Archive of Our Own

“W–What the hell is going on!?”

With that sharp yell, Spain flinched mid-kiss, his lips just inches from Romano’s cheek. He blinked rapidly and pulled back, half-expecting his lover to be mad at him again for kissing him at the wrong moment.

But Romano looked just as stunned—eyes wide, mouth agape, clearly as baffled as he was. Like he hadn’t expected a voice exactly like his own to suddenly shout across the room.

Spain turned to him, confused.
“Roma… did you just say something?”

“N–No, idiota, my mouth’s been shut the whole time!” Romano snapped, clutching the bedsheet tighter around himself.

Then the voice came again—from across the room, unmistakably his, unmistakably angry.
“What the actual fuck is this!?”

Both Spain and Romano turned their heads, slowly, as if in a dream. And there he was: another Romano. Identical face, identical scowl—but unlike the very naked Romano in bed, this one was fully clothed and standing near the door, gaping at them in horror.

He pointed a trembling finger in their direction.
“It’s broad daylight, and you two are just—naked—in bed—doing whatever it is you’re doing!?”

Romano’s brain hadn’t caught up yet, but his mouth certainly had.
“Obviously we’re about to have sex! Who the hell are you and why are you in my apartment!?”

“How the fuck should I know, dumbass!? I was just minding my business in my room when I blinked—and suddenly I’m in here, and there are two naked guys making out in front of me, and one of them looks exactly like me! This has to be a dream, a nightmare, something—because there’s no fucking way Antonio would be in bed kissing me otherwise. That’s just—that’s just sick!”

The second Romano—let’s call him Romano #2 for now—gnawing at his thumb nail, ranting at rapid-fire speed as curse words tumbled from his mouth.

“Hey! Watch your damn mouth! This is my house—!” Romano scrambled to find the clothes that had been unceremoniously thrown off somewhere during the heat of the moment, his face flushed red to the ears as he cursed back.

“Wait—wait, hold on! Roma?” Spain sat up, hastily stopping his Romano from launching another tirade. He fumbled beneath the sheets, found the shirt, and gently helped Romano into it, quietly buttoning it up for him as though they weren’t mid-crisis.

Romano #2 stopped biting his nail and stared, mesmerized, at the gentle scene before him—Spain dressing his Romano, brushing back a strand of hair from his forehead, handling him with care and familiarity.

There was something in his eyes now. Was it longing? Shock?

He stared harder at Spain, gaze slipping out of focus, drifting into something close to reverie—

“Hey! Don’t look at my boyfriend like that!” Romano snapped, still halfway into his shirt but fully alert now, jabbing a finger toward his interdimensional twin. “Eyes up here, stronzo.”

Romano #2 blanched. Then flushed. Then turned a shade of purple somewhere between disbelief and envy.
“B–Boyfriend!? Antonio’s your boyfriend!?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Romano was already on his feet, clothes wrinkled and half-buttoned, arms crossed and posture tense as he stood between Spain and his twin. “Can’t you tell?”

For some reason he couldn’t name, this other version of himself made every one of his instincts flare.

“Cazzo,” Romano #2 muttered, burying his head in his hands. “What the hell is going on. I’m so fucking unlucky…”

“Well, then…”
Spain, now fully dressed, moved to stand beside Romano. He glanced at the other Romano—Romano #2—who looked increasingly on the verge of a breakdown. With his usual calm, he offered a gentle smile.
“Um… excuse me, sir? Could you possibly explain who you are, why you look exactly like Romano, and how you ended up in his apartment? Of course, those questions can wait until you’ve had a moment to breathe. Would you… like a glass of water?”

“Why are you being so nice to him!?” Romano cut in sharply, shooting Spain a glare before launching into his tirade.
“This guy barged in and ruined our one rare chance at some peace and intimacy! Do you even realize how swamped I’ve been lately with all the affairs in Italy? A mountain of paperwork, and that useless Veneziano ran off to play house with the damn potato bastardo in Germany, dumping everything on me! Today was the first time I’ve had even a sliver of free time—”

“Come on, come on,” Spain said with a placating chuckle, reaching out to ruffle Romano’s hair, “you dumped all the work on little Veneziano last month too, didn’t you? Can’t blame him for running off to Germany for a bit.”

Romano smacked his hand away with a half-hearted punch that felt more like a sulky tap.

“What… what are you even talking about?”
Romano #2 stared at them, wide-eyed, a wild mix of disbelief and panic in his voice.
“I’m clearly the most confused one here! You’re both throwing questions at me, cuddling right in front of me like I’m not even here, and now you’re arguing about—about Germany!?”

Spain turned back to him with a patient gaze and made a small calming gesture.
“It’s alright. You don’t have to rush. Just take your time.”

Romano #2 stared into his olive-green eyes, visibly flushed now, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. Eventually, he muttered,
“I—I’m Lovino. Lovino Vargas. Damn it.”
He clutched at the hem of his shirt and very deliberately avoided meeting the other Romano’s deadly stare.
“I swear, I was just in my bedroom, minding my business, looking at some photos or whatever, and the next second—bam—I was here. With you two. And I honestly have no clue what the hell’s going on.”

Romano scoffed, stepping in front of Spain as if to shield him from the other’s gaze.
“I bet it’s another one of England’s stupid magical pranks. The guy even has the same human name as me. This isn’t even the first time, damn it. I’m sick of England conjuring up fake versions of me just because he’s got too much time on his hands!”

“Roma, come on,” Spain said, laughing softly. “Even if he is one of England’s spells, he’s still another you. You could try being a bit less harsh.”

“Harsh!?” Romano barked. “He was looking at you like he was ready to eat you alive!”

“Hey! I was not!” Lovino yelled, face now completely red. “And can someone explain why you’ve been talking in country names since the moment I got here!? England this, Germany that—if you know what’s happening, then stop being cryptic and tell me already!”

“Ah—uh…” Romano paused, turning to look at him. He lifted a hand and pointed.
“You’re, uh… a normal person? A human?”

“Excuse me?” Lovino huffed. “Of course I’m human! What kind of insult is that supposed to be?!”

“Stupido,” Romano muttered, rolling his eyes. “It’s not an insult. I asked because Spain and I aren’t human anymore.”

“What.”

“That question,” Spain cut in, raising one hand gently, “might be better explained properly by me.”
He tilted his head slightly toward Romano. “If that’s alright with you, Roma?”

“Tch. Whatever. Go ahead. But I’m watching you.”
Romano made a double-pointed gesture—two fingers to his eyes, then at Lovino.

Lovino stuck out his tongue at him.

___

“…So. That’s the gist of it.”
Antonio cleared his throat as he finished, shooting Lovino a look tinged with mild apology.

Lovino stared at him, utterly dumbfounded.

Nations… had consciousness?
And not only that—they walked around in human form, living alongside ordinary people?

So those two—one who looked exactly like him, and the other, like Antonio—weren’t just uncanny lookalikes. They were literal manifestations of Spain and South Italy themselves. Centuries old.

It was insane. Unfathomable. And yet, here he was, having just blinked and found himself in another universe. In comparison, the idea of sentient countries almost felt… mundane.

“Uh… So, wait. Because England—that is, the consciousness of England—can use… magic, and he’s done weird crap like this before, you guys think this is probably his doing?”

“Of course it is!” Romano crossed his arms with a loud huff. “That damn British bastardo lives to torture people. He’s like some evil English witch who escaped from a children’s horror book!”

“Mio Dio…”
Lovino pressed a hand to his forehead and let out a low, exhausted groan.
It wasn’t enough to deal with interdimensional travel and walking, talking countries. Now he had to accept that magic was real too?

“So are we… going to see England, then?” Spain tilted his head, thoughtful. “I wonder if there are any flights left from Italy to London today. If not, we could always drive. Road trip?”

He was beaming. Like this was a vacation.

Romano visibly shuddered and hugged himself. “Absolutely not. Do you know how horrifying it is to spend hours trapped in a car with another version of yourself? No thanks.”

“You think I like the idea either!?” Lovino flailed his hands. “You’re not the only one who can’t stand looking at your own face!”

“Alright, alright,” Spain cut in quickly, already stepping into his well-worn role as peacekeeper between two extremely volatile versions of his boyfriend—or… maybe not both, actually.
If Lovino was telling the truth, he and the Antonio from his world hadn’t even gotten together.

Spain hesitated, then turned to him, curiosity winning out.
“Sorry to pry, Lovi—uh,” he corrected quickly under Romano’s narrowed gaze, “Lovino. You said… you and the me from your world aren’t, um… together?”

It might not have been his imagination, but something about Lovino’s expression shifted.
His frown deepened—not in irritation, but in something quieter, heavier. He tugged at the sleeve of his other arm, lips pressed in a tight line, eyes fixed on the floor.

Ah.
Spain felt the alarm in his chest ring like a bell.

That… wasn’t the face of someone indifferent. Did he break Lovino’s heart in that world?
Or worse—did he not even notice he’d had it?

He swallowed. Some far-off, baseless resentment for this unseen version of himself began to simmer low in his chest.

Romano seemed to sense the tension too.
“Tch. Well, I don’t care what kind of relationship the other me has or hasn’t screwed up,” he snapped. “What we should be focusing on is how to get this guy back to where he came from. I am not spending the rest of my life waking up to another me across the room.”

Grateful for the change in subject, Spain jumped to agree.
“Right, of course! Lovino, I’m sure you’re eager to get back too. Sorry again—I didn’t mean to bring up something that hurt.”

Lovino looked up at him then.

There was something sharp and searching in his gaze—like he was tracing every line of Antonio’s face, committing it to memory. The intensity of it nearly made Spain flush. But before Romano could snap, Lovino quickly looked away.

“…It’s not like I’m dying to go back,” he murmured.

The words were so quiet that Spain barely heard them.
But he didn’t need to. The weight of the sorrow hanging from them was enough.

Spain hesitated. His mouth opened, then closed again—no words came.
What on earth had happened between this Lovino and the version of himself from that other world?
What could possibly leave such sorrow on a face he knew so well, a face he cherished?

