Work Text:
The festival air was charged with life, vibrating with an almost intoxicating mixture of aromas and sounds that seemed to envelop everything. It felt dense, warm, almost electric, as if the entire world had been contained in that illuminated field. The smell of burnt cotton candy floated insistently in the atmosphere, mixing with the smoke from food stalls that crackled under the vendors' hands, and with the natural fragrance of wildflowers that grew, without asking permission, at the edges of the dirt path. Every so often, a gentle breeze brought with it the perfume of basil and freshly baked bread, mingling with the sticky sweetness of artisanal candies. Everything seemed designed to make me feel inside a dream.
The festival lights weren't just decorative: they were alive, pulsing, as if breathing alongside us. The mechanical rides spun in the distance, projecting flashes like crazed fireflies that painted the night with deep blues, vibrant reds and trembling golds. Each lantern, each garland, each flickering bulb seemed to hang directly from the sky, imitating stars that had descended for just one night to watch us. The music played distant but persistent, like a constant heartbeat emerging from the festival's core: a cheerful rhythm that made the ground tremble beneath our feet, filtering through the laughter, hushed conversations and the creaking of mechanical games.
But amid all that charming chaos—that symphony of sensations so alive and effervescent—only one thing was real to me. Only one. Alexander.
He was by my side.
Not as an echo from the past. Not as an illusion built in my head during lonely nights in my "exile." He was there, tangible, close, with his hand intertwined with mine as if we'd never let go, as if these days of distance hadn't counted. His touch was warm, firm, almost reverent, as if he were afraid of breaking the moment if he loosened up even a little. And I didn't want it to break either. I didn't want anything to change. If I could have stopped time, I would have done it right there, in that suspended instant where the world spun around us, but we had stopped.
I couldn't believe it. Not after the weeks when every word and action seemed to have sharp edges. I had been dancing around absence, trying to avoid the pain, prisoner of pride and fear. And now... now he was here. By my side. As if he'd always belonged to this space.
I looked at him, and felt the air become denser, more intimate. His smile still had that almost absurd power to disarm me inside. It was soft, serene, unhurried. As if he'd been saving it for me for weeks. His eyes, bathed in the amber glow of the hanging lights, seemed clearer, more expressive, and looking at them I felt something inside me soften, like a knot finally beginning to loosen. They were eyes that knew my secrets, that had seen me in my most ridiculous and cruelest moments, and that still, kept choosing me.
Everything about him seemed to shine with its own light. The way he ran his free hand through his hair, the slight furrow of his brows when he looked at me as if he had something important to say, but didn't know how. His presence, now so close, seemed to occupy an immense space, as if the universe were reminding me that there were things that simply couldn't be ignored.
There was so much I wanted to tell him. So many words that had accumulated in my chest during these days full of doubts and silences. But for now, this was enough. Having him next to me, feeling his hand in mine, seeing how his smile barely curved when our gazes crossed amid the bustle. We didn't need to talk yet. Sometimes, shared silence said much more.
And there we were, in the middle of the festival, surrounded by lights, laughter and noise, but inhabiting a corner apart from time. One that was only ours.
At the beginning of the evening, when my father took the main stage and the crowd congregated in front of him to hear his songs, I never would have suspected I'd end up here: kissing Alexander in front of half the town, in front of all my acquaintances, hugging him as if the mistakes of recent weeks didn't exist. Before getting here, I was at home, alone and with my stomach tight for reasons I didn't fully understand then, thinking it would be a sad and flavorless night. And yet, hours later, I was there: with him. With Alexander. In the middle of everyone. With his body against mine, with his lips on mine as if we'd never grown apart. I didn't deserve it. I knew it. Not after how I'd treated him, all the harsh words I said without thinking, all the silences full of indifference I let grow between us. Not after having pushed him away as if he were the problem, when in reality the problem was always me. And yet... there we were.
