#Besame Mucho chapter 3 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

the-observant-frisbeetarian · 5 years ago

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Chapter 3

Bésame Mucho by George deValier

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."

Lovino could suddenly feel his heart pounding within his chest. "I didn't even think of you." That was, of course, a total lie. Not a day had passed in three years that Lovino had not thought of Antonio. While the other village boys talked about girls, while Grandpa Roma joked about him getting a girlfriend, while he grew to understand just what was expected of a man and a woman… all Lovino thought of was Antonio.

"That is understandable," said Antonio quietly. "I thought you might have forgotten me." Lovino didn't say it, but that was impossible. And he should know - he'd tried.

"Why did it take you so long?"

"Well, I was very busy."

"And you couldn't visit once? Not once, in three years?"

Antonio looked surprised. "Well, I..."

"I was so confused when you left, you know. I wasn't sure if I had done something wrong, but you said that I hadn't, but you also said that you left because of me, and I never quite understood why."

There was a very long pause as Antonio stared at him, as Lovino slowly processed what he had actually just said. He very nearly ran away, but then Antonio responded. "Lovino, I am so sorry. I think I told you once, that I was never very good at separating right from wrong – that I always felt too much to know the difference." Antonio broke off again, like he was debating whether to continue. Lovino waited silently, his heart fluttering, his hands shaking. The night was so still and silent around them; like they were somewhere far away, long ago, where things like this could be said to each other. Antonio took a deep breath before continuing. "Well, that was why I left. Because when I was around you, I could not stop the feelings that engulfed me. They screamed at me, overtook everything, blocked out all sense of what was appropriate and…" Antonio closed his eyes, furrowed his forehead, took a draw on his cigarette. "I shouldn't be saying this."

Oh no. He couldn't stop there, not when Lovino was on the edge like this; his heart thumping, his head hazy, his knees weakening… "What feelings?" Lovino asked it softly, scared of the answer. "What do you mean?"

Antonio opened his eyes. They were so much darker in the moonlight. "I'm not one to play games about things like this, so I'll be honest with you. You have a right to know. I have... feelings for you, Lovino. I always have. I wondered if going away would change anything. But of course it didn't."

Lovino clutched onto the brick behind him, sweat rising across his skin. This conversation was heading somewhere he was not sure he wanted to follow. "Feelings?

"Yes. Very strong feelings. Romantic feelings."

Lovino gasped and looked away. He did not expect this. He felt like he would fall over any moment. "You mean… like the way a man feels about a woman?"

Antonio spoke slowly. "Something like that. But men can feel that way about men, as well."

Now Lovino's heart felt like it was being squeezed, his entire world turning upside down. "People say that is wrong."

"People are afraid of what they do not understand."

"So why… if its not wrong… why did you leave then?"

Antonio took another shaking breath through his teeth. "You were fifteen, Lovino. Even now you're still…" Antonio broke off and sighed in frustration. "Even now I should not be saying this, I'm still so out of line. But I could not stay away any longer. Every night for the last three years I have thought of you. And seeing you now… my God, but how much I missed you, it's... it's stunning."

Lovino shook his head, everything unreal and far away. He could not comprehend it. That anyone could say these things about him, could feel this way about him... No one ever said things like that about him. Hell, no one even liked him. Antonio must be confused; he could not mean this. This must be a mistake, Lovino must be misunderstanding... He stood still, the night silent around him, the forgotten cigarette burning slowly between his fingers.

"I'm not asking you for anything, Lovino. It's just, as I said… you have a right to know."

Lovino was beyond stunned. He was simply numb. "I… I don't…" Lovino spoke not to himself, not to Antonio, but just because he could not stop the words spilling from his lips. "I don't know what I'm supposed to…"

"No," said Antonio quickly, severely. "You're not supposed to do anything."

Breathing through the silence, Lovino finally looked up at Antonio: his green eyes so dark in the moonlight, his always cheerful, passionate face so like the image imprinted on Lovino's memory. He wondered exactly what Antonio's words meant. What possibilities were there, what it could all mean... and suddenly he couldn't breathe. "Oh." Lovino gulped for air, dropped the cigarette stub, turned away... He placed a hand on the wall to steady himself, and said it again, unable to stop. "Oh... oh..."

