A/N: A bit of a random one-shot idea I thought up. I hope you enjoy it guys!

altera vita mea

Love Amongst the Tomatoes

Romano, the personification of South Italy, let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding as his shaky fingers finished buttoning up his suit coat. He stared at himself in the mirror, critiquing every detail and angle of his outfit before he ran a hand through his hair, successfully screwing it up. "Dammit," he grumbled, hurriedly attempting to rearrange his dark locks.

Still, he had to admit he looked good, way better than the shit he was forced to wear back when he lived with that perverted Tomato Bastard. This made him look more professional, older, hell, maybe even hotter. Which was fine by him, someone representing Italy better have their shit together. To all the bastards who said, "we don't need two Italys. Let's get rid of the ass of the south and keep the one we like," Romano politely replied with a, "fuck you." He hadn't even been to a World Meeting yet and he knew his brother was no help at all. He was positive that whenever Italy got a chance to speak he wouldn't bring up actual issues, no he would just grin and shout something about pasta. Which would explain why problems in Italy didn't get solved even after its unification. Idiot.

Romano finally got his hair into a presentable condition- well, aside from that one accursed curl- and allowed a nervous smile to curve his lips. This would be his very first Meeting since he had spent all the other ones at home sleeping, and even though he hated most of the other Nations he still wanted to show all the other bastards up. This meeting was also located in Basilicata- his territory- and it was a way of proving that Southern Italy was useful for something. Basilicata was a beautiful region after all, and he hoped it was enough to rub in the face of the world.

Romano was finally satisfied with his appearance and stepped away from the mirror just as there was a loud knock on his door. "Ve~! Are you awake, fratello?"

Romano rolled his eyes. "Duh. What the hell do you want? I'm trying to get ready."

"Someone's here to see you!" His brother replied, purposely ignoring his usual moodiness.

"Tell that Tomato Bastard to fuck off!"

"It's not Big Brother Spain. It's Miss Hungary."

Romano's face went crimson at his immediate conclusion. Why was Spain the first person he thought would come to see him? Well, beside the obvious fact that the sunny Nation was one of the only countries who tolerated him. It wasn't like he secretly...missed the bastard...he definitely wasn't pissed off that his ex-boss hadn't even bothered to see him since he moved out...and he sure as hell wasn't hoping he'd stop in with his ever-present smile on his face.

"Romano?"

The Southern Italian snapped out of his trance and yanked his door open, nodding curtly to the female Nation standing beside his brother. "Hi."

Hungary's green eyes flashed excitedly. "Romano, you're so grown up! I remember when you were this high!" She held a hand up to her mid-thigh to demonstrate how short he had been during his brief stay at Austria's house.

Romano fought the urge to roll his eyes and instead smiled coyly. "That was a long time ago."

Hungary smiled. "Time does fly... Anyway, I'm here to give you something, a gift to show how happy I am that you're going to World Meetings now! Japan and I have been working on this for years-"

She continued rambling, but Romano had stopped listening. In fact, his fingers were itching to slam the door in her face. Everyone knew that when Hungary and Japan teamed up it was bad news. Think France with his stalker/accomplice Picardy, but ten times worse, for the former two used something else along with a camera. They used imagination, terrible corrupted imagination. Romano could recall times throughout his childhood, when Spain's friends had burst through the door in near hysterics.

"Hungary is a witch! Mon dieu, she has Japan on her side too! They paired me with Eyebrows!"

"Pft! You got it awesomely easy! She has the awesome me paired up with that piano-playing brat! Her husband! Who even does that?!"

"SPAIN!"

"WHO THE HELL DID YOU GET PAIRED WITH?!"

"Uh...no hablo ingles?"

So now, it was his turn. Fucking fantastic. Romano snuck a glare at his brother, blaming him for allowing that crazy woman into the house. Italy grinned sheepishly and proceeded to evacuate the premises, not wanted to be trapped alone with his brother's fury after Hungary left. So the elder Italian was forced into accepting the wrapped gift she offered him before she winked and told him she'd see him in an hour. Then she was gone.

Romano immediately flung the offending object into his room, where it hit the wall and bounced onto the bed in a taunting manner, tearing some of the green, white, and red paper covering. He wished it hadn't been the middle of summer so he could toss it into a roaring fireplace and not have to look at it again. Dammit, this hobby of theirs was stupid; some Nations obviously had too much time on their hands. Maybe some major world power should declare war on the Republic of Hungary and the State of Japan just so they wouldn't have the time to sit around thinking of which two countries they "shipped."

