Here's my newest update! This one is a bit longer than usual. Hope this explains everything that happened in my last chapter!

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia...


Earlier That Day

Let's see,

Arthur thought, taking a can off of a shelf in the Supermarket.

This one looks okay.

"Arthu?" he heard a voice cry out. "Arthu, is that you?!" The Brit turned his attention to look down the aisle and saw Peter approaching him as he wheeled his cart over.

The Hell? Why is he here?

"Why are you here?" the Englishman asked, glaring at the blond. "Did you follow me here?"

"What?" Peter questioned, taken aback by the accusation. "No, I ju-"

"Wait, did you insert a chip in my phone to track my whereabouts when I left it in the car yesterday to go back and get my wallet? You're a stalker, you know that?! But it should've been obvious though! That's how they get you!"

"No, I-"

"Well, jokes on you! You won't be able to track me anymore!" the older man vowed, taking his cell out of his pocket and smashing it on the ground. "What do you think of that?" he smirked.

"I think..." The blond glanced down at the remains of Arthur's phone on the floor. "I think I just came to get some herbs for my mushroom caps and just happened to run into you," he explained, holding up a bottle of dried parsley in his hand.

"Oh." The dirty blond stared at his smashed cell for a few moments. "Then you owe me a new phone!"

"What? Why?!"

"You're the one who made me break a perfectly good phone!"

"I didn't make you do anything!"

"Of course you did! What other reason would I have to smash my own phone on the floor?!"

"I don't know! The fact that you're a crazy bastard?! You're the one who did it!"

"Because you forced my hand!"

"I didn't force you to do anything!"

"Then why's my phone in pieces?!"

"'Cause you smashed it on the floor!"

"And why do you think I did that?!"

"I thought we went over this. Crazy. Bastard. Look dude, I feel like this conversation is going in circles here," Peter sighed, getting tired of arguing. "Can we talk about something else now?"

"As long as you promise to get to get me a new phone."

'Yeah, okay," the blond dismissed, noticing the can in the Brit hands. "What are you doing that tin of sardines?"

"Not that it's any of your business, but I'm making my signature dish: fish and chips."

"Fish and chips?" Peter repeated, surprised. "What makes it your signature dish? How disgusting it is?"

"I'll have you know that my fish and chips are delicious! What would you know about the dish anyway?"

"I'm from Sealand, okay? Even though we've separated from England some time ago and are now an independent micro-nation, we still cook some of your cuisine. So, as a respected former Englishman, I simply cannot let you ruin fish and chips. I ban you from making that dish with sardines."

"I'm not asking for your permission, you wanker! I'll make what I want."

"Not without this you won't," the Sealander said, snatching the tin from Arthur's hand. "Ha! Didn't think I'd do that did you that, did ya?"

"Umm..." The Englishman took another tin off the shelf in front of him. "I'll just take this one then."

"What? No! I didn't think about that; give that to me." The blond took the sardines out of the Brit's hand before looking at the row of fish cans beside him. "Move over a bit," he ordered, pushing the British man a little to the side. He moved his cart in front of the shelf and shoved all the cans in it.

"What are you doing? You can't just take all of the sardines!"

"I can, and I just did. I am going to buy all of these so you can't use any of them to make fish and chips."

"What are you going to do with fifty sardines?"

"Whatever I do with them is my business. They're my food now!"

"Whatever, I'll just buy some canned tuna," Arthur said, selecting a can of tuna chunks.

"What?! Arthu, no! I didn't buy all of these sardines just for you to buy another kind of canned fish!"

"How do you expect me to make fish and chips without fish?"

"I didn't say don't use fish; I said don't use canned fish." The Englishman looked at Peter with a confused look.

"What other kind of fish is there?"

"Umm... fresh ones? I think you could make your dish with a nice Atlantic cod, or better yet, haddock!"

"Are those a type of fish or something?"

"Are those a type of fish or so- you know what, Arthu? I think if you're going to attempt to make this dish correctly you're going to need my help."

"What? I don't need any help from a twat like you!"

"Oh come on, man. What's the worse that can happen?"

"You could completely ruin my dish!"

"That's not going to happen. Tell you what, all the ingredients are on me if you let me come to your house and let me show you how to make the dish properly."

