AN: HELLO I'M STILL ALIVE!!

So. I've been procrastinating writing this chapter like a bitch. I wrote four one-shots between the last one and this one. FOUR. I have no excuse other than getting stuck with this. Also I think lately I've been in more of a lovey-dovey mood (as proven by the one-shots) and wasn't really in the mood for writing this stupid-ass drama. Also also I don't know why I thought it'd be fun to write a slow-burn because we're 60k words in and these two idiots still barely tolerate each other AND I WANT THEM TO KISS ALREADY GODDAMMIT THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO MAKE YOU SUFFER, NOT ME.

Ahem.

Anyway.

I call this chapter "Lovino's Journey Of Overthinking And Self-Discovery". Hope you like it :P

TIGHT ROPE

Chapter XIV

Francis awoke early in the morning to find Antonio snoring by his side.

His bed was smaller than the captain's, meaning there was hardly enough room for two grown men — which, of course, derived on lots of cuddling whenever the captain dropped by. This time, however, Antonio had remained separated, laying dangerously close to the edge.

He had a faint memory of Antonio showing up in his cabin last night. It had been late, the sky outside at its darkest, when the captain had quietly walked in and slithered in his bed. Francis had barely registered the invasion, and could only ask "Nightmare?" before sleep took him again.

What had Antonio's answer been? Yes. Or perhaps it had been More or less.

Either way, he was now sleeping soundly — although not exactly peacefully — and Francis decided to let him be. There would be time to ask him about his night, and about that bandage around his hand.

Walking outside, Francis was greeted by what was by all means a beautiful day. The sun had barely lifted over the horizon, its golden rays reflecting on the calm sea and on the few clouds on the sky. The breeze was gentle, the kind that made sailors want to sit down and relax, and Francis was very much temped to do so.

Then he spotted Lovino and decided against it.

The boy had found himself a nice spot by the edge of the deck, where he could easily sit and watch the sea below. His gaze was lost in the quiet ripples of the water — clearly he was lost deep in his thoughts — and he looked almost ethereal, bathed by the first rays on sunshine and that pensive expression on his soft features.

Francis knew he was staring shamelessly, and it didn't take long for Lovino to notice. He flinched and looked at Francis with surprise, first, but soon his expression warmed and he waved at him. Francis waved back and took it as an invitation to move closer.

"You're up early," he greeted, and Lovino shrugged.

"So are you."

He laughed. "Indeed. Not many early birds in this crew, I'm afraid. I'm usually the only one out of bed this early in the morning," he commented, waving his hand around to point how empty the deck was.

Lovino hummed. "It's very tranquil, though. I like that."

"I can imagine. This weather helps, too." He raised his eyes to the sky — the quiet, unmoving, cloudless sky — and wondered if perhaps the weather wasn't a tad too nice. Maybe they wouldn't move at all today. Antonio would tell when he woke up — he was infinitely better at that than Francis had ever dreamed of being himself. Thinking about the captain, though… "Lovino," he called, looking back at him.

"Hm?"

"Do you happen to know why Antonio has a bandaged hand?"

Lovino didn't answer right away, his gaze on the sea and his lip between his teeth. Then:

"We had a class late in the night."

"Sparring practice in the middle of the night?"

"Not because I asked him to."

"And you hit him on the hand?"

"It was dark." A pause. "And I don't think he was sober."

That, he could believe. And yet he had a feeling that Lovino wasn't telling him the whole truth. For whose sake — his own or Antonio's — Francis didn't know.

"Either way, that must mean you're getting way better," he said, forcing a carefree smile. "Drunk or not, Antonio is a formidable swordsman."

Lovino hummed again. "He's a good teacher," he conceded after a beat.

"Against all odds," Francis smiled, winking at him, and Lovino chuckled.

"Your words, not mine."

"Hm. Well, enjoy the peace while it lasts," he said, patting Lovino's shoulder. "I'll be waking up the crew soon."

Lovino nodded and focused on the sea below again, retreating back into his mind.

Francis thought he really needed to talk to Antonio.

And he did, when he walked back into his cabin an hour later, after having awoken the crew and given a few orders to start the day, and found his captain already awake.

Antonio was sitting on the bed, his fingers toying with the bandage around his left hand, a thoughtful expression on his face. He barely reacted when Francis entered and closed the door behind him.

"What exactly is going on between you and Lovino?" Francis asked, direct and blunt.

"What are you talking about?" Antonio frowned, looking up at him.

Francis nodded at his hand and Antonio shrugged.

