my fav chapter so far
hope you like it loves
xoxo
10
Will You Burn with Me, Signor?
There are two boys.
But they are not together anymore.
The younger brother is in Rome, sitting in his bedroom, lying on the same bed he once shared with his brother. It is not nighttime. It is still light out and, at times like this, he is having his piano lesson. Or his history lesson. Or his painting lesson. But he has refused to leave his room. The maids have brought him a meal that he has not eaten, though his stomach grumbles. He knows, in the back of his mind, that his brother would be upset with him for not eating or leaving his room, but he cannot find the will to leave. He can only sit in bed and cry because his brother is gone and he cannot understand why. He tried asking his father, after being ripped away screaming while his brother cried his name on the passing train. Why did my brother have to leave? He did not receive an answer and still does not know why his brother had to leave.
There is a knock on his door, but his voice is hidden in his sobs. He is only six years old.
Nonno comes into the room. The younger brother does not mind if it's Nonno. He loves Nonno, and knows that Nonno will not make him cry more. Nonno sits on the bed and cradles him in his arms, kissing his forehead and saying kind things. The boy asks again why his brother had to leave.
"He has to go explore," Nonno says.
The boy asks why they cannot explore together.
"Because you must explore different things," Nonno says.
He does not tell the boy that, in reality, the only reason they cannot explore together is because Papá does not want them to explore together. The boy does not feel comforted and continues to cry. He wants to paint another picture and send it to his brother, who for all he knows is still on a train to a mysterious land that he will never see.
"How about this?" Nonno says. "Why don't you and I, every day, send him a letter telling him about our adventures?"
The boy stops crying, a smile spreading across his face as he imagines himself writing into words everything that he does, every adventure he has, everything he sees and all the music he hears, for his brother.
"And then he can write to us, too."
The younger of the two brothers agrees, hugging his Nonno as strongly as he can with his little arms, and from that day forward they write letters addressed to a little villa in Sicily. The boys' father does not know about the letters.
"And how about this?" Nonno says again. "Why don't you and I take a train to visit him every month?"
The boy begins to cry again, but out of happiness. He feels relieved that he will be able to see his brother again, that their separation is not forever. He cannot wait until he can feel his brother's kiss on his forehead again and play piano for him. Even though his brother enjoys the sad music, and he enjoys the happy music. He will play sad music if that's what his older brother wants.
...why can't you be more like your brother...?
...what an unsightly boy...!
...if only you had such talent...
...un bambino spregevole...a worthless child...
Get him out of my sight this instant.
The older brother is in Sicily, sitting in his new bedroom. He is completely and utterly terrified—too terrified even to shed a tear. He is afraid of what is going to happen to him here in this new place, with these people he does not know, though they claim that they are his family. They claim that his mother, the mother he does not remember, is from here. From this place called Sicily, not called Rome. They speak in a strange accent. He cannot stop shaking. When a man at the train station met him and brought him to his new home, he was shaking and could not walk on his own. He had to be carried. But as soon as the man touched him, he began flailing his arms and screaming as fear unlike any other pulsed through his body.
He hopes that here, at least, nobody will hit him. Or perhaps he will given time for the bruises to heal so that others won't notice him and he can play in the streets without being asked questions he does not want to be asked. Though he does not have anybody to play with now that he has left his younger brother.
The people in his new house have tried to speak with him, but he cannot find the words or the strength to respond. He misses his brother and his Nonno. He wants to hear his brother playing piano for him again. He wants to kiss his forehead and tell him what a good job he is doing, because he knows his younger brother loves that.
He is sitting in bed after about three days, and a man comes in. He has dark skin, just like the boy's, and his eyes are a similar color, too. He seems familiar, though the boy is certain that he has never seen this man before. He knocks, says the boy's name, and then comes in.
"I am your mother's brother," he says. "Call me Ziu."
The older brother does not say anything as the man sits down on the bed.
"You must be confused," he continues, "but we'll take care of you here."
The boy opens his mouth and hears himself say that he wants to see his brother.
"You will," Ziu says. "I promise."
The boy is comforted slightly because Ziu looks a lot like him. He is dark, too. And, listening to it now, he doesn't mind the new dialect. It's nice. He tries to convince himself. Ziu tells him that he can learn many new things in Sicily. He is Sicilian, after all—well, he is one-fourth Sicilian.
