Chapter One
I'm not sure what actually happened last night. I just know that I fell asleep crying, I woke up crying, and I'm still crying now. The tears aren't actually visible, but my heart's crying enough for anyone who's looking to see.
I'm sitting on the corner of the street where we first met. I can remember it so clearly that it hurts: I was playing my guitar and singing in a sidewalk band made up of myself, my friend Gilbert, and my other friend Francis, who was dancing.
He walked by, then stopped, then turned back. I though he was going to give me money. Instead, he began yelling about how we had stupid taste in music. Then he told me to check out some other song- I totally forgot what, and he hasn't told me yet. (I don't think he remembers either.) -and then he left. I nearly dropped my guitar in my haste to catch him.
I wrap my sleeping bag more tightly around myself to try in vain to keep out the cold. I should have thought this through more. I should have worn warmer clothes. I should have brought more than just a measly sleeping bag. I should have played my guitar on a corner with a coffee shop just outside of it.
But to have done that I would have had to be less in love with him, and I'd never want that.
I grab my little piece of cardboard before it's blown away by the cold Autumn wind. It reads, "If you see this man, will you tell him where I am?" I glued a picture of him- one of many, far too many -and had propped it next to me so that all the people walking past my corner in downtown New York would be able to see it. Now, I hold it tightly to my chest, making sure the words and picture are still visible, to make sure that it doesn't fly off into the wind.
"Here," someone stops in front of me. I look up, wondering if they're going to tell me something about him. Instead, she's earnestly holding out a twenty. "Take it," she insists, waving it up and down a bit.
"No thank you," I say with a smile. "I'm not broke, I'm just a broken-hearted man."
She blinks at me, then takes back her twenty and walks away. I huddle more tightly in my sleeping bag, trying, yet again, to get warm. I can't, though. It's too cold outside, especially sitting in this sleeping bag alone.
I wonder if he'll pass by here. Probably not. I wonder if he'll come here if- when? -he starts missing me. This is where we'd always meet, back in the days when we needed somewhere to meet. Now we live together. We meet every morning when we wake up, and every other minute after that.
How could I give that all up? Am I insane?
Insane about him, possibly, otherwise I wouldn't be in this mess.
What would he say if he passed by? All I can think is that he would laugh at me, or swear at me for being stupid. His cheeks would turn that adorable shade of tomato red. Maybe he would offer a hand to help me up? I can't see him doing that... all I can see is his face last night, flushed and angry and then, suddenly, pale, white as a sheet. He had pointed wordlessly to the door, and it had taken me no time at all to get his meaning: Get out.
And I had gotten out. I hadn't wanted to see him. I had been so angry... for the first two minutes. And then all I wanted to do was go back. Go back, and get down on my knees, and tell him how sorry I was. So sorry. Unbelievably so.
A car stops on the side of the street. I look up when I hear a window rolling down. A policewoman leans out, giving me a look.
"Son, you can't stay here," she tells me.
I smile sadly at her. "There's someone I'm waiting for. I'll wait here for as long as it takes for him to come. A day, a month, a year."
She pulls back, looking surprised, then signals her buddy to pull away from the curb. I wave at her as she leaves, but I don't think she sees.
Tiny pieces of white begin to slowly drift down from the heavens, and I sigh as the temperature seems to drop. It's going to snow now, is it? Is this Fate testing me to see how long I'll stay here? Well, Fate's got another thing coming! If there's one thing I learned from Lovi, it's that you don't get what you want unless you stubbornly insist on it!
...I said his name. I said it. Well, I thought it. Same difference.
Lovino.
I'm not sure if I'm calling him with my mind or just saying his name from the pure poetry of it.
Lovino.
Lovino.
Mi Lovinito. Mi tomate. Mi tomatito. Mi amor. Mi querido. Mi corazon. Lovi.
Francis and Gilbert did always say that I laid it on thick with the nicknames. Maybe it was too much for him? But no, that wasn't what our fight was about... in fact, I don't even remember what it was about... it was something unimportant though. Nothing is more important than Lovino Vargas, at least, not to me.
I wonder where he is right now. Is he still in our apartment? Is he going to work, like it's a normal day? Has he taken refuge with his brother and grandfather? Has he gone to stay with his friends for a while, and watch chick-flicks while eating ice cream? I hope that he's at least slightly saddened by my absence... I hope he didn't just put all my stuff in a box and pretended like I never existed. I don't know what would hurt more, me freezing to death out here or my stuff freezing to death in the corner of a closet.
A/N This is my absolute favorite song by The Script and, well, I'm reading this fic that's just a bunch of songs turned into a Spamano story, and I felt like doing that too. Unfortunately, I like kinda sad songs, I guess, so HERE WE ARE. O_O It's really sad... Oh, if you listen to the song while reading this it just MAKES YOU WANNA CRY. (That's why I'm crying right now, guys...)
Anyways, reviews are love! :)
Okay, so somebody informed me that I couldn't use the song lyrics in the fic, SOOOOO if you want the version with song lyrics, I will be posting it on my Tumblr, which is www. tumblr blog/ epicfawesomesauce
