Just Give Me A Reason, Not Enough, Mi Mancherai, Ezio's Family, Wintersong.

It feels so good to get through all these old drafts. Sorry it took so long, but I for one think it was worth it!

I didn't name-drop it in the text itself, but the final segment takes place to Josh Groban's Mi Mancherai. Not necessary to listen to it, but recommended. It means "I Miss You".

The Gay Brother

Vermilion Paint and Something of Home

It made him leave.

Waking up briefly with Alice on his arm had been one thing, but waking up on his side with her curled against his chest and his arm over her waist was entirely different.

'We're just friends, this is normal.' Yes it was, it had to be. He told this to himself and he believed it, which was why he was able to start breathing again.

Forty seconds later, Alice took a slightly deeper breath in her sleep, and held it just the way he had.

Okay, not normal: more like ridiculously awkward. Time to get up.

Get up. His arm had fallen asleep and his shoulders were sore from being bent on the hard ground. Were those ants crawling over his ankle? Those were probably ants. They both needed to get up, and yet Feliciano remained down on his side and he was baffled when he felt Alice start breathing again softly- because she remained down too.

So they just sort of stayed that way instead, and Feliciano tried to order himself up, but he was still warm and the air so sweet, so no matter how compromising the position really was…

His arm had already fallen over her waist while they slept. Pulling it up so it was actually around her instead was just a way for him to give her an apologetic hug without either of them acknowledging it. Besides, how was he supposed to really say he was sorry? He couldn't ask for forgiveness if he couldn't just come out and tell her what had happened.

So he held her instead, and he felt Alice press her face against his shirt and take a deeper breath. She carefully shifted her body closer and he told himself not to hold her any tighter, but he did.

Short breaths now, his and hers, because this was beginning to hurt- not his shoulders or his legs, just his heart because Alice was going tense, her body hardening in his arms as her hands reached out slowly.

"I'm sorry." He whispered, and as soon as he started to speak he felt the kind of warmth bleeding through his shirt that could only come from tears. Raw, wet, angry tears… He rolled a little closer and brought both arms around her tightly, feeling one of hers loop over his shoulder and the other wrap around his chest. It was a close hold. "I'm sorry and I'm sorry, and I'm never going to stop being sorry…"

"Shut up..!" Her voice was muffled and breaths hot through his shirt, almost burning him as she broke off right away with a desperate, choking sound. "You don't even know what you're sorry for…"

Alice sat up slowly, inching herself away from him as Feliciano shifted to sit up next to her. When they were back up above the evening flowers he kept his hand on the curve of her back, watching her wipe the tears away on her wrists and try to cool her red face with her sleeve.

Everything felt slow and heavy from sleep, his body asking timidly if he wouldn't rather just lay back down, his stomach arguing that there were still sandwiches and tarts and snacks somewhere in the grass for eating. His eyes were a little hazy but he cured that by rubbing them with his own hand the way she was, finishing faster and trying not to be so obvious about giving his neck a small rub and stretch to wake up. They'd slept longer than they should have, and it didn't feel like they'd needed it either.

When Alice looked like she'd calmed down enough to just sit there in the grass with her hands on her knees, eyes looking out over the same landscape they'd fallen asleep to and the colours dimmed by the dipping sun, he spoke.

"I know I have a lot to be sorry for." He admitted, and he felt bold enough now not to let the topic just die so they could move on. "Enough that it's impossible to know where to start."

"Start with the cheating, you bastard." Alice's brown eyes were puffy and mean as she stung him with the insult, reining her tears back in when they threatened to spill again. The façade gave way as soon as he dropped his eyes to the grass and saw her head shake before she went back to staring out across the meadow.

"We'd broken up." Feliciano regretted it before he said it. Even if he wasn't leaping into the chasm between them, he was still hesitantly feeling along the edge of it for a safe hold.

"Don't be a little bitch-" And he was going too slowly for Alice's taste. "We were not!"

"Broken up?" He challenged, going back four years in his mind to the tumultuous months where one of his relationships had ended and the other had taken root. "You called me worthless and said you'd just go around with Giovanni instead. Was that all a lie?"

