Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.
Kicking The Bucket List
twenty-two
"Take me, take me back to your bed
I love you so much that it hurts my head
I don't mind you under my skin
I'll let the bad parts in, the bad parts in"
— Degausser by Brand New
Shot after shot of vodka straight-up, and Antonio's a downright mess. Emerald eyes are stinging with unshed tears, his throat is burning following the abuse of liquor, and his nose is runny. Dread pools at the pit of his gut like a leaden weight, and no matter how many shots he drinks, he can't ever fully shake it off.
The Spaniard's taken to occupying one of the corner bar stools in The Black Box, suddenly thankful for the open bar to fuel his self-destructive, drunken stupor.
Francis finds him like this, in this near-catatonic state— after having confirmed that Arthur hadn't attended the Halloween party after all— and when he does, he wastes absolutely no time in trying to contact Gilbert. He's cautious approaching the Spaniard, who seemed to have not noticed him— or maybe, perhaps, Antonio did notice him, but chose not to acknowledge him— and he observes in wordless concern as Antonio downs another shot. He slams the shot glass down when he's done, face twisted into a painful grimace, and he cradles his head in his hands, curling into himself closer to the table.
"Antonio, what's wrong?" Francis says finally, gingerly placing a hand on his friend's shoulder. The latter does not flinch, nor does he stiffen— perhaps he'd known that Francis was there after all— and he manages a terse shake of the head. His chest heaves.
Francis prods further for answers, but to no avail. Antonio's not speaking. He is sometimes stubborn like this, really— when they all know something is wrong, and Antoine is still insistent on keeping it to himself for as long as humanly possible. Several minutes of futility lapse before Gilbert finally emerges from the crowded dancefloor, a doe-eyed Canadian— Matthew, was it?— trailing close behind him.
"What's wrong? What happened?" Gilbert asks, voice sharp. The cerise of his eyes dart from Antonio to Francis. Then his face scrunches up in realisation. "Verdammt, this is about Lovino, isn't it? What did he do?"
Once more, Antonio shakes his head and cowers into himself further. Francis sends the German a brief warning glare before leaning in closer to him. "It is far too noisy in here. Perhaps we should bring him outside for fresh air."
And they do just that. They manage to pry Antonio away from the bar, away from the vodka (but not without drinking one last shot), and they nearly have to drag him out of The Black Box. Antonio stumbles forward and leans against one of the fences. The world spins and he still does not speak.
Just as Gilbert is about to open his mouth, Antonio pipes up.
"Allistor… told me to stay the fuck away from Lovino," he slurs, yet it doesn't conceal the hurt in his tone. Instead, it amplifies it. His voice cracks as it gives way to a broken sob. "Now I don't know what to do."
"Oh, you know what you have to do," Gilbert says. So— so maybe Gilbert was right. Maybe. So maybe Antonio did know what he had to do. So what, though? So what if he did?
"I don't want to. Don't you get it? I— I can't, I just can't—" Antonio starts pacing restlessly, running his hands through his damp and sweaty hair, pirate hat long lost in the depths of The Black Box.
"He has a boyfriend already! You have to let him go, mon ami," Francis says, offering the Spaniard a sympathetic glance— what do people even do with sympathy? Fuck it, some people seem to thrive on it anyway. "Don't make this harder for yourself."
And then Antonio stops, hands on his hips. He's staring at Francis incredulously, as if he couldn't believe what he's just said. But the Frenchman had a point, which was what Antonio hated the most. "I— I can't do it. I could never—"
"But you can. It may seem impossible, but it isn't. I know what you're capable of, Antonio, and you're a very strong person—"
"No, I'm not."
"Yes, you are. I know you are, so you have to do this, okay? You have to do this if you care about him. Do you care about him?"
"Díos, of course I do!"
"Then you have to let him go. Before it really, truly hurts the both of you."
Antonio hated that it made sense. He hated that they were right. Fuck. He carded his fingers through his hair once more, trying to make sense of it all. The more he thought about it, the closer he felt to breaking down.
"It'll hurt more if you keep on trying to cling onto someone who doesn't want you, someone who doesn't love you back." Francis continues, firmly grabbing both of Antonio's shoulders. He looks at him solemnly. "Trust me on this, Antonio, just please, trust me. Because I know from experience."
All of them know whom Francis is referring to, but nobody openly acknowledges it. Francis knew he was already too, too far gone. But for Antonio, it'd only be quick. It was nothing but an infatuation, after all. It'd come to pass soon enough.
"He's right, you know." Gilbert murmurs, rubbing soothing circles onto Antonio's back. "Hey. Why don't we go back inside and have some fun? Find you someone to dance with. It'll help you keep your thoughts off of him."
Antonio processes this and nods reluctantly. "It's not easy getting over someone, you know?" He says, and both Francis and Gilbert share a glance at the irony of his words.
"I know it's not easy," the German continues, patting his back before offering a hand to the Spaniard. "But at least it's a start."
Antonio turns and stares at Gilbert's outstretched hand for several moments, his emerald green eyes dark and undecipherable, before costively taking it. The three lead him back inside The Black Box, and they usher him to the centre of the dancefloor, where one of the more popular DJs in Washington had taken over for the rest of the night. They lose him in the crowd eventually.
It must have worked out for him, since Antonio didn't come home that night.
Half-past one in the morning, and all is quiet in the Kirkland residence. The Kirklands, consisting of the four Kirkland brothers and their somewhat estranged and enigmatic archaeologist parents, live in a relatively upscale neighbourhood (though nowhere near as grand as the Janssens Manor). It is a safe neighbourhood, a good one, with most families having white-collar jobs or professions in law or medicine, two to three kids, and both parents still married to each other. The neighbourhood children who had gone trick-or-treating earlier were already in their beds, slumber untroubled and hands sticky with candy.
Quarter to two, a dark green Mustang quickly emerges from the distance, having just passed through the neighbourhood's guarded gates. The sound of screeching tires, roaring engines and speakers blaring Def Leppard break the tranquil silence.
Within a minute, then two, it pulls up in front of the Kirkland residence with an abrupt halt, both of its passengers jerking forward for a second. Allistor manoeuvres the gear lever back to parking and leans in to capture his boyfriend's lips in a heated, impassioned kiss.
Lovino wastes no time in kissing back, hands undoing his pesky seatbelt buckle in the dark. In seconds, free from his restraints, Lovino clambers right on top of Allistor's lap and grinds against him, pulling the Scotsman in for a deeper kiss.
Allistor groans and buck his hips forward, hands gripping Lovino's sides tightly. They stay like that for a few more minutes, making out to eighties hair metal, before Allistor finally has the mind to undo his own seatbelt.
