Dammit. He's so annoying.

"Hey, Lovi, aren't the trees so pretty today?"

Does he ever stop smiling? Does he ever shut up?

"Hey, Lovi, are you listening? Look! Birds! Aren't they cute?"

I'm going to explode. I can't handle it anymore. He's way too cheerful.

"Lovi, listen! They're singing, to each other, too, isn't that—"

"Shut up!"

Lovino didn't need to look up to know that Antonio's face was darkening, because he was so used to breaking down his good moods. It wasn't something he was proud of, but, hey, nobody should be as happy as him all the time. It just wasn't healthy.

"Lovi, what's wrong?" The Italian still did not meet his friend's—if you could call him that—gaze, even though he could feel it against his neck, prickly and uncomfortable. The tone of the Spaniard's voice struck a little guilty tone in his heart. He wasn't sure how to reply to the question, so he kept his eyes down.

Why is everyone happy but me?