~Arancione~

Keep your dreams alive. Understand to achieve anything requires faith and belief in yourself, vision, hard work, determination, and dedication. Remember all things are possible for those who believe.

-Gail Devers

Within a week, Antonio had discovered a few things about Lovino and Lovino discovered many things about him. For one, Antonio discovered that Lovino had the habit of using insults as a way of establishing friendship. So, he often got called things like "dork, nerd, dummy, idiot, weirdo" and many others. He thought it somewhat adorable.

He also discovered that Lovino did not appreciate the collection of meme-based T-shirts that Gilbert had bought him. He called Antonio a meme-slut after finding him wearing a shirt with the mocking Spongebob meme. He now knew that Lovino really liked hazelnut and chocolate, which explained why he always smelled of chocolate and spice. He knew that Lovino was a culinary student from out of town. He discovered that Lovino would snort a bit and clear his throat when he found something amusing. There were many other things, but most of all, Antonio came to find that he was quite entranced by Lovino in the strangest way.

It was not romantic since he knew that something like that was different. However, this was more of something that absorbed him and caused him to fill with joy and amusement. He was entranced platonically.

Antonio wasn't one to make friends easily, and it often caused him to feel quite lonely. It wasn't that he didn't want to make friends. It was more that he didn't want pity. That was the one thing that he could not stand. As much as he loved talking and laughing with people, the thought of someone abusing his devotion—it was something that he could not stand. Thus, he tended to avoid friendships in general if they didn't include Francis and Gilbert.

But because there was something about Lovino, be it the way he spoke or the fact he had the tendency to call him "Turtle Dork" after discovering Antonio had an unhealthy obsession with them, Antonio liked Lovino and felt that this could possibly become another friendship that he could treasure and hold close to his heart.

Like this moment for example, where Antonio and Lovino sat at the bakery where they had their pleasant "meeting". Antonio was sipping at a nice cappuccino and Lovino cornetto. Both of them having another normal chat where Lovino talked about how much pride he took in his cooking and how it would best any Antonio's cheap frozen chicken nugget meals any day. Antonio talked about his most recent project which he had little motivation to complete. Both of them enjoying the morning before they had to head off to class.

"I'm thinking about completing my project in the park today. The weather app says it's going to be a nice day," Antonio commented as he took another small sip, his fingers typing away on his heavy typewriter. The keys clacked a pleasing sound to him, but a rather strange one to Lovino who was still learning many things.

For one, Antonio typed with this typewriter constantly since it wrote in braille and made his life all the easier. He also found that Antonio had strangely bright eyes. They haunted him at times. He had always assumed that the blind all had the same faded eyes, but Antonio's still seemed a vibrant green that scared Lovino since the man refused to wear sunglasses most days and often convinced him that Antonio could actually see.

"Mm, well, show me when you're done, nerd. I haven't seen anything new from you since that painting at the pizza place," Lovino clicked his tongue and glanced out the window. The day was nice. However, it was a bit chilly. Glancing back to Antonio, he looked him up and down. He wore a faded tan long sleeve shirt with a faded image of a slice of pie on the top left part of it. His pants were some crumpled up jeans that looked like they had fallen out of the mouth of a cow. His hair was messy, as usual. Flecks of paint that he hadn't managed to get out which amused Lovino sometimes, but also irritated him because of how often people believed Antonio was dirty.

Antonio hummed softly, "We'll see. You still owe me dinner for that bet last week."

Lovino rolled his eyes, "I didn't dare you to eat a whole pizza, moron, don't start. You had no reason for that idiotic move"

He laughed lightly and continued to type away, both of them sitting there in silence, quiet sips and the sweet welcoming embrace of hazelnut that Antonio adored more than anything.

There was a whimsical feeling about it. Normally they bumped into each other when Antonio went to grab pizza or asked Lovino to join him for breakfast. Even then, it had only been but a few chats and just getting to know the each other well enough.

"Everyone has a reason for things. Like you with cooking or me with painting. I had my reasons for eating an entire pizza even though it made me very sick."

Folding his arms and leaning back in his seat, "Mm, really now? Okay, loser, why do you paint?"

