Lovino bent his head over the large metal plate, dragging his pencil heavily along it's slightly grainy surface. His mind couldn't catch up with his hand, his jumbled thoughts seemed to be dumping themselves into the quickly forming sketch, but he was unaware of what the finished product was supposed to be. It was terrifying, he didn't have time to waste on mistakes and the lithograph plates were expensive, but he couldn't make himself care. It seemed as if all his energy, all his fight, was being deposited through his fingers into the tip of that greasy black pencil.
The large studio filled with white florescent lighting as the orange evening sunlight faded into darkness. Lovino didn't notice the onset of night or the sound of the last remaining students trickling down the hall back to their regular lives. All he could see was composition and form, and all he could hear was the muted squeak of his litho pencil brushing against the surface of the plate. Despite his greatest efforts to push it away, Lovino couldn't help but feel excitement creep into his heart as he started to observe recognizable features in the forming drawing. The sketch was grotesque, a two-headed figure splayed awkwardly as if it had collided with an invisible vehicle. One of the heads was angled too far to the side, a deep gash severing it from it's shared body. The Italian held in a breath as he studied the forms, he knew the image was revealing, but even he wasn't aware of what.
Deciding he had neither the desire nor the time to decipher his creation, he pushed himself from the table, stumbling from his chair to grab a bottle of black, thick ink from a shelf behind him and setting it carefully on the table before shuffling through the doorway into the adjoining room to fetch a small container of water. Lovino grabbed a plastic cup from the rack above the sink and squeaked on the faucet, pushing his fingers under the cool stream as he fiddled with the temperature. He knew he was just wasting time, the mounted clock in the adjacent room was blissfully broken and so didn't tempt the Italian with the time. The clock in this room, however, was working, and despite his attempts to tell himself it was best not to know, Lovino could never help but glance at it. When the water had reached a comfortable temperature, Lovino cupped his hands beneath it, splashing the refreshing liquid onto his tired face a few times before thrusting the overused cup under the stream and setting it to the side. He squeaked off the rusty spigot, pulling a paper towel from the dispenser and sighing as he wiped his face. It wouldn't help him to know what time it was, if anything it would just make him more tired and more desperate, but despite his best efforts, he could never fight the temptation.
"Dammit," Lovino growled to himself as he lifted the cup of water from the sink and glanced up at the clock. '11:15,' his mind registered wearily, not as bad as he had thought, he could still finish printing this edition by the morning if he finished the drawing by midnight. Feeling slightly rejuvenated, the Italian scurried back to his table, sliding into the still-warm chair and quickly unscrewing the bottle of toxic smelling black liquid. He lifted the discarded paintbrush from earlier and dipped it hesitantly into the noxious dark mixture, carefully positioning the loaded brush over the cup of water and brushing it into the edge of the water to dilute its thickness. Once the ink had reached a satisfactory level of darkness he attacked the formerly forgotten drawing, swiping his brush from the edge of the injured head's neck to the surrounding blank area in furious strokes. He dipped the paintbrush back into the black liquid, rubbing his thumb over the bristles to decorate the gushing wound with splatters of black.
Once he had finished, Lovino rested the paintbrush against the cap of the ink, sitting back to study his finished work. The image was disturbing, and he couldn't decide if it the grotesqueness would overshadow any message it carried. Deciding he didn't have the time to be critical, he shrugged to himself and picked up the paintbrush, standing from his chair to fetch a paper towel. He padded back to his work, laying the paper towel on the table with the paintbrush on top of it. He decided to put off the task of cleaning the sticky black liquid from the bristles for later as he rubbed his dirtied thumb on the edge of the napkin, screwing the cap back on the pungent ink and scooting it back onto the shelf. He eyed the pooled liquid wearily, it would take a while to dry he realized as he considered resting his eyes for a few minutes until the sketch was ready to be printed.
He rolled his shoulders, sighing as every fiber in his body pleaded with him to rest. Lovino stiffly shifted his weight, obstinately pushing the cries away as he wandered over to the dark windows, grabbing a box fan from the sill and hauling it back to his drawing. He dropped the fan roughly to the table, grunting as he lowered to the ground and snatched the cord, plugging it into the wall before struggling back to his feet. He turned the fan on full blast, shivering as the cold air whirled past him before falling back into his chair, pulling his knees to his chest and resting his chin on them as he stared down at his drying sketch, eyes glazed over in exhaustion.
Lovino felt sleep wavering in the periphery of his vision while he watched the shiny black ink harden into a matte gray. When he was sure that the drawing was sufficiently dry he let his feet drop to the floor, the body heat he had accumulated fleeing instantly as he leaned forward and clicked off the fan. He stared quietly at the litho plate, now that it was ready to be printed, he found he was lacking the energy to do it.