Romano busied himself with continuing his preparation for the meeting, throwing papers, files, notepads, pens, and whatever else he felt he would need into his briefcase and made some coffee, all the while sneaking paranoid glances at the gift on his bed. He was almost worried the evil thing would unwrap itself and shove its perverted contents in his face.

Although he didn't want to think about it, he wondered just who he had been paired with: he never really talked to anyone unless it was to shout profanities at them. The only person he associated himself with nowadays was Veneziano, and that made his stomach twist as if he had eaten bad pasta. He knew those creeps weren't above incest- he could still remember how grossed out Spain was when he found he had been paired with Portugal, and he was sure Belarus would soon demand something with her and her "dear big brother Russia" regardless of the fact that most of their evil work involved boy love or...what was Japan's word for it? Romano nearly ran to the bathroom to vomit, but he remembered Hungary had taken an interest in other matches for his brother. When she had seen Italy chatting with Germany the potato sucker, her eyes had sparkled mischievously as she whispered, "I ship it." Not that Romano approved of that, but maybe, just maybe, it meant he was safe.

But who else would they pair him with? Now he was curious. Shit.

Romano stood in front of the bed nervously, debating whether he should sit down and flip through it or run far away. He turned on his heel and took a peek into the hall: Veneziano was gone. He took a deep breath and returned to his room, shutting and locking the door behind him before sitting on the edge of the bed and taking the gift. With trembling fingers he slowly tore off the rest of the wrapping, revealing the sleek shiny paperback. It wasn't too thick, so hopefully it meant it wasn't as bad as some of the ones he had heard of. Romano bit his bottom lip and cracked open the cover to what he thought was the first page...wait. This was Japan's work, it's backwards. He turned the small book- if he could call it a book- to the back, no the front, and ran his fingertips over the title.

Love Amongst the Tomatoes.

"Sounds like a shitty romance novel," he muttered to himself. He ignored the smaller words under the title that read something about Spam? Whatever, it didn't make sense, so who cared? It was probably some weird Hungarian or Japanese thing.

First page. Huh, the artwork actually wasn't that bad. Romano almost let out a small chuckle of amusement at the first drawing, which was quite obviously of himself. Japan's style was unique, but it was also somewhat fascinating, and Hungary- who was in charge of scripts- had him in character. Not that he was surprised, those two were like damn professionals. He found himself getting pulled into the story line, which was actually really interesting and had to do with tomatoes...up until another character showed up.

Spain. Oh. Hell. No.

Romano's pulse quickened and a light blush grew on his cheeks. No, it couldn't be Spain. Dio, please don't let it be that Tomato Bast- Oh. Now the title made more sense. He glanced back at the cover page. And the Spamano thing: that was a combination of Spain and Romano. He felt sick. But he turned back to the page he had left off on, continuing to read, his blush slowly turning a darker shade of red as the drawings of him and what he had thought was his secret crush grew more...intimate.

But how... How did Hungary know? He had been so damn careful. He had never said anything of the inner workings of his mind and heart. He hadn't even told his brother about how he had developed feelings for his former-caretaker even while he had been living in his house, for he had always dismissed that funny feeling in his gut for the same fickle crush he had had on Belgium at one point. He had never said anything about how as he had grown older the feeling had only grown stronger, until he could barely keep calm around the older country. He had masked his stuttering, blushing, and trembling in anger and curses and occasional smacks to the back of the head, trying not to notice how soft that curly brown hair was. He had never told anyone the real reason why he left, to give himself some space, some time to think, some time for his emotions to crawl in a hole and die miserably. Instead, he had found himself constantly thinking about the other, about his eyes that sparkled and danced like emeralds, about the way he smiled, talked, danced, everything. Romano would far too often find himself whispering his fellow Nation's human name in the middle of the night, just to hear how it would sound on his lips and- gah!

No, Romano wasn't in love. He refused to believe it. It was more like...infatuation. An infatuation that had lasted a couple centuries...yeah...

But he was sure no one had known...was this just one of Hungary's weird ships or did she actually know..?

"Fratello!"

Romano yelped quietly and slammed the evil book shut as he threw the rest of the papers into his briefcase. "I'm coming, idiota!"

