Lovino hunched over the metal screen-coating counter, carefully using a razor to scrape the dried emulsion from it's surface. Ever since his revelation many days ago, the printmaking studio had become spotless. Lovino re-covered the tables with fresh butcher paper, scrubbed every bit of ink from the lithographic press, refilled bottles of mineral spirits and simple green, and cleaned all the grime from the sink, anything to keep him out of his room and away from his brother and Antonio.
The two had become good friends in Lovino's absence. Feliciano had been uneasy about it at first, he wasn't used to being allowed to bond with others without his brother hanging over their every interaction. But eventually after tiptoeing around the older Italian, he realized his brother wasn't going to gripe at him about going out, and he started to loosen up, seeing the Spaniard as he pleased.
It wasn't that Lovino no longer cared, he still wanted to protect his brother, but he couldn't do it in this state. He had to sort himself out first. The older Italian had been systematically destroying all his relationships and feelings for other people for so long that it caught him by surprise that he was still capable of feeling that pounding of the heart and shortness of breath that indicates love. To him, these sensations were a warning, symptoms of a disease that needed to be cured before it was allowed to worsen.
Lovino straightened up and stared over his work, the metal sparkled back at him and made his heart sink. This had been his current distraction, and now he had to find something else to occupy his time. The Italian brushed his bicep over his sweaty forehead and squirted some soap into his hands, enjoying the faint floral scent of the bubbles as he scrubbed a little longer than needed. Finally he decided there was no point in avoiding the inevitable and rinsed the suds from his hands, grabbing a paper towel from the dispenser and taking a quick breath before stepping back and staring at the clock mounted on the wall. 'Almost half past midnight,' his mind registered, 'that's not bad, Feliciano's probably getting ready for bed if he's not in it already.'
Feeling relieved, he tossed the used paper towel in the trash and rolled his sleeves back down. He briefly considered staying in the building a bit longer, if only to sketch out a few thumbnails in the bright studio lights. In the midst of his cleaning frenzy, his artwork had gone neglected. Lovino found that during the course of the day he was too occupied with avoiding his brother and sorting out his feelings to consider conceptualizing a new piece. It was only in the quiet of his dorm at night that the panic at not producing new work set in and he found himself huddling in the closet or the bathroom with a reading light, trying desperately to sketch without waking his brother.
Lovino cracked his neck and reached a hand back to massage his shoulder, 'wherever I sketch, I can't do it without caffeine.' He decided, making his way to the drink machine in the basement, humming lightly as he easily navigated the once confusing hallways. He enjoyed this time of night, when he was usually alone in the building, free to roam around uninterrupted. Lovino shivered slightly as he entered the dim basement floor, no matter how many times he had been through it, he still couldn't get used to the low ceilings and eerie shadows. He walked briskly through the halls, slowing down slightly as he neared Francis' studio and coming to a complete halt when he was a step past it. The first time he had done this he wondered why, the second and third time he still allowed himself the luxury of pretending he didn't know the reason, but he had finally relented, understanding that admitting his compulsions was part of his recovery. He stopped outside Francis' studio because he wanted to be able to hear if Antonio was inside it.
It was stupid really, he didn't know what he'd do if he actually were. He certainly wouldn't knock and try to talk to the boy, if not for the fact that he didn't want to get to know him better, than for the fact that he didn't have near the confidence to do it. It was useless to contemplate those things though, he had decided years ago when his parents were gone and he was left in charge of a brother hardly younger than himself, that he wouldn't partake in the masochistic pastime that was love. Letting love in meant letting pain in, and Lovino had endured enough hurt in his few years to contemplate willingly letting more into his life. 'Better to be lonely by choice than by circumstance,' he always reminded himself, because no one lived forever, and that was painful in and of itself.
Lovino's mind slowly resurfaced from it's churning thoughts and he found his feet moving again, echoing against the plain walls as he stepped across the linoleum, unconsciously making his way to the drink machine. He dug around his pocket, pulling out a crinkled dollar bill and ironing it out over the edge of the machine before feeding it in and selecting a drink. He waited impatiently for the drink to clunk loudly into the dispenser, drawing it out quickly when it fell and slowly opening the lid to let out the excess carbonation. When he was certain the drink wouldn't spew over his hands and the floor, Lovino cracked off the lid, leaning his back against the drink machine as he took a long and satisfying gulp. The carbonation burned his throat and the sweet syrup lay thick on his tongue. His stomach flipped with the sudden stimuli and Lovino realized with a curse that he had forgotten to eat again that day.