Antonio fell silent, his lips not exactly pursed, but closed and his posture straighter. There was a smile on his face, but the corners of it were pulled a bit too much and it was left plastic, "I guess you could say to rebel?"
Lovino's head tilted and his mouth opened ever so slightly as if to speak, but the words were robbed from him, "So, you paint to prove that you can do something?" His words were drawn out slowly and each laced in confusion.
Antonio pursed his lips for a moment and tilted his head back as he slipped into thought, "At first, that is exactly why I pursued art. I was six—and no six-year-old wants to be blind. I guess I decided that I wanted to be some special snowflake and be the best artist alive."
"Seems fair. You wanted to prove you could do crap for yourself," his shoulders shrugged lightly as he listened. Antonio's last phrase had ended on a melancholy note, which seemed an odd place to stop something.
"Yeah! And then, I actually started to like it. At first, I liked the praise I got for being able to push past expectation. Then, I realized that it was a bit dumb and that I truly adored art. Most of all, I enjoyed painting. It was something that was different because with a pencil, I never got to understand my final project; I only knew that it was there. But, when I was painting, I could make the paint come alive and I could make it poke and swirl and-and I could feel it when it dried. For someone who survives off of description, being able to get an image of what my finished project was, it became the best thing for me. So I pursued it more and more. I found that I really liked art, not for the praise of being different, because I don't want to be, but because it made me feel like I could enjoy something the same way that anyone else could appreciate it," he mused, a bright smile on his face, and his eyes filling with light, "Have you ever felt that? Feeling like you love something so much that you're willing to cling onto it for the rest of your life even if everyone else around you doesn't quite understand why?"
And Lovino nodded; for he did understand. Perhaps it wasn't painting—or in any of the fine arts—but it was in cooking. Living in a family of greatly accomplished people in things such as painting and sculpting, being able to find joy in something and knowing that it was a passion to take to the top gave him hope for the future and hope in himself. College was a terrifying thing and being able to dream towards an actual future gave him comfort.

"Yeah, turtle dork, I know how you feel."

Everything was silent, there wasn't much noise other than the slow shuffles of the people that were pacing along the floors, cleaning up, and the soft whispers that other people gave as they spoke calmly, enjoying the morning. There were a few weary college students who were still finishing up random papers, tired eyes that gazed wearily at bright screens and remaining unaware of the contrast they held between themselves and the beige walls that were painted with lilies and carnations. There was the normal city folk coming in for a moment into a paradise for a treat and sip of life before opening the door and heading off into the busy world once more without a concern.

But Antonio and Lovino, they sat, not really doing anything, and talking about anything and everything in the blissful warmth of the shop. Olive fingertips grazed the velvety fabric of the seat and hazel eyes looked around before glancing at the clock and standing up. With a gentle nudge, Lovino brought Antonio back to their own world and responsibilities that waited just outside of the bakery.

Another meeting, another talk, and despite everything that they knew, Antonio and Lovino still felt like strangers.

His toes curled in the grass, body leaning forward, and tongue poking out of wine-stained lips in concentration as he moved his brush carefully. His paint splotched white shirt drooped loosely at one shoulder, revealing a rather muscular arm from beneath. Antonio tugged it up lazily, getting more paint on the shirt as he did. No second thought was given and he let the shirt fall lazily once again.

It gave him a delicate appearance, one that was quite interesting as it contrasted with his physical appearance and made him look like a gentle giant.

His skin was also littered in goosebumps as it was rather chilly out and his jacket was somewhere on the ground, neglected for the time being. It was too much of a hassle to struggle with it while painting, so suffering from the cold seemed a much more logical solution.

After a few more strokes, a wine bottle met his lips and the fruity liquid going down his throat. It was a reward for him. After all, it was the first time in a while he was rather focused and serene rather than vexed. It tingled, the sweetness kissing his taste buds before rolling down his throat.

He had invited Lovino to come join him if he wasn't doing anything after class, but the response he had gotten was a maybe, so he assumed he had been rejected due to complications in scheduling—which was completely understandable. He filled with disappointment, to say the least. Having Lovino around to talk to seemed rather relaxing and overall a refreshing thing.

He normally didn't work around other people for various reasons, but he had wanted someone to talk to, strangely enough. Why the sudden change of preference, Antonio did not know.

Preference wasn't the right word. It was more of a comfort issue.

Taking another large sip of wine, Antonio put the large bottle down next to him and hummed softly as he continued to swipe gentle strokes. The world around him seemed quieter.