"Ah, Lovi," a voice sounded suddenly, making the Italian snap back in fright.
"I told you I want to be left alone," he growled immediately, lifting his head from his drawing and letting his mouth droop slightly in surprise. "S-sorry, I thought you were Feliciano." He said, anger still decorating the edges of his words.
Antonio laughed half-heartedly, moving from the doorway to sit on a table at the front of the classroom as he watched Lovino lift the metal plate he had been eyeing and place it on top of a press. "What are you doing?" Antonio asked curiously as the boy paced around the room, grabbing up various items and setting them next to his completed sketch.
"I should be asking you that," Lovino shot back. Antonio's presence had afforded him a newfound storage of energy, he considered as he flipped the metal plate over and poured a dollop of gum arabic into the middle, quickly spreading it around with a crusty rag before flipping the plate back over, banging his fists on the corners for good measure.
"W-well, it's just Feliciano-"
Lovino sighed, he was tired of distractions, but even more than that, he was growing weary of being blamed for his brother's unhappy state. Why was it that no one seemed to notice that he was in no condition to be worrying about someone else's mood? Lovino snapped his head towards the Spaniard in reply, fixing an angry look on his face in a dare to continue.
Antonio carried on, completely oblivious to the Italian's threatening behavior, "he just, he's upset because he thinks you're avoiding him."
"That's stupid," Lovino barked immediately, "and it's none of your business."
Antonio sighed in understanding, "I figured you'd say that, I just hate to see little Feli so unhappy, I couldn't help but try to sort out his problems for him."
"He doesn't need you for that," the words flew out of the Italian's mouth before he knew they existed.
"What's that?" Antonio blinked, confused.
"I said-I said that you should leave," Lovino decided finally, this whole day had been terrible and continued to sink further and further into the depths of misery.
"Have you had dinner, Lovi?" Antonio asked suddenly, sounding a little too chipper for the Italian's taste. Was it possible for someone to be so oblivious, or was the man just putting on an act?
"Just go!" Lovino shouted, frustrated. His days of solitude had inhibited his conversational skills, and even if they hadn't, he was starting to feel the heat in the back of his neck that was a tell-tale sign of emotion trying to push its way into his eyes and cheeks. He wasn't sure what had provoked it exactly, just that the day's misfortunes had chosen this inopportune time to register in his brain, and he wasn't about to add breaking down in front of a stupid bastard of a Spaniard to the day's list of grievances.
Antonio nodded silently, picking himself up from the table and walking quickly from the room. Lovino sighed a breath of relief as he stared at the doorway the Spaniard had just exited. He slumped forward, resting his elbows on the press bed as he dug the inside of his wrists into his eyes. He was thankful to be alone, but he couldn't help but feel his heart tug painfully when he realized the older boy hadn't even wished him a good night. It didn't make any sense, he was getting what he wanted and yet he was still was miserable. If he allowed himself to really consider the prior weeks' events, everything about his relationship with Antonio was different. He never recalled avoiding anyone before, in the past when had felt the symptoms of love he had lashed out, actively attacking the source of the feelings with his foul-temper until they regarded him hatefully. He didn't know why Antonio was different, it was almost as if he didn't want the boy to hate him, but that was a thought to terrifying to consider.
Lovino straightened back up, moving his hands behind him and pushing at the small of his back, cracking it with a satisfying pop and dropping his arms back to his sides to slump his shoulders forward in relief. He picked up a container of baby powder, coughing as he sprinkled the vaguely fragrant white powder onto the surface of the drawing and pushed the particles around the plate with a dry paintbrush. When the surface of the sketch was coated in a film of transparent white, he brushed the excess to the edge of the press bed, grabbing a folded paper towel from the glass covered table behind him and holding it to the edge of the press so he could carefully brush the powder into it. Once the residue was removed, he balled his fist around the napkin, dropping the paint brush on the metal bed and padding over to trash can to dispose of the unneeded material.
He paused when he thrust his foot on the pedal of the bin, popping the top open forcefully. His footsteps seemed to be echoing in his ears, and he fretted a moment over whether he had finally exerted himself to the point of insanity, before realizing that the sound was coming from the hall and not his own head. Lovino dropped the wadded paper towel into the trash can, his eyes still locked on the open doorway as his body tensed in anticipation. The campus was outfitted with patrolling officers, but they were largely inattentive and overweight middle-aged men. Lovino doubted if they'd be able to fight off any serious threat. Tremors shook the Italian's body as the clapping sound of feet against linoleum drew closer and closer, he lunged forward, grabbing a pair of scissors from the supply table in front of him and holding them with both hands before his chest. His arms shook noticeably when the footsteps grew to a deafening volume, all his blood rushed to the soles of his feet, making them vibrate in preparation for the command to run.
