Chapter Text
Lovino sighed, pausing in his sweeping to lean on the broom and survey the hayloft, which he’d just spent an hour sweeping. The floor of the loft was clean and tidy, all the loose straw and grit had been collected into a pile at the back wall, and the pitchfork lay beside it, ready for use the next day.
Thank god.
His stomach grumbled – now that he’d finally finished all his damn work, he was very very ready for the food he could smell coming from the house, where Nonno was cooking while he and Feliciano finished up the chores.
Feliciano was collecting the eggs and giving the animals their evening meal – he got the “easy” job because the animals seemed to love him much more than Lovino or Nonno – and Lovino could hear the gate creaking, meaning that Feliciano had finished with the cows and pigs and was heading into the henhouse.
Lovino rolled his stiff shoulders, placing the broom against the wall and walking to the window of the hayloft, looking out across the countryside at dusk. Only a few lights were illuminated; the windows of their few and distant neighbours. The only sounds were that of the wind through grass and trees and the occasional low of a cow.
It was picturesque and pastoral and perfect.
And Lovino hated it.
He hated the cows and the neighbours and the occasional lights in the quiet dusk, he hated his chores and the way that each day would dawn and end the same as though nothing had changed, and he hated the way his grandfather smiled at him and told him he’d grow up to be just like him.
Lovino loved his grandfather, he did, but he didn’t want to grow up to be a smiley old farmer who traded eggs, butter, and milk on Sunday morning down at market and considered that the adventure of the week.
He wanted to see the cities he’d heard about in the stories Nonno would tell him and Feliciano; he wanted to see kings and princesses and… and maybe princes too, not that he’d tell anyone. He wanted to see buildings as tall as the sky and horses that were meant for riding so fast you could feel the wind tearing through your hair – not that he’d ride them, he didn’t have the nerve, but he wanted to see someone else do it. He wanted to see the sea, which he’d only heard about in stories, and he wanted to see the undines that lived therein and traded fish to the sailors for gold pieces that they’d add to their underwater hoards. He wanted to see the dragons that lived in the mountains and made them rumble and shake and smoke and explode, sometimes.
And most of all, he wanted to see –
Lovino frowned.
What on earth was that noise?
A strange flapping sound, like a bird, except larger and… getting closer?
Before Lovino really had time to process it there was an almighty crash, in which the roof of the hayloft exploded and Lovino’s meticulously swept pile of hay was once again scattered to all four corners of the barn.
Lovino let out a yelp and threw up his hands in front of his face to protect his eyes from the plume of dust that arose from the hay, his heart pounding and breath sticking in his throat as he heard movement in the loft, meaning that something was now definitely in there with him.
He swallowed, terrified to lower his arms and see what exactly had made a dramatic entry through the roof. But then he imagined the trouble he’d get into if the hayloft was destroyed by an errant squirrel, like last time, and he slowly lowered his arms and opened his eyes – and saw perhaps the last thing he was prepared for.
On the remains of his pile of hay there sprawled a young man with his back to Lovino, perhaps only one or two years older than Lovino himself. His skin was pale, denoting him as a foreigner from the north, and to match his skin there was a mop of shockingly white hair crowning his head. He wore a peasants clothing; bare feet with a rough-hewn shirt and trousers, much like Lovino’s except in slightly worse repair.
However, none of this would have been truly worrying if it weren’t for the enormous pair of pure white wings that smoothly extended from his back.
Lovino exhaled a shaky breath, his eyes wide.
Many of the feathers were as wide as Lovino’s hand and long as his arm, and they smoothly shuffled and shook when the wings twitched – though for the most part they lay drooped along the floor of the hayloft as though exhausted, the span of them so wide that the very tips brushed either wall of the small structure.
He watched in awe as the wings shifted, reminiscent of an eagle, feeling a strange sense of sadness as the pure white feathers collected dust from the floor and dirtied themselves.
Then, his brain kicked back into gear, and he realised exactly who – or rather, what – the man was.
“Fuga…” he whispered, breath barely even there, unsure whether he was awestruck or horrified.
The Fuga were one of the last mysteries of the world, remaining mysterious even when the undines had been dissected and pickled in jars and the dragons’ bones had been sold for use in medicine. The appearance of Fuga was so rare and strange that humans had yet to realise what to make of them, and they still inspired awe and wonder whenever people heard about them.
The ancient texts and stories told of a world where these winged beings had ruled the sky and humans had ruled the earth, wings and people of every colour and shape and size decorating the world with their beauty.
But that had been centuries ago. Things had changed.
