"Roma?" Lovino rapped the door with the back of his hand. He was still breathing heavily just from the short trip up the stairs. "We're coming in." He glanced at Antonio, who was still nonchalantly avoiding even admitting that Lovino was there.

When he got no response, Lovino swung the door open again.

"You turned the light off again!" he complained, switching it back on. "Why do you keep doing that?!"

"Electricity costs money." Roma's grave voice resounded against the thin walls, making it seem much larger than it actually was.

"Yeah, well, I sent you money."

"You did? I didn't get any money."

"You… what…?" Lovino blanched, swaying slightly. He clutched the doorway for support. "You didn't get my- my-"

He staggered and then fell backwards limply, and taken by surprise, Antonio caught him in his arms. He looked at Lovino's pale face, lolling sickly. His eyes rolled back in his head. He had passed out.

Quickly Antonio dragged Lovino into the room, laying him gently on the floor. He closed the door. He could vaguely hear Roma yelling in Italian, but had no clue what he was actually saying.

Through the indiscernible shouts, Antonio caught the words 'what' and 'do.' It was a moment before he realized that Roma was actually asking him what to do.

"Uh.. hold his feet up," Antonio said. Roma's face morphed into one of confusion. "Feet," said Antonio disjointedly, pointing to his feet. "Up." He pointed to the ceiling.

Roma leaned back in his wheelchair and lifted his skinny legs.

"No, no- Lovino's feet. Up." he pointed at the ceiling again. Roma still didn't understand, and Antonio crawled over on his hands and knees and lifted Lovino's legs up. Roma nodded and held his ankles. It was a trick Antonio had learned from his mother, to get the blood back to the brain. He wasn't sure if it actually worked, but it was better than nothing.

Antonio patted Lovino's cheek, attempting to wake him. He held his ear to Lovino's mouth and heard that he was still breathing, which was good. He patted Lovino's cheek harder. He still didn't wake.

Antonio heard a loud thud and looked up, only to see that Roma had dropped Lovino's legs and wheeled away.

"Hey!" Antonio called after him, but within a few seconds Roma reappeared, holding a bottle of wine. He uncorked it and held the rim of the bottle under Lovino's nose.

Lovino inhaled loudly. His eyes shot open and he jolted awake. Roma handed him the bottle.

"Grazie," said Lovino gratefully, and lifted it to his mouth.

"No- wait! That's not-!" Antonio protested, reaching out to take the bottle away, but Roma frowned at him disapprovingly and smacked him away.

Lovino chugged wine as Roma nodded approvingly. Antonio could hear his loud, wet gulps as he tilted the bottle further and further upwards to get more.

Antonio watched helplessly, fidgeting, aching to take the bottle away but knowing he would probably get kicked out if he did. Finally, Lovino pulled away, exhaling slowly.

"Better?" asked Roma.

"Better."

"You- you really shouldn't drink-" interjected Antonio, but Lovino just stared at him as if he had said the earth was flat.

"What're you talking about? Wine's the best medicine there is!" He looked over at Roma. "Right, nonno?"

"Alla buona derrata. The good stuff," agreed Roma.

"Don't you want some?" Lovino held the bottle out by the neck towards Antonio. "'S good."

"I'll pass," said Antonio hastily.

Lovino shrugged. "More for me." He lifted the bottle to his lips once more but Antonio grabbed it from him.

"Why don't we… put the wine away?" he suggested mildly.

"Why would we do that?" laughed Lovino.

"Because- because-" protested Antonio uselessly.

"I suppose we should save it.." Lovino contemplated.

"Yes!" Antonio agreed fervently. "Yes- save it for later." Eagerly he took the bottle from Lovino and got up, placing it on the counter by the sink where Lovino couldn't reach it from his position. When he got back, Lovino and Roma were conversing.

"So you didn't get my money?!"

"What money?"

"The checks, in the blue envelopes- didn't you get them?" Lovino looked as if he were either about to burst into tears or punch a wall. Antonio still didn't know what was going on, or what had even caused Lovino to become so panicked he blacked out, and flipped through his phrasebook frantically.

"Oh, those? Yeah, I got those. I thought you meant money money, like cash."

