A/N: The title is from a Japanese proverb "Fall seven times and stand up eight." I thought it was meaningful even if it's not literally reflected anywhere in the story.
chapter vii - fall seven times
Antonio had trouble waking up the next morning.
At some point during his slumber a faint, incessant ringing had overtaken his senses, a sound very much like the clanging of alarm bells but more distant. It was a sound he could not ignore no matter how hard he tried. Deep inside he felt it, felt the alarm spreading through him like a wildfire, and what unnerved him the most was that he had no idea what he should have been worried about. All he could remember was Lovino asking him something in the middle of the night, something soft and unexpected, something that had tugged at Antonio's heartstrings. Completely at odds with that glossy, reflective mask actors like Lovino so often wore.
Will you go to Austria with me? A simple question. But something had been left unsaid, he was sure of it.
And Antonio had seen it in those bright hazel eyes of his.
Will you go with me? Just this once? Just to keep me company?
I'm lonely, you know. Fame has its fair share of burdens – there's no such thing as pure friendship anymore.
And I miss it.
You understand, don't you? Because you're lonely, too. I can see it in your eyes.
We're two of a kind, you and I.
His eyes flew open then. The alarm clock was still blaring by his ear and he felt around in the dark for it, turning it off, his head spinning from the force of the words. He fumbled for the lamp next to him and switched it on. Dim light pooled around the dresser as he reached under the bed for his thin battered suitcase, all but empty now.
There it was still, tucked into a space at the very bottom. Just a lopsided stack of lined paper, the sheets a little ratty around the edges and starting to yellow. Five years' worth of work. He turned the pages. Five, ten, twenty-five, forty, fifty, sixty-seven... He skimmed down the page until he saw the words.
"You understand, don't you, why you're here? Why we're both here?" said Leonardo, pocketing his gun with a short smile. In the night his eyes burned like embers, gleaming with the barely concealed awareness of power. Power he had willingly chosen not to use.
The stars shone down upon them.
"Why are we here?" demanded Andres.
"Why? Because Fate has decreed it. There are invisible strings holding the universe together and each of us is tied to one. It's all a huge puppet show. The strings move, we move and we bump into each other and our threads get tangled together. Life."
"That would never happen with us."
"It already has. The fact that we're here proves it. You understand, don't you?"
"No. No, I don't."
"I think you do – no, I know you do. Because you're lonely, too. I can see it in your eyes."
Andres said nothing.
"We're two of a kind, you and I."
The paper crinkled a little in Antonio's fingers and he hurriedly turned the page, letting out a long breath. Those words – how had they resurfaced after so long, after he'd tried so hard to forget them? The strength of the memory almost overwhelmed him. His hand shook and instead of flipping to the beginning to put the manuscript away, he only succeeded in removing the paper clip at the top, scattering the pages all over the floor and under the bed.
"Shit," he whispered and went down on all fours to gather it up, unaware of the hall lights turning on outside and the footsteps approaching his door until it was too late.
"Hey, Anto – Antonio? What are you doing? What happened?"
And there Lovino stood in the doorway, gazing down at him, eyes taking in the mess that was Antonio surrounded by crumpled paper. It seemed he was always, always present at the most embarrassing times.
"I – nothing, I just dropped something..." The Spaniard cringed as he caught sight of the time on the alarm clock. "I'm sorry, Lovino, I forgot to wake you up on time and I should be – ah, you don't need to help me, really –"
But Lovino had already crouched down next to him and picked up one of the pages, his eyes darting across the lines. A mix of concentration and curiosity entered his face as his brows furrowed.
"Did you write this, Antonio?"
The question had been unavoidable from the moment Lovino started reading the words. Still Antonio flinched involuntarily, missing the look Lovino shot him. What would he think now?
"Yes... yes, I did," he said reluctantly, looking for any way to get his work out of Lovino's hands and back into the secrecy of the suitcase. "Really, it's nothing."
Lovino squinted at the page again in the dimness of the room. His voice came out oddly uncritical. "This is... pretty good, from what I can see so far. I didn't know you wrote in your spare time, Antonio."
