Lovino leaned back in his seat and stretched his arms above his head, a quiet whine settling in the back of his throat when the tension between his shoulders loosened. He let his hands fall back to his sides and pulled his legs against his chest, his heels resting on the edge of the seat while his knees knelt against the table. He shuddered when the cold morning air blew through the slightly open windows, he hadn't meant to come to the studio so early, he had been working hard all week, coming in early and leaving late, and so he felt he deserved to sleep in. He didn't have any pressing matters to take care of for once, it was Friday, so he knew he had the weekend ahead of him to get his work done, but for some reason his body hadn't let him take the morning off. Lovino let his face fall to his knees and rubbed his tired eyes into his slacks. He wondered how long he could pretend he didn't know why he was sitting in the print room at six in the morning, how long his mind would allow him the blissful peace of obliviousness.

The truth was, Lovino knew why he was sitting there so early, pretending he needed to work on sketches. It was the same reason he had gotten up extra early in order to wash his hair and properly style it: he knew Antonio was going to show up with breakfast, and he didn't want to miss it. He hadn't allowed himself to expect anything at first, whether out of fear that the boy's psuedo-promise would turn out to be a lie or to avoid the anxiety that made him want to hide away when there was work to be done. Either way, he couldn't deny feeling something similar to satisfaction when Antonio had shown up for breakfast and dinner on both Wednesday and Thursday. He didn't dare consider it happiness, because it wasn't, it couldn't be, but it did suit him to have the boy bring him food. Antonio was a good cook, even if Lovino would never dream of telling him so.

Lovino lifted his eyes from his knees and laid his head sideways against them, staring thoughtfully at the blue autumn morning. He hadn't been talking to Antonio much since his admissions a few days earlier, but it hadn't seemed to bother the older boy. He blathered on cheerfully about school, his friends, and his favorite sports teams, and Lovino would nod his head or give an occasional grunt of acknowledgment. Antonio never let his topics get too personal, and the Italian appreciated that about him. He didn't want to really get to know the Spaniard, he didn't want to imagine what his family was like or his hometown, he didn't want to know what scared him or what made him happy, because then he would become a real person to Lovino, and that meant he was at risk of bonding with him, and eventually caring about him.

"Buenos días, Lovi!" A cheerful voice rang through the room, the Italian didn't flinch at the interruption, he had grown familiar with the pleasing timbre of that melodious voice.

"I don't speak Spanish, bastard," Lovino mumbled, trying to appear uncaring as he slowly pulled his head from his knees and rubbed his eye with the inside of his wrist while he yawned.

"What time did you go to bed?" Antonio asked, concern edging his words as he dropped his satchel on the table and flopped in the seat across from the Italian.

Lovino shrugged, uncaring and turned his head to the window when a powerful gust sent dead leaves rustling noisily from their branches. "Probably around 1 or so," he lied. He had gone to bed a little past 3, but he knew Antonio would act worried if he said that, and tell him not to push himself, and he didn't feel like hearing it.

"That's a bit better I guess," Antonio nodded thoughtfully as he pulled a thermos from his bag and started pouring himself and the Italian a steaming mug of bitter brown coffee.

"Thanks," Lovino replied when the cup was pushed towards him, he continued to stare, fixated at the lightening dawn as he sipped the warm brew. Antonio made the best coffee, he never felt the need to add any sweeteners or milk, he was tempted to ask where he got his coffee beans, but in a weird way he liked not knowing. If he knew, the coffee wouldn't be special to the Spaniard, he could make it on his own, and then he wouldn't have any excuses to get up early to meet him for breakfast.

"That's a nice color on you," Antonio said nonchalantly as he rifled around in his bag for the container holding thick slices of apple cinnamon bread.

"Mm," Lovino replied back, holding his breath in an effort to keep his cheeks from filling with blood. He knew the sweater looked good on him, the olive green knit made his hazel eyes shine with golden flecks of light and his pale skin look soft and delicate. It was a piece of clothing that he loved but rarely wore, if only for the attention it seemed to garner, but if he was honest, he had worn it hoping Antonio would notice. Antonio finally located his tin and peeled the lid off, pushing it across the table towards the distracted Italian.

"You like apples, right?" He asked, taking a piece of bread and munching it thoughtfully as he watched Lovino gaze at the feeble morning rays shining through the red capped trees. "They look like candy apples, don't they?" The Spaniard smiled, turning to examine the apparently fascinating dawn.

