Archive of Our Own ^beta

It started when the boy sat down across from him at their stupid, scratchy coloured plastic tables. Lorenzo was sorting his coloured pencils again, annoyed that the teacher wouldn't let him switch into Feliciano's class no matter how much he argued, annoyed that grades were mixed in his class, that everyone was loud, and annoyed that he was even in America. He'd just picked up a green when the boy sat down with a clatter, leaned forward, and stuck out a hand. Stickers were plastered over the back.

'I'm Antonio.' He beamed, showing braces. Lorenzo did not accept the handshake.

'Why are you at my table?'

'I wanted to sit with you.'

'Nobody wants to sit with me,' Lorenzo said defiantly. Antonio was still holding his hand out, and he slapped their palms together just to make him put it down. 'Don't lie.'

'I'm not lying.' Antonio propped himself up on his elbows. 'People don't like sitting with me, either. It's because of my accent, they say.'

'Your accent is fine.' Lorenzo wanted to go back to colouring, but when Antonio tilted his head he could see the bright colour of his eyes, and the pencil still in his hand itched to capture it.

'Really?' He smiled, and Lorenzo noticed a freckle on his lip. He wondered momentarily if Antonio would sit still long enough for him to draw him, and pushed it away. 'Do you think we could be partners for all the seating things?'

'Yeah,' Lorenzo said, surprising himself. Antonio beamed, and he quickly turned back to his pencils and listened to him chatter on for the rest of his class.

He didn't draw Antonio until he was home, tucked in the corner of his room, trying to fix the lines of his face. Drawing was the one thing he knew he could do, but Antonio's hair was a mess of wild curls that stuck out in every direction, and Feliciano happened to walk in just when he was particularly absorbed in shading.

'Who's that?'

'Knock before you come in, Feliciano!' he nearly shrieked, slamming the notebook shut. His little brother slid onto the bed next to him and turned his wide eyes up at him.

'Please?'

Lorenzo would be ashamed how easily he caved if it hadn't happened before. He flipped the book open and Feliciano beamed.

'He looks good!'

'His name is Antonio.' Lorenzo stared at the rough lines and the freckle he'd added to his lip, abruptly shut the book again, and gently shoved Feliciano off his bed with his foot, ignoring his yelp.

'Go to bed!'

When he unfolded it again, the drawing was still raw and sketchy. The image he had of Antonio in his head wouldn't translate to graphite without colour or the way he'd moved. Lorenzo tore out the page and he stuffed it deep in his drawer, not understanding why it made him so much more irritated than normal.

His name was Antonio Fernandez Carriedo. He was seven and in third grade while Lorenzo was in second and he came from a sunny village in Spain. He didn't know how to translate all that into lines on paper yet, but when he picked up the green pencil crayon, it helped somewhat.

The next day, he saw Antonio with two other kids on top of the tower in the gravel playground. He was wearing a pointy hat with a red feather stuck in the top. Lorenzo took a moment to appreciate the effect when mixed with his paint-stained shirt.

'What the hell are you wearing?'

'A pirate hat.' Antonio leaned out over the side, holding onto the bars. 'And Gilbert is wearing a helmet and Francis is wearing a stupid felt thing.'

'It's a beret!'

'Do you want to come up?'

Lorenzo started climbing- the metal gritty with dust under his palms. Three sets of eyes appraised him.

'He doesn't have a hat,' the pale kid noted from below an oversized grey helmet.

'I'm not going to look stupid like you three.'

'Is this the…' The kid with the felt thing on his head nudged Antonio, who elbowed him back. The pale kid's eyes widened, and he broke out into a wide, wolfish smile.

'This is him, isn't it?'

Antonio's gaze dropped. His ears went red.

'It's time to go.' He glanced up from behind long eyelashes, hesitant and full of questions that Lorenzo couldn't understand. Without waiting for an answer, he slid down the pole and held out a hand in offer to help him down. Lorenzo found himself accepting, even if he didn't know why.

Antonio's hat stuck up at a funny angle, his hair splaying out under in a sunburst of curls. Lorenzo resisted the urge to fix it for him, like he did to Feliciano.

'Those kids. Gilbert and Francis. Are they your friends?'

'Yeah. They don't mind my accent or anything.' He beamed sideways at him, but his sunny expression suddenly fell. Lorenzo twisted around to see two kids sneering at them, and before he could think about it, he'd balled his fists and lunged.

Antonio grabbed him by the back of the collar, hauling him back.

'Lorenzo! Lore, stop. It's not worth it.'

He stared at him, hot rage still burning dark and ugly under his chest. His brows were furrowed.

'Don't call me Lore.' He pulled away and stalked inside, glaring at the sneering kids.

Antonio still sat down across from him as easily as if they'd been doing it for years, glancing up at him with weary, thankful eyes. Lorenzo didn't mind as much as he should have.

They didn't talk, but there was a quiet understanding.

0o0o0o

Lorenzo was used to Antonio by fall, used to his humming and his bright shirts and occasionally his odd choice of hats. He would have almost looked forward to him being around if one day he hadn't swung his feet up onto the chair. Lorenzo dropped his pencil.

'What are those?'

'They are my Crocs.' Antonio wiggled his feet for emphasis.

'Did they have an accident in a plastic dinosaur factory?'

'No?'

Lorenzo had doubts. They were the ugliest piece of clothing he'd ever seen, and that included his little brother's shirts.

'They're stupid,' he informed him, turning back to his homework. Antonio chuckled like he'd been given a compliment. They worked in companionable silence until the door squeaked open.

'Gilbert!' Antonio burst out, delighted. Lorenzo looked up in time to see the pale, crazy-haired boy duck behind their backpacks, wrapping himself in the teacher's long overcoat. He rustled noisily over to their table and sat, the coat spilling over the chair and sticking out over his shoulders and hands. He looked over Lorenzo and then grinned. He was wearing an aviator cap, and looked like a little general.

'West's classroom already kicked me out,' he said, nearly preening.

'Beilschmidt?' the teacher interrupted. Gilbert grinned and saluted, the sleeve of the coat flopping.

'Yes, ma'am.' Satisfaction dripped off his words, eyes glittering. Antonio smiled as he looked at him, like sunshine spilling over his face.

'Are you coming to help us with our work?'

His eyes narrowed, and his lip stuck out. 'What kind of work is it?'

'Language arts.'

'Boring,' he declared, jumping up from his seat. He hiked up the hem of the coat and walked out into the hallway with it trailing behind him like a cape, head held high.

'Isn't he amazing?' Antonio asked. Lorenzo suddenly didn't like the look on his face, and he didn't like the pale kid, either. He turned his back and kept writing. Antonio shook his head in amusement.

'Don't be mad at him, mi corazon.'

'What the hell does that mean?'

'Nothing.' He was still smiling, and leaned over to read his notebook over his shoulder. Lorenzo closed the cover. Antonio shifted in his seat, looking embarrassed.

'What do you want?' he snapped.

