AN: Alright, cool! I actually did another chapter! I am so happy I actually got it done. I am... Surprisingly, extremely interested in finishing this one. It's already fully planned out and everything. Well. Hope you enjoy this chapter! Many thanks to the ones who proofread this!

.Day Two.
Fell Back to Earth

It would take a complete and utter fool to not notice the lively air that seemed to follow Antonio wherever he would go. Ever since he had awoken this morning, it seemed he had been in quite the high spirits. From the moment he woke up, he had even thrown open the curtains and roused his friends from their slumber with a sing-song voice and an even cheerier attitude. Gilbert hadn't been too pleased at the sun's morning rays, and had groaned and turned his back to the room, but at least Francis was appreciative of his friend's sudden turn-around. And to the self-proclaimed 'love expert', he knew exactly why - that 'angel' from last night. Even if Antonio didn't speak a single word about the Italian he had seen standing upon that balcony, Francis knew. Oh, how he knew... And yet, Antonio himself, he denied it. After all, there was no such thing as love at first sight. No, he was just happy that he could actually feel something like that again. For the longest time, he thought that such emotions were lost to him - intoxicated or not. And to have such strong evidence that he could in fact notice someone for once... Well, it was reason to celebrate!

Much to Gilbert's relief, Antonio had left the hotel early that morning - and alone, seeing as how his two friends were currently recovering from last night's alcohol adventures. He couldn't count how many times the one on the couch would grumble for him to shut up while he ranted away on how Italian mornings were always so beautiful. And now, he walked the streets alone, with a basket bouncing at his hip. He figured that if he wanted to celebrate, then perhaps he should do so with one of his favourite fruits, something of which he used to grow when he was a child. He smiled fondly at the memory of his most prized garden, of the ripe, red fruit he treasured so. Vaguely, he wondered why he had ever stopped growing them, but as soon as he did, the answer came to him. Instantly, he dismissed it. It was not time to think of something like that. No, instead, he focused on the familiar feeling of gathering the fruit, though he knew he would not be picking them this time. He would be traveling to the local market, thankful that the outdoor market would actually be up and around this time of year - and with fresh tomatoes, all for him.

He weaved through the crowd with practiced ease. After all, something like this wasn't uncommon in his home town. He could remember sweltering summer days where he would run through the streets, weaving in and out of the bodies pressed so tightly together. Admittedly, he'd have a piece or two of fruit stashed away in his shirt, fruit of which came at a five-finger discount. He chuckled at the memory, a smile playing along his lips. Ah, yes, those were the days... He was never caught, for he was always so much faster than everyone else. The men who yelled after him, who tried to chase him down and make him pay for the fruit, would never be able to catch up to him, not with how thin and lanky the boy had been in his teenage years. It most certainly helped him slip between the bodies of the other people. And not to mention how fast he could run-! Yes, yes, he remembered now. He let those memories resurface, of the days he spent swimming and running, tree climbing and bike riding. And when he had entered into high school, the days filled with joy and laughter, his two best friends at his side. Oh, the fun they would have... Often, they would join in on his marketplace endeavors - or at least, Gilbert would. Francis would merely just chuckle and claim that he never saw the two in his life, choosing instead to flirt with the women in the area.

They were lucky to have each other, Antonio realized, given their backgrounds. But, he supposed, that was what happened when you had families who traveled so much. It seemed to bring them together. While they could not attend the same high school, they most certainly spent many days and nights together, under the summer sky. Aah, how he missed those days... They were so simple, so carefree, so fun... And if he was lucky, he wouldn't have to be alone during the school year, either.

The sight of the delicious red fruit was more than enough to pull the Spaniard away from his memories, his smile widening into a grin as his eyes caught sight of them. He made his way through the crowd, his footsteps light and quick as though he were performing a dance, and slowed before the stall. The man grunted at him in recognition of having a customer, speaking a few Italian words of greeting. Antonio paused for a moment, trying to process what was being said, but laughed nervously when he realized he could not understand. A sheepish smile and the words, "Non parlo italiano," fell from his lips. With a roll of the eyes, the man switched his speaking language to broken English. It wasn't Spanish, but considering it was the common language between Gilbert, Francis, and him, he most certainly understood it. He gave a wide, toothy grin and a reply. Soon enough, he had made his purchase, the basket being filled with his prizes.

With a gentle hummed song slipping from him, the foreigner began to make his way through the crowd once more. The summer sun bore down on him, and yet it was not quite warm enough for the folds of his clothing to being clinging - only barely stick. Wow, this truly was reminiscent of his time spent as a kid... He chuckled at the thought, eyes glancing to those who gave him questioning stares at his sudden show of amusement. He merely gave them a grin in return, but alas, while being distracted by doing so, it seemed he hadn't noticed the smaller form flying toward him. Though, he wouldn't have noticed it in the first place, given how the form was quickly darting in and out of the sea of bodies. Not until it collided straight into him, just as it did now.

