Please don't stop reading and quit out, and please comment! Authors note at the bottom if your confused! The Authors note is there to be read, but I won't blame you if you don't want to.
Thirty-one days of sadness,
thirty-one days of fear.
Thirty-one days of anxiety,
for one whole day of cheer.
One whole month,spent all alone,
of not calling you my friend.
Thirty-one days is how long it takes
for a broken heart
My name is Flavio. You may have heard of me, you may not have, but that's okay! You will! You see, I'm a fashion designer; but I'm a little new at it. I have yet to find a place that would hire me, and I'm a bit confused, honestly. Why would anyone not want to hire the great and fabulous Flavio? Even though I keep with all the latest trends, and wear only the best brands, I've had an awful time finding places to show off my talents. No one seems to want me, no matter where I go. Perhaps you could shine a little light on the situation?
My story starts from back in my teenage years. Haha, those were the days! Spray painting the principal's car, spit-balling the teacher... Anyway, if you took a look at our classrooms, the scenes would be probably a lot like the ones in your school. All of the popular, bleach-blond Barbie doll girls would hang out together in the corner. They would usually be talking, chatting, and whispering all the latest gossip into one another's perfectly peirced ears, while many of the boys would be up front, comparing muscles and making dirty jokes. And then there would be kids like me...
You might not believe it, but back then, I wasn't the looker I am today. In fact, back then, I still went by the name Leonardo. Not the most elegant name, I know, but back then, I was no where near elegant. Instead, I was on the skinny side, tall and gangling from the get-go. I usually wore wire-framed glasses and old-fashioned turtle necks that added to my over-all stick-like appearance. Unlike many of the boys, I kept my brown hair short and I never went to the trouble of buying the all-too-familiar baseball cap that so many of my class mates owned. In short, I was the very picture of your average friendless nerd. Thing is, I hated every moment I was forced to spend alone and I wanted, more than anything, to be accepted like the cool kids were.
Instead of sitting with the other teens, I sat and watched the world pass my little corner by. From my seat, I picked out patterns from among my peers, hoping to understand why no one came to befriend me. Eventually, I think I figured it out. All of the girls and the boys looked the same, if you compared their styles, manners, and personalities. Every single "popular" boy was either blond-haired, or a pale brunette. They were tall and well-built, but were slimmer than many of their peers. Most were athletic, and none of them had gotten their status through their grades. With males, showing too much emotion was frowned upon, while for the females, it was a completely different story.
Although the girls were usually blond, tall, and slim, just like the guys were, there was one key difference between them that fascinated me. The boys, who, when they finally decided to reveal how they felt, acted out their emotions through their actions. However, the girls expressed their feelings through their words, and more importantly it seemed, their clothing. You could take one look at a girl wearing a sweatshirt and lounge pants, and know instantly that something was wrong with her, even if she assured everyone she was fine. People wearing skinny jeans and a new top just screamed that they were confident and having a good time, while the sad girls could always be picked out by the way they kept their hoods up, even if they weren't outside. No matter what their status condition was, the others could easily pick up on it. The fact that I didn't wear what they did was as good as declaring them outside of my friend zone, although it wasn't like I had any friends to begin with. Anyway, after a month or two of making these careful observations, I decided it was time to leave my little corner and make myself known. But to which group?
The cool boys were always talking about sports, girls, or themselves, and usually pushed the new guys in their group around before actually accepting them. Their difficulty with showing emotions, and their refusal to drop the tough-guy facade could often lead to awkward situations. On the other hand, the girls usually gossiped about who was seen with who, and what some other girl in their group had the nerve to wear the day before. Thanks to their constant whispers, their friend group changed size daily, and new members were almost always welcomed in if they had some juicy stories to share. And when you take how their clothing almost always matched their feelings and status within the circle (it ensured that it wasn't difficult to tell when you needed to steer clear of someone in a bad mood) into account, my choice becomes clear.
