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3:00 PM on a Thursday afternoon. Francis, Gilbert and I are huddled together in a deserted corridor. Our item of focus happens to be an unopened letter I have in my hands. No name. No address. Found it in my textbook I routinely leave behind in Potions class that has long decided to reside in one of the dusty cupboards after months of negligence and forgetfulness. It doesn’t come as a surprise anymore. I’ve found many of these letters with the same envelope and lack of sender’s details in the same spot.
“This makes it the what? The seventh letter for the past couple of weeks?” Gilbert whistles incredulously.
“Eighth if you include the one in Toni’s cloak the other day,” Francis chips in, amused.
“Who would’ve thought that even with a huge ass crowd, you could still pass notes so discreetly and precisely.”
“Does it matter?” I sigh. “I don’t get it. Why would someone do this anyway?”
It puzzled us the first time I found one. I thought it was some mistake at first, and of course being the awarded child my mother prized me for, I decided to just leave it elsewhere in case someone left it in my textbook as a mistake when they borrowed it.
It wasn’t.
Someone is clearly trying to achieve something in doing this! I kept getting the same letter in the next three weeks! It was only at the fourth time that I realised it wasn’t some sort of misplaced note or bookmark. After all, bookmarks don’t come in the form of untouched letters, all crisp and clean, neatly tucked in between pages! Even though the transition time between classes was too short to be careful with anything, all the letters were placed with care. It was obvious who the recipient was. It’s my textbook after all. It could mean only one thing...
Someone must be challenging me to a duel!
“Whoever is sending you these must be fucking persistent,” Gilbert observes, his expression intensely serious even though his face is covered with soot from a mishap in class. “You should do it. I have a phial of felix felicis dad gave in case I was desperate, but because you’re my friend I’m willin—”
Francis cuts off Gilbert with a dismissing hand. He’s the most rational one out of all of us, so I’m sure he has the best solution!
“Are you absolutely sure it’s a challenge letter?” he asks.
Both Gil and I give him a look. Francis looks insulted. “Well, excuse me for asking!”
Gil questions back, “What else could it be?”
And this time, it’s Francis’ turn to look so serious, one would think he’s concentrating all his energy to overcome a bad case of constipation.
“Think about it. If they were going to ask Toni for a duel, wouldn’t they have sent howlers instead? That would’ve pressured Toni into agreeing since if he doesn’t open it, it’ll just explode in the hallway and attract attention. If he does, it’s going to be annoyingly loud and Toni has no choice to agree.”
“Fuck, you’re right,” Gil whispers as he connects the dots. I realise it too. I knew Francis would be reliable!
“Then what is this thing?” I look at the letter again, tempted to open but out of fear, I leave it closed.
That’s when Francis laughs deeply in a way a mob boss in some video game would. “Boys, boys, boys. Don’t you see?”
“See what?” I question.
“Think. What other reason would you get a letter?”
“If I knew, I wouldn’t have asked.”
“A letter in your personal textbook. No name. Unopened. Envelope still intact. Tucked in between the safety of the pages. Not a howler to maintain discretion. Designated for you. It can only mean one thing.” Francis trails, being stupidly detailed.
“What is it, then?” Gilbert groans. I groan on the inside, too. This is just too much for me to ponder on.
“Someone’s been sending you chainmail.” Francis deduces.
We’re quiet. The corridor is quiet. It’s like one of those moments in movies I watch back home when a bulb lights up over someone’s head once they make a connection between two unrelated subjects.
“Oh shit, Francis. That’s it. You’re a fucking genius.” Gil whispers it before I do. I’m glad Gil and I were thinking the same thing, though! “I knew we could rely on you.”
I lean back against the wall.
“I thought chainmail only happened in the muggle world.” I sighed, distressed. “And here I thought I could escape them. Damn you, bad luck skeleton I didn’t share to 10 friends seven years ago.”
“Wait. Did you share the good luck pup, though?” Gilbert asks the important question.
“You believe in those?” Francis asks with a judging tone.
“Seven years ago I didn’t believe in wizardry and look where I am at.”
“He has a point.” Gilbert acknowledges.
Francis huffs. He obviously hates being wrong. “Anyway, now that we’ve concluded that it has been in fact chainmail you’ve been getting, what are you going to do with them?”
I rub the back of my neck. “I don’t know. Open it?”
That’s when Gilbert grabs my shoulder with a tight grip. His eyes are wide, and he has such an intense look on his face I thought he might actually get an aneurysm. “No, you dumbass! Don’t you remember? ‘Once you’ve read this you have to send this to the next 10 people or else you’ll be cursed’. The moment you send that out everyone’s going to think you’re an asshole and that’ll ruin your whole boy-next-door reputation!”
“Gil’s right,” Francis confirms.
I worry. I’m too young to have my image ruined. Those scandals are for celebrities with too much time and money on their hands! “Then what do I do?”
“Leave it somewhere anonymously. Let it be someone else’s problem. It's not like they'll know to whom it was meant for.”
Gilbert gasps, his mouth wide open as if he’s just heard he scored the lottery. “Francis, you’re a fucking genius.”
“I know, I know. Keep flattering.” He flips his hair, clearly proud of his deduction.
