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.

5. Day Five: When You Love So Much

AN: Oh God, this chapter took so long for me to write- I tried to get it done by the end of the weekend, but look at where that's got me. I'm almost an entire week late! Well, no matter. I got it done! Hope you guys enjoy! Oh. But before you read... I suggest you look up "Mambo Italiano" by Carla Boni, and "Una Notte A Napoli" by Pink Martini. Both of those songs - especially Una Notte a Napoli - play an important part in this chapter. Don't worry about when you have to listen to them; you'll find out when you get there. Alright, with that said, I think it's time for bed-

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.Day Five.
When You Love So Much

When he had awoken, he had expected to be alone. It was only a natural thought. After all, how could something like last night possibly happen? He knew full well of how strong of a man the Italian was. Sure, he hardly laughed, but he didn't cry, either. And not to mention that this was the first time he had ever been over to Lovino's house... Thus, when the sun's morning rays filtered in through the window, rousing him from his slumber, he thought for sure that he would open his eyes to find himself alone in the bed that his host had assigned to him. For a moment, he thought that surely, this was the truth.

He was proven entirely wrong.

Through the grogginess of his tired mind, he could feel a weight against his chest. His breath caught in his throat at the shallow, steady breeze dancing across his skin. He was suddenly painfully aware of the warmth that radiated from beside him. It was hard to ignore the skin beneath his fingertips, soft and so very warm. The unfamiliar sensation of hair brushing against his jawline and shoulder as the other shifted tickled his skin, and he had to suppress the shiver that threatened to rock down his spine. Thankfully, the movement was brief, and thus there was no time for a snicker to even begin bubbling up.

He held his breath, his body tense. The other wouldn't suddenly wake up, would he? He sure hoped not. He did not know what was in store for him. Would he yell? Would he curse? Would he accuse him of perverse things? Would he really castrate him? Or perhaps, he wondered, would it be the exact opposite? He pondered the possibilities. There was a chance that Lovino wouldn't be angry. After all, with the events of last night - something of which he decided had in fact happened - he doubted that Lovino would be truly angry with him for sleeping in the same bed. It was Lovino, after all, who had coaxed him to stay.

Then would that mean that he would be grateful that Antonio had remained by his side the entire night, until the sun finally peeked out from beyond the horizon? The more Antonio thought on it, the more likely the possibility became. He knew well of how difficult of an individual Lovino was. The man was still a complete mystery to him, yet it was all too easy to understand that his mind worked to such depths that Antonio could not possibly grasp the entirety of his thought process. The emotion in his eyes alone told of countless tales of what lie beyond the mask he wore. A defense mechanism, Antonio could only guess. Though it did raise the question of why it was there in the first place - if that was the answer at all. No. No, he should not think about such things. It was not his place to try to pick apart the Italian's past. A man had his secrets, and some things were best left unspoken.

Deducing that Lovino had not awoken, judging by the steady rise and fall of his chest, Antonio finally cracked open an eyelid. The harsh sunlight gave no mercy and his head almost pounded in protest. He wanted to hiss and throw an arm over his eyes, but at the same time, he feared moving. He lay on his back, one arm wrapped around Lovino's shoulders and his other hand gently resting upon- was that a forearm? No. Judging by the contours of the skin, he deduced that it was not, in fact, a forearm. Rather, it was a wrist.

He blinked away the rest of the sleep from his eyes, suppressing a yawn. His gaze instantly fell upon the white ceiling above him. To his right, in his peripheral, he could just barely make out the shape of a nightstand and a simple lamp. A quick glance to the side, curiosity getting the best of him, rewarded him with the knowledge of a book and a cell phone. The book itself looked to be opened many times before, the edges of the hard cover slightly damaged and frayed. That only confirmed the suspicion that had risen in his mind the day before; Lovino was one to often throw himself into the realm of fantasy - by choice and not by necessity.

He couldn't help but to crack a weak smile at this confirmed aspect of Lovino's life. Antonio, too, had a passion for reading. Though, he had to admit... He didn't read as much as he would like. He was much too busy, preoccupying himself with other interests and hobbies and, admittedly, the busyness of life itself. He breathed out a quiet sigh at this thought as he tore his eyes away from the book. Instantly, he shoved the thought away. Now was not the time to think on something like that. Wait. Wait a damn moment. He glanced once again to the book, brow furrowing.

He almost laughed. He had to bite his tongue in order not to do so. If he craned his neck, lifted his head just the slightest, he could just barely see the printed cover. Though he could not read the title from where he lay, he could most definitely see the woman caught in her lover's embrace. Really. That was the last thing he expected. He glanced down to the Italian resting on his shoulder, and instantly, the thoughts scattered away from him.

It was breathtaking. Before that moment, he had not once seen the Italian with an expression of such peace and tranquility. He had grown accustomed to the furrowed brow, the soft glare, the downward turn of the lips. And even if the other hadn't been frowning, if he had been smirking, Antonio could still spy the traces of a troubled expression. But to see him so relaxed, so content... It was enough to make him believe he was still in a dream. He almost wanted to will himself to wake up. But, at the same time, he wished that he wouldn't.

It wasn't just the expression. It was the way the light through the window - that same damned light that had woken him - shone upon his skin. He could see the red highlights of the Italian's auburn hair - including that stubborn curl that seemed to just not want to lay flat, no matter what. It was almost as if the man's hair was in eternal flame, like the glowing embers Antonio had seen within his eyes. Yet, it was a gentle glow. He did not know how to properly describe it. Hell, even his mind had been stunned into complete silence, it seemed. The relaxed brow, the closed eyelids, the slightly parted lips, the nostrils just barely flaring with each intake of breath... He couldn't help but to take it all in without a second thought.

Lovino was truly beautiful.

His face flushed at the thought. Out of all the words that could have possibly come to mind, it just had to be those set of words to break through? He let his head fall back to the pillow, breathing out yet another sigh through his nose. His eyes slowly closed, his eyebrows drawing together as the corners of his lips turned down in a frown. Francis was right. He was getting much too close... He could not shake the sinking feeling in his chest, nor the flicker of pain in his heart at the realization. He needed to put an end to this. He needed to just... grab his guitar and head back to the hotel. Drop all contact with the Italian.

But he couldn't do that... The voice argued this, in the back of his mind. He was to leave soon. Never to see Lovino again. He swallowed thickly as this thought entered his mind. The days had passed by in a blur, yet that was one thought that kept revealing itself, over and over again, until he was sure that it would drive him crazy. He could not stay in Italy. Before the week would be over, he would already be on a plane, have already landed in Germany. The sudden thought struck him. He would be leaving the day after the next. He could not help the lump that formed in his throat. Try as he might, he could not ignore the tightening in his chest, the crushing of his lungs. He could almost feel the tears pricking at his eyes...

Oh, how he hated mornings... The silence always gave way for such depressing thoughts. It was the reason he would always force himself out of bed as soon as his eyes were open. Others would call him a morning person, say that he was much too cheerful when morning came around. "You rise with the sun," they would say to him. But he knew the truth of it. With the stillness of the morning came the heaviness of the heart and mind. It never failed him. If he did not distract himself with a busy schedule in the morning, then he would only succumb to thoughts, to doubts, to fears. His busyness was not from cheerful giddiness; it came from the need to pull his mind away from troublesome thoughts. Sure, he did have good mornings where he woke up feeling giddy and energized. But he was only human.

Thankfully, he did not have to think on this for long. His distraction had come. His eyes opened as he felt the other shift against him, heard the short groan come from his throat. He could feel the vibrations against his chest, feel the way Lovino pressed against him as he moved closer to the warmth, despite the warm room around them. The fist lying on his chest tightened, then relaxed, and when Antonio lifted his head, he could see eyelids slowly pulling back to reveal green irises. They blinked once, then twice, as brows furrowed in groggy confusion.

The Spaniard grinned down to the one he held. "Buonas días, Lovino," he greeted. His voice crackled with the lack of usage over the course of the night.

It seemed to take the Italian a moment to even gain his bearings. Antonio could only watch in amused silence as those green eyes flicked to him. He watched as the mental gears slowly started turning, the groggy confusion reflecting in the other's eyes. And when they widened, lips slightly parting, Antonio knew Lovino had figured it out. With a groan, the Italian threw himself to the side and rolled over, stopping only when his back had been turned to his guest. "Get the fuck outta my bed," was the groggy grumble that reached his ears.

Antonio couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up from him. He should have expected something like that. Aah, but that warning from the night before... Yes, the Italian certainly did seem less tolerant now. Deciding to listen to his host's will, he pulled himself out of the sheets - though not without a mental complaint on the lack of warmth - and gave a stretch as soon as he was safely on two feet again. His gaze flicked to Lovino, who lay curled up, only half covered by the sheets. "May I use your shower?" he asked, his voice gentle as to not disturb the other too much.

"Do whatever the fuck you want, I don't give two shits. Just don't fuckin' say another goddamn word to me, or so help me, I'll..." The rest of the threat died down to incoherent mumblings into the pillow as Lovino curled even more into himself.

Deeming it as a good idea to leave his host be at this point, Antonio flashed a grin and said not another word. After gathering up the shirt he had deposited the night before (and with good reason, giving the heat of the room with two heat-radiating bodies under the same blanket), he slipped out of the room, quietly closing the door behind him. Then a thought occurred to him; he hadn't brought an extra pair of clothes. He breathed out a sigh through his nose, his eyes flicking toward the stairs. He did have a pair of the clothes in the drier... Though they were in fact dirtied, he doubted they would be any dirtier than the sweat pants he currently wore. Aah, so were the summer nights of Naples... Warm, and with the ocean right outside the window, quite humid.

Running a hand through his hair and his lips parting in a mighty yawn, the Spaniard threw the shirt over his shoulder and made his way down the stairs. While he hadn't been in that section of the house, it wasn't hard to locate the laundry room. And, apparently, another bathroom. Huh. He dismissed this discovery and stepped over the overflowing laundry basket of clean clothes to retrieve his own clothes from the machine, thankful that they had indeed been dried. His shoes, however, he could not say the same for. They hadn't been added into the load of clothes, no doubt having to wait for the rack to be set up. And with clothes spiraling around inside... Yeah, it was not a good idea.

