For that anon I can't reply to: Guido was the one who made up that little spiel, it's not the actual rules; it really is a painter-model contest. It was just him being dramatic (and quoting an old professor). Second, everyone at the session was speaking English, so Alfred keeps his usual "dude" and "man" in his sentences. Hope that answered your questions!

A quick return from the kitchen with two bottles and glasses in hand, and Lovino was now sitting on his couch, downing his umpteenth glass of wine. He'd been rambling off for some time now, and the only points he remembered involved what pissed him off about the color of grass.

"Lovi, you sure you should drink that whole thing?" Antonio set his own glass down, meeting Lovino with a worried and sympathetic gaze. He was already moving to the second one when he replied.

"I'm not, you're drinking it, too, dumbass; why do I gotta tell you these things?" he grumbled with an added eye roll. "And it's not Lovi, it's Lovino, bastard."

Antonio yawned. "What do you really have against that nickname?"

Lovino paused, trying to recall the answer. He never really could distinguish between what he regularly forgot and what drinking made him forget. "I think...Feliciano just uses it too much," he finally managed to say. He didn't want to think of the real reason.

"But you still let him call you that." Antonio sounded a bit amused, which only pissed off Lovino that much more.

"Yeah, well he doesn't give up, so I'm giving up."

"But you don't always correct me when I do it." His mouth quirked up in a small smile; he was obviously pleased with his observation.

Lovino huffed angrily. "I do not let you call me that."

"Yeah, you do. I've been calling you that for the past two months, Lovi."

Had he? Lovino couldn't remember.

At last he opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't say anything. He was sure he'd had this conversation before.

"Do I need to tell you why I don't like it to get you to shut up?" he finally asked, having scrambled together why he thought it was a problem. The question was met with a happy nod.

Lovino sighed. "Fine. Okay, so there was this little asshole that lived by me as a kid. Let's just call him…shit, I dunno, Pierro. So Pierro and I were friends and all that, and Feli usually played along with us." Antonio looked intrigued, leaning forward in his seat. With a small laugh at how dumb he thought the other man looked, Lovino continued. "One of those bastards—hell if I know which one—started calling me Lovi, and the other caught on, and from that day forward those idiots just would not stop calling me that." He huffed angrily and crossed his arms, puffing his cheeks out like a child. "It annoyed me half to death, so I started calling Feliciano, Feli. But he just thought it was cute, so my plan to annoy him back didn't work."

Antonio seemed to find this incredibly amusing, much to Lovino's dismay. He was trying to get him to stop, not laugh. Damn alcohol. It was beginning to fuel his rage, and he was mad before he could catch himself.

"Alright, you wanna talk about how pathetic I am? I can't even remember my childhood best friend's name," Lovino snapped, earning an alarmed look from Antonio. "You ever spent a really long time with someone, made a bunch of memories, and not even be able to remember what the guy looks like?!" His face felt hot and wet, but he wasn't fully processing that he was crying. And he couldn't stop. "I can tell you so much about the most insignificant things, I know certain events happened to me at some point in my childhood, I remember a stupid dance, going to the lake with my friends, playing in that god-forsaken treehouse. But I forgot about a bunch of other shit I did. I forgot entire people that I've experienced those things with. I woke up in that hospital bed, and I barely even recognized my own brother, Antonio." Some part of his mind was screaming at him to shut up, to stop rambling about things Antonio already knew. His head felt fuzzy, and he just wanted to cry, but he kept on talking, and all the while Antonio remained silent.

"I tried, you know. To remember. I feel so guilty that I just forgot all those people. My family refused to tell me about some of them; they said my friends were gone, and it wouldn't do me any good to try and reach out and start over." Lovino felt his heart squeeze at the memories. His grandpa had looked almost scared when his grandson would bring up the matter. He'd switch to a look of grief, something Lovino couldn't quite place mingled in with the expression. And here Antonio was, sitting across from him, somehow managing to read his mind and match that exact expression. Lovino was drunk, and it wasn't helping him to figure it out now. Meanwhile, Antonio had finally chosen to speak, the hesitation in his voice almost palpable.

"So…what did you do?" he asked cautiously.

