(( Hey guys. Thanks so much for the favourites! It's really awesome and means a lot. I'm glad you like the story so far. I know it's moving slow, but I plan to make this really long, so. This chapter should leave you guys wanting more. Ooooh~ What did Antonio do to Lovino? You'll find out in the next chapter. 3 I promise.

Also, I'm sorry for the slow updates. School has been wicked insane, and I rarely find the time (or the muse) to write much anymore. Please tell me what you guys think~ 3 ))

The sun glared upon the ghastly estate. The middle of summer was an impending doom, preparing to blast all of its unforgiving heat on the land and its people. Antonio was dozing in the comforting shade of his garden gazebo, a pitcher of sweet nectar beside him. The ice in his glass was quickly melting, leaving a little disk of clear water on top of the juice. Heat levitated from the ground in blistering waves.

Lovino stood back by the house at the edge of the garden, daring not walk into the sun. He wore a broad-rimmed straw sunhat on his head, flip-flops on his feet and shorts. It was far too hot to wear a shirt. Behind the waving curtain of heat, he could see the Spaniard, sleeping in the shade. 'Lazy bastard,' he thought to himself, crouching down. The concrete in the shadow was much cooler than the sun, and just like a child would, Lovino avoided the sun-kissed areas to save his toes.

Though Antonio looked rather happy and at ease, there was a beast in his belly. The feast from the night before did not settle too kindly on his system, and his fever spiked. Hopefully the heat and sun would help him sweat out the fever and infection, but to his discomfort, made nausea and light headed-ness his prime ailments. Sweat beaded upon his tan skin, some rolling off onto the soft pillows the Spaniard nested on. "Lovi," he called to his partner, rolling over to his belly and glancing back towards the house over his shoulder. "¿Me ayudarás a?" Antonio's tone was nearly that of a beg, and assistance was greatly needed to sit up. The pillows seemed to have an iron grip on the man, pulling his flesh straight off the muscle beneath, grabbing his hair and limbs and legs and neck. The Spaniard began to panic, his chest rising and falling with angst and anxiety, simply from not being able to sit up on his own. From the distance, Lovino watched the Spaniard struggle.

He rolled those hazel eyes, and with a groan, stood up. "What do you want?" He called to the other. A pause; no reply. "Toni?" He shouted again, taking a step onto the cool grass. It wiggled beneath his feet, and he gripped the little blades with his toes. Antonio was silent, and this raised some concern in the Italian. It was blistering hot out, perhaps the idiot had passed out and needed to be dragged inside. The little Italian squinted his pretty eyes and quickly sprinted across the lawn to Antonio's shaded area. There, he found Spain, distressed and panicking. "What the hell's the matter?" he said, looking down at the man, an eyebrow raised in inquiry. "Lovi.. I feel unwell, please, help me up. I can walk to the house, I just…." he paused to take a heavy, yet shallow breath. Those lungs and that heart was working overtime, it was obvious. The Italian half admired the veins pounding in the dreamy Spaniard's neck, hands and feet. They were the most pronounced blood routes on his perfect sculpture. Antonio had grown horribly thin the past few months.

There he lay, shirtless and distraught. "Yeah, yeah. Hold on," Lovi said, holding out his little hand to lift the much larger man up. Antonio did the best he could to give the Italian's hand a good squeeze, but despite his efforts, he was weak and weary. Regardless, Lovino lifted him to his feet and sent him straight to bed. Lovino found himself in the kitchen, thinking about dinner, while Antonio did his best to climb those horrid stairs.

They seemed endless, those stairs. With each step, they seemed the distance themselves from each other more and more, mocking the Spaniard. He couldn't make it up the entire flight by himself. Step after step, he grew weaker and weaker. A simply task became a struggle of willpower. Dry lips parted to gasp for air, though despite his best efforts, Antonio simply could not win against the demon that pushed him down. His blood was weak.

On the tile counter sat a ceramic bowl, gently painted with bright colours. In the bowl sat equally bright tomatoes, clinging to a severed vine. Lovino pondered the tomatoes for a while, giving them a good, hard glare. He tore a heft fruit off the vine and admired it. Both Lovino and Antonio raised their own tomato plants and harvested the fruits. These had been harvested the day before from one of Lovino's most prized plants. He sank his teeth into the smooth flesh, the juices flowing into his mouth and leaking out of the corner of his lips and down his chin. The Italian hastily bit off a chunk, and in the same instant, wiped the juice off on the shoulder of his shirt.

The fruit was sweet with a slight savoury tang. The smell was mouth-watering. The juice was thin and reeked of the fresh outdoors from which it came. Without a second though, Lovino decided to climb those stairs. Tomato in his hand. "Antonio!" he shrieked, discovering the Spanish man looking horribly disheveled and suffering pain. Antonio struck out a quivering arm to the Italian, in hopes he would assist him up. "I..I can't…." his breath was shallow and panicked, heavy and desperate. Blood seemed to pound in his ears, vignette his vision.

It took what seemed like forever for Lovino to hoist Antonio up and to his bed. The room was completely black, and all that was heard was Lovino's cracking voice blaring as loud as it could manage.