He awoke to the sound of someone snickering in front of him. Quickly Lovino opened his eyes, only to see a scruffy teenager standing before him, holding a hose.
"Looks like you need a wash," the teenager said, his face twisted unpleasantly.
"No-" Lovino tried to say, holding his hands up pleadingly, knocking off the trash bags, but before he could finish a jet of freezing water shot into his face with such pressure that it actually hurt. He tried to scream, but water just piled in his mouth and nose, pouring down his throat and he couldn't breathe- couldn't breathe-
Quickly he got up, his eyes squeezed shut, using the wall for support and began to ran.
"Dirty hobo!" The teenager yelled and followed slowly, the water hitting Lovino's back with enough force that it made him stumble and fall, scraping his knee before he scrambled back to his feet. Finally he escaped the teenager and his hose, but he was completely soaked and freezing. Even though the water was no longer drowning him, he still couldn't breathe well because he was so cold, his lungs aching and freezing every time he inhaled. He doubled over, hands on his knees, panting, and then realized he had left his duffel bag behind.
Lovino straightened up, trying to take a couple deep breaths and cajole himself to go back there.
"Your pictures are there," he told himself. "Your Bible and your clothes." Finally Lovino forced himself to turn around and head back, starting at a jog and then increasing as he saw that the teenager was still in the front yard, peering around, the hose still in his hand. Lovino shot past him, seeing out the corner of his eye the young boy- he must have been about 15 or 16- reach for the nozzle on his hose and in an instant a blast of ice-cold water slammed into his back but Lovino kept running.. he stooped down, grabbed his bag and looped around the small house, jumping the chain link. A dog started barking and chased at his heels, yapping and baring its teeth menacingly. Lovino raced to the other side of the fence, placing a hand on it, one hand on his duffel, and swung himself over, running back to the front of the house where a jet of water blasted him in the face and he forced himself to keep running, keep running even as he couldn't breathe, his throat filling with water, suffocating him…
And then he had gotten past the boy and into the street. A car honked and squealed to a stop as he ran past it; as he reached the other side of the street he heard several voices yelling, swearing at him but he couldn't stop, his legs wouldn't let him, even as his hair was freezing, a small layer of ice forming on his skin as he ran and ran. He saw the time on the electronic clock signboard of the local bank- 9:32 AM, a whole half hour later than when he should have opened the shop. He made himself speed up, his body burning and freezing at the same time, his breath short and ragged. Finally he made it to the shop, a pang of heated panic rising in his chest as he saw Antonio waiting outside the glass door, his brow furrowed in confusion and worry as he checked the time on his phone again and again. His head lifted as Lovino neared and he opened his mouth, but Lovino just ran past him and pulled the key out of his pocket, unlocked the door as fast as he could with his shaking hands, and tumbled into the shop, falling to the hard linoleum. Exhausted, he rolled over onto his back, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he fought for breath.
"Lovi!" Antonio cried, hurrying into the shop and kneeling beside Lovino. "What happened- are you okay- why were you running- what from- oh my God, you're soaked!" Antonio reached his hand out to Lovino but he had neither the breath nor the strength to fight him.
Finally Lovino lurched upright, forcing Antonio's hand away and drawing a loud, raspy breath that broke off into a cough. His chest knocked against his bent knees and it felt hollow and yet so heavy, his whole body was so empty but still it weighed him down.
"What the hell happened?" Antonio demanded, and Lovino felt something- Antonio's hand, on his back, sending heat through his entire body.
"I-" Lovino tried to explain through breaths, in a way that wouldn't make Antonio worry, and yet the more he thought about it, the harder it was to breathe. "I got hosed," he gasped finally.
"Hosed? What do you mean?"
"Some kid," Lovino paused for breath, "turned on his hose and aimed it at me."
"Why?"
"You think I know?!"
"Right. Sorry." Antonio looked down. "I missed you last night. Ems- my girlfriend- really wants to meet you."
