Halfway through lunch, Antonio texts Matt.

Ignoring for the moment Lovino and his in-progress rage aneurysm, Matt reads the message, pauses a moment before responding.

How are things?

Well. How were things, indeed –

"And what the fuck, I didn't even touch fucking anything, that absolute bastard–"

(How are things? But what a loaded question that was! How would you answer that, how would you know –)

"You know," Michelle comments, only slightly rolling her eyes as she stirred her coffee, "maybe if you hadn't insulted his sexuality after he kicked you out, and maybe if you hadn't started swearing at him afterwards, then maybe – just maybe – he wouldn't have called the police –"

(– well?

Well.

The last past couple of days had been better, he supposed – better being a wholly relative term, he guessed. Gil had been going to classes, after all, talking and even going out to parties when Francis and Antonio came along – and even if he still spent the majority of his time inside, playing video games or rapid-flipping through channels, and even if he now seemed to always have a bottle of alcohol with him – well, that wasn't too bad, was it? For the most part, Gilbert acted like himself – well, mostly – just with a little less enthusiasm and a lot more alcohol – but that was still something, wasn't it? Wasn't it?)

"Oh, shut up," Lovino said, scowling as he reached for another piece of pizza, "the prick was an absolute bastard and you know it."

(And so maybe their room was quieter than usual now, and so maybe sometimes the silence was a little unnerving, and so maybe Gilbert wasn't exactly acting like himself lately, so much so that sometimes Matthew almost didn't recognize his roommate –

–but so what? Francis and Antonio had assured him that it happened before; Francis and Antonio had assured him that it was normal – and they were his friends, weren't they? Had known him longer, would know better? And if they said it was alright, shouldn't they be right? Shouldn't it?)

Matthew stares at his phone a second more –

And then texts back, and puts his phone away.

Fine.


It's several days later, the last of the summer sun fading as the leaves turn red, and it is after psychology and they are once again sitting in the dining hall together, Lovino full steam on his rant-of-the-day as Michelle avoids smiling at his theatrics by making snide comments –

And Matthew is sitting there, and Matthew is – once again – lost in thought.

(last night, Gilbert had staggered in, all loud gestures and a million ideas a minute – and though it had been three, and though Gilbert had talked his ear off until six even though Matthew had morning classes, and though Gilbert had smelt of enough alcohol for a bar – well, for a moment, it had almost better; for a moment, it had been almost normal –)

"–that wasn't even my fucking fault, so don't give me that shit about 'bring things on myself–'"

(–and then morning had come, and the smell of alcohol had stayed, an aftertaste sharp and barbed that lingered –)

"All I'm saaaaying," Michelle said, hands up defensively, "is that maybe if you that tried not to rage-splode every time yelled at you, and that maybe if you stopped thinking everyone who looked at you funny had it in for you –"

(– stayed, like Gilbert's good mood had not.

It had been silent when Matthew left, and already, there was another bottle.)

"–not my fault if every fucker I meet does have it in for me," Lovino grumbled, glowering faintly as he took a drink of his coffee.

"See, that is exactlywhat I'm talking about," Michelle sighed, blowing the hair out of her face as she leaned forward, "you always think the worst of everyone, and they get all surprised when they always prove you right –"

Mind still somewhere between his dorm room and Lovino's current tirade, Matthew rested his head on his hand and let himself think.

(details – details were important, weren't they? And he knew he shouldn't worry, that Antonio and Francis had told him not to, but the details were there, clear and sharp as broken glass: the darkness, the alcohol, the long, inexplicable silences –)

"Hola, Matthew!"

– at which all of his ruminations fell apart, and at which Matthew himself nearly fell out of his chair.

It was, he supposed, one of those thing you never quite got used to.

"Michèle!" Francis said, appearing (again, seemingly out of nowhere) to plant a kiss on his sister's face. "Salut, mon cher! Et bonjour à vous aussi, Matthieu!" he said, smiling as he sat down next to Matthew. "Ça va? And you are?" he asked, not waiting for a reply as he turned to Lovino. "My name is Francis," he said, giving Lovino the widest, most charming, and most Francis smile as he leaned forward, "and you,mon petitpretty boy, who are you–"

– to which Lovino drew back at a speed that was almost instantaneous, eyes widening as he pushed away from the table.

"What the fuck–"

"Aw, come now, Francis," Antonio chided, walking away so he was behind Lovino, "don't do that – you're scaring the poor boy. Ignore him," he said, leaning over the chair to smile down at Lovino, "Francis can be stupid about these things.I'm guessing you already know Mattie and Michy," he said, pulling out a chair, "that idiot is Francis, and I'm Antonio. And you are?"

Lovino, glare still residual as he turned to face Antonio, muttered something that might have been "Lovino Vargas."

"Lovino, huh?" Antonio said. "Pues, it's nice to meet you."

Antonio's smile was wide and easy: sunny, inviting. Lovino glared at it as if it were cubic zirconia in a diamond store.

"Oh, stop that," Michelle scolded, but she was smiling as she mock-punched him, "there's literally nothing to be paranoid about, it's Tonio. Hey, Toni," she said, raising a hand, "et salut a toi aussi, frère. What are you guys doing here? Don't you have bars to wreck or girls to seduce or something?"

"Mon dieu Michelin," Francis said, eyes wide as he placed a hand over his heart, "me blesses– I am hurt, truly hurt. De penser, that my own sister would think such things about her older brother, believe such horrific lies –"

"They're not lies if they're true," Antonio pointed out. "How long did that waitress last – one, two weeks, mi amigo?"

