Chapter Text
MONDAY, 5 NOVEMBER 2018
It rains in the night. The wind spits raindrops against the window in sheets, making Martino feel like he’s the lighthouse keeper on a tiny island in the middle of the ocean. As if he needed more reasons to lose sleep.
By morning, the sky clears enough for the sun to peek through. Sunlight reflects from the wet pavement, blinding Martino on his way to the bus stop. He gets on the bus with some difficulty, hugging his backpack to his chest. Thankfully, the crowd thins out after a few stops and he sinks into a spare seat by the window.
Buildings that he’s seen a hundred times before crawl past, but Martino wouldn’t be able to even name the street right now. Deep in the pocket of his oversized rain jacket, he brushes a finger over Nico’s note. It seems that he can tell the words apart by touch; definitely knows them by heart already.
i-think-of-you-every-day-i-think-of-the-time-we-spent-together...
“Whatcha smiling about?”
Martino flinches as his best friend plops down on the seat next to him, breathless from chasing the bus. They fistbump and he quickly tucks his hand back in the pocket. “Nothing.”
Gio nods his head upwards with a non-committal hm and busies himself with ruffling his curls. That’s about as passive-aggressive as Gio can get. Passive-encouraging , Marti thinks. Oh well. “Just… Nico again.”
Gio leaves his hair be. "Nico? He called you back?"
"He showed up at my house." Martino tries not to sound pleased about it. "I was out, so he left a message with my mom."
"Woah. What message?"
Martino describes the contents of the envelope as best he can. Nico's words travel from the tips of his fingers to the tip of his tongue, warming him up from the inside. "He said that he was happy with me. That he still thinks about me."
"Damn." Gio scratches the bridge of his nose, thoughtful. "And what about that long-term relationship of his?"
Martino shrugs. "He promised to explain everything if I come to the gym today. That’s all I know."
"Do you want to go?"
Last night, lying awake in his bed, Martino was asking himself the same question. He tried to weigh his options. What if he didn’t go? Then he might never hear from Nico again. And what would that feel like? In the end, Martino decided that he didn’t want to find out.
“I want to see him,” Martino announces to the back of the empty seat in front. When Gio doesn't immediately reply, he adds, “You must think I have no pride.”
Gio shakes his head, amused. “No, Marti. I think you have an epic crush. Let’s go, that’s our stop.”
They get off the bus and make their way up the street. Asphalt is mostly dry where the sun can reach it, with yellow-brown leaves plastered here and there. Martino kicks a soggy lump of them as he waits for Gio to tie a shoelace. Gio straightens up and they move on.
“He really got to you with that mixtape, eh?” Gio teases, swinging the bag on his shoulder to bump it into Martino’s.
Martino rolls his eyes in fake annoyance but he’s smiling. “No one's ever done anything like that for me, Gio. It’s...” He trails off with one hand in the air, like the right word escaped his literal grasp.
“...flattering?..”
“Yeah, but not only that. Listening to the tape made me think of other times Nico did stuff for me. Like when he helped me catch the morning train, or when he rescued my backpack. He didn’t have to do that, but he did.” He didn’t have to kiss my arm or walk me to his bed in the dark, but he did. It has to mean something, no?
They reach Scalea del Tamburino and wave at Elia and Luca who are waiting at the top. Shards of glass crunch under their feet as they start up the monumental stairs — the remnants of the party weekend. Gio doesn’t ask Martino to say more on the matter. He’s had enough experience with Martinese to fill in the gaps.
They’re halfway up the steps when Martino speaks again, almost to himself. “Can’t imagine how he’s going to disprove everything Stefano said, but I’d like to hear him try.”
“The truth could be somewhere in the middle,” Gio suggests. “Maybe Nico did plan to play games with you, initially, and then went and caught real feelings. So now he wants to ask for a second chance.”
A second chance with Nico. Martino considered the possibility, of course he did. But Giovanni said it out loud, and what seemed like a pipe dream has taken shape and color in Martino’s mind.
“Everything ok, Rametta? Your face is more... complicated than usual.”
“Ha, ha. Good morning to you too, Santini. Hi, Luca.”
The four boys exchange poorly coordinated fistbumps and head for the school, complaining to each other about the fleeting nature of weekends. Martino checks his watch: almost nine hours before he’ll see Nico again. It's somehow too long and too soon at the same time.
