Summary; Lovino feels in touch with the world only through his brief, sexual encounters. Desperate not to be alone, he attempts to find someone to hold onto... Only to find himself smitten with an emotionally-troubled Spaniard.

Rating; M. You should know what you're getting into, based on the summary.

Warnings for this chapter; Language.

Pairings; Spamano.

Disclaimer; I do not own Hetalia or the characters. I also do not own Somersault, the movie that this story is based off of.

Notes; I feel like a troll - just a little. C:

A sigh passed Lovino's pink lips as he pushed himself from the peeling, beige wall. Just a few steps into the living room revealed the man slumped on the couch, a hand loosely held onto the beer bottle that rested between his legs. Lovino couldn't help but watch him. Raphael's breathing was enticing – in and out, slowly and evenly, as if each one was perfectly calculated. His toned chest rose with each inhale and seemed to dramatically deflate with each exhale... He could tell that the other was asleep at the moment. He must've dozed off sometime during his soccer game, which was still playing on their small television set.

As Lovino rounded the couch, he faintly heard the crowd cheering 'Meta! Meta!' in a jubilant manner. Noting the score (7 – 1, although he didn't know who the teams were), he clicked the TV off and began to tidy up the room to the best of his ability – it was something that he'd gotten better at since his mother didn't get around to it nearly as much these days. After gently prying the half-empty bottle from the man's hand and placing it on the coffee table (away from the foot that was resting there, since Lovino didn't want to have to clean up spilt beer), he reached over and pulled the blanket from the back of the couch and over Raphael's body.

Rare as it was for Lovino to show so much care towards another, he knew how wrong it was... Especially with these blossoming feelings that he had for the man, who happened to be his mother's live-in boyfriend. Still, as his fingers gently moved a few curly locks out of the man's eyes, he couldn't help but feel his heart hammering. Ever since his mother had met the man, he became Lovino's primary caretaker – he stayed home even when Lovino's mother never was, he was the one who made sure that Lovino woke up on time in the morning and that he was properly fed. It was only natural that he began to feel close to someone who treated him so kindly, and when he began to feel a need for the other, Lovino told himself just that; 'it's only natural...'

ooo

The remainder of Lovino's afternoon was spent alone. It was one of the few times where he didn't mind it so much, because when his mother wasn't home then he had an excuse to spend the day in the company of Raphael. However, since it was Sunday, he opted to let the man rest – instead of pestering him, Lovino sat in his room, adding to his diary.

Well, it wasn't a diary, per se... That was a fucking girly way of putting it. It was more like a journal, mostly holding pictures and small snippets of writing about things that he wanted to do and places he wanted to be. Flipping through each page, it was easy to see how the Italian's goals had changed over the years. There was one picture, from when he was younger, of someone standing next to his favourite Italian model, but he had pasted his own face over that that was next to her; obviously something from when he was just a boy. There were a plethora of pictures of Italy, namely Naples, as well as pictures of him and his mother together (although through the years of having the journal, those became less and less), random clips from magazines or news papers, and even bits of his own writing. As lame as the thought was, Lovino liked to think that it was a little sneak peek into his heart – what he desired, how he actually felt and how said heart had changed over time.

Picking up the old sports magazine from his nightstand, the Southern Italian began to lazily flip through it, reaching up with his free hand to push a few stray strands of dark brown hair behind his ear as his eyes scanned over the glossy, colourful pages. "Ah hah..." He breathed out, reaching for the spare pair of scissors that he kept in his room. A contented hum flowed from his lips as he gently began to cut out the picture of some man with perfect poise, a confident smile on his face, and one arm wrapped almost protectively around his surfboard.

In all his years of living in Spain, Lovino's mother had only taken him out to the beach once. They lived further inland, closer to Madrid, and so it was always a trip that was too "out-of-the-way" to make on a regular basis. But Lovino loved the beach, and he especially loved watching the surfers glide over the waves. It looked so effortless, like they were flying, even when he could see that they were always intensely focused on what they were doing. Yet he knew that in order to be able to surf they had to have strong bodies, as well as enough courage to know that surfing was dangerous, even deadly. The Italian felt understandably jealous of these men and women, wishing that he could have the gull, strength and patience to pull off such a sport. However, he was too much a coward and far too easily frustrated to ever take on a tutor.

