#sdhshfs

Lovino worked with his brothers in a small restaurant they owned downtown. They made a good trio, Lovino as chef, the middle brother as waiter, and the youngest as host.

The restaurant was almost dead today—there was only one small group who seemed easy enough to take care of. Because they were the only ones in the place, Lovino brought out the food himself. He then chatted quietly with his brothers.

Once he thought the group had had enough time to try everything, he went back over to them with his best customer service smile plastered on his face (it was very fake). “So, how is everything?” Two answered good, which filled him with pride, but the other man’s comment was a little over-the-top. Lovino happened to glance down at his arm, and—his words were appearing on his skin—'Everything’s perfect!’ Okay first of all, rude. Second of all… “Jesus Christ…” Oh no this couldn’t be his soulmate. Could it?

It couldn’t be too bad, right? Step back, Lovino, and look at the snack before you: A man not yet thirty, aged by smile lines and the furrow of his brow, dark, curly hair, and green eyes— He looks equal amounts amused and confused, those bright, bright green eyes trained on his server.

“Maybe just fantastic, then, you’re right — Lovino,” he says, catching his name off of the lapel pin on his chest. Lovino. It’s an interesting name, to say the least. And on top of that, he hasn’t ever had his praise turned ...down?

He laughs out of his instinct to break up any tension present, always trying to keep it light and airy, always trying to keep a smile on his face. Only God knows if it’s genuine, or if he has more in common with Lovino’s customer service voice than previously thought.

His own arms are covered by the white fabric of his shirt, further tucked away when he crosses his arms. Bad luck, uncertainty, striking like clockwork for the young Italian. (But when has it not?) Sorry, no peeking.