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Who am I?
That was the first question that surfaced in Antonio’s mind.
A little too philosophical for a first thought, wasn’t it?
Was he really the kind of person who pondered this sort of thing?
That was the second.
Antonio’s eyes flew open. The first thing he saw was a blindingly white, unfamiliar ceiling.
What… what the hell?
His gaze shifted to the left. There was an IV in his arm. He looked up—there it was, a tube snaking into a clear bag of fluid. Antonio froze.
This… this was a hospital, wasn’t it?
He hadn’t even figured out who he was yet, and now he had to consider the possibility that he was dying?
No, wait—get your thoughts in order. He was working overtime, wasn’t he? That… that sounded vaguely right. He could just barely recall a blurry image of himself sighing in front of a computer, light glaring off the screen. But aside from that, nothing. His name, his address, his phone number, his favorite food—gone. All of it, wiped clean.
And yet—strangely—when he thought about “favorite food,” something tugged at him.
Like he’d forgotten something terribly important. Something that had once mattered more than anything. The unease curled in his chest, made him frown, made him shift a little in bed—
The movement startled someone.
A head jolted up from the side of his bed. Antonio blinked in surprise.
He hadn’t even realized someone was there.
Before he could react, he was pulled into a sudden, bone-crushing hug. The scent hit him first—familiar, inexplicably so. It wrapped around him like warmth itself. The arms holding him were firm, achingly gentle. Antonio, for a fleeting, shamefully honest second, thought—
I want to stay like this forever. I never want to leave this warmth.
Wait, no, what was he thinking!? He didn’t even know who this person was!
Antonio’s face flushed. He squirmed out of the embrace and tried to get a good look at the one who had held him so tightly.
A man. Caramel-brown hair, tousled with a single ahoge curling from the top. Same-colored eyes, wide and glassy with unshed tears—and for some reason, that made Antonio’s chest clench.
He opened his mouth.
Who are you?
Who am I?
He didn’t get the chance to ask.
“Antonio! You bastardo, you finally woke up—!”
The man’s voice cracked. “God, I thought you were going to end up in a coma or something—lying here forever—damn it, this is all your fault! Why the hell did you have to overwork yourself like that? Look at you! Look at what you put me through—!”
The rant dissolved into sobs halfway through.
…Why was he being called a bastard right off the bat?
Antonio would’ve been annoyed—should’ve been annoyed—but somehow, he just couldn’t muster any anger.
Instead, a flood of something else surged up in him. Guilt. Ache. This overwhelming need to reach out, to gently hold the crying man, to run his fingers through his hair, maybe kiss the tears off his cheek and—
Nope. Nope. That last part? Absolutely not. What kind of thought was that?
Still. At least he knew one thing now.
His name was apparently Antonio.
Hesitantly, he raised his voice, trying to interrupt the man’s tearful muttering.
“Um… I’m really sorry to cut in, but… could you maybe tell me who you are? And… who I am? I swear I’m not messing with you, but my mind’s just… blank. Completely blank. Haha… ha…”
The man froze. Slowly, he lifted his tear-streaked face.
His pupils shrank. Antonio nearly regretted saying anything at all.
“What… what the hell are you talking about!?”
His voice rose sharply. “Antonio! Are you serious right now!? Is this supposed to be some kind of sick joke? Because it’s not funny—at all! Don’t pretend to have amnesia!”
He looked like he was about to grab Antonio by the collar and shake him senseless.
“You passed out from low blood sugar, that’s all! Just from working too hard! That’s not the kind of thing that causes memory loss! So stop screwing around, get better, get discharged, and quit trying to scare me, you idiota!”
…What was this guy even talking about?
Antonio sat there, completely lost, listening to the tirade.
Or—well, not really listening.
He was too busy staring at the guy’s lips.
Soft. Pink. A little chapped, maybe, but still… kissable?
Antonio coughed violently, forcing the thought away.
He raised one hand, carefully.
“Ah, um. Sorry… really. But I mean it—I don’t know what’s going on, I don’t know who I am, and I don’t know who you are either. I swear I’m not joking. I’m really, really sorry.”
Lovino stared at him like he’d just heard a human speak for the first time.
“You… you’re serious?”
“As serious as I can possibly be,” Antonio replied honestly, trying to project the most sincere look he could muster. He wasn’t sure if it was working, but he gave it his best shot.
Maybe it was that expression on his face—wide-eyed, open, a little too pathetic—that softened Lovino. Or well, not softened, exactly, but at least made him less explosive than two seconds ago.
He gnawed at his thumbnail, muttering something in Italian that sounded suspiciously like a string of curse words. Then he cleared his throat and leveled a look at Antonio so sharp, so intense, that Antonio instinctively straightened his back despite still being flat on the hospital bed.
“If you’re absolutely sure you’re not using this stupido situation to pull some stupido joke on me, then fine—I’ll believe you. But if you turn around later and admit you were just messing with me, I swear to God, I’ll make sure you never see the sun rise again. Got it?”
Antonio nodded quickly. “Got it. I promise I’m not joking.”
“Good.” Lovino let out a heavy sigh. “First of all, my name’s Lovino. Does that ring any bells? No? Alright. You’re Antonio. How about that—do either of those names feel even remotely familiar?”
