chromatic_coma (chromatic_coma) wrote in animusia,

[fic] scarred heart in hand [part i, chapter ii]

Title: Scarred Heart in Hand
Author/Artist: chromatic_coma @ animusia
Character(s)/Pairing(s): (in this chapter) France, Spain, Prussia, Romano; Spain/Romano, France/Spain/Prussia, and mentions of Prussia -> Canada
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Friendship, Romance, Slice-of-Life, Angst
Warning(s): Kissing, Implied threesomes, Talk of (technically underage) Sex, Swearing, It's really long, Lack of Plot, Human names, etc.
Summary: Graduation really sneaks up on you; one minute you think that everything is right with the world and that nothing can ruin this for you, and the next you look at the calendar and find out you only have one more week with your closest friends. But sometimes graduation isn't the end, and sometimes it's not a new beginning either. Sometimes graduation just is what it is, and you have to figure the rest out for yourselves. Gauken Hetalia!AU fic

Part I Chapter I - Part I Chapter III - Part I Chapter IV - Part I Chapter V - Part I Chapter VI - Part I Final - Part II Chapter I - Part II Chapter II - Part II Chapter III - Part II Chapter IV - Part II Chapter V - Part II Chapter VI - Part II Final

x-posted @ hetalia, inthreesome, and tomatoamado

Scarred Heart in Hand, Part I Chapter II

Sunlight was tickling the backs of Antonio’s eyelids when he awoke. It took him a few moments to reorient himself, and when his awareness returned he found himself nestled in between the warm bodies of Francis and Gilbert, their unique scents mingling in his nose and their arms a gentle pressure around each side of his waist.

The next thing he came to notice was that his eyes were incredibly puffy, almost painfully so. He wondered if maybe he had spent more time crying the previous night than he could remember (the night did seem hazy), until he spotted the DVD cases strewn about the floor of Francis’ family room.

‘That’s right,’ he remembered, ‘we watched Bambi last night…’

He snuck a quick look at Gilbert, who’d been the one pretending he wasn’t crying at all when he was obviously crying the hardest; sure enough, his eyes were red rimmed and puffy. Pressing a delicate kiss to his forehead, it finally occurred to him that perhaps it made Gilbert long for his own mother, who died when they were still in preschool. That earned the albino a soft brush through his bangs; Gilbert made a soft noise of content as he shifted on the loveseat.

Antonio turned to Francis, who’d been breathing heavily in his ear, the noise just shy of a snore but much less grating to listen to. He too got a gentle forehead kiss, before Antonio wiggled out from between his friends.

His next thought was that he should go make breakfast, and the one that followed was that he was not wearing any pants. He wasn’t too concerned about the latter, both because it was hot in the room, and because he still had his boxers on, so there was little chance the trio had done anything intimate that he could not remember.

Relived, he quietly padded down the stairs and into the kitchen, wiggling his toes happily at the coolness of the tile underfoot. He opened the fridge, checking to make sure the essentials were there: tomatoes, check. Eggs, he decided, might also be useful; they were there, lined up in their carton. Antonio smiled and took these things out of the fridge, resting them on the counter. He then went into the pantry, returning with an onion and a few potatoes, his eye catching the vial of olive oil on the counter.

From the kitchen drawer, he extracted the potato peeler, musing on the fact that it was in the same place he’d left it last time, and wondering if anyone used this kitchen but him and Francis. It was doubtful, he realized as he started to peel the skins off over a garbage pail.

There was a knock at the door. It was violent, especially for so early in the morning, and so Antonio put the peeler and potato down and scampered to the front of the house.

“Who is it?” He sang into the crack, looking through the peephole.

“Open up, bastard, lemme in!”

It was Lovino, image distorted in the small looking glass, but voice as recognizable as always. Antonio, in his excitement, swung the door open and pulled the other into a tight embrace.

“Lovi!” he squealed, clutching the other. It had been a long time since he’d last seen his boyfriend; more than 36 hours, a record. “Why’re you here?”

Lovino snorted, shoving the other away. “Why the fuck are you naked?!” he shouted, giving the other a quick once over (his cheeks started to go red; Antonio could not help but think of a tomato).

Antonio looked down at himself; he hadn’t felt a draft…

“I’m not naked,” he confirmed, “I’m wearing boxers.”

Lovino, suddenly realizing they were still standing on Francis’ porch, pushed the other into the house and followed him, shutting the door behind them.

“Why aren’t you wearing anything but boxers?” he demanded, poking the other in the chest. “Did those perverts do anything seedy to you?”

Antonio shook his head, and pressed Lovino’s palm flat against his chest.

“Nope. And don’t be so mad, Lovi, I know you’re enjoying the view.”

