Sophomore Slump or Comeback of the Year
Chapter 11: Weighed Down With Words…Too Over-Dramatic
"I can feel their words stabbing me in the back. Does anyone else feel this or is it just me? Seriously, it's getting annoying."
Elizaveta bitterly stabbed her salad, attempting to subject her lettuce to a violent death. Her limp hair hung long under one of Gilbert's baseball caps, shielding her face from onlookers.
Arthur would have pitied her, but he knew she didn't want any of it, and was way stronger than any average 16 year old.
"It'll be fine love. Just focus on something else."
"Like Mathieu's concoction over there." Francis pointed at the Canadian with distaste. "My dear cousin, if I may ask, what the hell is that?"
He grimaced when Matthew held up a dark, thick liquid, swirled it for a minute, and then began to pour it into a steel bottle.
"It's going to be Al's water for basketball practice." He said sweetly, twisting the cap back on.
"Tch. Bastard deserves it after sending street rats after SB. Look, now he's facing depression."
"Romano, I am in no way depressed. How many times do I have to tell you?"
The Italian grasped his best friend's hand, exaggerating every word.
"But, mi amore, you weren't answering my calls, texts or emails all Thanksgiving. And you were at Roderich's place! Two blocks away from me! You could've stopped by! It was hell in my house!"
"I only went to Roderich's to check on Eliza…Let me go! Who gave you permission to touch me?"
"Lina or Antonio, please tell me what's going on at The Monarchy table. I've gotta know."
The freshman appeared almost scared by the request but upon seeing her upperclassman's tired expression, her back straightened with new resolve. Slowly, she craned her head to spy.
"Uh, I see…the girls are laughing and pointing."
"But that doesn't matter because they bitch about you every day. Kesesese."
Wordlessly, Roderich stuffed a granola bar in into Gilbert's mouth. Francis, with a scowl, simply glared at nothing in particular.
"I knew that bastard would tell them all about what he recorded. What is Feliks doing?"
"I can't really see him. Sadiq is listening to Natalia and kind of nodding along to what she says."
"And he has that damn mask on. Bastard scared the shit out of me with that thing when I was in 4th grade."
"Um, Tino's talking to Big Brother Vash."
"What is Alfred doing?"
Arthur tried to sound nonchalant about it. He flicked his eyes towards his phone, to make it seem as if he didn't really care. But Francis knew better. The Brit ignored his snickers as Lina replied,
"He's eating a burger next to Belarus and Tino. He doesn't look that interested…Oh! I found Feliks! He's yelling at the girls. Oh my, he's going red. Quite angry. I think he's defending you. He's…he's running away. I can't tell whether he's crying or not."
"My poor baby," Elizaveta murmured. "I knew he would be there for me. Thank you Lina. I'll call him and see where he is. Someone get me lemon seltzer and 10 soft cookies. He'll need them."
"Si mamasita!"
Antonio ran off, always willing to help out his friends when they were in a bad mood.
"Don't be rude Gil," she warned. "You too Romano."
"We'll be saints. We swear on our mother's graves."
The brunette rolled her eyes and switched on her speakerphone.
"Feliks!"
"They're, like, punk ass bitches Liz! I don't even want to know them!"
"I know babe. Where are you? I'll come running with cookies and seltzer."
Arthur heard the blonde sniffle loudly as well as the sound of running water.
"In the boy's bathroom, but I'm going to the library."
"We can read Harry Potter to each other in snobby British accents! No offense Arthur."
"None taken."
"Wait, am I on speaker?"
Elizaveta laid the phone flat on the table as Antonio began to come back. Francis answered the question instead, seeing her beginning to arrange her things.
"Oui, mon ami. We can all hear you."
"L-o-l…Hi Sophomore Slumps!"
"Hi Feliks." The table chorused. Eliza giggled.
"See? You're sounding better already."
"I still have to, like, talk to you though. Hurry up and come to the library. Bring caterpillar brows with you."
Romano elbowed Arthur as Gilbert howled with laughter.
"They aren't that gargantuan." He complained as a shade of red brushed his cheeks. Elizaveta merely smiled, blowing Feliks a kiss before she hung up.
"Arthur, you have to come no matter what. Does anyone else want to go?"
"Non. I need to type up an essay in the computer lab."
