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Autumn, 1943
Italy

.

Antonio was dreaming. He had to be dreaming. There was no possible way that something this wonderful, something this beautiful, something he had yearned for and craved and desired for so long could possibly be happening like this, could possibly be here in his arms.

It felt again like that long ago afternoon in his rented rooms opposite the revolutionary cantina. The world was small, silent, still; and only one person existed in it. Lovino – lovely, complicated, stunning, frustrating, perfect Lovino. Lovino, holding to Antonio's arms with light, steady hands, pressing against him with uncertain force, his eyes too dark and his breath too fast. Antonio wanted him. Antonio burned for him. For the guilty touch of his skin, for the scent of his hair, for the press of his hips and the darkness in his eyes. But no, this was not right, and Lovino did not understand; but he was so beautiful, so warm and soft and breathless, so goddamned bright and dark and alluring and Antonio did not know if he was strong enough to stop this...

But this wasn't four years ago. Because when Lovino looked up at Antonio through dark, heavy lashes, instead of the lovely fifteen year old boy of that blazing afternoon, his flushed face was that of the handsome, still complicated, still frustrating, still perfect young man whom Antonio still burned for. So this time, when Lovino moaned, Antonio did not push him away. Because if this was a dream, then it was all right to give in and let go and damn the consequences. And if it was not... oh, if it was not...

And so, Antonio gave in. He pulled Lovino against him, grasped his narrow hips and crushed them to his own. Lovino threw his head back and his moan became a word. "Antonio..." Antonio couldn't be dreaming, because this was too real, this was too perfect. He felt every touch of Lovino like an electric current, lost himself in this pulsing, building, burning need... Lovino's hair, Lovino's lips, his skin, his breath, his hands, his neck, Lovino's dark, dark eyes...

But Antonio woke the way he always did. With a racing heart and panting breath, with throbbing release and sweat-drenched sheets. With a groan of disappointment that, yet again, it had only been a dream. He lay sprawled in the tiny bed, limbs limp and languid; the last tingling pulses of pleasure fading slowly from his feverish skin. He blinked his eyes into focus and his heaving chest started to slow as early sunlight broke through the curtains and brightened the dull, dirty rented room.

Antonio ran a hand through his unwashed, sweat-soaked hair and, despite himself, felt rising laughter bubble up in his chest as he glanced down at the wet sheets tangled around his thighs. Anyone would think he was still a teenager. He giggled softly and jumped to his feet, raced to throw open the curtains and smile cheerfully out at the golden Italian morning. Today was a beautiful day. Because today, Antonio was heading south. And south meant one thing.

Lovino.

.

Lovino sat against the garden wall, strumming his guitar absently, humming to himself as a light, golden rain of dark autumn leaves drifted into the garden. Feliciano had left earlier for the market and Lovino was not sure where Grandpa Roma had gone. Grandpa was always unusually sombre at this time of year, sometimes disappearing for hours at a time – it wasn't until a few years ago that Lovino had learnt this was the season his mother and grandmother had died. So here Lovino sat, alone in the garden - something he was used to by now – alone. Alone with his thoughts and his fears and his memories. All of them turning eventually, inevitably, towards the same old obsession.

It had been over a year since Lovino's lie; a year since his fake, heart-crushing, life-changing declaration to Antonio. A year of increasing German presence in the village, of escalating counterattacks, of bombs and executions and suspicions. A year in which Lovino threw himself into the Resistenza, as much as he was allowed; accompanying Grandpa Roma on every mission he could, listening intently at every meeting, watching over and trying to look after Feliciano. A year of Antonio coming and going, spending a few days in town at the rooms opposite the cantina, staying just long enough to give what information he knew and perhaps organise a bombing or a diversion. Just long enough to tear at Lovino's heart, to bring the grief to the surface once again. And yet, Lovino kept stubbornly telling himself the same thing. This little pain he felt was nothing to the pain he would feel if he gave in, nothing to the trouble it would cause between him and Grandpa Roma. And though if Antonio died tomorrow it would still break Lovino, it was nothing to the devastation he would feel if he allowed himself to love him, to know everything they might be, to feel all that he had to lose. No. This pain was preferable.

But still, Antonio watched Lovino. Still smiled at him, still asked him polite questions carefully; how he was, how he was handling the increasing danger, how he was going with his guitar. Antonio's face still lit up when Lovino entered the room; he still said Lovino's name differently. Still, after all these years, Antonio confused Lovino, and still, he could not understand this. How could Antonio be so kind when Lovino was only horrible to him? What could Antonio possibly see in him? How long would this all go on? And why did Lovino not want it to end? Lovino barely remembered what life had been like before the war, before life was only about sabotaging German soldiers and waiting for Antonio.

Lovino continued strumming his guitar, watching his fingers slide over the strings, hearing his vague humming turn slowly to words. Lovino would not sing for anyone. But sometimes he caught himself singing alone, and before he knew it, Lovino realised he was playing and singing the song he had first heard from Antonio years ago. He sang the words softly, quietly, as though even in this empty garden he feared someone might overhear and ridicule him.

"Dearest one, if you should leave me,
Each little dream would take wing and my life would be through.
Bésame mucho, love me forever and make all my dreams come true."

Lovino lost himself in the words and the memories, smiled in his quiet reverie, looked up, and for a moment he was certain he was dreaming. Because Antonio was standing before him. Standing calm and easy, leaves flying in the wind around him, smiling kindly, his twinkling eyes as green as the grass - the very image from Lovino's memory of the moment he had first left, all those years ago. Lovino fell silent, stopped playing, and just stared up at him. Moments passed in silence, until eventually Antonio spoke. "You sing so beautifully, Lovino! You put me to shame."

