Chapter Two.

Antonio's Jokes Aren't Funny.

…

I hadn't kissed him sober.

The morning after the trio's arrival I never really took the time to process what had happened the night before. I chose to ignore the faint and foggy memories that remained and let myself enjoy the lingering feeling of Antonio's lips on mine. So, instead of thinking about it, being troubled by it, I simply just continued my life as I have been all these years. Occasionally I'd run into the three of them, causing trouble in some form or another, and surprisingly it didn't feel awkward. Antonio still greeted me with his famous smile and a pat to the back, not mentioning our commingling either. At that time, I supposed it was an understood unspoken thing.

Several days later they invited me over again, and shockingly, I accepted. I found myself repeating that same night but with gin instead of vodka. Gilbert performed as the orchestra while Francis sang a piece from Les Miserables. Antonio and I stayed laughing on the couch again, me blaming my grin on the mass amounts of booze I drank. They fell asleep on the kitchen floor and me and Antonio smoked from his bowl again, making eye contact as he helped me light it. Every time he lit the flame, I saw the reflection in his eyes, and sometimes before I could fully exhale he was leaning forward to kiss me in a blur of something neither of us could really put our fingers on.

Neither of us discussed it. We didn't stop to question why we were so gravitated to each other, making out on an old couch in the early hours of the morning before he'd walk me home and pretend like nothing happened. Feliciano's accusation of a high school crush was floating in my mind all the while, and when Antonio's hand was pressed into the small of my back, I really didn't mind admitting to myself at that moment that having a little crush on him wasn't such a bad thing. A small, immature crush, something with no substance. Innocent moments to waste time and just for a little bit ignore all our real life adult troubles.

I found getting high and making out with Antonio much more preferable than laying awake in my apartment, paranoid that I was wasting my degree and time on a failed business venture and that I'd end up alone and having to move back in with my grandfather.

Yes, it was a better passtime in my opinion.

Several weeks of this passed us by, no one in town, not my brother nor Antonio's roommates, any the wiser. Somehow we managed to keep it a secret, but in all honesty, not on purpose. It just so happened we only ever got intimate in private (which I prefer anyways) and haven't been caught. Everything was so nonchalant that even when I bumped into the group at the market, I was able to compose myself.

"Lovino!" Gilbert's happy, loud voice startled me while I was examining the cereal aisle. "What the hell are you doing here?"

I turned to him, seeing Antonio and Francis trail closely behind. Francis had a cart filled with nothing but beer, a loaf of bread, and paper towels. I glanced down with a judgemental glare, something I hoped they all caught, before I answered him.

"I don't really care for starving," I deadpanned. "Do you?"

"Okay, okay, you don't have to get snippy!"

He made a face and our conversations continued on like normal.

No, it wasn't awkward at all.

.

The winter festival was a week away and the town was in a frenzy of last minute supply ordering and decorating. Every tree in the town square was covered in tinsel and little hanging silver stars. Lights were put under the water in the fountain to make it glow and a bonfire on one end of the square was being assembled. The Firkus brothers stole the kindling and hid it under Arthur's porch, as they did every year. Losing his head a little, Arthur himself was never seen anywhere but the center of town. He was talking into a ridiculous walkie talkie with Alfred and Matthew. As the days drew closer Alfred lost his and resorted to shouting across their long distance.

My brother and Ludwig were excited for the festivities to say the least, as they were every year. Ludwig had his grandfather send over German, Austrian, and Swiss chocolate from where he lived in Europe to use in their hot chocolate drinks.

It wasn't uncommon for townsfolk to participate in town activities like this, in fact it was more than common. You were the outlier if you didn't join in, thus the reasoning I tagged along with the duo. They pitched in every year, holding a hot chocolate booth, one that was typically also next to the spiked cider booth– a perk. Many a winter festivals were merrily spent throwing up into the bushes outside of Arthur's bookstore across the street (during my crazy college days of course; back then the store was his father's). It always pissed him off– another perk. So, I always sat still as they tinkered with their recipe in the coming weeks of the event. Sip after sip, I humored my brother and ignored my aching teeth and tried every variation until my stomach could no longer handle it. I'd last maybe an hour of tasting before I felt bloated and refused anymore, at which point they'd just settle for their favorite, giving up along with me.

