History class was the worst part of Berwald's day.

As one of the tallest students in the class, the teacher decided to put him in the back of the room. This wasn't so bad; he could see fairly well and it wouldn't be fair for the other students if they had to move around his head just to see what was on the board. The subject was interesting, as well. It was, in fact, one of his favorite subjects. Perhaps he had a chance of enjoying it, if he could actually pay attention. That, however, was not the case.

One student made history hell, and he didn't even know it. Tino Vainamoinen took his seat idly every morning, his large purple eyes half-asleep and his mind only half focusing. He scribbled notes to his friends, as he had been moved so many times for talking around others. Sometimes he sipped coffee he smuggled into the classroom, and other times he slept on his desk. Berwald watched his every move. He stared at the back of his head, focused on nothing but tufts of pale blonde hair. He heard nothing but the occasional sound of his laughter or his slow, sleeping breaths. While he watched, Berwald's heart stuttered and his chest squirmed. The lesson didn't exist, not as long as he was in front of him. Sometimes he got headaches and stomachaches from thinking about him too much, and sitting in that same position for an hour was unbearable. To put it simply, Tino was adorable, and Berwald couldn't resist him.

Today was one of those classes. Tino had just taken his seat and was now chatting animatedly to the boy next to him. He had a funny voice; his Finnish accent and constant rambling drowned out all the sound in the room. Berwald wasn't even listening to what he was saying; he just liked to hear his voice. It drove him crazy, yet he couldn't keep his ears away. His voice was cut off as the bell rang and the lesson began.

The teacher's methods were simple. Every day, she lectured off a PowerPoint and the students were expected to take notes. She paused rarely, and Tino would begin to panic as he wrote faster and misspelled words in the process. As she lectured, his slender fingers twitched as he wrote. Part of the reason why he was writing so fast seemed to be so he could find time to write notes to his friends. Because of the speed he wrote at, his handwriting consisted of sloppy, illegible loops. His friends seemed to understand what he was writing; they always discreetly handed him responses to his notes. Berwald watched sadly as he wrote one of these notes to his friend next to him. He wanted Tino to write him one. Tino didn't talk to him. He wasn't even sure if Tino knew he existed. He imagined deciphering those loops, and writing a cool reply, one that convinced the two to become friends.

Or lovers.

He looked down, trying to hide how nervous this thought made him. There was no way Tino would ever feel that way about him. He sighed, directing his attention to the back of Tino's head. Briefly, he imagined his hands running through his pale hair, or his lips against his neck . . . he bit his lip and tried to shake the rhythm of his heartbeat away. Maybe he should ask the teacher for a new seating arrangement.

A piece of paper fell by his foot. It took him a few seconds to notice it. He kicked it with his shoe towards Tino's friend, who appeared a little stressed upon the sight of him. He muttered a nervous "thanks" and handed the note to Tino. Suddenly, Berwald had an idea. If Tino wouldn't give him a note, he would give a note to Tino. Eagerly, he ripped a slip of paper out of his notebook, picked up his pencil, and paused. What would he write? He didn't talk to many people, and when he did, nobody stayed to talk back. It was a mystery as to why this happened, but it always did. He had to write something normal, that wouldn't drive him away. The goal was to become closer. How are you? Would he think that's too formal? I sit behind you, hey? No, even he knew that was awkward. You're cute? Definitely not.

Finally, he simply wrote "Hey" in his small, scratchy writing, folded the note up, and prepared to toss it onto his desk. His face was burning red, and he could barely hold the paper steady. What if Tino thought it was weird? What if the note landed on the floor and his friend picked it up instead? What if he laughed at it? For a brief moment, he debated whether or not to deliver it. Eventually, he decided that shying away wouldn't bring him any closer, and he placed the note carefully on Tino's desk.

Berwald watched anxiously as Tino unfolded the note. His heart was about to beat out of his chest. It was one simple word, but he didn't know if it was the right word. He couldn't think. All he could do was panic.

Tino turned around. Oh God, he's looking at me . . . he's looking at me! He released a yelp of surprise and immediately turned back to his desk, catching the teacher's attention.

"What is going on back there?" She walked straight up to Tino's desk, furious that her lesson was interrupted. He tried to clear the papers that littered his desk, but she noticed anyways. "Passing notes during my lesson? What could possibly be so important as to throw away your education?" Oh no, now he'd gotten Tino in trouble, and it was all his fault and he knew he couldn't write an apology note after this, and he couldn't say it . . . "Imagine if Berwald knew we were talking about him; he'd probably break our necks! Be more careful next time!" Talking about him? What was Tino saying about him? Tino didn't know him! Break our necks . . . his heart sunk. He would never hurt Tino. He wasn't one for violence to begin with. So, this is what he thought about him. It was all wrong and he protested it in his mind. He didn't know how to clear his name. "I'm sure Berwald does not appreciate what you have to say about him. Am I right?" It took him a moment to realize that the teacher asked that question to him, and he was expected to respond. He wanted to say he would never hurt him; that he was too cute to hurt anyways. But the whole class was staring at him, and he was choking on responses. Eventually, he nodded ever so slightly, and he stared at his desk in embarrassment. "Lunchtime, Tino. You will write an apology letter to Berwald during detention. Who else was passing notes?"

"I was! I'm so sorry! We were paying attention, too! It's called multitasking!" The teacher turned towards Tino's friend.

"Eduard, you will join him, then. I am disgusted by both of your behavior, and you will spend the rest of class in the front, taking notes." Reluctantly, the two of them walked to the front; the teacher resumed the lesson, paying extra attention to them. Berwald sunk in his chair, noticing a crumbled piece of paper on the desk in front of him. Curiosity overtaking his sadness, he took it and opened it carefully, his heart fearing what he may find.

Hey.

It was his own message, the one that landed Tino in detention. His own scratchy writing on lined paper. The message that was supposed to start something between him and the boy he watched so carefully. He crumbled it and shoved it in his pocket. It was pointless to think he would ever talk to Tino. He never had a chance to begin with; should he thank reality for spelling it out for him? Tino was adorable and perfect, and he couldn't string a sentence together to save his life. People ran away from him, probably because he was so weird. Of course Tino wasn't any different.

A/N: Today (June 6) is Sweden's birthday! Happy birthday, Sve! Other than that, all I can say is that there will be more, and I hope you've enjoyed this beginning.