It's hard to balance homework and studying with steamy affairs, self-harm, stupid crushes, work, and blood-boiling hatred… High school isn't easy, and the students at a particular school know that quite well.
I wanted to write a story that people might be able to relate to. Something funny, but also quite serious, and I just like to make characters suffer :3
Pairings: PruAus, Spamano, GerIta, AusHun, PruCan, Poliet, UsUk, FrUk, SuFin
WARNING: Self-harm, kind of suicidal thoughts, smut, cross-dressing, lots of gayness, fighting, lots and lots of swearing, adult themes, alcohol consumption… I mean come on; this is one of my stories after all, so how could you not expect all that adult themes stuff?
Anyway, I tried giving each of their characters a little problem to deal with. See if you can pick them out along the way!
Sorry for any mistakes with anything, you know me, I just quickly re-read and did a grammar/spellcheck, so yeah.
Saturday, Vargas Household, 9AM.
Lovino Vargas's eyes shot open at the sound of his father's voice. He had been trying to get back to sleep when he called out for him. With great effort, he pulled himself up into a (nigh on) upright position and yawned hugely.
"I'm awake!" He yelled rather angrily at his closed door, before brushing his short, dark brown fringe out of his tired eyes.
I wish I didn't have to get up early on a Saturday…
Tugging off his blanket and heaving himself onto his feet, Lovino stretched and looked around him on the floor for something to wear. Figuring that he would not go anywhere that day and so he didn't have to maintain a fashionable appearance, he settled on a black singlet and a pair of creamy coloured jeans. After dressing, he ran his fingers through his short hair until he found it satisfying tousled.
Her father had finished making breakfast; Lovino could smell the scrambled eggs and bacon on his way down the stairs. Sitting himself at the table beside his brother, Feliciano, he sighed heavily.
"I wanted tomatoes." He grumbled.
"Good morning to you too, Lovino." His father calmly said in return, used to his eldest sons attitude. "Are you hanging out with any friends today?" His father asked Lovino and Feliciano, as he sat down with his two sons. Feliciano seemed to deliberate for a moment, sticking a forkful of eggs in his mouth.
"Don't talk with your mouth full." Lovino snapped, glaring at his younger brother.
Feliciano swallowed, and restarted his sentence, "I'm not sure. I might call Luddy later and see if he wants to come over." He said, before stabbing a rash of well-cooked (perhaps overcooked) bacon. He shoved it in his mouth whole and began chewing. His father and older brother, on the contrary, cut their bacon into smaller pieces.
The aforementioned 'Luddy,' or preferably just Ludwig, was Feliciano's best friend. Ludwig loved to eat sausages and sometimes he drank beer, despite only having just turned eighteen. Lovino hated Ludwig with everything he had inside of him. The blonde, German boy just put him on edge every time he was near. He didn't understand why Ludwig and Feliciano were even friends, what with Ludwig being so stoic and Feliciano being so… well, so Feliciano.
When Lovino's plate had been cleaned and put away, he moved into the living room. Splayed out over the couch, Lovino stared at the ceiling, wondering what his own friends were doing.
Not that he had any friends- well he had one.
That one friend was named Antonio Carriedo, and he was an idiot. But he was an idiot who showered Lovino in nice words, smiles and adoration. Something that was otherwise lacking in Lovino's life. Lovino could be as mean as he liked to Antonio, but the slightly older boy would still bring an extra tomato to school for Lovino to eat, and would still fight for his attention in the school yard.
"You're not falling asleep there so don't even think about it." Lovino's father said, pulling on a coat as he entered the living room. Lovino sat up and raised an eyebrow at him. "You going somewhere?"
"Grocery shopping." His father replied, just as Feliciano skipped into the living room. He grinned, "Ah~! Well then I'll call Luddy now, ve~! Can you buy some wurst? You know how much he loves wurst, ve~!" Feliciano requested, patting his pockets in search of his phone. His father nodded, and headed out of the door. Lovino hauled himself from the couch and made his way back up to her bedroom to be alone, and perhaps go back to sleep.
Fishing his phone out of his pocket, Feliciano dialled the number he knew off by heart.
"Hey Luddy, ve~! My father's just gone out to do some shopping and he's buying wurst, so do you want to come over and share some with me?"
Ludwig let out a long sigh.