"You- don't fucking scare me like that! I can't believe-" Lovino broke off, coughing.

Antonio hurried to Lovino sitting on the floor, crouching down beside him. "Don't stress yourself! You know what the doctor said-"

"What's wrong with him?! What's wrong with my grandson?!" Roma interrupted. His chin trembled. In that moment, he looked so weak, so afraid, that Antonio could tell that, despite his actions, he really did love Lovino.

"He's sick," explained Antonio, as Lovino slumped against Antonio weakly, falling back into his chest, still coughing. "Uh… malato. Molto malato."

"M- Malato..?" Roma leaned back in his wheelchair, clutching the arm rests. He looked as if he were about to faint.

"I'm f-fine, nonno-" Lovino choked, a hand over his mouth. "Really, I-" He gave a particularly bad cough that racked his whole body, loud and wet. It sounded like the ripping of paper or cloth, and several droplets of blood fell onto his hand and the floor.

"Dio mio! My god!" Roma crossed himself fearfully, his hand quaking. His eyes went wide and he seemed to realize something.

"AIDS! You give my grandson AIDS!" He pointed at Antonio, his veined, spotted finger shaking.

"No, no." Antonio shook his head. "No AIDS."

Thankfully upon this statement, Roma seemed slightly assuaged, although everytime Antonio looked at him, he could see the old man's blue eyes staring right through him in a hostile manner, and he knew that no matter what he did, he would always be an outsider to him.

Lovino's coughing subsided enough that he could speak.

"I'm fine," Lovino reassured Roma, his voice husky from the coughing. "It's nothing. I'm just a little-" he held his forefinger and thumb millimetres apart to show how minimal of a problem it was, "Sick." He coughed into his hand again.

"But-" Roma's beard trembled.

"Really, I-" Lovino couldn't stop coughing.

"Maybe you should calm down a bit," Antonio murmured, laying a hand on Lovino's shoulder. "You're still sick, and it's been a long day."

"Okay, fine, got it," Lovino gasped, clutching his chest.

"Does it hurt?! I think I brought painkillers- actually, wait, they said not to use them until you gained more weight- would a cold rag be fine? Do you have ice? I-"

"You need to calm down!" hacked Lovino.

"What's going on? Is everything okay?" Roma interrupted, looking from Antonio to Lovino and back again.

"Yeah- fine-" Still doubled over, Lovino held up his arm, giving his grandfather a thumbs up. Roma did not seem very reassured.

Antonio glanced at the moldy, water-stained ceiling doubtfully. Lovino was doing a lot worse than usual today; probably a combination of overexertion from their three-mile journey to the farm and before that the trek through the snow, in addition to the damp, musty conditions of the apartment.

Finally Lovino quieted.

"Why don't we get off the floor?" suggested Antonio. Lovino looked down at the plastic tile beneath them, the sort that isn't really tile at all, just a vinyl pattern that comes in a big roll that you can stick to the ground, as if he had forgotten where they were. He nodded and Antonio helped him up.

Lovino stumbled a bit, walking towards the couch, his legs crossing in front of the other at a steep angle. He wobbled and then fell back once more. Antonio rushed forward and caught him, pulling Lovino's arm over his shoulder for support and helping him to the couches.

He sank into the weathered green one gratefully. Roma wheeled himself over as well, the wheels making a ghostly screeching sound. Antonio himself perched on the arm of the green chair Lovino was currently occupying, sneaking sideways glances at him every couple of seconds to make sure he was alright.

"It's not as bad as it looks," Lovino mumbled, leaning his head back against the couch.

"Horseshit. You think I'm blind just because I'm old? Even I can see there's something wrong."

"It's just a cold."

"What kind of cold makes you cough up blood?!" Roma's hands gripped the arms of his wheelchair.

"It's not your problem, so don't worry about it!"

"How can I help but worry? You're my fucking grandson!"

"Yeah?" Lovino lifted his head slightly. "Then why'd you kick me out?"

"B- Because it's for your own good!" Roma stammered. "You've got to absolve yourself of all sin if you want to reach Heave-"

"Yeah, and I almost went to Heaven prematurely because of you!" Lovino lay his head back down. "Or Hell, I guess," he added as an afterthought.