"Sparring lessons in the night are not that good an idea as it seemed."

"Why did you even think of that?"

Something hardened in Antonio's eyes. "Because I couldn't sleep."

"And you chose to spar with Lovino instead of coming to me?" Francis asked, incredulous.

"I come to you when I need comfort. What I needed last night was to hit something."

"Well, that backfired."

Antonio hummed, taking his injured hand to eye level, and tentatively moved his fingers. "I did end up coming to you, though," he pointed out. Then he dropped his hand with a sigh. "What do you want me to say, Francis?"

Everything that happened last night, Francis thought, but didn't say it. It seemed Antonio was just going to dodge the question with vague half-truths the way Lovino had, and Francis knew it'd be unwise to pressure Antonio. He settled for a soft smile and simply asked: "Are you alright?"

"Yes."

There was no lie in his eyes, and although Antonio's definition of "alright" wasn't what a regular person would consider alright at all, it was enough for now.

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

Lovino couldn't stop thinking about last night.

In fact, if Francis had met him before it wasn't because Lovino had the habit of waking up early, but rather because he'd been unable to fall asleep again after his 'sparring session' with Antonio and eventually, tired of turning around in his hammock, he had gone outside when the sky had started to brighten.

And he really, really couldn't stop thinking about it.

His thoughts kept jumping back and forth between Santiago Fernández and Antonio Carriedo. One of Europe's most proficient businessmen and the Mediterranean's most infamous pirate. A respectable merchant and a wanted criminal. Father and son. It was hard to believe.

Yet where common sense faltered, genetics left no room for doubt. Lovino still couldn't believe he hadn't seen the resemblance between the two men until it had been thrown at his face.

And once he finally came to terms with the fact that the pirate captain Antonio Carriedo was indeed Santiago Fernández's son, new questions started to sprout.

Antonio had said he was Santiago's only child, and it seemed to be true. When he'd met Santiago in Spain, the merchant had lamented about lacking an heir to his fortune. Which in turn meant that, bastard or not, Antonio would have probably ended up inheriting everything Santiago owned — and that was nothing to sneer at. Whatever Santiago had done to push Antonio to leave, become a pirate and seek revenge on him, it must have been something terrible.

Lovino found himself eager to know and scared to ask.

Someone snapped his fingers in front of his face and startled him out of his thoughts.

"What's got you looking so thoughtful first thing in the morning?" Raúl asked, a teasing smile on his face.

"Nothing you need to know," Lovino replied, returning the smile. "Don't you have work to do?"

"Not today, no. It's calm, if you hadn't noticed, so there's not much to do."

"Hm."

"Are you going to have fencing lessons with the Captain this morning?"

"Uh…" Lovino considered it for a moment. "Doubt it. Why?"

"Well, if you're also free, I was thinking I could maybe show you how to man a cannon. I mean, we're not actually going to fire it, of course, but you know, I could teach you the theory and—" He stopped abruptly, having noticed that he was starting to talk too fast, and took a deep breath. "Do you want to learn how to fire a cannon?" he concluded.

Lovino smiled, amused. "That'd be great."

In fact, anything would be nice as long as it promised to be distracting enough. He'd already spent too much time alone with his thoughts.

"Cool," Raúl smiled back. "Let's go downstairs."

El Diablo had six cannons in total, three on each side, and although not the largest calibre, still big enough to look impressive.

Lovino whistled in appreciation and promptly sat on one. "Come on, then," he said. "Enlighten me."

Raúl laughed. "Alright, Your Highness," he mocked.

But then he started talking and Lovino couldn't stop listening.

He started by showing different cannon balls and the effect they'd have on an enemy ship. Then continued by making a list of everything they'd need to fire it. Then explained the process of loading the cannon. Lovino listened intently to every word, occasionally interrupting with a question that Raúl was more than happy to answer.

"Do you man the cannons often?"

"Not really, no. I don't quite like it."

"Why not?"

"They make a very loud noise and I fancy my hearing too much."

Lovino laughed. "What do you have to hear that's so important?" he asked in jest.

"The Captain's guitar," Raúl answered easily, and Lovino had to admit that it was a more than valid point.

And now he was thinking about Antonio again.

Another thing that suddenly made sense — his guitar skills. He had said that he'd been taught by an Austrian musician, and none other than Roderich Edelstein himself; something that had seemed absolutely ridiculous before finding out that he'd been born and raised under the roof of a rich and renowned merchant.

God dammit — get out of my head.

Raúl was talking. Something about the recoil of the cannon.

Focus.