Lovino pushed his hair behind his ear in a nervous, embarrassed gesture. Antonio had only been gone a few weeks, and Lovino was thrown off by his sudden appearance. "Don't lie."

Antonio's eyes softened. "I would never lie to you, Lovino."

Lovino felt a flare of guilt at the words, at the memory of his own agonising lie. "You're back again." It was a pointless thing to say, but what else was there?

"Yes." Antonio looked pointedly at the ground beside Lovino. "May I?"

Lovino nodded, and Antonio sat. Lovino turned his head as he leant it against the wall, looking up at Antonio. And they just looked at each other. And it did not feel uncomfortable, or strange, or wrong, to just gaze into those green eyes. Lovino's heart sped up like it always did, but he did not feel the old frightening, dizzying rush. Just a quiet swelling, an almost comforting beat, as warm and gentle as the leaves dancing in the wind. It felt like relief - like he had been waiting for something for so long that had finally arrived. But in the end, that's exactly what this was. Lovino caught himself before he returned Antonio's smile, and looked down at his guitar. "Grandpa is not home."

"I will wait. If that is all right."

Lovino nodded and ran his hands over his guitar. The silence went too long, until he felt he had to fill it. "Feliciano is at the market."

"Oh, is he?"

Lovino nodded again. Such an unimportant, meaningless conversation, and yet this was the least lonely Lovino had felt in weeks. Lovino did not usually sit beside Antonio so calmly, but he was too filled with relief and quiet happiness to even try to snap, or fight, or scowl. Maybe he was growing tired of it. And already, he did not want Antonio to leave. "Maybe you can stay for dinner tonight." Damn it, he hadn't meant to actually say that. And did Antonio's breath just catch? He immediately covered it with a laugh.

"Lovino!" he cried delightedly. "How good of you to ask! I would love to stay!"

"Don't go getting excited, bastard," Lovino grumbled, frustrated, even as his heart sped up. "I'm just sure that Grandpa will want to speak to you."

"Well, of course!"

Oh, Lovino hated that – the way Antonio agreed with him in that cheerful, flippant manner. He hated the way those words fired through his veins, the way that laugh twisted his stomach. He hated how he still could not control the effect Antonio had on him. "So," he said distantly, trying to sound as though he did not care. "How long will you stay this time?"

"That depends."

"On what?"

"On you."

Lovino's cheeks burned and his spine tingled. And Antonio just sounded like he was trying not to laugh. "Oh," said Lovino, flustered and trying to hide it. "Do you have important things to do elsewhere?"

"I have important things to do everywhere. Including here. But I don't want to make you uncomfortable." Lovino's gaze finally shot up at that, but Antonio just smiled. That smile that caused everything, that flooded him with unbearable emotion; fear and confusion, want and desire. That dazzling smile that became harder and harder to bear with every one of Antonio's visits. "Have you been well?" Lovino nodded, silently. Antonio always carried their conversation in the silence. "I am sorry I just missed your birthday. To think you are twenty years old!" Antonio sighed dramatically. "The years turn faster and faster."

They did. Lovino breathed out sharply, a soft sound of amusement. The world moving on around them and yet always this feeling the same, this unmoving, unspoken something between them. This something that Lovino could not change, and did not know if he wanted to. "Where have you been these last months?"

Antonio leant down towards Lovino, wagged his eyebrows, and whispered theatrically. "To faraway kingdoms and magical lands!"

Lovino scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Fine, don't tell me. It's not like I care, you know."

Antonio frowned and sat heavily back against the wall. "Oh, you're no fun. To France, if you must know. Not nearly as interesting, is it?"

Lovino felt immediately indignant, hurt, his cheeks burning with a wave of embarrassed anger. No fun... He felt some of the calm drain away, replaced by old, familiar, offended fury. "So, I'm boring, is that what you mean?"

Antonio turned his head sharply and blinked perplexedly. "I'm sorry?"

Of course he was boring, of course Antonio had no time for him, of course he was no fun... "I'm no fun, so I'm just boring. This must be so terribly uninteresting having to talk to me. Well, if I'm so dull then you can... What are you laughing at, bastard?"

Antonio's familiar laugh was as deep and passionate as ever. "Oh, Lovino, you are many things, but boring is most assuredly not one of them. In fact I'm always waiting to see how you will react. And just when I think I've got you figured out, then snap!" Antonio clicked his fingers and winked. "You go and surprise me."

Lovino glared and opened his mouth, but he could not respond to those words, to the playful way Antonio said them. So he breathed out heavily and looked down. "Shut up."

There was a brief silence, as Antonio actually seemed to follow Lovino's sulky order for once. It did not last long, however. "I was in France for personal reasons this time."

That caught Lovino's attention and he sat up straighter, slightly concerned. "Oh. Personal?"

"Yes." Antonio's eyes glinted, his broad smile dwindled to just a tiny smirk on his lips. "I'm marrying a lovely French girl, didn't you hear?"

A sudden roar rushed through Lovino's ears. His cheeks turned cold as the blood drained from his face. He could not even think about hiding his reaction, too stunned, too shocked, too overcome. His limbs turned rigid; his throat choked closed. He could only stare blindly, frozen, horrified. The air turned hazy and hot and stifling as the world crashed, fell, broke around him...

"...vino... Lovino! Lovino, I'm joking, breathe." Lovino could hear again, and Antonio's anxious words broke through the haze. He could see again, and Antonio appeared before him, concerned, waving his hand before Lovino's face. "I was only joking, Lovino, there's no French girl, I'm not really getting married..."

