The dark side of your heart

People often say that when someone is on the brink of death, they see their life flashing by before their eyes. If that was true, then what would you see?... Your family? Your friends? The ones you have loved during your life? Would you see pictures of your happy moments, like a slide presentation, like a photo album? This one time you laughed until your stomach was hurting, the time you wailed on the lap of a friend, the first time your heart was broken, the first time you kissed someone until you were out of breath? Would you be able to remember how your heart was pounding when your parents caught you doing something prohibited? When a problem was so huge you felt like you would never be happy again?... Would you be able to visualize before your eyes even the most insignificant instant of your life? Could you see clearly how you enjoyed blowing on dandelions when you were small and watching how their spores were glowing in the sunlight while being taken away by the wind? And what if you weren't able to see anything?.. Just to hear?.. Lovino was only listening right now. Listening to his mother's voice calling his name, his father's voice congratulating him, Feliciano's voice whispering to him every time he slipped into his bed during their childhood... he heard each kind of tone that had ever reached his ears: cries, laughter, a distant sigh, a grumble... so many sounds that represented an auditory archive of his entire life. Until a special voice finally arrived, a voice with a Spanish accent, telling him "I love you"... But it slowly got weaker and more distant, being soon devoured by the silence... no, he didn't want that, he didn't want it to disappear. If God was really kind-hearted and benevolent, then he would fulfill his desire, at least once in his life, letting him hear that voice again. But it gradually turned into a murmur, until leaving for good. And Lovino immersed himself into silence as well. The curious people, who were surrounding the site of the accident, watched the Italian being laid down on a stretcher and lifted into the ambulance. Between all the blood, the scrapes, and the bruises, they could see tears flowing down his cheeks, like the effect of a bodily reflex. Apart from the crowd of passersby and police officers, there was also a cat, who didn't move from his spot, instead faithfully sitting where Lovino had been lying a few seconds before and where the marks of the wheels and a bloody puddle were still remaining on the street. The animal was staying in a solemn pose, watching with his piercing blue eyes how the ambulance raced off with howling sirens. And not very far away from there was Antonio, clueless about what had happened right now and lying on his bed, staring into nothing. He did feel for a few seconds as if he couldn't breathe anymore, but blamed it all on his horrible state of mind. He was very seriously considering just staying in his bedroom, exactly like Lovino had done before, until dying from hunger or something like that... now, all his strength to keep fighting was gone, the strength to keep facing another new day and moving on with his life. It just wasn't possible anymore, because mere minutes had been enough to lose his only reason to continue living. His cowardice had ruined everything and made it crumble like dry mud in his hands. He remained on his mattress for hours, letting his hand hang out heavily. His pillow smelled like Lovino and reminded him of the nights the Italian had spent in his bed, of the other's back that was dripping with sweat, of the tremor of Lovino's body, his unskillful gestures and his occasional innocent reactions. Remembered how perfectly both of their bodies fitted, when they fell into a deep sleep hugging each other. Then he asked himself during how many nights Lovino had probably been listening to his thoughts, how many secrets he might have encountered, but still decided to not say a word and to stay by his side. Now he realized that Lovino already knew everything he had been trying to hide with so much effort from other people behind his smile. The Italian had known it all from the start and, despite everything, had no problem with it, to continue being with him. Yes, Lovino had seen the darkest side of his heart and decided to stay. Suddenly, Antonio felt something on his middle finger and saw Tortuga trying to attract his attention by licking his fingers with his rough tongue. The Spaniard picked him up and hugged him tightly. "I'm such an idiot," said Antonio, intending to hide his face in the animal's fur, like he had done so many times before. And as strange as it seemed, the cat stayed still, just beginning to meow when his owner's tears started to soak his fur. The next day, Antonio didn't go to work. His telephone rang an innumerable amount of times, but he didn't answer, since he knew that it was no one but his boss who wanted to reproach him, and maybe some of his friends. However, he didn't have the strength to pretend being alright, not feeling himself in the right condition to do even this, so he just continued to lie in his bed without moving even a millimeter, while Tortuga had changed spots several times until finally coming to rest in a corner. It was certainly no exaggeration to say that Antonio had done nothing that day, apart from converting