Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.

Kicking the Bucket List

twenty

"You are so damn fine
I'm so damn glad you're mine
And you stay on my mind
I think about you all the damn time"
— All The Damn Time by Fetty Wap

That Monday morning during math class, Antonio, yet again, found himself waist-deep in a slew of thoughts— thoughts that had never existed until last week. Thoughts that he feared would never reach actualisation.

It was bad enough he was spacing out in class; he found his train of thought derailed by a certain Vargas twin sitting beside him, whose very presence spoke volumes, impossible to ignore. The Italian was in a world of his own as he alternated between checking his phone and doodling Pepe memes on the back of his notebook, occasionally glancing up to feign interest in the lecture.

The mere fact that Lovino was sitting beside him made Antonio feel somewhat conscious of how he spoke; how he carried himself. He and Lovino weren't exactly friends, after all; let alone on good terms. He felt like he was out of his comfort-zone whenever he was with him, which was something the Spaniard rarely experienced. He was usually comfortable in his own skin, and more often than not, oblivious (or uncaring, rather) to what others happened to think of him.

He stretched and sat upright in his chair before exhaling a deep sigh and slouching back down again, emerald eyes trained on the algebra handout atop his table. Though he usually did alright in algebra, right now, the jumble of numbers and letters on it made absolutely no sense to him at all.

Ah, Dios— where to start; where to begin? There were so many thoughts swimming around in his head, he's probably lost track of them all!

But if there was one thing he knew, it was that majority of them revolved around Lovino. The Italian was undoubtedly a constant reoccurrence in his mind's inner workings. If ever he was distracted by other things (a rarity, in his opinion), it was as if his mind would remind him, 'Hey, you haven't thought about Lovi in a while!' So he would.

A-And another thing! These… these feelings he has for Lovino, they— they aren't 'good' for him. At least, according to Francis and Gilbert. Hell, it's been reiterated often enough for him to just simply not ignore.

But does he care?

Antonio wishes he could be objective. He wishes that he could just finally, finally make up his mind with either a yes or a no. But he can't. He feels ambivalent. It's the overwhelming kind; the one that renders you speechless. Silent.

It is neither a yes or a no, but, perhaps, it is a little bit of both.

Truth be told, Antonio had long stopped asking himself why he felt This Way for Lovi. He stopped wondering why he felt so strongly for him, and instead, accepted it for what it was.

Instead, he found himself questioning why it had to be questioned. You're not supposed to justify loving someone. You just do.

Right?

B-Because ever since day one, Francis and Gilbert have been on the fence about him liking Lovino. Time and time again, they've been telling him that his affections were misplaced, that Lovino would never be good enough for him, and that it would just never work out.

God, it was— it was beginning to get on his nerves a bit, to say the least.

Like, who were they to tell him what he felt? They probably meant well, and that their intentions were good; that they were just looking out for him, but really. Antonio was no stranger to love, and he was pretty sure he could tell when he truly, truly liked someone.

Though, he will admit that he's changed. Who he was before is not who he is now. Wanting to be with Lovino had inadvertently changed him in ways he's never fathomed.

But Lovi can't ever be his.

Should he— should he try to get over Lovino? Get over the truculent Italian who's successfully captivated him and held all his attention? (Who also happened to have a boyfriend, nonetheless?)

If one were to think logically; rationally… Perhaps, yes.

But he doesn't want to.

Even though every time he sees Lovino, his heart clenches with a mixture of sadness and desire. His stomach is aflutter with butterflies, yet he feels uneasy. Like there's this leaden weight in his chest he can't ever seem to shake off.

There's this certain familiarity in those pretty hazel eyes his own seem to find in a roomful of people much too quickly to be good for him, and yet, he forces his gaze away, knowing Lovino would rarely meet his. Emerald eyes downcast, he couldn't even look at him properly anymore, without overthinking every little aspect of how he was around him.

Then again…

Then again, since when was love ever rational? It was one of the most irrational things that existed on this earth, and yet it was the one thing that made life worth living. Right? Antonio found that the more he thought about love, the more he grew uncertain of what he knew about it.

