Work Text:
A soft, warm breeze ruffled the tattered blue curtains. The cracked window gave free passage to waking sunlight and the scents of summer—tap water and chalk on concrete, hot soil, and the earthy foliage of fully-bloomed trees. Buried underneath the covers was a young man whose back was turned away from the light, head deep under the blanket. When the alarm blared, he gave no heed to the new day and walked straight out of the room.
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“Good morning, Lovino.”
“Hrmph.”
A slim blond man set a hot cup of espresso on the desk. He met a sleepy amber gaze with a playful smile. Their routine may be mundane, but it was their favorite game.
“Good morning,” Matthew repeated, sliding the offering over the counter. Lovino smirked as he snatched the cup out of his friend’s hand.
“Now it is.” He took a long sip, emptying over half the contents and never complaining about the scalding temperature. Lovino’s eyes glazed over Matthew Williams— family counselor and designated coffee runner. Five days a week, the cheery counselor would walk up to the front desk with a single cup of coffee, and five days a week, they would play out the same scene. Matthew never bought coffee for himself; he preferred to share a cup, sweetened with imported maple syrup, with his partner at home. The gesture doesn’t go unreturned, of course, and every Wednesday Lovino would treat Matthew to lunch at the cafe down the street.
“Lovely day,” the blond commented.
“Hot as balls,” the brunet snipped back. Matthew chuckled, readjusting his glasses before they slipped off his nose.
“And you drink hot espresso despite it. What would you do if I got you something different?”
Lovino turned his attention back to the computer screen while finishing off his drink. “Try me,” he snorted.
His companion shook his head, tousling the loose wavy curls that looked too casual to be styled but too neat not to be. “No thanks. I’m not looking to get coffee spat back in my face.” The joke was made in good-humor, but they both knew it wasn’t impossible. Thankfully, they also both knew that Lovino would never do that—to Matthew, at least.
Matthew bid him farewell and left to join his respective office. Lovino waved back with a grunt as a response to the usual “Lunch?” question they liked to toss around. He ran a hand through his dark brown hair, choppy and in need of a trim, as he glanced out the window in front of him.
“Lovely day, huh?” he asked himself. With a huff, he returned to his work. It was a day like any other.
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He tugged his shirt out from his waistband and undid the top two buttons; the day was hot and work was over. Lovino pulled his bag over his shoulder and brisked across the parking lot. The drive home was well-oiled clockwork: every day he stopped short at a red light he swears he could make and then swears at when he can’t; every day he passed the same guy standing at the corner of the pharmacy with a JESUS LOVES YOU sign; every day he pulled into the driveway of a slowly deteriorating house where ivy was growing up the walls and weeds were cracking the sidewalk.
Before, he might’ve called out an “I’m home” or a “Hello”, but the only sound that escaped him was a sigh. It was just him now. His parents weren’t around for very long— the pictures on the wall were just that and held no tears or memories—and Nonno Vargas had passed away a few years ago. His death was hard on the few remaining, but he was an old man who had lived a full life. When it was time, it was time.
Now, the only family he had left was his younger brother, Feliciano, and he had flown the nest to explore the thrills of the big city while pursuing his artistic talents and dreams somewhere they could thrive— away from this crumbling building.
The old gas stove started with a stutter and a spark. Lovino was used to its fiery temper and quickly quelled it to a reasonable flame. He enjoyed the challenge, but even the unpredictable gas burner was becoming a monotonous chore. Surveying the kitchen and living room, he found many chores that needed tackling, and it was moments like this that made him miss Feliciano all the more. Lovino had never been much of a homemaker, but Feliciano had that gift that could make any run-down shack a home. His brother gleamed happiness and rainbows, hospitality and comfort, and could spruce up any room with his presence alone. Lovino, on the other hand? When the older brother walked into a room, he only amplified each flaw. But even flawed kitchens are capable of cooking, and everyone needs to eat.
The afternoon passed just how every afternoon did. He entertained a one-sided call with Feliciano as his little brother prattled off about his day and his “robotic but in a cute way” boyfriend. Lovino could have retorted with a story or two of his own sexy and passionate partner, but Antonio was currently on a business trip. They hadn’t seen each other over the past few days as a result, but they were past the honeymoon phase filled with rapid-fire texts and lovey-dovey phone calls. Sure, Antonio never relented his love-affirming messages, but they were experiencing the lull of a slow summer dream. No wild, lustful nights (at least, not as many as the past). No teasing games of push and pull. No rush. Just two people passing time together. It was nice. Pleasantly domestic.
A part of Lovino started to wonder if it was too domestic. A part of him hated how dependent he had become. Antonio loved to cook and clean and coddle; Lovino loved to let him. But was that all he had to offer to their relationship? They were both fully-grown working adults, but Lovino was sometimes no better than a baby or a plush toy. When his personality did show, it was foul-mouthed and quick-tempered— not exactly ideal boyfriend material. He knew the dissatisfaction was with himself, and it made it worse that he could not quell it as easily as the old broken gas stove. Flawed kitchens can still cook, but they are merely tolerated.
Dinner was edible. The evening was passable. Lovino hated laying in bed by himself.
Maybe it was the Italian in him that made him crave company. If huge bustling Italian families were the standard, then why was he in an empty house alone? He tossed on the mattress, throwing the blanket snug over his shoulder. He never liked socializing to begin with, so why did it bother him now? Why did he feel so stuck? He should have outgrown this house by now. He should have left behind the creaking floorboards and the peeling wallpaper, the tomato stains on the kitchen counters and the rickety ceiling fans. If Feliciano, as ditzy and naïve as he was, left, why didn’t Lovino? Why couldn’t he?
A message from Antonio broke his thoughts:
Be back tomorrow!!
