This is the terribly-way-too-long-overdue-gift fic for The Goliath Bettle xD I'm so, so sorry. I didn't mean for it to fall this far behind. Life, school, you know? I hope it was somewhat, kind of, sort of worth the wait? A little? Meh? I'm so sorry, haha. To make it worse, I split into two parts. I hate myself haha xD Go check out her wonderful fics if you haven't already! She's absolutely amazing.
I hope you enjoy this little two-shot :)
Before the Snow Falls
~/~
December
Antonio was cold. He was always cold these days. It was the middle of a strange in-between season for him. Soccer ended at the start of November, and the school semester ended in two weeks. There was some snow here and there: it fell, but it rarely stuck. All the same, snow meant he couldn't practice, and he didn't really care for studying, since he could always manage without it somehow.
Winter was boring. Still. Lifeless. It's as though everything in his world was slowly coming to a halt, and Antonio didn't like it. He never liked it.
His breath bloomed in the air like clouds, and he entertained himself by breathing heavily and watching it fade away with the wind.
"Where did Francis tell us to meet him again?" Gilbert asked as he shuffled his hands together.
Antonio tilted his gaze away from the ground, and towards the glass and stone buildings. "Um…it was that bookstore. The one—it's brick? You know? With tea…?" Antonio trailed off with a weak laugh. He couldn't remember the name for the life of him. He rarely went there.
But Gilbert seemed to understand and he gave a nod. "Hm, yeah. He likes that place. Fucking weirdo."
Antonio chuckled. "I think it gives him inspiration, or something like that."
"It makes him feel pretentious, that's what," Gilbert scoffed with a shake of his head. He blew on his hands shortly before tucking them into his pockets. "Damn it, why is it so cold? I hate this. We should've just stayed in the dorm."
Specks of snow nested on Antonio's skin. The cold was biting. He looked in the reflection.
"Yeah," he replied, and they kept walking.
~/~
After some aimless meandering, a few lost stares, and quite a bit of cursing on Gilbert's part, they managed to find the bookstore. It was weathered brick and dusted glass windows that stretched to an impressive three stories. It was an old bookstore, but it was a large and extensive one. Francis attended St. Paul's academy as well, but he didn't play soccer like Gilbert and Antonio; he dabbled in the equestrian club, the tennis team, and sometimes the drama club. But mostly, he spent his time writing poetry and songs in the café of the bookstore, always at the side-table next to the window, furthest away from the chill of the swinging door, and with the best view of the occasional barista that worked there.
Gilbert and Antonio spotted him tapping away on his silver laptop, and they were quick to the usual routine: dragging chairs from other tables and sitting down across from Francis.
"Hey man, finally found you," Gilbert announced, with a sigh. He rubbed his hands together again.
"How're the love songs coming along?"
"Please don't generalize my writing like that. I write about a myriad of topics," Francis replied defensively and crossed his arms.
"Really?" Gilbert raised an eyebrow, and turned to Antonio. "What's on his laptop now?"
Antonio peered over Francis's shoulders before the laptop was frantically covered. "'Ode to Barista Number 4'."
Gilbert grinned, and Francis closed his laptop hurriedly. "Oh, whatever," he muttered. "At least I have a hobby. What've you two been doing? I don't think I've seen you for more than five minutes at a time since the final game two weeks ago."
Gilbert leaned back in his chair and frowned. "Yeah, well, I've been on restriction this week. Pissy little R.A. Vash tattle-taled to the teachers that I wasn't sick, so now they know I skipped English three times."
"Ah, I see," Francis laughed softly. After a beat, he tilted his head curiously. "Wait, then how are you out tonight?"
"Eh, little bro owed me a favor, so he's covering for me," Gilbert smiled smugly, and rested his hands behind his head.
"Really? I can't see Ludwig bending the rules for you," Francis pointed out.
Antonio stared out the window. The glass was frosty and shiny, but behind it, he watched people hurry back and forth. No one else seemed to like the cold either.
"Yeah, well he kind of owed me after what I found hiding under his bed."
Across the street he caught fast glimpses of someone standing still behind the bustle of the crowd. He was just standing there, or maybe he was trying to get through?
"Ohonhonhon," Francis laughed deviously, almost too happily. He leaned forward in eager amusement. "What has our darling little moral entrepreneur got into now?"
A few seconds passed, and the person – a boy – limped through the crowd, and turned his head both ways, checking for cars. The road was clear, and slowly, he hobbled across the shiny, black pavement; the fog on the glass was too thick for Antonio to make out his face.
"Toni."
"Hm?"
"Toni." Gilbert nudged Antonio's shoulder roughly, stirring him awake.
Antonio blinked, and he shifted his eyes to Francis, though they were still soft and faraway. "Sorry," he laughed lightly. "I was zoning out. What did you say?"
Francis cupped his cheek in his hand, and examined his friend's face. "I asked what you've been up to. You've been even more of an enigma than Gilbert."
"Oh, sorry," Antonio smiled shyly, and scratched the back of his neck. "I haven't been doing anything much. I usually go running after classes, or I'm in the gym."
"Or you're dribbling that goddamn ball until one in the morning," Gilbert added with a roll of his eyes.
Francis's forehead creased slightly. "That sounds like a lot. You're not pushing yourself too hard are you?"
"Of course not," Antonio laughed, his eyes alight. "Without actual practice, I have to do is the least I could do."
The bell above the door jingled, and Antonio straightened his back to attention, when he noticed the same figure from across the street limp through the door. Oh.
"Well, as long as you're sure, but you should let me know if –"
"Wait, Francis," Antonio interrupted him, and subtly gestured to the left with his chin. "The person who just walked through the door, is that…"
Francis twisted around in his seat, and gave a good stare. "Oh," he sighed, and turned back around. His shoulders slumped with relief. "Yes, that's him. He comes here rather often. You had me worried there with your tone."
Antonio frantically exchanged glances between Francis and the boy, now wandering away behind bookcases. "But that's—he's the boy from St. Mary's. The one I ran into, right?"
"Yes, of course. Don't you recognize him?" Francis asked.
"Wait," Gilbert looked towards the direction of the boy, and back to Antonio. "That's the kid you basically collided into? The one that gave you that nasty bruise? God, what a little brat."
Antonio frowned and gave his friend a level stare. "It was an accident. And he had to be carried away on a stretcher. He had it a lot worse than I did," Antonio said, his eyes straining to scan over the bookcases. "I wonder what happened to him. Do you think he sprained his ankle?" But it would be sort of strange for him to still be on crutches after all of this time. Could it be worse?
Suddenly, Antonio backed his chair out from the table and stood up.
"Hey, where are you going?" Gilbert asked, mildly surprised.
"Um," Antonio said, barely paying attention. His heart pinched with guilt at the October memory circling in his mind. "I think…I think I should go apologize to him. I never really got the chance to after the game."
"Are you sure that's a good idea? After all, the incident was a bit traumatic for everyone, perhaps it'd be best if you—hey! Toni!" Francis called, and raised his voice when he noticed his friend had scampered away without him. After Antonio was out of sight he exhaled a loud breath and looked to Gilbert. "Well, what do you think the odds are that this won't end terribly?"
~/~
Cooking...no.
Psychology...no.
Antonio paced past the wooden bookcases, towards the back of the store. So far, there was no sign of the boy—what was his name? Had Antonio ever heard it? No, never. He never heard anything. Not when he was on the field.
But Antonio does remember him. The red and grey Jersey: the colors of St. Mary's. The number…nine. His position: forward, a right winger. Anything else?