My face found refuge in the hollow between his chin and his shoulder, a corner I already knew, that had always been synonymous with peace, and I breathed deeply his scent, the one that never completely left my memory: vanilla and cinnamon. He always smelled like that. And that smell, so his, calmed me more than I could explain. It was as if with each breath I could gradually extinguish the fire of guilt consuming me inside. His heart beat strongly against my chest, firm, alive, constant, and that rhythm anchored me to reality. It reminded me that this wasn't another of those dreams that left me trembling upon waking, with my heart shattered and the sheets cold as an absence. No, this time it wasn't a nocturnal illusion. This time it was true.
He nestled closer against me, as if he didn't want to let me go either, and I swear I felt the brush of his lips on my hair, just for an instant, so light it could have been imagination. But it wasn't. Not this time. It was real. I felt it. And that gesture, so small and so intimate, ignited something inside me. A warm, electric tingle that spread from my stomach to my fingertips, like silent proof that the moment was real, that what was happening wasn't a trick of my mind.
He was here. With me. He was mine. Or perhaps—and the idea hit me gently, like a truth that had always been there—I was his. Because if I thought about it, if I dared to look back, from the first day I saw him cross the classroom door, with his confident smile, with those brown eyes full of untold stories, something inside me had yielded. I surrendered, without knowing it. I gave myself over. I became trapped in his world without resistance.
My arms slid around his with urgency, with an almost desperate need, as if by holding him I could ensure he wouldn't vanish. I hugged him with a strength I couldn't disguise, that betrayed a deep, irrational but very real fear: the fear of losing him again. Because I had lost him before. I had let him go. I had watched him walk away, and I had let him do it, I was the guilty one.
I squeezed him harder, as if with that embrace I could repair everything. As if I could convince him—and convince myself—that we still had a chance. That we could save ourselves. One of my hands freed itself to intertwine our fingers, seeking in that gesture a certainty, and that's when I felt it: a tremor. Barely perceptible, but there it was. A slight tremor in his fingers, a minimal vibration I could only notice because of how close we were. Was it nervousness? Was it emotion? Was it fear, like mine? Or did he also feel that this moment, though real, was so fragile, so valuable, that a whisper would be enough to break it?
His skin was warm against mine, like a silent promise that not everything was lost. Like a living presence telling me we were still in time. It was an anchor amid the chaos of emotions swirling in my chest. But I knew we couldn't stay like this forever, as much as I wished it, as much as that embrace gave me a respite from the weight I carried inside. There were words to say. Many. Things that had been trapped between us, wounds that couldn't close on their own, that needed to be faced before they healed crookedly. And yet, every word I thought to speak felt like a risk. As if talking could break the delicate peace of that instant. As if my voice were too clumsy to say what I really needed to express.
I needed to understand. I needed to know why, after all the pain I'd caused him, after having rejected him in such a cruel way. Why, instead of looking at me with anger, reproach or disdain, was he looking at me with those eyes so full of tenderness? How could he do it? How could he offer me so much sweetness, when I could barely forgive myself?
When the crowd began to disperse after my father's last chord, I pulled back just enough to look into his eyes. His eyes—those brown eyes that seemed to read me like an open book, as if they knew every corner of me before I even understood it—met mine, and the air escaped from my lungs as if someone had punched me in the stomach. I stayed still, trapped in that instant. There was something in them, something beyond the simple reflection of the festival lights or the soft blinking of the hanging lanterns surrounding us. It was... understanding. An understanding that didn't come from explanations or apologies, but from having watched me in my worst moments and having decided to stay. Forgiveness. A silent, unconditional forgiveness, offered without me having to ask for it. And something deeper, something that burned my chest just trying to decipher it. Love, perhaps. But I still didn't dare put a name to it. Because if I was wrong, if that word wasn't the right one, the risk of breaking what we had was too great.
—Do you want to walk a bit?—I asked, trying to sound casual, but feeling the tremor that slipped into my voice despite my efforts. I squeezed his hand harder, as if in that simple contact I could hold myself, anchor myself, or perhaps transmit everything that was eating away at me inside and that I didn't know how to say aloud.
The smile he gave me in response made the world stop for an instant. I'm not exaggerating. Everything went silent. Everything slowed down. A small, calm smile, but capable of disarming me just by existing. Back then I didn't understand why I couldn't stop looking at him, why his gestures seemed fascinating, hypnotic to me. Now, seeing him smile like that again, I understood that from the beginning I had been falling. Without brakes.
