Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.
Warning: Contains pseudo-interior monologue, all-caps, alcohol and substance abuse.
Reader discretion is advised.
Kicking the Bucket List
eleven
"I'm scared to get close, and I hate being alone.
I long for that feeling to not feel at all.
The higher I get, the lower I'll sink.
I can't drown my demons, they know how to swim."
— Can You Feel My Heart by Bring Me The Horizon
…So the Spanish bastard's been acting really weird lately.
Like, it wasn't just 'weird'— because that shitstain's always been weird— but more on 'weirder'.
Like, sure, the dipshit would be in front of Lovino and his fratello's apartment building every morning— what's new, right?— and he would proceed to give Feliciano his stupid 'Love Offering'.
Yeah. That's become a regular thing, si?
But the thing is, immediately after that, the dickhead would go straight to him— Lovino— and start talking to him like they were the best of friends..!? Seriously!
Like, what the hell, asshole?
What did that douche nozzle think of him, dammit; some sort of obstacle? A boss monster at the end of a level to defeat?
Or was it just some sort of 'keep your friends close; keep your enemies closer' kind of schtick, because that shit will not fly by him so easily. The Spaniard's games of invasion of personal space and quasi-stalkery will prove to be useless as fuck, dammit, because no matter what— not even over Lovino's swinging, lifeless body, will that Spanish bag of horseshit ever get into Feliciano's pants!
It just fucking sucks now that he has this stupid Spanish bastard following h-him around like s-some kind of l-lost puppy or something, dammit!
God, why won't he leave Lovino alone?
As a side note, do people even make chastity belts anymore? …For men?
Because his Virginity Guardian Armour's showing a fuckton of weakness right now. Like, why the fuck won't it work on the fucking bastard?! Is— Is he too stupid or something to comprehend the fact that he will never stand a chance with Feliciano? That dickweed will never be good enough for his fratello.
Even Lovino himself wasn't good enough for his fratello.
Like, that's— that's fucking saying… a lot.
I-It's lunchtime and Lovino's feeling kinda edgy.
Actually? He's feeling absolutely murderous.
His breathing is growing shallow, his palms are sweating, and his blood is boiling. He's starting to see red, and he's pretty sure he's going insane. Wanna know why?
"Aww~ Are you in a bad mood again, Lovino~?" Antonio asks, having waited for Lovino after his science class.
…Yep.
No, seriously, dammit. After he had walked out of the classroom, the piece of shit was standing right there, l-looming; anticipating… like some psychotic stalker o-or something. For fuck's sake.
Lovino clenches his fists, glaring at the Spaniard. "Why the fuck are you here?! Why won't you leave me the fuck alone, dammit?!" His hazel eyes are furious, something darker within their depths.
The older twin is livid. He doesn't want this at all. Like, it's bad enough that he has to restrain the asshole from hitting on his brother. But this? This was too much. And it's as if he can literally feel his self-restraint crumbling. H-Have you ever felt so pissed at someone, you kinda just wanted to punch them in the throat, beat the living daylights out of them with a shovel, and drag their bloody, unconscious bodies into the ocean? Because he's totally getting those vibes right now. Cheh, let the assholes sleep with the fishes, dammit.
Dio mio, these idiots are going to be the death of him— if not the reason for his incarceration, that is. Fucking hell.
The furious Italian swallows the lump forming in his throat as he resignedly ignores the Spaniard, who's hot on his heels and talking his head off.
W-What the hell; is he seriously going on about fucking turtles right now? And farm animals?
What the fuck is wrong with him, dammit?!
Why?!
Why can't he fucking shut it?!
He could feel himself reaching his breaking point.
One more, he inwardly seethed. Just one more word, and I'll—
The stupid Spaniard pokes his cheek. His mind blanks out, and not in a good way, either. "Aww~ Lovino~ You look like a squishy tomato~! Ahaha~"
Hahahahahahahahaha~
Antonio~.
You're fucked!
Lovino draws his fist back and punches the fucker in the face. Antonio stumbles back, clutching his nose as he hissed out muffled Spanish expletives.
He doesn't wait a moment to make his escape. At the last second, a hand latches onto his wrist, pulling him back. It's Antonio, who's now equally pissed. He rears his fist back and punches Lovino's face with lightning-quick speed.
Before they know it, they're in a full-out brawl in the middle of the fucking hallway. Punches and kicks are thrown, but with the adrenaline rushing through the Italian's veins, he hardly feels a thing.
Albeit the fact that the Spanish bastard was strong, Lovino had the experience that gave him an advantage. Seems like getting beat up and beating up those that bullied Feliciano had benefitted him after all, si?
Lovino manages to grab hold of the Spaniard's shirt collar and inadvertently dragged him out to the courtyard, where there were many spectating the altercation, though none were showing any signs of intervening anytime soon.
"What the fuck is your problem, pendejo?" the bastard sputters out, irritation evident in his tone as he pried Lovino's hand away from his shirt and shoved the Italian back.
