Summary: Antonio is the country of Spain. Lovino is, well, Lovino. Mortality is the biggest factor that separates the two of them, but will they somehow manage to overcome it? Antonio/Lovino
Warnings: BL, human!Lovino
A/N: Don't judge the story by its summary, and assume it'll be what you think it is… I have the whole story planned out, and I probably won't be changing it anytime soon.
-x-
Antonio rested his head on his hand, elbow propped up against the counter. He watched lazily as Francis chattered away to a blonde girl, his fingers slowly moving towards places they shouldn't be. Well, that was pretty normal.
He sighed, lifting his arm off the table. "Francis, I'm beat. I'm heading off, later man," he said lazily, not really caring for his response. If he had even heard him. He shook his head as he stepped outside the bar, the sudden gust of winter air chilling his skin. He shivered, and pulled on his jacket.
"Watch where you're going, dammit!" came a sharp voice. Startled, Antonio gazed down below him. A man was on the ground, shopping bag broken and the contents spilling across the sidewalk.
"S-sorry!" he exclaimed, quickly bending down to pick up the loose shopping. He smirked to himself; tomatoes, olives, pasta. This guy must be Italian. He held them out to the shorter man, his face barely standing out due to the darkness; only the faint neon lights of the nearby shops illuminating his features. Antonio saw deep, green eyes, much like his own.
"Bastard," he heard the stranger mutter, as he grabbed his stuff back. He gave a curt nod, before quickly heading off.
Antonio's eyes lingered on the faint figure, until it was out of sight. "Wait, I was standing still. How was it my fault he fell?" he suddenly asked himself. He rolled his eyes at his own stupidity, before walking up the road, towards his apartment.
-x-
Antonio woke up the next day with a slight hangover. He groaned as he stepped out of bed, his head pounding slightly. He blinked, and noticed his phone vibrating against the wooden desk. He shuffled towards it, the bright screen temporarily blinding him.
"'ello?" he asked groggily, stifling a yawn. He noticed the digital clock read 10:35AM.
"Antonio?" came a voice on the other side. "Antonio, is that you?"
"Well it's my phone, isn't it? Who's this?" he replied, pouring himself a cup of water.
"Oh, it's me, Feliciano Vargas! I've been trying to get you all morning!" said Feliciano, his voice extremely cheerful.
Antonio swallowed the painkiller with a gulp of water. "Oh, y-yeah, about the guitar, right?" he said, suddenly remembering.
"Yup! Can I pick it up around 11?" he asked.
Antonio wasn't particularly busy, so he said whenever was fine. He hung up, and collapsed onto the sofa. He flicked the television to some Spanish news, not that he was really paying attention. He pretty much knew whatever was going on in his country at the moment. It wasn't something you could explain easily, but he just knew. Sort of like a gut feeling. Sort of.
There was a sharp tap at the door. "Antonio?" floated a voice. Antonio recognized it as that of Feliciano. Was it 11am already? He ran up to the door, unlatched it, and let the brunette come inside. "Ve, I'm Feliciano~" he smiled. "And this," he said, gesturing to another man, "is my older brother, Lovino."
Antonio hadn't even seen the second man enter the house. He had significantly darker hair than his brother, and vibrant, green eyes. They seemed familiar…
"Hey, you're the bastard from last night!" he said, eyes widening.
The Spaniard closed his eyes. That's why he seemed slightly familiar, he'd seen him just the night before. "Look, about that, I was standing still. There's no way it could've been my fault you fell," Antonio sighed, just in case the man decided to bring it up.
"Shouldn't have been standing in the middle of the sidewalk, dumbass," he muttered in response, earning himself a flick on the cheek from his brother.
"Fratello, that's rude!" pouted Feliciano, before smiling apologetically at Antonio. "Sorry, he's shy to strangers," he explained. Fratello? They were definitely Italian.
Antonio laughed at the younger brother's response, before asking them to wait in the main area. He entered his room, and opened the door to his wardrobe. There, amongst the few piles of clothes, was a large, black case. He pulled it out, and brushed off some dust. It was actually pretty heavy. He brought it out to the dining table, and laid it across the wood.
