Lovers who Uncover

"Disarm you with a smile And leave you like they left me here To wither in denial The bitterness of one who's left alone” The Smashing Pumpkins - Disarm Antonio watched with something similar to delight how the gray smoke was turning into squiggly figures and deformed by the wind, taken away by it in a matter of seconds. He was sitting on a rickety park bench with his feet up and his back leaned against Lovino's, who threw his head back and placed it on Antonio's shoulder, smoking as well. They were both looking at the sky and listening to the crinkling of the paper they had in their mouths. Its tip started glowing even brighter and burned the marijuana rolled up inside. The two of them kept the smoke in their throats for some time, then freed it, repeating the process of contemplating the smoke figures dancing in front of them, while listening to Lovino's mp3-player, sharing his headphones. The dubstep mixed with the sounds of the street, the cars, the cigars they were consuming, their exhalations, and the wind that was moving the trees' branches whose yellowish leaves were hanging pitifully on that autumn day. "So you were arguing with your brother again," Antonio began, holding his breath and the marijuana smoke in. "He's so annoying! No clue why the hell he's not taking his eyes off me, even when I go to the bathroom... what a pain in the ass," Lovino grumbled, frowning and putting his cigar back into his mouth, hearing Antonio laugh. "Yeah, yeah, but in reality you do love him, don't you?" replied the Spaniard, noticing that the ashes were about to reach his fingers. "Shut up, that idiot makes me sick!", Lovino spat, removing a tree leaf that had landed on his head. "Liar," Antonio disagreed, still laughing. "Why are you always trying to convince yourself that you hate him?" "Please don't start with your therapeutic speeches, just let me get high in peace," Lovino stopped him, letting the smoke out of his mouth and shuffling a bit in order to lean more comfortably against the Spaniard's back, while the latter was still watching the sky that had started to turn gray. "These are no therapeutic speeches, I just like to listen to you talk. So tell me: why are you insisting so much on hating your brother? I wanna know." Antonio insisted, his gaze fixated on a slowly floating cloud. Lovino didn't say anything for a few moments, holding the leaf he had removed from his head in his hand and against the light, contemplating its little veins and its yellow, orangeish and reddish colors that were blurring together beautifully, and narrowed his eyes. "It’s that I don't understand why Feliciano has to be the one to wear a flower crown, and I'm always the one who wears a crown of thorns... got it?" He fell silent again in order to keep admiring the leaf that currently seemed to him like one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen in his life. "Feli has been the good kid all his life, loved by everyone, the kind of guy to win over others' hearts and shit like that, but I've always been the one who gets greetings and praise only out of politeness. Because when Feli did something good, everyone always applauded him, and then looked at me and felt obligated to say something that was supposed to make me feel better... and the more time passed, and we grew up, the more obvious it became... the fact that Feliciano's always been better than me," Lovino spoke, still with the cigar between his teeth. "Do you really think so? That he's better than you?" Antonio asked, who had been just listening to the Italian, and threw the rest of his cigar on the grass, hoping that it wouldn't provoke a fire. However, it wasn't as if he really cared, either. "Yeah. It's... like we've been one single person before our birth, and God or some asshole has divided us into two, and Feli's the one who got all the best things, and I am the bad part with all the vices. If we really were one person, then we'd maybe be someone boring and normal like everyone, but no. I've gotten used to it by now, but always found it unfair... I mean, I never asked for that. So why am I the bad one?" The latter replied, taking such a long drag that even his lungs started to hurt. "Have you ever tried to be the good part?" Antonio inquired. There was silence again, and only Lovino's exhalation could be heard, letting out a smoke cloud that reached the Spaniard. "More than once, but it was useless, since I've already been labeled, and no one can just leave behind what they are," Lovino replied with a badly hidden sadness, feeling Antonio move and turn around. Now his back was resting against the Spaniard's chest, and he looked up, meeting the other's smile and noticing that he still had a few bruises and a cut wound that was in the process of healing. “Then let me become the bad part so you won't be that lonely anymore,” Antonio said, taking him by the cheeks, stroking them with the back of his hand, and slowly kissing him on the lips. “You're rotten,” Lovino