Instead of the busy noises of the streets and the collected voices of people who ran everywhere in hectic storms, Antonio was in paradise. The music from his phone played softly adding to the fall aesthetic that swirled around him. Every color that he would never see again, every tree he could never comprehend the same, and every object that stood in front of him all seemed to fade away and all that existed was his art.

Then a soft tingling grasped his senses. Chocolate and spice. He snapped from his peaceful state of focus and reached his free hand out gently. It moved through the air aimlessly before touching a soft fabric that left his fingertips just quickly as he had brushed to it. Bringing his hand back to his lap, he smiled faintly, "How's my favorite cook?"

"What if I had been some random stranger, hmm?"

Antonio's titter filled the air around them, "Not many random strangers smell like chocolate and spice when they come up to me—or at least not that boldly."

Lovino stepped back from Antonio's hand and watched him with a look of amusement, "Whatever. So, what's the nerd working on now?" He leaned on the seat Antonio sat on with folded arms, looking at the canvas.

It was confusing at first, each color contrasting greatly, but it was aesthetically pleasing regardless. Blues and oranges, purples and yellows—each spread throughout the canvas and bursting to life as they contrasted with the bleakness and the austerity that the weather itself cried out with.

Antonio did not pull his paintbrush from the canvas and kept working to get the textures correctly. His focus was on nothing else at the moment. Although, he was still listening to Lovino, "Just an exercise since I need to think about what to do for my project. I am dying and avoiding it way too much. Too bad I still don't want to do it. So now, I paint out here."

"Without shoes? You look like a stinky hobo," he snickered.

"You're too kind to me, Lovino."

Lovino shrugged, sitting down on the grass and pulling out a book to read while Antonio painted next to him.

The music continued to play softly, Spanish that Lovino could only partially decipher from his limited knowledge of it. It was beautiful regardless, the sweet strums of a guitar and the honey voice that sang, giving the entire thought of autumn a more satisfactory and blissful appeal.

His attempts to translate the song were all in vain and ended in mystification. He settled to listening to the lyrics instead and pretending that he knew what was going on.

Tawny eyes grazed along the green grass, fallen leaves, small dots of paint that littered the ground, and then landing upon the large bottle of wine that sat comfortably in the grass.

A sick feeling filled his stomach for the briefest moment and Lovino felt his lungs close shut. It was only a moment, but it still happened, and it took him a moment to gather himself again, ignoring the bottle entirely.

Antonio didn't notice, how could he? He kept painting, humming softly to the music as he did. Lovino read, glimpsing up at him every few moments to see his progress before going back to reading and laying on the grass. Antonio would sing actual words every few moments. Lovino listened, translating what he could and feeling relaxed.

Antonio talked to Lovino when he wasn't humming. He asked him about school and Lovino did the same to him. When Antonio mentioned it was his last year of school, Lovino choked on his breath, shocked to find that Antonio was twenty-six.

"What the hell? I'm barely twenty!"

Antonio laughed, shrugging, leaving a very confused Lovino to sit there excogitating over the fact that he was a year away from being legally allowed to drink and Antonio was four years away from being in thirty-years-old. It was strange to think about. Especially considering the way Antonio acted and dressed. His mannerisms convinced the Italian that he could not have been any older than twenty-three.

After a couple of comments on how Antonio was an old man, the both of them sat on the grass, eating cheap park food and waiting for Antonio's painting to dry enough for them to leave. Well, for Antonio to leave. Lovino technically could leave whenever he wanted, but he was being nice for Antonio's sake.

So they sat, Antonio, finishing up homework for other classes and Lovino talking about how he looked, taking advantage of the fact that Antonio had no idea of what he was like.

"Large man, spiky green hair, piercings on my nose and lip, and I wear red contact lenses."

"Really?"

"Really. Also, I sound like a dying walrus when I sing."

"I'm sure you don't."

Their conversations carried on, meaningless things thrown into the crisp autumn air and Antonio sitting there feeling more at peace than he had felt in a long time. It was nice to be able to talk to someone again. It took his mind off of a lot of things.

It was a new thing for Antonio to get used to. While he knew the names of some of the people in his classes and everyone in his neighborhood, his friends were limited to Gilbert and Francis. But now, there was someone else joining in the friendship circle.

"Hey, you asked me why I painted the other day, but I never asked why you cooked," Antonio finally broke the silence.