'I can't keep on like this,' he admitted to himself sullenly, the barriers of his mind breaking down in the quiet solitary of the dimly lit basement. He grunted as he pushed himself off the drink machine, feet dragging slightly as he navigated back down the halls. In a moment of perceived weakness, he decided to go back to the dorm and go to sleep. His mind couldn't create properly if it was sleep-deprived, he reasoned, and this way he could wake up early and get back to the studio to sketch and prepare for tutoring sessions before anyone else arrived.
Lovino shuffled back to the studio, scooping up his sketchbook and flicking off the light, before heading towards the exit of the large building. The Italian watched his reflection curiously in the glass door, he had been avoiding mirrors lately, aware that the stress his mind and body were facing were probably clearly evidenced in his rapidly thinning body and pale complexion. He hated that about himself, as well as he was able to keep his mind's tribulations locked away from others, his body never failed to express its every whim to any interested public. His face was like a palette, easily painted red, purple, white, or green, depending on his current state. The blushing was the worst, ever since he was a child he had a terrible habit of turning deep red from the slightest provocation.
Lovino neared the door and paused for a moment to brush his fingers through his unruly hair before shaking his head in resignation to his bedraggled appearance and pushing his way outside. He took in a deep breath of dewey, midnight air, enjoying the company of twinkling stars and the occasional chirping bug as he walked the short journey to the dorm. 'People with normal sleeping hours really do miss out on the most beautiful parts of the day,' he thought to himself, taking one last deep breath before ducking into the dormitory, jogging his way up the stairs to his hall. Lovino slowed to an exaggerated pace when he reached his and Feliciano's room. He placed one palm on the door and took the doorknob with the other, applying pressure so the opening hinges would make as little as noise as possible.
Once the door was open just enough to squeeze a body through, Lovino entered the room, focusing on keeping his breathing as shallow as possible as he gently lay his sketchbook on his nightstand and padded to the bathroom. The Italian repeated his procedure, placing a hand on the door and grabbing the door knob with the other, slowly closing the space in the frame until the he eased the lock into place. Satisfied with his silence, Lovino felt around until he found the towel rack, pulling the cottony throw to the floor and pushing it gently with his foot into the space beneath the door. Once he was certain his makeshift stopper was in place, he flicked on the bathroom light. 'I've gotten too good at this,' he thought to himself bitterly as he contemplated if avoiding Feliciano was really worth washing his hair in the sink again.
Lovino pulled his shirt over his head, fiddling with the button on his pants and kicking the fallen slacks off his ankles as he staggered over to the shower. In a moment of rebellion, Lovino reached into the stall to pull on the faucet, only to chicken out at the last second and reach for his shampoo instead. 'You suck, you suck, you suck,' he told himself bitterly, continuing the mantra as he eased the spigot on to a gentle dribble and poured a dollop of flowery smelling shampoo into his palm. Sighing lightly, he thrust his hand under the water, lathering the soap between his palms and lowering his head beneath the stream to massage the suds into his sweaty tendrils. The cold water felt good against his sleep-deprived eyes, but the chill sent an army of goosebumps across his arms and back.
When he was satisfied that all the shampoo had been washed from his hair, Lovino straightened back up, shivering as cold droplets slipped from his sopping brunette strands to his chest and spine. Ignoring his discomfort, he reached for the burgundy washcloth folded neatly behind the faucet and squirted soap into it, holding it under the stream of frigid water until it was foaming. He then ran the soapy cloth across his arms and stomach, reaching awkwardly across his shoulders before applying more soap to the towel and running it across his calves and thighs. Once he was thoroughly soaped up, he rinsed the foam from the rag, leaning over the sink as he awkwardly splashed his limbs with water. He cupped his hands together and filled them under the cold stream, pushing his hips firmly against the sink as he poured the water down his chest. The first day he had attempted this maneuver he had deposited a gigantic puddle onto the floor, but now, on his sixth day of self-induced isolation, he managed to keep the floor dry, save for a few rogue drops.
Once clean, Lovino ran the washcloth over the edge of the sink before folding it up once again and placing it behind the faucet. He plucked his toothbrush out of the holder, squeezing a generous amount of toothpaste over the bristles and leaning against the wall as he brushed. He ignored the shivers that trailed through his naked body, the suffering that had once seemed cathartic was now as commonplace as the cleaning ritual he had just performed. After a few minutes of dazed brushing, he stepped up to the sink and spat, slipping his mouth under the stream and swishing around the water before spitting that out, too, and clunking his toothbrush back into place. He turned the spigot off and leaned cautiously against the bathroom door, sighing quietly when he heard his brother's soft snores resonating from the room. Lovino placed one foot on the towel wedged beneath the crack of the door and leaned his body towards the light switch, pulling the towel back with his foot as soon as he had flicked it off.
