Warnings: Antonio thinks about his father's death. Grief. Lovino's anxiety.

Antonio couldn't stop smiling.

Christmas day in California was usually a fun event. Normally, he'd wake up and find his dad already in the kitchen, poking at bacon with a spatula and avoiding the spitting grease with wimpish noises. It always made Antonio laugh and, upon hearing that laughter, his dad would turn around and narrow his eyes, like he was suppose to be offended or something, but the tiny, suppressed smirk on his lips would give him away.

From there, he'd declare the importance that Antonio go grab their stockings so they could eat candy with their breakfast. When Antonio got them, they'd unpack and unwrap everything in the oversized socks onto the counters. Through this distraction, his dad would forget the bacon and either get burned by spitting grease or blacken the strips to shriveled crisps. They'd laugh either way.

Then, they'd have breakfast - bacon and whatever else his dad had cooked, alongside their favorite candies and coffee. They'd talk and laugh and his dad would go into the other room to dig out one of his holiday CDs. After breakfast, they'd open presents, Antonio would undoubtedly find more enjoyment in balling up all the wrapping paper to throw his dad's way, and Christmas tradition would be complete.

That morning, present day, there had been no spitting grease or burned bacon, no familiar holiday CDs. Antonio had woken up at the Bonnefoys, the guest room pristine. For a long time, he'd simply looked at the ceiling.

Then, there had been a ruckus. A door banging open and a blur of white and blond rushing in. Before Antonio could react, Francis and Gilbert were tackling him. "Merry Christmas!"

Antonio had been welcomed to the Bonnefoy house like any other trip to California, but this time had been so different. This time, Ms Bonnefoy had been very careful around him. This time, Francis was keeping a sharp eye on him, probably afraid of where his mind would dwell this holiday season. This time, it was Christmas and he wasn't with his dad.

Gilbert's family had gone to Oregon this year, but he'd stayed behind. Apparently, he had convinced them that he had to be with Antonio and Francis this year. Antonio hadn't asked why; he'd just pulled his friend in and wondered how he'd come to have such great friends.

They were trying their best to make Christmas as fun and merry as possible, giving Antonio no time to dwell before they shoved a present in his face or asked him a question or showed him some cool thing they'd just unwrapped. At breakfast, Antonio munched on some Mike n' Ikes he'd dug out of his stocking and felt a little piece of home with him.

It wasn't until later in the day, though, that he felt truly at home again. This wasn't from a holiday familiarity, though. It didn't remind him of his father when he received a Skype call from New York, answering it to find a flour decked mother and friend standing in the familiar kitchen of their New York home.

And that was where he was now, looking down at his laptop, alone in the guest room of the Bonnefoy house, lips stretching uncontrollably and heart swelling.

"Merry Christmas, Mijo!" his mother greeted as soon as he'd picked up, looking down at where her phone must have been propped on the counter.

Antonio waved. "Merry Christmas!" he responded, wanting to reach through the screen to wrap his mom in a hug, at risk of being covered in the powder himself. "Merry Christmas to you too, Lovino!"

That was when the boy in question turned, abandoning his task of rolling dough, to acknowledge Antonio. "Buon Natale," he responded, a sparkle in his eye that Antonio wished he could see up close and first hand. There was flour in his curly hair and a smudge on his cheek. Antonio chuckled at the sight.

"Oh, Lovino," his mom chuckled herself and licked her thumb. Antonio saw the fear in Lovino's eye as she approached, smudging the mess from his face. Too polite to protest, he stood as still as possible, face soon overtaken by red. Now, Antonio was full on laughing. When his mother turned back to the screen, satisfied, she caught his laughing face and reprimanded him for teasing poor Lovino. How do you put up with my son? I did not raise you to be mean, Antonio.

Which had, naturally, been hypocritical because she was teasing him in doing so. Then, to make matters worse (better. Lovino was smiling and Antonio's world was lit like the Christmas lights outside. So much better.) Lovino rolled his eyes, saying, "He's always mean. It's no fault of yours, Ms. Carriedo; it's innate."

