Gilbert and Ludwig aren't brothers. Unfortunately. They're both German though. WHY IS ROMANO SO DISCRIMINATING? It makes me feel so bad… :(

Warnings: yaoi, swearing, minimal proofreading.

Disclaimer: Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya, not me.

~.::~Antonio~::.~

The Bad Touch Trio was back together. That was bad.

Well, not really, since they had grown up over the past four years apart. Before, they had been the punk delinquents of the neighborhood, constantly beating people up, stealing girls, getting drunk, smoking, getting laid… the list was far too long. People were glad that they had settled down.

Antonio and Francis, being cousins, had obviously always been very close. You would think Gilbert felt left out, but they never thought of him as being outside the family. They were three brothers, having fun and causing havoc in town like any other brothers. Besides, Francis and Antonio weren't blood related anyway.

Francis and Antonio had met Gilbert in preschool, when Francis had been beating Antonio up (what a nice cousin, don't you think?) and Gilbert beat Francis up for Antonio. He then declared that the Spaniard was to serve as a servant under his awesomeness (yes, his ego was already that big in preschool), and when Antonio blatantly refused the German settled with being best friends. Then they went to patch a crying Francis up, and the three became the trio that they were now.

Anyway, right now they were hanging around on the street, catching up with the happenings of their years apart, both in Italy and in Spain. They found out, much to Francis' dismay, that Antonio still hadn't found a girl, and they started teasing him about being asexual, and he swiftly moved the topic to Gilbert's love life, which was… non existent. Well, if you didn't include self-loving.

Then, oh the horror!, Francis' love life. A few months before Antonio had gone to Spain, his girlfriend, a Belgian girl called Femke, dumped him out of the blue and started going out with another man. Their relationship had been a very long and intimate one, and Femke had been one of the few people Francis was genuinely in love with. When she ended it, he was so broken up, and for a period of time Antonio was worried that he would actually try to take his own life, and he and Gilbert (yes, even Gilbert was worried. That was how bad it was) had to stay with him almost 24/7 to make sure he was okay. Of course he wasn't. Even now, four years later, he still showed signs of missing her. Sure, he was always pimping with tons of other girls but they all knew that he only loved Femke.

"You know, she's back," Antonio said apprehensively, hoping he hadn't hit a sensitive point. "Back in Italy, I mean."

"Is she? What happened to Belgium?"

"Don't tell me you still miss her, Francis! It's been almost five years now! Since when does the playboy of the town mope over a simple breakup?"

There was no answer, and Gilbert glared at Antonio for bringing the awkward atmosphere down on them. He shot an apologetic look back, and mouthed an 'I tried'. Gilbert rolled his red eyes.

"So, you guys, let's go do something awesome! Antonio, my man, you have missed way too much in Spain. There is awesomeness to be created, ja?"

"Gilbert, I don't even know what you're talking about anymore."

"Haha, neither do I. Screw that, awesomeness doesn't need to be understood. It's just awesome. And smile, Francis. You look like a mopey teenage girl. Dude, so not awesome."

"Say awesome one more time, mon cher, and I will-"

"Do horrible things," Antonio happily cut in, before the Frenchman was given the opportunity to talk about his obscenities. "Gilbert's right, you guys need to show me everything that I missed!"

"Cheyeah, right?"

~.::~Lovino~::.~

"Fuck!"

said Lovino.

He swiveled round to face the driver that had almost killed him and saw a helmet. The guy was riding a motorcycle, and a new one by the looks of it. See, this was the kind of thing the gazpacho old man needed, not some hundred-year-old bike that didn't look like it could take another one of those hits. He glared at the helmet, which was tinted to hide the face behind it, then turned back to the traffic lights. They had just changed to amber, and he placed one foot on the pedals, ready to take off. Then the drunk motorcycle dude popped up next to him, and he could swear he saw the guy smirk before taking off at the sight of the green light.

"Oh no you don't!" the Italian shouted before taking off at top speed, his feet working so hard at the pedals they might have caught fire soon. Mr. Helmet turned into a small street, going way too fast to be legal, and Lovi did the same a few seconds later, no longer caring that he was going off route and was going to be late for the delivery. Right now, all he wanted to do was beat the crap out of that guy.

That was when he heard a small yelp, and the helmeted man reappeared from behind a car, with… was that a person? Lovino braked, watching in surprise as he watched a whole woman being dragged behind the motorcycle and up the slope, but he had been going too fast and instead of stopping right there, he skidded all the way over to the motorcycle and the poor bastard, knocking into the captor's hand, which let go of the woman's. Basically, Lovi unintentionally saved the random guy who was being dragged away by the random motorcycle driver.

