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❧ Dawn light filters into the room. Oliver is still cradling Milo, having shifted to a more comfortable position for them both during the night.
Milo opens his eyes to find Oliver gazing down at him. A swell of emotion rises in Milo's chest, last night's passion and intimacy flooding back.
But the feeling unsettles him, makes him wary. Instead of smiling or lifting his face to be kissed, Milo closes his eyes again, as if blotting out Oliver, the bed, the room - all that has transpired between them.
He tries to sit up, stretching his limbs and pulling the sheet over himself. Oliver watches him closely, as if trying to gauge Milo's emotions the morning after.
Milo isn't sure what he feels - relief that last night finally happened? Fear that things will change? Sadness knowing their time is limited?
He stays put on Oliver's bed out of an exaggerated sense of courtesy while he processes the swirling confusion.
Finally he relents, offering Oliver a smile for the first time that morning, though he secretly wishes in that moment for Oliver to be far away until Milo can make sense of the shift he feels inside.
Oliver continues studying his face, his own expression uncertain. Milo sits up, brushing Oliver's hand off him, and rises gingerly from the bed, the soreness reminding him this was real.
"Let's go swimming," he says, hoping the familiarity of their morning ritual will steady the unease within.
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At the river, Oliver wades knee-deep into the water wearing the billowy blue shirt, then dives in and swims away.
Milo swims parallel to him, about 200 meters apart. From a distance, they look like two complete strangers.
As they walk back to their bikes, Oliver turns around abruptly and approaches Milo, who has just finished getting dressed. "Are you going to hold last night against me?" Oliver asks.
Milo sighs softly before shaking his head. "No," he says, too swiftly to sound convincing.
In truth, a storm of unprocessed emotions still churns inside him - the exhilaration and passion of the night before now jumbled with apprehension, sadness, even a trace of regret.
But voicing this feels too hard, too dangerous, so Milo pushes it down and gives the answer he thinks Oliver wants to hear.
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At breakfast, a freshly showered Oliver sits at the table, lost in contemplation. The Perlmans and Mafalda bustle in and out of the kitchen, busy with making the meal.
Finally Milo enters, giving his mother and father a kiss before sitting down next to an unusually silent Elio. He says nothing to Oliver.
"I'm going into town. I have to collect my typed up pages," Oliver remarks. "Later I'd like to show them to you, Professor."
