A/N I'm so sorry I didn't write this yesterday, I planned on it and then I was a sick, lazy little butt. Anyhow, this chapter is a nice long one for you guys and I hope you enjoy! I'm going to TRY to get chapter seven done tomorrow, but since I have an appointment, and friends coming over, it might go up on Thursday instead.

Secondly- Holy shit, all the reviews, and favorites, and followers made me bawl. I'm so happy you guys like it, really I am! As always, feel free to ask me questions, or give suggestions! I love Reviews! Love you all~!

Until Thursday?- Ashes

All was quiet. Darkness blanketed the room, a peaceful silence accompanying it. But… there were not two occupied beds. No, one lay perfectly made, untouched, while in the other, curled into one another, two lumps were hidden by the large quilt and heavy, comfortable blankets. Peeking out from underneath was a head of messy chocolate locks. Antonio slept happily, his strong arms wrapped around Lovino, who was curled into his chest. The two had taken to sleeping like this, never apart. Both men felt safer in one anothers arms, although neither dared to take the time to consider why.

A shrill ringing pulled the Spaniard from his dreams, a groan slipping from his lips. He slowly sat up, careful not to disturb Lovino as he answered his phone. "Hola?" He asked in a hushed whisper, just loud enough for whoever was on the other end to hear. Who the hell would be calling him at two am!?

"Hola hermano!" A cheerful voice, similar to Antonio's, but slightly higher in pitch, younger, replied.

The teacher groaned, rubbing his face tiredly. "Miguel… it's two am here… did you forget the time difference again?"

"Not at all!" The younger chirped amicably. "I go to class in twenty minutes, this was the only chance I'd get all day to talk to my dear big brother!"

Miguel was five years younger than Antonio, his only brother, and although the two often bickered good-spiritedly, they were actually very close.

The older man laughed quietly. "What did you do?" He couldn't help but smile as Lovino's arms wound around his waist, the boys face snuggling into his hip. Antonio reached down gently, his fingers finding the teens soft auburn locks, stroking through the strands lovingly.

"I didn't do anything!" He pouted. "You always assume I've done something!" The twenty one year old whined. Admittedly, he often did do something, whether it was shaving the neighbours cats, or getting drunk and running through the streets of Madrid naked. It always made Antonio chuckle though, it reminded him of how he himself had often acted when he was in High School.

"Shh… Miguel, I have to be quiet, Lovino is sleeping." Antonio was doing his best to keep his voice quiet, not wanting to wake the boy at his waist. A quiet groan soon fell from his lips, face-palming silently as he realized he hadn't told his mother and little brother about Lovino. It wasn't like he'd been hiding it or anything, he'd just been so busy, between helping Lovino, and spending time with his boyfriend, that he hadn't gotten to call lately.

There was a pause on the other end. Antonio could almost hear the grin on his brother's face, as Miguel said, "Lovino huh?" The youngers tone was laced with amusement, as if he'd just made Antonio let loose some big secret. "Who is Lovino? Your boyfriend?" The younger absolutely loved any good reason to tease the elder, and this Lovino seemed like a good one. "Does that mean you broke up with the one with the weird hair and eyes?" He questioned.

Antonio paused, confusion in his voice. "Do you mean Gilbert? No, I haven't broken up with Gilbert. What do you mean weird hair and eyes?" He asked, confused. Gilbert was weird? Then again, Antonio had absolutely no sense of appearance, not even his own. He didn't even have time to begin to explain about Lovino before he was cut off.

"Whoa, so you're dating two of them at once!? I knew you were a player in high school, but damn Tio!" Miguel snickered quietly under his breath.

Antonio could only flinch at the mention of his behaviour when he was younger. It wasn't exactly something he was proud of.

