Lovino Vargas was used to being alone.
He was used to spending the sweltering Italian summers in his bed, the sole proprietor of his sheets and his thoughts and the stars out of his window. He was used to sitting alone on the window seat in the villa his grandfather owned, his brother out with his guardian to places Lovino didn't care to go to, staring out of the glass at the shimmering air and the dancing clouds that floated by in a lazy fashion. He was used to bringing a girl or two home, only to have them fawn over Feliciano, because that's the way things were.
Feliciano was cute and fun, he was talented and pleasant to be around. Lovino could charm the best of the girls, but the moment they met Feli, there was no reason he could think of for them to stay with him.
He was used to striding through the gardens, one set of footprints in the deep snow, the air filled with the cloud of one man's breath, the silence filled with one man's motions. He lived his life alone and that was just fine by him. He knew that a person could not miss something that he has never had before so he rarely found reason to lament his situation. He was used to watched the sun rise alone, watching the sun set alone, watching the stars creep out in the sky alone. He spent twenty one years in his own thoughts and the thoughts of others simply did not interest him anymore.
Lovino Vargas walked into a local cantina, a place he frequented when he was younger but hadn't been in a long time since his last girlfriend of nearly six months had left him in a fit of tears because Lovino could not say that he cared about her in any fashion. He couldn't lie to her, he just couldn't. Not even for the sake of filling the loneliness in his heart, because it wasn't worth it to lie.
The building was not very full when he sat down and bought himself a bottle of wine. The man at the counter popped the cork, and he filled himself up a full glass, taking a sip and enjoying the flavor as it dripped down his throat. This was the best way to live life, he mused to himself, his eyes gazing over the rich color of the wine and completely ignoring the rest of the occupants. A fine glass of wine, a charming atmosphere and his own thoughts. Abruptly, a soft exclamation was heard behind him in a language he did not understand and after a moment's silence, suddenly, sitting in the chair beside him, there was a man. He stole only the briefest of glances at him, irritated at the sudden occupation of his personal space.
He was olive skinned, tanned from what was probably long days in the sun, and indescribably handsome, midset cheekbones and full lips, accompanied by long, dark lashes and a strong jaw. His eyes shone green in the lights and his hair was a ruffled mop of brown that framed his face. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, and Lovino couldn't help but appreciate for a moment the strong forearms that were resting atop the polished counter. He turned back to his wine, pouring himself another glass and sipping on it expertly as he waited for the foreigner to order his drink and get a move on.
The man didn't leave the counter after he received his beer, and Lovino became impatient, turning to say something to him when he realized the man's green eyes were completely fixated on him. Against his better judgment he was dazzled by the intensity of the gaze, and instead of telling him to fuck off like he normally would have, took his bottle of wine, and retreated to a table deeper in the cantina. His heart was racing in his chest, and he refused to let this strange, fluttering feeling get the better of him. Though he knew he shouldn't, he took a glance at the bar again, and saw that the foreign man had gone, and breathed a sigh of relief, finishing his glass with gusto.
Here's to being alone.
The seat beside him creaked as he contemplated polishing off one more glass before heading back home or just downing the bottle when he got there. Either way, this bottle was not going to last longer than the night. At the sound, he scowled at the occupant and was not particularly surprised to see the tanned man with his beer sitting there, smiling a goofy, heart stopping smile and Lovino wondered why he was so careless with something so powerful to use it on him in the first place.
People, men or women, don't smile at Lovino like that, they just don't. They don't sit at his table, uninvited, with their elbow resting on the hard wood and their cheeks resting in their palms, their eyes watching him so adoringly like he was some sort of precious work of art. He ignored the man for the better part of the evening, but nothing seemed to make him want to give up. When he finally finished his bottle, he left the man without ever saying a word to him.
But he was there the next night, and the night after, and every night it seemed for nearly a fortnight. He attempted to dress a little better with each passing encounter, and even though Lovino never said a single word to him, the man never stopped staring. Never stopped trying to buy him drinks. Never moved from his table even though Lovino glared at him in a way that always made Feliciano shake in his boots and his grandfather not bother him.