A startled yelp and his precious fruit was sent flying into the air. Men and women all around them parted from the confusion, ducking out of the way of the tomatoes that fell to the ground, each one with a horrifying splat. Distraught, Antonio watched as the last of his precious fruit destroyed itself on the concrete, all from his lovely front row seat on the ground beside them. ... With a weight sprawled across his waist and legs. The Italian curses and accusations caught his attention instantly, the voice strikingly familiar. And when he glanced down, he noticed that the shifting weight was in fact a man, untangling himself from Antonio's legs and sitting up, cheeks coloured red and fury dancing brilliantly in bright green eyes. And... oh... Tomatoes decorating his white shirt. Alas, that was a detail long forgotten by the Spaniard. For as soon as he looked into those eyes, his breath caught in his throat.

This was the angel.

He remembered it clear as day, the angel that stood atop that balcony, a sweet, sad song dancing from his lips as the moon's rays spilled out over him and illuminated only him. He truly was a beauty. Now, Antonio wasn't a fool. He could tell love and he could tell admiration. And he most certainly knew that even if he found this man attractive, it was, most certainly, not love. No, he had merely been drunk that night. ... And yet, he was just as beautiful as he had been the night before... The Italian growled and shouted once more in his native tongue, posing an angered question to the one who just so happened to not speak a lick of the language. Of course... An amused smile twisted onto Antonio's lips as he merely just listened. So angry... Who knew that someone could be so angry with him, when they were the one who ran into him in the first place?

This only seemed to irritate the man further, his cheeks darkening a few hues and his body straightening. Once more, Italian shouts poured from his lips. Antonio hummed and spoke up, "You do know that I don't speak Italian, sí?"

As soon as the question left his lips, the Italian seemed to quiet, an understanding coming to his eyes. Even that frown seemed to fade momentarily, and as Antonio had just noticed was even there in the first place, the fist that was just about to lash forward had lowered. Warily, the Italian eyed him, analyzing him. Then he snorted and spoke in Italian once again, then added on something that Antonio actually did understand - though it was the annoyed tone that still had him confused. "Non parlo inglese." I don't speak English. Well. This was interesting.

Shouting caught his attention. As soon as the shouts reached Antonio's ears, so did it seem to reach the 'angel's. Thin shoulders tensed at the sounds, his head turning to glance behind him. More Italian shouts from the smaller man as he reached out and shoved Antonio aside, sending him sprawling out on his side. He made a move to stand up, but as soon as he put pressure on his foot to stand, he let out a shout and collapsed to the ground once more. The shouts grew closer. Words that Antonio recognized as curses poured from the Italian's lips. Once again, he tried, and this time, he succeeded in standing.

It was a sad sight, really. And now that Antonio could take him in, he realized just how much that crash had wounded the man. Not only was there now tomato decorating his clothes, but there were now scrapes on his knees, and clearly his ankle was not in a good shape for running. Antonio wasn't stupid. He could very well put two and two together. This man, for whatever reason, was running away from the shouting men, but alas, he couldn't due to his injuries - the most notable being the ankle, no doubt sprained, but clearly not broken. Oh, and he fell again, seeming to have stepped on the wrong side of his foot. At least this time, he had only fallen to a knee.

Heaving out a sigh, the Spaniard pushed himself up from the ground and rolled his shoulder. Now that he stood, he could see the crowd beginning to part. The men were closer now. He knelt before the 'angel', ruffling his hair and giving a reassuring smile. As he had expected, his hand had instantly been batted away. "Just leave it to me, okay?" he spoke calmly. His smile fell and he straightened, turning to face the men breaking through the crowd. Uno, dos, y... tres... Three men, clearly not police officers. Unless, of course, the policemen of Italy decided it would be proper to wear dress shirts and slacks. They slowed at the sight of the Spaniard gazing so casually at them, their eyes flicking to the one he stood before. Italian shouting. He heaved out a sigh, shoulders sagging and head tilting. "Doesn't anyone understand that I don't speak Italian? I don't even look Italian! I'm Spanish, dios mío!"

Well, seemed that they didn't care. For as soon as those words left his lips, the men charged. They only seemed to care about one thing; the one Antonio had already made the decision to protect. No matter.

His smile died instantly, his expression falling into a more serious one. He brought his fists up and danced out of the way of the first swing, arcing his foot around to land a hit on the first guy's side. Success.

The man stumbled into the one next to him, their limbs tangling and sending them sprawling to the ground.

Antonio spent no time watching them do so, instead turning to block a punch directed toward him by knocking the arm out of the way just before it could hit, his other fist flying forward to deliver a punch to the jaw.

The man staggered a few steps and Antonio turned back to the other men who steadied themselves and prepared to lunge.

He had prepared for this. He kicked up a piece of the poor, destroyed fruit and sent it flying toward one of the men, using it as a sort of momentary distraction so he could swoop in and deliver a blow to the gut of the other. He ducked under the arcing swing of a punch, dancing back a few steps to avoid leaving himself open for any other blows.

At least he had one down... Two to go...

Or so he thought.

"BEHIND YOU, IDIOTA!"

The shout was enough to make him aware of the men who had come onto the scene. He quickly spun, but alas, it wasn't fast enough. A flash of sunlight glinting off the steel of a blade and the sharp sting of a fresh cut to his arm indicated the use of a weapon.

