Prompt: College AU, shooting star, and running away.

A/N: The Goliath Beetle and I decided to share a prompt and see what happens! So please, check our her work if you haven't already :)

Also, I'm stating a general warning for dark themes here, as I don't want to give too much away. There's nothing gory, and it's not a dark story, but if sensitive topics trigger you, then tread lightly. Take care of yourselves first darlings.

Hell's Half Acre

"Children are like sponges," she said. "Often times, adults underestimate how much a child understands, how much they absorb, and how much they hurt." She sat down on the bed and added, "Adults can be so careless, Antonio. They're cruel without even meaning to be."

Antonio buried himself underneath his pillow, trying to fight the sobs, but he always listened. He always heard his mother's calm, pleasant words, and repeated them to himself as a mantra. But it didn't always help.

"He called me stupid," he murmured quietly. "In front of the whole class, he said that, and I…" his voice trailed off and tears burned his cheeks once again.

"Tesoro," she cooed, and wrapped her arms around Antonio's shoulders. "Please don't listen to him. He doesn't know what he's talking about. He doesn't mean what he's saying. He's saying it to taunt you. He's hoping to get a rise out of you."

"B-but that's just—"

"Cruel," she finished, and her fingertips were caressing his face. "I know. I know."

But despite everything she said, the cruelty continued, and Antonio cried everyday after school, and his mother always stayed with him. Everyday desperately trying to erase the words being engraved into his skull.

It worked for a while.

Near around noon, Francis and Gilbert strolled out of their junior apartment—an apartment usually reserved for seniors, but also to those juniors with outstanding credits and merits. They were on their way to the housing department to discuss their rooming situation.

Gilbert, the residential assistant of the building (RA for short), kicked stones on the way over. He was not amused with the ordeal. "Damn it. I thought we could get away without having a roommate for the semester. This really blows my master plan."

"Master plan of what?" Francis jeered, and his laugh filled the winter air. "I know it might've been fun—living the bachelor life and hosting grand house parties…"

"Don't remind me."

"But who knows? Perhaps we'll find a suitable replacement for our dear Roderich. Heaven knows he wasn't a perfect roommate."

"He always did have a stick up his ass."

"So we can only go up from there," Francis said, and he gave Gilbert an elaborate wink.

They were already at the housing department, and Francis was first to touch the iced doorknob and lead the way inside. It was quiet, not many students and faculty were around this time; the second semester had yet to begin. Gilbert was on campus as part of his job, and Francis…didn't really want to be anywhere else.

The two of them neared the door of the supervisor. They exchanged glances for a heavy moment before Gilbert, with an exaggerated sigh, knocked on the door. Someone replied from behind the wood, and they entered.

"Ah, good afternoon Mr. Bielschmidt," the man said—his name card read Ivan Braginsky. He turned to Francis and added, "Oh, and Mr. Bonnefoy too. We have the duo here."

Gilbert took a seat and rolled his eyes.

It was Francis who smiled and replied, "Yes, we thought we'd make a group decision on the matter."

"Ah, how democratic," he said, and his smile was soft (it always was). "Well, I guess we'll get right down to it. There are a list of students looking for housing, and of course, since you, Gilbert, are an RA, you get your pick of who will be your other roommate." He stopped and laid some papers out before them. "Most of these students are returning from semesters abroad, but we have a few transfers here as well."

"Transfers," Francis mused, and he picked up some papers. From the corner of his eye, he noticed that Gilbert was still brooding in his chair, but that wasn't too much of a surprise. It was a big thing for Gilbert to relinquish their space to another stranger: it didn't work so well the last time anyway. Francis supposed it was up to him to find a better contestant. He skimmed through the transfers hoping that there would be a more interesting crop: there was someone named Feliks, someone named Abel, someone named Alfred…but it was the someone named Antonio that stood out to him.

Ivan caught him staring, and prompted, "He's a very interesting case, that one."

So Francis could tell. He was—

"Expelled from three different colleges, and with a very colorful record. He apparently took a semester off after the third expulsion to do some rehab, and is now back on the straight and narrow."

Francis eyed the profile picture of a handsome, smiling young man, then compared it to the damaged records. "Well, he definitely doesn't have a stick up his ass," he whispered to Gilbert.

Gilbert sighed and reluctantly peered over his shoulder. Meager interest sparkled in his eye, but he turned away before it as noticeable. "He seems all right."

"Ah, well it seems as though Antonio passed the Gilbert test," Francis announced, and he stacked the papers together. "I guess that's it then. I'll just give these back to you."

Ivan took the papers but stared at them a little apprehensively. "Don't you want to glance at the others, or…"

"No, no," Francis dismissed with a wave. "That one seems perfectly suitable. Not at all boring."

Ivan took his time weighing Francis's words and the situation; he looked at Antonio's file again. There was a hesitant pause before he said, "Well, all right then. Antonio will be very lucky to have found senior housing."

Gilbert scoffed, and kicked his seat out to stand. "He'll be lucky to have found us."

Francis grinned and joined him. "Yes, quite so." As they closed the door, Francis added, "Good day, Mr. Braginsky."

That was three weeks ago.

Move-in day for the second semester began the last weekend of January. It was bright and early on a Sunday morning when Antonio arrived on campus. He didn't have a car (anymore), so he was forced to direct the man driving the shuttle service his mom ordered to the dorms in the very back of the school.

