Lovino sighed as he let himself be lulled into relaxation by the subtle tapping of rain against glass and the rhythmic crackle of roller against ink slab. For the first time in a while he felt fully refreshed, his hair was clean, his clothes were fresh, and his mind seemed a bit less weighted. He begrudgingly had to admit that taking a day off had been the right thing to do. Feliciano had joined him, after informing their professors of the situation, and the two had spent a relaxing day of cuddling together and watching movies, silently reminding one another of their importance in each other's lives. Lovino had allowed himself to forget about his problems, he hadn't asked Feliciano about Sadiq's response to his absence, and, though he knew he shouldn't indulge any tendencies to avoidance, he was glad he hadn't.
Lovino pulled his roller from the slab and carefully unloaded the ink onto his freshly-carved linoleum block. He would typically feel anxious about his inevitable meeting with his hard to read professor, and he was, in fact it was his reason for coming in so early, but his heart didn't beat quite as hard as usual. The fear didn't feel so close, so final, and he wondered if it was because, for once, his self worth wasn't solely dependent on the opinion of his authority.
"Vargas," a gruff voice sounded from the doorway, making Lovino jump in surprise and drop his roller a little too heavily. "Ah sorry, did I scare ya?" His professor chuckled to himself, ignoring the Italian's muffled curses. He grabbed the flat mop from the where it sat resting against the metal drying rack and started sweeping the floor. "Glad to see you in here so early, hope you're feeling alright."
Lovino cleared his throat and tried to ignore the faint heat forming in his cheeks at having his vulnerable state discussed, "uh, yeah." He responded lamely, busying himself with reloading his roller.
"That little brother of yours is something, huh? He came in here with tears in his eyes, I thought you might be on your last leg the way he was talking," Sadiq laughed, pausing as he recalled the amusing spectacle.
"Ah, yeah, sounds like Feli," Lovino mumbled in response, embarrassed yet slightly irritated at the idea of someone other than himself mocking his brother.
"A little melodramatic for my taste, but I'm sure it'll get him far, with that cute face of his." The man continued, not bothered by his assistant's annoyance.
"He's a great artist, the best I've seen," Lovino snapped, internally wincing when he looked from his work and saw the surprised look on his professor's face.
Sadiq smirked and shrugged before continuing his work of sweeping, "yeah, Vargas, no one's arguing that, but it's unrealistic to think success in the art world is measured only by talent." He replied easily, clearly jaded from spending too many years in his profession witnessing talented students become desk jockeys.
"You could learn something from him, you know," Sadiq continued, working his way towards Lovino to peer over the boy's work. "Your work is good, but no one's going to give you shows if you wear that mean expression all the time."
The Italian bit the inside of his mouth, willing himself not to say anything rude. Despite his immense irritation, even Lovino had to admit that it was important to stay in his professor's good graces. "Maybe I don't want shows." He said finally, unable to keep completely silent.
Sadiq quirked an eyebrow and smirked, "oh, is that so? Too bad." He replied cryptically, pointing out a few roller marks on Lovino's linoleum block before pushing the broom away.
The Italian tried to ignore the vague response, obstinance making him not want to give in to his professor's teasing and show that he was interested in what he had to say. But his curiosity made his patience wear thin, and after only a few moments of silence he caved, "why is it too bad?"
Sadiq paused from sweeping around the tables and looked over his shoulder, "oh, so you are interested?"
Lovino scowled and turned back to his work, growling a muted "forget it" under his breath as he unloaded his roller with a little more force than necessary.
The older man laughed at the reaction and shook his head, "sorry, sorry, you're just so easy to mess with, kid. Do you remember that show I told you I need help with, a week from tomorrow?"
The Italian cocked his head and nodded slightly, in truth he had forgotten, but he thought it was best to not share that information. "S-sure," he replied, hoping his voice didn't sound as uncertain out loud as it did in his head.
