Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.
This chapter contains explicit content and violence.
Kicking The Bucket List
twenty-three
"The reason why we can't ever let go of someone is
because deep inside we still have hope.
I mean why else would we feel the way we do?"
—M.S.
Ah, snow. There was just so much of it, and Antonio was already sick of the dull blanket of greyish white that covered the streets. And the cold nipped at his gloved fingers, yet no amount of blowing on them or rubbing his palms together or shoving his hands into his pockets could give him the warmth he craved for.
It served as a good distraction, however, so he often found himself focussing on the cold instead of the dread that had found its home in the pit of his stomach, neighbouring misery.
To cut to the chase, by now, Lovino had long stopped glaring at him, stopped making snarky remarks about him right to his face. No, instead, Lovino would just ignore him, not a word from one to the other unless it was of utmost necessity.
It was the sort of civility that came with societal expectation or obligation, yet still, it contained a tension of sorts. It was a negative peace, really— merely the absence of conflict— which, if one were to dwell upon it, would realise that it wasn't truly peace at all. Because whenever Lovino spoke, there was this— this hidden edge to his voice, which chilled Antonio to the bone far more than any physical cold ever could.
Lovino usually spoke with passion, which was one of the things that drew Antonio in, really; but now, the tone of his voice was absolutely so glacial. So cold. It wasn't even one of anger, per se; but it was one of contempt; distaste; rancour. No matter what word one would use to describe it, bottom-line, things between them were fucked up beyond all repair, and Antonio knew it. His guilt always multiplied tenfold whenever Lovino was around, and honestly, he's been having trouble sleeping at night.
Even though it isn't hot at all, he breaks out into a cold sweat as he stares up at the ceiling in the early hours of the morning. Pangs of discomfort reverberate through his gut. His heart rate speeds up the more anxious he gets, feeling as if his heart would beat right out of his chest. His mistakes plague him, all those deadly little 'what ifs' running rampant through his head in the early hours of the morning.
It's distracting him, he can't focus, he can't think straight— It's affecting his studies, and even some of his professors have picked up on the subtle changes in him. He thinks about it all the time, yet at the same time, not. He tries to distract himself with other things. And normally, Antonio is good at that: distracting himself. But it's becoming increasingly and seemingly impossible.
Gilbert and Francis told him— they told him that things would get better in due time! But they weren't! They aren't! At all! In fact, things were getting worse with each passing day, and he knew that he had no one else to blame for it but himself.
His friends had never coerced him or forced him to stop talking to Lovino. No, he did that of his own volition. A part of him wanted to blame, arguing that they absolutely wouldn't have gotten off of his back unless he went and stopped communicating with the Italian entirely. Which was partially true. Probably.
But in the end, it doesn't even matter. It was all him.
So what if he was in love with a boy who was already with someone else? So what if his feelings would never get him anywhere? Who knows— maybe… Just maybe, some people don't love just so they can be loved back. Maybe some people love for the sake of loving. Because they do, and not because they expect to get anything out of it in return.
Díos, he never should have done it. Give Lovino the cold shoulder and all. He didn't deserve any of this, especially since he'd been a really good friend.
Fuck. Fuck. What has he done? How could he have been so stupid?
He screwed up, he screwed it all up. And now he didn't know what to do.
"How can you drink that stuff everyday?"
Allistor pauses, glances up at Lovino. Then he smiles charmingly, as he always did so, and goes on to pour five fucking packets of sugar and four creamers into his grande serving of brewed coffee. Lovino failed (well, actually, he didn't even really try) to suppress an involuntary shiver of disgust. He watches the sugar melt in a viscous blob before sinking to the bottom of the cup.
"Literally how?" He asks again, and the redhead laughs.
"Like Ah said, Lov, it's an acquired taste!" He starts stirring the concoction around a wooden stirrer for a moment before pausing. Then he looks up at him. "Why don't yeh give i' a try? Maybe yeh'll like it too!"
Lovino snorts. "Bullshit. I would never—"
"Ah dare yeh."
The Italian stops and stares at his boyfriend incredulously for a few seconds, hazel eyes wide, yet somehow at the same time, narrowed. "You… You what?"
"Ah double-dare yeh. Do it."
The both of them are smiling now, and Lovino's got his game face on. He shifts a bit in his seat and smirks. "And if I do, what's in it for me?"
Allistor hums in contemplation, thoughtfully stroking his chin. "Hmm. Right. Well, 'ow 'bout this: yeh finish tha' cup of coffee, an' Ah'll pay for anyfink yeh want when we go ta th' mall."
Lovino's eyes widen in disbelief. "What? No way. No fucking way—"
"Yes way! In fact, Ah'll take yeh ta th' mall after rehearsals this afternoon. What say you, luv?"
"Bullshit! No, seriously? So— So, wait, what happens if I don't finish it all?"
The Scotsman shrugs. "Nothing. Ah just get th' fantastic satisfaction of seeing yer sweet, sweet defeat."
Lovino rolls his eyes at this, reaching across the table to pull the paper cup of steaming coffee towards himself. "Oh, ye of little faith. It's just coffee. And I'm an Italian for crying out loud! I'll finish this in no time."
He peers down at its contents, inwardly gulping at how… well, strong it looked. No shit, it was brewed coffee. Yep. Brewed coffee. Black coffee. No-frills, manly, straight to the point coffee.
Right.
Here goes then.
Antonio's bedroom, lunchtime. Quentin is on his bed, naked and panting. Antonio is standing at the foot of the bed, dishevelled but fully clothed. He watches him. It was Quentin's thing, really. Being watched.
The Brazilian-Mexican lets out a breathless moan as he runs his fingertips down the smooth expanse of his chest, back arched away from the mattress in pure want. He tweaks and pinches his nipples, fidgeting and writhing under Antonio's gaze.
Antonio knew it was supposed to be arousing, watching your boyfriend touch himself. And he'd been okay with it for most part! But there were times like these where it was as if he were sober, where Quentin was intoxicated with lust. Where, honestly, he sometimes felt ridiculous or just plain embarrassed standing there and watching him. Where he didn't feel aroused or turned on at all, and he wasn't just in the mood, even if Quentin was very good-looking. Times like these were the worst since it took his all just to get into it.
"Like what you see?" Quentin asks him, voice low. His hand skirts around his length to softly caress his inner thigh. "You do, don't you? You like watching me touch myself."
Not bothering to wait for an answer, he bit his lip and motioned for Antonio to come closer, so he did. He sultrily peered up at the Spaniard through his shaggy black hair, eyes clouded over with desire. Antonio meets his gaze and pulls his shirt off in one go, revealing tan skin stretched over taut muscle. Quentin pulls Antonio on top of him and they share a sloppy kiss, the Brazilian-Mexican's hands wandering to Antonio's bottom.
They did this often.
They would often meet up over lunch or whenever the both of them were free, and then they'd have a quick tryst in bed or two. They had sex more often than they talked, and they've technically never really gone on a date save for Quentin ordering pizza from La Cucina Italiano that one night because they got hungry.
Francis and Gilbert liked his new boyfriend, at least! Well— Maybe just more than they'd ever like Lovino—
"Hey. Hey!" Antonio snaps out of his thoughts and his eyes regain focus, training themselves on Quentin. The latter sighs, cupping his cheek. His eyes are narrowed in confusion, searching Antonio's own as he tried to decipher the Spaniard's thoughts. Contrary to popular belief, Antonio wasn't as easy to read as he thought. "You spaced out again. God."
"Sorry," Antonio says automatically, and once he catches the end of Quentin's words, he pipes up once more. "I— Do I space out a lot?"
Quentin frowns, running his thumb over Antonio's swollen lips. "Not a lot. But sometimes."
"I'm sorry," Toni says again. But this time, he means it a little more.