"Wha- you-"

"What's going on?" Antonio whispered, but Lovino ignored him.

"I gave all my money to you-" Lovino broke off to cough, but then continued as smoothly and angrily as he had as if there had been no pause at all,

"-even though you kicked me out. You betrayed me, and I still-" he started coughing again, heavier than before. He coughed into one hand, the other clutching his chest.

"Lovi- you've got to calm down- take deep breaths, okay? Can you breathe? Is that a yes? No? Nod once for yes-"

"Shut up, Anto-" Lovino wheezed, struggling for air.

"Do you need the respirator? Or should I just take you directly to the hospital? Is there a hospital-"

"For fuck's sake, I'm-" Lovino took a deep breath, stabilizing himself. "I'm fine."

"Are you sure? Because I can-"

"Shush." Lovino cut off Antonio, turning back to his grandfather. "I still gave you everything- everything- and you want more? You want to know why I'm like this? Ask yourself!" Lovino finished, breathing heavily. He relaxed into the couch, closing his eyes and resting his head.

Roma's mouth opened and closed, but he couldn't seem to be able to form words.

Looking back and forth between the two of them, Antonio hastily suggested in an attempt to lighten the mood, "Why don't we make dinner?"

"Yeah. Dinner." Lovino formed the words slowly, rising to his feet shakily. He stared at Roma for a second longer before turning and walking briskly around the partition to the kitchen.

"A-Are you okay to stand?" Antonio trotted behind Lovino worriedly.

Lovino ignored him and pulled a dirty apron off a hook. He swung it over his neck. It was pink and there were frills around the shoulders and edging the fabric, but strangely Lovino didn't seem fazed by it, as if it were perfectly normal for a grown man to put on a pink lacy apron. Looking over his shoulder, he said to Antonio behind him,

"Can you tie it for me?"

"Sure." Antonio hid his amusement and took the two strings in his fingers, looking at them before placing them criss-cross around Lovino's back. His fingers felt too thick and clumsy as he tied them; make a bunny ear, then around the ear and through the hole, pull tight; his mother's voice rang in his head.

"Hurry up," Lovino commanded.

"Sorry." Antonio finished tying it and stepped back. "Is that okay?"

"Too loose," Lovino complained. "Do it again, tighter."

"Oh. Okay. Sorry." Antonio pulled one string and the knot collapsed. He held the two strings in his hands, pulling.

"Is this..?"

"Tighter."

"How about now?"

"Still too loose."

"Now?"

"Better." Antonio tied it once more, fumbling with the tiny strings. His knuckles brushed against Lovino's back and he heard him take a sharp breath.

He pulled the two loops taught and knotted them, then stepped back.

"Is that okay?"

"Yeah." Lovino turned around. "Thanks." And then, to Antonio's surprise and delight, he smiled slightly, reached up, and patted Antonio on the head twice like a dog.

"See, you're not as useless as you look," he said, straining his arm up high to reach the top of Antonio's mess of hair.

Antonio beamed, the happiest he had been all day in that moment; that blessed moment where Lovino's thin fingers ruffled his hair, tickling his scalp, in the way Antonio had often imagined alone late at night; that blessed, god-given moment where he could smell Lovino, and see the glint of his teeth as he smiled slightly, almost nervously, as if he were embarrassed by the fact that he was smiling but he just couldn't stop.

Lovino rose slightly on his toes to better reach Antonio's head. His calf wobbled, and then he started to fall. He righted himself before he toppled over completely, but late enough that Antonio had automatically placed his hands around Lovino's waist to steady him.

"Oh- uh… sorry." Antonio quickly removed his hands. His face burning, he looked down, waiting for some sort of beratement from Lovino, but there was none. He looked up, just to see Lovino nonchalantly bending over, one hand on his knee, to open the fridge.

His heart pounding in his ears, Lovino reached into the cool depths of the fridge. The coldness felt good on his skin and he stuck his head in, grimacing as the bad smell struck his face. He could still feel the heat radiating from him, a mixture of embarrassment and... something else; something that had no name but still was as familiar as an old friend, that had lurked in him since the moment when he held out his hand to help Antonio up after tripping on ice and realized that he couldn't seem to pull away. He hated how used he had become to this feeling, how he even almost welcomed it when it came to him in the dark of night, weaving its way into his mind so deep by the time he had noticed it was there it was too late.

