10 minutes before:
"I hate this school," declared Lovino to his brother in Italian. "I'm used to be surrounded by idiots, but here you don't even know which one is going to fuck up." He ended up shouting at a student who was looking at them.
Feliciano glared, just a second before going back to his usual closed eyes smile, like some happy idiot.
"I mean before, it was easy," continued lowly Lovino. "You just had to look out for Frederico and Carolina-" He stopped in mid-sentence, glancing at his brother. Feliciano did not react. They didn't really talk about before yet. Surely the cafeteria on their first day was not the best setting for that kind of discussion.
Lovino did not say anything more. His brother leaned in, talking to the lady serving the main meal, Lucy, likes cat and owns three, apparently all throwing up hairballs but Lovino was going to save you from anymore details. So while Feliciano getting useless informations, Lovino faced his choices: Potatoes, cauliflower, fish or sausages.
Disgusting.
He turned around not able to confront it anymore. Fuck me, he murmured eyes laying on the passing students.
Lovino froze. The spanish guy from History class was there, looking good and around, surely for his friends. He did not even have to talk to him to know he was the playboy of the school; Muscular and his incredible green eyes. He reminded him of Frederico, too damn perfect to be useful. He was probably going for the usual football team's table, it was not hard to find. In the centre of the room, the people on it were loud and laughing. The rest of the room glancing shyly at them with hope or envy.
"What do you want?" asked the lady a spoon at hand. She must have been asking for a bit as she was clearly pissed. Or maybe she was naturally like that. Too bad, it was not Lovino's days neither.
"You really think I'm going to eat that?" growled the italian, moving his tray away. "Your cats might have threw up those hairballs on it."
Feliciano looked at him like he just turned off the television on a Juventus game. Too worried to be angry.
"Not hungry," muttered Lovino as an excuse.
"We both know, it's a lie," answered Feliciano looking at the yogurts.
"Che?"
"Nothing, Fratello," smiled Feliciano turning to his brother.
Lovino rolled his eyes at his brother's fake innocent. "It doesn't work on me, idiota."
"They have a salad buffet," said Feliciano changing subject.
Lovino's eyes sparkled.
"Go, I'll find somewhere to sit."
Lovino's demeanour changed in a blink. "It's fine, I'll come to sit with you, I don't-"
"It's okay Romano," said the younger making eyes contact, trying to be sincere. Bullshit, thought Lovino but Feli insisted. "I'm going to be fine. We're at school. Nothing can happen!"
"Bene," said Lovino darkly. "Don't talk to anyone."
"Cool," He said and shrugged leaving his grumpy brother.
Lovino glared at him, checking no one approached his brother with deviant intention, or any intention actually. He glanced at the usual football team table, Feliciano sat down few tables away from them. Not too close of the emo kids but far enough not to be noticed by the football table.
There was only a Japanese boy at the end of the table. He was safe. Japanese never did anything? Outside from Pearl Harbour, Kamikaze, Yakuza, Godzilla-
Okay… Let's stop here. They were at school. Nothing can happen.
Lovino glanced back to the salad buffet like a safe line.
"At least they have tomatoes," he murmured.
"Hi!" called out someone. Lovino looked up and meet the all-white perfect smile of the spanish guy. And Lovino stood still. He could feel his brooding dilute, like ink into water.
It must be the smile. No one smiled like that around him since- God, he was not even able to think about saying it. He was so pathetic.
Feliciano was doing so much better. Not that Lovino will ever recognise the positive effects about seeing a psychologist.
"I'm so existed to see you play!" the guy continued with this stupid smile. Lovino's heart skipped a beat from the attention, he could feel his cheeks burning left powerlessly wondering when someone would notice. "My friends said you're really good!"
Ok, frowned Lovino, so he was stalking him, talking to his friend about him. Does he even know his name?
"Listen, I just want tomatoes," said Lovino, in a way, he believed that was menacing. As hot as the Spanish guy could be, he was still between him and his tomatoes.
"You like tomatoes?" he asked with enthusiasm.
"Like any decent human being," growled Lovino. And that was suspicious, it was way to much happiness for tomatoes. Even from Lovino's point of view.
Was he bullshitting him? That would not be surprising.
"I'm Antonio, by the way," said the guy.
Lovino nodded bitterness spreading in his mouth. Was he really playing me? He wondered.
Hope was the worst. He seemed so nice. Full of fake dreams and ugly lies.
"Antonio Carriedo and you?" he repeated.
"Lovino Vargas," he answered, not able to look up at his lying face. Happy and nice people never talk to him anyway. He could smell nice wood and summer spice, Lovino glanced up at the other. Did he just got closer?
"Are you going to the selection! I'm sure you'll pass!" laughed Antonio. "That's so great, because he needed better players to win! Not that we aren't any good-"
Lovino focused on the bottle of oil trying to block his anger out. The plastic kept slipping off his hand. The idiot really believed he was good at trying to manipulate Lovino? He knew people better at getting them to play in their team than him. Everything was so repetitive.
Why can't he just make friends like Feliciano and not people just interest in his football skills to add to the team if it's not something else. Why can't he be friendly and cool?
He could not focus on the bottle. Everything was turning annoying, well, if it was a colour.
"Wait. Like this," Antonio said. "Let me do it."
He move his hand above Lovino's blocking his fingers. Lovino trying to move out and he could not. His fingers were stuck against oil bottle and Antonio's hand and skin. The spanish student pressed down hard enough to hurt.
And everything was swinging back.
Someone was holding him still. Lovino could not breath.
The bottle felt. But he still could not feel his fingers, pain was numbing them. He hold them close, trying to know what was real, but his mind did not believe it, still stuck in that memory.
It was all Antonio's fault.
"Leave me alone!" shouted Lovino, stepping back. The tray fell. Noise resonated around, eyes turned to them. Lovino felt dizzy, like there was no place to breath.
"Mr Vargas?" Someone called out, the voice could only be from an adult looking at the incident. "I'll get the cleaner."
Fuck me, thought Lovino for at least the tenth time today, and swearing colourfully at everything. This school was terrible. He just wanted to go back home.
"Let me help," said Antonio crunching down too.
Can't he just stop it?! Stay away!? And in a shot of rage Lovino pushed him to the floor. Antonio fell down bewildered. Well, Lovino had enough of liars. That's it, everyone was laughing at him on the first day, he wasn't going to eat anything, and the idiot just had to keep coming back, and making things worst.
"Don't bother lying, I know what you want. You win, now go the fuck away," said the Italian furious, hands shaking. "Don't make the both of us lose our time, I'll play in your fucking team!" he shouted throwing a handful of tomato at him.
Antonio did not say anything. He looked at the tomatoes and back to Lovino with concerned eyes. Great, now the hottest student at school thought he was crazy. Fuck it.
"Are you okay? I'm sorry if-" Antonio said before being cut of by multiple persons coming closer. Antonio shut up and stared at him, like everyone around.
Lovino could feel his cheeks redden. Everyone was staring at him. Soon it felt like suffocating. He wanted to leave. He should have never come here. He should not have come back in school, it was too soon. God, why was everything so fucking unfair? His eyes started to hurt.
Ecstatic, he was going to cry in front of everyone now.
"What's your fucking problem?" barged in an Albino, pushing Lovino unto the floor with a kick.
