Chapter Text
Oliver knows this is the last night he will spend with Elio as his lover. He gazes from his place by the balcony windows at the young man, limbs akimbo, fast asleep in the bed they have shared for the past couple of nights. Their time together in Bergamo has been wonderful, meaningful, and also solidified the creeping dreadful decision that has been plaguing Oliver since he and Elio first kissed. Since Oliver began to believe that Elio might feel for him even a fraction of what Oliver feels for Elio.
Because Oliver loves him. Loves everything Elio is and loves the potential for who Elio may become. He will miss Elio and, more than that, will miss being a witness to Elio’s life as no doubt the best is still to come for this kid, who in the course of six weeks became a young man.
Oliver loves whom he becomes around Elio. Loves himself as he sees himself in Elio’s eyes. This is a love Oliver has not experienced before and Oliver does not believe he will ever experience again.
And yet, he knows himself, he knows the train tomorrow will take him away from Elio, never to return. He is not a brave man, Oliver. He knows this. He has used up a lifetime of bravery this summer. Allowing himself to fall and to love and to be loved. As much as he may have known himself before, he knows himself better as a result. He has thought, “This is what love is. This is what falling in love is.” And he has realized he has never before loved or been loved, and will probably never again.
He has a girlfriend.
They are not together, he should add. But he has a girlfriend. Someone with whom he is off and on again. Someone of whom his parents approve. Someone whose presence makes his life easier, less open to scrutiny. They broke up, once again, before he left for Italy. But Oliver knows, once he returns to the United States, he will return to her. And they will probably marry and, if they marry, they will probably have children. And they will build a life together. A decent sort of life. The type of life Oliver has been told he should want. And he does. Or, rather, he wants to want it. It could be worse. He will be married to his best friend. She will be a good partner, a good mother, and a good wife. She is not lacking. It is Oliver who is missing something. A thing that keeps him from being normal, from fitting in. A thing he found this summer.
He’s not more normal now for it. In fact this summer was confirmation of how far from normal he really is. But he finally felt as though he fit in someplace, with someone. There was someone out there as sick as him. And they only have one more night together.
Oliver watches as rosy-fingered dawn creeps her way across Elio’s body, following the path that Oliver’s own fingers have traveled numerous times in the past ten days, traveled and claimed and will now cede back to Elio, to future lovers, as he is certain there will be many.
They have less than one more night together and tomorrow is already today.
Oliver’s heart crumbles even as he tries to be strong. He steps towards the bed and lowers himself down, curling around Elio’s sleep-warm body, his feet hanging off the end, burying his face in the softness of his belly which, after the night’s activities, smells more of Oliver than Elio. Although this is the scent Oliver will remember Elio by - the scent of their coming together layered on top of the sweet smells of summer and stone fruit and the muskiness of a boy growing into a man. And Oliver is in love.
Oliver closes his eyes and tries to find the peace in sleep that Elio has. His mind races with the knowledge of what comes next, in which his heart is broken and Elio’s is...spared. Or so Oliver hopes. Oliver has done the algebra and he does not believe he is entirely selfish in his decision and that this, in the long-term, will be best for both himself and Elio. And he would sacrifice himself in an instant for Elio.
He recites the reasons for his decision to himself, much the way those of another faith might pray the rosary.
What was conceived and born in Heaven this summer would not survive the cruel realities outside this perfect bubble. Elio is blessed to have a family so accepting, so nurturing, of whomever he might become but the world is not his family. The world resembles Oliver’s family far greater and there are the risks of two men together. Now, especially now. With the headlines, the disease that was finally given a name, another name , one that did not condemn an entire community in its naming. But is still, nonetheless, in New York City killing at epidemic proportions men like him. Even just in the last year there were some cases reported in Europe. Elio was with Marzia this summer and Oliver has hope that Elio will be able to love women as much as men, or even that this romance with Oliver is an outlier, and thus Elio will be spared. With no test, with no real understanding of what causes the illness - only that it is a fast and painful death, sparing the dignity of no one infected. If Elio lives because of Oliver’s sacrifice, that will be enough. If Elio lives a life free from prejudice, a life in which whom he loves does not have to be a political statement, all the better.
