A/N: Hey, guys! So, uhm... This is a fanfiction that I've been working on for the past few days. My first Spamano one... (Though most certainly not my first fanfiction, haha~) I'm kinda excited for this one. I'm really liking how it's coming out so far and I just can't wait to write even more! It's going to be seven chapters long. So look forward to that, I suppose! Oh and... This fanfiction is based off a song by the same name, and can be found on YouTube. Well, then. Enjoy!

Translation for the song Lovino sings can be found at the end.

Full plot description: Antonio visits Naples with some old friends, Gilbert and Francis. During a drunken night, Antonio finds himself at the beach to hear a gentle song being carried upon the breeze. Atop a balcony is a man Antonio deems as an angel, but alas, as soon as this 'angel' spots him, he retreats back into the house, leaving Antonio to stand there, alone. The next day, they run into each other again - quite literally - and to apologize for being drunk and staring that night, Antonio offers to buy Lovino lunch and a sweet. Lovino begrudgingly agrees and thus, romance sparks. The problem? Antonio's only in Naples for a week.

.Day One.
The Wingless Angel

Laughter echoed through the cramped bar filled with smoke and the stench of alcohol. Slurred words rang out and mixed together, creating a jumble of sounds accompanied with the clattering of glasses and the stomping of shoes. Music blared from the old jukebox shoved against one corner, Italian words spilling out and adding to the cacophony of noises. Round tables lined the edges of the dimly lit structure, drunken patrons hooting and hollering from the balcony above, to their friends who danced the night away - quite poorly, one would add - on the makeshift dance floor. The bartender himself seemed to bounce along to the beat of the older songs as he busied himself with fulfilling the needs of his guests, most of them being the very Italians that called this city their home. It was rare to find a foreigner within this shabby little bar, for it was mostly known to those who frequented often, its service traveling by word of mouth rather than by advertisements and flashing signs. From the outside, it hardly looked like it could hold itself together. And yet it had, and as rumour had it, it was the best place to stop by and have yourself a drink. Even if you were a foreigner, you were welcomed as though you were family, the intoxicated regulars treating you as one of their own.

Antonio quite liked it. Everything he had seen about this city thus far, he had enjoyed - and he was only a week into his vacation here. He laughed and sang with the patrons - albeit quite off key and not even remotely matching the words. He had even gotten up a time or two to dance with a lady here and there, when they dragged him out to the dance floor. Normally, he was one to just sit and drink and chat away the night with his friends, but seeing as how Francis was insistent that he find a special lady friend this fine evening, he didn't quite have the choice of just sitting there. Not that he minded. He quite liked to dance! He enjoyed it, it was one of his favourite pastimes! But when you can't tell left from right, or even if you're dancing with the same girl as you were before, it could become a little confusing.

The Spaniard let out a breathy laugh as he collapsed back into his chair, his shirt clinging to the curves of his body due to the sweat that glistened on his skin. His olive complexion was flushed pink, his heart hammering within his chest. He wiped at his brow with the back of his hand and swivelled in his chair. "Wow, who knew Italian girls could wear you out this much?" he spoke with another laugh as he reached for his drink. The Frenchman beside him grinned as the German clapped him on the back and congratulated him on his success. But, of course, it was soon followed by a taunt of how Antonio hadn't once asked any of these girls for a private dance. Who knew the albino could be so straightforward when intoxicated? He let out a chuckle before he took a swig of his drink, the glass thudding against the bar table when he answered his dear friend, "You do not know anything about Italian women, mi amigo." He gave a toothy grin and shot a glance over his shoulder. "If they can tire you out this much with just dancing, I worry about how much energy they'd have in bed!"

Though tonight, he wasn't thinking about something like that. Those kinds of thoughts hardly entered his mind anymore, and frankly, neither did they take over Gilbert's. Usually he could confide in him with that sort of thing - even if Gilbert could be quite the flirt under the influence, in his own way - but it seemed that tonight was not one of those nights. Gilbert seemed to deflate at the response, before letting out a loud laugh and swinging his beer in a wide arc - and thus spilling a good portion to the ground. Not noticing his fallen comrade, he turned to address the Spaniard beside him. "You say that about Italian girls, mein Fruend, but what about those Spanish girls?" he pointed out with a thick German accent, his words slurred. He prodded at his friend's chest. "They're just as... ah, what's the word... crazy as Italians! Have you ever seen them drunk? Never. Again."