"Really?" Arthur raised an eyebrow. "All the ingredients I'm buying? You'll pay for them."

"Yes. Well only, of course, if you let me buy the correct ingredients to make fish and chips."

"Fine then." The duo spent the next hour looking through the market to find all the ingredients for the dish that lived up to Peter's standards. The blond bought all the food and they both went back to Arthur's apartment. They had many failed attempts, mostly because Arthur kept adding ingredients to the dish that he thought were absolutely necessary when his 'ex-boyfriend' wasn't looking. At some point during the next hour the noise had awoken Lovino in his bedroom who then remembered he had to go to work. He barely acknowledged Arthur on his way out and didn't even notice the other man in the kitchen. They two European males eventually created a dish that the Sealander found up to par twenty minutes later.

"Here," Peter said, offering a fork full of the meal they had just made to Arthur. "Taste it."

"Fine, but it won't be better than mine," the Englishman said, snatching the fork away from the blond. He put the fork in his mouth, and although he would never admit it to anybody, found it more delicious than anything he had ever tasted, let alone made.

"It's okay, not the best, but it'll do," the British man lied, putting the utensil on the counter.

"Are you kidding me? It's amazing. I think years of making bad fish and chips have seriously ruined your taste buds."

"My taste buds are fine, thank you very much! And now that were done here, you can lead yourself out!" the Briton man cried, motioning to the door.

"Don't be like that man. I just helped you out. You have got to learn to be nicer to people, you know? Especially if you ever want to have a boyfriend."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"It means, even when we were fake dating I couldn't stand you! You were so rude to me. I don't know about you, but I actually prefer to like the person I'm dating then."

"I am plenty likable!"

"Of course you are. Look dude, you made this meal for a date you're going on later, right? Why don't you try something different and be nice to them? I guarantee it will end positively. He might even like you."

"I don't need you advice on how to date! I've done perfectly fine on my own!"

"Arthu, just try it. What's the worst the could happen?" The Englishman pondered the idea for amoment.

"Well, I guess it wouldn't hurt," he thought aloud, not realizing Peter could hear him.

"Good. I'm glad you'll try it." Arthur glared at the blond.

"What do you mean? I didn't say anything."

"Yeah, dude, you just did. You said it wouldn't hurt to try being nice."

"I did not! I think I would know if I said something! You know what? You can go now! Your presence is no longer needed or wanted here!"

"Fine, be that way," Peter grumbled, taking off the apron he had been wearing and throwing it on the ground. "I had other things to do today anyway." The man swiftly turned around and left the kitchen.

Doesn't he know that this is the apron he brought?

The dirty blond thought, bending over and picking up the cooking accessory.

Why he has an emergency apron lying in his car, I'll never know.

"Wait, I just remembered this is mine," Peter said, walking back into the room and taking the apron from Arthur's hand. "Okay, now I'm leaving! Good day sir!" He turned around and exited the room for the second time, stumbling over his own feet on the way out.

"Lovino, you're here," Matthew said as the Italian entered the Morning Joe and approached the coffee counter. "Why is there a plant in your hair?"

"What? Where?" Lovino asked, reaching into his hair and feeling around. He took out a flower. "Fuck! I thought I got all of them out last night."

"What do you mean? Is that why were you an hour late today?"

"Hey! You can go blame that Arthur for me being late, okay?! He's the one who didn't want to let our ride home know where we live so we had to walk through 5 miles of fucking forest to get home yesterday. But did he tell me that when we were getting out of the car? Nooo. It's just around the block, he lied.We'll be there in five minutes, he said. Let me tell you something right now Mattie, don't ever listen to that English asshole again. He can lie his fucking brown trousers off okay? It took us a fucking hour and a half to get home!"

"It took you guys a whole ninety minutes to walk five miles?" the Canadian asked incredulously.

"Well, I may or may not have made Arthur carry me for two miles but that's besides the point! Anyways, we get home at midnight and I'm starving as hell because I just walked my whole dinner off. We were out of pasta and I wasn't going to let that English bastard make any of his poisonous crap he calls food for me so I decide to order out. Luckily, Chang Woo stays open until two a.m. It took the food forty-five minutes to get to our apartment. I, of course, made the British fucker pay for it, considering it was his stupid idea that made me so hungry.

