Antonio's eyes burned against the soft and bitter wind. He couldn't remember the last time he blinked, the sight of the hazy mountains, sprawled lazily against the churning overcast sky, was too intoxicating. It felt like the minutes were simultaneously stretching into hours and contracting into fleeting seconds, time was irrelevant, almost non-existent. Instead, his reality had become the view of those distant hills, the rhythmic creak of his rocking chair against the aging porch, and Lovino's quiet and steady breathing. He had a feeling the boy had fallen asleep, but he didn't dare check, scared that if he breathed too deeply or moved too quickly, the serene atmosphere would be frightened away and the presence of time, space and the worries that accompanied them would come crashing back down.

Antonio smiled slightly when he heard a short, contended hum escape from the Italian's throat. He would've liked to be able to sit and talk to the Italian, but the idea of waking the sleeping boy was appalling. He knew the day had been stressful for Lovino, even if he had tried his best to keep it from being so. It was strange, Antonio thought, that despite their outward appearances, Lovino was the more fragile of the brother's. He would never have guessed it, not with Feliciano's sweet and gullible disposition, but he knew it was true, even with his less than perfect skills at deciphering anything beyond the surface. What Antonio couldn't decide, was why he seemed to be the first to ever realize it. It seemed so obvious to him, that Lovino was self-deprecating, so lost and alone, and desperate for someone to care. That was it though, he realized, it probably wasn't that no one noticed, but that they didn't care, that they didn't want to spend enough time with the ill-mannered boy to give him the help he so obviously needed. It made Antonio's heart swell in his chest when he thought about it, Lovino's way of dealing with his problems was misdirected, sure, but it killed him to think that no one would even attempt to get to know him, to show him there were things in him worth loving. Antonio felt oddly protective over the boy now, like a parent determined to guard his child from the cruelty of the world until he had grown mentally enough to protect himself.

Antonio wondered what Lovino thought of him, he wondered if it really mattered. The Italian was sure to despise him, after all, he hadn't been completely innocent in his motives to befriend the boy. Despite his newly found indignation, he knew he could easily be considered a hypocrite, because if not for his immediate attraction to Feliciano, he would've never given Lovino a second thought. He wondered if without his interest in the younger Italian to motivate him, if he would've looked past Lovino's outward flaws, and, even if he had and seen the insecure boy behind them, if he would've cared enough to reach out to him. Antonio folded his arms across his lap when a shiver forced its way down his spine, he suddenly felt ashamed of himself, of the person he knew he could have easily been. Lovino wasn't perfect, that fact was more obvious than it was with most people, and Antonio appreciated the honesty. He felt confident in knowing there was no pretense to the boy, Lovino was a flawed individual, he didn't apologize for it, didn't hide it. What Antonio couldn't decipher, was why he would so desperately conceal his positive traits.

Antonio stared lazily at the golden halo of orange gradually forming around the silhouette of the distant mountains. He clamped his eyes shut, willing the time to slow down, to match the stillness he had imagined. If the sun was setting, it meant this day was going to end, and it made him strangely fearful. Despite what Lovino had said, he worried that if he woke the Italian up, if he brought him to the car and back to the dorm, that somehow he would lose him. He realized that he had been operating under the assumption that his relationship with Lovino was for the boy's benefit, rather than his own, but now he knew that might not be the case. He couldn't remember ever feeling like his life was especially lacking: he was happy, he loved what he did and had good friends, yet somehow Lovino was filling a void he didn't know he had, and the idea of losing that fullness was chilling, even unimaginable.

"What time is it?" A groggy voice sounded, shaking Antonio from his thoughts.

"Ah, I don't know," Antonio laughed apologetically, snapping his eyes open and shaking his head in a silent effort to pull himself from the gloom he had been settling into. "Sorry," he tacked on as an afterthought, suddenly remembering how important time was to the younger boy.

"Useless," Lovino scoffed, sleepiness still weighing in his voice.

Antonio only smiled, appreciative that the Italian hadn't instantly erupted into anger over his negligence, "Did you have a good nap?" He teased, knowing the question was certain to irritate the boy, but unable to resist asking it.