The fridge was boxy, and a faded yellow, De Rigo Refrigeration: 1972 Model written in metal writing to the top left, below the rounded corners. The light inside flickered. Lovino rummaged around, but there wasn't much in there to look through. His head still inside the fridge, Lovino pulled out various items: butter, olive oil, mushrooms and a half loaf of bread. Finally he extricated himself, his face still a little pink, holding what appeared to be a beach ball with legs.

"What is tha- ohmygod-"

"What? It's just a chicken." Lovino was holding it by the neck, its scrawny beak lolling over his fingers, the feet hanging limply down, swinging when he moved. It was plucked, and round, and bumpy.

"But it's… it's dead!"

"Course it is, it'd be weird if we had a live chicken in the fridge." Lovino dropped it on the counter and pulled a knife out of an adjacent rack. In one move, before Antonio knew what was happening, he had brought the blade down and cut the chicken's head clean off. The knife made a thwack noise as it hit the counter and Antonio flinched, his eyes closing and arms raising in self-defense automatically.

"Jesus, it's just a chicken," scolded Lovino. Antonio peeked through his fingers only to see Lovino slicing it's cold body open. He quickly covered his eyes again, backing up against the second counter.

"D-Do you have to cut it- isn't there a more humane way to do this..?"

"Fucking hell, Antonio, it's dead already!" Lovino whirled around, still holding the bloody knife in one hand. Antonio gulped and backed up against the wall.

"Okay, okay, got it! Just don't.."

"Don't what?" Lovino's other hand landed on his hip. In the frilly apron, he looked like an angry mother.

"Just don't… stab me please?" Antonio attempted a smile, holding his hands up defensively.

"Go." Stony-faced, Lovino pointed with the knife to the left, out of the kitchenette. Antonio flinched as the knife sliced the air.

He fled. As he did so, he briefly head Lovino mutter,

"Honestly."

Antonio retreated to the green couch. Roma was still sitting, staring blankly, his jaw slack.

"Hi again," he said. When he received no response, he tried again: "C-Ciao?"

Roma jerked awake. He nodded briefly at Antonio and then continued staring at the wall. Antonio looked over his shoulder to see if there was anything so interesting there, but there was just a crack in the plaster. Slightly perturbed, he sat down, pulling out his phrase book and leafing through it once more in an attempt to relieve some boredom.

It didn't.

Impatient, Antonio got up and walked around the partition once more.

"Do you need hel- hoooly fuck-"

Without looking up from the chicken he was gutting, Lovino replied, "No, I'm okay. You wouldn't be much help anyways."

"Oh. Th- thanks." Antonio covered his mouth with his hand, trying not to puke as he turned away. "Um. Where's the bathroom?"

"That door. No, not that one- that one." directed Lovino. Antonio nodded his thanks, stepping into the room and pulling the light switch. Two cockroaches scuttled out of sight into the dark corners where the yellow light didn't reach. Behind the toilet paper rack, there was stack of magazines. Curious, Antonio pulled one off the pile.

It was an old Playboy from 1986. Antonio felt like a middle schooler as he began to giggle uncontrollably, even though it wasn't that funny. It was rather old, but as he flipped through it, a little embarrassed, the pictures were still vividly colored. Even if there hadn't been a date on the cover, he would have known it was from the eighties from the big, bushy, permed hair and dark eyeshadow up to the eyebrows, augmented with large, bug-like glasses. It was so strange and otherworldly that it wasn't even erotic, this porn from another era.

Still chuckling a bit, Antonio placed the magazine back down on the stack.

"You've got an interesting… collection in there," he called, walking out, wiping his wet hands on his pants.

Lovino groaned. "I know, I keep telling Roma to throw them away. It's embarrassing."

"Those are his?"

"Who's else would they be?"

"Yours?"

"Me?!" Lovino scoffed. "I wasn't even alive in the eighties."

"I guess not." Antonio pondered that for a second, staying behind the partition so he didn't have to see what Lovino was doing.

"But really? Roma's? He's like… ninety," said Antonio.

