Song(s)Mentioned:All of me as prefromed by Ruth Etting (1931)

Mid Spring; Rome,Italy;1939

Days bleed into weeks, obscuring one into the other. The air around Rome grew fresher, the streets teeming with new found life, even under the black skies Mussolini had brought them, people were still willing to treasure succulent spring days. Lovino had made it a point to escape the confines of the opera house on days such as these, if at least to avoid the budding drama that seemed to sprout the closer they got to opening night. He strolled the cobblestone walkways, stopping at a cafe to read the newspaper and perhaps drink a glass of wine or maybe the whole bottle. He wasn't quite sure yet. He really didn't know why he read the newspaper anymore. All it told him was what the government wanted everyone to believe, not what was necessarily the truth. But regardless, the Albanian invasion decorated the front page with fruitful hopes of victory. General Guzzoni was winning, that's all they felt the Italian people needed to know. Lovino snorted, rustling the papers to look at more worth while things, such as new and upcoming films. He took a cigarette from his pocket, inhaling the sweet tobacco before letting out a long sigh.

There was once a time where Lovino had dreams of joining the military. He was young, and awestruck at the prospect of becoming a "hero", as his Grandfather had put it. His Grandfather was an army man, one of the best so he told them. Lovino and his brother grew up force-fed stories of brave battalions and of course their Grandfather's valiant efforts and his tide-turning expeditions. Lovino always knew most of it was a load, but the way his grandfather told the stories with a fire in his eye struck a chord with Lovino deep inside his heart. He wanted that same fire. He wanted something that would set him apart,make him special.

His romanticized ideas of the Military faded away at the new prospect of becoming a name immortalized by bright lights. He had become infatuated with the theater since his grandfather had taken them to see a small-budget production of Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet when he and Feliciano were seven. Feliciano had grown bored within the first few minutes, sleeping one minute and whining the next in typical fashion. But, to his Grandfathers surprise, Lovino was quite attentive, entranced by the tragic story and captivating drama. It from then on that he spent his summers at the theater, painting sets or running errands, attending to actors or managing the ropes high in the catwalk. It wasn't until his second summer there when he heard opera for the first time. Being a small-scale town theater, they couldn't afford a full production, instead they hired a single performer to sing a set for a number of nights. He couldn't remember her name, but knew exactly how she had made him feel. She was a soprano, trilling high other worldly notes only heaven could reach. She was performing Habanera, the aria famous of a famous Spanish opera ,of course Lovino hadn't known at the time. She was full of emotion, weaving a colorful tapestry with only her voice. Only her voice? Lovino was stunned. This woman had captivated the audience without doing anything but singing a pretty song. How unfair, he thought. How unfair it was that he had to work for any attention he received and some people just had to breathe beautifully to get attention. His mind was made up from there. Lovino Vargas would become an opera singer. Signed an sealed.

His family hadn't taken too kindly to that. While his Grandfather "appreciated his interest in the arts", he found no reason Lovino should give up his comfortable country life and steady bakers income to pursue something so trivial. Lovino grew up in the odd shadow of his twin brother. They were only separated by seconds, but in contrast they were as different as night and day. Feliciano was the likeable one, ludicrously charming and pleasing to look at. He always had a way of growing on people, so much so that Lovino was often forgotten in the process. It wasn't that Lovino resented his brother, Feliciano was oblivious of everything, it's that he despised himself for not being "good" enough. But he was the older of the two, and in spite of his shortcomings looked after his brother fiercely until he left their country home at the age of fifteen. He had hitch hiked to Rome on the back of merchant carts and gypsy wagons, working odd jobs in restaurants and markets until he could afford some type of coaching. He was lucky enough to have a naturally good voice, it was another thing entirely to have an operatic voice. But with the help of his Professore, he cleaned the rough edges and began auditioning for productions. His first notable performance was as a simple extra in a small opera house's production of Il Barbiere di Siviglia. After people had heard him sing, he had jobs left and right, small roles, but progress nonetheless. It wasn't until his most recent audition for L'Opera Fantastico's Pagliacci that he finally scored a lead role.

He exchanged letters with his family often. He caught up on weddings, anniversaries and the deaths and births that circulated throughout the townsfolk. Most importantly he learned of his brothers fortune as the new head chef at their families bakery. That sounded about right. Given any decision in the world, Feliciano would choose food every time.

