Gio scanned our colleagues in the cafeteria with a conspiratorial look. He circled the table where I was sitting and chose the chair next to mine. His half-empty tray was abandoned with the same grace with which Gio would deposit his phone on the floor.

His brown hair escaped from his cap in every direction, like a crowd of people panicked in the midst of a fire.

Gioele clung to his chair and leaned sixty degrees over me, but remained upright like a ruler.

"So? Do you have it?" He whispered.

Do I have it? What do I have? A case of rampant cardiomyopathy? My heart continued to skip up and down my chest as if it were on a playground ride.

"Nico!" Gio jabbed me in the side, and with the same forceful hand, he showed me his open palm. "My octopus!"

Right. His octopus.

I peeled the mollusk carcass from the pocket it had stuck to, tearing off some layers of skin in the process, and placed it on Gioele's outstretched hand.

"Good," he muttered, tucking that thing into his apron pocket.

"What are you going to do with it?"

"Shh!" His dark eyes darted from one cook to another, as if our colleagues had nothing better to do than spy on the new interns during lunch break. To appear more inconspicuous, Gioele lowered his head over his tray and started picking at the slice of bread on his plate. He had poured some oil over it. And that was it. There was nothing else on the plate.

"You're not planning to survive on just bread and oil, are you?"

"I also have cookies. Don't you remember?"

"I remember the cookies. You're not planning to survive on bread, oil, and cookies, are you?"

Gio shrugged his shoulders and muttered lowly, "It's not my fault... there's just weird stuff to eat."

My zucchini pasta felt discreetly offended. And so did the utterly normal slice of grilled beef I had taken for the main course.

"What do you mean? Is it possible that you don't like anything?"

Gioele rested his chin on the table and began nibbling on the corner of the bread slice like a squirrel with acorns.

After several minutes of nibbling, I tried to stir him with a gentle "hey". When I still got no response, I used the handle of the fork to poke his cheek. He managed to remain impassive, with his chin stuck to the table, for a few more seconds.

His lips widened into a barely suppressed smirk. And there my heart went crazy again. Spending a month with Gioele would cause me serious cardiovascular problems.

"We could go out during the break. You can't possibly think of doing another shift without filling your stomach with a decent meal. What about pizza? Would that work for you?"

Gio sat back like a normal person and turned to look at me. "If we go out during the break, I'll take the opportunity to buy a jar. Do you think you can embalm mollusks?"

"I... I don't know... I don't think so. Maybe. I have no idea. Is that what you want to do with that poor octopus?"

"No. I just had this doubt. How should we name it?"

"The octopus?"

Gio nodded, and the next moment he lunged at me to press his hand over my mouth. "No, don't tell me!" His lips were so close to my face that I could feel his warm breath. "I want to guess it on my own."

I said absolutely nothing and didn't try to move a muscle. I was aware of several heads turning to look at us, but Gioele didn't seem to notice.

I don't know how much time I spent with his hand pressed against my mouth. I think it was a hundred beats of my heart, so just a few seconds.

One moment he was so close that he was practically in my arms, and the next he was back to nibbling his bread.

"S-so... w-what's the name?" I asked.

"No! You have to think of it yourself!" He replied irritably. "But don't tell me! I want to guess it."

"Oh, okay..." I had to think of a name for the octopus. A name... come on, how hard can it be? Any name. Poli...pet? "Uh, I should warn you that I'm not very creative."

"Yes, you are!" Gioele pointed the bread slice at me as if it were an accusation. "I saw the picture of the cake that made you win the last contest. Coconut sponge cake, lemon and rum cream, decorated with palm leaves and tropical flowers in sugar paste and chocolate. Don't get me wrong, it sounds disgusting, but very creative."

I burst out laughing at that unexpected "sounds disgusting". He said it so seriously that I had no idea if it was a joke or not. 

"Uh, thanks," I chuckled. If he had seen it, he must have deliberately searched for it on the internet. Now that was interesting. "What doesn't inspire you about my cake?"

"The coconut, lemon cream, and sugar paste. I would have eaten the chocolate."

I laughed even harder. "It was modeling chocolate, not edible. It's only for decoration."

"Oh. Then I wouldn't have eaten anything."

He stuffed the last piece of bread into his mouth and took a sip of water. I had no doubt he wouldn't have eaten my cake. He was probably the pickiest person I had ever met. Cooking for him must have been a challenge.