oxygen into carbon dioxide and staring at some spot in his bedroom, trying to not think about anything. But every single thing that was going through his head seemed eager to torment him and made him feel as if the force of gravity had doubled and his body turned into a giant block of lead, unable to move even one muscle. On that day, his wish to disappear from the face of the earth was as strong as never before. The light entering through the window indicated to him the passing of the hours, and he watched the shadows, caused by the movements of the sun, as though they were an improvisational sundial. However, to be honest, he didn't care anymore if it was day or night or if there would never be a new daybreak at all, he was just staring with empty eyes at the dust particles dancing in the light and then landing somewhere in the shadows. Soon, his entire bedroom got bathed in the red color of the dusk, adopting a slightly surreal appearance. Or, at least, it looked like this for Antonio, since the sky was of a more intense red than usual, painting the walls into the color of blood. However, he didn't get a lot of time to appreciate the view, since he heard someone ring his door. Naturally, he didn't bother getting out of bed, instead just letting whoever came to his house keep ringing, but then a few stones came flying against his window and there were only two people, who used to do that when they were fifteen and wanted to sneak out to go to some party. Gilbert and Francis were using their old stunt to call the Spaniard to the window, as if they were young guys courting a young woman. Antonio needed a few minutes to sit up in bed, ran his hands over his face, trying to wake up, and dragged himself listlessly to the hallway, descending the stairs with heavy steps, looking like a perfect representation of a walking corpse. Then he finally reached the vestibule and opened the door. Francis and Gilbert gasped and took a step back when they saw the disheveled Antonio, who had huge dark circles around his dull eyes, whose face looked terrible and who, for the first time, wasn't smiling. "My God, Antonio, what happened to you?" asked Francis, but the other didn't respond, instead just letting the door open and turning around to enter his house again, followed by his two friends. Then he slumped down on the couch, looking even more emaciated than before. "Are you alright?" asked Gilbert this time, closing the door after himself. And there it was, the million-dollar question that always had the same answer his friends could already guess for sure, since no matter how bad Antonio looked, they always knew that he was alright. He was Antonio, for God's sake, he had to be! But the Spaniard just looked at them one by one with almost dying eyes, without even trying to force himself to smile. Right now, Antonio was just too tired, drained, pained and broken. The supporting pillar he represented was cracked all the way down to its base, his mask was dented and crumbled down like stone, eroded by the passing of time. Everything inside him was just so hurt that the burning sensation, the itching of his wounds... the putrescence itself they were infected with, had arrived so deep that they had even reached his hollow smiles. He was sick... sick and tired and at that moment, didn't give a shit anymore if the entire world, his world, collapsed once and for all. Enough. So he said the unpronounceable: "No, I'm not alright." And did it with a quiet voice that felt like he was vomiting out all that poison he had consumed for years. An icy chill ran down the spines of Francis and Gilbert, who were slightly baffled. For a moment, Gilbert even perceived the strange necessity to laugh in order to break the tension, so that someone could say "It was just a joke, you dummy!"... but that didn't happen. For the very first time, the two friends had to face an Antonio, who was not alright, who wasn't smiling, and suddenly didn't know what to do or to say. After having processed that unusual answer for a few seconds, Francis combed his hair back with his hand and sat down in front of the small coffee table and Antonio, who was looking weirdly at him. The mere sight of his eyes made the Frenchman shudder. "What happened? Why aren't you alright?" he asked as if desperately trying to find his old, familiar friend somewhere inside that scruffy guy with the horrible appearance, at least the hint of a smile. "Do you mean, why I'm not alright since my childhood or why I'm not right now?... Oh, wait, I've never been alright during all my life," replied Antonio and Francis was now looking at Gilbert, as though asking him to explain what the matter was with that stranger, who had Antonio's face and was lying there on the couch. "Antonio, don't talk like this, this is not you," said Gilbert, and this time, the Spaniard's green eyes started staring at him. "Oh... sorry, I forgot that you two are used to see me smile all the time, while in reality I'm dying inside. Excuse me, the next time I wish to die, I will smile at you, just like the last time," he said, crossing his arms over his face, to cover at least half of it. "Last time?... Antonio, I don't think we understand what you mean," said Francis, who realized that his lifelong best friend, the one he had believed to know like the back of his hand... turned out to be a