He isn't quite sure why he's doing this. It probably has something to do with Feliciano nagging at him to take better care of his lover- lover, what the fuck, is the spaz delusional?- and the Potato Bastard standing there all threatening-like. As if he even cares, he just wants in Feli's pants, and Lovino can see it. Oh, yes, he can, and like hell is he ever going to let that happen. The freak will turn out just as bad as Potato Bastard # 2, freaky perverted bastard!

Or, it might be because Spagna's sick, and all of the tomatoes are off limits, thank-you-Salmonella. His heart wrenches with longing. Ah, tomatoes, he misses them! Normally when Antonio is sick, Lovino just throws tomatoes at him until he stops being a dick and gets better. But no, stupid Salmonella poisoning has everyone freaked out and Lovi can't even get into the fields to pick his own anymore. Fucking idiots.

In the end, it doesn't really matter why he's doing it. All that matters is the fact that he's standing in Antonio's kitchen, slicing up strawberries and trying his hardest not to look at the bottle of chocolate sauce that Feliciano shoved on him before abandoning him here. As if he would ever do something so asinine as feeding that pedophilic bastard strawberries with chocolate on them! Hah! Snorting, the Italian rinses his hands off and squirts chocolate into the bowl of strawberries, leaving the bits that splash over to dry on the counter. Spagna can clean it up when he gets better, Lovino isn't his fucking maid.

Upstairs, he hesitates before entering the room- ugh, what if the bastard's naked! It wouldn't be terribly out of character for him, especially if he has a fever. Still... He'll never hear the end of it if Feli finds out he backed out, so he straightens his spine and marches in, jaw set.

If asked, he'll never admit that the sight of Antonio, flushed and twisted in his blankets and sucking his thumb, pulls at his heart.

There's a few moments where he simply watches the other, then he steps forward, carefully brushing his hair away from his sweat-dampened forehead. "Tch, stupid fucker. Had to go and get sick." He almost doesn't realize in time that with each word, he's leaning closer, and his lips almost- almost, mind you- touch the sick nation's forehead before he jerks back, eyes wide. "Wh-!" His eyes dart around, but no one's there to see it, thank god. Huffing, he stomps his foot.

"Stupid bastard, making me do stupid things!" Nearly growling, he turns around and stalks out of the room, leaving a half-awake Antonio to wonder, vaguely, if maybe he had hallucinated that whole scene.

When he wakes up a few days later, he finds a bowl of moldy strawberries with hardened chocolate sauce on his bedside table, and he can't help but smile.