Eyes. Antonio remembered his eyes. They were always running into each other, their positions clashed a lot, but it never seemed to go by fast. He lingered in those golden eyes for ages. Seconds too long usually, it cost him a few goals; but there was something so unusual, so interesting about them. He looked like he was thinking; he looked so aware, like he was trying to understand everything. Maybe he was trying to predict Antonio's next move. He did that rather often.
Antonio gave up on the first floor, and decided to climb the stairs to the second, towards young adult, and fiction. He reached the top and realized it was his first time actually coming up here. That's a bit…sad.
He chuckled a bit meekly to himself and began meandering the floor, noticing it looked very much the same. He passed case after case, stand after stand, table after table until—aha!
Antonio spotted him sitting on a lounge chair with a book in hand, his dark, auburn hair, glinting under the florescent light. He looked so…still. It was strange.
But Antonio didn't stare dumb too long before he remembered to move, and he took short, tentative steps forward, fidgeting with the collar of his Varsity Soccer team hoodie as he did so. He felt too self conscious all of a sudden. His heartbeat raced and somehow, despite the frosty chill from only fifteen minutes ago, his palms sweat. What if number nine was angry with him? What if he hated him? What then?
"U-um," Antonio coughed preemptively, before he lost the nerve.
At once, the boy lifted his eyes from the book to Antonio. He didn't say anything, but those same eyes stirred brown and golden, too many emotions and thoughts stirring together for Antonio to pick just one.
"H-hi, I'm Antonio. I, um," Antonio paused and dropped his small wave to twist his fingers together nervously. "I go to St. Paul's: th-the school on the west side."
The boy was still quiet, his lips pursed, and his eyes sharp.
Antonio laughed shortly to fill the void. "I play soccer, and I-I think I recognize you from St. Mary's team, right?"
The boy opened his mouth once, closed it, then said, "Yeah."
Oh, Antonio thought. His voice is a lot deeper than I would've imagined. "Um, I don't know if you remember me, but I think I kind of ran into you during our game in October. I never got a chance to apologize, since they took you away, but I'm...really sorry," Antonio said earnestly, and he glanced down at the boy's leg, then to his eyes again. "Um, were you hurt very badly?"
The boy tilted his gaze down at his book briefly, and he thumbed over the corner of the book. Then he looked up at Antonio, eyes flat. "Not really. My coach and brother just like to baby me," he replied simply, and closed his book. "Don't worry, you're not that clumsy."
"Oh, really?" Antonio exclaimed, his lips splitting into a grin. He considered hugging him, and moved his arms out in preparation, but the boy backed away.
"Hey—no hugging, bastard," he ordered, his cheeks red.
"Oh," Antonio laughed, a bit embarrassed, and dropped his hands to his side. "Sorry, I'm just so relieved. I thought about you a lot after that game. You looked like you were in a lot of pain, so I was really worried," he explained, and he gave another easy, happy, grin. "So how much longer do you have to use crutches? Are you going to play next year? Wait, what year are you? Oh, what's your na—"
"Shut up." The boy pointed to the chair across from him and continued, "Sit down, and keep quiet."
Antonio did as he was told, a bit stunned, but still smiling happily. He folded his arms over his lap and looked at the boy expectantly, waiting for him to stop raking his fingers through his hair and talk.
"God, you," the boy started and glanced at Antonio shortly, his cheeks bright. "You talk a lot more than I thought you would."
"Oh," Antonio chuckled, and played with the sleeves of his hoodie again. "I guess so. Maybe. When I'm excited at least."
"But you always looked so serious when you played soccer. Like you were actually smart or something," he said, and habitually fixed his hair again. Before Antonio could offer any defense, the boy continued, "Anyway, this is my last week on crutches. Yes, I'm going to play next year. And I'm a junior."
Antonio nodded his head, waiting for the last answer. "And what's your name?" he urged.
The boy ran his fingers over the cover of the book. "Lovino."
"That's such a pretty name," Antonio gushed, enjoying the new wave of red coloring Lovino's olive skin. "My name's Antonio."
"You already said that," Lovino pointed out, and his eyes flashed to Antonio's again, almost annoyed.
"Oh, sor—"
"And stop apologizing, damn it," Lovino muttered, and drummed his fingers over the hard cover.
"Okay," Antonio smiled. "I'm a junior too, and I'm playing next year."
"Did I ask you?" Lovino replied sarcastically.
Antonio tried to glance at the cover of the book. "What are you reading?"
Lovino's eyes flicked to his a bit surprised, then he looked down at his book, his ears red. "Um, Arabian Nights."
"Sounds like fun! Do you like it?" Antonio asked curiously.
Lovino opened the book and closed it, unsure of what to do. "Yeah, it's fine. It's interesting. Strange. I don't know."
Antonio looked at him a bit differently. "Do you read a lot?"
"I guess," Lovino mumbled. Then he shifted his eyes to Antonio's tauntingly. "Probably more than you anyway."
Antonio grinned. "That's probably true. I just play a lot of soccer."
Lovino bit his lip, and looked down.
"So, um, what sort of injury did you have? Sprained ankle?" Antonio asked, and took another glance at Lovino's clothed legs.
"Something like that," Lovino said.
Antonio tilted his head to the side in suspicion. "So when can you play again?"
Lovino ran his fingers over the cover of Arabian Nights. "I don't know."
"Oh," Antonio replied. "I see." There was a silence: it was full with words neither of them said.
Beep!
Lovino jumped slightly from his seat and darted his eyes demandingly at Antonio, who in turn, was fishing the phone out of his pocket. He swiped the screen and stopped the alarm.
"Oh, sorry. I have to go back soon," Antonio said shyly.
Lovino's eyebrows scrunched. "What—is your curfew at seven?"
That made Antonio laugh, and he just shook his head. "No, no. But I have to be back at school to get something."
Lovino pressed his lips together, impatient for a real answer. But when he saw Antonio stand up and get himself in order, he scoffed and turned away. "Whatever. I don't care anyway."
Antonio glanced at Lovino's puffed, red cheeks and knit eyebrows and smiled. "You know," he began, and caught Lovino's attention. "You're a lot nicer than I thought you'd be."
"What?" Lovino choked, and his eyebrows shot up at the same time his hands flew to his face (desperate to hide his furious new blush), and his book dropped to the floor. The sound knocked some sense in him, and he hurriedly picked it up, muttering, "I'm not nice, damn it."
Antonio chuckled again, feeling a bit more warm and alive. "I didn't say you were nice, I just said you were nicer."
Lovino hugged the book to his chest and turned his gaze away. "Whatever."
There was another pause. Antonio was content taking one last look at him, still very happy and relieved with the situation. On that, he began walking away, waving his hand and saying, "Well, see you later, Lovi!"
"Yeah, yeah, bye—the fuck?" Lovino shouted abruptly, silencing the low murmurs of book-readers at once. "I'm not Lovi, I'm Lovino! Especially to you!"
Antonio laughed, and flashed one last cheery smile before descending the steps.
~/~
There he was. Forward, right winger, number nine. Moving forward, forward, forward. He had the ball. He passed it. I need to get there. Where's Gilbert? Where's Gilbert?
Left. No one.
Right. No one.
I need to get there. I need to get there. I need to get there.
Faster.
Faster.
Faster.
Antonio followed his pace up the switchblades of the hill, the mountainous trail behind the equestrian stables. He had time before his eight thirty class, so he decided to go for a brisk run. And by brisk, it meant very, very brisk. Twenty degrees Fahrenheit, clouds overcast in preparation of snow, and the trail already frosty, slippery, and mushy.
