A/N: First thing I've posted since an eternity. As well as my first published fic for Hetalia. Anyway, I know Valentine's Day was like, ages ago, but whatever.Tomatoes are Red

It was Valentine's Day, the day to celebrate passion and love, and all that other crap.

Lovino Vargas did not agree, and, as always, awoke with a scowl on his face.

Stupid Valentine's Day.

And, worst of all, stupid Antonio - that bastard! - who would make his way inside Romano's house and spend the whole day with the cynical Italian. Antonio loved "his Lovi" and had made a tradition of spending the damn holiday together. He would take him on a date, shower him with -ugh- flowers, and intertwine his arm with the Italian's.

To complete the suck-ish day, Antonio would kiss Lovino and skip off gaily to his house.

Yes, Lovino loathed Valentine's Day.

However, by the work of some mighty Power above them, the eager, gay, and possibly paedophile, Spaniard did not make his entrance brandishing a bouquet of red roses. Lovino, completely and utterly dumbfounded (but not upset), sauntered off to the main door. He opened it slowly, just in case that bastard showed up, but saw that nothing awaited him.

Strange, Antonio was not to be seen anywhere. And, no!, Lovino was not starting to feel a wave of worry and sadness come over him. So what if the bastard didn't show up? Better for Lovino.

Just to make sure (totally not hoping that he would arrive), Lovino stepped outside, bracing himself for a cry of "LOVI~ FELIZ DIA DE LOS ENAMORADOS~." It never came. Not in self-pity, Lovino rubbed his arm, still scowling at the wind.

"Tomato bastard, where the hell are you, damn it!"

No one answered his call. Now Lovino was getting seriously worried. Wait-what? He was Lovino Vargas, he didn't care if some Spanish bastard forgot to spend Valentine's Day with him. God.

Suddenly, something red and white caught the Italian's eye. Intrigued, and with nothing better to do, Lovino made his way toward the unspecified object. It lay on the edge of his porch, in plain sight, making Lovino wonder why he had never taken notice of it earlier. Stupid tomato bastard, he was occupying to much of his thoughts for him to think or function clearly.

After a good minute or so, the infuriated Italian had taken the ten brisk steps that led him to the object. It was a card, with a red rose on top. His name was printed in elegant calligraphy, making Lovino want to puke.

Bastard. That Spaniard decided to not show up, and leave some sort of valentine (was it that what they were called? Oh, who cares?) waiting on his porch, like some lame-ass romance novel that old ladies would be caught reading. Disgusting. Why couldn't that tomato bastard just show up himself? N-not that Lovino wanted to see his face. He would have just preferred to see the idiot give the gift himself. Yeah, that was his reason.

Bored with nothing else to do (not because he wanted to read what the Spaniard had written), Lovino picked it up and made his way inside the house before anyone could see him holding a valentine. From Antonio.

Ugh.

Once inside, Lovino sat on a couch and opened the card. He discarded the rose, throwing it aside, only to later pick it up. Not because it reminded him of Antonio, and the Italian wanted to keep him, or a trace of him, near. God, reader, be realistic.

Slowly, Lovino began to read the text.

A mi tomate, mi querido Lovi~

Already, Lovino felt sick. He may not understand Spanish, but he had a good idea of what that idiotic Spaniard had written.

Perdon that I'm not here to see you, I feel sick, and I don't want you to catch anything. I am sure you miss me so much.

Yeah, right.

I sent you a flower from my garden, I hope you like it! Also, I wrote you a poem to cheer you up.

Tomatoes are red,

The Mediterranean is blue

Churros are delicious,

And so are you!

I think I did a good job writing that poem, sí? So, sonrie, mi querido tomatoe, porque te amo.

¡Feliz dia de los enamorados!

Antonio

PS: To cheer you up, I decided to postpone our date for next week. Sounds good, no?

"Bastard," wheezed Lovino as he finished reading. That stupid tomato bastard.

And that poem! It was so awful! Comparing Lovino to churros. Absurd.

In a fit of rage, Lovino flung the card and rose across the room. He loathed that Spaniard, how he was so cheery even when he was sick, writing that stupid card.

Only seconds later did Lovino race across the room to retrieve that card. Antonio was sick! What if something bad happened to him, what if he-

Before he could finish the thought, Lovino walked out of the house and made his way to Antonio's. And not because he wanted to see that bastard, he just wanted to make sure Antonio hadn't died or something.