Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.
Kicking the Bucket List
seven
l'esprit de l'escalier
— (Fr.) That feeling you get when you leave
a conversation and think of all
the things you should have said.
Every second week of the first semester in each academic year of Evergreen Hollows' University was known as Organisation Week, oft abbreviated as Org Week. Each course had their own mandatory organisation, though there were a myriad of other extracurricular organisations as well. These organisations would hold general assemblies, meetings, and workshops in order to improve oneself at his or her respective course.
One of these was the Evergreen Hollows Performing Arts Society, or PAS for short.
The PAS often holds many workshops and orientations to accommodate the creative needs of their organisation members, and, during semestral breaks, bring the students to strategic parts of the world (New York, USA; Los Angeles, USA; London, UK; Paris, France; etc.) in order to help them find their niche in the inner workings of performing arts through exposure to different dramatic art forms and through experience itself.
…At least, that's what the brochure said. A-And, at least, t-that's what Lovino would have g-gotten had he not been so distracted b-by the redhead sitting in front of him…
Fuck! Why is my h-hand shaking, dammit?!
"Are yeh alright? Yer face is all red an' yer hand is shakin'. D'yeh want ta go ta th' clinic? If yeh want, Ah can take yeh there," Allistor queries, looking at the brunette before him with concern.
"No, I'm fine!" The Italian exclaims, hyperaware of his flushed cheeks getting even redder. Fuck. Why me?!
Why now?!
"Positive?" the redhead asks, standing up from his seat across Lovino and pressing the back of his hand against Lovino's forehead. It feels cool against his flushed skin. The latter found himself leaning into the former's touch. "Yeh can barely fill out th' sign-up sheet." Allistor draws his hand back and Lovino catches himself before he leans in too much. How pathetic.
"Why don't yeh sit 'ere an' Ah'll get yeh somefink ta drink. Yeh good wi' tha'?" Allistor asks, pushing Lovino in the general direction of the seat the redhead had previously occupied. The girl sitting beside him gave the Italian a sympathetic glance.
It's only when Allistor heads to the cafeteria beside the atrium when she speaks up. "Sorry about that. Allistor's got these maternal tendencies. He babies everyone. Better get used to it. Sit down, yeah?"
"Y-Yeah…" Lovino murmurs, wondering what the fuck just happened.
"I'm Magda. Magdalene, but call me Magda." The girl says, grinning at him. She has curly hair dyed mint green and baby blue, caramel skin, and a few piercings here and there. They shake hands.
Lovino finally collects himself in time and gives her an alluring smile. "A beautiful name for a beautiful girl. My name's Lovino."
"What's your course, Lovino?"
"Creative Writing. You?"
"Media production." She smiles, tilting her head back. "Sit down now, I'm not gonna bite,"
"R-Right…" He takes a seat beside her. They sit in an awkward silence for a while.
Not even thirty seconds later, Allistor is back with a paper cup of water in hand. He hands it to Lovino— "You didn't h-have to get me this, d-dammit…"— who takes it with trembling hands and gingerly takes a small sip.
"God. You are such a mum, Allistor." Magdalene comments.
He pouts at her. "Nuffink bad wi' tha', methinks. An' i' comes wif takin' care of three li'l brothers,"
She laughs, "Colin is older than you by three years."
Allistor grins at her. "S'not m' fault 'e acts like e's bloody fifteen." He glances at the Italian. "Hey, yeh feelin' better yet?" His forest green eyes widen in realisation. "Oh! Yeah, Ah haven't caught yer name yet. Ah'm Allistor, by th' way."
Lovino sets the cup down, hiding his face behind his hand in a way that it'd seem like he was wiping his mouth. "My name's Lovino."
Fuck, he thinks to himself. And that's all he can basically think of right now, because his mind is so fucking blank at the moment. All he can focus on is Allistor, right in front of him, talking to him, fetching water for him— like, who the fuck does that for a stranger, d-dammit?!— and Allistor himself.
