A/N: I'm almost certain that Spamano is my OTP. All of my recent stories revolve around them now xD. Personally, I find the idea of this story in particular to be fucking hilarious. I hope that you do too! Enjoy and thanks for reading~!

Cover art: Lunabellz

Edit: Also, to make characters the same age, I've written the Italy brothers as twins. I know it's not canon, so bear with me. One last thing; this story is satire.

Ciao fuckers! The name's Lovino Vargas. Call me Lovi and I'll fucking castrate you; unless you're a bella because then I'll politely ask you never to call me that again, flirty wink included. Tch. That's not much of a proper introduction, now is it? Hmmm. It doesn't have much pizazz coming from a writer himself. Oh! There we fucking go! That's a part that I can start from!

Welcome to hell, otherwise known as Hetalia University. In this story, hell is known for it's multiculturalism. It's a prestigious institution known for raising stuck up snobs and corrupt as hell -pun heavily included- politicians. The lies on the brochure tell you that it's an atmosphere for creating unique, inspired young individuals. Which would explain why it's separated from all of man kind. To set the mood, I presume.

The area around the University is a student town. Go there in the summer and you'll spot the cliché moth ball rolling off in the distance. But come here during the school year and you'll drown from all the people, regret, existential crises, and inferiority complexes that you will without a doubt be forced to endure and suffer from. This school is full of hotshots and cocksuckers who believe that they can change the world. I, on the other hand, consider myself to be a realist. Egotism is the only thing that fuels the want to help. It's validation. And lord knows how much people with fragile egos want to be validated.

Take my fratello for example. I have to live in his shadows every day. But here, I'm more than Feliciano's shitty, spiteful twin brother. I'm a writer with dreams and aspirations. Well. At least that's how I like think of myself. The people around me think something much different. Ah. Here come the stereotypes. Feliciano and I are very different yet all the same. We're Italian exchange students. So yes, we enjoy pasta and wine. But you know what we don't enjoy? Girls. Yes. That's right. We're both flaming homosexuals. Well, at least Feliciano is. I'm more of a closeted individual. It's no wonder that we're gay. If you saw how flamboyant our Nonno was you would have called it from the start.

It's quite funny, actually. Feliciano and I compliment each other quite well. One writes but can barely speak. One speaks but is hardly literate at all. The former being me, obviously. Feliciano's enrolled in the cooking school. There he found a stupid-potato-brick boyfriend that goes by the name of Ludwig Beilschmidt. I've never liked that kraut. He always looks constipated and pissed off. It's fucking unnerving.

Not that I should be judging or anything. It's in my nature to be pissed off all the time. In fact, a happy Lovino is something that you should be very, very scared of. It was like the calm before the storm. I was bound to get angered eventually. Literally everything triggers me. I suppose that's why my writing is so vivid. Especially the fight scenes. Heh. Perhaps I am a bit sadistic and twisted. It's no wonder why all the characters that look like Ludwig die in my novels. Blond hair and blue eyes? Die potato scum!

Back to the story. So, basically, a lot of shit went down in my first year of hell. One of them being that I was suckered into working a job that I didn't want nor did I need. Nonno covered all of our expenses. We were pretty well off in terms of money. But, of course, Feliciano just had to sucker me into getting involved with those goddamned puppy dog eyes of his. I couldn't say no to those brown, doe-like suckers. Sadness didn't suit Feliciano. He should be happy or whatever the fuck else he feels. As long as he's not being a depressing, cringy loser like me, we're A-OK. Oh Lovino. You pun loving little shit head…

Apparently, a new café had just opened up on campus. They were looking for two pairs of twins in particular. Ludwig already worked there as a baker and pasty chef. So you can see why Feliciano was so eager to apply there. My first thought when I walked into that joint was 'Oh hell to the no'. It was a gay café. A place where people of all sexualities and kinks and the likes could come to without having to be ashamed of their true selves. Basically, it was a place of the arts and intellectual discussion. Like a salon of some sorts. Even better. And by better I mean that I couldn't give less of a fuck, the café served frilly desserts and hot chocolate. It was supposed to be quaint and elegant. Something that's impossible to achieve when the name of the fucking place is the "GAY-OK Café!"

