This is the first chapter of WTMP (look up) which I decided to post up here because... I'm bored. And 'cause my laptop looks like it's about to crash soon. It's also on FF.net. Somewhere.
Disclaimer: Pilar and Anabel Carriedo are mine (to an extent anyway) but everything else belongs to the genius Hidekaz Himaruya-sensei. Plot line is loosely based on Coffee Prince.
Lovino Vargas was not well off. His brother Feliciano was in his last year of high school with dreams to graduate from university with a culinary arts degree. His father, Julian Vargas, was a clumsy and absentminded man who, despite their financial problems, was constantly spending money on useless things, borrowing things then losing them, and overall adding to their debt. His mother, after spending all the Vargas’ money had run off with some other man, leaving the rest of the family to pay back her debts and earn back the money they had lost. In order to earn money, Lovino did anything, even if it meant dropping out of school, juggling several jobs a day, coming home ridiculously late and sleeping for only a few hours before having to wake up and start work again.
Lovino possessed a mouth with vocabulary dirtier than the gutters of the streets, and was rude to basically everyone; men, women, children even. He was tough enough to handle all his part-time jobs, but that didn’t mean he liked it; on the contrary he would complain for as long as anyone would about the tough hours he spent earning money. But deep, deep down in his heart (this is the part where you find the drill they used in Core), he really did care about his family and wished they could live a better life, and it was because of them that he endured every weary day of work and money earning. But that was the extent of his caring heart. Outside of his family, his heart was a piece of stone, and he never opened himself up to anybody. He did not have any friends, and as for love… love? Love was overrated, Lovino thought. It comes, and it goes, but never lasts. Love was a double edged sword. And it was a utter waste of time.
Antonio Fernández Carriedo was the heir of the wealthy Carriedo Food Corporation, which was run by his maternal grandmother Anabel Carriedo. She had high hopes for him, but Antonio had no wish to take over the company. His mother’s hopes of marriage were also wasted on him as he did not believe in love, or at least, that was what he claimed. In truth he had not met the right person yet, and all the girls his mother and grandmother tried to set him up with just weren’t… well, the right one. But they were persistent, and his grandmother finally put her foot down when he was twenty, saying he had to be married by the time he was thirty, or she would disown him.
He was a cheerful and optimistic bumpkin, although rather senseless at times. He could be very passionate about the things and people he loved, but at the moment, both were scarce. He was an only child, but he and his (distant) cousin Francis Bonnefoy were like brothers, and he was the one who encouraged Antonio to rebel against his grandmother. “If you do not love, how can there be marriage? You must wait, mon chere, for the right one, the one who will make your heart pound and your head spin and… -insert long speech about l’amour-.” But all these years of waiting, and so far, no one was remotely appealing. And that was saying something: Antonio was a renowned playboy (not as much as Francise though). So at the current age of twenty-eight, he was still alone.
~xXx~
Lovino hurriedly delivered the last of the milk and newspaper before hopping onto his rusty bike and speeding across town to his next job, cursing under his breath at how late he was going to be. Luckily, he was only ten minutes late, but this earned him a long lecture from his boss at the gazpacho-delivery store and only five minutes to deliver the soup to a customer on the other side of town. He had long learned not to complain in the man’s face, but as he pedaled as fast as he could away from the shop he words “grouchy old bastard” came smoothly out of his mouth, as if he’d said it many times before, which he had.
He arrived at the house with barely a minute to spare, but still couldn’t help but admire the luxurious house, the tall wooden door, the cream tiles and the red tiled roof. There were two floors, with a small, circular window at the top floor, its curtains drawn. The grass in the yard was perfectly trimmed and watered, the green so perfect it seemed unnatural. Halfway up the house there was a lemon tree which cast a shadow over the gravel path.
“Rich bastard,” Lovino swore under his breath before he hurried up the path and knocked on the door, trying not to pant too hard.
“Ah, espera, I’m coming, I’m coming,” came a muffled voice, and Lovino heard footsteps approaching before the door swung open to reveal the customer. He looked Spanish, with a head of brown curls, green eyes, and tanned olive skin. He was holding a half-eaten tomato (Lovino’s mouth watered: he loved tomatoes) and his jaw was still moving to chew the fruit/vegetable (make up your mind!) in his mouth. And he was shirtless. Of course, being a guy, it was normal, but Lovino couldn’t help but blush (Dammit the weather’s so hot today) as he cast an eye over his chest, those well-toned biceps and abs (but not crazily huge like some weightlifter or some gross crap) the planes of his chest, his perfect sun kissed skin… wait! What the hell, why the heck am I checking this guy ou- Dammit put on a shirt you… The Spaniard looked puzzled at Lovino, whose head was frying at the moment, the asked, “Um… can I help you?”
