Chapter Text
Sunflowers. As far as his eyes could see, fields of sunflowers flew by him. A warmth filled him as he felt himself moving faster, the yellow and brown blurring together. Suddenly, his hands gripped a set of handlebars and the warm purr of an engine filled his ears — he was having the dream again.
Now vaguely aware that he had done this before, he took a moment to get his bearings. The sun was what warmed his back and the leather of the handlebar grips felt smooth under his palms. The brilliant red of the Vespa beneath him joined the blur of colors as a bubble of expectation filled his lungs.
Almost as if on cue, a weight settled against his back; someone was riding with him, their arms wrapped around his middle — holding on to him.
Normally, he'd be more concerned about who the mystery rider was, but he felt okay this time. It must've been the fogginess of dreaming, but the bubble in his lungs subsided and he felt at home here amongst the sunflowers with this person holding him.
Just as quickly as it came, the peace didn't last as the two began to crest a large hill and the two began speeding down the hill.
"Alberto," the rider's voice was soft and youthful in his ear — a siren's call. The yellow, brown, and red flew faster now, almost uncomfortably so. Alberto's vision began to tunnel as he tried to will himself to stay asleep. Goosebumps coursed across his skin as he gripped the handlebars tighter; he couldn't resist that sweet call and caved to his curiosity.
"Alberto." Finally giving in, he craned his head to see the owner of the voice, but he could only make out the rider's silhouette. His peripheral vision began to cloud with the colors surrounding them. He was waking up. The more he tried to make out who was behind him, the faster the colors spun and the harder it was to see.
"-Alberto!" The booming voice of his adoptive father, Massimo Marcovaldo, broke the young man from his daydream. He awoke with a terrible start, falling to the floor of his room with a loud THUD.
From his place on the floor, Alberto looked to see that Massimo was standing in the doorway, peaking his out from beneath his bushy brow with a mix of amusement and concern at his sons reaction.
"Don't tell me you're going to stare at that Vespa poster all morning, ragazzo," Massimo said. "You're opening up this morning."
Always quick to recover, Alberto scrambled up and pulled the page of the book he fell asleep reading from his cheek where it had stuck with a little bit of drool; Massimo let go a quick huff of amusement as he left Alberto to get ready.
Alone once more, Alberto let out a breath, blowing a strand of his usually quaffed hair away. He had had the dream again, but, this time he had managed to turn around. Furthermore, the rider had even spoken to him!
Shaking his head, Alberto mentally pushed the dream away. Massimo was right, he was opening up today.
One would think they'd go nose-blind working in a flower shop day-in and day-out, but Alberto found the more time he spent amongst the flowers, the better he could tell them apart. He was pretty much an expert at this point.
Thus began his usual routine. The early morning sun filtered in through the front window as Alberto brought out from the back fridges, watered the assortment of houseplants for sale, and swept the floors.
He had hardly taken a moment to breathe when the tinkling of a small bell reached his ears — customers.
Catching himself in the small mirror on the wall, Alberto took a moment to fix his hair and straighten his black apron.
"Welcome to Massimo's," Alberto greeted the two middle-aged women as they stepped inside. A closer look revealed oversized sunglasses, loud-patterned blouses, and fanny packs, better known as tourists.
Perfect, Alberto thought as he cranked up the charm, "-finest flowers in the whole Italian Riviera."
The two women giggled, sharing a look as Alberto quirked a smile. Honestly, tourists didn't bother him — especially not as much as they did Massimo. Tourists spent more money, and more money meant getting closer to getting out of Portorroso.
As he made light conversation with them, the store's phone rang. Leaving them to browse, Alberto answered.
"Massimo's — finest flowers in the whole Italian Riviera," Alberto repeated, shooting a wink to the two women — really hoping the charm would bring a few more euros his way.
"Ah — salve, Signora Paguro," Alberto greeted the older woman on the other end.
The day passed quickly as shadows began to creep through the window; the letters in "Massimo's" stretching along the floor as the sun began its mid-day decent.
Soon, another set of bells, less twinkly than the front door's, sounded — Massimo had come in through the shop's backdoor.
"How's it going?" Massimo asked, casting the top of his apron over his head and fastening it one-handed with a special knot.
It had been busier than expected — much to Alberto's relief. A slow day would've meant plenty of time alone with his thoughts on the ever elusive sunflower dream. He had been halfway through listing out the deliver orders he'd readied when the phone interrupted him.
Motioning for Alberto to hand him the handset, Massimo told him to finish up in the back and to begin delivering today's order before he hit 'Talk' on the receiver and began conversing with the person on the other end of the line. Assignment clear, Alberto headed to the back.
While he enjoyed schmoozing with customers, it did get tiring after awhile; Alberto much preferred getting to prepare the bouquets for customers.
