Chapter 4

Four days of classes passed at the end of which Elio could not have repeated a single word the teachers had said. Not that he cared anyway. His thoughts were far away from subjects such as potions and transfiguration. He spent most of his time in the music class room. He couldn't really concentrate on his music, but being around the girls and their cheerful chatter this week just made his head ache.

What he needed now more than ever was silence. A break from everything to clear his head. But that got more difficult with every day that passed. During lunch time he would stare blankly at the teachers' table, where Oliver was sitting, and he would hope, he would wish, that the tall blonde would look at him. Just once at least, so he could feel that strange tingle again. Just to be sure it was still there. But Oliver didn't look his way and Elio was left in the strange state of having scratched at the surface of something incredible, but not having seen enough to be sure it was real, craving for some kind of validation.

By the time art history class arrived, Elio was an emotional mess. He hadn't slept well in days. He was constantly questioning himself. Maybe he had just imagined how good Oliver's hands had felt on his skin. Maybe he had been drunk. Maybe he was idealizing the moment? Questions like these were running through his head when he was finally waiting outside of the classroom. Unsure of whether to go in or not. He could already hear the others laugh and chat inside. But even though he knew there was nothing to be afraid of, something held him back. What exactly he was more scared of he could not say. That it was real or that it was not. What would be worse?

"Are you going to stand there all day or are you going to open the door for me?"

Elio whirled around and there he was.

Oliver.

Standing right in front of him. A huge box in his arms and looking at him expectantly.

"Well?"

"Yes, of course."

Elio hurried to open the door and Oliver quickly squeezed past him, not even giving Elio a chance to make room. For a split second Elio was drowning in the smell of his aftershave and cologne and he was glad he still had one hand on the door handle. Because suddenly the floor beneath his feet was swaying like a boat in the midst of a thunderstorm.

"Alright everyone!" Oliver called out in his usual good-humoured manner as he strode to his desk. "I hope you're all up for some first-hand art experience! Because boy do I have something to show you all."

Elio paused in the middle of the room and watched the others storm to the desk to cast a glance into the box.

"It's just tapestry!"

"What's it for?"

"You'll see, you'll see." Oliver grinned and with a flick of his wand half a dozen rolls of white tapestry flew from the box and wrapped themselves in one long ring around the walls of the room. "Now, watch and wonder!"

And with another silent command of his, the whole room changed in front of their eyes. Elio could hear sounds of amazement from the others, when the tapestry stretched and stretched in every direction, soon covering the walls and the ceiling and even the floor beneath their feet. But while everyone was turning their heads to watch as different colours appeared on the huge canvas, Elio's gaze was fixed on Oliver.

He was standing there as though he was all by himself. His arms apart and his head inclined in concentration as he was transforming the classroom into a real life architectural art work. His lips were moving without sound and his eyes were closed. He looked beautiful. So beautiful that it silenced all the questions in Elio's head and left him filled with nothing else but silent admiration and a new form of longing.

How could he have been so blind? He hadn't disliked Oliver. Not at all. He had only been intimidated by the sheer variety and strength of feelings the blonde provoked in him.

Finally Elio had to look away out of fear that the others would see him staring, because in that moment he felt as though all his feelings were displayed as clearly on his face as was the image of the art Oliver had cast. Elio recognized it faintly as a Chinese pavilion, but he could have never said which artist. He knew nothing about Asian culture. But he knew it looked stunning.

Red poles framed the walls, as if they were standing right in the middle of the pavilion and on the ceiling they could see an amazing spiral of golden ornaments run along the insides of a convincingly real three dimensional roof top. Lampions were hanging from the timbers and spread a discrete orange light. Elio was convinced that if he would just reach out, he could actually touch them. But the most stunning part of the illusion was the garden. While he knew that the posts of the pavilion had to be two dimensional and were part of the class room wall, the mass of green trees, bushes and plants behind them looked so real as though one could just step right out of the class room and into the garden.