"I ate the food and eventually fell asleep at around 2:00 a.m. I barely got 8 hours of sleep when Arthur woke me up banging pans and pots in the kitchen for God knows what reason. You know, you're lucky I made it here only an hour late. In fact, you're lucky I even came to work at all today!" the brunette finished, walking into his workspace by the coffee machines. He took his apron from under the counter and put it on. "So, what do I got to do?"

"Well today is a slow day so far, so I all I really need you to do is give this mocha latte to the guy sitting by the window," the blond said, picking up a drink off the counter and giving it to the Italian. Lovino looked at the customer Matthew pointed out and saw a brunet man sitting near a shattered window.

"You mean the broken one? What happened to it?"

"Nothing I can explain in the next two minutes. Why don't you go give the guy the coffee and I'll tell you the story when you come back?"

"Why do I have to give this guy his coffee?" the brunette asked, looking at the drink in hand strangely. "When did waiter become part as my job description here?"

"It's not. It's just when the guy came in I hadn't change the filters in the coffee machines yet so I told him to go sit and that I'd bring his drink to him when it was ready."

"Okay, so why aren't you bringing it to him?"

"Because I'm your boss and I'm politely asking you to do this for me."

"Boss?" the Italian repeated, taken aback. "Don't pull that that crap on me! You're my friend first and as my friend you can't tell me to do any shit I don't want to do!"

"Look Lovino, ever since you've started working here I've haven't asked you to come to work on time, make a single cup of coffee, clean the bathroom or,... anything really," the Canadian realized. "So I don't find it unfair when I ask you to do this one thing."

"Ugh fine," the brunette groaned, reluctantly walking out of his workspace. He approached the brunet and tapped his shoulder. "Here's your drink." The man turned around in his chair and smiled brightly at the 'waiter'.

"Lovi! You're here!" the brunette cried. "I've been waiting forever!" The Italian stood wide-eyed as he realized who the man was.

"Hey, you're that bastard who keeps fucking stalking me! How the Hell did you know I was here?!"

"You told me," Antonio reminded the brunet, with a confused expression on his face. "In the bathroom two days ago? Remember, I ran in after you and surprised you with a hug. Good times, huh Lovi?" he finished, grinning.

"Those were good times nothing! All I can remember is me barely making it out alive because you almost suffocated me with that death clutch of yours!"

"Oh, did I hurt you? Sorry, I guess that sometimes I don't recognize my own strength," the Spaniard apologized, blushing. "It's just that well, I missed you a lot."

"How can you miss me? We've only met twice!"

"I know! That's horrible! We have to meet more often!" the green-eyed man declared.

"What, no! I don't like you, you stupid bastard. Here, take your stupid coffe!" the 'waiter' screamed, shoving the drink in his customer's hand before sharply turning around. "I'm done!"

"Wait, no! Don't go, Lovi!" Antonio cried, reaching over and grabbing his arm. The Spaniard had forgotten about the drink in his other hand so when he leant over, he sent some of his piping hot coffee flying on the Italian.

"Aww fuck!" Lovino cursed, turning back around as he removed his arm from the man's grip. "That stuff burns like Hell! Why'd you do that?"

"Ohmygosh, I'm sooo sorry. It's just that you we're leaving and I didn't know what to do!" the brunet explained frantically, embarrassed.

"So you threw a scorching hot drink on me?! Is that what's going to make me stay?!"

"You're still here, aren't you?" the older man smiled meekly.

"The. Fuck? No, I only stayed to yell at you! I'm gone now!" The Italian proceeded to leave again, when the Spaniard leant over and took the 'waiter's' arm again, accidently dropping his drink on him once more. Antonio automatically retreated once he realized what he had done.

"Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't realize that would happen aga-"

"Fuck me!" Lovino cried, looking down at his ruined apron. "Yesterday, it was Arthur and his 'that's how they get you' rants and today it's you dropping burning hot drinks on me. Just fuck me so hard!"

"I want to, but you're not making it easy," Antonio muttered under his breath. The Italian snapped his head back when he heard the man's comment.

"What?!"

"Nothing!" the Spaniard cried, realizing what he had just said. "I said nothing!"