“Um…” Antonio hesitated. “Not really… but, when I heard your name, I… I don’t know why, but something in my chest kind of fluttered a little…”
Lovino flushed. He immediately shot Antonio a vicious glare. “Say one more thing like that and I will take it as a sign you’re screwing with me, bastard!”
But Antonio had just been honest. Why was that a crime?
He wilted under the glare, a little pout forming on his lips. Lovino groaned, dragging a hand through his hair in frustration.
“Whatever. I’ll call the nurse or the doctor or someone. I don’t know what the hell to do with you.”
___
“The patient’s memory loss is likely stress-induced,” the doctor had said earlier, his tone somewhere between mildly concerned and annoyingly casual. “A temporary reaction. The brain’s protective mechanism kicking in. He’d been overworking himself at the office, right? It all checks out. Too much pressure, not enough rest. Happens more often than you’d think in young adults. He should recover naturally with time. You can choose to keep him for observation a few days or go home now—it might actually help to reintroduce him to familiar environments. Could speed things up.”
Now Antonio was sitting in the back of a taxi, the doctor’s words still circling faintly in his head.
And the silence between him and Lovino?
Excruciating.
Antonio sat with his hands awkwardly planted on either side of his thighs, shoulders stiff. He wanted to say something—anything—but Lovino was staring out the window with his chin propped on one hand, looking so moody and unreachable that Antonio didn’t dare interrupt.
The thing that weighed most on his mind now was, of course, the question he still hadn’t asked.
Just what was Lovino to him?
He didn’t even know what they were, the two of them.
Friends? Brothers? Roommates?
What kind of relationship made someone stay at your hospital bedside, wait for you to wake up, and then take you home?
Maybe they were just roommates. That would make sense. Maybe they were close. Best friends, even. BFFs, that kind of thing.
That would explain Lovino’s concern.
…But if that were the case, why did his heart skip a beat every time he looked at Lovino?
Why did he want, with such ridiculous urgency, to reach out and brush that little curl of hair resting against his temple?
Could he have had a crush on him before all this?
Unless—
Unless he and Lovino were dating.
No. No way. That couldn’t be it.
Antonio’s face turned red. He nearly slapped himself. What was he even thinking?
No one called their boyfriend a bastard every five minutes. No one threatened their significant other with eternal darkness and meant it. Right?
…Right?
They were just friends. Just friends.
Definitely.
Probably.
Maybe.
___
The uneasy silence stretched on until they finally arrived at what Antonio supposed he ought to call “home.”
Well—whatever it was, he and Lovino clearly lived together. That much was obvious the moment he stepped inside and saw the framed photograph sitting on the entryway cabinet: himself with one arm wrapped casually around Lovino, grinning like an idiot. Lovino, by contrast, wore a reluctant, half-hearted smile that barely lifted one corner of his mouth. But even that was enough to make the photo feel… happy. Undeniably so. No one could look at it and think the people in it were anything less than close.
And somehow, just looking at it made something inside Antonio loosen. Like some tiny corner of him remembered what it felt like to be safe.
He watched as Lovino tossed his keys down beside the frame, flicked on the light, kicked off his shoes, and vanished into the apartment with an exasperated ruffle of his hair and heavy, stomping steps. Antonio hesitated, then quietly followed—shedding his own shoes at the doorway before stepping, a little awkwardly, into what was evidently their shared home.
It was warm. That was the first word that came to mind.
The soft, amber lighting spilled across the furniture like honey, giving everything a kind of gentle glow. The sofa was a simple white fabric couch, dotted with red and white cushions—and one particularly eye-catching pillow shaped like a tomato.
Antonio stared at it.
His throat tightened.
He swallowed.
For some inexplicable reason, his brain whispered: delicious.
Which was absurd, obviously, but still—he was now almost certain. Tomatoes. Tomatoes were his favorite food. They had to be. Not just because of the pillow, but because the entire apartment was littered with tomato-shaped objects, large and small. As if someone—either him or Lovino—had decided to build a shrine to the fruit.
Though now that he was looking around… wasn’t it odd? There only seemed to be one bedroom in this place. Just one.
Did that mean Lovino didn’t live here?
Lovino collapsed onto the couch with a heavy thud and grabbed the tomato pillow. He let out a dramatic groan.
“Damn it…Staying overnight at the hospital really drained me…”
Antonio hesitated for a beat, then walked over and cautiously sat down beside him.
“Thanks for taking care of me,” he said quietly. His hand twitched upward, instinctively reaching to ruffle Lovino’s hair—only to falter halfway and fall back to his lap. “You must not have gotten much rest there. Maybe we can talk tomorrow? If you’re tired, I don’t want to push you tonight.”
He wasn’t sure why those words came so naturally, like water finding its path. But they did.
Lovino shot him a sideways look. “What do you think I am, fragile? I’m fine.” He sat up straighter and fixed Antonio with a sharp stare. “If you’ve got questions, just ask. You’ve been staring at everything like a lost puppy since we got back.”
“Ah…” Antonio rubbed the back of his neck. Had Lovino really been watching him the whole time?
“Well… I guess the main thing is… who exactly am I? Like, what do I do? What kind of job makes someone pass out from overworking, anyway?”
He was just about to ask what he most wanted to know—what exactly he and Lovino were to each other—when something caught his eye.
A glint of silver.
He looked down.
There, on Lovino’s left hand, was a ring. Worn on the ring finger.
The married ring finger.
The sight hit Antonio like a fist to the chest.
