Lovino parked his bike right outside the bookstore and locked it to the bike rack. Hopefully no one would steal it this time. He had already lost two other bikes until he finally gave in and bought a lock. He was too lazy to ride anywhere other than the "bad part" of town, and he certainly couldn't afford a car, so he was forced to ride that stupid hunk of metal around everywhere.
Other than the inconvenience of being out of breath from going uphill the whole trip to the bookstore, everything else that day had been going pretty great for Lovino. He hadn't run into anyone annoying since this morning, when he made the mistake of riding past his neighbor's house. Gilbert moved in next to him only a week ago, but Lovino had nearly strangled him sixteen times already.
Every morning on his way to work, Lovino had to remember to go the long way to his job at the bookstore just so he could avoid Gilbert, but this morning he had been in such a hurry that he accidently turned left instead of right when he left the driveway. He regretted it almost instantly. It's not like he couldn't ignore the catcalls and pick-up lines Gilbert shouted; he was the master at ignoring people, but he eventually wondered if Gilbert actually meant what he said. Did he actually care when he asked Lovino, "How you doin'," nearly every time he saw him, or was that something he said to everyone?
Whether he meant it or not, it annoyed the shit out of Lovino, so he did his best to just avoid Gilbert at all costs, even if it meant he got to work five minutes late every day.
Although the ride to work was agonizing, the scenery was beautiful. Well, until he hit the modernized part of it, where most of the buildings were in shambles, and you couldn't walk a block without encountering some sort of drug addict or dealer. He dreaded riding his bike through this part of town, but there was nowhere else he could work that was close enough to ride his bike to, and there was no way he was going to ride the bus every day.
Ignoring the police sirens blaring somewhere in the distance, Lovino made his way to the front door of the store and unlocked it, stepping in to another monotonous day of dealing with screaming children and stupid customers. As soon as he got behind the counter, he heard the bell at the door—the one that indicated someone had just entered the shop— ring several times too many, as if someone was jumping in and out of the threshold.
"Ma'am, would you please control your child?" Lovino was used to these little annoyances by now.
After Lovino finished his eight-hour shift, the sun was starting to set, and he needed to get home to start dinner, or Feliciano would try to do it himself and make a mess of the kitchen, leaving it messy and in chaos just like he did every time he tried cook.
Lovino stepped out of the store and locked the door behind him, not looking forward to the ride home, even if it was downhill most of the way. He noticed that several more bikes had been locked up next to his, and he was glad it hadn't been stolen this time. His combination for the lock was simple—317—his and his little brother, Feliciano's, birthday. He switched the numbers to the correct ones and yanked at the lock, but it didn't budge. What the? He tried again. It didn't work. And again. He tried fourteen times yet the chain still wouldn't come loose. He was about to go back into the bookstore to get a pair of clippers when he noticed that the chain was green, not blue, and it was attached to another bike. Great, some idiot chained their bike to mine.
Now Lovino had to wait for whatever genius managed to chain their bike to his and not even notice. Again, he considered finding a pair of clippers or something to break the chain, but he didn't want to piss anyone off, especially not in this neighborhood.
After standing awkwardly outside for nearly twenty minutes, Lovino decided to wait in the bookshop until someone showed up. Inside it was warm and comforting; it was Lovino's second home, and he felt just as comfortable there as he did in his own living room, especially after hours. The familiar scent of old paper and dust made him relax, and he sat in one of the overused armchairs by the fireplace, making sure he could still see out the front window.
He must have drifted off for a while, because when he woke up to a loud crash, it was significantly darker outside. To his dismay, the other bike was still there and just as attached to his as it was before, and now he had to deal with whatever made the noise that woke him up. If it was a robber or something like that, he was going to flip his shit because this was the third time just that week that he had to beat someone's ass for breaking in. He assumed it was probably just an old drunk who wandered in earlier and was still there when Lovino had locked up.
