that night’s dinner ingredients. Every so often, Nile would linger by one of the stands, occasionally picking something up or leaning over to smell the products before continuing. 

“How is your budding romance with our dear Sebastien?” Nicolo asked. 

Nile looked over her shoulder, grinning. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” she teased him. “We can’t spend too much time together alone; can’t risk Joe and Andy thinking your husband is cheating on him. But he’s been sneaking out of your room to come and talk with me. The other night he almost fell asleep. I had to wake him up.” She paused, looking away for a moment. “He’s been good these past few days. Have you noticed?” 

Nicolo nodded. “I have. He won’t admit it, but he becomes lonely. Easily. He distances himself from other people because he thinks it’ll hurt less not being close to others, and he’s wrong. He doesn’t realize he’s wrong, and he’ll never admit it.” Nicolo shrugged. “Sebastien needs his friends. Semplice come quella. When he surrounds himself with those friends, it only benefits him.” 

Nile teethed gently at her bottom lip. “What will happen with him once we all leave after the holidays?” she asked. 

“Would you like an honest answer?” Nicolo said. 

“Please.” 

“He’ll fall back into some old routines,” Nicolo sighed, “He will survive. He will do his job well. But he will return to the way he was because he won’t admit it. Booker will not easily admit that he’s struggling.” 

The right corner of Nile’s lips quirked up. “That sounds like Booker,” she said, and she inhaled sharply. “Is there anything more we can do for him?” Nile asked. 

“We stay there for him, and we stay open,” said Nicolo. “We let him know that we are there for him and that we will listen when he’s ready to talk about the important things in his life that are holding him down and keeping him from being the man we both know he is. But only Sebastien can make that choice. We cannot make that choice for him. Lo capisci?” 

Nile nodded, and she laughed softly. “I think I know what you mean.” She reached for an unusually voluptuous peach and turned it over in her hand. “Does this look like a butt to you?” Nile asked. 

Nicolo snorted. The tension cracked. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, it does. What are you planning on making with peaches?” 

“Peach cobbler,” Nile chirped. “My grandmother’s recipe. Always a hit.” 

“What would I do without you, mio cara?” 

Nile grinned. “You know, you keep asking me that, and the answer is always going to be the same,” she teased, “You would fall apart completely. ” She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Nicolo’s cheek. “Completely.” 

Nicolo followed Nile into a small deli on the side of the street and watched as she traced the tip of her finger along the deli counter’s glass. There was a certain spring to her step, and she had begun to hum to herself again. She looped her arm through Nicolo’s and dragged her to the front of the counter, and made her order before turning to her friend. 

“What’s the update with you and Joe?” Nile asked. 

“No update,” Nicolo said. 

“Because you’re married.”
“Because I’m married.”

Nile swayed from side to side, shoulder bumping into Nicolo’s. “I suppose that’s a good sign,” she ventured. “It tells you the sort of man he is.” 

“It does,” Nicolo sighed. “I think Yusuf may be one of the best men I’ve ever met.” 

“High praise,” Nile said. “For…” 

“A man I’ve barely known for a week,” Nicolo finished for her. “I know. Trust me, mio cara. I know and not because you keep telling me,” he added teasingly. “Credi nell'amore a prima vista?”

Nile’s eyebrow furrowed. “You’re… you’re asking me if I believe in love at first sight?” She said. Nicolo nodded. “Nicky, come on. You can’t be serious. Love at first sight?” Nicolo’s face heated, and Nile softened. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” 

“Unfortunately,” said Nicolo. 

“That’s so cute,” Nile cooed. She reached across the counter and received the packages she had asked of the deli clerk, thanked him, and turned back to Nicolo. “Do I think it could happen? Not particularly, no. I’ll admit, I am a bit of a realist. Especially when it comes to matters of the heart. But Joe seems like a good guy. I can understand why you might be feeling that way.” Nile looped her arm through Nicolo’s again as she pulled him to the door. “And I’m sure that killer smile of his helps a little bit.” 

“Lui è bellissimo,” Nicolo groaned, tilting his head back, and Nile laughed, pressing closer to him. 

“Do you know why Andy is still here?” Nile asked. 

“No idea,” Nicolo said. He paused, thinking for a moment and then another. “I have a theory.” 

Nile looked at him. “Well, let’s hear it.” 

“Andromache is a very hard worker,” said Nicolo. “We’re… how would you say so in English…uno nello stesso? I think this was an opportunity for her to give herself a break as she has allowed me to take one.” 

“That would make sense,” Nile said. She paused. “Hold on. Andromache? Her full fucking name is Andromache?” 

Nicolo nodded, raising his free hand in mock defeat. “Yes, it is,” he said. “Andy’s parents were big fans of the Iliad. She has four sisters. Cassandra, Hera, Eris, and Briseis.” 

“Big fans of the Iliad indeed,” Nile snorted. “Well. I’m glad she’s taking a break then.” 

The two walked in cordial silence the rest of the way to the villa, Nile practically skipping along, the bags slung around the arm not interlocked with Nicolo swaying back and forth. As they approached the estate, they could hear their friends’ laughter drifting down the street. Nile exchanged a glance with Nicolo. She squeezed his arm. 

“I’ll bring these to the kitchen,” Nile said. 

Nicolo let go of Nile’s arm and walked around the house’s side, finding Sebastien, Andy, and Yusuf sitting in a circle of patio chairs. He felt a small wash of relief and an even larger burst of pride when he noticed that instead of holding a beer like Andy and Yusuf were, Booker had a small glass of water. Nicolo took the seat closest to his supposed husband and reached out his hand, taking Booker’s in his and interlocking their fingers, and it was just as much to play to their act as it was to tell him, “I’m here. I’m very proud of the progress you’re making”. 