The corner of Quentin's lip quirks downwards, but he opts to shrug it off in favour of unzipping Antonio's jeans. The Spaniard allows himself to be pushed onto his back, leaning up on his elbows in order to somehow sit up and watch him. Within moments, Antonio's jeans and boxers are pulled down to his ankles, then left haphazardly on the floor. Without another word, Quentin takes him into his mouth.
Antonio's eyes slide shut, lips parting.
Twisting the bedsheets beneath him in clenched fists, he threw his head back as Quentin's skilful tongue drew out a guttural moan straight from the back of his throat. His hips buck forward, and Quentin works to loosen his jaw to take more of him in. Antonio gasps out, beads of sweat adorning his brow and soaking the curve of his back. As his mind takes him to paradise, he slowly starts to zone out and lose touch with reality again.
Antonio's eyes are squeezed shut now. His mind is spinning, and all he can do is focus on the pleasure. In his mind's eye, hazel eyes speckled with green and pupils blown wide are staring up at him. Lovino's hair is clinging to his face, his neck, and the dim lights are illuminating his bare skin. The Italian's cheeks are flushed red, and his brows are furrowed slightly, like he's pissed off for some reason, yet he's still sucking the daylights out of Antonio's dick anyway.
Shit. Holy shit. Just seeing Lovino like this, even if it was only in his head, is turning him on like crazy. If he wasn't aroused then, he certainly was now. Fuck, it was just so hot, it was starting to bring him to the edge. He lets out another moan, another breathless 'fuck, yes', and before he can stop himself or his imagination, Lovino's name had already left his lips— and loudly, at that.
After a beat of silence, Quentin stops what he's doing and Antonio's eyes snap open in pure mortification. Quentin's eyes are narrowed as he gets off the bed, his lips inadvertently making a small audible smack!
The room is thick with an unnerving tension and silence as Antonio warily sits up, emerald eyes as wide as saucers. Quentin is pacing the room, and he's the first one to speak.
"Are you fucking kidding me?! Lovino? Lovino Vargas?!" He rakes his fingers through his hair, voice on the edge of yelling. "I'm— I'm on my fucking knees sucking you off, and you're fucking thinking about him? FY-fucking-I, I'm your fucking boyfriend!"
Antonio couldn't find it in himself to respond or to retaliate, merely raising his arms up to protect himself as Quentin began to hit, scratch, punch and slap him wherever and however he could, howling in a fit of tears and shouting curses at him. And even amidst this, the Spaniard was still unsure whether or not to apologise.
Well— of course he had to apologise. That was the right thing to do, after he'd done such a terrible thing. But in a way, he didn't want Quentin to forgive him, no.
He wanted Quentin to break up with him, 'cause it'd be better for the both of them.
He wanted to break up with Quentin. Needed to— absolutely needed to, even.
"You piece of shit! You've been thinking about him all this time, haven't you?!" A shove. "Haven't you?!" Another shove.
He grit his teeth as the scratch marks across his arms began to raise and redden. Some parts of it drew blood, and some parts had broken though his skin entirely. It stung. His head spun and the side of his face throbbed.
"What?" Quentin spat out, vitriol practically dripping off of his tone. "You aren't even going to say anything to defend yourself? What're you, a fucking coward."
Antonio, his heart still racing, slowly shook his head. "I know I'm wrong. I'm sorry."
Quentin smacks him right across the face, and Antonio's head turns to the side after the impact. He stills in shock, his cheek painfully throbbing. The former leans in close, voice low and menacing. "Well your 'sorry' doesn't mean jack shit to me. You know what's pathetic? Being a thirsty hoe for somebody else's boyfriend. Must be a hard pill to swallow for a fucking slut like you."
That was the last straw.
Antonio turned to face Quentin, emerald eyes dark and dangerously narrowed. "Get out."
"What did you just say to me?"
"You heard what I said. Get out. We're done. Finished."
"You're breaking up with me?" Quentin demands, incredulousness evident in his expression and manner of speaking. He raises his hand to hit Antonio once more, but the brunette isn't having any of it any longer, his hand gripping Quentin's wrist tightly as he sent the other a scathing glare.
"I should've ended it a long time ago. Now get out. Get out!"
The Brazilian-Mexican, humiliated and hurt, began to pick up his clothes, all the while hurling insult after insult at the Spaniard, be it in his native tongue of Brazilian Portuguese or in plain English. Quentin tugged on his clothes as fast as he could, knocking several items off of Antonio's dresser before stomping out of the apartment Antonio shared with Francis and Gilbert, slamming the door behind him so hard, the walls reverberated.
Antonio's breathing was heavy; laboured. His jaw is set as he glowers at the open doorway, fists clenched until his knuckles were white. Tears of anger and resentment and frustration ran down his cheeks.
He had no right to cry, did he? He was in the wrong, after all.
He wasn't supposed to cry. He deserved all of this, didn't he?
Antonio curled into himself, wincing as the scratches on his arms stretched out. Guilt and disgust consumed him; all these different emotions stirring inside of him. He irritably tried to rub the tears away, but only more and more wound up running down his cheeks. Painfully, he mulls over everything that had transpired in the past 20 minutes, going every word, everything Quentin had said.
Heaving a sigh, he stretched out and examined the aftermath of everything. Angry red marks clawed down his arms, and he could already feel his face swelling. Where Quentin had beat his arms and bare back with his fists didn't really hurt that much while it was happening, but he could already tell they'd bruise in due time.
A minute later, he stood up and made his way to the kitchen to get an icepack from the freezer. Abruptly, he stilled in realisation, breath catching his throat.
Quentin never demanded to know who Antonio was talking about because he already knew exactly who Lovino was.
Shit. I can't do this, Lovino thought to himself, for what was, unfortunately, the umpteenth time in the past-hour he and Allistor had been in Starbucks. In his opinion (and probably everyone else's), Allistor's taste in coffee was, truth be told, shit. Swear to God it was borderline inedible and it tasted fucking terrible. Really, no kidding!
How the hell did Allistor manage to digest two cups of this stuff everyday?
First of all, oh boy, the sugar didn't do shit to improve the flavour. Instead, it made it even worse. It wasn't remotely sweet; it tasted acidic. The creamers couldn't even take the pain and suffering away from drinking it either. The creamers did absolutely nothing.
No wonder there weren't any consequences to losing that stupid dare Allistor put him up to (then again, he was the one who agreed to it)— the bastard knew he couldn't finish it all along! God, just look at his fucking smug, perfect face.
It was frustrating, honestly. To think that Lovino already had something in mind for what he wanted! Ah, well, thing is, he's been eyeing this video game for quite some time. But then he saw this stupid (yet also very stylish) blazer from Zara he absolutely needed to have. So before this, it was sort of a crossroads decision for him. If he completed this dare, however, he could have both!
His face scrunched up with distaste as he stared down at the paper cup. Seriously, it's like he's been drinking it forever. How it isn't half-empty is beyond him. And this entire time, Allistor's just been staring at him with a smug and entertained expression on his face.
Prick.
He could just tell the redhead was waiting for him to give up, like some sort of whiny pussy! Which he partially wanted to do. But he wasn't. His pride was on the line, dammit.
Lovino heaved an exasperated sigh. It was coffee. It was just coffee. He shouldn't even making such a big deal out of this. But why, oh, why did it have to taste like shit? Swear to God, Allistor's palate must be shot if he could tolerate drinking this crap everyday.
"Can't finish it, Lov?" Allistor asks, tone taking on a teasing lilt as he revels in the sight of his inamorato glaring at his cup of coffee.
"Shut up," Lovino grumbles, and the Scotsman laughs. He reaches over the table to take the other man's hand in his own, lightly stroking Lovino's knuckles with the pad of his thumb.
"Ah love yeh," he whispers, leaning in, and Lovino's face instantly reddens tenfold as he averts his gaze.
"Not in public," the Italian scolds lightly, before muttering in a much more hushed tone, "Love you too, jerk. Even if your preference in coffee is downright horrible. Dio, honestly."
