I leaned my head against the cold tile wall, gazing up at the clinical fluorescent lights, a soft thudding in my ears. I glanced back at the audiology technician behind the counter, leaning quietly over my hearing aids, a magnifying loupe held to one eye. 

I turned my eyes to the lights again and shut them, taking slow, steadying breaths, the antiseptic smell of the room barely enough to stabilize me.

Someone tapped my shoulder lightly, just as the vision behind my eyelids darkened, and I opened them to see Luca Moretti towering over me. My stomach, which had been nauseous all day, gave a sudden, random flip.

He crouched down in front of me, his face floating in front of mine, his dark eyebrows furrowed. He pointed at his ear once, then at the audiology technician behind the counter who was still working on the hearing aids. Then he made a "What?" gesture with his hands, placing them on the armrest beside me.

"Checked for head injury, ear infections, and all," I stated.

"What is it?" he mouthed.

"Moisture, I believe," I responded. "I will have to see my audiologist. As soon as possible."

"Because of the rain," he said. "Are the—" he made a dialing motion near his ear, possibly referring to my hearing aids as he enunciated slowly into the vacuum between us. "—okay?" He chewed on his bottom lip for a while before bringing his hands together in a heart gesture, separating the tips of his index fingers in a 'broken heart' symbol. "Broken?" he mouthed, doing the dialing motion again.

I shrugged, a small smile tugging at the corner of my lips. "Might need to replace. Depends."

He nodded, then stood up straight, pointing one finger at the empty seat beside me, then at himself as he mouthed, "Do you mind?"

I shook my head once, laying it against the cool tiles again. He sat beside me, leaning forward, one arm resting on his spread thighs as he gestured again. First at his ears, then a 'what' gesture. I blinked slowly at him. He clicked his tongue, shook his head, and reached into his pocket. He pulled out his phone, typing something quickly before handing it to me.

What do you have exactly? What sort of condition?

I stared at the blatant mistype before correcting it and typing a reply.

Severe-to-profound bilateral hearing loss, with useful residual hearing and bilateral hearing aids. Congenital.

He leaned over my shoulder, and I caught a whiff of fresh cedar and a soft aqua scent, a stark difference to the gaudy ocean one he doused over himself as a teen. This was different from the tobacco, leather, and mahogany vanilla one he had been wearing at the gala. Much smoother and airier.

He read the words a few times before typing in another question.

So you can tell that someone is saying something, but can't tell what they are saying?

I typed back.

I rely on lip reading. Even at its best, it is only partially effective. But my extensive speech therapy means I can rely on it enough to function regularly.

He took the phone in his hand, pursing his lips as he read the words. He handed the phone back to me after a few seconds.

So you don't hear words at all?

No, I responded. It is like a hum. A garbled mess. But in close quarters, I can sort of almost make out the shape of the words.

That seems rough, he had typed.

I shook my head, using my chin and forefinger to pull his gaze back towards me from the phone. His skin under my fingers seemed to warm up instantly, which was odd, considering the temperature in the clinic was meticulously regulated by centralised air conditioning.

"This is what it has always been like," I stated. "So this is what I know. I do not know if this is harder."

Even though he had clearly just got out of the shower from his damp curls, they still fell in perfect rivulets on his forehead. His eyes looked black under the lights, his eyelashes casting shadows on his sharp cheekbones. I could feel the beginnings or remnants of stubble on his jaw where I was still holding him. I let him go slowly, feeling my fingertips tingling softly. Another anomaly.

"What happened with the game?" I asked. 

He flashed two fingers, then pointed at himself, made an 'O' sign, and pointed a thumb to his right.

2-0, with Luca scoring both our goals. 

I nodded at him, sighing in relief. My unreliability hadn't mattered at the end of the day. 

"I am relieved to hear that. Congratulations," I said, giving him a half smile, to which his face got redder still. 

As I gazed at him, I recalled Mum telling me about the invitation. The one her brother, and my uncle, had been insisting we take for months now.

"Luca—" I started. "Would you like to come for dinner at Casa Morelli this weekend?"

His eyes widened slightly, a tick going off in his jaw. "Huh."

I clicked my tongue. "Dinner. It is a restaurant. At Via della Brisa, Brera."

He raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching as he flashed me three fingers, mouthing "STARS."

I nodded. "Three Michelin stars. It is frequented by A-listers, and my uncle has been pestering me to visit it. Would you like to accompany me?"

He was quiet for a while, his eyes flitting to my lips for a split second. Was he too, perhaps, engaging in lip reading?

He nodded once, mouthing, "FANCY."

He brushed his fingers through his curls, but since he couldn't see, he messed up the natural geometry of them completely. I clicked my tongue, reaching over to fix the strands on his forehead so they were perfectly symmetrical.

He held his breath, his shoulder muscles tight as I brushed my fingers through the soft damp curls. "You ruined it by doing that," I informed him. "They are fine now."

He gulped, his lips parting slightly, his breathing ragged even though he had—to my knowledge—been sitting still for the past several minutes.

I was aware of the technician appearing in front of me. I glanced up at her. 

She pointed at the hearing aids, mimed wiping them dry, then held up a flat palm: wait. She pointed towards the devices again and made a small checking gesture: check.

She placed the hearing aids onto my open palms. "I have—" she made a 'call' sign with her hand and pointed at me. "—your audiologist—" she enunciated.

I nodded and thanked her, placing my hearing aids back into place. I could no longer hear the fizz, pop, and whoosh of the static crackling through my hearing aids, which was a nice change

Luca started to say something to me again, his mouth opening before he frowned, and I followed his gaze to see his phone was ringing. 'LOLLO' the contact name read, which I assumed was the Italian striker, Leo Lorenzo. The one who supposedly, at least according to some reporters, deserved my spot on the team. I could not fathom how someone could be so objectively wrong and still be confident about it.

Luca sighed and got to his feet. "Saturday," he mouthed at me. Then he placed his phone between his shoulder and ear, talking rapidly in Italian—which I could tell due to my inability to lip-read a single word. He hung up the call and shoved his phone back into his pocket before looking at me, making two 'K' letter shapes with both hands and tapping one on top of the other.

I wasn't sure what to respond. So I took the advice I remembered from an animated movie I had watched and loved as a child.

I smiled and nodded.

He seemed satisfied at that as he gave me a two-fingered salute and left the clinic. I reached for my phone, pulling it out and typing in his gesture.

two letter k gesture, hand tapping on top of each other

I couldn't help but let out a breathless giggle at the search results, an odd warmth blooming in my chest although there had once again not been any change in the surrounding temperature to the best of my knowledge.

It was the ASL gesture for 'Take care.'