Warning for sexual themes and situations, and suicidal ideation.
*Louise – Monaco
*Abel – Netherlands (not related to Belgium in this fic)
*Felicia – fem!Italy
*Sophia – fem!Austria
Breathless in the Atmosphere
Part One: The Night
~/~
Antonio was lucky. That's what people had told him his entire life.
He was from a moderately small Spanish town overlooking the Mediterranean, which was famous for its beaches and tourism. His parents owned a small inn, and it did very well with American and European tourists who wanted to spend a summer swimming and getting a tan. They weren't wealthy, but they weren't poor either. It was a niche inn to go too. They had many interesting guests.
To keep him occupied, Antonio's parents gave him clay to play with; and he would sit somewhere in the lobby and sculpt who knows what for hours on end. He was an only child, and his parents couldn't afford to send him to daycare.
One day, an old man came to the inn. He was tall and tan, and spoke perfect Spanish; but he didn't seem like a local. He spotted Antonio sculpting in the corner and watched him work. Antonio sculpted birds mostly. There were many of them at the beaches.
The old man approached Antonio's parents, and told them their boy had a talent. He needed to be in art school. Of course, Antonio's parents had no money, but the old man said not to worry.
"I'll pay for everything. It's my gift to the art community."
He was sent to art school after art school: middle school, through high school, and college. He had a natural aptitude for all of the arts – some called him reminiscent of Picasso – but in the end, he always fell back on sculpting. Antonio felt as though he could see the art clearer that way. It was satisfying to build something from your hands and help it stand. Marble was the greatest of them all.
On one of his class fieldtrips, they took a boat to Italy, and toured the art museums. Antonio saw Bernini's Apollo and Daphne and fell head over heels. He wanted to create sculpture like that. He wanted to completely conquer marble and bend it to his will.
At twenty-four, he moved to New York City. His benefactor told him he should leave Europe and find his art.
At twenty-five, Antonio received one last letter from his benefactor. He included no money, and said:
"You need to start anew. Now's the time to strip away what you have been taught and create your own world in the arts."
But to create a marble sculpture…
…You need money for the marble.
Antonio tried jobs. He tried being a barista, a bartender, a waiter, a cashier, a grocer, even a lifeguard at a nearby indoor pool. But he grew bored. For a time, they were interesting, but after two weeks, he grew bored. It was a lackluster lifestyle. It didn't suit Antonio. He needed something more. He needed passion, and emotion. His art needed it too.
So for a month, Antonio was jobless. He had one large piece of marble that he was nurturing slowly, like a flower. Of course, he needed to sell work to make money, but Antonio couldn't rush his art. He cared too much for it. If his masterpiece required that he survive on ramen, water, and no heat in a New York City winter, so be it. His soul was more important. It hurt to not touch his piece and see it blossom.
It was when Antonio was down to his last three hundred dollars that he knew he had to find new work. He was on the subway to the art store when the thought occurred to him, and he stared mindlessly at the subway ceiling as he brainstormed jobs he hadn't tried yet.
"Excuse me," a feminine voice called to him.
Antonio blinked from his reverie and glanced to his left. A pretty woman was looking at him expectantly. She pointed to the ground.
"I dropped my pen and it rolled near your shoe. Can you pick it up?" she asked politely. Her glasses glinted under the florescent light and she was holding a notebook filled with numbers.
Antonio immediately smiled. "Of course," he said, and bent over to scoop the pen up. He handed it to her quickly. "Here you are. You have lovely eyes by the way."
The lady looked very pleased by the compliment, but her smile told Antonio she was accustomed to flattery. He didn't mind. He loved to flatter people.
"Thank you," she replied. "You have an interesting accent. Spanish, right? Where are you from?"
"A town near Valencia. It's very small, you probably wouldn't know it," he chuckled and brushed some of his hair away. It had been a while since he had the opportunity for pleasant conversation. He'd been working for days. "I've been in New York for about a year now."
The woman seemed quite interested in him. "It's a pity we haven't crossed paths before now. What do you do…" she trailed off and waited for a name.
"Antonio," he finished with a smile. "I'm an artist. Well, I'm hoping to become one, anyway. I'm trying to build up a collection."
"Really? Of what sort of art?"
"Sculpture. I love to sculpt marble. But it's very expensive, unfortunately."
"Yes, I know. I've seen quite a bit of it," she commented lightly. Her clothes were absolutely pristine, Antonio noticed. And all designer as well. She must be New York City elite. "You know," she started, and scribbled something on clean sheet of notebook paper. "If you want to make it big. This is the gallery you need to show in. It houses the best of the up-and-coming. Only the best." She gave Antonio the paper.
"Galleria dell'Atmosfera," he repeated. The name rang a faint bell. "Is that on—"
"Fifth Avenue? Yes."
Antonio's eyes stared at the name in faint wonder. "It must be very difficult to get into."
"Very much so."
Antonio kept staring at the name, and a slow grin spread across his lips. He felt the fire of a challenge burn in his chest. "I'm very good at sculpture though."
"That'll help," she said. And she flipped her notebook to a clean page. Her eyes shifted to Antonio again, and this time very sharply. "But you'll need money. And connections."
Antonio laughed, but he didn't sound discouraged. "I do need money. That's true. But I'm very friendly. I can make connections pretty well."
At that, the lady flashed a full smile. "I can believe that. You seem very sociable. I'm sure you were very popular in Spain."
Antonio chuckled, but didn't answer.
She started writing something down. "Tell me, Antonio," she started. "What would you say if I told you I could give you a job that pays very well?"
"How well?" Antonio asked.
"Very," she repeated. Her pen stopped and she moved to the next line. "You're in your twenties, right?"
