Park Bench

"Oh how cute!"

"What a darling boy your brother is, Lovino you should be more like him."

"He's a natural at playing the violin!"

"His food is absolutely amazing!"

My fists clenched in the soapy water as I was (trying) to do the dishes without breaking anything. Sure, it was the middle of January, but we'd experienced a recent warm snap; sun out, upper sixties, birds flipping singing in the flipping trees –the whole schizwiz. (Shush, it's totally a word regardless of what the jerkface Merriam-Webster says–don't you judge me!)

But I digress…

Anyways, my precious baby brother had made the most of the new-found glorious weather of freaking doom and was currently in our back yard, playing violin and just generally making the neighbors fall in love with him. I grit my teeth, rinsing the last of the annoyingly clingy (and oh so very Feliciano-like) bubbles from my arms. I cast my eyes out the window back at my idiotic little brother and our doting grandfather before giving a (not at all dainty) snort and deciding I no longer wished to listen to Feliciano's (admittedly beautiful) music.

I grabbed my wallet and phone before exiting the house and ambling down the street towards the park. (N-Not that there was any specific reason or person or anything that I may or may not have wanted to see there –nope!) I couldn't help but roll my eyes as I neared the pond where there should be ducks but instead one could be found being freaking chased by a mob of horrible, evil, hissing geese. (Those things are flipping out to destroy humanity –mark my words!) Anywho, a small crowd had gathered around one of the benches. From somewhere in the graceless mass of humans came the warm, ridiculously happy (but..n-nice) strains of Spanish guitar. I drew closer, unafraid of the angry huffs and occasional soccer-mom glares of death and devastation (alright, so maybe those were just a little completely and utterly terrifying in every way, shape, and form.) that I received along the way.

By the time I had made it to the front of the crowd, the music was much faster, louder, and more urgent than it had been. I had a half-minute with some 12.9 year-old Facebook addict with way to much making and way too little clothing before the song drew to a close and the audience burst into applause. I smirked quickly when 12.9 blinked and watched the crowd disperse before I slid onto the green bench beside the street performer.

"Lovi! You came!" He said, giving me that same stupid grin I'd known since I was three.

"Are you ever going to call me by my actual name or…?" I sighed, rolling my eyes.

"Probably not, no." He laughed.

"I hate you."

"No you don't"

"Yes, I do."

"Then you wouldn't be here with me!"

"…Touché."

"What's that mean, Lovi."

I groaned, forehead meeting my palm. The idiot just stared at me (rather creepily) with that same dumb grin that made his emerald eyes twinkle more than usual. The man practically radiated freaking happiness and rainbows.

"You're an annoying jerk, you know that?"

"Ay, Lovi you're so cruel!"

"Dang it, Antonio! We've known each other how long and you're just figuring that out?"

"It's been fifteen years, six months, eleven days and…um…oh! and nine hours!" he grinned stupidly at me while I gaped like a (very intelligent and handsome) fish.

"….That's freaking creepy, Antonio."

"No it isn't!"

"You remembered to the hour, yes it is."

He simply pouted at me like some over-grown toddler before I eventually gave a huff and turned away. He chuckled and set down his poor, beaten old guitar and took on a much more serious tone.

"Lovino…" oh crap, what did I do?

"…What?"

He didn't really respond, he just looked away and slid a relatively small grey box along the two feet of space or so between us on the bench and into my waiting hand. I frowned, flipping the box open and looking inside.

A few pieces of paper were folded neatly on top. I opened them and looked from the idiot to the papers and back, confusion contorting my features back into Fish Man.

"Wh-What is this?!"

"I finally saved enough money up to go home to Spain. Things are a lot...more accepting there now[1]." He looked over at me and nodded to the box.

I drew the papers back and gaped.

A very small, simple band was nestled into the bottom of the box. My cheeks began to heat up and I looked to the Spaniard for answers.

"I've told you I hate staying so secretive…Look, you don't have to answer but the time of the flight is on the ticket s-so…adios." He said, collecting his guitar and quickly retreating.

Of course he didn't wait for a response –he didn't need to. He knew that. Hell, I knew that. I knew that come tomorrow my little brother would come bouncing into my room and all he'd find of me would be an empty grey box.

[1] In July of 2005, Spain legalized same-sex marriage