#nayatoolitty

𝙎𝙀𝙍𝙄𝙀𝙎: 𝙎𝙊𝙈𝙀𝙒𝙃𝙀𝙍𝙀 𝙄𝙉 𝙉𝙊𝙍𝙏𝙃𝙀𝙍𝙉 𝙄𝙏𝘼𝙇𝙔

𝙈𝘼𝙎𝙏𝙀𝙍𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏

𝙏𝙃𝙀𝙊𝘿𝙊𝙍𝙀 𝙉𝙊𝙏𝙏 𝙈𝘼𝙎𝙏𝙀𝙍𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏

𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: 𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙚𝙧 𝙞𝙨 𝙦𝙪𝙞𝙘𝙠𝙡𝙮 𝙚𝙣𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙮 𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙨𝙚 𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚. 𝙏𝙝𝙚𝙤𝙙𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙩 𝙞𝙨 𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙘𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙤 𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙜𝙚𝙩 𝙝𝙤𝙬 𝙩𝙤 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚, 𝙝𝙤𝙬 𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙙𝙖𝙮 𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙛𝙩𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙝𝙚 𝙞𝙨 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙩𝙚𝙡𝙮 𝙨𝙪𝙧𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙙 𝙞𝙣 𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙤𝙬𝙣 𝙨𝙞𝙡𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙚.

───────

The morning came too quickly. Theodore woke up slowly, pulled into consciousness by the warmth pressed against him and the soft scent of your skin on his pillow. In that moment, he did not feel as if he could move, he could not breathe. Suddenly growing afraid that any shift of movement would break the impossible reality settling around him.

You lay perfectly in his arm, your chest rising up and down in deep sleep. His eyes peered at your face. Your flushed cheek rested against the bare skin of his chest. Your leg was tangled with his, the white sheets resting on your hips. Your fingers curled gently against his ribs, as if you had fallen asleep quickly, and were brushing his skin. He found you here after everything. After the night had unraveled something deep inside him.

The sunlight had filtered through the open curtains, painting both of you in a soft, golden glow. He let out a quiet breath as the feeling on content and happiness overcame him. He had imagined being close to something like this. In school, he was reserved but had his fare share of experiences, but never once has he laid with the women until the morning. He had daydreams and fleeting thoughts, but it had always felt too far away, like it was meant for everyone but him. He was not used to waking up feeling wanted and cared for.

He was not used to waking up feeling so peaceful. He was happy, he was finally happy.

His hand moved on instinct, brushing the hair gently away from your forehead. The small movement had made you shift, your nose nuzzling against his chest. You sighed, sleepy and content, and Theo felt a faint ache in his heart at how soft you were with him.

He did not deserve this, he thought. But, gosh, he did not know how bad he craved and wanted for a moment like this. When your eyes finally blinked open, still heavy with sleep, the corners of your lips lifted into a tiny smile that hit him harder than any kiss the night before.

"Good morning. . ." You murmured.

"Buongiorno, bella." He whispered back, his throat tightening.

Neither of you moved, you just looked at him. Your expression was warm, full of something gentle and unguarded. It had made his chest feel too tight.

"How long have you been awake?" You asked quietly, your chin resting on his ribs.

"A while. You looked so peaceful." He muttered as he lifted his hand, fingertips brushing against the skin of your arm, tracing faint lines.

"And you liked that?" You teased, a smirk appearing on your lips.

"I like seeing you like this." He swallowed.

Your cheeks flushed in return. Most would think that moment would have turned into something awkward, uncertain, but it was quite the opposite. The thin morning light, the remnants of last light humming in the sheets, the reality that you had crossed a line that could never be unseen. But, somehow, with your body still resting against his, your fingers sliding over his stomach in faint patterns.

It was anything but awkward. It felt right as if this moment was written in the stars and was always meant to happen. Nothing of regret lingered in the air, but love and connection peered in slowly.

But, that only created a trembling feeling within him, something he could not shake. The thoughts of what last night could have meant. He did not know what today meant. How you two were supposed to act, whether this was a one time moment, whether you woke up wanting him or wanting distance. All the scary thoughts came flooding in, he did not have the confidence to push them away.

You shifted a little, gazing up at him, the moment growing more serious. "Theo?"

"Yes?"

"Last night." You hinted as your thumb brushed his hipbone. "It wasn't a mistake."

Something inside him unclenched, slow and painful in its relief. "Good, because I haven't been able to think about anything else since I opened my eyes."

Your smile returned once the words settled in within you. You leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss on his shoulder. Theodore could not help but savour this moment by closing his eyes. The feeling of your soft lips brushing against his heated skin brought back that feeling of peace and hope towards the future.

