𝐍𝐀𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐀 𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐀 | ✓

Ariana Grande

me and y/n have been hanging out for quite awhile now. we've been going to the pool aka heaven is what she calls it.

and here we are at the heaven. i'm sitting under the tree with her scorebook open while y/n sat on the edge of the stone trough with her feet in the water wearing her straw hat.

"my mom's been reading this German
romance. she read some of it to my father and i, out of nowhere the day lights
went out." i said breaking the silence between us.

"about the knight who doesn't know whether to speak or die ? you told me already." she looked at me squinting her eyes because the sun was to bright.

"oh."

"well, does he or doesn't he ?"

"better to speak, she said. but she's on her guard. she senses a trap somewhere."

"so does he speak ?"

"no, he fudges."

"that figures. he's french...i gotta go to town in a little bit gotta pick something up"

something was always the latest pages from the translator.

"oh i can go, i'm not doing anything today"

"let's go together then"

"now ?" what i might have meant was, really ?

"why, have you got something better to do ?"

"no" she put some pages in her frayed green backpack and sling it over her shoulder.

on our way to the shed, we passed the garage. as usual, manfredi, malfada's husband, was arguing with anchise.

the gardener handed y/n her bicycle. "i straightened the wheels last night, it took some doing, i also put some air in the tires"

"perffeto, grazie" she said before waving him a goodbye.

"doesn't he give you the creeps ?" i asked looking over at y/n.

"who ?"

"anchise"

"no, why ? i fell the other day on my way back and scraped myself pretty badly. anchise insisted on applying some sort of witch's brew. he also fixed the bike for me."

with one hand on the handlebar she lifted her shirt and expose a huge scrape and bruise on her left hip.

oh...to be able to touched, caressed, worshipped that scrape. one could only dream.

"still give me the creeps" i said, repeating my aunts verdict.

"Just a lost soul really"

on our way, i noticed that y/n was taking her time. she wasn't in her usual rush, no speeding, no scaling the hill with her usual athletic zeal.

when we arrived at the piazzetta overlooking the sea, y/n stopped to buy cigarettes. She had started smoking gauloises. i had never tried gauloises only because i've never smoke in my whole entire life before and i don't plan on it.

she got back out and took out a stick handing it to me, shaking my head turning down the cancer stick. "no thanks i don't smoke"

"good for you" she said and place the stick between her beautiful lips and lit up the stick taking a puff from it and releasing a whole lot of smoke.

we talked for a while until she had to collect her papers.

-

i was planning on showing her the fontanile quarantina, my spot where i would release all my thoughts. "this is my spot. all mine. i come here to read. i can't tell you the number i've read here"