Chapter Text
Fire tore through his gut for the first time in months. Fire like jealousy, fire like passion, fire like pain. It burns in his stomach and in his throat as it forces its path to the surface. It sets the butterflies aflame. Butterflies that are released whenever anyone says his name or Elio has the poor fortune to lay eyes on a picture featuring his beautiful, familiar smile. They die and wither and settle like ash in his body. It brings up feelings that all the booze, all the boys, and all the girls and all of this time was supposed to squash. Like a bug under his espadrilles or a heart in his hands. If only he had found the last year so simple.
He hates him.
Even so, Elio cannot help but reach out and touch the photo. His fingers grazing Oliver’s smile, if only to convince himself it is real. He draws the shape of Oliver’s arm as it curves to meet Claire’s very pregnant stomach. A new flood of fire is released in his gut. Tears prick the corners of his eyes. Marriage was one thing but a baby another. Creating a life with someone is a different prospect entirely. Despite the fire, despite the hatred, every thought of Elio’s is only of what a terrific father he will certainly be. And on the same wave of thought, how happy he must be. Something Elio absolutely detested and in the very same breath found comfort in. He wants him to be happy.
Claire looks beautiful, she looks kind, everything Oliver could want.
“We can take it down if you’d like.” The familiar hand of his own father rests on his shoulder. He speaks simply and quietly, knowing Elio’s mind without him saying a word.
“No.” Elio lies. Samuel is quick to give him the look of knowing.
“I’ll put it in my office.” He removes the magnet from atop the photo, releasing it from its pull toward the refrigerator. His father pats his shoulder kindly and kisses Elio’s head, taking the photo away from his gaze. “Welcome, home Elly-belly.” Elio rolls his eyes at the childish nickname and at how much it still means to him. It still puts his mind at ease, the love of his parents like a protective blanket keeping him safe and warm, the way Billowy does.
It was something that he had come to find at university that was somewhat foreign to his peers. Even those of his friends who had been closest to their parents saw something different in Elio. The three of them had an understanding and respect for one another that surpassed the norm of parent and child. The kind of unconditional love that every kid longs for and deserves and every parent should aspire to. Kids like Connor, his roommate, a child of messy divorce and messy family.
“Your mother and Malfada should be back from town soon and our guests should be arriving soon as well.” Samuel checks his watch as he returns from the study. “Anchise and I can help bring yours and Connor’s things upstairs when he’s out of the bathroom.” Elio nods, hearing the toilet flush nearby. “We're so happy you both could join us for the holidays.”
“Well, it's all thanks to you folks.” Connor appears in the kitchen from behind Elio’s father. “I can’t thank you enough, Dr. Perlman, for covering my fare and letting me stay with you all.”
“Nonsense!” He cries. Slapping Connor on the back as if they are old friends. “It is our pleasure and call me Samuel. My wife should be home soon to finally meet you in person.” Connor and his family, unbeknownst to him at the time, had communicated multiple times over the phone several months ago. The three of them had covertly planned his twentieth birthday celebrations this past September, as a team. “Come now, let us get your luggage from the front hall, you two get settled in and when your mother arrives, we’ll take you on the grand tour.” The two boys nod in unison and follow Elio’s father through the villa.
They come upon the bedroom Elio once shared with Oliver. His dad looks to him, gaze full of knowing, before leaving them be to unpack and discuss sleeping arrangements.
“So this is the room…”, Connor says with a nod, intently surveying his surroundings.
Elio shoves his hands in his pockets. “Yup.” He says simply.
Connor had heard the stories time and time again. Those flowered yellow sheets, nights out on the balcony, peaches and tears in the attic. He knew everything. Elio was convinced Connor was an angel sent to him through divine fate. “What do you want to do?”
“You stay in here. I can’t.” He shrugs as he picks up his own bag and walks through the door of the adjoining rooms. “This room used to belong to my grandfather.” Connor follows him in, leaning on the doorframe, listening. “Elio was my mother’s father and my namesake.” He drops his things on the single bed, prepped and made by Malfada. “I feel like I can hear him grinding his teeth sometimes. When I lay awake at night. It’s freaky but also somewhat cool.” His friend nods. “We’ll have to share the bathroom, there’s only one way out.”
“I think we can handle that.” Connor says. “After all, we’ve been sharing a bathroom since the day we met.”
“I was just warning you.” Elio rolls his eyes playfully. “In case you thought you might get a break from sharing with me on this vacation.” Elio quickly unpacks his bag. He finds several pairs of socks and a few pairs of underwear amongst his things that he knew were not his own. “Come on, dude!” Throwing the clothing at his friend’s head, laughing, “How did this end up in my stuff?!”
