Decision of the Loved.

Changed up the order of events in this chapter, which may or may not back-fire completely but we'll see!

The Gay Brother

Soft Night and Mother's Care

They didn't detour through town to drop Carlino off at their grandparents' house, Chiara drove them straight back to the villa instead. It was a silent ride only broken by one soft exchange in the backseat:

"Carlo-"

"Don't."

Carlino and Feliciano were on the same page as far as their older brother went. The mystery was Lovino's wife, because as Chiara pulled her sister's car around into its usual spot on the side of the gravel courtyard and cranked on the parking brake, she kept her words as sharp and to the point as possible.

"You two get out." And before there could be any confusion about which two she meant: "My husband and I need to talk."

"Yes, Chichi."

The wheeze of seatbelts rolling back up and then the hollow thunk of the car doors swinging open and banging shut again behind them. Feliciano didn't look back to try and see his older brother's face, just avoided walking too fast while the younger one caught up with him across the gravel and the headlights from the car guided them back to the house. He didn't say anything as Carlino came up next to him, the two of them just walked and tried not to listen for whatever voices might follow them from the car.

"Can we talk?" His little brother broke the almost silence of crunching footsteps. Feliciano paused with a hand reaching for the doorknob and then gave his answer.

"I think we have to, yeah." Finally talk and sort it out; the confession he'd choked on at the dock yesterday.

"Oh my god!" But as soon as Feliciano opened the door that hope was smashed a second time by electric lights and fast words washing over him. He barely caught Alice when she rushed him at the door and flung her arms around his neck too fast to process, his arms locking around her back just to keep them both steady as she held him tight in turn. "You're back! Are you okay? What happened?"

She planted a kiss on his cheek and Feliciano startled himself when he habitually turned his head and returned the gesture, his lips finding the corner of her jaw with his eyes closed against the sudden light. Before he could get a grip on it she was out of his arms as fast as she'd come and spared him the added stress of… whatever all of this was.

"They dragged you into this too, didn't they?" Carlino didn't say anything, he was smothered in another hug with his face pushed down to Alice's shoulder and his arms hugging back to show he didn't mind at all. One of them managed to pull the door closed, and then Alice was running her hands back through his baby brother's hair and touching his face as she cooed at him softly.

"I'm okay-"

"You're not. I'm not so you're not! Don't lie to me!" It… almost made Feliciano smile watching her kiss him on the forehead and Carlino start to squirm as the coddling got under his skin. His little brother gave him a sideways look that quietly begged for help, but his voice was gone again for now and Feliciano just gave a little shrug, stepping closer with a hand on Alice's shoulder to try and ease them apart.

He was exhausted, it finally clicked. He'd been up since that failed attempt to phone Ludwig that morning, been to Rieti and seen the daisies again, and then everything in town and up at the church… He was absolutely drained and had nothing at all worth saying when Alice stood there between the two of them looking sorry and concerned.

"I don't know how to make it better." She admitted, and his smile clung to the corners of his mouth as he shook his head slowly.

"There's nothing left to do. They're in the car: they're talking."

"If he thinks he can simply apologize for tonight and be done with it then he's wrong!"

"She's the one who wants to talk." Feliciano was half-way through his statement before he realized Alice's mouth hadn't moved. His eyes lagged dangerously behind his head as he turned around looking for the other speaker, landing on Chiara's mother just before he forgot to cower and feel bad for standing in her house again. He was honestly too tired to care about offending her tonight…

Donna Valenti was dressed again, no more bathrobe and curlers: a wrinkled blue skirt that went down to her ankles, a black shirt with long sleeves not suited for Italian summer heat. She'd dressed quickly and without caring and Feliciano wasn't sure why: shouldn't they have gone off to bed? How long had they even been away at the church? What time was it?

Before he asked any questions, Lovino's mother-in-law approached him and reached up with both hands, beckoning him to lean down a little with a scowl bolted to her face. For some reason he obliged her, and his reward was a surprisingly gentle touch that only hurt when her thumb pressed down on the side of his chin.

"It's already bruising…" she muttered, quickly taking her hands away and snapping her fingers as she turned and pointed them back towards the kitchen. "Go wash your face; you look like you've been rolling in mud."

"Mama." If Feliciano heard one more argument tonight he was going to go sleep in his car, closing his eyes against the stress and heat in Alice's voice as she hissed at her mother.