Lovino climbs off of him and they get out of the car, hands clasped and their bodies yearning for more than innocent touch. Allistor hastily locks his car and they hurry up the cobblestone driveway to his house.
The Italian had left most of his accessories to his Roman costume in Allistor's car, and instead, dark red and purplish marks adorned his neck instead of a bejewelled choker. The redhead had shed some clothing as well, blazer long forgotten on the floor of his backseat, and the several top buttons of his white dress shirt undone.
They shifted about impatiently as Allistor fumbled around with his house keys. When he finally manages to get the door open, he quickly ushers Lovino in and closes the door behind him.
"Let's go to my room," Allistor says, voice thick with lust and desire.
Lovino's heart skips a beat as he admires the silhouette of his boyfriend's face under the dim lights for a moment, perfection personified, before nodding obsequiously as they hurried up the winding wooden staircase.
Although Allistor was never one to idly lounge about on the weekends, he had recently discovered the joys of having a nice lie-in with his boyfriend. It was something he indulged in freely.
It wasn't the first time Lovino's spent the night at his house, and Allistor's slept over at Lov's place a few times as well. They didn't always have sex; sometimes, they were more than content with just curling up next to each other. To be frank, it'd been years since Allistor felt this comfortable just being with someone like this. It was nice. It was really, really nice.
Allistor shifted a bit to glance over Lov's shoulder. It was nearing daybreak and he could see faded blues and purples giving way to soft oranges and yellows. The Italian was still sleeping soundly beside him as he languidly ran the tips of his fingers up and down along his spine. The redhead then checked for notifications on his phone before shutting the screen off.
He continued his ministrations, watching as his inamorato slept, and soundly. Lov looked peaceful like this— especially with the way his long lashes brushed against the top of his sun-kissed cheeks, the way he looked completely at ease, how the corner of his lips would occasionally quirk upwards. Allistor loved him. He was absolutely besotted with the boy. Truly.
He reached down and brought Lovino's hand up to his lips, kissing each and every finger. Lovino roused awake, and Allistor paused, waiting. The Italian stirred, sheets shifting, and he stared up at the redhead through tired hazel eyes half-mast.
Allistor smiles. "Good morning, luv."
Lovino continues staring at him wearily for several moments before burying his face into the Scotsman's chest and heaving a sigh. Allistor automatically drapes his arm over Lovino's waist and they both eventually drift back to sleep.
At least, they were about to until a bloodcurdling shriek had them jolting up wide awake.
Antonio woke up that morning to the sound of an alarm going off. The alarm was shrill and attacked his ears; he groaned as he brought the duvet over his head. Within seconds, the alarm had been cut short, and the bed shifted. His eyes instantly snapped open.
It was in that moment when Antonio realised that it wasn't his alarm that had gone off— it was somebody else's.
Body growing rigid in mortification, his heart started to race against his chest. He could hear the pitter-patter of someone's feet as they walked across the room, away from him.
A door opens then closes. He hears a shower turning on.
…Shit. Shit! Antonio felt as if someone had poured a bucket of ice water over him, a foreboding feeling in his gut, really. Even though he doesn't want to, even though he wants nothing more but for the sheets to swallow him whole, he forces himself to peek out of the duvet.
He finds himself in a room not at all familiar to him, and without needing to look under the sheets, he knows he isn't wearing anything. He wracks his mind desperately for the slightest clue as to whom may be in that shower, but he really can't pin it down. His memory of last night was fuggy at best, and missing in some parts— well, when he started hitting the hard liquor, specifically. But his memories of Lovino, them dancing, having fun, drinking together— those, he could remember with vivid clarity.
He could practically hear the ice in Allistor's usually amiable tone too. Oh God. Today was not off to a good start.
He sits up and immediately, his head begins to ache, like there's a jackhammer incessantly pounding into it. Antonio cradles his head in his hands. His mind is spinning. He peeks through his fingers and the room follows suit. A groan inadvertently escapes his lips as he slowly shakes his head.
"Hey," an unfamiliar voice says, and he visibly flinches.
Fearing the worst, he looks up. "Hi."
"Antonio, right?" The nameless clarifies.
Antonio looks down and nods, "Yes."
"I'm Quentin."
Antonio stared at him, motionless, for what seemed like a very long time.
Quentin stared back, the lower half of his body covered with a dark blue towel and his chest dripping with water. His eyes are dark, his skin tan (and riddled with hickeys) and his shaggy black hair falls over his eyes.
"The shower's yours. There are clean towels in the cupboard."
"Right," Antonio clears his throat. "Thank you."
"So, uh, I have to get ready for class, but I can give you a ride home if you want."
"I'd appreciate that, thank you."
Quentin nods and walks out, leaving Antonio alone in the room. He almost misses the slight limp in the other's step— almost; he wishes he did. The Spaniard immediately makes a beeline for the bathroom and locks the door behind him. Guilt hits him like a freight train, and it takes everything in him too keep himself from hyperventilating and panicking.
It wasn't the first time he's had a one night stand, of course, but they were usually under much different circumstances. This time, however…
He grimaced as a wave of nausea hit him, nearly bringing him to his knees. He retched the contents of his stomach into the toilet bowl and felt bad for doing so in the bathroom of someone he didn't even know. Spitting the rancid taste away, he flushed it down and spent the next ten minutes showering whatever they did last night off of him.
Once he was done, he dried himself off and opened the door just a crack to find the bedroom still empty. He sees his clothes from last night in a neatly folded stack at the foot of Quentin's bed. Ashamed, he put them on and exited the bedroom.
Allistor, who already had his boxers on, was the first one out of the room. Lovino fumbled around the sheets for his own boxer briefs, hurriedly tugging them on and grabbing Allistor's old Guns n' Roses shirt on the way out of the room.
The redhead was already in front of Arthur's room at the end of the hall, and he looked damn near ready to kick the door down if need be. He slammed the door open and found his younger brother gawking at his reflection in the mirror.
Lovino jogged over, glancing into the room and had to cover his mouth to keep himself from snorting. Allistor had gone still as well, the look of worry on his face melting into one of sheepishness.
"My eyebrows!" Arthur exclaims, running his hands over the clumsily shaved eyebrows. "What the bloody hell happened to my fucking eyebrows!"
Lovino burst out laughing. "You look like shit!"
"Shut up! Shut the fuck up, it's not funny!"
Allistor chuckles into his hand, knowing full well who was responsible for such an atrocity.
Well… The thing is, after he and Lov had it off, they didn't immediately go to sleep, no. Instead, they went down and drank a bit more. They drank Bailey's from mum's clair de lune tea cups and made a drunk cooking show centred on the wonders of cooking a hearty porterhouse steak.