Perhaps he should start the drier himself and put the shoes in there before Lovino woke up? He pondered this option for a moment before he decided that no, that would not be the best idea. He did not want to rummage around the laundry room, trying to find what he was looking for. It was not his house, and he would not invade someone's privacy. Retrieving clothes was one thing. Searching an entire laundry room and starting up the drier? Now that was another.

Antonio dismissed those thoughts as he ventured out of the room, down the hall, back up the stairs, and into the bathroom. (He was unsure if the downstairs bathroom was even alright for showering in. He knew that sometimes, people would use only one of the bathrooms for bathing, while the other remained entirely unused. He could only assume that he was allowed to use the upstairs one because it was the one Lovino had kindly pointed out to him the night before.) With one last glance toward Lovino's door to assure that the Italian was still locked within, he closed the door to the bathroom. Thankfully, it wasn't difficult to locate the towels; they were simply stored in a cabinet next to the tub itself.

He tried his hardest not to take too long. After all, he didn't want to rack up Lovino's water bill. No doubt that living on the coastline like this was expensive, and he didn't want to worsen it by using any more water than Lovino would. Though he had to admit... He had no idea just how much water Lovino would use in a normal situation. Well, either way, he did not want to be the cause for Lovino going into debt. Thus, he kept his shower short, merely sticking to the basics of shampoo and soap. Only a few moments later and he was stepping back out, drying himself with a towel and pulling on the clothes he had brought yesterday. They smelled clean, at least... Wait. Was that laundry detergent?

His eyebrows furrowed at the curious observation, lifting the fabric to his nose. It was indeed laundry detergent. It then occurred to him. Lovino did not just dry his clothes. He full on washed them. He hummed, impressed. He knew Lovino was a kind soul, but to this extent? He decided would have to find a way to thank him later for his hospitality.

He looked to the towel. ... What was he supposed to do with this. His eyebrows furrowed. Oh, the woes of showering at another person's house... You never knew where to put the towel. Some people just hung them up to be used again. Some had a special hamper to throw it into. Some would ask to throw it into the washer, or the back room for cleaning. And then there were those who would just take it from you and be off to do whatever it was they did with it, without any explanation. Antonio huffed as he looked to the damp towel, a frown on his lips. Too bad Lovino was currently sleeping, or else he would ask him what to do with it. Would it be alright to pile it into a corner of the bathroom?

No. No, he would not dirty Lovino's house in such a way. It was clear that the man went to great lengths to keep his home clean, judging by the way that there seemed to be not even a single thing out of place. Sure, there was still dust to be found, so it wasn't insanely spotless, like one would find when visiting the Beilschmidt household. But it was still clean, nonetheless, and Antonio would not allow himself to ruin that.

Thus, he decided. He would just throw it into the back room, along with the clothes that had been lent to him. Balling up the dirtied laundry, the Spaniard ventured out of the room, leaving the door open to allow the room to air out from the moisture within. He had to pause on his way toward the stairs, however, due to the ajar door his eyes flicked upon. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Hadn't Lovino been sleeping? A questioning frown, but he was soon to shrug it off and began his descent. Just as he turned the corner into the hallway, he could hear the Italian's voice, speaking in jumbled nonsense from the laundry room.

A slam of a door, a beep, and the sounds of the drier echoed to his ears. Antonio raised an eyebrow at the foreign language rolling off Lovino's tongue. The words seemed so agitated, as opposed to what he had heard when the Italian had been speaking the same language to the waiter a few days back. He could hear the scoffs and grunts, and the annoyed tone ringing through his voice was much too hard to miss. The voice lowered, then all of a sudden grow louder again, and the whole thing was all too much for Antonio to ignore. A part of him told him that it was not his business, that he should just turn right back around and walk away. But then another, much stronger, part argued that it was not the best idea, that he should press on to assure that everything was alright with his host.

And press on he did. He padded along the hallway until he rounded the corner, the Italian's name falling from his lips in a timid, curious whisper. Surprised green eyes flicked to him, the words cutting off instantly. His eyebrows furrowed as he watched pink dust across Lovino's cheeks. The eyes flicked away again and another phrase was mumbled quickly into the receiver of a cell phone. Well. That answered one question.

Lovino - fully dressed in a button up shirt (the sleeves of which rolled to his elbows) and pair of jeans - pulled the device from his ear and shot a weak glare. "What are you doin' down here, ah?"

Antonio said nothing and simply lifted the pile of clothes in his hand. It was quickly snatched away with a grumble, the pile flying into the washing machine soon after. The Spaniard swallowed and his eyes flicked to the drier, then to where his shoes had been just a few moments ago. Missing. Ah, so he had remembered about the shoes... He flashed a smile at this. "Thanks for washing my clothes for me," he finally spoke up.

Lovino shrugged and slid past Antonio, venturing down the hallway. Antonio was quick to fall in time with the quickened pace. "Whatever. They had mud on them. I didn't want to ruin my drier with it."

The older of the two chuckled at the seemingly uninterested response. He flashed a smile to the back of an auburn head. "Well, either way, that was very nice of you." He caught Lovino's eyes for a brief moment. "You just threw my shoes in there, right?"

A nod and the pace slowed as they neared the kitchen. "Sì. They should be dry soon so you can get your ass out of here."

"You sure you want me to leave so soon?" The question left his lips without him thinking on it. The Italian halted abruptly and it took quite a bit of effort on Antonio's part to not slam right into his back. His eyes widened slightly at the baffled glare sent over his shoulder. "I-I mean-! Last night was pretty rough! And I really want to make sure you're okay!" he spoke quickly, finding that he was stumbling over the English pronunciations a little more than usual this morning. He blamed it on his lack of sleep.

For a moment, Lovino was silent. Then finally, a huff through his nostrils. He turned away, continuing on once more. "Last night was just one time. It's done and over with now," he spoke flatly.

Antonio fell into silence. Sure, Lovino seemed a lot better this morning. The circles under his eyes weren't as noticeable, and his eyes weren't as bloodshot as they had been the day before. But, he couldn't shake the feeling that he shouldn't leave so soon. He knew it was rude, to stay longer than intended. And if Lovino showed aggravation at him staying, then he would indeed leave him be. But as it stood right then, his mind was screaming at him to stay by the other's side.

"Speaking of last night..."

The voice cut through his thoughts like a hot knife through butter. His eyes glanced to Lovino to see that he was pouring a dark liquid into two different mugs. Ah. Coffee. He cracked a smile at the sight. That would surely wake up him.

The coffee pot was returned to the stove, where the flame had already been turned off. One of the cups was handed to Antonio, who mumbled out a word of gratitude, before Lovino rested against the counter, breathing in the scent. His eyes looked to everywhere but Antonio. "You deserve an explanation..." he finally spoke.

This piqued Antonio's interest. He paused in the middle of blowing on his coffee, curious green eyes flicking up to look toward the other. He lowered the warm mug, his lips drawing into a thin line. He wanted to know, yes, but at the same time, he wanted it to remain unknown. He could accept that Lovino did not like the storm, for whatever reason. Whatever the reason was, no doubt it was a serious one. No man or woman alive would react in such a manner if it weren't for some sort of traumatic event. Or perhaps, Antonio mused, it was simply the fact that Lovino hated storms. It was possible that it was an irrational fear, spurred by absolutely nothing.

Judging by the look on the other's face, the tense shoulders, this was not the case.

"You don't have to," Antonio spoke carefully, slowly. His voice was quiet. He tried his hardest to let Lovino know that he understood, that he did not require an explanation.

Lovino's eyes finally flicked to Antonio, a frown playing along his lips. After a brief moment, he answered, "No. No, you deserve to know. No one goes through that and doesn't wonder what the fuck happened."

"Lovino-"

The Italian rolled his eyes and lowered the mug. It was such a quick moment, Antonio had feared the liquid would spill out the edge and all over Lovino's hand. "For fuck's sake, just let me tell my goddamn story! Santo cielo!"

That instantly shut him up.

Lovino breathed out a sigh and deflated against the countertop. He rubbed at the mug with an index finger as he stared into the dark liquid, eyebrows drawn together. "Yeah. I know I don't have to say it. But you know what? You had to sit there through all of that. You had to fuckin' deal with that, so it's only right if I explain to you what the hell happened," he spoke.

Antonio watched in silence as he cautiously blew on the steaming liquid in his hands. A part of him wanted to find out what had been bothering the other the day before. Another part was fearful. For a long moment, it seemed that the Italian wouldn't speak again. But after a sharp inhale, Antonio could see the determination in the other's eyes.

"It's nothing. Really..." Lovino spoke cautiously. "I mean. It's..." His eyes flicked out the window for a brief moment. "Yeah. It's big. But in a way, it's not. I don't care if I tell it. What happened, happened. You can't change the past, and I know that. So don't give me that 'you don't have to' shit." His gaze returned to the mug. "You're not the first person I've told the story to, and you most definitely aren't goin' to be the last. So let me just tell my damn story.

"Alright. So... When I was eight, my parents were murdered."

Antonio could feel his heart stop right then and there. His breath caught in his throat and his eyes widened. He could not believe what he had heard. How could such an angel endure such pain? At such a young age? He could not even begin to fathom what sort of trauma that alone had brought upon Lovino. His outward personality, his rash way of dealing with people, seemed to make all the more sense now to the Spaniard.

In his silence, Lovino continued, "When the men were at our door, Mamma told us to hide. I took both of my brothers and hid in the closet. I remember there were slits in the door, and I didn't want them looking through them. So I held them as tight as I could... They wouldn't stop crying." He paused, eyes flicking up momentarily as eyebrows furrowed. Antonio's eyes locked on the way his throat tensed, the way his lips turned down into a troubled frown. "I wasn't as lucky. I didn't have anyone to hide my eyes, and I couldn't look away.

