Whoa, super late update. Sorry guys. I just started college two weeks ago (Longwood University, performance theatre) and the last month or so has been hectic, between getting ready to move in and actually moving in and getting finances settled and whatnot. But I got cast in my first college show (: I'm playing Girl 3 and Young Girl in Lorca's Blood Wedding. Not a huge role, but I'm only a freshman so I will more than gladly take it.
Anyway, on with the story.
I don't own Hetalia.
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"So why were you two late?" Antonio asks Francis, wrapping his arms around Lovino's torso, content.
There is a brief hesitation.
"We lost track of time," Francis says, and Arthur blushes madly.
"Called it," Gilbert says with a smirk from the doorway, snaking an arm around Matthew's waist; Matthew stiffens and squeaks in surprise.
"What was that, Birdie?" Gilbert says, a mischievous gleam in his eyes as he turns to face Matthew, who gasps and fights not to giggle as Gilbert tickles him mercilessly.
"Gilbert," Francis says with mock reproach. "Don't touch my son like that."
"Don't remind me that you're his dad," Gilbert gripes. "You know what happened the last time we remembered that you're his dad? He left the room. In the middle of sex. Because my phone rang and it was you."
"And you answered it!" Matthew says, his face going scarlet. "Who answers the phone during sex? Especially when it's the other person's parent?"
"Like I said, I try not to think of him as your dad," Gilbert tells him. "Because it's really awkward to have a drink with him while thinking 'hey, I boned your son last night'."
Matthew's blush deepens and he looks away, his eyes landing on Lovino, whose face has gone decidedly paler than usual. His eyes are wide and panicked, staring straight ahead at nothing.
"Lovi, are you okay?" he asks.
"Don't change the subject, Birdie," Gilbert says.
"No, seriously," Matthew protests. "Something's wrong."
Antonio looks down at the man in his arms when Lovino goes rigid, his entire frame trembling.
"Lovi?" Spain said softly. The little Italian does not respond, and Antonio can feel the tenseness building in his love's muscles. Lovino stammers helplessly, clutching at Antonio's arm. "Lovi, what's wrong?"
"He's having some kind of seizure," Matthew says, coming forward.
"What do I do?" Antonio asks desperately.
"There's not much we can do," Matthew tells him sadly. "I can call the agency and see how fast they can send a doctor who knows about the countries, but until then all we can really do is wait it out. It should only last a few minutes."
Tears spring to Antonio's eyes as Lovino stops stuttering, his wildly shaking hands clutching so hard at Antonio's arm he breaks the skin, his eyes wide with confusion and fear.
"I know, mi tomate," Antonio coos, running a hand lovingly through Lovino's hair. "Shhh, you're safe. Matt, please call."
Matthew nods and heads into the kitchen. Lovino's arms and legs begin to twitch. Gilbert steps toward Antonio and gently pulls the Spaniard's arms away from Lovino, earning a pleading look in those brilliant green eyes.
"I know, Toni," Gilbert says sadly. "Just trust me, please."
Antonio hesitates, but allows Gilbert to take Lovino from his arms. Gilbert lowers the Italian gently to the floor, on his side, placing a pillow from the couch under his head. The convulsions are picking up intensity and Antonio watches with anxious eyes as Gilbert very gently undoes the top two buttons of Lovino's shirt. Antonio lowers himself to the floor in front of Lovino.
"Don't touch him," Gilbert warns softly, and tears spring to Antonio's eyes with the uselessness consuming him. "Talk to him," Gilbert urges. "I can't guarantee he can hear you, but there's no harm in trying."
Antonio nods. "Lovi," he says, his voice shaking. He clears his throat and tries again, knowing his anxiety will only worsen the situation. "Lovi, it's alright. This will be over in a few minutes, love. Matthew's getting a doctor so we can find out what's wrong. You're going to be fine, Lovi. It's okay."
For several minutes the convulsions continue, and the tears spill over the rims of Antonio's eyes and a tight lump in his throat strains his voice as he continues his gentle reassurances. The others have appeared in the doorway, minus Matthew who is still on the phone, and they watch the spectacle sadly, anxiously until finally, finally, Lovino begins to fall still again. Feliciano kneels on Lovi's other side as the convulsions slow to twitches, which in turn slow to a mild trembling. Lovino sits up and blinks a few times, his eyes shifting from glazed over and far away to panicked and confused. He looks around the room almost frantically.
"Sp-Spanga?" he stammers, and Antonio places a hand on his shoulder gently.
"I'm right here, Lovi," he says softly, and Lovino throws himself into the Spaniard's arms. "It's alright," Antonio assures him, hugging him tightly to his chest. "You're safe."
"Thank you," Lovino whispers. "I could hear you. Thank you."
"I love you."
"I love you too."
Antonio holds the still mildly trembling Lovino against his chest as Matthew reenters the room, a look of relief crossing his features at the sight before him.
"How long did it take the seizure to break?" he asks Gilbert.
"A little over six minutes," Gilbert says. "What did the agency say?"
Matthew sighs. "They'll have a doctor here by tomorrow morning. Until then we're on our own."
"I don't like that answer," Antonio comments, and Matthew smiles sadly.
"Neither do I, but it's the best we've got."
Antonio sighs. "Are you alright, mi tomate?" he asks, and Lovino nods mutely against his chest.
