I BRING YOU….A DARK PRUCAN FIC!
I don't know why I just felt a need to write this so…enjoy~
ATTENTION: I don't own the characters or the songs I will use in the beginning here, these all belong to other people that are kind enough to share the awesome stuff they make so fan fiction writers (like muh self) can use them for their own whims
WARNINGS: This is a DARK PruCan fic so their will be a lot of depressing things going on in here, as well as eventually smut. I haven't decided if I want it to end happy or sad. We'll see. There are also...well in this story I make Mattie and Al's father an asshole who has extreme religious views. If you're sensitive about religion don't read this and don't post hateful reviews. I have my own views and so do you, I get that and I respect it, I just don't want to see any of that kind of stuff in the comments. If it's about improvements I can make on the plot, my grammar, my writing style, then go ahead and comment I LOVE that kind of feedback, honestly, as long as you're not being a totally asswipe about it.
LOOK HERE AS WELL!
Warnings you should be aware of today: self harm, abuse, self hatred, homophobia, mentions of drug use and underage drinking
If you are easily upset by things like this PLEASE don't read this. I know I am and yet I still read them, if you do this then I want you to enjoy it but I'm giving you a warning now. DONT READ IT IF YOU'LL GET UPSET! Don't leave hateful comments or whatever either because I WARNED you. Right now, I'm giving you a chance to back out.
Welp. If you stayed then enjoy this. I don't think there will be any major character death but if there is there will be a warning before the chapter in which it happens.
"Shake it off
Pick yourself up, they say,
Your life fell apart in your hands
And you've got the scars
To prove it
It's not the first time, and they're getting
Pull it together
Button up your shirt
Roll down those sleeves
Don't let them see how you've coped
It's not the first time, and they're getting
~Composure by August Burns Red
They sat, eating silently at the dining table. The entire house, like his parents, reeked of money and snobbery. The long dining table had been waxed, expensive vases filled with flowers going along its center and a chandelier hanging from the ceiling. It was a mondernized plantation house that had been in the family since it was built. Matthew didn't like it, he was a simple person who liked simple things, and neither did his brother. Although, Al wished they wouldn't hog it all.
He liked his toys.
Anyway, they sat in their expensive dining room in tense silence that had been normal everyday of their life. Alfred was two years older so perhaps he knew something different then these awkward dinners. But Matthew had only been subjected to these; if it had ever been different Alfred hadn't said anything. They were so different, he and Al, despite how similar they looked.
Alfred had short, sandy blonde hair with a weird strand sticking up from his cowlick and blue eyes that were always cheery. He always had a big smile on his freckled face. He was a jock, a big fan of football and baseball, always wearing his team letterman jacket with either a t-shirt or button down, nice boot cut styled jeans and clean sneakers. Alfred was loud and every one listened when he talked.
Matthew was his totally opposite.
He had shaggy hair that fell into his eyes; it was the same color as Al's only a bit wavy with an untamable –dangerous –curl. His eyes were the same as Al's but they didn't have that cheery glitter, he never really smiled and he didn't have as many freckles. Matthew wasn't a jock. At all. The only sport he liked to play, or watch, was hockey. He liked to cook, draw and write, he liked long walks with his ear buds blaring music. His clothing style was different too. Matthew liked dark colors, skinny jeans, band t-shirts, converse instead of Air Jordon's, mesh shirts, hoodies –especially his Toronto Maple Leafs hoodie –and bracelets. He was introverted, quiet and no one really paid attention to him. Except when something bad happened.
Like right then.
"So Matthew," his father said placing his knife and fork down, only to steeple his fingers, "Anything happen at school today?"
Alfred and their mother both tensed, looking toward the patriarch of the family. Matthew, however, looked down at his food and continued to eat. "Not really," he answered in his naturally bland, quiet voice.
"Oh, really?" Matthew stopped eating when he heard the tight, knowing tone in his father's voice, "Because Mr. Newman called and said you were still seeing those…boys." Mr. Newman was the principle and an old friend of Mr. Jones, they both had the same beliefs.
