Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia
Two knocks.
Lovino was still refusing to open the door.
His parents were both working late, no one was forcing him to play happy neighbor.
Three knocks.
Four knocks.
"God fucking dammit!" Lovi turned and threw open the door, ready to punch Antonio in the face.
He stared at the man, hard. Antonio had grown out of his awkward teen phase, that was clear. The Italian was eye level with his collar bones.
He had always been taller than Lovi; he was two years older after all.
The Spaniard's hair was longer than he remembered, messy and thick, spiking in the most obnoxious ways. He wore a light-colored band shirt (Probably from Hot Topic, Lovi remarked) and black plugs in his ears (definitely from Hot Topic.)
He had a sleepy look about him.
Like the kind of person you'd see hanging around skate parks, selling kids weed, Lovi thought.
After a moment of awkward silence and staring, Antonio cleared his throat.
"I...I'm sorry if I disturbed you." The Spaniard put a hand behind his head, feigning innocence. "I saw you watering those tomato plants over there and decided to introduce myself! I'm Antonio Fernandez."
He lifted his hand towards Lovino, expecting him to shake it.
But Lovi was momentarily shocked into silence.
Didn't he recognize him?
Lovi looked from the Spaniard's hazel eyes to his hand.
And promptly slammed the door in his face.
Fuck him. Fuck that. No. Nope.
Lovino stomped through the hall and thrust open his door, throwing himself on his bed. He closed his eyes and tried not to focus on the headache forming.
This was going to be a long goddamn life.