Chapter Text
The pub buzzed with life—clinking cups, cheerful dance music, and the endless hum of conversations and laughter filling the air. In a cozy corner, three young men sat around a table cluttered with playing cards and empty glasses.
“Wo-hoo! The fantastic me wins again!” The tall albino slapped down his final card with a triumphant grin. Before the others could protest, he slung an arm around each of his companions, pulling them into his hearty laughter. Across the table, the Frenchman stifled a smile and glanced at the Spaniard, who tossed his cards into the pile with a sigh of defeat.
“Hmm, not bad. But honestly, I didn’t think you stood a chance, Tony~” he teased, the elegance of his voice only matched by his attire. “Maybe next time, you'll get lucky.” He winked at the dejected Spaniard. Antonio groaned, ruffling his messy curls in frustration. “Do I really have to? Why don’t I just buy you both this week’s drinks and call it even?” Gilbert, eyes gleaming with mischief, grinned. “C’mon, Tony! It’ll be fun! Besides, you’ve been cooped up alone for too long. You’re starting to turn into a hermit!” He addressed the Frenchman, Francis, as he drained the last of his beer, letting out a satisfied gasp. Francis leaned in, his smile playful but soothing. “It’s only temporary, mon cher. I’ve already arranged everything with the orphanage. Three weeks. Just think of it like hosting an exchange student.”
Antonio hesitated, scratching the back of his neck. He loved children, but the idea of taking responsibility for one so suddenly felt like a big ask. “I don’t know, Fran... It doesn’t feel like a good idea.” Francis waved him off with a chuckle. “Good idea or not, we’re picking him up tomorrow!” “Oh, I can't wait to see which lucky kiddo gets to stay with Tony!” Gilbert added, already crimson from the alcohol. “Honestly, I’m kinda jealous—having Tony all to themselves…” Antonio watched as his two friends, both now tipsy, stumbled out into the street, clinging to each other in a haphazard attempt to stay upright, drawing curious glances from passersby.
“You heartless bastards,” Antonio muttered with a laugh, hurrying after them, his steps a little unsteady. “Where should we go next? There’s a place open ‘til 8!” “There! Let’s go!” “Where?!” …
The next day
At the door of the orphanage, Antonio hesitated. Gilbert and Francis were late. His fingers brushed over the small trinket around his neck—a simple, delicate gift from his mother before she passed. Ever since losing his parents, he had lived alone in their family home, slowly forgetting the warmth of having someone who felt like family. Now, standing at the threshold of the orphanage, the memories tugged at him, and a familiar ache settled in his chest.
He was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of raised voices—young, sharp, and filled with tension. Curious, he followed the noise around the side of the building, where he found two young boys, no older than twelve, facing off against a group of three other children.
The two boys looked almost identical. One sat on the ground, tears welling in his wide eyes, while the other stood protectively before him. His torn clothes and bruised face told Antonio all he needed to know: he had been in a fight. Despite the cruel laughter and rocks being hurled at him, the boy didn’t move. But Antonio noticed the slight tremor in his legs—could it be fear or exhaustion? He wondered.
“Lovino, what do we do? I-I’m so scared—” the younger one stammered from the ground. “S-shut up, Feli. Just do as I say and g-get your sorry ass off the ground!” Lovino’s voice was firm, but it wavered, betraying his own fear. A rock suddenly struck Lovino's forehead. He winced, instinctively reaching up, and when his fingers came away red with blood, his eyes widened in panic. “B-blood! Lovino, you’re hurt!” Feli cried, scrambling to his feet and throwing his arms around his older brother, though his own body still shook with fear. “I-I’ll tell the housemaster! Oh—but you need to come!”
“Come? Who says you’ll be going anywhere?” one of the bullies sneered. “Didn’t they say your paps was the mafia? Where is he now, huh? Why isn’t he here to save your sorry ass?” The others laughed, and the taunt cut through the air like a blade as they began closing in on the brothers. Antonio’s hands tightened around the cold iron bars of the gate as he felt anger broiling inside him. He opened his mouth when a deep, booming voice suddenly rang out behind him, startling everyone, including him.
“What’s going on here?! Clear the grounds, now! Do you hear me?!” The voice had such power and authority that Antonio felt it resonate deep in his chest, rattling his rib cage. He turned to see a tall man, his face stern but surprisingly familiar. The children scattered at once, fleeing back inside the orphanage without a second glance. The Italian brothers, however, remained. Antonio could hear them whispering to each other, their voices low and hurried. Then the older boy Lovino looked up, his dark eyes locking onto Antonio’s. It was a hard, defiant glare, one filled with mistrust and a simmering rage. But despite the sharpness of the boy’s gaze, Antonio felt no fear. Instead, he found himself smiling gently and raising a hand in a small wave. He had to suppress a chuckle when Lovino blinked in surprise, flustered, his tough exterior cracking for a moment before his guarded, menacing scowl resurfaced as he turned his back. The younger brother, Feli, however, approached them, his expression soft and grateful.
“Th-thank you,” he stammered, bowing repeatedly, first to the tall man and then to Antonio. The tall man accepted the thanks with a hint of awkwardness, his gruff demeanor softening just a little. Moments later, Antonio, still watching the siblings leave from a distance, felt a strange warmth in his chest—a sense of something familiar, almost like family.