Chapter 1
Lovino sat at the bus stop, staring absentmindedly at his shoes. He was lost in thought, replaying the day's events in his head. Damn that Feliciano, always getting them into trouble. They were really gonna get it if he couldn't fix it. He was so lost in thought, he almost didn't see the bus idling in front of him. "Yo, Mister, ya gonna get on or what?" the bus driver called, irritated.
"Huh? Oh, yeah," Lovino mumbled, stepping on to the overcrowded bus, managing to snag a seat next to a tall, curly-haired Spanish man, who immediately looked over and grinned. Lovino gave him back one of his signature grim glares, which only seemed to further encourage him.
"Hola!" the man trilled excitedly, flashing another bright smile. Lovino turned slightly, looking into the man's coffee colored eyes with a frown. "Hi," he said, not really wishing to continue the conversation any further. But apparently, the Spanish man had other plans.
"So, where are you headed?" He asked Lovino, placing his bag on the floor to make more room for the brown-haired stranger. "Home," Lovino said curtly, trying to give his most obvious indication for the man to shut up. "Look, do I know you? I'm sure I don't, so why are you talking to me?"
Antonio shrugged. "I was just wondering. Just trying to make conversation. You don't have to bite my head off about it. Unless you want to." He added, waggling a suggestive eyebrow.
"You're disgusting. I'd slap you if there weren't so many people around." Lovino muttered, reaching over to pull the bell signaling his stop. He was all too relieved to see his crappy old apartment complex, and he scuttled quickly off the bus, until he realized that the strange man was getting off at the same stop. "What the hell? Are you following me?" Lovino spat, clutching his bag tightly to his chest.
"Um, no? I'm just going to my apartment, where I live. Loosen up a little bit, will you? Geez. If we're going to be friends, you have to be less uptight." The Spaniard explained, pointing to the building.
"Crap… " Lovino muttered under his breath, mentally slapping himself twice—once for making a fool out of himself in front of this stranger who was apparently his new neighbor, and once for the fact that this stranger was indeed his new neighbor. "And no one said we were going to be friends, bastard! But, I live here too. Did you just move here? I've never seen you here." He jabbed the button on the elevator, ninth floor. "What floor do you need?"
"Same one, ninth. And yes, I moved here a few months ago. You probably don't see me because my work schedule requires me to leave early in the morning and return pretty late at night." He shrugs. Lovino considered this as they walked to their homes, still going in the exact same direction. It was true, he and Feliciano never really woke up before noon, considering they were both such fans of siestas and that their schedules didn't really require them to be up early, so it made sense that he had never seen the man before. Finally, they reached their destinations, and both began to pull out their keys.
"Dammit! You live next door too? God." Lovino grumbled as he unlocked his door, earning a warm 'Welcome home fratello!' from Feliciano who was cooking pasta at the stove. He was just about to slam the door in his 'neighbor's' face but paused, and turned around to face him. "I'm Lovino… In case you wanted to know." He said, a bit more shyly than he had intended to.
"Oh, right. Antonio," the Spanish man replied, with yet another one of his dopey –looking grins, extending his hand to the shorter man. Lovino rejected the hand, finally getting his chance to slam the door. He leaned against the closed doorframe and sank to the floor, trying to process what was going on. There was something about that Antonio. It was weird, he never was one to strike up conversation with someone that he just met, but Antonio was… intriguing. 'Maybe I'll finally have a friend other than Feliciano…?' he thought to himself, standing up to put his coat away. He then shook his head vigorously. No. Who was he kidding? Lovino Vargas didn't make friends, especially with annoyingly intruding bastards like Antonio.
Outside the door, Antonio stood, his hand still outstretched, dumbfounded. He had never met someone as rude as the little Italian boy. He shook his head and grinned, unlocking his own door and walking inside, flicking on the lights. As he plopped down on the couch to watch some TV, he thought to himself, 'I guess we'll just have to do something about that little attitude of his, won't we?'