Or perchance,
When the last little star has left the sky,
Shall we still be together
With are arms around each other
And shall you be my new romance?
On the clear understanding
That this kind of thing can happen,
Shall we dance?
Shall we dance?
Shall we Dance?

Ding-dong.

Ding-dong.

Ding-dong-ding-dong-DING-DING-DING—

The door of the Beilschmidt-Vargas home flew open at the frantic bell-ringing, and there was Lovino. It was fifteen past seven in the morning, and Lovino was shaky, pale, sobbing and panicky, and when Ludwig answered the door, Lovino didn't notice how both Ludwig and Feli were sleepless, with the younger Vargas on the verge of tears, a phone in his hand.

"LOVI!" Feliciano shrieked, pushing past Ludwig and throwing himself onto a ram-rod straight Lovino. "I was so worried! You never came home last night! We were going to call the police! Where were you? Lovi?" he pulled away just a little, to watch tears slip silently down Lovino's face. "Lovino, Lovino, what's wrong?" Feliciano's voice fell, his tone serious.

"Leave me alone," the elder brother said quietly, pushing past the two of them.

Ludwig's hand clamped down on his wrist before Lovino could leave the room. "You had us worried sick. Where were you?"

Something inside Lovino snapped. His pain, his sadness, churned at the pit of his stomach, turning into something far more vicious. He whipped around, golden eyes narrowed. "Haven't you ever heard of a one-night-stand?" he snarled, and Ludwig's eyes widened, letting Lovino go. The Italian went on, "Or are you that much of a prude?"

This was not normal anger. He did not want to shout or scream or hit someone. This rage was far more controlled. Guttural and fierce, but quieter somehow, darker, more meaningful. To Feliciano, Lovino said, "If Antonio calls, or comes over, ignore him. Do you understand me?"

Feliciano paled. He'd never seen Lovino like this. "Y-yes…of course."

Lovino glared at his brother a bit more, and then glared at Ludwig too. Again, he said, "Leave. Me. Alone."

And with that, he locked himself in his room.

Gilbert pressed the phone closer to his ear in anticipation as he heard the monotonous ring. It took twenty seconds for Elizabeta to answer, and when she did, it was with the sound of metal pots clanging in the background. "Oh, hey, what's up? You haven't called me in a while."

"Ja, well, you've been busy!" he laughed lightly, taking long strides up and down the living room. He threw glances at Antonio, sitting teary-eyed on the couch with a tub of ice cream in front of him and Francis's comforting arm slung across his shoulder. "You're definitely coming for the wedding, right? Matthew's sort of freaking out about the guest-list right now. A couple of Alfred's buddies backed out, so we had to re-do some shit."

"I swear, you must be the only guy who calls his ex-girlfriend for his wedding to another man." Elizabeta laughed, and Gilbert smirked slightly at his ability to make small-talk. Matthew had made him develop that particular skill. "Of course I'm coming. Roderich too. But that's not really why you called me."

"Uh…no." Gilbert chuckled slightly, and said, "Toni asked me to call you," the German lied, glancing towards his friend. Antonio's eyes were scarily blank as he stared at the switched-off television screen, ice cream melting into the tub as Francis coaxed him to eat some. "He's not feeling great. So he can't come in today. I mean," Gilbert went on, "He can't talk. His voice is all fucked up and he's got a fever. Must be the weather."

"Oh," Elizabeta responded softly. "Yeah, it's probably the weather. Roderich had a cold last week. And I think I can feel one coming on too," she laughed slightly, and then sobered. "Antonio should take lots of fluids and sleep. Tell him I said that, okay? I hope he feels better soon!"

"Ja, ja, I'll do that. Thanks, Lizzie. See you at the wedding?"

"Wait…you and Matthew aren't going to meet me before that? You assholes. I ought to hit you with one of my frying pans, Gilbert."

The German rolled his eyes. "No thanks. You did that enough when we were dating."

Elizabeta laughed. "I NEVER hit you with a frying pan when we were dating. But I did entertain the thought a couple of times. Anyway, we ought to meet up, all four of us. Dinner, perhaps?"

"All right," Gilbert glanced at Antonio again. "Look, I have to finish off some work now. Talk to you about dinner later, 'kay?"

"Sure, sure. Bye."

"Ja, see you."

He cut the call, sighing. Well, that was done. His relationship with Elizabeta was an odd one. But he liked it better this way. They were never a good couple. Always better as friends. And she wasn't a crazy jealous bitch either, which was great. He really liked being buddies with her, and liked the fact that she and Matthew could hang out without wanting to murder each other. Pocketing his mobile phone, Gilbert walked over to where Antonio and Francis were sitting.

"Okay, once again, Antonio, what happened? In English this time, please," the blonde was saying.

Antonio blinked at Francis warily, blurted something in Spanish and caught himself with a sigh. "Sorry…Spanish is like a reflex…"

"No problem," Francis said, smiling encouragingly. "Now, what happened?"

"Yeah, man," Gilbert muttered, "All I heard was some screaming and shouting. At some ungodly hour of morning. Freaked me out."

"So…" Antonio began, wiping some water from his eyes. "I slept with Lovino."

"What."

"What."

"Si…It was so…trance-like," Antonio finished, his voice wavering at the last word. "Like…like magic."

Francis squealed something in rapid French, a huge grin on his face. Gilbert had to bite down a smirk. Somehow, he knew it wouldn't help the situation.

"And then in the morning…he sort of…freaked out and…ran," Antonio went on, ignoring Francis. When he finished, he groaned, placing the ice-cream tub in Francis's hands and burying his head in his palms. And then he went back to mumbling in Spanish, quiet sobs punctuating his words.

"Oh, Toni…" Francis said, passing the ice-cream to Gilbert and petting Antonio's shoulder.

Gilbert helped himself to the ice-cream. "But why did it have to be Lovino, man?" the German muttered. "He's about as volatile as a box of explosives. Especially after that Heracles asshole."

Antonio could not answer that question. Why Lovino? Why? Despite the Italian's rudeness and cussing and prickly exterior…why? There was something about him…an air of hopelessness that Antonio understood perfectly. Only with Lovino could he truly relax. They just got each other. They needed each other. And both of them knew it. Last night had been so open, so freeing. It was like tasting happiness for the first time.

It wasn't just the sex. It was everything that came before it, too. The talking. The walking. The dancing.

The dancing.

Antonio needed to dance. With Lovino. If he couldn't, there was nothing left for him anymore. He needed to be able to hold Lovino, to guide—or follow—him into the steps. To communicate with touch, eye-contact, music. It was the soul of their (relationship? Friendship?). It was Antonio's oxygen.

He couldn't breathe.

Lovino lay flat on his bed with his shoes on, the room dark, staring at the ceiling. He couldn't believe it. This couldn't have happened. (And yet, it did. And it felt so natural.) Antonio had seen him. Naked. Antonio had been inside him.

But it wasn't just that. It wasn't as simple as sex.

God, no.

What terrified Lovino more than anything, more than anything at all, was how easily he'd been seduced. No, not seduced. He hadn't been charmed or conned into this. Lovino had willingly surrendered himself to the whims of another person. Lovino had given up everything. His personal space, his defences, his security…to another person. Why? Why?

Antonio understood.

Feliciano, Ludwig, they cared for him. They sympathised. But they did not understand. They didn't know what it was like to be completely unmade, completely thrown, completely decimated. Antonio did. Antonio lived it. Every day. Antonio's broken pieces fit perfectly with Lovino's.

And that was the frightening part.

No way. Lovino had made a mistake. He could not be this vulnerable with another person again. They'd exploit him. They'd rip him apart from the inside. Lovino felt everything too powerfully, and he simply could not afford to feel even a smidgen of emotion for Antonio. Antonio would destroy him.

That was what love did.

It ruined everything.

