After two more hours of meandering chatter punctuated by Lovino insulting or swearing periodically at Antonio, he finally gathered the gall to say,
"Where actually are we going?"
"A little ways from of Palma Campania. The vineyards are there, but the bus stops at Palma Campania, so we'll have to walk the extra three miles."
"Wha- three miles?! Are you sure you can do that? I don't think even I can carry you that far."
"Its fine. It's not that cold down here in winter anyway, and I'm used to the trip."
"Really? That's-" Antonio didn't get the chance to finish his sentence, for the driver's voice rang through. It was too fast for Antonio to properly understand, but Lovino stood up and took his duffel bag down from the rack above their seats.
"This is the last stop," he told Antonio.
"Oh- right." They departed the small bus together, Lovino said something to the driver but once again it was too fast for Antonio to hear.
"What did you say to him?" he asked. The small rocks of the gravel road crunched under his feet as he walked.
"I said thanks."
"And how do you say that?"
"Grazie."
"Bless you," said Antonio automatically.
"No, idiot- that's how you say thank you."
"Bless you?"
"I feel sorry for your mother, having to live with the fact that she birthed an imbecile."
"I don't get it."
"Of course you don't," grumbled Lovino.
"But.. what is thank you in Italian?"
"Grazie. That's it. Not a sneeze."
"Like gracias!" Antonio realized.
"Yeah. Like gracias." They continued in silence for a while, stopping occasionally so Lovino could catch his breath, until they reached a small dirt path curving out of the main road. The smell of grapes and sweat permeated the air. As they ambled down it, Lovino in the lead, the smell grew stronger. Finally they reached what seemed to be a sort of clearing, and as Antonio stepped out into it, he felt his jaw drop. At first he thought it must be a graveyard, because all he could see were white pickets. Upon closer inspection, he realized that they were indeed pickets, but not for marking spots of the dead's final rest; no, these were for holding up grapes. Coiled around each one were small, practically sproutling vines, and the beginnings of buds of grapes, little spots of purple. Green twine tied the vines loosely to the pickets.
"The processing plant is a couple miles away so the waste doesn't damage the crops," Lovino explained quietly, making Antonio jump in the still silence.
"I- I see."
"I told you it wasn't that kind of farm," Lovino said, his voice barely audible. His cheeks were tinged with embarrassment.
"No, no- it's fine! Really." Antonio managed a weak smile. The word 'farm' had always been synonymous with cute animals and mud and plants to him, and even though he knew there had had to be manufacturing farms for grapes and such products, he hadn't expected Lovino to work on one, let alone be a sharecropper.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. It's great. Even though there's no sheepies or cowsies or horsies." This time Antonio really did smile. Lovino turned his head, but the corners of his lips tugged upwards and it was visible that he was secretly pleased.
"We live a bit further down. There's housing provided for the workers." Lovino pointed past the hill to their left.
Without any warning, he started to walk forward in the direction he had pointed. Antonio gaped at the spectacle in front of him and then quickly, noticing he was being left behind, jogged ahead to catch up with Lovino. As they walked, Lovino would occasionally point out various things to Antonio: "This is where we grow the white wine grapes;" "The more skin the better the taste, so we grow some of our grapes in harsh conditions so that they are smaller and have more of the skin." It was very interesting, but Antonio couldn't help letting his mind wander briefly, focusing instead on Lovino's hips, his long, lilting gait, his thin legs and straight back.
All of a sudden Lovino stopped in front of a gate and Antonio, unaware, almost bumped into him but caught himself right before.
"What?" he asked.
"Nothing," Lovino replied, but Antonio could see his hands were clenched into fists. He took a deep breath, lowered his head, unclenched and the re-clenched his fists nervously, and then took a step past the gate.
There were infinitely more pickets than there had been before, and at least double that number in men, hunched over and systematically tying baby vines to pickets. Lovino took a couple more steps before a yell was plaintively heard:
"Hey, look, it's Little Vargas!" The hundreds of heads turned up and began to laugh. One of them stuck his tongue in the corner of his mouth to make his cheek bulge out, and then placed his hand in a fist at the opposite end of the imaginary bump, moving his head back and forward in a fashion that imitated sucking a dick. Another turned around and bent over, smacking his ass.