—Of course—he responded, and the simple brush of his thumb caressing my knuckles ignited an electric current that ran through me entirely. Nothing more was needed. That minimal caress, so discreet and contained, contained everything. Everything I needed. Everything that for weeks I had searched for without finding.
We made our way through the crowd, moving between couples still dancing, children running between laughs, neighbors toasting with paper cups. And as we did, we stumbled into each other in that tacit game, that small ritual of touches and glances that belonged only to us. Muffled laughter, smiles that found us without seeking them. As if we were rediscovering the joy of being close.
Just as we reached the edges of the square, where the lights became dimmer and the bustle transformed into a soft murmur, I saw them. Our group of friends. There they were, gathered by one of the picnic tables, sharing that small universe we'd built together, with laughter, secrets, complicities. Seeing them was like looking at a photo you didn't know how much you'd missed until you saw it again.
Matteo and Zoe shared a cone of popcorn, their heads together in a natural gesture that said more than any declaration. That everyday intimacy born of true love, the kind that no longer needs grand demonstrations. Zoe laughed at something he'd just said, with their fingers intertwined on the old wood of the table, as if they were roots clinging to the ground.
A bit further, Lukas gestured with that overflowing enthusiasm so characteristic of him. His hands moved as if telling a story on their own, and Lore watched him with a mixture of skepticism and amusement. She feigned indifference, of course. But the smile that escaped her lips, that gleam in her eyes, gave her away. She cared. It showed. Maybe even more than she herself was willing to admit.
And then, my eyes met Valerie's, causing time to stop. Her green eyes, always so transparent, so impossible to hide, fixed on mine with an intensity that left me speechless. I couldn't hold her gaze for more than a few seconds. The guilt returned, swift and cruel, as if it had been waiting for this moment to attack. I had hurt her. And not just for kissing Alexander now, but for everything that had happened before. For how I'd ignored what she felt. For having left her carrying my senseless contradictions and finally using her, as if her pain had no weight.
And yet, there she was. Without anger. Without resentment. Just... looking at me. Waiting. Waiting not for me, but for what I was going to do with Alexander. And in her gaze there was something I never expected: encouragement. As if she were telling me without saying it: "Go on, make him your boyfriend." And that gesture, that look so generous, broke me a little inside.
I didn't know how to react. There were no words that could mend what I broke. Not yet.
And then, as if she could hear the whirlwind of thoughts inside my head, she smiled. Not just a polite smile, not one that hid the wound, but a real one. A warm one. The same as always. It was a silent forgiveness. A "don't worry, I'm okay." An "I understand, and I'm still here."
A knot I didn't know I had slowly undid in my throat. I nodded with a barely perceptible gesture, trying to convey with that minimal nod of my head everything I owed her, everything I was willing to rebuild between us. She seemed to understand. With a soft movement, she turned to the others and rejoined the conversation as if it had never stopped, as if she were leaving me that space to keep walking, to move forward.
I have to talk to her tomorrow, I promised myself. I promised not to keep leaving words unsaid.
Alexander gently tugged on my hand. I turned to him. His eyes were still there. Fixed on me.
—Everything okay?—he murmured. His voice was a warm whisper, barely audible, but so close to my ear that it made my skin prickle.
I nodded. I squeezed him tightly, as if with that gesture I could tell him everything at once.
—Yes. More than okay.
We ventured into the open field that stretched just behind the food stalls, gradually moving away from the festival's center, where the music, intertwined voices and sounds of collective joy began to fade until they became distant murmurs. With each step, the bustle became fainter, replaced by the landscape's tranquility: the slight crunch of grass under our feet, the subtle song of some cricket hidden in the brush, and the soft night breeze that brought with it the fresh aroma of freshly cut grass, mixed with the sweet and wild perfume of flowers growing on the forest's periphery, among disordered roots and shy bushes.
It was a corner apart from the world, a bubble suspended in time. We walked unhurried, as if we were prolonging that instant, savoring it. The silence that settled between us wasn't uncomfortable or forced; it was a silence full of meaning, that spoke for itself. We were two pieces fitting back together.
