Chapter Text
𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒖𝒆
It had been the best day ever. Well, at least the best day Feliciano could think of at the moment. Someone had bought one of his paintings, and they had played a lot more than he even imagined he could sell it for. Four-hundred euros. Four-hundred euros. He felt giddy just thinking about it. Grandpa had been a bit stressed lately about money, not to mention the other employees quitting one after the other… The money was really going to help. He let out a contented sigh, though not too loud. Lovino was trying to sleep just on the other side of the room.
Behind closed eyes, a myriad of ideas blossomed and glittered in his mind. He had so many things he wanted to paint, and after today he felt he would burst if he didn't hurry and start another painting right then. He would have set himself up downstairs at his easel then and there if he wasn't so tired. Yes, perhaps an even better idea would come to him in a dream.
Some sort of loud but muffled sound woke him up. Feliciano blinked, wondering if he just imagined it. A moment later, he heard it again– It was Lovino's voice, all worked up. He wasted no time in seeing what was going on downstairs, without the slightest idea what time it was. Approaching the kitchen, yellow light pouring into the hallway, Lovino spoke loudly.
“No, no– I’m not . done ,” there was an exasperated laugh, if one could call it such. It lacked any kind of amusement. “And you weren’t even going to take Feli’s 400 earlier, God !”
Feliciano shuffled into the kitchen, blinking tiredly against the light. The abrupt silence worried him. “Is something wrong…?”
Grandpa immediately replied, “No, Feli, nothing’s wrong—”
Lovino glanced almost unnoticeably to Grandpa, a fleeting moment of panic in his eyes that Feliciano didn't have time to process. “Grandpa’s going to lose the restaurant.”
Grandpa looked between the two, and ran a shaky hand through his hair. “Oh, God… Now, hold on a second–”
It was as if everything had turned to ice. Feliciano stared at the empty space between his grandpa and brother, fully realising what had just been said. He blinked, feeling as if everything had just gone topsy turvy, that maybe he was actually dreaming, and in a moment he'd wake up again in his bed. Was this that “dream within a dream” business he'd read about before? He glanced at the clock. He could read it just fine, and it was a little past three in the morning.
“Feli,” Grandpa said softly, “Everything’s gonna be fine–”
Feliciano wanted to move, but it felt like his feet were glued to the floor–
“How the fuck can you say that right now,” Lovino scowled, standing up and coming over to him, “C’mere, sit down…”
After a few moments, Lovino groaned and threw himself into the empty chair next to his brother. “ninety days… How are we gonna get 50,000 euros in ninety days…”
Fifty- thousand euros? Feliciano made a noise and buried his head in his arms. His heart jumped right up into his throat, at the same time his stomach dropped straight through the floor. Suddenly the problem felt so much bigger that it almost didn't feel real. But within seconds, it felt so real he was plunged into complete despair. They were going to lose the restaurant. They were going to lose the restaurant and then what? He could feel tears fighting their way into his eyes. He squeezed them shut and hitched his shoulders, trying to subdue his sudden sobs. Oh, why was he always crying? He seemed to be the only one that cried. If he could just be strong now…
He felt Lovino put a hesitant hand on his arm, then rubbed it in a comforting motion. Such a gesture was rare from his brother that it nearly made Feliciano lose his hold on his tears.
Four hundred euros was nothing in the grand scheme of things. What were they going to do?
𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒐𝒏𝒆
Feliciano sat in the dim of the restaurant, by the front windows, doodling in his sketchbook. His heart pounded with anxiety. He was really glad he didn't have to worry about waiting on tables while trying to sell another painting. Yesterday's phone call had been brief, but the man's accent was extremely difficult to understand– it was clear he didn't speak Italian, and it seemed like he had been reading off of a note. He bounced his leg, looking out the window again. The street was empty.
He ran a hand through his hair and absently chewed on his lip, scrutinizing the drawing he was working on. He tapped his pencil against the table, thinking. It looked too boring, but how could he make it better?
