GIFTS OF LOVE

... or, Christmas - Spamano Style ...

Once, a long time ago, there lived a young, energetic, handsome, and extraordinarily loving Spaniard by the name of Antonio Fernandez Carriedo. And of course, being young, energetic, handsome, and extraordinarily loving, he soon found another to keep him company, this being a grumpy, rather impolite but still handsome young Italian named Lovino Vargas. Despite their apparent differences, the two were—in the words of Antonio—a remarkably happy couple, and they lived together in a small house on the outskirts of a populous city. They were not rich by any stretch of the imagination, but—also in the words of Antonio—happiness was what mattered the most. And so the two lived thus for many years.

It so happened that, at the time this story begins, Christmas was just around the corner. Everyone in town was busy decorating their homes, giving the city a new holiday attire. Talk of festivities spread, and stores had begun to fill up with beautiful odds and ends. Although Antonio and Lovino tried to keep up their lives as usual, it was difficult not to be interrupted by the contagious holiday cheer. Antonio was the first to be infected, of course, being a naturally cheerful man; and one day he came running home in the highest of spirits, Christmas shining from his green eyes and wide grin and rumpled clothes.

"Feliz Navidad," he sang at the top of his lungs while taking off his coat and knocking the snow from his hat. He knew Lovino loved this song, even though he never admitted it. "Feliz Navidad... Lovi, are you theeeere~?"

"Shut up, will you!? You're going to wake up the entire fucking neighborhood!" shouted an equally loud voice from the kitchen, in no Christmas cheer at all. "And don't knock all the snow onto the fucking carpet, you idiot!"

At this Antonio gasped in astonishment (every year he wondered how Lovino found out) and hurriedly swept the snow back out the doorway. Lovino then emerged grumpily from the kitchen, carrying a large pot of pasta swimming in tomato sauce.

"Is that for me?" Antonio asked hopefully.

"No," Lovino snapped. But he gave Antonio a portion anyway. The two sat down to enjoy their meal while the fire crackled in the fireplace and the candles Antonio lit shone merrily in the dim house—just the romantic atmosphere Antonio had hoped for! He gazed dreamily across the table at his lover before Lovino finally caught his eye and turned tomato red (in anger or embarrassment, one couldn't be sure).

"St-stop staring at me, idiota!" he shouted, nearly overturning his bowl. "What do you think it is, Christmas?"

"It is Christmas!" sang Antonio.

"... Fucking damn it."

Lovino had every reason to curse, or so he thought. Antonio had said it was Christmas. Christmas meant holiday cheer. And holiday cheer could only come from giving presents—appropriate presents, mind! And how was he going to give Antonio any presents if the family wallet held only enough for living expenses?

He couldn't find time to think about all this, of course, while Antonio gazed at him and held him and kissed him. (That was when time became a valuable commodity.) But when Antonio left for work the next day Lovino was left to his own devices. The Italian paced up and down the hall, musing to himself and getting more disgruntled by the minute.

It was, partly, his responsibility to take charge of the family funds while Antonio worked away in his little clerk's office. But what was there to take charge of? They would only have just enough money to live on after the month's rent was paid. They did not have much in the way of worldly possessions. And among those there were only two things the Carriedo-Vargas family prized above all.

One was the silver pocket-watch Antonio always carried around with him, a family heirloom. The lid of the wonderful object resembled a tomato in design, and like a tomato it was remarkably comforting, ticking and tocking and telling the time every second, minute, or hour of the day. But wonderful properties of the watch aside, there was no chain for it to hang from one's pocket, and Antonio had had to substitute a worn leather strap from his shoe. Which made it impossible to flash the watch arrogantly in broad daylight.

The other prized possession was a living one—Lovino's little (or now not so little) green turtle. It was named Feliciano after his brother, who had, in his usual cheerful scatterbrained way, sent it as a wedding gift a long time ago. Lovino secretly loved the turtle; he was the single cutest, greenest, and most intelligent turtle in the world. Why, he could even tell when Antonio was near and alert Lovino with a tap on his tank! Who couldn't love a turtle like that?

