A/N: Natalia and Lovino were already noted together in the coffeehouse confrontation, but they aren't dating. They're just very good friends. Also, I'm going to start getting sidetracked on this story. And by that, I mean I'll develop the character's 'backstories' and interactions more, if you know what I mean.


December 12th

Lovino Vargas hated chemistry. Despised it. First of all, he had to share a class not only with his brother Feliciano, but also with nearly every asshole in the eleventh grade. It was almost as if the school had purposely lumped him in a class with a bunch of dimwits. Lovino allowed a heavy sigh to pass his lips and looked around the classroom. People-watching never got old. The teacher was droning on about some chemical Lovino didn't bother to comprehend. He'd pass the class anyway. He always did.

Kiku Honda, Lovino's lab partner, was studiously taking notes. That was fine; Lovino didn't mind Kiku that much. Heracles Karpusi was drifting off to sleep. Ivan Braginsky and Alfred Jones seemed to be cold-shouldering each other. Lovino didn't care. They were probably fighting over a girl or something dumb. Near the front of the room, Feliciano was—wait, what?

Feliciano was on his phone? During class?

That wasn't unusual for a student. But for Feliciano? He was always attentive and obedient during class. Lovino took out his phone and texted his brother.

11:39 AM - Lovino Vargas: What are you doing?

After five minutes, Feliciano hadn't answered, and it was obvious he was still on his phone. Lovino snorted and turned to Elizaveta Héderváry, the hard-working girl seated to his left. "Hey," he whispered.

She looked up from her chemistry textbook. "Yeah?"

"Um... do you have a hairband?"

Elizaveta raised an eyebrow at her classmate. "Sure," she muttered, pulling one off her wrist. Lovino swore girls wore those things like a code. "Thanks," he replied softly. He turned back to the front of the room, but he was aware that Elizaveta was still watching him curiously. Lovino was indifferent to this and looped her hairband around his fingers, taking aim. His aim was excellent. He did this too often. Elizaveta looked amused and fairly surprised.

Lovino let the hairband fly, watching it arc through the classroom and hit his stupid brother on the head. Finally. That got Feliciano's attention. He turned around, staring at Lovino. Feliciano actually looked somewhat annoyed, a facial expression that didn't suit him.

Respond, Lovino mouthed, pointing at his own phone. Feliciano nodded and turned back around.

"Sorry about your hairband," Lovino murmured to Elizaveta. She just smiled and continued taking notes.

11:45 AM - Feliciano Vargas: Sorry! I was texting Antonio.

11:46 AM - Lovino Vargas: What the fuck? The tomato bastard?!

11:47 AM - Feliciano Vargas: Please, he just wanted to talk about Gilbert Beilschmidt.

Lovino frowned. Antonio wasn't even in this class. Couldn't he have just waited until lunch? Lovino sent Feliciano several more text messages, all wondering about the tomato bastard and Gilbert, but Feliciano ignored them all. The second the bell rang for lunch, Lovino's fratello had disappeared.


Lovino was fairly surprised when he walked to his usual table in the cafeteria and Feliciano was sitting there. Feliciano usually sat with Antonio and Bella, or Kiku Honda, or Ludwig Beilschmidt, Gilbert's younger brother, who was in the tenth grade. But Feli never sat with Lovino and his friends. (Or, more accurately, friend—just him and Natalia Arlovskaya.)

"What are you doing here?" barked Lovino, setting down his stuff and sitting next to Natalia.

"Oh! I was going to talk to you about Antonio," Feliciano replied.

Lovino rolled his eyes, opening his Thermos. "Then by all means, go ahead."

Natalia looked genuinely interested. "What?"

"Antonio didn't go into that much detail, so I'm not really sure what he was trying to say, but when he was texting me, he kept hinting about, like..." Feliciano's hands were moving furiously. "A secret. And Gilbert Beilschmidt. And he kept asking me if I knew any secrets of Gilbert's. Before he died, I mean. Antonio asked if Gilbert talked to me."

Lovino set down his fork. His pasta wasn't sitting with him so well anymore...

"D-did he?" Natalia asked, looking just as sick as Lovino did. This confused Lovino, but he was too preoccupied to ask why this mattered to Natalia.

"Hmm?" Feliciano looked cheerful as always. "No, I didn't know what he was talking about." Feliciano stood up. "I'm going to go sit with Kiku now! He's gonna talk about this manga called Evangel—"

"Okay," interrupted Lovino. "Just... just go, Feli. Bye."

"I, uh, wonder what that was about," Natalia said shakily once Feliciano had left.

Lovino knew. And he had a sneaking suspicion that Natalia did, too.


