HOI HOI! Chii's got a new oneshot collection! (Please hit me I know I shouldn't even be writing right now because a) deadlines and b) I have other multichapters but I've been so looking forward to this week)
Hetare Hetalia! Third Hetalian installment, and it's of the amazing Romerica! I'll accept tomatoes (I'll give them to Roma) for being a trash shipper and person in general. But I love this ship, and this week just happens to be the assigned week for the Romerica Exchange on Tumblr! WE NEED MOAR ROMERICA ❤︎
So without further ado, let the challenge begin! Let's hope I actually stick to these prompts huehue.
PS. I do not own Hetalia or my babies Romano and America.
PPS. I make lame story titles.
PPPS. This entire premise is a mistake.
Day 1: French Fries and Grease
Summary: Travelling by public transport on a Monday morning is bad enough — Lovino does not need some terrible-smelling idiot to make it worse. For Day 1 prompt: First Meetings. Warning for vulgarity, moody!Lovino and stressful university tiems.
It is fucking too early for this.
Sure, the sun's kind of up — barely risen actually; curse daylight saving periods for making it so dark at 6:30am in the morning on a sad, sad Monday. Still. The rising sun doesn't mean it's any good to be awake at this goddamning hour. You could only imagine what he's been through, having to do this every fucking week on a two hour sleep schedule. Please have mercy on his poor soul.
Lovino was actually contemplating on skipping his college classes today, but he's already so far behind in lectures. There's that assignment he has to do that's due tomorrow, not to mention the progressive IT portfolio he's barely started and it's due by the end of the week. Then there's his C++ programming portfolio which was due last week and he's not sure is worth completing anymore. Don't get him started on 3D animation. And that darn three hour workshop he has to attend tomorrow in preparation for his internship, for fuck's sake.
Long story short, the brown-haired Italian is drowning in stress, projects and suffering from inevitable insomnia. The simplest of unpredictable and undesirable situations can set him off.
Like the godawful stench and unwanted presence of the idiota bastardo who, of all the places in this barely empty train, has decided to fucking sit next to him.
Let's backtrack all the way to 4:30, which, sadly for the brunette, is his normal Monday wake up time. He's got an alarm for an hour before the time he's supposed to be up to catch the bus just because it pleases him to know that he still has time to sleep in. Although Lovino normally catches the 5:30 bus to the train station, he really just wants to (die right now) stay in bed a bit more, all snuggled up in his sheets and that one extra pillow he pretends he doesn't like to cuddle. Lucky Feliciano and his normal 9am-3pm high school day.
Whilst his younger brother remains asleep in the room adjacent to his, Lovino has to rush around to grab muffins and a bottle of chocolate milkshake from the cupboard (damn it, no more microwaveable pasta in the freezer? Great, just greaaaat), shove his laptop into his bag which he left in the lounge yesterday, brush his teeth, change his clothes, style his hair, put on his shoes, grab his notebook on the dining table and bolt through the door, making sure he at least locked it once from the outside. In his haste, he manages to forget his USBs by the bedside which he told himself HE NEEDED for his programming portfolio, but it's too late to return now because the 5:50 bus has just arrived.
God damn it, god damn it, god damn it! But at least the bus driver's friendly when he struggles to tap his travel card on the scanner. Not that it makes him any less disappointed in himself though (screw his sleep-deprived forgetfulness). When he's finally seated, Lovino pulls out his phone from his pocket and tunes in to his favourite playlist, hoping he could power nap on the way to the train station. Fuck it, he still has to catch said train to the city and a tram to his university, the journey being approximately two hours. He's had no breakfast, no coffee, and he's definitely not ready for the stupid 8am 3D animation class he has on first.
Twenty minutes later, Lovino is grumpily trudging up the stairs to the station and pacing around irritably (with a hand covering his mouth because seriously, seriously? Who smokes a fucking cigar at this hour and in close distance of other, non-smoking individuals?) before hopping into the express route city train. Santo dio.
An advantage of being up this early though is that most of the time, there are hardly any passengers around. It's already bad enough that he has to take public transport, and to actually have to interact with people is just asking for too much. But he must have spoken (thought?) too soon about it, because three stops into his train journey, some douchebag ignorantly plops his fat behind ON his bag (LAPTOP! IN! BAG! GOD! There is a reason the Italian put it beside him, and it's so NO ONE IN THEIR RIGHT MIND would sit next to him! Go find another fucking seat damn it, there's plenty of spaces around). Lovino doesn't even have the energy to verbally complain as he roughly yanks his bag from under the idiot and glares at the half-hooded stranger with unbridled malice. But of course. The guy doesn't care, what with being too busy doing shit on his phone. Bastard.
