Lovino felt his mind slowly drift into focus while he tried to figure out what had woken him from his deep sleep. A cool breeze danced across his skin and he could barely make out the subtle autumn scents of burning leaves and freshly cut grass, damp with evening dew. 'Someone's opened the window,' he realized, lazily considering if she worry about the room's second occupant or let the comfortable fall weather loll him back to sleep. His body felt heavy, he was certain he hadn't moved since the difficult task of dragging himself from the bathroom to his bed. The momentum he had gained from weeks of unending work had finally faltered, and his body was taking the opportunity to punish its owner for all its abuse. Lovino tried to shift his legs experimentally, panicking when his right foot was only able to move a few inches before meeting resistance.
"Oh, you're awake!" A distant voice sounded. Lovino felt the mattress shift at his feet and forced his eyes open, blinking a few times to adjust to the dimly lit room before picking his head up slightly from the soft pillow. A familiar silhouette blocked the light streaming through the window from the full moon, and Lovino fell back into the bed with a huff from his slight exertion.
"What are you doing?" The older Italian croaked out, clearing his voice immediately when he heard the gravely tone of his speech.
Feliciano grabbed his brother's ankle and squeezed it lovingly, "Antonio said there was something wrong with you," the boy replied easily, "He thought you shouldn't be alone."
Lovino lifted his arm from his side and let his wrist thump heavily over his eyes, "I'm fine, as you can see," he managed around a yawn, "just tired."
"Are you sure?" Feliciano asked, a slight wine settling into his voice.
Lovino could feel the mattress shift and knew his brother was leaning forward to get a better look at his face, "I'm sure, what did that damn Spaniard tell you anyway?" He tried to sound angry but his exhaustion weakened his harsh tone.
"Nothing really," Feliciano said after a short pause, he was clearly lying, and it pissed Lovino off. His brother never lied to him, and he felt Antonio was solely to blame.
"Well he must have said something or you wouldn't be sitting at the end of my bed, watching me sleep like a creep!" Lovino spat, jerking his ankle out of Feliciano's grasp for emphasis.
Feliciano only laughed, amused at the way his brother refused to open his eyes, despite his anger. "I like watching you sleep, Lovi, you look so peaceful."
"That's only because I don't have to deal with idiots like you in my dreams!" Lovino growled, trying to roll on to his side, "get on your own bed, I'm tired." The mattress squeaked when Feliciano stood and shuffled across the room, and for one blissful second the older Italian felt confident in knowing his authority was finally being respected.
"Don't go to sleep yet," Feliciano chirped suddenly, pulling at Lovino's shoulder despite his older brother's moans of protest. "I have some food, you should eat first."
Lovino considered pretending he had already fallen asleep, his limbs felt like jelly and his eyelids seemed to be weighted down, but his stomach churned painfully inside him, the request for nourishment sending vibrations down his limbs. The draw of food was too great. Grimacing a little from the pain in his joints, Lovino pushed himself up on his elbows, rotating his body around until his back was safely propped against the wall. Feliciano tried to keep his face as neutral as possible while watching his brother, afraid that the slightest comment or non-verbal cue would make the older Italian refuse the meal on principle. Feliciano knew Lovino hated being coddled, especially by his younger brother, and he would often rather suffer than ask anyone for help. It made for a hard relationship, Feliciano often thought that his brother was the more sensitive of the two. He had an open heart and was easily affected by the smallest things, his anger was a shield and currently the only thing protecting him from completely falling apart.
Feliciano had resented Lovino for a short while because of it. When he was still a young teenager and just learning about love and attraction, he found many of his blossoming relationships squashed early on by his brother's putrid attitude. At the time, all the younger Italian's friends had told him his brother was jealous, they said Feliciano was cuter and nicer and more talented, that Lovino knew he would never be as desirable as his brother, so he compensated by sabotaging the younger's chances at love. Feliciano had grasped to that idea for a short while, out of desperation more than anything, he wanted to understand why his brother was the way he was. He had always been dense at understanding people's innermost feelings, but his brother's were especially shrouded, and it bothered him. Lovino was mean but he wasn't spiteful, and he had always taken care of Feliciano in his own way, making sure the boy was loved and well taken care of. Despite his obvious disdain of their living arrangement in Austria, Lovino didn't move out even when he was old enough to do so, only because Feliciano had begged him to stay. And when Feliciano was finally ready to go out on his own, after receiving a scholarship to a prestigious art school, Lovino had been right there, working hard to gain entrance to the same facility.
