My Almost Lover, My Hopeless Dream

Thinking of You

Their divorce was heartbreaking. Lovers Roderich and Antonio were forcibly split apart due to their status as the nations of Austria and Spain.

Charles II had died heirless and thus ended the Hapsburg lineage in Spain. A new king was proclaimed fifteen days later, on November 6, 1700. He was Philip V - grandson of France's Louis XIV, which meant there was a Bourbon on the throne, something that both Austria and Roderich didn't take lightly. Antonio was now Francis's as Spain was now France's. Thus began the War of Spanish Succession, a war for Austria to regain control of Spain and Roderich to regain Antonio.

Neither the country nor the personification were successful.

Spain remained Bourbon, and Antonio remained Francis's.

It is after the war that we find Antonio, standing and gazing out of a castle window with glazed eyes. He's looking to the east, where he knows his hus- his ex-husband is. Oh how he wishes to be reunited with Roderich. All he can think of is his time with his lover. However, those thoughts are interrupted by a pair of arms encircling his waist.

But they are not the arms he is used to. Roderich's bespectacled face isn't pressing into his shoulder blades. Instead, Francis's stubbly chin comes to rest on his shoulder.

"Come to bed, mon ange," Francis asks of him. The two have been sleeping in the same bed since the War ended, but they do no more than sleep. When Antonio doesn't reply, Francis moves to face Antonio. "What's troubling you?"

The way he speaks and acts is so soft and sweet that Antonio feels a bit guilty for not returning the other's affections. "Nada," he replies after a moment, tearing his eyes from the darkened view in front of him.

Francis frowns but leans forward to kiss Antonio softly. Yet another difference. Antonio always had to bend down to kiss Roderich, and the Austrian's face was always smooth-shaven. Here, Francis's stubble scratched against his chin, and Antonio didn't need to bend down to receive this kiss. Since the war's end, Antonio has let Francis kiss him chastely, but never kisses back or allows the Frenchman to get too far. And Francis respects the Spaniard's boundaries, not daring to push them.

Antonio lets Francis lead him to their room, where they change into their nightclothes and go to sleep, backs turned to each other. The first and only time Francis tried to hold him in bed, Antonio cried. Since then, the Frenchman hasn't tried his luck.

Once he manages to drift off to sleep, Antonio dreams of Roderich. He could be not? This is his husband, the man he's loved for two centuries. The man he discovered and raised children with. To not dream or him would be impossible. However, tonight is not a happy night, as no bittersweet memories visit his dreams. Instead, he is on the battlefield, fighting with Francis against his lover.

"Have you forgotten me so easily?" Roderich asks, heartbroken. "Did our time together mean so little to you that you run into the arms of the next willing lover?" The Austrian is ready to cry now, tears building in his violet eyes as he's held at sword point by Francis. 

"No, I-" Spain tries to counter before being cut off.

"I love you Antonio! How can you forget that so quickly?" Roderich is also cut off by the point of Francis's sword digging into his throat, just enough to break the skin

"You are not worthy of him, you self-centered aristocratic fool! He doesn't need your love, not when he has mine!" The sword point digs deeper into Roderich's throat, and the man's eyes widen in alarm. He looks to Antonio pleadingly.

"Schatz... please," he begs of Antonio. "Don't let him ki-"

Francis cuts clean through Roderich's throat, allowing the Austrian to fall to the ground, choking on his own blood. Dropping the sword, Francis turns to Antonio. "You needn't worry about him any longer mon ange," he promises softly, kissing Antonio's lips before he can't react.

Once Antonio recovers from his shock, he pushes Francis away and rushes to Roderich's side. Tears falling from his eyes, he kneels next to his fallen lover.

"I'm sorry," he sobs quietly, taking one of Roderich's hands in his own. "I never wanted him, or this. All I wanted was you. I love you, mí rey." A soft and fond smile ghosts across Roderich's lips. He keeps his eyes locked on Antonio, and the Spaniard catches the words his lover mouths.

"Ich... liebe... dich..." Then, Antonio watches as the light fades from Austria's eyes. Now Antonio is sobbing openly, kneeled over his dead lover, still clutching his hand. He stays like this for a while before a hand falls on his shoulder and he jolts awake.

Outside of the dream, Francis was awoken by Antonio crying. Wanting to awake the other from whatever dream he was having, he puts a hand on the other's shoulder and starts to shake him awake. It doesn't take Antonio long to wake up, his eyes flying open as he gasps and sits up. Francis tried to rest his hand on Antonio's shoulder in comfort but the other jerks away.

"Don't touch me," he requests in a way that's more of a soft order. Nonetheless, Francis obeys. After a few moments, during which Antonio's heavy breathing evens out, Antonio stands from the bed.

"This isn't working," he speaks, finally voicing his mind. "I don't love you Francis, I don't even care for you romantically. I'm sorry that I led you on, but I can't deal with this any longer. My heart is not yours to have and no amount of time will change that." Without waiting for Francis to respond, he leaves the room.

Left behind is a stunned and hurt Francis, his upset emotions shown clearly on his face. A single tear falls down his cheek, and it's one he is quick to wipe away. "I would have understood," he murmurs to the empty room. He would have understood that Antonio was still in love with Roderich, understood that he didn't want Francis. It would have saved them both a world of hurt.

Elsewhere, Antonio finds another bedroom to sleep in. Once inside and on the bed though, he does not sleep. Instead, he weeps. He cries for his lover whom he's lost. He cries for the fact that he lead Francis on when he knew it was wrong. He cries for his haunting dream and the war that spawned it.

But mostly he cries for his love lost. For the porcelain skin he will no longer touch, the thin lips he will never again kiss, the talented fingers he will not hear play, the violet eyes he can no longer get lost in, the brown hair he will never again be able to run his finger through. He cries for the man he will never again be able to love the way he once had.

Cause when I'm with him, I am thinking of you, thinking of you
What you would do if you were the one who was spending the night...
Oh I wish that I was looking into your eyes, looking into your eyes, looking into your eyes...
Oh won't you walk through and bust in the door, and take me away.
Oh no more mistakes...Cause in your eyes I'd like to stay...