Antonio hurried into the coffee shop, stamping his feet and blowing on his freezing, cracked hands as he welcomed the gust of warm air that awaited him in the heated interior.
"Happy winter," he said, even the sub-zero temperatures unable to dampen his spirits. Winter break was finally upon him, the terror of finals no longer looming over him, a dark cloud of stress and eraser stubble.
Lovino trembled from behind the coffee machine, his breath short. He leaned over just a little bit, to peek at Antonio, but a jolt ran through him as he saw Antonio smile at him in that familiar, enchanting way and give him a little wave. Quickly Lovino hid again, his heart knocking against his ribs.
Why did he always do this when he saw Antonio, damn it?! He had come to America for two reasons: one, because he had no choice, seeing as Roma threw him out, and two, so that he could clean his head, cure himself of his 'problem' so that he could return and Roma would be healthy again. And it seemed that the opposite of his hopes was happening- no matter how he tried to tell himself and Antonio otherwise, he couldn't help but feel his knees go weak every time Antonio walked into the room, couldn't help but hope that if he called Antonio 'bastard' enough times, he would start to hate Antonio the way he pretended to, couldn't help but continue making coffee and small change and humming that song Antonio always sang as he worked to pass the time until he next saw him.
He hated himself for feeling this way, for being this way. Some nights he would lie on his tiny cot at the shelter and stare at the pictures taped above him and see only Antonio, hugging the pillow and smelling the last remnants of Antonio's scent from that time he had come and stayed. One time he even packed up his few belongings, telling himself that he should just leave town and forget all about Antonio, but he barely got farther than the adult video store before he sat down on his duffel bag in an alley and squinted at the sky, trying to make out the faint stars hidden by pollution and clouds, and wondered how he would ever get home to Italy if he continued to think about Antonio, another man, in this way, and yet he couldn't stop.
Every night he prayed, clutching his cross between his hands clasped under his chin, whispering in Italian and bits of broken Latin and English, begging god to cure him of the confusion and pain swirling inside him, but of course there was no answer. Perhaps there was no one listening, he thought once, but then berated himself and did double prayers that night, pleading for relief from the unending rollercoaster of emotions taking place in his tortured brain.
His hands shaking, he brought Antonio his mocha and started to hurry away, but Antonio said simply,
"Wait," and Lovino couldn't refuse.
"Yeah?" he said, facing away from Antonio.
"You wanna go out for dinner tonight?" Lovino felt a soaring sensation in his stomach- yes, of course, but then Antonio spoke again and his stomach dropped like a heavy stone. "I want you to meet my girlfriend," Antonio continued.
Lovino couldn't move, rooted to the spot. A horrible rushing sounded in his ears and everything muted, there was only the horror and pain and embarrassment left. He could feel himself crumbling, felt like he was falling, and then he felt the impact of the ground and realized he had indeed fallen, the sensation of the cold linoleum and a pain in his leg woke him slightly, and over the rush in his ears he could hear Antonio yelling his name with worry in his voice, in that lovely voice, the voice that belonged to the man he loved, who loved someone else and not Lovino, never Lovino, because it was never Lovino, was it- there was always someone else, his brother, Antonio's girlfriend… even Feliciano ignored him now that he had Ludwig to take his brother's place... Lovino had scared away everyone with his rudeness and brusque attitude and now he had no one left…
"Lovino? Lovino!" Antonio yelled again, and his voice brought Lovino back. He blinked, and slowly he could see Antonio above him, green eyes right above his.
Lovino sat up quickly, unable to face those eyes anymore. His stomach churned and he felt like he was going to be sick. The rushing in his head hadn't yet ceased and it ached dully. Wincing, Lovino lifted a hand to it. He felt like lead: heavy, useless, a burden.
"What happened there? Are you okay?" Antonio asked and Lovino wanted to throw up; even now that voice still made his heart beat faster despite the fact that he knew Antonio didn't love Lovino and never would, because who would love Lovino? Who would love someone like him, who never said what he felt and instead what he wanted to think, who insulted and scared away everyone he had ever cared about, a sick faggot with nothing to his name and no talents or anything to be proud of?
"Just a bit dizzy," Lovino lied. "I just need to eat something and then I'll be fine."
