"Oh, Gilbert, i'm sure all your teeth will rot if you continue like this." Ludwig said almost in the form of a reproach as he watched his brother swallow yet another generous spoonful of ice cream from the huge jar.

Gilbert was lying on the couch, with his belly up as usual and some old overall he had wanted to patch so as not to throw it away.

After dinner at Feliciano's house, the two of them had retired home quite tired and with their heels hurting, while Gilbert was complaining especially about a strong pain in his backside, who knows for what bizarre reason.

To Ludwig, however, he didn't seem too sad or downhearted about what had happened: on the contrary, he had noticed with curiosity that his brother was quite amused by it, and when he wondered why he found it funny to be thrown out of the house (or rather, not to be let in at all) his mind resembled a big black hole and his thoughts wandered unanswered in it.

"What are you talking about? These teeth are awesome and fucking straight and white as quartz. They'll never fall out, even when I'm old!" He grabbed another spoonful of ice cream, licking the spatula well from the edges and savoring the sweet taste of strawberry.

"Don't talk with your mouth full, it's not really elegant."

"How boring you are! Look here, Lud!" Gilbert leaned out from the armrest of the couch and looked his brother in the eyes, sticking his tongue out, showing him the food in his mouth.

"come on, Gil!" visibly annoyed, Ludwig simply rolled his eyes and crossed his arms emitting a slight puff that moved, if only slightly, the platinum tuft of the albino lying on his face.

"Come on, that's not funny! You don't know how to joke, you're always acting like such a wimp! And then-"

"Let me guess, you'll say I'm boring and I remind you so much of Roderich, right?" Ludwig scanned the final words, snapping his tongue on the palate.

"Wow, Lud! You totally nailed it! How'd you do it?" Gilbert gouged out his eyes and opened his mouth visibly surprised, but Ludwig couldn't quite understand if his was sarcasm or if he was serious. Damn, Gilbert really was a great actor.

"Well, you always say that."

"True. Scheiße, I should find something new to say" he said, as he rubbed his thumb and index finger on his chin, pretending to think.

Ludwig was 100% sure he'd mention Roderich. They were very close friends, but Gilbert seemed to hate him for some past reasons, that went back to before he was dumped by Elizaveta.

Although to tell the truth, Ludwig and Roderich got along very well and really respected each other.

"Anyway, I wanted to tell you I'm glad to see you're feeling better." Ludwig walked up to his brother, giving him one of his shyest but sweetest smiles, that warmed Gilbert's heart.

It had already been three weeks since the meeting with Feliciano. Ludwig couldn't help but notice how relaxed his brother had been lately, and although the bad and unhealthy habits and enormous laziness still remained firm in his personality, Gilbert was visibly calmer.

as much as sometimes he felt like he didn't know his brother and thought of him as a book written in some archaic language and impossible to read, this time he could say he was really better off. He read it in his eyes, in his movements and noticed how his habits went back to those of before, including the bad vices he had to admit he had missed.

"Yes Lud. I'm awesome, I'm better than ever!" Gilbert looked at him with a sly smile, and in turn hinted at Ludwig with another little smile.

Gilbert then lean out again from the armrest of the sofa and throw his arms in front of it giving the armrest a touch. He placed the spoon inside the now empty ice-cream packet and then put his face in front of his brother's face.

"I'm glad, really. Besides, Feliciano and I are going to hang out during Oktoberfest, if you want you can join us" the young man offered

"Nah, Lud. I leave the lovebirds alone, don't I?" He smiled with the corners of his mouth, giving him a little wink.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes! What do you think, I can't be alone?" He raised an eyebrow,perplexed, looking at his brother.

"sorry, Gilbert. I'm just worried."

"For what? I'm fine. Look at me. I'm awesome. I've been there, Lud. Live your life with your Italian in peace!"

"Alright. Do you have plans tonight?" The blond asked.

"Ah, yes! I'm going around to get ready for the party scene, today's the first day! I'm gonna go to the bar, have a drink or something, you know?" He answered, snapping off the couch, putting the dirty spoon in the sink and throwing the box of ice cream, followed by the sympathetic and at times sweet, though still serious look of his brother.

"Don't come back late"

"Hey, you're not my mother!"

"We're here to celebrate this time, right Beilschmidt?" The bartender's cheerful, ringing voice matched perfectly with the sound of the glass glasses colliding gently to make toasts, sometimes dropping a few drops of wine or beer on the tablecloths that set up the oak tables that were meticulously cleaned every day to face the new wave of customers.