replied, savoring the other's mouth that still tasted like marijuana and perceiving the raspy touch of Antonio’s knuckles that still had some scabs from the fight in that seedy bar from a few days ago, and felt as if he was kissing his equal who was hurt as well and slowly drowning in the same mud. “Oh shit, I have to go!” Antonio looked at his watch. “I think I’ve already missed the first lecture.” He giggled and got up from the bench, almost falling over since he felt the ground move under his feet. After a few stumbles, he regained his balance, while Lovino chose to stay lying on the bench and put the earbud into his ear that the Spaniard had taken out of his. “How stupid to continue going to classes when you have already failed the semester,” the Italian said, closing his eyes and tucking his arms under his head. “Not true, Lovi, remember that my professors felt bad for me, the poor student who was assaulted and so brutally beaten that he had to skip classes in order to recover. Even Fran forgave me for not having turned in the essay.” Antonio patted himself on the cheeks, trying to look a little more sober, but his red eyes continued giving him away. “See you later, Lovi.” He bent down to give him a kiss. “See you tonight. Feliks told me he got some good stuff.” “I can’t wait.” Antonio left, staggering slightly. That was what Antonio’s days had turned into since the night he had tried the crystal and arrived home all beaten up, saying that he had been assaulted on his way home. Not stopping to invent stories to such a point that his family even filed a police report, his friend cussed out the asshole who had done this to their best friend, and his teachers had given him a chance to turn in the assignments he had missed and write make-up exams. Using his bruises and wounds as an excuse, he went through university and his daily life and spent the nights with Lovino in order to open the heavy door to the latter's world further and further. The acid had just been a glimpse inside, the crystal as well, and then came the cocaine that allowed him to get a foot into that secret place while they were making love almost the entire night without a hint of exhaustion. The ecstasy after that had been another, more intimate invitation to share their secrets, and it was as if it was stopping time around them and allowing him and Lovino to move at the speed of light in a lethargic world, just the two of them, and the marijuana sometimes revealed Lovino's thoughts to him that he was listening to between the coughing fits he had while smoking it for the first time, suffocating and feeling strange at first, but still hearing the endless stream of the words marked by an Italian accent and reality. And that night, they would probably go to the next round. What would it be this time? Heroin, amphetamines, some kind of controlled medicinal drug? Every night was a new experience, and every morning a struggle against the world and daily routine. One time, he even had to take stimulants in order to stay awake in class, and at night, due to having too much energy, a good dose of sleeping pills to be able to sleep at least a bit. His teachers sometimes said that he was acting strange, but he replied that it was the stress. His mother was worried by the dark circles under Antonio's eyes which he explained with passing the nights studying at Francis’ house, and Francis and Gilbert were of the opinion that he was going out more often than someone in their final year of university should. On Friday and Saturday alright, but doing it the entire week was way too much, according to them. Antonio assured them that there was nothing to worry about, that he was just spending the nights calmly at Lovino's house, eating pizza and watching movies. This was what he was saying and what everyone accepted as an answer, perhaps because they were too afraid to inquire and realize the obvious: Antonio had started to change and not for the better. But if he was insisting that everything was fine, then it was, since a person who was constantly smiling just couldn't be unwell, despite the anxiety he sometimes seemed to suffer from or the circles that had started to appear under his eyes or him constantly going out at night; he was alright because he was smiling, and if you were smiling, you were obviously fine. And like that, Antonio kept convincing everyone that he was fine, and he did feel great thanks to the recreational drugs, and Lovino's destructive company, two things that became a poison when mixed together. Yes, everything was fucking great. Antonio washed his face in the bathroom, sprayed himself with perfume to hide the smell of the marijuana and thought about an excuse for his reddened eyes. Then he dried his face, arranged his hair and gave his reflection in the mirror a big smile before going out to meet his friends, who were surely waiting for him at the cafeteria, which was good, because he needed a cup of strong coffee before heading to the last lecture. What a shame