Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

    Ivory white keys and ebony notes danced through the air, sliding off Lovino’s fingers like a waterfall of sorrow. His eyes were closed, listening to the voice he never had, listening to his own calls for company. He could hear people shuffling past in the hallway, most of them going home, then a far off violin sounded- Roderich. 

    Then peace settled on the school, and the quiet playing continued, two different songs overlapping, mixing, then rejecting each other. It was a hateful symphony of begrudging sympathy, and it fascinated Antonio as he stood in the hallway between the two musicians.

    Antonio adored music, even more than he adored the way the earth felt beneath bare feet, and the freedom of an open field where he could cast his cane aside and run without fear. He adored the way emotions could move through the air, beyond the boundaries of language and the limitations of words.

    But the music had to fade as Lovino stood up, packed his things and walked out. When he saw Antonio he sighed, silently. The Spanish boy was exceptionally kind, but Lovino couldn't breathe a word about it, he still couldn't speak in front of others. He was still too afraid, and likely always would be.

    “Who are you?” Antonio asked, like he did every day. And like every other day there came no answer.

Chapter Text

    Antonio couldn't see the frets, nor could he see the strings he was pressing into them, but he could feel them. That's what his music was, feelings. There was notes of pain, stabbing, release . It was as if he had taken every moment of agony and turned it into a bird, watched it fly away, and then there was silence.

    Lovino stood in the doorway of the music room, tears trickling down his face and silently, silently hitting the cold grey floor below. ‘Antonio’ , he mouthed, wishing his voice would just work, ‘Antonio I’m sorry, Antonio let me take away that pain, Antonio please.’ But no sound came. Not even the whisper of breath. It was like death in that room in these moments, like there was no existence. Just silence.

    Then Antonio stood up, and walked through the door, and froze. “Who’s there?” Antonio could feel the warmth of another person, the subtle breath, but no words came. Just silence as Lovino desperately tried to force his voice to work again. He reached out to touch Antonio, but stopped himself. He shouldn’t; he might startle him if he did. Lovino could see the tears pricking at milky green eyes, he could see the question on his face (‘is it you?’), and he found himself silently starting to cry too.

    Antonio could hear the sharp inhales, but not a whisper of a voice, almost like there was no voice to be heard. He reached out to where the sounds were coming from, and wiped the warm tears from Lovino’s face. It felt familiar to him, but since he hadn’t been able to see Lovino in years (quite literally), he couldn’t confirm whether or not it was him. And maybe that’s what hurt the most.

    Lovino tried to say Antonio’s name, but there was only silence. Instead he yanked his old friend into a tight hug before running off. Antonio stood there, confused and alone, trapped in the darkness of uncertainty. The person felt like Lovino, and seemed to act like him too, but how could he confirm that without hearing the usual string of curses, or the ‘God damn it Tonio’ that usually came up whenever he was around.

    Antonio shook his head, placed a smile on his face, and decided to put that out of his mind for now. It was just wishful thinking, no use moping about it.

    Lovino had come home to his Nonno grumbling about how much he hated Don Marciello, wishing the old bastard would just up and die already. Feliciano was in the kitchen, making something that smelled like heaven and tomatoes (same thing, really), and his youngest brother- Luce-  was whining about how bored he was. His Nonno looked up and stopped grumbling to hug Lovino tight with a giant smile.

    “How was school today?” his Nonno asked, way too cheerful to really be a Don.

    Lovino shrugged and awkwardly stood there while his Nonno hugged him for a bit longer- long enough for Feliciano to pop his head out of the kitchen and take over the hug. Luce also glommed onto Lovino’s leg in his own five-year-old style hug. Lovino smiled fondly at Luce and patted his head, to which Luce looked up at Feliciano with a look that said ‘Look who’s the favourite brother now.’

    Lovino noticed that Feli actually started glaring at Luce and tilted his head with a grumpy expression, his new version of, ‘what in the actual fuck?’ Feliciano, of course, immediately turned his glare into a sweet smile and tried to pretend there wasn’t some sort of fight going on between the two.

    Of course, their Nonno was perceptive, and said, “I always thought the family rivalry would be between you and Feli, Lovino, but it looks like Feli and Luce are the rivals.” After he said this, their Nonno let out an amused chuckle that anyone else would find threatening, but the grandsons had long ago gotten used to the darkness to their Nonno’s laughter.

    Lovino vaguely wondered what Antonio would say about Lovino’s family if he knew what it had become. Lovino himself didn’t know how he felt about it, having been raised by his father and mother who hated the Family and all it’s dirty dealings, and yet now that they were dead he was being raised by a Don.

A/N: I may or may not have watched 91 Days before writing this and a little bit of that slipped in, sorry--

Chapter Text

    The next day at school Lovino felt empty even as he weaved through the crowded hallways, dancing momentarily with each obstacle. The sound of his own footsteps had begun to ring a beat down into the wells of melancholy that surrounded Lovino’s mind in between lectures, only occasionally accompanied by a soft pang in his heart whenever he saw Antonio’s face. It was painful, yet empty. Sad, yet blank. It was a canvas painted ebony, a razor painted red.

