The chair was harder than it had seemed to be in the past. Maybe it was just him and the chair had stayed the same. Regardless of which, Antonio rocked back in forth in his seat, unsure of how to sit on the stiff board. At least the rest of the building was beautiful. The windows looked especially lovely with the sunlight beaming through the coloured panes. Antonio forced a smile and shook his discomfort off.

"Antonio Carriedo? Are you right?" The scratchy voice caught Antonio off guard. He looked up at the man. Señor Augustine was his name. He had beady little eyes, long earlobes, and a quivering jaw. Sometimes, when the light was shining on his eyes just right, they burned a fiery red. Antonio had known Augustine since he himself was just a boy. He had been a very important member of the church he attended, though he never knew what his purpose was. He knew now. He was a Priest and Inquisitor, and a powerful one at that, though he looked like he could be pushed over by a light breeze. Antonio flashed him a fake grin. "Si, Señor Augustine." The man didn't look convinced, but he had more important things to worry about than Antonio. The doors of the cathedral opened.

Antonio was unaware that they were to be joined today by one of the heretics. He had seen this many times and was numb to it by now. The man was pushed into a small wooden box beside Augustine, who wore a seemingly neutral expression, though something in his eyes sent shivers running down Antonio's spine. Antonio glanced at the Jew, who was looking down, his face not visible. The blood instantly drained from his face. Was that Lovino? Good God. God, he wasn't ready for this. He felt like the world was spinning, like he might fall off at any moment.

The person looked up. There was a flash of blue. The eyes. The eyes were blue. And the nose was slightly larger. And the lips were smaller. And the build was different. As if the person was older and stronger. It wasn't Lovino.

At this discovery, Antonio felt his heart rise into his clenched throat. He swallowed it along with the steadily rising puke. He wasn't ready yet. He looked away from the Jew again. Whatever they did, they deserve their punishment. Whatever they did, they deserve their punishment. Whatever they did, they deserve their punishment. Whatever they did, they deserve-

"Estaban de Vega, we have brought you here so that you may confess your sins. So that you may be cleansed and accept Christ our Savior into your heart. We are saving you from eternal fire. Confess and you will be saved. Your slate will be wiped clean. And you may inform us of anyone else in danger of hells eternal fire once you've confessed. We wish for all souls to be saved. Please face the congregation and admit your sins," Augustine said. Antonio looked away. He knew this one would confess. He could see it in his eyes. And he was right. The man nearly recited Augustine's entire speech. And then he was asked to name the other Jews he knew. And he did. Smoothly and loudly, thinking of only himself and his own body, not his soul, not his families soul or friends soul, but his own physical body. Antonio felt the puke rising again.

What the hell was happening? He must have eaten something bad. That combined with this was wreaking havoc on his body. He wanted to excuse himself, but he had business to take care of. Oh, God. He had business. Yes. They would be asking about the Vargas family. They would be asking about Lovino. He pushed his fingers to his lips and grimaced. Think of something else. Lovi. No, dammit, something else! Anything else! The paintings at the gallery. And how his face looked while observing them. No, Dios mio. Going to the sea. He could think about going to the sea like he'd done many times years before. He almost smiled at the thought of Lovino at the sea. Pretending to hate everything. No, you must stop this.

Sweat trickled down the back of his neck as the eyes of Christ seemed to bore into him from the stained-glass window to his left. He was sure he wasn't going to be able to take it anymore, but before he stood up, the Jew was already being escorted out of the cathedral. That had been far quicker than in the past. Something wasn't right. Antonio hesitantly shrugged off the feeling that something about this trial was wrong.

"Lock the doors." That voice again. It was not a pleasant sound. The doors clinked. Antonio stood and came to the front of the Cathedral. Had it gotten warmer? It felt like it. Augustine smiled at him, though it was clearly fake. It didn't reach his eyes at all. "Antonio. You have been watching the Vargas family closely. And you'll expose them for what they truly are. Whether that be good or bad. Though I'm sure it's bad. They're all filth in that area of Barcelona. And especially in that house. How many people live in that bakery? We have it recorded as three people. No less, we're sure. I'm sure you've found out. You've always been the best when it comes to espionage." Antonio gulped, his face turning pale again.

"Si, Señor, I have found out. There are three people. An older man and two boys. Young men, I should say. Though I'm not entirely sure that they're Jewish, Señor." He had just lied through his teeth. God. Why had he just done that? He knew they were Jewish. And they're going to find out. They're going to catch on. No. No, he was the best liar he knew. They wouldn't catch on. He hoped. He muttered a silent prayer that they wouldn't find out. Augustine nodded curtly. "Find out soon. In the next two weeks, please. I've never trusted those Jewish pigs, Carriedo."

