Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.

Kicking the Bucket List

thirteen

"I'm sitting on the rings of
saturn with my feet dangling
down into infinity but I'm not
quite ready to jump into the
unknown.

I'm sitting on the rings of saturn
with my feel dangling down
into infinity but I'm only
thinking about you."
—.

Ah, Mondays.

They suck.

It's practically a universal truth.

No matter who you are, or what you do for a living, or how rich you are, chances are, your Mondays will always suck a little more than the other days. Even if you're Bill Gates. But maybe except if you're, like, Beyoncé or something.

Lovino had just recovered from the hangover from hell, thank God. But still, he felt a little more irritable than usual because he had to cut back a few hours of actual sleep (AKA the sleep you get when you aren't trying to sleep off a hangover; the sleep you get when you're actually trying to rest) in order to finish his homework.

Feliciano had to wake him up that morning because his phone's alarm didn't go off (AKA he slept through his three alarm clocks), he missed breakfast, and on top of that, he had freaking math class as the first period for the day with the Spanish bastard.

So basically, his day has gone to shit before it's even begun.

"Ve~ Lovi, I packed you a sandwich! You can eat it on the way." Feliciano says as Lovino locks their apartment door behind him.

"What're you, my mom?" Scoffs Lovino, clearly in a sour mood. He takes the sandwich anyway.

Together, they jog down the stairs because some dickwad already took the elevator down. Then again, they were only on the third floor, but fuck that shit.

Feliciano's already noticed the way Lovino was glowering at the main entrance of the building as if expecting what— or who— was to come.

Ve~ After having brunch with Toni last Saturday, Feliciano began to have a hunch that Antonio… may have A Thing for Lovi, if the Spaniard's incessant prying and interrogating regarding his older brother's life was any indication.

Which it probably was— Feli was no stranger to the mysterious ways of amore. Somehow, the more his brother tried to shield him from the woes that came with amore, the more he— Feliciano— was susceptible to falling in it. He had loved and lost, but that's never stopped him from loving again.

To love is to take a risk. To love is to sacrifice.

He distinctly remembers the way Toni's emerald eyes would practically sparkle with every mention of Lovino's name. Somehow, the discussion of Lovi's drinking habits gave way to discussion about Lovi's habits in general, to what he does at home, and about Lovino himself.

Feliciano didn't particularly mind that Toni had abruptly stopped showering him with attention and opted to shower Lovi with it instead— he found that he rather liked it that way, as it kinda lessened the guilt he felt about not returning Antonio's affections in That Way.

Now Lovi can return them to Toni instead~!

…T-Though he seriously doubted Lovi would ever want anything to do with Antonio— especially after The Fight Last Friday. But maybe someday~ After all, Toni is a really nice guy, si? He could really be good for Lovi~!

The twins exit the building, the Spaniard they were expecting already outside, waiting for them.

"Buenos dias~!" Antonio greets, smiling at Feliciano before beaming at Lovi, his emerald eyes gleaming with hopefulness.

Lovino doesn't pay the brunette any mind, too engrossed in his phone (he was having an all-caps argument with Elizabeta via iMessage) to give a shit. The Spaniard's face falls a bit, but within seconds, the smile is back on his face again.

He eagerly follows the older Italian, "Hi, Lovino!"

The former flinches as the latter gives him a particularly hateful glare, a clenched fist threateningly raised. "Fuck off, bastard. I almost beat your ass then, I can beat your ass now."

Feliciano can't help but feel sympathetic as Antonio steps back, arms half-raised up in a gesture of compliance and surrender. "About that, Lovino, I— Lo siento. I never meant to retaliate in any way."

He pauses for a second, sees if Lovino has anything to say. There is no response, so Antonio keeps on going. "A-And I know that you probably didn't mean to punch me—"

The older Vargas brother stops dead in his tracks, looking at the Spaniard incredulously. "What the hell are you insinuating; that I punched you by accident? Dead on the face?" He chuckles, albeit sarcastically. "You dumbass. Of course I meant to sock your sorry little face in—"

"Ooh, look~! A car!" Feliciano quickly intervenes, pointing at one of the many parked cars lining the sides of the street.