complete stranger. "Francis... Has it never happened to you that one day you say a little lie to make everyone feel better? Not with bad intention, just a white lie... and before you know it, you can't stop lying anymore. Something like this happened to me: I started by saying to Mom a simple 'I'm alright' and smiling at her... and then I did the same with you, with the rest of my family, in school, with other friends, with Gilbert, at work, anytime and everywhere, and in the end, my lie became so big that I had to begin living with it, even though my reality was completely different." The Spaniard stopped for a moment to swallow. "But I'm not alright and never was, each new day is worse than the last, and I'm forced to drown myself in laughter and smiles... and grew tired of it, Francis. Really tired. So one nice day, after having smiled at the whole damn world once again, I went home and wanted to kill myself. Do you remember that gas leak?... Well, it wasn't an accident," he explained just like that, in such a casual tone that it seemed like a lie. Francis let out something similar to a stifled scream, and his face turned pale as a sheet when he heard the last part. He couldn't do anything but to rest his elbows on his knees, trying to gather his breath. Gilbert, for his part, just froze on his seat, not able to move, trying to imagine the incredibly cheerful Antonio deciding to take his own life... it was absolutely impossible. After having recovered a bit from his commotion, Francis raised his face that was red now. Red from rage. He was about to yell at Antonio, and, if necessary, to punch him, but before he could do that, Gilbert quickly covered his mouth from behind and grabbed his hand that the other was already raising. And when Francis turned around to him, the albino shook his head, indicating to him that this was not the best way to act at the moment. "I still remember how nauseated I was that day, seriously, I was so exhausted from all these lies that I wanted nothing more than to rest and to not know anything more about everything surrounding me... but Lovino saved me... he only needed to look at me to learn about everything that was killing me. Lovino knew everything what was going on in my mind, what a pathetic piece of human trash I am and despite this... despite everything..." continued Antonio, and the other two suddenly saw huge tears coming out from under his arms that were covering his eyes. "Despite everything, he stayed by my side! And the only time he counted on me, I ended up hurting him deeply just to protect myself!... Now, Lovino has left my side and I don't know what to do... I don't want to return to the same as before! I can't take it anymore!" He started to hiccup and cry with even more force, while tightly clenching his hands into fists and trying to hide his tear-stained face. Gilbert let go of Francis, since the latter seemed to have calmed down a bit. However, as soon as he did that, the Frenchman stood up and violently removed Antonio's hands from his face. "And what about us?! Why weren't we allowed to know how bad you were feeling? The hell you wanted to protect us from with your smiles?!" he snapped. Gilbert rolled his eyes, regretting having freed him. Antonio watched him with his eyes full of tears, still sobbing and wheezing from crying, his chest convulsing. "We're adults now, Antonio! Not the little kids that got scared when they saw you fall and cry, we're grown men and above all your friends. Dammit, we exist, so you can tell us, a thousand times if needed, everything about your problems. Together we could have found a solution!" scolded Francis Antonio, roughly letting go of him and stepping back, while the other kept crying. Suddenly, the telephone, that was lying abandoned on the table in the dining room, started ringing. No one had any intention to answer it, until it rang for the third time and Gilbert went for it. It was an unknown number with an uncountable amount of lost calls. "Hello?" Gilbert answered while turning around to the still inconsolable Antonio and Francis, who seemed not to know whether he should hug the Spaniard or punch him, and was just walking around in circles. "Hey, I don't know who you are, but that's not the right moment to talk to him, call again later," said the albino to the caller and wanted to hang up. But then he paused. "What?... Alright, give me the address." And ended the call after a few minutes, hurrying to get to his two friends. The Frenchman looked at him, the German's worried expression seemed strange to him. Gilbert reflexively turned to Antonio, who was still in tears. Then he was silent for a few seconds and decided to speak. "I think we need to leave the confessions and suicidal wishes for later... Lovino's in the hospital," he said without a shred of tact, but, oh well, it was Gilbert after all, so that was to be expected. The other two needed a moment to process this and Antonio, over whose face the tears continued running, sat up. "What?!" he asked with a broken voice and almost breathless. "The guy who called told me that he got run over by a car and is in the hospital right now," explained Gilbert, and Antonio raised his hand to his mouth, panting and trying to retrieve the air that had escaped his lungs, while even more tears started leaving his eyes. He was sitting