Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

You might think this is a love story.

You would be wrong.

Well, that’s not entirely true. It’s not a story of eros, or ludus.

This love story is of philia—and with all good philia comes agape.

Though perhaps there’s another love that hasn’t been found—not entirely—yet. I suppose you’ll have to read to find out.

You might also think this story begins many years later, when the kids are all grown up.

Neither of those are true.

Yes, neither. For the first would be too far in the future, and the latter simply cannot happen.

Perhaps you will discover what that means, too.

This story begins many years before the kids even met. Before their lives were changed forever. Before they knew much of anything.

Before they even lived.

This story begins in The Stars.

As most stories do.

A pond shimmering with crystalline water rippled, just ever so slightly, enough that the surface was broken into small waves. The pond was small—no more than a few feet in diameter—and imperfect; its shape was less circular and more like that of an oval, with dents in the sides of the bank causing disruptions in what would be perfect curves. There were a few small stones, too, poking up from the surface.

Perhaps it was its imperfections that made it so beautiful. That made it effective in forming destinies, shaping the plans for lives, planting the seeds for relationships of all kinds.

Above the pond was a vast, open, star-filled sky. Never had this sky been bleached by light pollution or covered in a blanket of clouds. The sky seemed to stretch on for forever, its lights reflecting that of the pond’s.

And then one of the stars fell.

It wasn’t so much a plummet as it was a descent, a graceful spiral towards the ground. As it fell, the star stretched, grew, into something—an unidentifiable shape, masked by a haze that surrounded it. Some would have called the shape human; others, monstrous; still others, vaguely familiar.

The shape came to settle by the pond, hovering for just a moment before it finally touched the ground. It was the First Star.

Then came the other Stars. Like the First, they gently swooped down, growing into similar shapes. Some were smaller, some were taller. Some shone more brightly than others. Some even shone in different colors—pale yellow, soft blue, bright orange.

The newly formed crowd began to mingle, forming small clusters with one another and engaging in conversations. Some looked expectantly towards the First Star, curiosity brimming. It was rare that all The Stars were called together; they knew that something was about to change. Change was crackling in the space around them.

A wave of light spread through the crowd in a heartbeat. Gazes instantly swiveled towards the First Star, the source of the shockwave, who was raised slightly into the air, waiting patiently.

“Welcome, Friends,” the First Star said. Its voice was deep, a bit of a rumble, but soothing and calm. When It spoke, the reeds surrounding the pond swayed, and a slight breeze whispered in the air.

The Stars greeted It in return, almost in perfect unison. Their combined voices created a tremor in the ground below them, shaking the earth with an unspoken force.

“You have been gathered here today by summons of The Master. He has a destiny for us to write.”

The First Star’s words sent a ripple of surprise throughout the crowd. They were usually never the ones to write destinies; that was The Master’s job. The only occasions when they were tasked with compiling destinies that The Master had in mind was if the individual was chosen for something powerful. Something undeniably tremendous. A Bound One.

“There hasn’t been a Bound One in ages,” one of the Stars—the Fourth Star, who had fallen fourth—called out. The Fourth Star’s voice was softer, melodic, almost appearing to be accompanied by the sound of a harp.

The Third Star nodded, speaking with a voice like that of the wind. “Who has The Master chosen?”

The First Star reached down towards the pond. Its surface rippled again, this time greater, as It drew forth from the pond a great orb made from its shimmering water. With a flick, an image formed in the bubble. Curiosity surged amongst the crowd—many leaned forward for a better view, or lifted themselves up to see above the crowd. Murmurs of, “There’s three,” and, “The Master has chosen multiple Bound Ones?” were carried about The Stars.

“Who are they?” It was the Third Star’s voice again, full of wonder.

“The Bound Ones,” the First Star replied. “Luca Paguro. Alberto Scorfano. Giulia Marcovaldo.” As It spoke, the image in the orb rippled, shifting to match Its words.

There came a sound of disbelief—a scoff, perhaps—from somewhere within the crowd. The First Star glanced over the gathered, in an attempt to discern the source of the noise. “Are there any objections to The Master’s choice?”

Pieces of the crowd stepped back, revealing the owner of the scoff. The Fifth Star cleared Its throat. “With no disrespect towards The Master,” It began, with a rough voice that could be compared to the sound of rocks grinding, “They are not human. All the Bound Ones have been human.”

The Fifth Star’s words caused a stir amongst The Stars, with some nodding along to the argument they had been too shy to speak. Proud to have been recognized, the Fifth Star glowed more brightly.

“And who’s to say that The Master would not want change?” The Second Star’s voice was clear, like a diamond, the most feminine of the voices. “We are not human, yet The Master tasks us with many responsibilities. He assigns us to the Bound Ones. He trusts us to watch over and guard the realms. Why shouldn’t those who are not human have the chance to be Bound?”

There it was, the whisper of change that had been sparking in the air since the meeting was called. The Second Star’s words had brought it to life. A jolt of energy passed throughout The Stars.

The Fifth Star lowered Itself back down, satisfied with the response. The crowd grew hushed again.

The First Star gave a nod of appreciation to the Second. “As it has been pointed out, these three are not quite human. Two of them will be born sea monsters, and the third will have the blood of them within her. It will take some time for it to emerge—but the process shall be hastened, bringing them closer to their destiny.”

As It spoke, a ribbon of light seemed to emerge from Its body and fluttered through the air before disappearing into the orb.

“Will she remain inhuman?” the Third Star asked.

Unlike before, the First Star hesitated. “The Master has not told me yet. I suppose that is one part of their destiny that He would like to remain private for now.” This brought more collective nods amongst The Stars; it was a respected decision when The Master kept destinies private.

“The three will be born apart. Near a small town, nestled within the Riviera.” Again, with the First Star’s words, the image in the bubble shifted, rippled. Another ribbon was woven into it. “But Time will bring them together. Time will close a silent longing, a quiet emptiness in their hearts for something they’ve always wondered of.

“They will grow close. They will become… one, in a sense.” The First Star knew this was a vague explanation, but there was no way to quite put what The Master had told It into brief words. It hoped The Stars would understand.

They appeared to. There were a few expressions of surprise, some Stars flashed like lightning, but the energy died down quickly. This wouldn’t be the first time The Master had done something similar before—and it tended to please The Stars whenever He made a destiny such as it.

“They will be Eternals.”

These words sent a different reaction amongst the crowd—more flashes, some that lasted longer, even upset remarks. Mixed whispers with the likes of “Their realm has never received Eternals before” were exchanged.

“When will they be made Eternal?” the Fourth Star spoke up against the hushed rebuttal.

“That will be answered soon,” the First Star responded. “But The Master has written for them to be so. They must be together for their destiny to be true. If they were not Eternals, they would surely lose that, and their destiny would shatter.”

The crowd fell silent again, content with the answer. They waited for the First Star to continue.

“They will never fall in love.”

Murmurs of assent and pleasure spread amongst The Stars.

“The Master has never been fond of conformities,” the Second Star chuckled.

“Though how often does that choice go ignored, or resented, by the eyes and minds of others?” the Third Star murmured, as if thinking aloud. Perhaps the Star’s quiet thoughts would be recognized by its peers later on. Only Time could tell these sorts of things.

When the noise had died down, attention was redrawn to the bubble.

By now, the orb was glowing more brightly than it had begun, outshining even the brightest of The Stars. It had adopted a pale blue sheen, rather than the bright blue it had emerged with. It outshone even the brightest full moon. It was beautiful—The Stars could barely tear their gazes away, completely captivated by it.

Silence was held in the air for several moments. One could assume a single Star was counting the seconds under its breath, waiting for the moment someone was finally bold enough to break it.

The Fourth Star was. “Is that all?”

The First Star turned its gaze away from the orb and back to the crowd. It spoke steadily. “All these things shall come to pass first.

“But this is only the beginning of their destiny.”

Chapter Text

There was an island.

And on that island was a tower.

And in that tower was a boy.

The boy was no older than five. He had a lean form, just tall enough to be above average for his age. Long legs standing on tip-toe to reach to where he could see. Hands with small fingers, that promised to one day be stronger, tightly gripping the base of a glassless window etched into the stone. An angled face, with a mess of short, curly dusty-brown hair piled on top, tilted up to the sky. Little freckles across tanned skin. Bright green eyes that darted back and forth, only resting when they found something deemed enough to rest on.

The boy was looking at the stars.

Except, they weren’t stars, not to him. He had been told they were anchovies. The night sky was where they went to sleep. The large round circle, shining more brightly than the smaller lights, was the big fish that protected the little ones.