"Well, I used to. Now, though... I mostly write poems."
He tried for a smile and was surprised to find Lovino staring at him, a strange interested expression on his face. In the shaded light of the lamp and the faint glow from the window he made an exquisite picture – every feature seemingly carved from the finest fluid marble, his eyes glowing nearly golden and his mouth on the verge of quirking – as if he'd found something he didn't have the words to describe.
Suddenly Antonio couldn't look at him anymore and averted his eyes.
"That was a joke, you know," he said quickly, attempting a laugh and failing. "I'm hardly good enough to be a poet, let alone a writer." In a futile attempt to distract himself he fiddled with the pages he had collected; anything was better than meeting Lovino's eyes now. "And well, I – I only tried with that one poem for you." Oh, but that was the wrong thing to say!
A minute passed before Lovino let out a soft chuckle. "... I'd say you did very well."
He was still watching Antonio and the Spaniard knew it. Despite himself he felt an involuntary flush creep up his cheeks, which did not help his embarrassment in the least. No, he couldn't stay like this any longer, he had to move and fast –
"L-Lovino! I'm sorry I kept you here so long. And I should be downstairs helping with breakfast right now." He pulled the last page out of Lovino's hands and hurriedly threw everything back into the suitcase, kicking it under the bed. "That was just –"
"Could I read it?"
"I – what?" Antonio said intelligently, words failing him. Lovino seemed to be hovering between a frown and a laugh.
"Could I read your story sometime? It sounds like an interesting one. Have you published it yet?"
And there was the question Antonio had been dreading. Mustering a smile to hide the plummeting feeling in his stomach, he shook his head.
"I... I don't plan on publishing it. But you can read it later if you like."
Lovino must have noticed the look on his face because he stopped.
"Ah, well... that's really too bad."
"It's fine. I've always been a closet writer, anyway."
To escape more questioning, Antonio mentioned breakfast again and excused himself to go downstairs to the kitchen. But he could still feel Lovino's eyes following him all the way to the door.
Not even his phone would leave him alone; some time after breakfast it rang quietly in his pocket, causing him to spill a little water over the dining room table he'd been cleaning. As soon as he saw the number his heart sped up unpleasantly. It was Gilbert's.
"Hello?"
"Oh, you're up," said Gilbert, sounding as though he hadn't slept a wink. "What're you doing?"
"Cleaning." Antonio threw a quick glance around to make sure the coast was clear. Then he remembered that Lovino had left an hour earlier and Feliciano was probably still in his room. "How about you? It's probably 11 a.m. over there. Won't Mathias see you on the phone or something?"
"Don't worry about it, Tonio. I can do whatever I like."
Something in his voice, and the fact that he'd been up drinking till four in the morning, made Antonio instantly suspicious. "Are you at work right now, Gil?"
"... No."
"Gil!"
"You know how much I love it when you talk to me like that," groaned Gilbert, sounding a little bit like his normal self again. "Francis helped me call in sick, which was mostly true. I'll just go back in a few days. No big deal."
"A few days?"
"Now Toni, if you'll just stop overreacting for a second –"
"You can't skip out on things like that, Gilbert!" Antonio protested angrily. "This is work we're talking about! And just how long do you expect to keep it up?"
"As long as it takes for me to see you."
Antonio suddenly found it difficult to breathe. "What do you mean?"
"That I'm here right now. And I want you to come over."
"You didn't – Gil, you didn't fly over here this very morning?"
"Yes, I did. Hangover and all. I chilled on the plane, though." Gilbert laughed humorlessly. "Now don't have a heart attack, I had this flight booked a week ago. It wasn't a problem. Stop worrying, Toni, you always do. Even when it's unnecessary."
"You have work to do, Gil!"
"And just how much more important can work be than – never mind." His friend took a deep breath. "Look, I just wanted to know if you're free today. Is that too much to ask?"
"No. I only wish you'd told me in advance! Instead of drunk-dialing me in the middle of the night and then pulling off stuff like this!"