The bartender promptly placed the mug in front of Gilbert, who, with a snappy movement of his hands, was generously filled with a delicious frothy draught beer, which the German swallowed in a single gulp and then quickly wiped clean by crawling the palm of his pale hand over his mouth, making his thin lips get redder and irritated due to friction.

"It's not very polite to get clean like that" the bartender rebuked almost severely, but Gilbert replied wrinkling his nose and pulling his brows together in a scowl, while blinking rapidly. Hmm? Did he really say that?

"You know, I'm too awesome for this type of shit" he glanced languidly, looking straight into the bartender's eyes and causing a spontaneous smile from the bartender, but Gilbert went on with his intention, nodding to him to fill the mug he had slammed on the counter as he held his head firmly in his hands

"I wonder how you'll find a girl if you're always so rude and coarse," the other one huffed, squinting, answering the German's request and pouring with a smile on his face another blond liquid with a heavenly taste inside the crystal glass jug.

"Oh, come on! Of course I can find a girl, with the physique I have" he said determinedly and quickly pointed with both hands at his body, then wet his fingertips with saliva and touch his hair adjusting it as he carried it backwards, and then combed his long eyebrows with the tips of his index fingers and rolled his eyes at the bartender who puffed heavily.

He felt extremely handsome and confident, more than usual actually. They were in the middle of Oktoberfest, which meant that the beer was better than usual, but above all everyone had to smell of vanity and elegance.

Gilbert every year, he'd made sure to look perfect. He had bought a tuxedo some time before, which he had promised to use only during village parties, so it had to be perfect, without a scratch or peeling.

On these things, he felt a bit like Ludwig: extremely precise and inflexible. Of course, he often walked around in shirts and dresses with questionable tastes as well as their prints, but at least during the party he wanted his look to be one more reason for people to get a stiff neck to look at him.

He couldn't wait to wear the black dress that fitted his figure perfectly and gave him an even slimmer look, making his taller stature stand out.

Well, some people would say a 178cm man isn't that tall, but hey! The 2 centimeters he needed to reach six feet, he had to increase something else.

He could feel himself wrapped in the warmth of the place while his thoughts wandered on how much he would have fun (and why not, even have sex), and he kept swallowing tons of beer without noticing it, soaking his tongue with the taste of hops and losing track of time and decency.

"As if that's all that matters. That's enough drinking, Beilschmidt. You're gonna get drunk again," the bartender's voice shook him, but once again, it was too late.

At the fifth poured mug of beer, Gilbert heard the bartender's words bombard his mind like a strong echo, making his head ache immensely as if he was freezing from the inside.

He tried to hold it with both hands by placing his elbows on the counter, passing his hands greedily through his hair and almost drowning his fingers in the skin in order to cause a pain that he hoped he would be able to stand up to the main one.

"Aaaah, what a horrible headache! It feels like my brain is about to explode," he complained, until he fell with his head on the counter, emitting an annoying thud and dropping the half-empty mug, but it tipped over.

The bartender sighed with his eyes to the sky, gently wiping with the damp cloth of disinfectant what Gilbert had dropped.

"I see you're drunk. Again."

"No, you're wrong! The awesome me is not drunk," he said in a hoarse voice, waving his index finger quickly in front of the bartender's stunned face, who put his hands forward and gradually moved his face away from Gilbert's finger in fear that it might hurt him. Drunk, isn't it?

The white shirt emanated a foul-smelling smell of beer that characterized Gilbert like all the others who were in the club.

The albino's head was literally about to burst: the noise of other Germans' loud voices, noises of mugs and glasses touching each other for a toast, fists that made the weak wooden tables shiver and nauseating body odors.

His eyesight had doubled and the young man seemed to be in an almost vegetative state, leaning against the palm of his hand as he gradually squinted his eyelids to try to focus on a random spot to feel sure he still had possession of his body.

"Everything stinks in here! Ew, I'm going out. You all stink, everybody! It's so un-awesome!" With arrogance, Gilbert's poisonous beer-flavored words were squealed quickly and desperately like a snap of fingers, attracting the attention of the club's bigwigs.

"Hey kid! Mind your own business if you want to see the sunrise again tomorrow." Gilbert had his back to him, but felt a thrill of excitement and challenge as he walked slowly down his spine.

He had started to sweat cold, he did not know whether because of alcohol or because of the voice of his conscience that had frozen every muscle in his body, telling him not to react and stay silent.

He tried to suppress it. He turned around pretending to be calm, crossing the gaze of the man who had spoken with thirsty eyes.

His eyes were large and dark, his large amount of white hair and his dark, disheveled, unkempt beard suggested he was old, but his skin was radiant and cool, although covered with drops of sweat that slipped over it as if it were a waterproof fabric, indicated that he was in fact no more than thirty years old.

