[Summary from previous chapters: The Bad Touch Trio members are all pursuing someone from the band and decide it'd be fun to crash their sleepover at the Jones-Williams house. A game of triple dog occurs, in which we see Feliciana seduce Ludwig and Madeline enjoy the art of lap-dancing. When Lovina refuses to do her dare, however, she has to streak down the street; needless to say, this ends horribly when she trips, sprains her ankle, and has to have Antonio carry her back to the house where they unfortunately run into the Vargas' grandfather...awkward. The teens go inside then and Madeline and Gilbo have a moment~! She plays him a beautiful piano piece and he swoons like a little girl, finally working up the courage to ask her on a date.]

Madeline Williams generally had the patience of a saint. After all, she'd spent eleven years of her life crammed in the same rickety bunk bed as Alfred F. Jones-the F standing for "Fucking annoying" in Lovina's opinion-and for a majority of those years he had wet the bed (which to this day he still blamed on his imaginary alien friend, Tony). It is of little surprise then that over the years she'd developed an immunity to all things obnoxious, loud, or rude, explaining how she had maintained a close, somewhat healthy relationship with the school's resident spitfires (aka Lovina, Alice, and now the ever-popular Gilbert Beilschmidt). However, her powers of patience were not infinite and Alfred, the boy who had ironically been the reason Maddie adopted a tolerant nature in the first place, was pushing her to the brink.

Gilbert, his hands still cradling Maddie's freshly kissed and clearly bewildered face, had just asked her on a date. Maddie, though blushing an unattractive shade of pumice and wondering if the albino's pinky finger could feel her thrumming pulse from its position on her neck, had been about to stutter a surprised 'yes'. And Alfred, watching with his eyes bulging and mouth agape from the garage doorway, had just shit a brick.

"Oh, fucking hell to the no!" came his booming voice. Within seconds, a blur of red, white, and blonde had knocked Gilbert from his position on the piano bench and into the microphone stand. There was a momentary tussle on the floor before the albino found his shoulders pinned beneath the pajama-clad knees of Madeline's brother.

Ho, shit.

"Keep your dirty wurst away from my sister's Canadian beaver!" Alfred roared, pulling an arm back to pummel the German into the ground. Nobody touched his baby sis, especially not some perverted Nazi bastard!

"Her Canadian what-?"

"ALFRED!" Madeline squealed in embarrassment, face on fire as she caught her brother's bicep just in time. He easily yanked her forward but she was quick enough to hook the crook of her elbows under his armpits in a pseudo-headlock. Even though she was using all of her upper body strength (which, admittedly, wasn't much) to restrain the American, she knew he would break free from her hold in a matter of minutes. And then Gilbert's face would be redder than his eyes.

"Let go of me, Maddie! I've got to teach this rapist a lesson!"

"The fuck, man? All I did was kiss her! Last time I checked, a consensual kiss wasn't an act of rape, moron!"

"What did you call me, you little-?"

Madeline couldn't listen anymore. She was too preoccupied reigning in the school's leading quarterback to focus on a petty verbal squabble.

God, what could she do? Gilbert was practically useless under Alfred's body weight and the other Trio members would probably get the shit beat out of them as well if she called them down. Who could take down a 6'1 American football star-?

Oh.

Oh, yes. She knew exactly who.

"ALICE! ALICE, HELP!" Madeline screeched at the top of her lungs, causing a loud thump to sound from upstairs as someone slammed open a door. Alfred noticeably stilled in her arms.

Suddenly, a frazzled punk appeared in the doorway, waist-length hair no longer in twin pigtails but instead twisted into a half-finished braid down her back (Feliciana had probably been in the middle of braiding her hair when Maddie had screamed bloody murder). She wore a billowy black tank with John Lennon's face across the front and a pair of gray sweats. Her black nails were chipped and three piercings (two small hoops in the lobe and one stud in the cartilage) decorated her left ear. Acidic green eyes raked over the scene in front of her before finally honing in on the eerily silent American.

"Alfred Franklin Jones. What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" she growled, stepping into the room with the countenance of an angry mother, hands on her hips and all. Alfred cracked a shaky smile, flashing his white teeth as he turned to face his furious crush.

"Heeeyyyyy, Iggy," he drawled, slowly standing upright as though any sudden movements might cause the Briton to spontaneously combust. He glanced quickly towards Maddie with a pout that clearly read, "You suck."

"Don't call me that wretched nickname, git. Explain why you were harassing Gilbert and Madeline."

While Alfred tried to explain how he was merely deflecting Maddie's innocence from Gilbert's whore-suckling lips, the Canadian rushed to the albino's aid. He pushed away her jittery hands, assuring her that "awesome did not bruise easily" although "a few Canadian kisses couldn't hurt". The blonde had laughed airily in response, hugging Kumajojo tightly to her chest with her left arm.

As Alice started to pinch Alfred's cheek in aggravation, berating that he needed to "leave people alone and, for the Queen's sake, speak English properly", Gilbert helped Maddie to her feet. The Prussian opened his mouth uncertainly, as if to say something, but Madeline beat him to the punch.