"Half-Italian, one-fourth Sicilian, and one-fourth Moroccan," Ziu tells him. "But all of your Moroccan family moved to Spain before you were born."
The brother has heard of Morocco. It is in Africa. He asks if they speak African there.
"No. They speak Arabic. Do you want to learn it? I could teach you." Ziu is happy that the older brother is finally speaking.
The boy is not sure. But he has managed to stop shaking now and there are tears running down his cheeks. Ziu does not know what to do, so he tries to lift a hand and touch the boy's shoulder. But the boy flinches, curls into himself and moves backward in the bed, so Ziu smiles and just lets him cry in peace. The boy's grandfather warned him over the phone, after all, that the boy does not like to be touched. And his bruises are still visible.
He does learn Arabic, alongside a continuation of his English lessons. His Roman accent slides into a Sicilian dialect. He writes back to his brother and his Nonno almost every day and he plans his entire life around their monthly visits. He is not happy in Sicily, but he is not sad. It becomes his home. They don't hit him here, and they don't tell him he is worthless. But still he cries himself to sleep, and he screams when Ziu (or anyone else) tries to touch him. He is not happy in Sicily, but he is not sad. It is his new home.
Until his Nonno dies when he is thirteen and his brother is twelve.
And he is sent to boarding school in Granada.
Romano decided not to leave bed for the next three days, even as Feliciano pestered him. Even Kiku tried to get him out of bed. But he found, whenever he tried to push himself to leave, that he simply couldn't do it. So he burrowed under the covers and stared at the window, filtering out anything else. Feliciano came into the room and called him and sent him messages but Romano still didn't budge. He was still reeling, still confused, his body and his mind both shaken to the point that he could not find the willpower to do anything. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Toni's face there, smiling with lips wet and cheeks reddened with passion. In the silence he heard Toni's voice crying out his name, and he could feel his touch against his skin and, at one point, he caught himself rubbing his skin to try and rid himself of the strange, phantom pleasure.
But it was a demonic pleasure. It was driving him to the point of madness (was he already mad?) and he wasn't sure how to stop it. It had been his fault, after all. He had kissed his Spanish professor, had been planning it all night, in fact. Had begged him for the affection by means of his tongue and his hands and his primal moans. But, worse than that, Toni had given it to him without a second thought. Had grabbed him and kissed him back and made him see stars, and now he couldn't find the motivation to leave his bed because everything was cold and gray and he couldn't even stomach the thought of taking his pills. His pillowcase was covered in tears but he bore the wetness against his cheek because it would have been too much effort to move.
"Lovi...you've been in bed for three days," Feliciano said. Romano hadn't even noticed him come in that time.
"Oh."
He felt Feliciano kneel next to the bed, and then he felt Feliciano's hand rest on his head. He flinched for a moment, but then fell back against the pillow as Feli brushed through his oily, unkempt hair. He couldn't bear to look at him.
"Will you at least eat something? I brought us pizza."
"I'm not hungry."
"You haven't taken your medicine since Thursday."
Romano didn't respond. He realized that it was Monday now.
"Please talk to me, Lovi. I want to help you," Feliciano murmured. Romano heard his voice cracking and felt as if he were being crushed by the darkness in his own heart. He knew that Feliciano was crying now, but he was a much more graceful crier. He could hide his sobs, make it delicate. Not like Romano.
He still didn't say anything. But he turned over in bed, so that he was facing his younger brother. Without a word, he took Feliciano's hand and squeezed it with what little strength he had. Feliciano smiled, hastily wiping his tears, and kept his hand running through Romano's hair.
"Tell me what you want me to do, I'll do it, fratellone," he said.
"Well first off, don't cry," Romano said. He hadn't said a single word in three days, and his voice was extremely hoarse. He felt strange, almost like he wasn't human anymore.
"Okay, I won't, no more," Feliciano said with his characteristically large smile. Romano wished he could find the will to smile back, but he just squeezed Feli's fingers harder. "Will you get out of bed? You'll feel better if you shower and eat something."
Romano couldn't bear the thought of eating, but he agreed silently to the shower. Feliciano, with a smile like a proud mother's, helped Romano out of bed. He showered, and then Feliciano blow-dried his hair for him while he, just to please Feli, managed to swallow a few bites of margherita pizza and drink a full cup of water. Kiku walked in a little while later.