Then there is the lesser reason. Elio is young. It would be unfair of Oliver, as much as he might want, to ask for a commitment from him. Elio deserves to be young and explore all the world has to offer, much as Oliver did. And, in the gradual light of the room, Oliver admits that if he were to ask this of Elio and Elio couldn’t offer it, or wouldn’t, or worse tried to and failed (not through his own failure of character but rather the failure of youth), Oliver is uncertain he would survive. To give his heart over is a risk. Being a betting man, he prefers the odds of surviving on his terms. He recalls all too well what it was like to be seventeen. Although, surely, Elio is far more mature than Oliver was. More worldly at least and that comes across as maturity. But in so many ways, Elio is very much seventeen and perhaps more naive than Oliver had been due to the warm and nurturing environment he was born into. And Oliver would never want anything less. He hopes that Elio retains these facets of youth and innocence far longer than Oliver had been able. He hopes that he is not the one to create the first crack in the bubble in which Elio has lived until this summer.
“I know nothing, Oliver” Elio had said to him. And Oliver wants Elio to know everything, to give him the world, but the world as it was before the Fall, before we were forced from Eden. For Elio is an angel and Oliver is fearful that he is the serpent who has tempted Elio from his magical garden. How did Eve feel having eaten the apple? At once gifted and cursed with knowledge. Is it indeed better to speak than die?
Serpent that Oliver is, there are words that he has not let spill off his forked tongue. He believes it would be better to die than to speak the words, “I love you” to Elio. Love is an action and a promise. He can’t give Elio the knowledge, the burden of his love, and walk away as he intends to. And, more than anything, he can’t hear those words from Elio. He wouldn’t survive it.
And in the same heartbeat in which Oliver wants to protect Elio and himself by not speaking his love into the world, he hopes, he prays that Elio knows. Surely, if Elio knows anything, he knows Oliver loves him.
Elio twitches in his sleep, in Oliver’s arms, dreaming. Oliver wonders what he dreams - does he dream of Oliver? Oliver is at once desperately jealous of anyone else who might occupy even the unconscious thoughts of this young man and also hopeful that Elio’s world remains larger than Oliver.
Elio’s belly is damp now with Oliver’s tears. He weeps silently, pushing his face into Elio’s skin almost as though he hopes that through sheer force, the tears can be held back like by a damn. “Please,” he whispers, “please.” He is asking for so much.
Please protect Elio. He conjugates the verb - please protect him now, please protect him in the future, and, also, please protect him from the past, from what we did, from what I did, this summer. Please do not let me be the cause of his ruin. Please do not let the sunshine disappear from the forest green of his eyes. Please do not take his crooked smile and his sleeve upon which his heart is sewn.
Oliver lifts his face to wipe away his tears with the bedsheet - it already bears so many of their fluids, it graciously accepts more. He blinks as rosy-fingered dawn makes her way further into the room and, at once, gulps back a sob. He had grown so accustomed to living in Elio’s world where not only were the two of them fairly accepted but references to Homeric epithets in common conversation were not only not given a sideways glance but were, in fact, expected.
Oliver had learned the hard way - the way he hopes he’s protecting Elio from - to hide his enthusiasm for learning, for reading, for quoting. He recalls discovering the bright orange and yellow book of Greek myths at his public library, with the picture of Apollo carrying the sun across the sky. (And, his mind helpfully fills in, to add to the pain of this memory, like pushing on a bruise to see if it still hurts, Apollo is a later version of Helios for whom Elio is named.) He recalls sitting at recess, day after day, with the large book propped up on the picnic table in the school playground until some of the other boys wandered over, dusty and sweaty from their games and began taunting Oliver. Taunting him for being pudgy, taunting him for reading during recess, taunting him for being smarter than he had to be to earn decent marks in school. Taunting him for being limp wristed. Taunting him for being a Jew. Until their taunts turned into actions and, as if they knew how best to hurt Oliver, they picked up that happy bright book and started pulling the pages out, tearing those beautiful illustrations to bits. The gods and goddesses were powerless against the bullies.