Lovino gives him a weirded-out look, only to shrug his shoulders, roll his eyes and walk away. "It's way too early for this shit, dammit. I swear to God. Shut the fuck up— both of you."

Antonio hesitantly reaches into his backpack, his hand lingering on the box of chocolates he intended to give to Lovino as a means of saying 'sorry', only to find himself unable to muster the courage to hand it over to him.

Dios mio, why did it seem so hard?

Toni was no stranger to courting others through gift-giving— it was very effective, actually~!

B-But… Why did he freeze up just now, when he wasn't even trying to win Lovino over?

Ah~ He had almost forgotten. The wall. The gap that separated him and the Italian beside him.

The untouchable-ness.

He never realised how much it bothered him until now.

Awkward silence. That's all it was the entirety of the math class Antonio had with Lovino.

Pure awkward silence.

Lovino was nothing but hostile— every single time Antonio tried to talk to the irritated Italian, he would always get shot down.

He— Antonio— felt desperate in a way. Like the situation was out of his control (which it probably was), and he didn't know what to do, and he didn't know how to make anything— let alone everything— better.

He wanted to make amends with Lovino so badly— but he can't. Because Lovino won't let him.

It's very frustrating!

Every so often, though, when Lovino happened to be paying attention to the professor or to his writing, Antonio's eyes would linger on the older Italian's form, just admiring him.

He feels as if he could stare at Lovino all day if he could.

And, as of Saturday night, he already has. He saved whatever he could of Lovino's photos from Facebook onto his phone and laptop.

Lovino's third profile picture on Facebook is currently his wallpaper~.

…Don't tell him that, por favor. Antonio's got a hunch that if Lovino were to get even the slightest gist of how much the Spaniard's Facebook-stalked him, he'd get much more than a punch to the face.

Which would be bad.

Very bad~.

The moment algebra came to an end, Lovino was quick to gather up his belongings and leave as quickly as possible.

Toni, however, had other things in mind.

"Lovino, can I talk to you?" He says, shifting about nervously. Which is odd. He rarely ever got nervous about anything.

Why did he feel this way around him? Like he was out of his comfort-zone in a way?

Maybe it was because he knew nothing about Lovino? That he was a loose-cannon; he didn't know how Lovino would react?

Dios, he felt like a fish out of water.

His palms started to sweat as he licked his lips.

No response. Did he not hear him or..?

Just as he opens his mouth to reiterate his question, Lovino pipes up, his voice clipped and hoarse. "No."

Antonio's chest clenched in pain. He was rejected… to talk! He only wanted to talk.

Right?

But why did he feel so dispirited all of a sudden?

Lovino slung his backpack over his shoulder, hazel eyes focussed on the Spaniard, narrowed in both a mix of suspicion and wariness as he made his way out of the room

"O-Okay! Right! I'll see you around, then!" Antonio calls out, beaming at the Italian. Though it falters a bit when Lovino looks away, giving him a middle-fingered salute as a response.

That evening, after class hours had long passed, was to be the Performing Arts Society's first general assembly of the year. The ever-charismatic committee of the PAS had coaxed the students into attending the seven PM orientation with promises of fun, excitement, and most importantly, food. People, more often than not, only attended because of the latter.

Free food.

'Course, it was mandatory that freshmen participate in the meeting— they would be helping out the graduating class with their plays since, overall, they had the biggest semblance of free time, whereas majority of the sophomores and juniors would be at the very zenith of honing their capabilities and perfecting their respective crafts, thus having the least time available to help out.

Those who wish to volunteer, however, are very much welcome!

Lovino found himself being ushered into one of Evergreen Hollows' smaller performance halls for the general assembly by none other than Bella (followed by the rest of the squad, of course).

