Fried Tomatoes
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It was only his first day on the job, but Romano was this close to quitting. Or getting fired. Whichever came first. Considering how desperate the fast food industry was for workers, he was betting on the former.
As an art major paying his way through college, Romano had needed a job. He'd been perfectly content working the phones at a small frame gallery, even if it was a thirty minute drive, until said gallery had decided to move to a more upscale location. Unfortunately, he could not afford to drive the two hours to the new building, so he'd been forced to quit. Naturally, Romano wanted to find another well-paying and fairly-easy job suitable to his interests. However, that would take some time, and his scholarship required that he maintain a part-time job at all times, with only a week's grace period. And while the gallery had given Romano a month's notice of the move, he had spent that time ignoring his predicament, while hoping plans for the move would fall through, and not looking for a new job. So he'd loafed around, and then he'd been stuck rushing to find a job within the week.
Leading to his current plight, working the takeout counter at the campus's In-N-Out Burger.
It was a well-known fact that Romano and fast food did not go hand in hand. He made everything from scratch in his tiny kitchen in the apartment he shared with his brother. Pasta, lasagna, pizza, all of it made from real ingredients by either Feliciano or himself, depending on their schedules. Sometimes, Romano could be persuaded to eat out, if the restaurant had really good reviews, or if Feliciano begged really hard and promised he wouldn't bring along his macho-potato of a boyfriend this time. Sometimes, though rarely, even Antonio and Emma could coerce him into dining out; though Romano usually refused these outings due to being a date's third wheel, and less so because of a poor restaurant choice. But most of the time, Romano chose to remain at home, cooking his own meals from fresh ingredients bought at the local farmer's market. He never ate fast food.
And yet here he was now, taking orders and bagging food in a place that smelled horribly of processed meat and greasy potatoes.
Well, technically he hadn't bagged food since his first order. After nearly gagging at a Double-Double, in front of a customer no less, his supervisor had reassigned him to work the drive-thru. However, he hadn't taken five orders before he lost his shit and yelled at a customer through his headset, swearing after they changed their order for the seventh time. His supervisor, Liz, had been strangely sympathetic and had not reported him to management, but she had pulled him from the drive-thru and reassigned him yet again, this time to the front counter.
"Hi, welcome to In-N-Out Burger," he droned, for what must have been the umpteenth time that day. "What can I get for you today?"
The customer in question didn't even lift his head to greet Romano. "I'll just have my usual, thanks," he replied, eyes and fingers focused on his cell phone.
Romano felt a vein twitch. Rude customers were the worst. True, he worked in a fast food joint at a university, so he shouldn't expect five star treatment... but still! Youth was no excuse to act like an entitled, special snowflake!
"Do I look like I know what your usual is?" he snapped, pulling on his red apron.
The man looked up at that, and Romano had never seen such clear blue eyes. He was not as old as Romano had initially thought; he looked younger behind his glasses, possibly still in his teens even. "Whoa! You're not Gilbert," he exclaimed, slipping his phone into the front pocket of his hoodie.
Startled by the young man's intense blue stare, Romano fumbled on his words. "What? Of course not! Do I look albino to you," he finally said, sneering. The customer clearly needed stronger prescriptions if that was the case.
The guy ran a hand through his golden-blond hair sheepishly. "Sorry, Gil usually works the counter, so I was surprised! Haha, so what, you're new or something?" he asked, leaning an elbow on the counter top.
What was with this guy? Most people would have finished ordering by now; that was the purpose of fast food, to get in and out fast. Not make idle chitchat with the cashiers, especially not ones who were antisocial.
"So what if I am?" he retorted angrily, though the effects of his glare were probably somewhat lessened by the ridiculous soda jerk hat perched atop his head.
The blond grinned. "Then I get to teach you my usual."
Scowling at the man's dazzling smile, Romano grumbled. "Get on with it then!"
"All righty then... Romano," he replied, glancing down at Romano's name tag and tacking his name onto that comment casually, as if they were on friendly terms, "I call it the Alfred Special."
The guy, presumably Alfred, winked at him. Romano resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
"Are you going to tell me your order or not?" he barked, growing even more irritated when Alfred merely laughed. He certainly did not enjoy the way the man's nose crinkled or how his eyes sparkled with amusement.
"Haha, okay! So, I'll take two 4x4's. No lettuce. Extra sauce. Be sure to let the cheese get nice and melted. Easy on the onions, or skip 'em altogether if they're flimsy–"
"What the fuck is a 'four by four'?" Romano interrupted, not having heard anything else after that.
Alfred grinned again. "Dude, they haven't taught you the secret menu yet? Oh man, you're gonna love it!"
