Chapter Text
Words cannot be perfect,
Even the silent art succumbs to its deceptive glamour.
Yet behind its delicate brushstrokes and dabs, which remain for eternity,
Lies the feeling of love that grants one entry into its heaven on earth.
Coincidences become moments of destiny, so beautiful as if an angel had blessed them,
One such moment took place at the Belvedere,
Both thought they had seen an angel.
No one suspected that they, of all people, were meant for one another.
Like the lovers in Klimt’s ‘The Kiss’.
~♥~
The lovely glow of the sun gently sent its rays down upon that little patch of earth, warming it and painting it with its precious, golden hue, like a blank canvas just waiting to be transformed, with the artist’s help, into something beautiful and unforgettable. The day was gradually drawing to a close and, as if for this very occasion, was showing itself at its most beautiful. For many, this natural phenomenon might be something mundane. Something that happened every day and no longer held any significance.
Yet for some others, who cherished the everyday as if it were precious jewellery from a treasure trove, this time of day revealed itself as the jewel of their lives… as the visual, contemplative reward for their hard, never-ending labour.
Antonio strolled alongside Roderich, just waiting for his ex-boyfriend to look up from his mobile and find his way to the Belvedere without the constant help of Google Maps. Sighing, the Spaniard rolled his eyes and smiled slightly. Despite the fact that Roderich had lived in Vienna for years, his sense of direction remained so appalling that he was reliant on a map for every new destination that didn’t turn out to be a Billa or a Spar for grocery shopping. They had reached the point where Antonio himself might well have found his way to the Belvedere more quickly and, above all, more easily and freely. And without any technical aids. Yet he only visited the Austrian capital a few times a year to meet up with Roderich when they both had time off.
Although their relationship had ended five years ago and the dark-haired Austrian had already found a new girlfriend, though Antonio and Roderich maintained a healthy friendship and looked back on their shared past with a clear conscience. There was no trace of romantic love in their lives now; their teenage romance had faded for both of them.
Antonio looked at the black wire fence beside him, running his fingers along the individual bars.
Would he one day find someone again with whom he could be happy?
It had been five years now since he’d last been able to hold someone lovingly in his arms. It had been five years since he’d last been able to wake someone with gentle kisses. It had been five years since he’d last felt that intoxicating, exhilarating flutter in his stomach… since his heart had pounded against his chest with unbridled joy and poured out all the love it held within.
“Right, we’re here,” a soft voice mumbled suddenly beside him, and out of the corner of his eye Antonio noticed Roderich finally putting his mobile away. Just a few metres further on stood the wide, open wrought-iron gate leading to the Belvedere’s garden, adorned with many ornate, vine-like curves rising upwards. The Baroque elements, even in the outdoor area, stood out from the ugly, starkly urban surroundings and invited one into a tranquil, bygone world, far removed from the fast-paced, stressful reality.
For a place in this old town, this was nothing new. Baroque buildings were everywhere here; traces of that era could be found both at cultural sites and in everyday life, in the old buildings. Yet the garden alone, from the very first step, radiated a tranquillity that enchanted both heart and mind; it compelled one to become calm and mindful.
Antonio looked around in amazement, curiously taking in every tiny detail his eyes could make out. A seemingly endless path, paved with light-grey pebbles, stretched from the entrance area right over to the marble-coloured castle complex; on both sides, to the left and right, the freshly mown grass grew undisturbed in its manicured patches, whilst the neatly trimmed, cone-shaped bushes completed the scene, which the twenty-five-year-old could only regard with admiration. In the centre of these meadows lay sweeping, artfully crafted patterns reminiscent of simplified, vine-like wall motifs from the Renaissance. It was as though an emblem lay at the heart of this vast garden, one that only revealed itself when viewed from different angles. Water bubbled merrily from individual, simply decorated marble fountains, and some visitors chose to take the higher side paths on their way, which were linked to the main aisle of the garden by small flights of steps. Antonio was thoroughly amazed. Especially in the summer sun, it seemed almost like an everlasting fairy-tale dream.
“Close your mouth, or the mosquitoes will fly right into it.” The slightly older man beside him pushed Antonio’s slightly open jaw back up with the back of his hand, a look of exasperation on his face. Roderich sighed and briefly massaged the bridge of his nose. “Never mind, where shall we go? The Upper or Lower Belvedere. Or both?”