"Yes, I'm twenty-fiv—"
"I thought so. That'll do just fine. Perfect actually. And you seem like quite the romancer, too. Clients will like that. Especially, if you can lay the accent on a little thicker." She tore the page from her notebook, folded it once and passed it to him. She looked him square in the eye, and Antonio swore he'd never seen such dark and calculating blue eyes. "My name's Louise. If you're interesting in becoming a male escort, just call this number."
Antonio's eyes widened, and he had the sudden urge to laugh.
"I assure you, this is not a joke," she added swiftly, and her voice was serious like ice. "I run a respectable business. It's high in demand with the elite."
Antonio didn't know what to say. But he thought he should say something. "Um, I don't know if I would be very well suited to—"
"Nonsense, you're absolutely perfect," she interrupted with a small laugh. "You're exactly the type I look for. Charming, kind, sensitive, flirtatious…being a male escort isn't all about sexual favors you know. A lot of people want more of…the boyfriend experience. This requires a little more tact. And I think you'd be very good at it."
Antonio felt his cheeks turn pink and he darted around the empty cart nervously. There was a couple and an old man on the other side – too far for any of them to overhear – but it was embarrassing nonetheless.
"Thank you," he replied awkwardly.
The train was coming to a halt, and Louise stood up on her four-inch heels. She tucked the notebook in her bag and slung it over her shoulder. "Don't thank me. I'm just trying to help out the art community." She offered Antonio a sly smile, and the bell dinged. The subway doors opened. "I'll be waiting for your call," she said.
And Louise strolled through the door. A family of four walked in and took her place.
Antonio stared at the paper.
Upper East Side, Male Escort/Rent a Gentleman Service
For Sophisticated Clients Only
If interested, please call (xxx) xxx-xxxx
Ask for Louise
He carried the paper around all day as he did his errands. He let the thought sink in. He let it settle.
After he arrived at his apartment, he realized he lost two hundred of his remaining three hundred dollars. Fifty of which, he already spent on sculpting supplies.
Antonio had fifty dollars and a folded piece of paper to his name. It kind of seemed like destiny at this point.
He walked a block to the nearest payphone and dialed the number.
~/~
"Toni, darling!"
Antonio grinned, and he enveloped Emma in a hug. She was light as a feather, always lathered with the perfume of lemons and rosewater.
"Happy birthday, Emma," he said and pecked her quick on the cheek. She blushed and flashed her dimples. Then Antonio reached within his inside jacket pocket and presented her with a small box. It was Tiffany blue.
She clapped her hands and grasped it. "Oh, you remembered! I can't believe you remember every year!" she exclaimed as she untied the ribbon. Her pale-green eyes flicked to Antonio, and a shy giggle escaped her lips. "Don't tell me you bought me another…oh, yes! You did! It's so cute! A little dove!"
Antonio laughed along with her, and picked the silver charm delicately between his fingers. "Would you like me to put it on for you?" he asked politely.
She nodded her head and presented him with her wrist. She always wore her favorite charm bracelet. Antonio had bought it for her birthday three years ago, and every year since then, he buys another charm.
After it was fastened, she giggled and wrapped her arms around Antonio again. Her voice was much quiet when she whispered near his ear. "Promise you'll spend the day with me. Ivan's in China again. I don't want to be alone."
Antonio petted her soft blonde hair with one hand and placed his other on her back. "Of course," he murmured, and he pressed his lips to her jawline. He started walking forward, and she stepped backwards with him. He flashed a seductive smile. "Today, I'm all yours. I'll do whatever you want."
Emma's eyes shined and she grasped the sides of Antonio's face. She wanted a kiss. She wanted to be held. And Antonio was good at it.
He kissed her breathless, then cuddled with her on the couch. She wanted to bake something, and he taught her how to make churros. She had box seats to a Broadway play she had planned on using with Ivan; now, she used them with Antonio.
They didn't even have sex.
Emma was one of his softer clients. Each of them required something different. Antonio had to write things down to remember.
The next day, he saw Elizaveta for lunch. They met at a fancy bistro on the fifty-fourth floor. She was wearing a knee-length, mint tea dress, and she looked remarkably uncomfortable. She was adjusting the straps for the fourth time as she tried to make conversation with a middle-aged couple next to her. Antonio strolled out of the elevator and adjusted his suit again.
As soon as Elizaveta spotted him, her eyes widened and she called across the entire room, "Oh, thank god! Finally! Antonio, you're ten minutes late!"
He laughed and skipped the last few steps to her side. He kissed her cheek. "Lo siento," he apologized quickly.
"You're always on Spanish time anyway," she dismissed with a mocking smile. Then she gestured to the middle-aged couple. "Mother, father, I'd like to introduce you to Antonio Carriedo. He's my boyfriend."
Antonio glanced at her curiously, but was swift to smile accommodatingly anyway. "Nice to meet you," he said and shook their hands. "Eliza has told me so much about you."
Elizaveta slapped him hard on the back and she laughed a bit too loud. "Oh yes, yes. We've chatted about you guys quite a bit. But Antonio's a shy little bunny, so he's been afraid of meeting you."
"That's true," Antonio added quickly, and he rubbed his back.
Elizaveta's mother smiled. "It's a pleasure."
Her father nodded his head.
Once an awkward silence settled, Elizaveta clapped her hands and exclaimed, "Well, okay then! How about we get this party going! Waiter, do you want to show us to our table?"
"I have a nam—"
"I don't care! Just get us moving!" she yelled, her anxiety seeping through.
Antonio patted her shoulder and whispered, "Everything's all right. Don't worry."
Elizaveta took a deep breath and pressed her lips together. She forced another smile. "Come now! Let's get our table before they pass it away!"
Elizaveta was an unusual case for Antonio. They'd been meeting for two months now, all at awkwardly populous places. She only invited him places where she knew they'd be seen. Elizaveta Héderváry was a famous heiress. She wasn't world renown or anything, but she was famous among the New York society. It was vague where their money came from, but Antonio always guessed it stemmed from something illegal.
