Never before in his life had Lovino felt this embarrassed before. It was the fever's fault, he reasoned, for making him blurt out such a thing in the presence of others. He would never have done—said, to be precise—such a thing if he hadn't been really, really, really desperate; after all, he was much too stubborn to do so.

The brunet grumbled exasperatedly and pulled the blanket over his head, curling up beneath it. "It's all his fault," he crankily murmured, scowling weakly as he clenched on a bunched up part of the bed sheet in a feeble attempt to vent his anger. "I wouldn't have blurted that out if it hadn't been for that jerk..."

—

"Uwaah! Brother! You're awake!" Feliciano happily chirped in a very relieved tone, instantly hugging his still half-conscious older brother, much to said older brother's annoyance. "I was so, so worried! Antonio said—"

"Let go of me, Feliciano—"

"—but you still wouldn't wake up no matter what I did, and I got so worried—"

"I said let go of me, you idiot!" Lovino repeated with a louder voice, futilely attempting to shove his younger brother away from him. Damn the fever for making him weaker than usual. "You're suffocating me, stupid! Let go!"

A few minutes passed, and Feliciano hadn't budged an inch; he was still there, arms wrapped around his older brother, clinging to him despite of the violent shoves and colorful threats his brother had thrown his way. Suffice to say, Lovino was getting desperate, and his attention shifted from his sibling to a certain Spaniard that was standing a few steps away from him.

"Dammit, Antonio, don't just stand there! Help me!"

The whole room suddenly fell silent, and Lovino tensed, the anger slowly replaced by a mixture of shock and embarrassment.

Somebody tell him he did not just blurt out the words "help me".

The awkward silence was broken a second later by Gilbert's loud, obnoxious laughter, and a moment later, everyone in the room—save for Feliciano, who simply had a confused look on his face—started laughing.

...Well, technically, Antonio only grinned and chuckled nervously and Ludwig only shifted his gaze away and cleared his throat, but Lovino could care less about the details—and besides, the platinum blond's howling laughter was more than enough to compensate for everyone's.

"Shut up, dammit!" he shouted, face flushed red from both embarrassment and annoyance, scowling at the offending Prussian. "It's all your fault for tricking me into getting lost in a forest, you bastard!"

Ludwig sighed and shook his head. "We should leave," he quietly murmured, pulling the still chuckling Gilbert out of the room by the arm. Lovino already looked as if he was going to start throwing things at the platinum blond; it would be unwise to let Gilbert stay here any longer.

"Oh, c'mon, West, don't be such a spoilsport," the Prussian said with mock disappointment.

A short moment of awkward silence ensued as the two left the room.

"...I-I'll go show them to the door," Antonio suddenly said, mumbling something about how this was his house and all as he rushed towards the door.

"Ah, then I'll cook dinner!" Feliciano added, releasing his hold on his older brother and proceeding to follow the Spaniard out of the room.

And just like that, Lovino was left alone.

—

Letting out a loud, exasperated grumble, the Italian flipped the blanket off him, pushing the embarrassing incident away from his mind. He was definitely going to kill that bastard Gilbert the next time they meet.

Sighing, Lovino stared at the door lifelessly. "He's taking too long, that idiot..." he quietly mumbled, a slight frown forming on his face, "How long does it take to show people out of your house, anyway?"

As if on cue, the door suddenly opened, and Antonio came walking in as if nothing had happened. "Ah, Lovino!" he lightly said, smiling as he proceeded to take a seat on the edge of the bed. "How do you feel?"

Lovino groaned. "Can't you see for yourself, stupid?" He glared at the dark-haired nation in response to the Spaniard's nervous, apologetic grin. "Anyway, what took you so long? I though you were just showing those two bastards out."

"Oh, I went to check on Feliciano first," Antonio calmly said, seemingly oblivious to how Lovino's glare suddenly became slightly more murderous than before. "He doesn't come here as often as you do, after all, so I thought he'll be needing some help in the kitchen, and—Lovino, why are you facing away from me?"

"You are such an idiot, Antonio," the brunet grumpily retorted, stubbornly ignoring the innocent 'why's coming from the exasperatingly dense nation. Honestly, couldn't he have paid more attention to him, now that he was sick and everything?

"Lovino, was it something I said?" the older nation naively asked, his tone showing his confusion. "If it was, then I'm sorry, so please—"

"I said shut up, you idiot!" the brunet barked in annoyance, rising to a sitting position and turning to face the Spaniard in one quick motion. He was scowling, cheeks slightly red from both his fever and his frustration, and he was a bit dizzy, but he could care less about that last part. "Honestly, do you have to be so god damn dense all the time?"

"But Lovino, I was just—" A pause. "Oh, are you mad because I went to see Feliciano first?"

The Italian didn't answer, but Antonio could tell that his guess was right from the way Lovino shifted his gaze aside. He'd long learned how to decipher the brunet's gestures; after all, he had spent a few hundred years with the cranky nation.

