There was a soft thud as Romano flopped across his couch, staring up at the ceiling lazily. He felt his stomach rumble and started nibbling on the large red tomato that he was holding. After about a minute of watching a spider crawl across the ceiling, he sighed in annoyance, bored out of his mind.

His hair was messy, his eyes dull, and he was wearing his trademark scowl. Today, as he had for the past several months, he was directing his scowl at a certain blond German sitting silently next to him. Germany, of course, was ignoring him, the way he had for the past several months. He was staring blankly at the TV, with a rigid look that assured Romano that he was watching him closely out of the corner of his eye. Romano could tell he felt as unhappy about sitting next to Romano as Romano felt.

Romano scowled harder and started violently gnawing on the tomato again. It wasn't that he hated the German, it was that…no…no wait, that was exactly it. He loathed the German. Hated everything about him, from the food he ate to his stiff personality. He could not imagine why anyone would ever remotely like the horrible bastard in the first place.

"I finished making dinner everyone!" A cheery voice called from the next room. "Ve~ I hope you like pasta~!"

Romano cringed at the sound of his brother's voice. Italy, of course, had the opposite idea about the German. Actually, Italy and Germany had been dating for about two months. Which was why Germany and Romano were stuck together in Romano's living room, both pretending that the other didn't exist.

Italy skipped into the room, humming happily. He paused when he noticed the half-eaten tomato hanging out of his brother's mouth. "Romano, why are you already eating?" He whined, suddenly distressed. "I thought we could all eat together today!"

Romano glared at him. "Give me one good reason why I'd ever want to eat dinner with an idiot and a fat-ass who smells like potatoes?"

"Romano that's not nice!" Italy protested. "Germany isn't fat!" He walked over and started trying to pull Romano to his feet. "Please, fratello? Per favore? You promised!"

"No I didn't," Romano snapped back. "I'd never agree to something so stupid."

("Why is it that you don't protest against me smelling like potatoes…?" Germany mumbled, more to himself than Italy.)

"Ve~ but you said you couldn't imagine anything better to do with your life on a Saturday evening than to spend it with me and Germany." Italy gave him an innocent smile. Romano glared at him.

Germany stood up and strode over to Italy. "Listen, Italy, it's not that big of a deal. I, uh, don't mind it being just the two of us." He shrugged, a telltale blush appearing on his face. "Actually, it'd be nice, just the two of us…" He gave Italy one of his rare, nervous smiles.

Italy blushed slightly and giggled. "Okay, Germany!" He replied happily. He stood on his tiptoes and kissed the corner of Germany's mouth. Germany blushed even harder and leaned closer, wrapping his arms around Italy's waist, and gently kissed him back.

Suddenly, something collided with the side of Germany's head.

Germany yelped. He stood there stiffly for a second, then slowly reached up to wipe away the splattered remains of the tomato covering most of his face. He turned to look at the Italian lying on the couch next to him.

Romano gave a lazy yawn. "Damn it, you stupid potato-bastard, you made me drop my tomato."

"Romano!" Italy reprimanded, crossing his arms as if he was a parent chastising a child (but only ended up making himself look like he was pouting). "That wasn't very nice."

Romano rolled his eyes. "Idiota, I don't give a shit. And I'm not eating dinner with the potato bastard either. I'd rather starve."

"But Romano, I made pasta!" Italy protested. Romano ignored him. Italy grabbed his arm. "Please, Romano? Pretty please?" When that tactic didn't seem to do anything, Italy turned toward Germany. "Germany…" he pleaded, tears in his eyes.

Germany sighed. "Italy, I can think of three good reasons why we should just leave him. One of which is starting to burn my eyes…" He turned and walked into the kitchen to rinse his eyes out, rubbing them with an annoyed grimmace.

Italy looked from Germany to his brother. He sighed. "Ve~ I'm sure the two of you could be friends if you wanted…" he murmured sadly.

Romano rolled over so his back was facing them. "Bastardo."