In any case, Elizaveta was unusual because she didn't require any romance whatsoever. She hired Antonio to pretend. She needed a fake male counterpart to get her parents off of her back, and she needed to be spotted by the media to make it believable.
"How long do we have to keep doing this?" Antonio whispered to Elizaveta when her parents were caught up in the wine selection.
She turned to him with a blank smile. "Until my parents are blind or dead," she replied back. "If they find out I'm a lesbian, they'll have a heart attack on the spot. I'm just trying to save their lives here."
Antonio glanced at her parents again. They appeared to be rather normal. "All right," he sighed. "If you're sure."
"Of course I am," she said. "Now kiss me already." And he did.
Yeah…
Elizaveta was a special case.
Antonio also had male clients on occasion. They rarely wanted the same things as his female clients. It was never as emotional as it was physical.
His least favorite client was someone named Abel. Antonio was fairly sure Abel didn't like him either. At least not personality-wise. The first night, Antonio tried to make pleasant conversation by hitting at all of the usual topics; he even complimented Abel a fair amount of times.
Abel didn't have any of it.
He didn't like small talk. He didn't like Antonio's easy-going attitude. He didn't like Antonio's flirtatiousness.
Antonio didn't like Abel's silence. He didn't like his seriousness. He didn't like his apartment. He didn't like his cleanliness.
The only thing they could agree on was the sex. It was always fast, rushed, aggressive, and it spared few words. Abel knew exactly what he wanted, and though Antonio never admitted it, he liked it when someone took control once in a while. Most of the time, he had to make the decisions.
The ending was always pretty terrible though. It went one of two ways. Either Abel came, released Antonio and fell onto the bed (or couch, or etc.), and Antonio would simply get dressed and walk out. Or, Abel would finish and release Antonio, and one of them would say something careless, they'd yell, get into an argument, and they'd go another round.
Either way, Antonio walked home really annoyed and sexually satisfied.
A few months ago, Antonio had a short-term client, which he still remembered. He was one of his favorite male clients. He was very American in every respect, but there was also something endearing about him.
Alfred had just gotten into a bad breakup; he wanted Antonio to comfort him so he wouldn't have to be alone. They ended up going to quite a few parties. Alfred was an openly gay baseball player, and quite the social butterfly in the night scene. He was usually very good at going to things like this, he said, but since the breakup, he'd been very depressed.
Antonio had to be very gentle with Alfred. But he liked him. They stopped seeing each other when Alfred's ex-boyfriend heard of their ongoing rendezvous, and flew all the way from London to yell at him. He hasn't left since though.
Aside from the short-term flings, Antonio's regular clients for the last few months, and in some case years, have been Emma, Elizaveta, Abel, and on occasion, Louise.
"You've gotten very good at this job very fast," Louise would say. But she would also say it unsurprisingly, and add, "I always knew you would."
Antonio laughed at that, but he realized early on that Louise was right. He was very good at this sort of job. And he liked it. He liked to comfort people, compliment them, kiss them, and make love to them. He liked to make people feel better. He liked to make people feel. And Antonio believed that sexuality and sensuality were facets to his life, and his art.
Like most artists, Antonio felt a general dissatisfaction with the world. It was something about the reality of things. It made him sad, melancholy, disheartened, and generally quiet. Art and love were the only elements of magic to life. They were the only things worth living for, worth working and struggling for. This must have been the realization Antonio's benefactor wanted him to make, because since it, Antonio was able to breathe life into his art. He sculpted lovers, listless souls, and dreamers. He sculpted emotion.
And with his new income, he sculpted quite a lot of marble in the past three years. He only started submitting it this past year however, and his pieces were accepted in some of the smaller contemporary galleries. Not the one he dreamt of though.
A few of his female clients, like Emma and Elizaveta, took Antonio to galas held at the famous Galleria dell'Atmosfera, and each time he left starstruck and desperate. It was an elegant, sophisticated place. Antonio had never visited a place quite like it.
The Galleria was modern, yet it held a venerable air. It was three stories high with walls all white, and columns of mainly Etruscan order. The staircases were simple, and sleek, and said so much in their purity. All of the art that hung there was magnificent, and curated in such a way that one would have always believed a post-modern multi-media feminist painting stood by a life-size, bronze sculpture of a tiger and its cubs.
They had one of everything, and like Louise said, they only had the best.
Antonio wanted to be included so desperately. He prayed that luck was still on his side.
~/~
Lovino was staring out the car window. He felt very far away. He wanted to stay in the feeling.
But the music of New York would always bring him back. The noises of traffic, the subtle hum of rain, the tapping on the iPhone by his sister…there was never any serenity.
"Lovi," Felicia called.
He hummed in acknowledgment, but couldn't be bothered to deter his gaze. He was fascinated with the passersby, and he wondered why they all seemed so foreign and content.
"We're near the last gallery of the day. Blue Spiral, remember?"
He hummed again.
"…Are you okay? Are you tired?"
Lovino turned away from the window and sat forward. "Yeah, a bit," he admitted.
"Do you feel up to visiting this place? We don't have to if you don't want to," Felicia offered.
Lovino stared at his hands, and a voice in his head told him he had to keep going. "I'm fine," he said. "It's just one more. Then we can go home."
Felicia pursed her lips and debated believing her brother. But he didn't appear sick or anything. Hopefully, it wouldn't take long.
"We're here," the driver announced.
Felicia tucked the phone in her coat pocket and opened her door. "Great! We'll see you in an hour Giovanni!"
Lovino only nodded at him, and followed Felicia out the right door. He stood on the street and buttoned his gray suit. Then slowly, he followed his sister indoors.
"Ve~ I forgot how cute this place was! It's been a while since I've been here," Felicia cooed and waved to the lady, or was it man, at the front desk. "Feliks! Ciao! Sorry, we're here sort of late. Traffic held us up."
