When Canada had come for dinner, he admitted the pasta was delicious, but it could not compare to his precious pancakes. Most of the night was just an argument of Pasta vs. Pancakes. Probably one of the most controversial topics of all time.

Romano ended up spending most of his time with Canada. He even sat next to the nation during the meetings and yelled at those who didn't notice him. Because, you're a noob if you don't see Canada, or a much more descriptive vulgar world Romano had used.

The conferences were held for a month, once a year. The nations had the weekends off and could return to their home countries if they desired for to, but had to be back for the meetings on Monday morning.

Romano had pretty much avoided Spain and his brother for most of the first week of the conferences. He found it easy to avoid Spain, but it was hard to keep his younger Italian brother away.

So, that first weekend, he decided to head to Canada with his new blond friend. He didn't want to risk meeting up with his brother in their home in Italy. He wanted time to think things through before he talked to Spain. Seeing his brother made that difficult.

Apparently, Canada wanted to head home to watch an important hockey match.

"Why do you wanna go home for that?" Romano questioned. "You could just watch it on TV from the hotel."

"Well," the Canadian answered. "It's way better seeing an actual hockey game in person."

"I don't see what's so fucking great about hockey."

Canada gasped, "It's only the greatest sport ever!"

"I don't know, football seems way better bastard."

Canada gave an annoyed sigh. They were both on Canada's private jet, on their way to the northern country.

"Can you stop calling me a bastard? You can call me Mathew if you want. I'd prefer it actually."

Romano blushed a bit. The only nations who called each other by their human names where those who were related, like him and Feliciano, or if they were close friends.

"Pfft, whatever. I can call you pancake bastard if I wanted to," Romano flicked the other's ear.

"Ow! Your so mean," Canada pouted.

"But," Romano looked the other way. "I guess you can call me Lovino if you want."

"Canada smiled, "What if I want to call you pasta bastard—Ow!"

Romano flicked his forehead and growled. Canada flicked the Italian back.

The two were basiclly slapping each other's faces by the time the flight attendant came in.

"Is there anything I can—" the woman stopped when she saw the two on top of each other, faces red.

"Oh, I'm sorry."

They quickly pulled apart. Canada gave an awkward cough.

"Um, no thank you," mumbled Romano.

"Just a bit of the maple syrup I keep on board," Canada smiled timidly.

The women went into the backroom and passed Canada a cup of maple syrup and quickly left.

"Um...truce?" Canada suggested.

"I guess so," Romano muttered. "I'll call you Mathew just as long as you call me Lovino. Don't fucking call me Lovi or any shit like that. I hate that."

Especially since Lovi was the name Spain always called him.

"Would you mind if I called you Love instead. I mean, if that's okay."

The Italian thought it over. Well it wasn't Lovi, so he supposed it was okay.

"Sure Mathew," he smiled at the blonde.

"Thanks Love."

They both smirked at one another.


"I told you it was going to be great!" Mathew gave a huge grin.

"Whatever bastard," Lovino shot him a smile as well.

"You have to call me Mathew, remember Love?"

"Pft, sure. Oi, what are we going to have for dinner, I'm hungry damnit."

The two were exiting the large stadium with a thousand other people. The game was fun to say the least. Lovino didn't expect to enjoy it that much. But he actually loved seeing the players race for the puck. He especially loved when one of the fuckers got pummeled against the wall or there would be a fight between the players. They beat the crap out of each other! He seriously wondered if all Canadians were this violent.

"Um, well, I can make something Italian if you want?

"That sounds okay," the brunette pulled up the collar of his jacket. The weather in Canada was fucking cold as hell.

"Wanna watch a movie as well. I have Netflix."

"Sounds good. But no damn American movies. They fucking suck."

Mathew giggled, "Alfred comes up with the cheesiest plots sometimes."

"He's probably just as stupid as Feliciano."

"Maybe," the blonde pondered. "Not as annoying though."

"I bet not, Feliciano is fucking annoying as hell."

"At least yours isn't an attention whore," the Canadian sighed. "He can be really egotistical sometimes."

"Everyone just seemed to always prefer Feliciano over me. Not that I care," Romano commented sadly.

Mathew put a hand on his shoulder, "I kinda prefer you to him. Well, if you didn't always curse. But you at least notice me." The smaller blonde gave him a sweet smile.

Romano smiled back. "Thanks."

"Your welcome. But remember, even if you have an overshadowing brother, he will always love you. I may be annoyed with Alfred sometimes, but he'll always have my back no matter what. I know I forget that sometimes."

The blonde smiled to himself.

"Hey," Lovino said. "Can I ask you something."

"I'm all ears."


"Ludwig~! He still hasn't called! What if he hates me! I can't have him hate me! Or what if he's hurt! What if he's hurt and can't call for help! He could be dead! I don't want him to die! He hasn't told me why he hates me! What did I do! He has never done this before!"

"Italy!" The German yelled at the smaller man. "You need to calm down and not over react."

"Bu-but, he hasn't—"

"He'll call. Whatever's bothering him, he needs time to figure it out. I'm sure he'll call you. It's only a matter of time."

"Do you really think so?" Italy asked with hopeful eyes. "Does he hate me?"

"He doesn't hate you. Just wait patiently."

"Thank you Ludwig," the Italian hugged the other. The German blushed.

"Big brother Spain says he's been avoiding him too. I wonder why?"

"I'm not sure, but Italy?"

"Uh-huh."

"Get the hell out of my bed! How in holy hell did you even get in my room!"


"Where did you say he was?" Antonio asked.

"He's in Canada, with mon cher Matthieu," responded Francis.

"Why?"

Francis walked into the bathroom to look himself over. He left the door open and continued talking to Antonio, who sat at the edge of the bed.

"He and Matthieu have been spending a lot of time together as of late. Apparently, they've become close friends."

Antonio bit his lip.

"Does this bother you mon ami?" Francis returned to the room, with his hair tied back with a blue ribbon.

"I don't think so."

"Think about if it does," Francis put on a black jacket. "Now, I really must be going, I have a date."

Antonio frowned, who was this Mathew guy Lovi was with?


Well, this'll be the last chapter I'll post till about Friday. So don't expect an update for tomorrow and special thanks to qqsha, if I could, I would message you! Your reviews are always so sweet!