"No, you obviously said something! What was it?!" Lovino demanded.

"Fine. Um.. I was just saying that we should hang out more. Yea, that's it!"

"Why the fuck would I want to hang out with you?!" the 'waiter' asked, staring at the man incredulously as he crossed his arms. "I don't know anything about you! Like what's your last name anyway? Carrot?"

"No, it's Carriedo," Antonio corrected. "I know your last name, Lovino Vargas." The Italian stood there wide-eyed, not believing what he just heard.

"The fuck? Okay, I know I didn't tell you my last name two days ago. How the Hell do you know it?"

"Let's not talk about trivial matters," the Spanish man dismissed, waving off the idea.

"What? No! How do you know my last name?!"

"Let's just say I make it a business of mine to know the basic info about my crushes."

"No! You don'tt get to know my last name!" Lovino cried, glaring at his customer as he pointed his finger accusingly at him. "Forget it! Forget it now!"

"Forge- what?" the Spanish man questioned, taken aback as he sat up in his seat. "How am I supposed to do that?"

"I don't care! All I know is that if you can learn my last name then you should just as easily be able to forget it! Erase it from your memory right now!"

"Ummm... okay." Antonio thought about it for a second before closing his eyes tightly for a few moments. "There, I forgot it!" he declared when he opened his eyes again.

"Really?" The brunet eyed the Spaniard incredulously. "Fine, let's try it out. What's my last name?"

"Vargas!" Antonio smiled happily before his face fell as he realized what he just done. "Wait, no! That's not fair, you tricked me!"

"What the fu- I didn't trick you, you're just stupid!"

"No, it's okay Lovi, I forgive you. Just don't do it again, kay? It's not nice."

"What?! I'm not the one in the wrong here!" Lovino cried appalled, putting his hand down. "You have nothing to forgive me for!"

"You're so cute when you're angry," the older man commented, noticing the Italian's flushed cheeks and endearing eyes. "Not that you're not always adorable, it's just you're especially cute when you're mad." At this the Italian's mean disposition seemed to falter, not really expecting the comment.

"What?"

"Yeah, usually I think everyone should always have a smile on their face and be happy all the time, but I don't know..." The Spaniard slightly tilted his head to the side. "For you it's different."

"Wait... are you trying to tell me, that you, Antonio Carrnoto, find my anger and my cursing attractive?"

"It's Carriedo, and yeah," the Spanish man shrugged. "I guess it kinda turns me on."

"The fu- Turns you o-" Lovino was so shocked at what Antonio had said, that he couldn't seem to find the right words to say. "What kind of sick and deluded mind do you have?!" Before the Spaniard could answer, an alarm went off his pocket

"Shoot," he said as he took out his phone and silenced the ringer. "I forgot I had soccer practice this morning." He stood up and put the samsung galaxy in his pocket before looking at the 'waiter'. "So, when will we see each other again?"

"Don't you get it? I don't like you! I never want to see your perverted face again!"

"Oh come on, don't be ridiculous Lovi. Here." The brunette reached over and grabbed a napkin of the table he was seated at. He pulled a pen of his pocket and wrote down his number."Call me, Lovino," he instructed, grabbing Lovino's hand and putting the napkin inside.

"Call me, Lo-vi-no?" the Italian repeated, stressing every syllable as he retreated his hand and stared unbelievingly at the napkin. "Is this a joke?!"

"Of course not. How else would we talk?"

"I don't want to talk to you! Why can't you get that through your stupid, thick skull?!"

"Aww there's that adorable anger again. I swear Lovi, you'll be the death of me," Antonio chuckled, walking past his crush and to the exit of the cafe. "See you later," he said, waving goodbye as left.

"The fuck just happened?" Lovino thought aloud, staring at the piece of paper. He looked at it for a few seconds before walking back to behind the coffee counter, to see Matthew taking a customer's order.

"Okay," the Canadian began. "So you want a two cappuccinos, an espresso, and a-"

"Mattie! Stop talking and listen to me," the Italian ordered. "You'll never believe what that fucker just did!"

"Eh, can't you see I'm busy?" the blond asked, glancing over at his friend.

"But that Antonio bastard just did something unforgivable!"