Two more men had arrived, much to his dismay, and it seemed that both of them were armed. He brought his knee up to collide with the new man's stomach, lacing his fingers together and bringing his elbows down onto the back to send him sprawling across the ground.

The flash of a blade caught his eye, and time seemed to slow as he watched it draw closer. He spun, but he knew he would not have enough time.

The blade would hit. And with where it was aimed, he doubted that he could skip out from a hospital visit.

But lo and behold, a smaller form appeared out of the corner of his eye, barreling into the man and throwing him off balance.

At the same moment, one of the original men came charging at him, fist raised.

Antonio didn't have time to dodge once again, and the painful slap of knuckles against his cheek resounded. He staggered a few steps, the air knocked out of his lungs as he felt a kick to his stomach. His feet tangled together and he collapsed to his rump. Seeing the man arc his leg toward him again, he quickly rolled to the side to avoid the blow, lifting his foot to deliver a kick to the hip to knock him off balance.

His eyes searched and after a brief moment, he found the one he was supposed to be protecting - pinned underneath one of the knifemen, the knife being drawn closer as the smaller struggled to push the hand away.

From this distance, he could see the lips moving, but couldn't quite make out the words that were being said. Not that he'd understand in the first place...

He quickly pushed himself off the ground and dodged the next attacks, ignoring the pulsating pain of his cheek and nose. A punch to the face, a blow to the gut, a knee to the groin... All of it, it seemed that he did on his own, without a single thought put into it. He could hardly feel himself being in control of his own body, as though he were merely watching it run through the motions. He felt strangely calm, and yet, at the same time, infuriated.

This man... He was going to kill someone, right in front of the people of the marketplace. And damnit, it pissed him off!

A kick to the side sent the man tumbling off the 'angel', and Antonio reached a hand to him. Without a single moment of hesitation, his offer was accepted and he hoisted him up. He glanced over his shoulder to find that a few of the men were starting to get back up, and he could hear the shouts of more people coming to the scene mixing with the confused and startled shouts of the innocent patrons of the marketplace. He flashed a grin to his charge. "Time to go," he spoke in an all-too-cheerful tone. He ignored the confused and startled Italian shouts as he hoisted the man up and over his shoulder, holding tightly on the legs.

And he ran. As fast as his legs could carry him, Antonio ran. He kept a tight grip on the Italian slung over his shoulder, eyes darting this way and that for any opening in the crowd. He weaved through the bodies with expert grace, thankful of all those years of dance he had taken in his youth for his quick reflexes. He ignored the dull ache of his stomach, the stinging of his face, the throbbing of his arm. He ignored the shouted protests and the way that the man struggled in his hold, though it seemed that they soon died down the farther he ran. He fled from the marketplace entirely, darting into one of the many alleyways and traveling through the streets. And when he could no longer hear the shouts of the men far behind him, he finally slowed to a jog, his chest heaving and sweat running down the curves of his face.

He jogged the rest of the way to a nearby bench, slowing to a stop and carefully placing the man down. Hot air escaping from his lips, Antonio collapsed next to him, slumping against the back. "Dios mío, what a weekend-!" A breathy laughed escaped from him, his lips twisting into an smile. He tilted his head back, eyes staring up to the sky as a hand wiped across his brow.

From beside him, the Italian scrutinized him, subtly inching away as to widen the gap between them. "Are all you Spanish bastards crazy?"

"Are all you Italians liars?" Antonio shot back, his tone laced with strong hints of amusement as he eyed the one beside him.

He stiffened and spat out indignantly, "Che cosa?"

"You lied."

"The fuck did I lie?!"

"I thought you didn't speak English."

A pause, then an aggravated huff. Humiliated by his own actions, the Italian glanced away, hands balling into fists. "Yeah, well that was before you decided to get your ass kicked."

"You're welcome."

"I didn't fuckin' thank you!"

"Wow, what a mouth you have there!" He laughed. "I forgot to bring the soap!"

"You-"

"Why were those guys after you?" Antonio cut in. All traces of his smile was gone. Silently, he pleaded for this man to not make him regret his decision. For all he knew, he realized, he could have deserved it. Or at least, deserved to be captured. Killed? ... Not so much...

Silence. It seemed that the anger had faded from the Italian, leaving behind cautious suspicion. He leaned back against the bench, his eyes narrowing. "... Why do you care?"

He gave a casual shrug. He turned to look ahead of him, enjoying the breeze that rolled by. "No reason. Just making sure I didn't just become the number one enemy of the mafia."

The Italian seemed to choke on his words, his eyes widening as he leaned forward.

"Hey, you can't blame me. I'm from España. I can't lug a grudge back with me, that just doesn't fit through the airport these days."

The man snorted and crossed his arms, leaning back once more. "No, you didn't fight guys from the mafia. Not every Italian is a part of the damn mafia."

"Then who were they?"

"None of your damn business."

"Why were they after you?"

"Who the fuck cares?"

"I do, and I'm not leaving until I get my answers."

A huff. "You're really fuckin' stupid, you know that?"

Antonio flashed a smile. "Try stubborn."

