Chapter Text
“Rise and shine,” Massimo said as he pushed open Alberto’s bedroom door. He let it hit the wall with a thud, enough to startle the young man in his bed. Alberto groaned, turning over and pulling his pillow over his head. The blankets shifted and an empty wine bottle appeared from beneath. The hulking fisherman picked up the bottle and clucked his tongue. “I let you have a glass of wine last night in honor of your nineteenth birthday. I did not give you permission to take the bottle to bed with you.” He lifted up the pillow, and Alberto grimaced.
“Ungh, it’s so bright...” Alberto groaned.
“Here on land we call that ‘daytime’,” Massimo said.
“Make it stop.”
Massimo patted his son’s shoulder and returned his pillow. Alberto buried himself under it once more. “I let you get away with this because you’re a good boy, and-” A little snore interrupted him and the man sighed.
Standing, Massimo looked around the small bedroom. He glanced down at the cluttered desk beside the window, which was strewn with crumpled papers. There was an open box of letters in the corner, from Luca and Giulia, lovingly saved over the last four years. In the center of the desk was a folded letter.
“I am going to the post office today,” he said to the pile of blankets on the bed. “Do you want me to send this one with the others?” Receiving no answer, Massimo lifted the letter and unfolded it. ‘Dear Luca,’ the first line read. He skipped the contents out of respect and glanced at the bottom, to where Alberto had signed his name. Well, that was enough confirmation. The letter was for Luca, and it was complete. “Do you want this one sent out? Alberto?!”
Beneath the pillow Alberto grumbled. “Uh huh, yeah. Just five more minutes.”
Rolling his eyes, Massimo pocketed the letter along with an envelope and stamp, and left.
-
Hours passed, the sun moving through the trees and casting a warm glow onto Alberto’s bed. Being a cat, Machiavelli could sense the comfortable spot, and hopped onto the bed, circling around and getting ready to settle. He stretched, spread his claws, and casually sunk them through the blanket.
“YOWW!” Alberto cried out, throwing himself into an upright position. Machiavelli yowled and hissed, hopping off the bed and darting from the room. “Ugh,” Alberto groaned, falling back against the bed and reaching beneath the blanket to rub his scratched leg. As much as he’d have liked to continue sleeping, he had a full bladder and a dry throat. There were things to be done.
After relieving himself, Alberto washed his hands and splashed water on his face, rubbing it before glaring at his reflection. A purple face stared back at him, dark circles under his blazing green eyes. Grabbing the hand towel, he dried his face and hands, and walked out again in human-form.
It was Sunday, and there was no fishing to be done. Alberto had a slow breakfast of coffee and rolls with jelly, watching out the kitchen window at the people passing down the lane. His mind wandered to the night before.
Yesterday had been his birthday. Seafolk didn’t usually celebrate birthdays, but Massimo had insisted on a special meal, as he had every year since Alberto had been adopted. He didn’t even know for sure what his real birth date was, but that wasn’t important. Alberto opened birthday letters from his sister and Luca, Giulia sending him the newest comics and Luca sending a metal fork that had been crafted into a bracelet. Alberto wasn’t a jewelry guy, but he put it on immediately, touched and amused by the sentiment.
Alberto thought about this as he looked outside, absentmindedly stroking the bent fork around his wrist. Last night had not been good, after that. He’d said goodnight to his father and returned to his bedroom, swiping the bottle of wine along the way. The emptiness that came with long stretches away from Luca was getting to him once more. He’d always seen the old men drinking away their sorrows, and tonight he would indulge. He tipped up the bottle and drank deeply, swallowing the dark, dry liquid.
He sat at his desk, starting letters again and again, and then tossing them away. Staring at the blank page in front of him, Alberto muttered. “Maybe I’ll just… just write this one for me. Write it and… and burn it.” Putting pen to paper, Alberto wrote.
‘Dear Luca,
Thanks for the bracelet fork. Reminds me of the early days, learning to blend in on land, and eat pasta like a proper ape. But maybe that’s the point, right?’
Alberto stopped writing, sighing. This wasn’t even supposed to be something he would send! And he didn’t want to small-talk right now. He needed to be sincere, even just for his own eyes.
‘Luca, I know you miss me, and you know I miss you. You don’t know how much I think about the days when you visit, far and between, when I stand at the train station and wait for that moment when you throw your arms around me, and I lift you off your feet. But that’s not all I want. I want to welcome you with a kiss. I want to shower you in love until your skin turns to scales, and then I want to kiss every one of them. I can only dream that you feel the same way.
Alberto’
The young man’s gut twisted as he reread the words. He snorted at how awful it was, and grabbed the page, intent on ripping it. But he couldn’t. Instead he set it down, smoothed it out with his hand, and folded the page closed. Tipping the bottle, he finished the wine and dragged himself to bed.
Yes, that had been his night. His ‘birthday’, if he had to call it something. Alberto abandoned his breakfast and wandered back to his room, wanting to take a second look at what he’d written now that he was sober. And then, he would tear it up and feed it to the stove.
But the letter was not where he’d left it. Blinking, Alberto came closer to the desk, pushing around papers and frowning. He checked under the blankets on his bed, but no. Where was it? Just then he heard the front door open and close, and he rushed in to see Massimo setting a few paper packages on the table. “Papa, did you… see a letter on my desk?”
“The one for Luca?”
A horrible squeal emerged from Alberto’s throat. “You read it?!”
Massimo looked put-off. “You should know I wouldn’t read your letters, Alberto. No, I just checked if it was for Luca or Giulia, and I sent it out for you.”
Alberto’s golden skin turned gray. “Y-You… you WHAT?”