Disclaimer: Nope.

A/N: Whew, here's the 200th review prizefic for Flashlight to Lumoa. Her request was "some of Antonio's Pov from Flashlight maybe a bit before he meets Romano to a little afterward...the point from where he falls in love with Romano and when he rescues him from the evil bad guys"; I'll be taking the evil bad guys to mean those nameless guys who were all over Romano in, like, that chapter when he went to Port Angeles.

Thanks to Lily for picking out the story name! Gosh, I'm hopeless with that sort of thing. Love you, girl. ;)

11-14-11 EDIT. wow I need to update

I

Forks High School was an okay place. Like most of our schools, it was small, but the students spoke loudly enough to make up for the size. The teachers were bland, but a few of them - like the English teacher, the one with the huge rack - taught well and kept everyone captivated in class. I found them funny, mostly because I got to listen to their thoughts and hear the insults they'd never actually voice. Well, except Mr. Zwingli, who did indeed scream at the jock who insisted on walking his girlfriend to and from class every day.

But eavesdropping is only so fun. If I could sleep, I would during school. All I do is sit there, regurgitating stuff I learned decades ago, and listening to people's minds and wondering how, exactly, they never notice that I'm way too old to be in high school. It could've been worse, though - way back when Francis first changed me, I heard everything from everyone, and it wasn't until Roderich suggested I focus on tones and beats, rather than actual words, that I started blocking people out. Eventually I got good enough at it to quiet people almost completely, and nowadays I hardly hear anything.

But today I had the mute off because something was going on. Everyone had the same buzz of excitement running through their brains - a new kid! In a small school like this, transfers were always the center of attention; from what I could discern about the new boy, though, he was attractive. Unfortunately, I'd have to wait to see the kid myself, because most of the students thought in words and not pictures. When thoughts of oh, I hope he's not a jerk blurred into thoughts of how great it'd be to date him, I blocked everyone out and rolled over the tomato in my hands.

(Sure, I don't eat, but that doesn't mean I can't appreciate my once-favorite foods.)

My siblings and I sat at the same table, like we did every lunch break, and I silenced their voices out of courtesy rather than irriation. It's not my fault that their thoughts are so funny! I mean, we've all grown accustomed to the lack of privacy in our family; between me and Liz, there's nothing that we don't know or that we can't find out. Except maybe stuff concerning Arthur, because that guy can be a ninja when he wants to be. And they're all more interesting to listen to than the students.

As usual, Nat thought about herself - or, more specifically, how pretty she looked in her new dress. Liz picked it for her when they went shopping, and while bubble dresses don't compliment Nat as much as a good pair of jeans or a jumper, she wore it gorgeously. Now, I'm not talking bad about her or anything when I say that Nat's self-absorbed, but it's true: she has the bad habit of thinking about herself whenever she catches sight of her reflection. Most of the time, though, her thoughts are positively delightful to listen to - snarky, hilarious, and unpredictable, even after centuries of listening to her. Well, unless she was thinking about how beautifully her hair shone, because there are only so many synonyms for "shiny", and she's used them all at least a thousand times.

Gilbert, criss-cross-applesauce on the table, picked sourly at the sandwich he'd selected from the lunch line for show. Overnight, he'd lost another wrestling match to Liz, and currently thought about all the ways to get back at her. For all the years he'd been trying to beat her, he'd won only twice; the other four thousand matches were all Liz's, and she was proud of that feat.

Speaking of Liz, she can see the future. Well, not really; it's hard to explain, but she sees all possible outcomes for an event, and it's her job to prepare for all of them however necessary. "However necessary" could mean that she tells us all, or that she goes and robs a bank, or that she ignores it completely. Considering that she's only got a mental power and Gilbert's unnaturally strong, it's irrational that she'd be able to kick his ass as many times as she has.

A giant blob of angsty thoughts hovered over Roderich, who sat between Gilbert and Liz and across from me. Back straight and head held high, he hardly looked like the sort to be suffering from...well, whatever he was suffering from. Probably Gilbert's contagious personality. Roderich's special power involves emotion, see - he can mess with other people's moods, and make them happy or unhappy as it suits him, but he's also really sensitive to surrounding emotions.

Antonio! Liz called my name in thought. It works like saying my name out loud, and it gets my attention; thankfully, there weren't many people named Antonio in the Pacific Northwest, so I wasn't turning around every five seconds. Imagine if my name had been Paul. Or Bob.

