The first time Gioele restarted the video to listen to The Great Dictator's final speech again, I found it cute. By the sixth time, I began to find it annoying.

At the tenth "I'm sorry, but I don't want to be the emperor, it's not my business," I was about to lose it.

"Gioele." I turned over in bed to look at him.

"Hmm?" He remained fixed on the computer screen.

"Are you planning to listen to it again?"

"Uhm, maybe."

"Then put your headphones on."

"Okay." He didn't seem offended or surprised. He just put his the headphones on. He didn't even seem to notice that I was annoyed. But maybe that was for the best.

I set an alarm for the second shift at work and resolved to take a nap. It's forbidden to think about Gioele and his nonexistent interest in me.

Forbidden, hey.

...

The next morning, the chef took me aside and told me that for the rest of my stay, I would be in charge of the staff meals.

This meant several things. Firstly, Bianca was wrong, I had really impressed the chef with just a plate of gnocchi with tomato sauce, although I wasn't sure why. Then, there was the fact that from that moment on, I could make sure Gio had at least something to eat every day, but to prevent a disaster like last time, it was better to avoid surprises and talk to him about it in advance.

And then there was the downside. I had halved my time in pastry, which was where I really wanted to be.

I consoled myself with the fact that I would spend at least a couple of hours a day in the main kitchen, so I could help Gio more often.

When I told him that evening, after we returned from the dinner shift, he threw himself at me, pushing me onto the bed and screaming with excited cries.

Which is the way straight guys typically show happiness.

I had reached perfect self-persuasion at that point.

Even though I knew it was a terrible idea, I lingered in that illusion. I fueled that little warm glow that ignited my chest.

I was distracted at work, always keeping an eye on him and what he was doing. I constantly found excuses to pass by him. I whispered suggestions to keep him out of trouble, but he was incapable of doing anything stealthily.

And how he smiled... As if I had personally lit the sun for him that morning.

At the end of the first week, Gioele had found his own corner of peace in the kitchen. In the mornings, he escaped Michela's bullying by retreating to a small sink in a corner, where he cleaned, gutted, and scaled dozens of kilograms of fish. Then he settled on the edge of his work table and filleted them. He was good at those long repetitive tasks that would drive other interns crazy. Even Michela realized it, and stopped assigning him many different tasks in favor of a single activity that lasted for hours.

During service, Gio escaped from Flavio, who hosted him like a political refugee in the appetizer section.

Manuel and Rick had taken him under their collective protective wing, like their little brother. Manuel was the older brother, calm, controlled, always ready to distribute praise and constructive criticism. Rick was the middle brother, a bit crazy and problematic, but always well-intentioned.

We went to bed tired. Often Gio fell asleep wearing only his work pants. He clutched his plush toy to his chest and buried his face in the pillow. I didn't stare at him. I kept my eyes on the ceiling, and when I realized I had let them fall on Gioele again, I brought them back up.

Sunday was our day off.

We woke up late, and later we headed out. We didn't have big plans, just a vague intention to see Turin, visit the Mole Antonelliana or Piazza San Carlo. Maybe we could visit the Egyptian museum.

Gioele was more excited about the metro. He liked standing at the back and watching the tracks being spat out by the moving carriage.

It was a beautiful day, perhaps the first since we arrived. The sun was shy in that city.

Gioele walked with his eyes fixed on the ground, trying to avoid the lines between the tiles and making a sound in his throat every time he stepped on one.

Already at the first stop, it became evident that he wasn't really interested in the city's architecture. We stopped at Piazza San Carlo, in front of the statue of a giant guy on horseback (was he San Carlo? Who knows).

Gioele hadn't given the statue even half a glance, instead, he was looking everywhere, every face around us, every pigeon flying over our heads.

It wasn't his usual wandering, this was tense, confused.

"Gio? We don't have to do the tourist visit if you don't want to."

He shrugged without speaking.

"We can go somewhere quieter."

Another shrug. He had been super happy that morning, but since we got off the metro and emerged in the city center, his mood had started to plummet rapidly.

An idea came to mind, a bit crazy and a bit embarrassing, but he had done it with me twice already.

I took his hand.

Gioele turned his head to look at our joined hands.