that he hadn't managed to be present at the other ones. He calmly went to the cafeteria, running his hand over the wall while walking, feeling its texture under his fingers and greeting the one or another fellow student with his other hand. Finally, he spotted his two friends sitting at a table with a cup of coffee for him. Always so considerate. “Hi,” he greeted them, sitting down and perceiving the smell of the drink. “Wow… what's with your eyes?” Gilbert asked immediately and came closer in order to look into his red eyes. “Ah… I think it’s something in the atmosphere, maybe I should go to the doctor,” he replied, rubbing his eyes and pretending that something was irritating them. “Are you sure it’s just that?” Francis inquired and took a sip. He had recently started to act a bit harsh towards Antonio. “Of course I am, Fran. Don't you trust me anymore?” The Spaniard rested his chin against his palms as if he was a flirty schoolgirl, even using a fake feminine tone, revealing that he was mocking the other, who frowned slightly at that. “I do, mon cher… but I don’t trust your company,” Francis said, making Antonio laugh while Gilbert just stared at his coffee, finding himself right in the middle of that tense atmosphere once again. “But my company are you, my best friends in the whole world!” Antonio cheerfully stretched out his arms. It had sounded so childish that it made Gilbert laugh. “We and that guy Lovino,” Francis corrected him, refusing to abandon his bad mood which got only worse as he mentioned the Italian. “Lovi’s different from you two,” Antonio said, widening his smile a bit more and stirring his unsweetened coffee with a spoon. “Lovi is… like a drug,” he whispered, catching the others’ attention. “Wow, you’ve really fallen for him, so there must be something good about him, after all,” Gilbert commented, taking another sip. “Yeah, I’m crazy in love.” The Spaniard giggled. “I just hope that this guy won’t end up becoming your doom. Sorry for saying this, but it doesn't look as if he has many ambitions in life,” Francis said in a solemn tone, straightening his back, crossing his arms, and throwing his hair back with an elegant movement. “So what?” Antonio kept his gaze down, which made his green eyes acquire a somber tone. “Maybe there are people who are different from us, Francis, people who don’t see any meaning in this life and thus, lack ambition… there are people in this world who keep breathing merely out of obligation, waiting for the day when they would gather enough courage to end it all.” His voice matched his look now, and he simulated a pistol with his index and middle finger, putting them against his temple. “BANG!” That exclamation startled his friends. “Yeah, there are people who wish to grab a gun and blow their brains out… this is their ambition,” he drawled, making the other two freeze and swallow heavily, since they had never ever heard Antonio give such grotesque speeches before. “That was a joke!” He burst out laughing and put on his usual smile. The others exchanged gazes. They didn't look very amused. "Don't joke like that," Gilbert said, trying to smile, still a bit nervous. "Sorry, sorry," Antonio apologized with a few giggles and took a big sip, hearing Gilbert starting to change the topic abruptly to a more pleasant one and Francis playing along. The Spaniard just listened, throwing in a comment from time to time to not seem too absent from the conversation. But in reality, his thoughts were somewhere else, far away from his friends. At which moment had the trivial conversations with his beloved comrades become that boring? He drank half of his coffee and kept listening in silence, pretending that he cared about their stories and hoping that time would pass fast, and he could go spend another night with Lovino. Speaking of the latter: Lovino had just returned home and headed listlessly to the kitchen, grabbing an apple that was lying on the table and biting into it, without bothering to greet his mother who smiled upon seeing him. Then he was about to go to his room. "Lovi, come here for a bit," she called him, making him angry. He hated that abbreviation of his name, barely able to bear hearing it from Antonio. "What is it?" he asked with his mouth full, taking another bite from the fruit. Mrs. Vargas wiped her hands with her apron though they weren't even dirty — a strange housewife habit — smoothed it, and sat down at the table, inviting her son to join her. He reluctantly pulled up a chair and took a seat as well, still munching. "Listen, today Feli said something that could help you... he said that perhaps, you should return to school. Your father and I agree, after all, we see how much you struggle finding a job. We think that it would be easier for you if you finished school first like your brother, and besides you have only missed a year, so you're not too far behind," his mother began gently. Lovino noticed how she was nervously crumpling her apron and smoothening it again. He frowned