If Italy noticed how red and jumpy his older brother was, he must have taken it as nervousness, for he smiled and handed him his coffee. "Ve~! Come on! Some of the countries are already there!" Romano took a deep breath and glanced at his watch. "Why the hell are they early?" He muttered before taking a sip of his drink and following his brother to the Conference Center.

"Some like to be punctual, some like socializing, some just come to eat. It depends."

When the two brothers entered the meeting room, the younger immediately bounded off to talk to Germany, who was setting up his laptop with that always present stick-in-my-ass look on his face. Romano scanned the room for somewhere to sit, because there was no way in hell he would sit anywhere close to that Potato Bastard. There weren't very many Nations in the room yet: Denmark and America were laughing louder than one should that early in the morning, chatting up a storm by the food Italy had prepared. China was juggling his cell phone and fixing his briefcase, France and Prussia were messing with Austria while Hungary slowly pulled her frying pan out, Netherlands was glaring the Nation standing beside Belgium, who talked as though he didn't notice he wasn't welcome.

Why the hell is he here so early?! He's not even a morning person! Romano's heart nearly skipped a beat, and he was already turning to the other side of the long table, to avoid Spain as much as possible.

"ROMANO!"

"Shit fucking dammit." He had only taken five steps in his desired direction when his name was called by someone who's tongue naturally rolled the 'R' in his name, causing him to freeze on the spot. Everyone was looking at him, so he felt he could do nothing but turn back around, red to the tips of his ears as Spain ran up to him and practically tackled him in a hug.

"Roma, It's been so long! You'll all grown up!" He gushed excitedly, pulling away to examine him fully while that perfect smile danced on his lips. He giggled and poked the soft red skin of his cheek. "You still look like a tomato."

Romano sputtered and pushed the hand away. It didn't help that he could see Hungary out of the corner of his eye just smirking knowingly, or that Prussia and France were elbowing each other, or that Belgium had that look in her eyes that meant nothing but disaster. "G-get the fuck away from me, bastardo."

Spain's eyes twinkled. "Aw! You're voice! It's so much deeper than I remember! You still have una boca sucia."

"My mouth is fucking fine! Now mind your own damn business!" Romano growled and turned back around.

By now, other countries had slipped in, and seats were slowly getting taken. The Southern Italian huffed and marched to the seat furthest away from everyone, plopping down and opening his briefcase. It had been hard to talk to Antonio- no Spain- fucking no, the Tomato Bastard when he had left his house, but now it was ten trillion times worse! For now, he took one look at him and a whole bunch of mental images you'd expect to find in France's dirty mind suddenly flew in.

Fucking great, Romano thought, wanting nothing more than to hit his head on the table repeatedly. He wasn't sure if he should hit Spain or grab the idiot by his collar and kiss him. Fuck that shit Hungary and Japan came up with. The second I get home I'm burning it, flushing it down the toilet, feeding it to sharks, whatever will completely destroy-

"Romano?"

"Che cazzo!" He yelped, turning to the exact person he wanted to avoid. He attempted to glare at him, but was distracted by the way his messy brown hair fell, perfectly framing his tanned face, the way his eyebrows furrowed in concern and rested low over those shining green eyes, the way his lips curved into a tiny smile. Oh Dio, I need help, Romano screamed at himself. The problem was, at this point he wasn't even sure if he wanted it.

"Are you okay?" Spain asked, touching his arm. The contact was gentle, but it sent electric-like shocks up the Italian's limb, causing him to yank himself away and swear loudly.

"I'm fucking fine," he mumbled, sticking out his lower lip in a pout. "Now get-"

"Alright," Germany cleared his throat and stood up, running a hand over his perfectly gelled hair. "I think most of us are here, and it is nine o'clock. That was when this meeting was supposed to begin, so can everyone sit down?"

Spain glanced up and smiled before pulling out the chair right next to Romano. "What the hell are you doing?" The smile faltered slightly. "Uh, we're starting the meeting. I was going to sit here..."

Romano's heart started pounding uncontrollably. No, Spain could not sit there! That fucking attractive idiot would be a complete distraction! Instead of paying attention to world problems he would be fantasizing about running his hands through that amazing hair, about kissing those soft-looking lips, of allowing the older Nation to do whatever the hell he wanted with him-

Romano abruptly cut off his thoughts with a red face. "No!" He snapped. "You will not sit here, bastard!"

