Una Notte A Napoli

by AlexOfCoffee

Spamano. Third person POV. One night in Naples, by the moon and sea, my heart was stolen by an angel who had forgotten how to fly. (Full plot can be found in the header.) Rated M for foul language, sexual implications, strong hints to mental illness, and other adult themes.

4. Day Four: She Broke My Heart

AN: This ended up being... So very long... I apologize greatly for that, everyone- I suppose I got a little carried away~! But yes! Here it is! Chapter four! Enjoy.

---

.Day Four.
She Broke My Heart

The steady, quiet tapping of droplets against the concrete... The way they rolled down the window's glass and dripped from leaves... The soaking of the earth... If he were home, he would have thrown open the window and sat upon the windowsill to listen all the better. He would breathe in deeply and let the sweet smell fill him. It has always calmed him, like the waves of the ocean. If he were too far from the shore, than the soothing sounds would remind him of the sea. The rain, too, was something he enjoyed. Something he cherished. His home, long ago, would often receive rainfall, as far back as he could remember. Especially in the summertime, the rain clouds would release what they held in a warm summer's rain. Just as it was now, here in Italy.

Behind him, he could hear the murmurs of his friends, chattering away about God-knows-what. He paid no attention to them, sitting in the chair he had brought close to the window. His elbow rested upon the windowsill, green eyes gazing out at the falling water droplets. He watched as they fell from the clouds above to join their brothers and sisters upon the paved road, watched as cars drove on past, their windshield wipers pushing away the droplets. But there were very few men and women who dared to venture out in the storm. With the distant rumbles of thunder, it seemed that the citizens of Naples had taken refuge in their homes or in the various buildings, not wanting to attract the coming lightning. Every now and then, he would see an unlucky soul running through the downpour, hair and clothes clinging to their skin.

Yet, as he gazed out, he did not entirely see. He watched the rain, but he truly did not take it in. Usually, he would enjoy the rain. He would sit with a mug of coffee in his hands and sip away. Or perhaps it would be hot chocolate, depending on his mood for that day. But instead, he sat there alone, with his friends speaking to one another, eyes looking out with dulled interest at the dreary world outside. Most days, rain was not a depressing thing for Antonio. But today, the rain was a hindrance, something entirely unwanted by the Spaniard. Why did it have to choose today, of all days? It could have waited until tomorrow, or perhaps the day he would be leaving. Maybe even the day after he left! But no. Today was the day it decided to show, much to his dismay. And thus, the poor bastard was stuck inside the small hotel room, his friends droning on in the background.

He could hear their laughter, and hear the jokes cracked at one another. He could hear the tapping of feet and the shifting of fabric. But he could not focus on the words spoken in such enthusiastic tones. His mind was elsewhere. It was on the rain. No. Not even that. It was on the troubles the rain had caused for him this day. Because it had decided to visit, he was stuck here. He could not go where he wanted. His fist curled in his lap as his eyebrows furrowed, his lips turning down into a frown. It was not one of anger, but rather, of disappointment for what the day had brought him. He had made a promise. He was supposed to go to him. Supposed to pick up his guitar, and perhaps even help him strum a few notes. Aah, but mother nature was such a cruel mistress...

He wanted to see him. He realized that now, though he often found himself pushing the thought to the back of his mind. He had been able to sleep just fine this morning, when he had arrived back at the hotel, but as soon as he had awoken, he could not close his eyes for longer than a standard blink. He had risen with such cheerful giddiness this morning that even Gilbert hadn't the heart to curse him for waking him from his slumber. If anything, that cheerfulness had spread to his friends and they had started their day fairly early that morning. They had bustled around the hotel room, fought over the shower (which ended up with Francis going first thanks to Gilbert and Antonio locking their friend in the bathroom, all due to a rather perverse suggestion of all three of them showering together), and then ventured out to locate breakfast. They had joked and elbowed each other, and Gilbert and Antonio had even ended up bickering and trying to put each other into a headlock. Of course, it was Antonio who had lost the battle and as punishment, he was the one to pay for their meal.

Not that he particularly minded, of course. But ah, when they had returned to their hotel room sometime around noon, they were met with rather devastating news on Antonio's behalf. During their morning adventures, he had told Gilbert and Francis both of his plans to head off to retrieve his guitar. He had told them that he would need to get it back, and had reassured them that he would return soon after. Of course, that was also returned with doubt, but that was soon dismissed when he pointed out that they were indeed visiting Italy together, and as such, he had a duty to stay by their side as well. And thus, when they returned, Antonio had all intentions of leaving to retrieve his guitar from the feisty Italian's house. But of course, that was when the brewing clouds decided to unleash their wrath, drenching the streets. Since then, Antonio had found his place near the window, silently gazing out.

He was startled from his thoughts as a loud crack of thunder split through the air, his body jolting. The sounds crashed in around him. Gilbert's shouting at Francis - accompanied by high-pitched squealing - and Francis's calls for Antonio to 'help him'. Antonio could only fear what. Now, don't get me wrong. Francis is no pervert. He may make such remarks that make him seem as such at times, but he was most certainly a gentleman. Thus, Antonio did not worry for that. Instead, his mind was whirring with possibilities of what could possibly embarrass the Prussian-blooded man - not make him entirely uncomfortable.

When he turned his head, his answer had come clear.

Francis had Gilbert pinned to the bed, knees on either side of him, and had one hand fighting away Gilbert's hands while the other worked away at his stomach and ribs. A devious grin speak across the Frenchman's lips as he placed his weight on Gilbert, long fingers dancing away at the sensitive areas. This, of course, earned squeals and suppressed giggles from Gilbert, who thrashed and fought against the one attacking him so relentlessly - all while German profanity and threats poured from his lips.

"After all these years, you're still as ticklish as ever~!" Francis taunted.

Antonio could only crack a smile at the scene. His eyes brightened at the absurdity of it all. And once again, he was being called over to help. Not by Francis this time, but by the one receiving the cruel torture.

"Antonio!" Gilbert cried breathlessly between fits of laughter and giggles. He pushed at the Frenchman's shoulder, but to no avail. "M-mein Gott, man! I... BUAHAHAHA! I never s-s-say this, but..." He erupted into a fit of laughter, squirming this way and that. "HELP ME!"

Oh, help him he would! Antonio grinned, pushing himself up from the chair. He ignored Francis's questioning, pleading eyes as they landed upon him, cracking his knuckles as he walked over. "Help you?" he echoed. "Well, it'll be my pleasure!" Francis's eyes widened as Antonio continued to push onward, his mouth gaping in shock and betrayal. Before Francis could even accuse Antonio of such a thing, he pounced on the bed and positioned himself at Gilbert's head, grabbing both of his wrists and pulling them up toward him. He held them still as he grinned to Francis. "Get him."

And the laughter erupted all the more. Both sets of fingers danced away at the German's sides now, as Gilbert thrashed beneath the weight of the Frenchman. Laughter came bubbling up and out of Antonio as well as he held onto those arms, bracing himself against the bed as to not be pulled forward. He watched as tears overflowed from the corners of Gilbert's eyes before his gaze flicked up to Francis's expression of pure joy. Aah, the joys of having friends like these. Antonio grinned brightly and shouted suggestions from where he sat. "Go for the armpits, the armpits!" he shouted. "The stomach now, the stomach! The hips! Try the hips!"

With each shouted suggestion, there were pleas of, "No, please no! Mein gott! Please, stop! No!" Aah, but of course, that did not stop them. It only caused them to continue on, laughter coming from each of them. They finally listened to their friend, however, when the German suddenly shouted, "N-no! Please, I'm- I'm gonna-! Mein Gott, I'm gonna piss myself!"

A few more seconds, and finally the hands stopped. Antonio released the arms he held, laughter once again rising up from him. He gave a bright grin, reaching over to pat the albino's cheek. "There, there, Gil. That wasn't so bad, was it?"

Gilbert scoffed, and yet, there was still a smile to be seen. "Ja, ja, whatever. Get off me, you Frenchy," he retorted, pushing at Francis.

The Frenchman easily fell to the side, landing softly on the bed with a breathless laugh. "Oh, mon ami!" he called after the German as he retreated to the bathroom. "Don't be like that!"

Gilbert shot a glare over his shoulder. "Hey, I meant what I said! I gotta piss!" And the door slammed shut. Snickering could be heard from beyond.

Antonio let out another laugh, running a hand through his hair. "Dios mío... Here we are, in our mid-twenties, and we're still tickling each other..." he commented.

Francis glanced to the Spaniard and gave a chuckle of his own. "That's the sign of a good friendship, my dear Toni," he answered. He patted the other's shoulder. "If we did not do such childish things, I would begin to worry. Not laughing when we're around each other is... very unnatural. The air is too still, too suffocating, if there is not laughter between us."

Antonio offered a smile. "That is true..." he agreed. "I guess no matter what, we've always been smiling, hm?"

The Frenchman nodded. "Of course. That is the way of the Bad Touch Trio." A grin.

Antonio scoffed and rolled his eyes, though he could not suppress the chuckle that escaped him. "Really? That nickname again?"

Francis gave a wink. "It is only fitting of us, non? We only want to be touched so badly~!"

Antonio laughed and elbowed Francis's shoulder. "No, that's only you. You're the flirt here, Francis."

Francis gasped in shocked dismay. "Mon dieu! How dare you say such untrue words-!" He then crossed his arms and stuck his nose up in the air. "May I remind you of that sweet young lass we met in America. Or that stunning young lady in Spain! Or perhaps-"

Antonio instantly cut him off, "H-hey, that was a long time ago-!" His cheeks flushed at the memories, his eyes glancing away momentarily. "You said so yourself, remember? A few nights ago, at the bar-"

Francis nodded. "Mmhmm. The night you met that angel of yours."

Antonio elected to ignore that comment. "- you said that you don't skirt chase as much as you used to. None of us do. Hell, Gilbert hardly ever did."

Francis chuckled, blue eyes flicking to the door. "Gilbert has always been the strange one. Perhaps it has to do with how he was raised, but he doesn't seem to be one for romance."