"Eighty-seven," Lovino corrected immediately. "And yeah. It's disgusting. You wouldn't believe how much he spends on Viagra."

"Oh god. I did not need to know that."

From the other side of the partition, Lovino cackled. "And now you'll never forget."

"It'll haunt me in my dreams," agreed Antonio. He heard Lovino laugh among the sound of sizzling and crackling cooking, and began to laugh himself; it was infectious. They laughed together, and even though Lovino was behind him, he could still see clearly in his mind his smiling face, erupting with joy. His arms felt empty, and he hugged himself to try to get rid of the feeling that there was something he was missing, and that that something was not a something but a someone, with short brown hair and a perpetual frown, who was just a couple feet away from him on the other side of the partition…

And hugging himself, Antonio could almost imagine it into reality, how Lovino's body would fit against his; the perfect height so that Lovino's pointy chin could rest on his shoulder… and he'd have to stand on tiptoe, wouldn't he, if they were to kiss, how cute… he could practically see it if he closed his eyes… he did so, and the warm feeling inside his chest dwindled and disappeared completely as, in his mind's eye, he saw instead Emma's crying face.

His eyes shot open, but there was nothing there. Still shaken, he took a step backwards and bumped against the partition. It wobbled slightly and he righted it. Lovino was still giggling when he noticed that he was alone in that act.

"Antonio?" he called.

"Y-Yeah?" Antonio gulped, his throat dry.

"You okay?"

"Wha- me? Yeah, of course! Why?" Antonio tried to sound as innocent and unaware as possible.

"I- I don't know, it's just… you weren't laughing, and, well, you always laugh… I don't know. Sorry." Lovino sounded confused and disoriented. "Never mind. I'm sorry."

"No, I'm sorry."

Lovino was silent amongst the sounds of cooking.

"Everything okay in there?" Antonio called, worrying that Lovino's illness had gotten the better of him yet again.

"Of course! Jesus, just because I'm not always incessantly babbling like my idiot brother doesn't mean I've suddenly dropped dead!"

"Okay, okay, got it," Antonio laughed. "But you shouldn't call your brother an idiot."

"Why the hell not? He's my younger brother, that's what they're for," scoffed Lovino.

"Yeah, but… it's not nice. And he's not an idiot, he's…" Antonio searched for the word. "He's a genius."

"Once he swallowed a lightning bug because he wanted to glow in the dark and got sick all over the bed."

"But did it glow? That's the real question," chuckled Antonio.

"No. It smelt disgusting, and I had to clean it up. Real genius, my brother," said Lovino sarcastically.

"You can't deny his art is amazing, though. He, like, takes art techniques from the Italian Renaissance and applies them to modern imagery and themes- no one's ever done that before. He really is a genius, art-wise."

Lovino tsked. Antonio wondered what sort of expression his face was bearing at the moment. Was he angry? Annoyed? Sad?

"You're really lucky to have a brother like Feliciano," Antonio said, trying to lift Lovino's opinion of his brother. "He's smart, and funny, and creative- those are all good qualities, aren't they? I'd love to have him as a brother."

"I bet you would," said Lovino, his voice low.

"I would!" Antonio said, completely missing Lovino's tone. "You must be really proud of him."

"All of Italy's proud of him."

"See? That's one good thing! And he's cute, too-"

There was a thud as Lovino dropped something, causing Antonio to end prematurely.

"Are you okay?" Antonio called.

"Y-Yeah. Fine," replied Lovino hesitantly. He picked up the cooking spoon slowly, clumsily, looking at it in his hands. He wanted to stab something.

He forced himself to return to his cooking, not wanting the chicken to burn.

And he's cute, too.

What about me? Lovino wanted to ask. Wasn't I always the one you called 'cute?'

Instead, he said casually, "How d'you want your chicken done?"

"I thought there was only one way to cook chi-"

"Wrong. There's three. Raw, good, and burnt. Which do you want?"

"Good, naturally..."

"Then shut up about my brother if you don't want either ashes or salmonella on your plate."

Antonio shut up.

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. This was, however, in the 1970s, so the behavior may be different from what you would expect today. In addition, my great-aunt uses wine as a malady for everything, even hangovers, so I hope you are not offended by that as well.

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.