Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

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Boston, March 2nd, 1910

Dear friend:

It has been a long time since we last spoke, has it not? I ask you to please don't blame me, though I recognize my faults, I must also blame you for the fact that I have not heard from you or your family for quite some time. I hope they are doing well.

The reason  I am writing to you is rather selfish, but I am in need of a helping hand now more than ever. You know how stressful life in the city can be, and due to most regrettable recent events, I have decided that a change of scenery is quite urgent for my family, and especially for my eldest son.

I remember the many times you wrote to me about the wonders of Italy, so is joining you and your family during summer too much of a request? Florence does sound quite dull if I recall your words correctly, but perhaps calmness is just what my boy needs.

I'm asking you this favor as a friend, so do not feel pressured or burdened by my request. If it is too much to ask, please feel free to refuse us. I assure you, no hard feelings will result from it.

Please write back as soon as you can.

Sincerely,

-Jake Sully.

Chapter Text

The car moved relentlessly along the dirt road with the force and excitement of a poorly made path. The nature surrounding them was a strange sight to the eyes of people who had grown up surrounded by concrete buildings so tall that one had to break their neck to even catch a glimpse of the top, and yet Neteyam was unable to share his siblings' joy at the views and the scent that the recent rains had left in the air. 

It had been a long journey from America to the European country, and after almost a month and a half spent on a ship, they had finally set foot on the extravagant streets of central Italy. The change of pace from Boston to Florence was inevitable to compare, for children who were born and raised in the chaos of the city, the singing of animals was nothing like the roar of engines and the ringing of the tram’s bell. 

Hiding it had been easy at first, explaining their long faces with excuses about seasickness and sudden fatigue, but of course, the Sullys’ temperament was not easy to deal with, let alone contain. 

His siblings complained at his side, evoking the drama of a group of dancing elephants. Among them was Tuktirey, the youngest, with eyes as big as her mother's, and like her, a perfect arbitrary, who made sure that everyone present heard her complaints in an attempt to have her hardships resolved. 

“I don't understand why we have to come here! There are a million other places in the world, so why did father choose here? We've been traveling forever, and I'm tired! I want to go home!”

With her cheeks puffed out, she leaned against her second brother, Lo'ak, who showed little tolerance for her tantrum and pulled one of her bows to stop her hysterics, or at least increase the sound of the orchestra that was her crying.

“Tuktirey,” Kiri warned her with all the seriousness she could muster. "Can you stop complaining now? The Genaros are good people. You'll like them, you'll see. 

“I don't want to!”

“Don't you ever get tired?” Lo'ak huffed, shifting in the cramped seat with an impatience that made him restless. “The countryside isn't bad, and only idiots spend the summer in the city. What does it matter? Do you want to be one of those? Or are you already one?”

“No!” The little girl jumped, her back stiff and her eyes alert. 

“I'm glad.” He nodded with satisfaction. “Hush, now.”

“We all need this time away from the routine, anyway.” Kiri sighed, always serving as the voice of reason and calm for the whirlwind that was her siblings. “Right?” She asked everyone, but no one answered. 

Neteyam stared ahead at the landscape, interrupted by his parents' backs, just to avoid the worried looks from his family. Tuktirey continued to mutter under her breath for a while, her arms crossed, and the deep pout that used to take over her lips every time something didn't go her way, clearly present.

Lo'ak tried to silence her with pinches, interrupted only by his older brother's guiding hand, which patted him on the back and gave him a saintly smile. It was difficult to make such gestures those days, yet Neteyam did it so naturally that at times his brother envied him. 

The young man's soul was heavy. He hated being the reason his father had dragged the whole family to another continent in a desperate attempt to improve things. He hated being the reason his siblings would have to abandon their routines and put their leisure activities on hold in order to maintain the fragile stability to which he had been lately tied. 

A soft sigh escaped his chest, and his hand went behind the girl's ear. She jumped in fright, but her eyes lit up when she saw the candies that were being given to her in secret, and sharing a knowing smile, they chewed them until their jaws ached and their teeth were full of sugary stickiness.

The road stretched on endlessly until Neteyam thought they might never reach their destination. What did it matter? He hoped they wouldn't. He didn't feel like responding to pitiful smiles with sanctimonious ones, or imposing his sad presence on the home of strangers who took him in out of affection for his father. 

He didn't like favors. He had been at the mercy and service of others for long enough, and the moment he set foot on foreign soil, he would be forever indebted to strangers for whom he had no affection or consideration.

Unfortunately, the moment arrived. The cars stopped in front of a large villa, and Neteyam's stomach twisted with nerves. He felt his brother give him an encouraging squeeze on the shoulder, a gesture of consideration, and yet so condescending that it forced him to stare at his shoes in shame and keep his mouth shut as they walked alongside his father. 

A burly man opened the front door, followed by whom he assumed was his wife. His name was Tonowari, and he had been a friend of his father's for years. The Sully children only knew the man by name, but their father was so fond of him that he didn't seem like a stranger to them.

“And these must be your children,” he greeted them with a welcoming, complacent, almost affable smile. “My family and I were looking forward to your arrival.” 

“We appreciate your hospitality.” The Sully patriarch shook his hand, patting his friend heartily on the back as he laughed to express their affection for each other. 

They were boisterous gestures, almost rehearsed, like all the gestures of affection that men gave each other, disguised as rudeness and jokes, for they were not allowed the kind words and caresses on the face that ladies were so accustomed to sharing with each other. 

“Nothing to thank me for. This is your home.” 