When Antonio came for his tour last semester, he passed through the senior dorms and awed at the pristine little Victorian-style houses, all divided into two or three apartments. He thought they were lovely, and hoped he could live in them one day, but he never expected to be chosen as the roommate of two juniors living there. He was more than surprised when he read the email, and when he showed his mom, she was the one to exclaim, "Toni, mi amor! That's absolutely fantastic! You see, this is a good sign. Things are looking up."

He still felt the hug she gave him just a few hours ago before the drive. He had to do it this time. For his mom.

"So, is around here okay?" the driver asked as he paused near the curb of a building.

Antonio looked around for the number of his apartment—422A. "Just over there to the left is fine," he replied.

Once the car was parked, the driver unloaded Antonio's two suitcases, and his bicycle: everything he had. He's always been a light traveler.

"Thank you very much," Antonio said and he handed the driver his pay plus a tip. He had a habit of tipping too much.

And the next minute, Antonio was alone on the curb. He heard small groups of students talking and walking around on the other side, near the entrances of the houses, but he waited a moment to gather his things. It was hard balancing two suitcases and a bicycle, but he developed a system over time. Learning how to tie the two suitcases to the seat of the bicycle was tricky, but made for a much easier time maneuvering.

He strolled down the path, and gazed up and around the buildings, admiring the view. They were mostly plain, with beer bottles strewn about, but the one on the far end, tucked away in the corner, was decorated with Christmas lights all around the bottom porch. Somehow, someway, it didn't surprise Antonio when he saw the number 422A framed by a wreath. He kind of…expected it.

He parked his bike in the rack, and started undoing his work. Once both suitcases were on the floor he hovered near the door, unsure once again. This was his fourth try. Fourth. His fingers curled into his palms, and he felt his blood boil. He didn't like the feeling though, and tried to calm himself with a strained, deep breath. Then without thinking, he raised his fist to the door and knocked. Once, twice. And waited.

It was silent for a while, so he knocked again. Perhaps they weren't there? Was he supposed to get his key beforehand?

But his thoughts were interrupted by a subtle, but unmistakable groan. Was it possible that they were still asleep? Had Antonio arrived too early or—

The door opened in a flash, and suddenly a pale – a very pale – shirtless man stood in the doorframe. He was yawning, and his face was soft with sleep, but he had bright, red eyes. He was very alert. "Hey," he said, and his voice was a bit scratchy.

"Oh, um, hi," Antonio replied, his grin shy. "I'm sorry if I'm here early. I just thought anytime would be okay…" he waited for any cue, but the man just continued to stare at him blankly. "Uh, I'm your new roommate. Antonio Carriedo. This is the right place, isn't it?"

Slow recognition was making its way to the man's eyes when someone else called, "Toni! We've been expecting you!"

"God damn it, Francis. Keep it down," the man grumbled.

The one yelling appeared in the doorframe, already dressed and smiling. "Antonio. How nice to meet you," he said and extended his hand.

Antonio grasped it and replied, "Ah, nice to meet you too. Francis, is that it?"

Francis nodded and his blue eyes danced. He swung his arm around the other man's shoulder and added, "And this is Gilbert. Don't let his grumpy face deter you. He's just recovering from a long night out."

"Shut up," Gilbert said, and a small smirk spread across his features. He was fast to act confident. "You can call me Gil if you like Toni."

Antonio shook his hand too, and laughed lightly—a nickname already must be a good sign. "Okay, sounds good."

"Here, let me help you with your bags," Francis cooed, and he was fast to swipe a suitcase from Antonio.

"Oh, but you don't need to—"

Gilbert belatedly grabbed the other one, and patted Antonio's shoulder. "Nah, don't worry about it, man. You're our newbie. Just come on in, and make yourself at home."

Antonio smiled, and tentatively followed them into the apartment. The door shut behind him with a heavy slam, but he was too late to catch it. "Uh, sorry."

"For what?" Francis asked absentmindedly. He'd already come and gone down the hallway to drop off the bags and was now lingering by the kitchen counter.

Antonio laughed and shook his head, dismissing the thought. "Never mind."

It took a few hours for Antonio to get settled, and during that time Gilbert had sobered up, and Francis baked two dozen cookies. Soon enough, the apartment was echoing with chatter and laughter, and smelling like his mother's kitchen. It made Antonio smile—he really had a good feeling about this time.

During the afternoon, when Francis's cookies were cool and arranged artfully on a platter, the three of them were lounging on the living room couches as an old game of rugby played mute in the background. They were going around making small talk, and Antonio was satisfied because he was good at small talk.

"So have you two already declared majors?" he asked politely.

"Ah, well," Francis grinned, and his blue eyes sparkled confident. "I was decided a psychology major as soon as I set foot on campus. But since I might as well take advantage of my native tongue, I'm also majoring in French."

"Wow. Double-majoring, huh?" Antonio looked at him very impressed.

"I wouldn't call double-majoring in psych and French that impressive," Gilbert teased. "Majoring in engineering makes that look like child's play."

"Je vous prie de différer, mon chéri."

Gilbert rolled his eyes. "I hate it when you do that."

Francis laughed, and turned his attention to Antonio. "And what about you? Have you declared?"

"Uh," Antonio paused, and averted his gaze to the floor. He knew it was coming, but it's hard to dance around his academic history tactfully. "No, I'm…I'm still deciding. I didn't really have good experiences at my other colleges to say," he said slowly. "But I like art history."