"I don't have any plans for today. So I suppose I could come over." The German lad said plainly. Feliciano found himself grinning. "Great. See you soon, then, ve~!"
Ludwig arrived in ten minutes, wearing tight blue jeans and a monochrome striped shirt. Feliciano secretly marvelled over how good Ludwig could look without even trying as he invited Lovino inside.
"How are things with your brother and Roderich?" Feliciano asked, sitting on his bed across from Ludwig. Ludwig shrugged. "Gil still doesn't realise that he likes Roderich."
"Is he stupid, ve~?"
"He's not stupid, he's just… oblivious." Ludwig defended his older brother, Gilbert Beilschmidt. It was certainly true that he was fun and easy-going, and loved a good one night stand, but when it came to actually being in a proper relationship Gilbert was completely and utterly hopeless. He'd grown close to the Austrian, Roderich Edelstein, after Roderich broke up with his girlfriend Elizabeta Héderváry. It was quite obvious to everyone around him that Gilbert felt more than friendship towards Roderich, but Gilbert just couldn't seem to come to terms with it. Even though it looked like Roderich returned the feelings.
An hour of sitting around and gossiping passed before a car could be heard pulling up in the driveway. Feliciano recognised the sound of the engine as his fathers.
"Papa is back, ve~" Feliciano notified his friend. The two boys headed downstairs and into the kitchen, where Mr. Vargas was unpacking the shopping. He smiled as he handed Ludwig the pack of wurst. "Here you go, Ludwig. How are you today?"
"I'm good, thanks. Better, now." He replied, eyeing off the wurst. Feliciano thanked his father with a quick hug, before he followed Ludwig back upstairs.
Saturday, Kirkland Manor, 12:30PM.
Mood: Relaxed (and kind of horny)
Reaching out to allow the creamy coloured horse to nuzzle his hand, Arthur Kirkland smiled.
"Hey there, old girl." He cooed lovingly, before reaching into the bag he had slung over his shoulder. From the bag he produced an apple. He held it out on a flat hand, smiling as his favourite horse picked it up with its strange horsey lips, and began munching away.
Arthur owned four horses. Summer, Spring, Winter, and his favourite, Autumn.
He planned on riding Autumn for a while that day. The sun was out, and there was only a little breeze. It was a good day, and it plastered a continuous smile on the Brit's face.
He saddled her up, and swung himself onto her back. Patting her softly, with his hand, his foot gently nudged her side to move her forward. She obeyed without question, and they began slowly making their way around the large backyard of the Kirkland family's huge property. The wind tousled the eighteen year olds blond hair, and he took a deep breath. Out in the country, where he lived, there was hardly a sound upon the breeze apart from that of the animals around him, in the paddocks, free of skyscrapers and noisy cars.
You'd find it hard to believe that the seemingly quiet boy on the horse had a potty-mouth and listened to punk music.
After he decided he had ridden Autumn for long enough, they trotted back to the stables. Arthur fed the other horses, and then began walking back to the house. He lived in a large, three story manor, like something out of Pride and Prejudice. Fancy, lavishly decorated, and spacious. His room was no exception, with a large king bed (with a couple of sinful secrets divulged beneath the sheets), a window with a cushioned ledge that Arthur could sit and read upon, thin and billowy curtains, and a large stereo system. He sat on his bed and reached for his mobile. He had a missed call, from his quiet Japanese friend, Kiku Honda. He felt a little bad for not being able to take the call, yet he didn't try calling Kiku back. He figured if it was important, Kiku would call back on his own accord.
Arthur set his phone down on the bedside table and got up to walk to his stereo. Pressing play, it resumed the last song he had been listening to.
Chunk! No, Captain Chunk! – Pardon My French.
Arthur chuckled, as he imagined the reaction his, uh, friend, would have upon hearing the song. His… friend, was a French boy, proud of his heritage (and his manhood). He had tried getting Arthur to listen to something "nice," and classical, from his country. But Arthur had looked up French bands and stumbled upon Chunk! No, Captain Chunk! And he had fallen in love with the band, much to Francis's despair.
And if you haven't guessed by now, the aforementioned sinful secrets of Arthur's king sized bed definitely involved Francis, and his manhood.
Ring, ring! Ring, ring!
"Ah, that'll be Kiku." Arthur muttered, turning down the music and reaching for his phone. However, the caller ID was not that of Kiku's, but of Francis's. Arthur smiled as he answered the phone.
