Title: Four Seasons and a Year
Author: Ms Towa
Pairing: England/Romano
Rating: M
Warnings: Coarse language, suggestive themes, use of alcohol, and violence

Chapter One: The Lion

Spring is known to be the beginning of life, a new start or whatever, so why did Lovino Romano Vargas feel like dying so much right now? Sure, almost everyone dreaded waking up early to come to school, the first day of the new academic year especially, but nobody felt so deeply regarding the first day as Lovino. For one reason, he was a twin. For a second reason, he had a rather different – okay, admittedly that was a bit of an understatement - personality than his twin, and normally he thought that was okay because it made them unique, right? Anyway, for a third reason, Feliciano Veneziano Vargas was better liked than him - cuter than him, they say, when the two brothers practically had the same fucking face! All in all, what did that mean?

Well, no shit Feliciano was more liked. He already mentioned that earlier. The younger boy was nicer than Lovino would ever be in his entire lifetime. That was pretty clear in their first year of high school, and now another year would go by when Lovino would have to hear the same old crap over again.

"Why can't you be more like your brother?"

"Why are you so rude?"

"Why are you so loud?"

"Why do you hate me?"

"What did I ever do to you?"

And all he ever had to say to them was, "Shut the fuck up, bastard." Yeah, that made the shitheads avoid him for months, and Lovino was happy not to have to deal with that crap from at least one less person.

"Loooooooviii~~"

At least there was one tomato bastard outside of his family who didn't spew that kind of shit in front of his face or behind his back. Of course, Antonio Fernandez Carriedo was annoying in his own kind of way. For instance, in their first year of high school, the bastard had a tendency to cling to Lovino and coo - yes, fucking coo like a newborn fucking baby - about how much he loved him. Although irritating as hell, Antonio was like another brother to him. Honestly, maybe that was why Lovino thought it was okay to date the stupid tomato bastard even though he liked and preferred girls, dammit. Antonio, he knew, would never utter those hateful, spiteful words he always heard being said about him.

Stopping in his leisurely stroll, noticeably three meters behind his twin and Feliciano's stupid potato friend, a German named Ludwig Beilschmidt who was such an - well, there isn't enough time and space to describe the bastard, so he'll try to keep it short and simple - anal retentive, OCD tightwad, Lovino waited for Antonio to catch up to him before resuming his walk to school. Antonio tried slipping his hand into Lovino's, but the smaller quickly pulled it away. Antonio's hands were always too hot; it felt suffocating. Besides, he hated public displays of affection and all that crap. Pretending that he didn't notice the older boy's obvious disappointment, Lovino asked, "What do you want, bastard?" He shoved his hands into the pockets of the navy plaid trousers of the school uniform.

"You look so cute today, Lovi!"

Lovino snorted and remarked, "What are you saying, dumbass? This is dress code. Probably one hundred other people are wearing the same thing as me today." He glanced over his outfit to make sure that everything was in place.

His trousers weren't too baggy, secured by an Italian, mind you, leather belt. His white button shirt was fitted nicely and tucked underneath a blue cardigan pullover (that might have been against dress code, but, whatever, too late now) distinguishing him from the tan sweater of his brother with his sleeves rolled to his elbows. Over the weekend, he made sure that he broke into his newest Armani boots so that his movements weren't too strange as well. Over all, Lovino was prepared to have the best worst day of his second year of high school.

Glancing at Antonio, Lovino noticed that his choice today was similar to Lovino's. Of course, his blue sweater actually had the school emblem or insignia or whatever on it, and the bastard wasn't wearing designer shit either.

"That may be true, but you're still the cutest one, Lovi!" Antonio chimed, making Lovino flush with embarrassment. Dammit, this guy could say the sappiest things so shamelessly! Once they've reached the gate of the Academy, however fortunate, Lovino was spared from Antonio's gooey, lovey-dovey crap. They scrambled to the bulletin boards with the posted room assignments before a large crowd gathered, forcing them to elbow their way through the mass, which was always a pain in the ass.

Crap, there was a crowd out there, and Lovino sure as hell did not feel like clambering over the other students.

"Kesesese!"

