Hello everyone and thank you for patiently waiting! I won't blabber on too much, but I do wish to apologise for taking forever and a day to update Busking For Hearts. This was all the fault of my university work load and my shitty health. (She got a new doctor last month and already he knows her off by heart, if that says anything.) Thank you to everyone who has reviewed thus far, and I hope you enjoy this chapter! Hopefully its size will make up for the amount of time you had to wait for it, haha! Anyway, without further ado, enjoy Chapter Two of Busking For Hearts!
Chapter Two
The snow was thicker than the day before.
It had begun to coat the streets in a fine white powdered blanket, dusting the trees in dainty and soft specks, dipping the temperature down to a negative six overnight. The news broadcasts on the televisions I passed by in stores all reported yet again another break in records of the coldest day in December, surpassing yesterday's chill by yet another few degrees.
I merely shook my head and continued to make my way down the streets of Spain, taking in the evening sounds of restaurants opening for business and stores closing down for the day. People walked the streets in somewhat of a hurry, eager to catch the bus or get into their cars to return home.
I'd just gotten myself some dinner (a cheap paella from a vendor I had discovered came from somewhere off near Valencia, making it quite an authentic dish that quenched the hunger my stomach had held onto the whole day) when I spotted a little figure standing alone on the corner of Paseo del Prado and Pallo de las Huertas, glaring about the emptying streets.
It certainly stopped me in my tracks, my guitar case slung over one shoulder and holding lightly onto its strap, the wind blowing my dark curls in front of my face, occasionally flicking close to my eyes.
It took a while for the boy to spot me, jumping when he did, but then his expression quickly returned to that of a scowl, crossing his arms in a huff and glaring at me.
"You're late, bastardo!" he shouted, levelling me with what I'm sure he intended to be a threatening snarl.
I laughed, shaken from my surprise as I walked towards the little brunette, moving towards my usual spot facing the Jardín Botánico de Madrid.
"Lo siento, lo siento, I didn't know you would be waiting for me," I chuckled, removing the guitar from my back and setting it onto the ground, sitting myself down casually next to it.
Lovino harrumphed and narrowed his eyes at me, long and dark lashes making the amber stand out against his skin.
"Whatever. I wasn't waiting, bastardo," he grumbled, round cheek puffing out cutely, "Anyway, not that I care, but where the hell were you?"
"Just getting something to eat," I explained, lifting up the little plastic bag I held in my hands, placing it beside me.
Amber eyes narrowed as Lovino leant forward to inspect the contents of what had been my dinner.
"What the hell is that?" the boy grumbled, quirking an eyebrow curiously.
"Paella," I replied.
"And… that is…?"
I gasped dramatically, though I was actually genuinely surprised by his answer.
"You don't know what paella is?"
A little shake of the head and a scowl was my response.
"I wouldn't be asking you if I already knew what it was, idiota!"
I couldn't help but laugh, even though it did make his face flush and eyebrows draw together tighter in aggravation.
"Quit laughing at me! Cazzo!" he shouted, stomping a foot.
"Lo siento, I just think it's so cute!" I managed to get out between light-hearted giggles, "I don't know many people who don't know what paella is."
"So? Tell me so I can know too, bastardo!"
"It's a rice dish- it's this yellow colour because of the saffron in it. It's just rice, green vegetables, meat and spices," I explained, reaching into the little plastic bag for the container of my almost finished dinner, popping the lid open, allowing the Italian to peek inside, "It's not terribly complicated, but it does take some skill to make."
I held the plastic container out further, smiling.
"Would you like a taste, Lovi?"
"You're not trying to—Cazzo! What!"
Lovino took a startled step back, looking rather infuriated.
"Qué?" I blinked up at him, bringing the dish back closer to myself, lidding it once more to prevent the remainder of its heat from escaping, "What's wrong?"
"Who the fuck said you could call me that!" he shrieked indignantly.
"What? 'Lovi'?" I asked, tilting my head.
"Yes, 'Lovi', you fucking retard- don't fucking call me that!" he shouted, "Now shut up and play your damn guitar!"
