Authors note: Hello friends, enemies, ladies, and you few gentlemen who are into Hetalia! Welcome, and congratulations for sticking around with this story! You get a cookie. (::) Yay! Now, let the curtains part…

Disclaimer- Je ne possède pas Hetalia, désole.

Warning- Jerer (Cussing)

(Also, see if you can spot any references.)

Antonio's POV~

Antonio lit up as he saw the little Italian open the door. He smiled broadly, wanting to introduce himself. Maybe they could become best friends! After all, that little Italian was absolutely adorable, if a bit loud and foul-mouthed. Then the door slammed in his face. Antonio deflated a little before perking back up. Maybe the little brunet had thought he was a salesman? Gilbert always slammed the door in there faces too, though it seemed a bit rude to the Spaniard. Antonio grabbed the little tomato-man's knocker and started rapping against the door again, louder this time.

"Hey!" Then the curly haired man paused. Oh my, he didn't know the brunet's name, did he. Well, he did look a bit like a tomato sometimes. There! That was his new temporary name. This whole thought process miraculously happened within a few seconds, so there was no real awkward silence. "Sēnor Tomate~! Please open the door back up!

"Go fuck off."

Antonio paused. That was awful rude. Could the younger man still be thinking he was a salesman? The Spaniard knew it was unlikely, but he was willing to give it a try. He wasn't unintelligent, just very optimistic. For example, if you had asked him whether or not a glass was half full, he would fill it up completely with water, give it to someone who needed a drink, and when the glass was empty he would say it was still full of possibility. That's the type of person he was.

"Aww, but I came all the way here to say hi to my new neighbor! And I brought tomatoes…"

It was true. Antonio figured there was no better housewarming gift than tomatoes, since everyone loved them, right? So he had gathered the best tomatoes off his plants and lugged them up the stairs in a cardboard box. If the tenant refused, he would be forced to carry them back down. Then that would be a lot of wasted energy for nothing.

Then he heard the tentative question.

"Tomatoes?"

"Sí! They're homegrown, you want some?"

The door opened a crack, and he saw a hazel eyed face peek out suspiciously before walking out completely. The Italian cautiously shut the door behind him, still looking unsurely towards his neighbor.

"Okay, talk. You've got five minutes to get through your good samaritan routine before I leave." He said, crossing his arms.

The Spaniard stared. Wow, that brunet was a lot more adorable in daylight. And how did he get that one curl to stay up? He seemed thin but toned, he must jog or-

"Are you going to fucking say anything or sit there and stare like a freak?"

Brought out of his reverie, Antonio shook his head. He had a limited amount of time, didn't he. Completely forgetting his (somewhat) scripted speech, he did the next best thing. He rambled.

"Oh yeah! Well then, my name is Antonio Fernández Carriedo, and I live downstairs from you with two roommates, and I really like tomatoes, and I have a pet turtle named Esperanza, and I'm twenty six years old, and-"

~~~~~~TOMATOES~~~~~~

Lovino's POV-

This was amazing. Fucking amazing. That bastard hadn't seemed to pause and take a breath in- Lovino checked his watch- the last three and a half minutes. Wow. Even he was fairly impressed, though a bit more involved with being fucking pissed off. He had long since tuned out the curly haired man's consistent blathering and was mentally preparing his presentation on stocks for tomorrow in class.

"Hello?"

Lovino was snapped back to reality.

"Hmm? Yeah. I'm listening." he said in a flat tone.

"What's your name? I never did ask." He tilted his head questioningly.

"Lovino." Just because the man had brought him a box of enticing heaven, doesn't mean he agreed to a conversation. A beep came from his watch, startling them both. Five minutes were up. "Okay then, give me my tomatoes and go away."

Antonio grinned brightly and gave Lovino the box. A deal was a deal. Lovino grunted under the weight. Damn, how the hell were tomatoes such a bitch to carry? Shifting the box precariously into one arm, he reached over to open the door. The now locked door. The one, that he constantly forgot, sealed shut as soon as anyone closed it. Reaching into his pockets, he grabbed for his keys. All he got was a handful of lint. Oh…fuck.

Putting the cardboard box on the ground, the small Italian rooted around frantically in his jean pockets to no avail. Antonio looked on, slightly concerned by this odd behavior.

"What's wrong Lovi?"

Lovino paused. Oh no. No way had that bastard just given him a nickname a few minutes after they had officially met. Especially since he had now officially lost hope of getting his keys, which he had remembered leaving on the counter. He couldn't get a new set of keys until two days from now, either, because the landlady had decided this week was a great time to go on a cruise to the Bahamas.

Slowly standing up, Lovino gazed at the spaniard with an unusually patient look on his face. Even the other brunet quickly realized that this was the calm before the storm. Oh God, if only he knew. The verbal beating he was going to get would send anyone who was even slightly less thick close to tears. Good thing Antonio was thicker than the Great Wall of China.

"What the fuck do you think is wrong, you bastard! My fucking house and car keys are locked in my apartment, and I can't get a copy of the my house key for two days! I fucking swear, why is it whenever I fucking see you something fucking goes wrong, you damn bastard! I've got a fucking cat in there that's depending on me for fucking food, and if she starves and dies it's you damn fault!"