"Che cazzo?" Lovino grumbled before glaring up at one of Antonio's moronic friends, an albino bastard named Gilbert, who happened to be related to Feliciano's stupid potato head of a friend. Unlike Antonio, the aforementioned hadn't even bothered wearing a uniform at all since it was their third and last year of high school. He donned a red hoodie over the white uniform shirt, which was left undone over a gray t-shirt reading, "DEUTSCHER ORDEN," or something or the other, with a pair of red and white high top sneakers. "Hey, albino bastard, you're tall," Lovino remarked dryly.

"Glad you noticed, Lovino," was the sardonic response.

"What room am I in?"

"Is that it? No 'it's great to finally see you again, Master Gilbert the Awesome'?"

"Hell no," the shorter boy responded curtly. In fact, Lovino was happy to have a week off school because it meant he wouldn't have to see anyone's face, especially a certain albino face, but he wouldn't tell anyone that since it invited a fight he didn't want to participate. Instead, he said, "Just tell me what room I'm in, dammit."

"As cute and feisty as ever," Gilbert retorted wryly, rolling his ruby eyes. He glanced over at Antonio and added, "You sure know how to pick 'em, Toni."

"Shut the fuck up, bastard."

"Class 2-A, Lovino," Gilbert answered shortly. "Can't believe you actually made it into a top class..." he muttered to himself. Lovino clicked his tongue in vexation. The brunet knew that comment was supposed to be inaudible; after all, nobody really had any expectations - never mind high expectations - of him or from him or anything. Given how this school was ran - students placed into classes based on their academic ranking or scores - everyone would have thought him one of the lower classes, like D-Class or even E-Class. Well, screw that. He could apply himself just fine if he wanted to do so, and Lovino did not want to be associated with a bunch of shit for brains for classmates. He didn't know if he could say the same for Gilbert though, who simply waved his friends goodbye and announced, "I'm going to skip the meeting for upperclassmen and homeroom to work out at the gym. Anyone want to join?"

"What are you? A girl? Go by yourself, albino bastard," Lovino barked as he crossed his arms. Without turning to face Antonio, he declared that he was going to look for his classroom, and - like a loyal dog -the Spaniard followed him on his tail - just to make sure he didn't get lost, he said. Lovino snorted.

They entered the school building and - for a system almost entirely modeled after most East Asian educational facilities - headed directly to the stairs instead of stopping at small shoe lockers and exchanging their "outdoor" shoes for "indoor" shoes like in the animated shows Feliciano watched occasionally... not that Lovino would know because he stole a glimpse (or two or three or four) of an episode (or two or three or four). The Academy is situated on the remote island of Hetalia off the western coast of Europe, a place for family living and starting a whole new life, as endorsed by the European governments, that was booming with all sorts of races and nationalities and ethnicities. There were three main and rather prestigious schools, each with a sort of elevator system where kindergarten fed into primary, which fed into secondary, which fed into college schools and universities. There was the School of Katherine to the north, a strictly girls-only institution, and the School of Edward, a boys-only institution in the south-eastern end of the island. As for the third school, located at the heart of the island, was the World Academy, a coed facility best known for diversity in student life and recreation.

The Academy, like most elevator schools, was divided into a kindergarten, an elementary school, a middle school or junior high, and a high school. Each school was further divided by grade levels, otherwise called a year, and activity. The ground floor of the high school's main building contained general rooms, such as the school auditorium, the cafeteria, and the student council room. The primary floor was designated for the first years, above them were the second years, and the third year were located on the final floor. Each floor had a staff room for the teachers as well, and aside from the main building, there were various facilities dedicated to different sports and a single three-story building dedicated to fine, visual, and performing arts. For someone like Lovino, who was involved in neither sports nor arts clubs, these buildings had no purpose. After all, he was only supposed to come to school, stay for seven hours, and then leave.

"Class 2-A, huh?" Antonio mused as the two of reached Lovino's classroom. "It's already been a year." The Italian opened the door with a scoff and sauntered into the room. The teacher wasn't even here yet. Stupid Feliciano. His idiot of a little brother wanted to come to school early (probably so that he could meet with that disgusting potato eater, Lovino concluded), and nobody but Lovino was in the classroom. The surly boy threw his bag onto the desk farthest in the back and closest to the window. Antonio pulled up a chair from the desk in front of him and beamed at his scowling companion. "Come on, why so frowny, Lovi?" the Spaniard cooed. He took the younger boy's hand into his own and rubbed the back with his thumb in a manner that was supposed to be soothing. Lovino simply found odd rather than relaxing. "It's your second year of high school! Smile because time will fly by, and before you know it, you have to study for exams!" Antonio leaned in for a kiss, but Lovino was quick to sense his approach and smacked the palm of his hand into Antonio's face, holding the Spaniard away at arm's length. "Ah! Lovi! What are you doing?!" Antonio whined childishly.