Neteyam saw his parents sigh with such relief that he felt ashamed. To think that they were dragging their dignity through the mud, begging for kindness from others, in need of the help that no one else had given them to get out of the precarious situation their eldest son had put them in. It was humiliating, yet no one else seemed to see it that way. 

Tonowari looked at all of them, but only shook Neteyam's hand, which made the young man so aware of the reason for his stay that he unintentionally tightened his grip and hardened the expression on his face as he often did when he felt at a disadvantage, risking appearing rude.

He noticed the forced smile on the woman standing next to their host. Ronal, who stood slenderly beside her husband, clasped her hands in front of her lap as if she feared the Sullys would charge at them with the force of a cavalry.

She did not welcome the strangers who had moved into her home, and Neteyam did not blame her for it, but guilt forced him to retreat stealthily behind the figures of his family, and take his little sister in his arms to play with her, distracting himself with the company of the only person who lately did not treat him as if he were made of glass. 

The tour of the residence began promptly after introductions. Tonowari personally took them to their rooms and insisted that his wife return to the backyard with their family. The four of them were given their own rooms on the same floor as their children in the hope of fostering friendship, any chance of privacy taken away by the doors that connected the rooms as a means of easy access. 

Neteyam opened the door to the servants who were arranging his belongings and went to let in the cool summer air through the window that offered a breathtaking view of the backyard. Trees greener than he could have imagined surrounded the grounds like a wall that kept them away from the rest of the world. Sparrows perched on their swaying branches, their song causing him to close his eyes and breathe in the fresh air, free of any trace of smoke. He had just been outside, and yet admiring the house from above gave him a new sense of awe.

When he opened his eyes again, the image of a man lying on the grass intrigued him. His white shirt, loosely buttoned, made him a rarity among all that green, and if it weren't for the lazy smile on his lips, he would have thought he was asleep, free of worries. 

“Neteyam...” He turned at the sound of his mother's voice standing in the doorway. Neytiri reached out and offered her hand to her son, but he held out his arm and waited for her warm hands to encircle it. “Do you like this place?”

“It's quiet,” he nodded with a gentle expression to calm his mother's nerves. “Peaceful.”

His mother watched him silently, wondering if she should believe his words or look beyond the iron mask he had put on, trying to find a crack through which to slip in words of love and comfort. In the end, she said nothing, and with that, they went outside.

After assessing the condition of the rooms, they left the servants to take care of the rest of the unpacking and embarked on a search for the orchestrators of all that drama. 

Tonowari, who proudly showed off his summer home to his friend with an air of confidence that only a man with money could have, continued to drag them down long endless corridors, and although it was amusing to see Lo'ak's angry face, Neteyam believed that the man had every right to want to show off. The residence was beautiful.

There was something about its wide hallways and high ceilings that made him feel small and at peace. The intricate design of the windows and the marble figures everywhere made him forget that he was walking inside someone's house and not in a museum.

His house in Boston was very different. There were no hallways leading to nature, and the dark wood of the furniture, unlike his host's villa, made everything seem gloomy. A residence constantly shrouded in the mist of cloudy days in a city whose air, polluted by coal and progress, kept him locked within the four walls of his room. 

His siblings loved their house, and Neteyam often felt frustrated that he could no longer identify with that feeling.

As a child, when he was still innocent, he loved his home. But on that terrible morning that marked the rest of his life, he woke up feeling like a stranger among his own people, and everything that had once made him happy was taken away by an unknown darkness that withered his soul and took hold of it. 

“Come, come, let me properly introduce you to my family,” said the man, with an enthusiasm that the young man knew would be short-lived. 

They went out to the patio, where a table was set, waiting for everyone to take their seats. Ronal and a young woman, much closer in age to a girl than a woman, stood up when they saw them. 

“This is my daughter, Tsireya,” Tonowari said with a smile that could not hide his delight at his daughter's beauty. She was the spitting image of his wife, and Neteyam thought she was one of the most beautiful women he had ever met. 

“Nice to meet you all. We are very excited to have you here,” said the young woman with a genuinely welcoming smile. Her practiced, diplomatic demeanor faltered as soon as she exchanged glances with Lo'ak, turning her into a girl with a shy smile, and him into a Casanova. 

Neteyam stifled a laugh. How was it possible that, at nineteen, his brother still blushed at the sight of a pretty woman? 

“And we are very grateful for your hospitality,” said Jake, touched by the young woman's warm personality.

Neteyam was easily distracted from the conversation, his attention focused on the two men approaching them with stifled laughter and mocking glances.

“...Americans,” whispered the larger, more recognizable of the two, seeking to provoke laughter from his companion.

Neteyam frowned but said nothing. He wasn't interested in meeting them, so if they were determined to be unwelcoming, so be it. He wouldn't give it much thought, as long as they were respectful to his family.

“This is my nephew Rotxo, who will be staying with us for the season, and my son Ao'nung. Comportati bene, si?” (“Behave yourself, okay?”) Tonowari whispered to his son, who just looked away, pretending not to hear. He seemed amused by the whole thing, mocking and confident in the knowledge that he was on his home turf. 

The host's attempts at introductions were interrupted by his son's complaints. Averse to pleasantries, he turned away, leaving the guests mid-sentence, and sat down at the table with a disrespectful ease that everyone slowly imitated. 

Unfortunately for Neteyam, he ended up sitting right in front of the broad-shouldered man who was looking at him with that unsettling smile of curiosity. 

“What's your name?” Ao'nung asked indifferently, his voice muffled by the mandarin slices he was chewing and his thick accent. He stopped peeling the fruit, intrigued by the man's silence. He offered him a slice, reaching out his arm toward him, but Neteyam just shook his head. “Well?”

