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.

8. Day Eight: Took Me to Heaven

A/N: WOW I ACTUALLY FINISHED THIS? Well. Here's the final chapter, everyone. Thank you so much for sticking with me through everything. Each review, each favourite, each view, even, seriously brought me back up and motivated me to finish this fic ;u;/) And now, I can finally say that this is done, that this can now come to a close. So without further ado... Enjoy the last chapter of Una Notte A Napoli.

OH BUT BEFORE YOU DO— There is a new character in here, one I have never portrayed before. I apologise if he is out of character due to this. I've only just started falling in love with him and wanted to add him so. Yeah...

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.Day Eight.
Took Me to Heaven

Again and again, his eyes traced over the letter. Every paragraph, every sentence, every word. Yet it refused to change its wording, it refused to dismantle its negative composition. Try as he might, its content refused to dissolve itself, refused to even rearrange itself. It would not adhere to his will, and as he sat there, looking to it, he had a feeling it never would. The words upon the page, so pristine and so formal, brought upon him dread and despair. Stress, more like it. He thought that perhaps, the words were forged. Some sort of trick. But there they were, blaringly red before him. Perhaps not the colour itself, but oh, it was a flashing red sign all the same...

Trembling, the man raked a hand through his hair, his fingers tightening on the creased paper they held. He couldn't see the words on the page, now. He felt as though he read them so many times, he had grown numb to them. He tried to tell himself that his eyes weren't misting over, that they were not filling with tears. Yet he knew the answer to such accusations. Just as they had this morning, they threatened to spill over again. Whether in fear or worry, he did not know. Nor did he particularly care. All he cared for was that they were, indeed, there, and there was no way he could will them away. Not if he continued to stare at the very thing that would bring them on. Yet he was frozen. His body denied his mind's requests, his mind's pleas, to move.

He could not see the room around him, could not feel the summer breeze blowing in through the open window. The low drones of the cicadas fell deaf upon his ear, and he could feel the tight squeeze deep within his chest. It was suffocating him. Blast this heat, and damn this letter... They were both troubling things, things that would set him back so much farther than he wished for them to. Yet he had no say in the matter. He was helpless, pulled along by life's cruel puppeteering. And how his strings fiercely tugged at him with each sharp movement... Surely soon, they would give out...

No. He had to move, he had to act. He couldn't let it eat away at him...! Tossing the paper to the coffee table was the first step. Standing was the second. He could even hardly remember doing that, yet his limbs remembered for him. Quietly, he congratulated himself on such a large task. For something so simple, so small, it surely was something he didn't even expect he could do. Hell. He couldn't even touch the bottle, the glasses, that still lay on the table... Couldn't even bear to look at them... So standing? It seemed like such effort, now, with the news now lying next to such pained memories. Funny how they would collect, only for him to find later on...

Turning on his heel, Lovino forced himself away from the sacred space. The cold halls resounded with the tapping of bare feet as he made his way to the entryway. Up the stairs, to the left, and through the doorway. He ignored the unmade bed and made a beeline instead to the dresser just inside the door, not caring to look in the mirror. He knew how he looked; he had seen it earlier, when he had relieved himself. That lifeless being staring back at him...

Sunken eyes, dishevelled hair, cracked lips, pale complexion... It was all too glaringly obvious.

How he had even put up with him, through that entire time, Lovino did not know.

Damnit! He couldn't rid him of his thoughts for even one damn moment?! Jesus Christ! Gritting his teeth, the Italian shoved the dresser drawer closed, his fingers wrapped tightly around a soft cushion of rolled-up socks. He turned his back to the room and found himself storming out, leaving the door open behind him. He didn't even want to touch that doorknob; it would only sear him with the heat of the hand that had graced it, only a few nights prior. Such was the fate of anything that crossed paths with something so impossibly bright... Lovino, himself, could still feel the scars etched into his skin, the warmth that radiated from those scorches...

Stopping at the bottom of the steps, Lovino placed himself down upon the last step. He tugged on the socks and wriggled his toes to assure they hadn't come on crooked. With that, he stood from his makeshift seat and strode to the front door — only to stop dead in his tracks at the song that resonated through his all-too-silent home. His stomach twisted at the sound, his eyes flicking in its direction. The steady vibrating added to the noise, refusing to stop. He would not pick up, he decided. He couldn't. He was done trying to explain himself, and so very tired of small talk.

He let it ring through. He didn't even wait for it; just grabbed his keys and wallet, and left the house. The door closed behind him, and he stopped only to lock it before pocketing his keys. His hands found their way into the pockets of his jeans as he stepped forward, leaving his empty house behind. There was no need to be there. He couldn't bear the silence any longer, and there was no way he was touching that radio. It was difficult enough having to turn it off the morning before this one.

He shoved the thoughts aside. Why should he dabble in such memories? The past was the past. There was no sense in striving for it, you could not get back what had been lost. And out of anyone, Lovino knew that best. God, did he ever know that best... Most days, he silently begged for his memories to grow kind to him. And even more than that, he had to remind himself that it would all be worth it, in the end. He had to be rewarded for his hard work, someday... Right?

Food. He was in need of food. Perhaps, then, he should try to find something small, he mused. Something he could bring home and store in the house, so he wouldn't have to buy it later. He was sure he had some cash on him... If not, then he could always withdraw what was left in the bank. Maybe some fruits would do, or some meats. No, no meats; he had plenty of that, and frankly, it was difficult for him to do anything extravagant. Hell. He doubted he could still cook tonight... More than likely, he'd eat out again.

But now... He probably needed to save every penny... Groaning to himself, Lovino's eyes flicked to the sky, squinting at the sun shining down. Why did it have to be so difficult...? Why couldn't he just be happy, for one in his goddamn life? Why is that whenever something seemed to be going good for him, something would always happen? ... Perhaps he shouldn't think on that.

Shaking his head, Lovino looked ahead again, forcing his thoughts to other matters. Such as, for example, the memory of the lost interview. He had tried the place again, yet the position had been taken by another. He had accepted it as such. It simply meant the job was not for him. Yet, that still left him without a source of income, and that, well... wasn't the best of options... Not at the current point in time, that is. Perhaps, then, he could go job hunting yet again, and be more vigorous about it. But, oh, that was so much work...

Working, itself, he didn't mind. He could do tasks needed of him. He would happily do anything that required all of his attention, with no time left to himself. He could throw himself into his work, easily, and not have a single complaint about it. That was better than just sitting at home, drowning in thoughts and memories, far too lost in the depths of his own mind. But it was the thought of having to search in the first place, the reason as to why he had to search... That was what got to him, what worried him. He could do the work a job required; he couldn't be bothered to do the work in order to find that job.

And there he went again. Allowing his thoughts to wander far too much. Maybe he should have brought that darn cell phone... Regardless of how many times it rang... At least his brother's yammering mouth would become a welcomed distraction, at this point.

Releasing a heavy sigh through his nose, Lovino stared straight ahead at the crowd in the distance. He could hear the sounds growing closer, hear the bustling of the marketplace not too far off. He wasn't there just yet; he still had a while until then. But the open shops, the many busy bodies making their weekend shopping... It was enough to alert him of the presence of others, of how deep he was getting into the city. Granted, he wasn't far from the ocean; he could still smell the sea upon the breeze. He would never stray far enough for it to fade away entirely, he realised, not with simply walking.

Unless, of course, he walked for far too long. Hopefully, he wouldn't be stupid enough to do so.

And finally, he reached the beginnings of the crowd. All around him, men and women alike excitedly spoke of their lives, of their plans and this and that, and this and that. The conversations slurred together into one cacophony of noise, one overbearing voice. It bore deep within his mind, reverberated through his soul, yet he could not hear it, all at the same time. He could hear the words, yet he could not listen to them, could not care to. He care not for the groups of friends who laughed and gushed and gossiped. And he especially cared not for the lovers that made their way down the streets, their fingers intertwined and their glances so soft and gentle... God, it made his stomach twist at the mere sight of them, yet all he could do was turn a blind eye at every smile, every fleeting kiss.

But through the crowd, he could feel eyes upon him, could feel the gazes of those who wished not for him to be there. Like it was his fault, in the first place... He could only grimace at the thought, of the memory. Surely, after last week's fiasco, security of the marketplace had been tightened. Lovino, himself, could easily slip through; he was not a wanted man. Perhaps there were those who were suspicious of what actions he would bring upon this city, but he, himself, would not partake in them. They were all behind him. He would not be returning to that time, so long as he still breathed with his own lungs.

His thoughts left him in a scattering wave as his eyes fell upon a familiar head of hair. Now that wasn't one you saw often, in these parts... Not that light, anyhow. Lips curling into a lopsided smile, he could feel his shoulders relaxing at the sight. Oh, this was so much more than a simple distraction, and would most certainly be more conversation than a one-sided chat with his sibling. It wouldn't be too bad of company. If worse came to worst, it would be a welcomed ear to rant to, as well. And God knew he needed that sometimes...

Picking up the pace just a tad more, Lovino retrieved a hand out of his pockets and clapped the other's shoulder with it. "Ciao, Em," he greeted as he did so, amused with the startled jump presented by his light-haired friend.

A bag of apples in his arms, the blond flicked his eyes up toward the Italian. Breathing out a sigh, he regarded Lovino with a slight nod of the head, as his own greeting. "Buon giorno," he greeted.

"Brushin' up on Italian, then?" Lovino questioned with a quirked brow, the hand lowering to his side.

Emil gave a shrug, his lips twitching ever so slightly. "Not quite. Just thought I'd go for a different introduction this time."

"Well, that one certainly was differently." Lovino motioned to the apples. "How'd you manage to get those? Last I checked, these guys overpriced English-speakers for food. Thought you knew that by now."

"Nobody ever said I bought them."

Lovino scrutinised them, a frown playing along his lips.

Emil chuckled and freed up a hand in order to wave it in dismissal. "Don't worry," he reassured, returning their hand where it had been, "I didn't steal them. I didn't come here alone." With a nod of the head, he gestured in another direction.

Through the crowd, the Italian could spy a mess of blond locks, no doubt styled earlier this morning with far too much hair gel. ... Okay, maybe not. He knew full well how soft those locks could be; the guy didn't use that much to begin with. He let out a hum, regardless, and focused his attention back to Emil. "Mind ditchin' Blondie for a bit?"

Emil shook his head.

"Good, 'cause I need to borrow you."

While he did raise an eyebrow of suspicion at his friend, Emil didn't question him outright and instead obliged the wish of the man. With the nod of his head, he excused himself and slipped away to speak with the taller man.

Lovino simply watched from where he stood, but as soon as eyes were upon him, he gave a wave of greeting. He would have to apologise to Mathis and the others later... Wherever they were... It seemed on this rare occasion, the group had split up. Funny... As he recalled, that was the same way he had run into that damned Spaniard... His lips formed a thin line at this realisation, his hand lowering as he watched the two bid their temporary farewells to each other. What was it with foreigners and splitting up to go to the marketplace? Didn't they know it was better to shop in pairs, if not a whole group?

Oh well.

Giving a greeting to Emil when he returned, Lovino motioned for him to follow and started on the hunt for food. As much as he'd love to bring back food from the marketplace, he didn't think it would be the brightest idea to hang around Mathias at the current point in time... As great fun as the guy was, Lovino didn't know if he could stand him, for the moment. Perhaps, he mused, the man would remind him far too much of another.

"So what brings you to Italia, ah? Didn't hear you'd be comin'," Lovino spoke as his eyes flicked to the one walking beside him.

Emil glanced up from the device in his hands at the question, giving an apologetic glance. "I didn't tell you because I didn't know," he answered, "Mathias decided it on a whim, and everyone went along with it."