His throat was dry and he couldn't speak, his tongue was full of alcohol and a lot of saliva. He felt as if he lacked oxygen and while his heart was leading for the big marathon, he could feel a slight pinch of fear mixed with adrenaline that made his skinny hands shake. He was afraid of many things: losing control, getting hurt. Physical pain, if not followed by pleasure, was one of his worst fears he had always known he could never bear it.

"Like I'm scared of you, big boy! Haha!" The red, thin, evil mouth, now curved into a fake smile, with sparkling teeth and perfectly aligned canines while Gilbert's cold laugh resounded in the strangely silent room, from which after a short time choruses rose up inciting a brawl and taking part in one for one of them.

Gilbert clenched his fists with his foot in front although staggering while his head had clearly surrendered and gave a sign that he could not maintain such lucidity, while his body begged him on its knees not to make such a great effort.

He didn't even have time to realize that he saw a big hand with white knuckles running down his face, throwing a powerful punch that even though it lasted a short time, he didn't give up making himself heard.

He gouged out his crimson tearing eyes, shocked. It was as if he had seen his jaw move even though he could only feel the gradual increase of pain on the bone, sure that he would have presented a nice fresh and purple bruise.

He lost his balance when his face turned sharply to the right, barely holding on to his left leg, which was shaking and weak, like his whole body.

He was sweating again, his arms trembled as did his lower lip, which was now pale and in contrast to his face which bore the color of war, causing his teeth to rub against each other and his nostrils to dilate to give warmth to that frozen body.

Instinctively, he slowly laid his hand on the affected area, causing a disgusting laughter from the whole place: He saw people scratching their bellies laughing and praising the man who had hit him.

He didn't miss a moment, the humiliation was too great to be able to stand still without reacting. He didn't think about it and reacted instinctively and then repented shortly afterwards, throwing a punch of response to the big eye of the man who seemed to be about to scream in pain.

He could feel his heart beating, the club pushing him into a fight, and he could swear that he saw the man's veins get big and bright red, surrounding his high forehead.

Just when he was preparing for a second attack, the bartender intervened by tightly squeezing the wrists of the two men, almost causing marks, shouting words of reproach to the enemy man that were now incomprehensible to Gilbert.

His head was spinning like a merry-go-round, his body was tired and he was thirsty. He was feeling weak, very fucking weak, dry. God, what a shitty feeling.

"You Beilschmidt, get out of my club. You've already caused too much damage tonight," he said in his teeth, and Gilbert shook his head in confusion, but reluctantly accepting his friend's command.

"I didn't pay you-"

"You will when you come back, now please go out." He pointed to the door with his hand.

He took a deep breath of resignation, and under the stern gaze of the bartender, Gilbert realized that he would have to leave the place as soon as possible.

And so he did. He came out, staggering around and his legs looked like overcooked spaghetti. He stumbled, stumbled over a glass bottle and made a tumble and ended up asking questions to the floor.

He raised his hand weakly, noting a scratch that joined his little finger to his wrist and was colored bright red.

He put his head down. He did not have the strength to stand up, and closed his eyes when he felt drops of dirty, double water fall on his shoulder and his hair.

Would he have died there? Alone, without even giving everyone a final goodbye? How could someone as awesome as him die in such a stupid and shameful way. No, it wasn't possible, but it was happening.

He felt his heart slow down, and his nails turn purple from the cold. Her hand was frozen, she couldn't feel her face.

No one could save the hero. Was that it?

"You fucking bastard, you finally woke up!" The Italian's ringing voice made Gilbert's ears ring, and he still felt a bit lost and with a heavy head.

The vision was blurred, but in short, he set fire to it noting that he was standing in front of Feliciano's brother.

"Feliciano's brother? What the hell are you doing here?" He shook his confused head, watching as the Italian began to rage gradually while trying to keep calm by crossing his arms.

"I happen to have a name! Besides, it's not my fault you pass out in front of my store! I think you fell in love with the fucking place, you're always doing your shit here!" He raged with his face turning red, and Gilbert could see him despite the dim, faint light that the streetlight almost broke with the light alternating on and off.

"I don't know your name, and it's not my fault your store is next to my friends' bar!" He answered almost offended, putting a grimace on her face and frowning. This boy was really a cheeky, insolent and rude one. But he could say he was a good person, perhaps.

"Your friends? Oh, yes! The ones who left you out lying on the floor, asshole! I thought you were dead, and if you hadn't got there in time you probably would have ended up dead!" He screamed in his face. He was visibly worried, his face flushed, and the German could hear his heartbeat racing.

