His laugh is music to Hyukjae’s ears. Auburn hair styled in the old, natural just-woke-up way, with a crumpled polo shirt and faded jeans, a light, brown jacket nicely fitting his lean frame. He walks as if there is little to worry, as if he’d known Hyukjae for a long time, when, actually, they just met.

“The streets are rather small,” he’d say with his soothing voice. “So you watch out, or else you might end up lost!”

Hyukjae smiled professionally, trying to look as if he cares.

“You can also see the romantical, very renaissance-like buildings. We’re near to the Piazza della Signoria. It was a very important place during 14th century. And there are beautiful sculptures there too.”

Hyukjae didn’t remember paying the younger to show him Italy’s art, but if it’ll cost more time beside the boy, he’d willingly hear all the bull about things he couldn’t care less.

“There’s a copy of Michelangelo’s David, The Nettuno by Ammanati, and so many more! It was the Medici’s way of showing their power and tyranny.”

The boy, whose name Hyukjae would learn later that is Donghae, laughs nervously and mutters an embarrassed, “right”, sensing how Hyukjae wasn’t nearly interested in any of those facts.

Hyukjae missed the boy’s incessant chatter as they kept walking quietly to the piazza.

The Piazza della Signoria wasn’t so great as Hyukjae was hoping. Actually, it was just as boring as the various other piazzas and monuments Donghae had so zealously showed him.

“Do you see the font? It is called La Fontana del Nettuno.” Of course Hyukjae sees the ing big font, it’s impossible not to. Instead of replying, he nodded, looking at the font with an enormous statue of a old man. “There are various of these, I mean, not like perfect copies, but it is a pretty popular name. But, anyways. You can see the chained Scylla and Charybdis, and there are satyrs and seahorses, I think it’s pretty.”

“There’s another one in Bologna, which has a very peculiar lactating nereid.” Hyukjae arched his eyebrows at that. “Like, there’s water flowing out of her .” The elder choked on his own spit, trying to contain his laugh.

Donghae smiled and kept talking about the various other sculptures and the history behind them. Hyukjae didn’t made a single effort to remember any of it.

Hyukjae remembers the last time he sees Donghae clear as water. The boy was nicely dressed this time, hair combed but it seems like it is not possible for it to be anything but disheveled. Donghae bit his lower lip, but smiles, nodding slowly. His eyes are shining and his nose is red, like his faint freckled cheeks, and Hyukjae blames the goddamn weather. It is cold and windy, and this is not the way he’d like their last date to be.

Back home, his friends attempt to comfort him, but they’re not nearly as funny or exquisite like Donghae.

He sighs and pack up his things, and it when every coat, and every shirt just remind him of the times he’d meet up with Donghae, and, yeah.

Yeah, that’s it.

There’s this lump on the back of his throat when it happens, that familiar smell, the mop of messy auburn hair. He gulps down whatever is it that makes it impossible to talk, or breathe. He wants to call out his name, but he’s on the airplane and that’d be unsophisticated of him.

It can’t be.

And it isn’t.

Later he’d laugh along with his peers when one idiot fall on his feet after too many shots. It’s stupid, it’s foolish, but at least he doesn’t have to think of Donghae.

The bar is good, the company is as well, but it just isn’t the same.

Her hand isn’t as warm as Donghae’s.

She’s not the one he’d willingly spend his night with.

And there’s another flight. He sleeps this time, so his mind won’t trick him again. There’s no Donghae here, or waiting for him when he lands.

But he swears he can still feel as if Donghae is near, yet he isn’t.

The boy is in Florence, probably finishing his studies.

He’s too ing far away.

And Hyukjae is stupid enough to think that there’s the tiny, slippery chance that Donghae might still be thinking of him. Yet he fears if the boy already forgot about him.

Probably?

Hyukjae shakes his head and downs another glass of whatever it is.

He sees Donghae on someone’s face.

What’s her name again?

She’s warm and pretty. Her hair is a natural auburn and she’s got freckles as well. She’s y and annoying. Her voice is too high pitched, it’s not soothing and gentle like Donghae’s.

She screams, and Hyukjae remembers they’re fighting – for what, though?

He screams too. She’s furious. He’s tired.

She’s gone, Hyukjae doesn’t even care.

It’s been how long since Donghae? He just know that this one is the fourth, or so, girl. They all have something, but then, there’s also something amiss.

Donghae is unique, is different from any of them. Will always be.

Yeah.

Nothing will ever be quite like Donghae, and he’s so far from Hyukjae.

He should move on.

But the day is as beautiful as when they met. And the Bologna’s version of that font-of-someone indeed has a milking gal.

It would be nice to be able to see that smile again. Or to be laughing with Donghae now.

The walk to the airport is tiring, and he thinks he lost himself once or twice, but this is the closest he’d be from Florence and Donghae.