"Ooh~ I am so excited!" She exclaimed right into his ear. He growled in irritation at the volume and weakly elbowed her side. He missed. "This year is going to be so fun."

"You find everything fun," Lovino deadpans. "You're just like Feliciano that way."

"We-ell~ That's because I get high off of life~! Not recreational drugs~."

For fuck's sake. Not this again.

"Fuck you. Can't you drop it already?"

"Nope. Never!"

Lovino whips around to point an accusing finger at Elizabeta. "This is all your fault, dammit!"

She feigns innocence. "What? Me? How is it my fault?" Her lips curl up into a sly grin. "Um, hello? I'm a photographer. Taking pictures is what I do."

"That's rich." Lovino snorts, rolling his eyes. "You— You made a fucking meme out of me! A-And— And you had the nerve— the fucking audacity— to post it on goddamn 9gag!"

No, seriously. She did. She took this derpy photo of him, where his eyes were half-open and his sclerae were red, and this fucking ridiculous dopey grin on his face. Fucking disgusting. T-Then, she cropped it and captioned it with:

'"hey, u still up?"

nothing much' and 'I can hear colours'. She even posted it on Instagram (#whenuknowufaded), that fucking bitch. It was also one of the many reasons why Lovino was in such a terrible mood today.

She is not fit to own a camera. Who knows how many more lives she'll ruin? How many more people she'll piss off? Then again, she'll have it coming to her the moment her flagrant invasions of privacy come to bite her back in the ass.

Karma's a bitch that way.

"Hey— At least it didn't get viral." Liz rationalised, "Plus, you gotta admit— it was hella funny."

The two continued their bickering until they were seated in the last two rows of plastic chairs after signing their attendance sheets. The nonsense came to an abrupt halt when Lovino called her a 'perverted psychopathic bitch' and she threatened him with physical retaliation via her favourite red non-stick frying pan from the Martha Stewart collection.

"Oh my God." Feliks says, fanning himself with his hand. "Is it just me, or is it, like, totally hot in here? I can, like, feel the heat seeping into the depths of my soul. Doesn't this room have any AC?"

"That's so deep," Michelle comments. She then shows him her phone. "What do you think of this pic? I'm gonna post it on Instagram as my OOTN (AKA outfit-of-the-night)."

Feliks takes a glance at it and goes, "Don't worry! You are so totally working this outfit!"

"My legs though," she says, glancing down at her toned legs, grabbing her calves through the fabric of her faded skinny jeans. As a performing arts student, she will be taking up acting with specialisation in all types of dancing— Broadway-worthy stuff— and she's been dancing as long as she could remember.

Starting out with ballet as a child, her style evolved to the tempestuous and seductive styles of Latin dance before mellowing to modern dance and various waltzes. As of recent, she's been dancing to hip-hop and street jazz, but underneath all that, the ballet's never stopped.

And because of that, her calves, in her opinion, were huge.

"Chelle, your legs are fine. And by fine, I mean f-i-n-e!" Says the Pole.

"F-Feliks, can I go now? I have homework to catch up on, and I'm not even in the PAS!" Toris finally speaks up from beside the blond.

Feliks faked a gasp of mortification. "Seriously? After all the trouble we went through just to sneak you in? Um, like, no way."

Amidst all this ruckus, Lovino kinda zones out, unresponsive and quiet. He's in that trance-like stage between being too sleepy to stay awake, but too awake to sleep. Sort of like suspended animation, only with his brain.

This— the zoning out— happens often. He doesn't know why.

Bella is shaking his shoulder, altogether shaking him out of his daze. It takes him a few seconds to completely register the unwanted gesture, prompting him to glare at her.

"Che?" He asks, ensconcing himself into his seat.

"Lovi! Quick! Look, it's Allistor!" She cries out, very much conspicuously pointing at the aforementioned Scotsman a few feet away from them.