“Good afternoon, mon cher,” Booker greeted, tipping his glass to Nicolo. “How were the markets?” 

“Lovely,” said Nicolo, “Very lovely. Still busy, but Nile was quite helpful.” 

“Where is Nile?” Booker asked offhandedly. 

Nicolo blinked. “She offered to put away the groceries,” he said sheepishly. Nicolo glanced over at Yusuf, who was pointedly not looking back at him. 

“So, Nicky,” said Yusuf, “Did you hear about the town dance happening tomorrow?” 

Nicolo looked over at Booker. The Frenchman only shrugged. “I haven’t,” Nicolo responded. 

“Hold on.” Yusuf reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a piece of paper folded into a small, thumb-shaped square. He unraveled it and turned it towards Booker and Nicolo. Painted across the wrinkled piece of paper was the silhouette of two people dancing against a painted blue backdrop. Across the top of the poster were the words: “Danza al Chiaro di Luna.”

Booker stood and took the paper from Yusuf before sitting back down. After a mo    

“Might be nice for the two of you to have a date night,” Nile commented as she walked out the back patio doors to join them, seating herself between Yusuf and Andy. 

“Right…” murmured Booker in the same moment that Nicolo said, 

“I think that could be nice. Would the rest of you be joining us?” 

Nile shrugged. “I don’t see why not.”

“I’ll avoid that one,” Andy snorted. She shook her head and took an extended drink from the bottle. “I’ve never been much of a dancer.” 

“Well, I do like dancing,” Yusuf exclaimed, clapping his hands together. “Man, I haven’t been dancing in years.” 

Nile looked at Nicolo, grinning just a bit too wide, her eyebrow raised. “Ohhh,” she said, “So the sergeant can dance, can he?” 

Yusuf laughed, “Not too well, but I have a few moves.” 

“Well, I know I’m excited to see this,” said Nile, placing her elbows on her thighs, leaning her chin into her hands. She nodded her head towards Nicolo. “He’s got a few moves himself that I think you’ll find very impressive.” 

“Is that so?” mused Yusuf. 

“Mmmhmm,” Nile hummed. “You should see Nicky at the Italian clubs on a Saturday night.” 

Nicolo did his best the suppress an embarrassed sigh that he was desperate to let out; he could feel the start of an excruciating headache. He knew what his face must have looked like. Bright, vibrant red, the heat of it radiating off of him in waves. For a moment, Nicolo seriously considered booking it down the street, hurtling himself as far away from this situation as he could. Instead, he said, 

“I wouldn’t get too excited. I am not exactly Sammy Davis.” 

“Just the discounted Italian version, right?” Booker said under his breath.

Nicolo glared at him. “That’s very sweet of you to say, Sebastien,” he said flatly. 

“I know, that’s why you married me,” Booker quipped, and he finished his water, smirking around the rim of the glass. He placed the glass down beside his foot. “Why not? Sounds like a good time to me.” 

“Alright,” said Nile. “Then we’ll all go together.” She beamed. “This is going to be great.”

“Great” was not exactly the term Nicolo would have used. The townsfolk had done a fine enough job of decorating the plaza. Lights were strung up across the sky, tied from one light post to the other. Music drifted up from unseen speakers. Long, tableclothed tables were stacked full of local foods and drinks. 

Nicolo lingered uncomfortably on the edge of the dancefloor, bouncing from foot to foot, occasionally glancing over his shoulder to shoot a smile, just barely more than a grimace, towards Nile and Booker, who milled about the horderves table. Yusuf had seemed to adjust easily, already laughing with a group of strangers. It was clear that Nicolo didn’t want to be there. He wrapped his arms around his body in a self-given hug; he’d already downed two glasses of wine in rapid succession, and his head had begun to spin a little bit. Nicolo watched Yusuf in increments, looking away quickly whenever the other man would glance his way, his head ducking, eyes focusing on the ground. 

Nile nudged Booker with her elbow. “You should ask your husband to dance with you,” she said under her breath. 

“Hmm?” said Booker. 

“Go ask your husband for a dance,” Nile pressed. “He looks like he’s going to pass out.” 

Booker sighed, “If I must.” 

“And you must.” Nile took his plate and gave him a light shove, urging him onto the dance floor. “Hey.” 

Booker turned to look at her. 

‘We’ll dance later,’ Nile mouthed, smiling softly. 

He nodded, a careful smile pulling across his face, before he approached Nicolo, placing a hand lightly against the top of his back, moving his hand along until it rested against the space between Nicolo’s right shoulder and his neck. “You doing alright, buddy?” Booker asked. 

“Perfectly alright,” Nicolo said. 

Booker stepped out in front of his friend and held out his hand. “Voulez-vous cette danse, mon cher ami?” he mused. 

“Are you being serious?” Nicolo snorted. 

“One hundred percent,” Booker said. “And I think Nile may kill me if I don’t.” 

Nicolo rolled his eyes. “How flattering.” Still, he slipped his hand into Booker’s and let the other man pull him closer. “I don’t think I have told you how much I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.”

Booker huffed out a breath of laughter. “You know I would do anything for you, Nicky.” 

“And you know that I feel the same way,” Nicolo said. He swallowed hard and leaned his head against Booker’s. “I don’t know how much longer I can do this, Sebastien…” 

“What do you mean?” Booker asked. “The whole ruse?” 

“All of it,” Nicolo sighed. “The stratagemma, the fake stories, everything.”

