Chapter 19 : Per Sognare Ancora

It was as if someone had opened a box and released new life and hope into the world. Now everything seemed possible before his eyes. The clouds that had once loomed threateningly over the horizon had vanished, the sun shone more brilliant than ever, even the very ground beneath his feet had begun to bloom with green.

He walked without fear now in the city streets. All around him still was the carnage of the sick and dying, but if nothing else he had money, and money could buy the few comforts one could ask for in order to recover. People he had never seen before thanked him, men and women and little lanky children, and his heart went out to them as he passed. They called him their "Savior," even though he always wished he could have done more for them.

The sea, whenever he paused to observe it on a quiet night, was always calm now, and sometimes he thought he could see a glimmering star hovering in the farthest stretch of dim sky, a star he knew well.

And for the first time in his life, seeing and doing all these things, Antonio was happiness personified.

What more could he want, really? He had with him the love of his life, his family of good and just people who had against all odds accepted him, and two other fairly pleasant comrades, Fabio and Alessandro—although the former had left them to reunite with his family. But it gave Antonio comfort to know that he was not as alone in the world as he had been. He did find himself wishing Lovino's sister could get married sooner, because the constant suppressed anticipation in Lovino's eyes was starting to worry him. And that they could have a little more time alone together... just a little more. And that epidemics would stop rattling at the city gates every so often.

But he was happy, for the first time in his life.

And also for the first time in his life, a singular notion came to him—the notion that all the good things that had happened might stay this way after all.

If that was madness, he thought, he wouldn't mind being a madman forever.

He'd be the luckiest madman the world had ever seen.

There still were, of course, many preparations to be made for Chiara's long-awaited marriage. Most important on this list was an inspection of the bridegroom-to-be for the hundredth time, because Lovino could not, would not allow just any man to marry his sister; he had to be special. And to Lovino that meant he had to be twenty-five, good-natured, affectionate, honorable, handsome, equal parts Italian and Spanish (a fact that could earn Antonio's immediate friendship), wealthy, and named Stefano. Fortunately the man in question fit the description down to the last letter. And he had been generous enough to send an escort with Fabio for safety, and to welcome everyone else as honored guests.

Theirs was truly a match made in heaven, Lovino thought to himself, patrolling—observing—from the second-floor window as Chiara and her beloved took a walk together in the verdant garden, their heads together as if they were discussing something important. There was no other way to describe it: they were two halves of a whole, stronger and happier together than they ever could be apart. From their mutual love they seemed to draw a strange yet thrilling power.

Just like—dare he admit it?—him and Antonio.

Yes, the Spaniard was with him at the moment. Yes, he was also watching, his green eyes indescribably soft—not that Lovino had gone out of his way to notice. Yes, he had both arms around Lovino's waist from behind, and yes, he must have been thoroughly comfortable because he hadn't moved at all in the past fifty seconds.

"Did you fall asleep?" Lovino grumbled halfheartedly, turning to check on him. Immediately he wished he hadn't, because Antonio just so happened to be facing him, and turning made it so that they were very, very close together, close enough for their noses to touch. And Antonio was, in fact, awake. He was smiling—a small adoring smile, with a hint of something that Lovino couldn't quite place.

"No, I wasn't sleeping… just looking at you."

Lovino bit his lip, willing the blush to subside, and turned back to the window.

"You're distracting me—look, they're already gone."

But he wasn't as worried as he might have been. He let his hands wander to where the Spaniard's were, and let them stay there. Antonio's lips simultaneously brushed his cheek.

"Your powers of attention are so short-lived, Lovi," he whispered, with the most innocent look on his face, a look that made Lovino's breath grow short.

"N-no thanks to you!" the Italian blustered. Antonio only grinned widely.

"If it makes you feel better, mine are too… Except when it comes to you."

