Lovino's breath hitched slightly as Antonio pulled into the parking lot in front of the art building. He immediately clicked his seatbelt off, not waiting for Antonio to downshift into park before bolting out of the door and waiting with his hands jammed into his pockets next to the trunk. He wondered if Antonio would understand his prompt and stay in the car, he had spent enough time with the Spaniard and he needed his concentration for all the work he was going to have to get done, but his hopes were dashed when he heard the driver's door being opened and the crackle of sneakers on wet asphalt. 'Figures,' Lovino sighed internally, Antonio might have moments of lucidity, but by and large he was oblivious to non-verbal cues.
"I can take that in, you should go," Lovino pulled his shaky hands from his jacket and reached for the glass that Antonio was carefully pulling from his trunk.
Antonio laughed and gently shooed the hands away, "you almost passed out in my car, Lovi, I'm not letting you carry this in." He grinned sympathetically, "but you can close the trunk and get the trash out of my car."
Lovino was irritated at the implication that he couldn't manage carrying in the glass, his arms were strong from printmaking, even if the rest of his body wasn't, but in the back of his head he noted the trembles in the pit of his stomach, radiating to his fingertips, and begrudgingly admitted that Antonio was right. Grimacing to illustrate his exasperation, Lovino slammed the trunk into place before stomping around to the passenger door and yanking it open, pushing the now only ice-filled cup into the fast food bag and pulling the newly accumulated trash from the floorboard. He slammed the door, watching with a slight sense of satisfaction at the way the car vibrated and trudged from the side of the vehicle towards the studio, letting Antonio trail behind him a couple paces.
Lovino closed his eyes as he walked and tried to enjoy the crisp weather and lazy, soft raindrops kissing his red cheeks. Somewhere someone had a warm crackling fire lit, and the smokey smell that filtered through the air made Lovino feel like he was home. Not in Austria, not even in his old home in Italy, it was a place he didn't know yet, but he was aware that it existed, if only because this comfortable smokey smell reminded him of it. Lovino snapped his eyes back open when his foot hit a crack in the asphalt and he stumbled forward awkwardly, he held his breath in irritation when he heard a laugh sounding behind him, "you're really clumsy, huh?" Lovino refused to turn around and instead marched up the stairs in front of the building leading straight to the second floor. "Aw c'mon Lovi, I think it's cute!" The voice persisted, and Lovino was tempted to use his lead to his advantage and find a place to hide out in till Antonio grew tired of waiting and left, but his heavy work-load anchored his feet to the top of the stairs, and his awareness that the Spaniard would need someone to hold the door open for him. There was no way Lovino was going to risk that glass breaking again, even if it meant allowing that damn Spaniard into the studio with it.
"Gracias," Antonio said with a smile as he eased sideways through the open door and navigated expertly down the hall.
"How do you know how to get around so well in here?" Lovino asked, his sudden curiosity overwhelming his desire to have as little conversation as possible.
Antonio found his way easily to the printmaking studio and hoisted the glass onto one of the tables, placing it gently on the hard wood surface and wiping his hands together to mark the completed task. "Well, I visit Francis a lot," he said, "and it's always so hard to find you, so I've just gotten pretty familiar with it."
Lovino could feel blood rushing to his cheeks and he immediately turned away to hide his reddening face. He didn't know why he hadn't considered this sooner, it wasn't like Antonio just happened to know where he was all the time, he had to search for him, actively seek him out. Somewhere in his mind he must have been aware of that fact, but now that he was allowing himself to consider it, he felt his palms start to sweat. "Ah, well, y-you can go now." He stammered out, still refusing to turn his head and regard the seemingly ever-cheerful Spaniard.
Lovino winced when he heard Antonio give a light laugh. "You're not getting rid of me that easily," he said. His tone was kind with an underlying inflection that Lovino couldn't quite place, but it sent chills down his spine. The Italian finally turned his head when he heard Antonio's sneakers squeak across the rubber mats lining the aisles of the room, the Spaniard disappeared through the doorway to the adjoining studio before returning less than a minute later with the flat mop in his grasp.
"I can do that," Lovino argued instantly, reaching his hand out to pull the broom from the Spaniard's grasp.
Antonio yanked it back easily and side-stepped the Italian to enter the dark room, "I don't want you to hurt yourself, just let me do it, ok?" The Spaniard said kindly, stepping back when Lovino squeezed his way in front of the door and spread his arms out to block his entry.
"First of all, you can't just open this door whenever you please, I have coated screens in there and the light will ruin them," Lovino growled angrily, ignoring the look of confusion on Antonio's face from the unfamiliar terms, "secondly, I can handle it."