The Italian reached down and picked the cotton cloth from the floor, wrapping it around his waist before performing his door opening technique one last time. He stood in the entranceway of the dorm for a minute, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dark room before padding quietly over to his dresser. Once there, he carefully opened the top drawer, drawing out a pair of pajama pants. He folded up the towel and laid it on top of the dresser before slipping on the bottoms and making his way to his bed. After pulling down his quilt, he slid onto his mattress, flinching when a satisfied sigh escaped his lips. He turned to his nightstand before allowing himself to be taken by sleep, setting the alarm to 5am and clicking it on. Satisfied with the completion of his new nightly ritual, he slumped into his pillows, relief flooding his body when his back sunk in relaxation. He tried to stay awake for a while and contemplate some new designs, but exhaustion loomed on the periphery of his brain, clouding his mind and making him delirious. Before he even had the opportunity to fight it, he was lost to a deep, unwavering sleep.
Lovino cracked his eyes open, the noise of someone moving around had finally stirred him from his heavy slumber. He pushed himself up on his elbows, blinking rapidly in an effort to reduce the sleep-induced blurriness from his vision. His whole body felt stiff, a soreness that indicated he had lay unmoving all night.
"Oh, you're awake," a happy voice chirped, making Lovino snap his head to it's source.
"What time is it?" He asked immediately, panic settling into the pit of his stomach.
"Ah, 8:30," The voice returned, sounding hesitant.
"Fuck," Lovino yelped, scrambling from his bed and forcing himself to stand still for a moment as stars danced across his vision. "Why didn't you wake me up sooner?" He demanded, turning his head to glare at his younger brother.
Feliciano pouted slightly, "you've been working so hard lately, when you slept through your alarm clock I just couldn't wake you up."
"What do you mean you couldn't, it's pretty damn easy!" Lovino shouted, pacing over to his dresser and beginning to pull off his clothes as he continued to berate the younger Italian.
"But, you just look so tired, Lovi," Feliciano whined. "And I never see you anymore."
"What do you want, an apology?" Lovino spat, "I'm so sorry that I'm too busy with my work to go gallivanting around with you and your damn Spanish boyfriend."
"Antonio's not my boyfriend,"
"That's beside the point," Lovino ground out as he pulled a clean shirt over his head.
"Then-"
"The point is," Lovino continued, ignoring his brother's interruption, "that I don't have time to just hang out and watch movies and go out to eat." He paused for a moment as he pulled on a fresh pair of underwear and dug around for a clean pair of slacks. "I have enough trouble getting everything done without you sabotaging me!" His frustration reached a boiling point as he finished dressing and turned to regard his wilting younger brother.
Feliciano gaped at the older Italian, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears, "W-what are you talking about?" He pleaded, hating to see his brother's anger directed towards him.
"What do you mean 'what am I talking about?'" Lovino spat back in a mocking tone. "All I ever hear about all day is 'Feliciano's so wonderful,' 'Feliciano's so talented,' 'how can those two boys be related?'"
Feliciano sniffed loudly, wiping the tears streaming down his cheeks with the back of his wrist, "but you know I don't feel that way, Lovi. I would never think those things."
Lovino observed his crying brother, it was true, he did know that Feliciano didn't think himself better. Sometimes Lovino wished he did, it would make it so much easier to blow him off if he were cocky, and then he wouldn't have to care about him so much. Lovino shrugged and shook his head slightly, "how can I believe that when you intentionally let me sleep in? Do you know how behind this puts me? I'm probably going to have to stay up all night just to make up for those few hours."
Feliciano stood silently, head hanging to the ground as Lovino continued to whip through the room, stuffing his feet into his shoes and vigorously brushing his teeth.
"Bye," Feliciano muttered miserably as Lovino scooped up his sketchbook and ran out the door. The older Italian's heart beat painfully against his chest as he walked briskly to the studio, his stomach churned in an unbearable mixture of frustration and guilt. He didn't want to take his stress out on Feliciano, and despite not wanting to admit it, he did know it wasn't his brother's fault he was running late. Yet, it seemed like the younger Italian was always working to make his life harder, as unintentional as it may be.
The morning whizzed by for Lovino, he rushed around at top speed, numbly completing all his tasks while his head continued to churn, completely lost in thought. He had settled into cutting mats for his newest prints when his mind caught up with his body. His shoulders ached miserably and his stomach grumbled from neglect, "dammit," he cursed as he continued to precisely slice through the crisp white mat board, "forgot to eat again." He and his brother were on the school's meal plan but the dining hall was only open for 2 hours each mealtime, and so far, Lovino had been largely unsuccessful at remembering that detail.
"Hey," a friendly voice sounded through the quiet room, making Lovino snap the razor forward out of fright, slicing his forefinger before he could jerk his left hand from it's path.