"Yes."

The senior blinked. "Huh?"

"My answer t-to your earlier question is yes." With her twin preoccupied, the Canadian leaned in and pecked the white-haired boy on the cheek.

Gilbert smiled like a fool.

-line-

When Francis was younger, maybe seven years old, he had the most glorious hair in his entire elementary school. Teachers would constantly pet his pretty blonde head and comment on what a "little prince charming" he had become, to which he would simply smirk and give a short "merci beaucoup". And what wasn't charming about him? He was the epitome of chivalrous, always holding doors open for the teachers and bestowing long-stemmed roses from his garden to all the second-grade girls. He wore expensive clothes and only ate the eloquent lunches his mother packed for him each day, refusing to so much as look at the "sniveling excuse for food" the cafeteria served. He was well-mannered and sharply dressed; he spoke perfect French and could flash a smile so romantically coy even innocent Lili Zwingli would blush; though he disliked running because it ruffled his gorgeous hair and left his clothes less than pristine, he could outrun anyone in the grade thanks to his long, elegant legs. Needless to say, everyone adored Francis.

Well, almost everyone.

Alice Kirkland, the ruddy-nosed brat from Manchester, England, had somehow eluded his charms. She was quite short for her age, with pale freckles dotting her dainty, cat-like nose and a miserable little pout that made her look like she was on the verge of snapping your neck. She had four or five older brothers (Francis could never keep count nor did he want to; the Kirkland brothers were all uncivilized ruffians in his opinion) and was often dressed in their too-big hand-me-downs. And to top it all off, her dirty blonde hair was tangled, unruly, and forever the bane of Francis' existence.

Alice never had many friends, partly because of her homely, unkempt appearance and partly because of her strange obsession with the occult. During recess, she generally nestled herself in a grove of trees on the edge of the playground, drawing shaky pentograms in the dirt and muttering spooky rhymes under her breath. She was always by herself, mumbling to imaginary creatures at lunch as she ate some ghastly concoction called scones (the other students were positive that they were poisonous). Every time Francis cast the strange girl a flirtacious smirk, she would merely stare him down with her electric green eyes and start muttering creepy spells beneath her breath. The Frenchman didn't think someone as horrendous as Alice Kirkland would ever make friends.

One day, Francis' best friend Antonio (their other best friend, Gilbert, had detention that particular recess) purposely sent a soccer ball flying into the fence surrounding the playground. Francis, who had been purring French to a group of starry-eyed girls on the sidelines, had been nominated to retrieve it. Huffing in exasperation, the blonde had trudged over to the ball, picking it up and punting it in Toni's general direction.

That was when he heard the sniffling.

He could distinctly make out the muffled sobs of a child from the grove of trees to his right. Seeing as the girls he'd been sweet-talking earlier were preoccupied by Antonio's flashy soccer tricks (that little showoff), Francis decided to investigate. Sticking his glorious blonde head between the boughs of a nearby tree, the second-grader was surprised to find the last person in the world he ever expected to see crying in public.

In the middle of the grove crouched Alice Kirkland, arms wrapped around her calves as she cried into the tops of her knees. She wore an over-sized grey shirt and a...was that a kilt? Either way, it was horrendous and practically swallowed the tiny Briton up.

"Oh, Flying Mint Bunny...you don't think I'm ugly, do you?" she choked out then, watery green eyes staring upwards at an imaginary creature that Francis most definitely could not see. He noticed up close that, apart from her tremendous eyebrows, she actually possessed a rather pretty face; more than pretty, actually. How had he never kissed that smooth cheek before?

"The other girls told me I look like a boy. N-Not that I care or anything! They're all twats anyways!" Here she wiped her nose on the enormous sleeve of her shirt. Francis leaned in closer. "It's just...I've been here for six months already and I haven't m-made any friends. Everyone treats me bad. Nobody even wished me a happy birthday last week!"

Big, fat crocodile tears had started to slip down her cheeks. She rubbed them into her knees but couldn't stop her lower lip from trembling.

"I-It was on the class c-c-calendar and everything, but no one said a word! Not even Ms. Kathryn!"

Francis was feeling rather guilty as the first-grader began to whimper pathetically. Sure, she was creepy and rude but she was still just a child. He couldn't help himself then; he had to make his presence known and help her.

Pretending as if he'd just stumbled upon the grove, Francis feigned confusion, scratching the back of his blonde head as he glanced around the area.

"Now, where could that ball have gone?" the Frenchman pondered loudly, causing Alice to jerk her head up quickly and stare wide-eyed at him. He glanced down at her, taking a step back as if she'd startled him. "Oh, I did not see you there, chou!"

"Wha-what are you doing back here, frog?" the Brit squeaked, rubbing the tears from her eyes with the heels of her palms. No way would she let this slimy French idiot see her cry.

"Oh, little Alice, you offend me so!" he cried dramatically, clutching the fabric over his heart. "I just came back here to find a soccer ball, is all."

"Well, it's not back here so go away!"