He looked at Lovino—the lowered head, the death grip on his sleeve, the thin line of his pressed lips.
Each detail felt like a small, silent wound blooming across his chest.

Romano glanced sideways at Spain’s expression—so tender, so openly concerned—then back at the other Lovino, who still looked quietly miserable.
His gaze shifted between the two of them, once, twice, again, until the unspoken weight in the air became suffocating.
And finally—he snapped.

With a sharp growl, he reached out and twisted Spain’s arm.
“¡Ay!” Spain yelped, clutching his elbow and staring at Romano with startled, puppy-eyed betrayal.

“Roma—what was that for?”

Romano was seething now. He dug his fingers in harder.
“You’re asking me that!? Do you even realize what your face looked like just now!? Like you were about to run over and hug him on the spot! Stop looking at him like that!”

“I—I wasn’t,” Spain protested weakly. “I just… I don’t know, felt bad for him, that’s all… Maybe the me in his world did something awful…”
He lowered his voice for the last part, soft enough that only Romano could hear.

Romano scoffed, equally quiet.
“Even if he did, that wasn’t you. You don’t need to carry the guilt for something someone else did—especially when it’s not your damn fault.”

“…I know.”
Spain gave him a sheepish smile. “I just… ah, never mind. Sorry, Roma.”

“Hmph. Good.”
Romano crossed his arms with a huff, like a cat reclaiming territory.

——
God, they really are perfect for each other, huh?
The thought came uninvited to Lovino’s mind.
If… if Antonio and I could’ve ended up like that…
Would they have felt like this too?
This easy warmth? This dumb, bickering sweetness?
Probably not.
Not anymore.

Spain turned back to him, his voice gentle and apologetic.
“Lovino, I’m really sorry, but… your family must be worried sick about you right now, right? You’ve got a little Feli over there too, don’t you?
So… maybe we should try to find a way to send you back. I mean, being stuck here with no one you know must be pretty hard, right?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Lovino muttered, curling his lip in something like a smirk. “Feliciano’s my brother. If he realizes I’m gone, he’ll probably be bawling into Ludwig’s shoulder already.”

“Oh, Dio,” Romano shuddered. “In your world too? Veneziano and Germany are a couple?”
He rubbed his arms like the image physically repulsed him.
“That’s just awful.”

“I know, right?” Lovino grimaced, visibly suppressing a shudder of his own.
“I can’t stand those two together. And don’t even get me started on that damn potato bastardo. If Feliciano ever dumps him, I swear I’ll be the first to light the fireworks.”

“Ahaha…”
Spain let out a helpless laugh.
Yep. No matter the universe, Roma was still Roma.
And somehow, that only made him feel more tender toward Lovino.

God, what kind of face must he have made when the other Antonio broke his heart?
What did he look like when he cried? When he gave up?
Spain’s imagination, completely uninvited, conjured up a mental image of Lovino as a tiny, wounded creature left in the rain. Shivering. Sad.
In his mind’s eye, Lovino had officially been recast as a poor, tragic soul cruelly wronged by the world.

___

They ended up driving, in the end.

Romano’s many complaints were all defeated by reality—namely, the baffling fact that nearly every flight from Italy to the UK was booked solid for the next week. (Who knew so many people in Italy were desperate to get to England?) Rather than waiting endlessly for a standby seat that might never come, driving for two days straight suddenly seemed like the faster option. Or so Spain claimed.

Besides, let’s be honest: two identical, ridiculously handsome Southern Italian men walking around together? Way too conspicuous. Spain definitely didn’t want people staring at his Roma twice as much as usual—no matter which Roma it was.

So while Spain cheered “Road trip!” and began enthusiastically packing their bags into the car, Romano and Lovino… weren’t quite as thrilled.

Just picture it. Romano, stuck for hours on end with another version of himself—someone who, very clearly, had this occasional, unspoken something with his boyfriend. Something Romano couldn’t quite insert himself into. And to make matters worse, his idiot boyfriend seemed unusually attentive to Lovino. He looked at him like he wanted to fix him. Save him. The very idea made Romano want to rip the door handle off the car.

And Lovino? He had to spend the trip watching Spain and Romano act like some whirlwind romantic sitcom couple, constantly bickering, teasing, fussing, flirting. Just the sight of Spain putting on that gentlemanly smile as he helped Romano into the passenger seat—Romano blushing like a tomato and calling him an idiot—was enough to make Lovino want to fling himself out the nearest window.

So yes, neither of them was happy.
But faced with Spain’s blindingly cheerful smile, both Romano and Lovino folded their arms in perfect sync, muttered a string of curses, and gave in anyway.

Spain was absolutely delighted.

He gripped the wheel with one hand, drumming his fingers in rhythm with the music playing from the speakers—an old Italian love song. Romano had even sung it for him once. Not that Romano remembered it, of course—he’d probably buried that humiliating memory as deep as possible. But Spain treasured it like a rare gem, and brought it up every time he heard the song again.

“Roma, do you remember this one?”
Spain paused his drumming and turned toward Romano in the passenger seat. “You sang it for me once.”

Romano scoffed.
“Keep your eyes on the road, idiota. I’ve never sung this stupido song in my life—you must be making that up.”

His ears were red.

“I am not making it up!” Spain grinned. “Hey, how about you sing it again? Maybe it’ll help you remember.”

“Hah!? You just want me to serenade you with some sappy love song! Not happening! And—anyway—there are other people in this car!”

“Ooh, so what you’re saying is… if it were just the two of us, you’d sing it for me?”
Spain beamed. “That makes me so happy!”

“How did you even interpret it like that!?”

In the backseat, Lovino sat quietly, eyes lowered, listening to the music and the flirtatious back-and-forth up front. Slowly, he tugged at the corner of his mouth.

So… no matter what world it was, they always had memories tied to this song, huh.

He and Antonio had, too.
Back then—

They’d met in the second year of high school.

At the time, Lovino had been proud, aloof, and far too stubborn to flatter anyone. Naturally, that made him an easy target for bullies. He’d had a pretty awful time back then.

And the one who pierced through that endless storm cloud of grey—
like sunlight breaking through—

was Antonio.

He was slamming books into his locker, one after another, each motion louder and sharper than the last. His textbooks—tossed around and jeered at by those bastards—still carried the echoes of their laughter. They’d mocked his Neapolitan accent too. That part made his fists clench. He wanted to hit something. Someone. But he couldn’t. He’d tried once before, and the consequences had been brutal. He’d barely dared to show his bruised face to Nonno afterward.

The memory made his blood boil hotter. With a final, vicious shove, he slammed the locker shut. It groaned in protest—a dull, metallic moan—as if even the locker had something to say about his temper. Lovino scowled and made a rude face at it.

And that’s when he felt it.
A gaze.

Not just a glance, but a presence—a steady, unwavering stare, almost physical in its intensity. Lovino whipped his head around and found the culprit: two lockers down from his own.

Antonio Fernández Carriedo.
Golden boy of the school. Football star. Poster child of sunshine and absurd popularity.

And at this very moment, he was staring straight at Lovino.

With that smile.
That soft, olive-eyed, annoyingly perfect smile. Lovino could even see the faint laugh lines at the corners of his eyes, for god’s sake—what the hell was this guy’s problem?

“Hey! What the hell are you smiling at!?”
It came out before Lovino could stop it. He braced a hand on his locker door, glowering at Antonio.
“Do I know you!?”

“No… not yet.” Antonio stepped forward, hesitant but sincere, extending a hand. “But maybe we could change that? I just—uh—I like that song too.”

He pointed at the floor, where a CD case had fallen during Lovino’s earlier rage. The cover featured an old Italian love song, faded lettering over sun-bleached plastic.

Lovino’s ears turned red in an instant.

He snatched the CD up, shoved it back into his locker, and slammed the door again. “I–I don’t! Idiota. I don’t even like that song that much!”

“But…you brought it to school,” Antonio pointed out, shrugging innocently.

“Shut up!” Lovino’s face was red now, absolutely burning. “Are you here to make fun of me too!? Just like those other bastardi!?”

Antonio’s expression shifted immediately—softening, then firming with quiet intensity. “No. I’m not. I’d never make fun of you. Don’t lump me in with them. Please.”

He said it with such urgency that even Lovino had to pause. He studied Antonio’s face like he was searching for some hidden lie—but there wasn’t one. Not a twitch, not a smirk. Just sincerity.

And god, did he have to look that handsome while being sincere? Seriously. It was unfair.

Lovino’s glare faltered slightly, but Antonio had already started to blush under his stare.

“A–Anyway! I meant it,” Antonio said quickly, fumbling for words. “I really like that song, and I wasn’t making fun of you, I swear. I just thought… maybe we could be friends? I even know how to sing it—if you want, I could sing it for you right now—”

“W–Why the hell would I want to hear some random guy sing to me in the middle of the hallway!?” Lovino practically yelped. He glanced around in panic, checking if anyone was watching them. Thank god—most students were too busy with their own business to notice him, of all people, being chatted up by Antonio.

“Anyway—just go away, alright!? I don’t want people seeing me with you!”

“Why not?” Antonio tilted his head, confused. “Did I do something wrong? Do you think I’m annoying?”

“No, you idiota!” Lovino snapped. “You’re just… you! The whole damn school knows who you are! I don’t want people thinking I’m chasing after someone like you!”

“Oh. So…” Antonio brightened, completely unfazed. “Let’s just be friends, then. Please? You’re the first person I’ve met who likes that song too—”

“Alright, alright! Fine!” Lovino threw up his hands, exasperated. “You want my name? I’ll tell you—just quit going on about that stupid love song!”

“Deal!” Antonio’s eyes lit up. “Oh, do you want mine too? I’m Antonio Fernández—”

“I know who you are, dumbass! Everyone does!” Lovino huffed. “I’m Lovino Vargas. There. You happy now? You can leave.”

“Got it. Lovi!” Antonio beamed, already backing away. “See you next time, okay?”

“Don’t call me that! And I don’t want there to be a next time, idiota!”

___

“What the hell’s your problem!?”

