I. Rehab

Julian is lying on the physio table, eyes closed, letting the exhaustion sweep over him like a wave. Adi is working his magic on his knee — his fingers dig around the joint expertly, pressing down with perfectly calibrated force. It doesn't not hurt, a hint of the dull, familiar ache still there, but it's the best thing that has happened to Julian in weeks.

"Julian," Adi asks thoughtfully, "are you being careful?"

Julian cracks an eye open. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, ACL tears can recur." Adi's tone is measured as his fingertips press just a little deeper into the back of Julian's knee. "I'm not saying yours will, I'm just... worried it's hurting more than it should."

Julian's first instinct is to brush it off, say it's fine. But he knows now that Adi, who took his time to understand his pain with his fingertips, question it, feel it out, simply won't buy it.

"Thanks, Adi," he says softly instead. "What should I do?"

Adi chuckles, easing some of the pressure, his touch a light massage now on the top of Julian's calf. "For starters, don't try to keep up with Fabio."

Julian huffs a soft laugh. "You try to slow him down. Easier said than done."

"I know," Adi grins. "I'll put together a prehab routine for you, okay? Strength, mobility, the lot."

Julian is about to thank him again when the door slams open, crashing against the wall with a thud. Fabio enters like a whirlwind. He collapses onto a chair by Julian's head and props his elbows on the treatment table, forcing Julian to shift his head to the side.

"Adi," Fabio whines. "Is this going to take much longer?"

"It takes as long as it takes," Adi says with endless patience. "Why?"

"I need Julian," Fabio says, and reaches out to brush a stray lock from Julian's face.

For a second, Adi's hand stills on Julian's knee.

"Leave me alone," Julian mutters, although he doesn't move his head away from the touch. "What do you need me for?"

"My backhand," Fabio says innocently, combing his fingers through Julian's hair. Adi scoffs.

To Julian, this doesn't even register as irritating anymore. He opens his eyes and is met with Fabio's wide green gaze, expectant and very close.

"Give me your hands," Julian says, reaching out.

Fabio, surprised, slides both his palms against Julian's. His hands are smooth and warm. Julian takes them, curls Fabio's fingers into loose fists and stacks them neatly on top of each other.

"You hold the racquet like this," he teases in a low voice, "and you try to hit the ball."

"You fucking arsehole," Fabio shouts and pulls his hands away. His fingers land in Julian's hair again.

"I'm serious," Julian insists. "Leave me alone. You don't need my help today. Go hit with Jasper."

"Fine," Fabio sighs dramatically, resigned to the betrayal, and turns to fix his gaze on Adi. "Where's your boyfriend?" he asks pointedly, looking him up and down.

Adi huffs. "You're one to talk."

II. Road trip

The hotel suite in Monte Carlo is a mess. They're all slumped around the round table bearing the debris of the past week, in various states of exhaustion. Julian will be happy to get out of here.

Carmen pulls up SkyScanner on her MacBook, the blue-white glow reflected in her squinted eyes. The moment he sees it, Fabio's entire body tenses up. Without thinking, Julian reaches out, places a hand between his shoulder blades.

"What if we drove?" he suggests softly. Fabio looks at him like a drowning man thrown a lifeline.

"Really?" he asks, his eyes enormous. "We could?"

Carmen looks up from her screen, her eyebrows knitted together. "Drive?"

Julian shrugs, his hand still resting against Fabio's back, rubbing slow circles into it.

"It's what, six, seven hours? We've done longer." His hand moves up to knead into Fabio's shoulder, reassuring. He finds it difficult to look away from Fabio's face. "I'm happy to drive," he adds.

Carmen looks between the two of them, and with one last squeeze, Julian pulls his hand away.

"Fine," she says. "I'll rent us a van. You sure you're good to drive that long?"

Julian is ready to open his mouth, yes, of course, but Fabio cuts in.

"It's not fair that Julian drives all the time." Then he adds, more quietly, "it's not good for his knee."

"Fabio," Julian says softly in protest, but Adi volunteers.

"I'll do it." He leans back in his chair, relaxed. "We're going to Spain after all. I know the roads."

"Road trip," Jasper sighs dreamily, and drops his head on the table.

The next day, Jasper claims shotgun before anyone can even open their mouths. He settles in like a co-pilot and plugs the aux cord into his phone. Adi starts arguing with him about the playlist in an instant. In the middle seats, Ingrid and Carmen gossip quietly, breaking out in the occasional giggle.

Julian is curled up on the backseat, book in hand, although he's finding it hard to follow the narrative. Next to him, Fabio is sitting with his socked feet tucked under him, headphones hanging loose around his neck, scrolling through some Instagram reels, occasionally cracking a smile.

Julian feels pleasantly tired. It feels nice to sit in a car and not be the one driving, to not have things to take care of, not have anything demand his immediate attention. He leans his head against the window, watching the Côte d'Azur ripple by like an endless blue ribbon.

Fabio's hand brushes up against Julian's arm, the back of his knuckles resting there for a few seconds.

