Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of its characters.

Lovino glared at the dismal sky above, a few flurries of snow drifting past his head and dissolving as they hit the hard concrete beneath his feet. He trudged down the walk, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his coat and his collar pulled up to block out the bitter air.

I hate winter… He thought, deepening the scowl on his face. He turned the corner and quickened his pace, hurrying down the shadowed alley towards the tall brick building on the other side. He jogged up the large stone steps in front of the building and pushed through the heavy front doors of the apartment building he was supposed to call home.

He took his time, making his way up the steps damp from tracked in snow and moisture. He scaled flight after flight, leisurely traveling to his little square of the building on the third floor. When he reached the floor, he drug his feet slowly to his door, trying to ignore the peeling walls and dangling light fixture that hung like a piece of limp spaghetti over the hall. Plugging the key into the doorknob and flipping the deadbolt, he entered his apartment.

He glanced around the place, as he did everyday when he returned, and found himself appalled at how little taste he had. A brownish couch sat lonely on the far wall, a small coffee table awkwardly thrown in front of it. A tall lamp stood behind it, and across the room sat his old TV, a "gift" from his grandpa when he'd moved out. He rolled his eyes at the memory and shut the door, blocking the world from his drab apartment. The kitchen sat situated to the right of the living room, the countertops crowded with junk mail and bills that needed to be paid. He tossed his keys on the equally crowded table and opened the fridge, peering inside, hoping for a miracle.

No such luck.

Sighing, he pulled out cold pasta that had been his supper three nights in a row and tossed the whole container into the microwave, hitting a random button and going to the sink. He washed his hands and dried them on his worn jeans, turning back to the microwave to get his dinner.

Making his way back into the living room, he flopped down on the couch and sighed.

"Welcome home, Lovino. How was your day, Lovino? Was work tough? Are you tired? I missed you." He glanced around, eyes wandering over the empty room, and he considered answering himself, but he knew that was generally frowned upon in society, so he resolved to eat his pasta in silence.

When he did finally flip on his TV, he browsed channels in search of something, anything worth actually watching. He settled on the news.

The first story was about a house fire in Bronx, the next a bank robbery. A missing person, a missing pet, three car accidents, two arrests. And finally the unresolved murder from three blocks down. Lovino sighed, turning off the TV.

"That was depressing," he mumbled aloud, trailing his fingers through his brown, tousled locks. Scowling at nothing in particular, he felt that familiar shadow of anger and bitterness creeping over him. He stood and paced around his living room, down the hall, and through his bedroom, picking up scattered clothes and throwing them into his closet. He continued to pointlessly clean his small living space in an attempt to block out the pain of loneliness.

Finally, he felt exhaustion take over and he stood under the hot, pelting stream of water in his shower to loosen his muscles. When he felt he was clean enough, he crawled into bed after locking, double locking, and triple locking his front door. He stared at the darkness, willing his mind to shut off, and finally drifted off to sleep.

"Lovino! You look like you're having a wonderful time, mon cher!"

Lovino looked for something, anything, to get away from the Frenchman walking towards him. He began to furiously scrub the bar, concentrating on every little speck of possible dirt that existed on the glossy surface.

Francis blinked at the little Italian a few times. "Darling, I do believe that those are a part of the surface," he chuckled after a moment.

Lovino rolled his eyes. "What do you want, Francis?" he grumbled.

"So bitter!" Francis cooed and leaned across the bar to nudge Lovino's chin up with his index finger. "I wanted to invite you to my humble abode for a party this Saturday."

Lovino gulped at the Frenchman's touch. Oh, how Francis played with his heart. "I'm working."

Francis frowned. "Call off sick."

"I'm not going to lie!"

"You don't have to tell them what's wrong."

Lovino turned away to polish shot glasses. "I'm busy, Francis. And I'm not coming to your party." He heard the Frenchman chuckle and felt the back of his neck heat up without even seeing the man's hungry gaze.

"Come on, Lovino. You haven't had any fun in so long, not since your—"

Lovino whirled around and glared at the blonde. "Don't. Even. Go. There," he growled menacingly.

Francis took a step back but continued to smile pleasantly. "Désolé. But won't you please come? I want you to meet someone. He hasn't been in town in a long time and Gilbert and I are throwing the party for him."

Lovino scoffed and narrowed his eyes at the mention of the Prussian. "Anything involving you and Gilbert makes me want to run in the other direction. Like I said, I'm working." He turned away and continued to polish the glasses, willing the clock to slow down so he wouldn't have to spend another night alone.

"Very well, mon cher." He heard Francis walk away, imagining the blonde sauntering the way he always did, and turned when he was sure he was gone. He stood alone behind the bar for the rest of his shift.

"What do you mean I—" Lovino stood in the kitchen, staring at the wall, listening to his manager on the other end of the phone. "Oh, okay… Yeah, thanks, I will… Bye."

He returned the phone to its cradle and leaned against the wall. If Francis finds out I was called off and didn't show up at his party he'll never leave me alone…

He didn't know when the party actually started, but he figured eight o'clock was a safe guesstimate. Sure enough, he stepped out of the taxi onto the wealthy sidewalks of Manhattan to be bombarded with a loud thumping coming from a certain mansion. Francis' party was already well underway. He stepped up to the door and knocked, and when no answer came, he stepped inside.

