"Okay, so every time I run the roller over it, wipe the image down," Lovino explained , squeezing water from the sponge and swiping it across his stone in demonstration.

"Ve~but won't that blur your image?" Feliciano watched fretfully.

"No, because we etched it," Lovino explained easily, "the image repels water and the negative image absorbs it, that's why it needs to stay wet."

The younger Italian nodded firmly, still not quite understanding, but grasping the principle of keeping the stone saturated. "What's this called again?"

"Lithography," Lovino replied over the swish of his charging roller.

"It's really cool," Feliciano said earnestly while he watched his brother run the roller over the stone.

The older Italian barely managed to suppress a smile as he watched his brother concentrate on rinsing the excess ink from the limestone matrix. "Yeah, it's okay."

It had been nice having the younger boy in the studio with him, they had talked about their mother initially, Feliciano eagerly savoring the barest minutia his older brother could wrack from his fading memory. It surprised Lovino to find that this artificial rendezvous, far from the painful experience he fully expected, made his heart swell with appreciation of the tiny moments, the little gestures and words he had continued to grasp despite his best efforts towards annihilation. He no longer felt so perpetually weary, as if life were a burden he was saddled with unwittingly. He was carried by the stories he wanted to tell his brother, he had so much work to do, but he couldn't drag himself from his seat till he conveyed them.

"Okay don't wipe it this time, I'm gonna run it through," Lovino said as he finished charging his image and rested the roller back in its holster. He carefully lined up the registration marks on the paper and waited for Feliciano to pull the tympan sheet over it like he had previously instructed, before unlocking the press and moving it forward.

"You have to be careful not to run off the end of the stone or you'll ruin the tympan," Lovino explained as he worked, halting the movement of the press bed and releasing the pressure to roll it back out.

"What's the tympan do, again?" Feliciano pressed, watching his brother intently.

Lovino picked the sheet up and laid it on a table before rubbing his fingers on his apron and carefully lifting his fresh print. "It has grease on it, right? It just makes it so the squeegee doesn't get stuck," he explained absently as he laid his work on the table to inspect. "what do you think?" He asked when Feliciano followed him over, tilting his head slightly as he took in the image.

The lithographs had become increasingly abstract , the pictures becoming more and more unreadable as Lovino delved into the covert emotions traced into the wrinkles of each candid face. The pieces had come to mimic his state of mind, representing the clear physical access point of the contingent event that coursed unceasingly through his thoughts but petering off into the indecipherable and complicated yet too real feelings they dredged up. "I really like it," Feliciano replied after a while, voice unusually subdued.

Lovino nodded in appreciation and pinched his bottom lip as he leaned in for closer inspection. "It'll do anyway," he conceded, "I'm losing a little detail here, but I can fix that with a stronger etch." He traced a small area with his pinky, scrunching his eyes as he meticulously searched the rest of the image for inconsistencies.

"I'm serious," Feliciano chirped, louder this time. "It's a really nice piece, Lovi."

Lovino straightened back up and stared, eyebrow perked at his brother. "Uh, o-okay, thanks," he accepted hesitantly, flustered from the compliment.

"I didn't know how much work this was," the younger Italian admitted as he padded back over to the press with his brother, waiting for further instruction.

Lovino hummed in acknowledgement and studied his stone before picking up a glass jar with a higher etch, "yeah, it can be tough sometimes."

"You should let me help you more often," the younger Italian suggested, leaning his palms onto the edge of the press and peering over the stone's drying surface.

Lovino scoffed and applied his etch with a soft paintbrush, "No way, you talk too much, you're distracting."

Feliciano only laughed in reply, he knew his brother enjoyed his company, despite his unwillingness to admit it. Somehow the almost herculean effort involved in banal conversation was lessened when they were together, fueled by the understanding that they shared a common misfortune, and so it wasn't necessary to hold one another on tenterhooks. They knew they were unable to go any substantial amount of time without evoking their loss, so it didn't need to be said, didn't need to be examined or dwelled upon.

"Ve~do you think you could teach me how to do this?"