The boy put his two little hands together tightly. Closed his eyes. Opened his mouth. Took a deep breath in, in that way toddlers do when they know what they have to say next is important.

“Please, please, please can I have One?” The words tumbling out weren’t desperate. They were confident, but hopeful. Filled with wishes and light and all the wonderful things young children have.

He peeked his eyes open, gaze scanning the sky, waiting to see if one of the anchovies—or that big, bright fish—would respond. Maybe twinkle back, as they sometimes did, when he looked long and hard at them. He paused.

“Please?”

He looked at that biggest fish. The one that protected all the little ones.

If he wouldn’t be protected, he had promised the fish, he would be the protector. Keep them both safe. Like he was supposed to, if he had One. Because that was what he had been told.

The big fish protects the little fish, he repeated in his mind. A mind that was already so full of curiosities and questions about the world. And his wish. The wish that he was giving to the anchovies in the sky like he did every evening, when they first started to appear.

The wish was called One. Because he knew what the word was really called, but he also knew that if he told the anchovies exactly his wish, it wouldn’t come true. And also because he didn’t know what One’s real name would be.

He sometimes wondered that. What One’s name was. He hoped it sounded how a One’s name should.

“Alberto!” There came a voice from somewhere below, at the bottom of the tower. The voice was rough, but quiet. Once, the voice had been gentle, energetic, full of love.

But when She was gone, the gentleness left, too.

The boy didn’t really understand why She had left. They had all been so happy. He remembered visiting the nice place underwater. He’d even worn shorts woven from seaweed, like the other sea monsters who lived there did. She had loved taking him.

He just knew that after She was gone, he didn’t like wearing only his shorts. The cold air or salty water on his open chest didn’t feel so good anymore. It reminded him of everything that had become sadder. So now, he always kept a shirt on. It was safer that way.

And he knew that after She was gone, the voice had changed.

And that after She was gone, he had started wishing for One.

Well, he supposed he hadn’t actually seen her leave. He remembered her clutching him to her, and then a cry. And then her hand holding his, her voice, weaker than he remembered it being before, and then her arm falling onto the beach.

But then he’d never seen her again… so She must have left. Why?

“Hurry up,” the voice called again, deeper and gruffer than before. “We have to gather firewood before it gets too dark.”

The boy—Alberto—looked over his shoulder. He knew he shouldn’t keep him waiting. Dad never liked that.

But it would be different when One came. So he took one last look out the window.

“Please?”

He gave a hopeful smile along with it, and then let his feet lie flat on the floor. Small, bare feet tapped on wood as he ran.

And one of the fish in that big open sky twinkled.

But there was also a sea—the sea whose waves lapped at the edges of the island.

And in that sea was a town—a town filled with houses made of sloped, smooth rocks and decorated with seaweed, shells, and barnacles.

And in that town was a cottage. Modest. Relatively small.

And in that cottage was a boy.

One who was also five, but nothing like Alberto. He was much smaller, more delicate. Had a shorter form, lying on a bed made of a rock ledge and covered with seaweed and moss. Big brown eyes that didn’t wander—they preferred to rest, to pick up as much as they could about one particular thing, to satisfy his quiet curiosity.

The boy also had scales. A bright seafoam sort of color, with scales in other shades of soft blues and greens appearing in between, spotted with freckles on the short curve of a snout. Where hair should have been, there were blue fins—the same tone as the softly curved ones on his arms, legs, and back. And he had a tail—just shorter than the length of his body, though it would grow longer.

The boy was a sea monster. Like Alberto was.

He’d just never done the Change before. Didn’t really understand what it was, either. Or much of humans. Or anything above the surface.

But the boy was curious. He always wanted to know more. He wanted to know Why, when he went to sleep, it was dark, but when he woke up, it was light. Why some sea monsters were mean, and others were nice. Why they couldn’t go above the surface.

He liked it in the town—really, he did—but he just wanted to look.

What if they could live there, too?

But he always told himself no. He knew what the Rules were. Don’t go above the surface, don’t ask questions about humans, and don’t let yourself be seen by them. He wanted to ask Why—but they were Rules. Rules needed to be followed.

Besides, the town was nice. There were fish he could watch, and sea monsters that spoke kindly to him—and everything was familiar.

A shift in the stillness of the water. Then a form poked in. Then a voice spoke.

“Are you ready for the story?”

The boy loved stories. Stories were where he could always ask Why. Because they were filled with things that he’d never seen. Adventures and heroes. Rules that were broken.

And the only one brave enough to tell him stories was Grandma. She never minded when the boy asked Why. He liked that.

“What is the story about?” That was his own voice. Gentle. Quiet. Maybe a little unsure of itself.

“A sea monster.”

Those stories were his favorite. While he knew that fish couldn’t speak and whales didn’t find buried treasure and octopi never had ten arms, he could never tell if the stories of sea monsters were true or not. They were always the stories that he asked Why the most. Because he wanted to know if they were real. He hoped they were.

The boy leaned in a little, resting his head on his arms. He wondered what would happen in the story. But it would have a happy ending.

All Grandma’s stories had a happy ending. It was also a Rule. But not like the others.

“This story is about a sea monster who lived a very long time ago.”

The boy paused. Blinked. “How long ago?”

“Long before even I was born,” Grandma answered. He liked that about her. She always answered his questions. Never complained about them. Especially not when he asked Why.

“Now, this sea monster lived right here in town, just like everyone else. He was a farmer, just like everyone else. Raised crabs, like your dad.”

Her words started to paint a picture in the boy’s mind. He imagined the town wouldn’t look any different than it did. That the house looked just like his own. That the crabs were red and orange, maybe even had yellow in some spots, like the coral that he sometimes saw in the marketplace.

“But one thing set him apart from every other sea monster in town—this sea monster loved humans. He was fascinated by them. He collected human objects from boats, even visited the human town. He wanted to know everything he could about them.”

“Why?” The boy almost smiled at the word.

Grandma let out a little chuckle. It made him feel good, like his question wasn’t interrupting her story. “Because he was curious. He didn’t see anything wrong with humans, or being with them.”

The boy nodded. He tried to imagine what a human town would look like. It sounded weird. Did humans grow seaweed and decorate with shells and herd goatfish? How would they do that? How did they swim?

“Our town grew upset at this sea monster,” Grandma continued. “At first, they thought he was being lazy and not doing his work. But when they discovered the truth… Well, they made him choose. He could stay with them and never return to the human town, or be banished from our town and live with the humans instead.”

The boy’s eyes widened. He shivered. Everyone in his town was friendly, or at least, nice enough to not kick anyone out. Would they really do that?

Grandma let out a sigh. The boy couldn’t tell what kind of a sigh it was. Some sighs were sad, some were annoyed, and some were like hers—unreadable. “He chose to stay with the humans. He left our town, and wasn’t seen down here again.

“Over time, our town forgot about him—wanted to forget about him.”

The boy frowned. “That’s mean…”

“It is,” Grandma agreed. “But, we do know that he went on to have a family. And the family… well, they–”

A new voice broke into the story, breaking the image in the boy’s mind. He tried to scramble for the pieces of the story, store them away for another time—he didn’t like losing the stories. He wanted them to stay. So he would remember.

“Mom, what are you telling him?” The voice sounded upset. Annoyed.

“Just a story,” Grandma responded simply. She didn’t seem that bothered by the voice.

“A story with humans,” the voice shot back, swimming closer. It was Mom. “We do not talk about humans; we do not think about humans. Right, Luca?” Her eyes—not happy, the boy noticed—rested on him.

The boy—Luca—nodded softly, looking down at the moss covering his bed. He had gathered the pieces of the story, tucked them away, but the story hadn’t ended. He wanted to know what happened next. He wanted to ask Why. Why the sea monsters had been so mean to someone who was just curious—like he was. And the story still needed a happy ending. That was the Rule.

“Good.” Mom let out a sigh—another one Luca couldn’t quite read. He hoped it wasn’t an annoyed one. “It’s time for bed now. Another day of work tomorrow. Goodnight.” She planted a small kiss on his forehead. It felt warm. Not many things underwater felt warm, not like that.

Mom gently cupped a hand to the side of his face. “Look me in the eye. You know I love you, right?”

Luca nodded. He knew. He always did. “I know.”

He settled down further in bed, tucking his tail up to his chest. He watched as both the adults got closer to the frame leading into the rest of the house. Mom was right—he was tired. Ready to sleep.

But just before she left, he let himself call out, “Grandma—what was the sea monster’s name?”

Grandma turned. Smiled.

“Giovanni Corallo.”