Can’t wait to see you <3
Yeah I betcha can’t
Horny bastard
Love you ;0
Love you too
He should feel excited, but there was a subtle dread seeping in.
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It was another bad whim that night.
“Lovi, you know I’ll come get you from, uh, wherever, but this is the third bar you’ve been kicked out of. You’re kinda running your options thin here. What’s going on?”
The drunk shuffled in the passenger seat, flushed and fuming at no one in particular. “Shut up! Fucking bastard. Don’t act like you know anything.”
Antonio shook his head, and Lovino watched those curly chocolate locks bounce. It was a distraction from meeting those earnest eyes.
“I don’t know anything, but I wish you would tell me.”
There was a brief moment of silence as Lovino contemplated his answer. Subdued, he pouted: “I don’t wanna talk about it right now. Maybe later.”
Antonio sighed, knowing that Lovino’s “later” was always closer to “never”. Deciding not to push it any further, he threw the car into drive and pulled away from the crowded downtown street. As the gentle evening breeze cooled them, he dared a new suggestion.
“Hey, would you want to come with me to visit my family next weekend?”
Lovino quirked an eyebrow, quickly sobering up.
“I haven’t been out there in a while,” Antonio continued, “They’ve been bugging me to show my face.”
“Out there?”
“They live a bit out in the country,” he relayed, the cool dusk sky illuminating his warm tones. “A few hours’ drive out of town. They were so excited when I told them I moved out of the city since I’m closer to them here than I was before.”
Lovino hummed, musing to himself. Did Antonio know what this meant? Meeting his family, introducing Lovino as a partner and not just a friend? Was he ready for that? Before he could continue falling down the rabbit hole in his head, Antonio interrupted. He was good at that: redirecting Lovino’s inner worries.
“Two days out on our little family farm, Lovi. I know this town’s already a far cry from the city, but the country is so much more different. It’ll be nice to get away.” They stalled at a cross-section, and he sent those shining green eyes Lovino’s way. “What do you say?”
“Hmm. Maybe.”
And Antonio smiled, knowing Lovino’s “maybe” was always a “yes”.
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Today was the day; Lovino was waiting in the living room, waiting for Antonio to whisk him away to the countryside. He fiddled with the strap of his duffel bag, unsure of what to expect when they arrived at Antonio’s family home. Should he have brought a gift? He had been reassured not to, that he should just bring himself, but that notion didn’t comfort him. Pretty useless gift.
But ruminating was unhelpful and unpleasant, so Lovino got up and walked the house again, checking that all the doors and windows were locked and that nothing had been left plugged in that could set the house aflame while he was gone. The rumbling of a car over the loose stonework of his street let him know that it was time. Shortly after, he was out the door and locking it swiftly behind him.
“All set?” asked Antonio. Lovino tossed his bag into the backseat before climbing in the front. The seatbelt clicked into place, and he sighed into his seat.
“Amunninni ,” he tutted, and they took off.
The drive passed by too quickly, and as they rocked and swayed down the uneven dirt road, Lovino’s heart beat with anxiety. The ground beneath them leveled out once they were within sight of a wide and flat house. The front porch was poured cement, the walls plastered beige stucco, and the roof was shiny paneled metal—sturdy. To the left of the driveway was a huge shed, and parked beneath the adjacent carport were a handful of vehicles: a utility task vehicle, a tractor, and a riding lawn mower were among them.
Antonio parked in an empty spot—three wooden beams on the ground in the shape of an upside-down “U”—and led the way in.
Lovino nodded along, feet following blindly behind. With their belongings in tow, they strode down a path beaten with use, around the back of the house. As they rounded the corner, side-stepping over-branching plants, Lovino couldn’t help but marvel out into the vast acreage before him. His eyes reflected the gold of the setting horizon and the sage of the evening greenery. Breath left him slowly, as if his lungs had either forgotten how to let go or if they were trying too hard to hold on. Antonio had also paused but now turned to call out.
“Beautiful, isn’t it? It’s the cleanest breath of fresh air you can get.” Without giving in too much to the wonder, Lovino responded with a curt nod and continued forward. The leading man gave the door a loud knock and shouted: “Your favorite son has arrived!”
The door swung open in a heartbeat, and a short and jovial woman greeted Antonio with a smothering hug.
“Tonio!” she exclaimed, pulling him in. A second later, her dark brown eyes locked onto Lovino, and she lit up once more. “You must be Lovino! Come, come,” and she grabbed his arm, “You’re just in time for dinner.” Her smile was wide and infectious, and Lovino was weak to her welcoming charm.
They were thrust into an open dining room where the table was already lined with plates and utensils. Antonio greeted an older gentleman whose hair was thinning but was still dark and curly. Heavy glasses were set precariously on a tall nose, but his eyes shone bright green and his skin was a healthy tan glow. Antonio’s father, Lovino assumed, and he knew Antonio would look like his sire when he was older— down to the placement of his future smile lines.
“Lovi,” his partner beckoned. “You’ve met mi mamá, Isabella, and this is mi papá, Ferdinand.” With much too much confidence, the son turned to his parents and introduced, “This is Lovino—mi amor .”
Put on the spot and embarrassed, Lovino dipped a blushing head to both parents. “Nice to meet you. Grazie — er— thank you for having me.” He can feel his face burning red and wished there was a way he could cover himself without looking like a child.
Booming laughter stole everyone’s attention. “Welcome!” Ferdinand boasted. His voice was deep with a slight gravel; it reminded Lovino of Nonno Vargas’s. “We cleaned up your old room, hijo . You boys set your things down and wash up for supper. You’ll know it’s time when Henrique wakes up.” Father and son shared an outburst of laughter, the echoes filling the house with a wave of warmth.
“Ay…” a yawn interrupted. The last member of the family appeared, and he was a carbon copy of Antonio, save a few minute differences: he was just a tad shorter, with longer hair tied back in a low ponytail and eyes so sleepy they were being dragged down his face. “I’m right here.”
