At around nine that evening, Lovino finally emerged, his grey blanket wrapped around himself for protection.
"Hey," greeted Antonio gratefully, patting the couch next to him. "Thank god you're up, your grandad has been making me watch Italian soaps and I have no idea what's going on."
Wordlessly, Lovino seated himself beside his friend, pulling his legs off the floor and drawing them close to him, toes curled on the scratchy fabric.
"How you feeling?" he asked, pressing the back of his hand to Lovino's sweaty forehead. Lovino gave a noncommittal grunt at the back of his throat.
"You have a fever still," Antonio told him. "Do you want some ibuprofen? Try to swallow it this time," he added quickly, getting up and returning with a small bottle. He shaked it merrily, inducing a rattling noise.
"It's like maracas!" he laughed, doing a little dance and shaking the bottle to and fro to produce the same rattling sound.
"La cucaracha! La cucaracha!" he sang, dancing over to Lovino, trying to get him to laugh. Lovino rolled his eyes, but a faint smile teased the corners of his mouth. Just this simple gesture, which others may have missed entirely, filled Antonio with glee. He shook out two small pills, handing them to Lovino, who gulped them down eagerly.
He exhaled deeply, leaning back against the cough and settling in, drawing his blanket ever tighter around himself.
"I feel like shit," he mused, his voice raspy. "A big, steaming, pile of-"
"Poopy?" suggested Antonio, giggling. Lovino glared at him sideways, his eyes slits in his face. He coughed, shoulders shaking. Swallowing blood with difficulty, Lovino winced, his chest hurting more than ever. The metallic, salty taste of blood stained his mouth and made him nauseous.
"I hate the taste of blood," he complained. "Makes me want to puke."
"I hate the sight of blood," admitted Antonio, smiling grimly. "I feel faint when I see it. So I guess that makes two of us."
Lovino looked at him pointedly. "How have you stayed with me this whole time, then? I'm practically coughing up the stuff every minute!"
Antonio shrugged. "I dunno. I just imagine how much worse it must be for you and try to suck it up."
Lovino raised his eyebrows but remained silent, picking at his toenails absentmindedly.
"Also," he added, "the thought of you kinda calms me down. Weird, right?"
This time it was Lovino who shrugged, hiding his awkwardness. Antonio smiled, watching him. And then Lovino did something completely unexpected: he let himself fall sideways onto Antonio, resting his head on his shoulder.
"I'm cold," he complained, and then peeked up at Antonio through his lashes accusingly, as if it were his fault. Cheeks tinged with red, he whispered,
"Warm me up."
Feeling his face flood with color, Antonio nodded, unable to disobey. He gulped nervously, his arm extending out and pulling Lovino closer to him until he was practically on his lap. He rubbed up and down on Lovino's arm, garnering a soft mumble of approval. He snuggled up against Antonio, almost catlike in demeanor. Encouraged, Antonio rubbed faster to create more friction. Lovino closed his eyes satisfactorily. Antonio could feel the heat of Lovino's breath hit his neck, behind his ear, tickling him pleasurably.
It was surprisingly sensual, in an odd way Antonio couldn't explain. Creating heat between two bodies, rubbing, skin-against-skin; perhaps that was it, but it was something more. The way the Lovino's lips were so close to the nape of his neck, close enough that he could feel and hear the whistle of his hot breath, teasing his ear; the way their bodies were pressed up so close there was barely room for air; the way Lovino responded to the friction and heat Antonio was creating for him, practically purring under his hands; the way Antonio could feel Lovino's thigh next to his, just the simple touch enough to drive him insane…
"That's enough." Lovino interrupted Antonio's thoughts. "I'm warm now." He drew back, retreating to the other end of the couch, as far away from Antonio as he could possibly be, face bright red. Antonio was almost grateful- his arms had been growing tired- but he missed the touch, the contact, the heat that they had been sharing. However, he figured this was for the best- better he stop now than become so hopelessly entangled he'd forget about Emma, and how much he loved her- yes, he loved her, so so much, that's what he had to think about, especially in times like now, when he was craving the touch of Lovino like an expensive drug impossible to attain.
Lovino could hear the rush of blood in his ears, pumping insanely with his heart. His arms still tingled where Antonio had touched him, as if the feeling had been imprinted on him. He clutched at his chest. Amid the constant, dull pain, he could feel the beating of his heart against his ribs, like a bird trying to break free from its cage. The pneumatic beats reverberated through his whole body, and though his skin felt cold and clammy to the touch, underneath it seemed as if he were a simmering pot just ready to overflow.