But the Spaniard remained hesitant and awkward in the face of his friend’s spontaneous question. “No idea… I can’t picture what’s inside, amigo,” Antonio’s bright green eyes scanned the pure white façade and the brick-red roof of the Belvedere, “What’s in there anyway?”
In the blink of an eye, Roderich slapped his forehead and immediately ran his hand through his thick, dark-brown hair, the roots of which were already slightly damp with sweat from the heat. “Oida, I told you that last night. Just how bad is your short-term memory, for goodness’ sake?” Roderich immediately grumbled at his ex-boyfriend, then swallowed his annoyance. “The Belvedere is an art museum.”
A simple “Oh” was the only thing that came from the dreamy Spaniard’s lips. He didn’t really feel like strolling through old corridors to look at pictures he could easily find on the internet anyway. “It sounds a bit dull, but oh well. Let’s go then, though I doubt there’s anything in there that’ll really catch my eye and appeal to me.” The Spaniard shrugged apologetically and gave the Austrian a wry smile. He really ought to realise that Antonio was more of an active sort who wanted to experience things and didn’t want to go through anything at too slow a pace. He was patient enough, but the tranquillity that Roderich so favoured was a daily struggle for Antonio, given his inner restlessness. That was a point on which the two of them had repeatedly clashed when they were still together. One wanted adventure; the other preferred to enjoy the monotonous tranquillity at his incredibly slow pace.
“Ugh, you really are a philistine. First you criticise my taste in music, then every single sight. You really don’t understand art at all.” Roderich, whose way with words – unlike his appearance – was anything but polished or refined, rolled his eyes and nodded towards the ticket office. There were currently just two people in the queue. “Over there. Let’s just go and get the tickets. Who knows, maybe you’ll find something in there that fascinates you after all.”
Admitting defeat, Antonio raised both hands halfway into the air and trotted after Roderich like a poor little lapdog. He would much rather have stayed in that wonderfully designed, endless garden, but Roderich was hogging all the attention. “All right then, but only if we do something outside afterwards. I don’t fancy hanging about indoors in this sort of weather. This afternoon is simply too lovely for that.”
***
A creaking sound, long-drawn-out and uneven, accompanied every step that landed on the honey-coloured parquet floor. A square pattern stretched out endlessly across it, made up of alternating dark and light strips of wood. In some rooms, one would expect to find no one at all; in others, there might be as many as three people at a time. No one spoke a word, and if they did, one could hear at most a faint whisper; much like the rustling of aspen leaves in the summer breeze. Hanging on the walls were numerous paintings, some finely detailed, others more roughly executed, each possessing its own style that brought to light the soul, the truest self, of their artists. One artist was likely someone who relied on impression and feeling, painting with bold colours, a blurred dab, and the freedom not to adhere strictly to reality.
Another might well have been someone who loved detail… who wanted to preserve his perspective for eternity… who wished to immortalise life, with all its dark sides and glimmers of light, like a never-ending dream.
Yet another might have been an individual who incorporated his personal touch into his commissions… the colours chosen, the perspective, the brushstrokes… even if the subject matter did not arise from self-interest, it brought the artist’s soul into the present, immortalised it, and endowed the painted figure with toil, diligence and beauty.
Antonio had left the Lower Belvedere behind him; it led straight down to the cellar via the marble steps and surprised one with the paintings of a West Asian artist. The medieval paintings, too, belonged to his past; they all depicted the Christian faith at its zenith… for they were, after all, the defining feature of that era. Roderich led him on, one floor higher to the next level, through the dark-framed door. Immediately, his gaze was drawn to the snow-white, flawless statue that stood enthroned before its mirror: Cupid and Psyche.
With a deep-seated bittersweetness in his heart, he contemplated the scene depicted, in which the princess named Psyche nestled against her beloved Cupid, clinging to him as he spread his wings to fly.
A spark of longing spread through his soul, flaring up like the leaping flame of a sparkler the longer he contemplated the artwork. How he longed to have someone by his side who would snuggle up to him with all their sincere love and want to stay by his side, no matter what difficulties might strike them like the lightning of Zeus. Antonio wanted that closeness back – emotionally as well as physically. Antonio wanted to pour out his big heart to someone and lay the greatest treasure he possessed – his heart – at the feet of someone who would lovingly make it their own and, in turn, bestow upon him what was originally theirs. Antonio wanted to share his life with someone, to love someone with all their flaws and faults, to find someone to whom he could reveal his vulnerability and his truest self.
