"Fratello?"
Rubbing irritably at the bridge of my nose, I sat up and felt around. My back was sore, and my face was tingling. Shit. I'd fallen asleep at the computer again, hadn't I?
Either way, from the echoing steps and crinkling of plastic, it sounded like Feli was finally home, and that he'd bought groceries while he was out. I couldn't tell if it was morning or night still, because when I'd been writing last -earlier this?- night, he hadn't been home. He could have stayed over the German potato's house last night after seeing I was still out getting this month's pay... But that wasn't like him at all. It must still be night.
"In here, Feli," I called, rising from the computer chair and starting to my left, where I knew the kitchen was.
"Oh, there you are, ve," Feliciano sighed, sounding relieved, and seconds later I felt his hands on my arm, before he then guided me into one of the kitchen chairs. "I'm sorry I was gone all last night, Lovi, I had to help Ludwig clean up the cafe after my shift, and he invited me to stay over his place after we were done. Tino couldn't come in because he and Berwald adopted that new baby and it wasn't feeding, and Heracles said he couldn't walk today, I have no idea why, so he couldn't come, and the kitchen was just such a mess, and I was so tired, and I tried to call but you weren't answering so I figured you had fallen asleep..."
"It's okay, Feli, I get it. I was trying to write anyway. I got this month's pay, though. It's in my coat pocket."
"Oh, really? Grazie, fratello! I'm so sorry I couldn't come with you..."
"I know, Feli, I know." I cut him off before he could sound any guiltier. I didn't need him guilt-tripping himself now. As much as I loved my brother, I didn't care THAT much about his feelings. I just really, really didn't want him to start crying. Something about Feliciano crying just sits wrong in my gut. "So what's in the bags? Did you buy more ingredients for your special pasta?"
"Sì, I did..." Feliciano trailed off, sounding distracted. "Did everything go alright? Whiskey didn't give you any problems, did she?"
"No, Whiskey was fine. Although, some bastard on the subway practically stalked me there. He helped a little bit, I guess. I didn't have any problems. But... Daan wants the next manuscript by Christmas."
"He what?!" Feliciano exclaimed, and I could hear a box of something fall from his hands to the floor. From the sound, loud, a bit sharp, and with residual tiny clatters afterwards, pasta. Elbows, if I wasn't mistaken. And I normally wasn't mistaken. "We'll have to hurry, then... fratello, have you thought of an idea yet?"
"No, I'm working on it," I sighed, resting my head on my arms, which I had crossed and leaning on the table. "There's nothing else to write about. We covered everything!"
"Well..." Feliciano started. "Not everything, ve..."
"Feli," I growled. "You know I can't write about that."
"But why not?" My younger brother pouted, and I could hear the higher pitch in his voice that signified him beginning to tear up. "Love is love, fratello! I-I don't understand why everyone can't see it that way! Just because you're..."
"Just because I'm gay, I can't write about what it's like for blind people to date. Because then it changes from a book for the public on what it's like to be blind to a book for gays and allies on how to date a gay blind person. And that won't sell."
"But it would sell! You said it yourself," Feliciano insisted, optimism saturating his tone. "It will sell because it's the sequel to your first book! And then some people will dislike it, but a lot of people will read it anyway and be neutral, or be happy for Romano! They won't even know it's you!"
"And what if they found out, huh? What if they put two and two together and figured out it was me and this guy, whoever he would be. Then it would be dangerous! Or... well... No, no I'm not even dating anyone! And you know how hard it is for people like me to get a date, and being gay on top of it? It will never happen in time, Feliciano. Just give it up."
"I won't," Feliciano insisted, a fiery determination in his voice. "I won't give up. I'm telling you, it will sell. Even if not for the same reasons."
"But I want it to sell for the same reasons," I sighed. "I want it to sell because people don't know what people like me have to fucking go through, and they want to learn."
"Well then it is the same, because you'll be doing that and you'll be writing about what gay people go through! Twice the education value, and love is love, fratello! Didn't you tell me that when I started getting made fun of for being gay in high school? 'Just ignore them, because love is love, Feliciano.' That's what you said, ve! Can't this one just be about YOU? The first one was about being blind! Now everyone is interested in you. Can't you write this one so they can get to know Romano?"
"I'm going out," I snapped, rising from the table, and feeling my way along the wall until I reached the hallway, uncertain of where Feliciano's grocery bags were placed on the floor. Once in the hallway I hurried my pace, heading towards my room.
