Author's Note:

Happy Valentine's Day! I am so late and I am so sorry. This chapter was meant to be a Christmas present/End of the Year gift, but I couldn't make the deadline. I'll make this note quick and short. It's already February and this one's long overdue. Rather than including a V-Day chapter in this, I feel it'd be better if I just made a one-shot. Sorry, I hope I didn't get anyone's hopes up too high or anything. So, please look forward to the one-shot! It should be uploaded shortly. I certainly won't be going anywhere…it's just me and my laptop underneath the full moon. Did ya know that there's going to be a full moon on Valentine's Day? I find that very romantic…I'm sorry for babbling.

"Loooovino~" Spain bounced around the kitchen like a child experiencing a sugar rush. It was far too early in the day for Romano to begin dealing with his nonsense. "So, you know how you've been complaining about how your clothes don't fit anymore?" A proud, childish wide smile was plastered over the Spaniard's face—somewhat similar to the Joker's smile, but not as menacing and psychotic. It's almost like he made some huge, life-changing discovery. Then again, everything is a huge, life-changing discovery for Antonio Fernández Carriedo.

"And what about my clothes?" Romano snarled, rubbing his eyes—he never really was a morning person, regardless of age. His 'cutie points,' as Spain had dubbed them, went up. One could say "Ten points to Gryffindor," if they really wanted to.

"Well," Spain began, "I was thinking maybe we could go shopping for some new stuff! It'll be lots of fun, Lovi! We can buy some shirts, pants, maybe some shorts for when it's warm. Oh! And we can little baby booties and mittens and-"

"God fucking damn it. I'm not some helpless, snot-nosed brat, you know! I can take care of myself, you turd."

"It's been a while since you've called me, or anyone, a 'turd.'" A pure, amiable smile etched itself from one ear to the other and the gullible Spaniard's face. "Sometimes, I miss those days, you know. It's hard to watch a little boy grow up into a strong, independent young man… Countless centuries have gone by. And yet, I still find myself falling for you all over again every day. It's crazy, right?"

Romano stared in disbelief. Since when the fuck did he get so sentimental and deep? Regardless of how fucking romantic that appeared, he was technically a child and Spain was an adult. If a stranger were to walk in on their conversation, only two words could possibly be uttered or thought of; they just so happen to be "drugs," or "pedophilia." Quite the lovely terms, aren't they? "Look you fuck turd, now's not the time to get all deep and sentimental."

"Ah, I'm so sorry mi tomate! There goes Boss getting worked up all over again! Come on; let's go by mi precioso tomate dresses- ah! I mean pants~" Spain winked at the boy.

"You are fucking shithead. You did that on purpose!" Romano snarled, miffed at Spain's comment. "It's too early—I think it'd be best if we go after a siesta." The tiny Italian twiddled his thumbs in an attempt to amuse himself; it wasn't working. Romano yawned, rubbing his eyes childishly once more. Spain 'discreetly' giggled in the background. He couldn't help it; Romano, especially as a child, was adorable!

"If that's what Lovino wants, it's what Lovino gets!"

"Shut up, tomato bastard. I wanna get some sleep before we go shopping." Romano hopped off his stool and made his way to the staircase. "If you feel like waking me up, don't."

"But Looovi~ it's already 8 o'clock! You haven't eaten any breakfast yet, mi Lovinito! Boss is just concerned about your health." Spain chased after the boy. "You have to eat something. Quickly, come down here and Boss will make you a tasty breakfast just like back then! How does that sound?"

Romano was long gone and already snuggled up beneath the comforter. "Go away, Antonio. Go get the mail, go for a run, or something. I don't fucking care. Just let me sleep."

"Ahem. Antonio, who is this child standing next to you and what have you done to him in the period of time you have spent with him?" Belgium stood in front of the two, arms crossed and a look of disgust directed toward Spain.

"Yes, Antonio. Who IS this child next to you?" Romano elbowed the Spaniard's thigh with as much aggression and strength he could muster up. Spain trembled and backed away from the two, eyes darting back and forth between the open door and his feet.

"Hahaha, it's gotten really warm in here, sí?" He tugged at his collar in order to distract the Belgian and the young Italian. "I think we sh-should leave the door open and l-let the cold air in."