Matthew swallowed the food in his mouth, the delicious food that now tasted like ash. "I-I don't know what you're talking about," he lied, damn it, why did he have to stutter? His mother inhaled sharply, almost like a gasp, and Alfred closed his eyes, his adam's apple bobbing.
"Lying's a sin, boy," he snapped his eyes cold and glaring, "Are you calling me a liar?"
"Are you calling John" –Mr. Newman –"a liar?"
"Then it's true?!" Mr. Jones snapped banging his fists on the table and making the glassware shake.
"…y-yes, sir," he squeaked his voice barely above a whisper. Matthew's heart was pounding painfully, his blood roaring in his ears.
"Disobedient child!" he yelled throwing his empty plate at the teen. Matthew raised his arms to protect his head and neck. The plate shattered, knocking him from his chair with the force of the impact. "This family does not associate with blasphemers and sinners!"
"But Tim and Carlos-."
"Don't speak their names in this house. Ever!" he hissed rounding the table to grab Matthew by the front of his hoodie, "Read your Bible five times, it seems you've forgotten what our Lord has sacrificed for you!" Mr. Jones let go of him with a shove and a sneer before reclaiming his seat. He turned to Alfred, smiling, "So, Al, how are your classes?"
Matthew felt blood drip down his arms from the shattered plate. He stood shakily, as always he was unnerved by his father's hot-cold behavior. No one noticed him except for his mother who looked like she wanted to say something. He only shook his head and walked into the kitchen.
"Matthieu?" Francine –or Madame Bonnefoy –said stepping away from the sink and drying her hands on a wash cloth, "Are you alright, mon cher?"
He said nothing. All he did was bend down to retrieve the first aid kit from beneath the sink.
"…'e zrew anozer plate?" she asked sympathetically, removing her apron.
"Oui, madame," he confirmed quietly.
She pushed a lock of hair behind his ear, the only one to ever like his long "emo" hair. "It'll get better cher," she said pulling him close in order to hold him against her, "'e waz not always like zis."
Matthew patted her back awkwardly before pulling away, "Merci madame. I'm just going to go up to my room now."
Madame Bonnefoy smiled again, patting his cheek. He couldn't help but think that she was one of the prettiest women he had ever seen. She had blonde hair coiled on the back of her head, wisps framing her face; her eyes were violet and she looked young and curvy. She always stood straight, commanding respect and looking down her nose at you despite being their cook and, sometimes, caterer. All Madame Bonnefoy did was make them dinner, clean up then go home but she was paid well and Mr. Jones paid for her son's –Francis's –education.
He locked the door to his room before shrugging off his hoodie. He wore no shirt under it and made quick work cleaning off the blood. There was only one partially bad scratch but if felt better after the initial sting of the hydrogen peroxide and a few bandages. Matthew leaned against the wall and sighed.
He felt hallow, like there was a pit of…of blackness in his chest. Why was he the subject of all his father's abuse? He didn't mind protecting his mother or Alfred but he'd prefer it not happening to anyone at all. Matthew had stopped feeling betrayed long ago; all he felt now was emptiness. And somehow that hurt more than feeling betrayed. It was his own fault for being how he was.
No, his father didn't know he was gay. If he did he'd probably beat the boy then leave him in an alley like the trash he was. Matthew had tried to change, he had been trying for so long, but he just couldn't stop his thinking. He tried to remind himself that it wasn't natural, that he was basically taking His sacrifice and tossing it back in His face. But that hadn't done a thing.
Yes, he deserved all the spiteful words and thrown plates. He was filthy, vile, disgusting. He tried to make himself forget, or go numb, by drinking and partying with Tim and Carlos. But that only made things worse. He'd wake up with a hangover, sans clothes and in bed with either Tim or Carlos. On rare occasions both. When he got home he always vomited from too much alcohol and self-loathing. Still he drank, hoping at some point it'd work.
Matthew slid down the wall, his throat thick but no teas pricking his eyes. Anxiety and desperation were bubbling in the pit of his stomach, rising. He pulled at his hair, hyperventilating. He felt too crowded, picking frantically at the scabs on his arms. These he had made himself.