"Well, what the fuck is yours?" Lovino retorts, stepping closer to the Spaniard 'til they were toe-to-toe with each other. "Stop stalking me, dipshit! What the fuck are you trying to do?! Creep me out into letting you date my brother? Because I fucking think not—"
"What is going on here?!" A professor booms, striding across the grass towards them. Immediately, two random spectators break out of their trances and pull the two mediterraneans away from each other, both still sputtering curses at the other in their respective native tongues.
"He started it!" Lovino decries, directing an accusatory glare at the Spaniard. "He's been annoying the hell out of me for days on end! I swear to God, he's been fucking stalking me like some kind of creep, dammit!"
"Newsflash~! What if, maybe, I just wanted to be your friend, Lovino?!" Antonio roars back, struggling against his human restraints. "Oh, wait~! You wouldn't know because you don't have any~!"
"Fuck you!" The other shrieks, before the professor finally puts his foot down.
"Alright, that's enough!" The professor bellows, spittle flying from his bearded lips. "Come on, people. We're old enough— rough-housing solves nothing!"
"Fucking stalking me solves nothing!"
"Ahahaha~ Don't flatter yourself, Lovino~."
"Bullshit! You were looming outside my class like some kind of beady-eyed little twerp! What the hell is your problem?!"
"Well, maybe, my problem is you!"
"I knew it, I just fucking knew it."
Someone immediately spans the distance from the corridor to the fuming Italian upon observing the spectacle before her. It's Bella. She gently touches his forearm and he flinches. "What— What's going on?"
"A fight is what's 'going on'." The professor mumbles, voice laced in disapproval. "Do you know these two?"
Immediately, Bella channels her inner actress and tries to get Lovi out of this terrible mess. "Oh~!" She fakes a gasp, covering her mouth with her hand. "That's terrible—"
She leans in closer to the professor, expression grave and serious. "I'm sorry, sir," she says, playing the pity card for Lovi. "Thing is, my friend here has a been through a lot of stuff. He was nearly, uh, kidnapped. As a child. The one who lured him in was this little boy his age then, and thankfully, I was able to chase him on my… uh, my bike and I just— I caught the kid? And I— I just did a double-whammy on him and he kinda blacked out, but bottom-line is: my friend here is has been traumatised by it ever since. It makes him all paranoid, and when someone even just follows him for six consecutive seconds, he kinda has the tendency to snap. So… So that's what happened."
The academician skeptically cocks an eyebrow up, as if to say, 'Do you really expect me to believe that shit?'
The blond nods in insistence. "It's true~! So please let him off easy just this once, sir? ...And the other guy too, I guess."
"This is ridiculous!" He exclaims before heaving a heavy sigh. He turns to face the two delinquents, crossing his hairy arms over his chest. "Alright. Fine. I'll let you two off the hook, only if you—" he pointedly glares at Lovino. "—make sure to reign your emotions and your paranoia in. You will constantly put your peers in the way of bodily harm if you keep that up."
Not waiting for a response, the professor quickly turns and trudges back to the general direction of the faculty room.
Lovino shrugs off the arms of the guy holding him back, glaring hatefully at the Spaniard who refused to meet his gaze. The former then turns to face Bella and his blood runs cold.
Her green eyes are icier than ever as she has her arms crossed over her chest in disappointment. Well, shit.
"I don't understand why you had to get into a fistfight with someone the second week of school," Bella mutters, voice laced with disapproval as she dabs at Lovino's face with a frozen tenderloin steak. Like, thank God for Saran Wrap. The Vargas brothers had no frozen peas in their apartment, which was weird because frozen peas were usually a staple in most households, right?
"Trust me, Bel," he mumbles in a nasal tone. "If you were in my shoes, you would've punched him too. Hell, maybe even worse!"
"…I seriously doubt that." She pulls the semi-thawed steak away from his face and tuts at the damage, shaking her head. His face was kinda scratched up in general, but the left side of his face took brunt of the damage. "Alright, about the party tonight. I'm going to swing by around six or so, so you better be ready by then, okay?"
Lovi sighs, taking the steak from her and flopping on the couch. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever." He continues pressing it to his nose.
If this is going to be a regular occurrence, he should really invest in a goddamn icepack. Or at least a pack of— of fucking frozen peas or something. Mixed vegetables and shit.
She sits beside him, reaching for the remote and turning the TV on. "Where's Feli?"
"He's having lunch with his stupid friends again. As usual." Lovino grunts.
"Does he know what happened between you and that— that other guy?" She asks, raising an eyebrow as she surfed through the channels.
"Ngh. No? Maybe? Probably? I'll bet he'll give me one of his stupid, lengthy sermons again when he gets back home from class. Fuck my life."
"Oh, come on. It can't be that bad, right?"
Lovino looks at her like she's sprouted two heads. "Are you fucking kidding me? Last time he lectured me was, like, over summer break. So he just came back from a shitty outing with his even shittier friends, right? And I'm just, like, here, in my room, doing my own thing; minding my own business. Then Feliciano fucking came in like a proverbial wrecking ball, going, 'fratello, why don't you have any friends?! We should make this summer memorable before we go off to college!' and sentimental crap like that.