Lovino took a deep gasping breath. Oh God, how embarrassing, how stupid... "It's not like I care!" he practically shouted, then looked immediately down at his guitar, twisting his hands together, mortified. "I was just... just surprised that anyone would want to marry you, bastard." Lovino took another deep breath and closed his eyes briefly. Thankfully, Antonio did not laugh. In fact, he just continued as though nothing had happened.

"I'm actually trying to track down an old French friend of mine. His name is Francis. I used to spend a few weeks every season with him and another friend of ours, Gilbert. A German." Antonio chuckled softly. "But he wouldn't like me saying that. He always considered himself Prussian." Lovino listened silently, taking the time to steady his heart and compose himself as Antonio spoke breezily, avoiding Lovino's eyes with uncharacteristic tact. "Oh, we had so much fun. Life was beautiful. Summers in the French countryside; cycling through little villages with only bread and wine in our backpacks, sleeping wherever we fell, whether on lavender-infused mountaintops or in little Parisian backstreets. Winters in Germany; drinking schnapps by the fire in Munich beer halls, sledding in the snow on the Swiss border, spending Christmas in Berlin, listening to Gilbert's grandfather's war stories and teasing Gilbert's strict, serious little brother. And Spain." Antonio's green eyes brightened, sparkling in the sunlight as he smiled up at the sky. Lovino was captivated, his embarrassment quickly falling away. "Oh, Lovino. If you could only see Spain in the springtime. There is no more beautiful place in the world. Whether it is in the south - warm days on the golden sand and crowded nights in bustling cantinas; or in the north - vast flower-filled fields and narrow twisting streets that lead to secret, centuries-old hideaways. And always, just the three of us. Making memories to last a lifetime."

Lovino found himself transfixed as always by Antonio's words, by the joy and passion in his face. Lovino could almost see what he described; almost feel his joy. "One summer," said Antonio, his smile as far-away as his sparkling green eyes, "I think it was 1935 – we decided to try and go as far away as we could possibly manage. I believe the goal was New Zealand. We got as far as Egypt."

Lovino almost gasped, but held it back. He tried not to sound as astonished as he felt. "You've been to Egypt?"

"Oh, yes," grinned Antonio. "Gilbert was convinced he could solve the very mysteries of the universe by attuning himself to the mystical energies of the great pyramids."

"Oh," said Lovino, unsure what that even meant. "And, uh... did he?"

"No." Antonio snorted in amusement. "But he did get a broken nose in Cairo after an argument with an antiquities dealer. After escaping a gang of scimitar-armed thugs and dragging Francis from a brothel, we spent the night drinking cheap wine on the steps of the pyramids. And Gilbert reached his great epiphany."

"Which was?" asked Lovino, his gaze fixed on Antonio's vibrant face, fascinated by Antonio's delight in his memories.

Antonio eyes unfocused as he answered. "That the pyramids are nothing but interesting arrangements of rock. And there is no such thing as mystical energy. And that all that matters in life is to drink deep, have fun, and stay alive."

Lovino lowered his head to hide his small smile. "They must mean a lot to you. I've never had any friends like that... or, well, any at all, really."

Antonio looked back down at Lovino, snapping to attention, his eyes focusing again. "Does that upset you?"

"No," said Lovino honestly. "People confuse me."

"People want what is easy." Antonio laughed shortly. "But nothing really worth having comes easily."

Lovino did not know what he meant, but felt hot and strangely breathless, so he reverted to his customary scowl and veered back to the earlier topic. "Well, anyway. Did you find your friend?"

Antonio sighed, his smile falling. "No. He is in the French intelligence, and therefore, very difficult to trace - even for me."

"Why are you trying to find him?"

Antonio shrugged. "I wish to know if he is alive. He is important to me."

"Oh," said Lovino, trying to ignore the prickling wave of jealousy that heated his blood. "So you and he..."

"No. Never." Antonio said it quickly, but then he tilted his head thoughtfully. "Well, unless you count that close call in Pamplona." He whistled. "I still owe Gilbert for that one."

Lovino shifted uncomfortably. He did not want to know any more of that story. "And what about Gilbert? Do you know if he is alive?"

Antonio took a while to answer, his expression slowly growing darker. "No. I don't. Gilbert..." Antonio paused, shook his head shortly, and sighed, a short exhalation of disappointment and regret. "Gilbert joined the German army. He is on the Eastern front now, I believe."

"He's... what? Holy shit!" Lovino was shocked, astounded. "Your friend is a Nazi?"

"No," said Antonio firmly. "No, I did not say that. I said he joined the German army. He would never join that hateful party. He is a misguided fool, yes. But he is a good man." Antonio fixed Lovino's eyes in an earnest stare. "Not every German is a Nazi, Lovino."

Lovino felt almost ashamed. He had never even considered things like this before. When Antonio held an opinion, or stated a fact, he did it so certainly, so fervently. Lovino really did not know all that much about Antonio, even now, almost five years after he had fallen into Lovino's life to turn everything upside down and make this strange, difficult world more complicated than it already was. "Why do you do this?" Lovino asked suddenly. He realised he had never asked. He never knew why Antonio did what he did. "You're not even Italian. Why do you risk so much for Italy?"

Antonio looked at him intently, curiously. "Because of what we are fighting against."

"Germany?"

Antonio's lips twisted in the tiniest smile. "Not Germany."

"Fascism."