Upon seeing Arthur passed out on the couch, probably having fallen asleep after binge watching one too many Luther reruns by his lonesome, Lovino had confessed to him that Arthur's eyebrows made him very angry. He wanted to fix the blond's eyebrows, and so in his inebriated state, Allistor helped him.
Armed with a Gillette razor and shaving cream, Lovino clumsily shaved off bits and parts of Arthur's eyebrows off. It really wasn't that bad; even as they were both shitfaced drunk, Lov only managed to shave off so much, his hand to brow coordination definitely not on point.
The moment the youngest Kirkland stirred, however, they were both quick to retreat back to his room. Then they snogged and fooled around a bit more 'til they passed out.
Arthur must've woken up sometime earlier in the morning and went up without noticing something was amiss!
Bottomline, it was dark, they were drunk, and it was an overall very bad decision.
And now Arthur was paying for it.
"We can still save them!" Lovino insisted in between bouts of raucous laughter, "I'll— I'll tweeze them for you!"
"No, absolutely not!" Arthur cried out, covering his eyebrows protectively as if it'd actually be of any help.
"Aww, don't you want your eyebrows to be on fleek?"
"Oh, sod off, Lovino!" Arthur leans in close to the mirror, inspecting the damage done for what was probably the nth time. "How the hell—"
That's when he suddenly stops and stiffens. He casts a nasty glare in Allistor and Lovino's direction, and the latter laughs even harder. "Oh, you fucking pricks!"
"Dio, I am so sorry," Lovino howls, finally succumbing to cataplexy and falling to his knees as tears ran down his cheeks. He clasps his hands together as if in prayer. "I can fix it, I swear I can. I-I know! I'll pay to have your eyebrows done at Benefit. Hell, I would pay you to let me pay to have your eyebrows done at Benefit."
"…Excuse me, but do you think this is some kind of a bloody joke?"
Lovino finally forces himself to stop laughing for once, and meets Arthur's (still very infuriated) gaze. "Um," a chuckle. "No?"
It didn't fly.
"You arsehole! What the fuck are you even doing here, this is my house!"
"It's my house too," Allistor speaks up, grinning impishly at the blond.
"Fuck off. And put some bloody clothes on, your indecency is appalling me."
"We're all men here, aren't we?" Allistor retorts, pulling Lovino back up to his feet. "Plus, it's not like it's the first time Lov's stayed over, anyway. C'mon, Lov."
With that, Allistor pulls Lovino back to the direction of his bedroom, leaving the infuriated blond to his own devices.
"Oh. Can you pull over by that curb over there?"
Quentin nods, his car rolling to a halt in front of Antonio's apartment building. "So this is where you live," he drawls.
Antonio cracks a small smile. "Yeah! Um," he awkwardly clears his throat, turning to face the other man. "Thanks for the ride home."
"It's no problem at all. I was headed for campus anyway."
The Spaniard nods; then undoes his seatbelt. "Okay…"
"Maybe we could go grab some coffee together sometime." Quentin suggests, leaning against his seat as he turned to look at Antonio. He fails to notice how the other stiffens, but on the off chance he did, he didn't point it out.
There's this voice in Antonio's head screaming a flat-out 'NO', but he ignores it in favour of smiling at the stranger next to him. "Sure! When are you free?"
Quentin sits up slightly, though his expression hasn't changed all that much. He still looks pretty stoic, if not a but more smug. "How about I call you and you take a rain check later on when you're free?"
"Sounds great!" Antonio chirps once more, and he isn't at all convinced by the cheerfulness in his own voice. "I'll just give you my number."
The two exchange phones and he saves his number onto Quentin's phone. With a chaste kiss on the cheek, he exits the care and bids Quentin goodbye as he drives off. Antonio doesn't really want to go out with him, no, but Quentin seems like a nice guy! And he wasn't that bad-looking. Maybe… Maybe it'd help him get his mind off of some things— or people— Lovi, especially.
Maybe Franny and Gil were right. Maybe he did have to move on. At least it was a start.
But still, he wasn't entirely convinced.
Lovino was going to have a field day, he could tell. After some (read: a lot) coaxing from him, Allistor, Colin and Liam, Arthur had finally, finally obliged to letting Lovino pay to have his eyebrows done at Benefit. After all, it couldn't get any worse now, could it?
They left the house soon after brunch, the Italian decked out in whatever clothes he'd left in Allistor's room, from many 'sleepovers' before, no doubt. So here they were, at the mall Lovino claimed he hated oh-so much. Allistor had driven them there before going straight ahead to EHU for play rehearsals.
When Arthur finally settled himself into a chair, the moment he found out that his brows were going to be gently ripped off of his face by the root via hot wax, he grew pale and his breathing became a little bit more shallow. And holy fucking shit, Arthur kept a vice-like grip on Lovino's hand like he was going through labour or something!
Maybe it was because waxing hurt— but surely, it couldn't hurt that much. Lovino's accompanied Bella here to get her eyebrows done every month, and each time, she was totally relaxed.
Or maybe she just looked like it. Not that he would know. Because truth be told, he personally never had to have his eyebrows done before. He was 'blessed with perfect eyebrows'— or at least, that's what Feliks tells him from time to time. Usually when the Pole was preoccupied with post-lunch touch-ups to make sure his makeup was still on point.
Still, that didn't keep him from cringing occasionally whenever Arthur's grip tightened, especially when the tweezers came out.
Around twenty minutes of excruciating pain later, Arthur looked like a new man, to say the least. No longer were his abominable eyebrows the thick rectangular patches of hair they used to be— they actually had a legitimate shape now! Lovino couldn't believe it. Arthur flat-out went from a 1.5 to a full ten.
And maybe he got it from Bella or Feli, or, hell, maybe even Liz, but Lovino didn't want to stop just there. No, he wanted to get Arthur a new outfit to match as well, the proverbial cherry on top of today's pièce de résistance.
He dragged the blond to H&M and began cherry-picking out a series of clothes that suited Arthur's taste, but wouldn't make him look like the walking fashion faux pas he usually was.
This entire time, the Briton couldn't help but stare at the Italian like he'd grown two heads. Basically, Lovino in his inebriated state, had nearly shaved off all of his eyebrows. Then, sober, offered to pay to have them professionally done. And now, here he was, shopping for an outfit for the Briton. It had nonplussed the latter to say the least.
He and Lovino shared mutual circles, but never really interacted with each other. In fact, the only times they ever had a proper conversation was whenever Lovino stayed over. They barely knew each other, and yet here Lovino was, going around and picking an outfit for him even though Arthur's insisted that it wasn't necessary at all.
It was also very odd since Arthur knew that Antonio and Lovino were friends, and he also knew that Antonio was very much… interested in Lovino, albeit the fact that he was already in a relationship with Allistor, who was Arthur's brother. And Lovino's being with Allistor wasn't as simple as it looked, either. He and his other brothers had kept mum about it, but sooner or later, it'd have to come up— preferably sooner.
