Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.

Kicking the Bucket List

eight

"You write so
beautifully, the
inside of your
mind must be a
terrifying place."
—Unknown

It was a Tuesday morning when Lovino discovered he had a new fear. Though, to be honest, it was more on newfound than it was new.

So it started with Lovino's first class of the day. Intro to Creative Writing. He got there on time, he took his seat in the back of the room, and he had his assignment already in his black portfolio.

Five minutes to nine, Professor Sharp arrived, a huge stack of books and papers in her arms. She set it down on her desk with a hint of difficulty before waiting for the rest of the class to arrive.

And, finally, it's nine o' clock. She claps her hands together— clap! clap!— and everyone's attention is immediately focussed on her. It cuts through the low buzz of chatter, and within seconds, the room is silent.

"Good morning, everyone. I take it you've all had a busy first week. Hopefully, yesterday did not suck. Then again, Mondays are always rough, so," she shrugs her shoulders. "Yeah. Okay, I take it you all have your assignments with you, yes?"

Several people automatically nod in affirmation.

Lovino reaches for his black portfolio, which he had haphazardly shoved inside his backpack when he'd taken his seat.

Professor Sharp continues speaking. "Alright, so our game plan for today is to split up in groups of five," She raises her hand up, thumb folded into her palm. "And there'll be four groups, since there are twenty of us."

"This course will primarily consist of workshops. Attendance is of the utmost importance, so please refrain from missing classes. I'll give you all the heads-up a week before the workshop starts, so you can all prepare your work, which I will elaborate further later. But, as for now, in your groups, each one of you will read your work before the others so they can give their creative feedback, and vice versa."

Cosa?

Lovino suddenly felt his stomach lurch at the prospect. He swallowed this lump that had formed in the back of his throat as his heart began to palpitate.

"As a writer, one must know how to accept constructive criticism from not only superiors, but from those around him. But one must also know how to critique others in order to help them grow, and, I guess, as a way to make sure you know what you're talking about. View it as a form of give and take. Understood?"

And so, Professor Sharp divided the class into four groups of five people. Lovino still couldn't shake of the feeling of queasiness as he stood up and languidly made his way to the cenacle located in the front of the class.

No one seated spared him a glance.

They were all acquainted. No wonder.

He felt kind of really awkward and out-of-place as he sat in their group. They were animatedly discussing the life works of Edgar Allan Poe. Admittedly, a topic Lovino couldn't really, uh… talk about. He wasn't particularly familiar with… a lot of literary forms, he was sad to say.

He just— Dio, he just wrote.

Loads and loads.

A-As a way of expressing himself.

And, admittedly, he didn't read as much as he would like.

M-Maybe taking this course wasn't such a great idea, d-dammit…

God, why did he have to be such a n00b? All of them are probably, like, fucking book zealots or something, singing the praises of books he's never heard of by writers he never knew existed.

Yep. It was that bad.

I'm fucked, he thinks to himself, beginning to jog his left foot out of nervousness.

He fidgeted in his seat, his discomfort speaking volumes in the group. The others caught wind of the Italian's agitation, but didn't know what to say.

They expected someone else to start talking to the kid, introduce themselves and the rest of them, but no one stepped up to the plate.

He watched as they pulled out their work without a trace of nervousness or hesitance. Why couldn't he do the same?

His hand couldn't help but tremble as he retrieved the portfolio from his bag and pulled out the computerised and printed version of his work out and set it down on the desk.

Immediately, the girl beside him began to read hers.

His gut wrenched, his hands were clammy, and his heart was beating against his chest so hard, he half expected it to burst out of his chest. He just— he just couldn't focus on her words, no matter how much he wanted to; needed to.

He licks his lips, pressing them together into a grim line.

…Fine. Fucking confession time.

Truth be told, he has never shown his literary work to anyone else before. Fucking ever.

EVER.

Sure, he's submitted essays and reports, and shit, but this? Something that is a product of the inner workings of his chaotic mind?

No.

Fuck, no.

Even Feliciano hasn't gotten to read his writing before. Dio, when Lovino said he wanted to take creative writing in college, Nonno looked at him like he had two fucking heads.

Although Lovino knew his professor would be the one to read and critique his writing—that was inevitable— he hadn't had the slightest goddamn clue that his classmates would be criticising his work.