Bzzzt! Bzzzt! Bzzzt!
Allistor and Lovino collectively glance down at the redhead's phone ringing on the table. The Scotsman's eyebrows furrow as he picks it up and stares at the caller ID.
…Why would Quentin Morales be calling him?
Hellos from passing each other by in campus hallways aside, he hadn't actually had a proper conversation with the bloke since last school year, where select art students had to paint a backdrop for the PA Department's rendition of Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake.
Well, never mind that. Must've been pretty important if Quentin went out of his way to call him. He raised the phone to his ear as he answered the call. "'Ello?"
Quentin doesn't bother beating around the bush. "Are you free right now? I need to talk to you. It's urgent."
Lovino looked at him questioningly and Allistor shrugged his shoulders. "Oh. Wha's wrong? Yeh alright there, mate?"
"I just… wanted to give you a heads up about something. I'd… prefer if we talked about it in person, though. So are you free right now?"
Allistor glances up at Lovino once more, who met his gaze for a second before taking another sip of his coffee and grimacing. The Scot couldn't help but smile, a light chuckle escaping his lips. "Ah'm in th' Starbucks near EHU right now. Ah'll meet yeh out front, yeah? Jus' message me when yeh're here."
A beat of silence before Quentin speaks up. "Yeah. I'll see you in a bit."
Quentin ends the call as a sigh left Allistor's lips, setting the phone back down on the table. "Yeh don't 'ave ta drink i' all, yeh know."
"And lose the dare? Are you kidding me? I won't accept defeat so easily, dammit!"
"Yeh've been drinkin' tha' for nearly an hour already!"
"Yeah, so? I like to take my precious time with your goddamned shitty brewed coffee. Ugh, why do you like it this way? Like, literally nothing you put in it makes it taste any better. Any better."
Allistor snorts at this. "Like Ah said— it's an acquired taste, luv!"
"That's bullshit though! Acquired taste is like— like alcohol and wine, and squid ink pasta, or something! Not this!" A laboured groan escaped Lovino's lips as he slumped forward, hazel eyes boring into the paper cup before him.
Deep down, deep, deep down, he knew it was all over. Like hell he was actually going to finish that godforsaken cup of coffee. But Far Cry 4 was calling out to him. So he'd try a bit more.
Just a bit more.
And maybe then, he'd consider giving up.
Ding!
Quentin: I'm outside of Starbucks
Ding!
Quentin: Where u at?
Allistor sits up and glances over Lovino's shoulder, staring out of the window. True enough, he sees the art student there, staring at his phone.
He pats Lovino's shoulder as he stands up. "Ah'll be back in a minute, luv. Ah'm jus' gonna talk ta a friend of mine outside, alright?"
The Scotsman walks out of the coffee shop, and upon closer inspection, he sees that Quentin's looking rather… worse for wear. His hair and clothes dishevelled, eyes swollen and red, as if he'd been crying.
"Oi, mate, are yeh alright?" Allistor asks cautiously, shoving his hands into his pockets.
Quentin looks up at him, a scowl marring his face. He sighs. "No. I got into a fight with my now ex-boyfriend."
"Oh. Well, Ah'm sorry about tha'. Had a pretty rough day, then."
"We broke up not even half an hour ago. So yes." Quentin spits out, bitterness evident in his tone. "I guess it is 'pretty rough'."
Allistor couldn't help but wince, not knowing how to go about the conversation anymore. Not when Quentin is practically radiating hostility, and was now, somehow, redirecting that anger towards him. Was he?
Bloke's had a terrible day nonetheless.
"So," the redhead drawls awkwardly. "Wha'd yeh want ta talk about again?"
Quentin looks down at his feet, running a hand through his hair. "I'm sure you know my ex-boyfriend," he says, carelessly shrugging his shoulders, even though Allistor could certainly tell Quentin still did care (and very much at that)— but he did nothing of the sort to point out the man's façade of nonchalance. It'd only make things worse for the both of them.
"I…" Allistor trails off, not knowing where the conversation was headed. "Ah don't..? Why?"
"Oh, trust me. You do. His name is Antonio. I bet you've seen him hanging around with your boyfriend at least once or twice."
"Well," The Scotsman paused for a moment before continuing. He had a very bad feeling about this. "Then Ah know 'im, alright."
"This is just between you and me, okay. 'Cause, well, as it turns out, Antonio, he… he has feelings for your boyfriend, Lovino." Quentin meets Allistor's gaze evenly, a small bitter smirk on his lips. He pauses for a moment and glances in through the window, at the back of Lovino's head. "Not that I'm doubting Lovino or you, no… But I suggest you look out for him anyway. Antonio is just such a terrible, terrible person. Like, I can't believe I actually ever wanted him! Especially when all he did was use me and manipulate me."
"Oh," was Allistor's curt reply, taking both of them by surprise. Quentin had initially expected more of a reaction out of him than just… 'Oh'. The redhead blinked once, twice— a surge of anger and jealousy welling up inside of him to exponential proportions. "Well, thank yeh for telling me. Ah appreciate it, an' Ah'll talk ta him about it. But as far as Ah know, they 'aven't spoken in quite some time now."
Quentin nods slowly, taking a few steps back. "Good. That's— That's it, I guess."
"Are yeh sure?" Allistor's face scrunches up in concern. "Yeh going ta be alright?"
The Brazilian-Mexican snorts, shrugging his shoulders as if he didn't have a care in the world. "Are you kidding me? No. Of course not. I'm fucking pissed as hell. I could literally kill someone right now. But I have enough sensibility in myself not to."
"O-Oh. Well—"
"I better get on my way before I actually do."
"Right. Yeh do tha'. Um. Take it easy, bruv."
"I won't. But thanks anyway."
With that, Quentin walked away, his footfalls heavy on the damp concrete. Allistor himself needed a moment or two to regain his composure, taking a deep breath and rubbing his temples.
He knew it. He just knew it. He could tell Antonio fancied Lovino, from even before the Halloween party. 'Course. He wasn't an idiot. He could tell by the way Antonio looked at his boyfriend. He could practically feel possessiveness creeping into him as he cracked his knuckles, making his way back to his seat.
He places his hand on Lovino's shoulder, turning the Italian to face him before pressing his lips against the Italian's. Fuck what everyone else thought.
Lovino stiffened in surprise before kissing back and pulling away, face red hot. "What the hell—"
"Say, Lov. Yeh aren't on speaking terms with Antonio at th' moment, am Ah right?"
Lovino's brows furrow in confusion before he replies. "Yeah. I haven't talked to him in ages. He isn't even worth my time and effort."
Allistor smiles at this and takes his seat. That he isn't. "Good, good. Look, Ah don't want ta sound weird about this an' all, but; Ah don't want yeh ta associate yerself wif 'im. He's… really not a good person for yeh ta spend yer time with, Lov."
"You don't even have to tell me twice. Just seeing him makes my blood run cold."
"Ah'm serious, Lov."
"Yeah, well, so am I—" Lovino looks at him warily. "What— What happened?"
"Oh. Nothing in particular. Ah just—" A deep sigh. "think yeh should stay away from 'im."
"Dio, I am! I have no plans whatsoever of even speaking to him anytime soon, so don't worry, alright?"
"Yeah, yeah," Allistor murmurs, forest green eyes of his darkening in thought. "Ah shouldn't."
He reaches over the table and takes Lovino's hand in his own, distractedly tracing circles onto the back of his hand. Should he really be so worried? Perhaps he should confront Antonio about it. But he already backed off, though, so there was that.
But the Spaniard still had feelings for Lovino, that was the problem. And he hadn't the slightest clue as to how to make it… somehow stop? Allistor knew better than anyone else that you just couldn't help the way you felt for someone. If you're in love, then you're in love. Simple as that. It was the circumstances and other emotions that made it more complicated.