Like a radar, Elizabeta's ears perk up and she quickly turns to face the Italian and the Belgian seated in front of her. She instantly picks up on Lovino's flushed, oh-so very flushed face, and follows his line of sight (and Bella's pointed finger).

Allistor Kirkland; senior; older brother of Arthur Kirkland; play director. Her eyes skimmed over the Scot's body before flickering over to Lovino's, running her own little compatibility test on them—

Oh, what the hell—

"I ship it." She blurts out, sitting up a bit straighter. Her heart flutters at the thought of all the scenarios they could be in together. She starts to get a bit starry-eyed at the mere thought of them together, bodies pressed flush against each other, writhing… ehehehehehehe~

Ahem. Right—

They would make such a cute couple. Really! No kidding!

The charming, charismatic play director finding true love in the form of an anti-social, enigmatic, yet witty playwright-in-the-making.

Said playwright, too, finds his muse in the play director, and is captured in the entrapments of love for the first time.

Together, they become one, making art in the highest form using their bodies as a canvas— a canvas of love.

Oh~. Oh, yes~.

This is pure gold.

A smirk tugged at the corner of her lips. They belong together, and she's going to make sure that they sure as hell are going to get together.

Because she is a shipper and this newfound ship will not sink.

Nothing gets in the way of her ships.

N-O-T-H-I-N-G.

Let the matchmaking begin~!

Lovino couldn't tear his eyes off of Allistor the entire night. Halfway through the orientation, Lovino found himself wishing Allistor would turn around just a bit so their eyes could meet.

But at the same time, he didn't, because he wouldn't know what to do then.

Nobody really pays any mind when Elizabeta excuses herself, camcorder in hand. Her olive green eyes scan the room for her intended target. Allistor's in the very back of the room, lingering around with the other council members of the PAS since Allistor was voted to be the vice president of the PAS for this school year.

"Hey!" Eliza pipes up, catching their attention.

The president, Victoria Greene, glances up at her, setting her iPhone down on the table she's sitting at. "Hi! What can we do for you?"

"Um, so, you're all seniors, right?" Liz asks, thoughtfully adding a "Just curious."

Victoria nods, "Yeah, majority of us are. Save for the first to third year-level representatives, of course."

"Oh…" she nods in faux understanding of something she was already aware of. "I get it now. So the seniors will be the ones choosing the freshmen, right?"

Again, the president nods, "Right again. Are you a freshman?"

"Yeah," Liz says, stretching her hand out for Victoria to shake. "Elizabeta Héderváry. Media production."

"Nice!" A girl with candy-coloured hair speaks up, grinning at her. They high-five before shaking hands as well. "I'm taking media production too! Magdalene Chandnani. Treasurer."

Finally, the crème de la crème speaks up. He pushes himself off of the table he was leaning against, curtly shaking her hand. "'Ello, me name's Allistor Kirkland. Ah take play directin' an' Ah'm vice president of th' PAS."

"Oh! I've heard a lot about you!" Eliza says, internally hoping this manipulation thing would work. "People say you're really talented!"

He grins sheepishly, rubbing the nape of his neck. "Well, uh, Ah'm not sure about tha'."

"Oh, you're too modest! But either way, I hope that my friends and I get to help you out this year!"

"Cor! Really?" He quirks an eyebrow up. He beams at her. "Well, Ah'd be honoured!"

Magdalene cracks up laughing.

Elizabeta laughs too, but the voice in the back of her mind is practically screaming 'holy shit they are gonna be so fucking perfect for each other'. "Yeah! My friends are over there, in the back—" she points at them individually. "So there's Michelle, that's Feliks— what the hell is Toris doing here?— anyway, there's Bella, and beside her is Lovino Vargas. He's an Italian~."

"Ooh~" goes Magda, giving Allistor suggestive looks. He elbows her side, his face dusted with a subtle red.

"Shush, Mags." He turns to Elizabeta, nodding. "Righ'— we'd love ta 'ave yeh on board!"

He reaches behind him and hands her a clipboard. "Jus' sign up righ' 'ere."