"We're gonna go shoots some hoops." Gilbert explained, gesturing to himself, Romano, and Antonio.
"I'm playing on Gil's team." Matthew called. He swatted his boyfriend away as the albino tried to steal a kiss.
"I have to arrange sheet music."
"I have a class, but I can walk with you two."
"Then you can escort her for me." Arthur captured Eliza's questioning stare, holding it to try and coerce her into trusting him. "I'll be there in 5 minutes love. I just need to check something."
Or cause a little mayhem. He couldn't leave without a bang now could he?
Green eyes were calculative as he watched the brunette walk away, talking amiably with Lina and Francis. That was good. She seemed distracted. Then Emily just had to speak up.
"Done eating already Eliza? Are you cutting down on your weight?"
"That diss wasn't even funny!" Gilbert snarled. Arthur stuck out his hand, bidding the boy to sit back down.
"She can take care of herself. Her battle isn't our war. At least, not yet."
He sympathized as Elizaveta froze, silently encouraged as her hands balled into fists, and felt an overwhelming sense of pride as she turned back to Lina and walked away.
"That's my girl." He lingered for a second, foot tapping out a beat of agitation. Could he really do this? Should he really do-? Oh, Elizaveta was gone.
Time to cause a bit of trouble.
"Where are you going?" Romano asked. He didn't turn, stretching his arms above his head.
"Places."
Watch out for yourself and whatever you care about.
He sauntered over to the Monarchy table. With a slam, his palm was on the surface. Using the impact as leverage, he jumped onto the counter, grinning cheekily all the while. At his full height, he leered down at them all, searching.
Dumb bitch #1, Scary-As-Hell-Guy-With-Mask, Dumb Bitch #2, Dumb Bitch #3.
Oh. There's Alfred.
"Hey, what're you-?"
With a snicker, he flipped Natalia off. Then focused on the football player. Slowly, with one hand, he lowered the burger, wiped ketchup of Alfred's mouth, and stuck in a piece of Trident.
Strawberry Twist was his favorite.
He paused for a second, waiting for the boy to chew.
Then Arthur brought his hand behind Alfred's head and pushed the boy forward.
He kissed the kid. Just to cause a bigger scandal.
The entire group went silent and he felt triumphant. Why not give them a show?
Long, slender fingers wrapped themselves up into Alfred's locks as Arthur leant forward. He snickered as he heard Emily gasp, accidently sending his tongue over Alfred's lower lip.
The football player gasped and Arthur swept in, probing the other's mouth.
("Ew. They're using tongue!" "Shut the hell up Bella!")
Just as Alfred grasped at the Brit's lower back, he broke away.
For a millisecond, they simply stared at each other, hot breath mingling. Then the punk rose and jumped off the table, throwing a smirk and saucy wink at the girls before walking to his table.
Fuck. Yeah.
"Mein fucking Gott."
The four looked awestruck as Arthur collected his messenger bag.
"Mio fucking dio."
"Mon frickin' maple."
"My good man, I ask must ask…what you have done?"
"I've saved your girlfriend from impending doom. Listen, they're already talking about it."
Arthur pointed to where the table was in a state of shock, confusion, and (in some cases) rage.
"Arthur's gay?"
"Whoa! Al, dude! You're all red bro!"
"Tino, aren't going to, like, say something? Punch his lights out."
Romano shook his head.
"Why would you-?"
"Because it's Eliza. I would do the same for you in a heartbeat. Or faster if that were possible. Now, if you excuse me gentleman, I have to go read Harry Potter aloud to some emo children."
He gave them a short salute and left the lion's den before the claws came out.
-S.S.C.O.T.Y-
"So then, Nearly Headless Nick was all, like, Half an inch of skin and sinew holding my neck on Harry!...Ew. Why does Harry need to know that? That's just gross."
Spread across the gray couch was Feliks Łukasiewicz. His blonde hair was secure underneath a black fedora; the ends wisped around red cheeks. A toothpick of a nose was buried into his scarf, barely peeking out. He betrayed how cold he really was with a sneeze, muffled by the fabric.
Pouting, he crossed his legs (clad in black and pink skinny jeans, Arthur noted) and buttoned up his black sweater vest.
"I mean, seriously, I do not need that mental image!"
"And so the hipster has spoken."
