Lovino had done it; he had made it onto national television as a news journalist. He had the means to do anything he wanted. He even hired a groundskeeper to tend to the massive garden he'd been left with. Antonio Carriedo was the man's name, not that Lovino cared, obviously. Newsroom AU, because that's all I know how to write apparently.

This had to count as sexual harassment somehow, right?

The man, a Spaniard judging by his accent, was talking to him about the various summers he had spent tending to fields with his grandfather, all the while the corner of his lips seemed to be permanently tugged upwards, as if his face was frozen in a constant smile. His olive skin was a little burnt, since Lovino's yard didn't offer much shade, and a noticeable amount of sweat gathered at the collar of his shirt in the summer heat. Kneeling in the dirt, his gloved hands were gently working out a thorny weed as he panted between words, obviously somewhat exhausted, the man chattered happily to him nevertheless.

Yes, Lovino was definitely being harassed. He wasn't touching him, nor speaking in a crude way, but it was in the way he moved; his arms tensing with each pull on the weed, the muscles in his back visible through the sticky material of his sweat soaked shirt, his green eyes only half open as he spoke, his voice low and warm, his hands tender yet steady on the stubborn weed before him. Lovino stared helplessly. He was beautiful.

The moment the thought crossed his mind he quickly shut down, and mentally shook himself. What was he doing? He didn't even know this man - why was he even talking to him in the first place? Oh, that's right.

"What's your name?"

The sentence pierced through the Spaniard's words, cutting off his story altogether. He let go of the weed for a moment and scratched the back of his neck.

"Honestly Mr. Vargas, shouldn't you have learned that during my interview, or at least see it while signing my contract?"

Lovino crossed his arms, feeling his ears redden. Yes, he should have, but he was so damn busy. He had so many stories to write and scenes to report on, menial things like the name of his new groundskeeper sat buried in the back of his mind, along with a million other subjects that he deemed less important.

"I don't need your sarcasm." Lovino growled, not sure if he was embarrassed or offended, probably little bit of both. "What's your name?"

The Spaniard laughed softly, something that seemed incredibly out of context to Lovino, before saying: "My names Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, though you can call me Toni."

"Well Antonio," he replied, deliberately ignoring his request out of spite or pride or something of the sort, "Your lunch is waiting in the kitchen."

He tilted his head, and though he seemed confused a smile still graced his lips. "There's no need for that Mr. Vargas, I packed my own, though I do appreciate your kindness."

"My brother Feliciano made it." Lovino said quickly, trying to force the blush away from his cheeks. Why was it so damn hot out today? "I'm just the messenger."

Antonio was still smiling, and it only served to make Lovino more uncomfortable. "Well tell Feliciano thank you for me, I'll come eat in a little bit."

"Make sure you wash your hands," Lovino said pointedly, turning away so he didn't have to endure the sight of the Spaniard a moment longer. "And for God's sake change your shirt."

"I like him an awful lot." Feliciano said after Antonio had checked out for the day. Lovino only grunted from where he sat on the couch writing the script of his latest story. It was the overview of a court case for a brutal murder that happened a few years before. It seemed that the convicted man was getting an appeal, and the public was outraged. He had tried especially hard this time to write with delicacy, something he had been told to work on from the very start of his journalism career.

"We should get a butler too." His brother said absent mindedly. "Or a maid or a cook or-

Lovino snorted. "And when did you become so high and mighty? You can do your all of those things yourself."

Feli frowned. "Well we can do our own gardening too, so why even bother with a groundskeeper?"

Normally he would have responded with a biting remark, but Lovino couldn't help it, this time it was a bit too personal. "Because I don't know shit about plants, and I think mom's garden deserves much more love than we've been giving it."

His younger brother looked down. "You're right," he said, and then a cheerful grin spread across his face. "Does this mean that I don't have to mow the lawn?"

Lovino shook his head. "That's Antonio's job now, though I might have you do it anyways if you keep distracting me from my work with stupid questions."

Feli whined. "Why are you always so mean?"

"Because I work day and night to feed your sorry ass." He said, "I'm honestly just an enabler for your pasta addiction."