"I wasn't napping." Lovino jumped in immediately, snapping his head towards the laughing Spaniard.

"Aw c'mon, it's cute," Antonio winked at the boy, before letting his head roll back so he could stare wistfully at the orange, cloud-streaked sky.

"I fucking hate that word," Lovino growled to himself, knitting his eyebrows as he regarded Antonio's peaceful profile.

Antonio ignored the comment, too contended by the familiar banter and chilling early evening breeze, "the sky looks like your face," he said finally, smiling at his own observation.

Lovino turned his head outward, watching as the slowly dispersing clouds were cast in a dark purple against the golden tinted sky. "What's that supposed to mean?" He huffed, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms against his chest as he tilted his head towards the Spaniard.

Antonio laughed softly and tapped the skin beneath his eye. Lovino mirrored the action, letting his soft fingers brush against his eye socket and wincing slightly at the pain the touch produced. He had forgotten the injury, and he resented Antonio for reminding him of the embarrassing incident, even if he had done so without words. He grunted in understanding and tapped his teeth together anxiously, he wondered how bad the bruise looked now and if he would still be able to hide it from his brother. "Does it look that bad?" He asked tiredly, carefully masking the anxiousness in his voice.

"Sorta," Antonio returned, shrugging regretfully, "but it's a good sign, bruises always get darker before they heal."

Lovino grunted in acknowledgment and slumped into his seat, shoulders dipping forward slightly in unease. He knew Antonio was right, as dense as he liked to believe the man was. His bruise was probably on it's way to getting better, and though he felt he should be grateful for the quick healing, the blatant darkness he knew must be marring his pale skin made a ball of anxiety settle into his stomach. He had hoped the injury would fade away quietly, somehow magically avoiding the multi-colored stages he knew bruises so often adopted, not because he feared the reaction of his classmates or even his professors, but because he didn't want his brother to see it. He didn't know why it was so important to keep Feliciano from seeing the bruise, he wanted to believe it was because he didn't feel like reciting the story behind its appearance, but he was aware that wasn't the total truth. He liked his brother to believe he was impenetrable, that he was a pillar of strength on which the younger boy could always lean. He couldn't remember if it was for his own benefit or Feliciano's, but he held steadfastly to the facade, hoping it would offer some comfort and permanence in his brother's untraditional upbringing.

It would be a lie to say he didn't gain something from the act, certainly pretending like the world and its cruelties were no match for his bitter temper had allowed him some sort of coping mechanism. After all, you could only pretend to be impervious to brutality for so long before the deception became somewhat of a reality. Lovino liked to think that he had become quite skillful at dealing with adverse situations and people, his temper was quick and biting, and could sufficiently quell any mounting confrontations. Unfortunately, the action of anger was the only aspect he had completely adopted, he couldn't fully let go of the words pointed at him, and he had never really learned how not to believe them. Lovino let his fingers travel up his cold cheek to settle lightly against his damaged skin, he smirked as he considered how representative the harmless bruise was of his overall emotional state. The things people said about him, the things they did to him, or even the way they completely disregarded him, all these things might seem inconsequential, unimportant. But over time, the continual mistreatment wore upon Lovino, his psyche and self-esteem were only so inviolable, even snide remarks or the smallest of cruel gestures could be rendered severe if the former damages were never mended. He didn't know when it happened, the change was gradual, but he had started to rot from the inside out, crumpling under the weight of the repressed self-hatred that had been cultivated from years of untended, and largely unnoticed, mental abuse.

Lovino stared unblinking as the sky's orange hue was gradually intermixed with a soft haze of purple, dully shining stars lazily dotting its darkening surface. "We should go," he said after a while, he knew he should want to return back to the school. He had a lot of work to do, and he was worried about the mischief his brother was capable of getting himself in from almost a whole Saturday without his brother's looming presence, but he felt strangely intoxicated by the beauty of the evening.

Antonio yawned and stretched his arms over his head, arching his back until it cracked with a satisfying pop. "You're probably right," Antonio agreed, nodding lazily as he pulled himself from his seat and leaned over to gather up his abandoned refuse.

"When did it stop raining?" Lovi asked, desperately stifling a yawn to keep the Spaniard from realizing he had been watching him.