Any train of coherent thought flew right off the fucking track the moment he glanced up and found his eyes locked with the redhead's own. His breath caught in his throat. Dio, he was so fucking beautiful, he looked like a work of art he could stare at and admire 'til the end of time.
Lovino's hand twitched. He wanted to write, and fast—before his words left him, though he knew his words could never capture such a pulchritudinous, transcendental moment. He hated that he could never do perfection personified any literary justice.
He was drawn to Allistor akin a moth to a flame.
Oh, yes, how he wanted that fire to consume his being oh-so very badly until there was nothing left.
Unleash the crappy poetry—
A cool hand met his forehead again. Allistor's hand.
And again, his mind went blank.
Just like that.
"Ah don't fink yeh've got a fever or anyfink… Why is yer face so red?"
Lovino jerked his head away and immediately regretted doing so.
"Did Ah hurt yeh? Ah'm sorry—"
"Don't apologise." Lovino cut in, abruptly standing up and ignoring the guilt that spiked his conscience. He licks his lips, trying the find the right words to say so he could make his escape.
"I just—" Hazel eyes glance down at the sign-up sheet. He grabs the pen given and scrawls his basic information on it in haste. "I need to go. I forgot I had something to do."
He rushes off, faintly hearing Allistor call out, "Ah'll see yeh around then!"
The blush on the Italian's face deepens as he heads to the general direction of the campus gates.
"You scared him off," Magda nonchalantly says, filing her black stiletto fingernails to perfection whilst Allistor observed Lovino's quickly retreating figure, feeling a smidgen perplexed.
He looks at her in exasperation. "Rubbish. Ah did not."
"Oh, for fuck's sake, Allistor. You proper smothered the blazes out of the poor bloke, and now you've scared him off! Bad Allistor!"
"Oi! For th' record, Ah did not smother 'im!"
She sits up a bit more on the plastic chair, mockingly giving the redhead a betrayed look. "Cor! Some friend you are. I tell you to buy me a bag of crisps, and you say you're too tired to! Bollocks! Proper bollocks!"
His eyes widen incredulously. "Tha' was one time, Mags! Williams 'ad me goin' back an' forth, tryin' ta finish tha' damned thesis— Ah was runnin' on a deadline for God's sake!"
"Lies! Fallacies!" Magda cried out, clutching her fisted palm to her chest. "Oh, how they wound me so!"
"Such passion. Yeh should've taken up acting," Allistor comments, taking his seat beside her.
She waved him off, "Theatrics aside, methinks you've got a thing for him,"
He sat up straight. "A-Are yeh… are yeh saying tha' Ah fancy 'im? Because Ah don't—"
"Oh, don't give me that bull— He comes in and suddenly, you're all up in his face, concerned and oh-so very worried for his well-being! Look at you, running about the campus like some deranged madman, just to get him a cup of water he didn't even ask for! It's a bloody miracle! For the first time in all the years that I've known you, you finally show interest in someone~!" She declares, flourishing her hands before her. "Blokes over birds it is, then."
"W-What—" he sputters out, his face reddening. "Yeh're absolutely crackers, Mags! Now, shush—"
"Oh, please, dearie— sexual discrimination is so 1800s. It's absolutely horrid and medieval now. Don't be embarrassed~ It's about time the world accepts the fact that some people are just not bound to the gender of their biological sex. Though, I'll admit that I've never twigged you the type to fancy men."
"Me neither," the redhead solemnly mumbles under his breath, rubbing his palms together in deep thought.
After hightailing it out of the campus, Lovino found himself locked in his bedroom. His prison. His solace.
He was immersed in his thoughts, drowning in them. Drowning in enchanting green eyes that always seemed to capture him.
He looked into those eyes and everything else just… f-faded away. In that ephemeral, encompassing moment, his thoughts devoured him whole and he found himself wishing to do things that have never crossed his mind before.
He was bordering on dangerous thoughts. Thoughts that are only dangerous for people like him.
He wanted Allistor.
He wanted Allistor to want him.
Dangerous thoughts indeed.
