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.

7. Day Seven: Sadness of the Evening

Warning: Mentioned death (I promise there are deaths in present-day; Antonio and his friends are okay), heavy emotional content, and mentions of depression, panic attacks, and anxiety found below. Please take breaks from reading, if necessary, for this chapter is very emotionally-heavy due to its content.

A/N: So uh. I'm sorry this one got a little emotionally heavy haha~! The thing is, between the time that I posted the last chapter and the time I finished this, a lot of things happened. I was already spiraling down, emotionally, in October of last year, and it got progressively worse. (Unfortunately, my mental health and my newly acquired job has kept me busy.) Thus, I admit to say, a lot of this is firsthand experience rather than writing blindly, and I hadn't even noticed the signs in my muses for this fic until I reread it with the knowledge I have now.

Nonetheless, I am better now and am writing again! Thus, I have finished this chapter! I'm so excited to have finally finished this, and I hope it meets your guys' expectations. ;u; Please, I do urge you to take breaks, if you need to! I had to take many breaks from writing this, so please, if you feel your mental health is at risk, please take a break! Thank you so much for supporting me all this way!

---

.Day Seven.
Sadness of the Evening

"So is this it?"

Gilbert pursed his lips as his eyes flicked away from the larger man and toward the conveyor belt. A hum of thought left him. "Mm... No, there's one more thing," he answered, hands perched on his hips. A noise resounded from the one next to him, but he paid it no mind. Finally, his eyes locked onto the large suitcase as it tumbled down the slide, a wide grin spreading across his lips. "There it is! That one there, with the bird charm on it!"

Antonio was not the one to move for it. Instead, it was the man who had arranged to pick them up, a man known as Ludwig. Boy, the guy sure had grown since the last time the Spaniard had laid eyes upon him... Sitting upon the bench, the Spaniard let out a sigh, his nostrils flaring as the air escaped from them. Last he had seen the man, he was only just a few centimeters taller than the brunet; now, he seemed like he was the height of a house. Maybe more! No, no, that couldn't be... The Spaniard let an amused smile play along his lips, thankful for the distraction the German brothers gave him.

As Ludwig lugged the noted suitcase off the belt, a strained grunt left him. The large container hit the floor with a resounding THUD! "Mein gott, Gilbert!" the blond exclaimed. "Just what do you have in here? Did you really need to bring THIS much with you?"

Blowing air through pursed lips, Gilbert waved his hand in dismissal. "Nonsense. That's all just souvenirs from the trip!"

"Just how many souvenirs do you need?" Ludwig retorted, stunned at his brother's reply. "This thing is heavier than Berlitz!"

"You whine too much! Berlitz is totally heavier than this!"

Oh, but it was there that Antonio had lost the conversation. German was not a language he had picked up in his years of hanging around the brothers. Sure, he could understand a word here and there, and there were some similarities with English, but it was not enough for Antonio to fully comprehend the words. Nonetheless, there was a distraction for him, presented none other than by the man who sat beside him. He had almost forgotten his presence entirely, far too lost in his own thoughts and his desperation to distraction himself from them.

"How are you faring, Antonio...?" The voice was quiet, almost inaudible above the chatter of the airport.

Antonio's eyes flicked to the man seated beside him. Francis looked to him in worry, his fingers laced together as his elbows rested upon his knees. Antonio gave a reassuring smile. "I am fine," he answered. His voice, too, was quiet as to match the volume of the Frenchman's. "I am sorry for worrying you so much earlier, but I am well rested."

Francis breathed out a sigh through thinned lips, those very same lips curling into a gentle smile. "I'm glad..." he spoke, "You had me worried. I did not expect you to fall asleep so suddenly - especially not on a plane."

Antonio rolled his shoulders, his head lazily resting upon his palm. "What can I say? That run really wore me out."

Francis snorted and sat back in his seat, his arms folding across his stomach. Thin fingers curled around his forearm as one leg crossed atop the other, scrutinizing his friend. "Don't even mention that run! You could have gotten yourself killed, Antonio. I hope you realise that," he warned.

A small chuckle left Antonio, and he was sure to flash an apologetic smile. "I know, I know... I did not mean to worry you, or Gilbert, for that matter. I wasn't thinking."

"Is that supposed to come as a surprise to me?" Francis cut in.

Antonio let out a laugh, the sound far quieter than what he would have liked. Oh well, nothing he could really do about that. "Oh, how cruel~! Shot down by the words of my dearest friend!" he mocked.

A lighter smile curled onto Francis's lips, his shoulders relaxing. "Only if it means you will laugh again."

"Careful, Francis," Antonio spoke light-heartedly, "keep talking like that and I might just think you are in love with me."

Blue eyes blinked in astonishment, eyebrows lifting at the notion. For only a brief moment, the Frenchman was silent. But after that moment, there was a laugh to break it. "Maybe once, my friend, but I believe you would only lead me to an early death if I were to love you! Why, I'd be in the hospital from stress-related illness every other day!"

A laugh was shared between the two, and when it had died down to a chuckle, another voice interrupted their conversation. It came in the simple form of a name; Antonio's. Upon hearing it, the Spaniard's laughter ceased and in curiosity and surprise, his eyes flicked toward the source. At first, he thought for sure he was hallucinating. Dreaming, perhaps. Had he even woken up on that plane? Was he still asleep? No, this had to have been real. But why would he be here, of all places?

A wide smile spread across Antonio's lips, his heart lifting and his eyes dancing with joy. "Miguel!" he greeted with cheer as he pushed himself up from his seat. He rushed forward and, just as hands retreated from the pockets of the elder's coat, he collided with the man and wrapped his arms around his brother. Arms wrapped around him in kind, a laugh bubbling up from the taller man. Oh, but with the force of the collision, there was only way to keep them both from falling; by lifting the younger up off the ground and spinning him once, before returning him to his feet. "O dios mío, it's been forever!"

A hand ruffled Antonio's hair as Miguel looked to his brother in amusement. "No, I believe it's only been a few years, little brother," he reminded. "Sorry for not coming sooner, I had other things to attend to."

Antonio pulled away from the hug, giving another grin to his older sibling. "The business is going well?"

Miguel gave a nod, but did not speak any more of it. He knew full well just how little Antonio truly wanted to speak of the adventures with the business. Instead, he focused his attention to Francis, who, Antonio had realised upon looking to him, had stood and was quietly making his way over. A raised eyebrow and a questioning looking from the darker-haired man, followed by a shrug and remorseful smile from the Frenchman, and a frown turned down the corners of Miguel's lips. Miguel let out a gentle sigh, but he did not say a single word about the silent conversation. He looked to Antonio again, offering another, gentler smile. He leaned forward to gently press his lips to the younger's cheek, which Antonio returned. "Glad you made it safely, Toni."

"Come on, guys, we're going to leave without you!"

Antonio turned his gaze toward the two brothers waiting for them just down the hall, the older of the two waving his arms wildly as to attract their attention. Gilbert's bags were by his feet, yet it seemed that Ludwig would be carrying the heavier one; the one Gilbert claimed to hold souvenirs. Gathering up his own bag and strapping his guitar to his back, Antonio followed both Francis and Miguel toward the two Germans. As the two spoke excitedly of the adventures throughout the countries they had visited, Antonio, Francis, and Miguel settled on discussing the variations in food and language among their destinations. Miguel seemed intrigued by this, yet Francis seemed appalled at the notion that some of the stranger foods Antonio had tasted, he actually enjoyed. An outrage, the Frenchman had called it.

Not once was a certain Italian's name mentioned. Those days on the beach, the loss of Antonio's necklace, that night spent with the angel who had captured the Spaniard's heart... Not a single mention of it was made on their journey to the parking garage. And for once, Antonio was thankful for that. With the absence of talk about the happenings in Naples, Antonio was able to throw his entire mind into the conversation of food and cultural aspects.

And when the Italian cuisine had been mentioned, the topic had been shied upon, by none other than Francis. A wave of the hand, and a simple, "It's as you expect. Plenty of tomato sauce and noodles," and the conversation continued on from there. But oh, the twinge of remorse had already settled in the Spaniard, his mind's eye bringing forth those dishes he had shared with his all-too-kind host. It was so much more than tomato sauce and noodles, he wanted to say... But even now, as the conversation had moved to another topic, he could not speak his mind. And for the life of him, he could not throw himself into the conversation as he had before...

He could feel himself drawing away from the others. Not physically, no... He stood beside them, just as he would any other day. He laughed and spoke excitedly. But he did not hear the words even he, himself, had spoken. He could not feel the cheer that rang so clearly in his voice. His gaze flicked to and fro, his hands waving as he spoke as to distract from his eyes, in hopes that they would, for once, not betray him. They were, after all, the windows the soul. Or so he had believed...

He did not notice when they had reached the car. Hell. He had hardly noticed when they had entered the parking garage. He was too lost not in the conversation, but in his own thoughts and memories to take note. And thus, when the group had slowed to a stop, it only lead him to confusion. The answer as to why this was so came to him soon, however, upon seeing the car before him. His eyes flicked to his brother, curiosity within them. "Are you coming with us?" he questioned.

Miguel gave a nod, and Antonio took note that his hands were once again hidden away. "I am. Ludwig has kindly offered the couch to me while I'm here."

This posed another question, Antonio realised as he aided Ludwig with filling the trunk with the luggage from the three of them. His brow furrowed. "You never told me why you were here," he pointed out as he drew his guitar's strap up and over his head.

"Business meeting in the Netherlands." Their conversation paused momentarily as they slipped into the backseat, Antonio given the middle seat. With his lack of height compared to Francis and Miguel - both of which who took up the seats on either side of him - he was chosen to be the best candidate to take up the middle seat. As Ludwig had put it, it would be easiest for him to see over Antonio's head than it would for either of the other two. Nonetheless, as soon as they were seated and the car began pulling out, Miguel picked up the conversation right where it had left off, "I figured that since I was already in the area, I should swing by."

Antonio lifted an eyebrow, suspicion growing within him. "Somehow, I doubt that," he argued. "The Netherlands isn't exactly 'in the area'."

Miguel pursed his lips, surveying his brother for a moment. Then finally, a chuckle slipped past him. Eyes of a similar green hue flicked away, almost embarrassed that he had been caught in a lie. "True... It may not be. But a true businessman never gives away his secrets."

Antonio found himself unsatisfied with this answer. To prove his point, he jabbed his brother in the side with an index finger. The man squirmed and glanced to him, but only flashed an amused smile. "The trip to the Netherlands may have been for business purposes, but the trip here wasn't. Therefore, you can't use that excuse on me," the younger retorted.

"Alright, alright, fine." Another smile. "Maybe I just wanted to see my little brother after all these years. Is that really so wrong of me?"

"Considering you usually don't unless there's a solid reason, I somehow doubt that."

"Sometimes, I wonder if you two are brothers or enemies..." The voice belonged this time to Francis.

Antonio glanced over, finding blue eyes lazily staring toward him.

The Frenchman rolled his shoulders in a loose shrug. "If the man wants to visit, the man wants to visit. Let's leave it at that, oui?"

Perhaps he was just being paranoid. But in all truth, he did not know the reason for this sudden visit, nor the nature of Francis's and Miguel's secret conversations. Breathing out a sigh, Antonio decided instead to let it go, sinking back into his seat. Just as he did, the blinding light of the day filtered in through the car's windows, forcing his eyes to squint at the sudden barrage. He had not even noticed that they had exited the parking garage, but he no doubt had the conversation to blame for that. Ludwig was better at driving than his brother was, Antonio noted as the car merged into traffic and continued on down the lane. He had not remembered an instant where the younger German had drove them, for it was usually the elder of the two who would take the wheel.

When picking up Gilbert for their vacation, they had not even seen Ludwig. The poor man had been working on that day, and thus could not greet them or see them off. Really, Antonio felt a twinge of pity for the man; the poor guy worked day in, day out, and even when he was at home, he seemed to be locked away in his office. Or at least, that was what Antonio could gather from his conversations with the older of the two siblings. But, he supposed he could not judge. Perhaps, he mused, work was just something Ludwig enjoyed and if not, then he could definitely put up with it well enough. But with these thoughts came a curiosity...