"Ah, an excuse to see the naked female figure."

Antonio's face flushed and he waved his hands dismissively. "No, no! Of course not! I would never—"

Francis chuckled and patted his shoulder reassuringly. "Don't fret, Toni. It was just a joke. I'm sure a handsome man has many ways to win ladies' affections."

Antonio smiled along, but he couldn't help the awkward cringe in his face. Perhaps he should say something? Is it too soon? Or would it be impolite to not tell them? "U-um, well actually…that's not really my…area," he stuttered, and wondered if any of it was coherent enough to understand.

"There are just as many naked men in art history as naked women," Francis reassured him playfully, but his fingers were soft on his shoulders. "You're definitely not alone on campus, Toni. There's no need to worry."

Antonio relaxed his shoulders, and he felt the color of his cheeks fading away. "Okay," he replied, and while he still possessed the courage, he added, "Oh, and I wanted to thank you two for taking me in. You don't know how much I appreciate it. Honestly, I thought I was going to have to live off-campus."

"It's no problem at all," Gilbert said as he swiped some cookies onto his lap. "We lost our dick roommate this semester anyway, so we were looking for a replacement. You seem a lot cooler too."

"Well," Antonio laughed. "I don't know about that."

There was an awkward pause as Francis and Gilbert exchanged glances. There seemed to be a silent conversation passing between them. Finally, Francis piped up and said, "Also, um, Toni…"

Shit. Antonio's heard that tone before. All too, too often.

Francis shifted in his seat and continued, "When we talked to Mr. Braginsky about choosing you as our third roommate, he did talk to us about your record."

"O-oh," Antonio breathed. His hands automatically crossed across his chest so he could dig his fingers into the flesh of his biceps. He was keeping calm. Everything was fine.

Francis's eyes followed the movements carefully and attentively: like he understood. "And we wanted to tell you that if you need anything, or if we can help you in any way—we're more than willing," he finished.

Antonio was stunned quiet as he stared into Francis's compassionate eyes, and then into Gilbert's sharp ones as he nodded along. This wasn't what Antonio was expecting. Not at all.

"Thank you," he replied, and his smile was very small and grateful. "That's really kind of you," he told them, "but I'm much better now. And I think I have things sorted, so…" Antonio inhaled a large breath and stated his mantra, "I'm fine."

"Okay," Francis replied, his voice not quite sure.

"Well, if you change your mind, feel free to let us know," Gilbert grinned.

Francis appeared to catch the signal, and turned his lips up once again, putting on a face of encouragement.

Antonio's stomach buzzed, and he felt very warm from the concern. "Thank you," he repeated. "I will."

It was the first day of school. But at four in the morning, nothing seemed that intimidating. Lovino sat upright in his bed and gently lifted the curtain away from his window to inspect the weather. His phone said no rain, but the sky appeared less sure.

He sighed briefly, before making the slow crawl from his bed to the floor. All beds were raised far above the ground for storage purposes, but it was always a pain in the morning and at night. Lovino managed without complaint though, and he softly patted his way to the mini-fridge he shared with his brother. There was a large variety of fruit, as per Lovino's request, but he decidedly picked the vine of purple grapes and a can of Diet Coke, before heading back to his room.

He spent an hour and a half lingering over his breakfast and perusing the internet, not really looking at anything with his tired eyes, just going through familiar motions. When he was finished, Lovino dressed in shorts, a t-shirt, and running shoes, and quietly retraced his steps to the door (careful not to wake Feliciano up). There was a mirror that hung next to it, but Lovino had already trained himself to walk past it blind, and only when he was a foot out the door did he open his eyes.

And then he ran.

Antonio was very, very behind schedule. Academically, he was registered as a sophomore, but he still had so many missing credits, most of his class this semester were general education requirements; meaning, he'd be around more freshmen. Gilbert offered his condolences when he found out, saying how his brother's a bratty freshman here too, but Francis was fairly positive.

A small part of Antonio was embarrassed, but most of him didn't really mind. Although he was technically older, Antonio didn't feel very different from them. He definitely did not feel as mature and put-together as Gilbert and Francis.

He had a fairly typical schedule: it was two classes in the morning and one in the afternoon. Afterwards, he was meeting his new counselor: someone from the school wellness center that his therapist back home recommended to him. He wasn't so sure if he was looking forward to meeting her, but perhaps after school…he would feel differently.

It was always the case.

English went along quite fine surprisingly. His teacher was witty, sarcastic, but very entertaining. He didn't feel too pressured or uncomfortable. He left with a smile.

Statistics was a different story, however.

Numbers always confused Antonio, since elementary school really. There was something about that that danced on the page and taunted him; he could not simply get them to cooperate inside of his head. And when things didn't make sense, they were just infuriating. And the fact that it was only the first day, and the beginning of a review session was what sent his nerves over the edge. It just didn't boast well for anything. His breath grew heavy and he clawed at his scalp as he tried to make some sense of the worksheet in front of him.

Then someone said to him, "Hey, are you all right?"

Antonio hadn't even noticed anyone else in the classroom, so a voice aside from the teacher's caught him off guard. He whipped to his left wide-eyed and surprised. And the boy he saw startled him further.

He was just so…cute.

"Math is a pain, isn't it?" the boy muttered quietly, and he rolled his eyes.

