AN: Thank you to everybody who read the first chapter and decided to continue! It's my first time writing as Antonio so it was somewhat interesting to attempt. I'm hoping to improve for the future. Any feedback on any element of the fic is greatly appreciated.

Chapter 2 - Jusqu'ici Tout Va Bien*

((*Jusqu'ici tout va bien. = So far, so good.))

15th November, 1999

Antonio had often found himself analysed by those around him. It never bothered him but he couldn't exactly understand the appeal either. He didn't think of himself as so much of an enigma in any way. His outward lackadaisical, devil-may-care attitude unnerved people, he'd realised. He was something of a drifter to the outside world, doing as he pleased or as others wanted, going along with anything, the easily influenced sort. What he didn't mention of course was that this was far from true. He was accustomed to planning meticulously. He'd had goals, dreams, aspirations. He'd just more or less given up on them. That was harder to explain, especially when he preached about hope, told others not to lose faith. But it wasn't like that, it wasn't such a direct conflict as his internal attitude might suggest. But he'd come to accept these days that truthfully, you could be someone who went where the wind carried them, or someone who planned every foreseeable event in detail, and in both cases, your life will not go the way you thought. This is simple fact.

That is not to say that it will not get better. But perhaps it makes sense to say: try not to worry so much.

Jusqu'ici tout va bien... Right?

Antonio spoke quite a lot of French. He also spoke German, English, some Dutch, of course Italian, because to attempt to live in patriotic Italy without it was something of an offence... But French was his favourite. He considered it to be that slightest bit more beautiful than others. That phrase, taught to him by a friend of his years ago, often popped into his head. It came to him again now as the sunlight pierced through the drapes and then his eyelids in turn, rousing him. He blinked hard, just once or twice, before forcing himself to open them and took a bleary look around. The feeling of pressure on his arm reminded him that this morning was slightly different. He gave a lopsided smile as he looked down at the sleeping figure. Even though he had somewhat suspected that the angel line would not work on him, Antonio could not help but say it. It was resoundingly true. Especially as those streaks of light through gaps in fabric came in, glancing off of his petite angular frame, shooting off elbows, glancing off prominent collarbones, resting softer on the crown of his hair, like a halo.

He settled back down sleepily but found that he did not quite manage all the way again. He kept one arm draped lazily about the other's form but took instead to practising breathing exercises of sort. In, and out. In, and out. It was enough to coax him towards sleep but not push him all the way. Besides, his breathing exercises only drew attention to the fact that Lovino was right beside him, and childish though it may have been, he could not deny that the prospect was exciting. Every now and then he'd get the faintest waft of salt water, which amused him ever so slightly, but moreover he could smell shampoo - from the somewhat vigorous scrubbing of the damned - and coffee perhaps, and just... Lovino. Warmth.

Jusqu'ici tout va bien.

But any other morning if you asked Antonio whether he was happy with the way in which his life turned out... On a good day, you'd get a "Well..." Some shaky laughter and then an "I don't know. Perhaps not. But I'm fine, really." On a bad day, you'd get nothing at all. Possibly a death glare, if he could muster one. On a bad day, he hated his life. The isolation, the loneliness, the feeling of inevitability - that he couldn't make any more choices, he'd missed his deadline, he didn't know what he was doing anymore. And he couldn't possibly change any of that because... He was past his prime, this was it now. What could he do anyway? He wouldn't even know what to do. He had imagined being married by now, trophy bride of course, who was the apple of his eye. Three.. Four kids maybe, if his income allowed. A cat. Two cats. A house with a catflap - that he'd have put in himself because he was forward thinking enough that he knew what would be required.

There was one slight detail that put a spanner in the works - that being that he'd struggled to find women he'd been attracted to and found the whole thing extremely uncomfortable when he'd agreed to the advances of the few that he thought maybe he'd come to feel a spark with... He didn't. It took a cute German making eyes at him in an 'alternative' club he visited with a friend to finally understand what exactly was up. And it was up. With the young man, it was up. He was rather proud actually of just how up it was.

But uh, that was hardly the point.

Regardless, upon that realisation, things became much easier. Dates were much easier to find. Much, much more enjoyable too. Contrary to the immediate thought in people's mind he had never opposed or struggled with the idea of being gay... It just hadn't really occurred to him. He'd prayed for hours trying to find the answer. He just didn't think the answer would come in the form of a corseted punk with a pink fringe. Especially not if God was the one sending it to him. He always thought of God as a pretty conservative guy so far as fashion trends were concerned...