Lovino glanced up from folding a cheesecloth, "I guess so," he shrugged, swiping the cloth across the freshly applied etch. "But why waste your time, you paint well enough as it is."

Feliciano scrunched his nose and smiled, "thank you, Lovi," he cooed sweetly, voice the perfect balance of sincerity and humility, a tone cultivated from years of receiving a flood of endless compliments. "I don't exactly want to become a printmaker," he explained, smile widening when his brothers shoulders relaxed, "I just want to know more about what you do. 'Cause you love it, and I-I want to be a part of that."

Lovino threw the cheesecloth aside and sniffed in indignation, "stop claiming I love things like you know me," he returned sternly, words tinted with a vaguely audible humor.

The younger Italian laughed happily, easily detecting his brother's sarcasm and clasping his hand over his mouth as his light giggles filled the muted air. "Lovi and printmaking sitting in a tree K-I-S-S-" the playful chant died in his throat when his pocket buzzed, indicating a new text message.

"Yeah, you can go to hell," Lovino snarled as his brother dug into his pocket and stared fixated at his phone screen before typing a reply.

"Who's that?" the older Italian asked warily, grasping the sponge from the nearby bowl of water and squeezing out the excess water.

"Luddy," Feliciano replied, distracted. "He wants to know what I'm doing today."

"You can tell him your brother said to fuck off," Lovino shot back instantly, swiping the sponge over the stone a bit more vigorously than usual.

The younger boy glanced up at his brother, an imploring, innocent look in his eyes. "Ve~Lovi, this would be a good opportunity for you to get to know each other."

"No way," the older Italian returned bruskly, "no fucking way."

"You may like him, how will you know if-"

"There's no way I'll ever like that bastard," Lovino insisted, dropping the sponge back into the bowl and turning to his roller.

"Fratello," Feliciano scolded, tilting his head and pouting slightly, "can't you at least try?" He implored softly, "for me?"

Lovino ceased in charging his roller and glanced over his shoulder to view his brother's face. The younger boy's soft features were contorted into the perfect depiction of cherubic dejection, his gentle hazel eyes pointed slightly downcast, his eyebrows swooping elegantly in despair. "You've got to be kidding me," he rolled his eyes to the ceiling, wondering how anyone could mistake his brother for naive. "Fine, the idiot can come, but he better not get in my way." Lovino relented, sighing at his inability to dismiss his brother's pouting, no matter how often he had viewed it.

Feliciano cheered happily and hopped around the press bed, wrapping his brother in a tight hug before pulling his cell back out of his pocket and typing a quick message. "He's just down in the sculpture yard, he should be here soon," the boy said when he finished and slid the phone back in his pocket.

"Oh goody," the older boy replied sarcastically as he nudged the bowl towards Feliciano, a silent encouragement to continue his job of wiping off the stone.

The younger Italian grabbed the sponge and swiped off the excess ink, "oh c'mon, you might enjoy the company!"

"Not likely," Lovino growled back, carefully depositing ink onto his image. "What time is it anyway?"

"Almost 6," Feliciano replied, squeezing a little water onto the limestone matrix before washing it off again. "Why?"

Lovino shrugged and charged his roller, "no reason."

The younger Italian quirked an eyebrow in confusion and leaned in to better view his brother's expression, "did you need to be somewhere?"

Lovino dipped his head forward so his hair covered his revealing features, "I said it's nothing." He snapped back, turning to spread ink on the stone.

Feliciano stood silently examining his brother, "Antonio's not coming, is he?" He asked after a while, the saturated red that suddenly filled his brother's cheeks a clear indication that he had guessed correctly.

Lovino dropped the roller back into it's holder, roughly wiping his hands on his apron as he busied himself with retrieving a new sheet of paper. "I-I don't know, who cares about that jerk, anyway?"

"Well, he hasn't been by in a couple days, maybe you should call him," Feliciano prompted, propping himself against a nearby table as he watched his brother fumble with setting up the press.

"No, I can't-I mean, just-n-no," the older boy spat back, clumsy untruths weighing heavily on his tongue.

"But why?" The younger Italian persisted.