"I watched as they both were shot. I remember it was in their bedroom. The sun was settin' and a storm was brewin'. When I heard the gunshots, I thought it was just thunder at first. I didn't realize..." He paused. "No, I didn't want to believe it."

Antonio finally found the courage to speak. "So the thunder... from last night..."

Lovino slowly nodded, his eyes locking with Antonio's. "It sounds like gunfire..."

For a moment, he was entirely silent. They both were. The silence hung over the room like a thick curtain, suffocating the both of them. Antonio couldn't even find the strength to breathe, hearing the story that had come from the Italian's lips. His mind reeled with the imagery that the words had given him. Images of Lovino hiding in the closet, holding his brothers close as he tried to keep them quiet, flashed through his mind. He could see the light falling upon the youthful face, see the fear in his eyes. That same fear he had seen the night before... He could see the children flinch at each gunshot that rang out, see Lovino's eyes widen in disbelief as he stared on through the slits.

No doubt, he had realized, they had made a sound. There was no way that a child could keep silent through all that, no matter how well-mannered they were. His eyes flicked to Lovino, curious and yet fearful of the answer. "How... did you survive?"

Oh, how he wished he had taken that question back. How he wished he could snatch it from the air and tear it to shreds, or even stop his lips from speaking it. It broke the silence, and he wished he could have gotten that back.

Lovino seemed confused at first, flashing a bewildered glance. His lips twitched, but no sound came out just yet. As if suddenly understanding, he glanced back to the cup. "To be honest, it was all by pure chance.

"When the last gunshot fired, Feliciano screamed."

Feliciano... That named seemed familiar. But he didn't have time to question it, didn't have time to think on it. The story was continuing, and he was much too caught up in it to even give it a second's thought.

"I was so angry with him, so scared, I started screamin' at him to shut up. When I looked up, they were aimin' at the closet. I thought we'd die, too.

"When I closed my eyes and pushed my brothers back, the bedroom door broke open. I heard the men yellin' and heard gunfire. But I didn't feel anythin'. I thought I was dead, too. But when I opened my eyes, I saw Nonno fightin' them.

"He beat them down - even when the men were shootin' at him." His eyes softened and a certain emotion flickered within them, one of fondness. "He was always a strong man. I should've expected as much. He was a police officer, y'know... Before he... Well. Before he decided it was his time to go, too." He finally took a pause to sip at his coffee, deeming it as cool enough. Antonio follow suit. Letting out a sigh of content at the taste, Lovino continued, "He found us in the closet. From that day on, the three of us lived with him. He raised us."

Lovino's eyes flicked back to Antonio. Though his entire body seemed to relaxed, there was a flicker of doubt within his eyes. Or at least, that was what Antonio could see. "So now you know. I don't like storms. I don't like thunder," he finally concluded. "As I said, you aren't the first person, and you won't be the last." He lifted the cup to his lips and took another sip, his eyes darting away.

But Antonio wasn't fully convinced. The Italian had gone into such vivid detail about it... He had expected a short explanation. With the story he was told, he would have expected a simple 'I don't like thunder because it reminds me of my parents getting shot' or something of that nature. But instead, he was given an entire recount of the event. And it truly was disturbing.

Yet Antonio couldn't help but to be curious. Why go into such detail? He could assume that others had asked him about it before, so perhaps they had pestered him about the details? Surely it couldn't have been because the Italian trusted him that much with it; life just didn't work that way. If anything, Antonio was a stranger to Lovino. So why...? He pondered this as he sipped away at the coffee, feeling the last hold of sleep finally release him.

Colour was beginning to return to his world. He could hear the birds chirping outside, hear the wind rattling the windows, ever so slightly. He was becoming more and more aware of his surroundings - and more and more aware of Lovino.

The Italian certainly did seem much better than what he had yesterday. Antonio was thankful for that. That redness had faded from his eyes, and the dark circles had lightened. Sure, he had noticed that earlier that day, but now he finally had confirmation that it was not him just glossing over the fact. He cracked a small smile at this, but it quickly faded. Red eyes. Reflecting back on them, he realized that the Italian had not truly been lying down to sleep.

He breathed in, and lifted his head so he could look to Lovino fully. "When I came over yesterday..." That got the other's attention. Green eyes locked with his own. They were suspicious; he could not ignore that. "You weren't trying to nap. Were you." It was a statement; not a question. There was no more room for lies or excuses.

"No," Lovino spoke carefully, eyes flicking away, "I was not."

So he had his answer. His lips drew into a thin line. He had known full well that Lovino had been lying to him. There were too many things counting against him, betraying his words. "Thank you," he spoke sincerely. Eyes glanced up to him once more, but did not hold their gaze. "For telling me all that. You're really brave, you know."

A snort, then silence.

Antonio offered a smile. "I'm serious. You really are brave. Not just for telling me, but for going through that and still growing up into what you are today," he spoke again. "You are really strong, Lovino. That's a good quality to have."

Lovino leaned back against the counter, studying Antonio for a time. Then finally, he let out a short hum and pushed away. "Think what you wish," was his only response as he strode past Antonio, motioning for him to follow.

And follow, Antonio did. He, too, pushed away from the counter. He was actually quite thankful that his coffee had cooled down to a tolerable level. He didn't know how much longer he could function without it. He sipped away at the delightful liquid as he walked through the dining room and paused at the sliding door to allow the Italian to open it. Oh, goodie. He'd finally see what was behind that glass.

When he stepped out onto the patio, he was taken by surprise. He knew that he shouldn't have, given the small garden on the front porch, but he couldn't help it. The patio was breathtaking. The entire thing was covered in foliage. Planters with flowering plants stood proud and lush, their colours bright and attracting the sunlight as it shone down through the leaves of the plants curled around the pergola above. His eyes wandered in amazement and wonder, to the variety of vegetables growing from the vines - only a few of them being ripe enough to pick. His eyes caught sight of the succulent, red fruit he treasured so dearly, unable to contain his smile as soon as his eyes laid upon them. Tomatoes. Lovino grew... tomatoes. And judging by their colour and size, they were some pretty damn good ones, too.

This was most certainly an interesting fact to Antonio, and he just could not help but to comment on it. "You grow tomatoes?" was the first thing that left his lips as he wandered over to the fruit, squatting down beside it to examine the fruits closer. Not even a single bug on it. He smiled all the more. He glanced back to find that Lovino had placed himself at the small, round table pushed to one corner of the small patio, leaning back in his chair with the mug in his hands. The sunlight reflected off auburn hair, slightly disheveled from last night's adventures. (Though to be entirely honest, Antonio could have sworn that it looked as though the Italian had at least tried to tame it.)

He grinned at the nod, eyes watching him carefully. He ignored the way they seemed to examine him and turned back to the tomatoes. "That's really nice, actually! I used to grow them all the time. I loved it," he spoke fondly. Anything to get them away from the topic that they previously had... He could see the uncomfortable look in Lovino's eyes, and oh, how he wanted to change that. He held one of the tomatoes delicately, eyes flicking over his shoulder. "Mind if I...?"

"Go ahead."

Was that... pride? Antonio paused at that, but decided to shrug it off for now and pulled the tomato from the vine. He straightened and padded back to the table, taking the other seat. He sat back as he inspected the large fruit, having to set down his coffee in order to examine it with both hands. He smiled. "These are really nice! You take really good care of them. How long have you been growing them for?" He finally set the tomato down, replacing it with his coffee.

Lovino hummed, eyes flicking away and eventually landing on the tomatoes. "I've grown them since I was a child. This is the first time this vine's grown fruit."

Antonio grinned brightly. "Well, it's certainly looking really good! Do they taste good, too?"

Lovino shook his head. "I don't know. I haven't been out here to pick them yet."

Huh. He looked to the tomato beside them. He stared for a moment before he flashed a grin to Lovino. "Be right back." He stood and ventured back inside and when he came back out, he held a knife in his hand. He placed himself right where he had been sitting before, putting his half-empty cup on the table. He took the tomato in his hands, ignoring the frown from his host.

"So you just ran in and grabbed a knife."

"Mmhmm."

"From my kitchen."

"Mmhmm."

"In my house."

Antonio paused as he finished the first slice, raising an eyebrow and glancing to Lovino. Where was he getting with this...? "Mmhmm...?"

Lovino let out an exasperated sigh, lowering his coffee. "You do realize this isn't your house, right?"

Oh. The Spaniard froze as this occurred to him. Shit. His face drained of colour as his eyes widened. That had not crossed his mind. He had been too caught up in the joy of the tomato that he didn't even realize he had upset his host. He glanced to the knife, then to Lovino. "I can go put it back." Idiot.

Lovino once again heaved out a sigh and glanced away, pulling his legs up onto the chair. "No. No, it's already too late for that, you've dirtied it. Just finish cuttin' the damn tomato."

Antonio looked to the severed fruit. Right... Okay... He hesitantly glanced to his host. "Lo siento..." he murmured as he continued his cutting of the fruit.

"Yeah, whatever... I don't really care." There was no anger in his voice, no irritation. It only held the same clear, passionate tone that Antonio had grown so accustomed to.

Antonio raised an eyebrow, eyes flicking to Lovino. "Do you normally let strangers run your home?"

"No, but I think that after last night, I don't think I can consider you a stranger."

"So you consider us friends, then?" His chest rose in hope, a smile tugging at his lips.

Lovino's glare instantly scared it off. "I didn't say that," he spoke quickly.

He thought about arguing, but settled for a chuckle and flashed a grin in return. He finished cutting up the tomato and held a piece out to Lovino. "It's only fitting that you have the first taste," he spoke when the other gave him a questioning glance.

The Italian took it with a huff and stared at it for a long moment. Finally, he took a bite. Antonio watched as a spark ignited within Lovino's eyes, hearing the impressed hum. He gave a nod, taking another bit of the juicy fruit. "It's good. They came out... really good this time."