"So I was like, 'What the fuck, Feliciano? Go away', but he just fucking stood there at my doorway for, like, an hour, sermonising me about how I should make the best of my youth like he did and shit like that. Ugh, it was terrible. He kept on quoting stuff from Inspirational Quotes on Facebook. 'Life only comes around once, so do whatever makes you happy, and be with whoever makes you smile'. 'Don't wait for the perfect moment; take the moment and make it perfect'. Oh my God. Atrocious."
"…Wow. You poor baby."
"Shut up, Bella." He weakly punches her.
"You actually memorised the quotes, you hypocrite." She hits him right back using her clutch.
It's around four PM when the door to the apartment opens and is unceremoniously slammed shut by none other than Feliciano.
It's an 'oh shit' moment for Lovino, who instantly closes his Macbook shut with one hand, a frozen pack of two dory fish fillets in the other, gingerly pressed upon the side of his face. He fidgets a bit from his position of lounging on the couch.
Feliciano strides up to him, leaving his backpack by the door. He crosses his arms over his chest and impatiently taps his foot repeatedly against the floor.
Several moments of one-sided, infuriating silence befalls them before Feliciano breaks it with a snippy and shrilly "Well?!"
Lovino has to bite on the inside of his cheek to keep himself from sheepishly smirking at his brother. Without skipping a beat, he answers with a nonchalant "'Well', what?"
"You know 'what'!" Feliciano retorts, frowning at him in fervent disapproval. "Why did you have to do that?! Toni never did anything to you!"
A sarcastic chuckle escapes the other twin's lips. "Hah, right." The smile immediately drops off his face in an instant, no humour whatsoever in his facial expression or tone. "The bastard's been clinging to me like a goddamn leech! He's— He's been annoying me non-fucking-stop—"
"That doesn't mean you can punch him!" Feli is borderline corybantic.
"I can and I did!" The other Vargas bellows, sitting up straighter on the couch. "We hate each other; anyone and their mother can see that. The shifty motherfucker's been avoiding me like the plague since That Day In The Diner; now he suddenly flips 180º, fucking stalking me, and now I'm in the wrong?"
"You punched him first, fratello—"
"He was fucking asking for it! Now get off my case, dammit. Why— Why the hell are you even sticking up for that piece of shit? I'm your brother—"
"But he's my friend, Lovi!"
Well. Fuck if that didn't hurt.
Hazel eyes widen in shock and anger. But mostly anger.
Fuck, he was so fucking pissed.
"So?" Lovino is standing now, arms defiantly crossed over his chest. "So what you're saying is that you'd rather stick up for someone you just met instead of your own fucking brother—" he throws a hand up, a dry laugh escaping his lips as he rolls his eyes. "Great! That is so fucking great."
Feli frowns at him, tears threatening to fall from his honey brown eyes. "I've lost a lot of friends because of you, you know that? And I don't want to lose any more!"
Lovino's heart sinks to the bottom of his chest, and in that moment, he wants nothing more but for the floor to consume him and swallow him whole. His throat constricts painfully, and tears sting the back of his eyes. Finally, it all comes out, huh?
The younger twin wipes at his face with the back of his paint-stained hand. "Dio, Lovi, why do you have to be so difficult to talk to?"
Lovino licks his chapped lips, forcing the lump down his throat as he tried to find his voice. It came out hoarse; throaty. He forces a grin on his face when he wants to do nothing more but to run and escape.
"Hah, funny. When am I not difficult to talk to? I've always been like this. The day you should start worrying is the day I acquiesce to whatever you have to say."
With that, he storms into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.
Tears roll down his reddening cheeks, rage and sadness fomenting within his being all at once.
'You idiot!' Lovino wanted to yell at the door. 'You fucking idiot! You don't know how much I gave up for you, and you just fucking throw it all away!'
His breathing grows shallow as he sinks to the ground. His eyes flicker over to the bedside table containing the bucket list before focussing his needing gaze on the Nike shoebox that contained his sweet salvation fashioned out of rope.
Six PM had finally rolled around. Feliciano had exited the apartment an hour earlier to have a study session with his beloved friends, so he was all alone now. The older Vargas brother was able to get ready for tonight's party in unsettling silence. He donned a black button-down, dark wash jeans and black Vans.
He briefly considered leaving a note, since he didn't get to tell his fratello about the party. But he thought about the argument that had transpired earlier, and then he got re-pissed about it.
No note for you.
Asshole.
Lovino jogs out of the apartment building. As if on cue, Bella pulls up in front of him in her boisterous yellow Corvette convertible. Elizabeta is riding shotgun, smirking at him.
"Hey~!" Bella says, beaming at him. "You look great!"
He fakes an easy smile, complimenting them right back. He gets in the backseat and Bella turns to face him, face flushed in excitement. "You stoked?"
He rolls his eyes, shrugging his shoulders. "I don't know— whatever, dammit. Just drive already."
She then sets off for her house on the other side of the city.
The Janssens Manor was a luxurious mansion that boasted of wealth and class. It exuded a certain vibe that ran along the lines of 'SHIT SON, THEY LOADED AS FUCK' that would have a line of butlers and maids in the foreground of the rich, green lawn, wearing Raybans at night while aggressively doing the shmoney dance.
Yeah, or something like that.
Don't ask.