Sadiq didn't seem bothered and continued, "it seems like one of the artist dropped out," he explained, pausing slightly for suspense as Lovino's heart thumped a little too heavily in his chest. "She didn't have a lot of space, enough for two or three pieces, so I suggested we have a student take her place."
Lovino nodded numbly, not bothering to contemplate why he was so interested. "Yeah, makes sense." He shrugged, averting his eyes to the window in what he hoped was an uncaring manner.
"Yeah," Sadiq agreed, "so that's why I suggested you be the one to do it."
If Lovino had been fighting off a blush of frustration before, now he was sure his face, neck, hell, probably his entire upper torso, were ignited in a deep shade of red. "Y-you, what? Why would-why me?" He sputtered, turning his eyes to his professor in shock.
Sadiq shrugged, a bit taken back by his assistant's surprise, "why not?"
Lovino opened his mouth to reply, before snapping it shut to further contemplate his answer. He didn't know how to ask what was weighing on his mind without sounding overdramatic, but he couldn't help himself but question it. A hidden part of his brain unhelpfully told him it was because he was searching for praise, was desperate for it, but he pushed that part away, guiltily unwilling to address it. "Well, I don't know, there have to be better students than me." He swallowed thickly and grimaced, not impressed with the way his professor seemed completely unfazed by his statement.
"There's always going to be someone better than you, Vargas, don't look a gift horse in the mouth."
Lovino bit the inside of his cheek and returned to his work, feeling embarrassed by his desperate and all too obvious plea for a compliment. "So will you do it?" Sadiq pressed, bending down to sweep the detritus of the room into a dustpan.
The Italian considered being obstinate, pushing the gift onto another student simply as punishment for the flippant way in which his professor presented it. But he knew it wouldn't bother the older man, and so he relented. "Yeah, I guess."
Sadiq leaned the broom back on the drying rack and brushed his hands together. "Good, good," he nodded, picking up his coffee cup from the nearest table and taking a sip before heading back towards the door to return to his office. He leaned back in the room before disappearing down the hall, "so no more passing out and taking days off, you've got a lot of work to do," he winked, laughing at the curses that followed him as he walked away.
Lovino waited till he could no longer here the tapping footfalls of his professor before depositing his roller in it's holder and stumbling over to a chair. He allowed himself a brief smile, and an embarrassingly excited chuckle as he slid his fingers through his hair and leaned back in his seat. All of the pieces he had made since being at school weren't good enough to show, and he had no idea what he could make, or where he would get his pieces framed, or even how he'd scramble up the money to do it, but for the moment he allowed himself the gift of not caring, of living to enjoy the brief moment where Lovino Vargas had just been given his very first chance to exhibit his art work.
Without thinking, he pulled his phone from his satchel, deciding 7am was an acceptable time to be calling someone before scrolling through his contacts. He wouldn't call Roderich, he doubted if that bastard would even care, Elizabeta would probably be excited for him, but he knew her mornings were busy and he didn't have it in him to disturb her, and Feliciano was out, he knew his brother would still be sleeping and even if he tried to call, the ring of the phone would never wake him. Lovino felt his excitement wane as he realized how minute his number of acquaintances really was. He'd always known it, had gone so far as to enforce it, but at a time like this, when all he wanted was to have someone to share in his successes, he found it rather depressing.
He paused when the contact list rounded back to the beginning and Antonio's name was highlighted. The Spaniard had insisted his number be added after the incident from the other night, and Lovino had begrudgingly agreed it was probably for the best. He punched the name and then hesitated before hitting "call," pulse strumming audibly in his ear as logic started to return to his excitement-addled brain. Lovino took a deep breath as the first tinny ring sounded, readjusting the phone in his hand when his palm started to perspire. By the time the second ring petered off, the Italian scrambled for the "end" button, ashamed that he had ever deemed this a good idea.
"Hola!" A chipper voice sounded, freezing Lovino's pulse with it's light-hearted tone.