For fuck's sake, he knows he should just 'get over it', but it's not that fucking easy, dammit!

He just— he didn't want them to read his work. He didn't want to know all of the flaws in his writing pointed out to him, not when he's already so aware of the flaws he possesses as a person. Doing so would, in his opinion, would shatter the one thing he's found his faith in doing.

But that was ironic. Hypocritical, even.

He knows the deal. He knows how it's supposed to go. You're going to be judged. Your work will be put under some metaphorical microscope of some critic who may or may not be too hard on you. It'll either break your spirit, or motivate you to better yourself.

You will be knocked down, but out of necessity, you will need to get your shit together again, step the fuck back, and look at where you dun goof'd. And it'll be the hardest goddamn thing you have ever done in your life.

Lovino knows all of that.

He wants to better himself, yes— dammit, what kind of writer doesn't?— but… b-but it's just so… eurgh.

It's— It's complicated…

It may seem like some sort of half-assed bullshit excuse, but it's true!

A-And it sucks because he knows that the one thing holding him back is himself.

He is his own greatest critic. But he isn't even sure if he can handle the heat.

By the time he finally breaks free from his thoughts, he girl beside him is halfway done speaking. Lovino finds himself over-analysing her words too much to the point where he hadn't gotten any of the heart of the substance in her work.

And, in the end, he had nothing of worthy substance to say regarding what she'd written.

One by one, the others begin to share their thoughts on the piece. When it's Lovino's turn, he doesn't realise it immediately, but he does when all of their eyes fall on him.

He clears his throat, straightening up on his seat. "I think it was, uh… nice."

"'Nice'?" Another girl, she's sitting directly in front of him right now, echoes in a nasal, condescending tone. "Just 'nice'? Her words were light. Eloquent. Feminine. Her words had a melody to them akin a song. And all you have to say is 'nice'? Were you even listening—"

Just as Lovino was about to retort, the girl whose work was being discussed cut him off, "Hey! Don't be so mean to him, Liv. Not everyone is a pro like you," the girl turns to face him. She has two blond pigtails and big blue eyes. Girl next door vibes. She smiles at him reassuringly. "Thanks."

For her sake, he tries not to scowl (too much). "…Tch. Whatever."

Lovino makes sure to pay more attention this time. The person beside Pigtails is fully decked in washed-up hair metal frontman garb. He has fluorescent pink hair in a sloppy mop that reminds Lovino of plastic lawn flamingoes, ghastly pale skin, and a fuckton of piercings and crappy, generic tattoos.

His hair clashes with his clothes, Lovino absently notes, eyeing the neon green cutoff on the man's lanky form he wouldn't touch with a ten-foot pole. Briefly, he wonders if he'd ever sink that low if he went off the deep end. On another note, Lovino guessed that there were a lot of eccentric characters in EHU. International community, after all.

Highlighter Bastard then recalls the night he went to the cemetery alone at night to visit his deceased mother, who succumbed to leukaemia several months ago.

(Out of guilt, Lovino drops the 'Bastard' from his moniker and calls him Highlighter instead.)

Highlighter's writing is sad and haunting. It's evident that he hasn't healed from his mother's passing yet with the brevity of his words, the way he spoke of her as if she were still there with him. Lovino tried to feel the sadness culminating within him from the very depths of his soul, but… he just couldn't summon it. Not truly. He felt bad for her and for Highlighter, yes, but the sympathy he feels can never match the sorrow Highlighter is experiencing at the moment.

Albeit the fact that he's lost his parents, it was at a young age, and it had no significant psychologically traumatising impact on him whatsoever. Honestly.

So he just can't relate.

Next is Liv the Shitstain's turn to read. It's hard to focus on someone's writing when that someone was a snarky bitch you wanted to strangle, ragazza or not.

Lovino shook the thoughts out of his head. No. Nope. No. No thoughts of strangling anybody, dammit!

Shitstain was actually decent at writing. (More than decent, actually, but y-you didn't hear that from him, okay?) Her writing was good enough to make you feel like you were actually with her in the Starbucks near the campus. That was her location of choice.

He guessed that she was what most people would call a seasoned writer. Thing is, she knew she was good, so she acted like she was pretty damn entitled.

Maybe she is.

Either way, Lovino didn't give a shit.