Bella rolled up the red brick driveway, past the water fountain, and stopped right in front of the modernist styled house. The party was already well underway as the music was cranked up to the highest volume, the front doors thrown wide open and teeming with partygoers.
He clambered out of the convertible, following Bella and Liz into the mansion as the blond left her car keys into the hands of a valet.
Hazel eyes glanced up at the pristine white mansion, drinking in the structure's architecturally aesthetic qualities. Despite the fact that he's been here before, it still captivated him.
Amidst all the people, there were huge strobe lights hung up from the building's high ceilings, darting over and around the room, like the eyes of a predator choosing its prey. There was a DJ in one corner of the living room, bopping his head to the beat.
The abstract art sculptures that usually resided in the living room were apparently tucked away, same for the many paintings Mr. Janssens had invested in.
It left the mansion a little bit more bare, a bit more colder, but it was for the best.
Frosty blue lights lit up the hall before him, slithering up the metal railing of the obsidian marble stairway. It was nice. Really nice.
Just as he breaks out of his reverie, he instinctively turns to find Bella— only she's not there. He lost her in the crowd. She's gone somewhere, and now, he's all alone.
After an accidental shove rooted him out of his spot, he forced his feet to more to the general direction of the living area. He spots her across the room. She's surrounded with her friends from their former high school and her new friends from EHU.
She looks happy.
Since he doesn't know majority of the people she's eagerly talking to, bringing the drinks out, he decides to brave the party on his own.
He hasn't the heart to distract her or pull her away from her friends.
S-She has her own life a-and many more friends after all, dammit…
(Just like Feliciano.)
Again, he found himself slowing down, in the middle of the living area as he tried to c-comprehend his thoughts.
D-Dangerous thoughts.
It was a room full of people that made him feel very much alone. It was something he was accustomed to— the loneliness— though he had yet to embrace it. He'd figured he might as well, since it's all he's ever known.
As he made his way through the crowd, the music was on full-blast, its backbeat resonating throughout his chest, pummelling his eardrums with every synthesised drop of the bass.
It was still so early; the night was still young, yet his peers were already going on a straight path to their own drunken undoing. People were already lining up outside the bathrooms, guest bedrooms and walk-in closets.
As if his mind were in a trance, he absentmindedly weaved his way to the kitchen, where there were a group of people preparing their game of beer pong. He grabbed a red plastic cup— a party staple in any household— and concocted himself a Jack cola. Languidly, he took a sip. The fizz of the diet Coke sizzled the back of his throat, though it did not overpower the bitter undertones of the Jack Daniel's on his tongue.
He lingers there for a while, awkwardly nomming on handful after handful of Doritos and Cheetos. He daren't even touch the Lays since potatoes suck.
Having nothing better to do, he decided to go upstairs, see if there was anything worthy of his interest.
With every jaded step up the staircase, before him, he saw numerous couples lining the walls, not paying the Italian any heed for they were too caught up in their intimate osculations. The lights were dimmed, leaving it up to the unwilling spectators to guess whom was who by their faint silhouettes.
The corridor was fuggy; consumed by smoke. It airily wafted around his person, the scent embracing his clothing as if someone had lit a handful of incense sticks, though the smell was much more… different.
It didn't smell of incense, nor did it smell of cigarettes or tobacco… but it seemed to run along the lines of the latter two.
Out of boredom more than curiosity, Lovino deftly treads across the carpeted floor and makes his way to the room where the smoke seemed to be originating from.
It was a bedroom, several people within it. They were mostly seated on the floor. There, he spotted Bella and Henri's older brother, Lars.
He had a blunt in hand, eyes red as his gaze fell on the intruding Italian.
"Shit." Lovino hisses under his breath, face reddening. They saw him. "Um. Sorry."
"You're Bella's friend, right?" Lars slurs, tilting his head up from his position sitting cross-legged on the floor.
The corner of the Italian's lips quirks down. "…Yeah, I am."
Lars motioned him forward. After a moment's hesitance, he steps inside, hazel eyes darting around, taking in its surroundings.
A girl is in the far end of the room. She's got pasty skin and turquoise dreadlocks, and she's playing the bongos whilst humming something under her breath as she sways from side to side.
There's a circle of people in the middle of the room, like some weird weed-smoking cult as they take turns passing a rainbow glass bong— in what seemed to be the shape of a fancy-looking uterus— around.
Then there's the blond girl beside Lars. She has a nearly consumed blunt between her index and her middle finger, the rest of her fingers nimbly wrapped around a red cup. She is half-sprawled atop of him, one of her legs tangled with his. The studded bra she's wearing looks uncomfortable.
Lovino awkwardly stuffs his hands into his pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels. "Well? What do you want, dammit?" He huffs, brows knitting together.
Lars eyes him for several more seconds before silently raising the blunt up to the Italian, whose eyes widen. A small smirk creeps onto the spiky-haired blond's lips.
Nervously, the brunette licks his lips before tentatively grabbing the joint with his thumb and his index finger, taking a seat on the floor adjacent to the couple.
"I… What— What the hell do I do?" Lovino asks.
