Author's Note # 1: Thank you to all the wonderful people who read, reviewed, faved, and/or alerted. I love you all for that!

Since my friend has never watched Hetalia, I wrote this chapter to help her get to know the two main characters, especially Lovi, better. (The challenge was to write a yaoi fic; she didn't say there was a specific anime I should use. And this is the only anime I've watched which was, in a sense, love between boys.)

School is really killing me. Feels like everything I do is wrong. That frustration is probably the reason why this part is kinda sad and serious. :(

WARNING: You might find this a bit confusing, so please make sure to read all the way to the end of the chapter. Enjoy!


PART 2: Love and Liaison

Flowers... as far as the eye can see. Carnations, to be precise. Carnations tainted with blood. It was a field fit for a nightmare. Maybe it was, or maybe it wasn't; Lovino did not care. He was too nauseated to even curse out loud. The scent of the crimson garden sickened him to the very core. How he ever wound up in such a place was beyond him. He just wanted to get out.

Okay, you can do this! You're fucking Lovino Vargas. There's nothing you can't do!

That did not reassure him as much as he hoped it would. He was an unreliable coward and everyone knew that. He knew that. But he always had Antonio to rely on, so he never really saw it as a liability. More of an asset. Or was it? Yes, it was enough of a reason to constantly have the Spaniard by his side, but always being around the papi chulo proved to be rather… heartbreaking. He was shown the friendliest of all friendliness, but that was just it; that word. Friend. If heartache had a name, it would be friendship. It was good, but it was not enough. Lovino had this longing, this desire, this… hunger that friendship could not sate.

If I take it too far, I'd just end up making things bad for both of us. It's… okay to just be like this. Sure, I might be suffering, but at least Tonio's happy. Right? Right? Someone, anyone, please tell me I'm right! Damn! I'm talking to myself again. Get it together, Lovino!

Ever the klutz, Lovino was shaken from his internal conflict when his face met the hard earth. He wondered if it was even possible to stumble over thin air. Aware of just how much coordination he had, he decided that it was possible given that the person was Italian and named either Lovino or Feliciano. But he could have sworn he tripped on something. Something soft and squishy. Something familiar.

Suddenly being reminded of the pungent odor filling the air, Lovino held back the impulse to shout a chain of profanities as his stomach turned. Opening his mouth would only cause him to vomit, he decided. Nausea or no nausea, though, he was bent on finding out what made him do a little "stunt" like that. He opened his eyes, which were shut and near tears, but soon regretted it. Those same eyes grew wide with horror, and his jaw learned how to do a dramatic, slow-motion drop.

"W-What… the… h-hell?"

He blinked a few times (and a few times more) just to see if his eyes were playing tricks on him.

When the veracity sunk in, he quickly covered his mouth and fought off the urge to scream. The smell of blood had become more intense, probably because he was hunched right next to a fresh source. Yes, a fresh source. Tanned skin, muscular physique, above average height—these were some descriptions you could use on the corpse. And if there was ever an accurate, concrete example of what sadness looked like, his face would be it. His lonely emerald eyes almost beckoned you to his side, telling you he yearned for comfort. But what really ate away at Lovino's heart was the fact that he knew those heartrending eyes, that sad face, that… lean, lifeless body. Yes, he knew the man as Antonio Fernandez Carriedo.

"This is… a joke, right? Yeah, it has to be. You're awake, you bastard, and you're not fooling anyone with that lousy acting. I have to admit, that blood was fucking convincing. But you can stop now. You got me… so stop now! Sbrigati! Get up already, you goddamn…" No amount of nudging, pleading, or cursing prompted a reaction. By that time, Antonio's "acting" was starting to become rather believable.

Lovino lifted the man into a sitting position, letting Antonio's head rest on his shoulder while he supported the rest of his upper body. He intertwined his trembling fingers with the Spaniard's and used his other hand to gently stroke his hair. The young Italian felt like he was slowly falling to pieces. He finally got over the awkwardness of getting that close to his "boss", but that was only because remorse had replaced his unease. The tears freely trailed down his cheeks, and occasional snivels escaped his lips. He buried his face in Antonio's shoulder, seeking even a little warmth to ease his pain. He found none. Antonio's body was cold, dead cold.

"Last chance, bastardo. You better wake up or I'll… I'll… Antonio!"

Lovino's emotional façade dissolved, and he found himself hugging the lifeless form, clinging to him like there was no tomorrow. Perhaps there was no tomorrow, for Lovino at least. Antonio was always there; Lovino had no life beyond the Spaniard. Ever since he was a child, jefe had taken care of him. Losing his grandfather and having his younger brother taken by Roderich had left him emotionally scarred. Antonio was patient enough to see him through the healing process, despite the man's own poverty issues, and the boy would forever be grateful for that. But what now? Antonio was gone. Lovino was alone… again.

"I told you I didn't care what you did or where you went, but… this is just fucked up! I didn't mean that! I didn't want you to die and go to heaven, you stupid… Gah! I hate you! I absolutely… love you. But you'll never know that, will you? 'Cause you were stupid enough to die before I had the chance to tell you. And I was stupid enough to wait until you were dead to tell you. Man, I fucking hate this! I wanna be with you so badly, but I'm too much of a coward to kill myself, so... mi dispiace, Tonio…"

Either the planet was rotating dangerously fast, or Lovi's mind was reeling. The world around him spiraled until everything went black. Then, a sharp pain pierced his head, like a bullet was shot in his brain. Lovino groaned in pain as he struggled to open his eyes.

Weird. I don't remember the ceiling being that high… What? Ceiling?

It took a while for the half-dazed Italian to put two and two together. He was in his room. He cried himself back to sleep after his earlier "skirmish" with Antonio. He just had a dream (or a nightmare). He fell off the bed, explaining the pain in his head and his sore back. He was lying on the floor, explaining why the ceiling looked so high up. After a few minutes of pondering, he finally arrived at those conclusions.

Can't I dream of anything except that sexy bastard?

TO BE CONTINUED…


Translations:

Papi chulo (Spanish) – pretty boy/hot boy (or "hunk", if you will)

Sbrigati (Italian) – Hurry up

Bastardo (Italian) – bastard

Jefe (Spanish) – boss

Mi dispiace (Italian) – I'm sorry


Author's Note # 2: Did you like it? Hate it? Should I be punished for killing off Spain in Lovi's dream? Please let me know.

QUICK QUESTION: Where's the most romantic place for a confession? I was thinking of a bedroom, but that's too cliché. (And that would inevitably lead to sex, which I have zero experience in writing.) If you guys have any ideas, include it in your reviews or PM me. Your ideas are priceless, so I would really be grateful for it.

The next part's gonna have other characters. Lovi and Tonio are fine, but I need to make this a little more interesting. XD