"Oh, it's no problem," he said with a wave of his hand. "The traffic's totally bad right now, I understand."
Lovino closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He didn't have the patience for this, but he was trying.
Felicia noticed her brother's irritation however, and quickly sped up the process. "Well, we're on a bit of a time crunch. Can you go ahead and show us the pieces you were talking about?"
"Of course. Like right this way," he assured them and strolled around the front desk and towards the back of the space. He was wearing a dress over pants, but that wasn't the strangest thing in New York.
Feli made sure to make pleasant talk with Feliks, while Lovino stood numbly in the back.
"So this is the painting I was telling you about. It's by that one guy, you know, and it's gorgeous, right? And the colors, I—"
"No," Lovino muttered, and he kept walking.
Feliks stared after him a bit wide-eyed and nervous, but Felicia patted his shoulder. "Ve~ I'm sorry, but Lovi's looking for something very particular. He can be kind of blunt about these things."
They kept waking together, and Feliks tried again with a series of minimalist canvases. "These were done by my friend in Romania. They're like totally—"
"No," Lovino said, and he turned on his heel.
Feliks showed him a statuette of a ballerina.
"No."
An installation of a moose skeleton.
"No."
A tapestry that hung from the ceiling like a hammock.
"No."
Eventually, Feliks was so disheartened he kept his opinions to himself, and trailed side by side with Feli as Lovino led the way. He stopped at each piece, strolled around its perimeter, pressed his lips together and moved on.
"He's very particular," Felicia kept insisting with nervous laughs. "We try to have as many unique pieces as possible, so he's looking for something that'll complete the collection."
And it felt as though they walked forever. It wasn't even a large gallery. But touring and examining art was tiring, and when all galleries were designed as blank voids, it had a way of altering the perspective. But there was a light at the end of the tunnel.
Lovino stopped in front of a piece. And for the first time that day, his eyes shifted in deep emotion. The piece touched his soul.
It was a life-size marble piece, which was rare in of itself nowadays—at least in the particular area. But although it was marble, it was soft, delicate, and touchable. It was a boy bent over the side of a pool, or perhaps a bank, and his feet lost in the water. It was simple, and hushed, yet expertly done. The expression of the boy was carved by no amateur; this person knew how to release the turmoil from the inside.
It was called Melancholy, by Antonio Carriedo.
"Oh, wow," Felicia commented, and she tilted her head. "This is a very pretty one, no?"
Feliks was a bit jumpy, but he tried to act enthusiastic. "Yeah, we got it last week. This guy's kind of new, but he's been popping up in a few places. He's like Spanish or something."
"Is that so?" Feli replied, and she turned her attention to Lovino. "What do you think?" she asked tentatively.
His eyes flitted over the piece one last time before darting to her and to the floor. "I like it," he said, and stuck a hand in his pant pocket before turning on his heel. "We're getting it."
Felicia clapped her hands. "Yay! Fratello finally decided!" she exclaimed and looked to Feliks. "This is okay, right?"
"W-well," he stammered. "it like, totally is, but…it was sold to someone else already."
"We'll triple the offer," Lovino said over his shoulder. He was still walking away.
Feliks gaped after him, and stared at Feli for an explanation.
She smiled and explained, "He just really wants it. We'll be sure to leave a big tip, okay?" She winked at him and scurried after her brother.
~/~
Lovino spent three hours ordering people to set up the piece and adjust the lighting properly. He was only energetic when he wanted to be, and he wanted his art done right.
Looking at the piece eased his nerves and lifted his heart at the same time. He felt balanced, and he felt real.
Sometimes he didn't feel that way at all.
"When do you want to hold the gala?" Felicia asked. She was on her iPad now, and flipping through various emails.
Lovino kept gazing at the piece. "This weekend."
"Oh?" Felicia glanced up. She was a bit surprised, but noticing how enraptured her brother was with the sculpture made her happy. She smiled and opened up the calendar. "Should I invite all of the usual people?"
"That's fine," Lovino said.
"How about the artist? Him too?"
Lovino didn't respond right away. His eyes travelled up the spine of the boy and to the face again. "I don't like meeting the artists."
"But it's only proper that we invite him, no?"
"I know," Lovino sighed, and he closed his eyes in resignation. He turned his back to the piece and looked at Feli. "Fine. Invite him."
Felicia smiled and tapped away at her iPad.
Lovino walked out of the room and towards the gallery's exit. He knew the illusion would shatter soon. It was his fault anyway, because it was the same each time.
He romanticized art.
And he wasn't supposed to do that.
~/~
Antonio was with Elizaveta again. They were at a café this time and waiting for some paparazzi to show up.
"What will you have?" Eliza asked as she looked over the menu. This was a very nice café.
Antonio looked down and scrolled through the list. "Um, a chai tea latte is fine. Thank you," he smiled at the waiter and handed him the menu.
"And I'll have a peppermint mocha," Elizaveta decided and tossed the menu into the waiter's arms. "Thanks," she added as he walked away. She rolled her eyes and sighed. "Sorry to drag you out again. I know you have art and shit to do."
"It's no problem," Antonio laughed. "You're paying me anyway."
Elizaveta waved her hand dismissively. "Money's nothing. I just feel bad wasting your time. I know I'm wasting mine." She pursed her lips and stared at her reflection in the window. "So I met this girl the other day…"
"Oh? Do tell." Antonio's eyes sparkled.
Unexpectedly, Elizaveta started laughing and she tried to hide her smile. "Yeah, I was going out with a friend of mine—his name's Gilbert. I'll introduce you sometime. Anyway, we were going out, and this girl—oh my god. This girl looked like she walked straight out of a 1940s movie. It was hilarious. She looked so out of place."
"What's her name?" Antonio asked curiously. He was getting to know a good bit about the society girls of New York now.