Lovino was a pretty decent bloke after all.
When Lovino finally had his fill of shopping, he and Arthur went to the foodcourt to wait for Allistor to come fetch them. The Italian languidly picked at his cinnamon bun as Arthur leaned back and watched him.
"I hope you don't mind me asking, but," Arthur speaks up suddenly, prompting Lovino to look up at him with an eyebrow slightly arched. "Why did you go through all this trouble for me?"
Without skipping a beat, Lovino shrugs his shoulders in nonchalance. "Why not? It was the least I could do."
"I wouldn't say that buying me an entire outfit would be, quote, unquote, 'the least' you could do."
"With your eyebrows now? Trust me, it was the least I could do. No 'quote, unquote'. They deserve better now."
Arthur rolls his eyes and Lovino snickers. "Oh, fuck you."
Lovino takes another bite out of his cinnamon bun, and once again, Arthur's prepared himself to ask the Italian another question. "You… Really love my brother, don't you?"
The latter glances up at him with his brows furrowed, and his cheeks are instantly glowing red. "The fuck kinda question is that, dammit? I—" he briefly clears his throat and answers in a tone more hushed, "…O-Of course I do."
"And you're sureyou and Allistor will always be together, right?"
Lovino stops and ponders on it for several moments. Then he turns to look at Arthur, brows knit together. "…Where are you going with this?"
Arthur takes a deep breath. "Look, there's something you need to know about—"
"There yeh are! Ah've been looking all over for yeh!"
The Briton's heart palpitates the moment he hears Allistor's voice. He's almost afraid his brother's heard him, but judging from the way he's smiling at Lovino, it doesn't seem likely. Lovino's directed his attention to Allistor wholly, lips curving up into a smile Arthur had a hunch Antonio would die for.
Resigned, Arthur slowly shakes his head and plays happy families with his brother and his brother's boyfriend. As the three made their way to the parking lot, Arthur had pulled Allistor back several steps away from Lovino, out of hearing range. "You have to tell him." Arthur says. "He deserves to know."
Allistor gives his younger brother a sideways glance, expressionless, then gives a noncommittal shrug. Arthur stops and lets him go, watching as Allistor draped his arm around Lovino's shoulders and leant in to quickly kiss his cheek.
Monday morning had come all too soon, and Antonio wasn't ready for it at all. Normally, the very notion of Lovino would leave him breathless, stomach aflutter— and in a good way!— but right now, he felt nothing but a leaden weight in the pit of his stomach called anxiousness.
He didn't know what to do! If Allistor told him to stay away from Lovi, then chances are, Allistor's told Lovino to stay clear of him as well, right? Right?
So where did that leave them now?
Díos, just thinking about it…
As soon as he entered the classroom for his morning algebra class, the very moment he saw Lovino sitting there, he could feel his heart break a little. Slowly, he made his way across the room, feet dragging along the linoleum flooring, and sat down beside him. He was at a complete loss as to what to do or say.
And then there was Quentin.
Antonio let out a shaky breath, guilt increasing tenfold. He couldn't even look Lovi in the eye anymore.
How did everything turn out like this? How did everything get so complicated in such a short amount of time?
Lovi didn't even take notice of him. Of course. Why would he, right? He didn't care about him, after all. And even if he did, it wasn't as if Antonio could even act upon it or do anything about it because of Allistor. In fact, he had no doubt that Allistor already told Lovino not to talk to him.
And then there was Quentin. Mierda.
Feeling his eyes water and his nose burn, he is quick to duck his head into the crook of his crossed arms lest Lovi, by happenstance, turn to look at him. Antonio tried his best not to let his emotions get the better of him (again). He had to keep calm, he absolutely had to.
Take deep and steady breaths, Antonio… He told himself. Just breathe.
He put on a straight face. He willed his tears to stop after wiping a few stray drops away. He faked a smile, and he let go.
He let his emotions go.
Two weeks.
It's been exactly two weeks since Antonio's talked to Lovino last, flat-out ignoring him. He's never felt so low. So terrible. Truly, he was the shittiest human being on the planet. Even though Francis and Gilbert have been telling him over and over again that it was the right thing to do (for whom?), he didn't share their sentiments at all.
Lovi hadn't even done anything wrong! It was all Antonio's fault. And it came of no surprise when Lovino had soon gotten the hint that Antonio didn't want to talk to him (even though he desperately did) and returned the callousness and impersonality tenfold.
Antonio thought that he deserved it.
Whenever they had the same classes together, Lovino absolutely refused to acknowledge Antonio's existence, let alone his presence. He would never refer to Antonio by name anymore. He wouldn't even talk to Antonio directly, even if what he had to say was directed to him.
And although Antonio was in a relationship with Quentin now (a very complicated one at that), he's never felt so alone. He felt worthless in all aspects imaginable, and it'd crossed his mind more than once to grab Lovino by the shoulders and kiss him with all he could muster, in effort to somehow convey what he felt. But he knew that Lovino would completely and utterly hate him for it, if he already didn't. Other times, he wished he could sleep forever and never wake up. But he had people to live for.
Everything that's been going on between he and Lovino, he felt, had only been a retrogression leading up to a culminating point he feared would come soon. He was right.
And that culminating point was today, apparently.
Monday. Noon. The bell had rung. Many of the students were quick to depart, algebra professor included.
Lovino had stood up and slung his backpack over his shoulder, yet he remained rooted to his spot. Only he and Antonio were the only ones left in the room now, the tension so terribly thick, Antonio could swear one could cut it with a knife.
The Spaniard gulped, his hands starting to quiver as he quickly stuffed his notebook into his bag. Just as he zipped it close, Lovino wasted no time in speaking up.
"Why won't you talk to me anymore?"
Antonio could feel the back of his eyes stinging again, and this time, he wasn't sure if he could keep a calm composure, just as he had been doing so for the past two weeks. Not when this was happening. Not when he knew that the moment he opened his mouth and tried to speak, there'd be nothing but incoherent sobs and baseless apologies pouring from his lips.
So taking a deep breath, he tersely shook his head before making a beeline for the door, only for Lovino to pull him back.
"I asked you a fucking question!" He snarls, hitting Antonio's arm with a clenched fist, and it kills Antonio inside to see the hurt and confusion and anger in Lovino's eyes. The Italian grabs a fistful of Antonio's shirt and pulls him in close, so close, he can feel Lovino's breath mingling with his. He can see every stroke of colour in Lovino's eyes and it's overwhelming him. "Why've you been ignoring me, huh? Is it because of your dipshit friends? Or is it because I'm suddenly not good enough for you to hang out with, you fucker?"