"Oh, don't you even—"

Almost before he knew it they were kissing again. Antonio had bent down, and he had automatically leaned up, just a little, enough for their lips to meet. There was none of the heated passion and desperation they had tasted so often recently; this was just a kiss, an ordinary one, and they were kissing just because they could, and because it felt like the right thing to do. He had lost count of how many times it had happened that day.

He could feel how Antonio's breath ghosted across his lips, warm and gentle, and how his hands had found Lovino's shoulders, turning the Italian to face him fully. It had been a long time since Lovino had known any sort of security, but he knew it now, in Antonio's arms, wrapped in his affection and love. It was still hard to believe this was the same man Lovino had first met aboard the Trinidad; but they had both been strangers then, strangers to themselves and each other, and they had found the way at last. They had found each other, they belonged to each other, they were each other.

Their hands had somehow interlocked, and stayed that way even after their mouths had separated. It was a perfect moment, simply standing there and gazing into those mesmerizing green eyes and barely fighting the smile that threatened to engulf his face. Antonio looked like he could be content to stay like that forever—but then his eyes regained that unidentifiable emotion that caught Lovino's attention. If Lovino hadn't known better he could have sworn it was something like anticipation, or nervousness, or both. But why would he—

"Lovino, I… need to ask you something."

His voice, still sounding short of breath, was unusually soft, and his eyes were intense and earnest enough to set Lovino's heart to racing, for reasons he did not know himself. It was suddenly much harder to keep his voice steady.

"What is it?" he said with some difficulty.

Antonio grasped his hands tighter, swallowing visibly. He drifted even closer and took a deep breath, as if collecting his wits.

"Lovino… I've wanted to say this to you for a long time…" He stopped again, hesitant, and it was clear that what he wanted to say would be very weighty indeed. Lovino stared at him, his mouth dry.

"Go on."

"Well, it's just… I was wondering—more like hoping, really…" Antonio's face was more nervously animated than the Italian had ever seen it. He shut his eyes briefly and then opened them again. "Lovino, would you—"

"Fratello!"

Immediately they jumped apart, Lovino's heart sinking as Feliciano burst through the doorway. He had regained his carefree (or not so carefree) knack for interrupting important conversations, it seemed; and he even wore an ear-splitting grin to prove it.

"Oh, you are here!" he exclaimed, glancing from unnerved Spaniard to equally unnerved Italian, and pausing for a minute before addressing Antonio. "Sorry to barge in, but I need to show fratello something."

So he had done it on purpose after all. Who would've known Feliciano could be crafty too.

"What is it?" asked Lovino yet again, with considerable reluctance this time.

"You'll see—!" Feliciano grabbed his arm and started to pull him insistently towards the door. "They're in my room. I almost forgot to give them back to you, and I don't want to forget again."

Lovino took in his brother's overenthusiastic face—something he had sorely missed—then looked over to where Antonio stood by the door, expression shadowed with whatever he had meant to say before Feliciano's surprise arrival. He looked very much like he wanted to talk to Lovino, now, alone.

"I'm coming, just give me a minute," Lovino said quickly, earning a significant look from Feliciano, who observed the two of them one last time.

"Hurry up then, fratello! I'll just wait outside for you!"

The door closed behind him and for a moment Lovino was left alone with the Spaniard. There was still such conflict in his eyes, and Lovino couldn't help himself; on impulse he reached up and touched Antonio's cheek.

"You can tell me later, all right?" he whispered.

Antonio didn't break his gaze, and didn't move either. "All right."

But he looked far from reassured as Lovino left, wondering what in the world could have caused him to be this way, and slightly afraid of the possible answers.

As it turned out, Feliciano had only wanted to show him the contents of several cloth bundles.

"Here," he said, pushing one into Lovino's arms and lifting out two more from a wooden chest with the utmost gentleness. "And here, and here!"

"No more," Lovino shouted. "I'm going to collapse and lose my arms!"

"I thought you were going to put them down first!"