He folded the newspaper, the waiter pouring him another bottle of Merlot. Since when did I become a drunk? He mused, taking a tender sip of the chilled liquid. He had arrived at the small cafe at around six that evening, lingering long enough for the warm afternoon to slip quietly into the usual evening bustle. Rome really was a city to see by night. It was charmingly lit by lanterns and strings of lights through back alleys and cobblestone streets. You could go dancing, eat some delicious food at a hole-in-the-wall, or even listen to the seductive swing of local street musicians. Lovino had fallen for the city's ancient charms and rich culture. But the air had become heavy nowadays. The Carabineri was out and about during the evening hours, thwarting the Resistenza they claimed corrupted the integrity of the Italian regime. Italian regime, Lovino could have laughed. it was no more Italian than his Greek cousins. But it was always better to stay out of the Carabineri's eye and go about one's business. Lovino finished his glass,leaving his paper and still burning cigarette on the table. He rolled the newspaper under his arm, paying his waiter; he left the small corner cafe.

It was disheartening to see those black-jacketed puppets on every street corner. It made people feel more like their government was against them rather than for them, a bad morale to have during wartime. Black was a fitting color for them though, a color fitting of despair and desolation. Lovino sighed, wishing he hadn't left his cigarette on the table. He strolled a few blocks before searching for the rolled release in his pocket once again, and found it. He stopped momentarily, trying to search for his book of trusty matches.

"Shit." he exclaimed. Must have left them on the table. He sighed begrudgingly before sweeping his eyes across the dim-lit sidewalk. He saw a man walking away, in a slick looking suit and a fedora doting his head. Lovino jogged up to him, hoping to borrow a match.

"Excuse me Signor, but do you have a light? I left mi-" His words were dismantled by two emeralds burning holes right through his soul. The stranger had turned, and was actually no stranger at all, but the supposed grunt worker Antonio, who was supposedly poor and would never have the means to afford clothes as expensive as the ones he was wearing.

"Antonio?" Lovino asked, confused and curious as to why he would be walking around the streets this late a night and looking as sharp as he did.

Antonio was equally surprised. He jerked Lovino by the sleeve, a hand swiftly covering his mouth. The cigarette fell from his hand, becoming smashed under one of their feet as Antonio drug him into a side alley. They made little noise, besides the obvious struggle sounds of scraping stone and ruffled fabric, but the Carabineri's head swiveled in their direction, Antonio had seen him heading their way. He pulled Lovino behind a pile of crates.

"Get down, and stay quiet." he said harshly.

Lovino had never heard him talk like that before. He kind of liked it. No wait, he didn't like it! Antonio hovered over him, kneeling in close to conceal them as best he could. God he smells good. This time like honey and burnt apple wood. What am I doing? Lovino thought. This man was too close to him, and Lovino could feel himself becoming short of breath.

"Hey! Ge-" Lovino was quickly silenced, Antonio's palm clasping once again over his mouth. His hands are so rough. Antonio shot him a sharp look, silently scolding him. Lovino was quiet, and a little afraid despite himself. A flashlight turned on, sweeping across the darkness they hoped would conceal them. He felt Antonio tense against him, crouching down. His messy brown hair brushed against Lovino's cheek. His hair is really soft too. God! What was he thinking? His breath hitched in his throat when the man inched closer into him, pressing him roughly into the brickwork wall, farther into the shadows behind the crates. He could practically feel the warmth of the man's breath on his cheek, Lovino's hair swaying with each inhale and exhale Antonio made. They stayed that way for what was only moments, but felt like years. Suspended there, completely still, nothing moving except the flow of their breath and rolling of their sweat. Seconds pass, and they hear the retreating footsteps of the military policeman, Lovino waits for a sign. He gets it when Antonio relaxes, his muscles softening themselves with a relieved sigh. That's all the sign Lovino needed.

"Get off me!"

He drew back and punched Antonio square in the nose.

He could feel the warmth of blood spread across his fist, feel the weight of the man being thrown off of him. He pushed him towards the opposite wall with a well placed kick to the stomach. Antonio was doubled over, and delighted both at the same time. Lovino hated him.

"I suppose I deserve that, but don't you know not to kick a man while he's down?" he said, accompanied with his usual mild laughter. Lovino was enraged, his teeth gritting and fist balling in preparation for another blow. He would beat this man to death if he got the chance.

