Mid Spring; Rome, Italy; 1939

Their bodies became suspended within the flow of rhythm and beat. A soft voice tauntingly drawing them back from whatever heaven they were trespassing in. The radio faltered, fuzz and static ruining the Nirvana they had built between their soft lips. Antonio backed away first,lips pursing in hidden frustration. His rough working hands squeezing the young Italian's shoulders before letting them go in some sort of surrender. Lovino was left searching, devoid of the warmth that had filled him so. He was only let down for a moment, before he regained that classically antagonistic demeanor. His hand came up quick as ever, pushing the Spaniard away with only the very tips of his fingers. He was afraid to touch him again, afraid to have him that close. But I liked it. No, he didn't like it. Antonio was a man; an irritatingly attractive man. Lovino was a man; a bitter, lonely, poor excuse of man. This was frightening him somewhere he never knew existed. But it absolutely charmed and enthralled him at the same time. It was terror and acceptance rolled into one envelopment. When did I get this pathetic?

"What do you think you're doing?" he asked, enmity fogging his gaze.

Antonio stepped back, his lips still pursed into a thin line. He let a hand scrape across his scalp, tousling his already messy hair with a deep exhale in the process. His eyes stayed on the floor, not daring to stray into Lovino's own.

"Lovino. I.." Antonio swallowed his words with a heavy gulp. He sighed once again, moving his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. Lovino had never seen him this way before. He had known this man for only weeks but had never seen his cheerful disposition falter in such a way. Frustration boiled in his soul.

"Lovino. This.." Antonio gestured, swooping his arms back and forth between them, "was a mistake." He said it so matter of factually, so absolute and written in stone. But his gaze stayed to the floor, not playful or cunning or filled with that usual spark that Lovino had come to secretly adore.

Mistake? The word struck a chord somewhere Lovino knew all too well. Why had he thought this was going to be any different from anything else in his life? He was a mistake. Everything about him, his very soul ordained forever a mistake. His jaw locked, eyes brimming with bitter tears. Why were his words having such unprecedented effect on him? Antonio had cut him down to nothing, something nobody had ever done before. So, why Antonio? Why now? These were the questions that fueled the ache now resonating in his prideful chest.

"You're just a kid." Antonio was throwing salt in his wound now. Lovino gritted his teeth and stifled any rage that bubbled up his throat. He could throw choice words this man's way, accompanied by fists and perhaps a well placed shoe if he wanted. He could, but he wouldn't. He couldn't let this man see him as upset as he truly was. He wouldn't let Antonio see any farther into that fragile, precious, fluttering soul of his. He clutched his fists to tightly he thought he may break his own hand. How stupid was I?

"I am no child. I don't hide behind a false pretense and lie like you!" he snapped. His voice tinged with ice and laced with poisonous anger. He truly hated this man, down to his very core. His hands were no longer tight fists, but flying ninety to nothing to better emphasize his rage. It was a nasty habit of his, speaking with his hands.

Antonio sighed, an unnatural frown displayed on his lips, his eyes deserted of all spark.

"Mistake. " Antonio paced, muttering phrases and things Lovino had never even dreamed about. Lovino's breaths became shallow and rapid. Again with the mistake. He made his way towards the door, gripping the knob as tightly as he possibly could. He wasn't staying in this room another minute. He wasn't wasting another second of his small life on this man. He would never be looked down upon by another set of eyes. Ever. He had promised himself that when he left all those years ago. He swung the door only to have it shut back in his face. He turned with a widened gaze. Antonio was upon him yet again, a palm pressed against the stained oak door.

"What the fuck is your problem?" Lovino asked, shoving him away. It took everything he had not to add another bruise to that perfect face of his. Antonio simply knocked his hands away. He was leagues stronger than Lovino, much stouter built and worked. He had Lovino against the door in an instant, pressing him with every pound of weight he possessed.

"I don't want to hurt you, Lovino.." Antonio trailed, abandoning all attempts to speak proper Italian. His voice was musky and harsh, filled with troubles Lovino couldn't fathom. It took the young Italian by surprise, but he rebounded quickly.

" You wouldn't be able to scratch me bastard." He said with a snort. And there it was, that same grin that Lovino had become accustomed to. It was relieving and frightening at the same time. How could he smile now? It only disgusted Lovino further. But he couldn't fight him. Not this close.

"No, not hurt you hurt you. I don't want to hurt you.." he pointed a finger at Lovino's chest, his eyes finally finding the courage to look into Lovino's territory. "..here." he finished. Had he figured him out? Had he decided it wasn't just this blatant anger that had ensnared Lovino's thoughts but the prospect of real love? Love. What an absurd thing. Lovino didn't believe in such things. But still, the feeling of the weight of this man's finger over his heart was equal to only what the weight of the world felt like. Lovino was now atlas, balancing the globe upon his shoulders. He could feel the sweat roll down his back, treading down his spine. He had lost every shred of thought he had possessed. This man didn't want to hurt him? As if he thought he could? Who did he think he was?

