a/n: I... I don't even know what this is. Started out kind of like the song meme, but... evolved? I don't know. Kind of sort of not really songfics, then. I get the feeling I kind of distorted both the characters and the song lol. But this is old, and I stumbled across it, and... yeah. Each drabble was written with the song playing on repeat.

"Lovi!" Lovino was standing at the dresser beside their bed, looking more adorable than he had any right to.

"What, damn it?" Antonio was prancing around like a fool, as usual, and Lovino had very little patience for it.

"Guess what?"

"I don't care."

"Guess!"

"No!"

"Come on, just one guess."

"Fuck you!"

Antonio snickered. "Yes, please."

"Shut up! You're such a jerk."

"Okay, now just one guess."

"I don't want to! Go tell it to your stupid tomatoes."

"But my tomatoes are only half as cute as you, and not nearly as fun to - "

"Would you shut up?"

"One guess, Lovi. It's a very simple answer."

"I don't want to know!"

"Guess," the Spaniard said, moving closer.

Lovino glared. "Never."

"Please?"

"I already said no!"

Antonio sighed. "I'll just have to tell you." He wrapped his arms around Lovino's neck and brought his smile inches from the Italian's frown. "I love you."

Now it was Lovino's turn to sigh. "I already knew that."

"Mm," Antonio agreed, joining their lips in a quick peck, "but it never gets old, does it?"

"Like hell it doesn't," Lovino grumbled, before forcing their mouths together again and pushing Antonio onto the bed.

Lovino never won. He had been bullied in high school, he had barely passed his classes, hadn't even gone to college. He had always been surpassed by his brother. He had been dumped the night before the prom, marking the end of his first and only relationship.

And now, all at once, everything was coming back, crashing down to bite him in the butt.

"Lovi!" He heard the high, wheedling voice before he saw the bouncing curl or the naive face. "Lovi, what are you doing here?"

"Checking groceries. I would've thought even you could have figured that out," Lovino muttered as he punched angrily at the cash register.

"But why?"

"To pay the bills, why else?"

"Oh."

When the customer had gone, Lovino turned to his brother and leaned against the counter. "So, Feli, still with that stupid, wurst-worshipping kraut?"

Feliciano frowned. "Ludwig is not stupid, ve."

"Sure, sure. I'll take that as a yes."

"Oh yes, we are together." Feliciano blushed. "I think - well, I don't know. I think, no, I hope we might be getting married, but he hasn't asked yet, so . . ."

"Interesting," Lovino said with a roll of his eyes. He shook his dark bangs out of his face. "So life's good. Great for you. Fantastic."

"Ve," Feliciano said absent-mindedly. "How are you doing? Have you seen Antonio lately?"

"What? Why would I want to see that stupid, assface, jerk-off piece of shit ever again?"

"But, Lovi, you liked him - "

"Liked. As in past tense. I never want to see his ugly mug for the rest of my life."

"Oh." Feliciano looked uncomfortable. "Well, I hope you will be happy anyway, brother. You can stop by sometime, we can hang out! You don't have to see Ludwig if you don't want to."

"Whatever. Yeah, maybe," Lovino said gruffly. Watching his brother walk out the coolly hissing automatic door of the supermarket, he was almost tempted to consider the offer. Then he remembered that Feliciano had a real life - a good job, a boyfriend, a nice house - that he could flaunt in Lovino's face, and he told himself bitterly he wouldn't go.

"Not if my life depends on it," he said grimly.

"Lovi?" came a soft voice.

Lovino whipped his head around and found himself staring at the gentle face of his ex, Antonio Carrieda. "What the hell?"

"Oh, Lovi," Antonio said with a broad grin.

"What do you want?" Lovino snapped. Why him? Why now?

"I just - um, I am buying tomatoes," Antonio said meekly.

"Tomatoes for Gilbert?" Lovino said snidely, remembering the smug albino for whom he'd been dumped.

Antonio reddened. "Gilbert and I are friends now."

