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Unacceptable. They had just come out of a deal, and Roderich had already remarried. With João! Of all people, him?!
There went another plate towards the floor, the glass shattering and creating an area of thorns. Antonio wasn't taking it well, not well at all. He had earned the right to live away from the impertinent man, without anything affecting him, and he was better off than João, much better. The Lands were busy with each other, but no longer under attack as it was between the Portuguese and Abel. After all, Brazil was not making any profit from exports with the sugarcane taken over by the Dutch.
Still, Austria sided with Portugal.
"¡Joder!"
Antonio smelled of American tobacco, as did the room. It was daring to see him getting up for another glass of expensive wine, a mixture of pity and sadness for someone who seemed to be doing so well.
They had announced that they wanted part of Italy, in this case the rest. Antonio responded with a formal letter that practically said, "screw you, Roderich."
Taking a sip of the alcohol, he leaned against the oak table with carved legs. A knock on the door took his concentration away from his problems, or rather, from the great cloud of now hateful memories.
"Don't come in. I'll clean it up later", warned, but the sound persisted with stronger and more continuous knocks to the point of being irritating. So Antonio ran to the door and opened it.
Lovino had never seen him so devastated in such a mess of himself.
"Francis sent letters." Lovino said, turning his face away, signaling that the smell of smoke bothered him. Antonio noticed, and placed the tobacco on the table holder, moving it away.
"Is this about another one of the deals that I've already denied more than 12 times this month alone?" He asked, and silence was enough of an answer.
He just took the paper that Lovino had in his hands and threw it into the fireplace.
"Do you happen to still shower?" The boy punctuated the sentence, raising his lips with something like disgust. "It stinks in here, and not just from wine."
The Spaniard exhaled in derision. "Of course I do. And if it stinks, it's because you didn't clean it up."
Contradictory.
"You didn't even let me in!"
"You followed the rules because you wanted to, just as you decided not to follow them." Antonio silenced the discussion. For the first time, Lovino truly felt respect in the harsh authority of the words; perhaps because he saw the green eyes as distant in resentment, distant as his own.
It was a strange interaction after days of small conversation. Antonio paid little attention to the henchman, who was already becoming a 17-year-old man. His focus was on the portrait thrown on the floor, the painting of the man with black hair and violet eyes, the painting in the corner of his mouth made with a single brushstroke. For a while, he depended on that damn man.
Part of him hated not being dependent.
"I painted." Lovino's voice echoed, low, but in such a calm situation, it was clear and strong.
"Show me later." Antonio sounded like someone who was completely disinterested. It had never been like this when it came to Lovino's paintings. Of course, they were never as good as Feliciano's, but Antonio used to cheer on Feliciano and praise each one. Like a stab, it made the youngest have a lump in his throat. But he didn't give up, no.
With furrowed eyebrows, he walked over to the lost Spaniard and took something out of his pocket. A crumpled paper, which had been crushed on the table by the force that Lovino put there hitting the dark oak, in front of the caregiver.
"I said I fucking painted it. That means I want to show you something intimate that says something about my feelings." There was a pause. Antonio's eyes widened at the noise, wetting his dry lips in discomfort. The bitter taste still burned his throat. "I want to say that I'm choosing to share my feelings, so from that, you should do the same too."
Wow, what logic. But this time Antonio didn't laugh at the idiocy of the youngest's attempt. He actually chose to look away, still not letting go of the crumpled piece of painting; It was kept in the pocket of his pants with his suspenders hanging down.
"Talk." Lovino didn't ask, he ordered. But what authority did he have? Antonio mocked in one breath, and Lovino took it as an insult. Challenge.
"I'm not in the mood for these fights today, Vargas."
That name in Antonio's mouth, in this way, was detestable, deplorable.
"I'm not fighting, you are!"
Oh, damn. It sounded childish, but it brought a smile. Too bad it didn't last.
