Work Text:
"What's so great about him, anyways?"
The scene is this - a trio of friends in college. A German albino, a happy-go-lucky Spaniard, and a touchy Frenchman are enjoying their lunch on the campus grounds. Spring has given way to better weather, and with that comes one of their usual breaktime activities - people watching.
The question, spat out in disgust from one Gilbert Beilschmidt, breaks through the thoughts of his friend, Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, whose attention is preoccupied by the so-called 'him'.
Him, being Lovino Vargas, a sophomore transfer student to their uni, who is standing a distance away and flirting with another all-too eager swooning maiden of the student body. His precioso tomate looks so suave with the sun shining in his face just right, painting his cheekbones and that signature smirk of his in a warm glow. He looks so cool with the wind catching on his auburn hair, wearing the most stylish designer brands sourced straight from Italy. In other words… he looks amazing. How could he have thought he was anything but when he first joined their school?
Gilbert is still one to disagree.
"Pretentious prick, that's what he is."
That snaps Antonio out of his star-crossed gazing. "Huh?"
Gilbert is gesturing wildly and talking loudly, as if he wanted Lovino to know he is the subject of his tirade. "He's snatched up all the girls from the awesome me, and the somewhat awesome you and Fran! And he's gotten with a ton of guys… how, I don't even know. Plus, he's been such a dick to mein kleiner Bruder. He even turned down an offer to join Pan Sopphic, the best fraternity this university has to offer. Who turns down PANS?"
"Arthur, for one," Francis, sitting beside Antonio, raises his hand and counting off on his fingers. "Your little birdy Matthew… oh what a shame that was. He's so much more…" He clucks his tongue, a twinkle in his eye as he waggles his eyebrows, "…than his twin brother, if you know what I mean."
"Keep it to yourself, Fran, Matty's mine! Especially during next month's gala… Speaking of." Gilbert pivots to Antonio, whose eyes have once more gone off in the direction of Lovino. Lovino, who Antonio imagines is flirting with him and not a stranger, whose attention is devoted to Antonio alone. "Who are you taking to the gala, Toni?"
Antonio sighs at the sight, this time, not in awestruck wonder, but with that sinking feeling that had been simmering in the pit of his stomach for some time, the more he sees Lovino smile and enchant the student body with his beautiful self. Guys and girls alike all fell for his charms. People may claim he's too airheaded for his own good, but he's aware enough to know that what he feels is jealousy. Yet he couldn't do anything about it, but wish things were different.
A pale hand starts waving in front of his face, obstructing his view of Lovino. "Hello? Earth to Toni? Toni to Earth, do you copy?"
"Wha-? "He blinks, rubbing his eyes and looking up at Gilbert, who looks exasperated at this point. He pointedly tries not to look at Francis, though at the corner of his eye, he can see the Frenchman regarding him with scrutiny, rubbing his chin and the insignificant amount of scruff there.
Gilbert groans. "Geez, where is your head these days… The gala, Toni. The charity event we're holding in two weeks to fundraise for the frat and… what was it again? Saving the whales?
"…The food pantry, Gil. We're raising money for the food pantry to expand," Francis reminds him. He turns his attention to Antonio, sizing him up and throwing an arm around his shoulders. "Oh, you must have someone you're taking, mon ami! You can't stay single forever."
"What happened to being the 'Bad Touch Trio' that breaks hearts wherever we go?" Antonio says weakly, trying to pry the blond's arm off, while also trying to redirect his attention elsewhere.
"That was two years ago! Where is the love in your life? The passion?" Francis urges.
"We've got dates already, dude. It would suck to see you as fifth wheel. Not awesome at all," Gilbert adds.
"Unless… you have someone already in mind, and you don't want to tell your best friends?" There's that all-knowing smile, a 'hon-hon-hon' already on Francis' lips.
Antonio tries his hardest not to look at Lovino, but he can still hear him and his laughter… and the girl who made him laugh, too, he thinks bitterly. "Ah... there's no one," he lies.
"Laaame. Lizzy knows this chick from our Engineering class who is pretty cute, maybe you'll…" Gilbert pauses, remembering what kind of person Elizabeta is. "On second thought, Lizzy also knows this guy from her music club, he might be your type. C'mon, Toni. I might be taken, but you -" He takes a step back and waves his hands in front of Antonio. "You got a lot going for ya. What do you say?"
