A/N ;; Guys, I can proudly say that I take most of my stories with some degree of seriousness, but this one… Haha, nope. There is very little thought into this story. This story is made purely for my own amusement, mostly for shits and giggles, based off of the question I had asked myself, which was, What would it be like for Romano and Canada to room together, as flatmates? And thus, I couldn't resist the urge to write a fic about the idea. This story will be lighthearted – if you're looking for a story that is drama-filled, emotional, and covers the more serious aspects of life… Well, you won't find it here, that's for sure…

But I'm hoping you guys will stick around anyway. This is going to be fun for me.

Remember to review to encourage the authoress!


Tell Me Something I Don't Know

…o…

Chapter One

…o…


"Where the fuck is the milk?"

Nervously gulping down another spoonful of his cereal and the very last of the milk, Matthew Williams looked up from the kitchen island, glancing between his flatmate and the mentioned milk sitting just beside him arm. "Um…" he mumbled weakly, shrugging lightly. He had used the rest of the milk for his cereal, but he had a feeling his flatmate already knew that. "I don't know?"

Light brown eyes were narrowed at Matthew as his flatmate shot him an accusing glare from where he stood at the refrigerator. Lovino Vargas was not a morning person, and this was something Matthew had learned very quickly from the last month he had spent living with the Italian. In the morning, he was a walking bad mood waiting to lash out at anybody or anything (even more so than usual), clad in a sleeveless black shirt and green boxers, glaring death at anyone who happened to look at him funny.

Matthew averted his eyes. God forbid he look at Lovino without a good reason to.

Bad mood personified walked towards Matthew, a deep scowl marring his features. Matthew winced inwardly, preparing himself for the verbal lashing he was sure to receive from Lovino's mouth – but, much to his surprise, he was left mostly unscathed. All Lovino did was snatch the loaf of bread sitting on the island counter and walk back to the toaster, throwing a backwards glance at Matthew as the Canadian sighed in relief.

"Whew," Matthew muttered, shooting a relieved glance down to Napolitano, their Neapolitan Mastiff puppy, who, Matthew was pretty sure, was watching their entire interaction. Big brown eyes blinked up at him, long pink tongue hanging out between wrinkled lips, and a trail of drool coming from the corner of his mouth.

Well, actually, Napolitano wasn't their puppy. He was more of Lovino's.

Lovino had brought home the dog one night after work, grumbling about how he had picked Napolitano up from a box lying on the street. "He's here to guard me from the fucking German," Lovino had said when Matthew had begun to ask questions, and before the Canadian had had any more time to question his random act of kindness, Lovino had shoved the dog into his hands and retreated into the shower.

As the dog had proceeded to lick his face, Matthew had been surprised for two reasons that night.

One; he couldn't believe people still left dogs in boxes on the street. How old-fashioned was that?

Two; the same Lovino Vargas, who actually enjoyed watching poor zebras being eaten by crocodiles on National Geographic, had actually saved an animal's life, despite enjoying watching the demise of many. That was the night he had figured out just how strange Lovino really was, and had only begun to realize just what he had gotten himself into when he had agreed to live with him.

Of course, Matthew had ended up washing the poor dog that night – but that was to be expected, and he didn't really mind. He liked dogs. And besides, Napolitano reminded him of his old dog, Kumajirou, from back home. It was like having another little reminder of his old life with him. Alfred had better be taking good care of Kuma, he thought. I'll kick his ass if he isn't.

Alfred, his near twin brother and other half, lived in Dallas. When Matthew had initially announced his moving away, Alfred had offered to take Kumajirou off his hands temporarily. The original flat Matthew had gotten didn't allow animals, but by the time he had found his job, and therefore Lovino, who had come with it, Peter, the brothers' younger cousin, was already too attached to Kumajirou for Matthew to think of taking him away.

Seeing Peter and Kumajirou together made a little part of Matthew's heart each time he saw them, but if Alfred let anything happen to his dog, he was going to kill him, no questions asked. And if Alfred had thought Matthew looked scary when playing hockey… He knew nothing. He was going to make his brother bawl.

He just hoped Peter wouldn't be there to witness it. He didn't want to scar the poor boy.

There was a small ring from the toaster as the bread popped out, lightly browned and crispy. Carefully, Lovino picked them out of the machine and dropped them onto his plate. He walked over to the island, balancing a knife, the butter, and strawberry jam in his other hand. Matthew watched the Italian from the corner of his eye, not bothering to attempt to strike a conversation as they shared breakfast together.

For the past month, they had eaten breakfast together every single morning, almost all of them silence – well, except for the occasional, "Milk," or "Butter," or even better, "Milk and butter. Give it."

And Matthew was just fine with that. It didn't bother him in the slightest.

