big shout out to all you lovely people who continue to make this story worth writing and posting.

you all inspire me to be a better writer every single day.

me alegro mucho que les guste mi historia, y ojalá que continuen disfrutarla

les quiero tanto queridos

que les disfruten y tengan un día maravilloso

14

Let's Leave, Querido

Mi amor. Mi vida. Te quiero tanto—te quiero, te quiero.

No te dejaré nunca.

Te prometo.

Por eso...por favor...

No me dejes, mi amor. Mi vida.

Toni opened his eyes slowly. His eyelids were heavy and he felt as if his limbs were paralyzed with sheer exhaustion. Though it was not a burdensome exhaustion. As a writer, he was very aware of the distinctions between various types of exhaustion. There was the exhaustion written on one's face in dark bags and wrinkles, the cause of which was most likely a night sitting in front of a laptop or notebook and ultimately coming up with nothing of substance. Then there was the exhaustion written on one's face in a bright sleepiness and a satisfied smile, the cause of which was most likely a night sitting in front of a laptop or notebook and writing so much that one's heart had burst and left them unable to sleep. Then, of course, there was the incomparable, wondrous exhaustion after having spent a night with a lover.

This was the exhaustion Toni felt. His entire body was warm and tingling beneath the covers of his bed, and he couldn't keep the smile from twisting the corners of his lips up. He forced his eyes to open, because he knew what he was going to find. On the bed next to him, he saw Romano. He, too, was huddled beneath the covers, his small frame curling and his dark hair flattened against the pillow. His back was to Toni, his fingers clutching at the blanket. Toni knew without having to check that Romano was not asleep. Romano hardly slept. But just the image of him lying there, comfortable in Toni's bed, was enough to make his heart constrict, as if bound tightly by the strings of Romano's fingers. Inching forward, sluggish with the remains of his deep and content slumber, Toni wrapped his arms around Romano's waist and pulled him closer. He didn't have much strength after only just waking up, but Romano made it easy. He let himself be pulled back and turned gently over his shoulder.

Toni placed a single kiss on the back of his shoulder. Then he buried his face against Romano's neck and hugged him more tightly.

"Mm...Buenos días, Roma."

"Bon jornu." His voice was low and raspy, but it was there, and that was enough. Toni inhaled as deeply as he could and moved closer until his nose was crushed against Romano's skin and their legs were entwined beneath the sheets. He felt Romano's fingers move on top of his own, felt his lips brush the top of his head. Toni stayed like that for a long time, unable to bring himself to let go. To release himself from this bliss, from the warm, stale air that surrounded his lover.

After Toni had had his fill, he gently slipped out of bed, being careful not to move the covers. He knew that it was early—perhaps around six or seven. He had trained his body to wake up this early every single day, because he liked to have a nice shower, a cup of coffee and breakfast, and read or write before work every day. But, of course, he had to have his daily siestas to compensate. Romano remained in bed, tightening his grip on the covers and curling further into himself to make up for the warmth lost when Toni had gotten out of bed. The room was dark, save for the slivers of sunlight trying to break through the drawn curtains. Though the darkness made him still more sleepy, Toni did not pull them back, because he knew that Romano preferred the darkness. Even if he wasn't sleeping, Romano enjoyed very much laying in bed and contemplating the world around him, contemplating his thoughts, contemplating whatever it was Romano liked to contemplate. So Toni let him be.

After his shower, he wrapped a towel around his waist and put on his slippers and went into the kitchen to prepare his coffee. He found himself nauseated at the mere thought of food, so he didn't bother preparing breakfast, especially knowing that Romano wouldn't eat it. He put a little bit of extra sugar into it, then walked back to the bedroom and leaned against the doorframe. Romano's face was mostly hidden under the covers, but his lidded eyes were on Toni. Toni smiled and threw him a wink. Furrowing his eyebrows, dappled in the fragmented morning sunrise, Romano tapped the empty side of the bed wordlessly. Knowing that Toni would understand.

