Remember when I said that the updates would be slow?
...
Yeah, me too.
Summer has left me with with a disgusting amount of time on my hands though, more than I was anticipating for, and in my boredom I don't really have anything to do but work on this damn thing. So frequent chapters, enjoy B)
There's definitely something sort of...off...about Lovino. Antonio can't quite put his finger on it, but the aura that seeps from every pore in the Italian's skin is not unsettling, in particular - it's just really, really weird. Alien. Exotic.
When he randomly decides to crumble to the ground, blacked out, Antonio definitely isn't all that reassured.
He hisses a curse and falls to Lovino's side, overlaying the back of his hand to Lovino's forehead; there's no fever - he's too cold, if anything - but a surge of static electricity stabs at Antonio's hand and, in his surprise, he's forced to withdraw it and shake away the lingering pinpricks of pain.
He tries again, and the result is no different.
Deciding that he doesn't want to think too hard on it, Antonio knots together all the courage and determination he can and scoops Lovino up in his arms. Not that he isn't half-expecting it, but his arms and chest automatically feel ablaze, like they're cocooned in live, unprotected wire. It's like holding something colder than ice that's so frigid it's seethingly hot. Something colder than ice that's a really good conductor of electricity.
On autopilot, almost - the part of his brain that's logical has long since short-circuited - Antonio dashes for the little motorboat on one of the docks and leaps into it with robotic grace, turning the keys into the ignition and accelerating towards the not-too-distant island that his sleepy little rental house resides on. Reasonably, he should be whisking Lovino away towards a hospital, but he isn't familiar enough with the town to know where one is or how long it'll take to get there. He's pretty good with the medical supplies he's got at home, and in his blurred state of mind he's determined that that'll be enough.
Besides, something tells him that a hospital isn't the ideal place for Lovino. Call it clairvoyance.
As a child, Antonio had been thoroughly infatuated with everything that fiction stood for.
He sharply remembers splashing along the coasts of Spain in search of mermaid scales or staying curled up by the pile of ashes that clumped together on the floor waiting for a phoenix to unfurl from them, unknowing that they were simply waste from the butt of his father's cigar. Even now, dreams of magic and longing for adventure take up ninety percent of his childhood memories.
As he matured, the years whittled away at the multitude of that sort of thing, but that didn't particularly mean that he was ever one for stability and boredom.
He certainly went on adventures, just not the ones eight-year-old Antonio had kept burning in his mind. He wanted to travel, and he wanted to be free.
He had also always had a searing, imperishable passion for the ocean.
Now, don't get him wrong - He grew up as a respectable child and, eventually, a young man. He went to college and was able to maintain good grades, even though he had a tendency to get a bit air-headed.
The second he had his Bachelor's degree, he sold everything he owned.
Every. Single. Thing.
To say that he got criticism for it was like saying that the universe was sort of big.
But did Antonio care? Hell no. He was happy. And you know what? It was his life; who was anyone else to have a say in it?
So now, he travels. Anywhere.
His consciousness inches towards a country, prodding at it with curiosity, and Antonio follows it like putty.
There is a parasite, of course, that consistently tries to eat through the free-spirited happiness his mind is saturated with. It hisses at him that he'll never have enough money to keep this up; he's going to go broke and end up living on the streets.
Realistically, he knows that it's probably right. But that'll be in a few years at the least; he had some pretty valuable possessions, and he has his own independent marine biology research system that he gets money for sometimes if he submits his discoveries to universities and such; and, on top of it all, he has a very rich, ever-growing history with part-time jobs.
But he doesn't want to think about that now. He may regret it later on in life, sure, but he's young, and wants to live that youngness to the fullest.
(Worst comes to worst, Gilbert and Francis love him too much to let him be bankrupt and homeless.)
He's an adult now. He's a mature, independent adult.
But occasionally, that doesn't stop him from slipping into his childhood ways and sprawling out on starlit grass; it doesn't stop him from being spellbound by a sky that looks like black construction paper that a toddler spilled a can of glitter on.
Sometimes - sometimes - he wonders if it's truly possible that there's a smattering of magic in this world. If it's possible that there's more than a smattering - if there's enchantment laced in the ground under him; infused in the rivers and the sky and the core of the Earth.
He knows it's stupid, but there's no harnessing with certain species of imagination.
Lovino no longer holds the conducting abilities of an electrolyte, nor is his skin woven of dry ice. He's breathing now, too, something that Antonio is going to assume is a good thing.
He hadn't even needed to do anything, really. He had set Lovino on the couch, and when the fabric didn't get set ablaze, he scurried to his first-aid kit. By the time he came back, it was as if Lovino had simply fallen asleep.
