The man grasped onto the hilt of the golden sword. It had light carvings in the handle. He bit down on his bottom lip, which by now was already a dark shade of pink from all the previous moments before where he had nervously sunken his teeth down into his own flesh without thinking. He shook his head, eyelids fluttering. He traced the carvings. Antonio Carriedo. His name. It almost seemed pretentious now. Maldita, he thought. Why was this happening? To him, of all people? He didn't deserve any of this. He didn't deserve to be so utterly confused, but this was such a confusing situation.

Antonio sat on his bed and looked out his door towards the staircase. He lived in a loft, quite large, actually, for a loft, above some sort of business that was no longer open. He grimaced at the wooden floor, then stood again, shaking his head and wringing his wrists. His ears popped as he swallowed for the first time in minutes. What had even happened? He replayed the situation in his head.

.

Antonio pushed on the red door to the bakery, finding it surprisingly easy to open. He admired the set up. The counter was well kept, the floor was clean, and there were three little tables with chairs where customers could sit if they felt like staying a little longer in the cozy shop, which would have been easy to do. It smelled amazing in the bakery. But that was to be expected, wasn't it? Antonio walked up to the counter with a smile, thinking that there was someone back in the room behind the counter. But he could see no one behind that counter or back in the room behind the counter, which was only visible through a frame. He could see another door through the frame. It was wooden and chipped away. His lips pulled down into a smirk at the sight of it. Someone had to be up. There was no way they weren't up at this hour.

"Buenos dias?" No response. Only the sound of the floorboards creaking beneath him. He cleared his throat and rubbed his cheek with his palm. "Hello? Senor~? Madama?" There was a light creaking above him. Antonio glanced up at the low ceiling. The movements of the person were very slow, so he figured they most have slept in. Or they were conducting some sort of secret business meeting. It could have gone either way. Antonio smiled regardless, ready to look as comforting and trusting as possible to the filth that was most likely going to come down the stairs. He heard someone moving down the stairs. They creaked noisily. Maybe the person was heavy. That had to be it.

"You're going to have to wait a moment."

Antonio raised his eyebrows. So it was a boy. A young one. Most likely an adolescent by the way his voice squeaked at one point. His grin deepened as he thought about the awkward boy. Most likely he was overweight. With all this food around, how could he not be? And, well, Jews weren't the most beautiful people. Right? Even if there was a beautiful Jew, Antonio had seen some beautiful creatures killed. Beasts, more so. Were they beautiful? Of course they were. But they were dangerous, and beauty wasn't an excuse. Danger is danger, and safety is everything. Survival is everything.

"Te. Cosa vuoi?" Lovino stared at the sword resting on Antonio's side, his lips parting, then closing almost immediately after. Antonio stared down at the boy like he'd never seen another human before. This wasn't what he was expecting, to say the least. Amber eyes searched his body, though they came back to the sword each time they searched him over. He should have left it, he supposed. He didn't mean for it to draw so much attention. "I think," he said with that same casual grin, "you're wondering about the sword. As you may know, this isn't the best part of Barcelona. I didn't want to be mugged or killed. Did you think I planned on using it on you?"

Antonio had always had an infectious smile, but this boy must have had the vaccine, because his lips stayed in a perfectly straight line. Actually, that wasn't true. They seemed to be curling down, even, into a frown. "You think I'm stupid, bastard?" Antonio froze and raised his eyebrows, completely forgetting to blink. He definitely hadn't expected that. He opened his mouth to say something, but the boy wasn't finished.

"I know why you're here and I know why you have that goddamn sword, bastard. You think a Jew lives here. Or Jews. But I can tell you that not a single one does. So get out of this fucking shop." Lovino was shaking. Maybe he didn't realize this, but Antonio did. He wasn't shaking for no reason. This boy was lying. Antonio wasn't as easy to fool as he seemed. He kept that same smile, regardless. He had to know if this was absolutely the case. Yes, he was sure, but not entirely, and he didn't want to risk the people getting angry again for another innocent person convicted and killed. He had to be absolutely positive this time. "I think you misunderstand me. I'm simply here to pick up five loafs of bread. Your grandfather is friends with one of my advisers. And I do errands for him quite often. I know there aren't any Jews in this building. And even if I was, for some reason, looking for Jews, you don't look like a Jew to me. Your nose is straight and your hair is tame besides that odd little curl."

Lovino glared at that stupid bastard. As if Jewish people really had a certain look to them. It took all he had not to correct the man. He looked down at the bread supply while still keeping an eye on him. "Antonio. Sounds like the name of a bastard to me." Antonio simply watched the boy, his smile faltering as he did so. "How did you know my name?"

Lovino stared coolly at the bastard, his nostrils flaring as he noticed they only had three more loafs of bread. "So you aren't just a bastard. You're an idiota, too." Antonio's fingers traced the name on his sword, suddenly realizing that the boy must have seen the name on the sword. "And what is your name?"