"Antonio, get up." Francis marched into the Spaniard's room, where Antonio was lying face-down in a pillow, miserable beyond comprehensible language. In Francis's hand was a cup of hot chocolate. Four marshmallows floated on the surface of the drink. "Come on, Toni, don't be like this."

Warily, Antonio lifted his head. He saw steam coming out of the cup in Francis's hand. The man visibly paled. "No…no…no…" the chant became too rhythmic. Almost automatic. "No, no, no! Francis!" Antonio shot up, his eyes wide in absolute terror. "Get that out of here. Get it out. GET IT OUT RIGHT NOW! Oh god, oh god, everything hurts, get rid of it, it's going to kill me." Antonio was backed up against the wall, gasping in panic.

That was when Gilbert marched into the room, snatched the hot chocolate from a stunned Francis and dumped it outside Antonio's window. The sound of ceramic hitting the street below made the Frenchman jump into action, and he darted towards Antonio, who was sobbing and rambling in Spanish. He was curled up on the floor, shaking.

"It's gone," Francis soothed, his grip tightening on Antonio's shoulder. "You're safe. It's gone. I'm so, so, so sorry, Antonio. It didn't occur to me. I'm so sorry."

Gilbert pressed the bridge of his nose. This was bad. Both of them had known Antonio was slightly traumatised. Even before the Spaniard had moved in, Toni had told them (albeit vaguely) that he was still freaked out by the fire. But for it to get this bad?

He glanced at Francis. The Frenchman was excellent with people. Already, Antonio seemed calmer. He wasn't trembling anymore. Francis would handle this a lot better than Gilbert could. With a sigh, he walked out of the room, whipping out his phone as he did.

"Hello? Feli?"

"No, this is Ludwig. What do you want, Gilbert?"

"Heeeey. Give the phone to Feliciano."

Ludwig sighed. Feliciano often misplaced his mobile, leading to people calling up the house phone instead. Gilbert had always found it sort of silly. ("Who has a house phone these days, Luddy?"). What on earth did Gilbert want with Feliciano, though?

"Why?"

"Because I plan to murder you in your sleep and I need his help. Honestly, Ludwig! It's about Lovino. Give Feli the damn phone."

Oh. Well, that changed things. Ludwig had had almost no sleep the previous night because Feli had been weeping over Lovino, and why his fratello hadn't come home, and had he been killed by a psychotic axe-murderer and how it was all Feli's fault and he should have checked on Lovi sooner and…and…ugh. Too much melodrama for one night, that was certain.

"Yes, hold on. I'm giving him the phone."

He motioned for Feliciano. When the Italian took the receiver, Gilbert said, "Feliii…listen. I know this is a long shot, but you think Lovino would like to talk to Antonio right now?"

"Uh…honestly, Gilbert? No. He's really upset."

"Ja, that's what I thought. Antonio's pretty upset too. Mind telling Lovino that?"

"Okay…"

"Danke."

"Gilbert. Gilbert, I'm worried. Lovi…he isn't exactly good at dealing with emotion."

"Ja, ja, I know. As Birdie would say, give them time. I swear they're like a bunch of teenagers."

Feliciano laughed slightly at the comment. "But Lovi'll be okay, right?"

"Yes! And so will Toni. He's a really close friend, you know? I don't like seeing him this way." There was distress in Gilbert's voice. Feliciano could tell. The German said, "…Cool. Talk to you later."

"Okay. Bye."

When Feliciano put the phone down, Lovino was standing right behind him. "Was that Antonio?" the elder Vargas barked.

"…Gilbert."

An odd expression came on Lovi's face. A combination of anger and hurt. "Oh."

"…Ve…why don't you call him? He's really upset." Well, it was worth a try, right?

"Fuck no! There's no way I'm talking to that bastard ever again!"

Gilbert was right. In an odd way, they really were like a pair of teenagers.

It was later, when Francis was almost about to leave for his shift, that he entered Antonio's room. The Spaniard had been sleeping all day, apparently too tired to do anything else. Antonio was awake now, staring blankly at the ceiling.

"You should call him," Francis said, and Antonio jerked in surprise. The Spaniard sat up, rubbing his eyes tiredly before looking at the Frenchman with a rather lost expression on his face.

"What?"

"Pick up the phone," Francis said, "And call your Italian. You won't achieve anything this way."

Antonio dropped back into the pillows and muttered, "Good night, Francis."

The Frenchman sighed. This kind of behaviour was hardly going to fix matters! And everyone knew that when Francis offered romantic advice, it always helped to listen. "Trust me, just call him." And with that, the Frenchman checked his watch and quickly left the apartment.

For half an hour, Antonio pretended to ignore what Francis had said. But it was impossible. He wanted to hear Lovi's voice. He wanted to dance with him again. He wanted Lovi. But…what if Lovi pushed him away? This was terrifying. What if…what if he was rejected?

"This sucks," he muttered to himself quietly. His tired hand reached out to the nightstand and found his phone. He found Lovi's number and called.

On the other end, the phone rang twice.

And then someone hung up on him.

Lovino entered his new place of work the next day. It hadn't been very long, but he liked the job. Right now, though, he was sleepless and dishevelled. Antonio had called and texted multiple times the previous evening. That bastard. Why couldn't he just leave Lovino alone?!

Antonio was very, very quiet at work the next day. Elizabeta still thought it was because of the 'cold'—what a convincing lie—but Antonio just felt sad. It wasn't a complicated sorrow. It was just a dejected, tired feeling that refused to go away. He cleaned tables and took orders with none of his usual cheerfulness. A few of the regulars noticed, but Antonio couldn't care less. He hated this job. He hated this city. He just wanted to go back in time.

To a time before the fire. Before the pain, the fear, before Lovino. The snarky, bad-mouthed Italian made Antonio feel things. Powerful, chaotic emotions. He needed Lovino. Just like a dancer needed a partner. If only he hadn't met him…

No, no. Antonio could never regret meeting Lovi. Lovino had made him happy. Lovino had made him feel safe. And those were two things Antonio hadn't felt in a long, long time.

The Spaniard wrung his hands nervously before entering the dance class. Matthew and Gilbert were standing with him. Those two weren't actually in for the dancing itself. They just needed one dance to learn for the wedding. It had been a few weeks now, and Luciano had come up with a simple waltz thing for them. It looked beautiful, even though Gilbert was clumsy and reluctant.

Would Lovi be here? Of course. He'd come to class, right? Lovino loved dancing. He'd never admit it, but Antonio could tell. In the short time he'd known the Italian, Lovi had gone from skinny and lifeless to fiery, emotive. Antonio knew the way Lovi's body worked. The way Lovi moved in step with the music. At first, he'd been so rigid, hesitant. And over time, he'd loosened up. He'd grown.

Dance never lied. And Antonio knew for a fact that dancing made Lovino happy.

So he'd be here.

He definitely, absolutely would.

Lovino was not.

The dance class was flooded with students. Ever since Lovi's hugely successful article, more and more people had joined. Antonio didn't even recognise some of them. Luciano, too, had initially been shocked at the response. Lu had to take two batches now. One group would come three days a week, the next group would come during the other four. Usually, it was the amateurs that had four classes, since they needed more attention.

Antonio scanned the room. No Lovi. Lots and lots of new people, but no Lovi. Gilbert placed a hand on his shoulder. "Sorry, man."

"He's probably running late," Antonio replied, trying to convince himself more than anyone else.

"…Yeah," Gilbert agreed, a dubious frown on his face. "You're probably right."

Lovino did not show up to class at all. Antonio found he couldn't focus on the dances. The girl he was partnered with was decent enough. She was pretty, she was nice, there was nothing wrong with her.

But this was not his partner. She did not know him like Lovino did. She did not move in sync with him. It was like oil and water.

Antonio needed Lovi.

Antonio needed Lovi.

Five days passed. Five. Lovino could feel them go by in excruciating clarity. Everything seemed sharpened. It felt like he had been dosing up on adrenaline. He was sensitive to everything. Sound, colour, taste, smell, touch. Especially touch.