I glanced at him sideways, almost afraid of breaking the magic if I looked at him head-on, but unable to resist. His profile silhouetted against the dancing lights of the carousel seemed taken from an impossible postcard. The golden and pink flashes from the merry-go-round played delicately over his face, touching his dark lashes, caressing the curve of his upper lip and that tiny dimple in his chin that had always provoked in me an absurd need to brush it with my fingers.
Everything about him was a cruel reminder of how much I'd missed him. He was so beautiful it hurt. And not just on the outside—though that was undeniable—but inside. He had a big young heart that shouldn't fit in his chest, a tenderness that disarmed, a smile so luminous it could make you forget any storm. And, somehow inexplicably, he wanted to be with me. After everything. After everything that happened. That idea seemed as impossible as it was perfect.
—Had you been to a festival like this before?—I asked in a low voice, as if speaking louder would break the delicate balance of what we were experiencing. I swung our intertwined hands gently, paying attention to the contrast between the rough texture of his fingers, hardened by years of guitar strings, and the smooth surface of my palm.
He shook his head, distracted, while plucking a blade of grass with his free fingers, as if he needed something to do to not put all his attention on me.
—Like this? No—he responded after a brief pause—. The ones in Brussels are more... I don't know, urban. Everything feels more contained, more closed in. Lots of people packed together, stalls with fluorescent lights, electronic music that pounds in your chest until you forget who you are.—He made a broad gesture with his arm, as if wanting to encompass the entire landscape before us: the tall trees swaying in the wind, the lights twinkling like fireflies over the field, the laughter arriving in soft waves from the distance—. This is... different. It has something. It's special. Almost magical.
—Magical?—I repeated with a mocking smile, unable to help laughing under my breath at how cheesy it sounded coming from his mouth. But I wasn't saying it to bother him, but because it endeared me how honest he was when he wasn't trying to seem "cool."
He shrugged with a casual expression, though the blush beginning to appear on his cheeks gave him away. Still, he couldn't contain his smile.
—Well, maybe I'm being dramatic—he admitted—. Or maybe I just feel this way because... you're here. And that changes everything. Makes it better. Makes it magical, yes.
My heart gave such a violent lurch I was sure he could feel it through our hands' contact. Damn incorrigible romantic. How was it possible that, even now, after everything that had happened between us, he still knew exactly what to say to disarm me, to leave me breathless, defenseless?
—Shit...—I sighed, with a smile that escaped before I could avoid it. I stopped for a second to observe him better—. I'm glad you came. Really. You make me happy—I added in a low voice, as if revealing a secret I still found hard to fully believe. I looked at our hands, so intertwined, so secure, as if in them could be read the past, present and future—. Your dad said you were sick. I thought that...
The color rose quickly up his neck to reach the tips of his ears, and his gaze urgently diverted to some random stone on the ground, as if it had suddenly become the most fascinating object in the universe.
—I lied—he confessed, kicking the air with a clumsy and somewhat childish gesture—. I wasn't sick. I just... wasn't sure I wanted to come. I thought that if I saw you—he swallowed, struggling against his own words—I wouldn't know what to do. Or what to say to you.
And all the weight of my guilt fell back on me like a slab. The reality of what I did to him stuck in without anesthesia, causing every apology I could now think of to sound insufficient. Alexander looked at me then, silent, with that intensity of his that seemed to scrutinize me to the bone, searching for something between the cracks of my phrases, trying to read between the lines. The night wind played with his curls, tangling them capriciously, and the festival lights—soft, twinkling—painted coppery flashes in his hair, as if the universe insisted on reminding me how hopelessly beautiful he was, even in this tense moment.
—The truth is... I know everything that happened was difficult for you—he finally murmured, his voice barely more than a tremulous thread between the whisper of leaves—, but it wasn't easy for me either.
His fingers squeezed mine with new urgency, as if the contact were the only thing preventing him from shattering into a thousand pieces. He lowered his gaze for an instant, as if remembering hurt.
—Every day you passed by me in the hallways without even seeing me, every time you pretended nothing happened, that we hadn't been... that, every message you didn't answer—his voice broke, as if the words cut inside him—I thought you really had stopped caring about me. That it was never real for you.