there, frozen. But then, Francis approached him and grabbed his arm with such force that he lifted him up from the couch with a single movement, completely baffling the Spaniard, who hadn't expected this. "Don't just sit there! If Lovino's really that important to you that you're crying, stop hiding and let's go. Show him that even if you are a pathetic piece of human trash like you called yourself just now, you still are willing to be with him like he was with you. Make up for everything you have done and give us a good explanation later," the Frenchman commanded, making Gilbert smile a bit, while they were dragging the still confused Antonio with them. During the entire way, Antonio couldn't stop thinking that everything was his fault. How could Lovino have been run over, otherwise, if he never left his house, even if his life depended on it? So what had pushed him to do it? The Spaniard didn't know, but felt extreme remorse in his whole body and started panicking, since he had no clue how to face the Italian and in what condition he would find him. He was so afraid, but at the same time felt an unstoppable desire to see him and hug him until almost crushing him. The way seemed endless to them, until they had finally arrived, seeing the hospital's big sign. Antonio dashed off to the reception and asked for Lovino Vargas. The nurse on duty told him the number of the room, but warned him that the patient was in intensive care right now, being monitored. However, Antonio didn't hear the last part, instead just starting to run as if it was for his life. He passed through the mazelike hallways until reaching Lovino's room. Since it was ICU, he wasn't allowed to enter, so had no other choice than to press himself against the big window that showed the Italian lying in bed. Antonio's knees gave out, and he almost fell to the floor after the shock of seeing Lovino full of tubes in that bed. The latter's face was scraped all over, one of his legs in a plaster cast with nails sticking out and a ventilator connected to his mouth. He looked like he was just in a deep sleep. "Lovino..." the Spaniard managed to murmur, feeling everything break inside him once again. He caressed the window's glass, as if wanting to get through it and caress Lovino himself... it was unbearable for him to see his most beloved person in that condition. "I'm glad you're here," Antonio suddenly heard another voice and turned around. Feliciano was sitting on one of the chairs, his eyes swollen and red from all the crying, and on his cheeks were still traces of tears. "I didn't want to call our parents, because Lovino doesn't get along with them lately, and instead decided to call you. Right now I don't care what happened between my brother and you anymore, I think that out of everyone we know, you're the only one he would want to see right now," explained Feliciano, seeing guilt on Antonio's face. The younger twin tilted his head slightly to look at his brother through the window. A little screen, that showed the latter's vital signs, proved to everyone that his heart was still beating. "The doctor told me..." began Feliciano, and his eyes filled up with tears again. "...that it's not sure whether Lovino would wake up at all." Antonio's heart started hurting so bad that he had to sit down in order to not fall to the ground this time for real. It was painful for him to breathe and he even had to double over, because he started feeling dizzy. Feliciano, who was sitting next to him, looked like he had already cried so much that he wasn't able to anymore. He was enigmatically looking at his brother, as if he could sense what the unconscious Lovino was thinking at the moment. What could Lovino be thinking about right now while struggling between life and death? Did he even want to return to life after all that had happened? Deep inside Lovino, one part of him that was floating in silent nothingness... was feeling so calm, like never before in his life, and more and more numb. He was filled with peace but at the same time also with complete loneliness... no... he didn't want to be alone anymore. While aimlessly floating in the middle of that immaculate white scenery, he was wishing to hear once again the voices of the two people he loved so much: however, he didn't want to hear Feliciano cry, and Antonio even less... no, he wanted to hear them laugh, desired with all his heart to be able to hear his name pronounced by their happy voices. He wanted to stay with them, didn't want to feel any more loneliness nor pain. He wanted to return. "Brother... it's hard for you, isn't it?" asked Feliciano, getting up and placing one of his hands on the window, while a tear was leaving the corner of his eye. "But you have to make an effort and come back to us, if you dare leave me here all alone, I will never forgive you... I'm not strong either," he continued, fogging up the glass and seeing Lovino still immersed in that deep sleep. A whole week passed and nothing had changed. Feliciano and Antonio were staying for entire days in the hospital, without moving from their spots, the doctors came and left, but there were never any news nor optimistic prognoses. However, the younger twin and the Spaniard kept being there, as if guarding the Italian. "Listen, you two should go rest, at least for a bit," Francis had tried to convince them one