"Ah, Romano-kun is finally out of bed," he said with a gentle smile. "Do you need anything from me?"
Romano shook his head, and Feliciano said, "No, but thank you, Kiku," in his bright Italian accent. Romano, though his mind was still hazy, was able to find a little bit of comfort in the fact that Kiku had been genuinely worried. Perhaps he did truly care. Surely there were still some people who existed that cared for him.
"Ah, Lovi, you never told us how dinner at that professor's house went," Feli said after a while. Romano was sitting on his bed, cross-legged, his blanket around his shoulders and a cup of warm tea in his hands. Feliciano sat beside him, and Kiku glanced up from his manga. Romano, feeling the weight on his shoulders become heavier, shrugged and looked into his mug.
"It was fine," he said softly.
"Was the food yummy?"
"Mhmm."
"I have never tried Spanish food," Kiku said. "How is it?"
"Same old, same old," Romano grumbled.
"He went to school in Spain for five years," Feliciano clarified. "He's used to it."
"Ah."
"You should go thank him tomorrow, eh, Lovi?" Feliciano said. "Take him flowers or something."
"I already took him a fucking bottle of champagne."
"Oh, right...well, at least write him a nice card or something."
Romano realized, contrary to what he had expected, that he wanted to see Toni. After they had slept together, he had decided that he never wanted to see Toni's face again in a moment of intense regret and terrible guilt.
Look what you've done, you've fucked everything up.
You're setting yourself up to get hurt.
You know what happens if you keep letting him touch you?
Stay away, Lovino.
You fuck everything up, anyway.
But now there was a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach, a magnetic force that was pulling him inevitably back toward that stupid, Spanish writer. But he was terrified trying to imagine what their next encounter would be like. He couldn't even picture what Toni's face would look like. He would be smooth, calm, smiling, as if nothing had happened at all. He would ask Romano with that stupidly oblivious and sincere voice if he were okay, and Romano would have no idea what to say.
"Yeah. I'll go see him tomorrow."
"Will you go to class, too? And come have lunch with me and Ludwig?"
Romano couldn't say no to Feliciano.
Stay away.
Go see him.
Stay the hell away, it's trouble.
Go see him.
You're trouble.
But he's beautiful, isn't he?
Romano did get up the next morning. He showered again and he shaved, he brushed his teeth, and he had a cup of milk. He took his pills. He and Kiku walked to class together, and then he met with Feliciano and the German blockhead for lunch, though he was only able to nibble on some French fries and drink another cup of milk. He had decided, that morning, that he would go visit Toni after lunch, even though that was usually his siesta time (he technically wasn't supposed to be sleeping, but it had proved useless to try and break from his habits). If Romano could catch him at the right moment, he wouldn't have to wake him up. He left a little before the ring of the bell and told Feliciano that he wouldn't be able to have dinner—he had a late class that day; ironically enough, Toni's class, but Feliciano was free to come by his room after nine.
Only when Romano finally found himself at the door of Toni's office did he feel as if he were about to throw up. He became dizzy, his skin became hot, and he was seeing stars. But he hugged himself and closed his eyes, taking a few deep, deep breaths to regain his composure. He tried to shut out all the memories from that night, but an experience like that was difficult for his body to forget, even for a few minutes. He was afraid that his trembles were too noticeable today, but the medications seemed to make it easier for him to calm down. Though, if he were to try and write anything, it would just be impossible.
Blinking away the bright colors and putting his head back in place, Romano knocked on the door. The voice rang back at him, as it always did, saying, "Come in." Silky smooth, thick and dramatic, joyful in its tones. A piece of music in itself. It gave Romano goosebumps as he remembered that same voice whispering in his ear.
When did I start hearing his voice like that?
Was it when he said my name and told me he was impressed with me?
Gently, he pushed the door open and stepped inside. Toni was at his window, reading a book, just like when Romano had come to his office for the first time. Bare feet, rolled up pants, glasses sliding down his nose. He looked up and saw Romano and blinked. He was silent for a few moments, frozen like a sculpture, while Romano (for the first time), closed and locked the door. It would have been a disaster if anyone were to interrupt.
"Romano," Toni said, standing up. He put his glasses on the desk and ran his fingers through the knots in his hair. "How are you doing?"