Antonio ducked in an attempt to avoid Henrique’s grasp, but a fast jerk of the arm had the younger brother writhing under a headlock.
“Took you long enough!” Henrique jabbed, suddenly filled with mischievous energy. His eyes caught sight of the newcomer, and a wide smirk broke across his lips. “And you finally brought somebody home! Oh, this will be a fun weekend.”
There was a hiss and a plea. “ ¡Ay! ¡No me avergüences!” Antonio seethed through gritted teeth. Henrique made no promises but rather slapped him hard on the back and flashed a toothy grin.
“Henrique,” Isabella chided, “Let the poor boys settle in before you start harassing them.” At his mother’s warning, Henrique released Antonio and allowed the couple to make their way past a well-used (slightly cluttered) living room and through a small hallway. They came to a halt in front of the last door, a simple wooden panel with a brass doorknob that intimidated Antonio into hesitation.
“Uh, my room might be a bit… outdated? I don’t know what my parents have stuffed in there or—”
“Oh, shut up.” Lovino pushed his way past his buffering boyfriend and burst into his childhood bedroom. An aging light blue curtain had not yet been drawn, so it allowed a window with a yellowing white frame to illuminate the floor with dusty light. It was a simple space that had been recently tidied, but no amount of cleaning could hide how full it felt. It was by no means messy—there was plenty of room to move around, and the walls were surprisingly barren—but every square inch had “Antonio” written all over it.
Beneath the window stood a hand-fashioned wooden desk and chair that supported a stockpile of books and binders— old school notebooks and photo albums. The bookshelf next to it was no different: filled with papers and readings and boxes of trinkets and memories. On the opposite side, nestled against the corner of the wall, was a modest bed set on a hard wooden frame, and the blankets and pillows were perched on the mattress with a relaxed patience, as if their master had only been gone for a day rather than years. There was a standing fan propped up in another corner, and next to it, an acoustic guitar. A vintage armoire was lined on the remaining wall, and Lovino noted the ceramic figurines that were eternally dancing and bullfighting on top of the accompanying dresser.
Antonio had set his bag down in front of the armoire and was currently fussing with the state of the bed. “It might be a tight squeeze, but I think we can fit on it.”
“It looks smaller than you,” Lovino snarked.
Optimistic as ever, Antonio shrugged and winked. “We’ll just have to snuggle in real close.” Lovino blew air out of his nose and rolled his eyes, but he secretly hid the upward twitch of his lips as he turned to set his things down.
The dinner bell rang: “Don’t get too comfortable in there!”
The weekend was just beginning.
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Dinner was loud.
Ferdinand rushed a steaming pan in from the backyard where Henrique was dousing a flaming open grill. The table was served a generous portion of shrimp, squid, and fish atop a bed of savory and briny short noodles. A generous squeeze of lemon finished the dish, and everyone set on it merrily after a short grace and a resounding “¡Provecho! ”. The meal was foreign to Lovino’s palate, but it was past his typical dinnertime and he was starving. And he was never one to turn down a free meal.
Conversation flowed like rising waters: relentless and ever-growing. Topics ranged from the standard “How’s work? Have you been eating?” to headlining gossip “Did you hear your cousin had an affair?”. Everything was put on the table to be devoured, but it was a wonder anyone had time to chew their food. The evening chatter was so lively, Lovino didn’t know what to do with himself. He was a single raft being swept away by floodwaters, but strangely enough, he felt a shiver of excitement rather than fear.
Lovino didn’t participate much in the conversation between the other three male members. The trio was noisy and rowdy, jumping from tangent to tangent among themselves, and besides Antonio, the houseguest wasn’t interested in impressing any of them. He was content to watch his partner bluff and cover every time Henrique tried to tell an embarrassing story from his youth while Ferdinand abashed both his sons with his own anecdotes. Antonio pretending to be a matador and getting tackled by Henrique—who always played the bull—was priceless. Isabella was very accommodating, constantly asking if the food was to his liking and if she could get him anything else, and Lovino paid her compliments and flattery for her attention. She was every mother’s mother, and she used that experience to wheedle out every detail she could about Lovino’s home life. He spent a great deal talking about Feliciano, whose life was much more interesting and fulfilling, and Nonno Vargas, for whom she did a quick sign of the cross.
At the end of the night, although it was nearing closer to the new day, Antonio and Lovino were released from dishwashing and tucked themselves into bed. They did have to snuggle in close, but that wasn’t anything new. Antonio relished in wrapping his arms around his boyfriend’s slender shoulders and hugging him close to his chest. Lovino covertly enjoyed the warmth, even if he complained about suffocating. The steady drum of a heartbeat, the hum of the pedestal fan, and the buzz of summer crickets became a coaxing lullaby.
Lovino loved laying in bed with someone.
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“Wha—? What time is it?”
“Shhh… it’s still early, Lovi. Go back to sleep.”
Bleary amber eyes blinked open. The wall clock was too far to read properly, but he could make out the hour hand pointing at a miserable four. He pressed his hands into his face and softly groaned.
“Why are you up so fucking early?” His voice cracked from sleep, and he rolled over to tug the quilt over his head.
There was a faint chuckle, and a tender kiss graced the little tuft of brown hair that was sticking out from under the covers. “I’m going to help with the farmwork before it gets too hot. Get some more rest.”
“The sun isn’t even out yet…” Lovino grumbled in response. But as Antonio shuffled about the room, Lovino was instantly awake with guilt. He was a guest here, and he didn’t want to spend all his time asleep like some bum. The least he could do was some menial labor.
He heaved himself up. “Wait—” he yawned, “You can’t do anything by yourself. I’ll help.” Although his words sounded biting, Antonio knew they meant well and never took offense.