"Same fuckin' thing."

"Well, I am Spanish."

"The hell does that..." He heaved out a sigh and shook his head, rubbing at his temples with the fingertips of one hand. "Whatever, I don't care. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, alright? You don't need to know anymore than that."

"Hm." Well. It was good enough for him. Whatever it was, he could tell by the other's gaze that it wasn't something he should pry about, and most certainly not something that was the stranger's fault. No one looked that troubled and irritated if it was truly their fault for what had happened... And if he looked even closer, he could see the traces of fear. He was trembling... His lips formed a thin line at this observation. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and lacing his fingers together. Well. Time for a change of topic, then. Flashing a smile, Antonio spoke up again, "So, what did you say, anyway?"

"Che?" Once again, there was that judgmental gaze. Antonio decided to dismiss it.

"When I said I didn't speak Italian, you said something, then said you didn't know English. Which, you obviously do."

The Italian snorted, his chin tilting toward the sky as his eyes narrowed. "I said, you're that damn pervert."

Okay, that threw him for a loop. Blinking in baffled confusion, he spoke, "¿Perdón?"

A roll of the eyes. "You were the one starin' at me last night, aren't you? Fuckin' pervert."

Oh. That. The Spaniard let out a laugh, running his hand through his hair. And for a moment, he thought he had accidentally copped a feel while they were fleeing. He diverted his gaze, almost sheepish. So he remembered that..."Ah, sí, that... That was me." His eyes snapped back to the Italian, his palm held out toward him. "But I promise, it's not what you think!" he spoke quickly.

"So you weren't just sittin' there, watchin' me like some fuckin' pervert?"

"No! Well... Sí. I mean... Augh-!" He let out a defeated sigh, hanging his head as he rubbed at the back of his neck. "J-just give me a chance to explain, okay? Before you run off." A glance toward the Italian and he could see the blank stare, the lips twisted into a frown. His eyes flicked down to the injured ankle. "Oh. Right. Uhm..."

The Italian snorted, rolling his eyes. "Just get on with it already! You're takin' too long!"

"Alright, alright, calm down!" He gave a lopsided smile, lacing his fingers together again. "I was drunk that night. I'm visiting Nápoles with some-"

"Napoli."

"... ¿Perdón?"

"It's 'Napoli'. If you're gonna say it, say it right."

"... Uhm... Right... Napoli. So, uh, I'm visiting... Napoli... with some friends, and we were visiting a bar. We had a few drinks, and long story short, I was walking around on my own. I found myself at the beach, and, well... When I saw you, I was drunk."

"That still doesn't answer why the fuck you were watching me."

Antonio paused for a moment. He couldn't tell the truth... That he thought the other was an angel that night, something which clearly wasn't the truth, given his rather filthy manner of speech. He coughed, glancing away. "I was drunk. I shouldn't have even been out. I was confused why there was someone suddenly just standing there, singing. I didn't notice you were even there before you started." Well... It wasn't exactly a lie... But it wasn't the full truth, either. At least it seemed to satisfy the other's taste for answers.

Letting out a short hum, the Italian kicked out his good leg, carefully placing his bad ankle atop it. "So now you're just some creep who decides to show up the day after."

Antonio gave the other a sheepish smile. "If I didn't, you would have been carved up."

Green eyes narrowed. "If you didn't get in my way, I wouldn't have."

The Spaniard blinked. "Wait... Are you saying it's my fault?"

"Of course it's your fault! You got in my fuckin' way, and now not only did I ruin my good shirt, but I missed my damn interview and twisted my ankle!"

He could only laugh. He was actually being blamed for this... Wow, he never thought he'd see the day. His fingers ran through brown locks as an amused smile took over his lips. "You're really an interesting one, but, uh, I wasn't the one who ran into you. If I remember correctly, you ran into me. Quite literally."

"I still say it's your fuckin' fault." A pause. "You're bleedin'."

Antonio's eyebrows furrowed. Oh right. Fight. Got it. And judging by where the other's eyes had locked, it was on his face. Ah, yes, he was punched, wasn't he? Carefully, he lifted his hand to press his fingertips against his skin, just below his nostril. When he pulled them away to look, sure enough, there was red dotting the previously clean area. "Huh. Guess I am. Wouldja look at that..."

"... Really? That's all you have to say?"

He shrugged, pulling out a handkerchief from his back pocket. "What else am I supposed to say? I was just in a fight, and I admit, I wasn't on the winning side. There's bound to be blood." Carefully, he wiped away the crimson liquid staining his face. No wonder he had the taste of iron in his mouth... Thankfully, it didn't seem that he had bled too bad, just enough for it to cover a portion of his cheek. He pulled the handkerchief away and turned to look at the Italian with a questioning gaze. "Is it gone?"

A nod, and Antonio worked away at cleaning off his arm, the Italian already speaking away. "You seem a little too used to this."

"Eh, that's what happens when you're friends with someone like Gilbert," Antonio replied, flashing a smile.

The Italian's eyes narrowed, his eyebrow arching. "Gilbert?"

