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spain//antonio

!WARNING! this contains sensitive topics. if you are sensitive to depression or anorexia(ish, not really but kinda), then please kindly move on. thank you!

-most translations are from google translate-
•bogosse = young, good-looking boy (french)
•merveilleux = marvelous (french)
•oui = yes (french)
•Santa mierda, ella es jodidamente hermosa = holy shit, she's fucking gorgeous! (spanish)
•elle est vraiment magnifique = wow, she really is gorgeous (french)
•mi amigo = my friend (spanish)
•princesa, eres tan hermosa como una estrella. ¿me permite este baile? = princess, you are as beautiful as a star. may I have this dance? (spanish)
•si, mi principe = yes, my prince (spanish)
•mi alma = my soul (spanish)
•mi amor = my love (spanish)
•mi corazón = my [sweeth]heart (spanish)
•mi tresoro = my treasure (spanish)
•mi pedacito de cielo = my little piece of heaven (spanish)

~third person pov~

after lovino left antonio's care, it had been so quiet. not only lovino left, but everyone. the entire spanish household left.

nobody to teach.
nobody to cook for.
nobody to yell at.
nobody to yell at him.
just nobody.

was it his fault? of course not. they were all, for the most part, adults and they could do what they wanted. he had no say in what they did or didn't do. then why did he feel like he was responsible? why did he feel like if he acted in some other way, then they would've stayed?

he woke up in the morning and cooked breakfast for himself. he cleaned the house for no one in particular. then he whipped up some dinner, for himself alone. then went to bed, alone. day-in, day-out this was antonio's routine.

but one day, he stopped.

he stopped waking up at 6 am. he stopped cooking, cleaning, everything. he never answered the phone, but who else would call him but a wrong phone number? so, he stayed in his room and wallowed in his self-pity.

I'm not good enough, so why even try?

two months had gone by. he had nothing but a few glasses of water and morsels of food within this time period, and the once strapping, young antonio was nearly gone. his face was hallowing, and his hips were starting to stick out. his strong hands were weakening, knuckles hardening like stones, but as breakable as twigs.

antonio hadn't heard another human's voice in a while, so when the doorbell rang, he was thoroughly confused. not conflicting the ringer's prediction, antonio decided to stay in his bed.

with a sigh, and a "sorry antonio" the door was broken into.

"antonio! it is moi! your favorite frenchy!" echoed an obnoxiously raspy voice, followed by an even more obnoxious laugh.

antonio, reluctantly, dragged himself out of bed, down the stairs, and journeyed to the front room.

"what do you want francis?" he spoke, his voice weak and scratchy.

"I have come to drag you out of that bed a-"
"go away I don't want you here."

francis was shattered, for a split second.

as antonio started to walk away, the scruffy blond grabbed his arm.

"ah, ah not so fast my bogosse, we are going out tonight!"

for a prissy goat-man, he sure is strong.

"I don't want to."
"we're going."
"but I don't want to."
"well, we definitely aren't going if you're in that getup. we need to get you dressed my bogosse!"