He felt enthralled at the redhead's careful, cautious touch. The way after Allistor drew his hand away, his touch still lingered on the Italian's flushed skin. It drove his senses crazy. He wanted more. He craved for more.
But at the same time, it made him sad. These thoughts were dangerous because they made him wish for things he could never have.
He could never be good enough for someone like Allistor.
Allistor could never love someone like him.
Lovino was too callous. He was too short-tempered. He thought too much and spoke too little. Even then, he had a foul mouth that put most sailors his senior to shame.
Dangerous thoughts.
Thoughts of things he had no control over.
Thoughts that made him want to cease existing altogether just to spare whatever was left of his heart from the inevitable hurt.
A-And the way he just left like that. He screwed everything up. Why couldn't he at least say something more coherent and made room for conversation? Why did he always have to ruin everything? Why did he always have to cut these things short?
Overwhelmed with guilt, Lovino tossed and turned in bed, thinking of all the words he should have said. Only in his thoughts did he imagine himself to be nice. To be witty. Funny. Charming. All the things he never ever could be.
Dangerous thoughts everywhere.
Allistor plagued his mind. Everything about him. The way he walked, talked, looked, and even breathed. Everything.
Memorise everything, down to the very last detail.
Like the freckles on his cheeks, the porcelain texture of his skin.
The way his vibrant scarlet hair had this lock that always fell over his face.
Coffee.
He smelled like coffee and cigarettes.
He smoked.
Perfection personified had vices too.
But that's the point, isn't it? Lovino's thoughts supplied. To find someone whose demons play well with ours?
He contemplated that for a second. Is it? Or isn't it?
Lovino felt conflicted. There was a knock on his bedroom door. It successfully brings him out of his thoughts, though it lasts only a moment.
"Ve~ Fratello?" Feliciano is home.
Staccato breathing.
Lovino's heart is nearly beating out of his chest, and he's found himself drenched in cold sweat. He sits up on the bed.
How long had he been there like that?
C-Calm the fuck down, d-dammit… he tells himself.
"I'm here, just give me a minute," he tells Feliciano.
"Lovi, are you okay?" Feli asks, concern lacing his tone. "You sound out of breath."
Lovino's response is quick, clipped, and automatic. "I'm fine. Just leave me alone."
Finally, Lovino had an incentive to go to their town's shitty mall. Feliciano needed to get more art supplies and Lovino needed to get a journal. The older Vargas brother had read through his syllabus for Intro to Creative Writing during lunch and found that he needed one to… divulge his thoughts in.
The Italian wasn't exactly sure how he'd go about avoiding the task, but he was sure it'd settle itself somehow.
So that evening, after both of their classes, Lovino and Feliciano got into the black Range Rover Nonno had gotten Lovino as an 18th birthday present and went to the mall. Nonno had gotten Feli a white Mercedes-Benz as well, but it was back in their former home.
Lovino's Range Rover had proven to be more useful during the move to their new apartment. P-Plus, the Mercedes wouldn't have gotten much use from its owner, anyway…
Especially since Lovino was the only one who could legally drive. Like, he actually had a driver's licence.
Sure, they both applied for a driver's permit, but Feliciano hadn't passed his exam because he couldn't suppress his inner Italian Speed Demon as well as his older brother did. He sped down the road like some jacked up high schooler recreating his own version of Need For Speed.
It took Lovino all of his willpower to not take that as a challenge and race after his fratello. He fucking needed this licence and no wannabe Formula One racer was going to take that from him, idiota fratellino or not.
Feliciano had yet to retake his test. Which didn't matter anyway, since there was only one car and Lovino sure as hell wasn't letting Feli take the wheel, especially after the latter had made the oh-so very stunning display of making donuts on the asphalt as he was fucking drifting to a halt. He could practically hear Highway to Hell playing in the distance.
Lovino also heard that the driving instructor Feli was with quit soon thereafter.
Hopefully, she must have found a better job by now, si?
Anyways, the mall… was ugly as fuck. Dio, he hated it. The walls were painted in the bland shades of taupe and ochre, and the place was filled with fake foliage in order to make the mall more 'aesthetically-pleasing'. Eurgh. Either way, he was here with a purpose. Get a journal, wait for Feliciano to finish up his art supplies run, and haul ass back home.