Antonio shook his head. "No," he agreed, "he doesn't. Ludwig's not any better, either."

"Ah, but," Francis pointed out with a twinkle in his eye, "Ludwig has found love. Remember?"

The Spaniard smiled fondly at the memory. "Sí, of course. An Italian, right?"

A nod. "Oui, an Italian. He's a cute one, at that." A brief pause, and a curious gaze. "You have not met him yet, have you?"

Antonio shook his head. "No, I can't say I have. I've heard you, Gilbert, and Ludwig speak of him, but I haven't met him yet. He sounds like a sweetheart, though."

Francis smiled a sincere, almost prideful smile. "That he is. That boy has a heart like no other. It's no wonder Ludwig has fallen so hard for him. Ludwig is a very lucky man."

"It seems like it. Everyone speak so fondly of him! Do you think I'll be meeting him in Germany?"

Francis pondered this for a moment, his gaze flicking away for a moment. "Well..." he began, "I suppose he would be there. He's supposed to be visiting Ludwig right now. For... three months, he said?"

"Aaaah." Antonio sat back, his fingers drumming against his knee. "And that's why we had troubles with the arrangements."

Francis nodded in confirmation. "Gilbert just had to see his little brother. Understandable, considering everything that has happened."

Antonio glanced away. "I do remember him mentioning it... That was why he disappeared for a whole year, wasn't it?"

"It was. He ran off in a hurry when he heard the news. Not that I can blame him." Francis let out a long sigh, his eyes flicking to the bathroom door. "I would, too, if I heard of such a terrible accident... If that had happened to my sister... I'd be back in France in a heartbeat..."

A silence fell upon them. It was not a comfortable one, the weight of the words filling the air and suffocating them both. Antonio breathed in, then slowly breathed out to dispel the tense atmosphere. He cracked a smile. "Ludwig's Italian... What would his name be?" Anything to get off the topic.

Francis looked to Antonio and parted his lips to speak, but alas, the bathroom door opened to reveal Gilbert, who sighed in relief.

"Mein Gott!" Gilbert announced in a bellow, "You two sure know how to make a man's bladder nearly burst!"

The two laughed and Francis gave a triumphant grin. "And if it had done so on the bed, you would be the one paying for the cleaning fees!" he answered.

Gilbert padded along toward the bed, falling back onto it with a sigh. He glared at the two beside him; a silent warning for them to not even think about touching his sides again. No, he could not stand much more of that; Antonio could tell. He folded his arms behind his head, giving his back a bit of a stretch as he laid there. "So, what were you two talking about? I heard Bruder's name."

The Spaniard and the Frenchman glanced to each other. Antonio was unsure if he should even tell. He knew that it was taboo to bring up the horrific event from so many years ago. If he did so, then the German would lock himself up in the bathroom the entire day and refuse to come out.

Thankfully, it was Francis's turn to be the hero, giving a knowing grin and speaking himself, "Why, we were just talking about your brother's adorable little Italian lover!"

At that, Gilbert's entire demeanor changed. His eyes brightened and his grin rivaled the sun. He instantly sat up, his body twisting to face the other two. "You mean Feli? You guys were talking about him und you didn't invite me?" He let out a sigh of happiness as he fell back onto the bed, throwing his hands above him. "Feli, man-! Guy's such a cutie! Und I swear, I've never heard Bruder laugh as much as he does with him! Oh, und, und! He makes the best pasta! Now, I'm not a pasta guy, but Feli's pasta!" He shot a beaming grin to his friends. "That stuff's to die for!"

Antonio found himself laughing. So that was his name. Feli. Huh. Seemed... cheerful. It most certainly fit in with what he was hearing about the guy. Oh, if only he actually knew him.

Then he paused.

That name... It almost sounded familiar... His eyebrows furrowed, his lips turning down into a slight frown. Where had he heard that before...? His eyes finally glanced away from his friends as they spoke fondly of the unknown Italian. He could've sworn he had heard that name before... His eyebrows furrowed in thought as he racked his brain for answers. He tried to delve deeper into his memory, of perhaps the times he had visited Italy. Which... admittedly... weren't many. In fact, this was the first time he had ever been to Naples.

Then it clicked. He had indeed visited Italy once before, many years ago. It wasn't for long; he was simply passing through as a round-about way to Austria from France. They had stopped through certain parts of Italy before on their trip, including Milan and Venice. And Venice... Something about that place... His eyebrows furrowed all the more and the frown threatened to be a permanent feature at this rate.

Yes, he had indeed visited Venice. But it was for only a single day trip... What had happened there, he wasn't even sure; he couldn't recall. His memory of that day was hazy, yet the name itself was what stuck out.

Perhaps it was just because it was a well known city? He had a feeling. It was the same reason why Milan had suddenly popped into his head. But then why, when he thought of Milan, did it not have the same strange feeling of importance?

His thoughts fled from him as soon as he heard his name and felt a hand upon his shoulder. He jolted at the sudden contact, his serious expression instantly falling away. Curious, questioning eyes locked with worried ones.

"Antonio, are you alright?"

Antonio glanced from Francis to Gilbert. They both were staring at him, expecting an answer. He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. "Uhm... Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Why?"

Gilbert rolled his shoulders. "I thought we lost you for a moment there!"

Francis stared for moment longer before breathing out a sigh through his nose and letting his hand fall from the Spaniard's shoulder. "You worry me sometimes, Antonio... But, if you say you are fine, then I will believe you."

"I dunno, man. He's been acting strange since he got here."

Francis glanced to Gilbert. "He does have a point. You've been obsessing a lot over that angel of yours."

Antonio looked to the other two, perplexed. "What-?" he spat out. "Where did that come from? And why do you keep saying 'my angel'?"

"That's all you've been calling her. An angel, a siren..."

"Ja, you haven't even given us a name. You aren't even using gender pronouns for them! C'mon, seriously. Guy or girl?"

Antonio breathed out a sigh. "That has nothing to do with it! My mind was on something else."

"Aah, right, you still have to get your guitar, don't you?" Gilbert mused. He hummed, red eyes darting away as he rubbed at his chin. They then flicked to the window. "It's getting kinda late. The sun should be setting soon, I think. You said you were supposed to pick it up today, right?"

Well. Better than trying to pick through memories. He nodded. "Before sunset, I'm guessing." He hid it as best as he could, but he could not deny the fact that he was a little too interested in this topic. He had been waiting to leave all day, but with the rain being the way it has been, well... It seemed impossible.

"Seems like a reasonable time to assume," Francis agreed. "Though, as Gilbert said, the sun is already setting." He glanced to Gilbert, then to Antonio. "Did she give you any reason why you can't pick it up after today? I'm sure she'll understand if you-"

"No. No..." Antonio sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I made a promise, and I want to stick to it."

"That may be so," Francis pointed out, "but you can't hold your promises all the time. Things come up. You of all people should know that."

Antonio could feel a twinge of regret and pain in his chest at the mention. He knew just what Francis was referring to, and he most certainly did not like it being brought up. He instantly glanced away, a frown on his lips. "If I can change it, I would. You know that just as well as anyone, Francis," he spoke quietly, almost bitterly, in retort. He tore his gaze away from the others, focusing it to his hands folded in his lap. "When the rain lets up, I'll go get my guitar. I don't want anymore unfulfilled promises. That's over now. If I promise something, I'll go through with it."

He could feel Francis's eyes on him, though he was no longer interested in the conversation that was taking place. If anything, he simply wanted to just return to that seat by the window and stare out at the rain. A childish notion, perhaps, but he felt that he could save himself from the growing, dull ache in his chest if he did so. He could handle the conversation in the beginning. But... He shook the thoughts off.

"All this for a promise of getting a guitar? Don't you think you're overreacting?" Gilbert spoke up.

Green eyes flicked to his friends, then to the window as he sat back and pressed his palms against his jeans. He remained silent. He knew; he hadn't made a promise. He had simply agreed to pick it up today, and hardly even that. But... He had made a promise to himself. His lips formed a thin line as the thought entered his mind. He wanted to see him. Learn more of him. Teach him. To teach him how to play the guitar... He supposed that would be the promise that he had made, though he had not used those words exactly.

"It's not just the guitar you're after. Is it?"

The voice belonged to Francis this time. Antonio's shoulders stiffened at the accusation.

No. No, it wasn't just the guitar. He had already come to that realization earlier today. No matter how many times he tried to deny it, he could not. That thought would only return. No. More like... He would always return to the Spaniard's thoughts. It wasn't a single one, it was multiples. Wondering what he was doing, how he was doing, what he would do when Antonio suddenly showed up at his door... He knew that if he went, he would have to return back to the hotel as soon as he had the guitar in his hands. But somehow, that just... didn't matter. He wanted to leave.

It was stupid. All of it was stupid. He held his breath for a moment before heaving out a sigh, slow and heavy, through his nostrils. He knew what he had to do. Just... stop seeing him entirely. He had to leave for Germany at the end of the week. He knew that. He only had a week here in Italy to begin with, and then he would have to follow his friends on their long journey home - his final stop being Spain. And damnit, he had only known Lovino for a few short days. Who was he to say that he wanted to see more of him?

It was all so very stupid...

And so, he found out exactly what he was going to say. "It's not like that," he spoke as he shifted to lean against the headrest. He picked at the fabric of his jeans. "I know my boundaries and I know what's best for me. We're just... friends." If he could even call him that. He couldn't consider lovino a friend; they hardly knew each other. His eyes flicked to Francis. "Maybe. Friends at most. Acquaintances at least." What the hell would he even call him...? He didn't know. Would he ever?

No. He wouldn't. He would leave on a plane at the end of the week. On Friday, he would be on his way to Germany; today was Tuesday. Only a few days left... He swallowed at the thought, tearing his eyes away from Francis's concerned ones. He knew too much... Antonio could see it in his eyes. He could see the doubt and understanding. Francis could always tell; he was remarkable at reading others. Antonio especially... They had quite the history together, the Spaniard could admit.

