Lovino slumped in lawn chair. God, he hated these things. His family was behind him, yelling in Italian and English and a garbled version of both. Here he was, stuck drinking soda. At least Feliciano could have fun talking to the adults; he always enjoyed bringing his sketchbook to these things and showing everyone his latest works.

Lovino, meanwhile, usually ended up somewhere alone, in the dark, and getting eaten alive by mosquitoes. It was all his Grandpa's old, creepy friends who came to these things. Them and his cousins, all of whom could drink. At this particular summer event, Lovino was stuck sitting by the fire. Lovino slumped lower, knees coming perilously close to the flames.

Lovino took a last swig of his soda can before throwing it in the fire. Had anyone actually been sitting with him, they might have scolded him about toxins aluminum released when it was burned. As it was, Lovino was left only with the sound crackling logs.

"Another beer?"

Lovino snorted. Like anyone else at this party needed something to drink.

"Ah… Another beer?"

Lovino's head jerked up. There was a man standing next to him. Lovino had no idea who this person was—he usually didn't. He hugged the relatives who he was introduced to, then went off to sulk.

"Me?"

Lovino could see the stranger's white teeth gleam in the firelight. When had it gotten so damn dark? How long had Lovino been sitting there, staring into the fire?

"Yes. Would you like another one?"

Lovino looked around and sat up. "Fuck it, sure. Why not?"

The man laughed. "Be right back."

Lovino watched him walk away. His eyes were still all fucked up from looking into the fire, so he still couldn't tell who this man was. He wondered if he was related to this man—that was another issue with these things, how the hell was he supposed to tell who he could flirt with? That sexy girl over there, she's your second cousin, Lovino, but of course I didn't tell you until you gave her your phone number.

"Here you go, I grabbed the first one I saw in the cooler." The man returned, handing Lovino a can.

Was this really happening? Lovino found he didn't care, and cracked the beer open. It tasted like absolute piss, but he thanked his lucky stars he wouldn't have to go through the rest of this night fully sober. Lovino glanced over to the man, who had sat down in the chair next to Lovino.

"Who're you?" Lovino asked, squinting and trying to see the man's face.

"Antonio Fernández-Carriedo. I came here with Francis."

Lovino sucked in air through his teeth. He knew it was too good to be true. Francis was one of those cousins who no one was really sure how he related to the family. He bore the general resemblance of the Aunts on one side, but he spoke French like the Uncles on another side. He showed up for all the family gatherings, always toting a new girl (or guy) on his arm.

"Ah, you came here with Francis," Lovino repeated, taking another sip of beer—Lovino was half sure Antonio had pissed in the can.

Antonio laughed, and Lovino was surprised how real it sounded. It didn't sound like the usual flirtatious, obnoxious laugh. "Oh, no, not with him. He wanted some company and someone to drink with, so here I am." Antonio took a sip. "Mm, but you're Lovino, right?"

Lovino made a face. "It's not creepy at all that you know my name."

Antonio laughed, waving one hand like he was trying to dispel Lovino's doubts. "Francis pointed you out earlier. You and your brother…"

"Feliciano," Lovino grumbled, leaning back in his chair. "The boy who is handsome, clever, and an excellent artist."

]"What does that make you?" Antonio asked, standing up and searching his pockets for something.

Lovino watched him, annoyed the bastard couldn't sit down for five seconds and have a normal conversation. It's like he couldn't stay still. "It makes me the boy who sits by himself and gets offered drinks because he's fucking awesome. What the hell are you even looking for?"

Antonio pulled a box out of his back pocket. "There it is!" He flipped the box open, pulling out a cigarette. "Want one?" He offered the box.

Lovino had never been offered a cigarette before. Cigarettes were too valuable at school, a rare commodity that was too cool to offer or share with anyone else. You offered weed, or a sip from a nip, not a cigarette.

Lovino stared at the box. Should he take one? He looked around once again. The adults were still by the tent, talking and drinking. A couple people were laying out on blankets they had brought, while a group of cousins had gathered in a circle and were singing along with the guitar someone had brought.

"Yeah, thanks," Lovino took one, realizing he didn't have a light as he stuck the cigarette in his mouth.

He felt like an idiot until Antonio saved the day, pulling out a lighter. He gestured for Lovino to come closer, and clicked the lighter on when the ends of their sticks met. Lovino saw a flash of green eyes and then his cigarette was lit.

Lovino breathed in the smoke. Now, Lovino didn't smoke, but he knew how not to be a total ass when he did. The first time he had smoked a joint, he had ended up coughing and retching; he had been mortified. After countless hours of practice—spread across his first two years of school—Lovino had mastered the art of smoking.

