"Vaffanculo! Vaffanculo tu e il tuo cazzo sicuramente non eccezionale uccello!" Lovino childishly stomped his way up the stairs and into their bedroom. He proceeded to kick his shoes off and relieve himself of his cufflinks all the while trying to ignore the albino man that had followed him in his wake.

Gilbert let his Italian get away with most things, most of the time. But if there was one thing that he couldn't stand for it was when insults were thrown about his baby. He rose to defend the small canary perched on his head glaring heavily at his boyfriend. "Leave Gilbird out of this arschloch!"

"Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!" Lovino chanted and managed to remove one cuff-link and with a snap of his wrist sent it towards his dresser, nearly hitting the large ornate mirror resting on top. He let out a frustrated huff when the other cuff-link wouldn't remove as easily and he blamed the German for it. "Dio I can't stand you right now! Go away!"

"Was?" Gilbert stopped trying to pacify Gilbird whose feathers were insanely ruffled.

Lovino kept his eyes away from Gilbert and answered with a rather clipped, "Leave."

"You can't be serious." Gilbert deadpanned.

"I mean it Gilbert." Lovino stressed.

"Vyes," Gilbert deposited the huffing canary onto a bed post and walked forwards, urging the Italian into his open arms. He felt the stiffness in Lovino's body leave for a moment before it returned full force and the brunette walked away from him and back to the dresser. Gilbert breathed deeply. "What the hell happened in that room?"

"It's none of your fucking business!" Lovino shouted testily.

Gilbert felt his patience wearing thin. There was a reason Antonio chose up psychiatry, Francis had his own clothes brand, and Gilbert was a retired man from the German army with a rank of Gefreiter no less. He wasn't cut out for any of this feelings shit. But for Lovino he'd try, he would always try, and the brat better damn well appreciate it. "If it's making you kick me out of our house then it very well is my damned business."

"Go to hell bastard! It's not like we're married or anything!"

"Mein Gott," Gilbert closed his eyes. "Were they on you about that again?"

"It still isn't any of your business but yes." Lovino's voice sounded so young to him at that moment. The Italian was two years younger than him but he'd always kept up with Gilbert he didn't usually see it. It was only at these times were Lovino was haunted by what his family had to say that showed his youth.

"Vyes…" Gilbert tried.

"They were going on and on and on about how happy they were celebrating Feliciano's third wedding anniversary. It's not my fault that the idiota married your brother when he was eighteen! I had other things on my mind than getting shackled to some stronzo! I prioritized important things!"

"Of course you did. You always do. Haben sie über mich wieder meckern?"

"They did, but it was mostly me than you." Lovino huffed angrily. "They're very old people though and they believe in our faith. It's bad enough that both their grandsons are after men but one of them refuses to marry. They say they're tired of waiting. That if I wanted to stay in the family then I should get married instead of wasting my life away like this. Wasting my life tch, they make me feel so fucking miserable!"

"And whose fault is that?" It had slipped out. Shit. Gilbert inwardly berated himself for letting that slip out.

Lovino's eyebrow rose and he stared straight at Gilbert through the mirror. "Mi scusi?"

The German shrugged his broad shoulders and leaned one of them against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. "I'm just saying that it's not for the lack of trying.. on my part."

"Am I gonna get the point any time soon?"

"Vyes I've proposed like twelve times."

"B-Bastardo!" Lovino's face turned a bright scarlet and he glared at Gilbert with such ferocity and what seemed to be shame that the albino completely regretted not dropping the subject. "Is it too much to ask for more time?"

"It hurts a man's pride Vyes." Gilbert muttered grudgingly. Why was he not shutting up again? "Is a life married to me so bad? You'd think the devil himself was proposing to you. Es tut weh."

Lovino's breath caught and he stared hard at the floor. "So."

"If you do, then why do you keep doing it?" Gilbert barked. "Is it so hard to say yes? Is it? Is it really Lovino?"

"Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!" Lovino cried and he turned to his dresser, throwing the doors open and throwing clothes onto the bed.

Gilbert said nothing, as this had happened before and he'd just do what he did last time. Francis shouldn't be too occupied with Arthur and French breakfast was amazing after a crappy night. Wait a minute…

"What are you doing?" Gilbert rushed forward as he noticed that all the clothes on the bed weren't his.

"Packing."

They were Lovino's.

"Vee fratello, maybe you should just tell him why you keep pushing it off. Then he'll understand at least and not doubt how you feel about him."

Lovino resisted the very strong urge to throw his phone out the window (not his Iphone, no, no) and tried to take deep breaths as he switched lanes. What was he being so careful about? There wouldn't be anyone driving at two in the morning. Because that was what time it was. Two in the fricking morning. Two fifteen in the fricking morning if you wanted to be precise. He had left Gilbert, with much struggle, but in the end he'd gotten away.

"He knows how I feel about him that idiot. I just don't know if he knows how he feels about me." Lovino took an even deeper breath. He could feel the tell-tale prickling feeling but damn it he was not gonna cry. Dio help him he was not going to cry. Damn it.

Feliciano's voice whined through the phone's speakers, and his face dominated the screen. 3G was both a gift and a curse. "Lovi he's proposed twelve times!"