He snapped out of his reverie, blinking a few times before reaching for the gazpacho, red dusting his cheeks. “I-I’m here to deliver the gazpacho…” he stammered uncharacteristically.
“Oh, right!” His face lit up as he took the soup, and he turned around to place it on the kitchen counter. “How much do I have to pay you-” He turned back to the doorway, and was surprised to find it empty. “Huh? Where did he go?”
Lovino was dashing up the gravel path and pedaling his bike as fast as he could, his shortage of breath not completely because of the sudden sprint. “What the hell is that bastard’s problem?” he cursed loudly, gripping the handlebars so tightly his knuckles turned white. “At least fucking put on a shirt, at least I was a guy, what if it was a girl…” He stopped himself for a moment, remembering that chest, that skin, those muscles…
“Damn it!” he shouted again, kicking the pedal a bit too hard which resulted in the entire bike tipping over. “Ahh… fuck.”
Antonio looked at the money in his hands, then at the soup, then down at his shirtless torso. “He was staring for a while, wasn’t he?” he muttered, raising an eyebrow. “But he was kinda cute, wasn’t he? Anyway, I’m hungry~~”
~xXx~
“How could you be such an idiot?”
The words rang in the air like a slap, but Lovino was unfazed by it. He just stared at the old man in the eye. “Wasn’t my fault,” he muttered, pouting, “The bike’s a piece of crap anyway.”
“You watch your language!” Gazpacho-man snapped, his face turning red, “Anyway, the repairs for that bike are coming out of your paycheck!” This did the trick, and the Italian whirled his head round to face the man, glaring at him. “Hey, old man, I need that money…”
“And I need employees who listen to their bosses!” he countered, glaring back. Lovino sighed, not bothered to argue anymore.
“Whatever. You should just get a new bike. It was bound to break soon anyway.” Ignoring the man’s grumbles, he turned on his heel and stalked out of the shop, mentally kicking himself for yet another blunder. He had just wasted all the money from deliveries, and if he guessed correctly his stupid old man would be wasting more money on worthless paintings to hang in their tiny apartment. Thrusting his hands in his pockets and sticking his bottom lip out, he started to walk home to get ready for the self-defense classes he held at twelve.
His pocket vibrated and he jumped (he had never gotten used to something vibrating near his leg), then quickly fished his phone out and flipped it open. It was Feli, which was… weird. Feliciano hardly ever used his phone, the main reason being he hardly knew how to use it. Then if he finally figured out the ‘complicated buttons’, the calls would always be to Julian, never to Lovino.
Nevertheless, the hit the green button and held the device to his ear. Almost immediately Feliciano’s slightly whiny voice rang loudly in the eardums, and he had to hold it away from his head to avoid becoming deaf.
“Lovi, Lovi, I need you to come here! It’s urgent, I need your help, Loviiii~~”
“Feli, what happened?” the elder shouted back, cutting off his brother’s frantic stream of words. “Where are you? What’s going on?”
“Ahh… I’m at Yao-san’s pasta shop~~ Nii-chann, hurry upp~~”
“Y-you idiot, what did you do this time?”
There was no answer, instead there was a click and the line went dead. Lovino looked apprehensively at his screen, trying to figure out what the heck Feli was talking about, before running at top speed to go save his brother from whatever bastard was hurting him.
Lovino, being the next man of the family, was a lot tougher than his younger brother, who despite being cheerful and innocent was an irresponsible crybaby who depended on others to protect him. Actually, Lovino was similarly cowardly and weak, but at least I can take care of myself was what he claimed. Feliciano, on the other hand, was completely vulnerable, stupidly surrendering to whoever tried to attack him. He needed connections in the mafia like Lovino, and the superpower of super-speed-retreat!
Soon he reached the restaurant and literally burst through the doors, searching for his brother. Then he saw him, standing next to one of the window tables4 sweat rolling down his cheeks, his mouth open in fear. Next to him was a tall man sporting a stern scowl. His blond hair and almost sickly pale skin made him look a bit like an albino, if it hadn’t been for his startling blue eyes, which narrowed slightly at the sight of Lovino.
Shit, he looks dangerous. Lovino thought. I should just grab Feli and run.
“Feliciano! He called out, getting ready to run from the blond giant. “Feliciano! Over here! Fuck you, German bastard,” he continued, shouting at the other guy who, surely, had to be a potato-lover. It was written all over his goddamn face. “Get away from Feli!”