"Et tu, Antonio?" Francis gasped, turning to Antonio in mock shock. "First Michelin, and now you as well – ah, it is cruel, far too cruel. Vous me blessez, vous me blessez beacoup."

"Excusez-moi," Michelle said, rolling her eyes but smiling as she rummaged through her purse. "Here," she said, taking out a band-aid and holding it up, "would this help?"

"Only if it's the one with flowers on it."

Sighing as she shook her head, Michelle nonetheless took another band-aid out of her purse.

"There," she said, leaning over to stick it on Francis's forehead, "that better?"

"You forget the kiss," Francis said, somehow managing to be charming while pouting. "Maman would always kiss it afterwards –"

"Not to cut in on your little nuclear family moment," Lovino said, cutting in nonetheless, "but what exactly the fuck is going on? So apparently this creep," he said, pointing to Francis, "is related to you," pointing to Michelle, "while also being friends with the corn syrup-drenched smiling mannequin over there," a glare at Antonio, "both of whom happen, somehow, to also know my other lab partner," a glance at Matthew, "well enough to nearly give him a fucking heart attack, while breaking every fucking personal space and 'not fucking sexual harassment' rule in all of existence. And I don't know, maybe you just came here to play happy nuclear family for kicks or whatever, but the Oedipus vibes from all this pseudo-flirting are seriously fucking creeping me out – so unless you actually have something you fucking want to say, it would be really fucking considerate if you said it."

Glaring at the world, Lovino reached for his coffee, and downed it in one gulp.

"Lovino," Michelle said, voice mortified, "that was – you can't just say things like that to people – that's not just rude, that's mean –"

"Ah, come now, Michy, it's alright," Antonio said, putting an arm around Michelle, "it's not that bad. I'm sure he doesn't mean it. Besides, Lovi's right – it's not very polite to force company on other people. Bad habit," he said, smiling apologetically at Lovino, whose glare did not fade one iota, "sorry about that."

"Be better if you'd being sorry and just say what you're here for," Lovino said, the grumble present but noticeably muted as he crossed his arms.

"Ah, sí," Antonio said, brightening, "that's right – we still haven't told him, have we, Francis? Pues, anyways, Matthew," Antonio said, turning to him, "Francis and I – well, we have this weekend free, and it's been a while since we all got together, plus we're pretty sure you're sick of dining hall food by now – y pues, we were thinking about having a group dinner this weekend! You two can come too, por supuesto," he added, glancing at Michelle and Lovino.

"If Francis will be cooking, then you know I'll be there," Michelle said, still glaring at Lovino as she crossed her legs. "Though, that sounds a little tame for you guys – no parties, no girls? No tabletop dancing or high speed chases from the police? No bars to wreck? – and where is Gilbert, he's usually the one behind the crazy plans. Suspicious, sus-piii-cious," she said, stroking her chin, "– so what gives. C'mon, Tonio, you can trust meee – so dish dish, what's reeeeally going on here? What's the real plan?"

Folding her hands under her chin, Michelle leaned forward and smiled.

Antonio and Francis glanced at each other – a short, barely-there thing that said a world of hesitation.

"Bien, en fait, Michelin," Francis said, scratching the back of his head as he pointedly avoided looking at his sister, "that is what we actually had planned. Et Gilbert, bien..."

"The idea was kind of, well, thought up of because of him," Antonio said, smile still wide, still bright as ever, "something to cheer him up a little. One of those weeks," he said, smile bright and reaching everywhere but his eyes.

"Oh," Michelle said, softly. And for a long time, no one said anything at all.

"Pues, bien!" Antonio said, clapping his hands as he stood up. "Saturday it is, then – eight, eight-thirty? Ah, it doesn't matter – just sometime after seven, bien? ¡Guay! We'll see you then, then!"

"Adieu, Michelin," Francis said, leaning down to kiss Michelle on the forehead, "et au revoir à vous, aussi," he said, turning to smile at Matthew and Lovino. "My crème brûlées are famous, so I do expect to see you there – both of you, bien?"

And flashing them one last, toothpaste commercial-worthy smile, he left.

Leaving Michelle alone and free to start on Lovino.

"–don't know what you were thinking, but he's my brother, and you can't just say that–"

"–yeah, well, there's a fucking such thing as private space, and it's not my fault I don't like being fucking sexually harassed –"

But Matthew was only half-listening to their argument. Once again, his mind was distant, wandering on other things far, far away.

(details: alcohol and broken glasses, silences and dark windows – and beyond that, in the gaps between the pixels, the nearly-discarded scraps of moments, the catch in a step, the edge of hardness in the laughter –

Details: the devil was in them, but so was the truth. Details were good, details were necessary, details were important –)

(and what did the details say?)


Notes:

I know there was some people said stuff about the tenses being weird, but I think this shouldn't be as bad? The first part's in present tense and the second's in past, but there's not that much difference within scenes - I don't know, it just felt right to me ^^ But if it bothers people, I am totes amendable to changes ^^

Also, this website messes up my formatting like nothing else ._.

Translations:

Salut, mon cher! Et bonjour à vous aussi – Hello, my dear! And hello to you too

De penser – to think

me blesses, vous me blessez– you wound me

vous me blessez beacoup – (roughly) you wound me deeply

Por supuesto – of course

Bien, en fait – well, actually

Guay – fantastic/great (in Spain)

Et au revoir à vous, aussi – and goodbye to you, too