My days blurring together more and more at that time, I was a bit dazed as I sat there at their kitchen table, the overwhelming smell of chocolate not yet reaching me. I looked like I was hypnotized, no doubt, leaning on my hand and elbow perched on the tabletop, stirring mindlessly a cup of (couldn't you guess it?) hot chocolate I was yet to sample. Feliciano was sitting across from me, lacing popcorn and cranberries on a string as decoration for their booth and house alike, as Christmas was just the week after the festival. I once asked why they didn't have any decorations up yet, not even the tree, so close to the holiday. But Feliciano informed me that it was a German tradition to not set up until the night before. Being raised in the states, anything out of the norm interested Feliciano, and since dating Ludwig, he'd taken a heightened interest in German culture specifically. I wasn't surprised. But that didn't stop him from prepping for the celebration regardless. Although I hadn't noticed when he put down his needle and thread, accepting his own cup from Ludwig who was busy melting different chocolates on the stove and experimenting with 2% milk vs whole milk vs rice milk. When he took a sip I suppose he noticed me daydreaming.

"Something wrong?"

"Hm?" I blinked, letting my head get up from its nap.

"You just seem a bit distracted there," he smiled at me before resuming his crafting. "Something on your mind?"

When he spoke softly and gently like that he reminded me of our mother, especially with a sewing needle in hand. I wanted to be angry at it, never enjoying being babied, but it was an easier thing to ignore than others, and I didn't really have the energy to exert at that moment. I just grunted in response and went back to stirring my cup, an action that worried Feliciano. Undoubtedly he was expecting me to snap at him to stay out of my business, but the late nights of walking the line between black out and only just stumbling drunk made my eyes heavy during the day.

"Is there actually something wrong?" he leaned forward. "What happened? Do you want to talk about it?"

He said the last half of his sentence in Italian, something he occasionally did for me when Ludwig was in the room and I didn't necessarily want him to understand what was going on. Though it soon defeated the point, now knowing that anytime we spoke Italian around him it was because I had something to hide. When I hesitated to respond again, I gave myself away, and Feliciano just got more worked up.

"O Dio!" he exclaimed, continuing in Italian. "Something has happened, what is it, fratello? You can tell me, can't you? Are you hurt?"

I quickly shook my head. I hadn't heard my brother's Italian in quite awhile, neither of us having much use for it here unless grandpa was visiting. I relished in it for a minute while I switched my own brain over to the language, feeling embarrassingly rusty.

"Idiota, don't get worked up," I sighed. "I'm fine."

"Well then what is it?"

One more act of hesitance, I glanced at Ludwig, whose back was still respectfully turned to us. I never felt Feliciano's gaze falter, though. My voice was soft, and I winced preemptively, knowing to expect a large reaction.

"...it's about Antonio.."

"Oh! I knew it!" Feliciano bursted out of his chair in a movement of pure excitement. "I knew it, I knew you had a thing for Antonio!"

I shushed my brother with my hands, ushering him to sit as well. Desperately, I was trying to remind him that despite the language barrier, Antonio was still a rather common name and definitely not an Italian word. It was rather obvious, especially with the subject's best friend's brother standing right there in the room. He just danced in his place a little, as if he scored some type of victory.

"Sit down!" I scolded, and obedient he filled my request with a sigh and a smile on his lips.

"Have you told him? Have you even seen him yet?"

Feliciano was eagerly leaning over the table with his hands pressed in front of him. He was bouncing like a school girl gossiping at lunch, a memory that was in fact not unfamiliar to me, this topic of conversation transporting me back to when I was 18. I knew if I didn't tell him what he wanted to know, he'd only continue to pepper me with questions and give me knowing looks in public, something I wasn't exactly keen on experiencing. I was a little dumb then to not realize in that second that no matter what, Feliciano was still going to do those things to me. Truth be told, I did bring up Antonio because I wanted to tell Feliciano what had been going on, or lack thereof. Despite my rough words on him, he was still family, and probably the closest friend I had. I could hardly tell him that then, but I think he knew it regardless. Someone had to know what was going on, because it was just something I desperately wanted to share for an unknown reason, really. I think maybe I enjoyed acting like a high school girl myself, indulging in feeling young again when all you had to worry about was your history test and if a boy likes you.

"You cannot tell Ludwig any of this, understand me? Or anyone for that matter."

Feliciano just nodded at my harsh, loud whispering tone. I rubbed my forehead before I continued.

"I saw him when you and Gilbert forced me over to where they were staying when they first got in town, remember?"

"Oh, you're right! How did that go?"

For a moment I thought Ludwig was trying to listen in on the conversation, as he was standing still for a while, something I noticed with continuous glances his way to see if he was registering anything. Feliciano kept telling me not to be so paranoid as Ludwig's Italian was actually horrible, but that still didn't stop me.