"I'll say…" A chime, a loud one, interrupts him. The clocktower has struck the next hour. Which reminds him, he has somewhere… important to be. Someone important to see. "…I have to get going, mi amigos." With a wave, he sets off towards the university apartments, the private ones for the more well-off students.
It is a fact that does not go unnoticed by his friends. "Man, whoever Toni's got in his bed must have a pretty swanky flat," Gil offers unhelpfully, as the two of them watch the Spaniard go.
"Who indeed…" Francis trails off. He had an eye for love, especially when it was right under his nose. He studied each person walking in the same direction, hoping to spot their friend's mysterious lover.
But what he failed to notice was a stray curl in a sea of unremarkable faces, curled instinctively in the shape of a heart, its owner also determined to see someone of importance, too.
Antonio knows full well what is so great about Lovino. Knew for exactly six months… well, even more, if he is being completely honest.
Lovino liked to say they've only ever been a 'thing' for six months - called as such because it was something the Italian refused to give any official name to, even if their sporadic hookups in the beginning slowly, but surely gave way to more intimate encounters over the better part of the year.
This thing resulted now in a whole Lovino in his lap, wriggling this way and that as he tried to organize their makeshift picnic in the living room of Lovino's apartment, far away from prying eyes - egotistical Germans, perverted Frenchmen, and airheaded brothers, to name a few.
This picnic Lovino had planned wasn't supposed to be 'anything serious' (Lovino's words, not his). But it was scheduled around the same time they had even started seeing each other, six months prior, and his meticulous… lover? boyfriend? friend with benefit? insisted that they prepare a series of Spanish/Italian dishes for the occasion. Homemade, obviously, and Lovino would bring a wine from his Nonno's winery back home. A blanket was set up, the furniture was moved around, and the fluffiest of pillows were pulled from Lovino's closet. The blinds were partly shut, with candles as an additional source of light, and Antonio could hear the faint crooning of Italian ballads from a record player nearby.
It makes Antonio's heart soar at the sentimentality of it all.
"Lovi, cariño, I think the setup is fine the way it is, don't you think?" Antonio breathes the question lowly over the shell of his tomate's ear, before tightening his hold around his waist and resting his chin on his shoulder. Ah, his Lovi was so warm… and smelled so, so good, as he nosed his way to the skin beneath his collar.
"You're just saying that… and stop sniffing me, bastard!" Lovino starts squirming in Antonio's grasp, only causing the Spaniard to hold on to him tighter, laughing. "I mean it! Are you a dog?!"
"Grr… woof, woof, bark!" Antonio says, as a presses wet kisses to Lovino's cheek and neck in-between his pantomime. Now his querido cannot even keep up the facade of seriousness, a smile breaking onto his face as he cries out in mock-agony, and after several moments, tired of saliva coating his skin, he turns to place his lips upon Antonio's, effectively shutting him up.
It was always a method that proved effective for silencing one lovestruck Spaniard, after all.
His cariño angles his body so that they're now chest to chest to continue their fervent, frantic kissing, their food now forgotten, while Antonio's working his fingers over the delicate buttons of Lovino's luxury cardigan sweater, eager for it to be off - for all of Lovino's clothes to be off, really.
In the half-hour that follows, in his post-orgasmic state of bliss, with Lovino preparing them dishes in just Antonio's shirt (refusing to let the food go to waste, as any good Italian would), Antonio pictures an alternate reality.
Oh, how he wishes they could be more open about their relationship. Yes, their relationship, though Lovino always clammed up whenever Antonio tried to broach the subject. What they were doing had stopped being purely physical ages ago, and he is certain, absolutely certain, that Lovino feels the same way, after a drunken night between them, when Lovino admitted he's the only one worth seeing, again and again.
[Lovino vehemently denied saying anything of the sort the morning after, but his tomato-red face was enough to give it away]
Now what was stopping them from taking the next step, announcing to the world, all their friends and family, that they were dating?
Lovino, for that matter. The Italian was so certain that it would be ruinous to Antonio's reputation - he, the golden boy of university, together with such a black sheep? Not to mention, his friends hated him.