Despite only having one — Massimo did have quite the green-thumb. Aside from caring for the lush indoor garden in the storefront, Massimo had taught Alberto everything he knew about fostering life from the depths of the soil and arranging it just so to bring out natural beauty. Being here at his workstation, putting the skills his adoptive father taught him after he had taken him in as a young brat always left him with a good feeling in his chest. Even though he knew Massimo would say that no thanks was necessary, helping at the flower shop still felt like a nice way to give back.
Selecting flowers, pruning wilted leaves, and arranging them alongside a medley of others felt nice — soothing even — but Alberto knew he couldn't do it forever. A sick feeling of dread filled his stomach as he reached for his floral shears. Next to them, Alberto spied the Vespa enthusiast magazine he'd been idly browsing earlier that week.
On the surface, he knew this reoccurring dream had to do with freedom and exploration.
At almost 25, he'd spent as long as he could remember in this town — with Massimo, with the seasonal tourists, with the same-old-same-old.
Alberto glanced at the order form Massimo had filled out in front of him again. Seeing the heavy handed script only added guilt to his dread.
'Leaving Portorroso means leaving Massimo. I can't do that to him...right?'
"Alberto," Massimo had come in, pulling Alberto back to the present — again. "Go ahead and get to the deliveries, you can finish these up tomorrow. The cart is all set up."
"Oh, um rad, yeah," standing up a little too fast, Alberto struggled with the tie of his apron before slugging it off, plastering a sheepish grin over the immense guilt at contemplating essentially abandoning the only father figure in his life.
Deciding not to read too much into his son's behavior, Massimo just gave a firm, reassuring clap on Alberto's left shoulder and turned to leave.
"Good. And, be back in time for dinner."
[Alberto —> Luca]
Looking out at the horizon, the ocean stood still. Or, at least the deep blues and greens seemed to be standing still as the train chugged along. Thumbing the hem of his shirt, he knew they were going relatively fast but only the cliffside blurring beneath the train seemed give him any sense of speed.
He, Luca Paguro, was going to TRY to relax — even if it killed him.
Turning away from the window, Luca began to reread his grandmothers letter. 'Are you eating enough' and 'you should call more' aside, he was secretly happy she had essentially guilt tripped him into coming to stay during spring quarter finals. At first, there was no way he would've come during such a typically hectic and crazy time — being halfway through a masters program doesn't leave one with a lot of time — that is, until you blurt out you grandmothers invitation to your academic advisor in a fit of awkward small talk.
'Luca, this is great! This is the perfect opportunity to field test your techniques outside of a university setting," his advisor said, giddy and meaning well, of course. 'Don't worry about the deadline — you're already ahead of the curve.'
He set the letter down in front of him again, feeling under his chair again for the familiar rough plastic of his camera and telescope cases. It was still there. Obviously.
"Here — the dining cart had Baiocchi," Giulia, best friend and fellow cohort member, set a small bag and cup of coffee in front of him as she plopped back into her seat, already snacking on her own treat.
Thanking her, Luca opened the bag and began munching on the shortbread cookies, enjoying the smooth hazelnut and cacao cream.
"Did you remember to say your hail marys?" Giulia asked. "And, is your equipment still where you left it?"
She was clearly enjoying this brutal line of jokes.
"It's 'Silenzio, Bruno' — and yes...I just checked," Luca muttered, willing himself not to reflexively check for his stuff again. Instead, he opted for throwing a cookie at her in protest.
"Where did that even come from?" Giulia asked, picking up the cookie where it had landed on the table and popping it into her mouth. "Genuinely — I'm interested!"
"I dunno," Luca paused. "I've been saying it since I was a kid."
That much he knew — but he's not even sure when he had started saying it as a kid. But, Bruno stood for every intrusive thought or inkling of anxiety that told him he couldn't do it. It was always a mantra said in three and it seemed to work out pretty well for him as a kid who grew up scared of a lot of things.
Funny enough, 'Silenzio, Bruno' brought Giulia and Luca together back in grade school. He had been muttering it between chattering teeth as his toes curled anxiously at the edge of the diving board at his local pool. When he did eventually take the plunge, Giulia was there at the pool latter asking the same question — voice stuffed up by over-nose goggles. Bruno brought these two underdogs together — the overly anxious space nerd and the wild red-head misfit on a crusade against evil empires of injustice.
Giulia just have a short 'huh' and quirk of the eyebrow before pulling her phone out to take a picture of the passing scenery.
Luca popped another cooking in his mouth.
[Luca —> Alberto]
No matter how many times Alberto conquered Portorosso's largest hill, it always left him red-faced and out of breath; once he caught his breath he'd finish up here and work his way down through town. Pulling his bike and the attached cart off the path, Alberto set out towards a nearby overlook.
Up here the sea breeze was cool and refreshing, free from the fishy smell of the docks. Taking a swig from his water bottle, Alberto decided to stretch a little before continuing. Working in a flower shop can be surprisingly good for you: lifting heavy deliveries, going to nurseries and loading pallets of soil for the houseplants, biking up the hill. All of it helped broaden him out, despite him still hanging on to a swimmers build from summers spent lifeguarding.