I mean seriously. The place attracted freaks of all kind. Most of which were borderline creeps. The owner was a third year business student, who went by the nickname of 'Liza'. Only Roderich was allowed to call her Elizabeta. Roderich was her rich, pretentious boyfriend who funded the entire café. Apparently, his family were descendants of Austrian aristocrats. I honestly didn't think that I would be sticking around long enough to find out more. Dio was I ever wrong.

It took one look for Elizabeta to be smitten with Feliciano and I. She practically drooled at the sight of us. We were her yaoi fantasy come true. To this day she still asks us to display acts of incestuous love in front of the customers. Fuck to the no. I worked this job because it was a place where I didn't have to be scared of my sexuality. I also got to admire and check out hot guys while I waited tables. That was always a bonus in my books. Literally. I got a lot of inspiration for my novel's characters by working here. No one was ordinary. Everyone was unique and round. Nothing flat or run of the mill ordinary…

Ask me this in person and I'll deny it. But I actually, kind of-sort-of liked working at the GAY-OK café. The staff were nice. Sure. Feliciano and Ludwig making out in the back kitchen would always prove to be barf-worthy. But the rest of the people weren't that bad. Alfred and Matthew, the other set of twins that worked at the café, were nice enough. Elizabeta was creepy, undoubtedly, but she was very supporting in every other aspect. Working here helped and still helps me overcome my fears of being rejected. I know that it was irrational to be so scared of my sexuality. Who cared what other people thought, right? But I couldn't help it. I've never liked attention. That had always been Feliciano's quirk. But being gay painted a flaming red hot target right smack in the middle of my forehead. Little did I know that I would have a moron of a bull to chase after me because of it.

That bull just so happened to storm into my life today. But not until later tonight. Argh. I suppose that I could enlighten you with a quick catch up. It's the end of September. Feliciano and I are in our second year of schooling. The idiota was supposed to work this Friday- which is today- but I was gracious enough to take over his shift. He and Ludwig had some sort of anniversary to celebrate. I wasn't doing anything and didn't mind taking on the extra shift. I was already ahead of my class work listed on the syllabuses. Syllabi? Ah hell. I don't know. You get the point. And it's not like I had friends to hang out with either. Being a writer inevitably makes you a loner. Writing comes so much easier than speaking I find.

Anyways, I was leaning on the front counter, bored out of my fucking mind. It was just before seven PM. Which meant that the evening rush was coming up. I looked around the café. Very few people were seated in the plush, neon-coloured booths. It was quiet and that's exactly how I liked it. Evening classes wouldn't end for another half hour or so.

I looked to my left and shivered. Ivan shed me with a childish grin before going back to typing up something on his lap top. That Russian didn't sit right with me. Anyone who wore a tan trench coat and scarf during all sorts of weather couldn't be trusted. Don't even get me started on his psycho creep of a sister. Never mind. I already spotted her. Natalia was sitting on the bench just outside of Ivan's booth. Her fingers clawed against the window. She was desperately attempting to get his attention.

Ivan was indifferent to her pleas and death threats. He simply typed away, not giving a fuck in the world while his bat shit crazy sister casually picked her nails with a pocket knife. You see, Natalia was banned from the inside of the restaurant. But, unfortunately, not from the outside. I scowled when I realized that she was making claw marks and finger prints on the windows again. Damnit! I just cleaned those!

I had half the mind to grab a mop and shoo her away. At least with a weapon I stood some sort of chance against her. But…was I willing to gamble away my life like that? Probably not. My life may be shitty but it wasn't entirely worthless. There was always food to look forward to.

I sighed and slumped my elbows onto the granite counter. I let my auburn bangs sweep into my face to block out the blinding, setting sun. I closed my eyes. Maybe I could catch some sleep before the evening rush started. I spoke too soon.

"LIKE! COMING THROUGH!" Feliks hollered. I jolted up and cursed under my breath. Feliks shed me with an unapologetic grin as he glided past the front counter in his glittery pink roller skates. I rolled my eyes and scoffed. Feliks embodied the word flamboyant. He was a Pole who was about as straight as a circle. If the pink mini skirt, shaved legs, green eye shadow, and cropped, pixie hair cut wasn't already an indication of that.

