20

When You Look Like That, 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.

Toni pulled Romano's shirt over his head and tossed it aside so that he could put his palms on his bare back. He moved them up and down his calloused skin, watched Romano's body move and respond to his touch. Toni leaned down and put his lips to one of Romano's scars. It tasted of sweetness and sorrow. Romano's body arched with his inhale. Fingers hovering, dancing above his back, Toni kissed another scar. This one tasted the same. So much sorrow. He could feel in Romano's bones and hear in his breath the innocence lost, an entire childhood crushed in the hands that created these scars. Toni's bloodshot eyes filled with tears as he imagined Romano, small and very beautiful, cowering in fear of the next wave of pain. He almost wished that Romano had not told him. Then he would not have to feel this ache in his heart. But that was selfish, wasn't it? He kissed another scar and wrapped his arms around Romano, placing his palms against his chest.

"Toni..."

Romano leaned his head back and let Toni's fingers clutch gently at the smooth, vulnerable skin of his neck. As he made a trail of kisses from the center of his back to his shoulder blades and his other hand grazed the quivering skin of Romano's hips. He pulled him back more tightly against him and pressed his lips harder, perhaps trying subconsciously to add his own marks to the canvas of Romano's body. He wrapped his legs and twisted them around Romano's. Toni trembled as he heard Romano moan quietly—a soft, gentle sound that drove him mad. He pushed his tongue to Romano's skin and ran his index finger along his parted lips. Pulling him down against the fiery spot between his legs. Romano let out another breath, heavy against Toni's fingertips.

"Roma...te quiero..."

As he said the words, Romano shifted position. He had his arms around Toni's neck now and his legs wrapped around his waist and his face buried against Toni's neck. Pushing him back against the sofa. His breaths falling upon his skin, making his spine tingle. He held Romano close.

"What is it, querido?" he murmured. Romano shook his head, over and over and over. Toni smiled and kissed his temple. "Dime."

"Mm, Toni...you smell so good."

"Oh, I do?" he teased. "You don't smell so bad yourself."

"What do I smell like?"

"Marijuana."

"No, no, that's not what I mean!"

"Well...a ver...sometimes you smell like the ocean, sometimes you smell like figs. But your hair smells of spices."

"Figs? That's specific."

"What do I smell like?"

"You smell like spices, too. And cinnamon. I think it's your cologne."

"Maybe."

"But after you shower you smell like flowers."

"Ay, neno, que eres mono."

Toni was becoming overwhelmed with his affection for this boy and squeezed him, rocked him, blew into his ear. Romano laughed and let himself be rocked, holding more tightly to Toni with every second that passed.

"Toni, Toni."

"Dime."

"I have a favor to ask."

"Anything, mi tesoro."

"Will you dance for me again? The way you did yesterday...you were dancing all by yourself and it looked so beautiful. Dance for me again."

"Lo que quieras."

With a swift, inevitable peck to Romano's puckered lips, Toni scrambled out from beneath him and stood up, stretching his limbs and swaying slightly. The effects of the spliff definitely were not as significant for him as they were for Romano. He moved to the gramophone while Romano clambered onto the couch to lay down, pulling the blanket over his bare torso. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes were red and he looked awfully happy, awfully content, even though only minutes ago he had relayed the history of his abuse and neglect. Toni gazed at him for a few moments, and then put in the Carlos Gardel record (which he still couldn't believe President Kirkland had). Toni was well aware of his skills—or lack thereof—when it came to dancing, but as a Spaniard he had felt it a duty to learn to hold his own on the dance floor.

As he began to move, his feet stepping in smooth patterns and his hips swaying, he lifted his arms and kept his eyes fixed to Romano's face. He blinked slowly and rested his cheek on his hand, curling up there on the couch. There was a gentle smile tugging on the corners of his lips and Toni was certain that he had never seen anything so beautiful in his entire life. It made his entire body tingle, made it hard for him to continue dancing smoothly. He was weighed down by the heaviness of the compassion he was feeling for his Roma. His little Sicilian Lovino, with his scars and his uncertain smile and the way he wrote like an old man who had been writing for decades. This child who, when not smiling and relaxed by the effects of the drugs he had begged to smoke, carried a dark cloud around him and avoided eye contact and sighed sighs that shook the earth upon which Toni stood.

He truly was in love with Romano, wasn't he? The kind of blind, over-his-head love that made him immune to the pain of the flames upon which he stood.

The realization made him dizzy, but still he danced, because Romano had asked him to. He smiled at Romano and clapped his hands to the beat of the music, twirling, being careful to avoid the vases and the portraits and the little things that President Kirkland had lying around his cottage. Romano laughed and followed his moves, moving his head to match the music.

"You don't want to dance with me?" Toni said with a wink after a few songs.

"No," Romano said. "You wouldn't want me to dance with you, anyway."

"And why's that, cariño?"

"Nobody would want to dance with me," he said. Nonchalance on his dry lips as his eyes fluttered closed. Toni stopped, letting his arms droop to his sides. "Why would they?"