Most of the time... If he was really honest, he was drowning. He couldn't help it, he couldn't, he just was. He was getting by, sure. Fairly good job where he made more than enough money. He wasn't unhappy in his profession. He'd inherited his grandparents' house in Italy, in a small but beautiful coastal town. He liked it there. The house was somewhat isolated admittedly which perhaps didn't help in his endless thirst for human company. But it was peaceful. On those nights were he desired nothing but to go over his thoughts, it paid off. He could hear the waves rolling. When he looked out of the window, he could see the stars twinkling. The birds cooing. All that lovely flowery shit that he liked to bore his dates with. A really comfortable lifestyle. he wasn't overworked either, which definitely contributed to some people's mental state.

He was lonely. So lonely. So painfully, unspeakably lonely. And he had no idea why. Why was he doing it to himself? Was it him? Of course it was him. He never made an effort with any of these things. His teenage years had flown by in and out of clubs like that where he'd found himself. He travelled all over Europe with friends, never branching out, never getting a job that would hold him back, just little posts to tide him over and pay for the hotel room, and drinks at a club at the weekend. A simple routine, and he'd loved it. When he got the hang of the whole thing, he never failed to pull. His friends had called him 'The Boss' - he had something of a love for little Italians and apparently a Mafia connotation was the only thing they could manage. Did he ever stop to think about whether one of his bevy of beauties was 'the One'? No. Of course not. He was young, free and newly born-again-gay. He was loving it. And now he felt like such a moron.

Working hard every day at a job you were committed to meant nothing when you finished up, got on that train from the city back into the little village turned town - with the introduction of about five chain stores which the locals said made it a town now - passed the time in that lonely little cabin, drummed your fingers on the armrest, tapped your foot on the floor, wiggled in your seat and waited, waited, waited. Then got off the train, walked up that hill and opened the door to nothing and no one. It was so much worse than he'd ever even imagined.

Sometimes he would contemplate putting himself back in the game. He'd have a Saturday free or something and it would occur to him just how easy it would be to get dressed up again, put on a little more of that passionate carefree persona he'd been somewhat known for and ride that train back into the city, find the nearest bar, spot his soulmate and fix everything again in one night of hot, heavy, and downright romantic sex. Then of course they'd agree without hesitation to return with him to the little house and they'd live out the rest of their lives together. They'd get a cat, possibly two, and he'd fit a catflap, and goddamn it he'd be happy again.

But he never did.

Instead he just sat in miserably, lamenting his fate, and wishing he could change it, but never making any effort to do so. And that was what drowning was like, wasn't it?

Well, maybe not exactly but... It was in a way. It was the struggle for breath. It was the helplessness, the feeling of being lost even when dry land was so close. The reach, the grab, the claw, the desperation to reach that shore but not being able to, so giving up. Just staying there, splashing about a little as though somebody was going to hear. Gasping for breath, crying, spluttering, and realising how futile it was and so horrible that you would cough up more water and cry more tears, like the world was only seeking to add to your suffering. He couldn't breathe ever, he felt his throat tightening and nobody even knew or cared on the sand.

But last night, the light hit a head in the water beside him. An angel got a halo that he could see shining even from his position up on the hill. And he'd put his bag down, taken off his jacket and walked down like some universal force was summoning him, telling him to get himself down there. (It had become apparent to him afterwards just how worrying it was that he'd been so leisurely about all of this - knowing as he did that nobody really frequented the beach at night, it was entirely possible that somebody was really drowning and he'd taken his good sweet time about getting down there.) All of that aside, he'd padded across the sand and taken a closer look and somehow he just... Knew.

He wasn't entirely sure what it was that he knew. But he knew. He knew something. Something was... Speaking to him. And after a little effort, Lovino was speaking to him. And Lovino was... He was something. He was more of an enigma than Antonio conceivably thought he could be. And bless him, he seemed to... Understand. He was drowning too. And Antonio wanted to save him, in any way he could. He was not self-centred enough to even consider that he could be some kind of rescuing force for the other but... Well, temptation was a funny thing. His intentions were pure all in all, but... There was something about Lovino. And he couldn't resist.

He resisted to a certain point. He thought he might have resisted to about... Perhaps the third flight of makeshift stairs up from the beach? But at that point something just happened. He looked at him that little bit too long and he just... He lost his mind. He leaned in and prepared to have his head pushed back under that water but Lovino came up to meet him and it was like he'd suddenly been carried ashore.

He was air. Real air, real life! And he couldn't stand to be without it. Every few steps he had to have more, it was addictive after so long without it. Somehow they made it back to the house and into the bed - with a break for showering - and gaining some self-control, he'd not asked to go further. Not that he wasn't tempted. But it had been more than enough to fuel him for days. Months even, years. But just because it was enough didn't mean he wanted it to be the end. Having Lovino here beside him was like... God, he couldn't even describe it! It was amazing, and it was new and he could scarcely keep his heartbeat quiet enough to allow the other to keep sleeping. He knew nothing about him, except that he ached for him.