The next day, I put my carefully thought-up plan into action. I smoothed my pale blue shorts and green striped t-shirt nervously. I had bought them just for the occasion, but that wasn't the only thing I had changed about myself. A pair of orange sunglasses perched on my newly blond hair, and my purple flip flops slapped the ground with each step I took. I breathed in deeply, trying to ease my trembling nerves, before reaching to tap one of the cool girls on the shoulder. There was no going back now. As she turned to me, I gave her my best mega-watt grin. Trying to stay calm, I giggled cheerfuly before chirping,
"Hiya there! I just want to say, I really like your outfit. Where did you get it?" She slowly gave me a once over, and I tried to stop myself from squeaking in panic. Would she speak to me? Like me? Hate me? If the smile that was gently creeping across her face was anything to go by, she probably wouldn't ignore me... right? I froze, a cheerful beam still glued to my face, as she began to shake her head. She hated me, I knew it...wait... Was she... laughing? The other teens in the room looked up in awe as the girl began to clap slowly, her head and shoulders quivering with suppressed chuckles.
"Kid, you have guts to show up wearing that! I love it, it's adorable that you think that a guy can really pull off a shirt like that." She gestured to my neon green striped shirt with a strange look on her face. Looking back up at me, she grinned. "My name is Tiffany, what's yours?"
She...she thought my clothes were adorable? She thought I was brave, just because of my taste in clothing? Was wearing something so new and colorful really the key to making friends? A huge smile sprang onto my face, and I couldn't help but twirl at this glorious feeling of acceptance. My new fashion choices must be why everyone loves me now! And they have to love me, or why else would the entire class be clapping? I mean, a bunch of them are laughing too, but that must just be because they are realizing that they're idiots for ignoring me for all those years. They must love me! Of course they did! Why else would they clap? But as for my name...
Leonardo was just too plain, too nerdy for these people. My whole plan would be ruined if I introduced myself under a name as stupid as " Leonardo". No, I needed a new name, something fabulous, something sure to make them love me even more. In a moment, I had it.
"My name is Flavio! I hope we'll become great friends!" I smiled, enthralled by my success. Tiffany laughed and nodded at me, grinning back. And thus, Flavio was born.
The following years seemed to be something out of a dream. Every day, without fail, I always had a table to sit at, and friends to talk to. People clapped and whistled when I walked through the halls, especially when I was wearing a new or brighter than usual outfit. I thrived on the attention, so I always made sure that everything I wore would continue to draw their notice. Plaid shirts with polka-dot pants, lime shoes with pink scarves, they loved them all. One day is particularly memorable to me, a day which I will never forget.
It was the first week back from Spring break, during my junior year at my high school, that I received the gift that helped start the next phase of my life. My Aunt, may she rest in peace, had finally kicked the bucket. While my brother and cousins inherited most of her money, furniture, and property, I got something far better: my first sewing machine.
The day after I had gained the precious object, I showed up to school wearing something that was very different from what I usually wore. Compared to my clothes' usual bright colors and bold patterns, the fabric of my outfit was simple. And yet, my clothing that day was more extraordinary than anything I had worn before. From the soft white jacket and matching pants to the vivid magenta scarf wrapped around my neck, everything I had made myself. And people noticed. I knew the seems weren't perfect (they were all bunched up in places), and that one sleeve was longer than the other, but that day, people clapped harder for me than ever before. The halls echoed with sound of my classmates' applause, whistles and cries were tossed about in all directions. Girls had their phones and were snapping pictures of me. If I had to choose, I think that might have been the best day of my life. And it only got better from there.
One of my teachers stopped in their tracks when they saw me walking into their room. Her jaw dropped and their face contorted into an expression of shock. I laughed at her surprise, and I strutted up to her. Flipping my scarf over my shoulder, I winked and asked,
"So, darling, what do you think of my clothes?" The teacher's expression transformed into one of wry amusement. She shook her head gently and began to clap. Her hands slapped together slowly, deliberately, and she began to laugh.