'Could you help me with the assignment? We're just talking about our summers.' He pushed his half-filled journal over. Lorenzo wavered. Normally, he would have disagreed, but this was Antonio. He made everything different.

'You can come to my house after school to work,' he decided. Antonio's face lit up.

The fall air blew around them as they walked home. Antonio was a bit taller than him. Lorenzo straightened his back and avoided looking at his multicoloured dino-studded Crocs.

'What is your house like?'

'You're going to see it soon,' Lorenzo reminded him. 'I think Nonno will be home. If he is, he'll probably cook for us.'

'Is the cooking good?'

Lorenzo bumped their shoulders together, backpack swinging. 'Of course it is. We're Italian.'

Antonio giggled again. Ahead, Feliciano was running through the leaf piles, holding up different leaves to the watery sunlight. His face and clothes were smeared with paint like usual.

'Feliciano, right?' Antonio asked. Lorenzo nodded. Antonio studied him for a long moment, and Lorenzo frowned, unsure why. Irrationally, he thought of the pale kid again.

'You look a lot alike,' Antonio said. He suddenly grabbed a leaf twirling from one of the trees and held it up to his face, humming. Lorenzo reflexively jerked back, surprised.

'It's the same colour as your eyes,' he said with a smile. 'They're a little bit greener than Feli's, right? My ma calls that hazel.'

'Why would they call it hazel?' Lorenzo demanded. 'It sounds stupid.'

'I like it.' Antonio tilted his head back, humming. The sun illuminated his curls and Lorenzo's retort caught as he realized exactly the right way to draw him.

Nonno was reading and raised a playful eyebrow when they got home, stomping their shoes to shake off the leaves.

'Who's this?'

'Antonio,' Feliciano said. He grinned over at them, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Lorenzo ignored him.

'Antonio. He's from school.' He looked back and forth from his classmate and his grandfather, hesitating, then grabbed his hand and dragged him off.

Antonio flopped down on his bed as soon as they got into his bedroom. Lorenzo jumped down beside him, making them both bounce.

'Are you ready to work or what?'

'I'm ready.' He opened one eye and smiled again, rolling onto his back. Lorenzo shoved his rough draft about a summer in Italy at him and sat up to watch apprehensively. Antonio squinted at the papers, neck craning. Lorenzo threw a pillow at his head.

'Don't hurt yourself, bastard,' he said, poking him with a socked foot. Antonio relaxed into the pillow.

'You're a really good writer.'

Lorenzo snorted. 'No.'

'You are!' Antonio looked earnestly up at him, a hint of arresting seriousness lurking behind his bright green eyes. 'You're the best writer I've met.'

Lorenzo stared at him, mouth dry. His response was stuck in his throat.

'Your handwriting is horrible, though,' Antonio added, breaking the silence. Lorenzo scoffed.

'You just need glasses.'

'Do not. I already have braces, I don't want glasses too.' Antonio ran his tongue across the metal, frowning, before shuffling closer. 'Teach me how you did this.'

They worked together for hours. Antonio's problem was finding the right synonym in English for Spanish words, and Lorenzo understood completely. Antonio thanked him profusely when they were finished. Lorenzo waved it off.

'If you need help, you can always come over.'

'Really?'

'Yeah.'

'Thanks so much.' He squeezed his hand, eyes sparkling. 'You're a great friend, Lorenzo.'

He dashed outside, backpack swinging behind him. Feliciano looked in, evident questions written all over his face. Lorenzo closed the door and lay on his bed for a long time, unable to stop smiling like an idiot.

Antonio came back the next week to work on a project they did together. A few weeks after that, he stopped coming over for homework and started knowing where the spare key was to come over for food and to lay in Lorenzo's bedroom and talk about anything they wanted. Antonio's house was good, too, full of plants and spice, even if his father was never home. Lorenzo thought he might be floating. He hadn't had a friend like Antonio before.

0o0o0o

Winter in America was terrible. Lorenzo was always cold and snuffling and his nose and fingers were raw red. The jacket made him look stupid, and Feliciano cooed over how he looked like he was a stupid little kid.

'Antonio will like it,' he added as they trudged to school together. Lorenzo nearly tripped into a snowbank.

'What? Why would he?'

'He told me! We agreed green looks good on you.' He beamed and yet again, Lorenzo couldn't resist him.

'Don't talk about stupid things with him.' He kicked a snow chunk into the road. 'He's an idiot.'

'I thought you liked him.'

Lorenzo's mouth fell open, aghast. 'I don't!'

'You don't? But you always talk about him and you invite him over and-'

'Okay, okay!' Lorenzo clapped his mitten over his mouth to shut him up. 'I don't hate him or anything. I don't not like him, but we're just...just classmates.'

'He seems like a good person when you talk about him,' Feliciano said after the mitten was removed. Lorenzo didn't answer and stomped further ahead.

He almost forgot it was near Christmas until Antonio showed up wearing the ugliest, gaudiest festive sweater he'd ever seen. He hoped dearly it was never worn with the Crocs.

'Merry Christmas!' He held out a little clay pot wrapped in bright paper. Lorenzo examined it warily, unsure. He wasn't used to getting gifts at school.

'What is it?'

'That would ruin the surprise,' Antonio said. He tried to stick out his lip in stubbornness, but his smile ruined the effect. 'It's a tomato plant.'

Lorenzo resisted the flutter of interest. 'It's the middle of winter. Where the hell did you get a tomato plant?'

'I grow them. I've got a little greenhouse.' He looked so hopeful and earnest that Lorenzo couldn't stand it. He grabbed the pot, noticing the dirt and bandages on Antonio's hands. 'What the hell, did you hurt yourself getting this?'

'Don't worry about it.' Antonio waved it off. Lorenzo scowled at him again and unwrapped the plant. The pot was painted like the Italian flag, and he admired the handiwork. The plant was delicate, curling green.

'Did you do this?'

'Not completely,' he admitted. 'I asked Feli to help me. Do you like it?'

'It's good. Really good.' He cautiously stroked the leaves, amazed by the vibrancy. 'Thanks.'

Antonio looked pleased, and settled into his seat. Lorenzo was still turning the pot around to check out the paint when a Santa hat was jammed onto his head. He sputtered, pulling it off. Antonio was wearing a similar one.

'Now you look festive!'

'I don't want to look festive.' He pushed the brim of the hat up, nose wrinkling at how fluffy the fur was. 'Do you always bring tons of Santa hats?'

'Not tons. Just for you.' He doodled in the corner of his notes. 'I'm glad you like the gift.'

Lorenzo chewed on his lip, scowling. He wanted to get something for Antonio, something just as amazing.

When he got home, he realized he had no idea what to get. He kicked things around the house and set the tomato plant up on his windowsill, desperately trying to think of something. They only had a few days left before Christmas break.

0o0o0o

His idea was stupid. Lorenzo was exhausted from working on it and it still wasn't perfect.

