Four guys, four hearts, one path.
Lonely, floppy-haired Cristoforo is lost in the snow with no memory. Now, he must find his way and his identity. Who will help him: Carlo, Giacomo, or the mysterious Angel? Read "Flakes" now to find out. #lightnovel...
He fell fast asleep until a butterfly came to a fluttering landing on his cheek. Had it flown in through a crack in the window? Would it die here tonight?
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Cristoforo found himself standing before yet another doorway as Carlo lowered him to his feet. This day was sure full of new doors for him to pass through. Carlo stepped before him, and as he did his broad, square shoulders obscured Cristoforo's view of the door. "This one is big, so big. He makes me feel so small—too small."
Cristoforo heard the jingling of keys. It was loud. There were a great many keys on Carlo's key chain. Then, he heard the door being unlocked and swung open. But, before he could think another thought, Carlo picked him up and carried him over the threshold.
For some reason, this made Cristoforo think he should be carrying a bouquet of flowers. He imagined himself holding white roses in his hands, as they draped over Carlo's wide shoulders.
He rested his chin on the hard bone of Carlo's shoulder and looked out the open door behind them. He watched as the snow, the cold, and the past receded before his eyes. He hoped he would never be cold again. He smiled as the warmth of the interior space warmed his body. It felt good, so very good. Maybe there is hot cocoa here? He wondered as he felt thirsty. Might there also be biscuits?
He giggled a little as he imagined the baby's breath poking out from the bouquet tickling his cheek. He was happy, and he was finally safe. This meant he could relax. And, as soon as he did, he realized he was too tired to stand. In fact, he could barely keep his eyes open and his legs straight.
Carlo propped Cristoforo's limp body against the wall. Then, he turned to close and secure the door. Cristoforo watched his sturdy forearms and the pair of hands they led to. They moved assuredly. They were surely strong and certainly sure of themselves. Cristoforo hoped he would have hands like these someday. He marveled at the things such capable hands could do. For some reason, this made him blush.
The door and its locking mechanism yielded to Carlo's touch, and so sure of their crafting was Cristoforo, he looked away to check out the interior of the apartment he had been brought into.
There before him was a warm, contemporary space. It was as lovely an apartment as Cristoforo had ever seen before. Or, at least, this is what he believed since he could not remember if he had ever seen an apartment before, much less one belonging to someone like Carlo.
The apartment sprawled out splendidly and invitingly before him. It spread everywhere it should and not a foot where it should not. If comfort had a color, its palette stood before him, and if it had a shape, all of its contours were to be found it in the furnishings and the rest of the decor.
Behind it all stretched a wide wall of floor to ceiling windows. Through them, like a living painting, sat a lovely city square. Cristoforo peered out the window to take it all in. He did not think he had ever seen such a lovely city square. It was late, but despite the late hour, the square was alive with people sitting, standing, and passing by. Was it always like this here? It was so nice, and it had been cleared of snow. There was not one flake to be seen.