Elizaveta giggled as the blonde threw a pillow at her.
"I'm a stylish hipster okay? See the jeans!" Feliks adjusted his wide rimmed glasses and smirked.
"Like, don't be jealous Liz. I'm doing steam-punk fashion tomorrow if you want to join me."
"Nah, I'm…Whoa."
Arthur glanced up, hearing her sharp intake of breath. Feliks grabbed the Hungarian's phone.
"What is it? Let me see! Let me-. Oh my God."
The two looked from the screen, then slowly up at Arthur, catching the Brit with a cookie in his mouth. Instead of replying, he elegantly raised a brow.
"Artie. I, uh,-."
"You did not kiss Alfred Frickin Jones!"
He spluttered. Cookie crumbs went everywhere. Choking, he looked away from the two as his eyes began to water.
"Explain yourself!"
A strange stinging in his eyes, Arthur Kirkland could only say,
"Gilbert has one damn big mouth."
/
"Did that seriously just happen? Because I don't think that just happened."
Shock. That was all he could feel. He couldn't think. His brain was useless. His insides had turned to mush. His heart had stopped.
And his lips tasted like the Vargas' pasta.
(Looking back on this fact, he probably should've been worried about where Arthur's mouth had been.)
Slowly, he began to register his surroundings.
People were shaking him, running their hands through his hair, grabbing him by the shoulder, feeling him up, yelling in his ear.
"Are you ok?"
"Shouldn't we, like, tell a teacher?"
"Who does he think he is?"
"Ve~! You have some of fratello's pasta sauce on your lips! See, Ludwig, you can tell by the thickness of it! That's the difference between our pasta sauces! Romano likes it thick and I like it thin!"
"Veneciano, I don't think it's a very good idea to poke him like that. Let's get to the art room."
His vision cleared. He saw the telltale brown curl and warm brown eyes. He saw the slicked back blonde locks and piercing blue.
With a thick tongue, he shakily asked.
"Can I go with you guys?"
/
"Dudes, Mom knows what her son's been doing."
Gilbert gave Romano a pass, running to guard Antonio.
"What?"
Antonio swiftly set a pick on Matthew, allowing the Italian to drive to the hoop for an easy lay-up.
"'Elizaveta knows what Arthur did this lunch period' is what he said."
"Then the bastard should've said that. That's two more points for us."
"Score?" Matthew asked.
"23-20. Them." Gilbert replied. He dribbled for a second, eying Antonio mischievously. "I think something pretty awesome has started boys."
"Just don't screw it up." Romano warned, trying to swipe the ball away. He missed, allowing Gilbert to shoot a three-pointer.
"You wound me darling." The albino blew Romano a kiss just as the ball fell through the net.
/
"What the heck happened after I left? Like, shit hits the fan every time I freakin' leave a room! So, give us all the details! Was he a good kisser?"
Feliks sidled up to Arthur, ravenous for a juicy story. The punk was slightly uncomfortable with the new atmosphere. He cleared his throat.
"I just…wanted to give them something new to talk about."
"Aww."
"W-What?"
Feliks and Elizaveta glanced at each other. Their smirks matched; both were impish, knowing and made Arthur feel really embarrassed.
"Hey Artie, what do your dog tags say? I'd bet five bucks one says loyalty."
"I don't own any dog tags. What're you talking abou-?"
"Oh crap! I'm such an idiot!"
Green eyes turned just as Elizaveta ran out of the library. Confused, Feliks and Arthur hurried after her.
/
It was such a simple melody, yet it brought out his entire being. His happiness, his sadness, his fears, his triumphs, what he loved. All of them were brought out so clearly in that song.
He sat alone in that choir room, fingers rapidly pressing the piano keys. He had his eyes closed.
Sheet music wasn't necessary. He knew the composition by heart.
Words swirled in his head, turning into thoughts, which turned into memories.
Memories of such a lonely childhood, placed in a prestigious Catholic school and being dragged from therapist to therapist to find out exactly what was wrong with him. His days only lit up for an hour, when he could witness her smile.
The music became softer, more elegant. Peaceful.
She was beautiful. A red rose in a garden of crazy, weird, yet faithful blue tulips. She was nothing like the rest of the girls that chased him. Monique craved too much attention. Tasha was…Tasha. Sara was a nightmare.