The excitement had somewhat distracted him though, he knew. There... There was something deeper afoot. An 'episode' Lovino had called it which he'd made a point to Google soon. People didn't just strip off and swim in the dead of the night for no reason. He... He was fragile, that much was clear. But he was gorgeous, and even though that should have been irrelevant, it wasn't. It couldn't be. That bias would always enter his head - he'd always been so easily won over by a pretty face. And seeing Lovino down there like some kind of chipped diamond just tore him open. It was beautiful, but it was hurt. And he couldn't stand it. Instinct took over. And he couldn't tell yet if he would come to regret it or not. He hoped not.

Beside him, Lovino suddenly moved a little. And then he bolted upright, shocking him with the speed of it all. He almost seemed scared like if he didn't get up that quickly something terrible would happen. In his 'old'... Well at least older age, Antonio decided that it was perfectly valid that he could not get up so fast. He coerced his eyes open again, shifting a little to lean on one bent arm such that he could look up at the younger Italian. He still seemed so very panicked somehow. He had to address it. "Alright?" Perhaps not as caring as he could seem but it would do for this early in the morning.

Almost as though he hadn't noticed him, Lovino looked over as he spoke. He allowed his eyes to wander somewhat shamelessly actually - something Lovino put down to him being too tired to resist. He did at least seem rather pleased by what he saw if that twitching at the outer corners of his lips was anything to go by. 'Still got it.' His inner playboy crowed proudly.

"F- Fine." The Italian answered, before tripping over his words. "I just- I mean," He paused, a scowl replacing the little smirk Antonio had so loved. "Did we... You know, last night?"

Ohh, so that was where the panic had stemmed from. Antonio laughed a little at that. He couldn't help it. Unfortunately the little chuckle had an entirely terrible outcome that he felt somewhat guilty about. Lovino began to rattle off angrily something about not being good enough in the harsh light of day. Ugh, how wrong he was, Antonio thought as the light kissed Lovino's skin again. The way he had been rather enjoying doing himself last night. "No. I just meant that you would have remembered if we had."

That seemed to amuse Lovino a little, and his cheeks went all red and Antonio felt... Good. He felt his chest swell a little with pride at eliciting such a reaction. It seemed Lovino wasn't really in the mood to let on though, as he followed up with. "I wouldn't be so sure. I... I really had no idea what I was doing last night."

That last part though, he understood. He heard the truth in it, and he knew the worry. He felt the need to reassure him. "Come on Lovino. You know I'm a good guy. We didn't do anything that you didn't consent to. I would never take advantage of you like that." The other didn't quite seem to believe him. He tried again. "Besides, my intentions weren't even to... Well, you know."

"Well I mean I dont know that but whatever." Jesus Christ, Lovino was unyielding.

Maybe... Honesty was the best policy?

"... I'm not going to say I wasn't tempted." He admitted. "But I mean, it's a very unfair test. When you live like I do in the middle of nowhere and somebody like you washes up on the shore, it does feel a little bit like a cosmic present."

"I'm not even listening to you anymore." He knew Lovino was lying and just smiled, glad that he didn't at least seem to be cross. Well, technically he appeared cross, but Antonio was becoming more and more of the opinion that that was probably forced. A defence mechanism of sorts. He laid on his back instead, looking up at the ceiling. He'd painted stars all over it a while ago. It had been a whim. A particularly lonely night. A pocketful of cash with which to purchase decorator's paint. Some time to kill.

Lovino followed suit, lying back down. "What are you, five?"

"I like stars."

Lovino exhaled deeply beside him. "... So do I." That made Antonio happy that he'd said that. There was really no need to be so cold, he thought. He was already basically certain that he adored him.

"I.. I didn't see any stars last night."

"I did." He replied, making a point of expressing exactly what he meant as he looked at him.

"Oh yeah?" So innocent. "You're not going to say something really shit about finding me, are you?"

A true smile played on the Italian's lips then and Antonio felt that same sense of triumph. "Well I mean, not anymore." Slowly, tentatively, he found his hands under the sheets. Lovino did not pull away. Another victory.

But... Lovino seemed distant. Even lying right there, next to him, sharing his body heat for crying out loud... He wasn't there. Antonio squeezed his hand. "Lovino... Are you okay?"

He got no answer. But in his head he made a vow. He was going to help him. Or at least do what he could. Lovino was a life-jacket. Not hugely romantic he knew but it did the job. You just had to inflate it. It had rescued him, and now he had to take care of it...

Or something like that.

Jusqu'ici tout va bien...

...Right?