Antonio did not answer at first. His smile fell, his eyes darkened, and he looked to be debating something with himself. He leant his head back against the wall and crossed one stretched out leg over the other. When he spoke, his voice was calmer, quieter. "I've always drifted on the wind, Lovino. Of course Spain was always home, but I've travelled everywhere, anywhere I could walk – all over Europe. I loved to just follow the sun. I never stayed anywhere for too long - never had a plan; never had a reason. Never had a purpose. I think that's why I was so happy." Antonio gave a half-hearted chuckle, then closed his eyes. "But that was before."

"Before what?" Lovino felt apprehensive as he asked.

Antonio's forehead furrowed, and his throat moved as he swallowed. He slowly opened his eyes and stared blankly at the rows of herbs and flowers. "April, 1937. I was travelling through Spain. I knew there was civil war, of course, but I never bothered with talk of fascists and republicans, religion and monarchy. None of it meant anything to me. I cared about other things." Antonio's face brightened just slightly. "About the people I met on the road, their homes and stories and cooking. About finding a farm I could work on for a week or two. About pretty girls and boys in cantinas and laughing children who followed me on the streets and danced around my legs for the tomatoes in my backpack. And I found it all in the north, in a place untouched by war, in a lovely Basque town called Guernica."

Lovino's heart jumped as he remembered. "You've mentioned Guernica before. To Grandpa." Antonio nodded. Lovino's stomach felt tied in knots, his muscles tight with tension as he waited. "What happened there, Antonio?"

Antonio swallowed heavily again, and his hands clenched into fists. It was obvious that it still hurt him to remember it. "It was a bright, sunny afternoon - market day, so the streets were full. I was coming out of a tavern, full with wine and laughter, when I heard the first roar. We all looked up and saw planes approaching in the clear sky - a great group of them, heading straight for the town. I did not know what they were, or what was going on, and then... then..." Antonio looked suddenly confused, as if, after all these years, he still could not understand.

"Then everything just... exploded. It was so sudden, I couldn't even think. All I knew was that the world was splitting apart, and there was nothing but red and black and blasting explosions so loud they were beyond deafening. Only the screams were louder. People were running everywhere, but there was nowhere to run. It took me too long to realise that the planes were bombing. I fell into a doorway, watching as buildings exploded into fireballs, as the street shook, as the running, screaming people fell to the ground - bullets." Antonio laughed bitterly. "Can you believe it? The pilots were even firing bullets." Antonio's fists shook slightly. "At first I couldn't feel anything. It was too unreal, too far away. But then it hit me – the worst terror I have ever known. I knew I was going to die, but I could only lie in that doorway and wait. I kept expecting it to end, but it didn't, it just went on and on and on until I couldn't even hear the screams anymore." Antonio's face was twisted in an agonised expression Lovino had never seen before; never wanted to see again. He breathed deeply, and continued.

"But finally it ended. I forced myself to look up, and the sky was clear, but it still took me so long to move. The screams started again. I didn't know where I was going, so I just kept walking. I wanted to help, I tried to help, but there were too many people to help – bleeding, dying, burnt, missing arms, missing legs..." Antonio stopped for a moment, his voice fading to nothing. He closed his widened eyes, took a shaky breath, and continued even softer than before. "The dead littered the flattened, smoking streets. When I made it to the town plaza it was worse. The entire town was destroyed. Black smoke, and fire raging, the smell of burning flesh and everywhere... just everywhere people lay injured, screaming, stunned, dead... so many dead... hundreds..."

Lovino was struck still: his hands, his spine, his eyes. He felt frozen in a horrified daze. He could not begin to understand. "Oh my God. But... why? Were there soldiers there, or..."

"No." Antonio shook his head and gave a mirthless snort. "No. It was an experiment."

Lovino's stomach twisted with cold nausea. "An... experiment?"

"A test for the new fascist German government's air force. To see what their bombers were capable of. To see what it would take to destroy a city. To see how easily they could decimate a civilian population. And it was Spain's fascist leader who allowed this to happen in his own country. Who practically invited them in."

Lovino was shocked, stunned. It was too horrific. How could Antonio have gone through that and still smile so cheerfully, still laugh the way he always did? Lovino did not know what to say. Words like 'I'm sorry' just seemed so empty for something like this. What else had Antonio seen... what else was behind those smiling green eyes?

"I never cared about government," Antonio continued. He did not seem fazed by Lovino's silence. "Never cared about politics, and in a way I suppose I still don't. All I know, is that if I can do anything to stop innocent people dying for nothing... dying for a war not their own... dying for a fucking experiment... then I'll do it."

Lovino could not respond. Could not speak. What was there to say to the most noble words he had ever heard? "Oh," said Lovino finally, a chill running across his skin as a cool breeze drifted past. "I never knew... I never..."

"I wish you didn't have to know, Lovino. But that's why I do this. Why I find out what I can from both sides in this war, why I take information from people and use it to prevent whatever bloodshed I am able. It's not much, really. But I never used to have a purpose." Antonio shrugged, then looked down at Lovino with a small smile, his messy brown hair falling across his handsome face. For the first time, Lovino thought he was looking older. "Now I do."

Lovino felt his heart swell and his grudging admiration deepen. He had never really thought about why Antonio put himself in such danger. He'd just always been scared that he did. But of course Antonio knew the risks - he knew, and he did it anyway. Lovino suddenly felt a sort of shame burn his cheeks. Because he knew he could never be that brave. With nothing to say, Lovino instead plucked randomly at the guitar strings. Silent seconds stretched to minutes, and the autumn leaves danced in the wind around them as the quiet, gentle afternoon passed them slowly by. Lovino plucked broken, careless melodies from the guitar, feeling Antonio's eyes on him, feeling Antonio's warmth beside him replace the earlier empty loneliness. Lovino lost track of how much time passed before Antonio spoke again.