Once my hand brushed the doorknob I grasped it and pulled it open, and proceeded into my room, to collect my fleece and my cane, which I'd need. Sitting in the park for a while usually calmed me down, so I'd do that.
"Remember, fratello, I have a lunch break today, so Luddy and I will come and get you in the park, at the usual time, alright? Please don't forget to have breakfast, because it's nine already. And... be careful, ve."
"I know, Feliciano," I grumbled, as I made my way back through the kitchen and to the door out of our apartment. "I will."
Christmas. I had to get Daan the next book by Christmas. It was impossible. The first had been done by last Christmas, sure, but that was because I'd started Feliciano typing it up the summer a year before that.
We just wrote as inspiration came; an asshole on the train, a mistake at the grocery store, a small thing I'd noticed that everyone else had missed. Small things, but things everyone else would find interesting. We answered every question a friend had ever asked me about my lack of sight. So now... What else was there to write about?
Except for that idea. I wouldn't go there. There had to be more out there.
It had been hard enough for me to come out to everyone close to me the first time... And to make Romano come out to the world? No, it wasn't appealing. The world didn't know Romano personally, and wouldn't care about his feelings. On the other hand, my mother, brother, friends, they knew me, Lovino, and knew how much of a challenge it had been for me to tell them at all. The world wouldn't respect it as much. I knew it was going to hurt if I did it.
I sighed, rested my chin in my hand, and placed my elbow on my knee for support. I counted the wooden slats beneath me in the park bench I currently sat upon. Smooth, hard, warm. A chilly wind nipped at my cheeks as I sat, huddled and shivering in a fleece coat, even though I was sitting in the sun. But that was just how it was, living on the shore. Seagulls screeched, engines purred. People talked, talked talked talked. Everyone was always talking. I could hear their footsteps as well, certainly, but whether it was the sharp click of heels or the soft scud of shoes, the general crowd never stopped talking.
I froze when a familiar voice stood out from the rest. It wasn't Feliciano; no, I was waiting for him, he said he'd meet me at the park, but not for another fifteen minutes, at least. He and his stupid macho potato German boyfriend would get off this shift and meet me for lunch. This wasn't the German's voice, either, though. This one was less familiar to me, but I would probably never forget it.
"Sí, sí, yo sé. Lo siento. If I had known you were going to worry this much, I would have called sooner! ...yes, I'm still alive, I've just been reading. ...hey, that's not nice, I can so read!"
My heartbeat quickened, and I turned away from the sound of his voice and leaned down to pet Whiskey, at my left side, praying he'd walk right past me and not notice me. From the crunch of gravel underfoot and the way his voice sounded louder and louder as the seconds slipped by, I guessed he was walking the same path I had to find this bench.
"Oh, sí, I love it. It's fascinating to read. I'd love to see a movie of it too, actually... Er, from an omniscient perspective, naturally. Sí, it would be a little hard to shoot a movie from the perspective of a blind person. Fusoso, no, not just because I don't want to finish the book. I finished the whole thing last night! Er, this morning, I suppose. At five. ...sí, I stayed up all night reading it. Aren't you glad I don't have a shoot today?"
Whiskey perked up, and I purposely shielded my face with my hand as the steps crunching in the gravel grew steadily closer. I bet she recognized the scent of his rich-ass cologne again.
"¿Qué? Fusososo, no, I haven't bedded him yet, I haven't even seen him again since... Oh! Uh- can I call you back?"
"Fuck," I muttered, drawing my coat tighter about my body, and pulling Whiskey to her feet, intending to flee. The pause indicated he'd seen me. Seen me, recognized me, intended to stop and chat. The bastard. Why else would he stop talking in the middle of his damn phone call?
"Hey! Wait up, por favor! Can I talk to you?" The man from the cable car called, and I stopped where I stood, sighing resignedly and turning around.
"No. What do you want?" I snapped.
"Oh, well I just wanted to talk with you... maybe get to know you a little!" He exclaimed cheerfully. But I was pleased to hear he sounded at least a little put out.
"And I wanted to have the boo- ...project I have due for my company done already, but that hasn't happened either. Life sucks."
"The one Daan told you about, right?" the man asked. "Over the intercom. Due by Christmas, right? Is it a difficult project?"
He sounded so innocently curious. It startled me so much, I actually forgot to be angry with him for existing for a moment.