His chest tightened, triggering a cool tingling sensation in his stomach and upper arms that wrapped itself around him like a cool silk scarf.
A wry smile spread across his face. Antonio lost himself in a sea of unfulfilled wishes, longings and hopes. He was simply unwell – lovesick, to be precise – without any real goal in sight. He took a deep breath, left the spot where he’d been standing just a moment before, along with the feelings that were welling up, so as not to give in to them. He was behaving like a thirteen-year-old girl who was in love with the very concept of love itself. Yet there wasn’t just one form of love… There were so many facets to this concept, and no two were alike. Every single facet was unique, just like every person in this world.
Some loved through actions. Some loved through words. Some loved through emotional romance. Some loved through physical closeness. Some loved through trust. Some loved through platonic love. Some loved through their hobbies. Some loved through food. Some loved through art. Some loved through music.
And there were so many other kinds of love that it was impossible to list them all. No one was forced to experience just one kind of love; at the same time, no one was forced to choose any kind of love for themselves either, and that was fine. Whether you were a hopeless romantic or even found your place on the aromantic spectrum, at the end of every person’s journey lay the happiness to be sought, which could not have been more varied or diverse.
And Antonio’s personal happiness seemed to lie in another person. In the person to whom he wished to entrust his whole heart. He just hadn’t found them yet.
To keep his spirits up, he joined Roderich again, who was patiently reading the background story of a painting created by one of the members of the former Viennese Secession. Antonio himself ignored all the unnecessary text and much preferred to look at the painting without being distracted by superfluous words. After all, he’d been dragged here to look at the paintings, not to read the small print. He waited briefly, but then realised that Roderich was taking what felt like an eternity to move on to the next painting. At his own pace, he himself would probably have raced through the entire Belvedere and its gardens three times over by now. Impatiently, the young man shifted from foot to foot, his eyes darting from one point to the next, and unconsciously fidgeted with his fingers. How much longer would Roderich take?
The focused man in spectacles seemed to have noticed the Spaniard’s impatience; he let out a quiet sigh and turned his head only halfway towards him. “You can go on ahead if you like. You don’t need to wait for me.”
Antonio felt as though he’d been caught red-handed and scratched the back of his head nervously. His inner restlessness was probably immediately apparent. He wore his emotions like an open book wherever he went.
Nevertheless, he accepted his friend’s suggestion, replied with nothing more than a quiet, barely audible “OK”, and continued his tour of the museum at his own pace. The weight on his shoulders lifted. At last, he didn’t have to constantly make allowances for Roderich’s snail-like pace. He could now do exactly as he pleased.
He disappeared straight into the next room, casting brief glances at the paintings of women by those Art Nouveau artists, and then carried on his way. The number of tourists in the various exhibition rooms was growing steadily. The creaking of the parquet floor grew more frequent and was not caused solely by the Spaniard’s footsteps. Voices grew louder the further he wound his way through the seemingly endless labyrinth of art. Here and there he did indeed spot a painting that appealed to him personally. Yet nothing managed to blow him away. Antonio didn’t really engage with the paintings; he didn’t give them time to make an impression on him. Instead, he wandered restlessly about, as if he were ultimately searching for a light that he had not yet been able to name.
His pace slowed. He tried to be a little more patient, but found it difficult.
How many rooms did he still have to go through before he found himself back at the start?
Antonio didn’t know the answer and was therefore forced to place his life in the hands of an unpredictable fate.
With a solemn air, he moved into the next room, where he was instantly struck by the warm sunshine streaming through the tall, open windows, casting radiant patterns of light onto the floor and the visitors, as if it were an artist in its own right. Tiny specks of dust danced gently and quietly in the light, tickling one’s nose yet instilling a sense of familiarity. Antonio entered the golden, illuminated room and noticed out of the corner of his eye how most of the visitors were gathered round a single painting, taking photographs of it or even jotting down notes on the slips of paper on their clipboards.
A second glance was enough to realise that the majority of the people gathered within these four walls were, in fact, a group of young adults, barely two years younger than himself. Whispers could be heard from one corner, though he couldn’t make out a single word. Almost every one of them was scribbling away on their notepads, as if they’d been set a task that compelled them to view all the works of art on display here with an analytical eye. Some of them were wearing T-shirts bearing the name of a foreign art university he had never heard of before. They must have been students who’d gathered here; at any rate, that assumption explained their uncontrolled scribbling.