“... Neteyam Sully,” he said, looking around the table to see if any of his brothers were as surprised as he was by the man's strange attitude, but they were all engrossed in their own conversations.

“Ah, of course...” He nodded to himself. “I'm Ao'nung.”

“Yes, I know,” Neteyam nodded as well. “You just told us.”

“Ah, so you were paying attention?” He chuckled. “I didn't know, the way you kept looking around as if the trees held the truth of the universe.” He pointed without pointing at anything in particular, waving his finger in the air.

Ao'nung expected his sarcastic comment to be met with equal mockery, but Neteyam only frowned curiously and refocused his attention on the surroundings.

He tried a couple more times to get a word out of him, even mocking him with silly comments about Americans and their strange way of speaking, but Neteyam remained unperturbed, merely nodding his head as one would to a small child talking nonsense.

“You don't talk much,” he remarked to his companion, delighting in the way he sighed every time Ao'nung opened his mouth. “Don't you like it?”

“No, I don't.”

“Then why do you answer?”

“Because even parrots deserve the courtesy of a response.” 

Neteyam's murmur drew a laugh from deep within his chest. He had no more mandarins to peel, no more peculiarities to criticize, so without another word, he got up and set off for the house, all the while aware of his father's heavy footsteps following him and the increase in his heart rate. 

“You've been very rude today,” Tonowari frowned disapprovingly at his son, walking across the room until his attention was drawn to his son's desk. Ao'nung saw him fiddling with the little things there, his mind elsewhere. “Go back outside, you can't just leave like that.”

“I doubt they care about my presence there; they seem to be perfectly fine without me.” He pointed to the window where the two families were chatting happily among themselves, except for Neteyam. He was just watching from the corner of the table with a soft smile that made Ao'nung scoff. “Absolutely fine,” he muttered under his breath.

“Must I remind you of our last conversation?” Tonowari spoke in a stern tone that made Ao'nung turn around, leaving behind his carefree attitude and replacing it with a sigh of frustration. “Be welcoming.”

“I have much better things to do than entertain the curiosity of strangers in my home. Why should I do it?”

“Because I'm ordering you to.” His father spoke harshly, leaving no room for discussion.

Since his adolescence, Ao'nung had developed an inexplicable desire to contradict his father. He liked to make him angry and drive him crazy, testing his limits to see how much he was allowed to do and how far he could push him without ending up suffering the consequences. Over time, he began to recognize patterns and limits, for there was nothing Ao'nung despised more than his father's angry outbursts.

“Well, if that's the case, I have no choice but to obey.” His son muttered sarcastically. 

“Are you so against the idea of being his friend that you even refuse to talk to him?”

“I'm not interested in his company, nor is he interested in mine, so why should I force him to put up with me when he seems so... satisfied with himself? Look at him,” he pointed outside, where Neteyam was once again stoically looking around from his chair. “Perfectly at ease.”

“The poor boy has brains, but he's very muddled,” he sighed, tired of his son's attitude.

“But why should he be?” Ao'nung crossed his arms without taking his eyes off the window. He couldn't see Neteyam's face, as he had turned away, remaining completely out of the conversation.

"That's how things are for some people. I don't think that boy can be fixed, but his father believes he can, and I promised him we would help.

"I'm not sure what you want me to do.

“Be his friend... Keep him from brooding alone. I personally don't believe in sadness in this world, but that boy does.” Tonowari approached him, and together they looked outside through the thin curtain. “And you?”

“Not... especially,” Ao'nung muttered, not wanting his lie to be obvious.

“Well, there you go.” His father squeezed his shoulder with a soldier's strength and headed for the door. “This is important. Don't mess it up.”

Tonowari closed the door behind him, unaware of the deep grimace of disgust on his son's face. Ao'nung felt overwhelmed. Why did he have to ruin his summer plans because of a stranger? Sure, he had heard of the Sullys once or twice, since the patriarch of the family was a close friend of his father's, but that didn't mean he had to submit to their every whim.

And what was so wrong with Neteyam Sully that he needed someone to follow him everywhere? With his reserved personality, Ao'nung hardly saw him as a troublemaker. 

He couldn't imagine him causing chaos or raising his voice at others, but maybe that was a good thing. God knew that a man with a voice as rich as velvet didn't need to raise it to be obeyed.

He laughed at his own imaginings. Ao'nung knew that the reserved ones were the worst, so he created a story in which Neteyam was a madman, his soul in turmoil, seeking refuge from the consequences of the crimes he had committed. 

He imagined him wielding a weapon between his slender fingers, committing crimes of passion, and who knows what else. He laughed and spent the next few minutes watching him from a distance. 

His calm expression was somewhat unsettling because he wasn't as easy to read as Ao'nung would have liked. If Neteyam could laugh, the idea of staying by his side wouldn't be so terrible, but he insisted on just looking at him with all the calmness in the world in his small amber eyes.

Ao'nung clicked his tongue as he thought about it and opened the window to lean on the frame. The curtains swayed in the breeze as he smoked, looking at the table in the distance. The cheerful voices reached his ears along with his father's laughter. It was like admiring a painting that was far beyond his reach.

As if he could sense his presence, the object of his interest turned his head and looked at him knowingly. He understood the feeling of being far away from the rest, even when they were just a few feet away.