"Mierda." Antonio was suddenly right beside him, his face twisted in distress. When Antonio's hand almost brushed his Lovino nearly shouted. He reached out to hold onto him, to push him away, he didn't even know, and then he just settled for sinking to the ground. Antonio followed him, speaking quickly. "Forget it, Lovino, it was nothing. It never happened, all right? We'll just pretend that it never happened, and I never said those things, all right?"

Lovino shook his head, then paused, then nodded, the whole time refusing to look at Antonio. He tried to calm down by thinking how stupid was he being, what a fool he was making himself, how ridiculous Antonio must think him. Why did he always overreact like this? Everyone thought Feliciano was silly and high-strung, but Lovino was just as bad. He was at least grateful that it was probably too dark for Antonio to see his cheeks burning in embarrassment.

"Do you want me to go away?"

Lovino looked up as Antonio asked the question slowly, reluctantly. And he realised... no. No, he didn't. Because out here, alone, in the middle of the night, it still felt like another time and place. So maybe it was all right to let his guard down for just a moment. "No."

Antonio sat back slowly against the wall. Lovino covered his face with his hand, ashamed, but Antonio smiled at him. Lovino ran his hand over his eyes, looked up at the stars and the bright, nearly full moon. Everything felt so different here.

"You are so beautiful in the moonlight." Antonio said the words so softly that Lovino was sure he was not meant to hear them. He scowled and kept his gaze up at the sky.

"Don't say such stupid lies."

"It's not a lie, Lovino. You really are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen…" Antonio gave a short, quiet laugh, almost a sigh. "In all my life."

It was the first Resistenza meeting since Antonio had returned, and the cantina was full. Feliciano sat drawing in the corner and Lovino sat on the table beside him, swinging his legs nervously as the meeting got well underway. But Lovino barely spared a glance for his Grandpa as Roma gave the usual speech about recent activities and constant vigilance. Instead, Lovino's eyes were fixed on Antonio. The night before felt like a dream. Lovino was not even sure it had happened. Surely that could not be real. Surely Antonio could not actually think those things about Lovino, could not feel that way for him. Antonio was a stupid bastard, sure, but no one was that stupid. Lovino chose to believe he had imagined most of it, and misunderstood the rest. Because that was easier to deal with.

It took Lovino a few moments to realise that Antonio was staring right back at him. And smiling. Lovino turned bright red and concentrated on the picture Feliciano was drawing beside him. With his thoughts running wild and swift through his head and his nerves overtaking him, Lovino could hardly pay attention to the meeting until he realised Antonio was speaking.

"The Germans have been using a few different supply routes, but none so important as this. This railroad is their most direct link to Austria and is being used to transport vital supplies to bases..."

Lovino tilted his head to the side, bit his lip, and completely lost concentration once again. There was something different about Antonio when he spoke like this. Something exciting and passionate and confusing and just so... appealing. Everyone in the room sat hanging off his every word.

"Our objective is simple. If they lose this rail line, we delay the Germans by months. This line must be destroyed."

The room erupted in quiet words and murmurs. "We've never attempted anything like this before," said one of the men.

"No. But the situation has never been so serious. This is just the start. From here, our attacks against the Germans are going to increase... as is the danger."

A thrill ran across Lovino's skin at the words. And yet he was surprised by just how much those words worried him. Because this was what Antonio did, all the time, and Lovino started to realise how dangerous that actually was. And how much it scared him.

Over the next few days Antonio quickly became a part of their lives once again. It was just as Lovino remembered. Antonio coming and going constantly, giving them silly presents and trinkets, staying for dinner after speaking privately with Grandpa Roma. Lovino was learning Antonio all over again, and trying desperately not to fall into this painful want and longing. But it was so hard when Antonio smiled at him like that, when he gazed at him from across the room, when all Lovino could think of was those words he had spoken in the garden, that life shattering confession. When he found himself wondering if maybe, just maybe, there was some way that confession could become something more. But Antonio had left before, and he would leave again, or he would finally realise just what Lovino was really like and that he had made a huge mistake in these silly, misguided feelings for him.

