sorry for all the inaccuracies - I've never gone to church, 'cept for weddings and funerals, so touching on religion is a little out of my league... yet, for some stupid reason, I'm still going after this fic... my mom did go to a Christian private school, so at least I have someone I can talk to about it... though there is no hiding that I am a horrible catholic please HALP

notes:
- this AU is around maybe... early 1900s, super late 1800s maybe.
- Rating will be bumped up to M later on!
- warning (?): heavy(?) religious themes, especially in this first chapter.

- ALSO I recently picked this back up and edited it because of a very encouraging message I received lately c:
Hopefully I can go back to updating stuff, but based on my history, it's probably unlikely I'll ever have a regular updating schedule!

chapter one

It was a Sunday, which, arguably, was the most important day of the week for the religious little town. It was also the day on which Lovino had first met him.

Lovino loved his quiet little town - though boring, for the most part, and sometimes a little too bland - he loved the safety of the town, loved the familiarity of it all. He knew the outside world, outside of his quaint little town, was dangerous - his father had told him so everyday, constantly reminding him during the morning times when he made coffee. And yet, it never stopped him from climbing the town's crumbling brick wall to peek out into what lay beyond the town, never stopped him from wondering, and hoping, that maybe, one day, when he was older, he would be able to visit and experience what life would be like outside - even for a moment.

The world is a dangerous place, his father had said, there are appalling people out there; they'll stab you in the back, tear you apart, and laugh in your face right after.

Despite always keeping his father's warning, and the love for his town in mind, Lovino was never one for long preaches, or scriptures read out in heavy, almost overbearing voices that echoed across the otherwise silent church. But, nevertheless, he was a God-fearing boy - man - dressed in simple, neat clothes - his best ones - and sat obediently in the very front pew next to his little brother, a small boy of nine, Feliciano. Their father, Vincezo Vargas, one of the town's most respected men, was up at the front altar, in a plain white alb that peeked out under his modest green chasuble.

He opened his mouth to speak, and his deep voice rang out, thick in conviction, uplifted in tone. His aged face was solemn, mouth slightly down turned, eyes hard and stern. As he continued on with his sermon, Lovino could not help but notice these features, and think how much of his - and Feliciano's - looks had come from their mother. He did not recognize their father's dark, almost black hair, deep green eyes, or even his father's strong jaw in his own. He was so caught up in his thoughts, that he did not realize the start of the closing prayer, and the hard glare directed at him by his father.

He guessed that was something he inherited from his father.

The Italian quickly ducked his head in religious earnestness, and held his rosary between pale fingers. He dared not look up; he could even feel Feliciano squirm slightly beside him under their father's scrutiny. The voices of the other villagers gently droned and continued on with the prayer, and Lovino joined with them, voice a soft hum.

"Guide and direct us in all we do and may we stay..."

Slightly chapped lips opened and closed almost soundlessly; his eyelids fluttered closed. Peace.

"...Forgive us Father, of all of our sins..."

His head bowed down, and strands of soft hair gently brushed against his face.

"...Amen."

The Sunday service had ended uneventfully, but by the way the eldest Vargas had been eyeing Lovino as everyone left, he knew that he was in for a little more than just strict words. His father had slowly waved him over as the church emptied, leaving the three Vargas' in the spacious area.

"Lovino." His father started off, eyes still looking forward as Lovino made his way to the altar. Lovino avoided his father's stern gaze, and instead appreciated the simple wooden rosary laying innocently on the altar's surface, before his father's throat cleared. Lovino's head snapped up, waiting for what he had to say. "You weren't paying attention this morning." It was not a question, but a hard, clear statement. It brought an embarrassed blush to Lovino's face to have been caught doing such a thing.

"I'm sorry, father." The younger Vargas said, mouth tight, and gaze, down.

"I want you to pick the weeds on the garden around the church as punishment. Think about your moment of mental absence."

Lovino nodded slowly, fists clenched as he waited for his father to dismiss him. "Right now?"

His father gave a weary sigh, before waving him off. As Lovino walked down the aisle and towards the front doors, a bouncy Feliciano passed by him singing Ave Maria at the top of his lungs.

"Feliciano, please," Lovino heard Vincezo ask, before he opened the doors and let it slam shut.

-x-

The day was hot, and blinding sunshine shone down - he could feel his ironed shirt crease and wrinkle as he bent over to pull out the prickly, overgrown weeds. Lovino gave a hard tug on a particularly stubborn one, and let out a small grunt, letting go when it had held, firm as ever, to the Church grounds. After some nearly fruitless weed tugging, he straightened up, and his back let out soft, satisfying pops that accompanied his soft sigh. His hand lifted up to wearily swipe at the sweat gathered on his forehead.