"No, Lovi, of course not—" Antonio says, voice cracking at the end, but Lovino doesn't seem to be listening. No, instead, he shoves Antonio back.
"Don't fucking call me 'Lovi'. Y'know, I don't know why I ever wasted my fucking precious time on you. I didn't even do shit to you, and this is how you treat me? Wow. You prick! You're a goddamn prick." Lovino lets out a humourless, sardonic laugh, and he starts pacing. "My friends were right about you. They say you don't care 'bout nobody but your damn self."
Then he stops. He stops and smiles bitterly, making a small gesture with his open palms. "But hey. At least I finally understand why you're such close friends with Gilbert and Francis. Cheers to this, Judas."
With that, Lovino flip him the bird and walks off. He shoves his shoulder into Antonio's roughly and slows down deliberately, as if anticipating some sort of physical retaliation; welcoming it. Upon seeing none, he scoffs and walks away.
Everything just happened so fast, before Antonio could even get a word out, Lovino was already out of the door, slamming it behind him. All grew silent, Lovino's footfalls growing more and more faint.
When realisation hit him, it hit him hard. Lovino wanted nothing to do with him now. They weren't even friends anymore.
Before he could register it, tears are running down his cheeks in rivulets. He sinks into the nearest chair and buries his face into his arms, chest heaving as he sobbed.
It seemed like it was all he could do nowadays.
Later on in the day, Antonio sees Lovino sitting with his friends in the cafeteria during lunch. Of course, Lovino doesn't pay him any heed— but judging from the way Bella and Liz are whispering into his ear and glaring daggers at the Spaniard, it had tipped the latter off that Lovino already knew he was there too.
Antonio looks away and has lunch with Quentin. He is distracted while the other elaborates to him different painting styles he admires, an aesthete at heart. It takes everything in him not to turn and look at Lovino, but it hurts him even more to know that if he were to look at Lovino, he would certainly not be looking back at him.
Then, a little bit later, Antonio puts two and two together and realises that, chances are, Lovino didn't come to the conclusion that Antonio had gotten fed up with him (which couldn't be any farther from the truth) on his own. Chances are, there were… other influences.
Liz and Bella are good friends to Lovino, but they aren't very good people, it seems. God knows what they've told Lovino about him; things that may or may not be entirely true. Albeit the fact that Antonio's talked to them literally only once before, both on separate occasions, somehow they hated him! Lovino's friends hated him! And his own friends disliked Lovino very, very much!
Just thinking about it made his head and heart ache. It was as if no matter what, the universe was built to keep them apart, on opposite ends of the spectrum; and not just as lovers, but even as friends. Deep down, though, there was this voice in his head telling him he and Lovino could never be 'just friends'.
Antonio heaved a sigh and flopped down on his bed, weary green eyes boring into the black suitcase before him. Shrugging off the traces of exhaustion creeping into the edges of his mind, he went through his essentials in his brown messenger bag for the nth time. Passport? Check. Tickets? Check. Student ID? Check. Money? Check. Phone? Check. Power bank and earphones. Check.
It was late; unbearably so. In fact, he even had a class that ended a few hours earlier. Albeit the fact that Thanksgiving break officially started tomorrow, he was taking a red-eye flight to California. He already booked an Über taxi to take him there. It was on its way here now.
He was anxious to see his family, see how they were doing— how mamá was doing, especially. Even though it had only been several months since he's seen her last, he was still… eager to see her and see if she was doing well.
"You all ready?" Gilbert asks, leaning against the doorway to the living room. He himself and Ludwig were leaving for their grandparents' holiday home in Ocala tomorrow while Franny was going to stay with his aunt's family in Seattle.
Antonio briefly wondered what Lovino and Feliciano would be doing over Thanksgiving. He tried texting Feli at one point in effort to somehow see if Lovino was doing fine, but Feli merely replied with a curt 'He's fine :)' and he hasn't replied to any of Antonio's other texts since.
"Yep!" Antonio says, smoothing down the fabric of his pants. "It'll be nice to be back home again."
He isn't aware of it, but he sounds like he's a thousand miles away already.
Gilbert cricks his neck and rolls his shoulders. "I guess we could all use a break, ja? Gott, sometimes I code shitty flash games in my sleep."
The Spaniard snorts at this, shaking his head slightly. Gilbert motions a hand towards Antonio's luggage. "Need any help with that though?"
"Nope. I'm all good." With that, he stands up and smiles. "Guess I'll be seeing you in a few days then?"
"You got it."
Antonio nods, grabbing the handle to his suitcase and wheeling it out the front door. "Hope you have a good Thanksgiving, mi amigo. Tell Franny I said goodbye!"
As soon as he was out of the apartment, door closing behind him, the smile he's been faking instantly fell from his face.
"Fratello! Ve~ Are you up yet? It's time to get ready! We have lots to do today!"
Lovino groaned, trying to cover his ears with his pillow as he silently willed Feliciano to fuck off and let him get his goddamn rest. The moment Feli put a hand on his shoulder to shake him awake, he automatically swat the offending appendage away and glared at him.
Feli pouted, rubbing the sting away from his hand. "Aww, Lovi, why'd you do that? You're so mean!"
The older Vargas pulled the duvet over his head. "Go away! Let me sleep, dammit."
"But we have a long day ahead of us! Aren't you excited? Nonno's flying in tonight!"
Lovino stilled. Then spoke up, "So?"
"So, that means we have to go grocery shopping, clean up the house, cook…" Feliciano counted off on his fingers, trailing off as he exited the bedroom. Just as Lovino sighed with relief and closed his eyes again, Feliciano popped back in. "You still have to get up, though! Up and at 'em, fratello."
Thankfully, Feli ducked out of the room just in time to miss a fluffy white pillow aimed at his head. A light laugh left his lips, pausing as his phone vibrated again.
He checked his phone and frowned slightly, making his way to the kitchen.
Toni: Hope you and Lovi have a great Thanksgiving, Feli! :)
The younger Italian sighed, shaking his head. Oh, Toni… What happened between him and Lovi? One second, they were finally on good terms with each other; the next, Lovino came home in a fit of anger and swore he would never talk to him again.
The past few weeks had been weird, yes. Toni suddenly stopped talking to Lovi all of a sudden, and when Feli tried asking him or Gilbert and Francis about it, they wouldn't give him a straight answer. Then Antonio winds up dating this junior all of a sudden?
That one stumped Feliciano the most. He was so sure Antonio and Lovi were good for each other, and that Antonio really genuinely cared for his brother. But it seemed that he was wrong, and to say that it upset him would be an understatement.
Antonio texted him one night during dinner, asking him if Lovino was doing okay. Lovino glanced over and saw the text, and told Feliciano to block his number. It led to a tiresome argument, but in the end, Feli managed to keep Toni's number unblocked just as long as he promised never to reply to any of his texts again.
