What the fuck?

"No! This is impossible!" Lovino howled, standing with the phone as if the slight change of altitude would affect what he was seeing. Alive? Found? No, that wasn't right. His whole body convulsed with confusion, desperation, anger. He despised being tricked. This—this couldn't be anything but that! "Gabriel is dead!"

"Lovino," Feliciano stammered, looking around them anxiously, putting out his hand to try and cajole his friend back into his chair. "You sound like a lunatic; sit down."

Lovino glared at him. Feliciano hadn't been the one at fault here, he knew that, but how could he push aside the feeling in his gut that told him everything was wrong? He had seen—well he had witnessed whatever the hell happened in his apartment! Feliciano had found the hoodie! How could his mind be aware of things when he as a person wasn't?

Everything around him was straight out of a fucking book and he couldn't handle it. In his head he had a job, bills, a friend, a car that was running low on gas, and a stomach turned sour. He had no business to be playing with whatever this was. No business with shady police officers, missing-found-dead ghost children; no business holding police documents in his hands, no business sitting in a fast food restaurant at five in the afternoon shrouded by the constant feeling that he was going to pass out or get into a fist fight or start screaming at the top of his lungs out of frustration. What was happening!

"No, he's not alive," Lovino decided, relatively quieter to his last revelation.

Lovino would later register how scared Feliciano looked in that moment, staring at him with a quiet bite and wide, amber eyes that tried to smile at him; but, in that moment, the only things that fell through his conscious were images of the dead boy, both Gabriel and Feliciano, and the trickling, freezing words:

"He had been so close to finding me."

"Feliciano! You have proof! You know; you know! You know that he isn't dead—you've been investigating, haven't you?"

"I—" Feliciano started, but Lovino was too far ahead of himself, cutting off the other.

"You found the hoodie! Was—Was it orange? If it was then he's dead. I—I don't know what else to—Wait! Trinity Lake!—or maybe Arizona? The father was found before or after he was killed? I—What information did you find on—on that other kid? Had he been found, uh, frozen. Like he had been stuck in a winter storm—only, no! He hadn't been frostbitten, had he? Fuck! Fuck!" Lovino finally threw himself into the chair, balancing his head on both hands, dry heaving into the table. "Where had he been killed? Did a cop really take him out of the state to do it? Is Arizona even cold enough in December to kill someone like that? I guess someone could use a large freezer—then it doesn't matter what state they're in. Who was Gabriel close with; maybe he had gone to police after his—no! We don't even know if that kid is a reliable source of information—but-!"

Dark splotches dotted the grey table beneath him. He didn't know anything! What was happening! He shook his head, frustrated.

"Well!" he screamed, "answer me, damn it!"

He couldn't say who he was yelling at. Himself, Gabriel (who could very well be himself), or Feliciano. Whomever it was became irrelevant, as no one answered.

Lovino realized he was still holding Feliciano's phone and pushed it back at him.

Feliciano picked it up tentively, turning it off and pocketing the device. "How did you know?" he asked quietly.

"What?" Lovino muttered, taking to resting his head on folded arms.

"The—How did you know that the hoodie was orange?"

A dagger stabbed Lovino through the heart, piercing his stomach. "Fuck." Looking up at Feliciano, ignoring the constant looks thrown at them from the kid at the counter—he looked scared, his hand now always below the counter as if about to reach for a phone or gun—he shook his head. "I know because—" because why? How did one say something this ludicrous without being deemed insane?

They didn't.

"I don't know, it's just a gut fucking feeling," he finally snapped. "This whole god damn ordeal is just me going by my fucking gut."

Feliciano fingered a fry, never breaking a full-faced stare. "And—What does your gut say? About—"

"It tells me that he's dead," Lovino cut in, not listening for the end of the question. "It tells me that that kid in the picture isn't him. I don't know! I can't explain it, I can't put it in fucking words. I just know!"

Feliciano was silent for a long while after that. Lovino replaced his forehead to a resting position. What were they supposed to do from here? Neither of them could go home; fearful of getting shot. Lovino had probably just gotten fired, Feliciano's tires were slashed, the whole fucking world was in flames and Lovino didn't know.

He didn't know.

It was that realization—finally neither used for vexation or to prove a point, just realized as the truth—that calmed him down. He breathed in deeply, the grey table twirling the air, making it stuffy between his body heat and its inanimation. His heart was slow but strong in his chest, making his shoulders weak and his vision dot and spark.