"Does this get you off, Little Vargas?" he jeered. Antonio couldn't understand what they were saying, but from their actions and obscene gestures, he was pretty sure he knew.
Fields full of men fell about in laughter, clutching their stomachs and leaning on their friends for support. A few continued their work, giving the men who were teasing Lovino dirty looks, but said nothing.
Lovino kept walking, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles were white, his face burning red. His movements were hurried and disjointed, as if he were restraining himself, which, Antonio figured, he probably was.
"Who's that with you? Your boyfriend?" one sneered.
"Faggot!"
"Stay away from my son!"
"Cocksucker!"
One grabbed his crotch, screaming, "You like this? You like this?"
"Hey, Little Vargas," yelled the one who had told everyone else of Lovino's presence, "What are you doing here? I thought even Old-Man Roma didn't want you anymore, just like your mother!"
Lovino stiffened, trembling. Antonio had only recognized the word 'mother,' but that was enough. Lovino rotated around on his heel slowly and started towards them.
"What'cha gonna do, suck my dick?!" the man yelled. Lovino snarled and increased his speed, but Antonio grabbed him before he got close and hauled him away.
"Just don't listen to-" Antonio began to say, but Lovino grabbed Antonio's arm and peeled it off of him.
"Don't fucking touch me!" he screamed. The workers watching made jeering noises, laughing.
"Got a little lover's quarrel there, Little Vargas?" one called, chortling. Lovino's lip curled and he made a move as if he were about to take a step.
"Lovi-" Antonio placed a hand on Lovino's shoulder but he swiveled around and shoved Antonio with more strength than Antonio had expected. Antonio stumbled backwards a couple steps and then fell on his butt. Lovino charged forward until he was practically nose-to-nose with the man who had instigated the whole ordeal.
Antonio scrambled to his feet, hurrying towards Lovino as best he could, hoping he could stop the fight before anyone got hurt. The man muttered something. Lovino replied, and the crowd who had formed a circle around him, preventing him from possibly escaping, began to laugh. The man didn't seem to find his reply so funny and he stood there for a moment, making a peculiar movement with his mouth that Antonio didn't understand until he drew back and spat on Lovino.
It hit him square in the face, between his eyes. Lovino made no move to wipe it off. In fact, he didn't move at all, and Antonio remembered in a flash the moments before he had bitten that kid's dick off.
Lovino hawked, and then spat back at the man. It was bloody, and the crowd drew back, startled.
"The hell…?" The man felt the bloody saliva on his face with his finger, not understanding the crowd's reaction. He held his finger up in front of his face and his eyes went wide.
"Wha- What the fuck is wrong with you?" he choked, fear now clouding over the anger.
Lovino smiled, his lips and teeth coated in red. "AIDS," he said casually.
The man gave a little squeak and Lovino took a step closer.
"That's right," he said. "AIDS." All Antonio caught was the word 'AIDS,' but that was all he needed.
"You know how it's passed?" Lovino continued. The man stared at him, blank faced, trembling a little.
"B-Blood?" he stammered.
"Correct. Blood. Now what's that on your face?"
"I- I-" The man gaped at the little spot of blood on his finger. He managed to take a breath before he fainted. One man from the circle surrounding them rushed forward and caught him, looking reproachfully at Lovino.
"Get the hell out of here," he growled. Lovino shrugged and turned away, loping casually over to Antonio. He was almost to Antonio when a man in a dirty wifebeater that had once been white, with yellow-gray sweat stains under the armpits, hurled a rock at Lovino. It hit him at the back of his head, throwing Lovino off balance. He wobbled for a moment and then fell to the ground.
"Lovino!" Antonio yelled, running towards his limp body. For a minute Antonio worried he was unconscious, but Lovino crawled forward a couple inches and then picked himself up, coughing.
"OhmygodLoviareyouokay-" gasped Antonio, but Lovino cut him off.
"C'mon," he mumbled. "Let's get out of here." He nodded over his shoulder and Antonio saw the horde of people glaring, some cracking their knuckles or picking up rocks, obviously debating the pros and cons of starting another fight with Lovino.
