9/8/13: Corrected the translations!

Original A/N: Also, I just want to be clear that Gakuen College, even though I may call it a university, is a private school—i.e., really expensive.

Anyway, does anyone have suggestions for characters they want to see? I've got America, the Italies, Germany, France, and Russia…plus Prussia, Switzerland and England make an appearance this chapter. There's some upcoming Spain and Canada, and imminent Seychelles, Sealand, Finland, and Sweden. There are just so many possibilities.

Onwards~

TALA 4

It was a Monday, which of course meant it was a sucky day. A fuck-it-all-I-wish-I'd-stayed-in-bed-this-morning day. Seriously, what had he been thinking when he'd gotten up? He'd barely managed any sleep, yet still he'd answered the call of the alarm clock like some kind of mind-controlled zombie. What he should have done, Lovino realized, was sent the damn thing to electronics hell along with the coffeepot and smashed it to pieces.

Plus, he couldn't make any coffee. Definitely should have stayed in bed.

"Fuck," he groaned. "Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck."

Lovino was currently sitting at a desk in the back of the German classroom, head buried in his arms. Class was over; however, the torture had not ended. As evidenced by the fact that there was a fucking chick roosting in his hair.

"Fuck," he muttered once more for good measure.

"Hey! Gilbird does not appreciate such un-awesome language."

Lovino attempted to ignore this voice, but knew it was a lost cause since the owner of said voice was so freaking loud.

"If you're gonna swear, do it in Deutsch! Here, repeat after me: Gottverdammt!"

"Like hell," Lovino snarled, lifting his head, "am I ever going to speak your disgusting language. Bastardo."

Gleeful red eyes met his. "Come on, it's not that different from what you speak every day. English is a Germanic language, after all," the German professor said.

Lovino snorted. "At least it redeems itself by having some Romantic components. Unlike your ugly Tedesco. And get this bird off of me, Beillschmidt."

"Only if you tell me what you're doing in this room when you don't even take my class."

Lovino mumbled something unintelligible.

"What was that? The awesome me couldn't hear you."

"I said, I'm skipping Antonio's class."

"Oh, 'Antonio' is it? What'd you do this time? I know you only call him that when you feel guilty." He plucked Gilbird from Lovino's hair.

"…do not."

Beillschmidt just smirked at him.

"All right, fine, I'm in trouble. Again. There was an incident with a coffeepot and my idiot brother and Dean Kirkland probably sent someone to get me from the Spanish room and Antonio always gives me that fucking disappointed look. So I'm hiding in here."

"Kesesese, you realize they'll just come and fetch you from here, right?"

"Why would they look here? Everybody knows I hate your stupid language."

"Because," the professor pointed out, "the only other person who'd willingly let you hide out in their room is Francis."

"Shit."

"Oi, watch your language!" another voice chimed in angrily.

The new arrival stood in the doorway, arms crossed and glaring. It was the…actually, Lovino didn't know what the guy's position was. He was basically the de facto manager of the entire college. He handled just about every aspect of the college's finances and business.

"Hello Mr. Zwingli," Lovino sighed defeatedly.

"Hey Vash," Beillschmidt greeted cheerfully, sending Lovino an I-told-you-so grin.

"Don't think you can address me so casually, Beillschmidt," Zwingli snapped. "Vargas, the dean wants to see you."

"Kirkland got you running around like an errand boy again, huh?"

Zwingli glowered but didn't answer the obnoxious professor. Instead he motioned impatiently at Lovino to come out into the hallway.

"Have fun," snickered Beillschmidt. Lovino flicked him off as he grabbed his bag and left

"I don't know what you did yesterday," Zwingli said, setting off at a brisk walk towards the main administrative building as soon as Lovino joined him. "I don't even want to know. This is a complete waste of my time."

"Sure, whatever."

Zwingli rounded on him. "Don't make light of it! Getting in trouble all the time—you're lucky you're still allowed on campus. If it weren't for your grandfather you'd have been expelled already."

