Dust particles hung almost motionless in the air, reflected and glowing in the bright light of the moon. Giancarlo lit a candle and placed it beside them by the cushions in the bottega. He moved to gently wipe away the dried blood on Antonio’s injured nose. The mere touch sent Antonio into pain.
“Ah,” He seethed, “bastardo! Don’t do that.”
“I’ll try and be more gentle,” Giancarlo said, “but you need to hold still. It appears to be not as bad as you are describing it out to be. There is some swelling, yes, but it does not look crooked or out of place.” A long silence lingered in the bottega. “Why did they do this to you?” Giancarlo finally asked.
Antonio looked away, embarrassed and spiteful at the same time. “I shoved the short one to the ground the other day and called him a figlio di puttano.”
“What possessed you to do that?” Giancarlo asked with a slight shock.
“He bumped into me and I was angry.”
“You overreacted, insulted him, and shoved him to the ground.”
“He bumped into me, and I was angry,” Antonio said with a firmer tone. “I don’t need to explain my actions to you, let alone sit here and be admonished by someone who would do the same thing.”
“You do need to explain your actions to me! I saved you, Antonio, it was fortunate that I happened to be walking by when I heard that commotion.”
“Ah yes, Giancarlo, the hero of Florence, how could I ever repay you?” Antonio could hardly contain the venom within each word.
“Mi spiache, did I do something to offend you? Why do you carry such an attitude with me?”
“My business is my business alone! I did not ask you to rescue me.”
“No, but what else was I supposed to do? I stopped those two from beating you to death, but this is how you return my friendship? You should be grateful!”
“Oh, so you would like to speak about friendship, Giancarlo? I thought you had forgotten about our friendship. I thought you have been too busy with your gross infatuation over Francesca.”
“Francesca? This has nothing to do with Francesca.”
“It has everything to do with her! Since the moment you saw her, everything has only been about Francesca. You have forgotten about me, but I was there first! I was your friend first! We were inseparable first! I loved you first!” Antonio’s eyes widened as he realized what he just said. Giancarlo stared with a deep, somber face, processing what he just said. The air was heavy during this long pause. Suddenly, Giancarlo leaned forward and gave Antonio a kiss. As Antonio tried to kiss him back, Giancarlo pulled away.
“Antonio,” he said, his face merely inches away from Antonio’s. “You are my dearest friend. But I cannot, and do not, love you the way that you love me.” Giancarlo stood up and silently walked out of the bottega, leaving Antonio alone in the deafening silence of the workshop.
Header Image: The Kiss of Judas, Giotto di Bondone. 1306.