"You Bastard! Who even are you?!"Lovino snapped. It was a valid question. Who is this man? Someone who should barley be able to afford the clothes on his back. Someone who strolled leisurely through streets like they were his own. Someone who laughed at being punched in the nose, bleeding profusely onto said fine Italian made suit.

"What's your game?"Lovino pressed, his ears hot with anger. He demanded answers.

Antonio smiled slightly, holding his nose with a kerchief. The man looked as if he had committed murder, blood stained all over the front of his white silken shirt. It had become slightly open with the roughhousing,and Lovino could see his olive-skinned chest shimmering with sweat and the fresh blood that was dripping down his chin. Why was he so irritatingly attractive?

"What game? I'm just a stagehand, Lovino." Antonio said in that horrible accent. He hated the way he said his name in that off-kilter Italian of his. The way he drawled on the final syllable, like he wanted to cling to it. What was wrong with him tonight? He didn't want that man clinging to any part of him, especially his name. But I bet it would feel nice. He thought, cursing himself for doing so.

"You're a liar." he said bluntly. Lovino didn't like to play games. He wasn't in the mood. The Spaniard chuckled, removing the kerchief from his nose, deciding it was safe to do so. He dusted his shirt of the footprint Lovino put there. His eyes drew a gaze on Lovino, that playful spark still embedded deep within them.

"Lovino." he reached for him then, a hand sprawling forward in the darkness.

Lovino pressed himself against the wall, scrambling to his feet.

"Don't touch me." he warned, his voice shaking. He staggered to get up, stumbling only a few paces, throwing himself away from the wall, before he settled into a full out sprint. He had to get away from that,from him,from whatever it was that had happened. He didn't stop running until he was almost four blocks over, falling against an empty chicken cage. He panted, before his jaw set and he once again remembered how angry he was. He looked at his palm, seeing the dried blood rubbing off in flakes. He closed his eyes, trying to make sense of everything that had transpired, but he couldn't. He shook with adrenaline. The wall felt his anger in the form of his fist, a light blow at first. But the more he couldn't make up or down, the angrier he became. He through the cage onto the alley floor, kicked holes into the wooden crate beneath it until it was almost unrecognizable. A pile of broken wood. He slid down, plopping onto the wet, dirty cobblestone street. He stayed that way for a good while, collecting his thoughts,coming up with a good excuse for his disheveled appearance,and crying silently out of pure frustration. Angry tears rolling down his face and no one was there to hear them.

- - – -

Days passed. He had seen Antonio around the opera house. Fixing a prop, or drawing the curtains, things he normally did. Things Lovino wouldn't have paid attention to had it not been for their back alley encounter. They had not spoken a word to each other or exchanged glances since then. Antonio was once again dressed in his poor-mans garb. His brown short pants, a white button-up shirt,sleeves rolled up to expose his well-toned forearm, Suspenders over his shoulders, and that newsboy cap covering his curly brown tresses. A slight bruise also adorned his nose, and each time Lovino saw it he would smile a little smugly. Antonio was a far cry from the lush gentleman he thought he would borrow a light from on the street. But he still had that same playful expression. Laughing amongst the other workers, exchanging jokes, smiling at everyone. Damn, he was irritating. A thought that crossed Lovino's mind often nowadays. Though he always found himself watching him. He watched him work, watched him laugh. I like the way he laughs. No, stop it. He hated the way he laughs. The deep rich sound that carried throughout the whole room. What was happening to him?

Rehearsals were going badly. Lovino found himself uninspired and distracted. It was trouble enough attempting to work with Signora De Luca, now he had to battle the thoughts circulating his mind as well. The Impresario was growing impatient with all of them. He had Lovino staying late for extra rehearsals, going over and over his role-winning aria to the point he thought his vocal chords would burst. He had strict orders. Eat, sleep, practice, and rest his voice. He honestly had no problem with any of those things. He was up one particular night, on stage all alone, reciting his lines in that booming voice of his. No longer was he Lovino, the second he inhaled he was Pagliaccio.

"Put on your makeup."

"Powder your face."