I watched Feliks skate up to his gentleman caller, otherwise known as Toris. Feliks set down the Lithuanian's plate of chocolate cake and batted his obviously fake lashes. Toris blushed demurely and shyly mumbled his thanks. I tore away my gaze when Feliks purposefully dropped a bundle of napkins onto the ground. I've seen his butthole way too many times to count, thank you very much. The sad part was that Liza actually encouraged this. Vulgarity (me) and promiscuity (Feliks) paid the bills, apparently. But still. Feliks could at least wear some underwear for fuck's sake. The bells of the front door should be chiming, not his balls. Ugh. Sorry for the extremely disturbing mental picture. I lose my filter when I'm low on sleep.

The dress code in this establishment was something that I've been fighting against for a while now. Everyone had to be glittered or dazzled up in some shape or form. I simply wore a pair of ripped jeans, a button up black blouse, and a pair of nice loafers. I compromised with Liza by agreeing to wear a sparkly purple waiter's apron. I couldn't wear pink, otherwise I would be on the receiving end of Feliks' death glares. Everything was fine and good until you impeded on the Pole's 'unique' sense of style. Tch. Attention hog. You couldn't claim an entire fucking colour for yourself.

And once again, we fall back to validation. Egos were huge. Especially in a place where the oppressed were empowered. Who knew that a small dessert place could give a person so much confidence? It was a place free of harassment. Well, at least for the customers anyway.

Liza would never cease to stop harassing me. Said harassment came in the form of her hugging me from behind. The Hungarian giggled as she let her head fall on my shoulder. Her honey brown hair dangled over the counter and tickled my forearms. I spoke through gritted teeth. "Can I help you?" Liza sighed. I swatted away her hand. This was the fifth time tonight that she had attempted to grope my butt. Honestly. Even if I'm gay, wouldn't that still be considered as cheating?

"You're standing still on the job," she hummed. "This is what you get for being a naughty boy." I shrugged off her arms, as gently as I could because she was still a girl, no matter how creepy, and span around. Liza huffed and crossed her arms. I made a clear effort not to look at her chest. She was wearing a white blouse that practically screamed boobtastic. Man. If Roderich saw those he would probably have a heart attack. He preferred demure women. And Liza was far from demure. She was downright insane.

"It's not busy and Feliks is hogging up all the customers anyways," I grumbled. I averted my gaze to the ground and avoided Liza's smug, imploring eyes. I blushed slightly. I've always had a chronic face flushing problem. I had a nasty habit of wearing my emotions on my face. Liza cooed and ogled at me like I was a small child.

"Oh Lovi! You're so cute~!" she squealed. My eyes twitched. I. Hated. Being. Called. Lovi. It was too personal of a nickname. It was reserved only for Feliciano and my dumbass, eccentric grandpa. No one else had the right to call me that, damnit!

If that wasn't enough, Liza somehow managed to sneak a hand past my line of sight. I yelped and fell forward when she smacked my butt. Her hand lingered in that general area. Too long! Too long! Oh Dio, this was a full on grope! Class two molestation!

"Fucking hell!" I cursed. "Stop using my butt as your fucking stress toy!"

Everything about that sentence was wrong. I shouldn't even have to explain myself.

Liza laughed. It was more like an evil cackle. I blushed and considered making a fort under the spare pile of unused cooking aprons. "But it's soooo relieving," she purred. Manicured fingers reached up to squish my lips together. I looked down and scowled. My blush deepened.

"Besides," Liza trilled. "You're not working the Tsundere angle strong enough!" I blushed even harder. God damnit. Here we go again. My shyness was being exploited for the purpose of profit. And it wasn't even mine. What fucking bullshit.

"Ah! Much better~!" I yelped when my eyes were blinded with the flash of a camera.

"WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT FOR?!" I roared.

Liza ignored me. She grinned and flipped through her camera roll.

"The sexual frustration on your face was just too tempting!" she pouted. "It would have been a crime not to capture it."

I snatched the phone from her hands. I held it over her head and thankfully out of reach. It wasn't my fault that she was hobbit sized. I wasn't exactly the tallest person in the room. That title would go to Ivan. But I wasn't exactly short either. I deleted the photo. But not before getting the password wrong three times and locking her phone. Serves that bitch right.