"—Mr. Fernández-Carriedo?"

Like a freight train coming to an abrupt halt, it is in that moment where Antonio snaps out of his thoughts for once, and sits straight in his seat. His mind races as he finally recalls that, yes, he is in the midst of having a lesson right now, and suddenly, he becomes all too aware of the fact that the class had grown quiet. All eyes were on him.

Mierda.

The Spaniard gulps, hoping the wave of panic didn't show. He looks at Mr. Robertson and he internally withers. "Yes, sir?"

The professor, who had his hands on his desk, rolled his eyes in exasperation. The class tepidly laughed in response. "Maybe if you stopped daydreaming in my class, Mr. Fernández-Carriedo, you would find that you might actually learn a thing or two from it! Who can assist Mr. Fernández-Carriedo in answering this question for him?" He taps at an equation written on the whiteboard with his pen. "What about you, Mr. Vargas?"

Antonio's heart skips a beat at the very mention of the other's name. The tempest of his emotions be damned, he found himself turning to look at Lovino. The Vargas grew rigid, staring at the board with an undecipherable expression on his face. But somehow, Antonio could see a gleam of irritation and anger barely hidden underneath a façade of indifference within their depths. The sound of a chair scraping against the linoleum floor echoes throughout the room, and Lovino expels a resigned sigh, standing up from his seat and ambling over to the board. He stares at the problem for several more moments, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

He scrawls a solution to the problem on the board. By this time, Antonio's got his bearings together just enough to study the problem Lovino is doing. It was wrong.

Judging from the Italian's lackadaisical manner of writing, Antonio had a hunch Lovino knew it too. Sure enough, just as Lovino handed the pen back to the professor, the latter had taken a glance at the solution on the board and slowly shook his head. Lovino merely shrugged before shuffling back to his seat.

As Mr. Robertson began to point out Lovino's mistakes, Antonio could only sit and stare.

You ever feel so strongly for someone, you just wanted to wrap your entire existence around them? Yeah. That's the one.

Lovino used to joke around with Bella before, about how he would only feel this way about either a) pizza or b) wine. B-But now that he actually feels like this for someone— an actual real life person— it's pretty fucking surreal in a way. Prior this, before he ever met Allistor, the notion of 'falling in love' was tacky and inconceivable. It was an impossibility, he deemed, and never entertained any thoughts about it that may or may not have crossed his mind— let alone the very notion of someone falling in love with him, flaws and all. He was… difficult and he knew it. He was not an easy person to love or understand. In fact, he still is. Up until recently, he had just started warming up to the idea that maybe, perhaps, he was one of those rare people we may come across, who weren't meant to be understood. That he was meant to walk this earth without a hand to hold. And he accepted it.

If you told Lovino that he would finally fall in love several months after high school, he would've laughed in your face and told you to fuck off. But here and now, it was then when he finally realised that falling in love and being loved wasn't as far-fetched as it seemed. Someone actually wanted to fucking be with him. E-Even though he had all these shortcomings, Allistor somehow looked past all that, like it didn't matter.

There are a lot of people out there better for Allistor than Lovino could ever be, so he really wanted to try. He wanted to try and become a better person; someone the Scotsman would like to be with. Someone he could be proud of.

Though, in reality, all Lovino ever had to do was be himself.

Midday, the freshman students of the Performing Arts Department found themselves conglomerating in one of EHU's spacious conference halls. It was an orientation regarding the upcoming exposure trip to New York. Lovino lingered near the back of the room as the dean of the department, Cassandra Gaul, elaborated on the things EHU had in store for this semester's trip. It was to take place right after final exams, and a few days into semestral break.

Exposure trips were of common occurrences in EHU. The student body itself was already multi-cultural, with majority of the students being foreigners from various nations across the globe. Because of this, the institution sought to expand the mindsets of their students through the means of introducing them to many cultures and societies in different countries. Its purpose was not only to help them in garnering more experience in their chosen course, but to motivate them to be better at what they strive to do as well.