'Here's your Christmas present, bastard,' Lorenzo said roughly, dropping the envelope in front of him. His hair was so messy it almost looked like Antonio's, and he wanted to collapse on the table or run somewhere far away. He was sure Antonio wouldn't like it.

He smiled up at him and opened the envelope, carefully sliding the parchment out. He froze. Lorenzo buried his head in his arms, unwilling to face him.

'Lore, did you draw this?' Antonio asked quietly.

He was too tired even to mention the nickname. 'Yeah.'

'It looks incredible.'

Lorenzo jolted up. 'What?'

'It's amazing. You're so talented.' He brushed his fingers across the swirls of paint that made up his curls, hovering over his eyes. Lorenzo had worked on getting the shade just right. 'This is the best thing I've ever gotten.'

'Don't be stupid,' he said, but a knot was loosened in his chest and he felt lightheaded with relief. 'You really like it?'

'I'd like anything from you.'

There wasn't much work to do. Lorenzo absentmindedly doodled, realizing too late it looked like Antonio and crumpling the paper.

'What are you doing for over the holidays?'

'Not too much. You?'

He swung his legs. 'Well...nothing much on New Years. You know, you can come over later that night. If you want. Or if your parents let you.' He tried to shrug, hoping it looked casual. 'Otherwise I have to stay with Feli the whole time.'

'That would be amazing!' His eyes shone. Lorenzo couldn't help giving a small smile back.

'Here, I'll give you the home number if you need to call.' He wrote it down on the envelope.

Nonno smiled and ruffled Lorenzo's hair when he said Antonio might be coming over. He was nervous and distracted all day until the doorbell rang and Antonio bounded in, shaking off snow. Lorenzo raised an eyebrow at him, irrational joy bubbling out to his fingertips.

'Hey,' he said.

'Hey, Lore.'

They went upstairs to lay on his bed and watch the electric green numbers on the clock to hit twelve. Downstairs, his brother and grandfather were singing, but in his room, it was all hushed by snow. Antonio sprawled out on his back and stretched out his arms, fingertips brushing the leaves of the tomato plant.

'Do you have a girlfriend?' Antonio asked suddenly. Lorenzo sat up so fast he hit his head on the shelf.

'The hell kind of question is that?'

'Do you?' he insisted. Lorenzo glared at him.

'You first.'

'I asked first.'

Lorenzo scowled, not knowing why the question made him feel so defensive. He hesitated only for a moment before jumping to tickle him. It always worked with Feliciano, and it worked with him, too.

Antonio had a terrible laugh, giggling and ridiculous, but Lorenzo felt an odd pull towards him. He let go abruptly and Antonio flopped down on top of him, head on his chest, still laughing.

'Fine. I don't.'

'I don't, either.' He didn't understand what he felt, and moved to push Antonio off, but he clapped a hand over his and pointed to the clock. His hand had callouses from gardening.

'Shh, it's happening.'

They watched the new year tick in, holding their breaths. Downstairs, Feliciano cheered, and Antonio tilted his head back to look into his eyes, silver moonlight illuminating the lines of his face.

'Happy new year, Lorenzo.'

'Happy new year,' he whispered back.

0o0o0o

Spring in America came with biting winds and slick icy sidewalks and Antonio finally getting his braces off. Lorenzo found himself genuinely looking forward to seeing Antonio every day, even when he was with the pale kid and the annoying French one. Even if summer came too quickly and months blurred, life was good.

Feliciano got taller in the next few summers, which was horribly unfair. Antonio got taller, too, and he grew into his wild hair and gangly limbs in the best way. Lorenzo was jealous, but still, some things never changed. They laid back on the tower in the playground, noticing how their bodies didn't fit as well onto the platform as they had when they'd met.

'Happy last day of school,' Lorenzo murmured. 'What's happening during summer for you?'

'My mom says I might need glasses,' Antonio complained. He gestured at the sky as he talked, and Lorenzo looked over, amused.

'You do. You keep walking into branches and squinting at the board.'

'The first one is just because I'm taller,' Antonio said.

'No need to rub it in.'

'I'm sure you'll get taller, Lore.' He reached over and ruffled his hair. Lorenzo swatted him away. He'd stopped fighting the battle on that stupid, affectionate nickname.

'Feliciano's taller than me now, too.'

'Isn't your cousin also taller? The one with the funny curl.'

'Sebastian?' Lorenzo mock-scowled. 'No way.'

'Yes, he is,' Antonio hounded, chuckling. 'I met him last summer and he was up to my ear, he's got to be taller now.'

'Bastard,' Lorenzo said fondly. 'Until he comes by again, you can't say that.'

Their hands brushed in the space between, sending sparks of electricity racing down Lorenzo's spine. He ignored it. He'd gotten used to ignoring any fluttering feelings. Antonio was his friend, his best friend, and nothing more.

'I have to change schools,' Antonio said suddenly. Lorenzo sat up, the warm feeling gone.

'What the hell happened?' He didn't want to lose him.

'Nothing! This school only goes up to ninth grade, remember?' He tapped Lorenzo on the nose, making him playfully snap his teeth at him. The knot in his stomach hadn't quite unraveled yet.

'Well, where is it?'

'That high school down the road.' He jerked his chin at it. The sun was warm on his shoulders and he felt like he could stay here forever.

'I'll go there too,' Lorenzo decided. 'So don't get into too much trouble without me, alright, bastard?'

'I promise,' he said. 'I'll wait for you, and we can stay best friends. It'll all be okay.'

He could feel when Antonio breathed next to him, knew every part of him. This wouldn't change anything. Lorenzo watched the clouds roll by, satisfied and warm.

0o0o0o

Antonio called often during their year apart, rambling on about his classes and always promising him ridiculous, amazing things. Lorenzo got taller, finally. Feliciano was still an inch taller, but he'd take what he could get.

When tenth grade finally came, Roma and Feliciano embarrassed him all morning, cooing about how grown-up he was. Lorenzo had to beg them not to take pictures when they finally drove him to school.

'See you!' Feliciano hugged him again, hanging over the back seat. Lorenzo gave him a quick hug.

'Be good at school, Feli.'

'I will.' He sat back. 'Say hello to Antonio for me!'

Lorenzo rolled his eyes and left.

His first impression of the high school was how much bigger it was. He barely recognized anyone, and he couldn't find the one person he really wanted to see. He didn't meet anyone he knew properly until his advanced foods class, when Francis sat down beside him like they were longtime friends.

'Hello, mon cher,' he crooned. He looked older, with the hint of a beard. 'Antonio's been looking for you.'

'Why should I care?' Lorenzo asked, sitting forward, ignoring the pleased spark in his stomach. 'Is he in any of my classes?'

'He's eleventh grade, remember? You don't share your main classes.' He tugged Lorenzo's schedule out of his hands. 'Oh, but you do have art together!'

'Fourth period?' Lorenzo resisted the urge to check the time, wanting to know how long he had left.

'Maybe now that you're here, he'll stop talking my ear off about you,' Francis said, eyes sparkling.

