Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia nor anything I reference
Warnings: vulgar humor, language, language, language (this is a damn Romano chapter)
Otter: Say it. The readers are looking. :s
Lovino: Fuck no. :/
Matthew: Please say it, Lovi? *puppy eyes* OuO
Lovino: *mutters* .
Otter: I can't hear you~ ;D
Lovino: THANK YOU! Are you happy, bitches?! U:
Matthew: Don't take that offensively... Lovino is just happy that people are taking an interest in a story about him. c:
Lovino: Bleh! e.e
Italia Meridionale - Southern Italy
Non - Squid tentacles
Note: I am a bad date. I never show up when expected and I never call about the time for the next chapter... I am sorry that updating has been deteriorating like a radioactive isotope and I would like to thank you all for being patient saints. c:0
Chapter IIIIII: Wait. What Happens Next?
God damn why can women get pregnant? If it wasn't for no protection having a fetus leeching away her nutrients and oxygen, then Lovino wouldn't have felt obligated as a healthy, young male to give up his luxurious first class seat with all its leg and elbow room for her. No, it wasn't her fault that Lovino was currently getting his seat kicked in the animal pen styled -crampedness, smelliness, and loudness included- monkey-seats at the very back of the economy section of the plane with its ADHD passengers flushing the toilet every five minutes. It was his governmental plane's fault. Supposedly, it is currently getting the tires rotated. Pfft. Lovino has heard better lies come from a polygraph. Preggers better be enjoying her shrimp cocktails behind that curtain. And the Fuckface Family with the oblivious parents and kangaroo kid seated behind him better be praying airport security is so tight.
After crossing the whole Atlantic and most of Quebec with some young teenager pathetically texting away her social life for the whole world to not care about to his right, the pilot finally announced that their agonizing nine hour direct flight from Naples, Italy to Ottawa, Canada will be concluding in half an hour. Also, he politely demantioned (demanding something in a mentioning way) that everyone should park their asses in one spot and shut off their fucking phones. Lovino kind of liked this pilot; he wasn't afraid to cuss out his passengers. Yet, the finger-slasher and ADHDumbass continued to piss him off.
Several songs later from his CD, (Yes, Lovino is old-school like that and still carries CDs with various songs burned to it around. Insult him on it and their sharp edges will be used to slice something of yours off.) a beautiful aerial view of Ottawa, and only seven seat kicks from frog-legs later, the promising freedom of bumps and popping ears told the Italian that he was now on Canadian soil.
With everyone grabbing their carry-ons and mobbing the exit, Lovino had several minutes of idleness to just stare out the window onto the airport buildings and think about what was going to happen the next few days. He knew this first day was dedicated to meeting the Canadian Prime Minister and other governmental officials to give off that iota of business instead of just two men having a very manly sleepover. Aside from exchanging pleasures and handshakes, Lovino was in a dark darker than the darkest darkroom. But that room is black because Lovino has yet to replace the two year old dead bulb. These shadows spewed from the brunette's lack of social interactions can't be fixed by a mere twisting action on a glass cylinder.
Only Matthew can find the remedy.
"Wow!" A high-pitched voice behind him stabbed, "You must be retarded because I have kicked you 557 times and you haven't even noticed!"
Kangaroo kid has been counting. The bucked-tooth little shit has been counting the number of times his CD player has been jostled from his lap. This calls for a revenge that will be remembered; screw the simple, easily forgettable 'go fuck yourself' Lovino was pinning to tell the bastard.
With the narrow isle up to the plane's exit cleared and not an ounce of regret, Lovino grabbed his small carryon from under the seat and prepared his voice for the best New York accent he could fabricate on the dime.
"Ciao, Vito," Lovino casually began into his turned-off phone. "Listen, I's got a little problem. This little shit of a kid has really been pissing me off. He's," Lovino took a quick glance at the wide-eyed child behind him, "brown haired and wearin' a blue polo shirt. So mind doing a little... icing of his ass with that shiny AR you's got? ... Grazie, Vito! And remember, two bullets. He's so fucking ADD it'll take two to subdue. And knock the fat fucks he calls parents off as well. For not controlling their kid. See ya tonigh' and I expect a good story."
He 'hung up' the phone and proudly made his way up the isle to meet with Matthew, not needing to look behind at the traumatized fearing-for-their-spleens family. The three sets of stares pounding his back told him enough: never fuck with Italia Meridionale.