Antonio snorted as he batted away the hand poking at his chest, catching the glimpse of a smirk out of the corner of his eyes. "Like your German girls are any better."

Gilbert huffed at this and straightened himself in his chair, squaring his shoulders and tilting his chin skyward. He held a proud, arrogant air to him as he declared, "They aren't meine German girls. They're mein Bruder's. I come from a-"

"-a long line of Prussian blood, sí, sí, I know," Antonio finished for him with a roll of the eyes and amused chuckle. "I've heard it a million times before, Gilbert, I don't need to hear it again."

"I've said it once, und I'll say it a million times!" Gilbert announced, "I'm Preußischen! Und I won't... I won't-!"

It was then that Francis slung an arm around his albino friend, giving a wide grin as he cupped his chin in one hand. "Oh, mon amour, must we fight? After all, we're surrounded with Italy's finest women, non? Shouldn't we... bask in the glory of being in the beautiful country of Italie?" He brought his face closer to Gilbert's, fingertips tilting the other's face toward him.

Of course, Gilbert was having none of it and growled in frustration, using the palm of his hand to push at Francis's face. "Nein! What the hell are you doing, ya stupid Frenchy?" he shrieked. But alas, it seemed that Francis was already set on his intentions, puckering up his lips and trying to land one on Gilbert through his fingers. Fed up with the Frechman's actions, the self-proclaimed Prussian huffed and slid out of his stool, leaving Francis to nearly topple over. Surprisingly, even in his drunken state, the other seemed to be able to right himself just fine.

As Gilbert stormed off, shouting that he was going to dance and forget all about Francis's 'perverted advances', said blond focused to his Spanish friend and gave a wink. A mouthed 'thank you' and Francis was sliding into Gilbert's unoccupied chair, thin fingers curling around his wine. "Well, that was easy."

An amused smile wound its way onto Antonio's lips as he rested his head in his hand. "It was, sí. Maybe you should do that more often? More preferably before I go deaf again from him yelling at me?"

Francis gave a hearty laugh and clapped his friend on the back. "Maybe next time, mon ami, maybe next time."

A chuckle escaped from Antonio as he took a sip of his own choice of alcohol - brandy. A comfortable silence settled between the two, though the sounds continued all around them. And if Antonio listened closely, he could hear Gilbert's arrogant claim of being able to take on three different guys at arm wrestling, with his hands tied behind his back. How that one worked, Antonio would never know. He almost had half the mind to actually ponder the possibility, if it weren't for Francis speaking up once again, a curious gaze directed toward him.

"But seriously... I am curious. You've danced with so many women tonight, and yet you haven't made a single move on any of them. And when they try, you seem to slip away back to us. Why is that, Antonio?"

He pondered this for a brief moment. Had they made a move on him...? He didn't even realize. A roll of the shoulders and the glass was at his lips again. "I dunno," he mused, his eyes focused on nothing in particular, "I guess none of them really caught my eye. To be honest, I hardly even remember their faces." And the alcohol was traveling down his throat.

It didn't for long. Leaning forward, Francis instantly blurted out the first thing that came to mind, "Could it be... you swing the other way?" At those words, the Spaniard found himself inhaling sharply, accidentally taking the alcohol with it. The glass returned to the tabletop with a heavy thunk and he was hacking up the burning liquid, a fist pounding away at his chest. Francis leaned back, an amuse smile playing along his lips. "Not that I mind, of course. Love is love, oui? But if you had told me sooner, I wouldn't have thrown all those girls at you! Why, I know quite a few handsome guys you could-"

"No, no, that's okay," Antonio interjected as soon as he could speak again. He cleared his lungs from the rest of the alcohol and wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. "It's not like that."

"You sure? I know this gorgeous British cutie who-"

"Francis. It's fine. Seriously."

Francis let out a disappointed sigh. "Well, if it's not that, then what is it?"

Once again, there was that shrug. His gaze focused on his drink, yet he didn't appear to truly see it there. "It's... hard to explain..." His lips settled in a delicate frown, his head tilting ever so slightly in piqued curiosity. "As I said, none of them caught my eye. I didn't... notice any of them, you know? There wasn't that kind of... spark."