Not for the first time Elio asked himself, how someone could create such beauty. What kind of brilliant mind did one had to have to create such an illusion just from memory? Despite its mesmerising beauty and detail, Elio felt his attention slip back to its creator. Oliver was currently surveying his work and the students' reactions with smug satisfaction.

Elio felt a tinge of fear at the sight. What if that was Oliver's thing? Sparking a reaction and then relishing in the fact that he alone had been able to bring it forth?

Elio dropped his gaze to the floor. Planks of dark wood ran beneath his feet and as he shifted his weight, he could hear them screech. So much attention for detail…

"What do you think of it?" Oliver's voice tore him out of his thoughts.

Elio cleared his throat. "It's…it's quite something."

Oliver nodded and looked around. "See the small engraving over there? What do you think it is?"

Elio threw him a side-glance. He was standing so close to him again. So close that he would just have to raise his hand…

"I don't know, maybe the signature of the artist?"

"Wrong." Oliver smirked at him. "It's the logo of the factory that produces thousands of these pavilions every year."

"So it's not even art?"

"Nope."

"Why do you show it to us then? If it's just…an ordinary Chinese pavilion?"

Oliver looked at him and his next words sounded like he was sharing a secret with Elio. "Maybe what is ordinary to them, is art to us."

With that he gave him a wink, before sauntering off to talk to the others.

Elio stared after him, speechless. The gears in his head didn't have to turn for long to come to the right conclusion. So, not only did Oliver remember his arguments from the very first day, he also had an answer to it.

He agreed.

Elio sunk against one of the red poles and watched the blond teacher sell the pavilion as the most important art work of Chinese culture to his classmates. He grinned in bewilderment. If he was playing such a stunt on the others and included only him in it, did that mean Oliver actually liked him? Not just tolerate him as the know-it-all of his class, but did it mean he actually liked him?

Suddenly he felt very nervous. Maybe he was imagining that one too? Maybe his fantasy was just playing tricks on him. Exasperated Elio turned his back to the teacher. Why couldn't Oliver be like one of those art works they were studying in class? Intriguing and beautiful, and easy to figure out.

When it came to art, Elio usually knew from the first moment on what he was feeling. But now…

Elio ran his fingers over the engravings in the wooden pole of the illusionary pavilion. It felt real enough to him.

The last days of September were still surprisingly warm and sunny and so Elio spend as much time outside as he could. The big log by the lake had become his favourite place. Not only gave it a perfect view on the lake, but it was also close enough to the footpath where every morning, like clockwork, Oliver would pass by on his run. Some mornings Elio felt insecure of whether he should show up. Maybe his questionable intentions, namely to catch a glimpse at Oliver outside of the classroom, were too obvious? But in the end he always took his books and went there every morning. Because even though he wouldn't get more than a nod or the occasional "Morning, Perlman" it was totally worth it.

Since Elio had realized that he didn't dislike the art history teacher, but that in fact quite the opposite was the case, every word and every look Oliver directed at him seemed like the best thing that could possibly happen to Elio on that day. While he wasn't surprised about the attraction itself – a blind man could have figured out that Oliver was handsome – Elio was still thrown by the intensity of it.

He had been attracted to others before, both boys and girls. But never had he felt so strong about someone before. This time he actually felt like he wanted to…act on this feeling. Which of course was impossible because not only was Oliver way older than him, he was also his teacher and most important of all – in what world would a man like Oliver want anything from Elio?

Not that those thoughts changed anything, of course. He was watching and staring at Oliver whenever he had the chance, mesmerizing every smile he cast and cherishing every moment of attention he directed at Elio. He was starting to think about Oliver even when he was not around. When he was sitting in other classes, when he was lying in his bed, about to fall asleep, when he woke up, when he composed music. He was starting to become obsessed with the American.

Today was no different. Even though he was sitting in midst of his friends at the lake and was playing the guitar for them, his thoughts circled around Oliver.

