Summer, 1934

The French Countryside

.

"It's getting late. We should probably start heading back to town." Francis said the words reluctantly.

Antonio held a sprig of lavender to his nose and inhaled deeply. The bright afternoon sun descended slowly in the darkening sky above him; the thick, soft green grass felt like a blanket beneath him.

"Here, have another drink first," said Gilbert, passing a bottle of wine to Francis over Antonio's head. The red liquid sparkled as a ray of sunlight filtered through the glass.

"Fine," said Francis, taking the bottle. "But we can't stay on this hill all night."

"Why not?" asked Antonio. "I feel like I could lie here forever."

Francis laughed. "I'm quite sure you could, you lazy bastard."

"I can't believe the week's almost over," said Gilbert. "How does it always go so damn fast?"

Antonio shook his head, without an answer to that question. For the last five years, since he had turned fifteen, the best times of Antonio's life had been these brief weeks during the year he managed to spend with his two best friends. Talking, laughing, arguing, flirting, drinking, sightseeing... if only life could always be like this.

"Next time, my place, yeah?" continued Gilbert. "Ludwig's been asking when he's gonna see you guys again."

"How is the little guy?" asked Antonio. "Did he like that model plane I sent for his birthday?"

"Not so little anymore. Twelve years old and the little shit's nearly bigger than me. But he loved the plane. It's hanging from his ceiling with all the others."

"All right," said Francis. "Let's make it December, shall we? There's nothing like Christmas in Germany."

"Yes," agreed Antonio. "Gingerbread houses and glowing Christmas trees and candles and snow..."

"Gluehwein and schnapps and beer..."

"Muscular men in lederhosen and busty barmaids in low cut dirndls... Ahh," Francis sighed dramatically. "Yes, this December I shall fall in love in Germany."

Antonio twisted his neck and squinted up at Francis. "You're not going to fall in love. You're going to sleep with people."

Francis peered down at him disdainfully. "Yes, and I fall in love with everyone who shares my bed."

"That's not love, Francis. That's sex."

"Who are you to tell me what is love and what is not? I have fallen in love a thousand times, and I will a thousand more."

"Urgh," said Gilbert loudly. "I can safely promise you, I will never fall in love."

Antonio gazed back up at the dark blue sky and breathed the warm, clean scent of lavender. "I will fall in love but once."

"How terribly boring, mon cher. I never would have thought I'd hear you moralising."

"I'm not moralising. You can sleep with whomever you choose - bonne chance; cuidate; viel Spass. I am simply saying that I believe you only ever truly love once."

Francis scoffed. "And just how are you supposed to tell this one true love from all the others?"

"Well, I don't know yet. But I will when it happens. It'll be something like, when you look at them, this one person, and you really, truly see them. It might be immediate, or it might not be the first time you look. And it might be earth shattering, but it could also be just a silent realisation. But it's when you look at them and you realise, beyond any doubt, that they are the most beautiful thing you have ever seen in all your life."

Francis gasped in mock revelation. "I think that happened with that barmaid last night..."

Gilbert snorted. "You're both insane. This stupid idea of love doesn't even exist."

Antonio shrugged. "Laugh all you want. But it will happen. When I see them... I'll know."

.

Spring, 1942

A village in Italy

.

The air was warm and still, the afternoon sun low and golden through the orange clouds as Lovino and Grandpa Roma walked cheerfully down the country road towards home. Feliciano skipped excitedly around them. Someone had given him a glass of wine, which never failed to make him even more unbearably happy and energetic than usual. But today that was all right. Today Lovino did not mind. Because today was a good day for a free Italy.

"O partigiano, portami via," sang Roma, his boisterous baritone almost echoing in the fields around them.

"O bella, ciao! Bella, ciao! Bella, ciao, ciao, ciao!" Feliciano was always the better singer. Lovino only sang when drunk. Which probably had something to do with why he joined in as his brother chanted the chorus cheerfully back at Grandpa Roma.

"O partigiano, portami via..."

"Ché mi sento di morir!"

