Sorry.

Have a lucky day!

summer sinks into lovino’s skin, and the morning slaughters itself across the shoreline. it’s as warm as warm days come, salt wetting his upper lip, a leg hinged over the other; he’s been there for hours, hoping the heat will temper tomorrow’s monday. it never does, and he never learns, and the beach still organises itself one folding wave after the next.

a paper coffee cup is pushed into the sand beside him, the double espresso too shallow to need the size, too hot to drink, too dark to remove the stained-proof of it on his swimsuit. lovino closes his eyes, feels the peeling burn behind them; the sun sits inside him, miele, a honeycomb heat that might just kill him. 

“hey!”

or might make me kill instead. 

lovino doesn’t open his eyes, not until a cool silhouette eclipses him. 

“what?” he snaps, italian sharpening his tongue. it takes a moment to focus, but green eyes and brown skin meet him halfway, a scar notching over the man’s smile. a drop of sea water hits lovino’s cheek; the man’s soaked, lashline heavy and dark, mouth vibrant. 

“just checking that you weren’t asleep,” is the english response, “you’re close to the water, the tide’s going to rise soon.”

“madre de dio, i wasn’t born last night,” lovino hisses, wipes the water off with the back of his hand. “jesus, get out of my face, you’re wet!”

the man laughs and pulls back, enough space between them for lovino to notice the cherry-skin shorts. lifeguard. “lo siento.” 

“do you want me to just fuck off?” lovino sits up, knocking over the coffee with his elbow. they watch the liquid sink down into the sand for a long, silent second. “great. grande. i’m going home.”

“but it’s a good day!”

“not good enough,” lovino mumbles and works his body to a stand. the man’s wet hand finds his wrist. 

“really, you shouldn’t go—” he’s smiling, but there’s something calmer about it. “enjoy it.”

lovino looked back at him. the way those eyes lid, the seams of his mouth pushing in to tame a smile. and then it strikes like a pulled rubber band. lovino’s brow hitches. “are you coming onto me?”

the man’s laugh is baritone thick. “i’m on the job!”

lovino stares. “right. and now that you’ve saved me from—what, getting my toes wet? you should focus on the kid about to meet his maker.”

the man’s face hardens, head snapping to the sea. a whistle nearly knocks lovino off his feet. he almost regrets the lie. almost. “do that when you’re not inches from my ear, stronzo.”

“maybe don’t bluff, then,” the man chastises, a little peeved himself. “i’m antonio. you?”

lovino sneers. “what’s it to you?”

antonio leans in, annoyance forgotten and smile smitten, disingenuous. “everything.”

lovino’s burnt skin hides his shame. “fuck off, who has that worked on?”

“you, for starters,” antonio chuckles, wipes down his damp curls with a hand. “want to see how well it works after hours?”

lovino scoffs, but he keeps the amusement apparent. “testing the waters?”