"Lovino, are you sure?"

"Yes," he mumbled, defeated.

"Then we need to go to my apartment."

Lovino chuckled ironically, quiet, assisted by a small shake of his head. "Trust me, that's the last thing that we're going to do."

A tight screech crashed into the air, Feliciano had upset his chair, pushing it out to stand. "No, Lovino I'm serious! We need to go!" He sounded scared.

Lovino caught his arm just as he was turning. "No, Feliciano! We're not going to your apartment!"

"You don't underst—"

"You don't understand!" Feliciano, blue light, melting, boiling, trickling—no. "There is—"

"Lovino!" Feliciano snapped, tearing his arm away and focusing with a serious golden stare. "You need to listen to me! You—Well—ugh!" He seemed genuinely frustrated, combing his hair with shaking fingers and a huff. Lovino almost even thought that he caught a hushed curse under the kid's breath. "I," he continued, angry now, "have given you ample opportunity to understand," he accused. "It's your fault that this hasn't been fixed yet! If you would just open your mind!"

"Just trust me!" Lovino screamed back, ignoring the sinking in his chest, "I—I can't explain it, but—"

"Uh—Uhm, I—sirs?" someone introduced sheepishly.

"What?" Lovino and Feliciano demanded in unison. The cashier shrunk another step away, a cradled phone against his cheek.

"My—My manager is—" he scantily motioned the phone towards them, "she says that you have to leave or else she'll call the cops."

The sparks of the boys' fuses dimmed; Lovino wouldn't understand just how vastly different their reasonings had been until had worked himself ragged to try and figure the boy across from him out. Feliciano's demeanor softened. He blinked, leaving his eyes closed for a split second longer than necessary before, with a tight-lipped smile, he nodded at the boy whom looked upon him with fear.

"Tell her that we're terribly sorry for the disruption and will evacuate promptly." He glanced over at Lovino, as if to say something, but instead picked up his empty cup and dwindling fries and turned, dumping his handful into the trashcan on his way out.

Lovino followed quickly, fumbling with his own items. "Feliciano, wait!" Feliciano walked briskly down the sidewalk, hands straight at his sides as he did so. Lovino kept his temper as even as he could. "Where are you going?" he demanded.

Feliciano ignored him, continuing down his path until he turned, and then turned again, and again; Lovino having caught up with him after the first turn was now, trudging beside him, simply satisfied with the fact that the kid seemed to have let the apartment thing go.

Lovino felt helpless. There was nothing that they could do, their hands were tied. They could find another establishment to sit at, call in a friend—one of Feliciano's friends. Did Lovino have anyone else that would get him out of this mess? Maybe he could hit up Kiku. The Asian seemed to like him enough not to hate him.

Feliciano stopped suddenly. He turned to Lovino, his eyes were sad, his whole self composed. He never broke eye contact, Lovino would later wonder whether it was because he had already seen them coming; a hint of a car, a footstep Lovino hadn't caught, too stuck in his head. "I'm sorry for getting you punched," he said, seemingly sincere, but Lovino would doubt that tomorrow. He laughed weakly. Lovino didn't know what to do, this was some new fucked up form of warfare—if it wasn't why did he feel like this? "I'm glad he didn't do worse," how could he say that cheerily? "But…the note was never meant for the Rodriguezes. I just couldn't tell you, or give you something that would tell you, upfront. It's—I just—" his face fell into that warm innocent smile that Lovino knew so well yet, in this moment, wanted nothing to do with because it was just so stupid and out of place. He felt for the first time that Feliciano was the one tricking him.

And it was the breath that he was preparing to curse the kid with that choked him when Feliciano moved in closer. Lovino hated this feeling. It was a bad feeling, a horrible feeling, a flickering pulse and the suffocating awareness of Feliciano's lips on his ear. It was a feeling that he never ever wanted to feel again because it was a package deal, even if he didn't know it right then. But tomorrow's knowledge doesn't snuff out the current day's events.

Feliciano's words were slow, calm. Lovino focused, and Feliciano must have known he was focusing too hard because he stared his message over, desperately squeezing Lovino's arm. Lovino caught on.

He mouthed each letter as the boy talked, drawing out the movements, with all concentration akin as he attempted to reroute his blood to the right head. He hadn't caught any of the words, just the letters. URTFIVLFGGSVXLWVKOVZH

Figure out the code pleas.

