A/N: I can't believe we've reached ten chapters! To anyone who has given me advice and help, thank you very much! I hope you enjoy this chapter. It appears everyone hates Ivan now... Hmm... That's his loss!

December 11th

Antonio was sitting at the desk in his room, tapping a pencil against the wood. He had grown tired of attempting to do English homework and was staring out the window, watching snow drift down from the gray, cloudy sky. School had been pretty routine. He was tired of hearing about the Soirée. A few weeks ago, Antonio had asked Bella, the beautiful blonde girl from Belgium he liked the tiniest bit, only to find that she was going with Abel. Oh, well. Antonio didn't mind too much. Really, he blamed his gloomy mood on the sky. Overcast. No hint of the shiny, bright sun he loved.

And Francis. Francis again. Antonio was worried about Francis, usually for various reasons. There was that time near the end of summer when Francis and his girlfriend of a year, Jeanne, had broken up. It hadn't been pretty. And Francis was usually pretty dramatic, having a knack for over-the-top soliloquies and heart-jerking monologues. But all those times, Francis had Antonio and Gilbert to comfort him. Now, if anything went wrong, there was just plain old Antonio. And Antonio was pretty sure something was wrong.

The trouble had started at the previous Confidants' Club meeting, the one at Mathias' house on Tuesday. Francis hadn't been acting normally since then. Instead of making flirtatious comments to every life form he saw, he was unusually withdrawn from life. Instead of bashing school meals during lunch, he ate dejectedly and headed to class without much conversation. Sure, Antonio had heard Francis mumbling nonsense apologies to Gilbert during the Tuesday meeting, but surely that wasn't why...? Or could it...? Still, he didn't want to randomly question Francis. Though he should have, he didn't. He picked up his phone and scrolled through his contacts until he found Arthur Kirkland's.

He never talked to Arthur Kirkland, except when they got paired up in class, or maybe recently at the Confidants' Club meetings. The two weren't so fond of each other, but Antonio knew Arthur and Francis were friends. Sort of. It rang three times before Arthur picked up.

"Hello?"

"Hello. It's Antonio."

"Antonio?" Antonio could hear the skepticism in Arthur's voice. "Well, um, hello. Can I help you?"

"Actually, yes. Have you talked to Francis since Tuesday?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Does he seem... off to you?"

"So you noticed, too. It's like he snapped!" Annoyance laced Arthur's voice for reasons Antonio couldn't begin to fathom.

"I think he's acting strangely," Antonio tried again.

"I also think one plus one equals two," Arthur replied dryly.

Antonio exhaled loudly. This is why he didn't enjoy talking to Arthur. Too much sarcasm and too much of a cynical perspective for the Spaniard's liking. "Well, what do you think is wrong with him?"

"What isn't wrong with him?" Arthur fired back. "I think he's grieving, actually. For Gilbert."

"But why now?"

"I know. I know." Arthur sounded agitated. "I mean, Gilbert's been dead for more than a month, and now Francis suddenly seems to notice? It's like he's been on autopilot these past few weeks. But I guess I'll talk to him. See if he's okay."

"Maybe it's his coping mechanism."

"What's yours?"

Antonio paused. "What?"

"Yours," Arthur said. "What's your coping mechanism?"

"Hmm..." Antonio bit his lip lightly, considering this. "Smile through it, I guess. Maybe you'll even make other people happy."

Arthur snorted. "You're so naïve, Antonio."

"I'm not naïve. I'm optimistic."

"It's the same thing."

"It's not," Antonio said. "At least, I like to believe they're different. I like to believe you can trust people and hope for the best without looking like an idiot."

"An idiot, huh? That reminds me of something. You're close with the Vargas family, aren't you?"

"Oh, yes, very much so. Aren't you and Lovino friends? You two are so alike."

Arthur sighed. "No. I worked with him on a group project once. I don't want to spend time with someone who insults me all day and only addresses me as 'bastard'. Besides, with our personalities, it would be only a matter of time before one of us offs the other."

"Yes, it's very annoying when someone insults you nonstop," Antonio said pointedly. Arthur laughed. "Sorry. Anyway, I think you should talk to Feliciano Vargas."

