So...this is my first fanfic I ever wrote. It's actually complete, but I'm uploading one chapter at a time every few days. Some OOC-ness because I wrote this when I first started getting into the show and didn't really know the characters all that well (so don't be mean about it please). I really like this story and hope that whoever stumbles upon it does too!

Chapter 1

Feliciano Vargas sighed. The woman sitting at the desk looked at him with contempt. "Mr. Vargas, make sure you keep your schedule with you at all times and do not be late to any of your classes. Do you understand?" She said the last part slowly, as if the young Italian couldn't comprehend English.

"Si, grazie." He said just to irk her. He took the pale sheet of paper and stood up just as the bell for homeroom rung. He left the guidance office in a hurry, trying not to be late to homeroom like the councilor had asked. He took off at a dead sprint down the hallway that was slowly becoming more and more empty. He pulled out the schedule and looked for his homeroom number. Class 2-A. Where is that? The Italian wondered. He looked up just as he collided into a tall boy with white hair and disturbing red eyes.

"Hey watch where you're going idiot! You ran into my awesome self!" The boy pushed him to the cold tiled floor and sneered. "You gonna cry curly hair?" He laughed and walked into the nearby classroom. Feliciano stood up and brushed his beige slacks off. What's his problem? He looked at the number plate on the door the albino had just walked into. Of course the rude kid was in his homeroom!

Feliciano opened the door just as the late bell rang. Everyone in the room swiveled in their seats to look at the tardy Italian. A tall blond boy was standing at the front of the room taking attendance. "You must be Feliciano Vargas." He said. The boy was German, as was evident in his rough accent. The boy looked down at his paper and made a quick slash beside the latecomer's name. "Your seat is right there." He pointed to an empty seat next to a kid who had some headphones in. Feliciano looked at the inattentive teacher picking at her nails. Feliciano apologized for being late and headed to his new seat.

The kid with headphones wore glasses and an aviator jacket. He pulled an earbud out. "Hey dude, what's up!" he shouted, clearly not realizing he was doing so. "Name's Alfred. Call me Al." He stuck out a hand and shook Feliciano's vigorously. Feliciano smiled.

"Hello. My name is Feliciano. I'm new here."

"Duh, dude! I'm gonna call you Feli, you cool with that?" Alfred turned away from the new kid without waiting for a reply. Feliciano was about to object to the nickname when he felt a tapping on his shoulder.

"Hi I'm Matt," whispered the tapper. "I'm sorry about my cousin. He's very obnoxious. I'm from Canada by the way." Feliciano smiled warmly at the quiet boy. He was known to be loud- and obnoxious- on occasion. But since he was in a new and unknown environment, he was oddly quiet. He pulled out his schedule to survey the rest of his classes. They were all middle road classes, nothing too easy, but also nothing that would be really challenging.

He looked around the classroom at the variety of races. Their particular homeroom was made up of the children of foreign dignitaries, diplomats, and ambassadors. His father was the Italian ambassador and had been located to America for the next few years. Feliciano didn't really mind the sudden move, but his older brother Lovino had been absolutely pissed. He had friends and a life that he had to say goodbye to. As far as he could tell, there were kids from Japan, France, and Russia in his class as well as the German, American, and Canadian. He turned back to Matt to ask him about the albino boy.

"Oh that's Gilbert Beilschmidt. His parents are from Prussia. He's kind of into himself." Matt winced when said narcissist whipped around in his seat to glare at the two of them. "Um…if you don't mind my asking, did you do something to make him this upset?"

"I wasn't looking where I was going." Was all Feliciano had time to say, the class rep. (he was told that was who the German was later) shouted for the students to "Be silent or else." It seems that the German was very intimidating because everyone shut up right away.

"Listen up everyone, in one week we will be having a school festival to welcome everyone back from summer vacation. We will be having a vote tomorrow on what we will do as a class. So think of some good ideas tonight. And nein Francis, we will not be having a kissing booth, so don't even think about suggesting it." The French boy lowered his hand and pouted.

"Aw Ludwig, you are such a stick in the mud!" The blond Frenchman whined.

"Oh shut up you bloody whiner! No one likes your stupid French customs." An English boy by the name of Arthur Kirkland said. The French boy turned to him looking genuinely hurt.

