Chapter 4 : Suspension of Disbelief

Morning found Antonio rather quickly, as he had passed a long and fitful night without much sleep. The brilliant sunlight streaming into the room washed over his skin, threw a spark into his eyes and brightened his spirits temporarily, but they fell somewhat as he realized he was alone. Again.

At least no one had attempted to kill him in his sleep; the rebellions seemed to have died down—for now.

He wondered where Lovino was at this early hour.

Not that it was his place to worry, but... it was kind of his place to worry.

He'd saved the man, hadn't he? True, there hadn't been much thought on Antonio's part—no conscious decision had been necessary. Action had been needed, he had acted, and it had turned out to be the right thing to do after all. Perhaps his human instincts truly were still intact, however unlikely that might be. In any case it only made sense to remain loyal and protect Lovino to the end, did it not?

But what that actually meant for the two of them, he did not know.

Strange, really, how that little Italian had already become a part of his waking thoughts. Days ago Antonio would never have dreamed of events taking such a turn—and yet, how the tide had turned since his and Lovino's paths had crossed. Had it not been for yesterday Antonio might simply have labeled him as another of those landlubbers—albeit one with an adorable face and foul mouth—but this same little landlubber had a heart, and he had, impossibly, managed to comfort Antonio.

There had been nothing said the previous afternoon, nothing that could have been said, after Antonio, out of need, had let slip so much. Suddenly their roles had been reversed: Antonio had no longer been the pirate captain but simply a vulnerable, burdened man; Lovino had become not a prisoner but his equal, his confidant. And he had quietly but surely made certain, with that look in his eyes and the touch of his hand, that he had understood. He had sympathized.

He had... cared.

It was the most anyone had done for Antonio in a long time.

And something else that he could no longer ignore: there was a connection. A most improbable connection, given the short time since they had met. But it was there. He could feel it whenever he so much as glanced at the Italian. And from what he could tell Lovino probably did too.

But what was this? Certainly it couldn't be anything more than friendliness, because that was already pushing it. He knew a time when he had been kind and open—perhaps he still had it in him now—but what difference did it make when he had to lead a ship full of cold-hearted, merciless men? And when Lovino constituted the very lowest of them all...

The pirate sighed and swung his legs over the mattress, forcing himself to get up without the help of his wounded arm. In his experience such thoughts were meant to be dwelt on only briefly, if at all, and then confined to the safety of darkness and solitude. Pondering too much over them led to sentimentality, and then... what else?

He couldn't deal with this, not now.

Instead Antonio focused his energies on finding another shirt to replace the one ruined from the galley incident, which he did not care to remember. The late captain, rest his soul, had truly been one for appearances and left behind a veritable treasure trove of clothes to choose from. All Antonio had to do was not think about the grisly end the other man had met at his hands and things would be fine, guilt-free.

He truly was living the life of a pirate captain.

The weather was much too hot to allow for a concealing doublet, so Antonio had to settle for a shirt with longer sleeves to hide the bandage. The less infirmity one showed, the better. But he had never realized how much he'd depended on his left arm until this moment—even something as simple as putting on clothes became a chore with only one hand. What an embarrassment; he might just have to employ a servant of some sort, simply to help him put on his clothes.

It was hard to pull his thoughts away from a certain Italian who might be up for the job. Already he could imagine the entire sequence of Lovino's sure to be endearing reaction.

First would come the choking, and staring, and "What the fuck, you perverted asshole!" and then the enticing "Shut the fuck up, or I'll hurt you!" – followed by a characteristically Lovino-like glare and the blush that meant he would go along with it anyway. Really, it would be nice to have him take off Antonio's shirt sometime—

No! Not right now, the voice inside his head shouted indignantly, and the pleasant thoughts slowly faded. He let the smooth silk envelop his arm and then the rest of his upper body. Dios, he had to stop thinking of Lovino at the most inappropriate times. His mind was much too restless this morning to be trusted about anything. This was not how a pirate captain was meant to act.

Hiding everything under a mask of calm, Antonio slowly made his way to the mess deck, barely acknowledging the other pirates who passed by. There were surprisingly few men about this morning. Most of them must have dropped their duties for breakfast—rather odd, considering that the Trinidad's food was barely worthy of thought, much less taste. Unless, of course...

Antonio's hunch was confirmed as he neared the entrance to the mess hall and caught a whiff of the most delicious aroma he had yet encountered. There could only be one explanation for this, and that explanation was probably in the galley. Dishing out heavenly Italian food.