"Fine," I let out a guttural breath. "Me and Antonio did actually stay up late and catch up and everything."

He gasped from across the table, throwing me a dirty look. "I know what that means," he hummed, making suggestive expressions, and I quickly grabbed and threw a cranberry at him before he could notice my ears going aflame.

"Shut up! We did no such thing!" I spouted that in English on instinct, my head hurting from the Italian slightly. I silently prayed grandpa wouldn't notice my degrading vocabulary next time he visited.

"Okay, okay," Feliciano laughed, hands up in defense. "Then what happened that's making you act all fidgety like this? Finally ready to admit your feelings aloud to your brother?"

He was teasing me, and for that he got another cranberry chucked at him while I continued to fight off the embarrassment. He only kept giggling at me asking for mercy when I threw a third, then a fourth and a fifth.

"There are no feelings," I grumbled. "At least not how you're picturing it."

"And how am I picturing it?"

"Like… like…" Me and my brain stuttered alike trying to find the exact word I wanted to use in Italian. "Like happily ever after! Like what you and Ludwig have! You keep thinking about my life like it's in a Disney movie."

"Aw but you deserve a Disney prince charming, Lovi."

"That's not how life works, Feliciano."

"It did for me."

I scoffed at Feliciano's loving confession as he sent a heart-filled glance to Ludwig's back, who was still acting none the wiser. He just stood, stirring his chocolate.

"Well that's great for you, frati, but it's not the same for everyone."

There was a sobering effect of my words even though we both knew I was right. It shook the playful expression from Feliciano's face and I could feel the sinking of his heart.

"Don't stress yourself out," I followed myself up. "I'm just finally.. trying to.. enjoy his company after all these years. That's all."

.

I spoke with Feliciano for the rest of the afternoon, favoring talking in the living room adjacent to the kitchen. It made me feel a little better putting that distance between us and the German, who by that point long abandoned his chocolatey efforts to clean up after himself. The faint chemical smell wafted gently over to us on the couch every so often and I tried my best to ignore it. While the sun set through their curtains I caught my brother up on the goings on in my life, the little details, though vaguely described, and all that. It simply made me feel a little better not having to keep secrets anymore, not like when we were younger and still living with our grandfather.

I'd like to think I've grown up since then, become more open– to Feliciano at least.

He squealed and jumped and almost hit his head against a wall, a worried shout from Ludwig calming him down enough to sit still on the couch again. With every little reaction I was regretting opening up to him about my personal life, though. I was suddenly remembering other reasons as to why I didn't really talk about my mind and feelings with anyone else.

By the time I left it was dark outside, nearing 7:30. With the sun dying around mid afternoon in the winter time, the days felt much shorter, and the time I had before I was whisked away to work was even more fleeting. I checked my watch in the cold, groaned, shivered, zipped up my coat and made my way home to get ready for work. I always worked the night shifts since they always seemed to be calmer (the dark windows had that effect) and gave me a proper excuse to take a daily nap. I was on an adjusted sleeping schedule, though I still tried to stay up for the majority of the day. It wasn't exactly the most healthy way to live.

As I was walking down the sidewalk, hands in my pockets I neared the town square, hearing Alfred's and Arthur's incessant shouts as the former was stuck in a tree, trying to hang the last of the sparkly light-up stars to dangle from the branches. The latter was instructing him on where to place it, never quite happy. Matthew was in the distance, running as quickly as he could with a ladder in hand. I couldn't see his expression in the darkness, but I knew it read worrisome, tired, and unsurprised. I ignored them as I passed, reaching my apartment only a minute later, climbing the stairs, putting on my uniform, and grabbing my keys and a small bag of sour cream and onion chips on the way out. A midnight snack. Back out into the cold I went, shouting greeting me as I expected, and I struggled to open my car door through the ice even though it was unlocked. I had my hands latched onto the handle and my foot planted against its side when I was startled by a sudden crunch of snow and boisterous laugh.

"Well, well, well!" his grin was audible. "What is this, an episode of Grey's Anatomy?"

I wasn't as surprised as I should've been, or thought I would be, but the bastard had a certain talent for being everywhere all at once. He was the same in school, never not staring at my backpack and yelling for me to wait up. He seemed to see everything. Another annoying habit he had. I scoffed and dug my red hands in my pockets.

"Never seen it," I responded halfheartedly.

Apparently, even through my heavy winter jacket, he could still tell I was wearing scrubs. I wouldn't admit I was slightly impressed at the deduction, or at least very well placed guess. A lucky guess. The blue of my pants wasn't as bright as it would've been in the sunlight or if we were under a street lamp. You could hardly make out the pockets running down the legs and my white shoes (which had lovely arch support– my main reason for buying them) blended in with the snow.

