A Game of Chess

Naples, Italy

November 13, 1950

5:47 PM

A chic lightbulb hovered over their spot, the bar they sat in being anything but quiet. Waiters flew in and out the doors, crowds lining up at the jukebox to play their song. It was quite the peppy atmosphere, what with this being a Friday night. But amongst the lively cluster of people sat Lovino sulking at the bar table with an American uncomfortably sitting next to him.

Alfred stared at him, his wallowing in misery being pitiful. Lovino had been like that for the past five minutes, just laying with his face down on the table. And for some odd reason, the American felt that he was responsible for it. "Do we have to go back to pick them up later?" He asked awkwardly.

A low grumble came from the pouting lump beside him, the Italian turning his face to look at him in disbelief. "You didn't even give them-a way back home?" He asked disappointedly. Though he let out a loud sigh and turned his head back to lying on the table. "And no, I gave Feliciano some-a spending money while you were throwing up."

The American scoffed to himself, egging on the conversation. "You just drive too fast."

Despite the loud bar they were in, he could swear he heard a soft chuckle coming from Lovino. "Whatever you say. Just-a admit you can't hold your stomach."

"I can too!" He protested.

"Prove it."

A little smile showed itself onto Alfred as the American turned towards the bartender. "Six shots of Amaro's here!" He shouted.

"Hmph." Lovino grunted, sitting up straighter in his seat. "Didn't think you were-a paying attention to what I was teaching you while you were drooling over the sauce." Lovino jeered, eyeing the shot of brownish liquid slid towards him.

"Don't underestimate me man" Alfred said proudly, clinking the small glass with the Italian next to him. "I'll have you drinking by sunrise!" He excitedly yelled, immediately drinking down the liquor.

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Naples, Italy

November 13, 1950

6:01 PM

*Hic!

Lovino laid face-planted on the bar table again, only he was surrounded by empty shots, looking more defeated than before though it wasn't for losing to the drinking competition. Soft murmurs of groans came from him, his rosy red cheeks flushing his face completely. But Alfred just stared at him, uneasy and most of all, unsure on what to do.

His shock didn't even come from how easily the Italian got so drunk, rather it was because he was downing alcohol faster than him, leaving the score: Lovino- 15 Alfred- 7. And although he wasn't usually one to pry too much, he couldn't help but think that it was also his fault that he got like this. "Dude." He deadpanned, poking his shoulder a bit. "You are so drunk."

"Shuttup!" The Italian yelled, smacking his hand away and reaching for another shot. "It's all your-a fault anyways.. For bringing that bastard here." He mumbled under his breath.

Before he could completely grab onto it, Alfred grabbed his hand, slowly placing it down. "Woah, woah, woah. I think you had enough for today, man."

Lovino didn't complain that time, just continued to look down at the bar again, still somewhat upset. "My poor fratello.. Back into the arms-a of that stupid potato man.." He started to cry, clenching his fist tightly on the bar table. "What does he see in that bastard anyways? Why couldn't he choose someone else?"