"I apologise if I have made you uncomfortable, Lovino."

"No," said Lovino quickly, his neck burning as he stared fixedly down at his fingers strumming his guitar.

"I know it must be difficult for you with me around... knowing how I feel."

Lovino's heart beat faster, a warm, tingling, comforting glow filling his chest, along with that old, familiar, almost painful nervousness that never really went away. "Oh. Still?"

Antonio gave a short, soft laugh that was more of a sigh. "Always, Lovino."

Did Antonio know how Lovino felt? Did Lovino want him to? Of course this was difficult, but Lovino realised he would rather things be difficult with Antonio here than easy with him gone. "I'm sure you have important things to do here," said Lovino, tripping over the words. "You... you should stay. For the cause." Silence. Lovino continued playing his guitar and, before he even realised it, he was drawing the melody of 'Bésame Mucho' from the strings. Lovino felt his shoulders stiffen and his breath catch, but for some reason he could not fathom or express to himself, he kept going. He played the entire tune, Antonio unmoving beside him, the leaves falling around them, until the last of the notes faded into the wind as it blew softly by. Lovino stared at the guitar in the silence, his neck burning, wondering just what he had been trying to say, if he had said it, and if Antonio had understood. When he finally looked up at Antonio, at those wide green eyes and slightly parted lips, he knew that he had. Lovino quickly looked back down. "So, you should stay as long as you need to."

The rest of the afternoon passed in a slow, tranquil daze of lilting melodies and stolen glances. When Grandpa Roma arrived home, he did not seem too worried to see Antonio and Lovino alone – but then, Lovino figured, no one would know from his behaviour over the last year that he felt anything but indifferent derision towards Antonio. Roma and Antonio disappeared into the front room to talk, but Lovino stayed in the garden until the sky was dark and the stars were out. He walked into the house, past Feliciano cooking dinner and chattering at him inanely, and nudged open the door to the living room. He watched as Antonio said farewell to Roma and headed towards the front door, watched as he smiled and turned and walked away. And Lovino felt such a heartbreaking ache in his chest, that for the first time, he wondered if it would be less painful to give in.

.

Antonio sat at his makeshift desk in the back room of the Cantina Verde, absently humming along as the wireless radio beside him blasted the latest popular songs into the room. He had only been back a day, and he was already swamped with work. The Germans had such control over this town lately, but with the Americans set to arrive... Though he tried to concentrate, Antonio found his eyes and his mind wandering from the documents before him, wandering back to the day before in Lovino's garden. He was not sure if telling Lovino his memories of Guernica had been a good idea. He had never bared his soul like that, never wanted to feel the pain that recalling those events inevitably brought. And yet, he had wanted to tell Lovino everything, wanted him to know everything. Antonio was not even sure if that was fair to Lovino, but Lovino had asked why he did this, and Antonio never could be anything but honest with the most important person in his world.

But those images still turned in his mind. The burnt and bleeding and dying whom he could not help. The broken bodies half buried under shattered debris. The survivors who sat dead-eyed and confused, the ones who ran screaming for loved ones. Antonio tried to shake the harrowing memories from his head, to remember why he had tormented himself by bringing them again to the surface. As hard as it had been to speak, however briefly, of events he had spent years suppressing, how could Antonio lie to the one person who meant the world to him? How could he hide any part of himself from Lovino?

Looking back down at the pile of papers on the desk, Antonio wondered briefly who he was trying to fool. He did not need to spend as much time in this village as he did. Roma was perfectly capable of handling this faction of the Resistance on his own. And yet Antonio was always drawn back here, always trying to stay as long as he could, never wanting to leave. Yes, it was a lovely village. Yes, he liked Roma, and he adored little Feliciano. But there was only one real reason why Antonio always, always came back. Antonio startled slightly as the door from the front room opened. He looked up, the dark memories faded, and the room around him brightened. "Lovino!"

Lovino stumbled to a halt, his hand still on the door handle. His eyes widened, his lips parted, and he immediately dropped his gaze. "Oh. I was looking for Grandpa."

Antonio smiled. He never could control his smile when Lovino walked into the room. "He will be back in a few hours."

Lovino nodded, shifted his weight, brushed his hair back. "Okay."

"You can wait." Antonio said it hopefully, though he had little reason to expect that Lovino would actually stay. To his great delight, however, Lovino nodded again.

"Okay." Lovino stood uncertainly for a few moments, then hurried over and swung himself onto a nearby table. Antonio's smile brightened, his chest swelling at the familiar gesture. Lovino never sat on a chair... he always chose a table. He always swung his legs like that, glancing around the room as though he was looking for something, too obvious in trying to avoid Antonio's eyes. He always pushed his hair behind his ear in that same gesture, always looked down at the ground and bit his lip absently, always drummed his fingers on the table edge, glanced up, scowled at Antonio, narrowed his eyes, always said, "What are you looking at, bastard?"

Antonio bit his lip to stop a giggle bursting through. "I'm sorry, Lovino."