“You don’t have to do that,” Antonio insisted.
“And you’re going to hurt yourself without my supervision.” With that, Lovino ambled out of the room and towards the hallway bathroom to wake himself up with a splash of cold water. Thoughtful eyes followed in his wake, and Antonio smiled to himself.
The early morning was cool, and a refreshing mist laid delicately atop the grassy fields. Dawn was just beginning to peek over the horizon, painting the powdery blue sky with deep orange spokes. Ferdinand and Henrique were piling supplies onto the 4x4, and Antonio followed suit with several buckets of undisclosed slop and feed. Isabella caught them at the back porch, and she was surprised to see Lovino up with the rising sun.
“Tonio!” she called. “What are you thinking, having Lovio work while he’s staying here?”
“Ay, but mamá, I’m not making him do anything!” Antonio protested.
“Yes, you are!” Lovino teased. He turned to Isabella with a playful smirk. “He can’t go anywhere without me.” She giggled when Antonio tripped over his tongue at the remark.
“Well, I’m not going to let him get filthy in the pens. Lovino,” she hooked her arm into his elbow, “You can stay near the house and keep me company. Those three tontos can wrestle the pigs without us.” Admittedly, Lovino was apprehensive to be separated from Antonio, but his body was still waking and the latter chore didn’t sound very appealing. Plus, Isabella had taken a liking to him, and being in the good graces of your partner’s parents was never a bad thing.
Isabella dressed him in a wide-brimmed straw hat and gardening gloves. Together, they hauled an armful of shears, clippers, and baskets into an extensive garden and began clearing away wilted leaves and weeding unwelcome visitors. The work was slow and simple, and Lovino’s energy began to stabilize the more he continued to cut and snip and pluck.
He stood and stretched his back, which had been hunched over the damp soil, and took a moment to take in his surroundings. All around him was flourishing green: full and bushy eggplant, okra, and tomato plants were abundant, and there was a healthy smattering of wildflowers and aromatic herbs scattered among the crops. In the near distance, tall stalks of corn waved in the morning breeze, and farther out were low fields of crawling squash and melon vines. If he squinted against the climbing sun, he could make out a variety of trees stretching out to greet the first light. He had never before seen such a luscious summer field. A blooming garden was incomparable to the rolling hills of grass he and Antonio had passed on the way here, for a blooming garden was realized potential.
Time passed; how much time was unimportant. Eventually, they moved into the rows of tomato plants. The shiny red fruits glistened as sunlight reflected the dew off their skins. They were perfectly ripe for the picking: round; smooth, taut skin; and just enough give that told of their sweetness. Lovino watched Isabella snap a cherry tomato off its stem and hold it out to him. He accepted and promptly ate it. It was sweet, slightly acidic, and superbly refreshing. The flavor brought him back to his own backyard when he would sneak the first harvest of his grandfather’s datterini tomatoes for himself as a child. The little plum tomatoes used to be sugar to him, and Nonno Vargas always made a comment about squirrels getting into his plants—even though Lovino never hid his stained clothes and fingers very well.
“Sweet?” she asked.
“Sì,” he nodded, and he broke another fruit off the vine and popped it into his mouth. Just then, a whoop and a holler erupted through the air. Lovino snapped his head up to see Antonio flooring the cart over the fields with both Ferdinand and Henrique shrieking in excitement. So this is why Antonio drives like a maniac.
Ferdinand leaned out the side and waved his hat wildly. “¡Isabella, mi vida!” For an aging man, he had the heart and spirit of an infatuated teenager. Isabella waved her own hat in response as she watched her husband and sons drive recklessly towards them.
“Ah,” she exhaled, “My three stooges.” Lovino snorted at the comment.
Antonio followed his father’s example. “Lovi!” he shouted. “¡Te amo! ” Purposefully, Lovino turned his back and gave a flippant flick of the wrist to which the three men cackled at.
The vehicle slowed (thankfully) as it came closer to the house and then stopped a few yards’ length away in the clearing. Husband and wife met each other with a kiss, and Ferdinand made a lavish display of presenting a basket of eggs, freshly stolen from the chickens. Antonio also hopped out with outstretched arms and asking eyebrows, hinting at a hug.
Lovino simply crossed his arms and deadpanned, “You’re gonna kill someone.” Henrique found that hilarious and howled while inflicting a heavy slap onto his brother’s arm, causing Antonio to drop his gesture and opt for rubbing his shoulder. But as the five moved into the house, Lovino pulled Antonio to the back of the pack and snuck a quick kiss to the cheek. This silly little family was beginning to infect him.
Breakfast was a warm and filling bowl of stewed vegetables in a rich tomato-based broth, fried eggs, and bread. Coffee was served afterwards— thank God. As per usual, the table conversation was not lacking, and this morning, it was filled with reports of how the animals and plants were faring and what chores needed to be done next. Before long, everyone was fed and ready to continue working. Once again, Isabella implored that Lovino rest inside, seeing as he wasn’t accustomed to farming, but he declined the offer. It felt good to toil under the sun, to squash snails, to prune away withering debris. This wasn’t like his tasks in the white and gray office building where he fielded a million and one emails a day or where he’d grit his teeth through an argument with a client. No matter what mistake he could possibly make, the land never chastised him for it and always grew back.
Another hour of harvesting basketfuls of fresh produce passed. The day sun was quickly rising and getting stronger, so everyone began to trickle in out of the heat. Antonio jumped at a chance to take a shower and wash off the sweat and grime of livestock, Henrique hid away to lay down for a nap (apparently the first of three) and Isabella busied herself with some light housework. Lovino was not so adept at interior chores, and so he didn’t refuse when Isabella shooed him away. Left to wander about as he pleased, the young man found Ferdinand in a woodshop. The older gentleman was curled over a workbench, meticulously sanding away at a ceramic pitcher. Lovino hadn’t meant to intrude and froze in his tracks, intending to turn around and leave when Ferdinand caught him.