He jumped back to the floor and walked closer to the cannon Raúl was using as an example; asked a question. Raúl answered it. Lovino hummed. He leant over the cannon, as if wanting to examine something, his hair falling over his face.

And then Raúl was pushing Lovino's hair back, laughing as he asked what he'd done with the bandana that the Captain had given him.

All of Lovino's senses sharpened at once as he suddenly became aware of everything with excruciating clarity.

Raúl's hand on his hair, brushing it behind his ear. The rocking of the ship. The cold metal of the cannon under his hands, the sturdy structure standing between him and the pirate. The footsteps of the crew on the deck above them. How close Raúl's face was, expression unreadable and dark eyes gleaming.

The sudden realization that they were alone down there.

Lovino swallowed. His heart was hammering in his chest. Raúl's hand was still on Lovino's hair and his face kept inching closer and Lovino didn't know whether it was fear or anticipation that was making his stomach twist.

And then, just as Lovino felt Raúl's breath over his lips, there was a loud noise over their heads and Lovino flinched violently, pulling away until his back hit the cannon he'd been sitting on before. He looked at the ceiling, not daring to cross his gaze with Raúl's, and listened to the sounds that reached him through the wood.

"W-What…?" he mumbled, confused by the heavy stomps and loud cheering he heard.

"Sounds like a fight," Raúl answered in an even voice.

"Ah, I think… I think I'd better… If someone gets hurt badly, um," Lovino blabbered, his gaze never leaving the ceiling even as he made to move toward the stairs, "I'd better be there. I think."

"Okay."

He rushed upstairs, avoiding looking at Raúl even as he felt the pirate's eyes on his back as he retreated. His heart was racing and his cheeks were burning and there were so many thoughts spiralling in his head that he feared he might pass out.

The bright sunlight blinded him when he made it outside, and when he closed it eyes, his brain saw fit to project Raúl's face behind his eyelids.

"God-fucking-dammit," he growled. That was the last thing he needed — yet another issue to overthink about.

Where the hell was that fight? He needed a distraction. If there were any broken bones, he'd count it as a blessing.

Lovino arrived at the brawl only a few seconds before Francis.

The first-mate stormed in, breaking through the circle of cheerful spectators, and pulled the two fighters apart. They didn't resist, even though they could have easily pushed Francis aside and kept fighting, if they'd wanted to.

"What on earth do you think you're doing?" snapped Francis, holding both men by their collars. They didn't meet his glare as they shrugged. "What was this, a disagreement? There are better ways to—"

"Hey, hey, what's going on?" Antonio cut in, appearing seemingly out of nowhere. He looked much more relaxed and in a better mood than Lovino had expected him to be, after last night.

"Miguel and Javier got into a fight," Francis explained, releasing them.

"Really? Who won?"

Francis shot him a disapproving look, yet couldn't help but crack a smile. Miguel and Javier, too, although downcast, chuckled lightly at their captain's words.

"I'd bet on Javier," Antonio said, good-humouredly. "Despite my best efforts, Miguel can't throw a punch to save his life."

"Oi," the pirate Lovino assumed was Miguel protested, looking up at the captain with a frown. He had a split lip and a bruise on his cheek, and he looked younger than Lovino had initially thought. He probably wasn't even twenty yet.

"Unless, of course, you used knives," Antonio went on, "in which case Javier would probably chop off his own fingers."

Javier accepted the jibe with a smile.

Lovino watched in awe as the tension vanished, as if the brawl had never happened. He looked at Antonio, with his relaxed stance and easy smile, and for the first time saw the captain for what he was: a man who knew his crew and had rightfully earned their respect — and even, dare he say, their love.

"Now, just between the three of us," said Antonio, ignoring the fact that they were completely surrounded by the entire crew, "why were you fighting?"

Javier and Miguel shared a glance and shrugged.

"Boredom."

Antonio hummed in understanding. "I suppose there's not much to do." He raised his eyes to the sky and studied it carefully. The crew waited expectantly. "Doesn't look like we're moving today," he concluded. "Say, Francis, can that smart brain of yours come up with a better pastime than getting into a fistfight for no reason?"

All gazes fell on the first-mate, who looked back at his captain with a resigned expression and poorly hidden amusement.

"I'm this close to suggesting a mutiny."

"You may do that," Antonio nodded, a playful smirk on his lips, "but I was going to suggest throwing a party — and I think I already know which option they like better."

The crew erupted in cheers and applause. Antonio winked at Francis, and the first-mate sighed and muttered: "Cheeky asshole."