When Romano tried to speak, he realized that his voice was gone, so he just shrugged and stared down at his boots. The silence that followed was cripplingly awkward, with such heaviness that Romano thought he was going to faint. Toni must have noticed, for he insisted then that Romano sit down. But Romano shook his head and remained standing. So Toni did, too.
"Um, about this Friday," Toni began. Romano didn't want to have this conversation. But he knew that they had to have it. "I...I need to apologize."
Romani looked up, surprised.
"It was wrong of me to put you in that situation. I realize that...well, perhaps I was unintentionally giving you signals, or...I'm not entirely sure."
His vision was become blurred with the tears that he had so hoped would not appear.
What am I even doing here?
What do I want from him?
Does it even matter what I want?
"Bueno, the point is, I'm very sorry," Toni said. Romano didn't look up. He didn't want to see Toni's smiling, apologetic, ugly face." Maybe it would be better if we didn't speak in private like this for a while, sí? I'm so sorry. I've put you in a terrible situation, Romano. I should have controlled myself."
"Sorry?" he repeated. Toni didn't respond. "You're sorry for fucking me?"
"Eh?"
"You regret it?" Romano's head snapped up as tears rolled down his cheeks. He had so hoped that today might be the exception, the one day of dryness in his eyes. Toni furrowed his brow, a serious and daunting expression that Romano had never seen him make before.
"You would take it back if you could, eh? Because you don't give a fuck. You couldn't care less, right? Just another night with some random guy that doesn't even matter, right?"
"...¿Cómo?"
"I'm the one that kissed you first, don't you remember, you Spanish bastard?" Romano spat. He was seeing red. "But it doesn't matter. You couldn't give a fuck about how I feel. You don't care what I want. You just do whatever the hell you want whenever you want. You make all the decisions."
Romano had not expected those words to leave his lips. He wasn't sure what he was feeling, what he wanted, why he had been drawn to Toni's office today like a moth to a flame. Why he had kissed him at his door, why he had begged to be touched. He wasn't sure why his skin was burning and his heart was beating and he wanted nothing more than for Toni to take him into his arms again.
But, actually, he was sure.
It was because Toni had smiled at him and said, in one way or another, I welcome you.
Somewhere along the line, between their first meeting and now, Romano had dragged himself through the mud and crossed that not-so-blurred boundary into this dangerous territory. Somewhere along the line, his desire had flared up, uncontrollable and unexpected. Its fuel, maybe, had been the kind words that Toni spoke to him—the way he looked up at him—the way he smiled the kind of smile that was genuine. Or, if it wasn't, he had managed to trick Romano's weak, fickle, so desperate heart, into thinking that it was.
I'm desperate enough to be easily tricked, aren't I?
Romano couldn't remember the last time someone had so warmly taken him into their life, no questions asked. He still had no idea why Toni had done it. Had he predicted what it would do to Romano? The chain reaction it would cause inside him? If Toni had known the desperation that lay exploding inside Romano, perhaps he would never have kept him after class to ask about his poem.
One thing Romano was sure of was that once Toni saw what lay within him—the monsters and demons dwelling in his head—he would surely regret ever looking into his eyes.
Even if it's all fake, even if you truly don't care about me...
Just pretending is enough.
He let out a string of curses in Sicilian and then put his hands to his head. He accepted, with pain in his limbs, that his heart was in Toni's hands. Toni was completely dumbstruck, his jaw open and his eyes wide.
"I..." he began, quietly. "Romano, I'm your professor."
He dug his fingers more deeply into his scalp and closed his eyes.
"I'm over ten years older than you."
shut up shut up shut up
"Of course I care how you feel," he continued. "That's why I'm saying this. Before it gets out of hand."
"You fucked me! It's already out of hand!" Romano cried. His temper had taken over and he had no control over what was to come from his mouth. "I went home and had to clean your cum out of my ass!"
"Romano, please—!"
"But it's not like you wanted that, right? Not like you actually cared about me. Just a stupid mistake, right? Just caught in the moment, right? Just led on by some stupid kid, right?"
"It's not like that."
liar liar liar liar
"Yeah? Yeah?" Romano was panting, unable to find his breath and unable to stop the waterfalls falling from his irises. "Then what is it like? Tell me. Enlighten me."
"I am a professor. You are a student. Not to mention I'm married," Toni said, his voice deep and dark and low. Romano swallowed.
"You're married...?"