The pain he carried filtered through his tone with a rawness that left me breathless. Like a dagger slowly inserted between the ribs.
I wanted to tell him no, never, that everything I felt was as real as what they were sharing right now, intact, despite time and difficulties. But the truth crushed me with its weight. I had done that. I hurt him, pushed him away. I hated myself for it.
—I was a coward—I finally confessed, my voice rasping from accumulated guilt. My thumbs caressed his knuckles, trying to memorize every corner of his skin as if that could redeem me—. I was so scared... Afraid that if I looked at you, if I talked to you, if I admitted everything, I couldn't keep pretending. I wanted to protect myself, and in the process, I hurt you. That's what hurts me most.
A wrinkle of confusion furrowed his brow, making his face—so familiar, so beautiful—look vulnerable.
—Pretending what, Eli? What were you trying to hide?
—That you didn't matter to me, that none of this mattered—the confession came out barely as a whisper—. But it was a lie. It always was.
I lowered my gaze, but kept talking, the words coming out faster now.
—I pretended you were just someone else in the crowd, when in reality... seeing you even from the corner of my eye felt different. Super different. Because you... you make me feel weird things, nice things.
I stopped, searching for the right words.
—You make me super nervous but at the same time... I don't know, you make me feel more alive, understand? Like everything is more intense when you're around.
Alexander exhaled sharply, a sound full of release. As if he finally understood something that had been stuck between the two of them for a long time. His hands rose to my face and framed it with a warmth that burned my skin, but also anchored me to reality.
—Silly—he murmured, but his voice was imbued with a tenderness that made me shiver—. Did you really think that pretending nothing happened was better than this? You were just trying to cover the sun with your finger.
—I know—I closed my eyes, feeling how shame colored my face—. But I talked to my grandfather. He told me many things, and he was right about something. He said that sometimes I think too much and feel too little. That I rationalize everything to avoid feeling, just out of fear of I don't know... the world, maybe.
—Maybe he's somewhat right, Eli—his voice became even softer, his fingers touched my cheek with a delicacy that left me breathless—. You feel too much, and it's very beautiful. The problem is that scares you, or well, it used to scare you, and it's that, what others think doesn't matter, only you matter and what you want, I for example, I care about you.
I opened my eyes. I met his smile. That smile that had pulled me out of darker pits than I dared to admit. How was it possible that he, with everything he'd suffered, could still see me with that clarity, with that love?
—And now what, Alex?—I asked with a thread of voice—. You forgave me... or so I think.
—Yes, Eli, of course I forgave you—he said, as if there was nothing more obvious in the world.
—But... why?—I insisted, feeling something inside me crack—. I was a coward. I was cruel. I betrayed you. I lied. I treated you like you were nothing. I even said I wished I'd never met you... How can you even look at me?
Tears began to roll down my cheeks without me being able to stop them. Alexander pulled his hand from mine and, for a second, I feared he was pulling away. But instantly he surrounded me with his arms, in that precise, secure way of his, and pulled me to his chest. I took refuge there, curling up, seeking in his embrace the absolution I couldn't give myself.
—I don't deserve you—I murmured, broken—. I feel like I don't deserve anything.
Alexander rested his forehead against mine and, with his other hand, held my face as if I were made of glass.
—Don't say that...
—I'm so sorry—I managed to articulate, broken—. What happened at Valerie's party... everything that happened after... you don't know how much I've thought about it, how much I regret it.
His face softened again. He seemed hurt, yes, but not angry. As if he were waiting, really listening. He said nothing. He let me talk.
—I've been an idiot, Alex. I pretended that what happened between us didn't exist. That I didn't care. That it was never real. Because I was scared. I didn't understand what I felt for you, and that infuriated me. Made me feel weak, confused, and... I took it out on you.
I hated myself for it.
—I could have talked to you—I murmured, trembling—. But I preferred to close myself off, hide. I pushed you away. I said horrible things to you. And now... I can barely breathe.
I couldn't continue. The tears fell without stopping and my words dissolved into crying.