"Dammit!" He shouted, quickly popping his bleeding finger into his mouth before it could drip on his work.
"Ah! I'm sorry!" the voice sounded, Lovino turned his head to glare at the person that had interrupted his task. His mouth gaped open slightly when Antonio rushed to his side, tossing a paper bag onto the table and grabbing the Italian gently by the elbow, pulling his finger from his mouth to examine it. Antonio turned Lovino's hand over, carefully studying the injury before the Italian ripped it from his grasp, sending a few rogue blood droplets flying onto his formerly clean mats.
"Shit! That's 10 bucks down the drain," Lovino lamented angrily, clutching his hand to his chest and slumping bitterly into a chair situated next to the table.
"Sorry about that," Antonio smiled apologetically, walking to a sink to grab some paper towels, holding them momentarily under water before turning off the faucet and wandering back over to Lovino's side. He pulled up a chair next to the Italian, making Lovino flinch at the noise of the wooden legs scraping over the linoleum floor. Antonio didn't seem to notice as he reached for the boy's hand again, wanting to clean his wound.
"I can handle it," Lovino retorted indignantly, pulling his arm away as if Antonio were trying to hurt him. The Spaniard only shrugged, holding the moist napkins out to the Italian and watching curiously at the way he vigorously wiped off the blood, ignoring the pain his roughness caused. "What are you doing here?" Lovino asked, not bothering to look up from his chore as he spoke.
"Ah, your brother asked me to bring you food," Antonio explained, turning his head and nodding to indicate the previously discarded bag resting on the table.
"That's stupid," Lovino growled, wrapping the paper towel around his finger and applying pressure to squelch the bleeding, "I can take care of myself." A few seconds ticked by before he added, "and why would he ask you to bring it anyway?"
Antonio's smile drooped a bit as he regarded the older Italian that stubbornly refused to meet his gaze. "I-I heard you two had a fight-" he started hesitantly, unsure if he was intruding on personal business.
Lovino just snorted and peeled the paper towel off, examining his wounded digit. "I doubt that's what Feliciano told you," he said matter-of-factly.
Antonio let out a simple "hmm" in reply, letting the two sit in silence for a while before carefully lifting a hand towards Lovino's wrist, pausing to see if the man would jerk his hand away again, before taking his stillness as permission to examine the injury. Antonio took the surprisingly small hand in to his own, pulling it to his face in order to properly study the cut. Lovino willed himself not to blush furiously from the gentle sensation of the man's breath on his fingertips, and he almost drew his hand away before Antonio finally spoke. "I don't think you need stitches, but we should probably put something on it to avoid infection."
Lovino grunted and leaned back in his chair, pulling his hand away from the Spaniard's grip. "How do you know anyway? I thought you were a Culinary student, not a Doctor."
Antonio laughed, "Have you seen the knives we use in the kitchen? Injuries like this are a pretty common occurrence." He explained easily, suddenly rising from his seat to reach across the table and grab the forgotten white bag. "Do you want some?" He asked as he pulled out a large container.
"I'm not hungry," Lovino lied. Actually he was starving, he was so desperate for food that he would even consider eating a potato, he admitted to himself bitterly. But he had already spent too much time with Antonio, and in his current state any exposure was dangerous.
Antonio shrugged and peeled the lid off the container, the scent of sweet spices and tomatoes hit Lovino's nose immediately, making his mouth water and stomach growl miserably. "Are you sure?" Antonio laughed at the noise emanating from the Italian's gut. "I made it myself," the Spaniard cooed enticingly when Lovino shook his head.
"What makes you think that would make me want it any more?" The Italian grumbled, folding his arms over his chest with a cross look.
Antonio chuckled through a mouthful of noodles and pounded his chest with a fist as he swallowed. "You're kinda sensitive, aren't you?" He clucked, glancing down at his watch and jumping suddenly to his feet. "Mierda! I'm gonna be late!" He yelped, quickly jogging out the door and leaving a wide-eyed Lovino in his wake. The Italian sat stunned, he had just started to become acclimated to the silence again when Antonio peeked back in, "bye bye, Lovi, take care of that finger!" He waved, disappearing again as he ran down the hall.
Lovino listened intently to the clapping footfalls until they finally faded into quiet. 'Did he really just call me sensitive?' His mind raced, no one had ever made that observation about him. Obstinate, self-centered, and obtuse, sure, but never sensitive. He wasn't sure how to deal with this new information. Lovino looked from the blood speckles on his previously crisp new mat board to the forgotten container of spaghetti. Shrugging, he leaned forward, pulling the container and fork towards him and wasting no time in devouring the meal. He allowed his mind to wander as he filled his stomach, feeling content for the first time in many days, and trying not to blush as he considered the mouth the fork had previously occupied.