Based on the name on the shirts, they were Italian students… were they doing a semester abroad as part of their studies? Or had a group of friends simply decided to tackle their bachelor’s thesis assignments during the holidays?
Antonio immediately felt out of place, surrounded by a crowd of students. He was reluctant to disturb them whilst they were working, but when he noticed the regular tourists right next to them, who wouldn’t be deterred from admiring all the famous works – regardless of whether a student was currently analysing a particular painting. In particular, the convivial semicircle gathered around a certain painting automatically drew Antonio’s attention. So that was where the subdued whispering was coming from, drowning out the scratching of the students’ pencils on the paper.
An invisible force literally drew him towards that crowded spot in the room. It was as if a treasure were hidden behind it, one he mustn’t miss under any circumstances. Antonio didn’t think; he was caught in a trance, whilst his legs intuitively carried him on.
Which painting could possibly fascinate people so much? Why was the room filled not only with sunlight but also with mobile phone cameras? Why was all that whispering centred on this tiny spot?
The more words bubbled through his head, gradually dissolving like watercolour into delicate little arms and fading into eternal oblivion, the further he lost himself in a daydream-like reality that left him dazed and carried him away beyond the pale, unspectacular reality. Far away. To a place where only the dream, the heart and the soul mattered.
Although he was only vaguely aware of the world… Although his thoughts were far removed from his consciousness, he made his way towards the small group of visitors, initially standing at a distance from them and peering through the heads packed closely together. Antonio stretched to catch a full view of the Belvedere’s gem. In vain. The small crowd allowed him to see just a fraction of it before they turned their heads back into his line of sight, having whispered to their neighbour or taken photos with their flashing cameras. It was only when Antonio was confronted with this premature failure that he pushed his way right through the middle, muttering a few accented “Excuse me” and “Lo siento” under his breath as a few elderly ladies made way for him. Lifting his head and no longer paying attention to the two or three young people in front of him, he finally had the chance to see the painting—shimmering with gold and adorned with numerous ornaments, patterns and details—with his own eyes. In awe, Antonio gazed at the delicate brushstrokes of the oil paint, some bold, some pale. Floral motifs in forget-me-not blue and rose red adorned the entire golden robe of the woman in the painting; in contrast, deep, impenetrable black rectangles adorned the equally golden cloak of the man, who was devotedly showering the woman with kisses. The gold leaf surrounding the lovers shimmered preciously in the sunlight streaming through the window; one might think it was a dull mirror intended to show Antonio what he had been searching for all his life...
Awe-struck and speechless at the feeling that filled him, he opened his mouth, but could utter neither a word nor a sound. Reeling, completely oblivious to his surroundings, he took a small step forward – one step after another.
The sunlight streaming in tickled his tanned skin with its warmth.
Suddenly...
Suddenly, a sharp jolt – a resistance – snapped him out of his trance, followed by the sharp sound of pens and paper falling. But the obstacle before him... radiated more warmth than the sun could manage. In the blink of an eye, Antonio caught a whiff of strong perfume, perhaps containing amber or vetiver with sandalwood and jasmine. Delicate, sun-warmed strands brushed the tip of his nose and his lips before Antonio took a big step back due to the slight impact.
“Ehi, ma che cazzo?! Attento a dove vai, bastardo!”
…were the first words hurled at Antonio as soon as he’d regained his composure. Antonio didn’t understand a word, yet he fell silent for a moment. The voice… it sounded like the trickling of the finest gold dust… Although, judging by the timbre, he realised that the owner of that little voice must be anything but gentle and graceful. The last word, ‘bastardo’, led Antonio to conclude that the Italian was hurling insults at him. The young man was already gathering his lost notes from the floor, growling under his breath, perhaps praying that no one would trample on them with their dirty street shoes, and under no circumstances would he look at the culprit. Otherwise, he would surely have been met with a face full of rage and aggression from a hot-tempered man.
“A-Ah, lo siento!” slipped out of Antonio’s mouth at first in his mother tongue, “Excuse me! Sorry!” Not knowing whether the angry man understood him, Antonio let his actions speak for themselves; he knelt down beside him on the floor and helped him gather up his papers. Almost in unison, the two men reached for the last sheet. Their fingers brushed briefly, triggering a shower of sparks in both of them that spread throughout their very being. The Spaniard immediately withdrew his hand. The Italian, however, hesitated briefly, trembled, and snatched up his last sheet in a flash.