Alberto closed his eyes and breathed in the salty air. With a breath out he opened his eyes. Off on the horizon, his eyes landed on the island across from him.
From here, all he could make out was a structure — he remembered Massimo mentioning a decommissioned lighthouse during a fishing story from his past life that Alberto managed to pull from him during a lull in foot-traffic.
Another breeze blew past him and goosebumps prickled across his skin as it cooled the sweat on his body. He shivered.
"Silenzio, Bruno," Alberto muttered under his breath, unable to pull his gaze away.
He blinked.
The feeling was gone.
"Just a few more deliveries — Paguro and the station — just a few more, then it'll be dinner," Alberto said to himself, griping the breaks, coming to a smooth stop before dismounting.
Opening the back of his covered cart, he double checked the clipboard to confirm he had the right place and order.
Sunflowers.
'Really?' Clearly the universe had SOMETHING to say on the subject.
Setting that aside, Alberto brought the order to the front door and knocked, turning to leave.
"Mi scusi, giovanotto," an older women, Signora Paguro, called.
"Buonasera, Signora Paguro," he gave an easy smile to the older woman. "I've brought your flower order. Was there anything else I could help you with?"
"My back isn't what is used to be," she smiled sheepishly. "Would you be a dear and bring these in for me?"
Alberto nodded and grabbed the sunflowers, following her into the quaint apartment. It was cozy — fitting for a sweet old woman. Photos lined the walls, likely her grandchildren and family.
She motioned towards a round kitchen table that took up considerably more of the room than it should've; Alberto set the vase in its center atop a vibrant table runner. As he busied himself with ensuring it was centered and facing the best direction, Signora Paguro rummaged in a kitchen cupboard before procuring a small yellow bag.
"Here — these are my grandsons favorite," she said as Alberto took the cookie.
Satisfied that he seemed to be enjoying it, she wondered off towards an open set of doors that let out to a balcony. Curious, Alberto Followed.
"I figure I should return the last vase. Normally I just leave these in the return crate since you're so close — but while you're here," she trailed off, holding the vase out of Alberto to take. Curiosity peaked, Alberto stepped out onto the balcony and looked out to see the central plaza below. And, just as she had mentioned, across from them was "Massimo's."
"Vi ringrazio tanto, Signora," he thanked her. She smiled, taking a seat at the small patio set on the balcony. Sensing the exchange was done, Alberto excused himself and made for his final deliver, the train station.
It took him only a few minutes to arrive, his cart considerably lighter now.
As he approached and brought his cart around the side onto the lone platform, the station's groundskeeper walked out to greet him. As they spoke, the crackle of the P.A. drew his attention away and he was only half-listening to the rest of what the groundskeeper was saying.
"Attenzione, signore e signori, il treno da Genova è in arrivo."
After shaking the groundskeeper's hand, Alberto began to unload the hanging flower baskets from his cart. Meanwhile, the groundskeeper went about lowering the hooks the old flower baskets hung from using rope and pullies scattered along the station's back wall. Alberto followed shortly swapping out the old for the fresh — the green and purples complimenting the worn, chipped paint of the station nicely.
Halfway though, the P.A. crackled to life again.
"Attenzione, signore e signori, sta arrivando il treno da Genova. Per favore, stai indietro dalla piattaforma."
From where he stood, Alberto could see the train as it pulled in. Smoke billowed as the brakes screeched in an effort to bring the train to a smooth stop. He had only ever been on the train once in his life: he was in grade school then on an overnight trip to Genova — the memory was a little foggy now.
Soon, people began to disembark; it was a small crowd, but enough people that he and the groundskeeper decided to take a small break to let the passengers clear the platform. From his back pocket, Alberto grabbed his phone and began mindlessly scrolling until a burst of bright red caught his attention.
Bounding down the stairs came a young, red-headed woman wearing a faded, blue beanie. Clearly she was excited to be off the train and exclaimed so with a large stretch and yawn before turning back to the train coach. Interest peaked, Alberto keeps watching.
A young man with medium-length, swept-back curls descended after her, lugging two — one large, one small — musical instrument-looking cases with him.
Unable to look away from the two, a few hairs rose on the back of Alberto's neck. In a crowd of muddled greys and browns, the two stuck-out like a couple of sore thumbs.
"Attenzione, signore e signori, il treno sta per partire," the P.A. broke through once again. Si prega di lasciare la piattaforma."
Suddenly the platform filled with smoke as the train and the crowd of passengers began to move away. Pocketing his phone, Alberto's attention was drawn away from the two as the groundskeeper called out to ask if he was ready to resume their work. Taking one more glance over his shoulder, Alberto noticed the two were gone.
'What is WITH today....'