Feliciano had spent the past few days trying to gather as much as he could on what was going on. From what he had heard, basically, Germany took Poland and France and England were like, "No" and they declared war. It was getting a little scary when Mussolini, who had been around for as long as Feli could remember, seemed to be taking a liking to the strange, large, scary nation that was so intent on conquering. The world was on an edge, rocking back and forth on the bayonet blade of Germany, or whatever grotesque monster Germany had become.
They had to leave. He had been expecting this. A sort of crawling was rooting around in the back of his mind. Even so, he was not ready when Grandpa brought him, Lovino, and Antonio together to talk on a still Wednesday afternoon. The family flower shop had just closed, and they sat in the shaded place, dead petals crunching sparsely. Grandpa had told them about London, about how Germans might come here, about how he had friends in England. Grandpa had to stay, he could only afford Feliciano and Lovino, and Antonio was paying for himself. They could write letters to Grandpa, but that was it.
No matter where they went, it would be safer than here.
As guilty as it made him feel, Feliciano could hardly help but agree.
The very next day, Feliciano packed his little life into a smaller bag.
Tears would not leave his eyes as he weakly hugged Grandpa Roma goodbye.
It was warm out that day, the sky was overcast. The world seemed clogged with something smoky and sticky. Maybe the sun wasn't even out behind the clouds, you couldn't have told.
"You boys be good- don't get into trouble-" and Grandpa went on, listing the address of where they would stay, even though they already had them on paper.
"Do we even know these people?" Lovino asked.
"Of course we do… I remember the very first time me and Francis met… what a strange man…" and he rambled on, somehow depicting a story of something to do with a chick.
Feli did all he could to fill the silence as they made their way to the car that had been set up for them. It was still too quiet.
Romano pulled Feliciano through the wind as they scrambled through the outskirts of London. Antonio walked at their heels. They weren't expecting this much discord and confusion in such a place. The streets were in disarray, people hurried from place to place, struggling with children and bags. The world seemed on the brink of something—quiet, tense, and dark.
As the three made it to a one Francis Bonnefoy's home, Antonio and Feliciano tried to talk. Nobody was really listening: they rambled on as Romano sulked. ("They don't even have pizza here, I bet. Those posh bastards can't make good food at all!") The sun was already bobbing on the horizon, like a little custard or something. Or maybe Feliciano was just really hungry.
"Loviiiii! Will you share a room with me? I wonder if they have tomatoes here…"
"Shut up, asshole. I wouldn't share a room with you if you were the last person on earth."
"But you promised- remember- when I was ten- you said you'd live with me when we grew up-"
"We might not even have separate rooms, bastard. If we don't I'm walking out of this place."
Feliciano knew Lovino was just on edge, but that was pretty mean.
Well, if this was Mr. Bonnefoy's house, it was pretty strange.
…Didn't he live alone? It just didn't seem natural for his place to be so… loud.
Loud and bright. Was he having a party or something? Lovino gave an aggravated sigh and stomped up the stairs. Feliciano hid behind Antonio as they approached the door. It appeared to be a rather corroded shade of army-green but Feliciano couldn't really tell in the darkening twilight. Lovino began violently knocking. Feliciano was afraid the door's paint would chip off. With just the third rap of Lovino's knuckles, the door opened and golden light shafted itself across the travelers.
"Bonjour! You are- oh, Antonio! Mon amis! You're here already? Come inside, it's freezing!" a tall, blonde, well-dressed man spoke with a thick French accent, holding open the door. His face was chiseled, almost feminine, and he smelled strongly of roses. He soon noticed Feliciano and Lovino, and his eyes widened as he pushed his long, wispy bangs out of his face. "Well, bon-JOUR!" He winked peevishly at them. "I am Francis Bonnefoy, but you can call me Francis."
"You listen here, bastard, I don't know what you're playing at and-"
"Ve~ Lovino, be polite!"
"Ma petit chou, your rooms are down this hall- third door to the left, and the second to the right. Somebody will have to share, but this won't be a problem, non? Non." Francis finished speaking and shoved them down the hall. Lovino and Feliciano walked down the pale, dim length of it as Francis and Antonio began talking loudly. Lovino looked even more annoyed than usual, for some reason.
"Lovino, what's wrong?" Feliciano asked, tilting his head and punching his brother softly on the shoulder.
"Nothing's wrong, idiota. That Francis guy is just weird. What if he, like, does something weird? This is weird. Shut up, anyway." Lovino turned his head away sharply.
"Oh-kay, Lovi! Don't worry; we'll be fine. He's Grandpa's friend!"
"I sure hope so, idiota."
They trailed off to separate rooms. Feliciano found himself in a dusty, airy area full of empty shelves on the walls and possessing a single bed. He set his things upon this and sat next to them. Three questions were occurring to Feliciano right now:
How did Francis and Antonio know each other?
What was going to happen to Grandpa if things were bad enough for them to be sent away?
And where was Antonio going to stay?