Dear Lovino, Spain penned. You mean so much to me. I care for you more than you will ever know. You are my best friend. Yes, you've punched me in the jewels more times than I would like to remember. Yes, you've called me a jackass. And a tomato bastard. And a lot of other stuff. You still have your sweeter moments, though. The moments that make me happy to know you. Anyway, I'm doing this just to fill-up space. What I really need to tell you is: te amo, Lovino. I love you.
After finishing the letter, Antonio ran to Lovino's room (which was in Antonio's house) and slid the letter under the sleeping Italian's door. The Spaniard then ran back to his room.
When Lovino woke and rolled out of bed, the first thing he noticed was the note in front of the door. He walked to the letter, picked it up, and read it.
Lovino's eyes uncharacteristically stung with tears. He ran to his night-stand, took out a pen and paper, and wrote a note for Antonio, through his tears. He took it to Antonio's room and slid it under Antonio's door.
Antonio immediately noticed the letter and ran straight for it.
It's ti amo, bastard, Lovino had written. Not te amo.
Antonio looked down several empty lines before reaching the next sentence: I love you too, jackass.