To an outsider it might seem that Lovino was the one dependent on his brother. In fact, Feliciano often wondered if Lovino felt that way, too. But the truth was, he didn't know what he would do without his brother. Lovino's protectiveness had kept Feliciano safe from heartbreak, any potentially poisonous relationships were thwarted without either of the involved parties having to end it. Boyfriends would say his brother was too much to deal with, and Feliciano would understand. It wasn't him they were rejecting, it was Lovino, and that made it bearable. It had made Feliciano confident and outgoing, he wasn't scared of people or friendships, his self-esteem had grown strong under his brother's fortification. Lovino, on the other hand, was left alone, his spirit chipped away by every blow he took for his brother. At least that's how Feliciano felt, the older Italian would never actually admit to feeling any remorse about his lack of agreeable human interaction. Lovino always insisted that the situation suited him, he never said he was happy with it though, and that's what worried Feliciano most.
"What are you staring at?" Lovino snarled, breaking Feliciano's thoughts.
The younger Italian only shrugged, turning and plodding over to the mini fridge to pull out a container covered in tin foil. He grabbed two bowls off the top of the microwave and spooned a generous portion of the spicy smelling concoction into each of them, slipping one into the microwave and covering it with a paper towel before pressing start. "What is that?" Lovino asked when the sweet smell of spices reached his nose and his stomach groaned in impatience.
"Paella, Antonio made it." Feliciano replied, pulling the steaming bowl out of the microwave when it started beeping and slipping the other bowl in.
"Why's he always making you food?" Lovino demanded angrily, pulling his knees up under his chin and wrapping his arms around them with a grimace.
"Are you cold?" Feliciano pulled the second bowl from the microwave and glanced at his brother, clinking a spoon into each dish and holding them carefully with a paper towel to protect his hands.
Lovino shook his head and reached up for the steaming bowl his brother offered. "Answer the question," he managed around a mouthful of food. Feliciano climbed onto the bed next to the older Italian and scooted toward him until their shoulders were touching.
"Ve~he doesn't really make me food, we usually go out to eat somewhere." The two sat quietly for a while, enjoying the warm meal and cool breeze. Lovino tried to not think too deeply about the food situation, his tired mind would inevitably jump to conclusions that weren't there. Antonio probably brought him food because it was about to go bad and he wanted to get rid of it, or he was experimenting with new recipes and the Spaniard was using him as a guinea pig. Whatever the case, Antonio had a crush on Feliciano, and any good deeds he did for Lovino couldn't be taken at face value.
"Do you like Antonio?" Feliciano said after a while, trying not to laugh when his brother nearly choked around his spoon.
"Of course not, why would you ask such a stupid question?" Lovino bit back when he finally stopped coughing.
"You just talk about him a lot and he seems to like you," Feliciano trailed off, glancing at the star lit window with a faint smile on his lips, "it would just be nice if you two could be friends."
Lovino watched his brother's behavior wearily, "do you like him?" He asked, the heaviness of his voice implying he didn't mean just as an acquaintance.
"Ve~I like Antonio very much." Feliciano replied cheerfully, taking another bite of spicy paella and humming with happiness.
Lovino grit his teeth and placed his bowl on the bed next to him so he could place both hands on his brother's wrists. "You know what I mean," he said seriously, peering into his brother's brown eyes, "do you love him?"
Feliciano blinked a few times before knitting his brows in confusion, "n-no," he said simply, concerned by his brother's odd behavior. "Are you alright, Lovi?" Feliciano whined when Lovino snapped his hands away and picked back up his bowl, burying his rapidly paling face in the half-eaten paella.
"'m Fine. Good. I'm glad." He replied jerkily as he continued eating, the pleasure from earlier replaced by robotic movements. Lovino felt odd, his head was throbbing with emotions he couldn't place. He didn't know if he felt pity for the Spaniard, so infatuated with the younger Italian that he was willing to put up with his disagreeable older brother, or relief knowing that he didn't have to worry about Feliciano getting involved with the older man. A tiny part of him admitted that he was relieved, if Feliciano was in love with Antonio there was no way Lovino would allow himself to get involved with him, but he rejected the thought immediately. There was no way Lovino was getting involved with Antonio regardless, because even if the man did love him, and he didn't, Lovino wasn't supposed to be forming relationships with people, especially not idiot Spaniards.