He had felt more and more like Pagliaccio even when he was off the stage nowadays. More and more like the melancholic jester who hid his pain with a smile. Not that Lovino was in pain, he was simply blatantly confused. Bewildered by a green-eyed Spaniard who plagued his dreams and haunted his thoughts. He wanted so desperately to know, what exactly had happened back there? He was a key piece, and even he hadn't fully understood everything that went on. The only venting Lovino even remotely did was through his music. The audacity of his voice cleared his mind, so he welcomed the extra practice with open arms. He finished his aria with added flourish, a little "umf" to add an exclamation point to the whole thing. He was feeling quite proud of himself. I'll have to sing it just like that tomorrow for the Impresario. He wiped his neck of sweat, cracking the joints in the process. His wooden-soled shoes echoed throughout the theater as he trapped across the stage, searching for his glass of water and towel. That's when the claps started, slow at first, then repeating in rapid succession. He sighed, speaking as he turned. "This is a close practice, so please lea-"

And then he saw who it was. None other than the irritating Spaniard himself, that charming smile on his face, eyes ablaze with emerald fire.

"What the hell are you doing here." Lovino asked.

"Am I not allowed to listen?" he questioned.

"No." Lovino replied bluntly. The silence hung in the air. Antonio dropped his hands and placed them in his pockets, looking down momentarily, tapping to point of his toe on the wooden stage. Click, click,click.

"Look Lovino I wanted to apologi-"

"Fuck you."

The air was again stagnant, broken only by Antonio's slight sigh in company with an amused smile. He stepped closer to Lovino, using his hands to better convey his point.

"I only wanted to ask.."he paused to gauge Lovino's actions, it seemed he was listening."If you wanted to go to a party?"

Lovino was wary, but couldn't deny the fire that ignited within him at the word "party."

"What party?"Lovino asked.

Antonio grinned devilishly. Running to grab Lovino by the sleeve, he drug him from the stage. His glass toppled, shattering, leaving shards of glass everywhere and a pool of water in the center of the stage. Candles still burning, the curtain was still open, devoid of anything but crippling emptiness and the faint sound of footsteps descending the stairs.

Lovino was being drug by the hand through rooms he never knew existed and hallways he never would have come across otherwise. The feel of Antonio's rough palm against his own, their fingers holding tightly to one another , it was enough to cause his heart to jump out of his chest. Damn, he couldn't decide if he hated the man or not. But what he was feeling couldn't have been,something, could it? It frightened him, confounded him. He had never felt this way for anyone before, the only thing he could remotely relate it to was the feeling that swelled in his chest when he sang. It was an adventure, a nerve rattling discovery of a part of himself he never knew he had. It may have been foreign and terrifying, but it was all the more exhilarating at the same time.

Antonio would turn to look at him every so often, blinking those green eyes at him, making sure he was still there. Lovino thought that was stupid. As if it wasn't obvious he was still here by the way Antonio's hand gripped his. Lovino's eyes rolled each time he did so, but when he would look away, a small smiled adorned his lips. I like the way he looks at me.

"Where are you taking me?" Lovino would ask.

"You'll see." was always the reply.

They arrived to a door, a slit towards the top. Shadows danced through the gap at the bottom, illuminated by the light inside. He could hear fast-paced music from the other-room, and his heart began to quicken with the beat of it. Antonio knocked on the door four times fast, and then another slow three knocks. Seven total. The small slit slid open, and the were met by a pair of muddy brown eyes."Password." a rough voice demanded.

"Tomato." Antonio replied swiftly. Tomato? What an idiotic password. They heard a few bolts unlock, and the spectacle that unfolded brought Lovino's annoyed demeanor to a close. The place was packed full of people, dancing to the music sounding form a small radio on a stool in the center of the room. The music was full of thump and swing, bit it was a tune Lovino didn't recognize. He looked at Antonio, who waved his arm for him to go on in. Lovino was hesitant,and then the Spaniard shoved him in. Dancing abruptly stopped, eyes were quick to condescend upon him.

"What's he doing here." someone asked? Hostility threatening to spill over their words.

"He's here with me."Antonio's arm draped itself around Lovino's shoulders, and Lovino swallowed hard. He was sure everyone had heard him. But nobody seemed to notice, and nobody questioned what Antonio had said. They all seemed to shrug him off and continue with their fun and games. Lovino quickly removed himself from Antonio's hold, finding an unoccupied corner, and stayed there for the remainder of the evening. A performer he may have been, but a dancer he was not. Instead he drew satisfaction, and a hint of jealousy, from watching Antonio dance with the women in the room. He was a natural dancer, it was obvious. He knew when to dip, when to spin, when to shuffle and knew exactly the pace to go. Even with women who weren't nearly as skilled he was, he was courteous. Go figure..Lovino thought. It was apparent the stereotype that Spaniards could dance was true after all. Lovino had received a few dance offers himself, refusing of course. Each time Antonio would frown, watching his attempt to get Lovino on the dance floor fail right before his eyes. Lovino caught his eyes only once, a smug grin on his face. Antonio stuck his tongue out at him. What a child.