'Does he really talk about me that much?'

He just smiled.

Fourth period couldn't come quick enough. Lorenzo doodled a familiar face on his notebook, wondering when Antonio would arrive. Every part of his was full of nervous energy. What would he look like? What would it be like?

'Lorenzo!'

He almost tumbled from his seat in his hurry to get up. There at the doorway was his friend, eyes shining green, and he was tall.

Lorenzo could barely stop himself from running to him. He grinned and nodded at the seat next to him.

'Been waiting long enough, bastard,' he said affectionately as he sat down.

'Me too.' He could smell the soap he must have used, and his curls were damp from showering after gym. Antonio smiled at him like the sun and stretched out, groaning as he worked the tension from his muscles. His thin shirt stretched across tan shoulders. Lorenzo swallowed hard and looked somewhere else. anywhere else-

'Are you wearing your fucking Crocs again?' he demanded.

'Yes?'

Lorenzo fixed him with a disparaging look. 'You're a menace.'

'Mmm.' Antonio slung an arm around his shoulders, pulling him closer. 'How has my little Lorencito been doing?'

'I'm not little. We're one grade apart!' Lorenzo protested. He tried to push him away, but there was new muscle and breadth in his arms. His throat felt thick.

'Francis said you couldn't stop talking about me.'

Antonio's face reddened, blushing through his freckles. 'I missed you.'

'Missed you too, bastard.' He glanced up and had the sudden, irrational urge to press a kiss to the suntanned joint of his shoulder and neck, and had to focus on his pencil crayons instead, breathing hard.

'Lore? What's wrong?' His voice was too close, too low and soft against his ear.

'Nothing,' he muttered. 'Feliciano told me to say hello from him.'

'Feliciano! How is he!'

Lorenzo shook his feelings away, irritated that he regretted moving on. 'He's good. His painting has gotten a lot better, too.'

They fell back into their old rhythms as easily as if they'd never left. The arm still wrapped around him sparked against his skin, but Lorenzo pretended he couldn't feel it. That was their normal, and it was good. Good enough, at least.

Antonio invited Lorenzo to eat with him and his idiot friends on the chemistry building roof. This close to the sun, Lorenzo was surprised Gilbert didn't burn up.

'Put on your sunscreen, Gilbo,' Francis was demanding exasperatedly. Gilbert was swatting him off. Antonio waited at the mouth of the ladder, shushing him and motioning to watch.

'Is that a sombrero he's wearing?' Lorenzo asked delightedly.

'It's the only thing that protects him properly. I don't know why he hates eating inside.' They waited until Gilbert finally saw them and froze. Francis took the opportunity to dump half the bottle of sunscreen over his arms and briskly start rubbing it in.

'Gilbo?' Lorenzo asked. Gilbert threw the sombrero at him. He'd grown, too, wolfish and lanky, but the effect was ruined by his shirt covered in cartoony yellow birds and the uneven streaks of sunscreen.

'Well, look who it is.' His rough accent finally fit his look. 'Now maybe Toni will finally shut the hell up about you.'

Antonio giggled self-consciously. 'Couldn't help myself.'

'I knew you couldn't.' Lorenzo sat beside him and enjoyed the sun and Antonio's warmth and the conversation.

He should have known it was too good to last. He was only talking about art class in the hallway after math to a kid with straight dark hair and intense brown eyes, a good kid, when he finally found someone he recognized from his old school.

'Hey, aren't you the one who's always hanging out with that weird Spanish kid?'

Lorenzo whirled to face him, distastefully eyeing his height and the sneer on his face. He hadn't changed much.

'Don't call Antonio weird.'

'Antonio, that's his name?' The sneer stretched. 'Can't understand him through that fucking accent. And those two freaks he runs around with- or maybe it's three freaks, people say they're queers-'

Lorenzo didn't remember dropping his books and lunging, only the satisfying crack of his knuckles against nose and the thud of their bodies to the floor. Someone was screaming, and he gripped his hair and held him down as he sunk another punch into his eye, baring his teeth and feeling like nothing had ever been better or worse.

Someone dragged him off and he kicked out, screaming, demanding to be allowed to teach him a fucking lesson. Nobody could talk like that about his Antonio.

'Lorenzo Vargas,' the principal thundered. The teacher let go and he defiantly turned to face him. His face was grave and harsh, framed by his long blond braids. 'Come with me.'

He followed, head held high. The principal sat down behind his desk and motioned for him to follow. Lorenzo sat down with a clatter, only then noticing that his nose was bleeding.

'We do not tolerate fighting in this school,' he said seriously, passing him a box of tissues. Lorenzo couldn't see him properly with his head bent to clot the bleeding, but the quiet disappointment in his eyes quenched the last of his anger. The principal was a good man, a fair man, and Lorenzo knew he'd acted rashly.

Still, he didn't regret it. He flexed his hands, enjoying the proof of bruises.

'He was talking shit.'

The man's eyebrow raised, and Lorenzo felt abashed.

'Even if he was insulting you, you should have known better.'

'It wasn't me!' Lorenzo cringed at how nasal he sounded with the bloody nose. ''E was insulting my friend!'

'Antonio?'

'Yeah.' He glared up at him, but the principal seemed more thoughtfully disappointed than angry.

'I will be calling your grandfather. Roma Vargas, correct?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Lorenzo.' The man leaned forward. 'I don't want to see this behaviour again. As a first offence, I will not suspend you, but you will have detention.'

'I understand,' he said. The man's stare was weighty on his back, just like his grandfather's disapproval.

'You can go home.'

'I've got two periods left.' There was no answer. Lorenzo slid out of the chair and went home without collecting his backpack. He was tired.

He was woken, head throbbing. A cool cloth was pressed to his forehead with a gentle, achingly familiar touch.

'You fought someone?' Antonio's voice was sad.

'He deserved it.'

Antonio didn't respond, only turned to dig in his backpack.

'Here,' he said, holding out a bottle of painkillers. 'To help with sleep. I'm sorry I woke you.'

'It doesn't hurt,' he lied.

'Just take them, Lorenzo.' He sounded exhausted. Lorenzo unscrewed the cap and dumped two chalky white tablets into his palm.

'It wasn't my fault,' he said, staring at them.

'It doesn't matter.'

Lorenzo swallowed the pills dry.

'You can't fight people like that,' Antonio said, wiping gingerly at the cuts on his knuckles. Lorenzo shrugged him away, his old fury waking back up, bitter and comfortingly metallic.

'He was talking shit about you.'

Antonio's shoulder jerked up. 'It doesn't matter.'

'It damn well does matter!' Lorenzo struggled up, hissing at his bruises. 'I'm not letting anyone do that!'

'You have to,' Antonio said firmly. He grabbed his hand again and kept working. 'You can't get yourself hurt for me.'

'Toni-'

'Shh.' He thought he caught a gleam of tears in those green eyes before it was blinked away. 'My brave little Lorencito.'