Liza glowered at me. That glower quickly turned into a feigned smile when a group of students poured into the café. Manicured nails dug into my forearm. I bit my lip to quell my scream. Yup. That was definitely going to scar. Just great. She was adding further to my crescent moon collection. Obviously that wasn't enough to satisfy her. Liza skirted behind me and grabbed my butt. AGAIN. She was using the counter to her advantage. It was high enough to cover both of our midsections.

I tried to keep my cool. The customers were looking. It was imperative that I made a good first impression. I smiled through the harassment. I received a lot of odd looks. Couldn't blame them. My face was red. My body twitched enough to make anyone think that I was having a seizure.

"Say it," Liza hissed in a deadly whisper.

I discreetly looked over my shoulder. "Fuck no," I hissed back through gritted teeth.

"Say it or I'll make sure to schedule Feli and Ludwig together; all the time."

I scowled. What was a day of Liza's life without coercion? The last thing I ever wanted was to endure Feliciano and Ludwig making out and playfully smearing cake batter onto each other's faces. Fucking disgusting if you ask me. It was a very calculated move on Liza's part, however.

"Oh fine," I huffed.

I grinned a smile so wide and fake that I could practically feel the plastic cracking in my cheeks.

"Welcome to the GAY-OK Café! Where all sexualities and kinks are accepted!"

Liza slapped my butt again.

I didn't have to be a genius to know that there would be many more to come.

…

9:00 PM.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. It was a full house. It didn't help that everyone bailed at the last minute. Feliks ditched his shift to go to Toris' poetry event. And Alfred, the one fucking chef that we had for the night, left to go and relieve the sexual tension that he shared with Ivan. Ok. The last one was more of a prediction on my part. What really happened was that Alfred had challenged Ivan to an arm wrestling contest. Which had somehow morphed into a drinking contest else where. They both denied it but everyone knew that they would end up together sooner or later. Even if Ivan was quote on quote straight. Sorry, asshole. You're not fooling anyone. No straight male likes the smell of sun flowers, let alone long walks in the park. It's just unheard of.

The only workers in the café were Liza and I. We were both doing a little bit of everything. She was helping me handle the tables. Right now I was in the kitchen plating and adding the finishing touches to a slice of German chocolate cake. The irony was baffling. The potato bastard had baked that. He didn't even have to try to piss me off. Him existing was the only trigger that I ever needed.

The kitchen doors swung open and Liza doubled over to catch her breath. Her hands fell on her knees. She was wearing a white bandana to keep the straggly, long strands of hair out of her face. Running back and forth had really taken its toll on her. Her face was pink with exertion. She wasn't used to working this much. Most of the time she just watched us employees work, all the while admiring our butts. Today was one of the rare days that she actually got off of her lazy ass and helped.

"They're….all…animals…" she wheezed.

I smirked. "Of course they are. They're hangry students who have nothing better to do than to shit on the person serving food to them. What did you expect?"

Liza's green eyes widened. "How do you do this?"

I shrugged and handed her the plated food. I admired the intricately woven laces of chocolate and caramel sauce on the side of the plate. I wasn't nearly as good as Feliciano was, but I was somewhat decent at art. I suppose you could say that I had a knack for visual appeal.

"I ask myself that all the time," I snorted. "Trust me. It only get's worse." I twisted my waiters apron and grabbed a pen and paper from the front pouch. I grinned when I heard the jingle of money in it. I had made a massive amount of tips so far and the night was far from over. Feliciano was missing out on a small fortune. I grimaced. I really didn't want to think about what he was doing with the potato right now. The box of condoms on his night side table was definitely not a good sign. I inadvertently snapped the pen in two. Black ink dribbled down my wrist.

"Shit," I cursed. Liza grabbed a rag and I quickly wiped off the ink. I couldn't waste anymore time. The longer the customers waited the stingier their tips would be. I pushed open the kitchen doors with my shoulders.

"Has table ten been served yet?" I asked, looking over my shoulder.

Liza shook her head. The serious expression on her face caused me to falter. "Lovino?"