Antonio decided it was now his turn. He took a slice of the tomato and popped it into his mouth, tasting it on his tongue. He could now understand why there was a flicker of pride in Lovino's eyes, in his smirk. He flashed a bright smile. "Sí, they are really good! They're fantastic, Lovino! Why, these are even better than the ones that I used to grow! You sure do have a talent!" Oh and he could see the cheeks darkening already. He handed another slice, offering yet another grin.

"Yeah, whatever... They're just tomatoes..." the Italian mumbled as he paused his coffee-drinking to sample another piece of the tomato. A pause, then a curious glance. Though he had definitely tried to hide it. "How long have you been growin' them?"

A nostalgic smile spread across Antonio's lips as his gaze flicked away. He sat back in his chair, replacing the sliced tomato with his coffee mug. "Let's see..." he pondered as he delved into his memories. There were so many of them, so many cherished times he could think of. That small field of tomatoes had always called to him as a child... "Ever since I can remember, I guess. My family had a farm when I was growing up. It was a small one, but we grew a lot of tomatoes. My father taught me everything I know."

"What made you stop?"

The question almost came as a surprise to him. Frankly, he should have seen it coming. He glanced over to the Italian, unsure of how to answer at first. There were many reasons he had stopped. But did Lovino truly want to hear about them...? And as for the main one... It would take quite a bit of explaining in order to properly convey why he had stopped in the first place.

Lovino tensed at the silence, his legs pulling toward his chest all the more as he cupped the mug in both hands. "You don't have to tell me," he finally spoke, curious eyes glancing away. A flicker of doubt could be seen. Yet that flame burned so much brighter now... Admittedly, Antonio had missed it.

Antonio breathed out a sigh and gave a reassuring smile. "No, it's alright. It's just... a bit of a long story?" he answered, his voice rising a pitch as though it were a question. A glance from the Italian told him to continue. He hummed, drumming his fingers along the porcelain as he glanced away. Well. Best start with the beginning. "I loved growing tomatoes. My family, as I said, had a farm. We lived right by the ocean, too. It was a really nice place, really... I loved it there. But there were some..." he hesitated, "problems.

"My brother and I were never on the best of terms. We were when we were younger, but Miguel always..." How could he properly explain this... His eyebrows furrowed as his head tilted ever so slightly. His eyes flicked to the variety of flowers blossoming so brightly all around them. "He was always a bit of a pain." He laughed at this. "Okay, so maybe that's an understatement.

"He tried to actually kill me a few times. Or so I believed when I was little. We got into really bad fights, and our parents didn't like that. My parents split up and Miguel went to live with my mother while I lived with my father. I... was a bit of a mamma's boy back then, so I really missed her...

"But, I met my two best friends that year, so I guess everything worked out okay, in the end." Oh. Right. He was getting off track. He flashed an apologetic smile. "My parents are both very stern Catholics. Remember how I mentioned that when I told people I was Catholic, they automatically assumed the worst?"

Lovino nodded, though a silent understanding was already beginning to form in his eyes.

"Well." Antonio glanced away, looking into the cup of coffee instead. "My parents were the reason I assume it. They were the really... tough ones. The ones that would swat you upside the head with a bible if you so much as swore in front of them. So when they found out that I was dating another boy... This Dutch transfer student in my school..." He breathed out a sigh through his nose as he sat back. Yes, he remembered him, clear as day. The two would bicker often, sure, but he did have a soft spot for the man, back then. At the time, though, they had both been mere teenagers.

And boy, had they been through quite the tough times... In fact, it was that same guy who introduced him to that lovely Belgian girl whom he claimed to be his little sister. (Married into the family, apparently, thanks to their parents marrying, but let's not get into the details; that's a story for another time.) He shook the thoughts off. "Let's just say they weren't happy with me.

"I was kicked out of my father's home when I was seventeen. My mother didn't have the funds to support both Miguel and I - and our parents still didn't trust us to be in the same city as each other - so I ended up moving in with my friends for a time. Since then, I guess I just haven't had the time to grow tomatoes. I've been too busy with work and school to think about things like that." And he downed the rest of his coffee. Bummer. He set the cup aside and gave a stretch. "But! Everything's better now. My dad's still not 100% okay with it, but hey. What can you do, right?"

Then he realized Lovino's silence. Worry washed over him. Had he said too much? Perhaps it wasn't such a good idea to go into so much detail. Damnit, he knew that he should've kept it short! He shouldn't have even mentioned his old lover - not when he was the only man he had ever dated before. Well, truly dated. He always said too much. Silently, he cursed himself for never developing a verbal filter. Cautiously, he glanced to Lovino.

He did not see what he thought he would. Instead, he saw the Italian staring at his coffee with a deep frown, eyebrows furrowed. He did not seem disgusted, however; his expression did not strike as such. Instead, it just seemed... almost disappointed, in a way, yet Antonio could not fathom why it would be at himself. He could only assume that it wasn't, or else that gaze would be directed toward him. He could see the storm brewing within Lovino's eyes, see the fire hiding behind it. It burned brightly now, shining through the clouds of emotion. He could hardly pick out the emotion that lie within the storm; they all seemed to fight for dominance.

"Lovino...?" His voice was quiet, tentative.

Lovino looked to snap out of his thoughts, eyes flicking to Antonio in mild surprise. His shoulders tensed, but after a moment, they relaxed with a breath escaping from his nostrils. "I'm alright," he spoke calmly. His eyes flicked back to the apparently emptied cup in his hands.

"You sure? You're tense, you know."

Lovino breathed out another sigh, eyes flicking to Antonio. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just can't really imagine somethin' like that," he answered.

Well. He hadn't expected that. He hummed and gave a shrug. "If you mean me dating a boy, then that's not something exactly new. I've dated both boys and girls," he pointed out.

Lovino snorted, holding his chin higher. "No. That's not what I meant."

"Oh." Okay, then he had completely taken that the wrong way.

A moment of silence. Then finally, the Italian spoke again, "I just can't believe someone would be that against it."

"¿Qué?"

Lovino stared. At first, he seemed to be confused, but then a flicker of amusement danced in his eyes. A smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. "What? Think I'd be against it?" A pause, then something that Antonio could only assume was a stifled laugh. The smirk only grew. "My brother's gay, remember?"

Oh right. He had forgotten about that. Antonio glanced away momentarily, instead focusing on his thumbs as he clasped his hands together and began twiddling the tiny appendages. "That may have been in a previous conversation..." he mumbled in response.

Once again, that same sound reached the Spaniard's ear - a laugh that was cut off before it had time to develop properly. "I mentioned last night that he had a boyfriend. Monster man. Remember now?"

A nod.

"Well. My brother's kinda always been that way. He flirts with women, sure, we all do. But he's as straight as a damn circle." He grabbed up a slice of the tomato, popping it into his mouth as Antonio watched out of the corner of his eye in curiosity. "Nonno knew. When we were kids, my brother had a huge crush on this one kid. Can't remember the kid's name for the life of me, but I remember him talkin' about it to Nonno. And Nonno told him this; 'I don't care if you like boys or girls, Little One. I'll still love you. And if he hurts you, he'll have to go through me.' And he meant it."

Antonio listened with obvious interest. It was just so... fascinating to hear about Lovino's life, to see the emotion flicker in his eyes. The flame only burned all the brighter, all the more radiant, when he spoke of his family. His family or his home, those were the two things that would keep the fire burning strong. Once again, his smile appeared on his face. "Really..."

Lovino snorted. "Really," he responded, sitting back in his chair. "He met him, too. And his grandfather. The two had a kind of rivalry for a time, I guess. Scared the livin' shit out of the poor kid."

Antonio couldn't suppress that laugh that came from him. "How old was he?"

"Hell if I know. Five? Six? I didn't ask him his damn age."

He wanted to hear more. The more Lovino spoke, the more he wanted to listen. He wanted to learn so much more about the life of this man beside him, hear the stories he had to tell. Yes, he had heard the ones of the trouble he and his brothers had gotten into in the past, but it wasn't enough. Those were the normal stories one would hear about their siblings. The usual stories of 'we got caught climbing a tree' or 'he stole my legos'. But these ones, they seemed so much more personal. They were stories that you wouldn't be telling to a stranger.

Ah, but he still couldn't consider Lovino a friend, could he...? No. No, he decided that he could. There was just too much shared between them to even be considered acquaintances at this point, Antonio decided. And though Lovino had responded to the notion with something that could have very well shot down that thought, Antonio also knew it was Lovino's way of thinking. Why that was would always be a mystery to him. He had a feeling he would never find out why Lovino seemed so hesitant on showing his true emotions and thoughts. Yes, his past may have tied into that, but he felt that there had to be something more. There had to be something beyond that, something that kept him from outwardly expressing himself.

And so as Lovino rattled on, trying his hardest to recall that boy from so long ago, Antonio found himself caught up in his own mind, lost within his own thoughts. His smile was a relaxed one as he merely just stared, giving a nod or short word in response to the words falling from the Italian's lips. His mind could not keep up with the conversation, yet his body seemed to know exactly what to do. He was too caught up in all that was Lovino, it seemed, and he didn't even stop to realize it.

He watched as Lovino's hands bounced and swayed ever so slightly in time with the movements of his lips, watched as the eyes flicked from the Spaniard to the plants. They almost seemed to be avoiding him, yet at the same time, always returning, as if trying to assure himself that the Spaniard was still there. He wondered why that was. If Lovino wanted to look at him, why didn't he? And if he didn't want to, then why did he? He tried to follow his gaze, tried to figure out what exactly Lovino kept glancing to in hopes to find whatever kept distracting him, but found that he could find nothing. It only heightened his curiosity more. And the more he looked, the more he began to realize the subtle hints of almost shyness within the Italian.

He didn't even recognize the trait before, but now that he had, it hit him like a freight train. It became all the more noticeable to him. Lovino was shy.