Elizaveta shook her head. "Sophia, but you wouldn't know her. She's from Austria. She moved here for music, I believe." Elizaveta smiled slightly. "Anyway, as I was saying…Gilbert saw this girl loitering near the bar, and man, she looked so confused. Also kind of angry. It was adorable."
"Hm, sounds like it," Antonio said.
"But listen to this—Gilbert ended up hitting on her, and Sophia looked like she was approached by an ogre. Her eyes," Elizaveta laughed. "I swear she was about to spit in Gilbert's face. But I swooped in and dragged him away, and Sophia bolted out of the bar."
The waiter returned with their drinks. "Here's your mocha, and your latte," he announced, and walked away.
Elizaveta took a sip of her drink. "But yeah, that was Wednesday night. I think I might try to track this girl down. She was interesting."
"Don't scare her," Antonio warned gently, and he blew on his latte.
"Oh, please," Elizaveta chuckled. "I'm incredibly charming when I want to be. I can be the belle of the ball." Elizaveta tightened her unruly ponytail and swiped some stray bangs from her face. She wasn't helping her point. "Man, they sure are taking their time today. Do you think they can't recognize me or something? Should I have changed?"
Antonio bit his lip and tried not to smile. "Well, you are wearing sweatpants, a stained hoodie, and running shoes," he commented. "Of course, you're still as lovely as ev—"
"Save it," she interrupted. "I don't pay you for compliments. I know how I look. I was taking one of Gilbert's stupid fitness classes again. The asshole keeps making me come."
"Why is that?"
"I think he might be lonely. His roommate is still in Milan," she replied simply without explaining who the roommate was. "I really should introduce you two. Remind me about that later."
Antonio nodded and he subtly checked his phone. As a general rule, he tried not to check his phone when he was with one of his clients, but Elizaveta was a special case. She wasn't as interested in the romance or the attention, so Antonio had more leeway.
He saw that he had three missed calls and two new voicemails. He pressed his phone to his ear and listened to the first one.
"Hey there, Toni. So this is Feliks. I had a really weird day the other day. Like you totally wouldn't believe…"
"So what about you, you little streetwalker? Sleep with anyone interesting lately?" Elizaveta asked tiredly. She was getting bored of waiting, but gossip always interested her.
"…So yeah. But these guys will probably call you soon about your piece. They paid you like three times as much. I think they might be loaded."
Antonio alternated his attention from the voicemail to her. A mischievous spark lit in his eyes. "Of course," he purred mysteriously, and focused on the next voicemail.
"Ciao Antonio! This is Felicia Vargas. I am one of the owners and curators of the Galleria dell'Atmosfera…"
"Oh! Who? Who? Do I know her? Or him?" Elizaveta questioned quickly. Antonio ignored her, and she persisted, "Aw, come on Toni! At least let me live through your life! I have to pretend to be a princess here."
"We bought one of your pieces from the Blue Spiral Gallery downtown the other day. It's quite stunning. We have already taken the liberty of placing it in our gallery. Of course, if this disagrees with you, let us know. But if not…please come to our gala this weekend. We'd love to meet you. You can call me back on this number or email me at…"
Antonio's eyes widened and he stared openly at Eliza.
She gaped. "Oh my god. It was that handsome soccer player that passed through the town last week, wasn't it?" Elizaveta demanded, her eyes glinting.
"What? No, no…" Antonio stopped and he smiled a bit awkwardly. "Oh, well. Yes, actually. But that's not—I just got a phone call from the gallery."
"Which gallery?"
"The gallery," Antonio affirmed, and his smile was ecstatic.
After a pause, recognition lit Elizaveta's eyes and she exclaimed, "No shit! That's amazing! That's one of the best places to show in New York!"
"I know," Antonio gushed and he felt his face grow hot in excitement. "I know. Oh dios, I know."
"Hm, do you mind if I tag along. Maybe we can actually get photographed there," Elizaveta suggested slyly.
Antonio quickly scrolled through his mental list of dates and names. He didn't have anyone else promised, though galas were the sort of thing that Emma enjoys going to. But her husband was back now. "Sure," he said. "It might be nice to have someone in the know."
Elizaveta smirked. "I feel like we're having a bit of a Pretty Woman moment here. Should I take you shopping around town and find you a nice suit?"
Antonio flashed a grin. "That sounds fantastic."
~/~
There was something about the night. Perhaps it was the abyss of the night sky, or the hypnotic lights of the cars.
It was like a siren call: it beckoned Lovino. How could he not ignore the darkness and the colorful lights? It disoriented him, it confused him, it drew him in.
He didn't buckle his seatbelt, and his foot pressed harder at every turn.
Cones.
Railing.
Cliff.
Car.
Pole.
So many options to choose from. He wanted to feel it. He wanted to feel something before it was over.
~/~
The night had long since passed. It was three days later. The hours kept turning.
Lovino was still lying in bed, and was staring blankly at his clock. He knew Felicia would walk in any moment now.
There was a knock on the door.
Right on time.
"Yes?" he called, and turned over on his back. There was still no reply. "Just get in here, Feli."
Slowly, the door opened and Feli's shy and curious face peaked through. She immediately smiled at her brother. "Ciao, Lovi. How are you feeling? Any better?"
His head ached from hitting the airbag. His arm hurt from the shards of the windshield that grazed through his flesh. And the rest of his body just hurt from everything else.
"A bit better," he mumbled and sat up. He was careful about the stiches in his right bicep. "What's the itinerary?" he asked quietly. If he didn't ask, he knew Feli would make him sit there.
"Um," Feli paused as she glanced at her brother's wounds.
"Just tell me," Lovino insisted. "It's a party, not a marathon. I can handle that."
Feli gnawed at her lip worriedly. "Well," she began. "If you're sure…you can always leave early if you don't feel well."
"Yeah, yeah," he yawned.
