#riario

~~~

A man with stringed hair awakens you late at night. In the darkness, you immediately recognize him as your closest confidante, Leonardo Da Vinci. Where you lay sleeping, he grabs your shoulder and shakes you until you rise, grumbling and wiping your eyes with tingling fingers.

"Good Lord, Leo," you remark, your voice an uncharacteristic drawl. "What's the hour? What's happened now? Is it the Turks?"

"No," Leo answers quickly. "I - please be quiet, we needn't wake the whole of Florence - I've got the killer."

You straighten, jaw dropping, eyes peeling wide. For a moment, you stare at him in disbelief. Even in the light of a single golden candle aflame in the corner, his brown eyes twinkle as they always have. You tilt your head to the side, a strange smirk crawling to your lips.

"Pulling my leg?" you ask, heart rate quickening. You pray the answer is yes, but at the same time, you want badly for this horror to be over.

Leo shakes his head, staring at you with his usual unflinching directness. "Not in the slightest. You really think I'd joke about something like this? After all the bodies piled up in the Vatican? If I'd known how disastrously you underestimate me, Y/n, I -"

"You really have him?" you ask, reaching for his sleeve with a trembling hand.

Leo steadies you with a single palm pressed firmly to your shoulder. He nods. "Indeed. I have him chained in the upper section of my workshop." You move to rise from your bed, but Leo holds you down. "Y/n... you should know that he... he's someone you would not have believed capable of these crimes. But he isn't himself. He is ill, poisoned of the mind. I am doing all I can to heal him."

Frightened by his sincerity, you nod. "Take me to him."

But nothing could have prepared you to look upon the Monster of Italy in the flesh.

It is him. The man for whom your heart has longed. The man for whom your soul has ached, for as long as you can recall.

Girolamo Riario sits against a pillar near the stone wall of Leo's workshop, his sleeping figure slumped in a white stream of moonlight through the window above. He is covered in dirt and blood you doubt is his own, muscular frame draped in a dark gray tunic, ripping at the seams. His black hair is ruffled, wild to shield his sharp facial features. He is vulnerable, defenseless, and his arms are bound by dark metal chains. A stream of what looks like blood trails below his closed eyes.

At the sight of him, your knees buckle. You drop to the floor, hands covering your parted lips, eyelids fluttering as your mind attempts and fails to grasp the reality of what you're seeing. Girolamo twitches after your movement, but does not wake. Your eyes blur with tears. It cannot be him.

"Leo," you plead in a whisper, "tell me... tell me it's not..."

Leo places a warm hand on your upper back. He says nothing.

Reaching for the man you always believed to be your soulmate, you dissolve in silent tears on the floor of Leonardo's workshop.

~~~

At Leonardo's insistence, Girolamo begins to remember things he wishes - oh, he prays to God Almighty - never took place. He remembers things he wishes more than anything to forget.

Leonardo's antidote has taken hold, for the temporary. But a shadow still lurks in the back of Girolamo's mind. A temptation, a quiet poking. A whisper from the darkness. A laugh, a chuckle. He turns away from it, back to the light where Leonardo tells him of all the people that very shadow has killed. Girolamo begins to feel as if all the world has crumbled around him. The very thought of God has been manipulated into a vessel of evil.

"My heart," he says to his old nemesis, "must be so black." A single tear slips down Girolamo's blood-streaked cheek. "My soul so riven with cruelty. I..." A lump catches in his throat, but he speaks anyway. "I cannot be saved."

Leonardo falls to his rear before Girolamo. Cocks his sly, intelligent head to the side. "You saved me," he responds. "And I know someone who may be able to save you in return... should my devices fail."

Girolamo's eyes, a gray-stricken green, widen. His head falls back against the pillar, warm skull meeting cold stone. He shakes his head, tears blurring his vision. "No," he whispers. "You cannot. I will... I will ruin her."

A faux smile, an expression of pity and rebellion, overtakes Leonardo's face. "She is the only other person in Florence who knows the truth. And she is not ruined. Not yet."

Girolamo scoffs, looking up to the window, glass glowing and fogging in a distant hum of daylight. He swallows hard, thoughts drifting to you. Such a beauty, such a delicate wonder he has known only in the form of Y/n. God granted him a love to absolve him of his sins, and instead of take the opportunity, he has thrown you away. And for what? The flimsy excuse that he was protecting you? Such a small, unfeeling lie rips away at the most tender part of his heart - what is left of it, a single blackened organ beating a death march in the prison of his chest. He has given you up, and yet you remain. An angel as pure as starlight to rival the unforgivable devilry of his sins.