"Bonjour, mon amour. What are you doing right now?" Francis asked from the other end of the line. Arthur shrugged, though he knew Francis couldn't see the gesture. "Nothing. Just finished taking Autumn for a ride."
"Exercising those muscular thighs, eh? Mm. You should come over, if you're not too sore…" Francis practically purred. Arthur smiled coyly, and told Francis he would be over soon.
Arthur was not sore, but he was sure that he soon would be.
Saturday, Starbucks, 3PM.
Cars roared as they passed the café. People were chatting loudly over their coffees, laughing and smiling and enjoying themselves. There were couples on dates, and friends catching up for the weekend. Sitting on his own, an earphone in his left ear and his hands around a warm cup of coffee, was Alfred Jones. He was a loud, boisterous boy when he was around friends. Alone, he liked to watch others being cheerful. That's why he sometimes spent entire days at Starbucks, people-watching and drinking coffee.
"And then guess what he did? He totally asked me to be his date for the party! Can you believe it? He's just the sweetest!" A girl chirped at her friend, who looked quite murderously jealous. Alfred knew that feeling. He felt that feeling every time he sat a certain Brit, hand in hand with a certain frog.
Francis fucking Bonnefoy was the frogs name. Well, obviously his middle name wasn't 'fucking.' Alfred assumed it was probably something like Pierre, or Baguette.
Francis and Arthur hadn't confirmed their relationship, if that's what it was. As far as Alfred knew, it was just a fling. They hooked up sometimes, but mostly they just fought. Alfred didn't even understand why Arthur had hooked up with the selfish dick in the first place, when all they did was argue and insult one another, unless one of them wanted a good hard fuck, in which case it was all sweet talk and flirty smiles.
Alfred never argued with Arthur- not much, anyway. It was always Arthur who started the fight with Alfred in the first place, unlike with Francis, where the Frenchman would snap at Arthur to rile him up. Alfred wanted to punch the long-haired asshole right in the face every time he heard him talking shit about Arthur.
"Haven't you ever heard of tweezers?"
"Stop talking. Your accent is making me want to puke."
"Your eyebrows are almost as horrific as your sex. Almost."
Alfred's fist clenched just thinking about the nasty things Francis would say. One, Alfred thought Arthur's thick eyebrows were quite manly. Two, Alfred loved to listen to Arthur speak in his British accent, even if he was swearing at him. And finally, Alfred was sure that, in regard to his many eyebrows, his sex would probably be fucking great, and Francis didn't deserve the time of the day from Arthur, never mind getting freaky with the Brit.
Alfred downed the remainder of his seventh cup of coffee.
It takes around eighty cups to kill a person. Only seventy-three to go… Alfred sighed inwardly, standing up to order another cup.
Saturday, Vargas Household, 3:30PM.
Mood: Annoyed, in an awkward and romantic kind of way
Lovino was woken from his slumber when his phone began buzzing quite loudly. He groaned, sitting up and snatching his phone. Pressing answer, he didn't even get the chance to tell the person to 'fuck off' before they began gushing.
"Lovi~! Ah, I'm glad you picked up! I was wondering... are you doing anything today? Because I'm not, and just thought, well a lot of my tomato plants are ready to harvest and I thought it could be a fun thing to do together~!"
(Do I even need to say who had called him? Really?)
Lovino closed his eyes, using his free hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, wishing for strength. I suppose I haven't got anything to do today. And I might get to eat a lot of those ripe tomatoes, fresh off the plant. Oh, that sounds good…
"Sure, why the fuck not. I'll be around soon." Lovino said, hanging up before Antonio could get all mushy on him. He dragged himself out of bed for the second time that day, and began shuffling through the clothes in his wardrobe for something nice to wear. Not that he felt like he needed to wear anything nice, and he especially didn't want to make sure Antonio was impressed that he had a good taste in fashion.
He chose a nice shirt he had bought only a few days ago, and a pair of jeans he knew complimented his behind quite well. He doused himself in expensive cologne, and then pocketed his phone before leaving the house.
