A/N: This chapter is heavier than the last, with some special alone time with Lovino. Somewhat sad, beware.


It had been a month since the move and this paranormal activity was slow but constant. Notes were often popping up in Antonio's room, sometimes from stolen items like pens and paper. As time progressed Lovino grew in force, resorting back to flinging things around or leaving doors and windows open. He only did it when Antonio was alone or with the other two idiots. No liable witnesses.

It was, without a doubt, an insane way to reclaim a room. Lovino kept his messages vague, save for the occasional "get out" drawn onto foggy windows. There was no way in hell he'd give in and truly talk to the idiot Carriedos. His job was to remain silent and horrifying!

…which was difficult when he was solely haunting Antonio. It was always good for a cheap laugh to make something, anything, fall off a table or shelf to scare Henrique. Good old Henrique.

Lovino wanted his house back. He wanted these people gone and heading back to wherever the fuck they came from. Probably some prissy gated community, he told himself bitterly.

It wasn't until he caught word of the upcoming sleepover that he created a plan more excellent. Francis and Gilbert had been cautious about returning to Antonio's room, where the paranormal activity was strongest. Lovino made a point of doing this: making them think they had him figured out.

Fuckers have no idea what I'm capable of.

He waited, all day in fact, in his favorite chair in the corner of the room. It was past four when Antonio's voice flooded the echoing halls of the wooden house. He was followed by the snake-like laugh of the 'Prussian' idiot and the French pervert.

They stopped before entering Antonio's room, weary of the known ghost area. Gilbert shuffled his feet, awkwardly asking, "Is there, uh, a chance we can sleep in the guest room instead?"

"Yeah," Francis stuttered. "The bed is so much nicer!"

This was getting ridiculous. They weren't the scaredy-cats, he was! It seems living in a genuine haunted house had some decent side effects after all. "Look, I won't make you two sleep in my room…"

They sighed in relief.

"But Señor Ghost is only going to mess with you more if you show fear."

They relented and begrudgingly dragged their feet into the room from hell. Lovino was more than a bit pissed when Gilbert had thrown his backpack through his lap into the chair. In reply, he threw it right back.

Gilbert screamed.

Antonio laughed. "Gil, that's his chair. He doesn't like other people using it."

Damn straight I don't.

"Also, don't touch the left night table or the old lamp with the broken light bulb. He got mad last time I tried to dust them."

Francis sat gingerly on the bed, waiting for some kind of attack from the ghost. When none came, he tiredly asked, "How can you live like this? You act like this poltergeist is Casper. And what happened to that nickname? Peeves?"

"He… did not like that one." The Spaniard cringed at the memory of trying to introduce Henrique more formally to Lovino. The moment Henrique chuckled was the moment Lovino started throwing windows open and letting the wind in.

Lately Lovino had been getting better about his haunting, though Antonio didn't know why. He was hopeful that Señor Ghost was simply adjusting well and welcomed him to his home! Lovino, on the other hand, was biding his time. What good are a few hilarious spooks when the family is so terrified they move out? If the Carriedos moved then he'd be alone again… only able to play around with whatever stray creature nested on the porch. Animals weren't the most receptive to ghosts.

The friends sat together on the floor, beginning to talk about school and the newest scandals to occur. Lovino had to admit he missed it—talking to friends, being innocent and young and alive, no real worries… And so he sat in his chair, watching the living.

"I heard Alfred got the British chick knocked up," Gilbert whispered. "I heard them fighting before school yesterday. She said something was his fault and he said she needed to take care of it. Can you believe it?"

"What a douche," Francis scoffed. "Did you hear about the newest couple? Apparently that creep Ivan asked out Yao, and he said yes!"

Antonio pulled a bag of chips from his backpack, ripping it open. "Wait, didn't Ivan out Yao in middle school? He bullied him for years!"

"Crazy, I know! Turns out Ivan was projecting like mad."

Lovino tilted his head like a confused kitten. Who were these people and why do they care so much about their lives? He had been dead so long he stopped caring about other people. They long since stopped caring about him. He was dead, yeah, but it's not like he never existed! His bastard friends don't even visit his grave anymore, those fucks.

"Señor Ghost? You're being awfully quiet," Antonio looked at the chair, gaze piercing Lovino's invisible chest. "Are you bored of throwing my stuff around?"

I never get tired of fucking with your shit.

"Are you bored?"

Fuck yes I am, you stupid piece of flesh.

"Are you still there?"

Gilbert smacked at his foot which had been falling asleep. "Are you stupid? He finally left us alone and you want him back?"

There was a sadness within Antonio's eyes. "Ghosts get lonely too, Gil. What if we were the first friends he made since the house was built?"

I am not that fucking desperate! To prove something unknown to himself the ghost sprung from his chair and vanished into the large mirror that was attached to the dresser. He spread his mist through the glass, making the appearance of coldness and fog. The three friends were still as statues, watching with anticipation.

