Based off an RP between me and Hipster Mustache. She came up with most of the plot... Ok, so pretty much all of it, and she also controlled nearly every character, minus Spain. She's an evil genius, I must say. All that I can claim are Spain's actions and the smoothing of the RP into a fanfiction! Hope you enjoy it as much as I did, and as much as I hope she did as well! If you like tragedy, or if you're an emotional masochist like me, then check out her Arrivederci, which is really sad and I loved it.

Anyway, I make no excuses for this story or its plot. What can I say? The two of us are just complete fangirls. Enjoy~!

The sun beat down over Rome, filling the great city with its midsummer's heat. Spain just happened to be passing through at the time, and since he happened to be there anyway, he decided, 'Hey, while I'm just passing through Italy for no reason whatsoever, and not stalking at all, I should visit my little Lovi!'

So, with that reasoning in mind, he made his way to Romano's house, and since he'd already happened to be in the neighborhood, he was there in a matter of seconds. The house stood tall and proud among the others, the strongest example of Roman architecture there was. Tourists were always surprised to find that the house was one of the more modern examples, the way it looked like it stepped right out of ancient times.

While Spain thought this was always a nice compliment, Romano always glared at the starry-eyed tourists, and if it was a man, Spain had to hold the Italian back before he could pound the tourist into the ground.

"Are you saying my house looks old, bastardo?" he'd always scream.

"No, no, Lovi, they're saying they really like it!" Spain insisted, signaling to the tourist to start running, which they always did.

"Damn it, Spain, let go!"

"But, Lovi, if you hurt your tourists you'll get sick, and Boss Spain doesn't want you to get sick!"

"F-fine, bastardo! Just let go of me!"

"Aw, Lovi, you look just like a tomato~!"

Spain smiled fondly at the memory, even though it ended with Romano getting so embarrassed that he head butted Spain with a loud cry of "CHIGI!" But until then, it was a great memory!

Looking up and down the street, he didn't see any tourists out, so he figured there'd be no reason to be out front. After all, the only reason why he'd ever come in the front door would be because of Romano endangering the lives of his tourists. So this was a great opportunity to surprise Romano with a basket of tomatoes!

And since Spain hadn't thought of that while happening to make this not-premeditated visit to Rome, he figured a basket of Romano's own tomatoes would be the next best thing. So he slipped through the side gate to make his way to the large tomato fields in the back garden.

That was when he saw Romano, already in the fields, picking the ripest tomatoes and carefully setting them in a basket. Every now and then, he straightened his back to stretch a little and wipe the sweat from his face. He was wearing protective jeans, gloves, work boots, and a large straw hat that protected his face and neck from the harsh sun.

The sight sent Spain's heart racing at the cuteness of it all. He smiled in delight and began to race toward his adorable little Lovi, preparing to pounce in a gleeful hug.

Romano didn't even look up as the time of impact drew closer. "Bastardo, don't even think of it," he said, his voice sounding only slightly annoyed.

Spain noticed the basket of tomatoes and skidded to a halt. "Ah, L—Lovi! What a surprise!" he exclaimed trying to sound nonchalant. He snatched a tomato from the basket in an attempt to cover up his near-fatal (for the tomatoes) pounce.

The Italian glanced up at him, eyebrow raised. "So…" He stood up, deciding he had enough tomatoes. "What was it you came for?"

Trying to buy himself time, Spain took a large bite out of the tomato. He chewed slowly, savoring the delicious flavor of a homegrown tomato, straight from Italy. Romano's tomatoes were truly the best, even better than America's, who now used so many hormones on his fruit it was nearly tasteless. Romano refused to do so, preferring the all-natural tomatoes he grew without chemical help.

While he ate the tomato, he quietly appraised Romano. Bad idea. Romano was just too cute, holding that little basket of tomatoes, with that overly large-brimmed hat framing his face, lightly flushed from exertion. It took all of his self-control not to tackle the adorable Italian then and there. Only the sight of the poor little tomatoes stopped him.

"Oh, just passing by, you know?" he said finally with a smile.

Romano gave him a disbelieving look. "Right… You just happened to be passing by, right through my tomato field?" he asked, speaking in a sarcastic tone.

Spain gave a bright grin, completely missing Romano's sarcasm and thinking that he'd fooled the Italian. "That's right! Very smart, Lovi~!" he said.