"D-don't sound so happy, bastard," Lovino grumbled, flustered at the surge of happiness that entered his body solely from hearing the older boy's warm timbre.
"Lovi? Is that you? Is everything okay? What's going on?" The Spaniard demanded, voice so tinted with genuine concern it made Lovino blush.
"N-nothing, idiot. I'm fine, I-" He hesitated, suddenly embarrassed for having called Antonio to share his good news, as if the boy were his parent and not his friend. "You know what? Never mind, forget it. Sorry I called." He sputtered a little too quickly, moving his thumb to end the call before Antonio's tinny exclamations stopped him.
"Hey, Lovi! Don't do that, you only just called," the older boy whined, the distant sound of sizzling accompanying his words.
"Are you cooking while you're on the phone? Bastard, you'll burn yourself," Lovino scolded, slumping back into his seat and staring unblinking at the coursing rain.
Antonio laughed and Lovino heard the clatter of pots and pans, "nah, I'm an expert at this," the Spaniard teased, "and besides, my skin is so think by this point, it takes a lot to burn me."
Lovino bit his lip at the unwholesome images that flooded his mind and slid his feet into his chair, leveraging his calves against the table. "Idiot," he scolded half-heartedly.
Antonio hummed in response and Lovino swore he could feel the warm smile radiating through the phone. "So tell me why you called, Lovi," he reminded.
The Italian sighed and rubbed his sinuses with his free hand, "forget it, it's stupid," he dismissed.
"Aw, I'm sure it's not," Antonio pouted playfully, "please tell me."
Lovino stared at his knees and picked at the stitch of his pants in shame, "well," he started, grimacing at his stupidity before continuing, "it's just that I-um-my work," he corrected, "it's going to be in a show next week." He finished lamely.
"What? Really? Like a real art show?" Antonio exclaimed with genuine enthusiasm.
The younger boy flushed at the response, embarrassed, but secretly grateful. "Y-yeah, so, don't expect me to be hanging out with you all the time." He fussed, hoping Antonio would think he had called for that reason, rather than just for attention.
"Lovi, that's amazing!" Antonio continued, the sound of something banging and the Spaniard cursing lightly making the Italian knit his eyebrows.
"Idiot, I told you you'd burn yourself."
"I'm fine, I'm fine," Antonio dismissed, "I'm just so proud of you."
The Italian only issues a small "hmph" in response, the increasing heaviness in his chest making it hard to speak.
"Can I come over? I made torrijas, we can have a celebratory breakfast!"
Lovino pulled the phone from his face and looked at the time, "class starts soon," he said simply.
Antonio made a sound of displeasure, "too bad. I'll be cooking at school tonight so I won't be able to bring you dinner." He sighed, as if he held some sort of obligation to the older Italian.
Lovino flinched against the guilt that vibrated through his palms, "we don't have to celebrate, it's not a big deal."
"Don't say that, it is a big deal, it's so great," Antonio argued. "We'll do something soon, okay?"
"I said don't worry about it," Lovino grumbled back, growing wary of the attention, "and remember what I told you, I'm going to be busy, I can't have you bothering me."
"Fine, fine," Antonio dismissed, knowing the cruel words were spoken with the best of intentions. "But Lovi?"
"What?" the Italian replied, resting his head against his knees as he watched the blue morning light disperse into a dreary gray.
"I can come to the show, right?"
"No." Lovino said adamantly, the answer out of his mouth so fast he didn't have time to consider why he had said it.
"Really? Why not?"
"Because," the younger boy replied, fully aware of how immature his response sounded. "Because I said so."
"Ah," Antonio replied simply, the following silence exaggerated heavily through the phone line.
Lovino waited momentarily, unsure how to respond, before giving up and sputtering a lame, "well, I gotta go."