A small frown made its way onto the young man's face as he tipped the bottle of paste down towards the paper. He supposed that it was just one more thing that he'd never get to experience, he thought with a sigh. Instead of lingering on the subject for too long, though, he distracted himself with the task at hand. Lovino smoothed his fingers over the cut-out magazine picture, working out the wrinkles and puddles of glue that lay underneath. When finished, he used his finger nail to scoop up the excess glue that squeezed its way out from under the picture, cleaning the new page up until he felt satisfied.

Just as Lovino went to lay the journal on his desk, he heard Raphael call for him. "Just a minute!" He called back, setting the book down before running a hand through his hair (just in case). He always felt nervous when he left his journal out to dry, but Lovino felt that he would much rather risk the (very slight) chance of someone seeing what he wrote in it than having to deal with the pages sticking together and ripping. There were only two people in the house at the moment, he realised with a shrug as he exited the room, closing the door behind him as a precaution. "Si?" He asked as he rounded the corner, finding his mother's boyfriend folding up the blanket that Lovino had put over him earlier.

"It's getting pretty late; I think we should go and pick up your mother." He informed Lovino, carefully placing the blanket back over the back of the couch, where it belonged.

"Oh, shit... I didn't even realise." He pouted a bit, shoulders slumping.

"Mm, well go and put on your shoes. We're leaving soon."

"Alright..." And with that, Lovino made his way towards the front door, slipping on a pair of sandals as Raphael shuffled around the living room a moment, presumably looking for his car keys. Once he located them, Lovino proceeded out the door and towards the passenger's side of the car. Moments later, Raphael hopped in. It was practically an every-night routine, for the pair to go out to Bodega, Lovino's mother's favourite bar. She'd actually met Raphael there... Although the man wasn't one for drinking every single night, and as much as he'd tried to pull Miss Vargas out of her alcoholism, she was too damn stubborn to listen. Lovino assumed that his sticking around was the only thing he could really do for his mother. The Italian could hardly complain, if it meant that he had someone to take care of him.

For someone to actually take the time and effort to put up with Lovino seemed monumental. When Raphael first came into the picture, the feisty Italian was rude and harsh. Of course he hated the idea of his mother seeing someone! It wasn't that he thought that his father was going to come prancing back into their life, because at that point in time he wasn't naive enough to trick himself into believing that. He felt like Raphael would steal his mother away even more than the alcohol already was. Plus, he didn't want another man hurting his mother...

However, Raphael put up with him. The Spaniard had been nothing but kind and patient. When Lovino swore at him and yelled at the top of his lungs, he would simply tell him to calm down, nothing more and nothing less. After awhile, it seemed to start working (or maybe Lovino was just sick and tired of hearing him repeat the same fucking command over and over again); Lovino grew used to his mother's new boyfriend and. Even though he still often acted like it, he was well aware that he didn't hate Raphael as much as he claimed to.

Quite the opposite, actually.

Whether or not Raphael was aware of or even returned Lovino's feelings was unbeknownst to the Italian. With every single day, hiding those feelings was becoming more and more of a challenge.

ooo

"Every single time we're in the car, you do that." Raphael commented almost offhandedly.

"What?" Lovino replied almost snappishly, pouting at the other man as he pulled his gaze away from the window.

"You space out like that... What's on your mind?"

The comment caused the Italian to flush a deep red, and he looked back out the window with his lips pulled down into a frown. Was he really paying that much attention to what Lovino did in the car? He had to be, otherwise Raphael wouldn't notice... "Uhm, well," He started, trying to calm his pounding heart. "I just wonder what everyone else is thinking about, I guess. I wonder what their lives are like, how they're feeling, where they're going. Just looking at them, you can't tell, but sometimes I make up... Erm, stories." He admitted, a bit embarrassed.

Even more so as the other man laughed at him.

"You're kind of weird." Raphael commented.

Lovino glared, crossing his arms over his chest, simply letting out an indigent huff.