Lovino initiated it again. He bit his lip and thought about his inspirations and what had brought him to this point, "Well, I used to cook a lot as a kid. My grandpa worked a lot, so I would have to make something for Feli and I. At first, it was a dumb chore. Then, I realized that I really liked it because one, I got to eat what I wanted and what kid doesn't like that?—and two, I got to explore a lot with things and it became my own form of creation. My creation was delicious too, so bonus. Suck on that you Vanhoe," he stuck his tongue out and blew a raspberry at Antonio.

Antonio stuck his tongue out, mirth plastered on his olive face. He was quite enjoying himself really. Talking to Lovino gave him more motivation to paint. That was something that he hadn't experienced in a while. It was amicable, really.

"My grandfather teased me a bit when I was younger about it, but he grew more and more proud as I grew older. Although, he still thinks that I need to be warmer to people," he chuckled lightly, "What did your family think of your painting?"

Antonio clamped his mouth shut for a moment as a sigh escaped him, "My mama loved my painting and my brother thought it cool, at least. But my father, he never liked it. He thought it a bit dumb and said I was putting myself up for disappointment. I never listened to him about it because, in my heart, I knew it didn't matter if I couldn't see. I don't think he ever quite accepted that " he shrugged lightly.

A small cloud of sorrow seemed to hang over them, or Antonio at least. It was there, barely hanging over before it disappeared, leaving nothing but a momentary thought of it. If not gone, it was no longer noticeable. That was at least decent.

He sat up for a moment, slipping his socks and shoes back on, the warmth becoming a strange sensation to his cold feet that had gone a bit numb from the amount of time that he had entangled them in the cool mess of the damp grass that currently soaked the backs of both of their clothes.

Swaying gently, he began to hum again to the soft crackling recording of an old song. He turned towards Lovino and let his head fall gently to his shoulder, "What does the day look like?"

His voice gently brushed Lovino's ear like a nymph that pressed a gentle kiss to him in sorrow. It startled Lovino in the strangest way, causing him to look over as Antonio's vibrant eyes seemed to stare into the deepest parts of the universe, seeing beyond what others could only imagine. It sent lighting swift shivers through him before a feeling of slight sorrow filled him.

"It's a nice day. There are leaves on the ground—orange and yellow. The sky is grey, but there is some blue that is peeking through," he started, not seeing any harm in describing the day, "There are people walking by wrapped up. The trees are almost bare from the fact the leaves have fallen. It's just a dreary mix of browns, oranges, greys, and reds. But, they work, nicely, you know? It's calm and sweet, and neutral."

A soft sigh went past his lips and Antonio lay back in the grass, imagining what Lovino described as leaves and grass caught in his shaggy brown curls. It had been so long since he had seen the autumn weather and the world in general, "It sounds wonderful."

Silence took over once again, an awkward feeling settling in with both as it reintroduced itself into the scenario. It only added to the neutral feeling of autumn. They were made of browns and greys; hues that circled them and attempted to enter their minds only to get rejected because despite the boring and repetitive neutrality of their conversations—the fact was that it was nice and that they both found great joy in the plainness that filled the autumn environment.

Not everything needed bright colors. In fact, neutral was nice. In all of the drabness, it was much easier to find joy.

And that was how Antonio's slow hums as they sat in the grass, bored, but not moving, turned into words that rang softly only for their ears. The small voice singing through the speaker was drowned by Antonio's sweet voice that sang boldly despite being quiet. The boldness itself did not come from Antonio, but the way that something so flattering and elegant could be in the same place as neutrality.

Eventually, the two did part their ways, Antonio leaving to go get cleaned up so he could leave to work, and Lovino headed off to go buy some things at the store. The sun was setting by then, bright blues fading to oranges, reds, and the slow fingertips of purple that reached to any remaining light as if clinging to it and wanting the fugacious light to linger for an ephemeral moment more. The neutrality was pierced by coolness such as that of the shivering brushes of blues that dominated the once grey-blue sky above.

To Antonio, nothing had changed.

"How much do you love me?"

"A lot."

"Then please, let me help you and tell me why these cuts are on your cheek…"

"I'm not the one who needs help."

He had been sitting there for hours on end, his fingers running over the familiar cover of Les Miserables and the Frank Sinatra record replaying for the seventh time in the background.

He had never felt this unwilling to do an art project for any class. Yes, he had his dreading moments where he would much rather cook, clean, or attempt to do many other things than to work on his sculpture. It was a rotten feeling that caused his insides to curl and quiver in denial and disquietude.