It was jarring now. Discordant keys played up a flurry as he grimaced.
She was there for him every day, always listening to whatever song he had to play. He doubted that she noticed his own weight fluxes, tired eye bags, and miserable days, but he certainly noticed hers when she started. He used to blame himself, thinking he passed it onto her. Like it was some disease and he was the virus that infected her.
No longer harsh, but swelling with sadness and regret.
On October 26th Roderich Edelstein was diagnosed with Depression. His birthday. He was legally named a freak on his birthday. A year later, Elizaveta Héderváry had similar symptoms.
No grace. No elegance. Constant key smashing.
Then there were the Sophomore Slumps.
Soundless.
Applause.
"Étonnate! What a composition! Such anger! Such sadness! And a lovely spice of nostalgia! Magnificent!"
"Oh? You sound excitable Francis. What cycle state are you in?"
The blonde clambered down the steps and sat on the edge of the stage.
"I'm at the second month of neutrality. Judging by my journal, I should be heading into a depressive episode soon."
"Hmm. I still don't see how you can predict when a new state will start." Roderich calmed himself, putting on a farce of indifference.
Francis didn't say a word as the pianist once again expressed himself through music.
/
He was going to kill the Beilschmidt bastard. First, he and Antonio just had to lose by two frickin' points. Then the albino freak had the nerve to throw frickin' water on his head! Romano spent a lot of time on his hair in the morning. (His curl had to look perfect damn it!) Gilbert definitely needed to be punished. He was gonna choke the German jackass with wurst.
Right after this ceremony of course.
Scowling slightly, he glanced around the room. Arthur finally got his dog tags. That was good. That made everything official. He was one of them before but the accessory gave the world proof.
"Ooh, let me see!" Feliks cooed, admiring the silver.
Romano didn't need to go up. He already knew what the tags said. He was, after all, the one that helped Elizaveta and Francis decide on them.
Valor on one, with the outline of a lion behind it. Strength on the other, with the head of a wolf on the backside.
They had to talk to Holly Kirkland to come up with the wolf idea. Arthur may question the picture now, but it would soon make sense.
Elizaveta seemed proud of herself. She grinned smugly as she stood next to Roderich. Even the Austrian seemed livelier. (Was it just him, or was the mood really gloomy before he ran in with Gilbert?)
The Prussian was fooling around with the Spanish teppista, jumping and yelling because they managed to cover the security camera with Gilbert's hat. It was a wonder that they didn't get caught yet. Weren't they supposed to be in 8th period now?
Matthew and Francis were the only quiet ones. Well, Matthew suddenly disappeared again so he had to be silent. But seeing Francis so reserved when they were partying illegally (by school standards) was really strange.
Romano knew better than to directly approach the Frenchman, but he kept a close eye on him. If their leader needed to talk, he would listen.
After all, the bastard took all of Romano's own problems and gave back the best solution that the Italian could ever receive.
/
Francis Bonnefoy was feeling edgy. He could put on a calm, happy mask, but for how long would it stay in place? Romano has already seen through him. He could tell by the way the Italian eyed him from across the room.
He could feel it. It slowly seeped into his armor, binding him, dragging him down.
A terrible despair.
He knew what was coming. He would begin to feel tired, resentful. He would snap at Gilbert and Antonio, if he weren't careful. He would feel lonely, and rightfully so. No one else knew what it felt like. Roderich had the basic gist of it, but couldn't truly comprehend.
He felt like leaving. He felt like crying. He felt like dying.
But just last week, he felt on top of the world. He could laugh like a maniac with Gilbert. He could tease Romano, and take whatever comeback the Italian made as a mere joke.
But now, he didn't know what could send him over the edge. He had pills. He could feel them in the pocket of his blazer. He had taken them this morning just in case. Francis supposed that he was lucky. Not many people could predict their cycle like he could. He was recording his mood swings before they diagnosed him. He had 8 years of emotions and tantrums documented in his journal. It took him 5 years to figure out the pattern.
Sometimes, his predictions would be off the mark. He thought he would have another day or two of neutrality, but obviously not.
Could he leave the party? Should he leave Arthur's final initiation when he was the reason these celebrations could be held in the first place?
He was the founder of the Sophomore Slumps. He was the one that gathered all of the kids with 'issues'.