''M not little.'

'You aren't, are you?' He stroked his sweaty hair. Lorenzo leaned against his shoulder, hating how much he loved the steadiness.

'He called you a queer,' he slurred. 'What does that mean?'

Antonio froze. 'It doesn't mean anything.'

'Yeah, it has to.' He struggled up, but Antonio pressed the cold cloth against his forehead again.

'It's not important. Not for you.' He sounded impossibly sad. Lorenzo wanted to argue, but Antonio stroked his hair and started singing something soft and unfamiliar and the drugs dragged him down.

That night, he stared at his shoes and faced his grandfather's disappointment.

'What were you thinking?'

'I needed to.'

'No, you wanted to.' He sighed, rubbing his forehead. 'You can do better than that, Lorenzo. I don't want another call from Aldrich.'

He stomped back upstairs and threw himself on the bed. Feliciano cautiously opened the door and came to sit by him. Even now, Lorenzo couldn't resist him.

'Come here,' he mumbled, sitting up and wrapping the blankets around them both.

'What happened?'

'You know what happened.' He ruffled his messy hair. 'Someone was making fun of Antonio.'

'Are you glad that you did it?'

'Yes. I shouldn't be, though.' He gently scratched Feliciano's head.

'Why did you do it? What did he say?'

The word lingered on his tongue. He swallowed it back. 'I don't remember. Go to sleep.'

The only person who seemed impressed with him was Gilbert, which Lorenzo took as a bad sign. He looked enlivened, perched on the concrete stumps outside the school in the misty morning.

'You got him right in the eye,' he said enthusiastically. 'Fucking badass, kid. I could make something out of you.'

'Piss off, Gilbert,' he snapped.

'That's it.' Gilbert slid down and followed him in. 'You're angry, aren't you? That's good.' He grabbed him and slapped his chest, shocking him. His expression was wild. 'You had to fight. And you won't tell me it didn't feel good.'

He pulled away and stormed inside. He didn't want to admit that Gilbert was right.

0o0o0o

After his first real fight, it was better in a lot of ways to stay by Antonio's friends and other eleventh graders. They had better parties, and they didn't know or care that he'd fought someone.

Antonio still came over to lay in his room and talk. More and more often, he seemed quieter, more reserved.

'What the hell has been going on?' Lorenzo finally demanded one day. 'Talk to me. I hate seeing you moping around.'

Antonio sat up, eyes wide with shock. He tried to laugh. 'It's nothing.'

'Don't give me that shit. You wear your heart on your damn sleeve. You can't hide anything.'

'Maybe I should try harder,' he murmured. Lorenzo sat up and shoved him into his back, balanced over him.

'No, you shouldn't! We're friends, Toni. You can talk to me.'

Antonio closed his eyes and his head lolled sideways with a slight smile.

'Do you have a girlfriend, Lorenzo?'

'No.' He shook away the uncomfortable feeling, the expectation of the word. 'What, are you having trouble getting a-'

The rest of the sentence got stuck. He didn't know why he felt so angry.

'No. The opposite, actually.' Antonio looked exhausted with his eyes closed, more like the boy he'd met in second grade, open and yearning. 'My dad wants me to get a girlfriend.'

'And you don't want one?'

'No. Not exactly. I just want someone else more.'

The admittance set off a twinge of pain in his chest. 'Well, just go out with her instead.'

'It's not that simple.'

'She's taken?'

'No.' A sad smile flickered around the corners of his mouth. 'It's not important. Don't worry about it.'

Lorenzo lay back down. The curl of pain didn't go away, even when Antonio went home.

0o0o0o

'Hey, you.'

Lorenzo was up out of his seat in a second, glaring at whoever had interrupted his lunch hour. Gilbert had dragged Antonio and Francis off for another prank, and he was alone. Someone with long blond hair stood in front of him. Lorenzo was momentarily distracted by their carefully painted nails.

'What do you want?'

'You're the kid who beat someone up?'

He hated it when people said that. 'What if I am?'

'Rumour says you, like, did it for Antonio. Is that true?' They studied him, bright green eyes like cats' eyes.

'I did.'

They broke out into a grin. 'I like that. There's a party tonight at nine, down by the lake. I was going to bring Toris, but he got sick and I'm going to stay home with him instead.' They opened the hatch for the ladder and winked. 'Say you're there for Feliks. They'll let you in.'

'Why would I?'

'Antonio will be there.' The hatch clanged shut and they were gone.

In the end, that was why he ended up going. He tried on three different outfits, modeling them in front of his windowsill planter of tomato plants, but he had no idea what the dress code was. In the end, he settled on his best jeans and a good shirt. Even if it was more formal, he'd wear them better than anyone else.

He pounded on the door of Feliciano's room to ask where his good shoes were and heard someone unfamiliar demand to know who it was, and his brother shushing them. Lorenzo frowned and jiggled the doorknob again.

'Feli, who the hell are you with?'

'A friend! From school.' A quiet mutter. Lorenzo tried the door again. 'What do you need?'

He checked the clock, wavering. If he stopped to argue this, he'd be late, but he was more than suspicious.

'Where are my good shoes?'

'Front closet downstairs.'

He ran to grab them and took the nearest bus to the lake.

The house was crowded and noisy and full of multicoloured lights. He mentioned the name Feliks to the few people frowning at him and was left to go. He wove through the crowd until a hand clapped him on the back.

'Lorenzo!' Antonio's eyes were unfocused and distractingly bright. 'I didn't know you were coming.'

'Neither did I. What is this?'

'Mathias' football team won.' He was obviously drunk, and Lorenzo took his plastic cup away. Antonio tried to frown at him, the lights playing off his face.

'Lore,' he whined. There was another twinge in his chest. 'I need that.'

'You're already drunk, bastard. And are you even allowed?'

'I'm almost eighteen.' His expression suddenly turned intense, and Lorenzo noticed faintly that his back was up against the wall. 'Have you ever tried beer?'

He'd wanted to, in an offhand way, and had gotten close, on summers when his grandfather was distracted. But now, with Antonio's heat pressed against his chest and the pulsing music, he wanted it.

Their hands both fumbled on the red plastic cup until Antonio's guided his and raised it to his lips. Lorenzo caught his gaze and shivered, breathing coming fast. He could feel his heart thudding.

'Take it slowly at first.' Antonio's other hand steadied on his shoulder, fingertips grazing the exposed skin. Lorenzo drank. He could barely concentrate on anything except the dizzying feeling of Antonio so close.

'It doesn't taste very good.'

He laughed, but he never looked away. 'Wine is better.'

He'd had the odd sip of wine from his grandfather, but nothing had ever given him this breathless high before, and he was sure it wasn't from the beer.

He lowered the cup and Antonio moved back, unsteady gaze lingering.

'You look good,' he murmured. Lorenzo felt heat rush to his face.

'You too.'

Antonio threw an arm around his shoulder and whispered against his neck. 'Do you like the party?'

