A/N: I like this one a lot. I don't really know why, but I do. I just had fun writing it. Thanks for the reviews, once again! I always feel awkward thanking you guys because I feel like I'm not expressing how much I appreciate your reviews and such. But I honestly do love the reviews I get. They always make me so happy.

Please, read and enjoy, and if you have any constructive criticism feel free to let me know.

Disclaimer: Hetalia and all characters are not mine.

Pairings: Spain/S. Italy, possible other pairings will be briefly mentioned.

Warnings: Language, violence, abuse, manipulation

Chapter Warning: Language


And the Birds Sing No More
XI. Chapter 10

Mornings with Antonio smelled like pancakes, or sometimes fried eggs or waffles or even nothing because they were just going to have cereal, and sounded like the glass sound of plates on plates and rain playing a melody on the roof. His fingers stretched across the bed, bending over the ninety-degree angles where the edges of the bed were, his body spread like a starfish across the mattress so it took up nearly the whole space. The shades were drawn and Lovino could only tell because the back of his closed eyelids were blood-vessel red; a soaked-up pool of his own saliva was cool and wet on the corner of his mouth. In the kitchen a metal pan made oily sizzling sounds.

Lovino bent and extended his middle finger, moving it as if petting the sheets, stroking the place where Antonio had once been. And even though the other man was only in the other room he felt vacant; an empty hotel room, a table for one in an old café, garnished with a glass vase holding a single, half-wilted brown and yellow daisy. He stretched; extending the muscles in his back in an arch and a sharp sigh through his nose, clenching his eyes shut and made a groaning sound in the back of his throat like pebbles rubbing together in a bag. Metal and oil stopped hissing like angry snakes and Lovino assumed that whatever Antonio was cooking had finished. It smelled greasy but pleasing, like overly-fried pancakes.

His feet were cold outside the blankets, the digits even colder on the floor of the kitchen as it transitioned from wood to linoleum. Squinting his eyes against the new light, he stepped into the kitchen, his hand slipping beneath the collar of his shirt to scratch sleepily behind his shoulder. Still drowsy, he yawned, "Mornin', Tonio." to the man setting a small, white plate carrying a mountain of little pancakes onto the table. Maybe he shouldn't be an artist, Lovino thought dimly, blinking slowly. He should have been a chef since he cooks so often.

Antonio made his way back across the room, sliding his black-socked feet across the floor, to retrieve syrup and butter from the fridge. It felt a little bit like they were playing house; Antonio was simultaneously the vigilant home-making wife and the overworked, underpaid husband. Lovino was sort of stuck being the child, spoiled rotten and mostly useless. The world was their Barbie-brand playhouse with rules he had trouble learning.

"Eh…do you need help?" he asked awkwardly. Antonio paused, butter dish in one hand and bottle of syrup in the other, and squished up his face in almost mock consideration, little creases forming above his small nose. His face suddenly relaxed and in a playful voice, chirped,

"Nope!" With a whimsical hop, he landed on the ball of his right foot and spun around on the tiles. The bottle of syrup and butter were set on the table. "No, wait, I lied," he chimed, holding up a finger as if to symbolize the idea that had sprung into his head. "Yes, you can help. We need juice. Juice is what we need in this time of breakfast." He spun around to face Lovino, his features bright and bubbly, painfully cute.

"You're excited," Lovino observed casually as he pulled out a half-empty carton of orange juice. He removed two juice glasses from the cupboard next to the fridge. When Antonio simply gave an uninformative mhm, Lovino continued, "Any particular reason why?" He poured them juice and felt less useless.

His eyes large and his elbow leaning on the island, he didn't answer immediately; he just looked onward, as if he was able to see through Lovino's skull and the walls behind him into somewhere much more attractive and far away. He blinked suddenly and said, "I was thinking we could go out again today." Lovino's insides leaped. "It's been a little while and provisions are getting kind of low so, hey, what the hell." He shrugged and smiled, his face looking soft.

Both glasses in hand, Lovino traveled over to the table, setting their juices down at their places. "Well, that's cool," he replied and took his seat, twisting back to watch Antonio turn to face him. "I haven't been out in a while." Since he was held at gunpoint. But that felt so long before, like maybe it had happened several years ago, or even never happened at all and was something he dreamed. The older man nodded and joined him at the table, seeming agitated and excited in his seat, writhing around like there was something uncomfortable in the seat of his pants. He cracked the four knuckles on each hand with his thumbs, making popping noises amongst their sounds of silverware.