…B-Because it was his turn pretty soon. One more person, and it'll be him being put on the stands next.

Dio, why did it feel like Judgment Day? Did— Did the room suddenly grow smaller or something? Because he found it hard to breathe.

Glancing down at the paper in his hands, he found himself rereading his work over again and suddenly, it all became insubstantial.

It didn't seem good enough anymore.

These people… were better than him. Loads better than him. They had the passion for literature, and he didn't.

A-All he did was write, and even then, he wasn't— wasn't good enough.

If there was one thing he could do well, it was to fuck things up.

Suddenly, it's his turn now. Everyone's staring at him again.

He gulps, reaching for the paper and raising it up with shaky hands. All the words suddenly seem like blurry blotches of black ink, and he gives a small shake of the head. "I can't— I can't do this." He whispers more to himself than to them.

"Will you hurry up—" Shitstain starts before Lovino snaps and cuts her off.

"Per l'amore di Dio, will you give me a goddamn minute?" He orders more than he asks.

Pigtails places a hand on his arm and leans in closer to him. "Hey, are you feeling okay?"

He inwardly rolls his eyes in exasperation. Why does everyone keep on asking me about my fucking wellbeing? No fucking shit, idiota, not when you have panic attacks every other day!

"I'm fine," he answers automatically. He pauses, takes a breath and continues talking. "I just— I've never let anyone read my writing before. Okay? So just give me a minute, dammit."

"Is everything alright?" Professor Sharp asks, startling the flustered Italian.

"Fine." The latter reiterates, running a hand through his hair.

"He's never shown anyone his writing before," Pigtails spills simultaneously. Lovino gives her a horrified look.

The professor's eyes widen in surprise. "Really? Wow. Let us hear it then! You have nothing to be afraid of."

Lovino raises an index finger up. Just a minute, his hazel eyes say. His erratic, shallow breathing slows into steady breaths.

Several seconds pass and he begins to read, often stuttering over some of his words. Professor Sharp is looming behind him, grey eyes examining his paper as he read it out for the rest of his group to hear.

When he's done, Shitstain is the first to speak, her tone sharp and condemning as she pontificated, "I feel like you've missed the entire point of the essay. Sure. You were on point for the first few lines, but it just fucking strayed and deviated way off track, so… Try working on that. Stay on point. Know what you're writing about."

He glanced down at his paper. She had a point. His heart sunk to the bottom of his stomach.

Pigtails spoke next, "Personally, I think it was really, really nice! It's like there was this build-up going on, and continually, it culminated until it reached this zenith and became like this sort of poem-y song. It just had this rhythm that pulled you in, since it had some lyrical qualities. It's great."

Upon hearing her review, he felt a smidgen bit better. Like, maybe, he wasn't a lost cause.

The guy seated beside him, Stripes, because he was wearing a striped t-shirt, piped up, "I kind of agree with Beth and Liv. You kind of strayed from the topic, but the end product was nice. Philosophical. You make really nice analogies."

Lovino nodded, feeling a bit more hopeful. Highlighter was the last to give his critique.

"I think it was good. Really good. I just— can I have that?" He reached forward, motioned for the paper in Lovino's hand. Reluctantly, the Italian handed it over to him. "Thanks— I feel like I can read this over and over and over again and not get bored or fed up with it very easily. That's quite a feat, in my opinion, since I can read a passage once or twice, and never bother with it ever again. I feel bad for you though. It sucks feeling like you're not good enough."

"Thanks." Lovino says. Highlighter hands him his paper back and the Italian takes it. Quickly, Lovino turns to face the professor, but she's already at a different group.

The discussions end, and everyone goes back to their seats. Professor Sharp continues talking about the previous topic of the importance of workshops, and elaborates a little bit more on what she'll be expecting from them.

Lovino has to write a story.

It was a no shit moment since, yeah, he's taking up creative writing. Still, he wasn't quite sure of himself. He doesn't know if he can pull through. He needs something to awaken his muse.

At the end of the class, Professor Sharp has everyone hand in their assignments. Lovino, being in the back of the room, is the last one to submit his, setting it atop the stack of essays.

"You did good, Lovino." She tells him, pulling the pile of miscellaneous books and papers into her arms. She smiles. He nods in response. Then he returns to his seat to grab his backpack.

