Author's Note # 1: A friend of mine wanted to see me try my hand at writing a yaoi fic, so I decided to humor her.

I'm a guy, by the way, but I have absolutely nothing against yaoi or the people who support it. You fan girls can spread the love all you want, but just be careful of them haters, 'kay? XD

This was harder than I thought (not to mention the awkward moments when you stop and think "Did I really just write that?"). But it's good for writing experience.

Translations for the foreign words and phrases will be at the bottom. Sorry if I got any of them wrong! Spanish is not my native tongue, and neither is Italian nor English.

Some fluffy, dramatic SpaMano love right here folks. Enjoy!

PART 1: Love and Longing

"Fuck off, sunlight! Don't... wake me up... just yet," Lovino mumbled as the first few rays of the morning caressed his face. He winced back under the covers and groaned in protest. He had been rudely interrupted from a blissful dream—one involving a dense but very charismatic Spaniard.

It's not fair that he's as clueless as he is sexy.

How many nights have it been already? Too many to count, at the very least. Too many nights where his brown-haired "boss" would steal away into the deepest recesses of his mind and own it like the conquistador he once was. He wasn't complaining, but Lovino hated knowing dreams were meant to remain as dreams. He hated it each time his heart would sprout wings and soar to the zenith of happiness because he knew those wings would no sooner be ripped apart by the painful truth. He'd slowly, excruciatingly plummet back to reality, realizing the object of his affection could never hold any in return.

"Antonio..." he called out softly, longingly.

"Yes, Lovi?"

"Wha-? Tonio?" He shot up in great surprise and found the man he was calling out to standing by the doorway, a bewildered expression adorning his features. "What are you doing in my room, you bastard?"

"The door was unlocked, so I let myself in. Breakfast is almost ready." Antonio's emerald eyes fell upon the Italian's uncharacteristically timid face. The flustered boy shifted restlessly, not wanting to meet the Spaniard's worried gaze. There was something about his appearance that was almost... cute. But Antonio also knew something was troubling his little tomato. "Lovi, are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Now get out of my room, bastard!"

Antonio knew better than to argue with Lovino when he was like that. He spun on his heels and started out the door. "Don't take too long. The food will get cold."

"Yeah, yeah, go away already," Lovino griped, and he slammed the door after the Spaniard. "Seccante!" That single word escaped the agitated boy's mouth as he fell back against the wall and let out a sigh of frustration.

Damn heartbeat, slow down! Damn fingers, stop trembling! Damn it! Damn it! Damn you, Tonio! Isn't it enough that you invade the privacy of my dreams? You have to invade my room, too?

Lovino could not help but feel a pang of regret. Antonio was there; right there in his bedroom. It would have been a simple feat to pull the unsuspecting man into a passionate embrace as they gently crash onto the soft mattress. It would have been even easier to trap him in a fort of sheets and shower him with affection. But that, also, would have been as simple as throwing whatever relationship they had out the window. That, Lovino decided, was something he could not live with.

Several minutes later, a still slightly flushed Italian (who was still in his pyjamas) entered the dining room. He was greeted by the sight of a green-eyed muchacho sporting a black tank top and gray corduroy pants. Antonio was bobbing up and down, shaking his hips to the tune that was playing from the countertop radio. He seemed completely oblivious of Lovino, who had been noticing how the Spaniard's tight pants accentuated his ample posterior.

Fuck this. How long do I plan on staring at his ass?

"Aunque corras, te escondas, no puedes escapar... Oh, Lovi! I didn't know you were already here. Have a seat."

"No. Don't mind me, tomato bastard. Just sing your heart out while I starve to death!"

"Sorry 'bout that Lovi! Here, I made magdalenas and churros."

"Thanks, I guess." Lovino almost flinched off his seat when Antonio drew ever so close to him and laid down a plate of those mouth-watering, lemon-flavored pastries and those sweet, sugary sticks.

"Care for some café con leche?

"Uh... sure." The usually brash boy felt uneasiness take hold of him. There he was, inches away from the lean but burly torso he had known for so long. He wanted to reach out and feel the warmth of every familiar muscle on his hand, but felt himself being doused with water as he fought off the urge. He would never live the day when he finally made it clear to Antonio just how much he wanted him.

