The next week was just a dull, uninteresting blur for Antonio. Classes were grey and faint, and their subjects, even ones he'd previously enjoyed, held no meaning. Everything else had dredged along at a constant, muddling pace, each minute leading aimlessly onto the next.

His mind hadn't really been on any of it, though. For some reason, quite an obvious one actually, he hadn't been able to get Lovino out of his head. He'd been consumed by guilt, loss, sadness, a myriad of awful emotions that rendered him unable to do anything. He felt like such a selfish fool that he'd never bothered to get to know the guy while he could. And it was too late now, far too late. But if he could turn back time, if he could have one wish, it would be that. To know the Italian boy, to be friends, maybe-

Fingers snapped in front of his face, jerking him out of his thoughts. "Yo, Tonio, wake up already." Antonio blinked and the school lunchroom hazed into view in front of him.

"Huh? Oh, right. Did you say something?"

Gilbert slapped his forehead with his palm. "Jeez, Toni, what's been up with you this week? This is like the fifth time you've spaced out, and it's only twenty minutes into lunch. You haven't even started eating yet."

"Oh. Right," Antonio muttered, obediently taking a bite of the chorizo sandwich on the table in front of him. It tasted like cotton wool. Gilbert scowled, obviously not pleased.

"You're mad, Tonio, I swear," he said off-handedly, deciding it was probably best to drop the subject. He pulled a small bag of seed out of the pocket of his non-regulation leather jacket and laid it on the table. "Food's up, Gilbird!" Upon seeing no sign of his pet, he swiveled around on the bench and looked about the room, whistling. "Here, little buddy! Awesome foods!" A few seconds later he was rewarded with a short bout of delighted cheeping and a small yellow feather ball crash-landing onto the table. Gilbert turned back around, laughing and tipped the seed out onto the table. His little bird attacked the seeds with a speed reminiscent of a woodpecker.

"Hey, where's Francis?" Antonio asked suddenly, realising what had been missing from the table. It was just him and Gilbert on either side of the plastic-topped grey surface at the moment.

Gilbert waved a hand in the general direction of the rest of the canteen. "Over there somewhere. Either groping someone or pissing Arthur off, pick one. He's been gone for over ten minutes, you only just noticed now?"

Antonio vaguely hummed an affirmative and carried on eating his sandwich. This was rapidly becoming problematic; people kept asking him if he was alright, if he'd heard what they were saying, if he needed to see a doctor. He didn't need to see a doctor, he was perfectly fine. A bit on the despondent and remorseful side, perhaps, but not mad. He couldn't see what people were worried about.

"Antoine, are you listening?" Suddenly, Francis was there next to him. Apparently he'd been there for some time now. He was waving a hand in front of the Spaniard's face; he'd zoned out again. The glazed green eyes snapped back into focus as their owner straightened up.

"Sorry, guys," he muttered in a daze.

"Seriously, Antonio, get with it," Gilbert told him. "I filled the aristocrat's poncy umbrella with shaving foam when he left it in the music room earlier. It's raining now, so usually we'd be hiding around the corner from him waiting for the explosion with cameras at the ready. But instead we're just sat here 'cos you're moping. Are you still hung up about that Vargas kid?"

"Gilbert! Be more respectful! And tactful!" Francis hissed, slamming both hands on the tabletop and shooting a sharp glance at his friend.

Antonio shook his head. Best not to worry his friends any more. He'd end up in a mental hospital if he wasn't careful. "No, it's not that," he lied. "I'm just...tired. I haven't slept well since the accident. Reasserting priorities; I don't see the point in a lot of what I do anymore. Like a mid-life crisis, except I'm eighteen not forty-five." He had to put a lot of effort in to stop the words from crashing into one another.

Francis frowned, obviously not convinced. But he didn't have a chance to say anything further as the bell rang its off-key note from the wall across the room. Antonio picked up his backpack and joined the crowd heading out the steel-edged doors into the main corridor. Back to the useless waste of time known as lessons. What use was...wait, where was he meant to be going?

Eventually he found the classroom he was supposed to have been in – ten minutes late, admittedly – and managed to work his way through his last two classes without his mental health being enquired after for once.

He wandered up the avenue towards the gates by himself, lost in his own thoughts, trying to put it out of his mind that this was where it all began. The wind whistled through the delicate petals on the trees, the only sound that he could hear since spoken word began to seem distant and alien. For some reason, he felt completely drained, even though he hadn't really done anything. He just wanted to go home, maybe make some churros, play some guitar and then sleep for about twelve hours. Not that there was much chance of that, though. School caused him to get up at half six every morning, and tomorrow was Friday, not a weekend, so no lie-ins for Antonio. Unfortunately.

A hand clapped his shoulder, nearly making him fall over in fright. "Jumpy today, ain't ya," said a voice. Oh. It was just Gilbert.