He had no right to leave. He shouldn't be selfish. Look at what Arthur's going through. He couldn't go through half of it. He was weak. He wasn't as strong as Arthur.
He was lucky Arthur trusted him to fix his relationship problems. Even though he wasn't doing such a good job of it.
What was he doing anyway? Nothing. He was such a lazy, worthless pig. He didn't deserve the cookies they were passing out. So what if he was hungry? Why couldn't someone with a higher worth have that cookie?
He didn't deserve to laugh. He didn't deserve to cry. He didn't deserve to breath.
Did he even deserve to die?
-S.S.C.O.T.Y-
Antonio Fernandez Carriedo was having the time of his life.
"Come on Romano! Dance with me!" He prodded the Italian's cheek, relishing the blush that rose as a result.
Ah, they were so soft. Like a soft churro. Were his cheeks that soft when he was a freshman?
…No. Flipping acne. It was only on his jaws too. Why did it have to ruin his chances of having churro-soft cheeks?
"Damn it bastard. For the fifth fucking time no! Go bother Gilbert or something!"
The Italian swatted his hand away but he seemed…distracted? The Spaniard's eyes narrowed as Romano craned his head to look past him.
Usually the Italian focused on Antonio when he decided to push the freshman around. What could be more interesting than a handsome Spanish athlete that's invading your personal space?
Slyly, green eyes followed the Italian's gaze onto…Francis?
Why did the French have to be so attractive?
Dear God no. He did not spend the past 2 years flirting (teasing, semi-bullying, annoying, whatever-you-can-call-it) with Romano just to have his best friend whisk him away. Now Toni has to try out the whole Romeo-Juliet plan early! Stupid Francis. Screwing up his entire schedule.
"Have a cookie Roma. You're too skinny." He said brightly.
He could grin, but on the inside he was boiling. With as much composure as possible, he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. He and Francis had fought over Romano before. Antonio had won of course. He was definitely not afraid to do it again.
They had better get it over with fast though. Wouldn't want to break the SS laws now would they?
The Spaniard focused, putting some of his ferocity into his stride. Anger would cloud his vision, make him wild. He had been into enough fights to know that going in full of rage would result in a bloody defeat. Or even alone in a dark alley. But, that was a story for another day.
All of the Spaniard's focus went to waste however, once the blue eyes of his very best friend turned onto him.
One glance. That's all it took for his anger to morph into concern. He dropped to give the blonde a tight hug.
"I have a water bottle in my bag. I'm sure I can get you out of here without drawing too much attention."
He felt the blonde take a deep breath.
"Merci."
"What are friends for? Tres amigos, si? All for one and one for all."
Antonio released the Frenchman and slowly pushed him to the floor. He kicked Francis' backside to urge him to move towards the door, under the seats of course.
That was the good thing about the Auditorium. The amount of seats to hide under, and how dark it was. He had snuck out of too many freshman assemblies using these seats and lighting to his advantage.
"I gotta go pee." He announced once Francis made it out of the door.
"Eww gross!"
"Like, keep that to yourself Carlos!"
Did he need to remind Feliks that his name was actually Antonio?...Nah, he would probably forget again. Besides, Francis needed him more.
-S.S.C.O.T.Y-
Did they think he was stupid or something? He could see Antonio pick up his backpack. Who the hell takes their backpack to the bathroom when you have people that can watch it for you?
Honestly, his friends were starting to underestimate his awesomeness.
"I gotta go scope the scene." He said to no one in particular.
He pulled on his hoodie and shades. Aww yeah. It was time for Gilbert Beilschmidt to go H.A.M and cheese on some bitches.
He snuck out of the auditorium James Bond style, jumping over seats (No he did not trip) and sliding against walls. He rolled on the floor to make a grand exit. It was like Draco Malfoy from A Very Potter Musical, only more awesome.
No, you can't understand that reference. You wanna know why? Because you ain't going as H.A.M as Gilbert Beilschmidt right now.
"What do you think you're looking at? You can't see me." Gilbert glared at a Junior until the boy turned and ran.
He had to love being an albino. Scaring upperclassmen was the best. But teachers were another species.
He climbed into an air vent to avoid the wrath of his A.P Government teacher.
"Ha Mr. Dolans. You can't see me."