"Please," now, a polite request coming from Lovino. The first, with a dry and quiet voice. "Just talk to me. Like you did before. You know this is the worst punishment, so don't look at me like that, like you're not interested."
Antonio refused to look at the saddened face, but he didn't need to look to know that Lovino was on the verge of tears. The sob that followed heralded the situation. Antonio could be as insensitive as he was at the moment, but making someone else cry, making Lovino cry over something that had nothing to do with him, that was idiotic, and he wasn't that kind of jerk. Not completely.
"I'm just disappointed." In the once radiant accent, melancholy thundered, and the salty rain on the very flushed cheeks was an affliction.
"Because someone you liked walked away from you?" Lovino asked. As if years ago, he touched the caregiver's icy hands, causing a shiver.
Antonio widened his eyes at the question.
"Not someone I liked, but trusted." Corrected.
"Trust brings feelings too", Lovino retorts.
"And what do you know about trust? You've never even tried to feel it! Tell me, when did you trust someone if not your own instinct?! Your own desire, your own thought, your motivations, You here, you there, never in the fucking collective. I'm not going to accept a moral lesson from a guy who doesn't even know the meaning of the word "help", much less "gratitude", so you better..." The answer was very little accepted, and in no way had any pleasant consequence.
Lovino had pushed Roderich's painting to the floor and stepped on it, his foot piercing the fabric mercilessly, right in the middle of work that had probably taken hours. It was an impulsive reaction, but it went downhill when Antonio grabbed the boy by the collar of his shirt, a loungewear, so embroidered and worked that it could be compared to a long nightgown. Lovino let out a whimper of fright, but when he looked at Antonio, the look of a scared dog turned fierce with irritation. He tried to kick, but Antonio was stronger. The two began to act on primal instincts for seconds, facing each other like a war, until Lovino opened his mouth.
"He's gone. I doubt he even loved anyone, or liked anyone, and if he did, it wasn't you. So stop crying because of him, because I exist too, damn it! I've been right in front of you, it's been days! I made dinner, I waited for you to come out of that pigsty you call a room, but you didn't come out!" Every word dripped with drama and tears, and to be honest, Antonio felt so much at the same time that all he could do was look at Lovino, his hands losing their strength. The world collapsed into a sharp headache. But the words didn't stop.
"I know what deception is. I can be selfish and whatever else you want to see me as, but I also know what it's like to believe in a word that doesn't seem worth much, and maybe I know that better than you!" In a push, the two move away. "If he was worth so much to you that he made you ignore me for a week straight, then his words to me were nothing more than mere comforts."
The silence became uncomfortable after all of this; so uncomfortable that Lovino turned and walked away, his head shaking in displeasure and disenchantment. His hands were reaching for the door handle when a tearful, impassioned voice - familiar, despite everything - called his name.
"Please stay. I'm sorry."
Lovino hesitated, thinking about the possibilities, about what Antonio deserved and what he thought he deserved. But his heart melted when the older man knelt, setting aside whatever dignity he had left for just a touch of true affection.
"Sleep here today." Antonio sounded like a weakling. The situation only deepened further when Lovino turned around again and reached out to the caregiver, pulling him to his feet with a minimum of honor.
"Stop crying like a puppy abandoned on the road. It doesn't suit you. And you make a horrible face when you cry." Lovino wiped Antonio's face with the sleeve of the expensive fabric of his robes. "I'm not a kid anymore to sleep in your room."
"Just for today", Antonio tried to beg a little more, tilting his face towards the touches.
"...I can lay next to you." The youngest lowered his resistance. It felt strange now to sit on Antonio's empty bed - it was still warm. At least the sheets were cozy.
He slid his finger along the fabric that covered the mattress, until he felt the Spaniard's hands, who lay next to him, freezing. Like two children, they shared the blanket, Antonio sniffling back tears. Part of Lovino wanted to laugh at this; It was good to have Antonio dependent on him. The feeling of being needed and being able to meet the need.
"Don't touch my face, you're freezing" Lovino grumbled, feeling chills on his cheeks from Antonio's caresses.