Few people, it was off-season for travel, moseyed around the airport, some softly smiling at anyone they passed in hopes of brightening their day just a smidge while others passed without a care to the soul on their flanks. Lovino was one of those indifferents; his mind solely focused on locating the little sliver of white paper labeled 'Lovino Vargas' in black type and stamped with a green, white, and red rectangle.
Lovino took his eyes off of the horizon, internally grumbling about Matthew being late, to raise an eyebrow at the airport's choice of carpet. It was quiet lovely. Like the underside of a shower drain. With a few shakes of the head, Lovino returned to people watching, a bad habit (who honestly likes being secretly watched?) he picked up from not being the most social person. But not wanting to be alone. What caught his eye was a mother and her young son near the windows. The mother, sandy-blonde hair escaping its band prison, was using a wipe to wash something off the chubby cheek of the child who was pouting at the action. Lovino thought to himself, remembering the times when the affectionate woman was Antonio and the pouting child was Lovnio. Or when he was the one wiping tomato sauce from Feliciano's face.
He also thought of the one time Grandpa Rome, smiling the entire time, washed ink off his nose after he fell asleep on the wet parchment during a language lesson.
But the bastard was only smiling because he could then send Romano away to sleep...
Sharply so a knot formed in his neck, Lovino brought his gaze that had sunk to the ugly floor back up to the beautiful, small family ahead. He thought of Antonio and Feliciano when he was looking at the woman and child; Grandpa Rome when it was the carpet. And he was on a half-vacation, damn it, and was going to have a good time.
Lovino's brain was too focused to feel the nerves in his mouth forming a small smile or the vibrations in his ears translating some type of nearby noise. That is, until that nearby noise turned into a shooting whistle that tore through his eardrums. Lovino, somewhat wooden from being in one position for so long, frowningly glanced around himself to find the perpetrator. He swore if it was Kangaroo Shit...
"Sorry to do that, Lovino..." a voice he immediately categorized as Matthew's announced.
Fuck, I can't out-right bitch at Mateo for shattering my hearing... too much, Lovino thought to himself as he rubbed his left ear and pivoted in the same direction to face his host. "The hell was that for?" he greeted, noting that Matthew's face was dusted with the same color as his red sweater. Lovino just choked it up to embarrassment, pointedly ignoring the fact that there was nothing embarrassing about him just staring at a family.
Shaking his head, Matthew explained, "When Alfred starts talking too loud, I use it to regain his attention... and you were talking too loud in your head."
"Don't you dare compare me to your damn brother." Despite the biting words, Lovino's smirk told Matthew he was jesting. Besides, the both of them have already ripped on their siblings so much that is obvious they care about the remaining shreds. Funny how the world can work like that.
The both of them began to catch up on the few weeks they were apart. Apparently, Kumayaoi no longer had a cold and stopped getting snot all over the furniture. But it mostly consisted of Lovino detailing the horrendous tendencies of wild animals in economy seating with Matthew smiling and adding his own witty commentary accordingly. Especially during the prank rendition, which judging by the way Matthew grasped his midsection, an excellent spit-take could have been preformed had he been drinking something. "I-I wish. Recording. Haha! Next time, record."
Pounding his friend on the back and ignoring the weird stares they were getting, "There won't be a recording because your pale ass would joining in."
Being a nation did have its perks when traveling, mostly when the fucking plane actually worked. Instead of waiting for his turn to answer useless questions and present identification, all Lovino had to do was use Matthew's blonde head as a key to customs. The Canadian showed the slight woman behind the counter his governmental identification and quickly explained that Lovino was his guest. No extra action was necessary. It was obvious in her eyes that she wished to know more, but that wasn't her job. Her job was to give the nod, a lone hair strand escaping her immaculate bun, for the duo to trudge ahead and Matthew quickly thanked her for not causing a scene.
Lovino just nodded; frankly, her hawk eyes questioning every taken step crept him out. She was judging him and Lovino did not like that, has had a past filled with it. He was highly grateful that Matthew's eyes were softer...
Once they were at the international baggage claim lines, some teenagers riding the empty one next door and walloping in the air until airport security arrived, Matthew suddenly exclaimed an 'oh' and reached into his back pocket. Lovino curiosity watched, not Matthew's ass thank you, but him pulling out a folded sheet of paper. After, he offered to wad to Lovino as if a dead tree would interest him.