"Fratello, are you sure you'll be alright?"
Lovino grumbles from the general direction of the couch, his Macbook Pro propped up on a throw pillow on his lap, and non-fiction references of all kinds surrounding him in stacks and piles. "Yes, I'll be alright. I'm eighteen, Feliciano. And on top of that, I'm twenty minutes older than you!"
Feliciano smiles at this, walking around the penthouse as he got ready to go out with his friends for dinner. "Ve, you can't hold that over my head forever, y'know!"
The older Vargas turns to look at him, expression dead serious. "Just watch me." Then he stills for a second before glancing around the apartment. Feliciano finds himself looking around as well.
"Do you hear that?" Lovino asks.
Feliciano stays silent and listens for any odd noises, but aside from the music playing from Lovi's laptop, he can't hear anything out of the ordinary! "I don't hear anything! What is it?"
Lovino tuts in mock disapproval. "Why am I not surprised? That was the glorious, beautiful sound of me being older than you. The sound of me living life in the future, twenty minutes in advance."
Feli looks at him confusedly before giggling. "Ah, you're in a good mood today aren't you, fratello?"
"I guess," Lovino says, shrugging his shoulders. "What's it to ya?"
"Nothing, nothing~ Just glad you're happy today, Lovi. Well! I better head out now. I think Luddy and Kiku are already waiting for me." Feliciano walks over to his brother and kisses his cheeks. "You have a good night now, fratello."
Lovino stares at him blankly upon hearing mention of Ludwig's cringe-worthy nickname before rolling his yes. "Yeah, whatever, dammit. Just let me focus on my work already!"
Feli walked over to the front door, greeting the older Vargas another goodbye before exiting the penthouse, door locked behind him.
Several minutes of distracted typing and flipping through books lapse before Lovino finally deemed it a good enough time to take a Quick Break™. He closed his laptop and set it down on the coffee table in front of him before pulling out his brand new copy of Far Cry 4 out from under a throw pillow beside him and eagerly opening it up.
It was beautiful.
He's been going in and out of the bathroom the whole time he's been home— no thank you, evil brewed coffee— but fuck that shit.
He set up his PS4 and put the disk in.
Totally worth it.
It's bitingly cold the very moment Feliciano exits the apartment building, tugging his coat closer to himself. He stands still for a moment, texting Luddy that he was already on his way. Just as he glances up from his phone, he sees what was once a familiar face coming towards him down the street.
It's Antonio. Though the Spaniard initially meets Feliciano's eyes, he quickly averts his gaze, a polite smile on his face. "Hi, Feli. How have you been?"
But Feliciano doesn't hear it. Instead, he steps closer and leans in to examine the Spaniard's face. "Toni, what happened to you?"
A flash of panic crosses Antonio's face and he waves it off. "Ah, really, it's nothing! Don't worry about me."
"'Don't worry about me'?" Feliciano echoes. "Your face is all beat up! Who did this to you?"
"No one important," Antonio dismisses. "Really, Feli—" A pleading tone. "Don't worry about it."
Feliciano nods absently, growing silent for a few seconds. He clearly doesn't buy it, but Antonio hopes the Italian won't question him any further anyway. "Right." He takes a few steps back. "You— You take care, Antonio."
And that's the end of that.
As Antonio watches the younger Vargas walk past him, he lets out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding in. He's in front of the building Lovi's in, and it crosses his mind to go all the way up to the penthouse to talk to him.
But there was no way he could do that now. Especially not like this. He couldn't. What would he even say, right? Right?
Maybe he could perhaps try and make it up to him..?
Just as he takes a step towards the building, he remembers.
'Stay th' fuck away from me boyfriend, mate.'
Antonio stops.
He walks past the building instead.
When Antonio gets home, the sound of Gilbert and Francis' conversation suddenly grows silent as he shuts the front door behind him.
So they knew already, huh? That was fast…
"Hey Tone?" Gilbert calls out as the sound of the TV is turned down. Antonio doesn't answer him. He goes to his room, and sighs at the mess.
He shrugs his coat off and tosses it over a chair, and he begins to clean up. He picks his things up from the floor and puts them back where they belong. He rips off the stained bedsheets off of the mattress and balls it up. He tosses it into a corner where he usually keeps his laundry hamper. It hits the ground with a dull, unsatisfactory thump.
He lies down on the naked mattress, emotionally and physically exhausted. He just feels so drained, so empty. He wasn't sure how long he could keep it up before he finally lost it.
Franny knocks on his door at one point, asking Antonio to join him and Gilbert for dinner. Antonio straight-out declines, just wanting to be alone. The Frenchman offers to bring a plate to his room and chat, but Antonio refuses that as well.
Antonio's head is aching, and even though he felt cold, he was sweating bullets. Despite the pain in the back of his eyes, he reaches over for his laptop and opens it up. He books his plane tickets going to California. One-way.
He goes on Facebook, and sees that Quentin has already unfriended him, made a post calling him out set to 'Public'. He doesn't mention Antonio's name, but it was obvious it was already about him. He doesn't mention Lovino either. Which was good, he supposed. He didn't want Lovino's name run down to the mud via collateral damage. Lovino didn't deserve that. Antonio, however…
He sighs, changing his relationship status back to 'Single'. He goes back to Quentin's post about him and rereads it in its entirety, reading all the hateful comments made about him. His headache worsens. Antonio mulls over deactivating his Facebook entirely, but that'd only validate everything Quentin's been saying. And to be frank, he didn't want to give him that satisfaction. Instead, he closes his laptop shut and lies back down on his bed.
"…Anton. Anton! Antonio, wake up!"
Antonio is suddenly shaken into consciousness, Gilbert and Francis both hovering over him with concern etched onto their faces.
"Mon Dieu, Antonio, you're burning up!"
"I got the aspirin. Antonio, can you sit up?"
"Wait, he'll need something to eat first. I'll get him some saltines and water."
Antonio opens his eyes, but his lids are heavy with sleep. Everything feels hot, and he feels suffocated in the same clothes he fell asleep in. Gilbert helps him sit up slightly, and brushes the hair out of Antonio's face.
"Quentin did this to you, didn't he?" Gilbert asks. Antonio stares at him blankly, throat feeling far too dry for him to speak, even if he wanted to. Gilbert knows, anyway. He probably wanted confirmation. He raises something cold up to his bruised and swollen cheek, and Antonio realises it's an ice pack.
Francis comes back with a tall glass of water and a pack of saltines. He offers the glass to the Spaniard who takes a long sip. When he sets the glass back down, he clears his throat. "What time is it?"
They both frown at him in disapproval. "Tone," Gilbert speaks up, "I don't think you can go to class like this. Your face is beat up, you have a raging fever. You shouldn't push yourself."
Despite the aching of his head, he manages to give them a look of incredulousness. "Are you kidding me? I can't miss class now. Especially when my finals are just around the corner. I still have to do my lesson plan. I have obligations, I can't miss class."
"You should put your health first, mon ami." Francis says, sitting down on the bed beside Gilbert. "You're as sick as a dog. So at least for today, you should just rest first. You can go tomorrow."
Antonio reaches out for a saltine and nibbles into it. "I'm serious, I can't miss class. What time is it?"
Gilbert sighs. "It's 8:14."
"Okay, so I have class at ten. I can sleep it off first. I'll be fine. Then I can come back and sleep it off until my 2PM class."
"Antonio…"
"I'll be fine. Really. I can handle myself. And, if push comes to shove and I feel too tired or too sick, I'll skip class for the rest of the day and sleep it off. Happy now?"
"Relatively satisfied. But first— medicine."
"Thank you~!" Antonio plucks the two pills right out of Franny's outstretched hand and pops them in his mouth, washing them down with another swig of water.
"Why didn't you hit him back?" Gilbert couldn't help but ask, glancing up from the dishes he was in the middle of putting away.