We come to a decision. No matter how curious Gilbert’s hands are or how inquisitive I am about it, the letter, as Francis says it explicitly, must not be opened and be left crisp and neat like it was the time I found it. Of course, it’s just so that someone would feel obliged to pick up the wretched thing without knowing its true intentions.
So there, in the empty corridor where students only visit for hook-ups, quickies and devising trouble, we leave the letter in mint condition on a step of the stairs for someone else who’s equally unfortunate to wander up.
7:30 PM on Friday evening. The three of us are in the corridors, caught in the dinner rush. The students file into the Great Hall like moths to a lamp. Everyone is forcing their ways through—consciously and unconsciously. Gilbert’s been shoved three steps back for every foot he puts forward at least five times. Francis is a little sturdier. He has his feet grounded and he does not let the other students shove past him.
But I guess I’m kinda lucky, too! I mean, I’m not as good as Francis’s but at least it isn’t as bad as Gilbert’s. I’ve been able to keep my place in the rush by standing to the side and letting them in. A neat trick I learnt from being in constant threat of the human stampede for a few years. I’m not making any progress, but at least I’m not pushed aside.
It strikes me odd that for every dinner, it’s always like this. As if they’ll never find a seat of their own at their designated tables. If anything, I’m convinced that in a place riddled with magic everywhere, they would be able to at least house a couple of students at their tables.
By the time most of the students are seated, the crowd in the corridors finally grows less, and Gilbert finally makes his way to me. Then we make our way to Francis. But because the crowd is as rambunctious and eager for dinner still, Gilbert and I make use of Francis as our anchor as he’s the tallest among us. Francis easily makes his way in while the two of us struggle in futility. It’s really tough when everyone’s muscular strength suddenly peaks unrealistically right before dinner!
A few of our friends greet us by the time we sat at the Hufflepuff’s table. The rest just continues eating with a wave or a nod our way. I’m glad that everyone is so nice to me here! I dig in quick since today’s dinner finally isn’t so bad. They had pudding on the table and I snag two for myself after Francis whines about the weight he put it on and spontaneously declares that he will be going on a diet that we all know deep in our hearts he will soon forget after a week. Well, it’s his lost. Pudding’s great.
A while later, I overhear a group gasping simultaneously. I wonder what happened? I turn and it is obvious that it came from the Slytherin’s table. Among the blond heads and ginger hair with the majority of them being either brunette or auburn, I find Lovino.
As per usual, his hair catches the scarce light that illuminates the hall. There’s a strange curl that sticks out from the rest of his hair; it’s scrunched up and looks like a knot. His eyebrows are furrowed together in deep concentration, but man, they might as well have been cemented onto his forehead. He is upset. Why is he upset?
But it’s okay. I think he looks beautiful anyway.
“Close your mouth or else you’ll catch flies,” Matthew comments offhandedly. He’s quiet most of the time save for when he has dinner. I swear, dinner probably chargers his social gauge or something. Half the time I don’t even notice him. I don’t think anyone does. I feel bad about it sometimes, but then I remember that he takes advantage of that because he’s been in some shady business before that no one knew until he mentioned it. “And stop staring. You’ll creep him out.”
“ Ay, lo siento. ”
“So when will you confess?”
I choke on my pudding. I didn’t expect that. Me? And Lovi? That’s… “Not anytime soon.” I chuckle between wheezes. “Don’t think I’m ready yet. But,” I try to find Lovino in the sea of students, “I will. Someday.”
Gilbert chips in. It is completely unnecessary. “He’s been making a script for his confession scene. He needs another five more moments together with his lovely little Lovi to add to his list of ‘My Favourite Times With You’.”
“That’s disgusting.”
I blush, feeling a little ashamed. “It’s not my fault for being romantic.”
“Leave the poor boy be. If it’s meant to happen, it’s meant to be!” Francis laughs.
We leave it at that. Dinner goes on like usual with the professors talking in the front and the students being noisier than they are. I can hear them demanding for our behaviour but I don’t think anyone really cares. It’s hard being them. We only care, though, when our dishes are empty and so are the serving plates. That’s when dinner is over and the whole human stampede rewinds to the way it was back before dinner started.
There may have been at least twenty times I have nearly died being crushed to death in said stampede on numerous occasions.
Francis is our anchor once again. Gilbert being Gilbert got lost somewhere in the crowd after he lost his footing. We’re supposed to find him but honestly, with my stomach full I have no motivation to find him. Francis can do that on his own.
The way back to the dorm room, however, I’m all alone because Francis thought I was some dick for ‘leaving poor little Gilly on his own!’.
Which sucks because, after five years in this school, I still get lost because of the stupid stairs. Why would anyone build a school with stairs like that? It’s so inconvenient and useless. What purpose does it even ha—
Oh, look! It’s Lovino!
I whisper to myself, “Quick! Tonio. Say hi.”
Smoothly, I walked over to Lovino, ignoring the fumbled steps I had and the short moment I almost tripped on my cloak while running down the ever-changing stairs. Coming closer and definitely within earshot, I shouted way too loud for my own good. Oops. “Lovi!”
Man, oh man. It’s been too long since I’ve been alone with Lovino. I miss the way his hair smells like the shampoo I got him last school break, his hands smelling like dills and —
Wait. Is he...is he crying?
Why is Lovino upset? He’s never upset after dinner! My lovely Lovino should never even be upset in the first place!
“Lovi!” I shout again.