"One of the friends I was talking about. It's not important." He waved his hand in dismissal, pocketing the handkerchief now that its services were no longer needed. "More importantly..." His head tilted, looking to the Italian out of the corner of his eye. "Mind if I make it up to you?"

"... What do you mean?"

"Well, so far, our meetings haven't been very," he paused, looking for the right word, "pleasant. Perhaps I could treat you to some lunch to make up for this whole mess?"

The Italian snorted, chin tilting up once more. "And what makes you think I'll-"

"I'll pay," Antonio cut in. Oh, yes, he most certainly knew the ways around ordeals such as this.

Silence. At least the other seemed to be considering the idea, toying with it in his head. An accusing finger pointed toward the Spaniard. "Throw in some gelato and you have yourself a deal."

Antonio grinned widely. "Then consider it a date!" he chimed.

"Say that again and I'll castrate you," the Italian growled without missing a beat.

A chuckle vibrated from Antonio's throat at the threat. He knew that he probably shouldn't have, but he couldn't help it. This man... The way he spoke... It was rather appealing. He knew they were just empty threats. If anything, he mused, the man would just storm off in a huff. ... If he could, that is. But given his current predicament, he would probably just hop away. That was an amusing thought in itself, the mental image of the feisty male hopping away on one foot, spouting Italian curses. "Alright, alright," he spoke, "It's not a date. Just an outing, sí?" The Italian snorted in what Antonio assumed to be agreement.

He pushed off from the bench and it seemed that the stranger moved to do so as well, yet he stopped when Antonio knelt down before him, his back to the Italian. For a moment, there was silence. The Spaniard could only imagine the blank stare directed toward him, and even that was enough for him to smile in amusement.

"... The hell are you doing?"

Ah. Finally. He laughed, tossing a grin over his shoulder. "You can't walk, right? So why not carry you?"

"I don't need your damn charity."

"Then do you want to try walking all the way on your own? Last I checked, we entered the residential area a few blocks back."

Silence. Those lips pulled into a thin line, and then a sneer.

"If you like, I can carry you over my shoulder again."

Carefully, the man lifted himself from the bench, balancing on his good foot. And soon after, Antonio felt a cautious weight press against his back, arms slipping around his shoulders. Giving a toothy grin, he hooked his arms under the other's knees. Ouch, those scrapes certainly looked bad... He straightened, mindful of the extra weight as to not tip them both over. Truthfully, he was surprised that the Italian was even agreeing to something like this. Last he checked, the man didn't exactly have a very pleasing outlook on the apparent pervert. Not that he actually was one, of course. In fact, he considered himself to be far from it.

"Well, then, here we go." With those words spoken, Antonio started off. He kept his gait slow as to not disturb the ankle too much, and to avoid being scolded by the one on his back. Much to his surprise, the other had gone completely silent by now, and if it weren't for the warmth pressed against his back, he would have completely forgotten about his presence all together. Though, he had to admit, this was rather... nice. He could recall the days where he would ride his older brother's back through town on the days he couldn't walk, whether it was due to a twisted ankle or a scraped knee. Vaguely, he wondered if this was how his brother had felt, or if it was a completely different feeling altogether. After all, he didn't know this stranger.

Now that he thought about it... He knew absolutely nothing about him. Just his face. Not even his name... He spared a glance over his shoulder to see that the other was faced away, his eyes seeming to be interested in something else. ... Funny... Was that a light dusting of pink colouring his cheeks? Perhaps it was just from the heat? Or the embarrassment of being a grown man and being carried through town? ... Most likely one of those two. Or at least, Antonio assumed that he was a grown man, judging by his voice. He tore his gaze away and focused on what was ahead of him, stepping through the streets. He couldn't bring himself to speak, not just yet. He knew where his feet were leading him, and yet, he couldn't bring himself to speak up to let the other know.

He found comfort in the silence, of actually being able to help someone out. Even if it was at the cost of his poor tomatoes... At least it seemed that the Italian had somewhat cleaned off his shirt, save for the stains that no doubt would stay. How to even wash those out... Perhaps he should apologize? No, he couldn't. It wasn't his fault for doing that. Oh, he was already opening his mouth, "Lo siento."

"Che?"

Right. Spanish. He chuckled. Sometimes he didn't even realize when he slipped into the language. "I'm sorry," he translated. Silence. A few more steps and he added on, "For ruining your shirt."

The Italian was silent for another moment. Antonio could feel eyes on the back of his head. "Hmph," he finally let out. He could feel the weight shift against him with the noise. "Finally you apologize for that."

"I don't even get an 'it's okay'?"

"No, because my shirt is now ruined because of you."

Antonio laughed, his lips tugging into a grin. "Fair enough. But either way, I am sorry. I'll buy you a new shirt."

"You don't even know what size I wear."

"I don't know your name, either."

He was met with silence. Then, so soft that he could hardly hear it, "Lovino."

He smiled at the name, testing it on his tongue. He quite liked it! Somehow, it just fit the other. Granted, he had never heard a name like that, but perhaps that's what made it rather... special. Lovino... "Well, nice to meet you, Lovi!" He let out a yelp as the Italian's head collided with his own, stumbling forward a few steps. "Did you just head butt me?" he exclaimed.