Antonio had called twenty times in total. Lovino had ignored them all. He did not go to class. There was no way. What if Antonio was there? Lovino couldn't face him. Couldn't dance with him. Couldn't even think about him anymore. Antonio took over Lovino's mind, like some sort of slow, malicious bacteria. He needed to get the Spaniard out of his system.

Lovino was at the dinner table with Feliciano and Ludwig. His brother had tried to convince him to go back to class, but that conversation had ended with such a huge shouting match that Ludwig had to pull Feliciano away. Nobody, nobody, had ever seen Feli react like that before. Sure, the brothers had made up, but Feli's words still rang in Lovino's mind. "YOU CAN'T KEEP PUSHING PEOPLE AWAY! ONE DAY, THEY MIGHT REALLY LEAVE!"

He tried not to think about it. Those words hurt too much.

Lovino chewed his pasta slowly, trying to concentrate on the sharp taste of the tomatoes. From the living room, his mobile phone rang. Fucking dammit. Antonio again? Forget this. He wasn't going to answer it.

The phone rang and rang and rang. When the call finally ended, Lovino sighed. Phew.

And then Feli's phone started.

What the hell? It was one thing for Antonio to bug Lovino, but for him to start on his little brother? How dare the bastard? How dare he!? Feli motioned to get up, but Lovino beat him to it. "I'll kill that asshole," he snarled, marching to the living room where his brother's mobile rang from underneath a couch cushion. Honestly, can't Feliciano keep his phone properly?

He snatched the offending device, ready to blast Antonio to smithereens, but stopped.

He stared blankly at the caller ID.

He must have been standing there, staring at the screen, for at least a few seconds. From the dining area, he heard Feli's soft footsteps. "Fratello? What's going on? Who's calling me? Is it Antonio?"

Lovino swallowed. Everything suddenly felt cold. He looked up slowly, blinking at Feli with terrified golden eyes. At once, a million thoughts swirled around his head. He shouldn't. He couldn't. He wouldn't. There was no way. This was…the very thought was…ridiculous.

"Lovi, who's calling?" Feliciano asked, his voice a little bit more concerned.

With a deadly sort of silence, Lovino pressed the 'answer' button and lifted the phone to his ear.

"…Hello, Heracles."

"Lovino? Hi…"

"What do you want?"

"…How are you?"

"What. Do. You. Want?"

"…I would like…to talk to you…face-to-face?"

"Why?"

"I…I messed up…After we broke up, I was devastated. I realised how wrong I was. How much I hurt you. And…I travelled to Greece for a while. Sort of like a sabbatical? And I just…I messed up so badly. Can I see you? I just need to talk to you."

Blood rushed to Lovino's ears. This was a dream. This had to be. There was no way Heracles would be calling him. Apologising. Wishing to see him. Not after their break-up. Their nightmarish break-up. Lovino had thrown things at him. Heracles had actually lost his temper for once in his life. They'd both said such awful things to each other. "Well, maybe I kept cheating on you because you're so unpleasant! Did you ever think that, Lovino?" The Italian's eyes filled. What the heck was going on.

He lowered the phone, covering the screen. Feli was still staring at him, a deep frown of concern on his face. "Lovi…what's he saying?"

"He wants to meet me." Lovino's voice cracked. "What do I do?"

Even Ludwig had entered the living room now. He took one look at the two Italians and discreetly walked off. Lovino reigned in a sob. Why was this happening? Why had Heracles called? Just when he was getting his life in order…

And Antonio.

He'd slept with another man.

A man who was not Heracles.

Guilt. It swooped in, taking Lovino by the throat and making tears spill desperately from his eyes. He felt guilty. For sleeping with someone. Even though he hadn't seen Heracles in months. Even though he'd been single. Even though he had feelings for Anto—

No. NO. Lovino loved Heracles. That was that.

Shit, this was a mess.

"Lovi, he hurt you so badly…" Feliciano said in barely a whisper.

"Yes, but…but…" Lovino ran a hand through his hair. He slowly brought the phone back to his ear. "There's this plaza. A friend told me about it. We could meet there. I'm busy this week but maybe on Saturday?"

What the fuck was he doing? Why? WHY? Oh god. Just agreeing to see Heracles sent shock waves of negative energy up Lovino's body. But…he missed Heracles. He'd dreamed about this phone call. He'd imagined it. All the scenarios. Heracles doing outlandish but desperate things to win Lovino back. Lovino pushing him away. Lovino getting over him. But this was actually happening. And Lovino wanted Heracles back.

WHY?

"A plaza? That sounds nice. I always think of your Rome when I think of plazas. You're at Feli's, right? I'll pick you up from there, and we can go to this plaza for lunch. How does that sound?"

"…Yeah. Okay. "

"Good. Lovino…Lovi…thank you. I've changed, I really have. You'll see. I missed you. So much. I love you. I'll see you Saturday, then?"

"…Yeah. Bye, Heracles."

Feliciano watched with a heavy feeling in his chest as Lovino dropped the phone onto the couch and listlessly ambled to his room. Ideally, Feliciano would have followed him, doting on Lovi like a mother hen. But he could tell his brother needed some time alone. To think. To breathe. To cry.

What the hell was Lovino doing? Really, what was he doing? Why did he agree to this?

"Lovino loves him," Ludwig said quietly as they lay in bed that night. "If it were you and me—if you asked to meet me after a bad break-up—I'd say yes in a heartbeat."

"I suppose…" Feliciano mumbled, "But your brother wouldn't like it, would he? Your brother would hate me if I hurt you."

"Feli…"

"It's true. You know it is. That's what brothers are for. We look after each other."

Ludwig turned on his side, sighing in tiredness as he pulled Feliciano close. "Don't worry so much. Lovino knows what he's doing. I think."

"No, he doesn't. Lovi's upset. Lonely. Scared. That's why he agreed to this." Feliciano sunk into Ludwig's arms. "Just you see. It won't last. Just you see."

"Okay, okay. I love you."

"Ve, ti amo, Luddy. Good night."

"Toni, aren't you going to dance class?" Gilbert asked as he and Matthew noticed Antonio stepping out of The Hungarian Café. They'd walked down, just in time for Antonio to finish his shift.

The Spaniard forced a smile. "Nah. I don't feel like it."

"…Okay…" Matthew said, frowning slightly. "Is everything alright?"

"Fine, fine," Antonio brushed off, a little too quickly for Gilbert's liking. "See you at home."

Antonio raided the fridge for cold food. It had been so, so, so long since he'd even had a lukewarm cup of coffee. All the progress he'd made. All of it. Gone.

Lovi, Lovi, Lovi.

LOVI.

He found some cold wurst. This would taste a lot better if heated…but there was no way. Antonio couldn't even handle the thought. Heat, fire, smoke, explosions, blood, pain, death, death, death. No, no, no. He would have it cold. Freezing cold. Ice cold.

Ice, ice, ice, snow.

Antonio straightened, his eyes finding the window in the living room. Over the last couple of days, there had been snow. Not a lot, but temperatures had fallen dramatically. Good, good, brilliant. He needed this.

That damn heater. How dare it. Why was it trying to set fire to the room? Why did Gilbert and Francis have it around? Who needed it? Antonio did not. He needed cold. He needed ice. He needed to get out of here.

He left the wrust on the countertop, snatched his keys from the table and darted out of the house. No coat, no gloves, nothing. Nothing but a long-sleeved shirt and a pair of jeans.

Antonio stood in freezing weather, unprotected from the snow that gently fell on him. It chilled him, burning into his body and cooling his blood. He took a deep breath. Funny how ice could feel so much like fire. But this was a good sort of flame. Cold. Dark and cold.

This.

This was safe.

When Gilbert and Matthew found him, an hour and fifteen minutes later, Gilbert almost thought he had hypothermia. But instead of being dangerously cold, Antonio had a fever. An extremely high fever. He passed out as soon as Gilbert forced him to his bed.