~~~~~~TOMATOES~~~~~~~

On and on he shouted, but Antonio seemed to have followed Lovino's lead when it came to someone else talking and had completely drowned him out, instead taking in how Lovino's face was slowly turning an adorable tomato red again. Awww~

"You want to come to my home and use our phone?"

This effectively stopped the Italian from his tirade. A phone would be nice. He could probably call up Mathew or Kiku and ask if he could stay over for a while. Contrary to popular belief, he did have good friends, and he really didn't want to spend a hundred on a locksmith.

"Sure… bastard. Your roommate better not try and hit on me again."

Antonio nodded. "Sì. Francis isn't here right now. He's out on a date."

So, Francis was the wine bastard's name? Great. You learn a new thing every fucking day, don't you. Life's a school, after all, and your it's bitch. And wasn't the spaniard just a fucking ray of sunshine up the ass? He sure was a pain like one. Wait. Hadn't he tagged the curly haired bastard as a psycho a couple seconds ago? So why had he put the tomatoes down in front of the door and started following him? Maybe because he'd rather be killed by a homicidal maniac than fork over a couple of dollar bills to a locksmith? Priorities, after all, Lovino was a business-man-in-training.

Arriving at 221B, the spaniard calmly unlocked his door, and by this point he might as well have been a saint for all he's put up with. Any sane person would have booted the fuming Italian off the leaning tower of Pisa, or a tall building in London, after two minutes with him.

Of all the assholes to be stuck with as a new neighbor. (Ironically, both of these two cretins were having the same thought at the same time. Great minds think alike, eh?)

Antonio nonchalantly walked inside, but Lovino stuck around for a bit outside. He quickly viewed the room for any warning signs. You know, like clown paintings or baseball bats, or, you know, a fucking rifle hanging on the wall. Or a whole collection of them. He knew Vash, and you never could tell from first glance who was really a maniac. As he learned the hard way. But, damn, Lily was hot. The near glance with death he had experienced was worth her number.

Anyways, the point was you never could tell. It's always the quiet ones, isn't it? After quickly scanning the room and seeing no obvious mutilated bodies, he deemed it safe for the next five minutes he was going to spend in there. Following after the older man, he looked around. Wow, there were some really clashing tastes. Not that he was one to talk. But one moment there would be a painting of a grassy field, the next there was a Kiss album, and then… He completely avoided that area which would not be spoken of. Needless to say, it obviously belonged to Francis.

"Here's the phone. Please don't spend hours on it. Our phone bills are already high enough as it is." There may have or may not have been the slightest hint of exasperation in the spaniards voice. But only a slight bit.

Yes, the green eyed godsend for women all over may have been very patient. No, that did not mean that he didn't have a minor temper that, when pressed, meant he would go all conquistador on whatever unfortunate individual's ass was nearest. It usually took a long time of wearing him down to get to that point, but the Italian was pressing all the right buttons.

"Yeah, yeah, great. Now hand me the fucking phone."

Yep. Pressing all the right buttons in the right order. Unfortunately, this would not win him a secret level in a Mario game. Far from it.

Lovino sighed as he practically caressed the cellular device. Now, who would he call? Never mind Mathew and Kiku, he had forgotten they still lived in dorms, along with all of his other friends, enemies, and acquaintances. Wait, Roma lived fairly close. Why not call his own past guardian? Quickly dialing the number, by now it was muscle memory, the phone rang. And rang. By the fourth toll it was picked up.

'Hello?' Said a slightly breathless female voice. The Italian ended the call. His grandfather was actually rather young after all, and GOD now he really couldn't get that image out of his head. Now he wanted to just salt and torch his brain. Fucking geckos on fire that burned!

Groaning, he slumped down to the ground. Yes, he could probably still call Feliciano, but he didn't even want to look at the sleek silver device, much less touch it. Maybe he could just hot-wire his car and drive to his job. But what would he do about Micina? She was still trapped in the apartment. Them again, she had raised his water bills by ten-fold in the last month because she figured out how to use the tap, and she could open cabinets full of food easily. Thinking about it, the Italian realized she was fairly self sufficient. He really needed to get those toddler locks for his cabinets. Dragging himself back up, he leaned heavily on the granite countertop. Dialing his brothers number, he reluctantly put the phone to his ear. This time, the phone only rang once.

'Hello' said a gruff, german, manly-man voice that defiantly did not belong to his brother. Great. So Ludwig's over. This time the brunet slammed down the phone. Karma, luck, and all things sugary and good truly hated him, didn't they?

Authors note: So this was unusually long. At least for me. Someone corrected me and told me that my 'brunette' should actually be spelled 'brunet'. Thanks! I told you guys that I have limited knowledge in english. (Apparently living in America all my life doesn't do much for me.) So, I'm sorry that I haven't gotten to the really juicy stuff yet, but I've decided to actually develop their relationship over a period of time instead of finishing the story in the convenient seven chapters I planned. Last call. Usuk or Fruk? The winning question. I ship both of them equally, but if I get no votes for either I'm going with Fruk. (A tip of the hat to you, TheFreakZone.) Any other pairings you guys would like? Just to let you know, Gerita and Spamano are here to stay. (Without Spamano there wouldn't be much of a story, would there?)By the way, the turtle's name ,Esperanza, comes from a book I read in fourth grade, Esperanza Rising. I remembered it being pretty good. Reviews are more greatly appreciated than you could imagine.

May lollipops fall from the sky and all turtles fly,

-LollipopTurtle