What had he been thinking, asking Antonio to 'warm him up?' Hadn't the whole point of him coming back to Italy (apart from the fact that he had no choice in the matter) been so that he could detox, have time to reflect on himself and his thoughts, especially the ones that involved Antonio. It wasn't right, for him to feel this way about another man- a man in a relationship, no less- especially when said feelings were going to bring ruin to his family. Roma was so sick already, and he would just continue to get worse unless Lovino could rein in his emotions, bury them, keep himself inside a strict parameter of supposed heterosexuality and normativity. And here he was, practically inviting Antonio to… Lovino didn't even want to think about it. What if he had taken 'warm me up' a different way? What then?
"You alright?" Lovino gasped at the sound of Antonio's voice, startling him. What if he was able to tell that he was thinking about him, that this elevated temperature and forceful heartbeat was due to just those few precious minutes of contact? Lovino could feel his heart start to speed up again- god, was just Antonio's voice now enough to elicit a physical response?!
"Y-Yeah!" he said quickly, voice a couple pitches higher than perhaps it should have been. "Just... tired."
"Yeah." Antonio smiled understandingly. "You are sick, after all." He glanced over at Roma, snoring in his chair, head tilted back.
"Are the meds starting to work?" he asked. His eyes crinkled in the cutest way when he smiled, and Lovino found himself so absorbed in just watching the slivers of green between his cheeks and brow that he almost forgot to answer.
"I think so. My head doesn't hurt as much," he said, bringing the blanket closer around himself, trying to replace the sensation of Antonio's arm around him.
"That's good." Antonio yawned, covering his mouth with his hand. "I'm going to go to bed," he said. "Are you gonna, too?"
"I'm not really sleepy." Lovino scratched his toe with the toenail of his other foot. "I'll stay out here."
"Suit yourself," mumbled Antonio, getting off the couch with a creak. "'Night."
"Yeah." The door closed, the hinges whining in want of lubrication. Lovino watched him leave pensively, and then scooted over to the opposite side of the couch, where Antonio had been seconds before. It was still warm, and Lovino curled up like a cat, pulling his legs to his chest and lying down. The scratchy fabric of the couch irritated his cheek.
He reached up and clicked off the light, settling back down. The TV was still on, but the programmes had long since ended, replaced by only silent static. Lovino watched it until his eyes blurred, and then some. Images began to appear in the dancing pixels- Antonio, smiling kindly; his grandfather, anger flushing his cheeks; his brother, silent tears pouring down his face as he was forced to deny his ownership of the magazine that had sealed Lovino's fate.
Lovino blinked, and the image faded. He glanced over at his grandfather, then back at the television. Static illuminated the room, casting a ghostly glow over everything. He held his hand in front of his face. The silhouette was black, but highlighting the edges was a translucent silver.
He lowered his hand, eyes returning faithfully to the static, searching the depths of the flickering screen. He found nothing: just black and white, coldness, and a headache.
He eventually switched the television off, but his eyes remained open, blank, staring.
"Hey." Antonio woke Lovino, handing him a mug of steaming coffee. Lovino groaned, rolling over.
"What time is it?" he grumbled, rubbing his eyes.
"Two in the afternoon."
"Wha-" Lovino jerked upright, shoving the blanket off of him.
"Yeah. I was gonna let you sleep, but I figured it was late enough. Plus, I got bored and your grandfather isn't very interesting."
Lovino sighed, running his hand through his hair.
"I feel like shit," he complained. "I need a drink."
"You just woke up!"
"What better time to start?" He swung his legs over the edge of the couch and attempted to raise himself. His skinny legs trembled underneath him and then gave way. He tumbled back down on the couch. A cloud of dust erupted from the confines of the vomit green fabric, tired springs groaning in protest.
"Can you get it for me?" Lovino asked, waving an arm at Antonio emphatically. "Red, please. Under the sink."
Obsequiously Antonio returned with a bottle and a glass, handing them to Lovino, who had sunk down onto the couch, head against the armrest, feet crossed over the opposite one. Eagerly he took the bottle, uncorking it with his teeth. The smell of cheap wine sifted out, permeating the room.
"That doesn't smell like very good wine," commented Antonio, casting a wary glance as Lovino poured the blood-red, pungent liquid into his brimming glass.
"Its horrible wine. But it's cheap, and it works." He took a giant gulp, letting it sift around in his mouth before swallowing it.