The teacher only had to whip his head and glance around to send the teen scurrying upwards. When he reached the top, he extended his leg to catch level ground.
God, how could he forget how hard it was to climb up backwards?
Breathless, he wrapped his hoodie tighter around his torso. There were too many spiders and cobwebs in the vent for his liking. If any of it touched his bare skin…Ugh.
He followed the vent on his right confidently. He knew these passages too well. He practically lived in them all freshman year. They were always available for a quick getaway.
Two minutes going straight would be when he would be above Ludwig's Psychology class, and then if he turned left, and made another right, he'd be right above the nearest boy's bathroom. That's where he would drop down.
It took him five minutes to reach his desired destination, less time than expected.
"You feeling okay?"
"I just need to rest a bit mon ami."
"We could go to the Nurse's office or maybe just skip and walk to Starbucks."
So they were planning on ditching him! Those douche bags!
"Fuuuucckkkkeeeerrrss!" He yelled as he jumped down from then air vent, startling the teens into hysterics.
"Not cool amigo. Not cool."
"You wouldn't know cool if it pimpslapped you in the face Tony. Now what's wrong with my little Franny-bear? Is it that time of the month again?"
The blonde rolled his eyes at the terminology.
"Yes Gilbert. Yes it is."
"Here have this cookie."
"Mon dieu no. You want me to eat something that came out of your disgusting, dirty, spider infested jacket?"
"Yup!"
"…Come here. I'll wash your hair for you."
"I think I have some shampoo in my backpack too."
"Well aren't you just like Nanny McPhee?" Francis snorted, taking the bottle away from the Spaniard.
"I don't suppose you have a towel in there?"He added when he was scrubbing out webs that managed to creep into the albino's hair.
"I have a spare gym shirt."
"No! You sweated in that!"
"Says the guy that wanted to feed me a cookie that came out of the air vents."
"Look, if you won't eat it I will.
"Really?"
"Hell no."
The temperature of the water gradually increased until Gilbert had to jerk away from the burning.
"I'm sorry! Gott, I'm sorry!"
Never defy Francis before the meds kick in. He should've known better.
Green eyes watched the blonde attempt to drown his friend in the sink with a bittersweet sense of gratitude.
"We should do something" Antonio announced suddenly, trademark smile appearing.
"We should," Gilbert agreed, shoving Francis away. He wrapped his hoodie around his head as a makeshift towel. "I really do not feel like going home today."
"Did you get into another fight with your parents?"
"When don't I get into fights with them Toni?"
Francis sighed. It was a strange sigh, however, sounding more like a heave of resignation than a breath of fatigue. Gilbert picked up on this immediately.
"You have to come with us Frannypants! No emo-ness this time! I found this awesome dessert shop with chocolate stuffed croissants and raspberry sugar cookies and stuff!"
He purposely mentioned the Frenchman's favored desserts, hoping to get his friend to simply entertain the idea.
"I wish to be alone for bit. I'm really tired. Today has been…stressful."
"It'll just be the four of us," Gil insisted. "The cow can find something to do with Roderich. Romano's going to the skate park, and Mattie's grounded so he can't go anywhere but to school."
Francis's eyes lit up, but only briefly, out of interest.
"My sweet cousin is under house arrest? What did he do?"
Gilbert waved the question off.
"Some crazy fight with his step-dad over the Thanksgiving weekend."
The blonde blinked, and then snickered. The albino gave a small, inward hoot of victory. He was making progress!
"Why are you laughing? It's not funny! I was supposed to take him to that carnival in town!"
"You're such a bad influence on Matthieu. I should never have let him meet you."
"Just wait till we're cousins-in-law Francis. Just wait."
"Oh, so you're going to-?"
"Are we going to the cake shop amigos or did I get my hopes up for nothing?"
Crimson eyes pleadingly looked at the blonde. There was a moment (during which Antonio pulled out a Twix) and finally,
"Only for the croissants. We'll be there for 10 minutes Gil. I really need to sleep. Only ten minutes mon ami!"
Francis had to shout as Gilbert ran out of the bathroom, yelling with glee as the bell signaling the end of school sounded.
Aww yeah. He could cheer up those afflicted with depression. He was that good.
