* Please do not translate or repost this story.

It has been almost forty years since Oliver had spent the summer in Italy, but as soon as he steps out of his rental car, and he hears the crickets chirping, he feels like his younger self again. For just a moment, he is twenty-four again, just arriving here for the first time, about to meet the Perlmans, Elio…

But he is not twenty-four, and that summer is nothing more than a memory now.

He had spoken to Elio just once since saying goodbye to him at the station, and although there had been a thousand things he had wanted to tell him, he had only told him about his upcoming wedding. Deep down he was hoping that Elio would try to stop him, that he would tell him he was making a mistake. But Elio had done no such thing.

Oliver had gone through with the wedding, and he had started a family with his wife. He had tried his best not to think about that summer anymore, but whenever things got bad, when things got too heavy, he found himself going back in his mind to the one place where he had been truly happy.

He has not been back to Italy since that summer, but after these last eighteen months, he knew he had no other choice but to come back. He knew he had to go back to the place where he had come all those years ago, the place where he had been free, where he had been able to be himself.

But he has seen the footage on the news of people in the hospital, coffins lined up… it had shattered his heart into a thousand little pieces. That summer had been such a long time ago, but those places, those people, they had become a part of him. Watching it all getting ripped to shreds by the virus, it had hurt him in ways he didn't know he could hurt.

But so much more pain had come, just months later. There had been no time to mourn, no time to say goodbye, and he had found himself feeling more lost with every day that went by. And by the time the world had begun to come out of darkness again, Oliver found himself in a world where he no longer belonged. So last night he had packed a bag, and this morning he had flown into Italy.

He had been hoping to find sense again, to find closure perhaps. But as he walks along the path, leading to the place where Elio had brought him, where they had first kissed, a feeling of dread washes over him.

He had always figured that Elio would be living somewhere in the US, or he would move to somewhere like London or Paris. But what if he was here in Italy when the virus started spreading like wildfire? What if it has gotten to him? Or what if, in all these years Oliver has been imagining him living out his dreams somewhere, another virus had gotten to him a long time ago? What if Elio, the beautiful, kind-hearted boy Oliver had met, had died just years after they had said goodbye? What if, when Oliver was teaching his son how to ride a bike, Elio was in the hospital, fighting for his life?

Oliver tries to shake the thoughts, but the last eighteen months have gotten to him, not just physically, but mentally too. The stress, the worrying, the pain, it has aged him, and when he looks in the mirror he struggles to see the man he used to be. But it is the fear, the helplessness, losing his family, the not even being able to say goodbye that has truly gotten to him.

It has been almost forty years, but as soon as he steps off the path, it feels as though he has stepped back in time. He remembers how they had dropped their bikes, how Elio had run down to the water, anxious to show him 'his spot'. Oliver remembers Elio telling him that he used to come here to read, and as he steps down to the water today, there is the faintest spark of hope that maybe, just maybe, he will find the younger man sitting there, reading a book.

No one is there though, so Oliver kicks off his shoes, and he rolls up his jeans, before stepping into the cold water. He makes his way over to the large piece of stone in the water, before sitting down on it, his legs still dangling in the water. The only sounds that can be heard are the trickling of the water, the chirping of the birds, the rustling of the leaves, and for the first time in months, Oliver feels his heartbeat slowing down. He closes his eyes, and he takes a deep breath, trying to take in the peace, the tranquillity of the here and now. After all, this is what he had come for, to go back to the places where he had been happy, even though they have been changed forever now. But deep down, Oliver knows that that is not all he has come for.

Oliver had sat by the water for hours, but in the end he knew he had to face the harsh reality. So he had gone into Crema, somehow still hoping to find it just as he had left it in 1983. But with every step, reality hit him in the face. Shops were boarded up, cafés empty. It hadn't been until he had reached the piazza, and he had seen the shop where he used to buy his newspapers, when he had seen the large clock that he had come to know so well, that over the years he had sometimes found himself mindlessly doodling away on a piece of paper, and it had always turned out as some version of that clock. But seeing that they were still here, it had given Oliver some kind of reassurance that no matter what has happened, no matter what else this town will be put through, it will make its way through. It will still be here, long after everyone here is gone.

In years to come, young lovers will be sat in the piazza, their lives about to change. They will have no idea about the two young men who had sat there, all those years ago, or all the lovers before them. But this town, it will still be here, and it will look at the young lovers, it will watch over them and become a part of them.