“So you haven’t told Nico that you’re coming?” Gio asks, bearing down on his hands to secure Martino’s feet on the floor.
“No I haven’t,” Martino huffs, sitting up with his arms crossed on his chest. “How many?”
“Thirty-two. Eighteen left.”
Martino crumbles to the floor. His abs are on fire. On his right, Luca is suffering the same fate, blond hair drenched in sweat as he contorts his body under Elia’s supervision. The collective agreement is that whoever decided to schedule P.E. last on Mondays deserves a special place in hell.
“Come on, Luchino, you can’t be losing to Marti! He’s brokenhearted and doing more situps than you?!”
Martino makes a face. “I’m not brokenhearted, Elia.”
As petulant as it comes out, Martino’s being honest. After he turned his back on Nico and walked away, it seemed like something irreparable happened to his heart, that he’d have to survive with only a part of it functioning properly. But after four days of hurting and thinking and talking about it all, after Nico came to him — even if they didn’t get to meet — Martino’s heart doesn’t feel broken. Bruised and tender, maybe. But whole.
“How many now, Gio?”
“Just ten more. Actually, I have a theory about Nico,” Gio says to Elia and Luca, and explains it as Marti grunts through the rest of his situps.
“Truth in the middle. Interesting,” Elia nods. “Doesn’t really explain why he made Martino meet his boyfriend, though.”
Luca hugs his knees, wide-eyed. “Guys, I have another theory! What if Nico’s in love with Marti and that’s why he broke up with him?!”
Martino frowns, catching his breath. “Eh?”
“Listen, I saw this movie. The chick's about to get married, but one day she has a nosebleed and doctors tell her she has, like, three months left to live. So she breaks up with her fiancé because she doesn’t want him to suffer. What if...”
“Ohhh my god,” Elia moans, knocking his forehead into Giovanni’s shoulder.
Martino is ready to unleash his sarcasm when a certain memory freezes him in place. Nico getting a call from a mysterious doctor when they were in the pool. Nico looking shaken and hurrying to change the topic. No, that's ridiculous. You don’t live in a soap opera. He’s okay. He has to be. But the icky thought sticks, no matter how Martino tries to shake it off.
Before anyone can comment on the change in Martino’s expression, they all jump at the shrill sound of Boccia’s whistle. “Santini, Colosio, Rametta, Garau! Having a laugh, eh?” The man walks over to look down at them sternly, hands on hips. “Why is it always the four of you in need of special treatment?”
“Sorry, prof.”
“Back to work! You can discuss your girlfriend troubles later.”
“Boyfriend troubles, actually,” Luca corrects without missing a beat.
Boccia blinks. “Nonetheless. Back to work.”
Elia swallows a hysterical giggle as they watch the man leave without another word. “You’re a menace, Luchi. But I've got to tell you that your so-called theory sucks.”
Luca shrugs and clambers up to swap places with Elia. “Like you have a better one.”
Martino prays to all the gods who might be listening that Elia doesn’t have an even more depressing hypothesis about Nico’s behavior.
“Nah, I think you and Garau have Martino covered in the theoretical department. I’m concerned with the practical.” Elia peeks at Boccia to make sure they’re out of danger. “Nico this, Stefano that. What do you want to get out of this, Marti?”
“Uh. I want to find out the truth?”
“Ok, and then?”
Elia starts doing situps half-heartedly while Martino remains on the floor, peering at the ceiling. Why does it feel like he’s failing an exam about his own life? “And then… it depends on what I hear from Nico.”
“It’s still better to come prepared, you know.”
“Prepared to what?”
“To fight for Nico, dude! Well, not physically. Or I'll have to avenge you after his supersoldier ex-boyfriend sends us your remains in a shoebox.” Gio tries to interrupt, but Elia ignores him. "All I’m saying is: you want Nico, take the bull by the horns. Tell him why he’s better off with you and not Stefano. And make it convincing.”
Luca nods enthusiastically. “Yeah, give Nico an ultimatum! That asshole or me!”
Martino bites the inside of his cheek. “I don’t know, guys... They’ve been together for two years.” Stefano’s voice is in his head again, dripping with condescension.
“Come on, Marti, they’re not married.” This time, Giovanni joins the chorus. “I know Stefano told you they’re soulmates or whatever, but it’s hardly legit when Nico won’t leave you alone for longer than a day.”
