"I's really g'ud!" Antonio enthused between mouthfuls, his cheeks bulging with food. Lovino sniffed contemptuously, already finished with his food. Roma sopped up the remaining sauce from the chicken marsala with a piece of bread, little brown bits sticking to his beard.

Lovino stood up, his chair scraping away from him. Silently, he took his and Roma's empty plates to the sink and dumped them in, turning on the water. Antonio got the impression that he was mad at him, but he wasn't sure what exactly he had done. Determined to right himself, Antonio scarfed down the rest of his food and hurried to the sink as well, still chewing.

"I'll dry," he said, pulling a rag off of a rack. Lovino grunted in response, up to his elbows in soapy water.

"So.. how are you?" Antonio asked awkwardly, taking a wet, still-sudsy plate from the stack beside Lovino. He grunted again.

"Is there… anything you want to talk about? Something that's bugging you?"

Another grunt.

"If you bottle it all up, you'll just feel worse-"

"I do it all the time and I'm fine."

"You almost died because you couldn't seem to tell me that you didn't have a place to stay!"

Lovino tsked, biting his lip angrily as if withholding some angry exclamation.

"I'm here to help," Antonio persuaded. "That's why I came all this way."

"Yeah, well, you're not." Lovino snapped.

"Then tell me, so I can!"

Lovino didn't respond, scrubbing ferociously at the pan. He rinsed it and then dumped it in front of Antonio.

"That's the last of the dishes. You finish drying." He stalked off into his room, slamming the door behind him. Antonio vaguely heard the lock click.

Sighing, he wiped the pan with his ragcloth.

Lovino threw himself down on his mattress. It bounced slightly under his weight, then settled. His old blanket was still folded at the foot of his mattress, a layer of dust sticking to the worn fabric. He pulled it over and around, wrapping himself in the familiar, musty scent. He frowned. His feet were still cold.

Straining his neck, Lovino peered up over the folds of cloth, to see his toes poking out from the blanket. He had grown so it no longer covered all of him, it seemed. Lovino sighed and pulled his knees to his chest, rubbing his arms to warm up and drawing the blanket closer to him. Rubbing a corner between his finger and thumb, he brought it to his nose and sniffed it. It smelled the same as ever, of dust and childhood and dirt. The faint smell of urine, covered by bleach, was still there from the times when he would wet his bed.

The memories were still vivid: Waking up in the night to that awful, familiar smell and wetness, scrubbing the sheets fervently by the yellow light from that single lightbulb, hoping the sound of running water didn't wake up Roma or even worse, Feliciano, but it always would and always did. And around two a.m., Roma would always come charging into the bathroom in his ridiculous nightgown, swearing and inquiring loudly, angrily, as to who had interrupted his sleep again.

"You're ten, Lovi," he'd scold, while helping to clean up the mess. "This shouldn't be happening at your age. You're supposed to have outgrown it by now! If Feliciano did it… well, it'd still be kind of strange, but at least it's more acceptable! Why do you always..?"

"I don't know, Nonno, I don't-" Younger Lovino would wail, sniffing.

"Well, you've got to stop! How are you going to make friends if you smell like piss?!"

Lovino smiled faintly, breathing a tiny laugh. He closed his eyes, pulling the blanket over his head, completely submerging himself.

Another memory swam into his subconscious's television.

"I look ridiculous," Lovino grimaced, eyeing himself warily in the mirror. "Where'd you even find this dress anyway?"'

"I got it from the charity shop- anyway, sit down- yes, like that," Feliciano commanded eagerly, stepping back behind the easel.

"Why'd I have to do this?" complained Lovino, pulling his vast skirts up over the chair.

"I couldn't get an actual girl to come be a model- and you promised, remember?"

"Only because you blackmailed me into it!"

"No, I offered you a deal and you took it- you just happened to be drunk at the time, and might not have known what you were agreeing to-"

"Okay, fine, fine, got it. Just get it over with." Lovino sighed irritably and folded his hands, straightening his back. After a couple minutes he started fidgeting.

