Antonio wasn't sure what day it was now, not that he cared much about the futile passage of time. Everything since that awful, devastating moment when Lovino had left his life forever, Antonio had just been suspended in a blur, separated from the rest of normality. Time didn't have a shape or form to it, it just kind of meandered along at its own pace, waiting until each hour was over and slowly beginning the next. He'd been into work…hmm, was it twice? It felt like twice, but he hadn't been sure of the time between the two instances, so it could have been any time after Tuesday. But it felt like so much longer, and it had all been agony.

He hadn't been sleeping well at all, either. Every time he tried, he was reminded of the wonderful nights he'd spent with Lovino in that very bed, and was always reduced to either tears, or longingly pressing his nose into the pillow trying to catch the vaguest remains of Lovino's intoxicating scent, or, most often, both. And eventually he'd either cry himself to sleep, or decide he'd be better off on the sofa, and the latter meant that he would be kept awake anyway as he was too long for it and his feet stuck off the end. Neither way gave him more than three hours of sleep a night. He was pretty sure his eyes looked like he'd been punched swiftly in the face, from the exhaustion that continually drained his body of energy.

To make matters worse, it was impossible to get Lovino out of his head. Every little thing reminded Antonio of him, of the amazing times they'd spent together, and the immense amounts of love that he felt for Lovino. Then the crushing reminder of how it had all meant nothing to the Italian slammed down onto his head like an anvil and drove him either to his knees or to tears. He couldn't find anything that could help take his mind off his lost Italian.

It hurt. It all hurt so much. The grief, the loss, the despair, the betrayal. Antonio wasn't sure how much longer he could take it.

But yesterday, he'd come to the realisation that he couldn't cut himself off from this, or he'd spiral into a ruin of self-destruction. He was halfway down that already. He couldn't cope alone. It had been a text from Gilbert that had helped him to realise this. The German had just been wondering where Antonio had got to, as he usually took part in the trio's text-conversations with frequency, and had suddenly gone silent. But Antonio had taken the point from it, and come somewhat back to his senses. He needed his friends back to help him, now more than ever. He'd just texted them both the day before, shortly after Gilbert had contacted him. His message had been short and to the point. Hey guys. Can we meet at Gilbert's house at seven tomorrow? It's important.

But, then again, he should have realised that the serious tone and lack of emoticons and random tildes made it obvious that something was drastically wrong, and he'd got almost immediate replies from both Francis and Gilbert asking what was wrong. Antonio hadn't replied aside from saying that he'd tell them tomorrow, but neither had been convinced as to his welfare. Antonio wasn't convinced that their concern would last. Yes, they were his friends, but he'd spent three months adamantly refusing to listen to them and it had just turned out that they were right all along. Surely they'd just laugh in his face at the amount of trouble his gullibility and stupidity had got him in.

He'd deserved it after all; trusting, defending, and, worst of all, loving a man called 'The Heartbreaker'.

Hence, he was standing outside Gilbert's front door, eyelids occasionally fluttering in exhaustion, and highly worried about what was to come. But somehow, he managed to find the strength to lift his hand and ring the bell, waiting for the moment when a familiar face would appear, even though it was unlikely to be a sympathetic face for long.

To his surprise, when the door was pulled back, it wasn't Gilbert who answered, but Ludwig, who was wearing a damp black tank top that was stretched across his chest muscles, and he was covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Thin strands of blond hair dangled in front of his forehead instead of being in a gelled haircut so regimented the hairs almost stood in line. Obviously, he'd been caught in the middle of a workout.

"Ah, Antonio. Guten Abend," he said gently. "You are here to see Gilbert?"

Antonio nodded feebly. He still felt drained of energy, and was unable to muster the words required to speak.

A kind, sympathetic expression appeared on Ludwig's face, unusual for the man, and he stepped back to allow Antonio inside. "Gut. I was hoping you would talk about this to someone soon."

Antonio blinked and looked at him in surprise as he entered the house, careful not to trip over the mat as the lighting was somewhat darker than usual; the hall lights weren't on "What? How do you know?"