"W-Who the hell are you?" his voice was so heavy and thick with question it surprised even himself. But it indeed was a necessary question. Antonio shook his head, his eyes looking away, far beyond Lovino, far beyond even this room, opera house or Italy. He looked Lovino dead in the eyes, their emerald glitter busy on some unknown battlefront.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Try me."

It was silent, still, stagnant. The air was thick with malice. Antonio had slipped down the wall, his elbows now resting over his knees. He twisted his cap between his hands, his lips once again pursed into a fragile thin line. Lovino had followed suit, casually sliding down beside him, pounding his head against the door. His legs sprawled out before him and his hands were loosely strewn in his lap. He was only comforted by the rhythmic beating of his head against the solid oak door.

"I was twenty-one.." Lovino's head stopped just before it made contact, and instead gently rested against the wood. He listened intently.

"I was twenty-one.." Antonio continued in that rugged Italian of his, " living with my family in a small village outside of Madrid. We were farmers, leading simple lives. We had what we needed, and were happy." The side of his lips drew up in a smile. "It was my mother, father, Maria,and me. Maria was my younger sister; she would have been around your age. Would have been. A knot found itself lodged in Lovino's throat. He could feel Antonio's eyes on him, but kept his gaze to the ceiling.

"She married a few months before, even expecting a kid. Although,to me she was still just a kid herself. They still lived with us. Life was so wonderful.." He laughed a little forcefully. His hand trailed to the back of his neck, rubbing over it as if to soothe himself from monsters he never quite conquered.

"You would have loved her! She used to make me so mad and then bring me candy or something to make up for it. She was a good girl.." His demeanor changed suddenly, his eyes trailing back to scrutinize the wood-grain on the paneled floors. Lovino shifted to look at him from the corners of his eyes. He could see the man's shoulders sagging, twitching slightly with every short breath he made.

"But , one day..I was out in the fields. I was working, you know, checking the harvest. Then I heard screaming and there was smoke. A lot of smoke. And gunfire. So much gunfire. " his voice hitched only a few times before continuing.

"I didn't even run to them, I hid away in the field until I couldn't hear them screaming anymore." He laughed in a throaty manner, taking large gulps to compose himself. "I must have been there for almost an hour..."

Lovino had been squeezing his hand so hard his knuckles were white. He swallowed, feeling the anguish fall from Antonio in waves. He gripped the fabric of his trousers in his fists. He didn't like seeing Antonio this way. He didn't want him to know struggle. He didn't want him to know pain. As much as Lovino hated him, he wished he could do something to help him. But he didn't know how. He could hardly fight his own demons, how and the hell would he help Antonio fight his? He simply listened uncomfortably, stifling coughs as not to interrupt.

"I ran there, when it fell silent. The soldiers had gone by then. There was nothing left by the time I reached it, just a smoldering pile of ash. A funeral pyre I guess." He chuckled. He drew his knees closer into his chest. "I lost everything. They locked them inside and set our small cottage on fire. And for what? We were worth nothing but the dirt on our hands and the sweat on our backs. All they took was the horse and whatever dried goods my mother kept. I lost everything for that."

Lovino knew. He read it all over the Spaniards face. It had been no secret what had transpired in Spain during their civil war. Brother against brother. Italy and Germany had joined the Nationalists naturally. The "Reds" were left in the unqualified hands of farmers, peasants, and boys. Boys hardly old enough to marry. They were bombed, they were raided, and they were made to bleed for a country both sides were fighting for. Some had experienced the war more than others. That had been made clear by Antonio.

Lovino couldn't even fathom it. He couldn't wrap his mind around the concept of losing everything. He had though, in a way, left a loving family and stable home. No. He hadn't. This was different. They were still alive, a post-carrier or car's ride away. He still lived in a world where they existed, where they were breathing the same air, looking at the same sky. Antonio was not. Antonio was horribly, ultimately, definitely alone. That disturbed Lovino more than he wanted to admit. That someone so cheerful and full of life could have been through crucibles that Lovino wouldn't wish upon his worst enemy. It left him trapped inside some black void he didn't recognize, some inescapable feeling of absolute failure. He didn't know how to help him. But he desperately wanted to.

There was a suffocating silence between the two. A mutual unspoken understanding flowing invisibly between them. He was lost in the translation of emotion. Lovino looked at the man, puzzled. He had no earthly idea how to even begin comforting him, so he asked the first question that came to his mind.

"Why are you telling me all this?" he grilled. His hands found their way to his tie, pulling it loose from the collar of his shirt. He grew tired of it all. Of these emotions of this man's games, of the stuffy suit and ties, everything. All he wanted was a life worth living. And this sulking man beside him had turned his whole world upside down.

"So you will trust me." Antonio lethargic in his reply, leagues away from the quick Spanish tongue he had before. Lovino hadn't attempted to drag the answer from him, but he felt he was entitled enough to receive one. After tonight, this man deserved nothing less than Lovino's knuckles against his jaw. Antonio knew that too. He continued to twist the tweed cap in his fists. Was he that nervous?

"What the he-"The Spaniard had a habit of cutting Lovino off.

