Forty Ramin
forty
Ramin
A drizzle coated the windows of the train back to Milan. Ramin stared out at the rain-soaked green, listening to a podcast to practice his Italian. He’d meant to listen to it every day, but Noah was way more entertaining than a podcast.
Noah.
His hands itched to pull out his phone and text. See how things were going. Check in on Jake. But he needed to let Noah deal with this. And after that…
Well, after that, they could figure out where to go from here.
Ramin’s seatmate returned from the bathroom, jostling him as they sat. Ramin sighed.
This was going to be a long ride.
Strange how quickly he’d gotten used to having someone with him.
Being able to turn and tell a story, or point out an interesting view, or share a smile at the experience, or split a bottle of wine.
Now that he thought about it, he’d barely been alone this entire trip.
Noah and his family had been around. Or Francesca and Paola.
He’d planned to come to Italy alone. Reinvent himself. Find himself under a different man every night. Now that he was actually alone again, listening to a podcast and watching the rain, he realized what a terrible plan that was.
Traveling alone really fucking sucked.
What had he been thinking, anyway? How was cutting himself off from everyone supposed to make him Interesting and New? Who would look at his pierced ears and new tattoo and see something in him that they didn’t see before?
Noah had seen him, though. Noah had never thought Ramin was boring, or ugly, or not enough. He’d panicked and run off, but who wouldn’t? Now that he’d had time to think, now that the sting of it had worn off, Ramin could see that. Noah wasn’t Todd.
Fuck Todd, anyway.
So yeah, Ramin had never been boring.
But right now, he was bored .
It was raining harder by the time Ramin pulled into Milano Centrale, big fat drops that painted the world in gray.
His footsteps sloshed on the wet sidewalk as he power-walked to his apartment, darting from awning to awning as best he could.
His clothes were sodden by the time he made it home.
His shorts dripped onto the elevator floor.
His hair hung damp over his forehead. His shirt stuck to his chest and under his moobs.
No matter how many push-ups he did, how carefully he ate, he never seemed to make them go away entirely.
Noah hadn’t minded them, though. He’d enjoyed Ramin’s body. Ramin had felt that every time they touched, every time they kissed, every time Noah looked at him like he was a work of art that belonged in some fancy Italian museum.
He was still blushing at the memory when the elevator door opened to reveal Francesca and Paola.
“Ramin! Ciao!” Paola said. Today she wore an emerald dress with a white sport coat over it.
Next to her, Francesca clutched a rolled-up umbrella under her arm.
She was in a sport coat too, with a scarf draped around her neck, even though it was still hot out.
The rain had made everything humid but far from cool.
Still, Ramin had seen lots of people dressed like winter was coming. Maybe Italians were immune to the heat.
“Ciao,” he said.
“How was Genova?” Francesca pulled him out of the elevator and swiped at his shoulders like she could brush off the rain.
“It was really nice.” Ramin felt himself blushing. “Really nice.”
“But where’s your friend ?” Paola’s eyebrows danced at the word.
Ramin might have told them—in the most general terms—about Noah.
“Paola, he’s soaked. Allora, come in, let’s have a coffee and you can tell us everything.”
“It’s fine, really,” Ramin said, but Francesca already had a grip on his arm and was dragging him toward their door. She grabbed a towel for Ramin while Paola went to make them espressos.
Their apartment was laid out similarly to Ramin’s, but where his rental was minimalistic, theirs was an explosion of color. Oil paintings of flowers adorned every wall. Throws and pillows clashed with the furniture, but somehow, they made a unified whole. The apartment looked homey. Cozy. Perfect.
“Allora, tell us everything,” Francesca said, spinning her chair around to sit backward.
Ramin didn’t tell them everything everything, but he did tell them the broad strokes. What they’d seen, what they’d eaten, what they’d done (not counting the sex).
“Sì, but where is he now?” Paola asked, looking toward the door like Noah might be just outside.
“Turin.”
Paola drew back and frowned so deeply it gave her a double chin. “Torino? Why?”
“His son’s in the hospital.”
“Che disastro!” Francesca said. “Is he all right?”
“He’s okay now. But Noah went, and when I asked him if I could go along with him, he said no.”
“Ah.” Paola and Francesca shared one of those inscrutable couple’s looks , made even more inscrutable because Ramin didn’t know if they were look ing in Italian or English.
“But you wanted to go?” Paola asked.
“Yeah. I… yeah.” Ramin sighed. “I just don’t like how we left things.”
“Well, you can talk it out when he comes back,” Francesca said. “When you love someone, you have to have faith.”
Ramin sputtered. “I didn’t say anything about—”
“You Americans,” Paola said, but she had a twinkle in her eye. “It’s written all over your face. Just because you’re afraid to say it, doesn’t mean it isn’t real.”
Something was clawing at the inside of Ramin’s rib cage, desperate to get out.
“But I can’t love him. It’s only been a week and a half. You can’t fall in love with someone in a week and a half.”
“Why not?” Francesca reached for Paola’s hand and twined their fingers. “We fell in love in a day. And every morning for the last twenty years we fall in love all over again.”
Ramin stared at them.
Twenty years ago, he was in high school, crushing on Noah, closeted and lonely and grieving and afraid.
No, not just crushing.
He’d loved Noah.
Loved Noah to his core.
So it was the easiest thing in the world to fall in love with him again. Even if it had only taken a week.
Ramin loved Noah. Fuck. He loved him.
“Allora, there’s the little lightbulb,” Francesca said. She stood abruptly and brushed off the front of her dress. “We’d better go. Tell us how it goes, will you?”
Ramin’s head spun. They couldn’t just… just drop a logic bomb on him and then leave. Could they?
They could, kissing him on the cheeks and ushering him out the door and then leaving him staring after them, gobsmacked, as they squeezed into the elevator, gave a little wave, and descended.