"Of course she does," Lovino groaned. Just when he thought this day couldn't get any worse, Antonio had to go and mention his girlfriend.
Antonio narrowed his eyes. "What does that mean?" he said defensively. "You can insult me all you want, but don't insult my g-"
"I wasn't insulting her," Lovino coughed. "Relax." Antonio looked at him funny, as if trying to decipher some sort of hidden meaning, until he realized that there was none and he softened.
"Sorry," he apologized again. "I just-"
"Really love her," Lovino muttered, getting to his feet, keeping his face out of Antonio's sight. "I know."
"Glad you understand," Antonio said, and though the words were lighthearted, Antonio's face, unseen by Lovino, showed something else, something darker- longing, lust, and regret.
"Small mocha, two shots of espresso?" Antonio heard Lovino's voice from behind the coffee machines. He seemed less full of vim and vigor and vicious wit than usual, acting strangely sullen and it affected Antonio more than he would have liked to admit.
After a moment Lovino placed a steaming cup on the counter and said to the walls, "Small mocha, two shots of espresso, pastry?"
Antonio frowned. "Aren't you going to bring it to me?" he asked.
Lovino looked at him blankly. "Why would I do that?" he said, his voice empty.
"I-" Antonio felt something inside his heart quail and wither. He had the strange feeling that he had done this, that he had hurt Lovino in some way, but he didn't know how or why or how to fix it. All his textbooks and training and lectures worked for his test patients, for he was now interning at the psychiatric ward at the local hospital, helping to counsel inmates, but Lovino continued to defy everything he had learned and remain a mystery to Antonio.
Slowly Antonio got up, his chair scooting backwards and making a loud scraping sound against the floor as it moved. It was the only sound in the room and he flinched, the noise unholy and brash.
Antonio approached the counter warily, glancing at Lovino. Lovino was turned away from him, bent over a book. He was still soaked, but the icicles that had formed in his hair had since melted and a small puddle had formed beneath him, little droplets of ice water dripping off of him rhythmically. Beside him was a battered duffel bag, half unzipped, and Antonio saw inside it clothes and, the laminated surface gleaming under the fluorescent, off-white flat rectangular ceiling lights that adorned the ceilings of many a public venue, a picture he recognized from above Lovino's bunk bed; a sickly old man in a wheelchair with an IV and tubes under his nose. With a jolt, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and consulted the calendar; three weeks had passed.
"Where you staying nowadays?" Antonio asked, his voice echoing off the walls.
Without missing a beat, Lovino replied smoothly, "Feliciano's friend's apartment. I'm just keeping my things with me because I don't trust him with my stuff."
Antonio forced a hasty laugh. "I see." He leaned further over the counter, making sure not to knock over his coffee, as he strained to see the title of Lovino's book.
"What'cha reading?" he asked, giving up finally. Lovino held up the book while continuing to read: Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone.
"That's a good book," Antonio mused. "I didn't know you were into those sorts of books."
"My teacher recommended it to me," Lovino said, turning the page.
"Oh, right- you take classes, don't you? I still don't really know what kind of classes they are," said Antonio hopefully, trying to garner an answer from Lovino, but Lovino merely shrugged.
"The first time we met, you said you were learning to 'not be a total fuckup,'" Antonio added helpfully. "And I said, 'I didn't know the University offered classes like that,' and you said-"
Lovino closed his book with a snap after folding the corner of the page to mark his place.
"I remember, you don't need to tell me," he said sharply.
"Cool! And then you said, 'they don't, I go to-'"
"You really want to know?" Lovino said, turning on his heel to face Antonio. He looked strained, tired, and angry, and Antonio worried he may have been too pushy. There were noticeable bags under his eyes, which were ringed with red and bloodshot.
He stared down Antonio for a second before sighing and reaching into his duffel bag, rummaging around until he pulled out a crumpled pamphlet. He dropped it on the counter
next to Antonio's coffee cup and then turned back around, opening his book, his ears red.
