*I am a compulsive editor, which means that everything is subject to tiny changes and improvements up until this story is completed.

Note that I have decided to call South Italy by the name Romano, because it's an actual Italian name, unlike Lovino, and because I like the way it sounds better.

CHAPTER 1

The truth is, no one knows what they're doing. At all. Ever.

Romano used to think it was just him. He used to think he was the most severally underqualified person for the social excursions of life that ever walked the fucking earth. He later realized that he was a tad dramatic, and that he was just one out of 7.3 billion people on seven continents on a hundred trillion trillion-pound planet hurtling through space that felt that way. If there was someone in that 7.3 billion who knew exactly what the fuck they were doing in this world, he'd never met them. Then again, Romano didn't make a habit of meeting people.

No matter who they were, people left. Romano preferred to avoid the part where he believed that anyone was something other than a temporary drain.

As a child, Romano had lived with his grandpa. The absence of parents that he'd never really known wasn't so much of an emotional burden as it was just another reminder that something as central and important as family could also disappoint you. As loving as Grandpa had been, he'd often told Romano that he needed to act his age, and Romano had never been able to figure out what the hell that meant. He thought it had something to do with his cussing all the time, which could be excessive, but so fucking what? When he was a kid everyone told him that he wasn't allowed to use "adult language", and now that he was an adult it was viewed as "juvenile". So, there was some window in between where it was actually appropriate to cuss and he'd just missed it? What-the-fuck-ever.

If you asked him, he was so much more adult than the two he had to live with it was a fucking miracle. His brother Feliciano was an idiot. He was also sometimes told to act his age, like when he was being an annoying crybaby—which was more often than Romano appreciated, but not often enough to bring him down to Romano's level of immaturity, apparently. Most of the time when Feliciano was acting childish it was "cute", a word rarely used to describe anything Romano did. So, his brother got away with things that he couldn't. What a load of shit that was.

Antonio was just as much of an airhead as Romano's little brother. He was forgetful, unobservant, and, honestly, how had this guy even qualified to be their guardian? Not that it mattered anymore, since both brothers were now according to law "adults".

Yeah…now. Grandpa couldn't have waited just a little longer before he kicked the bucket? Then they would have never had to live with Antonio.

That wasn't to say that living with the guy was horrible. It wasn't. Antonio was a family friend, someone that the Vargas brothers had known for years before he became legally responsible for them, per their grandfather's request. He took good care of them. But if they had never lived with Antonio, then maybe…maybe Romano never would have…

Well, that's pure speculation. Also, he's getting ahead of himself.

However things might have played out differently, Romano and his little brother Feliciano lived with Antonio for the later part of their teen years, and they moved with him when he bought a new apartment above a little Spanish café located in the historical downtown area of a small and insignificant city. Spring turned to summer, then fall, and then winter, and then the year was over. And then it happened again. And again. And before Romano knew it, he was twenty-two, and he didn't feel much different from when he was nineteen and he'd dropped out of school, head cluttered full of thoughts that even time couldn't erase.

Three years. Some of the best years of his life, according to every adult person who had ever remarked on how young he was and how much he had ahead of him. And he still felt the same.

He woke up at 4:30 am six days a week to go downstairs to the café that Antonio now owned and offer what help he could (mostly in the food preparing area, because Romano didn't do people—that's what Antonio was there for). Feliciano went to school most mornings, so he could only take the occasional shift. And like that, everything was basically normal.

Well, no, that's actually a lie, but getting to that in a minute.

Two important things coincidentally occurred within mere days of each other, and they turned Romano's not-normal-but-he's-kind-of-gotten-used-to-it-so-he'll-say-normal life on its head. First off: Antonio's father died.

Romano woke up at his normal time and shuffled out to the front of the apartment. Feliciano was sitting with his legs crossed at the dining table, an art history textbook in his lap and a mug of coffee in his hand. He was still in his boxers, his eyes squinting to read what was in front of him.

"What are you doing up so early?" Romano grumbled, still half-awake himself.

"I couldn't study last night for my test, so I just went to bed. Now I'm up early." He sipped his coffee, which Romano could feel radiating warmth and vanilla-y sweetness even from across the kitchenette area.

Romano poured himself a cup and huddled up on the couch, holding his coffee close to his chest. Unfortunately, today was not Sunday, so he would have to go downstairs soon to begin prepping before they opened shop. He put his lips to the edge of his porcelain mug, not drinking, simply feeling the steam mist against his face. It was relaxing like so few things were.