Antonio, bundled up in layers and layers of clothing and a wool blanket, stared wearily at the German and shrugged his shoulders.
"Like, you're both guys, so I don't think you should've let him do that to you without any sort of retaliation or self-defence. I mean, that's just me."
"You saw what he posted on Facebook?"
"Yeah."
"Mm. He was more trouble than he was worth," Antonio speculated. "I should've broken up with him sooner. I never really could see myself in a serious relationship with Quentin, or even longer than a fling, to be honest. But at least it's finally over and done with."
"And you haven't gotten over… over Lovino at all, ja?"
The corners of Antonio's lips quirk up into a small, sad smile. He said nothing.
That was all Gilbert needed to know.
Antonio throws himself into his schoolwork for the weeks following after everything that's happened. It's the most he can do in effort to ignore the nasty stares he's been getting from people he doesn't even know, and he tries to turn a blind eye to the even nastier rumours about him that've been circulating campus. Quentin definitely didn't waste any time in throwing shade about him or dragging his name into the mud with rumours whenever he could. Some of Antonio's exes even jumped on the bandwagon too.
There were people who commented their support for Quentin, even without bothering to know Antonio's side of things— but what could he do? What could he even say? If he tried to clear things up, it'd only complicate things even more.
His biggest mistake was actually letting what Francis and Gilbert thought get to him. He thought that maybe he could move on if he were with someone else, but in the end, it only proved that his feelings for Lovino weren't going away anywhere soon. Not now, not even in the near future.
But he had to admit; even if he wound up seeing someone else for a while after all, it would've been better if his ex didn't turn out to be a psychotic nut out to denigrate him at every possible moment.
Antonio couldn't let it get to him, even if it kind of did. It was the worst possible time for him to lose his focus. He's had to create a comprehensive lesson plan and his own teaching materials out of recycled items, and actually put that lesson plan into action. He's spent the past week alone teaching kindergarteners in Holy Trinity as a course requirement, and as for the last days of the semester, he'll only need to take a few more exams and submit the rest of his projects.
He was assigned to teach the Star class, which had all of Holy Trinity's brightest kindergarteners there. It was somewhat daunting, to say the least, since all these little kids were really so much smarter than the rest of their peers in the other classes. He'd even heard from a friend of his that most of these kids were already secured slots in Ivy League schools around the country!
But in the long run, he didn't mind the challenge very much. It constantly kept him on his feet and it kept him busy. And Antonio enjoyed teaching kids! He wanted to be a good role model for them somehow, even if he was a mess inside. He could never ever let that side of him show, so he immersed himself in teaching to the best of his ability.
Antonio couldn't take it anymore.
He was sick of all the gossip, all the lies. He was fed up with misunderstanding after misunderstanding. And most of all, he missed Lovino. He missed him so much, his heart ached just thinking about it. He misses talking to him, all their late night chats about the most inane things. About the little things. He wants to matter to Lovino again.
But the Italian wouldn't give him the time of day, even more so after he and Quentin broke up. Not even during the classes they had together, so Antonio was getting pretty… desperate in a way, or helpless. He had no idea what to do, or how to go about it. He was at a dead end.
He's tried texting the one person who could possibly help him— Feliciano— only to be ignored again. But he had to try. He needed to. He couldn't go this long without trying.
He couldn't just leave things as they were— he had to make an effort at least! Fuck what everyone else thought of him. None of that even matters when the one person he wants to matter to won't even spare him a glance.
So here he was, standing in the cold, outside of the Art Department. He's shifting from foot to foot; clearly anxious. He knew the Italian had class until 11AM on Wednesdays, so here he was. Waiting for him. He wasn't sure if Feli would be down to talk to him even in person, but he still had to try.
The moment it hits eleven o' clock, right on the dot, the bell rings; he can hear it. It takes a minute or so before a few students begin to pour out of the building, Feliciano being one of them. He's busy talking to a friend of his, laughing at something the other's said as they walk down the steps.
Antonio takes a step forward, then stops. A wave of panic hits him, but before he can psych himself out, he makes his way over to them.
The laughter in Feliciano's group quickly dies down as Antonio approaches. "Feli, can I talk to you?" He asks, tapping the Italian's shoulder.
Feliciano turns to face him, confusion written all over his face. "Antonio?"
"Feli, please?"
Feliciano looks at him in mild irritation before turning to his friends with a sheepish smile on his face. He excuses himself and the two of them go somewhere more isolated so they can talk about… well, whatever Antonio had in mind.
"What do you want, Antonio?" Feliciano is the first to speak, crossing his arms over his chest. And already, he looks impatient. It was an odd expression on the usually ebullient Italian's face, like it didn't belong there. Knowing Feli, it probably didn't.
"I need your help, Feli. I—"
Feliciano sighs.
"Please, Feli— Just hear me out first! What I did to Lovi was wrong. Beyond inexcusable. I— I admit it! I screwed up! I messed up, big time! I have no one else to blame that on but me. I just really need your help on this, please. I want to make things up to him, but he won't even look at me, let alone talk to me! Only you can get him to listen to me. I just— I want to make things right again. You have to help me Feli. Please—"
"Give me one valid reason why I should help you." Feliciano cuts in, a hurt expression on his face. "I trusted you, Antonio. He trusted you! And you just go and treat him like that? You suddenly stop talking to him, and you really expect me to be okay with that?
I mean, you moved on somehow with Quentin, right? Even if you two didn't work out, that had to mean something. Right?
Like, don't you think that it's about time you let go? For all our sakes, Antonio, just please, drop it! I understand that you and Lovi have had your differences before, and that you were even friends for a while! But that does not give you the right to treat him the way you did. He's still my brother, Antonio. And I will always be looking out for him, even if he thinks otherwise.
So if you have any respect for me, then please, at the very least, respect his wishes and leave him alone. He's in a really good place now. He's happy! He has friends like Bella that actually care about him! And he has a boyfriend that loves him."
Antonio's face scrunches up. "I know that! I don't want to 'let go'. That's— That's literally all I've been hearing! First, from Gilbert, then Francis… And now, you."
"Maybe because it's the right thing to do? I mean, I'll admit I actually thought you cared about him at first—"
"I did! And I still do. My feelings for Lovi haven't changed at all."
"Then why did you do it? Why did you suddenly think it was okay for you to treat him like he just fell off the face of the earth?"
Antonio drew and released a shaky breath. "Allistor told me to stay away from him. I just— I didn't know what to do. I never wanted to, but I thought— I thought that I could move on. But I couldn't. And I regret that."
Feliciano warily studies him for a few seconds before turning away. "I'm sorry, I can't help you."
Antonio's expression falls.
"Sometimes it's for the best to leave things as they are," he continues, and it feels like Antonio's heart is being squeezed right out of his chest. Was this really it? Was this really the ultimatum?
"Of all people, I thought that you would somehow understand me, Feli." Antonio can't help but admit, watching as the Italian took several steps away from him.
"That's the thing, Antonio," The younger Vargas responds, sighing in resolution. "I did. You have a good day, Antonio."
He turned his back on the Spaniard and walked away, to where his friends were waiting for him.
It wasn't until evening when Feliciano's guilt finally set in. An almost lost expression on his face, he absently watched Lovino finishing up preparing their dinner of herb-crusted salmon.
To Lovino, this doesn't go amiss, who drizzles a heaping spoonful of pesto on the fish post-haste and sets one plateful before his brother. "Oi! Why the fuck are you spacing out like that? It's fucking creepy, dammit."
Feliciano snaps out of his thoughts and feigned a smile; faked a laugh. "Ve~ Mi dispiace, fratello. I was distracted there for a minute!" Then his smile becomes much more genuine. "Ah, how was your day, Lovi?"
Lovino took his seat adjacent to Feliciano on the dining table, slicing a bit of fish off before biting it off the end of his fork and chewing thoughtfully. "It was okay, I guess? I can just already tell that algebra is going to be the death of me during finals, for one. That and the dreaded case of writer's block." Then he pauses and squints at Feliciano. "What's up with you, anyway? You look tired as fuck."