"So the others are...?"

"They're here." A beat. "Lukas is getting water for the hotel. Berwald and Tino are shopping with Peter. I don't know where."

"Ah. So the whole gang's here, then?"

Emil shrugged, focusing his attention back to the phone. After scrolling through a few screens, however, he pocketed it again. "More or less."

"More or less?" Lovino echoed.

A beat of hesitant silence as Emil glanced up, lips forming a thin line. Pale cheeks dusted in the slightest of pink, and if Lovino didn't know the Icelandic kid, he would have assumed it was from the heat. After all, he was in a place a hell of a lot warmer than what he was used to.

But Lovino knew better than that. Narrowing his eyes slightly, the Italian repeated, "More or less?"

The blond let out a huff as he glanced ahead. "I tried to convince Mathis for another plane ticket, but we ended up too short on money," he confessed. "I was trying to bring... Someone from Hong Kong."

Lovino gave a soft hum. "Someone from Hong Kong, huh?" He could feel the tugging of his heartstrings, and he forced himself to glance away as well. Stay strong, Lovino... Do it for the kid... "Must be pretty special, for you to want to pay for them."

For a moment, there was silence. Then a quiet, "Yeah." At this, Lovino glanced over, to see the gentlest of smiles gracing the other's face.

So there it was. The confirmation. Written as plain as day... He could feel the lump in his throat, but he forced it down. His eyes tore away to return ahead once more. Vaguely, he wondered if that was what his own smiles had looked like... They surely were what that man's were... Letting out a chuckle, Lovino reached over to ruffle his friend's hair. "You're a doof, kid."

A snort. "A 'doof,' maybe. But I'm not a kid anymore."

With a raised brow, Lovino found his eyes once again drawn to Emil.

"I turned 18 last month."

What. When? No. That much time hadn't passed, Lovino was sure of it. His steps faltered, his expression leaving him for a moment. Hadn't summer just begun? It couldn't be July already. He knew it would have been far too hot for June, but God, he could've sworn... Emil's expression told him everything he needed to know; he had lost himself in time, yet again. He had lost sense of the days, of the time passing. He was simply going through the motions, at this point.

The only sound that echoed from either of them was the steady rhythm of their footsteps. Nothing more, nothing less. The murmurs of the crowds began to fade in the background, yet they, too, found themselves in that growing silence. Their silence came from two very different explanations; one wanted to speak, but couldn't. The other didn't want to, but had to, eventually.

Thus, it was Emil who broke the silence, with a simple name. His voice was quiet, and in all truth, Lovino was happy it broke the silence around them. But, oh, he wished those words didn't leave his lips... "I know it's not my place to ask, but if I may... Have you been taking your pills...?"

He didn't want to answer that. God, he didn't want to answer that... But if anyone should know, it was Emil. He could remember the many nights they both had spent, talking in broken English over the phone, both crying and comforting each other. Lovino, himself, had become sort of a mentor for the boy, talking his friend down from the worst of panic attacks. At this point, the elder could consider the younger as a sort of younger brother, with both caring for each other and giving reminders when they needed them.

Slowly, Lovino shook his head. "They cut it off. About... two months ago, I guess. I had enough for another week, but. Well. I'm still fightin' to get it back," he replied.

"I thought your health system covered it. Given the... thing... a few months back..."

Lovino knew exactly what the other spoke of. Breathing out a sigh, the man once again shook his head. "No. They turned around, sayin' I didn't need it anymore. I showed no signs of doin' anything stupid, so. They cut it off." Both hands digging into his pockets and grasping at their contents, he gave an exaggerated shrug. He refused to look to Emil, at this point, and instead focused on his own two feet as he walked. Ashamed, perhaps... "I suppose when you start showing signs of recovering, they cut off the one thing makin' it so."

Emil gave a frown as they looked ahead, contemplation reflecting on their features. And carefully, "Haven't you tried appealing to them? Letting them know you need it?"

Lovino snorted, rolling his eyes. He knew what Emil had in mind, and it was no doubt a polite approach, such as formal letter. But he had tried that, only to receive denial letter after denial letter... Until finally, he had a phone call from the doctor, himself. "The only way they'll believe me, at this point, is if I put myself back in that hospital. And there's no chance in hell I'm doin' that again," he answered. He shook his head. "Nevermind that... Tell me more about this Hong Kong person."

He couldn't tell if it was a welcomed change or not, given the short silence that followed after. But after that brief moment, Emil spoke up, "Remember that friend I mentioned a while ago? The one over at Arthur's when I went to visit him with Tino and them?"

Lovino nodded.

"That's them. They were visiting at the time, too, and we exchanged contact information. Mathias wasn't happy about that, but. Well. You know him."

The Italian couldn't help but to chuckle at this. "He's too protective for his own good sometimes."

"You're guilty of the same thing, you know," Emil shot back, eyes darting to the man. "You should see yourself with Feliciano."

He could only give a quick glance before looking away again, reaching up to run a hand through his hair. Geeze, did everyone have to harp on him about that? Or at least mention it? He straightened his posture and replied, "Well, do you blame me? Have you seen the kid? He's not exactly the brightest around."

A chuckle came from Emil and he flashed a reassuring smile. "Don't worry. I know you mean well," he answered. Blue eyes focused ahead, surveying the area around them as he let the thoughts play in his mind for a brief moment. "I'll tell you the rest of the story when you tell me where we're going."

Right. He had sort of forgotten they were walking aimlessly. In truth, Lovino hadn't even properly thought of where he wanted to go; just let his feet lead the way. Sure, it didn't get them lost — he knew exactly where he was — but he wasn't too fond of where they were leading him, either. His stomach twisted at the familiarity around them, his smile failing him. He knew this road, he knew this path. He knew this exact place, that same bench... The memories flooded back to him, and he could feel the remorse of it instantly.

It was a different day. A different time. He was with someone entirely different. Yet everything was exactly the same. The rushing beat of a heart, the nervous laughter of a stranger, the apologies of that same man... The banter, the accusations, the challenges, the sun-kissed sun, the emerald hues, the chocolate curls, the plush lips...

With smile gone, Lovino quietly answered, "We're going to Il Poco Sole. It's... a really good place." He could feel the eyes on him, feel the confusion emanating off the boy — no, man — beside him. Yet he chose to ignore it, gathering himself up and motioning for Emil to follow. "No, seriously, they have the best seafood in town. And pastas, but not that touristy crap you foreigners eat."

Emil snorted, holding his head a tad taller as he followed after. "Oh, trust me. After meeting you, I know to stay away from 'fake Italian'," he retorted.

Lovino cast a proud smirk over his shoulder. "Good."

Upon entering the small restaurant, the Italian spoke away with the host, greeting him kindly before asking him how his day was. The man responded in turn, making quick of the conversation, yet the smile he wore told of the gratitude of the simple question. He went on to offer seating indoors, given the warm day, but Lovino politely declined, asking instead for one on the patio. The man obliged, and lead the two to their table, where he spoke of bringing the menus to them shortly, before leaving them to be.

The man that sat across from him wasn't a dopey-eyed Spaniard, he realised. It wasn't a lost sheep, too dumb to even bleat. It was an old friend of his, one he had seen in person only a few given times. One who at least had a better understanding of the Italian language... Seriously, with the similarities between the two romantic languages, you'd expect something to come out of it. Instead, that damn bastard decided to go for the doe-eyed like, not even bothering to try to understand what was being spoken to him.

Why in the hell was he even thinking on this... Lovino groaned once more, pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. He could feel them tearing up again, and with Emil's concerned expression, it hadn't gone unnoticed. "I'm... I'm fine, I just... Give me a moment, will ya..." Elbows resting on the table, Lovino kept his eyes hidden as he regained himself. He breathed in deeply, and slowly let it out. He'd have to come clean eventually, so maybe he'd just mention it now... "I'll tell ya more later, but some shit went down in the past few days. ... Past week." He lowered his hands, letting his arms fold across the table as he glared down upon its surface. A frown tugged at the corners of his lips, his brows furrowed together. "Long story cut short, I met someone, and got hurt because of it. It's all stupid and confusing, but basically, we went here."

"And you're taking me here, why...?" Emil questioned, a frown on his own lips. This one, however, was out of suspicious confusion.

Lovino's eyes flicked to the man, before slowly, he shook his head. "I don't... know... My body wanted to come here. I guess..."

Slowly, Emil nodded his understanding, his gaze softening ever so slightly. Leaning forward, he offered, "If it hurts too much, Lovino, let me know, and we'll go somewhere else."

The Italian smiled his thanks, but was unable to respond, for another voice cut in. Menus were placed before them, and Lovino thanked the man for his service. The man grinned a cheery grin and escaped back to the cool air conditioned building, no doubt wanting to escape the summer heat, unlike the two patrons outside. Then again, the poor guy hadn't dressed for the occasion... Such was the fate of those expected to wait on others, Lovino supposed.

Regardless, he turned his attention away from their waiter and on the boy before him. Emil seemed to be interested in the menu, lifting the laminated paper up and studying its contents. His brows furrowed in deep concentration as his eyes darted across the words. Right... The boy had learned how to read Italian. At least the basics of it. Speak it, or even understand it? Oh, far from it. Perhaps he would have had an interest in learning without Lovino's influence, but the Italian had a strong feeling that it was no doubt because of him. The two had been talking long enough, and if Lovino wanted to be honest, he, too, had an interest in the other's language. Though, that didn't mean he could learn it... He tried. That didn't go so well.

Gesturing for Emil's attention by slightly waving his fingers, his hand still upon the table, Lovino watched as his friend glanced up at him. With a reassuring smile, the Italian stated, "I'll be okay. I go to this place on my own often. I can stand eating here with a friend."

This earned a smile of gratitude in return, followed by a quiet, "Okay."

Lovino gestured to the menu. "Pick anythin' you want, ah? Meal's on me," he offered. Screw money. He'd find out something to do. He needed to treat himself, and there was no way he'd make a friend pay for himself. Not when said friend didn't even know they were going to eat until they were already walking. No, Lovino was not rude. Far from it! Really, all that it was, was that he had a resting bitch face.

Offering a word of gratitude in reply, Emil glanced through the menu before choosing his own meal, Lovino doing the same. He couldn't pronounce the words for the life of him, but Lovino was quick to take over when the waiter came, ordering for him as to avoid confusion. The menus were collected and the waiter excused himself once again, mentioning that he would be back with their drinks momentarily. Lovino thanked the man as he left, before focusing on the other before him. "Alright. So. Tell me more about that lover of yours."

"Well first off," Emil quickly responded, back straightening and cheeks tinting pink. His hands curled on the table, and he sucked in a breath. "They're not my lover. They're just... a friend. A best friend."

Lovino hummed, resting his cheek in his hand. With his free one, he gestured for Emil to continue. "Go on?"

Breathing out, Emil deflated, his eyes flicking away. "As I mentioned, I met them at Arthur's. They were a bit quiet at first, but we got along well enough, so they gave me their contact info. Before I knew it, we were doing Skype calls until the sun rose."

"I remember you tellin' me you were on a Skype call. This was... a few years ago, right?"

Emil nodded in confirmation. "Yeah... It was around... well, around that time."

Lovino's lips formed a thin line as those years ago were vaguely mentioned. His escape to Sicily, and his not-so-dignified work.

Noticing his friend's discomfort, the Nordic's gaze softened and he reached forward, gently patting Lovino's free hand. "It's okay. I'm not hurt, and I'm not bothered. I understand. I'm not upset by it," he reassured. Only when Lovino relaxed his posture did he give a gentle squeeze and pull his hand away, folding his arms on the table. "Continuing on... I've met them a few times. In person, I mean. My family's not too rich, but... We managed to pull them out a few times." A soft smile returned, his eyes flicking down to the table. "We've really gotten close."