Italy pouted and walked into the kitchen, sniffling slightly and wiping his eyes.

Romano scowled. His brother was quite possibly the most obnoxious idiot he'd ever met. The potato came in a close second. He crossed his arms and shut his eyes. He could hear the two of them start giggling like idiots in the other room. He glanced up to see them cuddling in the kitchen, the larger German with his arms wrapped snugly around the blushing Italian.

Romano rolled his eyes and looked away, scowl returned twofold. Bastards, he thought bitterly. He still wasn't sure why he'd ever let the German bastard get even remotely close to his younger brother. Maybe he'd been hoping that his brother would be less obnoxious if he wasn't crying about Germany not liking him for hours at a time.

Oh God was he wrong about that.

There was another giggle from the kitchen. Romano glanced up long enough to see them kissing in the other room. Romano gagged and turned away. Hell, I'm never going to fall in love, he decided silently. It's stupid. He shut his eyes smugly. Never in a million years… Not like he could imagine ever falling in love with anyone of course.

…Or anyone loving him for that matter…

Nope, he didn't need love. He didn't need anyone to hug him or kiss him or spend time with him or call him cute or anything. Definitely not. That obnoxious shit was for Veneziano, not him.

Romano glared back up at the other two. Germany was still molesting his brother's face, caressing his cheek and running his other hand over the small of Italy's back. Romano narrowed his eyes and bit his thumb at them. Since they didn't notice, he reached down, scooped a plastic gun from under the couch, and fired at them a few times. Nothing came out. He rolled his eyes and pretended to fire the toy into his mouth.

Something hard collided with the back of Romano's throat. He froze and retched violently, tumbling off the couch. His face smacked against a table and a small marble fell out of his mouth. He stared at it for a second. "Merda," he spat, throwing the gun across the room. "Evil bastard. That'll show you, you…inanimate object…chigi!" He coughed angrily.

"Romano, are you okay?" A panicked voice asked suddenly. Romano stiffened. That voice…

Spain bent down in front of him. "¿Estás bien, Romano?" He asked, his bright green eyes practically radiating worry. "That looked kinda painful." He reached out and helped Romano back to his feet. He looked closely at the spot on Romano's face where he'd hit the table, brushing his fingers against the now-bruising skin.

Romano yanked his arm away and glared at the Spaniard. "Bastard, I don't need your help," he snapped. "And just what the hell are you doing here anyway?" He reached up and indignantly rubbed the bruise on his face, which, oddly enough, had stopped hurting nearly as much…

"Well, I picked some tomatoes from my garden this morning and I thought to myself 'who would want to try some of my homegrown tomatoes?' And I thought of Romano!" He smiled at Romano, holding up a basket overflowing with mouthwatering tomatoes. "¿Quieres un tomate?"

Romano stared at them, feeling his mouth start to water. Then he shook his head. "Bastard, why would I want to eat any of your stupid tomatoes?" He grumbled stubbornly.

Spain thought for a second. "Well, because you like tomatoes," he replied.

Romano paused his grumbling for a second. Well, it was true…but that didn't mean he wanted to eat with the bastard. "W-Well…Well I'm not hungry!" Romano declared.

His stomach let out a loud protest. They both glanced down at it. Spain smiled at him. "Well, your stomach says otherwise!" He laughed.

"S-Shut up bastard!" Romano stammered. He felt his face beginning to heat up. He stiffened and quickly turned away, trying to hide his reddening face before—

"Awww, Romano, you look so cute!" Spain cooed happily, suddenly wrapping Romano in a warm hug. "Just like a tomato!"

Romano's face got redder. "Get off of me, you bastard!" He shouted. "I'm not cute and I don't look anything like any of your damn tomatoes and get off of me now!"

Spain made a face. "But Romano, you are cute," he protested, pouting slightly and hugging Romano closer. He pressed his face against Romano's cheek, smiling affectionately.

