It Was Always You ~ A Call Me By Your Name Fan Fiction~

Chapter Nine

Elio opened the door to the hotel room quietly so as to not wake Oliver who was sleeping soundly. His feet treaded lightly across the carpet, the room illuminated by the sun beginning to filter through the curtains. Elio stopped for a second and admired how the light beams hit Oliver's hair in such a way as to make his hair appear golden. Looking around the room, Elio noticed Oliver's coat draped over the chair. A piece of white paper sticking out of the pocket of the coat caught Elio's attention. He walked closer, but didn't take it out as it was Oliver's personal property. However, upon further inspection, the paper looked slightly yellowed and old. Curiosity overcoming him, Elio reached for the paper, and once he had it in his hands, unfolded it to reveal writing:

His skin feels like heaven, hair as dark as twilight. The freckles dotted across his sun-kissed face are accompanied by eyes that tell a million stories, which I would love to get lost in. Watching him play piano, seeing how his fingers danced over the keys, creating such beautiful melodies...is this what it feels like to be falling in love?

Elio felt like he had just read something he shouldn't have. He turned to look at Oliver who was still asleep. Elio slowly sat down in the chair, still holding the paper. Had Oliver written this last time he was in Italy? Elio wasn't sure, but not only did he know how intimate of a thing writing was for Oliver, he knew Oliver had to have written it last time he was in Italy, meaning he kept it with him for nearly three years.

"Elio?" Elio jumped slightly and turned around to see Oliver blinking at him from the bed.

"Good morning," Elio smiled, walking to the bed and collapsing next to him.

"What are you doing awake?" Oliver asked, "I'm usually the first one up."

"I couldn't sleep," Elio explained, "so I went for a walk. And, well, I came back, and I might have seen this little thing sticking out of your coat pocket."

Elio waved the paper in front of Oliver, smirking slightly.

"I was wondering when you were going to find that," Oliver laughed, "I wasn't planning on showing it to you but I also wasn't necessarily trying to hide it from you."

"Hmm," Elio hummed, "I think it's some of your best work, actually."

"Do you?" Oliver smiled, "I thought you might."

"One thing's bothering me, though," Elio continued, propping himself up on his elbows so he could be face to face with Oliver.

"And what's that?" Oliver asked.

"You never finished it. You never wrote if it was, in fact, what it felt like to be falling in love or not. Imagine my disappointment when I found a story left unfinished."

"You can't figure out the ending for yourself?" Oliver asked, surprised. "You're usually very intuitive about those things."

"Ah," Elio said, "I've been told I'm oblivious in regards to myself."

"Are you sure you're the one being written about in this certain story?" Oliver smiled.

"I don't know. Is there another dark haired, piano playing man you found yourself possibly falling in love with?"

"You have me there," Oliver answered seriously.

"For fun, let's say this was, in fact, written with me in mind," Elio continued. "How would it end now?"

"I think," Oliver began, "I can now say with no uncertainty, that yes, I was indeed falling in love. I would probably also add that I acted foolishly and let myself walk away from the only person that's ever made me feel that much passion."

Elio nodded. "I think that's adequate," he said, "but I would also add that you came back to him, so you're not entirely foolish."

"Oh so you do suspect this was written about yourself?" Oliver smirked.

Elio let out a groan and covered his face with a pillow. Oliver removed it, laughing, and leaned down to kiss Elio, who in turn darted away coyly.

"Okay, okay," Oliver lamented. He looked Elio dead in the eyes. "Elio Perlman, I did, in fact, write it about you. You are the only person who's ever made me feel this way."

Elio considered him for a moment before giving in and tackling Oliver, kissing him with a hunger he hadn't experienced before.