Lovino just glared. He rang up the tomatoes quickly and tossed them roughly into a bag. "Have a nice fucking day."

"Lovi, can we - can I talk to you? Maybe later? When do you get off?"

"No, no, and I'm not fucking telling you."

"Lovi, please!" Antonio pleaded. "There are things I never got to say to you - "

"Let's keep it that way," Lovino spat. "Next customer."

Antonio walked away slowly.

"God damn it," Lovino muttered. "God damn it."

His shift ended at seven that night. He sat at his bus stop for an hour and a half before realizing it just wasn't coming, and then, cursing, he stood up to walk home. The night was cold and he pulled his jacket tightly around him as he strode briskly through the sketchiest part of town. His scuffed shoes against the pavement were silenced by the clattering and yelling and crashing of the neighborhood around him.

He had been walking for ten blocks when three figures popped out in front of him. He figured he probably knew them, but he didn't much care. After feeling his fist connect with a fleshy nose, his head was slamming into the ground and something hard was digging into the small of his back. Things began to get fuzzy - repeated blows to his side, he remembered, but everything after that was black until he was propped up against a door and his head was spinning and aching. Someone was looking at him, concern in those familiar brown eyes -

"God damn it, Antonio," Lovino mumbled. "Leave me alone."

"You're hurt," he thought he heard.

"'M fine." He stood. After a moment of unsteadiness, he was moving his feet, walking.

"Really, Lovi, let me help you."

"I don't need your help. Don't need you. Don't need anyone."

He tried to speed up to lose the Spaniard, but Antonio easily kept pace with his sluggish steps.

"I mean it, Lovi."

"I mean it, too," he said, and summoned all of his energy to raise his legs into motion, sprinting away. Thankfully he at least remembered how to do that.

"Lovi!"

He ignored the anguished calls from behind him and kept running, ran until his breath came in short, uneven pants and he had to lean against a wall to rest. He didn't realize he was crying until the tears began dripping to the gritty sidewalk.

"God damn it, Antonio," he sobbed. "God damn it."

"Aah!" Lovino gasped. "What the hell?"

"Lovi, Lovi, Lovi," Antonio murmured into Lovino's shoulder. "I love you, love you, love you."

"Jerk! Don't sneak up on me like that when I'm trying to make breakfast!"

"Sorry," Antonio said with a smile, not unwrapping his arms from his partner's torso. "I can't help myself around you."

Lovino blushed furiously.

"You're just so darn cute!"

"Shut up."

"Hey. Let's forget breakfast," Antonio whispered into Lovino's ear. "Let's just go back to bed . . ."

"Fucking pervert," Lovino snapped, wriggling out of Antonio's grip. "You're right. Forget breakfast. You can have this shit. I'm leaving."

"Lovi, I'm sorry - "

"Save it, jerk!"

The front door slammed. Antonio sighed. It was always like this. He ate the scrambled eggs Lovino had prepared, then cleaned the kitchen. He read a book. He watched a movie. Still, the little Italian did not return.

He went to lie down in their bed. Lunchtime passed. At about two he decided he was hungry, and he had a tomato sandwich.

"Oh, my Lovi," he sighed. Sitting at the kitchen table by himself, he cursed himself for his eternal weakness when it came to Lovino. He knew he should have ended it with the grumpy, profane young man long ago, but he could never bring himself to retaliate when he was hit, or abandoned, or cursed. Each time he told himself it would be different, but always he sat and waited for Lovino's call. And whenever the Italian called, he was sure to answer.

Now there was simply nothing to do but lay his head on the table and bite his lip and fake a smile (for whose sake he did not know) and close his eyes for only a few minutes and be ready to leap up and apologize when Lovi walked in the door. Surely Lovi would come back soon. Antonio would be ready when he did, ready to say sorry and ready to caress that frowning face and ready to smile no matter what.

He wouldn't fall asleep of course. He was only a little tired, quite full and content, but not tired enough to fall asleep. He was comfortable here, just resting his head on the cool tabletop, closing his eyes and reveling in the darkness . . .