Antonio was sick for the better part of a week.

Sick and miserable.

Feliciano gripped the knife with more force than necessary. His hands were trembling just a little bit as he sliced the carrot on the chopping bored. He cut very fine circles, trying to make his anger disintegrate through focus and concentration. It was not working.

It was a sunny day, and the light coat of snow on the ground was bright, almost head-ache inducing. Man, it was chilly. Was eating outdoors a good idea? But he knew what plaza Lovi was talking about. There were some indoor restaurants around there.

He sliced the vegetable. Took another one. Sliced that too. Sliced a third. And a fourth. He didn't need so many carrots. Feliciano wasn't even sure what he was going to make for lunch. But this mindless housework was monotonous and distracting. It relieved some of his stress.

Quiet footsteps entered the kitchen, and Feliciano paused, placing the knife down on the chopping board. He turned to face his brother. Lovino was dressed in a shirt and trousers, with a coat and a scarf and gloves. He wore expensive cologne, his hair freshly washed and his gravity-defying curl bouncier than usual. His elder brother nervously tugged at the end of his sleeves. "…How do I look?" Lovi asked in a soft voice.

"Ve, so handsome!" Feliciano replied, forcing his voice to sound cheerful and encouraging. This was a bad idea. A bad idea.

"…Grazie, I guess," Lovi mumbled, his face turning bright red as he looked to the floor.

"Is Heracles picking you up, then?"

"He should be here in a few minutes."

"Oh. I see. That's cool, fratello."

Not cool, not cool, not cool at all.

In fact, Feliciano found himself getting more and more irritated at this situation. What the heck did Lovi think he was doing, agreeing to see that selfish, lying bastard? But he could still understand it. Lovino had been miserable and lonely for the longest time. And after that whole situation with Antonio…well, Lovino just needed someone. And no matter how much Feli and Ludwig tried to take care of him, it didn't matter. Lovino needed the sort of love that his brother and his brother-in-law could not provide.

So obviously, he'd jumped at the chance to meet his ex-fiancé again. Who wouldn't? But Feliciano was more annoyed with Heracles. He didn't even know he was capable of this kind of anger. When Lovino had showed up at the middle of the night at Feliciano and Luddy's doorstep, sobbing his soul out, Feli had done everything to comfort his brother. In fact, that's what he'd been doing for months. Always trying to make sure that Lovi was happy.

But he'd completely neglected the reason why Lovino was upset.

Lovino was upset because he'd been lied to and betrayed by the one person he loved the most.

Lovino was upset because the person he loved the most had deliberately and repeatedly hurt his feelings.

And when that thought finally occurred to Feliciano, he was mad. He was furious. How dare anybody try and hurt his brother? How dare anybody think they had the right? How dare Heracles cheat on Lovino over and over again, and just show up and expect it to be all okay?

Lovino had been bullied and teased all through their childhood. But he'd been protective of Feli, too. And right now, for perhaps the first time in his life, Feliciano was going to do the same for his brother.

The sound of an engine made the Vargas brother's jump. Lovi dashed to his brother's side, staring out of the kitchen window. A blue sedan. Heracles's car. Feliciano watched Lovi's shoulders go taut. In Italian, Lovino said, "Fuck, he's here."

"It'll be fine."

Lovino did not reply. He just watched, holding his breath, as a familiar figure opened the car door and stepped out. Heracles was wearing a thick black coat and scarf. He had dark red gloves. But his eyes were as green as ever, his dark hair a little wind-swept. Feliciano tensed. From what he could see, Heracles had a tell-tale tan on his skin, a sign that he really had been travelling around Greece for a while.

From the window, they watched as Heracles bent into his car again and took out a bunch of roses from the car-seat. Feli glanced at his brother. Lovino's face was cherry-tomato red. The Greek shut the car doors and walked up the path to their house, and the Vargas brothers watched from the window until he'd gone out of their line of sight.

Then, the doorbell rung.

"Oh god," Lovino groaned.

"It'll be fine," Feliciano repeated. "Go, go answer the door."

"Oh god," Lovino said once again, turning swiftly on his heels—just like he was twirling in a dance step—and walking out of the kitchen. Feliciano waited for a few minutes before showing himself. Ludwig had gone out, tactfully saying that he could not meet Heracles since he had some work to do. Work, on a Saturday? Feli knew better. Ludwig just didn't want to be caught up in the hassle. This was way, way, way out of his comfort zone.

Feli, however, insisted of staying. No matter what Lovi said, Feliciano knew his brother needed him.

From the living room, Feli could hear voices. Heracles's slow drawl, Lovino's sharp responses. Although Lovi's voice was unusually soft, and Feli could tell it was coated with a layer of fear. The younger Vargas took a deep breath. Right. Three minutes had passed. He would now meet Heracles.

His hands felt cold. Feliciano stepped out of the kitchen, pasting a bright smile on his face as he saw Heracles. It was difficult. Feliciano was filled with the urge to throttle the Greek. He and Lovi were sitting on the couch, with Lovi sitting all the way at the end of it, almost half-seated on the armrest. Heracles, for his part, didn't attempt to come too close. The roses rested quietly on the table in front of them.

"Hello, Heracles," Feliciano said with fake cheer. "It's been so long, ve! How are you?"

"Oh, Feli…" Heracles stood, extending a hand. Feliciano shook it. And it took all his willpower to not try and crush the Greek's palm. "I've been…yeah…" he finished, lowering his eyes slightly. "How about you? Ludwig?"

We've been worried sick about my brother, and it's all your fault. "We've been good! We just bought a new car, haha. Maybe you'll see it if Luddy comes back in time. Though he's in a meeting and he might be out all day."

"Congratulations about the car…"

That was it. Feliciano couldn't take it anymore. If he didn't say something now, he was going to burst.

"Ve, Lovi, could you check on the hot chocolate?"

Lovino gave him an odd look. There had been absolutely no hot chocolate in the kitchen. Nothing in the microwave, nothing on the stove. In fact, they'd run out of milk just yesterday. But Feliciano nodded at his brother, a frozen smile on his face. Lovino frowned.

"…Right…yeah…" Lovi muttered, "Hot chocolate…" He stood, throwing Feli a suspicious glance before he exited the living room and entered the kitchen.

Now.

Feliciano sat next to Heracles, and all pretence of cheer fell of his face. Heracles noticed, because the slight smile he'd been sporting disappeared.

"Listen to me," Feliciano said, his amber eyes flashing dangerously. "I don't know why you want to meet Lovi, but I don't trust you anymore. If you dare hurt my brother again, you will regret it. Do you understand that?"

Heracles opened and closed his mouth, a gesture that did nothing but irritate Feliciano further.

"Is that a yes or a no?" Feli barked. He didn't know where this aggression was coming from, but he didn't care. Nobody who hurt Lovi would get away with it.

"…Yes. Feliciano, I'm really sorry, I am."

"You think apologising to me is going to help in any way?" The younger Vargas swiftly stood, shooting a dirty look at the other man. "Don't forget what I said."

And with that, Feliciano had marched into the kitchen.

Lovi had heard everything. He was staring at Feli with wide, stricken eyes.

"…Lovi…don't be mad," Feli begged softly, heart thudding violently.

But Lovi had thrown himself at Feli, pulling his brother close in the tightest hug Lovino had ever given. "Grazie mille," he whispered. Lovino was shaking. When he pulled away, he discreetly wiped a tear before saying, "I should…yeah…lunch."

"Right. I hope you have a good time," Feliciano replied, wringing his hands together. He had a bad feeling about this.

"Si, thanks."

Lovino stepped out of the kitchen. Feli heard him and Heracles saying something to each other, and in only a few minutes, the front door closed. Feli watched from the window as his brother and Heracles walked towards the blue sedan, a sinking feeling in his stomach.