They all dissolved into wild peals of laughter. The mission that morning had gone perfectly - a truckload of weapons and vital information blown sky high - and the afternoon had been spent drinking, singing, and celebrating in the back room of the Cantina Verde. Lovino had actually been allowed along on the mission this time. Of course, he had done no more than stand with Grandpa Roma across the street as he gave the signal, but he had still been there. Still been a part of it. He was not sure if it was the wine or the exhilarating adrenaline still running through his veins that had him so exuberant.

"What's next, Grandpa?" Lovino asked eagerly when he finally managed to bring his laughter under control. "A base? A supplies route? A secret location in town?"

"Oh, Lovino," sighed Roma, smiling and clapping a hand on his grandson's shoulder. "Can't we just celebrate today?"

"But we must think ahead, yes?" The sun dimmed behind the trees as they turned into the narrow lane leading to the house. "That's what you always say, and I showed you today that I can take more responsibility, and I really think it's time that I..."

Lovino trailed off slowly as he looked up the road to the front door. There was someone standing before it. Lovino felt suddenly hot and dizzy as everything spun inside his head and time slowed to a stop. Feliciano gasped loudly, and Roma took a few hurried steps forward, holding his hand above his eyes and squinting. "Is that..."

"Antonio!" Feliciano cried, bolting up the lane and throwing his arms around the laughing Spaniard. Roma laughed and followed him, clapping Antonio on the back, kissing his cheeks in exuberant greeting. Lovino just stood still, stunned, beyond any thought or feeling, watching the lively greeting from a distance. His entire world split apart, spun around, turned upside down. He had long ago lost track of the days since Antonio had left. All he really knew, now, was that he had not really expected him to come back. It took Lovino too long to move, to force himself to walk slowly up the lane.

"It is so good to see you here finally!" said Roma, his loud voice carrying down the street.

Antonio's grin shone down the lane, lit up the countryside. "It's good to be here, Roma."

"Why were you gone so long? Where did you go? What did you see? Oh, oh, did you bring me presents?"

"Of course I did, Feli!"

Antonio finally looked up and smiled softly when Lovino eventually reached the doorstep. He looked exactly the same as Lovino remembered... and he evoked the exact same reaction. Still this fluttering in his heart, in his stomach; still this annoying ache that he could not suppress, could not control. Still this anger that Antonio had left, that he had not come back. After all this time - almost three years. Three years and not a thing had changed. Antonio smiled brightly, cheerfully, then rolled his eyes to the sky and laughed. "Not a damn thing."

For a brief, mad moment Lovino thought Antonio had read his mind. Then he folded his arms and scowled. "Not a damn thing what?"

Antonio just shook his head, his green eyes twinkling as he smiled that infuriating, perfect, terrible, wonderful smile. "Nothing."

Roma opened the door, took Antonio's arm, and led him into the house. "Come in, come in! Let us not stand on the doorstep all day!"

Feliciano bounced through the door, Lovino following slowly, still dazed and slightly confused. Antonio smiled the whole time: as Roma took his bags and offered him food and practically forced him into a seat at the table, as Feliciano laughed and asked endless questions, as it all went too fast over Lovino's head and he struggled to comprehend that Antonio was actually sitting before him, in his house, in his life. That he was really here, after all this time, no longer just an intangible dream in his memory but really here, smiling and laughing and answering Feliciano's questions and brushing his hair back and nodding and glancing over at Lovino so subtly, so briefly...

Roma placed two bottles of wine on the table. "I'll fetch some glasses..."

"I'll get them," Lovino almost shouted before quickly rushing into the kitchen. Once alone in the room he let out a deep, shaking breath and leant against the bench, staring at his hands before him. Three years and he thought he had gotten over this. But this reaction... this was stronger than he remembered. This threw him off balance; this was scary and unexpected and so intense it was painful. How could Antonio look so wonderful, his voice still so cheerful, his eyes still so warm and sparkling? How could he so easily shatter three years of trying to forget?