"I said my name was fuckin' Lovino, not Lovi!"

Antonio found himself laughing, the sound airy and light.

"Stop that! Don't laugh! It's Lovino, damnit!"

"Alright, alright, I get it! It's Lovino! But I have to say, I'm surprised."

"And why the hell is that? You makin' fun of my name?"

"No, no! Not at all, I like your name. It's just... I didn't think you'd actually tell me your name."

Lovino snorted. "And why wouldn't I? If I didn't, you'd come up with some stupid nickname for me, wouldn't you?"

Antonio flashed a grin over his shoulder. "Probably," he answered all too casually. Of course, it was met with a glare. He could only chuckle at it, but seeing as how Lovino had no words to respond to that with, he merely just continued on. "I'm Antonio."

"Like hell I'm callin' you that."

He raised an eyebrow. What else would the man call him...? He dismissed it, for it seemed that they were getting close to their destination. He grinned at the sight of the small restaurant, men and women seated at the tables lined up outside. Perfect, there were still a few left. He had seen this place during one of his previous adventures with Gilbert and Francis, on one of the other days they had decided to wander around to see what Naples had to offer. He had quickly become distracted by the smell of the place, but no matter how much he actually tried to convince them, they wouldn't agree to his selection. But with Lovino having no say on where they went (considering that Antonio was the one carrying him), he would finally have his way.

He heard a short hum from the Italian as he walked toward the restaurant. "Hm?"

"You actually managed to pick a decent place," Lovino commented in a snort.

"Really?" Antonio slowed to a stop before they reached their destination, carefully kneeling down to let Lovino crawl off his back.

"Surprisingly, with your brain capacity."

"Aww, but that's mean!" the Spaniard complained, only to earn a 'heh' in response. As soon as the weight had vanished, Antonio straightened again, stretching out his back to help realign his spine. Now, Lovino wasn't heavy, but he sure as hell wasn't light, either. If anything, Antonio deemed him as just about average weight, possibly even slightly heavier. He tossed a grin toward the Italian, but of course, was only met with a snort and a glare, those arms crossed before his chest. "Need any help?"

"No, I'm fine on my own," Lovino answered. But, of course, the moment he stepped forward, he cringed and quickly switched back to his good foot.

Antonio let out a sigh, his shoulders sagging. "So you say..." Lips pulling into a smile, he grabbed the other's wrist and slung it across his shoulders, his free arm snaking around the other's torso. Of course, he was careful not to dip down toward the waist, knowing very well he just might be shouted at for that. "Just let go of your pride and let me help you. You can't walk on your own." Reluctantly, the Italian agreed and they pressed on, having to go at a slower pace due to the limp. At least it seemed to be getting better, the more he kept off it and used it sparingly... That observation sent relief washing over Antonio. He wouldn't be completely and utterly helpless, after all, and it most definitely was healing. Good... Then he wouldn't feel too guilty if he suddenly got a call from Francis and needed to vanish.

The Spaniard helped his new-found friend (or so he deemed) to the entrance of the Italian restaurant, though it was quite the interesting ordeal to get them both through the door - even if it was propped open to allow the nice, summer breeze into the open restaurant. He grinned to the man waiting inside, but it quickly flashed to a nervous smile as he heard the Italian pour from his lips. "You don't happ-"

And there was suddenly Italian coming from beside him. Lovino slipped away from his grasp and quickly began to talk to the man, his hands moving animately. A carefree smile alighted his features as he spoke, something of which surprised Antonio. The whole day, he had only seen scowls and glares. And now, all of a sudden, Lovino was smiling at this man? Vaguely, he wondered if the two knew each other, but judging by the way they spoke, he assumed not. He could hear the formal terms from what Italian he did understand. No names were spoken, and it didn't seem to be a friendly, familiar kind of speech. He hummed and merely watched, arms hanging at his sides.

... Lovino looked rather... beautiful with a smile...

He blinked at the sudden thought that invaded his mind. Wait, what? His eyebrows furrowed in confusion, the corners of his lips pulling down into a gentle frown. That was strange... Calling a man beautiful... But with the way Lovino's eyes seemed to sparkle as he spoke in such fluent, flowing sentences, he could see how he could believe such a thing. If Antonio could reflect it back to himself, he could easily assume that he looked the same when it came to anything concerning his heritage or homeland. He was quite prideful of his country, and as he watched Lovino's actions and manner of speech, he could tell that he, too, was quite the proud man. Perhaps he should not have made that mafia comment earlier, he mused.

With a smile, the man gestured for the two to exit the building. Lovino, seeming to be proud of himself, held himself a little taller and flashed a - what Antonio believed to be - rather charming smile in the man's direction. "Grazie mille." Oh! He understood that! He nearly bounced in excitement at knowing what such a simple phrase meant, but seeing as how both were waiting for him to move, he decided to keep it in his mind. He quickly stepped out of the way and watched as Lovino - with a very obvious limp - strode past him. After a grumbled demand for him to follow, Antonio obeyed and exited through the door once more. The man quickly picked up his pace to slide in front of the two, leading them to one of the empty tables and gesturing for them to sit.