Toni nodded. Romano gritted his teeth and squeezed his hands into fists and took a step closer.
"You let me kiss you...you fucked me in your own bed...and you're married?"
Toni sighed again and Romano could have predicted his next words.
"I'm sorry. I am. I am so sorry. I shouldn't have...that night was a mistake."
Romano felt as if he had been slapped in the face.
"A mistake," he repeated, hollowed of his energy. "Right. Just a mistake."
"No, Romano—"
"Just a fucking mistake." He couldn't support his weight anymore. He leaned backward against the door and held his head in his hands and stared at the ground. "I'm always the mistake. I'm always just the mistake. Everything is always a fucking mistake."
"Romano." He realized, as he heard Toni whisper his name, that he had taken another step forward and was looking unrelentingly into his eyes. "I want to make this clear. This is not about me not wanting you. This is about a relationship that will not work. ¿Me entiendes?"
Romano was silent for a few moments.
"Do you regret it?" he said softly. "Do you really, honestly regret it?"
Silence.
"Look me in the eyes and tell me you regret it, you fucking bastard."
Silence.
"Tell me how much you regret it!"
Romano snapped his head up, grabbed the collar of Toni's shirt, and kissed him. It brought Toni forward. His eyes wide, his lips cold. Romano shut his very tightly. Then he pulled away, clenching his teeth, still grasping onto Toni's shirt.
"Tell me that you don't want this. Tell me that you want me to leave because you can't stand to see my stupid face," he hissed. "Tell me that the night we spent together was disgusting, was horrible, tell me that you regret it. But I will never say that. And I don't give a fuck about anything else. I don't fucking care how old you are or if you're married—and maybe that makes me a terrible goddamn person. But I don't care."
"It will end in flames."
"They will be beautiful flames," Romano heard himself say. "Deep red and passionate. Everything ends in flames anyway, right?"
Don't do this, you idiot.
He's right.
Even if he actually does give a shit about you.
It'll all end in flames.
Without another word, Toni took Romano's face in his sweating hands, looked into his eyes for a few moments, and then gently, tenderly, kissed his lips. As if he had been desperate from the beginning. Romano reached up and touched his wrists, squeezing his eyes shut and concentrating very hard on the taste. Coffee. With a hint of sweetness. Then, as Romano leaned back against the door, he felt Toni's tongue graze the front of his lips. Probing, gentle, silently asking for entry and teasing all at once. Romano felt the tingles beginning to spread through his limbs, from his lower body outward, and opened his mouth to take him in. Toni slid his tongue, thick and eager, between his lips and pressed it against his own.
Romano still felt too far.
He wrapped his arms around Toni's neck and pulled him closer until their chests were together and he could feel the ridges of the door digging into his back. Toni, moving smoothly and easily with Romano's cues, tilted Romano's head upward and thrust his tongue harder, deeper, until Romano heard a groan escape his own lips. Their tongues intertwined, drew a path between their lips together, making Romano dizzy with lust. He felt Toni's fingers slide into his hair as he brought his knee in between Romano's legs. Pushed upward gently.
"Mmf!" Romano let out a gasp and leaned his head back against the door, his fingers clawing at the back of Toni's shirt. He was desperate for more of him, more of his bare skin, deep in his bones, his voice along the surface of his body, as Toni slid his cold hands beneath his shirt and he felt the calluses of his palms on his stomach.
"Is this what you want?" Toni whispered in his ear. Romano's knees became weaker. "Tell me this is what you want. If you say the words, Romano...querido...I am yours." He traced the outline of Romano's ear with his tongue, and pressed his knee up even more. Romano clenched his teeth and moaned gently.
"Yes," he said hoarsely. "This is what I want. This is what I want. This is what I want."
Toni grabbed Romano's hand and put it to his chest, and Romano could feel his heartbeat there. As his eyelids fluttered and he became lost in the sensation of Toni's tongue on his neck, hand on his stomach, chest to chest and hip to hip.
"Este corazón es tuyo, Lovino Vargas," he murmured. His heartbeat became an earthquake, a tsunami, a ravaging storm. "Es completamente tuyo."
If I were to go down in flames with you...
Then let me burn.
Will you burn with me?
¿Quemarás conmigo, Toni?
Translations:
Ziu (Sicilian)=Uncle
este corazón es tuyo, completamente tuyo (Spanish)=this heart is yours, completely yours