A/N:
There are three things you should never discuss with dinner company: Religion, Politics, and … Lovino's Not-Boyfriend?!
Here's the second half to Ch. 8! Shit goes down. Buckle up, kids!
Lovino decides upon pasta arrabiata halfway to the market.
He offers a greeting to the produce vendor as he steps beneath her awning. "Do you have any tomatoes left over?"
She holds up a wooden crate and says "Take your pick. This is just about the last of the crop; these were the only ones that didn't split after the last rains."
Lovino smiles. "They look divine, as always." He selects two dozen and puts them in a linen bag. Then he takes a head of garlic. He hands over ten euros and heads to his next destination.
The dairy vendor tips his cap when Lovino arrives. "What can I do for you today?"
"half a pound of pecorino romano, per favore."
As Lovino heads home, it begins to sprinke.
At home, Lovino puts on some Albinoni and gets to work.
He crushes the garlic and sets it to brown in a sauce pan with olive oil and dried chilis crushed in a mortar and pestle. In between intermittently stirring the garlic, he washes the tomatoes.
While normally the sauce would cook for the better part of the day, reducing to a smooth consistency, Lovino doesn't have the time and is wanting a toothier texture. He puts the tomatoes into the pan whole and stirs them as they heat and burst. They cook down into an intensely spicy sauce, potent with a flavor only found in farmer's market tomatoes. The skin and pulp remain in deflated spheres, adding a delicious bulk. He salts the sauce, adds enough chili flakes to produce the desired eye-watering effect, and takes it off the gas heat.
He retreats into his pantry to look for noodles - arrabiata is traditionally served with penne, but Lovino wants the languid appeal of long spaghetti. He pulls out a waxed paper bag of bucatini he'd made the year before with his Nonno.
He fills a large pot with water and sets it on the stove, but doesn't light the burner; he has some time yet before everyone arrives. Instead, he grates cheese to toss with the pasta and then more for a dish for the table.
Lovino is only just pouring himself a glass of wine when the doorbell chimes. He pads out into the entryway and opens the door, expecting it to be his brother. Instead, he is greeted by Antonio, holding a tray covered with a cloth in one hand, and a suspicious wrapped bundle in the other.
Antonio looks entirely at a loss for words as he looks Lovino up and down . He's wearing a moss-colored linen shirt rolled up to the elbows and slate grey trousers with suspenders, which is nothing out of the ordinary - except Lovino's forgotten to take off his apron, and the top two buttons of his shirt are undone, and his cheeks are flushed from standing over the stove. Antonio blinks and, realizing he's standing under the dripping awning, says, "Good evening," in a manner that shoots for his characteristic easy charm and rather misses. "May I come inside?"
"Am I really the first one here?" Antonio asks, looking around the entryway.
"Yes; I told Feli that quarter-past-five was a good time, but he's habitually late, so even though you have arrived at the appointed half-past, he will not appear until a quarter til six."
"Aha," laughs Antonio, "brothers. The tardiness is not just an Italian thing; my Spanish family always arrives egregiously late. Their only saving grace is that they bring the wine." He staggers for a moment, trying to step out of his shoes while holding the tray. "Take this for a moment, would you?"
Lovino relieves him of his burdens. The wrapped bundle feels surprisingly like . . . a blowtorch?
"Antonio," he says carefully, "did you just sneak a butane torch past my landladies?"
Antonio laughs ruefully. "I thought if I wrapped it up, I could save them from the shock. It's for the crema catalana."
"Care to enlighten me?"
"A poor man's dessert, with orange and cinnamon. I promise, it is far superior to any creme brûlée." Antonio pulls the cloth away with a flourish to reveal four blue-glazed earthenware pots full of custard.
"They look very good," Lovino says honestly. "I appreciate you handling dessert for me."
"No trouble at all," beams Antonio. "That said, can I stash these in your refrigerator to finish setting? I'll torch them when it's time for dessert."