He ended the call immediately, cutting off the "wait, Lovi!" that sounded from the other side and pushing the phone across the table with disgust. He kneaded his bottom lip between his teeth, trying to ward off the feeling that he had somehow offended the Spaniard, or worse, upset him. He pulled himself from his seat when the sound of footsteps started to echo through the halls, indicating that class would be starting soon. He busied himself with his students, being even more diligent than usual with his teaching as a way to ignore the thoughts that loomed in the periphery of his mind.
So what if he had hurt the Spaniard's feelings? What had he done for him except feed him, go out of his way for him, comfort him when no one else knew or cared to, "fuck." Lovino growled, slamming his fist on the table as his last students of the day filtered out of the classroom. He let his fingers unclench slowly, palm flat on the table as he stared unseeing at the butcher paper surface. He didn't know how to justify the way he was feeling, he felt bad, he felt guilty, and he didn't like thinking that Antonio might be angry or, worse, sad because of him. It was perhaps one of the first times he had felt this way about anyone besides his family, that his needs were less important than those of another.
Lovino straightened up and slung his satchel across his shoulders as he headed in a half jog towards the basement. He didn't want to give Antonio the impression that he wanted to date him, but he didn't want the boy not to like him either. He just needed the Spaniard to be there, he didn't know why, or maybe he did, but he couldn't confront it yet. When he reached his destination he thumped on the door without hesitation, and folded his arm's impatiently as he waited for the perverted Frenchman to respond.
The door opened quickly and Francis gave a knowing smile, popping his hip up as he addressed the flustered-looking Italian. "Well, hello Lo-"
"I need a ride." Lovino said simply, not in the mood to put up with the older boy's antics. "To the culinary school." He clarified when Francis opened his mouth to ask.
The Frenchman looked regretful and frowned slightly, "I can't, I'm afraid, I have a class starting soon." He gave a sad smile when Lovino cursed, turning his eyes to the ceiling as if re-evaluating his plan. "You know, Lovino, the school really isn't so far from here, you could walk."
"Walk?" The Italian demanded, feeling tired just at the idea.
Francis nodded in reply, "mmhmm, if you go through the neighborhoods, it's only a few miles."
Lovino knit his eyebrows as he considered this new information, "but I don't know the way."
Francis shrugged and grabbed a notepad from his desk, "I could draw you up a map if it's that important, I am an artist you know."
The younger boy sighed and leaned against the door frame, "fine," he nodded, "draw me a stupid map."
Francis set to work immediately, explaining some of the finer details to Lovino as he worked, and making a few notes on the side for clarity. "Call me if you get lost, okay?" He asked while handing the paper over to the Italian.
"You wish," Lovino grumbled, pocketing the precious map and walking back into the hall.
"Wait!" Francis called, holding an umbrella out to the boy. "It's been raining all day, best to take this."
Lovino nodded and gave a small "thanks," before heading back to the stairs.
"Tell Antonio I said 'hi!'" Francis called after him, laughing merrily at the curses that were shouted his way.
Lovino held the handle of the umbrella tight against his chest as he studied the raindrop-laden map. He shivered with disgust when he stepped in another deep puddle, his shoes and jeans now thoroughly drenched from dirty water. The path to Antonio's school wasn't as complicated as he had previously thought, even if he was directionally challenged, the school's large structure loomed blatantly in the distance.
"That bastard better be grateful," he grumbled to himself, slipping the paper back into his pocket so he could blow warm breath on his numbing fingers. He ignored the winding walkways and instead trudged straight across the sprawling green campus, more concerned with getting inside than with the state of his already drenched shoes. He wandered up to the cluster of buildings, studying the name plastered upon each one and comparing it to his hand-drawn map as he navigated his way to Antonio's location.
Finally, he reached his destination, a nice, newer looking building accented with red brick and large windows. He stepped under the awning and peered through the door as he shook the excess water from his umbrella. Francis has told him that Antonio was probably staying late to work on his own course load rather than for a class and, judging by the emptiness of the open interior, he had been right. Lovino inhaled and reached for the door, pulling it open and clomping into the entrance way, wincing at the way his sopping shoes squeaked against polished linoleum.