But there was also the land—that which was not isolated by the sea, like the island.

And in that land, somewhere, was a city. Much bigger than the sea monster town. Large buildings stacked against one another, shaded in hues of red, orange, yellow, and brown. Lights inside flickered off in the fading daylight. Street lamps blinked to life, casting their light on the passersby still making their way through the town, unbothered by the twilight. The sea was still visible—it bordered one side of the city, providing a beach and a wonderful space for boating during the daytime.

And in that city was a building. A large orange building with many windows and levels. An apartment building.

And in that building—in an apartment—was a girl.

Like the boys, she was also five. She wasn’t tall or short—somewhere in between. Bright red curls that framed her face, never reaching past shoulder-length, bounced whenever she moved. Brown eyes that soaked up everything thoughtfully, carefully. Beneath them, a smattering of freckles dusted her cheeks and nose. Tanned skin that glowed under the warm light of her room.

The girl was sitting in bed, a large book in hand—like she did every night. Eyes scanning the pages, drinking up everything. At five, she was already able to make most of the words lining the pages, even the more complex ones. Solare. Spazio. Animali. Words were never that tricky to her.

And she loved words. They stored all kinds of stories, all kinds of facts, things that her little mind could grasp onto and hold tightly. They could tell of things she would never be able to describe herself. Every book she read became her new favorite—except for books about love.

Not about loving family—because she did—or friends, but about that mushy type of love. She knew she was just a kid—she shouldn’t have to worry about it yet—but she didn’t Feel it. You had to Feel love, right? Somewhere in you, even if you didn’t have anyone to Feel it for yet? And if she couldn’t Feel that love at all, maybe it wasn’t for her.

Maybe it never would be.

Maybe that was okay.

The door creaked open. A sliver of light crept across part of the floor that was cast in shadow, untouched by the light of the girl’s bedside lamp. She only looked up for a moment—she knew who it was.

“Are you finished yet?” A voice spoke from the doorway, where its owner stood, one arm propped against the frame and the other holding the door open. It was warm, loving. But tinged with energy that could spark to life whenever it was needed.

That was Mamma. She was almost identical to the girl—the same hair shape and color, same skin-tone, same eye shade—except she was taller. Older. And had a different nose shape—the girl got hers from Papà.

“Just five more minutes,” the girl answered.

Mamma gave her a smile—That Smile. The one that told her she was Too Much, but not in a bad way. She sat down on the edge of the girl’s bed, putting a crease in the navy-blue comforter. “You said that five minutes ago.”

“That was different. I just got to the part where it talks about the planets,” the girl protested. She spun her book around, displaying a pair of pages that showed all of the planets in succession, with text to one side of each. She spoke in the way that toddlers do when they know that settled it. That there couldn’t possibly be a rebuttal. “This is my favorite part of the book.”

Mamma leaned in a bit closer, resting her back against the wooden headboard of the bed. “I thought it was the jungle animals that were your favorite.”

“But did you know that Saturn could float if there was an ocean that could hold it?” The girl’s eyes widened as she read the page, slowly sounding out the difficult words in her mind. “Or that Mars… used to have… water? That’s much cooler than gorillas!”

“So it is,” Mamma conceded, putting her arm around the girl. “May I see?”

The girl passed her the book. “Don’t lose my page.” Otherwise, she’d have to flip through the whole book again to find it, and that would waste her five minutes.

Mamma nodded and slid her finger between the pages as she flipped through it. “This is the only book I’ve seen you read lately. What makes it so interesting?”

Everything. The book was filled with things the girl had never heard of before—places, animals, people, planets. She wanted to memorize every piece of it before she read anything else.

But aloud, the girl could only think to say, “I just like it.” She shrugged. How else could she explain it?

Mamma flipped through the pages, more rapidly than the girl could, but that was because she was Older. Someday, the girl would be able to read all kinds of books just as quickly. She was excited for that day. Then she’d be able to read her favorite part in two minutes, not five.

She wondered what else she could do when she was Older.

There was something in Mamma’s eyes, though, while she was flipping. Her mouth kept opening, then would close, remain that way a few heartbeats, then open again. The girl frowned. Was she going to say anything?

For a moment, Mamma’s fingers froze, index finger and thumb hovering in the air as they gripped the corners of a page. There wasn’t anything abrupt about the moment—but it felt unusual, like it didn’t belong. This wasn’t normal, right?

At least, she’d never seen Mamma like this before.

Finally, Mamma’s open mouth made a sound. “Your dad gave this to you, right?”

The girl nodded. “Sì.” It had been a gift from Papà, before she left for her first year of school to be with Mamma. It wouldn’t be like before, when she’d spend half the year with one parent, and half the year with another—from now on, the girl would live with Mamma for school and Papà for the summer.

“That was nice of him.” Mamma paused. Took a small breath in. “Sweetheart, there’s something Mamma has to tell you.”

The girl’s brow furrowed. Did it have to do with Papà? Was she not going to be able to see him again? She knew she didn’t understand why her parents weren’t together like everyone else’s were—but that couldn’t mean they’d done something wrong. She squirmed, just a bit, but uncomfortably.

“What do you know about sea monsters?” Another pause. Then, more quickly, she added, “H-has your dad told you anything about them?”

Oh. Those things. The ones that followed her everywhere she went in Papà’s town, that every kid whispered about, that were on display almost everywhere she looked—fountains, frescos, posters.

The ones that didn’t exist.

The girl’s face fell. Why was Mamma interested in them?

“I know they’re not real. And not really,” she answered, hands reaching back out to take her book. Couldn’t she finish the page about planets?

But Mamma was still holding onto the book tightly. A faint murmur escaped her lips—“He hasn’t told you…”

“Told me what?”

There it was again—that faint glimmer in Mamma’s eyes that hadn’t ever been there before. She bit her lip, looked down, examining the page she was on, carefully, slowly. When earlier she had only given the pages a slight glance, now it appeared that she was painstakingly absorbing every word—like she was the girl’s age.

She was Older. What was she doing?

“Well…” Another exhale. “Sweetness, at some point in your life, you will…”

She looked up from the page—at last—and met the girl’s gaze. Brown eyes stared into one another, one pair hesitant; the other, confused.

“...You will do wonderful things.” Mamma gave the girl a light smile, a gentle one, tender and full of love. But it looks sad. The girl didn’t know why—and she still couldn’t figure out why it had taken Mamma so long to tell her this.

She considered asking, for a moment—but she didn’t want another several minutes of that weird, uncomfortable quiet. It had poked at her in some strange way. When you were Older, you were supposed to be able to always know what to say. So why hadn’t Mamma? Had she been trying to get the girl to forget about her reading time? To go to bed sooner?

“Can I have my book back?”

Mamma carefully closed the book, her small finger still holding the girl’s page for her, and returned it into her lap. “Sorry, mia figlia.”

The girl reopened to her favorite page, leaning further back into her pillows. She didn’t reply back. She wanted to finish before she ran out of time.

But she also knew that was rude, to not say anything. So she did. “What’s so interesting about sea monsters, anyways? They’re not real.”

“And how do you know that?” Mamma’s voice carried a note of teasing with it.

“Because no one’s ever seen one. That’s why all the pictures of them look so weird.” The girl huffed.

Mamma hesitated—unusually. She always knew what to say. “Well… maybe the people who saw them aren’t very good artists.”

The girl shrugged. Flipped back to the planets’ page. Started reading again.

“I think it would be interesting to meet one… Don’t you think so?”

Another shrug. “If they existed.”

“Are you sure they don’t just not exist for you?”

The girl’s brow furrowed and she looked over. “What’s that mean?”

“Perhaps like… how you don’t have any siblings, but other people do. In a way, siblings don’t exist for you, do they?” Mamma looked her in the eye, but it was a warm look. “But they do for others. Some things exist for certain people, and some things don’t. Sometimes that changes. Sometimes you might not agree with what someone else believes exists. But in the end, you can’t always change their mind.”

Another hesitation, this time from the girl. She was trying to understand what Mamma had said—not everything made sense. It wasn’t like the facts on the pages of her book, simple and straightforward. It felt more like what came out of her own head—out of the head of a child.

“That sounds really grown-up,” she finally said.

Mamma smiled again. “It will make more sense when you’re Older.”

Of course. When she was Older. Then she’d understand.

But right now, she wasn’t. She’d just have to wait. She could do that.

“So, for now, how about we go to sleep?” Mamma laid a hand on the girl’s forehead, brushing her fingers through her hair. “You’ll be Older by tomorrow.”

The girl nodded, with only slight reluctance. She could feel her eyelids drooping, the words on the pages not lining up in her mind as they should. She reached to her right to put the book on the little bookshelf beside her bed.