"Damn weed..." He muttered, repeating something his Nonno had said once when he was visiting them at the church. He was careful to not let his father hear the expletive, and looked up at one of the open windows on the side of the church. Seeing nothing, and hearing no rebuke from his father, he bent back down. The Italian tugged again, fingers loosening before they gripped the stem firmly, fingers like a vice grip around the weed. He tugged, pulled, and groaned, cursed them to hell and back but still, nothing. Lovino let go with an angry exhale, pushed his sleeves up, and grimaced as dirt marred his white shirt.

He tiredly gazed around the garden area, eyes squinting at the numerous amount of weeds populating the area, and glanced to his small pile of already-picked weeds. Lovino sighed, and slowly retreated backwards to the shade provided to one of the decades-old oak trees. He leaned back against the gnarled, woody surface, and contemplated waiting until a breeze would come to finish up the weeding. His legs collapsed underneath him, and Lovino let his eyes close.

He plucked out a few blades of grass, letting them collect in his palm before letting them fall back down to the earth. He grimaced at the bright green grass stains on his fingers and slacks, internally groaning about the rebuking he was going to get from Vincezo later.

Green was such an ugly color, Lovino decided. Green was the color chasuble that Vincezo always wore, green was the color of these stupidly healthy weeds and green-

-was the color of the eyes that bore into his.

Screeching, Lovino shot up and backwards, landing none-too-gracefully into the shrubs that fenced the church's lawns. Twigs and leaves blocked his vision and scratched his face and forearms as a bright laughter filled the air.

"Need help?" The voice was deep and friendly, and Lovino answered with an incoherent sputter.

"Wha- who are you?!" The other man, - based on his irritating, accented Italian - was most likely a Spaniard. Lovino had never seen him around town before; why would he be here, in this small town - a town a good distance from any other town and trading routes, one specifically created for its promise of seclusion?

"Antonio Fernandez Carriedo," He replied charmingly. Lovino felt his right eye twitch. Antonio held a tanned hand out to Lovino, but Lovino rejected it, choosing to clumsily get off the bush, limbs flailing as they tried to get some solid hold onto something to help leverage him from the bush's hold. After a few embarrassing moments trying to free himself, Lovino finally stood up, brushing leaves and twigs off his clothes in an attempt to hide his agitated flush.

"Did you need help with these weeds?" The man, who looked around his early twenties, gestured to the pathetic pile Lovino had been able to pull. He looked back to Lovino, who had noticed that the Spaniard's face had adopted a peculiar expression, one that was hidden behind Antonio's quick hand. It was pressed to his mouth, as if to suppress something that suspiciously sounded like laughter.

"What are you laughing at!" Lovino scowled, feeling the burn in his cheeks spread, like wildfire, to his ears.

Antonio seemed to sober slightly, but was still smiling brilliantly, eyes bright in the afternoon summer heat. He took a step towards the Italian, and lifted a large hand to brush somewhere behind Lovino's ear. His voice was low as he said, lightly, "there was a leaf in your hair."

When Antonio's hand pulled back, Lovino could feel it press against his cheek for a moment, and felt that horrifying red burn impossibly hotter, and he knew that it was an especially vivid red. He sputtered uselessly for a moment, his usually sharp mind blank as he realized he had no comeback to make himself feel better about the situation.

When his mind failed him, he resorted to new tactics and brashly punched the Spaniard in the face. "I don't need your help!" Antonio staggered back, laughing while holding a hand up to his injured cheek. He even had the gall to look vaguely amused, and if the Italian's fist hadn't felt sore from that first sock to the Spaniard's face, he would have happily punched him again.

"You have quite the punch, for such a young one!" Antonio said, and Lovino lifted his aching fist up again, mortified at what the older man was spewing. He wasn't some young boy - he was seventeen and a man, clearly one that was more mature than the Spaniard in front of him. "Ah, don't punch me again, please." The Spaniard lifted his other hand in mock surrender.

Instead of yelling a few choice words, Lovino 'humphed' and ran back into the church to salvage whatever was left of his ego, only to bump into Vincezo and Feliciano. Vincezo cleared his throat in his usual stern manner, eyeing the smears of grass and dirt on Lovino's slacks and sleeves. "You've finished picking the weeds?"

Lovino made a noise in his throat, somewhere between annoyed and stand-offish. "No."

Vincezo raised an eyebrow. "Then why are you heading inside?"

"Because some dumb Spaniard is creeping around outside." Lovino muttered, looking to the side, half expecting the idiot to jump out of the bushes. In the corner of his eye, he could see Feliciano visibly perked up at the thought of making a new friend - after all, no one ever came to stop by the town. When he turned to look back at Vincezo, he was surprised to see the look on his father; a curious mix of annoyance, caution, and surprise was apparent on Vincezo's face, and Lovino couldn't help but feel as if the look didn't fit his father. Nothing surprised Vincezo, and nothing went past him. Not when it came to new comers in the town.