Gilbert stopped. "I... what? Drunk-dialed you?"
"And now you don't remember." Antonio didn't know why he was feeling annoyed. He sighed instead. "That's not important, okay? I'll come over. But I need to let them know first."
"Them?"
"I mean – Lovino and the other assistants and servants. I help out with chores too, you know."
"Fine. I'll give you the address for my hotel." Gilbert's voice had chilled a little. "Stop by when you can."
As expected, Feliciano gave his approval right away, even contacting Lovino for him, and Antonio soon found himself in a cab on the way to Gilbert's hotel. It turned out to be the same one Antonio had stayed in during his first days in Los Angeles.
Gilbert answered the door on the first knock. He had dark circles under his eyes, making him look even paler than usual, and a hint of stubble on his chin which he must have forgotten to shave. Instead of the long sweaters everyone had started wearing even in Los Angeles, he only sported a thin rumpled T-shirt and hastily thrown-on jacket. In a word, he looked terrible. He slapped Antonio on the back, not as strongly as usual, and ushered him into the living room.
"Have a seat," he said, a certain awkwardness in his manner. "Did you eat breakfast yet?"
"Yeah. You?"
"No. Caught up on sleep this morning, though." Gilbert noticed the blankets and pillow by Antonio on the couch and cleared them away. "It's hard to sleep on their beds sometimes. They're so soft I could drown in them within five minutes. Death from soft mattress asphyxiation."
Antonio laughed. This was the Gilbert he was used to, the Gilbert he had grown up with, and for a moment it was easy to forget about the fateful words that had been said yesterday night. "You're so pessimistic, Gil. You couldn't have given it a try?"
"Impossible. There are many things I'll risk, but my life isn't one of them."
"Well..." Antonio remembered again, and as much as he didn't want to change the subject he felt that he had to. "Why did you do all this anyway?"
Gilbert halted at the question, sat down and turned to him, crimson eyes unfathomable. The air itself seemed to tense along with him. "Why do you think I did, Antonio?"
"You... said you wanted to see me. But you don't have to physically be here to –"
"Yes, I do. Because it's not the same otherwise."
"And drop your own life and your own responsibilities? Gil, I know you miss me a lot and that's understandable – I miss you and Francis too, after all!" By this time Antonio couldn't help the indignation in his voice. "We've been apart before, all three of us, and it was never like this! Don't you think there's a point where – where you have to let go? So you can get on with your life and not make a mess out of things?"
"What if I don't want to let go?"
Antonio's insides froze. "What?"
"Maybe I don't want to let go," said Gilbert calmly. "Because it's you."
His hand was on Antonio's; the Spaniard had no idea when it had gotten there. His heart suddenly began to pound as Gilbert laced their fingers together. "Gil, what are you –"
"I know why I drunk-dialed you yesterday. I don't remember exactly what I said but I'm pretty sure. I know I was tired of holding back so long and never saying a word, and I realized that the day you told me you were leaving. But I tried, I fucking tried. Hell, Antonio, you never even knew how I felt all those years, did you?"
"You never –"
"I know that," Gilbert said despairingly. "I should have let you know early on, but I didn't because I was scared shitless! You've never seen yourself, Antonio, how kind you were, how warm and happy and optimistic even when things were tough, especially for us. You'd be hurting and you'd still make sure I was okay first. And I don't know how you managed to stand through all you've been through, but I know it's done something to you now and I can't bear seeing you this way, Antonio!"
"I'm okay," Antonio whispered, looking down at their joined hands.
"You keep saying that. You keep saying that and you don't know that it hurts me too. Don't you think I've wished I didn't have to feel this way? So it wouldn't be so hard on either of us? But I can't. I don't want to just be your friend. It's not enough, Antonio. Not when it comes to you."
"Gil –"
"I told you last night and I'll say it again. I love you, Antonio."
"Gilbert –"
They were kissing before he could stop himself. Gilbert's lips were warm, tasting vaguely of beer and something else Antonio couldn't quite place, but it didn't matter. He'd forgotten what it was like to be kissed and now he welcomed the feeling. He ran a hand through Gilbert's hair, inducing a faint noise, and soon found himself lying on the couch with messy, indistinct kisses being trailed down his neck.