"You would compare them to food," Lovino scoffed after a long while, finally ripping his eyes away from the lazy falling leaves and plucking a piece of bread out of the tin. He took a small bite, his tongue rejoicing under the natural sweetness of the perfectly ripened apples and the warm, savory bran. He wished he had more of an appetite in the morning, he considered as he watched Antonio as inconspicuously as possible. In fact, he wished he had more of an appetite in general. The Spaniard might be annoying, but his food was fantastic, and Lovino knew he was putting himself out by providing him with freshly prepared meals. "Did you reheat this?" Lovino asked, feeling as if he already knew the answer as he continued to nibble the spicy bread.

"No, why, is it bad?" Antonio asked, brows knit in concern.

Lovino stared at the Spaniard's face, enjoying the lingering taste of clove and cinnamon on his tongue as he considered whether the older boy was pushing himself too far in his effort to keep the Italian from doing the same. "No, it's good," Lovino said honestly, "it's really warm, so I-I just wondered."

Antonio cocked his head slightly to the side and smiled, "I made it this morning, I'm really happy you like it."

"What time?" Lovino asked, studying the Spaniard's eyes for any trace of the dark circles indicating sleeplessness.

"Um, I guess it was like 4:30," Antonio said, laughing slightly, weaving his hand through the back of his wavy locks when he realized how excessive his efforts must have sounded.

Lovino didn't respond, his stomach churned with what he supposed must be guilt and he started to feel slightly nauseous. He hated himself for being so caught up in his own work that he hadn't even considered the toll Antonio was facing at being his personal meal service. "Maybe you shouldn't do this anymore."

Antonio stared dumbfounded, "do what?"

Lovino's mouth curled into a frown, he hated how blunt he had to be with the Spaniard, the man was absolutely useless at picking up anything subtle. "This, bringing me food," he continued, exasperated. "I think it should stop."

"But Lovi, I like-"

"I don't care," Lovino interrupted immediately, finally laying his quarter eaten piece of bread on the butcher paper covered table when his stomach flipped painfully. "I'm not going to be responsible for you getting overworked."

Antonio shook his head in defense, "you won't be, I always get up early to make breakfast, I sleep while it bakes."

"But you have to drive to get here," Lovino argued.

"It takes like 5 minutes, my school's only a couple miles from here," Antonio waved his hand in the air submissively, perplexed by the Italian's insistence that he get a proper amount of sleep.

Lovino felt anger bubble in the pit of his stomach and his brows drooped in irritation, "Fine. You can bring me food all you want, but I'm not going to eat it."

Antonio pouted and cocked his head to the side as he gazed at the fuming Italian, "c'mon Lovi, it's too early for this." He whined, wondering why the boy seemed to choose the most random times to be obstinate. Lovino ignored the Spaniard and pulled his sketchbook from the bag leaning against the table's legs. He let it fall to the table with a smack and roughly flipped through the pages, cursing when he pulled too violently and ripped a piece. "Don't be that way," Antonio leaned across the table towards the Italian, trying to will the boy to lift his eyes to meet his own.

Lovino dug his pencil into a blank page, jerking the dark lead across the surface in zig-zags, "it's going to take more than food to trick me into letting you date my brother," he growled through gritted teeth.

Antonio let his head drop to the table and peered up at the Italian's angry eyes. "I like bringing you food, it's not about Feli," he smiled lightly, hoping his sincerity would serve as a peace offering to the fuming boy.

Lovino stayed silent for a long while, continuing to rip his paper apart with his heavy sketching as he processed this new information. He knew it was dangerous to believe Antonio, he didn't know enough about the boy to determine if he was trustworthy, and it seemed odd that his motivations would change. It was most likely a trick, if Antonio could make Lovino think he genuinely liked him, it would be easier to fool the Italian into trusting the boy with his most sacred possessions. He had already conned Lovino into sharing a part of his past, he wasn't about to offer up his brother and his heart as well. "Bastard," Lovino snarled simply, it irritated him that his heart refused to stop beating heavily at the implication that Antonio enjoyed his company, even if he knew it to be a ruse.

"Lovi-" Antonio sighed, lifting his head back up from the table's hard surface and watching the Italian hesitantly before reaching forward and grabbing the boy by his thin, seizing wrist. Lovino jerked backwards at the sudden touch, the noise of his chair squeaking painfully loud across the floor echoed in his ears while he tried recover his senses. "Lovi," Antonio repeated, once the boy's wild eyes flew up to meet his face, "you're not forcing me to do anything, I bring you food because I want to."

