Chapter Text
Chapter One
April 1986, Upper West Side, Manhattan, New York
Elio rushed into the restaurant kitchen to grab the order that had been waiting for him for several minutes already, praying that it wasn’t cold.
“Elio, you have another order almost ready here. You have to move faster!” Peter, the head chef, said with exasperation.
Elio gave an apologetic nod, then turned to hurry back to the dining room with the plates in hand. It was his second week at this job and, so far, it wasn’t going well. Elio was finally used to the breakneck pace of New York City in his second year at NYU, but it still didn’t come natural to him to hustle all the time. He was a contemplate-and-savor kind of person, which wasn’t compatible with being a server in a busy Manhattan Italian restaurant.
He thought for the tenth time just that day that perhaps he wasn’t well-suited for this job. He dropped off the plates for the elderly couple with an apology and what he hoped was a winning smile, then turned to hurry back to the kitchen. His friend Jonah stopped him with a hand on his upper arm before he had taken a step.
“Elio, you need to get the drink order from that couple at table six. They’ve been waiting for a while.” Jonah said this to Elio softly, not wanting to call attention to the fact that Elio’s customers were getting impatient. He was Elio’s closest friend at Mario’s and had saved him from irate customers on several occasions.
“Thanks, man. I’ll go now,” Elio answered, taking an order pad out of his apron pocket. He headed to the table where he could see the young, attractive couple in profile from across the restaurant. The woman had long brunette hair and an elegant profile, and she was looking around the dining room with an annoyed expression. Her date was very well-dressed and seemed more patient. He…
Elio stopped short several yards from the table, his sudden recognition of the man causing Elio to freeze with shock. It had been almost three years since Elio had last seen him, but the details of his face held a permanent place in Elio’s memory bank. You never forget your sexual awakening, Elio thought wryly.
Oliver Weiss. He had only stayed with the Perlman family for a week in the summer of 1983, but he had made the strongest impression possible on 17-year old Elio. A flood of memories from those 7 days appeared in Elio’s mind: all of the times Elio had stared shamelessly at Oliver; all the pretentious remarks he had made, trying so hard to seem smart in front of Oliver; the many afternoons he had paraded around in front of Oliver shirtless, hoping to get his attention. He had made a grade-A jackass of himself. Oliver had steadfastly ignored Elio (as well he should have, Elio thought miserably), and then, just as suddenly as he had appeared in Elio’s life, he was gone.
I can’t face him now, Elio realized. Oliver would most likely not even recognize him after three years, but Elio just couldn’t deal with the possibility of an awkward encounter. He spun on his heels and saw Jonah a few tables away. He rushed over and grabbed his arm.
“Jonah, I need a huge favor from you. I need you to take table six for me,” he pleaded.
Jonah paused only a moment before nodding. “I will, but you owe me. I need to hear the whole story when work is over.”
Elio resisted rolling his eyes, thanking Jonah profusely before heading back to the kitchen. He would find a way to beg off that later. In the meantime, he had another order that was probably already cold.
*****
11pm finally rolled around. The restaurant closed and the last group of drunk, boisterous customers paid their bill, pulled on their coats, and slowly made their way out the door. Elio sighed in relief. His shifts hadn’t gotten much easier since he had started, and he wondered how much longer he could last at this job. He didn’t need the money to live--his tips were really just providing him with extra spending money—but he liked the feeling of making his own cash. Just maybe not at this particular job.
Elio went to work bussing his last table. As he worked, he let his mind drift back to earlier that night, when Oliver had still been at the restaurant with his date. Jonah had generously taken over their table for Elio, but Elio had still managed to get a few more glimpses of Oliver throughout the night without being seen.
Elio had to be honest with himself: Oliver looked even better than he remembered. His hair was longer and darker, and instead of short-shorts and a t-shirt, he was wearing a well-tailored Oxford shirt and dark trousers. He was, no lie, stunningly handsome. Elio longed to be able to see him up close and just drink him in, as he had three years ago.
After just a few quick glimpses of Oliver, it was as if Elio was 17 again. The suave, experienced 20-year-old that he fancied himself to be had disappeared the moment he caught sight of Oliver. Elio was honestly embarrassed for himself, and he shook his head in mild disgust as he placed the last dirty plate onto the tray to take into the kitchen.
He looked over at table six, imagining that Oliver was still there, but picturing himself seated across the table from him rather than the mystery brunette. Something small and rectangle caught his eye on the ground underneath what had been Oliver’s chair.