I laughed, placing down my food so I can open up the case easier, sitting my guitar in my lap.
"This is the second day in a row you're coming back to me," I began, strumming the instrument a few times as my eyes fell on the Italian, now clad in a different designer coat of roughly the same burgundy colour, "Do you have a crush on me?"
There was a teasing twinkle in the emerald of my eye which seemed to catch the little brunette's attention and cause him to scowl. Well… Scowl more.
"Tch! As if! Who would have a crush on a dirty street busker like you, idiota!" he snapped, amber eyes narrowed at me as he nudged his foot against my leg a few times, the boy's focus on my pants, "Speaking of dirty, you're wearing the same clothes again. I haven't seen you wear anything different. That's gross. You should change and wash them or something or you'll start smelling like trash."
As much as I wished I could, that wasn't something I could easily do…
"So why do you keep coming back to this dirty ol' street performer, hm?" I asked with a quirk of my eyebrow and lazy smile, a few notes humming from the strings of my guitar as I strummed them, "You say you've never seen me wear anything different, as though today isn't the second time you've seen me."
The Italian flushed a bright red, distracted from his previous topic as he stumbled over his words and spluttered. In the end, all he could choke out was a "Shut the fuck up, bastardo! C-Cazzo!"
It was then I noticed his little curl had grown frazzled once more and twitched as he'd become flustered.
The urge to touch it became quite extraordinary.
Now, that isn't to say I go about touching little children- that's not my hobby at all, you're mistaken! But the little curl had me utterly fascinated.
"Lovi, what's that?" I asked, giving a little gesture to the curl with my strumming hand.
The Italian deadpanned, lowering his eyes.
"Hair, fucker- most people have it growing from their heads. Geez, if all buskers are this stupid, I'm going to start giving them some money for school," he muttered.
I smiled and shook my head, gesturing him to come closer.
"No, no! That there! Your hair!"
The child seemed thoroughly confused now, if not a bit concerned that there was something wrong with his hair and he reached up and began to pat about, searching for what could possibly be wrong.
"What is it?"
"There!"
"Where! I feel nothing wrong with it, damn it!"
"You're missing it!"
"I don't fucking feel anything!"
"Just come here and I'll show you!"
With an angry harrumph, Lovino stepped closer, hands still touching about his skull, all but missing the strange curl each time.
"Where is it, bastardo?" he asked, bending down slightly, looking up and slightly cross eyed to look at his fringe. The curl was so close now! I guess I had to show him in the end.
"This right here!"
With that, I reached out and curled cold fingers around the stray hair, twisting it slightly and giving it a gentle pull. Lovino's face went completely red, his amber eyes widening in shock and he took a sharp inhalation of breath, letting out a "Ch-Chigi!"
I'm pretty sure he head-butt me. Right on the forehead in between the eyes. Because one moment, I held the curl between my fingers, and the next, my head stung and my back had hit the wall behind me, causing me to release the stray hair with a slight yelp, instantly reaching up to cover the injured area.
That was the second time he'd hit me. This one hurt considerably more than the kick to the shin.
"P-Pervert! Don't touch that!"
W-Wait—pervert?
"I'm not a pervert!" I whined, cracking open an eye to look up at him, still holding my forehead, "I just want to know why your hair is doing that!"
"It's doing it because it is! Don't fucking touch it!" he snapped back, face still aflame and a look of flustered rage about him.
I made a slight face, lips downturned and kept my eyes on the curl. "But why can't I touch it?"
Lovino snarled. "Geez, how old are you? You're bitching like—"
The sentence stopped halfway, and the Italian's head snapped to the side, suddenly very alert. My eyebrows scrunched together in concern, looking first at him, and then in the direction he was looking. Had he heard something?
It seemed he had, because he took one glance at me and scoffed, taking a few steps away in the opposite direction to where he had looked.