“Come on in.” Lovino gulped but obeyed. Not much exchange had occurred between the two as of yet, and Antonio wasn’t there to act as a buffer. He stood off to the side of the table, watching specks of dust fly off.
“It’s a sangria pitcher,” Ferdinand explained. He didn’t break concentration and continued sanding the curves of the handle with a square of grit. The pitcher was a lovely piece of artistry, its smooth glaze showcasing a colorfully-painted floral embellishment. However, there were cracks of thick glue webbing the entire container. It had obviously been shattered and pieced back together.
“Took me a couple days to put it all together.”
“Why’d you bother?”
The elderly Spaniard looked up, curious. Lovino couldn’t control his frown when their eyes met; something in that split-second of awkwardness awakened his more unpleasant side. Usually, he wouldn’t care, but glowering at his boyfriend’s father wasn’t necessarily a good move. He twisted his face into a neutral expression.
“I mean, it looks”— he stopped himself from saying 'fucked'— “Like it was smashed into a million pieces. Wouldn’t you have been better off throwing it away?”
But Ferdinand laughed. And Lovino’s frown deepened. What? Did I say something stupid?
“No.” The simple syllable did not reassure Lovino, so either Ferdinand could read minds or his inner dialogue had escaped. He silently reprimanded himself for letting his tongue slip. “Antonio did say you weren’t afraid to speak your mind.”
Was that a good thing? The thought stayed a thought this time.
“Imagine how sad it would be if we threw it away. Just because it’s broken, doesn’t mean it’s useless. All it needs is some paste and patience, and it’ll be alright.”
“But look at all those cracks,” Lovino pointed out. “At least one of them is gonna start leaking.”
Without batting an eyelid, Ferdinand promised, “Then, I’ll patch it up again.” He resumed scrubbing. Lovino wanted to make an indignant counter, but he felt that it was a lost cause. Broken things are meant to be thrown away.
“This pitcher isn’t anything special,” Ferdinand confessed. “When we bought it, there were five others just like it. It wasn’t handed down or gifted to us, but it came to us all the same. It’s been with us for over thirty years now; it’s seen half of our lifetimes.” He paused and spared a glance at the younger man next to him before correcting: “Well, half my lifetime.”
“But there will never be another one like it. No other pitcher will feel the same. Yes, a new one would be a lot less trouble than this one, but it will see a different life. This one, while fractured, still has some spirit to it. I’d like to keep it for a little longer, if I can. I think it’s worthwhile.”
Lovino didn’t have anything to say. The entire ordeal was very sentimental for a damaged piece of pottery. One day, it’d end up in the trash. Having fissures usually meant that day came sooner, but that wasn’t up to him to decide.
“You don’t need to listen to me lecture any longer.” There was a friendly chuckle alongside the relentment. “I’m sure Antonio is looking for you. That or he’s talking someone’s ear off about you.”
Lovino afforded a small smile before hastily slipping out of the workshed. Although he didn’t understand the old man’s attachment to a paltry jug, his speech made Lovino’s chest prick with an inexplicable sense of longing. Right now, he wanted to see his lover.
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“Don’t they kind of look like us?”
“…I don’t know what the fuck you’re on about.”
Sheltered underneath the shade of a large oak was a quaint bench swing. Despite its old age, it was well taken care of— it had to be, to be able to withstand so many seasons standing in the grass. The couple was rocking leisurely with the light wind against their backs. The afternoon sun provided a cozy blanket of air that complimented the cool shadows of the wide-reaching tree branches. Lunch, a hearty soup of vegetables and ham, baked in their stomachs. Full, warm, and tired from their early-morning activities, the pair was being easily enticed into a midday nap.
Lovino was leaning on Antonio’s shoulder with heavy eyelids fighting drowsiness. Every so often, the familiar voice would pull him out of sleep, but the veil over his head was so thick, he never broke out of his daze.
An eye managed to open wide enough to see two feline figures napping in the sun. The smaller one, a round white cat with orange patches, was curled into a lanky white cat with brown markings along its back and long tail. He recalled Antonio mentioning that they were farm cats who kept mice out of the barn, but they didn’t have names and never ate any food that was offered. Now, influenced by the haze of a lazy summer, they were both resting peacefully.
“See? They’re just like us.”
Muffled grumbling was Lovino’s answer as he buried his face closer into the crook of Antonio’s neck to block out a glare of sunlight from the other side—definitely not because he wanted to. He breathed in the scents of cinnamon and sandalwood on honey skin. The combination was always alluring, soothing. For him, it was the scent of sleep.
Antonio mumbled something noncommittal while twirling Lovino’s hair with his fingers. It was unfortunate that the only time Lovino was so relaxed was when he was sleeping. There was a hidden weight pressing down on him, warping his eyes and mouth into vexing expressions. Antonio was saddened that no matter what he did, he was but an oasis for Lovino to seek respite and never a well in which he could be drawn from. What made his lover suffer so?
“Lovi?”
Humming.
“Isn’t it nice out here?”
More humming.
“Does it make you feel better?”
Tension. Slow, cherry-picked words followed. “I guess… the air is clean… and the wind is nice.”
Antonio shook his head. “No, Lovi. I mean does it make you feel better,” he rested his palm on the side of Lovino’s head, “Up here?”
Lovino clenched and unclenched his fists, searching for a response. Fighting the urge not to respond at all. But this was his problem, and he didn’t want to be consoled like a kid.
But this was Antonio. And how much longer would he push him away? His heart clenched harder than his fists ever could. If he couldn’t be vulnerable with his dumb, perfect boyfriend, how could he ever expect to confront himself?