Mamma helped her pull the covers over herself snugly. She planted a kiss on the girl’s forehead, and switched off the bedside lamp. Through the crack of light from the hallway, the girl could make out Mamma’s outline as it stood in the door.

“Buonanotte, Giulia.”

The girl—Giulia—yawned, finally closing her eyes. “Buonanotte.”

Chapter Text

That stupid clock on the kitchen wall was too slow.

At least, that was what Alberto was thinking. Sitting there on one of the wooden chairs in the Marcovaldo kitchen, leg bouncing—as it often did when he was bored, or thinking—waiting for the small hand to hit five minutes before noon.

He’d been waiting for fifteen minutes.

The pacing of his thoughts was matching that of the clock’s ticks.

Couldn’t

               it

                    move

                                any

                                          faster?

Dad had told him not to worry about waiting, that the train might not even be there by noon. That train arrivals were off all the time. That he shouldn’t just sit there in the kitchen when he could be doing something else—taking a walk, feeding Machiavelli, doing literally anything productive.

But this was productive. Because at noon, they’d finally come back.

The thought filled him with a new rush of energy, and he bit back a grin. He spared a glance away from the all-too-slow clock to look down at his drawing. To see the words that he’d finally convinced himself to write down, after almost a year of them pounding in his head and him refraining from ever using them. The grin exploded across his face—and there it was, that familiar flutter in the pit of his stomach, that tingle in his hands that came about whenever he thought about showing them the drawing.

Telling them what he’d been holding back.

Finally seeing them—not in photographs, in person—after months. He couldn’t wait.

The bounce in his leg got more rapid as he looked back up at the clock.

The red second hand itself had barely moved.

Frustration made him groan and lean back in the chair, pressing himself against its frame. Too far, maybe. Because by the time he realized his mistake, the front legs of the chair were already off the floor, and he was rapidly heading for the ground.

Crunch.

Well, that wasn’t the sound floors made.

What the– Oh, no. Carp. Alberto grimaced as he turned his head to see what he and the chair had landed on.

Yup. Exactly what he’d thought.

He stood and righted the chair again before quickly snatching what had been behind it—a paper bag. An important paper bag. Because it was holding the gifts that he’d bought just yesterday for them.

Alberto lifted up the crumpled edge of the bag that had been bent over when the chair landed on, half-holding his breath. He released it, relieved, when he saw the contents of the bag undamaged—well, unwrinkled—by the fall.

It had been only about a week ago that Dad had asked him if they should get anything for them. Sort of a “welcome home” gift. Alberto had only planned to give them the drawing—but he liked the idea. Getting a Vespa would be too expensive, so that was clearly off-limits. All of Machiavelli’s kittens had been adopted months ago—much as he tried, Alberto couldn’t convince him to keep one—meaning they weren’t an option. Besides, wouldn’t he need two kittens?

Maybe he should’ve thought that part through better when he’d come up with the idea. Even if it would never come to fruition.

He’d tried ideas like a jetski, a telescope, a parachute—but those were out of the question, too.

So he’d finally come around to something simpler—albeit, less exciting for him. Some new clothes.

He smiled to himself. He really hoped Luca and Giulia would like them.

For Luca, there was a cyan-blue T-shirt with thin pale blue stripes near its hem and sleeve cuffs, dark blue shorts—almost identical to his old ones—and a lighter yellow ascot to go with it. In his letters, he’d mentioned humans wearing ascots in some of the old movies he and Giulia had watched—and how he really liked the way they looked. Comfortable, different, but simple.

Now he’ll be able to wear one himself. The thought filled Alberto with pride.

And for Giulia, there was a striped shirt—just like her favorite shirt, but rather with a darker red-orange—and a pair of denim shorts with star-shaped patches sewn on near the waistband. Similar to what she’d worn last summer, but different at the same time. That sounded like a Giulia-thing to Alberto.

He allowed himself a proud smirk before setting the bag next to his drawing. Two gifts—one for them, and one that, in a way, was for himself. The gift of finally releasing unsaid feelings.

Restraining the smirk from breaking into an all-out grin, Alberto looked at the clock again. He’d used up… a whole two minutes. Fantastic—sarcasm.

Deep breaths. You can do this. He followed the instructions in his head. Took a breath in. Got ready to release it.

DING.

“Holy carp—”

Alberto probably jumped at least a foot. Goosebumps instantly spread across his arms, the hair on his neck instantly standing, as he jolted upright, half-frozen in place. Goodbye, calm deep breaths.

It was the doorbell. The one Dad had installed a few weeks ago, an addition that would differentiate house guests from customers, who would instead ring a bell outside the pescheria doors. Only problem was, he’d chosen one of the sleek modern ones that went off with an ear-piercing squeal, rather than the—in Alberto’s opinion—much more polite, deeper “ding-dong” style.

Trying to calm his fully-spiked nerves, Alberto released a breath.

Only for the thought to hit him.

And he bolted, barely processing it.

Out the kitchen door, through the hallway, down the stairs, and through the pescheria, nearly knocking over a crate of fish they’d caught that morning.

Luca and Giulia were right outside that door; he knew it. He’d gotten the time wrong for the train, and he’d missed them at the station. No wonder Dad hadn’t come back from his errands yet—he’d been there. The realization was so horrid, it made Alberto want to bury his head in his hands. Now how was he supposed to show them the drawing? After missing the freaking train. He rapped the base of his wrist against his forehead. Idiot, idiot, idiot.

Fighting back his quiet self-loathing, he slowly opened the door, preparing to make his apology as lengthy and explanatory as possible so that maybe, just maybe, they’d forgive him for missing—

Alberto’s jaw dropped—both in surprise and immediate relief.

Standing outside the door was neither Luca nor Giulia—and not Dad, either. He was a man, likely a young adult, dressed in a bright blue collared shirt and jeans, with a matching blue baseball cap. Under one arm, he was carrying a thin cardboard box, and his free hand held a clipboard. He was a bit slouched, looked a little bored, and was also chewing something.

A delivery guy.

The man shifted in place, giving him a once-over. “I’ve got a package for an…” His eyes darted down to the clipboard and read something off it. “Alberto Scorfano.”

“Uh—” Alberto stammered. “That’s— that’s me.” In an effort to look less caught off-guard, he leaned against the doorframe and folded his arms. There. That looked cool. Now the delivery guy wouldn’t wonder why he’d just been given a complete deer-in-headlights look.

“Sign here.” The delivery man held out the clipboard and shoved a hand into his pocket, pulling out a blue ballpoint pen. He smacked whatever was in his mouth—gum, probably—and pointed to a blank line on the page.

Alberto hesitantly took the clipboard and clicked the pen. He’d never done this before—for the past year, Dad had always been the one to sign for packages. But it couldn’t be that hard. He quickly scribbled his name out on the line, clicked the pen closed, and then offered it back out with a grin. Easy.

The delivery guy looked at the page, looked back at him, shrugged, and returned the pen to his pocket. He handed off the package. “Grazie. Have a nice day.” Alberto watched as he walked languidly out the front gate, closing it behind himself with a short-lived thunk. He heard the sound of a vehicle starting and then driving off smoothly across the cobblestone of the Portorosso streets.

Then he looked back down at what was his package. He turned it over in his hands. It felt rather light, but still held a firm weight. Curious, he gave it a shake and held it up to one ear. There might have been a faint rustle and shift, but otherwise the package remained silent.

Now his interest was piqued.

Back inside the kitchen, Alberto grabbed a knife from the knife rack and used it to make a deft slice in the tape holding the box closed. His mind raced with what could be inside.

Maybe it was a knife, shaped like a small sword, that had been carefully wrapped in foam and tissue paper. Or maybe a large book, thick with blank pages he could use for drawing. Or even a pirate’s flag, decorated with a skull and crossbones like he’d seen in movies, that he could attach to the treehouse, to turn it into an even better hideout.

The thrilling possibilities caused another rapid bounce in his leg that he tried to diminish—but the excitement of both the mystery package, and the relief that he hadn’t missed the train, meant the bounce only accelerated. And he let it. A warm feeling joined the flutter in his stomach. 

He threw aside the two top flaps of the box, and then the second pair.

Inside the box was… fabric? A deep navy-blue color; when he touched it, it felt almost coarse, but comfortable. A line of semi-translucent buttons lined the middle of the fabric. Alberto lifted it from the box and held it out in front of himself, revealing that the fabric was, rather, a short-sleeved button-up shirt. His eyes widened in surprise, and he looked back at the package.