Lovino wanted to roll his eyes, even if he truly was upset at the thought of Antonio putting himself out on his behalf, he certainly didn't want the damn Spaniard to know it. This was what was most annoying about Antonio's perception, at the oddest, and often the most inconvenient times, he would understand what Lovino meant without it being spelled out for him. The Italian wanted him to believe he was frustrated because he thought he was being used, but the Spaniard had seemed to know better, and it worried Lovino. He didn't want Antonio to start to understand him, that was one step closer to forming a bond with him, and even if the connection was already there, the Italian wasn't ready to admit it.

Refusing to reply, Lovino jerked his hand back and stood from his chair, stomping heavily across the room to grab a piece of plexi glass from behind the drying racks and thump it heavily down on a glass-covered table. Antonio sighed as he watched the small boy clomp around the room, piling his arms full of supplies and cursing every time something fell to the floor from his anger-induced clumsiness. "Let me help," Antonio cooed gently, walking over to Lovino's turned form and pulling a metal ruler from where it jutted out from the crook of his elbow.

"I got it," Lovino snapped, jerking his body away from the Spaniard too quickly and causing a roll of duct tape to clatter to the floor. "Dammit," he cursed, struggling to bend down with the pile of items still in his arms.

"Let me," Antonio offered, bending gracefully to his knees and swiftly scooping up the rogue tape.

"No, I-" Lovino argued, leaning over just as Antonio was straightening back up and retrieving an eyeful of soft, sweet smelling chestnut hair moments before the top of the Spaniard's hard head smacked him in the socket. "Fuck!" Lovino hissed, throwing both hands to the wounded spot and letting his apron, ruler and toolbox crash unceremoniously to the cement floor.

Antonio winced and massaged the top of his head before noticing the Italian's cupped hands and instantly forgetting his own discomfort in order to inspect the boy's injury. "Lemme see," Antonio encouraged, placing a hand on the Italian's rounded shoulder and turning his body towards him. Lovino shook his head slowly, he knew the Spaniard would think he didn't want to be helped, but in reality, he was a little concerned that if he removed his hands, his eyeball would fall with them. "C'mon, Lovi," Antonio persisted, grabbing the smaller boy's wrist and forcefully jerking his palms from his reddened face. Lovino blinked heavily when the dark shelter of his hands was removed, his blurry vision was cleared after a few moments, and he felt his body relax when he realized his eye had remained in place. He tensed again when Antonio placed a hand onto his forehead, pushing his stray brunette locks away in order to better examine his swelling skin.

"That's gonna be a mean bruise," Antonio fretted, making Lovino's heart freeze at the sensation of the boy's warm breath so close to his mouth. "Does it hurt?"

"Duh," Lovino spat back, a furious red blush filling his cheeks when Antonio let out a silent hum of understanding and leaned forward to place a gentle kiss on his eyebrow. "Wh-what the hell!" Lovino snapped, stumbling backwards when he finally regained control of his limbs. His mind buzzed in his ears, he felt incapable of forming a coherent thought, and so instead he resorted to his default anger.

Antonio was annoyingly completely unaffected, and only laughed as he dropped to his knees to retrieve the fallen items. "Kisses are supposed to make it better," he said cheerfully, apparently amused by the Italian's heated reaction, "maybe it's a cultural thing."

Lovino only scowled when Antonio climbed back to his feet and pushed a roll of tape and the apron into his hands. "Maybe it's just a pervert thing," he growled, refusing to meet the Spaniard's eyes when he clomped past him back towards the glass-covered table.

"Aw, c'mon Lovi, don't be mad," Antonio chuckled slightly, following the Italian to place the remaining materials onto the table.

"Fuck you," Lovino replied simply, slamming the ruler down on the plexi and uncapping the permanent marker, holding the cap between his teeth as he ticked off measurements.

Antonio stood awkwardly across from the Italian and rubbed the sore spot on his scalp. "That's so un-cute," he whined, letting his head lean slightly to the side as he studied the busy working boy. "Why are you so mad?"

Lovino snapped his head up mid-measurement to glare at the Spaniard, "You don't leave when I tell you to and look what happens, why do you think I'm mad, Bastard?" He snarled, squinting his eyes for good measure before throwing his head back down to his plexi and using the ruler as a guide to draw a rectangle on the slick surface.

"It was an accident," Antonio defended, shifting his weight from one hip to the other as he continued to linger hesitantly in front of the Italian.

"Well those accidents only seem to happen around you," Lovino seethed, refusing to lift his head from his work, "and I'm getting the feeling you're trying to sabotage me."