Feliciano sighs and begins to eat. "Ve~ I don't know… Maybe it's all the deadlines that are getting to me. It being finals and all."
That was one of the reasons why. The other main reason why he was so stressed was because of his conversation with Antonio earlier in the day. Maybe, perhaps, he'd been too harsh on him! After all, in the time that Feliciano knew him, Toni was genuinely a nice person… up until he stabbed Lovino in the back like that.
Feli refused to condone it; tolerate it. It reminded him too much of what Julio did, and he didn't want a repeat of that anymore. Lovi deserved to be surrounded by people who loved him and cared about him. He didn't deserve to be put in a position where he would be hurt again— especially when there was something Feliciano could do to prevent it.
Antonio did seem like he was genuinely sorry, but that wasn't enough. Feliciano couldn't go on the appearances of things alone. Even though it wasn't his place to dictate whom Lovi chose to affiliate himself with, he wanted to make sure that what happened with Julio, wouldn't happen again, if he could help it.
Lovino may have moved on from what happened, but Feliciano refused to let it go. For his brother's sake.
He knew from first-hand experience how badly it affected his brother. And he's grateful people like Bella and Allistor have brought Lovino out of his shell; something he couldn't do. Not in all those years.
And there was no way he'd ever willingly jeopardise that.
Hazel eyes stare at the digital clock on the upper-right corner of the laptop screen. It reads 'Mon 1:53 AM' and it stares straight back at him. Lovino sighs, propping his elbow up on the desk and covering his face.
It was officially finals week, yet he was still awake. Sleep was calling to him, but he couldn't go to sleep right now. He was still working on his group's mini thesis, and it was due today, two PM. He would've been better off working on it alone, since he was stuck doing all the fucking work anyway. Seriously, fuck group projects. Fuck them.
Lovino growled in irritation and reached for the can of Redbull behind his laptop, taking another swig and eventually emptying the can as he tried messaging his groupmates once again on Facebook. But, alas— no dice. They were all probably sleeping right now. Peacefully. Like he should've been five fucking hours ago. He couldn't put in words how pissed he was right now. And what was even worse was that he had nothing to take it out on, save for a lengthy tirade on he and his friends' group chat.
He scratched his jaw and continued working on the appendices near the end of the thesis. If he got this done now, he could still catch about four or five hours of sleep before he had to wake up and review for his Sociology exam later in the day, and finish up his thesis too—
Ding!
Lovino stops typing and automatically reaches for his phone, but nothing comes up. He checks his laptop's browser and realises it's a notification from Facebook. His heart skips a beat and his blood runs cold the moment he sees 'Antonio messaged you' and 'Facebook (1)' alternately blinking at him. He clicks on the tab just as the notification for the PM came up on his phone.
Antonio: Hey
Ding!
Antonio: Are you busy rn?
The Italian is jogging his left leg in contemplation, not knowing whether or not to reply to him. Timely enough, a window from his laptop's Facetime app comes up and Bella's picture is on it. He stares at his own image in the smaller camera, fixing his hair a bit, before answering it.
"Don't you know what time it is?" Lovino asks, frowning at her.
"Don't you? Your messages on the group chat woke me up. I was, like, wondering why my phone kept on vibrating and lighting up. Then I check Messenger and see it's just you, complaining about your group mates. Again."
"You do realise your phone has this nifty little thing called 'Do Not Disturb', right?"
"Yeah, I do. Duh. But, like, I decided to— I dunno, be a good friend and weather this agony out with you. I might as well get a head start on studying right now anyway."
"Mm, yeah. Antonio just messaged me on Facebook."
Bella blinks at him in surprise. "You're still friends with him on Facebook?"
"I know right? I thought I, like, unfriended him already or something."
"What did he say?" Bella asks, leaning over her bed for few seconds before she comes back up on screen with a small stack of books.
Lovino swipes back to the browser and reads the messages out to her. "'Hey. Are you busy right now?'"
"Why is he even messaging you? Like, why now?" Bella comments, frowning in distaste as she flipped through the first few pages of her pink notebook.
"I literally have no idea." Lovino mumbles. "Should I reply? Just to, like, get it over with?"
"I mean, like, it's up to you. But personally, I wouldn't. He isn't worth the effort."
Lovino drums his fingers on the wooden surface of his desk for a few seconds before typing in a reply.
Lovino: What do u want?
Almost immediately, it's marked as read and three dots come up.
Ding!
Antonio: I really need to talk to you
"I asked him what he wanted and he said he really needed to talk to me," Lovino relayed, quickly going back to his thesis to continue plotting the data into graphs and charts.
"Well, about what?" Bella asks, she herself slightly distracted as she carefully studied her notes.
"Lemme see."
Lovino: About what?
Lovino: bc as far as i know, we have nothing to talk about
Lovino: at all
Lovino's laptop began to ping incessantly with reply after reply.
Antonio: I just want to clear things up between us
Antonio: Once and for all
Antonio: After that, if you still want me to leave you alone, then I will
Antonio: No questions asked
Antonio: I know I fucked up, and I got what was coming to me
Antonio: But I really think we should also talk about this in person
"He said he wanted to 'clear things up between us', whatever the fuck that means." Lovino scoffs.
"But what is there to 'clear up', though?" Bella mutters, rolling her eyes.
"I know right?"
Lovino: Lmao u ignore me for weeks, and now u suddenly want to talk things out?
Lovino: Judas please (:
"You've heard the rumours going around campus about him though, right?"
Lovino snorts. "Who hasn't?"
He goes back to working on the appendices, ignoring the several pings that soon follow.
"Why is he still messaging you?"
"Beats me. It's a waste of my fucking time. I'm not talking to him."
"Good. 'Cause, like, what if he was just doing damage control after all the crap that happened in school, am I right?"
"Yeah, you have a point."
"Swear to God, just blow him off."
"I will. I'm not even messaging him right now. I should seenzone the fuck out of him and block his ass on Facebook."
Yet still, there was still this strong urge to go back and check on his Facebook, see whatever bullshit excuse Antonio's come up with now. The guy must've been pretty desperate, seeing how he was trying to make amends with Lovino of all people. There were all these rumours going around campus about him— Antonio— and if Feliks' sources were correct, then majority of those rumours came from the Spaniard's crazy ass ex.
His phone lit up as the notifications from his Facebook Messenger started pouring in. The Italian couldn't help but sneak a glance.
Antonio Fernández Carriedo: I know you don't believe me but…
Antonio Fernández Carriedo: Which is why I think it's for the best…
Antonio Fernández Carriedo: I really am so sorry Lovino.
Antonio Fernández Carriedo: I don't expect things to go back to…
Lovino frowned. The messages were truncated. He'd have to open them up on Messenger to see it in its entirety anyway. He snuck a glance at Bella, who was wearily reading her notes while watching stories on Snapchat. He switched back to Facebook.
Antonio: I know you don't believe me but I swear it's not what you think it is.
Antonio: Which is why I think it's for the best if we talk this out face-to-face, no more misunderstandings.
Antonio: I really am so sorry Lovino.
Antonio: I don't expect things to go back to the way they were, no matter how much I want them to. I don't expect you to forgive me either. But you have to believe me when I say I never meant or wanted to hurt you.
Lovino read the messages over and over with a blank expression on his face. He mulled it over as he finished up with the appendices, leaving the abstract for something he'd do later in the morning.
After all that's been done, and Bella's fallen asleep on camera, he switches from his desktop, which has the Facetime window still open, to his Facebook alternately. He decides to end the call with Bella and numbly browses through his news feed.
He notices Antonio's gone offline, which is when he decides to reply.