"Of course it was a lie!" She yelled the words back at him and they didn't make him feel any better. The topic was so ancient that it felt like a waste of time to go through this- but there had to be something underneath. "You stayed in Berlin over New Years, your brother's birthday, and our anniversary! Those were important-"

"Yes, so important that you broke up with me over the phone about it!" Feliciano still remembered that too: between late-night preparations with Berwald to get their midterm design project done, and Ludwig fussing about the strangest things back in their dorm room that winter semester, Feliciano remembered a hair-raising fight over the phone with his girlfriend back in Italy. He'd been hung up on and heart-broken, dragging his roommate to the campus bar where he'd drunk himself into a sick heap and somehow woken up in Ludwig's empty bed the next day. Things had only gone downhill from there…

"Maybe I thought it would make you come home." They weren't looking at each other, but the wound was four years old and Feliciano couldn't feel any anger in her words either. But they were both upset now and talking about what hadn't been discussed before. It was like she knew to sound guilty for an admission like that.

"But I'd told why I couldn't come and I'd explained how-"

"And your mother said it would work…" From guilty Alice's voice almost moved to defensive, but it bypassed the arrogance all together and fell to a depth that spoke of regret. Even if an argument could be raised for forcing her to dump him like that, bringing her up in conversation deserved more tact than that…

So they both went quiet, because Feliciano didn't know how to talk about whatever his mother had said or meant about anything…

"It made me get drunk." Shifting slowly on the grass so he had one leg bent and down, his other foot was planted on the tangled stems flattened by their nap so his knee was up. Feliciano could hook one arm over his knee and reach with the other hand to pry one of those trampled flowers from the mess of bruised leaves and snapped stems, twirling the white petals like helicopter blades between his fingers. He couldn't look at her, and he needed to take a breath first, but… "And wake up in the wrong bed."

The breath she took was long and slow, he heard it hissing in through her nose and then the silence when she held it tight. He didn't want to hurt her, but that didn't make it stop hurting.

"Is that really how it happened?"

"It wasn't sex." He knew that much because for one, he would have known, but also because Feliciano had denied and shied away from being too intimate with Ludwig for a very long time… "But that was how it started."

There was no real way for them to break the silence this time without letting it rest first. The breeze picked up and brushed over the flowers around them, making the grass bend and quake like ripples along a river.

Instead of speaking, they seemed to agree that mutual hunger was only going to make things even more awkward and difficult. They didn't speak while those panini, cold now and missing their agonizing note of nostalgia, and their snacks were eaten too. Salty and not really appetizing, little pellets of cornstarch and powdered cheese gave both of them something to focus on as the sun continued travelling across the sky into the west.

"What time is it?" He finally asked, accepting the brown paper bag that was handed to him with dessert tucked inside under a crunchy layer of sugar glaze.

"Only about five." The mountains made it seem closer to dusk, but at least the heat hadn't given up just yet and the sky, despite the illusion of the low sun, was still blue overhead. "We can just go back if you want."

"And get me sent out to the restaurant for another dinner service?" Even if Lovino wasn't back yet, Feliciano knew he'd end up over at the Pinwheel all on his own if his only alternative was another early night spent alone in Chiara's house. He'd survived yesterday after work by wandering around town and getting coffee in a café for a few hours, eating out again as a way to keep away from his in-laws' uninviting table.

At least it meant he was seeing every part of his hometown again, but at the same time it meant he had far too much time to himself doing nothing and thinking all the wrong things. He'd wished for Lovino to come back as promised so his brother could have mediated between him and Carlino, or even him and Mario, but the eldest brother was an actual dick and just kept staying away. Was Feliciano's visit just not worth him sticking around for a few days? What was so important in Rieti that he hadn't been able to come back yet?

Carlino's avoidance, at least, made a lot more sense. He'd played it safe yesterday after the scene at the restaurant, hiding away at home all day and night where Feliciano hadn't been able to reach him. His brother had been rightly furious, but any attempts to force another meeting in his grandparents' house would have ended in disaster as soon as he so much as stepped up to the front door.

Maybe, just maybe though, he told himself that there was a chance his uncle and grandmother had discussed him last night. Maybe they had spoken on his behalf, maybe they'd even tried to tell his brother what Feliciano had fallen apart trying to say: his reason why. Maybe, but only maybe.

There was also a chance that the two men Feliciano had barely seen standing there outside the church on the hill had discussed him too. There was little that could make him believe, no matter how naïve about some things Feliciano knew he could be, that Benedict would be willing to acknowledge a faggot nephew. His uncle was a holy priest, bound to Rome and the scripture: why on earth would he ever bend on an issue that was so clear cut in their lives? It was a jagged little pill that Feliciano knew he just had to get over and swallow, because having even one member of the family on his side would keep their Grandfather's anger burning brightly, he wouldn't waver, and that door would never open for him again.