I stopped and let the door fall against my shoulder. "Yeah?" Liza grimaced. You would think that I had just been sent off to war. Wait… Was she pitying me? Oh. This couldn't be good.

"Be careful. 'My friend', Gilbert…he and his friends are sitting at that table. If they do anything that you don't like…" Liza scowled and paused to aim a glance at a nearby frying pan. The girl was swing-happy. In other words, she was always looking for an excuse to whack someone over the head with it. My lazy, sorry excuse of an existence included.

I shook my hand and waved her off with a fake, albeit secretly worried smile. Further explanation was no longer necessary. I've heard many things about Gilbert. None of which were good. He came here every Friday night with his two friends. They were well known seniors through out the University. The 'Bad Touch Trio' as everyone liked to call them. Feliciano talked about them a lot. He typically served on Fridays. I've never had a first hand experience with them before. All I knew was that they were very gay and very dangerous to be around. I kept that in mind when I left the kitchen and headed straight for their table.

The first thing that I heard was very loud, boisterous shouting. I clicked my pen in irritation and stopped to stand at the side of their booth. Three obvious trouble makers sat before me. The one on my right had whitish blonde hair, milk pale skin, and gleaming red eyes. He was sitting on his own. He was also the loudest of them all. His wardrobe spoke volumes. Skinny jeans with all sorts of chains and straps attached to it, a black Metallica t-shirt, and a red bandana tied around his neck. The only thing that set off my gaydar for him was the fact that he actively waved around his hands when he spoke. It was a horrible stereotype, I know, but it often proved to be true. I present to you fuck nugget #1.

Sitting across from fuck nugget #1, was an effeminate man with shoulder length blond hair, which was tied back into a lazy, effortless pony tail, and blue eyes. Eyes that were without a doubt undressing me at this given moment. He was wearing a purple cardigan, with a white t-shirt underneath, loosely fitted denim capris, and brown loafers. I avoided his smirk and silently deemed him as fuck nugget #2.

I moved on from fuck nugget #2 and let my eyes rest on the third person sitting near the window. I didn't see much. Most of his face was obscured by the menu that he was holding to it. The only visible feature that I saw was a mop of messy, chocolate coloured curls. The baggy, black long sleeved shirt that he wore told me that he didn't care all that much about his appearance. Unlike his fashion eager friends. I felt more of a carefree, lax vibe from him. You know what happens next. I reluctantly introduce you to 'dark and mysterious' fuck nugget #3.

Fuck nugget #1 was the first to notice me. His red eyes widened with excitement. His lips quickly formed into a pout when he gave me a quick once over. "Where's Mattie?" he grumbled, crossing his arms and looking dramatically disappointed.

I furrowed my brows. Oh. He meant Matthew. Come to think of it, where was Matthew? I hardly ever saw that bello anymore. Alfred, his slightly older twin brother, was very protective of him. Just like I didn't like Feliciano waiting tables, Alfred didn't like it when Matthew did. We were both very protective of our other halves. It was the only thing that the hamburger eating dipshit and I shared in common. This café was a zoo. It was not for the weak hearted and overly trustful people. Both of which Matthew and Feliciano inevitably were.

"He's not working," I said through an unbearably fake smile. "My name's Lovino and I'll be your server for the night."

Two seconds. It took these fuckers two seconds before they began with their assault. Fuck nugget #1 assaulted me with questions about Matthew and his whereabouts. I didn't have much of an answer to offer him. And even if did, I wouldn't have told him anything. Alfred would murder me if I gave a customer confidential information about his precious 'lil bro'.

Fuck nugget #2 on the other hand, sexually assaulted me. He grabbed my hand and brought it to his slimy, snail lips. My eyes and lips twitched in harmony. No Lovino. Punching him in the face wouldn't be professional. No matter how warranted that it probably -most definitely- was.

"Pleasure to be acquainted with you, cher," he purred with a wink. "The name's Francis. You can call me Papa if you want. Ah, but only in bed, of course." I wrenched my hand back, completely appalled.

Fuck nugget #1 obviously thought that my reaction was hilarious. "Franny!" he chortled. "Try to be a bit more subtle will ya? You're making the poor guy blush!"