"Hold still, you're going to ruin the picture! It can't be a still life if you're not still!"

"Well, paint quicker, then! You know what'll happen if Roma comes home and-"

They both froze at the sound of the door opening.

"I'm home early today- where are you boys?" He sounded like a three-legged monster with the ominous thumping of his cane as he drew closer and closer. Frozen, unable to move, Feliciano and Lovino sat silently, praying that he would pass this room and move on to the next.

The door creaked open.

"H-Hi," Feliciano squeaked, paint dripping from his hovering brush onto the floor.

"What the hell is going on here?!" Roma demanded. "Who is that gi- oh my Lord," he gasped, crossing himself. "Lovi?"

"No?" Lovino tried.

"What the fuck are you playing at, dressing up in…" A hand flew to his bearded mouth. "You boys aren't- aren't… faggots, are you?"

"No- we're not, we just-" Lovino stood up hurriedly, the chair knocking over. He backed away from Roma, holding his hands out, half pleadingly, like a beggar, half in protection. His heel trod on the hem of his dress and he tripped, falling against a bookshelf. Several old papers and magazines fluttered down.

"Fuck," Lovino groaned, rubbing the back of his head. He opened his eyes, only to see Roma bent over him.

"Your legs are shaved," he muttered, peering at Lovino's exposed calf. Quickly he pulled the skirt back over his legs, but it was too late.

"What kind of man shaves his legs?!"

"I just- like the way they feel-" Lovino whimpered, pressing himself against the bookshelf as if he wanted to just melt through it.

"And what kind of man," Roma straightened up, his cane wobbling under his weight. His back cracked. Clenched in his hand was some kind of magazine. "...collects men's underwear catalogues?!"

Lovino's mouth opened and then shut like a fish. He didn't recognize that magazine, it wasn't his- he didn't even know it had been there. He glanced at Feliciano for help, but saw his younger brother backed against the opposite wall, holding his blank canvas out in front of him like a shield, his cheeks flushed and wet, jaw quivering. As Roma started towards him, slowly, painfully, but yet so intimidating, and as Feliciano shrank back further into the wall, Lovino knew what he had to do.

"I- It's mine!" he cried. Roma stopped, pivoting slowly to face Lovino.

"This," he stabbed at the crumpled catalogue in his fist, "Is yours?"

"Yes!" Lovino babbled desperately. "It's mine!" Out of the corner of his eye he saw Feliciano blink, confused, then open his mouth. Lovino gave a tiny, minute shake of his head and he closed it, hugging the canvas to his chest, too afraid to say anything.

As Roma drew closer and closer, his shadow looming over Lovino ominously, for some reason, the hotter the flame inside his chest burned, the flame that knew that he had to protect his little brother, no matter the consequences.

"You- you're a… a…" Roma couldn't seem to say it. His eyes bulged out and he clutched at his chest.

"Yes! I'm a.." Lovino took a deep breath, screwing his eyes shut. "I'm a faggot!" And as he said it, even though he had always pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind and ignored them, he knew it to be true.

"Lovi!" Feliciano screamed. Lovino opened his eyes just as his grandfather collapsed on top of him.

The cane, now no longer held by anyone, clattered to the ground.

"You can come in now." The nurse held the door open for them and the two brothers rushed in to Roma's bedside.

"Nonno, Nonno, are you okay? How are you feeling?" Feliciano crouched by the low hospital bed.

Dazed, still in a dreamy haze of shock, Lovino followed clumsily, sinking to his knees on the other side of the bed. Roma's weathered hand raised and rested on Feliciano's bowed head, ruffling his hair affectionately.

"I'll be fine."

"Nonno, I'm sorry, I-" Lovino blurted, but Roma didn't even blink. In fact, it didn't seem as if he had heard at all and continued playing with Feliciano's hair.

"Can you hear me? I-" he tried again. This time his grandfather interrupted.

"Nurse?" he called. The nurse waiting by the door looked up and nodded.

"Yes?"

"There's a strange man in my room. He's kneeling by my bed right now."