Antonio looked back down at the list of Gestapo officers in the area, again humming along to the wireless radio. He felt Lovino's eyes on him, and he wondered if Lovino knew how very transparent he was. Antonio had been so certain the summer before last, when he had finally ended his three year exile, finally stopped lying to himself, finally arrived back here to the place that been calling to him since he had left his beautiful corazón with a smile and a guitar and wrenching, bitter regret. He had been so certain that Lovino had grown to feel the same. But Lovino had dashed Antonio's hopes and dreams to pieces, had told him quite plainly that he would never feel that way. And Antonio had believed him. Had left, had fallen to pieces, had drunk himself senseless and screamed at the stars and punched a hole in a tavern wall. But over the months, as he was forced, compelled, driven, dragged back to this village, things had slowly fallen into place. It had become too plain, too clear; maybe not to anyone else, but Antonio prided himself that he could see parts of Lovino that no one else could. Lovino was unsure, nervous, terrified. But Antonio could see what was in those golden eyes; and he could see that Lovino wanted him.

Antonio stole a glance up at Lovino, at his long fingers drumming against the table and brushing his dark hair from his dark eyes. Antonio wondered what had drawn him into himself so much. Of course, Roma was so protective of his grandsons - too protective. And despite how much Lovino thought he knew, despite his obvious intelligence and curiosity, this village was all he had ever known. It was strange; this clashing contrast of Lovino's desperate desire for more responsibility in the resistance with his constant, misguided fear. His maddening headstrong stubbornness with his intoxicating innocence. Antonio wanted to draw him out from all of this, to peel away all the protective layers Lovino placed on himself. He wanted to know Lovino completely, wanted to know who he was and who he could be and to be a part of it. Antonio wanted to be with him, to never be parted from him. Antonio simply wanted him.

Antonio realised Lovino was returning his stare just as he recognised the new song on the wireless. A few bars of swelling strings, and the words started. Bésame, bésame mucho... Antonio's heart jumped and he laughed when Lovino's wide eyes darted between him and the radio. Lovino obviously recognised the song, also. Quickly, impulsively, Antonio pushed back his chair, stood, took a chance. He bounced over to Lovino and held out a hand, grinning joyfully. "A dance, mi corazón!"

It was the first time Antonio had used those words since Lovino asked him not to, and he fully expected Lovino to refuse. He expected him to scoff, and swear, and brush him off angrily. He did not expect him to stare mutely, a cluster of emotions dancing behind his eyes and a range of expressions crossing his face, before nodding, standing, and taking Antonio's outstretched hand. Antonio laughed wildly, the joy flooding his lungs and his veins simply too much to hold silently. There was a short tangle of their unclasped hands as Lovino refused to place his on Antonio's shoulder, and they finally settled for a compromise of both resting their free hands on the other's side. Antonio felt like his cheeks would split – Lovino would not stop scowling.

The song was fairly new; one Antonio had heard only a few times, a pretty English version. The music started fairly slowly, and surprisingly, Lovino followed Antonio's lead immediately. The English singer had a lovely voice, and the translation fit perfectly. Lovino kept a small, guarded gap between them, and Antonio yearned to feel him closer, to pull him into his arms and against his chest. But he forced himself to maintain the distance as the music intensified and he drew Lovino across the floor. Lovino mimicked his movements perfectly, his hips moving to the underlying beat, finding the elusive rhythm easily. Antonio squeezed his hand playfully.

"You are a wonderful dancer, Lovino!"

Lovino raised his chin, his eyes brightening. But he still refused to smile. "I know."

"Wherever did you learn to move like this?" Antonio guided Lovino easily between the tables, pausing briefly to kick a chair out of the way.

Lovino lips twitched upwards just slightly. "I did not have to learn. I'm Italian."

Antonio shook back his hair, wagged his eyebrows, and flashed Lovino his most seductive grin. "Ah, but no one dances like the Spanish!" And as though to prove his point, Antonio moved his feet in a short, tapping step and spun Lovino in a few strong, close circles around the floor.

Lovino bit back a gasp and tightened his grip on Antonio. "Watch it, bastard, you're going to slam me into a table!"

Antonio took the opportunity to pull Lovino just the tiniest bit closer. "Oh, Lovino, what little faith you have in me!"

Lovino glared at him through narrow but sparkling eyes. "I don't know why you're leading anyway."

"Because I'm the better dancer."

"You are not."

"Because I'm stronger!"

Lovino reddened slightly. "You are not!"

"Because I asked you to dance, so there."

Lovino bit his lip and Antonio's burning pulse sped up. Oh, Lovino was fighting it so much; he was trying so hard not to smile. Antonio grinned deviously and Lovino just had time to raise an eyebrow in apprehension. At the sweeping string interlude Antonio winked, swung Lovino away, and twirled him under his arm. And Lovino laughed. Antonio's stomach flipped and warmth rippled through his veins. Oh, that was the most wonderful sound he had ever heard – oh, he had to get Lovino to do that again. Antonio pulled him back close, then immediately turned Lovino and dipped him low to the ground. Lovino gasped, choked on a shriek, and could not stop another laugh escaping his lips. Antonio laughed gleefully and again pulled Lovino up into his arms. Lovino tried to glare, but his beautiful golden eyes were dancing, his lips twisted in a smile he could not control. Antonio led him again across the floor, Lovino clinging tightly to Antonio's arm, this time with no careful distance between them.

"I told you I'm the better dancer!" laughed Antonio.

"Well if you gave me some warning next time!"

"Where would the fun be in that?" Antonio swung Lovino away one last time, twirled him back twice, and then... Love me forever...

Antonio was dreaming. He had to be dreaming. The music slowed, seemed to pause, seemed to stop altogether. Lovino's body pressed against Antonio's, their chests rising together, their hands clasped, Lovino's hand on Antonio's arm and oh, Dios, Antonio's arm around his waist... It had been so long. So agonisingly long since he had held Lovino like this, and it was just as he remembered, and it was unlike anything he had ever experienced. Their eyes met and Lovino was so close, his scented hair and his darkened eyes, staring up at Antonio, his lips slightly parted and his breath slightly fast. Antonio stared back, lost, motionless, everything still and silent but for those last, slow, quiet words. ...and make all my dreams come true.