"I'm back!" Antonio called cheerfully, as he rounded the corner, pausing in the doorway when the Italian shrieked and jumped backwards, dropping a pair of scissors and sending them clattering across the floor.
"Dammit, you bastard, what are you doing back here!" Lovino yelled, gripping his chest as he leaned forward, trying to catch his breath.
"Ah, are you okay?" Antonio knit his eyebrows in the concern as he watched the Italian wobble over to the nearest chair and slump into it, letting his head fall between his knees as he desperately attempted to stop hyperventilating.
Antonio threw the bag he had flung over his shoulder onto the table and crossed the room to the boy, laying a hand on his back and rubbing soothingly, "just breathe," he cooed, laughing a little when the Italian swatted his hand away angrily. "Who did you think I was anyway, a crazy axe murderer?" Antonio chuckled.
Lovino blushed into his knees, it did sound stupid, but his mind was tired and he was gradually losing the ability to control the things it came up with. "More like a rapist," he snapped back, slowly pushing himself back up as his breathing slowed to a more manageable pace.
Antonio grabbed the Italian's elbow when the boy tried to stand up, tilting slightly when stars danced across his vision. "Hey, maybe you should rest for a second," he soothed, "I brought you some leftovers," he nodded over to the satchel on the table," you should take a break and eat something."
Lovino shrugged Antonio's arm away, irritated at the warmth blooming in his cheeks from the man's touch. "I have to etch this plate," he argued, making his way back to the lithographic press and grabbing a glass beaker from its surface, holding it up to the light before placing it back down and unscrewing the caps off two containers of dark brown liquid.
"What if I help you," Antonio offered, following the Italian's path and regarding him from the opposite side of the press. "Then you'll be done in twice the time."
"It doesn't work that way," Lovino mumbled, distracted as he poured even parts of the syrupy mixtures into the beaker and stirred them with a wooden tongue compressor. "The plate has to be etched for 5 minutes or it'll scum when I print it."
Antonio eyed the boy curiously, fascinated by the way his eyes sparkled as his fingers deftly completed tasks as if they were made to do them. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he admitted, laughing when Lovino lowered the beaker he had been holding and stared wide-eyed at the Spaniard. "Is it that surprising?"
Lovino quickly snapped back to reality, throwing his gaze downward as he poured the contents of the beaker onto the corners of the plate and lowered his hands to massage the syrupy mixture into his drawing. "I guess not," he said finally, wincing when the cool liquid stung the forgotten injury on his still unattended finger. "Most people don't know anything about printmaking."
Antonio cocked his head thoughtfully as he watched the boy work, "then how did you get into it?"
Lovino simply shrugged, "shh, I'm trying to count," he scolded. In truth he didn't need to measure the time, he knew what it looked like when a plate was thoroughly etched, but he had already talked too much to the Spaniard. "And why are you still here, anyway?" Lovino demanded, suddenly remembering that he had already kicked the boy out.
"I brought food, remember?" Antonio answered easily.
"Why do you keep doing that?" Lovino snapped, pulling his hands from the plate and grabbing a rag from the table behind him, folding it over and wiping the puddles of liquid from the metal plate.
"Doing what?" Antonio asked lightly, impervious to the Italian's harsh tone.
"Just..." Lovino's heart thumped in his ears as he tried to sort out what to say. He knew what he meant, he wanted to know why the Spaniard was nice to him, why he seemed to care when no one else did, and most of all, why he made it so hard to resist him. "Why do you keep bringing me food." He said finally, deciding to be as straight-foward as possible.
Antonio's face brightened, "oh, well, Feliciano's always talking about how worried he is about you. He said he never sees you at meals, and since I'm cooking all day anyway, I thought I could bring you some food."
Lovino didn't respond as he gathered up the dirtied rag and beaker, ignoring the Spaniard as he padded into the other room and headed towards the sink. 'Of course it's all been for Feliciano's sake,' he scolded himself angrily as he thrust on the faucet, roughly cleaning the sticky liquid from the grimy rag. He should be relieved to hear it, even if he was still worried for his brother's well-being, at least he could take comfort in the fact that the Spaniard didn't share his feelings of impending attraction. He twisted the rag roughly when he bad rubbed all the stains from its surface, hanging it from the rack above the sink before reaching for the beaker and filling it with water. His stomach was knotting in an unrecognizable emotion as he scrubbed the inside of the glass container, he didn't know why he had ever thought Antonio had feelings for him anyway, he was clearly infatuated with Feliciano. The Spaniard really was no different than anyone else, and Lovino wondered why he had ever thought differently.