Wait, what was I saying? Right. Liz got my attention, but she only ever had these mental conversations with me if it was a private topic; as such, I kept my gaze on the tomato in my hands.

Is Gil okay? she asked, and I frowned slightly. Gilbert was the one member of the family who still drank human blood; Liz, Roderich, and Arthur didn't approve of his diet, but what could we do? We'd tried putting Gilbert on a diet of animal blood, like the rest of us, but it wasn't that he hated the stuff - we all do, actually, but that doesn't matter because it keeps us sane and together and energized. But Gilbert reacted like he was allergic to the stuff: whenever he drank animal blood, he immediately started throwing it back up, and the hunger and pain sent him running for the nearest human. Twice, we failed to stop him. After that, we decided it best if he continue drinking human blood, but sparingly. Gilbert, of course, hated the idea that something as small as animal blood kept him from really being one of us and really loving Nat, the way Liz loves Roderich and Arthur loves Francis and so on.

And we all have our theories on why Gilbert can't ingest animal blood. Francis suggested it was because Gilbert was so abnormally violent even as a human; Roderich thought otherwise.

"Half of us were violent. If bloodlust as a human affected our bodies, then Antonio wouldn't be able to drink human blood, either," said Roderich in support of his rejection. Nat agreed with him, that something else was wrong with Gilbert, but she also thought that Gil's particularly bad temper had been a contributing factor.

But whatever the case, Gil still fed on humans, which was why his eyes glowed red and not amber. Unfortunately, the whole drinking-human-blood thing made him susceptible to human scents; usually, he was pretty good at controlling himself, but today we hadn't fed in weeks and Gilbert was getting antsy.

ANTONIO! roared Liz, and I toppled off of the bench. Gilbert glanced at me and guffawed, and Nataliya's light giggle rang too quietly for humans to hear; even Roderich managed a dignified snort. I pulled myself back up with a grin, shooting a discreetly apologetic glance in Liz's direction.

Is he going to be okay? she asked again, more worried than last time despite the smirk on her face.

My grin widened minutely, and she untensed slightly, relieved that there was no chance of her closest sibling-figure spazzing and killing that girl with the bloody papercut. Said girl with the bloody papercut stood in the lunch line, picking her pizza and chattering happily to someone beside her - again, about the newbie. I wondered why he was already so popular, and thinking about it got my mind off the involuntary well of venom in my mouth and the slight tensing of my muscles as I instinctively prepared to strike. Not that I actually would jump across the cafeteria and tear her throat out, like Liz had undoubtedly seen Gilbert doing.

A few minutes later, the cafeteria doors opened and in stepped the new guy, along with that Dutch guy, Alek. I looked up and saw a head of dark reddish-brown hair with one random flyaway curl, bangs framing a fair face and deep brown eyes glaring out of them, thin lips twisted into a sneer as Alek offered him these crazy-colored LSD pills. He sure looked mad. What was it with girls and surly men? Camille, that Belgian girl, saw the new guy and nearly swooned - like most of the other girls, actually. Maybe it was because this Lovino Vargas was Italian? (When we'd come to Forks a few years earlier, I'd noticed that girls thought more about me than Gilbert or Roderich. Liz and Nat had both said that there was something about Mediterranean languages and the fluidity that was more charming than harsh German or English, and having an attractive face along with that was the icing on the cake.)

I overheard Camille giving Lovino a full explanation of all the rumors in school and pointing out all the important people. "They're talking about us," I laughed, too low for anyone away our table to hear.

"Is it good?" inquired Nat, leaning forward curiously.

"Well, the new guy just called us all gay -"

"Get to the important stuff!" ordered Gilbert.

"Why don't you just listen in?"

"Because you touch yourself at night. And this place echoes too loudly for us to figure out who's saying what."

"Fine. New guy doesn't seem too interested that we're committing legal incest -"

Liz snickered.

"- and, oh, Camille just said I'm the best looking one here -"

"Oh, shut up," scoffed Nat.

"My sentiments exactly," beamed Gilbert with a suggestive wink at Nat, who rolled her eyes and let him lean in to kiss her nose anyway.

I stopped caring about what else Camille said, though, because I was too concerned with Lovino . Why? Well, I noticed that there were no new voices at the table - mind-voices, I mean. I heard his actual voice well enough, smooth and raspy on a few sounds, but there was no matching, telltale echo of thoughts alongside them.