Back in the hotel, Francis and Gilbert had both been talking about an Italian who had managed to capture the German's heart - though the name escaped him at the current moment. How did he fare with his lover working so often? Was it something he put up with, or did they somehow work out how to separate the time evenly between work and social life? Breathing out a sigh, Antonio folded his hands in his lap and let his eyes venture to them, watching as the pads of his thumbs lazily battled one another.

Whatever it was, he did not know how they could do it. It always seemed that one or the other would sweep the Spaniard off his feet. He would get so caught up in one, he would lose track of the other. Most work, Antonio just simply was not cut out for. He did not know what it was, exactly, that he even wanted to do with his life. He was headed in random directions, desperately trying to find his place. And right when he thought he had found it, it had been ripped right out from under him, in the span of half an hour at best...

"Oi, Ludwig," Gilbert spoke up, breaking the thoughts that clouded Antonio's mind. His voice came out in a whine, a sort of disgruntled groan. "Where's my favourite little Italian, huh? I thought he'd be there with you!"

Antonio's eyes flicked up at this, taking note of the conversation before him. They first settled on the pout on Gilbert's lips, then to the tinge of pink dusting across Ludwig's cheeks. He found his curiosity slowly rising at this, his lips pursing. From beside him, he could hear Francis contribute to the conversation with a question of similar meaning, his hand on Gilbert's seat as he leaned forward to make himself known to the brothers.

Ludwig cleared his throat and tightened his hands on the wheel. His shoulders squared, his back pressing further into his seat. "He's, ah... He's out buying groceries. For tonight's dinner," he answered, "He said he wanted to celebrate you all coming back from your trip, before you have to leave."

"Will there be booze?" Miguel cut in.

Blue eyes flicked over a shoulder in an attempt to look at the one seated behind him, but finding that he couldn't, he focused them once again on the road. "Ja, I think so. I already have beer at the house. But it seems everytime he goes to the store alone, he buys himself wine."

The Frenchman laughed, the sound airy and light, as he sat back in his seat once more. "Aah, that sounds like him alright... Glad to see he is doing better."

"Ja... Me too..." the German responded, the words almost too quiet for any of them to hear.

Francis laid a hand upon Ludwig's shoulder, giving a reassuring smile, though he knew the man could not see it. "Relax. You have done him well, my friend. He may be a happy man, but I have never seen him this happy. Because of you, I'm sure, he has overcome a lot more than he would have alone, given his fami—"

"Bonnefoy, please," Ludwig cut in. He gave an almost defeated glance over his shoulder. "I feel the same as him. If you will not speak of it around him, I ask you do not speak of it around me."

Francis gave Ludwig an apologetic look, gently squeezing at the shoulder beneath his palm. "I understand. I did not mean any harm."

From where Antonio sat, he could see the forgiving twitch of the lips; an indication that the German had forgiven his friend. Thoughts and curiosities swarm through his mind, his brow furrowing as he tried to comprehend it all. But alas, as the conversation shifted to other, lighter subjects - thanks to Miguel asking Ludwig about his vehicle's statistics, all of which Ludwig answered with pride - he found himself losing his interest yet again. Head resting against the seat, his eyes wandered up toward the ceiling. Vaguely, he wished he could stare out either of the windows, but he feared that if he tried, it would be seen as staring at either of the two next to him. And knowing both of them, he would be teased endlessly for it. Perhaps even have it turned into a game, of sorts.

Thankfully, it seemed they were a lot closer to the German's home than he had previously thought. He had heard that the two had moved, to accommodate the fact that Gilbert would be moving in with his younger sibling, but he had never seen the new house. Finding that he now had something more permanent to focus on, his eyes flicked to the two-story Ludwig pulled into the driveway of. The car came to a halt, the parking brake set and the key turning, and Ludwig announced that they had arrived. Really, like it needed to be announced in the first place...

Nonetheless, Antonio waited for one of the two to slip out of the car, and upon seeing as how it was Miguel who had done so first, he moved to follow. Aah, but he should have known the mischievous ways of his brother, for as soon as he slid into the seat beside him, the car's door slammed shut. Glancing through the window with a frown, he was met with an amused, triumphant smirk.

Miguel would not win, the younger decided.

Throwing himself toward the door, Antonio quickly made a move to open it, only to have the elder do the same and hold the door closed. Antonio growled and fought against his brother, pushing against the door. From outside the car, he could hear the cheers and hollers of Gilbert, though he could not pick out just who his friend was rooting for. But after a moment of fighting to open the door, it suddenly swung open, just as the younger had given a final heave. With the lack of something to lean against, Antonio let out a cry as he suddenly tumbled out of the car and onto the pavement.

Laughter from his brother filled his ears, and he could basically hear Ludwig's eyeroll as he grunted about the two still being children. Antonio pushed himself up off the ground and dusted himself off, ignoring the clap to his back from Miguel. He did, however, shoot a weakened glare before moving to help with the bags once again. With guitar strapped to his back and his suitcase in his hand, Antonio followed his host into the home.

It was a lot larger on the inside than it looked on the outside. Modern furniture, tile floor, and just the right amount touches of home awaited them inside. The stairs were easy enough to spot, and it seemed that all doors had been left open for ease of access. Yet in a way, it was in a tidy way. No door was left partially closed, or partially open, but rather, flush against the wall. It gave a sort of welcoming feel, and Antonio couldn't help but to wonder if this was Ludwig's doing, or perhaps the visitor he apparently had as well. His lover, the Spaniard silently reminded himself. Oh, but it was the sweet scent of sauce filling his nose that caused his stomach to twist.

A wave of nostalgia hit him like a punch to the gut. No, it wasn't a tidal wave, calm and gentle. It was not a peaceful kind of sensation. It made Antonio nauseous, made his heart leap to his throat, made his head spin and his breath flutter. Tomatoes. He could smell tomatoes, strongly accentuated with herbs. He recognised that smell like no other, he realised, and he found he had troubles swallowing. He could feel his eyes sting, tears threatening to fall, but they did not.

"Fernández?"

The sudden voice caught him off guard. His surroundings rushed back to him, air returning to his lungs. Panicked eyes glanced to the side, catching sight of blue. He breathed out a shaky sigh and threw on a smile. A question of whether or not he was alright was not just written on the German's face, but spoken from thin lips as well. The Spaniard nodded. "I am alright, friend. I am still dreaming from the plane ride," he lied. Oh, but it was the kind of lie spoken by a true actor. It was without waver, without uncertainty.

"Mon dieu, he was out like a light! Took forever to wake him up just to exit the plane!" Francis cut in, sliding forward and placing an arm around his dear friend's shoulders. He cast a smile to Antonio and Ludwig both, giving the shoulder a gentle squeeze of reassurance. "He simply needs a bit of rest, is all! Time to relax and unwind! You are aware of how Spaniards party, hm?" A wink in the break of his words. "Poor guy simply had too much excitement for a lifetime!"

There was a "hmph" of cautious agreement and understanding, blue eyes taking in Antonio's complexion for a moment. Finally, Ludwig's eyes flicked to Francis. A small gesture toward the hall. "Guest room is down the hall, to the left. Gilbert and I sleep on the top floor," he calmly explained. "I would show you myself, but I have to clean up the kitchen before F—"

Francis, ushering Antonio forward, waved his hand in dismissal. "Oui, oui, I understand, you take care of the kitchen before your cute little Italian gets home. I will take Toni here to the room," he spoke quickly as he stepped past the brute of a man and toward the hall. Antonio had no choice but to follow after, fumbling over his feet for a moment. He found it difficult to keep a hold on the suitcase he had carried inside. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his brother watching him warily. "We will be out shortly! Have fun with the kitchen~!"

And down the hall, they went. Francis's steps were quick, his lips drawn into a thin line and his hand squeezing a little too tight. It almost made Antonio grimace, given its strength. But they did not stop, not until Francis took a quick turn and pulled the brunet into the indicated room with him. The door was shut behind them and Francis spun around, grasping his friend by both arms. Worried blue eyes flicked between green hues. The fingers dug into the Spaniard's skin, ever so slightly. "Antonio," he spoke with all seriousness to his hushed tone, "You cannot keep doing this to yourself!"

Antonio could feel his muscles stiffen, feel his heart numb and his fingers tighten on the suitcase in his hand. He felt as though he could hardly breathe, his throat restricting.

The hands on his arms lowered, slowly, until they rested just above his elbows. "I am... trying," Francis spoke again, furrowing his eyebrows and dipping his head as his eyes slid closed, "I am trying to be here for you, trying to be a good friend for you... I am trying, as far as you would let me, to take care of you." Slowly, he shook his head. "But Antonio, you cannot wallow in sorrow like you are. You knew him for one week! Not even!" Eyes flicked up to meet Antonio's again. "Don't you understand, Antonio? I know it's hard, I saw that this morning. Those were not fake tears, I know that... But please, you cannot do this to yourself, you cannot tear yourself up over this."

Perhaps it was silly. Crazy, even. Antonio knew that. God, did he know that... He knew that he should not have been so broken up over it, that he should have been able to just... let go. But God, he couldn't. It tore his heart into pieces just to think about doing so. Even now, he could feel fresh tears fill his eyes. He could not even bear to look to his friend, instead casting his eyes away in shame.

The fingers only dug in once again, and his arms were lightly shaken. "Aren't you listening to me?! Antonio, you need to forget Lovino!"

The name had not been spoken since that morning. That name pierced him... It shot through his heart like no other, a lump forming in his throat. He could feel his heart tearing already, piece by piece. "I know," he murmured.

"Then why aren't you?"

"I don't know!" And oh, he could feel the frustration building up from that... His suitcase found itself on the floor, and he balled his hands into fists. The tears rolled down his cheeks, and he could feel the grip loosening, hear his name spoken ever so gently from his friend's lips. "I don't know, and I wish I did! I wish I could tell you, wish I could stop this! I didn't ask for this, I didn't ask for any of this! I didn't ask for Anri to get hurt, I didn't ask for me to break promises, I didn't ask for Lovino to realise what a monster I am! I didn't ask for any of this!"

As soon as the guitar was lifted up and over his head by another force, arms wrapped around him, pulling him close. He allowed for them to. He clung desperately to his friend, burying his face into the crook of the man's neck when a hand beckoned him to do so. Thin fingers wove through his hair, again and again. "I was getting better—! I was happy! I could see in colour again, Francis! It wasn't dull, it wasn't monochrome! It was short, but dios mío, Francis, I... I had never breathed so freely, not since before I hurt Anri!

"I have been fighting... for so long... So damn long...The days blurred together, sí, but it was different this time. It was so different from what's it's been, for years now... I was laughing-! Laughing!" He could feel his friend gently rocking back and forth, a head pressed against his own. He could not hear his voice, for he had gone silent. "I woke up that morning with Lovino, and you know what I thought about? You know what I felt? I felt peace. I was happy I was awake...!

"I know sure as hell I'm not cured. I know that... I know it's a long process, I know there's no magical fix for this... for this... this agony that life oh-so-graciously blessed me with. But God, Francis... I sincerely thought I could start over..." His breath hitched as he held fast to his friend. He could no longer cry; the tears had dried out. But his body refused to stop trembling, his mind refused to stop reeling. "I thought... I thought I could... prove that I... wouldn't hurt anyone..." And yet, he had made a mess of things once again, just as he always did. He had believed that there would be no repercussion for his actions, that everything would be just as it should. But alas, he was a stupid man, and had reached out to the one who had turned his back on him - both literally and figuratively - only to find that he had done so much more harm than good.

Finally, Francis had found the courage to speak, pressing quick kisses to the side of his friend's head. "I know, Antonio, I know..." he whispered softly. "I'm sorry, for demanding anything of you... I did not know it was that important to you... I'm sorry, my dear friend... I am here..."