She smirks, taking it from him. "Sure thing!"

"Alright! Before we all let you go home tonight, we'll be announcing the names of those helping the seniors who drafted them in." Says Victoria in front of everyone on the stage. Her platinum blond hair looks silver in the spotlight. Behind her are the graduating batches separated in their respective groups.

There were a total of ten groups in the graduating batch. Each group had seniors from each and every course underneath Performing Arts— they were to orchestrate several plays on their own.

They've done so before, but that was under the watchful eye of their department's dean, Professor Cassandra Gaul. This time, they had full reign, but the dean would still be there to give them advice when need be, nonetheless.

Lovino sighs, finally looking up from his phone. Liz had him sign up to someone's group with the rest of the others; he could only hope that the seniors in that group weren't fucking annoying.

To his surprise, the moment his eyes flicker up, it immediately meets forest green ones. Allistor's.

His heart palpitates a bit.

Gulping, he quickly looks from side-to-side to see if the redhead is looking at anyone else— he isn't. Once he glances back, Allistor smiles at him, mouthing, 'hi'.

Lovino's jaw goes slack for one second, two seconds, before he finally manages to collect himself and return the greeting with a curt nod.

The Scotman directs his eyes to the blond speaking, nodding his head in her direction.

The other picks up what he's trying to say rather quickly.

Listen.

It takes him several seconds to fully get his attention on the girl speaking on-stage.

"…with Ty Lee as stage director and Allistor Kirkland as theatre director. The following students are: Elizabeta Héderváry, first year, media production. Bella Janssens, first year, acting. Lovino Vargas, first year, creative writing. Michelle Moreau, first year, acting. Feliks Łukasiewicz, first year, acting. Cheyenne Mueller, first year, creative writing…"

Lovino's heart starts to rapidly beat against his chest.

This cannot be real.

H-He— Somehow, he was in the same group as Allistor Kirkland. Like, how the actual fuck did that happen?

T-Then this indescribable feeling of happiness and anxiousness just swelled inside of him; it was like his heart would burst right out of his chest any second.

If anything, he felt like the luckiest fucker in the world.

A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, his face flushing a light shade of red. Oh, God.

After they were all dismissed, the others were quick to leave— Lovino's squad was no exception.

But Lovino, living five minutes away from campus, decided to take his sweet time just to linger in the same room as Allistor for a little bit longer.

God, he is so pathetic.

He'd even resorted to helping out a bit with cleaning— and he hated cleaning messes that weren't even his.

He still felt Allistor's eyes occasionally linger on him; he felt his face flush fifty shades of red under the Scot's passing gaze.

When the redhead wasn't looking, however, Lovino would turn to look at Allistor instead.

Thing is, it was like they were both aware of it, but neither one had openly pointed it out or made it obvious. So they continued playing this little game, just between the both of them, cleaning up the room as the force of attraction drew them closer and closer together.

They were beside each other now, silently coordinating with each other by tidying up the rubbish others had left after eating. Barely a minute had passed— they were both done now.

Lovino ties the trash bag up as a way to mask his reddening face as Allistor dusts his hands on the fabric of his jeans.

"Right! So…" he starts, taking the trash bag from Lovino's hands.

Their hands brush together. Lovino's mind momentarily goes blank, breath hitching at the contact.

But they don't instantly draw their hands away. It lingers for several more seconds before Allistor eventually pulls away. The Italian's eyes are drawn to his hands.

"Um… Ah guess we're done 'ere. Fanks so much for helping, Lovino," says the Scotsman.

Lovino glances up at Allistor, heart skipping another beat as their eyes met.

He'd never been so close, oh-so close to the redhead before. He got a good look at Allistor's eyes, a spectrum of various shades of green reflected in them.

Dio, he's just so fucking perfect.

He realises its been several seconds before he finally stammers out, frowning at his derpiness, "Y-Yeah, whatever, bastard." He finally looks away. "I'm l-leaving now, dammit. Not that you'd c-care or anything… I-I'm just saying!"