Betrayed, Antonio watched as his mother laughed. He clutched at his heart and begged the two, "I have never been mean a day in my life!"

"I agree and will fight anyone who disagrees," a voice suddenly said and Antonio looked up to find Gilbert walking in, apparently having heard the last bit of the conversation.

Antonio nodded, imploring his mother and Lovino, "See? Gilbert agrees."

That was when Gilbert jumped on the bed, sprawling out and leaning over to look at the screen. "Oh. Ms. Carriedo. I take it back; I agree with whatever she said."

On the screen, he could see his mom cover her chuckles with a hand, meanwhile, Antonio took blatant offense to this new betrayal. "Will no one take my side? I am alone in the truth!"

"Normally, I would agree with Toni," another voice came from the door and, like that, the whole gang was there. "But, if I recall correctly, you said I looked like "alien toast" when I had put on a face mask the other day."

Gilbert snickered and Antonio pretended to frown. "But Gilbert said that too!"

Francis came over to sit on the bed, positioning himself to be on the screen as well, waving a hello to Antonio's mom and Lovino. Gilbert snorted.

"I'm not nice, Toni," Gilbert said in explanation.

"Yes, you are!" Antonio protested, but was drowned out by a sudden conversation taking place between his mother and Francis.

"Christmas cookies! What kind are you making?" Francis asked and his mother beamed.

She began to ramble off about cookie types and ingredients and people she was sending them to. She offered to send some over with express shipping and Antonio got excited, but Francis insisted there was no need, as much as he would love to try them. Antonio was forced to give up on his protests from before in order to persuade his mother to send some.

Some time into the conversation a beep sounded off to the side and his mom's eyes darted to the oven. "I have to get that. Lovino," she turned toward the boy, who had been cutting shapes into the dough - stars and reindeer and santa hats. "Come talk to the boys."

Then, she was gone from the screen and Lovino put down the cookie cutters. When he approached the screen, Gilbert immediately went, "Sup, Shorty?"

"Nope. Changed my mind," Lovino said, turning back around, but Antonio called out.

"Wait wait wait! Lovi, come back! He didn't mean it!"

Lovino turned back, narrowing his eyes. "He did," he said, then sighed. "But I'll come back anyway." He walked back and Antonio beamed.

"Of course you will," Gilbert teased. "I'm irresistible."

"Someone shut him up," Lovino requested and, with a smile, Francis slapped his hand over Gilbert's mouth. Gilbert gave a muffled noise of indignance. Lovino turned back to Antonio, satisfied. "How's your Christmas, idiot?"

It was a while after that that they actually talked about Christmas, since Antonio decided to complain about Lovino calling him an idiot, Francis said it was flirting, Lovino threatened to end the call (with a rather severe blush), and Gilbert licked Francis' hand, causing the other to shriek in repulsion and wipe the spit off on Gilbert's shirt.

Soon enough, it was time to hang up the phone, as it was getting quite late over in New York and Ms. Carriedo was keeping Lovino hostage for Christmas dinner. After the call ended, Antonio's heart was light and full all at once, and he watched the screen, taken back to its regular menu, for a few solid minutes afterward as Francis and Gilbert talked.

He was interrupted when there was suddenly a hand in front of his face and a loud snap as it maneuvered its fingers appropriately for the effect. Antonio blinked, then followed the arm attached to the hand, up to the face it belonged to. Francis smiled at him, shaking his head. "Still with us?"

Embarrassed, Antonio laughed weakly, turning back to his friends and shutting his laptop. "Yeah, heh, sorry."

"It's alright, man," Gilbert said, lounging leisurely with arms folded behind his head, leaning against the headboard of the bed and feet kicked up, somehow, socked only. Usually Gilbert wouldn't altogether care, but this was Francis' place, and something about this cleanly, minimalist house made even Gilbert feel weird about not dropping his shoes off at the door. "We all know how you get about your boyfriend," Gilbert said, smiling teasingly.