Elia snaps his fingers and points at Gio. “This. Marti, if your happiness depends on stealing someone’s boyfriend, I say go for it. Be shameless.”
“Ah, so I have your blessing? That’s a relief,” Martino retorts, mock-serious. If someone told him a week ago that his squad would be taking such an interest in his love life…
“Forza Marti!” Luchino sums up, sticking out his palm.
Martino high-fives him after a moment’s hesitation. “Forza Marti.”
Gio slaps the back of his neck for good measure, and that’s the cue for Boccia to swoop in and break up the squad for the rest of the class.
Martino has always been good at keeping his expectations low and his feet firmly on the ground. That he couldn’t measure up to someone like Stefano in Nico’s eyes was the conclusion of a routine reality check, filed away in his brain without questioning. He’s beginning to question it now, on his way to the gym.
It looks like it’s going to rain again, with low ragged clouds chasing one another above the city. Sharp wind tugs at Martino’s jacket, hurls dry leaves and plastic bags to his feet. When Martino pulls Nico’s note out of his pocket, he holds it with both hands.
Weird how the same words on the same piece of paper seem to have acquired a new significance, an undertow of hope that Martino hasn’t noticed before. Could it be that his well-meaning, biased as hell, overinvested friends have a point? What if all this time Nico has been waiting — wishing — for Martino to steal him?
The plan was to walk all the way to the gym to kill some time, and yet it’s only seven minutes into the pilates class when Martino arrives. There’s no point loitering at the entrance, so he goes right in. Might as well grab a coffee as he waits for Nico to be done with work.
The coffee machine in the lobby swallows Martino’s coins and leaves him hanging, even after he smacks it a few times (his mother raised him too well to attempt a kick). Whatever. Stupid thing. Coffee or not, there’s too much nervous energy coursing through his body to stay put.
Martino’s feet take him down the familiar route to the pilates room. He has no intention of walking in, okay. He just wants to hear Nico’s voice from a safe distance, to get used to it by the time they face each other again.
“Shoulders back, open that chest, and let’s go! Down, and up, and down, and up…”
Martino stops in his tracks two steps from the door. That’s a woman's voice. And the music can’t be Nico’s. Nico hates Imagine Dragons. Without a conscious decision, he grabs the door handle and pulls. The pilates room is full of familiar girls in skintight outfits, repeating the motions after a tall, sinewy woman that Martino doesn’t recognize.
“Can I help you?” the woman asks with a sceptical arch of her eyebrow, and Martino backs out into the hallway with an oh, sorry like a mumbling idiot.
The stomach-churning notion that Nico isn’t going to show up and the whole thing was a prank has just about crystallized in his mind when the door opens again and Eva joins him in the hallway. Her ponytail is a bit skewed and she reaches back with both hands to fix it.
“Hi, Martino. You’re not with us today?”
“Hi. No, not today.”
There’s an awkward pause. Martino has no idea where to look or how to find out what he wants to know.
Eva starts speaking in a low voice as if the hallway weren't completely empty. “Niccolò was here when we started, you know. Then this woman came in and said ‘Director Rossi wants a word in his office’, so he left. He’s probably still there.”
“Oh.”
Why would Eva tell him this? Should Martino act confused and pretend he wasn’t looking for Nico? But what else could he be doing here?
“Alright, see you later.” Eva disappears before Martino makes up his mind.
A half-deaf cleaning lady points Martino to the director’s office. He lands on the chair beside the door and prods a stack of fitness magazines on the glass table.
Maybe it makes him look desperate, to be waiting around for Nico. But it’s not like Nico didn’t put himself out there first. Such a sweet, well-mannered boy, Martino can hear his mother say. He smiles, shaking his head. If it took Nico under five minutes to charm his mother, Martino never stood a chance.
He thinks of dropping Nico a text when his ears pick up a low rumble behind the door that can only be Nico’s voice. A flare of excitement ignites in Martino’s chest. He holds his breath to listen. It’s hard to make out the words, but Nico’s clearly talking to someone else—an older man. Martino throws a look down the hallway and leans closer to the door, abandoning all shame.
The muffled voices are getting closer, and the longer Martino listens, the more he frowns. Nico sounds agitated. Defensive, like he can’t believe what is happening.
“...throwing me out because of this?”
“I don’t like this situation any more than you do. No need to make a scene. ”
The other voice — director Rossi, Martino assumes — sounds almost indifferent. That instantly rubs Martino the wrong way. How is he so calm when Nico’s so upset?