Antonio hated the cold. He hated it. Usually, he didn't mind the run so much. At least he could preoccupy himself with the color of the leaves, the color of the sky, the sun. Where was the color now? Where was the life? This felt empty. Still. Lifeless. Antonio wanted to keep going. He wanted to run until spring, he wanted to find it faster.
Faster.
Faster.
Faster.
~/~
"Toni."
Snow was falling in puffs.
"Toni."
"Hm," Antonio mumbled his reply. Why wasn't snow so delicate in real life?
Someone nudged his shoulder and said, "Toni, you're shaking the desk."
Antonio looked at Gilbert, and down at his restless leg. "Oh," he breathed, and chuckled lightly. "Sorry."
Gilbert rolled his eyes and picked up his pencil again. "Drink too much caffeine or something?"
"No, it's just snowing," Antonio sighed, and unwittingly, he bounced his leg again.
Gilbert dropped his pencil and glared. "Of course it's snowing. It's fucking winter. Will you just chill out?" He laughed once at his own joke and added, "Get it?"
Antonio pressed his lips together to fight a smile, and kept his eyes glued to the window. "I need to practice though. I need to. I'm—I'm losing my touch."
"With what? Soccer?" Gilbert asked, a bit exasperated. Antonio was shaking his leg again, and he threw his pencil down in defeat. "Toni, everyone's losing their touch. It's winter. We're not Russians, we can only do so much. Just focus on something else for a while. Anything. Something."
Antonio didn't even bother looking his way. "What else is there?"
Gilbert dropped his forehead to his textbook and groaned. "Fuck, you're acting like Francis. When did you become so dramatic?"
Dramatic. Was that what he was? It didn't really feel like it. Antonio felt restless. Agitated. Worried. Desperate. But dramatic?
No, he wasn't being dramatic at all.
~/~
Number nine has the ball. How'd he get the ball? Doesn't matter, I have to get the ball.
Turn on my heel, the grass crunches and releases beneath my cleats.
One. Two. Three. There he is. Red and grey jersey, number nine, forward, right winger with golden eyes. He looks left. He looks at me.
I need to reach him. Four. Five. Six.
The door opened abruptly, and Antonio's shoulders twitched. He glanced to his right and waited; there was some remaining laughter, and slowly, Alfred walked out. He was smiling broadly, like always, and that made Antonio's heart rest easier.
"Alfred," Antonio called bashfully. "H-how was it?"
"Oh, the meeting?" Alfred gestured the door and laughed again, booming and loud. "It was fantastic. You have nothing to worry about. Just go on in, bro!" Alfred clapped a hand hard against Antonio's back and strolled out of the lounge.
Antonio smiled weakly, and rubbed his back.
"Antonio Carriedo? Are you there?" A feminine voice rung in the air.
"Ah, yes!" Antonio exclaimed, and stumbled to his feet right away. He rushed to the door, took a breath, and slowly walked in; he made sure to shut the door behind him.
At the desk, Miss Héderváry sat still, a polite smile on her lips, and letters stacked to either side of her.
"Good afternoon, Antonio. Take a seat, will you?" she said cheerfully, and gestured to the chair.
Antonio hurriedly plopped down, and looked to her, smile ready.
"How are you doing?" she asked.
Antonio looked at her dumbly. That wasn't what he expected. He wanted to know about the letters. They were right there. Maybe they weren't his? "Um, I-I'm fine."
"Good," she said, and glanced to the letters. "Let's get right to the point then. I'm sure you're very curious."
Antonio chuckled—it wasn't funny, but he tended to laugh when he was nervous.
Miss Héderváry dropped a pile in front of her. "So, how do you think you did?"
Antonio blinked, and shifted his gaze to the pile. He started counting. "Um…well, like ten?"
Her grin turned mischievous. "More like twenty," she said, and smoothly, she moved another pile in front.
Antonio could only stare. "Twenty?"
"Twenty," she reaffirmed, and picked up the top letter. "This one from Stanford. Notre Dame. Georgetown. Wakeforest. Dartmouth. UCLA. Syracuse," she listed in tempo as she tossed the letters to Antonio's lap. "Twenty D1 schools that offered you a full ride. Twenty D1 schools that want you."
They want me? "R-really?" Antonio stuttered. His heart was pounding again. "Are you sure?"
"Positive," she said, and her eyes softened. "You shouldn't be so surprised. You've been playing Varsity since you were a Freshman, and I know you had scouts eyeing you before you came here."
He smiled humbly, and looked down at the letters. "Yeah, but…that's middle school and high school. I mean, I never thought—I never knew if I was good enough for college."
Miss Héderváry tilted her head to the pile, all decorated with different seals and colors. "Well, what do you think now?"
He glanced at the letters, then at Miss Héderváry. "I feel happy."
"Good. But what do you think?"
"Um," he began, and somehow, his eyes found the window. The sky—it was clear now. How many days has it been since he's seen blue? "I think," he said, and tried to make out the weather. It'd finally stopped snowing.
"I think I need to go running before it gets dark."
~/~
Antonio decided to go a different way for his run. He assumed that the mountain trail behind the equestrian club was probably still very wet and mushy, so he thought perhaps he'd take the flatter, longer trail towards the main park. Already the sunlight losing itself to the clouds, but Antonio pushed on.
He dashed through the bite of the cold, winter air. He dashed fast, and smooth, agile, and very determined. And despite the lonely chill of the trail, and the tumbling grey clouds overhead, he felt happy.
They want me. I'm good enough. I'm good.
But at the same time…
I can be better. I want to be the best.
So he pushed on even faster, and rushed into the park. It was predictably empty, abandoned, and iced over. A few swings swayed with the breeze, but no one else existed except Antonio and—
One other person.
From the corner of his eye, Antonio caught the familiar glint of red-brown hair, and he slowed down to get a better look. His eyes found the hunched figure sitting on the plain wooden bench that overlooked downtown, his back facing Antonio.
Could it be him? Just the question compelled Antonio to stop in his tracks, halt the timer on his phone, and step closer.
"Lovino?" he asked tentatively between pants, and removed the headphones from his ears.
Lovino didn't respond, but Antonio walked to his side anyway. He was sitting still, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his parka, and his eyes staring blankly at the ground.
Antonio didn't know what to do, but on some instinct, he decided to sit down next to him. He looked up at the sky and he knew it was definitely going to snow again. How depressing.
The wind blew by and some leaves flew over their shoes.
"I can't play soccer anymore."
Antonio's breath caught, and slowly, almost fearfully, he turned towards Lovino. "What?"
"I can't play soccer anymore," Lovino repeated.
Antonio's heartbeat echoed in his ears. "Wha—Why?"
Lovino's eyes didn't stray away from the ground. "I tore my ACL."
"You," Antonio gulped, and his gaze travelled to Lovino's knees. "When we ran into each other you…?"
Lovino nodded. "I didn't think it was going to be a big deal. The coach took me to the doctor and he said I would need surgery."
"Oh," Antonio said. "When is your surgery?"
"I had it three weeks ago," Lovino replied, his lashes brushing briefly against his skin. "It went well, but the doctor told me the recovery period is six to nine months. And there's a good chance I won't play like before."
Most people don't. And usually after you tear one ACl, you'll end up tearing the other.
"Lovino, I—" Antonio stopped and tried to fight the stinging in his eyes. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to. Really, I…I'm sorry."
Lovino pushed some of the dirt around with his shoe. "What were you thinking when it happened?"
"What?" Antonio asked, a bit surprised.
"Your expression. I couldn't tell what you were thinking, so I didn't know which way to go."
"Oh, I," Antonio racked his brain, searching for the memory. "I can't—I can't remember."