"You really shouldn't drink," Antonio forced himself to say, afraid of suffering the wrath of Lovino and his grandfather.
"Your liver's still practically bust, and you have the body mass of a fifteen year-old!"
"Shut up." Lovino threw the cork at Antonio. It bounced off his forehead. He took another gulp and grimaced.
"Stings my throat," he said.
"Then don't drink!"
"No." Lovino searched around himself for something else to throw, but found none and settled for sticking up his middle finger, taking another gulp of the wine with his other hand.
Still unsatisfied but unable to do anything about it, Antonio sat down on the couch beside Lovino.
"It's almost Christmas," he said wearily. "Tomorrow's Christmas Eve."
"Ugh," groaned Lovino, tossing his head back dramatically. "I hate Christmas."
"What? Christmas is like the bestest holiday ever! Full of joy and happiness and eggnog and-"
"And spending twelve hours at church and visiting dead relatives' graves and feeling guilty because you can't afford good presents!" He took another sip of the wine, glaring at Antonio all the while.
"Basically," he stretched, cracking his elbow with a pop, "Christmas sucks if you're poor."
"Oh." Now Antonio felt like a complete ass. "Sorry."
Lovino held out his now-empty glass nonchalantly. "Top me up, will you?"
"Seriously? You just drank a whole glass!"
Lovino said nothing, his arm still stuck out. Antonio sighed, annoyed, and filled the glass halfway.
"More," commanded Lovino. He poured out just a tiny bit of wine. "More," he urged.
"No," said Antonio defiantly. "You've had enough."
Lovino's eyes narrowed. "Gimme that," he said, and made a grab for the bottle, but Antonio jerked it out of reach.
"I said no! Enough is enough!" reprimanded Antonio, leaning over the edge of the couch, holding the wine bottle by its neck.
"C'mon," Lovino whined. "I haven't had a proper drink since I went to America!"
"And you just got one!"
"It's not a proper drink until you can't walk straight!"
"Yeah, and you can't even walk! So there!"
"But I need it!"
"What you need is rest and lots of vitamins!" Antonio got up off the couch, taking the glass from Lovino's hand. "I'm putting this away," he said, and, ignoring Lovino's shouts of complaint, walked back behind the screen, placing the wine under the sink and the glass in the sink.
"Fuck you," spat Lovino upon his return.
Antonio raised his hands passively. "I'm just doing what's best for you."
"You don't know what's good for me. I know," Lovino stabbed his chest violently with his finger, "What's good for me, and it's alcohol."
"That's the last thing you need. How about a carrot? I'll go get you a carrot," said Antonio, before Lovino could protest.
"I don't want a stupid carrot!" he heard Lovino call after him as he retreated back to the kitchen. He had bought Lovino an array of vegetables while they were at the store the other day, and found it in the fridge. He brought it back to the couch.
"Oh great, something I can shove up your ass," said Lovino.
"Ha, ha," responded Antonio drolly, seating himself on the couch and handing the carrot to Lovino. Angrily he took a bite, then spit it out at Antonio. It hit his cheek then bounced off and onto the couch.
"You're being immature," Antonio told him.
"I don't care. I'm pissed."
"Because I was looking out for your health?"
"Because you're being a prat, that's why."
Antonio sighed and leaned back on the couch. "You're always mad at me for some reason or another anyway, so this doesn't make any difference."
"God, you're a real charmer." Lovino took another bite of his carrot, crunching it loudly and obstinately.
"You're not exactly Prince Charming yourself."
"Still better than you." He crunched on the carrot.
Antonio chuckled. "Yeah, probably." He looked sideways over at Lovino, grinning. Their eyes met and Lovino looked down, cheeks flushed, but a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
Antonio loved moments like these, where nothing really funny was happening, yet for some reason they were both giddy with laughter just from being near each other, for existing. It was almost Christmas, and he wanted Lovino to have the best Christmas ever, to not worry about money or food or medicine and to just relax. He wanted to get him the best presents and wake him up at four in the morning to open them, and buy eggnog and ice cream and champagne for him, decorate the drab apartment so it was all done up in red and green tinsel, with mistletoe hanging in every possible spot so he could kiss Lovino in every inch of the apartment, so that the whole dreary place would be filled with love and cheer. He wanted to treat Lovino like a princess- his princess- and worship him and kiss his pretty little feet and treasure him with gifts and love.
He wanted Lovino to have the best Christmas ever, one that he would remember for the rest of his life, because the very next day, Antonio was leaving.
And Lovino couldn't come with.