"I should be asking you that!" Lovino shrieked, red flushed with anger, embarrassment, and vexation. "What the hell are you trying to pull, dammit?! We're at school, bastard!"

"But Loviii~ I only wanted a kiss!" Antonio cried, throwing his arms around Lovino. The latter tried prying his arms off his shoulders. "Lovi! Lovi! Lovi!"

"Shut the f -"

"Wot da bloody deuce is goin' on 'ere?" groaned a heavily accented voice. Someone turned around the reclining chair behind the teacher's desk, previously facing the wall, but rather than revealing the teacher, it was another student... And Lovino knew just who it was.

The Italian had heard the rumors about a certain British student who had climbed on top of the delinquents in only a few months during his first year of high school. Because he had always managed to have solid reasoning behind his fights, the Rampant Lion of England was nominated as the head officer of the newly formed disciplinary committee, or, rather, he was the only member of the disciplinary committee. Most people recognized him from the other students by the silvery dark piercings lining his ears, the deviation from the usual school uniform - a fitted royal blue cardigan pullover with a checkered pattern running across the v-neck, a light gray shirt loosely buttoned, a black tie hanging around his neck, fitted blue plaid trousers, a silver studded leather belt, black leather gloves, and military style combat boots - and, more importantly, the peaked police hat with a checked band matching his sweater.

"Goddammit, shut da fuck up. Yer givin' me a 'eadache," the blond grunted, running a glove covered hand up to cover his eyes from the sunlight peering through the blinds. "It's an' all damn early fer dis shite." His fingers on his right hand parted to reveal an electrifying green eye glowering sharply at the two students. Lovino froze, stunned and stupefied, in his spot. There was something strange about his eyes. The green...didn't seem natural; it was unearthly, almost, like it did not belong to this world. The Lion growled under his breath, sending shudders down Lovino's spine as he shrunk into himself, and grumbled, "Oh, it's da bleedin' Spaniard, innit."

"Kirkland," Antonio seethed just as dangerously, "what are you doing here, te engendro de Satanás? You are a third year now."

The green eye blinked once, and those pale lips parted again to speak, "I could ask you the same thing, wanker." Lovino gaped. His voice sounded so different a second ago! Now it was clearer, more pristine and, in a way, charming... Not that it wasn't before. Before, it was wilder, more aggressive and sensual in its own way. "You're a third year. Scram. Get lost. Shoo."

"And why should I listen to you, diablo Inglés?" Antonio snapped angrily. He crossed his arms and glared at the blond, scowling deeper when the Lion threw his feet onto the desk with a loud thump. Lovino flinched at the loud noise.

The blond lifted his cap by pushing the bill upwards with his forefinger, exposing more of his vibrant green eyes, and stared at Antonio blandly. "Class is starting, twit, so if you don't leave now, you have to deal with me anyway by order of the school chairman," he reasoned. Antonio huffed indignantly before stomping out of the classroom childishly. Just when Lovino was about to sigh in relief, the Lion snapped at him, "And you!" Lovino cringed at the roar. He expected a loud order, but instead, the blond spoke softly as he said, "You shouldn't go along with his whims if you feel uncomfortable with them, you know? I've always disliked that about him, but it's your call. Do as you like."

The blond slung his lithe legs over the side of the desk and stood onto his feet. Pivoting on his heel, he gave Lovino a clear view of the bull-whip hooked to the back of his belt, the sheathed baton, and the two pairs of metal handcuffs. Lovino wondered if he ever had cause to use them on campus but decided it was best not to question it. A curious hazel gaze followed after the blond until he disappeared. Just as soon as he left, a ray of sunshine bounced through the door, chiming, "Fratello! We're in the same class again!"

Lovino dropped his head onto the surface of his desk.

That's fucking fantastic.


It was a given that there were people who hated and/or feared Arthur Kirkland. In his first year of high school, he had a nasty temper that had a habit of exploding at whoever evoked his wrath. Over time, he somehow trampled a good portion of the delinquents of both the Academy and the other neighbouring schools on Hetalia. Not only was he deemed the King of Trash, he was entitled the Rampant Lion of England and bestowed a reputation as one of the most dangerous individuals on the entire island.