The words did not fall upon deaf ears. But, unfortunately, his thoughts had already run rampage in his mind. He could already feel the crushing weight around him, weighing down on not just his heart, but his whole being. The thoughts screamed, murmured, whispered, shouted, until it all became white noise. "I'm so tired, Francis... I'm so tired... I don't want this pain... It hurts so much..." he found himself whispering, his entire body trembling from the weight pressing down on him.

The rocking stopped, but for only a moment. It picked back up again, hands frantically running through his hair and pressing at his back. "No, no, shh, it's okay... It's okay, Antonio, it's okay..." Francis whispered in hushed reassurances. He pressed kisses, again and again, to his friend's head, giving gentle squeezes. "Deep breaths, okay? Deep breaths... Everything will work out..." He drew in a breath, shaky, and from the sound of it, Antonio could tell there were tears in the Frenchman's eyes. "Remember what you told me? All those years ago? Gilbert and I both?

"You told us that there is balance, didn't you? That with each and every pain we feel, there will be an equal amount of euphoria. All this pain, all this suffering you're feeling now? You will have an equal amount of light to balance it out. And Antonio... With who you are, I'm sure that life will also reward you for your patience, reward you for pulling through as you are now. You just have to wait is all... Good things are to come, just as the sun rises every morning..."

Numb. He could only feel numb... Yet, he listened to Francis's words, forced himself to believe in them, to take them to heart. He repeated them over and over again in his mind, but it was not enough. His body ached, his heart yearned for what he could not have. He could not respond, only hold onto his dear friend as though he were the only living being left on the planet.

There was no need for a verbal response. A gentle squeeze, and Francis gingerly pulled away, his hands sliding down to Antonio's wrist. Tear-filled blue eyes glanced between reddened green ones. "Come and lay down. Until you feel strong enough to stand. I will be here, if you like." No answer. Francis tilted his head down, ever so slightly, and lifted his hand to gently wipe away the wetness on Antonio's cheek. "Would you like that, Toni?"

After a brief moment, the Spaniard gave a nod. His eyes closed and he gently took the hand pulling away from his cheek, pressing it against his skin once more. So warm... "Gracias, Francis..." he murmured quietly. A thumb brushed across his eyelashes, and lips pressed to his forehead.

"There is no need for that. Now come, mon ami, I will take care of you." Francis pulled away and gently lead his friend to the only mattress in the room, climbing on and coaxing the Spaniard to follow. Soon enough, they both lay upon the cool blankets, Francis' back pressed against the headboard as Antonio lay against his chest. Gingerly, he played with the curly brown locks, his other hand soothingly caressing Antonio's back. A few moments passed, and as Antonio's breathing steadied, a soft hum of a song reverberated from Francis.

Antonio let himself drown in the sensation. He still felt numb, yes, but he forced himself to focus on the hands trying to calm him, comfort him. He focused on the gentle hum and the way it vibrated the chest he lay upon. He listened to the heart beating within that very same chest, pounding against his ear. He found his arm winding around his friend's waist, giving a gentle squeeze as a silent sort of 'thank you'.

It was tough for Antonio. Francis knew that... Having been bounced around to so many places, having no home for so long, having lost everything all at once... It was rough on a growing mind, just starting to branch out and become independent from everything he had ever known. It did not help that his own behaviour had been a full-on slap in the face... He swallowed at that memory, forcing it from his mind. Now was not the time... He needed to quiet the thoughts, rid himself of the white noise that filled his mind. He needed to calm his erratic heart, and find the ease in breathing again. Even with his breaths as shallow as they were, they did not come as easily as he had hoped.

The door swung open, and from it, Antonio could hear the sounds from outside crash in around him. The humming stopped instantly. An excited voice echoed down the hall and filled his ears, a voice he could not recognise. But he had no chance to fully focus on this voice, for it was another that threw itself into the forefront.

"Hey, Feli just got here, and-" Antonio could feel eyes on him, just as the voice died. The sounds from outside quieted, and the click of the door followed. "Is he okay...?"

Antonio could feel Francis shift beneath him, but he did not have the strength to even lift his head. He simply let out a small grunt in response, his voice cracking ever so slightly. "Define okay, and I will be able to answer you," Francis answered for him.

Silence followed after. The room felt cold, but the hands caressing him felt so very warm. A breath of air danced over him as the one beneath him sighed, footsteps quiet as they neared the bed. Antonio felt a hand run through his hair, then pushed locks out of his face. "I'll let Ludwig know you're taking a nap," a beat, "and that Nanny Franny is watching over you." An attempt to cheer him up, Antonio knew. As to not worry his friend, he let a small puff of air escape him. It was the closest to a laugh he was going to get. A ruffle of his hair, and the hand pulled away. "Come out when you're ready. Dinner will be ready when you are."

A beat of silence, and then the footsteps retreated, as gentle and quiet as ever. Just as quiet, the door closed, leaving the pair in solitude. The hand continued to sweep through Antonio's hair, long fingers massaging at his scalp and twisting the curly locks. Neither of them spoke. Yet to Antonio, it didn't feel lonely.

He knew there were people who cared for him, those who would look after him, just as he did for them when the time had come. He let himself fall into the comfort that thought brought him, forcing his mind into the memories. He wasn't the only one who had moments of weakness; he knew that. His own best friends had their moments, too. He could still clearly remember sitting in that hospital lobby, holding his friend as he wailed. He could recall pulling a blanket over his wasted friend and promising to be there when morning came. He hadn't been the only one to need a shoulder to lean on.

So what was so wrong about allowing himself this moment of weakness?

From beyond the closed door, he could hear the excited chatter. He could not make out the voices, not quite; he could only tell there was a higher-pitched one mixed in with the deeper two. Muffled laughter echoed down the hall and to his ears. The longer the silence droned on, the more he could hear the sounds from beyond, his ears growing accustomed to the silence. It was calming, in a way.

It was a quiet reminder that he was not alone, that he did not have to curl under the blankets and hide himself from the world. He didn't have to hold a pillow, pretending that it were a warm body. No, he could hear the excitement outside, feel the warmth against his skin. Ever so gently, he held on tighter to this warmth, and that embrace was returned with a gentle squeeze. Indeed, he wasn't alone. As he lay there, he found himself calming, found himself able to breathe once again. Sorrow still weighed at his heart, refusing to lift. He feared it wouldn't. No. He knew it wouldn't. Not yet...

The body underneath him shifted, the hand running down to rest at the back of his neck. "Antonio...?" It was soft. Timid. Barely above a whisper. "Would you be alright with joining the others?" Silence. "You don't have to, but maybe it would—"

"I want to meet Ludwig's Italian," Antonio cut in. God, his voice sounded horrible... He grimaced at the sound, shifting uncomfortably at the foreign crackle of it. He sucked in a breath and slowly let it out through his nostrils. The grip on him relaxed just as the air escaped his lungs. "But I want to wash up. I can't be meeting him with a tear-stained face."

Antonio could feel Francis's smile, could feel the warmth from it. Lips pressed against his head, the hand lifting to run through curled locks once more. "As you wish. You head to the washroom. I'll meet you in the living room, oui?"

A nod. And after a brief moment, Antonio unwound his arms from Francis and removed himself from his friend, placing himself instead at the bedside. He dried his eyes with the back of his hand, wiping at his cheeks. The bed shifted, and a form appeared beside him. Green eyes flicked to his friend, and he found his words failing him. Guilt settled in. Glancing away, Antonio's hand dropped to the sheets. "I'm sorry," a beat, "for yelling at you. And for... everything else."

Francis shook his head, giving a pat to Antonio's shoulder. "No need for that," he answered. He pushed himself up, dusting off his clothes and straightening them. "I am the one who should apologise, for pushing you that far. I should have listened to you a bit more than that. You are my best friend, and I keep treating you as my child."

Antonio offered a smile, eyes once again on the Frenchman. "I'm not the only one. She would agree with me," he pointed out. A pause, and Francis quirked his brow. The Spaniard rolled his shoulders, pushing himself up as well. "We both know you spoil Michelle rotten. If you didn't look as young as you do, people would mistake her as your child, not your sister."

Francis snorted, tilting his chin up and squaring his shoulders. "I only care for her as a child because I have raised her. Ever since she can remember, she has been under my care."

"But you have forgotten how to let go of your nurturing habits, because of it."

"... Fair enough. But your habits of getting yourself into trouble do not help that, either. If you will not look out after yourself, then who will?"

Antonio found silence settling in, until it took hold as his answer. His eyes adverted their gaze, and he could feel the twinge of shame. The words were far too true. He did what he needed to survive, but living? Full on living? Caring for himself, beyond the essentials? No, he had forgotten how. With an escaped breath, the Spaniard gave his answer, "If I had more time, I would. You forget; I do not have as much free time as I used to. Between work and studies, I only have enough time to shower, eat, and sleep."

"And not always do you even do those three things, Antonio."

Antonio's eyes flicked to his friend in tired warning. "Was I mistaken in believing you would drop this subject, or was your apology spur-of-the-moment?"

Shoulders dropped ever so slightly as Francis let out a breath, blue eyes softening. "No," he spoke carefully, "you were not mistaken. I will not press the matter, and I will not lecture you. I'm simply explaining why I look after you like I do."

Antonio pursed his lips as he regarded Francis for a moment. Could he let the spark of anger sprout again? No. He couldn't... He was far too tired to argue, far too exhausted to shout. Thus, he let it go. He relinquished his hold on any of the anger he felt, knowing he did not have the strength to keep his grasp on it. Slightly, he bowed his head, his eyes locked on Francis. "Thank you for caring for me," he spoke softly. "I don't know where I'd be if it weren't for you looking out after me all these years."

A gentle smile tugged at the corners of Francis's lips. His hand reached out to lightly clap his friend's shoulder. "Likewise, mon ami. Likewise."

Oh, he couldn't pass up an opportunity like this. Sure, his heart was still heavy, but he wanted so desperately to turn it around. Thus, he raised a brow and allowed a single playful accusation to leave his lips, "Oh, so you'll gladly take all the credit for caring for me?"

A snort, and a quirk of the lips. "Not what I meant."

Aah, but he could not continue on like this. His mind was far too exhausted. He instead offered a weary smile and a glance to his friend, one of gratitude. The glance he offered in return showed that it had been received. A short clap to his shoulder. "Go wash up now. I will see you with the others."

Antonio nodded in understanding, lifting his hand to give the one on his shoulder a gentle squeeze. And with that, the hand slid from its place. The Frenchman's footsteps carried him out the door, leaving the Spaniard in solitude. In one way, it gave Antonio room to breathe. But in another, it almost felt suffocating. The silence itself was thickening around him, and he almost felt as though he could hardly breathe with it all. He could not stay here. He knew that much, in the very least. The sounds from beyond pulled at him, tugged at his curiosity.

He shan't waste anymore time.

Sucking in a breath, the brunet took his first step forward. It was a heavy, shaky footstep. But it was a step nonetheless. Then there was another. And then another. Until at long last, his feet carried him effortlessly through the door. The sounds grew closer, yet he could not meet with them just yet. As his friend disappeared around the corner, Antonio himself slipped through another door. Tile flooring, a large expansive mirror, and bright light filled his vision. But none of those were what caught his eyes. No, instead, it was his own reflection.

Hollow eyes, sunken cheeks, darkened circles, and a tear-stained face stared right back at him. He hardly recognised himself beyond the more-than-usual disheveled hair and reddened eyes. He drew in a breath and slowly let it out, his shoulders sinking ever so slightly. He couldn't even bear to look himself in the mirror. Not at the moment... He turned his attention to the faucet, flipping it on. Water cascaded down, and he let it fill his cupped palms. Bending down, he went to work wiping away the dried tears.

He straightened once more, eyes flicking to the reflective glass. At little better. At least now he could blame it on exhaustion, rather than crying. Hadn't Gilbert mentioned that he would tell Ludwig that their Spanish friend was sleeping, as well? He hummed at this thought as it echoed through his mind. Sure enough, the German had. As much as Antonio loved his friends, he did not know if that were the best approach. Ludwig already seemed suspicious, and no doubt about it, Miguel knew there was something amiss with his little brother. Running a shaky hand through his hair, Antonio cast his gaze downward. This would be a tough one to talk his way out of, he realised...

