Author's note: Not a true story obviously~ But it's loosely based on my Aunt and Uncle's experience at an Italian football match.
There is Fruk in this (established relationship).
"Go Manchester!" Arthur was practically yelling at the top of his voice, a red and black scarf wrapped tightly around his neck, despite the 30ºC temperature.
Francis sighed, rolling his eyes at his boyfriend's behaviour. They had been invited to see a match in Italy, Juventus Vs. Manchester United. Francis hadn't been particularly keen, but he didn't want to be the only one to turn the invitation down.
It didn't take them long to find the others. Ludwig had gotten into an argument with some British Man U supporters at a drinks stand.
"Queuing, why are you British so obsessed with queuing!" Ludwig grumbled after Francis and Arthur had sorted out the mess, "it takes forever and encourages people to take their time, it's not productive!"
"We have manners!" Arthur snapped back, stamping on Francis' foot when he caught the Frenchman winking at a pretty girl walking past, "Eyes off you perverted git!"
Feliciano was nearby, waiting for Ludwig to return with the drinks, Lovino was standing on his other side, throwing over-exaggerated glances at his watch.
"Why did we invite the Pervert, the potato bastard and the scary one?" Lovino complained loudly, "Antonio is a much better football supporter,"
Arthur scowled, "we British practically invented the game!"
"No you didn't, the Chinese did" Francis pointed out, "you lot only came up with all those stupid rules,"
"good rules, that you Latin twats don't bother to follow!"
Feliciano was hopping up and down excitedly, oblivious to the arguments.
"Perhaps we should go and find our seats" Ludwig suggested before Francis, Arthur and Lovino could break out into a truly vicious argument.
Begrudgingly everybody began to move with the crowd into the stadium. Already the supporters were cheering and chanting at the tops of their voices, most of the British supporters had beer cans in their hands and were probably already slightly drunk.
The group found themselves sitting in front of a row of tense Italians. It was only after five minuets that Ludwig registered that Lovino and Feliciano had not said a word since they'd sat down.
Arthur was still cheering, pausing only to whack Francis if his eyes travelled anywhere other than Arthur or the pitch.
"Feli are you okay?" Ludwig turned to look at his Italian friend with concern. On a usual day, Feliciano would have turned to greet everybody that was in the nearby vicinity, whereas now he had adopted the position the Italians above had taken and was just staring at the pitch with an excited and fierce look in his eyes.
"Haven't you ever been to an Italian match before?" It was Arthur who spoke, catching Ludwig's attention, "they go mad, it's the only place you ever see a truly aggressive Italian,"
"What do you mean?" Ludwig personally couldn't believe that Feliciano could be aggressive in any situation.
"Well take this example, one Italian player scored a hat-trick in a match and won the game; the Italians treated him like a god, a bishop even came onto the pitch and blessed it. A few months later the same player performed badly and they were chucking bricks through his window," Arthur shrugged, sparing a small glance at Feliciano and Lovino.
Then the Manchester players ran out onto the pitch. Every Italian in the crowd hissed and booed, while the British shouted back at them while applauding their own side.
"Skum!" Lovino shouted, shooting an almost accusing glare at Arthur, who responded with some very foul language, but kept his attention mostly on the game.
When the Italian players came out a deafening cheer rose up from the Italians, half of the crowd started sobbing in their seats, like they were emitting all the passion in their bodies on this moment.
When the match began it soon became clear that there was a lot more emotion where that came from.
Ludwig counted the emotions has they passed over Feliciano's face; joy, depression, sadness, excitement and even fury.
Although he wasn't as vocal as his brother, Ludwig got the impression that Feliciano looked ready to explode at any minuet.
"We'll teach those soppy Italians a lesson" Arthur smirked cheerfully enough, "just you wait," he grinned, taking another swig of beer.
Francis exchanged a glance with Ludwig, honestly he was just as surprised as the German. In these sorts of situations it was normally Arthur who started behaving violently, and Feliciano who took things easily. Although the Brit was obviously excited and giddy about the game he still looked fairly relaxed.
Half time was coming up, and the score currently stood at 1 – 1, to the delight of the Brits and the anger of the Italians.
Francis had to push off several Italians behind them that had taken a lunge for Arthur after Manchester scored a goal, Lovino even made a dive for a Brit on his other side and had to be pulled off by Ludwig.
Feliciano was still boiling like a pot with its lid on.
When Manchester scored a second goal the Italian supporters turned on their own team. Feliciano gave a low growl then yelled above the audience, ""Vincete questa partita o vi ammazzo tutti!"!"
"What did he say?" Francis turned to Ludwig, who was the only one of the three of them that spoke any Italian.
Ludwig was staring at Feliciano's angry face in shock, "something about killing the players if they don't win..."
"...And the final score 2 – 3 to Manchester."
The stadium lost it.
The Brits and Man U supporters cheered.
Several Italians jumped onto the field and lunged at the players.
While Feliciano trembling slightly, got to his feet and leaped across Ludwig and Francis, knocking Arthur of his seat with his hands clasped around his throat.
Instinctively Francis grabbed Feliciano by his collar, and only just stopped himself from hitting his boyfriend's attacker.
Meanwhile Ludwig was pulling Lovino back from joining his fellow supporters on the field.
It wasn't until the train journey back that everything began to calm down again. Arthur was certainly happy that his team had won the match and was now resting his head on Francis' shoulder, yawning widely.
Feliciano, sleeping peacefully on Ludwig's lap looked every picture of innocence, and his brother, while not the perfect picture of innocence was still sleeping calmly.
Francis caught Ludwig's eye, "we are never going to an Italian football match again."