Anyway, Lovino was brooding and brooding, wondering what in hell he would have to do to get Antonio something wonderful for Christmas. It was impossible, given their apparent poverty...unless Lovino sold something.

But what would Lovino sell, anyway? There was barely anything in their house. He threw himself moodily onto the couch and, in Antonio's absence, cuddled with his tomato-shaped cushion.

That was when little Feliciano made a noise in his tank by the door, presumably to comfort Lovino because he was sad. Lovino looked up, saw the turtle, and went over to pet him.

And that was when a most horrible idea came into his head—a most horrible Christmas idea, indeed.

Fifteen minutes later Lovino found himself on the road to Bonnefoy's Pet Shop, his heart heavy and a small turtle scratching at his inside pocket. He shivered in his patched-up coat as the snow fell in increasingly large drifts, and sniffled as he thought of the poor turtle, but thoughts of Antonio kept him occupied and on the right track. It wasn't long before he reached the small store with its numerous animals in their cages by the window, and made a mental note not to look at the turtles as he went inside.

It turned out he didn't have to worry about that, however. The moment he stepped inside he was almost assaulted by the cheery Frenchman from the front counter, none other than Francis Bonnefoy, owner of the shop.

"Ah, c'est toi, mon cher, cher ami! Où t'es allé!? T'as un bon Noël, oui? Et l'espagnol, est-ce qu'il a—"

He was waaay too close, and Lovino gave him a murderous glare and a shove. "Get the fuck away from me, and stop speaking French, you bastardo! I have serious business to talk about."

"Quoi—I mean, what?"

"Here." And Lovino removed Feliciano and set him on the counter, almost weeping. Francis's eyes widened.

"Isn't that the turtle..."

"Yes," Lovino said angrily. "I'm selling him to you. My brother paid twenty euros for it (because he's scatterbrained), so give me twenty, right now."

The Frenchman opened his mouth to speak, but Lovino cut him off.

"When I said 'right now,' I fucking meant right now!"

Francis gulped and hurriedly produced the money. But he looked uncharacteristically pale as he did so.

"Are you really sure about this?" he asked nervously. "I know how much that turtle means to you."

"To hell with you! Stop questioning me, damn it!" Lovino shouted. "Just—fucking—give me the money!"

He snatched up the bills with shaking hands and ran out before Francis even had a chance to reply.

The watch chain had cost twenty euros, no more, no less. And now it was lying in his palm, glinting silver under the light just like Antonio's pocket-watch. It was the perfect gift, but obtained at a terrible price. All Lovino had to do was look over at the empty tank by the doorway and the tears of sorrow would rise to his eyes again. Finally he couldn't take it anymore, and took the tank and tossed it into his closet. He could probably sell it later, but he didn't have the heart to right now.

He sat down and stroked the watch chain again. There was no point worrying about some turtle (that he'd loved and cared about), since the gift he'd exchanged it for was going to make Antonio happy, and that was all that mattered. Lovino sighed and wiped his eyes and glanced up at the small clock on the wall. It was five o'clock in the evening, and because it was Christmas, Antonio would be home any minute now.

Lovino slipped the watch chain into his pocket, made up his mind to do some cleaning, got up to get the broom, and promptly let loose a loud scream when the doorbell suddenly rang. A small commotion immediately started up at the front door.

"Lovino? Lovino—is that you? Are you all right?" The door rattled, and it sounded like Antonio was trying frantically to open it with his keys. Finally the doorknob turned, the creaky door swung inward, and the Spaniard barged in, stopping short when he saw Lovino standing frozen by the doorway.

"Lovino, what's wrong?" He took the Italian in his arms, and Lovino almost cried, but he just managed to push Antonio away angrily.

"N-nothing's wrong, you bastardo... I have something for you."

