29

Would You Drown Me, Amuri?

There is a boy walking across a beautiful university campus.

He can walk these paths with his eyes closed. It's been a year since he arrived here, and he cannot imagine how many hours he has spent wandering through the campus, alone, counting the cobblestones and the decaying trees that like to greet him. The boy has made himself comfortable here in this place that he worked so hard to get to. When he had doubts about coming, he swallowed them down and convinced himself, even if it was fake, that this was the right decision. He still very much believes that it is. As fickle and as weak as his soul is, it needed a change. And through his lonely explorations, by laying his hands upon the limbs of this land, he made himself a place to live.

He's not happy, and there's no way to convince himself—or anyone else—that he is. He has long forgotten what happiness feels like, so he wonders whether he'd even be able to recognize it. Probably. Sometimes he sees glimmers of it. When he writes a particularly beautiful and cathartic poem. When he has dreams about his younger brother. There is no real reason for him to be unhappy, he constantly tells himself. He's at this wonderful university, where people are kind to him. The students accept him, even when he inevitably lashes out at them—even sometimes at his professors. But the professors are kind to him, too. He enjoys (as much as he can) the classes with them. History with the loud German professor. Linguistics with the eccentric French professor. Economics with the brilliant Chinese professor. He has nothing to complain about, nothing to truly dislike.

But still he's not happy.

Still he feels empty, hollow, numb to everything but despair.

He has embraced his own darkness and surrounded himself in it. He doesn't remember what the light looks like, what it feels like to not be drowning. Gasping, struggling for air. This is the only thing he knows.

The boy is walking to class. It's a writing class, something in which he can picture himself excelling. But the professor is new. The boy is nervous, and makes a point of withdrawing deep into his heart's abyss.

He walks into the classroom and sits down at the seminar table. He takes out his little black notebook because it calms his nerves. He glances up and he sees the professor.

And in that moment he thinks, Is that what light looks like?

Romano felt something shift in his soul. He heard a click, like a missing piece had finally found its way to its rightful place inside him. It was a strange, alien feeling that left him confused and anxious. The numbness was sliding away, being replaced with this emotion he couldn't name—something akin to acceptance, maybe? Completeness? A true understanding of why he hated himself, and this world, so very much. Of course he didn't have the answers. But he was starting to ask the right questions.

He finally wanted to be better.

And he was learning, slowly, to forgive.

The new therapist was a very kind Turkish man who spoke a little bit of Italian and had a very charming accent. Romano knew it would take time before he was able to tell his new therapist everything, but Toni reassured him that patience was necessary. Used the phrase, perhaps ironically, Rome wasn't built in a day.

Romano spent more time with Feliciano, who was still fragile and emotional and had considered taking leave for the semester. Romano felt now that it was his duty, and his deepest desire, to take care of his little brother. That was the job of an older brother, after all. Just as Feliciano had taken care of him. He told Feli to shower when it had been a few days; he brought Feli his favorite pizzas; he took Feli out for walks, and took the train to explore London with him. Anything to remind him to smile, and to remind him that he had a brother who loved him very much. So much that when (on more than one occasion) Romano tried to tell Feli how he'd been the only reason Romano had survived the deepest times in his life, his emotions got the best of him and he couldn't do it.

You are everything to me, fratellino.

Did you know that?

He still lashed out. Still felt anger so intense that it sometimes blinded him. He still cringed, withdrew, felt terrible fear when people made sudden moves around him.

But Toni was still there to tell him that it was okay.

Antonio.

The light to my darkness.

The smile to my scowl.

The love to my hate.