His heart clenched so hard it hurt—like someone had reached into his chest and wrapped a fist around it, squeezing until it trembled on the verge of shattering. He couldn’t look away. His gaze was fixed, frozen, on Lovino’s hand. On the way the metal caught the light.
Was Lovino… married?
He hadn’t noticed Antonio’s stare. Still curled on the couch, Lovino absently adjusted the tomato pillow in his lap and began to speak.
“Your name’s Antonio Fernández Carriedo. You work in HR—nothing fancy. But a bunch of your coworkers got taken out by the flu and you were the only one still standing, so congratulations, you got to pick up the slack. Guess that’s what landed you in the hospital. Idiota.” He rolled his eyes.
Antonio wasn’t listening.
He glanced down at his own hands—ten fingers, completely bare.
No ring.
So Lovino was married.
To someone else.
And just the thought of that—of Lovino belonging to another person—sent a sharp, inexplicable ache through Antonio’s chest. A hollow pressure that curled under his ribs and made his head spin.
I must’ve been in love with him before I lost my memory, Antonio thought bitterly. That’s the only explanation.
He let out a soft, humorless laugh.
So this was his first discovery after waking up.
The person he liked… already belonged to someone else.
No wonder he’d lost his memories.
If anything, he was starting to wish he could lose them all over again.
“Hey. Hey, are you even listening?”
A hand waved in front of Antonio’s face, snapping him out of his daze. He blinked—only to realize Lovino was using that hand. The one with the ring.
He scrambled upright, flustered. “O–Of course I’m listening! So, uh… sounds like my job must be really important… haha, right? Yeah…”
Lovino rolled his eyes. “Sure, if you think it’s important, then it is. Even though I personally think it’s a total waste of your time—and definitely not worth overworking yourself into a coma. And now you’ve got to take medical leave until your memories come back. Unless you actually remember how to do your job? Which I doubt. Let’s just hope your boss lets you take paid time off.”
“Ah…” Antonio rubbed the back of his neck. It was obvious Lovino was ranting, but beneath all that, Antonio could hear it—worry. Thick and buried, but undeniably there. Lovino… really did care about him, didn’t he?
“Let’s hope my boss is a nice guy,” Antonio said with a helpless smile. “I don’t even know how much I’ve got saved. What if I’m one of those paycheck-to-paycheck types? If I can’t get paid leave, how am I supposed to survive?”
“What’s the big deal?” Lovino scoffed. “I’ll support you. It’s not like things weren’t already looking like I was your sugar daddy or something.”
…Sugar… daddy!?
Antonio froze.
His eyes went wide as he stared at Lovino—no, stared at Lovino’s face, which really shouldn’t be allowed to look that cute when saying something so devastating. Wait. Hold on. Was he seriously… being kept by Lovino?
That… would explain a lot, wouldn’t it?
Like why there were such affectionate photos of the two of them. Why he felt like his heart would burst just being near Lovino. Why Lovino had stayed by his hospital bed, hugged him the second he woke up. Why Antonio kept wanting to—
Dios mío.
He was the hidden lover, wasn’t he?
The secret. The kept man. The sweet little affair Lovino snuck away to when he had time between visits with his real spouse.
And Lovino had no idea that his offhand comment had just sent Antonio’s entire world spinning. He was too busy fiddling absentmindedly with the tomato-shaped pillow in his lap.
“Hey,” he said, not even glancing up. “Don’t you wanna check your phone? Or did you forget that phones exist too, you moron?”
“Ah—n-no, I remember how to use a phone!” Antonio stammered.
Phone. Right. Of course. The phone. If there was any chance of getting real answers, it was going to be through that. Maybe Lovino had just been joking. There was no way they were… that kind of relationship. Right?
Fumbling slightly, Antonio reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone—the one he’d apparently forgotten about until now. He pressed the screen awake.
The lock screen lit up.
It was a picture of Lovino.
In the picture, Lovino had a smudge of cream at the corner of his mouth and was utterly focused on devouring a slice of tiramisu. His eyes sparkled. He looked… adorable. Heart-meltingly adorable.
Antonio’s heart skipped a beat so violently it nearly stopped altogether.
With trembling fingers, he unlocked the phone.
The home screen?
A photo of the two of them, side by side, smiling into the camera—Antonio with his arm casually slung around Lovino, and Lovino with that trademark reluctant half-smile, like he was pretending to be annoyed but didn’t actually mind.
God. Just how in love had he been?
Why did his heart race—whether he was looking at the real Lovino or a digital image?
Okay. Think. What’s the fastest way for an amnesiac to figure out his relationships?
Social media. Or messaging apps.
Antonio’s finger hovered over the WhatsApp icon. He tapped it.
First contact at the top. Display name: “Kissy Tomato Baby.”
Profile pic: Lovino, unmistakably.
He scrolled through the conversation.
Their chat history could be summarized as follows:
Antonio: Lovi I miss you sooo much (><) When can you come home and see me? Oh—by the way, the flowers we bought together just bloomed! Wanna come see them? They’re gorgeous! 🌸🌸💞
Kissy Tomato Baby: Busy. Can’t talk. Maybe next time. Family stuff. Later.
That “family” must’ve meant Lovino’s real partner. His husband. Wife. Whatever. The person he was officially with. The one who had a ring to match Lovino’s.
And Antonio… Antonio had been the lover hidden in the wings. A domestic, pampered ghost.