"What?" Julian asks softly, not being able to hide a fond smile.

"When I was in school," Fabio recounts with a smile, "the cool kids always sat in the back seat of the bus. We're the cool kids now."

Julian snorts. "You're ridiculous."

Fabio watches him for a beat, eyes glinting. "Are you sleepy?"

"No," Julian replies, a little too quickly.

Fabio grins. "Liar," he teases. "You're blinking like you're high."

Julian huffs a quiet laugh but doesn't argue. He tries to turn his attention back to his book.

"You can take a nap, you know," Fabio says, too softly. "Nowhere else to go."

He pauses for a beat. Then, even softer, slow and deliberate as if Julian was thick and he found it hard to get through, he says, "you deserve rest too."

Julian looks back up at him, not quite knowing what to say. Fabio untucks his legs, props his socked feet on top of his trainers. He pats his thigh in a silent invitation.

Julian's brain revs up to overthink, but he's suddenly too tired to follow the train of thought. Instead, he just lets himself move. He kicks off his shoes, curls up on his side and lays his cheek against Fabio's warm thigh. Fabio reaches out and plucks the book from his fingers, sets it aside.

Julian lets his eyes drift closed, lets the sounds of the car wash over him - the gentle hum of the engine, Carmen and Ingrid's murmured voices, Jasper's indie playlist from the front of the car, Jasper and Adi's laughter punctuating the rhythm of their constant back-and-forth. He can feel the weight of Fabio's forearm on his shoulder, and Fabio's fingers soon find their rightful place, threaded through Julian's hair.

III. Romeo and Juliet

Julian steps out onto the balcony.

Behind him, in the hotel room, Adi is half-watching TV, half-buried in his phone. Julian takes a glance at the scene through the glass door, then turns his gaze outwards.

Rome stretches out before him, endless, ancient, the city lights glowing golden in the velvety dark. He listens out for the hum of the nightlife underneath, laughter, clinking glasses, the sound of traffic mixing in from the nearby streets. Julian notes, with some surprise, that there's nothing more comforting to him then the sound of Italian all around, its up-and-down rhythm, bursting with life.

He breathes in, rolls out his aching shoulders and improvises a stretch, right leg straight in front of him, left leg bent as he holds on to the railing.

On the next balcony over, he senses Fabio's presence before he hears him speak, drawing his attention in like a magnet. He ignores, purposefully, to get a reaction.

"Hi there," Fabio says cheerily. And then, in a cheeky voice, "Don't you miss me?"

"You're like five feet away," Julian deadpans, straightening up.

"I miss sharing a room with you," Fabio says wistfully, leaning against the railing between them.

Julian laughs, incredulous. "Mate, we live together."

"I know, but," Fabio frowns, "we're on the road more than we're at home."

Julian considers this. It's true, painfully so. Julian often misses his house, his own bed, the slow, rainy mornings. He misses the - relatively - quiet weekends with Fabio, even when Fabio is right there.

Fabio's voice pulls him out of it. With a teasing lilt, he asks, "Is Adi a good roommate?"

"He's decent," Julian says drily, although his lips are curling up treacherously. "How's Jasper?"

"He talks in his sleep," Fabio says thoughtfully, as if he was just weighing it, "but he always has snacks."

Then he adds, with a subtle shift in his tone, "Why can't we share? You and I?"

Julian turns it over in his head, thinking long and hard about how to reply.

The first answer is obvious. Adi and Julian are staff. Fabio and Jasper are athletes. This is just the way things are. But Fabio wouldn't like it, he would push and prod at it, dismiss it as an excuse.

There's a second answer that Julian has yet to discuss with himself and would prefer to keep locked away forever in a back room of his mind. It feels much too dangerous to be let out.

He goes with the third. "It's to maximise your recovery time."

Fabio frowns. "You're good for my recovery," he says, and Julian raises an eyebrow.

And then, as if something has occurred to him, Fabio's voice softens. "Julian, come here."

Despite his instinct, Julian steps to the railing between the balconies. There's a small gap between them, fifty centimetres of space above a three-story drop. Fabio reaches across and smooths Julian's hair back from his face. It's a familiar touch by now, Julian doesn't flinch from it anymore. Fabio does it every day.

"We're like Romeo and Juliet now," Fabio announces proudly, grinning.

"Good Lord," Julian snorts. "Have you ever read a single book?"

"Don't need to," Fabio beams. "I know the important bits."

They both lean over the railing. Their hands inch forward, their fingers meeting across the open air. Their fingertips brush together.

"You'd make a terrible Juliet," Fabio teases.

"You're the stupidest Romeo I've ever seen," Julian shoots back.

Fabio grins at him as if he's hung the moon, as if his idiotic comeback had been the most perfect thing he's ever heard. He taps his fingertips against the back of Julian's hand.

"Good night, amore," he jokes and pushes himself back from the railing. He disappears behind the glass door of his own room.

Julian looks at the space Fabio's just been in. He cracks that back door in his mind open just a smidge, takes this entire night, and shoves it in there with the rest of the stuff.