Antonio smoothed out the paper and read aloud: "Overcoming Social Anxiety: How to Interact With Others."
"Go ahead and laugh," Lovino mumbled, his ears and neck burning. "It's pathetic, I know."
"No, no, not at all," Antonio said quickly, trying to reassure Lovino. "I think it's… admirable, that you're trying to, er, get over it- you know?"
Lovino scoffed irritably but said nothing, determinedly looking at his book though he hadn't turned the page in a very long time.
"You okay?" Antonio asked, after minutes of eyeing Lovino suspiciously.
"Yeah," Lovino muttered, "Fine."
And then, so quietly Antonio wasn't even sure if he had heard it or not,
"Why her?"
Antonio froze in shock, almost hoping that it was his imagination.
"W-What?" he said, his voice feeling too loud and abrasive, but he got no reply apart from still silence, the coffee machines whirring.
"Your coffee's getting cold," Lovino said, his voice empty.
"I- yeah-" Antonio felt as if an anvil had been dropped on him; dazed, confused, he picked up his coffee and simply walked out the door, not letting himself look back.
Antonio didn't have the strength to return that evening and instead, the next morning, brought Emma to the coffee shop. Lovino's eyes widened as they walked in, hand in hand, his face turning slightly pink when they approached the counter together.
Antonio had decided he wasn't going to hide anything from Lovino anymore. To remind them both, but mostly himself, of his relationship with the kindest, smartest, prettiest girlfriend, he figured it would be best to introduce Lovino and Emma to each other, so that there was no confusion.
She's gorgeous, Lovino realized as she came closer. He looked down- the two of them, Antonio and his girlfriend, were so blindingly beautiful it almost hurt to look at them. Lovino could already tell they were the perfect couple; he could practically see the electricity flowing through their intertwined fingers, connecting them together in ways he couldn't imagine.
"This is Emma," Antonio introduced, a wide smile on his face, and god, Lovino could hear how much he loved her when he said her name like that, as if she was the most special thing in the world, and he wondered if anyone would ever say his name like that…
"Hello!" Her voice was warm and rich, and she extended a slender hand towards Lovino, forcing him to look up and at her.
"N-N-Nice to meet you," Lovino stammered, reaching his shaking hand to hers. She grasped his hand firmly and shook it much more powerfully than Lovino had expected for a woman of her build. When she was done he quickly withdrew his hand, rubbing his arm nervously.
"Ahh," she cooed, startling Lovino, and he looked up, but Emma was looking at Antonio. "He's sweet. Isn't he sweet?" She squeezed Antonio's hand.
Antonio's eyes met with Lovino's for a scarce instant, before Lovino flushed and directed his gaze at the counter. "Yeah, he's pretty cute," he admitted, grinning. He reached out to ruffle Lovino's hair affectionately, but Lovino, suddenly angry, smacked his hand away.
"Don't fucking talk about me in front o-" He broke off, coughing wildly. He doubled over, unable to stop, one hand clutching the counter for support, the other in front of his mouth. He had been coughing and sneezing a lot since the previous morning, when he had slept outside in winter and been doused with cold water. His chest, head, and throat ached numbly, and Lovino was pretty sure he was ill. However, he couldn't not work: if he took a sick day he would have nowhere to stay and would end up being outside, which would make his illness worse. No, the best place for him right now was inside the warm coffee shop, and as long as he washed his hands frequently he should be okay. The real problem was what to do when work was over; he obviously couldn't stay in the same alley he had two nights ago, and last night he had gotten about maybe four hours sleep total in a public bathroom, which had not been heated during the night.
Finally the coughs ceased and he straightened up, embarrassed.
"Sorry," he tried to apologize to Emma and Antonio, who were staring at him, agape, but he started to cough again, though not as violently as before. "Sorry," he said again, once he was finished completely.
"I think I have a-" he sneezed, "A- A cold."