In his second year of high school, because the school board found that there was nothing wrong with his mentality, he was made into the disciplinary committee. It was mostly successful for the school since nobody wanted to incur the wrath of the Lion, but most delinquents viewed him as the traitor king. Of course, that bothered him little; why should he care about what those little arseholes think of him? The only problem Arthur had with the entire set-up was that there were still people who felt the need to challenge him. On the plus side, he was allowed to wear a bloody awesome, as Gilbert would say, hat. Nonetheless, most people avoided him upon recognition, and unless he managed to get off the damn island, there was no bleeding way he could escape the personality most people associated with him. He might as well play the part he was given. It would pass the time at school... Although he did wish that there were more exciting fighters around. Gilbert Beilschmidt and Antonio Carriedo came close to a good match, Kiku Honda and Yao Wang were decent fighters in a dojo (as they refused to fight outside the sacred hall), Mathias Kohler had monstrous strength expected from one of Viking descent, Lars de Vries had a good arm, and Ivan Braginski... Well, he was just a violent pillock. Arthur had heard earlier that his younger sister, Natalia, a first year student, was slightly worse and hoped that he didn't have to deal with her either. He didn't get many challenges from girls anyway - though, occasionally, Elizaveta did want to fight. (But the woman was bloody terrifying with that frying pan!)

Speaking of Carriedo, that was a fucking horrible way to wake up. Arthur certainly didn't mind speaking in his heavier regional accent now, unlike in the distant past, but he really didn't want to deal with the bleeding Spaniard and his antics so early in the morning. All he wanted to do was rest in his old classroom for a bit because the home-room teacher of Class 2-A had the best reclining office chair in all of the school buildings (yes, that was his reason; it was not because he had forgotten that he was now in his third year of high school), but apparently even that was too much for which to ask.

Arthur sighed through his nose as he approached the group of troublemaking students who had been reported to him by Chelly a few moments ago. Well, actually, it was just Ivan Braginski and the people he roped into his clique. He crossed his arms as soon as he stopped behind Braginski, the tall, big-boned Russian with an eerily childish face complete with misty amethyst eyes and wispy, silvery blond hair. Honestly, he forgot why he accepted this obligation to deal with troublemakers when it was such a bother. He had better things to do than dealing with muscle-brains like... Oh, maybe curling up to one of Agatha Christie's novels or a classic Sherlock Holmes with his little Scottish Fold, enjoying a cup of tea; maybe embroidering one of his couch pillows like how his mother used to do so in her free time; maybe playing fetch with his English bulldog, making the lazy git get some exercise; maybe listening to his collection of the first and second British Invasion, playing along to the bass-lines; maybe riding down the street on his motorbike screaming for vengeance, singing the lyrics to "Helter Skelter" by The Beatles, and warning about the impending apocalyptic future.

He couldn't wait to get home. Just one more year of this disciplinary crap, and he would be scot-free.

"Oi, Braginski. You're blocking the entrance, wanker. Move," Arthur commanded in his usual deadpan. His green eyes flitted over both familiar and unfamiliar faces clogging the front entrance to the main building. Braginski's three friends were trembling in their usual fear and anxiety. (Really, the mere aspect that Braginski was capable of frightening the student council historian, Eduard Von Bock, into joining his crew was rather pathetic on the council's part.) Then there were two twins, both with sandy blond hair, blue eyes, and glasses. They were well over Arthur's own height of 175 centimetres and wore their uniform rather neatly. The one with the cow-lick was wearing a bomber jacket over his uniform with a pair of headphones around his neck unlike his apparently meeker and more reasonable counterpart, who had a strange, somewhat crooked curl falling in front of his face. He had never seen these brats before in his life. "What the bloody hell is this?" the Lion inquired of his acquaintance.

He neither got along nor despised Braginski, see.

"Ah, Arthur, comrade," Braginski greeted him merrily as though there was nothing wrong, "we were making friends, da?" The question was directed towards the shaking trio, who nodded their heads eagerly in agreement. From that, he understood that he wouldn't get a straight answer from the Russian and that the historian of the student council wouldn't defy the taller, more intimidating student given the current circumstances. This, of course, brought another matter to the smaller blonde's attention.