Belgium gently hoisted the boy up to eye-level and took a closer look at him, failing to recognize him, however, immediately recognizing features and attributes similar to that of Romano. She furrowed her eyebrows, focusing her attention on figuring out who exactly this boy was and why he resembled a young Romano. Romano grimaced—he had almost never prayed harder in his life for God to drive a woman away. "God, I'm fucking begging on my knees metaphorically here. Make her go away. Please!" He clasped his hands together and prayed silently.

"Spain…"

Romano stiffened as he braced himself for whatever the hell was about to come. Spain must've been the one responsible for calling her over. Unless Belgium was back for her monthly "boyfriend checks," then this was absolutely Spain's fault. Her "checks" felt more like paparazzi scouting for priceless photographs rather than checking to see if either Romano or Spain had gone insane. Must've been a bad influence rooting from a special, scary Hungarian.

"Where is Romano?"

"W-What are you talking about? Romano's right here, see!" Spain, in an attempt to avoid truthfully answering Belgium's question, whipped out his phone and showcased an image of him and the Italian one summer night. Both Romano and Belgium glared at the quivering Spaniard; they were surprised, yet not surprised to see him do something along the lines of that.

"Don't play dumb with me, Antonio. Where. Is. Lovino. I will get the answer out of you. Who is this boy, why does he resemble Lovino, and where for Pete's sake is Lovino Vargas?!" Belgium tightened her grip on the small Italian's sides as he stiffened; she wasn't going to let him go so easily. Not without a fight at least.

"That's u-uh…h-he's…he's my cousin! Yes, my cousin from…far-far away?"

"…You're a horrible liar. A three year-old can come up with a far better lie than that."

"…I'm sorry. He isn't my cousin from far-far away. He's from…Mexico?"

"…Is that all?"

Spain nodded in reply, ashamed at his failure to conceal Romano's identity. Let's face it; he couldn't do it even if it was a life or death situation. Spain crawled onto a nearby sofa and slumped in his seat. Spain surrendered for he could cover for his precious tomato lover no longer. Belgium glared at the man, frustrated and disappointed in him, however, she felt slight pity for his brain; the poor man must have overexerted himself in thinking.

Romano, struggling to escape Belgium's death claws, sighed and halted all attempts to do so. He sighed in defeat. He no longer desired to put up a fight nor conceal his identity. His efforts would end up useless and in vain; Spain's attempts would only drive him farther into to the ground.

"Bella…it's me. Yeah, I'm a kid again."

Belgium swiveled her head in matter of nanoseconds, horrified to face the child Romano in her arms. "How did you…What did you…Did Spain do something? Oh my God, my poor baby!" She nuzzled her cheek against Romano's—it felt more like aggressive cheek-rubbing—as if to comfort him, pulling him closer into a death hug. Not quite the most comfortable position for him. Spain silently sat on the sofa, sulking in order to repent for his failure. "What happened, Lovino," asked the terribly worried Belgian, "Why didn't you tell me in the first place?! Do you not trust me or something? I'm hurt by that, you know. You're going to make me cry, Lovi."

"Bella…" Romano groaned, "Please don't cry. Look, I don't want anyone else to know about this so don't tell anyone. Not. A. Soul." He sighed, succumbing to the Belgian's hugs and scolding. "Now, tell me why the fuck are you here?"

"Well…Antonio called me. He said you two were going shopping and that I should tag along so that things wouldn't look 'weird.' At first, I didn't understand at what he was trying to explain, but now I see why." She glanced back and forth between the two tomato lovers, eyeing them suspiciously. "So…should we go now?"

Romano waddled in between the two adults—okay one crazy Belgian and a gullible Spaniard—as they walked hand in hand to the mall. Spain elaborated on Romano's current predicament—him being a child and Spain going gaga over it—as he tried to explain how a random box filled with a basket of tomatoes turned Romano, from being a young adult, into a child.

"So, does he still retain his present mind? Or has he truly become like his old, younger, colonial self? As in, back during the old days." asked Belgium, questioning the Spaniard's story.

"No, no, he still has the same mind. It's his body that's changed." replied Spain.