Even though Antonio had assured him, time and time again, that it would not be the case. Gil and Fran were only joking around. Still, Lovino would not be swayed. Their… thing, though it became exclusive, was kept private and undefined. They didn't associate together in public, didn't bother with dates. Lovino still flirted with other men and women. Though Antonio was sure that cooking meals for each other, watching movies together, with their hands intertwined underneath the blankets - had date-like qualities. Amongst other things.
"Hey… idiot," Lovino says, cheeks reddening at Antonio's unrelenting gaze. "Stop staring and eat the food I made for you. It's not every day I make arancini. Or zuppa di pesce. Or… any of this really. Stop smiling, you fool!" He has settled in front of Antonio, pulling up the Spaniard's fraternity letterman jacket to wrap around his shoulders as he begins eating the dish Antonio made. He looks… content with every bite he takes, his amber brown eyes looking at peace in this little haven made, just for them.
Of course, Antonio would respect his tomate's wishes. But it hurt sometimes to see his own friends, with their own relationships on display, unafraid of what others thought and so openly in love. Why couldn't that be him and Lovi?
A ping from the coffee table. It was his phone, forgotten in the midst of their picnic. He looks, briefly, an email from Gilbert. Another one. He should really unsubscribe, what was the point when they were in the same frat…
It clicks. It could be. They could be together like the others. In two weeks.
"Mi cielo?"
"Hm? What is it?" Lovino questions in-between bites. He leans in close, letting their their knees touch.
"Are you free in two weeks… on the 15th, by chance?"
"…What for?" His cute brows furrow in thought, his nose scrunching as he weighs out what possibly could the Spaniard want.
"The gala? You know, the Pan Sopphic Annual Spring Gala."
"…Doesn't ring a bell." Lovino says it so quickly, a rush of words before shoveling food into his mouth.
Antonio presses on, "You must have gotten emails about it. Gil's been sending out reminders, weekly." Gilbert, being the frat's secretary, spent a little bit too much time focusing on those emails, if he was being honest. "Everyone is going." He tries to think of Lovino's friends. "Emma. Matthew's going with Gil. Arthur's going… not sure if with Francis or Kiku. It's really nice, Lovi. Overlooks an apple orchard, there's a fountain too. A harpist. Oh, and food. We got a really good caterer, let me try to find the name…" He reaches for his phone. If there was one thing that could convince Lovino, perhaps it could be the food.
Lovino's quiet as he types and searches through his mailbox, the only sound the click-clicking of Antonio's fingers and the faint Italian ballads in the background. "Aha! It's Ceres Catering. They have good reviews, some nice Italian dishes, too. Maybe not as good as yours, but…" He's babbling now, guaging his lover's reaction as he examines the photos on the phone. Lovino is silent, neck bent over, bangs swept over his forehead. That one curl, ever so reactive (and receptive) to Antonio's presence, swayed atop his head. For once, it was not heart shaped.
After a few moments, Lovino hands the phone back. "No."
"I know you'll want to coordinate our suits, so let me know…What?" The answer sinks in. "No? As in… no, you wouldn't like the food?"
"No, I'm not going." It's said with finality, no tail-end left for discussion.
"What? Why not?" Antonio reaches for the Italian, cupping his hands around his. They were cold, still, despite the warmth of the room, and smaller than Antonio's own. He cradled them, gently, hoping to provide them some warmth.
"Why would you want to go with me?"
"Why wouldn't I want to with you, Lovino? Isn't that what…" He strays on the word, whatever it was. Boyfriend? Partner? Lovers? He didn't want to startle Lovino, whose lip was already quivering, his eyes downcast at how Antonio was holding his hands. "…we're seeing each other, why wouldn't we go together?" He places at emphasis on that word, hoping that even when they didn't hold an official title, he would understand.
But Lovino pulls his hands away, holding them to his sides with fists clenched. He's not looking at Antonio anymore. "…together… huh…" He mutters.
Antonio jumps at that, leaning in close to grip Lovino's shoulder with one hand, and his cheek with the other. "Yes, together! Together, mi amor. Aren't we dating?" He lets the word hang there. He said it. Dating. That's what people who see each other, who kiss each other senseless and make each other food, do.
