Christmas Lights ( APH SpaMano )

Actually, Lovino guessed the ground floor wasn’t so bad. Sure, he had to hear every single person stomp down the stairs, but at least he didn’t have to haul groceries up five flights. But it was fucking freezing.

He curled into the couch, blanket thin as tissue. This was bullshit. He knew it got cold up here. It’s why he wanted an apartment on the upper floors—so he didn’t have to put up with this bullshit.

Snow tapped against the window. Thick and puffy, mini clouds raining down. Lovino realized he had been watching the snow for ten minutes, and he returned his attention to his phone.

Like a magnet, Lovino’s eyes returned to the window. God, it was freezing and slushy—it would all melt by morning—but it was pretty.

Something red flashed by his window.

“What the fuck.”

He had heard the glass rattle from here.

“Holy fuck.”

No, no, no—that hadn’t been a person. Lovino marched across his tiny apartment, feeling goosebumps prickle across his skin. Nope. There was no way. And if it had been a person—and Lovino froze, hand on the glass—they were going to sue him. For something. Probably.

Lovino pushed the window out, stuck his head into the air. The wind ripped him to the core, and he squinted through the flurries.

“Hello.”

Lovino yelped, leaned over the pane. “You’re alive!”

The man groaned, then let out a pained chuckle. He was sprawled on his back, already covered in a fine layer of snow. “I hope so.”

Lovino craned his neck, tried to see what the fuck had gone down. “What the fuck were you doing? Wait… Are those Christmas lights?” Lovino looked back at the man. “Were you putting up Christmas lights?”

“Happy holidays!”

“Did you fall out of your window?” Lovino stared. He craned his neck again. “Holy shit, you did.”

“I did,” the man agreed.

Lovino considered the situation. He could, he supposed, just shut the window and leave the man to it. But—but—the man might be broken. Paralyzed, broken. Broken painfully.

“Are you okay?” Lovino asked.

“I’m sort of cold.” The man didn’t move, and Lovino feared the worst. “I think the snow, you know, cushioned the worst of it?”

“We need to call an ambulance.”

The man struggled to sit up. “No!”

“You fell from the second story; I’m calling a fucking ambulance.”

The man caught his wrist. “I don’t have insurance! Look—” He grabbed the edge of the window sill and managed to drag himself standing. “Look, I’m fine!” He smiled. “I’m Antonio.”

“And I’m calling an ambulance.”

“No—”

Lovino turned and stalked back to the couch. Where the hell did his phone go? He dug through the blanket, ended up ripping off the cushions. It wasn’t there.

Lovino slapped his pockets, turned back around. Antonio stood dripping in the middle of the living room.

“Get out of my house!”

Antonio looked down at himself, back up at Lovino. “I just fell from my window.”

“That doesn’t give you permission to trespass!”

“I’m injured!”

Lovino found the phone in his back pocket and whipped it out. “Then let me call an ambulance!”

“Eh…” Antonio reached up to scratch the back of his neck. “I’m not that injured.” He looked around, nodding to himself.

The absurdity of the situation hit Lovino. He wanted to laugh, and he could feel the edges of a smile threatening to creep across his face. This man should be dead—or broken. Lovino ran a hand over his face, then chopped the air with his hands.

“You—”

“You don’t have any Christmas decorations up!” Antonio gestured. “Where’s your holiday spirit? You could even, you know.” He made scissors with two fingers. “Cut out snowflakes. I could do it, for you. What’s your name?”

“Oh my God, Antonio—”

“What’s your name?”

“You have fallen! You know, fucking fallen! From the floor above us!” Lovino pointed at the ceiling. “I’m pretty sure you should at least go to the ER.”

Antonio smiled guiltily, shrugging. “I really have maybe three hundred dollars in savings.”

A strange noise—like a whine, and Lovino realized it was coming from him. “You what?”

“I, ah, maybe, ah, spent most of it?”

“On what?”

Antonio threw his hands in the air and laughed. “Christmas decorations!”

Lovino laughed, and he slapped a hand over his mouth and glared. Antonio stepped closer, hands behind his back.

“Ah, you can smile!”

“You, you.” Lovino wagged a finger, shook his head. “You are going to make me punch you.”

“What’s your name? And where are all your Christmas decorations?”

“Okay, do you ever think you maybe have too much dedication to Christmas decorations?”

“No. Why?” Antonio tilted his head like a confused dog.

Lovino squinted at him. “You fell.”

Antonio nodded. “You are very caught up on that.”

“Out.”

“What?”

Lovino walked past Antonio, shutting the window. It would take a week for it to warm back up to anywhere near fifty. The glass rattled as Lovino shut the window, and when he turned around, Antonio was much, much too close.

“It’s very chilly in here, isn’t it?”

Lovino’s back was pressed against the wall. “Well, you did leave the fucking window open.”

Antonio smiled, tilted his head again. There was something about the motion that made Lovino’s heart thud against his chest. He wondered what—what activities would worsen spine injuries.

Then he remembered Antonio was an idiot.

“You know what can keep us warm? We—”

Lovino held up a hand. “Let me stop you there. Look, I’m not sure what you think this,” he gestured between them. “Is, but let me assure you, it is not… Well, I don’t date guys who fall out of windows.”

“Okay, but what about festive guys? My apartment is warm, and I can make hot cocoa!” He suddenly backed away, and Lovino blinked. “At least until your heat kicks back on, yeah?”

Lovino blinked again. “What?”

“It’s warmer in my apartment. I can see you shivering from here.” Antonio laughed. “I promise, no funny business, either! Just cocoa.”

This asshole was an idiot. But—but—Lovino could practically see his breath.

“Just cocoa.”

“What’s your name?”

Lovino sighed. “Lovino.”

…

A week later, Lovino threw open the window.

“Again?! Are you fucking kidding me?”