Chapter 8 #10
"Relax, Weston," he says softly. "You’re red like a tomato."
I snort, not looking up. "It’s because I’m terrified of making you look like shit."
"You’re not gonna make me look like shit."
"You don’t know that."
"I do," he says. I swallow and force my hand to calm down. I go over his lips again, darkening the line of the bottom one, fixing the ring, adding the little shadow it casts.
"Ravioli," he says.
I look up.
He’s leaning closer now. "You’re doing great," he says.
No. This is torture and heaven.
"I haven’t even finished," I mutter. I look back down just to survive the eye contact. I add a few last touches around his eyes, deepen the pupils. A bit more shading along his jaw. A line under his neck.
Done.
I drop the pencil and exhale. "Okay. Now you can look."
He drags his chair closer instead of getting up. He goes quiet. Too quiet.
"…you absolute son of a bitch."
My heart starts beating faster. "That good or that bad?" I ask, trying to sound casual. He doesn’t answer right away. His eyes are glued to the drawing.
"Holy shit, Weston," he says finally. "That’s… that’s actually me."
I shrug, rubbing my thumbs together. "That was the goal, yeah."
He turns his head and looks at me instead. "What the actual fuck? That’s impressive. You got everything. The nose, the eyes, the ring. You even got that tiny mole on my neck. Who the fuck notices that?"
"I do, apparently," I mumble, proudly.
"You’re really good at this. Like, scary good. I knew you can draw, but this? This is insane. I look hot as fuck."
"You already knew that."
"Yeah, but seeing it through your eyes?" he says. "Makes it hit different."
I’m trying not to cry and embarrass myself.
"You’ve got talent, Weston. Real talent. The way you see shit? The way you put it on paper? That’s not normal. You’re amazing at this."
My face is officially on fire. "Stop," I mutter, staring at the table. "You’re being dramatic."
"I’m being honest," he says. "You could show this to anyone and they’d think you’ve been doing portraits for years. You nailed all of it. You nailed me."
My heart beats so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t echo in the room.
He taps the paper gently. "I’m serious. I’m proud of you."
Yeah, okay. And I’m supposed to stay away from him. He keeps staring. "This looks… expensive."
I laugh, shaky. "Calm down."
He ignores me, still staring. "Sign it."
"Why would I sign it?"
He whips his head toward me, offended. "What do you mean why?!" he says. "Obviously you’re gonna sign it. Sign it. Now. And put the date."
I laugh. No one’s ever been this excited about my drawings. People usually go "oh that’s nice" and move on.
He wants a whole ceremony. "Okay, okay," I say. I take the pencil again, and sign my name in the corner.
Add the date under it. It feels weirdly official.
The second I pull my hand back, he’s already grabbing his phone.
"Gio—" I start, but too late.
He’s taking pictures. One, two, three, different angles like it’s a photoshoot.
I start laughing. "I think you’re overreacting a little."
He stops. Turns to me slowly with this lethal look.
"Stop downgrading yourself, Weston," he says, snapping another photo.
"I’m not overreacting, Rava. You are not reacting enough. Your drawing deserves all the attention I’m giving it. Let me give it."
That lands deep.
No one’s ever talked about something I make like that. I don’t know how I’m supposed to go back to pretending we’re nothing after this.
Because I know now. I know I’m not going to want another guy after him. He’s already ruined me for everyone else without even trying.
He walked into my life like a problem I had to tolerate, and turned into the only person I actually want to let this close.
And I know I’ve never been with a guy before. I know how girls work.
But guys? I have no freaking idea.
I don’t know how it feels.
I don’t know where my hands are supposed to go, how my body is supposed to react, what it’s supposed to mean after.
I don’t know if I’ll freak out, if I’ll overthink it, if I’ll like it too much.
All I know is that I want to cross that line, and I want it to be with him.
Even if I’m clueless.
Even if I’m terrified I’ll do something wrong.
I want to figure it out with him.
I don’t want some random boy to be the first. I don’t want a drunk mistake, or a blur I will later pretend I don’t remember.
I want to learn this with Gio.
Even if I mess up. Even if I’m awkward. If I’m going to find out what it’s like to be with a guy, I want my first lesson to be him. I don’t want it to be anybody else.
50) Answer It
Rava
It's night, so our chances of doing anything "productive" are basically zero.
Our last night in Spain.
Last night we get to be something more than two coworkers.
Last night we don't have to act. I'm not ready to say goodbye to something that hasn't even started yet.