No wonder why breakfast had taken such a high priority today, he thought as he navigated the rows of crowded, irregularly placed tables, following his nose to the galley. Everywhere around him he found small talk, smiles, and laughter, all normally rare commodities, being exchanged today like they had never been absent. If one were to block out the coarse mannerisms, rough accents and the rather unsavory demeanors, the scene might have looked something akin to a boisterous family reunion or other noisy gathering. It was a real sight to see, fascinating in every way. Lovino must have worked some sort of magic into his cooking; nothing like this had ever happened before.

Passing by a rather pleased-looking Eduardo, Antonio stepped into the galley and glanced around very quickly. Sure enough, there stood the little Italian in a corner, busily tending to something simmering in a small pot over the stove. His back was turned to Antonio, but something about his posture told the Spaniard he was in rather high spirits this morning.

Antonio tried to clear his throat, but the loud grumbling of his stomach made as good an announcement as any.

Lovino turned so quickly he nearly tripped and almost dropped his ladle. Upon seeing Antonio, his mouth dropped open in an O shape as his face slowly turned a tomato red.

"Wh-what are you doing here!?"

The Spaniard couldn't help a grin.

"Me? Why, I'm here for food!"

"...Oh." Lovino very cautiously averted his eyes and gestured to the pot in the corner. "I was... going to make pasta and bring it to you, but they kept interrupting." It must have been the pirates—even now there were still men outside shouting cheerfully for second (and third, and fourth) helpings.

But the captain was here now and so he would come first.

"Well, you don't need to! I'll just stay here, sí?" Antonio gave him the most genuine smile he could muster and sat himself down at the kitchen table. Just being here with the Italian did wonders for his mood—although his stomach still needed sustenance. "Hurry up, though, or I might starve to death over here and you wouldn't want that, would you~?"

The flirtatious edge to his voice had not gone unnoticed. "Sh-shut it," Lovino grumbled, retreating to his cook's corner, and Antonio observed with some satisfaction that his ears had turned red. The silence that fell afterwards was bearable, almost comfortable; it wasn't much of a silence anyway, given the continuous flickering of the flames in the makeshift oven and the raucous shouting from beyond. Antonio watched him quietly for a while until anticipation and hunger finally got the better of him.

"Hey, Lovi!" he called. The Italian bristled.

"Don't call me that. What?"

"Are you done yet?"

"No-"

"No?"

"No!"

"You're taking a really long time, mi amigo!"

"I-I said not yet! Just wait a little more!"

"I've been waiting for hours!"

"You have not! Just be patient, damn it!"

"My stomach isn't listening!"

"Then tell it to listen!"

Antonio groaned and almost flopped over on the table. "You're killing your poor capitán here, Lovi..."

"I—wow, fuck, don't pass out on me! Here!"

The heavenly scent of tomatoes hit Antonio's nose just in time and he decided he wouldn't black out after all. Taking a huge, appreciative whiff of the pasta he swore the smell alone was returning strength to his poor emaciated limbs. Lovino just looked at him fawning over the food as though he were out of his mind.

"You're weird, you know that?"

Yes, Antonio was. Sadly, Lovino probably didn't understand. No one ever had food like this on a pirate ship, especially during a long voyage—anything remotely resembling gourmet (Italian) food had to be sent from the heavens themselves. And as for the cooks... well... they were really something, as Antonio could tell.

"You can eat it, you know," huffed the Italian disdainfully.

"I'm going to!" Then Antonio remembered his legendary captainly generosity just in time. "Want to share?"

"No." Apparently Lovino had learned his lesson well; he vanished from Antonio's line of sight and reappeared soon after with his own plate—and spoon—before digging in. "Holy shit, you eat fast," he observed sagely from the other side of the table, watching as Antonio's pasta disappeared within a matter of minutes. The pirate responded with a cheerful grin and a loud belch that earned him a disgusted look from the irritated Italian.

"I'm good at being fast...~"

"Th-the fuck are you saying!?" Lovino's face had suddenly turned red as the tomato sauce on his pasta, and Antonio had to convince himself there was a difference. "You made me the cook, so this is my kitchen and you c-can't flirt here, damn you!"

"Oh?" Antonio raised an eyebrow. Ah, here came the feistiness! "But elsewhere we can, sí~?"

"No."

All right, so Lovino was actually serious today. How disappointing, since that ruined all of Antonio's plans for fun, but he would give the poor overworked man a rest. Besides, he had other things in mind besides making Italians blush, although he had to admit that was quite the entertainment, really.