"He can sit and eat in dirty clothes but I draw the line at blood, Alice! Go fetch another plate for this one." But he looked again just in time to see the words 'this one' come with a gesture towards Carlino's dumbstruck face. When the old woman caught him still standing there numb and exhausted, Feliciano was burnt with a proper glare this time and a threatening voice: "I said go wash your face."

It got him moving, too many memories of pinched ears and sore cheeks telling him to get a move on as Alice went ahead first to do as she was told. The kitchen sink was good enough for him, more light blinding him after the dark church and car before a forgotten sense of his woke up: smell.

The kitchen was clean, no wine or glass spilled anywhere to haunt them again tonight. There was a pot in the sink with the sweet starchy residue of fresh pasta stuck to the steel sides, the aroma of roasted tomatoes stewed in fresh spices and herbs telling him through the haze that he was hungry. He hadn't felt hungry in hours, but as he ran cold water over his hands and finally dealt with whatever was on his face that kept turning heads around him, hunger became the answer for every ache and pain.

His mind turned cynical when he was tired, Feliciano half expected to reach the dining room and be handed a plate so he could go eat in his room away from everyone else, but Alice's mother was there to huff and hound him from chair to chair until he was planted down in the one Lovino had sat in the night he'd first arrived. When he lingered staring at the mixed pot of pasta and sauce for too long, his hostess gave another angry huff and swiped his plate out from in front of him.

"Ah, that's too-" He expected violence when she started piling up thick slices of sausage and fresh cheese under mounts of steaming pasta, but the heaping plate was put back in front of him without a sound. What was violent was the look that said if he didn't start putting food in his mouth immediately she would do that for him too.

"Eat." And then there was bread, not completely fresh, but fresh enough that Feliciano obediently took a roll off the plate before passing it quickly to Carlino who was sitting next to him trying to remember how to use a fork. "What will I tell your grandmother-" Meanwhile, Alice's mother was attacking her own food without actually eating any of it. She refused to look at him once the rest of them started; in fact she simply stopped looking up at all. "-if you haven't had one decent meal all week?"

They were heavy words that suited him just fine for once. Eating was a mechanical process, catching chunks of tomato and spiced meat on the prongs of his fork while twirling noodles and lifting them to his mouth. He tasted enough to know he should slow down and enjoy it, but couldn't shake off the feeling that everything would get better once he was full. Maybe it would stop the ringing in his ears, or calm the shaking in his hands when he almost dropped his fork and could feel his heart slamming his ribs.

"Feli?" The stress was getting to him. Understandable, really, his entire week had been hell. Alice's hand on his arm when he stopped eating and rested his forehead down on his wrists, elbows propped on the table, didn't help.

"Wine, Alice." Her hand left him and her chair moved back, her mother's command simple this time instead of biting.

"Something cheap." He got the words out just to cover the sound of Mrs. Valenti asking Feliciano's brother what exactly had happened at the church. Carlino's answer took a long time, long enough that Alice touched his shoulder and let it run down his back trying to make him sit up and take the glass of red wine she brought back for him.

"He said something terrible to our uncles," He prayed to God the wine was cheap because he didn't taste it: he just knocked it back in three long gulps. "-to make them stop."

"Stop them from doing what?" He didn't want Alice rubbing his back, he didn't want anyone to touch him be it his brother or his ex or his hostess he just- he wanted whatever would make it stop. More wine or some cigarettes, a cold shower and a deep sleep: anything to cancel out the buzz building between his ears or the stress of too many different triggers all firing into him at once.

Ludwig, the family, Lovino, their father, Alice, her mother, his grandmother, their grandfather, Carlino, their uncles, tomorrow, the day after, the train ride home, the bank statement at the end of the month, the first 'talk' about everything Feliciano didn't want to talk about.

The way he'd punched Gilbert, the mess he'd made in their house, the time he'd taken off work, all of it: none of it. No more, he couldn't handle it.

"If you hate Lovino after tonight, then that's okay." But somehow he spoke, head down again and hands up gripping his hair where he was staring down at his half-eaten plate letting the world spin too fast around his exhausted self. "But you don't throw away family, not for any reason: good or bad."

