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❧ "Give me one," Milo insists, eyeing the row of empty shot glasses in front of Oliver.
Oliver shakes his head with a little smirk. "You're not gonna like it."
"How do you know?" Milo retorts. "I'm never going to know if I don't at least try it."
"Because you barely handled the wine at dinner," Oliver teases. "I really don't think you're ready for straight whiskey."
Milo bristles, "I can handle it, Oliver!" He grabs the glass right from Oliver's hand and tosses the amber liquid to the back of his throat.
Immediately Milo erupts into a violent coughing fit, his face screwing up at the harsh burn. Tears fill his eyes.
Oliver bites his lip, trying and failing to hold back laughter. He pounds Milo's back sympathetically. "Told ya so," Oliver grins once Milo can breathe again.
Milo scowls and shoves Oliver's shoulder. "Oh shut up! Like you handled it any better your first time." Still, he can't help but smile back, especially with the warmth of whiskey now coursing through him.
"At least I didn't spit it all over the bar my first go," Oliver teases.
"You're infuriating sometimes, you know that?" Milo grumbles, though his tone holds more amusement than true annoyance.
Oliver chuckles and nudges Milo's shoulder affectionately. "Yeah but you love me anyway."
Milo looks down, tracing the condensation on his water glass as silence stretches between them. Love - such an easy word for Oliver to toss around when Milo feels anything but certainty about what lies ahead.
"What happens when you leave?" he finally whispers. "When you go back..." Go back to your real life, he thinks but doesn't say. The unspoken end of that sentence hangs heavy nonetheless.
Oliver's playful smile fades. He takes Milo's hand under the table, threading their fingers together. "Hey...let's not go there tonight." His tone is gentle but firm. Still avoiding.
Milo just nods silently. He wants to argue but fears his voice will crack and betray the ocean of feeling swelling behind his casual facade.
-----
Milo and Oliver are drunk. They stroll the winding alleys of Bergamo's old town, stumbling and laughing.
Taking advantage of a deserted side street, Oliver pushes Milo against a stone wall and kisses him ardently.
Oliver suddenly stops, cocking his head.
Milo frowns, confused by the abrupt halt. "What?"
"Listen!" Oliver whispers.
"Listen to what?" Milo asks impatiently. He tries to draw Oliver into another kiss but is brushed off.
Faintly, from somewhere in the slumbering city, comes the strains of a familiar melody. Oliver's face lights up. "This song!"
