Eventually, his shoes stepped in front of mine, so close that his pointed brown toecap nearly touched the scuffed toes of my old vans. Old and new, coming together as if time and wear had never mattered at all. Perhaps if I stared at his shoes long enough, I could forget that his face was there at all and I would never have to say a word to him. I would never even have to look him in the eye. He would never look into mine and read right away that I hated him more than I had ever hated anyone else, but also that I loved him more than I had ever loved too. And that such a love made me willing to let go of all of my hatred, my resentment, for just a small dose of what I'd had before. If I could pour Oliver into a needle and shoot him straight into my veins, letting my eyes roll back into my head and reality slip away from me, laying in a delicious delusion, I would never want for a single other thing. *** Twenty years after their first encounter, Elio is learning to accept that he and Oliver will never be together. Now living in Dresden, teaching music, and in a relationship with someone new, his time with Oliver feels a world away. Except, it's not. Oliver comes crashing back into his life and Elio realises that he can never truly move on from the Summer in Northern Italy. So, he decides that, if he can't move on, then neither should Oliver.