"Feliciano, my, er, my boyfriend-" he blushed slightly, the first time Antonio had seen such an expression on him, "-knows about his brother's…shall we say, state of affairs? He told me what happened between the two of you, or what little he knows of it at least. And since I hadn't heard anything from Gilbert, I assumed that you had yet to tell people and so I kept the information to myself."

"Oh." Antonio felt like he was standing on cotton wool, and his head didn't feel all too dissimilar. Ludwig knew about him and Lovino? He'd say it was a small world, but he was sure he'd known that Lovino's and Gilbert's brothers were dating. It felt like a familiar fact, even though he couldn't remember knowing it before now. Perhaps his brain still wasn't fully connected yet. It was all so confusing to his poor, battered mind.

Ludwig seemed to understand and continued patiently without enquiring further, for which Antonio was grateful. "Gilbert's downstairs in his room, waiting for you. Francis is here, too."

Antonio nodded again, thanked him quietly, and crossed the hall to the door under the stairs that led to the basement.

A voice called him back as his hand contacted the latch. "Oh, and Antonio?"

"Yes?"

Ludwig's face was serious, almost severe, his blue eyes cold like ice. "Don't let Lovino break you. You'd be letting him win, and you can't lose your life to someone like that. You'll make it through this, trust me."

Antonio wasn't sure what to say, so he just nodded silently and opened the door to Gilbert's room. It was relatively bright down there, compared to the dark hallway. Ludwig liked to keep the lights off to save energy if he wasn't in the room, whereas Gilbert didn't care about things like that. His and Francis' voices were audible, and as Antonio descended the stairs he could see the back of the pair's heads as they were sat on Gilbert's sofa; Francis' perfect, soft blond waves, and Gilbert's messy silver nest – quite literally in this case. His little yellow bird was nestled and asleep on top of his head.

The basement was basically one giant room, slightly smaller than the area that the house was built on. Gilbert's bed was in the corner, covered in crisp packets and beer cans from where he hadn't been bothered to clean up, which was always. As a result, the predominant smell in the room was beer and deodorant, with a hint of socks, which was why Ludwig always insisted on the room's door being shut. A large plasma-screen TV was hanging off the wall, in front of which stood several gaming systems and a pile of games, most of which were open and showing the wrong discs inside. The TV screen was showing the tail end of a football game, but no one was really paying it any mind; it was more for background noise. Francis especially wasn't into sport.

As both Gilbert and Francis had their backs to him, Antonio realised he had to speak up, and swallowed down the lump in his throat. He'd never found it difficult to speak to his friends before. Nevertheless, he was here now, and he really should talk to them, otherwise the pressure in his bottle of emotions was going to reach breaking point. "Uh, guys?" he said quietly.

The two heads whipped around as though a gun had just gone off. Gilbert grabbed the remote, shut off the TV and vaulted over the sofa to envelope Antonio in a back-slapping hug – a 'bro-hug', as he called it. Antonio leant into it, glad to have some form of contact after four days of isolation, save for work, which didn't count. It wasn't Lovino, and it never would be as good, but it was highly welcome; a pocket of warmth in his flash-frozen life.

"Man," Gilbert breathed, releasing the embrace and holding Antonio at arms length, a concerned expression on his pale face. "We were wondering where you'd gone, as you, like, went out of contact since Sunday or something, and then you turn up here looking like death. I mean…shit, man. What on Earth happened to you?"

Look like death? Antonio didn't look like death, did he? Although…he hadn't been sleeping well at all, he couldn't remember the last time he'd brushed his hair, and the clothes he was wearing were ones he'd picked off the floor. As he glanced down at himself, he saw that they were covered with wrinkles and marks. He hadn't been eating much lately, either – his appetite had almost completely vanished in the last few days, and what he did eat, he could rarely stomach. Perhaps Gilbert did have a point.

Antonio swallowed. He had to be strong. No need to break down. Just tell the guys calmly what had happened, and they'd have some sound advice on what to do. "Y-you were right, you guys. I…I…" All at once, his resolve failed and he dropped heavily to his knees. Wet streaks trailed down his face. "Lovi broke up with me!" he wailed hopelessly, and curled up in a sobbing ball.