A few random students walked past, too lost in conversation with one another to notice the rain-soaked, confused looking Italian. Francis hadn't known exactly where Antonio would be inside the building, and so it was up to Lovino to ask for directions. The Italian hadn't given the idea a second thought at the time, but now, with his hair matted against his forehead and jeans soaked up to the knees, he was feeling too self-conscious to address any of the elegant looking students.
He grimaced awkwardly and stepped down a random hall, peeking into every open door as he went. When that search didn't yield any immediate results, he paced back to where he started and took down a new path. After reaching the end of the hall, again with no pay-off, he started to reconsider his intentions. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, umbrella squeezed under his armpit as he shuffled back to his starting point, praying no one had seen him wandering around the school like a lost child. 'Why does this building have to be so damn big,' he growled internally, neck heating from his agitation.
He didn't pause when he reached the entrance way again, instead cutting a tight corner around to the next hallway, picking his feet up awkwardly so they wouldn't continue to squeak. He nearly yelled in relief when he peered into the closest door and was greeted with the image of Antonio, decked in a crisp white double-breasted jacket and bent over an onion that he was cutting with almost absurd attention.
Lovino just lingered in the hallway a while, silently watching Antonio work. He had never seen the boy look quite so serious before, so concentrated. The sharp white outfit fit him well, cut close to his maddeningly perfect figure and setting contrast to his warm, dark skin. This Antonio looked so unattainable, so different from the cheerful, goofy grinning boy that carelessly threw on flannel and jeans and pandered to the grumpy Italian with unabashed affection. Lovino swallowed dryly, he wondered if it was all an act, or a cruel joke. Maybe the Spaniard wasn't who he thought he was, maybe he was only kind out of pity, maybe-
"Lovi?" A surprised voice sounded.
Lovino blinked, snapped from his racing thoughts as he noticed Antonio's brilliant green eyes leveled on him. "What are you doing here?" He asked when the Italian didn't respond.
Lovino stepped awkwardly into the room, leaning his umbrella against the doorway as he trudged up to the long counter. "Ah, I just thought that," he shrugged and turned his eyes to the wall, "I just thought maybe you'd like some company while you worked." He hesitantly turned his eyes back to the Spaniard, heat igniting in his cheeks when a huge smile bloomed across the older boy's face.
"So cute," Antonio gasped, placing his knife down to walk around the corner and wrap the small Italian in a warm embrace. "Does this mean we can start dating now?"
"N-no, bastard," Lovino scowled, fuming, as he pushed the boy away. "Don't ask again."
Antonio only smiled and rubbed a thumb across Lovino's eyebrow, wiping away a rogue raindrop that traced his forehead. "I'll keep asking till you say yes."
Lovino looked up at the older boy, sucking his plump bottom lip as he recalled the heat and the sweet spicy taste of the other's mouth. "W-well you'll be waiting forever then." He growled, secretly pleased with the way the Spaniard had so easily diffused his insecurities.
Antonio shrugged, "Then that's how long it'll have to be," he said simply, holding back a laugh at the deep crimson that decorated the younger boy's face. He gazed lovingly at Lovino's down-turned features, watching as tiny drops of cold water descended down rich brown locks. "Is it really raining that hard outside?" He asked, "who dropped you off anyway?"
Lovino shrugged, leaning his heels into his shoes until the water squished unpleasantly into his socks, "I walked."
"What? You walked?" Antonio asked, a subtle and surprising anger tracing his words.
Lovino looked up curiously, "yeah, Francis drew a map for me." He explained, stuffing his hand into his jacket pocket and offering up the crumpled, water-stained scrap of paper.
Antonio took the paper and crumpled it in his fist, "Lovi," he started, "and in this weather, too," he turned his head as he spoke, more to himself than to the Italian. "That," he snapped his head back to Lovino, uncharacteristic sternness still tinting his voice, "don't do that again."