And later, when Oliver had to work up the courage to ask his father for money to replace the library book, he had to face his father’s coldness. “Life is going to be easier for you if you learn how to blend in,” his father informed him. It was a lesson learned and passed down from generation to generation - have pride in your faith, in being different, in being Chosen, but also learn to get along with your neighbors, don’t give them cause to look at you twice, don’t give them cause to think about you, blend in and maybe you can be like them, in this land of the free. And Oliver’s parents had done just that, moved to a largely gentile neighborhood all in the name of giving their children the best opportunities. And here Oliver had the opportunity to learn a valuable lesson. Once his growth spurt hit, he could never truly blend in, but he learned to try to hold back, survey the landscape, play anthropologist before he engages. Are these the type of people with whom he would need to show a knowledge of American football and beer or could he let his interest in philology bleed through, would a massage to a shoulder be welcome or rebuffed?
It wasn’t only Elio that made his summer with the Perlmans magical and Oliver is certain he will never feel as at home in his own self as he did. He wonders, as a type of thought experiment, what, if anything, would have to change for him to be with Elio. To truly be with him, build a life with him, and love him. Love him as an action and a promise. He places a kiss to the softest skin just above where Elio’s hair begins to grow, where his cock, soft now, is nestled in a bed of dark curls, and closes his eyes, hoping sleep takes him before he must face the most painful day of his life.
***
The text comes through just as Armie finishes replying to Luca’s email saying he was sorry he couldn’t make it to Austin, but congratulating him on the well-earned award.
<Whaddup, Austin! Let’s do this thing!>
It’s accompanied by a pic of Timmy’s signature peace sign thrown up in front of a sign reading “Everything is bigger in Texas” in what looks like the airport’s arrival area. A small smile creeps onto his face as he stares at the text, a swirl of warmth blooming in his chest knowing that Timmy has landed in Texas to present an award to him. He quickly taps out a reply.
<Hey man, you made it! Are you at the airport? I can come grab you.>
He hears the water shut off in the bathroom, signaling that Elizabeth is finished showering. It’s only another few seconds before his phone chimes again with the response.
<No need, I’m in the hotel bar. Get your ass down here and meet me.>
A soft chuckle rumbles out of his mouth as he grins down at his phone. The sound of the bathroom door opening causes him to look up as his wife emerges from the small room, a billow of steam rolling out behind her.
“Hey babe, Timmy is already here, he’s downstairs in the bar. He wants us to go meet him.”
He watches as Elizabeth wanders over to the closet to choose an outfit to change into. “It’s gonna take me another hour to get ready, why don’t you just go and I’ll see you at dinner at 8.”
A part of him he doesn’t care to examine in detail is the slightest bit relieved, his chances to spend time alone with Timmy quickly running out as their seemingly never-ending press tour has at last reached its final stop. In fact, it was already supposed to have ended with the Oscars. But then two days later he got the call about being honored at the Texas Film Festival, and he couldn’t pass up the chance for one last hurrah with Timmy. So he made the call to ask him to present the award to him as he had done for Timmy so many times over the last few months.
Not waiting for her to change her mind, he slides off the bed and heads toward the door. “Sounds great, see you later!” The only reply he gets is a non-committal hum and a hand waved in his general direction, her attentions already somewhere deep in her makeup bag.
The hotel bar is a low-lit alcove off to the side of the main restaurant, and pretty packed for a Thursday night in early March. He spots Timmy sitting at a small table in the corner, already half into his rum and coke and scrolling through his phone. After grabbing himself a beer, he makes his way over to greet him.