Oliver is still thinking about the young lovers, as he makes his way over to the pub where he used to play cards. There is a glimmer of hope in his heart after his visit to the piazza, but when he sees the pub boarded up, when there are no more sounds of men laughing, joking, living life, his heart turns darker again.

It is as though the automatic pilot takes over, and before Oliver knows it, he finds himself standing in front of the villa. He isn't sure why he has come here, because what is the point? Whoever lives here now, they won't let him in, just to take a look around. And even if they did, it would probably only crush him more to see how much the villa has changed too. Still, he can't get himself to walk away. Not yet.

"Hello? Can I help you?"

Oliver jumps up when he hears the man's voice, his mind having wandered off to the first time he had come here. The house had seemed so much bigger, but now it seems smaller, it seems older, more fragile.

"Sorry, I was just…," Oliver begins, as he turns around to apologize to the man. As soon as he sees him, a burning sensation goes through his body. It takes him a second to realize just what he is seeing, but when it hits him, tears start welling up in his eyes. "Elio?"

"Oliver?"

All the color drains from the younger man's face, and he drops his bag, before stepping up to the other man. He brings his hand up to Oliver's face, and he touches it ever so carefully, as if to check if he is real. To check if he is not a ghost.

"Elio," Oliver says, as though repeating it will somehow make the shock go away. But when Elio wraps his arms around him, when he clings onto him for dear life, just as he had done when they had said goodbye, he doesn't hesitate to wrap his arms around him.

"You're here," Elio whispers, bringing the smallest of smiles to Oliver's face, before they finally let go of each other. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm not sure," Oliver admits. "But I've missed you."

Elio gives a small, uncertain nod, before picking up his bag again, and taking out his keys. Without even asking, he opens the gate, and he holds it open for Oliver to follow him in. As they make their way to the house, Oliver can't help but notice how much the place truly has changed. It is obvious that no one has been looking after the yard, and it's so overgrown, that he can't help but wonder if coming back here was a mistake. Because what if the inside has fallen apart too? What if he is about to step into nothing but ruins, and seeing it will stain his memories of when he had spent the summer here?

"Tea or coffee?" Elio asks, as he opens the front door, but Oliver hesitates to follow him in. "Are you okay?"

"Can we sit outside?"

"Sure."

Oliver makes his way through the yard, and a small smile forms on his face when he sees that the trees are the only thing that haven't changed out here. He almost reaches out and grabs an apricot, but he stops himself, because he isn't sure what Elio would think. What the Perlmans would think.

So he sits down on the edge of the small pool, which no longer has any water left in it. But he still remembers lying here, pretending to be reading through his papers, but he hadn't been able to keep his eyes off Elio, who was trying to sleep in his chair. Oliver had found him so beautiful, almost angelic, and there had been hundreds, if not thousands of times where he had caught himself just staring at him, even before Elio had noticed that there was something between them.

"I hope tea is okay," Elio says, as he hands Oliver a chipped and faded mug. He sits down next to Oliver, and even though he looks so much older now, and his hair is going gray, there is something in his eyes, in his mouth, that remind Oliver of the boy he had fallen in love with that summer.

"Do you live here?"

"I guess." Elio shrugs. "I lived in Paris for a while, then Milan, Copenhagen… Paris again." He has a shy, but heartbroken smile on his face, and Oliver has seen it so many times over the last months, that he can already tell what has caused the heartbreak.

"I went wherever my music took me," Elio explains. "But when my mom got sick …"

"The virus?"

"Alzheimer's," Elio sighs. "She had some help out here, but things got bad last year, so I came here, and we decided it'd be best for her to move to a care home. I was still taking care of things when we were put on lockdown."

"And your mom…?"

"She's fine. She doesn't remember much now, but at least she survived."

"Who didn't?" Oliver asks, because he can see Elio's pain. He recognizes it all too well.

"There was this guy in Paris… we ended things before I moved here. But the virus took him. Chiara… Marzia's husband…"

"And Marzia?"

"Her husband was in Spain for work when he got it," Elio explains. "She and the kids moved in with me for a couple of months. They actually left just last week."

"Are they okay?"

"No. None of us are," Elio admits, and Oliver appreciates his honesty, because why bother hiding it? "You're not."

Oliver tries his best not to get choked up, but when the younger man places a hand on his knee, something inside of him breaks, and he can feel the lump inside his throat growing bigger by the second.

"How is your wife? Do you have kids? Grandkids?"

"I had kids," Oliver says, and he feels Elio's grip on his knee tighten. "My youngest was a doctor."

"The virus?"