Antonio straightened up again, apologised a thousand times over and could only hope that the student – or so he assumed, at least – wouldn’t hold it against him. Ashamed, the twenty-five-year-old looked away and held out the small stack of papers he’d gathered to the other man, whilst the shorter man simply turned his back on him and reorganised his clipboard.
But then… Just as the sunlight streamed in more brightly once more and the glow embraced them both with its lovely, beguiling warmth, the younger man turned hesitantly towards him.
Oh… Antonio’s heart skipped a beat…
A golden glow illuminated his companion’s face, catching in his amber irises, which now shone back at him as if gilded. His chocolate-brown locks framed his heart-shaped face; fine strands shimmered in a soft, subtle copper, visible only in the sunlight like the finest brushstrokes. His snub nose… he would have loved to give it a gentle tap. And his lips…
Antonio found it hard to look away and was no longer able to utter a single word, let alone think. His mind went blank; emptiness overwhelmed him in that moment of human weakness… instead, a light of his own filled the very depths of his soul. And together with this light, this indescribable sight was etched into his immortal soul for all eternity. A sparkle ignited in his emerald-green eyes. The beauty, the vibrant and lively colour of the world, returned to him in the very same breath. His heart gradually began to beat slowly once more… and yet strongly and full of emotion.
Oh…
Antonio was speechless.
Roderich had been right… he had indeed found something – or rather, someone – here that fascinated him.
Holding his breath, Antonio handed the notes to the young man standing before him and found himself captivated once more by his shimmering golden eyes. Oh… Antonio had seen an angel…
Passive aggressively, the student snatched the paper from his hand and let out a burst of huffing.
A fiery angel… Antonio smiled gently to himself.
“Che cazzo hai da guardare?!”
Once again, Antonio was among those special people who could listen to that marvellous, angelic voice… Oh… He could listen to the younger man all day long, even though he didn’t understand a single word. This Italian could insult him or make fun of him, and he would only be vaguely aware of it; yet he would never want to stop listening to this impulsive angel.
Antonio was a prisoner of his own world, enchanted and guided by the sudden, new sensations that were revealing themselves to him. His green irises sparkled like gemstones, vying with one another in the sun, and his mouth opened a crack in amazement. The rest of his surroundings – the other students, the visitors, the paintings, even his friend – blurred into a vast, undulating nothingness. For Antonio, nothing else mattered. Nothing except the person standing before him with a flushed but unmistakably grim face.
“Parli italiano?”, his dismissive expression gradually softened and he tilted his head in puzzlement – he seemed to realise that the man opposite him didn’t understand a word, “Do you speak English?”
At that moment, Antonio was snatched out of his trance in a flash and began to stammer with nervousness and distraction. At least he could guess the question posed by the cute man in front of him. He seemed to be asking whether he spoke Italian or English. Neither was exactly one of Antonio’s strong points. “No, no! No hablo italiano... lo siento!” Suddenly he froze in his tracks, a sharp pang struck his heart and the first beads of sweat formed on his forehead. Oh man! In his panic and tension, he’d actually answered in Spanish! He must now think he was an idiot...
If he hadn’t already done so.
The Spaniard quickly corrected himself and added his new reply a split second later, before the sweet, spirited angel could get a word in. “A bit. A bit of English? Basics?”, he blurted out in the most incorrect, worst and most broken English imaginable, so much so that the angel almost had to wrinkle her nose in embarrassment on his behalf.
Bloody hell… English was definitely not his strong point! How embarrassing he was…
“Deutsch? German?” Desperately, the twenty-five-year-old tried to save himself by using other languages he could speak to some extent, in the hope he’d find one his counterpart could understand well.
But no sooner had he mentioned German than the smaller man shook his head wildly and pulled a dismissive face.
So apparently he couldn’t understand German under any circumstances… Blimey. And yet he’d been so keen to have a chat with this lovely angel.
But then… the saving grace.
“¿Uhh… Eres del español?”
Antonio’s face beamed brighter than the sun shining into the small room, and a smile spread across his face. So this handsome man did understand Spanish after all! His slip of the tongue earlier had turned out to be a blessing in disguise! “Sí! Sí! SÍ!”