Antonio straightened back up and cocked his head towards the creeping twilight, as if the clouds would reveal the answer. "Ah, I'm not sure," he laughed, scratching the back of his head, "I hadn't even noticed to be honest." He admitted, sticking his tongue out in embarrassment.

Lovino sighed and rolled his eyes, "you really are useless," he groaned in disbelief as he slowly hoisted himself from his chair. He rolled his stiff shoulders, shocked at how heavy his limbs felt. "Are you sure you weren't sleeping?"

Antonio shook his head softly and grinned at the tired looking Italian, "nah," he shrugged, "I was just thinking."

Lovino knit his eyebrows at the younger boy before finally processing the words and pulling his knuckles up to his mouth so he could giggle into them. "What's so funny?" Antonio laughed, pleased to have elicited such a cheerful response from the Italian.

Lovino took in a few deep breaths, before coughing a reply, "I didn't know you were capable," he said simply, leaving Antonio to put the pieces together. It was an immature response, he knew, and he felt his tiredness was contributing to the humor of the situation, but it felt good to laugh, and so he allowed himself the luxury.

Antonio shrugged and continued to chuckle along with the boy, he could be the butt of a million jokes if it meant seeing Lovino's face lighten with mirth. "Alright, so maybe thinking isn't one of my strongest suits," he conceded, delighted when his admission produced a new peel of belly laughs from the younger boy.

The pair stayed like that for a while, Lovino's red cheeks shining vibrantly against the porch's increasingly bright florescent lights. After many failed attempts to quell his laughter, Lovino finally stilled his abdomen's contractions, voice hitching as he drew in deep breath after deep breath, threatening to break into a new fit of insuppressible chuckles.

His jaw and stomach were sore from overuse, but it was a comforting pain, one that reminded him of the sudden aberration from his foul mood. He realized that he had forgotten it was possible to feel anything but dread and misery. It was stupid really, to think he might be incapable of adopting different moods, but if he had forgotten his ability, he knew it was his own fault. After all, wasn't it his own mistrust in happiness that had caused him to reject it? He had convinced himself of so many things over the years, protected himself so steadfastly from the world in a desperate attempt to cope with the changes around him. He knew he must be maturing, age was the only explanation he could come up with for his gradual understanding that the world didn't have to be the place he had made it out to be, that he didn't have to react to it in the way he did. It was a comforting thought, but it didn't change anything. He knew it would probably take him longer to unlearn his reactions to the world than it took him to adopt them in the first place, but it was nice to know he was learning how to see things from a different perspective.

"We should go before they kick us out," Antonio teased, unconsciously reaching a hand out to brush Lovino's wind-blown bangs from his forehead before wrenching his arm back in sudden realization and instead patting the boy's shoulder awkwardly in a bid to move him towards the door.

"They can't kick us out, we're already outside," Lovino bit back, but he trudged towards the door anyway, too drained and delirious to consider fighting back.

Antonio's eyes flitted casually through the store's stock-packed space, an apron-laden employee zoomed through the room, carelessly sweeping debris into a dustpan while another straightened and re-arranged misplaced items. "I guess it's later than I thought," he chuckled apologetically as he continued to nudge Lovino ahead of him by the small of his back.

"You think?" Lovino asked sarcastically, desperately fighting the bubble of mirth that bloomed in his chest from the memory the question triggered.

Antonio ignored him, frowning slightly as he clomped dejectedly up the well-worn staircase. "I guess we won't be able to get anything to eat," he sighed, making Lovino roll his eyes with frustration.

"Do you ever think about anything but food?" He demanded tiredly, feet dragging slightly as he pushed his way through the first level's door back into the cold evening air.

Antonio shrugged knowingly and grinned, "I think about it as much as you think about art."

Lovino jammed his hands into his plush vest, hunching his shoulders to shield himself against the chilly wind. He hadn't remembered it being so cold before, he guessed the reprieve in the store, as short as it had been, had been enough to disturb his acclimation to the cold. "That's not true," he grumbled, irritated that Antonio would make such an assumption, "I don't care about art."