The music drew to a close. Lovino did not move. But, as always, his thoughts and emotions danced in his eyes. Antonio waited, hardly daring to hope, hardly daring to breathe. He could see Lovino thinking; see him fighting; see him falling...

The door slammed open. Lovino broke from Antonio's arms, stumbling frantically away, and Antonio had to stop himself from groaning in disappointment. He stepped back immediately, but the three resistance members who barrelled through the front door did not appear to have noticed anything. That was not surprising, since they were carrying bottles of wine and glasses from the front bar, and had obviously already had a few.

"Antonio!" cried one of the men loudly, boisterously making his way to a nearby table and falling into a seat. The others followed, slamming down the glasses and bottles. Antonio nodded carefully, but he wanted to kick the men for their absolutely rotten damn timing.

"Good afternoon." He glanced sideways at Lovino, who looked distinctly nervous. Antonio knew Lovino did not get along with most of the Resistenza. He was fine with the women, even charming, but awkward and uncomfortable with the men. Antonio almost had to stop himself stepping between them.

"And little Vargas!" said the man who had greeted Antonio. He gave the greeting condescendingly.

"Lovino." Lovino practically spat the word. He often came across as rude, but it was obvious to Antonio he did not know how else to act. He wondered how no one else could see that.

"Oh, I apologise. Lovino." The man spat the word back in a crude impersonation, and the others laughed raucously. Lovino flinched and turned red, his eyes flickering briefly towards Antonio before looking away. He was embarrassed. Antonio glared at the man. He did not even know his worthless name. Some stupid backwater farmer, acting like a child, who thought he was more important than he actually was.

"You are early," said Antonio curtly. "Roma has not yet arrived."

"That's all right, we can wait." The partisans started pouring out the wine and Antonio narrowed his eyes. What did they think this was, some sort of game?

"Roma's not here yet?" said one of the men loudly, then stared at Lovino. "So you're allowed out without Grandpa holding your hand now?" The others again laughed loudly. Antonio started to say something, but Lovino broke in.

"Oh, yes, I'm sure you think you're so fucking funny."

"You're the funny one, little Vargas. What the hell are you doing here anyway?"

"I'm here for the same reason as you!"

The partisan took a swig of wine and turned back to the others, laughing. "Nothing but a silly boy playing revolutionary."

"You should not bring alcohol to meetings," said Antonio, trying to change the subject. It took a lot to make him angry, but by this stage, he was burning with it.

"Oh, of course, little Vargas is too young for wine, isn't he..."

"I'm twenty!" shouted Lovino before Antonio could speak. Antonio watched him, concerned. Lovino's hands were bunched in fists, his shoulders rigid. He never could handle his emotions...

The men rolled their eyes, muttering. They looked like they were tiring of this cruel, stupid game. "Wouldn't know it. Grandpa won't even let you handle a mission."

Lovino was red and shaking. He opened his mouth, as though trying to think of something to say, but he could only shout, "Shut up!"

The partisan waved his hand dismissively, focused on the bottle before him. "Run along, little Vargas, you should get home before bedtime."

"Stop this!" Antonio shouted. His pulse hammered in his neck, his skin burned with fury. He wanted to charge over, grab the laughing bastards by the throat, slam them to the ground. "Don't you understand how serious this is? We are here fighting for the freedom of your country and the three of you charge in here drunk, acting like children. If you can't behave appropriately then..." Antonio did not even bother to finish the sentence when he noticed Lovino running out the back door. He just swore, and followed him.

.

Lovino pushed open the back door with shaking hands, desperate to hide himself in some dark corner of the alleyway behind the cantina. A few crates left on the ground sent him stumbling and he steadied himself with a hand on the cold brick wall. But he did not stop moving, even when he heard heavy footsteps following immediately behind him.

"Go away!" he shouted, hoping the slight crack in his voice did not betray him.

"No."

Lovino clenched his hands into fists and gritted his teeth, angry and embarrassed and slightly panicked. He was mortified. He was ashamed. He was so afraid of the feelings inside him. Lovino reached the end of the alley and could go no further, so he just slammed his fists against the cold brick before him and rested his forehead against it. "I mean it," he said, almost choking on the words. "Just go away, Antonio, I don't... I can't..." Lovino gasped for breath, his throat choking closed against rising tears. "Oh God, please go away."

"Lovino, don't listen to those idiots."

Lovino covered his ears with his hands; wanting to block the sound of Antonio's pity, block his fake compliments and stupid kindness and misguided sympathy. Lovino was too hot, too restless; shaking, confused, afraid. It had been so wonderful in Antonio's arms. So wonderful to feel him, and hold him; to breathe the scent of him and see that brilliant smile and those dazzling eyes so close. It felt like he belonged there, like every aching, lonely void inside him had been finally filled. So perfect, so bright and warm and exhilarating. So damn wonderful that he had nearly lost control. Who knew what he might have done if those men had not arrived and broken his rising dreams, reminded Antonio what a hated fool Lovino really was. Arrived and completely, utterly humiliated him. He closed his eyes and whispered. "You know everyone hates me, don't you."

"That's not true..."

Now Lovino yelled. "Don't even try to deny it, I'm not stupid! No one has ever liked me. I've never even..." Lovino knew he was being childish, being hysterical, making an even bigger fool of himself, but oh God he couldn't stop... "I've never even had any friends, because that's how everyone thinks of me, just like those men in there! And you couldn't understand, because everyone likes you, people can't help liking you! And, and Feliciano was always everyone's favourite, and..."