Thankfully there were only five. Lovino sighed loudly, shook his head and emptied the contents of his bundle onto a nearby table. Out tumbled several books, a tied sheaf of papers that he recognized as Antonio's letters, several documents with official stamps, and a small varnished box lined with gold, which nearly slid off onto the floor. Lovino caught it first, and opened it, but all the angry things he had planned to say had vanished into thin air.

Inside were two silver rings.

"These—"

"Yeah," said Feliciano, looking a little embarrassed. "I didn't want to search your things, you know, but I wasn't sure we'd be able to go back. So I took all the important things with me. You didn't bring the rings when you left."

Lovino was silent, turning them over in his hand and feeling their well-loved carvings with his finger.

He remembered these—one was a signet ring bearing the Vargas family crest, passed down through generations, which Nonno had bequeathed to Lovino when he had come of age, his birthright as the oldest. The second ring was simpler in design—a silver band inscribed with the Latin for good will and good faith, the same as the ones Feliciano and Chiara wore. These were what made him Lovino Vargas. Automatically he slipped them onto his fingers, their presence a familiar weight, the weight of realization and responsibility.

"I missed these," he said almost absently. Feliciano smiled.

"Well, don't forget them next time."

Lovino turned to stare at him. "'Next time'—did you think I was leaving? I'm not going to anymore, I already told you."

"No, it's not that." His brother's face was so completely free of harsh feelings that Lovino believed him. "As long as you're happy and safe, it's all right. I just wanted you to have these back so you won't forget."

Lovino knew what he'd left unsaid. So you won't forget who you are.

He glanced down at the two rings again, two unassuming circles of silver with the weight of his identity stamped on them. And suddenly they didn't seem so heavy anymore.

"I won't," he murmured, turning to Feliciano, and did something he hadn't done in a long time: he reached out and ruffled his brother's hair. Feliciano's smile grew impossibly wider.

"Lovi, come closer," he said softly. Lovino did so and Feliciano threw his arms around him; the older Italian laughed, a gentle loving laugh, and soon enough they were both laughing the way long-lost brothers would—freely, still in each other's arms as if they could stay that way forever.

Antonio did not see the Italian again until supper. There had been no opportunity to talk to him privately, and after spending more time mulling over it, Antonio wasn't sure that would be the best idea. It was true that what he had to ask Lovino was important, very important, at least where the two of them were concerned—but he had no way of knowing how Lovino would react, whether he would even accept. The Italian had been nervous the first time he'd tried, and now, beside him at the table, he looked just as uneasy as Antonio felt.

And, Antonio thought, he had forgotten he still did not have a ri—

"Uh, everyone—we have an announcement to make."

Chiara Vargas' hesitant tone of voice broke through his thoughts and he glanced over to the head of the table, catching sight of her worried face. That was odd—she had been all smiles and cheerfulness ever since Lovino had returned. Stefano next to her was doing his best to radiate reassurance, but it didn't seem to be working.

"What is it?" Feliciano asked, across from him. He was sitting with a large blond man Antonio had never seen before, and judging by Lovino's skeptical look, he hadn't either. "Is something wrong?"

"No…" Chiara arranged and then rearranged the silverware nervously with slender fingers, her brown eyes briefly downcast. "I just wanted to say that… Stefano and I were thinking of going to Spain. After we get married."

There was a short silence. Antonio could feel the tension radiating off Lovino in waves, but didn't know what to say.

"So you've decided not to stay here, then?" Feliciano ventured quietly.

"Yes, well—because—it's not safe here anymore. Besides, Stefano has connections in Spain—good ones—and I thought that if we all went there together, it would be better." Her voice trailed off on a slight hopeful note, as though asking their approval. Lovino was the first to answer, his face carefully expressionless.

"It sounds like a good plan," he said. "I don't think they speak Italian over there, though."

"But you won't have to go out into the open that much!" Stefano interjected with great excitement, in a way that reminded Antonio of himself. "And if you do you'll always have me to translate!"