"Hmm..." He looked around. "There are a lot of people."

He said it as a calm observation. He didn't mean that there were a lot of people who would see us holding hands, right? It was just that... there were a lot of people.

"Yeah. Let's go somewhere quieter?"

He nodded. It took a good walk and a brief argument with Google Maps to find a quieter place. We left behind the crowd and made our way to a park with a metal fence and interiors curated with hedges, flowers, and benches.

Gioele's mood shot back up when he found a tree that apparently was his favorite.

"Did you know that maple seeds inspired helicopter propellers? Actually, I'm not sure if it's true, my mother told me. And what's your favorite tree?"

The embarrassment that seized me upon realizing that I didn't have a favorite tree was ridiculous, but the nice thing about talking to Gioele was that any embarrassment passed quickly, as did his memory of what had been said five seconds before.

Indeed, without waiting for me to answer his question, Gio bent down and emerged with a couple of maple seeds joined at the base. He jumped onto a low wall and reached his arm up, releasing the seeds at maximum tension. The propellers whirled downward.

Gioele chuckled, looking around as if he had just done something very naughty. Then he caught the fallen seeds and released them again.

I had almost mustered the courage to join in the game when my phone vibrated in my pocket.

"Oh, it's my dad. I have to answer."

Gioele gave me a thumbs-up before diving back from the wall and looking for more seeds.

"Hello?" I immediately heard the quiet, steady rumble of the truck. "Tell me you're not driving."

"Uh..." My father's deep voice took a few seconds to lie. "No?"

"I swear if you crash, I'll kill you."

"I've been doing this job for ten years," he complained with his heavy Farsi accent. "I can talk and drive at the same time. I'm not holding the... the..."

"The cellphone."

"That one."

I smiled even though he couldn't see me. I made sure Gioele wasn't paying attention to me and moved away a bit, just enough not to be heard.

"So, are you happy working, Serse?"

"It's not a real job, I don't get paid. But yeah, everything's fine."

"Ah," he replied. "But I don't hear you being happy. What's wrong?"

There wasn't really anything wrong. It was just...

"Baba..." I kicked a pebble and watched it bounce against the root of a tree. "What if I liked a guy?"

"Ah. And who is he?"

"No, I mean hypothetically."

"And who is he, hypothetically? Is he rich?"

"Baba..."

"Is he there? Ask! Ask! What are you waiting for?"

I sighed, moving the phone away from my ear. "GIO?" I yelled.

He lifted his head from where he was crouched on the ground. "HUH?"

"ARE YOU RICH?"

He pursed his lips, thinking about it for a moment. "NO."

I brought the phone back to my ear. "He said yes."

"Look, I heard. Don't you dare do things with the poor boy. Or when I die, I won't leave you anything."

"Oh no..." I kicked the same pebble again and went after it to kick it again. "I won't inherit NOTHING."

My father grunted something in Farsi that I had no hope of understanding.

"Don't worry. Nothing will come of it. He's not interested in me."

"WHAT?! Why not?"

"I don't know. Maybe he likes girls. Maybe he just doesn't like me."

My father emitted his supreme expression of disdain. "What a STUPID boy! Tell him we have a villa in Sa'adat Abad."

"We don't have any villa in Tehran. We don't have anything anywhere."

"Tell him you know how to write his name in Persian."

"I don't know how to write his name in Persian."

"Neither does he! Make up some- a random dodo!"

"A doodle?"

"Yes, that."

I rolled my eyes and did my best to communicate my expression to him with a very deep sigh. "Listen, baba..." But I didn't have a chance to finish formulating that thought.

Gioele stood up and, with his cupped hand, ran towards me.

"Look! I found a cricket!" He took my free hand and opened his over it. The little creature jumped quickly from his fingers to mine. Gioele smiled at me, with that smile of his that reminded everyone of how beautiful the universe was.

"Oh... it's cute... really cute."

The speed of the little jumps on my skin dictated the pace of my racing heart.

"Oh! Sorry," he said when he looked up and realized I was still on the phone. With shrugged shoulders, he retreated back to the tree.

The cricket jumped away.

I heard dad sigh on the other end of the line. "Tell me the name of the stupid boy. I'll show you how to write his name in Persian."