For the rest of the morning, Ao'nung did his best to avoid the Sullys. He didn't hide, of course; it was his house, and he wasn't going to let a bunch of strangers intimidate him into hiding in a corner. However, at lunchtime, he realized that this might not have been the best plan he could have come up with, because the more blatant his attempt to ignore them was, the more he felt his father's angry gaze, and he was smart enough to know that if he kept up his carefree attitude, the man's composure wouldn't last until dinner.

“It can't be that bad,” his cousin said as the two of them walked away from the table with cigars in hand to talk without being overheard.

"Yes, it can, and it will be. He is a dull as they come. How am I supposed to start a conversation?

“You could ask him questions.” Rotxo shrugged.

"I already tried!

"Polite questions, Ao.

"Oops, and what's the fun in that?

“There isn't any, but I think you can get a lot of satisfaction from being a decent person.” He laughed when he saw his cousin roll his eyes. "Seriously, how hard can it be? Reya has already won over the whole family, even the little one.

“This is impossible. I bet he's not even interested in me, or any of us. In fact, he's only interested in trees, as if he's never seen one before. Please, can you believe it? What a strange guy,” Ao'nung muttered, looking back at the table.

“Then do it to please your father.” Rotxo shrugged and looked at him with pity. “Convince him that you're at least trying, so he'll leave you in peace.”

“That...” He was about to complain again, but after a moment's thought, he slapped his cousin on the back in celebration. “That might work. You truly are a genius, aren't you?”

“Not really, it's just that you're incredibly simple-minded,” Rotxo said with a chuckle, and ran off, spitting smoke between bursts of laughter before Ao'nung could catch up with him.

They returned to the table, keeping a considerable distance between them, as if nothing had happened. Ao'nung approached his father, placing both hands on the man's shoulders like the perfect image of the prodigal and devoted son, ready to show all the consideration a young man should have for his father's concerns, and spoke loudly enough for the others to hear.

“I'm going to take the car, I'm out of cigarettes.”

“Are you going alone?” Tonowari asked, as expected.

“Well, yes...” He shrugged, raising his head toward the rest of the table. “Unless Neteyam wants to come with me.” Ao'nung smiled at the man, who was taken aback and about to refuse before anyone else spoke.

“Yes, you should go!” Jake smiled at his son, who was still pursing his lips hesitantly. “Will you buy some for me too?”

As a thoughtful gesture, he gave him a lot of money, and Neteyam accepted it, even though that afternoon he just wanted to feel the sun and walk without anyone bothering him. 

“What time will you be back?” Tonowari asked cautiously, suspicious of his son's intentions. 

“We might not come back at all.” Ao'nung laughed. 

As if he hadn't heard him, Neteyam replied:

“Is eight o'clock alright?”

Without further ado, Neteyam followed his new accomplice to the car with long strides and without asking many questions. He didn't want Ao'nung to regret the invitation before they left.  

It only took ten minutes for the Italian to get fed up with the silence. He looked around, trying to find something to spark his companion's interest, but he seemed surprisingly comfortable and quite entertained by the nature around them.

“Are there really no trees in Boston?” Ao'nung muttered, but it sounded more sarcastic than he intended.

“There are parks... I don't like them. Too many people there,” Neteyam replied, turning to look at him, seemingly unperturbed. 

“Right, there aren't any people here either, are there?” he joked, and suddenly there was silence again. His fingers drummed nervously on the steering wheel. “So what's wrong with you?” he asked bluntly, and his genuine curiosity made Neteyam smile amusedly.

“Hmm... I can think of a thousand and one things, so maybe you should be a little more specific.” He leaned back more comfortably in his seat, watching Ao'nung frown as he tried to find softer words.

“Why are you here?” He frowned and looked at him. Neteyam thought for a moment.

“Because I almost killed a man.” He said simply, watching closely as his new friend stiffened in his seat, avoiding his gaze until it was obvious how nervous he was. 

“I bet he deserved it.” He murmured after a second of reflection, searching Neteyam hopefully for signs of missing psychopathy. 

“You bet right,” he nodded calmly. His voice was so soft to Ao'nung's ears that it almost sounded like a whisper. It was deep and sent a chill down his spine.

“I don't understand, then, what does your family want from me?”

“For you to stop me from trying again.” 

“And what power do I have over that? If you want to kill him, you're going to do it. You already told me he deserved it, and it must even be true. What's more, I'd even help you if you asked me unexpectedly.” 

Neteyam smiled with his lips closed, greatly pleased by the comment and entertained by the company. 

“I don't believe you.” 

“Well, don't.” Ao'nung shrugged. “Who told you to go along with a crazy bastard? Now you have to put up with the questions and passionate declarations, because that's how I am.” 

“I know that.” Neteyam raised his hands in the air to show he was helpless and deeply understanding. “Just like I know you can't stand me.” 

“No, man,” the driver shook his head, saddened. “It's just the way you are. It's not your fault. It's hard to like someone you barely know, right?”

“True.”

“It's not like you like me very much either.” 

“I don't know.” Neteyam looked at him, considering the accusation honestly. “Maybe I do.” 

“Hm... ‘maybe’,” Ao'nung muttered to himself, a little offended. “You're no saint either.” 

“Are you angry?”

“You wish.” He muttered. 

“Where are we going, then?”

“To buy cigarettes.”

“My father doesn't smoke, and you already have enough.” Neteyam accused him, pointing to his pocket with an almost full pack. “Well, then?”

“Then I don't have another plan. What do you suggest, saint?” 

“First: Don't call me that. Second: Tell me what we can do here.” 

“Walking.” He chuckled, but Neteyam considered the idea for a moment.

“I like walking,” he shrugged, earning him a long look from Ao'nung.