Despite registering it as teasing, though, Antonio completely froze. The room went silent as, apparently, Francis couldn't find anything to say to that either. It was impossible for Gilbert not to pick up, who was now looking between them, eyebrows furrowing, confused.

Antonio floundered for something to say, realizing his mistake, but, looking at Francis for help, was only met with a wide-eyed stare, caught. Shit.

"Wait…" Gilbert said, lowering his arms and leaning forward. Double shit. "Really?"

Antonio brought his hands up to cover his face. Whyyyyyy his internal monologue was whining.

"For how long?" Gilbert asked then, looking between the two, seemed to piece something together. "Wait, Franny, you knew?"

And Francis, usually so elegant, could only reply, "Uhhhh."

"Oh," Gilbert said, sounded so down now that Antonio had to throw his hands down and look his friend in the eye.

"I'm sorry, Gilbert!" he pleaded. "I would have told you!"

"No. I mean, it's your business. Tell who you want," Gilbert said, waving it away and trying to look like it wasn't affecting him. "Pssh. It's fine." Gilbert shrugged, but Antonio was already insistently shaking his head.

"You don't understand," he tried to explain, but this would be difficult. He'd felt guilty for so long about not telling Gilbert, about having felt this way when Gilbert had been somewhat dating Lovino. "When I was figuring it out, erm," Antonio scratched the back of his head, "It would have been a little awkward to tell you."

Gilbert still looked confused, like he was trying desperately to understand while also trying to come off like it didn't bother him.

"You liked him too," Antonio explained, and figured there was no better way to say it. Suddenly, understanding dawned on Gilbert's face.

"During the summer?" he asked, shocked. Sheepishly, Antonio nodded. "Oh shit. Dude, I didn't- I never thought-"

But Antonio was shaking his head again. "We already did this, Gilbert. Remember?" he smiled. "I told you you didn't need my permission. I was only just figuring it out anyway, and I was still with Emma…"

"But, still," Gilbert said, looking for the right words. He shook his head, as if giving up and simply said. "I'm so sorry."

"No, Gilbert, seriously. There is nothing to be sorry about," Antonio said. "You did nothing wrong with asking Lovino out. No breach in bro code and no hard feelings."

It took Gilbert a moment, scrutinizing Antonio's face and contemplating his argument but, eventually, he relaxed and nodded. "Alright," he said, and it seemed all was well. Then, a sly smirk crept onto Gilbert's face and Antonio knew something was coming. "So, Lovino, huh?"

Antonio groaned, putting his head back into his hands. He heard Francis chuckle behind him and shifted so that he was facing both of them again.

"When are you going to tell him?" Gilbert asked, once again leaning back and sticking his arms back behind his head. Antonio peeped through his fingers.

"I've been trying to tell him to do something for months now," Francis whined, rolling his eyes.

"Yeah, but you guys haven't really been talking, right? Ever since…" then Gilbert trailed off and there was a jagged scar in the conversation.

Antonio picked it up, ignoring the sudden tension. "Since my dad died, I wasn't really talking to a lot of people. Then everything with Feli happened and, well, I hadn't been talking to Lovi, so I thought it might be weird to ask about it, you know? I only heard about it at school."

"But you two seem to be doing well now," Francis pointed out, gesturing to his laptop. Antonio nodded.

"We started talking again after school let out. I think he was lonely without Feli there with him."

"So, my question remains," Gilbert said. "When are you gonna tell him?"

"Erm, well…" Antonio started, not sure how to exactly bring that up.

"Please, Antonio," Francis said, putting as much of his suffering into his voice as he could. "As your friend, I can honestly tell you it is killing me to watch you both pine like this."

"Well-" Antonio said again, but was interrupted.

"Grow some balls, man," Gilbert said. "The guy's been in love with you far longer than your oblivious ass could realize your feelings for him. You really have nothing to lose."

"But-" Antonio tried, but then there was Francis.

"Gilbert, you were with Lovino when Antonio's oblivious ass was realizing his feelings for him."

"I stand by what I said."

"But-" Antonio tried again.

