"Ve?" Feliciano mumbled, thinly-trimmed auburn eyebrows rising in mild confusion. "You mean you're both here to apply for a job?"

"You bet, Mr. Vargas!" proclaimed a rather obnoxious voice from before the Italian. In the doorway stood two men, nearly identical in appearance- twins, Feliciano had decided. One of them, the taller of the two and the one who had spoken, leaned nonchalantly against the cleanly-glossed doorframe, finger pushing his spectacles further up the bridge of his nose. He beheld a striking sapphire gaze, only intensified by the slim black rims of his glasses. The man's attire seemed a bit too casual for the situation; saddled upon his back was an aged, tan bomber jacket, draped over his broad shoulders in an informal fashion. However, beneath said jacket, he was also clad in a decently-tailored black suit.

His companion held so much unbelievable comparison to the other that Feliciano had the utmost difficulty guessing which would apply, thus the conclusion that both were signing up for the job. The companion had slightly longer ginger hair, as opposed to the shorter caramel blond of his twin, and his eyes were a shade more violet, but these facts aside they were identical. Well, the other man clearly refused to wear anything too unceremonious for his application, and wore a simple suit and tie. A little curl, similar to the Italian's, dangled neatly away from his face. "Hello, sir," he muttered, though Feliciano was forced to strain himself to even attempt to hear this man's inaudibly soft voice. "My name is Matthew Williams, and this is my brother, Alfred Jones… He is from America, and I am from Canada."

"Aw, Mattie! You just ruined my first impression!" Alfred whined, but beamed a smile in his new boss's direction, flashing him a glimpse of perfectly straight, white teeth. "But, yes, my name is Alfred… Alfred Franklin Jones, if you want to be all fancy about it. I mean, I don't know much about you rich types-"

"Alfred!" Matthew hissed in embarrassment, proceeding forward into the front hall and holding out a hand to his new employer. "I'm sorry about him, really. Might I ask your name?"

"Ah, I'm Feliciano Vargas! You don't have to call me "boss" or anything, just Feliciano's fine." He smiled warmly, if not somewhat stupidly, and skipped into the kitchen. "I have some lasagna in the oven! Want any?"

Matthew coughed into his fist, nudging Alfred with his elbow. The American grunted at his brother's sudden moodiness and took a hesitant step forward. "So, Miste- er, Feliciano? Are we going to have an interview or something?"

"Nope!" he said happily, pulling open the oven door and reaching a hand in for the lasagna. "You're hired!"

"R-Really?" Matthew stuttered, smiling in a gentle anxiety; after all, what sensible employer would hire some random foreigners in the blink of an eye? "But you don't even know what occupation we're applying for yet! We're-"

"Uwah~!" Feliciano cried out in agony, withdrawing his hand from the oven with tears of pain streaming down his cheeks. The long, slender fingers were now dappled with a reddening burn as the Italian stuck his hand desperately into the sink, twisting the faucet knob and allowing icy water to trickle across his tender flesh. He sniffled, wiping his face with the back of his sleeve.

He forgot to put on oven mitts… Matthew shook his head, sighing softly. Just what he needed- another Alfred. "You're lucky that I came here to apply for a position in the medical field. I know basic first aid, and I'm pretty good at cleaning and whatnot. Let me have a look at your hand."

Feliciano whimpered, placing his hand lightly atop the counter, wincing as the Canadian picked it up into his own grasp to further examine it. "Ve… So you're like a maid?"

"N-No!" Matthew sighed in exasperation, returning his attention to his brother. "Alfred, do something useful and grab a few bandages from my briefcase."

"Sure thing, Mattie!" And with those final words, the American bolted off.

"O-Ow, it hurts~!" Feliciano choked back a few more tears, flinching as Matthew's chilly fingers draped themselves over his burn. "Oh… my lasagna's gonna burn, too. Lovino would be so mad at me…"

"Lovino?"

"Ve, Lovino's my older brother! He moved out a few days ago to live with his fiancée, Antonio. They're getting married in a few months!"

Matthew's face fell, a somber aura engulfing his entirety. "Marriage, huh? Hm. I hope…" His voice gave a brief tremble. "I hope that everything works out for them alright. Marriage can be somewhat… difficult."

"Hm? Have you been married?"

"Once. Truth be told, my name should be Matthew Jones, now. However, since my divorce from my lover, I have yet to accept my old name back. Suppose it's just stuck with me."