"You think?" Antonio said, though he looked concerned, as did Emma. Lovino merely wiped his nose and asked,
"Mocha? And for Miss… er, Emma..?"
"I'll have a macchiato," she said, a look of faint worry still on her face. "Oh, a caramel one," she added, as Lovino turned around to wash his hands after receiving the money from Antonio. He nodded, and as he washed his hands he noticed that they were shaking. He could hear two chairs scraping on the ground as Antonio pulled out a chair for Emma before getting one for himself. Antonio mumbled something quietly, too quiet for Lovino to pick out distinct words; he could just hear the pleasant low hum of Antonio's voice, and then Emma's high, tinkling laughter. Lovino scowled.
He was just drying his hands when he burst into another coughing fit and had to wash his hands all over again. A whole two minutes had passed before he could start the coffees.
Finally he brought two mugs over to their table, receiving two small "Thanks" from Emma and Antonio, and then scarpered as quick as he could. He didn't want to have to look at the pair of them, chatting and flirting and being the cutest goddamn fucking couple in the whole fucking world. If Lovino were a girl, could that be him; sitting across from Antonio and looking into his deep green eyes as Antonio spoon-fed him the whipped cream on top of his mocha and laughed about something inane…
"Lovi?" Antonio's voice broke Lovino out of his daydream and he looked up sharply. "We're gonna go now," he continued.
"Oh. Right." Yes, please leave, so Lovino didn't have to look at the two of them being happy together and be reminded of all his faults and why he could never have that.
"It was really nice meeting you, Lovino," said Emma kindly.
"See you," said Antonio.
Lovino didn't reply to either of them, just nodded and waited for them to leave.
The next few days he spent in a sort of feverish haze; even though he was wearing the warmest clothes he had, he was always freezing, and there was a strange pain in his chest and throat when he coughed or even breathed. During the night he could never sleep, but during work he found himself nodding off frequently. His coughing fits were even more frequent and painful and several times he wondered if he should just swallow his embarrassment and pride and actually ask for help, but he always dismissed these thoughts, yelling at himself internally for even thinking it. He was not going to give in, damn it!
And yet, after one particularly bad coughing fit, he pulled his hand away from his mouth and saw with horror that it was speckled with blood. The first thing he thought was: Antonio.
No. He berated himself, shaking his head frantically as if he could shake Antonio off his mind, but it just made him dizzy. He couldn't go to Antonio for help, he just couldn't. Even the thought of Antonio was painful, and it was because of this he had come up with a plan:
If he couldn't make himself not love Antonio, he'd have to just lock up those feelings, hide them so far away even he wouldn't be able to dredge them back up again. Because not feeling anything was better than feeling the pain he felt when he thought of Antonio and his gorgeous girlfriend Emma, who was everything Lovino was not.
And despite the fact that he had promised to not love Antonio, nothing changed- he could still feel his heart speed up whenever Antonio walked into the room, could feel something inside him melt whenever Antonio said his name, could feel his knees go weak and his body temperature rise if Antonio got close enough.
Give in, one part of him said, but if he did, what would happen? What would change? Antonio would still love Emma, Lovino would still feel his heart leap when he heard the bell on the door jingle as Antonio walked in… no matter what, every ending was the same: Antonio didn't love Lovino, he never would, and nothing Lovino could do would make Antonio fall for him. Yet even as he told himself these cold, hard, facts, trying to convince himself that all he could do was hide his true feelings and continue numbly on, some part of him kept hoping, kept dreaming, and as hard as he tried to reason with himself, he couldn't stop.
I just want to say that the event that occurred in the first part of this chapter actually happened to a friend of mine. Many homeless people experience prejudice or unwarranted hatred on the assumption that they are addicts or mentally insane or just the dregs of society, when in fact most are just unlucky people. So please do not judge someone by whether they wear a suit or rags; a person's wealth is not a legitimate commentary on their actual being.
Thank you for reading.