"I'd say it's more of a habit,"

Lovino drank from a bottle of ice water, eyes glazed over as he went over the script again. News could be so boring.

He was lucky that his employer, "World News Daily", had a station in Los Angeles. Geographically, the only difference was a thirty minutes in driving time, and the best part was that he and his brother could remain in their home on the outskirts of the city, where people still had driveways and backyards.

His agent, a flamboyant Frenchman that went by the name of Francis Bonnefoy, had become a useful colleague of his since he'd started going national a few months prior. Though he'd never say so, Lovino appreciated Francis's ability to shrug off every harsh word or insult that he threw at him. His personality had destroyed relationships in the past, and his inability to function smoothly in social situations drove him mad. As annoying as the Frenchman was, he was secretly pleased with his circumstance. Though he didn't consider their relationship that a friendship, it was still the closest Lovino had gotten to having one.

Now if only he'd stop flirting with everyone he saw.

"Oh Lovi, your brother is just darling." He gushed as he came to lean against Lovino's desk. It was nearly time for dinner break, but he was glad that a few producers and reporters lingered in the newsroom. At least then Francis wouldn't get too carried away.

Then Francis's words struck him. "How do you know my brother?" he asked, spinning his chair around. The Frenchman, dressed in his usual stylish silk shirt and slacks, gave Lovino an exaggerated smile.

"Oh I was looking through your phone." He said simply.

"What-" Lovino started, shaking his head, "What the fuck?"

Francis laughed airily. "You see, your phone wasn't the latest model, so I decided I'd take it in and trade it for the newest design! You've got to keep up your image, mon amie. It cost a little bit, sure, but with your salary you can afford anything. Look, the camera is HD!"

Lovino quickly snatched his now larger, shinier phone out of his hands. "Ask for my damn permission first." He said. Though money was not nearly as tight as it used to be, in fact he had more than he knew what to do with, he still held on to his frugal life style, and didn't like the idea of his agent going behind his back and spending his funds, regardless of whether or not he could afford it. "And that still doesn't answer my question."

The Frenchman ran a hand through his shoulder length hair. "Well naturally they transferred everything onto this new phone, including pictures and such, and it didn't have a password yet, (not that I didn't already know yours) so I decided to check to make sure that everything was still there and Oh mon Dieu Lovino! Your brother is just adorable."

"And underage." Lovino said. By now he was used to Francis's flirting antics, and was often pulling him away from chatting with girls as well as boys. He had even tried to seduce Lovino at first, but the reporter wasn't having any of it, and once that was clear Francis bounced on to his next target. By now he could usually ignore his coworker's constant pursuit of one night stands, but he drew the line at Feliciano.

"Yes yes," Francis said, the undertones of an accent appearing as they occasionally did. "But a man can wait, especially for someone with that face!"

Lovino sighed heavily. "Feliciano and I look almost exactly alike." He said, and it was true. They had often been mistaken for twins.

"I agree." He said, "But you rejected me, and now I think it's time to heal, and this boy could put me back together and-"

"For the love of God." Lovino said, standing up to gather his things. "I'm going to dinner." He said before turning on his heel and marching out of the newsroom. To his dismay he could hear footsteps approaching from behind him.

"I don't want company." He grumbled when Francis fell into step beside him.

"How rude of you- Lovi!" he said, putting his hands on his hips. "I'm not just company, I'm your agent!"

"Yeah," he said under his breath, "And you're also pretentious and obnoxious and a goddamn pedophile for Feliciano."

When they stepped out of the building and onto the busy LA Street, Lovino did his best to walk away in a discreet fashion, but Francis caught up.

"Feliciano!" he exclaimed, "What a lovely name. It just dances across your lips when you say it!"

"I will literally kill you."

"Lovi, let's go to your house for dinner, that way I can meet him! I know he is young but-"

"We're going to that place that serves English cuisine," he said, trying not to grin as the Frenchman seemed to gag.

"I say we go for Italian." Francis shot back.

Lovino rolled his eyes, but just as he was about to fire a reply a warm, light voice interrupted him.

"Could you settle for Spanish?"

They both turned around to see a grinning Antonio Fernandez Carriedo. The gardener looked different at this time of night; he was covered in neither sweat nor dirt, and seemed to be less at ease than usual.