And despite the fact that Lovino had been to New York before, it was only a two-day, one-night trip, so that didn't really count. Truth be told, he was pretty stoked—

Bzzzt!

Lovino jolts slightly, staring at the phone already in his hand. It was a text from Bella.

Bella: Lovi I got the registration forms already
Bella: Where are u?

Unlocking his phone, he sends back a quick text after taking a brief look-see at his surroundings.

Lovino: third row form the back, left side
Lovino: *from lmao

And sure enough, Bella is discreetly walking in, footfalls muted by the carpet beneath her feet. The blond is bowing slightly, so as not to feel like she was attracting too much attention, and takes a seat beside Lovino. She beams at him, setting her Lacoste tote down on her lap. "Hey! Sorry I'm late. Did I miss anything important?"

Lovino merely casts the blond a quick glance before tersely shaking his head. "Nah, not really."

She hums in acknowledgement, nodding her head. "So are you going?"

He shuts his phone's screen off and looks at her properly this time, an eyebrow raised up. "To where? Like, to New York?"

"Yeah."

He turns to face the stage again. Ms. Gaul is still speaking, motioning to the PowerPoint presentation on the screen. There are pictures of Times Square on it, as well as a collage of group photos of the students that had went to New York last, about two years ago. After a few moments of thought, he gives a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. "Mm, yeah. Probably. I've only been to New York, like, once. And even then, it was for some wedding, so that doesn't really count."

"Ooh, whose wedding was it?"

He shrugs once more. "I dunno. Feli and I, we… we have a lot of distant relatives living up in Brooklyn. They're older than us, so we don't really talk to them much." Like, at all.

That, and Nonno didn't want the twins hanging around with them for too long. Thinking back on the wedding, held at Waldorf Astoria when Lovino and his family had moved back to Spokane, he could now kind of see why.

The Sanzones were already somewhat separated from the Vargases since they already lived in America for a long time. And even then, the only thing that tied them together was the union of a single marriage a few generations back, when most of the Sanzones still lived in Palermo. Meanwhile, Lovino's immediate family (Nonno, Feliciano— Nonna and his parents back when they were still alive) lived up in Verona. The rest of the Vargas family lives in Tuscany, where Feli and Lovino often spent their summers.

Anyways, the Sanzones were kind of… intimidating.

Actually, no. Not just 'intimidating'.

They were really fucking scary.

And you know what?

Thirteen year-old Lovino thought that his distant relatives were The Shit. No, really. He thought that they were the absolute coolest. He looked up to them as potential role-models, the disillusioned preteen he was back then, which probably only strengthened Nonno's resolve to make sure neither he nor Feliciano would ever have to spend as much as a whole day with them.

Shit was effective as fuck.

"Aren't you joining the exposure trip?" Lovino asks Bella after the orientation had come to an end. Students around them were filling out their registration forms for the trip before submitting it to their respective year representatives. Bella was the first year representative of the Performing Arts Society, and thus had additional duties on her plate.

The aforementioned smiles sombrely, slightly shaking her head. "As soon as finals are over, my family and I are visiting Europe for the holidays. Especially since my Nana's getting so old. We have to make every minute with her memorable."

"Oh," Lovino says, albeit a tad bit awkwardly. He quickly redirects his gaze to his own registration sheet and flips several pages past the terms and conditions, and liability waiver, straight to the page he'd have to fill out. He fumbles around for the pen he keeps in his pocket and uses his laptop as a makeshift surface.

Bella scoots closer to him and glances over his shoulder. She blinks once. Twice.

Brows furrowed in confusion, she asks him, "Your middle name is Romano?"

Lovino pauses. He's obviously written 'Lovino Romano Vargas'. What the hell, Bella. "Um. Duh."

"Like 'Romano' the cheese?"

The Italian gives her a scathing look. "No, like 'Romano' the place. Rome. Of Rome."

"Then what's Feli's middle name?"

"Veneziano. Of Venice."

"Oh," Bella slowly nodded as she processed this information. "So why are you named after places?"