"Harder than you could even imagine," I murmured. "But I can't work on it anyway, because I don't have any more inspiration."
"Is there anything I can do to help?"
"No!" I snapped, because that tended to be my reflexive answer to a lot of things. "I mean... Well... No. Er, never mind. It's as stupid as you."
I bit my lip. Why had I even hesitated? Of course there was nothing he could help me with. I didn't want to have him help me. I didn't even want to be around him and his stupid confusing accent and his fancy-ass cologne! ...Right?
"No, I'm sure whatever it is it's a great idea!" He exclaimed, and I heard the creak of the bench as he sat down on it. "Please, can I help? I have the day off, and nothing else to do~"
I sighed, and ran a hand through my hair. This could either end very badly, or very well. But with my luck, it would definitely end badly. What did this creep want with me anyway?
"Are you stalking me or something?" I demanded suddenly.
"What?! No! I mean, I was hoping I would get to see you again, but I wasn't following you! I don't know where you live, I swear!"
"Well seeing as there's no way I can prove that, and I'm stuck here until my stupid brother shows up..." I frowned. "Fine. There is one thing you can help me with."
As I sat back down on the bench beside him, and let Whiskey strain at her harness to try to stuff her nose between his legs again, he cooed at her, and I sighed for the second time. I would probably regret this later...
"I... I just need you to tell me what... colors are." I muttered, half hoping he hadn't heard me.
"Eh?" He asked, and I could hear the groan of wooden slats beneath him that signified his straightening up in his seat. "Well... the primary colors are red, blue, and yellow, and..."
"No, not what they ARE, idiot," I snapped. "What they look like! I was born blind, I don't know what colors are. I've tried asking my brother, but he just gives me shit answers of what the colors look like, when I've never seen anything IN color, so obviously, it doesn't... really... work."
"Hmm..." He mused. "So if I said red is like the sunrise, that wouldn't help you much, would it?"
"Not in the slightest." I deadpanned.
"Well, then... Um, let's start with a simple color, like... brown! Brown is... dirt. Brown is wood, and... Barbecue sauce, chocolate, erm, feces, and... Well, it's mostly chocolate. That's a good thing to think of brown as. Like my hair! That's brown. Um, well, normally it is."
"Normally?" I frowned. "What...?"
"Um, next!" He interjected, his voice suddenly higher in pitch. Was that nervousness I detected in his tone? "Your hair is brown too, you know, but it's also a little closer to red than mine." Having worn sunglasses most places outside my home for my entire life, I recognized the sound of him lifting his from his face to... yes, there it was, the telltale sound of him adjusting his glasses and scratching his nose. A nervous habit, from my experience with people in general.
"Red... Red is a rose. It's the silky smooth of the petals, and the blood drawn from the prickly thorns. It's the metallic twang of blood in your mouth, and the warmth of a heartbeat pumping blood through your body. It's a part of the sunrise, and is often related to Christmastime. Watermelon. Cherries. Strawberry. Tomatoes!"
"Okay..." I said, mentally compartmentalizing everything he said.
It was easy enough to remember, and even if I couldn't, I at least had a way to guide Feliciano now. The tastes, smells, feels of the things of the colors I was asking for. Begrudgingly, I admitted to myself that this guy was doing a remarkable job of explaining color so far. Better than anyone else had, at least.
"And how about green?" He pressed on. "Green is... the grass beneath your feet, it is the smell of plants, and the feel of the leaves. Green is peppermint and spearmint flavored candies and mint flavored... What's that strange helado called? Ice cream, gelato... No, sherbet! Mint sherbet. Green is basil... mint, rosemary and thyme... um, parsley and oregano and... lime!
"Purple is... the chill of twilight, the sweet taste of grapes. It's a perfect mix of the caliente y frio, the hot and cold of red and blue. It is smooth, it is simple, it is royal, it's fancy. I think royals in ancient times used to use beetle juice to dye their robes purple because it was expensive and rare. It's usually just a rich color, un color rico, even though it's a little feminine.
"Speaking of feminine, how about pink... Um, pink is cotton candy. Bubble gum. A lot of candy. Um... Carnations. Those come in a lot of colors, but think of the smell. Mix red and white and you get pink. Lipsticks and chap sticks are usually pink... Cherries are red but they taste a bit like pink... And... I think that's it. A lot of fruit is red, not pink.
