a/n: Short oneshot is very, very short. Posted in honor of France's birthday, which is today, July 14, even though France is nowhere near this fic. Maybe he's lurking outside in the bushes. I hope you enjoy Romano's tsundereness. I certainly enjoyed writing it. Lovi and Toni are not mine. Please tell me what you think of it!
Lovino doesn't miss Antonio. Really, he doesn't. He doesn't care that it's been weeks since the damn tomato bastard left for Spain to visit his relatives. He doesn't care that he hasn't heard a peep from Antonio since that infuriating blob on sunshine and tomatoes and hugs left. Good riddance to him, Lovino says.
It's not like Lovino emails him every day, asking how he's doing, what's been going on, when he's coming home. Especially not that last one. Lovino doesn't care when Antonio's coming home. If he does, it's only so he can know how many more days he has left until the tomato bastard shows up on his doorstep to enfold him in sunshine and hugs—which, to be perfectly clear, Lovino does not want. He's very pleased with his current tomato-bastard-free existence, thank you very much.
It's not like his cell phone is sitting forlornly on his desk beside his abandoned sketchpad, waiting for a call or a text or something, anything from Antonio. It's not like Lovino's sat up late staring at the device, waiting—hoping—for it to ring. He definitely hasn't spent hours with his thumb hovering over the "send" button, wanting to text Antonio, call him—just to hear his voice, imagine that he's there, imagine that he's hugging Lovino, wrapping him up in his warm, strong arms and promising to love him forever. Especially not that last part. Lovino definitely doesn't love Antonio. He's very clear on that. And he doesn't want Antonio to love him, either—he's not the sort of jackass who breaks hearts for fun. And Antonio's heart would get broken, because Lovino doesn't love him.
Lovino doesn't miss Antonio. Really, he doesn't. He doesn't miss the sunny smile (it makes the tomato bastard look like an idiot), the cheerful greeting (he hates the nickname that damn bastard gave him—Lovi. It sounds stupid). the warm hugs.
Well, okay. Maybe he does.
But only a little.