Hey guys! I am so pumped for this new story! I really hope that you guys like it. It's kind of a twist on a typical love story. Basically Lovino is a reclusive little shit and Antonio is his usually oblivious self. I know it sounds kind of vague in the title but that is for a reason! I want the plot twist to be twisty ;) So yea, I hope you enjoy this because I really like this story. I originally wrote it for the Larry Stylinson community but I thought it would work better for Spamano.
Hungary forlornly glanced at her pin stripe clad beau, wind tumbling through her auburn locks, as he stole one last furtive look at her before boarding the train. The scent of citrus was strong and it reminded her of the day her and Austria met at the quaint fruit market in Vienna. Everything had been perfect that day and he had looked so tall and handsome in his dark tan suit pants and crisp white button down with a cravat, coffee colored locks styled just so. The minute the nation locked his luscious violet eyes on her, she knew she'd found 'the one'. But now, as she watched the speeding train leave her standing alone on the platform she realized she…
"What? What did she realize?" Lovino Vargas thought aloud, the tip of his feathered quill stroking his creased eyebrows. Nothing about this newest story seemed right. The female was too dependent. The man was too caught up in his work. Everything screamed 'stereotypical' and stereotypes weren't what made up a work of literary genius.
With a heavy sigh, the young man pushed the wooden chair back from the desk he'd been writing on and stood up. Pins and needles plagued his legs as the blood rushed back into them. Lovino winced and tried to massage the feeling away.
How long had he been sitting there? He hadn't even noticed the vast amount of time flying by, and yet his story was still unsatisfactory. At this point, he'd been attempting to write the first chapter for over a week and nothing was clicking. The author found fault with every minor detail, so much that it was driving him slightly insane. What could he say? He was a perfectionist.
Steam rose from the cup of peppermint tea Lovino cradled in his grasp, the sharp scent rising up to engulf his nostrils. He strode purposefully over to the tall window draped in purple velvet curtains and gazed longingly out the window at the dense forest. Foliage completely encircled the small house he lived in for it was a good barricade against unwanted paparazzi and people in general.
The brunette man had always been a bit of a recluse, even in his younger years, and being a professional author only helped to aid in his reserved ways. Sometimes he would go as far as spending months holed up in his hidden abode, refusing contact with anyone whatsoever, including his closest friends.
Lovino simply just didn't enjoy people. There was just something infinitely more enticing about spiraling words on a page than a shifty vocal conversation. Words could be molded and manipulated into whatever his creative brain desired. But humans? They were unpredictable… at best.
"You are one messed up person," the author darkly laughed to himself, tearing his hazel orbs away from the forest scene and pacing back to his chestnut stained writing desk. It was sickly humorous how he'd devoted his entire life to conjuring up fantastical scenarios about creatures he despised.
What even made him so enthralled with his work? Wouldn't it make sense for someone who disliked his own species to want nothing to do with them? Perhaps, though, Lovino enjoyed the level of control it gave him over people. In stories, the characters were at his beck and call, doing only what he wanted them to and nothing was questioned or spontaneous. Yet, also, the man fancied writing silly romance novels because it gave him the sense of actual love in a world that so lacked it.
Ding-dong. The trill of the too-loud doorbell resonated throughout the bungalow, causing Lovino to jump in slight shock. He wasn't expecting anyone today, but then again, if his mind guessed right, he already knew who it was. With a quick glance at the flip calendar on the desk, he determined that it had been close to a month without seeing his brother. He understood that he needed to spend more time with the lad, but now was not good. Hungary was just divorced by Austria, for God's sakes. How could he leave the plot hanging like that?
The gold-eyed author padded down the dimly lit hallway, feet slapping slightly on the hardwood flooring. When he reached the door, he carefully pried open the little peephole in the center, garnering a quiet creak while doing so. Sure enough, he could see trademark curl that matched his own jutting off to one side. His vocal chords emitted a noise of dissatisfaction and he stepped back, letting the door swing open.
"Brother! Its been ages since I've seen you," Feliciano exclaimed in his lilting higher pitched voice. The other man shrugged, leaning on the door frame.
"I know," was all he responded with. The unexpected visitor crossed his arms, sporting a pleasantly annoyed expression.
"Then let's do something! Seriously, you spend way too much time cooped up in this place. It'll be good for you to get away from your writing. Come on, let's go grab some drinks."
"Now really isn't the best of times, Feli," Lovino disclosed, keeping his irritation from seeping into his tone. The bitter fall air was whipping around him and causing his dark hair to tumble everywhere.
"What!" Feliciano yelped, clearly offended, "Why? It's not like your characters can't wait." The author slowly sighed.
"It's not that. It's just, the characters aren't good enough, the plotline is going nowhere and… you know what? Just forget about it. You wouldn't understand."
"Don't understand? Brother, if anything, it's you who doesn't understand. There is way more to this world than those stories of yours. It isn't healthy to sit in there writing all day. Human interaction never killed anyone," Feliciano argued, pleading with his eyes. The author pinched the bridge of nose and started to close the door.
"Sorry, but I just can't hang out today," he asserted with finality and promptly shut the door without waiting for a response.
However, as he traipsed back into the den the sounds of his saddened brother floated from behind the barrier. Eventually, the noises stopped and Lovino heard the footfalls going away from his house meaning that Feliciano had finally left. Everyone always did in the end.
Now with a renewed interest and concentration, Lovino plopped down on his chair, picked up his peacock-feathered quill, dipped it in the nearby pot of ink, and pressed it to the page. After crossing out everything he'd previously written, the paper was almost as good as new and ready for a new tale to bloom upon it. All the author had to do was put his creativity to work, which was easier said than done. He bit his pale lip and set to do the task at hand.