Lovino made a face. "I don't know? I remember my grandpa saying something about my mom wanting to name us after the city we were conceived in, but we're, like, twins, so that's… fucking retarded."

Then Bella laughs, wrapping her arm around Lovino's shoulders as he grumbled under his breath. "If it helps any, my middle name is Emmanuelle. It's why my parents insist on calling me Emma!"

There was a certain look in Lovino's eyes Allistor had come to commit to memory over the past few weeks. A certain twinkle within those hazel depths, yes, Allistor had learnt to love this expression. And the way Lovino would sit up straight, nimble hands poised to express, it didn't take a genius to find out that at that moment, every bone in Lovino's being had come to life.

And when he spoke, there would be a hint of breathlessness— but not from physical activities of the sort, no. From excitement and exultancy.

Cheeks lightly flushed, Lovino would always have the tendency to smile during these moments.

This… was Lovino when he talked about his stories.

As they sat on a bench in the park— the same one they've sat the time they've been here last, to be exact— Allistor had a smoke in one hand, and the other draped over the bench. Lovino was gesticulating, telling him of all the twists and turns of whatever story plot's got his head working into full gear.

Allistor straightened up on the bench and tapped his cigarette on the edge of the seat before bringing it back to his lips again, just staring at him.

God, Lov had such a gorgeous face.

Eventually, the Italian had finally taken notice of the Scotsman intently staring at him, and in turn, his face grew scarlet. He fumbled with his words to a stop and glared. "The fuck are you looking at?"

Allistor pulled the cigarette away and languidly blew a puff of smoke. "You."

If anything, Lovino's face reddened even more and the Scotsman watched in amusement. The brunette averted his gaze to the ground, a scowl finding its way on his lips. "Didn't anyone tell you it's rude to stare?"

Allistor smirked. "Once or twice. Ah usually listen, but it's hard keeping my eyes off of someone like you." He leant in and Lovino's eyes automatically fluttered close. Allistor gently kissed the corner of Lovino's mouth, and the latter inhaled deeply.

The couple stayed quiet like that for several moments before Lovino opened his eyes again. The Italian swallowed, turning to look at Allistor.

"Ah meant wha' Ah said that night we went to th' club."

The corner of Lovino's lips quirked upwards. "I know. I did too."

Allistor's heart was rapidly beating against his chest, and he was pretty sure the same could be said for Lovino too. They stared each other in silence before Allistor finally remembered his cigarette and tapped the burnt excess off before taking another quick drag.

Lovino wrung his hands together before he took a deep breath. His palms were sweaty for some reason, and he felt his stomach lurch. What was this feeling?

Shifting his entire body to face Allistor properly, he plucked the cigarette out of the redhead's fingers and brought it to his lips, forest green eyes never leaving his.

After his initial surprise, Allistor smiled and wrapped an arm around Lovino's waist.

Lovino exhaled the smoke through his nose, corners of his lips lifting up into a small smile.

"Smoking's a bad habit an' it's bad for yer health," Allistor murmured, taking the nearly consumed cigarette from Lovino's fingers before tossing it on the pavement. "Ah would know."

Amused, the Italian said, "I love you too."

"Ah love yeh so much."

And they kissed.

"Hey Toni!"

The aforementioned glanced up at the familiar voice of one of his friends from around campus. An easy smile formed on his lips. "Hola, Alfred! What's up?"

Alfred F. Jones was one of the star athletes on campus. Quarterback for the American football team. With blond hair and blue eyes, the kid is practically a poster boy for the all-American Dream.

The blond crossed the courtyard and flopped down beside Antonio on the bench he was sitting on. "So a few friends and I are throwing this really rad party on Friday! Cups for a Cause. Entrance fee is five dollars and you get a red cup. Drinks are sponsored and on us, and all proceeds will go to Red Cross. There'll be live performances too!" Alfred hands him a flyer. "You should come. Invite Gilbert and Francis too! It'll be fun!"

"'Cups for a Cause'? The fuck is that?" Lovino echoes, eyeing Feliciano incredulously.