Antonio rolled over, wanting nothing more than to fling himself into a hole or perhaps the sun. He had not even been able to work on his sketch paper, tearing up the paper over and over, unsatisfied and unsure of what he was doing.

"Paint a story using something that inspires you"

He pulled at his hair, hoping for a fleeting memory of his mother's face or maybe Gilbert and Francis. Yet, nothing came up and what did come up did not hold a feeling that dear to him. Image after image using his limited memories and abilities to tell what faces looked like but still nothing came to him.

He gave up after a while, only laying on his couch before work, wondering how on Earth he was ever going to find the motivation to do this project when he could barely manage to get up at the moment. It was awful at the moment as he had little motivation.

Not knowing what else to do, he slammed his face into a pillow. It was a soft, relaxing him a bit when he hit the lace fabric. His couch was very soft in general. He limply lifted his hand to run his fingers along the velvety couch in attempts to possibly at least come up with ideas for what he would do for this project.

He wanted to paint his mother, more than anything. Yet, try as he might, Antonio couldn't see her face as clearly as he had seen it years before. There were blurry images of who she was and despite the number of times that he had touched her face in admiration and love, it was not the same. The images seemed to flutter away and all that was left was a cracking and fading image of his mother. All he could see was a faded flower print skirt and beautiful blue eyes with tiny flecks of green. He had looked into them many times as a child, memorized them, admired them, and they still seemed to be the one thing that he could never forget about the days before he lost his ability to see.

He'd paint those. A small smile creeping on his face. Although, he wanted more than some faded flowers and a color of eyes. He wanted a face to go with it, but there was no face left in his mind that he felt worthy to place with her eyes. He didn't want to attempt to paint Francis and fail to do him justice and Antonio could only imagine attempting Gilbert. He needed someone—something that he could touch and paint.

Sighing, he kept thinking, and then an idea started to grow in his head. A small seed that grew and snaked its way through his mind. Biting his lip, he shook his head. It wasn't a good idea. Lovino's description of himself didn't seem like something that would fit. As much as he adored his friend, spiky hair and beryl eyes did not seem to match together well. At least, not in the image he was imagining for the painting.

His phone seemed to stab him from behind, urging him to do it anyway. What was the worst that could happen? Plus, Lovino was a friend and Antonio would be able to easily attempt to paint him.

His fingers hovered over his phone and earbuds, the question of whether he should or should not call Lovino running through his head.

One one hand, it wouldn't do any harm. In fact, it would be good since he would be painting something and someone he hadn't before and would stretch his skills and would end up a good way to exercise.

On the other hand, what if it turned out that he didn't find Lovino to be an inspiration or at least enough of one to influence his project? He wanted to ensure that he was making the correct decision.

However, the more that he thought about it, the more the pros came out and the cons began to eliminate themselves. It didn't take long before Antonio picked up his phone and called. He waited, his heart pounding against his ribs apprehensively. The phone began to ring and Antonio waited, his free hand tugging at his shirt.

"You are one lucky bastard since I just got out of class. Why are you calling?"

"I wanted to know if you'd be my muse and allow me to paint you," he chirped, asking right away to avoid any chances of nervousness getting in the way.

It was silent, oddly silent. It sparked a fleeting flame of concern and demurral. The only sound was of something being stifled, but he couldn't thoroughly elucidate it to himself.

"I-" his voice cracked in bewilderment, "You want to paint me? And why?"

His nervousness began to take over and he had to fight to keep himself from cracking, "I know it's a bit sudden since we've known each other for like—a week? But but! You're becoming a good friend and honestly, I'm pretty sure that I would be in the middle of a mental breakdown right now if I didn't have you to at least ask to paint," he confessed.

Lovino went silent again, but Antonio still listened and swallowed anxiously. There was a small sigh and Antonio smiled, already imagining how Lovino was reacting at the moment, "Sure. Why not. We can meet up and talk about your plan for whatever you're doing and decide on whose dump we're going to."

"Sounds great! Bakery?"

"Bakery. Now, I have to get going because some of us have actual responsibilities and work to do. Talk to you Friday, loser"

"Got it! See you then!"

Lovino hung up and left a very ecstatic Antonio ready to jump up and down the walls. Deciding it to be a moment of celebration and believing that he deserved a reward, he pulled out some wine and poured himself a glass.

Had it not been for the fact that he had to head off to get to work in a few minutes, his lips would have been left wine stained once more.