They loved desperately. Both of them, Romano mused, eager to make sure the other understood the extent of his love. For Toni's birthday, they went dancing in London, willing to take the risk that someone might recognize them. It was their first time out in London together. They walked along the river, Romano clinging to Toni's arm in the chilly February air. It drizzled a little bit, but it felt pure. And when they got to the nightclub and began to dance, chests pressed together and breaths intermingling and movements graceful and elaborate, everybody watched them. They stole the dance floor with their steps, their twirls, the way that Toni lifted Romano into the air and held him there, and then dipped him so low that his head nearly touched the floor. They might as well have been the only ones dancing. And Romano could hardly comprehend how elated he felt, moving like this in Toni's arms and whispering in his ear, "Happy birthday, you stupid, beautiful bastard."

Back at Toni's flat, they got high and kept dancing. Wearing nothing but their boxers and each other. Then they made love that was so divine it left them speechless, so they wrote about each other instead.

After we make love, and we're laying in bed together, you always have the same look on your face. Like you're sad, or afraid that you'll never experience anything like it ever again.

As was inevitably to happen at one point or another, rumors about Toni began to spread.

"People are talking about you," Romano said in his office one day. He was tracing patterns on Toni's palm. "They say that you're fooling around with a student."

"Then we have nothing to worry about, since I'm not fooling around with anyone," he winked.

"This is serious! What if President Eyebrows decides to investigate or something?"

Toni smiled and kissed Romano's cheek.

"No te preocupes. Let me deal with it."

"Don't lose your job, asshole."

Romano and Toni had a silent, unbreakable pact to never talk about the future.

It just made them upset.

Romano didn't want to hear Toni say that he would leave his wife. He didn't want that burden of someone else's pain on his shoulders, not when he already had his own and Feli's.

When Toni asked Romano what he wanted for his birthday, Romano told the truth and said nothing. All he wanted was a quiet night in with wine and gazpacho and drunk, affectionate, slobbery kisses. So that was what Toni gave him.

But after dinner, while Romano washed the dishes (since Toni had done all the cooking), Toni came up behind him and covered his eyes.

"Oi, what are you—?"

"I have a surprise for you, querido," Toni said in a singsong voice.

"I told you not to get me anything!"

"Well I didn't listen. Ven conmigo."

"Toni!"

Hands still over Romano's eyes, Toni began to lead him gently through the house. To the bedroom, Romano guessed. His uncertainty, the wobble in his walk, reminded him of the time he and Toni had gone to Wales. And Toni had shown him the lighthouse. Romano reached his arms out, groping in his blindness to make sure he didn't run into anything.

"What, you don't trust me?" Toni whispered in his ear.

"Not even a little bit."

Toni laughed and kissed the back of his neck. When he stopped, he didn't remove his hands from Romano's eyes. Instead, for a few moments, they just stood. Romano brought his hands up and rested them gently on Toni's wrists, became lost in the tired, sweet wine kisses on his neck.

"Ready, neno?"

"Mhmm."

"It's nothing big..."

Toni removed his hands. On the bed in front of them was a small, burgundy box tied with a black ribbon. Romano picked it up. It was light in his hands. He shook it, heard the clatter, tried to guess what it was. Toni wrapped his arms around his waist and rested his chin on Romano's shoulder.

"Go on, open it."

Romano grabbed the black ribbon and pulled. As it fell to the ground, he lifted the lid of the box. Toni was right. It wasn't anything big. But it made Romano catch his breath all the same. In the center of the box was a slim, red, leather-bound notebook. It had clearly been hand sewn together, with imperfectly cut pages and the scent of ink and paper already permeating it. Beside it was a long, thin fountain pen. Romano let the box drop to the bed and picked up the notebook. He held it in his hands, felt the cover with his thumbs, flipped through the lined pages. He wordlessly glanced over at Toni, who was watching his face with an incandescent smile.

"Look at the front page, cariño," he murmured. Squeezing Romano's waist.

Romano swallowed back any words on his tongue and flipped to the front page. Printed onto it were two pictures. One was a photograph that Romano didn't know existed. It was at the cliff overlooking the abandoned lighthouse. The photograph showed Romano from a distance standing at the edge of the cliff with his hands brushing the tall grass and the lighthouse rising up before him. The sky was dark and colors were muted and somber.