Antonio did not have a fever anymore, but he was still pretty weak. A blanket was draped over his shoulders as he sat on the couch with his legs folded under him. There was a glass of wine in his hands. He probably shouldn't have had any alcohol, seeing as he was still pretty sick, but he didn't want to be the only one in the room who wasn't drinking anything.

What a mess the living room was!

Clothes and shoes and assorted pieces of cloth were lying haphazardly all over the floor. He wasn't even sure what half of these things were supposed to be for. Suitcases were lying open and untidy, important documents were scattered across the table, wine and beer bottles right next to them. There was a quiche re-heating in the microwave, and Francis looked stressed, his hair messed up, a frown on his delicate, good-looking face.

"Now turn," he ordered, and Matthew quietly obeyed. The Canadian was dressed in a fancy suit, a glass of wine in his hands. He stumbled a little. Antonio wondered just how tipsy he was. Gilbert quickly snatched the glass away from Matthew. And Antonio couldn't help but grin a little.

Gilbert and Matthew were at that stage before the wedding where everything was in chaos and everyone was panicking. The tailor had made a mess of Matthew's suit, and Gilbert had begged Francis for help. Meanwhile, the couple also had a ton of packing to do, since they would be spending their honeymoon in the German countryside before taking up permanent residence in Berlin.

Which was really why Francis was so upset. As Antonio understood it, the Frenchman and Gilbert had been roommates and best friends since the first day of college. In fact, it was because of Francis and the loyalty Gilbert felt towards him that he hadn't moved into Matthew's apartment after their engagement. Sure, Berlin wasn't so far away. It was just a slightly longish train journey. That was the beauty of Europe. Everything was so interconnected. But still, Francis was miserable, and he tried to drown that in copious amounts of wine and wedding preparations.

Because as upset as he was about Gilbert leaving, he was excited as hell about the wedding. Right now, with a glass of wine in his hand, Francis was critically assessing the newly-bought suit Matthew was wearing. "It'll do, I suppose," Francis muttered. "Turn again, would you?"

Matthew giggled, his cheeks an unnatural shade of pink.

"I swear, this is what happens when you give him French wine," Gilbert muttered, rolling his eyes and reaching out to steady his fiancé as Matthew turned. Or, well, twirled, trying to imitate a step he'd learnt in dance class. Antonio bit back a small laugh, leaning against the couch cushions.

"French wine is the only wine worth drinking," Francis argued, running his eyes over Matthew's suit once again. "Hmm…try on the other suit, s'il te plait?"

"Oui!" Matthew replied, laughing as he picked up another set of clothes from the floor. These would definitely have to be ironed before the wedding. There was still a few weeks to go, but it was best to be prepared. Gilbert, in only a pair of jeans and an old t-shirt, was busy throwing things into the many suitcases lying all over the place.

The sight made Antonio's face fall. In the short time he'd known the German, they'd become close friends. Like Francis, Antonio didn't want Gilbert to leave either.

"Who's your caterer, again?" Francis asked Gilbert.

"…Uh…you are?" the German raised an eyebrow at the Frenchman.

Francis swiftly turned, gaping at the albino. "And when were you going to tell me that I'd be cooking for two-hundred people!?"

"I didn't tell you?" Gilbert laughed sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. "Well, oops. You know now."

"Mon dieu."

"It isn't two-hundred people!" Matthew argued, his voice a little louder than usual. "Just a few family and friends! So, like…one-fifty people."

"…Wait," Francis cried dramatically. "I can't be your best man and your caterer, Gilbert! It's too much work!"

"Of course you can. Francis! Francis! Francis!" Gilbert cheered, and the Frenchman threw a shoe at him. Antonio could tell, however, that despite Francis's protests, he seemed rather pleased. He'd get his restaurant to chip in and prepare a nice menu. And he'd charge discount rates, too.

"Feli will come, right?" Antonio suddenly asked, his voice sounded hoarse.

"Ja, of course. He's my bruder's husband!"

"…And Lovino?"

A small silence followed that question, and Gilbert replied, "He's coming too."

"Oh."

"You should go meet him." Matthew was still holding the new suit in his hands, he hadn't yet gone to change. But his slightly tipsy eyes were wide and serious as he looked at Antonio. "Because you miss him and he probably misses you and you guys are so cute together and—"

"Heeeey, good idea, Birdie," Gilbert replied with a laugh, placing his hands on Matthew's shoulders and guiding him to his bedroom. "Why don't you try on that suit now?"

"Don't try and silence me, Beilschmidt!"

Francis snorted in laughter.

Antonio finished his glass of wine in one large gulp. And then he jumped to his feet. "Matthew's right!"

"He is?" Gilbert whipped around.

"I am?" Matthew asked with a grin on his face.

"Si, you are. If he doesn't answer my phone calls, I should just meet him!" Antonio stumbled slightly as he threw on his jacket. He knew he was still a little sick, but who cared? Matthew was right. How stupid could he have been? If Lovi didn't want to talk to him, he'd just make him talk. Simple!

It was only as he was half-way out the door that Francis called after him. "Toni, wait! Do you even know where Feliciano and Lovino live?"

Gilbert smacked his forehead. "I'll drive you." Giving Francis a pointed glare, he added, "Help Matthew with his outfits. And only his outfits."

"…I don't know, I mean, he could do with a haircut, too…"

"Verdammt, Francis!"

"You look…well."

They were sitting indoors. A cute Italian restaurant in the plaza with cosy furniture and good food. From where Lovino sat, he could see snow gently falling from the sky. He felt numb. He thought he'd feel happiness or pain or fear. But he just felt nothing. Heracles was staring at him. His green eyes.

Sort of like Antonio's, actually.

"Yeah, whatever," Lovino replied, glancing at the menu to try and distract himself.

"Lovi…"

"Don't call me that." Lovino's eyes flashed dangerously as he looked up. "And don't call Feliciano 'Feli', either. It pisses me off. We're not fucking dating anymore. You're nobody to me."

"Then why did you agree to meet me?"

Lovino did not respond. He only blushed, looking back at the menu.

They spoke little. The waitress was a pretty blonde who served them wine and antipasti. Lovino gave his order. Heracles did too. The Italian watched carefully as Heracles smiled at the waitress, his eyes travelling all over her.

Why hadn't he noticed these things before? Now come to think of it, Heracles would do this all the time. They couldn't go anywhere without him staring at women, complimenting them, flirting with them. And honestly, Lovino hadn't minded. It was never serious, right? Lovino liked talking to women too. Women were nice. Good to look at. Occasionally. But it was one thing to be polite to them. Another altogether to seduce them while one was already in a long-term relationship.

Lovino felt completely empty inside as he watched Heracles's eyes follow the waitress as she went back to the kitchen to relay their order. Of all the things he could relate this situation to, it felt like editing. Lovino knew what it was like to proofread his own articles. He would think they were perfect until he got a little time away from them. When he got back to it, he saw only their flaws. Because he'd developed an emotional distance to them, that helped him look at them objectively.

And this was happening now, with Heracles. He'd not seen the other man in months and months. He'd fallen in love with Anto—he'd developed feelings for Antonio. Now, all he could see was Heracles and his flaws. His bad habits. And so many of them.

"So, are you seeing anyone?" Heracles asked, tentative.

"No." Lovino paused, assessing Heracles from the rim of his wine glass. "You?"

Heracles took a few minutes to reply. He opened his mouth slightly, closed it, and then swallowed. "No."

You dirty liar.

"So, you said you went to Greece?"

"Yeah…it was a sabbatical, of sorts. I changed my ways."

"Right."

"Really, Lovino, I'm serious." Heracles reached out and took Lovino's hand. The Italian flinched. But that touch. So familiar. So many good memories attached to it. He did not pull away. Heracles continued, "Athens, Santorini, Zakynthos…" he said the last word with a little more emphasis. "Remember how we met?"