Booker was quiet for a moment. “Okay,” he said. “What can I do for you? Is there anything I can do for you?” 

Nicolo shook his head. “I don’t know. I just feel… perduto.” 

“I think that’s pretty normal, given the circumstances,” said Booker. He squeezed Nicolo’s hand. “It’s going to be okay, Nicky. I promise.” 

“Is it?” Nicolo said, and he dropped his forehead against Booker’s shoulder. “Because I feel terrible. I feel as if I am a terrible person. Do you know what Yusuf told me? He told me that my stories helped him get by day to day in the hospital. My lies. Everything he likes about me… it’s all built on falsehoods.” 

“I see,” said Booker. “Well. I’ve got a solution, and you’re not going to like it, but I think you need to hear it.” When Nicolo nodded against Booker’s shoulder, the Frenchman continued, “I’m saying this because I love you, and I need you to hear me when I tell you I think you need to get over yourself. I think you need to do something about it, or you need to stop complaining. Because I’ve heard it now. Nile has heard it. You need to either act or stop talking about it. There are only so many times that we can tell you we’ll support you. You already know that we’re here for you. There isn’t much more Nile, and I can do on that front; the rest is up to you. Do you hear what I’m saying?” 

“I do,” Nicolo said quietly. 

“Good. Because honestly, Nicky? You were starting to drive both of us insane,” Booker teased. They moved in silence against each other until Booker took a step back. “Incoming,” he said. 

Nicolo frowned. “What?” 

“Good evening, Nicky,” said Yusuf. 

Nicolo turned, face heating instantly. “Joe.” 

“Sebastien, I hope you won’t be too offended if I ask to borrow your husband for a dance?” Yusuf mused. 

“Not offended at all,” Booker said. “Go right ahead, serg.” He hesitated a moment before reaching out and wrapping his hand around the back of Nicolo’s head, bringing the other man’s head towards him and pressing a kiss to the side of his head, just above his ear, whispering, “Remember what I said.” 

Nicolo gave Booker a strained look before turning to Yusuf. “Joe,” said Nicolo. 

“Nicky,” said Yusuf, and there was his smile, bright and warm and sunshine itself personified. He took a careful step forward. “May I?” he asked. Nicolo hesitated. “Come on,” Yusuf said softly, “For me, Nicolo.” 

The soft hum of the music drifted out from some unseen speakers, a melancholy song in English. 

My folks, they left the TV on; I was falling in love years before I ever met someone.

“I suppose if it is for you…” Nicolo sighed, and he let his hand slip into Yusuf’s; let Yusuf’s arms wrap around his waist, just a Booker had done minutes ago, but it felt so different now. What a contrast, two different embraces could have presented so close together. The heat of Yusuf’s body so close was overwhelming, and it terrified Nicolo, how fast his heart was beating, how hot his face was burning. It was as if the entire world had been plucked by the edge and was being turned and spun too fast, and Nicolo needed to lean into Yusuf to keep himself from falling over completely. Yusuf’s hand was sure and steady against his body, blazing an imprint in his skin through the material of Nicolo’s shirt, Yusuf’s beard tickling gently against the side of Nicolo’s face. 

“Where will you go after the New Years’?” Nicolo asked. 

Yusuf shrugged. “I don’t know. Perhaps I’ll travel.” 

“Any place in particular?” 

“Your story about Singapore has given me some ideas,” Yusuf said. 

Nicolo nodded. “It’s quite lovely in the summer.” At least that bit wasn’t a total lie. He’d been with Booker during college. “Will you go alone?” 

“Probably,” said Yusuf. 

“I always thought traveling was only ever worth it with a companion.”

Yusuf barked out a quick laugh. “Is that you making an offer, Nicky?” he asked. 

“If you’ll have me,” said Nicolo, and he’d said it without completely thinking. “I’ve been told that I am an exceptional traveling companion. It would be an honor to travel alongside you.” 

But we were only strangers calling in a dark room, rejecting stars or cozy lives on the wall.

Yusuf pressed closer. “I’m sorry about these past few days,” he said, and it took every ounce of willpower Nicolo possessed not to shudder at the feel of Yusuf’s voice rumbling so close to his ear. “I haven’t been a particularly good friend to you.” 

Nicolo laughed softly. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” 

“I shouldn’t have avoided you,” Yusuf said. “I’m an adult. I’m almost fucking forty. I should be able to handle being just friends with someone I’d rather be…” he trailed off. 

“Say it. Please.” 

“I don’t know if I should,” Yusuf said. “Your husband is right over there, and… he’s a great man. He’s kind. He’s funny.” 

Nicolo closed his eyes. “He is.” 

“He is,” Yusuf echoed. “I could have been a better friend. When I realized that we couldn’t be together, it was wrong of me just to back away. I thought giving you space would be good for both of us, but it just made things all the worse for me. I should count myself a lucky man if I can just be allowed inside of your orbit. Friend or otherwise. I’m sorry, I’ve kind of been an asshole lately.” 

With everyone I ever knew, I've gotten used to use. I've grown attached to you being here.

Nicolo scoffed. “You’re not an asshole,” he said, shivering as he felt Yusuf move his hand to cup the back of his head, fingers gently stroking at the baby hairs at Nicolo’s neck. “You’re a good man, Joe.” 

“Oh, I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” Yusuf said, voice quiet. He pressed in closer to Nicolo, chest to chest, heat to heat. Nicolo thought he could feel the other man shaking. 

“Are you okay?” Nicolo asked. 

Yusuf cleared his throat and turned his face towards Nicolo, nuzzling his nose into Nicolo’s cheek. “Can we get out of here?” Yusuf asked. 