"Aaaah," Francis let out a sound of understanding, lifting his glass to twirl the dark liquid inside. A knowing smile played along his lips as he eyed his dark-haired friend. "Then you are looking for love that lasts, not love for a night."

A pause. Antonio tilted his head at the notion, green orbs surveying the other out of the corner of his eye. A gentle laugh as he hunched over his drink, suddenly feeling sheepish. "Sí, a lot like that..." Was it a childish notion, to be looking for that kind of thing...? Antonio sure thought so.

The Frenchman raised a questioning eyebrow. "It never bothered you before."

Antonio gave a loose shrug and occupied his attention with his drink once more, finger tracing along the rim. From behind him, he could hear a few crashes and the triumphant shouting of his oh-so-wonderful 'Prussian' friend. Wow. So he actually managed to win the arm wrestling match... Or so the Spaniard assumed. "I was young and stupid," he pointed out. It seemed that Francis had nothing to say, offering merely a short hum. And so, he continued, "I'm not looking for something like that anymore. I had my fun, and I admit, it was a lot of fun when we were just running around, skirt chasing. But that was back in college."

"Gilbert is still in college. We're not past that yet," Francis reminded as he took another sip of his wine.

Antonio chuckled. "You do have a point," he agreed. He eyed the other, a smirk crossing his lips. He playfully elbowed his friend. "But I don't see you chasing skirts anymore. Flirting, sí, but not sleeping with every beautiful girl you run into."

A laugh resounded from the Frenchman, but it was soon replaced with a wistful smile. "Oui, I suppose you are right in that. But I haven't given it up completely, you know. I'm just a little more... conservative with my choices now."

"Doesn't mean you still do it as often as you used to."

"Ah, mon ami... There are many things we must grow out of with age..."

Antonio snorted and gave his friend another shove, a playful twinkle in his eye. "Hey, don't start that 'growing old' speech. I don't want to hear what it's like to be an old man just yet."

Francis's hand flew up to cover his heart in mock pain. "Mon Dieu! You wound me so, mon ami! And here I thought we were brothers sharing the same fate!"

The Spaniard laughed and gave an arrogant smirk. "That's where you're wrong, mi amigo," he spoke, the last phrase taunting as it slipped from his lips, "I'm a year younger than you. Therefore, no matter how old I get, you'll still be the old one. And look at you, you've got grays already!"

Feigning shock and anger, the Frenchman scoffed and batted away the hand reaching toward his beautiful golden locks. "Non, that is unacceptable! I do not have grays! And even if I did, I would still be as gorgeous as ever! With how little you take care of your skin, you will have wrinkles long before I do!" he proclaimed, earning a laugh from the brunet. After a short moment, Francis joined in with the laughter, and as soon as it died down, he cast his friend a smile. "But... Antonio... Do try to have fun. I know life has been rough for you, and I'd like to see you use this time to finally relax and have fun again. It's been... quite a while since I've seen you smile as brightly as you used to, mon cher ami."

Antonio's lips pulled upward in a thankful smile. "Gracias, Francis, but I will be okay. I'll try to have fun. I promise," he answered. And, of course, right then, he could hear angered shouting and, as fate would have it, the arrogant and boastful replies of his friend. And cue the crashing and banging and hooting and hollering. He knew full well just what those sounds were. The beginnings of a bar fight. With a roll of his eyes, he directed his gaze to the source of the chaos and, sure enough, there was Gilbert, right in the middle of it all. He cringed at the cracking of wood. The bar owner would not be happy about the loss of a table... He turned an expecting eye back to Francis.

"Hey, don't look at me. It's your turn."

Letting out a heavy sigh, Antonio slid out of his seat. "Fine, I'll get him. But you're paying for the damages."