Lovino was jolted back to the present by Romano’s furious shout.

He flinched, lifting his head sharply to glare at the two people in the front seats—Romano and Spain. Well, to be precise, it was Romano doing most of the yelling while Spain received it with a practiced calm.

“I mean, obviously flying is better than driving, isn’t it? My whole body’s sore from sitting like this! If we were on a plane—in first class, mind you—I’d be stretched out, comfy, with drinks served on a tray. It’s a no-brainer, really!” Romano huffed, waving his arms in exaggerated frustration.

What kind of stupido argument was that?

Lovino raised an eyebrow. Even he had to admit it was a weird hill to die on. Still, more than the topic itself, he found himself curious—how exactly would Spain respond to such a clumsy, irritable attack?

Spain just gave a resigned little smile, eyes on the road, and then said softly, “I didn’t say driving was better than flying, Roma. I only meant… road trips give us more freedom. You can do whatever you want in your seat. And the view—it’s beautiful, watching the trees blur past, all that green rushing by. Sure, you can see the clouds from a plane, but up there, with all those strangers around… how could I ever shout love confessions at you in peace, openly admire that beautiful, adorable face of yours, or hear you yell those things at me that you’d never say unless you were screaming them, Roma?”

Lovino gawked.

Yes, he knew Antonio had a thing for cheesy lines. But this—this was… absurdly sweet. So sweet that even Lovino, who wasn’t the target, felt his face warming a little.

He turned toward Romano.

Sure enough, the other version of himself had gone completely quiet, sinking into the embrace of the seatbelt, face and ears burning red.

“Y-You jerk,” Romano muttered, voice small now. “You’re just trying to shut me up with flattery…”

“I’m only telling the truth.” Spain grinned, hands steady on the wheel.

“Hmph. Idiota.”

Lovino couldn’t help it—he stifled a laugh behind his hand, ducking his head as he smiled. But when he looked up again, he was met with a fierce glare from the rearview mirror.

Romano was staring straight at him.

“What the hell are you laughing at!? What’s so funny!?”

“I—uh—sorry.” Lovino tugged at the corner of his mouth, trying to wipe the grin off his face. “It’s just… you two are really something. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Aww, grazie, Lovino,” Spain said warmly, clearly touched.

“Wha—!?” Romano, predictably, was not. “I don’t want to hear that from another version of myself, damn it!”

Lovino shrugged. “You think I enjoy watching another me flirt in front of my face? Please. But come on—admit it. Deep down, you’re secretly happy someone said you and Antonio make a good couple.”

“I—I…!” Romano sputtered, visibly short-circuiting. He looked ready to kick Lovino straight out the moving car.

Watching him turn red and fall into stammering silence, Lovino felt oddly vindicated—like he’d just evened the score for having his bittersweet daydream rudely shattered earlier by that shout.

Romano crossed his arms and slouched low in his seat, grumbling something unintelligible under his breath—something about stupid humans and how much he hated this timeline.

But just as he slid lower, something caught his eye.

His head popped up, eyes gleaming, and he suddenly grabbed the sleeve of Spain’s jacket like a kid pointing out something in a picture book.

“Spain, look! That cloud—doesn’t it look like a tomato!?”

“Ah! It really does, Roma!” Spain leaned forward a little to peer through the windshield, his whole face lighting up. “That’s amazing! It’s just like one!”

Lovino looked up too, curious.

Sure enough, in the broad blue sky, there was a fat, round cloud hovering above the trees—its shape uncannily tomato-like, its soft edges blurring in the wind. It was ridiculous, and perfect, and somehow beautiful.

Just staring at it made his thoughts drift again. Back to Antonio.

Would Antonio, in his world, have looked up with the same wonder? Would he have matched Lovino’s excitement with his own, laughed with him like Spain just did?

…No. Probably not.

Lovino smiled bitterly, more to himself than anyone else.

What was the point in thinking about it now?

He was the one who’d pushed Antonio away, wasn’t he?

___

Lovino liked to spend his lunch break tucked away in this quiet little corner of the school library.

Sunlight streamed through the high windows, warming his hair as he lounged on the small sofa behind a tall bookshelf. From the outside, he was completely hidden. No one walking by would ever notice him here. With his CD player resting in his lap and headphones snug over his ears, he leaned against the sun-warmed glass and tapped his fingers lightly to the rhythm playing in his head.

Now this was what life was supposed to be. No noisy classmates, no overbearing teachers, and—most importantly—none of those idioti who liked to pick on him. Honestly, what kind of thug would willingly come to a library? Lovino might not have had much love for academics, but the sound of pages turning in a quiet room was something he could get behind.

Today, though, was… different.

Lovino had been deliberately avoiding the person sitting on the adjacent sofa for a while now. He kept his eyes fixed on the ceiling, or his own hands, or the spines of the books lined up in front of him—anywhere but that direction.
And yet, the person beside him had been staring. Unrelentingly. From the moment he sat down.
Seriously, what was wrong with Antonio!? Did that bastard have to stare at people like that? If he loved staring so much, why didn’t he go be a security camera or something? At least then he could legally creep on whoever he wanted.

Of course, none of that could be said aloud. Not in a library.

So Lovino could only grit his teeth and try to ignore the intense gaze boring into his profile—along with the stupidly handsome face it belonged to—and focus instead on zoning out to his music, letting his mind wander into a much more agreeable daydream.

He was right in the middle of mentally rescuing the school from bullies—heroic, victorious, every girl cheering his name—when a shadow fell over him.

A boy was standing in front of him.
Brown hair in a tousled mess. Green eyes.
Lovino clicked his tongue.

He pulled down one side of his headphones and glared up at Antonio, mouthing, “What the hell do you want?” with a whisper-sharp voice.

Antonio looked absurdly innocent, holding a copy of The Little Prince like it had just leapt into his hands from the nearest shelf.

“Excuse me, Vargas,” he said in a voice full of forced politeness, “but it seems the library is full today. Would you mind if I sat next to you?”

Lovino blinked.
Then turned to look at the completely empty sofa next to him.
Then at the rows and rows of unoccupied desks further down the room.
He slowly turned back, gave Antonio a long, withering stare and said absolutely nothing.

Antonio fidgeted. His smile began to falter. His hands couldn’t decide where to go.

“I–I mean, also,” he added quickly, “this spot you picked has really… nice sunlight! You know, sunlight helps your body produce calcium? It’s good for you. So I thought, um, I could maybe…”

His words trailed off as his face turned redder and redder. By the time he finally gave up and fell into silence, his ears were practically glowing.

Lovino rolled his eyes.

He shuffled a little to the side, slapped the cushion next to him once, and muttered, “Sit if you want, dumbass. It’s not like my name’s written on the couch.”

Antonio’s expression lit up.

“Really?! Thanks, Lovi! I’m so happy!”

He practically skipped into the seat, even humming a little tune under his breath as he settled in. His joy was so obvious it was borderline embarrassing.

Lovino stared at him for a second, feeling half annoyed and half… amused.
For someone who had the entire student body wrapped around his finger, Antonio really went out of his way just to sit beside him. Was he really that charming?

Then the thought hit him.

What if Antonio had lost some kind of bet?
What if this was just part of a dare—to befriend the loner no one liked?

That single idea clamped down on his chest.

It did make sense, didn’t it?
After all, Lovino was… well, Lovino.
Why would anyone genuinely want to be friends with someone like him? Especially someone like Antonio—Antonio, who only had to lift a finger and half the school would line up just for the chance to sit beside him.
He had no reason to choose Lovino.

And yet…

Antonio seemed so sincere.
He looked genuinely happy when he spoke to Lovino.

No, no. Lovino mustn’t fall for that face. That was probably the whole trick—Antonio’s sunshine was just a mask, wasn’t it? A disguise. Behind it, he was probably some horned devil scheming up the best way to humiliate Lovino for sport.

With that reassuring theory in mind, Lovino narrowed his eyes and began observing the boy sitting beside him.

A high-bridged nose.
A pair of lips—well-shaped, stupidly kissable—
Wait, what the hell was he thinking!?
Lovino flushed, furiously banishing the thought.
Fine. Moving on.

Antonio’s eyes were… unfair. Green like olive leaves in sunlight. Who the hell looked good in that shade? But somehow, they made him look so soft. So damn handsome. And his brown hair, tousled just enough to look natural—had that always been there, that little stray lock curling out near his temple? It made him look sort of… cute. And the white shirt—just the standard school uniform, nothing special—looked far too good on him.

Lovino didn’t notice it at first, but the more he stared, the redder Antonio’s face became.
He was still holding his book—The Little Prince—pretending to read, but his cheeks were now the color of overripe tomatoes. Finally, Antonio peeked over the top of the pages, his green eyes sliding toward Lovino.

“Lovi… what are you staring at?”

“Wh—What!? I—I wasn’t staring at you!”
Lovino’s voice jumped an octave. His face flushed to the tips of his ears, and not even the music in his headphones could drown out the sudden pounding of his heart.
He was going to die. This was it. No one survived being caught staring.

Antonio coughed gently. “It’s okay… Lovi, um, actually, if you wanted to look at me, I really wouldn’t mind. You could look as long as you want. I just… get kind of shy, that’s all.”

“I—I—!”
Lovino flailed in utter panic. His brain was collapsing under the weight of so many feelings, none of which had names he wanted to admit.
And so, with a sharp inhale, he yanked out one side of his earphones and shoved it into Antonio’s ear.

“Shut up and listen to the damn music!”

“A-Ah!?”
Antonio fumbled but obediently adjusted the earbud.
“…This song is really nice. You have great taste, Lovi.”

Lovino crossed his arms with a huff. “Of course I do. I take my music seriously.”

Antonio chuckled softly, hiding his mouth behind the book again.
Then, slowly, he leaned in and rested his head against Lovino’s—gently, carefully—as if testing to see if he’d be pushed away.

Lovino grumbled something under his breath but didn’t move.