Oliver nods, still struggling to keep his tears in. But when he looks into Elio's eyes, those same eyes he had looked into when he was just a young man, in what feels like another lifetime, he can't keep his tears in any longer.

"He was out there, fighting to save lives," he whispers, his voice breaking. "And it took him. We didn't even get to say goodbye. We didn't even get to hold a funeral for him…"

"I'm so sorry, Oliver."

"Me too." Oliver nods, as he places his hand on Elio's. Their fingers lock together, and just feeling the younger man's hand in his, knowing that he is truly here with him, it gives him just enough strength to keep going. "My other son didn't take it seriously. He believed it was all a hoax, and it was no worse than the flu. So when he got sick, he ignored it, he didn't go see a doctor… this was just months ago. By then they had a cure, so if he had gone to the hospital…"

Oliver can feel the pain in every fibre of his being, and all he wants to do is scream, or fight. He wants to take it out on someone, anyone, but he knows that there is no point. Besides, he doesn't have the strength to fight anymore. So he simply stares down into the empty pool, as a memory of years before washes over him.

"Elio, Elio, Elio."

"Oliver… I remember everything."

Oliver feels the cold chills, as the words ring in his ears, and when he looks up, he finds Elio staring at him, a sympathetic, understanding look in his eyes.

"How is your dad?"

"He died, a long time ago. My parents moved out here when he got sick," Elio explains, and before Oliver can say something, he asks; "What about your wife?"

"She didn't get sick," Oliver says, before adding. "But in the end I suppose the virus is what killed her too."

Elio knows what Oliver is saying, so he simply squeezes tightly into Oliver's hand, having run out of things to say to someone after they have lost their loved ones. Because he has used every word, every line hundreds of times, and his words have started to feel meaningless. But Oliver knows that he cares, and it means more to him than he can even put into words.

The two men had stayed outside until night had fallen, but they both know that the moment can't last forever. So Elio gets up, and he grabs their empty mugs.

"Are you staying for dinner?"

"I should go. I still have to find a hotel, so…"

"A hotel?" Elio asks. "There is plenty of room here. You can stay as long as you want."

"I really appreciate it, but…," Oliver begins, but how can he explain to Elio that he is scared to go inside, scared of what he might find?

"It's not good enough for you? You're used to better these days?" Elio teases, and for the first time in a long time, Oliver feels himself warming up inside. He had felt so alone in the world, so lost, so confused even, but Elio inviting him, treating him like it's only been days since they have said goodbye, it makes him feel like maybe he still does have a place in this world.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. Now come on, you can help me cook."

The men had had a couple of wines after dinner, but the silence had grown uncomfortable, and it had gotten more and more obvious that they were virtual strangers now. It has been almost forty years, and they had only spent a matter of weeks together all those years ago. So what do they have in common now? What do they have to talk about, besides their hurt, besides their loss?

It had become uncomfortable, so Oliver had mentioned how tired he was. Elio had wanted to show him upstairs, but the house still looked exactly as it had looked in 1983, with the exception of some newer items. But the feel, even the smell was still the same. So Oliver had made his way up the stairs, and he had found his way into the bathroom he and Elio had shared. And after a long shower, he had decided to have a final cigarette before bed.

But he had found Elio on the balcony, and he had almost gone to bed instead. But Elio had already spotted him, so he had joined him, and as Oliver's hands touched the railing, it had sent nervous shivers through his body.

"Do you remember…?"

"'I'll see you at midnight'?" Elio asks, a shy smile on his face. "Of course."

"I am so sorry, Elio."

"For what?"

"For leaving things the way I did."

"You got married, Oliver. You had a family… you have nothing to be sorry for."

"I hurt you," Oliver says, and Elio nods, not even denying it. "Do you know why I came back here?"

Elio shrugs, and for just a moment, he looks like the seventeen-year old boy again.

"I am lost, Elio. I have nothing left, except for this," Oliver tries to explain. "I'm not talking about you, or us, I'm talking about these places. I was happy here, and I have never felt like that again. Not that I haven't been happy, but…"

"I know," Elio interrupts him, and Oliver wonders if he is just trying to get him to stop talking. But when he looks into his eyes, he realizes that Elio truly understands what he is trying to say.

"I came here to find myself again," Oliver explains. "I had no idea that I would find you here. But you have no idea how happy I am that I have. Just seeing you again…"

"You were the first person I truly loved, Oliver, and a part of me will always love you. But you chose to get married, and don't get me wrong, I am not angry with you, I don't hate you for it. But you don't know what that did to me. So please don't do this again, because I know you will leave again, that you're just saying this because you're hurting, so I am asking you, please don't. I can be your friend, I want to be your friend, but I can't do this. Not again."