Feli looked at her iPad. "All right, so it's 4:34 now. The party begins at seven, the talk is at nine, among all of that is greeting the guests, the artists, the donors, the dealers…"
"Uhuh." Lovino rubbed his temple.
"Oh! We have to remember to show the new artist around. We'll have him say a few words about his piece as well."
"Have you met him already?" Lovino asked offhandedly.
Feli's eyes glittered and she giggled to herself. "Si, I have. He's the sweetest. He's so nice. And very familiar. We might've seen him before."
"Right. Well, we'll probably have to make sure he's acquainted with everyone. You better take the reigns with that. No doubt he's as incoherent as the rest of them."
Feli giggled again. "Actually, I don't think that will be a problem. He's pretty sociable."
Lovino rolled his eyes and rolled out of bed. "I'm not taking about being verbose. I'm talking about having tact. We don't need another incident." Lovino frowned at the floor-length window, and watched New York pass him by.
"Ve~ I know, but that won't be a problem either," Feli laughed.
Lovino peered over his shoulder, mildly interested. "What do you mean?"
"Hm, I don't know how to put it, but there's something about him that's very suave," Feli said dreamily. "He kind of reminds me of a prince. Or a celebrity."
"Stop romanticizing him," Lovino ordered and turned back to the window. "I'm sure his good impression will fade the longer you get to know him."
Felicia hummed to herself and tapped at her iPad. "He's so cute though. How could I not like him?"
"Don't you have a fiancé?" Lovino remarked snidely. Not that he liked the German, but he knew artists were always worse.
"Of course, of course! No one's as cute as Luddy," Feli exclaimed. She giggled, and added subtly, "But this guy's pretty close."
Lovino sighed, and his breath fogged a spot on the window.
~/~
It was a grand reception. The gallery was glittering, and the guests appeared on the floor like characters from a fairy-tale. It was very well-to-do. Formal attire wasn't just required, it was expected.
At around eight, Lovino strolled into the gallery. He exited from the elevator only the staff used. It ran up to the offices on the floor above.
He wore one of his best suits: it was black and tailored, and he didn't even appear injured anymore. The bandage on his hand was visible, but he tucked it into his pocket and made no fuss. He usually had a habit of brushing his hair away from his face when he was nervous, but he'd just have to do it with his left hand this time.
Upon entering the crowd, Lovino graced people with a smile. It was polite and soft, and almost genuine. He liked some of the people there. It was his crowd after all.
"Lovino," a pretty voice called.
He recognized it at once, and turned around. "Michelle," he smiled. "How are you?"
Michelle was a friend in the art industry. She was a well-renown art critique. "Good! I haven't seen you in so long. Where've you been hiding?" she teased and brushed her hand over Lovino's arm.
That was a surprising gesture, Lovino thought. "I've been rather busy. I did some light traveling through Europe last month."
"Oh, of course," Michelle laughed, and she fiddled with her necklace. "Did you find some new pieces?"
Lovino caught someone staring at him from the corner of his eye. It wasn't uncommon. He wondered if it was Feli again, so without thinking he looked over his shoulder.
Lovino didn't expect to see someone he didn't know, and that sent a jolt of caution up his spine and sharpened his eyes.
The man was tall, tan, with dark, curly hair, and bright, green eyes Lovino caught from across the room. Admittedly, he was well dressed and his suit was tasteful. The man was even handsome, but Lovino didn't like his face anyway. Or his stance. Or his aura.
What was it? There was something off-putting about him.
He was watching Lovino like a cat, and his gaze flit over him without a trace of deference. When he caught Lovino's glare, his lips spread in a salacious smile.
Lovino didn't just dislike him. Now he hated him too.
"Lovino?" Michelle called, and she touched Lovino's arm again. Right over the stitches too.
He winced, but pressed his lips together and managed a swift recovery. "I'm sorry," he said, and he forced another smile. "I was a bit distracted. What were you saying?"
Michelle's gaze flitted back and forth for a while, but soon, she settled in a comfortable conversation. They talked about Austria, the Belvedere, and Klimt. It was a well-rehearsed conversation, Lovino must have had it a hundred times.
When he finally managed to escape, Lovino rushed to the wine bar. He asked for a glass of the Sangiovese, and sipped it gratefully. Alcohol, sweet alcohol. He lingered near the table on purpose, and as soon as he drained his glass he asked for another. Wine tasted better with each glass.
"Oh, Lovi! There you are!" Feli called.
Lovino had a well-practiced method of holding his wine glass in such a way that no matter the angle in which his sister tackled him, he never spilled a drop.
"I've been looking for you everywhere," Feli rambled. "Almost everyone is here, but you still haven't talked to the artist yet."
Lovino drank again. He tried to push the alcohol back as quick as possible. He needed a third glass before he was going to follow through with this. "Hold on," he muttered and drank the last of it. He handed it to the waiter and it was refilled. "Where is he?" Lovino asked, and he grasped the full glass.
"Which glass of wine are you on?" Felicia asked curiously.
"Third," he responded automatically. "Where is he? I want to get this over with."
Felicia shook her head, and her ponytail swung with her. "He's on the second floor. Follow me."
The stroll up the steps always took longer than it should. There were too many people they knew, and they always had to be pleasant. Felicia was more comfortable with it, but Lovino managed fine when he was buzzed.
"Antonio," Felicia called, and she skipped a few steps ahead.
Lovino lagged behind and nursed his drink. His lips left the cup when he noticed which man Felicia approached. It was him.
Felicia touched the man's shoulder and he turned around with a bright smile. He hugged her confidently, and when they parted, he touched her hair and said something that made her blush.
Lovino was absolutely seething, but he walked up to them anyway.
Feli glanced at him and waved her hand. "Come here, Lovi," she called. "This is the artist. Antonio Carriedo."
Antonio turned around, and his lashes fluttered when he spotted Lovino in front of him. His smile quirked in amusement and he extended his hand. "It's nice to finally meet you."
