Someone To Lean On

Blue

A sigh escaped from the male's lips, hugging his knees tighter to his chest. Why is he feeling blue right now, he didn't know. Perhaps it's because of nothing, but that's nonsense because you can't be feeling blue over nothing, right? Or maybe it's not "nothing"—maybe, he just misses his lover. No, the latter is nonsense too, but probably true. Why would he be? He just saw him hours ago!

A loud thump was echoed in the small room from the bed where the male lies. Another sigh has escaped his lips, turning to the side where his lover always lay at. The empty side received a sad gaze from the lonely male. "Will he be coming home soon?" was the thought on his mind. It was just hours, yet it felt like years for him. He looked at the clock.

20:27

The male groaned. Four-whatever minutes left until his lover come home. What should he do to pass the time? Cry? Eat some tomatoes? Play some music? Read something?

But all of them doesn't seem quite interesting to the male—in fact, he may have done all of them just earlier today. So what should he do now? Just stare at the ceiling? Or should he sleep? Or cook?

The idea of cooking seemed to be interesting enough for him, so he should just go with it.

He stood up from the bed and stretched his aching muscles, before going downstairs to cook something. But what something? There's no recipe named "Something". Should he cook pasta? Or pizza? Or whatever? And again, there's no recipe named "Whatever". Maybe he should just go from whatever he could find in the kitchen. He knows that his lover will like his food, even if they're burnt, unlike for some "food" a certain Englishman make.

And thus he did cook. He finished by the time it was five or less minutes until his love will come home. But still—he was feeling blue. The dishes on the dinner table received a tired and sad gaze, before the sender retreated to the living room to lay down on the couch. Just a few minutes more. His eyelids became heavier and heavier until they were shut, and believe him, he did his best for them not to. He still wants to see his lover's face, dammit! Plus, he knew he wouldn't wake him up. That damn bastard was too afraid to wake him up because he was apparently an "angel" to the other. Stupid.

Speaking of the devil, the said "bastard" came in, tired from his work and yet still smiling, because he knew that he will come home to his beloved.

"I'm home!" He alerted his love. He smelled some of the fading scent of the food coming from the dinner, and his smile was a little bigger than before. How sweet, his love had prepared a dinner for them.

Just as he appeared in the dinner room quietly to surprise his amor, it was him who was surprised. There was no one there, except for the yummy dishes. A confused frown fell on his face. Where is he? He looked around the room, but his love was nowhere. He shrugged and thought that maybe he's in the living room. And he was right—his love was indeed in the living room. A smile appeared on his face yet again, walking towards the body of the man he loves. He kissed the other's forehead, suppressing a giggle that threatened to come out.

"My sweet angel, he must be tired from cooking." He whispered to himself as he gazed at the man on the couch. "My lovely Lovino, why are you feeling blue?"

Amber eyes opened tiredly, and apparently, he wasn't asleep. His eyes were just closed.

"Welcome home," Lovino whispered, and stretched out his arms to his lover for a hug. The male gladly hugged him, sitting down on the couch beside him. He didn't push the question further—he already knew why. It made the male chuckle.

"I missed you," he said and planted a kiss on his hair. Lovino sighed, but this time, out of content.

"I missed you too, Antonio. Now, let's eat, you bastard."

The Spaniard could only laugh, and picked up his Italian lover. Lovino rolled his eyes, but he didn't complain. A small smile formed on his lips, and now he wasn't feeling blue.