The driver also braked, which resulted in the bike crashing into the motorcycle (oh, his boss was going to kill him) and sending both Lovi and the helmet man flying forwards. The helmet fell off in the process, and when Lovino got up, curses flying out of his mouth, he found himself face to face with none other than spider-flicking Ludwig, the infamous German. And judging by the pink tint in his cheeks and the foul smell in his breath, he was drunk. Very drunk.

"What the… Feliciano? Hi! Waaassup~~?"

"Fuck, what happened to you? I'm not my stupid gay brother, dammit! And what the fuck do you think you're doing, dragging people around the road?"

"Ve…"

"F-fuck, what d'you think you're doing? Bastard, fucking German bastard!"

"Feliciano s-said that you werout of moneh," Ludwig slurred, his head lolling from side to side. "S-so, that guy looked pretteh rich…"

"Fuck, how much did you drink?" Despite himself, Lovi was actually feeling sorry for the German, and he mentally slapped himself five million times before kicking Ludwig and dragging him up by his collar, which was hard. The guy must've weighed a thousand tons, and it didn't help that he wasn't really supporting himself. Lovi slapped him, trying to get him to wake up.

"Listen, you fucking Nazi," he growled, throwing a worried look over his shoulder at the blond woman who had just been dragged across the road. Her two friends were rushing to his side and were helping him up, and they were slowly approaching Lovino and Ludwig. "I would gladly just leave you here and let these guys handle it, but seeing as my bike is now in ruins I'm gonna have to beat you up myself, which I can't do here, can I? You hear me?" He slapped him again, and his eyelids fluttered open. "Ja… whatever you say, Feliciano…"

"And one more thing, fucking stay away from my brother, got it?" He nodded sleepily. "Now, on the count of three, I'm gonna let go, and you run for it, okay? You hear me, jackass?"

"Lovi… it's bad to swear…"

Fuck Feli, how much time have you been spending with this potato-bastard? Lovino wondered, slapping the German once more for the heck of it. Those people were coming close. "Okay, okay, come on! On three!" The German nodded and chuckled softly. Lovino leaned back, hating the smell of beer on the guy's breath

"Y-you bastard! What do you think you're doing, huh? Kidnapping people, you know you could have killed him! Fucking bastard, do you even have a brain in this blond poof of yours? Huh?" Ludwig started laughing uncontrollably, and Lovi's grip on him slackened a little, so he slipped a bit. Groaning, he pulled him back up and put up three fingers, shaking the German a little so he'd notice. He continued laughing.

"Bastard, what d'you think you're laughing at, huh?" he continued to spew insults, and at the same time slowly put down one finger. "You stupid bastard! Wait till the police get you! Dammit, I just hate guys like you!" He put down another finger, and shook him one more time before letting go.

And the stupid bastard didn't move.

He just stared at the Italian, cocking his head slightly in confusion. He looked down at his shirt, which was no longer being held by those hands, then back up and the Italian's face, unable to make the connection. "Huh?"

"Run, you fucktard!"

"Oh~~" And he did, kicking Lovi's bike and almost tripping in the process. Lovi stared, astounded, at his retreating figure, before remembering the act and pretending to chase after him. That was when he kicked the bike as well (oh, Lovi, why do you fail so miserably?) and fell over. Face first.

"Ah… SHIT!" he shouted, jumping up and brushing the dirt out of his face. "Yeah, you better run! Fucking German bastard…"

"Dude, I'm German as well," came an annoyed voice behind him, and Lovi turned to face a fucking albino, and apparently German as well. Therefore, he was evil. He was glaring at the Italian, and Lovi returned his red-eyed stare, thin-lipped and scowling.

"Are you okay?" Lovino asked the slightly limping woman, still glaring daggers at the albino. "That guy's a fucking stalker, so you're lucky to be alive." He scoffed, then turned to the completely destroyed bike. It was like someone had H-bombed the tiny metal frame, and from Lovino's mouth came a long string of cuss words as he tried his hardest to put the pieces back together. But it seemed the bike had come to the end of its long and harsh life, and remained broken. It had happened so many times before, but it wasn't going to be the same. This thing was beyond repair now.

"Fuck!" Lovino shouted, kicking the broken thing once more. A concerned squeak came from behind him, and he turned around to face the blond wom- ah, guy. With long wavy hair. What the heck? Seriously, if it hadn't been for that gross stubble covering his chin he wouldn't have been able to tell the difference. Talk about gay.

"Geez, is your bike gonna be okay? I mean, it's my fault and everything…"

"The heck are you talking about, Francis?" The albino shouted, casting a disgusted look at the Italian. "Didn't you see him with all those hand signals and shit? I bet you guys planned it all out. You just want the money for the bike repairs, don't you?"

"Go to hell, potato bastard." Lovino spat, glaring. "I just saved your friend's life, where's that gratitude, huh?"

"Why you, how dare you speak that way to the awesome me?"