"What did he do?"

"He gave me his number!"

"What? That doesn't sound too bad. Just sounds like he likes you," the customer commented.

"Excuse me? You have no right to eavesdrop on my conversation!" the brunet cried, shooting daggers at the man in line.

"Well, it's not really eavesdropping if you're screaming out loud for the whole cafe to hear you."

"That's still no excuse! Who do you think you are?!"

"I'm Peter," the man introduced, extending his hand out.

"I know. I'm Arthur's roommate. You're the one who abandoned him yesterday and made me walk ten miles of fucking forest!

"Ten miles? I thought you told me it was only five," Matthew corrected.

"Hey! Whose side are you on anyway?"

"Oh yeah, now it's coming back to me," the Sealander remembered. "You were the one complaining about the front door. I guess I just didn't recognize you with your clothes on."

"Wait, what?" the Canadian asked.

"And I didn't abandon anybody at any restaurant, okay?" the blond continued. "Arthu broke up with me and said that I was annoying and wanted me to leave. Well, I knew how to take a hint. I could sense I was no longer wanted so I left while I still had a shred of dignity."

"Whatever, it's over now anyway. Just go away while I talk to Mattie."

"Look... Look um.." Peter pondered for a second as he realized something. "Wait. Do you realize that you still haven't told me your name?"

"Yes."

"Oh." The Sealander paused for a moment. "Well, do you plan on telling me it now?"

"Nope."

"Well I need something to call you," the blond explained. "I've got it! Bob! I'll call you, Bob!"

"No you will not! I won't allow you to call me that!"

"Relax Bob, it's all cool."

"Don't fucking call me Bob, you b-"

"His name's Lovino," Matthew sighed. "Just look at the name on his apron."

"What the hell, Mattie?" Lovino asked, glaring at his friend. "What the actual hell?"

"I was getting tired of all the stupid yelling."

"So that's your name," Peter began. "Okay so Lovino, can I call you Lovin? I think you're pro-"

"Don't call me Lovin! You know my name now so fucking use it correctly!"

"Lovin! Please let me finish talking! So as I was saying before, I think I know your problem."

"My problem? You think you know my problem?" The Italian crossed his arms and shot the man daggers. "Then go on, do tell."

"I think your problem is that you don't want to take any chances. That you don't want the risk of getting hurt. But you have got to let go of that fear, my man, okay? You have got to say to that fear, 'Fear! I don't want you inside me no more!" the blond cried, stomping his feet on the last two words. "No more!' After that, the goodness in you shall bubble up inside you and fight that fear you have. It can be a long and treacherous battle, but the goodness will win. Yes my man, it shall win! Then you will no longer be afraid to let that man into your heart, I promise you!"

"What?" The brunette glanced at Matthew before looking back at Peter. "What?"

"Basically, you have to call him."

"No! No, I won't call him!" Lovino cried, waving the piece of paper in the air. "I will never call this number!"

"Wait... is that what he wrote his number on?" the Sealander asked, pointing at the napkin.

"Maybe.. what's it to you?"

"Well, can I have it?"

"What? Why the fuck do you want it?"

"Does it matter? You don't want it anymore. I'll take it off your hands."

"No!"

"No?" The blond raised an eyebrow. "So you want it? Does that mean you're going to call him?"

"No!"

"Then why do you want it?"

"Ummm..." The Italian thought about it for a second before throwing paper at the customer. "Take it then! You bastards would be perfect for each other anyway!"

"Thanks," Peter smirked, catching the napkin. "Bye now," he said, walking out of the line and exiting the coffee shop.

"Wait, sir your order," Matthew tried, but realized the man had already left. He looked at Lovino. "Don't you find it a bit weird that he wanted the number?"

"Maybe," the Italian shrugged. "But that's none of my business anymore."

Meanwhile, a few minutes later outside Morning Joe

"Okay," Peter said, doing what he thought would be a good impression of the Italian. "Yeah, you should be glad I'm going on a date with you! I could be doing better things but I decided to give you a chance. Bye now, I've got to go. Work stuff." He hung up his phone and put it in his pocket. The blond looked back at the angry barista through the shattered window before he entered his car. "You'll thank me for this later, Lovin."


Please review! Ta ta for now!