"Tch, cazzo," he muttered, probably to himself. All I could do was blink up at him in confusion, still holding my forehead, and then, in a flash, he was gone without another word, darting off down the road and turning into the first side street he passed. I tilted my head, craning it to glance off in the direction he ran, frowning slightly. He'd left without a word. Even though it didn't really bother me terribly, it did strike me as odd.
I should have been more concerned, especially when I watched a small group of men walk past in fancy suits a minute later, sparing me only a single filthy glance. I smiled at them politely, lowering my hands from my Lovino-battle-wound and gave a nod of acknowledgement, only for them to snort and walk off down the street, presumably to continue doing, well, rich, suited man type stuff.
I watched on in silence, curious before I glanced back down at my cold food and silent guitar in my lap. Somehow, it was somewhat lonesome without the fiery Italian.
It's pretty stupid that my only thought at the time was that it was odd that the men were all wearing sunglasses this late in the evening…
Many days—weeks passed the way they always did, but with a small breath of fresh air, so to speak, twisting it to make the hours tick by a bit easier, and made the smile on my face that little bit brighter.
Every morning, I'd wake, get myself ready and go back to my usual spot and play my guitar. The days got colder and colder, and thick blankets of snow began to coat the streets at an alarming rate. The park across the road from where I sat had turned into fluffy white shapes that resembled the park, and manoeuvring the streets around it had become something of a mission and a chore when they didn't get cleaned. It was difficult stepping on the pavement, which had often crystallised and frozen over to become a free ice skating rink for those without grip on the bottom of their shoes.
I found myself slipping and skidding a bit too much for my liking, and my poor rear felt like it had been rammed by a truck for all the times I'd fallen over as I tried to walk a bit too fast.
I suppose that could be blamed on my eagerness.
Like a routine had been set up, I would arrive at the road across from the park and play my guitar, the cheerful and melodic tunes softly begging passersby to drop in some money—even half a Euro would make my heart flutter in happiness and I would chirp out a gracious thank you to the kind soul. During winter, things were harder. No one wished to leave their warm houses, and not many people liked this snow.
They were used to hot Barcelona nights filled with passion and skimpier clothing as the tango and salsa brought them to new heats as the drums beat their hearts with their rhythm. They were used to fresh fruit served with ice cream in a cute and chic café in Madrid as their hair blew gently in the summer breeze. They had become accustomed to tanning along the coastline of San Sebastián at the beach of Costa del Sol, and holding their lover's hand as they walked beside the romantic view of the stars, moon and city lights kissing in the reflection of the ocean water.
That was when I received the most money; filling people's hearts with the happiness they felt through the day and expressing it through my fingers and the strings of my beloved guitar.
In the winter time, no one dared venture into the cold and miserable hued outdoors, and I suffered for it.
But I played on, because Lovino came to watch me play…
That beautiful boy with the scowl on his face, who would sit beside me, entranced and glare at the road before him. Often, I would look over to him when he shifted, and I would sometimes be graced with a softer expression as he got lost in the music's sighs and calls of my guitar.
I loved it when Lovino lost himself in the world my hands weaved for him.
When he caught me staring (which would always happen, because I simply couldn't turn away from him once I was captured by that almost serene and youthful expression), he would snap at me, turn bright red in the face, curse and a few times smack me on the arms, but I would only laugh.
Cute.
That was all I could think when I watched him day after day, appearing each time in new designer clothing. A part of me felt guilty for thinking that if he had so much money for all those clothes, could he not spare me a few Euros for lunch? I chastised myself for that thought instantly after I had it, reprimanding that horrible side of me. Lovino had no money—it was his parents, and I certainly couldn't go coaxing a child to beg his mother and father for money to give to some poor old busker like myself. It wasn't right. I did have a sense of morality, you know.
Though he never gave me a single coin or note, nor even a kind word, I played on for him, sometimes putting words to my songs in my native tongue of Spanish, the R's rolling off naturally and vibrating on my tongue, the Castilian accent heavily laced in the velvet my voice became when I sang.
Lovino had pointed out my accent with a frown, surprising me by turning quite suddenly and blurting out "You do realise you have a lisp?"