Lovino finally tilted his face towards Antonio, his eyes dark and mysterious like the clouds. "I guess you hit the ground pretty hard," he said, and turned back towards the ground.
"Yeah," Antonio mumbled.
It was quiet. Some birds flew away.
"I lost my scholarships too."
No. "Oh, gosh. Lovino, I'm so sor—"
"Don't apologize," Lovino interrupted. He sighed and added, "It's annoying."
Antonio opened his mouth say sorry again, but closed it before he could get in trouble again.
Lovino leaned back in the chair and looked up at the sky. "I wish it would snow."
Antonio laughed, and leaned back too. "I hate snow."
"I like how the snow makes everything quiet. It makes me quiet," Lovino said softly.
Antonio watched the clouds clash together. "Snow stops soccer though."
"I know," Lovino said.
A new gust of wind rustled their hair. Lovino's locks brushed against his forehead, and Antonio's curls bounced. It felt even colder than before.
"What are you going to do now?" Antonio asked, and he watched the smooth expressionless skin of Lovino's face. Even those eyes lacked life. Winter killed everything.
He bit his lips, bringing some color back to them, and replied, "Read I guess."
That answer seemed too simple. It had no passion.
"Okay."
Antonio sat with him a while longer. He was worried that if he left, Lovino might've stayed there all night. Eventually, Antonio called a taxi, and ushered Lovino's limping body into the car. Lovino didn't thank him, he didn't say anything; but his eyes did pass over Antonio's face. They were glassy and far away.
Antonio hated winter. It killed everything.
~/~
I have him. Number nine, the ball under his right cleat. I have him. I'm near him. His gold eyes met mine. Trying to read my moves. What are my moves? Which way should I go?
Gilbert. Where's Gilbert? Aha.
All right. One. Two. Three. I'm close. Once I snag the ball I'll pass it—
…
…
…
"Fuck—oh god, fucking damn it. Shit. Damn. God, it hurts!"
What?
"Toni? Are you okay?"
"Shit-fuck-damn. Hey—stop it! That hurts damn it!"
Someone sounds like they're crying.
"Toni? Hey, are you there, buddy?"
Somehow, slowly, I opened my eyes and I see blue. The clear, blue October sky right above me. It's beautiful, but I'm on the ground. How did I get here?
"Toni," Gilbert said, and I felt his rough hands grab my arms. "Okay, let's get you up, now."
He hoisted me up easily, so that I was sitting up right and staring wildly around me.
"Wait, what happened?" I asked, and I felt a pain in my side. "Ay, and why does my hip hurt?"
Gilbert's bright red eyes looked at me, and the corners crinkled in concern. "Don't you remember? You knocked into the other kid, and fell to the floor. It looks like he took the worst of it though."
"Ga—damn it! Feli, I told you to leave it alone! I'm fine!"
That voice. "Is he crying?" I turned around, despite the shock of pain, and looked at the boy. He was surrounded by his teammates, and his coach, and the referees. "Is he really hurt?"
Gilbert frowned and followed my gaze. "Yeah, it looks like it. Both of you took a really hard fall," he said, then tapped my shoulder. He stared me straight in the eyes. "Why didn't you move out of the way, Toni?"
I could only blink at him.
Why didn't I move? I don't remember. I was running towards him, I thought about passing it to Gilbert, then I saw gold, and then…nothing.
"I don't know."
Absolutely nothing.
~/~
It was in the middle of one of Antonio's math class daydreams where he had the idea. For a few days he was still reminiscing about his meeting with Lovino. Really, it haunted him. It looked as though Lovino had died along with the trees. Or—maybe not died. He looked lost. Like the red and brown leaves that still floated in the wind.
So after class, Antonio made a point to race to the book club's meeting, always on the very top floor of the main building.
He opened the door, and immediately silenced the roar of girlish gossip. Ten pairs of eyes stared at him, and one was male.
"Ah, Toni! How nice of you to stop by!" Francis exclaimed, and smiled broadly at him. He dropped the book in his lap and asked, "Are you here to add to our discussion of the young Mr. Darcy, or is there something else you needed?"
The girls giggled, and Antonio in turn, blushed in embarrassment.
"No, um," he stared awkwardly. "I actually needed your help finding someone's number."
"Oh!" the girls gasped, and they started again in low murmurs.
"Onhonhon," Francis laughed, and reached behind him to drag another empty chair. "Why don't you sit down and tell me who this mystery person is, hm?"
"Okay," Antonio said, and dipped his head again when the girls giggled teasingly. He walked around the group and sat down in the chair. "You see, it's someone from St. Mary's. I don't know how to contact him."
Francis's blue eyes danced. "St. Mary's? You couldn't be asking about the young boy you crashed into, right?"
Antonio chuckled lightly out of habit. "Yes, that's him. His name's Lovino Vargas. Do you know of any way I can find his number?"
Francis's lips twisted into a mischievous smile. "And what's the reason for this calculated maneuver. Don't tell me you've figuratively fallen for him now."
The girls laughed again, and Antonio laughed with him, if only to save face and hide his red cheeks. "No, no. That's not the reason. I just need to talk to him."
Francis raised an eyebrow and exchanged glances with the girl next to him. "Well, if you only need to talk to him," he paused dramatically. "I'm sure I can find the number."
"Really?" Antonio grinned, and quickly threw himself over Francis in a fast hug. "Oh, gracias amigo! Thank you so much! Can you text me the number when you get it? I have to go a run before dinner, real quick."
"Another run?" Francis called after him. "Toni, you've been working hard all week. What's the point? Practices don't start again until February."
"Ah, well, you know! I have to go! Bye, Francis!" Antonio waved with a broad smile, and skipped out of the classroom. The sound of girls giggling echoing behind him.
~/~
Ring!
Ring!
Ring!
Ring!
…
Ring!
Rin-
"Ve~ hello? Who is this?"
Antonio gripped the collar of his jacket nervously. "Oh, um, h-hi…Feli. This is, um, Antonio Carriedo. I go to St. Paul's. Um, I-"
"Oh, you're Lovi's friend! He talked about you. How are you doing?"
Antonio laughed shortly. "Ah, well. Pretty good, I guess. Um, so I was wondering…I tried to call Lovi earlier and he didn't pick up, is there any good time I can reach him, or-"
"Hold on, I can get him right now!"
"Oh, well, if he's busy or something, I can call back later! I don't want to be an inconvenien—"
"Hello? Who is this?" Lovino's clear bass voice rang through the phone. At once, Antonio's heart stuttered, and he tried frantically to recall what he was going to say. "Damn it, Feli. Why'd you hand me the phone? No one's talking."
"Um, hi Lovi," Antonio said, his breath coming fast.
There was a pause, and he heard someone (probably Feli) laugh in the background. "Hey, bastard. Why are you calling my brother?"
"Oh, I—I was trying to call you actually. But you didn't pick up, so I thought maybe I should try to ask him when to reach you," Antonio explained hurriedly.
"So you were the creepy number that called me randomly? Did you really expect me to pick up when I didn't know your number?" Lovino asked, and his voice sounded playful.
"Ay, yeah. I guess I didn't think it through very well," Antonio smiled and leaned back against the damp tree.
"Why the hell do you sound so out of breath?" Lovino asked suddenly. Then he added with a snide voice, "Or do I even want to know?"
Antonio's face warmed, and he was so thankful that he was alone in the woods making the call. "No, no! I was just in the middle of a run! That's all!" Antonio explained, and he chuckled awkwardly at the end.
"Whatever you say," Lovino muttered.