Nicolo stiffened, and he pulled away, and he felt his heart fall straight inside his stomach. There was something off about the look in Yusuf’s eyes. “What’s wrong?” 

“There’s something I need to tell you,” Yusuf said. “There’s something I want to tell you.” 

“Joe?” said Nicolo. 

Yusuf slipped his hand into Nicolo’s, interlocking their fingers together. He lifted Nicolo’s hand to his mouth and pressed a feather-light kiss to the back of his hand. “Come on,” Yusuf said quietly, quirking his head to the side. “Please.” 

“Okay,” Nicolo said. “Okay.” 

Nicolo let himself be pulled along through the crowd. They walked for several minutes until the sound of the throng of the village folk had faded into the distance, and the lights of the town center were mere distance flickers in the night. Yusuf walked over to the garden wall of a small, nearby bungalow, and he paced for two quiet minutes more before he stopped, pressing his back against the stone of the wall, arms crossed over his chest. His gaze was focused somewhere off the side, and he seemed to be deliberately avoiding eye contact with Nicolo; and Nicolo, he had never seen Yusuf like this before, in the time that he’d come to know him. This wasn’t the happy, bright Yusuf he had learned; the man before him looked utterly terrified. 

“Are you alright, Joe?” Nicolo said, fingers twitching to reach out for him, knowing it was best to give him space. 

“I want you to know the reason why I was in the hospital,” said Yusuf.

Nicolo walked carefully towards Yusuf. They both leaned against the wall with several feet between them. “Okay,” said Nicolo. 

Yusuf breathed in and then out again, turning his head and locking Nicolo in place with those dark, depthless eyes of his. “It was almost two months ago. I had been sent on a recovery mission alongside my friend, Lykon. Some girls were being held hostage, and the locals needed help with negotiations. They didn’t feel comfortable doing it themselves, and the local law enforcement wasn’t cooperating. Both of us were more than happy to help. The whole plan going into it was sort of a wash; it wasn’t thoroughly thought out, and we were all partially to blame, but at the end of the day, I was the one leading that assignment. 

“Everything leading up to the exchange was very off. I knew things weren’t right. I knew I should have stopped, and I should have been more careful. But I didn’t. I didn’t look into the red flags. I didn’t listen to the alarm bells. It was all happening too easily. All the answers were coming to us too easily. We found the girls without a single problem, and I should have seen how wrong and how strange that was, and I just… I didn’t. So Lykon and I and the rest of the arrived at the location. There weren’t any guards. Another red flag that I just brushed off and ignored. I thought we were lucky. I’d let one of the younger guys take the lead. I don’t know why. He was so eager and excited, and he kept pressing me, telling me what a good job he could do, and I don’t know what came over me, but I let him go.”
Yusuf closed his eyes. “We walked right into a massacre. One moment we’re walking down this dark hallway, the next, the kid is opening this door, and another moment later, all we can hear is gunfire.” He opened his eyes again. “Lykon and I were the only ones who made it out. We were in recovery for about a month, but we weren’t just in a regular hospital next month. We were in Nightingale… a mental hospital in London. General’s orders.” Yusuf shook his head. “I can’t go back to the army. I can’t go back home. And honestly, I don’t blame any of them. Because it’s my fault, it’s all my fault. I don’t deserve the kindness you’ve given me, Nicolo.” 

Nicolo took a small step forward and then another, and soon he was pulling Yusuf into his arms, allowing the other man to cry into Nicolo’s shoulder. He didn’t know what to say, what the right thing was to say, so he chose to say nothing. Silence sometimes said more. Nicolo moved his hand up and down Yusuf’s back, and with the other hand, he caressed Yusuf’s head, fingers burying in the other man’s curls. There was a sharp, persistent ache inside of Nicolo’s heart to touch Yusuf’s face and join their mouths together. He wanted to kiss Yusuf’s pain away, find a way to tell him everything was okay without having to use words, which had a habit of being all too mundane. Words had been a gift to Nicolo, but they had also been a burden. They were his greatest, oldest friends and most worse and vile of enemies. They had guided him out of the darkest part of his life, and they had molded him like clay into something so unrecognizable that sometimes Nicolo would look in the mirror and find that he did not recognize the man looking back at him. Everything, everything hurt.

“Nicky,” said Yusuf. 

Nicolo pulled back in an increment so small that there was scarcely a hair’s width between them. “Joe,” he said. 

“Sei così bello.” Yusuf’s fingers curled around the side of Nicolo’s neck, fingertips massaging along his flesh, little sparks ignited across Nicolo’s throat. That sound of his voice, Yusuf’s voice pronouncing those smooth Italian syllables in his sensual lilt, sent Nicolo’s heart at a fast thrumming pace. “Non hai idea di quanto voglio baciarti adesso.”

You should, thought Nicolo, desperately. Please. 

Yusuf leaned forward and pressed his lips to the corner of Nicolo’s mouth. “But I am not the sort of person who kisses a married man without remorse.” And that hurt too. Instead, Yusuf kissed Nicolo’s cheek before he touched their foreheads together. “Let’s go,” he said. “The others will worry about us.” 

When Yusuf pulled away, Nicolo stood grasping at the empty air that had once been filled by the space of the other man moments ago, and he lingered for a second and then another second longer before Nicolo turned and walked after Yusuf, grabbing him by the hand and whirling him around. Nicolo dragged Yusuf back towards him and grabbed him by the face, crashing their lips together in a bruising kiss. For several, heart-wrenching beats, Yusuf stood there frozen, before he finally, finally returned the kiss, Yusuf’s hands curling in the front of Nicolo’s shirt. He moved back for only a moment to tell him, 

“Luckily for the two of us, I don’t have the same qualms.” 