"Because-" Lovino started, only to snap his mouth shut when his mind failed to offer a reply. It wasn't that it bothered him to call Antonio, rather he felt he was asking too much of the boy. He had hung his frailty upon Antonio too many times, his neediness embarrassed him, and a small part of him was frightened of what might happen when the words of consolation had run dry. He opened his mouth, desperately trying to carve his lips around his thoughts, to reach out for advice from one of the few people he trusted to supply it, "I just can't." He managed finally, frowning slightly at his apparent inability to voice his concerns.

"Well, I-" Feliciano started, reaching a hand out to comfort his conflicted brother, but drawing it back again when a new presence sounded.

"Am I interrupting something?"

The younger Italian turned his head to the door and smiled warmly, "Ludwig," he cooed happily, rushing over to envelop the man in a hug. "Ve~thank you for coming."

"N-no problem," the taller boy replied, placing both hands on Feliciano's shoulders and gently prying him away from his body.

"No, greet me like I taught you!" the younger boy scolded lightly, reaching imploringly towards the stoic boy on his tiptoes.

Ludwig eyed Feliciano's fuming brother warily, "I don't know if that's such a good-"

"Luddy," the younger boy persisted, pink lips turning slightly downward, "kiss me."

The German sighed, and dipped down to kiss the smaller boy's cheeks, wiping the sweat from the back of his neck afterward from his discomfort over the open display of affection.

"Thank you," Feliciano chirped, grabbing the hem of the taller boy's sleeve and gesturing to his brother. "You remember Lovi."

Ludwig cleared his throat and nodded, "Yes, hello."

"Oh please, don't mind me, you bastard, just slobber all over my brother right in front of me," Lovino spat, carrying his freshly printed image to the nearest table for inspection.

Feliciano waved a dismissive hand to Ludwig and shook his head in apology before walking over to peer over his brother's shoulder. "Ve~how's this one look?"

The older Italian straightened up and shot a disapproving look towards the older German before sighing and walking back to the press, "it looks good, I can go ahead with printing the edition now."

Feliciano cheered and gestured Ludwig towards the apron rack, "that's good to hear, it's time for dinner soon."

Lovino rolled his eyes as his younger brother attempted to find an apron long enough for the German's height, "please, don't feel obligated to wait for me," he bit back, picking up his palette knife and adding ink to his thinning slab.

"No," Feliciano argued, tying Ludwig's apron strings into a perfect bow, "we'll help you so you'll finish quickly."

"Like some sculpture oaf will be able to help me," Lovino bit back, running his roller over his freshly laid ink.

"I actually know quite a bit about lithography, I spent a summer abroad carving limestone in Bavaria," the German explained, voice annoyingly absent of arrogance.

Lovino wanted to give a snide reply but he found himself irritatingly impressed, and instead directed his energy to his work. He turned to remind Feliciano to keep the stone wet, only to find Ludwig had already done it. "Don't do anything I don't tell you," he snapped, just to be obstinate.

The German didn't reply and so Lovino returned the favor, not putting up a fight when the older boy cleaned the ink smudges on the press bed, replaced the water when it had become too dirty, and diligently provided the tympan sheet every time it was needed. Ludwig was annoying in his prudence, every golden hair was in place, every wrinkle ironed, but the way that image crumbled into perspiration and blushing when Feliciano leaned his head on his arm was the worst.

"How many prints are you pulling?" Feliciano asked after a while, stretching his arms above his head before sighing and letting his body slump into Ludwig's.

Lovino shrugged, "one or two more, you don't have to stick around if you're tired."

"No, it's oka-"

"Is that my little Feli I hear?" A new voice chimed from the door, the warm, familiar pitch making the handle of the roller slip from Lovino's right hand, marring the press with a blotch of black ink.

"B-bastard, look what you made me do," the older Italian snapped in mock irritation.

Antonio dropped his satchel on the table and walked over to the press to see the damage. "I'll clean it, Lovi, no worries," he smiled, gently handling the boy's elbow and pulling him close to deposit a soft kiss on his cheek. "How are you doing, my dear?" He whispered softly, words heavy with sincere compassion.

