Kitty: I've been wanting to write this baby for a while, but it's going to be an emotional roller coaster and… real-life-ish. Like, I'm going to be doing research and talking to friends and stuff. This is going to hit home for a few people, too, so any and all critique is welcome. Each chapter will be based on a "Sin" from the Seven Deadly Sins of Catholicism, though I may end up repeating a few. We'll see.

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. Nor am I gay, a man, or have first had experience with some of what's ahead.

Rated M: graphic language, adult situations, and religious issues. Yes, you read that. Religion. I will attempt to keep my own personal opinion out of this. Any and all sex scenes will not be featured here, though it will be uploaded onto AO3 at some point to account for this egregious lapse.

Seven Sins

Chapter One

Envy

Antonio twirled his pencil between his long fingers, a frown etched on his normally carefree face. Normally, he would have already finished working out the tiny details, the measurements, the scales, the angles, curves, and arcs. Normally, he would be blissfully humming and tracing line after line and forgetting the time completely. Normally wasn't today, however. Today was not normal for him at all.

Maybe it was something in the air. Maybe it was something in his coffee earlier that morning? Maybe it was the way the sunlight fell on his blueprints, the way his eraser shavings never seemed to blow away, or maybe it was the way his chair was digging into his thighs? Whatever it was, Antonio was sick of it.

He threw his pencil down in disgust, staring down at his half-finished plans, scratching his already unruly hair. He hadn't been this uninspired since that one time in college when he had gotten too drunk with Francis and Gilbert the night before a project was due. He slumped back in his chair, bright, green eyes glaring at his window angrily. He jumped about a foot high when his phone suddenly let out a loud shrill. Chuckling, he slid off his chair and sauntered towards the living/dining/bedroom that took up a small portion of his sunny Italian studio. Though Spanish in origin, he had eventually found his way to Rome, Italy to pursue his career as a budding architect. Gilbert had stayed behind in Berlin, and Francis had made his way back to Paris, but Antonio had always been the one with itchy, wanderlusting feet.

Perhaps that was the reason for his weeklong distemper? When was the last time he'd gone out and done something new?Met someone new? He picked his cell phone just before the last ring ended, contemplating this thought rather seriously. He normally didn't do "introversion," but now seemed the proper time for it.

"Bueno, Carriedo speaking," he answered in reflex.

"Buongiourno, Tony! It's me, Bella!" a cheery feminine voice trilled on the other line. Antonio's mouth automatically curved upwards.

"Bellita, your new Italian boyfriend has really helped out your Italian!" Antonio laughed. He laughed again hearing her soft noise of discontent.

"My accent wasn't that bad, no matter what you and Ned say. Besides, you still have a Spanish accent, no matter what language of the twenty you speak," Bella retorted sharply. He could hear the laughter in her voice, though, so he knew she wasn't very serious about scolding him.

"I only speak about six. But thanks!"

"About six. I barely speak two," she muttered under breath.

"Don't forget English."

"I try to. All the time," she sighed.

Antonio chuckled. Her English was pretty bad. It was lucky he knew Dutch passably well or he never would have become the young girl's friend. They had met during one of his touring summers of college. He applied to as many study abroad programs as he could, at least half of them Gilbert had joined him on, but the German had never been as excited about them as Antonio. Antonio had gone to Belgium and Holland just a few years ago and had met the cute, young blonde during the tour of Keukenhof, the famous tulip fields in Holland. She had been taking picture after picture of the scenery, including the people. In broken Dutch, English, and Italian, Antonio had learned she was from Belgium, a first year college student in photography, and was learning Italian so she could transfer to a school in Rome. Antonio knew Italian because he had taken classes there for an entire year. Their mutual interests led them to becoming pretty good friends during the weeks they were both in Holland, so that when they parted ways, they'd exchanged online contact information. Antonio was pretty flighty, but Bella had kept up the communication until she wrote to tell him she had finally moved to Italy and he had replied that he had just been offered a job there. Their friendship had been re-struck immediately, but it had never deepened beyond something cheerful and platonic.

Antonio adjusted his phone on his shoulder as he made his way through the mess of his studio towards the bathroom (bathcloset really) to wash the ink and graphite off his hands. "What did you call me up for, Bellita?"

"Are you free today?"

Antonio thought about the incomplete blueprints for the new wing some government official wanted add to some obscure library. Wait, was it a museum? Or a college? He mentally shrugged. "Yup."

"Great! I want you to meet Lovino!" she cried out ecstatically. Antonio's eyebrows rose.

"I thought he hated strangers and wanted nothing to do with me?"

"Oh, well, you see, I talk about you all the time, of course. And he gets so frustrated when I text you while we're in bed-" Antonio choked on air, somewhere between horror and amusement- "don't be a prude. You know you're not. So he finally decided to meet you! He wants to see if you really are as handsome as I say you are! Lovino is so competitive. It's adorable, really!"

Antonio's amusement finally won out. "You're a piece of work," he finally got past his laughter, shutting off the tap and shaking his hands.

"I don't understand. What does that mean?"