Romano froze, feeling his heart starting to hammer out of his chest and his face getting even redder. W-What the…? He thought weakly, through all of the static that had suddenly engulfed his thoughts. He couldn't breathe.

Spain continued, oblivious as always. "You are cute!" He insisted. "The way you always pout and your face gets all red…like a—"

"—like a freaking tomato, yeah I get it," Romano managed to interrupt. "N-Now get off." He squirmed away and pushed Spain back. "And men don't like being called cute. Bastard."

"But your brother likes being called cute!" Spain protested.

"…My point exactly…" Romano muttered darkly. Then he scowled at Spain. "And anyway, you should head home. My brother has his potato bastard over for dinner."

Spain blinked. "He does?" He asked.

Romano rolled his eyes. "Yes, you idiot, they're right over—" He turned and froze, realizing they had left while he and Spain were talking. "They're right over…um…" He peeked inside. "…right over…" He frowned and looked around. "The hell…?"

Spain gave him another small hug. "Well, since it's just the two of us, would you like some dinner?" He suggested, holding out the basket.

Romano glared up at him. After a moment he sighed. "Fine, sure. Bastard," he muttered. "But just 'cause I'm hungry," he added. He strode into the kitchen, grabbed some food off of the counter, sat down, and started violently shoving the food into his mouth. After a moment he muttered, "And hand me some of those tomatoes."

Spain smiled and handed him the basket. The two of them sat down at the table, Romano munching on the food and Spain smiling the way he usually did. "So, Italy and Germany were here earlier?" He laughed slightly. "Those two are so cute together, no?"

"Say that again and I shoot you," Romano replied with another scowl. After a moment, he sighed. "Those two are just idiots. Always hugging and shit. So annoying, damn it. I'm never gonna fall in love, that's for sure," he muttered, crossing his arms.

Spain grabbed his arm. "Don't think like that Romano!" He insisted. "I'm sure there's someone out there who would love you!"

Romano yanked his arm back. "Asshole, that's not what I meant," he growled angrily, narrowing his eyes. "I mean it just seems stupid. Love and all that shit just seems so stupid. I don't want to fall in love."

Spain thought about that for a moment, then smiled at him. "Come on Romano, Italy and Germany are so happy together!" He said. "How could something that makes people so happy be stupid?"

Romano rolled his eyes. "Well, you're pretty stupid…" he mumbled.

Spain blinked, staring at him. Then a wide smile spread across his face. "So do I make you happy, Romano…?" He asked excitedly.

Romano froze. "W-What?" He stammered, his face turning even redder than the tomato he was eating. He stared at Spain for a moment. "W-W-When the f*cking hell did I say something like that, you bastard! Stop twisting my words around! F*cking bastard. Chigi…" He crossed his arms, glowering at him.

Spain's smile faltered. For a moment, he looked hurt. "O-Oh…" he murmured. He forced the smile back onto his face. "Okay," he replied brightly. "Lo siento, Romano."

Romano watched him for a moment, slightly startled by the reaction. He scowled and looked away. He felt a guilty pang in his chest. Spain was such a kind person. Romano had lived with him since he was a child. He was one of the few people that ever made him feel, well, like he was worth something, always compliment him, taking care of him, even after all the trouble he caused. And whenever Spain was actually hurt, he would never let someone see.

He didn't want to make the Spanish bastard sad; he just didn't want him getting the wrong idea. Or the right idea, for that matter. Spain did make him feel happy. He'd never admit that to his face, but Spain was one of the only people…

Romano sighed and handed Spain a tomato. "I thought we were eating dinner, bastard. So far I'm the only one eating and you just keep watching me like a pervert."

Spain blinked, staring down at the red fruit. Then he smiled brightly at the small Italian glowering at him. "¡Gracias, Romano! You're so sweet."

Romano rolled his eyes and rested his head in his hand. "Yeah yeah, I'm a f*cking saint," he mumbled. "Just eat the tomato, damn it."

Spain started happily eating the ripe tomato, somehow managing to smile the entire time. Romano watched him for a second. How the hell could he be so damn happy every second of every day? Why was he so happy?