Lovino felt a white heat ignite in his chest and he struggled to compose an answer over the beating of his pulse. "I was doing fine until you made me get the press dirty," he sniffed, fixing his mouth in disapproval.

Antonio bowed his head in understanding and laughed, "I got it, I got it," he acquiesced, moving around the press to grab a handful of paper-towels. "How are you doing, Feli?" He asked when he passed the younger boy.

"I'm doing well," the Italian smiled, "do you remember Ludwig?"

Antonio nodded and held out a hand, "ah, we didn't really get a proper introduction the last time I believe. Nice to meet you."

Ludwig took the offered hand in his own and shook it once firmly, "yes, hello."

"I guess my stone's just going to dry out while you bastards get reintroduced," Lovino huffed while he charged his roller.

"Ve~sorry, fratello," Feliciano jumped to grab the sponge and swipe it over the lightening limestone.

"How soon till you're done?" Antonio asked as he went back to the older Italian's side and started scrubbing out the black stain.

"If this one comes out okay I can stop," Lovino turned his head towards the Spaniard, anger gone from his voice.

"Did big brother Antonio bring food?" Feliciano asked, sniffing the spicy scent that wafted vaguely over the heavy smell of ink.

"Feli," Lovino reprimanded immediately, "don't be rude, Antonio can't feed us all."

The Spaniard shook his head in understanding and laughed, "no, I think I have enough for everyone, as long as no one wants seconds."

Feliciano smiled happily, "Antonio's food is the best," he said to nobody in particular.

Lovino sniffed lightly in agreement, a tiny hint of a smile tracing his lips. "If you're hungry you'll remember to keep this stone damp so I can get this image printed." The older Italian scolded, turning back to his slab when Feliciano jumped to re-soak his sponge.

Ludwig gently pried the sponge from the small Italian and laid a palm on the boy's shoulder, "Why don't you help Antonio with the food and I'll finish up here?"

Lovino glared over his roller as his brother nodded happily and motioned for Antonio to follow him to the table. It was a good idea, he couldn't believe he hadn't thought of it. It irritated him, but he had to admit, Ludwig was surprisingly adept at interacting with his brother. It seemed that the German actually cared about Feliciano, understood his moods and the way his mind functioned, and though Lovino thought he'd rather die than grant the taller boy his acceptance, the furthest recesses of his brain couldn't help but entertain the notion that if anyone had to be in a relationship with his brother, it wouldn't be so bad if it were him.

Antonio and Feliciano chatted easily as Lovino and Ludwig worked quietly and quickly, desperate to part ways and end the awkward silence. The older Italian didn't even complain when Ludwig took it upon himself to remove the freshly printed piece from the press and deposit it on the nearest table for inspection. Lovino covered his slab and roller in aluminum foil before padding over to the image and peering over it, bottom lip pinched between his thumb and forefinger.

"Well? Is it okay?" Feliciano asked expectantly from his work of placing out four stacks of paper towels for makeshift plates.

Lovino nodded slowly as Antonio stepped over to gaze at the print. "Yeah, it'll do, I think we can call it a night." He decided, sighing as the weakness in his muscles from multiple days of hard labor registered immediately in his tired body.

Feliciano gave a thumbs up in agreement, "great, I think there's some plastic forks in the office, I'll be right back!" He called, waving wildly as he jogged out the door and down the hall.

"I'll finish cleaning," Ludwig offered, moving to pick up the dirty bowl and carrying it to the other room to rinse.

Lovino stared with glazed eyes at his print before swallowing and looking up Antonio, "what do you think?" He asked, licking his lips as he waited for a response.

"I think it's wonderful," Antonio replied easily, brushing sweat dampened hair from the older Italian's forehead.

"Thanks," Lovino breathed, leaning his head slightly forward when his cheeks warmed.

"I missed you, you know," Antonio said softly, voice laden with sincerity.

Lovino gave a half-hearted punch to the boy's chest, letting his fingers unfold and trace the soft fabric of the Spaniard's shirt. "Shut up, bastard," he reprimanded, embarrassed by the older boy's honesty.