He doesn’t seem to hear. I shout even louder this time. I’m sure he heard me!
Lovino does not stop in his steps. He keeps on walking through the corridors alone (looking unnecessarily beautiful as always. Oh, Lovi). But it’s obvious he heard me because I saw him flinch. I think I saw him rubbing his eyes, too!
I call out again, “Lovi?” but in a more muted voice, close to being a whisper. Is he ignoring me?
By the time I am where he was half a second ago, Lovino is gone from sight.
6:45 AM on Saturday morning. I’m only up at this stupid hour because Gilbert received a howler from his parents who are obviously ignorant of the drastic time difference. His parents are currently on the other side of the world in some field work. I don’t know what exactly they do but I hope it’s something important to lose my sleep over. Don’t they know that as students, we have to get enough sleep to function properly?
Never mind the fact that even if they did, we wouldn’t sleep as much anyway. We just wouldn’t be up as early.
I take this opportunity to bring up last night’s events with Gilbert. Francis is sound asleep. I think he’s able to sleep through a tornado if we had one. I admire him sometimes. “Did he really ignore me or was I not loud enough?”
“I’m not sure about you, but when a hallway that fucking echoes is empty save for two people, that’s a clear sign he’s ignoring you.”
“How sure are you, though?”
“I don’t know, man. Ask me again later. It’s too early for me and you to think,” he grumbles. “My parents are already shit enough to have me up this early. I don’t need you to do it, too.”
I pout. Gilbert’s already dead asleep by the time his head hits the bed. We still have a couple more hours left till practice starts. I fall back asleep quicker than I did the night before.
When I’m up again and this time, at a reasonable time of the day, Francis is here complaining about mine and Gilbert’s room. He is about to lecture us on another bout of how our shirts should be on hangers, not the floor when Gilbert blurts out about the way Lovino was last night.
Francis looks at me like I’m stupid which isn’t entirely new. “Are you sure about that?”
“That’s what I asked Gilbert to confirm!” I retort, feeling slightly offended. Honestly, if anyone knew the most about Lovino, it was me! I just need confirmation from time to time, that’s all.
Francis leans his head on his palm. He points a pen at me. “You think he’s ignoring you.”
I nod.
He further scrutinises me by narrowing his eyes. “If that is the case, then you’re clearly the person at fault.”
I shrug. “We don’t know that yet.”
He puts down the pen, rubbing his chin. “That we don’t.”
Gilbert steps in with his own two cents. “Maybe he’s just having a bad day? I know I wouldn’t talk to Tonio right here if I had one.”
“Hey!” I frown, taking a lot of offence in his comment.
Francis nods in agreement, that jerk! “Ah, I understand what you mean.”
I whine, definitely feeling insulted and attacked. “Look, I’m sorry for whatever I did to wrong the both of you but can we please come back to the topic?”
Gilbert and Francis share a look that I definitely don’t like. Then they stare back at me. “You.”
“What is it now?” I groan, rolling my eyes.
“The most he ever does to you on a daily basis is giving you that whole I’m-ignoring-you-but-I’m-listening-to-you-anyway act. So unless you fucked up royally to deserve him actually ignoring you— or worse, avoiding you — ”
“Is there a difference?” Gilbert cuts off Francis.
“Don’t talk while I’m talking.” Francis shushes him. “Anyway, back to where I was. He’s probably having a really bad day. I can’t think of anything else at this point.”
“I hope you’re right,” I mumble. Hope is a really convenient word.
Convenient for when you can’t or don’t want to admit one of your worst doubts being right.
Oh, Lovi.
By afternoon, we are in Hogsmeade. I’m alone in The Three Broomsticks at a table by the window, waiting for both Francis and Gilbert to come back. The two of them had planned three days ago to buy their monthly ration of snacks that will inevitably end up expiring once they go missing in our shared room as always. It’s been about an hour since they’ve left. How on earth do two grown teenagers who have done this for every month (since we started schooling here) have trouble on deciding what to buy, when all they do each time is ending up getting the same exact snacks?
I frown. “Jesus, what’s taking them so long?”
My mug is halfway to being emptied thanks to me rationing out a chug for every five minutes (a habit I developed after years of being left like this. It’s sad, I know). The pub is getting full by the minute. For every person who left, three more customers would come in. But I wouldn’t blame them. It’s freezing outside, after all.
The customers at the table next to mine get up. In a hurry, the busboy quickly carries the stacked plates and mugs to the kitchen and comes back in a second to clean up the rest of the table before the next group arrives. It’s still midday, so everyone is here for either lunch or to hang out.
Just as I am about to gulp down the last drop of butterbeer, I hear familiar voices.
“Who does he think he is?”
“I’m sure there’s a legible explanation for this. Just calm down for a second.”
“Calm down? You’re asking me to calm down? Our friend is miserable and holing himself up because someone decided that he wasn’t worth his time, and you’re telling me to calm down ?”
At the rise of her voice, I frown. Honestly, couldn’t they keep such personal vendetta to themselves? Come on, we don’t want to listen to some teenage drama or even encounter one!
I nod to myself, murmuring, “See, Toni? Because your mama raises you right, you’re not trashing anyone in broad daylight and public, unlike certain people.”
The group of obnoxious teenagers crosses the room, knocking into some of the other customers accidentally and heads for an unoccupied table for three. They are gossiping. Jeering. Do they have no tact?