Toni clenched his fists together and clicked his tongue. He remembered how Romano had cried there on the cliffside, letting the history of the scars and their clotted blood overtake him. How he had screamed and lashed out not at Toni—as he so often did—but at himself. Romano was falling asleep now and Toni couldn't stand that the only reason he didn't want to dance was because he didn't want to be a burden. Toni stared at the ground and took a few deep breaths. The music was lonely and useless now. He turned it off.

He dragged his feet to the side of the sofa and knelt beside the sleeping Romano. The side of his face crushed against the sofa, his mouth open just slightly, his eyelashes hovering, quivering above his rosy cheeks. Red, blotchy spots on his neck and shoulders to mark the spots where Toni's lips had been. Toni wondered what he was dreaming about. Nightmares, maybe? Perhaps from those came his aversion to sleep. Furrowed brow and tight lips, Toni reached forward and put his fingers into Romano's disheveled hair. Brushed his cheek with his thumb. Leaned his head against the sofa and watched the breaths land upon his open lips. Then he began to hum the lullaby—the one that Romano had claimed was the same his mother used to sing him. He wasn't sure if Romano could hear him, but Toni hummed it anyway. He could not tear his eyes from Romano's suddenly quiet, suddenly soft, suddenly child-like face. He watched every change, every movement. Tried to trace the dance of his eyelashes and the faraway travels of his breaths. Hummed.

Toni realized it was perhaps the middle of the night when he found himself beginning to doze off. But he absolutely hated not sleeping in his bed, or on the windowsill of his office. Reluctant to move away from Romano for even a second, he forced himself to his feet, but put his lips to Romano's forehead. Pressed them there until he couldn't differentiate between his lips and Romano's skin.

"Lovino," he whispered. "Ven a la cama."

He put one arm behind Romano's neck and the other arm behind his legs, making sure that the blanket was still secure around his vulnerable, weak body. Then, as slowly and as gently as he could, Toni lifted Romano into his arms. He did not wake up, but gave a soft groan, and grasped the blanket more tightly with his fingers. Toni smiled, despite himself, and walked to the bedroom. He was frightened, terrified, by how light Romano was. Anger and frustration and guilt and sadness bubbled up within him but he pushed them away as best as he could. Grinding his teeth and forcing his breaths to slow. As he walked into the bedroom, he turned off the light with his elbow, and moved to the bed.

He lay Romano down upon it and kissed his forehead once more. But as he pulled away to change into his pajamas, there was a pull on his arm. Weak and desperate yet so, so strong. He felt as if he were being pulled by the hand of a higher power, unable to resist, a slave to its command. He turned back and Romano had grabbed him, still asleep. A reflex. Without a second thought, Toni eased himself onto the bed beside Romano and took him into his arms.

"Estoy aquí, mi amor. Estoy aquí."

Romano pulled himself against Toni as tightly as he could, burying his face against his chest. Grasping at his sleeves, mumbling softly in the language of sleep. Toni held him as he would a child. Protected him, provided haven for him in the crook of his arms. Wanted nothing more than to be the protection, the escape that Lovino Vargas so needed.

"Sleep. I'm here."

"Nonno..." Romano murmured. "Non lasciarmi."

In his time with Romano, Toni had gotten much better with his Sicilian. And these words he understood, and they cut through his flesh into his heart.

"Nunca...nunca."

He kissed Romano's forehead again through his salty tears and fell asleep. Beginning to realize that this course they had taken was more dangerous than they had initially thought.

"Que descanses, mi amor."

Am I what you need?

Can I help you?

What more can I do?

Tell me.

But...do you even know the answers yourself?

Toni opened his eyes and met Romano's. Cloudy and green. His face blurred, shifted, before coming into focus. Pale, speckled in the dim sunlight creeping in through the blinds. There was no hint of emotion on his face. It was there as it was. Toni blinked and then realized that Romano's fingers were running along his cheek, his eyelids, his lips, his jaw, his hair. Toni could hear music in his touch. He felt sluggish and tired and there was the lingering taste of marijuana on his tongue and he was happy.

"Buenos días, Romanito."

"Bon jornu."

"¿Qué tal?"

Without a response, Romano leaned forward and put his lips to Toni's. Then, after the fleeting moment of bliss, Romano turned and got out of bed. Toni watched him without moving. His limbs felt heavy and his eyes stung so he just lay in bed. He watched Romano strip down and grab a towel and walk into the bathroom. Closed his eyes and listened to the running water. He was happy that Romano had woken up and gotten out of bed and gone to shower on his own.

Toni had managed to sit up and stretch and take a swig from the glass of water that had magically found its way to his bedside table (Romano hadn't slept through the whole night, after all) by the time Romano came out of the bathroom. He moved to where he had thrown his bag and put on a clean shirt and a clean pair of boxers. He left his wet hair as it was. He didn't say a single word.

"Roma, will you do me a favor?"

"What."

"Would you bring me my notebook?"

"Jeez, you just woke up..."

"I can't help it when you look like that, querido," Toni teased. Romano rolled his eyes and moved into the living room. Then he came back in and, just as he was about to toss the notebook to Toni on the bed, he paused.

"I'm gonna read it," he said.

"Eh?"