"God, Antonio," whispered Gilbert, breath hot against his skin, "I've wanted to do this for so long. I love you so much."
Antonio didn't know what to say, but reached up to touch his face instead. Gilbert paused for a moment to look at him.
"Do you... love me too, Antonio?"
A hush fell. Antonio couldn't speak.
"... Antonio?"
"I... I really don't know."
That stopped Gilbert for a minute; but he soon recovered himself. "It's all right. I don't mind if you want a little time to figure it out. I'll wait however long you like. I'll do anything for you. Just please, Antonio... please give me a chance."
"I..." Antonio found it hard to say the words. "I have to leave for Austria next week."
"What?"
"Lovino asked me. I said yes. I have to go with him."
"Why didn't you tell me before? How long is it for?"
"Three or four months. I didn't know how to bring it up." Antonio sat up and leaned back against the couch, closing his eyes briefly. "I'm sorry."
"No. You didn't know." Gilbert looked away, toward the wall, then at the floor, then back at Antonio. "He has more than one assistant, doesn't he? Just tell him you have urgent business at home and can't go with him. He'll understand. It's not the end of the world if one assistant can't make it."
"I promised, Gil. I can't do that."
"So you'd leave," said Gilbert slowly, eyes hardening a little. "After what I just told you... Do you even care what I feel? Do you?"
"I do. But it's my job, Gilbert."
"Who says you have to keep working for him? He's the one obliged to you for getting you fired, so he shouldn't say anything if you leave. None of it was your fault. You used to stand up for yourself, Antonio. What happened to you?"
"Nothing. I'm sorry."
"Is it because of Lovino? Are you doing it for him?" Gilbert's voice rose abruptly. "Are you seriously fucking doing this because you want to be with an actor? Are you?"
"No, I –"
"You love him, don't you? You haven't even been there for a month and you're already in love."
"No, I'm not!"
"That's what you say. That's what they all say." The hurt in Gilbert's voice was overwhelming. "But he's got charm, oh, I know he has. I'm nothing compared to him. But since when have actors been truthful, Antonio? Tell me that!"
"For the last time, Gilbert, I'm not in love with him!" shouted Antonio, jumping up. "I'm not in love with anyone and I probably won't be anytime soon!"
Gilbert stilled. "Not even me?"
"I don't know," muttered the Spaniard. "I don't want to think about this. I don't want to think about anything right now. It's too much. I need more time."
"Fine."
Surprisingly Gilbert didn't stop him from walking away. At the doorway Antonio turned back.
"I'm sorry again, I really am," he said quietly. "I don't want to hurt you or anyone else. But I just can't deal with all of this yet."
He stepped out and softly eased the door shut. Gilbert was silent.
The door clicked and Antonio was free to go.
Fifteen minutes afterward, he found himself on the couch in Lovino's spacious living room, trying to compose himself before he went back upstairs to find Feliciano. He had only just worked up the nerve to get up when he heard the front door slam shut and loud footsteps echoing in the foyer.
It was Lovino who stormed through the doorway, blindly throwing off his keys and jacket, which by some miracle narrowly missed Antonio's face. He went to the kitchen and took a tomato and a beer from the fridge, slamming more doors as he went. Then he stalked back through the living room to the stairs, took one bite of the tomato and threw it in the nearest trash can.
"Lovi, what's wrong?" shouted Feliciano, appearing at the top of the stairs.
"Nothing, dammit." Lovino began stomping up the steps. "Out of my way, now."
"Not until you give me an answer! What did you do? What did she do? Tell me, Lovi!"
"That little bitch," said Lovino very calmly, "got all worked up about me leaving to Austria. Whined and cried and all that bullshit. That was on the phone. Then I went to see her today and guess what she was doing? Screwing that bastard Ivan."
"Oh, Lovi," Feliciano sighed. "She never was worth it."