He obediently walked to the bed and sat down beside Romano, being careful not to spill his coffee. Romano moved closer until his slender arm brushed Toni's bare leg, and Toni put a hand into Romano's hair. Like a cat, or a tired child, Romano grasped at Toni.

"Roma, do you want some coffee?" he asked.

"You have your coffee too dark."

"I put extra sugar in."

Silent, Romano sat up a little bit and put his hands out. Toni handed him the coffee with a smile and watched him take a sip. While he drank in silence and leaned against him, Toni grabbed the notebook and pen he kept on his nightstand and opened to the nearest blank page and began to write. When he glanced over at Romano, at his muse, looking for the inspiration, the fuel to keep his fire going, Romano was looking at the window. Staring at its blinds. holding the cup of coffee. Toni wrote down everything about him. The curl of his lips when he stared at the light, the shape of his tongue when he sipped the coffee, the paleness of his knuckles as they wrapped around the mug, the shapes that his legs created beneath the covers, the curve of his shoulders.

"What are you writing?" he asked, after Toni had nearly filled an entire two pages. Just with Romano.

"I'm writing about how you drink coffee," Toni said. Romano, a confused expression on his face, looked down at the notebook.

"Why? There's nothing special about that."

"Of course there is. You're beautiful when you drink coffee."

"You're so full of shit, Toni."

"Tal vez."

Toni leaned forward and kissed Romano's bashful, tightly smiling lips. They tasted like sunlight and coffee. Romano let himself be kissed and continued to smile. Toni could feel it.

"I'll never understand why you write about me," he said after Toni had pulled away. He was staring down into the depleted contents of the mug, swirling it around, while Toni let his pen fly.

"What can't you understand?"

"I'm just...I can't understand why you don't write about something more exciting. Something more beautiful, more inspirational. I'm not much of a muse."

"The writer decides their muse, no?" Toni replied. "You don't have much say in the matter, I think. A muse is whatever the writer finds beautiful."

"Sure, but—"

"You are beautiful. You are enchanting. You have captured my heart in those eyes, those lips, those breaths of yours, Romano Vargas."

He was met with silence, so he looked up. Romano was staring at him with his lips parted, his eyes wide, his frame completely still. Astonished into silence. Toni smiled at him and brushed his cheek with his thumb.

"Please don't look so surprised," he said quietly.

"Then don't say things like that so suddenly, bastard," Romano mumbled, turning his red cheeks away. Toni kissed him again on the temple and continued to write.

When Romano was finished with the coffee, he put it on the nightstand and grabbed Toni's arm (interrupting his writing) and put it around his own shoulder. Then he curled up against Toni's body and took a deep breath.

"You look tired, neno."

"That's because I am tired."

"Try to sleep."

"You know I can't."

Toni let his thumb traverse Romano's skin. From his lips to his jaw to his shoulder down along his abdomen. Let it be squeezed by Romano's fingers.

"Do you want another cup of coffee?"

Romano shook his head.

"I have tomatoes. Do you want some?"

Romano shook his head again.

"Where did you learn that lullaby?" Romano suddenly asked.

"Eh? Which?"

"The one you sang me last night. Where did you hear it?"

"Ah, that is a good question. I'm afraid I don't remember...it must have been ages ago. I think it was once very common in Andalucía, pero ahora not many people remember it. My parents used to sing it to me. Why?"

"My mother sang it to me when I was very little, I think," Romano said. His breath trembled against Toni's skin. "I've been trying to remember it."

"Your mother...she was Spanish?"

"Not exactly. She was half Sicilian, half Moroccan. But she was born in Spain." Romano's voice was getting quieter as he spoke. "But I think I have some Spanish blood."

"And your father?"

"Full-blooded Italian. Like my brother."

"Ah. Why did your father...?"