"Wha- Nonno-!" Lovino clutched at the old man's veined, leathery hand laying limply by his side, but he yanked it away as if he were something disgusting.

"The dark-haired one. I'd like you to take him out, please."

The nurse looked confused, but she nodded again. "Security?" she called, leaning out the door to yell up the hallway. Two men clad in uniforms appeared.

"That one," she said, pointing at Lovino with her pen. He looked up, his mouth forming words that couldn't be spoken. A guard grabbed him round the armpits and hoisted him up, dragging him to the doorway. It was only then that Lovino seemed to regain his voice.

"Wait!" he yelled, grinding his heels into the floor, causing the guard to stop. "I'm his grandson- there's some kind of mistake!"

The guard, still holding Lovino, turned to Roma. "Is this man your grandson?"

Looking straight through Lovino as if he didn't exist, Roma answered,

"Never seen him before in my life."

"No- Feli, you tell them! Tell them I'm his grandson! Feli!" Feliciano didn't move, Roma's hand which had once been caressing his hair lovingly was now closed around the top of his skull like a vice.

"Alright, signore, if you'll come with us," The guard tugged Lovino's arms.

"I- It wasn't mine!" Lovino cried desperately, struggling futilely against the guard. "The magazine-"

Roma's eye twitched. "Feli," he said slowly, quietly. "Was the magazine his?"

Feliciano's hands curled into fists on his knees, his eyes dripping as he answered shakily, "Yes."

Lovino fell limp. The guard stooped under the sudden extra weight, but yanked him back up.

Every muscle in his body just seemed to have stopped working. Even his brain was still ticking, trying to comprehend what had just happened.

"No," he mumbled wordlessly. "You can't-" But it was too late. The other guard was closing the door behind. Through the last sliver of visibility into the room, Lovino saw Feliciano mouth the word 'sorry' just before it closed completely.

"Lovino?" Antonio knocked on the door. Lovino's eyes shot open as he jolted from his daydream, sitting up and forcing the blanket off his head. He opened his mouth to answer, but then remembered that he was angry and closed it again, laying back down and pulling the blanket over him once more.

"Can I come in?" More knocking. The knob jiggled in its metal frame as Antonio tried it.

Lovino pulled the blanket tighter around him until it was almost suffocating, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Please let me in." He sounded so forlorn, his voice cracking slightly on the 'please,' that Lovino even considered it for a second.

"I won't be mad, or- or do anything you don't want, or say stupid things, I'll-" Antonio was interrupted as there were several thumps, then a click. The door swung open a crack under his fist, curved to knock.

"What." Through the sliver of space between the door and its frame, Antonio could see Lovino's messy, tousled hair, the bags under his eyes, and a bland gray blanket draped around him.

"I- I'm sorry. For whatever I did," Antonio said helplessly. He frowned. "Are you okay? You're kind of… sweaty."

Dazedly, Lovino reached up to touch his face. It was covered in a light sheen of sweat.

"Fine," he croaked.

"Sure?" Lovino just stared back. "Um. Can I come in?" Antonio placed a hand on the door, trying to ease it open but Lovino held it stiff so he couldn't come any closer.

"What do you want?" he asked.

"To apologize? For whatever I said?"

"Is that a question?"

"What? No- I mean it!" Antonio pushed slightly on the door but it held fast under Lovino's grip. "Are you sure you're okay? You really don't look too good."

"I'm fine. What do you want."

"To help!"

"Great job with that so far." Lovino made to close the door, but Antonio stuck his foot in the crack, preventing it from moving.

"Please?" Antonio pleaded. "At least just tell me what's wrong- and don't say you're fine, because you're not," he added before Lovino could even say anything.

Lovino bit his lip, looking down angrily. After a moment's contemplation he grudgingly swung the door open and stepped aside.

Antonio strode into the dark room, his shadow lengthened ominously on the wall. There was a screen partition perpendicular to the left wall, separating two left quarters of the room, and subsequently, mattresses from each other. One was stripped bare of sheets, discarded papers and magazines on the floor. Tacked to that wall was a certificate of acceptance to Antonio's university, and several award ribbons, plaques, and medals. Empty paint bottles, brushes, scraps of paper with doodles on, were strewn around carelessly.