Alas, it just so happened that his thought process held true... The bartender was most certainly not pleased by the state of his poor table, and thus, the three had been forced to leave - and leave a portion of Francis's money behind as payment, as promised. It wasn't the first time something like this had happened. In fact, it seemed that Gilbert had gotten himself into this kind of mess quite often. Usually, he wasn't one to start fights, but with his arrogant and boastful attitude, fights always seemed to find him, much to the despair of Antonio and Francis. Granted, Antonio had, on a few occasions, joined in, and he will admit that he quite enjoyed those random fights, but it was always rather disappointing to no longer have the atmosphere all around them. Antonio had grown rather fond of that bar, with its older Italian music playing and the patrons so curious about them and their respective homelands...

Nonetheless, there was no room for him to mope around. It seemed that after the adrenaline had died down, his friend could hardly even walk on his own. Not that Antonio was in any better shape, given how he, too, was clearly intoxicated, judging by his stride and his slurred manner of speech. But with how Gilbert was walking, there was no way he'd make it back to the hotel on his own. Thankfully, he had Francis there to help him, and together, they lugged their heaviest friend down the streets of Naples. How much time had passed until they actually shoved their key into the lock, Antonio didn't even know. He just noticed the moon so high up in the sky, the stars twinkling away above. And damnit, he could've sworn he saw that street before...

As soon as he was inside, he deposited the self-proclaimed Prussian onto the couch, where the albino happily curled up, already fast asleep and mumbling something about wurst. Heaving a sigh, Antonio let his body collapse beside the couch, letting a chuckle bubble up from within. He threw a lazy smile to his friend, who kicked off his shoes and threw himself on the bed. "Wow, what a night, huh?"

The Frenchman, already peeling off layers of clothing and tossing them aside, let out a laugh in response. "Oui," he replied, forcing himself to sit so he could rummage through the luggage that had been thrown haphazardly on the bed prior to their departure this morning. From within, he retrieved a simple pair of sweatpants. "So sad that we were kicked out of another one, but I suppose you live and you learn~!"

A breathy laugh escaped the Spaniard's lips as his eyes wandered to the TV not too far off. "That's what happens when you bring Gilbert along. How many drinks did he have, anyway?"

Francis paused with one leg in the wrong side. After switching it around, he responded, "I don't know, I lost count at five."

Antonio hummed, impressed. "Wow. Didn't know he made it that far. I could've sworn I only saw his glass refilled only twice."

"You were also dancing away with the ladies, am I right?"

"I was still watching."

"Mmhmm, and I didn't kiss a lovely maiden on the hand even once tonight," Francis deadpanned.

"Hey, don't put it like that! I kept looking back."

"Non, you were pretty out of it. You were having a lot of fun out there." The Frenchman threw himself back onto the bed, wriggling his way up to the headrest so he could prop himself against it. "Not that it's a bad thing, Toni. It's a good thing you had so much fun. It's been a while."

Antonio found himself hesitating before giving into Francis's words. "Yeah, okay, maybe I went a little overboard with the dancing..." he mused with a lopsided smile. He pushed himself up, having to steady himself on the couch before padding forward, leaving the snoring Prussian alone to his dreams. "But you have to admit, we Spaniards sure know how to party," he pointed out with a smirk and a wink.

Francis snorted in response, toeing off one of his socks and flinging it at his old time friend. "I'll admit something as stupid as that if you get me a glass of wine."

"Why would I-"

"You're already up. I'm watching TV." And as that last sentence was spoken, the TV suddenly flickered on, leaving Antonio to realize where the remote had disappeared to. Oh right. That's what he stood up to get.

Huffing in resignation, Antonio opened the mini fridge and took out the small glass of wine, looking to the label. Deeming it as good enough, he snatched up a glass from the desk the fridge was stored beneath and tossed both to the bed, earning a shocked shout from the Frenchman, who proceeded to scold him for being so reckless. He rolled his eyes and cut into the middle of the rant with a, "Dios mío, Francis, calm down already. I made sure they wouldn't hit anything, or even each other." The Frenchman, grumbling away and mimicking his friend's words in a high-pitched voice, popped open his bottle of wine and poured himself a glass.

The fridge door was closed with a foot as he walked toward the door, pocketing his key card and cell phone "I'm going out for a walk. It's a nice night and I haven't seen Naples under a full moon before," he told. With a short hum of acknowledgement from Francis, Antonio left the hotel room, after assuring that he still had his keycard safely tucked away in his pocket.