"Oh, he didn't remarry. He didn't need to. He never married my mother in the first place," Romano interrupted. "I was a bastard, you know. Born out of wedlock. With dirty blood. My father never truly acknowledged my mother. I think in their youth he had promised her that he would marry her, but he never did."

Toni was silent. This was the first time Romano was talking about himself, his history, the story of his family. He stayed quiet and listened.

"But for a few years he supported her. I'm not sure about it all, but my grandfather used to tell me about her. She lived with my father to take care of me when I was just born. But he married a few months after I was born—supposedly an arranged marriage. And so my mother was forced to leave the house. My father's wife was not unkind, though. She accepted me...which is not to say that she accepted me as a son. She accepted me as a guest in her home. Nothing more. Our relationship was stale. She actively refused to acknowledge my mother at all. My father sent my mother to live in a different home. But, through pressure from my grandfather or my presence or my mother's family, I'm not sure which, he continued to support her. I was taken to see her often."

Toni couldn't help but make note of the fact that Romano's eyes glazed over and he trembled slightly when he spoke about his father.

"But she died when I was three. So I don't remember her much."

Toni didn't bother apologizing, because he knew that Romano didn't want to hear it.

"I remember the lullaby, though," he continued. "I had a music box that played it. My brother and I shared it, actually. We listened to it together. I always felt happy and safe hearing it."

Romano grabbed Toni's hand and began playing with his fingers, one by one. Stretching them out, spreading them from each other, pulling and tugging them.

"My grandfather told me that my father loved my mother very much at one point. Perhaps very long ago. But I think he regretted their affair—regretted getting her pregnant. I think he regrets that I'm alive and I'm his son. And regrets even more the fact that I look so much like him, but am dark like her. As strange as it sounds, though...I think my father was heartbroken when my mother died. She got sick, you know, and I think he was devastated. I think he always loved her. But he also hated her. My grandfather told me that I'm so very like her, so...I think that's why my father hates me, too. I remind him of her. Though I'm not sure if it's right to even call him my father anymore. He stopped calling me his son years ago."

Romano's voice trailed off and he became still. Toni felt his heart struggling for freedom from this strangulation.

"Romano?"

"Hmm."

"Do you want to go away?"

"Eh?"

"Let's go away for a weekend. You and I. We can spend the weekend in Wales. We won't have to sneak around or hide ourselves. We can run around the countryside and stay in a little hotel for a few nights—just the two of us. Would you like that?"

"Um, I—"

"It would be good to leave this place for a little bit, no? Don't you think so, Roma?"

Romano was silent, gripping Toni's hand.

"Let's leave, querido. Just for a weekend."

"...You would do that?" he murmured. His voice barely audible. "You would do that for me?"

"¿Cuántas veces tengo que decirte? Lo que quieras."

Romano's face broke into a smile that overtook his entire face, brightened his eyes and the room, made Toni laugh out loud. Then Romano laughed, too, and it was a symphony playing in Toni's apartment. He wrapped his arms relentlessly around Romano's body and held him, rocked him, squeezed him, while Romano shook. In joy, Toni hoped. In happiness. In ecstasy.

"No te olvides. Este corazón es tuyo," he said with a sloppy kiss to Romano's forehead.

"Y este corazón es tuyo."

Toni laughed again, because there was no other possible thing for him to do at that moment.

Toni was at his desk, concentrating better than usual on his work. He was motivated, perhaps subconsciously, by the knowledge that he was leaving this weekend and would be unable to do work. If he wanted to travel and not worry, he would have to finish his work in an unusually efficient manner. So he sat at his desk and read through essays and filed out papers and did all the things a writing professor at a prestigious university might do at his office. But he was interrupted by a sudden, vibrant knock on his door. It surprised him in its loudness and its intensity. He jumped in his seat, bringing a hand to his rapidly beating heart. It couldn't be Romano—it was too early. Romano only ever came in the afternoons, and it was just barely ten o'clock.