"Of course." Lovino leads the way from the hall to the kitchen. Antonio is engrossed in his surroundings, swiveling his head curiously to peek through the various rooms - Lovino's flat is pretty much a straight shot back from the door: kitchen and dining room are to the left of the hall; living room, larder, and laundry to the right; and bed and bath in the back, facing the courtyard. The rusty orange paint gives the hall a homey feel, which is only heightened by the sparse clutter of a bachelor's life - shoes jumbled at the foot of the coat rack, a pile of books in a doorway, another pile of books functioning as a replacement leg for an amputee side table. With an embarrassed laugh, Lovino kicks his laundry hamper into a side room and pulls the door closed as they pass. "As you can see," he says, less sullenly than one might expect in this situation, "I wasn't expecting company."
"I love your house," assures Antonio. "It feels very personal."
Antonio is, as always, a child at heart; Lovino turns around from stashing the custard in the fridge to find him slurping pasta sauce from the cooking spoon.
"Hey!" Lovino shouts, and Antonio whips around, looking for all the world like a guilty toddler. In a fit of delinquency, he looks Lovino dead in the eye, dips the spoon into the pan again, and sticks it in his mouth. Lovino takes a mock-swipe to recapture the spoon and Antonio starts laughing, spraying sauce up the front of his face. Lovino wrests control of the spoon away and sticks it back in the pan. At the scandalized look on his face, Antonio laughs harder, tomato sliding down his nose.
It's hard for Lovino not to laugh at the Spaniard, and he unwillingly joins in. He drags Antonio to the sink and grabs the dish rag, struggling to wipe his face off while laughing and batting Antonio's hands away, which would be hard enough considering that the other man is a good deal taller than he is. Neither of them hear the front door swing open, or the voices in the hall. Which is how Feliciano surprises them in the kitchen, Lovino with his left hand pulling Antonio down by the neck and his right trying to wipe his face clean, Antonio unhelpfully barricading Lovino against the counter. Lovino spies his brother from under Antonio's arm, bracketed in the doorway by Ludwig. He wishes in vain for death to take him.
"I brought wine," Feliciano chirps happily. Lovino just knows he's sucking down whatever he thinks he saw as gossip material.
"And cheese," Ludwig adds helplessly, holding up a paper sack and looking for all the world like he, too, wishes for death.
Everyone is shooed into the living room for appetizers while Lovino boils the water for the noodles. He supposes it reassuring that Antonio takes to the gathering like a fish to water.
"Would someone help set the table?" he calls through the window cut-out between the kitchen and dining room. "Linens are on the third shelf of the hall closet, silver service in the buffet cabinet, dishes in the top cupboard to the left of the stove." Feli and Antonio wander off to get the table cloth, and Ludwig comes into the kitchen for plates. Evidently he has something on his mind, because he stares into the cupboard for some time before taking a deep breath.
"I would like you to know that my intentions towards your brother are honorable," he says quietly as he grabs wine glasses.
Lovino looks up from where he's draining the bucatini. "And I would like you to know that my brother is a fanciful creature. He lives somewhere other than the world of engineers," Ludwig gives him a rare look of distaste, "or even bakers." Lovino laughs self-deprecatingly. "you would not be the first man to break his heart, but I will certainly make you regret it the most."
"I know he is not much like me," Ludwig says honestly. "I love him for it. You can trust me to treat him well."
Lovino looks him dead in the eye from where he is ladling the sauce onto the noodles. "To my brother I wish all imaginable happiness; to you that you may endeavor to deserve him."
"I did not know you were a fan of Austen," Ludwig said.
Lovino waved a hand carelessly. "I'm a sentimental Italian; You can blame Antonio for feeding my fancies. For your own sake, I pray your character mimics Captain Brandon's more closely than Willoughby's."
The saving grace of dinner is that the wine flows freely, and there are two masters of conversation at the table.
Feliciano gabs about his work for a while, turning to Ludwig for the occasional comment; generally, the German seems content to hold his peace and listen to his boyfriend. " - So I say to the curator, wouldn't it be a better thing to put the impressionist pieces in the front and run the showing a week early? Because anyone who's anyone knows that Magro is gunning to display that Cassat he has on loan, except the provenance papers won't go through until the fifteenth; we should get the jump on him. But he says to me ... "
Lovino leans over to Antonio and says "Lovino works in Florence as a gallery manager. He shows collections and up-and-coming artists' portfolios. He also has some of his own work on display."
"Oh," says Antonio, "then the paintings you have hanging in the living room must be some of his?"
"Correct."