If he was in his situation, he probably would have had the same reaction. The Italian's wheezing breath got confused with the sound of pouring rain and water drops breaking on the asphalt, almost jumping. God, it was raining hard. He could see it by the light of the streetlamp.

He felt a slight regenerating numbness on his shoulders, only to notice with surprise that a dark colored jacket, perhaps brown, had been laid gently on him.

"oh, sorry. Take your jacket."

"No. You need it now, asshole" that was kind. Yeah, really kind. He couldn't hold back a little smile with his mouth closed that popped out of his face like a flower in spring, while his still cold hands held his jacket over his shoulders, sinking his fingers into the warm fabric.

"What the fuck are you laughing at? Be serious! Don't you do anything but get drunk?" He asked, albeit in a loud but fairly moderate tone of voice, given the late hour. Lovino looked at the German with eyes that shone with curiosity.

"Hmm? "Oh, let's see... I drink when I'm sad, when I'm happy, when I want to celebrate, when I'm in mourning..." Gilbert continued from listing, looking upwards with his mouth seeds

open while she counted with her fingers every reason she gave.

Lovino's astonished face with his mouth wide open and his eyes peeped out was priceless at that instant, Gilbert found it almost witty and therefore laughed noisily.

"What the hell are you laughing at? You're always drinking, you're a fucking drunk!" He slapped Gilbert's shoulder more or less painfully, and the German began to massage the affected area.

"Ouch! What was that for? Anyway, today I had a special reason to get drunk," he winked, making Lovino nervous, who crossed his arms and rippled his lips.

"Oh, and shall we hear? There's never a good fucking reason to get drunk." Thundered the other one, releasing his arms and beginning to shake them in the air like a good Italian, expressing his disapproval through bizarre gestures with what has just been said.

"Boy, those hands of yours have distracted me." Gilbert grabbed Lovino's arms and lowered them.

"oh, here! I finally managed to lose feelings for the boy that a very dear person likes" gave one of his most dazzling smiles to Lovino who in response turned his gaze away from Gilbert's face, but he could see a slight reddening on his chubby cheeks and lips writhing greedily, reminding him of himself as he searched for a suitable position to relax on the sofa.

Lovino had no real motivation to feel embarrassed, but the friendly and confidential way Gilbert was confiding in, caught him off guard and caused an unexpected reaction: the dusting of poppy petals on his cheeks. He didn't know how to act, so embarrassment took over.

Of course, it had nothing to do with Gilbert's pure, innocent smile, and nothing to do with the way the albino's sparkling, perfect teeth reflected in his olive-colored eyes.

No, no! He didn't waste time on this shit, pff. That smile didn't embarrass him at all.

"Okay, listen here-"

"Why should I?" Gilbert was interrupted by Lovino's surly tone, which seemed almost funny to him. He could see that the Italian was uncomfortable.

"Are you embarrassed? Well, I can understand that in the face of so much awesomeness, but you seem to be overdoing it a bit," he put his fingers together to show Lovino the hypothetical amount of embarrassment that was gripping him, but he only puffed shyly as he moved his eyes and glanced at Gilbert's hair.

"They're still dry after almost a month," Lovino said quietly, chewing on his lips as he nodded slowly scratching his chin.

"Hey! Don't change the subject! Come on, listen to me! I want to have friends when I'm drunk!" He whined.

"Who says I'm your friend, you bastard?" The Italian moved his arm hastily, freeing himself from Gilbert's light grasp in need of support and affection.

"You're listening to me."

"No, I'm not!"

"But you're answering my questions."

"That's not true, you bastard, you're crazy" nervous spit started clicking with his index finger in the corner of his head, his mouth half open with his narrowed brows.

"Phew! Have you no pity for a drunk man? Listen to me, please!" How fucking irritating could his complaining like a kindergarten kid be? Too much, according to Lovino. But he was obviously willing to listen to him even though he wouldn't admit it even under torture.

"Okay, tell me fucking bastard! But make it short, it's 4:00 in the morning and I don't want to listen to your bullshit!"

There was still no trace of dawn, the sun seemed to be losing a battle against the darkness as he was still hiding under his mother's arms.

The faint orange light was almost absent and Gilbert noticed with surprise that it had stopped raining. He could see bright stars in the sky, which completed that beautiful picture of colors.

He was sitting there with the least expected to meet. They were in a confidential tone, and even though the Italian was a little reluctant to listen, Gilbert still felt he was being considered.

Their shoulders were resting against each other, and their touch gave physical warmth to both. Lovino wore a very thin orange jacket, with transparent buttons that left his neck unbuttoned and barely covered his chest.

