Antonio Fernandez Carriedo shuffled the papers on his desk for the twentieth time. Once again, page fourteen could not be found. The red clock on the wall above the wooden door leading into his office read '4:50'. Taking as quick glance around the room, Antonio made sure everything he needed was present. Warm family photos for encouragement? Check. Antonio chuckled at the way his little sister was smiling with red watermelon splattered all over her tanned face. Awards from school to show promise? Check. He had several papers on the walls marking his academic achievements, from eighth grade class president to A-plus papers hanging proudly on the walls. Baseball bat for protection? This had better be a check, and it was so. Made of metal, the bat sat near Antonio's long legs underneath the oak desk. As for the purpose of this instrument, the person Antonio was counseling happened to have a bit of a violent streak. Sorry, this was a false statement. "A bit of a violent streak" is more like "has beaten several people to a whimpering pulp". Antonio dislikes being a whimpering pulp. Even so, Antonio had personally signed up to be this certain someone's peer counselor. Mr. Yao had informed him of the troubled student he was to try and help. Knowing Antonio's bright and cheerful disposition, Mr. Yao felt like this was his chance to show he was more than a pretty face. Who would go up handsome caramel colored boy with chocolate locks and start talking about math? Antonio also felt this was his chance to prove something, but not smarts.

"Oh, he's very late. I wonder if he forgot. The principal said he told the guy about ten times. Today. Maybe he just left without coming here," Antonio whimpered glumly. "I'm such a failure and I haven't even talked to the guy in what? Eight years maybe? Uggg…."

"I'm here, jackass," A voice soaked in an Italian accent grunted as the door slammed shut.

Lovino Vargas stomped into the room. The teenage boy of about sixteen was dressed completely in black from neck to toe. By "neck to toe", the boy had auburn hair with a weird single curl in the side of his head, sticking out to the right. Below the annoyed looking face a black T-shirt with a fiery skull was present along with black skinny jeans. Tall dark boots went up to the boy's knee. Mr. Vargas had a mean look in his golden eyes, scaring anyone who came near. He glared at Antonio, hoping to startle him, and then slumped down in a plush chair in front of Antonio's desk.

"My, my. You have very beautiful eyes, Lovino," Antonio commented truthfully.

"Do I look like I care? I don't even know why the hell I was sent here! And who the frick are you?" Lovino barked.

"I'm Antonio! Don't you remember me? We've been in the same schools since third grade!" Antonio exclaimed. "Lovi—"

"Oh, now I remember who you are. You're the jerk who always called me 'Lovi'. I hate that nickname. If you have to call me something, just freaking don't call me that. I hate you. You made the whole class in third grade make fun of me."

"How so? I don't recall doing anything embarrassing. Actually I did once loose a dare to Francis and had to dye my hair pink for a week."

"Remember that dumb poem, 'My Friend Lovi', you read in front of the class?"

"Oh yeah! I remember some lines from that…'Lovi's cheeks are just so red when I speak…it completely makes me weak.' I miss elementary school."

"I don't. Look, can I go yet?" Lovino asked, shifting in his chair.

"I'm sorry Lovino, but you have a problem that I must solve!" Antonio said with promise in his voice.

"Personally I think you have the problem…."

"Lovi, you have a history of school vandalism, smoking, and generally causing trouble, am I right?" Antonio started, hoping he didn't make the Italian angry.

"Yep. Can I leave now?" Lovino asked hopefully, for Antonio was getting on his nerves.

"Nope! You are my prisoner until we solve your problems. OK, I hate that word 'problem'. Shall I say 'habit'?" Antonio inquired as Lovino nodded reluctantly. "Good! That's a step in the right direction, mi amigo! Now, which one do you want to start with?"

"*grunt*"

"Vandalism! I wanted to start with that one too!" Antonio chose for the boy. "Let's find a way for you to still 'vandalize' without harming anyone."

"How so? I'm so very interested," Lovino sarcastically murmured.

"So am I! I thinking painting would be a good choice—"

"No. My stupid brother Feliciano does that crap. I hate painting."

"But I bet you'd be really good at it…OK, fine. Then what would you like to do in place of it?"

Lovino simply shrugged. Antonio sighed for his plan was not working. He expected Lovino to come sulking into the room, upset and misunderstood. This had happened with the exception of Lovino storming in. Then Antonio assumed Lovino would find this a safe haven and pour out his endless hurt feelings to Antonio, who would understand them perfectly. At some point in time, Lovino would warm up to Antonio, revealing to be a very sweet and sensitive young man. The Spanish boy would next cuddle up with the other male to show more than friendship, if you get what Antonio means *insert screams of yaoi fangirls*. Please imagine someone doing an eyebrow waggle while saying the previous sentence. Warm caramel hands would stroke Lovino's soft locks as he told of his miserable school life. Right about now, Lovino's striking eyes would have tears brimming, threatening to spill out. Antonio would whisper to him quietly that it was OK to cry; Antonio would never tell anyone. Lovino, nodding, would let the waterworks begin.