There was a polite tap on the window, and Feliciano jumped, looking up at the person who had nearly scared him to death. It was the customer. He was pale and blond, his light hair slicked back. He was also wearing a tailored navy blue suit that really brought out his eyes. Bright, blue eyes. Oh, he was handsome.
He dropped his pencil on the table and leapt out of the chair, stumbling over to the door to unlock it and let him in. “Sorry, please come in!”
The man entered politely, and it made Feliciano feel like he should carry himself a bit more professionally too.
“Is there a certain size you want?”
The man looked at him blankly, and he remembered the language barrier. “Oh, sorry.” He thought for a second. “ Big? Small? ” He attempted in English, supplementing with gestures.
“S-SMALL,” the other said, so loud that Feliciano flinched. He added in Italian, face red, with zero confidence. “ Per….. favore…..? ”
Flustered, he brought out the smaller paintings and set them out on the tables. “One painting is uh…” he felt he should have thought more about the price before, but, remembering Gilbert's advice about not underselling, said, “One-fifty euros.”
The man perhaps didn't hear, or more likely didn't understand. But he just looked thoroughly at each painting laid out, leaning over them and seeming to take great care in studying them. Feliciano simply stood by, awkwardly, watching him, his palms beginning to sweat.
The man pointed to a painting of dogs playing in the street after a storm. Feliciano really liked how that one turned out, and he was glad someone else saw it for what it was. He took the painting in order to wrap it.
“Um,” the other said, “ Price… How much?”
Feliciano looked at him and blinked. He felt like he should know that word, but he couldn’t remember it at the moment. “Scusi?”
“How much?”
“Non capisco ,” he said, starting to feel overwhelmed, and when the other man stared at him quizzically, he felt himself starting to cry. What kind of tourist didn’t even know that phrase? It was necessary for survival! “ No. Understand.” he enunciated slowly, sniffing.
The man went to grab something from his pocket but, upon finding it wasn’t in there, his face paled. He looked up at the ceiling in exasperation. After a moment, he took his wallet out and pulled a wad of bills from inside, extending it to Feliciano.
That was definitely more than 150, and Felicinao waved his arms, “Too much!” he said, pushing it back. “Only one hundred fifty.”
If ‘???’ could be properly rendered into words, the man’s expression could be described perfectly. “Pay !” he said firmly, his voice rising. “How much?”
Was this guy upset at him now? Feliciano’s lip trembled, and he mentally kicked himself for getting so worked up about this. “O-one fifty–” he said loudly, hot tears in his eyes. “one fifty euros!” Did the man know any numbers in either English or Italian? Or maybe this misunderstanding was his own fault? “OK?” he asked desperately, tears of frustration falling down his cheeks. He accepted the bills, about to count them, when his customer took the painting and started to go to the door. “Aspetti! Fermare! Stop!” he yelled in panic, catching the other by the arm. He counted the bills, hands shaking rather pathetically, and tried to give the extra back. However, he just shook his head, and communicated what was probably supposed to be a smile. Feliciano once again extended the cash, but the man simply put a hand up and left the restaurant, Feliciano’s painting wrapped and carried carefully in the brown paper bag.
Feliciano wiped his eyes, utterly embarrassed, as he watched that handsome and totally confusing man walk up the street and out of sight. Sniffing, he locked the restaurant back up. That whole encounter could not have gone worse. He ran a hand through his hair, groaning. Embarrassing. Completely, utterly embarrassing. He stared at the wad of bills in his hand and started counting them. Fifty, one hundred, one hundred fifty, two hundred, two hundred fifty…
Three hundred.
Feliciano opened his mouth in astonishment. Did that guy just have money to throw away, or–
A flash of horror struck him.
Did he just overpay me because he felt sorry for me? He thought, thinking back on the interaction, analysing it. That smile… was it pity? Did the man feel sorry for him? Feliciano suddenly wanted to crawl under a rock. Maybe even never show his face in public again.
He stood, shoving the bills in his pocket and snatching up his drawing pad. He just needed to be home. He'd feel much better sitting at his easel, of course. He always did. And the sooner he could forget about today, the better.
Except the man went in the direction of Feliciano’s house. Perhaps he could sketch at the plaza for a while just to be safe. So, he put his paintings back, and made sure the restaurant was all locked up before meandering off.