Antonio didn't live far away from Lovino. It was a fifteen minute walk, if Lovino was walking quickly. That day, he was walking slowly. He took a thirty minute, leisurely stroll, hands in his pockets the whole time. Antonio was Spanish, and it showed. In his house, in his food, in his (perfectly) tanned skin. His house was beautiful. It looked so out of place, large and creamy coloured, and so very Spanish. It looked like a bunch of helicopters had just roped a house right out of Spain and dumped it in the countryside. Lovino walked around the side of the house, knowing that he would find Antonio in the garden out the back. Antonio was indeed out the back, bending over as he plucked from tomatoes from a plant. He had a light green, loose singlet on, paired with pants that were rolled halfway up his calves. Oh, the way those pants tightened across his ass… Lovino tried not to stare, but the Spaniard had such a nice butt. Girls (and guys alike) all had a look at it whenever they could. In the halls, they would giggle and stare, and Antonio wouldn't even notice how they gawked, or how Lovino shot them filthy glares.
If you touch him, I'll castrate you.
Okay, maybe Lovino liked him a little bit.
I mean shit, Antonio was the only person who was really nice to him, and genuinely enjoyed his company- and he really had the finest ass in the school.
"Hey, dickhead." Lovino called out. Antonio stood, and grinned breathlessly at Lovino. He waved overdramatically, setting down the basket of tomatoes he had in his hand. "Hello, Lovi~! It's really good to see you. Come, I was about to have a break. We can eat some of these delicious tomatoes and then get to picking some more, eh?" Antonio offered as Lovino walked over. They sat on the grass, side by side. Antonio handed Lovino a tomato, and then bit into his own. He chewed happily, and Lovino felt all that cheesy shit inside him, like warmth at the sight of Antonio's happiness. He took a bite of the tomato in his hand, and juice dribbled down his chin as he let out a little content sound at the taste of the red fruit.
Without warning, Antonio leaned over and wiped his thumb over Lovino's lips. Lovino watched him with wide eyes as the tanned boy stuck his thumb in his mouth.
"You're a messy eater~" Antonio crooned, and Lovino felt hot. Hot, hot, hot, hot, all over. Antonio had just wiped tomato juice off of Lovino's lips and then fucking sucked the juice off of his thumb and holy hell, that was like, indirect kissing!
And then suddenly it wasn't indirect kissing. Because it was real kissing.
Antonio had pressed his mouth against Lovino's, and Lovino had frozen. He'd forgotten how to kiss- it'd been a while since his last kiss. Some slut, at a party, but that didn't matter because Antonio was kissing him, and his mouth was warm and soft, and he didn't pull away when Lovino didn't seem to react. When Lovino did react, it was simply closing his eyes and pressing his mouth back against Antonio's. Nothing fancy. Just lips, touching. But for all that it was, it was driving Lovino fucking insane. Once Antonio knew that Lovino was okay, he didn't hesitate to shift closer and shove his hands into Lovino's hair.
Cazzo, cazzo, cazzo, cazzo…
Lovino pulled back abruptly. Antonio looked confused, lips still pouting, frowning at Lovino. Lovino swallowed hard, suddenly aware that he was out of breath.
"Um. Lo siento, Lovi…" Antonio muttered, and Lovino swore at him. "Don't you fucking apologise after kissing me that you, you bastard!"
"Ah~!" Antonio panicked, rolling away from Lovino, expecting a punch. Lovino just glared at him like he was the stupidest person alive (he probably was, though). "You're such an idiot. You don't have to apologise because, you know… I liked it." Lovino mumbled, suddenly self-conscious. A broad grin crossed Antonio's face, and he crawled over to plant a chaste kiss to Lovino's lips.
"Yay~ I'm glad you liked it, Lovi~!" Antonio said, ecstatic. Lovino blushed, looking away from Antonio and taking another bite of the tomato he still held in his shaking hand.
Lovino let his mind wander as he ate. It was amazing how Antonio had changed since he had moved to the same school as Lovino. He had previously lived in a whole other town, but had been expelled from his school for bullying others.
I don't mean the "give me your lunch money, LOL," kind of bullying.
I mean the "If you backchat me again, I'm going to slit your fucking stomach open and watch your guts spill, you pathetic piece of shit," kind of bullying. Antonio would corner kids in hallways with his friends and they would beat them senseless. He'd spit on their crying figures. He'd laugh and tease them as they writhed in pain. He was a nasty, cruel boy. But his bad ways caught up with him, and so he moved schools. In his new school, he tried to act cool at first. That was until he befriended Francis Bonnefoy and Gilbert Beilschmidt. They changed him; their joking antics were infectious and soon Antonio was a smiley, dorky idiot. Lovino had been attracted to him from the start, however. Badass Antonio sounded fucking sexy, but dorky Antonio was just the cutest thing ever.