Francis placed a hand on Antonio's knee, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "I've known you for years now, Antonio. You don't think of this 'angel' as just a friend, do you?" he spoke cautiously. "At the very least, you don't want to. There's more to it than that."

Did he? His lips formed a thin line. He glanced up to Francis, his eyebrows furrowing. The hand pulled away from his knee, and with the gentle expression Francis portrayed, he couldn't keep the frown that had pulled at the corners of his lips. He breathed out. "It's not like that..."

"But it's getting close to it. Isn't it?"

It dawned on him. Yes. Yes, it was indeed... Lovino was interesting. To say the very, very least... And last night, though he could chalk it up to being a spur-of-the-moment thing, he could not easily dismiss it. He could feel a bit of the colour drain from his face at the realization being at the forefront. He swallowed, and instantly glanced away.

"You don't want to get hurt again, do you?"

That question. The same thing he had asked himself last night... His blood ran cold, then he almost felt a fire ignite in him. The memories flooded back in a tidal wave, and he could hear Francis's name spoken in warning from Gilbert. At least one of them had a clear head. He was always careful not to bring up topics he knew would upset the other two. He was always cautious of that. He knew of what to avoid, and what was safe to comment on. But this... This was not something 'safe'.

He swallowed thickly, rubbing his palms together. His shoulders felt tense, and outside, he could hear the thunder rumbling in the distance. "Just drop it, Francis..." he warned quietly.

"I'm just trying to look ou-"

"I said drop it!" He hadn't meant to yell. But in all honesty, that had been the last straw. First the promise thing, and now this? He had done some idiotic things in the past, and he was fully aware of that. But did it really warrant a reason for it to be brought up, time and time again? He threw his legs off the bed and stood up.

"Antonio-"

"Look, what she and I had, it doesn't matter anymore," he cut in. He sent a sharp glare toward Francis, feeling tears burn in his eyes.

Gilbert growled in frustration, raking a hand through his hair. He muttered a phrase in German and lightly smacked the Frenchman's arm.

"I did some pretty messed up things, and I accept that. I apologized for them again and again, and you know what? It doesn't matter. Because I was the one who messed up. I broke... so many promises. I did so many things wrong. If I could go back and change it all, I would." He found himself pacing the hotel room. His hands reached up to pull out the cross from within his shirt and began rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger; a sort of calming mechanism for him. "I lied, I cheated, I broke promises, I made excuses... I did so much - and don't even try to tell me it wasn't my fault."

He could feel his limbs trembling as the memories flooded his mind. Each fight, each tear, each accusation... He swallowed thickly. "I was a stupid... stupid man. But you know what, Francis? All that doesn't matter anymore." He dropped the silver cross, letting it fall to his chest. He looked to him. "I've changed. You've seen it. And I know Gilbert has. I'm trying to be better than that! I know what I am doing."

He hadn't meant to go off like this. Truly, he hadn't. But each and every time he even flirted with a woman, the same conversation would come up... Francis would watch over him like a father would his son - if not overbearingly so. For years, it had been that way, no matter what he would do. "She's happy, I'm happy, that's all that matters. I moved on. Why can't you?"

Francis stared on in stunned silence. His body was rigid, his eyes fixated on the Spaniard standing in the middle of the room. Gilbert, on the other hand, settled on glaring at the back of Francis's head, his back rested against the wall and his arms crossed defiantly across his chest. Antonio knew that if Gilbert spoke, it would be German curses.

Finally, Francis dropped his gaze. His shoulders slumped and his whole demeanor reflected the guilt he felt for even bringing it up. "Je suis désolé, mon cher ami..." he spoke quietly. "I did not mean to upset you. I was only trying to look out for you..."

Antonio pinched the bridge of his nose. "Francis... It's been three years. I was a wreck before, and I know that. But I'm better now. I'm fine now. Stop living in the past," he answered calmly. "Please... Francis... Just let it go. I'm okay. I was only hurt because of my own stupid actions. I'm not going to repeat them."

Silence filled the room, save for the gentle tapping of the rain against the glass. There wasn't even the sound of thunder to be heard.

Truthfully, Antonio was thankful for it. He knew that he had hurt Francis. And likewise, Francis had hurt him. The lack of words meant the less possibility of either of them hurting the other more than they already had. He could not alleviate the pain in his heart, the guilt that weighed him down, even now. And now, he truthfully felt guilty for ranting at his friend. He knew full well that the Frenchman was only trying to help; so was the way of Francis Bonnefoy.

Antonio stepped forward, making his way over to the bed. He then leaned down and took Francis into his arms, pulling him into a tight embrace - as best as he could, given his posture. He could feel hands at his shoulders, pulling him closer, as a head buried into his shoulder. "I am sorry, Francis, for yelling. I know you mean well," he whispered quietly. "But I am a grown man, just as you are. I have made mistakes, and I have learned from them. Please, if I am to make another mistake, then let me make it. I will learn from it."

Francis breathed out, his fingers digging into the fabric of the Spaniard's shirt. "Alright... I apologize for bringing you pain..." he replied, just as soft.

"As do I..." Antonio pulled away from the hug and smiled down to his friend. "You are a great friend to me, Francis. I don't need you being a father as well." The smile was returned and he took a few steps back.

"Let him go."

Antonio was surprised to hear the voice did not belong to either him or Francis, but rather, Gilbert. And judging by the look on Francis's face, he was not alone in his bewilderment. He looked to Gilbert just as Francis did.

Gilbert glanced between the two. "Go on. Go get your guitar or whatever it is you want to do. The rain's let up." A brief pause. "At least. The thunder stopped."

A smile cracked onto Antonio's lips. What for, he wasn't even sure.

Francis, on the other hand, looked at GIlbert as if he had grown two heads. "Are you serious?"

Gilbert shrugged. "A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do, right?" he answered. "You saw how Bruder got with Feli. Guy was borderline depressed if he couldn't see his cute little Italian."

Antonio sighed, exasperated. "I told you, it's not-"

Gilbert raised a hand to stop him. "I know. I know. It's not like that," he began, "but you still like this person. Enough to want to see them while you're here. Und you're only here for so long. Us? You see us all the time. So. Go on. Get out of here." Despite his words, he was calm. Probably the calmest of the lot, to be entirely honest.

A moment of hesitation and Antonio finally stepped away from his friends. He turned away and sat at the edge of his bed, tugging on one shoe, and then the other. He could hear them mumbling to one another, but he could not hear the words spoken between them. He could, however, hear the light paps of Gilbert smacking Francis every now and then, and the lighter smacks returned by the Frenchman. Of course they would be arguing. Antonio had seen the glares the Prussian-blooded man had been giving his French friend during the entire discussion. As soon as both shoes were on, he stood and snatched his phone from the dresser, pocketing it.

"But Antonio..."

He heard the name as he was walking toward the door. He hesitated, glancing over his shoulder to Francis. Once again, there was that fatherly, worried look in the man's eyes. He looked to be much older than what he truly was...

"If you do get hurt..." Francis began, "we'll be here for you. Remember that this time. Okay?"

Antonio cracked a smile and gave a nod. "Of course," he spoke sincerely. "Thank you, guys." He opened the door. "I'll... I'll be back before supper."

And he was off. Like Gilbert said, the rain itself hadn't let up entirely, but the thunder had stopped. But even the downpour of rain was enough cause for him to run. When he had bounded out of the hotel, it was simply just a drizzle. But as he ran, sneakers pounding against the wet asphalt, the rain seemed to only grow heavier, resulting in a complete downpour. He pushed himself onward, his heart racing a mile a minute as he continued. He could feel the fabric begin to cling to the curves of his body, feel his hair plaster to the contours of his face.

Curse Lovino for living so far from the hotel-! He groaned as the heavens unleashed even more rain, the falling water droplets nearly drowning out the sound of his pounding footsteps. He darted around corners and splashed through puddles, long since giving up the thought of taking refuge under awnings and balconies in order to protect himself from the onslaught. No, he was already being soaked to the bone, and he already had such a long way to go.

The sky, too, was darkening with thick clouds, signalling that the rain would not be letting up anytime soon. His breath escaped in hot gasps as his arms swung at his sides, stumbling as he turned down yet another street. He quickly danced around a pedestrian who had the luxury of an umbrella, shouting out an apology over his shoulder. He had no time to slow down; he had to make it there and back as quickly as possible. How he was going to transport the guitar in the rain, well... That was something he would have to figure out when he got there. But for now, he had to keep his promise and show that he had indeed not forgotten about the Italian after returning to the hotel from last night.

Finally, Lovino's house came into view. It looked so much different in the day... Each time he had seen it, the sun had been setting or had already disappeared beyond the horizon. And each time he had walked up to it, his eyes were focused on one thing and one thing only. But now that he saw it in the somewhat daylight, even with the darkened sky, he could see the many flowers and plants growing around the front of the house. It almost startled him, to suddenly notice so much foliage growing from planters. He hadn't taken Lovino to be the green thumb sort of guy, but judging by how healthy these all seemed to be... he had quite a knack for it.

Antonio slowed as he came to the house, slowing to a jog before finally stopping before the door. His chest heaved with laboured breaths, his hair and clothes soaked and dripping with water. His eyes flicked among all the plants, trying to tell if he could name them or not. ... No. No, he could not. Too bad. Many of them, though, were beautiful flowers of varying colours and styles. He swallowed as his eyes finally fell upon the door. He only had to lift his hand and ring. Only had to...

Why was he frozen in place?

His breath did not catch in his throat; no, he kept breathing. But he could not move, other than that. His eyes stared to the door, flicked to the windows. They were dark. Each and every one of them was dark. He swallowed thickly. Perhaps he should leave. Perhaps Lovino wasn't even home.

No. No, he could not just leave. He pushed away the fear and uncertainty clouding his heart and mind and forced his body to move. Hesitantly, he lifted a hand. The ringing chime echoed through the house as soon as the button was pressed, his arm falling to his side. Huh. He had never tried ringing the Italian's doorbell before... He had only dropped him off; twice, now.