"The spaghetti's almost ready," Feliciano chimes in an attempt to raise his brother's spirits; it does little. There are tears in his eyes as he buries his face in Antonio's chest, and his breath hitches yet again.
"Lovi," Antonio says warmly. "It's okay, mi querido."
"Everything hurts," Lovi mumbles.
"I know, Lovi."
"Take him upstairs," Gilbert suggests gently. "Let him sleep for a while, he's probably exhausted."
Antonio sighs and gets to his feet, taking Lovino in his arms again and carrying him easily up the stairs to their bedroom. He places Lovino gingerly on the bed before closing the door and sitting next to him.
"What's wrong, Lovi?" Antonio asks softly.
"I'm fine, Toni."
"What's wrong?"
"I don't want to talk," Lovi says quickly, his eyes snapping shut in frustration. "Everyone's worried and it's stressing me out and I can't think straight and my head hurts and I'm still shaking and I'm tired and I just want to sleep."
"Okay," Antonio says, kissing Lovino's forehead lightly. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you."
"It's fine. I know, you guys are just trying to help me, but I'm having a hard time dealing with everyone being upset."
"We're worried about you, Lovi," Antonio reminds him. "None of us want to see you hurt."
Lovino shifts uncomfortably, looking away from Antonio.
"Lovi? Look at me please."
No response.
"Please?"
Lovino turns his head farther, and Antonio sighs sadly, taking Lovi's face in his hands. Lovino opens his eyes, a few more tears running down his cheeks.
"I love you," Antonio assures him. "More than anything in this world, Lovi. Please stop belittling yourself."
Lovino sniffles quietly and nods, and Antonio smiles softly.
The two fall silent, and Antonio moves to carefully remove Lovi's shoes before placing the blanket over him. When he sits back down on the bed, Lovino takes one of Antonio's hands in his own.
"Will you stay until I fall asleep?" Lovino asks, and Antonio smiles.
"Of course I will, mi querido."
Lovino smiles wearily, and Antonio runs his fingers gently through his lover's auburn hair.
"Dame una tiempo nuevo, dame oscuridad, dame tu poesía a medio terminar. Dame día a día, dame tu calor. Dame un beso ahora en el callejón. Dame una sonrisa, dame seriedad. Dame si es posible la posibilidad de llevarte a la cima del cielo, donde existe un silencio total, donde el viento te rosa la cara y yo rozo tu cuerpo al final y llevarte a la cima del cielo, donde el cuento no pueda acabar, donde emerge sublime el deseo y la gloria se puede alcanzar."
By the end of the song, Lovino's eyes have drifted closed. Antonio remains seated next to him for a while, and then places another gentle kiss on Lovino's forehead before getting to his feet and heading back down the stairs. Francis rises to meet him at the foot of the stairs.
"How is he?" Francis asks.
"Asleep," Antonio tells him.
"Good. Come have some food, it's delicious."
"I'm not hungry."
"Tonio," Francis says softly. "I know you're upset. But there's nothing you can do, mon ami."
"That's why I'm upset," Antonio snaps, and the others jump. Gilbert steps forward, leaning against the doorway to the living room, but says nothing. "Because there's nothing I can do. Because he's sad and scared and in pain and I can't do anything to help him, and none of this would have happened if I had been home on time."
"Tonio, this isn't your fault."
Antonio shakes his head, but Gilbert steps in before the Spaniard can speak.
"Antonio," he says. "In all honesty, it makes sense that you blame yourself. But it really is not your fault. You can't help it that you were late coming home. I'm not going to ask you not to blame yourself, because I know you can't help it at this point, but please, try to forgive yourself. Lovi is going to be fine. Maybe not right away, but in time. It's going to be fine."
"I know that," Antonio says quietly. "I know that, eventually, it will be okay. But that doesn't make it any less awful now."
"You're right," Gilbert says. "It doesn't help any now. And that sucks. But there's nothing you can do right now to make it any less awful. But starving yourself definitely will not help. Stop," he says when Antonio opens his mouth to protest. "Lovi told me you didn't eat breakfast this morning, and I know you don't eat at the office, so go eat something."
Antonio's mouth hangs open for another moment but he closes it, admitting that Gilbert is right, and he heads into the kitchen, followed by Francis. Gilbert sighs and returns to the living room, taking his seat beside Matthew, one arm wrapped around his shoulders.
"Honestly," he says, rolling his eyes. "I love Toni to death, but he's so…"
"Spanish?" Arthur suggests, and Gilbert nods.
"Ah, Spain," he sighs. "Country of passion."
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As my theatre professor explained to us last week, "passion" does not mean "love." Passion can be applied to a range of emotions. Things one is passionate about are the things one is willing to fight and die for. The word passion is overused. But anyway.
The song Toni sings to Lovi is La Cima Del Cielo by Ricardo Montaner, and it is beautiful. Here's a translation (and I actually speak Spanish, so this should be right):
Give me a new time, give me darkness, give me your half-written poetry. Give me day by day, give me your heat. Kiss me now in the alley. Give me a smile, give me seriousness. If possible, give me the possibility to take you to the top of the sky, where there exists total quiet, where the wind turns your face pink and I brush against your body in the end and take you to the top of the sky, where the story cannot end, where sublime desire emerges, and glory can be achieved.
I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. I doubt it, though; this chapter isn't great. But whatevs.