"Ve~ It's this party a friend of mine is hosting this Friday! It's for a really good cause, fratello—"

"Then you go—"

"But I want you to go with me!"

Lovino finally hits pause on his controller and looks at Feliciano. Sure enough, the younger twin's eyes are wide with pleading (but why though?). They stare at each other like that for a few seconds before Feli finally speaks up once more. "It's just that— I feel like we rarely ever see each other anymore! And, who knows, it'll be fun! For the both of us!"

The older Vargas sighs, bringing the controller down to his lap. He makes a face before turning back to the screen and unpausing his game. "Ugh. Fine. I'll go to your stupid party."

Feliciano lets out a squeal of glee, tackling his brother into a hug. "Yay!"

"Oh my God, Feliciano, get off of me!"

Friday night had finally rolled around and a lot of the students were attending Cups for a Cause, bringing their own friends who may or may not go to other schools. It'd taken a while for Lovino to accustom himself to it, but he had finally acknowledged that social gatherings like these were going to be a staple in his life now, especially since Evergreen Hollows University often hosted solidarity events.

In this manner, the institution transcended run-of-the-mill bake sales and donation drives, instead holding events that would be fun for their students to partake in, as well as promote synergy and camaraderie and… and… oh, fuck it.

If there was one thing Lovino needed, it was a drink. A strong one.

Schoolwork had been increasing as of late and midterm exams were looming over the brink, practically breathing down the Italian's neck. Tensions were high and— frankly— so was Lovino's blood pressure.

He was this close to strangling his group mates, but fuck that shit for now. Because tonight? He was intent on paying for his red cup and drinking whatever the fuck they've spiked with booze in the campus atrium.

It was seven PM and there was a soundcheck for one of the live bands opening the show. EDM filled the silence as the Vargas twins took their seats near the stage. The older twin poured himself a cupful of jungle juice from one of the punch bowls and listened to Feliciano elaborate on how the art students helped out with decorating the atrium, himself included.

"Ve~ I really like it here, Lovi. The people are so nice and wonderful. Do you like it here too? Are you happy here?"

Lovino may or may not have thought of Allistor at that moment. He felt an imminent flush creeping up the back of his neck and opted to bring the cup up to his lips to take a sip, seemingly lost in thought.

"I guess so, yeah," he murmurs, setting the cup back down. He clears his throat and hides the bottom half of his face with his hand.

"I'm glad. You deserve to be happy, fratello." Feliciano says sotto voce, his tone suddenly gentle.

The tone and what Feliciano's said itself takes Lovino by surprise, and the latter automatically jerks his head up to meet his brother's gaze. Lovino's brows are furrowed, and he's staring at Feli like he's suddenly sprouted two heads. Feliciano smiles at him evenly.

"What the fuck," Lovino says, breaking the silence between them. He brings his hand down to the cup and sloshes the red liquid around. "Why do you have to be so mushy in public? The fuck is wrong with you?"

He lightly shoves Feli's shoulder before drawing back, crossing his arms over his chest as he slowly shook his head and muttered various expletives under his breath. Leave it to Feliciano to be irrationally sentimental at the weirdest of times.

Ten o' clock at night, and the stage in the atrium has come to life with a band playing electric indie music. Lovino's by his lonesome now, Feliciano having left to mingle with his cohorts in the Art Department around an hour and a half ago.

He's grown bored of the sugary, alcohol-spiked concoction and decided to stand up and grab a beer (he was that sick of the jungle juice, yes) from the make-shift bar by the stage (mainly consisting of large Coleman coolers and a flimsy table with bowls of spiked punch), and maybe just walk around.

He felt awkward, being all alone in a social gathering like this (Allistor is busy with the play; Bella's busy with studying for a make-up exam tomorrow). Albeit the fact it was something he was accustomed to, he had grown used to being with Allistor or Bella whenever he had to be seen in public like this. So now, it just felt pretty fucking weird.

And awkward.

He didn't like the feeling.

Lovino wound his way through his peers and grabbed an apple-flavoured beer from one of the giant red coolers and walked out of the school building, revelling in the sudden quiet, save for the sound of crickets and cicadas singing their song. His feet automatically take him to the garden where he often frequents to write, but to his dismay, it isn't as well lit as the rest of the school.