"Okay guys, break it up," the third guy said, stepping out from behind Mr. Blond transsexual. Lovino cast an annoyed glare at him, expecting some other giant ego jerk. Then he saw the head of curly, brown hair, those emerald eyes, the perfectly tanned skin… his blush deepened as his eyes wandered to his chest. Thankfully, it was covered now by a thin white shirt, but still! And his eyes… they were so fucking amazing… !

He suddenly let out an incoherent shout, scaring the crap out of the others. This caught the Spanish man's attention, and recognition sparked in his green eyes as he gave a small yelp of surprise and shouted gleefully,

"Hey, you're that boy who delivered the gazpacho! Who would've known? Small world, huh?"

"Too fucking small…" Lovino muttered under his breath, the heat rising to his cheeks and staring at the floor.

"You know him?"

He nodded. "Yeah, this guy delivered this awesome gazpacho to me and forgot to get the money for it! I still have to pay you for that…" He rummaged his bag, presumably for money, but Lovino wasn't paying attention. He needed to get out of here now. Like, right now. But all hopes of escaping flew away on a shiny unicorn (courtesy of Arthur) when the Spanish man laid a hand on his shoulder, keeping him rooted in place. Lovino scowled at him, trying to wriggle himself free, but the other guy kept his hand in place, probably oblivious to the other party's struggles. He pulled out a wad of cash and handed it to him.

"Here. That gazpacho was great, by the way."

"Uh…"

"Antonio, what are you doing? Didn't you hear me when I said he was acting the whole time?"

"Were you, mon chére?" the Frenchman asked, placing a hand on Lovino's other shoulder. He suddenly felt very cramped, and swatted both their hands away, the red on his cheeks no longer only from embarrassment but from anger.

"Of course not! I'm not a fraud or anything! Geez, fuck you!"

"Oh, language," the Spanish guy, was his name Antonio?, scolded, clucking his tongue in mock annoyance. "You're not as cute when you swear, you know." The red flooded his cheeks again.

"W-what the hell? I-I'm a guy, you know! Stupid S-spanish faggot!" He was cut off by Antonio's sudden tinkling laugh; it was such a nice laugh… like little wind chimes ringing in his ears… and…

Shut up, Lovino.

He was about to scream his way out of there (like a very manly man, I assure you) when a card was thrust in his face. It was all black and shiny, with those plastic coatings that made them all smooth and probably contributed to the shininess. There were some white words printed on it, but right now the card was too close for him to read them.

"What's this?" he snarled, trying his best to glare at those (beautifully) green eyes, but failing miserably. Antonio was completely unfazed, his smile so wide he would need plastic surgery to get rid of that later.

"My business card, of course! Just in case you get in trouble with your boss~!"

"Hey, Antonio, have you been listening to me-"

"Come on, Gilbo, give the boy a break~! You can call me anytime, kay?" he added as the albino dragged him away angrily, closely followed by an increasingly horny Frenchman. Lovino was left standing there, mouth hanging open in confusion, before noticing the time and swearing loudly. He stuffed the business card angrily into his bag (out of sight, out of mind) and decided to abandon the pitiful bike, instead resorting to heaving the big bag of soup and dashing over to the customer's house.

~.::~xXx~::.~

"Unforgiveable! Completely careless! How could you be so stupid?"

Lovino winced as each word was sharply thrown at him, impaling his head like a ninja star. For once, he didn't retort; he just hoped the whole business would blow over and he could keep his job.

"I thought I could trust you! You know, I hired a weak looking guy like you 'cause I thought it'd be cheaper, but look at the mess you got me in! How am I supposed to sell anything now?"

He wanted to yell that he wasn't weak, but now wasn't the time.

"Y-you get the bike fixed, you hear me? Once it's fixed, consider us done! I don't want you working for me anymore."

Pow! The giant arrow was shot through his forehead, throwing it back as he fell backwards onto the pavement. Of course, that was all in his imagination. If only.

"Please, Mr. Zwingli! I need this job! I can't support my family without it!"

"You…" The man sighed exasperatedly, "I've tried, Vargas, and I can sympathize with your situation. Really. But reckless youth like you are simply too… well, reckless. Now remember to fix that bike."

"Do I get my money then?"

"No!"

End of conversation.

~.::~xXx~::.~

Julian and Feliciano were surprised, to say the least, when they found themselves with an armful of crying Lovino at the unholy hour of one thirty in the morning. It had been many years since he had shown any sort of weakness whatsoever (apart from all that running away), and here he was, bawling his eyes out and fussing over the loss of his job.

"Ah, it's okay, Lovi! It wasn't your fault at all, don't cry~~" Feliciano tried to reassure his brother, patting him on the back. Lovi lifted his head to face him, and Feli flinched under his harsh glare.

"Idiot, of course it wasn't –hic- my fault… It was your fucking German bastard's fault, you idiot –hic-! This is all your fault, Feli!" This brought the younger Vargas to tears as well, and Julian couldn't help but sweatdrop at the difficult situation he had just landed in.