The girl beside Lars sits up a fraction, "You do this,"
She brings her blunt up to her lips, inhaling it, filling her lungs up with the smoke. She tenses a fraction as she holds it in for several seconds before slowly exhaling the smoke out through her puckered lips. Her body visibly relaxes as she slumps against Lars, cuddling him.
The older Vargas brother nods reluctantly in acknowledgement before doing the same, bringing it to his lips with trembling fingers. He accidentally inhales it too quickly, and he pulls away; starts choking.
A random tattooed guy from the Bong Circle comes up and pats him on the back, ignoring the stiffening of the Italian's body at the unexpected contact.
Don't touch me, the Italian automatically thinks.
Once Lovino's eyes stop watering, he tries it again. He slowly inhales the smoke. They burn his throat on the way down to his lungs, and as much as he wants to pull away, he doesn't.
When he reaches his limit, when his lungs are filled with smoke, he holds it in and hands the blunt back to Lars, who takes another hit.
"Yeah, just hold it in there. You'll loosen up real soon, bro," Tattoo Guy chortles, patting his back.
But I'm not your 'bro', He inwardly thinks again. Don't you fucking 'bro' me, 'bro'.
Not even five seconds later, Lovino lets the smoke out through his nose, his nostrils and his eyes burning at the sensation.
He absently rubs his nose, waiting for the high to wash over his being like a tidal wave.
Nothing.
So he tries it again, taking the blunt from Lars again. Then he hands it back.
…Still nothing.
He doesn't feel a thing, so he stands up, thinking it was a fluke or something. "Thanks, I guess," he mumbles, walking out of the room. He downs the rest of his drink before making his way past the many couples again.
From the top of the stairs to the second floor, he observes the party going on below. He vaguely recognises several people he used to go to school with scattered in the crowd, jovially dancing, drinking and socialising…
He gulps.
Lovino walks down the stairs again, once or twice stumbling over the occasional couple that took to the stairs instead of the walls.
He needs to find something to do. Maybe he should just go home?
But… Bella.
He tries looking for her amidst the flurry of people surrounding him, but he doesn't see her. He feels lost.
Unneeded.
Unwanted.
Dangerous thoughts.
Dio, why was he invited to this party, anyway? Why did he even agree to come? He hates parties.
Because this always happened in social gatherings; events; parties.
He was a social pariah; a loser, basically.
B-But he thought that— that maybe, because Bella had invited him, it'd get better. After all, they were friends, right?
Right?
S-So he thought he wouldn't be a-all alone anymore…
But he is.
He's alone right now, attending the party of someone that isn't even fucking there, and the place is jam-packed with people he doesn't even know.
Fan-fucking-tastic, right?
And— And what happened with Feliciano earlier didn't help jack shit either, d-dammit…
Ugh. Fuck life.
Meanwhile, Feliciano and his friends were in their usual hang out place. The diner. The Bad Touch Trio is with them, too~!
"Ve~ I'm really sorry for what happened earlier!" Feliciano vehemently apologises to Antonio for the umpteenth time. "Lovi isn't usually this violent, so I guess he was in a really, really bad mood or something!"
"Ah, it's okay, Feli~!" Antonio says, smiling at the Italian, faux naïf. Actually? It was not okay~! His face still hurt a lot.
B-But the thing is, what didn't upset him was the fact that he and Lovino got into a fistfight or that he got punched in the face; it was the fact that Lovino disliked (or full-out hated) him enough to punch him the first place.
It was confusing, really…
Whenever he saw Lovino, he felt inclined, in a way, to… to get to know him better…? Because there could be so much more beneath all those anger issues, si?
He wasn't really sure.
It kinda made him feel bad that his body had immediately retaliated like that. Even though it was necessary for him to.
It was like Lovino was kinda... 'up there'; up where, Antonio didn't know, but it was too high up for Antonio to reach.
It was like Lovino was… untouchable.
Yeah~.
Untouchable.
Like no matter what he did, there would always be this barrier that would prevent them from getting along with each other.
No matter what, they could never be 'friends'.
But why was there a barrier in the first place? Why did the Spaniard want to break it down, or get past it— even if it meant getting socked in the face— so badly?
He was really, really confused right now~!
So he did what he does best. He shrugged the boggling thoughts out of his mind, focussing on the cute little Italian before him, poring over the preliminary sketches for one of his plates for art class.
"Say, Feli?" Antonio asks, beaming at the Vargas twin.
Feliciano glances up. "Ve~ Yes, Toni?"
"W-What—" The Spaniard swallows the lump that had formed in the back of his throat. "How about we go out?"
Feliciano's honey brown eyes widened. "What? Where?"
"Y'know… 'Out' out. How about we go out for breakfast tomorrow morning? I'll pick you up and all~."
The Italian felt cornered. He just— he didn't think of Antonio in That Way (ve, but he sure knows someone he knows he likes in That Way~), but… maybe, if it makes up for what happened with Lovi earlier? (Speaking of which, he'll have to make it up to his fratello later… Lovino usually means well, but what he did was wrong. But maybe Feli should have talked to him using a different approach instead of putting him on the spot like that, si?)
"Ve~ Okay…" He murmurs, tilting his head to the side in the fraction.