Francis tutted. "How rude. Ah," he frowned, fingering some of the girl's long blonde hair as he quickly removed a pine needle. "You have leaves in your hair, mon cher. Little ladies should not be crawling around in the bushes."

Alice shoved his hand away, shooting him a wary glare as her eyes began to fill with tears again.

"Sh-shut up. It's not like some stupid leaves matter. My hair would look ugly anyways," she mumbled, avoiding his shocked blue eyes as she cradled her long yellow locks. Flying Mint Bunny was fluttering in circles around her head obnoxiously and had she not been so embarrassed, she might have shooed him away.

"Your hair is not ugly, mon cher. In fact, it would look very pretty if you would only brush it." At this, the Frenchman snapped his fingers with a small, "Aha!" and magically produced a comb from his cape pocket. Alice just stared at him in bewilderment, blushing from his comment. Did he really think her hair was pretty? Or was that just one of his perverted pick-up lines?

"Would you mind?" he asked, gesturing to the comb as he plopped down behind her.

"Do you always carry brushes in your pocket, idiot?" she muttered, making sure to look at anything but him; she didn't protest as he tentatively ran the comb through her hair. "And I'm not letting you do this because I need the help or anything! Any idiot can brush hair! It's just I...I'm too tired to get the leaves out right now! That's all!" Secretly, she really liked having her hair brushed and having it done by Francis Bonnefoy, aka the school's hair guru, might just mean she'd be coming out of the grove somewhat presentable-looking.

Francis merely hummed in acknowlegdement to her rant, yanking at the left side of Alice's head as he scooped her hair into one hand. For a while, they both remained uncharacteristically quiet as the Frenchman tied the girl's hair into two high pigtails with rubber bands he kept around his wrist (if ever he did play sports during recess, he liked to have his hair pulled back, so the bands did come in handy). He would tie her hair up and then take it down, muttering something about how it had to be "absolutely flawless before he could grant his seal of French approval". Finally, after numerous attempts, Francis had managed to work out all the knots in the Briton's waist-length hair and tie it into perfectly level pigtails.

"Magnifique!" he cried out in French, tucking a few strands of stray yellow hair behind the girl's ear. Alice reached backwards and felt her head, grunting in some mock-form of approval.

"I better not look stupid, Frenchie," she growled but with much less bite than Francis was used to. He grinned, knowing that it was the closest to a thanks he was going to get.

"Ohonhonhon~! You look like a little bunny with two floppy ears!" he exclaimed, picking up one of her long pigtails as he said the words 'floppy ears'. Alice blushed.

"I-I do not look like a bunny!" she spluttered, crossing her arms indignantly across her chest as she jutted her nose into the air. At the moment, she looked like a stuck-up little princess; Francis was still adamant in the opinion that she more closely resembled a rabbit.

"A little British bunny-"

"Shut up."

"-with humongous, fluffy eyebrows!"

"I will kill you."

"Oh, I think I will call you 'mon lapin' from now on!"

"Don't you even dare..."

"...what was that, mon lapin?"

"GAH!"

-line-

When Francis reached fifth grade (Alice in the grade below him), he started to discover some rather...unconvenient feelings for the stubborn girl. He had a million options to choose from-girls with plump lips, winning personalities, dazzling smiles, you name it-but he could care less. He wanted someone fiery, independent, and intelligent; he wanted someone with a stunning face, endearingly large eyebrows, and sharp, calculating green eyes; he wanted someone who beat him senseless and likewise endured his constant teasing. Perhaps he was a masochist, but he wanted Alice.

Francis was almost sure Alice liked him too, somewhere deep, deep in her subconscious. Ever since that day he found her crying on the playground, she had worn her hair in the same high pigtails, almost as if she was daring Francis to call her a rabbit again. He always did, and she always smacked his shoulder in turn until soon it became their customary greeting. During recess, she would still do her summonings in the grove and Francis would still tell elaborate, mainly false stories to the admiring girls in his grade; however, sometimes when the French boy could sneak away, he would creep up on his pigtailed playmate and scare her senseless. She would scream and sic some demonic creature on him (ironically, the first time she cursed him, Ivan Braginskaya moved into school the next day and stuck gum in Francis' hair,) but he would yank her pigtail until she hushed up. Indeed, it seemed they could only communicate through petty insults and half-hearted death threats, but neither of them seemed to mind. It was consistent and it was something to look forward to each school day.

Alice eventually made friends with an introverted Japanese girl named Sakura and a bright boy from Hong Kong. However, Francis remained her closest confidant (friend really wasn't a word she could openly apply to him), mainly because he would annoy Alice until she finally (and reluctantly) revealed what was on her mind. She, too, learned several things about the French boy that no one else could possibly know; for example, his father had left him and his mother to fend for themselves about five years ago. He eventually remarried in Monaco and fathered a little girl named Colette; Francis did his best to keep in touch with his half-sister, but it was difficult when she was located on an entirely different continent. Alice also knew that Francis adored peanut butter, could do a backflip, and had the middle name Jean (pronounced Zh-ohn). Even though they were always at each other's throats, they understood each other more than they did any other person.