My immediate reactions were to laugh and coo over him, pinch his adorable red cheeks and explain that that was simply how Spanish was spoken here in central and northern parts of España. He'd smacked me for that, threatening if I pinched his cheeks again, he was cutting off my fingers and feeding them to me through my nostrils.
I still have yet to learn how to listen.
He still has yet to cut off my fingers.
I could feel him becoming more and more relaxed with me every day we met, and the distance between us was slowly closing. He was such a naïve boy, yet not easily trusting. I was glad that he trusted me. At least, trusted me enough to sit beside me and listen to my endless chattering.
I'd talk about anything that came to mind, and ask him questions, but usually his responses consisted of non-verbal grunts or "Cazzo, do you ever shut up?"
By the time a whole month had passed, my heart would find itself in an excited rush when I saw him approaching me, or waiting for me at the road by the park that glittered a magical white.
Today held no exception, and I skid and slipped along the roads in my hurry, guitar banging against my hip in its protective case as I swerved around a corner like I had skates on my feet, stopping myself from falling only by catching myself on a lamp post and twirling like a professional skater.
I haven't skated a day in my life. It's only by miracle I made it to Lovino without breaking my neck.
Without hesitation, I moved on over to the little brunette standing on his own, looking about at the park, dark blue coat fluffed up with the layers of clothing beneath it to protect him from the sharp bite of winter's winds.
"Lovi~!" I cried out happily, skidding towards the boy and scooping him up in my arms, promptly tumbling back onto my hind, earning a surprised squeak from him.
"Did I keep you waiting long~? Lo siento~!" I cooed, rubbing my cheek up against the cold red face.
"Cosa?" the voice chirped back.
I froze, pulling my head back enough to stare at the tufts of brown hair. Oh dear… Was I mistaken? Brown hair, though a lighter shade than Lovino's now that I inspected it up close, the same curl, but, flipped on the other side, big brown eyes and a slightly more upturned ski jump nose on a face that belonged to a child no more than four years old.
This was not Lovino.
I was hugging a random child in my lap.
I was hugging a random child in my lap that was not Lovino.
I'm a creeper.
Thankfully, I wasn't hit, nor did the little unknown Lovino look-a-like scream or cry, but instead smiled brightly. Oh dios mios… This boy was just so… so… cute!
"You know my-a fratello?" the boy squeaked, and when he twisted in my lap to hug me around the neck, I melted. Father in Heaven, don't think me a bad man for enjoying this, but I'm just so happy that I'm not being hauled into prison for touching a child I just met!
"Ah, your fratello?" I asked with a smile, "Lovino is your brother?"
The kid nodded enthusiastically, identical mirror sided curl bouncing for all the happiness and jerky movements. "Sì!" he chirped, "Lovino is-a my fratello~!"
I'm going to die from cute overload here, someone call an ambulance before my heart stops! Por favor!
"Sí, I know Lovi- he comes to see me often," I replied, crossing my legs beneath me, "I was actually going on my way to see him now. He should be here soon."
Those brown eyes lit up in joy, round cheeks lifting with the smile. "Ve~! I'm-a so happy!"
So am I, kid. So am I.
"Fratello has-a been going out-a-side to play, but then he comes-a back late and-a does-a not say where he's gone to mamma and-a papa," he spoke in slow and stilted broken English, starting to play with the collar of my shirt. Is it wrong of me to think the thick Italian accent is oddly attractive? Only if I'm thinking that of a child… What is becoming of me?
"Mmm, he's been coming to listen to me play my guitar and sing," I explained, reaching back to pat my beloved instrument. Praise the Lord it was unharmed when I felt like spontaneously throwing myself on the ground in my rush.
"You play-a guitar?" he asked, eyes sparkling like the reflection of the moon in a creamy caramel hot chocolate that's been speckled with golden stars.
Nodding, I gave him a little pat on the leg to hop up, reaching back to undo the strap of my guitar, unzipping the case and dusting it of flecks of snow. The boy seemed enraptured by the instrument and watched in silence as I placed it in my lap. I strummed it once before beginning a gentle song, fingers plucking noises from it like a well known lover, sighing happily as it called out to the sunny blue sky its pleasure in how I played it like I was born for it, and it was carved for me and only me.