even more. Again, Feliciano was sticking his nose into things that weren't his business. It had been hard enough to convince his parents that he was spending the mornings and afternoons looking for a decent job to finally be able to move out of that damn house, and now he had to think of some excuse to not go to school and continue living at their expense, like a parasite. "I'll think about it," was everything Lovino said and went upstairs, leaving his mother behind just like that, not caring that she looked like she wanted to say something more. He was walking with heavy steps, heading to Feliciano's room, opened the door without asking for permission and saw his twin sit in front of his little desk, painting and being so concentrated on what he was doing that he didn't notice his brother's presence. The older one took advantage of this and punched him in the arm, making him scream out and ruin his painting in the process with a brush stroke that went across the whole picture. "Why are you giving our mom stupid ideas?!" Lovino snapped at his brother, who was rubbing his arm, whimpering. "They're not stupid... I just mentioned it to her, nothing more than a comment," the latter said, looking at his brother with slight fear. Lovino punched him again in the same spot, making him scream once more. "Then keep your fucking comments to yourself from now on!" Lovino bent down a bit in order to intimidate his brother even further. And it seemed to work, for the other shrunk in his seat while rubbing his aching arm. Lovino gave him a last glare, bit aggressively into his apple and was about to leave his brother's room, spotting Feliciano's paintings hanging on the wall. Most of them were made with bright, lively colors. Without even meaning to, he stopped in front of one that consisted of entirely dark colors, mainly black and brown, a gloomy, distorted and not very defined landscape that could very well represent everything going on in Lovino's head. He kept staring at it and looked at the signature in the lower right corner, just to make sure that it was really made by Feliciano. Realizing that he had never thought that his stupid little brother could also create paintings like that. "Brother?" Feliciano called him when he noticed that Lovino was contemplating one of his works, completely immersed in thought. The latter did a jump, gave him another aggressive glare and left his room without saying a word. The slightly confused Feliciano turned towards the painting his brother had been looking at, got up and peeled it from the wall, turning it around to reveal the date he had made it. His chest was seized by bitterness as he remembered that day: the day his parents had taken Lovino away to that rehabilitation clinic. He swallowed the lump that had built up in his throat, hung the picture back and returned to his desk that was full of watercolors and brushes and also a few unfinished works he had not been satisfied with. He sat down, took the brush he had been using, bit into its tip and looked over every detail of his painting. Narrowing his eyes, he then took the brush out of his mouth again and dipped it into the paint he had mixed on his palette in order to try to mask the brush stroke caused by Lovino earlier. After a while, he raised his work to look at it again. Another stab of pain attacked his chest. His new painting showed a vaguely defined human body enveloped by different colors that ended in dark spots running down what seemed to be the person's face, making them look like tears descending a desperate, barely visible face. He placed the painting on the desk, gave it a melancholic look and signed it with a thin brush in white paint. Next, he turned it around and wrote down the date together with its title he chose without a second thought: "Fratello". Feliciano couldn't feel what Lovino was feeling, but he suffered from what his twin was making him feel, which wasn't too different from what was plaguing the older one: a sadness so deep that it was choking you, a sadness that robbed you of your voice when you wanted to scream, a sadness that was ripping you apart, a sadness that was eating at your insides like cancer, swallowing the parts of your being that are still alive... a pure, merciless sadness. Night was falling. Looking through the window and smoking a cigarette, Lovino was trying to search for some stars in the night sky, but couldn't find even one of the tiny shining lights. Taking another drag from the tobacco, he pressed the cigarette against the window frame and, without even knowing why, climbed out of the window and stood on the roof, trying to hold his balance and looking at the great distance between him and the ground. Feeling the autumn breeze on his skin, he closed his eyes while his cheeks gradually turned cold and stretched out his arms, getting closer and closer to the roof's edge until his toes weren't touching the roof anymore and the wind was blowing between his fingers. Now he just ought to let himself fall. One