He didn't have a problem with Lovino, but sometimes, it seemed that Lovino had some kind of problem with him. Unlike most people, both Lovino and Matthew's younger brothers respectively being each a key example, who would want to find out why they were being despised, Matthew didn't really care. Sure, being cussed out, the occasional remark or snide comment was annoying – but Lovino didn't steal his things, didn't harm him, and he didn't hog the television.

Matthew didn't see the need to waste time finding out exactly why Lovino seemed to hate him, when it was likely going to lead back to Lovino hating him even more than he already did, and maybe worse, heightening the chance of him hogging the television – and Matthew absolutely hated missing an episode of The Rick Mercer Report or a hockey game.

He knew the Toronto Maple Leafs would win another Stanley Cup. He just had to be patient. Their drought would end soon enough.

He knew they would win eventually.

But back to Lovino…

His head was bowed in concentration, his dark hair falling over his eyes as he sliced the crust off his toast. Lovino didn't like bread crust for whatever reason; something that Matthew found pretty weird was that Lovino removed the crust after he toasted the bread, while any normal person would peel it before the bread was toasted.

But then again, he was Lovino – and he was a pretty weird, moody person already. Matthew probably shouldn't have expected anything less.

After living with Alfred for the first eighteen years of his life, nothing really surprised him anymore.

Matthew swallowed the rest of his cereal as he watched Lovino lay out the strips of bread crust on the side of his plate. "You know," he said softly, propping his elbow on the counter as he cradled his head in his hand. "The bread crust is healthier than the rest of the bread."

Lovino looked up at him briefly. "You can have it," he said evenly, picking up the strips of bread and holding them out to him.

Sighing, Matthew shook his head. "Never mind," he mumbled, taking the bread. "Thanks for the leftovers, by the way."

Lovino only scoffed as he spread butter over his toast.

Hearing soft, padded steps, Matthew looked down at Napolitano, who was sitting patiently beside his leg, looking up curiously at the dangling strips of bread hanging from Matthew's fingers. The Canadian waved the bread back and forth in the air, laughing softly at the dog's head followed the bread.

"Here, Napo," he said, finally dropping the bread to the ground, watching as Napolitano eagerly ate. He knew the shortening of Napolitano's name kind of annoyed Lovino, as he would frown every time he heard it, but Matthew couldn't really find it in himself to care that much. He used it purposely a lot, anyway. "At least you don't waste food."

He jerked a thumb over his shoulder towards his Italian flatmate, and through his mind, he told Napolitano that his owner, Lovino, was the guy he was talking about.

And Matthew knew that Napolitano understood him because he nodded.

Or maybe he just wanted more bread.

No, Matthew was pretty sure it was a nod of understand. He and Kumajirou had used to have little signals like that all the time. He knew what they meant.

Matthew could feel that Lovino was watching him, feeling a burning sensation on the back of his head. As he looked back, yes, he was able to confirm that Lovino was indeed staring at him. He was leaning against the counter, holding his toast, and chewing it as he watched his flatmate send telepathic messages to his dog. His hazel eyes were narrowed, as if he were wondering why he had gotten stuck living with such a strange person.

"Yes?" Matthew asked, bringing Lovino's eyes to him, slipping off the stool and taking his empty bowl with him.

"Nothing," Lovino muttered quickly, red springing up in his cheeks, looking away as he took another bite of his toast. Bread crumbs stuck to the corner of his lip and he turned his gaze to looking out the window instead.

"We better hurry," Matthew said from where he stood at the sink, turning on the tap and beginning to scrub his bowl clean quickly. "We might be late for work again. Belle will kill us."

Lovino made some kind of noncommittal grunt as he finished the last his toast, walking over to the sink and shoving his plate into Matthew's chest before leaving the kitchen. He picked up Napolitano as he went, balancing him in his arms and bringing him with him, allowing Napolitano to the last of the bread crumbs off his face.

"Come on, Napolitano," he said. "Time to go to work."

"Hey, where are you going?" Matthew called after him, still gripping Lovino's plate in his hand. He held it up and waved it in the air, ignoring the crumbs that dropped to the floor. "I'm not washing your plate."

"Your turn for the dishes," Lovino replied curtly, tossing Napolitano up in the air and catching him easily.

Matthew squeezed the sponge in his hand. "Right," he grumbled.

How the hell had he even gotten into this mess?

"Now you better hurry your ass up, or we'll be late. Again. Because of you."

Matthew squeezed the sponge even tighter, watching Lovino retreat into his bedroom with Napolitano.

What a bastard.


A/N ;; Tell Me Something I Don't Know will probably be one of the first stories I update once I have my internet set up in my new apartment. I really have a good feeling about this story, and it amuses me, very much so. I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter as much as I did writing it.

Neapolitan Mastiffs, by the way, are fucking adorable.

Napolitano, current president of Italy… Welcome to Fanfiction!

Stay awesome, guys.