Antonio laughed loudly at that, unable to hide his amusement at the Italian's wild accusations. "What would I possibly gain from doing that?" He snorted, rubbing a knuckle to his watery eye as he tried to calm the convulsions in his throat.

Lovino gritted his teeth as he listened to the Spaniard's annoying laugh, "You say you want me to give you permission to date Feliciano, but it'd be a whole lot easier for you if I lost my scholarship and was sent back to Austria, now wouldn't it?" Lovino demanded, tossing his permanent marker forcefully against the plexi and throwing his hands to his hips when it bounced off the table and clattered to the floor.

Antonio blinked at the wide-eyed Italian's defensive stance, confusion knitting his brows. "Why would I want you to be sent away?"

Lovino dropped his hands to his side and lifted his chin to the ceiling, slapping a palm to his forehead and wincing when fingers swept across his bruised socket. "Dio caro, did you not hear what I just said?"

Antonio shook his head, ignoring the boy's exaggerated pose, "I like you, Lovi, I don't want you to leave."

Lovino felt the nerves tingle painfully in his fingertips, he wanted to stay angry, the weak morning sunlight was barely peaking through the chilly fall morning and he already had a black eye, but those words melted his resolve and turned his bones to jelly. Trying to look casual, Lovino leaned against the lithograph press behind him, folding his arms across his chest as he stared fixated at the black dot marring the plexi where he had thrown his marker. "Then why?" He said simply, hoping Antonio would have one of his rare moments of lucidity and understand what he meant.

"I wasn't trying to give you a black eye, Lovi, I swear. I don't know why you always get hurt around me." Antonio pleaded, stepping forward and leaning down to better observe the Italian's lowered face.

Lovino sighed and shot his eyes to the window, "that's not what I mean, idiot."

"Then wha-"

"I mean why," Lovino chewed his lip as he tried to figure out what to say, he wanted to know why Antonio cared, why he bothered liking him, and why he made it so damn hard to stay mad at him. "Why won't you just leave me alone?"

Antonio let out a small "hmm," and straightened up, staring meaningfully at the soft hair shrouding the Italian's hazel eyes. "I worry about you." He answered honestly, a warm smile softening his face when Lovino shot his head up in shock.

"I'm not going to give you permission to date Feliciano." He said sharply, a hint of anger tracing his face.

Antonio's smile deepened as he shrugged, "even so, I still care about you." Antonio's heart sunk when he saw Lovino's shocked face, he got the unsettling feeling that the boy had never been told that before, and it made him want to draw him into a tight hug, pat his hair and tell him he deserved the love he was so obviously regularly denied.

"That's stupid," Lovino said after a while, pushing his body off of the litho press and grabbing the tape from the table, pulling a strip noisily from the roll and ripping it off with his teeth. "You're stupid," he added for good measure. He meant it, Antonio had to be dense to care for someone that constantly berated and yelled at him. Lovino hadn't done anything to deserve concern, he had been selfish and mean, and if he was honest, he hated himself. It didn't make sense for someone to like him, because as far as he was concerned, there was nothing worth liking.

Antonio laughed and trudged across the room to retrieve the permanent marker from its resting place against the wall. "I am for a lot of reasons probably," he replied, holding the abused marker tenderly in his hands before tightening his palm around it and carrying it back to Lovino, "but liking you isn't one of them."

Lovino didn't respond, he didn't know how to. Instead he flipped the plexi over, pulling the strip of tape from his teeth and placing it carefully along the line he had drawn. "I still don't think you should bring me food," he said after a long while, jerking his toolbox open and pulling a pair of rubber gloves from its contents and throwing them on the table.

Antonio sighed and rolled the uncapped marker in his hand. "I want to, it makes me happy." He replied calmly, his voice settling back into its comforting, rich timbre.

"Well it makes me feel guilty," Lovino admitted, ripping another piece of tape from the roll and smoothing it onto the plexi glass. "You're going to fall behind in classes if you keep spending all your time over here, and I don't want to be the one to blame."

Antonio let the marker fall between his middle and index finger and fanned it back and forth, "I won't fall behind," he said sternly, "and I wouldn't blame you, even if I did."

Lovino sighed and glanced his head up to argue, "That's not good enou-"

"You can't stop me," Antonio interrupted, keeping his eyes on the bobbing marker, "I like coming so I'm going to come, you can fight it or accept it, but it won't stop me being here."