"White... White is... snow. Fresh fallen snow, white rice, sugar, salt, and... Paper! That has a smell... Oh, and marshmallows! And marshmallow fluff. I love that stuff...
"What's left? Oh, yellow. Yellow is the sun's shining rays, the heat on your cheek and what lights the day. Yellow is the sour taste of lemon and the smooth creamy one of butter, in addition to cheese. It is the sunflowers in the park, it is the banana, it is the dandelion.
"And... Orange. Orange is... the heat of flames and the sunset, orange is... the tang of OJ in the morning. It's orange, mango, and sharp cheddar cheese. It is the cooked cheese on a pizza and peanut butter, I guess... A lot of nuts are orange too, but the flavor of an orange is definitely the best way to describe the color itself."
"What about blue?" I asked. "My brother always talks about his stupid German b... friend's blue eyes like they're something special."
"Well, blue is... Blueberries. They're really blue. They taste blue too, I suppose. Blue raspberry flavoring? Um... Winter mint gum. The winter chill. Chlorinated pools. I don't really know a lot that's blue. But I'm sure your brother's friend's eyes are very nice. If you were wondering, mine are green. People have said they're like emeralds, but I think they're more like football fields."
"Football?" I asked skeptically.
"European football!" He hurried to specify. "I don't like this American version of rugby they try to call football."
"Well, at least you have good taste in sports," I smirked. "But, you still haven't done black."
"Black... ah, well, dark, but that probably doesn't mean much to you... What's black? Uh... leather, leather is black usually, and... licorice! You've had black licorice, right? Not the red stuff, that kind sucks, it's like rubber. The really flavorful licorice. That's black. And I can't actually think of anything else..."
"My sunglasses, right?" I offered. "I get that fucking stupid observation often enough."
"Sí, those are black too," he said, and I heard his tone of voice change as the corners of his lips came up in a smile. "I like them. They suit you, you know."
"G-Grazie," I blushed, slipping into Italian as I was not used to that kind of compliment from anyone, let alone a man with such a nice, attractive -as I only realized now- voice. "Oh, sorry, it means-"
"Thank you. I know," I could still hear the smile in his tone. "Spanish is my first language~! That and Italian are really similar, sometimes."
"That explains your weirdass accent," I murmured.
"Sorry?" He asked. "I missed that.
"Never mind," I said.
A silence descended onto a pair of us, although I was surprised to realize it wasn't awkward, it just was. And when he started humming some sort of tune beside me, I just listened, and didn't bother complaining about it like I would have had it been Feliciano. The tune was unfamiliar to me, but I felt like I might have heard it playing somewhere before. But then, that could have been anywhere. I could often hear people's music from their headphones when they walked past me, from the movie theater when I was walking past that, from doors left open to welcome people on the street.
"Ve, it's good Gilly finally got a hold of him though, right?" My brother's obnoxious voice floated up to me from the gravel path, to the right. Steadily approaching footsteps soon accompanied it.
"Ja... Although why he felt the need to bother me to tell me about it, I don't know. I wonder about my brother sometimes, but I suppose being a director, that's just how he is. The artistic type, and all." A grumbling, deep German voice contrasted with my brother's higher-pitched, slightly scratchy tone, with a very different accent. Ludwig. The potato bastard, to me.
"Sì, but artistic types are the most fun~!" Feliciano giggled. "Like fratello! Hi, fratello! Oh! Who's your friend?"
"He's not my friend," I snapped, rising from my seat on the bench, and allowing Whiskey to lead me over to where my brother stood on the gravel trail with his boyfriend.
At the same time, the man beside me stood, and I presume he extended his hand for Feliciano to shake, because then he said, "Hola~! You must be Feliciano! He's talked a lot about you. I bumped into your brother on the cable car yesterday, and helped him pick up something from his boss~! It must have been fate we met again here, today!"
"Oh! Well it's a pleasure to meet you, ve, Signore..." Feliciano trailed off, waiting for the man to give his name.
"An- Fernández... Just call me Mr. Fernández, ahaha," he laughed nervously. I heard the ruffle of hair, another nervous habit. What was up with this guy?
"Do I...?" Ludwig started to ask, then I heard the jingling of his dog tags that meant he had shaken his head. "No, never mind. I'm Ludwig. It's nice to meet you, Mr. Fernández."