“Ah, nii-chan, help~~”
“You idiot, why do you always get in trouble… hey! Don’t you dare touch Feli you bastard!” Mr. muscles was reaching for Feliciano’s shoulder, his fingers looking strong enough to strangle the small Italian. Lovi knew he should help, but at the moment his feet were rooted to the ground, unable to move. He panicked as the fingers came closer, and shouted again.
Flick. The two brothers blinked as a small black thing flew off Feliciano’s shoulder before lodging itself in the dirty wall. Lovino stared, open mouthed, as his brother turned back to the German.
“Oh my gosh, you saved me! Thank you~~!” He then proceeded to hug the guy, which was just over the line. Lovino stepped forward and broke the two up.
“Feli, did you call me just to get me to get a spider off?”
“Yep!” Lovino sighed in exasperation; meet my brother Feliciano, the brainless idiot. “Are you stupid or something? You could have just gotten it off yourself, instead of making me run all the way here, now I’m going to be late for work, and besides,” he went up to face the other man, who was looking rather puzzled at the scene before him. “Who the heck are you, German bastard? What the hell do you want with us?”
“Ehh… nii-chan, don’t be mean, Ludwig saved my life~~”
“Ludiwg?” Lovino spat out the name, hating the way it sounded on his tongue; his biased view on the world was mostly thanks to the mafia. “You’re on a first name basis with him already? Damn you, Germany bastard, what the fuck are you doing to my brother?”
“You have… such colorful language.” The man replied, mouth opening slightly in his puzzlement at the Italian’s sudden outburst. “I just happened to be walking by.”
“Yeah, I’m sure.” Lovino scoffed, tugging on his brother’s hand. “Come on, Feliciano, we’re going. How come you’re not in school anyway?” There was some resistance, but after a bit of pulling he managed to drag Feliciano out of the shop, but not before the younger of the two shouted out a grateful, “Thank you, Ludwig!”
“You idiot, you don’t go talking to potato lovers dammit! Geez, stupid,”
“They’re… rather weird, aren’t they?”
~xXx~
“Mamá, are you sure this is a good idea?”
Anabel Carriedo cast a critical eye over her daughter, Pilar. She was a kind, beautiful and caring woman, worthy of Anabel’s fiercely reserved and guarded praise. She was very proud at how her daughter had turned out; had she not become a housewife, she would be the first choice for heir of the Carriedo Food Corporation. Unfortunately, that was now impossible, and the next choice was, well… dire.
Pilar’s one plunder in life was the carefree, lenient and forgiving way she had raised Antonio. The boy had grown up knowing no consequences, constantly being protected from the harsh realities of life which, in Anabel’s opinion, had to be faced if you wanted to become successful. The boy was never punished, and not once did he ever admit he was wrong or take the blame onto his shoulders. It was always excuses, pushing responsibility away, lazing around and flirting with people. His easygoing upbringing was what had caused his current harebrained, senseless and irresponsible personality.
“Pilar, you know we must knock some sense into that silly boy while he can still be exploited.” Pilar winced at her mother’s choice of words; she was after all, known for being mercilessly blunt. “I need an heir for the company, and Antonio needs to settle down and build a family of his own. I want to be able to hold my great grandchildren before I die, and I will not die happy until that boy grows up.” Pilar cringed. “Shouldn’t you at least tell him about your sickness? He might be willing to change if he hears about it.”
“Nonsense. You know that boy is much too softhearted. Once he hears I have cancer he’ll collapse in a heart-attack mess in front of us. Geez, and I’m the one dying here. He worries too much, that boy.” Pilar accepting this logic and the two women elapsed into a short silence before Anabel pulled a slightly crumpled paper from her pocket and unfolded it, scanning over the scratchy writing. “This is my plan,” she explained to her daughter. “He’s remained obstinate all these years; we’ll need a proper plan of action if we want to influence him.” As if on cue, the front door opened to reveal a smiling Antonio.
“Buenos dias, abuela, mamá.” He grinned mischievously, and a vein started popping in Anabel’s forehead. Pilar looked worriedly at her mother before returning Antonio’s smile. “Buenos dias, Antonio. ¿Qué tal?”
“Ah… muy bien,” Antonio replied airily, shrugging his shoulders. “Buenos dias, abuela. You called for me?”
“Sentaos, Antonio. I need to speak with you.” She motioned at the chair in front of her, shooting death glares at her young grandson. Any normal person would have flinched, turned around and ran like their life depended on it under those harsh eyes, but Antonio only threw one of his killer smiles in retaliation, then obediently plopped himself in the squishy armchair.