"And me too," Antonio added, stopping them mid-discussion and suddenly becoming the object of surprised stares. For some reason he felt rather embarrassed. "Why are you all looking at me like that? I am Spanish, you know—"

Lovino grabbed his arm and pulled him back into his chair before he could go on.

"Do you mean you're going?" he whispered, his face betraying his concern. "Back to Spain?"

Antonio did his best to sound nonchalant. "Why not?"

"I just didn't know if it would be safe. After all that business with… you know."

He knew what Lovino was trying to say—returning to Spain as the wanted captain of a fearsome pirate crew was not and would never be a wise move. But he was not Captain Antonio any more, only Antonio. Antonio in the company of some of the most respected people in Italy. Things had changed entirely, and there was no one living to know the difference, except Lovino and his brother.

"It'll be fine, I won't be the only Antonio there," he said in what he hoped was a reassuring tone. Then, impulsively, "But I'll only go if you go, Lovi."

"Well, I'm going wherever you go, so that shouldn't be a problem."

Antonio's heart thrilled at the resolve in the Italian's face, and he couldn't help the hopefulness.

"Really?"

"Of course!" Lovino stopped and peered closely at him, eyebrows furrowed. "What were you even thinking?"

"Nothing," said Antonio, squeezing his hand, suddenly unable to stop smiling. "Nothing—I'm just happy."

"You worry so damn much, Antonio."

But Antonio's heart had lightened again, and as he gazed around at the excited faces of the others at the table, all he could think was that nothing could go wrong, as long as they had each other. And for once he believed it wholeheartedly.

Things would have been perfect for Lovino if he hadn't caught sight of something he really wished he hadn't seen.

It had happened as follows: after supper he'd tried to go after Antonio and speak to him again, but had promptly been thwarted by Chiara and Stefano. They had wanted to enlist his help in the wedding—without a father present, Lovino would lead his sorella to the altar instead. Which was all very well and good (Lovino was actually proud as hell) but his mind was still mostly on Antonio. He'd excused himself as quickly as possible and hurried upstairs to where Antonio was probably waiting in his room.

But halfway there he was stopped again—this time by Feliciano's voice, mingled with someone else's, just around the corner in the hall. He backed up against the wall, feeling thankful for the shadows, and listened.

"What do you mean?" Feliciano was saying, his voice low and soft as though speaking to a lover. Lovino nearly jumped when a man's voice answered—one he didn't recognize, with a decidedly foreign accent.

"I told my family I would be back soon; they still need money for everything, and I promised to return with it. I wasn't counting on meeting you, but…" There was a sigh. "I'm not leaving. I only need to go back and tell them, maybe bring them with me. My mother, brother and sister. It shouldn't be long."

"But I won't know where you are," Feliciano whispered. "We'll be in Spain then."

"I'll come with you as far as Spain, and then go," said the man. "Then I'll know how to find you again."

"I'll miss you, you know."

"I'm sorry, Feliciano. I will too…"

Lovino couldn't hear the rest; it was obscured by a muffled, highly suspicious sound.

There was no time to lose. He darted around the corner, just in time to find Feliciano in the arms of that very same blond stranger who had been at the table earlier. They appeared to be fused at the mouth, with muted passionate noises coming from Feliciano.

An alarm was necessary. Lovino sounded it.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING WITH MY BROTHER?"

Feliciano emitted a high-pitched screech, and the blond man, caught red-handed, let go of him like he was on fire. Lovino strode over to them, intending to punch the stranger in the face, but found himself restrained by his brother.

"Fratello, no! Don't hurt him!"

"Who is this?" Lovino demanded, watching their still-red faces. So this was who Feliciano had been dropping hints about all along—somehow he had never expected it to be a man. He was not one bit worthy of Lovino's approval: tall and too muscular, with shockingly blond hair and blue eyes and a very German appearance. He was also awkward-looking, which might have earned him the benefit of the doubt in any other situation—but not this one, and Lovino had never been a lenient judge.

"Talk, damn it!"