He took the paper and started to open it, yet couldn't resist the stupidity of asking what was inside it beforehand. Yanking the two final sides apart, the Italian found that sliver of white he was searching for earlier exactly how he expected it to look. Except, instead of a rectangle, it was what looked like a self-drawn oval... an oval-circle with a stem coming out of it. "Why is there an apple on here?" Lovino asked Matthew's pouting face.
Slightly put off, "It's a tomato. Does it really look like an apple?" Matthew stated, peeking at his earlier drawing over Lovino's shoulder.
"A tom-! Nevermind, stick to calligraphy." While the 'tomato' (It was a fucking apple.) was a disappointment, his name was beautifully written in old French-style loops. It really looked like effort was put into it instead of pushing a few keys and hitting print. He could picture Matthew at some desk whipping his wrists around to get those curls just right while erasing any wayward marks. Perhaps he was also poking his tongue out between his lips -allowing the pink stub a small breath of air- like he does when he is taking serious notes at a world conference. The ideas warmed Lovino's soul, and he refolded the small poster and, carefully, slid it into his bag.
When a thankful glance was sent back to Matthew it was received by the back of the blonde's head. He was effortlessly lugging Lovino's rather large bag, how he knew it was his was kind of disturbing, over the claim line in front of Lovino with a thump. He had trouble lifting that fat box more than a meter yet Matthew made it look as easy as making morning cereal.
Fucking North Americans.
Before Lovino could ask how he knew this completely average, black thing was his luggage, Matthew beat him to it as if the blonde read the brunette's mind. Matthew pulled at the decorative, beige tag and flashed the back side of it that was covered in a dark brown 'aged' text to Lovino. "Sorry if I'm wrong, but not many Canadian bags have tags with Italian on them... What does it mean?"
Lovino just stared at the familiar letters and snorted. The tag was a gag gift from him to Feliciano, but since his brother regifted it at Easter time by securely sewing the tag onto his bag, it was permanently his now. "Sono molteplici talenti: io posso parlare e farti incazzare allo stesso tempo. I'm multi-talented: I can talk and piss you off at the same time."
With a small, amused grin, Matthew countered, "How appropriate."
It doesn't matter if it can be true; Lovino still wacked him upside the head and started to speed ahead into the Fall weather outside. "For that remark you are carrying that!"
He was a guest here in Canada and he was going to take full advantage of that.
Sprawled out on the guest bed Matthew gave him, still clad in his silky dress shirt-vest combo and slacks, Lovino lulled in that realm right before sleep when one's mind is the most active but the body is the most lazy. He didn't have the energy to remove his sure to be wrinkled silk shirt, his restrictive shiny shoes, nor his thin stiff belt. The previous events leading up to this crash popped through his head like the memories were kernels and the inside of his mind was a microwave.
Going outside the airport and almost freezing his ass off.
Matthew laughed at the scene in his thin sweater.
A rusty red pick up truck that was lucky to be moving drove the two of them towards Matthew's house.
The radio was playing some shitty American pop song
Turning the radio off and Matthew put one of his personal CDs in the ancient stereo.
Music wasn't bad... something by a trench?
Scenery outside was pretty with the changing leaves.
Matthew beamed after he hinted this.
Canadians go the speed limit.
Matthew didn't really have a what is considered a nowadays house, it was more like a modern log cabin.
He had a huge yard... and a small lake in the back yard.
And a grove of maple trees with a flower garden in the front.
Cabin-like house was warm and inviting.
Mounted deer antlers weren't as much.
Kumass growled at him upon entering the nicely furnished kitchen.
Jetlag started to kick in.
Telling Matthew that he was fine.
Freshening up for the evening.
Sneaking peeks at Matthew in a fitted suit.
Seeing Parliament Hill.
Petting lots of cats running around.
Meeting the Prime Minister and a few selected others.
Having the expected business dinner.
Almost falling asleep during that dinner.
Matthew making some excuse to end the meeting prematurely.
Returning to the house.
Lovino fell asleep.
Upon his consciousness returning, Lovino smelled something good cooking. For once, Feli wasn't making pasta and that will be a nice change. The sunlight was glaring through the wrong side of the room... Lovino sprouted up, feeling uncomfortable in the foreign bed and impersonal room, and hoped he didn't drink too much last night. After blinking once, the Italian remembered where he was. And who he was with. Muttering to himself, "Shit. My first day here and I sleep through it." He rubbed at his blearily eyes, fully examining the room he was too busy crashing in to look at earlier.
