rukisea
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As far back as Arthur could remember, it was Antonio. Antonio was the one who was smiling encouragingly when Arthur woke up from one of his strange black outs. Antonio was the one who gently pried the gun away from his hands, eight years ago. Antonio was the one who stood at the edge of the train station and yelled through cupped hands that he'd write.
And now it was Antonio too, bleeding out onto the linoleum floor, and all Arthur could do was desperately try to rewind time.
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Arthur reckoned he could get anywhere, in his trusty Honda Civic. He braved downtown London in it, until he ran out of gas. Then he crouched in the backseat, watching the shadows outside lumber by, and wondered how it all went to hell. Prayed he wouldn't be found. Wondered how he ended up in the home of this bright eyed young man, who seemed much too practiced with his halberd.
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Maybe stumbling into Walmart in search of supplies during the end of the world wasn't as good of an idea as Lovino initially thought. Nothing screamed desperate like raiding the aisles of a fucking Walmart for food while a hoard of the undead snarled at him from outside, but that didn't seem to matter to the armed trio he stumbled into, or more specifically, the odd Spaniard munching on Skittles.
His ideas were getting to be pretty lackluster these days.
Bookmarked by rukisea
28 Jan 2016
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“Please, call me Antonio,” he requests, and then he laughs quietly. “Oh, and Lovino?"
“What?” Lovino snaps, a little sharper than he wants when his brain finally catches up to his embarrassment and he realizes he’s acting like a love-sick child. He finds he still can’t keep up when Antonio’s smile changes into something different: not the friendliness it was earlier nor the comforting warmth it was moments ago.
This one is affectionate.
“I would prefer seeing your smile over Feliciano’s any day.”
Bookmarked by rukisea
24 Jan 2016