The evening before the mission, Antonio and Grandpa Roma spoke in the front room until well into the evening. Feliciano was already in bed, but Lovino sat waiting in the kitchen, sick with anticipation, scared and unsure, his stomach twisting nervously and his head pounding... Eventually, unable to stand it, Lovino jumped up and stormed into the room. Antonio and Roma both looked up in surprise. "I want to go with you."

Antonio smiled, but Roma frowned and shook his head. "No. It is too dangerous."

Lovino burned immediately with frustrated anger. Not only was Roma still treating him like a child, he was doing it in front of Antonio. Lovino glared at him, his hands in fists. "I know what I'm doing, Grandpa, I…"

"Lovino, we are not having this conversation now. The answer is no. Besides…"

"I don't have to do any fighting," Lovino pressed on desperately. "Surely you need someone to drive the car or something…"

"The plans are already made, and we have no room for one more."

"But just listen to me…"

"NO, Lovino!" Roma looked at him as though he was a nuisance, a naughty child, and Lovino's eyesight blurred with rage. His pulse hammered in his head. He clenched his teeth and his fists, furious and humiliated. He bit his lip so hard he tasted blood, then glared at Roma defiantly.

"I could go join the army tomorrow if I wanted, you know. I bet they wouldn't think I was too young."

Roma just looked exasperated. "Don't say such stupid things, Lovino."

"It's not stupid, it's the truth!" Then angrily, unthinking, wanting to hurt and anger Roma, Lovino shouted, "How would you like it if I went and joined the fascists? I'm sure I'd have more freedom with them than I do in this household!"

Roma reacted immediately. He slammed his fist on the table before standing, furious, and taking an angry step towards Lovino. Then suddenly, shockingly, Antonio stood and moved between them. Everyone stopped. There was a heavy, silent pause as they registered what just happened. Even Antonio looked surprised as Lovino stared at him wide-eyed, Roma glaring with an expression of confusion and anger. And then Antonio laughed.

"If it's action you want, Lovino, I don't suggest joining the Italian army. I believe they recruit based on how fast you can run away with a battle raging at your back. Sadly different from the days of the Great War, Roma, no? Which reminds me, I've been wanting to ask about your famous evasion technique before the sixth battle of the Isonzo. I've been thinking of how we could use this brilliant move in a smaller setting. I'm sure you have some ideas."

Roma narrowed his eyes, flicked them quickly between Antonio and Lovino. But Antonio just kept smiling easily, and eventually Roma nodded slightly and took a step back. "It is interesting you should mention that. Run along, Lovino."

Still furious, but now also confused and irritated and very strangely, slightly flattered, Lovino raced out of the room, through the kitchen, and into the garden. He felt like screaming. Instead he walked to the wall, kicked it, then spun around and leant back heavily against it. What the hell had just happened? Why had Antonio moved between him and Roma like that, almost as if trying to... protect him? That was ridiculous, he didn't need protection from his Grandpa. But then Antonio seemed to have done it unthinkingly, automatically. Lovino put his hands to his head as though trying to prevent it exploding. He could not deal with this. He was never good at handling his emotions, but whenever Antonio was around it just became a thousand times more confusing. Did Antonio even know what he did to Lovino? If he did, would he stop? And more importantly - would Lovino want him to?

Closing his eyes, Lovino felt his skin cool in the slight evening breeze, his pulse start to slow and even. He refused to admit to himself what he was waiting for. But his stomach twinged nervously, his head spinning in anticipation of something he could not quite grasp.

Eventually, the sound of footsteps approached and Lovino opened his eyes to see Antonio smiling down at him. Lovino's pulse raced again, but he just frowned back. "Well. I supposed I had better ask you to be careful tomorrow."

"I will."

"And I'll… I will see you after the mission."

"Yes." Antonio's eyes shone in the moonlight and he laughed softly. "Please don't go and join the army in the meantime." Lovino glared and opened his mouth to answer, but bit back the words and looked at the ground. "Did you want to say something?" asked Antonio cheerfully.

"No!"

"Well all right, then. Goodbye, Lovino." Antonio turned to leave, and Lovino's chest crowded with panic and doubt.

"Wait, Antonio, I…" Antonio looked back slowly, hopefully. Lovino fought to return his gaze. Damn, this was so hard. "I've been thinking about your words. Here, in the garden, last time. When you told me…" But he couldn't finish the sentence.