Antonio’s smile grew. He tilted the book slightly downward, enough for both of them to see the page, and returned to reading. Lovino couldn’t help but glance over.
Antonio rested the book between their knees. It was the part with the rose—the little prince and his flower. Antonio’s fingertip traced the words as he read, following each line with a kind of reverent calm.

Sunlight streamed through the windows, warming the top of Lovino’s head.
The melody in his ear was soft and familiar.
Beside him, a quiet warmth leaned against his temple.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of tousled brown curls, of skin lit gold by the afternoon light.

And for the first time in his life,
Lovino felt something close to happiness.

___

Was that really what just happened?
His brain, in a desperate effort to shield him, had conveniently dredged up one of his only pleasant memories with Antonio—just to keep him from thinking about the painful ones?

Lovino let out a dry, self-deprecating chuckle.

Compared to everything that happened after… that afternoon in the library almost felt like something you could call happy.

Up front, Spain and Romano were still bickering about the tomato-shaped cloud.

Lovino lowered his head in silence, letting the music from that long-ago afternoon hum back into his memory. That song. That moment. The two of them side by side, sharing earbuds, sharing pages.
The melody curled in his ears again now, almost real enough to reach out and touch.

From the rearview mirror, Spain cast him a brief glance—hesitated—and then turned to Romano.
“So, um… Roma? Lovino? Are either of you hungry? Should we stop at the next service area?”

Romano crossed his arms with a huff.
“I hate the food at highway diners. It’s always disgusting and greasy.”

“Well, a little fast food now and then won’t kill us…” Spain replied with a sheepish laugh. “Maybe they’ll have pasta? Though I suppose you’ll complain about that too—”

“Hmph. If I had it my way, I’d teach those chefs how to actually cook.”

“Ah—actually…”
Lovino, who hadn’t spoken in a while, raised a tentative hand.
“I wouldn’t mind stopping. I’m hungry. Doesn’t matter if it’s some roadside place—can we just get something to eat?”

“Of course!”
Spain beamed at him through the mirror, bright and unbothered as ever.

Romano grumbled a few things under his breath but didn’t object further.

Spain followed the GPS and turned into the nearest diner parking lot—one of those chain places stuck beside a gas station, half faded from sun and rain. The car pulled into a spot with a lurch, tires crunching gravel, and the engine went quiet.

Lovino stepped out of the backseat and planted both feet firmly on solid ground.
Only then did the dream dissolve—the music fade. Antonio’s face, his voice, the softness in his eyes… all retreated into the background hum of memory.

Romano stretched wide beside the car with a theatrical groan.
“Ugh. My back. Sitting that long is torture.”

“There, there,” Spain said gently, patting his back. “Want me to give you a quick massage?”

“No way!” Romano swatted his hand. “You’re gonna press too hard on purpose!”

“I won’t,” Spain insisted, his hand sneaking back to his shoulder again. “I’ll be gentle, I promise…”

Lovino cleared his throat—loudly.
“Um. Are we going inside or what?”

Romano flushed. He smacked Spain’s hand away again and barked,
“You heard him, dumbass! Stop pawing at me outside the restaurant like some pervert and get moving!”
With that, he marched toward the diner door, leaving the other two behind in his flustered dust.

Spain sighed and gave a helpless shrug before following.

Lovino lingered a second longer, watching them walk ahead together—bickering, grumbling, brushing shoulders—and realized, belatedly, that he was smiling.

He wiped the expression off his face quickly, scowling at himself.

Seriously, what was wrong with them? With himself?
How were they such a disgustingly happy couple?
Even Antonio would probably be shocked to see them like this.

He rubbed his face hard, trying to press the warmth out of his skin, and stepped inside.

Spain and Romano had claimed a booth by the window. When Lovino walked in, Spain waved him over cheerfully. Romano, meanwhile, had his brow furrowed deep into the menu and was clearly in the middle of a long mental monologue involving a list of complaints.

Lovino weaved between a few scattered tables and slid into the booth opposite Spain—because there was no way he was going to sit next to a mirror image of himself and have to watch that while eating.

“Need a menu?” Spain asked, already sliding one across to him without waiting for an answer.

Lovino murmured a thanks and started reading—but it didn’t take long to notice the tablecloth. Red checkered cotton, stained in a few greasy spots.

No wonder Romano was fuming. Even Lovino felt the urge to start complaining—but he bit it back and settled for a silent grimace.

He raised a hand and flagged down a waitress. Might as well just order the simplest thing and get it over with—meatball spaghetti would do.

The waitress came over with a cheerful bounce in her step. Brunette, mid-twenties, and wearing a matching red-checkered uniform that looked like it had been made out of the same fabric as the tablecloth. She spotted Romano and Lovino, blinked, and let out a surprised little gasp.

“Oh my goodness! Are you two twins? How adorable! You look absolutely stunning together at the same table. Oh—and of course, your other friend is very handsome too!”

Romano’s complaints vanished in an instant.

He swept a hand through his bangs, straightened his posture, and flashed his most dazzling smile.
“Ciao, bella! That’s right, we’re twins. Can you believe it? And to meet someone so charming in the middle of nowhere—I gotta say, this road trip’s already paid off. What’s your name, beautiful?”

The waitress giggled and covered her mouth in delight.
“Aww, thank you! You’re such a sweetheart. I’m flattered I could brighten your road trip—especially for someone as handsome as you! My name is—”

A hand appeared suddenly in front of him, sliding a menu between Romano and the waitress.

Spain, smiling with the serenity of a man on the edge of murder.
“Buenas tardes. We’re ready to order.”

Romano and Lovino both flinched in perfect unison.
That smile. That tone.
They were so dead.

Romano immediately straightened his face and ordered a plate of Bolognese, not daring to flirt with the waitress again—not because he didn’t want to, but because he knew better. Spain, when angry, was terrifying. Romano had no intention of going through that again in this lifetime.
Well… unless it was in bed. That was a different story. Then it became—what, foreplay?
What the hell am I even thinking!?

Face flushing bright red, Romano scooted closer to Spain with a mumble, trying to nudge his way into forgiveness, anything to make that ominous smile disappear.

The waitress seemed to sense the shift in the air. She cleared her throat delicately and turned to Lovino instead. “And for you, sir?”

Lovino’s lips twitched in amusement as he looked at the two across from him. So this world’s Romano also knew how scary Antonio could be when truly upset. Watching the other version of himself shrink into well-behaved silence was oddly satisfying.
Apparently, no matter the world, the only one who could indulge him and discipline him at the same time… was Antonio.

“I’ll have the spaghetti with meatballs, thank you.” Lovino glanced sideways at Spain. “You’re not ordering anything?”

“I’ll take the same as Romano,” Spain said with a smile, nodding at the waitress before gesturing lightly toward Romano. “He’s terribly picky—please ask the chef to prepare it carefully. Take your time, it’s no problem at all.”

The waitress blinked once, twice, then nodded. “Ah… of course. Got it!” She turned on her heel and walked off, still looking a little bewildered by the strange energy at the table.

Lovino rested his chin on his palm and leaned forward.
“So,” he said casually, almost as if the thought had just occurred to him, “since we’ve got a bit of time before the food comes, would it be alright if I asked you guys a few questions?”
He tilted his head. “I’m just curious. Nothing too invasive, I promise.”

Spain looked delighted. “Of course, Lovino! Ask away.”

Romano didn’t object, but he slouched down in his chair and placed one hand lazily on the table, looking wholly uninterested in whatever topic this was going to be.

Lovino hesitated. “I was wondering… when did the two of you, um, get together? Like… officially start dating?”

Spain rubbed his chin, thoughtful.
“Hmm, that was in modern times, wasn’t it? Around 2005, I think… Spain had just legalized same-sex marriage, so I asked Roma if he’d marry me. He gave a sort of… indirect yes—” Spain laughed, eyes fond.
“His exact words were: ‘Minimum three free meals and a nap with pasta.’ Isn’t that the cutest proposal you’ve ever heard? It took me ages to realize what he meant!”

Minimum three free meals and a nap with pasta, huh? Lovino bit back a grin. That was certainly… on brand. He turned to look at Romano, curious to see how he’d react.

Romano, seated beside Spain, had turned red all the way to the tips of his ears.
“Y-You absolute bastardo! Why would you tell him that!? Just give him the date, not the whole damn story!”
He headbutted Spain, hard.

Spain chuckled and rubbed the sore spot affectionately. “But Roma, you were so adorable back then—I couldn’t help it…
Anyway, even though I didn’t realize what you meant at the time, later on—on Roma’s birthday, actually—I had this sudden epiphany. It hit me like lightning. I grabbed him while he was drinking and confessed on the spot. And, well, that was it. We were officially together.
Though, I have to say, his reaction that night was especially cute too…”

“Shut up, you bastardo!” Romano looked like he might headbutt him again.
“I told you not to go into the details! Why do you have to say everything!?”

“But I’m just so happy,” Spain said with a sheepish smile. “I want to share how lucky I felt.”

Romano muttered something under his breath—probably a string of curses too muffled to catch—but at least he didn’t try to hit Spain again.

Lovino lowered his gaze to the grease stain on the table. His lashes cast long shadows as he pressed his lips together, then finally asked,
“…Happy. Are you two… happy together?”

Spain blinked, surprised, but only for a moment.
“Of course we’re happy,” he said with quiet certainty. “I think I’m the luckiest man alive, as long as Roma’s by my side.”

Lovino turned quickly to Romano. “And you?” he asked, almost urgently. “Are you happy?”

Romano clearly hadn’t expected to be singled out. He turned scarlet again and squirmed in his seat before grumbling out,
“I—of course I’m happy, dammit! Don’t ask me stuff like that… it’s embarrassing, you jerk…!”

Lovino glanced at the flushed and visibly unsettled Romano, the corner of his mouth twitching in something like a smile—faint, stiff, barely there. Then he looked down.

“…I see. So you’re really happy, huh? That’s… that’s great. I’m glad for you.”

Romano narrowed his eyes.

Something about the way this other him spoke—about the strange question from earlier, about the sudden shift from curiosity to wistful sorrow—made him frown. What the hell was this guy thinking? Why did he look like he was one second away from laughing, and the next like he might cry? It was bizarre. Unsettling.