Nicolo eased Yusuf against the wall again, pressing their bodies together, slipping his hands beneath Yusuf’s shirt, and he sighed; Yusuf’s skin was hot to the touch. Like fire under Nicolo’s palms. The embers inside of Nicolo’s chest were erupting in bursts. He was overwhelmed, the whole world spinning around him, and at the center of it all was him and Yusuf. Yet, at the same time, Nicolo never felt so grounded. Kissing Yusuf was raw and real. Perhaps the only real thing Nicolo had felt in years, and it was right. It was so, so right. Nicolo whimpered into Yusuf’s mouth. He needed to get closer; he needed to get so much closer. 

“Nicky,” Yusuf murmured. 

“Hush,” said Nicolo. 

Yusuf’s hands moved to Nicolo’s hips, gripping onto him with a vice-like strength. He parted his lips, and Nicolo took the invitation eagerly, laughing a Nicolo’s hands slipped from beneath Yusuf’s shirt and moved to fidget with the zipper of Yusuf’s jeans. 

“Wait,” said Yusuf, wrapping his hand around Nicolo’s. “Are you sure about this?” 

“Sono più che sicuro,” Nicolo answered, pressing forward and nipping lightly at Yusuf’s bottom lip.

Yusuf grinned against Nicolo’s mouth. “Are you sure you’re sure?” 

“Cristo, Yusuf,” Nicolo sighed. “I’ve never been more sure of anything before in my life.” 

“What about Sebastien?” Yusuf asked. 

“Hmm?” 

“Your husband,” Yusuf pressed, lips like a brand against the underside of Nicolo’s jaw. “What about your husband?” 

Nicolo whimpered, head tilting back. “I don’t have a husband,” and Yusuf’s laughter rumbled against his throat. Something was bubbling inside of him, a rich sort of desperation, and a manic heat blazed through his whole body. “I’m serious,” said Nicolo, grasping at Yusuf’s shoulders. 

Yusuf’s smile faltered. “What?” 

“I’m not married. Sebastien isn’t my husband,” Nicolo pressed; his heart beat was loud and erratic at the center of his head; at the center of his heart, his friends’ words echoing along the chamber of his mind. Do something about it. Stop complaining. Stop complaining. Fucking act for once in your life. “I’ve never been married.” 

Yusuf took a step back. “What are you talking about?” he asked, a strange unreadable look coming over his face. “What do you mean you’ve never been married?” 

“I mean…” Nicolo took a deep breath. He held it for several, tension thick seconds before letting it out again. “I mean, Booker isn’t my husband. We never even dated. We’re just very good friends, and that is the only thing we have ever been. Good friends.”

“Why would…” Yusuf trailed off. He frowned. “Why would you lie about that?” 

Yusuf’s hands were still resting gently against Nicolo’s arms, his touch warm and light, and the fact that he hadn’t moved those hands away was giving Nicolo hope, giving him the strength to continue. Perhaps it would be okay. Perhaps Yusuf was going to understand. Nicolo’s hands shook, and he clenched and unclenched his fists in an attempt to settle himself. 

“Because it was the life I wanted,” Nicolo confessed. “Good husband. Loving household. I’d never had that before.” 

Yusuf nodded slowly, and he cleared his throat, looking away for a moment before turning back to Nicolo, fixing him in place with his burning brown eyes. “Was that...was that it?” he asked quietly. 

“No. I’m sorry. No.” 

Yusuf nodded again, and he asked, voice careful and deliberate, “What else?” 

“What else,” Nicolo repeated. He breathed in sharply. “Most of it.” 

“Most of it? Most of it...Most of it what?” 

Nicolo tilted his head back, blinking up at the night sky. The stars were so bright, and Nicolo knew he could not go on with it any longer, especially after Yusuf had just been so true and honest with him. Yusuf deserved that much. 

“Most of it was a lie. The stories in my essays were lies. They weren’t true. I… I made them up. The stories were just stories. I’m so, so sorry, Joe.” 

Only then did Yusuf’s hands fall away. He scratched at the back of his head, looking anywhere but at Nicolo, his eyebrows furrowed. “I’m not entirely sure what I’m meant to say here,” said Yusuf. 

“You don’t have to say anything,” Nicolo said weakly. “Just please… please let me explain myself.” 

Yusuf crossed his arms over his chest, gaze still fixed somewhere on the ground. “Okay,” he said. 

Nicolo walked to Yusuf’s side. He leaned against the wall, allowing at least a cautious foot of space between them. “I grew up in a small town, just outside of Rome. Everyone knew everyone’s names. Nothing stayed within families. Rumors spread easily. My parents knew about me. They knew about who I was long before I knew myself. They knew I was gay, and it wasn’t aligned with the idea of what they wanted for me. Being different was never an option in my family, not like that. They…” Nicolo laughed softly. “They wanted me to join the priesthood. That was the path they saw for me, and when it looked like that that wasn’t the path I was on, it angered them. 

“My parents hated me. They never said it, but I knew they hated me. It wasn’t just the being gay thing either. They hated how quiet I was. They hated how I spoke; what I looked like, how I walked; it was as if everything I did was wrong; the smallest of things infuriated them. I couldn’t say anything right. Not in their mind’s eye. Just asking what was for dinner would set them off sometimes. When I was fourteen, I started talking to this boy in school, and we became very close very quickly. He was the only person I felt I could be myself with. I could tell him anything, and he would listen. When my parents were getting to be too much, I would go to his house. He would say to me how everything would be okay. He would tell me that one day we would get out of Italy together. Make a life together. I believed him. Come un idiota, I believed him. One night I’d had him over, and we kissed. We… we more than kissed. For that moment, for a brief, beautiful moment, I felt like everything was possible. I could see a future with this man. I could see myself far away from Italy, somewhere I could be the person I wanted to be.