He makes his way over to the backpack he left on his seat, internally berating himself for even fucking speaking. God.

"Lovi, wait!" Allistor exclaims, striding to the back of the room.

Lovino's mind just blanks out at the nickname. Once again. What the actual fuck.

"Wait for me too, yeah? Ah'll go wif yeh!"

The Italian forces himself to shake the thoughts— or lack, thereof— out of his head before making his way to the door. "Better h-hurry up then, b-bastard…"

After a bit more bustling around, Allistor jogs out of the room with Lovino, his body close enough to the Italian's to feel the warmth radiating from his body.

The walk was quiet for several moments before Allistor spoke up. "Ah'm really glad yeh'll be 'elping me out this year, Lov."

"'Lov'?" Lovino can't help but echo, his cheeks flushing a bright red. Grazie a Dio it was dark out. He absentmindedly rubs his cheeks.

Allistor beams at him sheepishly. "Um. Yeah. Do yeh mind? It's a nickname!"

"W-Whatever," the Italian sputters out. "I don't care."

Just as they approach the Starbucks all of this started in, the redhead stops dead in his tracks, glancing at him. "Wanna grab some coffee before we head 'ome? Ah could use another fix."

Through some kind of unspoken agreement, they automatically went in.

This feeling he got around Allistor, it was hard to explain. Love, to him, was a concept so foreign and abstract, he wasn't sure he could ever put it into words.

Is it love?

He isn't so sure of that, still.

(Or, perhaps, he didn't want to be so sure about something he's never even felt before. How 'sure' would his 'sure' be?)

Even though his heart is rapidly beating against his chest.

Even though his hands are sweating and he found it a bit more difficult to breathe when Allistor was around.

Even though he wants nothing more than to run his hands through those fiery scarlet locks and pull him in close, oh-so close for a passionate kiss.

Still, still.

When he first met the Scotsman, he was so overwhelmed by his thoughts; dangerous thoughts. But as the night went on, and the more time he spent with Allistor in the Starbucks a minute or two away from campus, Lovino couldn't help but yearn to be close to him as much as he could get.

At one point, Allistor got up to get another venti serving of black coffee. Lovino felt a little more lonelier than he's usually been for the past several years.

Then Allistor came back, a-and…

…Lovino felt whole again.

What? He found himself thinking, brows scrunching together in confusion.

What? He asked himself again. What?

Since when was he ever missing a part of himself in the first place?

The fuck?

S-Slowly, he glanced up and a smile couldn't help but tug at the corners of his lips as Allistor added several packets' worth of white and brown sugar into his coffee.

"You definitely won't be getting any sleep with that," Lovino jests, and the redhead laughs. He has a really nice laugh.

Lovino wouldn't mind hearing it everyday.

(Especially if he's going to be the one to make him laugh in the first place.)

A silence falls between them.

Lovino's used to the silence, but this one is vastly different compared to others.

The silence isn't terse, or awkward, or filled with dread or hate.

The silence, he muses, is a comfortable one, filled with contentment just by being in the other's presence and vice-versa.

Is it love?

He still isn't sure, but he isn't as uncertain either.

Allistor walks him home that night. Lovino initially refuses, but Allistor says that it was no problem, and that he was going to have to pass Lovino's apartment building anyway.

"Yeh're not a burden," says Allistor. The night air is cold, nipping at their skin. He has his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jeans. "An' Ah don't mind walkin' yeh 'ome."

The walk ends as soon as it's begun. Not just in a metaphorical sense, but in a literal one, too.

Seriously, you can see the building down the street from Starbucks.

Lovino is filled with dread at the unwanted prospect of saying goodbye.

But, to his complete and utter surprise, Allistor lingers. And, still, they talk.

