Osama Bin Laden is dead... I'd like to ask my audience what you think about this. Because I've got contradicting feelings that just, grnjgzdmxfklifwortgn';
D:

So, today I was thinking... "I might make Lovi make the first move."
And I was like FFFFFUUUHH why did I write this chapter like this? It's depressing me.
I seem to be having the habit of leaving the chapters at horrible cliff hangers. And I'm sorry, -bows head in shame-

But I PROMISE stuff will happen next chapter. Oh dear. I think you guys will kill me if I don't.

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.
-Goes off to hide in corner- Just wait two-three-four days until my next update.
And thank you and I love you to those who subscribed/reviewed/favorited this story. You've certainly kept me going.

Bounanotte, amore mio.

Tre

In the midst of it all, I didn't realize we were going to such a high class restaurant. Good thing I wore the Dolce & Gabbana suit. I only got into Antonio's car, and such a nice one too. Ferrari 458. And it's red. We have a mutual liking for that color I guess. It reminds us of a certain fruit.

So, after driving for about 10 minutes I realize that Un Piano nel Cielo is one of the jacket and tie eateries. Was Antonio even dressed correctly for our little occasion? I looked at him out of the corner of my eye. A-and, Oh. My. God, it took all my strength not to gawk at the sexy- I-I mean holy shit! he looked like a freaking GOD. He wore a brown jacket, with matching pants, and a green shirt that was almost the exact color as him deep green eyes.

And somewhere in the back of my head I heard 'Hey, Lovino, you know how you have a soft spot for beautiful things? Yeah? Well, Antonio's one of them!' Pfffffft! Fuck what my subconscious thinks! But man, it's hard no to think about it when you've go a fucking model right next to you!

I thought I would make Antonio drool over my handsome looks, but look at me just practically drooling over his! Wait, wh-what? I'm not that much of a girl and gay to drool over him! Pffffft! I-I'm just taking into consideration of how he should (and is) dressed for dinner. And I'd be totally pissed if he didn't dress right for Un Piano nel Cielo. Hah! Yeah! That's why I'm so concerned about him right now. Because I'd never get my long awaited meal.

Hold on, back up. Why is this asshole dressed so much better than me? I'm the well-dressed Italian here! How dare the lazy, laid-back, Spanish bastard try to impress me with his God-given looks! I mean, is he trying to impress me? Nahh, I think he just wants to look better than the skinny, pale Italian he's treating to dinner. And he can pay for the damn expensive food if he can afford this fucking beautiful Ferrari! How'd he get this thing anyways?

I think it's about time the silence be broken between us. What's with him anyways? Not talking in his chirpy attitude as usual? His face looks a little... I dunno, determined or something? It doesn't suit him to be so stern. "H-hey, Antonio?" His concentration snapped, and that perplexed face I saw earlier came back. He kind of just looked at me with no expression... yet I could see so many. "S-so, um, how did you get this beauty? I-I mean, for years is a pretty short amount of time to acquire so much money." I was trying to rack my brains to remember if someone in his family was filthy stinkin' rich or something.

"Oh don't tell me you already forgot, Lovino." I just couldn't think up anything. And what's with that tone of his? He barely ever calls me by my full name. I think I can just make out a feeling of foreboding. "Mi abuela was the owner of your favorite pasta factory. And she handed the company down to me since she never trusted Papá." Oh, right. I had always been jealous of the Carriedo family and their wonderful pasta. "Ahaha~ If I remember correctly, you're practically in love with the stuff, right?" A smile was finally making its way to his lips. Probably remembering the good times in our Spanish Baccalaureate days. I always went to his house once a week to get me some of that good ol' pasta. And his grandmother was always there, happy and welcoming me into their home.

I snorted. "Who doesn't love pasta?" I almost let a smile form on my face.

"Ahh~ Abuela was always happy to see us walking home together. And always glad to make us that pasta." I think there was a hidden meaning behind that... But it's barely getting to me that Nonna Carriedo had passed away not too long ago. I admit, I really enjoyed bickering and laughing and listening to that crazy old woman.

One day, years ago, I was walking with Antonio to his house for our weekly serving of delicious pasta Nonna Carriedo made. And walking home, Antonio had the weirdest habit of holding my hand. After months of struggling to get away, I just said to myself 'He's never gonna let it go.' gave into it, and didn't care.

Nonna Carriedo smiled when she saw our hands entangled, and being me, I blushed a deep red and slipped my hand out of Antonio's. All I heard were the collective laughs of the other two in the room "Fusososo~" And, of course, blushed a even deeper red than humanly possible.

