Lovino sighed heavily and wrapped his black cloak further around himself in an attempt to ward off the cold. When he had planned the little excursion, he had expected the night to be a little more entertaining. So far, there had been a few exotic dancers and local bands that had caught his eye, but the night was growing old and Lovino could only afford to be away from home for a few hours longer. It was honestly a disappointment; it was only so often that he could sneak away from the palace and his accursed responsibilities.
He had been desperate to get out, even if it had just been for one night. He was tired of being known as the other prince, the sullen prince, the brat. He was the older between him and his twin, Feliciano, but the younger was by far the favored of them. Feliciano was everything Lovino couldn't stand to be, not when he had the responsibility of a kingdom weighing on his shoulders. He wasn't going to rule, he knew that—not when Feli was so beloved—but he was still the elder and he was expected to help his little brother rule when the time did come. Which, if all went as it was meant, would be within the next few months, on their eighteenth birthday.
That meant that that night, the Festival of the Phoenix, would be one of the last opportunities for Lovino to go out and blend into the crowd. To, for once, be one of those who had no past, no future, and no responsibilities.
But that night, supposedly one of the most festive nights of the year, was turning out to be dull. The moon was nearly set, and nothing that even remotely lived up to the rumors and gossip had happened. Lovino was beginning to think that going out that night was a bad idea.
He was just about to stand up and head back when a sudden rush of quiet filled the outdoor theatre. He looked up, glad he was in the shadows and still had a good view of the stage—which was really just a sandy circle laid into the ground—to find that the blonde announcer, Alfred, who had started the whole mess of performances had come back onstage with a huge grin on his face.
"Alright, alright. I know that all the people who've come up before were a bit casual, and my friends and I can all tell that you're getting pretty antsy! So we've decided to bring out the big guns!" He chirped in that annoyingly high voice, cowlick bouncing as he did.
The crowd murmured, but it wasn't bored as it had been previously. Now, it was excitement that ran through their veins, as if they knew what was coming. Lovino could only hope it would be at least exponentially better than the precursors.
The crowd hummed with anticipation as the lanterns that had lit the area previously were extinguished. Small, flaming braziers were placed along the edge of the stage, flickering and bright among the darkness. A ring of flame lit up a few inches beyond them, effectively separating whomever the performers were from the crowd. Alfred grinned and spread his arms, looking ghostly in the flickering light.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the highlight of the festival! The phoenixes themselves have come out to play. Please welcome the Bad Touch Trio!"
He screamed and the crowd screamed back. Thoroughly intrigued, Lovino was silent as he watched. The smoke glowed ethereally, pulsing red and orange and black.
Music started playing somewhere offstage, slow and enchanting and haunting. A figure stepped from the smoke, a bare-chested blonde man with two large staffs in either hand. Without warning, he spun, flicking the ends of the staffs through the fire. They caught and suddenly he was wielding spinning rings of flame without so much as a thought. He looked calm, a serene smile on his face as he spun with the fire, elegant and graceful. Over his head, between his feet, behind him, in front of him, the man—Francis, by the squealing of the girls in the crowd—seemed unfazed by the potential danger. The only protection visible to Lovino was the long, loose black pants the man wore and a pair of fingerless black leather gloves coating his arms to the elbow. The flame danced to the beat, and Lovino found himself entranced. It looked powerful and graceful, fire moving fluidly as water.
That went on for a few minutes before another man, albino and dressed in the same lack of cloth that Francis was, came onstage. He spun in tandem with the blonde effortlessly, every movement carefully planned and graceful. At some point, the albino had lit the small rolls of whatever flammable material, attached to his fingers by nearly invisible strings, from the ends of Francis' staff, and was twirling them through the air. They spun in circles, every ring like a demonic halo floating in the air. As the music sped up, so did they, and soon it was hard to tell flame from person from smoke. It was enchanting and beautiful in a way that Lovino had never seen and it absolutely fascinated him.
The music slowed to near silence, and for a moment everything froze. The two men stepped to opposites sides of the stage and the entire audience seemed to be holding their breath, Lovino included. A soft wind blew through the night, clearing the smoke and letting a light breath of fresh air sweep over the stage. Even the bugs were still, which was rare for midsummer. It seemed like the entire world had paused in wait.
Their tension was soon explained by the lighting of ten new flaming orbs, seeming to hang midair within the smoke in a ring. The circle split down the middle and a man stepped from the smokescreen.
Lovino's breath caught in his throat. The man was gorgeous. The flames in his hands reflected in his eyes, turning the vibrant emerald smoky. His skin was flawlessly tanned, and where his companions wore black he wore white. His hair was curled and already slightly stuck to his skin, his bare, well-muscled chest shining in the light.
He danced and the fire danced with him. He was a part of the flame and them a part of him. The elegant wire frames in his hands were simply extensions of his arm, the fire obeying him like they were his own fingertips. He danced slowly to the music, gradually speeding up until he was a whirlwind of raging flame and dark skin and blazing green. Those eyes captivated Lovino; they seemed like they were staring straight at the prince. The music sped up and Francis and the albino began to dance again, though they still paled in comparison to the third. The green-eyed man danced with a subtle smile, muscles moving effortlessly and flaming fans cutting through the night sky like knives.
It was over all too soon. The music came to an abrupt stop and so did the dancers, frozen in place with the third man in front. Everything was silent for a moment before the crowd rushed to their feet, cheering so loudly it was deafening. The lanterns came back on and the fires put out. The atmosphere had been broken but Lovino could still see the arcs of flame and those eyes piercing through his own.
Through the roar of the audience, Lovino could hear the albino shouting to the green-eyed man. "That was amazing, Antonio! Perfect, as usual!"
Antonio. Somehow, the name fit the fire dancer. Gentle and mysterious and quietly powerful, just like the man.
Lovino turned away, drawing the hood of the cloak over his head as he picked his way quietly back toward the castle. As he crawled into bed that morning, pretending to have been asleep the entire time, green eyes flickered with a fire that could have been from within or been held in an elegant, long-fingered hand.
The prince was enchanted by the man, almost as if under a siren's spell. Lovino was convinced that the fire that danced in Antonio's eyes, the fire he wielded so readily in his palm, was the same as that from the very pits of hell.