But Romano had absolutely zero interest in whatever tragic love story had unfolded between this version of himself and another world’s Spain. If that other Spain had shown up instead, maybe Romano would’ve cared—maybe. But unfortunately for Lovino, Romano’s self-loathing ran too deep. When he looked at this mirror version of himself, all he could feel was irritation. All he wanted was for England to hurry the hell up and send this emotionally complicated doppelgänger back to whatever angsty timeline he came from.

Lovino didn’t speak again after that. He just stared out the window, gaze distant, clearly lost in thought—and judging by the faint, pained crease between his brows, probably lost in thoughts of Antonio.

Neither Spain nor Romano said anything to interrupt him. Spain, out of kindness—he couldn’t bring himself to break the quiet of someone who looked so sad. And Romano, because frankly, he couldn’t care less.

It was the arrival of the pasta that finally shattered the uneasy silence between them.

The waitress brought over two plates of meat sauce spaghetti and one plate of spaghetti with meatballs. She offered a polite, somewhat nervous smile to the three of them—and then practically fled the strange atmosphere hanging around the booth.

Lovino listlessly stabbed at a meatball with his fork, over and over, as if it had personally wronged him. The fork clinked sharply against the plate, again and again, before he finally took a bite.

Romano, meanwhile, was grumbling into his food—muttering under his breath about how this place’s cooking didn’t hold a candle to even one percent of his own skills—while devouring his plate with the enthusiasm of a man on a mission. Spain sat beside him, dabbing at Romano’s mouth with a napkin every so often. Truth be told, he’d much rather have just leaned in and licked the sauce away himself, but if he tried something like that in public, Romano would probably headbutt him into the next booth, so he resisted the temptation.

The pasta wasn’t exactly good. But it wasn’t terrible, either. For Romano, it was an offense to the dignity of Italian cuisine. For Lovino—just a regular human being—it was about what he expected from a roadside diner: decent, edible, a little greasy, vaguely tomato-flavored.

Kind of like…

Like the pasta he and Antonio once ate together at a little restaurant off campus.

No—no, not a date. Just a meal. Just two people eating out together. That’s all it was.

But still… the taste was familiar.

He could still picture Antonio’s face, the way he smiled when chewing, the way he looked up with those sunlit eyes and said, after Lovino had grumbled that the food was mediocre, “I’d love to try your pasta sometime, Lovi.”

The way he said it—so open, so gentle—had made Lovino want to melt into the floor.

And the way the golden light had poured through the restaurant windows, spilling across Antonio’s face… Dio. How could anyone be so suited to sunlight? Antonio looked like he had been made for it. Born to be bathed in it.

The thought made Lovino’s chest ache.

Would he ever see that face again?

Would he ever make it back?

Even if Spain treated him kindly—no, especially because he treated him kindly—it didn’t matter. This was not the same man. This wasn’t the boy who had laughed with him, bickered with him, shared classes and moments and memories. That Antonio was still in his world. If… if Lovino could return, maybe he could see that smile again.

And Spain—this world’s Spain—already had someone. Someone who belonged by his side. Someone who shared his past, his present.

His Romano.

Lovino missed Antonio.

No. If he was honest, he hadn’t stopped missing him—not since the day they graduated. Not for a single second.

Hell, it was pathetic—he’d literally been looking at Antonio’s photo when he got sucked into this whole dimensional mess.

He stared down at the meatball impaled on his fork. Then, without thinking, he brought it to his lips and bit into it. The juices burst across his tongue.

Yeah.

Still not as good as his own cooking.

___

Spain pulled into a seaside parking lot in Calais, the ocean glittering beyond the low wall.

“We’ll need to take a ferry across the Channel from here,” he said as he stepped out of the car, stretching briefly before turning to the rear door. “By the way, Lovino—do you get seasick?” He gave a little half-smile, casual. “Roma doesn’t, but… well, parallel universes and all that. You never know.”

Lovino blinked up at him, momentarily thrown off by the question. Then, after a second’s delay: “Ah—oh. Uh. No, I don’t. I’m fine.”

These past two days, they’d stopped here and there for rest and conversation, but the atmosphere between them never quite warmed beyond a vaguely awkward truce. Spain, ever the optimist, had tried repeatedly to strike up chatter—sometimes with Romano, sometimes with Lovino—but the latter rarely offered much to work with. His mind seemed constantly adrift in a sea of quiet, grief-tinged daydreams. The more withdrawn he became, the more Spain found himself wondering: what exactly had happened between Lovino and the version of him from that other world? But no matter how much curiosity burned behind his eyes, he couldn’t exactly ask.

Romano jumped down from the passenger side and groaned loudly, arching his back with exaggerated drama.
“Ughh—my spine’s in pieces! Can we please find a hotel and crash already? I’m one more hour in that seat away from turning into a fossil.”

“Of course, Roma!” Spain beamed, already popping open the trunk. He hauled their luggage out with practiced ease, then trotted up beside Romano with the suitcase in tow—like a cheerful, oversized dog. Watching him, Lovino couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth.

They checked into a hotel not far from the port—five stars, naturally, per Romano’s uncompromising standards.

The moment they stepped into the room, Romano collapsed dramatically onto the bed, limbs spread wide as he let out a long, satisfied sigh.

“Ahhh, soft bed, how I missed you… That roadside motel from last night was hell. The mattress was awful, and the bathroom was worse.”

“At least take your coat off first, Roma.” Spain laughed, amused and exasperated, gently pulling at Romano’s sleeve to help him out of it.

“Pervert! Keep your hands to yourself!” Romano squawked, flailing in protest—though half-heartedly at best.

“So cruel… Does Roma find my touch disgusting now? Do you hate me?” Spain moaned dramatically, throwing his arms around Romano’s waist and burying his face in his chest like a wounded romantic.

“N–No! That’s not what I—hey! Don’t touch my waist, bastardo—!”

Lovino, meanwhile, had settled into the armchair by the window. Chin in hand, eyes turned outward, he looked every bit the unaffected observer. He’d seen enough of their outrageous public displays of affection over the past two days to be entirely desensitized by now.

“By the way,” Spain said brightly, still seated obediently at the edge of the bed after receiving a solid headbutt, “since we’re in France, do you think we should visit France?”

“Hell no.” Romano didn’t even open his eyes. “Just imagine what kind of disgusting things that freak would say the moment he saw two of me in one place.”

“Ahaha… Good point. Besides, I really don’t want to risk France laying eyes on two Romas. He’d definitely try something.”

“Exactly.” Romano rolled over with an exaggerated eye-roll. “Anyway, I’m taking a nap now. You two better shut up. If I hear so much as a sneeze, I swear I’ll drag you both to hell myself.”

Spain reached over and ruffled his hair fondly. “Of course, Roma. We’ll be quiet. Right, Lovino?” He glanced over toward the window.

Lovino blinked at them. “…Oh. Uh. Yeah. Don’t worry. I won’t make a sound.”

Apparently satisfied, Romano gave a sleepy nod, pulled the blanket over his head, and burrowed beneath it.
Within ten seconds, he was fast asleep.

“…So,” Spain cleared his throat lightly, glanced toward Lovino, and gestured subtly at the door. His voice dropped to a hush. “Would you… mind stepping out with me for a bit?”

Lovino raised an eyebrow at him. As far as he could tell, there wasn’t anything Spain would need to discuss with him behind Romano’s back. But curiosity was already beginning to stir in his chest. It was just a conversation between the two of them—nothing more, nothing dangerous.
It’s not like he was going to lose a limb.

So he gave a slight shrug and followed Spain toward the door. Spain eased it open carefully, doing his best not to make a sound and risk disturbing Romano’s rest.

They stepped out into the quiet night.

The walk from the hotel to the beach passed in silence. Not tense, not exactly comfortable—just still. Spain kept a respectful distance ahead, and Lovino kept a few paces behind, eyes fixed on the back of Spain’s head, wondered what on earth he wanted to talk about so badly.

Before he realized it, the sea opened before them.

Dark as ink beneath the night sky, the waves rolled in steadily, their rhythm quiet and unrelenting. The sound of them breaking against the sand filled the silence—softer than a whisper, steady as a breath. Lovino found himself oddly tempted to kneel and touch the water.

Moonlight spilled across the beach, pale and cool. It caught the edges of Spain’s face, his hair, the gentle fall of his coat. Still, he didn’t speak. He simply slowed his steps and let Lovino catch up, until they were walking together again, the tide just a few feet away.

Spain looked up at the stars, scattered faintly across the night sky.
And finally, he spoke.

“Lovino… may I ask something?” His voice was soft. “About… you. And the other me. Antonio. What happened between you two?”

Lovino blinked.

He hadn’t expected that. Hadn’t expected Spain to care that much—to care enough to sneak away from Romano just to ask. But then again, maybe that in itself was part of his gentleness.
If Romano had come too, Lovino wouldn’t have said a word.

He pressed his lips together. “Before I answer… can I ask why you want to know?”

Spain turned toward him, a faint, wry smile pulling at his mouth.
“Well… to be honest, Roma and I have never really gone through anything that would drive us apart. Maybe it’s because we’re nations. We’ve had centuries to learn each other’s tempers. And if he ever did try to leave me, I’d probably chase him to the ends of the earth until he gave up and stayed.”
Lovino watched Spain’s hand curl into a fist and slowly release.

“But in some parallel world, I—Antonio—must’ve hurt your heart,” Spain said quietly. “And that… that really gets to me. I can’t stand the idea of hurting Roma. Any version of him. I want to believe that, in every universe, I’d try my best not to. So if I did…”
He let the rest of the sentence trail off.

Lovino couldn’t help it—he laughed.

Just a soft huff at first, then a quiet chuckle. He lifted a hand to his mouth to muffle it, even as it slipped out anyway.

Spain stopped. He looked at him with slight confusion, as if genuinely unsure if he was being mocked.
“Ah… did I say something funny?”