"You haven't let me read any of it."

"Ah, y-yes, that's because—"

"Shut up, I'm reading it."

Toni sighed and rubbed his temples as Romano opened the notebook into which Toni had emptied every thought he'd ever had about Romano. The little scribbles he'd written about how beautiful he was when he slept, or how he'd never experienced such violent storms as he had when Romano was angry. How he looked when he drank coffee in the morning and how he tasted when Toni stole him away with kisses. How the shape of his body haunted his dreams and made his arms feel empty and unnatural when it wasn't there. How he had befriended the lighthouse in a matter of moments and become the lord of that cliffside. And, of course, the scenes he had written from the novel in which Romano was to be the main character.

He wasn't sure if Romano was actually reading all of it. His eyes narrowed and his lips pursed, he flipped through the pages. His expression unchanging.

"What is all this?" he finally said, looking up from the book. "I don't understand any of it."

"What is there to misunderstand?" he replied, blushing madly. "You know that I've been writing about you, no?"

"I mean, yeah, but..." Romano's voice trailed off. He looked back at the notebook. "What kind of stupid story is this?"

"Which?"

"The one about the little boy. The little Sicilian boy that goes to live with the Spanish general."

"Ah, that. An idea for my next novel. ¿No te la gusta?"

Romano didn't say anything. He just clicked his tongue and tossed the notebook to the bed over his shoulder as he walked back to the kitchen. Toni caught the notebook and grinned after him. Then he hurried to grab his pen before the words on the tip of his tongue disappeared forever. He wrote feverishly about how Romano's face had looked when he had woken up. When he was finished and the creative juices flowing in his mind were exhausted, he hoisted himself out of bed and into the bathroom.

"Start breakfast without me, okay?" he called. He didn't receive a response. After his shower, he put on jeans and a flannel shirt, dabbing cologne behind his ear. He had planned out the day for them—the town of Holyhead wasn't too far and he wanted to visit it, and there was a pub where they could have dinner, and they could take a nice walk on the beach. As he smoothed the styling gel (Moroccan Argan oil-infused, of course) into his hair, Toni walked out into the living room, expecting to see Romano at the dining room table eating his breakfast. Eggs, or toast, or porridge, or whatever it was President Kirkland had lying around.

Instead, Romano was sitting on the floor, by the door leading to the backyard. He was hugging his legs to his chest and leaning his cheek against the window, his bare toes curled and his eyes empty.

"Roma...?"

Romano blinked, the only acknowledgment that he had even heard Toni.

"Ah...do you want me to make eggs?"

"I'm not hungry."

"I can wash some tomatoes, if you'd like?"

"I told you I'm not hungry."

"Some tea, then? Coffee?"

"No, I don't want anything."

"You should have something..."

"Just lay off, would you?" he spat. Toni wasn't sure why he was surprised. This wasn't the first time that Romano had changed so swiftly, so dramatically, from one mood to the other. He just wished that he could pinpoint why. So that he might figure out what to do about it. He knew better than to approach Romano at that moment, so he moved into the kitchen to make coffee and grab a piece of toast. Was it because of the notebook? Because of what Toni had written? Or did he miss his brother?

"Well, take your time getting ready," he said. "I was thinking we could go down to Holyhead, and then to the beach, and there's a nice pub—"

"I don't wanna go anywhere," Romano interrupted. He hugged himself more tightly and banged his forehead lightly against the window.

"Pero, querido, I think it'll be better for you if—"

"Why can't you just listen for once in your life!" Romano screamed, his entire body shaking. He turned over his shoulder to glare at Toni. "I said I don't wanna go, bastard! Take your stupid guitar and just leave if you want, I'm not moving."

Toni was quiet. He could feel his face falling as his heart dropped to his feet.

"I don't wanna go," Romano repeated. He looked out the window again. "Why can't you get that through your big, thick head?"

"Lo siento, Romano."

"You know what, go. Just leave. Go on your little day trip. I don't want to see your face."

Only thirty minutes ago—less? more?—Romano had been stroking Toni's skin and kissing his lips. But since then he had descended into himself, so far that even when Toni reached as deep as he could, until he felt his skin about to rip from his bones, he couldn't reach him.

He hesitated. This could have very easily been a trap Romano was setting for himself. But who was Toni to refuse what he was asking for so blatantly?

"Is...is there anything you want? Anything I can do for you?"

"You can do what I ask and leave. That's what I want. Vatinni."

"Vale."

Toni got his bag ready and grabbed a map and finished the rest of his cold coffee. Unable to breathe as he looked at Romano sitting there at the window. Still suffocating, choking, he put on his jacket and moved to the door.

"Lo que quieras. I'll be back later tonight."

He wasn't sure if he had just been imagining it, but he could've sworn he heard Romano say softly to his back, Non lasciarmi.

Then he left.

Translations:

que eres mono=you're so cute

Ven a la cama=come to bed

estoy aquí=I'm here

non lasciarmi (Sicilian and Italian I think?)=don't leave me

que descanses=Spanish equivalent to 'sleep tight'

no te la gusta?=you don't like it?

Vatinni (Sicilian)=go away