"Shut up!" Lovino shoved Zwingli away from him and glared. "I can find my way just fine from here, thanks," he ground out.

Zwingli regarded him coolly, seemingly unfazed by his outburst.

"See that you actually get there," he said finally before he turned on his heel and walked off.

Seething, Lovino headed for the dean's office.

"Don't even start, boy," the dean said as soon as he walked in.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Lovino asked, sitting in his usual chair in front of Kirkland's large oak desk.

"It means don't even try to pin this on that Ludwig bloke."

Lovino snorted but didn't deny he'd considered the idea.

Kirkland was leaning back in his seat, one hand on the armrest and the other pinching the bridge of his nose. Privately, Lovino thought he had no business looking so put-upon—it wasn't like he did any of the hard work running the place himself; that was all Zwingli.

After a few minutes of silence, the Italian student decided he might as well get this over with. "Well?" he asked. "Are you going to yell at me or what?"

Kirkland's hand finally moved away from his face, and Lovino found himself the subject of some very intense scrutiny by a pair of bright green eyes.

"What," the dean said slowly, "am I going to do with you?"

"Letting me leave would be a good start."

Kirkland slammed his hand down on the desk. Shit, now he was angry.

"Let you go? You should already be expelled, Lovino Vargas! The only reason you were allowed to stay here after that incident is because Professor Carriedo vouched for you and because of your late grandfather's role in founding this establishment!"

Why does everybody always bring that bastard up?

"As if my grandfather ever cared jack shit for me!" he yelled back. "I'd rather be expelled than be here on his fucking reputation!"

"Don't talk about your betters that way you ungrateful—!"

"My betters?" Lovino screeched, jumping to his feet, fists clenched.

Kirkland stood up, as well, eyes flashing dangerously. "This kind of behavior, he said, "is exactly why you were almost expelled. Violence, disruptions, vandalism, disrespect—"

"As if any of those people are worth respecting—"

"You almost killed those two students."

Lovino was struck silent.

"You beat them within inches of their lives. You are lucky you weren't arrested, much less kicked out of school."

"Then why. Am I. Still. Here," Lovino hissed.

Kirkland's expression changed from one of fury to one of sadness and…guilt? "Because I think," he said softly, slowly sitting back down, "that everyone should have a chance. To go to college. To learn. To belong somewhere, instead of being out on the street…"

Lovino was about to call him on the cliché sappiness of that statement, when something clicked. "You mean like Alfred?" he asked.

Kirkland's eyes hardened again. "Get out," he said.

It was a tone that brooked no argument. Lovino picked his bag up and fled.

On the plus side, Lovino mused as he added another book to the stack in his arms, he hadn't gotten yelled at about the coffeepot thing. On the other hand, the whole almost-killing-two-people thing had come up. And there had still been a lot of yelling.

But, and he was still not sure whether this was a good or bad thing, he'd found out that the dean knew Alfred.

Seriously, does everyone on this campus know him?

After the meeting in Kirkland's office, Lovino had reported back to the German classroom for his mandatory two hours of work as a teacher's aide.

This was a result of that incident: Monday through Wednesday he had to work after class running errands for the language department (German on Monday, French on Tuesday, Spanish on Wednesday); Thursdays and Fridays it was two hours as a library aide. He often had to work odd jobs on the weekends, too, like that science competition he'd had to proctor for. It was kind of a probationary measure; supposedly it would keep him occupied so he couldn't start any more fights.

And of course, Beillschmidt would send him back to the library to pick up some German books (why did he even need them? He was already fluent in the goddamned language). Several people who were used to seeing him work there had already asked for help finding things, only for him to snarl back that he wasn't working today, dammit.

He grabbed one more book and turned to leave.

"Lovi?"

No way, Lovino thought. That can't be him. It'd be way too fucking convenient.

But there he was, standing at the end of the aisle in all his blond glory—Alfred. He seemed surprised to see Lovino there and, for some reason, his hands were behind his back.