Lovino laughed dryly. "When 'painting out my feelings' stopped working, I got out the house and tried to meet someone to stop me from feeling guilty. I thought that I could pull some magic bullshit, find a guy, forget about the others. That...didn't go down well. He was an asshole to me, and I just went with it." A sigh escaped him, followed by a hiccup. "He got me to move in with him for a few months, and he stopped treating me like my own person." He rubbed subconsciously at his arms, suppressing a shudder. "God, and I just let him have sex with me whenever, just because he would treat me nice enough to make me feel bad for doubting him. I was being an idiot, I felt too sorry for myself, and it took me a lot of willpower to realize it was bad and leave. One day I just packed up all my shit and moved here to study art. I had to borrow money from my grandpa, and he got pissed that I didn't tell him what was going on. And I don't really blame him. I mean, I haven't even painted much since I graduated. I'm not going anywhere. I was just trying to copy my little brother."

Another sip, and he had officially drained the bottle of wine. "I only ever told Feli about that guy."

The last of the drink had assured his vision was effectively fuzzy. His anger was gone, leaving him feeling hollow, but it looked to him like that anger had just transferred to Antonio. His face was set into a hard frown—no, it was more of a scowl—and he looked ready for murder. Was there still paint on his face? What was he so adamantly furious about?

"Did…you want the rest of the wine? Because I think I drank it all, and the rest is also mine for later," he tried.

"Lovino, you…I can't say anything, because you already know that was bad! And on top of that, you're crazy drunk!" Antonio laughed to himself, one hand entangled in his hair, the other absently tapping on his leg. At some point in all that, he had stood up. "Oh god, I don't know what I'm supposed to say. I mean, It's not like you'll remember any of it, anyway!" The moment the words passed his lips, he threw his hand over his mouth. But he had already said it.

Lovino's eyes went wide. Sure, he was probably right—it was already starting to escape him—but the tone of Antonio's voice left him in a temporary shock. And just like that the tears were back. Damn, pathetic as ever, he thought. But he didn't want to say anything, instead hugging a couch pillow close to his chest and tracing the patterns with a finger.

He felt something heavy shift the couch to his left. Antonio's hand brushed Lovino's shoulder, but he jerked away from him.

"Lovi, I'm sorry, I…I shouldn't have said that." He sounded remorseful enough, but Lovino didn't feel like hearing it. This was all just a bad idea. He didn't care what Antonio did, he just wanted to talk about it later. Or not at all.

As he sniffled into his pillow, he remained unaware of his blackening vision. Antonio's argument was slipping from his sleep-deprived, drunk mind. As soon as his eyelids completely fluttered shut, he allowed himself to slump forward from his seated position. Or, rather, he just let his limbs move freely as they pleased.

"You can tell me to go home, if you want. I won't be offended," he heard a distant voice ask gently.

He envisioned a soft cloud, carrying him away from his problems. But before he could drift too far, he called out, "No drunk driving for you. We don't all…need to be in car accidents, here…."

Antonio's soft chuckle sounded closer than he thought it would. "I think I could handle it, don't you worry. But okay, I won't go." Maybe it was his words, maybe it wasn't, but Lovino felt a comforting warmth surround him.

The room remained silent for a while. Suddenly, Antonio spoke up again. "Can I tell you something? It's kind of about an artist, which is really cliché of me, and it might turn in to a bunch of different stories, but I hope it'll help." Lovino made a soft noise as a cue to continue. "Thank you. Don't worry, I'll do all the talking." He listened as Antonio took a deep and shaky breath.

"Alright. You know that when I was a kid, I wanted to be an artist. We moved out of Spain when I was eight years old, and my parents bought me a lot of coloring books to pass the time. I managed to make some friends, and I got to draw with them all the time. It was a lot of fun, really. But by the time I was a teenager, I realized I wasn't good enough for it, so I left it to one of my other friends to succeed." He paused, and Lovino imagined there was a distant look in his eyes. "He was really good, considering we were just kids. He's actually the one who convinced me to do something at least related to art.

"Oh, but I also found a bunch of stories about different inspirational people. You know what, you're probably too tired to hear it, so I'll email you some." Antonio's voice grew closer, yet softer. "Goodnight. I'll clean up back there."

Good…Lovino thought. It's your mess, too.

He finally fell asleep. He was cozy, back at home with his old dog snuggled against his chest. Something light and warm touched his forehead, and he smiled despite himself. For now, he was comfortable.

The next morning was hell. Lovino slept in as long as he could make himself, but eventually dragged himself to the bathroom to shower, his left foot aching from the over exertion of dancing. On top of that, he'd fallen asleep practically slathered in paint, and had to begrudgingly spend the majority of his shower scrubbing it off. At least nobody had forcefully woken him up.

