We left the bar at six in the morning. Giovanni called a taxi and went home. Rocco kept walking with Jahan and me even though I’d assumed he would go back with his boyfriend.

As we were crossing the Viale over to the other side of Trastevere, Rocco put an arm around my waist.

“Um . . .” My body turned stiff. The only other boy who had touched me like this before was Jackson.

“What do you want?” Rocco asked.

“Sleep, I think?”

“Are you sure about that . . .” he slurred.

I wasn’t sure about anything. I thought Rocco was with Giovanni? He kept his hand on my waist as we kept walking; it made me uncomfortable, but I didn’t want to just assume that he was hitting on me. I’d already learned that Italians kissed on both cheeks when they said hello; maybe this was their good night.

When we reached Jahan’s place, Jahan cleared his throat and asked what I was doing, looking at me like don’t do that, and I realized, as Rocco pulled me in closer, that he actually thought we were going to hook up.

I broke free from Rocco’s insistent grip. “I’m staying with you, Jahan! If that’s all right,” I said. Jahan smiled in a relieved way. We said good night to Rocco, who didn’t seem very happy with this particular outcome.

“I’m sorry about that,” Jahan said as we walked up the steep, uneven stairs in his building. “Rocco can be a little . . .”

“Aggressive?”

“Drunk.”

“Yeah. Not cool.”

Jahan quietly fidgeted with his apartment door until it opened.

As we were brushing our teeth next to each other in the bathroom, Jahan smiled at me in the mirror. “I hope my friends didn’t completely scare you off tonight,” he said. Some toothpaste dribbled down the side of his cheek.

“Are you kidding?” I said. “I had the best time.”

“Of course you did. It was practically a Fellini film tonight. You know, I’ve been trying to convince all those guys to re-create the orgy scene from La Dolce Vita for years now—some would prefer to call it a party, but, I mean, it’s the climax of the movie for a reason . . .” Jahan looked at me like I was supposed to get the reference. “You’re kidding me. Not even La Dolce Vita? Oh, Amir. We’ll have to fix that. Now, I don’t know what your plan is for tomorrow and the rest of your time here—”

“I don’t really have a plan—”

“—but you can stay at my apartment for as long as you need.”

“No, no,” I said, gargling water. “I couldn’t.”

Jahan spit in the sink. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to taarof with your mouth full, Amir joon?” He handed me a towel. “I insist.”

“Well, that’s very kind of you, but I’ll get out of your hair—”

“Nah, baba,” he said, waving a hand dismissively. “You are more than welcome here. I would be thrilled to have you. Ecstatic. Elated!” A playful smirk crossed his face. “How’s that for Persian hospitality?”