He held his breath. His eyes stared at the door before him. ... Lovino would come, right? Of course he would. He had to. Antonio had been told to come today, and here he was. Standing in front of his door. Waiting for it to open. But it did not. He breathed out the breath he had been holding and took a step back. Perhaps he was not home after all. He would just have to walk back to the hotel and-

Suddenly, the lock clicked. Slowly, the Italian peeked out from a behind the door. He looked... so very tired... There were dark circles under puffy red eyes, bloodshot and lacking the fire that Antonio oh so admired. No. No, it was still there, but it seemed as though it had died to mere embers. His hair was disheveled and his clothes - a pair of boxers and a simple tank - were wrinkled, as though he had worn them while tossing and turning. But upon seeing who was behind the door, the fire seemed to reignite, though only a fraction. Green eyes opened wider and the Italian stood taller. "What the-"

Lovino looked him up and down, throwing open the door wider. He growled something under his breath before he glanced inside, then back to Antonio. "Fuckin'... What the hell are you even- You know you're-" He heaved out a sigh and quickly waved for Antonio to come inside, bare foot padding along the tile floor.

Just as Antonio stepped into the entryway, Lovino stopped short in his tracks, spun around, and pointed accusingly at the Spaniard. "You. Stand right there. Don't you dare fuckin' move. I just mopped this damn floor this morning. Take off your shoes before you get mud everywhere, idiot!" And he was running down the hallway, avoiding the stairs to his right.

Antonio hesitated where he stood before he silently obeyed by slipping his shoes off his feet, grimacing at the feeling of his wet socks. Okay, so maybe he didn't think that through... He set them down next to the doorway and removed his socks, placing them on the top of the soaked shoes. He closed the door carefully behind him, careful not to move from the entryway. And Lovino returned, towels in his arms. But ah, of course it wouldn't stay there long. It was soon chucked at the Spaniard as the other towel was draped over the shoes.

"Gracias!" Antonio spoke cheerfully as he dried off his hair, then worked toward his clothes. Man. There was no way he was going to wring all this water out... Maybe he would just have to stand here during his visit, until he figured out how to get the guitar back to the room.

"Gracias my ass," Lovino retorted as he bundled up the shoes into the towel and straightened his posture. He shot a glare toward the Spaniard. "The hell you doin' here, anyway?"

Antonio tried his best to dry off his shirt, squeezing what he could of the fabric with the towel. "I promised I would get my guitar today, didn't I?"

Lovino stared. Then his eyes flicked away and Antonio followed his gaze to the guitar propped up against the couch not too far off. He snorted. "In the pouring fuckin' rain. Somehow I doubt that." He then walked off, walking past the stairs and hanging a right, disappearing around where Antonio assumed the stairs ended. A light flicked on, flooding the hall with a golden glow. "Just take off your damn shirt and pants! They're goin' in the drier!"

Wait. What. Antonio stared at where Lovino had disappeared, completely dumbfounded. Was he really expected to- Oh great God above. He felt his cheeks flush, glancing down to the soaking wet clothes. It did make sense... But he wasn't planning on being here for long. He sighed and looked back up, giving a grin to the unseen Italian. "It's okay! I'm just getting my guitar and going!"

"In this rain? You're a complete and total fuckin' moron! You're not goin' anywhere! Now take off your damn clothes!"

Well. He knew Lovino was aggressive and rash, but this much so? He couldn't help but laugh. "So you mean I get to stay?"

Lovino poked his head out from around the corner. He looked to not even be wearing a shirt anymore, given the bare shoulders. That, of course, did not help Antonio's mind in the least, causing his ears to burn. "I am not letting you ruin that guitar. Now hurry the fuck up!" And he disappeared again.

Antonio let out a sigh. Well. He was a guest now, and he supposed he had to listen to his host... He set the towel aside and peeled off his shirt, letting it drop to the floor. Sploosh. Okay, that sounded a bit disgusting. He crinkled his nose at the sound, but elected to ignore it for now, undoing his belt and zipper. And as soon as his phone was safely beside him, off went his pants. He carefully stepped out of each leg, having to hop a bit in order to actually get it off. His thumbs hooked at the hem of his waistband, but before he could, there was a shriek from down the hallway.

"NO, YOU IDIOT, NOT THOSE!"

He stopped instantly. Wide, surprised eyes snapped up to find a fully-dressed Italian rushing down the hall. Yup, he was now wearing a t-shirt and pants, with more clothes draped over his arm. They were soon throw in Antonio's direction, the articles landing around his face and shoulders. "Put those on. You're about my size, I think."

Antonio peeled the warm clothes - must've just gotten out of the drier - away from his face and watched as the Italian once again retreated down the hall. Wait, did he have his wet clothes in his hands? Yes. Yes, he did. And now that Antonio could actually see him, in the dim light, he could see the Italian's ears a lovely shade of bright red. Well then. He cleared his throat and let out a nervous laugh. "Lo siento, Lovi! I thought you meant-"

"IT'S LOVINO!"

Another laugh and Antonio sent an apologetic smile down the hall, though he knew that the other could not see it. He finished drying off and carefully pulled on the sweat pants and baggy t-shirt he was given. Or at least, he assumed it was supposed to be baggy. It seemed to not even be a shirt that Lovino could fit in. He dipped down to retrieve his phone from where he had placed it, turning it on to assure himself that it still worked. Good. He hadn't killed it by soaking his pants. He checked the sweats and upon realizing that they did indeed have pockets, he slid the small device into one of them. ... Was he allowed to move now? He wasn't even sure. He hesitated where he stood, eyes flicking this way and that. Well. Better safe than sorry.

Sighing in defeat, Antonio decided it was probably best not to anger the Italian further. He would have to just stand here and wait for him to come back, it seemed. Leaning against the door, Antonio cross his arms and instead decided to survey his surroundings.

The house seemed to be of a rather simple build. There were tile floors all throughout the hallway, and extended through the archway to Antonio's right, which seemed to lead into the dining room and kitchen areas. Beyond the dining area, he could see a sliding glass door. What lay beyond was anyone's guess. The archway to his left, straight across the hall from the dining area, contained the living room with a cozy-looking fireplace, the tile flooring turning to a wooden one. And, of course, his beloved guitar propped up against one of the couches. When he looked straight ahead, he could see the stairs to the right of the hall that no doubt lead up to the bedroom and... whatever the hell else was up there. He hummed. Small, but cozy. He quite liked it.

Finally, the sounds of the drier doing its job echoed through the home and the Italian retreated to the front of the house, flicking on a few lights as he went. "Why'd you have to come now of all times, huh? I was just layin' down to sleep."

"This early?" Antonio could see Lovino's eye twitch, ever so slightly. So he had caught him in a lie.

Lovino rolled his eyes and ventured on into the kitchen, motioning for Antonio to follow. "It's called a nap, you dipshit."

"Wow, you really know a large variety of insults, don't you?"

"Comes with the I-Don't-Give-A-Fuck handbook," Lovino retorted without missing a beat.

Antonio found himself chuckling, leaning against the kitchen counter as Lovino made his way to the pot on the stove. He hummed, noting that the flame was at its lowest setting. He blinked at the sight of it, his eyebrows furrowing. "You were going to sleep with a pot on the stove?" No escaping it now; he had indeed caught Lovino in the middle of a lie.

Lovino glanced over his shoulder at the Spaniard as he removed the lid. The delicious aroma of tomato sauce wafted out and filled the kitchen as he did so. "It's meant to be left alone for hours on end," he argued as he picked up a spoon and stirred it. Seemed that he was intent on hiding the truth... "You're not supposed to even open it very often. Don't you know anything about cooking pasta?"

"Considering I'm from Spain and pasta isn't one of my main dishes, no. No, I don't."

"Hm." Lovino closed the lid once more and set the spoon aside. He then took up his spot against the counter opposite of Antonio, crossing his arms. "Well, I suppose tonight's the night to learn. You leave it on the stove for hours to let the herbs season the sauce for a stronger flavour."

Antonio stared for a moment. Why would Lovino... Oh. Was he...? His eyebrows furrowed. He couldn't be. He cracked a smile, amusement taking over his features. No harm in asking. "Are you actually inviting me over for dinner?" He could see the traces of a blush creep up onto the Italian's cheeks. His smile only grew wider, his own heart fluttering in his chest at the mere thought. "You are, aren't you?"

Lovino's cheeks grew darker and his shoulders stiffened. A glare was shot Antonio's way, but of course, there was no effect on him. "You..." He huffed and glanced away. "Don't let it get to your damn head. I'm not making you carry that thing out there in the damn rain and damnit, those are my clothes. You aren't allowed to take those home. And your clothes are in the drier, so it's not like you can go anywhere, either."

Antonio couldn't help but to laugh, much to Lovino's aggravation. He ignored the glare that was shot his way, taking note of the blush that darkened Lovino's cheeks all the more. "You're very kind, Lovino."

"Shut up..."

"It's okay to say that you can't throw someone back out into the rain, you know."

Lovino's eyes locked with Antonio's. There was silence as his answer. Again, Antonio could see that cloud of emotions swirling through his eyes - though admittedly, they were dulled. Then finally Lovino looked away with a sigh through his nose. "... Fine. I can't kick you out into the damn rain, okay?" he admitted with annoyance lacing his tone, "You're still a human. A living being. So I'm obligated to treat you as such. Not to mention that you become my guest the moment you stepped through that damn door."

Which brought up another point. The night before, Lovino had not allowed Antonio inside. He had been soaking wet at that time, too, yet he was made to walk home. Antonio chuckled as he looked to Lovino, his head tilting ever so slightly. He could not shake the feeling that the Italian was not speaking the entire truth. "Really... You didn't have to let me in, Lovino."

"I couldn't leave you out there in the rain, either," Lovino retorted without missing a beat.

Antonio held fast to his belief; Lovino was indeed kind. He chuckled, but said nothing more on the subject. Afterall, he was a guest, and as such, he had to treat his host with kindness and respect. This was Lovino's home; not his own. He retrieved his phone from his pocket and held it up to bring attention to it. "May I?"