He hastily crawled to his bed and lifted the mattress, reaching for the blade that he hid. When he felt the cool metal on his fingers, his desperation eased and his mind was clearer. The blade was his only real friend. The blade never forgot him like Tim and Carlos did; it didn't ignore him like everyone else. The blade was his savior. If he was a big fan of religion he'd worship it. Just holding it calmed him down, made him feel a little bit better, but not enough. He pressed it to his left arm, firmly –almost angrily –pressed down on the skin and dragged it to the right.
His face was blank, a slight eye twitch the only sign that his wound was stinging. His eyes slowly blinked and he tried to savor as much of that beautiful pain as he could. They opened again just as blood was starting to bloom and pool.
Red. It was such a pretty color.
He didn't really like cutting his arms, where people –mainly Al and their mother –could see. But this first cut, one he placed just below the bend of his elbow, was vital. He could savor this one while he allowed the others to be more frantic. Without paying that cut any more attention, he shed his pants and sat back down in his boxers. He took up his blade again. Matthew ended up black out as he cut, forgetting who he was and what he was doing as the blade zipped across the fleshy tissue of his thigh, thick from years of hockey. It hurt more, not hurt stung, and the blood he drew was vibrant against his pale skin.
It wasn't long before it dawned on him what he was doing. He shoved the blade back beneath his mattress and silently watched his blood drip. It was a mix of horror and satisfaction as he closed his eyes, inhaling and exhaling deeply. His pulse was thrumming and, only when he had rallied enough courage, did he grab tissues from his nightstand to clean off the river of red that was now sliding down his leg. Matthew grabbed the peroxide again, the first time he hadn't used it he had almost gotten an infection, and wrapped his thigh using his own personal supply of white gauze.
He rubbed the wrappings, already they were getting tender, before slipping on sweat pants and a long sleeved red t-shirt. Why did he always do this? Matthew didn't know why he craved for the pain. It was either doing this or drink and, to put it bluntly, he wouldn't die just from a few small cuts. He didn't want to die, yes, he was going against the popular belief that every person who likes metal and wears skinny jeans with combat boots wants to kill themselves.
Matthew didn't want to die because he was simply too cowardly. All he wanted was to be happy and get better. He wanted his affliction to be cured, the ugliness in his soul to be wiped clean. All he wanted was to be normal, like Alfred. He wanted to enjoy rap and pop music, he wanted to like football and baseball –ugh –and most of all he wanted…he wanted to want girls.
Matthew's cuts rubbed against his uniform pants as he walked with Al, they always pulled and stung afterwards.
"So I'm at this party and, dude, this chick was all over me!" he said smiling broadly, all his teeth showing, and waving his arms excitedly in the air, "I'm telling you bro her tits were fucking huge! And don't even get me started on her ass…"
"Sounds like the whole McDonald's meal," Matthew said stuffing his hands in the pockets of his slacks.
Alfred laughed loudly, slapping him on the back. It was hard enough that he ended up stumbling forward. "That was a good one, bro!" he exclaimed –practically yelled –causing a few people to turn and stare at the brothers.
"Alfred!" he hissed feeling his whole face catch fire, "Shut up, people are staring!" But Alfred was no longer paying attention; instead he was looking off at a group of people.
"Something interesting must be going on," Al concluded looking at the younger sibling with sparkling blue eyes, "That means that my heroic presence has to be there! Come on, Mattie!" He grabbed Matthew's wrist and dragged him toward the crowd, using his monster strength.
Alfred pushed their way to the front, making him immediately uncomfortable. There were too many people for his tastes. They were surrounded on all sides by people, mostly girls, who crowded around seven guys. He recognized only Francine's son, Francis, and Francis's best friend who was a Spaniard named Antonio. They both talked with a strange kid he didn't know, Antonio looking lustfully at a seemingly pissed Italian. "They're the new exchange students," Alfred elaborated to which Matthew could only nod, "I thought there were supposed to be six though…there's only five…"
Matthew shrugged, listening as girls attacked the new kids with questions.