Antonio held the hand with both hands now. "No, really! Lovi, I swear, I'm not doing anything!"
There was a quiet noise. Something like a laugh? Then Lovi said, "Fine, God, I believe you. Calm down. Why were you trying to call me anyway?"
Antonio breathed in relief. "Right. Well, I was wondering if you wanted to meet up in town or something. Like dinner, or a movie, or—"
"Are you asking me out on a date?"
Dios mio. Antonio jumped in fright. "What? Oh, no! Of course not! I would never!"
"Well, don't sound so insulted, damn it. I was only kidding. No need to get so defensive," Lovino said roughly.
"I just wanted to hang out with you," Antonio went on, his voice high and anxious. "I thought…maybe, we could be friends. Or something."
"...Friends?" he repeated, his voice soft.
Antonio smiled. "Yeah, actually I really like y—"
"God, shut up Feli! Just go away!" Lovino yelled suddenly, and there was some crashing and giggling rampant in the background. Then it was quiet, and Lovino sighed. "Sorry, I had to beat my brother again."
Antonio chuckled, and picked at the bark of the tree. "So would you like to hang out with me tomorrow afternoon?"
It was quiet. "Sure."
"Okay," Antonio said. "Where would you like to go?"
"Maybe," Lovino paused, and Antonio could sense his hesitation. "That bookstore again," he finished, his voice even softer than before.
"That sounds nice," Antonio said. His heart felt light and his skin buzzed. "What time?"
"Well, when's your curfew, Cinderella?" Lovino asked mockingly.
Antonio laughed and stared up at the sky. "I should be back by seven, but I don't have to."
"I'm not that important. I wouldn't want you to be late for your date or whatever," Lovino replied smoothly, but before Antonio could retort, he continued, "how about five o' clock then."
"That's fine with me!" Antonio exclaimed.
"I didn't doubt it," Lovino said, and the conversation drifted to silence again. "Was there anything else you wanted to say?"
"Not really," Antonio hummed.
"Great."
"How are you doing though?"
"Um," Lovino mumbled, and he took his time finishing. "I'm fine I guess. I'm good."
That sounded like a lie. "Really?"
"Sure. Whatever. Listen, I have to go," he said abruptly.
"Oh, I'm sorry. Were you busy?" Antonio asked, suddenly anxious again.
"God, what have I told you about apologizing?" Lovino scolded, to which Antonio chuckled lightly in response. "I'm not busy, I just have to go. I—" he stopped. "I'll see you tomorrow."
"Okay!"
"Don't sound so chipper. I'm sure it'll be boring," Lovino mumbled.
"I don't think you could ever be boring," Antonio replied truthfully. He was sure Lovino's face was red now.
"You don't know me very well, obviously," Lovino said coolly. "Anyway, I'm going. Bye."
Antonio smiled, and jumped back on the trail. "See you soon!"
"…Whatever."
~/~
It was raining.
Antonio stared mindlessly outside the taxi cab window, and watched droplets glide down the glass. It was a fifteen minute ride from the school to downtown, but he was almost there now. Strangely, though his fingers were numb from the cold, he could feel his palms getting clammy from nerves. There was something about Lovino that made him very anxious. Antonio might be the most agile one on the field, but when he talked to Lovino, he never felt more clumsy.
"Is this the place?" the driver asked.
Antonio blinked from his reverie and focused on the buildings, the street. "Ah, yes it is!" he replied, and fished out a few bills from his pocket. "Here you go! Thank you!" he said, and quickly, hopped out of the vehicle and stumbled onto the sidewalk.
He peered over his shoulder and watched the car drive away, then he opened up his automatic umbrella and poised it over his head. At least it was raining and not snowing.
As Antonio was about to start walking across the street towards the bookstore, he saw something in the corner of his eye. Dark, wet hair, not really recognizable; a shiny, black rain jacket; but the profile of someone he knew. Lovino. He was standing in the rain, just staring at the window of some store, and letting the water pour over his face.
"Lovino?" Antonio called lightly, though in the roar of the rain, his voice was drowned out. He skipped closer and hovered his umbrella over the two of them. "Lovino, what are you doing?" he asked worriedly, and followed Lovino's gaze to the glass. "Why are you looking at a gallery?"
Lovino's lips were slightly blue when he said, "Those are my brother's paintings."
Antonio's eyebrows knit in concern, but he looked back at the window. "Oh?"
Lovino nodded his head.
They were landscapes. Paintings of the local forests and lakes. "They're nice."
"Yeah," Lovino mumbled.
The umbrella covered them, but Lovino was still so damp from moments before, Antonio wrapped an arm around his shoulder and ushered him away. "Come on! Let's get some coffee!" he exclaimed happily, and helped pause the cars as he helped Lovino limp across the street.
Lovino hobbled along, and he only once looked up, when Antonio held the door open for him and smiled. Lovino stared, then turned his head and walked inside. While Antonio busied himself with closing the umbrella, Lovino settled for the closest table, and dropped onto the chair. Antonio sat across from him.
"So," Antonio began and took a good look at Lovino in the bright, yellow light. "Should I get us something to drink?"
Lovino crossed his arms over the table and laid his down. "Whatever," he mumbled.
"What would you like?" Antonio asked. He fought the sudden urge to pet Lovino's damp hair.
"Something warm," he said. "And sweet."
Antonio grinned, and scooted out his chair. "Be right back!" he sang, and left for the café .
A few minutes later, Antonio returned, two travel cups in hand, and placed them delicately on the table. Lovino was sitting up right this time, and staring wistfully out the window.
Antonio nudged the cup towards him encouragingly and said, "I got you a peppermint mocha. I hope that's okay."
Lovino tilted his gaze towards him, and his eyes sparkled brightly before they looked down at the cup. "Yeah, that's um," he paused as he grasped the cup shyly. "That's what I usually get around this time."
Antonio smiled at him fondly and replied, "Good." He let Lovino take a sip, before continuing, "So what were you doing outside a gallery in the rain?"
Lovino set the cup down and sighed. "I was just being pissy, that's all."
"What do you mean?"
Lovino stared at the lid and traced lines on the lid with his fingernails. "Feliciano got his paintings hung in a professional gallery. So I was just staring at them and feeling pissy," he muttered. "I wish I was like him, dammit."
"You wish you could paint?" Antonio asked, a bit surprised.
"No. I mean, yeah, sure. I already paint, technically speaking. But, I just wish I," his eyes met Antonio's before flying to the window again. "I just wish I was passionate about something."
Somehow, Antonio couldn't control his laughter, and it bubbled out without his control. "What are you talking about? You're passionate!"
Lovino's cheeks warmed, but he flashed his eyes forward. "You don't even know me! You can't say!"
Antonio pressed his lips together to quench a smile. "But…I do, kind of. We've played soccer against each other for years."
Lovino's eyes widened. "You actually," he stopped and picked up his cup hurriedly. "I-It doesn't matter. It's not like we ever talked or anything. I'm just not passionate about anything like my brother." He glanced at Antonio and added reluctantly, "Or like you I guess."
Antonio chuckled and pointed out, "But you love playing soccer, don't you?" As soon as the words left his mouth, however, he stopped. His face paled with guilt.
Surprisingly, Lovino didn't snap, or tear up. Instead, his cheeks flushed red, and he directed his gaze at the window. "Not really," he said, then closed his eyes. "I mean—I like it. And I'm okay at it. But I don't know…I never cared that much about it. It was never the only thing on my mind."
"Oh?" Antonio's lips turned up in amusement. "That's interesting."
"No, it's not," Lovino mumbled, and he took another sip of his drink.