Inside the mirror he wrote backwards, knowing they would see it the 'right' way. The looks of surprise on their stupid living faces were delicious.

REST IN PIECE ANTONIO


The guest room was a great idea in hindsight. Lovino was overjoyed to get his room back to himself, even if it was just for the night. That stupid sexy bastard had ruined the setup! It was bad enough his grandfather had to pack up most of his belongings when he died but then this idiot has to come and move the rest of what he had left!

It had been so long since he saw his grandfather. He remembered it vividly—in life and death. He remained unnoticed in the house, no matter how hard he tried to be seen, as Grandpa Roma lifelessly went from room to room, packing things, crying in breaks.

He wished he could have seen his brother that day. Little Feliciano was only three when he had died and Grandpa Roma chose not to take him to the house for the packing… though they did return there for the wake.

Lovino had never felt such guilt before that day, watching as family and friends crowded into his living room, now empty save for the casket and couches. There was no way this was legal but Grandpa Roma had been a powerful man, running the town since his youth.

It was a year later when Lovino learned how to move things and appear. He wished nothing more than to be able to go back to that day and try to possess his body, maybe then he could have come back. Then he could have jumped from the casket and hugged Toris tightly, whispering not to cry, I'm back. He would have picked up his brother and never put him back down. At the very least he would have possessed his brother's bunny doll to follow him and protect him…

No. NO, NO, NO. Lovino screamed to himself. I'm not doing this! I can't spend my ghostly eternity wallowing in what never could be! I'm dead, they're dead, and I'm stuck on earth while they're probably in Heaven with mom and dad!

It had been years since he cried openly. What he didn't realize was that he wasn't the only person who could hear it.


"Okay, I'm fucking out!"

"Gil, no!"

Gilbert was struggling to stand up and flee the building, Antonio and Francis held tightly to his legs to prevent it. "That fucking ghost is moaning! This is creepy shit, Toni!"

Antonio pulled at his feet, forcing him down on his ass. "Maybe he's upset! He's never made those kinds of sounds before."

"GHOSTS DON'T EVEN EXIST," the albino was screaming to himself.

This entire night was a mess. They were run from their room and now the fucking poltergeist is being a creep. Francis hated seeing his friends like this—Gilbert desperate to leave and Antonio frantically trying to fix it.

"I have an idea."

They stopped and watched as the blonde snatched up some torn cardboard (the back of which was another get out message). He located a marker and scribbled an alphabet down and giant a YES and NO. The other two got the message and calmed down. They sprinted through the hall, down the stairs, and to the kitchen where Gilbert picked out one of Mr. Carriedo's shot glasses—a clear one with a half-gone logo.

Their redneck Ouija board was ready for speaking between worlds.

Francis and Gilbert waited on the floor with the board, giving Antonio thumbs ups before the tanned teen ventured into the hall and to the moans.

He knocked on the door lightly, noticing the sudden halt in noise. "Señor Ghost? Can I come in?"

The door knocked back.

"I don't know Morse code. We just wanted to invite you to hang out with us. You seem lonely and we can try to talk like roommates do!"

We're not fucking roommates.

"We're in the guest room. Just do something spooky and we'll know you're game."

Antonio waited around but no response came. He went back to his friends, disappointed that Lovino was still so reclusive. Color him shocked when Lovino had beat him to the room, the window now wide open and letting the hot night air in.

Antonio smiled, taking his seat between his friends. "Thank you, Señor Ghost! Oh, Gil, move. He needs a place to sit, too."

"Are you kidding?"

The straight face of Antonio told him he was, in fact, dead serious. The albino grumbled and scooted closer to Francis, leaving a blank spot between him and the Spaniard. Said space was filled with cool air, as if a block of ice was hiding there.

Adrenalin poured into the three living teenagers' veins until finally, with a shaky hand, Francis grabbed the shot glass. Antonio and Gilbert did the same, each using two fingers to hold the sides.

Antonio cleared his throat, finally asking, "Okay, Señor Ghost. First question: what is your name?"

They didn't expect the force of the cup moving so rapidly across the board to find the letters. Francis read out, "L-O-V-I-N-O. Lovino?"

The glass struck YES.

"What origin is that?" Antonio pressed.

"I-T-A-L-I-A-N. Italian. Lovino is an Italian ghost!"

Gilbert startled as the cup moved again. "Wait, Franny, what's he spelling now?"

With full concentration Francis followed the movements, reading silently to himself. The phrase was long and he deciphered it in his head before a flustered cry of, "Hey!"

"What did he say?" Antonio questioned, excitement oozing from his pours.

"He called us a bunch of bastards. Then he said we were stupid."

Hehehe, now time to spell 'go fuck yourself.'


A/N: Grandpa Roma = Grandpa Rome.

I didn't mention it in chapter one but Henrique is Portugal.

I'm gonna work on Lovino and Antonio's friendship growing a bit faster because waiting is boring when you're a ghost with nothing better to do.

Brownie points if you can guess how Lovino died. I'm gonna try to drop hints as we go.