ಥ,ಥ

15

Why Do You Keep Pretending, Signor?

There is a boy staring out of the window of his room.

He is gazing out upon the streets of Rome. Where his heart and his soul will rest forever, in this mysterious and wondrous land full of history and beauty. It is so ancient, he muses, leaning his head on his hand. He is at his desk and he is painting. It's been a while since he has truly taken time to paint, and he finds it soothing now. He's not even sure what he's painting because he's letting his hands work on their own, letting the curves of the colors and the lines come together as if it were nature. He is thinking about his older brother again. His older brother, whom he hasn't seen in two years. The boy turns fourteen tomorrow; his brother turned fifteen last month. Celebrating with people that the boy does not know in a place that the boy cannot go to.

He has asked his father so many times if he can go visit his brother. His lovely older brother whom he misses so much. He hasn't seen him since Nonno died. Since he was sent to Granada for school. The boy wants to go to Granada desperately to see him. His father won't allow it. A bad influence, a terrible role model, I don't want you associating with him so much anymore, Papá says. Live your life here in Rome and he lives his life there and you shall live your lives separately, my darling boy, my prince, light of my life and apple of my eye.

The boy wonders if his father knows that he saw him, in his youth, laying his hands brutally and angrily upon his older brother's flesh. Or if his father knows that he sees him hiding the letters that his older brother writes him.

He is angry with his father, but he is not accustomed to anger, and he's not sure what to do with it. He cannot understand why his father is so vehemently against him seeing his older brother again—bad, bad, bad influence. He stares out the window and imagines his brother walking through the alleyways. Hands in his pockets, dark hair shimmering, lips in that endearing and brooding pout. Though he must look different now, the boy thinks. He himself has changed significantly. He worries that if he sees his brother again, he will not recognize him.

This painting is one he is making for his brother, but he has no means to send it to him. Now upset and his mind racing with his thoughts, the boy stands up from his desk and makes his way downstairs, where he knows his father is in his study. He wants to try again. To say, in his sweetest voice, I just want to see him for a little bit. A weekend. Or, at least let me see the letters he writes me. Please Papá. Please. Please. I miss my fratellone. Please.

His father is on the phone, so he stands out of view and listens to the conversation. His father sounds exasperated. His heart beats in his chest in fear and apprehension—things are never good when his father's voice is strained and irritated like this. When he makes all of those movements with his hands and narrows his eyes and puckers his lips.

"Well, how much does he have? Is that enough? You know what, I don't care. Put enough for the rest of his secondary schooling, and then cut all ties."

Cut all ties.

"Did you hear me? I said cut all ties."

Cut all ties, what does that mean, the boy thinks. What ties.

"Yes, that is what I am saying. Tell him if you want, don't tell him if you don't want. I don't want to deal with him anymore. As far as I am concerned, he is not my son."

But he is your son, he is your flesh and blood, isn't he? He was born of your will and your body and yet you hit him, you yelled at him, you told him he was useless and worthless in the wake of his talented and prodigal younger brother. And now you throw him away.

You cut all ties?

The boy runs into the study with tears running down his face and begins to scream at his father. You can't, you can't, he's my brother.

You can't.

My brother.

His father is surprised into silence, staring at his son. His hands balled into fists and his high-pitched voice reaching every crevice of the house. It seems that his father is not quite sure what to do.

He's my brother and he's your son and you can't do this to him, not after everything else you've done to him. Not after the scars you left on his skin and on his heart.

"He's not my son. You're my only son. Don't bring him up to me anymore."

Don't bring him up to you?

As if he never grew up in this house, never ate on your table, never looked to you for guidance and was met with eyes cold with indifference?

The boy is not aware of the words he is screaming, but soon his voice is hoarse and his father is screaming at him too and the maids and butlers come running and are ordered to drag him back to his room. A fourteen year-old boy, dragged kicking and screaming to his room like a toddler because he wants to see his older brother.

But his older brother has been disowned and he fears that he will never see him again.

When Feliciano asked why he was packing on Friday morning, Romano told him the truth. Well, he told him part of the truth; he told him that he was going to spend the weekend in a town in Wales called Holyhead, on the island of Anglesey, whose true Welsh name he truly couldn't pronounce.

"What? You're leaving? Just like that?" Feli gawked. Worry written on his wrinkled, clammy features.

"Yeah. I need to get away from this place and clear my head. The ocean will help."

"You're...going by yourself?"