Antonio was still taking the boy all in. He had tan, smooth skin and dark hair with reddish highlights from the sun; and the darkest, warmest eyes that looked at him indecipherably. How was it possible he hadn't noticed him earlier?

Antonio smiled shyly and glanced down at his paper. "Yeah, I've never been very good at it," he answered honestly, and picked up his pencil to pretend he was getting to work on it. He really just hovered over the page too afraid to press it to paper.

"Do you want some help?" the boy asked, he sounded even bored by the question. Or perhaps he was just bored by the class. It was hard to tell.

But Antonio was in no position to reject an offer of help, and he silently nodded his head instead. "Yeah…um, thank you," he replied a bit awkwardly. "What's your name?"

The boy glanced at Antonio's paper when he said, "Lovino." The sound of his name must have embarrassed him, and his skin flushed a rosy color. It was intoxicating.

"Lovino," Antonio repeated wistfully, committing the sound to memory. "My name is Antonio," he said. Then belatedly added, "I'm a transfer."

Lovino gave him a fast glance as too say Why does that piece of information even matter? But then he continued looking over Antonio's worksheet and explaining the steps to the problems easily. The comment about math being a pain confused Antonio, because it was obvious that Lovino knew quite a lot, but he didn't question it nonetheless.

"Thank you so much," Antonio told him gratefully. "I would've hated to be stumped the first day."

Lovino scooted away and crossed his arms over his desk. "It's no problem," he muttered, and began collecting his things. The teacher had dismissed the class a little early.

"Still though," Antonio, insisted, and he tried to capture Lovino's eyes again. "Thank you."

Lovino glanced down and nodded, and then he fled the class. And Antonio followed soon after, but they left in parting directions.

"So how were classes?" the counselor asked. She was sweet: they all were. But this one was particularly chipper, with a genuine curved smile and eyes bright and grey-green.

Antonio fidgeted on the couch, not too sure how to arrange his weight. "They were good, um…nothing much happened. It was the first day."

"That's true," Dr. Manon replied, and she sounded so sensitive. It was nagging at Antonio's heart. "Did you have any problems? Any anxiety or nervousness?"

"No, not…" he trailed off and debated saying more. "Well, math was a bit difficult—I don't like math. But there was a boy who helped me, so it was all fine."

"Ah," she grinned and took notes on her clipboard. "That's good. So you're already making friends here."

"I guess," he laughed awkwardly. It seems like Francis and Gilbert were already his friends, so he supposed that wasn't a lie really. "I've been lucky so far."

"I'm glad, Antonio. Your previous counselor mentioned you usually have a hard time making friends. Why is that?"

His eyes diverted to the side and he bit the inside of his cheek. "I have a difficult time trusting people, I guess."

Dr. Manon continued to scribble down notes, and Antonio wondered desperately what those notes could say. He wondered if they could enlighten him about himself somehow.

Minutes passed. They made small talk about nothing. Hobbies, interests, majors…all of the usual topics. It was hard getting to know a new counselor, or rather getting the counselor to know him. But usually the first visit was all about rehearsed answers. He'd been saying them for quite a while now.

Eventually he glanced at the clock the same time Dr. Manon did.

"So, it looks like we're near the end of our time," she announced, and her lips puckered into a slight of a frown: the most she's capable of it would seem. "But I'd like to give you some homework for the week if you don't mind."

"Sure."

"I was thinking that perhaps you could join a sport on campus," she suggested casually. "This is a division three school, so sports aren't so intense, and all of them do take walk-ons. I think it would be good for you to join one. You could spend a lot of your energy in that way."

"Well, I do have a lot of that," Antonio joked, and he clasped his hands together nervously. "I suppose I could try out for one."

Dr. Manon smiled, and this time her eyes sparkled with too much kindness. "I think that would be for the best."

As Antonio descended the steps from the counselor's office to the general wellness center he spotted a familiar profile sitting on a chair. It was Lovino: the cute, tan boy from his statistics class. He was on his phone, looking very bored, and shaking his right leg impatiently.

Antonio at once smiled and trotted down the rest of the steps. The creaky sound drew attention and Lovino glanced up from his phone, his warm brown eyes narrowing and widening in the span of seconds.

"Hey Lovino," Antonio called, feeling much more chipper all of a sudden. "What are you doing here?"

Lovino curled his fingers around his phone and tucked it back into his pocket. "I'm here for a physical. I'm on the cross-country team, so…"

Antonio gaped at him. "Oh really? That's so cool!"

"Not really," Lovino muttered, and he fidgeted in his chair. "It's about the most boring sport you could pick."

"Not at all!" Antonio exclaimed. "I used to do cross-country in middle school. I thought it was very fun! Running and enjoying the scenery. It's a good time to talk, no?"

Lovino raised an eyebrow, and his lips quirked in something in between a smile and a frown. "I don't talk when I run," he said simply.

"Oh really?" Antonio tilted his head curiously. "Then what do you do?"

"I just run," he replied, his voice very steady. Then his eyes glanced to the side at nothing in particular. "And daydream, I guess."

Antonio's face softened, and he grinned very genuinely. "Yeah, it's easy to get lost, isn't it?"

Lovino's eyes darted back to him, and they seemed a little surprised by the answer. But before his lips even parted to say another word, a door between them opened, and a nurse popped through.

"Lovino Vargas?" she called as she read her clipboard.