A secret kept.
The messages he’d sent were so clingy, so syrupy sweet, it made his skin crawl. He wanted to throw the phone across the room and bury himself in a hole. Did he really used to text like this? Did he really beg for cuddles and post flower emojis like a desperate househusband?
God.
This guy(He) had been so, so hopelessly in love with Lovino.
And apparently… still was.
“How is it?” Lovino tilted his head, watching Antonio. “Did looking at your phone bring back anything? Any flicker of memory? Something familiar?”
“Ah…” Antonio hesitated. “No, not really. But, um…”
He’d wanted to ask directly—Am I… your kept man?—but the look on Lovino’s face made the words die in his throat. There was a quiet, almost-hidden hope there. Worry, too. How was he supposed to blurt it out? Hey Lovi, lovely weather we’re having—by the way, am I your sugar baby?
“I… I just noticed our chat history seemed pretty close,” he said at last, choosing the safest route. “Is that… normal for us?”
If Antonio wasn’t hallucinating, Lovino’s ears turned ever so slightly pink.
“Well… if you think it’s close, then maybe that’s just how it is,” he muttered, voice trailing off until it was barely more than a whisper.
Antonio leaned in to catch the last part—instinctively, gently—and that was apparently a mistake. Lovino’s blush deepened, and with a flustered yelp, he shoved Antonio away and scooted a few inches down the couch, like putting physical distance could somehow calm the flush in his cheeks.
“Don’t get so damn close, you idiota!”
“But,” Antonio blinked, “if you and I really are close… then being close shouldn’t be a problem, right? Or… do you actually dislike me, Lovi?”
He didn’t know what possessed him to say it. The words just tumbled out on their own. Shameless. Bold. Even he was startled by himself.
He moved in again, slower this time, letting his fingers trail along Lovino’s arm—upward, gently, until their hands met. He wove their fingers together. And then, quietly, he leaned in.
Lovino’s back hit the couch cushions. Antonio followed.
His curls fell forward, brushing Lovino’s cheek. Their faces were so close Antonio could feel the hitch in Lovino’s breath. Lovino stared up at him, eyes wide, skin flushed to his ears, mouth parted in indignation or surprise—maybe both. He squirmed, but Antonio’s weight held him firm.
“Wh–What the hell are you doing!?”
“…Aren’t we the kind of people who… do things like this?” Antonio tilted his head slightly, eyes locked onto Lovino’s. He had no memory, but this want—it felt familiar. Real. Maybe this was how he used to feel, hidden under layers of restraint. Maybe it was coming out now because nothing was left to hold it back.
He tightened his grip on Lovino’s hand, fingers tangled, palm to palm. And for the first time since waking up, Antonio felt like he had some kind of control—however fleeting—over his life.
He dipped his head and pressed a soft kiss to Lovino’s collarbone. Then another, beside it—firmer this time, deliberate enough to leave a mark.
Lovino had been somewhere between resisting and giving in, but the second Antonio’s lips touched skin, he jolted back into motion. He took a sharp breath, bracing to push Antonio off—to kick him, if necessary.
But just as he lifted his knee—
There was a loud, urgent knock at the door.
They both froze.
Antonio blinked down at Lovino, suddenly aware of just how compromising their position was. For a heartbeat, no one moved. Then Antonio, face now burning with embarrassment, scrambled off him like the couch was on fire.
“I—I’m so sorry, Lovino! Dios mío, I don’t know what came over me, I—I mean, I didn’t mean to—um…”
“Don’t ‘um’ me,” Lovino huffed, voice sharp but noticeably breathless. “Get off me and go answer the damn door. I’m not done with you.”
“…Yes, sir.” Antonio ducked his head.
___
“Oh mon dieu!”
The moment Antonio opened the door—still sore from the relentless pounding—he was greeted by a dramatic cry in heavily accented French.
In front of him stood a striking blond man with violet eyes, his wavy hair catching the light as he flung it back with flair. One hand pressed theatrically to his forehead, he leaned—faint, swanlike—against the shoulder of a red-eyed albino with wild white hair and a gleam in his eye that spelled trouble.
“Toni! Tell me you haven’t met with disaster! The second we heard you’d been discharged, Gil and I came rushing over! We didn’t visit you while you were hospitalized, of course—would’ve felt cruel to intrude on the romantic little two-person world you and sweet Lovi had built by your bedside—”
The French-accented monologue was so rapid and relentless that Antonio’s head began to spin. He raised one hand instinctively, trying to stop the verbal onslaught.
“W-Wait. Hold on. Before we go any further—could you maybe start with telling me who you two are? Sorry, I know it sounds strange, but… I’ve lost my memory.”
“Kesesesese! Toni, come on, that joke is so last decade!”
The white-haired man burst out laughing in a thick German accent, thumping Antonio hard on the shoulder. “Faking amnesia? Really? You gotta up your comedy game, bro.”
“He’s not faking,” came Lovino’s cool voice as he strolled up beside Antonio, arms crossed. “The bastardo’s actually lost his memory.”
The blond man blinked, eyes wide in disbelief.
“Toni… you got Lovino to go along with one of your pranks? How on earth did you manage that?”
“No no no—seriously—I’m not joking! I really have amnesia!”
Antonio looked helplessly between them.
Just what kind of friends had his past self collected? Why did all of them immediately assume he was pulling some elaborate prank?