Here came the lie. Romano told him that, yes, he was going alone. That he was used to being alone and just needed the time to gather his thoughts and feel refreshed. Feliciano was incredulous at first, but in the end he accepted the reasoning and wrapped his arms around his brother and held him very tight. Romano held him back, buried his face in his neck so he could smell his special Feliciano smell. He squeezed, unaware of how desperately he had been wanting to hold his younger brother. He felt that he was in his right mind somehow, that he was able to see the world a bit more clearly. Perhaps it was the fact that he had taken his medication that morning. Or perhaps it was the fact that he had been closing himself off from his brother for a while and had starved himself, made himself desperate for his affection now.

"Come back safely, Lovi," Feliciano said, stroking his back. "Please don't get into trouble. And if you need me call me."

Romano knew that Feliciano was worried about him—worried that he would find himself on the edge of a cliff looking down upon stormy waters that called out to him with a siren's voice. But Romano wasn't worried about that.

A few hours later he was at the train station, standing on the platform with nothing but a small duffel bag and his backpack, checking his watch incessantly. It was too chilly for his liking. He wore a large jacket and a scarf and thick boots over his jeans, and when he sighed he saw his breath pollute the air.

Stupid bastard, he's gonna miss the train...

Just then, Romano heard his name. He turned and saw Toni walking onto the platform, with a huge guitar bag on his back and waving his hand with embarrassing vigor. The heat rushed to Romano's face and he pursed his lips and turned away. People were going to look at them.

"Buenos días, mi tesoro."

Toni stopped beside Romano and smiled his stupid, genuine smile that made Romano's heart pound like a drum. He turned to say hello and, as the words were about to leave his tongue, Toni leaned forward and shamelessly kissed his open lips. He tasted like fresh coffee.

"Oi, Spanish bastard! What the hell do you think you're doing?!" Romano stumbled backward, his face red as he covered his mouth with the back of his sleeve. Toni was unfazed, staring at him with his eyes bright and shimmering beneath the winter sun.

"What?"

"Don't do that in public, dumbass," he said. He could hardly speak he was so embarrassed. As he looked around feverishly, afraid of the looks they were getting and afraid that somebody might recognize them, Toni laughed.

"Ay, lo siento, Roma." He reached forward and gently pinched Romano's cheek, letting his fingers linger, hover above his red hot skin. "You're so beautiful I couldn't help it."

Romano lost his voice for a few moments and could only stare, could only blink, mute.

"And don't say things like that," he finally mumbled. His heart sped up, his goosebumps erupted beneath the cloth of his jacket, and he couldn't maintain eye contact anymore. Couldn't bear to face that sincere look of wonder in Toni's eyes because he couldn't understand it. "Stupid Spaniard."

"I'll be careful next time, Romano. Vale, the train should be here soon. Have everything you need?"

"Yes."

"Wonderful."

Despite Romano's half-hearted protests, Toni had gone to the president of the university, Arthur Kirkland (or as his students affectionately called him, President Eyebrows) and asked to borrow a small cottage that he owned for four days. Which meant that Romano would have to miss a day of class. He didn't particularly mind. But, not to his surprise, he already missed Feli. His persistence and his smile and his beautiful Roman accent. The last time they had been separated, Romano had nearly gone insane. But he tried to push the memories from his mind and focus purely on Toni—on how he wouldn't stop smiling at him, how it was clear that he hadn't brushed his hair that morning, how he still had mint stuck in his teeth from a Mediterranean breakfast he had had that morning, how he had tasted on Romano's surprised and unsuspecting lips. Standing beside Toni calmed his heart. Knowing (though not quite understanding and not quite believing he deserved it) that Toni felt undeniable affection for him.

Unless he doesn't.

It could be a complete farce, couldn't it?

"Sit at the window, it's more comfortable," Toni insisted as they got on the train. Romano sat by the window. Toni sat beside him, a pen behind his ear and his glasses resting atop his disheveled head. Before the train even left the station he had gotten out a book and was reading, taking notes in the margins, completely immersed. While Romano leaned his head on his hand and watched the English scenery roll by. English scenery that soon became lush, romantic Welsh scenery, with cows and sheep and signs that he couldn't read and a sense of untouched nature. He and Toni didn't talk much. Toni would give an offhand comment every once in a while, and Romano would mumble some kind of incoherent response, but that was the extent. They were both tired and mutely excited, perhaps too excited to truly show it.

At one point, Romano realized that Toni had been silent for a while. He glanced over and saw his head bobbing, his eyelids fluttering, as he wavered between wakefulness and sleep. Romano clicked his tongue.

Idiot, you're gonna hurt your neck like that.

