Antonio looked with absent-minded fondness over his expansive tomato garden. Taking a deep, tomato-scented breath, he took up his work gloves and trowel. The entire garden was in need of weeding, but he had been so busy lately that he hadn't the time to do it.

The Spaniard started down the first, leafy-green and red splotched row when something fluttered out of the corner of his eye. On the clothesline at the end of the yard was that week's laundry. Antonio smiled, ambling over to the long line of clothes drifting in the breeze. His little Lovino had done a good job this time; all of the clothes pins were fitted snugly to the fabric with no danger of one article or another flying off like some strange bird.

Antonio's bright green eyes shuttered closed as he grabbed the nearest article of clothing and inhaled deeply. Ah! Lovi had scented the soap with tomatoes! Spain buried his sun-kissed face deep into what happened to be a pair of trousers, relishing in the sweet smell as well as the warmth of the sun-drenched fabric. He forgot the urgent need to weed the garden, losing himself in the heavenly scent and luxurious feel of fresh, warm clothes.

Unbeknownst to the Spaniard, Lovino was fast approaching with Antonio's two best friends—Francis and Gilbert—in tow.

"Hey! Tomato Bastard!" Lovino shouted as he neared. "Those two idiots are here! How am I supposed to get anything done if-"

The Italian rounded the corner, his face rapidly changing color as he took in the situation before him. His mouth gaped wordlessly as he went from annoyance to embarrassment to abject horror. He wasn't silent for long, however, as France and Prussia began to snicker.

"Bastard!" Lovino exploded, snatching up a tomato and gesticulating wildly. "You said you would be weeding the tomatoes, you dumbass!" he shouted as loudly as he could, attempting to draw the attention away from Antonio before they could realize the true reason he was upset.

"Oh, Lovi!" Antonio finally pulled himself from his blissful reverie and smiled winningly. "What's wrong? You look like a little tomato!" Francis and Gilbert were still snickering, and before Lovino could shout more insults, Gilbert asked:

"Hey Tonio! What exactly were you sniffing?"

Antonio's smile was still bright as he looked from the clothing in his hands to the Italian's scowling visage, and he laughed sheepishly with his friends.

"Oh, how awkward!" Spain held up the trousers, far too small to be his own. "I had my face in Lovi's pants!"

Lovino's tomato broke Antonio's nose, much to France and Prussia's delight. And when Lovino took the Spaniard to the doctor, Antonio gushed over how cute his little Lovi was when he was worried.

Lovino never used tomato-scented soap again.


A/N: This story happened because while I was on vacation with my best friend, she had to do laundry. I said how much I loved the feel of fresh warm laundry, and without hesitating, buried my face in a pile of folded jean shorts. Then, without thinking how it would sound, I said "Sorry, how awkward. I just stuck my face in your pants."

And apparently, "pants" actually means "underwear" in some parts of the world. Or so I am told.