Lovino wouldn't wonder why the last letter of the phrase was never said.

"Feliciano Varmint," someone said from behind them. Lovino jumped, his skittering heart chugging along, a sudden flush of shame breaking across his whole body. Feliciano stepped down, inhumanly calm with one final brush against Lovino's hand. Leaving something behind, something blocked and slim. His phone? Feliciano stood tall, honey eyes confident as he stared at the newcomer.

Lovino turned to find two men. Both wore police uniforms. Lovino lost his breath again. One of the men held a badge in front of him, his dark eyes pooling into tanned skin and a mess of curls on his head.

"Officer Carriedo," he introduced promptly. "You're under arrest for impersonating a police officer."

Lovino shot a wide-eyed glance between Feliciano and the officers. Feliciano didn't offer him anything, not even a look. "Is that all?" he practically sighed.

"Is there more we should know?" the police officer asked.

"No."

Lovino shouldn't have done it. He shouldn't have pocketed the kid's phone and lied about knowing anything (was it really a lie?). He should have just forgotten him. He should've. But he didn't.

Turns out he didn't even know the kid's password.

The night was growing older and older, Lovino was no closer to cracking the code. He sat in his own apartment, aware of every little sound, every change of the wind, creak in the boards surrounding him. He left only the Livingroom light on, making sure his curtains were drawn and every door was closed.

Feliciano had taken particular care with this code. Atbash, Ceasar shifts, even word-orders—no matter what he tried it didn't work!

He looked over the starting letters of each word:

NYXWMDDFIUEKXCPHOBOHUGPUT BOZRJXWNPPNKEZGNBNKAJJJIF TJZDAPEOEBOHSUCENAXWJGXAR FWHZHDGZPHCTYMM

No matter what he plugged it into he couldn't figure it out. He scrubbed down his face, ignoring the pain of his bruise. His mind attempted to skip back to highschool, to smirking at dumbasses that couldn't figure out the puzzle he had put up on the board.

"What," he would laugh, "don't you know how to read a simple column cipher?"

Only this wasn't a stupid ego thing, and there was no white board to assist him. He groaned, throwing the paper away from himself and leaning back.

Feliciano was taken by the cops! The same fucking people that had been shooting at them a handful of hours ago! How was he even sure that the kid was even still alive? He didn't have time for this! Why didn't Feliciano just tell him what he wanted to say in that moment?

Lovino was coming to realize that he knew little to nothing about the kid. Feliciano was religious, family oriented, adventurous, and the most annoying person in the world. He was a nuisance, clingy, and a player-in-denial. He was Lovino's best—only (a thing he would only admit here, alone, and desperate)—friend. Only, it didn't seem like any of these characteristics held up anymore. Now he was some law-breaker who only spoke in codes and was probably only manipulating Lovino.

"Fuck," Lovino moaned, beating his hand onto the table. "Fuck! Who the hell are you? What the fuck is so important?"

Taking a break from the note he clicked on the boy's phone. It was a lettered passcode; number of letters indeterminate. Lovino stared into the open keyboard, it's grey-and-black background daring him to type in another code. He only had three trys left. He threw it across the room.

Standing he twirled around. Fuck! He needed a fucking couch! He bit his thumb, initially going for the nail but finding the grind just as satisfying. What was he going to do? Cry? That was definitely becoming an option.

Taking a deep breath he closed his eyes, slumping against the wall. He just needed to think. Feliciano knew what he was doing; he knew that Lovino didn't know his passcode, so he would have given it to him.

Or he would have given him the hint needed to break the note's code and put his phone's password in that.

Fuck.

He tried to conjure up anything weird that Feliciano did. Recently, within the last year, at anytime ever. How much of Feliciano's queer charm been him trying to tell Lovino something?

Recent: he had gotten arrested for impersonating a fucking cop. Joy. Also recent: he had decided to pick up some random ass missing-person's case, despite not giving much of a fuck when Lovino had first told him about it. Recent: he had decided to stop sleeping. Recent: he had texted Lovino about losing his faith right after dragging Lovino's ass to church.

Within the last year: he had dragged Lovino around to every museum, movie theater, haunted house or tourist-y location Kansas had to offer. Within the last year: He had found a way to be dumped only to be the happiest fucking soul the next day, only to send a coded text the following week about being heartbroken. Within the last year: the kid had decided to befriend Lovino. Within the last year: he had gotten five new phones. Or was it six? It was too many; he always just said that he was on some stupid contract that was always sending him new phones.

