Lovino's injuries turned out to be not even a fraction as bad as Antonio had thought them to be. He regained consciousness the next day, and was discharged the day after that after several screenings and simple tests for concussion. He'd spent the first few days after that holed up at home because Feliciano absolutely prohibited him from going anywhere. Not that he could go anywhere anyway; for some reason his leg had a huge ass bandage around it his head making it difficult to walk, confining him to their small apartment.
"Hey Feliciano," he called, "where's my cell phone?" It had just occurred to him that he hadn't gotten it back yet, and he could've sworn that it was in his pocket on the day of the accident.
His brother didn't reply to him, stirring up Lovino's suspicion. He called him again, and finally Feliciano peeked his head around the door, expression sceptical. "Um, maybe you should…" he stopped and sighed, and entered the room begrudgingly. "Here," he said, and reached into his back pocket. His heart broke a little when he saw his older brother's expression as he took the iPhone into his hands, the screen smashed to absolute pieces. He left the room, not wanting to see his face when he saw that it no longer turned on. Sure, it was the old, original model, but it had been a gift from their grandfather before he passed away. He removed the cover and found it to be completely flattened. It was probably beyond salvaging at this point.
He lay on his back for a while, staring at the ceiling and thinking about nothing in particular. When you're bedridden, you think about a lot of things, and eventually you run out of things to think about. A friend of his had visited him in the hospital, but aside from that, the two of them didn't have many other outside contacts. Inside, he was wondering what took Antonio so long to show his stupid face at his door and make him feel better the way he always did.
Crap, now he was stuck thinking about that idiot. His lips twitched as the memory of their kiss flashed in his memory. He swallowed and sat up a bit, his mind reeling as he touched his lips, and it felt like it had happened only yesterday. He really needed to talk to that idiot and figure all this shit out before it got out of control. Well, more out of control than it already was, with him being the most confused person on the planet - as much as he wants to say he's an expert in love, no amount of Girlfriend magazines will help you in real life.
"Lovi, you have a visitor," came Feliciano's voice. He didn't reply, but Lovino was glad that someone bothered to show up, regardless of who it was. Hell, it could even be that German loser and he wouldn't care, because he felt like the biggest burden on the planet to his younger brother and having Ludwig around would definitely lighten his atmosphere. Over the past week, he'd stressed an enormous amount over the wellbeing of his older brother, rushing here and there preparing food and whatnot, and even getting (another) part-time job at a restaurant in order to save up money for the impending hospital bill. But he had that wishing feeling, deep in there somewhere, that it was Antonio who was going to come through the door and into his room.
His stomach lurched a bit as Francis' voice floated throughout the house, before he entered the room. "Hey," he said, sitting on the chair next to the bed. Lovino remained stone-faced, but the Frenchman didn't care, proceeding to talk about this and that and other idle chatter, obviously not really caring either but merely trying to lighten the mood.
"I'm going to work now, Francis, will you be okay by yourself?" Feliciano asked. Yeah, ask him and not me, Lovino thought bitterly. The blond nodded, and Feliciano set off for his night shift after giving his thanks to Francis.
Great, so this French douche was his babysitter?
The two drifted into uncomfortable silence, which Lovino can stand when he's by himself, but not when he's with another person. Especially when the other person isn't someone he particularly likes. "Why are you here?" he asked, and closed the lid of his laptop. "You look like you'd rather be anywhere but here."
Francis scoffed, "You have no idea how much I'd rather be here than somewhere else. You wouldn't know how great it would be to be lying in bed having someone who loves you looking after you, rather than being left on a battlefield fighting against a person you'd rather be friends with," he said, voice bitter, "humans sure have it easy."
"I wasn't asking for you to get all emotional and shit on me, fucker," Lovino retorted, "don't compare your life to mine, we both know they're things that can't be compared in the slightest."
"…Yeah, you're right."
Francis's admission took Lovino by surprise, and he turned his head and looked at him curiously. He was expecting the other to be stubborn and have some kind of argument to fill the time, rather than be so easy to defeat in clearly one of the stupidest quarrel's he's had in a long time. "What's wrong with you?" he asked.
"I'm just a lonely old man," he said, sighing dramatically. "Now I have no friends here in America," he complained, staring out the window, "well there's Arthur and Alfred, but they hardly count. After centuries knowing each other, I'm still just that annoying next door neighbour." The second half of his sentence was more him talking to himself than to Lovino.
The brunet perks slightly, expression confused. "What do you mean? Where's Antonio?"
Francis stared at him, "He's gone, didn't you know?" he asked.
Lovino blinked, "Excuse me, what?" he asked. "Gone where?"
"He went back to Spain, didn't he say anything to you? Didn't Feliciano, or even Ludwig?" He saw he look on Lovino's face, and immediately regretted bringing it up. Obviously nobody had told him, and he didn't want to be the one who had to break the news to him. He knew that Lovino would take it almost as badly as he did, if not harder. Because at least with Francis, he had all the time in the world to catch up.
"Little fucker," he breathed, "nobody told me a thing." He fell into a silence, not replying to anything Francis said or asked him, and eventually the blond took his leave. It was close to three am when Feliciano returned, and he was surprised to find the light in Lovino's room still on, his brother sitting up against the wall, a laptop under his hands.
"Not sleeping?" he asked, a cup of tea in his hands. When Lovino looked up, he felt remorse as his brother looked extremely tired.