"A Spaniard?" Their father walked out, and looked around. Lovino nodded, to affirm his question, and felt his mood pick up slightly as he waited for Vincezo to start reprimanding Antonio about trespassing. When he heard no shouting, Lovino made a face as he joined his father.

"You should not lie to get out of work, Lovino." Vincezo's voice was stony, and his face was unsmiling, unamused and disappointed by his oldest son's antics.

"I wasn't lying!" Lovino scowled. "There was a Spaniard out here, bothering me! He even told me his name - Anthony, or something equally stupid!"

Vincezo only sighed, and gave him a scathing look. "Lovino, just finish up the weeding, or no supper."

"But-!"

"Lovino!" Vincezo barked, done with Lovino's excuses. "Weed. Now."

Lovino let out a loud groan, annoyed and mad at his father and that smiling, laughing, Spaniard. He pushed past his brother, and wanted to do the same to Vincezo, but wisely went against it, choosing to take out his anger on those green, stubborn weeds. He heard Vincezo and Feliciano walk off, back into the church, secretly jealous that Feliciano always got on their father's good side.

In his silent fuming, he had not realized someone rejoin him on the church grounds, had not heard the soft shuffling of heed until he felt something tap his shoulder, interrupting him mid pull on a weed. Lovino stood up straight, surprised enough at the tapping to forget his anger, especially when pain bloomed on the back of his skull at the harsh contact with another head.

He turned around sharply to face the intruder, head throbbing. When he recognized the intruder, Lovino could barely contain a groan.

"You!" The Italian accused, pointing a finger at the Spaniard. "Where were you, earlier?"

The Spaniard laughed again, but this time it was softer, breathier. "The Father of the church seemed pretty scary," A pause. "I didn't want to get caught by him."

"Tell me about it," Lovino muttered, bending over again to weed unsuccessfully. He was turned away from Antonio, and everything was quiet and settled down, so he assumed that Antonio had left him again. Good riddance.

What he didn't assume, though, was that Antonio was weeding beside him, silent and hardworking as he pulled a weed out effortlessly. Stubborn, and still peeved, Lovino sent a glare the other's way. "What do you think you're doing?"

"You looked like you needed help," Antonio said, easily pulling out another weed. Lovino looked over to the other's pile, which was steadily growing larger than his own, to his displeasure. Lovino huffed quietly, but let the man do as he wanted. Even if the one offering the unwanted help was a thorn in his side, he couldn't argue back something that was largely benefiting him.

-x-

"That wasn't too bad, was it?" Antonio asked, sitting on the grass. Lovino grunted, wiping the sweat off his forehead. Lovino sat on the ground, and watched as Antonio flopped onto the grassy floor. The sun was starting to dip, barely touching the horizon. If he concentrated enough, Lovino could hear the quiet call of an owl somewhere nearby.

"I guess." The Italian paused, not quite sure how to feel about the man who had unknowingly made a fool of him in front of his father, yet had helped him weed the entire garden, something Lovino knew he would not have been able to do within the span of the day by himself. He gave a slight glance over to Antonio, his curiosity getting the best of him. "Why are you here, Anthony?"

Antonio made a small disgruntled noise, but still held his smile. "Antonio," he corrected, and Lovino tried to ignore the way his green eyes lit up when he spoke. Antonio adopted a very odd look after, as if contemplating his journey to the town. Lovino couldn't help but feel drawn into whatever story the man would say - and it wasn't just the idea of being an outsider that drew him in, it was the way the Spaniard took a moment to look thoughtful, as if he were picking and choosing things to say, meaningful things, things that would impress Lovino - like he sincerely cared about what Lovino thought about him, which bothered Lovino, and he could not figure out why that was the case. Antonio tapped his chin, and looked at Lovino. "It is the river," he said simply, and Lovino was dumbfounded.

"The river? You traveled here through the river?" Lovino felt his eyebrows furrow. As far as he knew, according to the maps shown in one of Vincezo's books, the town was one of the only villages situated near the river for a very long distance. Travelling on foot, through the roads, would be a much shorter, easier way to travel for many miles, at least until the commercial rivers were close enough to travel on.

"Yes," Antonio said, a mysterious little smile on his lips as he looked at Lovino meaningfully. "The river may be harsh in this part of Italy, but it is worth the fatigue of travelling on it. It has been largely untouched by humans, as it is unfit for most large boats, with its sharp, hidden rocks and its bouts of shallow waters, but it is very lovely when it wishes to be - knowing that I am one of the rare few to travel it only make the entire trip seem even more worthwhile, to me."

Lovino fell silent as he described the river, but did not make a move to move away or ask anymore questions. He was too busy trying to imagine what the river would be like, as he had never visited the river, despite its close distance from the village. He let out a breath, and, without looking at Antonio, commented, without thought, "you are a stray, then."