"O-Okay," replied Antonio warily, still a little unsettled. Lovino led him past the field and into another division where some of the workers gave the two of them odd or disapproving looks but said nothing.
"What the hell was that?" panted Antonio, jogging slightly to keep up with Lovino, who was walking as fast as he possibly could without actually running.
"That was the division where I worked," he said, his breath thin as well.
"Why do they…" Antonio was afraid to finish the question, worried he might offend Lovino.
"Hate me so much?" suggested Lovino, smiling wryly and without humor. He took Antonio's silence as his answer.
Lovino shrugged, thankfully slowing down now that they were a while away from the field. Gratefully Antonio halted as well.
"Hell if I know."
Antonio got the feeling Lovino was hiding something from him, but decided that now wasn't the time to pry.
Lovino shook his head, as if to convince himself of something, then hoisted his duffel bag back over his shoulder, one hand on the strap, the other in his pocket.
"Let's go."
Antonio followed.
They reached a row of squat wooden blocks three stories tall, and it was only when Antonio noticed the tiny, smoky, porthole-like windows embedded in it like many eyes, he realized that each of the buildings were apartment complexes.
"We live in B," said Lovino, walking past the first row. Leaning dangerously out a window on the third floor was a young woman with her hair pulled back in a patterned kerchief, a few wanton curls sprung loose from its folds. She was smoking a cigarette with the air of a sophisticated socialite, and the bright red of her lipstick clashed against her dark skin and tattooed her cigarette. A dirty gray nightshirt sagged dangerously low over her chest, and the neon pink zebra pattern of her bra was vaguely visible. She blew Antonio a kiss when she saw him staring.
"Hurry up," groaned Lovino, his face tinged red with embarrassment.
"Sorry," apologized Antonio, accidentally treading on Lovino's heel in his attempt to catch up to his rapid pace.
"Watch it!" snapped Lovino. They passed another row of apartments. Antonio watched a toddler clamber onto a windowsill, his tongue stuck out in effort, and he turned, panicked, to Lovino.
"That kid-" he pointed up at the windowsill, but just then an old woman, her hair in curlers and such a shade of silver that it looked almost blue, grabbed him and pulled him back, tutting,
"Femare che, Guido."
From inside the apartment, a distant wail could be heard:
"Voglio essere un uccellino! I wanna be a birdie!"
They passed many more interesting sights until Lovino stopped in front of one of the apartment buildings. It was square, squat, stained a dark brown, unremarkable, and completely indistinguishable from the others apart from a large, rusted 'B' hanging over the doorway. The door was open.
Antonio followed Lovino up an incredibly claustrophobic-inducing set of narrow stairs barely wide enough to fit his shoulders. On the third floor landing they stopped.
The accompanying hallway was barely wider and was noticeably dirtier, darker, and mustier than the staircase had been. There were three old-fashioned lights jutting out of the wall, one of which was not functioning, the other two so dim that they did little to improve the lighting of the place. Antonio was amazed Lovino was even able to tell which of the many doors led to his apartment.
Lovino knocked on a door. The noise was hollow and echoed off the thin walls with the peeling wallpaper patterned with faded posies, off the dim lights upon which the corpses of dead insects could be seen gathered around the base where the lightbulb was contained, off the rotting wood doors with the foul odor of decay.
"Nonno!" he called, knocking more. "Roma! I'm here!"
There was no answer.
"I know you're in there," yelled Lovino in Italian, knocking more fervently.
"Do you think he's alright?" fretted Antonio.
"Yeah, I'm sure he is," grumbled Lovino, although he didn't sound so sure himself. "Just doesn't want to let me in, the old bastard."
He kicked the door lightly.
"Roma!" After a couple seconds of bated breath resulting in only silence, a weak voice was audible through the wood.
"Go away! I told you not to come back!"
"If you don't let me in, I'll break the door down!"
It was quiet for a moment, but then: "You wouldn't dare!"
"Wanna test me?!" Lovino kicked the door again, not hard enough to break it down, but enough to make his point.
"Bene, bene," Roma muttered, disgruntled, and then they could hear the clack of the lock being turned.
Lovino swung the door open, only to be faced with darkness. He stepped in.
"Why you got it all dark?" he complained.
"To save electricity."
Lovino groaned and pulled on a chain, lighting the room so that Antonio could now see.