Romano stared. "Secret... menu...?" If it was a secret, how did Alfred know about it? Furthermore, why did Alfred know while Romano didn't, when he was the one who actually worked here? He wasn't one to usually care what other people thought of him, but for some reason, Romano didn't like how this Alfred knew more about his workplace than he did, even if it was his first day. He felt... foolish.
"So, a 4x4 is almost just like a regular cheeseburger... times four!" Alfred explained, leaning over the counter excitedly. Romano in turn leaned back, away from the man's electric blues and wide smile. "You've got the bun, special sauce, the works... four beef patties and four slices of real, American cheese! Except I don't want lettuce or–"
"Four meat patties?!" he repeated, refusing to believe what he'd just heard. No one could possibly want four patties on one bun, right? That sounded disgusting.
Alfred clearly thought otherwise. "Heck yeah, man! You should totally try it sometime."
Riiiiight...
With the way Alfred was smiling up at him, so earnestly and enthusiastically, Romano felt slightly flustered. He picked at his apron. "So, erm, what was your order again?"
"Okay, so the Alfred Special consists of two 4x4s," he explained again, and Romano scrambled to find an appropriate button on the machine. Not finding one, he settled for punching up a Double-Double and then adding a note of "wants a four-by-four secret menu thing". Remembering that the guy wanted two, he doubled the order.
Alfred was watching with interest, practically leaning over the entire counter now. "Got that? Okay, so no lettuce. Punch that up, too," he dictated, his hand reaching over and entering Romano's personal space.
Romano stepped back automatically, before realizing that Alfred was not, in fact, trying to touch him; he was just trying to point at the button that read No Lettuce (there was a button for that, really?). He wondered if this guy was one of those stupid people who didn't eat proper vegetables and tried to argue that V8 counted towards a healthy diet. Romano's vein twitched again as he hit the No Lettuce button and tried to stamp out the mental image of Alfred drinking a V8. No, Alfred would look much better drinking a tall glass of water or–
Romano stopped himself right there.
"And don't forget the extra sauce," Alfred was saying, gesturing at yet another modification button.
"Huh?" Sauce? This guy better not be asking for extra of that mayo-crap that Americans seemed to love. So help him...
"You know, In-N-Out's special sauce!" the blond said, flashing his perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth. His glasses had slid down his nose from all of the leaning, and, still smiling, Alfred reached up to push them back, a move that Romano did not at all find charming.
He stuttered. "O-oh, right," he replied, hitting Extra Sauce. What the hell was happening? He never stuttered! This crazy bastard was just invading his personal space and making him uncomfortable. That was all! His cheeks were in no way feeling warm, no way.
"What else, bas–um, sir?" he asked, catching his slip-up and hoping Alfred hadn't noticed.
He hadn't. "You can just call me Alfred, you know," he chirped. "That's why it's named the Alfred Special, after all!"
"I know that!" Romano huffed. "Now get on with your order; I haven't got all day!" Not like the place was busy or that there was a line starting (Romano hadn't noticed how Liz had been redirecting every new customer to her register, while watching the two men with a sort of hungry look...), but still! There were only thirty two minutes left of his first shift, and it would be a miracle if both Romano could make it through without being fired and if Alfred could finish ordering by then.
Alfred laughed again–and would he please stop doing that? Romano's chest flipped every time, and the encouraging way that Alfred was smiling was so infectious that he almost found the corners of his own mouth turning upwards and–
No, no no no no, no. Romano quickly went back to scowling. Alfred was annoying, not adorable. Not adorable, like that cute dimple in his left cheek whenever he smiled like he was doing right now–
Definitely not adorable!
"Would you get on with it!" Romano hissed, furiously stomping down his fluttering nerves.
Alfred frowned at Romano's vicious tone. "Dude, chill, I'm just trying to be friendly," he offered, looking like a kicked puppy. Shit.
Romano felt terribly guilty, but he wasn't sure how to correct that without damaging his pride. "I, erm... Uhh, so what's the rest of the special... Alfred?" he asked awkwardly, chest tightening at the way the blond immediately bounced back upon hearing his name.
"I like the cheese to be nice and melty," he continued, flexing his fingers as if that justified any sort of meltiness mental picture Romano might need.
"Uhh, right..." He couldn't find any sort of 'meltiness' button, so Romano had to manually type in a note for the guys prepping the orders.
"Sometimes they don't put the cheese on early enough, so then it doesn't melt to perfection by the time the meat is done, and you're stuck eating this rubbery stuff," Alfred explained. Romano had no idea what he was talking about, since he abhorred anything hamburger, but he nodded if only to avoid unnecessary and unwanted explanations.