Hours passed, the music remained, and slowly the dance floor thinned until there were only a handful of people left. They were all quite chatty,talking to Antonio in what Lovino figured was Spanish. His Spanish was muddled. He had sung in it before, but only memorized words on a page rather than the meanings behind them. He was lost in translation. His only companion the still playing radio. But, it seemed the rest of the people were leaving, hurried goodbyes and waves. The door clicked shut. They were alone, frighteningly alone.

"Don't stick your tongue out at me again." Lovino stated, crossing his arms. Antonio chuckled.

"Why? What were you gonna' do bite it off?" he asked.

"Don't tempt me."Lovino stated, his annoyance clear as day on his face. What am I saying? He wasn't going anywhere near that man's tongue. Yet, Antonio seemed utterly elated at the prospect of getting it bitten off. What an idiot.

A song he recognized came onto the radio,and in English of all things. His English was basic, but he could carry conversation. The emerald hues across the room lit up brightly, before softening and settling back on Lovino. Lovino was pinned in place by a pair of eyes alone and that frustrated him to no end. Antonio strolled across the room,keeping perfect contact the entire length, extending his hand.

"Would you like to dance?"

And without realizing Lovino had taken it. His heart was beating so fast he thought it would burst, but what bothered him the most is that it was this man that was doing this to him. He regretted ever falling down the stairs.

The song was soft and slow, a charming female's voice protruding from the other side of the speakers. Antonio picked up on Lovino's inability to dance, and he accommodated for it. You couldn't call what they were doing dancing, it was more of a rhythmic sway. Antonio had taken the liberty of pulling Lovino's arms around his neck, adjusting his own by placing them around Lovino's waist. He's too close again. Antonio rested his head against his shoulder, and he could feel his hot breath scraping against his neck. Every hair on his body was on edge. You have to get a hold of yourself. Lovino shook his head momentarily, his chin finally resting on Antonio's shoulder-blade. He calmed himself the only way he knew how, by singing.

"All of me. Why not take all of me?" His voice was nothing but a whisper.

"Can't you see, I'm no good without you." But this feeling in his chest, he couldn't get rid of it.

Antonio laughed a little at his thick Italian accent, you could barley understand the words. He was rewarded with a quick pinch to his neck, Lovino could feel him grinning into his shoulder. He continued in his shaky tenor:

"Take my lips, I want to loose them." His voice was timid.

"Take my arms, I'll never use them." A ghost of the boisterous sound that resonated music halls.

"Your goodbye,left me with eyes that cried." But he still felt that fire, somewhere he couldn't place.

"How can I, go on dear without you?" He felt it swell in his chest.

"You took the part that once was my heart." This was it.

"So why not me take all of me?" This was the something he was looking for.

He could feel Antonio tighten around his waist as they continued to sway. Lovino had stopped singing, and instead closed his amber eyes to relish in his discovery. They stayed that way until the music faded, the radio quieting for only a moment before a fast-paced mambo replaced the silence. They were completely still, until Lovino dropped his arms to his sides, balling his fists. Antonio slowly released his grip, but Lovino didn't move away from him.

"I like it when you sing. But I like it best when you sing for me." Antonio confessed, his tone soft, devoid of it's usual playful vibe.

"I don't understand." Lovino stated. Meeting those emerald eyes that tortured him so.

"I don't understand who you are, or what you are. I don't understand any-"

He was abruptly cut off, but this time not by a rough palm, but by a gentle, soft pair of lips. Lovino had been kissed before. As a child he had kissed the neighbors daughter in the olive field, but this was different. This was something brilliantly different. It was the sensation of discovering a new taste, a sensual explosion of divine flavor enveloping every inch of your very soul. Antonio tasted like kiwis. Which was strange, Lovino had imagined his taste to be quite earthy instead of tropical and somewhat refreshing. Not that he had thought about it. Lovino felt Antonio's hands grip his shoulders, pulling him in a little closer as to get a better grip on his lips. Their lips stayed, simply touching. A small, tenderhearted kiss fit for childhood sweethearts, not two grown adult men. But this is nice, Lovino thought. This is very nice,indeed.

To be continued...