Thus, Francis knew very well that if he made any romantic advances on Alice, regardless if her feelings were secretly mutual, she would probably kick his ass into the future. So he had to play it cool and stifle any flirtations until he was sure that the moment was right. Unfortunately, Francis was never very good at waiting or playing it cool or stifling his flirtations, especially when Alice approached him one recess of her own accord.

She had sidled up to him, cheeks red, and asked Francis in her little voice if he could push her on the swings ("not because we're friends or anything! I just don't want to kick my legs in a skirt"). The Frenchman had winked and said that he was always willing to help little bunnies in their time of need if they said "s'il vous plait". She had whacked him across the chest and threatened to strangle him with his cape. Francis had shrugged and said, "Close enough".

The duo had been walking towards the swing set, Alice fidgeting with the hem of her skirt all the while, when Francis realized their was some ulterior motive to this friednly trip.

"Is something troubling you, mon lapin?" Francis asked, pausing midstep to turn towards the Briton. She was practically wringing her skirt now, her face cast downward as the tips of her ears turned red. "...Alice?"

"Er, well, you see...next week is my birthday and my mum is having the family over and I don't really want to spend the day with my mental relatives so my brothers told me to invite a friend over but I really don't have many friends...so I thought that maybe if I surrounded you with my English relatives you would learn how to finally be a gentleman and I'm not saying this because I actually want you to come, I just want to introduce you to some refinery before you go into middle school and scare all the other students away. So, maybe, would you come over on my birthday? L-Like I said, not because I enjoy the company of a snail-slurper, I just thought it might be a good experience for you, is all..." Alice finally stopped her breathless rant to suck in a deep gulp of air, eyes flickering up to Francis' face only once throughout the entire speech.

Francis looked taken aback, blinking slowly as he tried to comprehend that verbal bombardment. The girl before him scuffed the toe of her shoe against the dirt as she impatiently waited for his answer.

"...mon lapin, if you wanted to enjoy my glorious presence you could have just said so!" the fifth-grader finally exclaimed, flashing a cheeky grin as he playfully tugged on the Brit's pigtail.

"I don't enjoy your presence at all, twat!" she squawked, shooing his hand away.

"Hmm...perhaps you just admire my good looks?"

Alice made a dramatic gagging gesture and Francis waggled his eyebrows seductively. She roared in embarrassment, gripping the collar of his shirt between both her fists and shaking him back and forth violently. He yanked harshly on her pigtails until they were literally nose-to-nose, staring each other down and gritting their teeth in identical sneers. It was only when Alice let loose a shaky exhalation that fluttered across his cheek, that Francis became aware of their close proximity. All the emotions he'd been trying to bury over the past few weeks suddenly bubbled to the surface. His heart leaped into his throat and without conscious thought he pressed his lips against the Briton's in a soft, breathy kiss.

She returned the kiss in her own inexperienced way until suddenly Gilbert wolf-whistled from across the playground.

"Woohoo, nice going, Francy pants!" the albino shrieked, causing every other student to look in the direction of his wildly waving finger and thus at Alice's clearly mortified expression as she quickly pulled away. Realizing what had just transpired, she fixed her venomous green eyes on the Frenchman still currently trapped in her grip. With a splutter, she threw him to the floor and began chanting one of her incantations, muttering some mumbo-jumbo about how he would never end up with the girl he truly wanted. This actually caught his attention as he stared up at his crush from his bewildered position on the ground; what if the girl he truly wanted was Alice? Did that mean the curse would keep him from being with her? Not that he really believed in Alice's witchcraft or anything, but still...

As she continued ranting from above him, Francis realized that that had been his first kiss on the lips. And probably hers, too.

-line-

At first it seemed that Alice's curse on him in the fifth-grade was nothing more than empty words. During his sophomore year in high school, when Alice was just entering Hetalia as a freshman, the two became a couple. A constantly fighting and easily-jealous couple, but a couple nonetheless. Francis quite literally felt as though he would die of happiness.

The day she broke up with him (aka the day Alice had been threatened by a bunch of cheerleaders and, consequently, met Lovina and Madeline) was a Friday, he remembered. That night the two of them were supposed to watch Moulin Rouge, the Briton's favorite movie. When he received a text that read she would have to cancel, he was disappointed but thought nothing else of it. It was only when she appeared on his doorstep at nine at night that he realized something was very wrong.

He had begged her to reconsider after she broke the news, of course. It was so sudden and he knew that if their romantic relationship died, so would their friendship. She merely kissed him goodbye, pointedly avoiding his eyes as she mumbled a teary apology. As soon as she had stumbled back into the car, refusing to acknowledge Francis' cries for her to stay, the Frenchman immediately thought of the curse. No, he thought as he repeatedly dialed her number. Curses didn't exist. No magic had ended their relationship.

Right?

Now here he was, nearly two years later, sleeping in the same house as Alice and reminiscing about the most miserable things. She was still as stubborn as ever and he was still doggedly pursuing her. The only new addition to the equation was the appearance of Alfred F. Jones, his very own cousin.