The man cleared his throat. "My name is Ludwig Beilschmidt. And you must be… Lovino Vargas?"

"That's Signor Lovino Vargas to you," Lovino snapped, still sizing him up. No, he was too large to take in a fight; he would have to ask Antonio for help. "Who the fuck gave you permission to lay hands on Feli?"

"I did," said Feliciano with a touch of insolence, and Lovino whipped around to glare at him.

"But you didn't tell me it was this bastard—he looks like he can level a building!"

To his surprise Feliciano blushed, the way Chiara would whenever she was teased. "He's one of Stefano's business friends, and he came all the way from Germany to make sure things were all right. He's a good man!"

Ludwig was standing beside them looking more embarrassed by the second, his face also turning successively darker shades of red. This irritated Lovino even further.

"You may not touch Feli unless I say so. And that's because you weren't good enough to even introduce yourself beforehand, Ludwig… whoever you are. And if you don't do as I say, you'll fucking regret it!"

He could hear Feliciano gasp from behind him.

"Lovi, no!"

"I won't," said Ludwig, which surprised them both. Lovino narrowed his eyes.

"You'd better not."

"I was too forward." The German looked apologetically at Feliciano, who said nothing. "I should have at least attempted formal courtship, and made it known to someone besides the two of us." He turned to Lovino and seemed to steel himself. "I would have asked your father, but I have learned he is no longer present. So, Signor Vargas, will you allow me the honor of seeking young Feliciano's hand, with a fair chance to anyone else who may be involved?"

"Dio, Luddy, I'm not a girl!"

The tall man gave a half-smile. "If I must follow local customs, then I will."

Speechless, Lovino gaped at the two of them. He was only faintly aware that Feliciano was plucking at his arm, blushing like a bride-to-be.

"Fratello, just please—"

Lovino finally closed his mouth, only to open it again. "No."

"Lovi—"

"I said no!" growled the older Italian, glaring. "There's no fucking way I'm going to let him do that! He's acting as if you don't have a say in the matter, and that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. 'Following local customs,' my ass. No—you might as well get back to what you were doing before! And I mean it!"

It was now Feliciano's turn to gape at him, followed by Ludwig. Their faces were at once comically alike, but it was Ludwig, the towering man with his mouth open like a small child's, who finally got the better of Lovino.

He laughed so hard he could swear the walls shook along with him. How did they not know at all what he meant?

There was no finding of Antonios to be made that night. It simply wasn't necessary. Antonio had thought it best to sleep in Lovino's room until the Italian returned.

That was how Lovino found him—sprawled across the covers, one hand trailing on the floor. He looked like he had flung himself onto the bed in a fit of boredom. But once the door opened his eyes also opened, and now he was grinning at Lovino with the most mischievous look anyone could ever wear on a summer night.

"You finally came back! I could hear you yelling up and down the halls the whole time."

"And you didn't even help me," huffed Lovino, lying down beside him. He was promptly snatched up in a warm tight hug, and found his face pressed against Antonio's chest. Pushing him away wasn't going to help, so he didn't even try. "What the heck are you doing!?"

"Nothing much." He could even hear the smile in Antonio's voice. "It's been a while since I've held you like this."

Lovino was suddenly grateful his face wasn't visible, but he felt his cheeks were liable to burn a hole through Antonio's shirt.

"It hasn't even been that long," he muttered.

"But it feels like it has." Antonio was silent for a minute, stroking Lovino's hair with gentle fingers. "You know, Lovino… about earlier... I really just wanted to give you something, but..."

"Sì—what about it?"

Quickly Lovino detached himself enough to meet Antonio's eyes. He could feel his heart pounding, and it only sped up when the Spaniard spoke.

"I'm going to save it for later," he whispered, his breath ruffling Lovino's hair just slightly. "For when we leave here. It'll be a surprise—just for you."

"And how do I know you won't put it off then and tell me it's saved for another time?"