Lovino sighed and crossed his arms more tightly.
“I thought calling in your idioti friends might jolt something back into place. Clearly, that plan was a waste of time.”
That caught the two newcomers off guard. They blinked in unison, then took a long, deliberate look at Antonio—up, down, then up again—before ducking their heads together like co-conspirators, whispering behind cupped hands.
Eventually, they straightened and adopted a more somber demeanor.
“Ah, right. Sorry about that, Toni—Antonio,” the blond corrected himself with a flicker of hesitation.
“I’m Francis. This idiot here is Gilbert. We’re your—”
“Best bros!” Gilbert chimed in, waving one hand enthusiastically.
“Toni, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten us, too! First Feli’s big brother, now us? That stings, man!”
“Ahaha… sorry,” Antonio rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “I’m afraid I really have forgotten you both.”
“Tragic,” Francis declared, spreading his arms with a sigh. He turned toward Lovino, clearly gearing up for a jab—but then his gaze snagged on something.
“—Wait. Wait a second.”
He leaned in, eyes narrowing, lips curving into a scandalized smile.
“Is that… is that a mark on your collarbone, little Lovi? Oh là là…”
He dramatically covered his face.
“Even with amnesia, Antonio manages to seduce you all over again? Mon dieu, at least pretend to keep things PG, darling Toni.”
Lovino yanked his collar up with a violent tug and glared daggers at Francis.
“Shut up, you sleazy French bastard! If you breathe one word of this to anyone, the only thing you’ll be flirting with next is a deep-sea fish at the bottom of the bay.”
“But of course,” Francis replied smoothly, unbothered, lips quirking into a teasing smile.
“My lips are sealed. Especially from… a certain someone.”
He sang the phrase, drawing out that person with suspiciously knowing intonation.
“That person”?
Antonio’s chest clenched painfully.
Did he mean… Lovino’s actual husband?
The thought was a blade. And suddenly, Antonio felt a sharp spike of resentment toward the very man who’d just cracked the joke.
But among the three, only Lovino seemed to notice the flicker of pain in Antonio’s expression. He didn’t know the source—maybe it was a headache, maybe just lingering fatigue—but it was enough.
Francis and Gilbert weren’t helping. In fact, they were making things worse.
So Lovino didn’t hesitate.
“Goodbye.”
He said it coolly, and without another word, shut the door in their faces.
All three of them stood frozen in place.
Francis and Gilbert stared dumbly at the closed door. Antonio stared at Lovino, awestruck.
And all he could think was:
God. My sugar daddy is so hot.
___
“Now that the distractions are gone… should we pick up where we left off?”
A part of Antonio really wanted to say that aloud—just blurt it out, push Lovino back onto the couch and kiss him senseless. But another part of him froze. Stopped him. Left him sitting there, staring at Lovino, visibly torn between reckless impulse and pitiful restraint.
Lovino gave him a look. The kind that said you’re being weird, and also explain yourself before I get suspicious.
“Hey. What the hell are you thinking about?”
Antonio blinked. He hadn’t expected Lovino to speak so suddenly. He stared at him for a second—two, maybe three—before reality snapped back into place.
“Ah—oh, uh—I was just wondering if there’s anything I can do to get my memory back. You know… speed up the process.”
Which was, of course, a complete lie. He hadn’t been thinking about anything even remotely medical. He’d been thinking about Lovino. About the mark he’d left on his collarbone. About how he really wanted to leave more.
Lovino tilted his head. “Something to help you recover, huh?” He thought for a beat. “Why don’t you cook me dinner? That used to be your specialty before you forgot everything.”
Of course. Of course he was a househusband.
Antonio let out a helpless little laugh as he peeled the skin off a tomato. He’d barely picked up the knife, and already his hands were moving on their own. It was bizarre—he couldn’t remember his own birthday, but apparently his body still remembered how to make Pisto Manchego. Like cooking Spanish food was hardwired into his DNA.
He sautéed the vegetables until they softened, let the tomato reduce down to a rich, glossy paste, sliced up some bread on the side—and just like that, dinner was ready.
Lovino sat at the table, head in his hands, watching him set the dishes down with a small, unusually sweet smile.
“Not bad, Antonio. Looks like you do remember how to cook.”
“Yeah…” Antonio scratched the back of his neck, flustered. He set the sliced bread in front of Lovino. “Maybe it’s become instinct by now? My body just knows what to do. I guess I must’ve really loved cooking before.”
“You did. It’s probably the one thing you were genuinely good at,” Lovino replied, dipping a slice of bread into the pisto and shoving it into his mouth in one large, unceremonious bite.
Antonio watched as his eyes lit up. His whole face said: This is delicious.
The sight of it made something flutter in Antonio’s chest. Watching Lovino enjoy his food—that alone made him happy. Like maybe, somehow, he still belonged here.
“…So,” Antonio mumbled around a bite of his own bread, “Lovi, what do you usually do? You know, when you’re not stuck taking care of your amnesiac… um, whatever I am to you.”
“Why are you suddenly asking about me?”
“I’m just… curious. I mean, I don’t remember anything, but I can tell we were close. So… I guess I want to know more about you.”
Lovino tapped his chin, then looked up at the ceiling, thinking.
“…Not much, really. Every so often I have to go visit my Nonno, which is a pain. And, um…” His cheeks turned slightly pink. “And I guess I usually just hang out with you, kill time together or whatever. Stupido.”