"Ah, great. So will you be able to make it tonight? I'll meet you at 7."
"I can't." The last thing Lovino wanted to do was meet the pretty, nice, smart, rich girl that Antonio loved and see everything that Lovino lacked in her.
"Aw, okay. Another time then. You sure you're okay? I gotta go to class soon but I could skip if you really need me to." Damn it, why did Antonio have to be so fucking nice about everything, it made it so much harder to be angry.
"I'm good. Go to class."
"Cool, thanks. You can finish the rest of my pastry and mocha if you want. See you." Lovino didn't say anything, just nodded a quick goodbye, unable to look up until he heard the bell on the door jingle as it closed.
Slowly, almost painfully, Lovino picked himself off the floor, clutching the counter for support. He shuffled to Antonio's table and picked up the coffee mug, staring into its depths for a moment before yelling and smashing it on the ground, coffee and shards of porcelain flying everywhere. Lovino fell to his knees, the porcelain slicing his leg and the pain felt good, almost refreshing, bracing. He couldn't cry, couldn't speak, could barely even breathe. Dazed, he sat there for a long time until finally he pulled himself together and cleaned up the shards.
Lovino spent the rest of the day in a daze. Twice he messed up customers' orders, one of whom insisted another free one. When Lovino refused, the cardboard coffee cup was thrown at him, soaking him in the brown liquid. It wasn't hot enough by that point to burn, but just enough to sting, and it left his clothes wet, cold, and sticky for the rest of the day.
Glad to escape, Lovino trudged home, freezing in his wet clothes without a coat in the December winter. He reached the shelter, but was stopped at the front.
"Today's your last day," the woman at the front said. "Get your things together and be out within the next hour."
Lovino was too tired to even be angry with himself for getting too caught up in Antonio to remember his eviction. He just nodded, unable to comprehend what was happening. Slowly, he tore down the pictures and postcards from the bottom of the bunk above him. Slowly, he shoved his few belongings into his tattered duffel bag. Slowly, he signed out of the shelter and walked out into the winter night.
Lovino wandered around the town blankly, clutching his duffel bag. On this freezing night, no one dared be outside for too long, and yet here he was. It was so cold that when Lovino inhaled, the cold air froze his nostrils. Knowing he needed to find someplace warm and soon, Lovino pulled his sweatshirt up over his nose and his hood down to his brow, trying to cover as much of himself as he could, like some sort of dirty hijab. He headed to the bus station- he could stay there at least until midnight, when it closed, and then he'd have to find someplace else.
He fell asleep on a bench inside the station and was woken up by the janitor at around 1:30 am.
"Sorry," the janitor apologized, clutching a mop, "I let you sleep 'till I finished cleaning, but I really do have to lock up now. If you want you could-"
"I'm fine," Lovino interrupted, sitting up quickly and running a hand through his hair tiredly. "Really. Sorry to trouble you." Before the janitor could say anything else, Lovino had placed his hands on his knees and hauled himself to his feet and hurried quickly away, his duffel bag swung over one shoulder.
Without thinking, his feet carried him to Antonio's dorm building and he stood in front of it for a while, clutching his bag, swaying slightly and watching the light in Antonio's window, feeling a foreign pain in his chest. He couldn't go to Antonio. Not like this. Not when he knew there was nothing for him there.
He settled down in an alley between two houses, hugging his knees and arms to his chest, trying to conserve body heat. Still he was freezing and so he grabbed a couple smelly black trash bags and covered himself with them. They made him slightly warmer, but the stench was stifling and it took a while before Lovino could breathe.
He let himself fall sideways onto one of the trashbags, smelling spoiled milk and tomato sauce, and closed his eyes, hoping desperately for sleep, but it didn't come. Instead images of Antonio haunted the backs of his eyelids, like a perverse movie screen. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter, but he couldn't rid himself of that familiar, smiling face. Even now, the thought made his chest warm and he hated the fact that it did. Pain and hurt welled up in his throat and quickly he brought his hands to his face and rubbed his eyes furiously, grinding into them with his palms until they hurt and Antonio's face had disappeared into popping pinwheels and fireworks.
Still, it was a while before he was able to fall asleep completely, and even then he woke up frequently throughout the night, his breath gathering in front of him.