"Like, is that your real eye color?" a girl asked the kid by Toni and Francis. Francis blocked his line of sight so he couldn't tell what the new kid looked like.
"Your accent is so cool~! Are you, like, English?" a girl asked a blonde with wacky eyebrows.
"OMG! Do you work out?" the question was directed at a muscly, stoic faced blonde.
"No way, you're brothers!" a girl exclaimed looking back and forth between two similar looking boys.
"Si," the brunette said blushing a bit.
"Ve~ he's mi fratello~!" his sibling, a bubbly boy with auburn hair, exclaimed. His brother blushed harder.
"SH-SHUT UP, CRYBABY BASTARD!"
"Chigi! I said shut it!"
"Ja," Matthew looked over to where the muscle man was replying to the girl who looked like an ant in comparison.
"Yes, born and bred," the bushy eye browed guy said, "Lived in London all my life."
"Kesesesese, hell yeah!" the guy by Francis exclaimed, "Zey're awesome, right?!" Francis shifted, holding the ear that had just been screamed into. There. Now Matthew could see-.
His skin was almost translucent, pale, his artfully messy hair as white as newly fallen snow and his eyes…his eyes were the deepest crimson he had ever seen. They were breath taking like rubies, like pools of blood. He was tall –but an inch or two shorter than the muscle man –and in good shape but wasn't too bulky. His body was perfect, long legs and muscly thighs.
Ugly, filthy, unnatural.
Strong arms and a hard chest…
Disgusting, worthless, shameful.
…a defined jaw, straight back…
The albino looked his way and stared right back at him. His face is really nice too…A lopsided grin spread across his face and he winked. Holy fuck, he knows I'm staring!
Matthew's face burned bright red as he turned and sprinted for his locker, at the same time the albino leaned towards Francis and asked him something. He could feel his red eyes on his back all the way to his locker. Eyes red like blood…beautiful…
No! Disgusting, shameful. You aren't supposed to think like that! "That's right," he muttered to himself, opening up his locker, maybe I should look at some of the girls…? He looked at a group of girls by the water fountain.
A girl with brunette hair was talking to two other girls. He recognized the brunette with a flower in her hair as Elizaveta, a girl in Alfred's grade. She looks…nice. Curvy. Curvy's good, right? But Al probably called dibs on her. Matthew didn't want to get in the way of his brother's conquests.
The next girl was named Kat, a Senior that had demo-ed –a kinder way of saying she flunked –last year with short blonde hair and breasts that were fucking ridiculous. Big boobs were good…and she was really nice to him whenever she noticed him. But her siblings were insane. Maybe even criminally.
The last girl was a Sophomore –like Matthew –who he thought was named Lili with an "i" not "y". He didn't even want to think about her. He was afraid her big brother –who was a Junior –would hear his thoughts and shoot him. Repeatedly.
Matthew shook his head and tossed his satchel into his locker. All he needed to do was make it through the day without issue…maybe he'd be able to stop by Tim's after school. He'd even have a drink. Or three.
"Mon petite Matthieu~!" a voice sang behind him and, before he could even turn around, he was tackled into a bone crushing hug. Almost as bad as Alfred's hugs. And that was saying something.
"Bon-Bonjour, Francis," he squeaked when the Frenchman released him, "What's up?"
"Mon ange, I want you to meet mon ami Gilbert," Francis said introducing the smirking albino with a sweep of the hand, " 'e iz one of the new transfer studentz."
"H-Hi," Matthew said blushing and shaking his hand weakly. Damn was his grip strong, "What y-year are you in?"
"I'm a Senior," he said his voice a deep rumble, he had an accent. German, I think. "Even zough ze Awesome Me is eighteen I gotta retake it. My grandpa vould have my awesome ass on a silver platter other vise."
Yup. Definitely German.
" 'e demo-ed~" Francis whispered conspiringly.
"Vhat ze fuck is-?"
"It's a nicer was of saying you got held back, amigo," Antonio chipped in patting Gilbert's back sympathetically.
