Call me by your name - One Shots

Two

I picture Elio reaching for the carafe at dinner and then I just wish to be the water he pours himself and I beg him "Elio, you who is as bright as the sun, please let me evaporate, dissolve me into all my parts and then breathe me in."

I wake up in a sweat, drenched in sweat and terribly thirsty.
I should drink less and even less think about Elio.
I walk to the door between our rooms and listen, but all I hear is the creaking of his bed and I imagine him tossing and turning in bed. Are his dreams as muddled as mine were? And am I the protagonist in it? Is this what I wish for?

After my haphazard jog across the pampas to clear my head - which was a pathetic attempt - I step out onto the balcony, rest my hands on the balustrade, and take a deep breath. But the chirping of the cicadas is quickly interrupted by a "Good morning". I mistakenly assumed that Elio was still asleep, but now he's standing next to me on the balcony. I'm tense, how can I look him in the eyes after the dream tonight. I clench my teeth, look over at him and manage to say "Good morning" as well.
"Nice weather, isn't it?"
I just nod to him to show I agree. Now he runs his hand over the back of his head, his t-shirt riding up high enough for me to see his hipbone. It's not like I haven't seen him shirtless in just his swimming trunks. But there's something forbidden about looking at him now and hoping to catch another glimpse of his flawless skin. So I look away, walk into my room without a word, and all the questions I wish I had asked remain unspoken.

"Oliver?"
I snap out of my thoughts. Mr Perlman is standing in front of me with a stack of letters in his hand.
"Excuse me Professor."
"Still jet lagged?"
It's already my fifth day here, so it would be absurd to use this as an excuse for my absence.
"Only the many impressions, but let's continue."
"You'll settle in pretty soon. Elio has shown you everything so far?"
"Yes, thanks he took very good care of me."
Probably too well, because I keep thinking about him.
"He really likes doing it. You know, I hope I'm not going too far, or invading my son's privacy too much, but Elio is really a good boy, he just has a very hard time making friends. That's partly why we chose you, Oliver. You both have many things in common. Even more than we thought. Do you agree with me on that?"
He says all this with a smile and is just trying to make that last part sound as casual as possible, but I can tell right away that there's nothing casual about his remark.
Does he want me to offer my friendship to Elio, or did he already see through me and know what desires I have and the way I look at his son?
I don't know how to answer that, so I just nod in his direction, glad that he doesn't seem to insist on an answer, because there's only room for one thought in my head.

Elio is a good boy! Keep your hands off him!

I wish I could be friends with him, but the more time I spent with him, the harder it would be for me not to wish that the passion he had in his eyes for his composers was also for me. Over time, I would convince myself that he would have the conversations with me because he, too, would feel the urge to be around me. But what if the exact opposite were the case? If he didn't want more than friendship like I do? I'm terrified that he would find out about my addiction and maybe not care, or worse, that he would find it disgusting, me disgusting and repulsive. So it would be the end of me if I offered him my friendship.

I lift my head only then to notice that Mr. Perlman is still looking at me questioningly. I quickly take the stack and start sorting the letters. But I just can't get Elio out of my head. The more I think about it, the more tempting it becomes to imagine that there's more between us than friendship. I stop this idea and blame myself. Nothing must happen, not with him. I want to be good.

I have to resist the urge to talk to Elio, to want to touch him, to want him to feel the same way I do. I have to forget him.
That'll be easy, because he's not interested in me, has been pretending he doesn't see me when he comes into the garden for two days.

And yet a short time later I throw all my good intentions overboard because I can no longer bear how much we reduce our conversations until nothing but superficiality characterizes our words, even though we have so much to say to each other.