Lovino gave a cursory glance at his hand and sipped his wine again. "You know my sister's engaged, right?"
"Lovi!"
Antonio paused, but he didn't stop smiling. His eyes just shifted into a more curious expression. "I didn't. But I'll keep that in mind," he said smoothly.
A woman next to him suddenly had her arm around Antonio's shoulders. "Don't worry, he's with me. I'll keep an eye on him," she exclaimed and she laughed not too reassuringly.
Lovino pursed his lips and tucked his arm under his elbow. He drank again. "So you made the marble sculpture?"
"I did," Antonio affirmed, and he slipped out of the woman's grasp.
Lovino stared at the floor and he recalled the piece. "It's very good," he said lightly.
Antonio brightened at the compliment to a radiance he hadn't been before. "Thank you," he replied. A moment later, he added with a little less finesse, "Actually, it's been my dream to show here. It's what I've wanted for ages."
Lovino's eyes flew over Antonio's figure disapprovingly. "You don't look like the starving artist type to me."
Antonio's eyes gleamed a dark emerald. "Don't worry, I'm absolutely ravenous."
The girl next to him chimed in and added, "And I can attest to that!"
Lovino composed himself and tried again. "I'm sorry. Are you his girlfriend?"
"Ve~ Lovi, that's Eliza. We've met her before," Feli interrupted.
Oh, the unruly, light brown hair should have been a tip-off. "Oh, I didn't recognize you," Lovino apologized, and he smiled teasingly. The alcohol was definitely working. "So you have a taste for struggling artists now, is that it?"
"Precisely," Eliza grinned and she pinched Antonio's cheek playfully. "Once I'm done with him, I'll probably move onto some musician. Perhaps a pianist."
Antonio and Elizaveta laughed as though they shared an inside joke.
Lovino looked away, already bored again. He fixed his hair habitually.
"What happened to your hand?" Antonio asked.
Lovino stopped moving and he dropped his hand in front of him. He'd forgotten about the bandage. "Nothing," he dismissed. "I was in a car accident a few days ago."
"Oh, I'm sorry."
This for some reason, Lovino found amusing. He couldn't stop his laugh, and he flashed his eyes to Antonio. "Why are you apologizing? It was only a Mercedes."
Antonio raised an eyebrow. "Well, in that case thank goodness."
Lovino pursed his lips and muttered "idiot" under his breath.
"Ah, you know," Antonio called his attention again. He had a baited smile. "I was telling Felicia earlier that you have the most handsome suit. You stand apart from everyone else."
Lovino just stared at him. "Well, aren't you a smooth talker? How many people have you banged this week with lines like that?" Yes, the alcohol was definitely working.
"Lovino, I don't think that's a very appropriate ques—"
But Antonio didn't even flinch. "Ten."
"Ten?" Lovino repeated, and Antonio nodded his head. Lovino let out a low whistle and muttered, "Slut."
"Hm, I prefer the term escort," Antonio replied, not missing a beat. He gave Lovino his most scandalous smile.
Elizaveta and Felicia exchanged glances, but Lovino and Antonio just stared at each other.
Finally, Lovino rolled his eyes and broke the silence. "Do I look like I care?" he asked sarcastically, and sucked the last drop of wine from the glass. He was bored again. "Well, I'm going back for wine." Lovino turned around, but a hand caught his shoulder.
"I'm giving a talk on my piece soon. I thought you might like to hear it," Antonio offered, his voice full of charm.
Lovino looked at him, but his blood didn't burn anymore. A familiar wistfulness washed over his heart, and he felt distant. "Not really," he said. "That would just ruin it for me." And he left Antonio's touch.
The night seeped through the glass of the gallery, and it shadowed over Lovino's heart.
There was still something about it.
~/~
"This is him, gentleman. My lover, my boyfriend, my sweetheart…the one and only Antonio—"
"Mon dieu, I can't believe it!" Francis gushed and he completely ignored Antonio's extended hand and enveloped him in a hug. He pulled away and gazed at Antonio with glittering and ecstatic blue eyes. "I've never met a man of the night before. This is so exciting!"
"What? You've really never met one?" Gilbert asked as he gave Antonio a courteous pat on the shoulder. "My name's Gilbert by the way. I was Eliza's former skirt."
"Nice to meet you," Antonio laughed.
Francis was still looking at Antonio as if he were a foreign creature. "I know I must come across as the experienced Frenchman to you, but my life rarely leaves time to explore the red light district."
"You're a runway model. You're not a jet pilot," Gilbert remarked.
Francis smiled demurely. "Still though. There was never enough time, and rarely the right occasion."
"So Toni – I'm just going to call you that – is like…night walking what you do for a living then?" Gilbert asked awkwardly, he didn't seem embarrassed by the question so much as his phrasing.
Antonio chuckled and scratched his neck. "Ah, well. It's how I make most of my money for now. I'm actually trying to be an artist."
"Is that so?" Francis asked.
"He already is an artist. His work is really good," Elizaveta exclaimed enthusiastically, and she ruffled Antonio's hair. "He finally got promoted too. The Galleria just bought one of his pieces."
"Oh, how wonderful! I'll have to go see it one of these days," Francis gushed. "I love going to the Galleria."
"That's the place where Luddy's fiancé works, isn't it?" Gilbert asked Elizaveta, and she just sighed.
"You're a terrible brother, Gilbert."
"I have shit to do! I can't keep track of his life."
"He's engaged to her."
"They're not married yet."
Francis wrapped an arm around Antonio's shoulders. "So mon cher," he said mischievously. "What do you think about joining us for a night out one of these days. We promise we won't pay you for anything that happens."
Antonio thought the two of them were absolutely ridiculous. He couldn't not say yes.
It was a long time since his night wasn't about work.
~/~
Felicia escorted Lovino to the hospital. He had his stitches removed.