At first, Lovino seemed confused, but after a brief moment, he nodded. "Yeah. Sure."

The Spaniard flashed a smile of gratitude and pushed away from the counter. He held the phone in his hand as he padded away from the kitchen and through the dining room, out into the hallway. As he walked, he searched through his contacts until he finally got to Francis's, bringing it up and pressing 'call'. He pressed the phone against his ear as he ventured into the living room, ignoring the distant rumble of thunder. His eyes flicked out the window, pausing for a moment when he realized just what kind of window it was. It stuck out the slightest bit, and had a window seat built into it. It seemed like the perfect place to just sit and read a book, and just as he had realized this, his eyes took notice of the book that lay on the sil.

He cracked a smile. So Lovino had used it for that purpose entirely. Interesting... Lovino was only growing more and more interesting in Antonio's eyes. His thoughts were soon cut off when he finally heard a voice on the other end.

"Allô?"

"Hola, Francis, it's Antonio."

"I could tell. You are in my contacts." A chuckle from the other end.

A small laugh. "Yeah, I guess you have a point. But anyways... Francis... I might be a bit late today. It started raining harder and now I'm kinda stuck here."

There was silence from the other end, then he could hear quiet mumblings. He could tell that Francis had simply just pulled away the phone from his mouth. The voices themselves seemed to be at normal volume; just not close enough for him to hear. A bright lightning strike filled the room with light, a loud clap of thunder following shortly after. Then the voice was right next to the receiver again when Francis spoke, "Oui, we can see that. It started storming pretty bad again."

Antonio sighed. "Yeah... I know I said I'd be back by dinner, but... I dunno if I can." Not to mention he had sort of been invited to eat dinner with his host, though he dared not to mention this to Francis. Another clap of thunder, this one farther away and dying down into a rumble. "I'm going to try to be back before midnight. As soon as the rain lets up, I'll leave."

"Non, I would not worry about it," the voice answered, "enjoy your time there, mon ami. Gilbert and I will be waiting for you when the storm clears."

He found himself frowning. "But, Francis, I pro-"

"No you did not," the Frenchman interjected. "You said you would be back, oui, but you did not promise."

Antonio closed his mouth and listened as the Frenchman continued.

"It's alright. Gilbert and I will find plenty of activities to occupy our time. We will be just fine. Neither of us will be upset with you, even if you have to return in the morning." A pause. "Do try to have fun, alright? We will be fine."

Antonio smiled. "Yeah... Yeah, okay. Gracias, Francis."

"Of course. I will speak to you later, Antonio."

"Likewise." They said their goodbyes and ended the call. Well. At least that was off his chest. He smiled slightly and pocketed the phone. He then turned and made his way back toward the kitchen. But as soon as he entered, his heart stopped.

Lovino was standing there with all colour drained from his face, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. He stood slumped against the counter, both arms crossed and nails biting into the flesh of his forearms. His nostrils flared with uneven breaths. Sweat beaded across his forehead and- well, in truth, it looked like the poor man had just seen a ghost.

Antonio rushed forward, his brows creasing in worry. "Lovino-?" He was at his side in a moment, hands reaching for his shoulders. Gently, he grasped at them. Wild, fearful eyes locked onto his as the quick breathing hitched. His heart stopped at the amount of fear and desperation that shone within those beautiful green eyes. He almost expected a scream to leave Lovino's lips, at that very moment. But it didn't come. He brushed the fringe out of the other's eyes. "Lovino, hey- It's okay- It's just me. It's okay..."

Irritation flickered within Lovino's eyes, his expression instantly contorting into strained annoyance. He brushed off the hand and pushed farther against the counter. "Of course I fuckin' know it's you, idiot." His voice cracking only once. He swallowed, and Antonio could tell by the way the jaw bobbed that Lovino was working his tongue in his mouth to help rewet it. "I'm fine."

Hesitant at first, Antonio pulled away, letting go of the arm. No. He wasn't fine. Fight or flight instinct had kicked in, and everything was telling Lovino to 'run'. He had seen the way the muscles had tensed, how the eyes had flickered with emotions that would lead to that kind of response. But, it was not his place to press on. It was not his place to force the other to speak ."Alright..." he spoke, stepping back.

He did not like the glare he received. It was weak and didn't hold its usual annoyance. No, Lovino still seemed skittish and way too withdrawn. Granted, Lovino clearly wasn't a very outgoing person, and Antonio technically was intruding upon his home. But that, Antonio assumed, warranted a different kind of reaction. This one... No, Lovino was afraid of something. Of someone. As Lovino busied himself away with filling another pot and setting it on the stove, Antonio made note to carefully look around the kitchen. He easily located another door to what he assumed was a storage room, but quickly dismissed it and continued his search and mental checklist. No open windows... No open doors... No notes or papers... Everything in here seemed safe.

His attention was suddenly caught by a jolt from the Italian, a spoon falling from his hand and landing on the ground. An Italian curse left the man's lips as he bent down to retrieve said spoon. And as Lovino rushed to the sink to rinse off the fallen utensil, Antonio pondered as to what made him so jumpy. Surely he didn't drop spoons on a regular basis. He watched as a shaky hand raked through disheveled auburn locks, his own lips forming a thin line.

He did not like this. Whatever was bothering Lovino, he decided he did not like it.

"How long?"

Antonio watched as Lovino jumped, as though he had forgotten that the Spaniard was even there. The Italian whirled around, bewilderment and slight annoyance in his eyes. "Che-?"

Antonio offered a smile. "How long until it's done?"

Lovino glanced away to focus on the pot, then back to Antonio. "... About fifteen minutes."

"Anything I can do to help?"

Lovino rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to protest, but was cut off when Antonio lifted a hand.

"No. I want to help," he spoke. He lowered his hand again, offering a kind smile. "My cooking is limited to a lot of the foods you'd see in Spain. My friends were both very picky with their food. Especially Francis. He would not let anyone step one foot into his kitchen." Though he was not sure if Lovino would be interested in such a topic or not, he decided he might as well try. "Not because I blew anything up, or I can't cook. I can cook very well! Or so I like to believe. But. He loved cooking, and didn't want anyone in his kitchen because of it.

"One time, I was looking for him and stepped into his kitchen. Next thing I knew, there was a knife embedded into the wall right next to my head!" He let out a laugh at this, watching as Lovino actually took the story. So at least he caught his interest. The Italian rested against the counter, crossing his arms and focusing his attention on the one speaking. "He threw it without looking! Can you believe it?

"And the glare he sent me-! Dios mío!" Antonio glanced upward. "I thought I was going to die-! The Holy Spirit must have been watching over me that day because when he threw another one, I moved out of the way just in time! It was just a butter knife, but still, it would've hurt."

Finally, the Italian cracked a smile. Well, more like a smirk, and it was a tired one, at that. But even so, it lifted Antonio's spirits. He became more animated with his story, using his hands to tell it as he went.

"You wouldn't believe what happened at dinner that night! I was waiting patiently in the dining room, like I was told to, and he came out with the chicken he was apparently cooking. And the way he looked at me when he was cutting into it-! It was as if he was imagining he was cutting me open, not the chicken!" He huffed out a breath of air and once again glanced skyward. "I have never prayed for my safety as much as I had that night."

"Wow, you're quite the religious nut, aren't ya?"

What? His eyes flicked back to Lovino, mildly surprised. He then laughed and flashed a grin. "No, no, I wouldn't call myself a religious nut. I believe in God, but I'm not... No." He laughed lightly. "I won't hit you on the head with a bible and claim you're a sinner, if that's what you mean."

Lovino rolled his shoulders in a shrug. "Not what I meant, but good to know. You believe in Him, is what I'm askin'." Ah. Just the wording was strange... It was understandable, given Lovino's usual harsh tongue. An insult was a compliment with him, it seemed.

Antonio rubbed the back of his neck, glancing away. "Well... Yeah, I suppose..." When his eyes returned to Lovino, the Italian was retrieving noodles and throwing them into the boiling pot of water. "I guess you could say I'm Catholic? I mean... I don't really care what anyone else believes in, and I have my own views and ideas on it, but... I still believe in the basic teachings of Catholicism. Why?"

"Hm. No reason," Lovino answered as he busied himself with the dinner. "I was raised Catholic. My brothers, grandfather, and I are all Catholic. But. Sometimes I wonder..."

"And what do you mean by that?"

Green eyes flicked over to Antonio. "Sometimes I believe He exists, sometimes I don't. I'm not really sure myself. It depends on the day, I guess." An audible sigh and the eyes returned to where Antonio could not see. "If there is a god, He's got a horrid sense of humour..."

Antonio had a feeling he had not meant to hear that last part, given that it was grumbled. But, he had, and it surprised him. He was silent for a moment before, "Why the sudden religion topic?"

There was a slight pause, then Lovino slowly shook his head. "I'm not exactly sure. Just... had to ask. I guess."

Somehow, he didn't fully believe that answer. His lips formed a thin line as he watched the other. He seemed rigid. Tense. But at the same time, it looked as though he was on the edge of just sliding to the ground. His movements were choppy, and every now and then, he would suddenly jerk, only to mutter a curse under his breath. Antonio could only help but to watch, his curiosity piqued.

He hummed lightly. "Well," he began, crossing his arms before him and leaning against the counter, "usually when someone asks something like that, there's a solid reason behind it."

Lovino breathed out a sigh of annoyance and once again looked over his shoulder. "It was brought up by the fact that you kept mentionin' God in your damn story and I got curious, alright. What else is there? Santo cielo, I'm only human."

Antonio threw his hands up in defense. "Hey, hey, no harm done. I don't mind it. It's just..." He hesitated a moment, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's just awkward..."

"Awkward," Lovino repeated. He turned fully to Antonio. "And why would you say that?"

Did he really want to explain that? Nervously, he glanced away and shifted his position. He crossed his arms once more, as if they would form some sort of barrier. "Well... It's just... When I say I'm Catholic, people automatically assume the worst?"

"Isn't that with just about any religion or belief?"