"Wh...when did you take this?" Romano stuttered. He could hardly hear his own voice.

"The first time I showed you the lighthouse. I couldn't help myself. Look at you. Un tesoro."

Romano's hands were shaking, the notebook shaking with them. The second picture was one that he remembered taking. It had been taken recently. On the night of Toni's birthday, when they had gone out dancing together. Toni had asked someone at the club if they would mind taking a picture of the two of them—it was one of the very few photos that they had together. They both looked flustered and tired, having been dancing for nearly two hours at that point. But they looked happy. Both of them. Toni had his arms wrapped around Romano's waist and was lifting him slightly into the air, kissing his cheek. When the time for the picture had come, Romano hadn't been expecting Toni to do that. So he was caught mid-laugh, arms on Toni's shoulders, being swept off his feet.

It was a beautiful photograph.

"Toni..."

"I figured your notebook would run out of pages soon, no? And, maybe it's narcissistic of me, but I thought it might be inspiring to see my face...or the lighthouse...every time you open it to write," he said, his voice muffled against Romano's skin. "Do you...do you like it?"

Romano put the notebook back in the box and turned around to face Toni. He put his hands on Toni's cheeks and looked into his eyes—looked into them deeply. Silently. Knew that he wouldn't be able to find the words, but thought maybe if he gazed at him deeply enough, Toni would just understand. Then, slowly, Romano leaned forward, lifted himself onto his toes, and kissed Toni's lips. He kissed them hard, he kissed them long, he willed to his lips the emotions that he was feeling but couldn't put into any of the languages that he knew.

When he couldn't breathe, and when he was certain that there was nothing left in him to give through that kiss, he pulled his lips away and let Toni hold him.

"Happy birthday, Lovino."

Romano couldn't breathe.

"Te quiero."

Romano asked Toni if he would play his guitar for him. Toni grabbed his guitar and sat down on the floor of the living room, leaning back against the sofa. Romano grabbed the blankets from the bed and sat down beside Toni. He put his head against Toni's leg and spread the blanket out over them. When Toni began to play, Romano closed his eyes. He could feel the vibrations of the guitar against his cheek, could hear Toni's smooth-like-honey voice surrounding him. Calming his unsteady heart, but making his limbs tremble. Toni was singing a lullaby. The same lullaby. In his voice Romano could hear his mother's, too. It made his mind hazy and made his eyelids droop.

"Toni," he heard himself say. "Toni...Antonio...I love you. T'amu, Antonio, t'amu."

Lovino thought back to the waves and the lighthouse. He thought back to when he and Toni had been sitting, flirting with death, letting their feet dangle off the side off the cliff. And Lovino had said, about the ocean, "Would it love us enough to drown us?"

If it were the only way to prove you loved me...

The only way to keep me...

Would you drown me, my love?

¿Me ahogarías, Antonio?

Romano remembered the date perfectly. It would've been impossible to forget.

April 28th. 14:23.

He somehow knew before he even arrived at Toni's office that it was coming. He felt that he had seen it coming from miles away. Hadn't he been the one to admit it, at the very beginning, when Toni had tried to turn him away?

"It will end in flames."

"Everything ends in flames anyway, right?"

Romano had never taken the time to imagine the flames, but he could feel their heat. He was drawn toward them like a moth. Toni hadn't needed to drop hints. They had both just known.

Romano knocked on the door of Toni's office and, for the first time, actually waited for Toni to answer. He didn't say, "Come in." He opened the door himself. As he stood in the doorway, hair unkempt, bloodshot and dark eyes, exhausted, he seemed smaller. Romano stepped into the office and closed the door behind him, and Toni kissed him with chapped, salty lips. Romano let himself be kissed, but did not kiss back.

The office was filled with boxes. And the boxes were filled with Toni's things. The decorations on the walls were torn down. The books stacked in piles in the boxes. His desk a complete mess, the blinds closed, soft music playing from his small stereo. An unfinished cup of coffee, a crumpled Spanish flag on the windowsill. The smell of cigarette smoke and liquor. Romano looked around as Toni collapsed into his chair and ran his hands through his oily hair. They were silent for a long time.