"Are you sure you're okay?" Feliciano pried, leaning over to place his empty bowl on the floor before straightening back up and leaning his head on his brother's shoulder. "I worry about you, too, you know."
"What do you mean 'too'" Lovino asked, staring warily at his quarter full bowl of paella and wishing he had the appetite to finish it, he supposed the weeks of deprivation had made his stomach smaller.
"You know, Antonio's always going on about how tired and thin you look." Feliciano yawned, "he said he was going to start helping you out. He's such a nice guy." Lovino felt the back of his neck grow warm, of course he knew Feliciano would know something about Antonio's activities, there would be no point in the Spaniard going out of his way to assist the older Italian if the younger didn't know about it. After all, all his effort was technically for Feliciano. Still, Lovino couldn't help but feel his heart quake at the thought of Antonio worrying about him, even if it wasn't genuine.
Lovino was startled from his thoughts when he felt his hair being tousled by his brother's deep, even breaths. "Don't fall asleep over here, bastard," he argued lazily, feeling drowsiness settle back into his bones. Lovino shrugged his shoulder slightly when his brother didn't respond, before giving up and leaning his head on top of Feliciano's. He didn't have the energy to put the younger Italian in his own bed, and a part of him enjoyed the warm contact. Lovino gazed at the clear, fall night, smiling slightly against the earth-smelling breeze as his eyelids grew more and more heavy. This was the perfect life for him, just he and his brother, understanding each other and trying to care in their own messy ways. He didn't understand why his body insisted on adding an additional person to their already balanced dynamic.
Lovino woke with a start, throwing his head around, disoriented. He kicked his covers off, sitting up quickly and pausing when he glanced at his brother's sleeping form, sprawled out on his own bed in only his underwear and a tank top. 'He must have woken up in the night,' Lovino realized, wondering how he didn't stir when his brother had tucked him into bed. Lovino yawned and stretched his arms over his head, his body was still tired and achy and he felt like he could sleep for another week, hell, a year, but his work had gone partially neglected the day before and he was going to have to get to the studio early to make up for it.
Lovino turned to glance at the clock on his nightstand, the bright orange letters glowed ominously against the blue early morning light. '5:45' he registered. His body had become accustomed to waking up at ungodly hours, he realized as he inched to the edge of the bed and regretfully left the warm blankets to pad to his dresser. It was good, Lovino pondered as he pulled off his crinkled, bed-rumpled shirt and pulled on a fresh button-up. He would probably make it to the studio by 6, which meant 3 good hours of work time before classes began. Still, he couldn't help regretting that he his body had awakened so dutifully. Sure, he would have been irritated if he had woken up later, but any extra minute of sleep was an extra minute of tranquility, a time when his brain could rest from its newly constant troubles and anxieties.
He pulled off his slacks and underwear and tossed them next to the dresser to be washed before rifling around his drawers for a new pair. His laundry supply was growing low, he realized as he pulled on a clean pair of underwear and dug around for some pants. Lovino shivered as he pulled on a pair of dark jeans, the window had been left open and the chilly fall air was still breezing through it. The Italian wondered if it was really as cold as it felt or if it was his body's weakened state making him shiver so badly, he didn't want to look like a fool, walking around with a coat on, but he didn't want to freeze either. Deciding to compromise, Lovino made his way into the closet next to his dresser and pulled his favorite cotton bomber jacket from its hanger. He dipped his nose into the fabric, taking a deep breath and holding it as his senses filled with the light, flowery smell of dryer sheets. He had never gotten the hang of making his laundry smell so nice, only the pieces left over from his time in Austria had such a sweet and delicate scent.
Lovino shrugged the gray-blue fabric onto his shoulders, sighing from the warmth it provided when he zipped it up over his chest and padded into the bathroom to use the toilet and brush his teeth. He regarded his reflection for a moment when he had clinked his toothbrush back into place, his face was pale and gaunt and his eyes were heavy with unsaid thoughts, shining in a silent plea for help. "Dammit," Lovino sighed as he grabbed a brush from the medicine cabinet above the sink and began to roughly comb his tangled brown tendrils. He would have to practice steeling his gaze, it was no wonder people had been walking all over him, when his eyes were so readily revealing his weaknesses to them.
