Title: Crashing

Summary: He just looked so vulnerable...and Lovino couldn't just leave him like this. ...Goddamnit. Prumano, T to be safe.

Warning: swearing, I suppose, and story bipolar-ness and dirty gas station bathroom-ness.

Disclaimer: Hetalia doesn't belong to me.

A/N:

Just needed to get some writing out. Been feeling crappy, but my dearie has been sticking with me through all the complaining and craptastic-ness.

…Not that I actually ever complain about anything relevant to what's bugging me, but hey, it feels good to get some of that emo out.

Onward with the story~

Lovino was dead set on taking Gilbert down off his high horse...eventually. Not right now because he was in class, and he really didn't want to get near the bastard. Actually, it was a new mission of Lovino's to avoid him the best he could. You see, day after day, he dealt with Gilbert and his friends stupid antics. Gilbert would merely laugh as Lovino was molested by the idiotic Spanish bastard. He would either cackle in the background or join in when it came to Francis' groping. How did Lovino's brother even manage to stand the annoying, egotistical boy? Lovino often wondered if he was adopted. Sadly, the much too similar looks denied this. But, damn, how he wished he could take Elizaveta's pan to everyone's head.

Lovino imagined himself, walking through the halls, the pan in his hand dripping with blood as he hit anyone in his way upside the head. Oh, the loveliness of that day would over-excite his poor little heart. He'd probably have a heart attack and die with all the rest. Maybe he could get someone else to do it for him. Maybe a ninja. Or a mobster. An Italian mobster, of course, not those Russian Neanderthals. Lovino started counting how much money he had stored in his underwear drawer, and how much it might take to hire a hit on all of his classmates. Would thirteen dollars and twenty-three cents cover it?

Probably not. Maybe he could make a rumor up about the "Bad Touch Trio", saying they were secretly Russian spies or something. There seemed to be a lot of those floating around. The stupid American government probably wouldn't second guess him. The stupid, gullible fools. Why was everyone so stupid? Why was the teacher droning on about something he didn't care to know? Why was she now looking at him expectantly?

Shit.

"Mr. Vargas," the woman said sternly, glaring at him over her purple cat-eye glasses.

"Yes?" Lovino raised his chin slightly from his hand.

"Do you have the answer?" When he only blushed instead of answering, she frowned and added, "Or were you too busy daydreaming?"

Lovino's ears felt like they were on fire and he desperately tried to scrunch down into his sweater, like a turtle into his shell. But, humanity was cruel to him and teacher decided to be a bitch and give him detention.

Shit.

The one-third of the Bad Touch Trio that he was adamant about avoiding (and, sooner or later, killing or embarrassing or both) was notorious for having detention almost every single day. The days he wasn't in detention, he was skipping school. And he sure as hell wasn't skipping today. This proven too true by the "kesesese" being heard directly behind Lovino.

"Nice job, Lovi," was whispered into his ear. Goddamn bastard. "Oh, and Toni thinks you look like an adorable little tomato."

Again, Goddamn bastard.

"Don't you agree, Francis?" Gilbert had leaned forward enough in his chair to rest his chin on Lovino's shoulder.

"Oui, mon ami, but I do stand true to my saying that tomatoes are not cute."

"Ja, ja, you romantic creep." Gilbert smiled, Lovino could feel it on his neck.

"Would you get off me, you stupid bastard?" Lovino huffed angrily.

"So not cute." Lovino felt him frown.

"Get off," he growled as he rolled his shoulder. Gilbert merely raised his chin until Lovino settled his should back into place, then eased his head back to where it had been.

"Nein. Sorry, Lovi."

"Don't call me that." He whopped Gilbert on the forehead. This only incited giggling from the man on Lovino's shoulder.

"Boys! Stop flirting, it's class time."

"But, ma'am, I can't help it if Lovino is saying dirty things!"

"What!"

"Mr. Vargas," the teacher gasped, "I expect better of you! What has gotten into you today? Detention tomorrow, too."

"B-but, I didn't–!"

"It's okay, Lovi, you'll have me to keep you company," Gilbert whispered as he retreated back into his seat.

Goddamn it.

—

"Ah! Lovino, my darling–my little bitchy darling!"

Oh God, Lovino had almost forgotten about that. He half expected that he'd sit quietly in the small room and do his work, but no. That apparently wasn't going to happen today. Lovino looked up at the teacher, to plead with her to possibly send Gilbert away.

Yet, the teacher, that was there only a moment ago, was gone. Probably left, the smart lady. And there wasn't anyone else in the classroom to take pity on Lovino and help keep the German bastard away. He growled and fixed Gilbert, who was walking toward him with a way too happy smirk on his face, with a glare that even Antonio couldn't ignore. Gilbert didn't even flinch or falter.

Bastard.