Francis glowered at the cackling albino. "Speak for yourself, Gilberte. You just about man-handled Matthieu last time."

"How could I not! He gave me a free brownie, kesesese. Not to mention that fact that he's soooooo adorably shy!" Gilbert squealed with a dreamy look on his face.

"You won't think he's so cute when he files a restraining order on you," Francis retorted.

I spluttered and coughed. Francis and Gilbert ended their squabble to direct their attention back to me. I could hardly form a coherent sentence at this point. Two minutes and they had already reduced me to speechlessness. This was going to be one hell of a long night. "D-Do you know what you're going to order?" I stammered.

SLAM!

Gilbert slapped his hands against the wooden surface of the table. Francis gave him a ruffled look. Mysterious fuck nugget #3 was audibly murmuring to himself. "Oi! Toni?! What are you getting?" the albino bellowed. Several people in the café looked over in our direction. Oh great. My embarrassment was now the entertainment of the night. Just fucking perfect.

Francis raised a blond brow at me. "Lovino was it?" An ecstatic grin formed on his face. "You must be Feliciano's twin brother!"

I grudgingly nodded my head. I bit my tongue to prevent myself from swearing. Exercising restraint with these fuckers was a miracle in itself. I failed almost immediately. "Congratulations, fuck boy detective! You guessed right! Did us looking exactly alike clue you in? Or was it your dazzling intellect at hand?"

"Ohonhonhon. This one's feisty." Francis elbowed the person sitting next to him. Gilbert wasn't having much success in getting their friend's attention. Chewing up pieces of napkin and throwing the little white balls over the table proved unsuccessful when the person was fast asleep, even if they were sitting up. Francis plucked the menu out of 'Toni's' hands. The idiot started awake, rubbed at his eyes and let out a sleepy -adorable- yawn.

My jaw nearly dropped to the ground. He had the most piercing, alluring green eyes that I had ever seen in my life. They were captivating. He had certainly grabbed my attention now. My heart was pumping like crazy. The boy rubbed a guilty hand over the back of his tanned neck and shed his friends with an apologetic smile. The world stopped when his eyes locked with mine. His eyes widened for a brief moment before they darkened into something much more sinister. The hair on the back of my neck stood up. I felt so bare and vulnerable.

"Sorry, eheh. I didn't think that we would have such an attractive waiter," he apologized. "I got bored and fell asleep," he chuckled. We established direct eye contact again. I blushed red from head to toe. He had a way of looking at a person. And I mean really looking at a person. I wasn't used to such an analytical gaze. It had such a fine attention for detail, which, quite frankly was extremely discomforting. Gilbert and Francis looked back and forth between the two of us. Twin maniacal grins were plastered on both of their faces.

"Oh-oh!" Gilbert guffawed. "Looks like our dear Antonio has the hots for Feliciano's snippy twin brother!"

I shook my fist at the boisterous albino. I had just about had it up to here with their shit. "I'm not snippy, you pasty bastard!" I seethed, woefully contradicting myself and proving otherwise. Antonio's cheeks flushed a light pink. My cheeks were flaming red. Usually this was the tell-tale sign to stop. You know, red means stop. Don't provoke the Tsundere. Shut the fuck up. Clearly Gilbert was illiterate when it came to reading the atmosphere. That jackass just kept going and going and going…

"KESESESE! LOOK! THEY'RE BOTH BLUSHING!….OW!" Gilbert cried out when Francis kicked him in the shin. Righteously so. He was still a pervert but that kick put him far lower than Gilbert in my overall asshole ranking. The perverted ranking was an entirely different story.

"Lovino, will you please excuse us for a moment? We have a very important matter to discuss…" Francis grinned to reassure me. I didn't feel very reassured. "About our dessert choice, of course! We'd like to pick out something truly yummy..."

I lost track of what they were talking about. Was I a metaphor for their dessert? What the actual fuck was even happening? I spluttered, and when words didn't come out, I nodded, turned on my heels and walked over to stand beside a vacant table. I could feel their stares on me the entire time. I was especially aware of Antonio's stare. The fact that I could hear snippets of their conversation didn't exactly help to eradicate my blush. Regardless. I understood the basic gist of it.