It was much smaller than he had expected. To the left of the room were three doorways, one of which was open, the edge of a dirty toilet exposed to view. The right side of the room was separated by a small counter, oven, and stove, and against the wall opposite the counter was a fridge and a sink, and above them, many cupboards. On the other side of the counter, away from the kitchenette, were three tired couches arranged in a semicircle around a very old television; the sort that was large and square and you could see little lines and squiggles on the screen if you got too close.
"Who's this?" barked Roma, pointing a trembling finger at Antonio. He was weathered and old, very old. His skin seemed to be made entirely of wrinkles and veins and age spots, and he was in a wheelchair, an IV attached to it and his forearm. His feet were bare and his toenails were yellow and cracked and unclipped, so long that they curved around. His beard was white.
Tentatively Antonio stepped into the room. Now that he was in it, he could see more: the crack in the wall, covered with duct tape; the makeshift cardboard shutters for the window, the dirty dishes piled in the sink, many so old that they had mold on them. The room smelled like dust and pee and mold, and for the umpteenth time, Antonio worried about Lovino's lungs.
However, Lovino didn't seem to share that same fear, and was instead fussing over Roma.
"Look at the state of this place! Did you hire that nurse like I told you too? Was the money enough?"
Roma didn't answer, keeping his lips tightly pressed together, his face turned away from Lovino, contorted in a look of disgust.
"You've lost weight- too much weight," fretted Lovino. "And look at your clothes- I told you you should get some new ones, this shirt has still got blood stains on it from that time Feli scraped his knee in Year Three… You did hire the nurse, right?"
"Why'dyou come back?" Roma asked quietly, throwing Lovino off guard.
"I- well- I had to," concluded Lovino lamely.
"My memory's not too good these days, but I remember telling you to not come back. So what're you doing here? And who the hell is he?!"
"His name's Antonio." At the sound of his name, Antonio looked up.
"Yes, I'm Antonio. Lieto di vederla." he extended his hand for Roma to shake.
Roma looked from Antonio to Lovino and then back again. "Who's this finocchio?" he barked.
"What's a finocchio?" Antonio whispered to Lovino, flipping through his Italian phrase book.
"He called you a faggot," explained Lovino through the side of his mouth, a corner of his lips tugged upwards in mockery of Antonio.
"Oh."
Lovino turned back to Roma and they began to talk again, gesticulating immensely. Slightly intimidated, Antonio edged over to the sink, intending to wash the massive pile of moldy, slimy dishes so that Lovino wouldn't get mold in his lungs again, although from all the visible dry rot and cracks and water damage, it probably wouldn't do much change.
He turned the faucet. There was a rumble, but no water came out. He turned the nob further to the right. There was a splutter, and thick brown water shot out of the faucet at such high pressure it might as well have been a sprinkler, wetting Antonio's shirt with specks of dirty liquid.
Lovino and Roma looked up from their conversation.
"The fuck you doing?" Lovino yelled. Someone in the flat next to them banged on the wall and yelled something that was most likely 'shut up.'
"W-Washing the dishes," Antonio croaked nervously. The sink gave another clanging noise and Lovino's eyes flitted away from Antonio for a moment to the sink and then back again.
"What'dyou do to it?" he asked.
"Nothing, it just- was like this.."
Lovino groaned, running a hand through his hair. "Turn it off," he commanded, marching over to the sink and opening up the cabinet underneath it. He threw aside the scattered sponges and soaps and grabbed a flashlight and a toolbox. He crouched down and stuck his head and shoulders into the cupboard, his butt sticking out. He fiddled around under there for a moment while Antonio enjoyed the view.
Roma said something and Lovino withdrew himself from the cabinet.
"Were you looking at my ass?" he accused Antonio.
"Wha- me? No!"
Lovino turned to Roma and asked something in Italian. Roma replied.
"He says you were looking at my ass," Lovino snarled.
"He must be, uh, mistaken," appeased Antonio, giving a small pleading smile towards the old man. Roma made an obscene gesture. Antonio's smile fell.
He heard several clunks and bangs, and then Lovino pulled himself out of the cabinet.