Which meant that either he wasn't thinking anything at all or that I couldn't hear him.

But the bell rang shortly after, and I had no time to investigate further. Instead, I stood and locked arms with Gilbert, calling a goodbye to Liz (who had math with Nat) and Roderich (who had advanced music theory). We skipped off merrily in the direction of the science building. He had physics and I had AP Bio - with the new guy, according to the tiny discussion that Camille and Lovino had about his schedule and where his next class was. I got there first, and strode over to my seat happily.

I sat and dropped my bag onto the floor before Lovino stepped inside, Jansport backpack hanging off a shoulder. I hadn't noticed the five or six freckles on his nose and cheeks, or the specks of green in his eyes; his face, obviously Roman, remained twisted into a scowl, and I thought that he must look stunning when he smiled. If he smiled.

Then he stepped in front of the fan blowing straight at my lab desk, and the scent hit me like a brick to the face. My mouth dried like the Sahara, throat burning and hardly abated by the sudden flow of venom. My fingers curled involuntarily and everything grew brighter as my pupils dilated because, in all my hundreds of years, Lovino had the sweetest-smelling blood I'd ever come across. The scent of tomatoes and ocean water and sunshine radiating off his skin paled in comparison to the rich, delicious, appetizing blood pounding through his veins.

It would be so easy to kill him.

He was only a human, after all. He wouldn't be able to fight me off if I decided to attack him. I could imagine the delicious soothing feel of that hot blood running down my throat, and the taste - after years of surviving off animal blood, it was almost too good to resist.

But there were witnesses. Not that they wouldn't stand a chance either; the most they could do was slow me down. I'd get to them all eventually. Perhaps after I killed Lovino, I could run around the room and silence everyone else - but Lovino's blood would cool as I did.

The witnesses first, maybe?

I didn't really know; Lovino looked like a screamer. What if he shrieked loudly enough to alert the other classrooms? And I was sure that Mr. Zwingli could draw a gun in less than a second. The sound of it firing would definitely tip off everyone else. But if I went for him first, then there would be twenty-something cries of horror almost loud enough to rival a shot.

It wouldn't matter, though, even if I had to kill all seventy or eighty students currently in this building. It would only take two or three minutes; I could snap five or six necks in less than half as many seconds, and the smell would send Gilbert into a frenzy. He's a better fighter than me, and we'd make clean work of the entire school.

Barely a second had passed, though, because Lovino was still on the step that brought him into range of the fan behind him in the first place. His eyes focused on the teacher with the full intent of getting the slip signed so he could sit down -

And then I noticed that the only empty seat in class was next to me.

I watched him unabashedly as he handed the paper to Mr. Zwingli.

The only problem with leaving hundreds of corpses everywhere was that I would inevitably drink someone else's blood. The frenzy destroys any sense of self-preservation, after all. If Lovino's was as delicious as I thought - and it probably was - then another taste covering that wouldn't be fun at all. Maybe I could get him away from the others - offer to walk him to his next class, and lead him into the forest. Would people notice that I was the last one to see him?

He practically threw his bag onto the black desktop, and I pushed the stool out for him with my foot. Glaring, he sat and turned to consider his new partner, and when he turned that adorable glare on me, I decided that - no matter how delicious he smelled - he was far too pretty to kill. His chocolate-y, coffee-y brown eyes, framed by thick dark lashes and glimmering with overcast light from outside, stared at me derisively and defiantly, and I was so enthralled by him that I barely saw him squirming uncomfortably under my gaze. He raised a hand and asked Mr. Zwingli if he could change seats, and shrieked and jumped when the teacher threw a yardstick at him. Of course, time moved slowly enough for me to wrap my arms around his waist and pull him out of harm's way before he noticed.

I beamed as Lovino flushed, cheeks red like a tomato, and all thoughts of killing him disappeared like fog on a sunny day. Well, not really, because my throat still itched horribly, but it was bearable even as the bell rang and he jumped up, dashing out of the room.

After sixth - AP Spanish, which I have with Gilbert - I saw Lovino again. I followed him, and determined that he must be trying to reach the attendance office; I slipped out through the main entrance and strode to the office so I could greet him there. When Lovino showed up, a minute or so after me, I shot him a grin and he tripped his way past me, cheeks glowing red. I held open the door and stepped inside after him, bouncing lightly on the balls of my feet; my smile widened as he asked the attendance lady to switch his schedule, and I heard her thought process - something like, hell no, I am not changing the master schedule just because you're from a new school.