"Hm... you're very... proper," Antonio remarked, leaning over from his side of the table without warning. The Italian quickly backed away. "Mind... telling me about yourself?"

Lovino made a disbelieving sound, looking as though he'd like to get up and flee instead.

"Wh-why?"

"Oh, I just want to know~!"

"What makes you think I would fucking tell you anyway?"

Antonio shrugged, keeping his voice deceptively lighthearted. "I tell you things too."

He felt a little guilty at the look on the Italian's face. This was simply a bargain; he hadn't intended to stir up awkwardness by mentioning yesterday's little talk. But then again he really did want to know something more about Lovino. Pirate wisdom dictated it a necessity, since it was always useful to find out where one's prisoners came from if the need arose for ransom. Antonio had no intention of doing that, however.

He watched as the Italian tensed, flushed and paled in succession, and finally opened his mouth without saying a word.

"Well...?"

As if on cue, Lovino closed his mouth again. "...I already told you."

He had? Antonio had to rack his brain for an answer.

"I don't remember."

"You're forgetful as fuck," said Lovino matter-of-factly.

"... No, you really didn't tell me anything. Who are you?"

"Why are you so interested?" the Italian retorted.

Pause. Antonio thought again, searching for the right words.

"Because you're interesting."

And just like that Lovino was turning red again.

Dios, but judging by appearances, he truly must not receive attention very often. Antonio found that hard to believe—how could anyone not notice a swearing, stuttering, blushing little Italian with a tendency toward self-consciousness and a flair for cooking?

"No. I'm not." Little did Antonio know that Lovino was lying through his teeth. "I'm just a stupid asshole who was dumb and slow enough to get kidnapped by nasty pirates, and that's the only reason I'm here."

Ouch.

Antonio decided to evade that barb.

"C'mon, you know that's not true—answer my question, mi amigo! You're from Italy, I'm from Italy! Couldn't we get to know each other—"

"Wait."

"Sí?"

Lovino was staring at him with an incredulous look.

"You... you said you were from Italy...?"

Ah, he had let too much slip there.

But Antonio had thought it was obvious enough. Lovino was bound to have noticed his lack of coarse pirate speech sooner or later, anyway. Antonio might have spent thirteen years at sea robbing unsuspecting ships with his fellow mates, but he had never managed (or even tried) to pick up their accent. Pirates, prisoners, and foes alike always seemed to prefer his Spanish inflection—except for a certain estúpido Englishman, but that was beside the point.

"Sí, I am..." he replied cautiously after a moment. "Does that mean you are not?"

"No, no." Lovino shook his head, brows suddenly furrowed as though he were trying to recall something. "I-I just..."

"What?"

"...Never mind."

It was Antonio's turn to frown then. "Is there something I should know about?"

"N-no..."

Antonio's gaze fixed on him, but Lovino glanced away instead, fidgeting awkwardly in his seat. A short, tense silence fell as neither moved to elaborate upon the question. When a few moments had passed and Antonio had still received no reply, the pirate sighed and decided to let it go temporarily. There was always time to find out later.

"Well, I'll be going now," he announced abruptly. Lovino didn't answer, and Antonio pushed his chair back, standing up to leave. His little visit had gone more poorly than he'd expected, which was rather disheartening. Only when he was halfway to the door did he remember his original purpose for stopping by, and turned back to face the still-seated Italian.

"Oh... by the way..."

Lovino finally raised his eyes to meet Antonio's.

"Sì?"

Antonio hesitated for a split second.

"Gracias, Lovino."

The look in the Italian's eyes told Antonio his thanks had been accepted, and understood. It was a knowing glance, yet not of the unfriendly sort, and their eyes remained locked this time, green with hazel. A little more than a minute flew by before Lovino finally answered.

"... Prego."

You're welcome.

You're welcome.

He had said, you're welcome. Another incongruity in an already incongruous series of events—the mouse had not minded helping the cat in the slightest. And that meant things between them, if there had ever been any, would no longer be the same.

Yet Antonio found his spirits had risen and his heart all but sang as he returned to his duties as captain.

"Watch it, child!"

A tall man with a little daughter in tow ran by, evidently in a hurry, and brushed past a small boy, nearly knocking him down with the force of their passing. The boy swayed but caught his balance at the last minute, and recovered quickly, already utterly absorbed in the sights and sounds and smells of the outdoors. Venice. Città de Luce. The heart and soul of the world, center of riches and glory. It was paradise for any traveler, but especially for the boy standing alone in the crowded street, looking around him like he had never seen such a beautiful place before.