"Alfred," he greeted, despite his suddenly rather dry mouth.

"I thought you said you only worked here on Thursdays and Fridays?" Alfred asked, moving closer. Lovino resisted the urge to take a step back for every one the other took forward.

"That's right. I'm picking up some stuff for Beillschmidt today." He was treated to another glimpse of that amused (gorgeous) smile.

"Last name only, huh? I guess Gil's another professor not worthy of the title?"

"Damn straight." He knows the German professor, too?

"Hey, check it out—isn't this the same aisle we met in?"

It was. Apparently the fates were against him today.

"Kind of romantic, isn't it?" Alfred teased, winking.

I have sunk to a new low, thought Lovino as his face heated up in response to the comment.

"V-very funny, bastard," he stammered. "What are you doing here, anyway?"

"Oh." Alfred began to look vaguely nervous. "Nothing. Just looking for a book."

"Would that be what you are currently holding behind your back?"

Alfred fidgeted. "Yeah."

"…You aren't stealing it, are you?"

"Of course not!" Oh God he was pouting and why was he paying so much attention to that idiot's mouth, anyway—"I borrowed my brother's library card."

Lovino almost asked about the mysterious brother before he remembered Alfred didn't like questions. Hm, he'd have to investigate himself. After all, if he had a library card it was possible Lovino had seen him before without knowing who he was.

"Oh. Good. What book is it?"

"Nothing!" Alfred said quickly, causing Lovino to give him a pointed look. "Well, okay, it's something. It's just kind of, um…"

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," Lovino said, and moved to step past the other boy.

"Wait!" One arm emerged from behind Alfred's back to catch him around the waist (and the touch most certainly did not make him feel flustered and dizzy and warm).

He must have picked up on the slight hurt in the Italian's tone (surprising for such an oblivious person), because he hastily assured him, "I'll tell you tomorrow. Okay? We can get coffee again."

"All right," Lovino agreed, mollified at the offer.

"Cool," Alfred grinned. "Morning or afternoon?"

"Morning, I guess. My classes on Tuesdays don't start until two."

"I'll see you tomorrow morning, then." With the arm already around Lovino's waist, he pulled him in yet again for a hug.

It wasn't the best hug Lovino had ever been a part of—it was only one-armed on Alfred's part, plus there were the books he was carrying between them—yet still him traitorous body relaxed and told his brain, we could get used to this.

Soon (too soon) Alfred released him and dashed off with an overly loud, "Bye Lovi!"

Leaving Lovino smiling like an idiot between the shelves for linguistics and mythology.

"Hey, do you know who Bonnefoy's favorite French students are?" he asked as soon as he walked back into the classroom.

Beillschmidt was lounging in his chair, doing absolutely nothing. Lovino dropped the books unceremoniously on the desk in front of him. It didn't seem to faze him.

"Hm? Francis has a lot of 'favorites.' Anyone with a pulse, basically, boy or girl—doesn't matter."

"I meant, who's the best in his class? Not whatever you're talking about. Bastard."

"Who…?" The professor thought about it for a moment. "I guess that'd be Birdie."

"Birdie?"

"Yeah. Matthew Williams."

"Oh." Alfred's last name was Jones, not Williams.

"Why do you want to know?"

"None of your business," Lovino answered automatically.

"Fine, jeez. I guess since you managed to waste two hours at the library you're free from my clutches for today."

Lovino smirked victoriously just as the door swung open.

"Bruder," the new arrival said. Great, now there were two potato bastards in the room. Definitely time for him to leave.

"Hey West," the professor greeted. "Were there any other random questions you wanted to ask me, Romano?"

How do you know Alfred? That was, of course, the next big question on his mind. But he wasn't willing to bring it up in front of Feliciano's boyfriend. Plus, the professor would probably just find a way to avoid the question like Bonnefoy had.

"No, I've leaving now." He scowled at Ludwig on his way out.

Goddamned kraut.