The bell chimed, and new customers walked through the door.
"So what classes are you taking?" Antonio blurted.
Lovino rolled his eyes. "Why do you care?"
"I'm curious," Antonio said, his green eyes sincere.
Lovino tapped the lid of his drink and answered, "Latin III, AP chemistry, AP European history, AP English, and studio art."
"Oh, wow," Antonio commented, his face glowing with newfound admiration. "You must be really smart!"
"Tsk," Lovino scoffed and hid part of his face with his hand. "Of course not. Just because I take these courses doesn't mean I'm good at them."
Antonio cocked his head to the side. "What do you mean?"
"I'm just an average student, okay," Lovino stated, his voice withdrawn, as if this was rehearsed. "I'm just about average in everything."
It was like a dart to Antonio's forehead, and he could only gawk at Lovino in confusion silently.
"What about you? What are you taking?" Lovino asked suddenly, very swift to progress the conversation.
Antonio's lashes fluttered, and he answered at once, "Oh, um—English, European history, environmental science, AP Spanish, and soccer P.E."
Lovino almost smiled. "Isn't it a bit like cheating to take Spanish when you're Spanish?"
Antonio blushed before he laughed. "Oh, yeah. I guess," he conceded and took a shy sip of his drink. "H-how did you know I was Spanish though?"
Lovino raised an eyebrow and stared at him levelly. "How could I not figure that out?"
Antonio laughed again, and scratched his curly hair, messing it up further. "I didn't realize it was so obvious."
"Of course you didn't, Antonio," Lovino mumbled, and made sure to emphasize the accent in his name. He drummed his fingers on the cup.
Antonio laughed again, and his skin tingled somehow. "So, um, St. Mary's is an all-boy's school, right?"
"Yeah," Lovino said simply and raised an eyebrow. "Why do you ask?"
"Oh, I don't know," Antonio smiled awkwardly. "I was just asking." He held eye contact for a moment, and continued, "Do you like it?"
Lovino almost smiled; something flickered in his eyes. But he simply pursed his lips instead, and answered, "It's whatever. I don't really get along with other people in general. But since my grandfather works there, Feli and I get to go there for free, so I can't really complain."
"Really? Why don't you get along with them?" Antonio asked, very curious.
Lovino's lips pressed together, and his cheeks dusted red. "I…have a short temper. Sometimes."
"Oh?" Antonio grinned, and couldn't help but giggle. "That's kind of unexpected. You seem so calm."
As Antonio continued to laugh, Lovino leaned his face against his palm and tried to hide his flushed face. Quietly, he said, "Not really." His eyes reflected gold and caramel in the window. They seemed so warm, like they could melt the snow. "I feel like my mind never shuts up."
Antonio looked at him. He tried to memorize him. "What do you think about?"
"I don't know," Lovino replied, his lips delicate. "Sometimes it feels like everything, and others, just absolutely nothing."
Antonio's smile stayed. "How can you think about nothing?"
"The same way I think about something," Lovino said, his eyes bright with subtle amusement.
"That's so interesting," Antonio gushed, and he crept closer over the table. "All I do is think about soccer."
Lovino curled his fingers near his mouth. "That's probably why you're so good at it."
"Do you think so?" Antonio asked, slightly surprised, but more pleased. "I really want to play professionally one day."
Lovino's eyes watched him, silent and thoughtful. "You probably will. You're a lot like Feli. You both have a deep passion for things."
Antonio's heart fluttered with contentment; he felt so full with praise and happiness. He laughed shortly, before replying, "Yeah, well, what can I say? I love the sport."
"Yeah," Lovino said. He took a sip of his drink, before settling his gaze outside the window again. After a few moments, he began tracing his finger in patterns against the damp, cloudy window. He started a rose. "I was reading this book the other day, and it talked about the four temperaments theory."
Antonio stood up straight. "Oh? I don't think I've heard of it."
"Well, it's really old. And very basic," Lovino muttered, and ran his fingers through his hair as if suddenly embarrassed.
Antonio sensed his nerves, and gently encouraged him. "Why do you bring it up?"
"W-well," Lovino began again, and resumed drawing his rose. "I was reading it and I realized one of the personalities actually fits you to a tee." He dropped his finger, and twisted his hands together. "Lively, sociable, carefree, talkative, warm-hearted and optimistic. They can make new friends easily, and often have many (stupid) ideas…" Lovino gave Antonio a knowing look. "Does that sound pretty familiar?"
"I suppose it does," Antonio admitted, smiling broadly. "What's it called?"
"Sanguine."
Antonio laughed louder, and shook the table. "That sounds so bad though! It sounds like sangre in Spanish! Like I'm violent or bloody or something," he exclaimed.
Lovino, instead, seemed very exasperated. "I think it's supposed to be like you're full of life."
"Ah, I guess I can see that," Antonio admitted, a few chuckles still bubbling forth.
It was relatively silent again. The bell chimed, and a family walked in. The rain continued showering steadily outside, like a gentle hum. Lovino began another rose on the window.
Antonio watched Lovino draw with steady, slender fingers, and wondered. Why was there something so mysterious about Lovino?
"Which temperament are you?"
Lovino didn't stop drawing. His skin appeared to glow, his eyes appeared to glitter like shy stars after dusk. There was something gentle and lost to him that Antonio had never noticed when they were on the field.
"Serious, introverted, cautious, or even suspicious. They are often susceptible to moodiness preoccupied with the tragedy and cruelty of the world."
The rain fell harder. The roses disappeared in the new fog.
"Melancholic."
~/~
"Have you ever had these?"
Antonio shifted his gaze from the cookies to the fruit. "What?" he asked.
"The dark chocolate-covered orange peels," Lovino said simply, and pointed more clearly to the crescent-shaped chocolates.
"Oh," Antonio smiled and offered Lovino an apologetic expression. "I don't really like dark chocolate."
"What? Why not?" Lovino asked, his tone rising.
Antonio laughed weakly and shook his hair. "I don't know. It's kind of bitter, I guess. I like sweet things."
"I shouldn't be surprised," Lovino muttered, and continued limping down the glass case, staring at chocolates.
…
"Oh, Lovino! How about white-chocolate covered marshmallows!"
"Fuck no."
~/~
At six thirty, the both of them sat at a bench, each waiting for their taxi. The rain fled in exchange for a frosty chill, and Antonio shook his legs continuously, in vain hopes of warming up. Lovino was still and kept staring wistfully down the street.
"If you like, we could keep hanging out. I don't mean to cut us short," Antonio said, relieved that he didn't stammer at all.
Lovino took a deep breath. "It's fine. I wouldn't want you to be late for your curfew."
Antonio laughed, despite himself and returned to keeping a look out for the taxi. The street as calm and empty. One vehicle driving by every few minutes. It was so strange.
Right when Antonio was going to complain about winter again, the silence was broken by a question:
"Is it pity or guilt?"
Antonio blinked and turned his head. He looked at Lovino's smooth skin and dark lashes. "What?"
"Are you hanging out with me out of pity or guilt?" Lovino repeated simply, his tone distant.
No car would drive by and rev the motor. No couple would tap and splash through a puddle. It was a miserable quiet. It sat on Antonio's chest and crushed his breath.
"What are you talking about?" he finally asked. "I…" he bit his lip. "I like you, that's why I wanted to hang out with you."
"Is that so?" Lovino eyes lifted, and met Antonio's steadily. "It's not because you ended my career in soccer then?"