Well. No matter...

Steeling his nerves, Antonio drew himself back up and exited from the washroom, soles padding along the flooring. The chipper voice echoing down the hall finally began to form true words. What the conversation was about, he couldn't place, but he could make out something about... a dog? Oh, one of the three dogs must have done something again. His answer came to him as the three beasts rounded the corner, one chasing after the other.

"Bruder!" Antonio could hear from the hall. "Did you really have to let them in?"

"They looked pitiful out there! Why have them locked outside when they could be hanging out with us? They're family, too!"

"Ja, but I—"

"Oh, don't worry about it, Lud," an unfamiliar voice piped up. The same voice from before, Antonio noted. "I'll clean up any mess they make."

Why did his heart pound the way it did? Why did he suddenly feel nervous? Scared? He couldn't be relating this Italian to Lovino; he couldn't possibly. The voice was far too high, too airy. Lovino's was deep, almost nasally. It wasn't as if it sounded the same. No, quite the contrary!

Alright, Antonio, just breathe... Silently, he pushed away his thoughts and steadied his breaths. He had to calm himself, push those memories to the back of his mind. At least until he was safe away in Spain again... He could not dwell on them where he was; it would do him no good. He had not seen Ludwig in years. To throw away a chance like this... where all of them were together once again... He could not bear it. He had to savour it, as best he could. He would be alone in his flat soon enough.

And finally, he rounded the corner and stepped into the dining room.

Ludwig, Francis, and Gilbert all rounded the table, with the latter speaking excitedly of his adventures as he pushed up from his chair. Francis sat with his arms poised gracefully on the table, crossed, and a gentle smile tugging at his lips. Ludwig, on the other hand, sat back in his chair, one hand on the table and another flung over the back. His eyes were elsewhere, not on his brother. Instead, they focused on a form behind him, a lithe figure weaving through the small room.

Antonio's heart stopped the moment he laid eyes upon the owner of this figure.

Curly auburn hair, with one stubborn curl refusing to slick with the rest of the main body. Sharp brow. Thin lips. Petite frame. Antonio's own height, give or take. Pasta in one hand. For a moment, Antonio could have sworn he stared directly at the one who haunted his mind. But the moment amber eyes focused on him, he could not hold that thought.

The gaze was far too different. Curious, light, yet held a sort of knowledge to them. They were eyes that could see the wonders the world had to offer, and then some. They were not burning fires, threatening to scald Antonio if he ventured too close. Rather, they were gentle waves, lulling Antonio into peace and sanctity. They blinked once. Then twice. And then brows furrowed above them, lips turning into a thoughtful pout.

"You're the cat boy."

Cat boy... The words echoed through his head, again and again, yet he could not make sense of it. Antonio's brow, too, furrowed, though it was done in puzzlement. "Cat boy?" he parroted.

The Italian lowered the large pot in his hands, the mitts clutched tightly around its handles. Amber eyes glanced away for only a moment at Ludwig's mention of its designated spot on the table. A soft hum, and he stepped forward, eyes dancing away in favour of paying attention to where he sat the heavy item. "I don't forget faces," he commented with the gentlest of smiles. One mitt was removed, then the other, and a hand rested on Ludwig's shoulder for only a second. "You were the one who helped me with that cat, weren't you?"

And yet, confusion held fast to Antonio. He pursed his lips, and after a moment of silence, slowly shook his head. "I'm afraid I do not know what you're—"

"Venezia," the man spoke with a small huff. One hand on his hip, he gestured the mitts toward the Spaniard. Mild annoyance danced in his eyes. "You helped me down from that tree. I climbed up to get a cat, got the cat, ended up stuck, and you climbed up to help me and the cat down. Romano ran off after that and you stayed to patch me up!"

It came to him in a rush. Each puzzle seemed to click right into place, and Antonio could almost feel his jaw drop as his eyes widened. His lips parted, yet no sound came out. He could recall the tree, and the helpless Italian words. The scratches he proudly wore that day still scarred his skin, having picked at the scabs as they were healing. Faint now, sure, but still silently told a tale of which he could not recall. Not until now.

It was no wonder he felt a sense of familiarity with the name Feli! A groan escaping him, Antonio reached up to slap his face. "Feliciano!" he suddenly recalled. "Ay, dios mío!" After all this time, it was Feliciano they had been referring to? That little scared, small Italian he just so happened to cross in his wanderings? Oh, what a small world this was! With an exasperated sigh, Antonio lowered his hand, dragging it across his face. "Sí, sí, I remember you. We spoke through letters after that."

Finally, there was a grin. Lips pulled back to reveal bright teeth and Feliciano straightened, his hands on his hips. "See! I knew I wasn't crazy!" he chirped. Light danced in his eyes as they flicked from each startled, confused face to the next. Amused, he focused his attention back to Antonio. His lips quirked into a small smirk. "You still pronounce my name wrong, Tonton." The nickname drew from his lips with a sort of teasing tone.

"Tonton?" Gilbert echoed with a snort, Francis stifling his own giggles at the nickname.

Antonio decided to not regard them for now, focusing on the Italian before him. "Well, when I read the letters, it looked like Feli-thee-ano. I forget your weird Italian ways of ci and chi." A beat. "Your English has improved, at least."

"And so has yours."

"So, you have met our little Italian before?" Francis finally questioned, eyes flicking to Antonio as his hand gestured toward the one he mentioned.

Antonio released a sigh and placed himself in the seat to Francis's right, sinking into the chair. A short nod. "A long time ago. I was visiting Venice with Miguel's family and came across Feliciano here," he paused to sweep a hand toward the Italian, "and we became... pen pals, I guess. But then I moved and lost contact with him."

As he spoke, Feliciano excused himself from the dining room, and returned a moment later with the oven mitts missing. They were instead replaced with a few plates, in which he began to place in front of each of the seats, one at a time. "I didn't know about it until about a year after his last letter, I got another one that simply read, 'Antonio does not live here.' I—" A pause. Words seemed to click into place in Feliciano's mind and his brow furrowed, gaze flicking to Antonio. "Miguel's family? Wouldn't that be your family?"

Right... Not everyone knew about that... Breathing out a sigh through his nose, Antonio settled back into his seat and drummed his fingers against the table. How to fully explain that one... It was quite the complicated one... Offering an apologetic smile, Antonio leaned forward and explained, "His mother was my mother's best friend when they were growing up. After his parents died, we took him in. Miguel couldn't... handle his parents' deaths very well, and had a bit of a violent streak. We ended up being separated for that for a while, but I digress.

"Long story short, we're a lot closer now than we have been in years, and are more of brothers in bonds than we are in blood." Oh, but he had not seen his brother ever since Francis had ushered him away into the spare room. His eyes flicked to each of the faces, his back straightening ever so slightly as his elbows remained on the table. "Speaking of Miguel... has anyone seen him?"

Gilbert was the first to speak up. "Does your brother ever hang around for the full time?" he remarked. He gestured toward the door with a flick of the wrist. "He ran off, sayin' he had to do somethin'. Promised he'd be back before dinner was done."

Having finished serving most of the guests, Feliciano paused for a brief moment and regarded them for a moment. His eyes then flicked to one of the remaining empty chairs, then to Antonio again. Then with a shrug, he finished off with his own plate. "Well, if he's not here now, I'm not going to serve him yet. He can grab his own plate if he wants supper," he spoke. A hand on Ludwig's shoulder, he bent down to deliver a small kiss to the German's cheek. "Enjoy~!"

Man, Feliciano really had no reserve when it came to showing affection... And judging by the way Ludwig refused to comment on it, it was something that was entirely common in the household, though the pink tinge was indication of another story. Perhaps, Antonio mused, one that told of never having guests who could see such displays of affection. Or maybe he was reading far too into it... Either way, it served as a welcomed distraction and he allowed for the smallest of smiles to grace his lips.

Eyes flicking between the two as the guests began serving themselves, Antonio decided to pipe up with a question, "How long have you two known each other?" Curiosity killed the cat, they always said.

Feliciano, who had placed himself across from Antonio, pursed his lips, eyes flicking to Ludwig before averting to the ceiling in thought, brows furrowing. Something about the way they did so was all too familiar, and Antonio could feel the twinge deep within. "Almost three years?"

The German nodded in confirmation. "Closer to two and a half," he corrected, eyes flicking between Antonio and his lover.

"But we didn't start dating until about a year ago," Feliciano cut in again, finally taking the serving spoon for himself.

"Kind of hard to do so with distance," Ludwig commented. "Feliciano still lives in Italy. It took a long time to convince him to even visit the first time."

A huff from the Italian and the man straightened in his chair, squaring his shoulders. His chin tilted skyward, a defiant look on his face. "Hey, I had things to take care of, Lud!"

"Alright, alright, calm down," the German spoke with a small smile. "You're here now. So you gave in eventually."

It wasn't a fire that Antonio saw in Feliciano. No, even when he stood resilient against the teasing, even when he squared his shoulders and made himself seem bigger than he was, the Spaniard just could not compare it to a flame. It wasn't the same as the Italian he had been with in the past week. This one was different. This one, while just as strong, had a different spark to him. It was confirmed, then, that Antonio could indeed relate this one to the crashing waves. Gentle and nostalgic at times, but could be strong and unrelenting at others.

And Ludwig had clearly been swept away in its current.

That gentle smile, that serene gaze... It was unmistakable. It was as though Ludwig were an entirely different person from the scrawny boy from Antonio's memories. Scared, frightened, unsure of himself and his surroundings... Antonio could remember this kind of lad, the one fearful of adventure and straying too far. Up until his teen years, Ludwig refused to ever leave Gilbert's side - and Gilbert would much rather die than to deny his brother of his much-needed presence.

Seeing this kind of serenity in Ludwig now, it helped Antonio breathe. The scared little boy from so long ago had faded away, leaving only the strong, unmovable mountain that was Ludwig. Yet it seemed that even as strong of a mountain as Ludwig was, the jutting rocks still sloped into a shore where the waves could meet it in peace.

As they talked among one another, Antonio could only watch the small gestures each presented, though he could not keep his mind on the words they spoke. Francis and Gilbert each added in their two cents of stories and jokes, yet Antonio remained silent as he savoured the taste of the pasta cooked for them. It reminded him, perhaps, of the meal he had with Lovino, of the delicious aromas that had wafted around the house and the conversation of his grandfather. The words of reassurance Antonio had spoken, and the grateful glance Lovino had given him... His eyes cast downward for a brief moment, having lost sight of where he sat now.

The pasta was not the same as it was a few days ago, he noted. It was a red sauce, yes, but there weren't as many spices used. It had a sweeter taste to it, and the noodles themselves were thinner. Yet it was oddly reminiscent... It was just because it was pasta, he silently argued with himself. It was a red sauce, with spices and noodles. Just like Lovino's. Just like many Italian dishes.

Oh, but the song that reached his ears moments later, a light and airy voice carrying its words... his heart stopped at the lyrics that flowed through the air.

"Una notte a Napoli
Con la luna ed il mare
Ho incontrato un angelo
Che non poteva più volar. . ."

Instantly, Antonio's head snapped up. Wide eyes stared at Feliciano, jaw slack. No, he couldn't be hearing that song. It had to be a different one, it couldn't have been the same one. But oh, the music filled his mind, the sensation filled his body. He could hear the crackle of the old speakers, hear the waves upon the shore. He could feel the sand shifting beneath his feet, the nipping of the cooling night around him. And most of all, he could see fiery eyes, feel the warmth from them enfolding him whenever another body brushed against his own.

"Una notte a Napoli
Delle stelle si scordò
E anche senza ali
In cielo mi portò. . ."