When he thought he looked presentable, Lovino trudged back to his dresser and pulled out a pair of socks, slumping on to his mattress to pull them on his feet before leaning over the foot of his bed to find his discarded shoes from the day before. Once he had jammed his feet into his sneakers, he straightened back up and stretched his arms behind him, pushing at the small of his back until it popped with a satisfying crack. Lovino sighed from the release of tension and dipped down to grab his satchel from the floor before making his way to the door and easing it open, careful not to disturb his sleeping brother. He held the handle till the door closed, slowly letting the lock click back into place and exhaling as if he had been holding his breath in an effort to be as noiseless as possible. Lovino plodded heavily down the hall, he couldn't believe how sluggish he felt as he stumbled down the stairs and whipped around the corner into the cold, autumn morning. He stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets and hunched his shoulders in an effort to maintain body heat while making the short trek to the art building. Despite its crispness, the dawn was beautiful, he stared wistfully at the weak gray sky, shrouded by a herd of low-hanging dark blue clouds.
Lovino lingered at the doorway of the facility, trying to ingrain the lightening sky into his memory before slipping into the warm building and making his way to the studio. He sighed when he entered the blissfully empty room, flicking on the light and moving towards his favorite table in the back corner of the studio. The Italian slid his satchel from his aching shoulder to the floor, easing his body into a chair before leaning over to pull his sketchbook and a pencil from his bag. He couldn't do anything until he had decided a direction, he had been gotten by with his well-drawn stream-of-consciousness lithographs, but after his critique with his professor he knew he was going to have to start planning his designs again. The key thing was to come up with a concept, a jumping off point. Lovino knew he had many things he could make art about, but he didn't dare present his most secretive thoughts in any way. If he made art about his relationship with his brother or his mother's death or his aversion to love, it meant he was letting people in, and that was dangerous. He knew his art would probably be more potent if he allowed himself to be more honest, but it just wasn't worth it.
Lovino let his eyes cross as he stared at the blank page, he started tapping his pencil on the table, hoping that when the lead hit the page his hand would go off on its own, somehow creating an incredible design its owner had never considered. It didn't happen of course, and soon the measured tick became a marker of how many minutes were rushing by, wasted by Lovino's lack of inspiration. His mind was too full of his current tribulations to consider any trifling problems to make art about, and he had always been too involved in his own little world to be any good at universal concepts. Sighing, Lovino slammed his pencil down and leaned back in his chair, squeezing his eyes shut and rubbing the crusty sleep away from his eyelids with the inside of his wrists. He would have to compromise, he supposed, he would draw whatever came to his mind but make sure it was well-designed, he could worry about the meaning later. Artists were always spewing bull-shit after all, and with the life he lead constantly changing faces to keep people as distant as possible, he was sure he would be able to do the same.
A soft knock sounded at the open studio door and Lovino leaned forward and snapped his eyes open. He waited for his professor to plod into the room, but when a few silent seconds went by with no one entering, he let out a tired "yes?" Lovino felt his chest freeze when a head of familiar wavy locks appeared in the doorway.
"Ah, Lovi, I thought I might find you here," Antonio smiled when he spotted the Italian.
"Wh-what the hell are you doing?" Lovino growled at the unwelcome intruder, folding his arms over his chest when his mouth drooped in a frown.
Antonio laughed at the boy's sour face and swooped into a chair across from his, laying his satchel on the table and pulling an aluminum thermos and two styrofoam cups from its contents. "I couldn't stop thinking about you yesterday," Antonio admitted easily, "you looked so weak and-and thin."
"I'm not weak, you bastard." Lovino lowered his eyebrows and bit the inside of his lip.
Antonio only shrugged a shoulder as he carefully poured some steaming, bitter smelling coffee into each cup. "Still, I've decided something."
Lovino waited for him to continue for a few minutes before growing impatient, "decided what?" He demanded, pulling his arms in closer around his chest.
Antonio smiled and held a cup to the boy, "I'm going to make sure you're taken care of."
Lovino felt his cheeks burning as he begrudgingly accepted the offered coffee. "Like hell," he growled around the rim of the warm mug. "I don't need to be taken care of, by you or anyone else."
Antonio nodded knowingly, "Maybe not, but, Feliciano gets sad when you overwork yourself, and then yesterday...you looked sad, too," Antonio looked lost in thought for a moment before he snapped to focus again, "and you're both too cute to have frowns on your faces!" The Spaniard's voice rose to a passionate shout as he reached the end of his speech and he held his fist over his chest to demonstrate his reverence for all things adorable.
