The injured man snarled, bringing a few fingers up to prod at his tender chin.
"That was a mistake. One I can guarantee you'll regret." The man growled, swinging his fist back at Antonio. The sickening sound of knuckle against bone was emitted, and the Spaniard was taken aback.
"Antonio.. End it. It isn't worth it."
Lovino warned from his position on the ground, sensing the massive harm ahead if the brawl was continued.
"Lovino. Stay out of this."
Never had the Italian heard such cold, lifeless words from the lips of the other.
They were enough to keep him quiet as the two men before him prepared for the next advance.
Within moments, another fist flew, and the nameless gang member was sent to the ground. It seemed like Antonio had won the short little duel.
"Well done, Spaniard."
The group leader started, lifting his arm up as if he was pointing at the man he'd addressed. But his hand was not empty.
"But what would your victory be worth if you were an icy carcass on the floor?"
It was sickening how casually his dark words floated in the air.
In that moment, it was clear that the man had a gun. And it was most definitely aimed and ready to kill Antonio on the spot.
"Your poor girlfriend wouldn't have anyone to hold if you dropped dead, would she?"
He asked, emphasizing the 'she' with irritatingly precise pronunciation.
"For the last goddamn time, I'm a man!" Lovino objected, causing the man to put a little more pressure on the trigger.
"Lovino."
The Spaniard whispered harshly, knowing that another word out of the other's mouth could have him full of lead.
It wasn't dying that Antonio was afraid of, however. He just needed to make sure his precious Lovino made it out of the awful situation alright. If he couldn't protect the Italian, then who would?
Lovino stood with a little effort, before making his way over to the man about to be shot.
"One step closer, and bright eyes falls dead on the ground."
The attacker warned, keeping a sharp eye towards the movement of Lovino's feet.
The Italian risked a step anyway, and luckily a shot wasn't heard.
What a liar.
He finally made it to his destination, which happened to be directly in front of Antonio.
"Lovino, get away."
Antonio whispered, his tone intimidating. Still, the Italian didn't budge.
"Lovino Vargas-" He started, but was cut off by an almost ear-splitting noise.
The very distinct sound of the shot of a gun.
But.. Where was the pain? Was his chest ever this heavy before?
He needed answers.
He lifted his eyelids, glancing around at the frantic scene. The unknown men seemed to be partaking in some sort of a verbal battle. Perhaps something had gone wrong. Still, why was everyone so...tall?
Antonio had come to the conclusion that he was on the ground. Most likely put there by the force of the bullet lodged who-knows-where. He'd always expected such a situation to be a million times more painful. As his ears recovered from the damaging sound of the gunshot, he noticed something. The men were yelling about his dear Italian.
"What happened?!"
"What did the little shit do?!"
"He brought 'imself down with the Spanish guy. He dodged your bullet!"
"Dammit, you didn't hit him! Blow his brains out! Spill the shit's guts right onto the fuckin' pavement!"
"I can't! That was the last bullet in the damn pistol, Ray!"
Ray. At least the Spaniard had a name for the man he planned to slaughter for even daring to speak about his little Lovi that way. Speaking of which, where was the Italian?
Frantically, Antonio scanned across the crowd, beginning to panic when the person of interest was nowhere to be found.
"L-Lovi.." He gasped, feeling sick to his stomach. What if he was dead on the ground close by? What if they were harming him right now?
"Lovino!" He called again, although this time, there was a shaky reply.
"I-I'm here, stupid." Came a familiar voice, just above a whisper. When Antonio looked in the voice's direction, he noticed that Lovino was, indeed, perfectly laid down over him.
That would explain the Spaniard's heavy chest. How had he not noticed his love there before?
"Get up. Hurry." The Italian ordered, lifting himself off of the Spaniard's chest and bringing himself to his feet.
Antonio quickly followed suit, his own two shoes soon standing firmly against the ground. They were ready to fight, but.. Where were the men?
Suddenly, eight arms locked themselves onto the Spaniard, another four making their way around Lovino.
They were using every man's strength to hold the two in place this time.
And it wasn't clear if anyone was going to be lucky enough to make it.