Because they knew Lovino well enough to not pry.
One night, Lovino had arrived earlier than he usually did, and had finished his bottle quickly in a desperate attempt to block out not only his pitiful existence, but the existence of the Spagnolo man that had not yet arrived, and his clumsy attempts to somehow get Lovino to speak to him. Lovino knew he was foreign, and it didn't take long to get information out of some of the gossips that were regulars at the cantina to tell him from where. He did not bother to look up when he heard the chair screech across the tiles, not needing visual confirmation of who was joining him at the small table at the back of the cantina.
He was too drunk to even bother reacting when the man placed a worried hand on his back, and heard the loud clank of the empty wine bottle as it was lifted and placed back down on the table. He muttered something in Spanish that sounded vaguely like borracho, but he was too tired to demand what it meant as the man lifted his arm over his shoulder and dragged him from the cantina. He vaguely motioned in the direction of his house, his mind in such a blur that he was showing this creep where he lived, and what would his grandpa and brother say when he got home in this state?
Lovino struggled against the man to show him how to get around the house to the window to his bedroom, and the Spaniard complied, opening the window smoothly and lifting Lovino easily through it. He put Lovino in bed, and made to leave, but Lovino couldn't let him go without answers as to why he was bothering him all the time, and gripped his hand, tugging him onto the bed. The man ended up on top of him, his eyes wide in surprise for a moment before shifting over to lay beside him, over the covers.
Though he was drunk, it was a night he remembered for a very long time, speaking for the first time to Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, the Spanish farmer who was on vacation in Italy at the urging of his best friend, a Frenchman named Francis whom he admitted ditched him nearly every night to frequent the Italian brothels rather than spend time with Antonio. Not that he minded, for he had found ways to keep himself occupied during the evenings. Antonio's deep voice was very adept with the Italian language, but the Spanish lilt was there, and in the haze of alcohol, Lovino couldn't help but think how attractive it was.
He was sure he made a fool out of himself talking to Antonio, carrying on about his brother and his grandfather and his life, about his guitar and his tiny tomato patch in the garden he had been cultivating carefully for years. About growing up in Italy and the things that mattered to him. He didn't say a word about his love life, because Antonio would only laugh. Antonio was thirty, and probably incredibly experienced in the ways of love and romance and Lovino didn't want to embarrass himself.
Lovino was draped over him most of the night, his head against the man's chest and his arms curled around his back. Antonio held him over the sheets, but Lovino did not mind. For the first time in his life, he fell asleep with someone holding him close, even if it were only once. The next morning Lovino was awoken with a horrendous headache, and tried to roll over away from the glare of the sun, only to realize he was rolling into the chest of a still very much asleep Spaniard in his bed. Sometime during the night, Antonio had curled up under the covers with him, and Lovino grimaced because in the momentary daze of sleepiness, he had completely forgotten about him.
Antonio laughed the entire time Lovino was kicking him out of his room.
He was determined to get back at him, but how, he was not sure. For the next week he avoided the cantina like the plague, hoping that Antonio would soon forget about him and he would forget about Antonio. It was the perfect plan, because Lovino could not afford to get attached like that, to someone he barely knew, because all it meant was getting hurt in the end.
Two weeks after the embarrassing night in his room, Lovino was preparing for bed, but a tap at his window startled him. He threw open the panes, but saw no one, and scowled, hoping that whoever it would come back so he could hit them in the face. As he was closing the window, he noticed something below the sill, and leaned out as far as he was able to pick it up. It was a wicker basket filled to the brim with shiny, ripe red tomatoes.
The note attached had horrendous, but still legible handwriting, reading, Hope to see you soon, mi corazón. Lovino was touched and furious, embarrassed and confused as he brought the basket into his room, picking up one of the tomatoes and taking a bite out of it happily. His favorite, and the only person who knew that, besides Feliciano and Grandpa Roma, was...
