Spain was resting in his tomato garden. Feeling the warm sun on his skin and listening to the breeze rustling through the trees. All of a sudden there was a weight on him. He chuckled, how could he not know the weight of his little romanito, he lays on him constantly.
"Roma?" Spain questioned
He cracked open an eye and looked at Romano, who was asleep on his chest. Spain chuckled again and kissed the top of his head.
"Te quiero, mi tomate."