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It started with a shirt, about a year into their relationship.
Not even a nice one, something that Antonio had caught at some football game years and years ago; it was worn and soft and only god knew what had once been printed on it.
Lovino wore it to sleep when Antonio had to travel for work.
They weren't living together, despite what their friends thought. No, Lovino and Antonio had only been, well, Lovino and Antonio, for just over a year and a half (19 months and 13 days, approximately 8 hours, 36 minutes, and 40, 41, 42...), and Lovino read enough bad romance novels -- whether or not he would admit to it -- to know that living together was a huge commitment and that they probably weren't ready for it. But if they ended up falling asleep in the same bed more often than not, if the only time that Antonio had gone back to his tiny shared apartment in the last three months was to grab some more clothes, then really that wasn't their fault.
And if it got to the point that they had no idea what clothes were their own then, well, that was avoidable.
It happened again with their ties.
Neither noticed until they walked into the office together, like always, and Elizaveta asked if they had brought matching ties because "That's so cute! I'm so glad that you two are still going strong, it's adorable, really." and Lovino had been confused until he looked over at Antonio and, who could've known, it was Lovino's third favorite tie.
"Oh, I was wondering where that had went," He said, disinterested and making no move to retrieve the accidentally stolen article, "It looks good on you. Keep it."
And Lovino had walked off to do actual work, resolutely ignoring stare of his boyfriend of two years, the heat on his ears, the part of his brain that was screaming, He's wearing your clothes he's wearing your clothes he's wearing your clothes oh my god.
When they actually, officially moved in together, Lovino did laundry because Antonio was shit at doing house chores. And that wasn't just Lovino saying it, he had once tried to load the dishwasher and accidentally lit something on fire.
He was lazy with sorting, especially since they had gotten those color catchers that stopped colors from running. Antonio urged him to still keep the whites separate, just in case, but he accidentally left one or two or all of them in a load then, oh well.
After they were washed and dried, he had the pleasure of sorting them out, figuring out what the hell belonged to who.
"Oi, 'Tonio, is this your's?" Lovino yelled from the living room.
Antonio, who was really less than 3 yards away in the dining room, looked up from his paperwork and shook his head. "Nope, it's a bit too tight on me, amor."
Lovino glared at the offending suit jacket. "But the shoulders are too wide for me! It has to be yours, it must've just shrunk."
"I don't think so... Yeah, see," Antonio said as went over to examine it, "It's black-blue, I don't buy suits like that."
"But I only buy quality suits, not whatever the hell this is. And it doesn't even have any pants with it, where did this come from?"
Antonio shrugged, "We could just share it? It isn't that bad, really."
"Whatever, fine," Lovino huffed, tossing it into a pile with the rest of the clothes that they couldn't decide on.
It was huge, compared to their own individual piles.
(Miles away, Gilbert Beilschmidt wondered why he hadn't been able to find a part of one of his suits since they helped Antonio move out)
It all came to a head when, on their forth anniversary, they went out to a casual dinner.
(They had both made reservations somewhere else, and after hours of whining and arguing, finally, decided on the same place they went to on their first date)
As dinner began to come to an end, Antonio, Lovino's sweet, oblivious, loving boyfriend, got down on one knee. Lovino was mostly shocked, slightly upset.
"Lovi, I- I love you so much, and these last four years have been the best of my life, and, well, someone once said that you should marry someone that you want to annoy for the rest of your life, and I've never had anyone else that I've wanted to love and annoy more than you."
Lovino swiped at his eyes angrily, but he wasn't crying, damn it. "You, you bastard! I can't believe you, how dare you," Lovino paused pulling a ring box from his own pocket, "How dare you propose before I could!"
Antonio blinked at the ring that had been shoved in his face, going cross-eyed to look at it, "Wow, Lovi, I thought that you would've gone down a more conservative road if you chose the rings, but this is just like the one I got for you."
Lovino pulled back the ring, because there was no way that this ring was anything but conservative. Sure, it was gold and had I love you engraved on the inside, but- Oh god, this cannot be happening.
"What is this? This isn't my ring."
"Wait, this isn't mine either..." Antonio stared at the ring box in his hand for a second before his eyes widened in clarity, "Oh my god, we have each other's rings."
Lovino flushed, Why did things like this always happen to me.
The other people in the restaurant, the ones that had held their breath when Antonio proposed and gasped in surprise at Lovino's reply, were tittering and whispering amongst themselves.
"Fucking hell, you know what? Whatever," Lovino put the surprisingly tasteful rainbow ring onto the proper finger. "Sure, you horribly perfect, romantic, plan-ruining bastard, I'll marry you."
"Oh Lovi! I'll marry you too!" Antonio caught his lover in a hug, sliding his ring on too, and even if it was fucking ridiculous, Lovino thought that it was perfect.