He finished with the beaker, placing it on the rack next to the rag after turning off the water. He walked slowly back to the adjoining room, feeling suddenly impossibly weary as he dragged his feet through the doorway. Antonio had made his way to an empty table and was busying himself emptying the contents of his satchel onto it. "What are you doing?" Lovino asked angrily, moving sluggishly towards the litho press to eye the drying sketch once more.
"We made a compromise, remember?" Antonio replied, peeling the lids off a few containers and throwing them to the side.
"I don't remember that," Lovino shot back bitterly, carefully sliding a finger over the surface of the metal plate.
Antonio laughed heartily, "we decided that I would help you...um...sketch your plate, and then we would have dinner."
"Etch," Lovino bit back, frustrated, "you etch the plate, and I don't remember you helping me."
Antonio ran around the table and pulled a chair out, waving Lovino forward as he ran to the other side and pulled one out for himself. "I'm sure there's something else I can help you with, but you should probably eat."
Lovino turned from his drying plate and tiredly regarded the Spaniard. His feet moved towards the offered chair of their own accord, his body unable to resist the temptation of rest and a full stomach. "Why are you doing this?" Lovino asked as he settled into his seat, pulling a breadstick from one of the containers and cramming it in his mouth.
"How many times are you going to ask me that?" Antonio laughed, pulling a container of salad toward himself and munching it happily.
"Until you give me an honest answer." Lovino replied around a mouthful of food, frustrated with the way the Spaniard skirted around his question.
"You've been looking so thin-"
"Wrong answer," Lovino interrupted immediately around a mouthful of spicy gazpacho.
Antonio smirked as he silently chewed an olive. "It's just that, Feliciano will never let me in unless-well, unless you approve, Lovi." Antonio relented, pushing the now empty container away and letting his fork clatter into it noisily.
"I'm not going to help you get into my brother's pants." Lovino said flatly, face falling to a scowl as he tapped his finger on the table's hard surface.
"N-no, that's not it!" Antonio gasped, throwing his palms in front of his chest defensively, "I just, I really like him and..."
"You want to date him." Lovino finished for him, voice lowering to a threatening timbre.
"Well, maybe one day," Antonio continued dreamily, oblivious to the Italian's anger, "but mostly, well, he's just so cute, you know? I can't help but want to keep him happy."
Lovino jumped from his seat, pounding his fist on the table as he fought the tears trying to force their way down his burning cheeks. He was getting everything he wanted, Antonio liked his brother and not him, he wasn't even trying to get romantically involved with the boy, at least not at this moment. His whole adult life he had worked to achieve this exact sort of relationship with people, yet now that he had achieved it with Antonio, he wasn't happy. It wasn't supposed to be so easy with the Spaniard, he was supposed to have the same conflicting feelings Lovino was experiencing. He was supposed to somehow be different. Lovino wasn't sure when he had decided that, rather it was just something he felt, a lingering feeling that he had clung to from the moment he first lay eyes on the man. Now he realized it was a machination of his mind, a coping mechanism to deal with the lust he had been experiencing. Antonio didn't love him, and he probably never would.
"He doesn't care about you, you know? I can tell." Lovino ground out, still refusing to lift his gaze to the Spaniard's face.
"Yeah," Antonio sighed, leaning back in his chair as he watched the Italian curiously, "but it's ok, maybe one day he will."
"I'm not going to be your friend just so you can get with my brother, and I don't want you hanging around here anymore, I have enough students hogging my time as it is." Lovino cut in immediately, not wanting to hear anything about love, especially if it concerned his brother.
"I'm not asking for you to teach me, I just like to watch." Antonio argued, "you can't stop me from just doing that, this building's open to the public."
"But the materials aren't," Lovino shot his glare to the Spaniard, tears drying up when he realized the bastard was daring to defy him.
"I won't use the materials," Antonio defended, "not until you let me anyway."
"You're wasting your time," Lovino snarled, wishing he had never spoken to the older man and allowed him the opportunity to back him into a corner. He didn't need the presence of this damn bastard jeopardizing his position at the school or further complicating his life. He liked being alone, he treasured it, and this idiot was threatening to trample the one pleasure he had left.
Antonio only shrugged, pushing himself from the table and gathering up the empty containers, shoving them back into his satchel before slinging the bag over his shoulder. "Don't you have anything better to do with your time?" Lovino shouted after the Spaniard as he headed towards the door.
Antonio turned and shrugged, smiling lightly as he lifted a hand to wave. "Probably." He laughed, before turning back to the hall and quickly disappearing down the dark corridor. Lovino shuddered as he listened to the man's gradually quieting footsteps, the look in his eye just had been frightening, revealing a side of Antonio he had never observed. He appeared almost-possessive? Deranged? Lovino wasn't quite sure, but he had the sinking feeling this cheerful man was going to be the biggest obstacle he had yet to face in his search for complete social isolation.