I would happily live in those days for eternity. Those intoxicating days when he was always around, and there was always an overhanging sense of potential. That we were on the verge of something so overwhelming that we dared not approach it directly, instead looping towards the edge then away to safety, then back towards the edge again. That delicious feeling of slowly getting to know someone without really knowing anything about them at all was like wading into the warm sea, not yet at risk from the rip tide further out, but heading for it with such inevitability that one didn't even bother donning a lifejacket as there was no chance of escape. In that heady space, the entire world seemed to sing and every task was joyous. Editing that convoluted argument in chapter three? Bliss, if he was on the deckchair nearby. Yet more archiving for Dr Perlman? Nothing better, if I could hear him playing the piano in the room next door. Writing all those tedious letters back to America, applying for research grants, dealing with administration for my New York apartment, reporting to my overbearing parents that yes, everything was progressing nicely thank you – nothing was a chore, provided I could perceive his presence with any one of my senses.

On one of the days during this phase, I had been lying on the grass with a book near the lunch table while Elio sat under the trees, plucking at his guitar. One strand of melody particularly moved me, so I asked him to play it again. Oddly, he replied that he thought I hated Bach. Whatever had given him that idea? Puzzled, I repeated my request. He hesitated briefly, then jumped up and walked off towards the house. Just as I began to wonder how I could possibly have upset him this time, he called back for me to follow him. Intrigued, I did. He sat down at the piano, and upon my entering the room he played the piece again. Differently, though. This was not the tender melody I'd heard before but something more energetic, yet also more precise. I asked if he'd changed it, to which he replied "A little bit… I just played it the way Liszt would have played it if he'd altered Bach's version." I preferred the version I'd heard before. I indicated towards the spot where we had been sitting outside. "Just play that again." He feigned not to know what I meant, but after a bit of back and forth between us he thundered into a dramatic rendition of the same tune, with yet another entirely different feeling than before. Exasperated, I told him I couldn't believe he had changed it again. He just laughed at me, but as I pretended to leave the room in irritation, I heard him finally begin to play the same warm yet shy melody that had stirred me so out on the grass. This. This was all I asked. To have him play for me, teasing me while showing off his undeniable skill. I moved to sit on a couch behind him. This was flirting as I'd never experienced it before, intellectual yet playful and tailor-made for just us two, no tired old manoeuvres here. It aroused me far more than any number of knowing winks or arms over the shoulders in the back of a movie theatre ever could have done.

A day or two later, having received welcome and honest feedback on my text from Dr Perlman, I was lying on the edge of the pool revisiting a chapter that I recalled being proud of having written. I couldn't work out why, because today it came across to me as pompous gibberish. Elio was sunbathing on a deckchair on the other side of the pool, in his miracle skin that stayed so smooth and pale despite being baked all day under the bright blue sky. I called out to him to listen to what I'd written. I knew he would tell me honestly whether it was perceptive brilliance or self-important nonsense. He said he couldn't hear me from over there and slowly climbed up out of the chair to make his way over to stand at my feet. After I read out a passage that I found particularly opaque, he carefully leaned over me to reach for my pages, and, upon reading them, said softly that perhaps they had made sense when I'd written them.

It was not his words, but his manner, that for some reason moved me deeply. I replied that that was the kindest thing anyone had said to me in months. There was a pause. As he replied, questioningly, "kind?" it dawned on me, as if out of nowhere, that there was something going on here that I was unprepared for. I did not merely like this boy. I was smitten by him. "Yep, kind." I felt blood rush to my face, to my heart, to my cock. Unable to bear it, and not wanting him to see it, I rolled over and let myself fall into the pool with a splash, absconding into the depths of the cool water as if I could hide from my feelings there forever. Get over it Oliver. You're twenty-four years old and you're here to advance your career, not to seduce your host's teenage son.

I avoided him that afternoon, pretending I had to rush off to meet the translator in Crema. I felt like I was in a small rudderless boat on a river in flood, experiencing an exhilarating ride right now but heading for the edge of the waterfall which would surely hurl me against the rocks below to be dashed to smithereens. The stronger the exhilaration, the worse it would be when it was all crushed, as surely it would be. I wanted all of him, or none at all. For him, whatever was brewing between us was probably just fun and games, but for me it was more, much more. I had to take back control.

That evening all the young people in town were heading to an outdoor dance party, us included. A perfect opportunity to pull out a classic feint and put everyone off the scent. At the party I spied the volleyball girl whose name I couldn't remember. Sure enough, after I smiled at her when she made her first advances she clung to me like a limpet. Couldn't be any easier. "Chiara" she reminded me, not seeming offended by the fact that I'd forgotten. The dancefloor was already busy when we got there, and when Chiara took my hand and pulled me towards it I didn't resist. Elio stayed back and took a seat at a table with some friends, cigarette in hand. I wondered what he was thinking. I swore I could feel his eyes on me, but perhaps that was only because I wanted them to be.