"How would you not know?" Antonio's hand had found its way down to the hem of Lovino's shirt, and now it was traveling up his back, causing the Italian to tremble. "I admit, I don't enjoy waiting, either… but I do like to think I keep my word…"

"Well, do you want to hear something?"

"What is it, my beloved tomato?"

Lovino gave him a look.

"You're ridiculous." And he pulled Antonio into a forceful kiss that silenced him, fortunately, for quite a while.

Time definitely had flown by on silver wings.

Lovino stood near the entrance to the chapel, waiting for Chiara to arrive. From where he was he still had a fairly clear view of the interior—walls covered with paintings in sober hues, which were every now and then lined with gold. Grand white pillars, starting from this side of the building to the altar, supported the high domed roof. Lovino had only glanced at it when he'd come in, but he knew it, too, was glossed over with the paintings of ages. A circular stained-glass window towered directly above him, and sunlight shone through it and on him in a waterfall of color.

Everyone else was already there: Antonio, Alessandro, Ludwig and Feliciano near him, along with a few other guests; Stefano was at the altar, standing solemnly with the priest. Still, Lovino could practically sense the nervous excitement radiating from him. It was infectious, and even as he thought it he could feel himself sharing the emotion.

At last, having left the chapel to walk back towards the villa, he caught sight of Chiara, hurrying towards him, accompanied by three maids. He had never understood why women needed so much time to beautify themselves, until now. His sorella was more than beautiful today—with a light, flowing dress that gave her the look of an angel, her brown hair falling loose around her shoulders, only held in place at the top with a golden band. A thin veil covered her face, but Lovino could still see the roses in her cheeks, which were not from rouge.

"They're all waiting for you," he said, near to bursting with pride. Chiara gave him a little smile and took his arm, evidently too excited to say much.

No procession accompanied them, but that was how Chiara had wished it, as quick as possible so they could depart afterward without unwanted attention. And yet it did not feel as if they were in a hurry—time seemed to have slowed down just for this.

Together they entered the chapel; everyone fell quiet as they passed. There was a moment in which Lovino felt like he was walking on air—never had he been such an important part in bringing two people together. It was as if he were living in a happy dream.

Slowly they neared the altar, where Stefano stood, breathless with anticipation; he met Lovino's eyes and they exchanged a wordless but mutual smile. The priest beside them spoke, his voice gentle yet somehow echoing through the chapel.

"To all who have gathered here today... This marriage, like every other, is in itself a blessing. But doubly blessed is the couple who comes to the marriage altar with the approval and love of their families and friends. Who has the honor of presenting this woman to be married to this man?"

"I do," said Lovino. "On behalf of her family and friends, I do." He took Chiara's hand in one of his and Stefano's with the other, and his heart lifted at the sight of their bright faces. "On behalf of those who are with us, and those who have gone before... I give my blessing to this union." With a rare smile for them both, he joined their hands.

The priest looked on with appropriate seriousness, although even Lovino could see that he was pleased. "May the blessing of your marriage extend throughout your families forever," he intoned.

Lovino stood by to watch as they exchanged their vows and gold rings, a strange feeling in his chest as he did so. Unconsciously he found Antonio's eyes from across the room. The Spaniard was gazing at him as if Lovino were the only other person present, with a look of such tenderness that it made the Italian's heart flutter.

"Antonio," he almost whispered, but he was still some distance away.

The priest had just pronounced Chiara and Stefano newlyweds, and a burst of joyful exclamations enveloped the chapel, especially when the groom lifted his new bride in his arms and spun her around in glee. Lovino, after congratulating them, took advantage of the noise to slip across to Antonio.

"We should go," he said to the Spaniard. Antonio glanced around once, then gave a nod, and unnoticed in the revelry they left together.

He knew what they had to do—secure a ship so they could leave in the next day or two, with the aid of Lovino's authority and money to accompany it. The celebration would only go on for so long, and then they would have to run—escape this city for a better one to spend the rest of their lives in. Perhaps Madrid, that was large enough to render them relatively obscure. Or Barcelona, with its many ships and sea air.