He vaguely heard Gilbert exclaim, "oh…shit," but it was hard to tell. There was a strange roaring in his ears.

Suddenly, there were arms around his shoulders. "Oh, cheri. Mon Dieu." Oh. It was Francis, giving him a hug, or as best as he could considering the angles the two were at. It was stupid of Antonio to get his hopes up thinking it was Lovino hugging him. The Frenchman gently stroked his arm, prying his arms from around his knees and pulling him into a soft hug. "Antoine…when did this happen? How long have you been suffering like this?"

Gilbert's voice was also unexpectedly next to him, and there was another disembodied hand touching his shoulder. "Yeah. Fuck, you can't just go hiding this kind of stuff, man."

"Sunday," Antonio spoke from where his head was buried in Francis' neck, but his voice was barely more than a breath. "It was Sunday."

Francis gripped him tighter and rubbed his back soothingly. "Oh, why did you not tell us sooner? Mon cher, we're here for you now, don't worry. You'll be fine; we'll help you get through this."

This didn't make sense. They were right; why weren't they making fun of him? Why were they comforting him? Why weren't they saying 'I told you so'?

It was with a sickening mental thud that Antonio realised that, in having Lovino betray his trust, he'd also simultaneously lost his trust in his dearest friends, and he'd forgotten that, in bad times, all that they'd do was be there and support him. He couldn't take it out on them for what Lovino had done, or suspect them, either. He was such an idiot sometimes. More tears spilled from his eyes and into Francis' shirt collar.

He clenched his eyes tighter as the world began to spin about him. Voices sounded above and around him, but they felt funny, like radio static, and there was no way of telling what was said or even who said it. Antonio's chest tightened and his breathing frequency increased as he tried to get much-needed oxygen to his brain; it just wasn't working anymore. He suddenly felt disorientated as he lost contact with the ground beneath him – the solid, dependable ground – and for a moment panicked, until he realised Gilbert and Francis had just picked him up. One pair of hands under his armpits, one holding his ankles.

"Franny, he's barely responding." Gilbert's voice, sounding sharp and troubled.

"Oui, je sais, je sais. Just get him onto the couch, quickly now." Francis' reply, tense and urgent. Antonio wasn't sure where it was coming from. Somewhere above him. Then he felt soft cushions contacting his skin and realised he was now lying on the sofa. He opened his eyes again and found a blue pair and a red pair both staring down at him in worry.

He sat up gingerly, waiting for the world to begin spinning again, but it never did. Gilbert and Francis moved and sat down, so that they were on each side of him; Gilbert on the right hand side of the sofa, Francis on the left. Francis laid a comforting hand on his leg and rubbed his thumb against it comfortingly.

"You alright now, Toni?" Gilbert asked. "You want the awesome me to get you a beer or something."

Antonio shook his head. Alcohol wouldn't help in times like this, only make things worse, and he wasn't remotely thirsty in any case.

"Gilbert, beer is not a very comforting drink in cases such as this," Francis chided his friend, before continuing to Antonio in a softer tone. "Antoine, can you tell us what happened? Take your time, it's alright."

Antonio bit back another sob. "I…I don't know. Lovi just turned up from nowhere on Sunday afternoon…he said it was over and it was time he moved on. He didn't even tell me why!" His voice broke on the last word and he couldn't help from crying again. Breathing became hard once again as his throat constricted.

"Hey, hey." Francis slipped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him into another hug. "Shh, it's ok. But, and I'm sorry to have to tell you this, Antoine, but it is entirely probable that Lovino didn't have a reason to break up with you, save for continuing his own sick reputation."