"So," Gilbert plopped himself down in the seat in front of Lovino, sitting backwards in the chair, "whatcha up to, pretty boy?"

Lovino tried desperately to focus on his math, hoping if he ignored the arrogant beast, then he'd be left alone.

"Not gonna happen, Lovi," Gilbert chuckled, smirking as Lovino broke the lead on his pencil. Oh, so he was a mind reader now? Lovino closed his eyes as he counted back from ten, then from twenty. Then from fifty. It wasn't working.

Especially not with Gilbert's face inches from his, chuckling as he played with Lovino's bangs.

"Your hair is really soft, what do you use?" Gilbert was giggling as he lifted a lock, twisting it and dropping it, allowing it to fall and stab Lovino in the eye.

"You bastard, hell if I know, I just use whatever is there!" Lovino slapped at Gilbert's hands as the tried to get near his curl.

"Back in class," Gilbert laid his chin in his arms, staring up intently at Lovino, a small smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, "you smelled oddly like strawberries." Lovino stuttered and blushed as tried to play it off as he didn't know, failing miserably. "What's up with that? It was so…faggy."

"I, I–…it's not mine!" Flustered, Lovino turned away, arms crossed over his chest and back pressed harshly into the chair as he tried to get away from Gilbert. Gilbert promptly grabbed the front of Lovino's sweatshirt and pulled him until they nose-to-nose.

"Faggy…it's cute on you, Lovi," Lovino sucked in a harsh breath, eyes wide as he tried to find an escape route.

"N-no," was all he could manage to get out as he adverted Gilbert's eyes. There was something weird going on in his stomach that he couldn't explain.

Gilbert tilted Lovino's chin, their lips brushing, barely touching each other. "Are you…sure?" As he talked, Lovino tried not to concentrate on how Gilbert's lips grazed against his own as he formed the words.

Lovino swallowed loudly, fairly sure his eyes were going to pop out of his sockets any second now. Lovino tried to smirk and say something witty, like "you're the one acting faggy" or "your breath smells" or something, only it not…and it totally did not come out as a strangled moan-whimper.

Gilbert smirked and pulled away, "See ya…fag." He got up and out of his chair, tucking his badly worn notebook underneath

Lovino slouched down into his chair, embarrassed, scared, and angry. He had no right calling him that after what he did! He had no right to do that! He had no right to be making him all flustered! It wasn't right, and Lovino was going to make him pay. He was going to punch the bastard's lights out—he truly was! He just needed the perfect opportunity.

—

The next day at school was relatively easy, Gilbert had skipped and Lovino found all his homework was relatively easy to finish and managed to do it quickly in the quiet and nearly empty detention room (which, maybe not so oddly, the teacher had stayed in for the whole time, snapping her gum and reading Cosmo).

The day after it…not so much. Gilbert and his friends had decided to grace the school with their presence, and whenever Lovino passed them by, Gilbert would snicker and whisper something in the ear of whomever happened to be lucky enough to stand next to him, and as the day wore on people began to shoot him odd stares. He focused on managing to stay relatively away from Gilbert and not get any detentions. When he got home, he argued with himself about whether or not he should ask his brother if he knew what was going on.

After a week and a half of whispered rumours and dark looks, Lovino decided it was time to confront Gilbert. He just didn't know quite how.

But an opportunity presented itself to Lovino at the gas station. The gas station was a small, but air-conditioned building four blocks away from the school, and eight blocks away from Lovino's house. Lovino would've much rather ridden with his brother home after school, but he needed to stop at the gas station to get milk.

God damn his grandfather for thinking that he needed to "learn how to be more responsible."

So, here he was, glaring at his reflection in the glass door and listening to Gilbert argue with someone outside the window next to him. Lovino heard the familiar tinkling of the door opening, then the clang as it closed. He watched Gilbert's movements in the reflection of the door, watched him take long, angry strides to the back of the store. Lovino kicked himself internally as he found himself following. He watched as Gilbert disappeared into the bathroom, and he quickly followed after, not giving him a chance to close and lock the door.

"Lovino? What are you doing?" Lovino closed and locked the door, the anger in the pit of his stomach warming to a churning, bubbling action. He hated the way Gilbert was making him feel all of a sudden. It was intense compared to the subtle sensation when they passed in the hallway, locked eyes, or as Gilbert sat behind him in class.

Lovino walked up to Gilbert and grabbed his collar, pulling the other down to his own height. He clenched his teeth as he said the first thing to pop into his mind, "Why?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Gilbert looked furious, and only then did Lovino realize that Gilbert's eyes were red and swimming with unshed tears. "Let go of me."

He looked so vulnerable.

He sounded even more so when his voice cracked at the end of his sentence.