Oh dios mio, he thought, why does Romano have to be so cute and tomato-like? It wasn't helping his self-control any. And those poor tomatoes…

Romano rolled his eyes, holding the tomato basket tightly. "Well, since you were 'passing on by', you can join me for dinner."

So… So cute… But the tomatoes… The… Wait, why wasn't he hugging Romano again?

The question just did it for Spain. Forgetting all about the tomatoes, he launched himself at Romano, engulfing the Italian in an enthusiastic embrace.

"Aw, que lindo, mi little tomate~! I'd love to join you for dinner~!" he exclaimed.

"Ack!" Romano cried, trying to support Spain and carefully dropping the tomato basket to the ground. He did so successful, and the freshly-picked tomatoes were saved. "What the hell? A simple 'yes' would suffice!"

"But, but… You're so cute, and you look just like a tomato, all blushing like that," he said. Flushing, blushing… They were all the same to him; all words that meant his tomate looked like, well, a tomato.

The Italian blushed heavily; carefully prying the over-affectionate Spaniard off and picking the tomatoes back up. "I am not a tomato, bastardo!" he said. Spain opened his mouth to speak. "And I don't resemble one either!"

Spain closed his mouth again, giving him an innocent smile. "Wasn't going to say that," he replied. They made there way over to the house.

"Uh-huh," Romano said in disbelief. He shook his head to dismiss the subject and moved on. "Anyway, Feli's over for dinner, too, so head upstairs and get cleaned up." They reached the house quickly.

Oh, Feliciano was over, too. Spain sighed. He'd been looking forward to being alone with Romano… Which he completely decided upon passing by, and of course did not influence said passing by in any way. Because that would be stalking, and Spain did not stalk.

"Is Feli cooking?" he asked.

Romano pulled off his boots. He nodded, walking inside and discarding his boots in some godforsaken corner of the room. Spain followed suit, although he placed his shoes neatly by the door, where he'd be able to find them again.

"He came over for a few days while they did some repairs on his house. Something about a grenade mishap." That certainly did sound like Feliciano. Italian grenades had all sorts of terrifying problems, and Spain was surprised that Germany was still letting Feliciano use them.

"Anyway," Romano continued on, "The Potato Bastard told him he should come here, because apparently he can't handle my little brother and decided to force his problems on me, that bastard."

Spain let out another sigh. He'd been looking forward to Romano's cooking (again, completely not premeditated at all). It made him feel like Romano was his bride… Er, husband he meant. Although he had to admit, Romano would make a cute little bride, all dressed up in a frilly white dress, and a garland decorating his auburn hair…

He quickly masked his disappointment with a grin, bolstered by the image of Romano wearing a dress. "There'll be plenty of tomatoes involved, si?" he asked, eyeing the basket.

Romano gave one of those small, rare smiles. "Si. Feli insisted on making past—of course, the bastard lives on it—and I told him he had to use extra tomato-y sauce, or the answer was no." He began to walk up the stairs to his room, evidently expecting Spain to follow.

Spain grinned, imagining the horrified look on Feliciano's face at the possibility he not be allowed to make pasta. "That's good~!" he chimed, followed Romano closely upstairs, never allowing too much space to separate him from his little tomato. Just in case he felt the urge to hug the Italian again.

Reaching his room, Romano began unbuttoning his shirt, pulling it off and tossing it into a corner, as he'd done with his boots downstairs. He didn't even give Spain a glance, who suddenly looked very red and very uncomfortable. The Spaniard quickly looked away, just in case Romano saw him staring and called him a pervert or pedo… Again.

"There's a bathroom in the hallway. I'm using the one in here," Romano explained, going into his bathroom. He began to close the door, then stopped and stuck his head out the door. "And pomodoro bastardo, if you touch anything in my room, I'll kill you," he added as an afterthought.

"I'd never do that!" Spain said, looking affronted. Of course he wouldn't touch anything, especially after the bruises he received last time he tried sifting through Romano's possessions.

Nodding in approval, Romano withdrew his head and shut the door, leaving Spain alone in his room.

Well then, Spain supposed he should go wash up then… He hesitated, giving one last longing glance at the now-closed door, before going down to the hall to the bathroom.