"Arthur, why are so cruel to me? Can't you see that I just want to spread the beauty of love with the world?" Francis stood up, carried away with his flamboyancy.

"Sit down!" The Greman yelled. The charismatic Frenchman sat down abruptly, giving Arthur a sideways glance.

Ludwig cleared his throat, "That is all for today, but I will remind you to keep your voices down. We are civilized human beings." The boy stepped down from the podium and walked across the bright white classroom to his seat next to the door. A few minutes later, the bell for first period rung, dismissing the students from their mundane homerooms.

Feliciano wandered the halls, still lost on his way to Algebra. He wasn't in a rush, seeing as his grade in math was always less than stellar. The short Italian boy turned the corner to find the very class he had been searching for. He walked through the doorway and stopped in his tracks. A tall boy that he recognized from his homeroom stood right in front of him. The boy had silvery gray hair, the most odd purple eyes, and always wore a white scarf and heavy jacket (even though it was just the beginning of September, the weather was still pretty warm outside, and the school didn't seem to know what air conditioning was). The strange boy gave Feliciano a small smile.

"Hello. I am Ivan. Pleased to meet you Feli." He had a distinct Russian accent that almost made what he was saying hard for the Italian to decipher. Feliciano was about to return the greeting, but glared at him instead.

"My name is Feliciano, please don't call me Feli. It makes me uncomfortable when people call me that." Ivan nodded his head and lead Feliciano into the classroom.

"You are Italian, no?"

"That's right, my family moved here last week. My big brother is somewhere here too. He's a year ahead of us though."

"Ahh, I see. So will he be sitting with us for lunch?"

Feliciano, being new to American schools, did not know exactly when lunch was, considering it wasn't labeled on his schedule. Come to think of it, he was hungry now. "Um, I'm not sure…" He pulled out the piece of paper and showed it to the Russian. "When exactly is lunch? Is it soon, I'm starving!" The other boy took the paper and studied it for a moment.

"My friend, you have the fourth lunch shift. Last of day." He gave him a sad smile and handed the paper back.

"What?! The last one! I'm gonna die!" The Italian wailed.

Ivan patted the forlorn boy on the back. "Sorry. It also looks like you have gym before lunch as well."

"What?!"

After a grueling three hours of classes, divided between Algebra and United States history, Feliciano slumped his way towards the gymnasium. Why did gym have to come before lunch? Hell, why did there have to be gym at all. Physical activity had to be the one thing he did worse at than math! He still looked good and slim –considering his diet was mostly carbs- but if he didn't have to, Feliciano didn't do anything that required him to move at any pace other than his own.

He walked into the huge gym, bright ceiling lights blinding him as he stepped through the double doors. "He newb!" a voice called from behind him. "Get back to the locker room and don't even think about setting foot into my gym without your uniform on!" The man who spoke so rudely to him was the gym coach. He was a sweaty and slightly large man. His rotund stomach sagged over his waistband and his bald head shone with exertion. Feliciano, not wanting to further entice the wrath of Coach Dean, scurried into the boy's locker room at the end of the hall.

The locker room was your average American locker room, lots of guys in various stages of dress (or undress), some showers in the back corner, and little to no privacy. Feliciano chose an empty locker at random and went to go find someone who could give him a uniform. After that conundrum, he slipped the shirt and shorts on and headed out the door.

He strode into the vast gym once again and felt his eyes grow to be about the size of platters. Of course they were doing the mile on his first day. Kill me now. The young Italian thought. He got in line with the rest of the boys in his class and noticed right away that there were no girls in sight. He turned to the boy nearest him and asked where all the girls were. The Asian boy glanced at him, "They are probably in health right now." Feliciano was confused. The girls got to sit around and do nothing, why couldn't he?

Coach Dean yelled at the "sissies" to get a move on and head to the track. After what felt like an eternity, they completed the long trek to the track. Feliciano wanted to drop dead right where he was currently standing, but Coach had other things on his mind. "Alright. GO!" he blew his tin whistle hard and it emitted a harsh shrill sound into the slightly humid air. The boys all started off at a moderate pace, some faster than others. Feliciano tried- really he did- to keep a descent pace, but after about half a lap, he felt his legs begin to fail him. He very nearly collapsed after his first lap, he was so tired.