He spat the tomato out and felt his cheeks grow warm, nearly toppling the basket over.
Antonio Fernandez Carriedo was not a man to be shaken easily. He found presents at his windowsill every night, each with a note calling him corazón and every night he felt his heart twist and tear and agonize over every single sincere note that he couldn't bring himself to adore. Lovino couldn't bear the thought of happiness that would only be crumpled and ruined. Antonio would simply have to go home eventually, and Lovino could move on.
He woke up around midnight suddenly, and heard a soft voice echoing through his window. Shaking his head, Lovino pushed open the window and saw a shadowed figure in the dark of the garden wall, performing quietly to him a song he could not understand, the guitar singing in his hands a tune that he did not recognize. He craned his neck as far as he could, but could not make out the figure near the garden wall. But the voice, he knew the voice.
Antonio stopped playing a few minutes later, and stepped into the moonlight where Lovino could see him more clearly. He smiled, Lovino's heart skipped, and he blew a kiss to him before disappearing out of the garden gate.
Lovino put a hand to his mouth and slid down to the floor, suddenly aware of every little thing he body was feeling at that moment. His chest felt like it was about to burst and he felt warm and hot all over. He couldn't shake the sensation, he couldn't make it go away and leave him alone no matter how badly he wanted it to.
One night, after his window was tapped, there was nothing below the sill, but a small piece of paper tied to a shutter, blowing in the breeze. Follow me. Lovino swallowed hard, and climbed out of the window, pulling his jacket around his shoulders as he crossed the path through the garden, and out the side gate. A hand took his suddenly, and he nearly jumped and hissed at him, but Antonio was smiling too brightly to even be upset. They walked for a little while, their hands tightly clasped and Lovino's heart racing.
Antonio stopped suddenly when they reached a small field, just past the outskirts of the town, and smiled at Lovino. He had a picnic set up for them, and Lovino wanted to tell him how stupid he was for going through all this trouble, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Antonio spent the night with him under the stars, the two eating and talking. He found himself watching Antonio's mouth, the shape of his lips as he spoke his native tongue and the way he carefully formed them around the Italian words that he knew so easily.
His eyes swept over the careful tilt of his neck and the flush the alcohol left on his cheeks the way he laughed and the way he frowned. Lovino could feel his heart melt with every minute that passed in this company and he was terrified of what it was doing to him.
Lovino was finally unable to handle the pressure of keeping himself from feeling so much that he wanted to feel. Cracking under the weight of the emotions he suppressed for so long, he moved from his spot as far from Antonio on the blanket he could get, and leaned over the bottle of wine and the little sliced up tomatoes, and kissed him gently mid-sentence. He pulled back, and Antonio's face was surprised for a moment, and Lovino felt stupid, so stupid, for thinking that was a good idea. There was no way—
Antonio gripped his face and kissed him back, the fervor that he pressed his lips against Lovino's surprising him immensely. But he didn't fight it. He didn't stop Antonio as they fell backwards on the blanket, Lovino laying on top of Antonio as they made obvious their feelings for each other. Lovino's head was dizzy as Antonio kissed his neck and held his waist and played with his hair. No one did this, no one ever wanted this with him.
He couldn't help but think that there was nothing so perfect as this night.
Lovino awoke with Antonio in his bed once more, the two embracing so tightly he that if they moved, he feared he would break. The Spaniard's tanned skin was so warm against his own pale flesh, and he squeezed Antonio tighter into him, and felt the man react the same, pressing a kiss against his head and brushing back that one impossible curl Lovino knew stood out in his hair. He had never felt so complete as he did then, sharing a bed with Antonio in the best way possible.
Lovino did not see Antonio again.
He sat by the window, waiting for the tap at the glass.
He sat at his little table in the cantina, waiting for the scrape of the chair.
He sat in the grassy field, waiting for the crunch of footsteps in the grass.