Fuga had not been a race unto their own like undines were – instead, every so often for an unexplained reason a human child would be born with wings and a keen magical ability, and the Fuga would adopt them into their midst.
Eons ago having a Fuga born into a family had been seen as a blessing from the Gods themselves; an angel sent down to protect and honour the family.
But the Fuga became prideful and scornful of humans, and after that they were persecuted and eventually hunted down for sport and so their wings could be made into trophies. Fewer and fewer Fuga were born, until eventually none were born at all.
For centuries, people thought they were extinct.
But apparently, unless Lovino was hallucinating, people had been very, very wrong.
Slowly, he swallowed, finally coming back to his senses and eyeing the pitchfork on the floor, tipped over after the “explosion”.
Before the Fuga had a chance to orient himself and stand up, Lovino knelt down and gripped the pitchfork, standing up and brandishing it out in from of himself before he made a noise.
“O-oi, what the fuck do you think you’re d-doing?”
At the sound of a voice the man on the floor froze, drooping wings drawing in close to his body, almost protective, and spinning around, turning and standing in one smooth movement, wings extending to their full span and filling the room with white feathers as he glared at Lovino.
Lovino cowered, the prongs of the pitchfork lowering as he met the man’s gaze.
A very red, very terrifying gaze, set in a face that would be somewhat handsome if it weren’t set in a snarl.
Lovino’s throat went completely dry, and slowly, he started to back away, hoping to escape the hayloft before he was torn limb from limb.
The stories hadn’t said that Fuga were dangerous, but Lovino wasn’t waiting around to find out for sure.
He turned and ran for the ladder, only for there to be a whoosh from behind him – then a heavy weight landed on his back, pushing him facefirst down onto the floor.
A rough voice snarled in his ear, low and dangerous.
“You’re not leaving yet.”
Lovino whimpered as a knee pressed into his back, and he stuttered out a reply.
“I-I’m sorry, shit, please don’t fucking kill me…”
The knee pressed harder.
“I won’t kill you if you return the favour… For all I know you’re going to get your father, or whoever else is here, to help lock me up and sell me back to the king, peasants like you always need the coin…”
“No, I wouldn’t! I promise, I swear on my life I wouldn’t, goddammit!”
Lovino grunted as an arm joined the knee on his back, splaying across his shoulder blades as the Fuga took a breath to continue.
Then, he paused.
There was a moment where they were suspended in silence, Lovino prostrate on the floor and the Fuga with a knee in his back and a forearm pressing across his shoulder-blades.
The Fuga relented slightly, and there was a hand pressing gently at either of Lovino’s shoulder-blades, much to Lovino’s confusion. Then, he felt lips brush his ear.
He shuddered, though he wasn’t sure why.
“Do you swear it on the Winged One, creator of all those of the sky and protector of the flightless?”
Lovino froze. He had no idea what that meant – but at the same time, he knew exactly what to say, and he felt his mouth move almost against his permission, mouthing words he’d never said or even heard before.
“I swear my life on Him, may he strike me down and bind me to the earth forevermore.”
The words seemed to echo through the room, reaching Lovino’s ears as a strange, strangled version of his own voice; making even less sense now that they’d left his mouth.
He’d never heard them in his life, and yet, somehow, they seemed like the right thing to say.
Slowly, the Fuga’s knee lifted from his back, and there were firm hands on his shoulders, turning him over and holding him down as the Fuga knelt over him and stared at him from only an arm’s length away, wings still fanned out defensively and creating a strange cocoon around them both.
The Fuga was staring at him with a mix of horror and astonishment, his crimson eyes wide, his mouth agape and voice soft and almost frightened.
“How…?”
There was a moment in which they just stared at each other, each seeming just as unsettled by the other.
Then, the moment was shattered by another voice.
Lovino’s Nonno.
“Lovino, what was that noise? Do you need help?”
With a start, Lovino looked to the window, opening his mouth to yell back a reply to his grandfather – asking to come help, there was a goddamn Fugain the hayloft – but then he looked back to the Fuga and met that gaze again.
The snarl and danger of before was gone, and now, the Fuga just looked terrified. In fact, he looked as terrified as Lovino was the longer he looked, and it gave Lovino pause.
He should be calling his grandfather and his brother to come help, but… he found that he didn’t want them to.
As scared as he was, he was also dying to know this man’s story; to feel trusted. He had fallen into Lovino’s newly swept hayloft, therefore it was his Fuga, right? It was his secret, for once… maybe he should keep it.
The Fuga slowly shook his head, eyes wide.