-S.S.C.O.T.Y-
"Gilbert's terrible. I can't believe he still thinks we can't see him. I can see him. Oh my god. Why don't they just tell me what's up? Why don't they tell me Feliks?"
Elizaveta huffed, sitting next to the blonde as Gilbert scampered through the doorway of the auditorium, not bothering to offer an explanation.
Comfortingly, her friend ran his fingers through her hair.
"They're boys, and really close ones at that. You got to, like, let them do what they need to do," His fingers left her locks, waving through the air. "And if it's necessary they'll tell you what's going on. You've got to give guys their space y'know? Like, if you jump into their business, they'll push you away and you don't want that."
"…What's up with the crazy hand gestures?"
Their eyes met for a good minute, and the two burst out laughing.
"All jokes aside," Arthur said, staring warily at the door. "I'm not sure whether leaving them to their own devices would be safe."
"Relax British kid. Tell, you what, it's almost time to go home. While they're doing whatever they're doing, we'll go to Sector 3 and, like, really party!"
"What's Sector 3?"
Feliks jumped up, eyes wide and lips forming an 'O'.
"What do you mean what's Sector 3? I…! Oh my god Liz. You didn't tell him what Sector 3 is?"
Guiltily, the teen stared up at the boy.
"Well, I don't think that he'll want to-."
The blonde raised his hand, stopping her mid sentence. He pompously raised his nose, shutting his eyes.
"Like, don't talk to me. Talk to the British kid."
"But-!"
"Did you say something? I can't hear you."
Elizaveta gave him a withering glare to which he only smirked. He couldn't see her expression, but he could feel her annoyance.
"So Sector 3 is like an Underground Club-No, hangout-for teenagers to go and just party. You can have bands perform, meet up with friends, make new ones. They have some events too."
"The Halloween Bash was totally filthy. I don't know what you guys were, like, doing. You should have went with me."
"We wanted to go Trick or Treating!" Elizaveta protested.
"Isn't that when Gilbert got beaten up?"
Matthew nodded, answering Romano's question.
"Yeah, he scared some Senior's little brother and the Senior went after him."
"Anyway," Elizaveta continued. "We would've gone with you today but we have fashion club."
"We do?"
The girl rolled her eyes.
"Feliks. The winter sketches are due today. Didn't you hear the announcements?"
"Crap! It's, like, the end of 8th period too! Give me your sketches real quick! Or even Seventeen magazine! I need inspiration!"
As if to mock the distressed student, the bell rang, signaling the end of school.
Romano hopped of his seat.
"I've got to go down to the skate park. If the French bastard decides to speak up, text me."
He dashed out with only a short salute as a goodbye.
"I'm under house arrest." Matthew groaned. Arthur snickered.
"Tell Step-Daddy Jones I said 'Hello'."
"I doubt he'll want to hear from you when Al tells him what happened," The Canadian grumbled, slamming the door when he left.
"What're you two doing? Roddy? Artie?"
"I've got to get out of here before I get caught by some jocks. Lord knows what'll happen now that the Devilish Trio is missing."
"I will simply stay here."
The brunette frowned. "Are you sure Roddy?"
He avoided her gaze, tapping the keys gently.
"Uh, I'll be in Mrs. Swift's room Liz."
"Yeah, um, have a splendid day love."
Seeing this as their cue to leave, the blondes made a swift escape.
Elizaveta didn't even hear the door close.
She timidly snuggled up against her boyfriend's arm, enticing the boy to shift her bangs and place a chaste kiss on her forehead.
They sat silently for a spell before the boy's hands became reckless. Music flowed from spindly fingers. Once again, he didn't need sheet music. He had played this one daily.
She knew it as well.
"This is my lullaby." She murmured. The pianist gave no response. He simply played, letting the notes blend with the light whish of their breathing.
"You two don't have to go through it alone." She said when the song had finished.
"We never are truly alone. We have each other, and I have you. We just…take care of the minor details by ourselves."
"I don't know how Francis can deal with being bipolar. Depression is a hard thing to deal with.
Exhaling, the sophomore shut the piano.
"It's not hard," He finally made eye contact. "It's just misunderstood."
-S.S.C.O.T.Y-
Alfred wasn't really sure what to think. He wasn't even really sure if he could think. He just let his hands move; staring blankly at the wood he was painting.