Even amid the laughter and joking that came after, Antonio could not find the joy. He could only watched in astonished silence as Feliciano rested a hand on Ludwig's shoulder, commenting on a former memory regarding the song. Something about a dance, though Antonio couldn't be too sure; the lyrics still echoed through his mind, drowning out the meaning behind Feliciano's words.

"Feliciano...?" Antonio called in a voice barely above a whisper. Eyes adverted to him, yet he only looked to the pair of curious ambers. He felt numb. Yet at the same time, he felt as though he were trembling. The world seemed far too cold around him, as though winter had set in. As though that fire had left him in the middle of a blizzard. The smile Feliciano had worn, he noted, had faded entirely from the man's face as the brows furrowed in concern. "What... What song is that...?"

The Italian glanced to Ludwig for a moment before sinking back toward his own chair, the hand leaving the German's shoulder. He then looked back to Antonio, confusion evident on his features. Yet his eyes held suspicion and carefully-hidden understanding. "Una Notte A Napoli. A night in Naples. It's a song by—"

"What's it about?" He hadn't meant to cut the other off.

Slight hesitation, and Feliciano's bottom lip tucked under his teeth for a brief moment. It seemed he opted to instead translate for the Spaniard.

"One night in Naples
With the moon and the sea
I met an angel
That could no longer fly

"One night in Naples
She forgot the stars
And even without wings
She took me to Heaven"

And there it was. The confirmation. A heavy weight dropped upon Antonio's shoulders and all he could do was sit back in his chair, defeated. The fork still lay in his hand, yet he could not find the will to eat. No, he was not hungry. His stomach refused food, his lips refused to open. He could not find the strength to even lift his forkful of pasta. Stupid... He was so stupid... He breathed out a sigh through his nose, his eyes sliding closed. He could hear the shifting of Francis beside him, yet he decided to not pay it any true attention.

Brow furrowing and the corners of his lips tugging down, Antonio spoke, "Lovino." The name rung out through the quiet dining room. "You're Lovino's brother." It was not a question. It was an observation, a conclusion. He should have seen the signs, but oh, love and grief both had kept him blind. An Italian in Germany... Visits to Germany in the past year... A missed birthday... The familiar texture and taste of the sauce... The ginger hair, the shape of the jaw, the narrow shoulders, the stubborn curly locks... It all fell into place, like a puzzle completing itself. He was so stupid to not see the signs.

"Sì..." Feliciano answered quietly, though it was not needed. It was only spoken confirmation, an undeniable truth at this point. "He... wasn't born as Lovino... but... Yes, I am."

He could feel tears fill his eyes, yet he refused to let them fall. No, not here. Not now. Just when he thought he was free from all this, he now had another thing to worry about. A solemn laugh escaped his lips and he swept a shaky hand through his locks. At least now he could move... "Feliciano." He hardly noticed that he had pronounced the name correctly. "He even called you Feliciano, for crying out loud. He said your name, and I still..."

A brief silence. Then barely above a whisper, Feliciano questioned, "You're the Spaniard, aren't you...? The one Romano talked about on the phone..."

Emerald eyes flicked up to meet with Feliciano's. They then glanced to Ludwig, to see realisation then dawning on the German's expression. Antonio regarded Feliciano with a wary expression. "He spoke about me?" Perhaps he was a bit curious. Perhaps he was skeptical. Perhaps, even, he was scared. Terrified of what Lovino had told his younger brother...

Eyes locked with the Spaniard's, Feliciano nodded.

He couldn't hold the question in. "What did he say...?"

At this, the corners of Feliciano's lips curled upward. He lowered his fork, ever so slightly, as his shoulders sloped. Slight amusement danced in his eyes. "Not exactly fond things, but close enough," he answered. "He complained that you were taking up his shower, and hogging his spare room. Said you were an idiot for knocking him into the ocean, too, and complained about needing to shower again."

All these events, Antonio noted, had happened at different times. Different days, even. He could feel his cheeks flush at the memory of them. Yet he cast his eyes down, feeling the guilt creep in not a moment later. He had been a burden to the Italian the entire time, it seemed. If Lovino complained about him that much... He had simply seen it the wrong way, he concluded. The hospitality of a Southern Italian, perhaps, was the only thing that allowed for Lovino to let him shower. The inability to turn away a hungry guest, and a kindness too strong to shove a stranger into the rainy night. All those circumstances were simply by sheer politeness. Obligation.

"My brother doesn't complain about people like that if he didn't care about them, you know."

Antonio's gaze returned to Feliciano in an instant. The Italian took a moment to eat a forkful of his dinner, the mischief twinkling in his eyes. The Spaniard's brows furrowed, his lips drawing together in careful confusion.

Twirling his fork in the air, Feliciano began to speak once again, "He has a funny way of showing he cares about something. At least to me." He paused for a brief moment to glance skyward, then to Ludwig. He gestured to the large man beside him. "He still complains about Lud, but Romano's always taken everything with a grain of salt. Protects him from getting too excited about things, I guess? Or maybe a form of sibling rivalry, I dunno."

His eyes returned to Antonio, who only listened on in curiosity. "Whenever he talks about things he likes, it's always with a bad attitude. Complaining about one thing or another. But there's a difference between complaining and ranting.

"He rants about people he hates; he complains about people he loves. If that makes sense."

Antonio tossed the phrase around in his mind again and again, before he began to relate it back to the prior conversations he had with the elder Italian. And sure enough, the phrase held true. All the times the Italian would speak of his brother, it was always ill words coated with fondness. Yet it seemed to just... work for Lovino. It was never in an angered way, it was never truly anything major. It was always with a certain kind of fondness beyond petty complaints.

Slowly, Antonio nodded his head, his eyes on Feliciano. He no longer felt the need to allow the tears to fall; they had subsided, much to his relief. Now, he could only feel interest in whatever the younger Italian had to say. "Sí, it makes sense. He often spoke of you like that."

Feliciano blinked in astonishment, sitting up straighter in his chair. He seemed to be taken aback by the words, yet unable to produce any of his own.

It was Francis, instead, who chuckled and spoke for him, "He is right. Out of any of us at the table, I think he complains the most about you, Feli."

"You know," Gilbert piped up from the other side of Feliciano, brows furrowed and lips pursed. He crossed his arms, and motioned toward his brother with a nod of the head. "You'd think he'd have more to say about this big lug here, but I think Franny has—"

"Francis."

"— a point. He complains more about you than even Bruder."

Feliciano glanced between each of them in turn, stunned into silence. His brows furrowed, and quietly, he shook his head. But for the next few moments, while each one spoke their own words of agreement, Feliciano could not speak. When he could, the first words out of his mouth were, "No, no, it's not like that." The table quieted and all eyes were on him. He sunk into his chair, worried eyes flicking between each familiar face. "You don't understand... Romano... Romano has a huge grudge against me. He tolerates me, because I'm his brother, but—"

Another voice picked up, from beyond the dining room's doorway, "Oh that's B.S. and you know it." All eyes turned to watch as the Portuguese man made his entrance once again, a bag in his hand. He set the bag next to Antonio's chair and gave a few pats to his brother's shoulder. His eyes, however, were focused solely on Feliciano. "Now, I don't know this Romano-Lovino guy, but brothers stick together." He remained right where he was, standing proudly behind Antonio's chair. "Even if we fight, even if we hold grudges, even if we declare that we hate each other, one or the other will end up crawling right back anyway. Just a matter of time is all."

Antonio knew exactly who Miguel was referring to. He could feel the hand resting on his shoulder, and knew where the next would be resting; on the back of the chair. He glanced up to his brother, and let out a quiet sigh. Sure enough, no matter how many fights he and Miguel would go through, no matter how much they declared to hate the other, they would always find their way back, somehow. Regardless of circumstance.

Still, it seemed that Feliciano wasn't entirely convinced, and that did not settle well with Antonio. He had comforted one Italian brother. Now it was time to comfort the other. He offered a kind smile toward the small Italian. "He spoke of you a lot when I was with him. He hardly said your name, but he mentioned you more times than I care to count," he commented. "He doesn't just put up with you, Feliciano. He takes care of you, as best he can from where he is."

His gaze softened, his head bowing ever so slightly. He kept his voice quiet, out of respect. "I heard the story. With the kind of person Lovino is, Feliciano, do you really think he'd put his life on the line for someone he hates, that willingly?" He dared not to comment more about it. He didn't even dare to comment on what story he spoke of. He knew that Feliciano no doubt would understand. but whether or not any of the others knew of it... Well, he couldn't say that he knew. He could only stay on the safe side.

Tears welled in Feliciano's eyes, and a small smile pulled at his lips. "I guess not," he replied quietly. Oh, but that smile was gone, and he glanced toward Ludwig. The two exchanged looks, and Feliciano quietly looked to Antonio again. "But that was before Nonno Romolo died. Romano told you about him, didn't he?"

Antonio nodded.

Feliciano glanced to the plate as he picked at his food. Only the hand that reached for his own stopped him from doing so. He dropped the fork and turned his palm upward, lacing his fingers between Ludwig's. "Romano was angry at me for not finding him when Nonno was hospitalised. And again, he was angry for the trip Nonno set up for us. At the time, he saw it as celebrating his death, not as our grandfather treating us after passing."

Trip... Antonio had heard nothing of a trip, not that he could recall. His brow furrowed, and his lips turned down in confusion. He leaned forward, ever so slightly, and parroted, "Trip?"

"A cruise," Ludwig answered for his lover. He gave the hand a gentle squeeze and tenderly brought it toward him. "Mister Romolo paid for a cruise, with his life's savings, just before he died. Feliciano told me all about it. I was an engineer on the ship, and Feliciano needed an ear to listen. I provided one."

Feliciano nodded in confirmation, eyes once again flicking to Antonio. He allowed for the thumb to gently rub against his own, giving a gentle squeeze in return. "Romano wasn't happy we even went on that cruise. But he was even angrier that I kept spending time with Lud. We got into a big fight during the trip, and Romano and I parted ways. I found Ludwig, and Romano..." His body stiffened slightly, and his cheeks dusted pink. Amber eyes glanced to Ludwig in embarrassment. "And when Romano found me again, I was, uhm... I was kissing Ludwig at the rear of the ship."

Ludwig, cheeks darkened, cleared his throat and glanced away. "Entirely unplanned. I wanted to make him feel better, and I don't know how that translated to, erm, that," he defended.

The Italian offered Antonio a small, apologetic smile at this and continued his story, "We had another fight, and then refused to talk to me after that. Not until the cruise ended. He got over it, more or less, but every now and then, we argue about something regarding it... He doesn't like how quickly I got over Nonno Romolo's death or something..." The way he mentioned the death, however, was indicative enough that he was not indeed "over" the death of his grandfather. "We fight a lot more than we used to, that's for sure..."

It almost confused Antonio, really, just how much he was hearing of the story. He had never even heard how Feliciano had met Ludwig; simply that he was visiting Germany a lot. Hell, the Spaniard had never even heard of the cruise until now! But, he supposed that was the answer to Feliciano's troubles. Rolling his shoulders, Antonio leaned forward to place his elbows on the table, the hand slipping from his shoulder.

"I still don't think he's angry at you for that," he commented. He could still feel his brother's presence behind him, and sure enough, the two hands squeezing his shoulders was proof enough for him. They seemed to be trying to get his attention, with their constant touches, but for now, he dismissed the notion. "Lovino never mentioned the cruise. Not even once." A pause, and his eyes flicked to Francis and Gilbert both. Should he speak of the conversations he had with the Italian...? He didn't know. His heart still ached, and he was so very tired. He wanted nothing more than to just leave the table, his hunger having long since been lost. Nonetheless, he felt he had to comfort the younger one, and thus his gaze ended up at the Italian once more. "You want to know what he said, actually?"

Feliciano looked on in careful interest, his head tilting ever so slightly. The thumb had stilled, yet the hands remained connected. He did not speak; his actions were enough.