"I just had an idea," I announced.

"Did you come up with the name?"

"No, but if I can think of a name, would you do something for me in return?"

"Sure," he replied. "No, wait. What thing?"

"When we pass by a supermarket for that jar of yours, I'd like you to tell me what foods you like and what you don't like."

"Ah," Gioele shrugged with one shoulder, "sure."

An evil plan was forming in my mind on how to get Gioele to ingest something other than bread, oil, or chocolate.

...

The catchy red sign of the Despar supermarket drew us a few steps from the hotel. The sliding doors opened to an Antarctic climate. It was three in the afternoon, and from the entrance, it already looked like a deserted store.

It was probably better this way, there would be fewer people to look at me strangely while I took notes at the grocery store. I pulled out my trusty notebook and my IKEA micro-pencil, which fit just right in my pocket.

Gioele looked at the entrance corridor, scattered with withered houseplants, then looked at me with my notebook. He made no comment, barely registering the sight.

He glanced at the further section of the pharmacy and whispered under the low music: "jar."

I wasn't sure which of us was weirder.

"Shall we start from the fruit and vegetable section?"

"Mh."

I was never sure what his "mhs" meant. We advanced towards the rows of fruit crates. Gioele was looking in every direction except the fruit and vegetable section.

"Gio? Are you there?"

"I'll forget about the jar."

"But we came here for that."

He shook his head. He began to rub his hands together, continuing to look around ceaselessly.

I could have told him that I would remember, but I had the feeling Gio would still be anxious until he got his hands on his jar.

"Shall we take it first and then go back?"

He enthusiastically nodded and strode off, cutting off our conversation.

I followed him from one corridor to another, quickly passing the refrigerated section and slipping into a slightly hidden niche full of kitchen utensils.

Gioele picked up a nice little glass jar with a tin lid, the kind good for storing jams. He turned it over in his hands from every side before convincing himself it was what he was looking for.

"Okay, now let's do your thing."

My thing lasted much longer than I expected. Gioele didn't have difficult tastes, he had nearly impossible tastes. He ate vegetables only if they were raw, and better if they were plain. Consequently, he didn't eat any of those vegetables that needed to be cooked before eating: no peppers, no eggplants, no zucchini.

"Peppers and zucchini can be eaten raw. You can marinate them and make a salad."

The expression he made made it pretty clear what he thought of my idea.

He ate eggs hard-boiled or fried, but fried in little oil, and without salt. Among meats, only pork and chicken were acceptable, cut into thin slices, cooked in little oil, and with little salt.

I started to feel discouraged, but as we reached the pasta section, I realized I was able to recognize patterns in his crazy rules.

Size was of great importance. If something couldn't be reduced to a bite of two cubic centimeters, it couldn't be eaten. If it was smaller, then it had to be made practically invisible, otherwise it couldn't be eaten.

Texture came in second in terms of relevance. Yes to crunchy things, no to soft things. Yes to viscous things, but only if there were no lumps of any kind.

I had practically exhausted my notebook. My poor IKEA pencil was starting to smoke.

In the group of what was absolutely forbidden, there was anything with too strong a taste. Of any kind. No to spicy, no to vinegar, no to too salty. Even no to too sweet. Apparently, honey, caramel, cotton candy, and marshmallows were inedible.

I thought I'd be on safe ground with sweets, but apparently not.

After all, he had said he wouldn't eat my cake.

We reached the checkout and Gioele paid for his jar. The cashier said, "Thank you for stopping by." 

And Gio replied, "You too."

Then he reached into the pocket of his hoodie and pulled out the dead octopus. The cashier stared as he unscrewed the jar and stuffed the mollusk's remains inside.

"Ah, it's for a science project," I stammered.

Gioele screwed the lid back on. "No, that's not true."

"Yes, it is true. Goodbye." I grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him out through the sliding doors.

I kept pushing him even onto the sidewalk; otherwise, I felt he would stop in front of the supermarket windows to admire his octopus in a jar.

"Have you thought of a name?" He asked, tilting his head back to look at me as I pushed.

"Ah, no. I'll think of something."

"Why can't you think of anything? I've already thought of thirty different names."

"Why don't you give it a name, then?"

"Because they're all names of Pokémon or shonen characters. I want something different."

I let him go when we were well away from the confines of Despar, and at that point, we continued walking out of sheer inertia until we found a pizza place where we stocked up on five or six slices. Once loaded and ready for dinner, we wandered back along the gray streets of Turin.