The other side, Lovino's, was much more neat. His mattress actually had sheets, an off-white beige color. A small table lamp lay on the floor next to the mattress, the wire extending off under the sheets. To the left of that were a stack of books, on top, a copy of the bible.

Lovino's wall had no medals, no awards. There were several posters of the S.S.C. Napoli; an old calendar from 2010, still stuck on November, the picture being Leonardo da Vinci's Virgin of the Rocks; and filling in the gaps between these were more snapshots and old kodak prints like the one Lovino had had in the shelter back in America. There were blank spaces amongst the pictures, presumably the ones that Lovino had brought back with him to America. Against the opposite wall was a dresser, one drawer stuck lopsided. A shirt sleeve poked out. On top of the dresser was an old radio and beside it a stack of CDs. At the foot of Lovino's mattress, Antonio saw the familiar duffel bag, half unzipped.

Cautiously he made his way to the mattress, stepping over empty crisp bags, stray pages glossy with magazine color, crunched up soda cans, three socks all mismatched, gum wrappers, and a broken CD, shards of glass scattered dangerously.

"Can I.. sit?" he asked hesitantly. Lovino exhaled a grimace, but gave in, seating himself and patting the spot next to him. Antonio sat down.

Lovino was still swaddled in the blanket, staring at the ground morosely.

"So… what's up?" Antonio attempted. Lovino grunted.

"If you don't have anything better to say, then leave." Lovino pulled the blanket tighter around himself.

"Not when you're like this."

"Like what?" scoffed Lovino. "I told you, there's nothing wr-"

"If nothing was wrong, you'd be calling me dick cheese or something right now, or headbutting me in the gut or something! But you're just sitting there, and I haven't been called any variation of the word dick for the past hour!"

"Dick cheese. There. I said it."

"Not angrily enough! Normally you'd be all, 'deek chEEZ!'" Antonio imitated Lovino's accent, waving his arms around like his excessive gesturing.

"I do not sound like that!" Lovino said angrily, but he couldn't stop a tiny giggle from escaping.

"You do too! And you wave your hands all around like this-" Grinning idiotically, Antonio flailed his arms around over his head. His hand connected with something, and Lovino gave a sharp cry.

"What the fuck! You fucking punched me!" he screeched, clutching his nose.

"Oh- fuck- uh, are you okay?!"

"No!" Lovino yelled indignantly. He pulled his cupped hand away from his face. "Is it bleeding?"

"No, it's… it's alright." Antonio leaned in, inspecting Lovino's nose.

Lovino grimaced, one hand still over his nose protectively. "You suck at gesturing," he muttered.

"I am, aren't I?" Antonio laughed, teasing his hair.

"You make a shitty Italian." He leaned against the wall. "Is there anything else you wanted to say?"

"Not that I can remember..."

"Then leave."

"That's kinda harsh, don'tcha think?" Lovino didn't reply.

"I don't care what you think. I just want to sleep." Lovino slid down the wall until he was collapsed on the mattress, chin on his chest, legs splayed out on the floor.

"Then I'll join you!"

"No. Go get your own bed."

"Can I take your brother's?"

"As long as you stay on that side." Lovino threw the blanket over himself, his ankles poking out. The mattress creaked as Antonio stood up. Lovino could hear the groaning floor under Antonio's heels as he plodded to Feliciano's bed.

"Are there any sheets or blankets?" Antonio asked.

"Check the dresser," Lovino mumbled, changing positions so he was on his side facing the wall, completely covered by the blanket. Antonio crossed the room again, sliding the wooden drawers open one by one. Footsteps followed by the rustling of cloth led behind the partition. A couple thuds and thumps were heard as the sheets were presumably put in the mattress.

Antonio flopped down on his mattress, gratefully pulling the covers over himself. It was only 9, but the jetlag was catching up to him and when the last light of the sun left the room, he was already asleep.