With tears pricking his eyes, he nodded but remained silent. This was his compromise between his pride and his love—even if it was half a lie.
__________________
Sleep did take them, and sleep eventually released them. The two farm cats had disappeared, leaving no trace except for an empty indent in the ground. When they finally got up, a thin layer of perspiration coated both of them, courtesy of the summer weather. Neither of them said anything on the walk back.
“There you two are!” Isabella bid them to the counter. “Here.” She pulled two glasses full of a thick, creamy beverage out of the freezer. Antonio didn’t need a second invitation and thanked his mother before grabbing a spoon for his cold dessert. Lovino followed his example, and together, they settled on the stoop of the back porch to enjoy their treat. It was refreshing indeed; sweet, milky, and zesty snow hit their tongues like a blast of the AC. Their attention, however, was quickly stolen by loud shouting and the flailing of footsteps in the distance.
“What’s that?” Lovino asked, quizzical.
“That,” Antonio glanced towards the chicken coop, “That is dinner.” There was frantic clucking followed by a triumphant cheer.
“Ah.” And they returned to their cups of winter.
Dinner was another noisy affair, but Lovino was quickly becoming accustomed to it. A brightly colored tablecloth atop a weathered picnic table cushioned the plethora of plates and food, and after a hard day’s worth of work, everybody was ravenous. Tonight, they feasted on a whole roasted chicken and grilled vegetables—all fresh from farm to table—underneath the setting sun. The party of five was loud enough to emulate a bustling restaurant, and little did Lovino know, dinner would come with a show.
“Tonio, come help me bring dessert out,” his mother had instructed. But when they reappeared, Antonio had his guitar in tow.
Henrique chaffed his brother: “Oooh! Our little musician is back again!”
Lovino watched attentively as the family settled into unspoken roles. Ferdinand pulled his wife out into an empty spot in the yard as Antonio sat down and tested the strings. Henrique ceased his usual joking and set the tempo with steady beats on the table. Antonio briefly flashed Lovino a sheepish smile, and Lovino let his head fall to the side, interest piqued.
Then, the strumming started: the tune was slow, tinged with a somberness, and played with learned fingers and muscle memory. Ferdinand and Isabella began to sway. Henrique began to hum along. Antonio began to sing. The sole audience member didn’t understand the lyrics, but he understood that it was a love song.
El amor,
Es una gota de agua en un cristal,
Es un paseo largo sin hablar,
Es una fruta para dos.
El amor,
Es un espacio donde no hay lugar
Para otra cosa que no sea amar,
Es algo entre tú y yo.
El amor, es llorar cuando nos dice adiós,
El amor es soñar oyendo una canción,
El amor es rezar poniendo el corazón,
Es perdonarme tú y comprenderte yo.
El amor, es parar el tiempo en un reloj,
Es buscar un lugar donde escuchar tu voz,
El amor es crear un mundo entre los dos,
Es perdonarme tú y comprenderte yo…
The slice of sponge cake in front of Lovino was left untouched as autumn eyes were enchanted. Between the sunset; the fairy lights on the porch; the flickering fireflies; and the very whole, very complete family in front of him; this was a scene straight out of a movie. And his heart choked a little, for he felt he was only watching.
Antonio carried on playing the guitar, sans singing, letting his hands roam the strings as they pleased. Contentedly, he watched his parents swing and dance to the music, and he let them continue to have their moment together. Unexpectedly, Henrique leaned over the table and started whispering to Lovino. His tone was devoid of his typical antics and was instead soft and heavy with nostalgia.
“You know, Antonio wanted to be a musician when he was a kid. Practiced every day from the moment he got a guitar. Performed every chance he got.”
Lovino hadn’t known that. “What happened?”
The man shrugged. “Life happened. But he still plays with his heart in it.”
He wanted to ask more, but Antonio cut them off. “Ay! I can hear you gossiping about me!” Henrique threw his hands up in surrender and made a mocking face that Antonio most certainly saw. Lovino muffled his chuckles with airy cake. Brothers.
Later that night, as the young couple laid in bed together, Lovino gave into curiosity.
“Henrique told me you wanted to be a musician.”
Alarmed, Antonio cupped his partner’s face and said, “Please don’t listen to everything Henrique tells you.” After a second, however, he softened and sighed. “But that part is true.”
Softly, he sat up and slipped out of bed. After a brief minute of rifling through the contents on his old desk, he settled on the edge of the bed with a small photo album. Using his phone as a light, he flipped to a few select images of a younger him playing for his parents, playing for his friends, playing for anyone who would listen. He ran his fingers over the plastic sheets protecting the photographs.
“I was convinced I was going to be a star. I wanted to draw in adoring crowds like my idols did. It was my biggest dream,” he reminisced.
Lovino stared at the past-Antonio who looked so ambitious and fearless. “Why didn’t you follow it?”
“I would’ve never made it! I realized that later on. Some dreams are just that, and I don’t regret not following them. I would have regretted it more if I never had them in the first place.” He closed the book and set it back on the desk.
But wouldn’t you rather have a purpose to pursue? Something that kept you awake at night? Antonio returned to bed and reassuringly squeezed Lovino, bringing him closer into his chest.
The inquirer pushed back to meet the honest one’s eyes. “You don’t dream about it anymore? No secret wishful thinking that gets you through the day?”
Antonio shook his head. “I don’t need to dream to live. You live to dream, not the other way around.” With an affectionate kiss to the temple, he added, “And I don’t need crowds when I have you.” Ah, always the optimist, always the romantic. Albeit skeptical, Lovino accepted the answer and wrapped his own arms around Antonio's torso. Those words were comforting, but he couldn’t quite believe them yet.
__________________
A dream… a memory… because that reality no longer existed. And what a crime it was— that the lines blurred together so well.