“No—no, that’s not it,” Lovino waved him off, trying to stifle the remnants of a grin. “Actually… I’m kind of touched. Really. It’s just—”

He hesitated.

“—you’ve misunderstood something.”

Spain blinked. “Misunderstood… what?”

Lovino stopped walking. He turned toward the water but didn’t look at Spain.
His eyes stayed on the waves, the endless rhythm of them, rolling in, rolling out, polishing the sand in silence.

The smile slowly faded from his face.

“…It wasn’t Antonio who hurt anyone,” he said softly.
“It was me. I was the one who pushed him away.”

Spain stared at him, taken aback.
His mouth opened slightly—about to speak—but Lovino cut him off.

“It’s true. Antonio never did anything to hurt me. Nothing. I was the one who screwed it up. Completely. You probably want to know why, don’t you?”
He exhaled slowly, bitterly. “I wish I knew. I really do. I don’t even understand it myself.”

His hands clenched, voice low and fast now, like he’d finally let go of something he’d been carrying for far too long.
“Even after we got into the same university, even after everything… I still couldn’t bring myself to face him. I kept avoiding him. Running away like some goddamn coward…”

The wind stirred the edge of his coat. The waves came in, pulled back, came in again.

Lovino stood at the edge of them, eyes fixed on the ocean, as if it might carry his words away—far enough that they couldn’t echo back.

___

“Lovi, are we heading home together today?”

Lovino looked up, expression somewhere between annoyed and resigned, staring at Antonio who stood beside his desk. Ever since Antonio had been forced to repeat a year and ended up in Lovino’s class, they’d been walking home together every day.
But still, every single afternoon, Antonio insisted on asking.

“What kind of dumb question is that? Even if I walked off on my own, you’d just chase after me anyway.”

He stood up, swinging his bag over one shoulder with a resigned huff.

“Haha… you really do know me, Lovi.” Antonio scratched his head, grinning.

“Of course I do. I’ve been dealing with your harassment for two years now.” Lovino raised a brow and shot him a crooked grin.

Antonio blinked, then flushed inexplicably at the sight of that smile.
“Y-Yeah. Time really flies, huh? Can’t believe I’ve been repeating this year for a whole year already…”

They walked down the hallway side by side, weaving through the usual crowd of noisy students, voices and footsteps echoing all around.

“Speaking of that—are you still not gonna tell me how exactly you flunked a year?” Lovino asked offhandedly. “You have no idea how shocked I was when I saw you in my class. Do you even know how cursed it is when your senpai suddenly turns into your classmate?”

“Ahh… that?” Antonio tilted his head and smiled vaguely. “It’s still kind of a secret for now. I might tell you someday. Maybe even today?”

“What’s with that mysterious tone?” Lovino rolled his eyes. “Don’t act like I’m dying to hear it or something.”

“Aww, can’t you care a little more about me, Lovi~?”

And with no further warning, Antonio pounced—arms stretching forward from behind Lovino’s shoulders, latching onto him as they walked.

Lovino struggled with all his might, but Antonio clung on stubbornly.
“Uwah—let go of me, bastardo!”

“Nope! Not my fault you’re too cute!” Antonio grinned and even dropped his chin onto the top of Lovino’s head like a pillow.

Lovino jumped up and slammed his head back into Antonio’s with a vicious thunk. “You—stupido idiota!”

Antonio yelped and let go at last, staggering back with tears in his eyes and hands cradling his jaw.
“Ahhh, that hurt! Lovi, I need comfort! Kiss it better—just one little kiss…”

“W-What the hell!?”
Lovino’s face turned crimson.
“You should be in pain! If I’d known you were going to say disgusting crap like that, I’d have hit you even harder!”

Antonio let out a long, dramatic sigh to the heavens.
“You’re seriously the least honest person I’ve ever met, Lovi…”

Before Lovino could explode again, he quickly added,
“Okay okay, peace offering time! How about this—let me treat you to a crêpe after school? There’s a new food stall near the park. Francis told me about it. Have you been yet?”

Lovino’s attention shifted immediately at the word crêpe.
“Nope. Any good?”

“Francis says it’s amazing! He takes girls there on dates all the time!”Antonio beamed like he owned the place himself.
“So? Let’s go? Let’s go?”

Lovino glanced at him and couldn’t help the faint tug at the corner of his lips.
“…Fine. Whatever. I’ve got nothing better to do anyway.”

“Yesss! I knew you’d say yes!” Antonio cheered.

On the way to the park, they chatted about all the stupid things boys their age tend to care about—whose teacher was balding fastest, which subject was the worst, how homework and tests were the spawn of Satan.

Every time Antonio cracked a joke—usually something dumb and overly dramatic—Lovino would end up pressing his hand over his mouth to stifle a laugh, head lowered to hide the smile that still escaped, despite his best efforts.
And every time Lovino smiled like that, Antonio would stop mid-sentence and just look at him.

Soft eyes, quiet and tender, as if in that moment—just watching Lovino smile—he had everything in the world.

“Two crêpes, please! One strawberry, one chocolate!”

Antonio called out cheerfully, then stood with Lovino in front of the cart as the crêpe vendor worked with practiced ease—spreading batter, swirling whipped cream, folding the thin sheets into golden cones. The scent of sugar and butter wafted into the air, warm and sweet. Lovino swallowed.

It wasn’t his fault, alright? Boys his age were supposed to have a sweet tooth.

While they waited, Antonio stole glances at Lovino’s profile—watching the way his eyes lit up, the way he subtly licked his lips, the way his gaze followed the bubbling batter like it was the most beautiful thing in the world. Antonio’s smile tugged upward before he could stop it.

“Here you go,” said the vendor, handing over two paper-wrapped crêpes.

Antonio took them both, turned, and passed the strawberry one to Lovino. The moment it touched his hands, Lovino bit into it—big, unhesitating, a soft “mhf” sound escaping as whipped cream smeared the corner of his mouth.

“Hey, slow down, Lovi,” Antonio laughed. “You’ll choke.”

He reached out and gently wiped the cream from Lovino’s lips with the pad of his thumb. Lovino froze for half a second—then turned red. He let Antonio wipe him, didn’t flinch, didn’t argue. When Antonio brought the cream to his mouth and licked it off his finger without thinking, Lovino’s blush deepened, but he said nothing.

Crêpes in hand, the two of them began wandering through the park.

“Hey,” Lovino said offhandedly, mouth still half-full, “you done your homework yet? I haven’t touched physics—it’s a nightmare. If you’ve finished, lemme copy.”

“Yup! Finished everything already!” Antonio’s eyes brightened. “Actually—how about this? I come over to your place later and help you with it. That way you learn and get it done.”

“Eh? No way. That sounds like a pain.” Lovino scowled. “Just let me copy it. What’s with the whole model-student act?”

“But I just want to spend a little more time with you…” Antonio said, leaning closer, until his shoulder brushed Lovino’s. “Doesn’t Lovi want to be with me a little longer too?”

“Wh—Why would I want that!? You’re so annoying!”
Lovino gripped his crêpe wrapper tighter, face turning red as the berries in his hands.

“Aww, fine then…” Antonio sighed dramatically, scarfed down the last of his own crêpe in a few exaggerated bites, and tossed the wrapper neatly into the trash can by the path.

Lovino chewed in silence, sulking. The longer he walked, the deeper he sank into regret.

Ugh, why did I say that? Why can’t I just say what I really mean?

Of course he wanted to spend more time with Antonio. Of course he wanted to hear that warm, low voice helping him through questions, leaning close, saying things like “you’ve got this” and “I’m proud of you.” But nooo, his stupid mouth just had to get in the way like always. Every time.

He sulked so hard it was practically visible in the air around him.
Antonio took one look and chuckled softly. With one smooth motion, he draped an arm over Lovino’s shoulders.

“Now, now… what’s got our little Lovi all worked up again?”

“You, obviously,” Lovino grumbled, glaring up at him.
Yes, he’d decided. If he couldn’t blame himself for always pushing Antonio away, then he’d blame Antonio instead—for being too charming, too irresistible, too… everything.

“My fault, huh…” Antonio chuckled, bringing his other arm around to loop gently at Lovino’s neck.
“Then what kind of apology would our dear Lord Lovino accept, hmm?”

Lovino pressed his lips together. Honestly, Antonio holding him like this was more than enough to make him happy (not that he’d ever admit it). But since he’d already been handed such a perfect opportunity…

“Why…” Lovino looked away, pretending to be casual. “Why did you repeat a year of school?”

Antonio blinked. The question caught him off guard.

Silence fell for a beat. Then he scratched the back of his head sheepishly.
“Lovi really wants to know?”

Lovino tilted his head. “Not that much, I guess. Just kind of curious.”

“I see…” Antonio sighed, then gave a lopsided smile.
“In that case, promise you won’t get mad when I tell you?”

“Why would I get mad?” Lovino snorted.

Antonio stopped walking. His hand pulled gently on Lovino’s sleeve, stopping him too.

They stood in the middle of the park path.
Golden leaves spiraled around them, caught in the afternoon light.

Antonio looked at him, eyes warm, gentle.
And slowly, he spoke.

“…I repeated the year because of you, Lovi. I wanted to be in your class. To sit beside you, walk home with you, eat lunch together, be… close. So I held myself back, asked my parents to pull some strings, and switched into your grade.”

He gave a sheepish laugh.

“Sure, I lost my university recommendation. But getting to be with you every day? Totally worth it.”

Lovino’s crêpe hit the pavement.

After what felt like an eternity of silence, while Antonio shifted nervously in place—clearly bracing himself for some kind of response he couldn’t predict—Lovino finally spoke.

“…Why?”

His voice was low. Barely audible.

Lovino kept his head bowed, eyes locked on the crêpe lying in the dirt. Poor thing. Just moments ago it had been warm and fragrant in his hand, sweet and golden. Now it lay abandoned on the ground, soaked with dust and footprints, cream bleeding into the pavement.

Antonio blinked. That… wasn’t the response he’d expected.

Wasn’t Lovi supposed to headbutt him or scream at him, face flushed, like he always did when overwhelmed? Wasn’t that his version of shy affection?