"Feliciano, what was the inspiration behind the painting in the living room - the one of the Tiber, if my eye serves me? Your color palette seems almost melancholy, despite sticking to light blues and greens. I like the effect very much."
Feliciano looks uncharacteristically somber for a moment, though he masters himself quickly. "Ah, I'm glad you asked! Lovi and I grew up near there; our Nonno's farm is along the east bank, near Rome. I used to play in the place the painting depicts. It's intended to be a bitter-sweet reminiscence of boyhood; the still is an idealization painted from memory, as the location was destroyed during the construction of ..."
If there's one thing Lovino can be thankful for, it's that his brother doesn't seem to be trying any funny business.
"So, 'Tonio," says Feliciano, "Is Italy to your liking?"
"The sights, the food, everything is wonderful!" Antonio replies enthusiastically. "Which reminds me; Lovi, dinner is amazing!"
Lovino looks at his plate, where the Spaniard is helping himself to a third serving. "I can see that you liked it," he rejoins with amusement.
"Speaking of cooking, you own the bakery across from Lovino, don't you?" Feliciano enquires.
"That's right! I opened recently. I specialize in Spanish pastries and desserts."
Ludwig perks up. "You moved into the the old Barbieri building, correct? Did you do all the remodeling yourself? I recall that space had stood empty for a few years."
"Yes! The building was in pretty good condition. I stripped out some of the walls in back to create a single kitchen space, added piping and outlets for the appliances, laid new tiling, touched up the plaster and paint - just the usual."
"Impressive," says Ludwig. "Tell me, what have you done with the floor plan? it seems like a building facing west would have issues with natural lighting later in the day."
"This is true," nods Antonio, who seems perfectly happy to talk shop. "I used a light yellow paint to open up the room; the particular type is noted for its high reflective properties. Everything else is either painted white or light blue for contrast."
"Resourceful work, to be sure," Ludwig comments. "It's an older building; how did it hold up to adding artificial lighting?"
Antonio laughs. "I ran into issues with some of the walls - not all of them had cavities thick enough for more wiring, which limited how many electrical fixtures I could put in. I ran some cabling through the ceiling to add a few; a couple whimsical constructions courtesy of one of my friends in France. But really, I was pretty lucky: the building was constructed circa 1930 - no solid stone walls. And, LED bulbs do brighten a room considerably."
"Wow," says Feliciano, "Which part took you the longest to finish?"
"I did a lot of cleaning; mostly just cleaning," Antonio says, laughing.
"If only you did a better job of cleaning yourself," Lovino remarks. "Antonio would come into the bakery covered in plaster; he was scaring away my customers," he confides to the other guests.
"Me? Never," Antonio vows, hand on his heart. "The ladies love me. I do believe I only draw business to the area."
"To your bakery, maybe," Lovino scoffs.
"I'm not so sure about that," chides Antonio. "There were a few young ladies that seemed to have taken up permanent residence at one of your corner tables."
"Well, I know my brother," Feli sighs. "I do hope your rivalry doesn't get in the way of your relationship," he says.
The wine Lovino is sipping slides down the wrong way and he makes an unfortunate urp-ing noise. His eyes bulge. Ludwig reaches around the edge of the table and, rather unhelpfully, slaps him on the back.
"You are together, aren't you?"
Antonio, showing a rare degree of self-preservation, takes one look at Lovino's panicked face and says hurriedly "Everyone's done with dinner, right? I think it's time for dessert. Lovino, come help me with the dessert." And with forced aplomb, the two of them flee the table.
In the refuge of the kitchen, Lovino puts his head in his hands. "I am so sorry you had to sit through that. My brother is obnoxious at the best of times."
Antonio doesn't say anything for a long minute. He finds just about anywhere to look Except at Lovino. Then, hands braced against the countertop, he laughs. He says "Honestly, I really like your brother. He's very ... enterprising."
Something acidic rises Lovino's chest as he looks at the other man, who is now puttering around inside the fridge for the custard. He feels panicked, knowing that Antonio could have found any number of reasons to beg out of an engagement tonight; that instead, he had obligingly made dessert for two men he had scarcely known a day, and a third who was testy at the best of times and downright rude at the worst; that he had gotten dressed up - Lovino can tell by the cut of his shirt, and damn it all, he knows when Antonio has product in his hair - to come to Lovino's home.