Francis could not help but grit his teeth as he stared forlornly at the rotating fan above. Antonio was resting his chin in the upturned palms of his hands as he watched the television on his stomach, legs swinging back and forth idly. Gilbert had gone to get some beer from his car about ten minutes ago and had Francis not been in such a melancholy mood, he might have gone to check up on his best friend of thirteen (if not more) years. But seeing as he was so depressed that not even a passionate sex scene on TV could shake him from his painful reverie, Francis remained in his supine position on the couch.

At least Alfred was gone. He said he had heard someone in the garage and wanted to make sure Gilbert wasn't on a drunken rampage downstairs.

Now, don't get me wrong, Francis loved his cousins dearly; apart from his mother, they were the only relatives he had seen since his father had bailed on him over a decade ago. Little Madeline had always been like a sister to him, sharing with him the love of cooking, France, and long winters. Alfred, the golden boy of the family, was hardly similar to Francis personality-wise but did share several physical characteristics with his year-older cousin. For instance, they both had brilliant yellow hair, attractive cobalt eyes, and cheeky, white smirks; Alfred had been gifted the same long, elegant legs of his cousin (hence why he was such a sports deviant) and was approximately the same height as well. The only difference was that where Francis was well-groomed and aristocratic, Alfred was athletic and chiseled.

Francis noted bitterly that attractive physical traits were not all he and Alfred shared; they also seemed to possess the same unusual taste in women.

Fucking genetics.

"Oh fucking hell to the no!" Francis suddenly heard from the garage and he raised an eyebrow in Antonio's direction. His friend merely shrugged and rolled onto his side, propping his head up with one fist as the two listened intently to the squabble downstairs. A minute or two passed of Gilbert and Alfred's back-and-forth screaming when suddenly one voice overtook them both.

"ALICE! ALICE, HELP!" Madeline hollered, causing her cousin to sit up abruptly from his spot on the couch. Antonio looked surprised by his friend's sudden alertness, watching as Francis craned his neck towards the staircase behind him, jaw tight and hand clenched tightly in his lap. Not a second later, Alice Kirkland had catapulted herself down the steps, messy braid slapping against her shoulder blades as she rushed to the garage, unaware of Francis' dark blue eyes following her every move. As soon as she disappeared, the blonde visibly slumped, his jaw relaxing and clenched fist uncurling as he turned his head away from the stairs.

"Oh, mi amigo," Antonio murmured, voice sympathetic as he watched the usually flamboyant Frenchman flop gracelessly onto his back. "Why don't you go talk to her?"

Francis smirked derisively. "She wants nothing to do with me, mon ami. We've barely spoken in the last two years and she seems perfectly happy with Alfred."

There was a small hum of acknowledgement from Antonio as he mulled over his response. "Well...y'know, if you don't talk to her and she doesn't talk to you, then you're going to lose a good friend, Francisco. It's up to you, really, because we both know she's too hard-headed to ever initiate the first conversation. Whether or not you two end up together romantically, you still want to be her friend, right?"

The Frenchman had turned his head to look at the Spaniard in wonder, eyebrows raised in surprise. "That was surprisingly deep for you, Antoine."

Antonio shrugged, grinning. "I have my moments. Plus, I'm trying to be less dumb so that Lovi likes me more~!"

"Ohonhon, she's not even your girlfriend yet and you are already whipped!"

"Oh, Lovi can whip me anytime~!" the Spaniard smirked, waggling his eyebrows suggestively in an attempt to make his friend laugh. Francis had been oddly depressed as of recently (mainly due to the walking eyebrows and her blatant affection for the American black hole) so it was the responsibility of the other two BTT members to make him smile. Antonio's comment had apparently done the trick, seeing as the blonde was now chuckling fondly.

"My, my, I didn't know you were into the kinky stuff, mon ami," Francis grinned lecherously, giving a lude wink.

A chuckle. "Well, I'm not usually. But I'd let Lovi do anything to me."

"Like tie you up and spank you?" the blonde said, breaking into infectious laughter afterwards. Antonio, caught up in the moment, laughed along and nodded his head vigorously.

"Si, I wouldn't mind if Lovi tied me up and spanked-"

"What the fuck?" came a voice from the stairwell.

...

There was a moment where all the seniors could do was stare in horror at each other. Then they turned to see that Lovina herself was glaring down at them from the stairs, leaning on her good ankle and face flushing fifty shades of furious.

She leveled them with steely, moss green eyes, completely unamused. "I always knew you were a real pervert, Tomato Bastard, but this is a new extreme."

"Lovi! Uh, I was just j-joking aro-"

She held up one hand and closed her eyes.

"Save it, Kink Bastard. Get me some Advil from the bathroom and don't make eye contact with me for the next week," she ordered and Antonio obediently scampered off towards the restroom like a dog with its tail between its legs. "As for you, Frog Fucker-" Here, Francis pouted indignantly. "-don't make eye contact with me for the next three years."