Was that all? No wait, something else... "Something about onions...?" he asked, tilting his head.
"Right! Go easy on the onions. And if they look bad, tell 'em to skip that part," Alfred instructed, watching Romano type in another manual command.
He looked up expectantly. "So, that's it right?" he asked, checking over the order. Everything looked correct... Well, as correct as it could be with Alfred's weird, special instructions.
"Yup! Oh, wait," Alfred said, snapping his fingers. "Don't forget to hold the tomatoes."
…
"What."
Perhaps Romano hadn't heard him correctly.
"Huh?" the blond asked, as if his previous statement had been a perfectly normal comment.
"Can you repeat that." Romano gritted his teeth, trying to remain patient. Surely, it was a mistake.
"You mean the 'no tomatoes' part?"
"Yes. That."
Alfred's smile fell marginally. "Yeah, I don't want any tomatoes. They're slimy and gross."
What. The. Actual. Fuck.
"Haha, dude, your face is getting really red... Shit, man, are you okay?" the blond asked, going from amused to concerned and reaching across to place a worried hand on the cashier's shoulder.
Romano wouldn't be surprised if steam was coming out of his ears right now. 'Hold the tomatoes.' 'They're slimy and gross.'
Alfred's hand on his shoulder was warm and heavy, and Romano wasn't sure if his face was turning red from anger or embarrassment, perhaps both. He clutched at Alfred's wrist dangerously, intended to pry the man's hand off his body. And maybe he'd rip it off Alfred's body, too, while he was at it. That sounded like a good idea.
"What the fuck do you have against tomatoes, bastard?"
The blond jerked back, though his wrist was still caught in Romano's grip, so he couldn't get very far, his upper body still stretched out over the counter.
"I... what?"
Romano growled. "I said, What the fuck do you have against tomatoes?"
Alfred's blue eyes were wide with confusion and anxiety. "What do I... Well, like I said, they're gross. All slimy and such, I don't want that on my burger. It'll ruin the taste."
"Tomatoes are fucking delicious," Romano argued, squeezing the tan wrist harder and getting somewhat annoyed when Alfred didn't even flinch. Did this guy have wrists of steel or something?
Alfred rolled his eyes. "Well, yeah, but that's what ketchup is for."
Oh hell-to-the-fucking-no.
"Bastard, you take that back!" he shouted, not caring if they were overheard. "Don't you dare compare the magnificent taste of a beautiful, ripe tomato to the God-awful abomination that is ketch-up." He spat the word out venomously so that his meaning wasn't lost on the blond. "How could you possibly refuse the luscious flavor of a perfect tomato in favor of... Caro Dio, non riesco nemmeno a dirlo!"
Alfred stared at him, completely unfazed by the growing pressure on his wrist. Then he laughed, and it was so loud and boisterous that Romano's rage wavered, and his grip slipped off of the wrist he'd been trying to squeeze to death. Why the hell was that dumbass laughing?!
"So you're like, what, Italian or something?" he chuckled, smiling down at the brunette. He leaned in again, their noses accidentally bumping and sending Romano scrambling backwards. "Haha, that explains it! Well, sort of. But really, why so defensive?"
Romano's heart was pounding. Probably with anger. Not because their faces had been so close together or anything. "Huh...?"
"I mean, what are you, the tomato fairy?" Alfred asked seriously, furrowing his brows. "Why do you care so much about tomatoes?"
Romano really didn't feel like sharing his childhood story about growing up in Italy and about the little tomato garden on their tiny balcony or how almost all of the recipes his grandfather had taught him included tomatoes; he really didn't feel like sharing that story with Alfred of all people (or with anyone, really). So, he didn't have a good answer for that question.
"Because... Well... Then why do you hate tomatoes, hmm?" he countered, crossing his arms.
Alfred blinked owlishly. "I never said I hate tomatoes."
Romano flushed with anger and impatience. "Argh! You just said–"
"I said I don't want tomatoes on my burgers because they're slimy and gross," the blond corrected, interrupting what was sure to be another rant, probably half of it in Italian. "I don't hate tomatoes in general, just sometimes. Like here, the tomatoes tend to be poor quality. Maybe if they were fried tomatoes, I'd consider it. But that's why I skimp on the lettuce, onions too, sometimes. Fast food has shitty vegetables, you know?"
"Fast food has shitty everything," Romano grumbled under his breath, trying not to feel mollified at Alfred's reasonable explanations. Though it was very hard, when Alfred was grinning cheekily at him from under lowered lashes.