Lovino spluttered, unable to form coherent words and turning pink all down his neck, past the collar of his shirt. He lashed out instead, punching the other in the chest and huffing.

“I came here to make sure you guys don’t sleep in and miss Elizaveta’s party. I mean, not that I care if she kills the other two idiots, but I want…”

Here Lovino coughed, before looking around. “Where are the other idiots, anyways?”

“Asleep. It’s still really early.”

“It’s 11:15! And Liz wants everyone there by 1!”

Antonio shrugged, “Plenty of time. Come help me make breakfast?”

“You know I hate cooking with you, Antonio…” Lovino frowned, but he followed Antonio into the kitchen none the less, grabbing a bar stool and sitting atop it, watching as Antonio resumed his potato peeling. Lovino grimaced.

“I hate potatoes.”

“Aw, but Lovi, they can be delicious. You just have to give them a fair chance.”

“No thanks.



Antonio sighed. The kitchen fell silent, except for the sound of peeler as it sliced the skins away from the potatoes.

“…C-Congrats on graduating…” Lovino finally murmured, and when Antonio looked up, he saw the other was looking at the floor, twiddling his fingers in his lap. Antonio smiled, and freed his hands of the food before engulfing the other into a hug. Lovino seemed to want to protest, but when his face was pressed into Antonio’s warm chest he remained silent.

“Thank you, Lovi. I love you,” he murmured, and then tucking his fingers under the other’s chin, he tilted Lovino’s head upwards (the other’s hazel eyes immediately fell shut) and leaned in for a kiss-

“Wait! Wait, you bastard! I’m not going to fucking kiss you after you did it with those perverts!”

Antonio pouted, “But we didn’t have sex!”

“Uh huh, sure.”

“Well, we almost did,” he consented, “but we didn’t get any farther than making out, I swear!”

Lovino’s eyes twitched. “You made out with those perverts-“

“Only Gilbert!”

“-You made out with Gilbert and planned to go further, even though we’re dating?! Antonio, you fucking idiot!”

“Shh, shh, shhh,” Antonio coaxed, running a hand over the other’s thin shirt. “Don’t get mad. It just happened… we were drunk and melancholy and I just… needed someone…”

Lovino looked torn between sympathy and rage.

“Antonio… d-don’t make excuses! If you needed someone, you could have called me…”

“I didn’t want to trouble you,” Antonio cooed, “and Gilbert and Francis needed someone too.”

Then Lovino looked up, hazel eyes meet emerald ones, and he murmured, “They can find someone else. You’re… mine.”

They leaned in together, this time, and the kiss was every bit as bold and passionate as Antonio’s has been with Gilbert the night before. But, while the last one was needy and taking, this one was insecure and asking. Antonio answered by nipping at his boyfriend’s full lips, by running a finger over the short hairs at the nape of his neck. Lovino was making soft, shy noises in response, wanton and embarrassed at the same time. When Antonio pulled away, he smiled, and in the moment when Lovino’s mind was still lost in the intimacy he smiled back.

It was the most beautiful thing Antonio had ever seen. Beautiful, and yet fleeting, gone within the next second.

Lovino coughed, looking back to the things on the counter and asking, “So, is there anything that doesn’t involve fucking potatoes you need my help with?”

“I thought you said you hated cooking with me,” Antonio replied, a smile still playing on his lips. Lovino grumbled, hopping off the barstool.

“I changed my mind. You’re going too slow and it’s annoying to watch.”

“Well, in that case, you could chop an onion? Or if the smell bothers you, you could start beating the eggs. To feed four people, we’ll probably need five…”

“Four people? I’m not eating anything with potatoes in it, dammit!”

“Come on, Lovi, give it a chance?”


“What if I fed it to you? Would you eat it then?” Antonio smiled teasingly, placing the last of the peeled potatoes down and pulling out a long chef’s knife, cutting them into thin slices. Lovino blushed predictably as he tossed another egg shell into the trash bin.

“No. Don’t even think about it, idiot!”

“Aw, but Lovino…” he whined, and the other scowled, beating the eggs violently.

Antonio looked to the bowl of tomatoes he’d taken from the fridge, and picked up one of the smaller ones, a grape tomato. Smiling, he held it up to the other’s thin lips, singing,

“Open wide!”

“No, thank you,” the other muttered, and Antonio frowned, taking a step closer and wrapping his other arm around Lovino’s waist.

“Open up, Lovi, let me feed you,” he whispered softly against the other’s ear. “Please?”

Wordlessly, the other opened his mouth, cheeks still stained pink, and Antonio slipped the baby tomato in, intentionally allowing his fingers to brush the inside of the other’s lips. Lovino shivered.