When he’d finished emptying the box of its contents, he’d found a white T-shirt and shorts that matched the button-up in color. In all, it was a full outfit.

A small flush of appreciation crept across his cheeks. He could only think of one person who would have gotten him his own clothes, when he’d bought some for someone else. Thanks, Dad.

Alberto looked down at his clothes—yellow tank top, brown shorts—and then at the new ones sitting in front of him. He was fond of this outfit; he’d been wearing it ever since he’d grown out of the clothes given to Luca—but maybe it was time to change. After all, this summer could be when everything else did.

Might as well start now.

It turned out, change—this change—could be awesome. Really awesome.

Alberto gave a smug grin at his reflection. The clothes felt like something he could show off, be proud of. They were comfortable, but a bit looser than his old ones. Not that he was complaining. He still looked the same as ever.

That thought brought up a blip in his brain. He did look the same. Not just the same as those minutes before he changed clothes—the same as…

He paused, frowned, racking his brain as he tried to remember when something had happened. When he’d started to notice he didn’t seem to be growing anymore, when his voice had begun to remain unchangeable despite his age period. When he’d stayed… the same.

The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. It wasn’t in his head—he’d just… stopped growing up? But how? When?

Since last summer, he realized. Once Luca and Giulia had left, as the months had gone by, was when the realization had crept up on him that he was the same. Not everything else around him. That couldn’t be possible, though. Right?

He shook his head to clear the idea from his mind. Maybe this was normal—he couldn’t just… not be growing up. Even so, the prospect didn’t seem bad to him—it sounded like freedom. Like he could do whatever he wanted for forever…

Forget it, he told himself, stepping out from the bathroom. Focus. He was getting too distracted now; he had to stay focused so he wouldn’t miss the—

Train.

Alberto broke his pace into a run. He skidded to a halt in the kitchen, grabbing the doorframe with one hand.

11:59. The train would be there in one minute.

The next thing he knew, somehow, he had shoved open the front gate and hopped right on his bike, throwing up the kickstand and pushing the right pedal down. He’d slung the paper bag over one shoulder, and tucked the folded drawing into his back pocket. The sun was bright today, promising a comfortable warmth for the summer. Only a few small clouds dotted the sky. By noon, the plaza and streets were already bustling with people. He restrained a frustrated exhale, knowing that somehow he’d have to weave his way through the crowd. But he barely had time to take in the sights around him—he was on a one-track path to the station, and that was all that mattered.

He wove through a tangle of people standing outside the caffetteria, mumbling a hurried “‘Scuse me” as he went. Past the gelatteria, past the fountain, around a group of kids playing calcio. He was almost out of the throng of the crowd; once he got out of the plaza he’d be in the train station in a matter of moments. He knew he would; he’d passed the sign for it a dozen times while helping with delivery rounds.

“Alberto?” For a heartbeat, the voice made his body jolt and he slammed on the brakes.

But it was too young, too high-pitched. When he turned, he was greeted by the sight of a group of younger kids.

“We were wondering if you had time to play,” a girl asked, voice brushed with shyness.

“I’m really sorry; I’d love to, but I have to be somewhere.” Alberto barely stopped to look at them, giving an apologetic smile, but then kicked off again. He didn’t want to be rude—but he was already late enough, and this was important.

With a half-wave over his shoulder, he pedaled out from the plaza and into the alleys, picking up speed as he left the crowds behind. Only smooth sailing now. He could find the way from here. He spotted the sign for the station and jerked the handles in that direction. That flutter and warmth in his stomach, that had been dormant, returned full-force. His hands and arms buzzed with a rush of adrenaline as his heart soared.

This was it.

It

      was

               happening.

                                    Finally.

Trees flashed by, their leaves and trunks blurring together in a haze of varied tones of green and brown. But they were gradually beginning to grow sparser, allowing for openings of bright blue to poke in between the gaps.

Until finally, the train broke through the tree cover and revealed the sea, shimmering with a thousand shades of blue and turquoise.

Luca pressed a hand to the glass despite himself, a soft smile creeping across his lips. Sure, he’d seen the sea from Genova—but this was his sea. The train was bringing him closer and closer to home.

Living in Genova had been everything he’d ever dreamed of—in a word, amazing. Just as Giulia had promised, he’d loved school. Never in a million years had Luca realized there was so much to learn about a world that existed above the surface. Math, literature, art, science, history; and what he’d learned in the city extended beyond his classes.

Most of all, he’d miss Mrs. Marcovaldo—and her dog, Nero. She had been loving, warm, and welcoming, treating him like her own son. He’d miss her paintings, the trips to the fair or the museums that they’d gone on, and her special homemade blueberry pancakes.

But still—he was going home.

He would see his family. And Alberto. That was worth more than twenty years spent in Genova.

At least he’d gotten to have one piece of home stick by his side.

“Do you think he’ll still recognize us?” Luca looked over at Giulia, sitting right next to him, only half-attentive to the shapes and colors flying by outside the window. She’d probably grown used to it by now.

Giulia looked up, giving him an amused smile. “Alberto? Of course he will. How could he forget?”

Luca paused. He did that sometimes—worrying about things that he shouldn’t. But he couldn’t help it. Silenzio Bruno. “I just… I dunno. Nevermind.”

He felt a light poke on his shoulder, followed by a ruffle of his hair. “Non preoccuparti, Luca. It’ll be fine, I promise.” She pulled him in on one side, with a one-armed hug he’d grown used to. The gentle touch eased his nerves, and he rested his head on her shoulder. That was how the two of them had rolled for the past several months—they protected each other. Nothing more, nothing less. And that’s how it’d always be—because neither of them would ever know anything different.

Oh, yeah, Luca knew romance wasn’t for him.

It never would be—he’d accepted that a while ago. He was fine with it, too. There were plenty of other kinds of love to spare. He’d decided to share those as much as he could instead. Especially now that he had more people he could do so with.

He kept his eyes fixed on the water, entranced by how the sunlight made it gleam.

It looked beautiful. And familiar. That was the best part.

As the anxiety seeped away from him, a growing excitement took its place. Because soon, in Portorosso, he’d be able to be with the people he was closest to. The ones that mattered the utmost to him.

His eyes flickered to the girl sitting next to him, while his mind envisioned the boy waiting back there.

The two people closest to him, perhaps.

He let out a content sigh, eyes tracing the horizon line of the water as it rose and dipped in slight crests. When he’d left at the end of last summer, he’d of course known today would happen—but he hadn’t imagined the race of emotions that would cycle through him. Genova had been harder to leave than he’d expected. Though at the same time, returning to Portorosso was just as he’d envisioned it. If not better.

“What’s up?” Giulia caught his eyes, almost concerned, as if she were unsure how to interpret his sigh.

Luca’s mouth quirked up in a reassuring smile. “I’m just really happy to be going back. I missed it—I-I mean, home—a lot. Haven’t you?” He shifted his head just a little, keeping it on her shoulder.

His friend paused, as if trying to figure out her response. “I… I mean, of course I have, but… I guess I’m just, y’know, used to this.” She shrugged with one shoulder.

“Oh. That makes sense. Sorry.” His smile fell into one that was more sheepish.

A playful nudge. “I told you to stop saying sorry for things that you don’t have to apologize for.”

“Right. Sorry—” Luca clapped a hand over his mouth. Oops.

But Giulia just burst into a fit of giggles, a playful and easy sound that eased him up. “Santa mozzarella, I thought I was the one who was too much.”

The sound was contagious—a tension of laughter filled in Luca’s own stomach. “You still are.”

Their shared laughs cut off. Giulia stared at him from surprised eyes.

“Sorry.” That was said in a whisper.

A rush of worry swelled back into Luca’s head, clouding his thoughts of home. Now he’d taken it too far; he shouldn’t have said that. Why had he spoken the first thing that had popped into his head? Why did I—

But a sudden, loud laugh popped the bubble of anxiety. Luca tilted his head. “That wasn’t too much?”

“What do you think?” Giulia smirked. “I’m impressed.”

Luca beamed.

“Have you tried looking out the window again?”

So he did.

There it was—slowly turning from a speck in the distance to a more noticeable figure that he could make out the more minute details on. The place where he’d first emerged into this world. Alberto’s tower looked the same as Luca remembered. Tall, ancient, perhaps a bit ruinous to some, but majestic to him.

He and Giulia exchanged a glance. Despite her answer, there was a glimmer of excitement in her eyes that he knew mirrored his—maybe it was for the same person he was thinking of.

No, not maybe. He knew. They both did.

As the tower drew closer and closer, Luca’s heart pounded louder and louder.