Antonio's eye twitched. He was just nervous. Augustine always made him nervous. He heard the door to the cathedral open again. He watched as a man he didn't know held out a white bag to Augustine, who had the faintest hint of a smile on his lips. He grabbed the bag, peeked inside, then put it in his pocket. Antonio watched with a raised eyebrow. He frowned at the growing smile on the mans lips. He hadn't noticed that the elderly man was watching his expression with great care. "It is just a little gift, Antonio. From that swine that you just saw. He wanted to thank us for saving his soul from eternal damnation," Augustine said. Antonio wasn't a fool. He understood well what had just happened. "He paid you off?"

Augustine patted Antonio on the shoulder. He wanted to get as far away from the mans touch as possible, but he knew how awful it would have looked. So he took it, trying to wipe the look of disgust off of his face. He smiled with all the strength he had left. "Very good, Señor. How you make your money is none of my concern. If you'll excuse me, I only have two weeks left. I'd like to get a start as soon as possible. Good day." Augustine nodded in response. Antonio walked mechanically down the isle and out the door, trying hard to compose himself. His hands were sweating more than usual. He unclenched his fists as he walked down the steps of the cathedral.

The cool breeze felt amazing on his warm palms. And it stung, too. His eyebrows furrowed. Stung? He looked down at his palms. Blood was smeared around four crescent shaped marks on each of his palms. He knew he had been digging his nails in, but he didn't think it had been this bad. He pulled out a pair of black gloves and slipped them on casually, hoping nobody had just seen his hands, or in other terms, seen the anger he had felt.

.

What was wrong with that bastard? Lovino pouted and looked at his reflection in the metal, water-filled bowl in front of him. He was supposed to be washing his face before bed, but he didn't feel like sleeping. All he could think about was that damn spaniard and how his lips felt pressed to his palm. He could only imagine how good they would feel pressed to every inch of his body. God, what was wrong with him? He shook the thought from his head and ran his fingers through his hair to smooth out the ends. He didn't even try to flatten the curl on the side of his head.

"Fratello, are you alright? You've been standing there for a long time." When had Feliciano entered the room? Lovino turned around hestiantly to face his brother, his eyes squinted and his lips pressed tightly together as if Feliciano's cheerfulness would infect him like a deadly disease. He shrugged. He really didn't know what his fratello had said. He had just sort of heard it, not really listened. He splashed the freezing water onto his face. Damn, that's cold. He patted his face dry and yawned.

Lovino hadn't really gotten much sleep the night before. Or on Friday. Friday especially. He figured that last night, though, he had gotten two. Maybe three hours. But he couldn't exactly bring himself to sleep. He was tired, but something in him wouldn't allow the rest. Part of him simply didn't feel like it. And he had to work tomorrow, there was no way around it. He pulled on the strings at the collar of his nightshirt, not really sure if he should lay down or not.

"Fratello, can you hear me?" He listened to Feliciano's words and measured them. "Yes, idiota, I'm not deaf. I heard you both times. I just didn't feel like answering," he said through another yawn. He finally sprawled out on the bed next to Feliciano, who was still talking about something. He wasn't exactly sure. He wasn't really listening. It was probably about pasta, anyways. Feliciano never really said anything important in his opinion. Lovino grabbed his pillow and covered his ears in a desperate attempt to mute the sound of Feliciano's voice. He looked up at the junky looking clock on the little table in the corner of the room. It was almost ten and he had to be up for work early. And he needed to at least try to catch up on sleep, even if he didn't feel like it. "Feliciano, shut up. I'm trying to get some sleep."

Feliciano was silent. For a minute. Then he, of course, found something else to chat about. Lovino sat up, his eyebrows furrowed and his lips pressed together so tightly he thought he might accidentally bite them off. He grabbed his pillow and a blanket from the chest underneath his bed. I can't deal with that idiota, he thought. They only had two rooms in the house. Grandpa Roma stayed in the room in the front. Feliciano and Lovino stayed upstairs. And there was a little water closet downstairs, too, but it definitely couldn't be counted as a room. If he decided to stay with Grandpa Roma, he would want to talk just as much as Feliciano. And then he'd spend about half an hour on his prayers, and that always made Lovino's stomach churn. And there was no way Roma was sleeping. He looked around, his eyes resting on the door to the bakery.

Well, it's a room, right? And it's quiet. None of these bastards will be there. Lovino walked into the room. The bakery looked so different at night with the lamps no longer burning. He looked around for a place to sleep. Everywhere looked uncomfortable. He grabbed one of the chairs from the tables and sat down. It was uncomfortable, but it was still better than listening to Feliciano all night after he had downed three cups of coffee. Which Lovino wasn't sure about. Coffee was pretty pricey, and if they really spent that much on coffee, he was going to be pissed. He rested his head on the table and his lips curled into a dissatisfied frown.

