Bésame Mucho (Fan Continuation)

Chapter 7

"War is a destroyer and creator, dissolver and evolver, brake and catalyst for every passion, hate and love together. It has the power of stripping man of all his lying vestments; his soul then appears in all its fierce dignity or its cowardice."

– Carlo Rosselli, Italian Jewish political leader, journalist, philosopher, and anti-fascist, writing in his essay Compito Nuovo (New Task), (1919).

Chapter 7

It felt like years had passed the two of them by in the small garden, though Lovino knew from the darkening skies that it had only been an afternoon. Heavy clouds had gathered by the time Antonio stirred on his lap. A sharp, cold breeze blew through the darkened garden, causing both of them to shiver, and Antonio raised his head to blink groggily at Lovino. "I must have fallen asleep," he said, slightly apologetically, but the small smile he wore told Lovino that he was feeling much better now than a few hours ago.

"You were tired," Lovino said softly, feeling a small pang as Antonio moved away from him to sit up. What he wouldn't have given for just a little more time together, to feel the heavy warmth by his side, the soft copper curls under his hand... "Grandpa came and told us to come in when you woke up."

Antonio froze mid-stretch. "Roma? He didn't... Wasn't he upset that I was with you?"

Lovino shrugged. He still didn't know what to make of that. He fidgeted with his hands, then remembered belatedly that he still had the stupid ring on. Scowling, he said huffily, "It's not up to him to decide who I should spend my time with. But I don't think we should keep him waiting much longer."

Antonio chuckled. "No, that does not sound like a good idea. He probably already thinks of me as unprofessional, sleeping like a vagrant on his property like that." Picking himself off the ground and dusting his knees, he extended a meaningful hand to Lovino. Lovino looked at it and blushed, but took it all the same. Antonio's calloused hands felt rough in his own smaller ones. He tried not to linger on them as he was pulled to his feet, but he felt Antonio's fingers tighten their grip and looked up to see him smiling easily down at him, handsome face closer than he had imagined.

"I almost forgot," Antonio said gently, "Thank you, Lovino. For taking me here. For staying with me."

Lovino could feel the colour rise to his cheeks, hear the loud thumping of his heart straining to break out from inside his chest. He could not look away. Antonio was looking at him with the same, dark green eyes he saw behind his eyelids every night before he went to sleep. He tried to think of something to say in reply, but no words came, and only the chirping of the crickets and rustling of the grass around them filled the silence that fell between them.

But far too soon, Antonio glanced quickly at the kitchen window near them and dropped his hand with a disappointed sigh. "Well, let's go hear what your grandfather has to say then, shall we?" he asked.

Nodding, Lovino moved to follow him out of the garden and through the back door, but paused when his mind flitted back to the topic it had been turning over and over while Antonio slept: his missing brother. Where was Feliciano? He had been listening for the sound of the front door opening and Feliciano announcing his return in his songlike voice, but nothing but the noises of Grandpa Roma moving about in the house had reached his ears.

"Lovino?" called Antonio from the open doorway.

He jerked out of his reverie. "Um, go inside ahead of me. I'll be there in a second."

Brief concern passed over Antonio's face, but he nodded and closed the back door after him. Lovino's own thoughts gnawed at the edges of his mind as he made his way around to the front of the house, and stared out into the darkened pathway stretching across the fields. The afternoon was already quite late, and the market would have been closed for hours now. Feliciano was acting strangely lately, now that he thought about it. He seemed even happier than he usually was, if that were even possible, as though he was floating on clouds. He hadn't even seemed all that distressed the night before, after he had supposedly witnessed resistance members being marched into the town square by the Gestapo. Lovino had been too wrapped up in his own problems that night to take proper note, but the thought of an execution so close to home should have kept his brother awake throughout the night. And there were other things that warranted an explanation...