The Italian scowled in irritation, confused at why he was being scolded, "Fuck you!" He shouted, defenses immediately flaring up to shield him from the embarrassment at ever having thought the Spaniard would enjoy his surprise presence. He backed away from the man, ignoring the shrill squeak issuing from his shoes, "sorry to bother you," he spat sarcastically, stomping towards the door.
Antonio withdrew a sharp breath and the hardness lessened in his face as he stepped forward to stop the retreating Italian. "No, Lovi, that's not what I meant," he pleaded, grabbing the boy's arm just in time to slip on the slick trail of water that followed him and sending them both sprawling to the ground.
The two lay silently for a few seconds, waiting for their minds to catch up with the rotation of the earth beneath their prone bodies. Lovino caught his breath before turning his head to look at the Spaniard that lay stretched across back.
"Oi, bastard, are you okay?" He called, craning his neck to see.
"Ah, yeah, are you?" Antonio replied, pulling away embarrassed when he realized he had been using the Italian's butt as a pillow.
"Next time you want me to stay, telling me will suffice. No need to resort to tackling." The younger boy replied dryly, ignoring the cold that seeped in when the comforting warmth and weight of the Spaniard had been removed from his back.
Antonio laughed heartily at that, pulling himself to his feet and reaching a hand down to help hoist up the other. "I didn't realize you were leaving a snail trail behind you," he teased, for the first time noticing the soaked state of the Lovino's slacks. "We should get you in some dry clothes," he decided, gesturing for the Italian to follow him into the hall.
Lovino trailed closely behind as Antonio led him to a small locker room, slumping onto a bench while the Spaniard rifled through his bag. He tossed the Italian a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, "you're lucky I keep a spare change of clothes in here," he called when the boy padded around a row of lockers to change in private. He hummed in response, tossing his water-logged jacket and shirt over the closest bench and shivering when the cool air sent an expanse of goosebumps blossoming across his exposed skin. He pulled the dry shirt over his head, chest tingling from the familiar scent of Spaniard sewn into it's folds.
"What did you mean before?" Lovino asked as he slid his sopping jeans from his gently rounded hips.
"Hm?" Antonio replied, perking his head up to better hear the Italian.
"About 'not doing that again.'" Lovino clarified as he let the length of denim fall to the floor with a wet slap. "Why can't I come here?"
Antonio nodded in understanding, before realizing the Italian couldn't see him and opening his mouth to speak, "I didn't mean that you can't come here," he clarified, usually present mirth once more depleted from his tone.
Lovino finished buttoning the new jeans, ignoring the way they gapped slightly at the waist and the hems brushed the floor. "Well then what's the problem?" He asked, irritation in his voice as he scooped up his strewn clothes and rounded the lockers to stare at the Spaniard expectantly.
"I meant I don't want you walking here," Antonio said seriously, trying not to ruin the affect of his statement by smiling at how cute Lovino looked in his slightly over-sized clothes.
"What, in the rain? It's not a big deal, bastard, I'll make sure I have my own clothes next time." Lovino shrugged, embarrassed that he implied this might become a regular occurrence.
Antonio shook his head, "no, not just in the rain, I mean at all. I don't want you walking here at all."
Lovino bit the inside of his lip in anger, ignoring the metallic taste that sifted across his tongue. "What the hell do you mean?"
The Spaniard seemed unfazed by the younger boy's frustration, "it's dangerous," he said seriously, a streak of possessiveness barely perceptible in his eyes, "it's a long walk, who knows what could happen to you."
Lovino couldn't believe what he was hearing, his shoulders quaked with fury at the implication that he couldn't protect himself. "I'm a man!" He shouted, regret sinking in as soon as Antonio blinked and broke out into laughter. "Dammit, Antonio, it's not funny! Screw you, jerk!"