Unbidden memory came quickly flooding back. Memories Lovino had tried to suppress, that he had played over in his head a hundred times. Antonio leaning towards him and whispering he was beautiful; holding his hand and saying he would protect him; singing in Spanish and handing him a guitar and looking down at him in the sun and calling him his 'corazón.' And of course that moment, that moment that lived fixed in Lovino's memory, the one he replayed over and over in dark early hours alone. Antonio holding him close: the feel of his arms and his breath, the touch of his hands, those sensations he awoke and feelings he evoked that never really went away. And then, those same hands pushing him away. Lovino realised that he was still angry about it, after all these years.

By now Lovino was practically gasping, defenceless against the memories and emotions that assaulted him relentlessly. Because now Antonio was back. In the next room. He was here, he was back, and this was real again, and Lovino didn't know how...

"Lovino?"

"Holy shit!" Lovino jumped and spun around. Feliciano squeaked. "Don't sneak up on people, Feliciano!"

Feliciano held up his hands defencively. "But, I didn't, I..."

"What the hell do you want?"

"You said you were going to get glasses and you've been in here for fifteen minutes."

"Oh. Right, fine, I'm..." Lovino opened the cupboard and reached for the wine glasses. "I'm coming now."

Feliciano tilted his head. "Are you all right, Lovino? You seem..."

"I'm fine!" Lovino slammed the cupboard door shut and stormed back into the front room.

Sitting at the table while Antonio, Roma and Feliciano talked brightly and easily, Lovino felt at a complete loss. He did not know how to act, where to look, what to do with his hands. He searched for something to focus on and settled for the drink before him, quickly making his way through two glasses of wine before Roma took the bottle from him and told him to slow down. Lovino glared at the table, embarrassed, with no choice but to listen to Antonio's cheerful, lilting Spanish accent. It was obvious Antonio was only speaking of unimportant topics in front of him and Feliciano. He avoided mentioning anything about the war, instead chatting about silly things like the different cars they had in Belgium and the strange weather in Spain. He gave them presents from the places he'd been – chocolate from Switzerland, wine from France, books of poetry from England. And the whole time Antonio only ever gave Lovino the tiniest glances, the smallest smiles, while he laughed and joked and gave his full attention to Feliciano and Roma. Lovino started to wonder if the stupid bastard even noticed he was there. Not that he was upset by it, or hurt, because he wasn't, and he didn't care, he...

"And how have you been, Lovino? Have you learnt to play your guitar?"

Lovino froze. And stared. Antonio was looking at him. Smiling at him. Waiting for him to speak. And oh God, his brain had just shut down and he couldn't think of a single thing to say, he couldn't...

Roma grinned broadly. "Lovino's lucky that his old Grandpa learnt to play back in the day. He inherited my natural talent, of course. He's a virtuoso on the thing, aren't you Lovino?"

Antonio was still looking right at him. Lovino still couldn't speak. Why this nervousness, this tight knot in his throat and his chest and his gut making it impossible for him to say or do or think anything... Lovino looked down into his hands. "No," he managed to choke out. "Not really." He could have kicked himself. Luckily, Antonio quickly changed the subject.

"What do you think of the book, Feli?"

Feliciano tilted his head as he flipped quizzically through the book of English poetry Antonio had given him. "It says the poems are romantic but they're all just about mountains and roses and people shooting seagulls."

Antonio laughed loudly. Lovino clenched his teeth. "'Romantic' refers to an artistic movement," Antonio explained. "It's not always about love."

"Oh." Feliciano looked disappointed.

Antonio smiled at Lovino. "But love poems are my favourite too, Feli." Lovino ignored him and reached for the wine bottle.

Grandpa Roma forced Antonio to stay for dinner and the night continued the same way - Feliciano and Roma chattering on, Antonio laughing and asking them questions. Lovino staring silently at the table, the back of his neck burning and his stomach rolling with anger and jealousy and frustration. He barely ate, barely looked up, barely spoke the entire meal; but then, Antonio, Roma and Feliciano needed no help with the conversation. And Lovino was used to being ignored, after all.

After what felt like all night, and like only an instant, Antonio finally put down his glass and started to stand. "I am afraid I have imposed on you far too long. It is time I headed back to my rooms in town."

Lovino did not know if the feeling in his chest was relief or disappointment. But then Roma stood quickly and grasped Antonio's shoulder. "Nonsense, my friend. You have drunk far too much wine to make the trip safely. You will stay here tonight."