…
“Vieneme 'nzuonno, sì, vieneme 'nzuonno; nun me scetà, famme 'mpazzì 'nzieme cu tte.”
Feliciano giggled, dancing joyfully on the feet of his grandfather. He was only knee-high, but he jumped and twirled with immense vigor.
“Me pare overo ca sì turnata, comm'a 'na vota abbracciata cu mme, ammore, ammore mio.”
Nonno Vargas’s voice rang deep and sonorous throughout the living room. The lyrics flew out of his mouth with grace from many practiced years.
“Sent'ancora dint' ê vvene 'o desiderio e 'o bbene.”
Little Lovino was on the floor, nursing his injured pride from a clumsy fall.
“Damm' 'a mano, damm' 'o core, i' voglio sulo a tte.”
A bitter countenance looked up to see his family standing over him, arms outstretched.
“Vieneme 'nzuonno, sì, vieneme 'nzuonno; te voglio dì: 'O sole mio, 'o sole mio sì tu!”
And the last line was sung with laughter as both children were hoisted into the warmest arms in the world. Together, they spun their home about them. Nonno Vargas was the sun; Lovino and Feliciano were the planets; and together, they were their own galaxy.
…
Lovino awoke early the next morning, back in his adult form, back in the real world. That long-ago melody continued to ring in his ears. When was the last time he had heard those words? Te voglio dì: 'O sole mio, 'o sole mio sì tu… What did they mean again?
A subtle snore sounded beside him, and he looked over to see Antonio sprawled halfway over the side of the bed, dead asleep and blissful. It was still dim out, not quite yet five, but Lovino was awake and restless. Faint footsteps in the hallway indicated that at least one person was up, but other than that, the house was eerily quiet.
Gingerly, he crawled out of bed before instinctively pulling the blanket back over Antonio’s exposed chest— he used to do the same for Feliciano on the occasions when he woke up earlier. With a delicate twist of his wrist, he closed the door behind him without as much of a squeak.
Pulsing through the Sunday-morning still was muted whispering, and it left reverberations under the skin of his ears of an all-too-familiar recitation. Quieter than a mouse, he followed the lure towards the living room until the words became unmistakable: Hail Mary. The last time he had prayed was at his grandfather's funeral; after completing the entirety of the rosary with his brother, his mouth had not since uttered so much as an “Amen”. Now, hushedly and alone, Isabella prayed under the altar on the mantle of the living room.
Once again, he had not meant to intrude, but once again, he was invited closer.
“Are you religious?” she asked after finishing. Straightforwardness ran in the family.
“Not recently,” he replied.
“No? That’s alright. It was hard for me, too, for a while.” Her passivity was something to be jealous of. Whatever had happened in the past, that chapter of her life and faith was finished and closed. Lovino wanted the same, but he was sitting on a page with the word “guilt” stamped in red.
“Was your grandfather religious?”
Automatically, his shoulders rounded as he retracted into himself. “Um, yes, he was.”
She nodded along, “Yes, they tend to be.” They were seated on the couch, hands folded into laps in reverent awkwardness. “Did he have many opinions on,” she hesitated the same way Antonio does, “On sexual identity?”
“Uh.” Lovino began picking at the undersides of his nail. “I’m not sure. I never asked.” He ran rough, uneven nails across his arm. “I didn’t want to know.”
“I’m sorry if that was too personal. I was wondering if he had ever said anything to you about it, since, I’m sure you know how controversial it can be.”
He shrugged dismissively. “Never gave him the chance.”
“I’m only asking because I tried to tell my mother, Antonio’s grandmother, about his sexuality, and she shunned him as a sinner. After that, she cut off contact with us, and she died without ever knowing what a good man he grew up to be. It was so lonely.” Her head shook with the resurgence of sorrowful memories. “But no matter what any God-fearing priest says, the Lord would never want us to hate anyone enough to devoid them of love. I don’t believe in that. I will have my faith, and my faith will always let me love my son.”
She took Lovino’s limp hand in hers with an affable smile. “From what you’ve told me about your grandfather, I’m sure he was the same. He raised such a lovely boy, after all.” Lovely? He grinned and thanked her with half a heart. But time didn’t allow him to wallow for very long.
“Would you mind helping me with breakfast? Antonio says you’re quite the cook.”
He picked himself and his hanging heart up.
__________________
Breakfast and lunch passed by in something akin to a blur. Sundays were their one true rest day, although chores were always being completed around the clock. Today, however, as summer thunderstorms began to cast their shadows, everyone kicked into high gear to beat the rain. When it finally came crashing down— and with it, everyone running in— work continued under the shelter of metal awnings and on top of dining tables. Lovino and Antonio sat across from each other at the table plucking okra from their uprooted stems and picking out wilted leaves from bundles of chard. Antonio’s calloused hands moved quickly and with years of experience under them while Lovino tried to match his pace with a touch less finesse.
“Has your family always farmed?” Lovino didn’t lift his eyes from the pile of plant matter he was drudging through.
Nodding, Antonio replied, “As far as I can remember! My parents never cared for city-life.”
“What about Henrique? He never wanted to leave?”
Nimble fingers slowed as Antonio took a moment to think. “No, not really. Turns out, I was the rebellious child who left home. Henrique never said he wanted to leave the farm, and I don’t think he will.”
Lovino stopped, clenched and unclenched his fists, and then carried on with his task. “And he’s happy with that? Being stuck in the same place his whole life?”
The question was loaded, but Antonio laughed for a response. “If he is stuck, I don’t think he realizes it. He might poke and tease a lot, but he’s actually pretty laid-back. If anything, he’s just floating along.”