He unlatched the dark, leather case, and opened the lid, revealing a light, polished guitar.
Feliciano's eyes went wide. "I-it's beautiful, that's yours, fratello," he said, a hint of envy in his voice.
Lovino looked at it curiously for a moment, before tilting his head to the right. "It looks really old. Are you sure it's alright for us to have it?"
Antonio laughed. "It was mine 50 years ago, I never play it and it just takes up space. I wouldn't put up an ad for a free guitar if I wasn't willing to part with it."
Lovino frowned. "Yours 50 years ago?"
Crap, his mistake. "I-my grandfather's guitar," he corrected. Damn, that was careless. He forgot for a bit that he was in the presence of humans, not his fellow countries.
"It's so sleek and shiny, it's in great condition, too," came Feliciano's voice.
Lovnio looked sideways at his younger brother. "I-if you like it that much, you can have it, I'll play something else," he suggested.
"I-I can't do that, my bass was a present from Ludwig!" exclaimed Feliciano. Lovino rolled his eyes at this comment, and made a remark on how that 'bastard's crap shouldn't be anywhere near the two of them, and that they should burn it and get him a brand-new bass.'
Antonio wasn't really one to eavesdrop, so he tuned out of their little sibling argument for a while.
Once the two were done – and Lovino finally agreed to let Feliciano keep the 'dodgy' bass, because it saved them money, brought out a few cups of coffee for the three of them. "Hope you don't mind me asking," he said, handing each man their coffee, "what are you two using the guitar for?"
Lovino nudged Feliciano, indicating that he should explain. "W-well this guy I know, his name's Ludwig-"
"He's a dick," interrupted Lovino.
"Ludwig," continued Feliciano, ignoring his brother, "and he has this recording studio. He's asked me to record a few songs," he admitted, blushing slightly. "So I'm asking my brother to take up guitar so he can play with me."
Antonio nodded. Made sense, he supposed. "How long have you been playing bass, Feliciano?" he asked.
"Um, about six or seven years," he replied happily. "But Lovino hasn't touched a guitar in his life!"
Lovino went red when he heard his brother's comment on his musical talent. He pinched his brother under the table, making him yelp in surprise.
"Wow er, do you have lessons planned then?" he asked. To play with your brother… who's been playing for years... is he some kind of prodigy with absolute pitch, or something?
"N-no," Lovino admitted, his eyes looking downwards.
"I could teach you, if you want," Antonio offered.
"I thought you said you don't play," answered Lovino.
Damn, another mistake. This kid was pretty observant, picking up on Antonio's mistakes like that. "W-well, I know how to play," he said quickly, looking away.
Lovino frowned, as if there was something about him he just wasn't getting. He narrowed his green eyes. Aside from a few weird things he said, he seemed completely normal. So why was something about him that seemed so… different?
"That's a great idea, why don't you learn from Antonio?" suggested Feliciano.
"As if I would, dammit! He looks like he's the same age as I am, and he hasn't played in so long, as he said before, I would rather take lessons from a professional!" frowned Lovino.
"How old are you?" asked Antonio.
"Twenty-two," replied Lovino sourly.
"Only twenty-two? Kid, I'll have you know that I'm older than your-" Antonio stopped himself just in time. He had been about to say 'older than your grandparents combined,' but that would just make no sense whatsoever. "-you, I'm twenty-five," said Antonio. Why was he being so careless today? Did he want to let these two humans know he was a country? Most people didn't know countries were even personified as people. They'd probably think he's mental.
Antonio would blame his almost non-existent hangover if he did somehow let it slip.
"Pssht, three years isn't old enough for you to call me a kid," retorted Lovino, feeling slightly ticked off.
Antonio just sighed. He couldn't even have a civil conversation with the kid, so he was somewhat glad on the inside that he wouldn't be teaching him. Although, he did feel sorry for the younger brother, having to wait until his older brother learnt to play. And for having to listen to that potty mouth of his.