A jolt of electricity shoots through him when Timmy’s eyes raise from his phone to meet his own, light sparking in them immediately upon seeing him. It’s only been a few days since they last saw each other, but somehow it feels like an eternity since the night of the Oscars when he’d let Timmy cry in his arms for twenty minutes before getting him high and stuffing their faces with pizza.
In his haste to get up to hug Armie, Timmy almost knocks over his drink as the small table wobbles violently. There’s a soft tug on his heart as he watches Timmy scramble to stabilize the cup before the contents spill everywhere, a warm fondness that he isn’t used to feeling with his other friends when they do stupid or clumsy shit. Before he can spend any more time on it, Timmy’s body collides with his in a kind of smash-hug he’s come to expect after months traveling the world together.
“Arrmiiiieee! It’s s’good to see you, man!”
It’s obvious by the slight slur in his voice and the way he holds on just a little too tight that Timmy’s already a smidge past tipsy, which normally he wouldn’t think twice about but something about the way Timmy’s breath hitches when Armie pulls away from the hug gives him pause.
“You, too, T.” He watches Timmy sway gently for a second before finding his balance. “Hey man, everything good? Rough flight?”
Timmy’s eyebrows knit together for a second like he’s trying to figure out the meaning of Armie’s words, but after a few seconds his face relaxes again and he huffs out a breath.
“Nah, it was all right. Just haven’t had much sleep. Come on, let’s sit.”
Armie hesitates for a brief second before following Timmy’s lead back to the table. He figures if there’s something actually wrong, Timmy will eventually tell him, especially if he gets drunk enough. The boy barely has a filter to begin with, but get a few drinks in him, it disappears completely.
They settle into their usually easy rhythm, Armie content to mostly listen while Timmy explains in excited detail all about his upcoming movie shoot and the various skills he gets to train for. It isn’t until his phone vibrates on the table with a text from Elizabeth that he realizes how late it’s gotten. He winces as the words <Where are you?> light up his screen.
“Shit, I’m late to meet Elizabeth for dinner. You should join us.”
The words are out of his mouth before he has a chance to think better of it. A look of surprise followed by one of clear worry crosses Timmy’s face, and something inside of him twists uncomfortably.
“Won’t she mind? I don’t want to intrude on your alone time.”
The fact that he finds this thought so ridiculous should probably give him pause, but after months living in each other’s pockets, where Timmy has literally climbed into bed with them, having Timmy join him and Liz for dinner seems completely natural, even right.
“Oh come on, when has that ever stopped you before? It’ll be fine.”
He can see the mental process of Timmy weighing his options, and is pleased when he can tell that his offer has won out. With a short nod, Timmy agrees, and Armie sends a quick text to Elizabeth while Timmy settles his tab at the bar.
When they arrive at the table Liz already has waiting for them, he sends a silent apologetic look over to her before his eyes dart over to Timmy, who’s moving in to hug her as they greet each other. Liz returns a sharp look to him over Timmy’s shoulder, but once they break apart, her smile is fixed squarely on her face and that’s the extent of any weirdness between them.
Dinner is mostly uneventful, and Armie notes that Timmy orders water and a small pasta dish but is unusually quiet compared to even just a little while ago when he was talking a mile a minute. Elizabeth doesn’t seem to notice as she goes on about something cute the kids did the other day.
As he finishes paying the bill, Timmy thanks them both and starts to excuse himself to go back to his room for the night. Something tightens in his chest, not ready for the evening to end just yet.
“Hey wait, it’s early still. You wanna get another round of drinks at the bar?”
There’s a few seconds where it looks like Timmy is considering his offer before his shoulders drop and he chews on his bottom lip. “Nah, I shouldn’t. Thanks, though.”
“Ok, well at least let me make sure you get back to your room ok.”
Timmy snorts and gives him an incredulous look. “I’m a big boy, Armie, I can make it up to my room without supervision.”