The birds outside were beginning to stir. A breeze drifted through the window, bringing in the scent of morning, cypress, sun warmed stone, and a faint sweetness from the orchard. Theodore tightened his arm around you slightly, drawing you closer towards him.

“We should probably go downstairs,” you whispered, even though you did not move an inch.

“We should,” He agreed simply.

But, neither of you had made an effort to move. Instead, nestled closer, allowing him to bury his face into your hair, inhaling the new shape of his world, the one that smelled like sunlight and your skin, and with the possibility of more. For once, overthinking did not overcome him. He had no doubting thoughts, did not have the energy to question the way his heart felt full to the brim. He felt completely in the moment, grounded by the sound of your breathing. It lifted him up in a way he has never experienced before.

He held a promise to himself to hold you for what felt like eternity. He wanted the morning to welcome you both slowly into the day, allowing it to settle around you like a quiet promise. A promise of something endless, something peaceful.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

The morning light had been soft and forgiving, but the day itself was not. Theodore felt it the moment he stepped out of his bedroom, the sudden shift in air, the strange weight around his ribs, the warm thing form your skin still burned into his palms even though you were no longer beside him. He could still smell you on his pillow, even in random areas of his room, and he could feel your presence still linger. He could still taste you on his tongue. Everything within him felt burned by your touch.

As soon as he stepped into the hallway, it felt like stepping into a different world. His home was filled with a familiar buzz of its summer life, the clinking of dishes, the distant strum of a radio playing an Italian song, one of his favourites, the slow hum of a conversation drifting from down stairs. Everything seemed normal.

But, nothing was; he was no longer the same person who stepped into this home in the beginning of summer. He reached the bottom of the stairs and spotted you in the kitchen archway, talking quietly to his father's colleague. You had laughed at something, it appeared soft and polite, but he suddenly felt a twist in his chest. Not with jealousy to its terms, but rather a craving ache. A reminder that no one else in this house knew that light night existed only between the two of you, held something so fragile and defining.

You did not notice him at first, or perhaps you pretended not to. He hovered by the doorway, trying not to stare, trying not to raise questions. But once you glanced up, it was like it was instinct, as if you felt him before you saw him.

Your smile faltered, something nervous sliding into your eyes. He looked away first from you. Not because he regretted anything, but rather he was not sure how to exist around you now. Not after the way you said his name last night, breathless and trembling against his lips. He did not know what was considered normal for him, but if he were being honest with himself, he had never been normal around you.

Once he had joined you at the long wooden table, only after short moments of trying to convince himself that he would not say or do anything stupid. You were already seated, a peach cut neatly on your plate. When he sat across from you, your eyes lifted for a quick moment.

But that had hit him harder than any full stare you once given him. You looked tired in a way that mirrored his own exhaustion, an afterglow mixed with uncertainty. Your knee brushed his beneath the table. He could not tell whether it was by accident or not; he did not know, either way, he did not move. Theo's father entered, shuffling through papers, muttering about his schedule. Julian appeared next, asking brief questions about the weather. The villa's cook set down freshly baked brioche and poured coffee.

Everything around them was loud, but between you and Theodore, there was a small but perfect silence. He dared to look up; you were already looking at him. Just long enough for him to see how nervous you were and how much you were trying not to let it show.

You picked up your coffee cup, your hand trembling slightly around the handle. Theo noticed. He wanted so much to reach across the table and take your hand, reassure you, but he could not. Not here, not in front of everyone.

He had swallowed hard once the thoughts started to pour in. Whatever was developing already meant more to him than what he had expected.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

He had noticed when you slipped away. He waited a minute before following, not wanting to seem too eager. But he was, he always was now. He had found you by the stone fountain behind the villa, sitting on the edge, fingers trailing through the cool water. The sunlight danced on your skin, turning your hair gold at the edges.

You did not look when you heard his footsteps. "I didn't know if you would come and find me." You admitted quietly.

"I didn't know if you wanted to see me."

“I did,” you said, but then, softer, “I do.”

He had exhaled a breath he did not notice he was holding. He had sat beside you, close enough that your thighs touched. But, not too close enough to be obvious if someone passed by you. The sound of the fountain's steady trickle filled the silence between you, peaceful and grounding.

You had kept your gaze on the water, but your voice was honest and unguarded. "Last night. . . was different from what I expected."

"Different good?" He questioned, his voice cracked, failing him.

You finally looked at him, your eyes meeting his. Your expression was tender, almost too tender. "Different good."

Relief washed over him so strongly that it made him dizzy. He felt his shoulders relax, allowing your words to settle in.