I easily became lost in the music, unaware my eyes had closed until I heard a soft voice joining my guitar. Immediately, I looked up, watching as the boy sung softly, yet confidently, in a mix of Latin-Italian through an angel's voice. I was ensnared in the perfect tones that matched mine, and a bright smile burst forth on my lips, granted this little peek into heaven.
What a voice…
Don't ask how long I sat there with a stupid grin on my face. I wouldn't be able to tell you. All I knew was I played his music, and he sung until the song melted away into a mutual end, leaving me staring in awe.
"You have a beautiful voice," I breathed after a while of silence and he blushed, eyes closing with a simple "Ve~".
Shifting the guitar about my lap, my smile grew, white teeth flashing as I tilted my head, some brown strands tickling my cheek. "You and Lovi certainly don't act alike at all," I commented. By now, Lovino would have kicked me at least once, if not whacked me with his little gloved hands.
The Italian shrugged, turning his head to look down the streets, smile sad. "No. But I do love-a my fratello," he spoke, and the honesty seared me like a hot plate. In this whole month, Lovino had never mentioned he had a brother. In fact, his family never cropped up in conversation at all…
"Ah, fratello…!"
I turned to glance over in the direction he was looking, my smile's glow dulling at the look on Lovino's face. There he stood, just on the corner of the street he must have walked in from, amber eyes wide and frown carved deep, little lips parted and staring in what seemed to me to be a mix of fury, hurt and betrayal.
He said not a single word as he turned, sprinting off the direction he'd come from, earning a surprised cry from the little boy beside me.
"Fratello!" he shouted out before stumbling off and running after the older Italian.
What on earth had just happened?
Though I didn't know, I still felt I had to be responsible. Who would let two little children run about the streets alone? I had to question the parents and what they were doing, letting their sons wander about without supervision. Anything could happen to the poor things!
Stuffing my guitar as quickly as I could into its case, I zipped it up, tossed it onto my back and scampered up and bolted after them. They were children, and I was an adult—how far could they get?
Please don't let the police see me running after two children, please don't let the police see me running after two children, please don't let the police see me running after two children…!
I swear I chased them for a good kilometre about the zigzagged alleyways. No, the streets didn't zigzag—they did.
The icy air sliced at my lungs like a knife, and I had to surrender when I lost sight of them for the fourth time, bending over with hands on my knees as I panted, some sweat rolling down my long nose. Those two could really book it like the devil was on their tails! What sporty children! I was too old for this…
Wiping at my brow, I leant against the edge of an alley between a shop and an antique store, hoping to catch my breath, only for a second believing my ears had deceived me when I heard a small hiccup and the shaky breath of someone nearby. Turning to look down the alley, I took a cautious step in, frowning and squinting slightly, searching for the source of the noise. I had to be careful—it could be mafia or some other gang member lurking nearby, or even someone pumped with drugs or alcohol. Those people still existed, which was a sad thought.
When I neared the origin of the sound, I smiled and my face softened, huffing out a breath. Thank goodness it was none of those previous options.
"What are you doing here, Lovi? You'll get your pretty coat all dirty."
Lovino's head snapped up, amber eyes looking furiously up at me, glistening with liquid crystals that rolled hot and slow down bright red cheeks. Hastily, the Italian wiped at them with the sleeve of his coat, standing up from his curled position behind a trashcan, but before he could bolt off, I moved in and gently grabbed his arm.
Ah… he was rather thin here…
"Let go of me, bastardo!" he shrieked, voice cracking faintly as he tugged on his arm, refusing to look at me, "I'll call the police!"
Ah, that was something I didn't want, and I sincerely hoped he wouldn't follow through with this threat. I'd much rather him rip out my eyes and squish them beneath his shoe, as he'd said he would do when he caught me staring one time.
