Five Ramin
five
Ramin
Ramin staggered back to his apartment in a daze. He only tripped on the cobbled stones twice.
Noah Bartlett, all grown up.
Noah had been handsome when they were teenagers. Really handsome. The kind of handsome that meant he had one girlfriend or another basically all through high school. All that had only been a preview, though. All the pieces of his face didn’t quite fit together when they were teenagers.
Now they did.
Noah wasn’t just handsome, he was beautiful .
Striking, and fit, with that wide smile and those warm, shining eyes, and that deep voice that made Ramin’s knees go wobbly.
Ramin thought he’d left crushing on straight guys behind, along with acne (thanks, salicylic acid!) and wet dreams (thanks, right hand!).
Speaking of wet dreams, Ramin still remembered that really vivid one he’d had, the one with Noah in it, the one burned into his mind…
God, Ramin did not miss being a teenager.
Not only had Noah been handsome, but he’d also been a good friend.
Not good as in close—Arya and Farzan had been Ramin’s only close friends—but good as in kind .
Noah Bartlett had every reason to treat Ramin like shit, just like all the other straight white jocks at Northland High, but he never had.
It was no surprise he’d grown into an even kinder man.
God. Noah Bartlett. Here.
Here with a son. An adorable son, who had Noah’s eyes, Noah’s friendly spirit, Noah’s kindness. Because Jake hadn’t pulled away when Ramin said hello; he’d gone in for a fist bump.
And Jake’s mother, too. Not Noah’s wife, but Jake’s mother. No ring that Ramin had noticed, either. What did it all mean? Were they married but didn’t use rings? Together but not married? Just friendly co-parents? Were they divorced? Did divorced couples take family vacations together?
For a second Ramin imagined traveling with Todd post-breakup. A small, pathetic part of him kind of wished Todd was here. Someone to share the adventure with.
But he was Interesting New Ramin. He didn’t need anyone to share adventures with. Life was his adventure!
That didn’t stop the hollow ache in his chest, though. His grand Italian adventure was supposed to be a honeymoon. A romantic tour of Rome. Or maybe a stay on the Amalfi Coast. Todd loved the beach.
Ramin loved the sea itself, if not the beach.
The endless crash of waves, water stretching to the horizon, clouds marching by.
He would’ve been content to sit on a hotel balcony, sipping a glass of wine, taking in all that blue.
But Todd would’ve wanted to be in the sand, shirtless to show off all the time he’d been putting in at the gym, short shorts (or a Speedo) to let everyone know he was gay, drinking in the attention even though he wasn’t available.
Ramin shook his head as he fought with the front gate to his apartment building.
Had Todd always been that way, and Ramin just hadn’t noticed?
Or had Todd changed as he felt the footsteps of his forties marching steadily closer?
Ramin had never minded getting older. Another year of life meant another year of honoring his parents.
Doing things they never got to do. Honoring his queer elders, too, the ones who fought for him and the ones who hadn’t survived the fight.
He was living for the hopes and dreams of so many people.
Including his own. So fuck Todd.
And fuck himself, because seven flights of stairs was more than he’d realized, and his glutes were burning.
Once Ramin was certain he wasn’t going to have a heart attack, he put his new clothes in the washer, made himself a cup of tea—in the apartment’s smallest saucepan, since apparently neither Francesca nor Paola saw the need for a kettle—and pulled out his phone.
Kansas City was seven hours behind, so it was just past eight in the morning there. His friends were probably awake by now.
Even if they weren’t, they were used to Ramin texting early. He was the only morning person among them.
He opened the group chat.
Ramin
Made it to Milano!
But my bags went to Amsterdam.
Arya
Your bags are getting 420
Farzan
Duck!!
Fuck*
Glad you made it safely!!
David
Make sure to drink all the wine for me!
Ramin
I can’t drink all the wine, I would die!
I will drink a lot of it though.
Farzan
Don’t die
Everything good otherwise?
Ramin sipped his tea. It was weak. The bags were probably expired. He needed to get some at the grocery store.
Everything was good otherwise. Right? Except for the existential crisis of running into his old crush at a gelateria in a one-in-a-billion (or maybe even trillion) coincidence.
Part of him wanted to tell his friends about seeing Noah.
They probably remembered him, at least a little bit, even if they hadn’t been friends with him.
But what was there to say? It wasn’t like he’d ever see Noah again anyway.
Ramin
Everything is good
Arya
Have you found any dick yet?
Ramin snorted. Trust Arya to ask the important questions. But he couldn’t get any dick until his suitcase arrived. In addition to condoms and lube, it also had his enema bulb for prepping. And besides, he wanted to get used to Italy before he ventured out in search of dick.
An image of Noah popped into his mind, more specifically the front of Noah’s jeans, but Ramin shoved that away. No, nope, not going there. He was here to reinvent himself. Get under as many men as he could.
Not rekindle a twenty-year-old crush that had never gone anywhere back then and was certainly not going to go anywhere now.
Ramin
Not yet. Will report back.
One thing Ramin had learned about Italy in his research: Italians liked to eat dinner late. Really late. Like, seven o’clock was early to them. Any restaurant that was open before then was one for tourists, not locals, and Ramin wanted to live like a local.
He made it to six forty-five before his growling stomach got the best of him.
The late afternoon sun turned the streets golden as he stepped onto the sidewalk, making sure the gate closed behind him like Francesca and Paola had instructed.
He reached for his phone to look up restaurants but stopped himself.
He was Interesting New Ramin. He didn’t need Google reviews.
He took things as they came. He did as the locals did.
He turned left and started walking.
His apartment was in Porta Nuova, a cute neighborhood north of the city center, but then again, were any Italian neighborhoods not cute? Vespas and Fiats zipped by on the street. Bicycles weaved around and between them.
On every street he passed, folks were closing up shops, pulling down metal shutters, locking doors, turning off lights.
On every sidewalk, people sat around little black metal tables sipping spritzes and eating olives off toothpicks, enjoying an aperitivo before dinner.
Restaurants were getting ready to open, too: servers flapped out tablecloths, set places, polished silverware.
Another thing Ramin had read: The best way to find a good restaurant was to find one where the menu wasn’t in English.
His stomach growled at him again. He was supposed to be Interesting New Ramin, not Indecisive New Ramin.
He rounded the piazza and turned onto a narrow street that curved to the right, obscuring the other end.
On the left, a patio caught his eye, lit with fairy lights.
A line was already forming by the door, but most of the people waiting looked like actual locals.
At least, he didn’t see any pairs of tennis shoes.
“Tavolo per uno?” Ramin asked when he finally made it to the host stand, manned by a black-haired twink with a strong tan and an even stronger nose.
“Sì, signor, fuori o dentro?”
“Uh…”
“Outside or inside?”
Ramin knew that. But he couldn’t translate that fast in his brain. “Oh. Outside?”
The twink led Ramin to a small table up against the rail that separated the patio from the sidewalk. Ramin ordered a sparkling water (acqua frizzante, as the locals called it) and settled in to study his menu. Sure enough, it was entirely in Italian.
A good sign.
At least until Ramin actually tried to read the menu and realized he couldn’t. His Italian wasn’t up to snuff yet. He pulled out his phone to start translating.
Before he could, though, he heard a voice call his name.
An impossible voice.
Noah’s voice.
“Ramin?”