"Navagio beach, Zakynthos. I was sunbathing. You were swimming. You got out of the water. Saw me. The rest, as they say, is history." Lovino said all of this in a deadpan tone, as though he were discussing a news headline. Lovino, Feliciano and their grandfather had been on a 'family vacation'. Ludwig had come too, although he and Feli weren't married, just in a serious relationship. Heracles had wasted no time buying Lovino a drink, and things had only progressed from there.

Heracles did not sense the tone of Lovino's voice. Either that, or he simply ignored it. "I was at Navagio, walking by the water one evening. You remember how we used to do that? Walk by the edge of the sea? You'd always complain about sand, though…It was always so cute."

Lovino took a sip of wine to distract himself. Was Heracles doing this on purpose? Making him relive these memories?

"Anyway, I still remember. I was walking by the edge of the sea. Slippers in my hand. And I was thinking…and I remembered that Plato once said…he said, 'the madness of love is the greatest of heaven's blessings'. And I remembered you. And how happy you made me feel."

"Then why the fuck did you cheat on me? Over, and over, and over again?" for the first time since this ordeal had begun, Lovino began to feel. The numbness that had taken control of him was starting to ebb. Now, he was just pissed off. He pushed his pizza away, adding, "You're so full of shit, Karpusi."

Heracles's eyes widened. "Lovino, please. Just listen. Please? I realised I had to see you. I had to apologise. And I don't know, maybe in time, we could…we could start over?"

The bombshell.

Start over?

What for?

Why?

Lovino would not survive another heartbreak from this man. He had loved Heracles too much, and he had been hurt too badly. And he could see it in Heracles's eyes. He might be honest now, but they were also distracted. They kept wandering to the waitresses. Even some of the waiters.

But…

But Heracles was home.

Heracles was safety and comfort and love. Heracles was a constant. Dependable. Eternal. He would always love him. Perhaps not in the same way. Perhaps not with the same intensity. But Lovino had never been in love before Heracles. Crushes, one-night-stands, flings, yes. But this? This had been his first real experience. And it had been so perfect. How could he let that go? How could he turn him down?

"…Bastard…" Lovino said weekly, dropping his head to his feet. "Take me home."

"Lovino? Are you alright?"

"Take me home…please."

"We're here!" Gilbert announced, startling Antonio from a light doze. The Spaniard's tan skin was a little pale, but at least he didn't have a temperature. The car pulled up alongside the Vargas-Beilschmidt house. As Antonio rubbed his eyes, Gilbert cussed.

"What is it?"

"What the fuck is Heracles Karpusi doing here?"

Antonio followed Gilbert's gaze, and his heart sank.

At the door, Heracles held on to Lovino's wrist. "When can I see you next?" he asked, a touch of urgency in his voice.

Lovino's head was hurting. Heracles. His perfectly sculpted body. Those green eyes. That dark hair. His skin, the taste of his lips. The way they made love. The way they talked, laughed. The way Lovino cussed at him, the way he grinned in response. The way Heracles could go on and on about philosophy, his face lighting up in passion and joy as he spoke about Plato and Socrates and all of those old wise men who seemed to know the secrets of the universe.

Lovino leaned forward, his hands holding Heracles's face. Their lips touched. Lovino deepened it, and he heard the Greek moan into the kiss.

Heracles. Heracles, Heracles.

When Lovino pulled away, his eyes were filled with tears.

"…Lovino?" Heracles asked, his face flushed.

"I loved you," the Italian said softly. He took out his house keys and opened the door. "Goodbye, Heracles."

Antonio fell back against the seat, closing his eyes. Lovino had…kissed that man. That Heracles. His cheating, horrible ex. Lovino had kissed him.

"I'm so sorry, man," Gilbert said softly, placing a hand on Antonio's shoulder.

"'Sokay," the Spaniard slurred weakly.

Gilbert frowned, instinctively putting his palm on Antonio's forehead. The fever was back. It was back in full force. "Let's get you home."

"Home…" Antonio repeated quietly, his voice far away.

Interlude

"The thing about love, Antonio," his mother said as she handed him a plate of sliced tomatoes. Salt and pepper sprinkled over the red flesh of the fruit, and he took some eagerly with his fork, listening as his mother spoke truths. She had that lost look in her eyes as she stared into a distance that only she could see, her imagination free from the confines of the kitchen walls. "The thing about love is that you can't stop it, control it, curb it."

"So?" the five-year-old asked, his mouth full. She shot him a reprimanding look, and he grinned cheekily, tomato juice dripping from his chin.

"But it hurts the most when it isn't returned."

He tilted his head to the side. His mother would sometimes talk to him about love, he never knew why.

"You're such a sensitive boy," she went on, sounding almost sad. "You're going to fall in love so passionately. So completely. It worries me sometimes. I couldn't stand seeing you hurt."

Antonio giggled. "Love is stupid."

"It is," she agreed. "But it's everything."

"Antonio?"

The Spaniard looked up to the sound of the voice. The buzz of The Hungarian Café came back to him. He paused as he wiped the table. The indoors section of the restaurant was packed, because the snow had made it impossible for customers to sit outside. It was just after lunch rush.

Antonio saw Luciano standing next to him. How had he not noticed the Brazilian?

"Oh, hello," the Spaniard said weakly. He'd taken many days off work thanks to his stupid fever. He was still rather tired.

Luciano was frowning at him, looking concerned and upset. "You don't come to class anymore."

"…Haha…no."

"Neither does Lovino. Did something happen?"

"…You could say that."

Luciano sighed, shaking his head in disappointment. "Come back to class, Antonio. Please."

"I can't," the Spaniard replied, his stomach twisting at the thought. He could not dance. Dance ruined everything. This thing with Lovi was only proof of that. Dancing was only good when his parents had been alive. Anything beyond that was…wrong. Dancing had made him fall in love. Dancing had broken his heart. He couldn't bear the thought of dancing. Never again.

Luciano stared at him for a long minute, and Antonio could not look him in the eye.

"…I don't know what happened between you two," Luciano began simply, "But don't let it hurt you like this. Because right now, you're not half the person you are when you dance. You don't think I noticed? How nervous and shy and scared you used to be? And that was changing. You were become so much more confident. You looked happier. And…well…" Luciano sighed once more. "Just come back to class, Antonio."

The Spaniard shook his head, forcing away a torrent of tears. "I can't. I just can't."

The apartment was so empty. Without Gilbert's mess lying around all over the place, it seemed to be missing something. There were just suitcases, boxes, bags. Francis and Antonio tried their best to ignore the gaping hole in their comfort zone, but Gilbert's unusual silence was doing nothing to help. "Tomorrow. I get married tomorrow." He took another swig of his beer. "And then I'm going to Germany. And I won't see you guys!"

"Oh come on, Gil," Francis said seriously, "You said it yourself. Berlin is just a train-journey away. Look, you're getting married tomorrow! We shouldn't be sitting here, sulking. Get your derrière up. We're going to go clubbing!" Because the house was too depressingly empty for a bachelor's party.

Drinking brainlessly with his two best friends was the most fun Antonio had had since what felt like a century.

"Antonio will be there, won't he?" Lovino asked as he sat in the backseat of the new car. The snow that blanketed the city now was perfectly white, soft and crunchy. The weather held up beautifully. It certainly seemed like a nice time to get married.

"Of course," Ludwig answered, not taking his eyes off the road. "He's a close friend of Gilbert's."

Lovino sighed. "Whatever."

Feliciano switched on the radio, trying to break the awkward silence that followed.

"Do you, Matthew, take Gilbert to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

"I do."

Beside Antonio, Alfred, Matthew's cousin, burst into tears and buried his head into his wife Lien's shoulder. Alfred had initially been Matthew's best man, but when the Canadian had realised his brother was prone to getting this emotional, he'd promptly changed his mind and asked an old college friend to do it for him.

"Do you, Gilbert, take Matthew to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

"I do."