He puts his hand on his forehead again, and not only does he fail to get electrocuted, but the temperature is that of a normal human being, maybe with a small cold.
It's only now that it occurs to him that Lovino is probably going to slaughter him when he wakes up and finds himself in some stranger's home. And this is just based on what he knows of him so far.
It occurs to him that maybe he overreacted a bit and treated the situation like someone had just died.
But then again, if someone was in obvious pain, his immediate reaction was to help them out, obviously. And to his credit, Lovino hadn't been breathing at all. Or, since it was impossible for someone to go that long without oxygen and live, his breaths were barely marginal.
But oh god, what if Lovino calls the police, and he gets him arrested for kidnapping, and -
Something on the couch stirs.
Antonio freezes.
So do his electric circuits, because all the light scintillates and blinks out.
Lovino groans and unsteadily sits up, setting his face in his hands and threading his fingers through his hair.
He looks up, and is paralyzed when he meets Antonio's gaze.
Neither of them say anything, but Antonio's heart is caffeinated with adrenaline and has taken to trying to shatter his rib cage open and claw its way up his throat.
Lovino looks around, absorbing his surroundings. He doesn't look quite human - His eyes are wild, like they have all the energy in the universe concentrated into the hazel of his irises; his hair at this point has become the mess of a person who hasn't slept in three weeks. His movements are slow, smooth, and raw. He looks at Antonio again and tilts his head slightly to the side.
And now, Lovino looks somewhere between alien and confused kitten.
"Can I get you anything?" Antonio asks, like the idiot he is.
"Yes," Lovino says, and he sounds like the sterile air before a hurricane. "Away from here."
Before Antonio can respond, Lovino tries to stand up and fails miserably.
"Whoa, hold on," Antonio says, taking a step towards him, but cautiously, like he's approaching an aggressive dog. "You're still weak. Stay on the couch, I'll get you a glass of water." His voice is a lot calmer than his mind is.
Lovino glares scathingly at him, but readjusts himself so he's comfortable on the cushion. Antonio scrambles into the kitchen and slams the door shut behind him, leaning up against it and staring wide-eyed at nothing.
He just brought a stranger - a seemingly very hostile stranger - into his home. Not only that, but the waves of energy that roll off of him just don't sit right. Even being in his presence is unsettling, like Lovino isn't supposed to be here.
He's slightly scared. Slightly terrified. Of what, he doesn't know.
He takes a few seconds to calm himself down, gather his courage, and fill up a glass with water from the fridge. He strides out to the living room as casually as he can manage and sets the cup on the table. Lovino stares at the glass like he doesn't know what to do with it.
"Or, if you're not thirsty, that's all right too..."
Lovino shakes his head and picks up the cup.
Immediately, the liquid fizzes and foams and smokes; two seconds later, it's vapor in the air. The glass begins to bend and conform to his hand until it melts completely and spills thickly to the ground.
Lovino startles, and his head snaps up to look at Antonio, eyes wide with a blend of alarm and fear, like a child caught doing something he wasn't supposed to. He doesn't look confused though, and his reaction is a lot milder than Antonio's Spanish cussing and uncomprehending guttural noises.
He sits/falls down and thinks over not only what he had just witnessed, but the way Lovino's skin had burned him, how...Maybe the waiter spiked that soda he had earlier. Maybe he's dreaming, or he needs sleep and when he wakes up in a few hours Lovino will have never existed.
Based on the reaction Antonio's giving him right now, Lovino is assuming that spontaneous heat of fusion and vaporization isn't a common occurrence.
It's just...It's weird, though. He's known that he has that sort of capability since he first got down here, but it's easily manageable. He can control the tide of his energy as he pleases - not like he's had the chance to practice this a lot, until now.
He doesn't have a sliver of memory past the all-consuming pain back at the docks, but he knows that something in him feels dislocated. Not a limb or a muscle, it's just a nagging sensation.
Coincidentally, energy seems to stem into everything he touches now. The fact that this couch is still intact is a miracle.
Frowning and deciding that he's going to solve this right now, he stands up with resolve in his eyes, ignores the mess that is Antonio on the floor, and walks towards the wall. He focuses on the staccato starbursts of power and magic bubbling in his chest and bloodstream, pours gallons of concentration into getting them to diminish, and slams his palm against the wall. There's a faint crackling sound, but nothing else happens.
Triumphant, Lovino uses the same determination to wick away any loose strands of hyperactive yearning for release and destruction and wring them out into a small pit nestled in his rib cage, where he deposited all the rest.
It's there at his disposal, but he doesn't think it'll try to revolt again.
And so, the main question now is how it managed to run rampant in the first place.