Lovino rolled his eyes in irritation, desperately trying to keep his cheeks from blushing further at the idea of being referred to as cute. "You're a fucking weirdo," the Italian snarled, "and a pervert," he added for good measure.
"Aw, don't say that," Antonio whined, digging around in his satchel and pulling out a greasy brown bag. "Want one?" He asked, folding open the parcel and taking out a piece of fried dough, popping it in his mouth before offering the bag to Lovino.
The Italian dug his hand in and pulled out a few pieces, he wanted to refuse on principle, but he found the sweet scent of the cinnamon-smelling pastries too great to resist. "I hope they're good," Antonio said as he watched the boy munch thoughtfully. "I got up early to make them."
"They're fine," Lovino snorted simply, not wanting to give too much praise to the overbearing Spaniard. It didn't seem to matter though, as Antonio's face lit up in delight and he started in on a tirade about how golden a doughnut hole needed to be before it was a perfect consistency. Lovino spaced out while Antonio talked, biting the inside of his cheek when the Spaniard licked cinnamon off the end of his finger and his mind went wild with inappropriate thoughts. He couldn't figure out why he was sitting here eating with the older boy, and why it was the third time he had done so. He was losing sight of his objectives and failing at the one thing he cared the most about succeeding in, it was bad enough that his traitorous body was lusting after Antonio, but Lovino wasn't supposed to let his mind give into it. He knew he had never been physically strong, but he had always thought his mind made up for it. Now his whole being was coming into question, and it made him feel dizzy and unsure. He unconsciously braced his hands on the edge of the table, certain that he could float to the ceiling at any moment, no longer anchored by his sense of self.
"Why are you always cooking for me?" Lovino blurted out suddenly, immediately regretting it when Antonio stopped his rant about gaining the perfect balance of sugar and cinnamon and gaped at the Italian.
Antonio popped another doughnut into his mouth and cocked his head to the side, "you share what you love with me so I want to share with you," he said when he swallowed, licking the powdery residue from his fingers and making Lovino bury his face in his hands in an attempt to hide his reddening face.
"I'm not sharing Feliciano with you," he snapped, his voice muffled by the cuffs of his cotton sleeves.
Antonio burst out in a chesty laugh, amused by the Italian's child-like gesture, "That's not what I meant." He explained when he had finally caught his breath. "I mean...this...uh," he cast his hand around to indicate the room.
"Printmaking?" Lovino asked, picking his face up from his palms and quirking an eyebrow in inquiry.
"Yeah, that's what it's called," Antonio nodded happily, crumpling up the empty brown bag and tossing it in the large trash can situated near the table.
"Why do you care about it?" Lovino pressed, unsure as to why the Spaniard would be concerned with his chosen medium.
Antonio took a sip of coffee and smiled lightly, "well you seem to enjoy it, so there must be something to love."
Lovino's mouth gaped open, "do I really look like I enjoy this?" He sputtered angrily, slamming an open palm on the table and sending his forgotten pencil clattering to the floor. "I do it because I have to." He blurted, instantly regretting the vague admission when Antonio's brows knit in confusion.
'What do you mean you ha-" Antonio started, before Lovino scooted his chair back noisily and snatched the Spaniard's bag from the table, stuffing the empty thermos into it and shoving the satchel roughly into the older boy's chest.
"Ok, thanks for the breakfast, now I need to get back to work," Lovino said sternly, pointing a finger to the door and cocking his hip in a dare for Antonio to protest.
The Spaniard let out a thoughtful "hmm," before wrapping his arms around his bag and straightening to his feet. "I'll be back with dinner," he said simply, brushing a soft knuckle on Lovino's cheek before exiting the room. "See you tonight, Lovi!" He said with renewed vigor, throwing the Italian a warm smile over his shoulder before making his way down the hall.
Lovino's fingers strayed to his heated cheek when the echoing footsteps were finally silenced by the sound of a squeaking door. His nerves vibrated in his fingertips as he lightly felt the place Antonio had just touched. He was certain his skin would be melted away, or at least burned, but it was still soft and smooth as if it had not just been ignited with the heat of the sun. 'This can't be happening,' Lovino's mind raced as he tried to force his lustful feelings away, 'I won't let this happen.'