A lovestruck idiot... That's all Lovino could see, all he could think. A man who had fallen for someone else, and had no sense of returning. His heart had been stolen — though by the way he talked, it was most definitely in good hands. He was thankful for that, at least. Regarding the teen before him, Lovino decided to ask a question that would keep away from the topic of romance. At least partially. As much as he would love for Emil to continue, he felt that he could not take it all at once. "So you've got me curious." Emil's eyes flicked up in curiosity. "Why all the they and them? You tryin' to keep who it is from me, or are those their pronouns?"

Emil stared toward Lovino for a moment, in silence. Careful realisation dawned in his eyes, before a small snort came from him. He covered his mouth at this, eyes flicking away. "Remember when I came out to you?" Lovino nodded, and Emil lowered his hand once more. "They were the one who told me about different gender identities."

Lovino gave a hum of understanding, nodding his head once more. He gestured his free hand to Emil. "So then... May I ask what gender? Just so I'm not, y'know, gettin' it wrong."

"Agender. You've heard of it?"

"Yeah, I've heard of it." Lowering his arm, Lovino sat back in his chair, drumming his fingers against the table. "You're not the only one I hear things from, y'know." A questioning gaze and Lovino's eyes flicked to the main building. Still no drinks... And out here in the covered patio, he was beginning to grow thirsty. Nonetheless, he turned his gaze back to his friend. "Feliciano. He's genderfluid, apparently. Prefers he/him, most days." Emil nodded in understanding. "Long story short, I told him about what you found out. Regarding identities. He came out to me on that same phone call."

"Glad to hear you still call him often enough." His words were genuine, his soft smile sincere. Perhaps it was pride that reflected in his eyes. Perhaps it was relief. Lovino couldn't tell; he couldn't read those eyes as he could another's.

Yet at those words, Lovino found his body stilling, his breath catching. True, he did, but... His lips turning into a frown, his eyes flicked away. His memory returned to the abandoned phone on the countertop. No doubt, it was ringing like crazy... The last time he didn't answer his phone, he realised, was months ago. He had forgotten just why he had taken to answering every phone call, so long as it was Feliciano's name that illuminated the screen. Damnit, he really was an idiot... He huffed and found himself unable to look toward Emil.

"What did you do...?"

How could simple words pierce him right through? He nearly visibly flinched at them, and could feel the wound oozing. He swallowed thickly, his hand balling into a fist as his gaze instead focused on the restaurant not too far off. Slowly, he shook his head, yet he had no time to answer just yet. His eyes caught sight of their waiter coming forth with drinks, depositing them before excusing himself back indoors. Alas, Emil did not let up.

The chair creaked as Emil's weight shifted forward. The table slightly tilted with the new weight found on it. Emil started with his friend's name, then, "What did you do?" While his voice was gentle, it was cautious. He treaded upon this kind of territory like one would with rocky terrain in high heeled shoes. And after a brief silence, he posed another question, "What happened?"

Lovino breathed out a sigh, gaze flicking to the man. Annoyance flickered within his eyes, yet the flame died quickly. He didn't have the strength for it. The shadows haunted him. They whispered words of taunts and teasings. They laughed at him, ridiculed him, belittled him. And without the light, he could not bid them to the darkest corners to hide, the corners in which Lovino refused to visit. "I don't know what happened," he answered, albeit a tad harshly.

Taken aback by the quiet outlash, Emil sat back and flashed an apologetic gaze. "You know you can trust me, right?" he reminded quietly.

Lips forming a thin line, Lovino could only stare toward the man before him, unable to speak. Trust... What even was that anymore? He knew what happened when you trusted somebody. You trust them with your life, and they play you like a doll. You trust them with your family, and they make it their own. You trust them with your memories, and they leave them with a bittersweet taste.

... You trust them with your heart... And they take it with them when they leave...

Trust was not something that reigned supreme in Lovino. It was not something that remained on his side, not something that he could count on. It was something that would forever haunt him. Yet he would continue to put his faith in trust, in hopes that he could, at long last, be proven that it would be a safe investment. Yet each time, it was ripped away from him, and in the end, he was the one who ended up with a hollow husk, barely recognisable as a man. It was a wonder that his brother could, time and time again, throw himself so blindly into this fickle thing known as 'trust'.

And here he went again, taking a blind leap of faith. Just as food was set before them and the waiter bid farewell, Lovino resolved to foolishly believe, once again, in 'trust'. This was Emil, after all. Not some strange man from some far away land. "I fell in love."

The younger pondered over this for a moment, letting it sink in. How strange of a concept... Sure, Lovino had partners before, and at least one other time, he had claimed to had fallen in love. But none had left him so... well, for lack of better term, heart broken. Thus, Emil regarded Lovino with careful contemplation before cautiously answering, "Well. That answered one of my questions." He breathed out, grabbing up the fork, and let his eyes flick to the food placed before them. "But that still doesn't answer my other question." Emil drew up the bite of food, and blew on it in an attempt to cool it. Why he ordered hot food on a warm summer's day was a mystery to Lovino. "What did you do?"

Shoulders sank as Lovino let the question echo in his mind. He found his own gaze flicking to his food, and suddenly, he felt his stomach clench. How could he eat this...? He felt nauseous, but more than that, he felt as though he didn't have the strength to even lift the utensil placed before him. "That's the thing. I didn't do anything. And that's where I went wrong," he quietly provided as his answer. His eyes flicked to a couple walking past, and his eyes instantly travelled down. His stomach twisted all the more at the confirmation of linked hands and he forced himself to avert his gaze.

"I panicked, and I froze, and I lost him. That's all there is to it," he finally concluded. He willed his arm to lift and grab the utensil, yet it remained against the table, the fork resting in his fingers. At least it was a start. "If I did do something, I wouldn't be so..." So... what? He couldn't even think of the word. It just wouldn't come to him, try as he might. He knew the feeling, he knew the sensation it brought him. But to convey it into word, and furthermore to bring forth in a language he wasn't 100% familiar with... No, he couldn't. It was hard enough with his heart always hiding from him, whispering lies of how it felt in hopes that eyes wouldn't be drawn to it.

Perhaps it was a reflection of himself.

He, as Lovino himself, did not know how to handle eyes upon him. He couldn't decipher the true intent behind whispered words and most certainly not praise. He hid away from the world, turning his back on it, in hopes that one would not reach out and startle him back into his shell. Perhaps it was the reason he did not like to be physically touched, he mused. The thought terrified him, to give someone power over his own will. To trust someone so much as to let them into his own space. A space in which he had built around himself as his secondary wall. A moat, perhaps, that could be crossed, yet only if he lowered the drawbridge to allow for it.

Although there had been one that had swam across the moat and scaled the wall — and Lovino had been the one to throw down the ladder. Perhaps yes, it was after careful contemplation and reflection. But he had done so, nonetheless, and now he realised the fire that he started within the castle he had built around himself. Around his mind, around his being, around his heart. The fire, originally kept within the castle's hearth as a reminder of survival, now raged and burned within him. It seared the walls and scorched the tapestry. It terrified him, he realised, to know that one man could aid in a fire's spread more than a breeze across a dry forest would have.

Damn this, and damn him! Damn that man for burning the one place Lovino had considered a safe haven! Damn him for fuelling the flames and presenting them in such beauty and brilliance! And oh, damn him for leaving Lovino to be the only one surrounded by the monstrous inferno...!

Groaning in aggravation, Lovino found he had lost his will to feed his churning stomach. He pushed away the plate, placed his elbows on the table, pushed his hands through his locks, and hung his head. "Che cazzo!" he cursed, murmuring in his first language soon after as he tugged at the strands. He could feel concerned eyes upon him, yet he could not bring himself to care at the moment. His body trembled, his lips quivered, and all he could do was squeeze his eyes shut.

"I was so afraid of getting hurt, I was so damn afraid, and look what happens! I fucking get hurt! I shouldn't have met him on that beach, I shouldn't have danced with him, I shouldn't have opened that bottle from Sadık! I shouldn't have trusted him, damnit!" The words poured forth from his mouth without his meaning to. They spilled from him, and before he knew it, Italian mixed in with his speech. He cursed, again and again, relaying the events of the past week and cursing at "that stupid bastard from Hell."

In no time at all, he could feel hands at his shoulders, gently guiding him up and coaxing him to stand. He listened to the coaxing as his voice died. Shaking violently, he stood taller than the man before him, yet he felt so very, very small... He felt as though he were a child, lost within an amusement park. He could hardly breathe, he could hardly see, he could hardly even think. The same ridicules, the same accusations echoed through his mind.

He was stupid, so very stupid... It wasn't the Spaniard's fault, it wasn't his fault at all. He tried his best, he tried everything he could. He was so gentle, so kind, so sincere. He never pushed, he never pulled. But oh, how Lovino had been drawn to him all the same... That warm sunlight, he had basked in it long enough to find comfort within it. And now, it was gone, replaced with the chilling, darkening night, where monsters roamed free and hunted their prey without restraint. The light of the sun reflected from the moon, illuminating the path, but oh, how it elongated the shadows of the creatures hidden within the darkness...

All Lovino could do was run. Run, and hope to never be caught, to never fall victim to the beasts that stalked him relentlessly. He staggered, he tripped, he scraped his knees, and at some points, he would crawl. But in the end, the monsters knew where he hid, where he ran. He could not escape them, no matter how much he tried, no matter how far he ran. They taunted him and refused to leave him be. They had made a game of his fear, finding enjoyment out of his dilated pupils and panicked breath.

Lovino realised this for the umpteenth time as Emil's hands lead him away his voice quietly urging him to continue, to simply just breathe. Yet the Italian felt as though he could not, as though he had somehow stumbled into a lake, and struggled to reach the surface as the monsters from its bed wrapped their claws around his limbs. Yet the hands gently coaxed him away. They were not strong, they were not harmful, they were not urgent. They were gentle, coaxing, and so very comforting. They were not the arms of strength that had wrapped around him. They were cautious, almost timid. Yet they held a similar care as those arms he had grown fond of with only few embraces...

He could hear murmurs of money being placed upon the table, and instantly, he knew what that meant. Emil had ended up paying for their meal. Their unfinished meal... Lovino's stomach twisted at the thought, and for a moment, he was sure that he would hurl. He could feel his body trembling, feel the panicked breaths and the unsettling sensations. Yet it did not come, not with the arms that ushered him away from prying eyes. A part of him was thankful. But that same part was just about silenced with the screams of anxiety, fear, and desperation. And, most of all, guilt.

He stumbled as he walked, his feet dragging along the concrete at points as Emil lead him away from that place. And before he knew it, he was placed down upon a bench, with his friend squatting down before him. Firm, yet so very gentle, hands grasped at his forearms, rubbing them in a soothing motion. "Breathe, okay, just breathe. It's okay, you're safe. You're not alone, I'm not going anywhere. See, feel this?" Emil reached down to grab at the Italian's hand. The man squeezed the Nordic's appendage a little too tightly, causing the blond to flinch. "I'm right here, see? I'm not leaving you."

Numbly, Lovino nodded at the words. Through blurred vision, he could hardly see the man before him, could hardly make out the shape of his face. He did not know if tears ran down his cheeks or if his eyes simply refused to work in the sheer panic that overtook him, so suddenly and so fiercely. But that voice remained constant. Soothing him, reassuring him, comforting him. His nostrils flared with quickened breaths, yet he found himself thankful that he wasn't gasping for air he could not take in. He was breathing. And that was more than he could ask, for the moment.