Later, she pulled me to the side, when Antonio had started watching TV just to ask me a question. "So, when did you start dating mi nieto maravilloso? I knew it sould happen sooner or later! Fusososo~!" I just stared at her with no words to say, well, more like pouted. And she got the idea that we had nothing to do with each other. "Ohh, mi hijito, lo siento. I just thought that... Bah! But I know you two will! Merdito, Io vi aiuterà a mostrare il vostro amore, si?" She switched to Italian so Antonio wouldn't understand much of it, as Antonio now started to look around for me. This lady was great, she spoke my language, and even taught me most of my Spanish. And she's the reason Antonio can understand my Italian, too.

Ever since that day, Nonna Carriedo pushed me and Antonio together, but without success. She always joked with us if we were ever going to be together before she's leave us.

"I'll miss that old lady." I felt really bad, and depressed. Now who's gonna help me get Antonio- I-I mean, uhm.. Oh whatever! Fuck you!

"Mmm, abuela was only fond of the two of us when it came to people. I mean she didn't even trust her own son. So now I have a huge responsibility on my shoulders... and to be honest I'm really scared. Abuela seemed worried about something, too, when I went to go see her. I think she barely trusts I can handle this job." No, I think she is just concerned that she never saw her grandson together me. I-I mean, maybe she was worried her air-head of a grandson had to run a huge company. But, I doubt it, and this is no joking matter, either.

Right now, I really wanna hug Antonio. J-just to make him feel better! And... and, 'cause I'm really feeling depressed now. So depressed I think a tear may drip down. N-no! I am not that girly! You Will NOT Cry, Lovino! Nope, here come the tears.

And it's a good thing we just parked in front of the restaurant because now I can just hug the bastard next to me. So I did, and let me tell you one thing, it's really awkward for being the one to always make your way out of a hug, and now having to be the one that's giving it. Antonio was a little surprised about me showing affection towards him. Actually, just showing affection all together! But it didn't take long for his to wrap his arms around me. And bury his head in my hair. And, man, those tears would just not stop!

And I think I felt little plops on my head. Was Antonio crying? W-why is he crying? He's the stronger, happier, and optimistic one out of both of us. H-how will I stop his tears? M-maybe if I just kiss... his... forehead. Yeah, that's safe. It's like my dad kissing my forehead to make me stop crying when I was little. So, I moved me head in order for my lips to be on the same level as his forehead and leaned in. I bet it surprised Antonio because it caused him to look at me with wide eyes before he shot me a smile. We wiped the tears off, so we wouldn't look like fucking retards as we walked out of the shiny, red car. I did check myself in the side view mirror and nonetheless, my eyes were starting to turn red. Who knows how much depressing stuff I'll hear tonight, I bet my eyes will be red and puffy by the end of the day. Siiiiiiigh.

There were still sniffles in the atmosphere as we were being seated. And the waitress just looked at Antonio with a sorry expression, the fuck? I bet this bitch didn't know what this Spanish man across from me was going through. Pffffffft.

But the waitress did. "I'm sorry for your loss, Mr. Carriedo." Huh? How did she? Whatthehell? I must have seemed so confused that it caused Antonio to say:

"I'm their pasta distributor, Lovi." Followed by a sly smile. These are the gentle smiles I always loved. I-I mean! fond of! And these smiles made me want to smile, so an awkward one was slowly making its way, forming onto my lips. Which only made Antonio smile wider, and a faint blush appeared in his cheeks. Ahh? Now that's my Antonio... Wait? My Antonio? I-It's not like he- I only meant- It's just th-that! Oh I am not that ga- Oh, fuck whatever you think! Go to hell!

And he muttered, "So they know." Know how much, I wonder.

See? If you read up until here, why didn't you just wait until next week? I warned you~ And I'm still continuing on Ch. 4
Next might be my last chapter because I have projects to work on for these next weeks, and I don't think I have much brain power left.

And here are the wonderful translations.

Italian:

Nonna Carriedo- Grandma Carriedo

Io vi aiuterà a mostrare il vostro amore, si?- I will help you show your love, yes?

Spanish:

Mi abuela- My grandmother/My grandma

Papá- Father/Dad

Mi nieto maravilloso- My marvelous grandson

Mi hijito, lo siento- I'm sorry, sonny. (Yes, it's flipped backwards. But that's how I say it.)

This chapter kind of depressed me while I was writing it, but the thought came to me in Math class in such a boring lecture and I thought... "Why not twist the story a little bit, _?
And, I'm sorry if I made you depressed.

Leave a review if you want to see something happen between these two, and/or fanfictions you'd like to see made.

I love you, all.
-Striped.