He could hear what each thump said.

Home, home, home, home.

Alberto took a sharp turn at the corner, knowing that with each second that passed he was almost there. Almost there.

Hopefully he wouldn’t be too late. 

Well, by now, one must be thinking—ah. He’s hopelessly in love. Bursting with an unspoken desire, a confession of love. No wonder he had this rush of adrenaline, this flutter in the pit of his stomach, this free soaring of his heart.

And that assumption would be wrong.

Because Alberto had figured out, by now, that feeling wasn’t in him. That was it.

But fine, the lengthier explanation.

He’d been pretty sure for years. When he met Luca and Giulia, he’d known for certain. There was nothing. Although, he’d only realized it wasn’t normal until not long ago.

It had been a few months ago. Dad had shown him some old movies—on video tapes that Alberto was fascinated by. At one point or another, the music had slowed down—then he’d almost fallen asleep—and the camera zoomed in. Alberto had heard the music, seen the build up to what was supposed to be some dramatic kiss.

He’d looked over at Dad, who was gazing at the screen with a wistful smile. Like he felt something.

Meanwhile Alberto felt… nothing. Just this weird awkward pit. It was like the world was flying for Dad, for the actors, but he stayed in his seat. Glued there, unmoving. He’d started to realize…maybe something wasn’t right with him.

When Dad had looked over at him, noticing, he’d told him that it was okay to not feel anything. Whether or not he did was the way he was wired.

So it didn’t bother him. They were his feelings. He couldn’t—didn’t want to—change them.

Besides, when he’d met his best friends, there had been something else. A flash of a memory, of a wish he’d refrained from for years. One.

He was going to have to bring himself to say the word eventually. Not give it a half-thought, cover it up with that word. But he’d been five, and One had stuck.

Maybe it’d be worth it.

Right now, those feelings spiked full of growing excitement as he reached the crest of a hill. There they were—the opened iron gates of the station.

And past the entrance was the train, leftover steam still rolling out of its smokestack in wispy white plumes. A neat row of cars behind it, stationary, doors still open. Maybe he wasn’t too late.

Alberto skidded the bike to a halt, hopped off, and wheeled it the rest of the way to park it just outside the gates. It took all his self control to not throw it down and make a run to the train. Then he sprinted the rest of the way, coming to a stop just a few feet from the edge of the platform, breathless. He looked expectantly at the train cars, practically standing on tiptoe, bouncing off the soles of his feet.

C’mon, c’mon…

A mother and two kids stepped off the car to his left, one of the kids pulling on her mom’s hand excitedly.

An elderly man crept off the car on his right with the help of a cane, whistling as he walked and looking around with a short nod.

A growing sense of dread and disappointment formed a knot in Alberto’s stomach. He watched, waiting, as the cars remained stationary—but producing no other passengers.

The passenger car doors were slammed shut, one by one. The sounds were sharp, each one cutting deeper into his heart. That feeling of energy and adrenaline snapped as his face fell. Where were they? He couldn’t have missed them.

The drawing suddenly felt like a dead weight in his pocket.

“Alberto?”

Again, he paused, heart pounding for that fraction of a second where the voice didn’t register.

Then it did.

He tried to put a smile on, to mask his disappointment, as he turned. “Hey, Dad.” A beat of silence, before he remembered—“Thanks for the clothes. They’re really great.” He slid his hands down instinctively to where he remembered having front pockets on his shorts—only for his hands to fall right past. Right. Those were on his old ones. Make it look like you did that on purpose.

Dad looked down at him, gave him a softer smile. “I’m glad you like them.” He bent down just a little, getting closer to Alberto’s level. “Is something bothering you?”

Alberto looked over his shoulder. Slung the bag off his shoulder, set it down on the ground. Sighed. “I thought… I… Are they not coming?”

At this, Dad’s smile turned sympathetic. “I only just found out—they missed the morning train. They’ll take the evening one instead. Busy day up there.”

Of course. Luca and Giulia only gotten out of school yesterday. Alberto shouldn’t have expected them to catch a train anytime before noon; they were probably tired. But that didn’t stop a prickle of dismay from gutting itself in him. He looked down, kicking a bare foot against the ground. Trying to block that flood of impatience, beaten hope, and now—sadness.

“Oh.”

A hand on his shoulder—large, warm, comforting. “Mi dispiace, Alberto. They’ll be here before you know it.”

“Can’t always make the time to be on time. But Massimo’s right, they’re not far behind,” came another voice. When Alberto glanced up, he saw Luca’s grandma wearing a soft smirk. That’s weird. His parents were there, too, looking on.

Great. Now all eyes were on him standing there, staring at that one piece of cobblestone he was repeatedly tapping with his foot. Acting this stupid way, because he didn’t know what else to do.

They all knew why. Or, at least, they thought they did. Please don’t ask why.

Or if they really knew…

Please don’t know. How was he supposed to explain it? To their parents? Without sounding like a freak?

He was about to look up, tell Dad they should go back home and wait, maybe make lunch. Anything that would take his mind off this.

Then—

“Alberto?”

He didn’t even bother to get his hopes up this time. Now who wants—

Wait.

The voice.

He’d only heard it through a metallic pitch on the phone for the past several months. But he recognized it. He’d recognize it anywhere.

He swallowed down the rising lump of anticipation that was finally breaking free, ready to burst out into a flood of scattered words and scrabbled thoughts. All the feelings came scrambling back to life—the buzzing in his hands and arms, the flutter in his stomach, the heart pounding.

Everything was about to be perfect again.

Time slowed.

Because, if he did this right, it’d better than perfect.

If he did this right…

He’d have One.

Chapter Text

“What’s wrong with you, stupido?”

Said with the same kind of gusto and grandeur Alberto had put into the statement.

He turned.

A boy and a girl stood there, right in front of him. The boy was shorter, with soft brown curls and a light dusting of freckles across his nose and cheeks; smiling gently, warmly. The girl was a bit taller, bright red curls and many more freckles than could be counted; leaning forward just a little, giving him a lovingly smug look—that was who had greeted him, no doubt. Both donned their Genova uniforms—navy sweaters, reddish-pink bows loosely tied around cream-colored collars, woolen socks tucked into brown loafers—though the boy had shorts, and the girl had a skirt.

Luca and Giulia.

And they looked exactly the same as last year. Like nothing had changed.

Just like Alberto.

Time ran back to its normal pace. And he was running towards them, crashing into them, pulling them close into a tight hug. One that was warm, comforting—and returned.

“I missed you guys so much.” It was all he needed to say in that moment.

A gentle voice spoke back to him. “We missed you too, Berto.” That was Luca.

The nickname that he’d grown so familiar with felt even better. His drawing, still stowed in his pocket, thrummed with an invisible pulse that matched the dire crescendo of his own heartbeat. He let the hug last a few more moments.

The background melted away.

Just the three of them.

Nothing else had to be spoken—not now. Because for just that moment, he had everything he needed.

At last, he drew back. The rest of the world came into focus; the station and the sound of birds overhead and the remembrance of exactly where he was. Everything that had faded into nothingness. But this time, the world seemed brighter, more vibrant—like every feeling that passed by was fully stimulated, all his senses now on overdrive.

“Hang on, I-I have something for you.” Alberto turned, about to pick up the paper gift bag—but there was Dad, extending it towards him with a proud smile.

He mouthed a silent “Thank you” as he took it, holding the two handles close together. He tried not to let the shake in his hands show as he spun back around with the bag.

“Here.” He held it out, though there wasn’t a large gap, not really; somehow the three of them had nearly closed it. Although if they had been asked, none of them would’ve been able to tell who’d moved in first.

“Are you trying to spoil us?” Giulia looked up, brow raised.

“Screw everything if I ever spoiled you,” Alberto shot back. But it was said teasingly—and, based on the eye roll paired with a quirk of her lips up, she knew. “Open it!”

Luca took it, both hands gripping the sides, till he put one under the bottom and used the other to pull the sides of the bag apart. He looked down. Giulia leaned over, close enough that their heads almost bumped.

Luca looked up at Alberto—who returned it with an excited grin.

He reached into the bag and pulled out the first stack of clothes—his. Giulia deftly snatched the bag from him before it could slip onto the ground. Slowly—though maybe that was simply Alberto’s patience levels kicking in—he unfolded the ascot, then the shirt. Then the shorts. A look of awe crept across his face.

“You remembered,” he said, almost in a whisper.

“Of course I did,” Alberto responded, keeping his elation from raising the volume of his voice. “You mentioned ascots in, like, three of your letters.” A small white lie—it had only been once. But he’d held onto every small detail Luca and Giulia had shared with him, because he knew that was what he was supposed to do if—nevermind. Almost there.