Lovino took a deep gulp of air and immediately choked. He coughed, spluttered, gasped for breath, then grabbed a bottle of wine and took a few swigs to try and clear his throat. Finally catching his breath, Lovino looked up, eyes streaming, wine dripping from his mouth, to find everyone staring at him.

"Wow," said Feliciano. "Are you all right?"

Lovino's cheeks burned in humiliation. He took a few deep breaths, slammed the bottle down, and kicked the chair behind him as he stood. "Shut up. What the hell are you all looking at? Fuck off!"

"Lovino!" shouted Roma, but Lovino ignored him and stormed from the room.

Lovino refused to speak to Feliciano when he barrelled into the bedroom asking what was wrong, why he was so cranky tonight, why he wasn't happy to see Antonio like him and Grandpa Roma, why he just kept glaring angrily like that... Lovino simply ignored him and threw the blanket over his head, intent on a very long sleep-in the next morning.

But he could not sleep. Of course he could not sleep. How the hell could he sleep when Antonio was in the next damn room? This was all so stupid, and he had only made a damn fool of himself all night, and he was so mad at himself that he acted this way, felt this way, and why could he not stop his thoughts from running like this and damn it all he needed some air.

Lovino got out of bed and pulled on a shirt. He checked to see that Feliciano was asleep before leaving the room and heading down the hall into the kitchen. He pushed through the door into the back garden, stumbled a little, and realised he was still a little drunk. The night was warm, the garden illuminated by the light of a nearly full moon. The nighttime air was scented with lily and rosemary. Lovino walked directly to the back wall, leant against it, and stared up at the starlit sky. It felt calmer out here; almost like he could finally begin to think clearly. But just as he started to lower his gaze, he noticed, from the corner of his eye, that someone was standing only metres away from him. A sharp jolt shot through his head and Lovino took a deep gasping breath, almost crying out as he placed a hand to his chest in shock.

"Sorry, it's me, sorry!" Recognising Antonio almost made Lovino's shock worse. Could this night possibly get more embarrassing? "Sorry, Lovino, did I scare you?" Lovino looked at Antonio like he was insane, and tried to even his breathing. Antonio's face suddenly furrowed in concern. "Seriously, Lovino, are you all right?"

"You stupid bastard, damn it, what the hell are you doing, you scared the absolute shit out of me, who the hell stands in other people's gardens at midnight, I mean oh my God, really!"

Antonio bit back a smile and sucked in a breath through his teeth, shrugging apologetically. "Sorry." He scratched his head then held out a small packet. "Would you like a cigarette?"

Lovino looked down at the offering warily, his breath coming a little easier. He narrowed his eyes. "Yes." He reached out and took one. He stared as Antonio put a cigarette between his own lips, struck a match, lit it, then held the light out to Lovino. Lovino lifted the cigarette uncertainly to his lips. Antonio held the match to it, smiling, his eyes glittering behind the flame.

"Don't tell your Grandpa."

Lovino had no idea why those words sent an aching, tingling, excited shiver shooting down his spine and across his skin. "It's none of his business anyway," said Lovino flippantly. "I'm eighteen years old, I can do what I like." Lovino took a draw on the cigarette and immediately dissolved into a coughing fit.

"Don't inhale," said Antonio. He almost sounded like he was laughing.

Lovino fought once again for breath before his lungs finally cleared. He glared up at Antonio, his eyes wet from coughing. "Why am I always left breathless around you?" Damn. That hadn't come out very well. "I... you... I mean... what are you doing here?"

Antonio answered too easily. "I needed some air. It's a beautiful night, isn't it?"

"No, I mean what are you doing here? Why did you come back now?"

This time Antonio paused. "It was the right time. What with the Germans taking control, and..." Antonio stopped, then sighed, then shook his head almost disbelievingly, just gazing at Lovino. "But it is so good to see you again, Lovino. And you're so grown up!"

Lovino shrunk back against the wall, feeling the need to hide from Antonio's eyes. "Well, that's what happens in three years."

Antonio nodded and took a draw on his cigarette. He smiled at the ground. "I missed you."