"Lovi... Lovi!"

"H-Huh? What? What is it bastard?"

"You've been spacing out a lot lately. You sure you're okay?" Antonio gently placed his hand on the boy's forehead, causing the latter to turn a pale shade of red. "You don't seem to have a fever, but you looked flushed. Maybe Boss should feed you!"

"I don't need an airhead like you stuffing food in my mouth like I'm a thumb-sucking toddler."

"But Lovi... I used to feed you all the time."

Antonio's childlike intonation and half-pouting expression sent sparks coursing through the Italian. "When I was almost as small as your brain! That was a long time ago," Lovino retorted, trying to cover up his shaky voice with a not-so-convincing bravado. Remembering how Antonio treated him like a younger brother merely added to the pain.

A brother... A henchman... A friend... That's all I'll ever be.

"Lovi, why are you crying?"

"Crying? Me?" wondered the Italian, lightly trailing a finger across his cheek.

Wet? Why am I...

His thoughts trailed off as he felt Antonio's muscular arms encircle him. It was just as he remembered—warm like the afternoon sun and drenched with the scent of summer. As much as he wanted to stay in that moment forever, he gently pushed the Spaniard away.

"Why are you hugging me all of a sudden, you pervert?" He tried to hide his face, which had turned as red as ripe tomato, but failed miserably.

"But Lovi... Boss is worried about you! You need some cheering up!"

"Wha-? Wait, don't tell me..."

"Fusososo~" It was Antonio's all-too-familar charm for cheering people up. Lovino cringed a little. He always hated it when Antonio performed that charm; it was embarrassing. But he could not deny there was something adorable about his "boss" waving his arms around while making weird sounds. A tiny smile played on his lips, but it barely lasted a second.

"Damn! Would you cut that out?" Lovino snapped.

"Huh? This always made you smile when you were..." He stopped as his eyes beheld the boy glaring daggers at him. As much as Antonio failed to read the atmosphere majority of the time, he felt a sense of hurt seeing Lovino look at him like that. He could not remember doing anything to make him that upset.

"Fuck that! I'm not a kid anymore, Tonio. You need to get with the times; grow up already! We both know things can't stay like that forever. We've... changed. Well, I don't know about you, but I certainly have." The irate Italian rose with a grunt and headed for the staircase. His heavy, furious footfall seemed to resound throughout the entire house. He could hear Antonio calling out to him from the dining room.

"Lovi! What about breakfast? And you said you were going to help me in the field later. Lovi!"

"Know what? I don't care what you do or where you go. Just leave me alone!"

The loud slamming of his bedroom door was the last sound Antonio heard from the boy. The Spaniard's heart grew heavy with concern—so heavy that he feared it might fall out of his chest. He sunk into a chair and buried his face in his hands. "Mi pequeño tomate... Lovino..."

Inside his room, Lovino was slumped on the floor with his head resting on the edge of the bed. He had a blank, almost soulless, expression on his face. He wanted to punch himself, but he figured the pain in his heart was enough of a punishment.

Why? When I want to tell him something, I end up saying something else. When I want to compliment him, I end up with an insult. It's unfair... My heart has no voice; my heart has no will.

A single sob escaped his mouth, and the rest were muffled in the sheets.



Conquistador (Spanish) – conqueror

Seccante (Italian) – bothersome

Muchacho (Spanish) – young man

Aunque corras, te escondas, no puedes escapar (Spanish) – okay, this is actually from Enrique Iglesias' song "Escapar"; I think it means "You can run, you can hide, but you can't escape" or something like that. Sorry, I fail. T.T (Can someone confirm this?)

Mi pequeño tomate (Spanish) - my little tomato

Author's Note # 2: How did you guys find the first part? Leave a review if it's not too much trouble. Please? Hahaha. XD

Sorry for giving Romano too much of a sappy side, but it's nice to see a little change in character every now and then. Wouldn't you agree?

Got any ideas for the second part? Got creative criticisms you're itchin' to give me? Do not hesitate for a second. I would love to hear from you!

(Don't know if I'll ever write a fic like this again. Perhaps you can convince me otherwise? LOL)