Lovino: I don't even know what to say to you
And, honestly, he doesn't know what to think or feel either. He was confused, angry, hurt… He thought he was over it, which he probably has been for some time, but Antonio messaging him resurfaced all of these emotions he didn't want to feel anymore.
Finally, he closes his laptop and flops down on his bed. He feels restless, and sleep doesn't come to him easily. His stomach is twisting and his thoughts are racing. He briefly considers blocking Antonio entirely, but decides against it. Then again, he wasn't even supposed to be talking to the bastard anyway.
He reaches for his phone and opens their messages up, only to panic when he sees that Antonio's back online again, and he was now typing a reply in response. He exits the app and switches his phone to 'Do Not Disturb'. He shoves his phone underneath his pillow and sighs.
"Since when did I become such a fucking coward?" He asks himself out loud, before turning on his side. Eventually, he falls into a dreamless slumber.
The rest of finals week is a blur of cramming, deadlines and stress. Lovino's made it a point to avoid Facebook under the guise of focussing on his exams, but another secondary reason to why he was absent on social media for that week was because he wanted to avoid opening whatever Antonio's sent him via private message. But he had to face the Spaniard sometime this week. It was inevitable. Dio, it felt like a fucking death sentence for some reason.
For his philosophy finals, he made it a point to sit all the way in the front, near the proctor. Antonio came in late and wound up sitting somewhere in the back. Lovino finished his exam before time was up and left before Antonio could even catch up with him.
The next time around, though, for their algebra exam, it was Antonio who came in early. Lovino chose to sit as far away from him as possible. The Spaniard stood up to switch seats and chose to sit right behind him.
"Lovi," he began, voice soft, but Lovino refused to hear it.
"Don't talk to me," Lovino grit out, aimlessly flipping through his notes. "I'm studying."
"Can I talk to you after this?" Antonio asks, a tinge of hopefulness in his tone, and it takes Lovino his all not to cave in. He thinks of Allistor, and how the redhead didn't want him talking to Antonio, and his resolve strengthens.
"No. I'm busy."
Antonio didn't press further, for which Lovino was grateful.
When the exam began, the Italian set about finishing his exam as fast, yet as thoroughly as possible. Just as he was starting to lose his mind over the last few pages, Antonio stood up and submitted his exam to the proctor before walking out of the room. Lovino let out a deep breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding in, his shoulders visibly relaxing.
…Finally.
Lovino took his sweet time with the rest of his exam, even going over the ones he'd already answered just to make sure he got them correctly. Even then, it didn't take long. It took him about ten to fifteen minutes tops. He submitted his exam and exited the room, stiffening in surprise when he finds himself face-to-face with Antonio.
Before Antonio can even get a word in, Lovino takes a left and starts to walk away from him, but the Spaniard isn't giving up. He follows Lovino down the empty hallway, reaching out to grab the Italian's arm.
"Don't touch me!" Lovino hisses, twisting his arm out of Antonio's grasp. "Why won't you leave me the fuck alone?"
"Please, Lovi, I need to talk to you." Antonio pleads, still hot on his heels.
"Well I don't want to talk to you!" Lovino exclaims, exiting the courtyard and subconsciously making his way to the glasshouse situated in the side of the campus. His boots sunk into the snow with each step he took off the beaten path, yet he paid it no heed. "And don't call me 'Lovi'. Whatever you have to say, I don't wanna hear it! I'm sure it's a crock full of shit, anyway."
Then he stops and turns to face the Spaniard. "You've got some fucking nerve, talking to me again after all the bullshit you put me through!" Lovino, in a fit of anger, started making a snowball, since there was no other suitable (and preferably painful) projectile in sight.
"I'm sorry!" Antonio says, a bit louder now since they're out in the open, yet still isolated from the rest of the campus. "I know I screwed up, alright? I know it was all my fault, I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"
"So now you say sorry? So now you choose it's the best time to fucking apologise to me?" Lovino snarls, packing in even more snow, hoping it had at least a tiny rock inside it or something. For added injury to fucking injury. Asshole deserved it too. He hurled it straight at Antonio and it hit him in the chest.
"Ow!"
"Two fucking months! Two fucking months I've been wondering why you suddenly stop talking to me! Why I wasn't good enough for you all of a fucking sudden! Prick! 'Sorry' my fucking ass, you stupid cunt," Lovino reached down to make another snowball. It hits Antonio's face with a satisfying smack. "You can't put people on a shelf and decide when you want them again! That's not how fucking friendship works, you fucking asspad! That's not how anything works! Even I know that, as socially fucking inept as I am."
"I'm sorry," Antonio says again, and in that moment, they're the only two words he can say. He can't say it enough. He's repeating apologies, even though the damage has been done. And it's been done for two whole months already. "It's just that Allistor told me to stay away from you, and my friends didn't want me talking to you either, so I— I panicked, okay? I didn't know what else to do, so I listened to them instead of standing up for myself! And in the end, I took it out on you. For that, I am so sorry. Really. I know you don't believe me, but I really, truly never meant to hurt you. And If I could take it all back, I swear I would. In a heartbeat."
You're everything to me.
Lovino stares at him, a distraught and hurt expression on his face.
I love you.
A pregnant silence falls on them, and for the first time, Antonio can really see just how conflicted Lovino felt about all this. Why wasn't he saying anything? Or, at least, yelling at him? Why was he so quiet? Díos, so very quiet.
"Say something," Antonio whispers. "…Please?"
Lovino looks away and sighs, rubbing his face. Antonio steps forward, hands prepared to reach up and wipe the tears from Lovino's face if need be. The Italian takes a step back in response, his eyes narrowed and trained on him.
"I don't know what you want from me." Lovino begins, trying to steady his quivering voice. He hated the fact he got so emotional sometimes. Especially when it came to arguments like this. "Like, you say one thing, but you do the complete opposite. And, like, maybe that's how you do things with your shitty, shitty friends, but I am not them. Don't you even dare bring Allistor in this, either. Because as far as I know, everything I've heard about you's been proven to be true. If you can't deal with my friends and boyfriend looking out for me, then maybe it's about time you take a good long, hard look at yourself. Not that I'm any better. But still."
"I'm sorry," Antonio reiterates, shoulders slumping in defeat as he finally reached the end of his rope. "I really am."
"Stop saying sorry," Lovino scolds, crossing his arms over his chest. "It's fucking annoying."
Antonio opens his mouth to apologise for apologising so much, but he manages to bite his tongue.
"I just don't know what to do," the Spaniard admits quietly, emerald eyes locking with hazel ones. His eyes glaze over the older Vargas' form, his heart swelling with so much emotion, so much love, yet aching at the same time. Lovino's still breathtakingly handsome, as always.
"You're the one to talk," Lovino says. "I shouldn't even be talking to you right now."
More silence.
A standstill.
The Italian shifts about in discomfort; it's obvious he'd rather be anywhere else but here. Though it is something to note that he hasn't stormed off, or even walked away from him just yet— like Feliciano had. If Lovino truly wanted to go, he could have. Would have, rather. But he didn't. That had to mean something, right? Right?
Or was Antonio just lying to himself to soften the blow? Trying to find silver linings where they weren't. If it could even be called that.
"Face it. What you did was a dick move." Lovino says bluntly, throwing that fact out there to get it over with. When he sees Antonio about to open his damn yap to speak, he cuts the Spaniard off, raising a hand up to stop him. "No. You shut up and listen to me. I am sick and fed up with listening to your shitty ass excuses. They don't excuse what you did. Capisce?"
Antonio nods almost obsequiously, emerald eyes of his wide and a stupid, annoying pout on his face. He looked like a kicked puppy, which made Lovino feel even worse. Fucking bastard. But this had to be done.
Lovino looks at him warily before he continues, "But I get that you're human, and that sometimes, people fuck up and make mistakes. Me, I probably know that better than anyone else. And, God, I don't even know," a shrug of the shoulders. "I'll probably get over it sometime in the future, and maybe then we might be able to move on from this? But for now, I can't. I can't forgive you, no matter how many times you say you're sorry. 'Cause honestly, I don't believe it. At all. And it's not that I'm even questioning the integrity of your apologies, it's just that I'm questioning your decency as a human being. You fucking asshole."