"…You think this is dating?" Lovino scoffs dubiously. "This isn't dating, idiot. What gave you that idea?" He pulls back, brushing away Antonio's hand. "We haven't told anyone. We don't do things outside. Would you even tell your friends, your frat, that you're seeing me?" The discussion, the same one they've been having month after month, plays out again. Only this time, Antonio wants it to reach a different conclusion.
"I… yes," the Spaniard says earnestly. "I want to tell them that I've been dating the most wonderful person, mi precioso tomate." If only you'd let me, hangs in the air.
"Really? I know what they say about me. Loose Lovino, who spreads his legs for anyone and anything. Your friends say it too, don't they?" There's a fire to Lovino's eyes, challenging him.
"What? No they don't." Sure, Gil complained about how Lovino turned his nose up at the activities of Pan Sopphic, and Fran always envied the ease at which men and women alike fell for the Italian's charms, but that nickname hadn't come up in quite some time. "They don't, mi amor. I would say something, otherwise." He insists.
"Sure, and I'm the King of Italy. It's still not enough for me to come," he sneers back.
Antonio knew of Lovino's past reputation before they had met, yes, he wasn't one to deny that he had heard rumours around campus. Matthew's brother, that loud-mouthed obnoxious jackass, before he settled down with Ivan Braginsky, of all people. There was Sadiq, the Turkish jock from a rival fraternity, who had bragged about how 'good of a lay that Vargas was', and Antonio knew he wasn't talking about Feli. There were others, too, from what Feliks liked to gossip about, from other schools and from town. 'Sometimes older, too, can you believe it?'
The two years between them wasn't much, but that wasn't so hard to believe.
If he was being honest, he didn't mind these rumours, true or not. He wasn't one to call a kettle black. He's even fucked his way through the school when he was a horny, hormone-driven freshman and sophomore. But since he fell into bed with Lovino, he hadn't seemed to get back out. Lovino had told him it was the same, swearing off his casual hookups and it was more than the fact that Antonio was the 'best dick he's ever taken.'
And yet, and yet, he was still flirting around campus, openly, brazenly, for Antonio to see. Even just an hour ago, he had seen that woman slip him a number. The party they were at last weekend (separately attended, Antonio mourned), a man had copped a feel of Lovino's perky ass as he danced, and it wasn't as if Lovi shied away from the touch, either.
Lovino had caught his eye from across the room, and whether it was the result of deliberation or drink, Antonio couldn't tell. He had stood, frozen in anger, fists clenched at his sides, at the fact that all he could do was look and not touch what should be his, his, his.
But when he thought about it… was he really? The stubborness at which Lovino refused was starting to irk him. Refusal for, what appeared to Antonio, no reason at all. "What do you want me to do, Lovi? Do you want me to shout it from the heavens? Is that what you want? I think that's rather unfair, coming from you."
"…What do you mean?" That catches Lovino off guard.
But there's no stopping Antonio now. "Do you even like me? Or are you…" He thinks back to not just today, but the intensity and frequency at which Lovino continued to flirt as they continued their 'relationship'. "Is this just a game to you? You said you stopped seeing other people, but you're still flirting around." He starts to list off the past few encounters, the ones he knows for a fact. With each one, he remembers how torn he felt, trying to decide if he should tear them away from Lovino entirely or let his heart break, bit by bit, to keep his lover happy.
But for this 'thing' to work between them, it had to go both ways. "You're still flirting. For all I know, you could be…" Antonio doesn't even want to say it, even though the insinuation is there. "It's like you don't even want to date me. You said so yourself. You either want me or you don't, Lovino Vargas."
"I…" Lovino's gaze casts to the makeshift picnic laid out in front of them, as if that would explain it. Then to the little clay ornaments on the table, little tomatoes with cute faces they had crafted and painted together for one of their secret dates. Antonio had a matching set in his room, a big tomato with a smile on its face accompanied with a smaller, more serious one with a frown and a stem in a shape of a curl. And finally, to the distance, where Lovino keeps the paintings he works on in a separate room. He liked to paint portraits - Feliciano, his Nonno, his friends. Never Antonio, no matter how much the Spaniard begged.
Antonio can see one is covered, for now. He wonders if it is of him, but casts the thought aside. Even if it was, even with all these sweet gestures, the small ways in which Lovino expressed himself when words weren't his forte… that couldn't hold this together, this tentative, fragile thing that Lovino refused to name.