Lovino said nothing as Gilbert began to break down. The grip he had on Gilbert's sweatshirt lessened and soon Gilbert slumped to the ground like a rag doll. Lovino said nothing, unsure how to act, but allowing his body to do what it thought best. He kneeled next to Gilbert and put an unsure hand on his shoulder, which by this point had begun to shake uncontrollably as odd and unfamiliar noises emanated from Gilbert.

He was weak. Gilbert was weak. He was as weak as anyone else, and for some reason this was odd to Lovino. It was like stepping into freezing water, he had to take a moment before he could think properly and best decide the appropriate ways to console Gilbert.

But didn't he want to humiliate him? To show him the pain and embarrassment Lovino had felt nearly every day of the past week or so? No, he was not that cruel, and he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he couldn't set aside his own fury to help someone so in need of comfort.

And Gilbert was very much in need of comfort, Lovino decided as Gilbert's sobs grew louder, echoing against the tile.

With shaky movements, Lovino began to move his hand slowly towards Gilbert's back, massaging gently in wandering circles as he went along. His nurturing instinct took over, though he will deny it furiously, and he whispered softly in Italian to Gilbert as the man continued to carry on, nearly oblivious to Lovino. He whispered everything he could remember from when his grandfather had used to come in after Lovino had had a nightmare.

As Gilbert began to quiet down, Lovino grew tired. Still cooing softly, he tucked his nose into the crook of Gilbert's neck, listening distantly to himself and to the soft sniffles that signaled the wrapping up of Gilbert's little meltdown. Lovino began to drift off and almost didn't register the arm that wrapped around his waist, pulling their bodies closer together.

Almost.

As the weight of his eyelids became too heavy for Lovino to stand, he wrapped nearly limp arms around Gilbert's thin neck, pulling himself into his lap, and they sat like that, wrapped within each other upon the dirty floor.

—

He didn't feel like getting up, he was so comfortable, but there was an increasingly odd sensation itching at the back of his mind. Interestingly enough, it reminded him of a clock ticking.

Repeatedly.

Like some sort of torture device, the constant monotonous noise eventually caused him to groan, roll over, sit up and blink blearily at the thing lying next to him.

All blonde hair, long lashes and pale skin enveloped with sleep and a thin mix-matched quilt.

It hit Lovino like a brick wall (as did a severe headache, which had been what woke him). The crying and consoling in the disgusting bathroom, the piggyback ride home after the manager banged on the door for a good half-hour, the dark walk from the store to Gilbert's home, the dangerous climb of wobbly stairs and the being tucked into a stale bed.

Fight or flight kicked in as Gilbert began to wake up, but when Gilbert just smiled up at him and closed his eyes again, sighing contently, Lovino relaxed.

He didn't particularly want to leave, it was still dark out, and he was still very tired. So, he laid back down and flinched every time he tried to get comfortable only to touch Gilbert or end up with his feet off the edge of the bed. Twenty minutes later and he still couldn't get settled, the bed too cheap and the blanket too homemade. The one pillow (that Gilbert was using most of) was too scratchy to be anything but annoying, so it would certainly be unable to relieve Lovino of the kink in his neck without causing another sort of pain.

Now, Lovino totally did not squeal like a little girl when Gilbert's arm shot out and gripped him around the waist and pulled him close, and he totally did not blush and act all flustered when Gilbert pulled him so their chests were close together, and he definitely did not try to discreetly check himself for morning breath.

No, definitely not.

Oh and if ever asked, he will most certainly deny the way he did not nuzzle into Gilbert's neck.

But if anyone were to ask that, they'd most likely get killed.

By the Italian Mafia.

Duh.

…I have no idea who Gilbert was arguing with or what happens after this or what sort of weird secret was being spread about poor Lovi. But I am sure Gilbert made it up to him and protected Lovino from the pedos. This is the end, dear men, there will be no more, I assure of that.

…Can you tell I totally hate Spamano? :D

I always imagine Gilbert with amazingly long eyelashes…but they look really good on him, and he still manages to be totally manly. I seriously can't imagine him without the eyelashes being über overdramatic. It's like…not Gil to me without them. IDK.

I also imagine AU high school Gil to have grown up fairly poor. He's used to making do with what he has. Like, maybe when he was younger and everyone else played with their new bikes, he took his beaten up soccer ball (slightly deflated) out to the back of his broken down home and played with it in the weeds and brown grass and dry dirt. ...I DON'T KNOW, OKAY?

On the other hand, I imagine Lovino to have been a spoiled brat. His grandfather gave him any thing he wanted and he likes being waited on. He does not like to work and he got to go many place and see many things and enjoy exotic foods. So, with the bed thing, the scratchy pillow to any of us middle class might not be that bad, but Lovi would be all, "You expect me to sleep on that? Oh hell naw."

/ramblerambleramble

…I think the A/N is nearly as long as the actual story.

'Kay, I shut up now.