Irritated by his counterpart’s childish behaviour and the – to him, at least – ‘toxic’ optimism he exuded, the shorter man frowned dismissively. This Spaniard was clearly far too cheerful for his liking, far too energetic… far too much of a ray of sunshine. He himself, after all, was rather pessimistic, lazy and gloomy, like the faint moonlight in the midst of a forest.
The sun and the moon. They were so different, yet both beautiful in their own way. The sun bestowed warmth, light and vitality. The moon was cool and destructive, yet it also soothed. They existed alone, each independent, yet they were also interdependent… They needed one another to reach their full beauty. One might think they complemented one another… Complemented each other… to the point of perfection.
“So, what’s your name?” Antonio smiled at the young Italian, feeling that bubbling joy in his stomach, rising like a thousand soap bubbles in his soul and floating around, “I’m Antonio!” Oh, he was so lucky that the lad understood Spanish!
“Lovino,” the cute Italian managed to say with his usual passive-aggressive manner, clutching his notes close to his chest so as not to lose them again. “But don’t assume I’m going to talk to you much.”
Antonio’s smile turned into a puzzled stare; he widened his eyes and his mouth opened a crack before the words finally came out.
“Oh, why not?”
“My Spanish is shitty as hell,” replied the spirited angel dryly, automatically thinking back to his school days, when he was anything but diligent and occasionally copied his homework; including in Spanish, because he couldn’t be bothered to learn it, “Actually, you should have picked up on that already. I nearly failed the subject at school because of it.”
Antonio didn’t, of course, know all these details about Lovino’s school days, so all he had to go on was his positive first impression. “Really?!” Antonio gave Lovino a puzzled look, “I don’t believe you – you speak almost flawlessly!”
It was true, in fact. Apart from a few pronunciation and minor conjugation mistakes, he had no trouble at all understanding Lovino. This young man really ought to appreciate his abilities more.
To Lovino’s horror, he felt himself suddenly flush and a reddish hue spread across his cheeks. His stomach was churning. Nevertheless, he tried his best not to let on. Above all, this surprisingly handsome Spaniard must under no circumstances suspect that he harboured any feelings beyond his social detachment.
“Tsk, certainly not.” Still… it was rather nice to hear praise…
“Oh yes! I can confirm that! It is my mother tongue, after all.” A supportive, open smile spread across Antonio’s face once more, and his entire demeanour once again embodied the warming, loving sun, capable of laying all its possible comfort and light at Lovino’s feet.
But Lovino skilfully rebuffed his efforts to cheer him up and, with a sigh, shifted his focus instead. “Spanish is a strange language. All the words are somehow just wrong!”
Outraged, Antonio held his breath and, almost dramatically, pressed his hand to his heart. How dare Lovino drag his mother tongue through the mud like that!?
He was lucky that Antonio didn’t take it too much to heart. Still, he had to admit that it did hurt his feelings at least a little bit.
“That’s not true! It all makes perfect sense...”
“Maybe for you…”, the art student sighed, idly fiddling with the corners of the individual sheets in his pile of paper, “Well, at least I can do the most important thing…” Suddenly, a mischievous grin appeared on Lovino’s lips. Once again, Antonio was lost for words. That smile…
If that cheeky smirk alone set his heart racing so wildly… just how beautiful must Lovino’s genuine, joyful smile be…?
A brief glance away at the paintings around him brought him back to his senses, and he finally managed to come up with at least a brief reply.
“The most important thing? What on earth is that?”
Wearing a poker face, the young Italian eyed him. Judging by his inscrutable gaze and his cool yet ironically fiery manner, it was impossible for Antonio to discern what lay behind those golden mirrors of the soul, which shone more beautifully in the sunlight than any gemstone in the world.
“Insults.”
Silence.
Lovino fell silent immediately after this terse, dry reply, staring seriously at his handsome counterpart. To no avail. Antonio could no longer hold back his snigger and his – fortunately muffled – laughter, and was already holding his hand over his mouth. “Hahaha!” Antonio’s cheeks grew warm with laughter and his heart pounded faster against his chest, “I already like you a lot, Lovinito!”
Lovino, on the other hand, was completely baffled and furrowed his brow in confusion. “Huh?! Are you laughing at me, you idiot?! Are you looking for a fight?!” No sooner had he uttered those words than the smaller one had already assumed a fighting stance, if only to playfully assert his dominance.