His warm color, his warm and reassuring skin Gilbert thought he could smell the saltiness coming from his tanned skin and his wavy chocolate-colored hair.

"It took me almost a month, but I did it! I don't feel anything for this person anymore. I thought that to make the one I care about happy, I should make an effort and abandon my prey. You don't always win, even if it's not fantastic to admit it" he looked towards the brightest star in the sky, resting his head gently on Lovino's shoulder.

And to his surprise, he wasn't rejected.

"Wow, you potato bastard. That's very noble of you." Lovino said, in an oddly quiet and calm tone. He was really impressed by such an action from who looked like an annoying drunk piece of shit.

"I don't think I would have been able to do it," continued Lovino, looking up at the stars.

He could feel Gilbert's hair tickling his neck, but it didn't bother him. He felt company and no longer loneliness.

"I know. I'm awesome, you know? Of course only guys like me would do something like that!" He laughed again, victorious, and Lovino puffed resigned.

Alas, he couldn't believe that he was serious. Even though he didn't know him at all, it looked like he already knew who he was.

"Would you ever want to have children?"

"What kind of question is that, you albino asshole?" He shook Gilbert's head off his shoulder, roughly.

"Ouch! Come on! Aren't we being confidential now?" He replied, looking Lovino in the eyes as a sign of defiance.

"Yes, but still not- yes, if you must know!" He moved his hand in the air faking despair while his face shone. No one had ever asked him that, and the first one to do it had to be a drunk German? What a shame! Few really cared about his life.

"Great, me too! I can see them already, my little ruby-eyed babies running around the bathtub throwing their mama's meatballs in the air, haha!" He giggled. Boy, he looked just like a baby.

"Sure, keep dreaming! Who would ever have children with you?" Oh, man. Maybe he shouldn't have said that.

"Eh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean that-"

"Oh, all right. I'll adopt them then!" He replied excited, but Lovino could see how the dumb-headed smile that was printed on his face emanated sadness. This time Lovino thought he'd been rude, a little too much.

Lovino put his head on Gilbert's shoulder, though a little embarrassed. The surprised albino greeted the gesture and smiled, intrigued by the funny curl that was sticking out wildly from the Italian's hair and was close to his face.

"You didn't tell me your name."

"Bastardo, I'm Lovino"

"Oh, prinzessin. It's a really sexy name," he winked at the Italian, who pretended not to see so he wouldn't get nervous and fuck him up the ass.

The silence that was created was almost relaxing. They heard only a handful of crickets singing, a light warm wind moving their hair and birds chirping, while faint rays of sunshine settled on their faces and we saw the first cars running through the streets not at all crowded.

"You were great to listen to me" gave a big but stupid smile.

"Tsk! I only did it because my grandfather said to listen to drunks and don't treat them badly!" He moved his hand, moving his face that slightly blushed and clicking with his long tongue on the palate.

"Your grandfather dictates your laws of life? Besides, I'm not drunk!"

"Yes and yes" he simply answered and then got up and opened the doors.

"Where are you going?" Churches.

"To work?" He answered sarcastically, staring into the eyes of the curious albino. "I'll call your brother to come get you so you can get your ugly hairy ass off my steps."

"Hey! My ass ain't hairy! Do you want to see it?" He smirked, raising the right corner of his mouth and bending his right eyebrow.

"Fuck no! God, even if they paid me, I wouldn't see your ass! Now wait for your brother and don't piss me off."

"But I'm not drunk! I don't need Luddy!"

"So go home alone and don't drive me crazy" was about to close the glass door, slamming it, of course, when he was blocked by Gilbert's arm.

"Hey prinzessin, so far you've been acting nice and now you're treating me bad? It's not awesome!"

"I only told you I was good because my grandfather would have wanted this. As he was such a dru- it doesn't matter, go now," he sighed, wrinkling his forehead with his right hand and squinting.

"But-"

"Fuck you, Grandpa! Are you sending me all these weird vampire-looking guys from Twilight?" Lovino huffed, grabbing the broom and dusting the floor with uncertain strokes, to clean it of some shoe soles stains.

Door closed, slammed in the face for the second time. Man, he must have really loved slamming doors. As he walked, Gilbert felt his head spin and he could hardly stand upright. Yes, he was definitely still drunk, and decided he was going to call his brother this time, without bothering poor, exasperated Lovino.

The second meeting with Lovino seemed like the first. Treated badly, then well, then bad again, but all this left a mark on him. He seemed to be becoming addicted to that boy. He was sure that even seeing him once a day would change his day. He was also fun with his aggressive and slightly rude attitude.

He smiled again, thinking back. Yes, that was definitely the beginning of a beautiful friendship.