"I remember," said Antonio softly.

"Well… that's all. I've just… been thinking about them."

Antonio smiled. "All right."

Lovino scowled at Antonio, afraid of how he might interpret the words. "That doesn't mean anything, you know, it doesn't mean that I…" And Lovino had dug himself into a hole. What a stupid thing to say... He frowned bitterly and folded his arms violently. "You can go now."

Antonio laughed again, his face so handsome and carefree in the soft light. Then he reached out for Lovino's hand and lifted it slowly. Lovino felt the touch shoot through every part of him, felt it fire through his head and burn through his veins and stop his breath. He tried to pull his hand back; he could not make himself do it. This was the first time Antonio had touched him since he had arrived back... the first time in three years. And then the whole world spun around when Antonio lifted Lovino's hand to his lips and kissed it gently, smiling down with sparkling eyes. "Adios, mi corazón."

Lovino could only scowl and snatch back his hand. He did not know what else to do. Antonio laughed, nodded, and strolled out the back gate, whistling as he went. As soon as he was gone, Lovino gasped for breath, an unwanted smile spreading uncontrollably across his face. His head felt light with giddiness and he almost glided up the house, laughter close to bubbling over, all anger and embarrassment gone in the uncontainable happiness of this moment. He went to walk through the back door, only to stop short, abruptly, the smile falling immediately from his lips. Grandpa Roma stared down at him in the doorway, his expression dark.

"Grandpa."

Roma's darkened eyes flicked over to the back gate, then back to Lovino. "Lovino, you are never to be alone with Antonio, do you understand me?"

Lovino bit back a gasp, then tried to look confused. "But Grandpa, what..."

Roma nearly yelled the words. "Do you understand me?"

Lovino choked off a protest and simply nodded, his eyes on the ground, his heart falling to his feet. "Yes, Grandpa."

"Good boy. Now go to bed."

Anger. Humiliation. Futile frustration. Lovino nodded again. "Yes, Grandpa."

"It was unexpected. A small group of station guards. They were just as surprised as we were. We took them down but lost some of our own, and we had to escape immediately..."

Lovino had come early to the cantina to meet Grandpa Roma and hear the results of the previous night's mission. He hadn't been quite sure what to expect. A quiet debriefing, an empty room, wild celebrations like last time maybe. Instead he stood listening as Roma explained what had gone wrong, why they had failed. But Lovino didn't need to know all this. Why Grandpa Roma's shirt was red with blood, why the members of the mission looked worn and dead-eyed, why extra patrols had been placed around the streets outside, why people sat in the corners staring blankly and angrily. He only needed to know one thing.

"Antonio," he asked, his voice cracking slightly. "How is Antonio?"

Lovino pretended not to notice the quick, sharp glance Roma shot him. He just stared at the wall, waiting for the answer. "The bullet only grazed his side. It was deep enough, however. He has lost a lot of blood."

A sickening hot shudder ran down Lovino's spine. The air turned thick and slow around him, his head caught in a hazy place where everything was too dark and too fast. "Where is he?" he finally managed to choke out, his throat dry.

Roma did not answer. After a long pause, one of the members said, "The side room there has become our little hospital."

Lovino did not wait to hear anymore. Too lost in his terrifying emotions to think about what he was doing, he ran across the room to the side door, ignoring the shout that came after him.

"Wait, he's sleeping…"

Lovino did not stop. He threw open the door, then immediately recoiled at the smell of blood that hit him. Antonio lay on a red stained mattress, his eyes closed, his face white, his chest rising and falling evenly. Bloody bandages wrapped around his body and littered the ground; metallic bowls and instruments sat upon the centre table. Lovino's body was stone; his head was fire. A horrified fear rolled in his stomach as a hundred awful, unbearable thoughts attacked him. What if this was it? What if Antonio died? What if Lovino had only realised how he felt just in time to lose everything… What would he do, what could he do, oh God, what was he supposed to do! He was terrified, panicking, and all he wanted was to scream.

"He's going to be all right, Lovino." Lovino did not turn at the sound of Grandpa Roma speaking just behind him. He kept his eyes on Antonio, on his pale, sleeping face, on his bloodied side. "He is wounded, yes, but he will survive."