But that was the farthest thing from Antonio's mind as he walked steadily back the way he had come, towards the villa, acutely aware of the restless Italian beside him.

He had never seen Lovino so excited, so perfectly happy, until that moment when he had led his sister to Stefano. And now, on closer inspection, his face looked rather flushed and feverish. Antonio reached out to touch his forehead and the Italian trembled.

"Are you all right, Lovi? You don't look very well—"

Lovino moved away and grabbed his hand, keeping it away from his face. "I'm all right—let's just hurry."

There was no footman at the gates, but Stefano had told them he'd dismissed him. They let themselves in and Lovino scanned the place quickly, then made a beeline for the gardens. Antonio followed him, now thoroughly perplexed.

"Lovi, what are you doing? We need to—"

Lovino grabbed his face and kissed him soundly, stopping him, and all Antonio could do was lean in closer and return it. The Italian's hands had moved up to his shoulders, then his neck, pulling him down so he couldn't move away.

"Tell me," he whispered, warm against Antonio's lips. The Spaniard froze.

"W-what do you..."

"Tell me," Lovino said fervently, letting go just enough to gaze at him. His eyes were insistent and strangely knowing. "I've decided I'm not going to wait any longer. Tell me what you wanted to tell me before."

"I..."

"Antonio."

"I don't have a ring," said the Spaniard very quietly. But Lovino had heard, his eyes widened the slightest bit, and he took a step back.

"A ring? Do you mean—"

He had done it now, he thought. There was no going back, only forward.

"Yes, that's exactly what I mean."

To his surprise Lovino did not appear terribly shocked, or horrified, or repulsed. He only looked at Antonio, quickly and searchingly, and then dropped his eyes.

"The ring doesn't matter," he said.

"But I wanted to—"

"—ask? Go ahead."

Hope stole into Antonio's heart once more.

"Even if it's only between the two of us?"

"Because it's between the two of us, and only us. Ask me, since you wanted to. I will answer."

Antonio slowly went down on one knee.

This was the moment, the moment he had never expected to happen, not even in his wildest dreams. Now that it had arrived he felt strangely calm, though he could still barely comprehend the sight before him—Antonio kneeling, with not a ring but Lovino's hand in his own, eyes radiating such sincerity and hope and love.

"Lovino," he said, his voice quiet and earnest, thrilling through every fiber of Lovino's being. "I don't even know how to begin with you. You... well, you're the best man I've ever met. From the moment I saw you I knew you were different, unique... And you've been so much more than that, to me. I don't know where I would be if you had never entered my life."

His eyes never left Lovino's, and Lovino did not look away.

"You changed me, you know that, Lovino? Maybe you don't believe me—but you did. You taught me how precious life is. You taught me how to find myself. You taught me how to love."

Lovino felt his heart begin to beat strongly. Antonio did not falter.

"I love you, Lovino. I love you so much. And even though I'm far from wealthy, or educated, or powerful, or anything like that—"

"It doesn't matter," whispered the Italian. "It never will."

Antonio gazed at him like a drowning man would gaze upon an unexpected rescuer. "I just wanted to say, Lovino—you make me happy. You make me the happiest man in the world, simply by being here with me, and I—I just want to ask you..."

Suddenly the Italian couldn't speak.

"Lovino Vargas, will you marry me?"

His throat had closed up and all he could do was gaze at the Spaniard before him with his mouth agape, unable to answer.

"Lovino...?"

"Get up, you look uncomfortable," he blurted out, and Antonio stared at him in surprise before choking back a laugh.

"... Is that a yes or a no?" he whispered, not moving from his place. And a smile spread across Lovino's face, brighter than the sun shining down upon them.

He took off a familiar silver ring and slipped it onto the Spaniard's finger.

"Yes, Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, you crazy wonderful man. Yes."