"While you rested," Leonardo continues, "I brought her here. To see you. I feared she might not surpass the shock of your identity."

Riario turns to look at him once more, eyes glistening with a fresh wave of grief.

"She fell to the floor and wept," Leonardo explains. His face is stony and calm, but not without his own fair share of emotion. "Mumbling Giro, Giro, over and over again. Words on the edge of her breath I have not the strength to repeat. She started to pray when she saw you here, raised her hands up to God and pleaded that you be spared, if at any cost." He pauses, takes a shaky breath. "You must know I have never seen her pray, not in all my life."

Girolamo swallows and says, "The Holy Father threw her from the Vatican's services because she refused to pray." Against the heavy weight in his heart, he smiles. "I despised her lack of faith, but I admired her dedication to truth."

Leonardo nods. "She is truly a force," he agrees. "When I tried to pry her from the floor an hour later, she slapped me away. Said God had not yet answered her prayer."

Girolamo straightens against the pillar. He listens earnestly for every sign of you he can process.

The artista shakes his head, finally smiling. "She finally stood up after the sun rose, this very morning. I asked her if God had answered, and she walked out of the room. Not a moment later, Riario, and you awoke with lucid words in your mouth. Even now, I'm tempted to believe it was a miracle."

"Miracle," Girolamo repeats, exhaling sharply. He looks down at the flesh of his forearms, at the deep scars just visible beyond the edges of the metal cuffs. He had felt so hopeless then, so directionless. As if all the world had gone dark.

But in this room, you collapsed on the floor and prayed for perhaps the first true time in your life. And it had been for Girolamo's saving.

He feels unworthy... but his heart has broken free of the darkness.

"I must see her again," Girolamo finally says to his old nemesis. "I am in no position to ask for favors, but..."