It was six o'clock when the front door opened and Lovino came storming in. Antonio jerked his head up, rubbing his eyes and wiping the spot of drool from his chin and pushing the chair out from beneath him.

"Lovi," he breathed, but Lovino was already there, grabbing Antonio's hair and crushing their lips together.

"God damn it, Antonio," he said once they paused for breath, his eyebrows furrowed. "You're so dense."

"I'm sorry, Lovi, I'm sorry - "

Lovino silenced him with another kiss. He was going to tell the stupid Spaniard how oblivious he was. He was going to tell him that he hadn't been planning to go anywhere but had just lingered in the front garden for a few minutes, waiting for his boyfriend to come after him. He was going to tell him that he had then gone to the kitchen window and seen him eating eggs with a sad expression on his face, and that that had pissed him off so much he'd decided to visit his brother for the day. He was going to tell him that he wasn't really mad at him, and hadn't been all day (or maybe he wouldn't). But that could all wait.

"Bedroom. Now." Lovino didn't ask questions. He issued commands.

"Anything you want, Lovi," Antonio said. He was going to tell Lovino that he couldn't put up with his fickle comings and goings. He was going to tell him that he didn't want to be trapped like this anymore, that he needed promises, assurances. But that could wait. Lovino's fingers were running through his hair, Lovino's lips were pressing hard against his, Lovino's legs were wrapped around his waist.

Resistance would have to wait.

If all I had left in this world was you, it'd be okay with me. How many times do I have to tell you I hate you?

I hate you.

How many times? How many times before you look at me with hurt in your eyes, and how many times before you walk toward me with those eyes and reach out a hand and draw back when I snap at you . . . how many times before you persist?

I hate you.

How many times do I have to say this before you understand what I'm trying to tell you? How many times before you comfort me? How many before you lie snugly alongside me and run a single finger down my arm?

I hate you!

And how many times will I say this to you before I run from the house screaming? It won't be a day for screaming - it will be sunny and warm, and birds will be chirping. Yet I will stand there, breathing furiously at you and you will look at me with those brown eyes, and I will sit down. I'll keep saying it - how many times must I say it before you sit beside me?

I hate you . . .

How many times must I sob it?

I want you . . .

How many times do I have to say this to you before I simply can't anymore? How many times before I break down and glare at you and tell you that

I love you.

I want so many things from you. I want you to lie beneath the covers with me on cold nights, and I want you to press my numb fingers to your face until they grow warm and tingly. I want you to drive my car with one hand on the wheel and the other tasting the wind as it whips by. I want you to laugh when I'm happy, and I want you to hide your laughter when I'm sad. I want you to run your hand through my hair. I want you to make me breakfast in bed and sneak bites of it between quick kisses.

If you do these things for me, I promise I'll say it every day.

I love you.

Until the end of time I'll repeat these words. And I'll hold your hand when no one is watching. I'll kiss you when the lights are out.

When you are attacked, I can't promise that I'll defend you. When you fall, I can't promise that I'll catch you.

But I will run to you as fast as I can. I will stay by your side and I will help you back on your feet. I'll be the steady hand you can depend on.

I love you.

How many times do I have to tell you I hate you before you realize you have me already? I'm here, next to you, fuming silently and burning away for you, and all you can do is smile at me and close those eyes and say to me, "Lovi, you can be so cute."

I hate you.

A moment is all it will take - one speck in time for you to see me here, giving all I have to you, and you will run to me.

Until that moment, that speck, arrives - how many times must I repeat myself?

I hate you.

I'll say it more clearly now.

I love you.

a/n: The songs used, in order: Eight Days a Week, by the Beatles; The Art of Losing, by American Hi-Fi; Sugar Pie, Honey Bunch, by the Spinners; Endlessly, by Muse. Lol I bet you couldn't guess from reading them.

Coincidentally, the second one is where I got the idea for that other Spamano fic I wrote. But the idea changed a lot, haha.

Well. Anyways. Thanks for reading!