He needed to sleep. Badly. Focus. Sleep. Think of something that'll make you sleep. Describe something. Describe that bastard. Describe him from what you've seen so far. Wait why him? Ah, shit. Don't question it. He wiggled uncomfortably in the chair and shut his eyes. Well, we should start with a specific part. Looks. Since that's the first thing you see. Okay, uh, he has tan skin. And brown hair. It's sort of a dull brown. The bastard has green eyes. Insanely green. The greenest eyes I've ever seen. That rhymed. They're green. Really green. Like emeralds. Where was I? Oh yeah, his eyes are green. Wait. I was past the eyes. He, he-

Lovino felt himself drifting between awake and asleep. It was a good feeling, too. He kept thinking about those green eyes, sucking him into the dream world. Pulling-

What the hell was that? Lovino's eyes immediately opened and he sat up, nearly falling off the chairs. His heart felt like it was beating too fast. He pressed two fingers to his neck and checked his pulse. He needed to slow it down. But that noise. That was really what he needed to be focusing on. It was a small clicking noise. Like someone tapping metal or picking the lock. The lock on the front door. Somebody was picking the lock. Lovino looked around frantically, his eyes nearly popping out of his head. Grandpa Roma had to have some kind of weapon around here somewhere. He dug through the drawers under the counter, trying to be as quiet as possible as he heard some kind of scratching noise on the wooden door. He shook as he lifted a rolling pin out of the drawer, holding it like a sword. He stood up, his knees shaking. He sneaked up to the door, ready to hit whoever was going to enter.

The door was moving. Oh, God, why. Lovino stood behind the door and planned out his attack. Not very carefully, of course. A silhouette entered. A large one. Lovino didn't think. Well, I suppose if you consider Fuck the plan, oh shit, abort, abort an actual thought, then Lovino did think. He swung the rolling pin with all the strength he could muster. The pin vibrated in his hands and the handle broke off as the rod struck the man's head. He watched the silhouette stumble, then stand up again, grab what was left of the rolling pin, and slam it onto the ground. He felt an arm shove him onto the floor, then a boot press to his neck. God. This is where it ends. I should yell. I could. No, no I couldn't. He'd kill me before help came. Oh, God. It's because I'm Jewish. And what if he gets to Grandpa Roma and Feli. And he'll kill them both. And I won't be able to help them, I-

Lovino watched as the man pulled something out of his pocket. He heard a scratching and saw a light. A match. The man reached for one of the lamps on the walls and lit the almost completely melted candle inside. He held it to Lovino's face, and before Lovino could register what was happening, he was pulled into the mans arms.

"Dios mio, Lovi, my apologies. I thought you might have been a thief. And I-" Lovino punched him in the face, his entire body shaking. That bastard. That fucking tomato bastard. Lovino pulled away. "You bastard! You fucking bastard! You thought I was a goddamn thief? This is my house! I mean, I guess it isn't really my house, but it's my bakery! You scared the hell out of me! Why are you here? Do you see the time? And why did you pick the lock? What the fuck is wrong with you?" Lovino hadn't noticed the tears streaming down his face until he felt one land on his wrist. "Answer me, dammit! And don't wake up my family, either." Antonio looked like his heart had just been ripped out of his chest. The sight of Lovino's tears made his stomach twist. He didn't know how to answer the questions, but he could definitely make something up. "I heard there was a thief lose in this part of Barcelona. And that he often kills for what he wants. And I was worried about you, Lovi." Lovino wasn't convinced, though. He circled Antonio like a tiger about to pounce. "Why didn't you just knock?"

Lovino was good, but Antonio was better. "I didn't want to wake you or your family. I just wanted to make sure you had nothing out on the counters or tables of the bakery that was worthy of stealing. That way the thief would pass your house. And you wouldn't be in any danger. I'm so sorry. I really didn't plan on waking you or frightening you. I was just worried, Lovino." Lovino's amber eyes looked a little more relaxed. Antonio smiled at that, proud of himself for something he really shouldn't have been proud of. Antonio went around and lit all the lamps. Lovino looked around awkwardly, unsure of what to do. "Are you staying here or something, bastard?"

Antonio actually chuckled at that, casually flashing a charming smile Lovino's way. Lovino's face grew warmer. "Well, Lovi, I could go, if you'd like." Did he really want him to go, though? Especially after that, he wasn't sure he wanted to be alone. And if there was a thief somewhere in the area, he didn't want to be alone. But he could wake up Feliciano. He didn't want to, but he could definitely try. "Go home, bastard." Antonio stood there for a moment, his eyebrows raised and his lips pushed out slightly into a pout. But he nodded regardless and started for the door. Lovino walked back over to the door that connected his house and the bakery. He turned the doorknob and pushed. The door didn't move. It was always tricky like that. He pushed a little harder, but the door still didn't move. He jiggled the doorknob desperately, wishing he would have brought the key with him. He turned from the door and watched Antonio walk outside. Was he really going to do this?

Yes. Yes, he was.

"Hey, bastard. Wait."

To Be Continued . . . .

Thanks for reading! I wanted to make a note that I've had to do a good amount of research for this fic to be accurate (for the most part) and if there is anything that bothers you about the accuracy I'm doing as well as I can!

Also, if you want translations for the Spanish and Italian words used, tell me and I'll begin posting them! But I don't really feel that it is needed until someone asks for it!