we are the children of the world

[Beppe Agapito]

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It seemed that the other was quite happy to find him, and he couldn't contain a coy smile. The Italian accent was such a pleasing one, and the male let himself sink into it and drift upon its rolls and folds. Perhaps that partly explained his fondness for the ocean; in many ways, it mimicked the flowing sound of the language. These were the words he had grown up with, and recently, had been without. This woman made Beppe miss his mother, and even his detached father. Like the waves, the words reminded him of a time when things were simpler, days in Italy where the water lapped at the shore and words flowed just as freely. It had been a long time since anything had felt so perfect, and while he could never return to such a place, the reminder of it brought confused tears to his eyes.

"Sono Beppe," he replied, quietly but happily, "Piacere." He wondered why they had come, why they had left the rolling hills of Umbria or the stone streets of Veneto. He smiled softly at her last statement, and realized that he could do more than just wonder why they were here. "Perché siete venuti qui?" he asked, tipping his head a little and taking two tentative steps closer to the porch on which Sonja stood.