Antonio straightened the dark tie around his neck, feeling rather uncomfortable in the stiff suit he had on. He turned to look at himself from all angles in his mirror, unused to dressing for formal occasions. An exasperated sigh escaped as he attempted to smooth down his hair with his fingers, only to have the dark mass of curls stick up even more. Water did little to remedy the situation, and only resulted in panicked efforts to wipe his hair dry before Lovino arrived.

A few months back, Lovino had given him a ticket to a concert at the Salle Pleyel, a collaboration between a young violin prodigy from Lovino's hometown in Italy and the Orchestre National de France. Ordinarily, Antonio would not be interested in going to such events, but the idea of spending some time alone with Lovino seemed rather attractive, especially since Antonio didn't know when another opportunity like this would present itself again, given the situation back at home.

Standing outside the concert hall without bringing a jacket was a bad idea. Although Paris was nowhere near as cold as some countries further north, the cold was still enough to make Antonio's teeth chatter as he stuffed his frozen hands deep within his pockets. The guards at the door of the concert hall had refused to let him in without a ticket, and so he was left outside as he watched well-dressed men and women step out of shiny cars and into the warmth of the hall. He realised, with a pang in his heart, that this sort of situation was all to familiar.

"Oi, what do you think you're doing out here in the cold?"

Antonio whipped around to face the speaker. Lovino, face flushed from the cold stood before him. The younger man pulled him up the stairs and brandished two tickets at the guards. Immediately, the two were whisked in and led up a flight of stairs to a private balcony, where they were each presented with a programme.

As he flipped through the programme, Antonio felt the familiar feeling of embarrassment arise as he struggled to interpret the contents, the complicated musical terms completely escaping him. He suddenly felt very aware of his lack of education and how uncultured he was, especially compared to the men and women around him. The woman seated behind him was speaking quietly to her companion about the intricacies of one of the pieces, a concerto by Haydn. Antonio wasn't even entirely sure what a concerto was.

Instead of trying to understand the conversations around him, he flipped to the biography of the Italian soloist. Feliciano Vargas, the programme boasted, is a violin prodigy hailing from Milan. The sixteen year old violinist had already made his mark on the international stage, having played concerts all over Europe and even in the United States. The grandson of Italian businessman Roma Vargas, Vargas was born into a rich family, and began violin lessons at the age of four. By the time he was ten, he was admitted into…

Antonio stopped reading as he felt Lovino's eyes on him. His face was twisted into a strange expression as he watched Antonio read the biography.

"Thank you for bringing me here, I don't think I've ever sat in the balcony of a concert before. And the soloist seems to be quite something!" Antonio's voice faltered as he noticed Lovino's dark expression.

"Are you alright? You haven't spoken much."

"It's nothing. I'm just a bit tired from working all day." Antonio knew this was a lie, but chose not to comment.

Feeling rather awkward, Antonio decided to make some small talk.

"What's a concerto?" Lovino's expression seemed to lighten up as Antonio changed the topic. He glared at a man who stifled a laugh at Antonio's cluelessness, but not before a look of hurt crossed the Spaniard's face.

"I'm sorry, was that a stupid question?" Lovino's heart clenched as Antonio's voice became soft, almost hesitant.

"No, no. He's the idiot."

Lovino was well aware of Antonio's insecurities. He had worn the same expression when Lovino took him to an art gallery and had been confused as Lovino tried to explain different painting techniques. Some privileged young man had snorted and whispered loudly to his girlfriend about how country bumpkins like Antonio shouldn't be allowed in museums if they couldn't even understand what they were seeing. Antonio had tried to brush it off, but Lovino could see how much it bothered him. With a pang in his heart, Lovino realised that just a few years ago, he would have said the same thing.

As the audience filtered into the concert hall, Lovino explained what all the terms on the programme meant, and pointedly ignored the comments from the others in the balcony. Antonio was eager to learn, and listened to Lovino's every word with rapt attention.