"Haha! That's right! Gimme more experience baby! No... no no no no no! Oh come on, that's so unfair! You're seriously— nah. That's it. You're dead. Take this, and THIS! AND THIS! FEEL MY POWER HAHAHAHA!"
Oh great, he's sitting beside an American. An awful-smelling American. And ugh, what is THAT? Is that— is that even... fuck, he doesn't even know. Lard or... grease or... whatever the hell. It's the scent of fried potatoes and beef that sets the brunette off the most because it reminds him of his younger brother's excuse of a best friend. GROSS.
Honestly, who smells like this? What the heck has this guy been eating? Fine, fine, Lovino probably smells like tomato sauce time and time again, but at least he remembers to change his clothes and shower. Can't be putting off the ladies or potential love interests and disregarding proper hygiene despite his love for said food.
...BLESS HIS SOUL, WHAT IS AIR.
"Hooooh yeah... Next quest, next quest! Damn this raid boss is a piece of cake."
Even with his music playing in full volume, he can still hear the idiot guffaw annoyingly. For goodness sake, it's too distracting to power nap at this rate. With a deep breath in and out (his travel mate's smell is unbearable, this is punishment for his sins, isn't it?) Lovino turns to the fogged up window, intending to ignore the bastard. It's just too bad that as he is about to close his eyes, he's suddenly elbowed in the back, hard.
.
.
...That's it.
Lovino is dead tired and cranky; he can't be held accountable for his actions from here on out.
"Vaffanculo, is it really so hard to sit still and be quiet? There are other people on this train besides you, can you shut the heck up and stop moving? And for the record, you bastard, you smell like shit! Be considerate and take a shower next time, both for yourself and the people who are forced to be around you. And don't sit on people's bags, damn you! Go find your own seat!"
The guy actually turns to him like he's the one in the wrong, one hand pulling his hood off and readjusting his headphones. An electric blue-eyed, pretty-faced bespectacled blonde stares back at him, tongue darting out to wet his lips. "Um, you say something man? Sorry, I was in the middle of this game. Can you repeat that?"
OH HELL NO, HE'S HOT!
...Okay, just because the guy looks damn fine minus the ridiculous clothing choice, doesn't mean Lovino'll let him off easy. Stupid random American and his healthy tanned skin and glossy lips and nice looking hair. He's probably a freshman in college judging by the small satchel he has with him, not to mention how naïve and hyperactive he seems to be. The train slowly halts for the latest stop and more people begin to file in after each other.
"You heard me, you idiot. You. SIT FUCKING STILL. And s-shut the hell up! Y-You're too loud and it's t-too early for your bullshit, damn it! People are trying to sleep!"
"Well someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning..."
The Italian pinches the bridge of his nose. "No fucking shit! Now if you'll excuse me, bastard, I need to power nap. I'll put it nicely for your incomprehensible mind and tell you to please move elsewhere because you stink! There's still enough room you know!"
The dumb blonde actually looks around before pointing to himself. "Do you mean me?" He raises an arm to his face and sniffs his own jacket, shrugging listlessly. "Hey, I totally washed this yesterday, so I have no idea what you're talking about. But totally sorry man. These headphones are noise-cancelling, I sometimes forget I can't hear myself. I'll stop moving and be quiet so you can go right ahead and sleep." Lovino's flashed with a cheesy smile — c-cheh, like that's gonna work on him. The idiot's gorgeous but he ain't worth shit if he's pissed Lovino off.
"No, damn it. I want you to move. AWAY. Even if I go to sleep I won't be able to stand your crappy potato lard smell. MOVE."
"But— but I'm already on this one! I'd have to—" the American scans the area, "...w-walk all the way to the other side of the compartment! Besides... I don't smell that terrible, do I? That's probably just you."
"Yes you do. Do us both a favour and move."
"Aww... But I like sitting here. I promise I won't be a bother, I get off at the city stop which isn't far from here now so you won't even know I was here to begin with. Plus, it's not everyday I sit next to someone cute on public transport after all..." The blonde whispers the last sentence to himself before turning his attention back to his game.
...H-H-Huh?