Antonio was five years old the first time he realized he wasn't like everyone else. Up until then, his mama, Isabela, his father, Lessandro, and he had lived in a beautiful cottage in the spanish countryside. Life had been, to little Antonio, absolutely perfect. He was blissfully unaware that there was such a thing as color, as sight. It had only ever been Mama and Papa and he, and they had decided the day that the boy was born that they would never hold above his head what he didn't have. They were young- high school sweethearts who had wed at seventeen upon Isabela finding out she was with child- but they were wonderful parents who loved their son dearly. They never spoke of color, of sight. Every story they told their son, they told him in sounds, in feelings, in scents. In things he could understand. And little Antonio had always listened with such wonder, with awe. Because of this, he saw the world as a beautiful, wondrous place. He never felt sorry for himself, or his lack of sight. Honestly, he didn't even realize there was such a thing as sight.

The childs happiness with his life only grew with the birth of his brother, Miguel. Little Antonio almost believed they were in a fairytale, he thought life was a dream. But all too soon, tragedy struck.

Lessandro worked in the fields at a farm nearby their house, helping the farmer, who was getting much too old to do all the work himself. Isabela always worried that her beloved husband was going to work himself too hard, and get hurt. And so she always waited up all night, every night, until he returned home safely. It was raining the night the young family's life fell apart.

A cold rain had pelted the warm earth that night, beating down like a song of dread. Isabela had began to worry- already it was three am, and her husband had not yet come home. Sometimes they had to work late, she tried to soothe herself. The miserable weather meant that the machinery could have gotten stuck in the mud. The young woman was jarred from her thoughts by a rapid knocking on the front door. Upon opening it, her heart sank, her worst fears instantly confirmed. There, in the rain, stood two policemen, their faces holding sympathetic somberness. Lessandro had been trying to help get the tractor unstuck, they told her. It had tipped, and he had been crushed under it. He had died instantly, painlessly, they promised her, as though it would take away the pain. Wordlessly, she fell to her knees, sobbing into her hands. The only comfort she had was that Antonio was asleep, and that even had he awoken, would never know the fear of seeing the uniformed men standing there.

When Antonio awoke in the morning, it was to confusion. Miguel was still crying in his crib. That never happened- Mama always got him up by now. Carefully, the way Papa had taught him, the little boy padded to the other end of his room, little hands reaching out until he felt the bars of the crib. He slid his foot forward, finding the little stool in front of it. Antonio loved helping Mama and Papa with the baby, and so they had taught him how to change him, how to remember where everything was. The boy now did so without hesitation, getting his dear little brother into fresh pajamas, before carrying him out to the kitchen to find Mama. There, he only became more confused. Mama was crying, her soft voice shaky as sobs tore from her frail frame. Mama never cried. Little Antonio had carefully set his brother down in his bassinet, before following the sound of his mother's voice, one tiny hand reaching out to rest on her arm. "Mama?" He had questioned, uneasy with the sounds of despair that escaped her. Where was Papa at? He was always home for breakfast, his deep, cheerful voice sending warmth and joy through the child.

Isabela wiped her eyes, instantly trying to quiet for her sons sake. She didn't want to frighten him, her boys meant the world to her. Carefully, she lifted him, setting her beloved Antonio on her lap, fingers stroking gently through the dark curls that adorned his little head. "Toni…. oh my sweet little Tio…" She whispered, her voice still holding agony, and exhaustion. She hadn't slept, trying to process what had happened, and her feelings, so she could be strong for her sons. "Papa… God decided he missed him too much… he needed Papa to come home to heaven."

The little boy had tilted his head in confusion at her words. "Heaven?" He repeated curiously. Of course he knew about heaven, he went to church every sunday with mama, and papa always read the Bible to them at dinner! Still, he didn't understand. "Will he be gone long, Mama? When he comes home, will he bring candy?" Isabela took a breath, nibbling her lip.

"He can't come home to us, mi piqueno tomate. It's just going to be you and mama and miguel from now on. I need you to be a brave boy and help mama, can you do that?"

The boy had instantly felt his heart grow heavy, a pain he didn't know he could feel settling over him, as well as a fear like he had never known. Papa wasn't coming home. "Si Mama… I can help." He promised.