"But you're clum-"
"No I'm not!" Lovino roared, panting slightly with frustration. He waited for Antonio's face to change from benevolent, if confused, to angry or appalled by his behavior. His plan was working faster than he had bargained for, he realized. Never had he thought it would be Antonio's kindness that would make him hate the Spaniard, but in a way it wasn't surprising. If he was completely honest, Lovino knew he was a bit of a masochist. He had to be in order to impose such stringent rules on himself, but he hadn't considered that it went so deep as to push away anyone that would treat him kindly. His heart wrenched when it dawned on him that he had probably never realized it because no one other than Feliciano had ever regarded him with compassion.
To Lovino's surprise, Antonio only cocked his head to the side and sighed with a slight smile, "you're sort of a handful, huh?"
Lovino's mouth gaped open as he stared wide-eyed at the Spaniard. "Wh-what?" He sputtered, "I'm telling you I want to do it on my own."
Antonio nodded thoughtfully and licked his thumb, pushing it on to the Italian's forehead and rubbing gently. "And I'm telling you I want to help," he argued, laughing when Lovino swatted his hand away.
"Don't put your spit on me," he barked, rubbing the spot furiously with the cuff of his sleeve.
"You had something green on your forehead," Antonio explained, trying to push the Italian gently to the side while he was distracted, "it's been bothering me all night."
Lovino felt the hair stand up on the back of his neck at the thought about Antonio looking so closely at his face all night that he noticed a stray drop of emulsion marring his hairline. He was too lost in thought to realize he was slowly being inched away from the doorway, and he scrambled to regain his composure when he heard the sticky doorknob crack open. "N-no," He shouted.
Antonio jerked his way from the open door and stared at Lovino, "what's wrong?" He blinked, eyes widening when the Italian scrambled behind him and pushed him through the open doorway into the small, dark room.
"Fine, you can help, just don't leave that damn door open!" Lovino cursed, pulling the doorknob behind him and flicking on the soft red light when the pair were cast in darkness.
"I don't get it," Antonio knit his eyebrows in confusion as his eyes adjusted to the dim light, "you don't do photography, why can't the light come in here?"
Lovino stepped around the Spaniard and reached down to yank a rubber mat off the floor. "See those big square frames sitting in here?" He asked sarcastically, cursing when a tiny shard of glass sliced the tip of his forefinger, "those are coated in emulsion, it's light sensitive, they'll be useless if they're exposed to white light."
Antonio gave a soft "hmm," and grabbed Lovino by the belt loop, pulling the cursing Italian away from his work. "Don't just put your hands down there, let me clean it up first."
Lovino complied, if only because he was growing tired of arguing and wasting time, and popped his bleeding finger into his mouth. "You still don't get it, do you?" He asked with a slightly mocking tone, wincing at the sound of sharp glass being swept across the cement floor.
Antonio laughed and bent to pick up the newly clean rubber mat and shake it out. "Nope, not at all," he admitted easily, "but it sounds interesting." He held the clean mat out for Lovino to hold and the Italian took it without argument.
"I guess it is," Lovino shrugged, mind distant as he watched Antonio's arms flex slightly every time he pushed the flat mop forward.
"You still never told me, you know," Antonio said cryptically, starting to hum quietly as he pushed the glass shards towards the door.
Lovino stepped out of the way and knit his eyebrows in confusion, "what are you talking about?" He asked, frustrated with the Spaniard's vagueness.
"Why you do this." Antonio said simply, reaching the doorway and walking back to re-sweep every corner of the room.
Lovino crossed his arms over his chest and bit the inside of his cheek, "What? Talk to you? I have absolutely no idea." He spat, anger snaking through his words.
Antonio only laughed and shook his head, not pulling his eyes from the floor as he worked. "No, this, um...printmaking." The Spaniard replied, excitement in his voice at having remembered the name of the Italian's medium.
Lovino stayed silent for a while, only the sounds of his soft breathing and Antonio's delicate humming as he thoroughly cleaned the small dark room filling the still air. "Ah, I, I've never really thought about it." He admitted after a long while.
Antonio made a noise of quiet acknowledgement and lifted his head towards the Italian. "Is there a dust pan around here?"
Lovino snapped back to attention, "yeah, it should've been with the mop," he replied quickly, "I'll get it."
