Antonio walked in late for Math; his keys still in hands, the week old envelope full of dad's cash, the taste of ashes in his mouth, and his jacket half put on.
Usual morning in other words.
"You're late, Mr Carriedo," said the teacher just in case Antonio didn't notice. Maybe he had already forgotten about how he missed the bus, or how fought with the taxi driver all the way to school.
But small mercies are the best because Antonio was late for Math. He just couldn't stand two full hours of it.
Nevertheless, Antonio smiled at the teacher, closing his eyes slightly, tilting his head on the side. Gilbert always says it makes him look like an innocent idiot.
And nobody punishes an innocent idiot.
Unsurprisingly, the teacher let it go. Gil winked at him and Francis blew a kiss as Antonio walked down the aisle. They all had found someone to sit with, and Antonio tried not feel too betrayed.
He went for the back of the room, maybe like this he could take a well deserved morning nap in peace. As he walked past everyone, he could not miss the deadly glare of the new student. Lovino was already here, already annoyed and slouched on his desk.
"Watch your foot," growled the italian under his breath, as Antonio walked past. The vice-captain made a show of stepped carefully over the precious bag.
Lovino sounded this morning nothing short of grumpy. Maybe it was his usual personality? Started to think Antonio. Not angry, just plainly disappointed with everything but right now, mostly with Antonio's foot.
Antonio smiled back with some pity as he noticed the bruise. It was just worst today and his dark sweater made his skin even paler. A ink blue stain ran from the impact point to his eye, drawing a circle around it like water colour. The skin had sullen adding purple to the painting.
"How are you?" tried Antonio feeling guilty and therefore dutifully engaged into some small talk.
Lovino barely lifted his eyes from the papers spread on his desk, so Antonio could receive a deadly glare by proxy.
"Carriedo! You'll socialise later!" Shouted the teacher from behind. "Sit down now, or you'll stand for two hours. After seeing your grade from last year, I believe you need to pay attention now."
Antonio absently nodded.
He sat down a bit further way at the first empty chair, throwing his bag down. It happened to be next to Feliciano. The young italian smiled shyly.
"Hellooo!" he whispered, eyes shining. "You too are hiding from the maths teacher?"
Antonio started getting his stuff out. "Yep."
"I talked with Ludwig yesterday. He said you guys were sorry!" Feliciano murmured excited as he paused a second from doodling on his manual. "I think he is right. Let's all forget about it and be friends!"
Antonio's eyes opened wide. Feliciano seemed serious, and was now offering a peaceful hand shake, so the vice-captain didn't hesitate and grabbed his hand.
"Of course!"
Feliciano giggled and Antonio had barely had time to register the glare from Lovino, before the teacher called them out again.
Ten minutes in and Antonio's eyes already started to wander around the classroom. Even if the teacher was incredibly soporific, writing more letters than numbers on the backboard which let Antonio guess about being in Maths classes at all, it was nevertheless impossible to nap next to Feliciano…
The Italian was currently doodling bunnies and stars all over the pages, mid-way through rambling about how he ended up here: "I just hate math so much, you know… I can't believe fratello talked me into taking it… It's like people had too much time on their hands and decided making impossible calculations were fun… it's torture… Brain torture… I just really want food now. Pasta…"
Instead Antonio's eyes fell on Lovino just few row in front, easy to found with his hair were going side to side testifying of the lack of hairbrush. One was particularly standing out, like an antenna. It was quite impressive.
Antonio looked back to the one next to him.
Feliciano had the exact same problem, maybe it was a family thing? Maybe they did not own hairbrush? Who does not have hairbrush? Who let their children out without having their hair brushed or at least straightened a bit? They did not even seem to have a proper haircut. Even with Papa and Mama being away, they always got home to take care of those things or at least orders Antonio to get an haircut.
"Antonio? Why aren't you writing?" shouted the teacher a menacing book pointing at him. It looks like he had been asking for a while as all the students stared at him whispering. Even Lovino glanced at the back of the room.
Apparently seeing something close to a stare of complete incomprehension, the teacher sighted, "Pay attention, young man. We're on page 25."
Antonio nodded looking back at his book. But who cares about trigonometry? He looked at Lovino again. The Italian was left handed, the right hand hidden against the croak of his neck. Antonio's eyes ran over his neck, he was bony, and that was an understatement. They did not play rugby, surely, but football requires a bit of strength. Feliciano wasn't tough neither.
"Vargas, maybe?" asked the teacher turning away from the board. The both of them looked up, the teacher added; "The one with the goth t-shirt and got beaten up."
Lovino raised an eyebrow looking down at his t-shirt. Feliciano was dressed in pink and yellow jeans, so unless the teacher was not only slightly insulting but also completely ignorant in fashion, he was talking about Lovino.
"I have no idea," he announced, clearly not interest in answering at all. And once again, neither ashamed nor sorry.
The teacher glared. But the young italian seemed unmoved. Instead of shouting, the teacher turned the question to the Swiss exchange student, official saviour of Economy and Math's teachers.
It took moment before Antonio realised Lovino wasn't angry. His hands were the first thing to shatter his pissed dictator facade. If you looked closely his whole demeanour seemed off, constantly on edge and defensive like a trap animal. His hands were hidden under the desk, pulling on his sleeves, impossible to stop moving. His eyes were throwing daggers made of sharp glass but they were casted on the side every time they were not focus on the next danger. He was lost in his own world but this was nothing close of daydreaming; he was swimming into a nightmare.
How could you be so scared in your own mind?
Lovino stopped ravaging his sleeves and pushed a strain of hair behind his ear.
"Antonio!" shouted the teacher. "Change place! Sit at the front maybe it will help concentrate the two neurones of yours!"
Antonio grumbled at first but took his things to front row in diligent silence. It was too early to throw a tantrum. He was planning to sit right behind Francis, who arrived early for a certain English student but the teacher saw it coming and send him next to someone else. Antonio did not recognised him. The blond smiled at him, acknowledging him with a short nod. So obvious, Antonio smiled back to the unknown boy.
"Are you new?" he whispered.
"It's Matthew," growled Gilbert. He had materialised behind them and tuned in to the conversation. "He has been in the team for like 3years!"
Antonio frowned looking back at the blond. Gil said it with such confidence, Antonio could only mumbled a "Sure…"
"Have you seen Tomato Vargas?" giggled Gilbert glancing behind him. "We should rename him Plum Vargas."
Antonio turned around again. Lovino was on the other side of the class room now, light was crashing on him from the window. The bruise looked even worst from here. Gilbert found it hilarious, though all Antonio could feel was frustration boiling and confusion steaming.
It happened before, fighting with someone and making fun of them, it never went too far. But now, Antonio was not feeling it. Someone he barely knew was making him doubt his friends and his attitude. It was not because of reason or logic, Antonio could feel it like a bitter taste in his mouth, a twist in his stomach. He needed to do something about it. Maybe it's their own fault that his mood is awful today.
Antonio had to apologise. He had to do it today. They need a cohesive team, they need each-others.
"Antonio Carriedo!" The teacher shouted again. "Go to the Principal's office!"