Okay, so he did have a point. No matter what you would say, one would always assume the worst of it. That, Antonio had noticed. He breathed out a sigh. "I guess you are right in that... But..." He trailed off, unsure if he should even delve into this kind of topic.

"But...?" Looks like Lovino wouldn't drop it.

He hesitated for a moment longer. Then, Antonio breathed out a sigh. "You've heard about the law passed in Spain, sí? The, uh... The gay marriage law."

Instantly, Lovino tensed. Okay... So it was a bad idea. Slowly, the Italian nodded. "I have."

Antonio's eyes flicked away for a moment. "Well... I was someone who was hoping the bill would pass," he spoke carefully. He couldn't bring himself to look to Lovino. "I... believe... God loves all people. No matter what. That not all sins are... How to put it... Not everything it says is wrong will send you to Hell. Some things are... really absurd. They're good morals to go by, don't get me wrong, but..." He sighed once more, shifting on his feet and chewing on his lip. "They... are more like... guidelines? I guess? You don't have to follow them to a T, but... if you keep messing up, really bad, and it hurts others... Then you'll be damned. Not... Not for... loving someone, or thinking differently than others, or... or even lying in bed with another before marriage."

It was strange, to voice these thoughts. Sure, he had spoken to Francis and Gilbert about them, but those were his two best friends. He had known them for as long as he could remember, and he trusted them. "So... when people find out I'm Catholic... Because of the extremists, I guess... They automatically think I'm... against... Well. Some people. I know that goes for anyone of any religion - trust me, I've seen how others have reacted to people of other religions - but... Hey. It gives reason to keep religion out of conversation." Finally, he looked to Lovino, only to find that he had gone back to stirring the pasta.

A moment of silence had passed before Lovino finally spoke up. He looked over his shoulder with mild disinterest. "Oh. Are you finally done ramblin'?" He waved the spoon in a nonchalant way. "I don't care about what you believe in, idiot. I didn't want to hear your whole damn life story." He turned back to the pot, turning off the heat. He lifted it from the stove and carried it over to the sink. He poured its contents into a strainer, letting the water drain out before returning it to the pot. "Yeah, it's good and all that you accept gays and whatnot. I suppose that would be my biggest concern, considerin' that my brother is."

Woah, where did that come from. He knew that Lovino seemed to be a bit protective of his brother, and most certainly loved him, but suddenly bringing something like that up? He couldn't even think of a proper way to respond. "Oh. Uh. Really?"

A nod and the pan returned to the stove. Lovino retrieved two plates and set them aside. "Get the cheese from the fridge and sprinkle it into the sauce. Stir it," he spoke calmly.

Antonio quickly listened, following the instructions. "This much?" he asked as soon as the cheese had been added. Lovino glanced, and with a nod of approval, the Spaniard stirred the cheese into the sauce.

"But yes, he is. He's got himself a bastard of a boyfriend. Frankly, I hate the guy."

Antonio listened with interesting, casting a glance to the one next to him. "Really..." He was truly intrigued with the conversation, but judging by the way Lovino spoke, there was something more to be known. He listened, nonetheless, and finished stirring the sauce as Lovino scooped noodles from the pan and onto the plates.

Lovino rolled his eyes. "Guy's a monster of a man. Looks like he can break my damn brother in half just by breathin' on him. Pass me the ladle."

Antonio reached into the container storing all the utensils and pulled out the required one, handing it over to the Italian. He glanced skyward at the sudden rumble of thunder, his stomach twisting at how the house seemed to quake. That one was much too close... He glanced sideways to Lovino when he heard a mumbled curse, his eyebrows furrowing. "If you worry he's going to do that, why don't you keep your brother away?"

Lovino glanced to Antonio with a bewildered expression. But when he did, Antonio could also spy fear in those green orbs. "You kiddin' me?" he retorted. "Guy's all he talks about!" He snorted and went back to serving the dish, motioning for Antonio to step out of the way so he could reach the sauce. "Santo cielo... If I ever tried to keep Fratellino away from that damn bastard..." He snorted, but then quieted for a moment. Antonio watched as the other's brows furrowed and his lips formed a thin line. "... If I ever did that... If I seriously tried... He'd hate me forever. He'd fall apart without that guy. There's no way I could do that to him... He doesn't deserve somethin' like that..."

Interesting... Lovino only grew to be more and more interesting, in Antonio's eyes. He stared for a moment, watching as the Italian shook his head and went back to work serving the meal. "As much as I hate the damn bastard, I suppose he has done some good for my brother. If there's one thing anyone should know about my brother, it's that he's a complete and total idiot. Doesn't know his right from his left, a horse from a cow. At least that bastard keeps him in line and keeps him out of trouble."

He was throwing his all into this conversation, it seemed. At least, by Antonio's standards. It was almost painfully obvious that he was trying to distract himself, with how he rambled on and on, his accent heavier than it normally would be. There were even times that the Spaniard couldn't even understand what was being said without tossing the words over and over in his head for a moment. His shoulders were tensed, his nostrils flared, and his eyes looking everywhere but at Antonio. Still, Antonio made no comment. If Lovino wanted to throw himself into this, then so be it. He would let him, if it helped.

"At least my brother can be happy."

Wow. Woah, woah, woah, back up a minute. Be happy? He looked to Lovino, surprised confusion taking hold. "And you're not?" The question left his lips before the thought even ran through his mind.

Lovino let out a strained laugh, and with the way his eyes flicked to the side, he had not expected it, either. He ran a hand through his hair, and it was then that Antonio realized it was trembling. Parsley was added to decorate the top of each of the dishes. "It's funny you think I am," he retorted. "Think a guy with a mouth like this is the happiest damn guy in the world? Guess again."

A plate was handed to Antonio and the Spaniard followed the Italian to the dining room. The storm raged on outside, the wind picking up in velocity. It rattled the windows for a moment before dying down, leaving only the distance rumbling thunder and the pounding of driving rain. Antonio was unsure of how to respond, truthfully. And so, he remained silent, following Lovino's silent instructions to sit opposite from him at the small, round table. He mumbled a quiet word of thanks before allowing Lovino the first bite; a sort of habit of his, to allow his friends to eat before he.

Was Lovino even a friend? He decided to dismiss the thought once again as he twirled the pasta onto his fork. "You should be happy." As soon as the words left his lips, he quickly glanced down to the plate, blowing to cool the sauce and noodles.

"Excuse me?" The tone was almost dangerous, laced with astonished anger. "Just because I own a damn ocean-side property doesn't mean I-"

"Not what I meant," Antonio interjected, his eyes flicking upward. No, that wasn't what he meant in the least. His eyes met with Lovino's, and instantly, the Italian quieted. His own gaze softened and he looked back to his plate. "What I meant is that you deserve to be happy," he corrected himself, as evenly as he possibly could.

Silence. Lovino did not even move, as Antonio cooled off his forkful of pasta. Then finally, "The storm hasn't let up."

Antonio's gaze flicked to the outside world, beyond the sliding glass door. He could just barely make out the table and chairs through the rain washing down the glass. "No. No, it hasn't..." Once again, there was a moment of silence. Antonio finally brought the food to his lips, and carefully took it. Instantly, he froze. Woah. A smile tugged at his lips, brightening by the second. "Wow, this is amazing!" He took another bite, letting his mouth savour the deliciousness before taking another bite. "Seriously, this is- Wow, this is just fantastic!"

He could feel Lovino's eyes on him, feel the bewildered gaze. But he elected to ignore it, shoveling more food with his mouth. "I'm serious! This is like... five star chef quality! Wow!" At that, he could hear Lovino nearly choke on his food. He glanced up, and instantly he was met with reddening cheeks.

Lovino sat stiff, eyes glancing nervously out the window before looking to his plate. "Yeah... Uhm... Sure..."

Antonio grinned after swallowed his most recent bite. "What? Don't know how to say 'thank you'?"

Lovino snorted. "I know damn well how to say 'thank you'. I'm just not gonna say it to a bastard like you," he retorted, his cheeks growing in colour. At least it was better than the paleness Antonio had seen earlier...

The Spaniard could only grin all the more. "Hey, so long as you know your food is amazing, I don't care." He took another bite, savouring the rich flavours. It was a tad spicy, but... Quite frankly, he liked it. No. He loved it. He nearly bounced in his seat as he took a meatball and popped it into his mouth. "You haven't ever tried to be a chef before, have you? Because wow-!"

Antonio watched as Lovino slowly shook his head. "No... This was my grandfather's recipe. He taught me everything I know," he spoke slowly.

And from where he was sitting, Antonio could see a flash of pain within the other's eyes. He slowed in his chewing, carefully swallowing the delicious bite. He knew that look... He lowered his fork. "He... passed away... didn't he?" he spoke quietly. Lovino stiffened, his eyes widening slightly. Instantly, Antonio began speaking, "Sorry, sorry! I didn't mean to... I mean, I..." He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Lo siento... I just... I, ah, I know someone who lost their grandfather. The guy was basically raised by him. My best friend, he lost his grandfather a few years ago... So..."

Lovino swallowed, eyes flicking to Antonio momentarily before focusing on his food. "No... No, it's... alright," he spoke quietly. Slowly, he nodded. "Nonno Romolo died when I was eighteen. I was... I was in Sicilia at the time. My brothers and he were living Firenze. Florence." He prodded at his food, pushing at it but showing no intention of eating. He swallowed thickly, working his tongue in his mouth. "He died... thinking I hated him. I didn't know until a week later, when my brother found me in Palermo. He had apparently been in the hospital for a whole month before he... You know."

Antonio was silent for a moment. To hear something like that... It was... He didn't know how to describe it. He wanted to just stand up, walk right over, and pull the other into his arms, right then and there. But he stayed right where he was. He hated the tears that formed in the other's eyes, the way his brow creased... The way his nostrils flared in a heavy sigh... "Lovino..." He could hardly hear his own voice, it was so soft. And though the Italian didn't move, he knew that he, too, had heard it. He offered a small smile. "He probably knows you love him. You know."