Immediately he felt overwhelmed. Lovino wasn't a people person, and there were more than enough people here just in the hallway. The entire house seemed to bounce with the movement of bodies, and Lovino wove his way around them towards the open living room. There he found Francis mingling with three young girls, looking much too young to be holding red SOLO cups full of God knows what, and giggling at every word Francis uttered. When the Frenchman saw Lovino lingering in the corner awkwardly, he sauntered over, visibly tipsy, and slapped Lovino on the shoulder.

"Lovino!" Francis yelled much too loudly in Lovino's ear, making him cringe. "I thought you were working, mon cher!"

"I got called off…"

"And you decided to visit me!" Francis laughed loudly and clapped Lovino's shoulder again, making the boy wince.

"Yeah, sure."

"Come, come darling! Have a drink! Mingle!" Francis steered him towards the long table of food and drinks, accompanied by at least twenty servants, and shoved him along, abandoning him around the desserts. Lovino stared at the food before him and the drink in his hand, and placing them gingerly on the table, took an unopened bottle of water from the cooler at the end of the table, and wandered off towards to side rooms where he hoped there would be some less drunk people.

He passed through quite a few rooms where the people slung across the furniture looked like they wouldn't be leaving until morning. He guessed that the party had actually started a lot earlier than he'd shown up. He wandered through a few rooms that contained explicit activity, one of which he was asked if he wanted to join.

I should just go home… He turned to find Francis to tell him goodbye and ran right into Gilbert.

"Hey!" The Prussian screamed in Lovino's face. "Francis said you were here!" He laughed loudly and drug Lovino towards another room. Lovino groaned loudly, struggling to shrug the older man's hand off of his shoulder.

"Get that scowl off your face!" Gilbert commanded, tossing the Italian into the side room. Lovino stumbled, then, catching his balance, turned to throw a string of obscenities at the albino Prussian. However, Gilbert walked past Lovino and flopped onto a giant, red, plush couch and picked up a beer.

"Sit!" he barked, and Lovino glared at him.

"I don't take orders, Gilbert! Damn bastard, dragging me all over the place! Who the hell do you think you are? You and Francis! Are you even list—"

"He isn't, in case you're wondering."

Lovino looked to his left, where the smooth, accented voice came from, and found a pair of dark emerald eyes gazing at him from a deep black lounge chair, sipping on a beer. His brown hair fell in soft curls around his tanned face, his lips curved into an amused grin. His feet were propped up on a coffee table, and his button down shirt was slightly open at the top, exposing the beginnings of a perfectly tan, sculpted chest. Lovino swallowed a gulp and blinked at him a few times. The stranger stood and extended a hand to the Italian.

"Antonio Fernandez Carriedo," he said smoothly. Lovino looked down at his offered hand and pulled his away slightly. Antonio's hand fell to his side, but his grin remained. "You must be Lovino. Francis told me about you. I wasn't expecting you to show up."

"I got called off…" Lovino mumbled, shrugging. "Guess you're the guy that's never around."

"Work," Antonio confirmed, taking his place back in the chair. He watched Lovino, always grinning.

"Right," Lovino replied. He shot Gilbert, who was now passed out on the couch, a glare and narrowed his eyes. "Bastard," he spat.

"Ah, they're always drunk. Won't you sit down?" Antonio nodded to the chair across from him.

"No," Lovino growled. He shot Antonio a scrutinizing glare and shifted awkwardly. "Stop staring at me."

"But you're pretty."

Lovino's heart sputtered and he narrowed his eyes. Glaring openly at the tan man, he turned and stomped out of the room. They're all crazy!

He had made it to the front lawn and was starting off down the sidewalk when Antonio appeared in the doorway.

"Lovino! I was kidding! Lighten up!" he called.

Lovino shot a glare over his shoulder and then turned away with a "hmph."

Antonio ran up beside him and stepped in front of him. "Where do you live?"

Lovino stepped around him. "Like I'll tell you that, you weirdo."

Antonio kept pace with the Italian and grinned. "I just want to take you home."

"No!"

"Is it far?"

"I live in the Bronx!"

Antonio faltered and stared, wide-eyed. "You can't walk through the Bronx in the middle of the night. Let me take you home."

Lovino glared. "No! You're a freak! And anyway, you've been drinking."

Antonio rolled his eyes. "Then stay at Francis' until morning."

"I'd rather face Bronx streets at night."

"Can I call you a taxi?"

"I'm capable of doing it myself!"

"Did you call one already?"

Lovino sighed in frustration and shoved Antonio away. "Leave me alone! Freak!"

Antonio grinned and trotted after the dark haired Italian. "Lovino—" he grabbed his arm and pulled him around to face him. Lovino's eyes flashed angrily. "Listen to me, I was kidding. Just let me drive you home. It's not safe."

Lovino stared at him for a few moments, then wrenched his arm out of Antonio's grasp. "Just give me your phone, I'll call a damn cab. Don't touch me."

Antonio watched Lovino scowl out the window as the taxi pulled away from the curb, the little Italian avoiding eye contact at all costs. He grinned to himself and turned to reenter the thumping home.

Lovino glared at the houses he passed as the taxi made its way back to his little street. He tipped the driver and stomped into his apartment, dead bolting the door and throwing himself into bed, fully dressed, and fully embarrassed.