He catches some of it easily. “I ran out of space!” Connor shrugs matter-of-factly, grabbing the rest of his things off the floor where they had landed, disappearing into the other room. “They are clean, I swear!” He tries to make it better from the other side of the wall.
Elio laughs, he really doesn’t care all that much. “Whatever.”
“Your dad is cool.”
“I know.” Elio knows this is a fact. Everyone is immediately taken by Samuel Perlman and Connor was obviously no exception.
A calm, heavy feeling fills Elio as he finally gives himself a moment to look around the room. He had been back to the villa a couple of times since the summer of Him. It had not become any easier, something that worried him. What if he could never shake those days and nights? What if no one ever fills the hole in his heart? What if no one ever quite fits? Connor assures him almost everyday what a brilliant and eligible bachelor he is. But it feels the same as a compliment from his parents, their love for Elio lets them look at him through rose-colored glasses. He almost believes them.
As if it is muscle memory, he floats over to his desk, slipping his hand underneath. He runs his fingers along the underside until he feels it. Elio tugs lightly, enough to remove the tape holding it to the desk but not enough to crumple it or rip it. He opens the envelope. Dozens of polaroids slide out. A fire, upon the sight of him, sparks. This Oliver is altogether the same and an entirely different man than the Oliver had adorned his parents fridge.
Elio recalls carrying around that camera with him everywhere they went. Oliver didn’t mind one bit. He did not seem to mind being Elio’s muse either, in fact, he seemed to revel in it. In the same way Elio reveled in the control he had with his camera. His lover posed whenever he was asked and froze in candid beauty whenever requested. In the same way Elio had fallen for Oliver in the Summer of 1983, Elio had fallen for his camera. The origins of two of his greatest loves.
When he returned home from Rome he realized two of his developed photos were missing. Elio had always suspected Oliver of the crime. A thought he liked. A thought he devoured. A suspicion he longed to be true. For if it was true, if Oliver had taken the polaroids, he too must have longed for something to help him remember. Elio was someone he wanted to remember. Although, the pictures could have just as easily fallen behind the dresser in their hotel room, lost for the next hotel guest to find.
Settling on the bed, he flips through the photos, tears in his eyes. Connor finds him there. He sits beside him. Elio hands him the stack of polaroids wordlessly. “1983?” He asks simply.
“1983.” Elio confirms, without looking at him. Throwing himself back on the bed in frustration. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He mutters bitterly under his breath.
“These are beautiful, man.” Connor turns to him. Elio lays on the bed, hands covering his eyes and massaging his temples.
“Shut up.”
“No. I’m serious.” He attempts to yank Elio’s hands away from his face with no luck. “Even if you hadn’t told me your story… these pictures…”, he sighs, “I can tell how much you loved him.”
Elio sighs. “I know.” His voice is small and drained of his usual confidence and wit. “I hate this.”
“I know.” Connor agrees.
It’s all either of them say for a minute. Elio shakes his head and speaks, staring up at the ceiling. “She’s pregnant.” He says softly.
“You knocked someone up?” Connor whirls around. “What the fuck Elio! How long have you known?”
“No…”, Elio waves the idea away and rolls his eyes. “Not me dumbass, you know I’m safe.” Connor releases the breath he is holding. He lets out a little laugh at the mix-up and the name calling. “No, it’s Claire. Oliver's wife.”
“Oh shit, his wife is pregnant?”
“Yes.”
“How pregnant?”
“I don’t know. Pregnant. Does it matter?”
“No.” He shrugs. “I’m sorry.” Connor lays down beside Elio, joining him as he stares at the ceiling. He folds his hands over his stomach. “Is that what I’m supposed to say right now? I’m sorry? Or should I say fuck him? Good for him? Which would you prefer?”
“I don’t know, Connor.” All of those phrases rattled around his mind and none of them quite fit. How does he describe what he needs, when he cannot even sort out how he feels.
How can Oliver be so… okay? For all the moments Elio yearned for his voice, his touch, his mind, how many times had Oliver thought of him? He didn’t know. In the beginning, it kept him up at night. He longed to be something Oliver missed, something Oliver coveted, something Oliver treasured, even in secret. Then again, Elio had too much pride to be anyone's secret. And yet, was there truly a limit to what Elio would do for him?
The moment is broken by the dinner bell, most likely alerting them to Mother’s and Malfalda’s presence and the beginning of the grand tour led by his mother and father.