Arthur was regretting his decision to confide in Matthew. Well, in a complicated way. After Antonio had called Arthur yesterday, Arthur had chatted with Matthew about Francis. Matthew agreed that there was definitely something up, and the two had decided to confront Francis about it during lunch the next day. Which, unfortunately, meant they had to talk about it now.

That was going fine for Matthew. He and Francis were having a fast-paced conversation in French, while Arthur was left to deal with an angry, melodramatic Alfred.

"Come on, Alfred," Arthur attempted. "It's Friday. Brighten up. And that dance is later today! You were fine yesterday. What's the matter? You're not even eating, and it's pizza!" The Brit plastered a fake smile on his face.

Alfred glared at his friend. "Ivan-fucking-Braginsky is the matter."

Arthur frowned. Of course. Several people had been coming up to Arthur and asking what had happened between Ivan and Alfred, knowing Arthur was close friends with the latter. "It's not your business," Arthur would tell them. "Go away. Don't you have more important things to worry about?" But there were lots of rumors going around. Everyone who had been in the cafeteria that Tuesday had seen the fight. In fact, since Alfred and Ivan were ignoring each other now, many people were referring to their little drama as the Second Cold War. "Oh," Heracles had said to Arthur the day before, "Russians and Americans never really did get along, did they?"

"Don't let him get to you," Arthur said, though in truth, he wasn't so fond of Ivan either. But he had never been close with Ivan. Alfred had. Personally, Arthur thought Ivan was being ridiculous and shallow, but he knew how weirded out Ivan could get by these things.

"Say, Iggy," Alfred muttered cheerlessly, "you never told me—what's your secret?"

Arthur gritted his teeth. "Nothing," he said sharply and much too loudly. He tried to lower the volume of his voice, because Matthew, Francis, and Alfred were all staring at him.

Alfred shrugged, looking mildly interested. Nosy git! "We'll probably find out sooner or later," Alfred reasoned. "C'mon, Iggy, tell us now."

"It's nothing. Actually." Arthur forced a shaky laugh.

"Tell us," Alfred pressed.

"It's totally irrelevant!" Arthur finally exclaimed. "I'm not trying to sound rude, but Gilbert shouldn't be blaming me for my secret. It's absurd that he would hold this over my head! I certainly couldn't have done anything about it. It's stupid. No, it's more than that. It's unrealistic!"

"Arthur," Francis said. He looked as if he wanted to say more, but he didn't dare.

Matthew and Alfred were staring at Arthur, who was sitting there, cheeks red and breath short from his sudden lament. Arthur picked up his apple. "Well, it's true!"

"My God, Arthur," Alfred said quietly.

"Stop staring at me," Arthur snapped, feeling he had to defend himself after what he had just said. He changed the subject. "Francis, I see you're feeling better, huh?"

Francis' eyes narrowed, but not in a mean way. He was obviously thinking very intensely, very quickly, and very strategically. It seemed everyone was flipping out for the smallest of reasons lately—Alfred, Ivan, Arthur, even Francis himself. It would be best to choose words carefully from thereon out. "Well, yes," Francis said. "To be candid, the other day at Mathias', I think it really hit me that Gilbert isn't coming back. Ever."

Arthur snorted. "It's been more than a month."

"Yes, but this... this secret stuff—I mean, he didn't drop it on us until December first," Francis replied.

Arthur nodded, his face burning with anger and embarrassment. It was true. Gilbert had killed himself in early November. His funeral had been on November 15th. By December, everyone thought all traces of him were slowly fading away. Arthur had been trying to forget. Not only about Gilbert's death, but about—about someone else, too. Someone whose life was massively intertwined with his secret. And Arthur was not happy about this. Then, eight people got slammed with those secret threats...

"Arthur," Alfred said gently. "I'm sorry. Can you help me with my homework?"

Arthur smiled weakly. "You should have done it at home, idiot."

"I know," Alfred said. "I forgot."

"Git," Arthur said, but he knew—in a weird way—Alfred was trying to make him feel better by admitting he needed help, even with something as insignificant as his homework. When Arthur had first moved to the United States in sixth grade—the first year of American middle school—things had been chaotic and painful, and Alfred had loyally stuck by Arthur and helped him adjust. Arthur vowed to repay the favor. Plus, he liked helping people. He looked at Alfred's assignment, just like old times. The air of the lunch table was tense, but Arthur ignored it. He scanned over a passage in Alfred's textbook.

But Arthur knew, deep down, that the Confidants' Club's emotions couldn't be overlooked forever. Sooner or later, something was going to happen, and it would probably be more than a fight in the cafeteria or an emotional breakdown during a talk. At the rate things were going, a storm was going to break sometime, and everyone standing in range was going to get hurt.