"Yeah, well, you'd think that if you and a girl liked each other, she'd have the decency not to fuck everything else under the sun!" Lovino was shouting by now. "Even I don't do that when I've got someone. But no. This is what our world has come to. A bunch of whores and man-whores and precious few decent people. No, don't correct me. I know I'm a man-whore myself. Happy? Now get the fuck out of my way and let me drink in peace."
He pushed past Feliciano none too gently, and five seconds later the study door slammed behind him. Feliciano stood there at the top looking after him, then shook his head.
"Poor fratello... Antonio, are you there?"
"Yeah."
"How are you holding up? I'm sorry if that scared you. These are the only times Lovi really gets angry."
"It's fine." Antonio folded Lovino's jacket, picked up the keys and made his way upstairs. He was glad for the mundane task. "He has every right to be angry."
"I'm glad you understand," said Feliciano, following him. "It's mostly just hurt pride, since Lovi wasn't with her for that long. He'll get over it in a day or two."
Antonio entered Lovino's room and put his jacket on the bed, leaving the keys on the dresser as he went out. "That's good, I suppose."
"Yeah. Are you okay?" Feliciano stopped to peer at him more closely. "You don't look that great yourself. Did something happen with your friend?"
"No. Not really. Just a small disagreement."
Feliciano made a sympathetic noise. "I hope whatever it is clears up soon. If you ever want to talk I'm here, okay?"
"I'll keep that in mind. Thank you." Antonio was grateful, he really was. Only he had no desire to talk to anyone at the moment. He thought he finally understood what Lovino was feeling. Feliciano must have noticed this because he stopped where he was.
"I'll leave you for a bit, then. There's nothing going on today, so feel free to rest. You'll need it, I bet."
"Yes, I probably do. Thank you again, Feliciano."
Antonio went into his room, shut the door and lay down on his bed. He wasn't in the least bit tired, nor did he want to sleep; but he didn't have any strength left to stand around aimlessly. His eyes traveled to the ceiling and he imagined himself floating on a calm blue sea under a turquoise sky. How peaceful it would be, he thought, to just drift through life without a care in the world. Maybe it wasn't the best choice, but sometimes it was the only choice. And at that moment Antonio thought he would have liked that choice.
Then a short knock on the door startled him. "Antonio?" Lovino's voice called through. Much gentler than before; almost no trace left of his previous anger. "Antonio, are you in there?"
"Yes." Antonio forced himself to get up and opened the door. "Is there anything you need?"
Lovino opened his mouth as if to speak, then paused. "Are you all right?"
"Yes," said Antonio. "Yes, I am. What would you like me to do?"
The actor suddenly looked uncomfortable. "I – ah, it's nothing. I'll come talk to you later."
"No, I'm fine. It's okay. What is it?"
"I... well, I was going to ask if I could read your story, if you don't mind."
"My – my story?"
"It's fine if you don't want me to," Lovino said quickly. "But I found it interesting. And I've read all the ones in the study." He let out a wry smile. "You weren't expecting that, were you?"
"No," answered Antonio, and suddenly felt a little lighter. "Do you really want to read it?"
"Yes, of course."
"There aren't any pictures or introductions. Not even a plot summary. Just my messy writing. Are you sure?"
Lovino laughed, the sudden sound bringing Feliciano out of his bedroom. "I'm an actor, for heaven's sake – where do you think I get my scripts from? I've seen it all and more. Don't worry about me. If it's feedback you want, I'll tell you what I think when I'm done."
"You don't have to. But thank you all the same." Antonio went to get his manuscript and saw that page 76 was on the very top. "Oh – I forgot to put it back in order!"
"It's fine. Here, let me help you."
They spread the pages out on Antonio's desk and started sorting them, Lovino proving to be the faster of the two. He did have the sharpest eyes after all.
"I should have written all this in a notebook," said Antonio aloud, somewhat wistfully.
"Would've been a really big notebook. I think you should have bound this somehow. Or stapled it by chapter. How about we do that right now?"
"Sure."