"It just changes so many things." You added.

He could not help but agree. "Yeah, it does." He nodded.

Another silent moment appeared, but, this was the kind that held everything unsaid. This moment was always meant to come. But, Theodore never thought it would happen so quickly. He hoped to himself that you guys would live beyond reality; he hoped it would not keep up, but it did.

"You're not regretting it?" You asked.

He shook his head immediately once the words left your lips. "No, not even for a second."

You smiled, a real smile this time, it was small and timid, but it was real. "I just don't know what happens now," You muttered.

"Me neither," he answered truthfully. "But I don't want to pretend nothing happened. We don't have to figure it out right now." Theodore leaned closer towards you, lowering his voice.

Your breath caught, a tiny sound escaping you, it was low, almost hidden, but he heard it. You nodded in agreement.

He only hesitated for a brief moment before reaching for your hand, slowly, giving you every chance to pull away from his touch. However, you did not. Your fingers only curled into his.

His world continued to shift around you. Something within him changed; the effect of you was burned into his soul. He knew that it would never heal if you both ever parted ways. Your touch further pushed him into realignment, for something he grew up knowing was bent out of place.

First time that day, the feeling of uncertainty lifted from his shoulders. Allowing him to be fully in the moment with you. It was replaced by something quieter; it was steady and hopeful for whatever would come in the future.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

Lanterns were hung low from the branches of the olive trees, their soft amber glow swaying with the breeze. Music drifted through the courtyard; it was warm, making this moment endless. Many guests danced barefoot across the glass. Theodore always attended these types of celebrations with dread throughout the past years, but this time, it was different. You were here, capturing all his attention. Someone had brought a violin, their voice blooming across souls as the words in Italian created a different sense of community among the people. The whole evening felt suspended in honeyed light.

You moved through this moment as if it were a dream, but your eyes always found him, your soul calling out to his. He stood at the edge of the celebration, his face half illuminated by the light of the lantern, the other half lost in the shadows. His shift sleeves were rolled to his elbows, his loose curls falling over his forehead, just carefully reaching his eyebrows. He watched you dance, hands rested within his pockets, posture quietly tense as if he was unsure if he belonged there or rather any place at all. It was not hard to fit into school when he was around his friends, but everyone knew he was more reserved, however, that does not mean he did not completely shy away from his friend’s actions.

Standing here, staring at you, made every past memory and thought dissolve into existence. You did not look away once you got his grey eyes; you honestly did not think you could. Theodore always noticed you, in the simply moments, in times of where it mattered. His expression softened, all the past emotions and the exploration of those intimate moments made his breath feel still.

You took this moment as a silent invitation, "You're not dancing," You noted.

Theodore exhaled through his nose in something similar to a chuckle. "I don't dance."

"Have you ever tried?

"I try not to make a habit of humiliating myself," He commented through a smile, "Why? Are you wanting to teach me?"

"No, I'm not dancing either," You smiled, "So, you're safe."

There was a pause, it was short and fragile. "Walk with me?" he asked.

Both of you slipped out of the celebration unnoticed. He felt your presence as you trailed behind him through the orchard where the peaches clung to the branches like lanterns of their own. The night air was cooler here, gentle against his skin. The most beautiful sight of fireflies appeared, hovering over the long grass, similar to tiny stars in the late-night sky.

He stopped once both of you reached the field, the music faint behind you replaced by a soft hum of crickets. The overwhelming thoughts have always been with him, but in this moment, he wanted to be open with you, allowing you to enter the most sacred place of his mind. "I don't want the summer to end," he admitted. His voice was steady, but the words exposed the inner feelings of his expectation of the truth.

"Then don't let it."

He shook his head slightly, disapproving of your words. "It doesn't work that way, as much as I wished it did."

"Why not?"

"Because this. . . is difficult. This moment between us has been complicated to accept. Not because I regret it, but rather, I am unsure and not prepared to deal with you leaving and going back to your regular life. As if this summer did not happen." The confession left him like something he had been holding in his chest for too long.

Your heart pounded, loud enough that you wondered if he could hear it. “What if I feel the same?” you said. "I am not ready to go back to our regular lives, where I have to go back to living without you. I am not prepared either."

Theodore went still. As if those words, your words, were some ancient spell spoken aloud for the first time. He shallowed all the words that were threatening to come out. He stepped closer towards you, close enough that he could see the faint summer freckles on your nose, the way your eyes flickered with every emotion in the world. "Don't say that unless you mean it."

“I mean it,” you answered.

