MÅNESKIN ONE SHOTS

Fino Alla Fine Del Mondo | Damiano David

Italian was, and always would be, one of the most beautiful languages if it was up to you. If you'd told your younger self that you'd be learning it from the uttermost gorgeous Italian man, you would've laughed it off.

You were sure everybody had some culture or country they looked up to, romanticized in their minds. This country wasn't always Italy and Italian for you. Everything changed when you met Damiano.

"You know what you are? Una fregatura. You said you wanted to learn Italian, but you don't even hear what I'm saying. I'm a very serious teacher." Damiano chuckled as he scolded you for having your head in the clouds.

"What does fregatura mean?" You laughed as you kicked him in the shin playfully from your side of the table.

"No, I'm not telling you now. You should've listened when I was actually trying to teach you." Damiano took the last drag of his cigarette before putting the butt out.

"Will you tell me if I give you the rest of my milkshake?" You offered.

"Deal. Maybe you're not una fregatura after all." He grinned as he snatched your milkshake and took a big gulp.

"Oh, you self-satisfied bastard, just tell me what it means already."

"Rip-off. You're a rip-off. I'm supposed to be having quality time, and you're just staring at me. I should get paid for all the time you spend looking at me and not listening to what I'm saying."

"Oh stai zitto! It's not my fault your mother changed her occupation to be a master of the arts when she gave birth to you."

"Grazie mille, you're not too bad yourself" He winked and took the last sip of your milkshake.

"Didn't I tell you to shut up just now?"

"You did. But Italian class is over, so I'm not listening to you right now."

"You're so childish, you know that?"

"Ma tu mi ami, vero?" his smile was soft as he flagged down a waiter to pay. You couldn't help but stare again. The sun was like his personal spotlight, highlighting the angles of his face whenever he turned to look in a different direction. How were you not supposed to stare at him?

"Yeah, I do love you, stupido."

"I didn't teach you that" The frown on his face was as artificial as the strawberry flavouring of the milkshake still lingering on your tongue.

"It's literally 'stupid' with an 'o' attached. Not too difficult to grasp, I'd reckon." You swung your bag over your shoulder and grabbed your jacket from the back of your chair.

The weather was changing, and even in the ever warm Italy was it starting to cool off in the afternoon. The leaves were slowly going from "verde" to "arancione", as Damiano had taught you.

You remember him teaching you the colours vividly. He gazed deep into your eyes as you were distracted, amazed at their colour. A tiny whisper of their colour in Italian had slipped past his lips.

You weren't dating yet back then. You laughed in slight confusion, not a word of Italian in your vocabulary at the time.

"It's the colour of your eyes in Italian. It might just be my new favourite colour. Very pretty."

He proceeded to take time out of his day to teach you some expressions and phrases here and there, seemingly randomly. He'd stop you as you were reaching for a mug in his cupboard, hand on your back, muttering "tazzone."

At your puzzled expression, he beamed and explained it meant 'mug' in Italian. Even after you started dating, the habit continued. After a while, you could just give him a questioning glance while holding a random object, and he'd tell you the translation.

The cheesiest thing he'd ever done must be when you pointed at yourself with your standard "what's this in Italian" look as a joke. All he answered with was "Mia" and an energetic hug.

It's that same day you began dating that perfect cheeseball. How could you not yield when he called you his?

His hand squeezed yours, the restaurant far behind you. What was it about him that had your focus crumbling and ability to think about anything else vanishing?

"You're cute when you're thinking about me." His eyes flicked down as he let go of your hand, lighting another cigarette.

"I might hope so, I plan on doing it for as long as I may live." The heat speeding to your cheeks was unexpected yet welcome. It warmed your face as the atmosphere around you chilled exponentially. How did he manage to make you blush after all this time?

"Ti amo tanto, amore. Fino alla fine del mondo"

"I love you too, a lot. I don't know what the rest means, though."

"Until the end of the world. Kind of like 'until death do us part', but I mean it."

"Fino alla fine del mondo."

"Yeah, fino alla fine del mondo."

The world might as well have ended right then and there. You were content, happy, Damiano by your side, keeping you warm in the cool 'autunno' evening.