Lovino pushed his (untouched) cup of coffee back towards the Spaniard. "Thanks for the guitar, we have stuff we need to get to," he said, turning away. He pulled his brother up. "Let's go, Feli."
Feliciano took one last gulp of coffee, before turning and giving an apologetic look towards Antonio. "S-Sorry about him, really, I am. And thanks so much for the guitar, it'll really help us! I'll send you a copy of the recording when we get around to it," he promised, before picking up the case, and following his older brother out the door.
-x-
It seemed Antonio rarely spent the day alone, as several hours after the Vargas brothers left his residence, his couch was being used by another guest. Well, was it a guest when they were at your house just as much as they were at their own?
"Cher, let's go out and eat something, I'm starving," came the Frenchman's voice. Antonio didn't really have anything better to do, so he just nodded and grabbed his car keys.
The car was silent as Antonio drove. Francis was gazing out the window, staring into the passing buildings. Car rides weren't always this quiet, only recently had it become like this.
How long had it been, one hundred years? Antonio lowered his head, ashamed. He couldn't even remember the exact date. And one hundred years weren't even that long when you were a country.
He pulled up into a parking space, just in front of a German restaurant, and looked over at Francis. He saw a soft look in his eyes. "This was his favourite restaurant, you know?" he said absently.
Yeah, Antonio knew. Gilbert loved eating here. It would often be the three of them, whether it was country stuff, food, drinking, or just generally hanging about. Then Prussia was dissolved as a country, and with that, Gilbert had vanished.
Memories started the fill the Spaniard's mind, and he quickly shook them off. It wasn't the time to get sentimental. He could also see Francis's expression, and wondered if his was like that just seconds before.
"Come on, France. You wanted to eat, right?" Antonio said, pulling the Frenchman out of his reverie.
-x-
"So," Francis began, as they waited for their food to arrive. "Did anything happen today?" he asked, with a lack of a better subject.
"Yes, actually," replied Antonio, pulling out little packets of salt from the basket. He ripped them open and poured them to make a pile on the table. "These two guys came to my house, and picked up that old guitar of mine," he said.
Francis' eyes twinkled. "Were they cute?"
Antonio laughed, and rolled his eyes. "What a Francis-y thing to say," he commented.
"Well I AM Francis, non?" he mused. "So, were they?"
"Eh," Antonio began. "They were pretty cute, I guess?" he replied, unsure of his own answer. "One of them was really nice, and the other a total jerk. A bit too observant, too. I slipped a few times about my age, and he kept on asking questions," he said, shaking his head.
"Ah, it's been so long, we all mess up sometimes. And the sassy ones are always better in bed, right?" Francis winked.
Antonio scoffed, and stuck his tongue out at his friend. "You would know."
The two men's eyes met, and the burst out laughing.
-x-
Lovino set the heavy guitar case onto his bed. He unlatched the silver clips, and slowly lifted up the lid. The guitar was still there, resting exactly as it had been left, all these years. He ran his finger across it, dust rubbing onto his finger. He sighed and pulled it out of the case, a cloth pulled from his pocket to dust it off, when his eye caught on a piece of paper in the case. The guitar had been resting on top of it, hiding it from view.
Curious, he unfolded the single sheet. It appeared to be the transaction for the purchase of the guitar. His eyes scanned over the text, and saw it was dated a fair while back; everything was hand-written. His eyes widened when he saw the last few words on the sheet.
"Feliciano, what's the name of the guy that gave us the guitar?" he called out.
"Er, Antonio, I think," came his brother's reply.
Lovino rolled his eyes. Antonio didn't prove anything, he could've been named after his grandfather. "Full name?" he pressed.
Feliciano entered Lovino's bedroom, the newspaper from the previous week in hand. He flipped to a page, and pointed to a box, the offer for the free guitar.
Lovino frowned as he read the words 'Antonio F. Carriedo'. This guy had the exact, word for word name as his grandfather.
-x-
I don't intend for this to be a really long story, I'm kind of not sure how interesting everyone thinks it is … feedback would be nice, so I can decide whether to continue this or not.