“You're a boring guy.”

“Because you're so funny, right?”

“I don't have to be. I'm good-looking, and that's enough for me.” Ao'nung snorted, not appreciating the return of the jokes and snide comments. “So is it for the others.” 

“It's not strange that I like simple things,” he said as he leaned toward him. For a moment, Ao'nung was surprised, and even more so when Neteyam's hand touched his leg and reached into his pocket, only to pull out a cigarette. “Do you have matches?”

Ao'nung nodded toward the inside pocket of his jacket, unable to speak as Neteyam's hand took the box.

Neteyam smoked silently until he felt Ao'nung's gaze on him, so he did what seemed most reasonable and reached out to offer him a drag on his cigarette. The black-haired man's lips wrapped around the end, and he took a deep drag, his eyes fixed on everything but the road ahead. 

The motorcar rattled like a steam engine about to explode, and Neteyam's fingertips fluttered over his lips, his free hand clinging to the door to keep his body from slamming against the seat. 

“Who's buying who ice cream!?” Ao'nung asked loudly, raising his voice above the noise of the engine and the pebbles bouncing under the wheels. 

“I to you!” 

“Good! Because I prefer wine, but my informants tell me you eat sweets when you get nervous!”

“Oh, yeah? And what else did they tell you?”

“That you followed me for everything except cigarettes!”

“Well, they told you wrong!”

“We'll see!”

“Yes! We'll see!”

 Ao'nung laughed, shaking his head mockingly. 

Neteyam continued smoking, and Ao'nung didn't say a word for the rest of the trip, his hands gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white and an anxious smile wavering on his lips that he couldn't have wiped off his face even if he wanted to. 

Chapter Text

The first days of July were Ao'nung's favorite. The remnants of the spring breeze allowed him to enjoy the weather without being overwhelmed by the uncomfortable heat that clung to his skin like a suffocating embrace, and left him with dazed senses and a meek spirit. 

In those days, the Piazza della Signoria still enjoyed the splendor of its early days, seen centuries ago when it was still being built, during the celebrations honored by the presence of the Medici family, and long afterward as the two strangers, recently befriended, watched, watched with intrigue the statues of the four cardinal virtues. 

They had spent hours driving around in silence, bored and jaded by the sight that by the third round had ceased to be a novelty, and the talk that had begun with tales of the important figures who once trod the cobblestones of Florence had then turned to banal topics such as the American's favorite cigars. 

“Blackwell's Durham,” said Neteyam, offering him one. 

“Thief.” He muttered, lighting the cigarette in his mouth and spitting out the smoke with derision. “You had yours and stole mine.”

“You'll know why.” Neteyam held back a smile as he took the first puff.

Ao'nung's face transformed into something unpleasant as he began to cough, handing him back the unfiltered cigarette that Neteyam smoked calmly.

“ Porca - is disgusting,” He said, a little choked as he cleared his throat and spat out of the car. “Eating ashes tastes better and is cheaper.”

“That's why these are only for sad occasions. The bitter taste reminds me that there are worse things than what I'm worried about.”

“I don't think so.” Ao'nung denied with certainty, removing the taste from his tongue with a swig of peach liqueur. “There will be death and war, but at least those are not felt in the back of the throat.”

“And where do you feel them?” Looking sideways at him, Neteyam asked like a shy child. 

“Well, in the heart.” He looked at him strangely. “Or don't you know?”  He laughed, allowing only a second of silence to pass. “You really don't know? You don't feel?”

“No.” The American spat in horror, as if he were being accused of a heinous crime. “I do feel.”

“Good for you.” He scoffed, taking his eyes off his nervous figure. “As for me, I'll keep concentrating on filling my throat with laughter and not disgust. Don't you dare offer me another one of those.

“I wasn't going to.”

“I'm left satisfied with misery.” The jet-haired man muttered, leaning back in his seat with his feet stretched out on the steering wheel and his hat over his eyes. 

Neteyam stared at the scenery and the people in it. They were walking from end to end in the large square, circling the same pigeons that the children scampered to make flutter, oblivious to their surroundings. 

He thought that people became exponentially ungrateful the more they had. If they were presented with beauty in plain sight, they avoided it out of jealousy or out of habit. What fault was Michelangelo's David, standing in all his splendor, that others chose to avert their eyes to feed their deeply ingrained sense of modesty? 

“Go to sleep, chap. What are you staring at?” Ao'nung murmured, narrowing his eyes to see beyond the rays of light that blinded him. He lifted his head briefly to discover his object of interest and snorted. “It's not even the original. 

“It isn't?” Neteyam turned his head, intrigued. 

“They thought it was too beautiful to be on top of a niche, so they took it to a museum and put that one in its place.”

“They? Who?”

“All of them.” He tried to shut him up with a wave of his hand. “You know, and I can even see in your face that you agree.

“I may agree, but I don't know,” Neteyam said, almost offended at being so rudely ignored. “Who?” He insisted. 

“Have mercy on a sun-drunken bastard.” Ao'nung sighed regretfully, removing his hat from his face as abruptly as he sat up in his seat, shifting his gaze between Neteyam and the statue until he hissed, “Oh, well, I don't know– Don’t look at me like that. I really don't know! Why do you ask?”

“Because I like to know.”

“What for? Knowing brings nothing but anguish.”

“And ignorance gets one nothing but taken advantage of.” The American defended himself as if his new friend had just called him an imbecile. “That's no way to live.”

“And you know a lot about living, don't you?” Ao'nung huffed, looking him over from head to toe. “We're the same age.”

