"It was night before Halloween, Friday the 13th. A cat screeched like a seagull whose wings were cut off and-"

Lovino pinched the bridge of his nose, wondering how in the world someone could be this moronic. Sure, this crummy town in New York wasn't where the brightest people lived, but there had to be some limit to the stupidity.

"-It was just as if they was… DEAD!"

Oh god. He couldn't take any more of this fucker. Lovino waved his hand slightly so that he would get the teacher's attention and signaled that he had to use the restroom. As soon as he was given permission, he bolted out of the room.

With no real destination in mind-he didn't actually need to use the restroom, after all-Lovino strolled down the hallway and up the stairs. Everyone was in class and the hall monitors never did their jobs properly anyways, so nobody noticed him slip through the never-locked door to the rooftop. Technically, students weren't allowed up there due to safety precautions, but Lovino didn't care about rules if it got him away from his idiotic classmates. Seriously, had they actually thought through what they were writing? This was an AP English class for fuck's sake-an AP English class filled with seniors! Everyone should have a minimal amount of common sense, right?

He huffed. Well. At least he didn't have to listen to it anymore. He breathed in, the wind licking his face gently as he moved closer to the edge of the rooftop. The wind always made him feel better; it cooled his head. It had been something his nonno had told him to do when he and his brother were young.

"If you ever get angry," the man had said, eyes staring out at the countryside from their position a grassy hill, "just take a breath, let the wind cool your face, and start again." He turned his gaze to smile down at Lovino, eyes twinkling. "You are stronger than your emotions."

Lovino had tried to take his advice, but it rarely worked-he got too worked up too quickly, his fuse blowing out before he even had the chance to let the wind cool his head. Feliciano, on the other hand, had never had a problem with anger. (Sometimes Lovino wondered if it was because he ran around so energetically that he had simply created his own wind source.) (Lovino still didn't have proof that this wasn't the case.)

The wind blew in his face, as if saying "Good job! You didn't yell at your classmates and reduce them to tears again!", a situation that had happened quite a few times over the course of the year. (But really, they were all high school seniors, was it so hard to be fucking sensible? 'A cat screeched like a seagull whose wings were cut off'? They couldn't have thought of any better analogy? And what was that crap about the night before Halloween being the 13th? Had that not given off a red light when they were fucking writing it?)

Wait. Okay. He was getting worked up again. Deep breaths, Lovino. Don't go back and yell at your classmates, no matter how much they deserved it. Remember Nonno's words. His "bathroom break" was reaching its limit, so he bade the wind farewell and slipped back into the building. He stopped by the bathroom to wash his hands, if only to fool the teacher, and made his way back to the classroom.

Lovino entered to half-hearted applause signalling the end of yet another appalling presentation by one of his classmates. He sighed out of relief and quickly went back to his spot, trying to get as little attention as possible while the next presenter took the stage. Thankfully this person didn't seem as stupid as the previous presenter. Or at least, was intelligent enough for Lovino to drown out the noise.

Lovino preferred to think about other things. Better things. Like how there was only 5 days left until his last high school summer vacation. Like his scholarship to the most prestigious liberal arts college in USA. Like how he would spend all day writing. Okay actually, that last thought didn't seem so great.

Lovino grimaced, a feeling of uneasiness bubbling in his stomach. He could do this. He had to do this. There was literally nothing else that he could do other than write. He was good at correcting all the grammar mistakes, he could vary syntax, and he had a wide range of vocabulary. He had gotten nothing other than A+ for all his writing and he was sure that he had enough talent to be a writer. Probably.

Nevermind how he had never written a novel. Or anything other than his school assignments. He did write few letters to his Nonno so that had to count for something right? He could do this. He had to-

His thought was interrupted by a faint vibration in his pants.

Lovino frowned and discreetly took out his phone, wondering who had the audacity to call him during class time. He told everyone that he didn't take calls unless it was an emergency and that if they called him for trivial matters, he would castrate them.

Unknown number. Figures. It must be a spam call. Lovino switched the device to silent and went back to tuning out the world. Where was he? Oh, yes, he could do this. He was already unhappy with his life. What more was a little more misery? There was no way he could compete with Feliciano if he was to be an art major. He had zero to no friends thanks to his dazzling personality. He was pretty sure he had anger issues.

