Romano looked around the area and sighed, finally a little peace. He couldn't stand how his little brother was always bothering him. Yes, he loved his brother, but sometimes, sometimes, he just needed alone time.

It was a reasonable want. He saw his brother looking for him down the street, "Brother? BROTHER! I WANT YOU TO MEET GERMANY!" There was that damn potato bastard that Belgium had said was hanging around his brother all the time. Dammit. They were going to see him, and then he would hear about how he was being mean.

Romano ducked into the random building he was standing by and hid behind a shelf. He sniffed, whoa. The market. Well, damn. His fucking luck was just turning the shit around. He waited until the duo was safely yelling down a different street and started looking around the place. What a weird place for the market. He was in America though, they did everything fucking different. He looked at the tomatoes he had smelled and shook his head, "Of course these are fucking almost rotten."

He set the tomatoes down and walked out, straightening his shirt and getting a few looks from the girls running around the docks. Shit, did women here always run around in their fucking bikinis? They couldn't just put on a shirt? God, what was up with Americans?

He walked into the only Italian restaurant in the area and sat down. Of course, it wouldn't be fucking sophisticated. That would be bad for the damn business. Couldn't let the bikini girls in then. Damn, he was in a bad mood.

"Mind if I join you?" Romano looked up at a smiling brunette and rolled his eyes.

"Sure, why not. My life is already going to fucking hell."

The man sat down, still smiling and looking out at the ocean, "It's very pretty here, isn't it?"

"Sure, if you don't mind having to get around the teenagers running around, fucking in the damn streets."

The man laughed and nodded, "They are too young to understand."

"That's not a damn excuse."

"I'm sure you must have been like that when you were young, no?"

"I wasn't running around in my god damn boxers if that's what you mean." The waiter came and frowned a bit at the language.

"Should I come back in a min-"

"Fuck no," Romano shot at him, "I'll have a glass of red wine and the cannelloni; make sure to use fresh tomatoes and the wine is something before '95." The waiter nodded and wrote it down; he looked over at the other man ,and the man laughed, "I'll have the penne and a beer."

"Alright," the man hurried away, and the stranger looked over at Romano. "Do you always curse so openly?"

Romano felt his face turn red, and he looked away angrily, "Shut up, dammit! I don't always cuss."

The man stared at him, and Romano finally got a good look at the man's eyes, a green emeraldish color that was as open as the man seemed himself. The man grinned and stared at him, "…"

"What?"

He continued to grin, "…So cute."

"What dammit!" The man shut his eyes and tried to wipe the smile off his face, failing and smiling even more. "What is so god damn cute that you're grinning like a fucking pervert!"

"Your face is as red as a tomato…" The man started to reach across the table, and Romano smacked his hand away.

"SHUT UP, DAMMIT!"

The man leaned back and started to watch the people on the beach again. Romano didn't even try to make conversation with the perverted bastard. God. Who fucking pointed out that shit anyway? "So do you live around here?"

Romano looked over at the man and glared, "Hell no. That would fucking suck."

The man shook his head, "Cussing does not make you any cuter…"

"WHO THE HELL SAID I WAS TRYING TO LOOK FUCKING CUTE?"

Romano stared out at the ocean, and the man sighed, "I'm not from around here either. I'm on vacation; I was told that Miami was a beautiful place to visit and so, here I am."

"Abso-fucking-lutely sweet." He didn't even look at the guy.

"Yeah, I'm Antonio Fernandez by the way. Although, a lot of people call me Spain." He laughed, and Romano stared at him, just a little concerned. Really? Why, of all the people of Miami, was he sitting with some Spaniard?

The smell of his pasta brought the reminder back. Food. He could handle the man if he could just get some fucking food. The waiter sat the food down along with their drinks and wished them a happy meal and Romano started eating. It was mediocre at best. The rolls of pasta were the store bought kind that had obviously been undercooked, and then the sauce that was in them… Yeah. He might as well have bought the tomatoes he had seen earlier.

Antonio ate his meal slowly and must have felt the same. Romano took to his wine and sighed, at least they got something right. Although, one couldn't go that wrong with wine.

"So what's your name?"

"None of your fucking business."

Antonio laughed, "Do you have a nickname? I might get yelled at if I ever see you again,"

Romano rolled his eyes, "My name's Lovino Romano Vargas, okay? Southern Italy." Spain smiled brightly at him and nodded.

"Pleasure to meet you, Lovi!"

"Lovino."

"Aw, but Lovi is such a cute nickname!"

"I really don't fucking care if my name is cute or not." He set his empty glass down on the table and glared at the man. "The food here sucks, I just ran from my little potato bastard-loving brother, and I am still fucking hungry. I don't give a damn what you or anyone else think of me. I just don't care." He looked over towards their waiter and called him back, asking for the check. Antonio smiled a little and pulled out some money. He put it on the table and told the waiter to keep the change, dragging Romano out behind him; he turned the corner, and Romano pulled his arm away. "Let go of me, you damn-"

Antonio kissed him, pinning him to the building behind them and exploring his mouth. Romano didn't kiss back…

Much…

Well, he didn't mean to. It just happened. Romano kissed him back and wrapped his legs around the man, fucking French kissing the man in that damn alley. Antonio kissed him until he couldn't breathe and had to pull back from the Italian.

"You taste even better than I thought you would."

"…Pervert."