A/N: Okay, warning: A/U. This story is extremely A/U. Normally, I hate writing things that don't go by the show, but I couldn't get this idea out of my head, so…there you go. This chapter is more of an introduction, so it's obviously going to be different from the rest of the story. Also, it'll probably be a bit confusion as to his main issue until the end of the chapter, but maybe some of you can figure it out early. I dropped a few little hints, but you'll find out a bit at the end of the chapter, and the rest (of the situation) you'll find out chapter two. I'm probably just making it more confusing.Lol.

Marco set out his new clothes (that he was bribed with if he came quietly) on his bed. He'd tried on every pair, eventually deciding that it didn't matter too much anyway. Yes, an odd thought by Marco Del Rossi, but based on the situation, he felt pretty uncaring about the way he looked.

"Il domani è il giorno," he said softly, moving his clothes to the chair near his bed. It was time for sleep. He sighed. "Tomorrow is the day," he corrected himself. It was English from now on. It'd be hard to get used to.

"You can do this, Marco," he told himself, breathing deeply. "It's a school."

Marco put his hand on the wall helping to guide himself further out of the doorway. "Don't trip," he whispered. He'd been doing a lot of talking to himself lately. It was the only way to get the day.

"Marco," said his mother. "Shouldn't you be getting to bed?" she asked…in English. It was all so new. Despite the language, he could hear the concern in her voice. "Big day tomorrow."

He frowned. "Is there any way I'll be able to get myself out of this 'big day'?" he asked, knowing well that it was a lost cause.

"Of course not, sweetie. Watch it!" she yelled, grabbing his wrist to pull him out of harm's way. He rolled his eyes. It's not like he had forgotten there was a fridge in front of him.

"I was going to move, mother," he told her, irritated. "I just don't understand why," he started, walking carefully to the kitchen table and sitting down, "we had to move."

"Marco," Marco could tell her voice was stern, and she wasn't going to take any complaints. "Marco, you know that this was for you--"

"I was fine!" he interrupted, quite angry at the accusation that he might have wanted to leave. "I liked it there, in fact."

"Your father…"

"Could have left," he finished for her, "but we had to."

She sighed. "I chose it this way because of Giulio," she went with the other side of her little "plan".

"Ma," said Marco, fed up with her reasons.

He wanted to know why she had pulled him away from Milano (Milan), from Italy, from his home. Why did they move? Sure, she said it was because of his father and because of his cousin, but that still wasn't enough for him because they could have found away from Giulio and his father without having to leave the country, though he did have the same ill feelings about Giulio that his mother did. However, he loved his father. Their parents told him time and time again how much they both didn't want to divorce to happen, but in the end, it did.

"Yes?" she asked, tired. Marco wished he could tell what she was feeling, but the tone of voice was really the only clue he had that she was a bit stressed out.

"I just want to know why," said Marco. "Why?"

She gave him the simplest reason any part could give a child and, yet, the answer would still be considered acceptable simply because she was an adult. Marco didn't even see how this answer fit his question at all.

"Because I said so," He sighed. Was that always it?

"You should put something warmer on," she advised, looking him up and down.

"First of all," he said, pointing to his bare chest, wearing only shorts, "it's almost ninety- five degrees out. Second of all, stop trying to swerve the conversation."

"The conversation," said his mother, lifting herself from the chair, "is over, Marco."

"No," he argued, "it's not."

"Marco!" His mother grabbed his wrist, once again, this time to prevent his tripping over the chair. He ripped his arm away from her, not caring that she was trying to protect him.

"I don't need your constant protection!" he screamed, walking angrily (and slightly more carefully) to his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

He hated Canada. He hated it. He didn't care how nice or mean the people at school were. He didn't care how beautiful or ugly the sights were because he wouldn't be seeing them anyway. He just wanted to go home. He wanted everything to be back to normal. Damnit, he hadn't wanted the divorce to happen, but if it had to, couldn't he have stayed in his own home? At least, his own town? His own country? Was it too much to ask, really?