The silence stretches on between them, Lovino clearly struggling to articulate his thoughts. Even when he was flustered, spluttering and red-faced, Antonio couldn't keep his eyes away from how cute he looked. "I… I… cazzo…"
"What do you want, Lovi?" Antonio ask again, less of a word and more of a sign of encouragement.
"…I think you'll be happier with someone who isn't me!" The words come out in a rush.
Now it's Antonio's turn to be shocked. "…What are you saying? I only want to go with you, Lovi. But only if you want."
The Italian shakes his head. "You should go with someone who deserves those sweet words. I just don't think that person is me." Lovino's tugging off the letterman and tossing it at Antonio, scrambling up and gathering his clothes and throwing the rest at him, too. "Go with someone else, bastard."
Lovino works on the buttons of his shirt, pulls on his pants, adjusts his collar, all the while steadfastedly ignoring Antonio's pleas, the whining stopped short with a single look. "I've made up my mind. Go home, Antonio. Forget about me. Please."
Even when Antonio's pushed outside the apartment, half-dressed and half-wondering just when and where he went wrong, he knows one thing for sure - forgetting about Lovino will be next to impossible.
Just go with someone else.
Go with someone else.
Someone else.
The words replay in Antonio's head for the next few days, like a metronome.
The rest of the frat notices his change in behavior, his overall gloom, and give him a wide berth, with the ocasional pat on the shoulder. In Francis and Gilbert's case, they attempt to console him with wine and beer, promises that they will go out drinking and dancing the night away so he can forget the heartache.
It is all an effort in futility. He drinks, yes, pointedly staying away from any Italian brands that Francis had pilfered from the local wine shop. And he certainly doesn't dance, remembering the way Lovino's eyes would shine brightly when he held his body, flush against his, as they swung in time to some romantic melody under the moonlight.
Lovino does not return his calls or texts, the number no longer going to voicemail (he assumes he is blocked). There is no sign of him on campus either - places like the local coffee shop or the art studio devoid of any spitfire Italians.
Antonio mourns, but he is not sure what exactly he is mourning. The loss of a relationship-to-be? How could he mourn something he never even had? He cradles the bits of Lovino that remain with him - the polaroids of them at a private beach months back, the tie he had given Antonio after he had forgotten his own for an important presentation, the tomato charm for his phone, its matching pair with Lovino.
Speaking of tomatoes… He is no longer even interested in tending to the tomato plants that line the fraternity's entrance, and that is what his two best friends declare is the 'final straw.'
"Antonio, mon cherie, this cannot do," Francis clucks his tongue over the state of the Spaniard, and more importantly his room, a state of disrepair. Antonio lays face down on his bed, having casted his phone to the side after staring at Lovino's pictures for hours. His clothes, both clean and messy, are strewn across the floor with his textbooks and papers. "Whoever they are… they are not worth you treating yourself like this. Terrible."
"Yeah, this is unawesome of you, Toni. Get it together, man." Gilbert plops down on the side of the bed next to his friend's prone form. He picks up his phone. "Who was it? I have a few words for her…"
"No!" Antonio hears the clicking of keys across a screen and instinctively lurches up to grab the device from the albino's hands. Gil did know his password after all, the backup when a drunk Toni would lock himself out of his own phone one-too many times.
Gilbert blinks at the sudden loss of a phone from his hands, then gazes down at his friend, who is trying very hard to look like he doesn't have anything to hide. "…Him?" He guesses.
"It's no one," Antonio insists, a lie through his teeth. "No one at all. No one that matters," he says again, and his chest hurts with that phrase. No, Lovino matters very much to him. Too much, almost.
Gilbert and Francis look at each other. A second passes between them, and Antonio tries to figure out what kind of mischievous plan they have in mind.
"No one, you say?" Francis begins, his lips upturned into that creepy smile of his.
"Yes, no one," Antonio huffs out.
"Then you are free to spend time with us, right?" Gilbert asks.
"If it's another one of your biergartens…"
"No, it's even better." And without further ado, he's hauled up onto his feet by Gil and styled, hair, clothes, and all, by Francis , or as much the Frenchman can work with, given his haphazard wardrobe.