I already miss these days, and they're not even over. God, I hope Gio feels a fraction of this. He tries to fold his shirt, but all he does is turn it into a wrinkled ball.
"Turn around," he says. "I'm failing because you're watching me."
"Oh, definitely," I laugh. "I'm sure that's it." I keep watching anyway. His hands move, frustrated. He pushes his wet hair back.
The shirt he's wearing tonight? Way too tight. Probably on purpose.
"Is that your strategy?" I ask, trying to focus on rolling up my belt. "Distract the airport security with your biceps so they don't check your overweight baggage?"
He grins. "You think these are distracting?"
Then flexes. Fully. Unironically.
"You're a menace."
"Say thank you."
I'm this close. I'm literally one breath away from thanking him for waking up whatever the hell he woke up inside me. And I have so many reasons to thank him, it's embarrassing.
I loop my belt, bend over the suitcase to shove it in, and he taps my ass with his foot, gently.
Like he's saying this is mine without actually saying it. I whip around immediately.
He's sprawled across the bed now, stretching. He winks at me. I look down by accident, and catch a full view of his thighs.
His ridiculous, unfair, massive thighs.
I swallow hard. How did I manage to make that, want me?
How does someone like him looked at someone like me and decided: yeah, I'll take that one?
I want to scream it. Show it off. Wear it like a medal. But no, I have to shove it deep down and pretend it doesn't exist.
Because back home, "Gio" is the forbidden word.
You say his name and everyone crosses themselves like he's the devil. If they only knew.
"How are you so calm?" I mutter.
"I don't believe in panic," he says, then pauses. "Except in bed. There I fully support it."
"You're unbelievable."
He looks at me. "But you're gonna miss me."
I try to laugh. Tried. "You wish."
"Oh, I know."
I smile, because I'm a liar. Of course I'm gonna miss him.
I already do and I haven't even left yet. I'm already grieving something that technically... never started.
"You gonna cry when I leave?" I ask.
"Only if you don't kiss me goodbye."
That almost kills me. Seriously.
"Didn't think I would ever say this, but I'm gonna fucking miss sharing a bed with you, Ravioli."
"I mean," I say, fingers barely brushing his thigh, "we can keep doing this. Even in Italy… If we're careful."
He smirks like he already knows we wouldn't be. "You think we can pull that off?"
I tilt my head. "You doubting me, Fontana?"
His hand creeps onto my knee. "Never. I just think... you're gonna be the one who cracks."
"Me?" I scoff. "Why? You couldn't handle it and kissed me twice after the club."
"Yeah, but you were the one who suggested we kiss in the first place," he shoots back, fingers sliding into my hair.
"So you were already done for."
Shit. From that angle... okay, he's got a point.
"What are you gonna do," he goes on, "when I sit on your right and your terrifying father sits on your left?"
I lean back on my hands, staring at the ceiling. "I'll do what I did before," I say. "I'll look at you like you're trash."
"Mhm," he hums. "But inside, you'll have already stripped me."
I laugh. "True. But no one is gonna know that," I say. "That's between me and my brain."
"And me."
"Yes, and you. We'll time everything. Strategize."
"Use Lorenzo as a decoy."
"Absolutely."
"Make out behind doors like it's a heist."
"I love a theme."
The funny thing is... his life is already full of chaos and noise before I showed up.
Mine only just started to feel like it means something.
For him, hiding will probably feel like just another task on his daily to-do list. Fuck around, flirt, run from cops, dodge family drama, keep me a secret.
Another Tuesday.
For me, this is the only thing that's going to fill me up for a while.
"It's kinda funny when you think about it," I say.
Gio laughs. "Funny? If they catch us, they're sending both of us straight to the execution center. Especially you. At least my mom already accepted I like guys. Your family has no idea, I think. And wait till they find out you picked me."
I smile, even though it's not actually funny.
He's right. For me, the damage is double. I'm suffocating just thinking about it.
"I still wanna risk it," I say quietly.
"Am I allowed to send nudes?" he asks, grinning.
I laugh. "I think it's mandatory." I look at him.
The most painful part is... all of this makes me appreciate every little thing more.
Because a straight couple? If they want someone, they can just walk up and say it.
I like you. I love you. I want you. Be with me.
Nothing complicated. Nothing risky in the same way. No family apocalypse attached to the confession.
Me? I have to learn to live off crumbs.
Off stolen, fast glances.
Off the way our knees touch under the table and neither of us pulls away.
Off the way his arm brushes mine when he passes behind my chair.
Off his foot resting against my ankle under a desk.
All those tiny, stupid things become codes. Signals.