But it was precisely this childish, over-the-top behaviour that amused Antonio even more, and he was already wiping away the first tear hanging in the corner of his eye. Oh, Lovino really was funny in his own way… He could watch his over-the-top reactions for hours…
Antonio wished that this moment – this conversation with Lovino – would never end…
Suddenly, a stranger’s voice. “Lovino, let’s go!” And just like that, she was gone. That sweet, gentle, yet unpredictably spirited togetherness… Antonio had got his hopes up too soon. What a load of shit!
Lovino looked away; to him, Antonio had faded into insignificance. Instead, he had to watch as his fellow students all disappeared into the neighbouring rooms and waited for him quite impatiently. Annoyed, he groaned and rolled his eyes.
“Ugh, I’m coming, just chill out, for God’s sake!”
And so Lovino slipped quietly and leisurely away from Antonio’s side – just as if he were the finest, white-and-gold sand, slipping endlessly through his fingers.
Just as if he were the colour that lost its strength and vigour in the sunlight.
Just as if he were the first withering petal of a rose, which came away without a struggle at the slightest touch. Just as if he were a gold coin that was now losing its precious lustre and sinking into gloom. Just as… as if his angel, his masterpiece, his most beautiful gem, his newfound beloved, his joy, his hope, his purpose in life, his other half, the light of his heart, his… love… were rising into the orange-gold sky and vanishing in a single breath behind the warm, embracing rays of the evening sun… behind the horizon… behind the tenderly painted clouds of this evening glow.
They parted in bittersweetness and without a farewell, though only the fascinated, marvelling and somewhat naïve Spaniard was consciously aware of it. – The Italian had not yet noticed anything; he was not yet aware of this new feeling that was kindling in his heart…
But Antonio… Antonio knew… Devoutly, he raised his left arm and placed his hand over his heart, which was beating strongly; a spellbound sparkle shone in his grass-green irises as he followed the smaller man’s movements until he finally disappeared behind the next wall, leaving him in the cold of his initial solitude. Antonio wanted to go back. Antonio wanted the warmth back. Antonio did not want to lose this marvellous sensation!
Yet he stood still. As if caught in a trance – letting his mind wander through his dream worlds – his warm body did not move a single millimetre.
Lovino...
He barely knew him.
And yet. He seemed to find in him everything he’d ever been looking for.
Was this that phenomenon he’d only ever heard of in fairy tales and films?
That deep, true love at first sight?
Oh...
Suddenly, a stranger’s hand in front of his face snapped him out of his trance. “Earth to Antonio! Hey, are you still there?” Roderich, who had finally finished his snail’s-pace tour, raised an eyebrow sceptically and scrutinised his unusually quiet friend closely. “You’re staring into the ‘fool’s box’ again – are you alight?”
He was genuinely worried about him. He’d never seen Antonio like this in recent years.
Antonio didn’t look at Roderich; he simply gazed straight ahead with a gentle smile on his face, or perhaps dared for a moment to look at the artwork before him, the very thing that had led him to this wonderful person called Lovino. “I’m actually more than fine…”, the words came from his lips quite calmly and dreamily, and Roderich furrowed his brow. “Roderich, you were right.”
“About what? I mean, I’m always right, but now I’m actually interested.” Now the Austrian had genuinely become curious. Antonio seemed like a different person!
“That I’d find something here that fascinates me and appeals to me… That day, I truly found the most beautiful thing I have ever discovered in my life and ever will,” Antonio thought back to what his friend had said to him at the start, and his grin widened, his gaze softening as he thought of how that simple statement had come true when he caught sight of Lovino’s figure in the light of the setting sun, “I saw heaven and an angel appeared to me.” Dreamy and in love, his gaze fell upon the painting The Kiss, and for a fraction of a second he saw himself and Lovino in it. What would it be like to hold him so lovingly? To kiss him just as the man in the picture did? Oh man… his feelings were racing far too fast.
“…Antonio, are you high or something?”
Roderich’s irritated gaze pierced right through Antonio’s skin, but it had little effect on him. His thoughts were still clouded by the beauty he’d been treated to just a few minutes earlier.
“No…”, once again his left hand rested on his heart and his gaze turned towards the room into which Lovino had disappeared – from a distance he could make out his profile and his heart swelled once more, “Just in love.”