Four guys, four hearts, one path.
Lonely, floppy-haired Cristoforo is lost in the snow with no memory. Now, he must find his way and his identity. Who will help him: Carlo, Giacomo, or the mysterious Angel? Read "Flakes" now to find out. #lightnovel...
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The snow continued falling, as the stranger carrying Cristoforo over his shoulder, moved quickly through it. Coming to sudden stop, he planted both of his feet before the snowy façade of a building. As the winds created a clearing in the snowfall like a suddenly pulled curtain. This revealed a set of roughly made steps. The steps, which had either appeared suddenly or were already familiar to the stranger, led to a subterranean space below. Either way, the stranger descended them quickly, still carrying the barely conscious young man.
They descended deeper and deeper into the darker space beyond and below. With a slight bend of the knees, like a sudden graceful curtsy, they passed through a small doorway, which the figure kicked open. The door opened on to a small entry way that served as a passage way to a cavernous space beyond.
As they entered, Cristoforo, feeling more groggy than conscious, could not help but notice the rush of warmth against his frigid body. He had been very cold, cold enough to hurt, so the warm air was very welcome. Wherever they were going, it was decidedly warmer in here than it was outside, so Cristoforo felt himself consenting to wherever he was being brought and to whatever it led. Besides, what choice did he have slumped over the stranger's shoulder?
Having entered without hesitation, the tall figure walked along a brick wall before bending to unburden a tired shoulder from the weight it bore. Cristoforo unfolded over the stool he found his body deposited upon. This movement roused him, but before he could pick up his head to see where he was, he heard voices everywhere. They were engaged in very curious conversations. "Where'd he come from?" "Never seen him before." "Are they together?" "Cute!"
His eyes popped open when heard—before feeling—the stranger's hand slap his face. This was immediately followed by a stern command. "Wake up!" The slap prompted several rounds of gasps and giggles from the various watchers and listeners beyond, who must have been craning their necks to see.
Cristoforo's face flushed with anger and surprise. "You slapped me!"
"You need to wake up so your blood will warm." The stranger replied.
Despite the sting of embarrassment, Cristoforo was not surprised by what he saw when he looked up, for he had heard the crowd whispering before seeing the chorus.
The cavernous room spread out before him. It gave way here and there to additional rooms, others hallways, and even more stairwells, which led further and further down. The exact relationship of the various rooms eluded him, for there was a vibrant tapestry of men before him. Their movements obscured his view of this or that detail or corner.
The sea of men was varied, and while there were too many men—and too many kinds—to take in all at once, Cristoforo could tell from first glance there were men of all ages, sizes, and shapes within it. They stood watching, whispering and wondering about him and the young guy that had just slapped him, for he could see that his companion now resembled a male at least the stranger did here under this light.