He tried talking to Lovino about it, but the elder refused to talk about it. He deemed the topic of discussion 'not good enough' or 'worthy enough', but Feliciano knew that it wasn't the case.
No matter how many times Lovi tried to play it off like he didn't care, Feli could tell that he did care. And Antonio cared too, didn't he?
Nonetheless, he had grown wary of Antonio as well and opted not to talk to him altogether. Despite the occasional text from Antonio inquiring him about how Lovi was doing, what he'd done to Lovi just didn't sit right with him.
He still remembers what happened with Lovi's ex-best friend, Julio, and he's grown thankful that Bella is such a good friend to him. He's grown more fond of Allistor as well, despite his initial skepticism upon first meeting the Scotsman. He's good to Lovi. They've never had an argument once, and Allistor is dedicated to being with his brother. He knows that being with Allistor's made Lovi so much more happy!
But still, he thought that Antonio would be… different!
Turns out, he was wrong after all.
"Hey. Hey, kid. We're here."
Antonio jerks awake, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. The world spins, but he ignores it and glances over the front passenger seat at the taxi meter. He pulls out a couple of bills and wordlessly passes it to the driver before exiting the taxi and squinting at the violent influx of rich, Californian sunlight.
The driver exits the cab as well, opening the trunk and helping Antonio with his things. The yellow cab then drives off into the distance, and Antonio's left standing on the sidewalk leading up to his house.
Finally, he's home. Before he can even make sense of it all, Tía Angela is already out the door, her vibrant yellow muu-muu a sight for sore eyes. Her smile is wide as she hurries out to him, arms outstretched. He smiles tiredly and walks forward into her embrace. "Ay, mi hijito!" She exclaims, pushing him away to examine him at arm's length. "Look at you! You look so thin and tired!"
She cups his cheeks and examines him under her critical eye before tutting in disappointment. "You haven't been eating much lately, hijo?" Then she shakes her head and grabs one of his duffel bags.
"Tía, I can do that myself," Antonio argues weakly, trying to snatch the bag out of her grasp, but she pulls it closer to her chest and tuts at him once more.
"You look like a gust of wind could blow you over! No! Have your brother help you— Alva! Come out here and help bring your brother's things in!"
Antonio's eyes widen in surprise. "He's already here?"
"Yes, yes," she says, distracted with trying to shoo him inside. "He just got here from his fancy-schmancy job last night— a miracle!"
Antonio laughs weakly, unexpectedly running into his older brother, Alvarez. "Hi, hermano," he says, the elder brushing past him with a curt 'Anton' leaving his lips. Antonio sighs at this before turning to Tía Angela. "Where's mamá?"
She nods towards the living room, and before she can even verbally answer, Antonio is already making his way to the aforementioned room. His heart skips a beat as he sees his mother sitting in front of the television, watching a random Spanish telenovela.
"Mamá," he says breathlessly, making his way over to her. Díos mío, she looks as beautiful as ever. Her vibrant green eyes are trained on the screen, red lips slightly parted. Her skin is still sun-kissed as the last time he saw her, and even though her dark brown hair has started greying now, that doesn't matter. He kneels right beside her, and she looks at him. "Mamá, it's me. I'm home."
Unthinking, he wraps his arms around her, taking it all in. She doesn't hug back.
Tía is leaning against the doorway, her usually joyful features furrowed into one of concern. Mamá Ana Isabella Fernández-Carriedo looks up at Angela in a mix of confusion and fear. Then she speaks up. "Who is this man, and what is he doing in my house?"
Who knew so much dust could accumulate in such a short time? Well, technically, several months wasn't really a 'short time' per se, but since dust mostly consisted of dead skin cells, one would think that there wouldn't be so much of it in a house nobody's been in for a while.
Lovino's been busting his ass cleaning all day (not really) whilst Feliciano had the luxury of going out to get groceries and toiletries for their stay. Then again, he'd probably get caught in fucking traffic on the way to and back, so there was no way Lovino would have the patience for that.
Earlier that morning, the twins drove back to their old house, one that's still technically theirs, and the same one they lived in while they were in high school.
It was much bigger than their penthouse near EHU, with a garage, basement and an attic. Of course, Nonno had his own bedroom here, so it was only reasonable for them to stay there for Thanksgiving.
Once Lovino finally changed his bedsheets, he flopped right on top of the mattress and stared up at the ceiling, dotted with various glow-in-the-dark stars. The four light blue walls that surrounded him were plastered with numerous posters, all of bands he listened to. Some were signed and framed; others were meticulously (but not perfectly) cut out of whatever issue of Alternative Press he had then, or others he bought online.
It was weird to not have his phone going off incessantly with texts messages for once. A sigh left his lips as he lay on his side and stared at the blue Crosley vinyl player leaning against the wall facing him. It was placed atop a small tempered glass table with a small shelf beneath it for his records.
Silence deafening, ringing in his ears, he sat up and leaned over the player, frowning in distaste upon discovering a layer of dust had gathered on top of it. In haste, he dusted it off with a dirty pillowcase before going through his records.
Nostalgia hit him hard, rediscovering all these songs that used to mean so much to him again. After a moment's thought, he decided to put on Citizen's Youth album on.
He closed his eyes and let the music engulf the room as he fell right back on top of his bed and heaved a tired sigh. Lovino ran a hand through his hair as he found himself automatically singing along to the words of the very first song.
"And when your friends say I'm a waste of time, then you can find out on your own. And if it's coming down to pick a side, then you can decide where to go. And it's hard to watch you roam the room, to watch you from the wall. And it's all I've got to think about, it's hard."
He stops and gulps, staring up at the ceiling.
As much as he hated himself for it, he couldn't help but think of that fucking asshole Antonio for the nth time that day. Or for the past several days for that matter.
Dio, he just— he just couldn't stop thinking about what happened! He tried not to, and he tried to distract himself the best he could, but it was really just hard, okay? He couldn't stop examining every stupid, minuscule detail the weekend of the Halloween party, and nothing clicked.
Just as he started to think that the bastard was actually an okay person, he goes and proves him wrong by ignoring him like he didn't exist for two fucking weeks. Who does that?! Who the fuck does that?! Who tries so hard to befriend someone, only to treat them like shit right after?
Antonio, that's fucking who.
Bella and Liz were right. The bastard doesn't care about anyone but himself. They were probably right about Antonio using him, too. About how he and his shitty friends were making fun of him behind his back.
His friends did hate him after all, so it was bound to happen.
He just couldn't believe himself, he couldn't believe that he actually gave that asshole a chance in the first place! First off, he tries to hit on Feliciano. They've fucking duked it out before. The bastard's shitty friends hate him! And all of a sudden, for no particular reason, the bastard starts bringing him lunch, trying to befriend him and all!