He'd already tried forcing Feliciano to stay away from the restaurant, hadn't he? He'd even succeeded.

"We said we'd go to Rieti." He needed time to process his answer before giving it, chewing and almost enjoying his dessert on the grass before speaking. "So let's go, I'd liked to see the dance school again- if you're willing." It really wasn't his place to intrude, brushing a few crumbs off the corner of his mouth with one thumb before looking back at her. Alice had reclaimed her spot on the grass as well, the white plastic bag that had carried their lunch balled up in her fist to stop it from floating away on the wind. She had her arms looped around her knees, her skirt falling around her legs and into the swaying daisy stems.

Or they would just go home again… Feliciano doubted he'd stay in his room all night if driven that way, but they hadn't come here in his car so it wasn't his call.

"You still need to buy your grandmother a gift, remember?" Alice's voice was quiet and a little flat, a sign that she wasn't quite over the previous topic just yet. But at least she agreed with him, and that meant she wasn't completely sick of or disgusted with him yet.

"What do you think she'd like?" He picked up the new subject delicately, not about to tell her that he had no idea how he'd manage to present a gift to his grandmother, not with all the smog rolling around his family, but it was something. She wrinkled her nose a little at the funny question, but the distraction was good enough to pry them free of the previous topic.

"She's your grandmother, not mine." Feliciano stood, stretched, and started gathering paper and stray bits of plastic out of the grass, accepting that bag from her as he cleaned up. Alice stood without speaking again and shook off her skirt, the pale blue pleats swishing around her knees as she snapped the lines back in place.

Feliciano only noticed the harsh red glow on his arm when he looked around them and started quickly brushing his hand back over his hot hair. Of course it was only on the one arm too, because an even tan just wasn't something he deserved.

"That's going to hurt tomorrow…" He muttered to himself, noticing Alice touching her cheeks quickly to check for the same heat. He couldn't see anything on her face, but then that changed.

She smiled at him, a cheeky little grin that he didn't resent right away: of course his misfortune should please her.

"It's your own fault for falling asleep in the sun."

"You can only say that because you aren't burnt!"

"I can, so thank you." Not fair- not fair at all for her to use him like that!

Pretending that they'd found themselves sleeping so close together just to avoid ("or suffer from!") the sun let them laugh a little bit. Forced chuckles and smiling 'hmm's slowly giving up ground to slightly stronger smiles and little half-laughs. Little by little, daisies kissing their ankles and swaying around their knees, they pulled themselves out of the emotional mire and enjoyed their slow, meandering walk back to the car.

Alice had been wise enough before her own nap to push the cork back into the wine bottle. It had kept anything from inviting itself into the drink and drowning in the nectar, but that hadn't stopped the dark glass from courting the sun's rays and trying to boil the spirit into vinegar. There was about a third of the bottle left when it was tucked back into the bag behind the driver's seat, the two of them behaving with mock courtesy this time when it came to unlocking the baby blue doors.

Ka-thunk.

"Alice!"

Or not.

"Here, rub this on it." Once they were actually seated in the car again, Alice's priorities were air-conditioning and then to lean across the front seat to the glove compartment. With a click of the latch she pulled out a slim green tube, shutting the flap again with a finger and letting him take the bottle. Feliciano recognized an aloe leaf on the front, but just had to be a smart-ass when his eyes drank in the sight of Italian printed on the label instead of gruff German.

"Hand cream?"

"Or don't and sleep in the painful bed you've made." She could have been so cruel with words like that, but the meaning was encased in the delivery. Alice was far more focused on making sure the backend of her car didn't go off the narrow road or ram into a fence post than dealing with him. The cool air provided the mood with enough immediate relief that her dismissive huff and the fast tilt of her head to the side made it all come out alright.

"What does hibiscus even smell like?"

"Open the bottle and find out!"

"Smells more like lavender to me." He joked, refusing to give up the obnoxious comments until she cracked a genuine smile for him. The cream brought an immediate cooling sensation to his skin, soothing the warning tightness and itch of the developing burn. The natural aloe hidden under the artificial 'hibiscus' doing its job as he rubbed the cream over the tender skin and listened to the engine hum and tires crunch over dry gravel.