"Oi! Toni! You better ask that guy out! You saw that, right Franny? It was practically love at first blush!"

"Ohonhon. Gil's right. From the looks of it, that little Italian could use a little bit of sex in his life. It'll help him unwind~."

"Eheh, you really think so? He is pretty cute. He kind of reminds me of a tomato."

"Why?" Francis and Gilbert asked in unison.

"His face eheh. It's just so red and cute. I want to squish it."

Francis and Gilbert exchanged wary looks.

"I wouldn't advise doing that…"

"Oh?"

"Ja," Gilbert added. "It would be very unawesome for you to die so young…"

"Should I ask him out?"

"Oui. I ship it."

"Go for it man."

"Eheh. Any last words of advice?"

"Don't die." Gilbert and Francis snorted.

"Oh Lovino~!" Francis called. "We're ready~!"

I stomped back over to their table. Antonio was fully awake now. A passion that wasn't there before burned in his eyes. The devilish smirk on his face sent chills up my spine. "What can I get for you guys?" I robotically grumbled. I clicked my pen in dreaded anticipation.

"Francis and I will share a slice of chocolate cake." Gilbert hummed, tapping his fingers against the table. I curled my lip into a snarl. Cheap bastards. I didn't bother to record the order.

"And for your friend?" I asked, refusing to look Antonio in the eyes. I knew that he was staring at me. I glanced at him from the corner of my eye. He was visibly pouting. He opened his mouth. Oh Dio. Here we go again. At least this time I was somewhat prepared for it.

"That's not very fair, Lovi!" he chided. "I have a name!"

"Tell it to the cook. I don't give a fuck," I snapped. "Now what do you want?"

"I would also like a slice of chocolate cake. That and your phone number, Por favor." Antonio's smug grin and rolling of his tongue did numbers on my anger. He looked entitled and just so goddamned attractive. And fucking infuriating. Don't forget about that.

I was livid. Somehow I managed to speak calmly; at first. I didn't hesitate to rip right into that bastard's cocky tirade. "The cake I can do," Antonio's aloof looking smile fell. I didn't stop.

"Would you like a cup of tea with that?" I asked in a sugary sweet voice. "I would highly recommend it. It'll help quench the thirst of your desperate attempts to flirt with me."

The entire café must have been listening to our conversation. No doubt Liza had something to do with that. Regardless, the entire joint fell silent. You could hear a pin drop. Or in this case, the crumbling of Antonio's almighty ego.

Antonio, the dumbass, simply grinned as if I was joking. "Eheh, Lovi! You're so funny. But enough playing around. I really would like your phone number." The Spaniard twirled a chocolate curl around his index finger. Keh. As if that flirtatious act was going to win me over. My heart was racing only because of my anger. Yeah. That's got to be it. I'm going to overlook the fact that he called me Lovi. Just this once…

"Try again fuckface. Maybe you should get your friends to teach you how to read."

Antonio chuckled nervously. "Why?"

"Because my numbers not on the fucking menu."

Cue the air horns.

The café erupted in a series of roars and catcalls. I abruptly turned on my heels and stalked off into the kitchen. I received several pats to the back as I made my way over there. I had also earned myself one pat to the butt, courtesy of Liza's all too eager hands. The entire time I felt my stomach lurch with unease. It was only until I reached the safety of the kitchen that I let out the breath that I had been holding in for so long. My face burned. I balled my hands into tight fists.

"The fuck was that?"

…

11:00 PM.

I spent the rest of the night in the kitchen. It would have been extremely awkward to show my face after that whole fiasco. Business slowed and Liza was locking up in the front. All I had to do was give the tables one last wipe down and I was free to go. I scowled as I sauntered over to table #10. Otherwise known as the bastard table.

As if cleaning up their bastard germs wasn't bad enough already, a yellow sticky note was stuck to surface of the table. The tomato caricature on the front was a dead giveaway as to who it was from. I picked up the note and crumpled it in my hand. After an intense moment of stubborn deliberation, I relented and unfolded it. Written on the back was the Spanish bastard's number.

Dear Lovi!

You're really cute and you remind me of a tomato!

I like tomatoes. Which means that I like you! (A lot :D)

Call me sometime!