“Don't be so sure about things,” Neteyam said, even though he liked the confidence with which he expressed himself. He had never met anyone with such certainty in his eyes. 

“You mock me?”

“I warn you.”

They looked at each other, and Ao'nung put one of his arms over Neteyam's backrest. He wanted to intimidate him, to mock him with a sneer on his face until he left him silent, but the stranger he had once considered insipid was determined to hold his gaze, his breath slow, totally oblivious to the fear experienced by those who rushed, believing that youth was not enough last them.

“All of this was done by the Medici.” He finally said, relaxing his shoulders. “That was made by a nobody, that was made by Michelangelo's successor, and the cigar you're going to smoke was just made by me.” With a relaxed movement of his fingers, he brought the mouthpiece to his lips, and with the others, he took his own to bring the tips together in a fiery kiss that gave life to the bitter delight.  “You'll be satisfied now, won't you?”

“Hm.” He nodded curtly, but Ao'nung had a notion that his requests for knowledge would not end there. “Where can I see art?”

“Everywhere, but the paintings are a few blocks from here.” He pointed his finger toward the corner where the narrow, intricate sandstone path began. “Do you want to go?” He saw him nod. “Some other time. I'm not in the mood to pay attention to artists today.”

“How ungrateful.” Neteyam stated as if it were the weather and got out of the car with a slam of the door. 

“You'll see how you manage to go back!” He threatened him, squeezing the steering wheel so hard he felt the leather burn against his hands as he watched his back walk away. 

With a grunt Ao’nung locked the steering wheel and jumped over the door with agility, trotting up to him with his eyes on the sky and the sun beginning to set. He had considered leaving him there, starting the car and not looking back, influenced by the anger he felt at being ignored, but as soon as he noticed the way others saw Neteyam pass, walking as gracefully and slender as he was, carried here and there with that air of security and entitlement that only Americans possessed, he felt uneasy and considered it best to convince him to return to the car so that he could devote to him the same attentions he was bent on devoting to art.

“Neteyam, my father will kill us.” He warned him urgently, losing the ease with which he had behaved from the first moment when he grabbed him by the arm with the intention of dragging him back.

“Then let him kill us.” He shrugged, and his eyes shone with a grace that Ao'nung thought was incapable in him. “He’ll see how he cleans the blood off the furniture. You can tell he likes them a lot. He kept watching me all morning, as if he expected me not to have the decency to keep the ashes off the carpet. 

“He's strict, that's all.”

“I don't doubt it, but perhaps his strictness is of more concern to his children than to a perfect stranger who came to his home for anything but the desire to live together.” 

“Well,” He began, but the words died in his mouth, convinced by the argument. “Perhaps.”

“Why did you follow me?”

“Because I felt like doing it.”

“And I've noticed that you don't restrict yourself from things you feel like doing.”

“Don't you?” Ao'nung raised an eyebrow and despite not getting an answer, the young man's silence told him everything he wanted to know. “You should.”

They crossed the street at a hurried pace and Neteyam smiled to himself. He liked buildings that looked like entire cities because of how sprawling, or wedding cakes because of how stacked. The Uffizi gallery was one of the former, so he didn't know how to contain his anticipation as soon as they descended the steps into the huge courtyard surrounded by pillars that connected the grand palace that had once been built on the whim of a powerful man, as most of the flashiest things in the world were. 

“Happy?” Neteyam nodded. “You don't look it.”

“I am grateful.”

“But you don't smile.”

“It's from birth.” He joked. “I'm afraid I'll wear out my joy.”

“As if those things would wear out. Joy doesn't wear out, not even if you put it all on someone else.”

They walked for a long time, passing through endless corridors with large windows and intricate designs that alone were a marvel to admire, until they turned away from the crowd to find themselves alone in a room surrounded by marble sculptures with a painting full of chaos in the center. 

Ao'nung had become an Achillean man long before he touched Neteyam. 

There was something hypnotic about the man. The calmness that surrounded him was the complete opposite of his strong presence. He liked his amber eyes, lighter than his warm skin, and his slender gait. He enjoyed seeing his elegant features, so much like his mother's, that even in repose, he seemed deep in thought. And that, despite being modest, he never lowered the challenging gaze he gave to others if the situation so demanded it.

Perhaps that was what his father meant when he implied that the stranger was a confusing mystery.  His mind wandered off to an unknown place with such ease that it was unsettling. One moment, he had his full attention on Ao'nung, and the next, he was gone, immersed in a faraway place that no one had access to.

Having grown up in a home where silence meant punishment, Ao'nung had never been able to enjoy the benefits of it. It would surprise him then to learn that the day that miracle came, it had been due to nothing less than the delight he took in observing the beatific beauty of a man of diaphanous complexion and mature air. 

Then, three months in his company did not seem like martyrdom to him. 

“So many sculptures and all the same,” Ao'nung murmured, leaning against the frame of the doorway as he tried to enliven the conversation. 

“Haven't you read The Iliad?”

“Honestly, who has?” He tilted his head mockingly.

“Knowledgeable people, I'd like to think,” Neteyam muttered with a slight frown, a little embarrassed.  “I have read it.”

“Of course you have,”  he rolled his eyes playfully, crossing his arms in front of his chest and now leaning his full weight on the door frame. —Enlighten me, oh wise maestre. 

“It's about a woman named Niobe.” He began, ignoring the mockery. “As she had many children with the king of Thebes, she considered herself superior to the goddess Leto, who had given birth to only two children: Apollo and Artemis. The sculptures are the children of Niobe.”

