"In One Ear" – Cage The Elephant

Six months ago, had you asked, Lovino couldn't remember living anywhere but Rome with his idiot brother and even more idiotic and more-often-than-not absent grandfather. He was well-used to being overlooked because of his brother Feliciano's various and sundry "talents, gifts, accomplishments, all that and the fucking kitchen sink". Lovino's own bragging rights consisted of being good with women (Feli was better), running with a crowd that "knew how to get things done" (Feliciano was too good for the mafia), and being able to eat lots of tomatoes without getting heartburn (so what?). Okay, so he was fucking useless. But he was sure he could at least sing better than his brother. And this had half-started the problem.

It was always the same shit; he was a tool to his brother's happiness. Feliciano twirled into their shared bedroom gleefully, all sunshine and rainbows and cheerful bullshit like that.

He was also babbling at seven hundred million words per second.

Lovino groaned and buried his head under his pillow. Feli chattered on at length about some acceptance letter and blah blah blah anotherYes-Feliciano-Is-Indeed-The-Best-Thing-Since-Canned-Pasta letter of recognition.
("But canned pasta is gross!" Feliciano had protested. Lovino smirked inwardly at that.)
Eventually Feliciano's prattle had grown persistent and annoying enough that Lovino shoved the pillow off his head and against the headboard.

"So you're just here to gloat, is that it?" Lovino dropped his head back into the pillow wearily. If that was all, he was going back to sleep...last night had been busy at "work".

"Eh? No no no, I came to bring fratellone his acceptance letter! I didn't know fratellone could sing, though."

"—what? Singing?" Lovino shifted his head slightly to glare out of one bleary eye at his blindingly happy brother, completely bewildered. Not only was his singing an absolute secret, but to receive recognition for it—

"Sì! Fratellone made it in on a choral scholarship! Nonno signed you up so I wouldn't have to go to...Something-something Academy by myself! Nonno's school! Ve, isn't this exciting?"

"...the geezer signed me up. To keep you company."

No. No no no. Fuck no. This had to be some highly-orchestrated joke at his expense. It wasn't beyond that old bastard to pull shit like this— a boarding school? Their grandfather's fancy-ass boarding school? In AMERICA? Yeah, this had to be some elaborate prank; Lovino had made it perfectly clear that he had nothing other than polite interest (if you could even call it that much) in his grandfather's pride and joy of an academy.

Feliciano smiled brightly at him, not comprehending Lovino's displeasure.

...always the same shit.

Everything had obviously been coordinated months in advance; the old bastard had planned everything down to ridiculously minute details. Their student visas were secured, paperwork filled out, that mysteriously scheduled (and mysteriously mandatory) doctor's appointment for inoculations the month before now made sense, and now Lovino found himself fretting over his phone in an empty first-class compartment on an international flight to New York as Feliciano cooed out the window at the ocean.

When they found out he was gone—He was fucking dead, the end.

...well, maybe not. He could probably use that geezer's connections to keep himself safe—

He rejected that thought nearly outright, shoving it forcefully to the back of his mind. He'd vowed to never accept help from his grandfather if he could help it.

...that being said, he received a lot of help, but it wasn't like he'd fucking asked for it! Damn!

Anyway, the more troubling problem was figuring out how to disentangle himself from the jumbled mess that leaving Rome was becoming. That fucking asshole of a grandfather never had any consideration! Always thinking that everyone was ready to uproot and resettle at his whim...tch! As though Lovino hadn't been planning for his life in Rome, setting plans and making connections of his own...all gone to shit now for some fucking school in America with a bunch of fucktards he didn't know or care to know!

What was even worse is that it was a boys' school. No girls for miles. That basically boiled down to dealing with a bunch of hormonal teenagers confused about their sexuality and taking it out on each other and—

...it was times like this that made Lovino grateful he was not an entirely lapsed Catholic.

Rome was becoming a tiny speck on the horizon as he finally slammed the window cover shut in a useless fit of rage. What did it fucking matter anyway? His life was over, sans idiotic teenage drama; it was seriously over unless he managed to pull a metaphorical rabbit out of his ass or something. Well, he had ten or eleven hours on this goddamn flight to ponder it undisturbed and undistracted.

—though the flight attendant was quite pretty...

Focus, Lovino. Focus. Trying not to die. Undisturbed and undistracted.

"Ve, fratellone! I was looking out the window still!"

And suddenly Distraction was born, and it had the face of his (slightly younger) brother.

"Goddamnit, Feliciano! Just—five fucking minutes! Just shut up for five fucking minutes!"

"Ah, fratellone is so mean!"

"Damn you, I said to close your fucking mouth! Che cazzo!"

Needless to say, it was not a productive flight to New York City.

When the two Italian boys disembarked from their flight into the NYC airport, Feliciano was as cheerful and inquisitive as ever; it was Lovino with the homicidal and sour mood; they looked like some brought-to-life version of Comedy and Tragedy masks standing in the middle of a terminal in the heart of New York City.

Lovino hadn't expected their grandfather to actually reveal his most excellent presence at the airport, but he seethed when their black-suited escort stood there with a sign, written only with Feliciano's name but not Lovino's. It was almost enough to make him spin around and march back on the plane and howl until they returned him to Rome.

...but then he remembered why that might be a bad idea and sulkily followed his brother outside to the waiting car, an expensive number done up in glossy black and shining chrome. Lovino ran his eyes over it with an unimpressed expression; he'd seen, stolen, driven, and raced more expensive and faster cars. But he hadn't been expecting a Bugatti or anything half so flashy; just not this stock piece of shit. With an irritable sigh, he shoved Feliciano into the backseat and the driver closed the door behind them.

He pillowed his chin broodingly against his fist and rested it against the door, glaring out the tinted window to stare at the city lights as the sun went down and Feliciano leaned against him, murmuring sleepily in sweet Italian.

He sighed and threw his arm around his twin's shoulders, tugging him slightly closer; just a small comfort in this new foreign world. (Though if you asked, he would insist that he was the one comforting Feliciano.)

It was a long ride to the academy due to the rush-hour traffic and congestion on the motorway, but they did eventually pull up to looming wrought-iron gates in one of the nicest districts of the city.

The school sprawled over several acres; the school building towered overhead, the dorms attached to it were spread out in a wide half circle. Off to the right side were the sports fields; tennis courts and football pitches, courses for the track and cross-country teams, a field for American football, everything and more. Invisible from the front of the school was the large courtyard separating the school from the dormitories. Several paths ambled away from the courtyard, leading to the school garden or the library, or the club building.

All in all, a high-class joint.

And now, it was home.

Or some shit like that, Lovino supposed. He gave Feliciano's errant curl a sharp tug to wake him up.

"VE! F-frate—so mean!" Feliciano complained as he was shoved rudely out of the car.

"Whatever," Lovino grumbled, "Come on, we have to go meet with that bastard."

The reaction was instantaneous; Feliciano brightened immediately with some...pure inner glow and squealed in glee.

"Nonno? It's time to go see Nonno?" The younger Vargas brother cooed happily, shouldering the bag the escort handed to him.

"Isn't that what I just fucking said, idiot?" Lovino snapped, feeling his nerves fraying. It had been a long flight fraught with distractions and now he had to go meet with one of his least favourite people in the world.

His grandfather, headmaster of Hetaliate Academy and their new academic God.

Home sweet fucking home indeed...