"Look at me, look right at me, okay? Don't look anywhere else. Can you focus on me?" Emil's voice pierced through the screaming thoughts.

In truth, Lovino did not know. He tried, hard as he could, to see blue eyes through the haze. Yet no matter how many times, he blinked, he could not. His heart drummed within his ears, and he could feel sweat running down his neck. He could not, however, feel the sun beating down on him, though he could see the effects of its brightness right before him.

"That's okay, that's alright. If you can't focus on me, that's okay," Emil reassured, "But don't look away. Look only at me, what you can make out of me. It's alright, it'll pass, just breathe."

Lovino found himself with both hands wrapped tightly around Emil's, refusing to relinquish his grip. He swallowed thickly and though he trembled violently, he found he was not moving from where he sat. Slowly but surely, the features of Emil's face took definition. A gentle brow, a soft curve of a jaw, a thin nose, gentle blue eyes... Little by little, he could slowly make out such details.

He focused on them entirely. He threw himself into describing each and every feature, into memorising it and seeing it as it was. He allowed himself to become lost in it, to the point that the words were no longer reaching his ears. Instead, white noise rang within his eardrums and muted all outside noise. The cicadas, the distant sounds of motors, the light breeze, Emil's voice... Nothing reached Lovino. Yet he watched as the lips moved, in such a gentle and parental sort of way.

Then finally, it all slowly came back to him. The sun's warmth graced his shoulders and back. The breeze cooled his sweat-glazed skin. The words of reassurance entered his ears. The demons retreated to the scarce shadows of the barely-sinking sun, where they would lurk until they no longer had such a barrier around the Italian.

A hand wiped at his cheeks and it was then that he realised the tears that had fallen. Embarrassed, he quickly pulled one of his hands away to clean up his own cheeks, sniffling and glancing away from the man. He murmured an apology and though he did not say it aloud, he apologised for such an unsightly display and sudden breakdown.

Nonetheless, it was met with a relieved sigh and a gentle smile. "It's okay," Emil answered, "It happens."

Lovino grimaced at the tears that now glistened on his hand before wiping it clean on the jeans he wore. "The food—"

"Paid for." Emil breathed out, sitting back on the balls of his feet as he regarded Lovino. His hand did not pull away from the older man's. "And before you say anything, I was already planning on paying it. At least my portion, if not more."

Lovino snorted, eyeing the man. "Did you even leave the right amount?"

The blond pursed his lips, eyes flicking away momentarily in favour of glancing to the sky. He pondered this for a moment before giving a loose shrug, his eyes back to the other. "Probably a bit more than necessary, given the prices, but. It can be a tip," he replied. He then shook his head and straightened, placing both feet firmly on the ground. His fingers gently wrapped around Lovino's, refusing to let go just yet. "That's not important. Are you alright...?"

Eyes of multiple hues stared directly toward Emil for longer than he intended. In truth, he didn't know how to answer that... His lips formed a thin line and though he wanted to lie, yet again, and say that he was alright, he knew it was futile. Emil would be able to see right through that, no doubt, in only a moment's short time. Thus, he simply sniffled, wiped at his eyes, and gave a half-hearted shrug. "Define alright and maybe I'll answer." That was one way to put it, he supposed.

It was answer enough for Emil. Giving a short nod, the man used his free to to gently run his fingers along the side of Lovino's hair, playing with the locks. It was a calming notion, done with such care and caution, Lovino was sure that Emil would pull away if he showed even the slightest bit of discomfort at it. Thus, Lovino elected not to and simply dipped his head, letting his eyes close. The hand weaved through the curly locks, gently tugging at the strands before letting them fall back into place.

"Will you accept a hug?"

"So long as I don't have to get up," Lovino grunted.

"That'll do."

Light footsteps, the shifting of clothes, and Emil's hand left his. But right after, arms wrapped around the Italian and pulled him to a small chest. Thankful for the rare gesture of affection, Lovino lifted his hand to gently grip at Emil's arm, dipping his head down into it as it pulled him closer. He could feel his friend's cheek against his head, feel the smaller man trembling, ever so slightly.

Eyes sliding open halfway, Lovino realised just why this place reigned so familiar to him. His free hand rested against his upper thigh, fingers gently pressing against the subtle protrusion. For, now he would let it comfort him, rather than let it give cause for another heartache. Sucking in a breath, he pulled away from the hug and the man beside him returned to his own spot. Quietly, he thanked his friend, and it was returned with a nod.

After a brief moment's contemplation, Lovino spoke out. "I want... to go into detail. About what happened."

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Emil nod in agreement to listen, and Lovino pushed himself back. His arms crossed over his stomach, his back pressed against the bench, and his head tilted up toward the sky. Idly, he watched as the scarce clouds lazily drifted by, thankful for the distraction for his eye. Else they may try to venture to one who was not there... "A week ago, Feliciano and I had a fight," he began, "It was about what to do regarding the hospital. I wanted to find a job and pay for it myself; Feliciano wanted me to use Nonno's money. It didn't rest well with me.

"Some... far-from-kind words flew that night, and we both hung up hurt and upset. When I was... singing... on the balcony... I felt like someone was watching me. I look down at the beach, and I see this... man... Just standing there." Both his tone and gaze softened. It had been an aggravating memory at first, he realised. Even just the day before, he had regarded it with ill contempt. It had been unsettling to him, until he finally, just last night, had discovered its significance.

If he hadn't been on that balcony, he realised, it would not have kickstarted the events that were to follow. And thus, he mentioned just that, before continuing on with his story. He spoke of preparing for the job interview, and of accidentally stumbling upon men who recalled his face. His voice quieted at this, and he found himself hesitating to speak. But with the quiet urgings of Emil, he continued on with his story, spilling the accidental meeting with the Spanish bastard and the twisting of his ankle.

He mentioned how he had tried to flee, at that moment, and leave the man to deal with them, but could not bring himself to do so. He spoke of the events that followed after, of the very bench they sat upon and the first meal they had together. He spilled each and every detail out into the open, from the very beginning, to the drunken night. And when he came to that very night, he could hardly find himself able to speak. He had laughed in his retelling, and he had slowly began joking about the things that were said and done, but upon coming up toward the kiss, he found himself unable to speak, for a moment.

But, he managed to push through it, and eventually, he quietly recalled the morning after. He spoke of his fear, of his guilt, yet not guilt of the events themselves. The guilt of the words he had spoken, of the despair he had brought upon who could've been a total stranger, had he refused the offer of a free meal.

"I was... stupid..." he murmured quietly. He had shifted from his position, his elbows now upon his knees as his fingers laced together. His brow furrowed and his lips turned down into a frown, he stared ahead with contempt. "I didn't explain myself properly. I was so terrified of him seeing me... like that, I just... pushed him away. I didn't even stop to think, for one second, that I had already opened up to him more than I should have — and he stayed despite everything I mentioned.

"I never acted like I was the most stable person ever. Hell. I even told him of... Mama e Papa. And he stayed. Someone who witnesses that... Surely you gotta know, somewhere inside you, that they're going to be pretty, well, messed up."

"Yet he stayed with you..." Emil finished.

Lovino's gaze flicked to Emil, and slowly, he nodded. "He stayed. When everyone else ran, he stayed. And I took that for granted."

"You didn't. Your anxiety did," Emil corrected, his eyes locking on Lovino's. "You didn't have control of that part, did you? It wasn't your fault."

Damnit, he could feel his eyes misting again. Sniffling once, the Italian glanced away and wiped at his eyes. Yet a gentle smile tugged at his lips. "Gracias..." he spoke softly, "I didn't know how much I needed to hear that."

Emil stared. His eyes reflected careful contemplation, until finally, he quietly noted, "Gracias? I didn't know you knew..."

Spanish. He had just spoken Spanish, not Italian. Letting out a hollow, almost forced, laugh, Lovino pushed a hand through his hair. He found himself shaking his head, muttering to himself in his native language for a brief couple of sentences. His eyes then flicked to Emil, where he forced the tiniest of smiles. "I don't. Maybe I forgot to mention... Antonio's home is Madrid." That was the first time he had mentioned the man's name since that night, he realised, only shortly after it had left his lips.

It sounded so foreign on his tongue, he realised... He had hardly even spoken that name while he was here, and now... His lips formed a thin line as he averted his gaze. There had been only a few instances he had used that name. Instances in which would forever be burned in his mind. He wasn't as drunk as he played out to be... No, it would've taken so much more to highly intoxicate him than just a few measly glasses. Tipsy? Hell yeah, he had been. It may have influenced his actions, but most certainly only in the slightest.

"Antonio..." The name started Lovino out of his thoughts, and his eyes once again returned to his friend. Emil stared at him with a contemplative expression. "Haven't I heard that name somewhere before?"

Lovino snorted, his back straightening. He rolled his eyes, crossed his arms, and his back pressed against the bench as his legs extended before him. "You've been around me enough to hear about the German bastards' friend," he commented.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see realisation dawning in Emil's eyes. "So he's Ludwig's friend!"

A nod. "I realised it the moment he mentioned Gilbert and Francis."

"Wouldn't you have noticed sooner that it was him, then?"

This time, Lovino shook his head. "No..." He wished he had noticed, in all honesty. "I never met the guy. I've been around Gilbert and Ludwig long enough to hear his name, but. Never met him, myself."

"Not until..."

"... Right. Not until a little over a week ago." For a brief moment, there was silence. The information slowly absorbed into Emil, as Lovino sat, reflecting on the past week. His mind wandered back to the night before, and he pursed his lips. His brother truly did confuse him sometimes...

He breathed in, his nostrils flaring with the rush of air, and let it out in a huff. He couldn't just sit here, feeling sorry for himself. He had already wasted enough of Emil's precious time as it was, and no doubt, he had to get back to the others, before too long. With that in mind, Lovino threw his hands upon his knees and pushed himself forward. "Well," he started as he stood, "Best be gettin' you home." He gestured for Emil to follow suit, before pocketing his hands. "Pretty sure Lukas will be calling you within the hour." Considering that Lovino had just run off with the boy without much of a prior warning...

At least they knew him, he mused. So it couldn't have been too bad. God, he hoped that would be the case. He didn't want to have to listen to an earful from all four caretakers, not today. Perhaps another day, but most certainly not before the sun rose the following morning.

Seeing as how Emil stood beside him, Lovino gestured with a nod of his head and started off. He kept his stride a lazy one, as to not allow for Emil to lag behind. "I guess I should correct myself," he spoke up after a brief moment's silence. "I have met him before. A long time ago."

Emil cocked a brow toward the Italian. "You failed to mention it before."

"That's because I didn't know about it until last night," Lovino pointed out. He kicked at the cement, his shoe scuffing along the rough surface. "Feliciano told me about it."

"You never told me exactly what happened with him."

... Right. Lovino regarded Emil with a single glance, his gait faltering. He had completely let that slip from him... He was too caught up in his own emotions, his own memories, he had neglected to give a proper explanation of just what he and his brother had gone through. God, he could be such an idiot sometimes... Breathing out, Lovino lifted a hand and pushed it through his locks, letting them fall back into place as his gaze flicked to the sky. "How to put this simply..." He supposed he could always start from the beginning, just as he had with the other stories.

As they walked, he opted to just pour out his heart. The bypassers wouldn't pay him any mind, anyhow; they wouldn't pay attention to the conversation of two English-speaking men. Even so, he did not care if they heard of his tales. If they listened in, that was their own damn problem.

