Author's note: i'm dumb and i forgot to say that this story contains some minor SpaBel and FrUk, past SpaMano and PruHun.

this chapter is tiny :)

"Lovi, I'm home!"

Lovino replied with a nod, stuck in a world of calculations and sheets of paper that smelled of new. He loved the smell of paper and fresh ink.

He would have preferred, however, that paper and ink to be used in a better way, for example they would have been pages of the best Italian cookbooks or the most tearful romantic novels.

He loved to read, it was one of his greatest passions. He was literally crazy about love stories and romance based movies, although he tended to hide his novels under the bed to prevent his brother from finding them by chance in one of his maniacal cleaning sessions, which were only intended for Lovino's room.

Feliciano had never cleaned in his life, so it didn't take Lovino too long to realize that his only purpose was to pry into his private life, trying to discover some juicy secret about him, since according to Feliciano, Lovino kept himself too reserved about his life and should have shared with him some more spicy or personal aspects.

From Lovino's mouth in such cases, more insults came out than usual and the young man assiduously wondered where his brother had learned never to mind his own business. Then he remembered his grandpa and understood where his brother's dowry came from.

Though he passed away more than a year ago, Lovino still remembers when the bastard read his secret junior high school diary, finding out all about dating a girl from his own class.

Every word was a dig, and every time he looked in the mirror he saw fiery red cheeks, so red that he thought that if he touched them with even the tip of his finger, he would burn himself.

He weighed it on him for days, but those days became weeks and then months.

And from there, no more secret diaries and shit like that. But not because he was carrying around the trauma of childhood, but simply because there was nothing more interesting to tell or write.

Oh God, Lovino at that moment would have wanted to replace that pile of useless paper in a nice book to read, which would take him away from the nightmare of reality for a moment and make him live any adventure of his choice.

A historical book? Bollocks, too boring. A science fiction book? No shit, too unrealistic.

Maybe a good horror book would have been perfect. One that freezes all the blood in your body and makes your skin crawl.

The cards attesting the absence of money, the non-payment of rent, the lack of contributions to pay, the bills to pay that he had been dragging around for months, could become like the scariest horror book he had ever read, and with him as the protagonist.

The sweat gurgling from his forehead and the desperation that assailed his soul were his own, not the one's of any character who found himself in a house haunted by ghosts or spirits and such entities.

"Are you hungry?" His brother asked inncocently, who despite not having received an answer, was already at the starting line to make a good pasta with sauce.

Lovino shook his shoulders and then put out his cigarette by rubbing it in the ashtray, forgetting for a moment how much it had relaxed him.

He took off his glasses, which had already given him a strong headache, and put his sweaty hands on his meninges, massaging them gently.

"No. I think I'm gonna take an aspirin and go to bed, I have to wake up soon tomorrow and I'm tired, with a bad, fucking headache. Oh, and don't put your hands on my shit, stay away from it," he warned, staring at his brother, who was already looking curiously at that pile of white paper scattered on the kitchen table.

"All right Lovi! Can I at least tidy it up a little bit?"

"do whatever you want."

And in no time at all, Feliciano went through the paperwork at the precise moment when his brother disappeared on the second floor of the house.

He resisted the temptation to start looking through and reading every single printed word. He had promised his brother he wouldn't look, and so he wouldn't.

Not even if the temptation was strong and the devil told him to take one by one those damn piles of paper, and try his hand at the best reading he had done in his entire life.

Also because the only book Feliciano had ever read was in elementary school.

He much preferred movies, because it seemed to him that they could immerse him fully because it was happening, and then he didn't have to get too tired reading and losing track of the pages, or worse still, trying to translate the ones that were too difficult.

He gently took the paperwork, formed a pile and placed it on the table in a surprisingly tidy way.

Feliciano huffed a little, worrying about the reason his brother was always so busy lately, that he had begun to neglect himself and what he liked to do.

It was a long time since I'd seen him spray his favorite perfume, take a long bath with salts to make the water smell good, curl his hair, dress fine and stylish.

He looked at the plate of pasta in an inexpressive way, not typical of his way of doing it. He bent his head slightly to the left, and with a live grudge, he pushed away the plate of spaghetti that had only been the object of a few small forks.

He didn't feel like eating anymore. He felt like he was living on his brother's shoulders. He was 18 years old and had no independence, no job and no place to live.