"You went to medical school?"

I spared Antonio a glance as I fished out the keys from my pocket and resumed my attempts to open my car door. I scratched at the thick ice over the seam of the door to the car body, trying to crack and weaken it a bit. My usual winter scraper tool thing was on the floor of my passenger side. Inside the car. Locked behind a wall of ice.

"Did you graduate high school?" I muttered back, sarcasm in my tone, as clearly, I did go to medical school.

"Are you a doctor?" He constantly kept talking, taking a few more steps forward.

"Doctors have the coats." I almost had it, I just needed to crack the ice in a few more places.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, leaning his back against my car. I looked at him with an expression of irritation, though that did not deter me from my current task. "You're a nurse then?"

"Congratulations, you figured it out," I huffed and picked my head up. "Why are you bothering me?"

"So cold," he chuckled. "I just haven't seen you around lately."

"Well, I've been busy."

"Preparing for the winter festival I assume?" His smile grew and was evident with a humorous nature. Though, for me, on my adjusted schedule, it was early in the morning before work, and I was tired. I had no patience, less than I normally do, and that's saying something.

"Your jokes aren't funny, Antonio."

He hummed at me and tilted that head of his, the hair on said head flopping over, some strands landing over his nose. But I didn't entertain him, just shoving his shoulder to push him from my car. I was able to finally jerk the door free, the crackling of the ice falling to the ground louder than I appreciated. And before he could say anything else I stepped inside, slamming the thing closed with enough force to shake more ice from my window. Immediately I turned on the car, sparking it to life and blasted the heat, directing it best I could to my windshield. I could see my breath drifting in the air as I cursed myself for forgetting gloves, rubbing my hands together and feeling the tingling relief as the space started to finally warm up. To my dismay though, I had forgotten that the Spainard was still outside, not noticing if he left or not. He knocked on my window, startling me for the second time that night, and earning a groan. I could barely see him through the distorted image the winter made of his expression. Regardless I could still tell the bastard had a dumb look on his face. For a moment I considered ignoring him and just driving off to work, but something compelled me to roll down the window. The ice cracked more, and some shards fell into my car as it slowly came down, a harsh wall of winter air brushing my hair from my face again.

"What?" I said, obviously more than irritated.

He leaned down, like he was a cop who pulled me over. The snide look in his eyes didn't sit well with me, reminding me of his jokes and playful faces when it was just the two of us alone. It sent a nervous feeling down my spine, but I never minded it with a swallow, the feeling overpowered with my anger towards him for making me likely late to my shift.

"You didn't say goodbye," he grinned. I rolled my eyes.

"Idiot," I muttered. "Fine. Bye. Happy no–?"

But he cut me off in the middle of a word. I didn't notice when he leaned in further, maybe at first thinking he was trying to hear my quiet insult better, but I shouldn't have been so naive. This was Antonio we were talking about. Once again the sensation of a burning wave and tingles akin to static swarmed my head, making it warm. It lightly lingered where Antonio had reached forward to shut me up, touching the tips of his fingers to my jaw before planting a slow kiss on my lips. It was chaste, it felt as if it lasted forever, sweet and slow, but was over before I knew it. I had no time to push him away but apparently did to close my eyes and enjoy it a little. The suddenness caught me way off guard, an angry and red pair of eyes staring back at his smiling ones when he pulled back. Cheeky, arrogant, brat. Who knew what compelled him to kiss me, and in public no doubt, but I knew that by the time I got to work I'd have processed everything and would be undoubtedly infuriated. I was preparing myself early to control myself so as to not accidentally hurt any of my patients when I'm pricking them with an IV. I was in shock, silent, something that only ever occured if too many insults were fighting their way out of my mouth. My brain stuttered, then backfired.

"Have a good shift, Lovino."

Then the bastard walked away.

I couldn't say anymore that I hadn't kissed him sober.

.

I work in the NCCU (Neuro Critical Care Unit) on the sixth floor, dealing mostly with stroke victims. Back then the hospital I work at wasn't rather big, didn't have much funding, but had enough to do its job. Staff was lacking proper paychecks for their life saving work, but none of us really had the energy to complain more than at the water cooler on our breaks. The people on my floor at least always were preoccupied with feeding old women who could no longer do it themselves or wiping the ass of a man who lost control of his lower bodily functions. It was humbling work to say the least. But I knew once I graduated I didn't want to work with children or near the emergency room. The brain was always something I found interesting, so I led myself in that direction blindly.