Antonio howled as Francis confirmed his worst fears. He'd just been played, taken advantage of, and deliberately broken as if by a malicious child. It was the worst thing he thought that could have happened to their relationship, and he'd never have wanted to get into this kind of situation in the first place. And yet somehow he had; pulled in by Lovino's field of perfection. A horrible notion struck Antonio as he thought this. Gilbert – no, was it Francis? – had said that Lovino had been so often said to be perfect that it was likely he was just faking it. Was it possible that Lovino had been acting the whole time they'd known each other, that Antonio had fallen in love with a completely fake person? Had the entirety of their relationship been a lie?

Francis gently touched him on the shoulder, breaking the spiral of chaotically despairing thoughts and causing Antonio to look up sharply. "Cheri, talk to us. Don't just let things build up in your head if you're worried. We want to help, and we will never judge you for what you think."

"Unless, yanno, it's like racist or shit," Gilbert added unnecessarily. "But don't worry, we know you aren't gonna say stuff like that. Go on."

Antonio was silent for a while, thankful his friends were patient enough to let him find the words for himself. It wasn't as though he was scared of the question, though. No, it was the answer that terrified him. And the worst answer was probably the most likely one. But eventually, he exhaled, and spoke quietly. "Was the whole of our relationship just a lie? You said back when I first moved here that Lovi tended to put on acts so he can be with someone. I should have listened to you guys when you said that."

"What did I tell you, huh?" Gilbert scoffed. "Don't trust that dickhead."

"Gilbert!" Francis snapped back, eyes flashing.

The silver-haired man hung his head. "Sorry. Wasn't thinking. But…I dunno, really. I'd say, at worst, only half of the relationship was a lie. I mean, stuff you said was real, right?"

Antonio nodded cautiously, fearful that words would set him off crying again. After all, Gilbert had pretty much confirmed the worst again. It had all been one sided; his love had never been requited. Doomed forever to love someone who only considered him a toy. And a used, worthless toy at that.

"Gilbert!" Francis snapped again. "That was not tactful in the slightest."

Gilbert rolled his eyes, but it was clear he wasn't really angry, just hopelessly frustrated. "Fine. You want truthful analysis? Well, I knew Lovino – the real Lovino – a bit, so if you like I can tell you how close to that you got. Happy?"

Francis just frowned. "Better than what you were saying a minute ago, but Antoine is probably not going to like-"

"Tell me," Antonio interrupted him, quietly, but firmly. He didn't look either of them in the eye, just stared at the floor like it was trying to hypnotise him with its scuffed wooden-ness. "Tell me. I want to know. I'm just going to wonder otherwise. What was Lovi like?"

Gilbert blew a terse breath through his teeth. "Well…was he irritable?"

Antonio nodded. "But I didn't mind. He was just honest about when things annoyed him, so I didn't have to worry if I was."

Gilbert frowned, his expression for a second a mirror of Francis'. "Ok. Was he always swearing, or was it just occasional and he apologised after? Oh, and I'll stick insulting in with that category too."

Antonio thought to himself for a moment before answering. "At first it wasn't very often and he always said sorry, but later he just tended to do it. Insults too, but he never really meant them in a bad way."

This one caused Gilbert to raise his eyebrows. "Right…Then, was he charming? Yanno, nice and polite and complimentary and that."

"A bit, yes. Well, polite a lot at first, but not so much complimentary."

Gilbert was chewing on his lip now, his expression thoughtful. "Right. Ok. That wasn't quite the set of answers that I was expecting. Weird." He noticed Antonio's quizzical expression and elaborated. "Well, I was expecting 'No', 'No', 'Yes', as your answers to the questions I just gave you, and instead I got 'Yes', 'Increasingly yes', and 'A bit'. And, to add to that, he seemed pretty genuine that one time at Arthur's place when he ran into us. Which, based on a few key attributes, makes me think – but don't quote me on this – that you got the real thing. Most of the time at least. Which makes no fucking sense if you ask me. He's a rather dislikable character; why'd he want to chat someone up like that?" Antonio privately disagreed with this last sentence, and was trying to stop himself from feeling happier at Gilbert's deduction. Whether Lovino had been himself or not was irrelevant to his current situation. Well, it should be, but his heart felt like it wasn't.