He let his feet guide him, making sure to keep a mental note on exactly where he was going. Sure, it was a bit difficult for him to, given the state of his mind, but he knew he had to make it back sometime tonight. After all, he didn't want to wake up in the morning to find himself lying on some random park bench. Or worse... A jail cell. He shuddered at the thought. There had been at least three times in his life where he had woken up behind bars with no recollection of how he even got there in the first place. ... Or was it four? He couldn't quite recall, everything was rather hazy at this point in time. But, he did know this: It was not a fun time for him. Took quite a bit of convincing and apologizing in order to actually prove that he was sober enough to leave... Thankfully, they had only been holding him for the night.

His thoughts fled from him as he continued to walk down the streets, wandering on to other topics that just decided to pop up. Things that weren't quite worth mentioning, and often, they would wander back to the starry night sky high above, or the lack of people wandering this part of town. His hands shoved in his pockets, he continued, a light bounce in his step. Somewhere along the way, it seemed that he had even steadied out his stride. It only slowed, however, as he descended a few steps and found himself walking on sand. He hummed lightly at the realization, his attention being drawn by the sneakers still on his feet. ... It wouldn't hurt.

A quick glance around and he was slipping off his shoes, tucking his socks away within. Granted, it was a bit difficult, considering that his body decided it was time to sway as he was balancing on one foot, but he still managed to get them off nonetheless. Letting them hang from his fingers, Antonio stepped forward, the cool sand sliding between his toes. It reminded him of his long nightly walks on the beaches of Spain, his homeland... A wistful smile tugged at his lips. Yes, that was something he missed greatly about his old home... When life was easier, when his troubles only consisted of rejection and essays, he could just walk right down to the beach and hike up to that secluded place, where the moon would reflect off the rippling water far out at sea. Those gentle, rolling waves would sing him lullabies and lull him to sleep, only to awake with the sun rising the next morning. The sea had always been an escape for him, and for as long as he could remember, he always felt such a strong connection to it. It was truly no wonder how he had winded up here, of all places... He was, admittedly, surprised that no one else would be here.

The crashing of the waves vibrated within him, soothing his nerves and singing that sweet lullaby he knew so well. Green eyes watched as the moon reflected off the rolling waters, dancing and bouncing ever so slightly. The stars, too, seemed to dance in time with the large, white orb. With the sounds of the city left behind, mostly due to the sounds of the waves surrounding him, he breathed deeply, just as the breeze rolled in to bring the fresh, salty air of the ocean. Vaguely, he wondered if he should pay that old place a visit... His old sanctuary, where the ocean would continuously sing, all the way 'til daybreak. No. He couldn't... He no longer could visit that old place, no matter how much he wanted to.

He smiled at the memories, his feet slowing to a stop. Perhaps sometime, he should take Francis and Gilbert out to see this wonderful view... It was truly a beauty, after all. But would they even appreciate it...? Francis might, but knowing him, he would crack jokes about ladies the whole way. About how romantic it would be take a stroll with your loved one. Gilbert, on the other hand... Antonio breathed out a sigh. Perhaps it wasn't best to bring them... They would completely miss the beauty that this place had to offer. They would only taint the beauty of the moon's silver rays casting down from above. And with such a clear night... Yes, it was heaven, even if he were the only one here to enjoy it.

His eyes slid closed as he stood there, letting the sounds wrap him up in a gentle, caressing hug. The wind ran its fingers through his hair and filled his nostrils with the sweet scent of the sea. With the warm air, he almost felt like lying down right then and there to fall asleep. He wanted to succumb to the sea's lullaby, not to be awaken until morning. But he knew it was not something he could do. While he could do that at his old home, there was no way he could possibly do that here. Not with there being so many houses lining this part of the beach... And with his drunken state... No, it certainly was not a smart idea.

"Come stai, come sto
Maledettamente bene
Penso a te, penso a noi, e non vivo piu'..."

His eyes slid open. That was... a song... But where was it coming from...? Last he checked, he was all alone. Curious, Antonio glanced around, and out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of white, fluttering in the breeze. He tilted his head up toward the balcony not too far off, focusing his gaze on the white curtains that billowed out from glass doors. The moon's light seemed to intensify the colour, glowing brightly against the dark night all around. And when the breeze changed direction, the curtains fell back into place. The Spaniard's heart failed him.