“W–What do you mean, why?” Antonio stammered, a strange tightness creeping up his chest. The air suddenly felt heavy, like something fragile was about to break. He swallowed hard.

Lovino pressed his lips into a hard line. His voice trembled.

“I mean… why?”
He still wouldn’t look up. “Why would you go that far… for me?”

Antonio’s ears went red. He rubbed the back of his neck, clearly flustered.

“W-Well, uh… I… I’m not sure if this is the right time to say it out loud, but…”

Lovino’s mind was in chaos.

He’d spent so long believing Antonio’s being held back a year was part of some elaborate prank orchestrated with his two idiotic friends, Francis and Gilbert—a last hurrah before graduation, something ridiculous and cruel.

But now… Antonio was saying he did it for him. For him?

That couldn’t be real.

And yet… the look in Antonio’s eyes, the tone of his voice, the way he hesitated before speaking—all of it was sincere. All of it pointed to one terrible, devastating truth:

Antonio liked him.

And that was the one thing Lovino could not, would not, allow himself to believe.

Because Antonio shouldn’t like him. He couldn’t. That wasn’t how their story was meant to go.

They were just high school friends. Or, rather—Lovino had always been the friend who harbored feelings in silence. He was supposed to carry that secret affection all the way through graduation, then bury it at the reunion years later when he’d hear that Antonio had found someone beautiful, kind, and perfect. Someone who made him laugh. Someone who deserved him.

Lovino was supposed to move on. Quietly. With dignity.

But now—Antonio had ruined that future.

How dare he.

Lovino suddenly looked up.

His eyes were red, glistening, rimmed with unshed tears. And when Antonio saw that—his silly, hopeful smile froze in place.

Why was Lovi looking at him like that?

Why did he look so hurt?

So devastated?

“We… we shouldn’t see each other like this anymore.”

“…What?”

“I said—we shouldn’t meet like this anymore. From now on, let’s just be classmates. No, not even that—I won’t talk to you at school either. Just forget me. Leave me alone.”

“Lovi, what are you talking about?”
Antonio took a step forward in alarm, but the way Lovino flinched and stepped back made him stop short.

“Lovi—”

“Don’t call me that!”

Lovino wiped his face roughly with the back of his hand, though it did little to hide the tears threatening to fall.

“That’s it,” he said, drawing in a long, shaky breath. “I’ll pay you back for the crêpes tomorrow—I didn’t bring my wallet today. But aside from that… let’s not speak again.”

“But—why!?”

Antonio reached toward him instinctively, but his hand faltered halfway.

“Can’t I at least know why? Please?”

“Because…”
Lovino’s voice cracked.

“Because I don’t like you! Not even a little! I hate you, damn it—don’t you get it!? I hate how you keep getting close to me—I hate how you make me feel happy, feel wanted, feel like maybe someone actually gives a damn—because right after that, I remember it’s all a lie! I remember that I’m just fooling myself again. And it hurts. It hurts so much I can’t even breathe!”

His chest rose and fell, breath hitching.
Then, with his eyes squeezed shut and his teeth gritted—

“I don’t want to be happy if I know it’s going to end! I’d rather be alone than feel like this again!”

And with that, Lovino turned and ran.

He didn’t wait for a response. He couldn’t. If he stayed even a second longer, he was going to break apart.

He felt the tears sliding down his cheeks. Felt them land on the asphalt. Heard Antonio’s voice behind him—calling his name. Felt the desperate weight in it. The hesitation. The ache.

But he didn’t stop.

He didn’t look back.

This was for the best.

Antonio would come to hate him now. That was good. That was necessary.

Their lives could finally diverge from here. No—maybe “diverge” wasn’t the word. Their paths had never truly been aligned in the first place.

Lovino had only done what had to be done.

He’d pushed Antonio back onto the road he belonged to.

The one Lovino had no right to walk beside him on.

Nothing more.

___

“This…”
Lovino swallowed thickly, his gaze fixed on the sea. A bitter smile tugged at his lips.
“This is our story, I guess. After that day—well, after I paid him back for the crêpes. Not to his face, of course—I just tossed the money on his desk and walked away. Since then… I never reached out to him again. Not once. He did try. He really did—he kept looking for me, trying to talk. But I always ran. Hid. Ha… Stupido, right?”

He turned his head and wiped at his tears with the back of his hand, almost roughly.

“I—I don’t even know what I was thinking. Just… the idea of getting close to Antonio, of having some kind of future with him—something happy…”

His eyes followed the endless waves crashing and dissolving into foam.

“It felt like that future would vanish the moment I touched it. Like it would break apart just like those waves. And I couldn’t bear it. I kept thinking—what if Antonio couldn’t accept me as someone he could actually love? What if he ended up hating me? I think… I think I couldn’t stand the thought of him turning away after I got too close. So I thought—if someone has to ruin it, it might as well be me. If he’s going to hate me, better he hates me on my terms.”

Spain didn’t answer right away.
He just looked at Lovino’s profile, at the tension in his brows, at the way he stared at the ocean like it held all the answers he didn’t dare ask for.
And in that moment, Spain ached.

He understood Lovino’s stubbornness. Of course he did. But this Lovino—this human Lovino—was so much more vulnerable than the Romano he knew. So much more prone to doubt, to shame.

And yet, wasn’t it the same at their core?

Romano, too, must’ve gone through this once. That sharp pride, that brittle self-worth—it hadn’t vanished on its own. It had been weathered down by time, softened by years. Spain knew that. He’d seen it happen.

But still, the thought hurt.
Did every version of Lovino have to suffer like this?

If he could, Spain would’ve shouldered all of it—just to spare him the weight.

The pain. The shame. The bitterness behind every forced smile. The tightness in every laugh that didn’t quite reach the eyes.

“Lovino…”
Spain barely got the name out before Lovino interrupted.

“It’s fine. You don’t have to comfort me.”
Lovino sniffed and straightened his shoulders, trying to pass for calm.
“This whole mess… it’s my fault. I know that now. I hurt Antonio, and I destroyed something that could’ve been… something good. I’ve made peace with that. So, really—you don’t have to pity me.”

“No.”
Spain took a step forward. Lovino didn’t back away.
“I’m not trying to pity you, Lovino. I just… I want to ask. You said you and Antonio went to the same university, right? So tell me—do you still want to try again? Do you want to win him back?”

Lovino blinked. His lips parted in quiet disbelief.

“W–What are you even saying…? Even if I did—hypothetically—have the guts to chase after him again, Antonio wouldn’t take me back. I’m sure that by now, the way he looks at me is full of contempt. So I just sit in my room. I look at his photos. I think about him. That’s already the best ending I can hope for.”

“That’s not true.”
Spain’s tone was firm.
“No matter which version I am—Spain or Antonio—I would never look at you like that. Never. You have to believe me.”

He stepped forward again and took Lovino’s hand.

Lovino jolted slightly, but didn’t pull away immediately. His voice trembled.

“E–Even if that’s true, I still can’t get past it in my own head. Back in university, Antonio was…everyone’s favorite. The guy everyone admired. And I was—am—just some nobody. Worse than that. I was the one who pushed him away. The one who hurt him. Damn it, if he told his friends what I did—how I acted—they’d all look at me the same way. Like I’m some pathetic, selfish…”

“Lovino.”
Spain’s voice was gentle, quiet, and resolute.
“Let’s take a breath, okay?。Just stop for a second. You don’t have to spiral like this—not right now. Whatever else you believe, please believe this: Antonio would never talk about you that way. Not to his friends. Not to anyone.”

The waves kept rolling in, pulling Lovino’s thoughts into their steady rhythm.

Spain continued.

“I’m sure… in his memories, you’re still precious to him. Still someone he cared about—deeply. And even if you ran from him, I bet Antonio blamed himself. He probably thought he’d pushed too hard, or said the wrong thing, or just wasn’t enough. I know it’s hard. I know stopping yourself from thinking the worst isn’t easy. But… even if just for a moment—Could you try believing in him again? Could you believe in the time you shared? Stop putting all the blame on yourself. Just for a little while.”

“I…”
Lovino hesitated. His breath caught in his throat.

But Spain’s gaze was steady. Warm. Patient.

And in the end, Lovino sighed.

“…Alright,” he whispered. “I’ll try.”

“That’s good to hear,” Spain said with a gentle smile. “I’ll be rooting for you.”

Lovino blinked at him, then slowly curled the corners of his lips upward into a small, sheepish smile of his own.

“It’s… it’s kind of dumb, but thanks,” he said.

“What’s dumb about it?” Spain tilted his head.

“Uh…” Lovino hesitated. “I mean, I’ve been torturing myself over this for so long—regret, overthinking, all of it. And then you just say a few words, and somehow, in a way, it feels like the weight’s been lifted. It makes me feel like… I was really stupid, you know? For struggling that hard.”

“You’re not stupid at all,” Spain said, letting go of Lovino’s hand to reach up and gently ruffle his hair. Lovino ducked his head but didn’t stop him. “The fact that you’ve been hurting over it for so long only proves you’re a good person. People who truly want to hurt others don’t sit around regretting it afterward, do they?”

“…Yeah.” Lovino looked up at him. “You and Antonio… you’re very similar—no, wait, you are the same person. Technically. But still, somehow, you feel different.”

“Oh?” Spain smiled with curiosity. “Different how?”

Lovino tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Well… you’re a lot more mature than he is. Antonio’s like a giant kid—annoying as hell, even though he’s technically a year older than me. If he had been the one here with me, there’s no way he’d say the kind of stuff you just did. He’d probably do something ridiculous instead.”

Spain laughed, eyes crinkling. “Well, I am the physical embodiment of a nation with a few centuries of experience under my belt. I can’t exactly go around being immature, now can I?”

“Fair enough,” Lovino chuckled. “And Romano in this world is more mature than I am too… You really do treat him well, huh? He looks really happy. I’m genuinely glad for the two of you.”

Spain flushed a little at that. His eyes sparkled the way they always did when he so much as thought of Romano—like his happiness had a name, and that name had him wrapped around its little finger.

