the sun looks good on you - solangelo

11- cold fingers

"let's get pizza," will says.

so we do. the pizza shop is warm and crowded, but it feels okay. i stick close to will. the smell is incredible. the family that owns the shop is italian. i can hear them shouting for more pizza in italian. everyone in the store looks happy. they're chatting animatedly to each other. they're grinning and laughing and eating. it's nothing like rushed customers i get. to grab their coffee and leave. to talk on the phone about work. it's loud and cheerful and warm.

it feels nice. will smiles at me and i scratch my hand.

will orders two large pizza slices and we carry it with us as we walk. will's strides are wide and i walk twice as fast to keep up, but i don't mind. my heart is racing anyway.

we don't say anything, our mouths are full of pizza. it's warm in my hands and the cheese is hot. the air is chilly tonight, but it only makes the pizza more enjoyable.

"it's good," i say after i swallow a bite.

will gulps. "it's even better with a view. look-"

we turn the corner and there's a fountain. the sky is darkening into a deep orange horizon. the rest of the sky is turning ink blue. jets of water spray into the air. the lights of the city bounce off the rushing water and glimmers like gold.

"oh wow."

"right?" will grins at me. the city lights bounce off his eyes. they gleam brightly.

i take another bite and nod. the cool wind ruffles our hair as we stare at the fountain, side by side. i finish my pizza slice and my hands are cold without it. will's finished too. we keep stealing glances at each other. i'm out of my element. i have no clue what to say or do. my hands are cold. i rub them together.

without warning will takes both my hands into his. they're warm. the warmth travels up my arms into my face and neck. i feel like a light bulb. my hands are frigid against his.

"you're bleeding!" he exclaims. "what happened?" he examines the hand that i've been continuously scratching. he's trying to figure out what type of accident would have needed to occur for such a wound to exist.

"i just scratched my hand too hard, that's all. it doesn't hurt." i reassure him. it doesn't hurt. not with all the nerves and electricity coursing through my body.

he runs his thumbs lightly over the top of my hands, over the scratch. i almost melt on the spot. a tingle runs down my spinal chord. i feel so unnaturally warm. his hands feel amazing against my cold skin. it's seems so unnatural for me to feel this way. wrong, almost. what am i doing, enjoying the company of someone else? feeling gooey? that's not me. is it?

my mind and heart is racing. i can hear my own deafening heart beat. thump, thump, thump. like the pounding footsteps of a running titan, shaking the world with its heavy strides. i'm restless. with him holding my hands, i can't scratch my hands or twist my ring. i bite my lip until it hurt.

he's measuring his hands against mine.

"your fingers are beautiful," he mutters.

i blush, my cheeks warmer than his hands by now. i hope he doesn't notice.

"do you play any instruments?" he looks up at me and he can probably tell how flushed i am.

"i-i used to play piano a really long time ago. i haven't touched a piano since i was twelve." i say quietly. i don't mention that i stopped when bianca died. i try to banish ugly thoughts like that. they have no place in this moment. i can't afford to ruin something like this.

"you have piano player fingers." he comments. his thumbs run the length of my fingers. tingles go up my spine again. i still can hardly believe that we're touching. that his body is in contact with mine and he didn't recoil. "they're lovely,"

i don't know what to say to that. he's just flattering me. "you're just flattering me,"

"you don't believe me?"

"i don't believe that you actually like... me. as in like my company. not many people do."

"why wouldn't they?"

"i make them uncomfortable. i don't think the way they do, so the things that i say are strange to them. and when i just stay quiet, my presence is unnerving."

"you don't know that."

"i don't. i don't know anything. but i feel it so strongly, it may as well be true."

"i like the things you say," will argues. he is quiet for a few moments. "why are you so determined to believe you are unlikable?"

"i wouldn't believe it if i didn't have substantial reason to. i can't recall a time in which i considered myself generally likeable,"

"uh, that's depressing,"

i find myself shrugging. i've become so accustomed to these words that they don't affect me anymore. "it's the truth,"

"it shouldn't be," he answers, almost sadly.

i don't say anything as he continues to run his thumb along my fingers. my neck and ears felt hot. there was a quiet fire racing under my skin. i was scared to move too much. scared that he'd notice if i breathe weirdly. "i know," i say finally.

he held my hands and raised them to his lips. i feel them brush against my cold skin. my nerves explode and my eyes see colors. the fire racing under my skin turn to leaping flames. my face is hot. he looks up at me and smiles as if he knows the effect he has on me. the fire that he ignited. he smiles with the two dimples and a gleam in his eyes.

"i've decided that i like you a lot, nico, whether you decide to accept it or not." he says. i want nothing more than to feel his lips on my skin again.

my entire being is engulfed in flames and i can't speak. but he knows the look on my face and i know the look on his so i don't have to. i can't feel the cold anymore. i can't feel anything anymore except that moment. that infinite, world-burning moment.