“¿Y tu, abuela? ¿Cómo estas? Are you looking after your health?”
“Never you mind that,” Anabel snapped, her patience running thin, “There’s something very important at hand.”
“More important than your health? Abuela, I know that your body is not well right now, you have to take care of yourself before you get horribly sick.” Pilar squeaked softly in fright, but the other two didn’t seem to notice.
“Don’t use your flirting methods on me!” Antonio quickly dodged the flying tissue box, then smiled at his grandmother as if she hadn’t just tried to kill him. “Abuela, you still have quite some strength despite your age. You scared máma.” Anabel spared a glance at her daughter, whose face had become rather pale after the tissue box throwing incident, and was breaking into cold sweat upon seeing them glare daggers at each other. It seemed her caring side had skipped a generation; although Antonio seemed cheerful and optimistic on the outside, he had an abuela-side buried deep inside, and it always surfaced in front of the real abuela. Perhaps this was why the two never seemed to get along.
“Abuela, would you like some gazpacho? I bought some this morning, and have some left over. It’s pretty good, actually.” The cheeky boy knew exactly which strings to pull. Anabel loved gazpacho. Her fierce expression melted and was replaced by a mouth-watering-Feliciano-sees-pasta face, and she whispered softly, delicately, as if saying it loudly would break the chance of eating gazpacho into a million pieces, “Gazpacho? Did you say gazpacho?” Pilar rolled her eyes and subtly nudged her back to Earth. Anabel blushed slightly before deciding to carry out the plan.
1. The plan said in a wise voice (all in Anabel’s head, of course), Get him under control
“You rascal, for eight years you’ve been spending my money playing with your friend and girls and every year the number just shoots higher. I send you to all those schools you wanted to attend but each time you come back, spend more of my money on useless things and have nothing to show for it!”
“He also has those credit card debts.” Pilar pointed out. Anabel smiled in approval at her support.
“And you’re known as the city playboy with that cousin of yours! No member of the Carriedo family should be known as something as vulgar as that! I told you to get married before thirty, and have you? You’re still playing around like a playboy, and not settling down or anything, did you even listen to what I told you?”
“Pero, I’m not thirty yet,” Antonio replied cheerfully, grinning like a boy who had just stolen candy and hadn’t been caught. “I’ve still got two years to go, abuela…”
“¿Eres estupido?” Anabel shouted angrily, banging her fist on the table. “I’ve given you the chance to choose a wife, after all, it would be better if you chose a spouse yourself. But as heir to the Carriedo Food Corporation there is no getting out of getting married, you know that, right?”
“Abuela, your loud voice sure is soothing. I don’t feel like I’m home if I don’t hear it.” This earned him a book in his ear and a small yelp from his mother, but he continued smiling. Anabel stared at his unchanging face, fuming, and decided to move on to stage 2.
2. the note whispered in her ear, as if Antonio could hear, “Bring out proof.”
Pursing her lips, Anabel pulled a photo out from her pocket and slammed it on the table. Two pairs of eyes followed her hand to look at the photo, while Anabel looked annoyed at it. It was a picture of Antonio and a man with gray-white hair, red eyes, and freakishly pale skin. Antonio was winking at the camera while the other man sneered at it, one hand wrapped around the Spaniard’s head and pulling his cheek close.
“Oh, it’s Gilbert!” Antonio exclaimed cheerfully, picking up the photo. “Hey, this is a pretty good photo…”
“What is that photo doing here? Are you two in love with each other?”
“En amor? No, of course not. Gilbert’s just a friend.”
“But look, you two are groping each other a kissing and hugging…”
“You rascal,” Anabel said again, throwing a spoon at him. “You should be married and with a family, not smooching some guy! Have you forgotten what our religion so strictly prohibits?”
“I told you, abuela… it’s not like that…”
Stage 3… somehow the image of running children with letters on their back was conjured in the old woman’s head, then the children crashed into a wall (poor children!) to form the sentence: GET HIM WOMEN!
“Get married immediately!”
Antonio leaned forward, the smirk on his face rather apparent, “Then, should I go on matchmaking dates?” He took a moment to savor the dumbfounded expressions on their face before continuing, “But they have to be really pretty… it’s not for me, you know. It’s for your great grandchildren. Don’t you want really cute grandkids?”
Anabel looked at Pilar exasperatedly. “I told you it wouldn’t work.”
“Shouldn’t we give it a try? He’s actually agreeing to something, for once.” Pilar replied quietly, thinking her son wouldn’t hear. He did, and he grinned.
So cute… He briefly thought of the gazpacho delivery boy, before returning to the task of enjoying his victory over his grandmother.
