ʟᴜᴘɪɴ│ᴛᴋ [complete]

.36. ɪɴ ᴡʜɪᴄʜ sᴏᴍᴇᴏɴᴇ ɪs ᴄᴏɴғᴜsᴇᴅ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ғᴇᴇʟɪɴɢs

They soon settled in a comfortable routine. Carina, coming from a family of bakers, provided breakfast every morning while Manuel would drop by the Villa d'Este to grab a couple of English papers. Angelo would then read them over a cup of espresso before they all got to work on the sad carcass that had once been a flying jewel.

Angelo had protested at first, pointing out that the four-star hotel was nowhere near their route to the pier and required an absurdly long detour.

"I get them for free," had retorted Manuel with a wink.

His roommate did not have the heart to mention the reason he wasn't charged for them was because they were yesterday's news. He would read them nonetheless, scanning each column for familiar names, finding it odd that Park Jimin had not been promoted to star reporter of the Thames Herald. He would have thought that his coverage of the Lupin case would have brought him fame and recognition. Which is why he was surprised to see his name in tiny font at the bottom of the last page of the paper, a section usually reserved for minor articles pertaining to the miscellaneous items or unexciting stories. If anything, it would seem as if Jimin had been demoted from covering major front-page-worthy events to writing about, well, non-events.

Still, Taehyung was grateful for the distraction, and smiled as he read about Namjoon's book tour in Europe. If he ever made it back to London, he would most definitely have to introduce his author friend to Jimin, who was covering his book signings abroad with genuine enthusiasm. Thanks to his reporting, Taehyung learned that after two very successful events in Amsterdam and Paris, the young writer was set to show up in Venice next. A huge crowd was expected to gather at the beautiful Sansovino library, where the book signing was scheduled.

Taehyung would have loved to drop by for a surprise visit. After all, Venice was only a few hours away by steamtrain. But Taehyung had somewhere else to be. Someone else to surprise with an unscheduled visitation.

And so he discarded the paper, grabbed a spanner, and got working on the dead engine.

Carina turned out to be one hell of an assistant whose foresight proved quite time-saving. Angelo only had to hold out his hand and the exact tool he was about to ask for would magically appear, much to Manuel's chagrin.

Out of water, the young fisherman felt absolutely useless. Angelo, however, being the kind and thoughtful person that he was, always found some fairly rudimental tasks to occupy him with, whether it be getting some tools cleaned up or running errands for missing parts. It didn't do much to ease the unsettling knot in Manuel's stomach every time he had to leave the two alone to roam the village for some raw material or whatnot, but he would pep talk himself into believing he was contributing to a project that was bigger than him. How big? He couldn't tell. Big enough to put a smile on Angelo's face. And that's really all Manuel cared about.

The young fisherman much preferred the afternoons, when he could finally put on his free-diving act. After several hours of working non-stop, the trio would head to the closest pier and set up for a late lunch.

Manuel would strip to the waist before jumping into the sea in search of shellfish which Angelo would cook on the spot, using a makeshift workstation, showing off yet another unexpected skill he had picked up while in Paris. "I had to attend summer school there, to brush up on my knowledge of art history. I couldn't possibly miss my chance to get basic culinary training in the land of 300 hundred cheeses! Bless the Cordon Bleu and its evening classes."

Carina and Manuel had both shared a glance. "We hate to break it to you, Angelo, but while France may have many cheeses, Italy has the only three cheeses that really count."

"Three? Aren't you forgetting one?"

"Sure, we can add Provolone to the list if you insist."

Angelo loved teasing them and watching them bicker like old friends. At this point, he was fairly certain they didn't have a history (which was truly amazing seeing as Manuel had pretty much deflowered every single maiden in Riomaggiore).

When the meal was ready, they would bring out the stools and sit around a small table while Carina opened a bottle of Pigato, a locally grown wine.

What they had not foreseen was the attention their daily routine would soon get from the increasing number of tourists roaming the town. They began receiving orders for fresh oysters, cioppino, and grilled octopus and did their best to serve the generous travellers who seemed willing to pay extra for the view.

Carina did not mind Manuel strutting around bare-chested, but she certainly minded the attention the handsome and talented cook was getting and decided Angelo would do well to wear this ugly wide straw hat because, you know, the sun burns and we need to protect that pretty face of yours.

Yes. Manuel truly enjoyed afternoons at the pier.

But as he walked up the street, on his way to the metalworker to borrow a blowtorch, he realized it was still morning and went back to his ante meridiem sulk, annoyed at the steep slope he had yet to climb.

A thought crossed his mind. The workshop was close to Luciano's café. He should drop by and ask for an espresso to go. That was bound to score him some extra points with Angelo.

Wait. What?

Why was he even looking to appeal to his roommate? Shouldn't he be going after Carina, the only girl in Riomaggiore who was to date oddly missing from his list of conquests? Neither his mind, nor his gut had an answer to that. As for his heart, Manuel was deaf to it. Which was unfortunate because had he learned to listen to its whispers, he would have discovered just how bad he had it for the guy.

Either way, none of that presently mattered because the shop was closed.

Weird.

And from afar, the café looked closed as well, without a single patron in sight. Usually, the sidewalk would be filled with people at this hour, chatting away, enjoying sunshine and java. Instead, silence and vacancy.

Manuel was about to head back when he heard soft chatter. Peering into the glass doors, he witnessed something he'd never seen before. Half of the village elders were gathered inside, having an animated yet hushed debate, as if plotting a coup or something of that nature. The young man made several observations at once. First of all, he had no idea Luciano's small café could accommodate that many people! Second of all, whatever topic being discussed was not only important but also highly confidential. Otherwise no one would be making any effort to be discreet. He chose not to make his presence known and tried to eavesdrop.

After a short while, he decided he had heard enough and started running down the street, hoping he could reach Angelo on time.

Because he had to warn him.

He had to protect him.

He had to shield him from whatever menace was coming for him.

—

Wattpad fanfic writers write for free, but one way you can show your appreciation for their hard work is to vote!

Thank you for reading ~♡