Antonio smiled when he caught Lovino's eye. Lovino looked away, back toward the fire. "Why aren't you hanging out with Francis if you came with him?"

He could feel Antonio's eyes still on him. "Well, Francis is… Busy. Let's just say, he and I took different cars here. Are you sure he's really your cousin?"

Lovino felt an unwanted smile flick across his face. "Honestly, I don't think he is." Lovino took a sip of beer, looking at Antonio out of the corner of his eye. "Where are you from? Your accent…"

"Spain," Antonio answered. "No particular part. My family moved around a lot. I lived by Portugal for a while, then in Madrid, then down by Morocco, right by the Strait of Gibraltar. I went to University near France, which is where I met your lovely cousin." Antonio blew a smoke ring, which impressed Lovino to a degree that he would never admit to himself. "You?"

Lovino slumped in his chair, flicking his cigarette into the fire. "Just… Here."

"Here is nice, Lovino."

The younger boy snorted. "Sure. What are you doing over here, anyways, Mr. Spain? I would think you would continue your backpacking through your home country before you visit the ass end of the world that is America."

Antonio laughed, flicking his own cigarette into the fire. "I enjoy meeting new people. It feels like I've met everyone over in Spain, so I traveled with Francis to the States."

Lovino grunted. "If I were you, I'd get back on that boat and find some new people over in Europe." Lovino glanced over at Antonio to find him staring at him. A smirk was playing across his face, and he was leaning awfully close. Lovino felt his palms start to sweat.

"What do you do, Lovino?"

"School," Lovino mumbled, taking a calming sip of beer. "I work part time at a restaurant. Why?"

Antonio shrugged, somehow leaning closer. He smelled like sweet alcohol and cigarettes and something unidentifiable that made Lovino want to squirm in his seat. "Well, if you want to leave so badly, why don't you? You could save up. Leave…" He grinned, and underneath the friendly surface, there was something exciting and dangerous. "I could show you the sights."

Lovino's stomach was rolling. He took another sip of beer, but he was feeling lightheaded. "Once again, not creepy at all."

And then, Antonio was light again. He laughed, leaning back in his chair. "Sorry, I get a little carried away sometimes! I forget myself, when I drink. You're welcome to slap me if I come on too strong."

"I'm sixteen."

The smile froze on Antonio's face. "You're kidding."

Lovino glared at the fire, feeling flushed, sweaty, and utterly foolish. He shouldn't have said anything, God damn. "Seventeen next month. Sorry for being fucking jailbait. You're welcome to slap me," Lovino spat, not meeting Antonio's eyes.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know, because Francis pointed you out, I assumed that he… Argh, I'm going to kill that…" Antonio trailed off into Spanish swearing, shaking his head and throwing his can into the fire. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry. You're cute—" Lovino winced, "—but I'm twenty-four, and the age of consent here is, what, eighteen?"

"Fuck off, leave me alone," Lovino snapped, scooting down in his chair. God, he was such a fucking idiot sometimes. Curse him and his giant mouth—he and Feliciano were similar in that regard, unfortunately. "I hate these fucking stupid ass stupid parties."

Antonio stood, patting his pockets nervously. "Eh, eh, you're cute when you curse."

Lovino gave Antonio as close to a growl as humanly possible. "Suck my dick."

"I would," Antonio sounded distressed, "but you have to give me a year!"

This thought made Lovino very angry and very… Well… "Oh, get out of here before you make me punch you."

…

Lovino found himself sprawled on a couch, gazing up at the ceiling. This time, Lovino found himself inside a small, cozy house. The music that was blaring outside made Lovino want to shove his fingers in his ears like a child. Feliciano was somewhere outside, offering to paint children's faces, and Lovino was inside, glaring up at the ceiling.

Soda cans surrounded the couch, as well as a bag of chips Lovino had stolen. His Grandfather had taken away his phone, so now all there was left to do was sulk. And sulk Lovino did. Still, no one his age besides his daft brother. Still, Lovino couldn't drink. If Lovino had to imagine a hell, this would be it.

"Want a cigarette?"

Lovino jerked up, whipping around. He gaped, staring at Antonio. The fucker had shown up. That asshole from a year ago had tagged along with Francis again, and was sitting sprawled in the loveseat, looking ever so content with himself. This was the first time Lovino had seen the man in bright lighting—why in good God's name had this man come back for him?

Antonio smiled, offering a cigarette.