A few printed flyers, some tape, and a marker later, he finds himself on the quad, sitting at a booth. They're not advertising the Pan Sopphic frat or its event today. No, Gilbert with a bullhorn in hand, standing on a chair. "Looking for romance? Looking for love? Then look no further than to my very single friend, Antonio Carriedo!" He yells to the crowd as they wander this way and that to their next destination in-between classes. He describes Antonio's sunny disposition, his romantic tendencies, his good looks (only second to his own!).
Francis hands out flyers, speaking vividly of how good Antonio is in bed (he didn't tell the blond of his ability to do that with his tongue, did he?).
Half of the people who pass by are amused, pausing and studying trio of friends with laughter. Elizabeta and Kiku have situated themselves a table away, tissues and binoculars handy, to watch how this all unfolds. A quarter of them are used to Gilbert's antics (Roderich shot him a dirty look as he made his way to the music building).
But the last quarter of people are curious. Beautiful, dangerously attractive women and men approach him, asking to explain himself better than his foolish friends. A few giggle, some stammer over their words, and others speak to him with flirtatious intent. At first, Antonio is not sure what to say. He politely takes their numbers and social media contacts, awkwardly chuckling at the situation he's been placed in to dissipate the tension. They are all hot, sexy people who are suddenly making their claim on him. He's never paid them any mind before, his attention always zeroed in on his cute Lovi.
But Lovi's not his anymore, is he? Wasn't his to begin with…
Now he remembers how Lovino would flirt ceaselessly in front of him. Teasing him. Mocking him. As if Antonio didn't matter to him.
So who was he to not do the same?
"Antonio?" A soft voice calls. He lifts up his head and his eyes widen, his breath taken away by the woman in front of him. She introduces herself as Chiara. She is small, shorter than him, curvy in all the places Antonio likes. And with a strange curl atop her head that reminds him of… He chases that thought away as she talks to him, determined to 'get this over with, because she was dared by her idiota roommates'. She's been in a couple of his classes before, she explains, and always found him 'endearing and just a little stupid' when compared to the other perverts he called friends.
"And attractive, yes? Just a little stupid can't be the only reason you approached me," he smiles, for once, flirting back.
Chiara huffs at that, her face cherry red, and her non-response is answer enough.
The more they chat, the more Antonio finds himself relaxing. She is different when compared to the others who had approached him prior. Refreshing in how blunt she is, how fiery she gets about the arts in which she majors. He wants to ask if she knows about Lovino and his work, how immersed he gets in a project that he shields it from the whole world, how lovely his hands are when crafting a new piece for his classes.
(She probably doesn't know about that last part)
He's so caught up in their conversation that he almost misses the scent of an all-too familiar expensive cologne, and his eyes try to find its owner, and when he does, they light up, without him even realizing. The cologne is on a body with an impeccable taste in fashion, a lovely figure too - his eyes travel up the shapely miles-long legs, a slim waist that he enjoyed gripping in the palms of his hands, a taut chest onto which there was a well-fitted sweater (and it hid those peaky nipples Antonio loved so much), and finally, to the poutiest of lips, etched in that signature scowl.
It's Lovino. He's only a few meters away, gripping the strap of his bag tightly. His eyes are focused on the banner - Single Spaniard for Sale! From where he is sitting, Antonio cannot make out his exact expression - is he satisifed? Isn't this what he wanted? Antonio himself is conflicted - torn between wanting to run up to him, cradle him in his arms, and make amends, to watching him stew in his own feelings, as he continued to flirt with Chiara. Now he will know how it feels, if he feels anything at all.
His brother, Feliciano, chooses this moment runs up to him. "Fratellone!" He hears Feliciano say, because his voice can carry over any distance. "Big brother Toni is for sale, don't you see?"
He cannot hear Lovino's response. "Don't you want to go and talk to him? You've been interested…" The rest is cut off, both by Lovino, who is aware by now that he is within listening distance (he curses his brother's loud mouth) and by Chiara, who redirects his attention back to him.
"Ah, Antonio, are you listening?" Chiara waves her hands in front of him. "Or are you spacing out?"
He apologizes, trying to shift his whole attention to her. The quad is loud, it is hard to concentrate with so much going on and all, he says. Gilbert is still shouting on his bullhorn, though it is more to argue with Roderich over the impropriety of his actions. And Frances… well, if Frances slinked off to do god knows what, with Arthur or someone else, that was his business alone.