When he turns around, Antonio has brought himself to his feet, and is staring at him like Lovino's an unstable chemical experiment. Not that Lovino blames him, of course.
"...Who are you?" Antonio asks, like such a simplistic question will bring everything to a resolve. "Ah, no, let me rephrase - What are you?"
Lovino crosses his arms. "I'm Lovino, I already told you that. What am I? A tourist in Portofino. Stop asking stupid questions."
Antonio clearly isn't buying it. Lovino wasn't expecting him to, but he isn't going to be explaining anything to this guy either.
"I'm thinking maybe I should leave."
"Yeah," Antonio says, still looking apprehensive. "I am too."
Lovino strides past him and out the door, and realizes that he is on an island, can't swim, and has no fucking idea how to work a boat.
Lost, confused, and distraught, Lovino curls up on the sand, hugs his knees to his chest, and stares at the sea's yellow shawl that the now fully-risen sun has cast upon it. If he had played it safe, he would be safely tucked away in the hotel room right now.
He doesn't know what happened earlier, and isn't even going to attempt to figure it out, but he knows two new things:
Pain and fear.
He hates them both. And no, he shouldn't feel the latter for something so insuperior to him, but a human knows about him, and it seems instinctual that he would be uneasy.
And he can feel pain. He can feel pain. He didn't even think it was possible.
He knows that humans become irrational when scared. He knows Antonio is scared of him. He needs to find a way out of here as soon as possible.
The door behind him clicks open, and Lovino flies to his feet and whips around, taking a defensive stature and bristling at the sight of Antonio standing there at the doorway.
Antonio puts up his hands in surrender and doesn't attempt to approach him.
"You don't have any way to get home," he says plainly.
"I know that," Lovino snaps. "I'll find a way."
"No," Antonio says gently, "you can't. I don't know what the hell you are, but unless you can walk across water, do you have any other plans?"
Lovino stares at him, but after a few moments his posture slumps. "No," he mumbles. "Hey, just a second ago you wanted me to leave, didn't you?"
"Yes," Antonio replies, but it's hesitant for some reason. "And you can't unless I drive you back."
He twirls a ring of keys on his forefinger, walks past Lovino, and hops into his boat. "Well?" he says. "Do you want out of here or not?"
Lovino reluctantly shuffles across the sand and steps into the motorboat, ignoring Antonio's entire presence as he faces the ocean. The boat sputters and they're on their way.
"...Maybe I should apologize for overreacting earlier," Antonio says.
"You didn't overreact," Lovino tells him tersely. "You responded like anyone would. The fact that you aren't still flipping out is a damn miracle."
"Yeah, it is," Antonio says, sounding more like he's talking to himself than anything else.
The boat comes to a stop, but they're nowhere near the docks.
"What the hell are you doing?!" Lovino demands.
"Do something again," Antonio says, eyes glittering as he leans forward.
Lovino doesn't respond. He stares at him.
Antonio seems to snap out of it, and he coughs into his arm and starts the boat again. "Uh. Sorry. I mean."
The mutual fear that had swamped the tension between them priorly is gone, and the change is on Antonio's end.
When Antonio speaks up again, his tone is far too casual for the situation. "I'm probably dreaming right now anyway, so I'm going to go right out and say that I'm kind of fascinated."
"You were scared shitless of me ten minutes ago."
"Isn't that a natural human reaction, though? We see something that doesn't compute realistically, and we kind of lose it."
This man is a psychopath, clearly. That, or he has no self-preservation instinct.
"You're weird," Lovino says, and Antonio laughs.
"That isn't the first time I've gotten that, mi amigo."
"I'm not your...friend."
"I know," Antonio says. "I just haven't talked to anyone in a while."
Lovino doesn't know how someone as bright as him could say that honestly or what it has to do with anything.
"How is that even possible?" he's saying before he can stop himself. "I'd think that a person like you would have people fawning over you at your feet."
The side of Antonio's lip quirks up, but he keeps his eyes on the water. "Oh? And what makes you say that?"
"Nothing!" Lovino says. "I mean. I don't fucking know. You're all bright and happy and shit."
Antonio lifts an eyebrow. "And you know this by about five minutes of actual, normal interaction with me total?"
Lovino goes rigid. He has a feeling that mentioning his very slight interest in Antonio from his hotel room window isn't going to be helping anything.
Antonio keeps driving, and the docks rise steadily into view until he's parking the boat completely.
"...Maybe I'll still see you around," Antonio says, like everything that had just happened hadn't.
"I doubt it," Lovino says, climbing out and fleeing. Without looking back.
Okay. Well. Maybe he looks back once.