"Fore sei, abile
A nascondere il dolore
Forse no, non lo so, ma ti aspettero'..."

An angel. That was the first thought that came to mind. He was captivated. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't tear his eyes away. He couldn't move. There, standing atop that balcony, was a man, a far off gaze directed somewhere far across the ocean. The moon's light seemed to shine on only him, softening the curves of his face and shimmering off dark locks. His stance was casual, with his arms folded over the balcony's parapet, leaning over the side as though he could spread wings and fly away at any time. Yet at the same time, that same stance almost seemed to be... a defeated one... The breeze toyed with the edges of his clothes and the tips of his hair, carrying a soft, deep voice along with it and giving more to the illusion that he could fly. But with that kind of gaze... it almost appeared that he had forgotten how to. He looked to long for the breeze to carry him away, but there were no wings sprouting from his back to allow him.

"Guardami, sono qui
Tra l'inferno e il paradiso
Non so piu', che anno e', cerco solo te.."

It was such a sad song, Antonio realized. The words were lost to him, save for a few here and there, but he could tell just by the way they were sung that it was not something to feel content with. He swallowed, his lips forming a thin line. Such a beautiful angel, singing such a sad tune... Did he truly want to fly away so badly...? He wanted to help. He wanted to help this angel fly. But how could he even do that...? He stepped forward, his lips parting. His words were lost to him, however, as the moon's light change direction ever so slightly to reveal the traces of tears rolling down those round cheeks. Somehow, it came as a surprise to him. Such a beauty, crying so openly... And now that he listened to that sweet voice, he could hear the slight tremble it held. The fingers hanging off the ledge curled and uncurled, as though it would help contain the tears.

"Tutto sa, di follia
Ma e' solo malinconia
Vedo la realta' e vorrei che fosse una bugia..."

He was moved. This wingless angel... This song... His hand lifted to hide his mouth, his eyebrows furrowing as tears welled in his eyes. There was such emotion behind those words. Even if he couldn't understand them, he could understand the emotion behind them. Such pain, such sorrow, such... loneliness... He wanted to wrap that angel up and whisper words of comfort to him. Even if he had never seen him before, even if he had never spoken to him, even if he would never see him again... He wanted to assure this angel that everything would be okay. That there was someone - anyone - who actually cared. Even if it was a complete stranger who did... But he couldn't even move. He could only stand and listen.

"In nome dell'amore...
L'alba brucera'...
Le porte della tua prigione...

"In nome dell'amore...
Voglio dirti che ti amo..."

Ti amo. He knew what that meant. It was nearly the same in Spanish. That phrase alone sent a shock through him, forced his breath to hitch. I love you. To hear such words... Sung in such a sorrowful tone... He wanted to know what it was about. But as soon as that line left the angel's lips, it seemed as though he was suddenly aware of the presence watching him. Antonio watched as the head swivelled left, then right, then finally at an angle down to the beach.

Their eyes met. In the light of the moon, the green of the other's eyes was unmistakable. Antonio was shocked into complete silence. Once again, he found he was unable to move. His gaze refused to tear away. The angel abruptly straightened, one arm wiping furiously at his eyes as a frown etched into his lips. As soon as it fell, there was a glare that sent shivers down the Spaniard's spine. The angel fled from him, disappearing with the house as glass doors slammed shut, hiding away both curtains and angel.

Antonio could only stare for a moment longer, his heart fluttering in his chest. ... Such a beauty... A smile wound its way onto his lips.

And when he returned to the hotel, he could only speak of the beautiful angel he encountered that night, claiming that 'she' had stolen his heart - only to be accused of being drunker than he thought and having a shoe throw at him by a disgruntled Prussian.

"How are you, how am I
Damned good
I think about you, about us, and I stop living...

"Maybe you're skilled
To hide the pain away
Maybe not, I don't know, but I'm gonna wait for you...

"Look at me, I'm here
Between Heaven and Hell
I don't know what year it is anymore, I only look for you...

"Everything is touched by madness
But it's only sadness
I see the reality and I wish it were a lie...

"In the name of love...
The dawn will burn...
The doors of your prison...

"In the name of love...
I want to tell you that I love you..."