Lovino felt dizzy, sick. The walls closed in on him - his breath too fast, his pulse hot and pounding - and it was all too much. He had to get out. He turned and ran through the room, unheeding of the looks shot his way. He ignored Roma calling behind him.

His feet pounded on the hard stones and it was all still so unreal, so heavy and strange and stifling, but more than anything it was terrifying. This crawling, spinning, horrified fear that crowded his mind, shook his body, suffocated his lungs. He could not stand this fear. Lovino reached the end of the street before the rolling nausea in his stomach rose and overcame him. He fell against the wall, steadied himself with a hand against the cold stone, then bent over and vomited onto the pavement.

Lovino could not deal with this. It was not worth it. Nothing was worth this feeling - of caring so much about someone that the very idea of them leaving or dying left him a frantic mess, sick and shaking and burning and freezing, with this feeling that his chest was going to rip apart and darkness was going to engulf him and he was going to collapse and scream and break into a million pieces.

The realisation was sudden, stunning. If he loved Antonio, he would have so much to lose. And one day, he would. Because what Antonio did was too dangerous. One day Lovino would be destroyed... and he could not endure it. He could not endure any more of this. Lovino wiped his mouth and stumbled down the street, ignoring the concerned and disgusted looks of the few passersby. And he came to the decision. It would be easier to close off his heart now, to stop this silly little infatuation before it went any further. And besides, look at him – a broken mess, a pathetic coward, a worthless, powerless, friendless weakling who was still treated like a child. He would be doing poor, deluded Antonio a favour, too.

Lovino refused to return to the cantina over the following days. Instead he spent his time at home, sometimes venturing to the village market with Feliciano. He knew Grandpa Roma was starting to worry about him, but Lovino easily ignored him. He did not ask about Antonio, though he burned to know; luckily Feliciano solved that problem with his constant, insistent questions about Antonio's well being. Lovino was desperately relieved to hear that Antonio was doing even better than expected, though he never asked or acted like he was the slightest bit interested. Roma continued organising missions, but Lovino no longer asked to go… he could not handle seeing Antonio. And always there was this voice inside of him; a tiny, stupid, insistent voice that told him how stupid he was being, how selfish, how completely idiotic… a voice that knew he was lying to himself.

Lovino tried to convince himself that if he did not see Antonio, then these feelings would all go away, and everything would go back to normal. But even as he thought it he knew that could never happen. And of course he could not avoid Antonio forever. So when he walked into the kitchen one afternoon and overheard Antonio speaking with Grandpa Roma in the front room, everything he had tried so hard to suppress came flooding back, engulfing him, pouring through every part of him.

"This was merely a setback. We will see many such hindrances in the coming months. What matters is how quickly we fight back, how soon we can get on our feet. A few lives mean nothing to the fascists… we can not afford to let them mean more to us."

Until recently, Lovino would have listened avidly. But today he fled the sound of Antonio's voice, ran into the sunny garden, hid himself in a far corner behind a bed of sage and rosemary. It was childish, he knew, and it was foolish. And yet, it was all he could think to do.

This should not change anything, Lovino tried to tell himself. He was still uninterested in Antonio. He still didn't care. It still wasn't worth it. Oh God, he was still lying. No matter how he tried to change it, every thought he'd had for weeks now, all the avoiding and waiting and ignoring, had all been tied to one man, to one desire, to one fear. And when Antonio walked out the back door and into the garden, Lovino felt his resolve strengthen, weaken, fall away, disappear. The early summer sun shone down, bright and hot, forcing Lovino's inadequate hiding spot into blazing view. Antonio simply walked over to him, smiled down in a way Lovino could not bear to see.

"I've missed you this last week."

Lovino did not respond. He looked away from that smile, rested his arms on his knees, fidgeted with a sprig of rosemary.

Antonio left a silence for Lovino to respond, before filling it himself. "Are you well?"

Lovino nodded. He knew he should be the one asking Antonio that. But he didn't - he couldn't. Even as the relief of seeing Antonio standing healthy and well before him turned his body weak, Lovino could not possibly say the words. Antonio waited in silence for a few seconds that began to feel like hours, until Lovino blurted out, "Grandpa told us you were fine. Feliciano was worried."