Holy Roma, it is definitely way too early for this because Lovino could have sworn Mr-I-Smell-Like-French-Fries just called him cute. He feels his face heat up and curses silently because goodness gracious, he's probably already dead and this is hell (Not that that was much of a problem; he'd give anything to avoid his college work, to be honest. Between a stinky gorgeous American boy and homework, he'll gladly pick the former).
Pinching himself a second time in an attempt to face reality, Lovino then kicks at the guy's leg for the stupid comment. "Don't say stupid shit, you cazzo!" Hopefully the train ride will really be over soon and he doesn't have to see the douchebag's face ever again. Cute, his arse. The blonde's dumb and blind, as if he'd ever listen to anything the stranger says...
"Hey, that hurt, what gives?"
"If you moved elsewhere you wouldn't have gotten kicked now, would you? It's all your fault, cheh! What is it with you Americans and your fries and shit! Making excuses, being so noisy... You don't smell pasta on me and I eat it all the time!"
The blonde makes to sniff the air around the Italian, leaning closely. "Nah, you smell pretty nice, actually. Hmm... What kind of cologne do you wear?"
"THAT'S BESIDES THE POINT!" Lovino chastises, voice tone as controlled and collected as possible to avoid attracting any more attention. Already there are people around eyeing the two of them weirdly, damn it. "Oddio, you've completely fucked up my morning. Just— just shut up and don't do anything until I get off this damn train and away from you, Troy or John or whatever you're called—"
"Alfred."
"Alfred, what-fucking-EVER." The brunette's legs are getting sore with the weight of his bag so he repositions it while leaning his head on the cold glass of the train window. He sees a long dark wall running past the outside of the train as it moves — finally underground and heading for the city station, thank goodness. The tap on his shoulder is easier to ignore when he puts his earphones back on and fiddles with his phone to skip to a better song.
Unfortunately the shoulder tapping doesn't stop.
"Oi, what do you want NOW?" hisses Lovino, eyebrows furrowing even when Alfred the French Fry Guy's face falls and he pouts, looking hurt.
"Umm, uhh, I feel kinda bad for being the cause of someone's bad morning so. I know this is probably a bad idea but. Maybe I could make it up to you, even though I still don't understand why you think I smell bad," The green-eyed Italian eyes him suspiciously.
"So, uhh, you won't mind if I treat you coffee once we get off, yeah? I dunno if you've tried the CBD Starbucks but I hear they're selling Butterbeer latte." When Lovino scrutinizes him further, Alfred elaborates, "Yaknow, like the one from The Wizarding World?"
"What sane person would want to hang out with you? Have you ever been taught not to talk to strangers, you fool?"
"Err... Well, I told you my name so I guess that makes us acquaintances now." The blue-eyed blonde concludes, grinning like there's no tomorrow. In all fairness, he has straight shiny teeth, and if the brunette didn't have a bad first impression of the guy, he'd probably be more interested.
Not that... he was already interested, psssh, this guy, really? Alfred the French Fry Guy? Pffft, yeah right, he's Italian, he has better taste in people than this loser. Plus he's kind of pissed at the arsehole which makes this Starbucks treat thing an even bigger NO.
But then again he could really use a free energy boost...
Wrapping his earphones around his phone before pocketing it, Lovino readies himself to leave the slowing train for the city stop. "Just so you know, I'm picking the most expensive thing on the menu so your offer to treat me should still stand. I'm not agreeing to this because I like you; I happen to be really tired and my class starts in an hour and you owe me my power nap time, damn it! I don't like you AT ALL! And I'd rather you smell like shit coffee than potatoes, bastard!"
The aforementioned potato-smelling freak has the gall to laugh. "Alright, uhh— Sorry, I didn't catch your name."
"It's Lovino, damn you. You better get it memorized, you idiot."
"Lovino." Alfred repeats. "Alright, fine by me."
.
.
When they hop off the train together, much to Lovino's disappointment, they head for the same popular coffee branch and line up beside one another. So maybe the brunette hates the greasy smell of the idiot, but it beats having to buy his own food and now he has a valid excuse to be late to class. No, he doesn't turn scarlet red when Alfred writes his number on the tissue he's given before saying goodbye. No, he's still mad about the train incident and this vanilla bean mocha frappuccino tastes like crap. But at least, dare he say it, this Monday's been less intense than the other Mondays and... well, he wouldn't mind having a morning travel buddy if only to make them more bearable.