Life was good. Life was great. Life was fantastic. Life was-

"FRATELLO!" A scream from somewhere outside the classroom door caused the entire room to jump in surprise. It was quickly followed by a loud bang, doorknob rattling as whoever was outside wrestled with it. Lovino frowned and made to stand up. Feliciano? What was going on?

"FRATELLO W-WE HAVE TO GO NOW!" The younger Vargas finally managed to get the door open, and he stumbled inside, eyes immediately looking to Lovino. His face was covered in tears, his usual happy demeanor gone, replaced by obvious panic.

"Feli what's going o-"

"N-NONNO-CAR AC-ACCIDENT-H-HAVE TO HURRY-" Feliciano cut in, now wailing and stuttering with almost every word. "NO-NOT MUCH TI-TIME L-LEFT-LAST WORDS-MI-MIGHT NOT MAKE IT-"

Lovino didn't really remember much of what happened after that. He faintly remembered Feli sobbing. He faintly recognized his vision going blurry as he pressed down on the gas pedal. He faintly remembered his mind racing, desperate thoughts flitting through. His nonno had to be okay. He couldn't leave them. He was all they had.

Lovino vaguely remembered hearing police sirens, but he couldn't remember what he'd said, or whether he had stopped at all. Two words cycled through his head: be okay, be okay, be okay, be okay, be okay.

The next thing he knew, he and Feli were sprinting through sliding glass doors, only stopping when they reached the receptionists' desk. Feli was still crying. Lovino was doing his best not to cry. They'd probably rattled off useless gibberish at the lady at the desk. He later wondered how much she'd understood. Be okay, be okay, please please please be okay.

She must have understood enough, because suddenly they were being led to a waiting room; they sat together, hands joined in a , eyes glued to the doors as best they could. Lovino's eyesight kept getting blurry, and he had to blink to see again. The waiting room was like a slow and agonizing death; everyone else went about their daily business, but Lovino felt like his world was on the verge of crumbling apart, like the cake he'd had for lunch today. (Please be okay, please be okay, please be okay.) Nurses and doctors and other patients moved around them, but he couldn't remember what they were doing or whether they had spoken to him at all. (He had to be okay, he couldn't just leave like that.) The only thing that mattered were those doors down at the end of the room, the silence accentuated by hiccuping noises as Feli sniffled beside him and the tick-tock-tick-tock of the clock on the wall. (Please, God, please let him be okay, please let him recover, please, please, please please please.) The chattering of the hospital workers became background noise; the click-clack of sharp heels on the tile floor felt like a hammer drilling into his head; the concept of day or night became meaningless. All of his attention was pinpointed on the double doors opposite him; everything else was secondary. (Please be okay oh god please please please be okay, be okay, be okay, be okay-).

And then the doors opened.

Lovino had always imagined that death would be more dramatic. That everyone in the room would cry and fall to their knees, the dramatic reprise of the main OST playing softly in the background. It wasn't that way.

Death was no more than a couple sympathetic words carrying out the verdict.

"I'm sorry. We tried everything we could but-"

The explanations were meaningless. They were just extra unneeded tidbits. But the words "I'm sorry" kept on ringing in Lovino's head. The verdict. The announcement. Of death. His nonno's death. His nonno's death. Lovino's breath hitched as he tried to wrap the idea in his head.

It wasn't okay. Lovino's nonno was on a bed, pale as the white sheets that were covering him. Dead.

The man that made him pasta, the man that played mafia with them, the man that invented bedtime stories to them. That man was gone. He would never see his nonno again. The laugh wrinkles around his eyes, the boisterous laugh, the gentle pats on the head. His nonno was gone. Dead.

Somewhere along the line, he found himself on the floor, the world spinning around him. What would happen to him? To Feliciano? Who would take care of them now? Oh god oh god oh god god god.

Lovino's mouth felt like sandpaper. He couldn't focus on anything. There were noises around him. Fleeting touches. Scent of death. His stomach churned.

Lovino threw up.