As Chiara and I danced, the music took over and could feel myself begin to loosen up. A slower song came on. She put her hands around my waist. It was nice to have someone touch me in that way for the first time in a long time - warm, soothing. Not having intended for my ruse to go that far though, I kept my hands by my side at first, dancing awkwardly. This wouldn't do, I'd just look weird and draw attention to myself. I gave up and put my arms around the little girl, our bodies closely moving together to the beat, our faces almost touching. If I shut my eyes it could be anyone holding me. I could sense she wanted to kiss me and I let it happen. I had to admit it, it felt good to be intimate with someone, anyone, after the last few weeks of unfulfilled yearning. Finally, I felt rather than heard the music change to something faster. I let go of her as it hit me that it was my favourite song they were playing. Now I really lost myself in the music. As I let my inhibitions go I forgot all about Chiara, all about the act that I had planned to pull off, even forgot about him for that brief spell as rhythm and melody combined to make my body writhe in ways that felt out of my control. Something in the lyrics spoke to me. I follow where my heart goes.

When the song ended, fading into some other pop melody, I came back to reality. Looking around, I saw that Elio was dancing with that same pretty girl with the long dark hair that I'd seen coming down the stairs on my first day here, and who had massaged his shoulders on my instructions. He was obviously enjoying himself immensely. An unwelcome feeling of rejection stabbed me – how unreasonable, to feel hurt that he was dancing with some girl when I had been doing exactly the same thing to him just minutes earlier. This was hopeless. I moved to the edge of the dancefloor, hoping to slip away when no-one was looking. "Hey." I turned. It was Chiara, her eyes gleaming under the lights. She slipped her arm through mine. "Want to get an ice cream?" she asked. Well why not? Later that night, having escorted Chiara home and pretended not to notice her unsubtle indications that I could accompany her all the way to her bed if I liked, I made my way to my secret spot and stayed there until late, mulling over the day's events. I didn't want to go back to the house. What if he brought that girl home? I didn't want to hear them through the walls. Better not to know. I stayed there until the early hours of the next morning before eventually padding my way into the silent villa.

The next morning I felt like I was ninety. More sleep needed. I probably looked ninety too. Elio, on the other hand, was chipper and upbeat. Must be the glow of someone who had made love and then fallen asleep wrapped in the arms of someone whispering sweet nothings into his ear. Bastard. Still, I couldn't believe my ears when he announced to his father and I, loudly and with something resembling pride, that he had almost done 'it' with Marzia last night. I felt myself tense up as I tried my best to appear indifferent. Why? Why why why would he say that? Was this revenge for my dancing with Chiara last night? Was this to show that he had worked out my interest in him and this was the best way he could think of to finally prove to me that he wasn't that way inclined? Was he trying to make me jealous? Or was he actually completely indifferent to me and I had imagined everything that I thought I had felt between us? What kind of a family was this where the son could say such a thing straight to his father's face? I pulled out my usual repertoire of glib responses, hoping that I'd done an adequate job of hiding my true thoughts.

Thankfully Dr Perlman came to my rescue by inviting me to join him to see his latest archaeological discovery at Lake Garda. Elio requested to come too. He made everything so difficult. Why didn't he just go off and smooch with Marzia all day and let me be? I squeezed in an hour or so on my thesis while Samuel made final preparations for the day. Just as we were about to leave, who should show up but Chiara? Instinctively I played the game and acted all flirty with her in front of Elio. How he could spur me to carry on so childishly, I didn't know. But as we stood beside the car after she'd left, waiting for Elio's father, his attempt at man-to-man talk about her great body suddenly made me feel very weary. It struck me that he probably had assumed I'd spent the night with her before sneaking home late. I felt another wave of fatigue wash over me. I was thoroughly sick of this stupid game-playing. No more. I was done with it. If Elio wanted to make me jealous then let him, and if he didn't, well then there was even less to be gained by leading poor Chiara on.

I hated the tension between us as we sat squeezed into the tiny car. Thankfully Samuel invited me with my lanky frame to sit in the front since he would drive us himself today, and as we drove through the heavenly Italian countryside I felt the tightness in me slowly dissipate. Today would be a good day. I was in a beautiful country on a warm summer's day, with experts in my field of interest, about to see a relic that had only just been brought to light. Unrequited love did not have to be at the forefront of my mind.

When we reached the ruins at the lake edge, Dr Perlman introduced me and Elio to an associate of his who was his collaborator on this project. I couldn't help but smile when the man tousled Elio's hair and commented on how much he'd grown. The four of us headed towards Lake Garda, the two professors talking animatedly about the recent find. Their enthusiasm was infectious, and when Samuel handed me the loose arm of the ancient bronze statue they had discovered, I felt honoured and somewhere awestruck that this perfectly sculpted body part was so ancient, yet so true to life as I knew it. I was running my fingers along it in reverence when I heard Elio speak to me. "Tregua?" he asked, his hand stretched out towards me. A truce? I smiled as I looked him directly in the eyes for the first time in a while and saw no sign of guile. In better spirits now, I reached the arm out for him to take its hand, and we shook, grinning at one another.

Having admired the rest of the statue that was brought up out of the lake before our very eyes, we all went for a swim before leaving for home. Friends again in our mercurial manner, Elio and I splashed each other with joie de vivre and when he shouted my name before trying to dunk me I felt that things had fallen back to how they should be in the world. Nevertheless, in the car on the way home I pondered in silence, my mood slipping once again as I analysed and re-analysed the situation I was in. Maybe Elio simply didn't know what he wanted. I, on the other hand, knew exactly what I wanted. I also knew that it was wrong, and what the consequences would be if anyone found out.