All the warning signs were right there.
He should've known better, he should have.
Though he didn't know what hurt more; his pride or his f-feelings. God, that bastard actually got to him. That in itself was an achievement right fucking there. Antonio must be so proud of himself.
Lovino presses the heels of his palms to his eyes, trying to ignore the tears welling up and threatening to surface. He just felt so used, so— so worthless.
He automatically reached out for his phone charging on his end table and pulled the charger out, unlocking the phone and dialling a number he knew all too well.
"Hello?"
"Hey. Are you free right now?"
"'Course Ah am, Lov— what's wrong? Yeh sound upset."
The corner of Lovino's lip quirks up. "I guess I kind of am. I dunno."
"Is it about him again?"
"Yeah."
Silence falls between them, save for the music playing on Lovino's end and the sound of indistinct chatter on Allistor's.
Then Allistor speaks up. "D'yeh want ta talk about it?"
"No," Lovino mumbles, twisting to lie on his stomach. "I guess I just wanted to hear your voice? Fucking cliché, isn't it?"
Allistor chuckles. "Anything coming from yeh can never be a cliché, let me tell yeh tha'."
Lovino smiles softly. "Sure it isn't. Anyways, how's the family? How are Arthur's eyebrows?"
"Ah, yes— Arthur's eyebrows are doing absolutely splendid today; they may 'ave been through some damn tough times before, but they're seeing better days now! And they've got yeh ta thank for, Lov." Allistor pauses, humming in thought. "As for th' family, they're all doing great, methinks! Ah think this is th' first time we've 'ad a proper meal at 'ome in months. Liam's dead chuffed mum's prepared roast. Arthur won't stop looking at his eyebrows— he's a changed man— while Colin's talkin' football with da."
"Sounds like fun," Lovino says, "Feli's still out doing the groceries and Nonno won't arrive until later at night."
"So yeh're all alone right now?"
Lovino flops onto his back, staring up at the ceiling again. "Yeah. Pretty much."
Suddenly, things on Allistor end grows quiet, voices hushed to damn near nothing. He hears the sound of a door closing shut, and he can practically hear the grin in Allistor's voice. "Are yeh thinking wha' Ah'm thinking?"
Lovino's face grows fifty shades of crimson. He's pretty sure what he's thinking is along the lines of what Allistor is thinking, but just to make sure (and avoid embarrassing himself), he asks the redhead this: "Depends. What are you thinking of?"
The Scotsman chuckles lowly, and Lovino instantly confirms that they're pretty much both thinking of the same thing. He can't help but grin despite the redness of his cheeks. "You're such a fucking perv."
"Just close your eyes and imagine me in the room with yeh, Lov…"
Coming from a Hispanic family, Tía prepared an array of Mexican food for dinner, only this time, with more turkey and less of carnitas. Antonio pitched in to help as well, cooking several Spanish dishes to add to the table. He may have been a mess inside, but that didn't stop him from cooking one of his best dishes: beef salpicao.
And although Alvarez was home, it seemed like he wasn't even with them at all! He spent most of the day ducking in and out of rooms to take phone calls, ignoring Tía when she berated him for using his phone too much. And sure, Antonio totally got that Alvarez was busy— but it was Thanksgiving! He wasn't supposed to be working in the first place.
He was supposed to be taking a break, spending time with family. Something that Antonio himself didn't have the privilege of doing very often, unless he was on a break. On top of that, he's noticed that Alvarez couldn't even spend ten minutes in the same room with mamá.
It grated at his nerves, and it crossed his mind more than once to speak up about it, but he chose to hold his tongue. It was Thanksgiving, after all.
When dinner and the plates were all set, Tía went to the living room to bring mamá in the dining room for dinner. Antonio sat down and sighed, staring at the food before him.
Y'know, technically, Tía Angela wasn't a biological aunt of theirs, no; she's a close family friend, having known the Fernández-Carriedo family ever since mamá and papá moved to America. Tía had her own family as well, three boys all grown up and raising their own families.
Tía worked as a caretaker, so when mamá got sick, she stepped up to the plate and chose to take care of her 24/7. Even if it meant she wouldn't have as many opportunities to see her sons.
It was the labour of love.
The moment Antonio saw Tía ushering mamá in through the door, he automatically stood up and pulled mamá's chair out for her. Her steps were slow, green eyes unfocussed, but she sat down. Then they all joined hands in prayer.
Tía had already prepared a plate for her, and Antonio couldn't help but watch as his mother picked at her turkey.
Her hands were becoming more and more uncoordinated, he noticed— a stark contrast to the way she used to deftly prepare his favourite foods as a kid. He swallows the lump that had formed in his throat, hoping the tears stinging his eyes wouldn't fall. In the end, he had to turn away and dab at his eyes with a napkin.
Alvarez was already seated as well, tired green eyes not unlike his own, glancing up at mamá for a good several seconds before he cast his gaze back down to his plate and began eating.
Antonio was slow to get food for himself, so Tía took it upon herself to prepare him a plate full enough to feed a small army. He smiles at her briefly before looking at his mother again, how her slender fingers clumsily poked at the meat.
He cleared his throat and scooted closer to her. "Would you like me to help you?"
Mamá looks up at him and not a flicker of recognition passes through their depths. She nods, and he nods too, scooting even closer so he could take the fork from her hands and to grab the knife beside it as well. He sliced a piece of turkey off and fed it to her.
After a moment, her brows start to furrow. "You look familiar," she says, and Antonio's heart skips a beat. He smiles up at her.
"I do?"
She nods slowly, lips still parted. "Yes. You remind me of my husband, Enrique. Are you his brother?"
Antonio vaguely notices the sound of Alvarez's chair scraping against the wooden floor as the elder stands up and exits the room. He smiles softly, placing his hand atop of hers. "No, mamá. It's— It's me, Antonio! Your son."
He looks at her and hopes.
And that's when he finally catches his first glimpse of her in a long time— the real her— the one before she was diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer's. Her jaw drops. She cups his cheeks, green eyes filled with life and brimming with tears. She runs her hands all over his face, as if trying to memorise every detail.
"My son! My son!" She cries out, and Antonio finds himself crying as well. He wastes no time in hugging her close, embracing her, not knowing how long she'll stay like this before she starts to forget again.
"Mamá, I missed you so much," he whispers. "Te quiero mucho, mamá, te quiero,"
"You've grown so much, Antonio, mi hijo. You're still as sweet as ever!" She runs her fingers through his hair, and it takes his all not to outright sob into her blouse.
"I miss you, mamá."
"It's okay, mi querido. I'm here. Everything will be alright, hm?"
"Please don't go," he sobs.
"I'm not going anywhere, Anton— te quiero."