"But you're smart, very smart." He reassured the younger man.

Said man tried to hide how his face immediately lit up, willing away the smile that tugged at his lips. "Suck up." He muttered simply.

"I'm not." Raphael commented as he turned into the lot in front of Bodega. Lovino replied with nothing more than a slightly annoyed hum, unbuckling his seatbelt as they pulled into a parking spot. From here, Lovino knew the drill – without another word, he pushed open the passenger's side door and swung his legs to the side, easily sliding out of the vehicle.

Funny, how no one in the bar even bothered to ask who Lovino was or why he was at the bar. Being about eight at night, there were Spanish natives, as well as tourists, constantly entering and exiting the bar. It was Tapas time (Spanish bar hopping, 'ir de tapas', the span of starting after work hours were over and before having dinner), which would have made it hard for Lovino to spot his mother... If he hadn't already known exactly where she was. Trained eyes spotted her instantly, sitting in the back of the bar with a few of her friends, head tipped back as she let out a hearty laugh (he had to wonder why she never laughed like that at home anymore), not even aware that she was about to spill her wine all over the man next to her. As she calmed down and sat up in her seat, her eyes seemed to catch Lovino's instantly; he liked to think that it was her motherly instinct kicking in, but in reality it was simply because she was so used to him coming to pick her up.

Lips pursed, the woman slid off of her bar seat, holding up a finger as if to tell the group she was with that she'd be back in a moment. In spite of the slightly annoyed look that crossed the woman's face, her son gave a nervous, little smile, hands fiddling with one of the miscellaneous business cards laid out on the bar's counter.

"What are you doing here?" She asked a bit impatiently.

Lovino held back a flinch, "What do you think I'm doing here?"

"Isn't it a school night? You should be asleep."

"As if you really care." Lovino couldn't help rolling his eyes as he reached out to pull the cigarette that his mother was currently sucking on away from her fingers. The woman scowled, slapping away the boy's hand.

"Where's Raphael?" She asked.

"In the car."

"Right... You knew that I was out having a drink tonight."

He scoffed, looking away from his mother, acting like he was simply trying to wave away the cigarette smoke. It wasn't just tonight that she was "out having a drink"; it was nearly every damn night for the past three years. "Sorry..." He finally muttered, glaring down at the glossy bar-top and rocking back and forth on his heels.

There was a moment of silence between them before his mother let out a sigh, bitter cigarette smoke followed. "Alright, go wait in the car. I need to get my purse." She finally agreed, reaching over and tousling the boy's hair almost lovingly before turning on her heel and going back towards her table. Lovino watched her for only a moment as she downed the rest of her glass of wine, and then turned around himself, glad to be leaving the smoke-ridden bar.

The wet gravel crunched under his feet, further reminding him that it was Spain's rainy season, as it had been sprinkling lightly nearly all day. Not that Lovino minded the fact that it rained more in Spain than it did in Italy was actually an upside to living in this damn place. When he reached the car, he pulled open the door, a huff escaping his lips as he lowered himself into one of the backseats, scooting over until he was behind Raphael.

The Italian had to wonder if it was just his imagination when he heard the shrill squeak of the rear-view mirror being tilted down, as if to look into the backseat... And when he caught Raphael looking at him through it, a soft sigh escaping the man, he felt his heart hammer, possibly more so than it had been when he'd been called "smart" earlier.

Of course, the tiny smile that had made its way onto his lips disappeared as soon as his mother clumsily pulled herself into the car and immediately went to wrap her arms around Rahpael's neck, pulling him into a sloppy kiss. As jealousy boiled up within the Italian boy, he turned his angry scowl out towards the window, crossing his arms over his chest as he heard Raphael put the car into drive. It was sick that he would become so jealous and possessive over Raphael when the man wasn't even his; he was his mother's boyfriend... but Lovino couldn't help it. He felt like maybe, just maybe there was more to the relationship between them than a son-figure and a father-figure. Why else would someone put up with him and care for him like Raphael did?

Ending Note; I think I should clarify that Raphael is not an OC country... He's just a random Spaniard.