"But your cheeks soothe me. They make me think of churros." Antonio always managed to have the most idiotic comments at the worst moments.
"Why Churros?" Lovino furrowed his eyebrows in doubt.
"Because I like them like I like churros", was the answer. A small smile escaped as Lovino thought about how clueless that comment was. It was a quick and discreet smile, but Antonio had noticed it.
"Do that again," he asked, "smile for me."
It was better not to have mentioned it, because the Italian frowned and backed away, trying to hide his face in the pillow. Antonio stopped him, taking her thin face in his hands again.
"Smile, Lovi."
"I can't," he replied, pouting.
"Of course you can! Like this..." Antonio pulled his thumbs up, bringing the ends of Lovino's lips close to his cheek in a smiling movement.
Lovino complained in whimpers, trying to push away the hands that were tickling him. He only quieted down when he saw a dimpled smile - rare for the missing weeks - appear between splashes of tears on tanned cheeks. Words didn't seem necessary.
In a tremulous and impulsive movement, Lovino's hands touched Antonio's defined face. When did he grow so much? Lovino wondered if he would look like this in a few years.
Antonio wondered when Lovino's eyes became calming, because for seconds, an entire wall that was collapsing had sustenance. When did such an angry look become so mature and respectable?
"I'm sorry," Antonio cried. Lovino just blinked in response.
"Stop apologizing."
A breeze cooled the room, causing a more effective approach. Antonio's leg fit between the snuggling boy's knees. The smell might not even be bothersome anymore.
"Never forget that I'm here, Antonio." The sleepy voice whispered, like a hoarse and exhausted lullaby. "We're in this together."
In a lazy sigh, Antonio's breathing hitched. Within seconds, it stabilized, perhaps slower. He ran his tongue over his own lips, bruised from bites, dry from alcohol, but no less full, and bit, holding back crying.
Once again, he allowed himself to fall apart as soon as his face lay on Lovino's comfortable chest. Previously, Lovino had been too small for his arms, but now, he fit so well; better than Roderich, if honest.
"Heavens, Spain, you're getting my clothes wet!" Lovino grumbled. He ran his hands through his tousled, oily chocolate curls. He left a mental note to take care of those curls tomorrow morning.
"I'm sorry..." It was also impossible to hear the words muffled by Lovino's clothes. It was a little funny, really.
"Lovino, would you marry me?" Antonio asked. The Italian's heart froze. Marriage.
"Because I?" The question was logical. And the answer, even more:
"Because I want you."
Lovino didn't understand right away, not at all, but that didn't stop the sentence from sounding like a dream. Lovino's cheeks heated up, and he moved his leg away in the heat of nervousness.
"You said the same thing to Feliciano," he argued, "and the French want me too."
Antonio gritted his teeth at both mentions, despite always being amused by the stubbornness.
"There are different meanings of wanting. Feliciano is happy, it must be great to take care of him, but sickening. I want you. "
It would be useless to insist. Those words already gave him hope.
"Would you wait for me?" Lovino asked, gently twirling Antonio's locks of hair around his fingers.
"I would fight a war for you."
Silence.
It was too dark for Antonio to see the satisfied tear that ran down Lovino's chubby cheek, or the hopeful smile that hovered there.
"Just...sleep. We'll talk tomorrow", he whispered.
"I'm going to make toast tomorrow." Antonio warned. Finally, Lovino would go back to eating the questionable food he missed so much.
"Try not to burn them."
The attempt at humor was in vain, Antonio was already snoring. He couldn't be blamed, he was exhausted.
Lovino simply took the Spaniard in his arms like a numb child clinging to him. It was no longer possible to remember when he slept, but he knew it was perhaps the most peaceful sleep he had had in days.
Lovino dreamed of a wedding, Antonio waiting for him at the altar.
Antonio dreamed of a peaceful morning, waking up with coffee in bed and a grumble from his Italian husband, saying that the coffee had gotten cold.