"Airheaded idiot…" It sounds like less of an insult coming from her. More fond, if anything. "Look, Antonio…" She pauses, considering her next few words.
"Yes?"
"W-would you like to go out sometime this weekend with me?" The confidence she carried before is there no longer. "It's just for a bet! Nothing else!" She repeats, before Antonio can respond. There is a little bit of uncertainty in her voice, and he knows this is more than just a bet to her.
"I…" Before he can say anything, wavering on the fine line of yes or no or even maybe, someone else beats him to the punch.
"Excuse me, what are you doing?" Chiara turns, and Antonio looks over her shoulder. Lovino is there, staring at them with an intensity Antonio can only describe as fury.
"Who are you?" Chiara is confused at the intrusion.
"I'm… I'm…" The tell-tale stutter and indecision crosses Lovino's face. He really didn't think this through, did he?
"Lovi… " Antonio says gently, careful to not to spook him. He didn't want to mess things up any further, but something akin to hope bloomed in his chest. What could Lovino be doing here, interrupting someone from asking him out?
"I'm his boyfriend, damnit!" For added emphasis, he points at Antonio and then at himself. "Me and him. We're together. Dating."
It is all Antonio could have ever wanted and more. Lovino declaring his intentions so boldly like one of those period dramas. A part of him wants to swoon at the sight.
"Since when?" She points to the sign. "Looks like a clearly single Spaniard to me."
"Since now." He pushes his way past her to reach Antonio. Now they're just a table apart, Lovino focusing all his anger solely on him. He feels it in the fierceness in which Lovino grabs onto his collar, the one Francis tried to smooth out an hour ago, pulls him up and kisses him squarely on the mouth. It is a fight of dominance, and it is one Antonio doesn't mind conceding to, not really. Lovino is all passion and fury, pressing as much of himself to Antonio, even with the table in their way. At first, it is one drawn out kiss, with a little bit too much tongue and teeth and the angling of faces and hands, but Antonio lets his rest on Lovino's waist, and then higher up to feel the warm skin underneath.
When they've run out of air to breathe, resurfacing back to reality, Antonio peppers small kisses all over his angry tomate's face, in an attempt to calm him. "Mi cielo." A kiss to the corner of his head, by his eyebrow. "Mi amor." A kiss under his eye. "Mi cariño." A kiss to his cheek. "Mi precioso tomate." A kiss to the side of his lips.
It works, he thinks. The hands at his collar turn to weak little punches. The glare creasing Lovino's face softens into an openness he hasn't seen before. "You jerk. You idiot. You… you…" A sniffle. A tear or two at the corner of his eyes.
Oh no.
In a less-than Herculean effort, he pushes the table that has been separating them (and digging into his waist, too), to bring his hands back around Lovi, this time around his calves. He lifts him, easily, the Italian flailing in mid-air as he's manuevered into a bridal carry.
"W-what are you doing? Antonio, you're making a scene!" Lovino screeches, those weak punches turning stronger.
"We've already made a scene," he singsongs, letting his grip tighten around Lovino's body protectively, possessively. He doesn't care any longer about hiding his feelings. He wants them all to know.
He glances around, the surrounding students looking at them in silent shock, having been privy to the scene of passion that had just occurred. Gilbert is frozen, trying to comprehend the fact that his best friend is dating an anti-frat 'pretentious prick'. Kiku's got his camera out and Elizabeta is holding a tissue to her nose. Francis is nowhere to be found, but if he was here, he would ask to join them, he knows for certain.
And Chiara… well he's sympathetic.
"I'm so sorry, Chiara," he says as he walks by her, the girl looking down at her feet.
She turns away, nose upturned. "Don't be, idiot. It was just for a bet."
She looks a little sad, but Antonio doesn't have time to think too much of it. There's a tap to his nose, and an irritated, "Hey, hey! Eyes over here!" coming from Lovino.
He carries them to somewhere private, the greenhouse at the edge of campus. A few students already inside, seeing the scene at the door - a jovial Spaniard carrying an embarrassed-looking Italian, squirming in his arms, know to make themselves scarce (after all, the greenhouse had that reputation for hosting many a hookup now and then).