The gentle pitter-patter of rain on the rooftop made Lovino imagine a snoring Henrique floating down a lazy river with a plastic pool tube bouncing and bobbing against the riverbank, against the waves, against other people, and yet he never once overturned. Someone else might have swam past the obstacles or waded up and out the water when it got too crowded, but he just kept drifting. A normally infuriating mental image, but there was nothing inherently wrong with it. Right?
__________________
“Oh, mi bebé.” Antonio was leaning down while his mother peppered his cheeks and forehead with kisses. “Come visit again soon, okay?”
He squeezed her hands and promised, “Sì, mamá, I’ll visit again soon.”
“Very soon,” she bargained.
“Very soon,” he agreed.
“And you are more than welcome here.” Ferdinand held out his hand for Lovino to shake. He reciprocated it the best he could between the bags of clothes and food he was juggling.
“Of course, of course!” Isabella chimed in, taking advantage of Lovino’s full hands to plant two accepting kisses on his cheeks. “Call on us anytime.”
After a farewell that never seemed to end, the couple finally made their way to the car. Henrique hauled the rest of their things and gifts (containers of home-cooked meals and baskets of produce) behind them. Once they finished loading the car, Henrique clapped Lovino on the shoulder and wished him well.
“Hey, drag that one home when you can, alright? It’s great picking on him when he’s trying to impress you.”
Lovino blew air out his nose. “Sure, if you tell me all his secrets.”
“Well, all you had to do was ask!”
“Hey!” Antonio was not as amused as the other two. Silently, Lovino slipped into the front seat and let the brothers have a moment together. In the reflection of the side mirror, he saw them punch each other in the arms before colliding in a brief hug.
Antonio climbed into the driver’s seat and started the car with a rumble. He hollered his goodbyes out the window as his family waved back from the front porch. Soon enough, the house dwindled out of sight, and they were on the road. The rain had stopped. The weekend was over. In a few hours, they’d be back inside their little suburban town.
The sun was shining deliriously brightly behind them, and the asphalt was already drying as if there hadn’t been a single drop of rain all day. Inwardly, Lovino felt that he was leaving the sun behind. After an entire weekend away from his decrepit house, his mundane job, his monotonous routines, and his intrusive thoughts, his hometown was beginning to feel more and more dismal.
“So?” asked Antonio.
“So?” Lovino parroted.
“So what did you think? About my family. They weren’t too much, were they? They were really excited to have you.”
“They’re great,” he admitted. “Noisy as hell during dinner, but they’re nice. Really nice.” He paused at the end of his sentence, thinking about how much he meant what he had said. “You really take after them.”
Gushing, the driver grinned. “So you think I’m nice, too?”
“Ugh. Don’t let that get to your head.”
Antonio chuckled before they fell into comfortable silence. Grassy fields and rolling hills passed through the window; slowly, they gave way to tall stretches of pine and long tracts of pavement. Eventually, the countryside was gone.
“Your mom—” Lovino started but couldn’t quite finish it.
“What about her?”
“Uh, she,” he stopped again, “She called me ‘lovely’.”
“Oh! She really likes you. She said you squash snails faster than she does!” he laughed. “And I have to agree,” Antonio waggled his eyebrows teasingly and winked, “You are lovely.”
“Don’t let that get to your head.” The passenger crossed his arms and fixated himself on the window once more.
“Hey, come on! Don’t be like that,” he pleaded.
Lovino scoffed. “I know you think I’m hot as fuck, but come on, I can’t even wash a dish without dropping it.”
“So? Breaking a cup or two doesn’t make you ugly.”
“Hey, I never said ugly. Or that I was breaking anything.”
Antonio shook his head with a smile. “No, I mean that washing dishes doesn’t give you value.”
“Oh, yeah? And what does?” he challenged. Luckily, Antonio loved a good challenge.
“Ah, let’s see: I find you very handsome and sexy, so that’s two points. You always know when the pasta is done, so that’s another point. And I love your tiger eyes.” He growled playfully. “So fierce. Three points.”
“Okay, okay, that’s enough!” Lovino was smiling. “You’re so stupid. That was only six points, but I can’t listen to this all day.”
“En serio, Lovi. Washing the dishes might not be your best chore, but you know how to take care of yourself. You take care of me! And Feliciano. Because you know how to make hard choices and follow through with them. Because you tell me when I’m making a dumb decision. Because you toughen yourself up so others can depend on you.” Forest eyes momentarily forewent the drive; Lovino couldn’t help but be lost in their sincerity.
“Are you satisfied, mi amor? ” Honestly? Lovino was brimming with a sense of fulfillment he hadn’t felt in a very long time. It was borderline silly how one person could make him feel so warm and wanted.
Gaily, he scored his lover: “Good speech. Ten points.”
His dismay over returning home was lightening; the closer they got, the more he realized that it wouldn’t be total hell. In the little town he called home, time didn’t move very fast, and he wouldn’t mind if time stopped, as long as Antonio was there. They continued to speed along winding country roads with the sun dipping in and out of sight behind the towering treeline. Was it just him, or did the sun look like it was catching up to them?
“Hey.”
“Yes, Lovi?”
“They’re really happy. Your family. You.”
Antonio tried his best to maintain eye contact with his partner and the road at the same time. “Should we not be?”
Just as they rode steady through a curve, the sun reappeared above them.
“No, I’m just saying. They don’t ask for much, do they?”
“Just that the sun shines everyday!” Every sentence Antonio said was denoted with glee. Lovino hummed an acquiescent chortle of his own as something was dawning on him.
“What about you? Are you happy?” asked Antonio.
Suddenly, those words echoed in his head again. Te voglio dì: 'O sole mio, 'o sole mio sì tu… Then, he remembered: I want to tell you: My sun, you are my sun…
And as Lovino watched life glow in the earthiness of Antonio’s green eyes and beam from the corners of his mouth, he thought to himself: “'O sole mio, 'o sole mio sì tu.”
“Hmm. Maybe.”