"Well, then, lo siento, Lovino," he candidly continued, an apologetic grin on his face as he spoke. "I was just worried about Feliciano, see—"

"Oh, sure. Worry about mio fratello, will you? I'll be perfectly fine." Brusquely, Lovino flopped onto the bed and pulled the blanket over himself, facing away from the Spaniard.

"Lovino..."

"Go away."

"But you're sick."

"Oh, now you realize it?" Slowly, the Italian turned, so that he was facing the older nation. "I thought you were busy worrying about my little brother," he sarcastically added, lifting an eyebrow as he glared at the Spaniard.

"...Are you jealous, Lovino?" Antonio nonchalantly blurted out, smiling innocently at the nation lying next to where he was sitting.

"I-I-I-I'm not!" Lovino reflexively retorted, stammering over his words as his face took on a deep scarlet shade. "Why should I be jealous over that stupid brother of mine, anyway?"

"Well, you sounded like you were, from the way you—"

"Shut up, you bastard!"

Antonio simply chuckled, gently running his fingers through the pouting brunet's hair as he shook his head. "You really never change, do you, Lovino?"

"What, do you want me to?"

"Of course not." The Spaniard smiled at him gently. "You're fine the way you are, mi amado."

"...Don't call me that," the brunet weakly argued, still glaring at the older nation, but with less murderous intent than before. He was slowly becoming sleepier by the minute; the exhaustion from getting lost in a forest—and probably from all the shouting, too—was starting to catch up on him. Not to mention that the fever was seemingly draining his strength.

For a few moments, Antonio contented himself on watching Lovino cave in to tiredness, smiling warmly at the half-asleep nation, fingers still running through the Italian's dark brown locks. He rather enjoyed seeing the usually violent brunet be more docile like this; it was rather adorable, in his opinion, though of course, Lovino just wouldn't be Lovino without his perpetually annoyed attitude and foul mouth.

A couple of minutes passed in silence, in peace, and the Spaniard had just begun to enjoy the atmosphere when he accidentally touched Lovino's hair curl. The Italian's reaction was instantaneous, and suffice to say, it was way over the top.

"Don't touch my hair curl, you jerk!" the brunet shouted loudly, swatting the older nation's hand away violently. He glared murderously at the Spaniard, a tint of scarlet coloring his cheeks.

"But I only touched it a little!" Antonio replied, the slight smile on his face belying his disappointed tone. "Besides, it was an accident—"

"But you touched it!" Lovino insisted, the red on his cheeks turning deeper in color as he became more agitated, completely forgetting about his sleepiness.

The dark-haired nation chuckled lightly. "Mi amado, you look just like a tomato."

"S-shut up!" the Italian retorted, visibly becoming more irritated. "And don't just change the subject like that!"

A warm laugh slipped past the Spaniard's lips as he stood up, though his attention was still fixed at the younger nation. "Looks like I'm not helping you rest by being here," he lightly said, turning towards the door. "I'll just go check what Feliciano's—"

A tug on the hem of his shirt stopped him in his tracks and caused him to turn.

"Stay," Lovino quietly mumbled, eyes shifting away from the older nation. A good half of his face was buried in the pillow, but his flushed cheeks were still visible.

"Are you sure, Lovino?"

"...Just don't touch my hair curl."

Antonio smiled slightly and shook his head as he sat on the edge of the bed again. Slowly, he began to stroke the brunet's hair, fingers occasionally tangling in the dark brown strands, careful to avoid the single strand of hair that was blatantly defying gravity. He didn't want to wake up the already half-asleep Lovino again; the Italian needed some rest, what with his fever and everything.

The dark-haired nation sighed. 'Honestly, you can be so demanding sometimes...' he quietly thought, though it was more of a statement than a complaint. "You don't seem to remember who carried you out of that forest under the rain, either..."

"I do, you idiot."

There was a short moment of silence as the Spaniard turned his gaze towards the supposed-to-be sleeping brunet, green eyes meeting light brown ones in a matter of moments. "Y... you were awake?" he slowly said, a nervous grin on his face. "Uh, it wasn't meant as a complaint, I swear—"

"Thanks."

Antonio blinked. Did Lovino just thank him? "Um, Lovino—"

The brunet grumbled exasperatedly. "Didn't you want me to thank you for... that?" His voice slowly trailed off as a light blush appeared on his cheeks. "Oh, forget it," he quickly added, closing his eyes once again. "I'm going to sleep."

"Ah, alright..." the older nation sheepishly said, clearly still a bit confused as to what had prompted the Italian to thank him so openly. Still, this wasn't something that happened every day, so he wasn't going to complain. "You're welcome, Lovino," he amicably replied, "And I hope you get better soon." Though judging from the way you were shouting earlier, you'd probably recover in no time, he added as an afterthought, smiling to himself.

Slowly, he leaned closer to the younger nation, giving the brunet a quick kiss on the forehead, and for once, Lovino didn't attempt to hit him or push him away; the younger nation simply scowled, his blush deepening in color. The sight made the Spaniard's smile grow wider, and he let out a gentle laugh.

Taking care of Lovino was hard and complicated, Antonio admitted, but it had always been worth it.