"Do you really mean-" Francis started, eyes widening.

"Yep."

"While you two were dating?" Francis gasped, leaning forward. Gilbert, perhaps a little self deprecatingly, scratched the back of his head.

"Yep…"

"Oh."

"I know," Gilbert laughed.

"Then Antonio must."

"That's what I've been trying to say!"

Francis turned, looking excited. "Antonio, did you hear that? You have to tell him!"

"No!" Antonio suddenly exclaimed, causing them both to jump with shocked looks on their faces. "Because he already knows!"

There was a beat of silence, wide eyes looking at him, then the effect was instantaneous. Both of his friends bolted forward, getting in Antonio's personal space as they demanded explanation.

"You told him?" Gilbert was asking, practically shaking him by his shoulders.

"How does he know?" Francis demanded, getting very close. "How could you not tell me?"

"Er, well," Antonio said, scratching the back of his neck and looking away from his friends, who were still very much in his personal space. Normally, he wouldn't mind, but now it felt as though there was no room to think. "I didn't tell him, per say."

There was silence again. Why was there always silence?

"Antonio," Francis said, and he sounded almost pitying. Antonio's eyebrows came together, almost offended. "As obvious as you think you may be, Lovino is just as oblivious. You have to use your words."

"But I kissed him," Antonio said, confused. Was there anything more straightforward?

But, again, his friends went immediately from 0 to 100. Simultaneously, so much that it was almost comical, they said, "WHAT."

Antonio watched his friends' wide eyes and slack jaws and decided, with a laugh or a sigh, he wasn't sure which exactly it was, that a lot more explanation was due.

So he started from the beginning.

-/-

A week later, New Year's day, Antonio was back from California. He wasn't sure if Lovino knew when he'd be back, even though he was pretty sure his mom probably had kept him up to date, so, wanting to see him as soon as he could, Antonio texted him and asked him to come over. About ten minutes later, they were sitting on Antonio's bedroom floor playing cards.

"Did you have a good Christmas?" Antonio asked, sorting his cards on the floor where they had double solitaire laid out. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lovino nod.

"Your mom made sure," he said, sounding quietly happy over the fact. "I couldn't escape."

"Thanks for staying with her, by the way," Antonio said, feeling that familiar guilt creeping in. "I was worried she'd be alone this year."

For a moment, Lovino's hands stilled on his cards, then resumed, saying, "I think she was the one who made sure I wasn't alone this year."

Antonio bit his lip, fidgeting with the stack he had been just about to draw from. They hadn't really talked about it, but… "How is Feli doing?"

"...fine," Lovino answered. Antonio nodded, accepting this as how far Lovino was willing to talk. He drew his cards. "Oregon's helping."

"Hm?" Antonio asked, trying to sound nonchalantly interested. His ears perked up, but he kept his eyes on his cards, skimming the board.

"It's calmer. And Nonno watches after him. School will probably be the real challenge though."

"Why do you think that?" Antonio asked, keeping up with the conversation, but Lovino didn't answer straight away. Antonio looked up to find Lovino fidgeting with his own cards, a crease in his forehead.

"I don't know how well you knew about it, but Feliciano used to have bad anxiety. That's why he moved to Oregon. It was coming back and, well, it was too much for my da- for us to handle," Lovino said, correcting himself, but not quickly enough that Antonio hadn't heard.

"Because of the car crash?" Antonio asked. "He wouldn't come to school for a while after that." Lovino nodded. "Oh."

"Yeah."

"And you?" Antonio asked, to Lovino's apparent confusion.

"What?"

"Well, you haven't been doing well either, have you?" Antonio asked, but Lovino still looked a bit confused. And shocked. "You looked so tired toward the end of semester. Even before that, before the accident, you were never paying attention. Something's up, isn't it?"

Lovino just shrugged, picking up one of his cards and putting it in another pile. Antonio sighed, looking down at his own cards again. Spotting one, he picked it up, shifting it to the community piles above but, just as he was setting it down, he noticed Lovino's hand already there, beating him to it. Their fingers were touching.