He was stunned by this discovery. Out of everything he could very possibly describe the Italian as, shy was most certainly not one of them. If he were told to describe Lovino in one word, it would be proud. Perhaps not confident, but most certainly proud. But as he watched those movements, watched as his eyes flicked away every now and then, he could only see it all the more, now that his eyes searched for it. The faint twitch of the lip, the gentle curve of the brow every now and again, the apprehensive flicker in his eyes that would instantly be pushed aside, and even the swooping of a hand. The way Lovino seemed to remained curled up in his chair, too, was proof of this. It was a relaxed posture, Antonio could deduce, but it also held insecurity, with the way the toes curled and relaxed; curled and relaxed.

A sigh escaped the Italian's lips in a huff as his arms fell to his sides. A gentle frown curved his lips downward and a flicker of annoyed doubt sparked in his eyes. "You're not even listenin' to me anymore, are you?" That was the first phrase to ring in his head, clear as a bell.

Antonio snapped out of his thoughts, lifting his chin from his hand. Oh hey, when did that get there? "Hm? Oh, no, I'm listening." A lie. Oh God, don't let Lovino catch on-

"Then tell me the last thing I said."

His shoulders tensed. Crap. He was caught now. He felt his throat dry and his eyes widened a fraction. He then laughed and decided to throw a playful, almost mischievous grin. "You're not even listenin' to me anymore, are you?" he parroted, attempting to even copy the accent and Lovino's deeper tone.

Lovino snorted and rolled his eyes, sitting back in his chair. "I knew it."

Antonio could only flash an apologetic smile. "Lo siento, Lovino. I guess I got distracted."

"That much is obvious. I'm startin' to wonder if you even have a brain in that big head of yours."

"If I didn't, I'd be dead."

"Smartass."

"Better than a dumbass."

"I take that back. Dumbass."

Antonio huffed and stuck out his lower lip in a mock pout. "Oh, you wound me so."

Lovino, on the other hand, wore an amused smirk. "Cry me a river, Dumbass."

"Oh, don't tell me that's my new nickname."

A pause. Lovino's gaze flicked away for a moment, focusing on the pergola. Then, they flicked back to Antonio. "No. I like Tomato Bastard better."

A laugh came from Antonio. Of course he would keep that nickname. He flashed a grin to the Italian, as bright as ever. He just couldn't help it. Even in the short time he had known him, Lovino only managed to brighten his day. He couldn't help but to always wear a smile around the other. Though, he had yet to see that same smile returned. He vaguely wondered if Lovino even could smile, at this point. He was certain that he could; the man had gotten close to it. But it seemed that with every twitch of the lip, it would automatically transform into a smirk rather than a true smile.

It was Lovino's words that were the cause for Antonio's smile to vanish.

"You should call your friends." Green eyes had flicked away, lips falling from their amused smirk. "They're probably wonderin' where you are by now."

Right. His friends. He had forgotten about them, for the moment. He, too, glanced away, instead deciding to preoccupy his sight with the beautiful flowers that bloomed in the sunlight. He almost despised the two. But he knew it wasn't their fault. If anything, he should have been there, at the hotel room. His lips formed a thin line as he recalled the conversation from the day before, how he had intended to return as quickly as possible. So much for that.

The storm had kept him here, trapped him within the house. No. It wasn't the storm, he realized. He just... did not want to leave. Even now, he was dreading the thought. His mind tried to find excuses not to. Ah, but they were all excuses that couldn't work. Silly things such as 'they're probably asleep right now'. That one would be a flat out lie; the two had been careful not to sleep for too long, and judging by the sun's position in the sky, it was past noon. They would not be sleeping this far into the day.

It then tried to tell him that it was too far of a walk. But of course, he had run here just the day before, in the pouring rain. If it had been too far, then surely he would not even had made it here in the first place. He instantly shoved that thought aside as well. Then his mind flicked to the memory of his wallet sitting on the dresser, beside where his phone had been. He had only snatched up his phone, leaving behind his wallet. He hadn't thought about it at the time. His wallet didn't contain just his money - the reason why he had left it in the first place, for he didn't need such things if he was just picking up a guitar - but his room's keycard. If he didn't have his keycard, how was he even going to get in?

Gilbert and Francis would be there, his mind shot back. He breathed out a sigh through his nostrils and just when he felt eyes on him, he pushed up from the chair. He shot a glance toward Lovino and flashed a smile. "I forgot my phone in the bedroom. The, uh, the one you told me to sleep in," he told his host. "So I'll be back."

With a nod from Lovino, Antonio headed off. He dreaded the walk through the dining room, up the stairs, and down the hall. His mind still reeled with possible excuses to stay, even settling on the memory of agreeing to teach Lovino how to play. He had meant to do that yesterday, but with the events that had unfolded, well... He doubted the man even had the will to learn. No doubt he would have struggled to grasp the basics.

He shoved the thoughts aside, accepting his fate. He would have to leave, whether he liked it or not. He had an obligation to his friends. He was visiting Italy with them; not Lovino. Lovino was just someone he had randomly met, and damnit, like he had realized earlier today, he was getting in too deep. He had to push him away. He had to...

His thoughts scattered as he picked up the phone, his eyes settling on the text message that lie waiting for him. He unlocked the screen, his eyes ghosting over the text over and over to assure himself that he had even read it right. The words remained the same.

'Gilbert is in the hospital,' it read, 'He was an idiot and tried to drag us to the bar about an hour after you left. He's okay, everything checks out just fine. So don't worry. He just got a little sick after being out in the rain. You know how he is. The doctors just want to keep him for a bit longer to make sure. I'll let you know when we're back at the hotel. In the meantime, just have some fun with your angel, alright?'

At first, it worried him, to hear that his friend was admitted into the hospital. After all, he knew full well of Gilbert's medical history. He wasn't exactly the healthiest guy around, and hadn't been ever since Antonio had met him. Hell, the first day they met, Gilbert had snuck out of the hospital and took Antonio for the ride! That day had been full of a lot of running and hiding, that was for sure. He cracked a smile at the memory, his worries easing. Gilbert was a strong man. He knew his limits, and while Francis was a worry wart, he, too, knew if Gilbert was in serious danger or not. And judging by the calmness of the text and the reassurance of the words, Gilbert would indeed be fine. If he wasn't, then no doubt Francis would not hide it.

Antonio sent a quick text back, apologizing for his late reply and asking for Francis to keep him updated on Gilbert's health, before pocketing the phone. A part of him wanted to visit his friend. But he knew that if he did, Gilbert would not be happy with him. He was quite the stubborn man, and no doubt he would harp on Antonio all day long if he saw him lying in a hospital bed. He was a proud man who would rather be six feet under than to see someone at his weakest point. The Spaniard chuckled. He almost felt sorry for Francis. He wouldn't doubt that the Frenchman had been scolded multiple times and literally forced from the room due to Gilbert going on a whole rampage for him even being in the same building.

Oh, the joys of having a friend such as Gilbert. He dismissed the thought and ventured out from the room. He knew that he shouldn't, but a part of him almost felt glad. No, not because Gilbert was in the hospital. In fact, that was indeed cause for worry in the Spaniard. But the fact that Francis and Gilbert were preoccupied meant he would not be expected to come back so soon. That meant he was able to spend more time with Lovino. Mentally, he scolded himself. Hadn't he been telling himself all day that he should just pack up and leave? Seemed that it was impossible, at this point. Now he didn't even have anywhere he could go. Even if he left Lovino's house, there would be nowhere for him to return to. The hotel room was locked and without his keycard, there was no getting inside.

He stepped down to the lower floor, following the sounds of running water into the kitchen, where it appeared Lovino had been washing the few dishes that had been dirtied. Once again, Antonio checked his phone, eyes flicking over the text message he had received earlier this morning. "Turns out Gilbert's in the hospital," he mentioned. When he glanced up, his eyes locked with worried, surprised ones.

"The hospital? What's he doin' there?"

Antonio's hands were up instantly. "No, no, he's fine!" he spoke quickly to reassure the Italian. Lovino seemed skeptical at first, but quickly glanced away and continued with the dishes, setting the clean ones aside and turning off the water. The phone returned to the Spaniard's pocket. "He's had a weak immune system ever since before I knew him. He'll be okay. They just want to keep him for a bit longer. Francis says he'll text me when they're out," he explained.

Lovino glanced in Antonio's direction as the guest of the house leaned against the counter. "Then shouldn't you go visit him?"

Antonio shook his head. "Gilbert's the kind of guy who would hate that, really," he answered, "He's... How to put it... He's got a very big, uh..." His eyes flicked away, eyebrows furrowing. Damn. What was the English word for this-? It was simple, no doubt.

"Ego?"

"No, not quite. I mean. He does, but..." He pondered for a moment before he shook his head, gaze returning to Lovino to see the Italian drying his hands on a dish rag. "He has to seem like he's the strongest man out there. He doesn't like people seeing him when he's weak or hurt. So if he's in the hospital, he forbids anyone from seeing him." He supposed that would work.

Lovino hummed in answer, leaning against the counter.

"So... Francis and Gilbert are stuck at the hospital," Antonio concluded. Yes, thank you Captain Obvious.

Lovino snorted. "Well, I kind of guessed that." A short pause, and a raised eyebrow. "And what does that mean for you, exactly?"

"Means I'm stuck outside of the hotel room."

"What, they didn't give you a key?" He seemed to be questioning the logic behind Antonio's words. Antonio could almost feel the silent accusations being thrown at him.

Antonio let out a sigh and gave a shy smile. "I, uh... I may have forgotten my wallet at the hotel room...?" he admitted sheepishly.

At first, Lovino only stared. The blank expression told it all; he didn't quite understand what that had to do with the hotel room itself. But slowly, it dawned on him. A flicker of emotion burned in his eyes, but it was quickly hidden behind annoyance and... amusement? "And let me guess. Your keycard for said room is in your wallet."

Antonio nodded. "Exactly," was his answer. He watched as Lovino breathed out a sigh, pinching at the bridge of his nose.

"You really are an idiot..."

Oh, yes he was. And he was only realizing that all the more, given everything that had happened this entire week. He flashed another smile, this time apologetic.