The Spaniard nods once again in acknowledgement, his heart racing against his chest. "I understand." He says, solemnly, until he asks not without a hint of hopefulness, and without skipping a beat, "Does that mean you'll give me another chance?"
He watched as Lovino's stare grew from serious to a mixture of sheepishness and exasperation. "I said 'maybe'— maybe— we might be able to move on from this— hey!"
Before Antonio could even stop himself, he lunged forward and hugged the Italian, joy and relief swelling up inside of him. It may have been just a 'maybe', but it was still something. Antonio was glad to take whatever he could get.
"L-Let go of me, dammit! Someone might see!" Lovino hisses, wriggling out of the Spaniard's grateful embrace. Though reluctant, Antonio gives him one more squeeze before pulling away.
"Ah, lo siento, Lovi…"
"Whatever," Lovino mutters, rolling his eyes, before his expression turns serious. "Don't tell anyone I talked to you about this, okay? Not even your shithead friends. And, especially, heaven forbid, Allistor. Got it?"
Antonio nods. "Got it."
"Look, I have to go. I have another exam I need to study for," the Vargas continues, taking several steps away from Antonio. "So I'll see you around. Maybe."
The Spaniard beams at him from ear to ear, his smile the most genuine its been in a very long time. He can't help it— he can't stop smiling! Díos, he was just so happy~! He was so happy, it almost made his heart ache! "Of course! I understand. Good luck on your exam, Lovi. Hope you have a great day."
I love you~!
"Yeah." And for a second, a small, uncertain smile graces the Italian's lips. "You too."
Monday, once again.
Finals week is finally done, and it's around three hours before Lovino's flight to New York is set to depart. A sigh escapes his lips as his Range Rover rolls to a halt (because like hell he'd let Feliciano drive his car while he was in it) and pulls up in a parking slot right by the Spokane International Airport. He stares out of the slightly frosted window, eyeing the sea of travellers with a hint of weariness in his gaze. Out of all his friends, he was the only one going on EHU's exposure trip. The others were either staying right here in America, or going back to their home countries for the meantime.
Feliciano would be staying here in Spokane for winter break though, in the same house they spent Thanksgiving in. He'd be driving straight home for the meantime before making a trip back to the airport once Nonno's plane from Italy arrives later in the afternoon.
The Vargas twins exited the car, and Lovino opened up the back door, pulling two of his Louis Vuitton (Lovino's initials were LV for a reason) suitcases out of the Range Rover and setting it down on a cart Feliciano had wheeled in. He had a matching knapsack too, so he slung that over his shoulder and wheeled the cart back up the ramp as Feliciano shut the back door closed. Lovino locked the car before slapping the keys into Feliciano's hands.
"Are you sure you're gonna be okay?" Lovino asks of his younger brother, when really, it probably should've been the other way around.
Feliciano smiles blithely at him. "Ve~ Don't worry about me, fratello! I'll be fine!"
The older Vargas stares at him warily, raising an eyebrow up as he went on ahead and walked into the airport building, his younger twin trailing close behind him. To be honest, he was slightly worried about letting Feliciano drive home. Not only was his brother a pitifully shitty driver, but the roads had a tendency to be slippery at times. It was a bad combination; a dangerous one— but he decided to shrug it out of his mind before the paranoia could seep into his thoughts any further. No use suddenly having a fucking panic attack midair for something you no longer had control of.
"There they are!" Feliciano exclaimed, pointing to a cluster of familiar faces conglomerating in one area of the airport concourse. They reached the group just as Professor Sharp was in the midst of roll call. Feliciano reached out and touched Lovino's elbow lightly. "Ah, fratello, I'll go now, alright? There's still enough time for me to go grocery shopping before I get home. Then I can have a siesta and pick Nonno up later~!"
Lovino looks at him, brows furrowed. He shrugs his shoulders, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Whatever. If you want to leave, then I'm not stopping you, dammit…"
Feli smiles before leaning in to hug his brother. "You take care now, Lovi! Hope you have lots of fun in New York!"
"Yeah, yeah, I will," Lovino grumbles, hugging Feliciano right back. Once he pulls away, Feli kisses his cheeks twice and Lovino does the same.
With one last wave, Feliciano bids his brother goodbye before hurrying out of the airport.
Lovino watches his brother's retreating back until he can't see him anymore before he eventually focusses on everything else.
Ding!
A text message from Allistor.
Allistor: Stay safe on your trip luv ;-) you take care now xx
Ding!
Allistor: I love you :-)
Lovino couldn't help the stupid dorky smile from erupting on his face, a light blush spreading across his cheeks. Allistor and his old-people emoticons strike once again. Somehow, those unnecessary noses in the faces made Allistor's texts even more endearing. Fuck, what did Lovino ever do to deserve him?
Lovino: Love you too, you fucking dork hahaha
Lovino: I'll call you when I get there
Lovino: I'm about to board the plane ttyl
Just as Lovino is about to set his phone to Airplane Mode, he gets a notification from Facebook Messenger.
Antonio Fernández Carriedo: Have a great day, Lovi! :D
…Ah. About that.
He never blocked Antonio on Facebook, but he never unblocked his number on his phone either. So.
Lovino glances up; considers replying to Antonio since everyone else is already starting to fall in line so they could board the plane. He sends a quick 'thanks. you too lmao' before switching his phone to airplane mode and readying his passport.
Within minutes, he's already sitting at his designated window seat, near some other people from his Creative Writing class. He watches as Professor Sharp stands up to do a final headcount. Her piercing grey eyes meet his, and she smiles amiably. The corner of Lovino's lip quirks up before he glances back down on his lap so he could put his earphones in and buckle his seatbelt. Ensconcing himself further into his seat, The Maine fills his ears as he stares out the window as the plane began taxiing along the damp airstrip.
Within a few hours, he would be in the Big Apple; the city that never sleeps.
Translations:
Díos/Dio - God (Esp./It.)
fratello - brother (It.)
mon Dieu - my God (Fr.)
mon ami - my friend (Fr.)
ja - yes (Dt.)
mi dispiace - forgive me (It.)
lo siento - sorry (Esp.)
nonno - grandfather (It.)
…It took me seven rewrites before I finally finished this. This chapter was originally supposed to include Lovi's trip too, but I drew the line right there since it'd be too long. What do you guys think? Also, I am considering adding more… ~explicit~ (honhon :{D ) content in future chapters, so if you could give me any tips to what limits I shouldn't compromise lest this story gets taken down, please tell me!
Please don't forget to review~! Constructive criticism is also appreciated and very much welcome. I'd like to do everything I can to make this story A Really Good One™. I appreciate all of your feedback, reviews, and your patience— because I'm honestly not the fastest updater out there! Sometimes I read through your reviews when I'm having a bad day, and I end up smiling. So, honestly, thank you.
~jellydonut16~
P.S. Shameless plug #1: Lovi has his own blog on Tumblr and his URL is 'pxss-off'. Planning to add some blog entries written by him about his trip to New York. :D Some bonus content for you all~
Shameless plug #2: I have a Facebook page where I usually post status updates and/or teasers regarding this story or new ones I'm working on. You can find me jellydonut16.
Shameless plug #3: I posted a new story while I was in the middle of working on KTBL! It's called Before I Met You and it's a collection of short prose poems, all written in Lovino's POV. It is Romano x world with Spamano as the final pairing. Feel free to check that out too!
P.P.S. It's actually sad when I read the earlier chapters of this story and compared it to this one. From Antonio lowkey trying to bug Lovino about Feli and asking him inane questions, to Antonio having to plead with Lovino just to talk to him. A lot can change in such a small amount of time.