this chapter was by far my fav chapter to write

i hope you enjoy it

xoxo

16

So You Don't Catch A Cold, Querido

Mi amor. Mi vida. Te quiero tanto—te quiero, te quiero.

No te dejaré nunca.

Te prometo.

Por eso...por favor...

No me dejes, mi amor. Mi vida.

The wind was gentle and musical. It welcomed them and sang a song for them, harmonizing with the sway of the waves and the rustle of the leaves. It made their hair messy and confused their sense of direction and tried to get them to close their eyes, but it loved them, bringing them warmth even in its chilly swoons. So Toni smiled as he sat upon the grass and felt it grazing his skin, while he found comfort in the earth beneath him. He sat in the middle of this vast field he had discovered, specifically for his Romano. President Kirkland had mentioned it to him—Oh, Antonio, if you do end up going to Anglesey, you absolutely must pay a visit to the South Stack Lighthouse—and he had thought instantly of Romano. Now he was sitting and staring out at the horizon, seeing the lighthouse rising up and symbolic in nature since it no longer had the light from which it had originally taken its name. It was abandoned now. But still it stood, tall and bold, in the middle of this rocky sea.

Toni picked at the grass absentmindedly, propped up on his elbows, and he watched Romano. He was walking through the grass far away, reaching his arms out and brushing his fingertips along the plants and the flowers and the leaves of grass. He was walking as if on a tightrope, one foot in front of the other, swaying slightly from side to side with each gust of wind. He was staring out across the field, his head moving slowly from side to side. His hair brushed across his stoic, beautiful stone face. He walked with no destination, no goal, no purpose. He merely walked, his movements languid and the very air around him warm. Toni watched his every step.

Romano didn't look real anymore. He looked as if in a dream, surrounded by the green and engulfed in the grayness of the sky and moved by the rocking of the waves. Romano had lost contact with reality and moved as his body told him to, moved as the wind directed him. He was silent and distracted, and Toni did not try to speak to him. He merely watched him, entranced and silent. If the waves of the ocean had risen up in a fury and crashed down upon them, Toni would not have looked away. If lightning from the sky had descended upon them, throwing them into burning hot flames, he would not have looked away. If the lighthouse had come crashing down in a torrent of debris, he would not have looked away. Nothing could have torn him away from Romano—his dark writer, his passionate lover, his tormented beauty. He could have watched him wander through eternity without blinking. Without moving from his position on the earth, legs outstretched, craning his neck, elbows supporting his body.

Romano moved to the ledge overlooking the water. He stood still for a few moments, staring out at something Toni couldn't see. He imagined for a moment that Romano was staring at the lighthouse. Blown away by its loneliness there on the bay. Feeling a strange camaraderie with the way it stood tall and lovely and abandoned, perhaps never to be touched again. Never to light up, never to do that which it was erected to do. Romano was illuminated by the dim rays of the sun fighting through the gray clouds, hugging himself. His sweater (he had discarded his jacket for reasons Toni couldn't understand) billowing in the wind, his hair flying in every direction, his head moving slightly from side to side as his gaze wandered across the ocean. Toni felt himself smile. He wondered what Romano was thinking about the ocean. Wondered what about the waves, what about the lighthouse, what about the rocky ledge, was putting him in this trance that was, in turn, putting Toni under its own spell.

"Roma," Toni said. He wasn't sure why he had said it. He wasn't even sure at first if it would reach Romano's ears over the wind. But after a few moments, arms now at his side, Romano turned over his shoulder and looked at him.

His face then was a painting. Or perhaps not a painting, but a sonata. Or even a ballet. Its colors and its melodies and its movements serene and calming and entrancing. Beautiful and passionate, intense and alluring. His eyes were soft, the wrinkles so often embellishing his forehead and his brow gone, his lips set gently. He wasn't smiling. But he wasn't frowning. He was as he was, looking back at Toni because he had heard his name. Toni saw him there, illuminated in this background of the ocean and the lighthouse, and a choked laugh fell from his lips. He couldn't believe it, couldn't believe any of it. He was caught between wanting so desperately to hold him, and wanting so desperately to watch him standing like that forever.

Toni smiled at Romano. Romano blinked. And without a word, he reached his arm out toward Toni. Held it in the air. Kept it there until Toni stood from his position and walked over. Romano's, it seemed, was the only power that could have pulled him from his seat on the earth. He stepped over the singing grass and grabbed onto Romano's outstretched hand, his fingers cold and quivering. He stood beside Romano and they looked out at the sea together, as Toni brought Romano's hand to his lips and put them softly to his knuckles. Romano watched him wordlessly, and then turned to look at the ocean again. His thumb softly caressing Toni's fingers.

