"Here." Lovino set the plate of churros on the table in front of Antonio and his grandfather.
"Churros?" Roma picked one up, examining it. "You don't usually make these."
"He likes them." Lovino's hand trembled, the plate rattling against the table as he lay it down.
"Ah. I see." Roma's beard twitched irritably. "You didn't tell me you grew a fica while you were swanning around in America with him."
"I was not 'swanning around,' I was working. And no, I don't have a vag."
"Not yet," said Roma, taking a bite of his churro. "But soon."
Lovino sighed in disgust, sliding the plate towards Antonio and seating himself.
"Thanks!" Antonio bit into his churro. "I's rully gud!" he enthused, crumbs spraying everywhere. "You're great, Lovi!" He turned to Roma. "Your grandson is an amazing cook!" he beamed, giving Roma a thumbs up.
Roma stared blankly at Antonio, not comprehending. Shaking with old age, spotted and veined, his hand reached out and before Antonio knew what he was doing, had grabbed his wrist with surprising strength for a man so old and presumably weak, twisting it backwards. Pain shot through Antonio's whole arm and he yelped, crying out,
"Lovi! Help!"
Lovino groaned, burying his face in his hands.
Antonio flipped to a random page in his E-Z Italian book.
Ciao, it said, in bright red, white, and green letters. If you have bought this book, you must want to learn Italian!
"No shit," muttered Antonio. A muffled thump reverberated against the bathroom door, shaking it in its hinges. He looked up doubtfully. Two voices contrasting, young and old, but both tired, irritated, and very angry, whirled, seeping under the door, distracting Antonio.
"Could you two maybe keep it down?" he yelled over the noise.
"Satan! Lucifer!" screamed Roma.
"Shut up and take off your clothes!" was Lovino's response, equally angry and loud, if not more so. "I gotta bathe you!"
"Never!" screeched Roma, struggling desperately as Lovino pulled off his nightdress, leaving him in only thin white pants.
"Satan!" he cried again, directed at Lovino. "Spawn of the Devil!"
"If I'm the devil's child, what does that make you?" muttered Lovino, wetting a sponge, slathering Roma's frail torso with suds.
The old man clutched desperately at his cross. "Exorcisamus te, omnis imundus.."
"Oh my god," Lovino rolled his eyes. "You can't exorcise me, I'm human!"
"Away with ye, demon!"
Lovino plunged the sponge into the bucket of warm, soapy water and brought it out again, dripping. He plopped it on Roma and scrubbed, washing him down forcefully, bubbles sticking in the old man's beard and white chest hair.
"Help!" the old man screamed at the top of his lungs. "He's killing me! Bloody murder! Bloody murder!"
"Shut up!" Completely drenched from all of Roma's flailing, sending water everywhere, Lovino worked shampoo through Roma's beard and what was left of his hair.
"The devil lives! The devil lives and he's here!"
Someone in another flat banged on the wall. "Shut it!" they yelled.
"You shut it!" Lovino shot back. "Tilt your head back," he commanded his grandfather, wheeling him over to the edge of the bath and holding his head back. Roma struggled but to no avail, the bucket full of water was poured over him anyway. Lovino refilled the bucket with clean water and upturned it over Roma once more, washing the soap off of him. Before the old man could move, Lovino had grabbed the last object remaining dry in the cramped room, a towel, and rubbed it all over Roma's wet body.
"There," he said, breathing heavily from the effort of fighting off his grandfather's attempts to derail his bath. "You're clean. You can go now." He unlocked the door, dropping the now soaked nightdress in Roma's lap.
Without a glance back, he sped off through the doorway, his flabby arms wheeling him to his room. The lock clicked.
Lovino sank down onto the closed lid of the toilet, panting. Antonio looked up at the sound of his wheezing.
"You okay?" he called, folding the corner of the page.
Lovino held his hand up to tell Antonio not to get up, gasping. Antonio ignored the gesture and hurried to his side.
"I'm okay," he coughed. "Just a bit... cold."
"I'll bet, you're soaked." Antonio held out a hand to help Lovino up. "C'mon, let's get you out of those wet clothes."
He lead him to their room, partially supporting Lovino. He must have been really exhausted, for he sank down to his mattress with such speed it was hard to tell if he was falling or just well-aimed and determined. He leaned against the wall behind him, his head lolling back until it rested on the plaster. He didn't seem to notice or care when Antonio pulled off his socks with difficulty; they were so wet they stuck to his feet, but when he began to unbutton Lovino's shirt he cried out, lifting his leg underneath Antonio and kicking him square in the stomach, forcing him away.
"What the hell are you doing?!" he shrieked, holding his arms to his chest protectively.
"Taking your clothes off… you'll catch cold.." groaned Antonio, doubled over, clutching his belly.
"I can do it myself!" Lovino snapped. "Just don't watch."
"Right, right." Antonio covered his hands with his eyes, hearing the rustle of fabric.
"Can I look yet?" he asked after a couple minutes, his fingers sliding apart so he could see slightly through.