“I don't see what's so interesting about that.”

-Well, the interesting part comes when Apollo and Artemis kill Niobe's children with arrows as punishment for their pride. All twelve of them. Then Amphion, the king, can't stand the pain and commits suicide, and after losing his entire family, Niobe asks Zeus to put an end to her suffering.”

“Why must Greeks make everything so tragic?”

“Life itself is tragic, I don't see anything wrong with turning it into a lesson.

“Well, I think life is more than suffering until you are granted a merciful death.”

“I disagree.”

“We'll see who's right in the end.”

“A long shot, I dare say.” With a tilt of his head, Neteyam watched him from a distance. “Are you patient enough?”

“You underestimate me, Sully.” Ao'nung spat. “But I forgive you. You say so because you have the patience that only comes with old age, but don't be arrogant.”

“You overestimate me.” He shook his head, turning around to look at the painting three times his size in front of him. “But it's true that I like order. How are you supposed to live a good life if you can't control what's of it?”

“And how are you supposed to live the life that's right for you if you don't leave behind the one you planned for yourself?” He countered. 

“It's a gamble then.” He sighed, pretending not to feel his companion's gaze on the back of his neck. 

“Self-pity is not a good look on you.”

“I'm not trying to be pessimistic just to annoy you, it's just the way I am,” He said, turning slightly to look at him out of the corner of his eye.

“Of course…” Ao'nung said quietly, chuckling to himself, “Or are you just bitter because you were forced to come here? What's so special about Boston? An ugly city made of concrete can't be any better than this.

“I agree.”

“So?

“So what?”

“Why do you want to go back so badly?”

“I don't want to go back.”

“But you don't want to stay either.”

“I’m not lacking in desire.”

“So?” He waited a second, but soon became impatient. “Whoever's waiting for you to come back must be impatient too, but I doubt it's anything to get so angry about. People there’s plenty, and affection is to be found everywhere.”

“I'm in no hurry to get married.” Neteyam shrugged his shoulders.

“I didn't mean that either,” Ao'nung said, suddenly interested in the color of the tiles beneath his feet. “You don't have a lover?”

-How nosy you have become. 

“Curiosity is contagious.” A mischievous smile spread across his lips. “Are we going to have fun, then? Florence may be a bit boring, but you're sure to find the woman of your dreams wherever you look.” He chuckled, looking at him to see if he would react, but he did not.

“I'm alright.” Neteyam ignored him willfully.

“Call me a hedonist, but I think that everyone has the right to enjoy themselves as they please. Dance to the music that suits you, wear the clothes that make you feel comfortable, and eat whatever gives you pleasure, right?”

“Naturally.” He murmured. 

“Naturally.” Ao'nung repeated, looking down at the leather of his shoes to laugh subtly. “Taste is an inexplicable thing. Wine is for everyone, yet some prefer Marsala, others Barbera; I do not discriminate, and as such, I can enjoy both if the occasion warrants.”

“Are you accusing me of something?”

“I'm making you an offer, chap.” He guffawed subtly. “Business is your thing, isn't it? I'm surprised you don't recognize an opportunity when it's presented to you without scruples.”

“I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about,” Neteyam smiled kindly for a second and returned to his task of observation.

“You don't know?” The questions danced on the tip of his tongue, but he forced himself to restrain himself. “Of course you know, you're not an idiot.”

“You're not that sort of man…” Neteyam sputtered, looking at him accusingly as long as he was able to keep his expression of judgment before it faltered. “Are you?

“Am I?” He raised his eyebrows mockingly, like a ghost trying to scare a poor child. “I'm a lot of things, but a saint isn't one of them, and neither are you.  I don't think a little fun would do you any harm, in fact, I think in your case it's quite necessary.”

“I have not the slightest interest in entertaining your questions, much less drinking your wine.”

“But wine is the best thing there is.” Ao'nung looked around carelessly. “It warms you when it's cold, and loosens your tongue when you're drowning in truth. And if the wine doesn't accompany you, to whom will you confess the misplaced desire that is growing in you?”

“I can find pleasure and comfort in much simpler things, like those that bring me peace.”

“But that would not be the same. What is pleasure if it is anything but peace?” Ao'nung chuckled, intrigued by his absolute silence. “Wouldn't you agree?”

“...Some would think so.” He nodded once, but his ingrained sense of virtue had made him a terrible liar. 

“You lack human warmth, and I'm beginning to forget what it feels like.” The man declared without hindrance or embarrassment. 

“What?” Neteyam looked around as if in search of an audience that could corroborate the ridiculousness of the present taking place. “Are you going to teach me how to feel?” He scoffed. 

“That can’t be taught, it has to be learned.” Ao'nung assured him with complete certainty, taking a step forward that caused Neteyam’s posture to become stiffly straight.

Unsure of what was happening, the American stood still, expectant of what the imaginations in his mind warned him was about to occur, falling silent as soon as a set of fingers were planted on the back of his neck gently, putting Neteyam completely at the mercy of the tenderness of those hands.

Ao'nung leaned in, stealing a chaste and tender kiss from him to feel the ground he now knew had remained inhospitable. They looked into each other's eyes as soon as they parted, and a hesitant smile spread across the inexperienced man's lips, taking seconds to assess the trembling in his body and quiet the stubbornness of his conscience. 

He sighed, lunging towards the man who welcomed him with open arms and willing lips. They ran their hands over each other's bodies until the heat suffocated them and the incoordination caused laughter that pushed them to opt for tenderness rather than passion. 