Antonio retracted as quickly as he could, laughing it off. "Looks like you beat me to it," he said, feeling the tips of his ears burn. Lovino didn't laugh, but Antonio, looking up, saw he was biting his lip, face grower a few shades darker. Upon eye contact, Lovino broke away, looking back down at his cards.

"Just arguing with my dad," Lovino said, and it took Antonio a moment to realize he was answering his previous question. "Same as ever."

"Arguing over what?" Antonio asked. He was nosy, but they were close enough friends that it wasn't weird. Still, Lovino looked reluctant.

Antonio was about to change the subject, sensing his friend's discomfort, when Lovino spoke up. "Studying. Grades."

Antonio paused, taking the words in. Well, that was… new. "Really?"

"Yep. Like you've been telling me, grades aren't everything," Lovino said, but the argument sounded weak, like it was something he had been telling himself and had lost sight of its value.

But Antonio was encouraging anyway, proud of his friend. "I'm glad."

Lovino gave a smile at that. It was small, and rather weak, but he tried. Antonio remembered a long time ago thinking to himself how much he wanted Lovino to smile, to see that, to be the one to make it happen even. The urge came back. He wanted a real smile on those lips. He wanted Lovino to be happy.

"Ever flicked cards before?" Antonio asked and Lovino looked up, confused, but, oddly enough, with narrowed eyes. He'd known Antonio long enough to know when a challenge approached.

"Show me," he said. Antonio tried, positioning the card between his fingers and snapping. The card fell to the floor. Tried again. Failed. Again. "Is this supposed to happen?" Lovino asked, amused. It was not, in fact, supposed to happen, but it seemed to have done the trick anyway.

Antonio looked up into Lovino's eyes, sparkling in amusement, and thought He's beautiful.

Lovino picked up one of his cards. "Let me try."

It wasn't long until there were cards everywhere and they were both laughing. Lovino was smiling, happy, and it made Antonio the happiest he could be.

The kind of happy he'd missed these past few months.

-/-

Not long after, school started back up. And it was better - so much better than the past semester.

Antonio and Lovino chattered in the hallways. Antonio kicked at Lovino's legs when he was bored in class and snickered when Lovino tried to get him back, all without the teacher noticing. After school, they would walk back to their houses, where Antonio would oftentimes invite Lovino into his own and they would work on schoolwork or watch TV. It was nice. It was so normal, but, honestly, more than Antonio could have hoped for.

Things were still far from perfect though. For one, they no longer went to the park. No longer mentioned their spot under their tree.

Antonio hadn't been there in months now. He'd stopped going, too worried about… everything to even think it. What if Lovino had gotten tired of seeing him so bummed out all the time? What of he went and Lovino wasn't there that day and he was simply alone? Alone at their tree somehow sounded a lot worse than alone in his room.

Now, Antonio couldn't even imagine trying to go. Not simply because it was the winter time, but because he knew he must have left Lovino there, alone himself, on many occasions over the past months. What if he had ruined the place for them now? What if he didn't deserve to return to their sacred spot?

Then, there was Lovino himself. As much as they had fallen right back in with each other, there was no denying that they had changed in those months. Perhaps the changes were subtle. Perhaps a few months wasn't all that long in the grand scheme of things. But they had been best friends for years and these differences were quite plain for Antonio to see.

Lovino, much like at the beginning of the previous semester, still wasn't paying attention to class, or his studies, as he normally would. Antonio had a bit more context for that now, sure - Lovino was arguing with his father, trying to cut back on the obsessive dedication the man had instilled in his son for school - But none of that explained the odd fixation Lovino still had with bringing his textbooks, notebooks, and binders around everywhere with him.

It was like a switch. Sometimes, Lovino refused to do anything; he avoided his work, he refused to listen in class. Then, he would do everything at once; going over his notes five times and highlighting and underlining and proofreading. He'd get a good grade back and stare at it, disappointed. Then, he'd get an okay one, a B or sometimes the odd C, and stare at it, still with the same look. Nothing Lovino did seemed sufficient.