I don’t say anything when they get louder. Now, I can hear them clearer than before.
I don’t make a habit of eavesdropping on random strangers, (after all, my mama taught me better!) but with the way they’re talking so loudly, it’s really hard not to! I try to block them out once or twice, but when the girl all but yells how much of a “ total fucking bastard who’s a waste of his time!” (his words, not mine), I think it’s pretty easy to guess what happened.
A heartbreak? A breakup, maybe?
“...He’s kinda hot, but still not worth it.” Another voice adds on after a brief pause.
The way she yells at people sounds oddly familiar. I smile as I feel the deja vu kicking in — Lovino exclaiming profanities at me in the bustling corridors, in front of my friends, during class. Ah, Lovi. Why does he sound so much cuter than her, even when personally attacking someone?
Oh, Lovi. Why did you ignore me today? I didn’t do anything wrong, right? Was it someone else? Was it me-
“I’d beat him up for if I ever see him!” A guy said, sounding encouraging though his proclamation is for no one.
“With a bat! For Lovino!” The girl adds.
Wait.
Wait a second.
Lovi? Did I hear someone say his name? Did someone hurt him? Was that why he was sad? I’ll do anything for Lovino, too! I turn my head towards the table.
Just as I am about to excitedly announce me helping them (after all, it’s for Lovino!), I hear something that sends shivers all over my body and throwing my heart into a race.
“Fuck you, Antonio and your arrogant ass! You’re not that great anyway!”
Their eyes briefly cross mine when I accidentally stumble.
I’m sure they didn’t see me, but my skin is electric with fear now that I know I currently have a bounty on my head. It’s on high alert for danger and tragically frightening friends of Lovino’s.
I’m going to confess. I am terrified.
Very terrified.
I’m trying to be courageous, a second at a time with no glance to spare towards their general vicinity. The gentle scraping of my chair when I get up and leave doesn’t attract their attention. Good.
God, what did I mess up? Why is Lovino mad at me?
“He didn’t spend all those nights bugging me to check if it was good enough for you to throw away his letters, you cuntface!” Everyone turns to glare at them, and his companion glares at him. He chuckles nervously but still with mighty resentment, he adds on, “So much love went into those letters and you don’t even bother? Little egoistic shit.”
Oh.
Oh.
Oh shit.
When it clicks, I dash.
I dash faster than I ever had. Quicker than when my mother caught me breaking china plates in a silly fight with my brother. Faster than when my brother found out I doodled on his homework. Blocks of buildings and hollow imprints in snow mark my progress. With that, I escape successfully and on to my next task: finding Francis and Gilbert where they claim to be.
5:30 PM, the evening sunset is an amazing view of the castle. Lovino is the most beautiful, but this comes a close second.
I found both Francis and Gilbert on the streets much earlier. They were on their way to the pub, bags of snacks to last for months in both pairs of hands. I pulled them away as soon as I could grab their arms, hastily making our (my, actually) way back to the castle as hurriedly as I could.
“Care to explain?” Francis crosses his arms the best he can with two heavy bags of snacks. I bet he thinks he looks serious, but when a guy with an unshaven stubble and four to five bags of snacks tries to do so, he appears ridiculous more than anything.
Gilbert looks equally concerned.
We step into the corridor.
It’s quiet. There are no other students coming our way. Some are out still in Hogsmeade. Some are in the dormitory in their respective rooms, studying or napping. And some, I'm sure, are frolicking somewhere without a worry in the world. Ah, lucky.
But most, I can say, don’t have the unfortunate misery of fucking up really badly with their crush.
However! This is no time to consider how much I hate our trio’s collective stupidity with a red-hot passion. I pull them closer towards the ledge, forming a small circle that is hopefully inconspicuous to whoever’s going to pass by. At their inquisitive looks, I clasp my hand and confessed, “My friends, it seems like we have made a grave mistake.”
“Which one is it now?” Gilbert asks worriedly. I’m slightly offended that he’s bringing up our past that went undetected at this crucial time!
Francis smacks his shoulder. “You make it sound like we’re problematic students!”
Gilbert shoots him a confused look. “We are, though?”
“Guys, please!” I demand, exasperation seeping through my words. “I’m serious.”
“How serious?”
“A whole group of students with homicidal intentions toward me either want to A) swing a bat at my face — ”
“ Mon Dieu , not your face!”
“Or B) murder me.”
“Who doesn't?”
“I’d appreciate it if you stopped admitting to murderous wishes towards me, Gil.”
“Yeah, okay. Sorry.”
Now Francis says, “Well I'd like to know what we did so wrong that a bunch of people want you hurt for. It can't be good.”
I explain to them what I heard. The familiar voices. Verbal threats aggressively shooting out their mouths in aggravation. The violent intentions.
And the involvement of Lovino in the whole ordeal.
While I wait for both Francis and Gilbert to process what I just told them, I pay attention to their faces. Francis looks amused. Gilbert still looks puzzled.
“Remember all those letters we’ve been throwing out? Turns out they were from Lovi all along!”
“Lovino wants to hurt you?” Gilbert gasps, a scandalous expression etching on his face.
“No!” I hiss in exasperation.
“Then?” Francis gestures for me to go on.
“I meant like,” I rubbed the back of my neck. “Lovi’s been sending me love letters all along.”
