-Antonio-

This was such a bad idea.

And yet a very, very good one.

Maybe he should start from the beginning.

-Antonio-

He grabbed the keys to the SUV, and Lovino raised an eyebrow.

"Why the fuck are you taking such a large car?"

"You'll see, Lovi. Oh, will you see."

Lovi had just continued to look skeptical, but Antonio had merely thrown his head back and laughed as he thought of why he needed it, and how the tradition of taking it had come about.

"Sit down, Gil."

"Don't you have any fucking chicken in here?"

"No, Gil. I don't carry chicken in my car."

"Goddamnit. Then stop at that food truck we hit last week. They had some damn good…pick-chocos. Pick-Cheetos. Some shit like that."

"Pinchitos (like a shish-kabob, but with less vegetables and more meat), mi amigo. And it's probably not in the same spot. And even if it is, it's closed, anyway."

"We should check."

"No, Gil. You're going home to sleep this off."

"Come on, it'll only take a second!"

And then Gilbert had grabbed the wheel from over his shoulder, almost causing them to crash before he smacked his hands away. So now they took a three-row car, and put Gil in the back. Even if he did manage to climb over the seat into the second row, his screwed-up depth-perception and onset of dizziness usually just left him hanging over the seat, where he more-often-than-not just passed out. He had a feeling that if he told Lovi this story now, then he wouldn't go anywhere near that car. And that'd be a shame, he really wanted him to come.

He really wanted to see Lovi dance in those pants.

So instead, he merely shook his head and opened the front door for him. Lovino blushed at the display, and hurried through. It was adorable how easily he blushed if he was shown the slightest bit of affection or interest. But it made him feel upset at the same time. His Lovi obviously wasn't used to being treated this way, judging from the almost shocked look he gave him every time he flirted with him. People were probably thrown by his tendency to loudly cuss, scowl, and/or physically harm people, but it was a hair-trigger response to embarrassment and/or un-comfort. If he could see that (his friends always commented that he wasn't the sharpest tool in the box, but it was alright, because he was their cheerful idiot), other people had to be able to. It broke his heart, but he'd just have to make sure he didn't break Lovi's.

As if he ever would.

-Lovino-

They had gone to Francis' restaurant first, and he had to admit, it was kind of impressive. It had nothing on Italy's restaurants, of course, but it was tastefully decorated, with soft, natural hues paired with deep red and royal blue accents. And the food was decent, for French food at least. Again, nothing on Italian cuisine, but it tried its hardest.

Two of the three idiots were already starting off their night, it appeared, because both Francis and Gilbert had ordered wine ("I don't think wine is very awesome, but it'll get me buzzed enough to start until I can down some awesome shit at my place." "You just can't enjoy the finer things in life." "Finer-Francis. It's fucking alcoholic grape juice."). Antonio, though, had been sticking to his 'designated driver' status, and merely ordered sparkling cider. He must have been staring, because Antonio looked up from his plate, mouth full, and raised an eyebrow in a silent question. Lovino just turned away, and he felt his face flush a little. He really needed to get his shit together. If he let the blood rush to his face every time the fucker did something, he was going to burst a blood vessel.

But it was pretty fucking hard not to, with how easily it came to the bastard. He did it without thinking, and seemed to find enjoyment in how his face lit up like a flare every time he did anything swee-stupid.

Stupid.

That was he meant.

When the asshole did something stupid, it just made him feel weird. Not even in a sex way (that was a whole can of worms that he wasn't going anywhere fucking near unless he had a bazooka and armor), but in a warm, fuzzy, squeamish way. He wished he could say he hated it…but he really didn't. And that was the fucking problem. He wanted to punch the stupid bastard in the throat for embarrassing him, and causing the reaction in the first place…but at the same time he wanted to snuggle up to him and hug him and kiss him and all that other girly shit.

