Chapter Text
Verona wearily blinked, adjusting to the sudden exposure of light entering their room from half-opened curtains they forgot to close a night ago.
So that's what it was. Finally confirmed - it was all a dream. And the chances of Lenny being real or a mirage conjured up by the loneliest addled parts of their brain would never be unraveled now.
Verona got up, realizing they were wearing a bath-robe. That made sense, they had taken a bath before sleeping or tried to, understanding that now. And when their black hair curled up against their neck like a snake trying to choke them - they noticed that it smelled like honey and nectar.
They dived into the bathroom, slamming the door open and looking into the mirror first. Their eyes were brim-red like tears had leaked out expertly, and had clawed their way down Verona's expression, fusing it into one of deep melancholy.
Had their hair ever actually been purple? Or in the catacombs of their brain had they imagined what it would be like if it was that same wispy gloss of ashy purple that they wore when they were in that nightclub in Amsterdam? Wondering now, why it would turn purple only in the palms of their dreams, and in the same reality or illusion or whatever it was, where they met him.
Lifting one strand of hair - still black. A mite of smell entered their nose, reminding them of why they were here.
Letting out one pitiful sniffle, they ripped the shower curtain out of the way - picking out a shampoo bottle.
Yeah, it said “Honey infused fragrance” in Italian.
They were going to be sick. Was anything real? They crawled their way back to their bed, sparking their curiosity after they took off their comforter. The bed was covered in sweat, and when they collapsed into it, it reeked of a distinct smell. Something they initially couldn't recall but eventually recognized for sex.
They had sex with Lenny.
It felt so intimate, as genuine as their very bones, their toes curled. Yet, here they were - completely alone, and feeling miserable for it.
They wanted him. But they didn't even know if he was actually real. Slamming their head into their pillow, they let out one muffled scream.
There was one way to confirm his presence, thinking back to the time they spent with the holy man, dipped underneath moonlight - he had glowed and Verona had cowered.
He was their dove, statue and person they were reminded. Laughing bitterly now at the fantasy, they were insane.
Plummeting out of the bed to peek through the curtain, they could witness it in the distance - the Vatican. Did they risk it all and demand like a crazed-lunatic to see Lenny, realizing that they didn't even know his last name or did they wait.
Wait for it to die out, the passion. It eventually would, it had to. Every flower decayed, evey apple rotted.
How long would it take until they could never remember Lenny?
Closing the curtain entirely, they walked into the kitchen. Making a fresh pot of coffee, sitting and waiting. They felt like milk spoiling.
Drinking from their cup when it had brewed. It was unpleasantly bitter, he probably hated coffee like this - giggling, remembering the man's insistence for sugary beverages. It instantly ruined their mood, frowning deeply.
Sighing, getting up again. They walked back to their room - looking at their desktop, wondering if they should throw in a fresh session to throw their thoughts off the man. But even thinking about him once diminished the urge.
If they tried not to think about him, he rolled back into their thoughts, if they thought about him then he was already settled in his house.
And if they tried not to say his name, they still couldn't stop envisioning his figure. Standing in the middle of the room, like they were trapped by cardinal signals, they saw their purse. Lightly stepping towards it like each foot forward was doomed, and was telling of an omen, they opened the bag.
Inside, they saw it. Gleaming a dark, deep red. Throbbing and pulsating, the arteries could have been imagined in every smooth corner. They immediately closed the bag.
Verona had told Lenny about where they lived. Debating now if he would seek them instead or if he was ensnared in the same dilemma. It would be harder for Lenny to find Verona then it would be for Verona to find Lenny, just how they liked it.
Sitting on the ground now, eyeing their bag without opening it. They should really leave. There was no guarantee Lenny even enjoyed their company as much as they had eventually grown to.
“I..” He didn't say anything at first, until, with one soaked lurch of his mouth - Verona could tell that he had begun crying again “..won't abandon you.” Lenny said it like a promise.
Recollecting that entire conversation when they desperately didn't want to. He had gripped them so soberly, and yet so affectionately. Every touch invoked by him hovered over Verona's flesh and could have easily been their own skin now, the passion was felt in the veins and it would not disappear so easily unless all of their blood was spilled.
They got up suddenly, walking to the table that held their passports, and fake IDs - staring down. They could wait a day, at least.
---
Verona sat in front of a table, burger in front of them. Fat tears were spilling down their cheeks.
After a week inside their hotel - still in Rome. They had lied about leaving, nobody should be surprised. They had settled to find a burger, they would say it was just a craving but they knew what they were searching for.