"Ah, so he's got it too…"

"What do you mean, 'I've got this too?'" Romano waddled, holding hands with Spain and Belgium. Good God, they looked like they were a family going out for a small outing; people were already cooing at them. However, some gave them odd looks; it was probably directed towards him anyways. Can't blame them for staring at a little boy wearing a maid's dress. "How much more embarrassing can this get? People are staring at me because I look like a cross-dressing baby in this! I don't see why I have to wear my old cleaning outfit." he whined.

"You know, you really shouldn't be complaining here. At least we look like normal people, for once…Well, sort of normal at least. Ah! I remembered something. Francis and I were chatting at a café one afternoon and he mentioned that, what's his name…ah- Matthieu had seen Arthur and what looked to be a young Alfred. As in, about the same age as Lovino! C'est très étrange, n'est pas?"

"Why are you speaking France's language, Bella? You and I both know that we share a mutual dislike of the pervert. If you're trying to push my buttons right now, don't."

"Lovi, she wasn't trying to push your buttons-" Spain chimed in, only to be cut off by Belgium.

"It's fine, Antonio. All I'm saying is that this happening to Alfred and you is quite coincidental and strange, don't you think?"

"Yes, it's weird. And yes, it might be connected in some way, but I don't think the connection is anything major. Something's probably just going around, however, it might only be affecting us; we're not like regular humans so it'd only be safe to assume that-" Romano replied, only to be cut off by the Belgian.

"Lovino, if something were going around then I or Antonio would have caught it by now. You ate a tomato and turned into…this. Antonio did not eat a tomato and look how happy-go-lucky he is." She turned to face Spain as if to make a point to Romano; he was happily skipping along. "See? Point made. Maybe you should pay Alfred a visit and-"

"No way! His place always smells like hamburgers and England's cooking. No wonder why they share such shit taste. Not going, no way in hell."

"I agree with Lovi~" Spain chimed in. His response wasn't necessary, but he wanted to feel like he was a part of the conversation so why not?

"I get it, I get it…So, I'm going to guess that this is why Lovi would need new clothes. The only thing that fits is…" she paused to giggle while Romano murderously glared, "pfft- his old dress."

"It's not a dress! It's a cleaning outfit, damn it!" He stomped his little feet as he walked on with the two.

"My, my! Aren't you the cutest little angel having a tantrum?" An elderly woman—she looked to be a foreigner, probably a tourist—had stopped in front of the three to bend down and pinch Romano's rosy cheeks; he groaned. "She is an absolutely adorable little cutie! I assume she gets her looks from her mother—very daring and beautiful." She looked up at Belgium, adjusted her glasses, and smiled.

Spain and Belgium exchanged astonished looks, darting their eyes between them, Romano, and the random old lady. Belgium cleared her throat and began her reply to the woman. "H-Huh? Oh no, it's nothing like that! W-We're not really a"

The woman cut her off midsentence. "However, her eyes are so entrancing; her hair is a beautiful hazel brown. I guess she takes after her father?" She turned her attention over to Spain, keeping up her warm, wrinkly smile. "I'm sorry to bother you on your lovely promenade. Your little angel had caught my eye and I just HAD to compliment her! Good-bye now~" The elderly woman waved farewell and went on her way. It was a brief meeting, yet it managed to scar all three of them for years to come.

"…Pfft- you're never living this one down, Lovino! She thought you were our kid! And a girl!" Belgium clutched her stomach as she knelt down and cackled.

"Ah, even humans think you're cute! I mean, that's okay and all but I should be the only one to have to tell mi pequeño tomate! And he most certainly does not look like a little girl! Pfft- she thought you were a little girl..."

"Would you fucking shut up already?! That old lady didn't know shit about what she was talking about. Foreigners…especially the English and Americans. They think they can just step in and pinch your cheeks, but no. You can't do that. Just no. And she thought you two were my parents? She clearly needed better glasses."

"Would you relax, Lovino? She's just an old woman. The elderly tend to be a little bonkers; it comes with age." Belgium replied; she continued to giggle at the little Italian.

"Relax? I'm very fucking relaxed, thank you very much! I'm done with all this weird shit today; I just wanna buy clothes, and then go home. Can we please just go inside, buy something, and then leave?"

"Whatever you say, Lovino~" replied Spain and Belgium in unison.

Note*

C'est très étrange, n'est pas? = It's very strange, isn't it?

Matthieu = spelling variation of the name Matthew

Mi pequeño tomate = my little tomato