With a vehement flip of her chesnut coloured hair, Hungary strode down the cobblestone…
Lovino shook his head vigorously, scratching out the last line he'd written. It was too characteristically female.
With a determined toss of her cascading blonde hair, Hungary strode…
Scratch. He liked her better as a brunette.
With a determined toss of her chesnut coloured hair, Hungary strode down the Vientiane cobblestone street searching for…
Scratch. Cobblestone was too cliché for a romance novel.
With a determined toss of her chestnut coloured hair, Hungary strode down the…
Scratch. Did he even want to write about Hungary and Austria anymore? With a long, exasperated cry of frustration, Lovino let his head fall into his arms, espresso coloured starnds strewn haphazardly on the desk top. Finishing this story was going to be a lot more difficult than he'd imagined.
"Chill out! I'm just going to say hi to the fans. They've waited all day for us. They deserve at least a few minutes of our time."
"Yeah, but Antonio, we're in the middle of-,"
"Nope. There are no buts about it. I'm going to talk to them and that's final."
Antonio Fernandez Carriedo walked out of the recording booth where'd he'd just been singing with his band mates, letting the glass door slam firmly behind him. Shouts of protests from Francis and Gilbert could be heard behind him, but he paid no heed whatsoever. The fans demanded attention from them and he was going to give them exactly what they wanted. What else could he do? He was a natural people pleaser.
He and the other two members of the hit boyband, The Bad Touch Trio, were currently recording their third studio album. They'd become known by slowly working their way up the ranks Hollywood from performing in seedy night clubs to selling out arenas. The Bad Touch Trio reached ultra popularity around two years ago, and they were still riding the wave of fame. To be honest, the twenty-six year old enjoyed every second of his time in the band, but, as always, fame came with a price.
Because of their main-stream success, the group had basically been bombarded with fans left and right trying to talk to them or even just be followed by them on Twitter. Eventually it had become so bad that their management put a full halt on all direct communication. They'd taken over their Twitter accounts, directed how the men acted in public, and even decided whom they could and couldn't date. This had been nothing more than an annoyance until the fans complained that the girls never talked to them anymore. Antonio felt awful about the lack of contact, for the fans were the only reason they were still singing, and brought it upon himself to appease their unhappiness.
Cheering thundered in his ear as he stepped out into the sea of faces packed outside of the studio. Like usual, he shone a cheeky smile and swooped his perfect dark curls just so. That always got a huge reaction from the fans. He swore he'd go deaf someday because of the adoring masses.
"Guys, guys calm down! There's no need to get so excited about a dork like myself," the singer explained, happiness shining in his green eyes, but that only exacted a louder response from the crowd, "Ok, fine, but I still don't see what the big deal is!"
For the next hour, Antonio took more pictures and signed more autographs than he previously thought was humanly possible. At one point, he looked back and noticed that his band mates had joined him in the mass of people and were interacting with their fans as well. That brought a large smile onto his tanned face. Francis and Gilbert may not have agreed with how he went about it, but at least they joined him in the end.
"Alright that's all for now, but thank you so much for coming out to see us!" Antonio acknowledged the adoring fans as he retreated up the steps of the studio. In the large span of time, the three men managed to cover almost the entire crowd, stopping to talk to every person even if was just a simple hello.
"Check our web page for updates on how the new album is going," Francis invited while tying his striking blonde hair into a ponytail. Gilbert gave the tail a playful tug on the end of it. Francis just stuck out his tongue before disappearing behind the glass door with the silver haired man in tow.
Once safely back inside, Antonio flopped onto the black leather couch situated just outside the recording booth. He let his droopy eyelids flutter shut for a moment, and then opened them to find two extremely incensed figures glaring down at him. The tired man sat up a bit straighter and raised his thin arms in a questioning gesture.
"I can't believe you… well, we just did that," France fumed, raking a hand through his blonde bangs, "Ludwig is so going to murder us later."
"It really wasn't that smart of a decision," Gilbert backed his friend up. Antonio simply rolled his sultry eyes and settled back into the sinfully comfortable upholstery. Their boss and Gilbert's little brother, Ludwig Beilschmidt, and his team didn't scare him in the least.
"Guys, we've been in this group for six years now. Its high time we get to do what we want without answering to Ludwig."
"It doesn't matter how old or famous we are. He still has the last word in what we do. You being the oldest should respect that," Gilbert countered, "Besides, as punishment he'd probably take away our supply of beer for ever. We can't have that happening, now can we?"
"I don't have to respect anything if I don't approve of it," Antonio quipped, looking at Francis for support. Francis held up his hands defensively, not wanting to get in the middle of a fight. Gilbert growled in anger, then took deep breaths to settle down.
"I can't record in this state. I need a break to calm down," he complained, "And I think you need to cool down as well, Antonio. Here, read a book or something." The singer trained his sight on the book Gilbert was gesturing to. It was small but thick and was lying amongst a pile on the coffee table in front of him. A disgusted look displayed on his features, the popstar snatched up the book and laughed mercilessly.
"Love Never Dies by Lovino Vargas?" he scoffed, "Oh God, this sounds like some sappy rom-com. I may be gay but there's no way I'm reading this crap." Gilbert attempted and failed to hold back a snicker before dramatically stomping out of the room.
"Just try it out. Maybe you'll find out you actually like it," he called out over his shoulder, voice diminishing the further away he traveled. Antonio wrinkled his nose, appalled at the suggestion.
"No thanks. Some things just aren't for me."
And with that, the singer threw the book back onto the coffee table without a second's glance at it.
So yea! First chapter finished. I'll update every few days, and if you liked this please leave feedback! Seeing your guys's responses to my stories really make my day and make it that much more fun to write :)