"Alright, alright, people," Antonio's voice rose over the noise, claiming back his men's attention. "Not time for partying yet." He gave a few orders, mostly regarding the ship's state and inventory, and the pirates hurried to their posts. "You two," Antonio finished, turning to Miguel and Javier, and smacked them on the back of the head. "Double cleaning shift."

"Aye, Captain."

Lovino's eyes followed Antonio as he retired back into his cabin. He hadn't seen him behave like that before — cheeky and amicable, yet maintaining his authority and dominance as captain. He hadn't been the cruel Captain Carriedo who didn't so much stand but bathe in a pool of blood; but neither had he been the Antonio who played his guitar with magic fingers and looked up at Alistair Kirkland with love and admiration. He had been a bit of both and something else entirely.

And Lovino noticed with a shudder of horror that he had quite liked this version of Antonio.

Someone patted his shoulder and he flinched, startled. It was Miguel.

"Hey," the pirate smiled. "I was wondering if you could…" he gestured vaguely at his bruised face, "take a look at this. Or something."

Lovino smiled back. Good. A distraction. No broken bones, but that would do.

"Sure. Let's go to my cabin." He glanced at Javier, who was standing behind Miguel. "You, too?"

Javier shrugged. "Just in case."

They went to Lovino's cabin in silence, and in silence Lovino started to inspect Miguel's injuries, until Javier spoke:

"Captain's right, you know."

Miguel looked at him, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. "About what?"

"You really can't throw a punch."

"You—" Miguel hissed, but Lovino held him in place before he could move.

"Hold your horses. If you want a rematch, it'll be when I'm done with you."

Javier laughed. "It's true! But don't worry, I'll teach you — if you ask nicely."

"You can't throw a punch either," Miguel replied, spitefully.

"Yes, yes he can, and you have a broken lip to prove it," Lovino interjected.

Miguel gasped. "You broke my lip!"

"Sorry," Javier said sheepishly. "Want me to kiss it better?"

Lovino froze for a split second and tried to ignore the meaningful glance the two pirates shared. Good Lord, that ship was infested. Raúl's face flashed through his mind and he groaned.

"You okay?"

"Yes. Don't mind me. You're alright, just have bad-looking bruises. On the lip I'm going to put some ointment to stop the swelling and the pain. It'll help if you hold something cold against it."

"Okay," Miguel nodded. "Thanks!"

"Is it true that you were fighting out of boredom?"

"Well, he was bored," Miguel said, his tone accusatory as he glared at Javier, "and loves bothering me until I explode."

"It's not my fault you're such a baby."

"Fuck you," Miguel snapped at him; and then, to Lovino: "They call me baby because I'm the youngest of the crew."

"How old are you?"

"Nineteen."

"In that case," Lovino smiled as he puts the last of the ointment on Miguel's lip, "I think I've stolen your position. I'm seventeen."

"Hah! Brilliant," Miguel laughed. "Thanks for the care, baby," he smiled, but there was no bite in his voice. "And fuck you," he yelled at Javier again before storming out of the cabin.

Lovino wanted to check on Javier, but the pirate rushed after Miguel, asking if that was a promise, and suddenly he was alone.

God dammit.

He closed the door and pressed his forehead against it, sighing.

Miguel was a cheerful young man, and Javier was a smug a-little-older man, and Lovino really, really shouldn't have found their interaction… endearing. Even a little bit cute. But he thought of their easy bickering, their flirtatious teasing, and couldn't help thinking that they complemented each other nicely. That they made a good couple.

God. Dammit.

Inevitably, his brain conjured up Raúl again: the way he'd looked at Lovino when they'd been alone, and how gently he'd brushed the hair off his face, and how warm his breath had felt over his lips when he'd moved closer, and… And that shouldn't be making his stomach warm up the way it did.

He slammed his forehead against the door.

God — slam — fucking — slam — dammit.

"What did the door ever do to you?"

Lovino jumped on the spot, startled shitless, and turned to see Antonio standing by the door that connected their cabins. He looked equally amused and curious.

"Y-You…" Lovino hissed, taking a hand to his chest, where his heart was still trying to recover from the scare. "Don't you ever do that again."

Shit, didn't he keep that door locked?

Ah.

Right.

They'd unlocked it last night.

Fuck.

He straightened and attempted to look more certain than he felt. "Are you here to threaten me so I don't tell anyone about what you told me last night?" he asked, chin up and defiance in his eyes.

Antonio tilted his head. "Do I have to?" he asked in reply.

Lovino opened his mouth and closed it again. He hadn't expected that.