"I'm sorry, I told you, I'm not very creative. Only things with the word octopus come to mind."

"Then think of the protagonist of your favorite movie. Let's name it after that."

I didn't want to answer that I didn't have a favorite movie because it would make me seem very boring.

Gioele dug in his heels when we reached an intersection and took my hand to pull me onto the right side street. With the frequency with which he gave me heart attacks, I would need a coffin as soon as possible.

But I let him pull me because I felt like going wherever he wanted to take me.

At the sight of a small square, we began to slow down. His fingers slid down and hooked onto my pinky.

"Shall we sit under the statue of that ugly guy? I'm tired."

"Sure," I replied with a bit of apprehension. Sooner or later, he would realize I would say yes to anything he asked.

So we sat down in front of the fence guarding a statue raised on blocks.

"I want to know what your favorite movie is."

"Ah, I'd like to know that too," I chuckled.

He looked at me, furrowing his eyebrows.

"I don't have big interests," I replied, already feeling embarrassed. "I like cooking, and sometimes I watch Junior Bake Off, but I don't watch much else. I'm a bit boring."

Gioele said, "ah," nodding, as if to agree with me. It hurt a bit.

"Why Junior?"

"What?"

"Why do you watch Junior Bake Off and not the regular one?"

I felt my cheeks warm up. I could always lie, but it seemed wrong. I didn't think Gioele would lie.

"Because adults going crazy make me sad, but kids make me laugh. There, I said it. I also like watching compilations of kids falling, if you're interested. I find them hilarious."

Gioele laughed, throwing his head back and hitting the metal railing. "Ow." He rubbed his nape, staring into space and smiling. "Maybe your favorite movie is full of kids falling. Or maybe it's a movie about cooking. What do you think?"

"I wouldn't know."

"Try to imagine that an apocalyptic disaster has destroyed all the movies in the world, every streaming channel, DVD, videotape, everything destroyed. But one day you find the case of a DVD that has survived. Only one. What movie would you want to survive for the future of humanity?"

I imagined myself wandering on a deserted island covered in scraps, an old case half disintegrated in my hands. What would I want to remain alive for future generations?

"The Great Dictator."

Gioele clapped his hands, jumping up and down: "Your favorite movie! Wait... what's that?"

"It's Charlie Chaplin!" I replied, vaguely outraged.

Gioele didn't notice my tone, or didn't care. He put the jar in front of his eyes and exclaimed, "CHARLIE CHAPLIN! That's a great name."

Then he turned to me. "But isn't that from those super old silent movies?"

"Yes, but The Great Dictator isn't a silent movie. Do you really not know it? It's the one where he plays Hitler? You must have heard the speech from that movie somewhere."

Gioele shrugged. "I doubt it. I've never seen a black and white movie. They showed one at school when I was in middle school, but I fell asleep. But if you chose this for the future of humanity, it must be good."

"It's more than good, it's important. If the world was on the brink of ending, I think that's what humanity would need. What about you, what would you choose?"

"Balto." He replied without a second's hesitation.

"The... cartoon about the dog?"

"It's a wolf-dog. But yes." Gioele lowered his gaze to his jar and spun it slowly, watching its contents bounce against the glass walls. "It's my favorite movie, but it's not really... important. I don't think it's what humanity needs, but it's what I want. I'm a bit selfish."

Suddenly, he deflated. The joy visibly diminished.

"You're not selfish."

He made a "mhh" sound.

"You're not." I moved a little closer. I inched closer. My heart began to pound in my throat. "You gave me that Pokémon card and lent me those plushies, even though you care about them a lot."

Gioele pursed his lips. He looked up and didn't seem surprised to find me closer.

"I wanted you to like me. I know I'm annoying. I didn't want to find myself doing a month-long internship with someone who hates me. You see, it wasn't completely selfless."

"It's a normal feeling. I wanted you to like me too. I don't get along with people often."

"Really??" He said incredulously, as if he couldn't understand why. He wasn't mocking, he genuinely didn't get it. Maybe we hadn't known each other long enough; he hadn't realized yet that I was the type of arrogant and quick-tempered person who couldn't take anything lightly.

"Really. People tend to find me annoying."

"Me too!" He exclaimed happily, as if we had just discovered we were the same zodiac sign. His smile stretched from ear to ear. "Maybe we cancel each other out."