Of course, Ao'nung had kissed other people before, both friends and strangers, without discriminating, but he found something new in Neteyam. His hesitation was at first endearing. It wasn't the kind of passionate lust he was used to; instead, the synchronicity they found was taciturn, like the waves of a sleepy sea trying to make its nest in a quiet corner of the world unnoticed. 

His mouth tasted of smoke and all the sweet thoughts Ao'nung had ever had, mixed with the apricot liqueur they were sipping stealthily in the square, and he wondered if Neteyam thought the same. The warm light streaming in through the tall windows made them blush. Neteyam sighed between kisses, and his companion's body almost collapsed in a shudder, right before the eyes of all the men and women watching them from the square behind them.

The beautiful chaos inside “The Triumph of Henry IV” was but a speck of dust compared to the earth-shaking occurring in their overwhelmed bodies, abruptly interrupted by a push that separated them and the gasp of two nuns who unexpectedly stumbled upon the scene of their passionate exchange. 

“Non avete rispetto per Dio?” The shortest one got upset, turning red with rage. “Se volete peccare, andate in una stalla come gli animali!

“Sorella, ma ci siamo appena sposati!” Ao'nung mocked her. “A Dio piace l'amore!”

“Amore un corno! Voi siete solo arrapati! Vergognatevi! Sodomiti!” Taking her scapular by one end and lifting it up to her face, she covered herself with it from her beard to the middle of her eyes and began to pray. Then very quickly, while they continued to look at her like an apparition, she took out a bottle of holy water and sprinkled them, saying more ejaculations in her shrill voice.

“Where is the stable?” asked Ao'nung, laughing and taking Neteyam by the arm to run before the nuns thought of calling an officer. 

“Anime del purgatorio! Dio abbia pietà delle loro anime, perché i loro corpi bruceranno sicuramente!”

Neteyam covered his eyes, and Ao'nung laughed. They walked away with nervous laughter echoing around them and, due to embarrassment and fear of being flogged, the visit to the gallery had to be cut short.

They ran all over the square until they climbed into the car and started it off as if in a chase. Neteyam held on to the leather of the seats as if his life depended on it, closing his eyes to feel the breeze hit his face and leave him choking as effectively as the overwhelming beauty of Florence had done.  

That was one of the many things Boston lacked. The tall gray buildings followed one after another, an infinite labyrinth, a concrete jungle from which you could not escape even when you closed your eyes and opened them again to face the ugliness reflected in the heart of the locals, missing color and culture.

Italy was something completely different. Quiet and artistic, it promised to give back the soul Neteyam had thought lost years before, for he became passionate as quickly as he lost his taste for things, only he was never brave enough to give them up, and he forced himself to endure the misery and tedium that responsibility brought. 

He was different from his siblings with vivid and ambitious hearts, controlled by a passion for things that had nothing to do with the expectations of fulfilling an imposed role. 

He knew he was ruined and, now that his family had realized the truth, he was ruining others as well.

“What do you want to do now?!” Ao'nung raised his voice above the rattle of the car over the dirt and hills. 

“I don't know!” Neteyam shrugged. “What do you want to do!?”

“Me!?” He laughed. “Well, fuck!”

“With me?”

“No!” He laughed again. “With the nuns!”

In the end, they didn’t return home by eight o'clock. 

Late and without cigarettes, Ao'nung took him for a run through the poppy field behind the large plot of land that was their summer residence. They frolicked among nature like children with no future, no home, and no one waiting for them with their eyes on the hands of the clock. 

They laughed so much that in the end they didn't even know why they were laughing. Maybe it was nerves. Probably the desire they had for each other.  

Neteyam came to think that it would have been nice not to desire more than the easy zest for life. He appreciated the flowing fabric of Ao'nung's pants, his long, messy hair, his hands running down his pollen-painted body. 

Neteyam had taken it upon himself to take away Ao'nung's cravings of months without having tangled with another, and Ao'nung had taken it upon himself to take away Neteyam's virginity that he had yet to leave lying around in any brothel.

“Your body is full of poppies.” Ao'nung wiped his chestwith his hand, unconcerned. 

“What a delight it must be to have my grave smell like this when I die.” The American took a deep breath, leaning back over the long grass and the flowers that stained the entire acres with crimson. 

“Don't think of death when you could be thinking of more pleasant things.” Before his companion could question him, he silenced him with a slow kiss, full of heavy breaths that their bodies, tamed by the heat, exhaled. 

Neteyam sighed, picking up his watch to check the time and hissing with his eyes on the setting sun. 

“Time to go back.”

“So soon?”

“Your father will kill us if we are not there to preside at the table.”

“Let him just kill us, then.” Ao'nung shrugged, replicating his attitude in the square, oblivious to the worries that had plagued him hours before. “So we get to fuck under the ground where no one will bother us.”

He gave him a charming smile in the hope of convincing him to stay until the moon rose, but by the time the first star began to twinkle, Neteyam had already closed the door of the car with a bunch of cut flowers in hand. 

When they returned home, they were the penultimate ones to cross the doors. Immediately after Lo'ak entered the dining room with a nonchalant step, mocking the bunch of poppies on the corner of the table. 

“Who put that horror there?”

“They're very pretty.”  Kiri said, taking a seat next to her older brother and leaving him a kiss on the cheek graciously. “Did you pick them?”

“The table is not a tomb. Take them off. They smell awful.” With a grimace, his brother picked them up roughly to carry them away, leaving a trail of red petals following his laughter. “One day here and this one's already turned into a misguided romantic!”

Lo'ak scoffed without further ado, and those present began to distribute themselves in places around the table.