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antheap
Rating: Teen and Up Audiences
Character(s)/Relationship(s): Roberto Nicholas/Josef Lucolas Bartrich, (side) Hiraga Josef Kou/Roberto Nicholas
Words: 2329
Warnings: Angst, Grief/Mourning
Note: Originally posted on February 14th, 2018.
Roberto has a personal tradition related to Valentine’s Day. It has to do with a love long lost and with his own regrets.
That illusion that is typical of youth, the delusion that you have all the time in the world, is what Roberto Nicholas blames for one of his oldest and more painful regrets.
For a Catholic priest, Saint Valentine's Day is usually celebrated with nothing more than a mention of in him in that day's Mass. In Rome, people who are particularly devoted to the Saint usually make the most of the occasion and go see one of Saint Valentine's relics, specifically his flower crowned skull, which is exhibited in the Basilica of Santa Maria in Cosmedin.
Father Roberto Nicholas is not one of them — in fact, he’s never been in that Basilica nor he is particularly interested in the celebrations; he has no specific interest in the life of Saint Valentine, despite studying the mysteries and myths surrounding him, like all his colleagues. Of course, he doesn't celebrate the day in its traditional laical significance, either. However, for him, the fourteenth of February is still a special day: he has a tradition of his own, a unique and personal one that goes back to when he was nothing more than an awkward teenager, for which Valentine's Day was still an occasion in which he wished to receive chocolate or a love confession.
Back then, Roberto had someone he cared about very intensely; you could say that, even though he was very young, he already had someone he loved. And when you're young and you love someone for the first time, you never imagine you could lose them, no matter how many people you lost already. It's a thought that doesn't cross your mind, or if it does, it never feels real enough. That illusion that is typical of youth, the delusion that you have all the time in the world, is what Roberto Nicholas blames for one of his oldest and more painful regrets.
That year, Valentine's day came on a sunny Saturday morning that already smelled like spring. Roberto still clearly remembers the bright green of the grass and trees, almost blinding in the clement sunlight, and the warmth of Josef's hand tightly gripped around his own as it led Roberto further in the garden.
The school's garden was a big, well-kept expanse of grass, with a few trees planted here and there so that they would appear spontaneous. It was delimited by thin woods in which human intervention was well concealed but still noticeable in the absence of broken branches on the ground and among the trees, in the perfectly healthy state of the plants and in the ample spacing between them.
The woods were mostly composed of large-leaved lime trees — tilia platyphyllos, a common deciduous species in their area, as Josef once explained to him. Their deciduous nature meant that, in autumn, the woods turned from their summer green foliage to a yellowish one that would later cover the ground, leaving the branches naked in the cold of winter. It was a beautiful sight that Roberto was happy to have enjoyed with Josef, of all people.
Since that winter had been warm and spring was approaching already, that day the lime trees' branches were already starting to show the first sprouts of leaves and flowers. Roberto still remembers looking at those delicate buds — so tiny and yet filled with the seeds of the outburst of life and colour that the following months would release — and thinking about the small, yellowish-white flowers that would soon bloom, filling the woods with their fragrance, and about how he looked forward to seeing them with Josef — maybe he wouldn’t have, if he knew it would have been the first and last time they got to see spring together.
Once they were far enough in the woods, near the point where the school’s property finished and they could see the brick fences marking off the boundaries of the estate, they stopped walking. They both sat under a lime tree as they usually did, back leaned against the huge trunk, shoulders almost touching.
They first ended up there while looking for a peaceful place to read, and it became a habit: every time the weather allowed them, they took a walk into the woods and stopped under a tree — Roberto would lay on the grass and the fallen leaves, his head nestled on Josef’s lap, and listen to Josef’s voice as he read to him. Josef was very expressive: he didn't just read aloud, he recited. Roberto would have spent hours and hours just listening to him, no matter what book he was reading.
It was also under one of those trees that they exchanged their first kiss, hands trembling and cheeks flushing for reasons other than the stinging cold. They always went outside when it wasn’t raining, stubbornly defying even the winter temperature. The day of their first kiss, the ground was frozen in some points, but the woods were warmer than the garden, and sitting on the roots of one of the larger trees was more comfortable than Roberto anticipated. They shared a pair of sandwiches that Josef had brought along, hands red and numb as they clumsily tried to eat without getting their scarves dirty.
Roberto remembers thinking that Josef looked incredibly cute when the cold gave that rosy tint to his nose and face — and he’s sure he’d look even cuter now: he’d have small little wrinkles at the side of his eyes and mouth, his face would be less soft, maybe even a bit stern, in a way that would contrast with his beautiful smile, and he’d have a thick beard that would always be stingy to the touch, even if he shaved every day.
Roberto also remembers — how could he ever forget — how that day, in the end, he ended up staining his scarf, and Josef tried to help him cleaning it so it wasn’t that evident; it was while they did that, chuckling quietly, that Josef put his own finger on Roberto's lower lip, and their eyes met. Even in the act of remembering it, Roberto still feels his heartbeat accelerate and a faint blush spread on his face, but at the time his reaction had been way more intense: he felt bewitched by Josef’s eyes, his heart was beating so frantically that he could feel it in his throat, and he didn’t dare move, terrified it would break the spell. And when their lips met, it was barely more than a touch, a delicate brushing of lips; their breaths merged together and he felt light-headed. And it was over so soon that he couldn’t help but grip Josef’s hand and pull at it until he turned to face him again, and with a shy smile and a nod, he tried to convey how he was okay with it, how he enjoyed it, how that was how he felt too.