Antonio shook his head, palms open in front of his chest in a bid for peace as he tried to quell his giggling. "N-no, I'm sorry," he gulped, brushing tears from the corner of his eyes, "I'm sorry," he repeated, when a fresh peel of laughter erupted in his chest, "I know you are, Lovi."
"I don't need a damn babysitter," Lovino continued, thoroughly offended by both Antonio's words and his raucous laughter.
The Spaniard took a deep breath, successfully regaining his composure before speaking up again. "I know you don't, that's not what I meant. It's just-" He paused to consider his words, "it's for me, Lovi. It's selfish, but for me, please don't do it."
"I don't get it," Lovino mumbled, anger slowly dissipating from his tense body.
"I'd worry that something would happen to you," Antonio clarified, stepping closer to the Italian to softly brush fingertips across the boy's elegant jawline. "And if something did happen, when you were coming to see me," his eyes fell to the floor as if fear of the imagined event was palpable, "I'd never forgive myself." He breathed, the solemnity of his voice making Lovino's heart quake heavily in his chest.
"F-fine," the younger boy squeaked out, clutching damp clothes tightly to his stomach. "Even if it's stupid," he trailed off, not finding it important to finish the sentiment.
Antonio quirked a smile, all evidence of gravity gone from his face and replaced with familiar kindness. "Thanks," he said earnestly, pecking the boy on the eyebrow before wrenching the cold clothes from his hold and laying them across the benches to dry.
Lovino watched frozen as the Spaniard worked, all blood in his body rushing to the area above his right eyelid that had just been touched with soft Spanish lips. "Sorry I don't have socks," Antonio hummed, blissfully unaware of the flustered state of the younger boy.
"Yeah," Lovino piped up, latching onto the complaint as a way to pull himself from his thoughts, "damn bastard, my feet are frozen."
Antonio smiled knowingly and draped an arm across the slight boy's shoulders, leading him back to the hall. "C'mon, it's warmer in the kitchen," he encouraged. Lovino nodded, allowing himself to be pulled into the Spaniard's side. "Thanks for coming," Antonio said warmly, the vibration of his words making the Italian smile slightly despite himself.
"Yeah, well," he let his words peter off, unsure of what to say next. "I guess I felt sort of-I mean that I-I wanted to apologize." He said lamely.
"Hm? For what?" Antonio asked, leaving Lovino to settle into a stool once they had re-entered the classroom as he walked around to the other side of the bar.
Lovino shrugged and drummed his fingers on the black marble, eyes downcast. "For earlier," he mumbled, unwilling to finish the sentiment. The Spaniard only hummed in reply, frustrating the Italian with the ambiguity of the response. He listened to Antonio's footfalls, studying the reflecting surface of the counter as he wondered if the older boy even knew what he was talking about, or if the memory of it had irritated him into silence. He jumped slightly when a cup was placed down in front of him, and he shot his eyes up with a questioning glare.
"Tea," Antonio explained, raising his own mug in a one-sided toast before taking a sip and leaning his elbow against the counter. "You know, you could've just called to apologize." He smirked when Lovino coughed into his mug.
"Well, yeah," the Italian replied, holding the mug close to his face so the warm steam could trace his cheeks. He watched intently at the way the rogue orange chunks bobbed in the brown liquid, and let himself wonder how Antonio knew the way he preferred his tea. "So, do you accept?" He asked.
"Do I accept being your boyfriend? Of course!" Antonio responded playfully, chuckling at the blush that immediately filled the Italian's face.
"No, idiot, the apology." He bit back immediately.
"Of course," Antonio repeated, the sincerity in his voice reassuring Lovino that it wasn't another joke.
"Good." He grumbled in feigned irritation.
"Does that mean I get to go to your show?" Antonio asked, knowing the answer before it had even left the younger boy's lips.
"No," Lovino replied steadfastly, taking a greedy gulp of his drink and wondering when that word had become his favorite.