The plaza was always so lively on Sundays, and the perfect spot for people watching. He set himself on a bench that wrapped around the trunk of an ancient tree, the countless leaves creating shade from the summer sun.
People went about their day, carrying shopping bags, or gelato. Kids ran about playing. One person stuck out to him, though, that nobody else seemed to be paying any mind to. There was an old lady singing and letting birds eat from her hands as she shuffled around the plaza. He watched her for a few moments, before flipping open his sketchbook and putting some rough shapes down. It was a lovely scene, it was almost as if he was the only one seeing it, too.
Once he had gotten things fairly cleaned up, he stopped looking at the old woman and focused solely on working the smaller details into the drawing. He stuck his tongue out absentmindedly, trying to fix something with the kneaded eraser.
“Young man, may I sit here?”
It was the old woman, and she had already taken a seat beside him. Feliciano held the drawing book to his chest, hoping she hadn’t seen anything. Not everyone was thrilled about being sketched by a stranger. “Oh, yes, that’s alright.”
She wiped her brow and sighed. “You looked hard at work, what were you drawing?”
Maybe he could just turn the page and show her another one? He started flipping the page, but realised it was a nude. Well, that was out of the question. He relented and turned the sketchbook toward her, shyly.
“Oh, is that me…?” she leant down to get a better look, and put on the glasses that had been hanging against her chest. “Such talent…”
“It’s really nothing, just a quick sketch,” Feliciano shrugged.
The old woman clicked her tongue, “Don’t be like that. It looks as if you’d stolen one of Da Vinci’s sketches.”
He blushed. He hadn’t even spent that long on it, but seeing how she seemed to be taking in every detail, it gave him a sudden urge to do something he usually didn’t. “Here.” he carefully tore the page out of his book and extended the drawing to her.
“Oh, I couldn’t take that. You really don’t want it? You worked hard.”
“I want you to have it, nonna .” He waited for her to take it, and she did, with slightly trembling, aged hands. She must have been even older than Grandpa.
“What a sweet young man you are.”
Feliciano didn’t say anything for a while, but smiled. She seemed to be completely enthralled with the drawing, holding it close to her face to look at each stroke of the pencil. He slipped away and jogged some ways away, before looking back. She hadn’t noticed he had left. That was alright with him.
He looked out at the canal while he walked back home. There were some ducks floating listlessly in the water, and he stopped to watch them for a few minutes. He tried mimicking their chatter, calling out to them, and laughed when they all flew away. Maybe I said something offensive, he thought to himself, giggling. Though he was positive he mimicked them just right.
However, Feliciano was back in his mood once the house was in sight. Even more so as he felt the paper money in his pocket next to the house key. He fiddled with the door for a moment before it opened, and once inside, he rested all his weight against it, hearing it click. The sound was rather loud. He wasn’t sure where everyone was. “I’m back,” he called, with no enthusiasm whatsoever. No one answered. He supposed Grandpa was still at church, but had no idea where Lovi could possibly be. He was going out a lot all of a sudden, and Feliciano desperately wanted to know what he was up to.
He pushed the clump of money into the savings jar, noting that the sound of coins being dropped in was much more satisfying, even if they were hardly worth a thing. He picked up the jar and shook it, watching the coins jump around inside. Holding it up to the light, he stared hard at it, thinking. Such an image would make a good painting, he thought. A small one, but a good one, nonetheless. He brought the jar with him into the kitchen and set it beside his easel. The lighting was even better there by the window.
Feliciano donned his painter's smock and filled his old preserves jar with water, setting it on the rickety, paint stained stool, next to his palette. Strangely, he didn’t feel like listening to any music just then, even though it was customary to put on at least classical music. No, as much as he didn’t want to, he decided to think about earlier. He couldn’t help it.
Those eyes. Bright blue. Just picturing them in his mind made him feel like he was being splashed with cool water. He sighed, suddenly feeling nostalgic. That man really reminded him of someone, and it made his heart hurt from what he supposed could be described as homesickness. After all, it was a memory from before he and Lovi came to live with Grandpa.