Antonio, now satisfied, when back to the cutting board and diced up an onion, before taking out a large pan and browning up the vegetables in it.

“What exactly are you making?” Lovino asked, as the other placed the softened, browned vegetables back into the bowl with the eggs. As much as he was loathed to admit it, the smell filling the kitchen was making his stomach growl. Perhaps he would take Antonio up on his offer…

“A Spanish omelet! My Abuelita made them for me lots when I was a kid, and Gilbert really likes them because of the potatoes. It’s like our default food, when I’m cooking.”

Antonio mixed in a few spices and herbs (Lovino was sure he recognized thyme, red pepper flakes, salt and black pepper, though he’d no clue what else was going in), and smiled; suddenly Lovino felt very much like an outsider, more than he’d been even hearing about the trio being intimate. It was, he realized, a different sort of intimacy.

Antonio was unaware of this, though, as he poured the mixture back into the pan.

“Will you go wake the others for me, Lovino?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Aw, come on, Lovi, please?”

“Never in a million years. Especially not if they’re as naked as you are.”

Antonio pouted, “Fine, then you can make sure the eggs don’t burn, and I’ll go get them-“

He cut himself off when Lovino hugged him tightly, mumbling against his neck. He could not understand what was being said, but the feel of the other’s lips on his skin made him pause.


“Stay,” Lovino repeated. “You’re about to go away and I won’t be able to see you for a whole year and the least you could do is just stay with me alone for a few more moments…”

“A year?” Antonio repeated, looking down at the other. “Do you mean…?”

“I’m going to apply to your school… N-Not because you’re going there, or anything!” Lovino insisted, “Just… because they have a good fine arts program, you know?”

Antonio suddenly could not help but beam; he kissed the other once on each cheek, and hugged him tightly to his bare chest.

“Oh, Lovi!”

“Y-Yeah, yeah…” The other tried not to smile. “Your eggs are done, idiot.”

Antonio turned quickly, shutting off the stove and plating his large omelet, placing it on the counter and kissing Lovino softly on the lips.

“Can we go wake the others, please, oh wonderful amazing boyfriend? In exchange, I’ll invite you to sleep in my bed tonight,” he asked hopefully, running his palms over the other’s upper arms. Lovino flushed.

“You spend too much time with those perverts,” he muttered. “B-But… alright.”

Smiling, Antonio took his boyfriend’s hand and started to lead him out of the kitchen. Lovino stuttered and pulled his hand away.

“Oh no. I’m not going up there with you. You can go wake them up, and I’ll stay here.”


“Don’t worry,” Lovino added, “I won’t poison the omelet. Unless they come down without pants on.”

Antonio decided to laugh, finally, and ruffled the other’s bangs with a sigh.

“Alright then, Lovino. We’ll be right down.”

Antonio padded back up to the family room, quietly entering the lavish room and smiling, leaning against the door frame. Francis and Gilbert had shifted, curling up together in the space he’d left empty. Gilbert had his nose buried in Francis’ unkempt blond curls, blowing them away with every exhale. Francis’ hands had shifted, one of them grasping onto the other’s waist tightly, the other rested on Gilbert’s thigh.

To Antonio, the sight was beautiful. He wished that he had a camera with him, to immortalize the moment, and then realized his cell phone was in his pants pocket, discarded in the corner of the room with the other two males’ pants. He tiptoed over, taking the device out, and moved to a perfect vantage point to take the shot.

Antonio smiled at the photo, saving it and putting his phone away. Deciding to appease Lovino as well, he picked up his pants and pulled them up over his red boxer shorts.

“Francis,” he murmured finally, nudging the other gently. “Gilbert. Come on, guys, wakey wakey!”

Francis’ eyes opened blearily. “Antonio?” he murmured confusedly. “What time is it?”

Antonio had to check on this phone; “11:42.” The blond yawned, stretching and blinking a few times before turning to Gilbert. He sniggered softly and murmured in the other’s ear,

“Oh, oh, Gilbert! Nngh, oh, harder -!”

Antonio giggled, and Gilbert’s cheeks were becoming stained with pink.

“M-Matthew…” he murmured roughly in his sleep, before his crimson eyes opened a sliver. “M-Matt…?”

Francis and Antonio both burst out laughing, and when Gilbert came to his senses he scowled.

“Fuck you too,” he slurred, still drunk on sleepiness, “wha’ a fuckin’ nice way to wake someone up…”

Francis pet the other’s silver hair gently, before asking, “You were having a wet dream about my Matthew? Tsk, big brother does not approve.”

“S-Shut up, Franny!” He glared, shifting away from the other and then standing. “I gotta go piss.”

“After you do, breakfast is waiting for you downstairs!” Antonio called, and Gilbert stopped in the doorway of the room.