No, Antonio didn't need to threaten him in any way.

And it wasn't because the threat was implicit in any way. It was, simply, because Lovino acknowledged that Antonio had shared something deeply personal, something that he wouldn't share for no reason, and Lovino respected that. There was no need for a threat because he wasn't one to go around spilling people's secrets, no matter who they were. He had expected for Antonio to threaten him anyway, because violence seemed to be his mother tongue, but he hadn't. He didn't seem to think he needed to.

Scratch that. Antonio knew he didn't have to threaten him.

"Lovino?" the captain called.

The realization came down on him heavy and sudden and chilling: that all this time, as he'd been getting to know Antonio, Antonio had been getting to know him, too.

He shook his head —slowly, because he felt dizzy — and didn't look at Antonio as he mumbled: "No. You don't need to."

Antonio hummed. "Thought so."

"Then what do you want?"

"Ah, yes." He raised his bandaged hand. "When can I take this off?"

Lovino sighed and gestured for him to come closer. "Does it hurt?"

"When I move my fingers. Quite a bit."

"No kidding, some shards got in deep. Jesus, do you have any idea how many nerves run through the palm?" He sighed as he unwrapped the bandage. "Be thankful you can still move all your fingers. You can move all your fingers, right?"

Antonio wiggled his fingers in reply.

"Okay… Seems the shallower cuts have already closed. I'll wash the ones that are still open and bandage it again. And then do yourself a favour and never again smash a bottle with your bare hand. Or, if you do it, at least wait until after I'm gone for good."

Antonio raised an eyebrow. "Noted," he said, amused. But then he went serious again, and he looked almost doubtful when he asked: "Can I play the guitar?"

Lovino hesitated for a second. "Yes, but don't overdo it. If it starts hurting, stop." He worried his lip between his teeth, thoughtful. That question had made him remember something. He waited until he'd started washing the cuts to ask, carefully: "So… You met Roderich Edelstein when you were a kid?"

Antonio's gaze burnt into him; he could feel it even as he focused all his attention onto his task at hand.

"Yes," the pirate answered, his voice even.

"I, uh… I've listened to some of his music, but I've never met him," Lovino continued. He felt the blood rushing to his cheeks. "What's he like?"

Silence. A tense, heavy silence.

Seconds ticked by.

Lovino gulped, fearing he'd gone too far.

And then:

"Stern," Antonio said. "A bloody perfectionist. I think I only saw him smile once in a whole year."

"He is Austrian," Lovino mumbled, and heard Antonio chuckle.

"But kind, too. Level-headed. Observant." He seemed to hesitate for a moment before he added: "Good-looking. It's been a long time, but I suppose he's still good-looking."

Lovino pursed his lips. Don't comment on that, he told himself. Just don't.

"A fantastic teacher," Antonio continued. His voice kept growing softer with each word. Lovino didn't know whether the pirate was still talking to him or had started thinking aloud. "Someone worth looking up to."

"He sounds nice."

"He was."

Silence again, although this time it felt much more comfortable, and neither broke it as Lovino finished re-bandaging Antonio's hand.

"Done," Lovino mumbled then, and Antonio thanked him with a nod before going back to his cabin.

As soon as the door closed behind the captain, Lovino sighed deeply and sat down on the floor, burying his face on his hands.

That was being a very long day.

And it was barely noon.

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

"Mister Edelstein? My name is María Carriedo. Mister Fernández would like to know if everything is to your liking."

"It is, yes. Transmit him my gratitude."

"Of course, sir. Mister Fernández would also like you to know that all the servants are at your disposal and—Antonio! Don't touch that!"

Antonio recoiled. His scared gaze flew between his mother and the musician.

"S-Sorry."

"This child, I swear… Don't you see that violin is worth more than you and me together? Eh?"

"It's fine, María, no need to scold him. Is he your son?"

"Yes," she sighed as she pulled Antonio close to her and rubbed a stain off his cheek.

If Mister Edelstein thought something of the remarkable likeness between the boy and his host, he commented nothing.

"Antonio, was it?" he said instead. "Come here. It's okay, I'm not upset. I'm not going to hit you."

"… you don't look not upset," Antonio mumbled as he walked closer to the musician.

"I swear I'm not. Tell me, Antonio, why were you touching the violin?"

"… 't sounds pretty."

"It does, yes. Would you like me to play something for you?"

"Mister Edelstein, you don't have to—"

"It's no problem, María. If the boy is interested in music, I won't be the one to deny him. How old are you, Antonio?"

Antonio hesitated, looked at his mother.