"What I think is most likely," Francis said, "is that Lovino's real personality, with a few kinks ironed out, fits quite well into what you'd like, so he just used that to his advantage. It's probably what kept you together for a while. There is an alternative explanation which means he actually did like you and was comfortable with himself around you, but it's not likely at all, and you can't think that anyway, as it'll just hurt."

Gilbert stroked an invisible beard. "Man, are we getting philosophical up in here. I'm gonna get myself a thinking beer. Hey, that rhymes! Kesese!"

"It's what happens if you try analyse something," Francis sighed, as Gilbert stood up and wandered over to the fridge in the corner, which was mostly full of beers. "I mean the philosophy, not the thinking beers. Or the rhyming. It's interesting to think about, but it's never going to solve any of our problems. Unfortunate, I know. Yet that is life."

Gilbert plonked himself back down on the sofa and cracked open the can with a loud snap, before taking a hearty mouthful of its contents. "Hmm. Life sucks, huh?"

"Not all of life," Francis disagreed. "But that isn't really the point. We aren't here to discuss the properties of life and what it does for us. We're here for Antoine." He turned his head and looked carefully at Antonio. "Are you feeling any better?"

"Not really," Antonio admitted. "It just hurts so much. I don't think it's going to just go away just like that." He sighed and returned his gaze to the floor, as if it would hold some answers for him. "If it ever does at all. I'll never be able to forget him, that's for certain. There's not going to be anyone who comes close to replacing what he gave to my life, ever. I guess a part of me is always going to miss him, however fake or real our relationship was. But it's now just going to be a memory, a dark, bittersweet memory that's going to hurt just to think of."

Francis and Gilbert exchanged worried glances. "C'mon, Toni," Gilbert said uncertainly. "It'll be alright, you'll see."

"Maybe," Antonio answered reluctantly. "But I doubt it." He straightened up from his floor-examining position and fell back against the sofa cushions, closing his eyes for a second. "Hey, guys? Can we just chill for now? You know, so I can get it off my mind for a bit."

Francis smiled. "That sounds like an excellent idea, cheri. Distraction therapy can often be more than helpful. What do you want to do?"

Antonio shrugged. "Don't mind. Whatever you guys like."

"Drink a fuckton of beers and piss West off?" Gilbert suggested, grinning and slugging another large mouthful of his beverage.

All three of them laughed at this, even if Antonio's laugh was a little quiet and hesitant. It felt good to laugh, though, Antonio thought to himself. He hadn't been happy since Lovino broke up with him, but this was the first time where he'd actually thought he had a chance of making it through this without losing his mind.

"Gilbert, all three of us have work tomorrow," Francis smiled. "I don't know about you – well, actually, I do – but Antoine and I are responsible adults who don't show up to work drunk or hung over."

"You're a spoilsport, Franny," Gilbert grinned and aimed a mock-slap at Francis' head. "Fine. Drink a little and play cards?"

Francis raised his eyebrows suggestively. "Ooh. Strip poker? Count me in! Ohonhonhon."

Gilbert's hand met his foreheard with a loud slap, but his grin was still visible behind his hand. "Normal poker, Franny! Or Cheat. Cheat is frickin' awesome. Or Ring of Fire, but you guys don't wanna get drunk."

As the other two good-naturedly debated, Antonio smiled to himself. It was a small smile, but the point was that it was there. But while his friends were always going to be there for him, he still had a long way to go before he was anywhere close to being over this.

Woot! Didn't intend uploading this for a while yet, but I've been on a writing kick. Got another story (well, two) in the works, but I don't tend to publish till I've got an entire storyline, so I don't shelve half-done fics. I seem to have far too much time for writing considering my professors are trying to pile on the work. Yay!

Gilbert's 'thinking beers' remind me of that Family Guy episode where Peter goes "Carter! Hand me my thinking grenades!" and proceeds to think while chucking live grenades out the window.

What does Lovino think? You'll have to wait and see.

Thanks to followers, fav-ers, reviewers, awesome as you are! If I still have as much time as I do now, I was thinking of doing a request one-shot for review 50 (if I get that many).