Of course, she only said aloud that changing his schedule would be impossible because the deadline for dropping or changing classes had passed. He thanked her quietly anyway before whirling and walking right past me. I cupped my hands around my mouth and yelled, "Adiós, mi amor!" at the top of my lungs. His heart pounded, just like it had all through science and every second he was around me, and I smiled absently as he drove away.

:::

I went hunting with Francis the next morning. I could've gone overnight, but a marathon of my favorite soaps was playing and I didn't want to miss it. Besides, the only class I cared to go to was Bio - to see Lovino, of course - so I had ample time to hunt.

So when I arrived at the school, lunch hour had already passed. I went straight to the biology classroom and took my seat, waiting for Lovino to come in. He glared before sitting and pulling out his science notebook and a green pencilcase that matched the flecks in his eyes.

"I don't think I really introduced myself last class!" I beamed, glomping him tightly. More cameras! Whoa, where do girls hide those things? Lovino looked dazed and he squinted at his papers, trying to fill out a worksheet. I stared at him dreamily.

Then he looked at me and noticed how close I was, and spazzed. Mr. Zwingli hurled a piece of chalk at him.

I grinned as his face flushed with embarrassment. "Anyway, anyway. I didn't introduce myself last class. I'm Antonio Fernandez Carriedo. I'm Spanish and I speak more languages than I can count, I was adopted years back by my uncle and his husband of sorts, even though my uncle tops, I've got four awesome adoptive siblings, and I think you're cute."

He didn't reply, so I stared at him for a few minutes before jabbing his arm. "Lovino Vargas," he grumbled, looking back at his work. But I was right, and he was Italian.

"Ooh, Italian," I purred, propping my chin up in one palm. His cheeks colored darkly, and I reached out to brush an eyelash off his cheek; he started when he felt how cold my fingers were.

The rest of class was wonderful. When we were dismissed, though, Lovino jumped right up and ran again; I followed him quickly - not that I wouldn't be able to catch up if he managed to give me the slip. It'd be weird, though, if I teleported over toward him even as he skidded over the ice and just barely maintained his balance without flailing his arms wildly.

I stopped by the stairs, content to watch him scramble for his car even though we had sixth period left. "Your cheeks remind me of tomatoes!" I shouted, laughing as he threw all pretense of running out the window, instead lifting his weight to the balls of his feet and skidding until the ice patch ended; with a finger in the air, he ripped his keys off the lanyard around his neck and fumbled for the right one.

I heard the panicked driver's thoughts clearly, long before anyone else noticed the van wheels caught on the slicked asphalt, and I froze when I noticed that - if the car served out of control - Lovino would get hit.

Lovino noticed at the same time as everyone else and jerked to a stop right by his car, pretty brown eyes widening in horror.

I moved before I realized I had - something that never happened - and rolled between Lovino and the car in half a second. The sound of Lovino's head whacking the asphalt brought a grimace to my face as I reached out to shove the van away. Or try to, at least. I stopped the car but my hand smashed right through the metal and promptly jammed.

Well. People were definitely going to notice that.

Lovino looked dazed, squinting and mouthing swearwords in pain and blinking to try and clear his head before he noticed that I hovered above him. He shrieked and flailed a bit, and shouted again when he saw my hand. The one stuck in the car, not the one holding me up and consequently pinning him to the ground.

I gnawed nervously at my lips. "Lovino? ¿Estás bien?" He didn't reply, so I tried again in Italian. "Stai bene?"

I ripped my hand out of the car. "¡Ahh! Yo lo he matado," I sighed when he failed to reply yet again. When I tilted his face up with a finger under his chin, he kicked at me again.

"Scendere me, stupido spagnolo!" he hissed, and I shifted so he could sit up. Blood trickled down from a cut on his forehead, and my throat constricted.

"Let me see." I reached out and lightly touched the gash. "Me tengo que ir. Te quiero, Lovino!"

I jumped to my feet and dashed off as other students started crowding around, finally having managed to push the wrecked cars out of the way and reach me and Lovino. Of course, everyone was too concerned with Lovino to notice the hole in the van, but the driver would sure as hell have to think up something to tell his parents.