He scowled at him over his shoulder before turning back to Mattew, smirking. "So, Matt, how about you?" he asked, "Vhat year are you in?"
"I'm a S-Sophomore," he replied quietly, he was still blushing since he wasn't used to the positive attention. Usually people lost interest and walked away.
"Nice! My little bruder's a Sophomore too," Gilbert said laughing his weird…cackle, "So are zose Italian kids, Feliciano and-."
"Lovino~" Antonio sand a dreamy look in his eyes, "Oh, I wish I could be in mi poco tomate's classes~!"
"Lookz like your brother and Toni were reunited with child'ood friends," Francis said raising his eyebrows at Gilbert.
"Hey! Don't forget about ze Awesome Me!" he said poking the scruffy male's chest, "Und vhat about you Mr. L'Amour?!"
Matthew snorted. How could anyone forget Gilbert? He was loud, cocky and, well, fucking hot. Unlike me…
"Vhat's so funny, Matt?" Gilbert asked suddenly really close. His chest touched Matthew's back and his breath skimmed the nape of his neck.
He squeaked, his shoulders bunching up around his ears as he spun around to face the albino. Gilbert wore a shit eating grin and had a dark almost… "naughty" look in his eyes that made Matthew shiver. "W-What did you d-do that for?" he stuttered holding his books to his chest as a type of shield.
Gilbert chuckled taking a step back, hands up. "No reason. Oh, hey, can you help me vith somezing?" he asked and, without waiting for an answer, he dug around in his pocket until he pulled out a crumpled sheet of paper. "Can you help me find my class und my locker?"
He blinked. "Oh. Ok," he said taking the crumpled sheet from Gilbert. He is new, Matthew thought leading him up the stairs, maybe he's just socially awkward. He'll probably leave me alone soon. Just like everyone else…
"So…um…did you really flunk?" Matthew asked as the older male began to put his stuff in the locker where it belonged.
Gilbert chuckled, "Nein, it's just ze vay my birthday falls." The albino spun around to look at him, grinning. "Alright, show me to class, Birdie!" he shouted fist pumping in the air.
"…Birdie…?" Mathew asked before guiding the Senior to his class. His cheeks heated up and he watched his feet.
"Ja, zat's ze awesome nickname I gave you," the albino stated proudly, only causing his blush to deepen. He was never given a nickname before.
"Oh…w-why?" Matthew asked hesitantly. Did he really want to know the answer?
"Because you're small like one," he said pinching the frowning blonde's cheek, "Und you sound like one too!" At that moment, he squeezed Matthew's sides and he squealed.
"D-Don't do that," Matthew whined, his thighs twitching from the pain of walking too much.
The Senior chuckled and scratched the back of his neck. "Sorry about zat," he said, "I just couldn't help myself. You're just so" –dirty, disgusting, disgraceful –"cute~!"
"Eh?" he asked, shocked, no one had ever called him cute. Not since he was five year old and that had been his mother.
"You're cute like a little baby bird," Gilbert exclaimed as they neared his class, he peaked inside, "Zat guy on ze desk looks like you."
Matthew leaned inside to see Alfred standing on a desk, striking a superhero pose. He face palmed. "Y-Yeah…he's my older brother…" the blonde admitted quietly. Great. Now he'd like Alfred way more and forget about. No. He couldn't think like that. He had just met the albino a few minutes ago!
"Ah, vell, you seem vay more awesome zen him."
He gaped, eyes wide and his face fire truck red. "R-Really?"
"Ja, of course!" Gilbert almost shouted, "I'm ze fucking king of awesome so I vould know. I'm an expert in zese matters!"
"O-Oh, I see," he said looking down and trying to hide behind his hair, "Um I g-guess I'll see you around?"
In homeroom he was introduced to the exchange students that would be joining the class.
The brunette Italian with a weird curl on the side of his head and hazel eyes, stood at the front of the class. His eyes glared at the classroom and he was constantly shifting his weight, anger and annoyance covering up the fear Matthew could plainly see. He knew the signs well.