Lovino was about to ask what he was doing there, but before he could Francis tackled the Spaniard with a bear hug. He felt the back of his neck heat up. What on earth was his agent doing?

"Toni, I've missed you so much!" he said, and Antonio simply laughed and replied. "We just went out for drinks last night."

"Oh merde, you're right." Francis said, and Lovino shoved his hands in his pockets, slightly annoyed that he hadn't been acknowledged yet. He then remembered how he had only just learned Antonio's name, and grudgingly admitted to himself that it was justified.

"Mr. Vargas, what a coincidence!" Antonio piped up, causing Lovino to jump.

The reporter shrugged, trying to think of something civil to say. "How do you know Francis?"

"We go way back." His agent explained. "We met in high school, it was always the two of us-"

"And Gilbert." Antonio interrupted, smiling at Lovino. The reporter was all but comfortable with this situation.

"There were three of us, I guess." Francis corrected himself. "But you see, Gilbert-"

"Sorry," the reporter interrupted, and he was actually sorry, though he couldn't pin down why. "I've only got an hour; I really need to go get food." he glanced at Antonio, and then walked away. They didn't follow. Lovino couldn't tell if he was relieved or disappointed.

Antonio watched Lovino's back as he walked away, only half listening to Francis. When he noticed his friend had stopped talking, his attention refocused.

"He's cute, isn't he?"

Antonio hesitated, and then simply nodded.

"I thought so too. I tried to win him over for an entire week, but he wasn't having it. Damn stubborn kid."

The gardener glanced at his friend. "Kid?"

"He's only twenty." Francis said. "He's talented, trust me- he didn't charm his way up the ladder. Don't tell him that though, it'll go to his head. He hasn't been too mean to you, has he?"

"What?" Antonio asked, blinking in surprise.

"You started gardening for him last month right? Has he been harsh with you or…?" Francis left the question hanging.

"I suppose," Antonio said with a shrug. "I think he's probably tired though, he looks worn out."

"I'd avoid him if I were you."

The gardener was confused. "Why?"

"I've worked with him for a few months now," Francis started, "And I think I understand him pretty well. He's a good guy deep down, but on the surface he is the textbook definition of an asshole. I can handle it just fine; I know he doesn't mean most of what he says. He's usually civil with acquaintances, but when he goes into bitch mode…well…"

Antonio shrugged. "I'm sure I can take it."

Francis nodded. "I know you can, and that's why I'm worried."

The Spaniard rolled his eyes, his friend was always the dramatic, "What do you mean by that?"

"The way he looked at you," he said, "he didn't glare."

Lovino enjoyed his morning strolls in the backyard. It was a simple thing, but it cleared his mind. The air was cool and misty, and he could feel the wet grass tickle the sides of his sandaled feet. The sun wasn't up yet, which meant Feliciano wasn't either. He took a seat on a wooden bench that sat in front of the garden. He'd wait there until his brother came and offered him breakfast, which he would eat outside. It was a daily tradition.

A rustling in the bushes behind him startled him. Lovino jumped and turned around, only to see Antonio crouched on the ground, tending to a tomato plant. The Spaniard hummed quietly to himself, he must not have noticed Lovino sitting a few feet away.

He supposed he should have cleared his throat, or tried to strike up a conversation, but his mind wasn't functioning, he simply sat, neck craned, watching the man go about his work. The pale light of dawn dusted his features. It was different from the harsh sun of the day before, but not in a bad way. The Spaniard was just as beautiful as he remembered.

Lovino shook his head, good God, he was hopeless.

"Mr. Vargas, come over here."

With a start Lovino realized that Antonio must have caught him staring, and he hesitantly made his way into the garden to stand beside him.

Antonio got to his feet, and then took a step closer to him. Lovino reflexed by taking a step back. The movement caused him to pause, and the smile to fall from his lips. Immediately Lovino stepped forward again, avoiding the Spaniard's gaze.

"I won't hurt you, Mr. Vargas." He said gently.

"Better fucking not." Lovino said, surprised at the venom in his voice, he was normally mellow in the mornings. It was only after a day full of annoyances that he became his usual grumpy self.