A gentle smile found its way on Antonio's lips, his body relaxing. "'He deserves his life,' he told me. Just last night. And a few nights ago, he said, 'At least Ludwig' - okay so he said 'bastard' but I'm paraphrasing here - 'has done some good for my brother. At least he's happy.'" It slowly sparked in his mind. Lovino complained, too, about Antonio, himself. He breathed out a sigh through his nose, eyes flicking downward. Just as he had complained about Ludwig, and Feliciano, he had complained about Antonio.

God, he missed that fire...

He shoved the thought aside for now and glanced back up, his smile a tad more forced than before. "He treasures you, you know... Talked about you all the time. Even said he wanted you to be happy. He doesn't hate you, he doesn't have a grudge on you. Nobody would talk about their brother like that if they didn't care for them," he spoke gently. He forced his smile into a cheeky grin. "You said so yourself. There's a difference between ranting and complaining."

For a moment, Feliciano was silent, simply staring at Antonio. Careful contemplation, and a mix of emotions, surged through his eyes. They flicked to each and every face in the room, including Miguel's, before they landed on Ludwig. And finally, there was a smile. It was brighter than all the rest, and his shoulders seemed to sink with it. He squeezed the hand he held, and lifted it to his lips. He pressed one, two, three kisses before pulling it to his chest, where he held it with both hands. Ludwig, too, seemed to be more content with this display of affection, no doubt knowing the meaning behind each and every kiss.

In a way, Antonio felt rather... envious, he supposed the word was. A relationship as beautiful as Ludwig's and Feliciano's... It was as though he were staring at a painting upon the wall of a museum. He could see the love flowing between the two, the unbridled affection in every gesture, every glance. It almost hurt to look at...

The hands, he noted, had not left his shoulders. The conversation continued on, with stories of band camp. Apparently, according to Feliciano, the brothers had partook in the activities throughout the education. And though Antonio wanted to listen to the interesting stories, he found he could not, for there was a voice at his ears.

"You did not tell me you fell in love, little Toni," Miguel spoke gently.

Oh, if Miguel couldn't find a worse time... Antonio's lips drew into a thin line as he solemnly glanced to his brother. He folded his hands, and regarded each of the other guests. They were too far enthralled in the exciting tale Feliciano told of the three Italians sneaking away from their lessons to even notice the two brothers speaking to one another. Antonio offered his sibling an apologetic smile. "There is not much to tell... I found an angel, he took me to Heaven, and I fell at my highest point. I crashed back to Earth, brother," he answered, switching his language to Spanish as to avoid the others overhearing. "I am still recovering from the fall..."

Miguel's gaze softened, his hands loosening on the younger's shoulders. But he did not move from his spot, did not pull away. He remained right where he was, gaze flicking between each of Antonio's eyes. "So that is why you are broken and stumbling about like a fool with no usable legs..."

Antonio hated the comparison, having to glance away momentarily. The smile fell from his lips.

The elder wrapped his arms slowly, cautiously, around his brother and pulled him into a gentle hug. "It is okay to be broken, Antonio. But do not try to carry all the pieces by yourself..." he whispered. "You are only human. And while you may live alone, you are not alone. You never are. Everyone is here for you. I am included in that."

The Spaniard breathed out a sigh and let his hands slip from the table, landing gently in his lap. His eyes closed, not wanting to see the plate of red pasta before him. No, his heart hurt too much for it, now... "I wish I could trust enough in order to let you all in... But as it is right now, Miguel, I can't even trust myself..." Fearful. That was the only word that rang through his mind. He was terrified of not just others, but of himself. It was a cruel reality he had so blissfully forgotten, until he had stepped on that plane earlier in the day. And now, he could not rid himself of it. True. It had crept in the back of his mind, during his happier moments, but now it screamed at him. Laughed at him. Drowned him.

And once again, he could feel himself slipping under the waves. The waves that would lull him to sleep now filled not just his ears, but his lungs and suffocated him. The world grew black around him, black and blurred, as though looking through smoked glass. Yet somehow, through it all, he still sat right where he was. He felt as though he were slipping, but the hold on his body remained just as stable as it always had.

Cautiously, fearful that they may disappear before he could reach them, Antonio lifted his hands. But as he gently grasped the arms, he realised that they did not vanish as he believed they would. They were right there, holding him, and at the feel of his fingers, they tightened their hold. He could feel kisses pressed against his temple, hidden within disheveled locks of hair. The conversations from all around them fell mute upon his ears. He did not care for them, nor the laughter and excited babble. He only cared for the arms around him. His brother.

That's right... Miguel had mentioned it earlier. 'Brothers stick together.' Even through all their rough times, through the fights that literally tore them apart, they remained standing. And if one fell, the other would be there to pick them back up. He found a smile gracing his lips at this realisation. Perhaps he couldn't trust himself or others. But at least he could confide in them, just as he had been this whole time, and hope they would be there in the end.

Letting out a breath, Antonio gently squeezed the arms around him. "Thank you," he whispered, switching his language once more to English. "I'm alright. I'll be okay. I promise." And that was something he could promise. He had made it this far, afterall. And one day, he was sure he would learn how to swim again.

But there was one more thing he needed to clear up. A memory that he haunted him since that fateful night, that would draw back again and again. Eyes that glistened in the moon's pale light, olive skin that reflected bits of light just as the ocean before them.

Antonio lifted his head just as the older pulled away, listening as the footsteps placed Miguel in the chair to his right. His eyes, however, did not return to his brother. Instead, they were on Feliciano. "Feliciano," he spoke up, the lisp on the 'ci' just as prominent as before. This, thankfully, caught the Italian's attention. He had to tread carefully, he noted... The man was in high spirits, his plate nearly finished now.

God, perhaps he should have waited... No, he needed to address it while the matter was still fresh in his mind. He could not back down. "A week ago, I stood on the beach and there was... an angel standing atop a balcony," he chose his words carefully, though it seemed that Feliciano already knew of whom he spoke. "He was crying." Feliciano did not move. "I only noticed him because I heard a song."

The colour drained from Feliciano's face, his lips forming a thin line. His eyes widened, ever so slightly, and he stared in disbelief. A thousand and one emotions ran through his eyes, whipping up a storm. Those gentle, lulling waves were slowly evolving into a spiraling whirlpool. A rip tide, even. "A song...?"

Antonio nodded.

Within an instant, Feliciano was to his feet, the chair's legs screeching across the tile. His palms pressed flat against the table, frightened eyes glancing to his lover, to Francis, then to Antonio. They locked with green irses, refusing to look away. "Was he singing?" he spat out rapidly, almost to the point where Antonio couldn't catch it.

The brunet could only feel a cold pit in his stomach. He knew that it would be heavy, but for it to be this much so...? His brow creased and he could feel fear settling in, a wariness surrounding him. "I—"

"Was he singing?" Feliciano demanded again, his words slower and clearer.

Again, Antonio nodded, the motion slower. Feliciano's motions were not as such.

Quickly, the Italian rounded the table, murmuring a small 'excuse me' and an apology to Ludwig as he passed. He gently patted at Antonio's arm, silently begging him to stand and follow. A quick tug to the sleeve, and Antonio, though confused, obliged. "I need to talk to you," the Italian murmured urgently. "Now."

And just like that, Antonio was ushered to the hallway, leaving behind the rest of the guests in silence. Feliciano lead him a few more steps away from the doorway before spinning on his heel to face the elder. Fearful eyes glanced between each of Antonio's. Lips parted, again and again, yet nothing came out. He seemed to fight for words, yet was at a complete and total loss for them. The younger glanced away, and swore in Italian as he raked a hand through his hair. He paced for a few moments, his hands wringing together as he struggled to find the words.

And all Antonio could do was watch, for a silent minute. His whole body trembled, and he felt that he could hardly breathe. He wanted to reach out and stop Feliciano from his pacing, but oh, he did not know if that would be alright of him. He did not know the Italian. To reach out for him, to touch him... He did not know if it would overload the poor boy, who already seemed to have too much anxiety at the current moment. "Feliciano," he spoke sternly, yet in a gentle tone. "Feliciano, stop for a moment, okay?" Surprisingly, the Italian listened, amber eyes flicking to him.

Antonio held his palms out to the other, gingerly stepping forward. The other showed no signs of discomfort with this action. "Slow down, alright? Everything's going to be alright. If you have something to say, take your time, there's no rush," he reassured carefully. "I'm not going anywhere, I'm right here. Just take your time. Breathe."

Feliciano regarded him for a moment before heaving out a sigh, his shoulders sagging as his arms dropped to his sides. Still, the concern did not fade from his eyes, nor did the fear. A few seconds passed as emotions flickered through the other's eyes. "When you saw him crying... what... what time was it?"

"Nighttime. I, uh, I can't be too sure... I was drunk, so I... I didn't see the time."

The Italian nodded, gaze averting as more questions raced through his mind. "Right. Right... Okay..." He wrung his hands together for another brief moment, swallowed, then focused his attention back to Antonio. "Do you... know what he was singing?"

Antonio shook his head. "Lo siento, pero no. It was Italian. I think..."

Feliciano glanced away again, brow furrowing. "What happened then? Did you just... Did you just stand there, or...?"

"Until he saw me, yeah."

"Then...?"

"Then he went inside." A beat. "He looked... angry...? No, ashamed."

Another nod as Feliciano considered the words. His head tilted ever so slightly, and eyes were back on Antonio. They were gentler this time, remorseful. "Romano doesn't like his singing. He... doesn't sing unless there's something wrong..." he finally told the other, quietly. He shuffled where he stood, nervously looking away as a hand reached up to play with the locks at the back of his neck. "He, uh... He sings to calm himself down. He doesn't... have a very good hold on uhm... On emotions and... And..." Feliciano drew in a breath, and slowly let it out. "Thoughts... He has... thoughts... And singing, well, singing distracts him."

Oh.

"Which is... Which is why I'm, uhm..."

Oh.

"Why I'm asking."

The realisation slowly dawned over Antonio, washed over him like a tidal wave. God, he was so stupid to not see the signs of it. It was right there in front of his face! How could he have missed it? He could have sworn, he felt so angry with himself. He had those exact same signs, those exact same habits. And the way Lovino tread so carefully... God, Lovino knew about it! Lovino had seen it, so why didn't he?! Stupid, stupid, stupid!

"He hides it really well, so... So I don't... think anyone knows, but..."

Those romance novels weren't just for wishful thinking and daydreams! The cleanliness of the house wasn't just out of sheer boredom! The dimmed lights, the shy mannerisms, the downsizing of the severity of emotions, the carefully chosen words, the raging storm, the underlying downplaying of one's own personality and past... God, all the signs were right there! He should've noticed the fear, should've noticed the desperation, should've noticed the silent cries for help...

It was Antonio's turn to swear, Antonio's turn to rake his hands through his hair, Antonio's turn to pace. Both hands tugged at the strands as Spanish profanities left his lips, feet padding against the floor. His eyes flicked to the Heavens above, a silent prayer released with his gaze, a prayer for Lovino's safety. He could almost laugh, it was so insanely obvious. God, if he weren't such a dunce, he would have picked up on it, on those same signs that he, himself, exhibited!

God, depression was a sneaky son of a bitch.

To think it was hiding in the shadows of Lovino's home, lurking and giggling at Antonio with every missed signal... Silencing Lovino's every plea... God, it boiled his blood. Twisted his stomach, and stopped his heart. An angel with such a demon preying after it... It was absolutely no wonder Lovino had let him in so quickly. It was no wonder Antonio found himself so drawn to Lovino. Because even with all their differences, even with their clashing personalities, they fought the same demons, they experienced the same turmoil.

Together, Antonio realised, they had fought off the darkness, given each other a distraction, a light much similar to the moon that had shone down upon both of them that fateful night. And now that distraction, for the both of them, was gone. The demon was preparing to strike, readying itself to close in on the both of them. It was baring its fangs, and Antonio had been entirely blind to it, due to his own ignorant bliss.

A gentle hand on his arm stopped his pacing and Antonio snapped out of his thoughts. He glanced to Feliciano, lowering his arms.