“O-oh, really?” Antonio felt his face heat up too. Suddenly they were both staring down at their plates, silently stuffing their faces with bread like it might save them from the rising awkwardness.
“Even now,” Antonio muttered, “I’d be happy to spend time with you. Just… being with you is enough.”
“Dumbass. Of course it is.” Lovino rolled his eyes, but his ears were red. “Even if you didn’t want to be around me, it wouldn’t matter. We’re already in this kind of relationship anyway.”
Right. This kind of relationship.
Antonio’s heart clenched for a moment, then slowly loosened. He might’ve been just a lover—just the other man—but he clearly wasn’t meaningless. From the way Lovino blushed, from the way he looked at him, it was obvious he’d been loved. Maybe even more than the so-called “real” partner.
Maybe… just maybe, he could wait it out. Hold on long enough, and Lovino might get divorced. Then he could move in. Officially. No secrets. No shame.
The thought made him feel a lot better. So what if he was the “affair”? Lovino obviously loved him—he blushed every time they talked. (Though… it was starting to seem like Lovino just blushed a lot.) Still. It had to mean something. Right?
Antonio hummed happily as he washed the dishes, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, fingers slick with soap. From the couch across the room, Lovino was sprawled out, half-watching TV, one leg dangling off the edge like he owned the place.
Antonio smiled to himself.
Doing housework while the person he loved relaxed within view… what could be better than that?
Even if he’d lost his memories, even if his head was still foggy, this—this right here—felt like a life worth remembering.
___
“Wanna… go for a walk?”
That was how Antonio phrased it, and somehow, they ended up strolling side by side beneath a sky full of stars.
“…It’s beautiful,” Antonio murmured, gazing upward in quiet awe.
Maybe it was because they lived on the edge of the city. Or no—exactly because they lived on the edge of the city. The stars here shimmered like silver dust scattered across a deep navy sky, and the moonlight spilled softly across their shoulders. Walking like this, beside someone you loved, beneath a sky like this—it felt like something out of a dream.
“Is it?” Lovino scoffed. “I’m used to it. Looks like this every night.”
“It’s the first time I’ve seen it,” Antonio said with a small smile, tilting his head toward him. “Whether it’s my first time before I lost my memory or after… I’d still want it to be with you.”
Lovino froze for a beat, then quickly turned his head, refusing to meet his gaze—but Antonio didn’t miss the hint of red at the tips of his ears.
“Id–idiota…it’s just a stupid sky. Why do you always have to make it sound like a confession?”
“What do you mean, make it sound like?” Antonio asked innocently. “I’m just saying what I feel. Right now, Lovi is the most important person in my life. You were the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes. So if I’m seeing something this beautiful, I want my first time seeing it to be with you.”
Lovino very nearly covered his ears right then and there, as if physically blocking the words could keep them from seeping into his heart.
“Stupido—fine! Fine, I get it! You did see this sky for the first time with me! We moved to this damned suburb together, remember? So shut up already, bastard!”
“Really? Then I’m glad.”
Antonio reached over, gently prying Lovino’s hand away from his ear and slipping it into his own. Lovino’s skin was slightly cool to the touch, and though his fingers twitched like he meant to pull away, they didn’t. Antonio smiled, and interlaced their fingers, holding him more securely.
Lovino glared down at their joined hands, then up at him. “You—are you sure you’ve lost your memory? How come you’re so good at doing this kind of stuff!?”
“I really have lost it,” Antonio said, wide-eyed and sincere. “But… whenever I touch you, my body just seems to know what to do. Like you’ve already been etched into my bones.”
“Stop saying cheesy things!” Lovino growled, tightening his grip until Antonio yelped in pain.
“Okay, okay! I’m sorry, Lovi, I’ll stop—I swear!”
Antonio gave him the most pitiful, wide-eyed expression he could muster.
Lovino finally let up a little. “Seriously. You’re the same idiot you were before and after the amnesia. No difference at all.”
“Well, if I’m an idiot, it’s definitely your fault,” Antonio replied with a sunny grin.
Lovino’s eyes went wide. “My fault!? How the hell is that my fault!?”
“Because,” Antonio paused dramatically, “my brain is completely filled with thoughts of Lovi. There’s no room for anything else. Of course I turned into a fool.”
Lovino dropped his head, silent. Antonio was just beginning to regret what he said when—
Whack.
Something heavy slammed into his shoulder.
“Ahh—Lovi! Why a headbutt!?” Antonio cried, rubbing at the spot with his free hand, utterly betrayed.
“I told you to stop saying dumb romantic things!” Lovino snapped. “That was your punishment!”
He huffed, clearly wanting to cross his arms, but with one hand still caught in Antonio’s grasp, he settled for sulking instead.
“Come on,” Antonio sighed. “It’s not my fault. I don’t know why it happens, but every time I look at you, the words just come spilling out on their own… like my mouth has a mind of its own. Maybe it’s my instincts. Maybe deep down, all I want is to say sweet things to you—because I’m too in love with y—mmph!”
Lovino kissed him.
Just like that—no warning, no preamble, just lips on lips, silencing whatever Antonio had been about to say. Antonio’s eyes went wide with surprise, but slowly, he blinked, then raised his free hand to cup Lovino’s cheek, eyes fluttering shut as he leaned into it—into him.