"Come in," he called, taking his glasses off. The door opened and a young man walked in, lips pursed and hand behind his back. Toni blinked. He recognized this person. He looked exactly like Romano, but his skin was much fairer and his hair much lighter. More of an auburn gold color. His eyes were lighter, as well, and he had a much more gentle air about him. He walked with a bounce in his steps and a perpetual blush in his cheeks and a flash of his eyes made Toni feel inexplicably warm.

It was Feliciano Vargas. The boy, Romano's half-brother, who Toni had seen in the alcove that night. The talented prodigy that François and Gilbert had told him about.

"Ah, Professor Fernández?"

"Yes, come in, please."

"I'm, uh, I'm sorry to intrude like this. You must be confused," the boy smiled. He stepped forward and reached his hand out as Toni stood from the chair. "My name is Feliciano. Feliciano Vargas."

"Pleasure to meet you." They shook hands. Feliciano had a very sunny touch.

"Do you, er...do you have a few minutes?"

Toni was terribly confused, and it must have been evident on his face. For Feliciano looked very nervous, even with his unapologetic smile, and his voice shook ever so slightly. It was very strange—he looked exactly like Romano, and their mannerisms were similar, but they were clearly polar opposites.

"Yes, of course. How can I help you?"

"You know my brother, right? Lovi—ah, I mean, Romano?"

"He is in my creative writing seminar, yes," Toni said. He was starting to feel very anxious. Perhaps Feliciano had found out about them in some way or another. "Please, sit, Feliciano."

"Thank you very much." He shifted his weight for a moment, and then sat down lightly in the chair. "Well, this might sound strange...see, I'm, well, I'm worried about him. And I heard that he was here a lot and..." His voice trailed off.

Toni wanted to lie and tell Feliciano that he didn't know Romano very well, but he found that he could not bring the words from his mouth.

"I've been trying to talk to him but he's been very closed off lately," Feliciano continued. "Would you, ah, happen to know anything? Does he talk to you at all?"

"Talk to me?"

"Yes, I mean...well, Lovi can be very temperamental and unpredictable, so I wouldn't be surprised if he talked to you even though he won't talk to me."

Toni felt a strange guilt building in his stomach. Here was the bright, teary-eyed younger brother of Romano, asking him if he knew anything. Something about the situation was disconcerting, unsettling.

"I'm sorry, I know this is out of the blue, but..." Feliciano looked up at him with tears running down his cheeks and a wide grin that struck his core. "I really don't know who else to talk to."

"Romano is..." Toni began. "It seems to me that he is searching for himself. I cannot say I know much about him, but I do know that he is struggling with a storm inside him."

"He is! He is," Feliciano nodded vigorously. "He is. Lovi has a lot of demons to fight off. What is he like? In class, I mean, or in your office?"

"Ah, bueno, he's a very talented writer. But he has mood swings. Some days he participates well, and other days he does not talk or does not come at all."

"Yes, his mood swings are like that," Feliciano said. "Has he said anything to you?"

"About what?"

"I don't know, anything, really..."

Toni suddenly remembered something. When Romano had first started coming to his office with pieces of writing. One piece had been about his brother.

"He loves you very much," Toni said softly. Feliciano blinked at him. The look of surprise on his face was the spitting image of his older brother.

"He...what?"

"He admires you and thinks of you as his closest friend. He loves you a lot, querido."

The tears continued to stream, but they seemed different now.

"He does? He told you himself?"

"Sí. He writes about you. About how much you mean to him." Toni reached out and put a hand on Feliciano's shoulder. "He wants to keep you close to him."

"Ah...th-thank you so much," Feliciano smiled. "That means so much to me, Signor."

Toni let Feliciano Vargas cry quietly in his office, feeling guilt and frustration and an overwhelming rush of affection for Romano.

Translations:

tal vez (Spanish)=maybe

Cuántas veces tengo que decirte=how many times do I have to tell you?

No te olvides=Don't forget