Antonio obviously senses the fraught mood, and tries for a bit of levity. "You know, for a German, Ludwig is really pretty agreeable. Really, he could swing the other way, like my friend Gilbert, and be an absolute metal-head. Scandinavians take their rock music seriously."
An unwitting noise escapes Lovino, somewhere between a gasp and a helpless laugh.
Lovino takes a long look at the Spaniard, wielding the blowtorch with a calm precision. The fire lights up his face in the dim kitchen. From his expression, Lovino can glean nothing.
The blow torch winks out and Antonio looks over at him. "The crema catalana is finished."
The two of them carry the dishes out to the table, where the others are waiting.
Of course, the crema catalana is a huge success. Antonio's dishes always are. The caramel crust on top is delicate and golden, the custard smooth, toothsome, and laden with orange flavor. Feliciano cannot compliment him highly enough. Antonio, ever the master of smoothing over a situation, chats amiably, engaging equally each person at the table.
"Ah, you bring sweetness into my life," sings Feli. "Not only is your custard divine, but you work magic wherever you go." He taps his fingers on the table contemplatively. "You know, Lovino has been so at ease these past few months when he's called me. Normally, he's as prickly as a feral cat. The only independent variable: you. Really, you've done Italy a service by taming him." Evidently Feliciano smells blood and is content to root for gossip under the pretext of brotherly ribbing.
Lovino takes a deep breath. I am a tranquil stream, he says to himself, I will not cause a scene in front of guests. "Was I really that bad?" He says pleasantly, taking a sip of wine.
"You scowled so much, girls refused to talk to you."
"Between the two of us, you're the only one concerned with whether or not girls want to talk to you." It slips out before Lovino has a chance to reconsider his words. Ah, well. This, he supposes, is at least not new information to his brother, but Lovino's more concerned with another member of their party. Antonio does a remarkably good job keeping a neutral visage, but something tells Lovino that he's secreting this information away; something about the glint in his eye.
Despite Ludwig's flaws, tact appears to be his forte. Lovino could just about kiss him when he lays down his spoon and says, "Antonio, dessert was lovely. Thank you for the wonderful meal, Lovino." Then he lays a hand on Feliciano's arm. "As always, it's good to see you," he says to Lovino, "and it was a pleasure to meet you," to Antonio. "I think it's about time to excuse ourselves."
Goodbyes are said and Lovino herds the guests to the door, where they exchange kisses (Feliciano) and an awkward pat on the back (Ludwig). Then the two of them step out into the night. One person remains.
Lovino wipes a tired hand across his face and says "It's getting late; you should probably be getting home."
Antonio studies the other man from the doorway. Shadows hide his expression. Then he unhitches himself from his place leaning against the frame and says, "Let me help you with the washing up."
Lovino is too weary to argue, so he simply nods and leads the way back in to the light.
A hand presses on the small of Lovino's back as they enter the kitchen, and he stiffens. "I'll wash and you dry?" a voice says from behind. Lovino turns around with a you don't have to get your hands dirty rising on his lips, but Antonio steps past him with a smile, already rolling up his sleeves. He's magicked a dish towel into existence over one shoulder. Lovino shakes his head in surrender. "I give."
Antonio is undeniably the boss here, as at home in Lovino's kitchen as he is everywhere else. He seems to slip through life with a fish's lazy grace; he's wriggled his way into Lovino's life, and a fear sinks into the Italian, observing Antonio's cool noncomittance, that he could just as easily slide away.
They spend a quarter of an hour in silence, save for the rattle-glug of the old pipes and splashing as Antonio soaks the dishes. As Antonio hands him the first wine glass, Lovino realizes the towel is on the other man's shoulder. Lovino reaches to pull it down; Antonio's back is hot on his fingers through his shirt. Antonio's shoulders relax almost-imperceptibly, and Lovino pulls his hand back as if burnt. Lovino busies himself with the drying, and Antonio says nothing. Then, hands sudsy from the silver he's washing, he says "Tell me, what troubles you tonight?
Lovino sighs, sets down the glass he holds. "Dio mio, I am so afraid for Feli."
Antonio sends him a measured look, but holds his peace.