Thus, he spilled out his words. He told Emil of the phone call that had startled him out of a sobbing fit, of how he had damn near tripped over the couch in his attempt to crawl off it in order to retrieve the phone. He told the man of how he had reassured his brother that he would be okay, that no, he hadn't started singing. He explained, in more depth this time, of the argument that had happened a week prior, of the apologies that were spoken just the night prior to bumping into Emil. He found himself hesitating at trying to explain such details, but oh, he felt that he had to — albeit without a detail or two that he deemed unimportant.

Then, he addressed Emil's inquiry of Antonio, mentioning Feliciano's retold story of the cat in Venice, of the Spaniard who had been so kind as to help out the younger one. (Apparently, Lovino, himself, had run off to find help, to which the elder could fully recall.) He then went on to other matters, such as how Antonio apparently slept in the room in the exact same house as Feliciano and Ludwig, to which Emil commented on life's mysteries. It earned a chuckle out of the man, yet no more.

And finally, he came to the subject at hand — Lovino's outright ignoring of Feliciano. Quietly, he explained of his own annoyance at his brother's constant pestering, of the guilt that held so thick in his heart. Feliciano had tried to mend things over the phone, regarding Antonio, but Lovino would have none of it. Lovino, himself, explained this, though he could not give a reason. Not to Feliciano, himself. "I couldn't bother him with it. I can tell him I've had problems with the doctors, but I can't tell him they took me off my medication," Lovino admitted quietly, a frown overtaking his lips. "He'd flip. Probably try to get Kiku to help out, try to get him to write a recommendation or some shit..."

Emil regarded Lovino with sympathy. "But Kiku can't do that, can he?"

Lovino shook his head. "No. He's still in uni. He can't do anything regarding prescriptions, referrals, or even medical visits," he explained, "He's only an intern, and a very basic one, at that. But you know how stubborn Feliciano is."

"I blame those puppy-dog eyes of his." An attempt to lighten the mood, Lovino caught on.

And at this, the Italian chuckled, his lips twitching into the smallest of smirks. He glanced to Emil, his shoulders lowering slightly as they relaxed. "Yeah. They always get him his way, don't they?"

"Ever since I've known you two, they have."

"Well. Let's just say, even through 20 years, nothing's changed."

"Maybe it's his saving grace."

Lovino rolled his shoulders. "To be truthful? Most likely." More like no doubt about it. Nonetheless, he continued, nearing the conclusion of his little tale. With the background information out of the way, he delved right into the events of this morning, of his annoyances regarding Feliciano's constant check-ins with him, and the constant concern the younger presented. He admitted, it was nice to have a family member worry over him, but at the same time, it was something that he feared. He was the older one. He was supposed to be looking out for his younger siblings, acting as a role model for them both. He mentioned this, too, to his friend as they walked along, making their way back to the marketplace.

They did not reach such a place. Just as they rounded a corner, familiar voices called out for their attention. Their steps faltered, and up ahead, they could see two men rushing toward them — one jogging while the other lagged behind. A cheery grin, a bright wave, and soon enough, Mathias was upon them, giving a greeting of his own as Lovino bid him a good afternoon. They exchanged smiles and pleasantries as Lukas caught up to his over-excited lover, and before long, the conversation switched to Emil, himself.

Questions of whether or not the boy was "good" popped up, and Lovino, being who he was, claimed that Emil had caused him trouble — only to have it shot down by Mathias's outright denial of such. Emil nudged Lovino with an elbow, giving a slight frown at his friend's antics, but soon replacing it with a reassuring smile. He hadn't done him wrong by teasing him in such things. Lovino, in turn, returned the nudge with a slight shove of his shoulder, knocking Emil temporarily off balance.

Lukas pitched in with his own mentions of Naples, once again giving it his approval. An effort to try to win Lovino over, shown as he soon questioned as to whether or not the man would be joining them for supper. Unfortunately, it had to be turned down by the brunet, who claimed he already had dinner plans reserved. An apology, and an admittance of having to leave in order to prepare for the coming night, and the three bid farewell to the resident of such a lively place.

Lovino found himself smiling as he gave a wave to the retreating forms, the smirk tugging at one corner of his lips. "You guys take care of him, ah?" he called after them, "He's a good kid!" He was answered with a shout of approval from Mathias, and a word of sarcasm from Lukas, and he stood and watched as the forms left him. The voices faded from his ears, drowned out by the others who walked the streets of Napoli. Couples, friends, families... They all passed him by without so much as a single glance. Even as his hand lowered and his eyes no longer focused on the disappearing forms, he found he could not move just yet.

The noise all around him did not echo in his ears. It did not even reach them. His smile had faded and his hand hung limp at his side. The colourful sky was once again a dull monochrome. Everything was as it had always been. And Lovino knew of no other.

Letting this realisation sink in, Lovino started for the only place he could truly call home, in such a foreign world. That small house by the sea, where a mother's lullaby would rock him to sleep. Regardless of the time of day, she would sing, never to stop. And only now had Lovino become aware of her song. Now that another had pointed out her gentle caresses, long forgotten since those days that had caused him so much pain and suffering. That left him the broken shell of a man he was today.

Strong... Like hell he was.

Tightening his jaw, Lovino picked up his pace. His fingers curled inwards, his vision blurred, and his footsteps fell heavy against the pavement. He wasn't strong. God, he was so far from it... He was barely surviving — if you could even call it that. He just drifted through his life, pretending that he knew what the hell he was doing. And the moment he was left alone, the moment there was nothing to distract him from the demons that preyed so viciously on him, he was reduced to this. A terrified little boy with only the urge to run and hide from all the displeasures of the world, yet unable to find a closet in which to lock himself into until his parents returned home from their ventures.

He wasn't brave. He was scared. It wasn't strength that pushed him on, it wasn't courage or bravery. It wasn't even will. It was running blindly from monsters that preyed in the night. It was panicked breaths and tripping over your own two feet, again and again. It was tumbling down a steep hill, your body like a ragged doll as it hit rock and stump alike on its excruciatingly painful descent. That wasn't bravery. That was sheer terror.

Terror of the very face that stared right back at you each time you caught a glimpse of your own reflection. Because oh, how demons loved to lurk within one's own eyes... How they revelled in wearing their victim's very skin...

If he was strong, it wasn't him who was keeping himself strong, his own mind and his own will. The demons were toying with him. They preyed on him, threatened to end his life, in due time. Yet they barely even scratched, and mocked him each time he screamed and recoiled in terror. They'd giggle, holding their stomachs as they rolled upon their backs, their bony legs kicking in the air at the sheer delight of the horror their curved claws could cause. They kept him alive just so they could watch him flee in vain. Just so they could watch him fall to his knees, holding himself as his body violently trembled with broken sobs he just barely managed to keep behind closed doors.

Perhaps one of these days, he would not even be able to make it to that door.

A mother's song slowly made its way to his ears. It filled his senses, washed over him. It ebbed away the darkness in his mind, chased off the demons at his feet. She sung to him with such tenderness and understanding, he found his feet stalling, until they moved no longer. The wind through his unkempt hair felt as though they were fingers, gently caressing him and reassuring him with their touch. They touched his hair, his face, his neck, his shoulders. The breeze was an embrace, with the song being a blanket.

He could feel the tears welling in his eyes as he gazed out upon the rolling waves. He could feel his hands trembling, his legs weak. His chest felt tight, and his throat just about closed. The whole world felt heavy upon his shoulders. And try as he might, he could not see the brilliant blue of the sea before him. It were as though the sky were overcast, as though the rays of the sun did not currently beat down upon him. Yet that sweet, calming voice did not stop.

She sang to him of faraway places, of grand adventures, and loving, unbroken families. She sang to him of peace and quiet. She sang of wonder and curiosity, like that of a child, yet the knowledge and wisdom of the elderly. Most of all, she sung to him of sleep.

And as tears rolled down his cheeks, Lovino questioned why he had never heard her song before. It was not one of sadness, it was not one of longing. It was of memory, of happiness, of comfort. Of home. They were not the songs of his heart, they were not the songs of his past. Or rather... They were not the shadows of his past, simply the bright rays that had illuminated the darkness. And he had been deaf to her songs for years and years. All it took was one man to change that, and now he, too, resided in the sea.

Perhaps he was not gone forever. No, far from it. He had not sunk in a physical sense, but now, it was all Lovino had to remember him by. Each memory formed, each vivid image that played within his mind, it connected back to the sea. Locking eyes for the first time, learning of the motherly lullaby, hearing the song of the Spaniard's soul for the first time, kicking up water in a playful fit, kicking up sand as they danced... He had already known he was long gone, by that time. There was no point in even trying to salvage who he had been. He had already shifted with the tides, and could only continue to be pulled by the current.

And now, he drowned in it.

Struggling, gasping for air, limbs flailing, failing to choke out a scream... When he had admitted to himself that he wanted to drown, he did not even come to think that it would feel like this. He did not think his vision would blur, that the world would darken, that he would only think of the surface he could never again reach. He had already shoved that world away from him, had already pushed himself away from the jagged rocks of the shore that were now stained in the blood of his naked feet.

It had been his own fear of the ocean that lead him to lose sight of the sun, high above the choppy waves. No, the sun had not betrayed him. It poured its radiant light down upon him, just as it had from the moment it rose into the sky. It was he who stopped swimming, allowed himself to be pulled under the waves, to be tossed and turned by the rough currents that hid beneath the surface. He wanted to hope, wanted to believe, that the sun would still be waiting for him, if he were to kick his feet and break the surface. But he feared that it had long since set, for he no longer had its warm to wrap around his so very cold frame.

Damn these memories! They would serve him no good, they never had. The ocean's song taunted him now, with sorrows and the life he could not reach. It had fled passed his fingertips, and he stood motionless, his hand outstretched and his feet unable to lift from the ground. Just as before, just as it would always be. That was the fate of this world, that was the fate of the damned Lovino Romano Vargas!

That accursed name would follow him, and he should not have let it leave a stranger's lips! Not that one... God, not that one...

Tears pouring forth in waves that tore through his very soul, Lovino dug into his pocket and withdrew the hidden medallion. He didn't even know why he kept this stupid thing on him, why he felt the need to touch it — ever so gently — through the fabric of his jeans whenever he felt emotional distress. He didn't know why he needed to held it, why he put so much faith in it. But each time he held it, he could only picture the one connected to the trinket. A smiling face, bright eyes, an airy voice... Each and every part that he just could not reach, like the memories that had been lost to the raging sea.

Perhaps this, too, should flee from him.

It wasn't out of anger that he threw it. It wasn't out of spite, or out of terror. It was out of guilt, of pity for himself. Afterall, it wasn't Antonio who broke his promise. It was Lovino who had forced him to abandon it.

He watched a the sun reflected off the metal, for only a brief second, before it disappeared into the waves. He hadn't thrown it far, he realised, and no doubt it would reveal itself when the waves pulled back into the sea, but it was the significance of the throw in itself. At first, he was numb. But as it crashed in around him, he could only feel an overwhelming amount of despair.

Protection... Nothing could protect him, not when it was his own mind that plagued him, his own past, his own memories. His own future.

A sob bubbling up from his throat, Lovino held himself tightly, his fingernails biting into skin as he sunk to his knees. His whole body trembled as tears dripped from his chin. His lips quivered, his vision blurred, and he found himself rocking. He was a broken man, unable to even hold himself up, let alone push himself onward. He could barely make it through life as it was, and this... God, this only proved that he didn't even have the strength to reach out when he most needed it. He was too fearful to, too proud. Too arrogant. The one person he felt comfortable with sharing his demons with, he had shoved away and forced to leave.