As Jacqueline Sharp exited the classroom, Antonio Fernandez-Carriedo had spotted her (and the huge stack of papers in her arms) and made his way over to her.

"Hola, Ms. Sharp~ Let me help you with that, si?"

Jacqueline turned to him, smiling gratefully. "Thanks, Toni. You know you can always call me Jackie, right?" She deposited a few inches' worth of the stack into his tan arms.

He looked sheepish, "Lo siento, but I just feel like it's better to call you 'Miss' since you're a professor here and I'm just a student. Even though you dated mi hermano and all,"

Lovino Vargas exited the room, backpack slung over one shoulder. He brushed past them, but not before sending Antonio a habitual glare, a scowl present on his face.

Antonio rolled his eyes in exasperation as Lovino's shoulder roughly brushed against his.

Jacqueline raised an eyebrow at the two before turning to the Spaniard. "C'mon, let's walk."

And so they did. They walked in silence for several seconds before she spoke up. "How've you been?"

Toni laughed, "I've been good. Great, actually. It's nice to have something to do again."

"You'll regret saying that by the time midterms come rolling in," she says, shifting the pile in her arms.

"You, though?"

She slowly nods, "I've been good as well. How's your mom?"

Antonio smiles sadly. "Ah, she, uh— she's been better. Basically. I hope I can visit her soon."

"Yeah… I should really drop by sometime. I'll be honest with you, I think I miss your mom more than I miss your brother."

They laugh.

Antonio's eyes inadvertently flicker down to the stack of books and papers he's holding. There's an essay at the very top. He takes a glance at the name and his eyes can't help but widen.

Lovino Romano Vargas

…Oh.

Oh, this is good.

An uncharacteristically smug smirk appears on his face as he internally shakes his head in disbelief. Finally, a gist of whatever Lovino is writing.

He expected something somewhat satirical. Something with a lot of expletives and, perhaps, graphic violence. But what he got was something much more different.

It's a Tuesday afternoon as I write this on my notebook. I'm sitting on an aged wooden bench by the gardens in Evergreen Hollows— the one everyone just seems to overlook amidst all the happenings in their lives. And in turn, the garden overlooks the forest in which I have yet to venture. The view is absolutely breathtaking. The garden and the forest are one and the same, yet they are completely opposite.

The garden is stunning. The magnolias and roses are in full bloom, and its fragrance saturates the cool air around me. And, sadly, that's pretty much all I can visibly identify in my limited knowledge of flora. Though its growth is limited and it is controlled, it ends up so very beautiful.

Everyone admires the gardens.

The forest is lush, mysterious, and free to grow however, though many never see the beauty in its natural chaos. They fear it. People are afraid of things they don't know, and thus, shun them out. Things that are completely foreign to an individual. Some embrace it, though, but that is a rarity compared to people who don't.

I glance up at the sky above me, a sigh escaping my lips. It really is just so enchanting here. How long has it been since I've taken a moment once in my life to take a breather, admire the sky, and literally smell the roses?

I don't think I have. Ever.

I sit here, overwhelmed by the brilliant shades of orange and scarlet slowly fading into calmer— but just as beautiful, nonetheless— tones of purple and cerulean. The sun and moon are both visible, and I am enthralled to see all the stars in the sky, though they do not shine as bright.

Glancing up over the horizon, the blue melts over the tops of the numerous pine trees in the forest.

Slowly, the dark consumes the light.

The view before me makes me happy, yet at the same time, it makes me sad. I realised that there was a balance in everything, even in and especially in nature.

I saw myself reflected in it.

I stop writing for a moment. My hands tremble as I alternate between staring at the words scrawled in the last few rays of the fading sunlight and at everything that surrounds me.

And I'm thinking to myself, that maybe, perhaps, possibly, I am that forest.

I am the darkness.

I am the night.

I am the stars that don't seem to shine as bright.

And if there is darkness, then there must be light.

If not, would be the dark be as dark? Would be the light be as light?

Ironically, in all of this, I am a twin. My twin is my complete opposite. My counterpart.

He is the garden.

He is the light.

He is the day that is consumed by night.

He is the sun that shines over earth, brightly, brilliantly, blazingly.

We are like oil and water. Like day and night. We will never be alike, but we need each other.

I only wish I could be as bright someday.

Bright enough to light up someone's sky.

