Lovino like being alone. He wasn't one of those assholes who said they liked being alone but meant it as a cry for help, either. He liked to be at home and make good food. Not that he was against going out with his brother, but sometimes a man just needed to be left alone.
Tonight was one of those nights. Lovino was on his couch and playing with one of those puzzles. The ones made of wood that you had to twist a certain way until they all fell apart. Lovino fucking sucked at them.
Lovino was pretty sure his brother was off with some of his friends and there was no one else to disturb him. It was perfect. He had eaten a delicious (if he did say so himself) meal, and now he was relaxing.
Then it sounded like someone fell against his front door.
Lovino looked up over his couch, hoping that he had imagined the sound. He must have. Who would bother him? No one, that's who. Lovino sank down into his couch again, pulling at a piece of the puzzle he had pulled for the tenth time.
Someone pounded their fist against the door a couple of times. It wasn't angry banging, but the banging of someone who couldn't find the doorbell. Lovino watched his door. Then the puzzle fell apart in Lovino's hand.
"Fuck," Lovino commented.
"Hello," the man on the other side of the door called. "Open th'door," his words blended into one another.
Lovino steeled himself. If it was a drunk, he could deal with it. He had handled his brother when he was drunk, and he had handled his grandpa when he was drunk. Lovino stood up, scattering puzzle pieces on his carpet.
Lovino edged toward the door. He wasn't nervous, but his hands were certainly sweaty. And his stomach was doing weird summersaults. Lovino reached the door and took a door and took a deep breath.
"Go away!" Lovino called, banging once on the door to emphasis his point.
There wasn't an answer. Lovino nodded, proud of himself. Just to be sure, he locked the door. He didn't want any crazy drunks wandering around in his house. He had just cleaned it, and he certainly didn't want vomit all over his clean rug.
Lovino sauntered back over to his couch, vaulting himself over the back and landing with a bounce on the other side. He shouldn't have been worried, stupid drunks—
The doorknob turned.
Lovino stared in horror at the door. He had locked it, right?
The door opened, and a blond man tumbled in and fell on his knees. Lovino sucked in a gasp of air and threw the closest thing he had at hand.
A puzzle piece bounced off of the blond man's head.
"Ow."
Lovino glared at the blond man. "What are you doing here? This isn't your house, you crazy, drunken bastard! Out!"
The man looked heartbroken. "Al isn't here?"
Lovino felt his mouth go dry when he saw the blond's expression. His brother, Feliciano, also made that face whenever Lovino yelled at him for the wrong thing. "No, you came to the wrong house," Lovino explained, making sure his voice wasn't quite as loud as before.
"Who're you then?"
Lovino paused. He probably shouldn't go around giving his name out to strangers who had technically broken into his house. But the man on the ground in front of Lovino barely looked capable of remembering his own name.
"Lovino."
"I'm Matthew," the blond said, falling onto his stomach. Lovino was impressed Matthew remembered.
Lovino rolled his eyes. "Get off the ground." He stood and walked over to shut the door. Then he walked over to Matthew and nudged him with his foot. "Come on, we have to get you home."
"I need Al," Matthew said, miserable.
Lovino snorted and rolled Matthew over with his foot. "Yes, yes, you need Al. Do you know your address? Come on, Matthew, get up!" Lovino put his hands on his hips and looked down at the drunk blond. He let out an annoyed sigh and dragged Matthew toward the couch.
"You better not throw up," Lovino muttered, hauling him onto the cushions. "Where's your phone? Matthew?"
Matthew rolled onto his stomach and threw his hand back. He patted his back pocket before forgetting what he was doing and letting his hand fall. Lovino looked at the ceiling, wishing dearly he could go back to playing with his puzzle. He reached into Matthew's back pocket and pulled out his phone.
"Son of a—what's your password?" Lovino looked down at the half-asleep Matthew. "Hey! Phone password!"
"One, eight, six, seven," Matthew mumbled into the pillows on the couch.
Lovino unlocked the phone, blinking. "Are you Canadian?" If Matthew wasn't, it would sure be weird for him to have a Canadian flag as his phone background. Matthew cheered into his pillow, raising a fist. Lovino took this as a 'yes.'
Lovino scrolled to the top of Matthew's contacts, finding someone named 'Alfred.' He called the person, waiting impatiently. He tapped his foot, watching worriedly as Matthew began to hiccup on the couch. After three more tries, someone finally picked up.
"H'lo?" A breathy voice came from the other end.
"Hey, buddy, someone here named Matthew is here looking for you," Lovino snapped into the phone.
"Oh—is he alright?" The voice came, and Lovino heard the rustling of sheets.
"He's drunk and he came banging on my door. Then, he broke into my house. He was looking for Al. That's you, right?" Lovino raised an eyebrow. Matthew began to hiccup with more vigor.
"Shit. Shit, shit. Alright, what's your addr—no, it's Matthew, I have to go get him. … No, we can't finish!" Lovino felt his cheeks warm up.
Then, Matthew threw up.
Lovino let out a shout and jumped backwards, stomach rolling. "Fuck, he threw up! God damn it! You better clean this up!" Lovino shouted into the phone.
That was the first time Matthew showed up at Lovino's house drunk.