So, you know, thought I'd write something summery to combat this miserable wintery snow and cold D:

It was sweltering heat, that I remember the most. Sweltering heat and an unbearably blue sky, dark and unending, stretching to the horizon and beyond. The shadows of the city were defined and sharp, black against the sandy colour of the bricks that made it up.

The air, I suppose, could have been called sweet, the smell of something lovely was wafting around, and there was a bird singing somewhere. In a tree perhaps, perched on someone's balcony. It was a lovely day, by anyone's standards, except for the sweat soaking through my shirt, strands of my hair sticking to my face despite my efforts to remove them.

I was loitering, that was all. I had nowhere to go, no one needed me at that point in time, and I knew that if I stayed in it would destroy me. So here I was. Leaning against a wall, in the shadows that were too cold, because standing in the sun proved too torturous.

It was mid afternoon, and that was the reason everything was so quiet. Everyone was asleep, forced into the coolness of their bedrooms by the unbearable heat. They would resurface when the sun was beginning to set, reopen their shops, force small talk and disguise it as pleasant conversation.

Not me, though. I wouldn't sleep, I preferred the quiet. Sure, every now and again I would hear the rumble of a car, but other than that it was just me and that bird, singing its indelible song, a melody that returns to me every know and again. I do not really know why I remember it so well.

I heard your footsteps before I saw you. They were slow, you were dragging your feet, perhaps distracted by something. At first I was ready to dismiss you as a passerby, returning home to sleep. But then, as I could tell you were nearing the entrance to the alley I was situated in, for no real reason, you stopped. And a smile quirked onto my face before I could help myself.

Your hair was shining in the sun, it looked red, matching the blush on your cheeks. Whether that was from the heat, or from something else, I will never know. I didn't know then, and I don't know now, I never asked. There was an odd little curl that stood up from your head, and your eyes were the most peculiar shade of green, the exact colour of the olives I sometimes stole from the market when the stall owner wasn't looking.

Your hands were shoved into your pockets, your head down as you walked, but you were peering up through your hair at me, looking at my ridiculous grin. You looked perplexed, as if you couldn't figure out how I was able to function in normal society. You straightened up a bit, shifting your weight from one foot to the other.

I felt like we were in limbo, two blindingly awake rebels in this sleeping city.

I didn't know your reasons for being up and about. But, you were, and so was I, grinning at you like it was going out of fashion.

You cleared your throat, looking at me with suspicion. "Um. Hi." You weren't from around here; your accent was different. You were Italian, I could tell, and that impressed me to no end.

"Hello." I pushed away from the wall, taking a few steps forward. You took a step back. You really were suspicious, and it made me laugh. "There's no need to be so worried. I'm not gonna hurt you." I thrust my hand towards you. "I'm Antonio."

You didn't shake my hand, but you nodded. "Lovino." Your accent was lovely, so much more elegant than my own. And you didn't even have to try.

Jealousy was creeping up through my veins, despite my placid smile.

There was silence for a few moments, until you suddenly dug around in your pocket for something. It was a piece of paper, wrinkled, torn a little. "Um, I don't suppose you know where this is, do you?"

I took the paper from you, peering at the writing, trying to recognise the address. Eventually it registered. "Yeah. It's a bit complicated…I'll take you there, if you want."

To the surprise of both of us, you smile. "Thanks."

The weeks passed, and I saw you every day. Sometimes it was by accident, I would be walking past as you left the little flat you were renting. Sometimes I'd see you at the other end of the supermarket aisle specialising in tomato sauces. And sometimes I'd see you on purpose, and persuade you to come with me to have a cup of coffee.

You were a conundrum, I quickly realised. There were days when you were perfectly happy, calm, funny. And then there were days when you would scowl at me without ever stopping. It made me laugh, and that made you scowl more.

I quickly found that you knew you were making me laugh so much, and that you liked it. I realised I started to yearn for your presence. You made me feel so carefree, so able to be myself, despite the fact that you had long gotten over your awkwardness and started calling me a bastard at every opportunity. You could swear like a sailor. My mother used to say that to my father when I was little.

I think that your anger was conscious, you had this façade and you knew you were being rude and obnoxious. It was a shield, perhaps, from who you really were, a person I had glimpsed briefly when we first met, and you had smiled, your eyes void of anger.

The summer was ending, and you were still living in my town. Despite your reluctance to admit it, you were now my best friend, and I spend every minute I could with you. I found myself thinking about you all the time, you were always on my mind, because you fascinated me, you made me want to look after you and fill your head with sweet ideas of the two of us and take you to my family's farm in the middle of the countryside.

I was aware that you were leaving, heading back to your home country.

But I wanted more time, more time to get to know you, more time to make you laugh and smile, because you didn't do it often enough.

The night before you were due to leave, I took you out to the best restaurant I could find, to make sure you were aware of what Spanish food you were going to be missing. As the evening progressed, and we both drank more wine, your scowl disappeared, and a smile worked its way onto your face, and you told me, through your slightly inebriated state, that you were going to miss me very much.

And I told you the same, I told you that you'd made my summer, you'd made me glad to live here, just because you lived a few streets away.

And you'd blushed, and embarrassed, you'd avoided my eyes for a while, until dinner was done with, the bill was paid, and we were wandering through the quiet streets, our hands awkwardly shoved in our pockets.

We reached your apartment, and neither of us quite knew what you were doing when you took my hand and pulled me inside, saying you would make me coffee, claiming that Italians made it best.

I sat down on your sofa, laughing, looking around at all the boxes of your precious belongings. You were ready to leave, and it saddened me to think such things.

You returned after a few moments, two mugs of coffee in hand, and you sat mine down on the table in front of us. You took your place next to me, and for a few moments you blew on your drink, too hot, and I stared down at my hands.

We both started to speak at the same time, and there was a moment of awkward smiles and slightly blushing from us both. I let you speak, and when you did you fumbled over your words, and the sound of you placing your mug down on the coffee table seemed very loud to me.

The rest was awkward, nervous, but it was so full of affection and I couldn't stop smiling and when I eventually fell into sleep, with you in my arms, I was still smiling, still in a state of disbelief and awe.

The next day, when you returned to Italy, you had an obnoxious Spaniard in tow, and neither of us could stop grinning.

What did you think? I'd love to know ^_^

thanks for reading!

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