Trying to be as quiet as he could, Lovino grabbed a giant dictionary out of the reference section to use as a weapon if the intruder tried to cause trouble. He snuck around the corner of a bookshelf, ready to slam the book over someone's head, but there was no one, just more books.
"Excuse me… um… sir."
Lovino turned around and screamed. The man standing before him was definitely not there a few seconds ago.
Lovino's scream caused the other man to scream as well. What the hell is going on?
"Who are you? We're closed. Why are you here?"
"Sorry, but when you locked the door earlier I was still in here. I didn't know you were closing and you didn't tell me," the man replied.
"Oh. I didn't see you."
"That happens to me a lot more than you'd think."
"Sorry," Lovino mumbled. He was in a bad mood, and he didn't feel like being social with anyone. Even though their confrontation was short-lived, it was still enough social interaction for Lovino for that day, and it was getting rather personal. He just wanted to go home.
"I'm Matthew, by the way." He held out his hand for Lovino to shake it. "Matthew Williams."
Lovino reluctantly took his hand. "Lovino," he grumbled. "Now don't you have a home to get to?"
"Oh. Yeah. Sorry." He said goodbye and ran out of the shop.
Lovino stood there for a moment, trying to process what had just happened. He couldn't understand what the big deal was with that little interaction, but it kept bugging him the whole ride home. The memory stuck in his mind as he made dinner and when he lay awake at night, trying with no success to fall asleep.
What about that man had bothered him so much? He had no idea. He wanted to punch himself in the face, but all he did was lay there in the dark, freaking out about nothing.
Since Lovino didn't fall asleep until 3 AM, he called in sick that morning and slept until noon. He was woken by an over-excited Feliciano, yelling about something.
"Wake up Lovi!" His brother burst through his bedroom door, the light from the hallway flooding into his room, nearly blinding Lovino.
"Fratello, how many times have I told you not to do that," he snapped.
"I lost count after two hundred," he answered, not realizing that it was rhetorical question. "But don't you remember what today is?" Feliciano smiled and jumped up and down.
Lovino rolled over to look at the date on his phone. March 17. He hadn't realized yesterday that his and Feliciano's birthday was coming up. He wondered whether it was a coincidence or not that he and his brother had the same birthday, even though Lovino was two years older.
"Oh look at that. Another year of my life down the drain." He sighed and rolled out of bed.
"Please don't be sad Lovi. Ludwig is taking us out for lunch today!"
"You mean that potato bastard is taking you out for lunch. I am not going anywhere."
"But you promised you would go with us," Feliciano whined. He pulled Lovino out of his room by his arm. "You're going whether you like it or not."
"Fratello, you let go of me right now or God help me I will—"
He was cut off by the squeak of the screen door opening and slamming shut. "Hurray, Ludwig is here," Feliciano cheered as he let go of Lovino's arm and ran to the foyer.
"You can tell that damn bastard that if he touches you, he'll wake up without a tongue!"
Lovino sat down in one of the living-room chairs after he had begun to feel dizzy. He didn't know why. He had gotten nine hours of sleep which was way more than he usually got, but he still felt tired enough to fall asleep in that uncomfortable chair, and he nearly did. However, Feliciano came stomping into the living room, dragging Ludwig along with him.
"Feliciano, I have told you several times that I do not want garbage in my living room," Lovino growled as he glared at Ludwig, who, as usual, ignored him.
"Lovi, come on. Get dressed. We need to leave now," he complained, also ignoring Lovino's previous comment. "The restaurant we're going to only serves my favorite pasta until 1:00," Feliciano tugged at Lovino's tattered shirt sleeve with his free arm.
"Go without me. If my boss sees that I'm not actually sick she'll fire me, and I—we can't afford that."
"Alright." Feliciano gave up the argument as quick as he started it and pulled Ludwig out the front door.