"Was he?" Antonio's voice was almost amused. "Were you?"

Lovino could barely stand this pressure. Why couldn't Antonio leave him alone, why did he have to stand here smiling and asking these questions Lovino had no way of answering... What did Antonio expect? What did he want? Lovino felt sweat start to rise on his neck. He had to leave before he lost control and screamed. "I am glad you are well." He scrambled to his feet. "I have to go now."

"Lovino, wait."

Why did he have no choice but to stop… why did he have no choice but to wait for Antonio to continue?

"They told me you came by the cantina. When I was injured."

Lovino gritted his teeth, fixed his eyes on the kitchen door across the garden. "Yes."

Antonio stepped towards him. Lovino's breath came faster, even as he jerked his head away. "I was happy to hear that you… that you were concerned."

"I was worried for the cause." Lovino said it too quickly.

"Of course." Antonio said it too easily.

Lovino put his hands in his pockets and twisted his foot into the ground. This conversation was so difficult. He did not know what to say, what Antonio wanted him to say, what he himself wanted to say. He finally forced himself to bring his gaze back to Antonio, but the look in Antonio's eyes brought back too many memories. Of words said years ago… Maybe you'll understand one day… Of ones spoken only weeks ago... I have... feelings for you, Lovino… The memory sent an excited, yearning flutter through Lovino's veins. He felt so close to giving in… But there was nothing there to fall into. Lovino could not feel this, could not accept it. He had to stop this now. Lovino closed his eyes and breathed out all his useless hopes, his broken desires. Then he opened them, and spoke.

"Do you remember, Antonio… the first night after you came back. Our conversation in this garden. The words you said to me."

"Yes." Antonio's expression was almost hopeful. But that hurt too much, so Lovino looked away.

"Well I just... I just… I want you to know that… I…" Oh God he was going to say this… He tried to convince himself that he was doing this as much for Antonio as himself. "I do not have those feelings for you."

Antonio blinked in surprise. "Oh." He narrowed his eyes in confusion, his expression uncertain. "But Lovino…"

"You need to know that." This was better for him, better for Antonio, better for everyone...

"I am sorry, but somehow, I was starting to think…"

"No!" Lovino could not let Antonio weaken his resolve. "Look, it's easy to understand. I don't feel anything for you. I never will. So stop this. Stop staring at me, and stop giving me things, and stop calling me your 'corazón' because I know what that means!" Lovino almost tripped over the words. This hurt so much… hurt so much to say these things, to see the look on Antonio's face, but Lovino tried to convince himself it would hurt more to admit the truth, so he just kept going. "I'm not like you, Antonio. I don't feel anything for you, because it's not normal and frankly… frankly it's quite disgusting as well."

Lovino could see the words hit Antonio. He flinched briefly, his face turning white and his eyes dropping to the ground. "Oh. I see."

"You expect too much. And you wear your feelings too plainly. So I… I am…" Lovino faltered but quickly pressed on. "I am asking you to hide them."

Antonio nodded, his hands in fists and his jaw clenched. Then he gave a little sigh, a shrug, and smiled at Lovino. "I will try, Lovino. I will endeavour to behave more appropriately in future." Lovino blinked rapidly, breathed through the rising tears and the crushing in his chest, and felt Antonio's bright gaze and smile like a knife. Antonio inclined his head slightly. His accent grew stronger as he spoke. "I apologise for any distress I have caused you. It was unforgivable of me. And I also apologise for mistaking my own selfish desires for reality." Antonio turned on his heel, and Lovino had to fight back a sob, had to stop himself from reaching out to stop him. Antonio paused briefly at the back gate. "But Lovino. I will never apologise for loving you."

When Antonio walked out the gate Lovino sank down against the wall, put his head in his hands, and finally let the tears break. He tried to convince himself this was right, that he was shielding his heart, that he was protecting himself from pain. But he couldn't stop the thought that screamed at him stupidly, insistently. How could anything possibly hurt more than this?

Christmas, 1934 A village in Germany

"So, Antonio, what happens if this one person of yours decides they don't feel the same way about you?"

Gilbert groaned loudly. "Are we really talking about this again?"

"Oh hush, drink your glue wine."