"Lovi, just listen to me, por favor! Why are you running away like this from your brother?" I asked desperately, refusing to let go, even as he yanked, kicking his little booted feet against the ground before he slipped, only not meeting the hard and icy cement because I kept my grip on his arm, pulling him back up to his feet.
"If you like him so much, why don't you go back to Feliciano! I saw the way you thought he was just the best thing in the world!"
I blinked.
"Feliciano?"
Was that his brother's name?
"Lovi, hey, listen to me, listen," I cooed gently, pulling him back gently, placing my hands on his shoulders. They were so large compared to his littler body, and I was surprised that he still struggled given our size difference. Such a persistent little flame.
"Why are you so angry? Come on; look at me, por favor…"
His little struggles grew weaker, but when I pulled him closer, he turned and lashed out at me, little clenched hands bashing at my chest, and only then did I realise he was really crying. The angry little boy looked utterly pitiable, so determined to cause me harm.
"Lovino," I tried again, interrupted by a little hiccupping sob.
"Everyone likes him better than me… Why would you be any different?" he cried out, continuing to swing his little fists, "You like him more too, I bet! You like him more than me!"
A smiled, my eyes softening as I shook my head. I saw what was going on; sibling rivalry, jealousy and inferiority.
"No. I don't like him more than you, and as great as he may seem, I see better in you," I spoke easily, watching his face for signs of surrender, "I was so excited to see you, I made the mistake of hugging him instead. There's no need to run away like this and worry me."
Lovino's fists slowed and he sniffled, trying to hide some of the snot that had begun to dribble from his nose, cheeks a brighter red than a tomato from all his crying.
"If you wanted to sing with me, then you should have said so," I pressed on, gently wiping at his tears with music-calloused fingers, "Let me hear your beautiful voice, Lovi."
The Italian gave another hit before leaving his hand against my chest, small fist opening up to splay his hand on the dirtied green of my coat before it moved away, both hands now wiping at his eyes, hiding his face from my view. In his own way, he was very cute as well, just like his brother, but Lovino was special.
"I just want something to be mine that he can't take from me… I want to be special too," he whispered, crying into his gloves, standing still before me, no longer trying to run away.
I smiled more, bringing him into my arms in a warm embrace, startling him, for he stiffened in my hold.
"You are special, Lovi," I breathed so only he could hear, and I distinctly heard his breath hitch against my ear, "You're special to me."
I let Lovino cry his heart out on my shoulder, uncaring my clothes were being dirtied by snot, saliva and tears. Let them be. They would be cleaned. Those small arms around my neck were tight and I didn't even care how loud he was being so close to my eardrums- I was just grateful he was no longer running away from me.
As he cried, I looked up at the sky, wondering how in this beautiful and corrupt world, no one had held him like this, or whispered that he was special, and I thought to the type of people his and Feliciano's parents must be. What were they like, to neglect a child like this? It could have been an act of rebellion for all I knew; a cry for attention, but for a child to seek that attention from a strange man who played music on the streets meant that there was an extreme lack of communication at the very least.
When the little Italian in my arms managed to calm down, I lifted him up, one arm looped around beneath his rear and the back of his legs, the other around his back with my hand resting on his head. He made a small squeak at the noise and lifted his head up a bit, but only gripped onto me tighter.
"What are you doing bastardo?" he choked out, giving me a weak hearted glare.
I smiled, leaving the small alley slowly, cradling the brunette in my arms.
"I'm buying you hot chocolate and some churros… I want to see this special boy's smile," I spoke confidently, looking ahead at the snowy streets, walking tall through the crowd with the boy in my arms and my guitar across my back.
Lovino stared for a while longer- I could feel his amber eyes burning me-, and then he buried his face back into my neck again, uttering a soft "Idiota…"
I must have imagined the small upturn of his lips, but the way his hands tightened in my clothes was undeniable…
Oh dear, forgive any OOCness that may have sprung up this chapter, but, I hope you all enjoyed that! Stay tuned for more of Busking For Hearts! (If you enjoyed it, leave a review and let this idiot author know- it makes her stupidly and annoyingly happy.) Hopefully the next update will be a lot quicker than this one!