They sat down on the ground together and let their legs dangle over the edge of the cliff. They knew it was dangerous, but they felt that together there was nothing dangerous to begin with. They put their hands, intertwined, in the grass. Romano swung his legs back and forth, his boots scraping the rough rocks of the cliffside. He reached his other arm out toward the ocean, as if silently calling out to the horizon just as he had silently called out to Toni. As Romano watched the waves, Toni, of course, continued to watch Romano. Committing to memory every single detail of his face. The curl of his lips. The broken edges of his hair. The curve of his ears. The flush in his cheeks, the brown complexion of his skin, the swirls and graceful lines of his jaw. The round end of his nose and the thickness of his eyelashes as they fell upon his cheeks. Toni smiled, overwhelmed, unsure of what else to do. Still questioning how he had gotten to this point, of being so desperately and passionately entranced by someone that he lost sight of everything and anything else.

Romano inched closer to Toni, until their legs brushed, and he grabbed his arm with his free hand and put his head on Toni's shoulder.

"What if the wind just swept us away into the ocean?" he murmured. Toni kissed his head, tasted the muskiness of his hair.

"We would fall into the waves together."

"Would we die?"

"No," Toni said. Very sure of himself. "We would not die."

"How do you know?"

"Look at how beautiful the ocean is, mi tesoro. Would something so beautiful be so hateful as to kill its lovers?"

"But to the ocean, we wouldn't be dying," Romano continued. "It would be the opposite—the ocean would be taking us in. Would it love us enough to drown us?"

"I can't speak for the ocean, I suppose."

"You're right." Romano paused for the moment. "But I think it would."

Romano took a handful of grass beside him and ripped it from the earth. Then he opened his palm over the empty space of the cliffside and they watched the blades of grass fly in the wind, in every direction, abandoning each other to fall into the ocean. Fluttering and twirling until they met their fate. Decided single-handedly by Lovino Vargas.

As Toni watched them descending over the edge, Romano pulled a nearby flower from the earth, as well. Then he ripped the petals from the stem, throwing the stem over the edge. Without a word he turned and reached up to Toni's dancing hair. He steadied it, his hands firm but gentle on his scalp, and he put the flower behind his ear. Positioning it so that it might be safe from the torrents of the wind. Once the flower was in Toni's hair, small and red and mighty, Romano grabbed his arm and again put his head to his shoulder. Toni kissed him again and found himself holding back tears, delighted by the ticklish feeling of the petals behind his ear. He wanted to put a flower in Romano's hair, too, but he couldn't bring himself to pull away long enough. So he sat, still, captivated by Romano's trembling hands and gentle expression. Sacrificing himself to the words that were to fall from his lips and the tears he was to shed. Thankful, oh how thankful he was, to the lighthouse and the ocean for giving themselves to Romano without inhibition. Thankful to the blades of grass for willingly falling to their deaths for Romano. Thankful to the flower, the little red flower, for making its new home in his hair for Romano.

They felt droplets of rain beginning to fall from the clouds, and for the first few minutes, they didn't move. They were too comfortable, too warm, holding each other and feeling the earth, to move. But the rain started to come down harder and the waves became angrier. The flower in Toni's hair became wet and soggy, their clothes stuck to their skin, and they took it as a sign to go home. Toni stood up and helped Romano to his feet. They gripped each other's hands very tightly and began to trek back the way they came. Toni was very certain that they were going to get lost, which he wouldn't have particularly minded—but now that the rain was pouring he was worried that Romano was going to get sick. He grabbed Romano's jacket, which he had thrown to the ground, and forced Romano to use it to cover his head.

"So you don't catch a cold, querido."

Toni tried very hard to remember the pathway back to the cottage. They walked along a winding gravel path surrounded on both sides by tall, tall blades of grass. The wind was howling now and they were drenched. Toni tried to hurry, but Romano was languid. Dragging his feet. His eyes looking up. Watching the heavy clouds weeping, moving across the sky. Pushing out the light. He stared with such a lost look in his eyes.

They turned right and left and right again and left again, each stretch of path looking just the same as the last. Toni felt a churn in his stomach; he wouldn't know what to do if Romano got sick because of him. They dragged their boots through the mud, each step becoming heavy. Toni convinced himself that he recognized that tree—this bend is familiar—I remember seeing that rock. Until finally, after he had come to the conclusion that they were going to be lost forever and drown in the downpour, he saw the outline of President Kirkland's cottage. He hurried forward, pulling Romano behind him. Searched for the keys in his pocket. Opened the door and rushed inside.

They were soaking. For a good five minutes, they stayed at the doorstep of the cottage and let themselves drip on the old doormat. It was just as cold inside the cottage as it was outside—but it was dry. It seemed as if as soon as they had stepped inside, Romano had finally been hit with the realization of how cold and wet and miserable he was, for he began to shiver violently and hug himself.

"Ah, pobrecito, espera unos minutos."