By the time they finally pulled apart, both breathless beneath the quiet stars, Antonio rested his forehead against Lovino’s and whispered:
“…In fairytales, isn’t a true love’s kiss supposed to fix everything? Why haven’t I got my memories back?”
Lovino rolled his eyes. “Because you’re an idiot. Fairytales don’t work on morons.”
“That can’t be it,” Antonio said with a laugh. “Maybe the kiss was just too short. Maybe we need to try again.”
“As if! Who wants to kiss you again, you damn bastardo!”
___
After several days of “memory-recovery outings”—which, let’s be honest, were just a thin excuse to sneak kisses in every location that might’ve once meant something—
“We’re doomed!”
Lovino bolted upright from the bed, clutching his phone like it had personally delivered the end of the world.
“Huh? What’s wrong, Lovi?”
Antonio yawned and lazily reached up to rub his sleep-tousled hair. It had been a pretty great nap, made even better by Lovino’s warm body curled up beside him. Now that warmth was gone, and honestly? He already missed it.
“No time to explain. Just—get up!”
Lovino grabbed him by the wrist, dragged him off the bed, flung open the wardrobe—
—and shoved Antonio inside.
The doors slammed shut with a dramatic thud.
Antonio blinked at the wooden panels in front of him, mildly dazed. And… a little offended.
Wait. Wait a second.
This situation—it felt disturbingly familiar.
Lovino, flustered and panicking, stuffing him into a closet without explanation…
This was just like those forum posts he’d read the other day, wasn’t it?
You know, the ones titled “what to do if you’re the secret lover”?
The stories where the real lover suddenly shows up, and the poor third party has to hide in the wardrobe, heart broken, dignity in tatters?
Wait, wait, wait.
Was Lovino’s actual partner about to walk through that door?
Antonio’s instincts immediately kicked into high alert. He pressed himself up against the door and peered through the narrow crack with the intensity of a man about to witness the death of his romantic delusions.
Lovino was scrambling into his clothes, fumbling with the buttons on his shirt.
Then—bam—the front door swung open with a bang.
“Lovino! Missed me?”
A loud, boisterous voice echoed into the room, followed by the entrance of a tall, scruffy-looking man who barged in. Hands on his hips, he grinned from ear to ear.
So this was him.
Lovino’s real husband.
Antonio felt his chest tighten, a knot of dread curling under his ribs.
“R–Romulus!? H–How did you even get in here!?”
Lovino looked like he’d just seen a ghost.
“What are you talking about, kid? I gave you this place, didn’t I? Of course I’ve got a key.”
The man—Romulus—said it like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Oh.
Oh no.
Even this cozy little love nest—the one Antonio had stupidly thought of as theirs—had been a gift from someone else? From the real partner?
His vision blurred a little. His breath caught in his throat.
That space, that intimacy he’d just begun to think of as his own…
Belonged to someone else all along.
This was their place. His and Lovino’s. And yet some stranger had the key. A reason to barge in. A claim.
For a second, he genuinely considered throwing open the doors and punching Romulus square in the jaw.
But he didn’t.
Because he wasn’t the husband.
He was just… the other one.
So he did the only thing a hidden lover could do.
He stayed quiet. And watched.
Lovino looked supremely annoyed. “That may be true, but you can’t just barge in whenever you feel like it! If I hadn’t seen your message, I’d probably still be half-naked!”
“Please, what part of your body haven’t I seen before?” Romulus laughed. “When you were little, I—”
“Shut up!”
Lovino’s face went red. “That was ages ago! Don’t bring up stuff like that now!”
Antonio, from his hiding place, noticed something strange.
Lovino hadn’t cursed. Not once. No “bastardo,” no “cazzo,” no threats of violence or bodily harm.
Nothing.
Was… was Lovino polite in front of his actual partner?
Did that mean… he only used those words with Antonio?
Was that because Antonio was special?
…Or because he wasn’t?
“Anyway,” Lovino huffed, arms crossed, “Why are you even here? If you don’t have a reason, stop dropping by and disturbing my peace.”
Romulus chuckled, grinning wide. “What? I haven’t seen you in a while. I missed you, that’s all. Thought I’d swing by. You’ve gotten skinnier since last month, you know. I’ll send you a bit more cash this time.”
“Ugh, money again?” Lovino rubbing his temple. “I have a job, you know. I don’t need you showering me with cash like I’m some kind of—whatever. Anyway, you’ve dropped in, you’ve seen me, you can leave now. Want me to walk you out?”
“You brat. What’s wrong with having money?” Romulus snorted. “You don’t need to see me out. I’ve still got two working legs.”
“Great. Then please get moving.”
Lovino pushed him toward the door with practiced efficiency, and a second later—
SLAM.
The door shut. The apartment fell silent.
Antonio watched as Lovino slumped against it with a long, exhausted exhale, then slowly slid to the floor.
“…That was exhausting…”
Antonio pressed his lips together as he quietly opened the wardrobe door and stepped out.
He looked at Lovino. There were a thousand things he wanted to say. But the moment he met those hazel eyes, every word caught in his throat.
Lovi, if it were between me and someone else… would you choose me?
Lovi, am I the most important person to you?
Lovi, do you love me?
His mouth parted slightly. The questions clamored to escape, one over the other. But in the end, he said none of them.
He simply walked over and sat beside Lovino, leaning into his side, silently.