The Frenchman's frown intensified.

"Why does Antonio get off so easlly?" he griped, unuse to being disliked, especially by a member of the female population. It was frustrating and entirely foreign to be in a house full of the only girls in school who didn't fawn over him. What was this, the Twilight Zone?

"Because that Tomato Bastard hasn't been tormenting me for the last few years of my high school existence," the Italian growled, crossing her arms over her chest defensively. "Just because I'm sleeping under the same roof as you and Potato Bastard Number Two doesn't mean I've forgiven you two for being complete assholes. I'm not your goddamn punching bag!"

Francis grimaced guiltily. It was true; they had been complete assholes to Lovina over the years. He shouldn't have expected her to be amicable towards them so soon. In fact, if Gilbert didn't have a puppy crush on Madeline (and if Antonio hadn't threatened them with severe bodily harm), he and Francis would have probably been harrassing the elder Italian now.

The red-head, tired of standing on her bum leg, plopped onto the staircase with the finesse of an elephant. She blew the bangs from her face and made a point of staring at anything but Francis as she asked her next question.

"Why me, anyways? The only time I've ever talked to you was at one of Madeline's family Christmas parties in middle school. Sure, I called you a fucking pervert but I didn't think it would earn me three years of harrassment."

Another grimace from the guilty.

Antonio was back, glass of water in one hand and three bottles of medication in the other.

"I couldn't find the Advil, so I brought you the Motrin, Ecotrin, and, err...the Midol..." the Spaniard gushed, scratching the back of his head in embarrassment when he reached the menstruation pills. He obviously hadn't picked up on the serious mood that had descended over the living room. Grabbing everything but the last bottle of Midol, Lovina used the banister to pull herself upright and began hobbling back upstairs.

"Well, I'm going to sleep. Having a fucking crazy Spaniard break your ankle takes a hell of a lot out of you," she groused as Antonio pouted like a child. "I hope the bed bugs bite the shit out of you two."

When she was almost out of earshot, Francis impulsively shouted against his better judgement, "It wasn't our idea to bully you, Lovina!"

The Italian's trudging ceased and she deadpanned a faint, "What?" from upstairs. Francis dragged a hand down his face in exasperation, knowing that Gilbert would probably tear him to shreds for what he was about to say.

"The cheerleaders were the ones who asked us to bully you," he finally admitted, causing Antonio to furrow his brow in confusion. Suddenly, Lovina was halfway down the staircase, her torso practically dangling over the banister as she eyed Francis disbelievingly.

"The fucking cheerleaders, you say?" she questioned, her grip so tight on the rail that her knuckles were turning white. "Did they ask you to do this, I don't know, in the middle of freshman year?"

Francis blinked, suspicion dawning over him as he noted how very unsurprised her tone was. "...I suppose it was around that time, yes." He ignored the profanities that she emitted then. "Am I missing something?"

"Just spill the story. Now."

~FLASHBACK~

"Sophomore year is bo-ring!" Gilbert whined, balancing a chewed-up pencil on the bridge of his nose with practiced expertise. "Like seriously, I've spent more time in detention than I have at my own house! It's cramping my awesomeness, du-HEY! Are you even listening to me, Heracles?" The brunette beside him simply snored in response and the albino's face crumpled in agitation.

"Sooooo not awesome, bro," he scoffed, pencil still teetering on his nose as he leaned back in his chair, feet propped up on the table. "What am I supposed to do for the next half-hour if there's no one to talk to?"

Gilbert didn't even remember what he did to deserve this particular detention, only that it had something to do with Roderich's piano and a female upper-classman. He didn't see what the big deal was, anyways; they hadn't even made it to third base by the time Specs caught them! Whatever. The expression on the priss's face was worth it in the end.

Pulling out his Blackberry and making sure Ms. Pretty-Titties (aka the busty teacher in charge of detention that day) was still out sneaking a cigarette, Gilbert began typing away whilst balancing on the chair's hind legs, pencil still on his nose. Because he had mad skills like that.

From: Me

To: Francy-Pants

Message 4:11 PM:

hey franny lets hang out tonight bro! i got the "stuff"

From: Francy-Pants

To: Me

Message 4:12 PM:

your endless supply of weed never ceases to amaze me, mon ami;) however, Alice and I are watching a movie together tonight.

From: Me

To: Francy-Pants

Message 4:14 PM:

"watching a movie together" = getting laid right?

From: Francy-Pants

To: Me

Message: 4:15 PM:

D: what kind of boy do you take me for, gilbert? ...but yes.

Gilbert cackled out loud at that, causing him to lose his balance and go careening forward into his desk. With a jolt, Heracles, the only other boy who had gotten detention on a Monday (mainly due to his constant habit of falling asleep in class), awoke, cracking one bleary green eye open to rake over the albino suspiciously.

"What are you doing in my house?" he asked, obviously unaware of his current surroundings (probably still baked from that weekend's party; really, the only time Heracles was ever awake was during a party). Before the Prussian could open his mouth to reply the Greek shook his head lethargically and said, "Actually, I don't want to know. Just be gone by morning. Or before Kiku comes over." And with that, he shut his eyes and was snoring in seconds.

