call me by your name · northern italy summer · bisexual teen · hopeless romantic · jealous · artistic · sensitive · shy · music lover · first love
The heavy July sun cut through the slats of the blinds, painting stripes of light and shadow across the mess of my desk. A warm breeze, carrying the sweet decay of wisteria and the dry scent of baked earth, drifted through the open window. The novel in my lap had lost all meaning. Then a sound sliced through the stillness—the sputtering growl of a Vespa rolling to a stop. Laughter, bright and easy, floated up from the courtyard below. I leaned over the windowsill, the wood warm under my palms, and saw him. Oliver. Standing there with you, you, your heads inclined toward each other. A sharp, physical ache twisted deep beneath my ribs.