He reached over gently and steadied Toni's head, letting it rest back against the seat. He slept for the rest of the trip, and Romano tried not to stare because surely other people would notice. Perhaps they already had. They were a strange duo, after all. A thirty-something year-old Spanish man with a contagious smile and a loud mouth with some college kid who couldn't be bothered to smile even once. They were bound to raise questions.

Which was exactly why they had left, really.

When they arrived at the train station, they were in a different land. A land where the grayness of the sky was soothing, where the wind blowing through the long blades of grass whispered beautiful words in your ear, where the waves of the ocean were rocky and anonymous, where the chill of the air brought the comfort of being somewhere you've never been, somewhere nobody could find you. Romano was paralyzed when he stepped off the train onto the platform, Toni at his heels. He couldn't shiver in the cold because he felt such warmth inside him. He blinked and looked up at the sky in its vastness. It looked like a new sky, one that he had never seen before. And when he breathed in the air was new, too. He was so immersed in this atmosphere that he jumped in surprise when Toni gently touched his arm.

"This way, Romano. Let's get a taxi to the cottage."

He followed Toni in a trance. Swept away by the beauty and the simplicity of this place. He descended even more when they were in the taxi, driving along curving paths surrounded by the five-foot blades of grass and seeing the ocean as it swayed, watching the cows laying down in the fields (a sign that it's about to rain, the taxi driver informed them). Toni sat in the front and made conversation with him while Romano curled up in the back and watched everything. Drank it in.

I'll be here for four days.

He turned away and looked at Toni. Smiling and laughing as he spoke in English with his Spanish accent with the taxi driver who spoke English in a Welsh accent and it was a wonder how they were managing to understand each other.

I'll be here for four days with him.

Toni noticed Romano looking at him and turned over his shoulder. He smiled. And then, while the driver was turned away, blew him a hasty kiss. Romano couldn't keep the grin from his lips then, and turned back to the window with his heart in flutters.

Just Toni.

As soon as they put their stuff down in the cottage—it was only one floor with very small, very quaint rooms that Romano and Toni instantly fell in love with—Toni was back at the door.

"Don't take off your jacket! We're heading out."

"What? We just got here."

"We have to take advantage of every moment, ¡querido! Ven."

Romano, hiding the fact that he was actually ecstatic, gave a huge sigh and grabbed Toni's outstretched hand. Now that they were in Wales, in this little town where they might not be able to understand people and they knew nobody and there was a curtain of anonymity, they had come to a mutual, silent understanding that they would do what they wanted. They were not going to hide the way they did on campus. When they passed each other in the halls and nodded cordially, or in class when they held intellectual discussions, all the while hiding the heat that was spreading through their limbs and expanding in the very words they breathed. So now Romano let Toni grasp his hand and felt the safety encased in his fingers without worrying that others would see—he let the redness in his cheeks be clear for all to see. He wouldn't have minded if someone said to him, "I can hear the beating of your heart."

They stepped back outside onto the gravel path, wearing their boots and their scarves and their jackets and still not feeling very cold. But once they were outside, Toni stepped behind Romano, took out a small handkerchief, and wrapped it over his eyes.

"H-hey! What're you—?"

"Shh! I have a surprise for you."

"Bastard, I can't see anything!"

"It's fine. I'll lead you, okay?"

Romano didn't like being in this complete darkness. Blinded, he felt Toni's hands fall atop his and squeeze his fingers.

"I won't let you get hurt, neno. Come. It's not far from here."

"O...okay." Romano felt himself being pulled forward, and he stumbled. "If I get hurt or trip or run into something I'll never forgive you."

"No te preocupes, Roma," Toni laughed. "No te preocupes."

After five minutes of walking in this darkness, with nothing but the wind and Toni's fingers and Toni's voice to guide him, Romano became accustomed to it. Almost comforted by it. He didn't have to think. He just had to be led, listening the ground crushed beneath his boots and milky Spanish weaving through his ears.

"Almost there."

The surface changed then—he stepped from the gravel road onto soft ground. Muddy. He could feel the grass reaching up and grasping at the edges of his pants.

"Toni—!"

"Almost, almost! Espera."

Stupid, beautiful bastard...

"Okay, stop."

Romano stopped. He swayed a little bit. He had no sense of his position spatially, had no idea where he was, was still wrapped in darkness. He was aware of Toni letting go of his hand and he felt a surge of fright, but then he felt Toni's hands on his shoulders and his lips on the back of his neck.

"Ready?"

"Yes, yes, hurry up."

"Surprise."

Toni lifted the blindfold.