More Italian poured from his lips, and Antonio found himself sighing. Perhaps he should have at least learned a basic understanding of Italian before visiting... It was rather stupid of him to never even try, aside from a few phrases here and there from Gilbert's brother. At least he now had someone who was fluent in the language... So it wasn't a complete loss. He, as well as Lovino, took his respectful seat at the table, leaning forward and resting his elbows atop the surface. He smiled as a menu was set before him. "Grazie," he told the man, who answered with an Italian phrase of his own and spoke again, this time directed to his fellow Italian.

Lovino's eyes flicked to the Spaniard for a moment, pausing in his speech. The smile fading completely, he directed his complete attention to him, seeming to ignore the man looking so expectantly at him. "What do you want?"

"¿Qué?"

A sigh of irritation. "Drink. What do you want?"

"Oh, uhm... Lemonade would be good?"

After a few spoken words, the man left, leaving them to be alone at their table. But, as fate would have it, it seemed that Lovino wasn't so keen on staying for very much longer after the exchange. As soon as their server was gone, all traces of the previous cheery disposition had vanished, leaving that irritated scowl to be displayed. Pity. Antonio quite liked seeing that smile on the other... Well, no matter. He'd just have to make it his goal to make it appear again - the right way this time. And, possibly, directed to him, rather than some random stranger they bumped into at a restaurant.

Lovino pushed himself up from his chair, balancing carefully on his good foot. He gave no explanation as he shoved his hands into his pockets. He limped forward, and only when he passed Antonio did he think to stop and speak to him. Without even looking at him, he let the words slip from his lips, "By the way... When you're here... You get better service if you actually speak the fuckin' language, dipshit." And with that, he was off again, limping away into the building.

Antonio blinked, looking blankly to the door. Was that... advice? Huh. Not like he could take it. He sighed, his shoulders sagging ever so slightly. It was too late for him to try to learn the language. He was already in Italy, and, well, he couldn't possibly learn the language within a few hours - or even a few days. Shrugging it off, he focused his attention on the menu before him - only to find that every single item and its respectful descriptions were, of course, in Italian. Antonio hung his head. He just had to choose this place... Oh, if only he could tell his waiter "whatever it is that smelled so good yesterday'... There was no way he could convey that. But, if he asked Lovino about it, would he even answer? No, he would probably laugh. Okay, so maybe laughing was a bit over the top. But there was still no way he could go to Lovino about this.

He groaned, hiding his face in his hands as his weight was supported by the table. Oh, the mess he got himself into... There was no backing out of this, either. He was already seated, and he already had a drink ordered. No doubt it would come soon. And no doubt, it had to be paid for. A sigh escaped his lips as he mentally scolded himself for leaping before he looked. He lifted his head and pulled himself back together, fingers lacing before his lips. All he could do now was make the best of it, he supposed, and try his hardest not to ruin it. He was trying to make it up to Lovino for last night's mishap, after all.

Sitting alone with silence as his only companion, Antonio let his thoughts wander to the events of last night. The memory was still hazy, and some portions had even been forgotten, but he knew that he was most definitely not intoxicated enough to forget about the trip to the beach. His eyebrows furrowed as he recalled tears shimmering in the moonlight. There had to be a solid reason behind them. As far as he knew, no one cried with such a distressed look in their eye if there wasn't a reason behind it. He hummed at the thought, eyebrows furrowing. But what could such a man even be so troubled about...? Clearly it was something. He wanted to ask, and yet, at the same time, he knew it was pointless to. Lovino was a stranger, and likewise, Antonio was a stranger to Lovino. There was no way he'd get that kind of answer out of him, no matter how much he wanted it. Maybe one day, if they even met after this, but somehow, Antonio doubted it.

This was only a one time kind of thing, Antonio told himself. He was only eating lunch with Lovino because he was making it up to him. It was by absolute pure chance that the two even ran into each other today. And damnit, it was because he was drunk that he had even met Lovino the night before. He ran a hand through his hair, tugging lightly at the strands. He was getting ahead of himself again... He didn't expect anything from this, but at the same time, he almost found himself hoping. He frowned at his own thoughts. Just what was with him...? This wasn't right. Not because Lovino was another guy - he couldn't care less about that - but because of this whole scene. How quickly he found himself growing curious of the other... How quickly he wanted to see the other laugh and smile like that toward him...

He shook his head to clear his mind. He couldn't allow himself to overthink it. Not again... He had gone through that once, he couldn't bear it to go through it again. Instantly, he shoved the memories aside, feeling the all-too-familiar pang in his chest from just the brief glimpse. Funny how memories could do that... He smiled wistfully, almost caring enough to chuckle.

Thankfully, it seemed that he wouldn't be left alone for much longer. Much to his relief, the hotheaded Italian returned, taking his place once again. Just as he suspected, the other didn't look him in the eye. In fact, he didn't look at him at all, instead focusing a rather unreadable gaze on the menu before him. For a moment, there was silence, until Antonio finally spoke up to break it, "So... Where'd you go?"