"He's not mine." Antonio said it so firmly that Lovino broke off his escalating tirade immediately. "I don't care what anyone thinks. You are my favourite, Lovino." Antonio said the next words cheerfully. "You are my favourite person in the whole wide world!"

"But... but... but why?" Lovino finally brought himself to turn, his eyebrows furrowed, his cheeks burning. He was completely baffled. How could Antonio say that, think that? Did he not see the way people treated Lovino? Antonio raised an eyebrow, but Lovino determinedly pressed on, past the tears rising in his throat and gathering in his eyes. "Really, why? No one ever likes me best. I know what everyone thinks. That I'm cranky, that I'm difficult. That I'm a nuisance, I'm a coward, I'm stupid, I'm useless..."

Antonio shook his head, his expression strangely upset. "Stop, Lovino, stop."

"But it's true! It's all true, so, why me? Why not someone else? Why not Feliciano?" Lovino angrily wiped the traitorous tears from his eyes. He did not need further humiliation. He would not cry, damn it. He would not cry over this!

Antonio almost looked about to laugh, but he stopped himself. "Oh, Lovino. You have this angry scowl on you all the time, this cute little frown. That's why they all think that – because that's all they see. They are too ignorant, too indolent, too bloody stupid to even try looking beyond that." Lovino looked away. He could not look at Antonio as he said this. Why did Antonio have to be so stupidly kind? Why did he have to make this so hard? "Do you remember me telling you? People want what is easy. But if they can't spend the effort to really see you, Lovino, to know you - then they don't deserve you."

Lovino's breath caught at the lump in his throat. He swallowed and breathed, tried to loosen it with the cold air. If Antonio really thought that... even if he was stupid, and wrong, if he really thought that, then maybe... "But you... you'd... " Oh why could he not stop himself asking this? "But you would? Spend the effort?"

Antonio took a step closer until their chests almost touched. Lovino still could not look at him, but could feel his heat, could smell his scent, could remember what it felt like in those arms... "I do just that, mi corazón, every moment I am with you. Every beautiful, perfect moment I am with you. Because what they don't understand... and what you don't even realise... is that everything you are, everything you feel, Lovino, is written in your eyes."

Lovino's eyes widened. He immediately felt an overwhelming urge to hide. He settled instead for lowering his head, letting his hair fall in his eyes. Why did these stupid, dramatic things that Antonio said affect him so much? "How ridiculous," he muttered.

"The moment we met, I saw it. I saw you. You are such a wonderfully kind person, but you don't want anyone to know it. You have secret depths of passion that you hide within yourself out of fear. You love too deeply, but you try to deny it, because you know that the deeper you love, the more you hurt." Lovino blinked rapidly, still refusing to look at Antonio, but allowed him to very briefly reach out and tuck a stray lock of hair behind his ear. The simple touch sent shivers of fire across his skin. "Your heart is so fragile," Antonio whispered gently, his fingers lingering on Lovino's cheek, seemingly reluctant to pull away. "Which is why you keep it locked in an iron cage."

Lovino finally looked up and met Antonio's strong, even gaze. Antonio was good, was honest and true and sincere. He couldn't be lying about this. There was nothing fake in his handsome, glowing face, and Lovino suddenly wondered what right he had to doubt what Antonio believed. "A cage?" asked Lovino, unsure what Antonio meant.

Antonio nodded, his smile small and reflective. "But I am pretty sure that this cage has a lock. And if it takes me five years, or ten, or fifty... I am determined to find the key. Because, Lovino, I will never break something so precious, just to find out what is inside."

Lovino took a shuddering, steadying breath, and shook his head. How could Antonio not see the glaringly obvious - Lovino did not deserve him. "But I don't understand! You're brave and handsome and funny and, yes, irritating and stupid, but strong and passionate and..." Lovino stopped, embarrassed at the words, but starting to wonder what reason there was to hide anymore. "... and why would you want me?" he finished quietly.

In this dark, empty alley, Antonio's gentle, unfathomable words echoed like thunder in Lovino's head. "Lovino. I could give you a thousand words, and describe you a thousand ways. But in the end it is very simple. I want you because I love you. No one else. You, Lovino. You are the only one." Lovino blinked forcefully against the tears, but was starting to lose the fight. "You are my only one."

"Oh..." This damn breathlessness. This fear, elation, disbelief, pride, bliss... Lovino's body was too small to hold these feelings. They crowded inside his swollen chest, flooded his veins, overwhelmed his mind; and Lovino needed to shout, but he could only whisper. "Oh."

"And if you decide you will never feel that way about me, then I will accept it. I will never love anyone else, but I will accept it. But if there is the slightest spark - the tiniest flame of hope there that maybe, possibly, one day you can let yourself feel just a fraction of what I feel for you - then I will wait, Lovino." Antonio smiled, the smile that drove everything else from Lovino's mind, that stole his breath and broke down his defences and forced him to reconsider everything he thought he believed. "I will wait however long it takes until you are ready."

Lovino could not do this anymore. He could not pretend. He could not push Antonio away, could not lie like last time. Not when someone as pure and good and honest opened himself like this before him, looked down at him with such beautiful hope and such deep green eyes. Lovino felt his resistance weaken, felt a tear escape his eye, and he whispered. "You'd wait that long?"

Antonio sighed softly, smiling, and followed the tear with a warm, gentle fingertip. "Forever, mi corazón."