"Nine. He's nine."

"Will you really play the violin for me?"

"Do you want me to?"

Antonio nodded vigorously.

"Mister Edelstein, I still have many chores to attend to, I can't stay."

"Oh, I don't mind staying alone with the boy. If it's alright with you, of course."

María sighed. Antonio's imploring eyes were too much to handle.

"Fine." She grabbed her son's face and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Behave, Torito."

…

"Mister Edelstein?"

"Yes? Don't you like this piece I'm playing? I'm still working on it, but—"

"Could you teach me how to play?"

"I don't know, can you afford my lessons?"

Antonio shook his head. "I don't have money. Mama doesn't have much money either."

"What about your father?"

"…"

"He's Santiago Fernández, right?"

"… yes."

"You look very much alike."

"Everyone says that."

"Do you not like your father, Antonio?"

He made a face. "I don't… not like him," he said slowly. "I'm not sure I like him either. He doesn't pay me any attention and I don't like that." He frowned. "If he's my dad he shouldn't act as if I don't exist."

"I agree."

"He has a lot of money, but I don't think he will pay for your lessons, Mister Edelstein."

"Oh, well. I can teach you something basic for free."

"Really?"

"Yes. But not on the violin, I only have one and it's too expensive. I'll teach you on the guitar."

…

"Did you tune the guitar on your own?"

"I just… did what you were doing. Until my guitar and your guitar sounded the same."

"Can you… Can you play all the strings? Yes, at once, like that. Oh, that's… That's really nice. You have a good ear, Antonio."

"… thanks?"

"No, not your physical ear, I meant that you have good hearing. Musically speaking."

"Ah."

"… you know what? I think I may give you proper lessons in my spare time. For free."

"What, really?"

"I know talent when I see it. It'd be a shame not to shape yours."

… … …

Antonio sighed and rubbed his forehead.

He didn't know why Lovino had suddenly asked about Roderich, but his questions had made memories resurface — at least for once they were fond memories — and as soon as he made it back to his cabin, he flopped down on his bed and got lost in them.

God, Roderich had been young back then, younger than Antonio was now. It almost felt silly to think that Antonio had looked up to Roderich so much that he'd once told him he wished he was his father.

That was the one time he'd seen him smile.

He still remembered the way that smile had make his stomach flutter, even though he'd been too young, still too innocent, to know what it meant. But he had known that he loved spending time with Roderich, that the musician didn't judge him for what he was, that he'd comfort him every time he needed it.

It was after Roderich left that everything went downhill.

It was after Roderich left that—

No, he told himself. Don't go there.

It wasn't the time to sulk and drown in his past. His men were getting the deck ready to throw a party and have a good time. That's what he should be thinking of. Go out there, enjoy himself. He stood up.

A memory irrupted into his mind then, so potent he had to sit back on the bed.

Dark, green eyes staring down at him; an indifferent expression morphing into a far too sweet smile; a 'Hello, son' said with a mellow voice.

That had been the first time he had talked directly to him.

How old had he been? Ten?

"No, no, no, no, no…" he mumbled, instinctively curling up, terrified of his own mind as he helplessly felt it spiral down into the memory. "No, no, no, no, no—"

He suddenly thought he felt his hand on his hair; thought he heard his voice telling him how much he'd grown.

There was a pressure on his chest. He couldn't breathe.

"D-Don't touch me," he gasped, even though there was a small voice in his head that told him that nobody was touching him, and he was about to lose his mind completely — he needed Francis, Francis, Francis, Alistair, Roderich, anyone—

A sharp pang of pain made it through the panicked fog when he took his hands to his head.

Pain, yes.

He liked pain.

He clenched his left hand into a fist, dug his nails into his palm, and the cuts under the bandages protested. Good, but not enough. His other hand wrapped around his fist and pushed it close even tighter, until the pain became too much. It became his safety rope, his anchor, pulling him out of the nightmarish memories and holding him in the present.

Slowly, little by little, he came back to his senses.

He was in his cabin, in his ship. The ship he was captain of. No one could hurt him here. He was still gasping for air and his hand hurt like hell and his cheeks were wet — but he was aware of all those things and that was good. That was good.

He didn't hear the door to his cabin opening, but he did hear Francis' gasp.

"Antonio?" He was by his side in the fraction of a second. "Are you alright?"

"Been better," Antonio mumbled back. He flinched when he felt Francis' hand on his shoulder and his friend was quick to retire it. "Been worse, too."

"You look like you had a panic attack."

"Nearly."

"Can I ask what triggered it?"