Giulia had already extracted her set of clothes from the bag and was about to set it on the ground—Alberto intercepted, grabbing it from her. His fingers almost instantly found one of the bag’s corners and started to fidget with it, folding it back and forth. Good. The fidget would keep his excitement from bursting out into something ridiculous.

She undid the folding on the shirt, examined it, glanced up at him, then slung it over one arm to do the same to the shorts. One finger ran over the embroidered patches on them. Though she didn’t say anything, Alberto knew the clothes impressed her; he could read it in how carefully she looked over them, how she took her time.

He only waited a moment more before the question popped out—“Well, what do you think?”

Luca looked back up with a wide grin, clutching his new clothes tightly to his chest. “I think… they’re perfect.” In one fluid motion, he set the clothes down, stepped forward—only one step, the gap still hadn’t widened—and gave his friend a squeeze. “Thanks.”

Sure enough, he couldn’t have grown at all—even slightly on tiptoe, he was still only able to reach just below Alberto’s shoulders for the hug, without Alberto bending down.

Briefly, Alberto wondered if he should bring that up—but he shoved the thought aside. Not right now.

Behind him, Giulia reached up—less than Luca had to—to grab him from behind, almost unbalancing him and pulling him backward. Geez, he’d forgotten how strong she was. “They’re not bad. Grazia, Alberto.”

“What, I’m being surrounded now?” Alberto’s arms were basically glued to his sides; the double-hug was locking them there. But he’d missed this, how easily he could joke around with them in-person, how they returned just as much affection as he gave.

“We’ve got a prisoner, Luca,” Giulia teased, plunking her chin on Alberto’s shoulder.

Luca held on tighter, just a little. “You’re not escaping!” The end of his sentence broke off into a short burst of giggles.

“You do realize I have something else for you, right?” That came out calmly—but then, of course, his mind caught up to his words, and Alberto had to resist every neuron that wanted to just pull out the drawing right away. No. Explain first.

Their grips loosened, and Luca and Giulia stood back. “Told you he was spoiling us,” Giulia softly mumbled, but loud enough for it to be in Alberto’s earshot.

Alberto took a breath in. This is it. It was going to happen.

“Well, you see, ever since we met– I mean, maybe a little after– The point is, for a long time I’ve…” The words were tumbling out of him like a waterfall, careening from his mouth, before he could slow them down. “I’ve just always– You know, not that you have to, but–”

A small voice in his head piped up, coached him. Slow down. He obeyed—and his thoughts became sharper, clearer.

He paused, exhaled, then spoke again. More control in them this time, much more like the old Alberto. One hand reached behind himself, fingers catching and starting to grip onto the drawing. “You see, for a long time now, you guys have been… like–”

A sound of feet shuffling from behind him—but it was more like an alarm, a warning bell.

It wasn’t just the three of them—it was Dad, who was also Giulia’s dad, Luca’s parents and grandma. Their… families. The feeling of the paper touching his hand suddenly sent a jolt through him, and he released it, tucked it further into his pocket.

He couldn’t do this. Not here, not now. Not with everyone else watching.

The words that he’d been about to say turned sour in his mind, and he shoved them away. No, the small voice protested. You’ve already done that. Don’t do it again. Stop.

He didn’t listen this time. He could handle it; he could change the words and they’d never know. He could ignore the voice, ignore the sudden weight of the drawing in his pocket, how it still seemed to be sending a shock up his spine with every small movement he made.

“Like my best friends.” That didn’t hurt—it was the truth. But not what you wanted to say.

A gap of silence. Confusion? This was awkward.

“Sorry, that sounds lame,” Alberto stammered, trying to ease the situation. “But I-I love you guys so much. You’re just– yeah, my best friends. I guess that’s what I was trying to say. You mean a lot. To me.” See, easy.

Quiet for a moment more—Alberto internally cringed—before it was broken, and he was saved. No longer falling—hanging on.

“You think we didn’t already know that?” Giulia’s voice came out as a half-laugh.

“But we love you too,” Luca added gently.

“Does this mean I’m gonna get trapped again?” Talking, joking around made the pain of having let the words go softer.

Giulia gave him a flash of a grin. “Not if you ask nicely.”

“Please?”

“Better than that.”

“Please, please don’t trap me.” Alberto made his eyes a little bigger, more pleading. “Would you trap the person who just gave you clothes he spent a lot of money on?”

“Alright, that’s convincing enough,” Giulia agreed. “Sorry, Luca, we have to let this one go.”

For a moment, Luca feigned disappointment. Then his face instantly brightened at a thought—“So, does that mean we can tell you about everything else in Genova?”

Giulia quickly jumped in. “We have so much! Well, ovviamente, we told you about everything in our letters and on the phone, but–”

“That’s not the same!” Luca finished.

Both of them were now looking at him with big, excited eyes—eyes that were familiar, that he’d studied before, but now that he noticed, were, startlingly, almost the exact same shade of brown. A chocolate color with hints of chestnut at their brightest points.

Didn’t he used to imagine One would have brown eyes?

Alberto shoved the memory away, behind him, where it belonged—in the past. He had to let this go. He had to try. Maybe it was better this way—for their sakes.

“Tell me everything.” And that was true.

“Tell me everything.” Giulia looked at Luca. He gazed right back—likely thinking the same thing.

Then something clicked—his expression grew wider, more energized. Giulia gave him a quick smirk. That was one of the things that she liked about him—well, not liked in the expected way—how he’d light up when he remembered something, and be so eager to spill, throwing all that shyness away.

“Genova’s so huge,” he started, rocking forward on his feet. “Way bigger than Portorosso. There’s so much to do there—we sent you pictures, remember?—like all the stores; they’re put together in this big thing called a “mall”; there’s the museum where we went on a field trip and they had these cool moving dinosaur robots; they have a giant fountain with water that shoots up in patterns, but you can’t go swimming there; we got to ride in cars and buses, and they go really fast! They’ve got these super tall buildings, called skyscrapers, and we went to the top of one. You could see the whole city beneath it!”

That was one of Giulia’s favorite memories from the school year—Mamma had taken the three of them to the Piazza di Genova, to see the viewing area from the top of the tallest building in the city. It had taken Giulia some coaxing to get Luca to look down—but the view had been worth it for both of them. Plus Luca’s awestruck reaction had been priceless.

“Giulia’s mom said there’s way taller ones in other cities—like New York; that’s in the United States, it’s called the Empire State Building; and then in Dubai, there’s the tallest building ever! Maybe we can go there someday!”

“And we got to use our school’s telescope for the first time, too—you should’ve seen it, Berto, it’s giant—and it was so amazing! The planets and the moon and the stars look even better on that telescope.” Luca’s energy was contagious; Giulia jumped right into the rambling. Not that Alberto seemed to care—his eyes were only growing wider and wider with everything they said.

“We watched the first Moon landing in advanced astronomy, and on Mamma’s TV—but there were five more after,” Giulia continued. “They all happened a long time ago, so now people might go back soon! There’s rovers—like space robots—that have gone to other planets; we saw some of those. Anyways–”

“You asked about computers, right?” Luca asked, head tilted.

Giulia sighed. “I wish Papá would just cave and get one already. Emails would be so much faster than letters—and then we could video call you, too.”

“Wait—is that a computer thing?” Alberto gave a quizzical look between the two of them.

“Sì,” Giulia responded. “It’s like a letter, but on the computer.”

Alberto looked amazed. “They can do that?”

Luca nodded eagerly, grin stretching bigger. “They can do everything—we have a computer lab at school; we did some of our school work on them—they can show you tons of pictures, and play videos—which are movies, but shorter and not on the television—and you can write on them and… and anything!

“Oh, but there’s also… uh, smart phones! Mrs. Marcovaldo has one. You can call on them, but they’re also like a… a camera and a computer mixed in! They’re–”

“Kids?” A voice broke in, not unkindly. Papá’s.

The conversation paused as three sets of eyes swiveled towards him.

“Why don’t you finish while we’re heading back home?” Said gently, with a hint of amusement.

Home. Now it would have to register in her mind that the word meant Papà’s house, not Mamma’s apartment. Home was a funny word when your parents—and you—lived in two different places at the same time.

But Papá wasn’t bothered by their chatting, Giulia knew that much. None of the parents look like they are.

A slight flush of embarrassment crept onto her cheeks—how much had they been listening in on? Glancing over at Alberto, she could’ve sworn he was thinking the same thing—that explained the almost-nervous wince that blipped across his face.