Please, his eyes seemed to say, and Lovino felt something give.
Slowly he took a breath and opened his mouth again, and this time he gave a reply.
“It’s nothing Nonno, Feliciano’s stupid cat just knocked over a bucket again, I’ll need to take a few minutes to clear it up.”
Silence. Both Lovino and the Fuga sat there with bated breath, and then Nonno replied.
“Alright. Don’t be long, your dinner will get cold!”
Lovino sighed in relief, exhaling one final reply.
“I’ll take as long as I take, dammit! Feliciano owes me!”
There was the sound of a window closing, and then there was silence in the hayloft.
The Fuga just stared at Lovino with wide eyes, as though he couldn’t believe that Lovino was real, and Lovino wriggled uncomfortably.
“Do you mind getting off me now?”
The Fuga startled into action, pulling himself back off Lovino and kneeling next to him, still fixing him with that gaze. Lovino scowled at him as he sat up, brushing hay off himself.
“What are you staring at? You’re the weird guy with wings.”
The wings themselves twitched before folding in again, as though they were offended. The Fuga just cocked his head in a sharp movement, reminiscent of a bird, before he smirked just slightly, a tentative action that was crooked and took up one side of his face more than the other. The thought arose out of nowhere that it was cute, and Lovino squashed it quickly.
Then, the Fuga spoke.
“I prefer Gilbert, actually.”
Lovino raised an eyebrow.
“Gilbert? That’s your name?”
The Fuga nodded once sharply, and Lovino smirked.
“That’s as stupid a name as I ever heard, especially for a Fuga.”
The Fuga, or “Gilbert”, frowned, wings twitching, and Lovino had to resist the urge to lean forward and touch the soft looking feathers.
“Excuse you, my name is awesome.”
Lovino scoffed, looking away from the wings.
“If it’s anything like your landing skills, then yeah, it’s fantastic.”
Gilbert pouted petulantly.
“I’m sorry about the roof, but it was in the way. I had to get in somehow.”
Lovino’s face fell and he looked up, noticing the human-sized hole in the thatch and cringing, wondering how he’d forgotten about that and how he was going to explain that one to Nonno.
When he turned back to Gilbert, the Fuga had imperiously folded out a wing and was brushing dirt from it much like a human would pluck stray threads from their sleeves.
Lovino opened his mouth to say something – to ask why he was here, or why he’d been out flying in the near dusk, or where he was from, anything…
But then, his Nonno’s voice echoed out from the house once again, and Lovino jumped.
“Lovino! If you don’t hurry up your brother will leave none for you!”
Then the window was slammed shut again, and Lovino scrambled to his feet from sheer reflex before he looked down at Gilbert, who looked up expectantly.
As if on cue, there was a loud growl of a stomach, and Gilbert looked down in surprise, as if such a thing wasn’t possible.
Lovino just sighed.
“Looks like I have to go get us both some dinner.”
Turning, he once again moved to the ladder of the hayloft, sighing with relief when Gilbert made no move to stop him.
Gilbert just shrugged, following him to the edge of the hayloft and leaning over to watch his descent, toes brushing the edge as though it wasn’t at least a twelve foot drop.
“You’ll be back though, right?”
Lovino looked up, frowning, only to find those eyes concentrated solely on him and head slightly tilted.
He swallowed.
“I said I would, didn’t I? Hell, you didn’t trust me a moment ago and now you don’t want me to leave, what is it with you?”
Gilbert smiled that crooked grin again, his wings slowly folding themselves up onto his back.
“I think you’re just a little bit awesome. Only a little. And you’re bringing me dinner.”
Lovino rolled his eyes, and Gilbert’s grin just grew wider, though he said nothing and just tracked Lovino’s movement with his eyes.
Finally Lovino reached the bottom of the ladder, walking to the barn doors and opening one slowly, half stepping through it before he paused. He looked back at Gilbert, who still stood at the edge of the hayloft with no fear of falling, still looking curiously at Lovino as though he was an interesting puzzle. Lovino bit his lip worriedly.
“Wait here, ok?”
Gilbert just nodded, a sharp jerk of his head, and sat at the edge of the hayloft, legs dangling, smiling idyllically down at him.
“Hurry back, Lovino.”
Lovino rolled his eyes at the singsong tone and closed the door.
Once outside he collapsed against it and exhaled a giant sigh, pressing his hands to his face.
He felt like his entire life had just changed completely in one fell swoop, and he’d had absolutely no say in the matter.
He wasn’t sure whether he was excited or terrified.