Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot and my OC, Robert's (gypsy) Aunt Abigail!
The room was dark, the only light coming from underneath the door, which only made a small sliver in the suffocating darkness.
Grumbling, Enrique rolled over so that he was on his back and grabbed one of the many pillows stacked high on his bed, using it to shield his eyes, maybe even lull him into the much-needed sleep.
It seemed like forever since he had had a good night sleep without his crush running through his mind.
And, no, it wasn't a girl.
Yes, he, Enrique Tornatare Giancarlo, was gay. Well, bi actually, but he much preferred guys to girls, at least lately anyway.
And even worse, he was in love with his teammate, the adorable Oliver Polanski.
Just thinking his crush's name in his head got the blond flustered as many thoughts, some naughtier than others, flooding into his head.
He was going to go insane, that is If his head didn't blow up first.
Growling under his breath, Enrique shot a glance at his alarm clock, which read 3:45 a.m.
To bored to sit in his room for another four or five hours, Enrique decided to head downstairs, sure that Robert would be up by now, and the older teen's company would be better than nothing.
Having decided, Enrique rose out of bed lazily, swinging his lower body off the bed and pushing, wincing as his feet met the cold wood floor before making his way over to the walk in closet.
Usually when he woke up, the maid would have already come and picked something out for him, so he was a little hesitant, but realized that there was no way he was going to be able to go back to sleep, so he walked in, grabbing a red shirt with a diagonal stripe of white across it and a pair of faded blue jeans.
Smirking to himself, Enrique dressed quickly before putting on a pair of white sneakers, trying to be as quiet as he could as he walked down the stairs so as not to wake any of his teammates, or worse, one of the workers.
You would never expect a maid to be that strong, but he had been proven wrong, hadn't he?
"Robert?" Enrique asked tentatively as he poked his head into the team leaders office. Looking behind him, Robert glared menacingly at the young Italian, who quickly retreated with a short, quiet yelp.
Whoever said that Robert couldn't be scary was dead wrong.
Balancing his options, Enrique realized that he really had nothing to do but take a walk around while he waited for Oliver and Johnny to get up, so, grabbing a jacket off the back of the chair he had left it on the night before, Enrique quickly retreated into the foggy morning air of Germany.
He hadn't walked that far at all when a old lady with a hunch back wearing a dirty dress covered by a ratty shawl walked, or rather hobbled, over to him.
"would you like to see my wares, young man?" she asked Enrique, who after looking around dumbly and pointing to himself, walked closer.
Amused, the woman brought out a pink bottle, which she waved in front of Enrique's facing, making him nauseous.
Suddenly and without warning, the crazy lady gave a strangled yell and splashed the strange liquid on the unsuspecting blond, who fell backwards his butt from the unexpected attack.
Blocking his face with his arm, Enrique was surprised to have found not a trace of the gypsy woman afterwords, making him wonder if he had imagined it.
Taking a whiff of his shirt, Enrique nearly chocked when the smell of rotten eggs infiltrated his nose, making his eyes tear up.
Deciding that he was in desperate need of a shower, Enrique made the short trek home.
But it wasn't short at all, and when the journey back seemed to take double, if not triple, time as the way there, Enrique began to panic.
He wasn't sure whether it was the potion itself or just the smell, but Enrique wasn't feeling too good: his arms and legs felt like led, his vision seemed blurry and out of proportion, and he seemed unable to think clearly.
Finally making it to the doors of the Jurgen mansion, and was just opening the doors when he felt himself fall forward, his whole world turning black as his crush's voice echoed painfully in his head:
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