But who could ever love someone who envies the sun?

"It's nice, isn't it?" A voice pulls Toni's attention away from the words that still seemed to linger in his mind.

He glances at Jacqueline, face flushed at being caught reading something maybe he shouldn't have. "I… uh…"

She nods, urging him on as a smile crept onto her face.

"Si," he finally admits. "It's very nice."

"You remember the kid that came out and accidentally bumped into you a while ago? He wrote that," she said, a hint of pride in her voice.

"Trust me, that was no accident," was what he wanted to say.

But instead, he went with, "Really?"

She nods, "Yep! He's quiet, though. He rarely talks unless he needs to."

Antonio was perplexed. He glances back down at the last few lines, trying to piece Lovino together. The Lovino he knew was really, really mean, talked a lot, and had curses in every other word.

But this…

This Lovino. He was more… perceptive? He had a way with words, but did he really feel that way about Feli? If so, why doesn't he try to make himself better, then?

Why did he have to be angry all the time?

But what he wrote… it was quite sad.

Antonio's mind was cluttered with thoughts he couldn't comprehend. He felt as if there were a jumble of jigsaw puzzle pieces in his head, but not of the same puzzle.

He wanted to retort that she didn't know him in real life the way he did, but this— the essay— was his work, too, si? It's a part of Lovino as well.

Upon receiving no response, Jacqueline continued speaking, "I think that he has a lot of potential. I look forward to seeing more of his work through different literary forms."

Antonio could do nothing but nod, rereading the work over and over again as if it'd give him answers.

But to what?

He was really, really confused right now…

It was lunchtime right now, so Antonio, as usual, was with his best friends, Francis and Gilbert. They were at the caf this time instead of the diner for a change.

Toni was unusually quiet today. Francis was just about to ask him what was wrong until Feliciano came in with Ludwig and Kiku.

The presence of the cute Italian immediately brought Antonio out of his trance and he grinned at the Frenchman and the self-proclaimed Prussian before standing up and making his way to the trio.

This was Toni trying his hand at wooing the cute little Italian again.

He smoothly sits in the chair beside Feliciano, beaming at him. "Hola, Feli! What's up?"

Feli smiles back, pushing his tray of fish fillet back a fraction. "Ve~ Hi Toni! I'm just having lunch with Kiku and Luddy~!"

"Hello, Antonio-san." Kiku says, snapping apart a pair of wooden chopsticks.

Ludwig, whose attention is mainly focussed on the thick textbook in his hands, takes a second to glance up at the Spaniard and nod at him."Hallo, Antonio."

"Hi, Kiku. Ludwig." Toni greets, turning a bit more to face Feliciano. Dios, he really is just so cute! A light laugh escapes Antonio's lips as he gently cups the Italian's cheek. "Ahaha~ Feli, you have some paint on your cheek!"

He pulls his hand away, reaches for Feli's water bottle and swipes his thumb over the cool condensation before bringing it to the latter's cheek. He wipes it away, a slight blush on his cheeks at being able to touch the younger Italian without a headbutt or a kick from Feli's irritable older brother.

Just as he pulls his hand away after stroking Feli's cheek for a few moments— "Ve~ Did the paint come off yet?"— Lovino shuffles in the cafeteria, a few books in his arms.

Dios, why does everyone seem to have books in their arms today? Is it some kind of unspoken agreement..?

Upon seeing the Spaniard, Lovino's scowl deepens as he slams his books down on the table, startling Kiku and Ludwig.

Antonio's eyes narrow a fraction.

Feliciano ignores the expression on Lovino's face, asking him how his morning went.

The older twin made a noncommittal grunt, rolling his eyes as he sits down on his chair. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and scrolls through the screens in order to find a distraction.

Antonio sits up a bit straighter, peering up at Lovino with curiosity. He's suddenly conscious of the Italian's presence, and it's bugging him.

"Aren't you going to eat, fratello?" Feli asks again, genuine worry in his tone. The twins' eyes meet.

"I'll grab something later. Don't worry about me." Lovino mutters, glancing away.

Out of nowhere, a blond girl comes up and wraps her arms around Lovino's neck, leaning in.

"Hi, Lovi~!" She sang, practically smashing her chest against the back of his head.