“My parents found us. They knew I was gay, but they never said it. They never said it, and it was as if never saying it would keep it from being real. Suddenly they couldn’t avoid it. They needed to confront it… and they did. The moment my friend was gone, it was a blur. I remember my mother screaming at me. She was crying. I’d never seen her that upset before, and it hurt. Regardless of how she made me feel, I still loved her. Of course, I loved her. One cannot dismiss the love they have for their parents. I couldn’t look at her. I couldn’t even speak. It was as if anything I could say or wanted to say was stuck somewhere in the back of my throat.

“My father was angry. I had never seen someone so angry before. I didn’t even think that sort of anger was possible in a singular human being. It overwhelmed him entirely, and it only made him more furious when I had nothing to say. The last thing I remembered from that night was my father hitting me over the head with one of his books. I woke up with a headache and dried blood on my face, and my mother was packing my bags. It wasn’t even noon when I was standing alone at the train station. I couldn’t stay. Everyone knew who I was, what had happened, and I didn’t know how they could react; I didn’t know what my friends would say. I was scared. So I did what my mother and father wanted. I boarded the train, and I didn’t look back. I never wanted to come back. 

“I spent the next five years between jobs, moving from hotel room to hotel room throughout Europe. I was able to finish my primary schooling online. Whenever I could, I’d log on to local library wifi and take my classes, and for the longest time, I was alone. I was so, so lonely. It felt as if I was the only person left in the world, and I know that’s an absurd thought to have, but I was completely invisible for the longest time. I could move throughout my day, and not a single person would acknowledge I was there, and I thought that...I could just disappear one day, and no one would even care. 

“And then I met Sebastien. He was attending university in France, and when we met for the first time, it was as if we had known each other for years. He was one of those people with who I connected with instantly. No one had been by my side the same way as Sebastien, and he helped me in a way that no one else had before. He helped me apply for scholarships at his school. We spent hours and hours working together, and eventually, our time and efforts paid off. It wasn’t a lie, the two of us becoming close. Sebastien is the most important person in my life. It feels wrong just to call him a friend. He is a better family to me than anyone who may ever be related to me by blood. His is...My brother. I pulled him into this. He and Nile both, but they’re not at fault. They were only trying to help. 

“I began writing as an escape. Stories. Just stories. Places I wished I could go. Places I wished I had been. The places I wanted to go one day but knew I might never reach in the ways I wanted to. I imagined myself in these incredible scenarios I thought to be unattainable, and in a way, I convinced myself that it was real. It felt authentic in some sick way, and I know that that didn’t justify the lies, but they all felt so real...I just wanted them to be real. Sebastien was supportive. There was never a question there. He was always going to support me, and it was true what I sad, he encouraged me to send the stories in; send in all these essays and… and the rest is, how do you say il resto è storia. 

“I don’t know why I didn’t just advertise the essays as their true form. Fiction. When they came across Andromache’s desk, she was under the impression that they were true, and when we sat down together, she told me, so I didn’t argue once. I went along with it, and I kept going ahead because it felt more comfortable than the truth, admitting that my life was not where I wished it to be. One small lie turned into many, many more lies. It was difficult to find the truth. It all seemed to muddle together. Once I started to lie, I didn’t know how to stop, and my whole life has turned into fiction in itself these past ten years.

“But then Andy brought the issue of a soldier who needed a home for the holidays, and I could not say no to her. After everything she did to further my career, I could not say no to her. Sebastien and Nile worked with me to create this elaborate plan to uphold the image. Andy was not supposed to be here, and… and you weren’t supposed to be you. You weren’t supposed to be this incredible, good man, and I know you do not feel as if you are such, but you are. You are. I can see the truth and the depth of you, and you are the most incredible person I have ever met. You make me want to be better. You make me want to change, and you have opened up to me in a way that I do not deserve. The least I could do was grant you that same privilege.” 

The air around them was still; the music a light static in the distance. Yusuf’s face was blank, his dark eyes even darker. He released a loud, audible sigh. 

Nicolo closed his eyes. “Joe.” 

“That was a lot,” Yusuf said evenly, tone unreadable. 

“Un po 'un eufemismo,” Nicolo snorted, opening his eyes again, blinking rapidly in attempts to stave away the tears. “I always knew what I was doing with my career wasn’t the most morally sound, but I’d never done anything about it. I’d never taken action. I never had a reason to before, but meeting you...I feel as if I finally have a reason. You’ve done that for me, and even if you choose to never speak to me again, then I would like you to know I am grateful for you.” 

Yusuf nodded mutely. His foot was tapping irritably against the ground. 

“Please say something,” Nicolo pleaded. 

Yusuf lifted his head, meeting Nicolo with that still unreadable expression. “I feel so lucky to have met you,” Yusuf said. “So lucky. And I’m glad that you told me all of that. I am. It takes guts to open up about something like that.” His shoulders drooped. “I just… I need some time to think about this.” 

“I understand,” Nicolo said numbly. 

He watched as Yusuf turned and walked back towards the crowd, feeling as helpless as he had when he first left Italy. 