Lovino couldn't help snickering quietly as Antonio gasped when the velvet curtains swept aside to reveal the orchestra seated behind. The two clapped with the rest of the audience as the conducted stepped out from backstage and took his place before the orchestra. When the young soloist emerged, the audience burst into applause, much louder than that for the conductor. Antonio couldn't help but notice the similarity between the violinist and Lovino. He could easily see them being brothers. Feliciano Vargas seemed somewhat embarrassed by the attention, but smiled pleasantly as he lifted his violin to his shoulder. The conductor and the violinist made eye contact as the orchestra began playing.

Antonio watched with wide eyes at Feliciano began playing, his movements as fluid as a dancer's. The musician and the violin seemed to become one, as though the boy was born playing. As he turned to Lovino, he noticed the strained expression on the Italian's face. His eyebrows knitted together as his eyes clouded over, not paying attention to the performance onstage.

This was the first concert Lovino had seen Feliciano play in since he left Italy, two years ago. He could still remember his brother's sobs as he begged Lovino not to go, that he forgave Lovino for everything. But Lovino knew that he was a bad influence on his younger brother, and left quietly at night without saying goodbye. It was the cowardly thing to do, but he knew he wouldn't have been able to leave if he saw his brother's crying face again.

Seeing Antonio's eyes on him, Lovino turned his attention to the concert. His brother really was brilliant, Lovino admitted. He was pleased to find that jealousy no longer accompanied those thoughts, and felt instead a feeling of pride for both his and his brother's artistic achievements.

During intermission, drinks were brought up to the balcony. Lovino picked out an expensive wine for himself and Antonio despite knowing the other's distaste for alcohol.

"What did you think of the concert?" Lovino inquired of Antonio who was attempting to choke down the wine, pretending to enjoy it as he imitated the way the people around him held their glasses.

"It was wonderful, didn't you think? You know, you and the violinist look really alike. You even have the same last name! Is it a common name in Italy?"

"I guess, common enough. How's the wine?" Lovino smirked as Antonio glared jokingly at him.

"Wonderful. Absolutely wonderful."

"Say, tell me about that ballet you guys are working on at the academy. François told me you got some big role and that you wouldn't shut up about it."

Lovino was surprised to see that Antonio's face fell when he mentioned the ballet. Normally, the Spaniard would be off speaking a mile a minute about every intricacy of the ballet, with plenty of gossip about fellow dancers mixed in.

"I'm not sure if I'll accept the role."

Lovino was stunned. "But François told me that you got the part."

"I did. I just… I'll tell you later, alright?"

Lovino didn't get a chance to respond before the lights dimmed again and the curtains opened. However, this time, he wasn't able to enjoy the concert as he did before, as Antonio's words swam around in his mind. He had never heard the man turn down a role, especially if it one was as important as François had made it out to be. A conversation from a few days before resurfaced in his memory.

Lovino and Antonio sat beside the Seine, watching the boats slowly chug down the river. It was Antonio's lunch break, and Lovino had bought them both sandwiches that François insisted he take to Antonio. As the two ate, the bells of the Notre-Dame began to ring. Lovino was brought back to the day he sat in the confessional. He hadn't returned since then, and somehow another four months had passed. His feelings for Antonio hadn't dimmed since then. In fact, they had grown even stronger, and Lovino fought back a strong urge to press his lips against the tanned cheek of the Spaniard seated beside him.

Antonio's lips were permanently curved in a smile, even when he wasn't smiling. Lovino couldn't comprehend how that worked, having been told that he seemed to scowl even when attempting to look cheerful. But Antonio wasn't smiling as he stared down at his sandwich, having only taken a single bite.

"Why aren't you eating?"

"I'm not hungry."

"Don't give me that. You've been dancing all morning, how are you not hungry?"

"I ate a large breakfast."

"Cut the bullshit," Antonio twitched slightly at the curse. "We both know that you don't eat shit in the mornings. You like sleeping too much for that."

"I got a letter from my brother today."

"What did he say?"

"War, I guess. He says he's leaving the village for Madrid, to join the army. He says we need to fight against the bad guys. I don't even know who the bad guys are. He told me I was a coward for not returning, that I was a coward for leaving in the first place."

Lovino knew about the war in Spain. His grandfather, in his weekly letters spoke passionately about the civil war, cursing Mussolini for supporting the nationalists. Lovino himself had read about the war in the newspapers, and more than once had had a nightmare about Antonio leaving him, leaving France to fight in his homeland.