Saturday, but they were categorically refusing to leave. It was impossible to change their mind, even a few nurses had asked them to go home, but to no avail. Francis sighed and leaned against one of the walls, crossing his arms and watching Lovino, who was lying there exactly like the day they had learned about the accident. To be honest, the Frenchman wasn't very optimistic either regarding the Italian's condition. "Francis...", Antonio finally said something, and the other immediately turned his attention to him. The Spaniard raised his face, looking malnourished, tired, and haggard, as if he was going through the same agony as the patient himself. "What should I do if Lovino never wakes up?" he asked. It was not a rhetoric question, he really wanted to know how he was supposed to continue his life without Lovino by his side, without having a clue how to face a world where the Italian didn't exist. While asking that simple question, Antonio was looking so scared, trembling from head to toe and looking at Francis full of expectation, looking for an answer. But Francis didn't know it, of course, no one did. However, before the Spaniard could get attacked by some kind of crisis, Feliciano took him by the hand and squeezed it tightly. The contact of Feliciano's hand was very similar to Lovino's and managed to comfort Antonio a bit. The younger Italian seemed to show with that gesture that he had forgotten every conflict the two of them had ever had, and was now just trying to support the other, so he didn't collapse. He wasn't allowed to... not as long as Lovino was still alive. After ten days, the atmosphere had turned even more pessimistic. Feliciano had decided that it was time to call his parents and tell them everything and Francis and Gilbert, who came to the hospital from time to time, were exchanging gazes, showing that they were already losing hope. But Antonio stayed. They didn't know if he was still hoping for the Italian to wake up, or if he just couldn't manage to accept something that was already more than obvious. The morning of the eleventh day, Antonio, who had nothing but a few sips of coffee in his stomach, was once again standing in front of the window. He was exhausted, hadn't slept well, barely was feeling any hunger and slowly running out of energy. "Lovino... I understand if you don't want to wake up. After all, what would be the point of living in such a shitty world like this one? Especially having to live like you did it all these years. Believe me, I really know how it feels to want to leave everything behind and just disappear. If you leave, I will understand, but I don't want you to," he said, leaning his forehead against the glass, and took a deep breath before continuing. "I am stupid, selfish, possessive, and jealous with people I love, that's why I don't want you to go to God, I don't want you to go anywhere, your place is here, with me... so wake up, once and for all. Stop doing this to me, I'm tired as well, you know? I want to go home with you, take a bath with you and sleep together with you. Don't stay in that bed forever, you have to be in mine, by my side... you have to wake up next to me, take care of Tortuga, scold me for being an idiot and always screwing up everything, and then I have to kiss you to make everything right again... Lovino, you need to wake up!" he screamed, punching the window. It trembled, but nothing happened inside the room. The still half-conscious part of Lovino was also tired... weakened and exhausted... but despite all this he couldn't give up, it was way too early for that... he still wanted to do so many things: a lot of kisses to give, hugs to receive, caresses to feel... a million nights to make love, another million things he wanted to hear, perhaps lies and falsehood to unveil, masks to rip off, but he wanted to do it... there was so much he wanted to continue living for. That's why he had to rebel against his own body, his own fate, even against God. And while Antonio was standing there, leaning against the window and scolding Lovino, commanding him to wake up, the Italian was fighting internally with all his might, trying to force his body to move. But it absolutely didn't want to. Inside, he was screaming at himself, "Move! Move, goddammit, open your eyes!". But not a single muscle obeyed him. He was starting to feel frustrated, because his eyelids didn't open, because none of his fingers listened to his orders, and wanted to yell that he was awake, but his lips didn't move, and his throat didn't produce a sound. This was so frustrating! Lovino felt so helpless due to the fact that his own body didn't want to listen to him in the slightest, and so angry. He had to move! NOW! And like that, he slowly started to open his eyes that were blinded for a moment, but then got used to the bright light inside the room. The next thing he felt was the tube in his mouth that made him cough and jerk, attracting the Spaniard's attention. Antonio couldn't believe his eyes: he saw Lovino move, cough and try to understand where he was. The Spaniard opened his mouth several times, until he managed to scream for the doctor. The latter arrived running with a group of nurses, and Feliciano as well, who was going so fast he almost tripped while trying to stop. The younger Italian and the Spaniard wanted to follow the doctor into