Saturday, the first time a poor, weary soul (such as a teenager) can rest after a long battle (school). It is a day of celebration, and procrastination because homework sucks. So it is on this day that we find our two protagonists, fast asleep at an hour well past that which they would normally be able to sleep to.
They were holding each other gently, as if afraid of breaking the other, their faces a mere breath away from the other's. Lovino's hand twitches slightly, despite being encased by Antonio's unaware hand. The slight movement causes Antonio to shift, waking Lovino up more. Lovino is the one who's eyes crack open first.
"What the... when-a did he get in the bed?" he mumbles, before answering his own question with a simple, "whatever." The sound of Lovino's voice pulls Antonio the rest of the way conscious, causing the Spaniard to groan in annoyance at, well, everything. Despite the fact that he will one day become a very cheerful kind person (hopefully), he will never in a million years be a morning person. Approach before coffee meant death, and Lovino already knew that.
"Where's-a the coffee pot?" Lovino questions, his voice still gruff and heavy with morning. Antonio is currently unable to speak, and so simply drags Lovino into the kitchen and pulls out the coffee grounds, filters, mugs, creamer, and sugar. And whipped cream.
Lovino seriously debates giving Antonio a whipped cream moustache.
About a half hour later, once the two have consumed enough coffee to feel their brains, Lovino does give Antonio that moustache of Whipped Creamy Doom. Antonio quickly arms himself with the spray cheese, and gives Lovino a moustache as well. Now if only he could make some cheesy joke, all well.
Instead, they laugh at each other's moustaches, and put the cans of fluff away for fear of wasting all of it. Which is probably better for Antonio's sake anyway. "You-a look great with your big white moustache," Lovino says, between chuckles.
"Well, I think it would look cheddar on you," Antonio says, attempting to make a pun. It clearly works because Lovino has facepalmed.
"I-a don't know, I think it looked pretty damn gouda on you," Lovino retorts.
"Do I have your parmesian to disagree?"
"No, but you-a could cottage out!"
"You win, you win, Lovino!"
"This swiss what you get when you-a mess with me!"
Antonio has doubled over with laughter at this point, his forehead resting on Lovino's shoulder. Lovino simply smirks victoriously as the peels of laughter die into random chuckles. "Damn, you're funny," Antonio says, amusement quite obvious in his voice.
"Of-a course I am!" Lovino exclaims, puffing his chest out. Antonio's eyes soften at the adorable sight before him, and he chuckles again. 'Man, I haven't laughed like that since... well, since I was a kid,' Antonio thinks to himself.
A loud growl tears itself from the deep depths of Lovino's stomach, announcing to anyone within a mile radius that someone is hungry. Antonio's own tummy echoes the cry of it's comrade. A quick glance at the clock explains why they're so hungry. It's one o'clock in the afternoon, and they're teenage boys that haven't eaten all day.
"I'll-a make something, since you-a let me stay here and all," Lovino offers immediately, shoving Antonio out of the kitchen. Antonio puts his hands in the air and walks out, grinning to himself the whole time. 'So this is what it's like to have someone there for you,' Antonio thinks as he waits for Lovino to finish whatever it is that he is working on.
About twenty minutes later the two are enjoying a delicious tomato soup in Antonio's room, sitting so close to each other that their knees touch and their fingers often brush against each other's. Due to Antonio's slow pace when eating (something about enjoying the food rather than breathing it, or some bullshit like that), Lovino had long since finished his food and washed his dishes when they hear the door open halfway through the meal. (Yeah, that bastard was only halfway finished!)
Antonio sends Lovino a desperate look, and Lovino nods and sneaks out through the window behind them. Antonio finishes his food quickly, scarfing it down like a starved creature, and runs downstairs to clean his dishes. His parents ignore him for now.
Most of the day passes like that, Antonio scrambling around doing something, anything aside from being idle, and his parents ignoring him. All the way up to dinner. However, dinner is indeed a family thing, no matter how distant one is from their family, no matter how few times a family dinner can occur, if it is possible it will happen. His parents make sure of that.
"Did you read the news today, honey?" Antonio's father says, in his usual stern voice. His piercing green eyes (that Antonio had unfortunately inherited) are watching and calculating, always looking for any sign of flaws within his perfect system.
"No, I was too busy to do so. Why, did something happen?" Antonio's mother responds in her usual manner. So far nothing out of the ordinary, which might mean he was safe.
"The UK got a fucking tranny for a mayor today, disgusting if you ask me. Trannies, fags, the lot of them should burn in hell," Antonio's father says, matter of factly. The words pierce Antonio's heart, seeing as he is one of them. Of course, his father doesn't know that, but if he were to ever find out... Well, let's just say that 1) it would make what he already lives through seem like papercuts and 2) it might just kill him.
Later that night, Antonio is laying in his bed, twin rivers of silver sadness rolling from the corners of his eyes, down his cheeks, and into a small pool on the wooden floor. Tonight the physical harm is minimal, just a few bruises along his arms and a rather large, but not too terrible compared, one spreading across his back. The mental harm though, he couldn't take it.
What made tonight so bad? Was it the contrast between that morning and then? It must have been, his father hadn't said anything unusual. Maybe it was something to do with having let himself feel that made the difference. Now all he wants is to feel that again, the feeling of acceptance. He wants to laugh, he desperately wants to do the moustache scene over and over again until time itself has ended an eternity ago.
Too bad life doesn't work like that.
A/N: Do you hate Antonio's father yet? You'll hate him more later. Sorry about this chapter's weirdness, my friend and I are both suffering the curse of Mother Nature. I just tend to deal with it via humour, while she is curled up in fetal position, possibly dead...