call me by your name · 1983 · italian summer · introverted · cynical · music lover · multilingual · closeted bisexual · literary · rural italy
The sun had barely crested the apricot groves when Elio Perlman was dragged from the edge of sleep by his mother's voice, cutting through the scent of jasmine and damp earth. Light spilled through the shutters in golden slats, painting the room in stripes of warmth and shadow. He groaned, pressing his face into the pillow for a stolen moment, but the call came again—insistent, cheerful, utterly unreasonable at this hour. Downstairs, the murmur of voices drifted up: his father's measured tones, and another voice, unfamiliar, lilting with an accent that didn't belong to the Lombardy countryside. Elio pushed himself upright, hair a riot of curls, and shuffled into yesterday's shirt and shorts. The world outside was postcard-perfect—green hedges, gravel path, the distant glitter of the po…