I worked with good people, many of which were much older than me. Most were worn out mothers who had grown kids but weren't quite old enough to be grandmothers yet. They laughed at me when I wasn't telling a joke and pinched my cheeks, endearing but annoying at times. Nonetheless they were my coworkers, and I knew they were good at their jobs so that's all that mattered. However when I pulled my dazed self off the elevator to my floor, I heard uncharastic chatter and a feeling of charm and light. I heard a man laughing with an ego, and my many peers giggling at what he had to say.

I recognized that voice. I was listening intently as I walked down the hall and through a set of doors. How their conversation was able to carry for so long was beyond me, but eventually I reached the main lobby of the sixth floor. It was a small area, the entrance along the back wall, the door to the break room along there as well. The perimeter was lined with other doorways, clear glass, looking into each patient's room. Most were sleeping, others gazed at the ceiling. Also along the back wall sat a large counter where computers hid and charts were haphazardly flown about work spaces. It was leaning against the counter that I saw the source of sudden joyousness to the night crew at this hospital.

Francis.

I could hardly believe my eyes. A man I had only just seen a week ago, drunk off his ass and attempting to jump his kitchen counter was lazily looking about the room with that famous smirk he always wore. He wasn't wearing scrubs, but rather a different and plain uniform of nice clothes, and a badge hung from his dress shirt pocket. I figured I must have really been drinking with them too much to hallucinate Francis being at my job. I was stagnant by the door until someone noticed me, one of the women, and called me over. This allowed Francis to beat me to an introduction as he beamed with recognition and ushered me towards them. Hesitantly, still in shock from about 45 minutes ago, now new shock riddling my body, I took shaky steps forwards to the counter.

"Lovino, I cannot believe it!" he exclaimed, arms raised as if he was going to give me a hug, but he stopped himself.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I said, mostly through clenched teeth.

"Well, I got a job here," he looked at me, baffled.

"How?" Though I was just as baffled, my voice raised a little. "I know for a fact you'd never make it through med school!"

He pretended to act hurt, even though it wasn't my intention to make a swipe. I simply knew he just didn't go, that healthcare was not a passion of his. Ever the romantic, I remembered his parents wanted him to become a dentist to earn a good living, but he refused to commit his life to something just for the money. He talked on and on about passion, and I remember an outburst at teacher/parent conferences senior year when discussing the students' future. So to see him here was more than a tad surprising, from the surface level information I had gathered from him in our youth. But he just chuckled at me.

"No," he agreed. "I am simply your humble servant, overwatcher and overseer, the bridge between you and other departments and administrations…" he paused for dramatic effect. "I'm your new receptionist."

"Lovino, you're so rude," one of the mother nurses waved her hand at me with a smile. "Your friend here really is quite charming, and yet you say such horrible things."

I was speechless. I knew each floor had a secretary of some sorts, to field calls from other staffers to worried loved ones wanting to visit, to organize and sanitize equipment, and possibly help a nurse with something when they were overwhelmed (of course they could never do anything they'd need to be trained and licensed for– it was more like holding their tools when their hands were busy). I knew our floor had been missing one for some time since our previous one quit to take care of her newborn baby. The lobby's receptionist must have been dealing with our calls and orders all this time. I hadn't really been putting much thought into it, focused on different things. More important things.

"What a coincidence!" Francis sighed. "I had no idea you were a nurse, or even had an interest in the medical field."

But with his quip my brain started standing back up from the second shock wave of the work day. I cleared my throat and furrowed my brow in defiance.

"Yeah? Well I am, and I do. Excuse me," curtly, I left the scene to drop off my things at my own little computer I had behind the counter. I put on gloves, a mask, and picked up several leftover reports from the day shift nurses on news about my patients. Most had been doing well, and I was happy to see nothing to the contrary on the papers.

"I organized them for you, see?" Francis nearly got a bloody nose from his sudden appearance looking over my shoulder, and I shouted (I tried to not be so loud) for him to leave me be. He ignored me. "Don't you see how lovely a receptionist I'll be for you all? I was a secretary for an elite CEO of Europe and even a concierge in Spain!"

His hand was to his heart as I shuffled away, muttering something along the lines of "how could you be a concierge in Spain if you don't speak Spanish'' before successfully wandering off and to a room.

Note:

Sorry if this one seems short, I've been working on it for a while and I kept getting stuck! I needed to start fresh with a new chapter lol, which hopefully I won't get stuck on as much.