Gakuen Hetalia X Reader Site

And there he was.

He flinched, his head snapping up. His eyes were a little red-rimmed, and his usual snarky expression was replaced with something vulnerable. "(Y/N)? What are you—you shouldn't be here. The lunchroom is that way." He gestured vaguely towards the door, his voice tight.

"I sit between Feliciano and Gilbert on a daily basis," you deadpanned. "Chaos is my default state."

You pulled a chair up next to him, close enough that your knees almost touched. "Alfred is Alfred. But he doesn't leave an empty seat next to me. You do." gakuen hetalia x reader

"Quit shovin', you spaghetti-shaped idiot," Ludwig, the tall, stoic class representative with perfectly ironed sleeves, grumbled, effortlessly pulling Feliciano back into his own seat by the collar. He gave you a curt, almost imperceptible nod. It was his way of saying 'good morning.'

He wasn't sick. He wasn't on a trip. He was just… absent. And the silence he left behind was louder than Alfred’s shouting or Feliciano’s singing. You missed the way he’d grumble about the tea being too weak, the way he’d wave his wand when he thought no one was looking, the way he’d get flustered and turn pink if you caught him staring.

The bell rang, and the teacher, Mr. Wang (who everyone secretly called "China"), began a lecture about economic trade routes. You tried to focus, but your pen doodled a small pair of bushy eyebrows and a wobbly crown in the margin of your notebook. And there he was

He stared at your intertwined hands, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. "You… you really don't mind the chaos?"

Meanwhile, a blonde whirlwind was spinning by the chalkboard. "HAMBURGER! I mean, GOOD MORNING, CLASS!" Alfred F. Jones, the school’s energetic ace of the baseball team, was attempting to write the date in three different colors of chalk. He winked at you. "Yo (Y/N)! Ready for history? I bet I can get a higher score than you on the pop quiz."

A snort of laughter escaped you before you could stop it. You quickly covered your mouth. "(Y/N)

"We'll buy him a hat," you replied.

When the lunch bell finally rang, you stood up. "I forgot my bento," you lied smoothly. "I'll be right back."

"Da, he will not," a quiet, cool voice drifted from the seat behind you. Ivan Braginsky, who always seemed to fill the space around him with the faint scent of sunflowers and something a little more ominous, smiled pleasantly. "You studied, didn't you, (Y/N)? Unlike some hamburger-loving hero."

"Come on," you said, standing up and tugging on his hand. "You're coming back to class. And after school, I'll help you practice the spell. We'll use the empty pool. No curtains to set on fire."

"Ve~ (Y/N), do you wanna share my lunch? I have so much pasta today!" Feliciano Vargas, the perpetually cheerful boy from the Italian region, was already leaning over his desk, waving a container of something that smelled divine.