Antonio hesitated for a moment. "Lovino has been asking questions." His gaze fell onto the bandages around his hand — they were bloodstained, he noted absentmindedly — and sighed, shakily. "He figured out some things… I told him some others… And he's too curious and too clever for his own good," he finished with a groan.

"You… told him some things?" Francis repeated, unable to hide a surprised tone.

Antonio grumbled a curse under his breath, then sighed and leant towards Francis, who welcomed him into an embrace and dried the tears off his cheeks. And then he started telling everything that had happened the night before, starting from the moment he'd woken up from a nightmare and all the way until Lovino had bandaged his injured hand. He spared no details and Francis didn't interrupt.

When he finished speaking, Antonio let out an exhausted sigh and buried his face on the crook of Francis' neck.

"Sounds like an intense night," Francis commented, brushing his fingers through Antonio's hair.

"You're keeping your opinion to yourself."

"I doubt my opinion is what you need to hear right now."

"Fine," he sighed. He didn't have it in him to argue now, and with Francis less of all.

"By the way, I came here to tell you that everything's set up."

"Hmm?"

"For the party."

"Ah, yes."

"Will you be joining us?"

"Yes. Fuck, yes, I need the distraction."

"Great."

"Francis?"

"Yes?"

"I'm going to kill him."

"I know."

"Even if it's the last thing I do, even if it costs me my own life — I'm going to end him."

Francis sighed and pressed a kiss to Antonio's hair.

"I know."

~{x}~{§}~{x}~

The party wasn't what Lovino had expected.

There was a lot of alcohol, that much he had guessed correctly, but what he didn't see coming was the pirates setting up a small stage on deck and straight up performing. Some danced, some told jokes, some sang. A small group made a short play depicting Antonio's fight against the Turk, which earned them a lot of cheering. They were only outshone by Francis, who serenaded Antonio in French and received not only a louder applause, but also a kiss from the captain, which was met with even more cheering and wolf howls.

It was only a matter of time until Antonio claimed the stage.

He didn't play his best — Lovino could only assume it was due to his injury — and yet it felt like he put the entire crew under a spell. They listened and danced and sometimes sang along, and at least a dozen toasts were made for their captain, their ship and their fortune.

Lovino stayed close to the stage while Antonio was on it, but when the captain finally got tired and freed it for others to resume their antics, he moved to a side.

And it was… Odd would be an understatement.

Ridiculous, that's what it was. Absolutely ridiculous.

Because ever since he'd been a young boy, everyone had warned him against pirates. He had grown up with stories of ruthless men who plundered and murdered; men who obeyed no laws but the sea's. And while he knew first-hand how true that was for this crew, he found that he had trouble connecting the image he'd always had of pirates to the men in front of him. He watched them dance, watched them sing and toast and rejoice, and the more he watched them the more he realized that all those stories had forgotten to mention the other side of the coin: that these men were free.

They were bound to no country or king. They lived their lives the way they'd chosen, to the fullest, with no regrets.

And Lovino, who had had his whole life planned for him from the moment he'd been born, felt a stupid, stupid pinch of jealousy.

"Lovino?" someone coughed by his side.

He turned to see Raúl, who looked a bit uncertain as he offered him a wine bottle. Lovino hesitated for a moment before accepting it, and scoffed when he took a look at the label.

"Giving me my own wine as a peace offering is a bit cheap," he commented.

"Hey, not all pirates return their loot," Raúl replied, smiling. "Consider yourself lucky."

Lovino hummed as he uncapped the bottle and took a sip.

"I… wanted to apologize," Raúl said after a moment. "About what happened this morning."

Oh.

Lovino knew they needed to have that conversation; knew that was why Raúl had approached him in the first place. He just had expected it'd take a little longer for the topic to come up.

He glanced around themselves, making sure that there weren't any curious ears nearby.

"This morning…" he repeated, slowly, and knew he had Raúl's undivided attention even though he wasn't even looking at the pirate. "If the fight hadn't interrupted—"

"Then I would have kissed you," Raúl cut in, his voice certain and honest. "But I think you already knew that."

No point in denying that. Lovino nodded and downed a large gulp of wine.

"What I don't know," Raúl went on, "and really would like to, is what you would have done. Because right before we heard the fight, just for a moment, I was under the impression that you may have kissed me back."

Lovino could have sworn that his heart skipped a beat.

He froze in place, his gaze lost somewhere in front of him, and he wanted to say something, anything, but he couldn't find his voice. He could barely form a coherent thought in his head.

Before he knew it, the bottle had found his lips again and the taste of the wine invaded his mouth.