He was so immersed in his thoughts and his music that he didn't even notice how the very person he was thinking about, stepped in front of him.

"What are you doing out here?" Amanda asked, immediately sitting up straighter.

"Oh, just the same as you. Enjoying the sun."

The familiar deep voice finally made Elio look up. At the sight of Oliver his fingers slipped from the strings.

He was wearing the first three buttons of his shirt undone, showing more skin than any teacher should be allowed. For a wonderful moment Elio could imagine the sensation of running his fingertips over Oliver's broad chest. Of being so close to him that he could feel him breathe. The thought made his own breath hitch.

"You alright there, Perlman? Don't let me interrupt you."

Elio tore his eyes from where they must have burnt a hole in Oliver's chest and found Oliver looking at him questionably.

"Elio was just showing us something he composed", Marzia said.

"You're composing?" Oliver asked with interest. "Please." He sat down in the grass. "Let's hear it."

Elio gripped the guitar a bit harder. "It's not finished yet."

"Well if it was good enough to show to your friends…"

With everybody looking at him expectantly Elio was left with no other option than to comply.

So he played.

He kept his gaze firmly on Oliver, not wanting to show any signs of weakness. But he found that all the initial tension was unsubstantiated. Oliver wasn't even directly looking at him. Instead he was watching Elio's hands. It should have made Elio even more nervous, but for some reason it calmed him. Being at the centre of Oliver's attention made him feel warmer than sitting in the sun.

Finally the last note faded and Elio dropped his gaze to hide the smile on his face. From the corner of his eyes he could see the others looking at Oliver expectantly and he too waited for what the blonde had to say. But when no response came Elio started to play again, hoping to fill the silence. He chose a different tune this time, a more cheerful one. It was one of his older compositions and so it fell easy from his fingers, without him having to think about the motions. His eyes wandered to Oliver's hand in the grass and to his delight he could see Oliver's finger tapping softly against his ankle.

Elio bit his lip to fight the grin that was threatening to break through. He could hear the others take up their conversations again, but he didn't care. In this moment he was only playing for Oliver. And Oliver was listening. That was all that mattered.

"Will we do some more classes on Asian culture in the next weeks, Oliver?" Amanda asked aloud and Elio's fingers paused on the strings.

"I don't think so, Amanda."

"Why not? It was so interesting!"

"Why don't we discuss that later? Let's listen to Elio for now."

Elio looked up upon hearing Oliver saying his name for the first time and their gazes locked.

"You're not tired of it yet?" He challenged.

"No", Oliver responded with an honest smile on his lips, before he lowered himself to the ground and closed his eyes. "Not at all."

Seeing how Oliver had just outright ignored all the attention seeking glances of the others and instead was waiting for Elio to start playing again, made his stomach flip. Of course he would never admit to the others that Oliver had such an effect on him. But to himself he couldn't lie so easily. And he didn't want to. He enjoyed that warm tingle on his skin that came with Oliver's glances. He enjoyed how the simple matter of Oliver wanting him to play some more music made him feel light and happy. So he kept playing. He kept playing while the sun wandered across the sky and made Oliver's hair reflect the golden rays of sunshine. He kept playing when his friends started a game of exploding snap and cheered each other on. He kept playing after the sun had disappeared behind the castle and his fingertips were hurting so much he would have normally long stopped playing. But just watching Oliver lie in the grass made him push through and so he kept playing and playing, until it was getting dark and the noise of the others leaving made Oliver sit up.

Elio waited while the last accord hung in the air and then put his guitar down.

"You coming, Elio?" Marzia asked.

"Yeah, just give me a second."

Elio walked over to the lake to and dipped his burning fingertips into the cool water. While he waited for the pain to suffice, he watched Oliver over his shoulder, hoping for some kind of response. Some kind of acknowledgement that he had liked it. A few words, a smile at least. But Oliver just nodded at him and then, with his usual "later", he left.

Elio turned back to the water in front of him and shook his head in silent amusement.