Lovino glanced at him, eyebrow raised.
“What are you doing, idiot?”
“You’re so warm, Lovi,” Antonio murmured with a soft smile, half-lidding his eyes. “Leaning against you… it’s like leaning against a fireplace.”
“Are you complimenting me or insulting me?” Lovino huffed, collapsing against him with deliberate weight.
“Of course it’s a compliment. I love sticking close to you. Just being near you makes me feel warm. Happy.” Antonio let the words roll out, utterly shameless.
Lovino, as expected, flushed bright red.
“I-I-idiot! Why the hell do you always have to say such dumb things?!”
“…Lovi,” Antonio said, as casually as he could manage, “when you were talking to that guy earlier—Romulus, right?—you didn’t curse at all.”
Lovino blinked. “What kind of nonsense is that?”
“If I dared say a single curse word to him, I’d basically be signing my own death certificate! It’d be faster than jumping off a building!”
Wait.
Lovino’s relationship with his husband… was that unequal?
The realization twisted in Antonio’s chest.
He couldn’t offer much. Not money, not status. But at least he could be kind. He’d never want Lovino to hold back, not even with his foulest moods or sharpest words.
He could almost see it now—Lovino wiping tears with wads of cash, sobbing, “I don’t want lots of money! I want lots of love!” while Romulus rained bills down on him without a care.
No wonder… no wonder Lovino cheated on his husband.
Because Antonio—Antonio had nothing but love. And that, at least, he had in abundance.
He turned and took Lovino’s hands in his. Lovino looked mildly startled, a flush rising to his cheeks, but he didn’t pull away. He looked up at Antonio, confused.
Antonio met his eyes. Gazed at him for a long moment. Then slowly dropped his gaze, lashes trembling.
“Lovi… I know,” he said quietly, voice beginning to shake. “I know I’m just your lover. Your sugar baby, or whatever. Romulus is your real husband. I probably never had a chance. But… I still want you to know that my love for you is—”
Lovino’s eyes went wide in absolute disbelief. He stood up so abruptly he dragged Antonio up with him.
“Wh-what the hell are you saying!?” he shouted. “Romulus is my grandfather, OK?! My Nonno! My Abuelo! And you’re my husband! I swear, have you lost your memory and your brain!?”
Antonio blinked slowly. “Wait… what?”
“Aaagh! No wonder you’ve been acting so weird these past few days! Crying when I wasn’t looking, walking around like some tragic soap opera character—I thought the amnesia had just hit you a little too hard, but no! You were off imagining this entire melodramatic nonsense! Idiota!”
He yanked his hands out of Antonio’s and flailed them furiously in the air.
“But—but you said you were my sugar daddy! And I didn’t have a ring—and Francis—”
Lovino punched him. Hard.
Right in the shoulder.
“The sugar daddy thing was obviously a joke! I’m just some rich brat, okay?! My Nonno owns a whole conglomerate or something—I get money even if I don’t work! But you—you’re a poor little nobody. My Nonno would never approve of us. That’s why—ugh, that’s why we got married in secret, you moron!”
He was nearly vibrating from how hard his hands were waving around. If rage had a form, it would’ve been Lovino.
“I told Francis to shut up because I didn’t want Romulus finding out we eloped! How many times do I have to explain this before your stupid brain catches up?!”
Antonio just stared at him, completely blank.
“…Then… the ring?”
“Here, you dumbass!”
Lovino shoved a hand into his coat pocket and pulled out a silver ring—one that clearly matched the one on his own finger.
“You left it on the bed before going to work, idiota! I was gonna give it back to you after your shift, but then you had to go and get yourself amnesia, and I didn’t even get the chance! Now shut up and give me your hand!”
Antonio numbly extended his hand, letting Lovino grab it.
With more force than strictly necessary, Lovino shoved the ring onto his finger.
“I swear,” he muttered, “I’ve never met someone as unbelievably stupido as you.”
Antonio lifted his hand into the light, staring at the ring now snugly wrapped around his fourth finger.
His cheeks flushed slowly, steadily.
And just then—like a bucket of cold water had been dumped over his head—his head swayed faintly.
A flicker. A flash.
A surge of images rushed through his mind like a silent film reel unraveling at last.
Memories.
___
“You really were an idiot when you lost your memory, you know that?”
“Aww, Lovi~! I thought we agreed not to bring that up anymore!”
Antonio was rolling back and forth on the bed, arms wrapped around a half-naked Lovino sprawled on top of him.
“S–Stop it, you bastard! If you keep this up, I’ll tell everyone how you thought Romulus was my husband—ah!”
“You already did say it, Lovi,” Antonio paused mid-roll, leaning in close with a sigh. “Honestly, I have no idea what was going through my head back then… but I was so hurt. You have no idea. I was devastated.”
“That’s because your brain works in the weirdest way possible,” Lovino huffed, jabbing a finger into Antonio’s cheek. “Anyone else in that situation would’ve asked. But no—you just stood there playing the tragic forbidden lover, day after day, like some dumb soap opera lead.”
“Well, to be fair,” Antonio said with a lazy smile, nuzzling into the fingertip poking at his face, “my brain was malfunctioning at the time.”
“It still is,” Lovino muttered, rolling his eyes. “Memory or no memory, you’re a hopeless idiota either way.”
“No no—what you mean is, memory or no memory, I’m a hopeless idiota madly in love with Lovino either way!”