He waited in bed every night, hoping that something would change, that Antonio would crawl back in with him, and they would spend the night together, talking and kissing and making love and holding each other close. Days passed with no sign of the man and every single day Lovino agonized over the possibilities of his departure.
He mentioned being on vacation. Did he have some unspoken desire to get some while in Italy and Lovino was an easy target? If that were so, now there was no reason for him to talk to Lovino. Did Antonio get what he wanted? Lovino did not know, but the thought of it ate him up inside, and he couldn't bring himself to think that it was true. Antonio was too kind, too sweet to even consider doing that to someone, right? He didn't know. In fact, he realized how stupid he was, how painfully innocent and naïve he was. He gave Antonio everything after what? Three months? How could he be so stupid?
How could he trust someone so easily after years of trusting no one at all?
Was he so desperate to hear the words I love you that he would be willing to give himself over so easily, so cheerfully to a complete stranger? He climbed out of his bed and snuck out through the window, not sure of where he was going but knowing that he had to go somewhere or he'd lose his mind. His feet led him down the oft taken path towards the cantina he used to love, and he entered the building, the familiarity washing over him. He sat at the counter, and ordered his typical bottle of wine, wondering if he could just fall back into this lifestyle again as easily as he had left it.
He took the first sip and stared around the cantina, half expecting to see a familiar face of someone that used to go there often, when suddenly, his heart jumped into his throat. Antonio was sitting in the back with another man, and two girls sitting with them. He stared for a moment, unable to believe his eyes, and nearly broke the stem of the glass he'd been using to drink his wine. The man was blonde and handsome, with blue eyes and a rugged chin, his clothes chic and form fitting. Antonio was laughing, and the girls were watching them both adoringly, and Lovino felt a heat rise on the back of his neck as the Spaniard leaned over to press a kiss to one of the girls, who giggled.
So that was how it was then.
He motioned for the man behind the counter to give the rest of his wine to that group, and he stood up as he downed his final glass, watching from the doorway as Antonio and his friends accepted it in gracious confusion. When the man pointed out their benefactor, Antonio's face paled as their eyes met for a brief moment before Lovino left in a hurry, hoping that he could get home before crying.
It was not the case, and he walked inside, ignoring the cries of concern from Feliciano and Grandpa Roma as he made his way to his room, locking the door behind him and curling up in his bedsheets.
Fuck.
How could he have possibly been so stupid as to think that Antonio actually cared? He picked him up in the cantina for god's sake. He should have seen this coming, he should have known better. But he didn't and it ate him up inside painfully, the emotion wracking his frame and the tears wetting his pillow pathetically.
A tap was heard at his window, frantic but soft, though Lovino ignored it, knowing exactly who it was going to be and not wanting any part of it. What other lie could Antonio tell him to get into his bed again? To accept affections that he did not reciprocate in the way that Lovino desperately wanted him to? The tap sounded again, louder this time, and he pulled himself out of bed to tell Antonio to fuck off.
He threw the window open and glared out into the darkness at the figure that stood before his windowsill. Antonio was disheveled and his face was still as pale as he had seen it when they met eyes in the cantina. His eyes widened as he saw Lovino's face and the Italian rubbed the tear stains from his cheeks in embarrassment. They stared at each other for a moment before Antonio ran his fingers through his hair, taking a few steps forward towards Lovino's window.
Lovino tried to close the window but Antonio put his hand against the glass, his face pleading and there was something about those green eyes that he simply couldn't say no to. But he felt the struggle under his skin, the thought of trust and so much more being direction to Antonio again after what he had just seen.
The Spanish man placed his palms together as if saying a prayer, his eyes wide and his mouth skewed in so much pain that Lovino wasn't sure what to do. Finally he cowered back a little and shook his head, unable to look Antonio in the eyes as he did so. He snuck a peek at the man, his chest aching, and saw that there was a faint glimmer in his eyes as he nodded in agreement, bowed, and took his leave.
Lovino realized he had just made the biggest mistake of his life when he could no longer see Antonio walking away in the distance.
AN: One more chapter to go!