As Romano shook, his teeth chattering loudly, Toni took the soaked jacket from his shoulders and hung it on the coat rack. Then he ran further into the cottage and began searching desperately for a towel or a blanket. Anything. He looked through every cupboard he could find, from the living room to the kitchen to the one bedroom. He found the towels in a closet in the small, constricted bathroom, and nearly tripped on his own feet when he grabbed it and ran back to Romano. Who was still standing in the same spot. Still trembling, as if in fear. Apologizing erratically and incessantly, Toni helped Romano out of his soaking clothes, untied his shoes and pulled them from his feet, and then began to rub his bare, cold skin with the towel. Rubbing like a madman, drying anything and everything. He wiped his hair as well, his face, his arms and his legs and his shoulders and his torso. While he himself was still dripping, but immune to the cold. He didn't mind. He would take care of himself after Romano was warm and dry.

"Romano, I'm going to get a bath ready for you, okay? A nice, warm bath," he said, bringing his face close. Romano nodded silently. Unable to speak through the chatters of his teeth. Toni finally took off his own shoes and then, after a quick kiss to the tip of Romano's nose, led him inside to the bathroom. Holding him gently by the shoulders and leading him forward. Romano stood in the door of the bathroom while Toni struggled to figure out how this old-fashioned bathtub worked. Finally, he was able to turn on the hot water, and watched impatiently as it filled the tub. Once it was nearly to the rim, he took the towel from Romano's shoulders, helped him out of his boxers, and slowly lowered him into the water.

As soon as it touched his skin, Romano sucked in his breath, and his nose crinkled and his lips tightened.

"Lo siento, Roma. It'll feel wonderful in a few minutes, te prometo."

Romano curled up and forced himself deeper into the water, as Toni knelt by the tub and smoothed his wet hair from his face. He heaved a sigh of relief that he had finally managed to get Romano here, into the warmth. And, as he had predicted, Romano's muscles relaxed after a few minutes and he closed his eyes. He sank deeper, until the water was up to his chin. Toni still smoothing the hair from his face. The color returned to Romano's cheeks and his breaths evened and he stopped shivering. The energy that had seeped out of him when they had been in that field seemed to have returned.

Romano opened his eyes and looked at Toni. They had their usual spark—he didn't look so lost and entranced anymore.

"Bastard," he suddenly spat.

"Wha—?"

"You're gonna get sick, too! At least go change."

"Ah, sí, I suppose you're right..."

"Of course I'm right. I'll be fine. Go, before you get sick and I'm forced to take care of you."

"Lo que quieras."

Toni stood up but, before he left, bent down and put a kiss on Romano's forehead.

"I'll be right back."

Forty-five minutes later, they had both taken warm baths and changed into their pajamas. It wasn't very late but they had put on their pajamas anyway. Toni, in his exploration of the cottage, had found a pile of thick, beautifully quilted blankets under the king-sized bed of the bedroom, and had dragged them out. They had also realized there was no central heating system, but there was a fireplace. Together they had turned it on and put in firewood. Now they were sitting in front of it, wrapped in a blanket and huddled close, staring into the flames. They still felt a little bit chilled, and could hear the pattering of the rain on the windows. Now that they were warm and Toni was comfortable and the flames had calmed him, he looked around. Really drank in the environment of the cottage.

It was only one floor. It was almost completely made of wood, surrounding them with warm, natural brown. There was a short hallway from the door to the entrance of the living room, (where the fireplace and a few pieces of furniture were) and the kitchen, which were in the same space. The kitchen was relatively big, with counters and cupboards and a stove and a refrigerator that looked a little bit out of place. Everything else looked old and traditional. The paintings on the wall were of beautiful landscapes, in fall covered in orange leaves and in winter covered in a blanket of snow. There was a bookshelf in the corner completely filled, meaning that President Kirkland must have been an avid reader. In the same hallway in the entrance of the cottage were two doors on either side—one leading to the bedroom (which also housed the bathroom) and one leading to a small storage cupboard with cleaning supplies and old antiques and strange things that Toni couldn't discern.

The living room itself was beautiful. Above the fireplace was a mirror and multiple photographs, of President Kirkland his family. He had told Toni that he had been coming here for weekend trips with his family since he was a little boy, but hadn't actively used it for a while. But, he had assured him, he would have someone come and restock the fridge before Toni used it. There were windows on every wall, allowing them to see the beautiful view of the pastures and the open skies. There was a dresser with drawers, an old, musky sofa, a few chairs, and a small dining table. The cottage smelled of spices and mothballs.

It was ideal and quaint and lovely.

"Feeling better?" Toni asked. They were sitting so tightly together that their arms appeared attached, their skin glowing red from the fire and their hair messy after being allowed to dry naturally from the baths. Romano nodded.

"What about you?"

"I'm wonderful, mi tesoro, mi cariño, mi Romanito," Toni smiled. Romano looked at him and smiled back, blushing like a child. Toni leaned forward and kissed those smiling lips, now warm and eager. "Absolutely wonderful."

so i went to my uncle's cottage in Wales for a few days once and let's just say that it was inspiring

(South Stack Lighthouse isn't actually abandoned but hey DRAMATIC EFFECT)

Translations:

espera unos minutos=wait a few minutes