Not that Romano minded. He liked it when Spain was happy, how he'd always smile and say something encouraging and how he'd hold him and the way his emerald eyes seemed to glow with enthusiasm and his perfectly tanned body would bounce up and down like a little kid whenever he got excited and…and…

Romano blinked, realizing what he was thinking, and quickly shook his head. The hell was all that shit? He scolded himself silently.

"You sure you're okay, Romano?" Spain asked again, snapping him out of his thoughts. His eyes were full of concern again, an out-of-place frown on his face.

"Why the hell wouldn't I be?" Romano muttered back, his cheeks puffing out the way they did when he was annoyed. "My face feels fine, idiota. I'm not a baby anymore." He rubbed his cheek, idly wondering if it was bruising.

Spain looked closely at him. "I don't know…you're acting kind of strange. Are you feeling sick today?"

Romano rolled his eyes. There he goes again, acting like he cares about my wellbeing, he thought bitterly. "Maybe it's because all these idiots in my house are giving me a headache," Romano muttered.

Spain thought for a second. "Do you need some medicine?"

"I'm fine, bastard. I don't need your help. Go away." With that, Romano crossed his arms and turned away.

Spain sighed, knowing that he wouldn't be able to say anything to Romano to help. "Okay, Romano. Hasta luego, mi tomate." He slowly stood up and strode to the door, smiling when he saw Romano's cheeks flush again.

Italy waved at Spain as he strode outside. "Hi Spain!" He greeted. "Me and Germany went outside so you two could be alone!" He smiled.

Spain smiled back. "Thanks, Italy! How are you and Germany…?" He trailed off, noticing Romano glaring at them. "Erm, well, we can talk at your house, Germany. I'm headed over there to meet your brother for drinks!"

Germany sighed. "Wonderful…"

Spain smiled at him. "¡No te preocupes, mi amigo!" He replied, patting Germany's shoulder. "I won't get him too drunk!" The two started leaving. "¡Adios!" Spain called over his shoulder, waving.

Italy waved back. "Ciao! Arrivaderci! Ti amo, Germany!" He continued waving as the two drove off. As soon as they disappeared, he turned and smiled at his brother.

Romano glanced at him. "…What?" He muttered.

"Ve~ so how'd it go~?" He asked, leaning in close to him.

"How'd what go?" Romano asked, starting to get annoyed.

"Y'know…how'd it go with big brother Spain?"

Romano stared blankly at him for a second. "Huh…?" He thought for a second, confused. Then he turned red. ""W-W-What the hell is that supposed to mean!" He stammered, grabbing his brother's collar.

Italy yelped. "Eek, R-Romano I-I'm s-sorry d-don't h-hurt me!" He pulled a white flag out and started weakly waving it in front of Romano's face as he shook Italy back and forth.

Romano scowled and dropped him, trying to will away the redness of his face. "Shit…" he hissed. He turned and stormed back into the house.

He slammed the door to his room and flopped onto his bed. "Idiota," he murmured to himself. "I'd never like that bastardo. I don't like anyone. Don't need anyone hugging me and kissing me and spending time with me and calling me cute…" He trailed off, his face reddening as he realized that Spain did all that anyway.

With that odd thought in his head, he buried his face in his pillow.

Hello, internet! I missed you!

Merda ~ shit (Italian)

¿Estás bien, Romano? ~ Are you alright, Romano? (Spanish)

¿Quieres un tomate? ~ Do you want a tomato? (Spanish)

Lo siento ~ I'm sorry (Spanish)

Hasta luego, mi tomate ~ See you later, my tomato (Spanish)

No te preocupes ~ Don't worry (Spanish)

Arrivaderci ~ See you (Italian)

Ti amo ~ I love you (Italian)

Biting your thumb in Italy is about the same as sticking up your middle finger in America. Not sure how many other places have these kinds of things. Feel free to correct me if I'm wrong.