Francis, Gilbert's best man, was red-eyed and smiling as he wiped a stray tear off his face. Antonio grinned a little to himself, too.

"Then I pronounce you married. You may kiss."

When Matthew and Gilbert's lips met, Alfred's shoulders shook harder, and Antonio distinctly heard him weep, "My lil Mattie's all grown up!"

Lien, looking a combination of amused and irritated, patted his shoulders. "There, there."

Antonio glanced across the aisle. Feliciano was crying, but that didn't surprise anyone. Ludwig had a hint of a smile on his face. But the Spaniard's heart clenched as he saw Lovino. The Italian stared straight ahead, his eyes fixed on the happy couple but his expression faraway. He hadn't been able to even get close to Lovi. The wedding—and all the minor disasters that preceded them—had been keeping him busy.

Tsk. I shouldn't be selfish. With that thought, he turned back to Gilbert and Matthew who were laughing with their foreheads pressed together. Seriously, they were adorable.

As they walked down the aisle, with the best men and procession of other assorted semi-important people following, Francis winked at Arthur, in his seat, who turned bright red and tried not to grin too widely. Arthur was Francis's plus-one. They were an official couple now. Sort of.

Antonio glanced towards Lovi again. Where was Heracles? He found it a little hard to believe that Lovi wouldn't bring a date to the wedding, especially since he'd got back together with this jerk who'd hurt him so badly. The very thought of that Greek made Antonio ball his fists in anger.

"Love is so beautiful," Alfred sobbed, making Lien smirk slightly.

Antonio glanced at the American. "Is he okay?" he asked the Vietnamese woman who was currently running her hands through Alfred's hair.

Lien shook her head in a 'don't-you-worry-about-it' sort of way. "He's just got a lot of feelings."

"Haha, I see."

Alfred blew his nose on a handkerchief. Lien winced. Antonio looked away.

"Gilbert and I were roommates in college," Francis began, holding up his wine glass as he gave his toast. Antonio fidgeted under the table. Beside him were Alfred and Lien, again, and Ludwig and Feliciano. Lovino had conveniently vanished. There was an empty chair where he should have been. Gilbert and Matthew were sitting together, hand-in-hand, with the albino grinning up at the Frenchman.

"And let me tell you, at first, we didn't really like each other. I thought he was crass, loud, irritating, alcoholic, uncouth—"

"Wow, thanks, man," Gilbert interjected, and everybody laughed.

Francis smirked, lightly thumping him on the back. "—uncouth, stupid, untidy, and worst of all, he left the toilet seat up."

"Mm…he still does that," Matthew muttered, and everyone laughed once more.

"I love you guys," Gilbert sighed in exasperation, and Matthew chuckled, pecking him lightly on the cheek.

"But then," Francis went on, "We realised we had something in common. We. Were. Awesome." As expected, people snickered, rolling their eyes. Ludwig and Arthur both said something sarcastic. Francis continued, "We played pranks on everyone, got into trouble with the professors, went to jail, drove drunk, and did a hundred other things we were not supposed to do. Some of my happiest memories are with Gilbert. He is my brother, my best friend, my partner in crime. And together with Antonio," Francis gestured to the Spaniard, who straightened up and grinned, "We've had some wonderful times.

"I've seen Gilbert at his best and worst, and I'm ecstatic to say that Matthew brings out the absolute best in him. Matthew," Francis said, looking at the Canadian, "You are truly lucky. Gilbert is one of the kindest people I know, even if he is a bit of a moron."

"Thanks, Francis, really."

"Shut it, Gil. Anyway, Matthew, Gilbert, I wish you nothing but happiness and health. And if you ever, ever need sex advice, I'm always happy to help."

Roars of laughter. It took several minutes for people to quieten down.

Matthew grinned placidly, lifting his glass in acknowledgement. "Thank you, Francis. But trust me, you could probably learn a thing or two from us."

"Oh? Is that a challenge?"

"Guys, jeez, shut up, you're gonna make me puke. Nobody wants to think about their family members having sex lives," Alfred muttered, taking his glass and standing. "My turn." He looked at the guests and said, "Gil and I have always been buddies. But when I found out he had designs on my brother, I almost killed him. Really. Like, not cool, man. But then it turns out that Mattie's got a thing for Gil—bad taste, Matt, seriously—so I relented, because I'm the hero. Anyway, here we are. Gilbert, if you hurt my brother, I will break your face. Congratulations on your wedding! I love you guys!"

Well. Okay.

Ludwig stood up next, saying, "Matthew is good for Gilbert. My brother has a wild side that Matthew is able to control. Thank god for that." People laughed, though it didn't seem as though Ludwig had made a joke intentionally. "Matthew, you've made my brother happier than I've ever seen him. I do give you only the warmest welcome into our family."

The Canadian blushed. "Thank you, Ludwig."

Some more speeches. Antonio was so restless. Where was Lovino? Where did he vanish off to? The couple's dance would be starting soon! Of course Antonio wanted to see Matthew and Gilbert doing that waltz they'd practiced for, but the thought of seeing them dance ballroom without having Lovino to partner with was an image too horrible to bear.

It was starting. Matthew and Gilbert stood, walking towards the dance floor with grace that Antonio did not know they possessed. He'd seen them practice in class initially, but he hadn't been going for so long. He had no idea how good they were, and hadn't asked. If he thought of dance, he thought of Lovi. And thinking of the Italian made everything in his body hurt.

The waltz. Antonio automatically started swaying in his seat to it as Gilbert and Matthew held each other close. They were perfect for each other. They swept across the floor so seamlessly. Antonio knew how to recognise the 'meant-to-be' dance partners, and he saw that in these two.

Just like him and Lovi.

Oh god.

He couldn't take it anymore. He leaned across the table, to where Feliciano was watching the dance, whispering to Ludwig and smiling as he did. He lightly poked the younger Vargas in the shoulder, and when Feliciano turned, asked, "Have you seen Lovi?"

Feliciano gave him an odd, uncertain look. "He disappeared after the service. But he should be around somewhere, don't worry."

Antonio stared at Feliciano for a few more seconds.

The younger Vargas quietly added, "You make him happy, you know?"

"I...I do?"

"Yes."

It happened at once.

Dancing isn't bad. Dancing is life. Dancing does not ruin. It only creates.

"But...But I thought he was with Heracles now?"

Feliciano frowned, looking genuinely confused. "What? No. He went out with him the other day, but that didn't work out. Lovi's far too good for stupid Heracles, anyway."

Antonio stared at Feli some more. And then he stood, distractedly excusing himself. Elizabeta accosted him just as he was about to leave the room. "Where to?" she asked, smiling. "Not running away, are you?"

"Haha, looking for the bathrooms."

She let him go after that.

Lovi. Lovi. Where was Lovi? Had Feli meant what he said? It was too good to be true. But…Lovi made him happy, too. Lovi made him feel brave. Dammit. He was going to find Lovino Vargas. Antonio had had enough. He was going to find and talk to Lovino Vargas.

And he was going to tell Lovino Vargas that he loved him.

Antonio walked quickly down the hallways of the venue. They'd rented a place at a nice hotel, with Feliciano's priest ministering the wedding. There were a million places to hide around here, so where could he—

Oh.

There he was.

At the bar.

This. Was. Pathetic.

It wasn't an actual bar. It was just a place with alcohol. The sort of structure that seemed to spring out of the ground specifically for a wedding, and then vanish into oblivion as soon as it wasn't needed. Lovino sat on a tall stool, nursing one glass of wine that he had barely touched. He had a tray of canapés in front of him. Sure, these were actually for the other guests, but who gave a shit? He popped one into his mouth, chewing slowly.

So pathetic.

Who came to a wedding without a date? That was just sad. And right now, Lovino was feeling lonelier than ever. Heracles was gone. Gone from his life, gone from good. Antonio was right here, in the venue, but so far away. Besides, Lovino couldn't stomach the thought of a relationship. It scared him. It terrified the living shit out of him.