“Ohh. You mean those letters we threw out.” Gilbert finally catches on. “Huh.”
All of a sudden, Gil looks alarmed. “Oh, hell. Fucking shit, you’re right. We fucked up.” His eyes widen in realisation once the harsh truth sets in. “We’ve been throwing out love letters. Lovino’s love letters.”
Francis’ face goes from bewildered to amused. “You’ve been getting love letters? Like the ones back when being classy was a thing?”
Rolling my eyes, I grunt. “You’re completely missing the point, but yes.”
Now I smell the bitingly cold winter breeze that hits me once I notice that the corridor is far too deserted for a Saturday evening. It's sharp to my nose so it stings.
Gilbert sits by the ledge, already working on ways to fix my situation.
Francis, the fucking dick, still has ‘entertained’ written all over his face.
Now that we’ve pinpointed the source of ‘Lovino’s Sudden Genuine Cold Treatment’, I can finally figure out what to do next.
Everything is nice. Everything is calm.
But you know what always happens when everything is calm. A storm comes right after.
That’s when I hear a heavy thud; someone probably dropped their books. We stay quiet, hoping they would quicken their pace and leave. Deep inside, I hope they didn’t hear anything. And even deeper, I wish they weren’t Lovi’s friends on their way back from the pub.
A moment later, I hear choked sobs. They heartbreakingly sound just like Lovi's.
I stiffen harshly. Francis visibly freezes. Gilbert is so alerted his head shoots up as soon as his the thud broke his concentration.
My heart races. Oh no. Oh no no no no .
I look at where the sound came from. And there he is just a few metres away from where we huddle. It's undeniable he heard us.
His form is shaking. His rosy plump lips are quivering, struggling to keep his infamous pout. His hands are clenching and unclenching into fists. An alarming shade of pink spreads across his face and the tip of his ears while his nose and eyes turn more scarlet and puffy by the second.
Even when he’s crying, he looks like a Seelie faerie.
“Lovi, I swear I can explain!”
“I know I called you a jerk but I didn't think you'd actually be one.” He's wiping furiously at his eyes, sucking in air through his nose hurriedly. A few hiccups escape. Aggressive sniffling ensues. “God, to think I actually had a chance.”
I try to pacify the situation, my hands itching to clasp his cloak with my feet making their way to him. I have to do it quickly before he makes a dash! “No Lovi, I mean it! There's more to this. It's not what it sounds like.”
“Go fuck yourself, Toni.” He spits, regaining his cold demeanour. “I heard you loud and clear.” He turns his back to me. He’s already made up his mind.
Just before I could reach him by his sleeve, Lovino runs off somewhere into the castle.
9:00 PM on a Tuesday night, I am miserable.
By Antonio Fernandez-Carriedo’s standards, the day went pretty great. Of course, I got into trouble with the professors over some homework and pranks which, as it turns out, was by some second-years. Hey, would you look at that? We’ve already gotten ourselves proteges! Man, would Gilbert be proud to have someone carry on the school’s notorious legacy.
But that’s not the problem here. The main thing is that I am miserable, and have been so for the past couple of days.
“Guys,” I drawl, the thick quilts and blankets piled on top of each other muffling my voice. “My Lovi Love Meter. It’s empty.”
Francis adjusts his reading glasses, licking the tip of his thumb. He flips a page of some romance novel he brought along from home. “You’re exaggerating.”
I flip to lie on my stomach. “I am empty.”
“You ate two hours ago, and we just finished our snack haul like 30 minutes ago. What are you on about?” Gilbert replies. He’s snacking on potato crisps. The one’s that are about to expire in a week. He has at least another five of those to go, and he’s eaten about ten already.
Before I know it, the memories of Lovino crying replays like it did for the past hours in the past couple of days. It’s not very helpful. It just makes me feel worse day by day.
“It’s been too long since Lovi and I talked,” I groan dramatically.
“Two days, by mathematical definition, is not long.” Francis gestures for a crisp and Gilbert hands the canister to him.
“It’s too long for the heart.” I clutch my hoodie where my heart is. “I miss him so much. When I look at him in the corridors, I think he’ll run into my arms and lets me explain, crying. But because I know it won’t happen, my heart aches.”
They snort.
I look to their side, brows furrowed and disappointment evident on my face. “Can’t you guys help a brother out?”
Francis looks disgusted. Gilbert looks bored. “It’s literally only been two days. Hell, I bet we haven’t hit the 48-hour mark yet,” One of them scoffs but I do not know which. I can’t hear them from where I cover my ears with my hood to block out their bullshit. Oh sure, when they say the same thing everyone’s worried and concerned but when I do it, I’m a drama queen. Pssssh . Hypocrites.
“You guys should be known as the Terrible Two,” I blow a raspberry their way.
“And what would happen to the trio?”
I think about it. “We’d be the Terrible Two and Antonio.” I decide.
Gilbert throws a pair of moustache-printed boxers at me. “That’s a dumb name.”
Our conversation stops there. Francis goes back to his reading and Gilbert’s on his first step to getting a heart attack from obesity. The silence with the occasional scuffling of Gilbert’s fingers in the canister for a crisp leaves me to think. The Terrible Two and Antonio doesn’t sound that bad, does it?