Those green eyes flicked up to him, but they were filled with doubt. And oh, how he wanted to wipe it away... "I know I don't know much, but... Think back on all the times you have fought with your brother. The one you always mention." He paused for only a brief moment. He leaned forward, his smile brightening. "He's said 'I hate you', right? You've said it, too, I'm sure." Slowly, Lovino nodded. "Was it true? Did you hate each other? Did you actually believe it, at the end of the day?"

Lovino stared on. His lips did not tremble even the slightest. Thus, Antonio continued, "Yes, maybe you worried about it, but did you truly believe it? You speak fondly of them both. I'm sure that they could see that you loved them, too." He looked down to his pasta, twirling more of the noodles onto his fork. "So I believe," he continued, "he knew you loved him. And even if he didn't, he's in Heaven right now, looking down on you. He knows you love him. Right now, he's probably smiling like an idiot, saying to everyone nearby... 'Look! That there? That one there! No, not that weirdo. The guy sitting across from him! That's my grandson! Look at him! I love my grandson, and I am so proud of him, because he loves me.'"

A brief pause, then his gaze flicked up momentarily. "No doubt, he's wishing for you not to be sad. The ones you love don't want you to be sad, Lovi. You want your brother to smile, right? I'm sure that's what your grandpa wants, too." And now that his speech had finished, he took the food into his mouth. He smiled brightly in delight, taking yet another forkful. And when he glanced up, he could see that Lovino, too, had continued eating - and those green eyes were still on him. Only this time, he could see a spark within those beautiful irises.

"You're a weirdo alright..." was Lovino's only response.

Antonio chuckled and gave a bright grin. "Wouldn't want it any other way."

The dinner continued on like this, with the storm raging on outside. Antonio made sure to keep up the conversation, speaking of various topics that came to mind. Of course, one of the things he did bring up was about the little game they had the night before, of which Lovino snorted and accused Antonio of ruining his shower. Thus, he had been right; the other had taken a shower before going down to the beach. Though he did apologize for it, he didn't truthfully mean it. It was all too much fun, to be entirely honest. But as he spoke, he slowly began to connect the reason as to why Lovino would flinch throughout the conversation, why his gaze would flick away. Why he seemed so exhausted.

By the end of the meal, Lovino's eyes were far from as puffy and red as they had been earlier that evening. It brought great relief to Antonio, but the general exhaustion from the Italian was certainly cause for worry. He aided Lovino in cleaning the dishes that had been used that night by forcing Lovino to sit at the bar table while he did the dishes himself - including washing and drying them. He spoke cheerfully of events that had happened in the past between he and his brother, including an incident where he had gotten himself stuck in a tree with his rump out for all to see. And his brother's instant reaction to that, of course, was to show everyone of his 'stupid little brother' getting stuck in the tree 'like an idiot'.

He huffed at the comment of agreement that came from the Italian, sending a pout his way at the accusation of 'still being an idiot'. At least he was in high spirits, though he seemed so much more drained now that the evening wore on. Upon completing the dishes, Antonio dried his hands and fished his phone out of his pocket. A quick press of the button and his eyes glanced over the time. 10:54. Wow. Had it really been that long? Then again, he supposed that he had only arrived around six or seven, and they had spent plenty of time simply just talking to each other. Or rather. Antonio spent most of his time telling stories and trying his best to keep the Italian's mind off of his troubles.

He sighed and pocketed his phone once again, giving a glance out the window. He could still hear the storm... The thunder, too, had not died down since earlier this evening, the flashes of lightning illuminating the house every so often. "Do you have any idea to get the guitar home in this? I could always come back for it-"

"Why don't you stay the night?" the Italian's voice injected, seemingly louder than he had intended.

Antonio quickly glanced to the other, astonished at the suggestion. Lovino wasn't looking to him. Instead, his arms were folded on the countertop of the bar table, his cheek pressed against them. But at this angle, Antonio could see a slight tinge of pink dusting his cheeks. "¿Perdón?"

Lovino's cheeks darkened and he seemed to draw in on himself. "... I have a spare bedroom... My brother visits often. So."

Why did it seem so much like a plea, rather than a suggestion...? The other's demeanor, it made him seem all too small. As if he was silently begging for him not to leave. Antonio stared on for a moment, only getting the idea that he should answer when green eyes suddenly flicked to him, nervous and unsure. "Uh. Yeah. Yeah, sure. I could... I could do that."

That gaze almost seemed to soften before the Italian forced it away once more. "Your friends won't mind?"

Antonio thought back to the conversation he had with Francis earlier. Then, he smiled. "No. They wouldn't. They have things they can do."

"... Alright..." At first, he didn't move. But as if it were the cue to move, Lovino slid out of his seat soon after a particularly loud clap of thunder.

Antonio couldn't help but to wonder why Lovino refused to meet his eyes as he bustled around the room, flicking off lights. The darkness closed in around them, save for the light coming from the hallway. As soon as Lovino motioned to follow, Antonio did so, letting the Italian guide him. More lights flicked off and a mumbled warning of 'be careful' was sent his way as they ascended up the stairs.

He didn't need to be warned. A flash of lightning illuminated the hall, lighting the path for them momentarily. Antonio followed Lovino up, the thunder rolling in soon after. His hand slid across the banister as he made his way up, following the padding sounds of footsteps toward the hall. A door opened and light flicked on, flooding the hallway with a dim light. Antonio automatically assumed it to be a sort of night light within the bathroom. That was usually where they were, yes?

Lovino stood in the light, motioning toward the stairs. "That one's my room," he spoke. He then motioned to the door located not too far away from where he stood. "That one's the guest room. Pillows and a blanket are already in there. Bed's already made." He strode past Antonio, keeping his eyes away from him. "Oh and. Don't bother me until there's at least light outside. I'm more likely to castrate you without my coffee."

Well. That certainly would have seemed like a threat if his voice weren't so dull and... lifeless... Antonio quickly turned around and grabbed at Lovino's wrist, stopping him in his tracks. "Hey... Are you alright...?" He could feel the Italian tense under his touch, before the arm was pulled away from his grasp.

"I'm tired. Storms are tiring as fuck." He stepped on toward the door, pushing it open. "Buona notte."

Antonio stared after, his lips forming a thin line. "Buenas noches," he answered just before the door could close. He breathed out a sigh. Nothing he could do, he supposed. If a man was tired, a man was tired. Hesitantly, he continued on toward the room designated for him, pushing open the door. Another flash of lightning lit it before he could even think about flipping on a light. Well. He found the bed.

Exhaustion hit him like a freight train and Antonio heaved out a sigh. He ran a hand through tousled chocolate locks, shaking his head for a moment before closing the door behind him. The events of today replayed through his mind as he padded on toward the bed and collapsed into it. Today... certainly was exhausting...

He pushed himself up until his head hit the pillow, tossed his phone to the nightstand beside him, and slid under the covers. His mind whirred with thoughts, and yet, he could not settle on even a single one. Thus, he could only chalk it up to thinking about nothing and everything at the same time. Somehow, through the mess of emotions and thoughts running through his mind, he found himself quickly falling succumb to sleep, the rain tapping away against the window being the last thing that reached his ears.

His slumber did not last long, it seemed. His eyes shot open at the deafening bang, jumping straight up in bed. He could feel the vibrations run through his entire body, hear the pictures on the walls rattling. He gasped at the sound, eyes wildly searching the darkness. The driving rain was what lead him to realize what it was; the storm raged on outside, and had awoken him. He flicked on the phone beside him. 03:00, it read. He groaned and let his head hit the pillow. This would be a long, long night...

The wind blew violently, rattling the windows and driving the rain even harder against the house. He could almost hear the angry call of the sea, though he knew full well that could very well just be the pounding rain. Lightning split the sky and illuminated the entire room before fading into nothing. Only a few milliseconds later and the house shook with the thunder that boomed in his ears.

And an ear-splitting scream.

His eyes shot open at this. No, that wasn't right. That was not the kind of sound a storm made. He sat up in bed, confusion overtaking his mind. His heart pounded wildly in his chest, his blood running cold. Light blinded him, and once again, the house shook with the anger of the storm. It was followed by yet another shriek.

He wasted no time.

Bare feet pounded against the wooden floors as he rushed to the door and threw it open. He could hear the quiet sobs, muffled. His first instinct was to check the room staring him straight in the face. The door stood ajar. The rumble of thunder echoed from the distance and he stumbled forward, pushing the door open the rest of the way to peer inside. "Lovino-?" A blinding flash of light revealed the room to be void of life.

A scream echoed from down the stairs when the thunder came crashing in. He spun toward the flight of stairs and quickly made his way down, stumbling on the last few steps and nearly spilling himself across the floor. He managed to catch himself on the banister at the last given moment. "Lovino?!" he shouted in desperation.

No answer.

His heart beat wildly in his chest as he pushed himself up. His eyes darted left and right, but there was no sign of the Italian in the darkened house. "Lovino!" His shout was followed by a flash of light and the almost-simultaneous clap of thunder.

Another scream told him exactly where he needed to go. The sobbing and whimpering cut off the moment he rushed into the living room, green eyes wildly searching the darkness in an attempt to find the source. Nothing. He decided to solely follow the sounds of muffled whimpering, pushing forward and following them to the couch. He ducked down beside it and peered around the corner to find that pressed into the back corner, pressed entirely against the wall, was a shivering form.

His first instinct was to cry out. But he dared not to. No, that would only frighten the man. He swallowed and carefully edged into the small space. "H-hey..." he spoke quietly, reaching out for the trembling form. "Lovi-"

He was met with Italian profanities and shrill screaming. Hands flailed wildly toward him and through the darkness, he could see green eyes wild with panic.

Instantly, he backed off, retracting his hand. "Hey, hey, it's okay! It's okay..." he spoke gently, backing his way out of the small tunnel-like hole. "See? It's alright..." He backed up even more, leaving room between him and the couch. "I'm not going to hurt you. See? I'm not here to hurt you..." He spoke gently, his voice soft and kind.