Spain froze with wide eyes, his lips parting in protest, before he thought better of it and closed his mouth. He looked mournful as he slowly took a step away from the chair. He looked just like a little puppy that had been cruelly kicked out into the streets, which made Romano the bastard everyone glowered at and cursed at saying, "he needs to go to jail and rot."

He felt terrible. He let out a loud sigh and gestured to the chair. "Stop sulking. Sit in the damn chair, idiota."

Spain's eyes lit up again, and a small smile curved his lips. "Are you sure? I don't want to bother you."

"Just sit your fat ass down."

Half a second later, the other Nation was sitting in the chair, grabbing a few things out of his briefcase and tossing them onto the table in a careless manner. Romano rolled his eyes and turned to his own belongings, unpacking his notes, pads, pens, and- fucking Love Amongst the Tomatoes?!

Heat spread across his face and neck as he slammed the briefcase closed- on his finger. "Ow! Dammit!" Heads turned curiously. Spain looked up in concern. Romano brushed them away, shook his sore finger, and threw the briefcase under the table.

How the hell had it even gotten in with his stuff? He must have shoved it there when Veneziano surprised him. He glanced up and shot Hungary a murderous look, but she was too busy trying to keep Prussia from sitting next to her to notice. He muttered a few choice words about her, about Japan, about Spain, about France, and about everyone else, mentally kicking himself for carelessly bringing that damned book along with him.

"Lovi?"

Romano leaped nearly a foot in the air at the name. A Nation's human name was only used by other countries when the two of them were exceptionally close; like if they were related, or close friends, or...lovers. Why would Spain use it, no he even made a nickname out of it! Why? Did he actually think of Romano as one of those he had just listed? Well, with his luck, and judging by all the time he had spent living with him as a child, it was probably the first one. Fucking great.

He stared at Spain, fingers tightening on one of his pens, wondering if he should jab it into the tanned arm. "W-what the fuck do you want?" He hissed.

"Do you hate me?"

Romano was caught off guard. Hate Spain? No! Never! "What kind of shitty question is that?"

Spain shrugged, running a hand through his hair. "This is the first time I've seen you since you left... And that day...we don't leave off on the best terms…"

"You let me go," Romano mumbled. "You didn't fight, you didn't demand anything. You just let me. I thought you'd care more."

"I wanted to fight, mi tomate. I wanted to keep you more than I wanted anything else." The sincerity in the other's voice was captivating, and Romano found himself slowly making eye contact. "But what I didn't want was for you to hate me. I wouldn't be able to stand it. So I let you go. France and Prussia told me to let you cool off, they said it would be better than pestering you. I've missed you." Spain smiled at him, his hand reaching over the table to softly caress Romano's.

I've missed you too, he thought. So fucking much. But he merely huffed and grumbled something obscure about not hating him, before Germany stood up again.

"Alright, let's call this meeting to order. Since this is Feliciano's country, how about letting him have the opening statement?"

Romano clenched his fist. This was not just Italy's country, he represented it too! They were in one of his regions, stupid ignorant bastard!

Veneziano ve-ed softly. "Grazie, Luddy! But this is actually my fratello's part of the country. Can he give the opening?" The normally stoic blonde flushed at the nickname, then nodded to Romano, who muttered a, "shit," and shot out of his seat, tearing through his stack of papers for something intelligent to say.

"Uh...well, fuck Potato Bastard, since when have you and my brother been on a human-name basis?" He sent them a glare and cleared his throat, shifting the papers in his hands. He somehow managed to get through his proposal, stammering and swearing the entire time, wiping his sweaty hands on his pants. After what seemed to be ages of torture, he finally finished and sank back into the chair, hiding his red face in his arms.

He could barely hear Germany's cold, "Thank you, Romano," and some other comments made by other Nations. Someone was whispering his human name- three guesses who that was- and gently tugging on his sleeve until he grew annoyed and yanked his head up. "What the fuck do you want?" He hissed.

Spain's lips curved into a smile as he scooted his chair closer to his own. "You did good, Lovi."

Romano rolled his eyes. "I fucked up." "I thought you were great."

"Maybe because you are an idiot."

Spain's laugh was like a melody, it rolled and swelled and touched the heart. "Maybe I am." He winked playfully before leaning over, so close his arm brushed his own. "Hey Lovi?"

"Piss off."

"I've missed you."

