There was only one thing Lovino Vargas learned from sitting in a hospital bed, unable to move without help or see anything in front of him. He didn't have much for family, so the room was quiet and he only heard nurses come in and out, chatting idly to him and grumbling when he was too afraid to respond.

Lovino hadn't moved in a while. The doctors performed basic motor skills tests, in which they were too quiet for him to hear, so he sat there like a dumb fool while they shone a flashlight in his face. When they got no response, and checked him out, they concluded that it was conversion disorder, which meant he was making a bigger deal of it than it actually was subconsciously.

That wasn't how they worded it though. He was in there because he went through trauma. He went through trauma because he saw someone hit by a car and cut in half right in front of him, and he was lucky enough to move out of the way in time. It wasn't until the bloodied car ripped into reverse and he saw the mess before him that he fainted and hit his head on the pavement. Nice town, Chicago was. He didn't even remember the license plate. The worst part about being blind was that you could still see things. That image of the fat, obese man was still fresh in his mind as the smell of hydrogen peroxide was in the air. He gave a shiver and rubbed his eyes, expecting the world to be right in front of him and failing. Lovino wasn't sure how he'd pay for the bills, but he'd manage on his journalism job that probably had to be put on the back burner until he either got his vision back or learned to read a series of bumps.

"Lovino," his doctor began. She caught him off guard, and he jumped in his bed, looking for the source of the noise. "Lovino, we've found a method of treatment. I know you can't see him, but this is Antonio, and he'll be your caretaker for the time being until further notice."

"Hello," a disembodied voice spoke clearly, but gently. His hand was taken in a stronger, larger one and shook, and he was glad for some sort of contact. "I hope you do not mind me staying with you." Was he Mexican? Lovino was by no means racist, but he'd had troubles with Mexicans in the past, and it was enough for him to keep a grudge. The man who was shaking his hand was on his bed now; he felt the shift in the mattress. "If you chose to have it this way, you'll never know I'm there! Oh— well, I just meant that I don't make a lot of noise, if you want me to, and I can only be there to do my job, but I'm generally hired to be on site 24/7."

"You're fine," Lovino muscled out, and the man laughed, repeating his name, that he was Antonio and Lovino was his second client. The first had gone over all right, he had said, blathering on while he was slowly inched out of the bed he had been in for what seemed like days, and how the old man only kicked the bucket because he passed out in his sleep. Lovino was worried again. How could he be handled in the hands of a total apprentice? He didn't want to die! His sister was in France, unknowing that he was ever blind in the first place! He trembled, and Antonio rushed to recover, but merely helped him out of his hospital gown and into a pair of clothes of his own.

"Let's start over. I'm Antonio; I'll be helping you out for a while." His hand was taken again and he felt himself jump. That would have to take getting used to. Antonio shook it and he lazily returned it, making a mental note to ask if he was in the military. Once he was in his own clothes again, he felt out of his skin. Antonio helped him weave his hand onto what seemed to be his arm, and Lovino clutched it, terrified to take a step forward. "Don't worry, you have a big room. I won't let you trip over anything or knock into something." Lovino could hear the smile in his voice, and took a shaky step, and Antonio followed him with it, at his exact pace. When he failed to continue, feeling as if he was on a high wire and any step would cause him to fall off and hit his head again, Antonio didn't push him.

"What's the weather like?" Lovino asked softly while taking another step, having to tap the ground around him to make sure he wouldn't fall. Antonio tightened his arm so he felt more secure; however, it only made him feel as if he had to squeeze closer. The man didn't seem to flinch at all.

"Partly cloudy, and a little bit breezy. It's perfect out," he answered after a beat, stalling only slightly to do something and continuing their slow pace out of the room. The air changed and a tinkling sound rang in the air. "Just my keys, it's okay. You're doing great."

Lovino was sure it took them at least a half an hour to leave the hospital and even then, it seemed to take forever to get him into Antonio's car. It eventually resulted in Lovino begging him just to put him in the damn thing, but he got in a minute later without much difficulty. Antonio wanted him to be as independent as possible, but the only thing Lovino wanted to do was go home and see if he could have some sense of normal. "What kind of car is this?" Lovino asked him, swatting blindly for the seatbelt and finally getting it, where Antonio led his hand to the buckle as to not waste daylight getting to Lovino's home.

"It's nothing special," he chuckled, turning it on slowly as not to frighten him by the soft purr of the vehicle under him. "It's an Acura from 2010; the therapy center I work for issued it to me as a reward and because originally I had a very tall car that didn't really help for assisted living." He spoke as he drove. Lovino felt him shifting around and knew that he was checking his mirrors and blind spots as any intelligent person would. He relaxed and snorted in response, but spoke no more. He found himself trying to blink the blindness away to avoid unconvincing the man, but proved unfruitful.

Without warning, he burst into whining sobs and wept the entire ride home. Antonio understood his pain and let him release his tensions without a word. Only when he parked in the driveway did he return to his stony-faced demeanor.

Antonio, who was now a very soft-spoken man and only spoke to him when he was instructing something or when Lovino asked him a question, led him throughout his own house as if he were selling it, instructing him of walls and allowing him to try to feel against the wall to walk on his own.

"Thank goodness you don't have stairs!" Antonio laughed as he broke the silence when Lovino stopped in the middle of the hallway and began to shake with fear. "Right now you're in the middle of the kitchen… by the counter… yes, that's the cutting board, don't touch the knives though. We just got you out of the hospital didn't we?"

"That's right," Lovino laughed weakly, backing away and startling himself when he ran into the knobs to the gas stove. "Antonio, help—"

"Try to picture your kitchen." He instructed, his footsteps close by but backing away from him. "It's a beautiful kitchen…"

"I can't, it's all black," he spoke over him, frightened and alone in the dark. "I can't see anything."

"You can see black," he informed him, and Lovino laughed again, half-heartedly and very afraid. "You're in no danger, I promise. You won't slip on anything and you won't run into anything. If you might, I'll stop you before you do."

He breathed out shakily and softly held out his hands to feel what was in front of him and feeling the backsplash his sister picked out when she lived with him. Her room was now a guest bedroom, which Antonio had informed him he would live in if he had the permission to. His sister was going to be in France for another two months, and he agreed that it would be fine. He missed her dearly, to be honest. She had a lover there, a strong burly man with blond hair and blue eyes who spoke six different languages and helped her translate recipes at her cooking school. She wanted to be a chef, and God help anyone who tried to hold her back.

He took a brave step forward, knowing she'd urge him to do so if she were here. Antonio gasped and cursed in Spanish, he knew because Italian was practically the same if not identical in some ways and stopped where he was going. "What's the matter?"

"Not to alarm you, friend, but put your hands down very, very slowly." His voice was very close, almost on top of his and he felt Antonio's breath on his skin. "You nearly knocked me out there— that was a close one. Perhaps I should contact the warehouse we have at my work and… do not be offended, get you a cane to feel around. I believe it might be better than me escorting you everywhere, but if you chose so, I can."

Lovino took a step backward and winced as he ran into a hard, jagged surface. The counters, he presumed, since he had felt it many times before. Antonio clicked his tongue at him to stop and quickly clutched his hand.

"Ah, we can practice later, in a wider room without as many sharp objects." He told him kindly, laughing very breathlessly. "How about we sit down and talk?"

It was just a hunch, but Lovino began to think in the vast, dark room that was untrustworthy with each step, that it would take much more than Antonio's guidance and therapy sessions to return to normal. Oddly enough, he was more than ready to face it all.