He checked his watch. He could hear soft waltz music coming from near-by. Matthew and Gilbert were probably doing their wedding dance. Ugh. There was no way he could handle that. If he thought of dance, he thought of Antonio. And he couldn't afford to. It hurt too much. In fact, he hadn't even wanted to come, but Feliciano had given him a dirty look and bullied him into it. He could still remember his brother's sharp reprimand. "It's Ludwig's BROTHER'S wedding. He's FAMILY. And Matthew, you like Matthew. He's your FRIEND. I'm NOT taking no for an answer."

Lovino secretly pitied whatever child Feli and Ludwig ever decided to adopt.

He didn't even know what he was upset about anymore. At first it was because he'd dropped all his defences and slept with Antonio. And then it was because he wanted to be left alone to sulk, but Antonio kept bugging him. And then it was because Heracles was back, with his stupid lying and pathetic apologies. And now…now, Lovino was just upset. One part of him wanted Antonio. Badly. He wouldn't go so far as to say he was in love, although sometimes it felt like that. He just wanted to hold Antonio, to dance with him. (Forever).

Another part of him wanted to run. To run away from the situation, away from the conflict. To simply give up any hopes of a relationship with that man. Why bother? He'd just get hurt. Everyone always left him in the end. He wasn't like Feli. He wasn't cute and talented and likable. He was just Lovino. Crabby, snappy, unpleasant Lovino.

The bartender gave him sympathetic look. "You okay, buddy? You look really down."

"I wonder why," Lovino replied darkly. And he wasn't even being sarcastic.

"Lovi!"

Oh holy fuck.

Lovino whipped around so suddenly that he almost fell off the barstool. "An-Antonio…!" he stammered, his face turning bright red as the Spaniard approached him. Antonio looked like a mess. Sleepless, tired, but mostly, he sported such a sad expression in his eyes that it made Lovino want to look away. And there it was, the taut hold in Antonio's back. He was tense, nervous. But then, wasn't he always?

No…that night…Antonio hadn't been nervous when they'd slept together. Antonio hadn't been nervous when they'd danced. Upset, sure. Devastated. But Antonio had not been nervous.

"Lovi, I—"

"Leave me alone."

"But—"

"I don't want to talk to you! Leave me the fuck alone, Antonio!"

A broken expression came upon his features. "…Sorry, Lovi. I'll…I'll go." And he turned and walked a few steps away. But then, Antonio stopped. Lovino heard him inhale deeply, and the Spaniard looked back at him. "No."

"No? No what?"

The bartender seemed to get the hint. He quickly excused himself, muttering something about needing more Budweiser. Lovino was alone in a room with Antonio. Shit.

"I want to talk to you. And I would like it if you listened to me."

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

"I don't give a fuck about what you want to say."

But Antonio had taken quick, large strides across the room. And before Lovino knew it, he was being hugged.

Antonio was holding him so completely that at first, the Italian didn't know how to react. His first instinct would have been to kick and scream until Antonio let him go, but something in his brain shut down. Antonio was holding him. Again.

"Te amo," Antonio whispered in his ear. "I love you. I need you. You're my dance partner."

Blood was rushing to Lovino's head, and the only thing he could hear was the roar in his own ears. Antonio loved him. Antonio loved him. Antonio loved him.

He was going to get hurt.

Lovino was going to get hurt.

NO.

"You don't," Lovino said back, struggling to keep the tears at bay. Antonio was still holding onto him, almost as though he was afraid Lovino would disappear if he let go. "You don't love me. Nobody does."

"I do! I do! And I'll prove it to you every day." Antonio pulled away now, placing his hands on Lovino's shoulders. Green eyes met gold. Antonio was looking at him very, very seriously. "You make me feel safe. You keep me calm. I need you. You make me so, so happy, Lovi."

"I can't." Tears, traitorous tears ran down Lovino's face. "It'll be like Heracles all over again. I can't. I can't. I just can't." He tried to push Antonio away. "Let me be. Just go."

"No." And Antonio approached, holding Lovino by the shoulders again. "You push people away, don't you? That's what you've always done, isn't it? You trust nobody. I know that, Lovino, I know that. But I trust you. And I'll fight for you. Have you ever had anybody fight for you? I'll battle your demons for you, Lovino. I'll protect you. Every wall you put up, every single thing you do to keep me away. I'll break them down for you. Te prometo, Lovino! Instead of your inhibitions keeping you safe, allow me. Allow me. I'll do it for you. Please. That's what we've always done. We dance. Isn't it, Lovi? We dance the monsters away."

"You can't. You simply can't keep me safe, you idiot. I'll…I'll be possessive. I'll get jealous. I won't like it when you speak to certain people. I'll make you miserable. Besides, Antonio, how can you possibly take care of me? You're a fucking mess yourself. You can't handle loud noises or hot weather. You get panic attacks. You're so scared of everything!" Lovino shook his head violently. "It's too soon. It's too fucking soon for a relationship. I can't do this."

"…Maybe it is too soon for a relationship."

The tone of Antonio's voice made Lovino tense slightly. When he looked up, the Spaniard had that old look of tenderness on his face. "You're right. I'm terrified. But…but when I'm with you, I don't feel so scared. You keep me safe, don't you get it? And if you have to wait, then I'll wait with you. Maybe it is too soon for a relationship, but…" and then he slowly extended his hand. "But despite that…but despite that, shall we dance?"

Lovino looked at Antonio's palm, looked into his green eyes. And then he leaned forward, placing a gentle kiss on Antonio's jaw. A hand slid into the Spaniard's own, another found Antonio's shoulder. They would have to do this together. Lovino would follow Antonio's lead. Lovino would look Antonio right in his eyes. And Lovino would trust him.

And Antonio. Antonio would guide Lovino. Direct him, steady him, protect him. Because if Antonio could do this in a dance, he could do it even otherwise. Because dance was like a Petri dish. If they could do it with their arms around each other, they could do it any other time.

There was no music, but they danced. How many minutes passed? How many years? They danced until they reached catharsis. Until there was no more emotion left to purge. Until every atom of negativity was up in the air, out of their bodies, away.

And as the other guests began filing into the bar for a drink, Antonio held Lovino close.

Softly, terrified, the Italian whispered, "Ti amo."

Antonio pretended not to hear, because he knew Lovino needed time to get used to the idea. But the Spaniard held him closer, and they swayed to no music at all.

A/N: HOLY CRAP. IT'S OVER.

Firstly, I'm so very sorry for the late update. This chapter was giving me so much trouble, you have no idea. I apologise if it sucked. Also, I'm sorry if I messed up any of the details of the Christian wedding. I'm not a Christian, and I've never been to a Christian wedding in my life before.

*Lien is apparently a fan-given human name for Vietnam.

*For the purpose of this AU, Matthew and Alfred are not twins, but cousins. Because I love the thought of them being related, but I don't like changing their surnames to match. This way, they can keep their surnames and I can have them being brothers.

*Also, if you got the Mean Girl's reference in there, I shall give you a cookie. xD

*And another thing I completely forgot to mention. My fic is set in a fictional city in a nameless European country where it's rainy and snowy and overcast most of the time. This place is close to Berlin by train, too. I don't want to actually set it in a real place, because I don't know nearly enough about these countries to want to use them as a setting. So yeah, "Nameless Country" and "Fictional City" work fine for me.

Also, there is one important thing I have to do:

*GLOMPS ALL REVIEWERS*.

You guys! Seriously, I was so touched at the response I got for chapter 2! It made me feel so special. Thank you, thank you so much. I'm so lucky to have such kind readers. Thank you for sticking with this story, even though the chapters are freakishly long. I really enjoyed writing it, and I'm so glad that you guys liked reading it.

So, yeah.

Thank you, guys. Please review.

And remember to keep dancing!