Lovino twitched and immediately bolted upright. "That's me," he murmured quietly, and red colored his cheeks. He began to follow her into the examination room, but met eyes with Antonio. "Um, see you later," he said quietly.

"Yeah, see you," Antonio replied easily, and watched him disappear behind the closing door.

There were flyers for sports teams scattered on the walls that Antonio had never noticed before. His gaze flew over all of them, reading the titles and events and descriptions of competitions and sportsmanship and such. Basketball. Baseball. Football. Soccer. Track and field. But none of them stuck out in his mind.

He could only focus on the rather plain cream flyer for cross-country, and the bright brown eyes that went along with it.

"So Toni, how were classes?"

Francis was sitting with him at the general dining room table. Antonio made himself a sandwich for dinner—not feeling up for the trek to the dining hall.

"They were good! You know, just boring first day stuff," he laughed and ran hi fingers gently through his curls.

Francis smiled and sipped his glass of wine (he really was very sophisticated). "Don't I know it," he replied and his eyes traveled all over Antonio's face. Was that a thing that Francis did? He did it quite a lot with him. Then he asked, "Did you meet anyone cute?"

Antonio almost choked on his morsel, but managed to swallow inconspicuously. He laughed and said, "It's only the first day Francis."

"Mm, doesn't mean that a pretty face hasn't caught your eye," he teased and he gave Antonio a wink. "I think I might've found my new interest for the semester."

"Oh," Antonio replied, very relieved to have the distraction. "Who is it?"

"A teacher," Francis said casually, and he ran his finger along the rim of his glass. "I find age differences very intriguing." He gave Antonio a very coy smile, and it was all too funny.

Antonio laughed and they continued talking. They ended with the subtle proclamation that Antonio was going to join the cross-country team. Francis appeared very interested in the fact, but Antonio dismissed it saying, "It's something my counselor recommended."

Francis smiled very slightly, and it was the subtle reply that he understood. Apparently Francis understood everything.

Dear journal,

Dr. Manon suggested a start a journal for the semester. I've started them before, but they never lasted long. I've always been so easily distracted…

Classes have gone well. The week has flown by fairly uneventfully, which is always a good thing. I've felt fairly anxious at times, but nothing too bad. I like my art history class quite a lot. It's renaissance art, which I studied already but the credits never transferred.

I adore Donatello. His David might be my favorite. It's very soft, very young, but I kind of like that.

Actually, it kind of reminds me of a boy in my statistics class. His name is Lovino Vargas. He's a freshman (I think), and very beautiful. He helps me out during my classes, but is rather shy. I like shy people though, so I don't mind. I find it rather soothing. And Lovino has a rather calming presence about him. He doesn't let things get to him, and he always has this…aura about him. Very far away. I assume he wants to be somewhere else. It's kind of sad when dreamers are trapped in school, but it's also rather beautiful to watch them fly around.

I wonder what he's thinking.

…

Also, I joined the cross-country team. I start practice next week.

Lovino was stretching his calves on the field, leaning his weight into his front leg as he pulled the back one. He was wearing shorts, and the air still had its winter chill, but he never really minded. Somehow the bite of the cold kept him awake and going. His mind prepared for the run to come.

Soon the other members of the team congregated to the field, either stretching or chatting, but most of them both. Feli was hopping around all sorts of conversations as he always, being the social butterfly that he was. Lovino was always more the one to isolate himself and focus. It was habit.

Eventually, the coach appeared and he announced to everyone, "All right team, I'm glad to see you're all here on time, and I'm also glad there are plenty of familiar faces."

Lovino crossed his arms and rubbed his skin, trying to warm it a little, and he eyed the boys around.

"And to those of you who haven't met them already, we have a few new members on the team this semester. Including Tino, Feliks, Sadik, and Antonio."

Lovino's eyes paused, and at once found the tall, lanky figure with messy brown hair—because Antonio was looking straight at him. And he was smiling, and walking forwards, like he wanted to be friends.

Time: 00:45, Distance: ?

"Lovino!" Antonio called, and his fast footsteps were suddenly in stride with Lovino's.

Lovino jumped unwittingly. "What?" he gasped and straightened his gate once again. They were running the usual trail, the whole team in a group.

Antonio grinned and his eyes sparkled in the cold sunlight. "It's nice to see you here," he said.

Lovino flushed and stumbled over a crack in the road. "Shit," he muttered and resumed his pace. "You're distracting me, bastard."

Antonio's smile fell and he stared at Lovino with an openly shocked expression. "What?"

Lovino was rolling his eyes, not thinking too much of it, but then he caught Antonio's face. "Oh," he breathed. "Um—damn it. Don't listen to me, ba—An…tonio." Lovino closed his eyes briefly and his face was absolutely glowing when he added, "Sorry, I say stupid things a lot. I don't…" His voice trailed off, and he seemed helpless to finish.

"No, no!" Antonio exclaimed, his voice chipper again. His smile reappeared with something akin to amusement. "It was cute. It just caught me off guard is all."

Lovino pressed his lips together and exhaled through his nose. They turned a corner and entered a forest.

Time: 00:32, Distance: 4.01 miles

"So how long have you been running cross-country?" Antonio asked casually. He was looking anywhere but the road, and it was a bit disconcerting.

Lovino pretended not to notice, and instead answered the question. "Since high school, so not long."

Antonio hummed and let his eyes wander more. He eyed Lovino up and down. "You're not cold wearing that?"