Antonio grabbed the Italian's elbow when he started to bolt towards the door, "let me," he said when Lovino turned his head around, confused. The Italian didn't argue when Antonio whizzed past him, opening the door just enough to squeeze his body through before quickly shutting it behind him. He knew the Spaniard was only being kind to win his favor and his blessing to date his brother, but he couldn't help be drawn into his, admittedly, mostly one-sided conversations. Lovino wracked his brain to remember the last time someone had asked him why he did what he did, but as far back as he could remember, he couldn't recall ever being questioned. No one cared what he did, as long as he wasn't bothering them with it. He knew it was largely his fault that people took no interest, he had a foul temper and turned everyone away, but it felt nice for someone to care enough to try and break the barrier, even if they cared for the wrong reasons.
Lovino's heart jumped when the doorknob cracked open and Antonio slid back into the dim room, dustpan in hand. "You hold it and I'll sweep," He said when he closed the door behind him, pushing the pan into Lovino's limp hand. The Italian nodded distractedly and flopped the rubber mat he was holding back into place in front of the light table before sliding to his knees and pressing the lip of the dustpan to the cement floor. Antonio swept in silence for a while, being careful not to fill the pan too much before allowing Lovino to empty it in the trashcan outside the door. "So Lovi-" He said finally when the Italian slid through the door for what felt like the tenth time and lowered himself to his knees to hold the dustpan again.
"Hmm," Lovino replied, slightly disappointed that the comfortable silence was being broken.
"How'd you learn about it?" Antonio asked cryptically, pausing from sweeping to laugh when Lovino shot his eyes up in anger. "What I mean is," he started when he caught his breath and resumed brushing the shards into the pan, "if you don't know why you do printmaking, then, when were you introduced to it?"
Lovino scoffed and put a hand up to indicate the dustpan needed to be emptied again. "Why do you care anyway?" He spat, "why don't I interrogate you for a change, why do you cook?"
Antonio cocked his head to the side dreamily, "I cook because I love it, of course. I love the smells, the sounds, and I especially like sharing my food with people I love and watching their face light up when they enjoy it."
Lovino shook his head in pity and slapped his hand to his forehead, "you would say something so completely idiotic." He groaned, straightening from his knees to his feet to carry the dustpan to the trash.
Antonio shrugged his shoulders lightly, "there's nothing stupid about doing what you love, in fact, I think it's the smartest thing you can do."
Lovino huffed and pushed the older boy aside to squeeze through the door and empty the pan. He sighed as he watched the glinting pieces topple into the bag, momentarily lighting the black plastic as if it were the night sky and not the interior of a trash bin. He didn't want to go back in the dark room, he knew the conversation wasn't over, and he hated himself for even letting it get started. He considered what he could say to get Antonio to drop the subject, he supposed he could just admit that he loved printmaking, and that's why he did it, but he had already told Antonio that he didn't, and as idiotic as the Spaniard tended to be, he doubted he would forget that fact so easily.
Shoulders drooping in resignation, he padded the few steps back to the dark room and pushed his way through the doorway. He decided he would answer as little as he could and distract the Spaniard by turning the conversation to his brother. He didn't want to use Feliciano in such a way, like bait to a hungry prey, but he was desperate. "Do you really want to know?" He blurted out as soon as he had clicked the door behind him.
"Know what?" Antonio asked, resting his hands on the handle of the flat mop and pulling them under his chin.
Lovino knitted his eyebrows angrily before scoffing and dropping to his knees, "forget it," he spat.
Antonio chuckled quietly, "I'm kidding," he soothed, pushing the dusty remnants of glass into the pan, "you wanted to tell me how you got into printmaking."
"Not anymore," Lovino growled back, annoyed with the Spaniard's teasing.
"Aw, c'mon Lovi, please," Antonio whined playfully, dropping to his knees to be eye-level with the hunched boy.
"Hold this," Lovino said with a sigh, pushing the handle of the dustpan into Antonio's hand and pulling himself to his feet. Antonio straightened up and watched, fascinated as the Italian lifted one of the large frames from the light table and readjusted the image beneath it before carefully easing it down again and heading to the door. Antonio followed behind, dumping the glistening dust into the bin and watching hesitantly as Lovino hoisted the new piece of glass from the table with a grunt.
"Are you sure you don't want me to do that?" Antonio asked, concern glinting in his eyes as Lovino trudged towards the dark room on shaky legs.
"It's fine," he grunted out, "just open the door for me." Antonio hurried to do as he was instructed, not wanting the Italian to carry the heavy load any longer than necessary. He stood in the doorway, somehow unable to rip his eyes away from the small boy struggling to slip the cumbersome glass into the frame.