"Really?" Antonio feigned surprise, sneaking glances at the Italian's slightly down-turned face as he walked slowly beside him, purposefully abating his pace in an effort to match the smaller boy's stride.

"You know that," Lovino accused, his embarrassment over admitting Antonio might know something about him was outweighed by his agitation over the out-worn topic.

Antonio shrugged and glanced up at an orange streetlight, "well, I know that's what you believe anyway."

Lovino knit his eyebrows in irritation, he knew Antonio was goading him on, trying to force him to reveal something about himself. It pissed him off that the Spaniard would knowingly push him into another outburst. He had felt so optimistic before, so hopeful, it was a feeling he was rarely afforded and so it irritated him that, whether knowingly or not, Antonio was going to muffle it so quickly. "Whatever," Lovino muttered noncommittally.

Antonio stayed quiet for a while, Lovino hadn't responded in the way he had expected, and he was suddenly worried that he had actually hurt the boy. "Ah, I don't mean to say that-" Antonio paused, desperately trying to decipher what he had meant, "I mean that, I'm not trying to say you're wrong."

Lovino scoffed slightly and pulled his elbows closer to his body, "ok then," he bit back, obviously disbelieving.

"Lovi," Antonio sighed, allowing the quiet babble of the pedestrians on the sparsely filled walkway to engulf the two for a moment before fishing his keys out his pocket when the familiar hue of his car came into view. Antonio dug his thumb into the fob, blinking against the sudden light from his headlights when his car responded. He walked towards the passenger side, only to pause when Lovino brushed past him and wrenched his own door open. Shrugging, Antonio returned to the driver's side, peering at Lovino's grumpy face through the reflecting glass before easing his door open and sliding into the soft leather seat. "You're not going to ignore me the whole time we drive back, are you?" Antonio asked, knowing it was dangerous to provoke the boy when he was entering one of his moods, but finding himself unable to resist.

Lovino bit the inside of his lip and jerked his eyes towards Antonio, "don't act like it's not your fault," he accused, crossing his arms tightly against his chest, "I don't appreciate always being made out as the bad guy."

Antonio knit his eyebrows in confusion, blinking at his reflection in the windshield. "What are you talking about?" He asked finally, genuinely perplexed.

"Y-you," Lovino burst out, endlessly frustrated at the Spaniard's inability to ever grasp his meaning, "you're not so great you know," he spat, digging his nails into his thighs.

"I," Antonio started, glancing over at the Italian's fuming cheeks before turning his head forward again, "I never said I was."

"You don't have to say it," Lovino insisted immediately, "I can tell you think it, and I-I'm not going to be a charity case, dammit." He seethed through the last words, he didn't need Antonio's pep talks about how or why art should be important to him. The older boy didn't know his life, he didn't know his motives behind the choices he made, and he could never know them.

Antonio chuckled softly to himself, shaking his head slowly against his seat before turning towards the Italian and grabbing the boy by the wrist, "dammit, Lovi," he stated, revealing an unfamiliar darkness in his eyes that shocked Lovino into listening. "Ah, s-sorry," Antonio amended immediately, releasing the small boy's lithe wrist and settling back into his seat. "It's just that, I'm not hanging out with you because I think it's the right thing to do." He clarified, "if anything, you should be mad at me because it's the opposite, because I did it for Feli-" Antonio paused, disturbed by the way Lovino shivered from the mention of his brother's name. "Anyway," he continued, deciding the topic was best avoided, "I've said it before but I'll say it again if I have to, I'm here with you because I like you. I'll say it as many times as you need me to."

Lovino's lips drooped into a frown, still dissatisfied with the answer. He didn't like being reminded of Antonio's previous intentions, whether they were still viable or not. As much as he loved his brother, it was tiring to constantly play second fiddle, even if he had brought it upon himself. "If you really liked me you'd leave me alone."

"Leave you alone?"

"I mean about art," Lovino interjected, "I hate the way you look when you talk about it, like you know better than I do about how much it means to me." Lovino swallowed heavily before continuing, "maybe I like it, and maybe I don't, but it's none of your business." He seethed, irritated at the way his words came across as a plea rather than with the force he had intended, "just leave me alone." He had meant to say 'it,' 'leave it alone,' and he stole a glance at Antonio to see if the boy had caught the mistake, only to settle back into his seat when he spied the older boy's neutral face.