jump and... it would be over... everything would be over... "Jump," Lovino whispered to himself, slightly cracking his eyes open and staring all the way down to his garden. He took another small step, and the wind became even stronger, completely messing up his hair, as if trying to push him down itself. The ringing of the phone brought him back to reality. He fearfully and hastily stepped back from the roof's edge and hurried back to his room, closing the window, with his heart still pounding like crazy. "What do you want?" he asked, having picked up the phone, trying to keep his voice from shaking and knowing that it was Antonio, since he was the only one who called him by that number... or rather the only one who called him at all. "Calm down, Lovi, I just wanted to inform you that it's already time. What were you doing?" Antonio had to raise his voice a bit due to all the street noises. "Nothing," the Italian lied, looking at his closed window. "I'm coming." He hung up without even listening to Antonio's goodbye, put the phone away and opened the door. Meeting Feliciano, who was leaving his own room at the same time. "Ve~ brother..." Feliciano said, spotting his frowning twin. "Were you doing something by your window? I believe I've seen you," he asked, a bit confused. "Just a hallucination," was everything Lovino replied, passing him. But having reached the stairs, he suddenly stopped and turned around to his twin who was about to return to his room. "Feli," he called, making the other turn around as well. "If I jumped... would you jump together with me?" He was sure that Feliciano wouldn't understand, that he would stare at him like an idiot and ask for an explanation... however... "No, I wouldn't," Feliciano answered quickly. Lovino felt something break inside of him, especially when he saw the little smile on his brother's face. "Instead, I would grab you and keep you from jumping." Having said this, his little brother finally entered his room and closed the door behind him as if they never had that conversation. Lovino just went downstairs. Another night began. Antonio and Lovino met at the same metro station as always and started to walk while the Spaniard was chatting as usual just to fill the silence until they would arrive at Feliks' home. The latter was probably already waiting for them... or rather for their money. They reached the building, went up the spiral stairs with Antonio continuing to talk while breathing heavily thanks to the exercise. Lovino was listening to his verbal diarrhea with his hands in his pockets until they finally arrived to Feliks' door. The Italian knocked several times, but Feliks opened more slowely than usual and didn't even complain about the ruckus. He looked really bad. "Did you have a bad trip?" Lovino asked when he saw the other hunched over, with tears in his eyes and a bruise near the corner of his mouth. "A bad trip would've been better than this shit," Feliks said, walking as if his entire body was aching. "Are you alright? Do you need to go to a doctor?" Antonio inquired, while the other was dragging himself to the table where he kept his merchandise. Feliks let out a forced laugh. "Oh, Toni, if you keep talking that nicely to me, I'll start thinking that you want to flirt with me." Feliks put on a mischievous grin that disappeared in a matter of seconds when he almost threw the little plastic bags with drugs at them after having received the money. "Be a good boy and stop playing with me, pretending that you care about me. The only thing you guys care about are your goddamn drugs," he grumbled, baffling the two of them. Then he just turned his back at them and dragged himself to his bedroom. “Keep up with that shitty attitude, and you’ll scare away your clients,” Lovino spat at him, checking the stuff he got. Feliks stopped and slightly turned his head. “Lovi, like, I only have two types of clients: the ones who want to fuck for cheap and the junkies… and the latter always come back. Just look at yourself, you're the living proof,” he said and resumed his path. “I’m not a fucking junkie!” Lovino grumbled and headed to the door, followed by Antonio, who kept looking towards Feliks with sincere worry. Opening the door, the Italian met Ivan, who seemed to be about to knock since his hand was raised. “Good evening,” he greeted them with a big, innocent smile. “Hello,” the two of them replied dryly, not waiting until he would start to talk about the weather or these things you do when you bump into someone, and quickly said goodbye. They didn't trust Ivan in the slightest. He cheerfully waved farewell, watching them leave, then closed the door, stepped into the apartment and walked to Feliks’ bedroom where he knew the latter would be. And indeed, there he was, tapping a thin syringe with his index finger and slamming the needle into his skin without any hesitation, directly into the vein, releasing the content into his body. As soon as the methamphetamine was injected, he removed the