Romano flushed a violent red and swatted at him. "W-whatever."

Spain's grin never faltered. "We should hang out later. How about I treat you for dinner tonight?"

Romano wanted to scream every profanity he knew in at least three different languages, punch the bastard in the face, and march out of the room. Yes, that is what he wanted. Then why the hell did he allow the tiniest smile and mutter, "As long as you're paying, you bastard." No, he was not in love. That was already established. He just was going to take advantage of Spain's generosity and get a free meal, because that fucking jerk bastard deserved it. That was all.

The only thing that couldn't be explained was the way his smile grew as Spain gasped in surprise. "Really? You want to go? I was sure you were going to yell at me or something-"

"Hey!" England suddenly started shouting from a few seats away. "If you wankers are done chatting, some of us are trying to have a meeting!"

"As if anyone's actually listening to the ball-sucking shit America's spewing," Romano grumbled to himself.

Turned out, nearly everything that anyone said was either retarded, or completely impossible. Romano quickly learned why these meetings had been scheduled so far in between as of late: they were a fucking waste of time but everyone's bosses were convinced it would help with World Peace.

World Peace my ass, he thought, watching as England and France exchanged in their third argument that morning. Turkey was also nagging Greece, who had smuggled a cat into the building, and Russia was messing with the Baltics while Poland started loudly telling him off. Germany looked like he was about to blow. Technically speaking, Romano could help bring order back, it was his part if the country after all, but he was not about to assist that Potato in anything. He could handle it himself.

That was when a piece of paper was pushed toward him, a hand lightly touching his and causing his heart to stop for a second. The Southern Italian jerked his head to the left, meeting a pair of bright green irises that motioned for him to look at the paper. Romano rolled his eyes but complied, glancing down at it in boredom. Lovi, it read, Did I mention that you look muy bonito esta mañana~?

Attempting to ignore the heat growing on his cheeks, he shot a nasty glare at Spain and opened his mouth to yell at him, but the other shook his head with a smile and pointed to the note. Romano groaned in annoyance, why the fuck should he write his response when the idiot was literally sitting less than a foot away? But for some odd reason, he complied. Muttering about how ridiculous the whole thing was, he grabbed his pen and wrote in fancy cursive, Fuck off.

Spain had excitedly leaned closer the moment he had started writing, but as he read the reply his face fell a little. Pouting, he pulled the paper back to himself and scribbled out another note, brows furrowed in concentration as his tongue poked out of the corner of his mouth.

Romano's expression softened slightly when the older Nation was too busy to notice it. Why the hell can he look so fucking attractive when I'm supposed to want nothing to do with him? He thought, shaking his head and staring blankly to the growing chaos around the table.

France and England were now throwing books at each other and screaming offensive names across the room. Prussia had finally overstepped the line of grace and Hungary was chasing him around with her frying pan, America was flat out laughing in Russia's face while the taller country merely smiled his creepy smile that meant he was probably mentally stabbing the other repeatedly. Greece had fallen asleep and Italy was playing with his cat while Turkey moved to harass Japan instead. And then there was Germany, who looked like the personification of a bomb ready to explode.

Romano silently laughed at the Potato Bastard's stress, the only thing keeping him from actually laughing out loud was the small piece of paper that was triumphantly pushed back in front of him. Not that he actually cared about what Spain had written. Of course not. He begrudgingly cast his eyes down and scanned the scrawled out response. But I mean it, Lovi! Your black suit is so sharp and fitting, and red looks realllllly good on you! It brings out the red in your hair, and on your cheeks when you blush mi tomate ;)

Speak of the fucking devil, there was yet another blush breaking onto his face, but he stubbornly turned his head away before Spain had the pleasure of seeing it. He wasn't about to admit it to anyone, but the Spaniard looked pretty nice too for once. He was obviously too poor for an actual suit, but he made the best of it: wearing a pair of khaki colored dress pants, his white shirt had been ironed and the top few buttons had been left open, giving the Italian's would be wandering eyes a small view of his tanned chest, his outfit completed with a red ribbon tied around his neck into what was called a Western bow tie. The simplicity of the Nation's wardrobe fit his carefree personality actually.

