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That night, Elio arrived back home right as Malfalda began setting out the last dish on the table.
He jogged outside, pulling his chair out and falling into it. "Sorry I'm late."
His father looked to him. "It's okay. Food just came out." He said, redirecting everyone's attention away from Elio, who seemed a little bit distressed. "So, Stella, are you enjoying yourself?" He smiled.
Stella looked up from her plate and forced a smile, trying to avoid looking toward Elio, but she couldn't help but get a glance from the corner of her eye. "Of course. I missed this place so much." Elio rested his head on his hand, looking down at his lap. He didn't dare to look up at anyone. Especially not Stella.
While the parents talked about some philosopher Stella couldn't even pronounce, she zoned out. Her eyes stayed on Elio. His slouched shoulders, the way he chewed on the inside of his cheek, the tiny tapping of his finger.
She thought back to Luca.
The way Elio froze. Got all awkward. The look in his eyes.
She began to think that maybe he was jealous. Maybe he felt the same way she did about Marzia.
She slightly smiled at the thought.
And sure, maybe it was toxic. But she liked the idea of Elio being jealous of someone else. Not because she wanted him to be upset, but because that meant he cared.
It meant that he was feeling the same thing she was, even though neither of them didn't know exactly what the feeling was.
The only way Stella could think to describe it is that the two of them want each other to themselves. Not in a weird way, or a romantic one. But in the way that they want to grow old side by side. They wanted to be best friends forever. And no one else could get in the way of that. Not Luca. Not Marzia.
She snapped out of her trance to Elio pushing back from the table and taking off inside, a towel pressed to his face. No one else seemed alarmed. Not even his father who had barely even paused his sentence. Put Stella was worried.
She hesitated only for a second, before standing up abruptly. "Excuse me."
She slipped inside, her sandals tapping anxiously against the tile. "Malfalda? Where did Elio go?" She asked, stepping into the kitchen.
Malfalda pointed down the hall without looking up from the sink.
Stella followed in that direction until she found him sitting on the edge of a low bench, elbows in his knees, a napkin soaked in blood held to his nose. His skin had gone pale.