He rolls his eyes so hard, it actually hurts. “Yes I know, asshole. Just for my own peace of mind, please.” Despite Timmy seeming to have sobered up a bit during dinner, he still feels like something is off with him, and he just needs to be sure he is safe before he leaves him for the night.
There’s a beat of silence as Timmy’s glance shifts from him over to Elizabeth and then back before he finally shrugs and seems to accept. When he looks back at Elizabeth, she has an unreadable expression on her face, but she says nothing.
“I’ll be up in a few minutes.”
When no response comes, he takes that as his cue to just go. He’s sure there will be some sort of conversation about it later, but right now he’s more worried about Timmy.
Neither of them say anything on the elevator ride up to Timmy’s floor, which is just one below theirs. When Timmy swipes his key in the door of his room, he turns to Armie with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Ok well, I think I got it from here, thanks, man.”
Just before Timmy can make it across the threshold, Armie closes a hand around his bicep and pulls him back.
“Hey wait, what’s going on with you?”
“What?”
Armie lets go of Timmy’s arm and runs his hand through his hair with a sigh. “You’ve been acting off all night. First with being drunk earlier and then you were basically silent at dinner. It’s not like you. Seriously, is everything ok?”
A pit of dread forms in his chest when he sees Timmy’s shoulders slump, a look of resignation on his face. He almost regrets asking, not sure he’s ready to hear whatever Timmy is about to say.
“I’m fine. It’s just…” As Timmy pauses to let out a breath, Armie holds his own in anticipation. “I just thought that the Oscars was the end of the road for us, ya know? And I was prepared for that. I’d made my peace with that chapter being closed and trying to move onto what’s next, for both of us. But when you asked me to present this award to you, it ended up prolonging the process and I wasn’t expecting that. Don’t get me wrong, I’m so glad you asked me to do this for you, it’s a huge honor and I want to be a part of it. I just think maybe we should set some clearer boundaries now that we aren’t going to be joined at the hip for promo anymore. I need to start readjusting my expectations of our friendship, before I don’t know how to anymore.”
Boundaries? This kid wouldn’t know what a boundary was if it smacked him in the face. It’s part of what made his relationship with Timmy so special. Nothing was off-limits between them, and it had given him a sort of strength and courage to be his true self with Timmy that he’d never experienced before with anyone else.
Of all the things Armie considered might be going on with Timmy, this hadn’t even crossed his mind. It catches him so off guard, he can’t think of any kind of coherent response. And apparently Timmy isn’t expecting one, because he starts turning back to the still-open door. There’s only a brief hesitation when Timmy throws a quick glance back over his shoulder.
“Night, Armie.”
The sound of the door clicking shut behind him sounds a lot like goodbye.
He’s not sure how long he stands there, staring blankly at the door to Timmy’s hotel room, talking himself into and then back out of knocking several times before he finally forces himself to turn around and go back to the elevator.
He gets back to his own room to find Elizabeth in the middle of removing her make-up, throwing out a distracted, “Uh huh,” as an answer when she asks if Timmy got back to his room ok.
They crawl into bed a little while later, and Armie is grateful that she hasn’t brought up his ambushing her with Timmy at dinner earlier. She’s asleep within minutes, but he can’t get his mind to settle. Timmy’s words keep replaying in his head on a loop, a weight in his chest getting heavier each time.
It’s not like Elizabeth hasn’t told him the exact same thing several times over the last few weeks, and he knows it makes logical sense given the reality of their lives on two different coasts. But he’d stubbornly convinced himself that what they had built during filming and the subsequent year-long promo didn’t have to change just because they wouldn’t see each other all the time anymore.
But after his conversation with Timmy, he feels like he’s lost the tether he’s come to depend on and is now floating aimlessly. He alternates between staring at the ceiling and the alarm clock on the small night stand on the side of the bed, trying in vain figure out why the thought of having a more traditional friendship with Timmy unnerves him so much. After hours of tossing and turning, exhaustion finally catches up to him and he falls into a fitful sleep.