Antonio beams at him, reaching over the table to pinch Feliciano's cheeks. "Aww~ You're too cute, Feli~!"
He's returned to the kitchen, which he's dubbed his domain. He downed one more cup of Jack cola and one of Vodka Red Bull, trying to get a good buzz going on so the night would be more tolerable. He grabs a shot glass with the rim lined with salt and grabs a sliver of lime. It's vodka, straight up. The Italian manages to down three shots before grimacing at the taste. It was at room temperature. Fuck.
His stomach feels all fiery and hot from the vodka, but he feels loose enough to grab a beer.
As a side note, the people playing beer pong are getting tipsier.
It's when he decides to go outside when it finally hits him. Hard.
The high, that is.
And just like that, all the anxiety that had knotted in his stomach j-just… melted away.
In that one transcendental moment, reality and fantasy had blurred into one fucking beautiful, psychedelic, chaotic mess.
It was like looking at the world through one of the many camera effects on the Photo Booth app on his Macbook, or through the Slow Shutter app on his iPhone. He dubbed it Weed Vision. It was trippy as fuck.
He felt like he was floating on cloud nine, his footsteps feeling airy and light, as he made his way to the pool. People are dancing around it, hot, sweaty bodies writhing and gyrating to the music.
With his Weed Vision, everything contorts, distorts in slow motion— kinda like a Salvador Dalí painting coming to life right before him. It's pretty, and it's nice, and it's pretty nice.
A light laugh (giggle) escapes his lips as he flops down onto a divan and rolls around, spectating the crowd.
Several minutes pass and he's bored.
B-O-R-E-D.
In his haste, he sits up and looks around the area. Should he dance?!
Should he? Should he? Should he?
He takes a second to think about i— yes he will.
Lovino slides off of the divan and stumbles over to the throng of people. There's dubstep thumping through the speakers and holyfuckingshitthatbass and—
BANGARANG
WUBWUBWUBWUB
WUB WUBWUB
WUB WUBWUB
BANGARANG
WUBWUBWUBWUB
WUB WUBWUB
WUB WUBWUB
FEEL GOOD
Lovino is already aggressively krumping to Skrillex before his mind even registers it. People make a space for him because he's fucking amazing and special. They're even cheering him on!
Whilst doing so, he's downed the bottle of beer and the bottle just— just fucking went away somewhere!
He continues dancing, and the music mellows down to something a bit more… s-sensual. Latch has everyone clinging to a dance partner, their bodies moving together in perfect harmony to the song.
Damn, where did these two come from? He found two pretty girls writhing against him serpentine, trailing their fingers down his clothed chest. Albeit his sexual orientation, he can't help but find it a-arousing. Fuck.
The girl pressing herself up against him from behind brushes her lips against the lobe of his ear and he stiffens in realisation, albeit his incoherent thoughts.
It's then when he begins to panic. His breathing grows shallow as the sweat on his brow rolls down his cheek. His chest painfully constricts as his head spins.
He doesn't want this.
He d-doesn't want to be touched like this.
The girl in front of him is slowly sliding her hands up his button-down, caressing his smooth, creamy skin.
No.
No no no no no no nonononononono—
No.
Out. He needs out right now.
Dio mi salvi.
Suddenly, abruptly, he excuses himself from the two seductresses and decides to make his escape post-haste. Despite the fact that they do not follow him, he runs, anyway.
As soon as he is far, far away from them, the vixens, he can breathe easy again. He could handle women, yes, and he was very good at it, but for fuck's sake, not like this.
He needs more alcohol, he decides. So he ventures back to the kitchen and finds himself drawn into the game of beer pong. It had escalated into beer wars during his absence, with double the tables, double the cups, and double the booze.
That being said, he manages to slip away from the game after drinking several (and then some) cups of beer. There's more lively music in the living area, so he finds himself rushing to it, his high still going strong.
He finds himself lifted up and— whoa, since when did his shirt get unbuttoned?— carried to the two dudes holding a beer keg up connected to a hose via the tap. He reaches for the hose and beer is steadily pouring out of it before he even gets to direct it to his mouth. The booze dribbles down his face and to his clothes. Dio, what a fucking mess.
He downs a pint or so's worth of PBR before he's set down. Immediately, he sets himself on ridding himself of his shirt. Hurling it somewhere, he then focusses on undoing his pants— it was doused in beer, anyway, right?
Plus, there was a fucking pool right fucking outside! Carpe diem, right?!
Bella's house is the shit.
Clack.
"Ve~ Fratello, I'm home!" Feliciano greets, opening the door to the apartment he and his brother shared. The living and kitchen area is empty. All in the apartment is silent.
Maybe Lovi fell asleep or something~. The younger Vargas brother locks the door behind him shut, his hand clutching the take-out he got for his fratellone.
He makes his way to Lovi's bedroom, rapping his fists on his door. "Lovi? …Lovi, wake up! I brought you dinner!"
Silence.
Unnerving silence.
Normally, Lovino would be up already, interrogating Feliciano or complaining how the latter had roused him from his slumber.
A small frown creeps onto Feliciano's features, his stomach twisting in anxiousness (for what?) and concern. He knocks on the door several more times, calling Lovino's name out, receiving no response.