Lovino found a stapler and went to work, occasionally punching it to make sure the staples went through, then finally losing his patience. Watching him abuse the device like it had personally offended him, Antonio couldn't help a laugh.
"What's so funny? I'm just venting my anger on this stapler. It's very helpful, you should try it too."
Antonio laughed again; he couldn't stop himself. All he knew was that he needed it. Lovino caught this and stared at him, with a mix of curiosity and some other unknown emotion.
"Do I have something on my face?" he demanded.
"No," gasped Antonio, leaning against the table to keep his balance.
"Well then, what is it? Do I smell? Did I put my shirt on backwards? Did I accidentally staple my pockets closed?" Lovino started checking just to make sure, and Antonio only laughed harder. What he didn't know was, that was exactly what Lovino had been aiming for.
And Feliciano stood outside in the hall, listening to their merriment and shaking his head in wonder.
"They could be great together after all," he murmured to himself, before going back to his own room to text Ludwig.
From that day onward, time seemed to pass more quickly in the Vargas household. After all, they only had a week left before the plane trip. Soon enough Lovino and Feliciano began worrying about packing and discussing how to manage the mansion in Lovino's absence, which often ended in many disagreements, though not terrible ones. Antonio, naturally, was caught up in the current of anticipation and helped out whenever possible.
And today was the day. Monday, the 29th of January.
Antonio almost didn't know what to feel. Half of him was powerfully excited at the prospect of a new setting, a new beginning; anywhere that wasn't New York or another oppressively bustling city, anywhere he could be calm enough to sort things out for both himself and Lovino.
But the other half of him felt even guiltier than before. Not only was he leaving his home of twelve years, but he was also leaving Francis and Gilbert – and what the latter thought of all this he knew very well. He had called them both, two days before the departure. Francis had been chipper enough to remind Antonio to "have fun," especially with all the pretty Austrian girls; Gilbert, though, had been strangely calm about the whole affair.
"Just Skype me whenever," was all he had said. Antonio didn't want to ask how he was and remind him of what had happened last Tuesday. Gilbert had already returned to New York and his job as a journalist. No need to make him come all the way to Austria this time.
Now he wasn't answering any calls. He had stopped picking up the day before. Antonio sighed, ending his latest call, and dropped his phone in his jacket pocket.
"Ready, guys?" Feliciano called from downstairs.
"Yeah!" Antonio called back, injecting a little enthusiasm into his voice and helping Lovino carry his suitcases and valises downstairs. Then he went back for his own. Tino helped them lift the luggage into the new van he'd be driving, while Feliciano watched from the living room window.
"I'm going to miss you guys," he said as they went back inside for a final round of hugs and (in Lovino's case) pats on the back. "It's been great having you here, Antonio. I can't wait for when you come back. The house has been so much brighter since you came here."
"I'll miss you too," returned Antonio, feeling his affection for Feliciano shoot through the roof. Lovino was left grumbling in the background.
"Why does Antonio always get the nicest goodbyes? What happened to your twin brother, hm?"
"I love you too, Lovi!" Feliciano shouted, throwing his arms around the older Vargas, who squirmed in his hold but returned the embrace anyway. "Skype me every night with Antonio, okay? Even if you're asleep. I just want to see your face."
"Fine, fine." Lovino ruffled his brother's hair roughly, earning a squeal of indignation, then went out with Antonio to the van. Tino had already started the engine.
"Ready, star passengers?" asked the chauffeur. Antonio and Lovino exchanged a look, followed by a smile, and then finally a laugh.
"You bet."
"Hell yes."
"What do you think, Antonio?" asked Lovino, settling back against the cushioned seat and glancing out the window. He had a wineglass in his hand as he observed the clouds, then turned back to Antonio. "I think I rather like these arrangements."
"This is fantastic."
"Of course. No fear of paparazzi either. Those shits are unbearable, but even more so on planes."
"That too."
"... You've been kind of quiet this whole time. Something wrong?"
"No." Antonio wondered if he should tell. It wasn't as though Lovino knew Gilbert; probably the only thing he remembered was Gilbert swearing at him during their first phone call. But there was no need to mention his name. He let out a breath. "Have you ever been liked by someone you don't know what to feel about?"