He found the indicated hallway bathroom easily. The only problem was, when he grasped the handle and jiggled it, he discovered that the door was locked. Frowning in confusion, he pressed his ear to the door. No sounds came from within the bathroom. He knocked on the door. "Hello, anybody in there?" he called inside. Still no answer. Strange. He knocked and called a little louder with the same results, before coming to the conclusion that the bathroom door was locked, and no one was inside.

Spain shrugged it off. Maybe Feliciano had accidentally locked the bathroom door behind him for something. He didn't dare to even think that it was Romano's fault the bathroom door was locked. The feisty little Italian would murder him brutally with the mafia of at least three countries (his tomate had some amazing connection) if he even considered Romano at fault for such a clumsy action.

In any case, he returned to Romano's room.

A sound floated out from behind the bathroom door. Curious, Spain got closer, pressing his ear to the door to hear better. In the background, there was the steady sound of running water, meaning Romano was taking a shower. Above that, though, Spain could hear the Italian singing an old Spanish lullaby with his rich, musical voice.

The lullaby sounded familiar, like… Spain's eyes widened slightly. Oh, it was a song that he used to sing to Romano when he was little, and too stubborn to admit he couldn't sleep. He felt touched that Romano would remember a song from so long ago and decided.

He sighed contentedly as Romano gently sang the chorus. The Italian had such a beautiful voice. He could listen to it all day.

As Romano's voice died down, and the background noise was shut off.

At first, this disconcerted Spain. What was that background noise again? Oh right, it had been the sound of running water. And since it stopped, that meant… Oh, right, it meant the shower was over. So Romano was done with the shower. Which meant that any minute now, the Italian would come out of the bathroom.

And see Spain standing right there.

That was when he realized that he was still standing in front of the bathroom door. If Romano came out now, he would surely see the Spaniard and call him a pervert or something. Quickly, Spain flopped down on the bed, thinking up his story for when Romano saw him and demanded to know why he was in the room and not changed yet.

Luckily, he moved away from the door just in time for it to open. Unfortunately, Romano came out muttering something about not remembering where he put his towel. So the Italian came out, dripping wet and completely naked. Spain's eyes widened slightly, and he felt like a deer caught in headlights. The one lucky thing about the sure-to-be-horrible situation was the fact that Romano was still looking in the bathroom, and hadn't seen the Spaniard sitting there yet.

He blushed furiously, fidgeting and trying to decide what to do in the next two seconds, or he was good as dead. Run out of the room, announce his presence, or… He decided rolling off the bed and, hopefully, out of sight was the best option. And hope Romano was deaf, as rolling off the bed appeared to make a loud thump when he put his plan in action. Who would have guessed?

At the thump, Romano looked over and narrowed his eyes. "Hm… That bastard Spagna is in the other bathroom… Must've been Gone with the Wind falling or something," he decided, finally locating his towel. He grabbed it and dried off, wrapping it loosely around his waist.

Spain continued using the conveniently placed ground to hide his face. If he couldn't see Romano, then Romano wouldn't bee able to see him. At least, that's how he thought it worked. He didn't know what Gone with the Wind was, but he thanked its existence for saving him from a terrifying encounter with the mafia.

Romano walked to the other side of his bed in search of his shirt, when, to his surprise, he nearly tripped over a conveniently placed idiot on his floor.

The Italian stared. "…Spain? What are you doing there? You're staining my floor with bastard. Time to get up," he said.

Spain looked up sheepishly. "Ah, hey Romano, how are you? I was just looking for, um, Gone with the Wind to, you know, borrow it!" he said, getting up. He really hoped Gone with the Wind was something borrowable, and not a large object that would give him away. His face was still slightly flushed, the image of Romano imprinted on the front of his mind.

Romano's left eye twitched. "It wasn't the book that fell, was it? It was you!" he said accusingly, pointing a finger.

Ah, so Gone with the Wind was a book? It was so cute that his Lovi enjoyed reading~! And was now getting red like a little tomato, too!

Meanwhile, Romano was getting increasingly worked up and embarrassed. "You... You saw me naked! You p—pervert! CHIGI!" And with that, the Italian ran from the room.

"Ah! Romano, wait!" He thought he'd been so clever with his excuse, too. He took off after Romano, immediately wishing he'd exercised a bit more lately, especially with Romano being an Italian, and genetically could be extremely fast when he wanted to be.

It was too bad that Gone with the Wind was a book, and Spain didn't read—a fact that Romano was well aware of.

Did you know Romano read American literature. I didn't. :D

Until the next chapter, ciao~!