“Potato omelet!?” he squealed (he would deny it later, of course), mood suddenly brightening.

“Yup! Oh, and Lovi’s downstairs, so you’ve gotta put these on,” he added, tossing the albino his black slacks. Gilbert pouted, the pants catching around his shoulder, and mumbled inaudibly as he stalked off.

“Lovino is downstairs?” Francis repeated questioningly, and Antonio nodded. The former picked up his own pants, then, and smiled, “Well, it’s best not to keep a guest waiting. Shall we head down?”

Antonio nodded again, and Francis smiled at him, instructing him to head on down, that he would follow after he’d brushed his teeth.

When Antonio returned downstairs, he happened upon Lovino sitting at the table, his elbow on the tabletop, chin in his palm. He looked melancholy, rolling a cherry tomato around the table with a finger from his other hand, but the faintest sliver of a smile grew on his face.

He looked up suddenly when the floor under Antonio’s foot creaked, smile gone, and he scowled.

“You’re back. Where are they?”

“Getting ready upstairs. Don’t worry, they both have their pants on.”

Lovino nodded, “That’s good. I don’t wanna see any more man junk.”

“Well then,” Antonio chuckled, taking a seat beside the other and picking up a fork, “How’re you going to handle it at Liz’s pool party?”

Lovino frowned, “M’not… sure I wanna go…”

Antonio’s jaw fell slack, and he grabbed the other by the shoulders. “Lovi! You have to go! Why wouldn’t you go?”

The others shrugged, “I dunno. This party is for the people who’ve graduated, and stuff…”

“Well, Feliciano is going too, isn’t he?” Antonio frowned, and Lovino gave him a dirty look.

“And you think just because my brother is going with his fucking potato-headed boyfriend, I should be there too? No thanks, I’m not up for watching that idiot try and seduce the bastard who isn’t worth his time.”

“Well, what if you don’t go for Feli? What if you go for me?”

Just as Lovino opened his mouth to answer, footsteps were heard approaching; it was Gilbert, barreling down the stairs with all the grace of a hippo. His mouth closed once again as the albino came in.

“Mm, smells awesome, Toni! Oh, and hey grumpy Italian dude! How’re ya today?”

“Grumpy,” Lovino snapped, crossing his arms over his chest. Gilbert grinned.


He picked up a fork, cutting into the omelet and moaning at the first bite; Antonio flushed in delight. When Francis stepped in a moment later, he too picked up a fork, and he and Antonio dug in to the large breakfast dish, Antonio bringing his fork up to Lovino’s lips every few moments to feed him. Lovino refused at first, but eventually he gave in.

Other than that, there was no conversation. Perhaps their mouths were just busy, or perhaps none of them could find anything to say, but they ate until the plate of food was emptied without saying a word.

It wasn’t until Francis looked up at the clock that he broke the silence, “Oh, Elizaveta’s party starts in half an hour. I suppose it’s time we all got dressed, no?”

They agreed. Lovino offered to meet them there (“You’d better come, Lovi, or I’ll be upset!” “Shut up, idiot!”), and the trio went back up to Francis’ room to get ready.

Francis reached into his closet, and from them he pulled out several hangers of his friends’ clothing, left behind for various reasons over the past year.

“Oh man, is that my favorite shirt?!” Gilbert cheered, beaming and snatching a hanger with from Francis’ hand before the other could pass it to him. The shirt was white, except for the text across it in simple font, ‘Bitches don’t know ‘bout my chicks,’ under which there was a cartoon chick with a stereotypical pimp necklace and sunglasses. Gilbert hugged it to his chest, grabbing the shirt and his green swim shorts, and retreating to a corner to change; Antonio and Francis laughed.

Antonio grabbed a red tank top and his blue trunks, and Francis his red trunks and a white tank top, the two of them changing as well. There was no discomfort in the room, despite the fact that the trio was essentially stripping in plain sight of one another; they had long since passed that stage in their relationship.

Each of the boys picked up their sunglasses, threw a towel over their shoulder, and, sliding flip flops onto their feet, they made for Elizaveta’s house a few blocks away.

to be continued


A/N: And there is chapter two. Thank you guys so much for the comments you all left on the last chapter, and I hope you enjoy this just as much. Also, if you like this fic, don't be shy, watch animusia so that you'll never miss an update! <3

Chapter 1 | Chapter 3 (coming soon)
Tags: ¶ pairing: france/spain/prussia, ¶ pairing: prussia/canada, ¶ pairing: spain/s.italy, ♪ fandom: axis powers hetalia, ♫ character: france, ♫ character: prussia, ♫ character: s. italy, ♫ character: spain

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