Our night goes on that way until both of them hit the sack as soon as they’re in the comforts of their respective beds, pushed together with mine in the middle to form one huge bed. There’s more space this way for our other belongings in the room.
Plus, imagine the amount of bed space I’d get to impress Lovino with if I got him in bed! There’d be lots of space for him to-
Lovino.
The whole issue comes back to me at full force once again. “Gah.” I scowl.
Before I know it, it’s already 2:07 AM. School starts in a couple more hours. My eyelids aren’t heavy enough to smoothly soothe me to sleep. My heart is anxious again from the terrible encounter. My fingers clasp and unclasp over each other as I toss and turn in bed.
It’s hard to sleep. There are a lot of things running through my mind. All of them are about Lovino. I get fed up with the suffocatingly thick blankets that provided me comfort hours ago. Francis is knocked out. Gilbert is deeply asleep. They’re not shaken awake when I pull the covers off of me and dump it on them. I carefully manoeuver myself over Gilbert, taking care not to elbow his face. I go to where we put our trunks side by side. It squeaks when I open mine.
Then I bring out a red knitted scarf Lovino’s mother gifted me when he invited me over for Christmas when my parents were on vacation back home. I like her. I like her husband, too. They’re kind and caring just as their children are. Okay, more like their youngest two sons. Lovino’s still working his way there.
I wear a sweater over my jammies. Slip-on shoes cover my sock-clad feet. I wrap the scarf around my neck, bringing along a cloak just in case the cold becomes overwhelming.
With gentle and creeping squeaks and creaks of woods beneath my steps, I discreetly tip-toe my way out of the room and onto my adventure into the castle past midnight.
In the blurry darkness, I see Lovino.
He is hunched over a sheet of paper, sitting on the steps at the top of the second flight of stairs. Probably a letter from his brothers again. He loves them deeply and they exchange letters every weekend but he only reads them when he’s upset.
Like the way he is now.
Oh, what have I done?
His fingers are holding onto the parchment tightly. The wind is strong tonight. It messes up his hair. The gentle moonlight brings out an ethereal touch to his wistful expression. His bittersweet smile reflected the light when the moon was the brightest.
I want to tell him. I want to hold him close. I want him to know that he got it all wrong because he came in at the wrong time. With these wishes strongly affecting me I approach him, discreet steps not to shock him or else he’ll run. If that happens, I’d have to wait longer for a chance like this to come around and by then, our relationship would’ve soured beyond repair.
“Lovi…” I whisper, guilt washing over me intensely. When it comes out, I realise that even a whisper can be loud in empty hallways such as this.
Lovino freezes. Soon, his hand quickly fumbles to fold the letter. He acts as if he didn’t hear me even though his body language makes it clear. He’s in a rush to sprint back to his room but he can’t because he’s sure it’ll let me know that he heard me perfectly mine.
And right now, he doesn’t want me to know.
Touché.
This time, I’m close enough to grab him by the arm. But I don’t have to.
When Lovino gets up, he miscalculated his steps. He couldn’t see properly what with the dim light the moon provides. He misses a step and he’s about to make a nasty trip down the staircase when I rush in time to catch him by the waist.
We stay that way for a while. My arm is starting to hurt. Lovino has his hands clutching onto my sweater tightly. I’m also starting to choke because he happens to be clutching onto the collar. As my arm strains further and about to let go, Lovino’s feet finds their way out of his cloak and onto the top step of the stairs. I hoist him up quickly before my arm loses strength and drops him.
When Lovino is sure he won’t fall off and his footing is in check, he pushes me off and pats his cloak. His eyes light up brightly when he realises his letter didn’t get lost in the fall but is instead, in his pocket. His back is turned to me. He drops his guard. He’s not as defensive as before. “Thank god, I didn’t lose it.”
I take that moment of vulnerability as a chance. “Hey Lov — ”
His head whips around faster than I have ever seen him do that. His eyes aren’t the warm hazel I fell in love with, but rather a furious shade of it that cuts through my being. His lips turn into a scowl in obvious distaste. I can tell that although he’s relieved that he didn’t have an accident down the stairs that required a shit ton of excuses as to why he was out at this hour, he isn’t pleased to be saved by me.
I would, too, if my saviour was someone who didn’t consider a classic confession trope as an option for an anonymous letter.
“As much as I don’t want to say this, thank you.” He’s still angry, borderline mad perhaps.
My heart feels elated. Even with lighting this bad, there’s no doubt he can tell that I’m glad. I hurry to tell him. “No, no. It’s fine! All that matters is that you’re okay.”
I throw him a charming smile, one that always worked to bring out his embarrassed-yet-pleased expression. Good god. I’m so glad he’s talked to me again! I’d like to thank whatever deity who granted me this opportunity to redeem myself. Honestly, I —
“I’m not saying that because I’m grateful,” he smiles, though a bit crookedly as if he’s mocking me. “I’m saying that because unlike someone, I’m courteous and mindful of what I do.”
His words cut me deep. He says mean things now and then; very often, too. Most of the time, he doesn’t mean it. I know, because he’s told me about his communication problem and constant fear of misinterpretation.
But when he says it with such malice and spite, I can’t help but feel annoyed.
“What’s wrong with you?” I yell, not giving a shit about being quiet at this point.
“Nothing!” He retorts. His voice is at full volume now, too. “Just go back to whatever you were doing, and leave me alone.”