Lovino's skin crawled at the comment. He didn't like being stared at. "I find it hard to run in sweats," he replied slowly. "And running warms me up a lot." He let his eyes pass over Antonio's long-sleeved shirt and pants, then Antonio's red cheeks. "You look a bit too warm if you ask me."

Antonio laughed, and the sound was like music. It danced off the leaves of the trees and breeze of the air. It was so absolutely kind. Just…kind.

Practice finished soon after. It was the first day and they took it slow, especially considering the new additions. Lovino finished at his usual time ahead of the pack, but he was more than surprised to find that Antonio was right on his heels at the end.

And Antonio looked so fucking proud too. He was red-cheeked, sweating, panting, but grinning like a child, and it was kind of endearing. Lovino might have even been a little pissed a newbie kept up with him until thirty seconds afterwards when Antonio sprinted to the nearest port-a-potty on the field to throw up.

"Jesus Christ," Lovino said under his breath. He loitered outside of the port-a-potty awkward and ticked-off. "This is what happens when you dress like that and try to run like a fucking stallion!" he reprimanded tiredly.

Antonio eventually emerged much paler than before, and with a weaker smile. "I was only trying to keep up with you," he complained.

Lovino ignored the stutter of his heart. "Yeah, well you're out of practice. So you can't overexert yourself right off the bat."

Antonio chuckled again, and it was still so musically sweet. Then he shrugged his shoulders carelessly, like it was so easy. "I can be pretty stupid too sometimes."

Lovino held his breath, but he couldn't control the subtle turn of his lips. "Idiot," he said.

Antonio's eyes twinkled, but he didn't reply to that. Instead, he asked, "Do you want to get dinner or something? It's already six, so it's not that early."

"You just threw up and you want to go get dinner?"

"Well, I think I might've thrown up my lunch for the day," Antonio laughed. "So I'm pretty starving now."

Lovino shook his head, and his damp locks swept over his skin. "I can't. I'm sorry, I have plans with my brother. We have family dinners on Mondays."

"Oh, I see," Antonio nodded, taking the information in. "Well, I'll remember that from now on." A brief stint of mischief passed over his face, but then it was gone again. "Are you going towards the dorms? Can I walk you?"

Lovino's breath was short, and he didn't know what to say. It was such a casual question, but…it was just a casual question.

"I guess," he eventually replied. And with a bit more courage, he added, "But don't strain yourself, bastard."

They walked together, and Lovino didn't even miss the warmth of his jacket.

Dear journal,

I am really, really not liking this cold weather. I know it's winter and everything, but…ay, there is no end in sight. It's been cold since the beginning of the semester! I'm very anxious to see how the campus will look like when it's warm. At least it hasn't been raining or anything. That would make cross-country practice a lot harder.

Gilbert tried taking me out to fraternity row last weekend. I was very reluctant to go knowing what the atmosphere usually is there, but Gilbert is very persuasive when he wants to be—so there wasn't really a way out of it. And it was a lot like how I expected. Dirty, messy, with a lot of drunk boys and flirtatious girls. No one was acting up though. This school seems to be pretty calm which is nice.

At some point, I left one of the fraternity houses (I forget the name. They're all so confusing) and I saw Lovino sitting at one of the benches outside. He was dressed in a black sweater and black pants. He almost completely blended into the night, but his always has this certain radiance about him. His tan skin shined like golden light under the stars, but his eyes were downturned and staring at the wet dew of the grass.

Although he acts kind of rough and stubborn, when we're together, he seems very active and alive. I find this silent passion inside of him that I think must be quite gentle. Every time I leave him, I find myself admiring how strong and intelligent he is.

But occasionally, I see him by himself, and he's quite different. I thought it was calmness, or serenity. But that night, he looked melancholy.

He looked sad.

I was too afraid to talk to him; I didn't know what I would've even said.

So I just watched him from the porch of the fraternity house, and I wondered when I changed from running towards danger, to running away.

Did cross-country have something to do with it?

Dr. Manon took her time analyzing Antonio's short and messy entries, tilting her head occasionally, but otherwise not displaying any other sign of acknowledgement. Seconds dragged on for ages, and when she finally finished, she closed the journal and placed it on the desk in between them. Antonio readily grasped the journal and held it safe in his lap.

"Do you want to talk about any of it?" she asked gently, as though it were an invitation.

Antonio felt as though he had no choice. "Which part?"

"Whatever you like," she said. And when she saw Antonio's hesitation, she encouraged him. "How about the boy Lovino? Why are you afraid of him?"

At once he sat up straighter, and faced her head on. "I'm not afraid of him," he asserted swiftly. "I think it's just…sadness that I'm afraid of. I don't know how to deal with it. I feel helpless."

"Are you able to handle your own sadness?"

Antonio bit his lip and thought. "I used to be very terrible at it," he admitted.

"But do you think you've improved?"

Slowly, he nodded his head, Yes.

"Then perhaps you're just afraid to revisit those feelings, or realize that other people go through those feelings as well."

Antonio shifted his eyes as he rubbed his thumb over the cover of his journal. "Maybe," he admitted carefully.

The conversation continued, but Antonio was still a bit apprehensive of the conclusion. He didn't' think that was it. He didn't think he was afraid of other people's sadnesses. He saw people sad all the time. It was common. Everyone fought their own demons.