"Thank you," Feliciano finally said, returning the bottle to its place once he was done.

"You're welcome." So formal, but still so much more relaxed than before. "Now start thinking of gifts for your grandmother, Feliciano, or you'll be sorry for coming all the way home just to forget about her!"

"Oh," he opened his mouth without thinking, and he spoke without hearing his words. "There's already plenty for me to be sorry for."

But Alice just hissed about the tight squeeze to turn her tiny car around, and then they were back on the road to Rieti.

Feliciano imagined that Rieti was a lot like any other small city in a scenic countryside. That it was a miniature of Rome and Milan while also completely different by virtue of its size. German cities were certainly like that: not every city was exactly like Berlin, but then again nothing was ever completely different.

That was both the problem and the beauty of Rieti. More shops, traffic lights and people than the rural village they left behind in the hills, but so much smaller, quieter, and less convenient than the major cities.

Alice took them shopping, parking the small blue car along a stretch of unmarked pavement before they started off. At her insistence, they went searching for a birthday gift for his grandmother.

"A necklace maybe?" Jewelry was about the only thing he could think of, probably because whatever he bought would have to be small enough for someone, likely Lovino or Alice herself, to sneak into the party and actually deliver the gift without causing a stir. He hadn't seen her in such a long time, not counting their brief meeting in the graveyard, and it was one of the worst separations of his life. Nothing he could put together with money felt like it would really make up for the time lost, it just wasn't appropriate.

Did she still garden now that his mother was gone? Was she still strong enough for the casual joy of the ceramics she'd once crafted and sold as local tourist trinkets? He should have been asking his brother these things, but that bitterness was only growing stronger as the day progressed.

Lovino really was an asshole. It was one thing Ludwig had been on the mark about.

But it was better not to think about either of them, not right now at least. Two of the most important men in his life weren't allowed into Feliciano's thoughts today as he emptied most of his wallet for an amber broach wreathed in gold loops. The wallet was also a figure of speech: Feliciano pulled his often-forgotten cash-card out of its tight little pocket and made the withdrawal straight from his bank account.

He'd hear about it back in Berlin. That was half the reason he chose that particular piece over the one Alice noticed was similar- but less expensive.

'Maybe I'm not ready to talk yet.' Was the sad conclusion he drew as the purchase was completed and they left the bright little boutique together, the wrapped pink gift in a small paper bag hanging by Feliciano's fingertips, and a hole burning in his pocket.

His bad mood must have been obvious.

"You're still not okay, are you?" Alice asked, not even trying to smile as she clutched her purse's wide white strap over her shoulder. The sway of her skirt was distracting for him, a good reason to keep his thoughts from wandering too far from the fading sunlight and quieting streets. By wandering around and detouring the way they had, they'd missed the afternoon shopping crowds completely.

"I'm trying." He answered, gesturing for them to turn down the street together and walk. He was trying. "I'm annoyed with Lovino."

Alice scoffed. Feliciano stopped walking.

"Oh- Rieti!"

As soon as he caught her Alice escaped, calling out a code-word he'd already forgotten about and changing the subject. Feliciano almost ignored her, nearly acknowledged the lick of anger that burnt his cheek, but she stopped him by running away.

Meaning she actually ran away, and it was the fast clop and clack of her sandals over the pavement that broke his concentration long enough to watch her pull around and grin at him horribly.

"If you're in a bad mood then I know what will cheer you up!" She laughed, and he couldn't help but feel cheated somehow. "Follow me!"

He should have threatened to go back to the car, but that wouldn't have worked and he knew it. They'd agreed to jump topics, to hide from what was wrong, and just plain get on with life. It was his family's method done their own open, obvious way and he knew that it had to be better like this. Until they both wanted to needed to know, there was nothing but damage to be done by forcing it.

So he followed her instead, something that was easy enough when Alice stopped and held a hand out to him, dainty fingers grasping the air like he was a child being beckoned to touch her hand.

It was innocent, it felt innocent; the way the dimples in her cheeks stood out and instead of walking casually she insisted on nearly jogging to get there. Hands clasped the whole way, he followed.

"Is that-?" He should have known.

"I knew you'd remember."

They could see their destination from the bottom of the hill, and he should have realized it when they passed the same red-brick building with its tell-tale graffiti still marring the corner. The shop they were looking at was small and square, suffering between a clothing boutique and a tourist shop boasting funny hats and postcards. The blue awning was either speckled with stars or bird-droppings: Feliciano had never been able to tell for sure, and it was too short for the wide double glass doors it was meant to protect.