"Your face is getting red again," the man noted. "Should I brace myself for more Italian declamations?"
Romano swatted at him to get out of his personal space, flushing with embarrassment. "Oh do shut up," he snapped, though it sounded more amused than angry. Alfred thought so too, if that damn grin was any indication.
"All right, so no shitty tomatoes," Romano said, clearing his throat. "Will that complete your special order?"
"Hahaha, heck no, dude!" Alfred beamed. "That's just the burgers! Okay, so next, I want three orders of French fries–"
Romano made a noise of disgust.
"What!" the guy asked disbelievingly. "What could you possibly have against potatoes?!"
Romano deadpanned, "Everything."
"It's not like you're the one eating them," Alfred huffed, smiling despite what he was hearing.
"Damn straight."
"So what do you eat?" the blond inquired, watching intensely. Was Alfred really that interested in the answer?
Romano scoffed. "I eat real food. You know, meals made from actual, fresh ingredients. None of this instant crap." He gestured towards the kitchen with his hand.
Alfred looked thoughtful for a moment, before shrugging and continuing with his order. "So that's two 4x4's, sans tomatoes etc– " He grinned when Romano's brow twitched. "–and three orders of fries. Also, I want two extra-large chocolate milkshakes."
"...our shakes only come in one size," he responded tonelessly, not trusting himself to say anything else without possibly needing to strangle the man.
Alfred winked. "Just make a note; they'll know what I mean," he said cheerfully. "I come here a lot."
He again resisted rolling his eyes. "I can tell. So... does that finally complete your order?" he asked, ready to be done. Done with this customer, done with this shift, done with this job.
The man's grin could only widen. "That completes the Alfred Special, but I'm not done with my order just yet. I'd also like another chocolate shake, regular size, and a cheeseburger with–"
"How could you possibly want more food?" Romano interrupted exasperatedly. "Are you going to save it for later or something?" He looked horrified. "Don't tell me you're actually going to eat all of it right now..." Alfred must be some sort of mecha-human with a bottomless pit for a stomach.
He looked decidedly smug. "Of course not. I'm only getting the Alfred Special. The rest is for someone else."
"Oh."
Romano didn't like the way his stomach dropped, or the way his fingers clenched the register. Of course Alfred couldn't eat all of that by himself, what a stupid thought. Of course there was someone else. Alfred wasn't the type of guy who'd be single. Not with that perfect forehead and strong jawline and beautifully blue eyes.
Not that Romano was paying attention to these sorts of details– Oh, who was he kidding? Alfred was stunning, even if his tastebuds were out of whack. Romano would have to be blind not to notice the blond's dashingly good looks.
He didn't even realize he was staring at the floor until gentle fingers tucked under his chin and lifted his head up to meet Alfred's warm gaze.
"So make that a cheeseburger with extra tomatoes, the least shitty ones available," Alfred told him, smiling brilliantly.
Romano's throat was suddenly dry. "Wha-aat?"
"Only the best shitty tomatoes for you, Romano," he chuckled, his fingers grazing Romano's chin as he pulled his hand back.
His brain felt fuzzy. "Che cosa?"
"I want you to eat lunch with me, Romano," Alfred said. He seemed to realize that sounded a bit demanding. "I mean, will you have lunch with me?"
No fucking way, is what Romano normally would have responded with. But he faltered under Alfred's wide, optimistic eyes and pleading pout. He stared at those lips slightly longer than he should have, and he caught Alfred wetting them with anticipation.
For your answer, idiot! Not for–
"I..."
Alfred's hands were clasped together as he leaned over the counter eagerly.
Romano blushed hotly under that gaze, as he understood that the someone else he'd been worried about earlier was actually him. No, no, he hadn't been worried! Romano didn't care about this man and he wasn't interested in eating greasy, unhealthy meat with him!
"I... I still have twenty minutes left on my shift," he finally answered, weakly.
Alfred immediately deflated. "O-oh, right... Well, what about after that?"
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I, uhh, probably shouldn't eat where I work..." It was a lame excuse, even to his own ears.
His supervisor Liz, who, up until then, had been watching contentedly from the side lines, decided to step in and help out both boys.
"Vargas!" she barked, startling the both of them. "Do you really intend to keep working here?"
Romano shifted on his feet. "Well, I..."
"It's only your first day, and already I can most assuredly tell you that you are, in fact, the worst new employee we've ever had," she told him, smiling bizarrely.
Romano blanched. Well fuck you too, he thought. But shit, he needed this job. He'd be kicked off the scholarship without it.
"You're firing me?" he asked, trying to look intimidating but failing horribly. Alfred glanced between the two workers worriedly.
