The day was bright. Late spring was blooming everywhere, in trees and flowers, in terraces and soft air. A sweet light bathed the room of the coffeeshop where Lovino sat, like almost everyday, at the same table by the window and his current favorite book.

Lovino never felt at peace like during these stolen afternoon moments he insisted of taking everyday. When he sat reading, alone with a large cup of coffee, alone in the crowd of busy people rushing around, Lovino didn't think of anything. For once, he didn't take the time to feel awkward and self-conscious. For two hours a day, Lovino just felt like enjoying the moment.

Because when he read, Lovino's wasn't anymore this little Italian loser, who had come to Spain for work but didn't quite find what he hoped for, and spent his days alone between his job and late evening TV programs. When he read, Lovino was nobody, and everyone else at the same time. He could be anyone, he could do anything. His books were an escape, a guff of fresh air to keep going, something to hope for, something warm.

Yes, Lovino loved nothing more than reading. As far as he remembered, he had always preferred books to people, for books were so much simpler, richier, friendlier than people.

That day, Lovino had trouble focusing on his Sherlock Holmes story. His eyes wandered outside, in the streets, out on the great view on calm, blue sea. He felt content, though, because the day was so bright it was almost impossible to feel bad.

People entered and left the coffeeshop on a regular rhythm, almost like a dance. Some ordered to take away, some stayed. Some were alone, others were friends chatting endlessly about meaningless things. There was one mother with her child, who happily drank a chocolate con leche, gulps too big at a time.

Outside, a group came to place itself just behind the window, blocking Lovino's view on the sea. Lovino frowned. Like they needed to stand right there.

They were militaries, judging by the uniform they were wearing. Lovino's didn't really like when groups of soldiers came to the shop. They usually were noisy and had a bad tendency to take everything for granted. Lovino sighed. If they entered, his peaceful moments were probably over.

Of course, they came in. They ordered ice teas, or something, and took seat at a table at the other end of the room from Lovino. At least, they weren't close, Lovino thought. He took glances to the group from time to time, mostly when they were speaking too loud and he couldn't look anywhere else anyway.

There was four of them. Two appeared very Spanish-like, with tan skin and dark hair, though one had more of a South American accent, and the two others were totally something else, one with bright blonde hair falling on his shoulders and the other with odd white-ish hair, and both very pale of skin. The one with white hair was sitting back to Lovino, and was the one speaking the loudest. On his right, one of the Spanish-looking men kept peering at Lovino, making him feel increasingly uncomfortable. At one point, they exchanged a glance accidentally, and he smiled. Lovino darted his eyes back to his book, and didn't dare looking again.

.

The book was interesting again. After all, Sherlock Holmes was never hard to follow, and Lovino had been following his adventures for years. That one was a re-read anyway, though Lovino didn't remember everything, which was his favorite thing with books : they always appeared different, everytime you read them, following the age, the mood, the day.

"Holà !" said a voice way too close behind, startling Lovino out of his thoughts. He looked up. The Spaniard had walked up to his table, and was standing just at Lovino's side, bending over just a little, a hand resting on the table. He had wide, vibrant, green eyes Lovino hadn't noticed from afar and that took him off-guard immediatly. They just stared at each other for a moment, since Lovino found it impossible to answer, no matter how hard he tried to remember how to speak. The man smiled softly. "Soy Antonio. Y tú ?" Then, nodding to Lovino's book, he added. "Qué estás leyendo ?"

This time, Lovino forced himself to answer. But Spanish was really too hard for his foggy mind, so he just went for English.

"I'm not Spanish." he just said, and immediatly felt stupid. But more than anything he wanted the man to leave him to his book.

"Oh, how nice !" the man exclaimed with a strong accent, "Please, can I sit here ?" he asked, putting a hand to the chair opposite Lovino. And he asked so nicely, Lovino didn't have the heart to disappoint him.

"Uh, sure." he answered awkwardly. The man, however, smiled so bright he felt better immediatly.

"So, where are you from ?" he asked, sitting. "No, wait, don't tell me, I'll guess !"

Lovino struggled not to smile at his childish tone. He started to be very curious about this strange man.

Green eyes narrowed at Lovino, staring intensely, like scanning his face, and Lovino felt his cheeks heating up. He tried not to meet his gaze.

