Chapter 1

Lovino kicked the wall angrily, muttering under his breath. He had lost count of how many times he had cut classes this week. Today, however, was Friday, which meant this counted less as skipping class and more of starting the weekend early.

Sighing, he kicked the wall again for good measure and slid down, resting with his back against the white bricks. He looked at his watch, the sound of the school bells confirming the time showing on the small dial. 3.00pm.

Good. Five minutes and I'm outta here.

The bells signalled the last lesson of the day, the time anyone was least likely to come looking for him. Not that anyone would bother by now anyway. He sighed again. It was unlikely that any teaching staff would come looking for him here, being as he was at the very back of the school sports building, half hidden by trees, but there was always the risk that someone would see him. Every day was the same routine. Go to school, show up for a class once in a blue moon, get bored, skip, leave. Wash, rinse and repeat. He looked down at his watch again.

3:04. Good enough, I suppose.

With that, he rose, slung his bag over his shoulder, and made his way out of the school grounds, using the back entrance to lessen the chance that anyone would see him. As always, he couldn't help but feel a small pang of guilt and something almost like betrayal at the fact that no one ever did bother to chase after him.

See, I really don't matter to anyone. I don't know why I even bother showing up in the first place.

He made his way along the empty streets, stopping for a moment to kick an empty can for a few paces, pretending it was a football. He scored a goal by hitting it between two lampposts, cheered for himself, then lowered his arm, feeling slightly foolish.

When he got to the house he lived in with his brother and grandfather, he gasped. There, where there should have been an empty driveway, was his grandfather's car, as well as another, a sleek red model that definitely didn't belong to anyone he knew.

Shit. Grandfather must be home early from work, but who the hell does the other car belong to? Shit, shit, shit, this is bad.

He walked up to the house tentatively, deciding to use the front door. He would normally go in the back when coming home from playing truant, but since the back door led to the kitchen this was probably wasn't a good idea. Instead, he inserted his key in the front door and turned the handle slowly, trying to make as little noise as possible in the hope that his grandfather wouldn't notice his entrance. Once in the porch, he slipped his shoes and jacket off and tiptoed down the hallway, then peered through the gap of the hinges, looking into the kitchen.

His grandfather was there all right, as well as a strange man sitting at the table. From Lovino's vantage point behind the door, all he could see was a mop of light brown hair and the back of a red and white striped shirt. At the sight of the stranger, Lovino couldn't help a sharp gasp from escaping. No. Not him. Why is he here, now? A sudden thought occurred to him. No. please don't say he's here to take me away again. I won't leave. I won't do it. His panic rising, he strained to hear the conversation.

"-could really help him, Antonio."

Lovino shivered. Hearing that name, a flood of memories overwhelmed him. Too late, he heard his grandfather calling his name.

"Lovino? I know you're there. Why don't you come say hello instead of skulking behind the door?"

Lovino jumped, gasping again. He took a deep breath and walked out into the kitchen, stubbornly refusing to even look at the stranger, keeping his gaze locked on his grandfather instead. Roma looked down at his grandson, seeing the mixture of nerves and anger on his face, then relaxed his face.

"I assume you heard all that?" he asked.

Lovino frowned. How come he isn't mad at me for skipping school again? Warily, he replied "Si, grandfather. Something about helping me." He couldn't quite keep a bitter note from his voice. He dared a quick glance towards the man, who was still sitting at the table.

Roma sighed. "Yes. While I would normally give you a good lecture for skipping school once again, for once your truancy is actually for the best. You will have guessed who our guest is already, I hope?"

Lovino looked away, still refusing to meet the man's gaze, but nodded imperceptibly. Roma's mouth twisted in a grimace. Taking hold of Lovino's shoulders, he turned his grandson to face the man, who had now stood up to face Lovino.

"Here he is, Antonio. He looks a little different than when you last saw him, no?"

Hesitantly. Lovino raised his gaze and stared at the man in front of him. He was just as he remembered.

Light brown, tousled hair in a smooth, tanned face. Brilliant green eyes that had always reminded Lovino of sunlight on grass. A gentle, kind smile, the same he had always worn despite any amount of Lovino's often terrific temper. He held his arms out, the same smile showing now. His voice was the same as Lovino remembered, that told him stories when he couldn't sleep, when yet another nightmare came and he awoke crying for his mother, for Roma, for Feli, for anyone. The same voice that had sung to him softly and lulled him to sleep, had woken him in the morning on the rare days that Lovino hadn't woken him first. The voice that he had heard laughing, talking, singing, and on very rare times, crying. All of the memories he had tried to forget came rushing back as Antonio looked at him and spoke, his voice the same Spanish accent that he used to both love and hate.

"Little Lovi. How I have missed you."

He kept his arms out, waiting. After Lovino made no move to step towards him, Roma gave him a push, making him stumble forwards and into Antonio's arms.

His embrace was just as he remembered, a little different now due to their almost matched height, but still the same warm, strong arms that had held him as a child. Again a rush of memories flooded through him. The many summers spent back home in Italy. Antonio picking him up and swinging him round, the two of them picking tomatoes and olives on his farm, sitting together at the kitchen table after a long day. Nights spent cuddled up to him, his arms often the only way to keep the nightmares at bay, however vehemently he would try to deny it.