That little boy who showed up one day, when it had just been him and Lovi playing restaurant in the shade of the alley. Feliciano had been thrilled to have a “customer” and eagerly welcomed him to play whenever he wanted to, making fancy food from weeds that grew in the cracks of the street and pebbles that had crumbled away from the side of their house. That kid had been very meticulous which Feliciano had found extremely amusing, and immediately promoted him to chef of Restaurant Feli.
Feliciano really wished he could remember his name. In fact, he felt a bit guilty that he didn’t even remember what letter it started with. He had been his first friend after all, aside from his brother (if you could technically count him as one.) He scrunched his eyebrows together, putting a thick stroke of sand brown on the canvas and spreading it around.
✰✰✰✰✰
Grandpa had come home eventually, wondering where Lovino had gone off too. Feliciano assured him he was fine, and they ended up making dinner without him. He mostly stared at his current work in progress during the meal, leaving out every embarrassing anecdote about earlier, vaguely telling Grandpa about all the money he made that day. He couldn’t help but feel rather helpless about the whole thing, and pretty much fabricated an entire story in order to avoid revealing the complete disaster (in his eyes) the sale was.
As usual, Grandpa went to bed early, and Feliciano was again left to himself. Trying not to think of anything in particular, he got back to work at his easel. He was suddenly brought out of his bubble of concentration by the tell-tale sound of the door being open and shut. Feliciano waited until he hear footsteps behind him in the kitchen before turning around. “You were gone for a long time,” he said, wiping his hand on his nose, smearing green across it by accident. “Grandpa was wondering where you went.”
Lovino froze awkwardly. “Oh.”
“He was just worried, but I told him you were fine,” he shrugged, “There’s pasta in the fridge if you’re hungry.” He turned back around and went back to painting in silence. Silently begging his brother not to ask about today.
“You sure are quiet,” Lovino observed,
He put his brush in the murky jar of water that sat beside the easel. “I guess so.”
“Is… everything fine?”
“Yeah,” Feliciano sighed, wiping a clean hand on his smock. “I sold another painting today.”
“Hey, that’s good.” Lovino seemed to notice his lack of enthusiasm. “Right?”
Feliciano folded his arms, staring at the canvas. “It’s just that the guy who came to buy my painting– he didn’t speak a lick of Italian, and both of our English was horrendous! It kind of felt like he was yelling at me or something, and I got so flustered I started crying…”
“Oh. That’s… embarrassing.”
“Well, that’s a fucking understatement,” he said loudly, surprising himself with the language. “Lovino, I made a complete fool of myself! He probably only bought the painting after that because he felt sorry for me!”
“Hey, hey, you’re not the only one— Feli, I nearly fell into the canal earlier. And I’m sure whoever bought the painting already forgot about that little mishap.”
“Really? Because I wouldn’t,” he said seriously, “In fact, every time I’d look at the painting I see that silly little painter crying his eyes out!” Not to mention, he paid twice as much as he was supposed to, he added to himself. He wondered if the man would think about that extra money at all.
“Well, so… He was a foreigner, you probably won’t see each other again,” he patted his brother on the arm. “Right?”
“That is true,” he sniffed, “but… I do kind of want him to come back.”
“You… do?”
“Yeah, he was really handsome,” Feliciano sighed, taking the brush out of the jar and wiping it absentmindedly on his smock. He didn’t know why he was saying all this out loud. It wasn’t that important. “I just wish we could have communicated better.”
“Oh…”
“He really reminded me of someone… That I miss a lot.” he thought back on that long-past childhood memory.
“Oh…” He paused for a moment, much longer than was comfortable for Feliciano. “Why don’t you… take a break for a bit, yeah?” he asked awkwardly, tugging on the sleeve of his brother’s smock.
“Okay,” Feliciano shrugged, “Can you tell me about earlier? How you almost fell into the canal?”
Lovino heaved a big sigh, “Fine…”
Feliciano had a feeling he’d be feeling much more cheery in a moment. The house wasn’t so quiet now that Lovi was here.