***
Oliver awakens in a cold dark room. There is an awful noise coming from someplace, it sounds like music but unlike any music he has heard before. He gropes around in the bed - the sheets feeling cleaner and crisper than when he fell asleep - but he is alone. There is not even a warm patch next to him.
“Elio,” he calls out, his voice sleep-hoarse and laced with confusion.
He takes in the room around him. It is not the friendly room where he fell asleep. The furniture is different, less personal. The cold in the air is coming from the air conditioning unit, that was not there when he fell asleep with the warm summer breeze lapping his skin from the open window. The room is dark because thick blinds have been drawn, rather than the gauzy curtain that had so willingly invited sunrise to join Oliver and Elio in their bed. It is much larger as well.
He looks around for the source of the sound and sees a thin, rectangular box, lit up. The “music” as it were is playing from that as if it were a very small walkman without headphones. He sees the screen filled with a photo of Elio, although not as he has ever seen Elio before, with the name “Timmy” on top.
The music continues to play:
These expensive, these is red bottoms
These is bloody shoes
Oliver picks up the object and presses his thumb against the green option which indicates this is a telephone call of some sort and that he wants to answer it. Elio’s face fills the screen. More than his face is difficult to make out as the room Elio is in appears to be just as dark as the room Oliver is in.
“Ol-Oliver,” his voice wavers. “You - you have a beard.”
Indeed, Oliver puts a hand up to his face and realizes he does not just have the stubble that grows like weeds on his face overnight but has several days worth of beard, where yesterday he was clean-shaven.
“Elio! How did you - where are - what?” Oliver can’t form the words because he has no idea what questions to ask or in what order.
“Oliver? Where are you? Where am I?” Elio’s bottle green eyes fill with tears.
“I don’t, I don’t know Elio,” Oliver replies truthfully. He feels that as the older one he should have the answers but he frankly doesn’t right now. He makes eye contact with Elio, brave Elio, who figured out how to contact him. “I’m in a - a hotel room of some sort.”
“Me too,” Elio responds.
“Not our hotel room, not our hotel, I don’t believe,” Oliver shares, aware he is creating more questions rather than answering any and feels the failure of that deep in his stomach. “How did you figure out...how did you know how to contact me?”
“I found this...thing? And on the screen was something that looked like a phone. And there was your picture...but it says ‘Armie’ next to it. Oliver?” The tears that had filled Elio’s eyes spill over.
“Yeah, yes, the screen on my...phone? The screen said ‘Timmy’ when you called,” Oliver shares. Elio whimpers in response, fully crying now and, if Oliver is totally honest with himself, it is only his desire to protect Elio that keeps him from crying as well. “Elio, I’m going to...to stick my head out of the hotel room door and see if anything…” He trails off because he truly does not know how to complete that sentence.
“Me too,” Elio gulps back a sob and once more Oliver is overcome by the bravery of this young man.
Oliver holds the phone in his hand as he gets out of bed, noticing that he is wearing nothing but skin-tight boxers, despite having fallen asleep naked. He makes his way to the door and it opens up to a non-descript corridor, just as impersonal and unfriendly as the room. He looks to one side and sees Elio at the door next to his, his curls longer and more wild than when he had fallen asleep and Oliver can’t say he minds the change in appearance, despite being further confused. Elio spots Oliver as well and looks instantly relieved. At least they have each other, Oliver thinks.
Elio, dressed in baggy sweatpants and a large t-shirt, neither of which Oliver has ever seen, rushes from his door, letting the door swing closed and lock behind him, and into Oliver’s arms. Oliver practically mandhandles Elio into his room in his relief. They stand there for sometime, finding comfort in each other’s arms. They are so wrapped up in each other, both physically and emotionally, that neither hears the electronic noise of the door unlocking and then opening. They startle apart at the sound of a woman’s voice.
“Armie? Timmy? What - what are you doing?”
Oliver looks up and sees a beautiful slender brunette, ponytail high on her head, and her eyebrows drawn together in confusion, her mouth open slightly.