"No!" yelled Lovino, pulling his jeans down. Quickly Antonio put his fingers back together, but he couldn't get rid of the image that he had just seen.
Lovino was wearing the lingerie Antonio had bought him for a joke. Just the underwear, a pair of pink satiny panties framed with lace. Not a thong or a cut-out or anything like that, just casual, sexy panties.
And Lovino was wearing them.
Antonio felt slightly weak as the blood in his body rushed elsewhere.
"I have to go to the bathroom," he said quickly, hurrying as fast he could, his pants growing increasingly tighter, to the bathroom. He closed and locked the door, almost slipping on the wet sudsy floor as he made his way to the sink. Thoughts racing, he turned the cold water tap to full, a jet of at-first brown, then slowly clear, icy water spraying, ricocheting, off his skin so hard it hurt, like a thousand needles of ice.
Yes. Good. This was good.
Anything to take his mind off Lovino; off those deliciously tight pink panties that seemed somehow to be made specifically for him; off that full, luscious, god-given ass like that of Greek sculptures of old- Yes, Antonio was Zeus, and Lovino was Ganymede, ready to be swept up to Olympus and ravished; Antonio was Psyche viewing the beauty of Eros for the first time, awed- Certainly myths, tales, legends would be written about that ass for years to come, and Antonio had seen it, clothed in thin pink satin and lace like a savoury treat about to be unwrapped…
No.
No.
Antonio stuck his entire head under the faucet.
Emma and only Emma, he chanted to himself in his mind. Emma and only Emma.
"Antonio? What are you doing in there?" Lovino knocked on the wall from his room, voice muffled slightly by the weak plaster.
"N-Nothing!" spluttered Antonio, mouth full of water.
"The water's been running for five straight minutes! Don't you dare waste any of it, you hear?!"
"I know- sorry-" Antonio turned the faucet off, water dripping down his back and shirt, adding to the puddle on the floor leftover from Roma's bath. Thankfully during his cold cleanse his boner had shrunk to nonexistence.
He unlocked the door, hands still shaking slightly, and stepped out, sodden.
"Jesus!" Lovino exclaimed, upon seeing him. "Did you fall in the toilet or something?"
"No, I just.." Antonio rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous habit he had developed to deal with awkward situations such as this one. "...I just felt kinda hot, I guess," he finished lamely.
Lovino shook his head, muttering "idiot," under his breath, but let him in all the same.
"Don't drip on the floor," he warned him, settling on his mattress and pulling the familiar gray blanket around himself, his bare feet poking out. Antonio noticed that he was shivering.
"Are you cold?" he asked, seating himself beside Lovino.
"Of course I'm fucking cold! I'm soaked and the heating won't turn on till 10- And don't sit next to me, you'll get me wet," Lovino reprimanded him.
Antonio mumbled a brief apology and scooted off the mattress. Everytime he looked at Lovino, he couldn't shake the image of those pink panties from his mind. It just wouldn't go away, no matter how hard he tried to envision Emma or ponies or even his wrinkly old grandmother. Was his sanity finally leaving him?
Lovino sneezed, causing him to cough. Antonio zapped out of his trance at the sound, automatically pulling the pack of tissues that he carried with him at all times for this exact purpose, from his pocket.
"Thanks, but I got this," said Lovino, licking his lips to clear the few specks of blood that had spattered his mouth. Transfixed, Antonio's eyes followed the slim pink tongue as it flicked, almost reptilian, around those tantalizing lips… he wondered what they tasted like- there was only one way to find out, yes, he'd just have to get it over with…
"The hell you doing, fuckwit?" Lovino's stark voice broke Antonio from his daydream. It was only then that he realized he had subconsciously been leaning in.
"Oh- uh- shit, I dunno," apologized Antonio, his tongue tripping over his words. He blinked twice, shaking his head like a dog, specks of water flying everywhere in an attempt to rid himself of the images infecting his mind.
Why did Lovino always seem to drive him crazy with just the smallest, most incongruous gestures and actions?
Why was he affected so much?
And why did he like it so damn much?
Antonio was roused out of his dreams by the sound of Lovino coughing. It was a normal occurrence, so he closed his eyes and attempted to get back to sleep. A couple minutes later he was once more woken, not by the sound of coughing, but something stranger.
A peculiar gurgling noise was emanating from the other side of the screen- Lovino's side. Antonio forced himself upright and crawled past the screen to Lovino. He was asleep on his back, blood filling his mouth, suffocating him. Still drowsy, Antonio rolled him over to his side, muttering,
"Didn't I tell you to sleep on your side?"
Lovino groaned in his slumber, globules of blood leaking out the side of his open mouth and onto his sheets and the floor. Antonio cursed under his breath and got up to find something to catch it with. In a cabinet he found a cracked bowl, but when he pulled it out several cockroaches jumped from its depths and scuttled away. He cried out, dropping the bowl, which shattered on the floor loudly. Antonio froze, hearing a snort come from Roma's room. He really didn't want to wake Lovino's grandfather, especially when he was wearing turtle boxers and nothing else.