What scared him was that he cared for Lovino—and Lovino's sadness seemed like one he couldn't fight on his own.

And Antonio didn't even know what it was.

"I used to hurt people…a lot," Antonio began. He was fidgeting with his hands, unsure of where to look. "When I was young, I was always behind in class. I didn't understand things right away, and I was too shy to ask for help. So I would get teased. It wasn't bullying or anything, just words."

He could hear the scratching sound of Dr. Manon's pen, as she replied, "Did it escalate from that?"

"Uh," Antonio licked his lips. "I don't really know how—or why it happened. But at some point in high school, I just snapped. I would be failing, or nearly failing my courses, and I was so frustrated. I just had all of these emotions. I just couldn't take it." He held his hands tightly together. "So then I…started getting into fights. I hurt people…"

"Because you felt as though they were hurting you?" she prompted.

"I guess," Antonio said carefully. He never understood all of the reasons behind it, and it made him uncomfortable when he started thinking about it. "So I would get into fights very often. I was good at it. I think that's why I kept doing it. There was this rush of power, and it was like for once I was good at something. I never realized how strong I was—er, am," he corrected. "And even in college, when I was still having a hard time in classes, getting into fights helped me. I didn't feel so helpless or stupid. And people became too afraid to say anything to me." He hesitantly lifted his eyes to Dr. Manon, and she was watching him very patiently.

"That's very insightful of you, Antonio."

"Is it," he chuckled, and scratched the back of his head nervously. "I guess I've had a lot of time to think about it."

She smiled. "Time does help put things into perspective," she said, and then set the clipboard aside. "However, it seems like violence for you is about being in control, would you say that?"

Antonio pursed his lips, then nodded once.

"So what healthy ways do you have now that help you feel in control?"

He didn't expect that question, and his eyebrows furrowed together. "I don't…I mean I run cross-country and I keep a journal. But I was trying to let go of control. I thought that was my problem."

"It is. Definitely the sort of control you were using," she responded calmly. "But control is also necessary to keep your life balanced. Some structure helps."

"Oh." Antonio stopped and rummaged through his thoughts.

Before he could reply, Dr. Manon added, "Keeping up a healthy lifestyle certainly helps though, so you're on the right track. But you shouldn't completely let go of your feelings back then. Your anger was and is real. And the solution to your anger isn't not having any, or not having any assertion: it's a matter of how you act on it."

Antonio sat very still, clasping and unclasping his hands. He nodded again, appreciating the advice.

Dr. Manon looked at the clock, and said, "That's something for you to think about until next time."

At the apartment, Francis was mulling over his textbook, cradling his head in his hands as his glass of red wine remained untouched beside him.

Antonio dropped his bags on the floor near the table and sat across from him, a little tentative. "Everything okay?" he asked.

Francis sighed and rolled his head to the side dramatically. "Ah, don't worry, Toni. Nothing's wrong with me. I'm just carrying the woes of the entire human race," he proclaimed, his face starry-eyed. "The mind is such a beautiful chaos."

Antonio chuckled and cross his arms over the table, glancing swiftly over the text. "Is that so?"

"It is," Francis replied and he took a dainty sip of his wine. "Psychology is so interesting, but it also makes me so sad to read of all the world's pain. But I guess that's rather odd of me, isn't it?"

"I don't think so," Antonio said, and he blushed a little when Francis's sharp eyes turned to him. "I mean, sometimes when I read my art history text book, I get a little weepy. It's sad to read about other people suffering."

Francis bowed his head in agreement, and raised his glass. "That is the price of empathy my friend. Our hearts are too golden for our own good."

"I don't know about that," Antonio laughed and he scanned the page. It looked like it was something about depression from the words he could see. "Do you like studying psychology then?"

"I do. I love it," Francis replied quickly. But then he added, "It does mess with your mind a bit though. You end up diagnosing yourself and everyone around you constantly." His blue eyes regarded Antonio's face sagely.

Antonio twitched, suddenly uncomfortable. He bit his lip, then asked, "Well…what would you say about Gilbert?"

Francis grinned mischievously, and he crossed his legs. "Dear Gilbert, hm?" Francis tucked his hand under his chin. "I would say he's a very ambitious and excitable person, with a lot of drive and will power. I think sometimes all of his commendable virtues become his fault however, as he is a relentless perfectionist with OCD tendencies."

"Wow," Antonio replied in awe. "That sounded so professional."

"Thank you," Francis said gratefully, and he met eyes with Antonio again. "As for myself, I'd say I'm sensitive and fairly emotionally intelligent. However, maybe because I'm so keen to understanding others, I also have trouble trusting them. I don't let people in right away."

"Oh, I see."

"Then there's you…"

Antonio gulped, afraid of the declaration.

"I'd say you are a very sensitive person, and very acute to the feelings around you. As I said before, I think you're also very empathetic, probably to a fault. As you seem the type to carry other people's burdens close to your heart," Francis mused. "But I think that's all I can say for the moment, until I get to know you better."

Antonio blinked, a bit confused. He was still waiting for the punch line, but it never came. "You…you don't think there's anything wrong with me?"

Francis tilted his head, a serious but cool expression played over his face. "No, of course not."

"Oh," Antonio breathed, and he let out a gasp of air he didn't know he'd been holding. He was surprised, but he also felt so relieved.

Francis was still watching him closely, as he nursed his wine. "Everyone has their vices, Antonio. There's no reason to be ashamed for having problems," he said, and his attention returned to his book.