"Idiota! I know that! Why does everyone think I don't know that? Why does everyone remind me all the fucking time?! I'm the one he'd proposed that many times to so believe me I know." Lovino swerved his car back into his lane not sure when he'd started swerving in the first place and glared at his brother for a second before turning his eyes back to the road.

"Why do you keep saying no then?" Feliciano asked, his eyebrows pulled together. "I said yes to Ludwig in a heartbeat. I know that Ludwig and Gilbert are only half brothers but I think they're both the same when it comes to expressing their feelings."

"Pretty bad?" Lovino smirked.

"Si!" Feliciano exhaled. "It takes him hours to get me to understand when he wants to tell me he's happy or he's lonely or he's sad! They need time."

"So do I." Lovino sighed and leaned against his chair heavily, one hand on the wheel. He tried to remember how Gilbert said the Iphone could clip onto it's little car stand. He shouldn't have paid the German's sweaty from his recent workout's arms so much attention. Damn it.

"I guess everyone does." Feliciano hummed then yawned. "Are you close fratello?"

"Nearly there." Lovino bit his lip and managed to clip his phone onto the stand. Very carefully he moved it around so that it faced him. "You can go to sleep Feliciano, just keep the spare key underneath the mat."

"Ciancia, I shall wait for you!" Feliciano insisted and smiled at him from the phone screen. "I even made pasta to cheer you up. It'll be ready when you get here."

Lovino's heart swelled ten times its size. "Grazie fratello. Is Alaric asleep?"

Feliciano let out a small laugh. "No. He's right here! Alaric! Tu sei zio vuole parlare con te."

Lovino waited patiently as the phone was passed and he grinned dazedly as he gazed at his three year old nephew, wide eyes set on the screen in front of him. "Onkel Lovi?"

There was a downside to having parents with different nationalities. It was a miracle that Alaric understood Italian (Lovino was going to fight tooth and nail to make sure of that) even with a German name. It suited him though with his pretty blue eyes and already darkening blonde hair.

"Hello piccolo tesoro, shouldn't you be sleeping?" Lovino cooed right back. He was feeling a lot better now. The mere thought of his nephew and all the things they could do when he was over at Feliciano's lifted his spirits in ways he couldn't describe. Children were Lovino's weak points. A secret that he would take to the grave.

Even with the downside that the potato bastard was there at Feliciano's... it was a necessary evil. Besides Ludwig wasn't really that... bad... oh wow that sent shivers up his spine.

"Papà let me stay up." Alaric had adapted both Italian and German pronunciation and it was a blessing that his English was all right (Thank you Alfred!). One slightly chubby fist bumped against a small chest. "Is it hurting?"

Lovino chuckled weakly. "No, I'm okay."

"Papà says it's okay to not be okay, okay?" Alaric stared at him so intensely that Lovino broke under it and chuckled some more.

"Yes, okay." Lovino took a deep breath and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "I'm not... really okay."

Alaric beamed. "Okay. Papà made pasta."

"He told me so." Lovino hummed. "Where's your dad?"

"Vater is sleeping. He has an important class tomrow."

"It's tomorrow." Lovino corrected kindly.

"That's what I said." Alaric grinned.

"Cheeky." Lovino noted and smirking into the camera, eyes fixed on his nephew. He glanced up at the road, no one was out driving and it was incredibly silent. What he wouldn't give for some bird chirps right now... No. No. Just... Lovino took in deep breaths and gripped the steering wheel tightly.

Feliciano had a point. Maybe... maybe he should just tell Gilbert already. The potato bastard had a point too. He deserved to know why Lovino kept pushing him away.

"It hurts..."

Lovino's knuckles turned white, his eyes getting blurry with tears. He stepped on the gas pedal in an effort to get to his brother's house faster.

Then he realized he wasn't the only one on the road.

"Cazzo!"

"This has never happened before." Francis noted as he tipped his glass around. He watched delighted as the red liquid sloshed steadily before taking a sip and letting out a sigh. "I am not complaining but still..."

"I get what you mean." Antonio relaxed against the lazy boy (something Lovi had bought and taken to the house himself for Antonio's visits) and tucked into his orange juice. He did not want to face his patients drunk in the morning. Especially not Felix. Just. No. Dios knew what the blonde man would do to him when he was at his weakest. "It seems so very..."

"Quiet?" Gilbert interjected with a snort into his beer. He was slumped on a bar stool, elbows propped up on the marble counter. "No one screaming at us to get off of the counter he makes food on? No one barging in to make sure we aren't watching porn?"

"Si." Antonio murmured. He looked at Francis for a second then stared back at Gilbert. "Where's Lovi?"

"Yes, where is the feisty Italian?" Francis' eyebrows danced lewdly (if such a thing was possible) and a smirk lit up his face. "I have yet to see neither hide nor hair of the brat."

"He's not a brat." Antonio whined. "Lovi just finds it hard to express himself! Much like your marido."

"Oh how I wish." Francis sighed gustily. "How I wish Angleterre would be my husband."

"He's not a country Francis." Antonio frowned but turned back to Gilbert. "Where did you say Lovi was?"