"Fusososo, the pleasure is mine," he chuckled, although I didn't miss the nervous tone still underlaying his words.
"We're going for lunch now?" I asked, and as I thought about it, my stomach rumbled, reminding me I had forgotten to eat breakfast after all, and lunch sounded like a great idea. "Is the potato bastard coming?"
Ludwig sighed, but said nothing, already used to my nickname for him. "Feliciano and I have the next hour off, so yes, we were coming to pick you up and go somewhere. Would... er, Mr. Fernández, would you like to join us?"
"Oh, no, that's quite alright," he interjected quickly, laughing nervously again. "I was going to meet another friend somewhere else anyway. I hope you three have a good lunch!"
"Grazie, Signore Fernández~" Feliciano chirped. "You too!"
"Ah, ¡gracias!" The cologne bastard chuckled. "I'll see you around then, I guess,"
"Hopefully not," I grumbled, but extended my hand for him to shake anyway.
He gripped it firmly and shook once, clasping it in his other hand too before releasing it, and I shivered slightly, internally. Those were large, strong hands.
We had walked about ten paces back towards the entrance to the park before Ludwig's footsteps stopped, and Feliciano ground to a halt with him. "Luddy? What is it?" He asked.
"Fernández... Isn't that the name of the man you called about the riding therapy? It looked like him, didn't it?" The potato bastard asked slowly. "I think it is... Is he...?"
"Oh!" Feliciano gasped, and I heard him take off back down the gravel path, leaving me holding Whiskey's harness and listening carefully for him, confused. What riding therapy? "Signore, Signore!" Feliciano's voice faded off into the distance of the park, and I scowled. Leave me with the macho potato, would he?
"What the fuck are you both on about?" I demanded, directing my words at the German beside me. "Riding therapy? What's that?"
"Erm... I don't think Feliciano wanted me to tell you," Ludwig said, and shifted where he stood.
We stood in awkward silence for another two minutes before I heard Feliciano's footsteps running back this way, and I turned to face him.
"I got it," he panted, smiling from ear to ear, from the sound of his voice. "I got his business card! He said he volunteers on weekends!"
"What business card?" I snapped. "What are you talking about?"
"Oh, nothing," Feliciano smiled, before latching onto my arm again, and turning me back towards the park exit. "So what do you want for lunch today, ve?"
A/N: Disclaimer, Hetalia isn't mine. You know the drill. And... I know, I know, I'm sorry it took so long, everything has just been INSANE lately. Midterms, course selection, college shit, gay/not gay drama, all this shit I can't even. I appreciate that ya'll have been so patient (Not that you have a choice) and I'm sorry my chapters are so short T_T I'm just DYING under the workload I have right now PLUS extracurriculars which I need to get into college and worthless stuff (like National Honors Society) which my parents INSIST I do and I HATE it and it leeches time and life and SATs soon and its like ohmigodjustkillme,it'llbeeasier. The state the college I'm looking at right now just got given a D+ for education, I'm freaking out, AND drowning in calculations for what I actually have to take next year because course selection is FINAL once we do it initially this year, AND literally going to bed at 6 pm and waking up at 3:30 because I just can't deal with my family but I have to do my homework to keep my grades up and it's like UGH. I'm sure some of you understand. And the rest of you... IT SUCKS. T_T
Also, sorry this chapter was kinda boring... most of it was about the colors and stuff. I thought of that and figured it would be cool to write out. But this chapter sets up next chapter, any guesses what's gonna happen~?
BUT, Yay for you guys, I already have the dialogue for next chapter written. Now just to check grammar, do punctuation, and add this little thing called plot. Thanks a bajillion to my best friend, my Antonio, who knows SO MUCH MORE about the topic of next chapter than I do, and walked me through it all. In an RP. But I think you guys have gathered by now that my writing isn't as shitty as other people who're all "Hurr durr, I did an R-Pee with my bestest friend EVAR and we posteded it and it was liek urh mah gurhd so I ope u enjoy leminsssss because I'm twelf years old and totilly know how to rite secks." No. Just no. On every level, no. I use full words spelled correctly, thanks. So... just know it won't affect my quality. Seriously. I change up what she says when it isn't perfect anyway, because it's just for inspiration. It'll be like madlibs. Fill in the blanks. Except I'll be that OCD kid who makes it make perfect sense the way it's supposed to.
...and I'm sorry for wasting the valuable seconds of your life you just spent reading all that.