The hand lowered and Lovino glanced away, moving away from the sink. "Well. I guess that means you're stuck with me for the day," the Italian spoke in a flat tone. "At least until your friends come to pick your sorry ass up."

Wait. Wait, what? Antonio stared in dumbfounded confusion. He watched the Italian walk past him and into the dining room, then out through the archway. Quickly, he scrambled after him, jogging out into the hallway, where he could see Lovino disappearing around the corner. "You mean I actually get to stay here?" he asked, possibly a little too enthusiastically.

After the slam of a door, Lovino reappeared with shoes in his hands. He tossed them in Antonio's directions, slipping on his own. "No. I don't feel comfortable havin' someone in my home," he spoke evenly. "We're goin' out. We're takin' your guitar, and you're not comin' back."

Antonio was quick to tug on his shoes, though he found that he was struggling a bit due to the lack of sitting as he did so. Yes, that meant that the unbalanced man almost fell a few times. At least Lovino was too distracted by putting on his own shoes and grabbing the guitar himself - as well as a bag in which he slung over his shoulder. "Then what about yesterday?"

"Yesterday was an exception because it was rainin' cats and dogs out there," Lovino answered without missing a beat. "If it wasn't raining, I would have shoved the guitar at you and made you leave. As I said. I don't like people in my home."

That made a little too much sense. The night he had dropped off the instrument, Lovino seemed a little too protective of the doorway, always slipping in and out as fast as he could, as if trying to hide what was beyond. Why Lovino was so picky about having people in his home, Antonio couldn't understand, due to the Spaniard having a policy of not even needing to knock to be let into his home. But he could accept a man's wishes for his home not to be intruded on. He flashed an apologetic smile, taking the guitar when he was offered to him. "Then I apologize for intruding," he spoke.

Lovino shook his head, pulling open the door as Antonio stepped out of the way. "It was raining. I don't care."

He decided to instead shrug off the twinge of guilt for now, following his host out the door. He breathed in the fresh air, the lingering scent of the sea filling his nostrils. The door closed behind him as he strode out to the pathway lining the street, eyes glancing this way and that. "Well. If I'm stuck with you, then do I at least get to know where I'm going?" he questioned as he focused his attention back to the Italian. Apparently, the man was already leading the way, hands shoved into his pockets. He was quick to follow, jogging until he could fall into time with his steps.

Lovino glanced over his shoulder, then to his side when Antonio finally caught up. "You said that your friends will tell you when you can go back, right?"

Antonio nodded.

"Then that doesn't give us much time for a whole tour of Napoli or some shit like that." He paused at the grin he was given, eyes narrowing and a frown forming. "No. I was not goin' to take you on a damn tour, now stop it with that stupid grin of yours."

Antonio listened, forcing the wide grin down to a small smile. He carefully slung the strap of his guitar across his shoulder, pushing it out of the way.

Lovino glanced away, and from where Antonio stood, he could see colour just barely dusting the other's cheeks. "I was thinkin' of just goin' down to the beach. Until they call. Simple enough. Means I don't have to go far, either."

For a moment, Antonio couldn't shake the thought that Lovino had remembered their conversation a few nights prior. He had mentioned, after all, in great detail of just how much he loved that particular beach. But, of course, he could not allow himself to speak such things; they would only be shot down. Not to mention he was sure that was most definitely not the reason Lovino had decided on that place in specific. It just so happened to be the closest place to relax, he reminded himself.

"If you want to go to the beach, that's fine by me!" Antonio spoke - perhaps a little too cheerfully. He didn't overlook the bewildered glance shot his way.

Lovino snorted, his nose tilting only slightly higher into the air. "Of course you wouldn't mind. The ocean is a sort of kink for you, isn't it?" he accused.

He felt his cheeks redden, ever so slightly. He looked to Lovino, almost stunned into silence. "¿Q-qué?" he spat out. Quickly, he shook his head. "No, no, it's nothing like that! Nothing like that at all!"

Lovino smirked, amusement dancing in his eyes. He looked to Antonio out of the corner of his eyes as he strode on toward the beach. "Really. Why don't I believe you?"

Oh God, his cheeks were rapidly growing darker, the colour spreading to his ears. "Really, it's not-! I like the ocean, but I've never- It's not- Oh dios mío-!" Antonio groaned, looking away. He ran a hand through his hair, his mind scrambling to explain himself. Nothing.

"So having sex in the ocean is something that has never occurred to you."

He stumbled at the words, wide eyes flicking to Lovino. "¿QUÉ?" Where the hell was this coming from? His head was spinning, his cheeks flaring up in bright red. His heart pounded wildly in his chest, his mind scrambling to come up with an explanation as to why Lovino was all of a sudden bringing up something like that. He stumbled over words even he couldn't decipher, only to instantly grow silent when he heard a chuckle.

Lovino actually chuckled, a hand reaching up to hide his lips, as though to hide the chuckle itself. It came as such a surprise, Antonio forgot how to even breathe, his steps faltering for a moment. A triumphant - and highly amused - smirk was tossed Antonio's way. Mischief burned brightly in green eyes. "You're too easy."

Finally, he remembered how to breath, jogging a few steps to catch up to the other as concrete turned to dirt and then to sand. "What do you mean by that?" he managed to utter.

"Just what I said. You're too easy," Lovino repeated. "Too easy to poke fun at. Geeze, are all you Spaniards like this?"

Antonio's stopped abruptly. Now he understood. Lovino was toying with him. This was his way of having fun. It wasn't a cruel kind of taunting, but a slight pestering. He cracked a smile, but instantly hid it behind a pout-like frown. "Are all you Italians this straightforward?" he shot back, following after the Italian once more.

Lovino tossed a confused glance over his shoulder, but said nothing in return.

Now was his chance. Giving a smirk, Antonio lengthened his stride to catch up with the younger. "Seemed to me that you were offering something a little more than just hanging out."

Green eyes widened as his jaw slackened. For a moment, Lovino was at a loss for words. His cheeks heated to a bright red and he glanced away, shoving his hands deeper into his pocket. "I wasn't suggestin' anything, you idiot!" He grumbled for a moment before adding on, "You really are a damn pervert..."

Antonio laughed. "You're the one who brought it up. It's your fault." Lovino's cheeks only reddened, but there were no more words. At least, as far as Antonio could understand. He could make out that it was Italian, but what was actually said, well... That, he couldn't figure out. Yes, Spanish and Italian were indeed very similar languages, but alas, they weren't exactly the same. There was still too much a difference for Antonio to be able to understand the foreign language.

The conversation ended there, neither of them wanting to pick it back up. And frankly, Antonio was grateful for that. He did not want the images from before to repeat in his head. Not only were the memories of hovering over Lovino still fresh in his mind, but the words spoken to him just now surely did put some interesting scenes into his head. Scenes of which he was positive would never happen in the first place. Though, he was curious; why had Lovino suddenly said such a thing? It just did not seem like him.

No, no, he couldn't let himself think on it for a moment longer. He was delving far too deep into those thoughts, and if he continued, there would be no climbing out. He was more or less stuck with the Italian for now, seeing as how there was no possible way he could return to the hotel. Thankfully, he didn't need much help in distracting in his mind, for the distraction came in the form of a guitar tapping against his hip. His eyes flicked to the instrument, and for a moment, he paused, realizing that Lovino, too, had slowed to a stop.

He looked to the Italian with a smile, pulling the guitar into his hands and holding it up to bring attention to it. "Lovi." That was enough to get the other's attention. Both pairs of green eyes locked on one another. Antonio motioned to the guitar in his hands. "Would now be a good time to teach you?"

Lovino glanced toward the guitar, then glanced away entirely. "No," he answered, shrugging off the bag and letting it drop to the sand. He knelt down beside it. "I already know how to play."

The Spaniard stared. That wasn't right. Hadn't Lovino asked him to teach him? His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "But I thought you said-"

Lovino cut him off with a glance, quickly interjecting, "I know what I said. But I already know how." He unzipped the bag and pulled out a large blanket from inside, unfolding it and laying it out on the sand. "I also said that my brother knows how to play. He and I shared the same guitar, when we were younger. So. I know how to play."

Slowly, Antonio connected the dots. If Lovino had already known how to play, then there was another reason for him to say such a thing. He wouldn't have asked if there wasn't a reason behind it. At first, it completely baffled the Spaniard. But as he allowed himself to ponder on it, placing himself down on the blanket when Lovino gestured for him to, it was slowly revealed why Lovino had asked that of him.

He actually wanted an excuse. It couldn't have been for the storm; neither of them had known of that until the storm rolled in. It couldn't have been Lovino wanting company; he didn't like having others at his home, as he had stated himself. But could it really be that Lovino just wanted an excuse in order to see him again? No. It couldn't be... Could it? Antonio pondered this, his brow furrowed, as he looked to the guitar in his lap. He studied the wood, his mind reeling with thoughts and possible explanations. Yet it always landed at the same thing; Lovino just wanted an excuse to see him. Why that was, Antonio couldn't even begin to fathom.

Well. That was a bit of a lie. He had ideas, he had assumptions, but there was no way it could be something like that. Things like that didn't happen. This was the real world, not some fantasy realm. His eyes flicked to Lovino just as music began playing from a small stereo the other had set out, the Italian lyrics breaking the silence. This man truly was a mystery. He just could not figure him out, no matter how much he tried. The more he found out about him, the more he would realize that there was still more to be seen. He felt that he had discovered so much, and yet at the same time, he felt as though he knew absolutely nothing.

He decided to shrug the thoughts aside, letting a smile come to him. It was a little too easy for him to do, it seemed, though he didn't allow himself to ponder on why. He was thinking far too much today. "When did you grab all this?" he questioned. "I didn't think it took that long to grab my phone."