"Ich weiß nicht," Gilbert chuckled mirthlessly.

"You sound stressed." Francis pursed his lips. "Has your Italian been withholding sex?"

"Fuck no." Gilbert burst out laughing. "He has to actually be here to withhold sex right? I mean, how can you say no to sex when you aren't even fucking here! Technically when you think about it, I guess he is kinda stopping us from having sex because I'm awesome at being loyal. Fuck I am the most awesome at being loyal and patient and loving. I can't say it to his face yet, like the three words and that Scheiße but he knows... he should know that I feel that way. Right? I mean... right?"

"Okay..." Antonio made an attempt to grab Gilbert's glass of beer. "You're drunk Gilbert."

"Give that back!" Gilbert whined when Antonio actually succeeded. "And what are you talking about? I am too awesome to get drunk! I'm German!"

"Oh my." Francis abandoned his wine glass in favor of resting his hand on Gilbert's thigh. A quick glance at Antonio showed that they were having similar thoughts. German... Non... it was never German. Gilbert was always Prussian. "Is everything all right chéri?"

"Hmm?" Gilbert looked up at Francis with glazed and blood shot eyes. Had he been...? "Course everything's all right. Why wouldn't it be? I mean, I'm just wondering where my boyfriend's gone at two in the fucking morning because he just found it fit to literally pack up and get while we were in the middle of an argument. Nothing unusual right?"

"Argument?" Antonio straightened.

"Uh huh." Gilbert nodded like a demented chicken. "I don't even know what we were fighting about! I mean, he came home from the usual family dinner and he got bitched at again so he let it out on me which is... usual I mean... it's the usual. Nothing different."

"But then?" Francis prompted.

Gilbert was quiet then, staring at the yellow colored walls of the kitchen that he and Lovino had painted themselves. The first time... it had been in this house, in this room, and Lovino had been sitting on the floor with his legs crossed underneath him and a bottle of pepsi in his hand. Gilbert let out a sound that could have been a sob or a laugh or perhaps soemthing in between. "I tried again. At least I think I did. What I got was more than the usual no."

"Oh Gilbert." Antonio breathed. He was sympathetic, and yes his thoughts were more on Lovi but his best friend needed him now too.

"Twelve times." Gilbert deadpanned. "You'd think a man would learn ja? Not me though. I just keep asking again and again and again then I end up getting hurt when he says no again and again and again. And he doesn't even tell me why he says no. Makes sense though right? Cause if I'm not good enough to say yes to then I'm most certainly not good enough to be told where he is, right? Right? Right? Gott."

"Come now Gilbert." Francis said. "You have to tell us more than that. We are not mind readers."

"Except maybe Arturo." Antonio took a sip of his juice and his eyes lit up. "Do you think he'd come here and read Gilbert's mind for us?"

"Antoine, Angleterre wouldn't touch you with a ten foot pole much less be in the same room with you with Gilbert and myself." Francis mournfully informed his friend. "Sadly, he can only handle so much of the BTT in one sitting. And if I have anything to say about it, he will only have to choose between me, myself, and I."

"Possessive." Antonio's nose wrinkled. "Not like I want him here any way. He'd probably poison my drink or something. Hombre hates me."

"And whose fault is that?" Francis drawled.

Antonio's shoulders stiffened. "Oy! He brought up the Armada!"

"Which doesn't even make sense since neither of you were alive back then." Francis muttered, enjoying the way Antonio's face turned red and his green eyes blazed with fire. It was sometimes shocking how he and Arthur looked so alike.

"And that's the thing isn't it?" Gilbert's voice interjected their nonsensical argument. "Nothing makes sense. Not a single fucking thing. Usually things are easy to understand since I'm just awesome that way but when it comes to Lovino he... Gott, he keeps me guessing. I try to understand, I seriously do but I just can't. I think I get somewhere with him and after looking closely I've only been pushed two steps back."

"Amigo..." Antonio licked his lips. "It's Lovino... you know how he is."

"Of course I do." Gilbert snapped. "Gott knows I do."

"Be kind and rewind." Francis pleaded. "You must tell us what happened before we pass judgement. Well, not Antoine, we all know he'll pick Lovi's side."

"I am not biased." Antonio frowned.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night."

"Francis!"

And that made him feel a little better. French and Spanish were thrown left and right, as if any of them understood the other's mother tongues. But it made him feel better. It was just like old times. Granted... it wasn't like how he would feel if someone just came back home already but...

He'd take what he could get.

"Gilbert, you're pants are ringing."

Francis chuckled lightly at Antonio's flippant observation and retrieved his abandoned wine glass, his argument with the Spaniard long forgotten and gone. Gilbert smirked but plucked his phone (the one responsible for the vibrating) and flipped it open and answered the call.

"Mr. Beilschmidt?"

Who... "Ja?"

"Hello sir. I'm calling in accordance to your number being listed under insurance holder number 06359's emergency contact person."

Gilbert was so glad Antonio'd taken his beer away from him.

"What happened?"

"I'm so sorry sir."

He'd have probably dropped it then if he hadn't.

AN: Prumano baby. To be continued?