Tomato Days
A/N: I don't own Hetalia Axis Powers, you crazy people. I wouldn't be writing on a fanfiction site if I did. :P
"Why is it you love him again?"
It was a question Antonio could never really answer. Lovino was rude, loud-mouthed, lazy, clumsy, and hated taking responsibility. He was constantly flirting with women, and yet insulting Antonio himself. The Italian was insecure, overbearing, and in denial. He never had a single nice thing to say, and his real thoughts and feelings had to be wheedled out of him painstakingly.
So why did he hold such affection for the young man?
Maybe it was the way he blushed so bright when he realized Antonio knew exactly what he was thinking; discovered the embarrassing truth behind Lovino's heated words. Maybe it was the way he looked when he finally drifted off to sleep; innocent, peaceful, and completely content with himself. Perhaps it was the way he was when cooking; bustling busily through the kitchen, the precise movements and the way the white apron laid against his thin form. Or it could be the way he got upset when Antonio forgot part of their daily ritual. The way he would mutter angrily to himself when Antonio came home late and dinner went cold, or how he would alternately shout his anger and denial of caring when Antonio didn't kiss him goodnight. Or maybe the embarrassed way Lovino had hidden a Spanish jersey he had been wearing when Spain came home after the 2010 World Cup victorious and giddy. Or how Lovino would mutter and grumble after every failed attempt to embarrass Germany. Perhaps it was the way that the brunette's native language rolled smoothly off his tongue when he was upset; for to Antonio, even Lovino's rage was beautiful when expressed in Italian. Then again, it could also be because of the few times that Lovino would speak to Antonio in Spanish; normally in awkward, backhanded compliments.
But no… What Antonio liked the very, very best was when he and Lovino were out in the garden, weeding and watering, and picking juicy red tomatoes.
Because when he thought no one was looking, Lovino's eyes would light up with childish joy and wonder, and he would lovingly stroke the leaves of the tomato plants. And if he listened very closely, Antonio could even hear his lover whisper words of encouragement to the tiny plants in Italian.
Grow strong, he would tell them. Grow up big, so you will have loads of beautiful tomatoes.
And, pretending not to hear, Antonio would turn away, smiling to himself.
He knew that Lovino loved those tomatoes. That he saw himself in them, somehow. Because, he had had to work hard too. Work hard to overcome how everyone liked his brother better. Overcome his defensive bad attitude. Overcome his embarrassed shyness. Overcome his clumsiness; how he never seemed, in his own eyes, to be able to do anything right.
Yes, Lovino was very strong; something that he never seemed to be able to see himself. And so Antonio would smile and take the verbal abuse, knowing inside that they were only jumbled words of embarrassment, a defensive reaction, a way to feel strong. He knew that what Lovino truly, truly wanted to say was something deeper, something loving. But Antonio didn't need him to force himself. No, he could hear, loud and clear in the tomato-red blush that crept upon the other's cheeks every time Antonio called him 'Lovi'. In the way Lovino would always call Antonio's name when he was frightened. In the way he tried so, so hard to do things 'right'. In the way that he held Antonio's hand, and the way he smiled to himself when Antonio complimented his cooking, and the way he whispered goodnight so softly that he didn't think Antonio would hear.
So Antonio would simply smile and shrug his shoulders.
"He's my little tomate."