Head still throbbing, he glanced outside at the front of the house. Three cars—Antonio was still here, somewhere.

He went several hours watching a movie with Fiorella, working on his color blending, and gathering laundry without even so much as hearing him. Where the hell did he go? he found himself wondering. He doubted he had much of a hangover, considering Lovino had taken most of the wine for himself.

"Fiorella, where's your papa?" he asked her in the midst of the quiet.

"He was in our room this morning," she replied without looking up from her stuffed animals.

Lovino knew he should head out back to hang up the clothes, but his curiosity took hold of his limbs, and he found himself walking in the other direction, towards his brother's room.

Were they talking to each other? It was the only room he hadn't checked today, which left if the only possible place they could both be. And, if so, what the hell were they talking about?

From what he could see through the door, there was only a small amount of light; most likely, it was from the bedside lamp. The only other thing he could decipher from his position that there were, indeed, hushed whispers finding their way through the crack in the door. He moved closer, basket of clothes still in hand, and nearly held his breath in his strain to hear.

"…but that's not working, Feliciano. I've been trying since I saw him, but I don't think he's getting it."

Antonio? Lovino had an inkling he was the subject of their conversation. He felt a chill run down his spine. His senses were telling him to get out, that it wasn't his conversation to hear, but his feet stayed rooted to the spot.

Feliciano responded, a little louder and more optimistic than Antonio. "No, no, I think he's starting to understand! Trust me, you just have to give him time-"

"But what if he doesn't, Feli?!" Antonio nearly shouted, immediately followed by a chiding 'shh!' from Feliciano.

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to yell. It's just…I don't know what to do. It's been months, and he still looks at me the same way he did back then." Antonio sounded so dejected, so…heartbroken. Lovino actually was holding his breath now, as Antonio's voice was suddenly an almost inaudible whisper. "What if I'm already out of time?"

The silence that followed was terrifying. What had Lovino done to hurt him like that? His mind was racing, and his heart was beating so loud he feared it would give away his position, though he didn't know if it was the effect of adrenaline or hurt. He had half a mind to charge in there and demand an explanation when Feliciano spoke up once more.

"Antonio, I understand that it's hard to live with." He hesitated, but inhaled deeply and continued. "But you have to tell him sooner or later."

Tell me what?

"I…I know. You're right. But what if he doesn't take it well?"

Lovino heard the bed creak—one of them had stood up. Fear kicked in, and he backed up straight into the other wall, nearly tripping over himself in the process. Though he could find a way to justify himself, he didn't want to be caught snooping. Gripping the sides of the basket tighter, he turned the corner just as he heard footsteps echo through the hallway.

Feliciano was speaking at his normal volume now, the earlier seriousness in his tone gone. "Don't worry about it, Tonio. I've got faith it'll all work out in the end!"

Lovino managed to sneak out back without being seen by the two, not counting Fiorella, who saw him and simply shrugged. He faced himself pointedly away from the house as he hung up the clothes, consumed with conflicted thoughts and feelings he wished he could hang up alongside the shirts.

Why was Antonio so upset? They were hiding something from him, but what? If it was something worth getting that distraught over, Lovino wasn't sure he wanted to know.

The sky outside was clear as ever, and he laughed at the contrast to his clouded mind. It wasn't long before he began wondering about the possibilities of what rooted this whole mess. It was connected to him somehow, so had he done something wrong? If he did, he would gladly apologize for it; knowing Antonio was unhappy about something he did was creating a heavy weight in his heart.

He thought back to last night, and his arms fell to his sides, laundry forgotten. Their dance had felt so right, so connected. Was it just him that had felt those things?

The end of the song surfaced to the top of his memories, followed by a sharp pain in his skull. You don't know me. He winced, both from the words and the unwanted infliction. Even after all that, Lovino had stupidly yelled at him just for asking a simple question, which probably did nothing in earning him likeability points. Maybe he really was trying to say he didn't like him. Maybe he was ready to say goodbye. Even still, Lovino chose to cling to that small chance that he really did like him. He did, and he just had something else to say. All he knew was that whatever was about to come, he would handle it.

"Lovino!"

He jumped at his brother's voice, nearly pulling down the clothesline with him. Annoyed once more, he whirled around to face him.

"Why the fuck do you always have to scare me like that?!" he yelled.

Feliciano pouted. "But I haven't seen you all day."

"That's not an excuse."

With a loud sigh, Feliciano waved him over. "Just come on, okay?"