"Flavio my boy, honey, you look absolutely beautiful. Why on earth would you ask such an obvious question? Of course you look beautiful, why would anyone ever think otherwise?" I blinked at her response. Why was she rolling her eyes? Why did she put emphasis on certain words? Why did she sound so strange, like she was trying to make everything she said into a whine? Why did any of these questions matter? She had called me beautiful! She was clapping! She must love my outfit, for why else would she clap? I felt a huge surge of joy rush through me, and a silly grin grew upon my face. If this was the sort of response I received from making one outfit, what would happen if I made another set of clothes? Or two? Or five? Or maybe... My grin transformed into an ear-to-ear smile. I had an idea.
For years after that day, I did everything in my power to achieve my new dream. I wanted to be a fashion designer, and there was no way I would take "no" for an answer! After being accepted into a college for those interested in fashion, I bought fabric and thread, paper and pencils. If I thought I might need to help me get that perfect career, I bought it, no matter how long it took for me to earn the money to pay off my credit card bills. My last few years of college, zipped by in a flash of fabric, designs, and sewing up hundreds of outfits, until finally, graduation day had come around. Instead of the long, silky black gowns the other students wore, I had one one of my own making. It was a lovely shade of crimson, with a long strip of pea green felt at the bottom. When I walked up to receive my diploma, and when the crowd began to cheer for me, I could only laugh with glee. I had only once felt prouder of my talents.
After the ceremony, many asked what I planned to do with myself. When I told them my dream of becoming a fashion designer, most laughed and shook their heads, just like the teacher who inspired me to choose the career path I did. Their responses only helped my courage grow. If the teacher loved my outfits, and if they responded to me in the same way, then it must mean that they loved my designs too! And if they backed me up, then there was no way I was backing down! I was going to achieve my dream!
Eight months later, I found myself sitting with several other applicants in the waiting room of one of the best designers in the area. Mr. Danello was his name, and supposedly, he was not only an amazing designer, but an amazing teacher as well! And best of all? He was looking for promising designers to become his newest students! That was why I was here, waiting with at least fourteen other people in this crowded, cramped room. I had my sketch book on my lap, along with 1 or 2 fabric swatches. I knew I was fully prepared, but I couldn't help but be nervous. I shifted my weight and resisted the urge to tug at my collar. Was it always this hot in here? I did my best to convince myself that everything would turn out alright. I was a designer! People love my designs! Even my peers from school loved my clothes! Mr. Danello would love them too, right? Of course he would! I felt a grin crawl across my face. I was the great, the amazing, the totally fabulous Flavio! I had this in the bag!
Five minutes later, I looked up to see the door open and a distraught woman walk out. She held her notebook under her arm and tears streamed down her face as she made a beeline for the door. Obviously, a rejected candidate. Another woman stuck her head out the door and called my name. In an instant, I felt my courage wither away, and I had to struggle to keep my grin on my face. If Mr. Danello could bring a woman to tears like that, what would he do to me? I gulped and made my way to the woman that had called my name. It seemed that I was next in line to be dropped into the den of lions. After a long moment, I took a deep breath and made my way inside. Mr. Danello awaited.
When I first made my way into the room, I was startled by the man that sat before me. Instead of colorful patterns or bold styles, he wore a simple plaid shirt, a pair of jeans, and had his booted feet up on his desk. This was the amazing Mr. Danello? He looked like he belonged in an old western movie! However, I didn't say anything. What was there to say? Even if Mr. Danello looked nothing like a designer, he was still the man I was applying with. It was time to get this show on the road! I stuck out my hand and plastered a big grin on my face.
"Hi sir! My name is Flavio and I'm here to apply to become one of your next students!" Mr. Danello looked up and smiled at me.
"Yes, hello Flavio. Please, have a seat. I understand you have a sketch pad with some of your fashion ideas on it?" I promptly sat and handed him my pad. This pad in partecular was the one I used for all of my best ideas. It had pictures and sketches of sequin bedazzled dresses, feathered leggings, polka dotted shoes, and much, much more. I crossed my fingers as he flipped through the various pages. Did he like them? Hate them? Hate me? It felt like a de'j`a vu of when I first made my entry into society and met Tiffany. Mr. Danello's face was scrunched up as if he had bitten into something sour, but his eyes were wide. He shook his head at times, or sighed, as I watched him for a reaction. Finally, he handed me my sketch pad back. On the page was the design that happened to by my favorite out of all of my outfits. It consisting of a dress made of layer upon layer of bright teal ruffles. The design was my favorite because I had cleverly planned for it to hide the model from view. That way, people would only by looking at my dress. Mr. Danello sat forward in his seat, his face serious.