The funeral had been frightening for Antonio. He couldn't see the box that held his beloved father. He couldn't see the flowers, or the black dress his Mama wore. But he could hear. He heard it being lowered into the ground as he held Mama's hand, Miguel cradled in her other arm. He knew Papa was in there, that the ground was taking him, he had heard his Abuella talking about it. He could hear his mother, his beloved Mama, sobbing as though the world had collapsed around them. Which it had.

Antonio began to fear the rain.

It was three months later that Mama had given him the news. They were going to move to Madrid, hours away from his beloved home. She had tried to make it sound exciting, like an adventure, and for her sake, to feel the once familiar upwards curve of her lips, Antonio had tried to act like he was happy, listening intently to all he was told. There'd be other children, she told him. He'd never gotten to play with other kids before, and this would be a good chance for him to make friends! He'd get to go to big boy school while Mama worked, and there would be parks, with slides and swings much bigger than the ones he had had at home. There might even be sandboxes, like a miniature beach for him to play in!

He had tried to be brave for her. When they reached the new house, he didn't cry. He tried to adjust to the different sounds, to figure out where everything was, but it was strange, and hard for him to relearn. Home, he had always known. Here, he was clumsy, bumping into things as he tried to navigate. It was much louder too, and the sounds of the traffic frightened him. Whereas he had once been bubbly, he became shy, timid. It was all just too new to him.

But the final blow to little Antonios happiness had come the first day his mother had taken him to the park. He had been in a very good mood at the start of the day, Mama had even let him help push Miguel's carriage, although, unbeknownst to the boy, her hands had stayed firm on the sides of the handles, guiding it. After finding a nice bench and getting situated, Isabela had told her little darling to go play. She was worried- what if he bumped into something? What if he was picked on? But she knew she had to give him a bit of freedom. She simply kept an eye on him. She had decided that today, it would be best if he wore the little sunglasses she had bought for him, so that the other children didn't see his milky emerald eyes and grow frightened.

Little Antonio had bumped into a few things, but finally his fingers found the playset, and by the voices he heard, he guessed there was other children! The five year old smiled widely, waving at the direction the voices had come from. "Hola! I'm Antonio, my Mama and I just moved here! Is it ok if I play with you?" He had asked, his voice shy and soft in spite of his grin. The other children had quickly agreed, and he had followed them to where they all sat, playing with toy cars. The objects had felt familiar to him, Papa had always played cars with him at home. And so his smile had grown, until he honestly was having fun. "Toni toni! Will you hand me the green car?" One of the children had asked.

Green? Antonio was confused, he didn't know that word. His little head tilted, lips curling into a thoughtful frown. "What's green?" He asked the children, hoping that they could explain better what they were asking. One of the boys, a seven year old by the name of Santaigo, had scoffed. "What are you, stupid!? You don't even know your colors yet? Even my little brother knows his colors, and he's only two!"

Colors? What were colors? Antonio grew even more confused. "Is.. is that bad?" The boy whimpered his nervousness, reaching down and picking out a car, handing it to the other boy. "That's blue! The green one is right there, can't you see!?"

The frown had grown deeper, and Antonio had felt tears of frustration welling up in his eyes, pushing his sunglasses onto his head to rub at the unseeing orbs. Milky emeralds had stared out at the children, causing them to gasp, some in confusion, some in fear- and others in malice. "Why are your eyes like that!?" "You really can't see, can you!?" Santiago and some of the other boys had began to laugh at him, pushing him back into the gravel, Antonio crying out softly. "You're so stupid! You'll never be normal, you freak!" The older boy had taunted. "You don't even know your colors! Maybe that's why your clothes are so ugly! Oh well, they fit an ugly little boy! Your mommy should keep you locked up inside so no one has to look at your gross eyes!"

Antonio's lip had quivered, but still, the boy hadn't stopped. "I bet you'll never be able to do anything, not like me! Not like normal people!" That was it. Little Antonio had begun to cry, sobbing for his mother to come get him. Almost instantly, she had been at his side, lifting him into her warm arms and carrying him off, pushing the carriage with her free hand as she tried to settle the hurt little boy in her arms.

That was the day Antonio began to hate himself.