"Try the sink now," he panted, hot and sweaty from being inside the cabinet. He wiped his hair off his forehead, but several strands still stuck to his skin, dark and wet.
Antonio turned the faucet. There were a couple splutters, and then it started working, brown at first but then it thinned out into clear water that he could only hope was sanitary.
"Nice job," Antonio attempted to compliment Lovino, but he just waved him off, going back to Roma.
As if there had been no interruption, the two of them continued their argument. Every now and then, as he scrubbed at the dishes, Antonio picked up some words: the ever-present finocchio, in addition to nonno, soldi, la salute, and infermiera, nurse.
"Fidanzato?!" Roma accused, directing a shaking hand towards Antonio.
"No, no. Just a friend."
Antonio finished washing the dishes and laid them on a rack to dry. He wiped his hands on his shirt and headed over to the two of them, still bickering. As he approached, they both grew quiet and looked at him silently, alienating him. They didn't resume their conversation until Antonio had held his hands up in a surrendering pose and backed away, as if they were worried he would overhear even though he could barely understand what they were saying.
Antonio seated himself on one of the couches. They were all mismatched and of varying sizes and dilapidation. The one he was on was a dark green scratchy fabric, and as he sat down he practically fell into it, it was so squashy. The rest of the couch underneath him curved in a concave fashion as it gave way to his weight. Under his right hand several pieces of duct tape were placed over a rip in the cushion. In other areas, little cotton balls of stuffing poked up from tears in the fabric. Antonio pulled his phrasebook out of his pocket and flipped to a random page.
It struck him after a couple minutes of skimming the page that it had become strangely quiet. In fact, Roma's was the only voice in the room.
"How's Feliciano?" he asked.
"Fine," Lovino replied, his eyes slanting away.
"Is his art going well? Does he like America?" Lovino nodded. "Good," said Roma, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes satisfactorily.
"He got a girlfriend yet?"
"Y-Yeah. A German girl." Antonio understood what they were saying and perked up, listening.
"German, eh?" Lovino nodded again. "With the big tits and everything?" Roma made a motion in front of his chest as if grabbing a breast.
Roma whistled, a smile spreading across his white lips. "I always liked them German girls. He's done good for himself, Feliciano." He opened his eyes and stared intently at Lovino, the smile gone.
"Maybe if you just-" he began to say, but Lovino bit his lip, steeling himself, and grabbed Antonio's hand, hauling him to his feet. Antonio dropped his book.
"Hey-" he began to say, but Lovino just pulled Antonio to the door. Before he knew what he was doing there, Lovino had slammed the door and started down the stairs. Halfway down he looked over his shoulder at Antonio.
"Come on," he said, jerking his head towards the end of the stairwell. Reluctantly Antonio followed.
"What was that?" he asked as he neared Lovino's silhouetted form.
"Nothing," replied Lovino bitterly. "Let's just go." Antonio stood there a moment, dumbstruck.
"Come on!" Lovino insisted, pulling Antonio's arm forcefully, causing him to trip a few steps. Righting himself, he turned around to face Lovino.
"Seriously," said Antonio. "What did he say to you?"
Lovino barged past Antonio, knocking him against the wall, and down the stairs. Antonio heard the sound of the door slamming. He stood there for a moment, watching the dust motes collect in the air. Finally he managed to pull himself away from the wall and run down the stairs after Lovino.
The fresh cool air on Antonio's face was a relief from the cramped, heated atmosphere of the staircase and subsequent apartment, but as he blinked, his eyes stung by the natural light, he couldn't see Lovino anywhere.
"Lovi?" he called, a hand to his mouth. There was no response. He wandered aimlessly around the grounds, yelling Lovino's name occasionally, but nothing happened. Disenchanted, he leaned against a tree and crossed his arms, wondering where else he could be.
As he was deep in thought, a pair of feet kicked him in the forehead. Antonio yelped in surprise and pain, and the pair of feet did too. There was a rustling of leaves and then a thin figure fell out of the tree and onto Antonio, bringing them both to the ground.
"What the-" Antonio and the person said at the same time. Recognizing the voice, Antonio hesitantly opened one eye, and then the other, only to see Lovino's face inches away from his own.
"What are you doing here?" they said together.