Within the last forever: well, Lovino wasn't sure he could count on what he had been told. Was the kid's family life like he had advertised? Was his high school really that big, or was he actually really good at soccer and baseball?

Who was this kid? And why was Lovino trying so fucking hard to figure it out?

Figure out the code pleas—where had the e gone? Had Feliciano just forgotten it?

Striding over to the phone Lovino quickly typed 'pleas.'

2/10 chances remaining

Fuck!

He was playing a game that he didn't know the rules to.

Slumping to the floor he shoved his face into his knees. "What is it?" he asked himself again and again. "He likes showtunes and art and fucking stupid things—is it something like that?" Not likely if he was changing out his phone so much to keep something hidden. Did that even work now-a-days with cloud saving everything device-to-device? "Does it have to do with Christianity? His family? He's always talking about random shit—how am I suppose to wade through it all? Fuck! Why can't he just be upfront with these things? How long had he known he was being trailed? When did he fucking decide to set up this fucking treasure hunt? Fuck!"

It was just past three a.m. when Lovino woke up. He had dozed off, but he was almost grateful. He hadn't dreamt of anything, and he was exhausted when he opened his eyes, but his mind was clear and his body felt light.

And a single string of words ran through his head.

"If you would just open your mind!"

Chewing on his nail he carefully typed it in, letter by letter.

Open your mind.

The phone clicked as he was given access.

He sighed, shaking his head and wishing that Feliciano wasn't such a fucking idiot.

He went through the boy's contacts, looking for Alfred or Al or Jones or whatever Feliciano would have named him under. There didn't seem to be anything. Not only that, but when Lovino clicked into Recent Messages there was nothing. His messages between him and Lovino weren't even there.

Lovino had a creeping suspicion that if he continued to search he wouldn't find an account tied to anything.

Lovino was so close yet so far! Something in this phone held the key to the code, he was sure of it. Checking the internet history, he found it wasn't cleared, but it also held nothing of interest. It was too clean! A social media account here, a porn site there, a random search for lyrics or videos. Nothing screamed out to Lovino as unusual, and his gut told him that it had been intentional.

He was ready to give up when a the small device buzzed.

A number he didn't recognize, one that wasn't in the contacts.

3:04 am

This is Detective Jones, I see that you've gotten in. Who was sent to arrest him?

Lovino both wanted to throw the phone out of the window (shivers now raking his body) and call this number to scream and ask why everyone knew more than he did. Neither of these options were viable, he decided, and so he replied.


3:04

Car-something. Looked Mexican.

3:04

Carriedo?

3:04

Yes. Do you know the key to Feliciano's note?

3:07

What note?

3:07

He fucking accused the Rodriguez family of killing their son then tried to make it out like the note was some fucking code.

3:08

Send me a fax

3:10

No I will send you a picture

3:10

Incoming call


"Do you want your friend to be thrown in jail?"

Lovino could feel the scowl flushing onto his face. "No! That's the only reasoning I'm not sleeping right now, fucktard!"

"Tone, boy. Fax me the message now. Feliciano only has 24 hours from his arrest."

"What—"

"If the police discover enough evidence to officially charge him of anything he's likely not to be released until his sentence is up."

"Sentence!"

"Fax me the fucking message!"


Lovino hated everything about this. For one, dry lightning cracked across the sky; for two, the beautiful woman he had been forced to text was under the impression that she was coming to meet Feliciano, not him. He was terribly nervous, trying to think up some excuse as to why Feliciano wasn't here. He had become ill. He was getting food. Sudden family issues but he really needed this done.

However, when Michelle walked up the steps to meet him, the sadness in her eyes shut him up. "Where's Feliciano?" she asked quietly.

"I—uh—he's—"

She shook her head, unlocking the door with an evident frown on her face. "Tell him I'm sorry," she practically begged, before turning to leave.

"Wait!" Lovino called.

She turned, hopeful.

"Can you show me how to use a fax machine?"


3:38

You have the key

3:38

What the hell took you so long! And no I don't

3:38

He wouldn't give you this without giving you the key. It's a Vigenere Cipher

3:39

You can't know that

3:45

I'm the one who taught it to him. I know the pattern. Don't contact me until you've figured out the key.


Lovino paced, cursing the whole time. He was never given a key! If it really was a Vigenere Cipher than it could literally be anything. A number, a word, a phrase, a anything. The longer the better!