They got back to picking tomatoes, chatting. Well, the conversation was pretty one-sided. Antonio talked and talked and talked, and smiled at Lovino the whole time.
And Lovino even graced Antonio with a smile in return.
Saturday, Bonnefoy's Apartment, 4PM.
Mood: Satisfied ;)
"Amazing…" Arthur breathed, snuggled up to the sweating, heaving, bare chest of Francis. They were in his bed, sheets ruffled and messily draped over their naked bodies. The room reeked of the delicious smell of sex.
Francis lived in his own apartment. He was nineteen, and had to repeat year eleven, hence why he was in the same year as Arthur at school.
"Mmm, as always, mon amour." Francis replied, reaching for Arthur's hand and entwining their fingers in an affectionate gesture. Francis might have failed year eleven, but he wasn't stupid. He knew that all those cute gestures kept Arthur coming back, even after they fought. Holding the Brit's hand at that moment might be his ticket for another round later on in the week- heck, maybe even later on in the night (even though they'd just finished for their second time already). Francis was about to lean in to gently kiss Arthur's already kiss-bruised lips, when Arthur's phone rang.
Arthur groaned, sitting up. Francis ghosted his fingers down Arthur's spine as Arthur grabbed his phone and looked at the ID. He squinted, and then answered.
"The hell do you want, Alfred?" He snapped, trying to sound intimidating. However, he was still a little breathless.
"I just wanted to know what you were doing tomorrow. Thought maybe we could hang out?" Alfred asked, almost bleakly. Arthur let out a long sigh.
"I don't know. I'll probably be busy."
"Oh. That's okay, I suppose. What are you up to now?" Alfred enquired, met with another sigh. "I'm with Francis." Arthur stated, and Alfred went quiet. After a few seconds, the line went dead, and Arthur frowned.
"The wanker hung up. Oh well. Where were we?" He turned back to Francis, and kissed his mouth.
Saturday, Jones-Williams Household, 4:17PM.
Mood: Freakin' depressed
*trigger warning, there's self-harm up in this bitch*
The thin blade sliced into Matthew's skin. He winced, but that was it. It wasn't pain so much anymore, more like a stinging comfort.
The only people who know I exist are my close family members, and a couple of kids at school. Nobody else even gives a shit about me…
Blood trickled down his arm, sullying the white tiled bathroom floor with red, and a calming sensation flowed through Matthew's veins in place of the blood that had spilled. He let out a breath he had been holding, and then reached up into the medicine cabinet. He wrapped a bandage around his arm, stopping the bleeding, before he tucked the blade into his pocket and washed the blood off of his hands.
He had been cutting himself for at least a year. Not always his arms; his thighs and his stomach sometimes too. He kept it secret from his brother- Alfred- and his parents, and from his closest friend, Gilbert Beilschmidt.
Once he was cleaned up, he left the bathroom and headed to the kitchen. He felt like eating- perhaps he would make some pancakes. Alfred was sitting at the dining table, looking at something on his phone.
"Whatcha doing?" Matthew asked quietly, and Alfred looked up. He didn't look very happy at all. "Nothing… Called Arthur. He's with that douche bag, Francis."
Matthew grimaced, grabbing some eggs for his pancakes. Both Francis and Arthur were friends of his, so he hated when his brother got mad at them. Matthew was entirely aware of his brothers crush on Arthur, but had promised Alfred he wouldn't say anything to the Brit about it. Matthew didn't agree much with Francis using Arthur (or was it Arthur using Francis?), but it was nothing for him to worry about.
Matthew got down to making his pancakes. Alfred asked for Matthew to make him some too, and Matthew said that he would. Their parents worked late most days. They were busy people. Alfred would usually make a hamburger or some chicken nuggets or something, but that day he was so downhearted that he really couldn't be bothered.
He dolloped maple syrup on the pancakes that were ready, and then set the plate in front of his brother before going back to cook more for himself. Alfred eagerly shoved the pancakes into his mouth, and then began to rant, spitting pancake as he did so.