Oliver hadn't been able to sleep, because knowing that he had hurt Elio, not just when he had left him, but last night too, it had made him want to get up and tell him everything he has been keeping inside for almost forty years. But he had stayed in bed, and only when the sun had started to rise, had he gotten up. He had gotten showered, before heading out to pick up his car where he had left it the day before.

But when he comes back, he finds Elio in the kitchen, doing the dishes from the night before.

"Let me help you with that."

"I thought you had left."

"I was just picking up my car," Oliver explains, as he grabs a towel, and starts drying off the dishes. "But if you want me to go…"

"I don't," Elio says, before turning to face the other man. "But what I said last night…"

"I wasn't going to marry her, you know?" Oliver blurts out, interrupting the other man. "The week before the wedding, I told my parents about you. About us."

"Why?"

"Because I was in love with you." Oliver shrugs. "Because I wanted them to stop me from marrying her… but they just told me to keep it quiet, like other men."

"Did your wife know?"

"I think so. This one time I suggested we take the kids to Italy for the summer, and the way she looked at me… she must have known. But she never said anything."

"Why are you telling me this, Oliver?"

"Because I have spent forty years trying to forget about you," Oliver admits. "I had a wife, kids… I had everything I had ever wanted, but I knew my heart was with you. It still is, Elio. When I saw you yesterday…"

"What about me, huh?" Elio asks. "Have you even thought about what it's like for me to have you showing up after all this time?"

"Elio…"

"No, Oliver. I loved you! And I have spent years searching for what we had, in so many people that I have lost track of their names, their faces… Knowing that I was never going to have what we had again, it made me feel like shit. I could have had what you had, I could have had a partner, a family… but you ruined that for me. You left me, feeling like…"

"I know," Oliver quickly says. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come back here."

"Then go. Leave. That's what you're good at."

It kills Oliver to hear the bitterness in Elio's voice, but he knows that part of it is just hurt, caused by what he had done to him when he had left him, and part of it is Elio trying to protect himself. So Oliver can't blame anyone but himself.

But before he leaves the kitchen, he turns around.

"What I just said to you, I did not tell you that because I'm hurting, Elio. I told you because I should have told you years ago."

"Because you wanted me to know?"

Oliver knows that he is being offered a chance here, and he could turn and leave now, or he can take it, and hope that he can make it up to Elio. That he can show him that he will not hurt him again.

"Because I wanted you to know."

Elio steps up to Oliver, and he falls into his arms, not holding back, and as Oliver wraps his arms around him, he can feel him starting to sob, the tears staining the front of his shirt.

"I miss you, Elio.

"I miss you, too."

The two men have spent most of the morning lying in the sun, sometimes dozing off, sometimes letting their hands caress each other's arm. They had only been the smallest of touches, but it had been enough for Oliver to feel a part of himself coming back to life again. But in the end they knew they had to eat something, so they had gotten up and gone back into the house.

Oliver has just finished making the salad, when Elio sets down a glass in front of him. It has been years, but the smell is enough to bring a grin to Oliver's face.

"Is this…"

"Apricot juice."

"I tried buying some when I got home, but it's nothing like this," Oliver says, before pointing at the glass. "May I?"

"Of course," Elio laughs, already taking out one of the bottles of home-made juice of the fridge to fill Oliver's glass back up.

"I ehm… I went to Crema yesterday."

"It feels different, doesn't it?" Elio sighs. "All these people I've known all my life… they're all gone."

"I know we had it bad, but I saw how bad it was out here, and I just… I know I probably have no right to speak, because it was only the one summer that I spent here, but these places, they get to you, you know? They felt like a part of me, and seeing what was happening…"

"I don't think the world is ever going to be the same again," Elio admits. "Every single family here has been touched by it. Some families have been wiped out entirely," he says, before realizing what he has just said. "Shit, I am so sorry, Oliver, I…"

"Have you been back to Bergamo?"

"I wanted to, but I'm scared of what I'll find."

"We should go together some day. Pay our respects."

"I'd like that." Elio nods, not even trying to hide how the last eighteen months have gotten to him. But he doesn't have to hide it, because Oliver understands. "Does this mean you're staying?"

"I have nothing to go back to," Oliver says, before realizing what it sounds like. "What all of this has taught me is that you never know how much time you have left. And I want to spend the rest of my time with you, Elio. Whether it's days, months, years… I want to be here, with you. As I should have been."