Lovino placed himself at the other side of the towel, near the radio he had brought along. His eyes looked to Antonio first, then to the sea. His shoes had already been removed, tucked away inside the bag. As Antonio decided to follow suit in removing his own, Lovino answered, "It didn't." He sat back, breathing in the salty air. "I live right next to the ocean. It's not that strange if I come down here often." At the silence he was met with, he decided to continue, "I have a bag to keep this stuff in, for whenever I get the whim to go. That way, I don't have to worry about tryin' to find it all."

So Lovino was someone who always thought ahead, someone who would much rather have things ready beforehand. Interesting. "But why not just sit on... that thingy? The, uh, the balcony?" Antonio questioned curiously.

Lovino heaved out a heavy sigh, once again focusing his attention to his company. "It's not the same. Bein' down here is a lot different than bein' up there," he responded. "For one, you have the sand right here. It's warmer. And if you want to go to the water, it's right there."

Antonio hummed in interest. He offered a smile and removed the strap of his guitar from his shoulder, setting the instrument down between them. He sat forward and thus, the conversation began. It was quite the casual one, compared to the ones that became more common between them, it seemed. They didn't speak of their siblings this time, but rather, of their old homes, the places they used to live, and the places they used to travel. They spoke of the various cultures and people they had come across, telling their stories of past events concerning them.

And all of it, Antonio found far too interesting. Even when talking about the other people they had encountered, Antonio learned more about Lovino and his life. Just from the interactions told between Lovino and these strangers, Antonio could deduct that Lovino was not the angry, hot-headed man that he had first encountered. Quite the contrary. Yes, he had discovered this before, but the Spaniard had wrongly been under the impression that the Italian was like that to everyone when he first met someone. He had thought for sure that Lovino was someone who shoved others away without a second guess, always acted rude and stand-offish from the get-go, like he had seen when they had literally ran into each other that day in the marketplace.

But oh, he was so very wrong. From their conversations, he realized that Lovino was so much more than that. He was actually quite the friendly fellow, unless given reason to act differently - such as staring at him like a creep. He thought for sure that Lovino had to get to know someone before he let his walls down and allowed for others to see that smirk. But as he found out, Lovino normally tossed a smirk here or there, and spoke freely to others. He was not one to avoid people. He wouldn't seek them out, but he did not avoid them, either. He was someone who would flirt with women or give opinions to those who asked him of it. He never feared speaking his mind, and that much was obvious enough.

Of course, there were indeed those stories where Lovino had gotten off on the wrong foot with someone, had cursed at them or metaphorically spat in their faces for something. Each one of them, Antonio realized, always gave the Italian a sour attitude, as though the opinions from their first encounters hadn't changed. He couldn't help but to relate it back to their own story.

When Antonio had first laid eyes on Lovino, he had been intoxicated, standing on the very same beach they sat at now. Lovino knew nothing of him, and he knew nothing of Lovino. But when they had met the next day, they instantly got off on the wrong foot - the tomatoes being destroyed and Lovino's ankle being twisted, all thanks to Antonio - or so Lovino claimed. Not once had Antonio heard his name fall from Lovino's lips, yet that judgmental gaze no longer fell upon him. No longer did Lovino seem suspicious of his every move, and he could even let down his guard enough to allow a stifled chuckle or two to slip past his defenses.

This was very different from the stories he heard, he realized. And he found it absolutely fascinating. As they spoke, he wondered what would have happened if things had gone any differently. If Lovino hadn't twisted his ankle, would he have run off? If Antonio had fled, rather than stayed and fight, would Lovino be in the hospital? Or worse? If the both of them hadn't gone out to eat, would they have even started talking as they did? The more he thought about it, the more he realized that even if a single thing was different, if a single event had changed in even the slightest, things would not have turned out the way they had. A part of him was glad that it had lead them here, to where they sat and spoke to each other on the beach.

But another part almost wanted things to go differently. A part of him wished that Lovino hadn't twisted his ankle, that he had gotten away without a single scratch. Then maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't have grown so attached to the man. There was no going back now, however. The cards have already been dealt. The first domino had already fallen. There was no changing that.

For hours, they spoke, trading stories and commenting on the events that took place. Every now and then, Antonio would retrieve his phone from his pocket to check to see if he had received a text, only to find that there was nothing to be seen. He thought about perhaps messaging the Frenchman himself, but quickly dismissed the thought. He had already messaged him earlier that day, and if Francis needed to contact him, he needed to save the battery. It was draining fast, much to his displeasure. Finally, he gave up on the thought entirely and assured himself that the sound was turned on before tucking it safely away inside his pocket, never to be touched again.

And thus, the conversation continued, until Antonio's attention was distracted by the radio playing gentle music in the background. He didn't know what it was about the song at first, but something about it just so happened to catch his attention like no other that had come on before. His eyebrows drew together and he glanced to the radio sitting beside the Italian. "Hey, turn that up real quick," he spoke, motioning to the electronic device.

At first, Lovino seemed hesitant, but then decided not to argue. He did as he was requested, the Italian music growing louder.

It was catchy. Very much so. It was an older song, though Antonio couldn't pinpoint the year. And as he sat there, listening to it, he couldn't help but to sway back and forth. He looked to Lovino in childish curiosity. "What song is this?"

Lovino was silent at first, unsure of what to think, before answering, "Mambo Italiano." He looked to the radio, fiddling with a few of the settings to get a clearer reception. "They play it every now and then, I guess. It's not the best, but it's okay."

Antonio grinned. "What are you talking about?" He unfolded his legs and pushed up, dusting off his pants from the sand that had found its way onto the fabric. "It's a great song!" The beat was just too catchy to him. He ignored the questioning gaze directed toward him as he reached down and grabbed the Italian's wrist. When the other didn't move, he instead slid his hand down to Lovino's and gave a wink. "Shall I show you how well we Spaniards dance?"

Lovino snorted and pulled his hand away. "I don't dance," he stated flatly.

Antonio wasn't having any of it. He squatted down before the Italian and took up his hand again, bringing the knuckles to his lips. His eyes locked with Lovino's. "Just one dance? Por favor?"

Silence. For a few seconds, there was only silence. Then finally, Lovino heaved out a sigh. "Will you leave me alone if I agree?"

A grin spread across Antonio's lips. "Of course." He glanced to the side, then to the other, surveying the area around him. "And look, we're alone. You don't have to worry about people seeing you, anyway."

"I wasn't," Lovino answered quickly. He then smirked, confidence sparking in his eyes. "I was more worried about you makin' a fool out of yourself when you realize Italians are better at dancin' than you Spaniards."

Well then. Antonio was nearly bouncing in excitement as he straightened, pulling Lovino up with him. He lead the other away from the radio and guitar, onto the warm sands. "I think once you see how talented we Spaniards are, you'll change your mind," he challenged with a grin that refused to leave him.

The game was set. Both men were clearly proud of their heritage and talents, and when they began dancing, their hands remained linked. At first, it was a rather awkward dance, neither of them truly knowing what they were even doing. But as they let the music take over and allowed their feet to move, kicking up sand, they found their bodies moved freely. They swayed in time to the upbeat music, pushing and pulling against each other's palms. They twisted and turned, feet following one another. Neither of them lead, neither of them followed. They kicked sand at one another with each kick of their feet, yet neither of them seemed to do it with ill intent.

As the song played on, they grew bolder with their movements. Their hips swayed and Antonio found himself spinning his partner, and even allowing Lovino to spin him, with a laugh from the Spaniard. Though their movements and challenging gazes screamed of their competitive intentions, their bodies without competition, but rather, as one. The words of compliment Antonio spoke to Lovino were lost to his own ears, but he did not miss the confident smirk thrown his way. Their eyes never left one another, not truly.

In Antonio's world, there was only Lovino. Lovino and the music. He hardly even recognized their surroundings, the very beach they stood on. His heart soared and his body moved with nothing holding it back. The warmth spreading from his hands and wherever his body accidentally brushed with Lovino's was intoxicating. He could not let his hands pull away from the other's palms for longer than a brief moment to swap hands or switch positions.

Then he laughed.

Antonio's breath caught in his throat as the sound left Lovino's lips. He thought for sure that he was dreaming, that he had fallen asleep on that blanket, speaking to the Italian. But sure enough, it had been real. His steps faltered for a very brief moment, but he was quick to pick it back up and continue their dance. That laugh echoed in his mind, then it came again. The joy fueling the fire in Lovino's eyes captivated him. He had seen amusement. He had seen confidence, pride, anger, relief, fear... But joy... And that laugh...

His head was spinning, his lungs refusing to supply him with oxygen. It was beautiful. He wanted to hear it again, and again, until his dying day. A laugh of his own bubbled up and he could have sworn this was the widest his grin had ever been, right now, at this very moment. "You laughed!"

The exclamation seemed to catch Lovino off guard, eyes widening in surprise at the sudden outburst. Green eyes flicked away for a short moment before returning. "Yeah? So? Am I not allowed to laugh?"

Antonio laughed again. "No, no, that's not it," he spoke. "It's just... That's the first time I've ever heard you laugh!" He didn't get an answer. Instead, Lovino just glanced away and Antonio could spy the traces of a blush dusting his cheeks. And... the twitch of the lips. No. The definite curl of his lips.

Lovino didn't just laugh. He was smiling. At this very moment, his lips were curved upward in a smile. And oh, was it beautiful...

"Woah, are you really smiling right now?" He hadn't meant to say it, but it slipped out of his lips, nonetheless. Eyes flicked to him, that same shyness from earlier that day held within them. The cheeks darkened a fraction and Antonio leaned forward. "You are! You are smiling!" The cheeks heated to a bright red, the smile trying - and ultimately failing - to hide behind a mask of annoyance.

"Damnit, Tomato Bastard, shut up already! You're annoyin' the hell outta me!" was Lovino's answer just as the song drew to a close.

A laugh bubbled up from Antonio, the dance slowing to a stop. Yet they didn't pull away. Their hands remained linked. He gave a grin and finally drew one hand away. It didn't stay away from the other's skin for long, instead tapping the other's cheek to catch his attention. "I didn't say it was a bad thing, Lovino." He could hear the next song begin, the singer's voice at first giving a short monologue as the a soft piano played in the background. He could hear the word 'Napoli' and instantly, it caught his attention. He gave a grin as his eyes met Lovino's, just to reassure him of what he had told him.