Antonio's lips turned up, and he smiled very genuinely.

Francis squelched the small flickers of doubt hovering in the air by stating again, "You're perfectly normal, Antonio. Don't worry." He turned the page. "You're just an extraordinarily kind person, and that can hurt sometimes."

Francis was right. It hurt so much.

But it lifted Antonio's heart to hear that other people, at least a few, understand.

He breathed a little easier.

"Hey Lovi!" Antonio called.

Lovino was already walking out of the classroom—half on instinct. He couldn't stand to be in an academic building any longer than necessary. He felt stifled and cramped inside, but he stopped in his tracks at the sound of Antonio's voice.

"What did you say?" Lovino asked a bit incredulously. He thought he heard wrong. His ears and eyes were tired from early morning classes.

Antonio jogged enough so that they were side by side. "I was calling you, I wanted—"

"I know, but," Lovino paused, apparently unsure of his words. "Never mind. What do you want?"

Antonio smiled kindly and continued, saying, "Oh, I was just wondering if you wanted to get together and study for the next test? I know I won't be of much help. I actually need your help more I think…" he trailed off laughing. "But maybe it'd be helpful for you to reiterate it to someone?" he ended the statement rather unsure.

Lovino tried hard to be annoyed, but really it was endearing, and flattering—he never thought of himself as smart or anything. But Antonio was asking for his help. "Sure," he murmured. "That sounds good."

"Great!" Antonio exclaimed, his grin brightening his face. "Thank you so much. I really appreciate it."

"Yeah, it's," Lovino paused to bite his lips. "It's whatever."

"Here, how about you give me your number so I can text you the number of my apartment. It's pretty spacious so there's more room to study."

"Okay," Lovino agreed, and he rattled off his number.

Antonio grinned in triumph and texted something fast on his phone. Then his eyes lifted to Lovino, and he asked, "Are you free tonight after practice?"

Lovino thought for a moment, then said, "Yeah, I think so."

"Perfect," Antonio exclaimed and a quiet moment passed between them.

Lovino shifted his weight from foot to foot, growing increasingly conscious of himself. He didn't mind Antonio, but he still hated these sorts of moments. "Um, well, I guess I'll see you later then."

Antonio hesitated, and it looked like he wanted to stop Lovino for something. But he quickly recovered and said a friendly, "Yeah, have a good rest of the day!"

Lovino glanced over his shoulder, meeting his eyes one last time. They were still so kind. It kind of hurt to look at them. "Bye," he muttered, and they parted ways once again.

When Lovino checked his phone a little later, he saw that he had one new message.

Unknown: it's Antonio! :D thanks so much for helping me out lovi!

Five minutes later, he replied.

Lovino: No problem.

After classes, Lovino always returned to his dorm room. He couldn't concentrate in the main study hall, and something about the coldness and quiet of the library put him on ease so that he couldn't spend more than fifteen minutes there without bursting into a sprint out the door. So in the short gap between the end of classes and the beginning of afternoon practice, Lovino loitered in his room, doing homework, and watching random, meaningless videos, just to distract himself.

He was tired. He was always fucking tired. So with a sigh, he walked away from his desk and to the mini-fridge in the living room. Without looking he grabbed one of the energy drinks inside; it was mostly him that bought extra food items, Feli preferred to eat at the cafeteria.

Then he returned to his desk and opened his drink. He clicked on a video: something about exercise, health, and improving running time. He watched it without paying too much attention: trying to drain as much caffeine as possible from the drink. Then the video ended, and there was a pause. Lovino's eyes were more aware and they observed the nuances of his surroundings. Something caught his eye about his drink and he read the label. His heart stopped.

This was an energy drink.

Not the calorie-free, diet-whatever energy drink he bought.

This was a full-calorie bottle.

He didn't buy this. He never bought things like this, it must have been Feli's, and he grabbed it by mistake.

But he drank it. He drank all 250 calories of it.

It was like he fell underneath the crush of a tidal wave. Suddenly emotions—heavy, heavy, emotions—toppled over him and he couldn't escape it. His chest heaved and shook, and tears welled in his eyes. He drank this. He drank 250 calories without even thinking, without even knowing of the consequences. They were empty calories. Lovino could only imagine what they were doing, swimming inside of him and traveling to his thighs, his butt, and his stomach. It was disgusting. It was repulsive.

He was panicking.

And he only knew one way to handle panic.

So with trembling hands he slipped on his running shoes. Sobs still rocked his body, so he took a few faltering steps from his bedroom and leaned against the wall of his living room, willing himself to dry up his tears and bury it down inside. It did no good to wallow. He had to fix this.

So he stumbled to the mirror and stared at his reflection—the thing he never, ever did—and he recited his mantra.

Look at yourself. You're disgusting. Fat. Hateful. Those thick thighs and round stomach. You hate yourself. You hate yourself. You're the ugliest thing to walk the campus.

And then Lovino dried his eyes, took a deep breath, and ran out the door.

He didn't stop running.

A/N: I didn't want to split into two parts, but at this point, it just seemed easier *laughs* Anyway, thank you so much to all of you for taking the time to read this story. It means so much! I will definitely talk more in the last author's note; I just don't want to give anything away now. Remember to check out The Goliath Beetle's fic "Cupid Fired a Shooting Star"!

Thanks again, and please review :)