Feliciano heard the crunch of gravel behind him and began moving aside for whoever it was behind him. The pace of the student slowed to match his own. The Italian turned his weary, sweaty, head in the direction of the newcomer. It was that kid Ludwig from his homeroom. "Hey Feliciano, are you alright, you look like you're going to pass out." There was genuine concern in the German's piercing blue eyes. "You can stop running if you get tired you know. You can always walk." The Italian stopped dead in his tracks.

"W-what did you say! I could have stopped?" He didn't budge from where he stood. Ludwig back tracked to speak with his classmate.

"Ja, if you ran the whole thing, you would probably die from exhaustion. Walk with me." The two walked slowly the rest of the mile, considering Feliciano had pretty much worn himself out to the point where walking was all he could do. They didn't talk, but enjoyed one another's silent company.

After the bell had finally freed them from the dreaded mile, the two boys headed back into, the now smelly, locker room. It just so happened that their lockers were next to each other. Feliciano changed rather quickly due to his being self conscious, and waited out in the hall for his new friend.

They walked to the cafeteria together, and Ludwig showed him how to get his lunch. American's had so many choices for food. There was pizza, hamburgers, salads, sandwiches, chicken tenders and- PASTA. Feliciano let out a squeal. He hadn't been this happy since, well a while actually.

"Ludwig, Ludwig I want pasta!" The now hyper Italian exclaimed, pulling on the other boy's arm, leading him to the pasta line. Feliciano grabbed a tray and three plates of the pasta and headed over to the check out line. The woman working the line gave him a look, but didn't say anything. She just charged his account and watched as the two boys left to enter the main lunch room.

They sat with Alfred, Arthur, and the Asian kid from their gym class; his name was Honda Kiku. His father was the Japanese ambassador, and he was in America with his Chinese cousin, Wang Yao (who did not yet officially attend school with them).

"So, what are you gonna do for the talent show Kiku?" Alfred asked.

The Japanese boy looked at the American worriedly, "I do not know yet. I was thinking about doing-"

"What about you Italy?" Alfred cut off the quiet Japanese boy.

Italy? Is my name really that hard to remember? Feliciano thought. "Um, I didn't know that this school did talent shows. Maybe I'll do a parody song." Feliciano liked to make up silly songs about his friends and sing them to embarrass whomever they were about. He already had an idea forming in his head.

"Cool dude! I didn't know you could sing!" The loud American shouted.

"Al, why are you so loud?" Arthur asked. "You are obnoxious enough as it is, I'm certain no one wants to hear your bloody voice more than they already do!" The Brit stood up and abruptly left.

"What crawled up his ass and died?" Alfred wondered aloud. "I wonder if it was a certain French boy." Feliciano understood Al's tone of voice, there was clearly something going on between the two young boys, and he was pretty sure he knew what it was.

Feliciano walked to his last class of the day, art. He had always loved painting, and was quite good at it. He sat down at an unoccupied easel and began painting the subject matter assigned by the teacher. They were to paint a mythological creature of their choosing. He thought about what to paint. A unicorn- too girly, even if they were pretty. A dragon- no, he was no good at dragons. He thought hard, a mythological creature…he picked up his brush and dipped it into a forest green. After recalling a story his Grandpa Romulus told him, he painted exactly how he thought the beautiful creature would look. Forty minutes later, he set his brush down and inspected his work. It was a stunning painting really. It depicted a dryad, a tree spirit, morphing into her human form. Her arms were still branches lifted high into the air. Her hair was still green and leafy, but her face and legs were slowly morphing into a more human appearance. In the background, satyrs chased other dryads, but they were painted with less care, seeing as they were not the intended subject. Feliciano smiled at his work and silently thanked his grandfather and numerous art tutors. This was another time the usually bubbly Italian was nearly silent, art was something that required focus and diligence. He signed his name in the bottom corner with a flourish and left it to dry.

At the end of class, the teacher walked around to inspect the students' work. She was taken away by the astounding beauty of the Italian transfer student's classic mythology painting. She smiled at him and praised him until his face went crimson.

The final bell rang and everyone gathered their things in their arms and headed to their lockers. Feliciano grabbed his book bag and put his Algebra and History textbooks in it (woo hoo homework). He met up with his older brother Lovino and they headed home after an eventful first day of school.

So that was chapter one! Feedback is welcomed and encouraged!

-EnigmaFire17