“Thank you, Lovino. I really am happy to have Roma. So if you think he looks happy too, then… that means the world to me. I’m glad.”

And he meant it. Lovino could see it.

The way Spain’s love for Romano practically radiated from his whole being made Lovino’s chest ache just a little. Could his own Antonio ever look at him with that much warmth? That much joy?

He didn’t know.

But for now… just for this moment… he wanted to believe it might be possible.

“Hey, um…” Lovino glanced over at Spain, fidgeting. “Before I go… would it be okay if I… hugged you? Just once?”

“Eh?” Spain blinked, caught off guard—but the surprise melted into a warm, steady smile. “Of course, Lovino. I’d be honored.”

He opened his arms.

Lovino took one step forward—and wrapped his arms around him.

The moment Spain felt that soft warmth settle against his chest, the body in his arms dissolved into the sound of waves.

And he was alone.

Spain stood there for a moment, stunned. Then he let out a small, helpless laugh as he gazed out at the sea.

“Ahh… so that’s how it is, huh? Resolve the emotional baggage, and poof—back to your own universe. Classic. The gods really do have a twisted sense of humor.”

Just as he finished sighing over the cosmic cliché, a sudden, painful blow struck him square in the back.

“¡Ow—! What was that for, Roma!?”

He whirled around, rubbing the sore spot—only to find Romano glaring up at him with bloodshot eyes, his whole face burning with fury.

“Isn’t it obvious, you scumbag!? Why the hell are you cheating on me!?”

“Wh—What!?” Spain flailed in a panic. “Roma, wait, wait, it’s not what you think—I was just having a friendly and completely appropriate heart-to-heart with Lovino, I swear—!”

“Bullshit!” Romano barked. “I saw you hugging him! Hugging him! While I was sleeping, you were out here cuddling with another me! Am I not enough for you!? Is having just one of me not satisfying enough!? Can’t you just—can’t you choose me!?”

His voice cracked at the end, trembling with anger and something dangerously close to tears.

“Roma…” Spain stepped forward and gently pulled him into a hug, wiping the corner of his eye with his thumb. Romano could feel that familiar warmth on his skin, grounding him even as his chest heaved.

“Don’t cry, okay? I promise—we didn’t do anything. Nothing inappropriate. I already have you. Why would I ever want anyone else? I love you, Roma. Please… try to trust me a little more. Lovino and I were just talking about his version of Antonio. That’s all. I only took him outside because I didn’t want to disturb your sleep.”

Romano sniffled, still sniffling into his chest. “You’re such a smooth-talking bastard…”

“I’m a smooth-talking bastard only for you,” Spain said with a smile, cupping his face and resting their foreheads together.

Romano gave a token struggle, grumbling under his breath—
But under Spain’s gaze, under that ridiculous affection and unwavering calm—

He laughed, despite himself.

___

Lovino opened his eyes.

The first thing he saw was a photograph clutched tightly in his hand—a picture of Antonio, taken back in high school. And then he realized where he was.

His room. A warm, ordinary little space, the kind of rented apartment you’d find near any university campus. No crashing waves. No Spain. Just him—and the photo of Antonio smiling in the palm of his hand.

Had he… come back?

Was he really back in his own world?

Wait—was that even possible?

Have a heart-to-heart with the interdimensional counterpart of your long-time crush and bam—just like that, you’re shot back to your original timeline? That sounded like the kind of second-rate sci-fi movie the whole internet pretends to cry over.

“…What the hell.” Lovino gave a crooked little smile, though he wasn’t quite sure what he was smiling at. His thoughts were still tangled in the taste of sea salt, and yet reality had already dragged him back by the collar.

Back to the world where he’d hurt Antonio.

He looked down at the photo again.

Antonio’s high school self, all brown curls and olive-green eyes, grinning so hard his eyes were nearly closed. A bright, toothy laugh caught in still image.

It was the only photo Lovino had ever taken of him.

Which, sure, maybe it was a little creepy to print out a photo of your best friend and keep it like some treasured secret—but… it was Antonio. And this was what people did when they were in love with someone and too cowardly to admit it, right? They did weird things like this.

Lovino set the photo down on the desk.

What now?

He could pretend none of it happened. Call it a nap, a weird dream, a stress-induced delusion. Just him, dozing off in his chair, nothing more. No parallel worlds, no magical sea breeze, no alternate version of himself yelling at Spain in a highway diner.

He could go back to his quiet, ordinary life.

Or—he could take out his phone, open his contacts. Call Antonio. Ask to meet up.

…Could he really do that?

He’d thought about it before. So many times. But the moment the idea surfaced, he always managed to chase it away. And anyway—who’s to say Antonio hadn’t changed numbers after graduation? What if the call didn’t go through?

Worse—what if it did?

What if Antonio saw his name on the screen and hung up immediately?

No—scratch that. He probably wouldn’t even recognize Lovino’s name. Just some random number. Might think it was spam and block him altogether.

Lovino’s chest tightened at the thought.

God, he still couldn’t do it. Even after all that—after crossing into another world and meeting a version of Antonio who looked at him like he mattered—he was still a coward. Still the same scared little idiot who couldn’t pick up the phone.

He set the phone down on the desk and stared at it.

Well—he didn’t have to call, right? He could just text. That was less terrifying. Lower stakes.

Except—what if the text was flagged as junk? What if Antonio thought it was some kind of prank?

The longer he hesitated, the more vivid the imagined failures became.

Lovino gritted his teeth.

What the hell was he doing? He’d literally traveled to another universe. He’d talked to another version of himself, watched a future he could’ve had unfold right in front of him. And now he was scared of one phone call?

Just a call. Just asking Antonio—his Antonio—to meet up.

He reached for the phone again. His hands were shaking.

He unlocked it, scrolled to the very top of his contacts list. Antonio.

Of course he was still pinned there.

His thumb hovered. Slipped. Tried again. Once, twice, three times. Missed.

But on the fourth try—

He tapped the name.

The line began to ring.

___

“So… you really traveled to a parallel universe? And met another version of me—and you—as actual countries?”
Antonio’s eyes sparkled with wonder,like he’d just stepped into a fairytale.

“For the last time, yes, it’s true, stupido,” Lovino huffed, rolling his eyes. “Do I look like the kind of person who’d make up something that ridiculous?”

They were walking through the park near their old high school. Antonio had even bought them crêpes—strawberry and chocolate—claiming they should create new, sweet memories to overwrite the painful ones.

“But still, it’s incredible, Lovi! Like something out of a fairytale. And the fact that the first thing you did after coming back was call me and ask to meet up… You have no idea how happy that made me. I really thought you might never speak to me again. I was so reckless—I hurt you. So when I saw your name on my phone, I—Lovi, it was honestly the best phone call of my life—”

“Shut up, bastardo!”
Lovino snapped, face flushing bright red. He swung his arm at Antonio.
“You bring that up one more time and I swear I’ll headbutt you straight into another parallel universe!”

“Wah, nooo—I don’t want to go to another universe!”
Antonio was still holding his chocolate crepe, but managed to throw his arms around Lovino anyway—carefully, so as not to smear whipped cream on him.
“What if I can’t come back? That’d be my worst nightmare. Because then I wouldn’t get to see you. I just wanna be with you, Lovi… for the rest of my life.”

“You and your sweet-talking nonsense,” Lovino muttered, elbowing him in the ribs—though the small smile on his face gave him away.

“I mean it,” Antonio said, looking absurdly sincere. “It feels like I was born to say sweet things to you, Lovi.”

“Stop being stupido. Idiota.”
Lovino rolled his eyes again—an instinct by now. Then he tilted his head toward Antonio’s hand.
“Let me try a bite of yours. I wanna taste the chocolate.”

“Hmm~ should I or shouldn’t I?”
Antonio pretended to agonize over the decision. Under Lovino’s steadily sharpening glare, he finally grinned and pointed at the strawberry crêpe in Lovino’s hand.
“Okay, how about this—if I get a bite of yours, you get a bite of mine.”

“You ridiculous bastardo,” Lovino said, half-laughing as he shoved the strawberry crepe toward Antonio’s mouth.
“Come on, eat it already.”

Antonio held Lovino’s hand gently and bit into the crêpe with exaggerated delight. “Mmm—it’s so good—!”

Lovino watched him, amused by the way his curly brown hair bounced with every movement. He snorted.
“Is it really that good?”

“Well…” Antonio wiped cream from the corner of his mouth.
“If regular crêpes are like, a 10 out of 10… then a crepe from Lovi’s hand is at least a 100!”

“What, do my hands have magic or something?” Lovino scoffed, but his voice was lighter now. “Alright, now give me yours.”

“Here you go~”
Antonio offered his crêpe, but just as Lovino leaned in to take a bite, Antonio lifted his arm—high enough that Lovino couldn’t reach it.

“You bastardo! What the hell are you doing!?”

Lovino was ready to punch him, but Antonio just kept smiling like a smug idiot.

“Sorry, Lovi,” he said, leaning down.
“But I just had to do this first.”

And then he kissed him.

Lovino froze mid-reach, face flushed all the way to his ears. Antonio kissed him gently at first—slow, familiar—but Lovino was never one to stay passive. He retaliated with a nip to Antonio’s tongue, making the other boy chuckle low in his throat. Antonio’s free hand cupped his cheek, deepening the kiss, and for a moment the air between them tasted like strawberries and warm sugar.

“Stupido…” Lovino murmured breathlessly between kisses, arms winding around Antonio’s neck. “I hate you the most…”

“And I love you the most,” Antonio whispered.
“No matter how many times you say you hate me, no matter what you do or say… I’ll always love you, Lovi. I know I was too much of a coward before to chase after you, and you had to be the one to reach out first. But from now on, I’m not going to leave your side. Not even one step.”

Lovino felt his heart clench—because he knew exactly what Antonio was talking about. About that day. About the place they were standing in now. About how he’d pushed him away.

God, this idiot.

Lovino’s lips curved upward before he could stop them.
“…Got it, dumbass.”