Arthur was simply glad that Von Bock wasn't the president; it wouldn't do to have a pushover like him in charge. Rather, the role was filled by Yao Wang, who loathed Arthur with every fibre of his being and who was one of the few who could stand equal to Ivan Braginski.

Returning to the matter at hand, the smaller blonde instead turned to the twins and demanded, "State your name, class, and business. Now."

The twin with the cow-lick glared defiantly at Arthur, no doubt questioning his authority, and the one with the strange curl answered softly, "I'm Matthew Williams, and this is my brother, Alfred F. Jones. We're from Class 1-C. We were trying to get there, but my brother, uh, got caught up with, uhh, well, we bumped into Ivan Braginski..."

Arthur eyed Alfred dully before turning his attention to Braginski. "Is this true, wanker?" the Brit snapped impatiently.

"Is this not how friendship starts?" Braginski replied cheerfully. "It is how you and I met, da? We started fighting and got to know each other quite well, Arthur."

"You gave us an evil smile!" Alfred cried indignantly. "Like hell that's friendship, you stupid Commie!"

Oh, brilliant, Arthur groaned, a genuine American idiot.

Ignoring the outburst for now, Arthur kept his gaze inclined towards the Russian and drawled slowly, "You know, if Wang catches wind of this, you won't get off easy, Braginski. Get lost." He knew how much Ivan Braginski admired the older Chinese student. Plenty of students did. Of course, Yao Wang was a genuine role model through and through: reasonable and strong (or, as Arthur would say, stubborn as hell), smart and wise (a smart arse), and a decent head under pressure. Of course, Wang was also one of the few who shared a similar idea of government as Braginski did, so Braginski honestly and rather naively viewed Wang as his one true "comrade" on this matter. Arthur knew that the two of them often exchanged several words regarding it, and if something was to change Wang's opinion on Braginski, then there would be bloody hell to pay.

As expected, a dark aura with which Arthur was familiar began pouring from Braginski. The trembling trio behind Braginski scrambled inside the building, sensing the imminent danger, and the twins instinctively backed away. Only Arthur stood proudly before the taller boy. The Russian chimed in his childlike voice, "Ah, but you cannot tell him if you have no tongue, Comrade."

There was a moment of perturbing silence creeping between the two of them. "Hey, brats," Arthur addressed the twins casually, as though no such stillness existed, "hurry up and get to class. I have to clean up your mess."

The meeker of the twins pulled his brother along, who was much less obedient and much rowdier. Alfred, instead, was shouting about how, as a hero, it was not right to abandon someone to a monster. Ignoring the protests, Arthur prepared himself for Braginski's oncoming strike. The latter pulled out the iron pipe from his cylindrical bag, one that was typically used to hold baseball bats, even though it was common knowledge that the Russian did not play any sports at school and charged towards the smaller student.

Arthur deftly drew his baton and blocked the attack, the sound of metal clashing against metal rang in the air like the knell of a church bell, rippling through the atmosphere like a growing wave. For a moment, there was a power struggle as the two of them were forced into a deadlock. The struggle did not last long, however. Arthur was losing, for Braginski was taller and heavier than the Lion himself. The smaller of the two combatants kept a weary eye on an unsuspecting attack, so when the Russian made a move to butt the other end of the iron pipe into his gut, Arthur swiftly twirled his baton with a flick of his wrist to block that attack, which left for an opening to his face.

Thus, as he had initially intended and declared, Braginski made a move to return to his original target - Arthur's tongue, evidently - but the Lion leapt backwards, skidding on the ground, to avoid the jab. He narrowly evaded the attack by the skin of his teeth and could sense the lingering coldness of the rusted metal. Returning his baton to its place on his belt, Arthur rolled to the side when Braginski launched another blow and instead used his bull-whip to wrap around the wrist wielding the iron pipe. With a single powerful yank, Braginski yet out an oafish grunt stifling his pain. On the second jerk, he dropped the iron pipe, the weapon clattering onto the ground. With a third pull, the larger man tumbled to his knees. Once the Lion was certain Ivan Braginski would make no move, Arthur picked up the iron pipe and relinquished his whip, hooking it back onto his belt.

"It's the first day of our last year," Arthur told the taller boy, placing his iron pipe back into the bat bag and zipping it back up. "Let's try to get along, da?"

Braginski chuckled and replied, "Da, we shall see. You are clever, Arthur. Next time, let's have a proper fight."

In the end, it was fun and games. As always. God, he hated this job.