"But… how old are you?"

"Twenty. I married much too young. Oh, confound it, Alfred! What's taking so long?" he shouted down the hall, grimacing at the shrill clatter of shattering glass that echoed from beyond the kitchen. No response sounded from the other room. "Alfred?" he called out once more. The only remaining noises were the ticking of the grandfather clock and the whining erupting from Feliciano's trembling lips. "I'm sorry, sir, just wait here." With those final words, Matthew stood from his spot on the barstool and readjusted his glasses upon his nose, boots clacking against the unique marble flooring as he proceeded into the front hall once more.

The sight that appeared before his eyes, however, certainly was not what he had previously anticipated. Alfred stood, a perplexed horror plastered upon his face, azure eyes gawking at an object upon the floor. Following his gaze, the Canadian glanced downward as well and felt a gasp hitch in his throat, threatening to emit in the form of a distresses shriek. A knife stood erect in the light of the setting sun, a glint cast upon the floor beyond by its tarnished blade, stabbing into the carpet below. Surrounding its form splayed a mosaic of gleaming glass shards, millions of little sharp edges jutting out upon the floor. Alfred stood in the middle of them, panting heavily in alarm, unwavering in fear of the jagged debris cutting into his own flesh.

And, pinned beneath the serrated end of the blade, a tomato was held in place against the floor. Matthew said nothing, did nothing, and comprehended nothing, as his gaze averted to his brother once more before allowing it to follow the hilt of the knife, which had been tainted with dark crimson splotches. "T…Tomato juice?" he managed to utter, voice nearly inaudible.

Alfred inhaled sharply, bending down to remove the weapon from its vessel in the carpet. Hesitantly, he brought the hilt up to his face and gave a little sniff. "No…" he muttered, wide grin long since dissipated. "It's not."

"My God…" Matthew tore his gaze away, meeting the horror-stricken eyes of his new master.

"L-L-Lovino?" Feliciano piped, spotting the gouged tomato lying on the ground, its juices seeping out onto the glass-covered floor. Romano had always had a thing for tomatoes. "Is he…?" All but negligent of his burn wound, the rich Italian screamed out in terror and raced back into the kitchen, tears streaking his face once more. Ignoring the sharp sting it brought his burnt hand, he latched his grasp onto the telephone hanging upon the wall and dialed his brother's number, desperation shimmering in his eyes. Matthew and Alfred watched from afar, a pang of empathy striking them both rather crudely in the chest as the master of the household all but broke down in panic and anguish.

The phone rang once.

It rang twice.

It rang thrice. And upon the fourth ring, Lovino's voice sounded.

Feliciano's face glowed, radiant as the morning sun after a long night of dreary gloom. "L-Lovino! I was so afraid-"

"You have reached Lovino Vargas. I can't come to the phone right now, so leave a message after the beep. If you don't, then why the hell did you even bother calling?" The ever-ominous beep blared out from the other end, struck Feliciano's heart once, and the phone promptly hit the floor.

"F…Feliciano…?" Matthew whispered, shivering from the chills of trepidation within. "Are you… are you alright, sir? Would you like me to get you a seat?"

"V-Ve… My lasagna's burning! Get out of the way!" he exclaimed, dashing forward and towards the oven. A cloud of black smoke buffeted out of the door as the Italian nobleman grabbed an oven mitt and retracted the pan of blackened pasta from the heat. "Oh no, it's completely crisp. Hm… I know! I'll make some more!" And, with a skip in his step and a grin on his face, Feliciano proceeded towards the pantry.

Matthew stood, absolutely and undeniably dumbfounded. Had the man just forgotten about his brother's possible endangerment? Or was he possibly even more naïve and oblivious than the American, and honestly believed that Lovino was doing just peachy? He groaned inwardly, praying and wishing with every fiber of his being that another servant sign up with a semi-tolerable personality. "Ah, wait, Master. I really should bandage your arm first…"

"Ah! Okay!" Feliciano smiled and handed his burned fingers to Matthew, allowing the Canadian to skillfully enfold the white medical bandages over the raw flesh. "I'm not worried about Lovino. He's a big boy; he can take care of himself. Besides, he has Antonio!"

"I hope so," Alfred murmured into his sleeve, wiping a milk moustache from his upper lip as he raided the refrigerator. "Whoa, I've never seen so much food in my life! Lobster, wine… No way, is that tiramisu?!"