He gulps, almost hesitantly reaching for the doorknob and twisting it open. He pushes the door back, only to find the slightly messy bedroom empty.
The haphazardly bed is still made. Where did fratello go?
Feli hurries to the kitchen area across Lovino's room and sets the take-out down. He pulls his phone out of his pocket, dialling the older twin's number. The dial-tone is on, b-but he isn't— he isn't picking up.
The Italian begins to panic. Where could he be? Lovi never goes anywhere without telling him!
He especially never goes anywhere without his phone!
All he could do was hope that Lovino comes home from wherever he is right now soon, or at least hope that his fratellone was safe…
"Cowabunga, bitch!" Lovino yells out, running out of the house in his boxers before doing a cannonball dive into the pool.
He's in the water. He feels happy, so, so very happy being in the water.
He feels it swishing, swirly around him like a pretty rainbow, only in blue. A blue rainbow.
Wooosh~!
Wooosh~!
Oh God. He is a cyclone.
In that moment, he becomes fucking Poseidon, god of the goddamn motherfucking seas. His arms flail around the water before he holds his breath and swims the bottom of the pool.
Wooosh~!
Wooosh~!
It feels all nice and tingly around his body. His legs are kicking the water, they're in slow motion.
In that moment, he is in The Matrix. He is Keanu Reeves, dodging imaginary bullets.
HAHAHA TAKE THAT, YOU MOTHERFUCKERS
YOU CAN'T TOUCH ME
YOU CAN'T TOUCH THIS
Underwater acrobatics aside, his lungs are burning. He needs air or else he's gonna drown and die.
…OH GOD.
It's a race against time as he wades his way up back to surface.
Woooosh~
Faster.
Wooosh~
Faster.
Woosh~
FASTER FASTER FASTER FASTER FASTER
Woooosh wooosh wooosh woosh woosh woosh—
He's out! He is alive!
GOD BLESS AMERICA.
BUT GOD BLESS ITALY FIRST. DIO, THAT FUCKING AMAZING COUNTRY OF HIS.
It's home.
But he was born in America.
But fuck that shit.
Italy will always be his true home because it has nice food and lots of pretty ladies who don't blatantly molest him like some of the fucking sluts here.
Hello?!
Like, at least have the decency to fucking introduce yourself to someone before you shamelessly rut against them in goddamn public like a mutt in heat, you thirsty bitch.
He's floating in the water now, staying afloat. Fuck, it's cold.
After catching his breath, he slinks back into the water, where it's warmer. It whips his hair in all directions.
Holy shit.
…Is this what Ariel feels like?
Under the sea?
Suddenly, he's in The Little Mermaid. He is Princess Ariel, who got a shitty haircut and dye job from Ursula, that nasty fucking shit bitch cunt fucker with the ratchet ass weave. She screwed him/her over. He/She should've gotten a haircut at Supercuts or something instead. At least there would've been like. More credibility?
There are sea creatures at the bottom of the pool. They're singing, but somehow, it's like this garbled version of Ke$ha's 'We r who we r'.
God.
They suck.
B-O-R-I-N-G!
He swims out of the pool, climbing out of it. He's sh-sh-sh-shivering l-l-l-like s-s-some g-g-goddamn d-d-d-dog.
Brrrrrrr~
He then gets this really fucking awesome idea!
He should make a fucking fire!
Like, a bonfire!
Then he and everyone can dance and twerk around it and sing Kumbaya while they all get blazed.
Weed is good.
Weed is nice.
Weed is second to life, but only because tomatoes and pasta and pizza and gelato and everything Italian are first in life.
Oh my God.
He's Italian, so that means he's first in life!
An ebullient giggle escapes his lips as he claps his hands. Finally, he's first in something!
But first off~! HAHA AGAIN! 'FIRST'!
Wood.
He needs wood.
And n-not the kind you get in the morning either, you fucking perverts..!
He needs wood from trees.
He needs tree wood.
Yes.
Tree wood.
Not the huge lumpy part, but the smaller parts.
Y'know, the thing.
God. What were they called again?
B-Brun… Bran…
Bracket?
Twig?
Stick?
Per l'amore di Dio, the thing.
Log— no, fuck, no!
…Tree.
Tree wood.
Tree stick.
Stick wood.
Tiny logs.
Tiny tree lump thing— the fuck?
Baby trees— no, Lovino, those are plants. Saplings.
Dammit.
…Giant twig?!
Fuck, it's on the tip of his tongue!
Tree b-b-b…
Oh God.
Finally.
Tree bones.
Magnifico.
He quickly sets off to find tree bones, but winds up inside. Talk Dirty To Me is playing right now, and it is so his jam.
FUCK.
Everyone is more energetic than ever, they're all jumping! Jump, jump, jump!
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA~
Oh God. The strobe lights.
Fucking pretty colours.
He stares directly at them, he doesn't give a flying, flipping Shamu-shaped fuck if it gives him an epileptic seizure or something. He's krumping again.
He's krumping his way to the top.
Which happens to be the pool table Feliks is twerking on top of.
Bella is with him downing jelly shots like they're running out of style.