"Hold out your hand."

He did as he was told, shooting his gardener a questioning gaze. Antonio simply smiled and placed something in his hand.

It was a tomato.

And not even a good one- it was small, wrinkled and squishy in the most unpleasant way. He immediately dropped it. "What the fuck?

Antonio responded with a laugh, one that was clear and hearty that seemed to echo across the yard. "I thought you'd do that." He said. "To be honest with you Mr. Vargas, your garden is shit."

Lovino huffed. "Like I didn't already know. Is that all you wanted to say?"

"No," the Spaniard continued. "I just wanted you to remember what that tomato was like, because by the end of the summer, they'll be so good that you'll eat them like apples."

"That's not enough to get you a raise." Lovino said.

"I don't want a raise." He said, "What I want is for two months to pass, and I'll pick the two best tomatoes I've grown, and then bring you one, and we can eat them together."

For some reason, Lovino felt the tips of his ears turn red. "What?"

A wide grin broke across Antonio's face, "And you'll be so astounded by how it tastes, you'll have to write an article about them- and then you'll make me famous! I'll have my own show and everything."

At that moment Lovino was closer to smiling than he'd been in years. He felt himself relax a little.

"I'll need twenty percent of your profits."

Antonio laughed again, and for some reason Lovino felt his heart speed up, as if he had just been scared, but instead of fear filling him it was a fluttering sense of peace. It was the strangest thing he'd ever experienced, and for a brief moment he wondered if he was dying.

"That's much too high; we're going to have to settle with ten percent."

Lovino shook his head. "Twenty or nothing."

Antonio scratched his chin in a mock thinking gesture, the edges of his lips tugged up in a half smile.

"How about fifteen percent and I buy you dinner?" he asked, adding a wink for good measure.

That strange fluttering in him increased ten-fold, and for a moment he thought he was going to pass out. Dear God- what was going on with him?

"Fifteen percent, you buy me dinner and I choose the wine."

"Deal." The gardener said, bringing his hand up so that it was eye level with Lovino, his pinky was noticeably sticking out. "Let's seal it in blood."

He hesitated, but crooked his pinky around Antonio's regardless. He hoped the Spaniard didn't notice how his hand shook. Lovino inwardly groaned- he was so incredibly ill. Forcing himself to speak, he said: "I don't think this is what "Seal it in blood," means."

Antonio shot him a grin. "I'm willing to settle."

After living with his brother for seventeen years, Lovino was skilled at blocking out most of what came out of Feliciano's mouth. This time was different.

When the phone rang, he didn't bother to get up from his position on the couch, since Feli immediately bolted across the room to get it. The conversation started out with its usual "Hello"'s and "How are you?"'s, but quickly dissolved into Feli shamelessly babbling about puppies and girls and things of that nature. Lovino was able to fade him out quickly enough, and was halfway through writing an article when something Feli said caught his attention.

Well, it wasn't really what he said, but the way he said it.

"Oh, okay."

He spoke softly; the happiness in his voice had all but dissolved now. "When?"

There was a pause in which Lovino tried to regain focus on his work, but the quiet, brittle tone his brother spoke with kept him from doing so.

"I see." Feli said, biting his lip harshly, he let his back hit the wall and simply stood there, and Lovino felt a wave of worry hit him. His brother had never stood still, there was always a toe tapping on the floor or fingers drumming aimlessly, but now his legs were stiff and his free arm rigid at his side. Lovino waiting patiently for him to finish his conversation, there was no way he could simply let this instance go, even if he wanted to.

Feli was silent for a long time, his eye closed as he pressed his phone to his ear harshly.

"Yeah, we should." He said finally, and Lovino hadn't realized he was holding his breath in anticipation for his brother's words. "Definitely, I know some great places to eat at."

He paused, and then locked his gaze with Lovino, his eyes silently pleading. "You want me to make something at home?"

Though he couldn't quite pin down why Feliciano was asking him, he nodded in response to his brother's question. Feli's imploring gaze finally flicked away as he heaved a sigh.

"Sure, you could come over here. We'd love to have you."

There was another heavy pause, and Lovino simply stared at his brother, he thought that he might be starting to understand.