Lovino had cut a little triangle out of the edge of his circular pancake, the shape now reminding him of the anthropomorphic sphere Pac Man, when Antonio leaned his cheek on the palm of his hand, resting his arm on the table, and grinned back at Lovino with half-lidded eyes. A small hmph sound escaped from the inside of his throat; it was almost a chuckle. Lovino asked what, feeling self-conscious and offended.

"Last night," Antonio responded. Lovino unexpectedly felt awkward, afraid he'd somehow performed some sort of sexual act on Antonio in the middle of the night while completely unconscious and was going to have to come to terms with it right then and there. But Antonio continued, saying, "You must of been having a dream or something. You kept making these little noises."

Relieved, and now curious, the shorter of the two men asked, "Uh…I was?"

Antonio nodded in a short and quick movement. "Yeah. Like a puppy, you know? They make all those noises when they have nightmares and stuff. You were sort of doing the same thing; whimpering and stuff. It was, ah…" He sat up and shrugged again. "…Kinda cute, ya know? I know I probably should of woke you up or something but you were kinda too fun to…make you stop." He giggled nervously, perhaps even a little embarrassed.

Interested, Lovino inquired, "Wait, so you didn't sleep well, then?" Antonio looked confused, his dark eyebrows furrowed and his head tilting to the side inquisitively. Lovino rolled his eyes and popped some of his breakfast into his mouth and chewed through his words. "If you were up for that then you must not have slept too well." To that, Antonio looked off to the side as if considering.

"Well," he began slowly. "…I don't sleep too well, anyway." After a quick swig of juice, Lovino asked, Why's that? The idea that there was a quirk or trait, no matter how mundane or insignificant, about this person that he didn't know about irked him, tugged on the place where his stomach was like a fishing hook had been attached to the organ and jerked. It felt somewhat like envy, although there was no one to be envious of. "I stay up a lot," Antonio continued. "Sometimes I'm drawing…but a lot of the time I'm just listening to you."

There was weighted tension on Lovino's end and he didn't know if Antonio could feel it. It was often hard to tell what subtle things Antonio could and could not feel; if his emotions weren't coming in outbursts as obvious and painful as balls of flame, they were hidden beneath his skin like minuscule insects and paper-thin secrets. He was an enigma; the epitome of human weirdness wrapped in skin and muscles and told to walk among the living in search of eternal companionship. Antonio was just freaking odd.

"What the fuck are you listening for?" Lovino sneered aloud, hoping his words didn't come off as condescending, even though they felt that way as they came off his tongue. "…And what do you hear?"

Tearing off a piece of pancake and popping it into his mouth, Antonio explained, "Not anything different from what you'd expect; just you breathing and turning over and stuff." His face suddenly became serious, the familiar expression in which he lost color surfacing behind his face. "Sometimes you have dreams though. You get really scared. And you call for help sometimes…I don't like it."

It made sense that Antonio wouldn't like it, Lovino knew. When the nightmares used to be frequent, even ones he couldn't quite remember that jerked him to life in the middle of the night with sweat in the corners and creases of his body and adrenaline pumping through him like air circulating through a vent, he would often call for help to people who couldn't hear him. To Lovino, this made sense; in the beginning, he'd been kidnapped, held hostage in a place he wasn't familiar with, so dreaming of trying to find a way out was more than sensible. But to Antonio, this was infidelity, as unforgivable as an unfaithful spouse and as horrific as sin. The way his mind worked was nearly unfathomable; every time Lovino thought he had figured out the way some of the gears were turning, they'd switch directions and lose a few parts so he'd be completely lost again. He had figured, at least he thought he did, that Antonio probably felt that way, angry and afraid at Lovino's various innocuous behaviors, because he was caring, but not emphatic. With all of him, Lovino could tell, Antonio wanted to be the person that Lovino could trust, but he simply lacked normal human sympathy, which is why he could beat Lovino into a bloody mess and clean him up within the same couple of hours.

Trying to coax the color back into Antonio, to bring the sun away from the clouds of rain, he said, "Well, I haven't been having so many damn nightmares lately…In fact, I hardly dream at all."

Antonio stayed grey-blue for a moment, just thinking to himself. One day, Lovino mused to himself, he might just never come out of that. He'll just sit there like stone, up inside his own brain, until the rest of him decays and becomes nothing. The idea made him despondent.