'It's good.' His body felt like an electric conduit, but he could tell by the sliding look in his eyes that he didn't know what he was saying.

'Mmm. You're good.' Antonio's lips brushed his neck again, making him shiver and hurt. 'Like you a lot.'

'Sit down before you hurt yourself,' he said roughly, guiding him onto a bench. Antonio stretched out, all muscle and tanned limbs, head in his lap. Lorenzo swallowed hard.

'My dad says I should want a girlfriend,' he slurred. 'I don't.'

'What do you want?' he asked, half-regretting the words as soon as they were out.

His eyes fluttered, faraway, arresting. 'You.'

Every part of him was still foolish enough to hurt more at that. 'Don't be an idiot.'

'Not lying,' he protested, eyes unfocused. His skin was warm under his hands. 'Lore, I want…'

He couldn't hear this. He'd spent long enough already trying not to want Antonio, and he couldn't ruin it now. He wouldn't lose this friendship.

'I'm going home,' he heard himself say. Antonio sat up and watched with wide, blurry eyes as he pushed his way out. His head hurt.

He found himself on the tower at the old playground, staring up at the moon with his thoughts tangled in his chest. He was still holding Antonio's plastic cup, and he drank, tears stinging in his eyes. What Antonio had offered wasn't his to take, even if he wanted it more than anything.

0o0o0o

They didn't talk about the party. Lorenzo didn't think Antonio remembered anything from it. They fell back into their routine, but for the first time it wasn't enough, and he knew that if they stayed like they did he'd ruin their friendship.

They didn't talk about it. Lorenzo hated that more than anything. He knew everything about Antonio from the way he bit his lip to the way he liked to wear ridiculous hats to his nightmares and everything in between. Keeping this from him felt wrong, gross dishonesty sticking his words together and hanging around his neck.

They had a project in art together. Antonio sat beside him to read, and Lorenzo subtly had to move until they weren't touching.

'We have to do a whole analysis on modern beauty,' he grumbled.

'Can you help me with the writing again?'

He rolled his eyes at him. 'Fine. I'll bring you a few sketches you can help paint next weekend, okay?'

He beamed. Lorenzo pretended not to notice.

He didn't want to ignore Antonio. It wasn't his fault, and shutting him out of any part of his life felt like leaving the sun behind. He looked better than average, too, in a way, even if it felt wrong to admit that. Lorenzo could have stared at him forever, lean muscles and sunny curls mussed from gym.

Drunk confessions didn't count. They were friends, nothing more, and it would only hurt more if he couldn't accept that.

'Lore? Is something wrong?'

The gentle concern there made it so much worse.

'I'm fine. Go back to work.'

It was easier than he expected to stay away. He stopped going to lunch on the roof, stopped watching him in class, tried to stop thinking about him. He knew that they would drift apart, that in some ways they already were. The thought of losing him was worse than the idea of losing how to see, or breathe, or paint, or anything else that made life bright.

He'd rather lose him gently than have Antonio hate him when he finally broke and had to kiss him. Hell, he didn't even know if Antonio was like that. He didn't know if he wanted to be that way, either, now that he knew the meanings of words like the one he'd heard in the hallway.

He still knew where Antonio kept his spare key, and let himself in, balancing the folder with their project under his arm. One of the portraits was of him, and it had been easy to do it, to draw him The house felt full of memory and the evidence of their years before, when things were simpler. He knew where his bedroom was, too, and if they were both different maybe he'd know it for another reason.

He didn't want to think of that. He took a deep breath and raised a hand to knock on the whitewashed door, but before he could, someone else opened it.

'Lore?' Antonio's hair was sticking up in the back and he was only in his boxers. Lorenzo dragged his eyes all the way back up, tongue heavy as concrete in his mouth. He blinked at him, eyes bleary with sleep. 'It's really early.'

Lorenzo couldn't remember what he had been thinking of. There was a vee of muscle in his hips and tan muscle and if he could just stop looking-

'I've been up for ages,' came a voice from behind him. Gilbert pushed through the door, eyes lingering on Lorenzo's face. His lips twitched up, and he wrapped an arm around Antonio's waist, pressing a kiss to his cheek. 'You're always tired after we're done, aren't you, sweetheart?'

Then he grinned, full of canines and delight, let go, and pushed past him to the kitchen. Lorenzo's eyes stung with tears, his stupid, irrational, immature hopes. He'd tried his best to stop wanting him, but it wasn't enough against so many years of knowing him like nobody else.

'Here's the fucking project, bastard,' he snarled, thrusting the notebook at him. Antonio fumbled to grab it and held it to his chest, eyes wide with shock. He must have thought he was so clever to have hidden his relationship for so long, must have wanted to let him down easy.

'Lorenzo, wait!'

He didn't want to listen to his excuses. He slammed the door behind him.

Antonio called. He ignored the phone ringing, every time, until it finally stopped. He went upstairs to work with his plants and write stupid senseless nonsense about how he loved Antonio's eyes and his terrible fashion choices and his ugly, amazing laugh and everything, oh God, he was so in love with his best friend and it was all his fault he hadn't admitted it sooner.

He kissed a girl that weekend. She was beautiful, pretty lips and bright eyes. He liked her, a lot, but she wasn't Antonio. It just felt wrong to be with her, all his unwanted sharp edges. He left before the night was over.

Some time in the haze of the next few days, Feliciano pried open his door.

'Antonio called.'

He scowled at his softhearted little brother, aching with the need to hear Antonio's voice again.

'You picked up? What did he say?' he demanded, voice cracking.

'Just that he wanted to talk.' Feliciano rocked back and forth on his feet, chewing his lip. 'That if you wanted to talk, you should go to the place you usually did.'

He knew where that place was. He shouldn't go.

Two hours later, Lorenzo walked down to the park and climbed up onto the tower. The moon tracked across the sky, and he thought of legends of moon chariots and waited until he heard the crunch of gravel below him. He rolled onto his front and offered a hand to help him up, still staring at the sky. Only then did some of the ache in his chest lessen.

It felt too good sitting next to him like they always used to. Lorenzo closed his eyes and let them both settle close.

'I'm sorry for whatever happened at the party,' Antonio rasped.

'What? Nothing happened.'

'Really?' Antonio looked over at him, and Lorenzo hated that his first instinct now wasn't to return it. 'I don't remember what happened, exactly, but you've been acting different.'

He'd noticed. Of course he'd noticed. Lorenzo didn't want to hurt him, had never wanted to hurt him even when he'd ended up with Gilbert of all people.

'Sorry,' he said roughly. 'You said you wanted someone and I felt like maybe I was being too close. It would have been off-putting to whoever you liked.' He shrugged, hoping it looked casual. His pulse was hammering behind his eyes.

'Whoever I liked?'

Lorenzo didn't bother replying. Antonio shifted, and the tower creaked.

'Lorenzo, did you think I was with someone?'

'Of course I fucking did!' The tears caught in his eyelashes and he wiped them away, furious and mortified.