What? "Of course not! I—I'm really sorry about that," Antonio paused and tried to relax his throat. Why did he feel as though he was going to cry when Lovino was just staring back passively? "I didn't mean to, I promise. But I would never pity you. It was an accident, a-and it's not as though I could think less of you for it. That would be just h—" Antonio didn't dare speak any more, and instead forced his gaze to the taxi cab rolling up. He blinked rapidly to dry any unshed tears, and quickly jumped to his feet to open the door of the taxi for Lovino.
Lovino took his time following suit, but after a few seconds he was on his feet, and he hobbled over to the cab door. Antonio's gaze was stuck on the pavement, but he felt Lovino's fingers tap his arm.
Antonio glanced up and fell into Lovino's shining eyes. How could they be so dark and bright at the same time?
Lovino's lips took care in shaping the words slowly, as his hand gripped Antonio's collar. "If you…ever…apologize to me again," he started, his breath warm near Antonio's chin. "I'm going to beat you so hard you won't be able to walk before next season."
His eyes remained constant, until they were the only thing Antonio knew; and then Lovino let go, and dove into the car.
Antonio saw the gray and black of the clouds before he remembered to turn around and watch the yellow cab. It drove away with turning back, and Antonio was alone on the street.
~/~
At lunch, Antonio sat with his friends. The meal they served was barely edible, but Antonio was busy watching the clouds. He was trying to predict the weather.
"Francis," Antonio said suddenly, and both of his friends looked to him. "Am I a bad person?"
"What?" Francis gawked, and was quick to burst into laughter. "Of course not! Why would you even ask that?"
Because I ended Lovino's soccer career. I took away his scholarships. And I…I don't want to hang out because I feel guilty. I do feel guilty. Because it is my fault. But I also like him. What does that make me?
"I just feel bad," Antonio sighed, and he resigned himself to resting his head in his arms. He pushed his cafeteria lunch aside. "I didn't mean to hurt Lovi."
"Who?" Gilbert asked.
"St. Mary's soccer player. The pretty little thing with the limp," Francis explained smoothly.
At the mention of pretty, Antonio's heart stuttered. What did that mean?
"Look, mon cher, you must know it wasn't your fault. You both crashed into each other. It was an accident. Granted, it was a bad one. But it was nobody's fault! You don't need to worry so much," Francis said, and his warm fingers brushed Antonio's curls away from his face.
"I'm sure the kid will be fine. He didn't seem mad at you, did he?" Gilbert asked, and he started picking at Antonio's untouched chicken.
"No, he didn't," Antonio said in wonder. "He didn't seem mad at me at all." He was quiet for a moment and thought. Then all of a sudden, he sat up and stared Francis in the eye. "But isn't that sort of strange? Shouldn't he be mad at me?"
Francis shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, and replied, "Not necessarily. Perhaps he has a big heart."
"But—" Antonio struggled to explain this properly, "it's my fault. I basically ruined his life."
Francis half-smiled before cringing. "Ah, well, I wouldn't say ruin. That's a rather harsh word. Perhaps…changed his life is more appropriate." He let Antonio sit on the words for a minute before continuing, "But these things happen to everyone. It'll all work out. He'll find something else to do."
Antonio gave a slight nod and shifted his gaze to the table. He stared at the stark white tables. Blank and empty like snow.
"You're not a bad person Toni," Francis assured him. "You're probably the most decent of the three of us if that counts for anything."
Gilbert chuckled, but Antonio stayed quiet.
"Gilbert, you tell him."
He was in the middle of stealing another morsel from Antonio's plate, but when he met Francis's eyes he sat back in his seat and sighed. "All right, well…Toni, if the kid's not mad at you, and the whole thing was an accident, there's nothing for you to feel guilty about. You're a nice person. I mean, Jesus, you're probably the nicest person we know. You'd talk to anyone."
"Yeah."
Lovi isn't mad at me. Somehow, for some reason, he isn't. But it wasn't an accident. It's my fault. It's all my fault. But at the same time, I like Lovino. I think I always have. For two years, I've only ever seen him on the field, but I always looked at him. He was different than the rest. He played soccer differently too. There really was something…wistful about him. He was thinking, I could see it every time. That's what made him so difficult to play. But I loved it too.
"Do you feel better now?" Francis asked, his tone light.
Antonio tilted his gaze towards Francis's kind blue eyes and forced a smile.
"I guess."
I do feel guilty. But I also really like Lovino.
I think I might be a bad person after all.
~/~
It was supposed to snow soon. Antonio checked the weather the night before and slightly panicked. He'd slacked off a bit this week from his usual regimen and he knew it would catch up with him soon. He had to make this day count before the snowfall would make it impossible to run.
So he woke up early, near six in the morning and stumbled to his dresser. He pulled on sweatpants, socks, more socks, a shirt, another shirt, and a sweatshirt. He layered his head with a beanie to keep his ears warm, and stuffed his feet into worn, running shoes.
His eyes were still soft with sleep, and he walked out of his room in a daze. The hallway was deathly quiet, but there were still sounds echoing from the bathroom. As Antonio passed it, the door opened and Gilbert stumbled out.
"Oh, hey man. What are you doing up so—" he glanced down at Antonio's outfit and nodded in understanding. "Ah, running. Of course. Shit, isn't it kind of early? Even for you?"
Antonio laughed lightly, his mind struggling to register the conversation. He was still so sleepy. "Yeah, it is. But it's going to snow soon, and I wanted to get as much done as I could."
Gilbert rolled his eyes and leaned back against the wall. He was still in his flannel pants and baggy shirt. "Right. Whatever. You're just such a workaholic. I hope you still remember to eat and go to the health office."
"Yeah," Antonio blushed, and smiled bashfully. "I make it most of the time."
Gilbert groaned. "Well, try to make it all of the time."
"I'll try," Antonio smiled, and fished his phone out for the time. "Well, I guess I better get going—"
"Oh, wait a minute. I actually wanted to ask you," Gilbert called, and his eyes seemed more awake. "What are you doing for winter break?"
"Break?" Antonio repeated, a bit confused. Then it hit him and he snapped his fingers. "Oh, is that next week?"
"Duh. Of course it is. Haven't you heard half of our conversations at lunch?" Gilbert asked, his eyes tensing with worry.
Antonio realized the direction the conversation was going and he was quick to force another laugh. "Yeah, yeah! I remember. Um, well…" Antonio raced frantically through his memories, trying to remember the last conversation he had with his parents. "I think I'm flying home next Friday. Yeah."
"Really?" Gilbert asked, and Antonio confirmed with an enthusiastic nod. "Well, shit. I'm jealous. You're going to be soaking up that California sun…"
And playing as much soccer as possible.
"Yeah, it'll be a nice change," Antonio chuckled, and he checked his phone again. "I think I need to go now, or else I'll be running late," he said as he started stepping away.
"Well, all right then. I'll talk to you more later," Gilbert replied easily, and began his way back towards his room. "Don't work too hard!"
Antonio peered over his shoulder and grinned. "Of course not!" He stuffed his headphones into his ears and hustled towards the stairs. "Adiós!"
~/~
It was a long run, and it didn't snow. During classes, Antonio watched the sky carefully for any signs. By his last class, the ground was still dry, and he went for another run.
~/~
The next morning he went to the gym to lift weights. He was on the elliptical when he realized he forgot to go to breakfast. He was there for two hours, but he didn't remember all of it.
~/~
Ring!
Ring!
Ring!
Ri—
"…"
"Um, hi, is this Lovino?" Antonio asked, suddenly worried.
Slowly, the familiar bass voice echoed through the phone. "It is." Antonio sighed in relief, and Lovino continued, "Why are you calling?"
"Oh, um," Antonio stared up at his bedroom ceiling. "I don't know."