It was a typical guest room: a soft bed in the center, a nightstand sitting beside it, a dresser for storing stuff, own bathroom. Feli's and his back in Rome was similar, and it was because of the emptiness that both these rooms emitted that Lovino kept that door shut back home. Canada's living room had bear hairs on the sofa. This bed didn't even have a wrinkle... before he flounced on it. There were pictures since the camera was invented up till at least earlier this year on the hallway walls leading to this room, yet those halt once this barren place was entered, leaving only some random photograph of a vineyard for a try at color.
It wasn't the room's fault nor Matthew's. This wasn't a regularly used room, but it was safe to say: Lovino did not want to spend anymore time in here than necessary and would have to throw some of his clothes around to add personality.
After sending his brother a text that he safely made it into Canada and checking the time, the earlier scent came back even stronger. Lovino knew what they were but couldn't think of the English word at the moment. He changed into less wrinkly attire, checking himself in the mirror to make sure everything looked fine and running a hand through his disheveled hair... Why the hell does it matter? Mateo can suck it up.
Boldly, Lovino, automatically closing the door behind him, followed his nose into the kitchen, a location he remembered from the previous day, to see a stack of... pancakes! That is what they are. On the kitchen table along with a small vase of daffodils, orange juice, two plates, and cutlery. It was fancier than any breakfast Lovino has had recently; he usually slept in till the last possible moment and grabbed a piece of fruit on his way out to general business meetings.
Matthew was at a griddle, putting it away in a box, and facing towards the kitchen entrance so he saw Lovino come in. "Moring Lovino, feel any better?"
Even though they've become quite close (or, reclose) in such a short amount of time, Lovino couldn't help the apprehension from seeping into his blood and flowing to every action he took. It was the house. Yeah. "Si, err, yes. Jetlag is just a cockblocker." He took a seat at the mahogany table an inquired if Matthew wanted help.
"Non, I'm almost done anyway." He tucked the griddle box into one of the cupboards, grabbed a bottle from the same space, and sat across from Lovino at the table, setting the bottle of maple syrup -of course- next to the pancakes. "I think Colin really liked you."
Lovino helped himself to the pancakes, his stomach was saying 'feed now, bastard' as he slept through last night's dinner. Lovino hoped that Matthew wasn't too lonely... or heard him sleep talk. Pouring some of the brown condiment over the small stack, "Who?"
Matthew just sighed. "You should have told me you were too tired to meet my Prime Minister. Remember Mr. Mochrie?"
Lovino just grunted at the first statement. Starting off the day with a petty argument won't help anything. But in his mind, Lovino could have easily handled staying up. He has pulled countless all-nighters and even two-nighters or three-nighters. Matthew didn't have to snub his government over Lovino's sleep. "He's funny." And when Lovino said someone was funny, it meant that they really were. It was hard to get him to truly laugh. Snort and scoff, sure. But laugh...
"You don't think this is too much maple syrup, do you?" Matthew asked, a playful expression adorning his face.
With the first forkful of food nearly making it to his mouth, Lovino glanced at Matthew's plate to see that he was eating maple syrup with a side of pancakes, spoon at the ready.
Canada'sLittleMapleLover13: ... Can someone call a paramedic? Thank you for the review!
iivogelchen: Hope you enjoyed the hanging out c: Mattie is one of the easily pair-able nations because of his kind personality and ability to adapt/deal with different personalities. Grazie for the review~
luna-music inc: Tak for the idea and review^^
Thing2BK: Tray-bogganing... great, now my bucket list is even longer. ;~; Been googling Vieux, and it looks amazing. OuO. Merci for the review~
Mew I is Dinosaur: Nah, it was Alfie who Rick Rolled everyone. ;) Pudding... Don't know what is so funny 'bout that word. Gracias for the review!
tmmdeathwishraven: That would be such a fluffy scene. *o* And embrace your hyperness. Embrace it! Danke for the review!
xXIceXxShatteredXx: Hehe, sorry you had to wait so long but I hope your insides' throats have gone raw. c: And I love you (don't take it the wrong way ;D) for reviewing! Xie xie.
Post Note: After this chapter I am going to start PMing people their thanks so the word count of the story is less screwy.
With the spacing of everything and the smaller details I add... trying to fit a part of the actual 'vacation' part would make the length funky... sorry for the cockblocking. :P
I did not use the name of the real Prime Minister of Canada for whatever legal purposes there may be. So the name I chose is COMPLETLY random and does not matter. C: