Please, read and enjoy, and if you have any constructive criticism feel free to let me know.

Disclaimer: Hetalia and all characters are not mine.

Pairings: Spain/S. Italy, possible other pairings will be briefly mentioned.

Warnings: Language, violence, abuse, manipulation

Chapter Warning: Language

And the Birds Sing No More
III. Chapter 2

When Lovino was about twelve years old he was introduced to his favorite novels when he'd browse the public library's shelves. Stephen King's twisted tales were thick and tedious, each story embellished with their own severely disturbing monsters; and Lovino, being obsessed with fear and finding enjoyment in the passing adrenaline, ate it up one horror at a time.

On the weekends, when his father told him he could stay up as late as he wanted (as long as his mother didn't find out), he'd take two books at a time, one beneath each arm, and pull the covers over his head with a flashlight like a make-shift fort. As shadows danced outside his blanket, he frightened himself with tales of demons in a mist and a man driven to murder by cabin fever and ghosts. While other children up and down the street were reading Harry Potter Lovino was reading about Carrie's revenge that ended bloodshed and Annie Wilkes' dangerous obsession with her favorite author. He would have read all night if his mother didn't end up coming in and catching him with a chastisement to follow. They'd argue for several minutes – Lovino, go to bed, no, yes, five more minutes, two more minutes, MOM!, bed – until she bundled him up in his covers and looked forward to when he could delve back into horror. He was strong. He feared nothing.

But sometimes he would be afraid. He would push the book off the bed as if it would eat him, leaving the lights on and smothering himself in enough covers that he was sure that nothing could get him; a poor attempt to imitate the illusion of security. A noise outside magnified until he was sure It was there to lure him into the sewers and rip his arm off at the socket. The groaning of his house settling was creatures devouring his family. Shuffling feet was Jack Torrance coming down the hall to chop him into little bits – Heeere's Johnny! – and if he was lucky he'd be able to sneak into his brother's room on his tip-toes before he'd gotten too afraid. If he wasn't, he would have to survive the night alone. His parents never let him sleep in their bed. He was a big boy. He had to sleep by himself.

Lovino was twenty-four now and he no longer scared himself by reading novels of fictional horror. The things that frightened him had evolved from the living dead to financial crisis and recession. He no longer feared maggots in his skin because in the ninth grade he learned in biology that maggots only eat dead matter. Now he worries about nuclear warfare and if his health insurance will cover a doctor's appointment because the cough he's had for a couple weeks isn't getting any better. It's been more than ten years since he's been afraid of shadows and bad guys outside his door.

Fear had felt different when he was a child. Irrational fear. The subconscious knowledge that there was no real danger and in the morning he would wake and his mother would make him toasted bread with olive oil and tomatoes for breakfast then send him off to school. In some deep part of his mind there was indeed safety.

Lovino clawed at the closet door, trying to shake it open, but the handle wasn't even a handle because it wouldn't twist properly and felt like a metal cylinder, immovable. He kicked at it, his back pressed hard against the wall behind him. When it didn't give, he moved back to the corner and grasped his head, clutching it as if it might explode. Somewhere outside the door Antonio was listening to his struggle against the door and Lovino imagined the man sitting at the kitchen table, sipping coffee and staring absentmindedly towards the wall where he was held. With that thought, he turned where he thought the wall lead towards the living room, and slammed his fist against it. LET ME OUT LET ME OUT!

He pressed his ear against the wall to listen for any movement, but he heard nothing. No thudding footsteps or sipping of a beverage. It had been so long since he heard anything that he had begun to think that Antonio might not even be in the house at all. He became aware that his pants were warm and with sick humiliation he realized that when he'd been thrown in the closet he had pissed himself. Sweat that was dripping made his eyes sting. His tongue tasted dirty. There was no hope for safety. He couldn't wake himself up in a better place. He was trapped in a hot, dark closet and he couldn't leave.

"I have to get out," he wheezed, getting onto his knees and leaning down to try and peer under the door. The door pressed low to the wooden floor, and a gray sliver of light barely made it in. He tried to slip his fingers underneath. It was too tight. Panic and frustration welled up inside of him and he released it in the form of a lamenting growl. Biting his knuckle he tried to squish himself in the back corner, attempting to create more space to breathe; but he couldn't even stretch out his legs without his feet hitting the opposite wall and bending at the knees. The space was slightly shorter, but just as wide, as a coffin. It smelled like dust.

He felt around the space again, outstretching his arms, flexing his fingers, around the walls, feeling oddly apprehensive about exposing himself to the darkness. He remembered again the fear he harbored as a child and likened it to what he felt now; with the absence of sight it felt like a monster could reach around and tear into him. With a pang of fear, the heat around him felt like a heartbeat behind his skin.

Some time must have passed because Lovino's throat had become like sandpaper, dry and tight. His face was damp from crying and the small part of him that still retained pride was glad that no one he knew saw him sobbing like a baby. There was no telling how long he'd been locked up and he assumed that it was just a very long time (or it could have been no more than an hour) judging by how thirsty he had become. He tried to think of anything else, but there wasn't anything else to think about.

At some point he must have fallen asleep because soon enough he was dreaming. He dreamt that he was married to Antonio and the two of them were sitting in the living room together. The television was off, but they were pretending to watch it anyway. Lovino turned, and Antonio kissed him. In one abrupt moment Lovino vomited, acrid and vile, onto Antonio's jeans and the glass coffee table. He turned away and picked up a novel on the settee's arm, titled Misery, resting his feet on the back of their dog, which was sleeping soundlessly in front of the settee.

.

The only reason Lovino awoke was because his foot was moving. In his bleary mind, it was the dog beneath his feet; it was nudging his foot with its nose. Vomit still dripping down his chin. But it nudged his foot again and he emerged from sleep. His eyes were glued together by gunk. The closet door was open.

Antonio was nudging his foot, which had originally been against the door and had slid out into the bedroom when it was opened. He bumped it only softly as if he wasn't sure if he might be deciding whether he really wanted to wake him up or keep him asleep. Lovino pried his eyes open and looked up at the other man. Antonio was clad in in casual clothing, green sweatshirt a bit loose and dark jeans a bit too tight. His hands were playing with his sleeve and his eyes were somber and acidic.

Lovino found himself making a strange noise with his sticky mouth and dry tongue. "Nyugh?" Sweat rolled down the edge of his nose.

Antonio bit down on his lips and looked off to the side. He stood there for a moment without a word, then turned and picked up a bundle of clothes off the bed in front of the closet. On bent arms he held out the pile. His voice was soft and friendly. "I brought you some clothes," he breathed, and it was shaky. "I'm not really sure if they'll fit or not." Lovino wasn't sure if he should move or not.

"...How long have I been sleeping?" Lovino whispered, his throat so dry that he couldn't increase the volume of his voice.

"A couple of hours." His voice was thoughtful. He turned and placed the clothing back on the bed. Turning to Lovino, but not looking at him, he said, "You can put them on if you like, or not. I'll be in the kitchen if you...want to come talk to me."

Lovino stretched out his legs, his muscles tight like coils, and he tried to blink the stickiness from his eyes. Antonio halted at the doorway to the bedroom, his dark hand gripping the door frame.

"I'm very sorry."

He left. The door shut behind him. Lovino sat in the closet for a while, waiting until he could hear that the footsteps had made it all the way to the kitchen. There was a low squeal of a chair being pulled out and he could tell that Antonio had taken a seat at the kitchen table. He still didn't want to move and now felt more secure knowing where the other man was and that he wasn't moving. The smell of his own urine made him get up and change.

Antonio had brought him a maroon button down shirt, a pair of slightly too long jeans, some black socks, and even a pair of boxer shorts. Lovino picked them up hesitantly and examined them, holding them between his thumb and forefinger, unsure if Antonio had ever worn them before and bothered by the idea. They looked clean, and either way he was currently stewing in his own urine so it didn't leave him much choice. He changed, and found the clothes to fit pretty well, and he stood in front of the bedroom door. Through mostly closed blinds, evening dusk painted the room with watery reds and dewy grays. It looked like it might have rained. In a last ditched attempt, he checked the large window to see if it would open, but found that Antonio had a series of disturbingly, evenly placed nails holding it shut permanently. Breaking it wasn't an option. If the man could pin him against a wall and lock him in a closet for some odd hours then he could chase him down. Maybe he was expecting it. Maybe he was waiting.

Lovino moved back to the door and opened it slowly, feeling vulnerable on every inch of his body and half petrified that Antonio was hiding around a corner with the same knife as before, or a larger one, just waiting to stab him. He turned around the corner and moved down the hall, into the living room where he glanced around for the front entrance. Beyond the couch and television was a wide area where it extended past a jutting wall, some sort of foyer, and partial view of a door was visible. He shuffled into the kitchen where a faint, orange light hung over the kitchen table. Antonio heard him walk in, looked up, then quickly looked down. He had his hands folded. Lovino stopped several feet away, halting around where the island began. His socked feet slid a bit on the linoleum floor.

Lovino didn't want to talk to him. He wanted to leave. He fixed a weak glare at Antonio and swallowing uselessly to try and wet his sandpaper throat. Antonio finally glanced up at him again, this time holding his gaze for a few seconds.

"Hi..." he began. Gently and kindly. There was a bit of silence. "You can sit down if you want."

Lovino didn't know if he wanted to. The kitchen table was small and he didn't want Antonio sitting across from him so closely; if he was hiding a knife under the table he could easily reach out and strike him. Simultaneously, if he didn't sit down it could also lead to something violent. Part of him chanted, screamed run now, run NOW but he didn't want to risk it if the door was locked and he didn't have enough time to try and break a window. Lovino's thoughts came to a sudden stop when Antonio dropped his head to the table, carding his fingers into his hair.

"I don't know what to tell you," he mumbled in a quiet voice, and Lovino felt like charging at him. Not because of what he said or what he meant, but how he said it. In this quiet, might-be-sad tone that meant he maybe felt guilty for locking a stranger in a tiny closet for a day with his own piss. Lovino stumbled forward a couple of inches and he could feel the disbelief, the anger crawl onto his face.

"You don't know what to tell me?" he snarled darkly, his voice coming out louder than he imagined it would. With the lack of water, it was like his voice was rubbing directly on bark. "You don't know what to tell me?!" Antonio looked up with a blank look in his eyes as Lovino raged on.

"You...you locked me in a fucking closet!" he shrilled, steadying himself with one hand on the island and the other gesturing at himself. "You've threatened my life, you piece of shit, you attacked me! You told me you were going to stab me!...Are you?!" Antonio stood up, with his palms pressed heavily into the kitchen table. Lovino shivered with a pulse of fear. With the evening sky bleeding eerily into the kitchen, Antonio looked like he was drenched in red and made of shadows.

"No...I won't..."

He paused, then opened his mouth as if to say something else, but Lovino interrupted.

"Unless I try to leave."

Antonio nodded.

Lovino took a swift step backward. "What...what if I try to leave anyway, fucker? Hm?" he asked in a voice that lacked the right anger and authority he temporarily had moments ago. "And you can't catch me? What do you do then?"

Still looking guilty and harmless, Antonio mumbled, as if to himself, "You won't try, though."

A pang of aggression surged through Lovino's veins and his lip curled back in obvious contempt. "What? Why won't I try? I..." he looked back into the living room, trying to see the partial door. Even if he made a run for it, Antonio was too close within reaching distance for him to get very far. "What makes you think that I won't go out a window? Or leave through the front door when you're sleeping?"

"You haven't left yet," he voiced simply. "I left you in that room alone, when I had given you the clothes. You could've locked the door and broken the window easily. I know you thought about it. There was a lamp in there, or the nightstand, and you could have thrown it and jumped out the window and ran. But you didn't." Antonio grinned, and watching, Lovino thought that it must have been the darkness against the other man's face that made him look like a devil. "You came out. To see me. You knew I could have killed you. Did you think about it when you were alone there? I could kill you now, but I won't. You know I could kill you now."

He stepped away from the kitchen table, and Lovino's legs seized up. There would be nowhere to run. Maybe to the bedroom and lock the door, but Antonio could break it down or go around to the window. There was nowhere to run.

"I figured that if you got away when I left you alone, you deserved to. And eventually I would catch you. But if you stayed here...you deserved to stay."

Antonio moved forward a bit, and the growing shadows cast across his face. Lovino couldn't see his eyes. Just emptiness. "You're...I'm not sure how I should say it...precious? Yes, you're precious to me. That's what you are."

Lovino stepped back until his back hit the handle of the refrigerator. "I'm not fucking precious to you," he gasped, his voice now unable to grow more than a whisper. "You don't even know me. How could I mean anything to you? I have people who love me, I have to get back to them!"

"No, you don't," Antonio said, and his smile suddenly showed too many teeth. "You live alone."

"I live with my grandfather." he bluffed.

"You go to a university. Your student ID was in your wallet."

"I dropped out." That part was honest.

"Then you are living alone," Antonio ground out forcefully. "If you had a partner or a friend or whatever you wouldn't have been by yourself at a bar."

"...Roommate. I have a roommate."

Even though Lovino couldn't see his eyes, he watched Antonio make a movement as if he was rolling his eyes, letting out an amused snort of laughter. "Nice try, it was cute."

Lovino could no longer swallow properly. He dropped his gaze to the floor. His shoulders shook with anxiety that timed with the chattering of his teeth. Now the air was too cold, and the sweat that gathered on his arms, neck, face dried chillingly. "What now, then?" he asked, "What the hell are you going to do now?"

Placing his finger to his mouth in a thinking gesture, his face lit up like he'd been struck with the answers to life and humanity's purpose; Antonio responded with a grin, "I think you should take a shower! I can clean out the closet since it kinda seems like you made a mess in there." He laughed, as if Lovino was a puppy that didn't know any better.

Lovino could still feel where urine had dried at his legs and groin. Sweat stuck under his arms and beaded his hairline. "...Okay, then."

"Okay, then!" Antonio sounded surprised that he agreed, as if he hadn't been expecting any other answer. "Come one, I'll show you where the bathroom is."

Antonio walked away from his place at the table and approached Lovino. He stopped in front of the other man, who had shrunk back harshly, and gently wrapped his fingers around Lovino's wrist. "Really, you should relax. I won't...bite."

He was lead to the bathroom next to Antonio's room, looking simple and ordinary and normal. A bathtub sat against the right side of the square space, a white porcelain sink to the left, a cabinet above that. There were no windows. The walls were painted a faint green. They both stood in front of the open door for several seconds.

"There's plenty of towels in the cabinet over there," Antonio supplied. "And to turn on the shower you have to pull the handle really hard, and to get the hot water you just need to turn it to the H, y'know?"

Lovino nodded slightly. "Okay." His legs were still trembling and he found it difficult to stand.

Antonio held onto Lovino's wrist. Not tight, but just as if he didn't want to let go. "When you're done, we can talk...properly if you want." Lovino wanted to grab him by his collar and shake him. He didn't want to talk. He wanted to go home. "I just think...no, I know that you should know some things." Antonio released Lovino's wrist, his fingers gliding down the back of his hand.

"I'm sorry about all this."

Lovino stepped into the bathroom, then turned around to look at Antonio. "Yeah," he said. "Me too."

.

Lovino hadn't realized how dirty he was until presented the opportunity to get clean. As soon as the shower was turned on and the glass mirror above the sink began to fog over with steam he could feel himself actually getting cleansed. He tried to speculate how much time had passed. It was almost completely dark when Antonio led to him the bathroom. It had been morning when he was put in the closet. Seven hours? Ten? Twelve? And Antonio had been either very silent or not in the house.

He turned up the heat for the water. It didn't matter where Antonio had been because he didn't let him out. Lovino's headache was back. There really was no hope.

After stepping out of the shower feeling as though he'd peeled off a second skin he dried himself off with a huge, fluffy blue towel, he dressed himself, his mood improved tenfold. But he was still trembling, still desperate for water (catching the water from the shower in him mouth wasn't very satisfying), still wary of Antonio's rapid changes in mood, and newly hungry. He bent down over the sink and drank from the faucet. At least he'd solved one discomfort.

He cautiously left the bathroom, feeling the shivering sensation that he was exposed, fragile. He could hear Antonio in the kitchen, the sound of metal on metal clinking together. Knowing his location helped lessen the anxiety in a small dose. It alleviated the fear of being pounced on or stabbed suddenly. In the kitchen, Antonio was back at the table stirring what smelled like tea with a spoon, a look on his face that was either bored or thoughtful; Lovino was having a hard time discerning between Antonio's facial expressions. Another mug sat at the opposite end of the table, along with a half used bottle of honey and a tiny bowl of sugar. Two aspirin sat beside the beverage.

"I made some tea," Antonio said in a light voice, lips pulled upward in a disarming smile. He clutched his own mug tightly, as if nervous. "I also brought you some aspirin, I'm sure your head still hurts and it would be a good idea to take them." There was a pause. "You don't have to if you don't want to."

With lead feet and a sickness dwelling in the pit of his stomach, Lovino approached the table. "Fine, I will." He gently lowered himself into the seat opposite of Antonio, the distance between them shortened to only about one and a half feet. He scooped up the pills and popped them in his mouth, swallowing it down with dark tea. The strange feeling of being treated more like a guest than a hostage crept up his spine, and despite the fact that is was more comfortable, it made him feel uncomfortable. A paradox of feelings. He wanted it desperately to go away. Antonio swayed in his seat inconspicuously while Lovino sweetened his drink.

"I'm not going to thank you," he whispered childishly. Antonio nodded, looking amused.

After several halting inhales and exhales, Antonio opening his mouth only to close it, finally began, "I really don't want there to be any trouble, and I definitely don't want you to be upset or angry. I don't want you uncomfortable or scared. I just don't want you to run away." He played with the spoon still in his tea, tracing it around the rim of his mug with his fingers. "...And you probably don't believe me, but I hate what I did. What I'm doing. But I just can't let you go." He smiled as if he expected Lovino to understand.

"We...could've been friends," Lovino breathed, looking down unhappily into his tea. He didn't make friends easily. And this man seemed like he'd annoy him more than anything. He was bluffing. He glanced up quickly, nervously, trying to harden his face with a withering look. "You don't have to do this...whatever the fuck you're doing." He turned his glare to the wall.

Antonio seemed aware of the building tension and kept his voice soft and inoffensive. "You don't know me, though. I get jealous. I get more jealous than..." he paused, "...you can't imagine."

Lovino didn't know if he was asking because he truly cared or not or if it was just an attempt to keep Antonio calm, but he questioned, "Why?"

Antonio folded his hands and sighed through his nose. Thinking, maybe. The wait between persons was not uncomfortable, it should have been, Lovino realized with a jolt, but it wasn't. There was something terrifying about that. Antonio suddenly cracked his knuckles and said, "I don't know." His voice was flat, traces of a grin gone. That was the end.

In a moment of curiosity, Lovino asked something that he'd been wondering about since he first saw Antonio (or first remembered seeing him, if Antonio's accusations that they had met the night before Lovino woke up were true). Keeping his gaze to the wall, he asked, "How old are you?"

Antonio looked confused by the question, and scratched his cheek with his index finger. "I'm twenty-six."

Lovino was shocked. Antonio had his own home, a car, and two fistfuls of mental problems. And while his face was youthful, his mind seemed to be ageless. It took him mere seconds to switch between his adult insanity to almost child-like kindness. Being only two years older than Lovino, he found the idea odd that he seemed so old. He was probably severely bipolar, Lovino thought. Or schizophrenic. Or maybe there wasn't even a name for what he was and he was just insane. He decided that he wanted to push the conversation in a different direction with another question.

"Do you do anything useful? Like...work?" he continued.

Antonio's eyebrows lifted at the middle, looking a bit sad and a little awkward, embarrassed. "That's where I had been all day." Lovino said oh and distracted himself with a sip of tea just so he felt like he was doing something. Antonio went on, "I work at an art supplies shop. And sometimes I sell my paintings. Just for some side money."

"That's...really interesting." Lovino said distantly. An art shop meant there was a town nearby. Maybe close enough to run to and get help.

Antonio shrugged, "I guess so. I only work one job, and it doesn't even pay that well. That's why my house is so small." He laughed as if he'd told a joke, looking around the kitchen as if to reassure himself that it was still the same size he remembered it being and mimicked Lovino's action of sipping his tea. He suddenly looked unsatisfied. "Could be a lot worse, though. Could be even smaller."

Lovino felt his heart beating erratically, a pressure in his own head, as if everything was becoming too tight. He wasn't thirsty anymore. The tea tasted too sugary. Antonio pulled out his cellphone and looked at the time. "Well, it's getting pretty late and I think we both could use some good sleep." That was something he could willingly agree with.

Antonio swiftly stood and was at Lovino's side. He couldn't help but flinch at the close proximity. "Are you done with your tea?" he asked. Lovino nodded and told him he was. Antonio made quick work of putting the mugs in the sink and mumbling about washing them later, placing the honey and sugar back into one of the cabinets. Lovino stood up and made to walk down the hall, toward the direction of the bedroom he had woken in earlier that day.

"Hey, wait a minute," Antonio interrupted, and Lovino stopped dead in his tracks. He half turned and asked what. Antonio leaned his back against the counter and arms folded across his chest, grinning as if he was barely containing a humorous punchline to a joke. "You honestly don't think don't think I'm going to let you sleep by yourself?" Lovino went rigid, please don't make me sleep in his bed. God, if there is a God, please. "I may not be the smartest person, but I know I'm not stupid. You'll figure out how to leave. I need to keep an eye one you. At least for tonight, and probably for the next few nights. Until we can establish some trust." His grin dimmed to something soft, just a little, as if he were doing something kind and not horribly disturbing.

Antonio gripped his wrist once more and led Lovino to his bedroom. Nervousness, dread, panic began to brew within him somewhere and he wanted to scream like a child throwing a tantrum. He kept his mouth shut, his chest heaving and back like a wooden board and his legs almost too weak to carry his weight. But Antonio didn't take him to his bed like Lovino had expected. He took him back to the closet. Lovino jerked, reeling backwards, tugging rapidly against Antonio's grip.

"I can't go back in there! Don't make me go back in there!" he protested, trying hard to keep his voice low, to keep calm, trying to keep himself from screaming.

"Don't worry, I cleaned everything out," Antonio attempted to placate him, moving behind him and pushing him forward with his hands pressing his shoulder blades. Lovino twisted violently, wanting to move away, but Antonio grabbed his arm with a bruising grip, his fingers like steel. Irritation leaked into his voice, "Come on, now. Don't be such a child. I slept in the closet a lot when I was a kid."

And look how well you turned out, you psychotic bastard, Lovino thought frantically. Antonio finally pushed him into the back of the closet and slammed the door shut. There was a clicking sound as the door was shut which didn't make sense to Lovino because from inside where the door handle was didn't even look like a door handle. For the second time that day, Lovino was a child again, pounding at the door and kicking the wood, screaming. Antonio was against the door, saying, "Please, just calm down! You've already slept there once, I'm sure you can do it again." His footsteps moved away from the door and there was creaking as he laid on the bed.

"Antonio, please, please let me out, I won't run away! I promise." he begged. He started to hyperventilate. Dust was clinging to his skin, inside his lungs, stinging his eyes. Antonio didn't answer. He could probably stay up all night listening to Lovino struggle in the closet. "You sick fuck, you're sick...let me go..." he broke off with a dry sob, tears barely pricking his eyes.

Lovino sat back into the familiar corner. He tried to control his breathing, the churning thoughts of I have to get out of here swam into his head. It smelled like some sort of cleaner now. A few more controlled breaths passed through him and his lungs didn't feel so panicked. Just shaken.

After awhile he took off the pair of jeans, the denim uncomfortable against his sweating legs. The space was warm, not nearly as sweltering as it was before. He could hear Antonio breathing. He entertained the thought of continuously pounding on the door to keep him awake, but the idea of Antonio holding him down and stabbing him repeatedly ceased it almost immediately. It was hard to tell if he was even awake or not. He supposed that it didn't really matter.

Eventually Lovino just fell asleep. In the small, warm place he slept curled, with his knees to his chest, like a child afraid of the dark, but without the promise of safety in the morning.