Craving Your Voice

Ain't It Fun

"Promise we'll always stay together, forever?"

Underneath the large oak tree stood a dark skinned little boy, green eyes shining with glee, and held his small pinky out to the kid next to him.

"Wh-what kind of question is that, bastard?!"

Now standing up as well, the boy with the thick Sicilian accent was red as a tomato. His curl sticking up all crooked and his hazel eyes wide with confusion.

"Don't cuss, Lovi! Abuelo won't like that!"

"Say my name right, you bastard Antonio! I don't care what he thinks of me! Now tell me what you just said!"

"Oh right!"

Antonio got on one knee, and grabbed his friends hand. Kissing it before he looked up at Lovino, who was all red now.

"B-bastard, w-what do you think you're doing! I'm not marrying you!", the Italian stuttered.

"Huh? I'm not proposing though, I just wanted to ask you a question. Mama told me that when you love someone, you should do this."

"You do this when you want to marry someone and is gonna ask them to marry you!"

"What? You don't want to marry boss?"

THUMP

"Ow, Lovi you didn't have to headbutt me! I was joking!"

Pulling his hand away, and fixing his hair, Lovino brushed himself off before asking, "So what was that question of yours, since I'm now asking for the third time."

"It still hurts, but I asked if we can always be together. I want to grow up with you, Lovi."

Lovino sighed, "That's all you had to ask? I don't even need to answer. You already know I'll never leave you. Who else will be able to deal with your stupid face."

***

Some people nowadays find my stupid face quite attractive, I'll have you know.

Fast forward to the deep depths of the future. Antonio, now 25, is lying down on the dusty couch of his trusted friend, Gilbert Beilschmidt.

Being kicked out of "Mama's" place, and with his low pay job of school Spanish teacher, he didn't have a place to stay. Or still doesn't. It's been months now.

"Hey, you unawesome ass!", Gilbert called from the kitchen, getting their usual drinks.

"Sí, what do you want Gil?"

Showing up in the living room with casual wear, Gilbert tossed Antonio a beer, "When will you find a place to stay? There's this hot, um... girl, that I want to bring over."

"Why the hesitation on the word girl?"

"Forget that part, now answer my question."

Antonio leaned back, putting his feet on the already ruined coffee table. Not really knowing when he'd leave, and not really caring at the moment.

"I'll just crash at Francis' place that day."

"Non, you may not."

Stepping inside the room was the Frenchman himself, in his usual attire. Which was for some reason, big brand name clothes from major fashion designers.

"Que?! What is this?!"

"It's an intervention."

"For what?!"

"Mon ami! You need to get your life together! You've been a mess for the past few years!," Francis shook his Spanish friend until he saw stars.

"Francis, stop," clearing his throat Gilbert continued, "What he means to say is that you need to get your own place."