"I don't get it. Why does Arthur like that fucking frog anyway? He flirts with other people all the time. He doesn't really have any feelings for Arthur. He treats Arthur like crap and shit-talks him behind his back. What's that frog got that I haven't, anyway?"
"You know I'm kind of French, Alfred. Watch your tongue, please." Matthew mumbled, pouring maple syrup over his own pancakes.
"No, you're Canadian." Alfred said snidely. Matthew sat down, sighing a little. Matthew wasn't Alfred's full brother- he was adopted when he was twelve. He spoke fluent English and French as a result of his upbringing in one of the French provinces of Canada. Matthew began eating his pancakes as Alfred stood up to make himself some coffee.
"Anyway, back to my problem. I'm trying really hard to like, flirt with Arthur and shit. But he seems to be only interested in Francis. I mean, is he an idiot? Francis doesn't feel the way I do about Arthur, and I don't know what the hell I'm supposed to do."
"I could just tell Arthur how you feel, you know."
"Don't you dare. It's my secret to tell."
"Well then go on, tell it, eh."
"I have a raging man-crush on Arthur Kirkland."
"Don't tell it to me. Tell it to Arthur."
Alfred groaned and leaned against the bench. "It's not use. He doesn't like me. He doesn't even want to know me." He whined, and Matthew swallowed a mouthful of pancake.
"Why don't you invite Kiku over to play video games with you? Keep you entertained, eh?" He suggested. Alfred began grinning, reaching over to pour the boiling water into the cup he had set out.
"Brilliant idea, dude! I'll give him a call right now!" Alfred proclaimed, suddenly happy once more. Matthew finished off his food as he watched his brother calling up his reserved Japanese friend and inviting him over for a video game session. Soon, the boy arrived and Matthew hid himself away in his room.
Saturday, Łukasiewicz Household, 5PM.
Mood: Sassy as fuck
"Hm. I don't know how I feel about this one." Feliks Łukasiewicz said, patting down the front of the dress he wore. It was light pink, and reached his ankles.
"I want to wear something short… what do you think, Toris?" He turned to face the other (or perhaps the only) boy in the room.
They were in Feliks's bedroom. Feliks stood before a full-length mirror, and his best friend Toris Lorinaitis was sitting on the end of Feliks's queen sized bed, trying not to salivate at the sight of the feminine boy in the pink dress.
"You look great. But remember, you don't like your knees. So maybe stick with something long?" Toris said dreamily. He had always fancied his best friend, but had kept it a secret. Although it was starting to show, especially with the way Feliks had started really learning how to apply make-up. He looked gorgeous all the time, and Toris had heard girls saying they were jealous of how pretty Feliks was.
"Oh, you're right. I guess this dress is pretty."
That day, Toris had been dragged along to go shopping with Feliks. Feliks had bought three dresses- a little green one, an even smaller red one, and the long flowing pink one he wore at that moment. Feliks hadn't bothered trying them on; he'd gotten too shy, and bought them whilst telling the lady who served them that the dresses were for his girlfriend. Of course, Feliks didn't have a girlfriend, or at least Toris hoped so.
Feliks pranced over and sat beside Toris, linking arms with him. "I wish you'd dress up too. I bet you'd be like, super pretty! You have such nice long hair. Perfect for getting dolled up!"
"Ah, sorry Feliks… Not really my cup of tea." Toris mumbled awkwardly, blushing as he did so. Feliks touch spread warmth through him.
Oh boy, this is going to be a long weekend…
A/N: Yay, first day/chapter done~! I really like how this fanfiction is coming along. I apologise if Matthew's bit was a little hurtful ;_; It hurt me too, guys! D:
There are at least two warnings before it pops up in the story, though, so I gave you a chance to prepare for it. And another warning; it will be back in the story later.
By the way, Antonio's bullying was meant to be like a hint at his pirate days. And Gilbert in the next chapter might seem a little out of character because he doesn't scream "I'M AWESOME BITCHES" every four lines, sorry :P
Also, there is a buttload of phone calls in this story xD EVERYONE IS CALLING EVERYONE OMFG.
Anyway, if you enjoyed reading this, I'd love to see a nice review and maybe some suggestions on what you'd like to see happening to our beloved characters, and if you'd like any new pairings/characters introduced.
If you didn't like it, for the love of all that is good, don't leave a mean review. Because I will only laugh at the fact you actually took time to say something mean about something you don't like to someone who won't be bothered by it.