With the sun setting beyond the horizon, and the sky bursting into colour, the other instruments made their debut, the artist beginning her song. He could not understand the words, but his body moved along with the music. His hand lowered to Lovino's waist and they continued their dance.

This song, too, seemed to be of a fast pace. Yet, it was different. It was more intimate, and their dance caught on quickly. They swayed and twirled in time, turning with one another and stepping as one. Once again, neither of them lead, neither of them followed. They spun with each other, and much unlike the previous song, they found themselves stepping closer and closer with each spin, until Antonio could feel Lovino's chest against his. He could not look from the Italian's eyes, lost within them. Lovino, too, dared not to look away as they danced.

The sand cooled beneath their bare feet, yet neither of them took notice. They could not tear their gaze away, could not concentrate on anything but each other and the music seeming to fill their entire world. The shadows fell long across the sands, yet neither of them took notice as they twirled in unison.

As the song slowed, Antonio took both of Lovino's hands in his and lifted, twisting Lovino in his arms in time to the music. He lowered the hands once more, the Italian's arms crossing before them. With Lovino's back pressed against his chest, Antonio continued to sway, their feet slowing to mimic the gentle rocking. The Spaniard could feel Lovino lean into the embrace, and dipped his head forward until it rested against Lovino's shoulder, his eyes peering over the fabric of the other's shirt.

His heart beat wildly in his chest, his nostrils filling with Lovino's scent. He smelled of flowers and herbs, he realized... The very same plants that grew on his patio. They swayed together in silence, rocking side to side, as the song continued on. And Antonio did not want to move. He wanted to stay right there, with Lovino in his arms. He felt as though he could hardly breathe, sweat beading on his skin in response to their dance. He could feel Lovino's hands tighten around his, their fingers interlaced, and he gave a gentle squeeze of his own in return. The music filled his ears, the lyrics echoing in his head. He felt a certain pull from it, and he could only grow all the more curious about it.

He was hesitant to break the silence between them, but after a moment, his eyes flicked to Lovino, not yet removing his head from where it rested. "What's this song about?" His voice was quiet, hardly even there. But it had been heard, as acknowledged by the gaze flicking to him, then away to look toward the setting sun.

"A night in Naples," Lovino answered quietly. He breathed in, then slowly let it out. Antonio realized that it was broken; Lovino was trembling, ever so slightly. And if he focused his senses, he could feel Lovino's heartbeat, beating in time with his own elated pulse. "She's singing about an angel she met, under the moon and sea. She fell in love with the angel, and even if he couldn't fly, he took her to Heaven."

It became all too clear why he had felt drawn to this song. Antonio's eyes flicked away, focusing instead to the sand. He allowed his eyes to slowly slide closed, swaying still, though the song itself had ended. Lovino swayed with him. The next song started, yet neither of them took notice.

"It's stupid. Isn't it?" The tone gave question as to whether or not even Lovino believed his own words.

Antonio shook his head, ever so slightly. "No," he spoke carefully, "No, I don't think so..." Then he did something he did not expect that he would. Gently, he placed a kiss upon Lovino's shoulder. He thought that perhaps it would go unnoticed, but the reaction told differently. This close to Lovino, he could hear his breath hitch, feel his heartbeat pick up a fraction. It had not gone unnoticed. His mind screamed that Lovino would pull away after that. But he did not. Instead, he pushed into Antonio, the two falling into a comfortable silence.

And they swayed, shifting their weight from one foot to another and yet not moving an inch, until the sun disappeared beyond the horizon. The stars came out of hiding and the moon illuminated the sky, casting its silvery glow across the beach. Antonio finally let his eyelids pull back, his gaze focusing on their linked hands - Lovino's only slightly paler than his own. He felt so calm, staying just like this, with Lovino in his arms. But he knew that all good things must come to an end. He could not stay here. The sun had already set. Even if his friends wouldn't be at the hotel, he knew he had to part from Lovino. He could not stay like this.

After a moment, he pulled away from the Italian. It was slow and reluctant, but eventually, his arms fell away from Lovino's waist. But only one hand released its hold. Lovino turned as he had pulled away, eyes glancing to him. Antonio offered a smile and without giving it a second thought, he cupped Lovino's cheek and moved forward. Then he realized what he was doing. Surprisingly enough, he did not stop himself, only changed its direction. Giving a gentle squeeze to the hand linked to his, he pressed his lips against a soft cheek. "Thank you for taking care of me today, Lovino. I... I had a lot of fun," he told the other. He pulled away. "I should go now. Francis and Gilbert-"

"I know," Lovino cut in, "I know..." He pulled his hand away from Antonio's and crossed both of his arms in front of his chest, as if to form a physical barrier between the two. "You don't have to explain it to me. Just... go."

There was no anger in Lovino's voice, yet Antonio couldn't help but to worry. He breathed in, before offering a small smile. "Today was fun. Maybe... we could do it again sometime...?" What was he even thinking? There was no way he could. Tomorrow was his last full day in Italy. The day after, he would be leaving. He instantly shoved the thought aside. He could always visit, he supposed... That was always an option, if he could find the time.

Lovino glanced to Antonio, before his eyes settled on the Spaniard at last. The gaze softened, and the corners of his lips twitched. He seemed to try to control it at first, but soon thought better of it, allowing for a small smile to form. "Yeah..." was his only answer.

Antonio spoke a quiet farewell, but alas, before he could even turn away, he took the Italian into his arms and gave a tight squeeze. To his surprise, the embrace had been returned, if not hesitantly, just before he had pulled away. He gathered up his belongings - his guitar and his shoes - and bid his final farewell. And off he went, his feet reluctantly taking him farther away from his Italian.

His angel.

For only a moment, he could feel eyes upon him, but then that feeling seemed to disappear as the sand turned to dirt. He tugged on his shoes and with a glance over his shoulder, he could see Lovino sitting upon the blanket, staring out to the ocean with his knees drawn to his chest. The Italian's back was to him, and from this distance, Antonio could hear the soft music coming from the small radio. Antonio forced himself to avert his gaze and continued on, stepping onto concrete once again and taking the same path he had before, the path that would eventually lead him back to the hotel.

In silence, he walked. He let his thoughts rule his mind, memories and fantasies melding together. He wondered what would have happened if he had let his body do as it pleased, had allowed for his lips to press against Lovino's. Would they be soft? Would they be rough? He could imagine them being either or. Lovino's soul itself was 'soft', while his exterior was 'rough'. Which would his lips reflect? What would he taste like? What would be the Italian's reaction be? Would he return it? Would he push him away? Or perhaps, worst of all, would he do nothing and just stare?

Antonio pondered on the possibilities as he walked, his gait slow as he strolled along the darkened streets of Naples. Their dance had been all too intimate, he realized. The first one possibly could have been taken as a platonic one, but even that was stretching it. But the second... Antonio's face flushed at the memory. They way they moved with each other, their bodies in unison... Lovino had said that he didn't dance. But his movements proved that wrong. He was able to keep up with the Spaniard, swayed along with him. And at the end of that dance, with Lovino pressed against him...

It wasn't sexual, he realized. Not in the least. It wasn't like the kind of dancing one would see at a bar. No, it was so much more than that. The simple thought of it was enough to make his heart flutter. The memory of exactly what happened... Now that was more than enough for his heart to skyrocket, never to be seen again. He could feel it beating within his chest, threatening to burst from his ribcage at any second. Yet it was strange... The memory itself was so clear and distinct and yet, it all felt like a dream, almost too hazy for him to remember.

As he neared the hotel, he made his decision. He didn't have to stop seeing Lovino all together. That was not an option, at this point. If he was allowed, he would make multiple trips to Italy, any time he was free. It was a silly notion, perhaps, but he felt that it was right. He couldn't just let this slip away from him. The more he realized this, the more he came to the conclusion that there was no crawling out of this hole he had dug for himself.

His eyes settled on the window of the room, at first confused by the light shining through. But then as his thoughts of Lovino scattered, he realized exactly the reason behind it; his friends had returned. Just before he got to the door, he checked his phone. Not a single message. He decided to dismiss it for now and slowed to a stop before the door. He'd be able to question them about it soon. Lifting a hand, he knocked.

It didn't take long for the door to swing open, Francis appearing in the doorway. With a grin, he pulled Antonio inside and kissed both cheeks. "Oh, Antonio, mon ami! Gilbert and I were just talking about you!" he spoke excitedly. The door closed behind the two and Francis lead Antonio further inside, taking his guitar from him to set it down. Gilbert gave a wave from his place on the bed, propped up against the headboard and too invested in his TV show to even properly greet the Spaniard. Sure enough, the Prussian-blooded man looked just fine. No doubt, he would be as healthy as always when morning rolled around. "I was going to call you when we got back, you see, but my phone died just as we got here! It won't even turn on! It's charging now, though. But I'm so glad you made it back, I was worried we'd have to go searching the whole town for this angel of yours!"

Antonio watched on as Francis bustled around the room, kicking off his shoes and placing himself down on the bed he shared with Francis. He cracked a smile as he watched his friend, but still said nothing in return. It seemed that the Frenchman already had that covered. It was quite the blessing, really, for he felt as if he were in a daze. He couldn't even fully concentrate on the conversation unfolding before him.

"Gilbert and I were just talking and he was saying that we should all go out drinking for our last night in Naples. I think it's a fantastic idea! I even searched the city to find a place, and I found the perfect spot, by the sea," Francis rattled.

"Hey, Fran, stop for a moment, I think you're confusing him or something," Gilbert spoke up. After he had attracted the attention of both Antonio and Francis, he leaned forward, brow furrowed. He studied Antonio for a long moment before he grunted. "Hey, you okay, Toni? You look kind of out of it."

Wow, he didn't think that he was that obvious. The words left his lips without even crossing his mind. "I think I'm in love."