"GLUEHWEIN!" Gilbert shouted before taking another deep swig of the liquid. The table before them was covered with empty plates and half filled bottles and crumpled coloured paper, the last remnants of a truly magnificent Christmas dinner. No one did Christmas like the Germans.

"Well," said Antonio, trying to think of a way to respond to Francis' question. "That is the risk, isn't it? You can not stop yourself from loving someone, and you can not control how that person feels. If they do not love you…" Antonio shrugged. "They do not love you."

Francis looked appalled. "But how terribly depressing! You are trying to say that you fall in love just once, and if that person does not love you, then there goes the only chance you get?"

"It is unfair, isn't it. But what can you do?"

"What you can do is spend a week weeping over them - eating too much, drinking too much, having filthy, dirty, fabulous sex with strangers - and then forget them forever."

Gilbert waved his glass before Antonio's face. "No, what you can do is spread rumours that'll follow them forever, so the little shit never forgets they messed with the wrong guy."

Antonio rolled his eyes. "I'm not talking about loving someone in expectation of anything in return. I'm talking about loving someone because of who they are. Because of the way they talk, they smile, they fight; because of what they say and what they believe; because of all the wonderful, annoying, beautiful, frustrating, stupid, lovely, embarrassing things they do and they are. Because they are the one person in all the world who makes you finally understand how perfectly, intricately amazing a human being can be. And if they do not love me it changes nothing, because I will not love them so they love me, I will love them because I have no other choice."

"Antonio." Gilbert shook his head and sighed in frustration. "You are one stupid, melodramatic bastard."

Antonio flashed him a wild grin. "But come on. With lines like that, no one is gonna be able to resist me for long."

Next Chapter

Disclaimer: This story belongs to George deValier. Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya. I own nothing.

#Besame Mucho chapter 3

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snarkyhetalian · 7 years ago

Photo

Just as a reference for anyone who is curious, the previous conversation is here and it addresses the question Anon had about why deValier is so popular.

Side note: I am sincerely sorry for how long this took me. This year has been ridiculous. I’ve moved twice, dealt with owners at my previous job going to jail for embezzlement and fraud (I’m not involved, I had no idea what was going on), had to get a new job for obvious reasons, my dog and best companion died, and to top it all off I’m part of an international martial arts team that’s got a big competition coming up and DEAR GOD IT’S KILLING ME! I tried to break it down by points, but I probably missed a few details and eventually I got tired. So please, feel free to address points I may have missed.

Ok, so! list of inaccuracies in the read more!

1) Italian mandatory service.

This was the one I had found somewhere in my research, but didn’t piece together or forgot. But you’re correct on this one. Italy did have mandatory military service during WWII. In fact, one of the sources I read said they STILL have drafts during times of crisis or war. But Italy DID get rid of the mandatory military service in 2004. Before then, from what I’m understanding, EVERYONE had to serve some time (correct me if I misinterpreted that though)

Exerpt from Wikipedia “Italy had mandatory military service, for men only, until 31 December 2004. The right to conscientious objection was legally recognized in 1972 so that a "non armed military service", or a community service, could be authorised as an alternative to those who required it.[35]The Italian Parliament approved the suspension of the mandatory military service in August 2004, with effect starting from 1 January 2005, and the Italian armed forces will now be entirely composed of professional volunteer troops, both male and female,[36] except in case of war or serious international military crisis, when conscription can be implemented.“

And on conscientious objection, until 1972, if you refused military service, you were considered a traitor. (It’s in the link and click on “Italy”)

Other non-Wikipedia sources I’ve found on this: The Guardian, The Telegraph

On this point though, it is possible that it was a conscious decision of deValiers. From a writing perspective, if I (personally) wanted to push the theme of innocent civilian vs soilder, I could see myself intentionally ditching a historical fact like that. If I did so, I would want to point it out in a straightforward manner followed by a reasonable explanation (so people wouldn’t question what I was doing or why I was doing it). The fact that there’s no mandatory service now could be what he was playing off of. Or it could still be unintentional...however, thinking about it now, I’m not sure he WOULD have stated it like that if it wasn’t an intentional inaccuracy. Why draw that much attention to it? I guess it could be an honest mistake, but I’m leaning towards it’s intentional now.