"Flavio, your designs are some of the most...er... unique things I have ever seen. They are lovely and I know someone will love them, but well... I just don't think I could teach you. Your styles, are, just...well....." Mr. Danello trailed off but I barely noticed. He said he couldn't teach me...? A wide smile grew upon my face. Did Mr. Danello really just say that he couldn't teach me? Was I really such a great designer that he couldn't teach me anything to improve my designs? I tried to hold back a fangirl-like squeal and bounced up to shake the shocked Mr. Danello's hand.
"Thank you sir, thank you so much for saying that! This is the greatest moment of my life! I mean really, one of the best designers thinking that I'm so amazing that I don't need any teaching from him? This jus-just makes me s-so happy! " I turned around to wipe away my tears. Mr. Danello stood up, sputtering out protests, but I silenced him with a wave of my hand.
"Sir, I have never felt prouder than right now! Thanks to your reassurance, you have given me new courage. I will become an amazing designer and make you proud, I promise!" I pivoted to face Mr. Danello and laughed aloud at the poor mans obvious distress. Why did he look so worried? He didn't need to be so nervous! Chuckling lightly, I bowed and made my way out the door as quickly as I could. I had a goal to accomplish!
Immediately after that fated interview, I began applying with design and manufacturing companies everywhere. I looked far and wide, and traveled to every company I could find, and yet, no matter where I went, I was turned down! And not only that, but they insulted me too! They said so many awful things, 'Your clothes are hideous' 'How did they you ever get through college?' and much, much more. Every time they something so cruel, it feels like a knife to my heart. I put myself into my designs, and yet they hate them. It feels like they hate me! The worst part about it though? No one ever tells me why! I have so many unanswered questions, and I feel so much wretched confusion, it is tearing me apart! And, well, that's why I'm here. Please, I know it might be a lot to ask, but can you tell me why? Why do they turn me away with hateful words? Why do they try to break me heart? Are my clothes really so hideous? And if they are... then why is it, throughout my life, people have loved them? Why did they compliment me, whistle when I walked through the halls? Why did they clap for me when I first introduced myself as Flavio? What other reason would they have to clap when I first wore an outfit of my own making? Why else would they clap when I graduated and started my career in clothing design if they didn't mean it? Surely it is because they love me... right?
Why else would they clap?
Are you going to answer Flavio's question? Please do! He really wants to hear what you have to say! Are you going to break Flavio's heart? Will you lie to him? Why? Remember, he can hear everything you say! Please respond in the comments and reviews, if you decide to do so.
this is the dress flavio designed, I do not own it
Authors note! Sorry if this is rather dull, or if this note is way too long! Okay, this is a completely different format than my other Hetalia stories. In this, the story is told from the character's point of view, and they will either be asking a question that you should answer in the comments and reviews, will be describing how they feel because of something, or will be describing a tale or scene from their lives. 2ps are the opposites of the regular Hetalia characters. Flavio (also known as Leonardo, its a lesser known name for him, but it's still his name) happens to be South Italy or Romano's 2p, and is known in the cannons to stereotype people so don't feel offended. Blame the head cannons of him if you don't like his attitude, descriptions, or anything else. All the stereotypes mentioned are purposefully wrong, as Flavio is pictured to be rather naive and looks for any way he can explain what is going on, even if it is totally wrong. Once he grabs hold of an idea, he finds it very hard to let go, even going so far as to allow the wrong idea influence how he lives his life. By the way, if you haven't read my other works, don't worry! These don't really follow a particular order, and every story usually has an individual plot line. I'm sorry if Flavio seems out of character, or if this work is awful. I'm pretty sure this is scrubbing terrible, in my opinion at least. Also, I don't own Hetalia, the pictures, or Barbie.