“Plus, he had all those hidden clues in his artwork,” I added.

“Ooh, someone’s seen The Da Vinci Code!” Jahan teased. I blushed. That was definitely how I knew that.

We finished our drinks and moved on to the bar, some kind of basement spot where I got carded for the first time in Italy. Giovanni and Rocco were bickering on and off, and within five minutes they had to go back outside for a full-on argument. Jahan and I turned our attention to one of the many screens in the bar; they were all playing dramatic scenes from decades’ worth of gay movies. Jahan was shocked that I had hardly seen any of them, and he made me pull out my phone and take down the names: God’s Own Country, Milk, Paris Is Burning. It was a long list.

“What’s going on with Giovanni and Rocco?” I asked.

“Oh, they’re always like this,” Jahan said. “I’m surprised you haven’t noticed before.”

I inhaled sharply. The air was smoky down there. “How close are you with Rocco?”

Jahan smiled. “Rocco is my best friend in the world.”

“What about Gaetano?”

Jahan turned. “What about him?”

“I, I just—” I stammered. “He told that story the other night.”

“He sure did,” Jahan said, rolling his eyes. “No, Gaetano’s fine. He’s sweet. We’re just not that close anymore.”

I couldn’t help but see Jahan in a different light after what Giovanni had told me. He wasn’t just the sun of the friend group; Jahan was also the shade, capable of shutting people out of his sunlight.

Somehow, despite Rocco and Giovanni’s fighting, we stayed out until six in the morning. At the end of the night, we all walked back to their apartment by the Colosseum and hugged goodbye. Before he turned around with Rocco, Giovanni winked at me. Jahan definitely noticed, but I didn’t say anything.

Jahan walked back with me across the glistening Tiber River. It was six thirty by the time I got home. I had a snack—leftover bread sticks—and passed out with crumbs all over my bed. When I woke up, I thought I was still dreaming, because someone had commented on my last Instagram post.

“Thx for fucking my fucking boyfriend”

Six Days Ago

IT WAS NINE thirty, almost ten in the morning. I deleted the comment right away and texted Giovanni, but he wasn’t responding. Then I texted Jahan. Miraculously, he was awake, so I put on some clothes and ran over to his apartment, arriving sweaty and out of breath.

“Well, you did the impossible,” Jahan said. He slammed the door shut. “You got me up in the morning.”

His apartment was significantly messier than it was just a few days ago. There were sheets of graph paper everywhere, a TI-83 calculator atop a stack of books, a textbook on the armchair. Jahan pushed the textbook off the chair and sat down.

“You won’t believe what Rocco did,” I said.

“What Rocco did? Honey, I already talked to Rocco and Giovanni. Why didn’t you tell me what happened last night?”