Lovino gave up and followed him back to his room. The same room, he noted, that he and Antonio had just used as a secret space to possibly plot against him.

Stop thinking that, he internally scolded himself.

Once inside, Lovino intentionally switched on the room light in hopes of creating a better atmosphere for their conversation.

Feliciano sat himself down on the bed and smiled up at him, but Lovino stayed standing with his arms folded across his chest.

"Okay, what is it?" he asked.

"You don't have to look so mad, you know. I was just gonna ask you something." He pouted, and Lovino sighed. He could almost feel the atmosphere growing tenser as he prepared himself to speak.

"I heard you two talking about me."

Feliciano stiffened. "H-How much did you hear?" He sounded worried, but Lovino wasn't sure who for.

Lovino forced himself to look indifferent. "Enough to know that you're hiding something from me. Both of you. So I suggest just telling me."

"It's nothing, really! I'm handling it, so don't worry." Feliciano waved him off. "But I was going to ask you about something else. You know how-"

"No, Feli," he snapped. "What the hell gives you the right to take over in something I am perfectly capable of doing?"

His brother's features looked stunned, and it took him a few moments to speak. "Lovi, I-I was just trying to help. It's not that big of a deal, and I just thought I could help him so you wouldn't have to." His features fell, but Lovino couldn't give in. Not until he got his point across.

"Feliciano, you've always done way too much for me, ever since that accident. You tried to take my place in every situation, and I can't say I'm not grateful for that, but I'm supposed to be the older brother, here! I couldn't be there for you when I needed, and it's my fault for not correcting that sooner. But Antonio is my friend, and he's upset," Lovino said, struggling to maintain his speaking volume as he watched Feliciano's eyes grow lost. Of all the times he'd tried to explain this in the past, this was the moment he needed his brother to understand.

"This...this is the first time since the accident that someone's relying on me. It's always been me having to get help because I couldn't walk right, I couldn't breathe properly, and I needed someone just to go and fucking get me a glass of water. You all refuse to believe I'm better now, and you think I'm just some weak sucker who needs his hand held across every street." Lovino took a deep breath to calm himself down. He knew it wouldn't do good to start yelling.

"Antonio is going through some shit, too, and he doesn't treat me like I can't handle it. Ever since I met him, it's been this weird jumble of laughing and hurting and all kinds of other messes. Maybe it's just me, but I can feel that we're able to trust each other, just enough. So please, this one fucking time...let me handle it."

The room fell quiet enough for the sounds of Antonio's guitar and Fiorella's singing to reach their ears. But Lovino wasn't paying attention to that. Breaking it, Feliciano stood up, walked over to him, and pulled him into a crushing hug.

"Okay," he whispered, sniffling into his shirt. Lovino embraced him silently, letting him cry. He seemed relieved to be taking a break, and Lovino's heart ached at seeing how much of a burden he'd placed on his little brother.

"We'll both be better, alright?" he murmured, earning a nod from Feliciano.

As he calmed down, Lovino stroked his hair softly, wondering what to do next. He'd stood his ground and condemned himself to the task of talking to Antonio first, but he had no clue what to actually say.

Hey there, I heard you talking about me, tell me why you're upset. Oh, and I think I'm in love with you. As if that would go down well. He hated to admit it, but he was nervous.

"So I guess you won't tell me what's going on, first?" he ventured.

Feliciano giggled and wiped his eyes, shaking his head. "You'll want to hear it from him, not me."

Lovino opened his mouth to argue when he heard a shrill voice call his name from the other room. With a sigh, he shouted, "Coming, Fiorella!", gave a last quick hug to Feliciano and made his way to the back room.

When he reached the kitchen he started to clearly hear Antonio's guitar playing its soft, lulling song. Without a clear plan, or even end goal, he decided to do the only thing he really knew how—he was going to draw him.

Antonio was sitting on the couch, lazing back and plucking his guitar with ease and a near graceful demeanor. It very nearly slipped Lovino's mind that he needed to speak to him seriously.

"You needed to see me, Fio?" he asked calmly. She responded by shaking her head and pointing to the smiling Spaniard.

"He did," she said. "I can just yell louder." And with that she stood up and left, presumably to find her father.

Lovino grabbed his sketchbook and sat down on the opposite side of the couch. "Okay, but I'm practicing. What did you need?" he asked, looking down at the paper and curving his pencil along.

Antonio took a deep breath. He sounded nervous, and he was still playing; it almost looked like it was helping to calm him down.