the room, but weren't allowed to, so they had to stay outside and watched through the window how Lovino got a whole bunch of examinations. The Italian barely understood what the hell was happening at all, it was difficult for him to follow the doctor's explanations, who briefly told him about the accident and the reason he was in the hospital. A few hours and a lot more examinations later, Lovino was finally transferred to another room and could receive visitors. Feliciano and Antonio came running so fast they almost fell on top of the bed and wanted to attack him with hugs and kisses, but stopped when they noticed all the IV drips connected to him and his leg still in a cast with nails. "Lovino!" let out Antonio, couldn't resist anymore and wrapped his arms around the Italian's neck, careful not to hurt him. Lovino immediately felt the Spaniard's humid face pressed to him. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry for everything I said and thought! Please forgive me, but never do this to me again!" Antonio exclaimed desperately, infecting Feliciano a bit with his behavior, who did the same and hugged his brother from the other side. "Brother, I was so scared! I thought you'd never wake up again, so scared, ve~" the younger twin whimpered. Now, Lovino had two guys hanging on to him and drenching him in tears and snot. "Hey..." tried Lovino to grab their attention, but the other two were too busy crying on top of him. "Hey..." he attempted it again. "Hey, you two morons, get off me, you hurt me!" he finally screamed: they didn't know that, in addiction to everything else, he also had a few broken ribs. Feliciano and Antonio let go of him on the spot, but still felt the need to make sure that he was there, completely awake, and took him both by one of his hands. The three of them remained silent, wiping their faces and trying to calm down a bit. Neither Feliciano nor Antonio let go of his hands, and for Lovino, being touched had never felt so great before. He always had avoided every kind of physical contact, despised and hated it, but now, having the two most important people in his life so close made him feel safe... however... something was odd. Feliciano and Antonio were there, sniffling and running their free hand over their faces, without having said anything that whole time. And by anything, Lovino meant anything at all, including their thoughts. He shot them a distrustful look and squeezed their hands as if they were leading directly to their minds and thoughts... but still didn't hear anything. "Why are you so quiet?" he asked them. Antonio, of course, didn't immediately get the meaning of that phrase, but Feliciano did and looked at his brother in bewilderment. "Quiet?..." the younger one repeated, not taking his eyes off Lovino, who just frowned. And after a few more minutes, Feliciano got scared. "You don't hear me, brother?" he asked. The line between the older twin's eyebrows got even deeper. "Huh? But you're not thinking anything right now," objected Lovino and then turned to Antonio, who didn't really know what to say. "And you neither... right?" he asked the Spaniard. The latter's gaze was wandering between the two brothers. "I... I do," replied the Spaniard, and then the older Vargas brother opened his eyes wide, as wide as he could, and looked at Antonio and Feliciano once more, listening closely. But he couldn't hear a single sound apart from their respirations. Then he turned his head to the people passing by on the hallway, but still couldn't hear anything except for the words they pronounced with their mouths. Nothing more. And out of the blue, a torrent of feelings attacked Lovino: he didn't know whether it was fear, anxiety, relief or whatever, but it was so intense that he wasn't able to breathe for a moment, only letting out a strange wheeze, followed by an explosion of tears, while his heart started pounding like crazy. "I don't hear them... I can't hear them! I can't hear them anymore!" he began, starting to pant, cry and finally... laugh. He burst out laughing while tears were running down his face. He didn't hear them anymore! Squeezing the two other guys' hands even tighter and continuing to laugh, he looked at them again, but still nothing, he didn't know the thoughts they were hiding behind their confused expressions. It had stopped... he couldn't hear them... His laughter got so loud that it turned into crying again, because he was so relieved that he couldn't help it, finally he had been freed from that terrible curse. He couldn't do anything else apart from crying, since he was so damn happy that he wasn't able to control himself. His ears, his head, his whole body... were finally free. Antonio and Feliciano started to think that the accident and the heavy contusion that had left Lovino in a coma for ten days, had been the cure for his strange condition. This was the most logical explication they could think of, even though the doctors were repeating over and over that his brain had always been normal. But the Spaniard and the younger Italian knew it better and were convinced that the tragic accident did, in fact, free Lovino from that ability he had suffered from during his entire life. However, there was another, true reason behind all this. The next day after Lovino's awakening, the Italian basically ordered his brother and