"….and I've never been picked first in gym class since!" Lovino would have cried as he finished the description of one of his issues. At this time Antonio had pictured the Italian sitting on his lap, being reduced to a ball of tears clenching Antonio's shirt.

"Don't worry, Lovi," Antonio might have whispered in a deep, manly voice. "I'll help you."

"Oh, thank you, Antonio!" Lovino would joyfully cry out, hugging Antonio. "You're the best."

"I know, I know…." Antonio would nod.

This, of course, did not occur at any time within the first few minutes of Lovino's counseling. Or in fact any time. Please be aware of Antonio's active imagination throughout this story, for I assure you these fantasies will occur again. After yours truly broke the fourth wall, Antonio shuffled his papers nervously. This was going horribly! The goal of the whole process was to open Lovino up, not shut him down even more. Antonio attempted to offer painting again.

"Lovi, why wouldn't you try painting? Is there something wrong with it?" Antonio asked. "I find it relaxing; just like I think tomatoes are adorable!"

"You think a vegetable is cute?" Lovino questioned.

"Fruit, and yes."

Lovino moaned angrily. God, how dumb was this guy? Antonio had been annoying enough in elementary school; he'd be even more troublesome now. Why had he agreed to this? Oh yeah: the principal gave him two options. The Italian teen had been called to the office for the umpteenth time that day during English class. Lovino had punished for his weekly crimes earlier in the day; what else did he do? The walls had graffiti on them, nerds were hung by the flagpole, and the teachers' chairs had hundreds of tacks on them. Taking his sweet time 'getting lost' in the hallways, Lovino arrived in the principal's office fifteen minutes after he was supposed to arrive. It was clear how angry Dr. Zwingli was when Lovino coolly strolled in. The Swiss man had a bright red face and was practicing the deep breathing courses his sister forced him to learn. Following the intake of a few more breaths, the principal began to speak.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Vargas," Dr. Zwingli managed to say calmly.

"Bad afternoon. What am I here for?" Lovino asked as he rolled his golden eyes.

"Oh, if I wasn't on parol….Mr. Vargas, your crimes to the school has vexed me this far and I am no longer willing to deal with it. Your parents are just as concerned as I am. Do you know that?" Dr. Zwingli furiously growled at the student.

"Inform me what 'vexed' means and I'll get back to you. And I don't give a crap about what my dad thinks," Lovino had spat sourly.

"Lovino, I'm going to give you two options: you can either go to counseling or your parents have agreed to let me send you to a reformatory school. Choose," The principal had muttered bitterly.

"…."

"I'll give you one more chance before I lose my temper."

"Fine. I'll take the god-forsaken counseling. The counselor just better not be a jackass."

"You shall start tomorrow."

And now Lovino was trapped in this crazy tomato-loving guy's office. Fan-freaking-tastic. His eyes were sagging from an earlier Spanish test. With skin pale from being inside all day, Lovino was quickly being chipped away. He just wanted to go home already. Oh wait; his father would be home today, so that meant Alice. Great. He couldn't decide which was worse: this tomato bastard or his father's girlfriend. Actually, now that Lovino thought about it Antonio didn't seem so bad…

"Lovi, are you OK?" Antonio asked in a worried toned. "You're crying a little."

The Italian simply growled at the other teenager before looking away. Lovino never liked to think about his home life. Thinking about it always made his teary. That bastard didn't need to see Lovino vulnerable.

"Aw, it's alright. What happens in this office stays in this office. So no one will have to know why you're here or that you cried…," Antonio's voice trailed off at the look of disgust from the other boy.

"I wasn't crying, for god's sake. Look, the sooner I deal with you the sooner I can get the hell out of here," Lovino muttered.

"OK then! Let's start trying to—my god, look at the time, Lovi! It's already been an hour and a half! Darn it. I won't see you until the day—Lovi?" Antonio cried.

Lovino had already grabbed his book bag and was streaking out to the parking lot where his father's large pickup truck awaited. Antonio couldn't help but feel like a failure. Poor Lovi hadn't learned anything. Plus time went by so fast Antonio didn't even get a chance to really talk personally with him. Whimpering, Antonio began to put everything away and get ready to leave. The day after tomorrow had to be different. It just had to.