He steps closer. "Are you okay?" I don’t answer. I look at the ground. Then back at him. "We’re leaving."
Rava frowns. "Now?"
"Yeah." My voice cracks a little and I fucking hate it. "I’m coming back later. But not now."
"You sure?"
"Yeah." I start walking toward the exit. "Anywhere but here. Anywhere."
He follows. Like he knows better than to push. But of course he still does. "You want me to come back with you later?"
"No," I mutter. "You don’t have to."
"Gio."
I stop. Close my eyes.
"You think I'm not coming?" he says. "Don't say dumb shit." I let out this dry, humorless breath. Not even a laugh.
"Fine."
We reach the car. I get in. He gets in next to me.
"I don’t wanna go back to the meeting," he says.
"Good," I say immediately. "Because if you suggested that, I would’ve punched you."
He smirks, just a little. "Wanna go somewhere else?"
"Yeah. Please. Anywhere that isn’t a hospital or a fucking conference room."
He doesn’t say anything. Just nods and starts the engine. I let my head fall back against the seat. I still feel like I can’t breathe, but at least I’m not doing it alone.
21) GIO?RAVA
Rava
I park the car a few streets down and make him follow me on foot. He doesn’t ask questions, just walks next to me, holding a bag with two beers I brought earlier.
We reach the old playground. The wooden bridge. The two metal swings that still creak with every gust of wind. He pauses. I watch his face shift. He recognizes it.
"This used to be your spot, right?" I say quietly. "You, Luigi, Elio, after school, you always came here."
He blinks slowly. "How do you know that?" I sit down on the small bridge and tap the spot next to me. He follows, letting out a breath as he sits.
His legs hang down, brushing the gravel. "I used to hear my mom," I say. "She’d talk to yours sometimes. Ask why you never invited me to hang out with you guys." I smile a little. "Not that I would’ve come. Even if you had asked. I would’ve said no. Just to be annoying." I laugh.
He looks at me then. His eyes are tired. He takes a slow sip of his beer. "…I’m sorry," he mutters. "Don’t hate me for that."
I bump my shoulder against his, gentle. "Do Ilooklike I hate you?"
He doesn’t answer. His eyes drift away, and before I can say anything else, he reaches out and brushes the sweat off my forehead. I stiffen a little, surprised.
"Sorry," I say. "I’m just…burning up."
"Don’t say sorry," he mumbles. I hesitate. Then scratch the back of my neck.
"Would you…mind if I unbuttoned this? I’m dying in this shirt."