In the background of the quiet apartment, the sounds of indistinct movement told him that Antonio was awake and getting ready to go to work as well. It was just the two of them on days that Feliciano had school, but the café was small and relaxed enough so that it was never more than they could manage on their own. He would never say a thing, but he was a little more eager for the days when Feli was preoccupied with school.

Antonio may have been all the negative things that Romano said he was, but he was also the most interesting person that Romano had ever met. He seemed perfectly incapable of having doubts about himself or others. He smiled constantly, this real big smile that made his eyes crinkle around the edges. He was too celestial to be real. But when he stepped out into the living room that morning, Romano instantly sensed that something was off. He was scratching the back of his head with a dreadful look that was all too familiar, and yet terribly out of place.

"We're all up at the same time for once," he said. "That's good."

Feli looked up in a silent question.

"My aunt called just now. She told me that my dad is dead."

That was how he broke the news. The idiot made the announcement into an offhanded remark first thing in the morning. Feliciano looked ready to burst into tears.

"Oh Antonio, that's horrible! Are you okay?" He shoved his textbook aside and jumped out of his chair to go to Antonio and throw his arms around him.

Romano cast a glare at his brother. Damn him. Being all compassionate and shit. He was able to say and do things like that all the time. "I'm so sorry!" and "Do you need a hug?" and crap like that. Like it was easy.

That was a stupid question, anyway. Of course Antonio wasn't okay. He was smiling. When you've just found out that the man you owe your very existence to has died you don't generally have much of an inclination to turn up a grin. Romano should know. Feliciano should know, too. When Romano looked closer, he realized it wasn't the same carefree expression he was used to seeing. It was strained, faltering slightly.

"I'm fine. Don't worry about me," he said.

"What happened?" Feli asked.

"Heart attack. No one even saw it coming."

"I'm so sorry."

Romano fidgeted, struggling to think of something to say. Nothing that was helpful came to mind.

"How's your family doing?"

"They're still at the hospital. I don't think they really know what to do right now."

"I can imagine," Feliciano said. "Do you know when the service is going to be?"

"They don't have anything set yet. They're waiting for me to figure out when I can fly over there."

"Do you want us to come with you?" Feli gave Romano a look like he expected him to jump into the conversation. Romano froze like a helpless, stupid animal awaiting the impact of an oncoming car.

"No, you don't have to come," he said pleasantly.

"Do you want us to look after the café while you're gone?"

"No, that's okay." His smile widened. "I just wanted you to know because I'm going to have to go over there to handle the funeral and the estate. I'm the next of kin, so everyone is looking to me."

"Estate?" Feliciano asked excitedly.

"I told you about it, didn't I? My family owns a vineyard in Murcia."

"Wait. So, what?" Romano demanded. "You're gonna go to Spain?"

"Not at least for another week," Antonio said. As if that was supposed to be reassuring.

Romano tried his damnedest to clearly communicate the fact that he was sulking. He maintained a nasty scowl, with arms crossed and eyes downcast. When addressed, he replied in the most obnoxious tone he could muster. It didn't seem to come across. Admittedly, he used these signals a lot and for various purposes, so maybe he should come up with a new tactic or something. In the end, it only reminded him of a problem that he and Antonio had with communication. Romano had a difficult time being honest, and Antonio was incapable of picking up on his hints. That's all he could focus on after that point, and so a perfectly fine morning ended up being a pretty shitty day.

Oh, but things got worse.

Working in Antonio's café was alright, Romano considered, as far as employment goes. He'd grown complacent there. He liked not having to go to school and instead stick with an easy job that, while not the best in terms of wages, allowed him to spend a lot of time with Antonio.

The one complaint he could make about his job was that Antonio got a weird kick out of teasing him and ordering him around. He would coo Romano's nickname every time he came into the kitchen, pinch his sides, or sneak up on him and scare him when his back was turned. He tried to sound commanding and authoritative as he declared every single order, and then he would giggle at himself for even attempting something so ridiculously out of character. When Romano went through the single traffic door to the front of the café and passed an order off to him, he would always try to make him stay and clean something for him.

Even today, just a few days after learning that his dad had died from a heart attack, it was the same. He shouted at Romano through the service window to tell him that he needed a mocha, and he laughed. And then when Romano came out to hand it to him, he instructed him to wipe the countertop by the register.

"That's not my job," Romano said defiantly.

"I'm your boss. Your job is what I say it is."

"You hired me as a chef slash barista. Unless you can eat or drink it, it isn't what you pay me for."

"Well, for the next couple of minutes or so, I'm paying you to clean the counter."

"It's right in front of you. You're not doing anything. Clean it yourself."

