Author's Note # 1: This turned out to be such a senseless chapter. XD

Oh, the suggestions you gave were awesome! Keep 'em coming (if you still got some). Wish I could confess somewhere like that to a girl someday. *tries to hide the stupid lovey-dovey expression on his face* Uh... yeah... back to the story.

See how adorably stubborn and clueless a lovesick Lovino can be. Enjoy!


PART 3: Love and La Vida Loca

The beauty of nature was it knew when to add a dramatic atmosphere. And what better to make things more theatrical than rain? It was quite a downpour, but Lovino had stubbornly opted to ignore the umbrella hanging by the doorway and bolt out of the house. He had woken up from a rather unpleasant dream—blood-stained flowers, a lifeless Spaniard, a tear-jerking confession—and immediately scrambled to find his jefe. The house was completely Tonio-free though, and a paranoid Italian impulsively decided that Antonio had taken his words seriously. After all, he had asked to be left alone.

What if he got fed up with my personality? What if he decided to leave me? Wait, it's his house. Why would he...? Oh no, then something bad must have happened to the idiot! Maybe that dream was trying to tell me something.

The streets were filled with people who either wondered why a young boy was running around in the rain looking like he just lost everything he held dear in his life, or ridiculed him in their thoughts for going out without an umbrella and scampering hither and thither like one gone mad. People could be compassionate. People could be heartless. That was life, and Lovino could care less about them. He was too busy scanning the faces he passed, looking for any resemblance to a Spanish "airhead" he knew so well, and all the while contemplating what could have happened to him.

That damn Ivan must have finally decided to try and make Antonio... o-one with him. Or maybe that Dutch bastard from Netherlands. No, maybe it was Arthur. Fuck! Whoever it was, I'm gonna go Mafioso on his sorry ass! Or maybe not. But I'm sure as hell gonna do something! I just hope it isn't crying as I beg for my life...

One minute he was running and the next he was reeling from the pain of a head-on collision. His expression quickly turned into a scowl when he saw who the "roadblock" was. That scowl only deepened when he heard its familiar yet very irritating laughter. The man, on the other hand, simply straightened his glasses and smiled whimsically, without the slightest suggestion of being hurt from the impact. Lovino glowered at him with hate-filled eyes—his notorious death glare. There were a number of people he detested, explaining his lack of friends, and the man before him was one of those people.

"Aren't you going to apologize?" Lovino snapped.

"Huh? You were the one who ran into me." The bespectacled man's nonchalant voice and carefree appearance annoyed the already fuming Italian even more.

"Whatever, you fat moron. Why are you even in Spain? Shouldn't you be stuffing your mouth with junk food back in America?"

"And shouldn't you be stuffing yourself with pasta in Italy?" a stern voice retorted from behind.

Lovino spun around and was met by another familiar face. Blond hair, green eyes, eyebrows that made a phonebook look shamefully thin—a very hated figure during Antonio's days as a pirate. Yes, it was the Englishman whose infamous scones could bring down the most venomous snakes in record time. And he was holding quite the feminine parasol.

"I like it here, so you and your freakish eyebrows can shut the fuck up!" Remembering that Antonio was in trouble and he was a primary suspect, Lovino grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and brought their faces closer. "Where's Tonio? What did you do to him? Speak up, you tea-sucking bastard!"

Arthur was taken aback. He knew Lovino as a weak and whiny kid who would run away at the very first sign of danger. But here he was now, rattling the senses out of him. He now knew that the kid could actually learn to momentarily forget his cowardice so long as a certain Antonio Fernandez Carriedo was concerned. And so he just stood there, mouth wide open, as the Italian continued to "manhandle" him.

Seeing as how the Brit had temporarily lost his wits, Alfred stepped forward to try and separate the two. "Stop! The hero knows how we can solve this problem." He reched into the bag he was carrying and pulled out a hamburger. "With this!"

Lovino's jaw dropped and he lost his grip. "What the fuck? How's that supposed to help?"