After he heard the slam of the door, Lovino immediately stood up and half walked-half crawled up the stairs to his bedroom. He fell back into his bed and his head began throbbing. Maybe I actually am sick.
Lovino woke up to a faint buzzing noise. Recognizing the noise as his phone vibrating, he rolled over and looked at the number that was calling him. He didn't know whose it was, so he pressed ignore call and threw his phone back onto the other side of the bed. His headache had gotten worse, so he got up to get an aspirin from his small bathroom connected to his bedroom with a skinny doorway covered by a blanket. He took a couple pills and sat back down on his bed, only to feel something shaking under his leg. He moved slightly to the left and saw that his phone was buzzing again, with the same number as earlier at the top.
There was no way for Lovino to figure out who was calling him, other than answering the call. What's the worst that could happen? He clicked answer and held the phone to his ear.
"Hello?"
"Hello. Who is this?"
"Who is this? You called me."
"Sorry, I must have the wrong number." Wait a minute. Lovino recognized that voice. He wracked his brain for a moment before he remembered. It was that idiot from the bookstore yesterday. What was his name?
"Matthew?"
"Yes. Who is this?"
"Matthew Williams?"
"Yeah. Seriously who is this? Alfred if this is another one of your stupid pranks, I swear to God I will pour maple syrup on your hair when you're sleeping."
"Alfred? It's Lovino." Who the hell is Alfred?
"Wh— ohhh," Matthew said with sudden realization. "You're the guy from the bookstore. Sorry. Your number is extremely close to my brother's," he stopped, allowing the awkward silence to surround them. "I'm going to hang up now."
That's when Lovino made a sudden decision. "Wait!" he had no idea what made him say it, but there was no turning back now.
"What?" Matthew sounded concerned. "Are you hurt? Do you need help?"
"No. I'm fine. I just… Nevermind."
"Okay?" Matthew paused. "Bye." Lovino heard a click and promptly threw his phone into a pile of dirty clothes on his bedroom floor. He buried his face in his pillow and screamed as loud as he could, wondering why the hell he felt like this. Whatever had just happened shouldn't be such a big deal to him. He often had these small exchanges with strangers, sometimes they were even more awkward, but they had never bugged him like this before.
Needing desperately to clear his mind, he decided that since his headache was getting slightly more bearable, he could at least get dressed. He had just taken off his tattered T-shirt when he heard the front door open and almost immediately slam shut afterwards.
"What the hell," Lovino whispered, as he quickly threw a clean shirt on and cautiously stepped out of his bedroom. It better not be a murderer. Lovino was not in the mood to deal with that at the moment.
He walked quietly through the hall until he was at the top of the stairs, where he stopped. He could hear footsteps somewhere around the foyer. It was definitely not Feliciano; he would be stomping around and yelling about Ludwig or pasta. No, it was someone else, and Lovino had no idea who.
Figuring that it probably wasn't a murderer, not in broad daylight, but could possibly be a robber, Lovino picked up the umbrella that Feliciano had left leaning against the wall a few weeks ago. It probably wasn't lethal enough to kill anyone, but he could do some significant damage if the intruder tried to attack him. Holding the black umbrella in front of him, Lovino silently made his way down the stairs, praying for them not to creak, which was highly unlikely, considering it was an old house.
Much to his delight, Lovino made it to the bottom of the staircase without making a single noise or tripping at all, though many of his and Feliciano's belongings were scattered about the steps, making it a hazard to go up or downstairs. Luckily when he peeked around the corner into the foyer, there was nothing. Maybe the sound of the door opening was just his imagination, and there was actually no one in his home at all, but he heard footsteps again. This time the echoes came from the kitchen.
Instead of entering the kitchen from the hallway that led to the stairs, Lovino went through the back entrance, which connected the kitchen to the living room. He figured it would be best to surprise attack whoever had broken into his house, so he jumped into the kitchen and screamed, "What the fuck are you doing in my kitchen, bastard?"