A.N. Hi guys. Again, terribly sorry about the sudden hiatuses I take. I'm terrible at keeping stories updated.
This little SpaMano gem came from a song recommendation from my lovely friend (and honey nut Cheerio/brain twin) Alex. Thanks, Alex.
Disclaimer: I own none of the characters I have used for this, nor the song that I based this off of. I wish I was cool enough to. Maybe someday.
Antonio's fingers traced along the windowpane, his fingers gentle across the smooth glass surface, skimming against it light as the kiss of butterfly's wings. His emerald eyes, usually sparkling like newly cut, multifaceted jewels, were dulled down in the pale ivory moonlight pouring into his empty bedroom. It outlined his figure, and from behind he just appeared to be a lone silhouette, forever condemned to solitary life, quarantined in his room.
Perched on the windowsill, the Spaniard's face was pressed up against the cool glass, his warmer breath fogging it up slightly. Every now and then he would reach up, clean away the condensation forming with the sleeve of his baggy sweatshirt. With one arm, he hugged his knees to his chest, trying to feel whole. Feel warm again. But his heart, his everything, was filled with a cold emptiness. An emptiness that could only be somewhat filled by one thing.
Talking to the moon. Talking to his Lovino.
The large orb in the sky, glowing a radiant white, was the main focus in the midnight blue sky. The stars, though twinkling like diamonds, were nothing compared to the sheer beauty of the moon. And it was all Antonio had.
"I know you're out there..." the Spaniard began softly, his breathing hitching painfully in his chest, heart clenched in an iron fist of agonizing loss. "And that you're just so far away.. probably just out of my grasp. And I want you back, Lovi.. more than I have ever wanted anything in my life."
A single tear, crystalline, salty, slid down his pale cheek. Antonio didn't even bother to wipe it away, knowing that after a while, more tears would just follow that one, cascading in waterfalls down the flat planes of his face. The staccato drip-drop of tears pattering against the cotton material of his sweatshirt was nowhere near foreign to Antonio anymore. It was just part of the routine now.
"Everyone thinks I'm crazy.. crazy for still talking to you," he continued, his voice hollow sounding even to his own ears now. "But I just miss you so much. I look forward to every night, because I know one thing for certain. The moon will be here. And now, I hope this very moon is something that we can share together."
"It's a simple wish, but I hope that you're on the other side of the moon. Somewhere happier, away from all the pain and suffering that you had to go through. But who knows? Maybe there is no heaven. Maybe I am just being a fool, talking to something that isn't even you. Everyone in town talks about me now. About how I just talk to you at night. People are beginning to believe that I never sleep. But I do. When I sleep, I dream. And the dreams- well, they hurt almost as much as losing you. Every one of them is like losing you all over again."
"When you first got diagnosed, I know that you were absolutely devastated. We all were. You were so young, nineteen. You were vibrant, with a whole life ahead of you. You didn't deserve to hear those dreaded words. After all those headaches, I should've known that something was wrong. That they weren't just headaches. Maybe, if I had convinced you to go to the doctor sooner than later.. you would still be here, in my arms."
"Oligodendroglioma.We didn't even know how to pronounce the damned word at first.. You shook it off, like it was a joke. We were both in disbelief. You, having a brain tumor? You were given three years to live. Three. I had planned a forever and always with you, planned on growing old with you by my side. Sleeping with you in my arm, and waking up to your bedhead and gruff voice. But now? Everything was changed. Everything had to be different. Chemotherapy drained you of everything; your hair falling out so quickly. You lost weight so fast, and you had no appetite. And you were just so tired all the time."
"I had no complaints about taking care of you, helping you with simple things, like getting dressed. I would've helped you do those things for the rest of my life. I just loved you so much. But the pain was starting to get to be too much to bear. And when you went in to get another PET scan, the doctors noticed that the cancer had spread."
Antonio was sobbing by this point, gasping for a jerking breath between each heartwrenching cry. The tears were hitting his sweatshirt like rain, at an almost alarming rate. For every drop that ran off his chin, another five followed half-seconds after. "And you were reduced from your three years to live to less than a month. So, of course, I go out. Buy a ring. I wouldn't let you die without calling you my husband. Because that was what you deserved. I just wanted you to be my fucking husband, and I wanted to grow old with you. I wanted us to die in our sleep together at some ridiculous age, wrapped in each other's embrace. But now your doctors were telling us to have other plans. People kept asking me if I had your funeral planned out. If you had a will entrusting me with all of your belongings. If everyone knew about your prognosis."
"I was numb. I was so numb, Lovi. None of it was real. Mi poco tomate wasn't wasting away in front of my very eyes, whittled down to nothing but skin and bones, a skeletal face with hollow brown eyes. You tried to be happy for me. You tried to be yourself. But I knew how much pain you were in. When I sat by your hospital bed when you slept, I heard you whimpering in your sleep. The nurses tried so hard to keep you comfortable, increasing your morphine. But you refused. My stubborn little Lovino." The Spaniard's laugh was a watery hiccup, short and bitter. "That part of you couldn't be changed. Your personality was still there, one of the most endearing features about you. But the pain just drowned it out most of the time."
"That last day.. it was your worst day. You were barely awake for any of it. And when you were awake, you couldn't hide the pain. I don't know if you had just given up at that point.. but I tried my best to keep your mind at ease. The doctors knew-" Antonio trailed off, his voice cracking and shattering into millions of pieces, replicating what his heart had done that fateful day.
"And when you finally.. when you left my world, when you left my life, it was like magic. The doctors had finally coaxed you to have a higher dose of morphine in your drip, and it helped you. You were asleep when the heart monitors began beeping frantically.. when you flatlined. I was desperate to have you back, one last time. I had taken for granted our little conversations about miniscule topics, like the weather, or what we wanted to have for lunch. I was screaming your name, shaking your hand. You were already getting so cold, and your hand was stiff in mine. The nurses kept telling me that you were gone.. but I couldn't believe it."
"At your funeral, Ludwig and Feliciano were extremely concerned about me. They asked how I was coping. And I couldn't tell them how. How could I explain that I spend my nights talking to the moon, trying to get your voice to speak to me one last time? Because when the sun goes down, sometimes.. I swear that I can hear you talking to me. Like it was just another normal day."
Inhaling deeply, shakily, in hopes of composing himself slightly, Antonio finally scrubbed furiously at his cheeks, rubbing away the wet trails that his hot tears had left in their wake. Staring at the moon but seeing nothing, his eyes almost vacant, the Spaniard asked, voice thin as a whisper, "Sometimes I wonder.. do you ever hear me calling?"
"Te amo mucho, Lovino Vargas. Yo siempre te amaré. I love you so much.. and I will always love you."
"I'll never forget you."