Hi, everyone! This is my latest project (since I've gotten into the Spamano craze). I've written up a few chapters already, but I just wanted to see if anyone would actually read a fic like this. So, please go ahead!

"Oh, shit!" Romano hit the brake pedal of his motorcycle with as much force as he could muster, causing the people driving behind him to honk their horns angrily. He moved to the side of the road. Removing his helmet, he yelled, "Shut it! It's not my fault!" His glare was then directed at the guilty party, who was standing in front of him. It was a young man with curly brown hair, green eyes, and slightly tanned skin. There was a goofy grin on the person's face. He looked like he had been knocked over the head with something. "Why did you suddenly run out in front of me? I could have hit you!" Romano growled.

"I'm sorry!" The young man's voice was light and cheerful. "I guess I was too caught up in my hitchhiking. Are you okay?"

"What's it to you?" Romano was slightly uncomfortable at the way the hitchhiker was gazing at him raptly, even admiringly. The person before him looked positively star struck. "What do you want?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah!" Star Struck Hitchhiker Guy's eyes lit up upon remembering his purpose. "Can you take me to the Café du Monde?" Romano recognized the place. He often went there to have a sandwich and a cup of coffee during breaks from work. But he wasn't too keen on giving rides to random strangers, especially when he had more pressing matters to attend to. This person, however, seemed persistent, and Romano speculated that even if he refused his time would still be wasted by the subsequent argument.

"Fine. Get on." Tossing a helmet at his passenger, he slapped his own headgear on and started the ignition. "Hold on tightly," he cautioned as the engine roared to life. When the motorcycle began to move he felt his waist being encircled by two arms. He nearly recoiled. Well, the faster he went the sooner he would be free of this person. So he drove twice as quickly as usual and arrived at the café in half the time.

"Hey, thanks!" his passenger said as he climbed off. He did not seem to be affected by Romano's haphazard driving at all, despite the hairpin turns and screeching stops.

"Yeah, yeah." He prepared to leave.

"By the way, I'm Antonio. What's your name?"

"Er…" This guy sure was annoying. "Call me Romano."

"Alright. Thanks, Romano! I'll see you around!" Antonio waved as the other man sped away. Romano left without a second thought. Little did he know that his life was about to change drastically.

He had always known that he would kill himself.

There was no other way that he could imagine dying except by his own hand. The possibilities abounded: a gunshot to his temple, a jump off a cliff, a lethal dose of morphine… Suicide seemed much more comfortable than dying however which way Fate decided he would die. Because knowing Fate, the results would not be pretty. Fate had always been a bitch to him; when he was but a child, his mother had left his father for some guy who took her to a faraway country. He never heard from her again. It was at that point, he supposed, that he had become estranged from his family. The father and brother who had made no moves to stop his mother as she left (even as he, a mere ten year old child, stretched out his arms to her and begged her to stay) were no longer his loved ones.

And so Romano grew up in his own awkward fashion, refusing familial assistance as he made the important transition from adolescence to adulthood. Along the way, he developed a frosty cold demeanor and a knack for using profanity, as well as a suicidal streak. Fate had been kind in one aspect: it had given Romano an eye for design. This he utilized in his occupation as a designer. With this job, he hoped to make enough money to support his family after his eventual death. Hence the reason why he was now on his way to his father's house, to give him the weekly sum that he hoped would suffice. He was not going to die with the starvation of his family burdening his soul.

He arrived and neatly parked his motorcycle in the driveway. Then he made his way to the front door and knocked. Romano knocked exactly three times, with each knock being as curt and precise as a gunshot. He could hear a rustling from within the house. All of a sudden, the door was wrenched open and he was staring at his parent's beaming face.

"Lovino!" That was his name: Lovino Romano Vargas. Hearing the man say it made him want to retch.

"Rome." He preferred to call his father by his name, as "Dad" sounded much too affectionate. So he breezed into the house, sidestepping the hug his father was about to envelope him in and ignoring the hurt look on the man's face.

"Papa? Is that Lovino?" His brother, Feliciano Veneciano Vargas. The favored child of the family and part of the reason why he wanted to stop living.

"Yes, Feli! Your brother is here!" Feliciano suddenly materialized and embraced his sibling tightly. Romano immediately pushed him away. His brother did not seem to mind. "It's been such a long time since I've seen you!" he squealed. It had been; Feliciano worked at the Italian headquarters of their clothing line Veneroma, which the brothers had created together. They had been partners at one point, having both worked in Italy. Then Rome had retired, forcing his eldest son to travel to a different country and start a new headquarters there to support him. Romano didn't think he'd ever forgive Rome for that. His last shred of joy in life had been destroyed upon relocation.

"How is the company in Italy?" he asked roughly. Feliciano drooped.

"It's fine, but can't we talk about something besides work?" Typical of his brother to shrug off responsibility. He had never been as serious as Romano when it came to work.

"Fine. Where's Germania?" Germania was the man whom his father had moved in with after his wife left. Romano did not know his real name and did not care to find out. Rome called him Germania, so that was what he referred to him as. He didn't really like him much. The blond man suddenly walked out of a room. He and Romano nodded at each other silently and looked away. Feliciano tried to strike up a conversation again.

"So, how are you doing?"

"Same as always." No one knew about his eventual plan. Romano wanted to keep it to himself.

"Well, um… I invited Ludwig to come with me this time from Italy!" It was a sure invitation for some animation on his brother's part. Indeed, Romano's eyes began to flash dangerously.

"You're still hanging out with that potato bastard?"

"…Yes. And please don't call him that, Lovino, he always gets depressed afterwards. He was brought up on potatoes, that's all."

"Like I care what the hell he feels. I'm telling you, Feliciano, that guy is dragging you down!" Of course, his idiot brother would not heed him and as a result would proceed to screw up his life potato-style. Romano was doing all he could to help him before passing on. In fact, he was doing all he could to help out his entire family. But if they couldn't help themselves, then what was the point of doing anything?

For those who are even slightly interested by this, don't worry. The next chapters will contain more of the plot and are hopefully better. I'd definitely appreciate feedback to know what I'm doing wrong (or right). Thanks!