    As soon as the final bell rang Lovino rushed to the music room, his sorrowful dance increasing in tempo, like the crescendo before the shattering slowness and agony that is the pressing silence of a finished song. But Lovino’s song wouldn’t end, his song was relentless, there were no rests, save for when he was playing the piano in the back of the music room. His fingers grasped at the keys, and his soul echoed through the notes of Chopin’s Nocturnes , and the world went silent.

    Antonio had yet again found himself standing at the doorway, listening, humming along so quietly that Lovino didn’t notice. He couldn’t help but find it beautiful, the way that Lovino played. He could feel the tears that were streaming down Lovino’s face through the notes, even if he couldn’t see them. He could feel the words that were saying loneliness and sorrow. He could feel it all, as he always could with Lovino’s music. Lovino could play the happiest song on earth, and Antonio would still be able to feel his true emotions through it. That’s the kind of musician Lovino was.

    Sometime in those two hours of music, Antonio had also begun to cry. How could he not when there was such a beautiful song being played by hands that held some sort of magic. And then it stopped, and there was no sound aside from raindrops falling on the keys and floor. Then Antonio rasped, “Who are you?”

    And there was no reply.

    “ Hermano , I’m home!” Antonio called, setting his cane beside the door. He didn’t need it in his house, he knew where everything was. He waited to hear Abílio call back to him, but there was only silence. Antonio just assumed that Abílio was out on a date with Angelie, his sweethearted girlfriend. He smiled, even though it meant Abílio wouldn’t be home until later. He took the opportunity to get out his guitar and play a tune that he had written himself. It was a melancholic piece, but it was intertwined with notes of hope. As the music progressed, though, those notes of hope became more and more faded as Antonio felt himself becoming more and more jaded.

    Mangled corpses. Blood. Screams. Gunshots. The candle that had been placed on the table just before dinner had been put out somewhere in the chaos, the wick now blackened and misshapen. Feliciano and Luce were staying with Kiku’s family that day, but Lovino had to stay home because he’d gotten sick. And now he felt himself retching for an entirely different reason.

    He saw the corpses, but he could only see his father striking his mother, and then her pulling out a pistol and then― oh God. The foul smell wrapped itself around his throat, choking him. He heard sirens― the neighbors must have called the police. When they went to question Lovino, he discovered that his voice didn’t work. They called a doctor, then a therapist― Conversion Disorder was the final diagnosis. They said that the shock of what he’d witnessed was the cause, and they told the nine year old Lovino they were going to help him.

    But seven years later nothing had changed.

Chapter Text

    Lovino stood at the entrance of the classroom with a rather annoyed look on his face. He didn’t really want to switch into honours mathematics, but his teacher and counselor both insisted. He sighed, and forced himself to open the door. The teacher, Ms. Swansen, smiled happily and said, “Welcome to the class, Lovino!”

    A mess of dark hair shot up in the very back, and Lovino turned his face to see Antonio. Antonio’s eyes were covered in that same milky film that they had been since Lovino had finally come back to school from the hospital seven years ago, and his eyes remained unable to see. It broke Lovino’s heart all over again, even more so when the Ms. Swansen told him to go sit in the seat next to him. He did as she said, even as some of the kids wondered aloud why he hadn’t said anything, only to be told that Lovino never spoke-- that he was mute. Lovino watched as Antonio’s unseeing eyes widened, listened to the slightly raspy gasp of shock, and then Antonio tilted his head to where Lovino was, and jumped when he felt his shoulder.

    “Lovino?” he asked, voice wavering like a note floating away in the wind.

    Lovino tapped on his desk in morse code-- a last ditch effort to get something, anything across. It said, ‘yeah, it’s me.’

    To his utter shock, Antonio’s eyes widened again, and he said, “I’m so glad, I missed you!”

    For the next hour, instead of learning math, Lovino and Antonio caught up as best they could with the short sentences they could make with morse code. Then Lovino asked Antonio if he wanted to come over later, and when he agreed Lovino texted his Grandfather to please, please not talk about the Family while Antonio was there.

    At Lovino’s house, Luce and Feli were instantly all over Antonio. Feli because he actually remembered him from when he and Lovi were little, and Luce just because that’s what Feli was doing. Antonio chuckled and answered all of Luce’s little questions like ‘are you going to marry Lovi?’ and ‘Why are your eyes weird?’ while Lovino just watched on in mild horror.

    Then his Nonno came in, grinning like a fool and acting like a normal grandfather, which was really scary for his grandsons. The scariest part was where he pulled out fresh baked cookies, which looked more like fresh baked charcoal than anything else and offered them to Antonio. And since Antonio couldn’t see he accepted them, and actually tried to eat one.

    He was coughing and gagging for a solid five minutes, and Lovino kicked his Nonno in the shin as hard as he could as his attempt at revenge.

    At the end, though, Antonio said it was fun and Lovino agreed deep down. But he was still lonely. He still couldn’t quite reach Antonio, even if they had been reunited.