That was when Germany finally exploded. "THAT IS ENOUGH!" He shouted, slamming his fists on the table as he stood up so suddenly his chair fell onto its back. The room immediately grew silent as Nations exchanged terrified glances as sunk into their seats, listening to the furious German's rant. "THE POINT IN THESE MEETINGS IS TO HELP US PREVENT WARS NOT START THEM. ALL YOU EVER DO IS SIT AROUND AND ARGUE OR SCREW AROUND AND THAT DOESN'T HELP ANYONE. NOW YOU WILL ALL SHUT UP AND DO THINGS IN AN ORDERLY FASHION FROM NOW ON AND IF THERE IS ANOTHER DISTURBANCE I WILL KICK YOU OUT AND YOU CAN DEAL WITH YOUR BOSS. YES THAT INCLUDES YOU PRUSSIA!"

He stopped shouting and cleared his throat, fixing his chair as he sat back down. "Now," he said in a calmer voice, taking a sip of his water. "Let's discuss our economies and how to strengthen them, since that is a topic our bosses all seem worried about. We have some countries who are not doing so well, and it is everyone's responsibility to help- and for God's sake grow up and stop fighting over stupid petty issues." He shot a glare at the direction of England and France. "Alright, not all of them are present, as some are too poor to afford to attend meetings, but Ukraine, why don't we start with you?"

The tearful woman with a predominant chest stood up from her seat across from Hungary and shuffled through her papers. And this was the boring part of the meeting, Romano quickly realized. Basically the poor Nations would state just how broke they were, and all the others would nod and make empty promises like, "Oh yes! We'll buy your exports!" or "Don't worry, we'll hold back our grudges until you get back on your feet," and all that bullshit. Ukraine pretty much just cried, and Greece was woken up to make a careless speech about cats. Germany quickly put an end to that with an irritated sigh.

"Spain," he said, looking over his notes. "How has your economy been recently?"

The Nation in question stood up and ran his fingers through his hair. "Ah, I think things are finally starting to get better!" He chirped cheerfully. "But there are still a lot of humans without jobs. I think if we were to..."

Romano slowly stopped paying attention to what the older Nation was saying, instead he was subconsciously drawn to the beautiful sound of his voice, the sexy way his accent subtly rolled his Rs throughout his speech. When he presented, Spain couldn't help but pace a little bit as he made his point, and when he moved his hips would sway gracefully, just screaming attention towards another painfully attractive aspect of the Iberian Nation: his ass. Romano couldn't even lie about it, Spain had himself an amazing ass. And even though Japan had drawn it surprisingly well in Love Amongst the Tomatoes, it still hadn't done it justice and- what the fuck?! He suddenly shook the thoughts out of his head. Dio, I hate Hungary and Japan! Who even comes up with shit like that?

Irritated with himself, he brought his eyes to the papers in front of him, only for his pupils to dilate in shock. There, written all over his To Build a Better Economy notes, were words written in cursive not unlike his own. Spain. España. Reino de España. Antonio. Antonio Fernandez Carriedo. The fucking cherry on top was what had been written right in the middle of the page: Lovino Vargas-Carriedo.

Romano's eyelid twitched as he crumpled up the paper, promising himself he'd get notes from someone else. I'm not in love, he told himself. This is just some fucking weird obsession. It's just a phase. Yeah...

Romano slowly opened his eyes and looked around the room. It was still dark, which meant Germany's boring World Peace documentary was still playing. Really. No one was even paying attention to it. Everyone had either fallen asleep like he had, or were preoccupied with something else.

The Southern Italian huffed softly, wanting to tell himself that this was the last fucking meeting he'd ever attend, yet at the same time he had actually somewhat enjoyed spending time with Spain- when he wasn't acting like an idiot and begging him to play games like hangman on the back of America's Global Warming handout.

If I was to stay home next time, I'd be alone, Romano thought to himself, keeping his head comfortably nestled in his arms. And maybe he won't come see me either, maybe he doesn't care enough to. I mean, really? Who the hell wants to see me anyway? It's not like I'd miss Antonio- I mean Spain. For fuck's sake, yes I would. I'm so pathetic I need to use a stupid, lameass World Meeting as an excuse to see him.

I guess I could always ask him to spend time with me, he noted. He seems like he really wants to today, so maybe... Romano gently lifted his head and turned toward the other Nation with a pounding heart. He opened his mouth to whisper his name, but suddenly stopped himself.

There sat Spain, his head tilted down so it was focused on something on his lap, rustled hair falling into his eyes, which were wide and seemed to sparkle with a different light that the one Romano was used to seeing. In his lap was a small, shiny paperback, filled with black and white drawings.