Aside from the fact that he missed the town, he also missed his friends. What were they doing as he thought about them? Karina, Christoforo, Maria… Did they miss him too? Of course, they said they would, but after a while, don't people just stop missing their old friends so much? It would happen to them. However, it wouldn't happen to him because he wasn't going to make any friends at Degrassi. Nope. It wasn't going to happen because he didn't want any new friends. Yes, he was definitely being immature, but he didn't care. He wanted to go home.

Would he have to start over? He already had so many problems with telling his friends and parents that he was gay. Maria and Christoforo even avoided him for almost three months. His father had begged him to say that it was a phase, but Marco wished it had been too. It definitely wasn't.

So, would it be the same at Degrassi Community School? If he decided to change his mind (unlikely) and befriend someone, would he simply lose him or her over his sexuality? He wasn't going to go through that again. Besides, it was in his nature to hide it. No matter what, his mouth was shut.

He pulled the blanket over his body. Yes, it was hot, but he couldn't sleep unless he had a blanket on. He sighed, rolling over to face the wall, knowing that it was, indeed, the wall only because he was laying on his left side, and his mother had explained that was where they had put the bed.

He missed the time where he and Karina would just sit and stare at the posters on his bedroom wall. Mostly, they would stare at the picture of Leonardo DiCaprio, and the two would fantasize about which one of them Leonardo would marry. However, Marco explained that she could have him because he was a bit too girly for his taste. Karina laughed at that.

In fact, he missed his posters almost as much as he missed her. His mother had told him that he would be allowed to make his room feel as much like home as possible, but he didn't put the posters up. It wasn't the same.

"What I'd give to see you again, Karina. Literally, see you." He knew he could call her, but that wasn't the same either. He needed her, Christoforo, Maria, his father, and his home. In case he hadn't stressed it enough to his mother, he wanted to go home.

He loved his mother with his whole heart, but she just didn't understand his troubles right now. The worst part was that she thought she was helping him. After what happened, he didn't want to move away. After what happened, the most important thing to him was to be with his friends, but she was always trying to help, and lately her 'help' only seemed to be making things worse.

Another thing she was doing was constantly telling him when he was going to fall or crash. It embarrassed him, but more importantly, made him feel weak. It made him feel like he couldn't handle himself. By doing that, she was just drawing attention to the fact that he couldn't see where he was going. Couldn't she see he wanted to crash? He wanted to fall and get used to his surroundings, but what she was doing wasn't letting him have the failures he needed to help himself. He didn't want to depend on her to get him around.

His mother also had the nerve to tell him that it could have been worse. Of course, that's what a person says when they haven't been through it. His father had repeated the same words. "You're lucky, Marco."

Lucky. He didn't feel so lucky. Marco wanted to see if one of them had lost eyesight permanently, if they had gone blind, would they have felt lucky?

They pretended they understood, but they didn't. Marco didn't blame anyone for it, either. It's something you can't understand unless it happens to you, but he wished they'd stop pretending like they did understand it.

Did his mother know how hard it was to start in a new place where, not only had even never been, but also would never see it anyway? Did she know how, though it would have been hard to adjust, he would have much preferred getting used to being blind in a place that he had lived forever?

Did any of his friends understand how, though they might never see him again, at least they could see him at all when he left, where he couldn't?

And, for the love of God, did Karina know how upsetting it was to stare with her at a poster for almost an hour, knowing that he couldn't, and never would, see what she was seeing?

No. No, they didn't. Again, he didn't blame them. It wasn't their fault. In fact, he was happy they could see…most of the time. He tried not to be jealous, though over the month, there had definitely been a few times where that little flaw had come into play.

So, he was lucky he hadn't died. Blindness is a small price to pay to save your life, they said. How would they know? They had never died? Come to think of it, they had never been blind either.

He mechanically turned off the light. He didn't even know why it had been on in the first place. It was just a waste of electricity for him. He pulled the covers over his head, and tried to catch some sleep. It was hard to do, though. He was too busy thinking of his 'big day', which was to consist of starting as the new kid in school. New in Canada, the gay Italian blind boy. Big day, indeed.

A/N: I know it was pretty short, but it was only the introduction. Honestly, tell me what you thought of it. This will be Darco, as always lol. I thought I wasn't going to have anything up because of this stress in my family, but I guess when I'm stressed, I force out some writing. Hehe. So, please review with your honest opinions. My fourteenth story! Yay me!