And everything Lovino did drove himself crazy.

They'd be playing a video game and he'd catch Lovino scratching at his jeans, eyes veering towards his backpack in the corner. Antonio would be studying and Lovino would insist on hanging out on Antonio's bed, saying he might study later. He'd scroll through his phone, but his finger would tap the side and his teeth would bite into his lip. When he did study, however, he had to focus on it and only it, lest he look guilty and uncomfortable, playing with the corner of the page in his book or tapping his pencil incessantly.

Antonio tried to distract him from it all - from the constant flux of guilt over disregarding school versus succumbing to the anxiety and his father's oppressive will - but it could be difficult unless he had Lovino's full attention.

It was difficult, to say the least, and frustrating. But one day, Antonio thought he'd figured out a great sort of... middle ground.

"Lovino, could you help me with this?"

Helping Antonio distracted Lovino. He was calm and focused and, when Antonio made jokes, he'd laugh at them, no traces of stress or guilt in his eyes. Tutoring was apparently productive enough, yet far enough away from his own studies that it worked.

And school stuff wasn't where it ended. If Antonio needed help with chores, Lovino would complain, tell him they were his job for a reason, but, in the end, would help, and the anxiety would shed from his skin. If Antonio asked for help with a puzzle in his game, or maybe to clear a level, it might distract Lovino long enough to make him forget whatever chaotic mess his mind had made of it. One night, Antonio asked Lovino to help make dinner, since he wanted it ready when his mom got off her late shift, and they spent hours in the kitchen together.

But there were always the nights too that Lovino didn't come over and Antonio could see the house next door quiet and dark, Lovino's room the only one lit. Antonio made sure to keep his window unlocked constantly (though Lovino always knocked and it was probably not the safest practice). He always hoped that Lovino would stop by at night.

And he did. A lot. Antonio was pretty sure that Lovino had trouble sleeping (a lot more trouble with it than in the past if their frequent late nights were anything to go by), but he was perfectly fine with sharing his bed. He always slept better with Lovino there anyway.

So, yeah, Lovino had changed, but Antonio knew he had too. He didn't claim to be the same and he didn't claim to be alright either. The loss of his father was something he'd had to get use to, to come to terms with and push on through to maintain some semblance of real life. But, Antonio would be lying if he said he wasn't still trying to get through it, still trying to align the man he had known with the one he had never seen in his father.

He still couldn't quite wrap his head around this other person, the one that he would never get to meet now that his father was dead.

"You're always listening to this CD," Lovino commented one night, tucked under Antonio's covers and the quiet sounds of his dad's mixtape caressing the dark room. Antonio chanced a glance towards the player, the green glowing 06 displayed, and smiled something bittersweet.

"It was my dad's," he said. He hadn't told anyone about this CD. Not Gilbert nor Francis. Not even his mom, who it probably rightfully belonged. But, laying there with Lovino on some random weekday night, it was the easiest thing to say and the words fell from his tongue like they belonged to Lovino's ears.

"Really?" Lovino asked softly. Antonio nodded, thinking about it.

"He didn't give it to me," he said at last, and Lovino was silent, listening. "I found it at his house last summer and I saw that it was addressed to my mom. I knew it must have been old, and I was never sure if he knew it was there, but I had to listen to it."

Antonio had thought talking about his dad would be painful, like the one time he had brought it up when they were still meeting at their tree. He remembered that day, how his head spun and tore itself apart, wondering, questioning.

Why? It had asked. How can he be gone?

That had been the day his worst fear had been realized. He'd been thinking about the circumstances of his father's death, shot after standing up for a lady in the street who was being assaulted. The guy who'd shot him had been frightened, hadn't expected anyone to be there, in a lonely alleyway in the dead of night, with the woman. She was supposed to be helpless, defenseless, but then his father had stepped in.

And gotten a bullet for his trouble.

Hearing this, as vague as his mother had attempted in her own distraught, but own protective nature for her son, had been a shock in itself to Antonio. It couldn't have been his dad; they must have made a mistake when identifying the body. His dad wasn't dead. That wasn't the type of thing he'd do.