Lovino nearly dropped the cup of flour he was holding. He glared at the man. "As if that's really any of your goddamn business. Why do you want to know, anyway?" He grabbed a few clean bowls from the cupboard, sat them down on the clean wooden table behind the counter, and started a small fire in the oven after a few sad attempts. Antonio laughed at the attempts, his sun-kissed nose curling up with the corners of his mouth. "I just thought you'd like it if I called you something other than boy. Or 'you.'"

"Boy? My name is Lovino, bastard. If you must know. And I'm not a goddamn boy. I'm seventeen. I could get married and I have a child now if I wanted to, stupid." This caused Antonio to laugh once again. He was having a better time than he expected. "And we only have three loafs of bread. So I have to make another two. You can, oh, I don't know, leave while I'm making them, then come back around noon to pick them up." Oh, that wasn't happening. Antonio didn't remember the last time he laughed so genuinely. He took a seat in a wobbly chair by the window, keeping his bright green eyes on Lovino, who sneered and turned back to the ingredients for his bread. Lovino was very soft looking. More so than any woman Antonio had ever seen. He had delicate shoulders and an overall slender body. His little curl was so peculiar. The rest of his hair was straight. Maybe he did that on purpose? He could ask, but he didn't want to seem rude.

Wait, why should he care? If Lovino really was a Jew, it didn't matter. And even if he was rude to him, he wouldn't have to see him in a few days anyway. He'd be taken away with whoever else lived in the bakery and the house in the back and above. But even so, the way Lovino's honey-coloured eyes softened while mixing the ingredients together made him feel at ease. And confused. He cleared his throat uncomfortably, shifted in the chair, then finally took off the heavy sword, causing those eyes to flash over to his table. "So you really aren't going to kill me, bastard?"

Antonio chuckled. "No, Lovino. I'm not. I told you this already," he said. Lovino pushed a bowl of dough aside and covered it with a thin, off-white rag. He yawned, stretched out his arms, and took off his apron. He pulled out a basket that was dyed a funny shade of purple. His pale hand dug around in the basket, clearly searching for something specific. He pulled out some sort of glaze-covered pastry and a bright red tomato. Oh, his breakfast. Of course. Antonio snickered at the peculiar pastry and tomato breakfast, though he himself was quite fond of tomatoes. He watched as Lovino wiped off the tomato with a clean rag, then bit into it like an apple. His eyes flashed once again to Antonio. "What the fuck are you looking at me like that for?"

Antonio tilted his head. "Tomatoes are very good, aren't they? I consider them more of a comfort food." At this point, Lovino couldn't help but to look at the spaniard. He hadn't really looked at his face. He didn't actually see a reason to do so. He had the greenest eyes he'd ever seen in his entire life. He had dark hair, though not black, and tanned skin. Below his bottom lip was a little cut. It was near the corner, too. His hair was pulled back in a red and yellow ribbon, and was slightly curly but mostly on the ends. He looked stronger than most men, though it wasn't obvious what he did for a living. If Lovino had to guess an age, he would have guessed twenty-two. Maybe twenty-one. But no older than twenty-two. "Lovino? Are you alright? You look tired. Forgive me, please, for being the one who had to wake you up this morning," Antonio said.

Lovino snapped back into reality. "Whatever, bastard. I had to get up anyways." He finished the tomato, then went back to the bread. He sprinkled flour onto the counter, yawned, and scooped out the dough. Antonio raised an eyebrow. "May I help you, Lovino?" Lovino scoffed at him, then put his hands on his hips. "You couldn't do this, bastard," he said. Antonio stood up. "Why do you keep calling me that?" More scoffing. "Okay. I'll call you something different. Tomato bastard. Does that sound good? Since tomatoes are such a comfort to you, you should love it, tomato bastard."

Lovino sprinkled flour atop the bread and kneaded it with the bottom of his palms, then turned quickly to grab a rolling pin, but instead of an empty space to stand being there, there was a body. The bastards body. Lovino flinched and let out a little noise. "You bastard! What the hell do you think you're doing? You can't be back here. Go back to you damn chair!" Antonio handed the rolling pin to Lovino, which he took from the spaniard, though it was a hesitant gesture. "I'd just like to see how you do it. Continue just as you were. I'll keep my distance."

Lovino muttered to himself as he continued kneading the dough. He may have kneaded it too hard after finding out that bastard had been standing behind him. He grabbed a knife and cut the dough into two pieces, which caused Antonio to think up a question. A stupid one. "Why don't you just tear it?" Lovino stared up at the man with large eyes. "Are you kidding me? It isn't as precise. And it isn't easy to tear. It's gloppy. Are you blind, bastard? Is that it? Are your fucking eyes so bad that you can't see that this is harder to tear than cut? Maybe you should have your eyes checked. Or are you just that stupid?" Lovino expected the man to be offended. Who wouldn't have been? But he smiled that same stupid smile. In fact, he scooted closer to Lovino, his emerald eyes boring into Lovino's amber ones. Antonio watched the way Lovino's eyes lightened and the way his pale cheeks flushed pink. He felt warmer, somehow. And that confusion swarmed in his mind, his eyelashes fluttered, and the words he wanted to say lodged in his throat.