"Listen up everyone!" Ms. Bosman said trying to quiet the chatter of students. When it was finally quiet she continued. "I know you guys are aware of the new transfrers, two of which are in our class!" she looked around, confused, "Um…where is-?"
She was cut off by a brunette Matthew recognized as a Junior, walking into the room and dragging along a pretty blonde haired, green eyed girl.
"Toris, how can I-?"
"This is Feliks," he said sounding out of breath as he pointed to the blonde that was now hiding behind him, "He's your new exchange student."
"O-Oh…" Ms. Bosman gaped, "All…Alright then…would you like to" –cough –"introduce yourselves…?"
The brunette –Toris –nudged the blonde who started, blushing. "L-Like, hi, I'm Feliks," the blonde said with a small wave, he disappeared behind Toris right after.
"Where are you from Feliks? What do you like to do? Did you do anything over the summer?" she asked in quick succession, obviously flustering the blonde.
"Uhm…" Feliks looked at Toris who smiled and nodded reassuringly. That seemed to do the trick because he smiled broadly and, while still blushing, raised his voice, "I'm, like, totally from Poland and it's, like, a totally awesome place~! Oh and I, like, love, love, love shopping and hanging out with Toris!"
The brunette looked at his shuffling feet and blushed.
"My favorite color is pink and that's, like, what I painted my room! Toris and his friends helped me. Oh! And, like, I spent the rest of my time totally getting a freaking awesome tan and taking care of, like, my aunt's horses!"
Everyone, including Matthew, gapped at him. This Polish kid was the gayest person he'd ever seen and that was saying something. Especially coming from Matthew.
Ms. Bosman smiled tightly, "That's…lovely. Why don't you take a seat next to…um, next to…?"
"Matthew," he sighed in his usually quiet voice, "I'm Matthew…"
"Ah, right, Matthew," she said awkwardly.
Feliks looked at him before smiling shyly and walking towards him. "H-Hi," he said sitting next to the quiet teen, "Your name's Matthew?"
He nodded, cheeks bright red. "O-Oui. Matthew Wi-Jones," he murmured, "Matthew Jones."
"Would you like to introduce yourself?" They looked up when the teacher addressed the annoyed looking brunette, Toris had left at some point.
The brunette shrugged, "Not really."
Ms. Bosman's lips twitched up in an uneasy smile. "Come on," she said trying to sound reassuring, "We'd love to know more abou-."
The brunette let out a loud, annoyed sigh. "Listen up, bastards! I'm Lovino fucking Vargas, I'm from Italy and have connections with the mafia! I'll break your kneecaps if you cross me!" he snapped challenging the teacher with a glare.
She chuckled nervously, gesturing to the empty seat in front of Matthew. "Why don't you sit in front of…in front of…?" she was obviously groping for his name but, eventually, she gave up. "Why don't you go sit in the empty seat in front of Feliks?"
Lovino frowned before moving wordlessly to the empty seat. The Italian leaned back in his chair, taking in the two blondes, hazel eyes finally settling on Matthew. "She's a bitch," Lovino said eyes staring unblinkingly at him, "She should've remembered your name."
Matthew just shrugged, "It…it happens…"
"Feliks." The three looked up at Ms. Bosman who was standing to their right. "Feliks," she repeated crossing her arms, "That's not part of the dress code."
The blonde looked down at his uniform, tugging at the hem of the skirt. He wore a red plaid skirt, a frumpy cream sweater, a dress shirt and loosely tied red tie visible from the deep V-neck, black knee highs and brown shoes. Clips with cute pink bows kept his bangs from falling into his face. "Like, w-what's wrong with it?" he asked eyes wide, glassy lips quivering.
"It doesn't say anywhere that guys can't wear the girls' uniform," Lovino snapped scowling, "Get off his fucking case, the uniform is still up to fucking code!"
The teacher balked, stepping back nervously, "But-."
"What? Do you hate cross dressers? Is this a hate crime?" he asked narrowing his eyes into slits.
Ms. Bosman opened and closed her mouth like a fish before slowly walking back to the board.
"I've never seen her so flustered," Matthew said quietly, the Italian smirked.