New Year’s had come around easily and peacefully. All three of them: Nile, Booker, and Nicolo had tip-toed around the entire house on Wednesday after Nicolo had revealed to his friends what he had admitted to Yusuf, Yusuf who had scarcely been around. He’d spent most of the day walking around Genoa or locked away in his room reading or napping, and it was worse than the days after Christmas because this was after he knew the truth of Nicolo. He had a real reason to avoid the other man. It had not seemed as if Yusuf had talked to Andy, which was a relief to Nicolo and his friends, but the relief could only be managed. Nicolo felt ill. It was like the worst kind of fever, the kind he could not sweat out; it was persistent and painful, and Nicolo was torn between the relief he felt at admitting his lies to someone other than Booker and Nile, and feeling as if he’d lost a part of himself. Every time he admitted his lies, the truth became more and more real. He was moving closer and closer to a reality he wasn’t quite sure he was ready to accept.

Throughout most of New Year’s day, Booker and Nile rotated between tending to Nicolo like concerned parents and distracting Andy. Occasionally Yusuf would make an appearance, passing through the living room or stopping by the kitchen for a drink before disappearing again, ducking out the front door, or hurrying up the stairs. 

“He’s a dick,” Nile said. 

“I appreciate you saying that,” Nicolo snorted. “But he isn’t.” 

Nile frowned. “Then why the fuck is he acting like this?” she questioned. “He’s avoiding confronting the problem. He won’t even look at you.” 

“I don’t blame him.” 

Nile rolled her eyes. “You need to stop being so hard on yourself,” she said softly, squeezing Nicolo’s hand. “Are you perfect? No. Far from it.” Nicolo snorted again. “But no one is, okay? No one is. And you need to accept that. We all make mistakes. Alright?” 

Nicolo sighed. He nodded and leaned down, kissing the top of Nile’s head. “Alright,” Nicolo agreed. 

“Take a deep breath,” said Nile. “Everything is going to be okay.” She cleared her throat, one eyebrow raised. “So I have some news for you.” 

“Oh?” 

Nile teased her bottom lip between her teeth, smirking. “I’m not coming back with you to London after New Year’s.”

“What do you mean?” said Nicolo. 

“I mean… Booker invited me to spend some time with him in Cannes.” 

Nicolo stared at her, practically gawking. “How long?” he asked. 

“I don’t know,” Nile admitted, “However long he’ll have me, I suppose.” 

“Wow,” Nicolo said. 

“Right?” 

Nicolo shook his head; though he was smiling, he couldn’t help but smile. “A little hypocritical aren’t you,” Nicolo teased her, bumping his shoulder into hers. “Rushing into something so quickly and then telling me that you don’t believe in love at first sight.”

“That’s different,” Nile laughed. “You know that it’s different.”

Nicolo kissed her head again, slinging an arm around her shoulder and pulling her against his side. “I am happy for you, sorella,” he murmured, stroking his hand up and down Nile’s arm. “Just please, please be careful. Ricorda. È una situazione fragile con lui.”

“I know,” whispered Nile. She paused. “I trust him. I trust that he’ll be good. ” 

“And I trust you,” Nicolo said. “I trust both of you.” His smile widened against Nile’s hair. “Sarai buono l'uno per l'altro.” Nicolo pulled back, looking her in the eyes. “Let me know if he does anything stupid. I will deal with him.” 

Nile laughed so hard she snorted several times. “I’ll hold you to it,” she said, pulling Nicolo into her arms, tucking her face against this neck. 

It was almost twelve, and Nicolo had spent most of the night in his bedroom, watching wistfully out the window. Once Nile had checked on him and then Booker and then both of them, standing a bit too close, Booker’s hand resting against the top of Nile’s back. Andy even ducked her head in at one point. The fourth time Nile and Booker reappeared, Nicolo sighed, 

“I don’t know how many times I have to let you both know. I’m fine.” 

“All due respect,” said Booker. “You don’t look fine. There’s only so many times we can tell Andy you’re tired.” 

Nicolo shrugged. “I’ll be downstairs soon.” 

“You better be,” Nile said, pointing at him meaningfully. 

Nicolo looked back out the window. He brought the glass to his lips, and he tried to think of what the next steps were. When he returned to London, would things go back to normal? After confessing to Yusuf, back-to-normal was the last thing Nicolo knew he wanted. He knew things would change; he knew everything would change, but he wasn’t quite sure just how they would change, and not knowing was terrifying. For the first time in nearly a decade, Nicolo would have to face himself, genuinely his real self. The self without the mask. Without the cushion of his stories.

“Nicky.” 

Nicolo turned to the door, and the glass nearly slipped from his hand. “Joe,” he said. “Where the hell have you been?” 

Instead of answering, Yusuf closed the distance between them in several quick steps, grabbing Nicolo’s face in both of his hands and pressing their lips together in a deep, open-mouthed kiss. Nicolo reached blindly behind him to place the glass down on the dresser before wrapping his arm around Yusuf’s neck, pushing himself impossibly closer; he couldn’t get close enough. 

“I’m sorry,” said Yusuf, in between kisses.

“Why are you, sorry?” Nicolo asked, equally as breathless.

Yusuf licked his way into Nicolo’s mouth, laughing softly as the other man moaned, and he caresses Nicolo’s face in his hands, stroking his thumbs across his cheeks. “I can be a real piece of shit when I’m angry,” Yusuf murmured. 

