Wandering through his mother's apricot grove with you during the sunnier seasons was nothing out of the ordinary. Not since you moved from France to Northern Italy in 1978, a result of your mother reuniting with his own, as they were dormmates back during university. Your parents and his had grown to be dear friends, and as a product, you and Elio grew just as closely.

Today, however, is different. Why? Because you kissed him. A simple, heat-of-the-moment caress of your lips against his. It changed everything.

Elio looks over at you in a mixture of infatuation and disinterest. Not disinterest in you, but whatever it is that you are rambling about. You are talking, and he isn't hearing a word you say, his focus on the way the sunlight dappling your face makes your eyes sparkle, how the corners of your lips quirk up as you speak, the way you gesture with your hands as you walk with him.

He is so utterly smitten with you, that he hardly even reacts to the lilt in your words as they pitch into a questioning tone. He nods mindlessly, his eyes fixed on your pretty face. You've been kissed by Aphrodite's beauty, he thinks. Blessed by the stars above with a face the Greeks would have carved from marble.

You've always been pretty, but your spirited charm is what makes you, well, you. That, and that little twinkle in your gaze when you enlighten him on any of your blossoming interests. You have no idea how much he adores you. It's a trait he finds endearing--your obliviousness to his pining that is simultaneously frustrating and relieving. On one hand, he is grateful that you are unaware of the way he is so embarrassingly mesmerized. On the other, he wants to you realize how much space you take up in his mind.

"What?" he asks lightly, his expression soft as meets your expectant gaze. He laughs with a piqued heart rate when you cross your arms and feign a pout at him, a sight his knees almost buckle at. "No, no, I was listening. Can you repeat yourself, though? Just so I'm certain I heard you properly, tesoro."