In this way, yes, it’s probably not exactly WW2. But, it happens a lot in fictional renditions of historical events. I don’t have a lot of examples of it up my sleeves, but one example I found was of Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar. Historians don’t really believe his last words were “Et tu, Brute”, but it adds to the theme of loyalty and betrayal.

2) The Italian Resistance time frame.

So here, I had to go back and re-read Besame Mucho. In the first chapter, I can see what you’re talking about. There’s talk of a “resistance” and German invasion, but reading carefully it’s not explicit. So I can see what you mean by, “Had I not known it, I would’ve thought the Nazi’s invaded Italy in ‘39″.

I have a feeling I know what happened here.

So, deValier’s first work was We’ll Meet Again, followed by Auf Weidersehen Sweetheart, then Besame Mucho was next. I think, given that timeline, what may have happened was that he wasn’t really expecting his works to get that far. And it was a little bit of back planning and cover up, although I think he’s definitely using vagueness to his advantage here.

It never really says “Resistance” capitalized, or as a name, until ‘43. And perhaps it’s a little early even then. It also never explicitly says “Nazi’s” until then. There are suggestions that the Nazi’s have some sort of influence and that some Italians agree with them, although it’s never specific. They use Lovino’s and Feliciano’s naivety there.

Using the vagueness of wording, it’s really easy to make up a scenario that is plausible and fits somewhat historically. Although, being honest, I doubt a story of this magnitude could pull off historical accuracy perfectly. Especially, going back to the order the stories were published, given the amount of back writing and whatnot. So, I see what you’re saying, but I can cover it up in my head by thinking it’s reasonable to believe that the official Resistance movement didn’t start until ‘43, but why wouldn’t there be a few people who did meet before then and try to disrupt things. Especially considering Antonio’s story. Which is where I think the motivation is coming from for that. Roma is concerned that what happened to Antonio’s home will also happen to his.

3) Seeing Fascists.

This is in reference to the Blackshirt marching into town, yes?

From Wikipedia

The Milizia Volontaria per la Sicurezza Nazionale (MVSN, "Voluntary Militia for National Security"), commonly called the Blackshirts (Italian: Camicie Nere, CCNN, singular: Camicia Nera) or squadristi (singular: squadrista), was originally the paramilitary wing of the National Fascist Party and, after 1923, an all-volunteer militia of the Kingdom of Italy. Its members were distinguished by their black uniforms (modelled on those of the Arditi, Italy's elite troops of World War I) and their loyalty to Benito Mussolini, the Duce (leader) of Fascism, to whom they swore an oath. The founders of the paramilitary groups were nationalist intellectuals, former army officers and young landowners opposing peasants' and country labourers' unions. Their methods became harsher as Mussolini's power grew, and they used violence and intimidation against Mussolini's opponents.[1] In 1943 the MVSN was integrated into the Italian armed forces.

You may have to help me with this one. I really don’t know where I could find more information on what fascism was like in Italy at that time. The Wikipedia page seems to suggest that the blackshirts specifically weren’t a big deal until later, or they grew eventually. But that doesn’t include what their presence might have been like in smaller towns.

4) Resistance tavers and couriers.

Honestly, my first thought here is that it was another intentional historical ditch. Mostly because of the colors of the cafes. It’s possible it was an accident, but my first inclination is to think he wanted to compare the groups with metaphorical colors green and red.

And just for funsies because this is what I was reading, here’s an excerpt about historical inaccuracies in fiction. But they are call “alternate universes” for a reason.

5) The Resistance as a political party

Uhh, this one I’m going to be lazy for now, but maybe I’ll revisit at another time (if anyone wants to put their two cents in here, feel free, as with everywhere else of course). I’m kind of thinking, IF the resistance is Roma’s baby before the official movement got started, maybe he IS thinking that the official movement is political and doesn’t like it as much. But I believe that stuff is in AWS and at the moment. I’m just now getting over moving and adjusting to a new job so I’m not going back there right now. =P

If there’s something else specific that I may not have noticed, feel free to point it out. And of course, other references are always welcome. I hope this was what you wanted. Thank you for your patience, I hope Anon is still here.

#george devalier #besame mucho #veraverse

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