"I was looking for you. What are you doing here?" said Antonio. He was slightly distracted by the fact that Lovino's face was barely four inches from his own, that his skin, silhouetted by the evening light seemed to glow, that his hair was falling down around his face, shaping and softening it, that his lips were a delicate pink like the inside of a shell and full and parted slightly, that his eyes were like pools of green-brown that Antonio could feel himself start to drown in…
"I was…" Lovino searched for the right word. He could feel his face heat up and redden under Antonio's inspective gaze, but even though he willed it to, his body wouldn't move, rooted to the spot right above Antonio… Every imperfection made Antonio's face just seem all the more perfect. The corners of his mouth were slightly curved upwards, remnants of his permanent smile; his eyes were a brilliant green, contrasting against his dark skin. As Lovino noticed all this and more, he saw that there was a stray eyelash on Antonio's right cheek.
"Lovino?"
"I-" Lovino stammered, urging himself to say something, anything, but he was tongue-tied and could only look helplessly at that one goddamn fucking eyelash… god, he wanted to brush it off, it was annoying the shit out of him, but if he did, Antonio could mistake that gesture for something else…
Well, what would be so bad if he did? one part of his brain said, the part that still loved Antonio, despite all the mental locks he had set for himself, barring himself from merely thinking about Antonio, about how gorgeous he looked in the sun, a slight sheen of sweat making his skin glisten; the way he rolled his sleeves up to his elbows so that they bunched there and exposed his godly forearms oh holy fuck; that special expression he reserved only for Lovino...
No. No. No!
Lovino shook his head frantically.
"Is… is there something on my face?" Antonio lifted an arm and tapped his nose with it.
"Um. Yeah. Other side," mumbled Lovino.
"Here?"
Wrong cheek.
"No- here.." Lovino gently took Antonio's hand, feeling something inside his chest twist, and moved it to his right cheek. It was a moment before Lovino remembered to take his hand off of Antonio's.
"Thanks." He brushed it away impatiently. "Uh, would you mind getting off?"
"Wha-" Lovino began indignantly, but then he looked down and realized that he was indeed on top of Antonio.
"You-" his face flooded with color as he drew back his wrist and slapped Antonio across the face, jumping off of him.
"You creep!" he spat.
"Huh? I'm the creep?! You were the one on top of me!"
"No I wasn't!"
"You totally were!"
"I was not!" harrumphed Lovino, crossing his arms and tossing his head angrily.
"Okay, fine, fine, whatever," Antonio groaned, knowing that there was no point in arguing, even though he knew he was right.
"But.." he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "What were you doing up there?"
"Contemplating the meaning of life."
"Whoa, seriously?"
"No! How stupid can you get?"
"Uh.. I don't know, how can you?"
"Very, apparently," Lovino grimaced. "What were you doing?"
"Looking for you."
"Under a tree?"
"I was right though, wasn't I?"
Lovino tsked, unwilling to admit that Antonio was correct.
"So?" prodded Antonio.
"So it's none of your business."
"Were you upset?"
"N-No!"
"Ah, so you were."
"I said I wasn't, you jerk!"
"What were you upset about?"
"I'm not fucking upset!"
"Then why'd you run off?"
"Because.." Lovino let the words swill around in his mouth. "I was pissed off."
"Okay, why were you pissed off then?"
Lovino chewed his lip, trying to decide whether or not to confess. "He- Roma, I mean- well, he always- this is going to sound bad, but-"
"Just say it."
"He.. he… he never once asked me any- any thing about m-myself, just if I was c-c-cured yet!"
"Lovi.." Antonio rested a hand on Lovino's knee, but he smacked it away impatiently.
"Not even one question- just a 'how are you' or something would have been nice- all he cares is if I'm-" Lovino struck the ground with his fist. "And then he just- just asks about Feliciano! Nothing about me- just if he's doing well, how his art is going, if- if he's gotten a girlfriend yet…"
Antonio didn't know what to say and instead rubbed Lovino's back encouragingly.
"I'm so fucking tired of lying for Feli- I mean, he didn't for me! And sometimes I think, yeah, I'm gonna do it, he should- should- hell, I don't know, but- I worry that even if Roma knew, it would still be the- the same! That I'll be the b-b-bad one and he-" Lovino broke off.