Antonio laughed, not even offended at Lovino's choice of words. "A stray, hm?" He smiled brilliantly. "I prefer to think of myself as a free spirit, travelling where I please." Antonio's smile briefly took a sly, playful sort of crooked turn, and Lovino could not help but think how such a smile fitted him so well.

"So you're homeless too, then?" Lovino said, voice sharp, but Antonio seemed to deflect any scathing, accusing tones the Italian had in his voice, as the Spaniard nodded, seeming content with himself.

"A free spirit!" Antonio mock protested, his lips still retaining that crooked, charming smile of his. "Why, who needs a home in one place when he can call the river his home, and meet new people and visit strange new places? Who needs the familiar, redundant comfort of a home and a bed when he can set up camp on the banks, to sleep under the comfort of stars? It is much different than a village, Lovino - the stars seem to shine brighter, and there is this silence that permeates the nighttime, like something sacred, and it makes a man wonder about how large and wonderful the world is, to be able to be in a place that seems so empty, yet so alive with nature. Doesn't that seem much more enticing than a little life in a little house in a little village?" Lovino was, once again, rendered silent by the Spaniard, but not in disbelief of his previous idiocy, but rather, by the enchanting way of life he seemed to lead, and he was disappointed when Antonio had stopped talking, leaving him to stew in his thoughts and imagination.

The burning desire to visit the world outside of his town had never burned so brightly in his mind, and, perhaps, Antonio could sense that, since he had spoken up, voice quiet.

"Hey, I've got an idea." Antonio stood up from his position on the floor, half stumbling in his haste as he grasped for Lovino's hands, child-like excitement in his eyes. Lovino immediately pulled his hands away, scowling, muttering, and ignoring the rough callouses on Antonio's warm hands. It did not seem to dissuade Antonio's eagerness, although, Lovino knew that nothing would ever seem to deter his exuberance. "Why don't I show you something amazing? Outside of this little town?"

"W-what for?" Lovino asked, interest piqued, and feeling bothered that he was actually considering going against his father - never had he dared to step out; he never had the excuse to, nor ever had the courage to defy the unspoken orders from his father.

"I've never taken anyone there before - and I wish I did... it's very beautiful." Antonio looked at him seriously, and although his smile had sobered, his eyes still glinted with that unmistakable charisma that seemed natural to the Spaniard. Lovino rubbed his cheek, ignoring the way Antonio had just looked at him, as if he were offering Lovino something precious, and not just an ordinary trip to some place out of town.

"It's not too far, is it?" Lovino asked, glancing over to the sun, which was slowly making its descent to the horizon. If he stayed out too long, Vincezo would be furious with him - he would never hear the end of it, and any dreams he would have of adventuring from town would have been effectively crushed under Vincezo.

"It's a good half hour away from here, maybe even an hour." Antonio said, looking off in the direction of the area he wanted to bring Lovino, a smile tugging back on his lips. His eyes had a dreamy quality to them, as if this special place meant much to the Spaniard. "Why? Do you need to be getting home?"

"...Yeah," Lovino said softly, turning away from Antonio, the usual bite in his voice dulled and tamed by the prospect of having a chance to escape the town, even for a little bit of time. "I have to head home." He began to make his way to the church, and gasped when Antonio's larger hand grabbed his slight forearm. When Lovino turned his head back, he was taken aback by the hope brimming in the Spaniard's eyes.

"Will you be here, tomorrow?"

Lovino felt his throat go dry, and he had trouble choking out whatever words he had to say. The fear of Vincezo's anger still tugged at his thoughts, leading him to hesitate."I... I will." What was he saying?! He meant to reject him, damn it! Not... not agree to meet with him - but the idea of leaving town had been so tempting, and the way Antonio had looked at him - Lovino ignored the blush heating his face up, and , without any sort of goodbye to the Spaniard, ran back to his little sanctuary, in the confines of his small bedroom. He ducked into his covers, practically diving into his sheets in his embarrassment - which he shouldn't have had; he never said any stupid, nor did anything embarrassing happen, and when he tried to rationalize why he felt so flustered, all he could think of was the hopeful look that Spaniard had, and how his eyes glinted a bit greener, with some sort of emotion Lovino could not describe. He should have punched that Spaniard and his stupid face, and once more after, for good measure.

Lovino flopped onto his back, letting out a few quick breaths as the excitement began to finally get to him - to think that his chance at a taste of freedom was so close made his lips turn up in a guilty smile, still too pleased with the idea. He was so immersed in his thoughts that he had completely forgot about dinner that night, and had fallen asleep, all too ready for the next day, and despite his readiness, a small, cynical voice warned that something so daring couldn't be that easy to do.

He must have been very tired, he would later think the next morning, to dream of such an ugly color like green.

Green, bright like grass stains, green like Vincezo's chasuble, green like annoying, laughing Spaniards.