'You're not with anyone?'

'Nobody.' He nodded emphatically. Lorenzo scoffed, eyes still stinging, and wrapped his jacket further around himself.

'Well, good for you.' He could hear Antonio moving closer beside him.

'Well...who did you think it was?'

'I thought you were…' It felt so stupid to say that it only made his face feel hotter. 'With Gilbert.'

Antonio's mouth fell open and his eyebrows crooked up into his curls. Lorenzo scowled at him, that quiet hurt blooming in his chest again.

'I know you and your little group thought I was too fucking stupid to figure it out,' he spat, furious. The kiss and those devil-bright eyes flashed again behind his eyelids.

'You thought it was Gilbert?' Antonio's face crumpled oddly, mouth pulling up at the side. Lorenzo thought he was crying for a moment before he realized he was laughing.

'You fucking asshole!' Lorenzo screamed, tears prickling in his eyes, about to shove him off the tower, but Antonio held up his hands, shoulders shaking with amusement.

'Lorenzo, I'm sorry. I don't love Gilbert like that.' He wiped at his eyes, the mirth still flushed across his face in a way that was too familiar, too good, especially now, but his mouth was pressed into a determined line. 'We're just friends.'

'But you- the kiss…' He faltered.

'The kiss?' He shook his head. 'It didn't mean anything, I promise. Gilbert has always been like that.' His shoulders rose and fell, now slack with peace. 'I don't pretend I understand him.'

'He's a bastard,' Lorenzo said savagely. Antonio gave him a sharp sideways look before slowly nodding.

'We're really not like that. Ever.' A heartbeat. 'And I don't want to be.'

The tension and anger rushed out of him, leaving him empty and feeling completely foolish. He pulled his scabbed knees in closer and tucked his chin into the top.

'Good,' he said. It sounded muffled and choked. His eyes stung, and it only made him feel worse.

'Lore?' Antonio rested a hand on his arm, broad and tanned with those few freckles spotting the tendons of the knuckles. He looked away again. 'How long has this been bothering you?'

Too long. He didn't answer, and Antonio shifted closer, his body heat soaking through their hoodies and jeans and into Lorenzo's heavy bones.

'It's not him,' he repeated, shivering slightly. 'I mean, I do feel like that, but not for him. It's…' His face lit up, confused and entranced. 'He's a bit like Gilbert, actually.'

Lorenzo jerked away from him, acidic hurt gathering in his stomach again. So Antonio was like that, just like he'd secretly wanted, but it didn't change the fact that it wasn't him.

'I don't care,' he spat. Antonio tried to lay a hand on his arm, but he pushed him away.

'You know you can talk to me,' he said softly. 'We're friends.'

Friends. Lorenzo couldn't make himself answer or even look at him. He expected him to leave. He should have left, but he didn't, and his warmth stayed beside him until the night came.

'I'll walk you home,' Antonio said. He slipped down the side and held out his hand to help him down, an uncertain hope lighting in his eyes. Lorenzo couldn't meet his eyes. He accepted the hand, and Antonio's steady grip inflamed the quiet ache in his ribs.

Lorenzo let go first at the bottom. Antonio stared at the ground and tucked his hands into his pockets. They walked home side by side, feet scraping on loose stones and gravel, making a familiar beat on the pavement. They stayed apart, six inches of electric space. When they reached his door, Antonio lingered.

'Is anything else bothering you?' he asked quietly.

'It's nothing.' Lorenzo couldn't look into his eyes. He hated himself for assuming, hated himself for his soft heart and how much he needed Antonio, needed him to be bright and cheerful and laughing, needed him nearby. He'd never felt further and Lorenzo was cold.

'I'll see you?' he asked, not daring to hope. Lorenzo couldn't answer, throat thick with tears. Antonio, stupid, earnest, hopeful, beautiful Antonio wasn't his. He fumbled with the lock until it opened and nearly stumbled in, then slammed the door.

He was such an idiot. Antonio deserved to be with someone else.

'Lore?' his brother asked cautiously, almost fearfully.

'Don't-' The tears were working up from his chest. 'Don't call me that!'

He hauled himself up and raced upstairs to his room, locking the door and crumpling against the side. He deserved this. He shoved the fabric of his sweatshirt between his teeth and screamed.

In the morning, blinking and bleary, mouth tasting like bile, he was woken by someone pounding on the door. Lorenzo pulled the pillow over his head and ignored it until someone threw open his bedroom door and two heavy bodies thudded down on the foot of his bed.

'They said they needed to see you,' came Feliciano's voice from the door. Lorenzo snarled and sat up, glaring at Gilbert and Francis.

'What the fuck do you want?'

'Just to talk.' Francis looked uncharacteristically serious. Lorenzo tugged the blankets up to his chin.

'Do it quickly.'

'Antonio called us last night,' Gilbert said. Lorenzo dropped his gaze, his guilt building again.

'Fine,' he spat. 'It's my fault, okay? I thought he was with you!' He pointed accusingly at Gilbert. 'Because you pull shit like kissing him!'

Gilbert's mouth dropped open. Francis glared sideways at him.

'What?'

'When I came over last week! For whatever sleepover thing you had going and you kissed him!'

'Tu es un putain de salaud, Gilbert,' Francis told him.

He waved it off. 'I thought- oh, hell, Lore. It was a joke.'

'Not a funny one.'

'Yeah. I know that now.' He winced, looking genuinely apologetic. 'I thought you both...you know. He'd gone and told you.'

'Told me what?'

Gilbert glanced at Francis, red eyes betraying a slight uncertainty and panic, the first Lorenzo had ever seen on him. 'He hasn't? What, with the way he's always chattering on you'd think that-'

'If you weren't my best friend, I'd tell you that you're the most insensitive enculé I've ever met.'

'We're not together. Never have been,' Gilbert confirmed.

'I know that now,' Lorenzo snapped.

'We didn't actually come here to talk about Gilbert's mistakes,' Francis cut in, elbowing him out of the way. 'Antonio told us what happened.'

Heavy guilt thudded into his stomach, and he curled into himself.

'He was worried.' Gilbert was still studying him, unnervingly still like a hunting bird. 'If you can, could you go talk to him? I don't like seeing him like this.'

'Yeah,' Lorenzo muttered. He understood.

Francis rose to go. Gilbert grabbed his arm. 'I just need a few more moments. Alone.'

'What do you want now, bastard?'

'Just to...apologize, I guess?' He pushed his palms down the thighs of his jeans, sighing. 'You're a good kid. Kinda remind me of myself.'

'That's not a good thing.'

Gilbert nodded. 'I am sorry, you know.'

He tugged the blankets further up, unsure what to say. Gilbert continued.

'He cares a lot for you. And you care for him, don't you?' Gilbert squinted at him. 'You got into a fight for him.'

'Fine! I care for him.' Too much.

'Just go tell him you don't hate him. That you can stay friends, at the very least.' He gently nudged Lorenzo's shoulder and heaved himself up to go. 'You'll know where to find him.'