"Have you ever seen an open flame and wanted to throw yourself into it?" Lovino was aghast; his mouth mumbling something the ear could not comprehend. His eyes followed Antonio's emerald gaze and found themselves resting upon a small, stuttering candle-wick, completely engulfed in its small ember. He was so entranced, bewitched by the flickering wisp across the room. It's orange bloom mirrored in his foggy windows.

"I worked in a steel mill after I left Spain, an odd job. I needed cash in my pocket. I tried to keep my hands busy, but that didn't keep my mind from wandering." He tapped on his temple. "It may have been my second month there, I don't remember, but I burned myself on a hot iron. Have you ever been burned, Lovino?" he may have asked him, but that was the same as asking a wall. There was no movement between the two, no acknowledgement a question had even been asked.

"They say its the worse pain in the world. It's the sound that gets to you first, the bubbling, crackling, melting of your own skin. Then the smell, your hair being singed straight off your scalp. "Lovino ran a hand through his hair, holding a piece between his fingers. His eyes hanging against every word in gruesome wonder.

"And then, you don't feel anything. You're numb."

"I helped pour molten metal. I stood over that vat of blazing hot steel and all at once had the urge to jump into it. It was odd. I didn't have a death wish, but there it was, prickling the back of neck and urging me to simply step off the platform. That's all it would have taken, five seconds before I wouldn't feel anything anymore, a simple step. "

"I didn't do it obviously." He mused, chuckling slightly, a glimmer of his old self sparkling through the layer of malice. "But I could have, and that's what scared me. I was capable, maybe a little willing even. I don't know. But to have that kind of power, its terrifying." He sighed. Leaning his head against the door in the same fashion Lovino had, closing his eyes for only a moment to breathe.

"Now I realize that burns are like grief, it hurts like hell at first. If you hold the iron to your skin, you will eventually become numb, and feel nothing. No happiness, no sadness, no anger or even love." His emerald eyes found Lovino's own, swimming in waves of thought. "You have to accept the hurt, let go of the iron, and heal. You will hurt longer; the pain will be more intense. You may even have scars, but you will go on. You will live again, and that's all that matters."

Antonio flexed slightly, and that's when Lovino noticed the slightly raised discolored mark, perfectly straight, across the width of his forearm. He lightly shook his head, letting his hands fall once again to the confines of his lap.

"I still don't know why you're telling me all this." He sighed, his shoulders relaxing against the door, a pout on his mug.

"I told you, so you'll trust me."

"You think I don't trust you? I let you drag me down here!" he snapped back. And Antonio laughed, his genuine, hearty, incredible room warming laugh. It was good to hear it again, even if it did somewhat irritate the Italian.

"For all I know you could have brought me down here to murder me." Lovino teased.

"Maybe that was the plan." Antonio equally jested, a mockingly grave look on his face. He was recompensed with a well-placed jab to his ribs, he should know better than to tease Lovino in such close confines. Antonio fell to his side, writhing, arms cradling around his stomach to hold in his laughter, he was toying with Lovino, giving him what he wanted. Lovino simply rolled his eyes.

"Bastard! That's not funny!" he scolded him.

"Ow! Lovino!" He still dragged the "o" in his name with that horrible Italian of his, but it wasn't as harsh to Lovino's ear as before. He was starting to like the way it sounded. What was this man doing to him? He turned his head to look at the man rolling on the floor, in fake pain, simply trying to entertain Lovino. After everything Antonio had said, after he had poured such troubling secrets and past experiences out for Lovino to see, he was trying to cheer him up? He felt the need to try and make Lovino happy again? What is wrong with him?

Lovino nudged him with his shoe, attempting to get his attention. He stifled a swallow when all at once he felt the full weight of this man's presence upon him. Those emerald eyes set on high beam.

"You still never answered my question." Lovino shook his head.

Antonio rolled to his side, propping his head on the palm of his hand, his elbow bearing the weight. A smug grin painted on his face.

"You're not going to tell me are you?" Lovino said with a sigh. Antonio shook his head.

"I can't, not now. "

That tore it. Lovino got up hastily, scrambling for the door knob a second time. He didn't hear Antonio move behind him, suspecting he wouldn't stop him this go around. He swung the door open wide, threatening to slam it against the wall, the realizing what time of night it must have been, he did it with ease. He took several steps, before the soft cooing of that deep voice called him to stop.

"All I can tell you is things are happening, changing. Be ready for them…"

And that was all. Lovino rolled his eyes, not giving a backwards glance to his Spanish problem. But he still felt those eyes on him, boring holes through his back all the way to the end of the corridor. He ascended the stairs, opening the door at the top. He paused only momentarily, letting the weight of his words soak in.

Things were changing.

This time he did slam the door with a thick, reverberating, thud.

Antonio sighed, falling flat on his back, staring at the ceiling. He too, was letting everything that had transpired seep in. He had never shared so much, never let his hoax be seen through. He had wanted to give so much more, but who was we to let the hopes of thousands and lives of millions more ride on the feeling of just one man?

A smile perched itself on his lips, the light from the candle fading as the wick was coming to the end of its life.

"I'm in trouble."

It sputtered for moments, before the faint smell of smoke encased the small room. It was dark, and Antonio basked in the solitude, although, his thoughts relished in the prospect of a certain Italian's company.