"Like, thanks," the Pole said with a shy smile, "You're to totally nice."
Lovino shrugged, blushing. "Yeah, whatever Polish-bastard."
"Did you see that one cross dressing kid?" (Tim)
"Yeah, he's in my homeroom. He's nice." (Matthew)
"That one with the eyebrows?" (Tim)
"Yeah…when I saw him he was hanging with Alfred." (Matthew)
"Why would he hang out with that puta? No offense." (Carlos)
"None taken." (Matthew)
"And that albino German dude?" (Tim)
"What?" Tim asked narrowing his eyes on the blonde who shifted uncomfortably and blushed, "Did he make a pass at you or something?"
Matthew couldn't meet his eyes and instead focused on Tim's snake bites. They glinted dangerously in the sunlight streaming in from the Cafeteria's big, bay windows. "No…" he said quietly, looking down at his hands that were clasped in his lap, "I-I don't even think he bats for my team…"
"Matt." He looked up at the Cuban whose dreadlocks were held back in a ponytail and a neon orange shirt was peeking out from beneath his school uniform. "You shouldn't hang around him, niño," he said his chocolate eyes big and worried, "I heard he-."
Speak of the devil. The blonde looked up in time to see Gilbert running toward him. He squeaked when the albino tackled him, squeezing him into a hug soon after. "Ow, Gil," Matthew whined trying to fight his blush, his thigh began to twitch in pain; "You're heavy, get off me!" Gilbert pouted before placing him back on the chair he had been tackled from. He took the empty seat next to him. "W-What are you doing?" he stuttered confused.
"Sitting vith you, of course!"
The Sophomore looked over to his two Junior friends. Carlos –the Cuban –was smiling tightly, gripping his spoon so hard Matthew was afraid it might bend. Tim, though, wasn't polite enough to try and hide his annoyance and fury. Matthew opened his mouth to tell the Senior to go away, but what came out was, "Oui. Ok." He could feel the older boys' shock as Gilbert fist pumped. It only intensified when Matthew added, "If you think you can handle our awesomeness."
The albino sputtered, eyes wide and cheeks pink. "Vhat? Have you forgotten who I am?! I am Gilbert ze Awesome, Gilbert ze Great!"
Matthew couldn't help the grin that twitched at the corners of his lips as the Senior ranted about how "awesome" he was. He found him to be funny and…refreshing. And the fact that he was kinda, sorta hot helped too.
Sinful. Don't look –you disgust me –don't look.
"Albino-bastard!" Matthew looked up to see Lovino glaring at said bastard, "What do you think you're doing with Maple-bastard?!" Lovino punctuated his anger by slamming his body into the empty seat to Matthew's left.
"Lovi~! Antonio have zis lunch?" the German asked sweetly. Almost too sweetly.
The Italian blushed. "Chigi, shut up!" he hissed taking out a container of pasta, "And leave Mattie alone, shit head!"
"But Birdie's my best friend," Gilbert whined putting an arm around the blonde's shoulders and pulling him to his side. Matthew tensed but didn't pull away. Lovino started cursing at him in Italian while Gilbert smiled cheekily, keeping his arms around Matthew's shoulders. He looked up, about to ask Tim and Carlos for help but found they were gone.
"Like, dudes you need to totally take a chill pill~" Feliks sang pulling poor Toris to their table and they both took the seats Carlos and Tim just vacated, "Like, it can totally give you wrinkles and stuff."
That was the start of a new ritual for Matthew. And, suddenly, he found himself smiling more. Even if it was just a little bit.
I hoped everyone liked this and I hope it wasn't...too depressing. There will be a lot more though, a lot having to do with problems revolving around Gilbert's and Matthew's mental states
ANYWAYS! I'll see you next time...I guess
Characters that have appeared:
Katherine (Mom) (OC)
Dad (No name as of yet) (OC)
Ms. Bosman (OC)
Mr. Newman (OC)
Lovino (South Italy)
Feliciano (North Italy)
I think that's all the characters that were mentioned...
REMEMBER! Comment/Review/Favorite/Follow PLEAAAASE
~kitty *with love*