The American's foolish display seemed to snap Arthur back to reality. "Alfred, you daft git! Stay out of this," hissed the disgruntled gentleman as he fixed his shirt. "And you, you uncouth Italian, will do well to know that I haven't even seen that bloody Spaniard since we arrived."

"Then why, in blazing fuck, are you here?"

Arthur's face instantly turned red. His eyes shifted restlessly and his parasol shook noticeably. "Well, we're... um... You see... How should I put this?"

"Artie and I are on a date!" Alfred declared. He received a hard slap on the back of the head from a very flustered Englishman.

"Y-Yes... What he said. I believe it's my turn to ask a question, is it not?"

"You're just trying to change the subject, eyebrows," Lovino scoffed, "but sure, go ahead."

"Why in the world are you running around looking for Antonio?"

"T-that's n-none of your b-business! Fuck, am I s-shivering?" His desire to find Antonio had brought a surge of adrenaline that numbed his senses for a while, but now that his momentum had died down, he had become painfully aware of the biting cold.

"That's what you get for playing in the rain without an umbrella," Arthur sneered.

"I-It's better than being c-caught with that testosterone-killing l-lampshade of yours, s-so put a sock in it!"

"Oh," Alfred blurted out, "Artie's going to do that real soon. When we get to the hotel, I'm shoving my supersized beef down his throat and..."

"Alfred! He said sock, not co-" The gentleman's face was burning up so much that he failed to finish his statement.

"W-Whatever, you s-sick lovebirds. I d-don't have time for t-this."

"Here, you might need this." Alfred had taken off his large jacket and offered it to the freezing Italian. His expression of pure innocence and idiocy almost made Lovino forget how much he loathed him.

"I-I guess having a burger for a b-brain isn't all that b-bad. But I still h-hate you, got it?" With that, he took up the offer and stormed off to continue his search.

Alfred's jacket did help... a little. Lovino was already drenched when he draped it over his body, so it was to be expected. But that scanty warmth was enough to keep him going. That, and Lovino's playful imagination. Alfred had mentioned something about going to a hotel with his scone-loving boyfriend and "shoving his supersized beef down his throat." The curious boy found himself imagining what that would look like. Then the scene quickly shifted to Antonio's bedroom where an eager and very much uncovered Spaniard was lying on the bed, slyly inviting him to his side. Lovino saw himself swallow dryly, gaping at a certain part of Antonio's seemingly perfect anatomy.

Antonio's in trouble, probably hurt, and I'm fantasizing about him? Come on, Lovino. That's just fucked up.


The sun had already set when Lovino lugged his tired, sodden body back to Antonio's house. He peeled off every article of clothing till he was down to just his boxers. He tossed Alfred's jacket onto the couch and placed the rest of his clothes in a hamper. His stomach sounded like a blender desperately trying to puree a chunk of quartz, and then he suddenly remembered how his earlier outburst had cost him breakfast.

Oh great! Just... fucking great. I'm cold, tired, hungry, and still Antonio-less. This can't get worse, can it?

Just as he was about to make his way up to his bedroom, he caught a whiff of an enticing aroma coming from the kitchen—a strangely familiar aroma.

That smells like... the sauce I whip up every time I make pasta. But...

He cautiously tiptoed to the kitchen where an unexpected prospect greeted him. Even from behind, there was no mistaking that perfectly-sculpted physique. And that voice, muttering lyrics from what sounded like Ricky Martin's "Livin' la Vida Loca", was too soothing to be anyone else. Lovino almost choked on his own words as he called out to him.

"A-Antonio?"

The man casually turned around, and Lovino's heart skipped a beat. Or maybe two. The Spaniard's face was beaming with life, and his emerald eyes lit up at the sight of the bewildered boy. He opened his mouth to say something, but quickly closed it and eyed the boy from head to toe.

"My little Lovi, why are you all wet... and naked?" His voice was about as flat as possible, which provoked a glare from an irate Lovino.