Nico levels his tone with an audible effort. “I’m not— making a scene. I’m asking you why. Am I bad at my job?”
“That's not what I said, Niccolò. You have to understand that, as director, I must take any report of unprofessional behavior very seriously.”
The voices are right behind the door now, so Martino can clearly hear Nico’s short, joyless laugh. “Unprofessional behavior? That’s what you’re going with?!”
Shit. Martino bites his lip, rubbing the tops of his thighs with anxious palms. If Nico’s in trouble with his boss, he will hardly care about resolving things with Martino today.
“I can’t brush off complaints from long-term patrons, whether I agree with them or not.”
“So you admit the complaint is bullshit?”
Nico’s snappy answer is followed by a long pause that has Martino even more worried. Without seeing their faces, he can’t judge if Nico pushed too far. And he still has no idea what they’re arguing about.
When the director speaks again, it’s with poorly disguised irritation. “Trust me, I have nothing against... people of your persuasions. Your personal life does not bother me as long as it stays private.” Nico tries to interrupt, but the man talks over him. “However, since you chose to get, ahem, physical with another young man during work hours— ”
“I told you, I was on break! And there was no one in that pool, just the two of us!”
Martino’s fingers clench so hard on his thighs it’s almost painful. Nico’s words ring in his ears, loud and resentful, soft and teasing. How about a swimming pool? Just the two of us, hm?
It has to be about them. Behind that door, Nico is losing his job because of Marti.
“It was unprofessional.” The man’s voice is steely now, any trace of appeasement gone. “There’s no point in continuing this discussion. You can pick up your papers at reception tomorrow.”
The handle dips down and the door cracks open. Martino can see the red headband stretched across the back of Nico’s head, the sweat-darkened spot where Nico’s tank is clinging to his spine, Nico’s feet in his favorite mesh sneakers. Nico's soles squeak against the floor as he takes a faltering step back, like he’s being pushed out of the office against his will. Martino hates how small his voice sounds.
“Please, director, I need this job. I can't miss practice hours this semester.”
“Niccolò, enough!”
With Nico fully in the hallway, the man tries to shut the door between them. Nico manages to catch it at the last moment. “I’ll work for free! Let me handle the midday groups, I could—”
“You could, eh? And I’d have to explain to the parents that I allow some deviant to teach their children?”
The insult is abrupt and vicious like a slap. Nico lets out a wounded noise, and Martino’s on his feet so fast his vision goes dark at the edges. “The fuck did you just call him?!”
He doesn’t take time to think, doesn’t even meet Nico’s eyes when Nico bumps into him in a startled turn around. No, Martino glares straight ahead, at the face of his enemy. It’s pinched and thin-lipped, with beady eyes that run over Martino suspiciously.
The man addresses Nico again, with considerably less nerve than the last time. “And who’s this?”
“I...that’s…”
Martino grabs Nico’s hand without so much as a glance down. “I’m his boyfriend. Nice to meet you, asshole. Now answer my question.”
The only answer he gets is a scowl and a resounding slam of the door. Nico shudders, but Martino’s so high on fury that he doesn’t hesitate to bang on the wood with his palm.
“Nothing to add, huh?” The loud click of the lock does nothing to pacify him. “Well, I’m not finished! Come out and let’s talk!”
Finally, Nico’s voice filters in through the roaring of blood in Marti’s ears. “Marti, drop it… It doesn’t matter...”
Martino steps away from the door with a derisive huff and snatches his backpack off the floor. “Fuck this coward. Let’s get out of here.”
It’s a short walk from the director’s office to the lobby, made even shorter by Martino stalking resolutely all the way to the exit with Nico in tow. They’ve walked out of the building and then some before Martino finally runs out of steam. Several things become apparent at once. One: he doesn’t know where he’s going. Two: he just yelled at Nico’s boss without a care for the consequences. And three: he hasn’t let go of Nico’s hand yet.
This last one clearly preoccupies them both. Martino looks over at Nico and watches him watch their linked hands, completely unaware that they’ve stopped in the middle of a sidewalk. There’s no one around, so it’s not the threat of being discovered that makes Martino nervous. Did I cross the line? Did I make things worse?
Martino relaxes his fingers around Nico’s one by one, half-expecting him to resist and hold on tighter. That doesn’t happen; Nico’s hand slips away. Nico cradles it against his stomach, like he’s not sure what to do now that he has it back.
