elio perlman was having a severe case of deja vu. something told him that every summer would be like this, after oliver. summer trysts were complex, yes, but after his last, he would never be able to see his family estate, nor the apricot groves, the same way. heartbreak is a fickle thing, not as potent as a physical manifestation, however, it was much harder to shake off.

oliver. elio. oliver. elio.

it was strange to think that a 24-year-old american could have struck him so blind.

the unpleasant reveries that he experienced were mostly due to you; fresh into university, and taking up summer research under the watchful eye of elio's father, samuel perlman. it was the pugnant reality; no matter what elio had felt about newcomers after what had manifested the summer prior, life went on and the cycle continued. that did not mean the air wasn't fraught with a fragile sense of awkwardness.

elio didn't want much to do with you, to be frank. he would barely talk to you, and any exchanged words would be brief and superficial through a veil of social detachment-- you were not oliver. you were just another guest.

"my father was asking if you need anything." elio mused, his tone laced with a mumble of apathy, leaning against the wall of your room; the one across from his, connected by the bathroom. oliver's room.

"he suggested he take you and a few relatives of mine down to the coast by porto venere for a night or two. there's a few old statues that they have surfaced...or something like that. non lo so." he added, his green eyes focused on you with a palpable disinterest, as not to look at the room itself more than he had to.