Antonio to go rest and take a well-deserved bath, assuring them that he wouldn't die overnight. So the two of them, very reluctantly, ended up leaving, before Lovino could throw the flower vase and other objects at them to get them out of his room. Of course, Antonio still felt a bit bad about leaving Lovino all alone in the hospital, but he hurried home to rest and gather new strength in order to be there for him the following day. When he entered his house, the first thing he did was to call his cat. He knew that Francis had been taking care of Tortuga during his absence, so he found it a bit strange that the latter didn't come. Maybe he was wandering around somewhere once again... but the Spaniard didn't feel satisfied with that explication, to be honest, the atmosphere in his home somehow felt heavy to him. Blaming it on his fatigue, he went upstairs to his bedroom and was relieved to find Tortuga there. "So this is where you are, little one," he said to the cat, who was lying curled up into a ball in the middle of his bed. "I'm home, come here and greet me." He sat down next to him on the bed. However, not even the movement of the mattress managed to wake up his pet. "Tortuga..." the Spaniard called him, petting his head. But Tortuga didn't even move his ears... neither was he breathing. "Hey, Tortuga." Antonio got scared and picked up the animal. The cat seemed like a stuffed toy, with his paws hanging down, his closed eyes, not meowing nor purring... "Tortuga!" Antonio called him again, accommodating him in his arms, looking at his lifeless tail that wasn't swinging like a pendulum as it usually did. The cat seemed as if he was just fast asleep. "It's not nice to play like that, come on... wake up," he quietly begged, gently stroking Tortuga's face and forehead. But still no answer. Antonio was holding the cat in his arms, as if he was lulling him to sleep, while waiting for him to lazily open his eyes and lick his whiskers. Even though it was quite obvious that this wouldn't happen. Tortuga didn't look as if he had been sick or injured, it was as though he had just climbed on Antonio's bed one day, curled himself up to sleep and simply never woke up. Without pain, without any agony, just like a deep, endless sleep. A sleep that had turned into a barter: one of his lives exchanged for the wish of a friend he had heard crying under the blanket. A friend, who had caressed him while hiding under his bed, whom he had shared the bed with when the other had been happy, who had confessed various things to him and told him his worries and private secrets. One of his nine lives had been the price to fulfil the biggest desire of that beloved friend. A fair price. When Lovino heard the news, he stayed silent for a long time and looked at Antonio, who was sitting next to him on his bed, wanting to be as close to him as possible, since he knew how fond the Italian was of the cat. But, as if Lovino knew something no one else did, he just put on a little smile, rested his head on Antonio's chest and silently thanked the little guy for his sacrifice, or, better said, his gift. Now, being in that room, he could hear nothing but Antonio's heartbeat. It did worry him a bit that he wasn't able to know what the Spaniard was thinking right now, to be honest, he was concerned about not knowing the thoughts of the people surrounding him. How would he know if he was being lied at? How could he tell who was authentic and who wasn't? He was afraid of facing a world where not everything was as it seemed and him not having a way of knowing it. He didn't have a clue how other, normal people managed to overcome lies, falsehoods, and hypocrisy and tried to imagine it. But one day, Feliciano gave him the answer: it was just about trying to have trust. To trust someone else is like playing Russian roulette, like jumping out of a plane without knowing if your parachute will open or fail at the last moment. Trusting others isn't easy, most of us are sometimes forced to show a smile, to let out a tiny lie that could be a simple "I'm alright" but one that also could turn into a snow ball that keeps rolling and rolling, until becoming an avalanche, taking us down with it. We live under the constant pressure of a society that's always expecting the best from us and makes us hide behind masks, bandage our wounds with lies... everything is reduced to appearances and falsehoods, but among this bunch of dual faces and hypocrisies, among the fatal and pessimistic thoughts, we sometimes do find someone we are willing to take a risk for and trust. And Lovino had found that someone for himself, and during the following days, he made Antonio sit down next to him, beginning to tell him with every detail everything about his life. About his childhood he had passed hidden under his bed and in closets, his puberty, and adolescence that were nothing more but fights with classmates, reports of inappropriate behavior, more migraine and a complete isolation, and finally about his life as an adult and other things, enough, to make them sit together and talk for entire evenings. Antonio was listening carefully and, though it was still incredible for him to believe what he was hearing, he never interrupted the other, nodded and continued listening to each one of Lovino's narrations. However, the Spaniard couldn't get away scot-free