Fuck it, he thinks to himself, pausing to take a long swig of the drink and stalking off to the side of the school no one but him ever seemed to visit.

He takes a seat on the bench, closing his eyes and heaving a deep sigh. There was a familiar ache in the back of his eyes, thoughts of his upcoming exams winding its way through his mind. Man, fuck exams. Fuck group projects.

All he wanted was peace and quiet—

"Hey," a somewhat familiar voice says, momentarily startling the Italian out of his thoughts. Lovino blanked out for a second before letting out yet another sigh, opening his eyes and starting at the weird ass Spaniard in his math and philosophy class. Feliciano used to make Antonio bring him lunch everyday, but now he doesn't for some reason.

Maybe Feli's decided he's been eating enough.

He was sure his expression was riddled with annoyance, because he was. Who the fuck does the bastard think he is, trying to kill his vibe like that?

He could see the Spaniard fidgeting about, shifting his weight from foot to foot. It took him quite a bit of effort to refrain himself from smirking. After all the bullshit that asshole's caused him, he enjoyed watching the Spaniard squirm in discomfort.

"I, uh," Antonio stammers. It vaguely makes Lovino want to sock him in the face. "Great party, huh?"

Lovino stays silent. His eyes narrow a fraction.

And they just look at each other.

Then just as Antonio was about to speak up again, Lovino cut in. Almost warily, he answers, "I've been to better." Then he pauses for a moment, entertaining a particular thought. "No offence, but why are you talking to me?"

"Why not?" Antonio counters.

Lovino scowls at him darkly. "Because."

Antonio looks as if he's trying not to smile. Dammit, no. "Because?" He asks in a sing-song voice, one that infuriated Lovino further. God, all he wanted was to be left alone.

Which is ironic, because he's at a fucking party. And he has been alone (for the past hour and a half at that), but not in the way he wanted to be.

There's— there's a difference between being alone and being lonely. Got it?

And so, the older Vargas brother starts to rack through his mind for a plausible reason. "Because you're friends with Francis and Gilbert."

Antonio's expression falls slightly. Just how much beef does his best friends have with Lovino, exactly? What have they done to him?

What has Lovi done to them?

What have they done to each other?!

Lovino is staring straight ahead, steadily taking swigs from his bottle. And finally, he draws the nearly empty bottle away from his lips and stares at Antonio again.

Antonio is already staring at him and it unnerves him somewhat. Makes him feel a bit conscious of himself. Never did the green in his eyes seem so intense as they were now.

Involuntarily, he could feel his cheeks beginning to redden. Goddammit. He averts his gaze.

"Why are you here?" Lovino asks him finally. "Just do what you need to. Say what you have to say. Then go. You don't have to stand there, quietly, like some sort of sketchy ass prick looming in the dark."

"I just wanted to talk," Antonio says. Then a bit more quietly, he adds, "…and be your friend."

Antonio didn't know where he stood with Lovino, honestly.

Although the Italian had stopped physically harassing him as his infatuation with Feliciano came to a screeching halt, him being friends with Francis and Gilbert was still enough for Lovino not to trust him, let alone even talk to him.

He felt as if he were on the end of his rope.

Even though it's dark out, Antonio can still see Lovino through the moonlight, as well as from the sparse light coming from one of the lampposts a few feet away from them. Lovino's looking at him like he's gone crazy— who knows? Maybe Antonio has.

Gone crazy, that is.

Crazy, crazy in love with Lovino Vargas.

Lovino, who is so capricious and easily angered, but he's passionate— so passionate— and so full of life. Lovino was like a live wire in this manner. You never know what to expect from him, whether he will snap at you or laugh in your face.

Or maybe that's just him.

The Italian's eyes are pitch black from this angle, but he can still feel Lovino staring at him. Scrutinising him. His mouth is curved down.