Elizaveta eyed him coolly. "I'm suggesting you quit," she replied evenly.
"You know I can't! I need this job," he argued, refusing to beg. "And you need workers!"
She laughed dryly. "I think we'll manage without you."
Romano was seething, but he was also panicking on the inside. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Now he was going to have to find another job, probably as shitty as this one, and what if he didn't get one by next week–?
"You need a job?" Alfred piped up.
"Yes," Romano fizzled. "Though I don't see how it's any of your business–"
"We're looking for a shelver at the campus bookstore," Alfred continued, starting to look hopeful again. He seemed to read Romano's mind when he added, "You wouldn't be fetching textbooks for students or anything, just organizing the books and straightening the aisles, putting out new school merchandise, things like that. It's only part time, but if you want it..."
Romano's head was spinning. "But... don't I need to interview... or something?" he asked, aware of how intently his current supervisor was listening in. He really couldn't afford to lose this job unless he had another one.
Alfred grinned. "Well, yeah, normally. Buuut seeing as I'm the one in charge of hiring... I don't think it will be a problem."
He felt he should have argued about workplace favoritism, but Romano really hated the fast food industry. Really hated it.
He turned to Elizaveta. "I quit."
She smiled, before fixing him with a stern look. "All right, Vargas, I'll accept your resignation. Just finish that order and clock out. I'll go fix up your paperwork." She winked and hurried off. The paperwork could wait, she was totally going to watch this from the security cameras!
Romano watched her go, feeling elated and immensely relieved. Hearing someone clear their throat, he turned back to find Alfred twiddling his thumbs.
"So... are you going to put in my order?"
Well fuck, he couldn't exactly say no now, could he? Not that he wanted to.
"Fine," he grumbled, trying to sound indifferent. "I suppose I could... eat lunch with you. But you're paying the extra charge for a shit-ton of those shitty tomatoes!"
The blond laughed. "If you say so, Romano. Though I warn you, they're pretty bad. I told you, I like tomatoes but only when they're proper."
Romano rung the order through and took off his apron satisfyingly, hanging it on a rack. He moved to take off his hat as well, but Alfred held up a hand.
"Wait! Keep that," he urged.
"Why the hell would I want to keep this?"
Alfred twiddled his fingers again, his cheeks pink. "It, umm... looks good... on you..."
Romano blushed. He removed the soda jerk hat, but made a show of folding it and stowing it in his backpack once he'd gotten that out of his locker. By the time he'd found Liz and forced her to fetch him the paperwork (why had she been watching the security cameras?), turned in his locker key, and come back out to the front, Alfred was waiting in a booth with a food-laden tray.
Alfred had been right: the tomatoes tasted like shit.
"I did try to warn you," he chuckled, noticing Romano's grimaces as he chewed.
"And I even made Gilbert sort through and pick out the best-looking ones," he replied, despondent. His eyes flashed with determination and passion for his favorite fruit. "That settles it. Next time, I'm picking the place, and you can be damn sure that the tomatoes will be fucking amazing."
Alfred, busy slurping up his shake, practically buzzed with excitement. "Okay! Looking forward to it," he agreed, and his handsome smile made Romano's heart beat go haywire.
Although Alfred's pleasurable company wasn't enough to stifle the nauseating taste of greasy meat and cruddy vegetables, it did make the meal tolerable, and the chocolate shake was even tasty.
In the months to come, Romano found himself being dragged to In-N-Out Burger at least once a week. He just couldn't say no to Alfred's adorable pout and romantic excuse of first meetings.
He did, however, convince Alfred to start putting the red fruit back on his cheeseburgers. They might taste like shit, but if Romano had let slip once that he thought it looked sexy to watch his boyfriend eat a burger piled with tomatoes ("O-only a little, you bas-stard!"), Alfred was willing to make the sacrifice.
.
Caro Dio, non riesco nemmeno a dirlo! - Dear God, I can't even say it!
Che cosa? - What?
Welcome to Fried Tomatoes, where I will house all of my short Romerica one-shots! So far this will be rated T for Romano's foul mouth and hints at sexual content.
This pairing is one of my favorite OTPs, flanked on either side by USUK and Spamano. America and Romano are my two favorite characters, so I naturally drifted towards the crack pairing that features them both... I also blame Coffee-Flavored Fate and her fantastic stories for fueling this ship of mine.
This is my first story for Hetalia, and I hope you enjoyed it! I have more Romerica stories planned (both for this collection and to be posted separately), and I also have a few Spamano ideas I've started writing. Please drop a line and let me know what you think!