"Of course, then you pulled away like that and I…" Raúl chuckled nervously. "I think you could just as easily have kissed back or punched me in the face — and I'll admit to wanting one and deserving the other." He stopped for breath, and his voice came out weaker, scared even, when he finished: "I can't stop thinking about it and it's driving me crazy and I know I may be pushing my luck here, but I need to know what you'd have done."

Lovino stayed still. Raúl's gaze weighed down on him as he considered his emotions, and he found that the answer was very simple, really.

"I don't know," he mumbled. "I genuinely don't know."

"That's better than what I expected," Raúl said, relieved. "Still, I… I know I crossed a line. I'm sorry."

Lovino hummed and drank more wine. "Returning stolen property, apologizing… You're one lousy pirate."

Raúl laughed at that. Loudly.

But before he could reply, there was an uproar that caught their attention, and when they looked at the rest of the crew, they saw Antonio walking onto the stage, followed by Miguel and Javier. The latter two were pretty much hugging as they walked, tripping with their feet at each step, and judging by their giggles they weren't precisely sober.

"What's going on?" Lovino asked, frowning in confusion.

"Looks like a wedding," Raúl answered nonchalantly, and laughed at Lovino's astounded expression. "The captain of a vessel has authority to officiate a marriage on his ship. So does the first-mate, in case it's the captain who's getting married."

"Oh."

"And you, actually, in your position as this ship's doctor, are arguably the third in the chain of command. Which means you'd also have the authority."

"I do? In which case?"

"If the captain and the first-mate are marrying each other," he grinned, winking cheekily at him.

The picture of himself officiating a wedding between Francis and Antonio flashed through Lovino's mind and he shivered.

"Thanks for that image," he grumbled.

"You're welcome. Come on, let's go closer."

Resigned, Lovino followed Raúl and they mingled with the crew. On the stage, Antonio was rubbing his forehead as he mumbled: "I don't know if I'm too drunk for this or not drunk enough." Next to him, Miguel and Javier were holding hands and looking at each other and sometimes kissing, and Lovino was surprised to realize he wasn't as disgusted as he felt he should.

"Okay, uh…" Antonio took his place behind the couple and everyone fell into an expectant silence. "So…" He stopped for a moment. Then he leant towards Francis and whispered something to him. Francis whispered something back. "Ah, right." Antonio straightened again and cleared his throat. "Dearly beloved," he said, loud and clear, "we're gathered here today to witness the marriage or Miguel and Javier. They—hang on a second, weren't you two fighting this very morning?"

The couple nodded, smiling, and Antonio just shrugged and went on.

"Do you take each other to be your lawfully wedded husband in, uh, what's the line? Wealth and health and whatnot?"

"I do!" they exclaimed in unison.

"Does anyone oppose this marriage?"

"I just think Miguel could do better!" someone shouted in jest from the audience, and the couple flipped him off.

"Well then — with the authority I have as captain of this ship, I now proclaim you married. You can kiss or whatever."

Javier pulled Miguel into a kiss and the crew erupted in cheers.

It wasn't a real marriage, Lovino thought. Its validity started and ended on that ship. Never mind the fact that they were two men — they were criminals married by a criminal. No one would ever take it as a valid wedding.

But he looked at them, at the way they smiled and laughed between kisses, and also knew that they didn't care. That when they'd chosen the life of piracy, they'd chosen the freedom to love whomever they wanted.

And maybe, just maybe, that kind of love wasn't as bad as Lovino had believed.

AN:

Me writing Chap. 1: "so here's a random guy from Antonio's crew, let's call him Raúl so I don't have to say 'the pirate' all the time"

Me writing Chap. 14: "RAÚL HAS A CRUSH ON LOVINO AND NEARLY KISSES HIM"

Me writing this chapter: "two pirates get into a fight, let's give them names to make it easier to refer to them" *five minutes later* "WHAT IF THEY GET MARRIED"

Also me as I write all those things: "wow I didn't see that coming" o_o

I love surprising myself with my own fanfic xDDD

Anyway — yes, Antonio had a massive crush on Roderich when he was little because he was very gay and desperate for love. And also because I literally can't pass up the chance to throw in another of my ships with Spain I'M SORRY THIS IS ABSOLUTELY THE LAST ONE I SWEAR. I promise the next time Antonio feels butterflies it'll be because of Lovino. Although... first we'll need to get Francis and Raúl out of the picture, don't you think? ;)

This chapter was a total bitch to write, so I'll double appreciate reviews this time n_n"