He's seen Lovino smile and laugh before. Usually at his expense, but it's well worth it. Lovino had a breathtaking smile, especially when it was genuine. He used to rarely smile before, but ever since he and Allistor came out as a couple, he's been smiling a bit more everyday.

Allistor makes him happy. Antonio knows that. But sometimes, he just— he just wishes he could— just.

…Make Lovino happy as well.

Like, genuinely, truly happy.

He could give Lovino his all, but it'd probably amount to damned well nothing compared to whatever Allistor makes him feel.

That's a depressing thought.

Antonio quickly shakes the unfavourable thoughts out of his head.

He snaps out of his trance just in time to see Lovino harrumph and scoot over to one end of the bench (and away from him too, to Antonio's dismay). He crosses his arms over his chest and glares at him, but for once there is no malice in Lovino's stare. "You're probably going to stab me in the back, like Judas."

"I'm not!" Antonio suddenly exclaims, as if he'd finally found his voice. Lovino blinks back in mild surprise at the sheer volume. "I won't! I would never want to hurt you, Lovi. Can't we just start over and make amends? I don't want bad blood between us. I want us to be friends—"

"Yeah, but why? Why would you want us to be friends? FY-fucking-I, your best friends fucking hate me. And I hate them too! They're assholes. No offence. Actually? Feel offended all you want, I don't fucking care."

Then everything goes quiet again.

Dios, Lovino is… a savage. As soon as Antonio thinks it, he snorts before he begins to laugh.

"What?!" Lovino growls out, stomping one of his feet on the ground, but the sound is muted by the soft grass underfoot, so he opts to raise his voice a bit more. "The fuck are you laughing at, you piece of shit?"

Tears are running down Antonio's cheeks, and he fearlessly flops down on the bench beside Lovino. He tries to speak, but he only ends up laughing even harder.

Lovino shoves Antonio away by the shoulder hard. But he only succeeds in kinda pushing himself away from the Spaniard.

"Oh, Lovi," Antonio says, and Lovino glowers at the nickname. "You're so cute."

Lovino punches his shoulder again, but Antonio doesn't mind. "Prick."

His cheeks were tinged red out of irritation (and a tincture of embarrassment) and Antonio can't help but find it absolutely adorable.

"Aww, you're blushing!"

"Shut up! I am not!" Lovino says indignantly, rubbing at his cheeks, the action only making his face redden even more. God, his tendency to blush was fucking annoying. "You are so annoying."

Then his phone vibrates and he pulls it out of his pocket. He texts back a reply, his sour mood seemingly dissipating as the corners of his lips curled up into a gentle smile.

It didn't take long for Antonio to guess who Lovino was texting with.

Several moments later, Lovino's phone starts ringing, and he answers.

Antonio shifts about awkwardly on the bench, as the guy he had feelings for talked with his boyfriend on the phone.

…Well then~!

After several minutes of agony and torture, Lovino finally hangs up and slips the phone back in his pocket. His eyes casually glaze over Antonio, expression unreadable.

"Oh," says Lovino in what seems to be mock surprise. "You're still here?"

Antonio smiles. "Yep!"

Lovino seems to have cooled down a bit, so he sighs and leans back into the wooden bench. "What course are you taking, anyway?"

"I'm taking bachelor of education for pre-school education. I can teach up to grade three!"

The Vargas seems rather distressed upon hearing this, expression incredulous. "You're— So let me get this straight. You're going to be a teacher?"

"Yep!" Antonio chirps. "I love being around kids. They're so cute!"

To his surprise, Lovino begins to laugh. Hard. "So you're going to be teaching them. Our children's futures are in your hands. Your hands. We're fucked!"

Antonio laughs too. They laugh for a minute or so before the laughter settles down. So he begins to tell Lovino about his little cousins back in Spain, and how he used to babysit his neighbours when he lived in Orange County, California. He tells Lovino about his older brother, Alvarez, a hot-shot businessman who lives in Hollywood and knows all these celebrities, and—

He pauses.

He thinks about his mom.

"But enough about me," Antonio says abruptly, turning to face Lovino. "You're taking Creative Writing, right?"