Lovino sighed when he had securely situated the glass, his heart beat heavily against his chest from the exertion as he clicked on the light table and watched contented at the way the outline of the screen shone in a dreamy, white light. Antonio felt his heart skip a beat at the sight of the Italian's peaceful expression and leaned his head on the doorframe in wonderment. He couldn't recall seeing the boy look anything but irritated or angry, but the serene face softened his features and the dim light seemed to glow on his pale skin. Antonio couldn't help but think the boy looked angelic, as cliché as he knew it was.
"What the hell are you doing?" Lovino spat suddenly, jerking his head to the side and rushing over to push Antonio out of the way so he could slam the door closed. The illusion had been quickly shattered, the Spaniard observed as Lovino scolded him about the importance of leaving the dark room door closed at all times unless entering or exiting, but he knew he hadn't imagined it. He hadn't intended to discover anything about the older Italian brother, at least consciously. He had wanted to get under Lovino's skin, sure, but somehow the Italian was forcing his way under his, and he couldn't help but start to feel endeared to the boy.
"You're not getting out of it, you know," Antonio said suddenly, interrupting the Italian's ranting. "I wanna know when you started this," he said, waving a hand around to indicate the room. Lovino rolled his eyes and moved towards the nearest table, pulling out a chair and flopping into it as he stared fixated at the clock.
"Fine," Lovino relented, sighing as he watched the seconds tick by, "the screen will be ready in 10 minutes." He said as Antonio slid into a seat across from him, resting his head on his open palm as he regarded the Italian's turned face.
"Ok?" Antonio prompted when Lovino didn't immediately continue.
"I'll tell you if you promise to leave once it's ready." Lovino bargained, glancing towards Antonio to illustrate his seriousness.
"But Lovi," Antonio whined, pulling his head up from his hand and laying his open palms down on the table.
"That's the bargain," Lovino countered immediately, keeping his eyes concentrated on the time. "You've got 8 minutes left," he observed, smirking slightly when he heard Antonio let out an exasperated sigh. It was the Spaniard's turn to cast his gaze towards the clock's taunting face as he considered what was more important to him: spending time with the Italian or actually learning something about him. He knew he could just see him again in the morning, but he was feeling an odd attachment to the boy, he didn't want to leave his side, though he wasn't entirely sure why.
"Tell me," Antonio decided finally, he wanted to stay longer, but he was feeling tired, and having some kind of knowledge about the Italian's past was too tempting. He had a feeling the offer to be let in on Lovino's life was something most people weren't offered, and that knowledge seemed worth more than a thousand minutes.
"Feliciano's always been into art," Lovino started immediately, speaking robotically, as if he had planned the monologue for days. "Our grandfather was an artist of sorts, and he taught my brother to paint from an early age."
"Why not you?" Antonio interrupted, making Lovino throw him a quick glare. He hadn't intended for the Spaniard to interject, and now he was going to have to reveal more than he would have liked.
"He said I had no talent for it," Lovino replied quickly, waving a hand in the air as if the fact meant nothing to him.
"How cruel, you were only a child," Antonio said softly, resting his head back on his palm and he stared sympathetically at the Italian's handsome profile.
Lovino only shrugged, "it's not a big deal." He said, moving on quickly in order to downplay his early trials. "Anyway, Feliciano was a natural talent, it seemed like all he wanted to do all day and night was to paint."
"But that doesn't explain why-"
"I'm getting there!" Lovino snarled, frustrated by the constant interruptions, "you have 6 and a half minutes left, do you want to hear this or not?"
Antonio smiled at the boy's knitted brows, he had a feeling Lovino needed to tell this story as much as he wanted to hear it, but he was determined to make him tell it properly. "Of course I want to hear it, please continue."
Lovino sighed and cocked his head as he tried to remember what he was going to say, "Right, well, when Feliciano and I moved to Austria, our guardian was involved in the arts as well."
"Why did you move to Austria? And what do you mean your guardian?" Antonio interjected again, biting his lip as he tried to recall if Feliciano had ever mentioned his parents.
Lovino only shook his head, he didn't look angry, nor sad, it was an emotion Antonio couldn't place, but he knew his questions were going to go unanswered. 'Maybe another time,' he considered, watching thoughtfully when the Italian scrunched his nose, trying to remember where he had left off.
"Our guardian, Roderich, was an artist, well, more of a musician really, but it was a good environment for Feliciano." He continued, eyes glazing over as the minute hand turned into a hazy gray halo in the middle of the clock's white face. "Feliciano was busy painting a lot, so I would just sort of sit around-" Lovino stayed silent for a while and Antonio wondered if he had fallen asleep, he reached a hand out to pat the boy on the shoulder, but drew it back when the Italian straightened his back and cleared his throat. "Anyway, so they tried to get me to help with chores, but I was no good at it-"
"Cause you're clumsy," Antonio nodded knowingly.