He continues, "You know, the summer we were twelve, he met a boy our age. His brother was an exchange student at the local secondary school, and the little boy had come down to visit for the season. We were all on holiday, and his brother's host family lived on the farm down the lane. I never saw less of Feliciano than I did that summer; the two boys were always sneaking off to play down by the river."
"What happened?" He holds out a clean plate. Antonio's hands are cool and slick against his, and Lovino's fingers twitch. He looks away and flicks the dish towel dismissively.
"What always happens when the summer ends. The little boy was only staying with his brother for the holiday; he went home to Germany. Feliciano was inconsolable. He cried for days. He would spend hours down by the river. When he wasn't there, he was in his room. I thought he was being silly, lamenting about a lost friend; I didn't understand until years later. I think our grandparents knew what was really wrong; our Nonna certainly did. Good woman, she always managed to find where he was hiding - by the river, in the dairy parlor, up the hay loft with the cats."
"I suppose this explains the painting in your living room. What prompted him to give it to you?"
"Yes, when he met Ludwig; I do not know how long he had it before then. I guess he wanted to forget, or start over.
"He was always the artistic one; the social one, chatting up girls in line at the butcher's; the last one to pick a fight. Feliciano has always been so quick to trust, so quick to love. It was always pretty apparent, and people were not always so understanding. I spent a lot of time in detention with a split lip or busted knuckles, usually from defending him. Or from just picking fights; I was a disagreeable child. Feliciano has a lot to offer the world, and all I have to offer him are my fists; I want to do the best job protecting him that I can."
Lovino lapses into silence after that. He looks over and finds Antonio gazing at him, up to his elbows in soap water. For a long time the Spaniard says nothing, and there is pain and anger in his eyes.
"Lovi," he says carefully, "I think you have an awful lot more to offer than you realize. And for the record, I think Feliciano appreciates what you do for him; at the same time, I think he also wants you to know when to let him go." He pauses. "You are the best brother he could ask for."
They put the dishes away in companionable silence. When they are finished, Lovino follows Antonio to the hall. Partway out the door, Lovino stops him and says honestly, "Thank you for tonight."
Antonio shrugs affably and replies, "Helping with the washing is the least I can do; after all, you made dinner and let me into your home."
"I meant, thank you for everything. Really," Lovino says quietly.
"You don't have to thank me for something I do willingly," counters Antonio in a voice equally quiet. "I mean it." Then he steps out into the night, coat collar turned up against the chill.
Lovino watches until the other man is indistinguishable from the gathering darkness, and then steps back inside. In the entryway, he says to the door, "Good night."
A/N:
Well, that went … better than expected. No, it really didn't. Wow, Feli, you've done gone put your foot in it this time.
I hope no one comes away with the impression that I dislike Feliciano. That's far from the truth. To be honest, it really irks me when people write him like a complete ditz; I headcanon that he's the Chief Gossip of Europe, and he's secretly rather crafty. All you really have to do is take a look at Renaissance politics to prove my point. Anyway, here he's just acting like a concerned younger brother, trying to make sure Lovi is happy.
Obvs the boy Feli falls in love with when he's young is Holy Rome. I wrote it like he was a little boy who'd come to the Italian countryside to visit his older brother (Prussia) who was, say, five years older, and living with a host family as an exchange /
I sat down to write this note and went "ummm this is such a plot hole - healthy relationships have good communication and there's no way this hasn't come up," but ah well.
It's necessary in order to have Antonio and Lovino talk at the end of the chapter, because there's no way that this Cosmic Coincidence could happen and have Feli not spill everything to Lovino after he found out that his childhood crush ran into him and asked him out again years later….
If you cannot suspend your disbelielf, you could instead believe that I have drawn from the canon interactions of HR and Feli and created a new boy to fill his role.
I'd also like to restate my note from Ch. 8: Lovino's characterization here draws heavily on my own experiences as a gay woman, my coming out (or lack there of, in certain circles), and my anxiety. If there's anything you have an issue with, I am more than happy to try and address/fix it! And please let me know if you would like me to tag anything - I think this is pretty mild, but I'm happy to accomodate. I'll attach trigger warnings at the tops of chapters, and let you know which paragraphs to skip in order to enjoy the rest of the chapter.