Amber hues were filled with desperation and fear. "Antonio, what happened? Why do you look so guilty whenever we mention Romano?" he questioned. His voice was stern, resolute, yet his eyes were timid. His heart was terrified. "You're scaring me, Antonio... What happened to my brother? What did you do?"

The blood drained from Antonio's face. The night before echoed within his mind, replaying again and again. His heartbeat stilled, his breathing shallow. He had told Francis, sure, but trying to tell Lovino's brother? How could he possibly...? "I... We..." Oh, God... He swallowed thickly, his body trembling ever so slightly. It was the only thing he could possibly think of, the only reason for Lovino to act in such a way. He glanced away, wringing his hands together. "We, we were drunk, and... And I... I tainted him..." he spoke quietly. "I... I think... I took his virginity, or hurt him, or... Or... I don't... I don't know..."

Silence.

God, it was deafening... Antonio could feel the eyes on him, yet there were no words. No sounds. No movement. He drew in a shaky breath, waiting for the reprimand, waiting for the shouting. Nothing.

Finally, he glanced up. What he saw, he did not expect. it was not anger, it was not rage, it was not betrayal. It wasn't even confusion. No, it was simply just a blank expression. As if Feliciano didn't even believe him, as if he couldn't even process the information, perhaps. Antonio glanced away. "I'm sorry, I... I didn't mean to..."

"Did he really tell you he was a virgin?"

What? Antonio glanced to Feliciano, his brow furrowing. He parted his lips to reply, yet he found the words dying in his throat. There was a slight frown on Feliciano's face, annoyance flickering in his eyes. Now that he thought about it... No, he had not been told that Lovino was a virgin... They hadn't even really brushed upon the topic...

Slowly, Antonio shook his head. "Well, no, I..."

Feliciano regarded Antonio with suspicion, the annoyance slowly escalating to irritation. He shifted his weight, his hands at his sides. His gaze was colder than before, his eyes sharper. His voice was stern and unafraid, his body rigid. "I know for a fact my brother's no virgin. Far from it."

That would explain the surprising talents behind the Italian's tongue and body...

"Antonio, I swear to God, if you forced my brother into anything—"

"¿Que? N-no, it's not like that!" Antonio defended, lifting his hands and taking a step back. His brows furrowed and he quickly explained himself, "I didn't force him into anything! He came onto me! I have no idea who started the kiss, but he was the one who pushed it further and started it! I swear!" He tried his hardest, despite his rushed words, to keep as quiet as possible. He didn't want his friends to overhear, much less his brother. God, if his brother heard him... He'd never hear the end of it!

He forced a lopsided smile. "I would never hurt him. Not purposefully." He had already made that promise not to, afterall... Slowly, he lowered his hands, his heart beating rapidly in his chest. Oh, but he had hurt him, hadn't he? The smile soon faded from his lips, though it was Feliciano who had sighed.

It was a sigh of mild irritation, yet there was relief intermixed. His arms crossed in front of him, his weight shifting to one foot. He regarded Antonio with the same stern gaze, however. "Then that can't be it. You didn't hurt him, and you didn't take his virginity. He's not angry about that, I can promise you. Usually he gloats about things like that, not angered by them," he spoke evenly. "How long ago was this?"

Oh. Oh right... The day had been so long, it hardly seemed like the night before. His lips drew into a thin line and he quietly answered, "Last night. I... left in the morning... He wanted me out... So..."

Feliciano nodded in understanding, his gaze softening. He seemed to be unsurprised, however, by just how recent these events were. He motioned for Antonio to follow, leading him down the hall and toward the room he had previously been in with Francis. "I want to hear all about it. From the moment you saw him, until you left on a plane this morning." A beat. "Just skip the sex part."

That was going to take a while... At least, he mused, they had all night. He wasn't due for another plane ride just yet. Thus, he followed the smaller Italian into the room and allowed for the door to close behind them. He decided, on his own, to take up residence on the bed, leaning back and letting his head hang behind his shoulders. For a moment, he simply just stared at the ceiling while Feliciano took his own spot next to him.

Where to even begin...

He supposed the beginning was a good start.

He told Feliciano of all that he could recall, at that point in time. He told him of his trip at the bar, of bringing Gilbert home, of venturing on his own to the beach. He explained, in as much detail as he could, about the events that happened at the beach, answering any question that Feliciano posed to him. He explained that it was well beyond midnight before he returned, yet he found himself pausing for a moment.

He had yet to ask his own question regarding that night. His eyes glanced to his old friend. He wanted answers, and damnit, he was going to get them. "Why was he crying that night?" he asked at long last. "You seem to know more about it than I do..."

Feliciano looked away, focusing instead on the floor at their feet. His brow furrowed, and slowly he shook his head. "It was a normal fight, I think... He called me to talk about the interview he had the next day, and things just escalated. We both... said some things we shouldn't have. But I... don't even remember what was said," he answered quietly. No, it wasn't that Feliciano couldn't remember. Antonio could see it in the Italian's eyes; he didn't want to repeat those words. Nevertheless, he let the man finish his own story, having already told his, "I apologised a few days later, as did he. We're okay now. He was bummed about not getting the job, but I wished him luck on the next one. So... I think it's okay now."

Antonio nodded, and gave the other's shoulder a gentle squeeze. He offered a kind smile as soon as amber eyes met his. "You did the right thing. Something Miguel and I still have to learn." It was so much better, he realised, then just letting the emotions die out, only to pretend it had never happened. Oh, but Miguel and Antonio were both such prideful men... It was too difficult for either of them to say, 'I was wrong.'

Aah, but he still had a story to tell. Thus, when his hand returned to his side, he continued his tale.

He continued on with the telling of his venture to the market, of the collision and loss of tomatoes. He even mentioned the men that had been chasing Lovino, much to Feliciano's worry. He explained the time after that, of the meal they ate together and the playful banter, the twisted ankle and how Antonio had lead him back home before heading back to the apartment. He told of how he had to cover for the loss of tomatoes, and explain that he had met up with the 'angel' once again, earning a chuckle from Feliciano at the comparison.

He skipped to the meeting on the beach, of the guitar and mention of various instruments, and how Lovino had lied to him about not knowing how to play guitar. Fondly, he recalled the water fight, the swearing, and timidly added on knocking Lovino down only to help him back up. He even mentioned that as the starting point of wanting to be closer to Lovino, though it felt like much sooner than that. He finished up the day with the departure at the door, the promise to teach Lovino how to play the guitar he had left with him.

He spoke of the rainy day, of arriving to find Lovino looking like a complete mess, of his hospitality. He mentioned the dried laundry, the shower, and the supper. The way Lovino flinched at thunder, and the story Lovino had told of his grandfather. While he had not retold the story, he had indeed mentioned it. He decided to tread carefully for he knew of the aching heart when it came to lost family. That was all too evident with Gilbert, who no longer allowed for the old man to even be mentioned in conversation... Deciding not to get into that, Antonio continued, wrapping up his story for that day with the telling of Lovino's allowance of Antonio sleeping in the same bed.

He retold the comfort of the morning, of the breakfast, the call, and the patio. Though he was hesitant at first, he confirmed his knowledge of the loss of the brothers' parents. It was there that he paused, recalling another brother in the tale. He could not recall the name, yet he knew there was another that Lovino often mentioned. Perhaps not as much as Feliciano, but most certainly, he was there in the tales.

Curious eyes flicked to Feliciano, and another question left his lips, "Where is your brother...? The younger one?"

Feliciano looked surprised for a moment, before curious. "Romeo?" A nod. "He's with our uncles." A beat, and a sheepish smile. "Kind of uncles... They're friends of the family. Uncle Sadık runs a small wine company in Turkey. Uncle Heracles lives with him. They don't... exactly see eye-to-eye all the time, but... They agreed to take in Romeo until he's of age." The Italian rolled his shoulders. "It was in Nonno Romolo's will, and they showed the government their determination to help raise him. Fought tooth and nail for the custody, and won it, surprisingly. Romeo has dual citizenship with Turkey and Italy now, courtesy of some higher-ups who helped Nonno keep us."

It was fascinating, hearing about the complexity of the Italian family. He had known how his own worked, but to hear more about Lovino's, about Feliciano's... It was far too curious for him. He wanted to ask more, but alas, he still had a story to finish. And judging by the expectant look on Feliciano's face, he was silently urging for him to continue.

Thus, he did.

He mentioned the tomatoes, and the playful banter, and the relaxed position Lovino had taken up in front of him. He mentioned how they both decided to take a trip to the beach, and the music that had played. Feliciano, suspicious, had asked what, exactly, had played, and Antonio furrowed his brow. He could not remember the lyrics, but the beat, the way it played... He instead hummed the cheery tune and bounced his finger in time to the beat. As he hummed, laughter came from Feliciano, causing for him to stop. He looked to him in question, scrutinising him for a moment.

The laughter dying down, Feliciano waved his hand in dismissal. "Scusa, scusa!" he spoke cheerfully. "It's just— O mamma mia, he was really playing you! Wrapping around his finger, aa santo cielo!" Another fit of laughter, and Feliciano wiped a tear from his eye. "Any Italian would've known that, but oh, I didn't know he'd actually get a Spaniard with it!" An all-too-amused gaze met a bemused one. "Remember the cruise?"

Antonio nodded, dumbfounded.

"Aa, oh Romano... Romano, Romano, Romano..." A chuckle as he leaned back in his spot. "Before I give it away, what was another song that played? Name just one and I'll know for sure what it was."

How could he possibly know the name...? He only knew what Lovino had told him. He frowned, shaking his head. "I, uh... I don't..." He recalled the airy voice, the singing that had echoed at the table. "The one you sung, today."

"Una Notte A Napoli!"

Antonio nodded, and once again, Feliciano burst out in a fit of giggles. Antonio, however, could feel his heart sink. He could not feel the cheer behind that song, nor the one he had hummed. He could only think of the dances, of the intimacy and warmth. He adverted his gaze, yet the giggles did not stop.

"I'm sorry for laughing, Antonio, but..."

The voice caught his attention, as did the hand on his arm. He glanced up to find a sincere smile directed toward him.

"You were set up. That wasn't the radio. Those songs don't play on any stations in Napoli," Feliciano explained. "Pink Martini is an American band that played on the cruise. Una Notte A Napoli was in a film about a gay university student in South Italy, but it's not played on Italian radios. Romano fell in love with the band, and the movie, a few years ago, and made a CD." He retreated his hand and folded one in his lap, resting his head in his other as he propped his elbow on his knee. "He's a bit of a romantic."

"So I've noticed..." Antonio commented, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "His house is full of romance novels."

Feliciano nodded in confirmation. "That's why that was a CD you listened to. He put a lot of songs on there that are fun to dance to. Carla Boni and Pink Martini are only two of the many featured on it. He set everything up perfectly, and if you were Italian, you would have picked up on that."

From the very beginning, Antonio had thought he was the one in control. He had thought that he was the only pulling Lovino closer and closer. But oh, how wrong he had been... The fire had been burning by itself, and it was the warmth that drew Antonio closer to it. The fire had beckoned him, drew him in, and he had fallen for it, thinking that he had found himself at the hearth, all on his own.

Feliciano motioned for him to continue, and so, he did. Antonio, with a smile gracing his lips, told him of their parting, of how he confided in Francis and Gilbert of how he had fallen. Oh, but at the mention of the fight, his smile faded, and he found himself wringing his hands together. He mentioned of how Gilbert had tried to break them up, only to get caught in it, and of how he had stormed off into the night.

He told Feliciano of the morning after, waking up on the bench with two police officers speaking to him. He spoke fondly of how Lovino ushered him away, saved him from that, and lead him back home, like a lost puppy. He spoke of the fresh clothes, of the meal that was prepared for him. Well. Not exactly for him, but the both of them. He spoke of the wine, and he caught Feliciano glancing away in guilt at the mention.

He took it as his opportunity to reassure Feliciano, letting him know that it was alright, that Lovino wasn't upset with him. That it didn't go to waste. Feliciano seemed to ease at this, but the remorse lingered in his eyes. Knowing there was not much more he could do, he continued, leaving out the bits of Lovino's insecurities and instead continuing on to the growing affectionate displays, the pillow fight, the necklace, and the kiss.

