The days that followed the uncanny meeting with the soldier, Lovino felt differently coming to the coffee house. It was stupid, really, to feel so troubled by such a simple event. But Lovino felt stupid, also, for the strange gesture that had come to him so easily : why did he give him the book ? Was this something people did ? And it wasn't much, really, but Lovino couldn't help feeling weird about it. He had no idea if he was to meet the soldier again, and if he did, he had no idea of the proper way to act around him, after such a ridiculous behaviour.
And at the same time, for some reason he couldn't quite grasp, a very small part of him simply wished to see him again. Often, at night, when he was in bed, unable to sleep, two shiny green eyes came haunting him in the dark, slowly following him to his dreams.
.
.
That night, lying on his bed, Antonio was smiling to himself. What a remarkable person he had met earlier that day, what a wonderful man was this young Italian reader of the coffeeshop. Antonio rolled over and took the book from his bag at the foot of the bed. He held it up to his face, and observed it for a moment. He turned it around, flipped a few pages. He read the title, over and over, and the descriptions at the back, and the editor stuff, and the very short preface, and before he knew it, he was ten pages into the story already.
Noticing it, he blinked to himself. Not far on his left, Gilbert groaned, shifting under his covers. From his bed, Antonio could only distinguish a few locks of white hair sticking out of the sheets.
"Tonio, the light..." he huffed weakly.
Antonio checked the hour; it was half past midnight. Sighing; a bit reluctant, he turned off his torch light anyway, and carefully lay the book back in his bag.
In the silence of the now dark again room, Antonio tried to remember how the man looked like. He recalled that he had a soft voice, almost shy. Though, it was a fair, young voice. Antonio wondered how old he could be. Probably not so much older than twenty, for sure. Probably not less either. Then his thoughts wandered down to his hands. Smaller than his own. Delicate and thin. Palms and fingers made to handle precious things, such as books. Antonio wondered what could be his job. Or was he a student ? Or was he both ?
Surely he was a very smart person. Reading a book all by himself in a coffeeshop of Cádiz...what an interesting person.
And his fleeing eyes. An unusual color, Antonio tried to remember. He couldn't see them right in his mind. What color could they be ?
Antonio fell into profound sleep, with in mind the last image of the Italian man nervously rubbing a hand to the nape of his neck.
.
.
It was Saturday. The morning was fresh and nice, after a long week of terrible heat. Lovino walked along the beach path, on his way for some grocery shopping. A soft breeze of air came to him from the sea, rustling into his hair just slightly. It was still early, and not many people were on the streets. It was the time Lovino liked most to go shopping. He didn't like crowded places, and in a town like Cádiz, moreover with the fine season coming back, moments like that morning were precious to him. Lovino walked with his eyes turned to the sea. He was, he thought, lucky to have such a view right from his front door. If he was not happy with his life most of the time, Lovino was stubborn to find beauty in his lonely days.
The sea was a deep blue, and didn't move a lot that morning. In fact, it hardly ever moved a lot. The Mediterranean Sea wasn't exactly renown for nervous waves. A few people were walking around already, in the sand, along the shore, and even some into the water. Lovino was absently wondering how cool the water was at that hour when he heard a familiar voice.
"Hey !"
He turned his head, and looked around, but couldn't find anyone.
"Hey !" the voice called again, and this time Lovino heard it came from behind him, and soon he heard someone breathing loudly and heavy footsteps, that came to a stop right behind him.
Lovino turned around, to find, as expected, the soldier from a week ago. Today he wasn't wearing a uniform, instead a rather plain white shirt and dark jeans, and, amusingly, thong shoes. Lovino felt immediatly a little nervous in his presence.
Like the first time they had met, uniform or not, that soldier appeared so confident, and he had such a honest voice, that he instantly appeared superior, intimidating.
"I knew it was you ! Hi !" he said, with a large, simple smile that made his eyes glitter a little.
"Hi." Lovino answered, not meeting his gaze.
"...Uh, you remember me, right ?" he asked, unsurely.
"Yeah, sure !" Lovino quickly clarified, and without thinking he rushed a hand into his hair, to get it out of his eyes : it was a very nervous movement, that he never seemed to be able to control.
"...Have you read it ?" Lovino asked finally, meeting the dreaded green eyes.
"The book ? Yes, I did ! I hoped to see you today, actually ! I hoped to be able to talk with you."
A small smile answered the soldier's wide one on Lovino's face. He had said this in such an enthusiastic, almost childish voice. Lovino felt very pleased suddenly to have given him the book.
"Actually..." the Spaniard continued, "Do you have some time now ?...I mean ! If that's not too much to ask !" he added quickly, waving both hands hastily.
Lovino checked his watch. A part of him wanted to stick with his plans. Lovino was never a spontaneous person.
However, a bigger part of him was curious that morning, and the pleading green eyes helped to silence the sensible one. He shaked his head, giving up.
"Ok." he said, "I've got time."
The man seemed to light up from feet to head.
"Let's have something cool to drink, ok ?"
And like that they headed off to the nearest coffeeshop : the one where they had met a while ago.
.
.
Antonio loved life that morning. He had a tendency to love life anyway, but that one morning was seriously good to him. He hadn't thought he would meet his Italian book-lender so early in the morning, and it had been a very nice surprise.
"By the way, I still don't know your name ?" he asked, almost chirping. A part of him wondered why he was so happy.