"No, Lovi, don't blame Feli! It wasn't anyone's fault, really! Please, don't cry, boys, I'm going to cry too… please don't cry…" Soon, all three of them were sobbing into each other's arms, until Lovi gathered his senses and slapped them both in annoyance, the tears still glimmering at the corners of his eyes. "F-fuck, It was both of your faults! Bastards…" He impatiently wiped his tears away, then stormed out of the room, swearing loudly as he went to express exactly how angry he was.

And to drown out the sounds of his family's howling. Nothing hurt him more than his loved ones crying, not even that deep well of guilt bubbling at the bottom of his stomach.

~.::~Antonio~::.~

"You sure you're okay, Francis?"

"Of course I am, mon cher! There is no need to worry about moi!"

"Well you better be okay! Or I'm suing that sonofabitch!" Gilbert shouted angrily, a hint of fight glinting in his eyes.

"You don't have a lawyer, Gil,"

"I don't care! Someone as awesome as me doesn't need one!" Then he rounded on Antonio. The Spaniard smiled innocently up at him, clueless as to why his friend was being all annoyed. "And you, Antonio! Why did you give him the money and you business card? Anyone knows he planned that scene!"

"Ahaha, he was just… too cute~! Someone that cute couldn't have pulled off something like that, right?~"

His friends sighed at his naïveté, but Antonio didn't seem to notice.

"Twenty-eight and still a bumbling fool. No wonder his grandmother's having stress problems." Francis muttered. "You're helpless." Gilbert chuckled weakly in agreement.

"What are you talking about? Abuela's doing fine~! Ahaha…"

Cue awkward silence.

Francis and Gilbert turned to each other. "He hasn't changed at all, has he?"

"You're behind help, Antonio,"

Ahahaha….

~.::~xXx~::.~

"You better call me tomorrow, Antonio."

"Of course!" Antonio smiled brightly, his hand idly turning the doorknob to his house. "Geez, who do you think I am, anyway?"

"You really want an answer to that?" Gilbert asked, punching his shoulder playfully. Antonio grin widened, and he returned the punch with maybe a bit too much force. Gilbert was left massaging his throbbing shoulder while Francis pulled the Spaniard into a one-armed hug, his hand casually moving to grope his ass. Of course, it was slapped away before it reached its destination.

"Welcome back, Antonio,"

"Hehe, thanks. It's good to be back."

He watched his friends leave before returning to his house. He yawned, setting his stuff down on the table and diving onto the sofa, grinning like a young child as he bounced up and down on the cushions. What? Bouncy sofas were fun.

He was interrupted from his fun by the ringing of his cell phone. He jumped off the sofa and rushed over to the dining table and dug around for his phone, which he found in the pockets of his jacket. He quickly flipped it open and held it to his ear.

"Hola, Antonio speaking~"

"Antonio?" It was a female voice, a familiar tone to it as it spoke his name. He blinked, trying to place the voice to the face.

"Femke?"

"Yeah, it's me. I heard you got back from Spain,"

"Yeah, a few days ago. Heard you also came back. How are you?"

She chuckled, and Antonio couldn't help but smile as well. "I'm fine, thank you very much. How come you didn't call me?"

"Eh, you know, coming back after all these years can be a pain, can't it?"

"I know exactly what you mean! There's dust everywhere here!"

He laughed, imagining the small Belgium girl freaking out about the layer of dust that covered her furniture right now. Antonio had gotten Francis and Gilbert to come in while he was gone and dust the stuff (it had taken a lot of persuasion), but it still seemed so… abandoned… when he pushed that door open for the first time in four years.

He talked animatedly to Femke for some time, carefully dancing around the subject of Francis and others. While Francis and Gil had harbored only bitter feelings toward her after the breakup, Antonio had been happy to stay in contact with her. Francis may have been her ex-boyfriend, but out of the three of them, Antonio knew her best.

Finally Femke gathered enough courage to inquire about his French cousin. Antonio answered cheerfully, telling her he was fine and everything, almost oblivious to the uncomfortable silence from the other side. Almost. He might have been clueless, but he wasn't a complete fool.

They finally said goodnight, and Antonio looked cheerfully at the dark screen of his phone before going back to stretching out on the sofa.

"Ah… I suddenly feel like eating pasta… That Italian boy really was quite cute~!"

And then he fell asleep.

Drunk Germany O.o Oh gosh, that was so fun to write but… a bit disturbing… Francis=Han Yoo Joo xD I'm sorry Francis, but there was no one else to play it. And your stubble is very artistic.

Pleh… this is such an angsty chapter… arghh I'm so sorry Romano Francis Antonio Femke but it had to be done :(

Thank you so much for all the reviews :D I love you all ^^