He didn't want help. He didn't want to burden, he didn't want to go through the whole process. He didn't want to rely on others, he didn't want to be in debt to anyone else. He didn't want to pay out of pocket in order to just breathe again! He just wanted, for once in his life, to be okay!

Was that so much to ask for? Was that really that difficult to achieve? Was that really something that would not come for him, until he could no longer move from the weight crushing down on him? Until he threw in the towel and told the demons, "you win"?

He did not want to go back there, he did not want events to repeat, he did not want to see his brother crying yet again! There were not supposed to be tears on his younger sibling's cheeks, not because of him! He was supposed to be strong, he was supposed to be a role model, he was supposed to be someone his younger siblings could look up to and count on! He wasn't supposed to be broken, he wasn't supposed to give up and give in! Goddamnit, he wasn't supposed to be the reason his brothers refused to live out their lives!

He knew far too well of their fear, of their demons, of their troubles, of their caution. He knew why they plagued his phone with messages and phone calls. He knew why they refused to laugh, love, and live! Sure, he hardly spoke to Romeo, hardly even knew the damn guy's age. But even he worried for the eldest sibling to check in at least once a week, with a simple 'hi'! And oh, how Lovino knew of the meaning behind that...

"Hey, you're still alive, right...?"

Time and time again, they reached out for him, just to assure that he was still breathing, that he was still pushing onward, with broken legs beneath him. Pieces of him falling all around, and they would assure that he was still trying his hardest to pull himself together, that he was reaching out, that he wouldn't once again end up where he shouldn't. And where has it lead him?

Here. A hand reaching out, firmly grasping his own, and he had so suddenly ripped it away and kicked at its owner. He had been falling, so very fast, and he had allowed it. In so many ways, he had fallen, and it was a pair of strong hands and a soothing voice that kept him from falling apart. And he had so viciously forced it to recoil, as though its owner had angered a snake. Perhaps that's all he was. Perhaps he was just a snake, unsure of whether or not to let others near, and when they least expect it, he would strike and force them to leave.

He needed to stop these thoughts, he needed to get himself under control. The whole world spun around him, and he felt he could hardly breathe. He couldn't remember where he sat, couldn't hear the mother's calls. He needed to get himself out of control, yet he couldn't even see, with the tears that filled his eyes. He could hardly even recognise if he had been crying audibly, or if he had been silent, with his lips parted and his body rocking back and forth.

But whatever it had been, he was not silent now. No, he did not scream. He did not wail. He did not sob. But through a broken, cracked, distorted voice, he slowly began a song that had graced his ears, only a little while ago.

"Quassù il cielo è mio...
Mi vedo l'anima, io volo..."

He sucked in a breath, his fingers pressing into his skin. He held it for a moment, then slowly let it back out. He threw himself into the song, threw himself into the lyrics. He imagined the instrumentals, the way it was to be sung, and forced himself into that realm. Nothing else mattered. It was just him, his voice, and the song. Nothing else existed. Pain, fear, worry... It was nonexistent to him, in his own world. In a world where no one could touch him, where the darkness could not surround him.

"Guardami, sentimi, sono qui, toccami
Sento il freddo dell'asfalto, salvami
Salvami

"Parlami, ascoltami, sono qui, aspettami
Pioggia—"

"Lluvia y nieve en las alas, sálvame"

That was not his own voice. His voice hitched as he suddenly heard the new voice in his own world, shattering the illusion around him. His head snapped up just as his eyes flung open. And he could only stare. He could not breathe, and he could have sworn his heart refused to beat. His words had died in his throat, and the music had faded from his memory. He didn't know what to expect, he didn't know how to react. He could only gaze at the man that so very cautiously strode toward him, his rolled-up trousers soaked by the waves.

Lovino watched as the man crouched before him, and calloused hands so very gently coaxed his own to unwind from his body. Cool metal pressed into his palm and he didn't need the hand pressing his fingers closed in order to curl his fingers around the cross. Tears filled the emerald eyes he gazed into, threatening to fall. The man's body trembled and quivered as though pushed by the wind that stung the Italian's eyes.

And there it was. The lopsided, apologetic smile. But so forced compared to what Lovino could recall. "Lo siento, Lovi," Antonio spoke in a quiet tone. His voice cracked and nearly faltered entirely. "I don't know it in Italian." His hands pulled away, and Lovino found himself yearning for the warmth that left with them.

Brows furrowing, Lovino's lips turned down into a scowl. No... More of a pout. He didn't know whether to smile, whether to frown. Thus, he couldn't scowl, he couldn't display anger. Just mild confusion. "You just randomly appear in Napoli," he answered, in a tone just as quiet, "and that's the first thing you apologise for?" He pictured a reunion so very many times, just the day before. But he had never imagined it to go something like this, where his eyes were as red as the setting sun.

A chuckle met his ears, and oh, how he yearned to hear more. It flooded over him, caressed him, and even when those eyes glanced away, nervous, he only wanted them to return. But he didn't voice these. Lovino breathed out a sigh through his nose, his arms falling to his sides, as he leaned forward. He let his forehead fall against Antonio's chest, defeated. He did not stand. He did not shift. He simply slumped forward.

And the moment skin met fabric, there were arms around him. They were cautious, gentle, as though afraid to crush him. But as Lovino sat there, they tightened around him and pulled him closer. His rump was lifted off of his heels and he stood on his knees, where he found himself having to shift so he could place his forehead into the crook of Antonio's neck. The scent of spices and flowers filled his nostrils and he allowed for himself to drown in them. His hands lifted, fingers clasped tightly around the cross, and embraced the man before him. He pulled him closer, and closer, and closer, until he felt there would be no space left between him.

There, he cried. His shoulders trembled as it poured out of him, as strong hands held him together and gingerly flattened each protruding piece of him with a gentle caress. He whispered apologies, again and again, and each one was met with reassurance and words of forgiveness. And oh, how the words of understanding clung to him... Understanding... Antonio understood... He understood the turmoils of the darkness that threatened to overtake them. Lovino did not know whether to be comforted or frightened by that fact. Not frightened of the Spaniard, but rather, for him.

The moment the apologies died down, until Lovino was only left whimpering in Antonio's arms, was the same moment that the song continued, once again, ever so softly. With fingers combing through unwashed locks, Antonio rocked and sweetly finished the song. Lovino allowed himself to listen, hanging on every word. He had heard the man play guitar. He had heard him laugh, heard him tease, heard him whine. But only once had he heard him sing — and it had the same exact effect on him now as it did then.

It was far better than a mother's lullaby, he concluded.

The song ended far too soon. Lovino knew that it was a short melody. He knew there weren't many lyrics to it. He knew that half the lyrics were repeated. But God, he wanted to hear more... He didn't want that voice to stop singing. It calmed him, silenced the thoughts in his head. And through the song, he had found himself in the Spaniard's lap, with his legs curled to one side of the man's torso. He would not argue against it, he would not pull away. And God forbid he'd push away... He learned his lesson from that, already...

Breathing in the scent, he allowed for the silence to overtake them both. He could hear the demons whispering to one another, but none dared to venture near. He instead opted to tune them out, focusing instead on the steady rhythm of the heartbeat against his ear. The lungs expanding and contracting with each intake of breath. The fingers that played with his hair. The hand that caressed his back. The chaste, fleeting kisses pressed against his crown. He let it surround him in all of its entirety, not wanting to let it go.

If this was a dream, he never wanted to wake up.

Perhaps that was why he refused to open his eyes when he spoke, his voice quieter than he remembered. "How did you get here...?"

At first, there was silence, and Lovino almost feared the man had left him. He knew it was impossible, but try telling that to the irrational mind of a far too depressed soul.

"It's a long story..." Antonio mumbled into auburn locks. The sand shifted as he readjusted their position, his legs cradling Lovino's rump. "Let's just say I have a huge debt to pay to my brother..."

Lovino snorted. "You're not gettin' off that hook that easily. I want the full play-by-play."

Antonio's breath weaved through Lovino's hair as the man sighed. Lovino could feel him slump, just slightly, against the Italian at the realisation that he would have to explain himself. And so early into their meeting, at that... A light squeeze, and Antonio's arms reluctantly unwound from the Italian's frame. Their eyes met, and a hand reached to wipe the tears on Lovino's cheek. Antonio offered a kind smile. Yet his eyes, with dark circles hanging about, looked so very tired... "Know a good place around here for coffee?"

"You askin' me out on a date?"

A pause. Then quietly, "Sí."

That... wasn't quite the answer he was expecting... Breathing out, Lovino's eyes flicked away and he carefully pulled away from Antonio. "Alright... Alright, but you're payin'," he agreed. He shifted off of the man and pocketed the trinket, his hand reaching down toward the Spaniard. The man's eyes were elsewhere before they flicked to the hand outstretched for him. With a small murmur of gratitude, Antonio firmly grasped the hand and pulled himself up — and right into Lovino. Lovino found his breath failing him for a brief moment as the man moved against him, his arm wrapping around him as his other lagged behind. Too caught up in the kiss that pressed against his cheek, Lovino had not realised the hand that had snaked into his pocket, not until Antonio pulled away.

A weight pressed against his chest and cool metal hung around the back of his neck. His eyes flicked down, and once again, there it was, dangling around his neck. The cross.

"It's not going to protect you if you don't wear it."

Lovino's eyes flicked to Antonio again, and he found himself breathing out a sigh. Idiot... A trinket like this couldn't protect him... Still, he couldn't help but find himself putting at least a little faith into it, now that he found himself in sunlight, rather than darkness. "Yeah, yeah... You Spaniards and your frickin' legends..."

Antonio laughed lightly at this and gave a pat to Lovino's shoulder, guiding him away from the waves and toward the street. "We're not the only ones who believe the cross protects us. Feliciano seemed to agree with me."

"Ah. So you did meet him." He knew Feliciano would not have lied to him. But being on the phone with him and not hearing the Spaniard's voice, well... Let's just say there had indeed been some speculation. Perhaps, however, it was simply Lovino's mind trying to play tricks on him, just as it always had the habit of doing.

Antonio nodded as the two started off toward the street, his eyes not on the Italian. "I spoke with him this morning," he answered as his shoes dug into the sand. "He was the one who fully convinced me to just leave." A beat. "Leave Berlin, I mean."

Of course it would be Feliciano... The man was ruled by emotion and emotion alone. He knew his way with words, knew how to use them just right in order to convey his meaning. He knew how to fight, how to defend himself. But his pride in his words was much stronger, and the strength behind those words... Well, if a punch couldn't bring a man to his knees, Feliciano's words surely would, in a heartbeat.

Lovino breathed out a sigh at this, his eyes flicking skyward momentarily. "Kid's one hell of a motivator, I'll give him that." A noise of agreement from the Spaniard beside him. He pursed his lips, contemplating his choices as they stepped upon the road, and started on down toward the only place he felt comfortable going, for now.

Antonio was sure to follow, but as they neared the Italian's house, a hand reached out to timidly touch an elbow. This caught Lovino's attention, whose steps faltered and eyes flicked toward the man in curiosity. "Can we... stop by your house? I left something by your door, so..." With the words spoken, Antonio tossed a sheepish smile. "It's kind of important that you have it."

Lovino's gaze flicked to the house, then back to Antonio again, and he cocked his head. So the damn guy just appears out of nowhere and stopped by his house, leaving a present for him. Then just so happens to find him down at the beach. Talk about a trashy romance novel... Well. Lovino was already hooked, best just play along with it. "Alright, but we better make it quick. We don't want the coffee shop closing on us." Thus, he changed the directions of his steps, ever so slightly. His intention had been to cross the street at the next convenient moment; now, it was to continue on with the path he already walked.

