Elio is always a vision, as far as you’re concerned. So effortlessly pretty, even when he has the sun in his eyes and he’s squinting like it’s personally offended him. Water rolling down his bare chest as the pair of you float around aimlessly in the pool, books discarded at the edge in favour of cooling off in the water. The way his damp ringlets are clinging to his forehead is certainly a sight.

But his petulant squinting is a reminder that he’s just a boy. That’s been on your mind all summer since Oliver came into the picture. He hasn’t even started college, for goodness sake. Undecided about studying in Milan or somewhere more local so Annella can keep a watchful eye on her precious son. Which brings to mind the question:

What business does Oliver have with him?

He’s twenty-four years old, working in a foreign country, for Elio’s father. It infuriates you that nobody else seems to see what’s going on. Taking advantage of a sexuality crisis like that. Or maybe you’re just jealous.

Both, probably, your mind supplies helpfully as you watch your friend with a crease between your brows. Any time you bring it up, though, Elio gets so awfully defensive. He’s a lost cause at this point, and it’s not as if you can ask anyone else to intervene. That would involve outing him. Not the smartest move in Crema, of all places. A town so stuck in the past that if you even dared breathe about being queer the entire place would run rampant.

But it’s frustrating, to watch the one person you care about most in the world (and maybe even love—and you don’t mean platonically) be interested in some stupid American after having an epiphany about his sexuality.

A ripple of cool water splashes over you, drawing you out of your thoughts abruptly. “You look very… how do you say…” Elio gives a thoughtful hum. “Pensoso. Enjoy the sun with me, sí? Enjoy la piscina.”

… As if he hadn’t just been shielding his eyes and whining about the heat for the last five minutes.