—It wasn't true—I added, with my voice shattered, while my tears fell to the grass—. Nothing I said was true.
I looked up for just a second. His face was full of contained emotion.
—I don't want you to go to Brussels. I don't want you to disappear from my life. I want... I want you to stay with me forever. Here. Because now I know what I feel. And I can say it...
My voice broke, my chest burned. It was as if all the sorrow, all the pain of weeks, finally exploded.
—I...
I couldn't continue. But then, without warning, I felt his warmth enveloping me. His arms surrounding me with strength, with love. His chest against mine, beating fast.
—Elias—he whispered.
I opened my eyes.
He was there.
And everything fit.
And in that embrace, in that absolute surrender, I allowed myself to fall. Because I knew he would hold me.
—I understand—Alex whispered with a quiet voice, almost like a warm breath against my ear—. I understand, really. You're safe now. I've got you.
I felt the brush of his hand on my nape, his fingers sliding slowly through my hair as if each strand deserved his attention. His lips brushed my temple with a tenderness that left me breathless, and a shiver ran down my spine. If I thought I'd already completely melted, in that instant I discovered myself yielding even more, undoing in his embrace.
A new sob crossed through me without resistance, dry but deep, escaping from the deepest part of me. Finally, I let myself fall into him, wrapping my arms around his waist. I didn't do it with desperation or force; I simply needed to be there, needed to know he was still real, tangible, present.
—But I don't understand...—I murmured with a broken, weak voice—. How can you forgive me so easily? After everything that happened...
Alexander pulled back just enough to look at me. His eyes fixed on mine, so attentive, so alive, that I felt completely exposed. He raised a hand and, with an almost reverential delicacy, began to dry my tears one by one with his fingertips. Then he pressed our foreheads together, and I closed my eyes, holding my breath, as if that gesture were enough to sustain me.
—Let's say I had a conversation with someone recently, that opened my eyes... It helped me see things clearly—he began with unusual confidence, his voice soft but firm, loaded with conviction—. It made me realize something, and it's that I've been exactly in the same place where you are now. I know what it feels like. All that chaos inside, all that fear. I've already lived it.
I pulled back a little, surprised, seeking his gaze. His eyes, warm and dark, met mine with such immense sweetness that it broke me a little more, but at the same time comforted me like nothing else could have.
—Before I told you I'd been hurt—he continued, without looking away from mine—. But the truth is I wasn't innocent either, I made mistakes. Many. I was selfish, clumsy... a complete idiot. And still, I learned. Or at least I try to. I remember when I told you, that first time, that falling in love was the best feeling in the world. And I still believe it. But I also learned that love is much more than that... Love is madness. Shit... it's absolute madness. And sometimes it hurts. It hurts much more than anyone warns you about.
He paused, lowering his gaze for a second before continuing, as if he needed to gather strength to dig into his past.
—And when I say it's madness, I mean it. It makes you say silly things. Act without thinking. Hurt people without meaning to. When I fell in love with Arthur... I was scared too. I was barely twelve years old and it was the first time I felt something like that.
He stopped for a moment, remembering.
—I guess I accepted it faster than others, because I always knew I was different. But still, feeling all that at once, with no one to explain it to me, without knowing how to handle it... it was very difficult.
He took my hands in his, looking at them as if they were something fragile, almost sacred. His expression became serious, completely devoted.
—It's a lot, Elias. I know.
I wanted to respond. I opened my mouth, but no words came out. I could only look at him, completely surrendered to everything he was saying.
He pulled back a bit more, turning his body to observe the lights surrounding us. The colorful garlands vibrated softly, tinkling as if they were part of the air, and rainbow reflections danced on his skin and hair.
—I came tonight because I got fed up—he said, without looking at me—. I got tired of being angry with you. I realized what was really happening to you and... I forced myself to remember how I felt before. That confusion, that loneliness. The feeling of being a hopeless mess, and besides... I care about you so much.
His voice trembled for an instant. He lowered his gaze, distractedly playing with the watch on his wrist. The breeze tousled his hair, and I had to contain the impulse to smooth every strand.