When school started in the fall, things only got worse. Mama had to work long hours at the restaurant downtown, often leaving Miguel and Antonio with a babysitter. Antonio knew Mama was trying to look after them, but he couldn't help but miss how things used to be, when she had time for him. School was a nightmare. The children were cruel, calling him names and telling him how worthless he was. They would steal his lunch, leave blocks where he was walking, hit him. The teacher tried to stop it, but to no avail.

Even as he got older, it continued. Antonio was an awkward kid. He was clumsy, due to the lack of his sight. His hair was always in messy, tangled curls that looked like he had just gotten out of bed. His clothes were mismatched. But mostly- he was timid, quiet, and stayed by himself for the most part.

At fifteen, something extraordinary happened. Antonio's voice deepened to a rich, musical tone, his body growing into itself. Unbeknownst to Antonio his caramel skin had smoothed out, his curls taming down until they no longer looked like a matted nest on his head. His mother had began to hang his clothes in nice outfits in the closet, greatly improving his dressing habits. He had become gorgeous. And people noticed.

The teen had become confused at first. Why were all these girls suddenly acting so nice to him? Their voices held strange flirty tones that, although he had heard before, never had he heard directed at him. And then there was him.

He was a boy named Adriano, one year older than him. Adriano had been one of the few people who had never bullied him. He had sat with Antonio every day at lunch, put ice on his bruises when the younger boy was beaten up. And his voice- it was always so soft, so tender and caring. Antonio never doubted Adrianos sincerity.

It had started out so subtly, that Antonio scarce noticed. His cheeks would warm up when the other talked to him. His heart would give a rough thump in his chest when Adriano would tend to his wounds. It was months before he realized what he was feeling, and when he did, it terrified him more than words could express. There is no way I like a boy. He had thought. Antonio had been raised Catholic, and immediately, his thoughts had turned panicked. It was a sin to love another boy! He didn't want to go hell, and he didn't want Mama to hate him! And so he told himself it wasn't so. He began to avoid Adriano like the plague.

The bullies never stopped. Over and over they told Antonio that he was useless, that he could do nothing, as they slammed him into lockers, kicked and hit him, knowing he couldn't see to defend himself. Finally, he had had enough. He would show them what he could do!

He began giving the girls who flirted more and more attention. He learned how to flirt back, to make them fall for him. Every night, he had a different girl in his bed, whether to prove the bullies wrong, or to convince himself he was straight, he didn't know. But sex felt good, hearing the girls moaning and pleading his name under him, feeling their soft skin under his hands- it made him feel a certain kind of power. He didn't need his sight to do this. He could do what a lot of the other boys at school only wished they could.

Looking back, he was ashamed.

With a sigh, Antonio turned his attention back to the phone. "No. Miguel, it isn't like that. Lovino is one of my students. He was blinded in an accident about two months ago, and so his grandfather, who happens to be my boss, asked me to stay with him and teach him how to live without his eyes. He's… a sweet boy… he gets bullied though. It's upsetting. I really… I really want to protect him…" He whispered, biting his lip.

There was silence, and then a quiet noise from the other end. "Hermano… the real reason I called was to make sure you're okay. I know that day is coming up, and I really wanted to make sure you are prepared. Mama and I are worried about you."

Antonio once more felt a chill run through him, and even to his own ears, his cheery tone sounded hollow, forced. "Of course I am! I'm fine, don't worry. It was two years ago, hermanito, big brother is alright. Please don't worry."

Miguel frowned, thinking over his next words carefully. His big brother was in a lot of denial, and it was clear that, as he and Mama had worried, Antonio was still bottling up his grief. Finally he spoke again, clearing his throat. "Toni… please be careful? I don't… I don't want you hurt. Not again. Please.. don't get too close. Don't let that boy be a source of pain. Lord knows you don't need anymore."

"Of course…" Antonio replied, his voice barely audible, as he hung up the phone. His heart was heavy once more, but he ignored that all too familiar pain.

Lovino stirred against him, his voice quiet and sleepy. "Who was that?" He questioned into the night.

"No one little one… go back to sleep."