And then they just stand there, looking at each other. Nico’s face is hard to read, sad eyes with a guarded smile. All of him guarded, as if he's waiting for Martino to speak first. Which is unfair, because Martino’s brain is busy enough processing the reality of Nico’s here, in front of me to come up with a decent conversation starter.
Guilt is the freshest of his feelings, though, so after a pause he tries: “Hey, sorry about—”
“Thank you,” Nico interrupts. “For defending me.”
Martino tips his head back with pursed lips, embarrassed by undeserved praise. “I didn’t do much. Just pissed the guy off even more.”
Nico looks away, one shoulder twitching. “I had no chance of keeping the job, anyway. My boss was very clear about my... unfitness.”
“He had no right to talk to you like that.”
Thinking about the man is making Martino angry again, but the anger dissolves in the shimmy his insides do when Nico looks back at him with admiration. Martino hurries to add something before his train of thought derails into that green abyss. “What was it all about, anyway?”
Nico’s eyebrows arrange into a mischievous arch. “Apparently, one of the matrons from water aerobics saw us kissing in the pool.” Nico bites his lip, but the smile spills out anyway, out of the corners of his mouth and over his cheeks. Martino is powerless against it — his own lips twist into a complicit smirk that he tries to hide by dipping his chin.
While the consequences are far from amusing, they can’t tarnish the memory of that day. Maybe Martino even crossed paths with the vengeful witch — the encounter in the hallway is coming back to him now — but he remembers what happened before it in way more detail. Nico apologizing for sending Martino away early by pressing him to the lockers and covering him in kisses. The smell of chlorine on Nico’s skin. Nico’s wet hair dripping on Marti’s shirt, making them both giggle.
Martino clears his throat. “So, that woman… She ‘talked to the manager’ to get you fired?”
“And it worked.”
“That’s insane!”
“Eh, it wasn’t all bad.” Nico shrugs like it’s no big deal and winks at Martino. “I got a knight in shining armor as compensation.”
Why aren’t you taking this seriously, Martino wants to ask. Those people treated you like crap. You should be mad. But also: I’ll be your knight, bard, princess in the tower, anything. Just say you want it to be me and no one else.
Nico looks kind of silly standing there, his skimpy gym outfit flapping and billowing in the wind. Silly and angelic — if angels could be interrupted during a workout. Still waiting for Martino’s reply, Nico scratches his eyebrow, and the familiar gesture twists Martino’s gut with the sweetest pain. Martino has missed Nico’s little quirks. He wants to learn more of them. He wants to learn Nico, know him like a city that’s so familiar he can navigate the streets with his eyes closed.
This can’t be the last time they see each other. Martino can’t let that happen. He’s done pretending he’s here for something other than getting Nico back.
“Listen, what I told him, about being your boyfriend... Actually...” Marti’s mouth follows the sentiment quicker than his brain, and when it’s time for the two to catch up, he stutters. How is he supposed to continue?
...I meant that. But they’re not technically together, are they? That would sound weird.
...I'd like that. Better. This one should work.
“Don’t worry, Marti. I’m not planning to hold you to it.” Nico shoves his hands in the pockets of his shorts, squaring his shoulders. His playful expression has morphed into something unnerved but defiant, like he’s deliberately exposed a personal flaw before Martino got a chance to make fun of it.
It hurts. It hurts and it’s frustrating and it doesn’t make a lick of sense — Martino has a document as proof, right here in his pocket. He finds the edge of the note with his fingertips, ready to pull it out with a What’s this, then? or It's impossible to understand you, Ni or maybe without comment, just to get a genuine reaction.
Suddenly, Nico tips his face up, eyes to the sky, and, instinctively, Martino does the same. A fat drop of rain lands squarely on his nose, making him blink. Another drop glances off his cheek. The pavement around them starts darkening in dots that quickly multiply and merge, promising the same kind of downpour that kept Martino awake the night before. The boys look at each other in confusion; neither is ready to abandon the conversation, and neither feels like returning to the gym for cover.
Nico’s mood seems to shift again, this time to sheepish. “We could talk in the car, if you don’t mind?”
This Nico is a far cry from the charmer that offered Martino a lift ten days ago. Still, just like the first time, Martino’s stomach flutters at the suggestion. “Okay,” he replies, and hitches his backpack higher on his shoulder.