"Greek ?" the guy finally asked, in a small, inquiring voice. Lovino had to cough not to laugh.

"No."

Scanning, again.

"...French ?"

"Come on, you're not even trying." Lovino couldn't help but tease. The man's face lit up, and Lovino forgot all sarcasm.

"Not Portuguese..."

Lovino shaked his head.

"...Italian !" he exclaimed, and Lovino's smile finally won against his mind.

"I'm right, then ? Wah, where ?"

"South." Lovino didn't bother saying more. After all, he didn't know that guy.

"So you didn't answer earlier, what are you reading ?"

Lovino looked down at his book, suddenly self-conscious. Talking about books wasn't his favorite thing at all. Actually, it was so personal, Lovino never knew what to say. It was the only thing that was his, and only his.

"...Sherlock Holmes."

"May I ?" The man asked in a charming smile, putting three fingers to the pages, near where Lovino's own still rested. Lovino quickly dropped his hand and nodded briefly, eyes locked to the table. Then he slowly raised his head, and observed as the Spaniard gently slid the book to face him, and flipped a few pages with focused, soft eyes. He was elegant. There was something incredibly graceful with his gestures, his slightly too long dark hair falling in neat curls on his face, his long, careful fingers. The uniform didn't help, either, fitting perfectly, a few buttons left open revealing the collarbone, and the short sleeves enhancing muscular biceps.

Suddenly, he looked up, and smiled again. Lovino quickly looked away, twirling his fingers together nervously.

"That's very nice."

His voice was so soft, so honest. Lovino unsurly met his gaze, stunned by such thoughtfulness. It was like he knew what not to say when talking to him about books. It was like he understood straight-away what no one had ever understood before.

"I never know what to read..." the man continued, looking down, suddenly seeming self-conscious.

"What do you mean ?" Lovino asked, careful not to speak too loud. He felt he had to be soft, there. And somehow, he didn't mind.

"Well...I'd like to read, but I don't know where to start." the man answered, and it wasn't very clear, but Lovino thought he understood.

"Well...you should just start. Pick a book, anything, and go for it ?"

"I don't know. I don't have much time, too. And still, I'd like to read." he said, his voice thoughtful, breathy, and at the same time he pushed the book back in place in front of Lovino.

Lovino thought for a minute. How moving he was, this military man, who genuinely wanted to enjoy books, but simply didn't know how to. This man with earnest eyes and bright smile, whom Lovino didn't know at all, whose story and dreams were unknown to him. Suddenly, Lovino understood something. That people could be wonderful. People could be surprising, and way deeper than they appeared at first. And suddenly, Lovino knew what he could do. He smiled a small, hopefully friendly smile, and answered.

"I know. Take my book." he closed it and handed it to him. "Read this one, and when you give it back, you tell me what you thought of it."

The man looked stunned. His eyes were wide, his lips slightly parted. Emotions were dancing behind his pupils, bright and raw. Lovino saw him hesitating, so he shaked the book a little in front of him. "Come on, take it. I insist."

"But, how can I give it back ?" he asked in a small voice, taking the book with both hands like the precious thing it was. Lovino immediatly liked that he treated the book like this.

"I'm here most days. Just come and find me."

The smile he smiled then was worth giving up every single book in the world. He put it close to his chest, and stood up abruptly.

"I have to get back. But I'll be here in a week or so, I promise !" He said earnestly, then froze for a second, staring at Lovino. "Thank you." he said, almost a murmur. Lovino felt a rush of warmth flooding his whole being.

Then the man walked back to his chair, to the table with the noisy military men, and Lovino was left by the window, alone, with a cold coffee, and no book anymore.

N/A Hi there~

I hope you liked this first chapter ! I don't think it will be a long fic, but I'm so excited about it because I just want fluff about it. Oh God, Spamano fluff. Yes good.

I got the idea when I saw this pic of Spain in a uniform from the Spanish Legion drawn by Himapapa. I just went "DAMN" and I totally needed to include it in a fic. Then everything else fell in place, and it obsessed me so much I had to stop writting the 10th chapter of my main fic to get rid of it. I'm sorry if anyone's waiting for that fic to update, I promise I'll do it as soon as I can ! Just know that I'm in exam period so I don't have much time currently~