Finally after scrolling online, they had spotted one decent joint with what looked like - after surveying the images posted online - good fucking cheeseburgers.
Now here they were, after one bite. Flooded with memories of dancing, doves glimmering at them, the eyes of Oceanus staring into them. Invoked upon the sensation of deep snarling nostalgia.
Pondering if it was too early to call it that, but it felt exactly like remembering something you used to have that you could never touch again or even experience momentarily in quite the exact same way. It was painful, and it made Verona burst into tears, quietly and likely extremely pathetically. If the reactions of passersby was anything to go by.
The Italian sun was killing them. They should leave, they said they would explore more of Tuscany. They should get out while they can.
Eventually their waiter came by - with what they assumed was initially the check, until they slide some extra napkins their way, not saying anything but looking at them imploringly and with a form of compassion in their gaze, they hadn't expected from strangers before leaving.
That's when Verona knew they should go back home.
Of course they didn't have a home, just an empty hotel room. Where they played in bed all day or went online to either doom-scroll or build things as Venus. The latter they could incite as a job, so it felt better when they didn't actually feel like they were doing anything beyond wallowing.
---
Two months in. Lenny hadn't found them if he had even been actively looking. Admittedly Verona couldn't blame him, they weren't exactly easy to find especially with the limited information Verona had given them - and what with their name not being real.
Was anything real? “Haha”, Verona laughed somberly. And Verona hadn't exactly put the effort towards trying to find him either, scared that he wasn't real or terrified if he was, what it would mean.
Keeping their curtains locked up tight, so they could pretend the Vatican didn't exist. Logging on as Venus, and trying to fill their mind with anything else, creating and spanning and ignoring and pretending. Verona used to be good at pretending.
Sometimes, if they zoned out. They would come back to realizing they were staring at visualizations of doves and Tiger-Lover's worried notifications would ring throughout and they worried how long they had sat just like that.
Lenny was killing them, hoping they hit him back just as much as he impacted them.
They had developed some form of strange bone with Tiger-Lover. Unsure of if they could properly call it parasocial, and even if it was. If they really care anymore, it's not like Tiger would ever show up at their door with a knife or sloppily give them unprompted tongue.
They were excited when Verona announced that their streams would be increasing in length, eventually inquiring if this meant Verona would finally have a merchandise store. They told them “no” much to their disappointment, not needing to see it to feel it coming from the screen in front of them in waves.
But they stuck around. Tiger was always here for Venus, like lyme disease. There was comfort in the norm at least. Sometimes they stuck around longer than other people, when the streams went past four or five hours, well into the night. Sometimes Verona wondered where Tiger lived, if they didn't have a job. Risking their sleep schedule for Venus, maybe they were just as sick in the head as Verona felt.
But Venus was the cause. Why couldn't that be Lenny? Verona grimly thought.
They never told Tiger anything too personal, but occasionally dirty laundry slipped through. All Tiger could do was offer their apologies and well-wishes. Once Tiger-Lover asked Verona If they wanted to kill “Matthew”, Verona assumed they were joking.
They didn't say anything.
Death was a lighting bolt, Verona wanted the difficulty of life. They swallowed hard, it was the heaviest thing they had come to accept in their life.
Stupid Lenny.
---
Four months swept by like the first orange leaf to fall to the ground. Verona's birthday passed by without a struggle or even a decent acknowledgement.
They were thirty-three now. Another day spent alone, another insignificant day and yet they expected something to come forth. Like a blessing bestowed by something stronger than them.
Looking up from their coffee at the sun. Like there was a promise meant to be kept but they couldn't remember what it was. They were still in Rome. The Italian sun wasn't killing them anymore.
Verona didn't really feel much of anything anymore. Just pitiful bubbles in their stomach that could be mistaken for gas.
Casually wondering what Lenny was doing now, if he thought about them, gave up on them yet.
Forgotten them so well, their soul would be removed from the halls of Hades. They couldn't forget him, they kept creeping back into the caves, begging.
A white pigeon suddenly landed in front of them. They watched it coo, before a flurry of others speckled and gray showed up. They all hovered and cuddled over each other, Verona watched the white one, mixing into each other like a gallery painting like wet paint marking the start of a horizon before the sun disappeared.
It stared into Verona's eyes. They threw it a piece of bread.
Smooth exterior.
Verona went back to sipping their coffee, it had turned cold, sugar squeezed their tongue.
Maybe they should buy a cherry panna-cotta.