Since they spent most of their time together there, the woods on the school grounds ended up being their safe haven, the trees the only ones allowed to witness their most intimate moments; and maybe in their age-old wisdom they understood what was going on way better than Roberto’s teenage self, the same that, on that fourteenth of February, sat under a lime tree beside the boy he loved with a book of romantic poems in his pocket and doubt and apprehension in his heart at the thought of actually giving it to him as present.
They were holding hands: their fingers interlaced tenderly, warm even without gloves for the first time in almost two months. Roberto turned his head slightly, peeking at Josef's handsome face. His smile was affectionate and kind, but also looked uncertain, burdened by something. At the time, Roberto thought that it was because of their uncertain relationship, he imagined that Josef was preoccupied with the same things he was. He had no way of knowing how big and heavy Josef's secret was, and yet he could feel its burden, especially when Josef looked at him with that expression of affection that softened his face and filled his eyes with sadness.
"I need to tell you something," Josef murmured, tone wavering, his plump lips thinning before he let out a sigh. Roberto put Josef’s hands between his own, fiddling with his fingers, an awkward attempt to offer him comfort while failing at hiding his own nervousness.
They shared a look and the tension was threatening to make Roberto's heart beat its way out of his chest. And yet Josef hesitated. Roberto, even if blissfully unaware of what the future had in store for them, still understood that Josef was scared.
"I... I'm… It's complicated," Josef stuttered. Thinking about it now, Roberto wonders if what Josef intended to do was tell him about his illness. But at the time, he was just terrified Josef wanted to end their relationship. He was convinced of that because he could tell Josef felt awkward about it, that there was something about his behaviour that made him feel conflicted about it. Guilty. Roberto felt guilty as well, he felt like he didn't deserve that happiness, he felt filthy and wrong, but he couldn't bring himself to give up on Josef.
And maybe it was Josef's serious face or the worried tone of his voice, but Roberto had the certainty that he wouldn't like what his friend was about to say. And maybe it was the fear that loosened his tongue, that made those words slip out of his mouth, bubble on his lips and fly away lighter than air.
"I love you."
Josef's eyes widened a bit and then his face twisted in what looked almost like a grimace of pain. "Roberto..." his voice broke at the end, and Roberto felt his heart sink. He looked away, suddenly losing the strength to look the other in the eyes.
"I'm sorry,” he muttered, releasing the grip on Josef's hand and leaping to his feet. He felt stupid, confessing like that even if he could tell before doing it that he wasn't going to be reciprocated. “I thought…” Josef's hand was reaching for him, and he stepped back. “I'm sorry," he murmured again before turning to leave.
"Wait, Roberto!"
Josef's grip on his sleeve was strong and stubborn, and Roberto stopped in his tracks and waited, but he didn't turn. He didn't want to show Josef the tears welling up in his eyes, pathetic and humiliating in their honesty. But Josef circled around him until they were facing each other, and inevitably saw them fall, and Roberto’s face flushed red.
Josef smiled, lips curved softly and somewhat sadly — Roberto saw it when he stole a glance at him from under the hair covering his eyes, without raising his face, and his heart missed a beat. Josef's warm hand cupped his face, thumb tracing his tears and wiping them away.
"I love you too," whispered Josef, and Roberto timidly raised his head and met his gaze. For a long moment, he was truly happy. He didn't doubt anything, he didn't feel unworthy nor sad. For an incredible minute, he was just happy, and when their lips touched, what he felt could only be described as getting a taste of heaven.
But right after they parted from the kiss, that's when his insecurity kicked back in. He remembers Josef's flushed face, his reddened lips, and the single, lonely tear trickling down his cheek that hurt him more than if it was his own.
The thought of that confession being a lie, that Josef was just telling him what he wanted to hear, wouldn't leave his head. And he spent his day trying to find the courage to take that poetry booklet out of his pocket and give it to Josef, but that thought, together with the rest of his pessimistic speculations, kept intruding and chasing him out of his intention, so in the end he told himself that there was no hurry, that he would give Josef that present another time, in another occasion.
Except another occasion never came.
That book stayed buried in a drawer forever, a reminder of his guilt, of his regret and of his foolishness, a reminder of how bad his own insecurities influenced him, a reminder of how, in the end, that never changed — maybe he's unable to change and destined to never learn from his mistakes.
Every year, on the fourteenth of February, Roberto takes the book out of the drawer and reads one poem, just one, before putting it back and pretending it's forgotten, together with his memories. But it's never forgotten, he just doesn't allow himself to think about Josef too much — it's too painful, and he has learnt that time doesn't cure your wounds, you just get used to them to the point you can forget about them from time to time — until they start hurting again, that is. You can't make a broken heart whole again, Roberto knows that and he accepts it, he's fine with it — or at least he tells himself he is.
He walks into his room with a heavy heart. Since he woke up this morning he can't shake away the pain nor drive away the memories, like every time in that period of the year. The drawer where he keeps the book is the lowest one of his desk drawers, so he sits behind the desk with a sigh.
That's when he notices a small box clumsily wrapped in what looks like a double layer of purple gifting paper. There is a handwritten note on it, and Roberto, perplexed, takes it.
You 're always sad when this period of the year comes, and nothing seems to cheer you up. Chocolate contains tryptophan, a substance that causes the release of serotonin into the brain. To put it simply, it makes you happy. So consider this like a doctor's prescription: eat your chocolate and cheer up!
Hiraga
Roberto’s eyes well up with tears as he reads the note once again, and he thinks that if it's true that a broken heart will never be whole again, that doesn't mean that it can't be mended if one is persistent enough.