He had been a good dad, though absent frequently. He'd been good at making Antonio laugh, and always asked all about Antonio's life when he visited or when they called one another. They'd shared so many memories - memories that hadn't left Antonio alone in months. Christmas bacon and TV dinners in front of a baseball game. Going through the CD collection under the TV while his dad pointed out his favorites, ones from his childhood and ones that even reminded him of when Antonio was a kid. A new red truck.

Or maybe a worn soccer ball and games his dad couldn't go to, either at work or across the country. Arguments with his mom. When they'd first moved to New York and Antonio had missed seeing his dad everyday so much. Days his dad was called into work on one of the few days Antonio had to visit.

The knowledge Antonio had come to understand that his father had made a choice one day, work over family.

He hadn't been a perfect father, and to think about his shortcomings after he was gone hurt almost as much as the fact that Antonio would never see him again. Yet, the memories would not leave him alone - every single one demanding for attention, good or bad.

But the memory that haunted him the most was teasing and a near heart attack at the airport. He'd spent more time at his dad's house that summer than he had in a very long time, partially because he had been grounded, and he'd finally thought… thought that maybe...

Maybe his dad was more than Antonio had always made him out to be.

The last time he'd seen him, Antonio had had an old CD of his, full of promises and history. He'd had hopes for perspective - hopes that the summer had been the start of understanding his father better, figuring out the guy under the work and play, always frowning down at a phone or laughing things off. He'd had hopes, ones his father had fueled, of figuring out his own relationships. And he'd had hopes, looking forward to a Christmas in California, not only with his friends, but with his father as well - a father that wasn't so strange to him.

He felt as though he could never forget that memory, every detail seared into his mind for ages to come, yet, when he tried to remember exactly how his father had smiled, had called out to him at the last minute and the heat that crawled up his neck at the embarrassment, he couldn't quite grasp it at all. The memory was a vivid, blurry mess - contradictory in its finest.

Antonio had hoped he was starting to understand, to uncover more about the man with so little and so much to him. He'd had so many hopes. Still, he had been shocked, not simply by his death, but the way it had happened.

Because his father was no hero. Because Antonio couldn't remember him ever putting other people before him like that - certainly not when he'd picked work over his own family.

At the funeral, his mother had spoken. Antonio had felt like a historian then; uncovering a past he would never know, examining it for its contradictions, its flaws, its plausibility. His mom had had so much to say about his dad. It was obvious that they'd both loved each other until the end, divorced and thousands of miles apart.

Still, so much of what she'd said had sounded alien to Antonio's ears. Not once did she say that she loved him, nor did she talk of their marriage a lot, only touching on memories of raising Antonio. But there were so many kind, sweet, thoughtful things, that Antonio had been unable to connect the funeral with the man in its honor.

"He always wanted to protect people. From sadness. From hate. I'm sure he couldn't just stand by when an injustice like that happened in front of his eyes."

Antonio had gone next, but he couldn't remember what he'd said if he tried. That was one memory that didn't haunt him day and night. His father was gone, and Antonio hadn't been able to feel him at all at that funeral. Each memory each person brought to the event was like the dust of broken glass, containing pieces unable to be puzzled back together.

It wasn't until the end when the last person had gone up, someone from his father's work, that the briefest glimpse of familiarity bled through. His dad had been a funny guy at work, apparently, silly and bright, and that was closer to what Antonio remembered.

This woman didn't seem to know his father very well either. He wondered what that meant for him, if they both seemed to remember him the same.

It haunted Antonio, and his own memories plagued his soul, wondering how he could have gotten his own father so wrong all this time. Had he been so unfair? There was no way to make up for it. There was no way to rewind time, to understand his father now. All he could do was pick up the pieces and try to fit them in with the man he'd known.

He regretted that most of all. Every memory- none of them had been his father as he truly was, had they? Antonio would never be able to know that man. Antonio would forever remain stuck in this purgatory, between his own memory and others', unable to align the two men into the single one he truly was.

