Chapter Text
'It's not love. Not yet. But it could be.' He often writes down in his diary, as a reminder to himself. 'Give it time. One more day, one more hour and a multitude of little moments together.'
Celebrating the simple pleasure of being alive is something Nish would never take for granted. He does feel guilty, when he thinks back to all those young men who didn't make it. All those precious lives he hadn't managed to save do haunt him, but he refuses to let the miracle of coming back from the war unharmed go to waste.
That's why he's here. To do his part in changing the world for the better, instead of pining for someone who won't ever return his feelings.
So that a place where, perhaps, Bella's future great-grandson can have a boyfriend and nobody would try to have them both jailed, executed or beaten to death might have a chance to exist.
Neither he nor Gianluca - who is so naive, idealistic in a way that only rich white men have the luxury to experience - dare to hope to see such acceptance in their lifetimes, though... For them, unfortunately, it is always going to be a secret that they will have to take to their graves.
"I'd rather go down swinging, trying to kill as many of those fascist vermins that plague my country, than settling down and be the man he wants me to be." Gianluca had once said, while burning a letter from his father. He had looked so sad back then, so defeated, that Nish just had to kiss him until that frown had changed into a sweet smile.
The future can wait. As far as they know, it might take years - decades, even - before they manage to take down Mussolini. They might not even see the end of this year. Worrying about what could happen if they do, thus, is utterly useless.
Who cares about what anybody else out there expects from them?
Who cares if there's no other option, not in the long term, but marry whoever has been chosen by their families.
All that matters is now. Today. Another chance for his thirst to be quenched - can anyone blame him, when that guy looks like Michelangelo's David? - and the fondness to take roots in his heart.
Here, in this little cottage hidden in woods, everything seems possible. Even falling head over heels for each other, finally.
He hadn't quite understood what was the point of hiking up the hills surrounding Turin, but once they made it to the top it had been crystal clear to him.
It was about having a place to hide. Far from the madding crowd, but with a breaktaking view of what they were fighting for.
"It's our shelter, at the end of the world." Gianluca had declared, once they had stepped inside.
"Aren't you a little overdramatic?"
"Well, 'in the wolves' arses, as we say in Italian, doesn't sound quite so poetic."
"In culo ai lupi, right?" Wasn't it fascinating, how swearwords were always the fastest things to learn in a new language?
"Yeah. I suppose I should be teaching you stuff that you can use everyday, though, instead of such coarse language..." Not that he hadn't tried, but his voice when speaking Italian was so distracting...
"It's okay. For the moment I get by with my broken French. And I mean, using 'culo' I can already tell someone to fuck off. Vaffanculo. Go get yourself fucked up the arse, right? Seems to me that who ever created this expression was trying a little too hard to run away from their 'sinful' thoughts..." Just like used to. Maybe he's still running, maybe he still lying to himself... He really doesn't want to think about that, now.
It's not love. Not yet. But it could be.