Elio wiped his hands on his apron and walked over to table six, squatting down to check on the object. It was a driver’s license. Elio picked it up and turned it over. A solemn looking Oliver stared back at him from the corner of the card. Elio’s heart started to beat a bit faster as he realized what he had in his possession. He told himself that he should just turn it in to Paul, the manager, but he couldn’t stop looking at it.
Oliver Weiss. 102 W. 85 th Street, Apt. 2G.
Elio stared a few seconds more at the tiny picture of Oliver’s serious mug, then slid it into his back pocket, intent on turning it in immediately to Paul. He turned back to his tray, eager to finish up for the night.
“Excuse me, I think I may have dropped my driver’s license somewhere in your restaurant. Could I take a look around before you lock up?”
Elio’s stomach dropped at the familiar voice directly behind him. Deep, smooth, with a touch of a New England accent. Elio was stuck; he had nowhere to hide. He turned to face Oliver with an overwhelming mix of fear and dread.
He kept his head tilted down. He knew he looked quite different than the 17-year old kid who had followed Oliver around like a puppy-dog three years ago. His hair was longer, his jawline was more defined. He had filled out… well, not a lot, but some.
“I found it under the chair, sir.” Elio reached into his jeans and slid the small piece of plastic out of the back pocket. “Here you go.”
He handed the card over to Oliver, not looking him in the eye. He could feel Oliver’s taking him in, giving him a once-over. He resisted the urge to glance up.
Oliver took the license wordlessly and just as Elio thought that he might be off-the hook, Oliver said, “Are you… Elio Perlman?”
Elio finally looked up, immediately becoming lost in the crystal blue of Oliver’s eyes. He had forgotten the power that Oliver’s gaze seemed to have on him and it took a moment for Elio to regain his power of speech.
“I am.” He considered for a moment playing dumb and pretending not to recognize Oliver, but ultimately decided that he was not a strong enough actor to pull off such an obvious ruse. “Oliver, right?”
A grin spread across Oliver’s face. “Yes! Wow, it’s really good to see you, Elio. After… what it is? Almost three years? How are your parents?”
“They’re well. They are in Milan at the moment. I'll let them know that I saw you. They'll be thrilled.” Elio marveled at his ability to play it cool with Oliver when internally, he was a quaking mess.
“Yes, please. Are you going to school here in New York?”
Elio nodded. “I’m studying comparative literature at NYU. I’m in my second year there.”
Oliver’s smile grew even wider. “That’s amazing, Elio. I would love to catch up sometime. Maybe we could…”
“Elio, are you ready to go?”
Hannah, another server at Mario’s and Elio’s girlfriend was suddenly at his side, wrapping her arm around Elio’s waist, interrupting the men’s reunion. Elio was annoyed at her appearance, and then immediately felt bad that he was so irritated.
Oliver took a step back from the couple. “I’m sorry, Elio. You must want to get out of here. It was really good to see you. Tell your parents hello for me.”
Elio felt Oliver’s unfinished invitation vibrate through him and he longed to reach out to Oliver, to make him finish his thought. Instead, he simply nodded politely.
“Good to see you, too, Oliver.” And then he watched Oliver turn and walk out of his life for a second time.
*****
Once outside the restaurant, Oliver took a moment to recover from the unexpected encounter. He had rarely thought of Elio Perlman in the last three years. Actually, if he were honest with himself, it was more than rarely, and when he did, it was with a pang of guilt at the feelings that had been brewing in the week he had spent trying not to stare at the boy's glistening bare skin or his petal soft lips.
When Oliver had been called back to the States that summer by the news of his father’s heart attack (and his eventual passing), he had been able to pack away his inappropriate feelings for the underage boy in a box deep in his subconscious. But there were still times that a certain image, scent, or sound—fresh apricots or an overheard conversation in Italian—would forcefully transport him back to that week in Italy. It had taken on an almost mythical, magical quality in Oliver’s mind: his Italian summer that was aborted too soon. He would recall the villa and the pool, his time with the Prof, those games of poker with the locals… and then his thoughts would invariably lead to Elio. Elio with his talented hands and sarcastic remarks; his chaotic curls and his soulful eyes. What would have become of the two of them? Would Oliver have spent the summer trying to avoid and resist the boy? Or would he have eventually given in? He would never know, which was probably for the best.
But now, like a spirit from the past, he was suddenly right in front of Oliver. The boy who Oliver had successfully pushed into his subconscious was now a beautiful man. The same Elio… yet not. Oliver wanted to know him, to see how he had changed, and how he was the same.
And then the girl had appeared, claiming Elio as her own.
“Oliver, are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost." Rebecca, Oliver’s ex-fiance and best friend who had been waiting outside, walked over to him with a concerned expression.
Oliver looked down at his driver’s license and nodded. “I kind of just did.”