“Well, I can’t do that, can I?”
“And why not?”
“Because you’re here!”
“Oh, so now I’m in the way of your escapade?” He spits. “Hah. First, I’m bothering you with the letters, and now I’m a pest in your adventure for the night?”
The mocking smile he gave me was so irritating I want to get rid of it. Preferably with a kiss.
“No!” I defend. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you for days but you won’t let me.” I grab him by the arms, pulling him closer. I can see his face rapidly changing from fury to fear. “Do you think I’ll let this chance pass up?”
When he registers my taunt, he pulls my hoodie’s drawstrings and I’m thrown forward, drawing nearer to him.
Lovino’s face is so close, I can feel his breath. I can feel his eyelashes fluttering. They are soft. Looking at him at this distance reminds me once again why I’m not only always taken by his personality but also his looks. He’s so painfully breathtaking, I can’t help the stuttering in my heart.
But now is not the time for that.
I take in deep breath. He still looks furious. His anger is fueled further by the growing silence between us. He’s about to say something when I interrupt.
“We need to talk.”
“Che. Why should we?” He huffs, hands on both hips. “Just go back to what you were doing before and leave me alone.”
“I know you’re hurt and all,” I plead. “But please give me a chance to explain.”
His guarded expression is falling apart. I can see that he’s loosening up. Maybe he doesn’t hate me as much as he thought. Maybe he still finds it in him to forgive me. Maybe I’m not too late.
Either way, he’s letting me in again and I’d like to take advantage of that albeit slowly.
I take his hands in mine, rubbing my thumbs on the back of his hands, soothing him. “If it makes you feel any better, I came out here hoping to see you.”
“You’re not here to stargaze?” His voice quieter now. I’m surprised he remembers. I told him that back when we were younger — when we were both ridiculously late for our curfew one night after racing each other in the corridors. That was six years ago. If someone told me I’d be in love with him, I’m sure I would have told them that I already was.
I smile at him gently, a little conscious of the gap between my two front teeth showing with how wide it is. “I don’t look up to the sky to see the stars anymore, why should I? I can just look at your eyes.”
Lovino lowers his head and averts his eyes, evidently avoiding any visual contact with me. I chuckle at how cute he is. I can see him pouting and his shoulder slacking. This is good. He’s calmed down enough for me to reason with.
“Don’t say things you don’t mean.” He murmurs.
I lift his hands to my lips and kiss the tip of his lithe fingers. “But I do.”
The scarlet of his cheeks intensifies but he barely manages to keep it at a minimum. “Liar.”
“I’m telling the truth.” My face melts into concern. I grab him by the chin, turning his head to me. “You have to listen to me properly this time, okay? No running. No yelling. No misunderstandings.”
His eyes are still turned away. I sigh. “Lovi, I’m serious.”
He still doesn’t budge.
“Lovino, look at me.”
And he does. He knows there’s a difference between Lovino and Lovi. He knows the gap of intimacy between those two names that I created myself for his sake. He knows that significance of his name and that’s how he knows I need him to take me seriously.
He’s careful. He’s careless. He’s trying to look tough and indifferent but with how his eyes look so hopeful, I can’t help the swelling of my heart.
“You have to promise to tell me everything.”
“I promise.”
“Swear it.”
“I swear to tell you everything, from A to Z. No details left out.” I cross my heart.
“Okay.” He ducks his head again but this time he’s looking at me, his nose tucked under the matching red scarf he has wrapped around himself. He looks a bit more assured than before. “Tell me.”
So I do. I explain to him about the letters, the misconceptions, the assumptions, and almost everything Gilbert, Francis and I thought was all there was to the letters. There are parts I forgot but thankfully, they are irrelevant.
I watch his face throughout. I watch as it went from peeved to disbelief to shock to amuse and lastly, his expression changed to comically horrified.
“You thought it was a chainmail?” Lovino wheezes. He’s getting progressively cheeky about this, I observe. “Even if I sent you a chainmail, wouldn’t a howler be more effective? Have you thought about that?”
Regardless, I pout. “You didn’t leave anything on it! How was I supposed to know?”
He wipes a tear away. “Pfft. Why would I do that? That’s giving my identity away. I don’t even know how you feel.”
“That was the reason we even have this problem.”
“Okay, true.” He admits.
We don’t say anything after that. It’s quiet save for Lovino’s laughter that dies out soon enough. I think an hour has passed since I saved him from falling down the stairs. That means we have lesser time to sleep before school starts and I’m already dreading the headache I’m about to get for the whole day later.
Lovino is the first one to break the silence.
“Why didn’t you tell me, then? You tell me everything, so why didn’t you tell me about getting anonymous letters?”
I shuffle my feet, thumbs twiddling. Oh, god. I can feel myself burning. “I was worried you might think I was just being overly self-conscious so I was really discreet about it with you. I even wanted to tell you between classes. While looking at it whenever I got one, I made excuses to not let you get involved. I guess...It just spiralled down from there.”
“Why would you be worried, though?”
The burning intensifies. I can feel it up to my ears. The moonlight may be dim but by the reaction on his face, I’m sure he knows I’m blushing. “Because I didn’t want you to tell me that I was just thinking about it too much.”
Lovino’s coming closer, his expression cheekier than before. “And why would you think that way?”