Lovino shot the Spaniard an angry glare, "no, because it was stupid and boring and they were just trying to distract me so they wouldn't have to deal with me, and-" Lovino stopped, his mouth hanging open in mid-sentence when he realized what he was saying. He had planned to portray his past with as little personal information as possible, but it was like his body was drunk, with every slight smile or caring word cast his way by the Spaniard, he felt his hold loosening, and the flood of truths were becoming harder and harder to hold back. "And so," Lovino cleared his throat, turning from the wide-eyed Spaniard back to the clock's unfeeling face, "Roderich decided I had to find a hobby."
Antonio nodded his head slightly, enraptured by the story and wondering guiltily if he should mention that the ten minutes had passed, but ultimately deciding against it when the Italian continued. "Since Roderich was so damn arts obsessed and because my brother is naturally gifted, it was decided that I should do something in the arts as well."
"But your grandfather said-"
"Right," Lovino sighed, seemingly not bothered by the interruption, "I knew I wouldn't be good, but I did it anyway, just to shut them all up really."
"Did it work?" Antonio asked, he sensed that the Italian's barriers were being weakened, and he was desperate to catch a glance at the boy underneath.
"No, instead they just whined about how terrible I was." Lovino laughed dryly, "Roderich started me with the piano first, but I was God awful at it, I don't have an ear for music," he admitted, leaning back in his seat as he pulled his knees under his chin. "So then they decided I should try painting, but I could never figure out how to layer quite right, so all I ever made was mud. I could draw pretty well, but I was messy and Roderich hated the way I would leave charcoal fingerprints everywhere, so he barred me from doing it."
"So then, how-"
"Well, one day Roderich decided to bring Feli and I to an art exhibit. It was really boring, and he made us dress in these stiff suits-I still remember them, you could hardly bend a limb, it was terrible." Antonio laughed, face lightening as emotion slipped into the Italian's voice, the boy was losing himself to his story. The Spaniard doubted if Lovino even remembered he was still in the room, closely listening to every word the boy spoke. "Well the whole show was really dry, all landscapes and bowls of fruit, and, you know, just the ordinary stuff, but there was this one piece...I don't remember the subject matter any more to be honest, I just remember liking the way the colors were stacked on top of each other. I thought it was cool, the way they sat on the paper in one solid mass, instead of being worked up in strokes."
Antonio didn't know exactly what the boy meant, but he nodded anyway, urging him to continue. "I think I stayed in front of that print for hours, just staring at it and trying to figure out how it worked. When Roderich came to take me home I pitched a fit, and finally he managed to find out who the artist was. I remember thinking how mad he was at the time, that I was causing a scene in the middle of his sophisticated friends, but I think he might have been also a little happy-that I was-I don't know, taking an interest in something?" Lovino shook his head to clear his straying thoughts and carried on, "Anyway, the artist was thrilled that I liked his piece, he went on and on about how printmaking was so under-appreciated and only a few people understand it's beauty. So he ended up making me his apprentice." Lovino opened his mouth to say more, but then suddenly remembered he had fulfilled his promise and stopped, his mind quickly returning to reality as he took in the Spaniard's enthralled face. "What are you staring at?" He spat angrily, irritated that he had been tricked into revealing more than he had intended.
Antonio only smiled, glancing at the clock in mock surprise, "I think it's been more than ten minutes." He observed, closing his eyes with a grin when the Italian let out a string of expletives and bolted for the dark room.
"You better be gone when I come out of here!" Lovino roared through the thick door. Antonio chuckled slightly to himself and rose to his feet, stretching his arms out to either side in a stretch before padding tiredly towards the hall. He hesitated at the dark room door and let his fingertips trace the hard wood, 'I think I know why you chose printmaking,' he thought to himself, a smile pulling on the corner of his lips as he sucked in a breath. "Bye, Lovi, hasta mañana!" He shouted cheerfully, waiting for a response before shrugging and trudging down the dimly-lit hall.
Lovino listened to the quieting footsteps and before he could stop himself, swung open the dark room door and stepped into the hall. "Thank you," he shouted after the Spaniard, wincing at the way the words echoed around in his mind. He balled his fists at his side, cursing himself for his stupidity as he desperately hoped Antonio would think he was thanking him for the glass and the food.