Feli had just gotten home from school and was sitting on one of the barstools, watching with a whimsical smile as Antonio tried to force a towel into Romano's hand to get him to do as he said. "You two are good together."

Romano's mind locked on the word "together". He shot Feli a glare. "What the hell does that mean?"

"I like you two together. You're cute."

"That is the stupidest thing to have ever come out of your mouth," he said at the same time that Antonio sang a cheerful, "Thank you!"

Romano met Antonio's smile with a blank stare. "What is wrong with you?"

"Feli said I'm cute. I thanked him for the compliment," he said innocently.

"He said we're cute, which is something entirely different."

He laughed. "Well, you're cute too."

"Shut up!"

"Right. Sorry." He pinched Romano's burning cheek. "Not cute."

Romano swatted the hand away, and Antonio turned around and proceeded to wipe the countertop.

He was so stupid. Always acting unbothered and saying whatever popped into his head like it meant nothing.

It was getting to be late afternoon, which meant there weren't many customers inside the café and Romano could go on break. He went upstairs to scrounge for something to eat and stopped in front of the fridge just as the relic of a telephone mounted on the kitchen wall rang. Antonio and Feliciano were still downstairs. No one else was going to answer. Romano thought about ignoring it. Most of the time, he did. Then again, most of the time, the landline phone didn't ring.

He finally did answer, only to be made half-deaf by the voice on the other end shrieking, "ANTONIOO!"

Romano winced and jerked away from the receiver. The voice began to ramble till he spoke over it, saying, "This isn't Antonio, what do you want?"

"Oh, sorry!" the voice said with a laugh. "Wrong number!"

The line went quiet and Romano placed the headset on the hook. Immediately, the phone rang again. He groaned loudly before picking it up, making sure not to hold it too close to his ear.

"ANTONIOOOOOOO!"

"What the hell do you want?"

"Oh, hold on—"

"I swear to god, if you—"

He was close to hanging up on whoever this guy was, but Antonio's voice called from the bottom of the staircase and asked, "Roma? Who are you talking to?"

Romano turned away from the receiver. "This idiot called. He keeps yelling for you, for some fucking reason."

The voice from the phone laughed.

"This has got to be Roma, the grumpy Italian with the filthy language and cute pouty face."

Romano sputtered.

"Roma? Grump—I don't—cute pouty face?" He wasn't sure what part of that sentence pissed him off more. The biggest issue of all, though, was that he still had no idea who he was even talking to.

Antonio came upstairs to take the phone. Romano stomped away and slumped down on the couch, pretending not to listen to the conversation.

He knew the caller well, it seemed, as he began talking excitedly, about how they were doing, about good times and memories. He assured the person he referred to as Gilbert that Romano and Feliciano were both fine (Romano quietly resented that Antonio was talking about him to a stranger) and that the café was doing well. He asked about someone named Ludwig, another person named Francis, and Elizabeth...who the hell were all these people? Why had Romano never heard about them before?

The atmosphere grew considerably heavier when Antonio brought up his father. How he wished he'd called him a little more often. He mentioned having to travel to Spain in a few days. And after that, the conversation shifted to further talk about things Romano had no knowledge of, and he started to lose interest.

He jumped in his seat when Antonio began shouting into the phone.

"Are you really? When? Mhm? That's great!" Romano stared openly, trying to figure out the half of the conversation he couldn't hear. What was Antonio getting so happy about? "That'll be the day before I leave! So, I can spend a little time with you, and—"

What? Hold on a minute. No!

"And you can meet Romano and Feliciano, and—"

Nonononono!

"You're welcome to stay here as long as you want! You could even keep an eye on those two for me, that would be—"

GODDAMMIT!

Feliciano came carrying his backpack up to the apartment soon after the call finished, just in time to hear the news.

"Yay! Antonio's friends are coming to visit!" he said happily.

"Keep your 'yay', stupid." Romano turned an angry glare to Antonio. "Have you even thought about where they're going to stay?" Their apartment was a decent size with three bedrooms, but it wasn't overly spacious. Five people could get cramped in there very easily, and Romano liked his space.

"Well," Antonio said with that ridiculous smile of his, "while I'm gone, two people will be able to have a bed to themselves, and the other two will have to share a bed. You can work that out among yourselves. And for the night that I'm still here, Gilbert and Ludwig can take Romano's room and Romano can share my bed."

Romano's jaw fell open and he turned a deep shade of red. He couldn't believe Antonio had just said that in front of Feliciano. What the hell did he think that sounded like? From the two oblivious faces looking back at him, Romano gathered that he was the only one to read into the proposal. He should have expected such from Feliciano, but Antonio? No. Romano knew better. There was an intention behind Antonio's seemingly innocent suggestion. Well, Romano wasn't going to have it! Not with strangers in the house.