He turned around at the door with a smile.

'Oh, and by the way, Lutz came over to see Feli. I think they're in his room again.'

'Who? Your brother?' he demanded. Gilbert just snickered, eyes gone all indulgent-soft, and bounded back downstairs, yelling to Francis.

Lorenzo spent the rest of the day agonizing over his decision. He wanted to go, always wanted to see him, but he wouldn't be able to face it if he hated him. Like he should.

In the end, he couldn't stand it, and had to leave the house. He just wanted to clear his head, but he ended up walking the familiar path to the middle school playground, and then to the tower. The moon was bright overhead.

'Antonio?' he asked hesitantly. The figure on the tower was motionless for a long moment, then stirred enough for him to catch a familiar (so familiar) profile he must have drawn a hundred times, and streaks of tears glimmering like starlight on his cheeks. He abruptly wiped them away and held out a hand over the side. Lorenzo took it and allowed himself to be pulled up. If all he could have was this brief contact, it was okay.

They sat. Antonio stared out into the distance. The last stubborn tear tracks lingered on his face. Lorenzo wanted to wipe them away, wanted to make him better.

'I'm sorry,' Lorenzo said. The words felt rough and foreign in his throat. Antonio jerked in place slightly, eyes flashing over before he turned away. Lorenzo wanted to touch him in any way, but he couldn't. 'You probably hate me, and- and that's okay, I was a fucking idiot.'

'What?' His voice was choked and hoarse.

'For- you know, goddamnit, and you're right to hate me, I've been a shitty friend-'

'Lorenzo, stop, stop.' He held up his hands, eyes wide and glimmering. 'I thought you hated me.'

'Why the hell would I?' Tears were thick in his chest again.

His beautiful green eyes caught the streetlights and moon and threw them back, wide and shimmering. Lorenzo couldn't breathe properly, only stare at his eyelashes and his slightly chapped lips.

'I thought I'd ruined things with what happened at that party, and that's why you were acting like you did.'

'Don't be stupid,' he breathed. 'I couldn't- I could never really hate you.'

'Oh.' Antonio's gaze had drifted down to his collarbone. He jerked away, eyes fluttering with an awkward laugh. 'You came all the way here without a jacket?'

'I had to-' Lorenzo was stopped by Antonio pulling off his sweatshirt. His shirt rode up, and Lorenzo could see a flash of tanned and freckled skin. He placed the sweatshirt in his lap, and their eyes caught. Every part of him wanted to be closer, just lean forward and kiss him.

Antonio looked away first. Lorenzo dug teeth into his lip and pulled on the sweater. It smelled like sun and spice.

'You're such an idiot,' he said, half-choked. Antonio chuckled, absorbed in fixing the collar of the sweatshirt.

'So you know?' he asked, so sad and gentle it nearly broke him.

'Know what?'

He blinked in surprise. 'I thought they- didn't they tell you about the crush thing? We talked about it last time, but…'

'What? Who?' Lorenzo demanded. 'All I know is that it's not fucking Gilbert, and you better not have changed your mind-'

'Lorenzo!' He held up his hands, expression sliding between amusement and longing. His eyelashes sparkled like dew. He took Lorenzo's cold hands in his, pulling them to his chest, and leaned closer. The rest of his words stuck, head caught up in the faint freckles like stars across his nose and cheeks. 'Lorenzo, it's you.'

He opened his mouth, meaning to protest at how stupid Antonio was, but his mouth wouldn't form the shapes.

'No.' He shook his head, refusing to believe it, that Antonio could be his. 'No. Nobody wants me.'

'I want you. I always wanted you.' Antonio slid his hands into his hair. 'I want to kiss you,' he said softly. The sob broke in Lorenzo's chest.

'Do it,' he pleaded, demanded, needed. Antonio smiled like he always had and pressed their mouths together, soft and warm and steady like they'd always been.

'Lorenzo. I love you.' He pulled him into his chest and kissed his forehead, crooning a half-remembered melody. Lorenzo held onto him, familiar with every wear and freckle on his hand, and let the sobs wrack through his body.

'I love you too,' he breathed when it was all over and there was nothing but the sway of their heartbeats. When Antonio chuckled, it felt like another promise.

'Want to go home?' he asked, brushing his hair out of his face. 'I don't want you to get chilled out here.'

Lorenzo didn't let go of his hand as they descended, or as they walked to Antonio's house. He was exhausted and charged at once.

The key scraped in the lock and Antonio eased the door open. They stepped over the creaky floorboard and made their way to his bedroom.

'Your grandfather won't mind that you're gone?' Antonio asked. Lorenzo shrugged, preoccupied in wrapping the blankets around them.

'I'll have to talk to him.'

'He shouldn't be opposed to it. To this.' He squeezed his hand and lightning jumped through his veins. 'I mean, with Feli and Gilbert's brother-'

'With who?'

'I thought you knew!' Antonio looked adorably confused, and Lorenzo kissed him again just to get rid of the concept of his brother with anyone associated with Gilbert.

'What about you? What will your dad think?'

'I don't know,' Antonio admitted. Lorenzo held him closer. The future was spread out in front of them, glistening and wonderful.

'We'll make it,' he promised. 'Together.'

They would, they'd be able to handle it together. Antonio kissed his eyelids as he tucked himself closer, and their heartbeats lulled Lorenzo to sleep, safe in the curl of his arms.

0o0o0o

On Monday, he couldn't stop smiling all through his classes. He took Antonio's hand at lunch automatically and didn't realize what it meant until Gilbert jumped up and whooped, punching the air and crowing with delight until he toppled over again.

'Ha! I fucking knew it!' He kicked his legs in the air, still roaring with laughter.

Francis playfully shoved Antonio.

'Nearly seven years of you talking my ear off about him,' he said. 'I have to say, it seems like it's worth it.'

'Damn right,' Lorenzo said, grinning broadly. His boyfriend squeezed his hand and he reveled in the feeling and the sunlight warmth.

'Crocs again?' he murmured. Antonio giggled.

They sat close in art. Antonio opened the folder with their project.

'You didn't work on it all week?' came the teacher's voice from behind them. Antonio shook his head, curls flopping into his eyes.

'We were...busy.' Lorenzo caught his smile before he forced his face back into polite interest.

'Well, better make up for it now,' he said, striding away. Antonio shook the sketches out onto the table, and Lorenzo quickly opened his backpack and added one more to the pile. He knew his ears went red, but he couldn't wait to see what he thought. Antonio picked it up almost reverently.

'You drew me?'

'Of course I did. You're beautiful. Anyone could see that.'

Antonio's eyes shone. Lorenzo kissed his neck in the motion of pretending to fix his sweater.

'Love you, Lorencito,' Antonio whispered.

'Love you too, bastard,' he said affectionately. 'Now, come on, we've got a project to do.'

There would always be uncertainties, but if his years with Antonio had taught him anything, it was that everything, everything, everything would be okay.