"We only get to be Vargases if we behave well." And hearing his little brother speak like that almost brought Feliciano to tears, but he was too tired for it. "Otherwise we just get told to leave."

"What…?" Another chair moved back and this time Mrs. Valenti was the one who rose. Feliciano's wine-glass vanished from the corner of his plate as Alice sank back down and kept pawing at him, trying to make him sit up. "No- they wouldn't! Not right in front of you!"

"They were yelling at Chichi when he-"

"Enough talk." Feliciano wanted to say it, but it was Mrs. Valenti instead. She marched back into the room with heavy steps on the wooden floors, and there was a swatting sound that made Alice finally let go of his shoulder and arm. The space he gained when she sat back in her chair was a relief, and so was looking up to two bottles of wine and three more glasses in her mother's wrinkled hands. "Eat."

"But Mama-"

"And drink." Feliciano was handed another serving of wine, the deep body of the glass swollen with red that reached all the way to the top this time. He obediently drank down half of it before spearing several pieces of pasta with his fork to cover the sour burn in his throat from gulping something that was meant to be sipped. The alcohol hissed in his stomach until he smothered it with more food, half-aware of Carlino balking at how much she poured into a glass for him too.

"I know that wine! We can't just-"

"This is a wine family, Carlino, you're going to drink and then you're going to sleep." Wine was not whiskey or scotch, it didn't have the same punch as vodka, rum or any of the liquors. It took more than a glass of wine or a single beer to silence angry feelings and plunge someone into a deep sleep, and it needed heavy food to make sure the whole body wound down under the stress instead of flaring up with every dose of liquid passion.

More scolding finally stopped the arguments, words Feliciano wasn't listening to as his wine and plate were both refilled for him even when he knew he was full and falling asleep. Alice looked like she was about to cry from things left unsaid, but Feliciano gestured with his fork for her to just drink and be done with it tonight. When Carlino started hammering his plate with the back of his fork, knuckles white around the stem of his glass, Feliciano spared his hostess the chore of arguing with him and forced another heap of thick pasta onto his brother's plate.

If they were thinking too much, then drink. If they were feeling too much, then eat.

And don't speak. He'd fallen back into the rhythm of refusing to talk about what was wrong, because in a group it made sense to let the issues lie. They would only get angry, they'd only start yelling and saying things they didn't mean or weren't allowed to let out. It would tear a rift through them between sisters and brothers, turn the younger generation against two old uncles, and shatter the semblance of peace that they all found sitting at the same table eating and drinking in heavy silence waiting for the front door to open.

But the front door didn't open. Chiara and Lovino did not come inside the whole time their family was kept waiting, even when the second bottle was emptied between four overflowing glasses and Alice dropped her plate on the floor when she stood too fast trying to clean up. It didn't break so they just left it there, understanding how dangerous it was with an angry head full of wine to bend or crouch down looking for something.

"Sun room?" The lights were too bright when they all stood up, Carlino's question confusing him before Feliciano lifted his own hand and spoke:

"Guest room." He was asking where to go so he could sleep, so of course the answer was upstairs. They didn't even say good night to each other; Carlino was nudged to start walking by Mrs. Valenti's hands, and Feliciano felt a demanding touch around his wrist as Alice pulled him down towards the back end of the house, looking for the sun room.

They forgot to turn off the lights in the rest of the house but they'd forgotten this hallway. Feliciano couldn't remember where the switches were to help either of them along, but the dark was better for his eyes even if it meant he couldn't see anything. The heavy taste of wine in his mouth foiled his attempts to speak as the sun room door rattled open and he was still being pulled to come along.

Of course she kissed him again with the glow of moonlight confounded by wine and stress. She didn't shove him, just pushed enough that his back touched the door when it shut behind them and on her toes her breasts flattened between them. Every higher process was off, the skeleton crew running his thoughts tasting wine on soft lips and letting her hands brush down tense shoulders. Her nails grazed skin that tingled down the back of his neck, his hands confused by the swell of wide hips but entranced and following the shapes up and down.

He knew what this was, what it felt like. He felt the infuriating way she fell back further and further from him until frustration meant grabbing the back of her head so when he found her mouth again with his she sighed and moved into him. The motion of her hips startled him, side to side and down low against him, rolling back with knees bent so her whole torso bent and writhed under her clothes. He was used to rigid hips and strong legs, firm like a mountain under his body with large hands that constantly kept hold of him to make sure they never hurt him.