Lovino scoffed. "Figures."
"Yeah, well. I've been wanting to talk to you again for a while, but I was afraid to," Antonio laughed softly, very embarrassed.
"You were afraid to?"
"You can be kind of intimidating," Antonio admitted, smiling.
"Oh," was all Lovino said in reply. Antonio waited for more, but nothing else came.
"It's not a bad thing," Antonio continued, and tried to stress his sincerity. "You're just a lot smarter than I am, and I can't tell what you're thinking, so I get nervous talking to you."
"You get nervous talking to me?" Lovino asked in disbelief. A few seconds passed and he added, "Is this because of what I said last time?"
"No! I mean—well, maybe that helped. But, I—"
"Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you," Lovino interrupted suddenly, his voice shy but strong. "I was just fed up with you acting so damn guilty around me and looking at me like you just killed my brother or something." Antonio was busy trying to catch up with the words, so Lovino continued, "B-because it's really not your fault, you know. Actually, I—I—"
"Lovino," Antonio interrupted suddenly, he spoke as fast as his heartbeat. "Do you want to meet up? Like before winter break starts."
Silence. One, two, three…
"…Why?" Lovino asked.
"Because I—I want to see you again. I don't know," Antonio laughed again, for no real reason.
It was quiet too long for Antonio's liking.
Then, Lovino replied, "All right."
Antonio's face brightened, and he said, "Really?"
"Sure," Lovino mumbled. There was some ambience noise like cups and silverware in the background.
"Where do you want to meet?"
"Um, you know that park?"
Antonio thought for a moment. "Oh, yeah! I don't know the name, but the one I ran into you at, right?"
"Yeah," Lovino agreed. "I can walk there and meet you tomorrow afternoon."
"Okay!" Antonio grinned and started dreaming already. "Wait—can you walk there with your—"
"I'll be fine. I'm not disabled or anything," Lovino interrupted quickly. "Besides, I need to do rehab anyway."
"Ah, right. That makes sense," Antonio said simply, and returned to smiling goofily at his ceiling. "So I'll see you tomorrow?"
"Sure."
"I can't wait!"
"…Whatever."
~/~
Antonio ran the next morning. He ran the same mountainous trail behind the equestrian club, and he ran hard and fast. He realized he was two minutes faster than his usual time when he got back. But he was too late for breakfast, and sprinted to class.
~/~
At lunch, Antonio gossiped to Gilbert and Francis of his "meeting" with Lovino. Francis teased him and called it a date, to which Antonio adamantly denied. Gilbert pointed out his blush, and Antonio tried to cover his face by pulling his hoodie further up.
When lunch was over, they got up to dispose of their plates. Antonio was in the middle of gushing about how smart Lovino was when he fell down.
He heard Gilbert and Francis call his name, and then nothing else.
~/~
Lovino sat on the bench, calm and quiet. He was hoping it would snow all day, and it hadn't; but by the look of the gray sky and the bite of the cold, it was probably going to soon.
His eyes lost focus in the sky and he wondered about Antonio. Antonio. The boy he'd admired for two years and said nothing to. It seemed so strange to think that they might be friends now. Impossible really.
But it pulled at his heart when he caught Antonio looking at him that way. Guilty. With pity. He didn't know whether it made him more sad or angry, but he didn't like it all the same. He hated it. He hated it. Antonio shouldn't feel either towards him. Lovino didn't want that. After all, what happened wasn't Antonio's fault, it was—it was…Lovino's.
He just wanted Antonio to like him.
Some swallowtails flew by and Lovino stared after them. How long has he been sitting here? Reluctantly, he pulled his arm from his warm jacket pocket and checked his wristwatch for the time: four forty-five.
It was getting late. School ended for the both of them at three, and Lovino's been here since three thirty.
Ring!
Lovino jumped, and his heart began to race. He quickly retrieved his phone from his other pocket and unlocked the screen.
"H-hello?" he stuttered, more nervous than cold.
"Oh, bonsoir! This is Francis. I'm a friend of Toni's."
Lovino's lashes fluttered and he squinted in confusion. "Why are you calling me from Antonio's phone?"
"Well, he told me you don't pick up for any random number, so this seemed like the best way to reach you in a timely fashion."
"…Yeah?" Lovino replied curtly. He was too confused to be polite.
"Right," Francis paused and cleared his throat. "Anyway, I thought I should let you know that Antonio won't be coming to your little rendezvous."
"Huh? How do you know about that?" Lovino asked, his cheeks flushing red in embarrassment and surprise.
"Oh, please. It's all he talked about this morning," Francis said easily, as if it were obvious.
Lovino's skin buzzed from the comment, but he still didn't understand. "So why isn't he coming?"
"He's a bit…occupied at the moment. He can't leave."
"That's not an answer."
"Yes, it is," Francis insisted, his tone casual.
"No," Lovino stated. "It isn't."
"Well, I'm sorry. But that's all the information I can give you. He can't come today."
"Why the hell aren't you giving me a straight answer?"
"Call it familial confidentiality."
"You're not brothers."
"We're close enough to be."
Lovino breathed heavy and slow, and he stared only at the clouds. His heart raced and his throat clenched. He wanted to scream and cry. "Damn it! Why can't you tell me what the hell is going on? Did he break a leg? Is he on a fucking date? Is he in detention? What is it?"
"So sorry, but I cannot say. It would be rude to pass out secrets where they're not allowed."
"Why the hell do you get to know and I don't?" Lovino yelled, and he wiped a tear away before it could fall.
Francis was quiet for a moment, and Lovino briefly wondered if he had gotten to him somehow. Then he said, "Well, no offense Lovino, but I'm one of his oldest friends. I've known him since he was five years old. And you only talked to him only…what? Three weeks ago?"
Lovino's eyes stung, and his vision blurred together behind the veil of unshed tears. "S-so?"
Francis sighed, and he suddenly sounded very tired. "I'm sorry, Lovino. But Antonio really doesn't want to tell you. I can't go behind his back. But he wanted me to let you know he's very sorry and hopes you have a good winter break."
Lovino inhaled sharply, and now tears fell, but he covered his mouth before he could sob. Why did he feel so ridiculous all of a sudden? Because he was. He was stupid. So, so stupid. Everything he did was just—just…stupid.
"I-is he okay at least?" Lovino asked, and tried his best to hide his shame.
Francis sighed again. "Yes, he's fine…relatively speaking. You don't need to worry, Lovino. It's really nothing serious. I'm sorry I can't tell you more, but—he's okay. I promise. Just have a nice winter break."
"O-kay."
"Au revoir," Francis said, and he hung up.
Lovino kept staring and whispered "ciao" to the dead phone.
He kept sitting for a while — who knows how long — and he replayed every stupid thing he did and hated himself more for it. He was an idiot for even dreaming what he dreamed. It was all so ridiculous. Foolish. Stupid. Just stupid.
Then snow fell.
It landed in Lovino's hair, on his nose, on his eyelashes. It cooled his blood, it stopped his heart and froze his gaze.
He still had his phone in his hand and he looked at it. With numb fingers he began to type a message, and without over-analyzing, he sent it.
Have a nice winter break. Don't apologize for not coming. —LV
~/~
Those of you who read my multi-chapter Tesoro Mio, rest assured, the next chapter is on its way! I was just too overwhelmed with life to complete it on time, but expect it soon all right? :)
Thank you for reading this strange little fic! I really wanted to try a different sort of Spamano that was...quieter and gentler...so it means so much that you took a chance on it. I hope you can endure it for one more chapter. It will be up very, very soon.
Thanks again everyone! Please review! :)