"Oh, really? Why?" Antonio asked.

"I think he's a secret-keeper."

"Feliciano?" exclaimed Antonio. "He couldn't hurt a fly."

"Yes, but he was close with Gilbert through Ludwig, and he's such an... excuse me, but he's an idiot, as you say. Don't you think he'd do Gilbert's bidding?"

"Well, Feli's not idiotic, first of all. He's actually got very high marks in all his classes. He just acts dumb. Or, well, he's truly naïve."

"Okay, okay, whatever. I still think you should talk to him. Hint about things."

Antonio's eyes were focused on the snow buffeting around outside his bedroom window. "Sure. When were you actually planning to tell me all this?"

"I was going to at the Soirée, but then you called, so I figured I'd just tell you now."

Pause. "All right," Antonio said finally. "Thank you. I'll talk to him. See you tomorrow."

There was more silence, and Arthur eventually said, "Okay. And I'll speak to Francis."

"Thanks."

"No problem."

There was another minute of serene hush, until Antonio was the one to finally hang up.

Ivan had been dreading this. On Tuesday, after he and Alfred had gotten into that very public, very damaging fight, after he had gotten sent to the principal's office like a grade-schooler, after he had confronted Emil, after he had done all those things, he had gotten a letter.

Oh, he knew it was coming. But that did not make it any better.

He had spoken to Emil before school ended the day he found out the Icelandic kid was his secret-keeper, and Emil had pulled an envelope out of his bag, just like the one Natalia had given Alfred, except this one was addressed to Ivan. Despite Ivan's words to Alfred in the cafeteria, despite everything he had said about Gilbert's life being a game, he felt a genuine loss at Gilbert's death. He and Gilbert had a... strange relationship. Since it had been several days since he had received the letter, Ivan decided it was time to open it. It was still folded in one of his textbooks.

He had just gotten out of his last detention (and his father had been beyond pissed that Ivan was fighting on school grounds), so Ivan got home and locked himself in his room with the textbook and a glass of water.

So, Commie, we've reached the end of an era, haven't we? But this is no time for sentiment. I can't believe you actually figured out that Emil was harboring your secret, though knowing you, you probably threatened to mutilate him unless he did your bidding. No, wait, you favored Emil, didn't you? Anyway, listen: I know your life sucks. I know your father's a wasted old jerk and your mother doesn't have time for you, but that doesn't excuse your actions. I can't stand to talk about this right now, so I will write about things I want you to know. Things I'd like to say to you.

First of all, I hope you're working with the group, because that will simplify things for you all. At this point in time, you may or may not have the other letters, but in some of those, I basically say, 'Oh, your fault lies in the other letters.' Or 'I'm sorry'. Well, Ivan, the other letters won't help you here. You have no reason to find them, because I'm about to tell you everything you need to know. For you, it's all here. Pay attention. We were never friends. You were simply lumped into that group. I'm not going to lie, Ivan. I hate you. But you were a very fun rival. An interesting one. You kept me on my toes; I kept you on yours. I respect you for that.

But I don't respect some of the choices you've made. How hypocritical does that sound, considering I ended my own life? Probably very, but I don't care. Another thing, Ivan: you are different from the others, in the sense that I bet you find these secrets quite disgusting. Well, I find you disgusting, so it's all good. One last question—as I said earlier, I hope you're working with the group, but either way, I'm wondering: Where do you buy your vodka?

Береги себя, Gilbert Beilschmidt

Береги себя. 'Best wishes'. Or 'take care of yourself'. Gilbert probably thought that was a nice touch to add to a suicide letter for a Russian acquaintance.

Ivan was bewildered. The letter seemed to switch between so many topics. So, the underlying theme in the two letters uncovered so far was 'work in a group', which the Confidants' Club was doing, but why? Gilbert had literally stated that Ivan had no reason to hunt for the other letters. Hadn't he? And...

Where do you buy your vodka?

What on earth did that mean? How was it related to anything at all? Oh, well. Ivan's head was aching, so he took an aspirin, made sure that he had his suit and tie laid out for tomorrow's Soirée, and went to bed. He would worry about his problems later.