With footsteps following after him, the Italian made his way up toward the house and onto his porch. Already, memories were resurfacing. Such as the night he was left with the Spaniard's guitar... A lump did not form in his throat, tears did not form in his aching eyes. Instead, it was the fluttering of butterflies, the catching of a breath, the faltering of footsteps. Hesitantly, he cast a glance over his shoulder at the sound of his name. He shook off the feeling with the reassurance that he was okay, and made his way to the door.

There it was, just as Antonio had said. A box, with a bow so very carefully tied atop it. Lovino could almost laugh at just how cheesy it looked. "Really," Lovino deadpanned, "I'm gonna have to check my calendar. Could've sworn it wasn't my birthday." He reached down to snatch up the gift, surveying it for a moment. It was heavy in his hands, and he could not judge the object by its size alone.

But just before he could untie the bow at the top, a hand reached out to rest atop his own. "You sure you want to go out for coffee, Lovino...? We can just sit and talk somewhere, we don't have to go out anywhere," he murmured. "You look... tired..."

Lovino's first instinct was to give into his pride. Claim that he was fine and demand that they go to the coffee shop. He wanted to hold himself up high, he wanted to straighten his back and seem as though he could take on the world. But he was so very tired... And in such company, what point was there to even try to pretend...? Antonio already knew the truth. So quietly, the Italian gestured to the door. "Come inside." He balanced the gift on one hand as he dug into his pocket for the keys, but before he could draw them up, the weight lifted from his hand. He glanced to Antonio to see the man now burdened himself with its weight, and did not complain over such.

Rather, he allowed for it to happen, silently thanking the man for his help as he inserted the key into its slot and twisted. A satisfying click and Lovino was free to push the door open. He was the first to enter, and once inside, he stepped out of the way for Antonio to enter. The door closed behind them, and Lovino set the lock into place. He gestured, then, to the kitchen, where he followed Antonio's form after removing his own shoes.

The box was placed atop the table, where Lovino had indicated upon being asked, and Lovino was grabbing up the phone he had left upon his countertop. His stomach twisted at the sight of the messages, of the many phone calls and texts he had ignored. He could only imagine his brother's desperation... Guilt began creeping up in the back of his mind, and he quickly shot a text to his sibling. "I'm alright," it read, "Antonio's here. I'll explain later." Within only a few seconds, the text had been seen.

Lovino switched off the phone's backlight and set it down upon the countertop once more, thankful he at least got that out of the way. But now, he had another task to attend to. He grabbed out the coffee maker, setting it atop the countertop, and reached for the coffee grinds. "Make yourself comfortable, I guess," he spoke to the man who had already taken up residence at the table. He seemed to be interested in the box, readjusting its position so it lay parallel with the edges of the table. "But I hope you know you'll have to explain everything now, as I'm makin' this."

Eyes were on him, and then flicked away, and Lovino could feel the tension hanging about the room. God, he hated it... He wanted to get rid of it, himself, but he knew it wasn't as simple as brushing away cobwebs from an old barn. These were emotions and anxieties, and those were near impossible to command.

"Well... Feliciano recognised me instantly," Antonio began. Lovino could only hum at this. The boy had an impeccable memory, ever since childhood. He seemed ditzy and air-brained, but if you were to ask him to paint a scene from his third week of being fifteen, he'd probably be able to. ... Okay, so maybe that was a bit of an exaggeration. "He told me of the story of... Venezia." Even now, Antonio was cautious in his pronunciation, Lovino noted. "And how I got a cat down. I didn't remember it until he mentioned it. Apparently, we met way back then."

Lovino nodded as he filled the coffee pot with water. "As I've been told," he commented. "My brother mentioned that when he spoke. Small world." He replaced the filter and began to scoop the grinds inside. Gently, he patted them down as he listened to the story of their conversation. Of the mentions of the cruise, of Feliciano's and Ludwig's meeting, of the fight... His stomach twisted, his motions faltered, at the realisation that it was Feliciano who had caused Antonio to notice the small signs. The signs that there was so much more to Lovino than he had fully let on...

Yet Antonio did not seem distraught by this, did not seem as though he held resentment for Lovino's own emotions and minds. Rather, it was that same topic again of understanding... While Antonio didn't have to mention it, it was there, lying in the backdrop of his words, lacing through his speech and recollection. And just as soon as the topic had been brushed upon, it had been dismissed, and Antonio continued on with his story, while Lovino set the coffee on to boil.

Quietly, almost timidly, Antonio admitted of his retelling of the story to Feliciano. Lovino could feel his cheeks heat at the knowledge that his brother now knew of his romantic adventures, but, well... He supposed that he, too, was at fault for that. He had been the one, after all, who called his younger sibling up just to rant about the frustrating Spaniard that kept finding himself in his home, or at least near it. His eyes, however, darted to Antonio with a sharp gaze. "You didn't tell him about the sex, did you?"

Antonio's cheeks flushed and he seemed to draw in on himself. Lovino, with his phone in hand, stared on in scrutiny. The Spaniard seemed to shrink at the gaze. "I may have mentioned it," he murmured.

Great.

Heartbeat thrumming in his chest, Lovino groaned and pressed a palm to his face, slumping against the counter. Now his brother knew that he basically just slept with a stranger. That would be fantastic for the family biography... Well, it's not like the brothers hadn't encountered worse. One-night flings, while not common, weren't exactly unheard of. They both had their fair share of sexual adventures — though it's most certainly not something you would have expected of Feliciano.

Well. He had to just move on. Lovino motioned for Antonio to continue, and when he did, Lovino only found his cheeks reddening all the more. Of course there would be the mention of the song... And of course Feliciano would let Antonio know it was Lovino who set it up! He was going to strangle his sibling, he just knew it! Snatching up his phone, he quickly glanced over the text sent to him, simply stating that Feliciano looked forward to hearing all about it. Lovino decided to ignore it for now.

"Pink Martini. You're dead." That's all he had to type, he figured, for his younger sibling to understand. With that squared away, he focused his complete attention on Antonio, who now glanced to and fro. The retelling had quieted, for a brief moment, and Lovino found himself curious.

The man seemed troubled... His brows were furrowed, his lips turned down in the slightest of frowns. But it was of a more worried kind, rather than an angered... Lovino lowered his phone as he gazed upon the beauty sitting in his dining room, taking it in for a moment. What could have him so swept away...? Before he could ask, Antonio was continuing his story.

"When Miguel woke me up the next morning, Feliciano and Francis were waiting for me in the kitchen. We... talked... for a long while." Once again, his cheeks were tinted pink as he glanced down toward the table. "About... you."

Lovino froze in his reach for the mugs. He spared him only a glance before returning to his mission, pulling out two small cups and placing them on the counter. He let Antonio continue, his heart beating wildly in his chest as the man spoke of how they had all interrogated him on his interest in Lovino. His love for him, he eventually found.

The Italian had to brace himself against the countertop at that word. His heartbeat resounded in his ears as he felt his legs tremble. He was sure that by now, his ears were tinted pink, if not red. He swallowed and forced himself to continue his work.

"I'm sorry," Antonio spoke, "if that... upsets you. But I... have to say it."

The voice was closer. The chair had moved, Lovino realised, and he had been too deafened by his own heart to notice it. He tried to ignore it, instead focusing on the matter at hand. He reached for the rag, snatched it up, and turned off the heat to the coffee. Ever so carefully, it he picked it up and positioned it over the two mugs.

"I don't mean to sound... crazy... Lovino... But I just..."

Closer, again. Lovino was sure the man now stood between the dining room and kitchen. He could hear the soft footsteps, so cautious and so quiet. Lovino busied himself away with his work. Pour one, and then the other, careful not to spill. He set the coffee pot back in its place and retracted both hand and rag alike.

"I've fallen."

Right behind him. Lovino stood frozen as arms wrapped around his waist. They were trembling, just as he was sure that he would if he could even move his limbs. The rag fell from his grip and landed on the floor. He could not even watch it, instead staring straight ahead at the wall before him. He could feel the breath on the back of his neck, feel the arms tighten ever so slightly. And if he paid attention to the chest that soon pressed against his back, he could feel the erratic beating of Antonio's heart.

Don't cry... Goddamnit, don't you cry, Lovino... Yet for the umpteenth time today, he could feel the tears welling in his eyes. The product of so many strong emotions, he knew. Yet somehow, these were more uplifting than the ones he had encountered before. He felt like he was floating, he felt like he was spinning. But at the same time, he felt rooted to the spot. With strong arms that held him up. With a warm glow embracing his entire being.

"I want to do this properly."

Lovino lifted his hands to allow them to rest atop Antonio's forearms. His fingertips just barely pressed into the skin he found, his thumbs rubbing in small, soothing circles. Not to calm Antonio, but to calm himself. He wanted to quiet the thundering beating of his own heart, wanted to rid his cheeks of the heat that had spread across them.

"Lovino..." The name was spoken so softly, so gently. It was as though it were rose petals atop a stream in the middle of summer. "Will you give me a chance...? Can we be something more than just friends, or a one-night fling? Can we be..."

"Lovers..." It was Lovino who finished the thought.

And there was silence. Antonio shifted behind him, and Lovino could feel panic beginning to settle in. But as soon as those arms tightened around him, the panic fled from his mind. "I was going to say boyfriends, but... Yeah. I like your version better."

Lovino snorted. And then laughed. His stomach jumped as the laughter poured forth from him, his body leaning back into the one behind him. His grip on the arms tightened and he threw his head back into the shoulder. Turning his head slightly, he reached an arm up to pull Antonio's down. "You have to be the biggest dweeb I've ever met. Boyfriends... And you claim you're from Spagna," he commented.

He felt... light. His heart felt light, his world all the brighter. And when he opened his eyes, all he could see were green hues filled with curiosity. Colour, in his monochrome world. Perhaps, Lovino mused, it was his turn to do things properly...

Lovino turned in Antonio's arms, until chests pressed together. One arm wound around Antonio's neck as the other cradled his jaw. "We'd have to work around the whole distance thing, but... If you're up for it..." The Italian murmured, eyes locked with the other man's. Ever so slowly, he drew Antonio closer, drawing him in just as he always had. Just has he had started, back when his song had danced across the sea. He drew the man closer, closer, closer still, until lips just barely brushed. "Maybe we'll work something out."

It wasn't Lovino who started the kiss. It was Antonio who pushed forward and pressed their lips together. The force of the kiss in itself startled the Italian, who let out a muffled shout at the sudden collision. Teeth knocked together momentarily, and Lovino found himself lost within those lips. His hand pushed back into curly locks and his back curved into the kiss, pressing his chest flush against Antonio's as Antonio leaned forward. Lovino tugged at the strands, desperate to pull Antonio closer. Yet they couldn't grow any closer.

But oh, how Lovino tried. He drew Antonio in, nipping at his lips and deepening the kiss until it became passionate. Tongues slid against one another as lips caressed the other. The kiss slowed, yet they did not pull away, and Lovino could hear the hum of approval from his partner. His new lover, he silently reminded himself. A smile tugged at his lips and he gave a hum of his own.

Breathless, not because of the kiss itself but because of the sheer idea of such a thing, Lovino pulled away and wound both his arms around Antonio's shoulders. The Spaniard dropped his arms to Lovino's waist. Together, they pressed their foreheads against one another. Silence overtook them both. Antonio's breath danced across Lovino's skin, as Lovino was sure that his own breath did to Antonio. Lovino found himself lost in the eyes before him, and though they were green hued, they were not of the earth.

They were of the sky. No, not the crystal blue that shone so brilliantly, but rather, the bright golden light that filtered down from above. Perhaps, then, it was the light that shone in those eyes. It wasn't always present, Lovino had noticed from the time he had laid his gaze upon them, but it was captivating. He wanted to bask in it, and having it so close, now... It was breathtaking. Something he expected out of some cheesy romance film. Yet here it was... Before him...