Lovino felt as though he left the hospital with a larger wound than when he came in. He was missing something now. The crash kept him docile for a while, but now the change returned.
His picture shattered and scattered across his eyes. The color faded away. He couldn't make anything out anymore. It was one of those times were he couldn't breathe, blink, or hear…
He could only feel.
Yesterday didn't exist. Tomorrow didn't either. It was just now.
Now.
And Lovino didn't have time to contemplate the why.
He just had to think how.
~/~
Antonio had a new client. And he wasn't so sure what to make of him.
He was tall, very tan, with an accent Antonio couldn't pin down. After some conversation over dinner, the man said he was originally from Turkey. He moved to New York for his business. Something to do with architecture or construction.
After dinner, things expectedly moved to the bedroom. Antonio was very sweet, very loving—he could tell this sort of man wanted to take control. He thought this might be another Abel situation.
Somehow, it was much worse. It wasn't so much about control as it was about dominance. Antonio wasn't two feet in the door before he was pinned to a wall, and forced into a smothering kiss. His clothes were stripped in seconds and he was thrown on the bed. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know what his client wanted him to do. Antonio's job was to make the man feel good, and it appeared as though all the man wanted was to take Antonio as forcefully as possible.
Within an hour he was completely ravished. He was breathless, panting, sweaty, dirty, and with hickeys and bite-marks that trailed from his chest to his neck. Antonio was exhausted.
Afterwards, the man was very cordial. He kissed Antonio's cheek and left an exorbitant tip.
But Antonio was still reeling from the slap across the face.
~/~
Lovino fell asleep too late and woke up too early. It was tradition.
And when he awoke, he found the discarded bottle of pills from the night before. This was becoming a new tradition.
How many had he taken? It was only twenty, right? Or was it twenty-five? He remembered measuring a handful and swallowing them down with a glass of champagne. Then he saw images of Feli and his grandfather, and he saw the newspaper titles that would doom the Galleria. He would ruin everything. He would destroy everything with a moment of weakness.
And somehow amidst the panic and tears he grew tired. Part of him was terrified that he was dying. And part of him was disappointed that he woke up.
At least there was a throb in his head. The pain in his stomach would come later.
Of course, he went through the motions of a usual weekday. Shower, dress, coffee and no breakfast, then a ride down the elevator to the gallery. It just opened now, and that was the best time. There would be close to no one.
Lovino strolled out of the elevator and crossed the second floor to the room on the left side. Artwork soothed him. It spoke to him when no one else's words would reach him.
His eyes brightened at the sight of his newest piece. The little boy on the riverbank.
But Lovino wasn't alone.
Antonio was there too. He was sitting down beside his sculpture, wearing a rumpled suit, no tie, and with hair a bit too messy for nine in the morning. He was different than when Lovino saw him last.
He looked raw.
Lovino's footsteps echoed nearer, and it caught Antonio's attention.
"Oh," he smiled, and his green eyes crinkled warmly. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised to find you here."
"I should say the same thing," Lovino replied coolly. There was a faint pulse in the back of his head, but he was distracted by Antonio's face. It was flushed, but a side of it looked red and kind of irritated. Like he was slapped.
Lovino's eyes wandered to skin of his neck and noticed the hickeys too. Was there even a bite-mark?
He pressed his lips together and crossed his arms in front of the sculpture. "If you keep sitting like that you'll wrinkle your suit."
Antonio's lips turned up in a small smile. "It's already ruined."
"I noticed."
Antonio's gaze lingered on Lovino. There was the same awareness Lovino caught the night of the gala. He'd seen it before. Many times. Artists laid their hearts bare for the world, and among the pain and suffering, they learned life's secrets.
When Lovino was younger he thought there was something magical about them.
"I feel a bit disillusioned right now," Antonio said.
Lovino's eyes unwittingly flitted over the marks on his face and neck. He wondered how far they went. "Bad night at work?" Somehow his joke came out more as concern than he would've liked.
Antonio laughed anyway, and his fingers touched his neck. "You could say that," he murmured. He looked at his sculpture again. "I feel as though my perspective has just been altered. I've had bad sexual experiences before—that's pretty normal. But I thought…even if the motions were bad, if there was still emotion, and passion, and desire…I never thought I could...hate it."
Lovino eyed him carefully, and he slowly put the pieces together. With as much sensitivity he could muster, Lovino asked, "Were you raped or something?"
Antonio's smile was a bit lopsided when he replied, "It kind of felt like that." It was a deafening thing to say, so a second later, he added jokingly, "But at least I got paid." His laugh echoed against the empty walls.
"That's not really funny," Lovino scolded, and he twisted his fingers in the fabric of his jacket.
Antonio chuckled a bit softer. "I know," he admitted, and his sigh rocked his body. His gaze lazily found its way to Lovino though. He still looked at him with no deference at all. Then softly, he said, "But it looks like I'm not the only one who had a bad night."
Magic.
Lovino frowned and dropped his hands to his sides. "What do you mean?"
Antonio smiled simply, before he explained, "Your eyes are very vulnerable. They weren't like that at the gala."
It had to be.
"…You've been crying," Antonio said.
Lovino couldn't even deny it. The pulse in his head and the ache in his side were reminders of that.
"Shut up," he replied dully. Seconds flew by and he gnawed at his lip in indecision, then slowly he ran a hand over the ghost of where his stitches used to be. He didn't want Antonio loitering here all day. And no one should see him in that condition. "I'll go call the car around," he muttered hurriedly, and turned on his heel.
Antonio's voice reached him when all he wanted was his art.
"Thank you."
~/~
I should have been working on anything else (trust me, I know), but I simply couldn't get this story out of my head. It just had to be written. The idea was just too dear to me.
There will be one, maybe two chapters after this. I promise it won't be long.
Thank you for reading! Please review :)