"We never finished our conversation at lunch, vous savez," Francis continued, sliding an arm around Antonio's shoulders. "You're coming over to my house, and we're going to sort things out for you." Oh dear. This didn't sound like it was going to bode well. Couldn't they see that he was tired and just wanted to go home?

"Yeah," Gilbert added, blunt as always. "You can go back to normal, and we can go back to being the awesome Bad Touch Trio, just like always."

Antonio sighed, but he didn't have the strength to argue back, so he just started to follow his friends through the faceless streets to Francis' house.

The three settled on the plush sofas in Francis' open-plan lounge area. Gilbert had reclined his seat and had his feet propped up on the footrest that had extended out. Soft music wafted out of the speakers at either end of the room.

Francis slid his fingers around the glass of wine he'd poured himself. The other two had declined drinks, although Gilbert had somehow managed to obtain a can of beer from somewhere. He usually had one hanging around – he'd been kicked out of a maths class once for drinking.

"So, what is up with you, Antoine? Francis asked. "You've been acting strange, and don't bother trying to deny it. We're your friends, we only want to help you."

"I told you, I'm just tired," Antonio insisted, trying to keep up the pretence he'd started earlier.

Gilbert snorted. "Kuhscheiße."

Francis sighed and gave Gilbert a disdainful glance. "While I may not use that exact phrasing, Gilbert is right. There's something bothering you, mon cher. Tell us."

The room was silent for a long time as Antonio wrestled with the decision. He wasn't entirely sure why he was trying to hide it from his friends, but for some reason he didn't want to tell them.

But eventually, his conscience won and he dropped his head into his hands. "Gilbert was right earlier. The accident – what happened with Lovino. That's what's been bothering me."

The other two exchanged concerned glances, but let Antonio continue. "I...I've just been feeling so guilty. It's like what I told you about a few days ago, but...almost more. It's kinda hard to explain. This last week's almost been a dream. Like I shouldn't be alive anymore, and I'm only walking through the motions that I might be if I'd survived. It's been hard to get everything out of my head. I...we...lost Lovino forever. And it's not just that, it's Feliciano too. He's been so sad all week, almost like he's a different person. Usually he's bouncing around, talking about pasta and hugging people. But now he just sits there, not saying a word, and as soon as anything reminds him of his brother, he silently sits there with tears spilling down his face. It's honestly heartbreaking. I just feel awful that I never really knew his brother. I've had opportunities, sometimes even thought about it, but never acted on it. We were on good terms, yes, but you couldn't call us friends. I wish I'd acted differently. There was some reason that his brother saved me, but one I never bothered to learn and one I now will never learn."

Silence reigned again as Gilbert and Francis digested this speech.

"Y'know," Gilbert said eventually. "I reckon you're alive though. We'd know if you were dead and stuff. So you're not just a zombie or walking ghost or whatever you were implying."

Francis shot him a strange glance for at least the second time that day, and shifted up the sofa next to Antonio, placing a hand on his leg. "Antoine, my best guess is that this is a normal reaction for someone who has been through what you have. And now, the best thing for you to do is to begin to accept what happened and move on, just as Feliciano is having to do."

Antonio looked up, frowning slightly. "But, we can't just forget-"

"I'm not asking you to forget," Francis interrupted. "Moving on is different. You need to realise that this is not the end of the world, more of a point in life where you realise...its reality."

"Yeah, like life sucks and that, but you can't sit around and mope for ages just 'cos some bad stuff happened," Gilbert added. "You gotta get back to where you were and...well, not learn from it, that's the wrong phrase, but it's something like that."

Antonio wasn't convinced. It didn't seem right, just to move on. He couldn't just forget that this all happened, that was all wrong. You couldn't just talk about these things in terms of life in general. After all, Lovino had lost his; that wasn't general at all, that was serious and devastating.

When he didn't reply again, Gilbert sighed and spoke up again. "C'mon, Toni. Nothing's gonna happen if you just sit here. Help us help you, and all that."

"I can't move on," Antonio said slowly. "I can't forget."

"Cher, this isn't about forgetting. It's about understanding-"

"They're the same thing! You guys don't get it!" Antonio yelled, leaping to his feet. "You aren't even trying to understand! I've explained but you aren't listening, and you expect me to conform to your views? This isn't just going to go away!" With this, he snatched up his bag from next to the sofa's arm and strode angrily out, the door closing behind him with a deafening bang.

Gilbert looked uneasily at Francis. "D'you think we blew his mind? He's not making any sense."

"I don't know," the French student replied. "I just hope he's alright."

I don't know if Antonio's a little bit OOC in this chapter or not...but it's kinda necessary in order for the next chapter to move forward. That's when stuff begins to happen, or whatever. Yay.
Written while listening to I'm Not Okay by MCR and Einsamkeit, Germany's character song, on repeat. Rather apt, I think.
I'm actually surprised I've got this up due to the shitloads of work I've got to do, but then, I enjoy writing this fic and if I've got the motivation, I write.

Oh, and on a translatory note, 'Kuhscheiße' is pretty much the equivalent of 'bullshit'.