He would have liked to be like Ludwig, Independent at a young age, and everyone was proud of him.

Feliciano realized how Germany had changed Lovino, making him more and more like the typical German stereotype. He had become a slave to his work, and Feliciano knew how hard his brother was working to allow that plate of pasta he was eating to be there at that moment.

"Come on amigo, don't be sad! You got better things to think about, right?" Antonio exclaimed, giving a friendly punch to Gilbert's shoulder, trying to cheer his dull and sad face.

Gilbert turned towards Antonio, striking him with his gaze and threatening him with his crimson eyes.

"You..." he looked at him, slightly lowering his head as he turned to him. "You... do you know what it feels like to be rejected?" He teased him annoyingly, touching his chest with his finger, almost painfully.

"And you know what's worse? Being rejected for your brother, who's got a serious ass face and doesn't even know how to properly fu-."

"Enough mon cher, I think you're exaggerating" Francis slapped his hand on his friend's mouth, plugging it and preventing the worst vulgarities from being uttered by his lips.

"I don't care, I just want to drink now!" He tore Francis' hand from his face, rushing over another beer laid on the counter, uncorking it quickly and savoring every single hop.

He was drinking too much beer, so much that he immediately realized how slowly it became more and more disgusting to his taste buds and his stomach, but more and more pleasant to his eyes and soul.

His stomach was literally burning, as was his heart. He didn't care anymore, he just wanted to be able to pass out or something, at least not to feel that excruciating pain penetrating his bones.

He felt relaxed, even as he swallowed what was now for him was pure poison. The feeling of exhaustion, the nausea that slowly took possession of his body, had taken second place.

It was incredible, to find yourself hating that thing that you had loved terribly for years, but to know that you couldn't do without it.

"Mom ami, cut it out now, you're drinking too much" Francis cast a glance at Antonio, to catch his wrinkled eyebrows in time in a look of disapproval, only to return to look at the German who, with his eyes half closed, kept his bitter breath and his face painted a fiery red.

"Come on, don't be boring! Let me drink!" His voice made his friends shudder. They could grasp the desperation in his tone, although he was visibly penalized by the dehydration to which alcohol had led him.

Francis didn't wait this time. He took Gilbert forcefully from his back, dropping his beer glass on the floor and breaking the bottles into a thousand pieces, attracting the looks and insults of the club.

"Keep your money and don't complain!" He threw a handful of coins on the counter, with a petty and hurried manner, not even looking the exasperated waiter in the face.

"What a place of drunks! Gilbert, do you really get off on this sleazy, understated place? You may be drunk, but I don't think alcohol can make you so shabby that you'd stay in a place like this!" He asked, but he didn't expect an answer from Gilbert.

He looked at what his friend looked like. "Well, perhaps you'd be able to pick a place like this when you're perfectly ok..."

He blew on his topknot, elegantly pulling his hair away from his face with a light touch, dragging the German out of the room.

There was a drunk German, an angry Spaniard and an annoyed Frenchman. It seemed like the beginning of a joke, but it wasn't that funny.

Gilbert threw himself on the steps, and Antonio and Francis took his place next to him, trying to comfort him.

"Gil, you're strong. You'll find someone better who appreciates you." Antonio rubbed his hand on his friend's cold shoulder, giving him some of his warmth.

"You all say the same thing! But it's so hard for me, you can't understand how much!" He clutched his hair in his hands, trying to hold back the anger that would lead him to commit some crime within hours.

"Amigo, but it's the truth. I thought I'd never find anyone either, but then I found Belle instead and-"

"It's not the same thing! You haven't been rejected!"

"Mon ami, stop being so tragic. Things have to go wrong and then get better. You don't miss anything, just a little bit of... self-control, but then again, you're a good guy."

"Francis... you... would you be my boyfriend?" Gilbert said in a muffled voice, looking at Francis waiting for an answer, that he looked at him shocked and furious.

"What are you talking about, Gilbert!" Francis rolled his eyes. Damn it! The beer had really gone to his head more than he thought.

He never wanted to be with Gilbert, really. He preferred someone more manageable and not so rebellious.

"Well, I knew it, even my best friend wouldn't-"

"Shut the fuck up! It's five o'clock in the morning, there's people sleeping and working, and you come busting our balls screaming like a hysterical maniac! Nobody gives a fuck about your goddamn business !" Gilbert and his loud voice, were interrupted by a harsh and rude motorbike by the florist who ran the shop next to the bar frequented by him.