"If I'm blind, then I think I'd like to stay that way. Because what my imagination is showing me now is more beautiful than anything I could find with my eyes."

That is what he wanted to say. But he couldn't push the words out, as hard as he tried, and as much as he wanted to admit them. Lovino gulped as guilt began to consume him. "It is just easier to cut it, bastard." With that, he formed the bread into loafs, slid them onto a tray, then slid them into the oven. Antonio went back to his chair, which was much appreciated by Lovino, who picked up the pastry again and sat himself on the counter. Antonio watched his teeth sink into the flaky, glaze covered crust. A few crumbs got on the counter, but they were hastily wiped away. He had some of the icing stuck to the bottom of his lip, though, which was obviously going unnoticed. "Lovino, you, uh," he said while motioning to his own lips. Lovino gave him a glance, but looked confused. "What are you talking about, tomato bastard? Your cut?" Antonio motioned again, but Lovino just let out a frustrated groan. "What, bastard?"

Antonio laughed before finally deciding to go over to Lovino. He picked up one of the white rags, wrapped it around his fingers, and gently wiped the icing off of Lovino's bottom lip. To his surprise, Lovino didn't flinch or move out of the way. He just stared with the widest eyes Antonio had ever seen. His pupils seemed to be the size of a small coin. They weren't angry, but they weren't exactly happy, either. They seemed to be more confused than anything. His cheeks lit up a bright shade of red and he looked down, then at the door. "Lovino, what is wrong?" Lovino cleared his throat, but said nothing.

"Lovi!" Grandpa Roma was up. "Lovi, get off the counter. And have you helped this man? This," Grandpa Roma paused for a moment to examine Antonio's sword, "this fine young man?" Lovino sneered. "I know what I'm doing. His bread has a few more minutes to bake. We were out of full loafs. So I made more. He'll be on his way soon. Won't you, basta-," he cleared his throat again, "I mean, Antonio."

Antonio was no longer paying attention to Lovino. His eyes were locked on Roma, who was only a couple inches taller than the spaniard. "Pleased to meet you, Antonio. I'm Roma. Roma Vargas. This is Lovino, who you've apparently already met. You'd be able to meet Feliciano, but he is cleaning the house today. Sorry if he starts singing and you have to listen to it. Though he isn't so bad at it. He takes after me. Ah, well, I guess Lovi here has got this covered. I have to run to the market, figlio. I'll be back soon." With that, Roma left. Antonio watched him, eyes wide, observing everything. The way the man walked, talked, smiled, frowned, moved his eyes. Everything. Lovino glared. "You okay, bastard? Why the fuck are you watching Grandpa Roma like that?" Antonio shook his head, then smiled brightly again. "I just think you Italians are so fascinating, Lovi."

"Don't call me that, bastard," he said as he took the bread out of the oven. He placed them in bags along with the other loafs. "I'm glad you're finally leaving. Give me my money."

"Do you miss it? Italy, I mean. I've always wanted to see Italy. Rome sounds incredible," Antonio said. Lovino stopped what he was doing and smiled faintly. "Yes. I do miss it. It is my home. And Rome is incredible. I went there a few times. My father lived there, though I don't exactly remember him. And my madre liked to take excursions there with Feliciano and I. She took us to concerts and art museums. We had money, you know. We weren't poor like this. But I adjusted. As if I actually had a choice. And not only that, I had to adjust to being poor in a completely new land where they spoke a language I wasn't entirely sure of. And now this whole-" Lovino stopped himself and shook his head, then rested his palms on his cheeks, rubbing his eyes and trying to forget that he wasn't that child anymore.

Antonio looked away. "Lovi, this place isn't so bad. Really." Lovino looked dully at the money Antonio had laid down on the counter, sweeping it into his palm in one motion, then slipping it into a jar behind him. Suddenly, Antonio had an idea.

"Lovino! Let me take you out. I'll show you that it isn't so bad here. Saturday night. It will be wonderful, I promise." Lovino looked up and into Antonio's eager eyes. Antonio wasn't sure why he was doing this. Maybe it was because he hadn't gone out in so long. Especially not with another person. He had been so busy, so caught up in his work, but here was this boy who seemed so upset by the city he always loved. Maybe it was city pride. He wanted to show Lovino how amazing Barcelona could be. And maybe he wanted to take out Lovino, too, so that he could make him blush again. He grinned at the thought of making his cheeks burn red and his eyelashes flutter.

"Why would I do that, bastard? I barely know you," Lovino said. Antonio's heart sank. "But," Lovino said with a sigh, "I could try it once. But only to get out of work. Not because I want to be around you, stupid." His heart bounced right back. He grinned wider than he had in a while and placed his hand on Lovino's round shoulder, lightly brushing his creamy neck with his fingertips. It was his personal way of saying goodbye, and he was glad he decided on brushing his fingers against Lovino's neck, because as soon as he did, Lovino shivered. He would have loved to see it again, but he had to leave. And he didn't want to push his luck.

To be Continued . . . .