Francis laughed when I retold the story that evening. We sat on the sofa, Gilbert and Liz gaming on the flatscreen while Nat and Roderich composed another piano-cello duet in the upstairs music room, and Francis listened to me speak except for the occasional question.

"This Lovino sounds like an interesting figure," he said - only with a lot more French. I translate it almost instinctively now, though, so I couldn't tell you what he'd said in French and what he hadn't. "Would you agree with dear Antonio's descriptions of him, Gilbert, Elizaveta?"

The aforementioned duo didn't look away from the screen. "I guess he's okay," shrugged Gilbert.

"He seems bitchy," commented Liz, "and his perpetual scowl reminds me of Arthur. But if you and Antonio are so similar, maybe that's a good thing."

When Arthur returned from work that evening, he glared daggers at me. "He's a real charmer, Antonio," commented Arthur dryly, and he replayed his short conversation with Lovino mentally for me as he sat on the back of the sofa to yank off his shoes.

"Well, obviously they were going to take Lovino to the hospital after that accident," I grinned. "I do like him though, Arthur. Thanks."

The good doctor rolled his eyes and smacked Francis on the head when the latter tried palming him.

Since I didn't have to sleep, I decided that I may as well waltz around the town for a few hours. I ended up standing outside Lovino's house, and eventually decided to climb the tree outside his window and watch him sleep. He looked so peaceful, but managed to scowl even while sleeping. Hmm.

:::

When you're a vampire, time passes way too slowly. When you're a vampire and you've got a free day, it's even worse. The next morning, Liz and Nat drove to Seattle with their respective lovers, ready for a day of shopping; Arthur doesn't work weekends unless it's an emergency, so he and Francis planned to relax - relax here indeed being used very loosely - at home.

Obviously, I did not plan on being anywhere within three miles of the house that day.

Lucky for me, I had Lovino, so I curled up on that tree branch and watched him work for a few hours before Gilbert called and asked me to come help them bring back their bags. When I returned, Lovino had gone out.

Not being able to read his mind really sucked. I had to followed his scent to the movie theater, where I watched him walk inside with a certain Belgian girl. Both were dressed up, like it was a date, and Camille imagined herself kissing my Lovi during the film.

(The nickname and the possessive-ness had appeared sometime overnight, before you ask.)

I sneered and wondered if anyone would notice me killing her. My fingers twitched furiously, and venom welled in my mouth at the thought of how painful I could make it, because that was my Lovi she was ogling.

Enrique Iglesias pulled me out of my musings on where to stash the body. I flipped my phone open. "What, Liz? I'm having a moment here," I growled.

"I can see what you're planning to do, idiot, and you get the hell out of the country if you're so angry!"

"She's right there, can't I -?"

"He's not going to like you any more than he already does if you kill his friend, you know."

"I'll still feel better about the situation!"

Liz sighed. "Look, Tony, you're pulling a Gilbert. Last time you had a tantrum like this, you almost brought those damned Asians down on us! This time, we'll have those fucking wolves!"

I winced at the memory, but the idea of breaking the treaty invigorated me. "So what do you suggest I do, then?"

"Oh my god, man, really? I just told you. Gtfo until you finish with that fit of yours! I know the South Americans would be glad to see you."

"But Liiiiz, they're weird!" I whined, only to hear a dial tone.

Oh, Liz: always the voice of reason.

Not really, but whatever. I groaned and turned, sprinting back to the house and grabbing the car keys to one of the cars parked in the garage before I heard too much of what Francis and Arthur were getting up to in their bedroom - and, oh, fuck, the arcade. Gilbert was going to kill them, and I regretted missing that, but I hopped into the black Infiniti and raced away as quickly as I could.

The South American clan lived in Alaska, a trip that would've taken longer without the police radar built into my head, but they were all from Southern American countries. Renata hailed from Brazil, Valentina from Peru, and Camila from Argentina; they'd met sometime in the eighteenth century while traveling. They also fed on animals, and never got mad at me for dropping in randomly, though they did tend to keep at least one hand each on me almost all of the time.

The border-hopping was easy enough, and I didn't have to stop more than five or six times for gas. I reached Juneau extremely quickly, and from there all I had to do was park the car somewhere and trek up the mountains.

The three females awaited me, having heard my arrival - or received a call from Liz, as I learned a few seconds later. All three hugged me tightly with happy grins stretching their exquisite faces. "Oh, Antonio!" beamed Camila, rubbing her chest against my arm. "It's been so long since you've come to see us!"