He could only push forward, ever so slightly, and tenderly place a kiss upon those lips. It was returned in kind, just as soft, and Lovino quietly stole another. And another. And one last one before a thought overcame him. Swallowing, he pressed his lips together and sunk his head to Antonio's shoulder, resting his forehead there instead. He allowed for his eyes to slide closed, safe and protected in those arms he had so very much yearned for in the past few days.

"Romano," he murmured quietly.

"... Mm?"

The Italian swallowed, his fingers curling into the fabric of Antonio's shirt. He lifted his head, eyes meeting Antonio's. He regarded him with a steady gaze. "My name's Romano."

He should have expected the confusion that swept through Antonio's eyes. So Feliciano hadn't filled him in on that detail... He regarded this for a moment before he emitted a sigh through his nose. His eyes flicked away, and his smile had long faded. Pulling away from Antonio's grip, Romano snatched up the rag from the floor and deposited it on the countertop. He then collected the two coffee mugs and made his way toward the dining room, motioning for the other to follow. "I'm guessing Feliciano didn't say anything to you," he spoke as he set the dishes down on the table. He then placed himself in one seat as he gestured to the other.

Pulling out the chair for himself, Antonio sat and shook his head, eyes on Romano. "No. He said you weren't always Lovino, but he didn't say anything more."

This would be interesting... Romano rested his jaw in his hand as he stared toward Antonio. He had to get it out eventually, he knew it. But how to put it... He instead glanced down to the coffee, turning the cup toward his dominant hand. "Legally, my name is Romano Giulio Vargas," he spoke, "Giulio, after my grandfather, Julius. After he died, I thought the name was unfit for me. How could I bear the name of the man I abandoned?

"So I changed it. Not legally, but with everyone I met. Starting with the cruise, I started going by another name. Lovino. I, in time, became Lovino Romano Vargas." That was the short version, he supposed. But there was more to it, and he knew that... Did he want to admit that? He didn't know, himself. Breathing out, he brought the cup to his lips and blew gently, before taking a sip. Antonio did the same, only to burn his tongue.

Romano smirked at the mistake, but simply lowered his cup and continued on, "Long story short, Lovino comes from Rovinò. Italian for 'he ruined'." Eyes were instantly on him. "In short, my name means I ruin everything I come across. Whether intentionally or accidentally."

It had left Antonio speechless, Romano realised. His eyes cast down and he stared toward the hot beverage. Gently, he swirled it in its porcelain containment. "I tell it to people I don't plan on getting close to. But if I do end up close to them, I'll give them my real name. Romano. That way... if something goes wrong... It's Lovino attached to it. Not Romano. Giulio is left unmarred and untainted, that way. It's connected to Romano — not Lovino."

For a moment, Romano allowed for Antonio to take in the information, allowed for him to process it. Romano, on the other hand, sipped away at the coffee, thankful for his beverage to keep his hands occupied. He couldn't open the gift yet; he was rude to do so without permission first, and now was not the time to ask for such. Not when he had dropped something as heavy as that on Antonio's lap...

Speaking of which, he seemed to finally be done processing it. "So... You'd like for me to call you..."

"Romano," the Italian finished with a nod. "That's my name. Not... Lovino." Now, it seemed that Antonio understood, and at the nod, Romano felt his shoulders easing. He wouldn't have to explain too much into it, then. He offered a smile at this, sipping away at the coffee before him.

"Romano..." This caught the attention of the Italian. "I like it."

Romano snorted, a small laugh coming forth from him. Liked it... How strange... It was just a name. Nonetheless, he let it go, and his eyes flicked to the gift.

"Roma."

Say what now.

Instantly, Romano's eyes were back on Antonio, his coffee lowering quickly. His expression was blank, almost surprised at the suddenly nickname. Antonio flashed a grin, and repeated the name.

"Roma." A beat. "That's your name, right?"

A groan, and Romano swept a hand through his hair. Great... He just couldn't shake the idiocy of nicknames... Well. So much for that. He'd have to put up with it, it seemed. "Yeah... Yeah, it is," he relinquished. At least it was... comforting... A sort of bizarre comfort that came with the knowledge that someone thought of you as special enough to earn your own nickname, in their book. And it was better than Roro or something like that. Now that would be embarrassing.

Though he supposed that if it were Antonio to give that nickname, he'd readily accept it.

The Spaniard broke Romano from such thoughts as he gestured to the box lying on the man's table. Romano's eyes followed the gesture, and at the indication that he could open, he reached forward and untied the bow. The string fell away, and stretching himself over his coffee, he grabbed at either sides of the box. And then stopped, his eyes on Antonio, "It's not a dildo, is it?"

Antonio stared in astonished bewilderment at the notion. "Why would it be...?" Then a laugh came from him and he leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. "No, Roma, it's not a dildo! Just open it!"

Romano rolled his shoulders as he lifted the top half up, the smooth cardboard sticking to itself in his attempts to wedge it off. "Well, we're gonna be apart, and you're a good fuck. Gotta make up for it somehow," he spoke nonchalantly. He ignored the embarrassed blabberings of the Spaniard across from him, not even wanting to try to make out the Spanish that spilled from his lips.

Aha. There we go.

He set the top half aside, brows furrowing at the contents of the box. Fabric, as far as he could see. Curiosity taking root, and the blabberings quieting, Romano withdrew the first item from the box and unfolded it. A shirt. Button-up, long sleeved, off-white, and a very durable material. "Okay... So you got me clothes. Like I don't have enough already," he spoke as he set it aside.

He then withdrew the second item. A pair of... jeans? His brow furrowed all the more at the sight of them. They were... pretty heavy duty, it seemed. He huffed and folded the jeans, placing them atop the shirt. "Okay, I don't know who you really take me for, but I don't exactly wear jeans often," he commented, his eyes on Antonio now.

Antonio simply motioned toward the box. "There's more," he commented.

Well. He was already this far. Romano sat up a little straighter in order to see inside the box, reaching forward to withdraw the boots from within. Steel-toed, dark brown, lace-up... "What in the..." That would account for the weight, he presumed.

"One more thing."

Romano allowed the boots to fall to the ground and reached inside the box, pressing his fingertips against its bottom upon finding there was nothing he could feel a few centimeters above the surface. And there it was. The shifting of paper. He carefully picked it up and withdrew it, pulling it before him.

He stared at the rolling hills and the fenced areas, at the plants and trees, and at the extravagant lettering on the small flier. "Carriedo Granja & Establos," it read. What in the world was this...? He frowned at the writing, flipping it over to look at the back. More Spanish... Unfortunately, he could only make out a few of the words. Slowly, he shook his head, his eyes flicking to Antonio. "I don't understand, what is—"

"Remember how I mentioned I grew up on a farm?" Antonio cut in. He gestured to the flier in Romano's hands. "I told you I learned everything from my father. Turns out, he learned everything from my mother's brother. Everything he knows isn't from a Fernández, but from a Carriedo."

Yet that didn't answer his question. He didn't know what this had to do with him, do with the clothes he had pulled out. A sigh, and he lowered his hand, letting Antonio continue.

"Apparently, it's a pretty popular horse ranch and farm. They breed and sell horses, as well as crops," Antonio explained, motioning to the flier in Romano's hands. "Miguel works with Papà's business. But Francis spoke to him, and he managed to pull a few strings yesterday, and, well... They're looking for people."

Romano couldn't feel his heartbeat. Yet he could feel it wilder than before. His eyes widened, his hand lowered, and he could only stare at Antonio with his mouth agape. A job. He was being offered a job, wasn't he?

"It doesn't pay too much. But, the stablehands and the farmhands have their own housing on the property, free of charge. Water, heating, electricity... It doesn't come with cable, internet, or food, but... It's a lot more than what you can ask for."

He was being an offered a job. Not just a job, but a place to live, somewhere far cheaper than in the city of Naples. He could hardly see his new lover through the tears that welled in his eyes. They threatened to fall, yet they did not.

"Y-you don't have to! I just thought... that maybe... I dunno... You like working with plants, and... stuff... So..."

"Yes."

"¿Qué?"

Romano cleared his throat and sucked in a breath, straightening his back. He couldn't jump on it. He couldn't just dive head first into this. He had to think about it, he had to actually think of what this entailed. He would have to leave Italy, be in a foreign country where he didn't even speak the language. Hell... He didn't even know where Antonio would be... And the problem regarding internet and long distance... After all, he only just started a relationship with the guy! God, he'd have to figure it all out. "I'll... think about it..." That was the best answer he could give. At least for now... He needed to know more. Much more, he felt.

Antonio breathed a sigh of relief, his hands gently curling around his drink. His lips turned up into the gentlest of smiles. "You can choose either way, Lo- Sorry, Romano," he spoke quietly. "I'm not going to influence you one way or another. But the option is there."

"Where... will you be...?"

Antonio's shoulders stiffened, and he nervously glanced away. "I'll, uh... I'll be in the main house. With my uncle," he answered. "Miguel's apparently been talking to him about my situation for a while now, and my uncle agreed to help me out. Given that my father won't let me back in, and he wants to spite him for it." Oh, that would definitely be a story for another time, Romano was sure.

Nonetheless... He wouldn't be alone... This was seeming all too good to be true. Romano pursed his lips, his head tilting ever so slightly as he regarded the man before him. The grip on his coffee tightened. "Why me?"

Antonio locked eyes with Romano, astonished, for a brief moment. His eyes were contemplative, as though trying to find the words. And once he did, his features relaxed, and a graceful smile pulled at his lips. "Because I feel it has to be you." He spoke with a certain kind of sincerity that Romano had not heard before, not from Antonio himself. Sure, the man always seemed to be speaking the truth, but to this calibre... This softness, this genuine kindness... It was all so new, and Romano could feel himself spinning from it, breathless at the mere look in the man's eyes.

It seemed that it wasn't enough for Antonio to leave it at that. He continued, his voice as soft and light as ever, "I can't explain it. Words will never make up for what I feel. But the more I think about it, the more I realise I want to get to know you better."

The feeling was mutual, Romano silently commented.

"I want to know who you are, I want to discover everything there is to know about you. I want to watch you grow and overcome everything life has thrown at you."

He was speaking of the man's past, he knew. The things he had come to experience, and Romano was quick to catch on the ounce of remorse that flicked through Antonio's eyes. Geeze, this man always wore his heart on his damn sleeve... But God, Romano would not trade it for anything. It was something far too rare in this world, and had become so very precious to the Italian.

"What I want, Romano, is to fall in love with you, over and over, just as I have been already."

That was not something Romano had expected to hear. He could feel his cheeks flush, and quietly, he sunk in his seat. He lifted his coffee cup, and with eyes that refused to leave Antonio, he sipped at his warm beverage. Yet he did not put it down. He used it as a barrier between he and Antonio, as the man simply gazed toward him.

"Congratulations, Antonio," Romano answered, "You've managed to convince me."

He didn't know where this path would take him. He didn't know where he would end up. He didn't know if he would walk or run, or even if he'd make it through. But he did know one thing for certain.

An undying flame had ignited in his soul. So long as the sun refused to stop shining, that flame would never die out, for as long as the waves would crash upon the shores of Napoli.

---

"Up here, Heaven is mine
I see my soul, I fly

"Look at me, feel me, I'm here, touch me
I feel the cold asphalt, save me
Save me

"Talk to me, listen to me, I'm here, wait for me
Rain and snow on my wings, save me"

— "Salvami"/"Sálvame" by Sonohra