Antonio gulped, surprised at how apprehensive he suddenly felt. No matter what, he couldn't pull his gaze away from the two, who seemed to be quite intimate with each other.

And again, that bothered him.

Why?

"Ciao, Bella," Lovino says in response, an easy-going smile on his lips, all traces of the scowl previously worn on his face having faded away.

Wow. Lovino looks r-really nice when he smiles. The Spaniard can't help but think. And for a moment, Antonio finds himself wondering how nice it'd be to make someone as unpleasant as Lovino smile. It seemed like an impossible feat, but the blond managed to do it s-so easily!

"Ve~ Hi, Bella!" Feliciano greeted, beaming at her. She greets him back with just as much cheerfulness.

Suddenly, she pulls back a fraction, pouting as she glanced down at Lovino. "Finally. After all this time, I see you again. You forgot to give me your number!"

The Spaniard can't help but raise an eyebrow. Is she his girlfriend or something?

As unreasonable as it was, he didn't like the idea of Lovino h-having a girlfriend. At all. He just— he just didn't. But why?

Why did he feel this way all of a sudden?

"Mi dispiace, I was in a hurry for my first class. I guess it just slipped my mind," he says, hazel eyes softening as he looked at her with tenderness. Antonio couldn't help but gulp.

Lovino, always courteous to the ladies, felt obliged to make it up to her. "How about I make it up to you? Let's go to Starbucks, on me."

A-And there was this smile on Lovino's face that made Antonio's heart skip a beat. Dios mio.

Lovino should definitely smile more.

Maybe then, people would like him better, si?

She began tapping her chin with her index finger in fake contemplation. "Should I? Or should I not?" She pulls away, beaming at him. "Who am I kidding? Let's go~!"

"Great!" Immediately, Lovino stands up and slings his backpack over his shoulder.

Feli wastes no time in expressing his ebullience, jumping up to embrace his brother. "Ve~ You finally have a friend! I'm so happy, Lovi~!"

"Not in fucking public, idiota!" Lovino scolds, prying Feliciano's arms off of him. "Dio, it's not like it's a fucking miracle or anything, d-dammit,"

And Antonio came to his senses again. There was the Lovino he knew again. Yeah. The mean one.

Bella giggles, placing a neatly manicured hand on Lovino's shoulder. He doesn't pry or shrug it away like he did to Feliciano. "Let's go~" she says, sliding her hand down so she can wrap it around his arm.

Lovino was a true gentleman.

"I'll see you around, Fel!" She exclaims, waving at the younger Vargas brother goodbye. Feliciano waves back, bidding them goodbye.

Lovino shoots Antonio a nasty glare before being pulled away by the blond. Once the couple are out of earshot, Toni turns to Feli again.

"Wow. Is she your brother's girlfriend?" He asked, before realising a second later how weird and random it sounded. So he added, "I can't imagine anyone wanting to date your hermano. No offence."

There. Sounded better.

Feliciano laughed airily. "Ve~ Of course not! Fratello's just like me in the terms of preferences."

Antonio was confused. "What?"

It was Feli's turn to be perplexed. Ve~ Didn't he understand?

A small sigh escaped his lips before he gave Toni a smile. "We both like men, Toni~ Which is ironic because our Nonno is a huge ladies' man~!"

But Antonio didn't catch that last part. Because he was too busy letting out a long breath he hadn't known he was even holding in. W-Why did he feel… relieved?

After a few more moments of contemplation and coming up with nothing, he shrugged those thoughts out of his head and redirected his attention to Feliciano again.

He really is so adorable~!

Translations:

cosa - what (It.)
Dio - God (It.)
nonno - grandfather (It.)
ragazza - female (It.)
per l'amore di Dio - for the love of God (It.)
idiota - idiot (It.)
hola - hello (Esp.)
si - yes (It./Esp.)
lo siento - I'm sorry (Esp.)
mi hermano - my brother (Esp.)
hallo - hello (Dt.)
Dios - God (Esp.)
fratello - brother (It.)
ciao - hello (It.)
mi dispiace - forgive me (It.)
Dios mio - oh my God (Esp.)

Belated Merry Christmas, folks! This is my present to you guys for being awesome! Whoa~ Five thousand words, where did those come from?

Review, por favor~!

~jellydonut16~

P.S. Have a happy new year, too! Finally, the Spamano kinda commences!