needle and lay down on the bed with a faint smile on his lips. “Have you increased the dose already? Jeez, you really can’t wait to leave this world, can you?” Ivan commented, removing the huge coat he was always wearing, but keeping his scarf on. “Any world is better than this one,” Feliks responded, letting his gaze wander until he managed to fixate it on Ivan, who got on the bed in order to do the only thing he was interested in doing with Feliks which wasn’t precisely chatting. But the latter stopped him by placing a hand on his shoulder. “Not today.” Ivan noticed the bruise near his mouth. “What happened?” he inquired, gently stroking the wound with two fingers. “You see, Ivan-baby, there are a bunch of gays, who believe in the totally stupid idea that being on top and slamming it in like a brute caveman will make them manlier or let their dicks grow bigger… and yeah, one of these testosterone-filled idiots happens to be my client.” Feliks rolled up in bed and closed his eyes. Ivan frowned slightly and moved his hand towards the other's t-shirt, raising it and revealing more bruises on his pale skin, the ones near his hips looking like marks left by a hand. "And who is that client?" Ivan asked again calmly, even though his voice didn't sound that childish anymore. "Doesn't matter... I feel a loooot better now." Feliks let out a few silly giggles, as the methadone started kicking in, and he stopped feeling any pain or discomfort. "I sometimes think of you, Feliks," Ivan commented and lay down beside him, making the other laugh with these words that sounded so absurd coming from him. "I believe that you don't let strangers in your bed just to get money or that trash you are injecting into your body... but because you're actually terrified of being alone. If you can get someone to be with you, even for a while, you feel good, and then you take drugs in order to forget that you were left alone in that bed yet again. You're not selling your body, you're using it to buy company, and then you numb yourself so you won't have to feel the weight of your loneliness... Am I right?" While he spoke, Ivan was rubbing Feliks' back in a gesture that pretended to be of comfort despite the words he was saying. "You talk too much, Ivan... just shut up." The latter put his hand on the Russian's mouth. Ivan smiled again. "Please tell me next time who that client is," he said, removing Feliks' hand from his mouth and clasping it, while the other closed his eyes again. "I will, I will, but shut up now." Ivan smiled openly, watching him bury himself deeper under his blanket, then took his coat, sitting up in bed, and pulled an automatic pistol out of one of the inner pockets, caressing it as if he was caressing Feliks himself. "The only one allowed to destroy you... is me," he muttered, looking at his weapon with satisfaction and then at Feliks who seemed to be smiling contently in his sleep. Antonio and Lovino, in the meantime, had reached the place that had become some sort of lair for them: the old, burned apartment where Lovino's grandpa used to live. It was impregnated with a penetrant smell of smoke and ashes and had barely any furniture besides a mattress and thick curtains that didn't let any light in. The two of them were sitting on said mattress, Antonio with his back against the wall and his arms wrapped around Lovino's hips, who was leaning his back against the Spaniard's chest and having a straw in his mouth, inhaling the smoke the methadone on a piece of aluminium foil emanated, burned with a candle underneath it. After a few drags, he passed the equipment to Antonio, who, after a few moments of hesitation like during each of his first times, started to breathe in the toxic smoke as well. His hands trembled a bit, and a strange feeling seized his stomach, but he still kept filling his mouth and lungs with it. Feeling a gradual relaxation he had never experienced, not even with marijuana. When they had enough, they blew the candle out, tossed the foil and the straw away and looked at some undefined spot in the room. Lovino let himself fall on the mattress, feeling as if he had fallen down several kilometers. Gazing at the ceiling as if it were a thousand miles away and he himself was still falling. And Antonio lost himself in his trance, having the impression as if his body had become so light that it could be carried away by the wind. "Antonio," Lovino uttered, his tongue numb, while watching the distance between himself and the ceiling become even larger. "Yeah?" Antonio managed to reply after a few long seconds. "If I jumped... would you grab and stop me?" Lovino suddenly felt the other take his hand and try to intertwine their fingers. "Yeah, I would grab you..." Antonio drawled. "And then jump together with you..." A coarse smile appeared on the Italian's lips. "Great," he said, weakly squeezing the Spaniard's hand. "I don't want to jump alone." What followed was silence, while they kept holding each other by the hand until morning came.