They stay that way, refusing to let go of each other. It was in these rare times of self-awareness mamá would cling onto the most, until her disease would reel her— the real her— back to obscurity and confusion and darkness once more.
And they talk; they catch up. It's as if he was back in high school again, long before symptoms ever started showing up, before she got her prognosis. Only now, he's talking about the classes he's taking, how he's doing in Spokane, and all the new people he's met. Before he can stop himself, he offhandedly mentions Lovino, this person he's met.
There's a certain wistfulness in his tone, trying to push back the memories of the last time he and Lovino talked to each other back into the recesses of his mind. Then he smiles at his mother, and she smiles back, cupping his cheek. Her eyes are soft with understanding. Like she knew something he hadn't even realised himself.
He wraps his arms around her, taking a shaky breath. "I missed you mamá. I wish it could be like this everyday. I get really homesick sometimes."
She chuckles and rubs circles onto his back. But suddenly, she grows still; rigid. Antonio, too, stops; his heart skips a beat. Then looks up at her in confusion, but she's already shoved him back, pointing an accusatory finger at him. "Who are you?" She demands, eyes wild, and ready to defend herself if need be. "What are you doing here?! This is my house!"
"Mamá, it's me! Antonio! Please, it's me, your son!" Antonio cries out, but she refuses to listen, weakly beating at his chest with her fists.
Tía is quick to step in, soothing words and calming actions and all, but not without instructing Antonio to step out of the room until mamá has called down first.
Antonio runs out of the house and leans against the railing of the front porch, and he covers his face as he cries.
Unlike Alvarez, who is jaded with work and world-weary, who was old enough to experience the pain of losing his father due to a stroke and now his mother to Alzheimer's, Antonio has not grown used to being forgotten yet.
"Maybe I should take a year off of school and take care of mamá," Antonio says later that night, much later. Tía and mamá are already asleep, but Antonio and Alvarez are still up.
They're sitting in the living room with the windows open so Alvarez can smoke inside. The tequila is out, an inch or two poured into two short glasses.
The younger of the two gazes blankly at the liquid, swirling the amber substance around in its container. Alvarez shakes his head, tapping the end of his cigarette against the rim of the olive green ceramic ash tray on top of the wooden coffee table.
"That's not happening, Anton. And you know full well that mamá would never approve of that."
Antonio downs his drink and scoffs. "Easy for you to say. You rarely visit her."
"Neither do you—"
"But that's because I go to school in a different state!"
Alvarez straightens up and turns to face Antonio, expression grim. "Do you really think I like seeing her like this? Especially when there is literally nothing I can do to make it better?"
"I don't like seeing her like this either, you know that. But the least we can do is just be there for her." Antonio massages his temples and sighs. He considers mentioning transferring schools, but that's even worse than taking a year off, because he won't see Gilbert or Francis anymore, and he would never see Lovino again.
He pours himself another shot.
"Given the present circumstances, Anton, the least you can do is focus and finish your studies. Mamá always wanted to be a teacher. You can fulfil that for her." Alvarez held his glass towards Antonio, who filled it in less than half-full.
They stay silent like that for a long time. After much thought, Antonio speaks up, "…It's gotten worse."
He blinks slowly, tiredly. His eyes are still swollen from crying. To think that he always used to smile.
"Yes," Alvarez concurs, sighing and leaning against the sofa.
"She forgot she just had dinner," Antonio mumbles. After Tía calmed mamá down, it was like nothing had ever happened. The hysterical look in her eye had gone, like it never existed, and she ate dinner a second time.
"Alzheimer's is one fucked up disease, isn't it? They take away the people you love without them even being gone. And no matter how much money you've got, you still won't be able to do a damn thing since there is no cure for it. Dum spiro spero, they say. 'As long as you breathe, there is hope'. But not if you have fucking Alzheimer's, apparently." Alvarez presses the heel of his hand into the middle of his forehead, a bitter chuckle leaving his lips but it turns into a choked sob.
Antonio's face scrunches up. "I don't want to lose her."
"Me neither."
"I'm not prepared to lose her."
"Jesus Christ, Anton. Nobody is."
Tears are running down Alvarez's cheeks, but he makes no move to wipe them away. Soon enough, Antonio's started crying again too. He buries his face in his hands, trying to muffle his sobs so he wouldn't wake Tía or mamá up.
Of all people, of the seven billion people on this planet, why did it have to be her?
Is it late at night? Is it early in the morning?
Antonio can't tell.
He's restless; his thoughts won't shut up, shut up, shut up. He can't sleep and it hurts to breathe. His mind is clouded, yet at the same time, not.
He can't stop thinking about mamá, and Tía, and Alva, and Lovino. He's going through their old conversations via Facebook and iMessage. He can't send any texts to Lovino anymore since the Italian blocked his number. Calling is out of the question as well. Lovino had forgotten to unfriend him on Facebook, but Antonio didn't want to jeopardise that by messaging him.
It's the only way he can keep tabs on Lovino anymore, and since Lovino rarely posted anything, most Antonio saw were posts Lovino's been tagged with.
Everything that's been going on just makes him feel worse.
When he finally succumbs to sleep, he dreams lucidly, of a world without Alzheimer's, where his brother is finally happy, and he is too, and where Lovino is finally, finally his.
Translations:
Verdammt - dammit (Dt.)
mon ami - my friend (Fr.)
Dio - God (It.)
Díos - God (Esp.)
mierda - shit (Esp.)
mamá - mother (Esp.)
ja - yes (Dt.)
Gott - God (Dt.)
mi amigo - my friend (Esp.)
fratello - brother (It.)
nonno - grandfather (It.)
tía - aunt (Esp.)
mi hijito/hijo/querido - my dear [terms of endearment] (Esp.)
hijo - dear (Esp.)
hermano - brother (Esp.)
Díos mío - Oh my God (Esp.)
papá - father (Esp.)
te quiero - I love you (Esp.)
Man… Writing this chapter was tough for me. I actually got really emotional writing the latter part of this chapter, which doesn't happen very often. Antonio sure has a lot on his plate. I personally don't know anyone who's been diagnosed with Alzheimer's, but I hope I managed to capture it accurately. I can't fathom how devastated these people must feel, friends and family included.
There is a blog post by Lovino on his Tumblr that is related to the content of this chapter. His URL is 'pxss-off'. I'm guessing I'll have to add a separate page for content solely by him, because I intend on using his blog more.
~jellydonut16~
P.S. My chapter lengths have been really long as of late. Would you guys still like me to keep up at this length (more or less), or would you rather something shorter so it isn't as much of a hassle or a chore to read? Not sure if it'll help me update any faster though. Also, please tell me what you think of how the story is going so far. My writing style has changed over the course of the story and constructive criticism is welcome.