Lovino squints at him suspiciously. "How'd you know?"

"I saw you walking out of Ms. Sharp's class once. She usually handles classes for Creative Writing. Also, she and my brother used to date."

Hazel eyes narrow further. The answer to a question I never asked, he thinks to himself. "Okay then…"

The two begin talking about writing, and literature, and books. It's… surprisingly easy talking to Lovino once the Italian gets started. He's elated Lovino's finally paying attention to him, and is pretty damned sure he falls a little harder for the Italian sitting right beside him.

Lovino is… enchanting. He's got that je ne sais quoi that draws people in, especially once they've gotten past the Italian's normally angry demeanour. No wonder Allistor fell for him as Antonio had. The Scot's a lucky man, he had to admit.

Lovino avoids talking about his own writing, however, and always changes the subject when Antonio brings it up. The latter doesn't push it lest Lovi gets mad at him again and stops talking to him entirely.

They talk more, and before any of them realise it, it's Saturday.

Time flies when they're together, and Antonio is genuinely surprised it's nearly one AM.

Lovino has to leave when Feliciano finally texts him, and bids Antonio a quick goodbye.

Everything is like a dream after that.

It's all surreal, so surreal.

Antonio's vaguely aware he's walking back to the atrium, where everything (and everyone) is trashed and there are red cups scattered all about the area. He sees Gilbert passed out by a table, and Francis is trying to wake him up.

He helps Francis help Gilbert up, and slowly, the Bad Touch Trio make their way back to their apartment.

Antonio can't stop replaying what happened with Lovino over and over in his head. He can't stop smiling.

Once they get in, they drag Gilbert onto the couch while Francis stalks off to his room, muttering something about his nightly beauty regime and bidding Antonio a goodnight.

Antonio is still smiling, and when Franny's door closes shut, the Spaniard gives a silent whoop of joy. He's giddy and he's just so, so happy. He practically dances all the way to his room, heart rapidly beating against his chest as he flopped right onto his bed. The Spaniard gives his pillow a tight squeeze, burying his face into it.

How he wished Lovino was that pillow! Uuuuuunnnnffff.

It's an ungodly hour in the morning, but Antonio's so worked up, he can't possibly fall asleep now. So he kills his time until he eventually does want to fall asleep by going through his Facebook on his iPad. A bunch of notifications pop up, the social butterfly he is, so he goes through them all.

He goes through his notifications first. He is tagged in photos, and his statuses gets comments and likes. He likes the comments and the photos, then goes on to his messages. There's some sort of commotion going on in the group chat for one the projects he has. He inbox-zones that and goes to his friend requests. There's one notification for that.

Once Antonio opens the notification, his heart's rapidly beating against his chest tenfold, and his cheeks are red.

'Lovino Vargas accepted your friend request.
12 minutes ago'

Translations:

Dios - God (Esp.)
Nonno - grandfather (It.)
Nonna - grandmother (It.)
fratello - brother (It.)

Hey guys! Sorry for the late update. Midterms came up, then a market launch, then all these requirements and finals. All of that's done, so I hope to update the next chapter over the holidays. Pretty excited to get to the character development. Expect a teensy li'l time skip in the next chapter. Nothing too major though.

Please review! I'd really like to hear from you guys! Also, how's the Spamano going? I've really fucked them up since the beginning, it seems, so it'll be a little harder getting them together since there's an Allistor-shaped block in between them.

~jellydonut16~

P.S. Not to be interpreted as a shameless plug, but I made a Facebook page for Jellydonut16. You aren't obligated to like it or anything, but since my updates have started getting few and far between, I made it so as to fill the radio silence. So I don't seem completely under the radar. Also, I post statuses for chapter updates, and progress on my stories there so far. URL is jellydonut16 :D

P.P.S. I changed Bulgaria's name several times. I fudged up with the first name, so I went with Bulgaria's fanon name (I don't remember what it is now rip-) before changing it one last time to Aleksander Balakov, which was my original headcanon name for him that I forgot. Yep~! Also, my original name for Ned was Tim, apparently, and not Lars. Huh.