Romano's heart stopped for a panicking second, but much to his credit, he didn't flip out.

First he glanced under the table and noticed that his briefcase- the one that had been containing that demonic book- had been moved closer to Spain and was now cracked open. That was when he flipped out.

"WHAT THE FUCK?!" He screeched.

Those who had fallen asleep were wide awake now, jerking their heads up so suddenly they almost got whiplash. The culprit jumped so high he nearly fell out of his seat, shaking fingers dropping the book onto the floor. "Uh...Lovino...I can explain!"

Romano was already on his feet with murder in his eyes, his head spinning. He could faintly hear the sound of a pissy German having attitude for his disruption, but he didn't acknowledge it. Instead, he shook his head and tore out of the conference room as if it were on fire.

He knows, he thought as he leapt down the stairs, tears slipping down his face. He fucking knows now thanks to my carelessness. Why the hell did I bring it? Dio, he's probably so disgusted he'll never want to see me again for the rest of my shitty life.

"Romano! Lovi, wait!"

Fuck. The Italian Nation didn't even turn to see who was following him: he knew. He ran faster as he reached the bottom of the stairs and sped down the hall towards the exit. If he could make it outside he could get lost in the crowd and then-

"Lovi!"

By some miracle (or curse depending on who you asked), the usually lazy tomato farmer managed to outrun an Italian in retreat and blocked the doorway with his body, reaching out and grabbing his arm before he could bolt in a different direction. Romano was too out of breath to fight him, and was far too terrified to cuss him out, so he merely stood there huffing, trying to stop the tears and failing miserably.

Spain took a deep breath and glanced up with a soft smile. "Roma, it's okay," he said gently. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have gone through your things, but you don't have to be embarrassed. They do the same thing to everyone."

If Spain had been attempting to calm Romano down, he had used the wrong words. No, it did not happen to everyone! Not everyone received a manga staring them and the one they had love- er obsessed over for years. And even then, not everyone woke up to see the person they were obsessed with reading the fucking material! What made it worse was the fact that this person, Spain, probably only saw him as his little brother, as the annoying little chibi who had lived in his house for so long. Romano started crying even more.

Spain tugged the smaller Nation closer and hugged him tightly. "Don't cry Lovi!" He cooed into his ear. "Boss will make you happy again! Fusosososo~!"

Romano tightened his grip on the Spaniard for half a second, then pulled away and wiped at his eyes. "Idiotic bastard. You don't get it."

"Yes I do! I've been paired with people I don't like too! One time during my conquistador days, I ended up paired with Netherlands, and it made me so angry I grabbed my axe and-!"

Romano stared at the stupid man in shock. "Who the fuck ever said I hate you?"

"Eh?" Green eyes blinked at him as Spain thought it over. "You did, Romano."

"No I-" he paused. "You don't hate me?"

The Spaniard was quickly growing more confused. "Hate my little tomate? Never! Lovi I lo-" he coughed into his sleeve. "I thought that one was actually cute. You were so adorable!"

Romano flushed, trying not to look relieved. Spain wasn't grossed out. He didn't hate him. "Shut up, pervert. And I already told you I didn't hate you, s-so there."

"Then why were you so upset about it?"

Because I fucking love you and it's as embarrassing as hell, dammit. But he didn't actually say that, because that would have been incredibly stupid. He glanced up at Spain shyly, emotion suddenly pushing logic out of the way.

Tightening his grip on the collar of the other's shirt, he silently pressed their lips together, squeezing his eyes closed so he wouldn't have to look at any growing horror on Spain's face. He expected to get pushed away, that was what happened when people didn't think. He never thought he would feel strong arms snake around his waist or those lips quirk into a smile against his own as his affection was returned.

Romano slowly pulled away and took a deep breath. "It was embarrassing because...I...fuck...t-ti amo, Antonio." He stammered, face tomato-red.

Spain's beautiful eyes sparkled as his smile grew tenfold, flashing white against his tan. "You do? Oh Lovi! Yo también te amo!" Before the smaller Italian Nation could react, the country of passion had his lips on his again, kissing him happily.

H-he loves me too? Romano thought in shock, wrapping his arms around his...were they lovers now...neck, bringing himself even closer to his Spaniard. He thought he heard the click of a camera shutter from down the hall, but at this point he really didn't give a fuck.