---
Six months in the amount of time it had taken Rome to experience the soft caress of snow, coating everything in the eye of the lord under the careful visualage of the celestial bodies. First the sun, though hidden by the clouds, eventually made way for the glimmer of moonlight for the faraway orbit of the small lunar object. Blinking in and out, as it phased in between the shimmery, pale clouds.
Verona looked at families and friends point at the flutter of snow, forming balls in the passage of their hands before throwing it at their accomplices. Laughs and cheers filled Verona's ears in a way that left them feeling empty before silence followed, telling Verona that they had left, to the safety and warmth of their homes.
And Verona wouldn't know anything about that, still sitting on the bench. They looked up momentarily to stare at the moon, inciting a reaction in them they understood entirely too well.
Sighing painfully.
They should leave, go back to their apartment. Looking around, they realized they were completely alone now. Not that this was a particularly new phenomenon to them, though with the appeal of Venus being more reoccurring to them and what had happened months ago…
It felt strange. Verona continued to sit. Flakes of cold wetness hitched a ride on the slope of their nose before falling to their lips. They stuck their tongue out, it was refreshing. Recollecting the feeling of mist gripping their shoulders like a hot towel, and being thrown into bodies of water.
They had gotten better. Water didn't make them want to shit their pants anymore. Probably smelled the better for it too.
Sometimes the feeling of water gliding down their body, and steam wrapped all over them felt like Lenny, all around them and inside them. If they spent multiple hours inside the shower now or on the floor of the tiles, that was nobody's business but their own.
Getting up. Somehow their legs started pushing them somewhere they weren't privy to. They remembered the suffocating hold a white dove had on their brain waves, like a flash of light from the sky it dived in and out miraculously wet like it had experienced the pleasure of rebirth. The grey gaze of Oceanus wandered back into the picture to look at Verona, coupled with the notion that at the right time, everything about the scene would shine like diamonds rippling.
And Verona debated on what happened to the alexandrite.
They were front of the Trevi Fountain. When it had turned night, and it was so cold. There was for once, not a single other soul here.
Verona stared into the waters, turned dark and murky by the curtain of night. Spotting the reflection of the moon in the wettest mirror. Not bothering to take of their shoes, they were no doubt going to get sick, maybe a fever would do them some good. Nobody says this but there's an idea that when a person is at their lowest point, they understood full heartedly what they need.
Verona hitched a ride in the chasm of the fountain. It freezing, and in the palm of their hand they felt coins. People's wishes and pleas either ignored or fulfilled. Wondering they they never plopped a single coin into the fountain, begging for anything. Granted they were never much for hope.
The water reached to their knees, and it made them shake. Looking up at the sky, they expected a bird to come flying down, a dove but nothing was there. Except for one gangly raven, perched on top, eyeing Verona like she was competition. It let out one noisy squawk and it made Verona giddy.
They let their body fall, their head first. Floating through the basin like it was a lazy river. They didn't know how long it lasted, shivering and staring upward, worried someone would call the police and not caring if they did. Occasionally closing their eyes, feeling the smoothness of a coin doubled between their fingers.
They held it before letting go, smiling.
“I wish for Lenny to be real.”
“What are you doing?”
Veronas eyes blasted open like a siren, getting up. Their head felt heavy, the hold of the water dragging their hair back where droplets fell down like a tsunami. That voice.
Turning around.
Lenny was in front of them, he was wearing a stupid-bright white track suit that made him stand out like a lit candle-stick in the cavern of darkness. Verona couldn't believe it, expecting to have a fever by now, blinking at him wide eyed and weary.
“You're going to get sick,” he screamed at them. Gripping their arm. He was warm. Dragging them out, before removing his jacket, revealing another equally white shirt underneath. Curling it around Verona like a cup of cider.
Verona looked at him, still expecting him to be a mirage. But he was real. Lenny was a real man. Staring between him and the moon, and the fountain.
“Huh.” Was all they could muster out.
“Lenny?” They questioned. He blinked at them, his eyes were breathtakingly green like fields of paradise. Everything they had done together started playing back in Verona's mind. What the fuck.
He sighed. “Don't be so surprised, I said I would find you.” He smiled at them, Verona wanted to headbutt him in his perfect teeth.
You didn't forget about me, right? Lenny asked, observing them with an aged nervousness. Verona blanked, there was so much going on. It had been so long.
“Now would be a perfect time to pass out.” Verona muttered, trying to joke and kept in place by Lenny's formidable hold.
“Oh no.” Lenny chuckled, bringing Verona closer so they could sense his heartbeat through the threshold of his shirt. It was loud and slow, the best thing they had ever heard.
“You're not leaving my side.”