It was his turn to make dinner tonight, and he didn't want the salmon he had set aside for defrosting out for too long.
The only redeeming factor about this mall was its art supplies shop. Artist's Corner was a store that was half as huge as the supermarket in the ground floor. It specially catered to artists of all art forms and mediums. It even had scrapbooking materials of all kinds. Upon entering, the shop already overwhelms one's senses with the scent of paints and wooden frames.
Feliciano found the smell to be addicting, to be honest. N-Not that he was getting high off of the paint fumes, or anything! These were canvas paints, after all! Not house paint~! That would be ridiculous!
He grabbed a cart and immediately bounded towards the nook with different canvasses. Feliciano had been here so many times, if they didn't have the apartment, he would've considered this to be his second home.
Within minutes, Feliciano had filled the cart with all he'd need for the meantime~
Lovino eventually showed up from walking around with a Moleskine journal in hand. He placed it on the conveyor belt at the check out counter and paid for everything.
Then they went home.
"Say," Antonio starts, looking up from his laptop. "Why is Lovino so angry all the time?" He glances at his two flatmates in curiosity.
Gilbert rolls his carmine eyes, his attention primarily focussed on the PSP in his pale hands as he lounged on the plush black leather couch. "The hell if I'd know, mein Freund. That kid's always had a yardstick shoved up his ass." He smashed a few more buttons before adding, "I don't think I've ever seen him genuinely smile. His brother's way better. Cuter, too."
Francis sets his manuscript down on the dining table, making his way to the kitchenette to retrieve a bottle of red wine, silently observing the exchange taking place before him.
"He writes a lot, si?" Toni asks, typing a few keys on his keyboard before reaching for his notebook in his backpack on the floor beside the recliner. Gilbert shrugs his shoulders.
"Yes, he's taking up creative writing," Francis speaks up, reaching for a wine glass in one of the cupboards. He uncorks the bottle of wine and pours some into the glass.
"What does he write about?" Antoine queries.
The blond takes a small sip of his drink before setting the bottle down atop one of the marble counters. "I can't say for sure about what, mon ami," he answers honestly.
"He probably just writes about how he hates everyone on the face of the planet," Gilbert mused. "Gott, he's such a whiny bitch."
Cerulean blue eyes glance up at the Spaniard. "Why are you so curious about him, anyway, Antoine?"
Antonio catches Francis' eye. He shrugs his shoulders in indifference, "I don't know. I just am, I guess. He's angry twenty-four-seven, so there has to be a reason or something behind it, right?"
The Frenchman gives him an enigmatic smile. "…But of course."
"Ve~ Lovi?" Feliciano's voice pipes up from the living room.
"Hmm?" Lovino hums in response, finishing up with prepping the salmon on the chopping board before him.
"What do you think of Luddy?"
Lovino's mind blanked out for a second. "What?"
"Y'know… Ludwig? The blond guy. The one you met That Day In The Diner. I call him Luddy."
"…Who the fuck is he?" Lovino asks, setting one serving onto the pan to be seared. He turns the heat up.
"He's a friend of mine and Kiku's! He's super smart and he's taking engineering at Evergreen Hollows, too~"
"So? You think I give a shit?"
"I just—" Feliciano came into view, leaning over the island counter. He glances down at his clasped hands and sighs. "No. You probably don't." He slowly nods to himself, smiling sombrely. "He's nice, you know?"
The older Vargas brother alternating between making the pesto and the pan-seared salmon glanced up at Feliciano, hazel eyes narrowed slightly. "Your point is..?"
"I don't know. I just wanted to… start a conversation~!" A tense silence falls over them before the younger twin is the first to break it. "You've been kind of distant lately," Feliciano blurted out. "And quiet. Really quiet. And I've been worried. Really worried."
Another pregnant silence engulfs the room, save for the occasional sound of the salmon sizzling on the pan, or Lovino stirring the pesto around on the shallow pot.