"No, don't apologize, you do what you think is best." He said, his next sentence was almost a whisper. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Lovino was already putting his laptop down on the coffee table when Feliciano hung up. He couldn't make it to his younger brother before he sunk down to the ground, burying his face in his hands.

"What happened?" he asked as gently as he could, coming to sit beside him.

Feliciano simply dissolved into sobs. This occurrence wasn't uncommon, his brother had always been a bit of a crybaby, and normally Lovino would just roll his eyes and make him pasta. This instance- he realized- was different.

He placed a hand on his brother's shoulder, a gentle invitation for comfort that Feli quickly took, resting his face against Lovino's chest as he tried to stop his tears.

Luckily, these episodes never lasted long, and within a minute or two Feli sat up and took the tissue that Lovino offered him. After he had blown his nose a few times and began to take steady breaths, Lovino dared to ask:

"Is it that potato bastard?"

His brother released a laugh, though it was quickly interrupted by a hiccup. "Yes."

Ludwig was a tall, imposing, and orderly man that Feliciano had known since grade school, when he and his family had immigrated to the states from Germany. Much to his brother's dismay, Feli had quickly latched on to Ludwig. Their mother encouraged their friendship, and often invited the grumpy German child over to play with her sons, which usually meant that Ludwig sat quietly as Feli played and Lovino read a book across the room.

Although Lovino expected his brother's friendship to end quickly, as the two were nearly polar opposites, it never did. Ludwig had remained in the States, gotten his citizenship even, and started to lay down the stakes for a successful life. They remained best friends up through high school, and now that it was summer and they had graduated, there was nothing that kept them from visiting each other constantly, which they did. Though recently Ludwig had enlisted in the air force, and Lovino could sense the tension in his brother for the last month or so.

With whatever news he got from that conversation, it seemed to have finally broken him.

"He's leaving?" he asked, not sure why he would, since the country was at peace and there were few reasons to deploy soldiers at the time.

"Yeah." Feli said. "They offered him a position in the Ramstein Air Base in Germany, he'd be teaching German to soldiers there."

"So no fighting?" Lovino asked.

Feli shook his head. "Probably not."

"But he's still going away."

"Yeah," Feli said, "But he'll be getting paid more I think, and he has a lot of family in Germany he hasn't seen in years, and I think he's really excited and I'm happy for him-"

"But he won't be here anymore." Lovino cut off his brother's rant before it could get too far.

"No." Feli shook his head. "But we've graduated so I should have expected us to go separate ways; it really shouldn't be that big of a deal to me."

Lovino was at a loss. He understood his brother better than anyone else, perhaps better than himself, but he couldn't for the life of him think of a way to remedy the situation. Ludwig had been his best friend for years after all, and now he'd be leaving indefinitely.

"He's going to come over for dinner." Lovino said simply, not sure of what he expected to hear in reply.

Feli nodded. "Next Friday he will. He leaves the day after I think."

"God help me." Lovino said, "Now I have to find a recipe that involves pasta and sausage."

That made his brother laugh, which Lovino took for a good sign.

"I work Friday nights, you know that right?"

Feli nodded. "I can cook then, I don't mind."

"I'll bust out some of grandpa's old wine." Lovino said as they stood, his younger brother had now stopped crying completely, and was smiling like usual. He was satisfied with his efforts.

"Ludwig likes beer more than wine." Feli said simply.

"Of course- he would wouldn't he?" Lovino said, letting his normal dry, rude personality take over again. "What an asshole. We're going to give him wine anyways; he'll have plenty of beer in Germany. He needs to experience some Italian class; we can't let that country turn him into even more of a caveman."

His younger brother laughed, and began chattering aimlessly again, and Lovino went back to the couch and continued writing. He had successfully cheered Feliciano up, and though it wasn't with nearly as much kindness and love as his mother would have used, it worked nevertheless. He'd take it as a victory.

"Mon amie"- My friend

"Oh mon Dieu" - Oh my God

"Oh merde" - Oh Shit

Be advised friends, I'm 100% relying on google translate for anything that isn't English, so my French/Spanish/whatever else I might include will probably be less than the best.