"Good job Al! At this rate we'll have them ready for Mrs. Florence! Veh~! Ludwig! See what a good job Al did!"
The blonde looked up, offered a "That's very nice artwork.", and returned to his Geometry homework.
But this was enough for Feliciano. The Italian beamed proudly, his entire stature enlivened.
"If Ludwig says that it's good, then it must be amazing!"
"Thanks Feli."
Was that his voice? Why did he sound so weak? So…lost? Where was his usual confident swagger? Where was his peppy, courageous heart?
Probably wandering around with some British kid.
"I…I gotta get to basketball practice."
That feeble was how he managed to escape the art room, out into the 'pits' of their school. Quickly, he zipped up his jacket. The pits, or the art and music class section of their school, were always freezing no matter what the season was.
It was annoying when you climbed up the stairs to join the rest of the school. Suddenly going from below zero to boiling couldn't be good for his system. Arthur was always-.
Oh dear God. He preferred it when he couldn't think.
"Hey, Yong Soo."
He stopped the Korean by grabbing onto his jacket.
Naturally, the freshman was glad to see that someone of such a high rank wanted to speak with him. Prince Alfred. The famous Prince Alfred wanted to speak with him. The future king of the monarchy wanted to speak to him.
He could now die happy.
"Oh hey Jones," Al recognized that tone. Why did they always try to play it cool? Honestly, looking like a poser wouldn't get them into his inner circle. "Check out my new kicks! They're tricked out Air Jordans! Don't they look filthy cool?"
'You just say filthy. Not filthy cool.' Al had to resist the urge to roll his eyes.
"They're pretty sick. I like the black and blue shoe laces. School pride is everything." He said, deciding to humor the kid.
If the boy's smile got any bigger, Alfred was pretty sure that he would explode. Which would be terrible because Al's jacket was new.
"Look, can you tell coach that I can't make practice today? I've got some stuff that I need to take care of."
The boy nodded energetically. (Al couldn't help but compare him to a bobble head.)
"Y-Y-Yeah! I can do that bro! But, wait, why can't you make practice? Don't we got a game this week?"
"I just can't. Hurry up and tell for me."
He flicked his wrist to send the boy scampering away. Soothingly, he removed his glasses and rubbed his weary eyes.
God, he just wanted to crash. And he still had A.P Global homework. Damn it.
Alfred pulled out his phone, dialing a number he already knew well.
'Hello?'
"We need to talk. Right now. Meet me in Junior Hall."
'I can't. I have to-.'
"Look, my coach is going to rip out my throat for thinking about missing basketball practice. If I can risk dying, I'm sure you can miss whatever or whoever you're going to."
'…Who's room are you by?'
The jock kicked opens a door to find a youthful teacher typing away at his laptop. The man glanced up, silently questioning why the youth's of this generation insisted on hitting everything that was school property.
"Who're you?" The blonde asked.
"Mr. Saporta. I'm one of the Spanish teachers."
"Thank you sir."
The door slammed to a close.
"Mr. Saporta. Room 367."
'I totally love Mr. Saporta! He's so funny!'
"Well that's nice. Get here."
He hung up without uttering a single goodbye.
/
I'm back! Actually, I was technically back at the beginning of this month, but then I mentioned Roderich's birthday in this chapter and decided to hold off. I apologize to anyone that saw that I was going to post on October 5th. If it makes you feel better, I wouldn't have posted till the 6th anyway. The 5th was my birthday and I was really busy.
New info:
Updates will no longer be on Friday nor will they be once every week. They'll be every two weeks, and the day has not been decided. Honors classes and clubs kill. If I can get chapters out early. Occasional one-shots with no real significance to the story will be posted too. But, it'll be separate from the main story. More info on that later.
Just so you know, artwork for this story is totally allowed as long as it's not discriminatory or offensive and you reference back to this fic. I totally don't mind. Someone had asked me about this earlier. If you get an idea from this story, then go ahead and draw. That's creative freedom I think? Something like that.
Once again, critic is welcomed. Thank you all for reading this story.
Preview: Tension is high as the Winter Formal approaches. Sinister plots are made. The King of the Monarchy takes a stand. Our star-crossed lovers are distracted from their relationship problems for a little while. And Lina Zwingli finally grows a backbone…Kind of.