Lovino wanted to respond with anger, but as he searched at the Spaniard's down-turned eyes, he caught sight of something he had never seen in Antonio. He wasn't sure what it was, whether possessiveness or obstinance, but it frightened him enough to squelch his irritation. "Do what you want," he clicked his tongue in frustration, continuing to run his hands over the tape in an attempt to flatten any rogue wrinkles, "I don't care."

Antonio raised an eyebrow and glanced at the Italian, "don't you?"

"No." Lovino replied instantly, yanking off another piece of tape and ripping it between his teeth.

"Because it sounded like you were feeling guilty," the Spaniard pressed, letting the marker fall from his fingers back into his palm before placing it gently on the table.

"Maybe I was, until you reminded me of what an asshole you are," Lovino bit back, using his thumbnail to properly bond the edge of the tape to the plexi.

Antonio laughed, his wavy hair bobbing as he let his head tilt to the side, "that's too bad," he shrugged, "I was going to ask you for a favor."

Lovino felt his shoulders grow tense, he knew Antonio wanted him to ask what the favor was, and it was killing him not to, but he didn't want to give the Spaniard the satisfaction of successfully luring him into his plot. Lovino snatched his apron from the table and lifted it above his head, adjusting the neck strap so it fell comfortably across his chest before reaching behind his back to fasten the ties across his hips. He tried to avoid Antonio's eyes, but he knew the boy was watching him, waiting for him to break down and ask what he wanted. Finally he relented, when he was certain his pounding heart would burst through his chest, "well what was it?" He spat, frustration skirting his words.

Antonio shrugged and combed his fingers through his hair, "it's just that, there's this place a couple counties over, they're supposed to have the best seasonal pastries in the country."

Lovino struggled to tie the knot behind his back, his irritation with Antonio making his fingers tremble uncontrollably. "Your point being?" He prompted, growing impatient with the Spaniard.

"I wanted to drive over there tomorrow, but no one seems to be free."

Lovino shrugged, letting his arms flop to his sides in admitted defeat to the apron strings. "Why can't you go alone?" He asked, freezing when Antonio walked casually around the table and grabbed him by the pocket of his apron, twisting his body around so he could fasten his ties.

"I can, I guess, but I'd rather have company." Antonio admitted, pulling the ties into a neat bow and patting Lovino on the back when he had finished. "It's a long drive and I'm afraid I'll fall asleep at the wheel if I go alone." He chucked lightly.

Lovino glanced over his shoulder at the Spaniard's grinning face, the man might be laughing, but he got the sense that there was some seriousness in his joke, and as much as he resented Antonio, he didn't want the guilt of his death weighing on his conscience. Or at least, that was the excuse he could tell himself, and anyone else that dared to ask. "Fine." He grunted quietly, pacing forward a few steps to pick up a few small tins of oil-based ink.

"What was that?" Antonio asked.

"Move," Lovino grumbled, pushing Antonio out of the way as he resumed his spot at the glass-covered table and started placing the containers of ink next to his prepared plexi glass.

"But before tha-"

"I said fine!" Lovino barked, leaning over stiffly to pluck a palette knife from a nearby jar.

"Really?" Antonio asked excitedly, taking a step forward to wrap the Italian in a warm embrace, only to lean back with his hands held defensively ahead of his chest when Lovino held his palette knife out threateningly.

"Yes, but don't try that again." Lovino warned, picking a glove up from the table and pulling it over his left hand.

"Try what?" Antonio asked, voice light and cheerful.

Lovino shot his eyes over at the Spaniard before grabbing the other glove from the table, "guilt tripping me."

Antonio smiled knowingly and nodded, "Thanks," he said simply.

"Whatever, just go already, I have work to get done," Lovino snarled dismissively, rubbing his gloved hands against his apron before leaning over to pry a lid off a tin of ink.

Antonio turned back to his abandoned satchel and gathered up his things silently, humming cheerfully as he worked. "Hey Lovi," he said when he had finished packing and slung his satchel over his shoulder.

"What?" Lovino hissed when the Spaniard didn't immediately continue.

"I'm really happy." Antonio admitted, face shining with adoration as he watched Lovino ladle a bright scoop of red from a rusty silver container.

"Why?" Lovino asked exasperated, pushing the ink from his palette knife to the glass table.

"This is the most you've spoken to me in days," Antonio smiled, before walking towards the hallway and pausing in the doorway. "See you tomorrow morning!" He called cheerfully, waving a little before clomping down the hall.

Lovino sighed as he listened to the retreating footsteps and shook his hair out of his eyes, as much as he hated himself for admitting it, he was looking forward to Saturday. "Bastard," the Italian hissed quietly as he continued to diligently work.