Then, it was as if a low voice reached down into Antonio's mind, where he'd spiraled to the depths of the Marianas Trench, and gently pulled him up into a dim morning light. Antonio looked into the eyes beside him, resting on a pillow calmly, curiously. The room was still dark, probably still very late, but there was a light only he could see that glowed within it.

"Do you miss him?" Lovino asked, voice soothing in a way Antonio couldn't describe. For a moment, Antonio thought.

His immediate response would have been Yes. More than yes. He felt as though he had been robbed of someone he'd never get to know with the loss of his father, that there was so much he would never know, never see. But that wasn't quite what Lovino was asking, was it?

Did he miss his father? His father. Not the friend or the husband or the brother, but the man he had known.

The man he had known had been absent, had put many things before his wife and son, had forgotten to call when he'd said he would and had frustrated Antonio, who rarely ever got frustrated, in a way only someone with similar personalities could.

But he had also made Antonio laugh, embarrassed him by being a good father, encouraged him and listened to him. They'd played soccer in their yard and he'd pull out great bags of marshmallows when they were snowed in and invite Francis and Gilbert to stay for games and hot cocoa.

Now that he was gone, Antonio wouldn't be able to call him up about ridiculous stories from school or throw wrapping paper in his face on Christmas morning or take pictures of him and his team after a game won or of him and Lovino lounging in the grass on a sunny day. He wouldn't hear his voice on the other side of the phone, or see his face scrunch up in faux agitation when wrapping paper hit his cheek, or get a string of "hahahahaha!"s or "congratulations!" in his text messages after the pictures.

Antonio missed a future of a man he didn't quite understand, who he would never truly understand now, yeah, but he would also miss a future of the man he had already known, who had made him feel happy and loved, and who had been very special to him. He didn't have a dad anymore and, for the first time, Antonio allowed himself to realize that. There was a piece dislodged in his heart, and it didn't belong to that regret of having never known his father, but to the regret of never seeing the father he had known again.

Antonio's answer hadn't changed, but, with it, there had come a whole new meaning. "Yes," he responded, eyes focused on nothing, right over Lovino's shoulder. "I miss him."

He thought he saw Lovino nod, just slightly, out of the corner of his eye, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to tell. The room, already dim, was becoming blurrier. He was looking at the sky as he swam up from the bottom of a pool, the ripples distorting his vision.

"Tonio?" Lovino asked and Antonio looked at him. It was too much already though, and he couldn't see his friend. The tears pooled over and, suddenly, he was bawling. He was in his friend's arms in moments, Lovino pressing Antonio close and voicing calming sounds.

"He's gone," Antonio gasped against Lovino's chest, hanging on just as tightly as Lovino - his, a desperate hold.

"I know. I know," Lovino whispered and the words were throw away, the typical thing to say, but within them Antonio found solace. In Lovino's voice, in the emotion and the understanding and the quiet admitted inability to all at once. Lovino didn't understand in full, had never lost anyone like this, but he could try to understand with what he had and hope that the rest could be forgiven. Antonio appreciated him more than words could ever explain for that.

For the first time since his dad had died, Antonio allowed himself to find that solace in someone else, allowed his tears to soak into another person's shoulder, allowed himself to feel all that he had denied himself for months. He felt the loss carve into his chest like it never had before. But, with that, Antonio felt something else.

That deep cavern of loss was realized by him now and, in feeling it, he understood it better. He understood a future that was still possible to him.

In that future, there was the promise of healing.

CV: Happy two-year anniversary of this fic! My slow update schedule is good for one thing, I guess lmao. We reached a cool milestone.

I'm done with deadline goals since my past two didn't work out. Just two more chapters, but it might take two more years at the rate I'm going at hahaha. This fic is still fun, and a lot more fun since I've stopped putting so much pressure on myself for it, so I promise it will be completed. One day, my friends. One day.

Thank you so much anyone still reading and I hope you enjoyed the update! See ya when I see ya!