But for the Antonio, he just wants to talk. He finds an empty part of a table and settles Lovi down atop it, letting his knees dangle over while Antonio stands in-between. "Are you okay, Lovi?" He asks.
"Why wouldn't I be?" He thinks through Antonio's question. "Are we okay?" He whispers now, the weight of what they just did, what he just did settling in. Antonio sees this shift, the proud impulsivity giving way to quiet contemplation.
Were they okay? Lovino just declared to the whole school, which to uni students was practically a microcosm of their whole world, that they were dating, after months of not doing so. But he was almost driven to the point of tears, he thinks. "As long as you are okay," he decides to say, bringing a hand up to cup his cheek. "You were about to cry, mi Lovito. I'm sorry for making you cry."
It's followed with a light punch to his shoulder, and a wince from Antonio, reeling back to rub at the spot. "You're always apologizing to me, making sure I'm okay. What about me, huh? What if I want to apologize first, jerkface?" Lovino blurts out.
"Ah, I'm sorry!"
"Stop forgiving me easily!" Lovino scolds him.
"Okay, I won't forgive you so easily," he nods at this.
Lovino flicks at his nose. "And agreeing with me so easily, too. You're so easy, Antonio Fernandez Carriedo. Easy to please, easy to like, easy to fall for, too." He mumbles this last part out, cheeks pink, before straightening up again. "It's easy for everyone to fall for you, too, you know. They made me jealous."
"You? Jealous?" He sounds incredulous. The idea of Lovi being jealous over them… "What about you? The flirting?" He reminds him, curious as to what he would say.
"They didn't mean anything!" Lovino insists. "You didn't do anything, I thought you didn't even notice at all… or care."
"I did. My attention is always on you."
At this, Lovino covers his face with his hands, and curls in on himself. "Stop saying such embarrassing things!"
"But it's the truth." He pries Lovino's hands away so that the only thing he can do is look, really look at Antonio, golden brown eyes on deep green. "It's hard to look away from you, mi Lovito." He leans in close, and whispers the next part in his ear, so close that Lovino shivers at the contact. "Even when someone else has your attention, you'll always have mine. You are very distracting." He places his palms on the wood on either side of Lovi's body, effectively caging him in.
Instead of resistance, he finds ankles hooked around his legs, Lovino effectively pulling him down so he towers over him while they laying against on the table. "Then do something about it next time, huh? If I'm really your cariño, you better prove it!" He challenges.
"And what about you, hm? What do you want from me? Just so we're clear. I want you to say it, Lovi. Say what you mean for once."
Lovino kisses him, instead.
They still have much to talk about, a lot of clearing-the-air. But Antonio understands now, behind the sarcasm and the scowls, the cooked food and the crafts, is something that can be said without words.
With every kiss and nip down his neck, with skillful fingers undoing the buttons of his pants, every breathless gasp and moan, every tear that falls from pleading lust-filled eyes, he can hear Lovino's thoughts loud and clear.
What I want is you.
"Are they always going to be like this?"
The scene has changed to several weeks later. It is this - the night of the gala, everyone who is anyone (at least at their uni) dressed to the nines is drinking semi-decent champagne and schnapps and pilfering the hors d’oeuvres from the elegantly decorated tables. Music from a harpist (Fran's idea, not Gil's) plays all around the ballroom. And the trio of friends is… well, currently a duo, the Spaniard too wrapped up in his lovely little Italian minx to pay his friends any mind.
Wrapped in the literal sense, Antonio's hands always seeking out any and every part of Lovino that was appropriate in a public setting. It drove Gilbert insane how lovesick his friend was, though he did have Matthew on his lap when they were seated only minutes prior, so it wasn't like he was one to talk.
"It's new love, Gil! Our Toni has grown up," Francis cheers from beside him, downing another glass of red wine. "Were it not for us, he would have still been moping and dateless."
"Well, when you put it that way… I'll forgive him for ditching us. For now."
For now, Antonio's friends are appeased. For now, Lovino is content in Antonio's arms, resting his head on his chest as they dance slowly to the next song. For now, Antonio is at peace, no interested men or women eyeing his Lovi for once.
But flirting with outsiders has taken on a new meaning for them, a little game they play from time to time, to test, to see.
What will Lovino say? What will Antonio do?
If you choose me, I'll choose you.