"There's been a lot of...misunderstandings? Maybe that's not the word. Stuff I haven't told you, more like." His gaze travelled between the guitar frets and Lovino every so often.

Still sketching, Lovino tried his best to keep from looking disheartened. He could hope, even just a little.

"I guess I can start with last night," he finally said, laying his arm across the body of his guitar—he'd stopped playing.

Lovino spoke first. "Before you do, I need to apologize for getting so upset. I should've controlled myself better."

Antonio's expression softened, and he smiled. "No need, I understand. It was a bad time you had to remember, and you got pretty drunk." His face quickly contorted into a look of malice that made Lovino's blood run cold. "But if I ever run into that man that hurt you, he's gonna regret it."

"Don't go through the trouble; he's not worth it, okay?" Lovino sighed. "But okay, go on. What were you about to say?"

With a small hum, Antonio resumed his playing while Lovino continued to sketch him, relaxing into the melancholic sound. One of his problems he aimed to fix was that he couldn't quite figure out his facial features.

"This is pretty unusual," Antonio said, followed by a quick, forced laugh. "I have no idea how to say this."

There he was again. That sad, confused Spaniard who looked so at a loss for words. Lovino tried to conjure up a way to reach out to him with some form of comfort, but there was still a barrier he felt between them. He wanted desperately to find a way to reach around it; no, he wanted to smash it into a million pieces until there was nothing keeping him away. But he still needed to finish his sketch.

Leaning over, Lovino placed both hands on Antonio's cheeks, willing himself not to smile at Antonio's bewildered expression.

"Lovi, what are you doing?" he muttered through squished cheeks, wincing when he shifted back into the couch. "I think I'm sitting on a pencil."

"Shut up and hold still, I'm studying your face lines." Lovino ran his thumb along Antonio's cheekbone, noting how soft his skin felt beneath his fingers. His emerald eyes were boring into Lovino's skull, though he supposed that was his own fault for surprising him and getting so close. So close he could smell his lingering morning breath and trace the shadows over his dark skin. His hair certainly looked longer than it had their first meeting, as it was reaching over his ears and sticking up in more places than usual. He looked messy, yet perfect.

Lovino's hands rested on the sides of his chin, and they gazed at each other for what felt like a century before he leaned forward to close the short gap, pulling his face towards his and meeting their lips together in a gentle kiss. Antonio's eyes fluttered closed, and Lovino felt the edge of his guitar press into his abdomen where he felt a fire flare up inside him. Antonio's lips were soft and warm, and welcoming. It wasn't the most amazing, but certainly the most pleasant kiss he'd had in a while.

When they backed away, Lovino was fairly certain his face had grown an unimaginable shade of red, but he stayed where he was. The astonished smile Antonio adorned made his chest tighten, and he couldn't resist smiling back, if only a little. He'd actually done it.

"Did you study my face enough?" Antonio finally managed to ask with a well-placed chuckle.

"Maybe," he replied. "I think I've got it for now."

Antonio seemed to brighten. "'For now'?" he repeated. "I can have another one?"

Lovino leaned back into his spot on the couch with his sketchbook laying snugly on his legs. "Not now, you can't. Ask again later." As much as he was reveling in the discovery that his feelings were being reciprocated, he wasn't about to change his entire disposition because of it.

He quietly finished his drawing while Antonio stared at him, still apparently dazed. His face began to fall when Lovino announced he was done.

"You okay?" he asked, putting the sketchbook aside.

"Lovino, I..." he trailed off.

Lovino looked down. Something was still bothering him. "You know you can tell me if something's wrong, stupid."

Antonio laughed somewhat. "I should, shouldn't I?" To Lovino's surprise, he stood up and put away his guitar, averting the confused Italian's gaze.

"I have to leave," he announced softly. "I have a lecture tomorrow, and I need to make sure I have everything together."

"Okay," Lovino said carefully. "Go on ahead."

With a final goodbye and a half-real smile, Antonio left the room. Lovino heard him say a few words to Feliciano before the door closed.

There was something else going on with him, and Lovino felt more worried than ever. Feliciano tiptoed into the room, peeking around the corner. "Did anything happen?" he questioned.

"Well...for a start, I kissed him."

Oh no, what's wrong with our dear Toni? Guess we'll see.

Announcement! I've made a Tumblr blog for writing updates, so if you're interested in keeping up and seeing little bits of upcoming chapters, go follow me pidge-writes. I'm definitely up for any questions or comments on there!