But the colors came back quickly, returning as if someone had placed a flashlight beneath Antonio's skin. He nodded and tore at his breakfast. "Yeah," he agreed, smiling. "You haven't." He said it as if it was some kind of praise. Through a cheek-full of pancake, he added, "…But whatever you were thinking about last night was okay. I wish you could have seen yourself, it was just so cute."

Happiness found its way into his lips and cheeks, and try as he might he couldn't suppress the tiny grin accompanied with a forced scowl, a little embarrassed when Antonio laughed openly at his expression. It felt selfish to be taking pride in Antonio's compliments and it felt dirty and unnecessary to take any pleasure from him at all. In reality, in retrospect, the younger man was not worth anything at all. But they smirked awkwardly at each other across the table and playfully kicked at each others' feet. And Antonio grabbed Lovino's hand, saying, I just want to hold it for a second and Lovino couldn't help but think, Yes. He is worth it. He's worth everything he gets. Something told him that there was something horribly wrong with that.

They each dressed themselves, Lovino going into his bedroom to change this time around, the little bit of solitude pleasant. He realized that that was something he didn't know he had been taking for granted before he'd begun living with Antonio; privacy and seclusion had become as rare as diamonds in dirt and even several minutes alone was a gift. For a few minutes he stood in front of the window, face to the sun and fingers on the nails in the wood, breathing deeply while he could as if he might leave and soon suffocate. Everywhere else was a plastic bag; ready to be tied shut and asphyxiate him.

They locked the house, Lovino wearing Antonio's long, black coat (the fact that it went down past his knees made him feel shifty; as if he'd stolen something and wasn't even aware of it) and Antonio wearing a black leather jacket. It made him look handsome and young. Snow crunched beneath their feet, coming up past their ankles and wetting the bottoms of their pants. The sun was bright on the hard, crunching snow, but the temperature was probably no higher than thirty degrees. It was sunny without a purpose and Lovino found that sort of fraud extremely frustrating.

The main streets had been plowed, which was nothing short of a miracle; if they hadn't been, Antonio's little sedan wouldn't have made it two feet down the road. The thing was about to give anyway, so anymore stress might just have resulted in the machine giving up and exploding. Inside, the heat didn't seem to want to turn on so the two of them shivered, teeth making clicking noises as they chattered, for the first six to eight minutes as they drove into town. Houses already had Christmas decorations up; roofs were garnished with 2-D cutouts of Santa Claus and his reindeer, gaudy lights and wreaths, and oversized, inflatable snowmen that waved to children with enormous, gloved hands. Lovino briefly wondered why Antonio had never mentioned decorated the exterior of the house, but then he realized it would have been pointless; it wasn't like anyone was stopping to carol there.

Smith's was open, but nearly deserted; a handful of snowy cars (and those most likely belonged to employees) were scattered around the parking lot. They parked up front so when they were pushing a metal cart out of the store they could rush there as fast as they could, defeating frostbite and red, runny noses before they could strike.

If Antonio had brought anything to serve as a reminder of his dominance, he didn't tell Lovino about it and he kept it hidden. And Lovino wasn't about to test the tether tying Antonio to his patience; he kept within a couple of steps distance of the other man, feeling like he was on a leash. It actually may have been easier if he was; at least at that point he'd know the extent of the distances he was allowed to travel without endangering himself. They grabbed a cart and Lovino held onto the side while Antonio leaned onto the handle and pushed.

One of the things Lovino feared was seeing the couple that he'd run into before. They'd have some sort of abstract, mental connection and somehow Antonio would sense it and all hell would break loose. The less attention that was brought to them, the better. Even though it had been several days, maybe even closer to a week at that point, since Antonio had felt the need to take out his frustration on Lovino, the threat was imminent, ever-present like a disease that might spread if Antonio were to cough or sneeze or bleed. It would infect them both and they'd both die.

"Okay, so I came to the conclusion while you were asleep this morning that we're pretty much out of breakfast food," Antonio noted in a vaguely chipper voice. His train of thought skipping like a stone over water, he added jokingly, "Speaking of which, you really sleep a lot! And you started rolling around all over the place. I was tempted to just push you off!" Lovino snarled at the comment, feeling stiff and apprehensive, no longer excited about being out of the house. He just felt unsafe now, on a tight rope without a net beneath him. Antonio didn't seem notice; he just slowly pushed their cart, looking airy and post-adolescent.