"Hey, Bella!" Lovino exclaims, shaking from both the cold and the excitement.
WHAT A WONDERFUL AGE TO BE IN.
"Talk dirty to me!" Everyone cheers. Bella pulls Lovino up on the pool table and the Italian tries his hand at twerking. The crowd cheers for him, urging him on. He almost falls off the table, but manages to save face by diving into the crowd.
They catch him, and like good, obedient little servants, they carry him around the room.
In circles.
Around and around and around and around and around.
He suddenly has the munchies.
He has them real baaaad.
"There! Take me to the kitchen!" He exclaims, pointing at the destination and commandeering his sea of people like a valiant Roman general. (THESE ARE HIS PEOPLE, DAMMIT!)
"Faster, slave!" Lovino bellows.
Oh God. There should totally be people trains. Crowd surfing trains.
Dio, that'd be the shit. You would be carried by a bunch of people, passing you over until you got to where you needed to be.
People trains. Amazing.
The moment they drop him off, he raids the cupboards and pulls out a bag of air.
AKA Lays.
He pulls it open, sitting on the counter and laughing as he stares blankly at the party before him, not eating the potato chips.
Oh God. Such preeeeeetty colours.
Meanwhile, Henri's friend Malcolm slowly drives up the driveway to the Janssens mansion after a session of hardcore exam reviewing and a meeting with his Mathlete club.
Henri's light brown eyes widen in alarm; so do Malcolm's as they observe the spectacle before them in silent horror.
The mansion is a mess. There's debris everywhere.
And the music, it's practically reverberating, shaking the very foundations of the house!
Then a fat guy runs past them, buck naked. Streaking across the once-pristine lawn.
"Keep driving." Henri commands, eyes narrowed in urgency. "Hurry up, before they see us!"
They drive right back out of the mansion's gates.
It's nearing one AM and the party is still on-going. To say Lovino is drunk is an understatement— he's dead shit-faced. He's never been this drunk in his life before.
But fuck it. YOLO, right?
Perhaps this mindset is why he's in the midst of helping a few guys duct tape some poor, unfortunate fuck to the wall. The kid made the mistake of passing out on the couch, leaving himself completely vulnerable, and now, he was paying the price.
Many of the party-goers have either left or occupied one of the many guest rooms and closets.
Lovino's lost his clothes, but whatever.
The group of hooligans pull away to inspect their handiwork. The guy is firmly taped to the wall and he still hasn't woken up. Fucking priceless.
They jeer and laugh before drunkenly stumbling over to the dining area to play a game of Bullshit. This is the first time Lovino's ever drunk straight out of a box of wine. He would usually have enough know-how to critique the wine based on his own experience, but he's just too drunk right now to even register a goddamn thing.
Somehow, he managed to acquire a yellow Spongebob Squarepants necktie and fake neon pink Vans sunglasses. Little does he know that some of the cards in his hand are facing the other players, but it doesn't even matter no more.
A few of the others are still sober enough to take advantage on it, so when Lovino lies and someone calls bullshit on it, he complains incoherently in Italian— 'mangia merda, succhiacazzi'— drunkenly reaches for the fairly thick stack of cards in the middle of the table and begrudgingly pulls it towards himself.
Shots are still going around, only instead of Vodka, it's whisky straight-up.
An hour later, Lovino isn't sure how long he can keep this up. The others aren't doing so good either.
Like flies, the last few people standing begin to drop face-first onto the table, totally and utterly schwasted.
But he, like the valiant and commandeering reincarnate of a Roman general he is, keeps on fighting the vision that is blurring, occasionally fading to black as he stumbles over someone's leg and crumbles down to the floor. He scrapes himself off the ground and aimlessly staggers around for several more minutes before all fades to black with a barely audible thud.
Translations:
fratello - brother (It.)
si - yes (It./Esp.)
Dio mio - Oh my God (It.)
pendejo - asshole (Esp.)
Dio - God (It.)
Dio mi salvi - God save me (It.)
fratellone - older brother (It.)
per l'amore di Dio - for the love of God (It.)
magnifico - magnificent
mangia merda, succhiacazzi - eat shit, you fucking dick sucker (It.)
Hey guys! Sorry for the late update. I just finished my midterms, and I got kinda stuck on a lot of the parts here for a while. I don't think anyone of you can fathom how long I've waited to use this song. Can You Feel My Heart, for me, is quintessentially Romano's song. I've had this song and the weed-smoking thing in mind since before the plot for this story was ever even conceived. In the original scene, though, there was supposed to be a hot NedRoma make-out session. But then Scotmano happened, so there needn't any of that.
I would really love to hear from you guys~! What do you all think of how this story is progressing thus far? Am I doing well? Constructive criticism is welcome.
(Dios mio I thought this chapter would never end asfdjaskjfdsn)
~jellydonut16~
P.S. Some parts of high!Lovi was based on what I've witnessed in real life lol (AKA the laughing and the not eating Lays scene; only that was with barbecue-flavoured french fries and marshmallows the size of your fist).
P.P.S. Please review~! You know I'm serious bc I'm using italics. Maybe I should underline it too.
P.P.P.S. Please review~! Ah, there. Magnifico.