"Fuck that. No one is sleeping in my room except for me."

Antonio made a pout that Romano staunchly resisted.

"I wouldn't mind giving up my bed, Antonio," Feliciano said.

"It's okay," he said. "We can talk more about sleeping arrangements once they get here."

"How long are they going to be staying?"

"Only until they can find their own apartment."

"What?" Romano squawked. "They're moving here? Like, to the area? Like, near us?"

"Yeah! Didn't I already say that?"

"No, you failed to mention that crucial bit of information!" Perfect. Not only would he have to put up with these people while they stayed at their apartment, but even when they were gone they'd just keep showing up again. Whenever the hell they felt like it! The bastards. Romano already disliked them. "Why the hell are they moving here?"

A flash of realization, then an embarrassed grin. Antonio claimed that he had been too excited and hadn't thought to ask.

~.~.~.~

"Roma?" Antonio whispered. "Are you awake?"

He was lying with his back to the door, so he only listened to the sound of his bedroom door shutting with a final click and Antonio's soft footfalls reaching the edge of the bed. "I am now," he said sullenly.

"Are you angry with me?"

Yes, idiot. "No."

"Why?"

Why was he angry? Or, why was he not angry? Jesus, if Romano wasn't such a goddamn liar. He ignored the question. "I'm tired."

The edge of the mattress gave under Antonio's weight as he sat down. He put a hand on Romano's shoulder. "I only have a few days before I leave for Spain."

"And?"

"And, I don't want you to be angry when I leave. What do you want me to do?"

Don't go. Don't leave me with no one to talk to. Don't leave me with people I don't know, because you know I can barely handle even basic human interaction with people I'm familiar with. Let someone else deal with the funeral. Let the government take the estate, just... "Do whatever you want. I don't care."

He sighed. "Roma..."

"Roma" was a nickname that Romano loathed, except where Antonio was concerned. He used to hit his brother for calling him that. The first few times Antonio had referred to him by that name he'd hit him too. Romano didn't remember when he stopped minding it so much.

"I'm sorry."

Romano felt his stomach twist with guilt. Why was he making Antonio apologize for something beyond his control? He'd just found out his father had died, and Romano still hadn't said anything about it. He looked up at the face of the man who'd taken care of him and his brother for the past six years, his best friend, and his worst secret.

"Don't apologize...um...just...I'm sorry. I'm sorry about your dad."

Romano's heart swelled to see Antonio's face brighten and his smile return.

It began without warning, because that's how it always went. Antonio lied down next to him and kissed him, and then he kissed back. This wasn't something they had planned, but this had been going on for some time now. Antonio wrapped his arms around him and pulled him close so that Romano was flush against his chest and their legs tangled together.

Romano wasn't too worried about Feli hearing them. The apartment was well-built, brick, and over two months had passed without his brother giving any sign that he knew what they did behind closed doors. Still, a part of Romano felt paranoid and he struggled to keep the noise to a minimum.

Feliciano could never know. This was far too embarrassing. It was fucking weird. Antonio had known them since they were kids, he'd been their legal guardian, and on top of that they weren't dating. They were close friends who were very much attracted to one another. Anything further than that had never been fully discussed.

These weren't the kind of things that Romano dwelt on when Antonio was melting his cold exterior with the heat of his body and making Romano want to show him just how affectionate he could really be, but when he had a little more clarity and a lot more self-control, it did bother him. When they were alone in the dark and it was only about grasping and touching and hearing the noises that tremulously escaped the other's mouth, Romano really couldn't care less. He knew he was as much to blame for this mess as anyone. He could have said that he didn't want this, but he would have been lying if he had.

Something was escaping Romano—besides his breath and sweat, besides Antonio's name which, along with rhetorical cries to a deity was continuously on his lips. There was something that he sensed he was losing, and he wasn't sure if he was supposed to be feeling this way with someone he cared about.

He clung to the bed sheets until the two of them fell into blissful exhaustion, and then he didn't think he was losing something anymore. He felt more like he himself was lost, and he still wasn't sure that that was supposed to happen.

I've been into Spamano for a while, but I've also recently fallen in love with Prumano, so this story was just begging me to write it. Kind of tentative about it, though. Let me know what you think! I've never written Hetalia fanfiction before, so I'd love to hear any feedback you have.

Oh, and the title. The title is relevant, but kind of a joke. I was hoping to get to it in this chapter, but that didn't happen.