"We should just hurry the fuck up and go," Lovino urged in a voice he knew sounded panicked. His knuckles had become pale around the side of the cart. He could almost hear Antonio roll his eyes. The older man poked him in the back with a long finger and he yelped like a scared dog, positive he was going to be shot.

Antonio snickered. "You're weird," he said flatly, turning the cart down a random aisle. "Come on, we'll hurry up and go. Just for you," he teased, sticking his tongue out cutely. Lovino sighed and prayed for the rest of their day to be easy. Check out was virtually empty, a bored-looking girl in her late teens with smudging eye makeup flipped through a magazine in the only open lane. They unpacked their items onto the counter as she rolled her eyes at them, openly irritated because they'd forced her to do her job. Lovino maneuvered over to the opposite side of the cart, the side closest to the electronic doors and large windows. While the girl smacked gum with aggravating wet noises, he leaned against the end of the counter, staring at the various posters taped up onto the window. Most of them were for people looking to sell their used car or from a local restaurant looking for a new waiter or waitress to take the late shift on Saturdays. There were a few other miscellaneous ones but Lovino didn't bother to read them.

He froze. A ball of panic materialized in the center of his being, forming like a rock in his gut. From where he was standing he could see a black and white piece of paper, conspicuous on top of two light blue papers. He recognized the picture, knew it because he'd seen it. Knew it because he was in it.

It was a picture of him, cropped out with Photoshop from an old picture of him and his brother and some of his friends. In bolded, black letters beneath the picture was the word Missing. A date. The color of his hair and his eyes. His name.

Someone had been there looking for him, which means someone had known that he was close by. And that meant at some point, one of those nameless faces would remember seeing him and Antonio together and fingers would start to point. Lovino suddenly remembered the couple he'd talked to and wished he could go back and erase it. As the machine behind him beeped over bar codes he wanted to rip the poster down, tear it into a million pieces and bury it in the snow so Antonio might not see it. It felt painfully conspicuous, like all Antonio would have to do is turn his head and he'd see it and he'd scream at Lovino, WHO DID YOU TALK TO?! WHY ARE THEY LOOKING FOR YOU?!

The last of the items beeped and the girls punched in a couple numbers on the electronic pad.

"Your total is 84.75," she droned. Antonio pulled out his wallet and paid and Lovino wanted to find some way to distract him. They packed their bags (paper, not plastic- Antonio wanted to be eco-friendly) into the cart and as soon as Antonio started pushing it forward Lovino thought, This is it, it's all over. I'm fucking dead; he's going to fucking kill me. They were within a foot of the sign and the picture of Lovino grimaced at the both of them with agonizing obviousness, a beam of lighting seeming to shine from above somewhere and illuminate the paper simply out of spite.

But Antonio didn't see anything. He just pushed the cart while Lovino walked beside him, looking bothered and bored and rock-star handsome. Shivering in the early winter weather, Antonio asked,

"Why so stiff, Lovi?"

He glanced back at the window. All he could see was a mess of the backs of papers held on the glass by aged pieces of looped-around tape. "It's nothing," he lied. They packed up their groceries and went home.

Lovino clenched his bare toes on the wooden floor. The knowledge of the poster, and ultimately what its existence would lead to, stood like an upright knife on the tip of his tongue. Antonio's eyes were half-lidded with sleepiness, a raggedy sweatshirt hugging his body in place of nighttime wear, as he sat soundlessly, radiating warmth beside Lovino on the couch. He seemed serene, peaceful and content enough, but Lovino feared breaking the softness like a pebble dropped into a pool of water; the ripple would pulse outward and cause something painful and frightening for the both of them.

Antonio bent his fingers back, cracking the knuckles with a tired look on his face. He said suddenly, "Penny for your thoughts." Lovino asked what he meant, knowing very well, and looked up at him. Antonio continued, "You're acting like you're upset or something. I can feel it."

Hopelessness welled up inside him like water, pouring into him from a hose attached to the inside of his stomach. He said he didn't know but Antonio gave an irritated sigh through his nose and that was a signal that the older of the two was becoming edgy. Time to get down to business, Lovino. Stop being a pussy. No more fooling around. Speak.

He debated about whether he should try and come up with a lie or create a new truth out of bits and pieces of reality that he could scissor apart and paste together in a different order. But Antonio had eyes that could see through walls and skulls, and eardrums that could hear through ribcages.

