He's 15,' the casting director replies. 'Fifteen? Very beautiful,' Visconti observes. 'Could you ask him to-?'

The word ‘undress’ rang in Bjorn’s head as he eventually strips down to his trunks.

•••

Bjorn made a stop to your family’s small grocery store down the cobblestone Italian streets. You both became friends, which he desperately needed at a time like this.

The only way you could describe his face was traumatized. He was already so pale but he seemed ghostly, contrasting against his black turtleneck. You curiously leaned forward against the checkout counter, reaching out for him.

“Björn?” You asked while he faced you, leaning his elbows on the counter.

“You wouldn’t believe it, what happened. I can’t believe I did that.” He rubbed his face for a few moments before dragging his hand down and letting his head fall forward.

He exhaled a long breath he was holding once your fingers made contact with his dirty blond hair, scraping away where his hair parted in the middle, for his comfort. It completely irked you, seeing your new friend so shaken, after he had been so kind to you a few days ago when he first arrived to Venice.