either: one day before Lovino was discharged from the hospital, Francis and Gilbert appeared, accompanied by the Spaniard's cousins. All five of them were staring at him with the same look of reproach. "Alright, Antoine, you still owe us a long explanation about a certain topic," said Francis, crossing his arms, exactly like Emma, Vincent, Guillermo, and Gilbert. The Spaniard got scared and tried to hide behind Lovino, but the latter didn't let him. "Don't be such a coward, go and talk with them, otherwise this will never end," scolded Lovino him like always, frowning, and hitting him with his pillow, forcing him to face them again. "But...!" Antonio wanted to object, receiving from Lovino a look that could kill. "Go with them right now," the Italian commanded, pointing at the group that was waiting for the Spaniard, who looked at them fearfully. Lovino sighed and softened his tone. "It's okay, no one will judge you," he said, startling Antonio. "You said you can't hear anything anymore! So how...?" "I don't need to hear you to know what you're thinking, so go, or I will take out my catheter and stuff it in your face!" And again, everything was about trust, about looking the people, that are important to you, in the face and confess something to them that you have been hiding all your life, talk about that horrible part of yours, these painful things, hoping that they will accept and heal you or watching them simply turn their backs and abandon you. Nothing can be taken for granted in this life, not even the presence of another person throughout your existence. But in Antonio's case, he could count on people who were able to swallow a scolding, to stop themselves from screaming a thousand things at him, and instead hold his hand to help him... except for Vincent, who did punch him in the face, making the Spaniard fall to the ground and call hospital security. Of course, lifelong problems don't just disappear from one day to the next. Lovino could keep swearing that he mistrusted everyone and still feared people and crowded places. On the contrary: his insecurity had even increased a bit due to not being able to know his interlocutor's thoughts anymore, however, he now had someone he could lean on. Someone who simply wouldn't let him fall or run away to hide in a closet or under the bed. And Feliciano was now naturally free as well, free to remain silent and to keep as many secrets as he wanted, like any normal person, but he didn't. The habit inside him was so strong that Lovino basically continued being his confessional. Their relation hadn't changed in the slightest. While Antonio, for his part, was trying to get rid of his bad habit to smile. But the worry about everyone and the need to see them being well had perhaps already become a part of his personality, so from time to time, Lovino was still catching him forcing a smile or keeping something to himself. This was something both of them were attempting to overcome little by little, to cure each other's wounds. It was a spring afternoon, a month had already passed since the accident and Lovino was still recovering from it, continuing to use a walking stick, since his leg wasn't completely rehabilitated yet. The Italian was heading to Antonio's house. He was practically living there now and remembered only on Sundays that he possessed his own home. He rang the door, but the Spaniard didn't open it, instead shouting from the yard behind the house to go meet him there. Muttering curses due to the fact that he had to walk even more, Lovino limped with the help of his walking stick to where Antonio was. The Spaniard was smiling with a blush on his cheeks and looking into a box that was standing in his back yard. "And what's this?" asked Lovino, hearing squeaking sounds from the box that were similar to meows. "Kittens! Someone left them here, I think. Look at how adorable they are. Can we keep them?" Antonio happily stuck his hand into the box, playing with the little ones who were hungry and desperately looking for their mother. "If you consider yourself capable of raising them all, do it, no need to ask me," said Lovino, coming closer and bending down a bit to look at the five kittens, so small they could barely stand on their clumsy, tiny paws. "Of course I am capable, who do you take me for?" asked the Spaniard, pouting. Then he got up and gave Lovino a quick kiss on the lips. "Wait here, I'll get them some milk," he said and hurried into his house. Lovino kept admiring the cats for a moment, until one of them caught his attention: one, who was vainly licking itself without paying any attention to its siblings. The kitten was lying there, passing its rough tongue along its little paw in a strangely familiar way, until finally raising its fluffy head and revealing big blue eyes Lovino immediately recognized. He couldn't help but take it into his hands, making it let out a few meows. "Welcome back. I believe I didn't have time to say it to you back then, but thanks for everything," he said, pressing the little one to his body and petting it gently. "I know you'd grow fond of them!" exclaimed Antonio, coming back with a carton of milk. "Shut up, you idiot, this one's mine. The other four you'll raise yourself." And with this said, they decided to adopt a litter of kittens, among which was an old, beloved friend. The end.