“Because I didn’t want the person I love to think of me so shallowly.”
As much as I can bet that Lovino is sure of how I feel about him, I’m confident that no matter how many times he practised it in his head (how he imagines himself to be all suave and tough) he doesn’t actually know how to respond to the actual thing.
Lovino shuffles a bit, his fingers clasping and fumbling over each other. His eyes are cast to the floor. He purses his lips, biting the lower half. His cheeks have tinted the shade of red I love. I’m sure I look the same to him, too.
He appears to have something to ask. I let him have his time to think it over and hopefully, nothing will go wrong.
“Can I ask you something, then?”
“Go ahead.”
“Why me?” His eyes turn wide at his choice of words. Lovino shakes his hands vigorously. “Not that I’m doubting you or anything!”
This is it. The question I’ve mentally and emotionally prepared myself for.
“Because every moment with you,” I breathe, “...shined. Because the day was good. Because the day was bad. Because the day was good enough. I loved every moment of it because you made the day so insignificant I didn’t care if we got into trouble or not.”
We stand closer. I wrap my arms around him, squeezing him so tight I almost forgot we needed to breathe. His head is tucked under my chin, his nose brushing against my neck and soft cheek on my collarbone. I kiss the top his head — his tousled auburn locks.
There’s a lot of things I want to say to him. I bet he has a lot to say to me as well. I bet it starts from ‘remember when we were kids?’ and ‘no, you big goof, that’s not how this works,’.
Though right now, there’s something I need to address. It’s important.
“Lovi.”
“Yeah?”
“Are we official?”
“Mm.”
“I need a more detailed answer than that. I demand a summary of maximum 120 words to explain that ‘ Mm’ .” I joke.
He looks up, his eyes the embodiment of ‘ eh, fuck that ’. “Can I do it in one?”
“Sure.”
“Yes.”
I laugh again and so does Lovi and then we’re gazing at each other quietly and sort of intensely and before either of us can say or do anything to spoil it, I pull his chin up and kiss him.
At first, it’s just a gentle kiss. A peck on the lips. But it gets longer when neither of us dares to break it. I close my eyes and my fingers are in his hair and his fingers are creeping beneath my hoodie. Our breathing gets shorter. My heart soars.
It’s when Lovino accidentally kicks off a forgotten pen that we pull apart. We smile shyly.
“By the way, I think you should evaluate your tastes in men,” I advise, feigning a serious look. “Seriously, your current one is a major idiot.”
“Really? I didn’t realise that. Maybe I’ll dump him tomorrow and find one on the market.” He nuzzles his head against my chest.
This is how it’s supposed to be. Lovino and I together, acting like childhood sweethearts at the age of five.
When I look down the stairs again, I realise it’s getting bright. Oh, shit.
“Well, you should go then.” I kiss him quickly. “Wouldn’t want you to doze off in class.”
He nods, putting his hands on mine. “You too.” He pecks my cheek so quickly I almost forgot how it felt like as soon as his lips left.
Just as he was about to climb the stairs to his house’s dormitory room, I remember a stupidly crucial detail.
“Wait, Lovi!” I whisper-shout, getting conscious of whoever might be around at this hour again.
He turns around from where he stands on the stair. “What is it, you jerk? I’m already sleepy.”
I gingerly made my way down. Leaning down to his height and cupping a hand around his ear, I whisper, “Can we keep this a secret from your friends?”
“What, why?” He is upset. I understand. I would want to tell everyone about this, too, if I finally got together with someone I’ve been crushing on for years .
I chuckle nervously. “It’s just that,” I bite my lips, ashamed of myself, “I’d appreciate it if you introduced me to your friends as your boyfriend after they calmed down.”
“Huh? The fuck you’re on about?”
“Nothing you should worry yourself for.” I kiss his forehead. “Now, hurry along. Everyone needs their beauty sleep.”
He’s confused but he accepts it the way it is. I’m sure he has a lot to ask but for now, we part ways and I’m thinking of how to break it to the Terrible Two.
“So what’s this I heard about you and Lovino?”
It’s lunch. I’m at the Hufflepuff’s table where I belong. Gilbert and Francis have me sandwiched between them. Somehow, someway, Slytherin’s Belle made her way up here undetected by everyone. That or they did notice but they didn’t give a shit.
“Hua?” I question, my mouth stuffed with a buttermilk bun. I swallow it. “Sorry, what?”
She seems disappointed. “You and Lovino. Dating.” Her arms are crossed the way all Slytherins do when they’re not getting their way and demands for the answer they’re looking for. “I know.”
My eyes immediately dart to Lovino. He’s chatting with the rest of his housemates. He doesn’t appear to be troubled.
“No, it wasn’t Lovino who told me.” She brings back my attention to her. Her face turns dark, all devious and evil. “Why don’t you thank your friends for being faithful dogs?”
Those fucking assholes.
I can smell homicide from her. “Now, now. If Lovino’s happy, then shouldn’t you be happy?” I attempt to pacify her. “After all, shouldn’t a friend enjoy their friend’s happiness?”
“Why, yes. You’re right.” She pats my shoulder harshly. It actually hurts like hell, what the fuck? “And when a friend is upset, we should share that, too, no?”
I thought to myself, dear Lovino, not only I think you need to re-evaluate your choice of boyfriend, I also think you should consider evaluating your choice of friends.