"This fucking guy..." Gilbert muttered in bewilderment when suddenly he heard what sounded distinctly like a British rampage come from the floor directly below.

"Let go of me, you sodding gits!" shouted Alice Kirkland, the school's resident punk and supposed "summoner of evil spirits"; she was also Francis' beloved girlfriend (note the sarcastic emphasis Gilbert puts on the word beloved). Not that the albino had a problem with her (in fact, she was a pretty decent chick and could hold her own fair share of liquor most of the time) but her...eccentric personality didn't rank her high in the school hierarchy. And the last time they'd seen each other, she'd almost killed him with her poisonous cooking.

The sound of a squabble could be heard and the albino raised one pale eyebrow curiously. Maybe he could sneak downstairs and check out the fight before Ms. Bouncy-Boobs came back... As soon as that thought crossed his mind, however, there was complete and utter silence...which meant...

The fight (if there even was one) was over and Gilbert had absolutely nothing to do yet again.

He sighed heavily, wondering if he should just sleep off the next twenty minutes when suddenly the classroom door opened. Expecting to see the teacher bounce in, her shirt popping buttons, Gilbert was surprised when a hand curled into his hair and promptly slammed his face into the desk.

"What the fuck!"

"Hey, dweeb," Elizabeta, his childhood playmate and on-again-off-again girlfriend, chuckled brightly. She was dressed in a short-sleeved, army-green tee that stretched tight across her bust, jean shorts that ended at her knees, and a pair of brown flip-flops with gaudy pink flowers on the straps. Her hair was pulled up into a high ponytail that slipped through the hole in the back of her black baseball cap and a smudge of transmission oil was smeared across her cheek.

"The fuck, Lizzy? What do you want and why are you dressed like a boy?" Gilbert growled out lowly, face still smarting from where she had rammed his nose into the desk. She crouched down so that her bum rested on her heels and glared up at him warningly.

"Nice to see you too, Gilbo. And I've been in the Auto Shop room teaching the boys how to properly change transmission fluid." She glanced behind her at the dozing Grecian. "Oh, hey, Heracles."

There was no reply and the albino scoffed. "Don't even bother with him. Mei's party was just a bit too extreme for someone of so little awesomeness. Now, whaddya want, babe? And no, I am not doing any nude shots with Specs, so don't even ask. Again."

The Hungarian pouted as she pulled out a yearbook form her carry-on bag (she would never call it a purse because even though she had fully embraced her femininity by now, there were some things that were just too girly even for her). Flipping through the pages and landing on the freshman section she gave Gilbert her most sickeningly sweet smile.

"I need a favor~."

Gilbert rolled his eyes. "Of course you do. You always do. What is it this time?" he asked, exasperation evident in his voice. They'd broken up not even a week ago and she was already asking for his help?

"You know my friend Mei? The girl from Taiwan whose kitchen table you passed out on last Saturday?" Here the albino gave a proud kesesese. "Well, she asked me to ask you to take care of someone for her."

The yearbook was placed upright on the Prussian's desk and Elizabeta's slim finger pointed to one Lovina Vargas. She was attractive but nothing special and most certainly not Gilbert's type judging by the scowl on her face.

"What did this girl do to Mei exactly?" he asked, filthy thoughts of a hot girl-on-girl catfight flashing through his mind. The brunette girl, obviously aware of which direction Gilbert's train of thought was headed, frowned in annoyance.

"She apparently attacked a bunch of the cheerleaders like literally five minutes ago. The psycho even head-butted Marissa."

The albino gave a quick bark of laughter at this, obviously amused by the idea of that bitchy red-head getting headbutted by a freshman pipsqueak. "Well, it's nice that you're so concerned for the cheerleaders and all, Lizzy, but what if I say no?"

At this, Elizabeta rose to her full height and grinned pleasantly, yet again procuring something from her carry-on bag. This time it was photos and she dropped a handful of them in front of a wary-looking Gilbert.

"Pictures me and Mei took of you last Saturday. Quite impressive considering we took 'em with a cellphone," she explained as the male rifled through the photos, a look of horror spreading across his features with every outrageous picture he saw of himself (he didn't even remember what he was doing in half of these photos but he knew that it was most definitely not legal). "Now, I'd hate it if these lovely images somehow got back to your Grandfather. Who knows how pissed off he would be then? The last one is my favorite, by the way!"

Gilbert flipped to the back of the stack.

Wha- oh my fucking God.

Was that him and Ivan-?

Shit. Was that why his wrists were so sore?

"Are you fucking blackmailing me, Lizzy?" he growled in disbelief as the girl just smiled, obviously pleased with herself. She might have looked like a runway model, but Gilbert would be lying if he said there weren't times where he wanted to wring her goddamn neck. There was a moment of silence as the Prussian merely stewed in his own frustration, finally relenting only after he saw that detention would be over in ten minutes and the teacher would be returning soon. "Fine. Fucking whatever. I'll torment the dumb freshman, just keep the pictures to yourself, okay, you psychotic bitch?"