He walked along, the expression on his face more of stupefied surprise than actual pleasure. Any passerby would have noted at a glance that he did not quite belong in the tumbled dust of Venice's busy streets. His clothes were clean and well-made; he wandered about aimlessly; if he had parents they were nowhere in sight. And his eyes held a spark of cleverness along with a desire for youthful adventures. His skin was pale, a sharp contrast to that of any sun-tanned Venetian. One might conclude the boy had never been outdoors, or that he simply came from somewhere farther north.

And he couldn't have been more than ten years old, but he was short for his age. As it was no one took much notice of him; he was simply another small child among the many loud merchants' offspring who raced about the streets shouting and laughing. This boy was quiet, however, content to watch and listen.

"Hey, little lad, you look hungry. Want to buy candy?"

The speaker was a rather ragged-looking vendor with a friendly face. Having been sitting under the eaves of a building, he now moved forward to offer his wares to the little boy. The child realized he was hungry and reached into his pocket for coins, but to his dismay found none.

"I don't have money, sir," he said regretfully. The man nodded in understanding and had just made to turn away, when footsteps and a new voice sounded from behind them.

"Wait, I'll pay!"

A taller boy with strikingly wild brown hair approached and promptly dropped a few coins into the man's hand. "Just one, please," he said in polite Italian and then accepted the sweets from the peddler, before pressing them into the smaller boy's hands.

"G-grazie," the first stammered, eyes wide in surprise at the sudden gift.

"Of course! Have it all, I don't mind!"

They ended up sharing anyway.

The younger boy couldn't help staring in awe at his new benefactor. No child ever forgets his first friend. He was several heads taller, with an open face, a friendly smile, and eyes like verdant fields on a summer day, eyes that glowed bright as the sun when he talked. From his looks he was several years older and had the air of a jovial older brother.

"So, what's your name?"

"...R-Romano."

Having thus introduced himself, Romano gave a quick, awkward nod, then busied himself with the sweet treats. The other boy was still watching him and he gave a small laugh: a merry, cheerful sound.

"Oh, that's a nice name. Hello to you, little Roma. You can call me Toni!" He stretched out a rather large sun-tanned hand, and the smaller boy hesitantly shook it.

"Toni," said Romano slowly, the name strange on his tongue. "Hello," he repeated, and the boy called Toni chuckled again, patting his back this time.

"Hello, hello. I haven't seen you around before! Why are you out here by yourself?"

Romano was unsure how to answer. But being a child, and a young one at that, he told the truth.

"I... ran away."

Toni glanced at him in surprise. "Really?"

"No one lets me come out here," Romano explained conspiratorially. "So I came here myself."

"...Oh." The older boy looked somewhat concerned. "Well, you should go back! You might get lost."

"No I won't," scoffed Romano. "My Nonno sails on ships and he says I have his instincts."

Toni observed him dubiously for a moment, then drew back with a grin.

"All right. I believe you. You're a cute little thing."

"A-am not!" Romano protested, his face showing telltale signs of embarrassment. Toni laughed and ruffled his hair, which didn't help the boy's discomfort.

"Aw, you are! Anyway, I've been here all my life, so I could show you around. Want to come with me?"

Romano's face lit up and he nodded eagerly before remembering something.

"Sì, I will! Only... you must promise."

"Promise what?"

"Not to tell. If anyone finds out I'm here then I'm dead meat." Romano made a face to prove his point.

"Don't worry, little Roma, I won't."

The boy was not so easily convinced, however.

"Pinky swear," he pouted, holding out his hand. Toni gave him a large grin and did the same, locking their pinky fingers together, one pale, one slightly darker.

"There. Now it's sealed. I'll keep your secret forever!" he said earnestly, and Romano believed him because his gaze and his smile were sincere. The two exchanged conspiratorial smiles, and then Toni grabbed hold of Romano's hand.

"Let's go, shall we?"

And that was how their friendship began.

x X x

Translations

Dios (Spanish) – God

Mi amigo (Spanish) – My friend

Capitán (Spanish) – Captain

Estúpido (Spanish) - Stupid

Gracias (Spanish) – Thank you

Prego (Italian) – You're welcome

Città de Luce (Italian) – City of Lights, another name for Venice

Grazie (Italian) – Thank you