***
The sound of someone singing along to an Italian song, loudly and off-key, brings Armie out of his unconscious haze. Brows creasing in confusion, he blinks an eye open and is more than a little surprised to find himself in the passenger seat of a moving car and what looks to be the Italian countryside passing by outside the window. His head whips around, and he recognizes the man behind the wheel as Antonio Rimoldi, who had played Anchise in Call Me By Your Name. Now completely baffled, he shifts up in his seat and clears his throat.
The awful singing stops, thankfully, as the man next to him turns his head with a smile. “Non ti preoccupare, signor Oliver, ci siamo quasi.”
As his attentions turn back to the road, Armie just stares at him, uncomprehending. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he’s able to translate the words to understand what he said, but they still don’t make any real sense to him. Why did he call him “Oliver”? He looks out the window, trying to spot Luca or any other crew member off in the distance, but there’s nothing but grass and sky and the road in front of them.
Instinct takes over as he reaches in his pocket for his phone, but there’s nothing there but a small wallet. That’s when he notices what he’s wearing: Billowy. Panic starts to rise in his throat, his mind trying to decide if this is some sort of weird dream or if he’s actually lost it.
A minute later, the car pulls up in front of the villa where he spent three of the best months of his life. A weight settles on his chest as he peers up at the impressive building, memories flooding every one of his senses instantly.
He’s snapped back to the present when Michael approaches the car, a wide smile on his face. Small swirls of relief circle in his gut, glad to see someone he is more familiar with and knows speaks English. Once he’s unfolded himself from the tiny car, he lets out a long breath. “Michael, man, it’s good to see you.”
His relief is short-lived when the man raises an eyebrow quizzically, but otherwise maintains his jovial expression. “Actually, it’s Samuel, or Professor Perlman if you prefer. But there’s no need for formalities here.”
Before he can answer, Amira is there, hugging him, introducing herself as Annella. He’s just about convinced himself that he’s in the middle of some kind of crazy lucid dream when he looks up to see the window of what would be Elio’s room and sees Timmy, clear panic in his eyes as he looks down at the scene below.
When they lock eyes, he knows. It’s not a dream, but he still doesn’t know what it is. He’s only faintly aware of the bustle around him as he’s shuffled inside, Michael, err Samuel having grabbed his bag from the back of the car while he was busy silently freaking out.
There’s a voice speaking to him as he sits on the sofa in the study, but all of his energy is focused on listening for the fall of familiar footsteps on the stairs. When they come a few seconds later, he draws in a deep breath.
To his credit, in the brief time between when their eyes met outside and when he appears in the doorway to the study, Timmy has managed to school his face into a mostly casual expression. But as introductions are being made and he goes to shake Armie’s hand, which feels ten kinds of wrong for them, he can feel the tremble that belies Timmy’s cool demeanor.
At Timmy’s suggestion to take the bags up to his room, he breathes a low sigh at the chance to have some time alone with Timmy to figure out what is happening. He’s so focused on getting to the room as fast as he can that he’s taken off guard when Esther, or more likely Marzia, traipses down the stairs and kisses him on the cheek in greeting.
He barely waits for Timmy to shut the door behind him before he breaks. “Please, for the love of god tell me you are actually Timmy, and not Elio.” As Timmy gives a shaky nod, an explosion of air rushes from his lungs in relief. “Oh thank fuck. Jesus, what the fuck is going on here? Where is Luca and why is everyone acting like we are Elio and Oliver?”
The fact that Timmy is completely still except for the slight shake he can still see in his hands sends a spike of fear up his spine. It takes another several seconds for Timmy to speak, and when he finally does, the answer is the opposite of reassuring.
“Luca isn’t here, or anyone else from the crew. I already checked.” A beat, Timmy taking several short shallow breaths to keep from hyperventilating. “I don’t think they are acting.”
“What?”
“I think we are actually in Call Me By Your Name. I think…I think we’re living Elio and Oliver’s lives, for real.”