Feeling weak and his voice pained, he asked, "...Antonio...What if someone finds me?" It was almost not a question; a declarative statement of human nervousness and tension. Beside him, Antonio stiffened a little, but his exterior was still soft. It was as if his middle had solidified but his outside had remained relaxed and comfortable.

"Well," he began, and the word wanted to come out smooth and almost rounded, but instead it came out sharp and a bit heavy, as if it had let his mouth a square instead of a circle. His head tilting to the slide slightly, he contemplated aloud, "...I'm not sure. But when that time comes, we'll do what we have to do. Whatever that may be." He said the last sentence as if he did know but didn't want to say. Lovino was tempted to ask what he meant, but grasped the words with a fishhook and tugged them back into the pit of his stomach where they belonged.

He leaned his head on Antonio's shoulder, the body part feeling somehow familiar and comfortable. In response, Antonio leaned his head on Lovino's, squirming to get his arm behind the other man's body. "Don't worry," he consoled, his fingers stroking the side of Lovino's arm. "...The two of us, we'll be fine. We'll do what we have to do. They can't take you if you don't want to leave."

And Lovino found that he didn't.

They curled up in Antonio's bed that night and Lovino found that it wasn't as awkward as it had been the night before. It was as if someone had taken an eraser and swiped away the nervousness that had been as thick as crayon around the inside of his body. In the beginning, they faced each other, Antonio's strands of hair spread on the mattress around his head like octopus tentacles. Lovino leaned his head forward, his forehead against Antonio's, and the other man didn't react to the movement.

"G'night, Tonio," Lovino said, using the playful nickname he'd picked up since he'd begun living there. Antonio sort of just squirmed to show acknowledgment. He acted like he didn't want to speak to Lovino. Is he being sulky? Lovino thought bitterly to himself. It's not my fault someone is looking for me. Someone actually cares about me.

Antonio sniffled, his nasal passages sounding clogged, and momentarily Lovino thought the other man was crying. He asked if Antonio was okay and Antonio said, yeah, he was fine. His voice was smooth but sad. Turning over and bundling himself in sheets, Lovino felt painfully rejected. They laid in silence for about five minutes, crickets and insects chirping to each other outside Antonio's window. The blinds were still drawn, new moonlight coming in through the window. He wanted to be a little girl and ask, Are you mad at me? like they would do back in grade school, but if Antonio was already upset it was a good idea not to antagonize him.

It occurred to him how stupid he must have sounded, how desperate. He imagined what the people he knew would say and think if they could see what he was doing, how he was living, and even what he was thinking. Desperation. Painfulness. Out of fear he latched onto Antonio, clinging to him like an animal, and instead of running when he had the chance he stayed. Never called for help. Huddling over, he tried to block the burning humiliation but it rose up behind his eyes and heated the inside of his head like hot water.

One day he'd probably tell someone, just one person, maybe his mom or brother, about how he'd slept in the same bed as Antonio, how they'd sat next to each other on the couch with their heads touching. He'd keep the secret about how they kissed, how he'd wanted to be kissed, to himself; he'd wrap it in tin foil and put it in a jar inside him where no one could coax it out. Because that was something he wasn't just embarrassed by, but something that felt strangely and painfully special; a unique moment, a split second of intimacy. He found himself wondering if Antonio also held their little moments close or if he just expected them, taking them as they came and then tossing them away like gum wrappers.

If he did, Lovino concluded, he didn't want to know about it. The knowledge might just break down whatever was left of the platform holding up his sanity. On the other side of the bed, Antonio turned over and Lovino wanted to turn towards him and pull them together, fighting through the potential embarrassment like he was running uphill and just giving in to the fact that he needed companionship. Maybe he needed it even more than Antonio did. Antonio could always get himself a new companion if he needed to. He was good at that.

He flipped himself over and looked at Antonio's back in the silver light. Black and grey silhouettes of trees swayed in the light winter wind outside the window. Lovino's fingers crept across the bed like a spider towards Antonio's back, wanting to lift up and feel the contours of his shoulder blades, the hills and valleys of his spinal column. He wanted to touch Antonio's hair, but he didn't. He kept his hands to himself, resting his fingers about half an inch away from the skin he wanted to touch out of curiosity and loneliness.

With a sigh, a release of air that held discomfort and pain, he retracted his hand and held it against his chest as if it might leap away and do things he earlier decided against. He closed his eyes. Clenching them shut, he forced out the words in his throat as if they were blocking his airway. "I love you."

And out of the darkness and silence came in an awake and waiting voice, "I love you too, Lovino."