Just as the latter was going to speak, Feli had cut him off. "You know… If there's anything going on, you know you can talk to me, right—"
"Yeah, but I'm fine." Lovino finally interjects, searing the other side of the salmon. He turns the heat for the pesto off. "Nothing's… 'going on', so don't— don't worry about me."
"You worry about me though,"
"Yeah, why shouldn't I? You're my little brother—"
"Si, but by twenty minutes! An age difference of twenty minutes doesn't mean I can't be concerned about you, too!"
Lovino set the pesto spoon down a bit too harshly. He whipped around to face his fratellino, arms crossed over his chest as he glared at his brother in irritation. "What is there to be concerned about? Look at me," he flourished his arms before himself, "I'm fine. F-I-N-E, fine. God, Feliciano, why do you have to make such a big deal out of nothing?"
Albeit his façade of supposed indifference, the older Vargas brother's heart was beating rapidly against his chest. Guilt seized his being. What if… What if Feliciano knew?
About the noose under his bed, about the bucket list.
About how he was one step closer to his own undoing with every item on that list that he was to cross out.
About the thoughts that have been running rampant in his head lately.
Dangerous thoughts.
Dio, what if they shared some unspoken Telepathic Twin Connection or something only Feliciano picked up on? He could barely hide anything from his twin as it is. Ironically, unbeknownst to him, all the colour had been drained from his face on display for his fratello to see.
Lovino turned around and resumed cooking. "This conversation is over."
Feliciano wanted to continue pressing Lovi for answers, he really did, but seeing his brother suddenly grow pallid like that had (terrified him) been a clear warning to not pursue the topic further.
At least… not right now. Not yet.
(Not until Feliciano was sure he himself could take it.)
The next morning, Antonio found himself in front of the Vargas brothers' apartment block again.
This time, he had brought chocolates instead of flowers.
He, of course, gave them to Feliciano.
Lovino made no move to stop him.
Antonio wondered why.
Translations:
fratello - brother (It.)
nonno - grandfather (It.)
idiota - idiot (It.)
fratellino - younger brother (It.)
si - yes (It./Esp.)
Dio - God (It.)
mein Freund - my friend (Dt.)
mon ami - my friend (Fr.)
Gott - God (Dt.)
I got writer's block for this chapter. I hope it wasn't evident, but I think it is. I'm trying so hard right now not to denigrate my work since doubting myself and my capabilities as a writer has the tendency to make my writing overthought-out and terrible since I just become this paranoid parrot and I dissect each and every part of my writing until there's nothing left for me to be happy with.
I guess my negative vibes affected this chapter, and now, everything's just sad in a pathetic way. I don't want this story to be entirely emo or depressing, albeit the fact that the main plot point of the entire fic circulates around death, or at least, the underlying promise of it.
But anyways, have this fanfiction writing tip from Lovino~! To lighten things up a bit~!
Fanfic tip #1:
When writing steamy, hot bathroom sex scenes for your gay OTP, Dio, for realness' sake, NEVER use shampoo or soap as lube, dammit! Because that shit STINGS LIKE A MOTHERFUCKER. SOAPS ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO GO INTO YOUR BUTTHOLE BC IT WILL LEAVE YOU FUCKING WRITHING AND CURLED UP WEEPING IN A FOETAL POSITION ON THE BATHROOM FLOOR LIKE THE PUSSY YOU PROBABLY ARE, QUITE POSSIBLY KILLING 'THE MOOD'.
…S-So yeah. Use something along the lines of body oil, KY jelly, or maybe even aCTUAL LUBE for fucking… oh, God— 'o-optimal' results or something, capisce?
Chigi! S-Stop looking at me like that, dammit!
Review, por favor~!
~jellydonut16~
P.S. Thanks so much for all the feedback~
P.P.S. The PAS' trips to different strategic parts of the country are actually based on my college's trips overseas in real life, so I'm gonna base majority of the #collegelyfe stuff on my own (limited) experience~
P.P.P.S. Sam Smith is amazing. That is all.