A tiny, angry little man squished irritably between his taller, flashier neighbours. That was the little shop that had sold Feliciano his passion.

He immediately dug his heels into the pavement, he didn't want to move another inch.

"Oh come on!" Alice urged, tugging on him like a puppy not ready to end a spring walk.

"I've spent more than enough money today." He answered breathlessly, knowing he'd spend that much more if they stepped inside. "It's nice to know they're still in business though, thank you. Why don't we go get some gela-?"

"Just a peak?"

"Alice, no."

"Four minutes, not even. At least say hello to the owner!"

"I…"

"If you see something you have to have, I'll pay for it instead." That was even more dangerous! But…

But with her eyes dancing like that, little drops of gold swirling in dark tea. Pink lips plumped and teased like a rosebud getting ready to bloom. Her round face was perched over her laced fingers, her expression so phony but real that it stirred a nervous little warmth in his gut. Just a few minutes, long enough to say hello…

"Alright… but just to say hi!"

A new tube of vermilion oil paint- wasn't that what he'd hoped for on his birthday? It was what she picked up off the rack and paid for after his fingers touched it and retreated several times. vermilion paint, a bottle of wine, and an awkward evening of tense silence eating Lovino's caramel cannoli, sitting on Ludwig'd patio furniture, in Feliciano's vegetable garden. That was all he'd wanted for his birthday, and standing here a week later with only one of those things held in his hand hurt far, far more than it should have.

The paints were still kept on a tall wooden rack, rows of caps and bottles resting on shelves stained and smudged by years- by generations, of curious eyes and eager hands. Feliciano was almost certain the goldenrod thumbprint on the top joint was his fault…

"Such a silly thing to carry back with me," he murmured. The nostalgia haunted him with every breath of old stones and acrylic paint, the earthy taste of clay from weekend pottery classes hanging in the air. There were stands of model-crafting wood in all the sizes and shapes a designer could need along one wall, poster-boards, cardboard, canvas frames, easels and tripods abound. Painter's pallets, a wall of hanging brushes. Racks of glues and pots of paint in powder, oil, acrylic, and water pallets crowding the tiny space so there was hardly room to walk. A ceiling mural of cherubs and golden skies, blocks of sealed clay and ceramic mixers, dust and wood chips and weathered stamps of children's hands in pink and orange paint.

His grandmother had led him here by the hand for the first time when he could barely walk. His mother had given him pocket change and known to scold his brothers if any of his special pencils wound up broken or missing. A hobby that had ultimately changed the entire direction of his life…

But was it really the ultimate choice? The beginning already wrapped up in the end? Twenty five years old, he couldn't be more than a quarter of the way through his time, could he?

It was hard to shake hands with the grungy old man who matched his shop on the outside, but whose warm weathered hands spoke of all the skills and treasures on the inside. There was the same light in hazy blue eyes that had always been there despite the pronounced stoop of his shoulders, dry laughter at first and a gruff shout at two girls who came in not to open the paints without buying them first!

Feliciano very nearly bought a small sketch-pad, the same size and make as he'd usually picked up and kept in his book-bag at school. Again, it was the nostalgia of having the art shop's crest on the front cardboard cover of the brown wire-bound book.

"Take it." What?

"Oh, signore I shouldn't. At home I have plenty-"

"Yes, but you don't have one from here anymore do you?" Knowing blue eyes, old like his uncle's and unspoiled by the filth that had dirtied everything else… "It's wrong to see you leave here with something as small as a bit of paint. Go on."

So he didn't buy the little sketchbook, but it was still slipped into the thin plastic bag along with the vermilion paint. Not sure whether he felt better or much worse, Feliciano followed Alice out of the tiny shop to stand in the cooling air of dusk.

"What's wrong?" She didn't ask the question the same way she had before, with that tinge of complaint or sense of confusion. She waited for him to gather his thoughts, speaking only when it must have been obvious that he wasn't pulling himself together at all, just standing there letting the breeze buffer and hit him. His arm was hurting again from the sunburn.

"He remembered me." The words felt strange, like he was waking up from a dream and wasn't fully aware of what he was saying yet. But he was.