"Uh huh!" Feliciano stated gleefully, placing a white chef's hat upon his head, cautious to avoid his curl. "You can have some if you want!"

"What, really? Oh, thanks, Feli!" Alfred withdrew a fork from the table and stabbed mercilessly into the dessert, a blissful smile gracing his cream-laced lips. "Mhmm… This comes in a close second behind hamburgers."

The Italian smiled again and laughed contentedly. "I made it myself! I like that nickname, too! So, what are you here to be?"

"Either a chef or a butler, but you seem to have the food-making thing figured out!"

Matthew rolled his eyes mildly, a bit disconcerted with the fact that his brother and their employer were hitting it off. The more that he considered each fact, however, the more sense it made; after all, both had a blatant love for food and cuisine, and they both seemed clearly oblivious to the real world.

All the same, as Feliciano and Alfred conversed back and forth like old familiar, Matthew couldn't help but feel a certain sense of anxiety as his gaze darted back to the tomato on the floor. Oh, how genuinely did he wish to believe his master… Even so, the last thing he desired to experience was the torment and anguish that would accompany the possibly inevitable death of Lovino Vargas.

And it seemed a troublesome thing to believe that anything alternate had happened to the poor older Vargas boy.

********

Ludwig Beilschmidt leaned contentedly against the cushioned seat of the airplane, emitting a deep, fatigued sigh as he gazed distantly out the window. They would surely be approaching the Italian airport within the next half-hour or so, and thus would begin the start of life anew for the German man. This, of course, indicated that his bonding time- which usually consisted of either bickering or drinking- with Gilbert would be limited to about once a year, if that. It all depended solely on how much his skills were truly necessary for this Italian aristocrat whom he was to work under.

His mind shifted focuses, instead lingering on the topic of his to-be master. What sort of man, he couldn't help but wonder, would he be employed by? A rich Italian nobleman… surely that assured him as the organized, neat type. The last thing he preferred was to work under the authority of a complete slob, as he had already endured years of that with his brother around. Or perhaps the man would be old, wise, all-knowing… This could also be taken as unwelcoming, as well, as the image of a flabby old guy walking around naked as if it were a regular act ran rampart through his mind. A shuddering tremor traveled down his spine and distributed itself throughout the rest of his body, raising goose bumps along his pale skin.

What were the odds of his employer being a little child? Ludwig found it incredibly unlikely, though would doubt absolutely nothing after what he had been through in the past few years. Perhaps the master would be a child, and he would have to cater to every childish whim of an eight-year-old, regardless of its stupidity. The more he pondered these ideas, the more he found himself dreading the arrival. His palms began to clam up with beads of sweat, his teeth gritting in effort to restrain any signs of anxiety. Such emotional displays were against his nature, though he often found it difficult to withhold them in times of extreme discomfort.

This is ridiculous… he thought to himself, placing his head firmly in his dampening palms. Get a grip on yourself, Ludwig. He's probably a normal guy, a decade or so older than you. After all, he needs a bodyguard, so he must be at an impractical age to defend himself. Of course, this would also back up the idea of him being a child… Oh, the agonizing headache that possessed his mind! He couldn't think logically, nor could he focus on anything other than his future master. He knew not how long this would take, and such ludicrous implications were driving him up the wall.

At last, after about five minutes of mental quarrels, his brain calmed itself, allowing his eyelids to slip shut in a fatigued rest. Silence followed, peacefully allowing him to drift into a comfortable sleep…

What if he turns out to be a pedophile? Or a rapist? Or-

Oh, damn it all!

Well, almost.

At last, the all-too-cheerful woman's voice rang out from above his head, announcing that the plane was to land soon. Ludwig groaned, wincing at the continuous thoughts echoing on through his head.

Or an escaped convict? Or maybe a ventriloquist? Or perhaps a traveling carny?

As the thoughts grew more and more bizarre and outlandish, the plane's wheels met the ground with a jolt, giving Ludwig reason to bite his lip.

And so his life in Italia would begin.


A/N: Ah, I burnt the roof of my mouth on pizza a few minutes after writing Feli's burn scene. Oh, how I hate karma… And what happened to poor Lovino? Keep reading to find out!

Anyway, gimme your input! Greatly appreciated! And if you like romantic semi-crack, check out my collab project with Sakura Getsu, "Tears of Venus". It's, like, a chain reaction of couples. You'll see, once the next few chapters are up.

R&R!