"Don't you dare talk to me like that! I'm fucking awesome, I'm the best and-"

"Nobody gives a shit! Did you hear me?"

"Lovino, please..."

"And you still dare talk to me?"

There you go. In addition to the joke, there was also a grumpy Italian who had started an explicit verbal fight with Gilbert, but who also made Antonio shut up with words followed by a hissing voice, worthy of the worst vipers.

Antonio. His first great love and his first great disappointment. He thought he was the only one in his heart, he thought he was the only one he cared about, and instead? Turns out to be a hobby for him when his ex-girlfriend was away on business trips

"Lovino, please..."

"Francis, you French bastard, could you tell both your friends to shut up and shut their hellish mouths? Thank you." He gave Antonio a cold, hate-filled look of hatred, and a questioning expression while looking at Gilbert.

Francis looked at the Spaniard, who nodded and bowed his head.

"Francis, did you see that? Look at him," he pointed to Lovino with a trembling arm, "he looks like the one who refused me."

"Oh no Gilbert, please..." too late. Gilbert had rushed on Lovino, saying things like, "Why don't you love me? Why aren't you with me? Why, tell me why!"

The Italian was horrified. He only thought he was a crazy maniac, even though he should have imagined it from his sharp, bloodshot eyes and his white skin, as if he had been set on fire.
A grimace of disgust took possession of his face, and pushed Gilbert away from him, who was taken by Antonio's shoulders.

"Lovino...could you...could you keep Gilbert here? We'll call his brother to come and get him as soon as possible."

"Are you crazy? No way! Take him with you, I don't want him!" Lovino refused Francis' proposal in no time at all. Why leave him to deal with that rabid, depraved maniac? That didn't exist at all! He would have destroyed his shop, causing him thousands of euros of damage he couldn't afford to use at that very moment.

"Lovino, please -"

"Give me the fucking phone! "I'll call his brother and have him come get him, but you're not leaving and you won't let me look after this crazy nutcase !" He ripped the phone out of Francis' hands, violently.

"What's the crazy man's brother's name?"

"He is memorized as Ludwig."

Ludwig? The same Ludwig? No, it couldn't be true. This psychiatric patient was the brother of the cuddly, loving teddy bear his brother was lost in love with?

Fuck. He'd have been related to a crazy guy if those two had gotten married. He shook his head, at that moment it was imperative to take the German home and not think about a new family tree.

"Hello? Hi, pick up your brother Gilbert here at the Vargas' florist shop, and hurry up, because he's eating my flowers!" He didn't wait for an answer, quickly knocking down the receiver and then tearing one of his most precious roses from Gilbert's mouth.

"I wanted to dance tango with Antonio-"

The tango with Antonio. Lovino froze for a moment, remembering how much he liked to dance with his beloved in the living room, holding his hand tightly and coordinating their bodies in a sensual and elegant dance. Their breasts rubbing together, full of sweat, their eyes crossing each other and their mouths getting closer and closer until they opened in tender kisses.

The rose. The rose that Antonio, from his mouth, passed gently to Lovino's, protecting with his lips any damage of the thorn on the fleshy and delicate Italian ones.

"You dance it at home, and not with my roses in your mouth!" He recovered and shook his fist gnashing his teeth, entered his shop and left behind the three men who were screaming and smashing his eardrums on a cool and quiet morning in early September. It was the first day he was back to work after his summer vacation, and you could still feel the sea breeze and salt on his tanned skin and hair.

And soon it flew an hour, maybe even two. And when he looked out the door, he saw that the city had come back to life, and the more time went by, the more people came and went.

He was so caught up in the atmosphere of orderly confusion, he didn't notice that Gilbert and his friends had been gone for quite a while.

He noticed only one thing. His rose, the one Gilbert had in his mouth, had been thrown on the floor in front of his shop.

He picked it gently, looking at the spoiled and crushed petals. Gilbert hadn't even had the decency to put it back in its place, but just as he was thinking how it could give her a new life, he pricked himself with a thorn.

"Damn it! Shitty rose!"

That was a proof that the most beautiful things can hurt you, and sometimes it was better to let them go and throw them in the trash.