This was contribution toward the Prumano secret santa on tumblr. A few more stories to come in the next few days, probably Prumano, and maybe a USUK. Depends. (:

Bland and listless.

Somehow Lovino Vargas could look upon the changing countryside from Vienna to Berlin through the square of glass he'd been afforded…and find it boring. The train wound past great sandstone cliffs, houses tucked in and padded by lush greenery, tinted gold by the yawn of an early morning sun. Bodies of water glinted and glittered. All was quiet. Fresh. Beautiful. The vehicle sped dutifully along, nonintrusive, as its body curved naturally with the fall of the land, over bridges, and through spurts of trees.

But all Lovino could acknowledge was the glare across the glass, and the coolness of it against his forehead.

He closed his eyes with a groan and gritted his teeth against the rattle of the fast train. He'd made this trip countless times before. There was nothing new to see. Just a brother and his annoying German fiancé to endure.

Inside the train was as immaculate as one would expect from a German line. Padded blue seats arranged in neat rows complimented the crisp white of ceilings and walls. Monitors overhead read out the speed and current position—as German trains were very precise and very punctual—and the aisles were kept spotless, with workers urging passengers to keep their baggage in the overhead compartments. Overall, it gave Lovino the sense of plastic, like something too rigid in structure and orderliness, so much that it made his head hurt.

At least today it was relatively empty, so the Italian could hope to get some shuteye, though drooping eyes never could quite fall shut. Instead he found himself skimming the other passengers in his car, bored with the bald man who was snoring just in front of him and the two teenaged girls sharing a pair of headphones. Other than that, there was an elderly lady and a small child some distance away, who seemed to be holding a conversation in Italian with a squat, fat man. The rest seemed un-notable. All seemed wrapped in their own world.

With the swoop of the wind outside and the grind of the tracks beneath, Lovino felt himself grow more and more restless, until his hands tightened around the armrest and he let out an annoyed groan.

Then he caught a glimpse of white—a crop of hair flashing as the owner turned to glance at him. Their eyes met—vivid red pausing on hazel—and a jolt sparked through Lovino. How had he not noticed this strange albino just across the row from him, staring just as listlessly out his own window?

Now the albino was staring straight ahead, brow scrunched as he made a show of yawning, as if to prove to Lovino that he was more bored with the circumstances than the other. He smirked to himself then glanced back out his window.

It was hard not to stare.

The strangest part about this man was his skin, as if something had sucked the colour away then drew the canvas tight over an angular jaw and fierce cheekbones. So fragile he seemed, like the first fall of snow or thin bone china cut into harsh angles then expected not to break. Even tiny eyelashes and eyebrows stood out like little snowflakes where there should have been black.

But…for all of his delicacy, he seemed born of power, with too much energy locked away in limbs barely kept still. There was muscle there, building into a lean torso and twisting around thick biceps, packed densely, effortlessly, like that of a graceful animal sprawled out to sleep but ready to leap up at the first sign of danger.

The contradictions frustrated Lovino.

"Fuck you," the Italian mouthed in his direction. "Fuck you to hell."

The albino had jammed earphones into his ears. Lovino could hear the tinny but quiet rift of guitars and the harsh scream of German, even from where he sat. He rolled his eyes but continued to study the other.

There was more to him than it seemed, Lovino decided. Yes, he was powerful but fragile. But he also sat too straight, almost like Lovi's annoying German brother-in-law. A stiff backbone betrayed some degree of discipline. And those hands? The way they mapped out the music on the armrest, sinews leading a dance overtop, betrayed some skill in music—at least with rhythm and seemingly with the melody. Silvery scars ducking under the collar of his hoodie suggested that he'd been through a lot, or was a troublemaker of some sort. He kept glimpsing a tattoo on his wrist, but he was too far away to read the words.

"Figures," Lovino muttered, "I'm sitting near a delinquent." He leaned a bit toward the aisle without realizing.

A little thrill rolled through Lovino's body when the other looked up at him. He tore his gaze away, thoroughly intrigued by how such red eyes could hold only surprise and confusion—but nothing sinister or dangerous. They played this game awhile, Lovino finding himself staring and the other feeling the weight of another's curiousity and looking, and Lovino looking away again—until Lovino finally snatched his newspaper and ripped it open.

Upside down.

So he could peak just behind it, confident in his espionage, while the albino rolled his eyes and leaned back in his seat.

"Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you,"

The albino was watching him again, one brow raised, lips quirked into a bemused smirk. Lovino rattled his newspaper a bit to shut him up, but this seemed to encourage the man more than anything, and next thing Lovi knew, he was shoving himself out of his seat and walking over. Lovino felt the cushion next to him jolt with the weight of a new arrival, but he dared not look past the suddenly very intriguing upside-down article about pumpernickel production.

"Oi," came a raspy voice beside him. A finger poked at the newspaper twice. "I know I'm beautiful, but is the staring really necessary?"

Lovino was determined to keep the newspaper in place, even shifting it a bit to the right to better shield him from the intruder—at least so that he could not see the red rising in his cheeks. "You're full of yourself, is what. I just thought you looked weird as hell."

"What's that, beautiful as hell?" The albino chuckled and poked the newspaper again. "Where you headed, anyway?"

Lovino sighed. "Berlin. I'm meeting my brother there and his fiancé. Not that it's any of your damn business."

"What a load of boring-ass bullshit," the other scoffed. "What you're really planning on doing is hanging out with me while I blow off my brother and his fiancé, and eating at every custard place we can find." His grin widened. "Then we can head over to my place and play Call of Duty or some shit. I've got beer~. And cookies and cakes and shit."

Lovino rolled his eyes, but the thought of spending even a moment with his brother's fuckfaced fiancé was already unbearable, and the albino seemed sincere enough. Even so, when he lowered the paper he hit him with his best scowl, as if warning him to annoy him further. "Fine. But only because I hate my almost brother-in-law and because you're going to pay for my custard. Got it?"

The other reached a hand sideways to him. "Awesome, works for me! I'm Gilbert, by the way."

Lovino took it, scowl still in place. "Lovino."