Lovino flinched. The damn alcohol was fucking with his head. It was dragging all the mushy shit forward, because it was a bitch. Well, good luck, with that. If he was going to be forced to confront them, he was going to get drunk enough that he didn't remember them. Maybe it'd be cathartic, or some other shit his anger-management counselor had said. He tipped his glass back, and ignored the cheers from the German fucker next to him. He was paying for his alcohol, after all.

-Antonio-

After that one downed glass (and subsequent two) at Francis' restaurant, his Lovi seemed to be getting more and more shaken up. By the time they had actually made it into the club, his eyes were glassy and his normal speech patterns were slightly slurred. He had suggested that he call it a night alcohol-wise, but all he had gotten in a response was a mumble about how 'they weren't gone yet'. He didn't know what wasn't gone yet, but he needed to get Lovi's alcohol intake gone, now.

Antonio dragged the tipsy Italian towards the bar, where Gil's friend Mathias was bartending.

"Hola, Mathias."

"Hej, Tonio! What can I get for ya?"

"Just two waters, please. It's time for someone to cool down."

He reached out to accept them once Mathias was done.

"Ah. Which one are you trying to sober up this time?"

"Oh. You haven't met him, yet. This is Lovi-"

He turned to find Lovino gone.

Mierda.

He spun from the left to the right, wondering where the hell he had gone. He could hardly walk straight, how far could he have made it?

Mathias let out a sympathetic groan.

"Lort, man. That sucks. But don't worry, Lukas did the same thing once. I found him locked in a bathroom stall. He'll start to sober up in a bit. It's not like anyone will give him anything else if he's already as plastered as you said."

"I still need to find him, though! I hope he's not going to get into too much trouble while I look…"

-Antonio-

It took him about fifteen minutes, but he managed to squeeze his way through the dancing crowds to find Lovino.

Mierda. He noticed the bottle of vodka in one hand, and glowered. Fucking Ivan. Of course he would not only bartend to someone clearly drunk out of their skull, he would also offer them his favorite type of alcohol if they couldn't process clearly enough to order themselves. At least it was still mostly full, so he wouldn't die of alcohol poisoning. Little did he know, Lovino had strutted/stumbled up to the bar, smacked down Gil's card, and demanded that the bartender give him some shit that was really, really big and would get him drunk really, really fast. It hadn't been pronounced that clearly, but Ivan had caught the gist. So he merely smiled, swiped the card, and handed him a bottle of his favorite brand of vodka, laughing that weird, scary-ass laugh of his.

Aforementioned Italian had crawled onto the karaoke stage much like Gilbert had, and was staring at the screen with unfocused, yet determined eyes. He mumbled to himself as he pressed buttons, but 'ah-HA'd' when he seemed to have found a song he wanted. Before he could rush up there and wrangle him down (again, like he had to do Gilbert), he had already managed to sit down on the edge of the stage, microphone in hand.

Can you see it?
Can you see it?
You have to discover me
What goes wrong when I am crying
Or what I want when I 'm smiling

Can you feel it?
Can you feel it?
That I 'm not a little girl
You 're misunderstanding my way
And all the rules that I like to play

My secret combination
It 's a mystery for you
Use your imagination
I 'm not easy but I 'm true

My secret combination
Boy you have to try it hard
To win a destination
In the center of my heart

Antonio's eyes widened. The lyrics wrapped around him, and the voice (though a little shaky, he had to admit), pulled him forwards. It was like he was Odysseus and Lovi a siren, only there was no post or rope to keep him tethered to the spot, so he just moved. Before he knew it, he had maneuvered through the crowd, and in front of Lovi. Lovi didn't stop singing once, but his gaze was glassy, as if he didn't quite understand what was happening. This was such a bad idea. He was piss drunk, and this wasn't how he wanted it to go. But he tilted down and Lovi tilted up…

Only for Lovi to pass out.

MIERDA.

A/N Song is 'Secret Combination' by Kalomoira. Listen to it, and say that it's not the definition of Lovino Romano Vargas.