—I was pacing around my room after Dad and Ella left. Thinking whether I should leave too. Whether it made sense to come here. Whether I'd find you, and if I did... what the hell I'd say to you. I looked at our chat, opened your message. The one that said: "I hope we can see each other again." I read it once. Then again. And something inside me clicked.
He laughed softly, almost to himself.
—I ran out. Without thinking, without a bike, without my money. Nothing. As if destiny were pushing me. I walked through the crowd and heard your father singing. And I knew I had to follow that voice. I don't know why. But I let myself be carried. And then I saw you—he said finally, turning back to me—. I saw you. And for an instant, everything made sense.
I was left breathless. I opened my eyes wide, unable to contain my smile. Remembering that moment, that miracle.
Alexander came closer again. This time he did it carefully, calmly, until our faces were so close I could feel the warmth of his breath brushing my lips. His gaze became intense, hypnotic.
—And you looked at me—he continued—. And I knew. I read everything in your eyes. Every word you didn't say and you're telling me now: "I'm sorry. Forgive me. I was an idiot. I'm afraid you hate me"—he enumerated with his fingers, one by one. I looked at him open-mouthed.
His hands sought my face, wrapping it with devastating tenderness. His thumbs brushed my cheeks as if afraid of breaking me, but at the same time as if he couldn't resist touching me.
—And in that instant...—he continued—I forgave you. Without thinking. Because I saw you. You showed up. You were there. And I knew.
He brought his hand to his forehead and closed his eyes, letting out a long, satisfied sigh, as if he'd just dropped a weight he'd been carrying too long.
—We'll always find our way back to each other—he opened his eyes, meeting mine again—. We'll overcome anything, Elias. Because if this isn't love... then what is?
My heart gave such a strong lurch it almost hurt. I blinked several times, feeling tears forming again, though now they were different. They weren't from guilt or fear, but from relief. From joy. I let out a choked laugh, not knowing how to contain everything I was feeling. He was a damn poet, I knew it. He always said exactly what I needed to hear, as if he could piece me together with his words. I caressed him, sliding my hands over his face. His skin was soft, warm. Shit... he was so handsome. So incredibly beautiful I could hardly believe he was here, with me.
He leaned into my touch, his chocolate-colored eyes full of a tenderness that split me in two.
—I hate you...—I said jokingly, laughing while squeezing his cheeks—. I was going to say that first.
Alexander let out a laugh, pushing me away with an amused expression.
—You already did—he responded, raising an eyebrow—. With your little eyes.
I rolled my eyes, laughing, and pushed him again, with no real intention of pushing him away.
—Oh my God, shut up! You're the cheesiest guy I've ever met!—I shouted, blushing to my ears.
He laughed hard, a clear and sincere laugh that made me tremble inside. He pulled me to him, taking me by the arms. I let myself fall against him, resting my head on his chest. My fingers clung to his shirt, feeling the muscles of his torso beneath the fabric. Heat rose to my face. The butterflies in my stomach were uncontrollable. He buried his face in my neck again. His warm breath made me shiver again. He held me with the certainty of someone who has already decided to stay.
—Come on... say it—he whispered. His voice had a note of vulnerability I'd never heard from him. That alone was enough for my chest to tighten hard. I knew how important it was.
His hands kept traveling down my back slowly. Then I felt a kiss. Slow. Long. On my neck. His hair brushed my skin, tickling me. I wanted to disappear. Or explode. Or both. But I knew I couldn't keep it to myself anymore. He deserved to hear it.
I swallowed with difficulty. My hands gripped his shirt tighter, as if anchoring me to this moment.
—Alexander...—I whispered, as if his name were a spell—. I love you.
It was barely a breath, a whisper so soft the wind could have carried it away. But he heard it.
He raised his head, and our eyes met. In his there was so much emotion I felt weak. A smile slowly drew on his face while his gaze shone with an unrepeatable tenderness. He leaned toward me and his lips landed on mine, brief, accurate, eternal.
—I love you too, Elias—he whispered, with a certainty that disarmed me.
