Okayyyyy! Hi guys, here's my first time posting a Hetalia fanfic, hope it doesn't suck that bad. Hope I didn't have any grammar or spelling mistake inside, I suck at English D: Oh by the way. The thoughts that are italic are Lovi's thoughts.

Kay, enough of this shit and let's start getting the ball rolling!

Disclaimer: (we still have to put this?) I don't own Hetalia or the police C:

The Italian bolted past the large swarm of crowds, dodging the thriving mass of people swiftly and skillfully. Afraid to drop the packets of bread in his delicate arms, he clutched them tightly while finding a way to escape.

"Damn, they sure are persistent."

The Italian continued sprinting through the blocks of buildings and busy traffic, not long before that he felt that his legs were starting to tire from the intense running.

"Stop! Stand right there!"

Some big and burly men who were chasing for the Italian shouted, quickening their running pace to catch up with him. They were wearing caps and Prussian blue uniforms that bore the word 'POLICE'.

"Shit. I'm near my limit."

The Italian then made a U-turn into a block of elegant houses for hiding. The Italian could not run any further. His legs were burning with fatigue and he panted heavily for air to fill his lungs with. He had been speeding for more than a kilometer non-stop.

The police sure had toughened up. The Italian thought as he recalled a few years ago, those brawny police were like whiny seven-year-old kids, running for a few meters and they're there complaining stuffs. He lolled wearily on the classy painted walls of the houses, head dizzy like a top spinning, due to the hunger since morning.

Soon enough, footsteps from afar, it was full of vigor and energy, and they were advancing to where he was.

"Damn, damn, damn! I have to find another way to-"

A cold, metallic object that made contact with his back cut off his thoughts. He knew what that was.

"Fuck. Its a gun."

Feeling a little threatened, the Italian grasped the situation he was in and questioned,

"Who the bloody hell are-"

"Shut up and follow me if you still wish to live." The larger man whispered dangerously in a thick Spanish accent while his strong hands pulled the slightly built Italian into a house nearby.

After entering the house, the man freed the Italian and put back his pistol into his pocket. The Italian winced at the enormous force that hurt him at the wrists and turned back to face the man, their eyes locked; an irritated chocolate brown met a cheerful, clear emerald green. The Italian then started studying his physical features as he scanned the beaming man from head to toe. He had messy chestnut brown hair, emerald eyes full of life, eyebrows thin and arched, nose's bridge straight and perfect. His healthy pink lips were open in smiles, contrasting the slightly tanned skin tone he had. He was also taller than the Italian was, and well built at the same time. It was then he noticed the police uniform he was wearing.

"Bloody hell!" The Italian blurted out as he took a big step back, away from the police in front. "What the hell do you want?" He then brandished out his pocketknife and pointed it dangerously towards the police, threatening him to speak up.

"Whoa, whoa. Calm down!" The police responded and raised his hands up in defense. "I just saved you, didn't I?"

The Italian eyed him suspiciously, the pocketknife still in his hands. "And what's your motive?" The police blinked innocently and replied. "Motive? I have none!" He flashed the Italian a jovial smile.

"What the hell is wrong with him?"

The Italian twitched inwardly and thought.

"Well, then release me. Now." The Italian emphasized on the word 'now' and demanded.

"Wait, you do know that you're wanted outside, right? I suggest you to stay here instead. Besides, your house is a town away, sí?" the police explained convincingly, still wearing that charming smile on.

"Shit… How did this guy know so much?"

The Italian then questioned, "Are you… Spanish?" "Yup, I am!" That Spaniard replied energetically. "Could you keep that gun away? I'm not gonna hurt you or something…"

The Italian eyed the Spaniard suspiciously again, before keeping his pocketknife away. His arms were tired of holding it already anyway. The Spaniard then relaxed his raised arms and stretched one to shake hands with the Italian. "Nice to meet you, Romano. I'm Antonio, Antonio Fernandez Carriedo." His jovial smile now turned into a friendly one, still warm and cheerful, while he waited for Romano to shake his hand.

"Wait."

"HOW THE HELL DID YOU KNOW MY NAME?" Romano was dumbfounded, eyes filled with shock and unbelievable.

"How did that bastard know about me? He must be a gay stalker, or a fucking pedophile!"

The Spaniard laughed at the extreme reaction he had gotten. "Well, the police station has your profile," Antonio explained before glancing over at the clock. "Mi dios! It's already noon! It is time for lunch!" He then made his way to the kitchen and started preparing the ingredients. "Is pasta okay for you, Mi amigo?" Antonio shouted across the room.

Romano hesitated before shouting back. "...I want it with lots and lots of tomato sauce."

"Maybe freeloading a lunch from that bastard is a good idea..."

"sí, sí." Antonio continued with his cooking.

Romano settled himself on the comfy sofa and glanced at the packets of stolen bread still clutched tightly in his hands. He then placed it on the wooden coffee table which had delicate carvings on the legs, giving off a Spanish style of furniture.

"...But I have to find a way to escape and get back to Feliciano fast..."

...

And he never knew that his life would change that drastically.

A/N: The end of chapter 1~ hope it wasn't too short... I tried to make it longer but it doesn't seem to work; oh well.

Anywayyy, here are the translations:

Sí: Yes (I suppose everyone knows?)

Mi dios!: My God!

Mi amigo: My friend

Gosh, I have a Mathematics exam tomorrow and yet still I'm writing a fanfic. –smacks self-

Please review? ;-;