And that was when he remembered something people weren't supposed to forget.

"I'm gay." So gay in fact that when she kissed him again under the words his lips chased the familiar feeling, one hand tangled in long hair to bring her back up to his level. So attracted to men that when the skirt she'd worn all day crumpled to the floor, he felt her bare thighs outside his jeans and forced them to turn and stumble a little closer to the bed. "Alice I'm-"

"No talking…" He was gay but when her hands grabbed the edge of his shirt he raised his arms and felt sweat-stained cotton lift over his head. The clink of his belt met the soft sigh past her lips when his mouth landed down behind the corner of her jaw, the sweet skin that still made her shudder when sucked.

Maybe if the bed was louder it would have woken him up, gone off like an alarm to remind him that gay men don't like breasts or long hair. If his phone had gone off in the dark it would have been reality calling to remind him who was waiting angry and offended a world away across mountains and borders to tell him that this life was over. He wasn't allowed to do this anymore, to like this sort of thing: he was gay now, remember?

But he was angry.

And he was fed up.

And he was desperate for anything that would make it stop.

So they made it stop and it felt good. It felt as good as he remembered and it felt as good as what he was used to. Different, but good. Not the same motions, not the same forces, different ways to touch and hold on and things to remember and keep track of. Different, but still good up until the very last moment when the darkness came from sleep, not wine or blind stress.

And it was still good when he opened his eyes and it was four-thirty in the morning with the hot Italian dawn breaking through the windows of the sun room. It was good waking up naked and alone with a strange dream from the wine and the soreness of releasing the stress by himself to thoughts and memories of his naked ex-fiancée.

The hang-over was his worst problem, that and not enough sleep only three hours after he'd stumbled his drunken way to bed. But he felt good, bruised from the fight and still mentally checked out, but stable enough that he didn't consider the way his clothes were strewn on the floor as he found boxers and shorts and another tee-shirt, stumbling away from the golden rays to find the dining room table hosting empty plates and stale wine glasses.

He even found his brother. He saw Lovino's dark head poking over the top of the couch arm in the living room and padded his way through the silent house to get a look at him. He didn't even know Chiara was there until he counted too many arms hanging over the edge of the couch. His brother's dark fingertips were grazing the floor where he was asleep on his back, snoring softly with his wife fast asleep on his chest. Chiara looked so small until Feliciano noticed her feet hooked over the other end of the couch looking for more space, his brother's other hand resting on her back under all of that dark hair, smears of make-up on his shirt where she's nuzzled close and explained why there'd been no bruise last night.

It wasn't black or purple, but it was there: a dark patch of skin along her cheek and the side of her nose. He didn't want to get too close to them, but then he saw the gauze and tape around Lovino's hand, and recognized the orange medical bands husband and wife were both wearing. They'd gone to Rieti: it was the only hospital for miles.

They'd gone to the police station too, because the only thing on the coffee table was a plain yellow folder that one of them had roughly tossed down before falling asleep. The single sheet of paper with a police crest on it was sticking half-way out, the rough quality of the photocopy telling Feliciano more than he wanted to know as he tucked it back into place and fetched a blanket from next to the bookshelf.

Chiara lifted her head when the blanket touched her. She looked right at him with blurry eyes, but then silently nuzzled back down into the same spot on her husband's chest. Lovino blinked twice, took a deep breath against his wife's hair, and fell back to sleep without seeing him.

With a gentle stream of cold water and barely any soap, Feliciano washed the dishes and the cutlery from last night, taking gulps of the water from the first glass he rinsed and just winding himself back down for more sleep. After last night, this was a good morning.

And it stayed good, right up until he slunk back into the sun room and turned his back on the brilliant dawn, blankets up over his head where the invasive scent of lavender perfume suddenly returned from his dreams. And he froze.

He stood up again and he panicked. Long hairs on the same pillow, not the right kind of mess dried on the sheets for a lonely man and a fantasy. A frantic run to the bathroom where he tore off his shirt and felt the ringing in his ears come back from last night, because no, this wasn't happening.

Not again.

Not like this.

But there Feliciano stood in his in-laws' bathroom, the only person awake in the entire house, and that was the moment when it hit him and he realized that he'd just destroyed his life all over again.

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