"Of course he did." Not an obvious statement, she wasn't trying to berate him as Feliciano felt soft fingertips brush against his. Both of his purchases were hanging by his other hand and his fingers reached out and slipped easily through hers. It was strange remembering how much larger his hands were than hers, but reassuring to feel how strongly she could still hold on despite that. "You used to go in there all the time, it'd be harder to forget you than not."

"They don't remember you in Berlin." As soon as he said it, he gave a quick shake, eyes closed against the fading light and the quiet slope of the hill. "I mean- in any big city they don't. They can't, it's-"

"It's not home." He was… Feliciano'd meant to say it wasn't possible to remember that many people, even in a small shop like the ones where he did business when he could. But the words Alice chose weren't wrong either, in fact if the gentle pain in his chest meant anything… It meant she was right? "Come on… I know one more place I can try and show you. And if you don't like it then we can go get dinner or drive back home. Just one more place, Feliciano, alright?"

"I…" he looked down at her, eyes drifting to hers without accidentally having to hike up and find her face. It wasn't like standing beside Ludwig whose height always snuck up and surprised him, just a natural turn of his head and there she was, beside him, one hand rubbing his shoulder gently while her fingers kept squeezing his until he squeezed back. When he tried to smile, hers blossomed kindly.

"Okay, let's go," he agreed. And instead of dragging him away this time, Alice swung one foot off the curb and held it there in the air over the street, waiting for him to copy her. It was impossible not to put a little more life in his smile.

They walked off in sync through the twilight, their pace picking up a little at the prospect of grabbing something quick to eat along the way. Feliciano was almost sure he knew where they were going this time, recognizing a few landmarks as the sun finally gave up and sighed behind the mountains. Its glow refused to give up the sky, the two of them making short work of a pair of calzone from a street vendor for a walking dinner.

"I knew it!" At last, of course, they reached the dance school.

"I left one of my CDs inside the other day, would you mind if we went in?"

He didn't mind at all. The three story dance school had the silly name Butterfly Toes, easily explained by the wall of photos showing off every glass of tiny girls in pink ballerina tutus and fairy wings, visible right from the front door and across from the tiny desk. The wide windows were dark, no one was there as Alice pulled the same key ring from the winery out and coaxed the front door open. After the squat, quiet desk that blocked the entrance so only one person could move in or out at a time, they were faced with the steep staircase that rose up to the second floor where the spring-board floor and wall-length mirror of the actual dance hall was located, but Alice didn't take him up that way.

The third floor was bathrooms and the owner's office, the second was the actual dance hall in the narrow building, but the first floor had a door near the staircase that opened into a small waiting room with uncomfortable chairs and a few pamphlets and posters for the school and its productions. Alice turned on no lights, meaning Feliciano had to follow her across the creaking floorboards, but then another door and a black staircase opened up underneath them, and she obliged his soft complaints by touching a panel on the wall that opened a few soft lights in the walls so they could see and he wouldn't fall on her by accident as they moved down.

A set of double doors, a breath of cool air, and all the creaks and thunks of the upper levels were sealed away by the recital hall.

"You know, one good earthquake and this entire place will-"

"Stop that! You're terrible!"

The recital hall had space for perhaps a hundred people, a lifted stage and wings hiding props and costumes. It wasn't Broadway or the Globe, but it was a functional space with dim lighting and rows of close seats. Feliciano's hand slipped free as she hurried down the sloping floor to the stage, and without looking for the steps Alice simply planted both hands on the stage edge and hoisted herself straight up.

"We just installed a new sound-system, so don't make fun of it!" She called back, Feliciano arriving at the same edge and folding his arms over it, leaning on the high wood as he noticed her reflection in the tall mirror hidden in the shadows. There was a single beam of light coming down from the ceiling thanks to that panel she'd touched earlier, the dusty floor glowing with old polish and the scuff of soft ballet slippers and glossy dancing shoes. The air smelled like old fabric and dry plastic, the age of the building sitting overhead flavouring each breath just a little bit so you'd always know where you were.

"Really? How about a song then?" He didn't know why he asked, he just didn't have a reason not to.

"Only if you'll dance to it."

She smiled at him and Feliciano thought 'why not?'. What could be the harm of it? The recital hall was empty and the only light was shining down in the middle of the wood floor, the wall-length mirror behind the set reflecting her image as she crossed silent space with a kind of grace he wasn't used to seeing in her.

But that was the difference between Alice when she danced and Alice at any other moment, because dancing, like drawing, embodied grace.