Lovino frowned and sat up straighter. "Who is this person?"
"It's not important who they are. Just a friend of mine. They've confessed their feelings and I don't know what to think at all." Antonio sighed. "I've always just thought of them as a friend, and nothing more."
"Is this someone very close to you?"
"Kind of? Well, yes, basically. I've known him for quite a long time now."
Lovino was silent for a minute. "Well... that means the ball is in your court. I get that you don't want to hurt your friend – but don't force yourself to feel something you don't. It'll only make you both unhappy."
"Then I probably just need more time."
"That's right. I'm probably not the best person to ask, since plenty of people throw themselves at me – hey, I'm not bragging! It's the truth!" Lovino laughed at the expression on Antonio's face, but sobered up somewhat. "Anyway, it's not as if I like every single one of them back. Same goes for you. You could pick whoever you like."
"You must be joking."
"Then this is a very serious joke."
"Lovino!"
"Okay, okay. I'll stop now." Lovino turned on the TV in front of his seat, but he was still smiling. Then it faded a little. "At least you have someone who truly cares about you that way. Me, I'm not so lucky."
"She just wasn't the right one, that's all."
Lovino smirked. "I like your word choice. But you know what I'd call her."
"Yes."
"Well... what would you have done in my place?"
"Me?" The question startled Antonio. He had not expected Lovino, of all people, to ask him for help – but maybe it was just another test. "Well, I – I wouldn't be too worried yet. Just because she was bad doesn't mean you can't find someone better. It all depends on where you look."
"And where would that be?"
Antonio pondered it briefly. "Somewhere you wouldn't ordinarily look, I guess? It's all relative."
"I'll keep that in mind then." Lovino tapped his chin thoughtfully, gazing at the Spaniard. "And I should probably start soon."
"I bet you'll find the one soon enough," said Antonio, trying to reassure him. "You have so many people following you, after all – you shouldn't have any problems."
Lovino shot him a sideways look, his expression indefinable. "I don't believe you."
"Two things: One, you're Lovino Vargas. Two, the world works in mysterious ways."
This brought a grin to Lovino's face. "That... actually reminded me of your book. Which I enjoyed."
Antonio had tensed involuntarily at the mention of his old novel, then relaxed a bit at the words, almost inclined not to believe them. "Really?"
"Really. I liked your plotline. Oh, and Leonardo too. Although he isn't as badass as me."
"That's true." They shared a laugh at that. "I'm glad you enjoyed it, Lovino. I never would have thought... well..."
"It took my mind off of her, but more than that it took me to a new place and time where I could really see things. And trust me when I say that there aren't many books that can do that. Acting is my job, but if a story can turn you into someone without your even trying, that's a good story in my book."
Antonio looked at him, saw the smile on his face and knew Lovino was sincere. And some of the weight he'd carried for so long seemed to lift off his chest.
"Thank you, Lovino."
They talked until they grew tired – or rather, Lovino did because he had been drinking somewhat. Antonio couldn't help but observe, somewhat discreetly, as the older Vargas settled in his seat, reclined it back, and closed his eyes. In minutes he was asleep.
Still Antonio watched him, because something seemed different.
This was nothing like the mornings he'd gone to wake Lovino up and found the actor already awake, but having closed his eyes in the semblance of slumber. Or when Lovino actually happened to be asleep but awakened right away because he was, as he put it, a light sleeper. Over time Antonio had learned to tell the difference. And now Lovino was well and truly sleeping, his face serene, looking almost like an entirely different person, a young and innocent Lovino.
Antonio suddenly wanted very much to touch his face.
He found his hand moving dangerously in that direction and jerked back just in time. But he couldn't take his eyes off the handsome man sleeping next to him. He had never seen Lovino this way before and it was as if a star had fallen from the sky to rest in his palm.
There was nothing for it; the only way he could avoid looking at Lovino was if he closed his eyes.
So Antonio fell asleep. And awoke to find himself leaning on Lovino's shoulder.
