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It’s their last day in Venice before leaving for Athens, and they’re walking towards Palazzo Ducale, as close to one another as possible, their shoulders practically glued together as they always are. But when their hands brush, instead of ignoring it like he usually would and pretending it’s accidentally, Tom grabs Peter’s hand. It’s risky, though there is nobody else around, and he doesn’t dare look up, scared of how Peter might be looking at him. But Peter squeezes his hand and doesn’t let go, a silent promise to Tom. Relief washes over him. He wasn’t sure if his interpretation of Peter’s longing glances had been correct, if the slight touches meant the same to Peter as they did to him. In this very moment he doesn’t know why he ever worried about it. Because it’s Peter. Good, trusting, magnificent Peter, who would never so much as harm a fly. Thoughts of Dickie start to creep back into his head, the touches, the stares, the blood splattered all over the boat, but he pushes it away, tries to focus on Peter, right here, right now. His grounding presence, the hand holding him in place where he is meant to be. He finally looks up, and Peter is already looking, as he most always is, smiling at him, bright and beautiful. He could make even the darkest basement flood with light. Tom thinks he might just let him. The thought makes him stop in his tracks, letting the hand slip out of his.
“I don’t think I have ever felt how I feel when I’m around you. Not with anyone.” he whispers into the quiet streets of Venice. It’s true. Dickie, Marge, his supposed friends in New York, they all mean nothing compared to Peter. A quiet sob breaks out of his throat. Peter must have interpreted it as sadness, looks at him with those frowned brows before pulling him in. It’s not sadness. It’s hope. Hope for a brighter future, a hope for Peter’s light to shine on him for the rest of his life. A silent prayer. He pulls Peter even tighter, scared to let go and float away, slip away into the nothingness he was surrounded by for so many years. He feels soft lips in his hair, not for the first time but so much more important than before. “What did I do to deserve you.”
Peter pulls away, taken aback by his words. “What do you mean, deserve you ?” He looks hurt, confused. Tom looks away. “It’s just- I’m not deserving of your kindness. You would agree if you knew all that I’ve done.” Peter takes a step back, but sees the panic in Tom’s eyes as he looks up again and puts a hand on his shoulder to reassure him. “You are not a bad person. The past is the past, and we can only move forward from it.” He pauses. “The basement can stay shut, if you need it to.” Tom looks down at the ground, can’t look at Peter when uttering the next words. “I’m nothing you could love. A nobody, trying to pretend he is good enough for you. I-” He is cut off by Peter’s hands on his cheeks, his lips on his. A slight panic comes over him, quickly replaced by pure bliss. Before he gets the chance to kiss him back, Peter’s lips are gone, hands cradling his face. “Tom Ripley is not a nobody. That is the last thing you are.” Tom wants to kiss him again, wants to kiss him senseless, but there are people walking past the small street they’re in and he cannot risk them being seen. Peter notices them too, takes his hands off of Tom’s face. He misses the warmth instantly.
“Do you want to go back to my place?” Peter asks, eyes glittering and hopeful. All thoughts of the museum have long been abandoned. Tom doesn’t respond, just grins and tugs on Peter’s arm, going back the way they just came. Home.
—
They miss the boat. Tom feels guilty, but Peter assures him it’s fine, there will be other boats and the concert is in four days. “I will miss some rehearsals I suppose, but it’s not as if I actually need them.” he chuckles. “Not as much as I need to be with you.” he mumbles into Tom’s hair. Tom can only smile, feels himself getting flustered, and burrows his cheek into Peter’s warm chest. His Peter, his beautiful Peter. One day the basement might flood with light. But for now he is content, the past in the past. Peter’s presence, this moment, is all that matters for now.