"Oh!" Antonio's face lit up. "I do, too!" And he stepped quickly outside and then back in, with a small green something wriggling in his hand.

Lovino stared at it.

"I thought you might like it!" Antonio said cheerily, stroking the turtle in his hand. "Remember that one time you said Feliciano was getting lonely? Well, I got him a companion too, so he won't be lonely for Christmas! And now you'll have two turtles, too! How's that? Lovi?"

Lovino was silent for a long moment. And then he said woodenly: "I sold Feliciano."

Now it was Antonio's turn to stare at him in openmouthed shock. He couldn't believe his ears.

"You sold your brother? Or the turtle?"

"The turtle, you idiot!" shouted Lovino. "I sold him so I could buy you a new chain for your watch. Here." He produced the chain from his pocket and shoved it into Antonio's free hand. Antonio looked down at it, then up at Lovino, and grinned sheepishly.

"I sold my watch to get you that turtle, Lovi."

There was a long, silent pause. And then they were falling into each other's arms and kissing each other wildly and wishing each other a merry Christmas over and over, because now all they had was each other and nothing else mattered anymore. Lovino was crying all over the place, Antonio was wiping away his tears with caresses and kisses, and the Italian didn't even care. They held on to each other for a long time.

They had not even settled down to dinner before the doorbell rang again. Neither the Spaniard nor the Italian bothered to get up, but then a distinctly French accent sounded from the doorway.

"Antonio? Lovino? I know you're in there! Open up, it's Francis!"

A wild hope flared in Lovino's chest and he ran to get the door. There stood Francis, with another small, wriggly round green reptile clutched in his hand.

"I tried to tell you Antonio had bought you one earlier and you wouldn't listen," he said uncomfortably. "But I couldn't really take your turtle like this...it wouldn't be right. So here—you could pay me back later—"

Lovino had already grabbed Feliciano and began to dance around the room in joy. Antonio, who had been silent witness to all this for some minutes, suddenly leapt up from the couch and ran to Francis.

"Francis, could you lend me another twenty euros?"

The Frenchman quirked an eyebrow, interrupted from his pleasant observation of the joyful Italian.

"What for, mon cher?"

"I need to buy back something. I promise, I'll pay you back along with the money for the turtle."

Francis barely had to think. "Of course, mon ami," he said immediately, and Antonio barreled out of the house, twenty euros in his pocket. About half an hour later he returned, pocket empty of money, to find a still-rejoicing Lovino and a vicariously happy Frenchman.

"You got it?" gasped Lovino as he saw the Spaniard produce his pocket-watch.

"Yes!"

"Dio mio!"

So they celebrated all over again, for the love between them, for the wholeness of their household, for everything. And somewhere in all the commotion Francis secretly produced a bunch of mistletoe from his pocket and stuck it over the doorway. Barely keeping back a snicker, he pushed the two to the doorway.

"Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!" he shouted happily.

Antonio and Lovino did kiss each other—in fact, they did nothing less than make out, much to Francis' enjoyment. After what seemed like ages they finally separated (much to Francis' dismay), gazing into each other's eyes.

"I love you, Lovino Vargas," the Spaniard said softly.

"I love you too, Antonio Fernandez Carriedo," whispered the Italian.

And so the Spaniard and the Italian lived happily ever after in perfect harmony.

With the addition of a turtle and a silver watch chain.

And, perhaps, some children.

THE END

Translations

Feliz Navidad (Spanish) - Merry Christmas

Idiota (Italian) - Idiot

Ah, c'est toi, mon cher, cher ami! Où t'es allé!? T'as un bon Noël, oui? Et l'espagnol, est-ce qu'il a (French) - Ah, it's you, my dear, dear friend! Where have you been? Are you having a good Christmas? And the Spaniard, has he-?"

Quoi (French) - What?

Mon cher (French) - My dear

Dio mio (Italian) - My God

This was loosely based off the Gift of the Magi, but because it's Spamano I had to make it a happy (happier) ending. Haha. Merry early Christmas to y'all!