It's fine if you don't love me, since I don't love you.

Under the lazy Mediterranean sun, Lovino got out his sketchbook and pencil, and sat by the tomato fields, preparing to spend another afternoon drawing.

Not many people knew that he could draw. Scratch that, only two people knew about his passion for art, Feliciano and Grandpa Rome. People only knew about Feliciano's artistic talent, but no one knew about Lovino's artistic flair, not even Antonio. Okay, maybe he didn't want Antonio to know, since all he ever drew were tomatoes and Antonio.

So he might have been exaggerating quite a bit, since before he left Italy, he did lots of paintings on scenery. But ever since he came to Antonio's house he found his sketchbooks filled with drawings of tomatoes and portraits of Antonio, with the latter being the majority.

Just like the one he was holding right now. It was a rather plain sketchbook with no decorations except for a tomato on the cover. It was rather old too, since Lovino had it ever since he came to Antonio's house, and it had recorded all of Lovino's times here in Iberia.

Flipping through the sketchbook, Lovino paused at each page, trying to remember all the details behind each picture. After all, memories were the only things he could take away from here.

On the first page was a childish drawing of a house. That was the first picture he had drawn since he left Italy. It was rather obvious that he didn't put much heart into this drawing, the poorly sketched lines made the original monochrome picture look even gloomier. There were also a couple of places where water had blotched the ink – were those tears? Sure, he had not been very happy when he was forcibly separated from his brother and sent to work for Antonio. He had thrown many tantrums, broken many things, created many problems, but Antonio had just taken it all with a good natured smile.

That was the start of the days he'd spent with Antonio.

Lovino didn't know when he had began to fall for the Spaniard, but it was probably by the third picture (he never had the habit of dating his drawings), but he did have a good memory as a country and he could remember every little detail behind every picture.

The third one had been a portrait, and in it, Antonio had been napping on a couch. Antonio probably didn't know, but as a kid, Lovino liked to do nothing better than to sit somewhere – preferably somewhere hidden and discreet – and watch Antonio. He'd watch from the windows while Antonio worked in the tomato fields; he'd sit by the fireplace and pretend to read while watching Antonio do his job as a country and deal with all the paperwork (he really liked the serious look on Antonio's face – a nice change from the goofy grin he usually sported); he'd watch and draw as Antonio napped, but he never forgot to pretend to be asleep when Antonio woke up so that the Spaniard wouldn't know he'd been watching.

That was how most of the days passed in Iberia, but those were the happiest days of his life.

I wish we could go back, but our time has long stopped.

But life was not always tomatoes for Antonio, sometimes when he had gotten into a really bad fight with Arthur and he'd come back with bruises all over; or when he left the house for days, weeks or months even and he'll come back looking like he'd been run over by a truck. And during such times, Lovino would fuss over him, bathe his wounds, change the dressing, and bandage it. After Antonio had fallen asleep Lovino would sit by his bed and draw – occasionally getting up to change the ice pack – and record everything in his sketchbook. From time to time he'd write something below the pictures, mostly about how irritating Spain was as a patient.

Life's full of thorns, but I still want to be with you.
Good days will always come to an end, and till then we'll have to learn how to say goodbye.

One drop, two drops –

Without him noticing, the once sunny sky had now become overcast and rain was threatening to pour any moment. Lovino closed the sketchbook and was motionless for a moment, letting the raindrops fall on his face, before returning back into the house.

Even the sky is crying for us.

Back in the house, Lovino curled up by the window – his favourite spot – watching the downpour outside. It was rare for it to rain in Iberia, let alone such a big downpour. Lovino turned to a blank page of the sketchbook, and decided to draw the tomato field in the rain.

The last of his days here with him.

On the page were splotches of water that may or may not have been rain.

It's fine if you don't love me, but the truth is that I've always loved you.
Goodbye, my sweetheart, it's all over.
It's time to say goodbye

A/N: Sorry to stop here, but second part would be coming in a couple of days (hopefully by the end of this week). Feel free to comment on my work, thanks for reading!