Antonio nodded, taking his time to fully process Lovino's words before contributing his own thoughts. "You're right, I guess, I mean, it's none of my business," he conceded easily, "but I don't say those things to-well-" Antonio paused, confused by his own words, "well, I guess I do say them to encourage you," he finished lamely, "but not because I think you're a charity case."

"Then why?"

"Because," Antonio sighed, "like I said before, I like you, and so I want to know the things that make you happy. I thought you liked art, and print-uh, printmaker-"

"Printmaking," Lovino interjected, rolling his eyes.

"Yeah, that's it," Antonio laughed, "I thought you liked it, at least you seemed like you did, and you always seem to be in the studio, and-" Antonio stopped when Lovino shot him an angry glare and threw his hands in front his chest in defense, "sorry, sorry," he grinned, "anyway, it seemed like you liked it, but maybe I'm wrong, and that's ok, it's not important." Antonio let his hands drop into his lap and shrugged slightly, "I'm sorry, I don't really know where I'm going with this."

Lovino struggled to hold back a giggle despite himself and shook his head slightly, "typical."

"Yeah," Antonio laughed half-heatedly, pulling on his seat belt before easing the key into the ignition and revving the engine. He eased the car into reverse, sliding a hand behind Lovino's headrest to peer at the street behind the car, and smiling to himself when he caught sight of the calmer looking Italian. In truth he could have said more, he wanted to tell Lovino that he asked him about his art because he wanted to be privy to the things that made him happy. He had caught sight of how soft the boy's face looked when he smiled, how his eyes sparkled when he stopped shouldering all of his insecurities and allowed himself to peer above the mire he had planted himself in. It was intoxicating, the most powerful stimulant Antonio had ever encountered, and he wished to experience it again and again. But the Spaniard knew he didn't have to say those things, the reality of it would be overwhelming to Lovi, who, despite his age, was so new to the novelty of friendship. It was enough to say what he had, Lovino had calmed down, and that was all he needed at the moment.

"Lovi?" Antonio asked after a while, he could see the boy's head nodding precariously in his periphery, apparently being lulled to sleep by the quiet crunching of tires against gravel and the whistle of the brisk wind against the car windows.

"Hn?" Lovino asked tiredly, failing to hide the lethargy in his voice.

"I made a promise for you, so I want you to make one for me." He said, unsure if the Italian was awake enough to comprehend what he was saying.

Lovino yawned into the back of his wrist and straightened up in his seat, "What am I supposed to be promising to?"

"Don't call yourself a charity case anymore," Antonio said immediately, afraid if he waited too long he might lose the boy's attention. "I don't like it, and it's not true."

Lovino shrugged, uncaring. Even if he didn't say it, Antonio couldn't stop him from thinking it. It was a stupid request, he thought, but deep down he knew he wasn't in a position to lecture anyone on unrealistic ideas. "Whatever," he acquiesced, letting his forehead fall softly into the cold glass of the door window.

"Seriously?" Antonio asked, shocked that he was allowed his wish without a fight.

"Hm," Lovino grunted in agreement, closing his burning eyes against the steady stream of the ac. He reached forward and turned the vent away from him, watching wordlessly when Antonio immediately lowered the blast. "Leave it," Lovino yawned again, his tiredness outweighing his embarrassment in letting the Spaniard watch him sleep, "you're the one that has to stay awake."

Antonio nodded appreciatively and turned the knob up a few notches, still refusing to reach the air's previous speed.

Lovino peeked his eyes open, watching wistfully at the way the streetlight's orange globes of light whizzed past the car, revealing a splattering of lazily shining stars in its wake. "Hey, Antonio," he said after a while, wincing slightly at the way his sleep-laden voice broke the car's comfortable silence.

"Yeah?" Antonio asked, not turning his gaze from the road.

Lovino reached his forefinger ahead of him, indicating a pink slip of paper jammed underneath the windshield wiper, flapping furiously against the windshield. "You have a parking ticket."