Lovino's eyes flicked up. A light frown pulled at the corners of his lips. "The bathroom. Where else," he answered flatly, "I had to clean my knees off since you've so conveniently forgotten you shoved me to the ground."

Once again, with the accusations... He sighed, shoulders sagging and lips tugging into a lopsided smile. "I didn't shove you to the ground. You ran into me and we both fell," he reminded, only to earn a snort and roll of the eyes in response. No matter. His head tilted in genuine curiosity and concern. "How are they?"

"They're fine." The answer came out a little too quick as his eyes flicked back to the menu. "I've had worse."

That caught his attention. Worse? He wanted to question further. He wanted to know more about what Lovino had been through, and how he had hurt himself. Was it from someone else? Was it due to clumsiness? Or was it...? He let the thought trail off there, nipping it in the bud before he could think out the whole thought. He couldn't peg something like that on someone, not ever... He hummed, interested, but decided to let it go. It seemed that their waiter had returned with their respective drinks, the two speaking in fluent Italian once more. Once again, that smile was back. Antonio watched with heightened interest, taking in the details of Lovino's face. And now that he actually looked to him, he could spot light freckles dusting the other's nose and cheekbones, so subtly yet evident when he smiled - if one looked closed enough - due to the way they clustered together. Well. That was an interesting detail. Antonio found himself smiling proudly at his little discovery, sitting up just a bit taller.

The waiter's gaze was directed to him and he grinned in return, but alas, he couldn't even get a word in, for Lovino interjected and answered in his place. The man grinned and collected their menus, gliding away to place their orders. Or so Antonio assumed. He looked to the Italian in curiosity. "Did you just order for me?"

"Well, you can't read Italian, can you?"

He laughed. "I suppose not, no."

Lovino snorted, holding his chin a bit higher. "You're welcome."

Antonio reached for his drink, carefully picking it up and swirling the liquid inside before taking a sip. "So, Lovino..." A grunt of acknowledgement. "... D'you have any siblings?"

The question seemed to catch Lovino off guard, for he tore his gaze away from where it had wandered, snapping to Antonio. He scrutinized him for a moment. "The hell d'you want to know?"

A loose shrug. "Just curious. I have an older brother. Miguel."

A pause. The gaze flicked away, focusing instead on the drink - was that wine? - before him. That frown still remained. "I have two," he finally spoke. "I'm the oldest. Romeo's the youngest."

"Really? How young? Miguel's... twenty-nine this year, I think."

"What, are you some kind of creep?"

"No, just trying to make conversation is all."

"... To be honest, I can't really remember. Don't see him too much. I believe... he's seventeen?"

"And how old's the middle one?"

"You're really fuckin' nosy, y'know that?"

Antonio laughed lightly, resting his head in his hand. A light smile played along his lips. "You don't have to tell me, if you don't want to."

The Italian stared warily toward his companion for a moment before letting out a short hum. "Twenty; a year younger than me."

Antonio blinked. Wait, was he just given Lovino's age in the same breath as the intended answer? ... He did. "Well, that's cool."

Irritation flashed across the younger's features. He quickly glanced away, shooting a glare toward the glass his finger idly traced the rim of. "Try fuckin' annoying. Our birthdays are so close, we're both lumped into the same damn day - his birthday, of course."

Something about the other's expression gave Antonio the indication that he had hit a nerve. But, in a way, he was almost glad that he did. Slowly but surely, he was beginning to learn about this man. He hummed lightly and his lips parted to answer, but Lovino beat him to it.

A piercing gaze was sent the Spaniard's way. "Now c'mon. Out with it. Just how old are you, tomato bastard?"

Antonio blinked, head lifting from his hand. "Tomato bastard?" he echoed.

"Sì. That's your name."

"But my name is-"

Lovino snorted and rolled his eyes, lips twisting into a sneer. "I don't care what your fuckin' name is," he interrupted, "If I wanna call you tomato bastard, then you're a damn tomato bastard."

Antonio furrowed his eyebrows. The nickname didn't irritate him, no. More than anything, it was just cause for great confusion in him. "But..."

Lovino shot a warning glare. "Don't make me change it to 'tomato asshole', because I will."

At that, he had to laugh. Ah, he finally understood! The stains on the other's shirt - which he just now realized were wet with water. "No, tomato bastard is fine."

"Thought so." Was that pride in his eyes? Cute. "Now answer the damn question."

Antonio let his cheek rest in his palm once again, an amused smile tugging at his lips. "Twenty-five."

The wine was to Lovino's lips as he glanced away. Amusement danced within his eyes. "Grandpa."

"¿Q-qué?" Antonio sputtered.

And there was suddenly food. The Spaniard jumped at the impromptu appearance, sitting up straight and staring down in confusion at the plate. Well, it certainly looked delicious. He flashed the waiter a grin and thanked him, only to receive a flash of a smile before he took off once more. Sighing in defeat, Antonio felt his lips curve upward as he once again looked to the one across from him. At least there was one thing he couldn't - and frankly wouldn't - deny. He was quite enjoying his time with Lovino. And the more he learned about him, the more he found himself growing all the more comfortable with being around the Italian. ... Perhaps a little too comfortable.