Lovino shuddered. His arms crept up to tighten around Antonio of their own accord. The two stood like that for a moment, until Roma cleared his throat, looking slightly apologetic when Lovino jumped back in surprise, his face flushed with a rush of emotions.

"As lovely as it is to see the two of you like this, I did not invite you here just to reminisce, Antonio."

Antonio's face turned solemn, and he let go of Lovino, returning to sit at the table. Wordlessly, he indicated that Lovino should sit opposite him. He did so warily, unsure why the atmosphere had changed so suddenly. Roma suddenly excused himself, taking a pack of beer out of the fridge and walking into the next room, presumably to watch TV. As he went out of the room, he said to Lovino

"You'd do well to listen hard to what Antonio has to say, Lovino. This is your last chance."

Lovino's frown deepened. Last chance? What the hell does he mean? Last chance for what?

[end of version 2]

Puzzled, he stared at his grandfather's retreating back, then turned his head back to Antonio slowly.

The Spaniard had an uncharacteristically serious expression, mixed with a hint of what could only be called pity. They sat in silence for a few moments, until Antonio finally cleared his throat and spoke, gently.

"Lovino. I shall get straight to the point. Your grandfather tells me that you are having what might be called some trouble at school."

Lovino held back a scoff, the emotion he held felt over Antonio's sudden return abruptly replaced with his usual anger. Trouble? Yeah, you could call it that. Frowning, he heard Antonio continue.

"To put it briefly, you regularly skip classes, sometimes not showing up at all. When you do go to class you are often in trouble for not paying attention. Your performance is poor, you often pick or get into fights with other students, and, to pardon the pun, you were kicked off the football team for aggression, both in your own team and towards your opponents. Does that sound about right?"

Lovino glared at Antonio, but didn't bother to deny it. How the hell does he know everything about me? Damn you, grandfather, telling him everything.

Instead of replying, he glared down at his hands, clenched in his lap.

"Lovino". Antonio said softly. "Look at me."

He did, reluctantly. When his eyes met the Spaniards, he felt a spark of something he couldn't place. He looked away again stubbornly, refusing to make further eye contact. Antonio sighed.

"Very well. If you won't explain what's wrong, at least read this. It should explain everything well enough." He took a letter out of his front pocket and placed it on the table between them. Lovino waited a few moments before reaching out and taking it slowly, making a show of seeming bored about it. He slid it out of the envelope, his breath hitching when he saw the school's crest with the familiar motto across the header. He scanned the page furiously, his anger growing with every word. When he reached the last line, he threw the paper down on the table and stood up, throwing his chair back. It fell to the floor, crashing, but he ignored it, too furious to care.

"Is this some kind of joke? I won't do it. I don't need any help, not least from a bastard like you" he spat. A horrified thought ran through his mind, and he scanned the page again.

"This is dated a week ago. Why have you waited until now to give me this?"

Antonio looked surprisingly guilty. His voice was hesistant at first, but firm as he replied

"We - Roma and I - have already discussed this with your headmaster. If you agree to this, we will all have a meeting tomorrow morning to sort everything out. If you don't go…" his voice trailed off.

He didn't have to finish his sentence. Realisation flitted across Lovino's face, quickly replaced with seething anger.

"How the hell could you go behind my back like this? You bastard!" He stared at Antonio, then his grandfather, who had come into the room when he heard Lovino shouting. He stared at the two men for a moment, hot tears pricking his eyes. Roma was about to reprimand him for his language, but was cut off by the boy suddenly turning and running upstairs. They heard the sound of a door slamming loudly, then silence.

Antonio watched as Lovino ran up to his room, then sighed, tucking the letter back into the envelope and putting it back in his pocket. He got up and picked Lovino's chair up, setting it back to rights at the table. He walked over to the lounge, then took a seat in one of the armchairs. Roma walked in moment later with a can of beer in his hand, which he held out to Antonio, who accepted it gratefully. The two sat in silence for a moment, then Roma spoke.

"I take it my grandson was less than pleased with the letter?"

Antonio sighed. "Si. I don't really blame him. He feels very betrayed by us 'going behind his back', as he put it. I confess I didn't really expect otherwise. It wasn't very nice of us to do that to him."

His expression darkened. "But it couldn't be helped. This is for his own good, after all. Lovi was always stubborn, and from what I've just seen he has only got worse. I suspect it is going to take a lot of work to change him."

Roma looked at him darkly. "But you will try? For me as well as for him?"

The Spaniard nodded. "Yes. For you, for Feliciano, and for Lovi. Don't worry. I will do everything I can, old friend. I just hope it will be enough. If I can't change him, I am not sure anyone will be able to."

Roma nodded, satisfied. "Well, we'll just have to wait and see."

With that, the two sank into silence again and turned their attention to the TV, their minds both focussed on the boy lying upstairs and the contents of the letter that had provoked so fierce a reaction from him.

Once alone in his bedroom, Lovino threw himself down on the bed and lay there, staring aimlessly at the ceiling. He felt a tear trickling down his cheek, and raised a hand to wipe it away angrily, leaving his arm flung over his face. However, one tear turned to another, and soon he found himself sobbing noiselessly. He turned over and muffled his face into the pillow, not wanting the two men downstairs to hear his reaction. The only thought running through his head was why? Why does anyone start to care about me now?

And why, of all people, did it have to be him?