"Wha-? Could you sound more indifferent? It's your fucking fault I'm like this! And did you just call me 'your little Lovi'? What's up with... Hey, wait! T-Tonio! What the fuck are you...?"

A shrill gasp left his mouth as he found himself being encircled by two muscular arms. He suddenly became aware of his "lack of clothing" and shuddered at the sensation of skin against skin. Antonio nuzzled his face in his hair, grazing that highly-sensitive curl ever so lightly but still sending jolts of lightning coursing through his being. He lost all the reprimanding words he had mentally prepared, only to be replaced by a soft, almost breathless "Chigi~", and all the blood in his body seemed to flow into his face.

Oh fuck! These traitorous blushing cheeks of mine are annoying as hell. And I'm such a mega fag for enjoying this so much!

"I don't know how it's my fault, but you're so cute right now, Lovi! Boss just wants to hug you."

"S-Shut the fuck up! W-Where did you go? I woke up and... Well, you were gone, so I spent all day looking for you. Then I come back and you're here? You... You bastard!"

"So that's why you're like this?" Antonio asked, lifting his head to peer down at a flustered Lovino but still maintaining his hold on the boy.

"Y-Yeah! Why else would I be soaking wet? And could you stop hugging me, you pervert?"

"I can't stop now, Lovi. Not when you're overloading me with your cuteness! But you shouldn't have done that, and you should really bring an umbrella when you go out. I just went to the store to pick up a few ingredients."

"Ingredients? What? I waited for over two fucking hours and you didn't show up! That's why I got all... w-worried and... stuff."

"You wouldn't believe the line!" Antonio exclaimed, finally breaking the hug. "And I passed by a pet shop where they had the cutest turtles ever. I just lost track of time when I started staring at them. But it's so nice to hear that you were worried about me, my cute little Lovi."

"Ugh! Stop calling me cutesy names like that! I'm not a little girl, you know. And it figures you'd be stupid enough to get distracted by a bunch of slowpokes in a shell."

"Now, Lovi, don't be mean to the turtles," the Spaniard said, lightly pinching the boy's cheeks. "I actually bought one. Say hello to Fabio!" A small head suddenly peeped from the pocket of Antonio's shirt. His tiny, beady eyes were fixed at the scowling Italian.

"I... can't believe I didn't notice that. Geez, Antonio. Another stupid-looking guy with a Spanish name? As if one wasn't enough."

"Want to play with him while I finish the pasta?" cooed the Spaniard.

"No way I'm touching that! And why are you making pasta? You always cook Spanish dishes. Always."

"Well, I figured you got mad at me earlier because you didn't like the breakfast I made. So I decided to cook something I knew you'd like to make it up to you. Oh yeah, hope you don't mind me borrowing your cookbook."

"I don't mind but... Y-You thought I was mad... about the food? You idiot! I was... I... Uh..." He could feel his cheeks becoming warm again prompting him to avoid eye contact. "I need to put some clothes on! So yeah, call me when dinner's ready... 'kay?" he softly mumbled then made a dash for his room afterwards.

I wasn't mad about the food, and I certainly wasn't mad at you. I was... mad at myself for being so afraid. I'm afraid of being rejected by you, idiot. Now, I wish you were psychic enough to know this.

In the kitchen, Antonio shook his head and smiled at the tiny reptile now snugly resting on his hand. "Don't worry, Fabio; he likes you! He's just a little shy. He was naked after all."

TO BE CONTINUED...


Translations:

La Vida Loca (Spanish) – the crazy life

Mafioso (Italian) – a member of an Italian mafia clan

Daft (chiefly British) – stupid

Git (chiefly British) – a silly, incompetent, stupid, annoying, senile elderly or childish person


Author's Note # 2: I think I kinda messed up with the whole US x UK thing back there. Sorry to all the supporters of that pairing. Major fail on my part. *nervous laugh*

(And yes, I did happen to hear that song while typing this chapter, and I sorta felt compelled to include it. ^^)