A little more carefully, Antonio searched the rest of the cabinets. He managed to find a bowl that did not have insects, rats, mold, or unidentified animal feces behind a stack of dusty ration books from 1943, and a rag with strange stains he didn't want to think about in a drawer full of ketchup packets from Spizzico's.
Rushing back to Lovino's side, he placed the rag under Lovino's face to protect the sheets from his bloody phlegm and the bowl beside the mattress, mopping up the blood on the floor with a pair of dirty socks. Already exhausted, he cleaned up the shards from the bowl he had broken, not even hearing Roma's door creak open.
A gust of chill air hit him from behind and Antonio turned around, only to see Roma, clad only in a pair of white boxers that matched his snowy beard, opening the small, porthole-like window, cane shaking dangerously under his weight.
"Hey!" he said, but the old man ignored him, limping over to Lovino's room. Antonio disposed of the shards and hurried behind him, as Roma pulled the gray blanket off of the still-sleeping Lovino. Clutched in his other hand was a pewter pitcher brimming with icy water. Antonio was just processing what was happening when Roma tossed the contents over Lovino's body.
Lovino spluttered into consciousness, flailing desperately as Roma tore the shirt off his frail body, pouring another load of the ice water on him. He was preparing a third when Antonio grabbed his arm, stopping him.
"What the hell are you doing?!" he demanded.
Roma looked confused. "Cold- bring down- fever," he managed to say, his eyes bugging out with the effort of trying to speak English.
"No! No- that's not how it works! He needs warm!" reprimanded Antonio, pointing at Lovino. "He need warm," he said again, slowly so the old man could understand.
"No no no no no," argued Roma, his beard shaking with every word. "Cold go up, hot go down!" He tapped his bald head. "Is science," he declared.
Lovino made a sound like a dying cat, struggling for air.
"He can't breathe!" protested Antonio. "You're not helping!"
"He need more cold," decided Roma, and emptied the rest of the pitcher over Lovino, ice cubes bouncing off his back.
Lovino flinched; a loud gasping, wheezing sound erupting from his cracked lips.
"No!" chastised Antonio once more. "Cold is bad! No cold!" He squatted down and covered Lovino with the gray blanket, rubbing his bare torso to create warmth.
There was a thump beside him as Roma dropped to his knees, pushing Antonio aside.
"You no touch him!" he accused, and began to forcefully knead on Lovino's back. He made a noise like the squelch of a slug after being crushed with a shoe, and Antonio feared more and more for his health.
"You're hurting him!" he cried, shoving the old man aside. He rubbed Lovino's shoulder, attempting to rouse him.
"'M cold," he mumbled, lifting his head and then letting it fall back on his pillow dramatically.
"I'll bet, you're soaked," said Antonio, casting a nasty look at Roma. "I'll get you a dry blanket." He pulled off the wet blanket, replacing it with the one from his bed.
"Still cold," complained Lovino.
"But you're so sweaty!" Antonio felt Lovino's forehead. "I'm gonna get you some ibuprofen. Can you swallow?"
Lovino groaned, spitting out blood. Antonio took the opportunity to shove two ibuprofen tablets in his mouth, but he just choked and spit them out with the blood.
"Isn't there another way you can take these?" asked Antonio.
"Crush them up and I'll snort them," choked Lovino, face-down on the pillow. Unsure whether it was a joke or not, Antonio chuckled nervously, tucking the blanket in around Lovino's shoulders.
"You've been working yourself too hard," he reprimanded. "I bet Roma got you sick from all his thrashing and throwing water around." Nervously Antonio checked over his shoulder to make sure the old man hadn't heard, but thankfully it seemed he had left.
"Why do you work yourself to death for- for him?" continued Antonio, whispering even though Roma was not within earshot.
Lovino shrugged, adjusting himself so that his head was sideways on his pillow, facing Antonio. "I owe him," he muttered, closing his eyes tiredly, as if that in itself was a sufficient answer. "He took care of us."
"You don't owe him shit!" insisted Antonio. "He's your grandpa, that's what they're supposed to do!"
"He could've just shunted us off into a home, or left us on the streets, but he didn't! He took care of us. So I owe him for that."
"And besides," he continued, downcast, "it's my fault he's sick."
"And it's his fault you're sick! Stop trying to justify his abuse!" Antonio reached out and clutched Lovino's clammy hand in his own.
"The whole time I've been here, he's been nothing but horrible to you! He doesn't deserve you!"
Lovino said nothing, his expression distasteful. He rolled onto his other side and pulled his hand out of Antonio's, facing the wall where he couldn't see him.
"I'm tired," he mumbled. "Leave me alone so I can sleep."
"..Okay." Antonio hung his head, knowing whatever he could say wouldn't have any impact. "You call if you need me."
"I won't." Lovino's stark refusal hit Antonio in the back like a jab as he walked out the room, the door squeaking shut.