(RomaLux) Love Heals All...Right?

~Chapter 1~

Vincent walked wearily towards the Italian restaurant he worked at, olive green eyes downcast. He paused for a moment to lock his expensive car. He narrowed his eyes against the gusts of wind, his umbrella providing no coverage from the slanting, pouring rain. There goes this pricey outfit... he thought drearily, not really caring much. Dark grey clouds flecked with black swirled around in the atmosphere, ominous thunder ripping through the sky and adding to his somber mood.

As soon as he walked into the restaurant and out of the rain, he walked into the back kitchen, putting his umbrella down and checking that his name tag wasn't crooked. He ran his hand through his wet, dirty blonde hair that was starting to dry (to his relief), sighing. His short, hyper Italian coworker named Feliciano bounced in and shouted "Ciao, Vincent! It's been a while, ve!~" Vincent nodded and quietly said, "Hello, Feliciano. You look well, but it's only been two weeks..." in a polite, formal tone. He winced a little as the older brother of Feliciano, named Lovino, walked in. Vincent worked at the local restaurant with these two, and also a few other people from Europe and other parts of the globe.

The Luxembourgian forced a tight smile onto his face, and in a strained yet somehow still polite tone said, "Hello, Lovino." The one eye not covered by his hair was dulled; he wasn't feeling friendly or polite at all. He slightly, almost unnoticeably cringed, preparing himself for a barrage of swears that were yelled at him about every day from the tough Italian.

Why, he didn't know. Lovino was almost like his polar opposite. Despite their clashing personalities, Vincent was always courteous towards Lovino, it's how he was brought up, to be extremely polite, to everyone, no matter what. But on this awful day... Vincent didn't know how long he would last before he snapped.

"Fratello, for fuck's sake, the customers don't want to hear about how many types of pasta we offe- Oh. It's you." Lovino scowled when he saw the dripping wet Luxembourgian standing there. "Where the hell have you been? You've been gone for days, bastard." Lovino grudged, throwing Vincent's apron to him. "I had to wait on all those damn tables by myself, you son of a bitch." he complained, turning away from Vincent. Feliciano whimpered and bounced off to the kitchen, muttering something about "getting back to making pasta".

Vincent sighed and put on the apron quickly. "I am sorry... I had a few, ah, issues to deal with..." he explained. His sleeve came up a little, and he yelped, yanking it back down. Lovino turned around, an eyebrow raised. Vincent sheepishly grinned, and Lovino grunted, heading back out to the dining areas with a final "Hurry up, you asswipe." Vincent hurried after, struggling to stay polite and courteous to the customers.

Lovino peered around the room in a bored manner, checking to see if his services were needed. His gaze fell upon Vincent as he scribbled down an elderly couple's order and refilled their drinks. He hated to admit it, but he was glad Vincent was back. Now he wouldn't have to deal with all  of those picky customers.

Lovino's amber eyes narrowed, and he continued to watch Vincent carefully. He tilted his head to the side in thought. Something was... different. Vincent's smile was less genuine, his movements sluggish, as if he was moving underwater. His shoulders sagged, and the friendly twinkle in the Luxembourgian's visible eye was gone. The strangest change by far, though, was that Vincent kept tugging his sleeves down and nervously glancing at his forearms from time to time.

What the hell....? Lovino thought, but was suddenly interrupted by a chef calling for him to take someone their food. The Italian groaned, but begrudgingly grabbed the tray and strode across the room to give it to the correct customer. He threw a glance over his shoulder at Vincent on his way, though, internally swearing to figure out what the Luxembourgish bastardo's problem was.