The field felt impossibly quiet, suspended in the soft glow of moonlight and fireflies. Theo reached out, hesitating only a heartbeat before letting his fingers graze your cheek. "I wish. . ." he said softly, "That in another life. . . we could stay in this moment forever.”

You leaned into his touch. "This life is enough," you whispered back.

His breath hitched, he tipped his forehead to yours, as if pulled by something neither of you was brave enough to name.

“If things were different,” he murmured, “I’d ask you to call me by your name. . . and I would call you by mine.”

The words trembled in the air, fragile, sacred, impossibly intimate. You took his other hand, weaving your fingers through his. “Then say it,” you whispered. “Even if it’s just for tonight.”

Theo closed his eyes, speaking out ever so softly, muttering the soft tune of your name. The way he said it was different. It presented itself as longing, similar to a surrender, like he had waited a life to say it in this way. When you whispered back in the same tone as his. It was a promise that the connection of your souls were life changing. A promise to never forget how special this summer love was. It was an ache, a confession.

Everything seemed to wrap around both of you, hands locked together, breaths unsteady, the night holding its breath around you. It was like the world did not matter; only this moment did. Only the way your names felt whispered into the warm night as they belonged to each other.

And somewhere far behind you, the lanterns flickered, the violin played on, and the summer waited to break your hearts.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

Days blended together, summer brushing by as if it meant nothing. Both of you settled into the rhythm of summer, within its walls warm from the sun, the air heavy with the scent of citrus and wet stone. Theodore moved through his home cautiously, aware of you everywhere, at the fountain, in the garden, the trailing sunlight across the terrace. Every glance you gave, every subtle brush of skin against skin, was a reminder of that night that changed everything.

Theodore did not need a reminder each moment he saw you that you cared for him. But, something in his soul craved your attention, your touch, your love for him.

He watched move throughout the villa, barefoot on the stone floors, a quiet concentration on the book in your hands. Every glance at you made his chest tighten with the same ache he had felt the morning after, but it was tinged with something sharper, a sudden fear that the moment he wanted to last forever was quickly slipping through his fingers.

The fountain appeared be the place where you could come together in private. With no eyes to worry about, having the freedom to speak freely. The fountain in the afternoon was truly a sight. Buried by the honey glow of the sun. You had wandered out alone, and Theo, unable to resist, had followed at a careful distance. You picked up small pebbles and tossed them into the water, carefully watching the ripples spread. For a moment, he simply stood and watched you, frozen in the small, perfect intimacy of that moment.

"You've been quiet today," You muttered softly, glancing up at him.

"I've been thinking again," He answered, taking a slow step closer. "About. . . how fast it's passing."

"Summer?" You questioned as you titled your head, eyebrows knitting slightly.

"Yes," He said, his voice low. "And. . . us."

You dropped your gaze to the water. “I know,” You whispered. “I’ve been thinking about it too.”

Theo hesitated, searching your face. “It’s. . . terrifying,” he admitted. “I don’t want this to end.”

You finally looked up at him, eyes wide and honest, vulnerability shimmering there. “Neither do I,” You said. Your fingers brushed against his as you reached for the edge of the fountain. “But. . .” Your voice faltered. “We can’t stop time.”

He swallowed hard, the weight of her words pressing on him like the heat of the sun. “No, but maybe. . .” He let his hand find hers, fingers intertwining slowly. “Maybe we can make the time we have. . . matter.”

A faint smile tugged at your lips. “I want that,” you said softly.

They stood together, hand in hand, the fountain between them and the late afternoon sun draping the villa in gold. The faint hum of insects, the trickle of water, the soft rustle of leaves, was magnified in the quiet tension that wrapped around them.

Theo could feel it, the bittersweet ache of summer, the knowledge that each day brought them closer to the inevitable farewell. It made his chest heavy, but it also made every second with you sharper, more vital, more alive.

“You feel it too, don’t you?” He whispered.

You nodded, thumb brushing along his hand. “Every day.”

He leaned slightly closer, foreheads almost touching. “Then we should. . . we should hold onto it. Even if it’s just for now.”

You let out a small, breathless laugh. “Even if it ends.”

Theo kissed your hand gently, savoring the warmth, the softness, the fleeting eternity of the moment. “Then we’ll make it worth remembering,” he murmured.

For a while, they simply stood like that, two hearts aware of the coming end, yet determined to seize what the summer still offered. Every stolen glance, every accidental touch, every heartbeat shared was amplified by the fear of what would follow. Within that shared silence, Theo realized that fear could be a gift. It made them more present. It made every moment appear more alive, more aware of the fragility and brilliance of what you two had.