The next morning Lovino woke up to the realization that, although Alfred had mentioned a morning meeting, he hadn't specified a time or place.

He didn't panic this time, however. Instead he dressed (a bit more nicely than usual, maybe—but then, his style was always impeccable, and it wasn't like Alfred would notice anyway) and decided to head for the same coffee shop as last time.

Of course, Alfred turned out to be waiting on a bench outside the building. He stood up as soon as he saw Lovino emerge, smiling brightly as usual.

"You look nice."

Fuck, he wasn't supposed to notice, Lovino thought, even as his face reddened at the compliment.

"Bastard, how long have you been out here?"

Alfred shrugged. "Not long."

Knowing how skewed the other's sense of time was, that could mean anywhere from ten minutes to an hour. Lovino groaned. "Come on, idiot." He grabbed Alfred's arm and started pulling him towards the coffee shop. "How did you know what building I lived in, anyway?"

"Well, this is the one that had the campus police parked out front the night your coffeemaker broke, so I just kinda figured…"

"Oh. That makes sense."

"Why, do I come off as kinda stalkerish? I thought about just waiting at the coffee place, but I wanted to walk here with you." Alfred looked worried, as though he was scared Lovino would disapprove of his waiting outside. It was way too damn cute.

"It's fine. I don't mind if you…" His blush was intensifying. "…wait for me."

"Oh, good," Alfred said with relief evident in his voice. He moved closer to Lovino's side, and they walked the rest of the way together.

"I'm paying," Lovino said as soon as they were inside.

"What? No!" Alfred protested immediately. "I can pay for myself."

"I know you can," Lovino said. "But I'm paying today."

"But—"

"You can treat me next time, all right?"

This seemed to appease Alfred, who nodded.

"People try to pay for me a lot," Alfred muttered when they finally sat down with their drinks.

"Mm," Lovino hummed in response.

"It's not like I'm completely destitute, you know."

"I do know. Really. But I made you wait, so today you have to let me pay."

"It really wasn't that long."

"Too bad."

Alfred's smile finally returned. "Is that another Italian thing?" he asked. "Insisting on paying for things for people they feel they've slighted?"

Lovino snorted. "No, Italians expect other people to pay for everything for them."

Alfred laughed at this. "Well in any case," he said. "Grazie per il caffe, Lovino."

"Che?...Italiano?" he asked, surprised.

A slight flush came over Alfred's cheeks; he fiddled nervously with his cup. "You know that book I was getting yesterday? It was a book on Italian for beginners. I wanted to surprise you, so I stayed up going through the first part last night. You speak it, right?"

"Si…yeah, I do."

Lovino was more than a little bit flattered. And amazed. And touched. He hadn't been expecting Alfred to do something so nice for him. It was really sweet.

He was doomed, Lovino realized. Irreversibly fucked.

Because this feeling was not just mere attraction any more.

A/N: I'm always surprised how long these chapters take to type up (I write it in shorthand before typing). Jeez, I need to go to bed.

Anywho, things seem to be progressing…rather slowly. I'm thinking time skip next chapter, but not a huge one. Also, Alfred's backstory is shaping up to be kind of…soap-opera-ish. It's not too out of place for the kind of things you see in manga/anime, so I'm not super worried. I'm sure my sister will tell me if my plans get too farfetched.

Deutsch is German for German; Gottverdammt is Goddammit.

As for the Italian…most of it is pretty easy to figure out.

Bastardo is bastard.

Tedesco is German (I think both the ethnicity and the language).

Grazie per il caffe is Thank you for the coffee (I think…I'm not fluent, myself).

Che?...Italiano? is What?...Italian?

And si, of course, is yes.

I was reading that the full, correct Italian phrase for "What?" is "Che cosa?" but that in the northern part of the country it's often shortened to "Cosa?" while in the south it's shortened to "Che?" I found that kinda cute, actually, imagining Veneziano and Romano saying "What?" in different ways…maybe I'm just easily amused.

Thanks for all the lovely support, it makes me so happy~