Chapter Text
Every afternoon at exactly four o’clock, two chairs on the patio of Caffè Sogni Vecchi sit in quiet anticipation. No name tags. Just memory. Habit. History.
Fernando arrives first. Always.
Sunglasses on. Shirt crisp. Hair messy, but on purpose. He doesn’t speak to Bianca, the café owner, just gives her a short nod. She nods back. That’s their language.
The Vespa purrs into the square five minutes later. Mark, late again. He parks badly. As usual.
“You’re late,” Fernando says, not looking up.
Mark shrugs, helmet in hand. “Only by a little.”
“Little becomes habit.”
He sips espresso. Doesn’t offer one. Mark steals it anyway.
They sit.
In silence.
A silence that’s years long and somehow comfortable.
Mark finally speaks. “You ever think about not doing this anymore?”
Fernando blinks slowly. “Not doing what?”
Mark gestures vaguely between them. “This. The café. The quiet. The cake. Me.”
Fernando leans back, crosses his arms. Eyes somewhere far. Maybe past the vineyards. Maybe ten years ago.
“…Sitting here? Pretending we are friends?”
He says it soft, but it hits hard.
Mark doesn’t deny it. “Yeah.”
Fernando shrugs, but it’s the kind of shrug that hides a storm. “I like pretending. We are good at it.”
Mark watches him. “You always knew?”
Fernando nods once. “Of course. I’m not stupid.”
Then adds, quieter:
“But I play stupid. With you.”
Mark opens the box he brought. Lemon cake. Again.
Fernando side-eyes it. “Always lemon.”
“It’s your favorite.”
“I don’t say that.”
“You don’t have to.”
The sun lowers behind terracotta roofs. The church bell rings somewhere in the distance. Fernando stands.
“Same time tomorrow?”
Mark stands too. Picks up the second helmet, holds it out. “You’re riding with me today.”
Fernando raises a brow. “You trust me behind you?”
Mark grins. “You always hold on.”
Fernando says nothing.
He takes the helmet.
And they ride off down the hills, through the wind and olive trees.
Two old friends. Just friends.
Sure.