Then finally, his story came to the morning after their drunken night. He found himself hesitating here, Feliciano listening carefully to any words that would leave his lips. This, he decided, would be the most important. He swallowed, his hands balling into fists at his knees. He shyly glanced to Feliciano, unsure of himself at first. Would it even be alright...? How could he even explain it...?

As best he could, he decided.

Breathing in sharply, Antonio slowly let it out to quell his nerves. "When I woke up, Lovino was facing away from me," he spoke quietly. He refused to look Feliciano in the eye. His heart was once again heavy, his smile nowhere to be found. It hurt to speak of... It felt like ages ago, but oh, it felt like only a few short moments had passed.

He could hardly believe it was only this morning... He swallowed thickly, and continued, "I tried to reach for him. But he flinched and moved away. I sat up, and asked him what was wrong. He was shaking, and he just said... He said, 'don't touch me...' I didn't." He could hear his voice grow quieter and quieter, feel his entire body begin to numb. A thousand possibilities swam through his mind, yet nothing seemed to fit. "I tried to ask him what was wrong, and he just wouldn't answer. He kept his back to me, and I asked again, and... And he told me to just leave. He didn't say anything else, he just said I needed to go... I needed to leave..."

He sunk his head into his hands, pushing his fingers through his hair as he hid his eyes in his palms. "I left." God, it hurt so much to speak even that much. To admit that he had just left, just like that. That he didn't even say goodbye, that he didn't even give another kiss. Just picked up his clothes and left.

"I ran. I... I was so scared... I was so terrified I hurt him somehow, I just... ran... I didn't stop until I got back to the hotel, and Gilbert and Francis found me." He felt numb. Yet he trembled, his voice quivering. Even now, he could feel the guilt of what he had done. No matter how he looked at it, he could only think of how he had hurt Lovino. Whether it was then or now, he had ultimately left a scar, and he could not deny that now.

He realised - before Feliciano did, he was sure - just what he had done. Exactly where he had gone wrong. His lips quivered, and he could have sworn that tears would fall if he still had more that he could cry. His breath fell short, and his body slumped into his hands, fingers curling. He could feel the hand gently rubbing his back in soothing circles, but he paid it no mind. He could feel the guilt weighing down on him, so much heavier than before, now that he knew.

". . . I've always been afraid of . . . people leaving and never comin' back . . ."

He was stupid, so stupid... The signs were right there, everything was right there. He had ultimately hurt Lovino, and there was no way he could fix it. He had committed the taboo, and that was making Lovino fall for him. He should've listened to Francis, to Gilbert... He should have left it where it was, when his gut told him it was a bad idea. There were warning signs all around. And he had not seen them. Not until now, and oh, it was too late...

". . . Why d'you think I'm always runnin' away all the damn time?"

No, it wasn't just Lovino... It was Antonio, too. Antonio, too, ran away from everything he did not know. He ran away from what he knew would hurt him, he ran away from the truth. He lived in a fantasy world where no one would be harmed, only to be ripped from that world and shoved back into reality. The demons toyed with him, allowing him to feel pure bliss before forcefully ripping it away to show the consequences of carelessness.

". . . t o . . ."

Just like before, he acted carelessly, followed every whim and urge. He acted without restraint, and though it was in a different matter, it all had the same result. He had hurt her, he had scarred her, just as he had promised he wouldn't do to Lovino. There may have not been insults and ridicules this time around, there may not have been screams and accusations, but oh, there were still apologies to be made, still scars to be left. But no matter how many times he apologised, he knew there would be no forgiveness. From those he harmed, maybe, but he could never forgive himself, just as he could not forgive himself for Anri. For Francis. For Gilbert. For Lovino...

". . . . . . "

Wherever he went, he left destruction in his wake. He was made to ruin, whether he meant to do so or not. He did not see the consequences of his actions, and now, others had to suffer for it. And oh, it always had to be the ones he cared about most...

He had kept Gilbert away from visiting his family for the holidays, asking instead for the German to spend it with Francis and himself, as a selfish request. A week later, the car containing Ludwig and their grandfather both had spun out on black ice on the freeway and caused a mass collision. Both lives were lost. One in death, the other in memory.

Antonio had kept his friend from rushing into the fire to save his love, arguing - with truth - that he had seen her escape. Moments before the gas tanks' explosions, she had been witnessed by the both of them, rushing back into the flames to save a child. The child would have survived the explosion, for her body had been his shield, had it not been for the building's collapse soon after.

A friendship would not have been torn apart and trust would not have been entirely lost, had it not been for Antonio screaming at the one person he had fallen in love with growing up, for a crime of infidelity he himself had committed. His best friend, lost due to angered words that held no true meaning. Though both on good terms now, the relationship between her brother and the Spaniard had grown to be less-than-pleasing, if not too entirely tense for reconciliation.

". . . o n i . . . "

Two events had not been him, directly, who had been the cause of the harm. But, oh, he still had his hand in them, in some way... The last one, especially, was something that could never be argued any other way... He knew of his tale, of his wrong-doings, and oh, he vowed it would never happen again. He wasn't the same man he was before, and he knew he would never commit such an act again. Yet he still managed to harm another, in unfathomable ways... He was the cause of his loved ones to lose what was most dear to them. He was the cause for their worst fears to come to life.

Gilbert, it was his fear of losing his family that ruled him.

Francis, it was the fear of losing eternal bliss in the form of his most cherished.

Anri, it was her fear of betrayal that haunted her.

And lastly Lovino... God, Lovino... His fear of abandonment, Antonio had committed a crime against.

"ANTONIO!"

The shout snapped him from his thoughts. Breath hitching, Antonio's head snapped up to find a form before him. For a brief moment, he could only stare with widened eyes as he gazed into forest green hues. Dark auburn locks framed a sturdy jawline and a sharp brow furrowed into worry and confusion. But when he blinked, that image was gone, replaced with a rounder face, softer features, and lightened hair. For a moment, he could not breathe, and he found himself blinking a few more times in an attempt to bring the image back. It was lost to him.

Fingers dug into his shoulders as eyes flicked between each of his own. A sigh escaped parted lips and the hold loosened, lowering to his upper arms. "Ton...? You okay...?" a quiet voice whispered.

Slowly, Antonio remembered how to breathe. His surroundings gradually faded back in around him, and he nodded. Yes. Yes, he was okay... At least, he was breathing. He felt the squeeze on his shoulders, and focused on the form before him.

"Good. Good... Just... Just breathe, okay? Deep breaths. Ready? In... Out..." Feli spoke carefully. A pause. "Come on, Toni... In, out... In, out..." His hands gently coaxed for the breathing, setting up a steady rhythm for Antonio to follow. "Breathe with me, okay? It's alright. You're allowed to, it's okay. Just breathe with me, follow my breathing, okay?" He breathed in again, and then out, and then in, and then out. His features relaxed as Antonio began to do the same, though the breaths were stuttered. He cracked a smile, squeezing the arms gently. "Good... In... Out... In... Out... Keep breathing, don't stop... Clear your mind of everything, just focus on me..."

Feliciano silenced his words for a brief moment so he could echo the breathing, focusing on steadying Antonio's. "Hold onto me if you need to, okay? I'm right here, you'll be okay. Can you do something for me, Antonio? Can you make a barrier? Make a barrier with your mind, okay? Hold that barrier up, don't let anything get it." He moved closer, eyeing for discomfort, before settling right where he was, knees against the floor. "Good, good, just keep the barrier up, okay? Don't let it down. Nothing can get in. Those bad thoughts, those fears? They can't get you, they can't touch you. Nothing can touch you.

"Only I can touch you, see? Only I can, nothing else, no one else. And if you don't want anyone touching you, say 'hand' okay? Just 'hand,' that's the magic word, that's the word that makes it so no one can touch you. Do you want me to let go?" A shake of the head, and a hand timidly grasped at the Italian's shirt. "Okay, then I won't. I'm here. I'm not letting go, I'm not going anywhere."

As Feliciano spoke to him, Antonio listened intently and listened to every instruction. Many were repeats, sure, but it kept his mind focused, kept his thoughts from wandering. If he felt the fear settling back in, he would throw that barrier up, and Feliciano would only grasp him tighter, only to loosen it when Antonio showed it was okay. And slowly but surely, Antonio grasped at his surroundings, his heart calming and his breathing slowing to where it needed to be. All with Feliciano's help, whose voice quieted as time went on.

A few more moments passed, and Feliciano gave a small smile. "You okay...?"

Antonio nodded. Finally, he could feel the strength to muster words. "I'm okay. I'm... I... Lo siento..." he murmured quietly.

Feliciano shook his head, taking the Spaniard into his arms and giving a cautious hug. "You're okay. If you need someone, you need someone. I'm not going to judge you for that," he reassured before he pulled away. He looked into Antonio's eyes, sliding his hands down to the other's wrists. Concern, with a mixture of relief, reflected in his gaze. "Do you need anything...?"

The Spaniard's lips pursed. His mind felt numb, groggy. He felt so very tired, so worn out... As though he could fall asleep, right there. But as his reply, he simply shook his head. "Sleep..." he answered a beat later, barely above a whisper.

The younger nodded and carefully drew himself up, gently pushing on Antonio's shoulder. The Spaniard complied, laying himself down on the mattress. "You can sleep, okay? Want me to get someone? Or do you want me to stay here?" In other words, there was apparently no way the Italian would leave him alone. Probably a smart idea, in all reality.

After a brief moment, Antonio gave the name of his brother. A nod, and Feliciano carefully withdrew his hands, after asking permission to do so. As Antonio let his eyes close, he could hear the footsteps echo to the door. It swung open, yet the footsteps did not leave. There was a hushed shout of the name he had spoken, and another one, before there was an answer from farther away.

Silence.

Footsteps echoed down the hallway, growing louder until they stopped at the opened door. The clicking of claws followed, yet had not entered the room like the footsteps did after the hushed whispers. A pair left, and the door quietly closed and a soft question reached his ears. He grunted his response, and the light vanished from beyond his eyelids.

That did not mean the noises stopped. The footsteps neared, and the bed shifted under the new weight. Not even a minute later and another form was lying beside him, gently coaxing him into a warm embrace. He allowed for it to happen, drawing himself closer to the warmth and hesitantly slinging an arm across it. He felt like such a child, pressed against the chest of his older sibling... But God, he could not care right now. It was warm, and it was comfortable. He would not complain, not in the least, especially when a hand played with his curls.

"Feliciano will call Romano-Lovino tonight," Miguel murmured quietly. "He wanted you to know that." A hum in response, and something vaguely similar to 'gracias.' "He'll let you know in the morning what comes out of it." Sure enough, muffled Italian echoed through the walls, though the words were lost to the both of them. No doubt, that was the foretold phone call, though Antonio cared not at the moment. "Just sleep for tonight, okay...? I will not leave you. I promise."

Ever so slightly, Antonio nodded his approval and understanding. The arm tightened around him, the hand stilled, and a kiss pressed against the top of his head. Everything felt so peaceful, so calm, after the initial panic had subsided. He could hardly remember it now, hardly recall the memories and emotions that had blown through him. All he knew was that now, he was slipping into darkness, with a warmth by his side. Sleep would soon take him, and he would not fight it. Not this time.

---

A/N: So maybe it's safe to say now? There will be another chapter! ouo/) I swear to you that this will be the last chapter of Una Notte A Napoli. I had planned a special 8th chapter as a thank you to all my readers, and had kept it hidden from everyone until now. But with the release of this chapter, I can finally come out and say that there will be a 8th chapter, and it shall be the last! It will wrap everything up, and the story shall be complete.

Thank you so very much for sticking with me through all of this and believing in me! Your reviews have been wonderful and inspiring, and have most certainly helped with keeping my motivation for this chapter at its highest point! ;u; I can never thank you enough! I love you all and see you next chapter~!

I swear it's the last. I promise. No hidden chapters this time.