Lovino stared at the list of first-letters of the accusing list. Open your mind? It could be that, but would Feliciano risk it? Make it his password and his key?

Lovino sent his question to Detective Jones. The man just sent back a crude emoji. Lovino sneered. "Old fucking people these days."

He continued thinking on the topic, pacing his floor with huffing breaths.

Why hadn't Feliciano included an e?


4:10

URTFIVLFGGSVXLWVKOVZH. It's the key.

4:11

Are you sure?

4:13

Positive.

4:30

Incoming call


"You need to go to his apartment. There's a secret compartment in his bottom dresser drawer with a box of evidence. Find it and keep it hidden."

"What?" Lovino demanded. "Won't that make me an assistant to some crime."

There was a long pause, almost light, a groaning sigh, only Lovino was deaf to it. "You already are one. Now hurry up. The police are going to be searching his building today."

"How do you know?"

"Just go!"


Lovino hated everything about Feliciano. He hated that he was some criminal, he hated that he was so fucking secretive, he hated that his dad had a friend that was a cop, but most especially he hated that he had given Lovino a spare key to his apartment.

"Fuck you and your fucking trust in me," Lovino muttered as he unlocked the door.

He stared forward at the empty couch, his stomach churning as the feeling of phantom eyes settled onto his chest. He would never be able to walk into this apartment like before. Never without seeing his dead best friend, feeling the presence of a dead child paces behind him. Shaking the thought from his head Lovino made his way to Felicaino's bedroom.

For being a secret compartment, it lacked in different types of pornos. Lovino quickly upheaved the box, allowing the dirty magazines to settle back amongst the socks and underwear. Feliciano really needed to be more imaginative. Imagine if they found some German furry shit. That would deter them.

Lovino pushed the drawer closed with his foot, trying to make as little noise as possible. Quickly leaving, he shot one last look at the couch. No blue light, no dead friend. Still, his heart pounded as if he had dodged a bullet.

Maybe he needed a therapist.


"I don't know where to fucking put this shit!" Lovino screamed into the phone. The orange hoodie from his nightmares along with a police badge sat before him, mocking him like flames of a house fire.

"Just keep them hidden long enough for Feliciano to be released! He'll deal with them afterwards."

"And what if the police come to my door?"

"Tell them that you doubt Feliciano would do anything like that. Have you never watched T.V. before?"

After getting off the phone, Lovino groaned. He picked up the hoodie and badge—ignoring the tingling sensation of his fingers against the fabric or his interest of the copper design—and walked circles around his apartment. He had to find somewhere to put them that the police wouldn't look. He would have to go to work tomorrow—today—too. To not raise any suspicion; and to also not get sacked before he had time to think about anything but dead children and mysterious kids.

Finally he decided to hide it in his bathroom cabinet, hidden behind towels and a list of medications and random junk he had stuffed in. He smiled; for once being a slob payed off.

Laying down to get some sleep before work, Lovino couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched.

He was too tired to dwell on it.


AUTHOR'S NOTES

Sorry this took so long to get out. my schedule has been wack

Okay, as some of you know, and others of you don't, I will be going on vacation in a few days. For some that means not doing anything at all for a week, for me that means getting all the writing possible done while trying to balance sister-bonding (my older sister actually has an account on here: animeobsessed001 . It's inactive right now, but if my little ass is successful at convincing her to write it may pick back up here soon~). My question for you guys is:

Do you mind 2+ updates in one day?

I usually just publish when I finish a chapter so that my mind can put it aside and I can focus fully on the next installment, but I also know that I personally don't always like update-after-update (unless I'm enamored with the story, of course). Even this one-a-day that I sometimes accomplish seems a bit too much sometimes (much for you; I kinda have to write as much as possible).

Also: can someone explain GerIta to me. I remember when I was a kid I absolutely adored it-but I think that was because I adored the fanart. Like, am I the only one that feels to make GerIta work you have to strip one of the characters down, making at least one of them dull and not fully-rounded? Auf Wiedersehn, Sweetheart did it perfectly by making the connection situational, but sometimes I wonder if that's the only way the pairing works. I dunno, maybe I haven't developed Ludwig in my head as much as I have Feliciano and Lovino. If one of you guys want to, send me a list of characteristics that you think Ludwig has (be it cannon or original.)

(^Says the chick that had been writing GerIta since she was 10)