"Ve~good news," Feliciano interrupted, ignoring the curses spewing from his brother's mouth when he jerked his hand away from Antonio. "I found some forks!"

"Great!" Antonio joined in the boy's excitement, chuckling to himself at the way Lovino leaned his head back and tried to calm his pacing heartbeat. "Let's eat!" He planted a hand on the older Italian's shoulder and led him over to the table, pulling out a chair and waiting for him to sit before taking the seat next to him.

"I'll go get Luddy," Feliciano called, whipping around to the other doorway as Antonio opened containers and started portioning off food.

"What is it?" Lovino asked as he studied the baguette on his paper towel.

"Tortilla Espanola," Antonio explained, "Spanish omelet, it's really good."

"What's in it?" The Italian pressed, poking the mass with the spires of his plastic fork.

"Onion, eggs, and potatoes mostly."

Lovino scrunched his nose in disgust as Ludwig and Feliciano padded into the room. The German hummed as he took his seat next to the small Italian, "I really like potatoes," he said thoughtfully, nodding in thanks when Antonio placed a particularly big portion onto his make-shift plate.

"Ugh," Lovino scowled in disgust, "you would."

Antonio and Feliciano laughed heartily as Ludwig glanced around the table, eyebrows knit in confusion. The Spaniard slid Lovino's food away and placed a new napkin in front of him, "I made fideuá, too, you can have my share."

"Ah, th-thanks," the older Italian replied, relaxing into his seat as everyone settled into comfortable silence, peppered with the occasional prattle initiated by his brother and Antonio. Lovino allowed his eyes to wander across each familiar face as he savored his food, a strange feeling was blossoming within him, his chest felt full, his heart jerking in a painful, yet pleasant way. He knew the all-consuming emotion that was grief, how it buzzed in his fingertips and stretched beyond his slender limbs. This emotion was similar, it was just as intense, yet it didn't feel so burdensome, it made him comfortable in his skin rather than wanting to crawl from the weight of it.

"I wish I had brought dessert," Antonio lamented as he folded his empty paper towel, leaning contently in his chair.

"Ah, but the food was so good," Feliciano complimented for the tenth time that evening.

"Yes, thank you," Ludwig nodded, turning his wrist to read the time on his watch as Lovino rolled his eyes at the old-fashioned accessory. "Ah, I think it's time for me to go," the German said, folding his napkin before standing from his chair to deposit it in the bin.

Feliciano jumped up and followed suit, "I'll walk you back," he offered, latching on to the older boy's arm.

"No way," Lovino protested immediately, "you're not going out alone with that potato bastard."

"Ve~but Lovi-"

"No," Lovino repeated, "besides, it's not safe for you to walk back alone."

"Ludwig can walk me back after we get there," Feliciano supplied, raising a hand in explanation.

The older Italian pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head, "that makes no sense."

"Aw, c'mon, just let them go," Antonio encouraged, covertly sliding a hand onto the younger boy's knee and squeezing it lightly.

"I'll make sure he's returned safely," Ludwig nodded.

Lovino heaved a sigh and rolled his eyes to the ceiling, "I'm sure you will, you pervert." He moaned, "fine, do what you want."

Ludwig's cheeks bloomed in a brilliant red as Feliciano gave his final thanks, planting a kiss on his brother's cheek and hugging Antonio around the shoulders before pulling the flustered German out the door.

"Those two are pretty cute together, huh?" Antonio laughed when the sound of retreating footsteps petered off down the hall.

Lovino folded his arms across his chest and scoffed, "you've got to be kidding me, it's disgusting."

The Spaniard smiled knowingly and busied himself with cleaning the leftover containers. "I don't think you really feel that way," he winked.

The younger boy averted his eyes and bit his lip, "stop acting like you know me so well," he chastised half-heartedly before turning back and helping with the mess.

"How have you been?" Antonio asked after a while, zipping up his satchel and falling back into his chair.

Lovino shrugged and settled down next to him, "fine," he said lamely, squirming uncomfortably in his seat. "It's hot in here, can we go outside?"