"I'm sure he… well, he's probably just confused. By you and what you are- I mean, lots of people don't understand. They think it's… disgusting, or perverse, or simply.. wrong, but that doesn't mean it necessarily is."
"Yeah? How would you know? Do you find me disgusting too?" Lovino spat.
"I know because I've been in the same situation as you," Antonio said quietly. Lovino looked up at him quickly, an expression of disbelief and surprise visible.
"R-Really? You're… like me?"
"Sort of." Antonio gave a half-laugh, half-sigh. It wasn't meant to be humorous. "I'm bi."
"Hello?" Lovino's brow furrowed.
"No, no," laughed Antonio, for real now. "It stands for bisexual."
"Bi… sexual? What's that?"
"It's when you are attracted to people of both genders. Like, you like boys and girls." Antonio explained.
"That's a thing? You can do that?"
"Sure I can."
Lovino milled over this for a moment, doodling spiral patterns in the dirt beneath them with his index finger. He made a mistake and tsk'ed, rubbing it out and starting over.
"You said- you've been in my situation before… did you get kicked out, too?" Lovino said, blushing slightly with embarrassment for asking such a personal question.
"No, my parents were mostly fine with it." Antonio leaned back against the tree and stretched. "But I had some problems in high school."
"Really?" Lovino asked quickly, almost excitedly, and then flushed darker. "Sorry. I mean. Not sorry. Because I don't- I don't care."
Antonio laughed, a deep, rumbling laugh from the pit of his stomach that flew out his mouth, whistling through his teeth like a flock of birds. It gathered in the air and Lovino felt something inside him lift, like someone had removed a weight from his belly.
Antonio reached over and ruffled Lovino's hair affectionately. "Don't you ever change," he laughed.
"What the- gerroff!" Lovino snarled, but he couldn't suppress a giggle too.
"But seriously," Antonio continued, a definite graveness that hadn't been there a moment ago present in his voice. He let his hand slip off of Lovino's head and it fell, wooden, to the dirt. Lovino almost wished it had lingered just a minute longer.
"It.." he shook his head, a confused dog exiting water. "It was awful. I don't really have any words for it, but I get the feeling I don't need them." He looked up and straight into Lovino's eyes, and then through them, into Lovino himself… Lovino couldn't, with all his strength, pull away. Just with this simple contact, he could feel his heart begin to speed up so much it almost hurt. The back of his throat went dry. He could feel himself shaking, Antonio's gaze was so intense, and so… sad, so old, like Lovino had never seen before. Antonio was never without a smile or a bad joke, and seeing him so honest, so raw… for some reason, it made Lovino happy, almost, that it was he who was seeing this, him and not Emma; yes, it was to he whom Antonio was entrusting his truest self.
"You- you know, right?" Antonio whispered, his voice but a hiss and yet so loud, deafening, almost.
"Yeah." The words stuck in Lovino's throat. He shifted his hand a little to the left, laying it gently on top of Antonio's without breaking eye contact.
Antonio drew a sharp breath. He looked down at their hands, joined together, and quickly pulled his out from under Lovino's, holding it to his chest and looking away. He stood up suddenly, turned away so Lovino couldn't see his expression. Lovino, stunned, just looked at him, his movements still sluggish, his heartbeat still rapid.
"We should go back," Antonio said sharply. "It's getting late."
Lovino was about to protest that it wasn't that late, it was only seven-thirty, but the harsh tone of Antonio's voice jerked him into alertness and obedience. He got up. Antonio was already several paces ahead, striding towards the apartment swiftly. Lovino followed.
Emma and only Emma, chanted Antonio under his breath, where Lovino couldn't hear.
Emma and only Emma.
To the reviewer who was offended by my portrayal of Italians:
I'm very sorry you were offended. I myself am Italian, and my uncle, upon returning to Italy received this sort of treatment and so I am basing it off of that. In the southern region of Italy, particularly in small, poor, rural areas, hatred breeds and is expressed more easily, and so that too is a factor of Lovino's treatment.
And thank you for the Italian language advice. I asked my mother for some assistance, but was too nervous to ask how to say the word 'faggot' so I instead googled it, which is most likely why I got it wrong.
Thank you to all reviewers.