“Your anger was justified,” said Nicolo, tilting his head back as Yusuf’s mouth migrated down along his jaw and down his neck. Nicolo gripped tightly onto Yusuf’s shoulders, knuckles turning white, and he knew his touch would bruise, but he could not bring himself to let go, inhaling sharply when he felt Yusuf’s teeth scratch against his skin. “Cristo, Joe…” 

“I was hurt at first,” Yusuf murmured against Nicolo’s throat. “It hurt like hell. I thought I had fallen in love with a stranger, but then I thought of the days we spent together, and I thought about your words and the voice that got me through those terrible days and nights at Nightingale, and I realized that the two people were the same.” Yusuf’s eyes closed as he leaned his face against Nicolo’s shoulder. “I can’t act like I’m any better than you, especially after what I told you the other night. You’ve seen the darkest side of me. I’ve seen the darkest side of you. I have no right to judge you for your mistakes.” He grasped the side of Nicolo’s head and pressed a searing kiss to the side of his head. “You’re still the best person I have ever met; I’ll never meet anyone as good as you, and I would be a goddamn idiot to let you go.” 

There was a knot inside of Nicolo’s stomach pulling and tightening, and the persistent ache in his heart pushed so hard against his chest that he feared something inside of him would burst. “You…” Nicolo swallowed hard. He gently eased Yusuf back to look each other in the eyes, Yusuf’s eyes. Dark, yet so so bright. “You love me?” 

Yusuf smiled, and he glanced away, a red tinge rising high against the skin of his cheeks. “I know it sounds insane,” he said. “ I’ve barely known you for a week. But that first day when I saw you, I felt something that I’d never felt before. Looking into your eyes, just seeing your face and hearing your voice...I felt as if I was coming home.” Yusuf pressed a long, lingering kiss to the corner of Nicolo’s mouth before turning Nicolo’s head towards him and kissing him properly, hard enough to hurt, hard enough to bruise, Yusuf’s hand curling around Nicolo’s jaw, holding him in place. Holding him as if letting go would me letting Nicolo go completely. Yusuf moved back, close enough for his lips to brush against Nicolo’s as he whispered, “I have fallen in love with you, and I love all of you. The man behind the stories. The man who I know you to be.” 

Nicolo choked out a broken sob, and he brought their mouths together again, hands resting firmly on either side of Yusuf’s neck. He traced his tongue along the seam of Yusuf’s lips, feeling his own smile growing. “Ti amo, Yusuf,” Nicolo murmured, “Ti amo così tanto.” 

“Is this crazy?” Yusuf laughed. “This is crazy, isn’t it?” 

“Sì. Molto pazzo,” Nicolo agreed. “But one may argue that it is the crazy people who have the most fun in life.” 

Yusuf grinned and leaned forward, kiss the tip of Nicolo’s nose. “I think you’re right,” he said. He pressed a series of quick kisses to Nicolo’s mouth, eliciting a burst of laughter from the other man. Yusuf brushed away a  piece of hair that had fallen across Nicolo’s forehead. “What do you want to do, tesoro?” 

Nicolo released a heavy sigh. “I want to tell Andy the truth. This whole time I have been trying to convince myself that I am selfless. That I am protecting her. But it has been about me. It has always been about me, my self-preservation. My fears. She deserves to know, and I am ready to tell her.” 

“Good,” Yusuf said. He kissed Nicolo’s forehead. “This is good.” 

“Sì,” Nicolo muttered. “It has been too long. I cannot live in the shadows of a life that isn’t mine.”

“I’m proud of you,” said Yusuf, scratching his nails across the tiny hairs at the back of Nicolo’s neck. “And I’ll be here. For whatever happens.” 

“Thank you,” Nicolo said, and he kissed Yusuf again; it was like a magnetic, primal sort of urge. He couldn’t stop kissing him. “Thank you.” 

Yusuf’s smile softened. “I believe in you.” 

“Grazie,” Nicolo whispered. He clutched the front of Yusuf’s shirt and walked backward, pulling Yusuf with him and towards the bed. “I am so so lucky to have met someone like you,” Nicolo murmured as he sat down, stroking his hands up and down Yusuf’s arms. 

“You’re mistaken,” Yusuf said, pushing at Nicolo’s chest, urging him further up the bed. “I’m the lucky one.” Yusuf nudged Nicolo’s legs open, situating himself between Nicolo’s thighs. “The day I met you, I thought you were the most beautiful man I had ever seen, and when I learned your heart, I knew it was true. I have never known a heart like yours before; I have never known thoughts like the ones you have spun onto paper. I have never believed in the supernatural before, but your words are like the purest of magic. I have spent my entire life dreaming of the love I feel for you, my Nicolo. My magnificent impossibility.” 

Nicolo slipped his hands under Yusuf’s shirt, pressing his palms against Yusuf’s bare skin, dragging his nails along the notches of his spine. “You’re an incurable romantic,” Nicolo muttered.

“For you?” said Yusuf. “Always.” He carded his fingers through Nicolo’s hair. “What am I going to do with you?” 

Nicolo’s heart rabbited inside of his chest, and the words were slipping past his lips before he had the chance to think them properly through, “Move to London with me.” 

“What?” 

“If you don’t know where to go, the answer is straightforward,” said Nicolo. “My door is open to you. Come live with me.” 

Yusuf laughed the force of it, sending his head back. “We truly have lost our minds.” He smothered Nicolo in a long, heavy winded kiss. “Yes,” Yusuf murmured. 

“This is moving so fast,” said Nicolo, but he couldn’t help his smile. 

“I know,” Yusuf said, pressing a light kiss to Nicolo’s cheek. “Everything’s going to be alright, Nicky. I promise.” 

For the first time in a long time, Nicolo thought that he might believe those pretty words. For the first time in a long time, he truly felt that things would be okay. With Yusuf by his side, Nicolo felt truly indestructible.