Chapter Text
A cacophony of noises from the street below flooded into the apartment. Footsteps, chatter, and those damned motorbikes disturbed any notion of peace Lovino pretended he had. No amount of pillows or willpower could lull him back to sleep. Lovino angrily shot out of his bed with a roaring groan. He had half a mind to shout as many curses as he could think of from his window. Instead, he turned on the television. Nothing interesting was on at this time of day, but it drowned out everything else.
Like the days before, he didn’t bother getting out of bed. There was no point. Standing up, sitting down, or walking around - it did not change the fact that he was dying. Though most people would call it aging, it was all the same to him. The concept of a divided Italy was fading from people’s minds which meant he was fading away. Unfortunately for him, it didn’t mean disappearing from existence. No, Lovino was forced to suffer the slow whisper of death by becoming mortal. He could feel it in his bones. Every day that passed, time wore on his body. It was a disease.
Lovino’s existential dread was interrupted by the gargling of his stomach. He swore under his breath. Now not only did he have to grapple with the concept of aging, but he also had to focus on a balanced diet. It was all bullshit. What was the point of any of it? Lovino might let himself starve if it didn’t make him so damn lightheaded. It did not matter either way. No matter what, he would end up in a six-foot grave while his idiot brother got to prance around for the next millennium. Again, his inner monologue was interrupted by his ravenous stomach. Grumbling, he dragged himself out of bed and into the kitchen.
Empty. His cabinets, kitchen, and cupboard were all empty. Damn it all to hell. He’d have to go to the store. Lovino defeatedly walked to the bathroom to wash up. He nearly jumped out of his skin as he passed the mirror. His face was hollow. Any baby fat he used to have was gone, either from age or his poor eating. He could see every day that passed in the lines on his face. It must have been a week since he shaved last, stubble covered the bottom of his face. That would not change today. Lovino elected to ignore his shaggy appearance, throwing off his clothes and hopping into the shower. Rather than washing himself with a rag and soap, he stood under the faucet and stared at the wall in front of him. The only thing motivating him to leave the shower was his own hunger.
Grabbing a towel, he trudged back to his bedroom and threw on the first clothes he saw. He used the towel to dry off his hair and threw it on his bed. Lovino slipped on a pair of sandals and slinked out of his apartment. The walk to the store became more and more miserable thanks to his empty stomach. He would have given up and eaten at a restaurant, if he wouldn’t get denied for his disheveled appearance. Finally, he made it to his location.
Lovino wasted no time grabbing the ingredients for a spaghetti frittata — both quick and delicious. His mood started to lighten at the thought of the meal. Nothing good lasts forever, as he was learning. Lovino’s enthusiasm disappeared when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He looked to see you nervously standing behind him.
“Ciao.” you waved. “Dove sono le verdure, per favore?”
He looked you up and down. He could tell you were a foreigner by your worn-out sneakers and all too American clothing. It figured that he would have to deal with tourists. To your credit, you did not waver under his judgemental gaze.
“Your Italian is shit,” he said bluntly.
Your eyes widened in shock. His demeanor stayed the same. You didn’t leave, much to his chagrin. He waited for you to scurry off, but you stood there shifting. He sighed.
“They’re that way.” He pointed to the back of the store.
“Grazi,” you stopped yourself. “Thank you. Sorry.”
You turned on your heel and went on your way. Lovino headed to check out. Prices these days were getting out of hand. It was a wonder how anyone survived on a strict budget. Thankfully, he still used government funds. He wondered how long it would last once they figured out he was not technically a country anymore. Part of him was surprised they did not try something sooner. Oh well, whatever got him through the week.
The track home was somehow worse. Lovino thanked his lucky stars that he grabbed a chocolate bar on the way out. Walking along the sidewalk, he unwrapped the chocolate bar and began to eat it. Out of the corner of his eyes, he noticed someone walking across the street. He turned his head to see you staring from across the street. What was your problem? His face expressed that same sentiment. Your head whipped back to the street in front of you as you began walking faster. What a fucking weirdo.
After fifteen of the longest minutes of his life, Lovino was finally back in his apartment. Cooking was the only comfort he had found in recent memory — at least when he had the energy to get out of bed. He preheated the oven as he began to boil the pasta. Lovino took his time dicing the tomatoes and grating the parmesan. Finally, he combined it all with prosciutto, olive oil, eggs, basil, and spices in a pan. He waited ten agonizing minutes for the dish to bake. Mouth-watering smells wafted in the air. At the risk of his tastebuds, Lovino did not wait for the frittata to cool down before digging in.
Once satisfied, Lovino put the leftovers in his fridge. He went to his bedroom and lay down. He spent the rest of the day mindlessly watching television. Eventually, he drifted off to sleep with nothing but the television illuminating his room.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The morning light crept through the tightly drawn curtains. Lovino dismissively closed his eyes and turned over on his side. Whoever it was could leave a note on the door.
“Good morning Lovino,” Feliciano sang from the other side of the door.
Lovino’s eyes burst open as he shot up in bed. Why was his brother here at this hour?
“I came to check in on you,” Feliciano answered as if reading his mind. “You’ve been awfully quiet these past months.”
Ever since Lovino first noticed he was aging, he did not know how to tell Feliciano, let alone anyone else. Lovino slipped out of bed as quietly as possible. He tiptoed towards the window, carefully opening it. If it wasn’t for the fire escape, he would jump out of it without a second thought to avoid his brother. Hopefully, Feliciano would not use the spare key.
“I’m going to come in now if that’s alright.”
Goddammit, he was using the fucking spare key. Lovino dove outside and shut the window as quickly as possible, ducking under it. He listened to Feliciano’s footsteps creep throughout his house until they stopped.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
Lovino snatched his phone from his pocket and declined the call. At least it was not still inside. Feliciano’s footsteps began again and pittered out, followed by the shutting of the front door. Lovino waited a moment longer before opening the window and tumbling back into the apartment.
That was it. He needed to skip town.