The artista smiles. "You need not ask."

~~~

Your hands sweat as you wring them together. Dressed in your best looks, you believe yourself still not enough. Still not adequate. Still not prepared and ready.

Leo leads you up the creaking wooden steps, up to the room where your lover sits chained to a stone pillar like a common thief. You think of him and your eyes are already wetted with tears - blinking furiously, you push away your grief and sorrow. You must face him with dignity, courage, and grace.

After all, he may have left you alone, but he kept his promise. He did it to protect you. And should you have been at his side in Rome earlier this month, you'd have surely been strung up on the walls of the Vatican with your innards hanging out for every pious man to see. Girolamo may have broken you, but he saved you nevertheless from a much worse fate.

You owe it to him now at least to listen. To listen and to care. If you cannot forgive, then you must at least understand.

Before you cross the threshold, Leo turns back and looks deep into your eyes. He knows. He asks you a silent question.

You nod. Then you take a breath and step inside the workshop.

When he sees you, his dry lips part. His eyes, a beautiful green speckled with stormy gray, go wide. His chest ceases all movement - he is holding his breath. Speechless, breathless, in shock. In awe.

You purse your lips, blinking away the tears as they return stronger.

"Y/n," Girolamo whispers. You had forgotten the tender passion of his voice, had only been able to recall it in the wild fantasy of your dreams. Now, you realize your dreams are nothing against the truth of his tone. "I feared you had... you had forgotten me."

Forgotten him? You haven't lived a single day free from the mere thought of him. The sacred memory of his deepest love. His gentle touch, his warm flesh, his heart beating like lightning whenever you were near. The way he spoke to you, the way he caressed you in the moonlight, the way he would kiss and worship every inch of you like you were made of crystal. His smile, his soft laugh, his breath on yours like a fresh breeze from the sea. The way his eyes would sparkle when he looked at you, like you were Donatello's masterpiece.

When you speak, you are unable to shake the crackle from your voice. "One does not simply forget that which changes the course of their entire life," you tell him.

Girolamo bites his lip, face scrunching as he tries to shield his hurt from you. "I tried," he confesses in a broken plead. "I tried so hard... Y/n... I only wanted to keep you from harm's reach. That was my... dearest... intent."

Your heart breaks all over again. He truly means it.

You step forward. He straightens against the pillar. Your eyes scan his form, every visible part of the man you love. He awaits your word, your decision. The loving care you came to bestow upon him. The affirmation of your affections. Unshed tears sparkle in his eyes, just as you remember.

Finally, you speak. "Lock the door," you say to Leo, though your gaze never leaves the man chained before you.

"Y/n," Leonardo argues, "we don't yet know if the antidote took its full effect. I cannot let you -"

"If you wish to keep him chained like a dog," you snap, "then you must chain me as well. He is of clear mind... at least for now." You turn to Leo, staring deep into his brown orbs. "Please. Grant me this one peace. Grant him this one mercy."

Leo hesitates. Then, with a single stiff nod, he steps beyond the threshold, doorknob in hand. He disappears a moment later, the door clicking behind him.

Once he is gone, you realize truly that you are alone with Girolamo.

You say nothing - at least not yet. You cannot manage words while your heart longs so relentlessly to offer care to your lover. Keeping your eyes away from him, you retrieve the keys from the table by the locked door. You approach Girolamo once more, and this time allow your gaze to meet his.

"You need not free me," he says in a near-whisper. "I know very well what I have done. What I am capable of."

You hesitate for a moment, then shake your head and drop to a kneel next to Girolamo. Your fingers work at his cuffs, where the key finds its place. A click, and the cuffs slide off his wrists.

"They may call you a monster," you tell him softly, taking the cuffs and placing them to the side, "but I see no real reason to fear you."

He gazes at you, stares deep into your eyes and into your soul. Lays his head back against the pillar as he watches you hold back yet another wave of tears. In quiet restraint, you reach for one of his hands. When your fingers graze his skin, he flinches for a fraction of a moment, as if frightened his touch will hurt you. But you do not fear him - your heart burns brighter in his proximity. You take his hand in yours, flipping his arm to trace the lines of his open palm.

You had not seen his scars.

"Girolamo," you breathe, heart rate rising, "what happened to you?"

He glances down at the inside of his wrist, green-gray orbs glistening with a waterfall of emotion. You wish you had not asked, but you need to know. You need to know the truth.

"I thought," he tells you under his breath, "I might have been able to save the world. From myself. That if I..." He holds back a sob. "If I removed myself from existence, that God might forgive me. I hoped you would hate me for leaving... enough that you would be exempt from the pain of losing me."

His words are the purest, most honest of any he has ever spoken. You can feel it in your bones, and it breaks you. It cuts you deeply, rips you apart in an anguish you have not the strength to name.

You lean down and press your lips to his scar, once a fatal wound, now a thick red line across the inside of his wrist. It still tastes of blood. Of despair.

"I could have helped you," you say to him, meeting his eyes as you raise yourself up again. "If you had only let me."

Girolamo raises his free hand to your face, and met with the warmth you have missed for years, you lean into his touch. Your eyes flutter shut, like the wings of a bird that has flown for far too long. Girolamo pulls you closer, and your forehead presses to his. You can feel the desperation, feel the heat, smell the sea breeze on his breath. After all this time, he is still yours.

"I needed to keep you safe," he says. His thumb brushes over your bottom lip, a comfort you know will only last for so long.

"I would have found absolution for you," you tell him. "I would have traveled to the ends of the earth to help you find your salvation. To keep you from turning your back on life. I would have done anything to keep you with me." Your words catch in your throat. "Why did you keep this from me, Giro? Of all truths?"

He caresses your face just the way he used to. You open your eyes to find him searching you for every fragment of love he can get. "I did not want you to hurt," he answers simply, words broken by emotion.

You raise your hands to his face and press your lips to his, a desperate search to quell the longing within both of you. He responds instantly, wrapping his unchained arms around you, pulling you deeper into his safe embrace. He tastes of salt and pine - you dive into him, finding comfort in his presence now. His fingers twist in your hair, tugging gently on strands of you, remembering things long forgotten in the shadow of the past. Memories of wild embraces in the dark of night, sinful screams wrapped in the soft silk of Giro's bed, clutching each other with a vicious passion no one on earth has known. He has worshipped you as an angel sent from God, and you have revered in him, sought him as a permanent state of peace in the chaos of your life. In him, you have found hope and meaning. The pursuit of an impossible dream, an impossible happiness. The wide-eyed wonder of what it means to be truly loved.

As you pull away, lips yearning for more, you speak softly to him. "I hurt no longer," you say, "because I have you at my side."

His eyes are rivers, but he smiles against the sorrow.

If you only have this one chance, you will do your best to keep this love intact. It is your greatest wish.

~~~