He did not want to think of the villa empty, of you gone, of the hills waiting in silence. He only wanted to feel your hand in his, to watch the ripples spread across the fountain, to hold the fleeting sunlit days just a little longer.

And for now, that had to be enough.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

With moments like this, when life begins to test one, it is difficult to seek guidance of how to heal the heart. Theodore had thoughts about how this would end. But he did not grasp how much it would have ruined him. His home felt emptier before you even left. He noticed it in the morning, the air was suddenly sharper, if it felt as it was poking at his skin, at his mind.

The light was dimmer, colder even, and the hallways echoed in such a way they had not all summer. The scent of your perfume was still faint in his bedroom. There was nothing normal about his feelings towards you. His room would be forever burned with that memory. He inhaled the faint air, taking in a deep breath, trying to calm himself. It was almost as if he was trying to store the memory of you within him, within his lungs, but all he felt was hollow.

You were quieter that morning, suddenly aware of your movements, already packing the last of your things. He watched from the doorway, your hands picking up the clothing with a faint tremble. His hands were tucked into his pockets, hearting beating too fast, his body could not catch up.

Every glance at you made him ache, the curve of your neck as you were bent over your suitcase, the soft brush of your hair falling over your shoulder. Everything about you brought him peace; how would he be able to function without you. Without the person who had forever changed him. He wanted nothing but to reach out, to beg you to stop, to beg you to stay, but he knew that would not be right.

"Are you. . . ready?" He asked, swallowing the lump in his throat that was beginning to grow. His voice sounded broken and rough with emotion. It tingled in your ears.

You looked up, catching his gaze, nodding your head. Your smile was small but brave, which only made him want to fall apart more. "As ready as I'll ever be." You murmured softly.

He nodded, barely being able to speak. The words were stuck in his throat, tangled in the longing and the heartbreak that had been building since the first night of summer. He wanted to say everything on his mind, I love you, I miss you, please don't go. However, words could not have been enough to stop this moment from appearing once again.

The walk down the stairs was unbearable, once he stepped outside, with your suitcase in his hand, it was like the sun was mocking him; it was high and hot against the fabric of his shirt. Your taxi awaited, wheels creaking softly, the driver shifting impatiently in his seat.

He walked with you to the gate, every step heavier than the last. It was just you and him, standing together, aware of all that had happened and all that was about to end.

"I. . ." He began, but the words only fell short. He swallowed, searching for something to say that would not sound foolish or desperate. "I'll remember everything," He finally spoke out. "Every day, every moment."

You reached out, fingertips brushing the flush of his cheek. "I'll remember too. I'll think of this place and of you. . ." You whispered, a tear appearing on your waterline.

Your touch made his chest tighten. His hand went to yours, holding it as if letting go would mean losing a part of himself. In a sick, twisted way, it would. "Promise me." He said, his voice beginning to break. "Please, promise you'll. . ."

"I promise, Theo, I promise." You murmured, pressing a brief kiss on his lips, soft and lingering and impossibly heartbreaking. You stepped away from him, his heart fully shattered.

He watched as you loaded your belongings. He watched as you climbed into the car, leaving him with one last glance you will forever give him. He watched as the wheels spun and drove away over the rocks of his home. Every heartbeat of his felt like a drum in his chest; he wanted to call out, to run after you, but he stayed rooted, helpless, aching.

Once you disappeared among the trees, the faint yellow going down the lane, he was left alone. Everything around him felt smaller, dimmer, as if they too mourned your absence.

He wandered the ville aimlessly, touching places you had once touched; the balcony where you leaned on to watch the sunset, the fountain where you had tossed pebbles, the orchard where the peaches had ripened under the summer sun. Every memory was vivid, every glance, every laugh, every kiss, haunted him.

His chest felt tight and hollow, filled with an unspent emotion. He sank into the terrace steps, resting his head in his hands, and let himself feel the grief of you. It was not just desire, not just longing, but rather brutal heartbreak. A quiet and consuming ache that he had no way of quelling.

He realized something painfully simple: he could never stop thinking of you. Not when the seasons changed, not when his home had fallen silent, not even when the memory became a sharp and bittersweet ache in his chest. Summer had ended, he was meant to go on into life with his heart shattered, and he had no thoughts that he would ever find someone that would be able to piece it back together. Theodore Nott was left with nothing but memory and yearning of what could have become.

"Just remember, our hearts and our bodies are given to us only once, and before you know it, your heart's worn out; and, as for your body, there comes a point when no one looks at it, much less wants to come near it. Right now, there's sorrow, pain. Don't kill it and with it the joy you've felt."

───────

- Buongiorno bella - Good morning, beautiful / pretty