With a grandiose gesture, Elizabeta swept the photographs on Gilbert's desk into her bag and flashed him an absolutely beatific smile. "Thanks, Gilbo! I knew I could count on you, babe!" She pecked him lightly on the cheek, long brown bangs tickling his skin in an all-too familiar way. And in an instant she was gone.

Gilbert rubbed his eyes tiredly, wondering why he always put up with her bullshit. Was it how gorgeous she was, their history together, or perhaps just Elizabeta in general?

Fuck, he needed a cigarette or something.

...

Well, it could have been worse.

He could have been that Lovina Vargas girl.

~END FLASHBACK~

"I KNEW IT!" Lovina screeched, face absolutely livid as the other inhabitants of the house cringed at the sound of her voice. "I FUCKING KNEW IT WAS THOSE BITCHES!"

"Bloody hell, Lovina," chastised Alice, rubbing her ear sorely as she and the others emerged from the garage; Feliciana peeked her head out worriedly from the upstairs bedroom. "What on earth has gotten into you?"

The Italian grabbed onto the banister and practically catapulted herself down the stairs (well...as much as her throbbing ankle would allow) into Alice's arms. She gripped the Brit's John Lennon t-shirt tightly and shook her back and forth with brute force.

"Those fucking girls who attacked you freshman year are the ones who told Gilbert and Francis to harrass me!" she fumed, causing a chain of reactions throughout the room. First, Francis cradled his head in his hands, fully aware that he was the recipient of Gilbert's murderous glare right now. Then Alice's jaw dropped in disbelief and she mumbled a gobsmacked, "You're fucking shitting me."

Lovina shook the blonde even more, shouting an, "I fucking know, right?"

"THOSE...THOSE...SLAGS! THOSE FUCKING COWARDS!"

"I FUCKING KNOW, RIGHT?"

As the two girls exchanged vulgarities that could properly describe the cheerleaders, Madeline punched Gilbert square in the shoulder.

"Ouch, Birdie-!"

"That's for doing the dirtywork of a bunch of fucking cheerleaders! What, are you two so desperate for tail you would torment a total stranger for a quick lay?" she seethed, causing everyone in the room (well, everyone who wasn't screaming at the top of their lungs) to stare at her, completely flabbergasted. Sweet Madeline Williams, the same girl who peed her pants when Alfred had told her the production of maple syrup was indefinitely discontinued, was cussing and talking about getting laid? In the same sentence? The end of the world had to be approaching.

"B-Birdie, it's not like that! They were blackmailing me, I swear-!"

While all of this chaos unfolded before them, Alfred, Antonio, and Feliciana stared on in uncertainty from the sidelines. Madeline had joined the other two girls in their vicious shouting whilst Gilbert had just tackled Francis to the floor.

Someone knocked a lamp over.

The screams increased in pitch.

Feliciana started crying as Antonio went to pry his two friends apart and Alfred had started to cheer Francis on, ordering him to "kick that albino ass back to Berlin!"

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door and a sniveling Feliciana went to answer it, making sure to avoid all of the madness surrounding her. Opening the door, she was met with two serious-looking officers, who quirked their eyebrows in the same identical look of suspicion as a certain someone screamed, "Yeah, knee that Nazi, Francis! Yea-hey, no. Wait. Stop-there's no groping in the middle of mortal combat, dude!"

"We've gotten some complaints about the noise..." one of the officers explained, watching as the three other girls loudly discussed methods of murdering cheerleaders (one had even started summoning the devil) and the males all seemed to be in a huge brawl/orgy on the living room floor. Suddenly, there was a soft thump and the policemen looked down to see that the little Italian had dropped to her knees, a white flag (seemingly procured out of no where) waving back and forth sporadically.

"In the name of pizza and pasta, please spare my life! I-I have a family, a weenie dog! You can have all of them, just don't hurt meeee!" she squealed, fat crocodile tears rolling down her face.

The policemen blinked. One reached nervously for his walkie-talkie.

"Uh, we need backup," the man spoke quietly as the Italian dried her tears on the tiny white flag. "I repeat we need backup. Please prepare eight drug tests, immediately." Feliciana had stopped crying, wondrously asking who it was the man was talking to ("Ve, Alice talks to people that I don't see either! Are you a wizard too, Mr. Police Man?").

...

"...I repeat, we need backup and drug tests immediately. Immediately."

[A/N: See this beautifully long chapter I wrote you guys? This serves as an apology for my mini-hiatus over the summer so please FORGIVE ME! T.T

Anyways, no song in this one:(

And just because there was a lot of FrUk doesn't mean that it's the pairing I will choose. To be honest, guys, I'm super sad: no matter who ends up with Alice, someone is going to get hurt and I feel so bad inflicting pain on Alfred and/or Francis. I am the worst human being alive.

Oh, and sorry if the ending's a bit rushed. I wanted to get this out tonight and it's already 3 AM here xD

Hoped you enjoyed it, btw:)]