"Yeah, of course," Antonio agreed easily, pulling himself from his seat and tossing his knapsack over his back. "How are you doing on your prints?" He asked as they walked slowly down the darkened hall.

"That's the last one, actually," Lovino explained, nodding in thanks when the Spaniard opened the door for him.

"Oh great, so will you have time to rest then, before the show?"

The younger boy shrugged and motioned Antonio to follow him toward the empty quad. "I still have to make frames, and that always takes a while, but it's still a relief," he replied, settling himself into the cold grass and patting the ground next to him.

Antonio sat next to the boy, leaning his weight onto his satchel as he stared at the fragile white stars. "Good, I'm glad."

Lovino breathed an affirmation, watching as his silent declaration weaved through the still air. It was a perfect Autumn night, the crisp weather chilled his heavy lungs, the faint scent of debris intermingling perfectly with heavy evening atmosphere.

"Do you think you'll ever feel comfortable enough to tell me more about your family?" Antonio asked after a few silent minutes, not turning his face from the sky.

The younger boy leaned back on his elbows, joining the Spaniard in his appreciation of the stars as he considered his answer. "Maybe, if you tell me about yours."

Antonio laughed slightly and slid his hand over his face, "ah, I'm so embarrassed," he admitted easily.

Lovino knitted his eyebrows in confusion and rolled onto his side to stare inquisitively at the laughing Spaniard. "What do you mean? Why?"

Antonio let his hand fall to his side and gave an apologetic smirk, "I feel stupid, complaining about my family when you-I mean," he stopped and reconsidered, "I have nothing to complain about. At least they're alive."

Lovino blinked and sat up, "that's the most stupid thing I've ever heard you say." He snapped, a strange and genuine anger bubbling inside his chest, "I don't get some kind of monopoly on pain just because my parents are dead," he spat, "at least I know my Mom loved me." He cringed and snapped his mouth shut when a flicker of hurt passed through the Spaniard's eyes. "Shit," he growled, letting his forehead fall into his palm, "fuck, I'm sorry, that's not what I-"

"No, no, it's okay," Antonio argued, "I understand, it was stupid of me."

Lovino groaned heavily and fell back into the grass, kneading his knuckles into his hairline as he wrestled with his mind. "No, dammit, just fucking listen a minute." He pleaded, sighing as he collected his thoughts. "It's just, yeah my Mom died and it's really sad and I'm kinda, well, actually, I'm really screwed up over it." He winced at the confession before continuing, "but it happened a long time ago, and I-it's not like I've forgotten what real life is like." Lovino struggled under his inability to properly articulate his thoughts, he didn't know to explain how important the everyday hardships of life became when one had faced tragedy. They were proof that life goes on, that it doesn't make concessions for anyone, despite their number of previous grievances. He didn't want to be enthroned on a pedestal, he had done nothing but watch with dead eyes while his mother acquired her last great achievement, it scared him to imagine that the moment of her death had been assigned to him, that somehow he had been targeted for that particular terror.

"I guess what I mean is, I don't think your happiness should be a counterpoint to my pain," he paused, rolling over to face the motionless boy. "Because that's just stupid."

Antonio stayed quiet for a while, his face unreadable, before finally tearing his eyes from the looming sky. "Wow," he said softly, timbre falling smoothly from his tongue and igniting a flame in the younger boy's chest. "I really love you."

Lovino's blood froze in his veins as he stared back at the Spaniard, "Sh-shut up," he moaned, throwing his palms over his face to hide the smile that tugged relentlessly at the corner of his mouth.

"I'm serious," Antonio persisted, face brightening at the realization.

The young Italian rolled away from the Spaniard, "I'm not going to be your boyfriend so you can stop with the compliments," he replied, words muffled in his hands.

"Never," Antonio laughed, "not till you see what I see."

"Well, I hope you're ready to wait forever," Lovino shot back, shivering slightly from the maddening swelling in his chest.

"Then forever it is," the older boy agreed, playfully pinching the Italian's exposed side and laughing at the string of curses that echoed through the quiet night.