1935, Lombardy, Italy
It was the fifth time. The damn fifth time that Julian's father, Nico, was taking one of his 'guests' at home, the hotel.
It was for work reasons, he said. Yeah, work, except for the fact that he slept with every single one of them, leaving his wife and his son in the main hall where they could hear everything.
Oh, what son of bitch his father was.
Always beating him, always telling what disgrace of a son he was and always abusing his mother.
'Why Julian didn't defend himself?' He was 15, for fuck's sake.
At least she, Julian's mother, was a decent human being. She didn't defend her son from her husband's rage, didn't help him, didn't support him, but she did not beat him on a daily basis. And that, for Julian, after all the things he was been through, was enough.
But, after a while, everybody got used to it and never did anything to stop it. They all deserved it.
That's what Nico always told them and they started believing it.
That was until Julian laid his eyes on the son of one of Nico's guests.
The family members looked all pretty young, a smug grin on the father's face as they entered the hotel, walking down the halls like he was king.
Oh well, he could work as a good companion for his father.
After having eavesdropped their conversation for a while, Julian could finally consider himself pleased with what he heard; turns out they were American, everyone born in Manhattan, but moved in Italy the previously winter. They were really rich, while Julian's family wasn't, but it didn't take long for the teenager to understand that 'the perfect family' farse that they were playing was to mask the sad truth behind it; the father of those siblings was clearly depressed.
But, obviously, only the red-haired boy, Julian, noticed it and he knew that if he only tried to say one word about the new clients, his father would have beaten the hell out of him.
The boy chose to shut his mouth for his own sake and continued to eavesdrop the discussion.
The only boy of the family, wich Julian figured out to be Vicktor, rarely talked to Nico or even said a single word; instead he kept glancing around suspiciously, perhaps afraid of something.
Julian knew that he was about to be spotted, but he couldn't care less after havin seen Vicktor's face;
Little shiny emeralds made to look into your soul. That's how the Italian boy would have described his eyes.
And his hair? God, his hair.
Little sparks of black flames that spiked in all directions, ready to burn everything they made contact with.
On top of that, there was his skin. So pale, so fragile, so beautiful.
While Julian's attention wad absorbed by Vitcktor, said boy noticed the caramel eyes staring at him in astonishment, just above one of the room's windows.
"Ehm, scusatemi, dovrei utilizzare il bagno. Me lo saprebbe indicare, Signor Donatelli?"
(Ehm, excuse me, I should use the bathroom. Could you tell me where it is, Sir Donatelli?")
"Oh, certo. Prendi il corridoio alla tua sinistra, poi seconda porta a destra; è quello il più vicino."
("Oh, sure. Take the corridor to your left, then the second door on your right; that's the nearest bathroom.")
After having excused himself, Vitcktor exited the room and tried to find the right corridor that would have brought him to the misterious boy with the caramel eyes.
After a couple of minutes he finally managed to find him and pinn him to the nearest wall, with a hand over his mouth.
"Ok, ascolta, non ti voglio far del male. Desidero soltanto parlarti, quindi non gridare, d'accordo? Non abbiamo molto tempo."
("Ok, listen, I don't want to hurt you. I just desire to talk to you, so don't scream, alright? We don't have much time.")
He got a nod in response and, ignoring the total schocked expression that the red haired boy had, he slowly removed his hand to let him breathe.
"Ti ho visto mentre mi fissavi, da sopra la finestra. So cosa stavi pensando ma so anche quello che succede qui; è piuttosto ovvio, sai? Non nascondi bene i tuoi lividi e la tua famiglia non sa fingere un sorriso. Quello che sto cercando di dire è che... ugh, che puoi venire con noi, se vuoi. Certo, la nostra famiglia non è perfetta, è raramente veramente felice, ma cazzo, almeno non vengo picchiato tutti i giorni. Hai tempo per decidere finchè noi rimarremo qui, vale a dire una stagione ancora. Non ne parlare con nessuno."
(I saw you staring at me, from above the window. I know what you were thinking but I also know what happens here; it's pretty obvious, y'know? You don't cover your bruises well and your family doesn't know how to fake a smile. What I'm trying to say is... ugh, that you can come with us, if you want. Yeah, our family isn't perfect, it rarely is truly happy, but for fuck's sake, at least I don't get beaten everyday. You have time to decide 'til we'll be here, in other words an entire season yet. Don't tell this anybody.")
Then, just like he suddenly appeared, the raven haired boy disappeard into one of the hallways, leaving a doumbfouded Julian in the main corridor, with his mouth hanging open and eyes wide.
Well, what a perfect way to start the day.