They were standing on the edge of a vast field of grass, on the opposite side of which was a large hill covered in stones. But that wasn't the first thing Romano saw. The first thing he saw was the sea. It was endless, dropping off the horizon as if flowing over the edge of the earth. The wind whistled by as he stood, Toni steadying him from behind, on this rocky ledge. Staring out across the terrifyingly beautiful water. There was an abandoned lighthouse with peeling white paint, surrounded by stones and murky sand. It was gray and dramatic and Romano began to shiver beneath the weight of his awe. His hair blew into his face, but he couldn't wipe it away. His knees shook, his tears gathered, but he couldn't move.

"T...Toni..."

"It's beautiful, ¿sí?"

Romano tried to nod. His eyes scanned the waves, then the lighthouse, then his neck turned and he looked out across the empty field. The tears fell. Toni still had his hands on Romano's shoulders, and he wrapped them around his neck and hugged him tightly from behind. Romano, still in a daze, brought his hand up and touched Toni's arm.

"I thought you would like it," he murmured. "Do you like it?"

"Mhmm."

"Roma...?" Toni's voice dripped with concern. He moved until he was facing him, his silhouette outlined by the ocean and its gray skies. His brow furrowed his and his lips pursed. "Why are you crying?"

Romano could not respond, for he didn't know what would come from his mouth if he tried. He simply stood, staring at Toni and sniffling.

"Por favor, no llores," Toni pleaded. He began to desperately wipe the tears from Romano's cheeks, caressing his face and wiping his nose with his sleeve and straightening the loose tendrils of his hair. "Por favor..."

"M'â scusari," he said, his voice a terrible cracking mess.

Toni brought Romano's head to his chest and held him, stroking his hair and kissing his temple.

"I didn't mean to make you cry," he whispered.

Why do you always do this to me?

You make me feel so warm and so happy.

And for no reason at all.

It's not real and you know it.

Why do you keep pretending?

¿Por qué sigues fingiendo, Toni?

"It's all your fault, you bastard," Romano wailed, grabbing onto Toni's jacket tightly. Crying against his chest. "It's all your fault."

Romano saw the face of his brother. Smiling as he reached out to grab his hand. He saw the face of his grandfather, holding him by the fireplace and telling him stories. He saw the face of his father, the convulsions in his mouth and his nose and his lips that always happened right before he hit him. He saw the wounds and scars of those he had hurt, heard the voice of the Belgian therapist who had tried to cure him. He saw Toni, kissing him, speaking to him.

"I don't deserve this," Romano heard himself say.

"¿Cómo?" Toni pulled away, brows knitted, crouching to look into Romano's wet eyes. He cupped his chin and tried to lift his face, but Romano couldn't look at him.

"I don't deserve this place. I don't deserve you. I don't deserve for you to do this for me, I don't, I don't," he cried, his words becoming more and more incoherent. "I don't deserve your love or your affection, I don't deserve for you to pretend that you care about me—"

"¡Cállate!" Toni interrupted. Screaming.

It was the first time Romano had heard him scream. His eyes widened as he found himself staring into Toni's angry face. Dumbstruck into silence. Without another word, Toni grabbed his face and kissed him, crushed his lips, and then held him, and they fell to the earth together.

"Stop it, please," he murmured. Voice trembling. Grasping onto him as if he would never let go. "Mi tesoro, mi cariño, mi Roma."

Romano smiled and stared out at the ocean.

Never convinced.

I also want to take a moment to dedicate my writing and words to the victims and families affected by the Orlando shooting that happened on Sunday night.

It is unacceptable that such hatred is allowed to thrive in a country that preaches acceptance and freedom. It is unacceptable that a piece of shit terrorist can drag my religion through the mud, and it is unacceptable that a piece of shit terrorist can divide us even more.

Most of my fanfictions (and original work, actually) celebrate the beauty, diversity, and romance of same-sex couples and queerness. I am queer myself and it's so hard for me to comprehend that love, the same love in what we think of as 'normal' in heterosexual relationships, isn't considered love by so many people.

So as you read this and other works, about queer people and their queer adventures, don't forget about REAL queer people, and real queer people of color, and real queer Muslims, and the struggles that we have to go through to live as we are.

Sorry to get real on you guys, but it had to be said.

Love is love is love is love is love.

With that, I love you all, and I'll see you in a few days

xoxo

Translations:

no te preocupes (Spanish)=don't worry

espera=wait

no llores=don't cry

M'â scusari (Sicilian)=I'm sorry

Cállate (Spanish)=shut up