"Do you remember the steps?" She kept walking as she called the question back at him, opening a small wood cabinet at the wall and running her fingers over what must have been the black buttons operating the building's sound system.

"Barely," was his answer, Feliciano fiddling with his bags and glasses where he was still standing by the stage's edge. He couldn't decide what to do at first, but finally pushed the sunglasses up over his hair since he wouldn't need them anymore today, and set the two small bags from their shopping trip down on one of the seats in the front row. When he heard the low strum of a guitar he hesitantly took a breath and mounted the steep steps around the far side of the platform.

It set his nerves off a little bit, knowing his head wasn't even at street level down here, but still feeling so high up in the air when he looked back out at the hall. Even an underground stage was still a stage.

"You used to be good at dancing." Ah, Lovino'd always been better: did he still play music? "Sometimes." She answered, stopping him when he reached out a hand by pulling the blue folds of her skirt out and giving a deep curtsey. Playing along with her, Feliciano performed a bow with one hand behind his back and couldn't fight off the smile as their hands were allowed to fold together.

"Do you still draw?"

"It's part of my job, actually." Palms together and fingers folded gently over one another, he could remember to hold his back straight and shoulders up, letting her fix his other hand when he placed his touch too low down her hip. The crux of her waist was warm, his fingers sinking into the fabric while his palm settled flush against her side. Before he needed to worry about it, something in the music told her to move and then they were off.

He tripped, they stopped, and over the sound of her giggling at him he wasn't sure if he stuttered in German or Italian about which foot he was supposed to lead with.

"With your right, let's try again." Of course they were going to try again! He let her poke and nudge him back into the starting position, taking a deep breath and puffing out his cheeks when she kept giggling and laughing at him under her breath. But he liked the way her eyes danced back and forth over him, and he could feel the giggles under his hand where it was sitting warm over the spot it was supposed to be.

"What is your job?" She asked, leading him slowly through several steps and along the first turn. "Lovino only says something about a museum when anyone asks."

"Because he thinks restoring priceless paintings isn't a real job." Emphasis like that wasn't necessary, but he was entitled to take a bit of pride in his work. The low hum of a violin faded through the speakers and was replaced a few seconds later with the gentle voice of a piano, and the way she looked up at him with her hand around his shoulder made it seem like she was curious.

"Do you make your own art?"

"Only at home," because it was true. Ludwig made him keep his supplies in the garage, but there was more than enough room in there for his paintings and an occasional fight with the modelling clay. He was allowed to sketch things in the dining room and kitchen only if he promised not to leave a mess anywhere. "At work I spend most of my time with oil paintings. Most don't need much work, but sometimes we get a really bad one."

"Bad one?" Something damaged by water, mold or smoke, but sometimes even just the poor quality of the original paints meant he had to carefully chip away or smooth down the colours and replace them, re-touching when possible and covering only when necessary. "That sounds delicate."

They were moving now, stepping in time with the music as the steady repetition uncovered the memories in his limbs that made his feet say 'yes, I know this' and follow hers through the light, cutting across shadows and turning smoothly. They didn't dance quickly, the music was steady with its climbs and sighs, pitched low so the melody flowed around them like a heavy mist rolling over the half-lit stage.

"It is. I think that's why-" He thought that he felt comfortable enough to take them further, capitalizing on a smooth up-turn in the song as the piano's crisp notes rose and began to blend with the violin's reaching voice. She let him lead, Feliciano tugging gently on her hand and holding firm around her waist through one turn, and then another, the two of them travelling and spinning until he heard Alice's laugh and he let her pull back and draw them both around, stepping over one another to shy away from the edge of the stage. Her grin caught the light and her hand and arm resting on him felt heavier, settled against him as they resumed slower steps and travelled the same safe path back around the light.

"You think that's why what?" She asked, laughing through her question and shaking her head a little, trying to move a lock of hair out of her eyes where it had fallen over them during that spinning. The way the light caught the colours made the strands shine, and without really letting go of her hand Feliciano reached over and drew his thumb across her forehead to do the job for her. They stepped through the light just as her hazel eyes came up towards him, the contrast making the sunspots on her nose and cheeks flare as the darker tones of her complexion were washed with brilliance.

"I think it's why I'm a little too bold when I paint," he finally said, not sure he'd actually chosen the words himself until he heard them again through the music and decided they sounded alright.