She picked up her suitcase, handle firmly in one hand, then checked to make sure Luca was managing his. He’d had to raise it using both arms, but otherwise seemed fine—good. Earlier he had needed her help bringing it up the train steps.

“I’ll carry this.” Alberto snatched up the paper bag filled with their gifts before anyone else could make a move towards it. The sunlight hit the scales on his hand just right, turning their purple hue into a silver color.

Hang on.

When’d he get his hand wet? Giulia’s brow furrowed.

She blinked.

It was gone.

There were no scales—only tanned human skin. Strange. She must have imagined it.

But she didn’t normally imagine things. She blinked twice—ensured the scales were gone. So it was a trick of the light, then, or her vision had raced ahead of her mind. Seeing something out of the corner of her eye, that’s what it was.

Right?

Blinked one more time. All in her head. This was not happening. Time to focus.

“I could’ve gotten that.” She moved to lightly elbow Alberto in one side.

He rolled his eyes and shoved a hand firmly under the bag as if solidifying his choice, walking forward and forcing her to keep up. “Not happening. You can’t carry two things and let me carry nothing.”

“Who’s gonna help Luca, then?” Giulia shot back with a smirk. She was going to win this one—a match of their playful, argumentative banter that wasn’t the same till it was in-person.

“I’m fine,” Luca murmured, quickly pushing in between. “Don’t fight.”

Alberto and Giulia gave one another a look, then put their gazes on Luca.

“Y’know, we’re not fighting,” Alberto reassured him—his confidently smug grin actually softened. “Just…”

“Exchanging remarks,” Giulia offered. “It’s what we do.”

Luca’s eyes widened. “Oh. I didn’t– Sorry.”

He paused.

“I didn’t need to say sorry, did I?”

Giulia and Alberto shook their heads.

“S– Nevermind. I’m happy you guys have a way to be… you.” He glanced up with a happy smile, cheeks slightly rosy, flustered.

Alberto let out a huff of a laugh. “Of course you are.” He tossed the paper bag from his left arm to his right, and slung it over his friend’s shoulder.

“Thanks!” Luca frowned. “Wait–”

Alberto promptly changed the topic—“So, those ‘smart phones’, huh?”

Giulia would always recognize the house—bright red cement, faded around the edges; slanted auburn-tiled roof; stone fence; the branches of a gnarled tree in full-leaf reaching up towards the sky, shading the yard. Even if she were away for a million years, she probably still would.

Alberto hurried forward in front of her and Luca and began to swing open the gate door. “There’s one more thing I have to show you guys!”

“What?” Luca’s eyes shimmered with curiosity, while Giulia folded her arms. She wanted to know, too—but between the two of them, one showed it more than the other.

Alberto’s grin stretched wider and he rubbed his hands together in excitement. “I’d like to introduce you…” He pushed the gate open all the way and held his arms out in a flourish. “To your new and improved hideout!”

Through his letters, Alberto had explained that he’d been working on adding on to Giulia’s treehouse—only improvements, of course—and had promised to show them when they got back. No sneak peeks, no photos—it would be a surprise.

And what a surprise it was.

But in a good way.

From the branch that extended to her bedroom window, a tire hung on a thick rope. A railing had been built around the half of the treehouse platform facing towards the sea, providing a place to stand and look over the water. A stack of pillows lay in one corner—all different colors, shapes, and sizes—with a thin blanket half-hanging off the treehouse underneath them. Everything else remained unchanged—the strings of lights hanging over the top, steps built into the trunk to climb up to the platform—but Alberto had been right. It looked… nice. He’d made additions, but only the right amount. It was still tidy—just how Giulia preferred it.

“Do you like it?” He didn’t even give them a moment to answer before he darted towards the tire swing and deftly slid into it, kicking off the ground with one leg, easing it back and forth. “I tested this thing like twenty times. It’s perfectly safe, I promise. That branch is strong.”

He dug a bare foot into the dirt below, bringing the swing to a stop—then started to scramble up the steps. “The pillows are super soft. And the railing– I mean, do you think we should make the hideout bigger? Add a lookout tower or something? We’ve got all summer; we could discuss plans and stuff, keep improving it– I think I made a list of ideas somewhere…”

If Mamma always called her “too much”, Giulia had no idea what she’d call Alberto. But if what she liked about Luca was his instant demeanor change from shy to bright, what she liked about Alberto was his consistency. That loud, undying enthusiasm and energy that she and Luca could never put out no matter what they tried—for better or for worse.

“It looks amazing,” Luca breathed, taking a step closer to the treehouse. He reached out to give the tire swing a light push, only growing more elated as he watched it rock back and forth.

“You didn’t burn anything down,” Giulia offered with a lovingly pointed look at Alberto. He shot her a smirk in response.

“So that’s a yes from both the Luca and Giulia department.” Alberto half-climbed, half-slid down the steps back to the ground. Running a hand through his tangle of curly hair, he stretched, eyes closed as if savoring the moment. Perhaps he was.

After all, Giulia let the thought pass through, he was a little strange at the station.

But that could’ve just been Alberto. Luca hadn’t seemed bothered by it—hadn’t noticed how his hand had momentarily been a sea monster’s, for that matter.

Maybe it was just in her head.

Pulling the two ends of his new ascot together, Luca gave a quick glance of himself in the bathroom mirror. He liked what he saw—the shorts were the same as his old ones, the shirt was a bit looser but comfortable, and the ascot left a gentle weight on his shoulders, almost like a hug.

He snatched a look down—his feet were bare now. He reminded himself it would make more sense; he’d be switching back and forth between human and sea monster way more often now. Leaving his feet bare would make the process much easier when A., shoes only weighed you down while swimming, and B., they’d be impractical when your feet completely changed in length as a sea monster.

Still, somehow, it felt strange. He’d gotten too used to wearing shoes during the school year. His feet seemed… lighter, almost.

Luca exhaled, hoping the breath would calm his mind. All the excitement of returning home would be too much if he let his thoughts get the better of him. He picked his uniform up off the sink counter and opened the bathroom door with a light click.

Took only a few steps through the hallway before he entered the kitchen and–

“Mom? Dad? What are you doing here?” He didn’t mean to sound hesitant—but something in their eager faces made his voice waver.

“Well, sweetheart,” Mom began, “we figured you’d want to come back and visit the house for lunch. Move back in with all your new things—don’t worry, your grandma has left your side alone in your room.”

“I’d love for you to see the newest show crabs,” Dad added, giving him an energized smile.

“You can get right back to work on the farm.” Mom’s arms folded proudly. “Since our son ventured up to the human town, sea monsters have been paying a lot more attention to us. We could even invite some of them over for lunch; let you tell them all about your year!”

Luca winced. Talking in front of… how many guests? And moving back underwater—he’d forgotten all about that. Or working with the goatfish again. The thought was… dull, compared to the life he’d been living for months.

But he didn’t want to sound like he never wanted to visit home again.

Oh, no.

“Actually, I was thinking of eating lunch here. Signor Marcovaldo said he was going to make spaghetti, and invited me to stay, so…” He panicked quietly, trying to figure out how to make his actually real, reasonable excuse into something that sounded so. “I thought I’d stick around. For now. Spend time with Alberto and Giulia. It’s been a-awhile, since we were all together. I’ll come down later.”

Mom let out a sigh—by now, Luca’d learned how to tell her sighs apart; this one was more of an “I-knew-it” kind of sigh. “I had a feeling you’d stay for at least a little longer.” She bent down to cup his cheek, softening, eyes meeting his. Something was hidden in her gaze; perhaps pride. “Just make sure you come down soon, okay?”

Luca nodded, returning the affectionate gaze. His panic eased, mind slowed down. “I will, Mom. I promise.”

That may have been one of his most unusual qualities—he promised a lot, but he also never broke a promise. Almost like how you would never break a promise to your brother or your sister. He’d never had one—he’d just always imagined it to be something like that.

“You’re welcome to stay, too, Daniela,” Signor Marcovaldo said from where he was stirring the pasta. Steam rolled out from the open lid, drifting towards the ceiling. Luca took a breath in. It already smelled amazing.

“We’d love to, but we’ve already been away from the farm too long. My mom will be wondering where we are.” Mom planted a small kiss on her son’s head and headed for the door, waiting.

Dad stood and slid his chair in. “Thanks for the offer, Massimo.”

“Anytime.” Signor Marcovaldo’s voice was warm, brushed with a hint of a chuckle. “Good luck with the–”

“Alberto!” Heavily-accented, his name spoken in its full Italian-pronunciation.

“...Farm.” That ended with confusion.