The young man looked up at him slowly, and he instantly knew why.
"Lovino."
Olive green. That was the color of his eyes. Pale, cool, olive color. They were beautiful. Antonio drowned in them for a moment, overwhelmed now that, at last, he could directly meet the shifting gaze that had been haunting his nights.
"...Do you remember mine ?" he breathed out.
Lovino's gaze changed subtly, before he answered, a very small tug curving the corner of his mouth.
"I'm afraid I don't." he said, and unlocked their eyes to push the door open.
They entered and ordered two lemonades, and sat down at the table by the window Lovino seemed to like so much. Right after he sat, Lovino's gaze was like caught to the sea, and he remained silent for a moment, his eyes not fully open, his lips not fully linked. Antonio could only stare, amazed, by this strange, strange man, and his beautiful face, and his so deep, so thoughtful eyes.
Suddenly, he kind of started, or shivered, and his gaze was back into the room.
"So, your name ?"
Antonio stared blankly for a little more, before noticing he was supposed to answer.
"Antonio."
"Antonio." Lovino repeated, nodding, and smiling. "That's what it was."
Antonio smiled, and reached into his old shoulder bag for the book.
"Here !" he said eagerly, putting it on the table. "Told you I would give it back !"
Lovino looked at the book. "Do you really want to, though ? Have you finished it ?"
Antonio nodded. "I'm back with nothing to read. But worst than before, now I am bookless, and hungry for more."
Lovino smiled again. He had this small smile that one who doesn't smile a lot has. A smile given as a gift; a true, rare smile. Antonio thought that he perhaps was a bit more lonely than he appeared at first.
"Well I have another one here. I mean, not that I've been carrying one on purpose, I..." he stammered, reaching to his own bag : a leather black, fancy one. He pulled out a rather fat book, and placed it in front of him under Antonio's amused gaze.
At the same time a waitress arrived and placed two large glasses of lemonade on the table, by the books. Both nodded at her.
"I don't know what to say." Antonio started again, honestly, after she left.
Lovino's look turned questioning.
"...I didn't think someone could willingly bother to do something like this for me."
"Like what ?" he asked, confused.
"I mean...!" Antonio tried again, twirling his fingers nervously. "First you give me a book, then you are thoughtful enough to think you might lend me another one and..."
"Is that thoughtful ? I don't know...I just thought you might like it..." Lovino answered, looking down at his books.
"...Well, thank you." Antonio finished, in lack of something better to explain himself.
Lovino looked at him, and for a moment, Antonio felt like he was the world.
"I'm sorry, I should go." Lovino said suddenly.
Antonio's own world fell around him that instant.
"What ? No ! Please !"
Lovino stopped in mid-motion, and looked at him again.
"Please, stay ! I'm...you didn't even take a sip of your drink and...and I told you I wanted to talk about Sherlock Holmes.." Antonio added, a little too desperately.
But after a beat Lovino sat back, and tasted his lemonade. They ended up talking too long, and Antonio wanted to never be parted from him. When both glasses were empty, they sat still for a long moment without daring to move. When they left the shop, they lingered along the beach path where they had met earlier, talking of everything, but of books mostly. It was almost noon when they sat on the low wall that bordered the path and separated it from the beach.
"Thank you for staying." Antonio said in a low voice. He couldn't tear away his gaze from their hands, which both rested on the wall by their sides, but they were so close, and seemed like attracted to each other. If he moved just a little, Antonio thought, he could be able to touch Lovino's fingers. And why did he want so badly to do so ?
"I never know what to do on week ends. Most go to their families, but I don't have one." he finished.
Lovino spoke and Antonio noticed that he was looking at their hands, too.
"Well if you want to, you can call me one day." he said, and Antonio stared now at his face. "I am a little lonely, too, on week ends." his eyes raised slowly until he met Antonio's, and neither of them moved for a few seconds.
"It's getting hot now." Lovino cut abruptly.
"Uh yes. It's probably midday already."
"I'm gonna have to go now." he said, and his eyes were apologetic.
"Yes, I'm afraid I restrained you far too long."
"No, it's...it's fine."
He got up, and Antonio followed.
"Sorry." Antonio said, smiling faintly. "Oh, here. My number, you know..."
"Yes."
"Well, see you then !..I guess I'll read your book now."
"...yes." Lovino said, apparently suppressing a smile, then he waved shortly and walked down the path.
After an afternoon of reading, Antonio got a text that read :
"Uhm, hope you get this. I don't know. Hope you like the book. Love, Lovino."
Then, immediatly after : "Sorry about the love. I meant bye. Bye."
Antonio smiled so hard his face ached.
"I very much like it. Thank you." was what he finally answered after a few attempts, then he happily saved the number under a new name in his contacts : Lovino.
.
.
That night, for the first time in a long while, neither of them felt so much lonely.
A/N
The more I go, the more I think this story would fit GerIta best. Uh. But...Spanish Legion uNIFORMS ;-; !
Btw : "Lovino looked at him, and for a moment, Antonio felt like he was the world." Antonio feels like he is the world to Lovino. I don't know if that makes sense. The sentence is ambiguous and I simply can't think of a way to turn it right, I'm so angry ! So there, lame explanation in the notes. Yey.
In other news, I am enjoying very much writing this. Brace yourselves, it's gonna be fluffy.