"You're leaving," Romano finally said.

"Sí."

"Back to Spain?"

"Back to Madrid for now, yes."

"What did President Eyebrows say?"

"He understood."

Romano felt himself engulfed in the flames. The burning in his lungs, the dryness on his tongue, the pain on his skin.

"Are you surprised, neno?" Toni whispered.

"No. I don't think so." Romano took another step into the fire. He walked to the windowsill and ran his fingers along the Spanish flag there. "I always knew it would happen."

His tears fell onto the flag. In his chair, Toni put a hand to his forehead and bit down, hard, on his lower lip.

"I just thought that maybe it would last longer," Romano whispered. "Can I ask you something, Toni?"

"D...dime..."

"Why?" he asked. "Did I become too much?"

"What?"

"Is it because I cry all the time? Did you finally get sick of the insults? Sick of dealing with my mood swings and my temper tantrums?"

"No, Romano. No."

"Is it María? Did you remember how much you really love her?"

Toni spread his arms out. Romano sat on his lap and curled up there, his head on Toni's chest. Tears soaking his shirt.

"No," he said. "It's not any of that."

"Do you even know why, then?"

"You...mi tesoro, you have so much growing to do. I have so much growing to do. Everybody has growing to do."

Romano didn't say anything. Just listened and burned.

"And sometimes, even if we love someone...even if we feel that we can help them, we can't."

"I don't understand."

"I think you need to continue this journey for you, querido. And I think that if I continue this, I'll be in your way."

"You're not in my way. It's the opposite. Where the fuck would I be without you?"

"Your path is different than mine. Your growth is different than mine."

"You're helping me get better."

"But you need to get better for you."

Romano thought for a moment,

He hates me

He's finally grown sick of me

It was bound to happen

Everyone gets sick of me

"I...I don't want to let go of you," Toni wept. Holding Romano like a child in his lap. "But I fear that if I hold on, you will never fly."

But Romano dispelled those thoughts.

Because he knew they were wrong.

He loves me.

He's doing this for me.

He's suffering...

...for me.

"I don't want to give you up. Mi cariño, mi tesoro, mi Romanito," he continued. "Mi vida, mi amor, te amo..."

Romano looked down at his skin. It was peeling away.

"I don't want to let you go. It hurts, Romano. It hurts so much."

I'm going numb again.

"But if I keep holding onto you...if I keep being this selfish...what will become of you? What will happen to that beautiful light in your eyes, the passion in your heart?"

Selfish?

"I can't keep being selfish."

You? Selfish?

"Maybe...maybe you can't understand it right now. You can hate me. But I think—no, no. I'm sure that this is the right thing to do."

"You've thought this through."

"I've had so many nightmares."

"But you love me, right? You still love me?"

"Te acuerdas, ¿querido? Te dije. Mi corazón es tuyo. Mi alma es tuyo. Te querré para siempre, para siempre, para siempre. No te dejaré nunca. ¿Te acuerdas?"

"I remember."

"That hasn't changed. That will never change. I love you. Always."

"Is that why you're leaving me?"

Is that why you're burning with me in these flames?

"I have so much faith in you, Lovino. So much. You will accomplish anything you want. Anything and everything. You will have the world. But I can't be the one to give it to you. You have to grab it yourself."

"I love you, too."

"Me alegro. Me alegro mucho."

"Bésame, ¿Toni?"

"Lo que quieras, mi amor. Mi Romanito."

The flames flared, burned red hot.

But when Lovino felt Antonio's lips on his, the flames cooled.

one more chapter loves!

Translations:

Te acuerdas=do you remember

Te dije=I told you

Mi corazón es tuyo=my heart is yours

Mi alma es tuyo=my soul is yours

Te querré para siempre=I'll love you forever