They talk about everything, anything, and nothing at all. About Allistor's play. About Lovino's writing. About Allistor's three brothers— Arthur, Colin and Liam. About Lovino's twin brother, Feliciano. About coffee— "Black coffee sucks, dammit! How the hell can you digest that shit with a cupful of sugar? Just order a cappuccino and get over it!" "Oh, c'mon. I' isn't tha' bad, is it? Mefinks it's an 'acquired taste'."— and about the godsend that is Starbucks.

As he looks at the redhead smoking a Marlboro light, Lovino feels as if he could talk to Allistor, open up to him entirely.

But the thoughts— dangerous thoughts— are always there, lingering in the back of his mind. Lurking, hiding.

Waiting to pounce.

He could open up to Allistor entirely, but he won't.

He can't— it's just too much of a risk (but what was the risk?). There are too many things he wouldn't understand (like what?).

But maybe… someday. One day. He can; he will. And Allistor will stay.

Then it gets too late. Feliciano is calling him now, saying it's ten PM and ve~ fratello, are you at another party again? Lovino grumbles that he's just outside the building.

"I'll be up in a minute, Feli. Calm your tits!" He says with an indignant huff. Then he hangs up.

His face flushes red. Allistor is smiling at him in amusement. "God, Lov, yeh are too cute. Ah swear ta God."

Lovino begins to sputter out a string of incoherent babbling. They run along the ines of "F-Fuck you! I— I am not cute, got that?"

And Allistor just laughs. "Ah'm sorreh, Lov; Ah jus' couldn't 'elp i'."

All grows quiet once again. Unbeknownst to themselves, there are huge, dorky grins on their faces. Allistor is the first one to become aware of his rather excessive smiling and his cheeks are dusted with a subtle red.

"U-Um…" he stutters, rubbing the nape of his neck. He laughs, offering Lovino a charming smile. "Right. This was nice, Lov. Really nice. An' Ah fink tha' we should… do this more often, yeah?"

Lovino glances down at his feet. His cheeks are freakishly warm.

"Whatever," he instinctively says. Then he winces. "B-But… I wouldn't m-mind… n-not that I want to or anything!"

"Mm, Ah'll see you around then, Lov."

Finally, the Italian looks up. Their eyes meet and his heart soars in exaltation.

"Yeah," he whispers, suddenly out of breath.

"Have a good nigh', Lovino."

Then Allistor walks away.

For the first time in ages, Lovino a-actually feels… happy. Like, genuinely happy.

But the moment Allistor's gone, he feels somewhat incomplete.

Maybe, perhaps, he's always been incomplete. But it's only now that he's found someone to make him feel whole again.

He watches the redhead's silhouette fade into the distance. It's only then when he decides to go up. Better hurry before Feli blows a gasket, right?

By the time he's reached his apartment, his face hurts from all the smiling. He's growing more and more sure with each passing second.

Translations:

amore - love (It.)
si - yes (It./Esp.)
buenos dias - good morning (Esp.)
lo siento - I'm sorry (Esp.)
Dios - God (Esp.)
che - what (It.)
Dio - God (It.)
grazie a Dio - thank God (It.)
fratello - brother (It.)

Aaaaaand there's the shift. Quick, huh?

Told you he'd drop them like hot potatoes. Even if that hot potato is Feliciano— ah, well, Feli has his own 'hot potato' anyway~ ;D /wink-wonk

Sorry for the late update! This romance part stumped me the most. I didn't know how to go about it, so I decided to sift through old text messages, love quotes on Tumblr, and old diaries to get that feeling of falling into l'amour correctly.

Please. Do not ever read old text messages unless you want to feel like complete and utter shit and regret everything you have ever said.

And thank you for all of the reviews and feedback~! Trust me; I'm looking forward to the more depressing chapters and to pseudo-pervert!Toni, too~.

Review, por favor~! I AM A HAPPY DONUT

~jellydonut16~

P.S. haha inter-fic ship war

P.P.S. How do you find the Scotmano so far? Is it up to par? Were you able to relate to them somehow~? :D