Alberto's POV:

Massimo's attic was a broiler, heady with the smell of our sweat.

We lie there beneath the scratchy old army blanket, entangled - no clue as to where you stopped or I began. In my body -this fleshy, human body- was a feeling of just relief . Like a warm, cresting tide - washing over me, in and out, in and out, over and over.

"Do you think anyone heard us," he sighs against my throat.

"Us? No. You? Oh, most definitely."

He giggles and presses his lips to my collarbone. I shiver, arms tightening around his nakedness as I kiss his forehead.

It finally happened. After two miserable summers of knees brushing together, of fingers "accidentally" overlapping in the clammy darkness of a movie theater only to stay right where they were, of barely-masked, barely contained flirting. Boiling and boiling, building up pressure, gaining speed… until it all came to an explosive head less than 30 minutes ago in this very cobweb-strewn attic.

Now, in the candle's guttering light, we're both so sweaty that I'm amazed we're not fish monsters. Maybe sweat doesn't count because it's, like… part of us? Or something? I dunno… the rules can be confusing at times.

"You're shivering. Are you cold?"

"N-no," he sighs. "I think it's, like… adrenaline? It almost feels like that time we accidentally drank an entire pot of Massimo's espresso because we thought it was Giulia's hot cocoa."

"Oh?" I chuckle, remembering.

"Yeah. It's like… I can feel all the blood coursing through my veins. I'm tired but at the same time I'm super awake and present in my body."

My interest is piqued. "Does it feel good?"

"Yeah," comes his breathy reply as he trembles freely in my arms. "Really, really good actually."

At this, I feel an immense welling of possibly undeserved pride. Just to be on the safe side, I wriggle an arm free of his waist and bring the heavy army blankets up, snugging them tightly around him.

"You're so damn skinny. Don't they feed you at that stupid school of yours?"

"I love you."

It's said so suddenly, so unprompted. At first it doesn't register. I must have made a weird face because when I look down, his big brown eyes are wide and scared like a kicked puppy.

I blink. "W-what?"

He bites down on an already chapped bottom lip, seeming at a loss for courage. Swallowing audibly, he pushes up from his resting place in the nape of my neck. "I said… I love you." Straddling my hips, he arches his freckled back like a fanning cobra, nothing but seriousness in his eyes as he leans in to brush the tip of his nose to mine. "I love you , Alberto Scorfano."

My hands slip free of the blanket, climbing to find his cheeks in the candlelight, pulling him down, down, down… until his lips are crushed against mine. A grip, a roll of the hips and in one fluid gesture he's pinned beneath me. I can feel his wrists flex in my grip, his belly rising to kiss mine as he arches, a submissive sigh slipping from his lips.

"Boyo… you have… no idea… how badly I've needed to hear you say that."

I think a part of me had always known that I wanted him - that I needed him. That he was the real reason why I'd broken a knuckle punching a tree last summer - not because Portorosso had lost the series cup to Cagliari like I told Massimo on the ride over to l'ospedale - but rather, it was because I knew he was going to leave me again, and I just couldn't do it anymore.

After having denied it for so long, in that bleach-scented room with the long uncomfortable benches waiting for il dottore with Massimo, I was finally able to admit to myself why it had gotten so difficult to see the two of them off at the train station each summer's end. It was because each time I had to watch him leave, it felt like he was taking a part of me with him. Each time he left, it got more and more difficult to care about fish or eating or even being awake with that massive crater crumbling away in the middle of my chest.

"Marry me."

His eyes go wide as his lips form a long horizontal line. "Scusi?"

"You heard me. Marry me. Right now."

That gets a chuckle. "It's two o'clock in the morning!"

"And?"

"And… we're barely old enough."

"So?"

"So…" he scratches the back of his neck, grinning and arching with a yawn. "Raincheck." He pulls me back down against him until we're once again cocooned in ratty old army blanket. Tangled up in each other. Warm. "You never answered me when I told you that I loved you."

"Hmm… didn't I though?"

He growls against my ear. "No. You either have to say it back to me, or you have to leave cab fare on the dresser. Those are the rules."

"Well then..." I snug him tightly against me, leaving a trail of feathery kisses along his throat, terminating at his ear. "... I love you, Luca Paguro."

He smiles, our lips meet, and at some point the early morning bled away to the roundness of sleep. We wouldn't wake up again until the sizzle of Massimo's blueberry-cornbread pancakes wafted up through the rafters from the downstairs kitchen.

And wouldn't ya know it… when I finally did come to, there it was - that piece of me that always seemed to disappear at the end of every summer. It was resting right there against my chest - like it had been there the whole time, just waiting for me to find it.