"Just when you paint?" He felt her soft fingers weave through his and they began another turn around the stage, crossing back through the light again as they felt the music beginning to quiet and slow down around them. Their song was ending.

"Or draw." That wasn't what she meant though, and somehow he knew it and he wasn't rushing to correct or deflect the comment. He felt like he was bringing the conversation back around full-circle. As if to pay homage to that point they started circling around each other, turning slowly but ever tighter, until all Feliciano did was plant the ball of his foot on the floor and spin once with her toes whispering through the fading nuances of the music.

They came to a slow and final stop under the white lamp light, and it cast that illusion you had to stand in and live in order to experience. The way the brilliance began to fade and temper the colours of her hair and eyes, softening from the harsh glare over her skin to mellow her complexion and show him the chapped lines of her lips along with the subtle glisten from further inside where they were parted just so. How the light came down and reflected off the fragments of emerald and amber swimming in sage green blushed with copper. It was the illusion cast by the lamp hidden overhead and the dust hanging in the dark air that made their pool of clarity feel like the only concrete place to stand, like the rest of the stage and the seats and the quiet town outside were all gone.

He could smell lavender. Not strong, not overpowering like the dust of the bed he slept on or the sauces where he'd been kept busy. It wasn't the wet grass of the church yard or bitter coffee from the long train ride. He could smell the lavender water, an aroma coming as much from her hair and clothes as her skin where she'd touched herself with that scent: he just hadn't been close enough to catch it.

Another song began again, this time with the low strum of a guitar rising and then stopping abruptly, threatening to yank him out of this moment until he heard a pop in the background: static in the recording. He knew this song. He knew it before he heard a quiet, grumpy voice ask:

"Is that thing on?"

A woman laughed in the background, not their mother but someone else. And then Feliciano heard his own voice answer back softly, quietly so the recording might not pick it up- although it had:

"Yep, you can start whenever."

So Lovino started playing a song they must have recorded five years ago, maybe longer, when he had been home for summer vacation between semesters. In the background there came a clatter from someone dropping a plate in the restaurant kitchen, but the voice of the guitar pushed on stubbornly through the distractions. Slow and careful, but with a kind of confidence that brought the melody to life and let it circle around and overhead like an unseen bird flickering between the shadows. And he knew this song.

And that meant something to him: knowing something, remembering something and having it fit in with the pieces of his life, because at one point it had been his life.

Just like the dance he should have forgotten.

Just like the streets that should have confounded him.

He knew this just like how he knew the faces and the hidden places, the silly folk tales and long forgotten rumours.

The way he knew the woman whose hand was still woven together with his and her arm was resting around his shoulder, his touch still resting comfortably at the slender crux of her waist. He felt the song tightening its orbit outside the light holding them and looked down at her again, really looked, and understood the way her eyes slowly widened, a stiffness filling her slowly to keep her paralyzed exactly where she was. Feliciano saw and understood it but he didn't understand his reaction to it- why was he so calm?

He saw something sparkle at her throat and it actually had the power to pull him away from her eyes, glancing down through the stream of light to something pale yellow and glittering as it followed the contours of her neck and vanished down the front of her shirt. He hadn't known she was standing so much closer than before when the act of unravelling their fingers didn't make her suddenly feel so far away. Their bodies weren't touching, but he was beginning to feel the warmth reaching across the gap.

The way she tilted her head and dropped her eyes, to him, said that what he was about to do was okay. She was leaning into the arm he had at her waist, touching him as he brushed his fingertips back to pull away the copper locks that were in the way. He took the chain gently between two fingers and felt her hold her breath, tugging the delicate links of beaten gold until his hand had to trail around to her front to follow the strand and capture the token.

He should have been surprised. And he should have been disappointed, or at least upset: he should have blamed himself and been angry for what he found resting in his hand. It was warm from where it had been pressed safe against her skin for however long she'd chosen to wear it there, and he never should have been able to tell himself he felt something between dread and relief when he saw it.

A simple band of gold with a small, barely-there diamond set on a bead of gold, and then a tiny diamond-dust trail sprinkled down the rim trying to give the piece a bit more sparkle. He knew that ring: Chiara had helped him pick it out...

When she took a soft breath and then pushed up onto her toes, her arm on his shoulder pressing down on him for support, he should have at least looked away. He should have done something or said no. He should have, but he didn't.

Because he knew those lips too...

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