"Lovino, am I a coward for not fighting?"

"No." Lovino knew that Antonio wasn't a coward. Lovino was the coward. "I don't believe in fighting for what you don't believe in."

"I believe in helping my country."

After that declaration, Antonio quickly changed the subject. Lovino was happy to comply.

After the concert, the two exited the balcony as they headed to a reception held for the young violinist. Antonio was rather excited to meet him, and Lovino had let him go off to find Feliciano, preferring to meet his brother alone. He didn't know what he'd do if Antonio found out about his relation to his brother. Although Lovino knew that Antonio reciprocated his feelings, he couldn't help feeling insecure as Antonio gushed over his brother's playing.

Installing himself next to a window with a glass of wine, Lovino waited for Antonio to return. The concert hall was located in a nice part of town, the streets recently paved and lined with expensive cars. It reminded Lovino of his home back in Milan, the only house not owned by government workers in his neighbourhood. His neighbours were all ambassadors from different countries, him and Feliciano being the only Italian children on the block.

Lovino saw Antonio's reflection in the window as the Spaniard walked towards him.

"There are too many people, I couldn't even get close to him. Ah, well. Should we leave? I don't want to keep you waiting. This sort of stuff must be boring to you, huh?"

The two stepped out into the freezing winter air. Lovino had brought an extra coat with him that he retrieved at the reception, but Antonio braved the cold with only his jacket. The snow crunched beneath their feet, and Lovino could see Antonio visibly shivering.

"Why didn't you bring a coat?"

"I didn't know you could store coats at the reception, and I didn't want to carry one in with me. That would've looked stupid."

"Never expected you to be the type to care so much about appearances."

"I don't. It's just that, you know, everyone there is so rich and I didn't want to look bad in front of them."

As they walked, the Seine slowly came into view before them. No boats were chugging alone its waters at this time, and snow coated the banks of the river. Lovino was reminded of some scene in a cliché romance novel, as the man and woman walked along the Seine together hand in hand. No handholding was involved this time. Lovino couldn't help but feel somewhat disappointed.

Lovino frowned in confusion as Antonio brushed the snow off a bench that overlooked the river before taking off his jacket and laying it over the icy metal. Antonio gestured for him to sit, and sat closely beside him. Lovino felt his cheeks burn as Antonio leant against him, warm despite the minimal amount of clothing he had on. Dark, curly locks of hair were pressed against his neck, and Lovino found that he could smell Antonio. He almost jerked away as tan fingers laced themselves around his, but instead stayed put. Within his chest, his heart beat wildly, and he felt sweat gather on his palms despite the cold.

"I'm sorry."

"W-What?"

Lovino felt despair creep into his heart as Antonio's green eyes stared up at him. His eyes looked different, a dark and unreadable. It was only now that Lovino became aware of the cold.

"I'm sorry. I'm leaving Paris tomorrow morning for Spain."

And with those words, Lovino's greatest fears became reality.

Lovino felt a warm drop of water roll down his icy cheeks. When had he started crying? "You can't." His voice cracked as he choked back a sob.

Antonio seemed at a loss for words, fighting back tears himself.

"You'll be back." It wasn't a question. Lovino couldn't bear the thought of Antonio leaving forever, possibly buried in an anonymous grave somewhere in Spain.

"I'll be back. I promise."

"Why?"

Antonio didn't answer. Instead, he pressed his icy lips against Lovino's. It was a quick, chaste kiss, unlike the ones Lovino had shared with countless unnamed girls in the back alleys of Milan. This was his first kiss that he was sure he'd remember years later, the bittersweet memory of chapped lips on the banks of an icy river.

"I'd meant to do this somewhere nicer, when it was warmer, when you were ready. But I couldn't help myself. I hope you'll forgive me."

"Let me take you to the train station tomorrow."

"I leave at six."

"Then I'll be there at six."

The two sat in silence, unwilling to leave each others' sides. They only parted when the bells of Notre-Dame rang once. Before parting, they shared another kiss, the Seine being their only witness.