"No, not yet. I'm in a.. a very intense conversation with Raivis," he lied. He was sure that not even his brother, being the huge idiot he was, would fall for that pathetic excuse of a lie. But whether or not he did, he'd never know, because Feliciano merely smiled and told him to sleep soon before turning into his own room. He swallowed – he was the worst brother ever. He was the older one, the one who should be working hard to look after the younger, not the other way around. He felt like a failure as the older sibling.
He bit his lip as he pressed the left click button on his mouse. "I'm sorry," he said, before shutting of the laptop and turning out the lamp.
When Feliciano woke up the next morning, he went straight into his older brother's room to ask him what he wanted for lunch. His problems began when the bed was empty, and an exercise book was left on the pillow. He snatched it up, eyes wide as he read the note.
"Lovino Vargas, you're fucking dead."
-x-
"Ready?" Francis asked Lovino as he piled into the back of the Frenchman's BMW.
"No, I came here at five thirty in the morning forgetting half of my belongings, I'm sorry but we'll have to go back, and probably face the wrath of my psychotic younger brother," he said, rolling his eyes. "Move it."
The blond snorted, and stepped on the pedal. "Cut the cheek, dear. Do remember that I'm paying for a last-minute business class flight to all the way to Madrid for you? It's not exactly a two hour shift at the supermarket."
"Okay, that has got to be the biggest amount of bullshit I've heard in my life," Lovino said, "you're a fucking country, immortal and shit. Two hours at a super market to you will probably equate to like, three months to me. Not to mention your country's economy."
"Hey, I can't just dip into the money of my people whenever I want to," he sniffed, looking over his shoulder.
"I'm sure you don't," Lovino smirked, "with this car, and that house of yours, and god knows what else you have back home. My point is, you can help out a guy once in a while, right? I'm sure this isn't even money you'll miss for a second."
Francis scoffed, ignored the question and focused his eyes to the road. "So you know where you're going, right? You're completely aware of how this works, and what we're doing."
"…Not really."
The remainder of the drive to the airport was Francis going over their extremely slapdash plan: Francis would ask to meet up with Antonio for some reason or another – presumably for 'work' or whatever they called it, but instead of Francis, Lovino would go. They would then reconcile, probably have a small and pointless argument, talk it out and then do whatever the fuck came after people make up.
"Then you'll proclaim your undying love for him, and you two will become the cutest couple to grace the earth," Francis joked, a smile playing on his lips.
"You fucking wish," Lovino would spit back, but wondered in the smallest crevice of his mind as to how he'll deal with the annoying as shit things he had called feelings.
It seemed simple enough. If his life was a movie, he felt that this would be the climax. The watchers would sit, wondering whether or not he'd make it to his destination to presumably proclaim his love (or whatever he was going to do) for that shithead on the other side of the globe. In the movies, it always worked out in the end, and there'd be a happily ever after or some shit.
But then again, in movies, something always went wrong.
As he sat in the airport lounge with Francis, the two in complete silence, he took the time to survey his actions. Here he was, flying across the globe with a guy he wouldn't classify as a friend and more like a molester while probably driving his too-kind younger brother to the side of the mental planet, but what for? What was he expecting to do when he finally does meet with Antonio? He wasn't sure if he felt the need to get back at the bastard for kissing him, to get even with him for making him confused or whatever, but he just felt like he had to do something. The bastard wasn't allowed to just leave him just like that, not after he'd been the most understanding person on the goddamn planet – for god's sake he was inhuman and he'd kept a sane head – but he still felt uneasy. It seemed like the most trivial reason to drag an uninvolved man into your personal and ridiculous matters.
"Hey Francis," he said, turning to him. "Why are you doing this for me?"
The blond turned, and thought for a moment. He smiled, and his eyes were actually fucking twinkling. "It's fun," he said simply. "Watching you two, that is. It's really, a lot of fun."
There was something though, about the way that he said that, that made Lovino uneasy. He knew that to Francis, this whole him-and-Antonio thing was a game, but now that he was serious, he felt that Francis was only mocking him. He knew what the older guy thought of him – he was just a human, trash, easily replaced and shit, but Antonio was his friend. A real friend, and he was watching his close friend walk off into what was his opinion one of the worst decisions a person could make; after all, he'd been there, done that. There was a hole in his vision, a gap in the reasoning and it left Lovino wondering day after day as to why Francis was still helping him – helping them. But inside, he felt that perhaps this was something he was better off knowing.
'Attention, flight X-751 to Madrid will commence boarding from seats A-01 to C-39. Please proceed to the ticket gate to be che…'
Francis held out his hand to Lovino, a coy smile on his face. "Ready?" he asked, gathering his luggage in his other hand.
Lovino hesitated. He lowered his head and smiled, before refusing the Frenchman's hand and getting up himself. "When was I not?"
But in reality, he felt like he had more insecurities than a teenaged high school girl.
|-x-|
A/N: otllll I'm so sorry that I've procrastinated on this so much… after this is the last chapter (and itll probably be really sloppy because I don't plan stuff at all cos im dumb) !
umm the tense might change somewhere accidently, because I've been getting into writing in present tense recently (I need to work on keeping consistent dkfgf) ;;
thanks for reading, im sorry for being late, and leave me some feedback? 8D; /sobsobs le runs