Chapter VIII

Antonio's gut was twisting painfully, and it felt like someone was gripping his intestines in one hand and squeezing it, squeezing it hard enough that he felt like they were going to pop.

They had just killed someone.

They had just murdered an innocent human being.

Without warning, a sob escaped his throat. He raised a hand quickly to cover his mouth and prayed Lovino didn't hear. Unfortunately for him, Lovino was on rather observant person, and he noticed the sound.

The Italian turned towards him, peeking at him through the corner of his hazel eyes. "...Are you okay?"

Antonio wouldn't meet his eyes. He couldn't. He glanced away, wiping his eyes hurriedly. "I-I'm fine."

At the very same moment, they had made it to the small cottage the gentleman they just brutally murdered was telling them had canned food in it. Lovino had his hand on the doorknob, but he hesitated for a good, solid minute.

He eventually sighed and spoke in a low voice. "Have you ever witnessed someone's death before? Not counting...you know."

Antonio did know. And he had. His own fucking mother died right next to him.

"...Yes."

"Then this shouldn't be any different." Lovino's voice had a certain hardness about it, an icy chill that displeased Antonio. Like this guy didn't give a fuck about the poor guy at all.

"...But..."

"But what?" Lovino sounded impatient. When the Spaniard looked up at him, he noticed the other had somehow turned around quick enough that he didn't notice and was now glaring at him through his soul, as if he could read his thoughts and feelings just like that. "But fucking what, Antonio?"

Antonio's fingers trembled as they curled into tight fists. Hot tears were now making their way down his face, dripping off his chin, but he ignored them completely.

"...How dare you," He whispered, his voice almost inaudible.

"What?"

"How fucking dare you!" Antonio exploded. It was now clear how broken Lovino made him, how pathetic he felt, how this one human can make him feel so emotional. "How fucking dare you just walk away from this! Th-That poor, innocent man...h-he didn't have to die, Lovino!" He hated how his voice sounded. So puny and scratchy.

"It wasn't our fault," Lovino pointed out darkly. "It was that dickhead Vash's fault! So go and cry in front of him instead! I'm sick of hearing your pathetic whining, Antonio!"

That struck Antonio. Hard.

He'd been cussed at, sworn at and insulted before, but for some reason, what Lovino said to him stabbed him right in the heart. This was the only time that Antonio really just wanted to slap Lovino, make him feel his pain and anger and feel how terrified he was. His fingers twitched, and the thought of reaching into his back pocket, pulling out his gun and shooting Lovino right in his black fucking heart raced through his head.

No. How ridiculous. He could never do that.

With a soft, shuddering sigh, Antonio fell to his knees, defeated. The mushy brown dirt under him felt strangely warm, which was slight comfort.

There was nothing more to do. He couldn't speak. Lovino was right, though, like fucking always. He needed to grow up. This may be the end of humanity as he knew it, but he wanted to die knowing that at least he was brave and fearless.

"...Hey."

To his utmost surprise, the dirt shifted under Antonio as the Italian slid down next to him. A pair of soft, delicate hands rested just under the Spaniard's jaw, lifting his chin up with careful gentleness. Antonio was startled but enamoured; he never knew Lovino could be so gentle.

Hazel eyes bore into emerald ones, the owner of the latter flushing with pleasure. "You need to stop being so fucking weak."

There it was again. The stab in his heart. The young Spanish man blinked hard, trying to force away the ugly feeling of tears welling up in his eyes and a lump growing in his throat. Then he open his mouth to firmly rebuke, but the Italian sought differently and moved his hand to cover Antonio's mouth before any words could come out.

"No. Hear me out."

I hate you. I hate you. I really hate you, Antonio thought bitterly. Of course he didn't mean it, though-Lovino was far too beautiful to hate, not to mention the Spaniard was undoubtedly falling for him. So he forced himself to relax under Lovino's hands, and hoped the glare he gave the Italian was enough of a response.

Said young man sighed, glanced around nervously, before he leaned in close to the Spaniard, close enough that Antonio could feel heat radiating off Lovino's bronze skin.

"You're weak because you're scared. You're scared because people are dying. But you can't let death frighten you. Not anymore." Golden eyes narrowed, boring into Antonio's once more. "This is the norm now. You have to expect this at all times. Stop being fucking scared all the time, and then you will think nothing of death anymore. Comprende?"

Lovino's words were harsh, but Antonio knew they were true. Maybe he was being too damn scared and weak. Not even Femke was acting as scared as he was, and even if she was, she certainly didn't usually break down and cry about it. Maybe he did need to man up, even if he thought he was manly enough before. Why did things have to be this way...

Dumbly, Antonio nodded, and swallowed hard.

"Good." The hands slid down from Antonio's mouth, down his throat, down his shoulders, upper arms, forearms, to his hands, and the Italian stood up, gently helping the Spaniard to his feet as well. "No more crying. Got it?"

Antonio's face heated up, and he nodded again, quickly this time, out of embarrassmenf. To his relief, Lovino nodded back, dropped his hands, and turned towards the cottage. "Well...let's see what's in here, shall we?"

Another nod. For some reason, the ability to speak left Antonio's mind. Or maybe he was just still too weak and scared of Lovino still.

The door slid open easily. A bit too easily. No lock or anything whatsoever. But Lovino didn't seem too paranoid, for he stepped right in. Nervously, Antonio followed.

Creak.

That's all it took.

A gust of wind blew against Antonio's left cheek, and he barely had time to think, breathe, or move before he was grabbed.

"Gotcha, you little prick."

Something cold and hard pressed against his throat. Antonio stopped breathing. This was the second time he's found himself in a stranger's arms with a knife pressed against his neck.

...

But...

Hold on a tic...

That voice...

The Spaniard sucked in a gasp, the sudden force of air down his trachea almost making him choke. His attacker seemed to freeze as well, arms going slack slightly.

"...Wait," the attacket started, but he didn't finish. He didn't need to. Antonio knew exactly who it was.

"...I thought you were dead."


A/N: Wow this chapter sucked major ass. Sorry for the crap chap and long delay. Exams and stuff have really been bumming me out lately. Please excuse my crap writing, its actually really late now and im barely awake, but bear with me pls. Next chap will be longer and better and everything, I promise guys !

Stay classy.