Oh, but how his heart beat wildly in his chest... His thoughts raced through his mind, questions without answers plaguing him relentlessly. He placed himself down on his rear, unfolding his legs before him. "C'mon. It's okay... Lovino, it's me. Antonio." No. That wasn't what he called him. He cracked a smile. "The tomato bastard. Remember? The guy who got tomato all over your shirt."

The whimpering had died down, at least, and he could hear a scoff. The thunder rolled in the distance, gentle and unthreatening. Yet, it was still enough to make the Italian flinch. Antonio waited patiently, before holding out his hand. "It's safe. It's okay. Come on out. I won't let anything hurt you. You're alright. It's just a storm." A flash of lightning. The rain continued to pound against the window. "See? A storm. It's alright." The thunder accompanied it.

Slowly, but surely, he could see the shadow move. He waited patiently, unmoving. "It's okay, Lovi... I'm here... It's alright..." he spoke softly. He kept his hand held out, that same, gentle smile on his face.

Finally, Lovino emerged from behind the couch. His glare could be seen through the darkness, through eyes glistening with tears. He glanced to the hand, but did not take it. "The hell are you doin' here? Damn bastard..."

After a moment, Antonio lowered his hand. "I heard you scream," he admitted. Those eyes flicked away from him. "I got worried, and found you down here."

"You don't need to speak to me like a damn child..."

Antonio gave a sheepish smile. "Well... You didn't seem to recognize me at first." Now he felt stupid... It seemed that Lovino was, indeed, in his right mind. But, how was he supposed to know how to handle the situation?

Lovino stiffened. For a moment, he was silent. His eyes flicked to the window as thunder rolled in the distance. "I thought you were... someone else... at first..." he finally admitted, his voice quiet. It was so quiet, the rain nearly drowned it out. He then swallowed and breathed deeply. "But of course I know you fuckin' are. Your ugly mug... It's... It's..." A loud clap of thunder instantly cut him off. He jolted visibly, arms wrapping around himself. "CAZZO."

Antonio shot forward, moving to his knees. "You okay-?" It was an instant reaction.

"No, I'm not fuckin' okay! Do I look okay?!" Lovino shot back, glaring harshly at the one before him. He growled in frustration. "Why the fuck do you think I didn't come out, huh?! It wasn't because I didn't recognize you, you damn bastard! It's because I'm fuckin' ashamed as fuckin' hell! Here I am, fucking twenty-two fuckin' years old, afraid of a fuckin' thunder storm! How's that for fuckin' embarrassing, ah?! Don't you dare fuckin' ask me 'are you fuckin' okay! Because here's a fuckin' newsflash! No! I'm not fuckin' okay!"

Instantly, Antonio had silenced. He had not expected something like that... He sat back again, unsure of what to even say. A mumble reached his ears as soon as Lovino glanced away, but alas, he could not hear it over the rain. "... What...?" he asked timidly.

"I said I'm fuckin' sorry! Learn to fuckin'-"

Another loud crack of thunder, and an onslaught of Italian profanities. Lovino's hand flew up to his mouth and he whimpered, tears cascading down his cheeks.

Antonio moved forward. Lovino flinched at his touch at first, but Antonio noted that he did not move away when he put his arms around him. Cautiously, he wrapped his arms around the other and pulled him to his chest, taking no note of the bare skin against his arms. He sat back and tightened his grip, hearing the whimpers come from the one who seemed so damn small in his arms. "It's okay to be afraid..." he murmured quietly. He breathed in deeply and rested his head against the Italian's. "I'm here... I'm not going anywhere..."

A mumbled curse reached his ears, but it was erased just as quickly as the clap of thunder that followed it. The Spaniard could feel the Italian press more against him, and he only tightened his grip. Arms soon wrapped around his waist, timid at first, but holding to him firmly after a brief moment. He lifted a hand and ran it through the disheveled locks, rocking back and forth in a soothing motion.

He hated the way the Italian trembled in his arms. He hated how tense his muscles felt, yet how tired his entire body seemed to be. He hated the whimpers and the tears that soaked his loaned shirt. He wanted to make it all... fade away... Yet, he knew not how. He wanted to help, in some way, yet he could not think of how.

Then a thought occurred to him.

Mothers would often sing lullabies to their children to lull them to sleep. Perhaps it would have the same effect...? He could only try.

"Yo te quiero regalar palabras,

ser tu red para cuando caigas,

cogerte de la mano al andar...

"Y decirte cosas al oído,

Yo quiero ser tu manta cuando tengas frío

y ser tu hombro para llorar..."

It was the first thing he could think of; the only thing he could think of. It was a Spanish song he had heard on the radio a few times while in Spain. It was a beautiful melody, and he found that he loved the lyrics dearly. It was all about wanting to be there for someone, and holding them through everything. The chorus, itself, was about wanting to make the listener smile, even if it meant selling their own soul to achieve that.

"Por ti mi vida empeño,

por un momento

de verte sonreír...

"Por ti mi alma vendo,

a cambio del tiempo

que necesites para ser feliz..."

He could feel the Italian relaxing in his arms. He was no longer trembling as he had been. The storm raged on outside, the rain pounding against the window and the lightning filling the room. He could hear the distant rumbles of thunder, and the loud claps that startled even he. But he forced himself to stay strong. He had to keep his voice steady. As he sang, he ran his fingers through Lovino's hair and rubbed at his back. Whenever the other would flinch or hold him tighter, Antonio would give him a gentle, reassuring squeeze.

"Dejo todo por un beso tuyo,

quiero ser tu espada y tu escudo,

decirte que te quiero una vez más...

"Quiero ser tus alas y tu cielo,

quiero ser el mar y tu velero,

el suelo y tus pies para caminar..."

The whimpering had stopped entirely, yet he could still tell that the tears were still leaking from his eyes. He continued his song, until it finally came to an end and only the rain was left to accompany them. He swallowed thickly, and dared not to pull away. He massaged the younger's scalp and leaned down to press his lips against it, though it was not in a kiss; it was simply to rest his head there. He held the other closer to him, rewarded by the feeling of Lovino scooting into it, pressing more against him. He was sure there wasn't even anymore room left between them, at this rate, but he didn't care.

He did not want to let go. No, that would be the end of the world, for the both of them. Antonio needed this just as much as Lovino did. He did not want to ask the other as to why his fear of storms was so strong. That could wait until later. For now, all he wanted to do was hold Lovino to him and let him know that everything was alright. That the storm was nothing to worry about, nothing to be frightened over. And so, Antonio just sat there, with the Italian in his arms.

He did not know how long they were there for, how long they just sat there with their arms around each other. He only knew that the storm continued, the thunder easing up, yet still very much reminding them that it was there to stay until morning would come around. Antonio had no doubt that it would stay that long. And if he had to sit there and hold Lovino throughout the entire thing, in the same position, then he would.

It was Lovino who broke the hug, his grip finally loosening and his body finally pulling away. "... I'm going to bed..." he finally announced, his voice quiet.

Antonio nodded in agreement and pulled away from Lovino, pushing himself up. As he straightened, he helped Lovino to his feet and steadied him. "You sure you'll be okay...?" Silence. Antonio breathed in, then cautiously, "Would you like me to... to... sleep in the same bed as you...?"

"... Do what you want..."

Was that a yes? Or was it a no? He couldn't even be sure. Without thinking much of it, Antonio squeezed Lovino's shoulder and leaned forward. Gently, he placed a kiss upon his forehead. "C'mon. Let's get you into bed, Lovi." There were no protests as he laced his fingers with the Italian's, carefully leading him away from the couch and through the living room. He was slow as he ascended the steps, taking care not to leave Lovino behind, and pushed on through the door. He guided the Italian to the bed and let him lay upon it - though it was much more like falling upon it with a dull thud.

Then he began to second guess his suggestion. Surely Lovino would not like that. He took a step back, running his fingers through Lovino's hair once more. "I'll be in the other room." He turned, and walked away. He could only get so far before a hand grabbed at his sweatpants, stopping him. There was no need for words; that action alone was the only thing he needed.

Heart pounding in his chest, he crawled into the bed beside the Italian, who then proceeded to mumble, "Your shirt's wet." He was about to question why that was even important, but then it dawned on him before he could even part his lips. It was no doubt uncomfortable, and thus he was obligated to remove it. ... Well... If Lovino was fine with it (and seemed to sleep without a shirt anyway, judging by the bare chest), then he would be alright with it. He breathed out a sigh and peeled off the shirt, letting it fall to the floor.

He lay beside the other, and through the darkness, he watched as the Italian first turned so that he faced away from him. He stared for a moment and, figuring that he should probably do the same, prepared to move as well. That is, until a clap of thunder made Lovino think otherwise of his decision. Or so Antonio assumed.

Lovino turned around and scooted closer, pressing his forehead against the Spaniard's chest. An arm tentatively wound itself around Antonio's waist, in what Antonio could only assume was for lack of a better place to put it. Antonio swallowed thickly and hesitantly returned the embrace, his hand resting at the back of Lovino's head to play with a few of the strands. "I'll be here..." he reassured.

A gentle nod against his chest. He smiled at this, ever so softly, and leaned down to rest his head against Lovino's. Lovino moved closer only once, then was still. The crying had stopped. The trembling had ceased. Antonio could feel Lovino's exhaustion through his posture alone, and could feel exhaustion creeping up on him as well. He forced himself to remain awake until he felt Lovino's chest rise and fall in a steady rhythm that indicated sleep. Then finally, Antonio, too, let his eyes fall closed. This time, he would sleep until morning.

---

"I want to give you words,

Be your net when you fall,

Hold your hand while walking...

"And tell you things in your ear,

Be your blanket when you're cold,

And be your shoulder to cry on...

"For you, I commit my life,

To see you smile

For one moment...

"For you I'd sell my soul

In exchange for all the time

That you need to be happy..

"I'd give everything for a kiss from you,

I want to be your sword and your shield,

Tell you "I love you" one more time...

"I want to be your wings and your sky,

I want to be your sea and your sailboat,

The ground and your feet when you walk..."