I let out a slight gasp, barely audible, a sigh that dissolved in the air just as Alexander's lips found mine again. His mouth claimed me with devastating softness, and my entire body melted instantly under the heat of that kiss. I felt how my hands moved without thinking, rising to his face to frame it with tenderness, as if by touching him I could ensure that all this was real. I hadn't realized how much I'd longed to kiss him again. How much it hurt me not to have done it before. Now that I had him in front of me, now that his lips were against mine, I couldn't imagine anything more important than this.
His hoarse laugh vibrated against my mouth when he pulled me even closer to him, his fingers tangling in my hair with trembling delicacy. Kissing him was like breathing again, like reminding myself I was still alive. We moved together in perfect synchrony, our mouths seeking each other with slow urgency, as if we wanted to stay in that instant forever. The kiss wasn't hurried or wild. It was sweet, intimate, a mute promise, a pact sealed through the most tender contact.
I had to pull away, just a little, because I was smiling so much my lips could no longer keep the rhythm. I felt so light, so absurdly happy, that I thought at any moment I could burst out laughing or start crying. Or both. I probably looked like an idiot, blushed and euphoric, but I didn't care at all. Because he looked at me as if he couldn't take his eyes off me. As if the ridiculous were beautiful.
—I can't believe you're real—I said, half laughing, and pushed him gently, though my hands stayed clutched to his cheeks as if I didn't want to let him go completely.
Alexander let out a laugh, that laugh of his loaded with an almost insulting confidence, the same one that could make me roll my eyes and, at the same time, disarm me inside.
—You're not the first to tell me that—he responded with a half smile, exaggeratedly satisfied with himself. I rolled my eyes, mocking his boastfulness, but I didn't pull away. We stayed like that for a few more seconds, looking at each other in silence. Without words, but saying everything. With looks, with minimal gestures. I don't know how to explain it completely well; it was as if I understood it instinctively, as if something inside me vibrated at the same frequency as him. What he'd said before, what he'd confessed to me... now I understood it. I also listened without need for words.
Alexander rested his forehead against mine, lowering his voice a bit, as if that moment only belonged to us.
—So...—he murmured, almost uncertain for the first time—Elias, do you want to be my boyfriend?
I felt my chest tighten suddenly, but not from fear. From certainty. From something that was already decided even before he asked. I smiled, unable to contain it, and nodded enthusiastically.
—Yes—I said, laughing—. Yes, obviously yes.
His smile widened immediately, proud and luminous, as if he'd just won something he'd been waiting for a long time, and he hugged me without leaving room for doubt.
But then:
—Hey, lovebirds!
The shout cut through the moment like a stone thrown into water, creating ripples that pulled us out of our bubble. I turned immediately, recognizing the voice without needing to think. Zoe was on the other side of the field, waving her arm like crazy while holding Matteo's hand. Her smile was one of those that told you she was happy for you, but that she wasn't going to pass up the opportunity to tease you a little too.
—Are you going to stay there making out until they kick you out or are you coming to eat something hot like the rest of us?—she shouted, clearly amused—. Come before everything gets cold!
Before I could articulate a single word in response, Alexander had already positioned himself at my side as if it were his natural place—which it was—and without saying anything more he intertwined his hand with mine. He glanced at me with that expression of his that announced mischief. His lips curved into a crooked smile, and in that instant I knew he was about to drop one of his lines.
—No, we're good! I already have something hot to eat right here!—he shouted, raising our joined hands as if he'd just won first prize at some carnival game. His tone was so shameless, so absolutely brazen, that for a moment I froze.
Zoe let out a laugh so loud she almost doubled over. Matteo brought his hand to his face as if he couldn't believe what he'd just heard.
It took me a few seconds. A few damn seconds to process what he'd just said.
—Alexander, what the hell did you just say?!—I shouted, my face on fire, already running after him. But the idiot was already getting away at full speed, laughing with an open and uncontrolled laugh that made me laugh too, even though I tried to seem outraged.
I ran after him through the illuminated field, the night air filling my lungs, the colored lights spinning in the distance, and the sound of our laughter floating through everything. For a moment, nothing else existed.
And like that, without even realizing the exact moment it happened, everything fell back into place. As if the universe had turned on its axis just to fit together again.
Back with my friends.
Back with Alexander.
Back to my home.
Back to love.