"Never mind. When do I meetchyo old man and you?" Antonio asked, glancing towards the digital clock lying on the floor at his feet. He absently noted that he hadn't managed to throw it out of its plug today when it woke him up.

"How about… in two hours? He gets off work then," Bella finally decided a few moments later.

So… about six, then. "Isn't he a… uh…cook?" he trailed off hopefully.

"He works in an art gallery! His brother is a chef!" Bella huffed. Antonio rolled his eyes.

"If you didn't tell me all kinds of stuff at once, I wouldn't get confused."

"As if," Bella retorted flatly, using one of her favorite American-English idioms. "We'll meet at his brother's restaurant for dinner. I'll text you the address. Don't you dare be late, or show up dressed like a mess! He'll kick you out before you can blink!"

"Fine, I'll pull out something from the back of the closet," Antonio grumbled. He hated dressing up. Why couldn't jeans, a T-shirt, and sandals be acceptable outside in the streets of Rome? He always got such dirty looks when he went out just for a bagel, or just going to buy tomatoes and pasta at the nearby grocery store.

"Iron it."

"Fine."

"Love ya, Tony!" she chirped. Antonio rolled his eyes.

"Si, si, good bye. I have ironing to do." She hung up laughing. It really was too bad there hadn't been more than casual attraction between them Antonio thought as he tossed his cell on to his unmade bed. She really was adorable and cute. She should've been just his type.

But after London… he stopped trying to figure just what his type was. He sighed as he flung open his wardrobe's doors. He never liked thinking about London… or the occurrence that began there. He had confided to Francis and Gilbert one drunken night and both had actually been cool enough never to mention it again when he asked them not to. So, like he usually did when London popped up in his head, he pushed it back, back, into the recesses of his mind and began to pull and yank on his shirts to look for one "acceptable" enough for Bella.

.

He, though horrible with remembering facts, was really good with directions. Probably all those days of wandering around Europe and the Americas had helped, or it might have been because he was good with dimensions and city-plans, but he rarely got lost. Also, unlike a lot of people, every building stood out specifically in his mind, each its own personality and façade. He remembered buildings and artwork, which was truly everywhere if one knew how to look. He just remembered the things he'd seen and found himself back at his starting point easily. So, with Bella's horribly texted directions only, he hadn't gotten lost once on his way to the tiny Italian restaurant. He sauntered up towards the buildings, eyeing the structure with a trained eye. Simple, elegant, friendly. Nothing too ornate or ostentatious. A plain, square, white building, brightened with potted flowers, a bright red door, and yellow awning over mismatched chairs and tables. Tiny glass vases sitting on hand-made doilies were sitting on the center of every outdoor table, a single pink geranium standing tall in the clear water. Antonio pushed open the door, grinning up at the silver bell that jangled cheerfully over his head. He always loved bells hanging over doors. There was something so welcoming and homey about them as they announced your arrival. He glanced around the bright, clean restaurant. Inside, the tables and chairs were a bit more regular, made of wood and all cut in the same design, but all painted different, vibrant colors. Tablecloths were spread over the indoor tables patterned in pale yellow and bright red flowers, and, like the tables outside, a single geranium stood in little glass vases. There were maybe a dozen tables, which was quite a bit for such a little shop. Near the entrance to the kitchen Antonio spied a bright blonde head. He navigated through the tables quickly.

"Bellita! I'm not late, am I?" Antonio called out as he neared. Bella turned around, her green eyes lighting up with her smile.

"TONY!" she cried out in excitement. She was on her feet and throwing herself into Antonio's arms before he'd quite made it to her table, or seen her reclusive boyfriend. "Oh, you're just in time! We always get here early to chat with Feliciano. Oh, don't you look handsome! You remembered my advice about red, I see!" Bella's eyes twinkled and she leaned back and took in the full effect.

Antonio looked down at himself, vaguely confident he had put himself together pretty well. He wore a pair of black slacks without even a speck of paint on them (he had no idea they existed), and a dark crimson silk shirt that Francis had bought him for Christmas a long time ago. His satin black tie was shiny and new, even though he wore it much too loose. He wore a white belt (the only one he could find, because he really didn't have many to begin with) and brown shoes.

"So, I did good, right?" Antonio asked, grinning and wagging his eyebrows.

"Other than your offensively ridiculously choice of shoes, you really aren't horrible," retorted a voice sharply from behind Bella. Bella giggled as Antonio leaned around her, eyes wide in surprise, his mouth tugging into a smile.

And he felt like someone slapped him in the face.

He was sitting there, leaning back in his chair, amber eyes glaring at him inscrutably, perfect mouth turned down into a frown. His arms were crossed over his chest and one foot was lying over the opposite knee. He was dressed to kill with dark grey slacks with darker pin-stripes and a bronze blouse. His belt and tie and shoes were all black and shiny, as if brand-new, and a classy leather wristwatch peeked from under his cuffs (he was wearing real gold cufflinks!). His dark hair was stylishly mussed, with only a single, long curl standing free. His slender, arched brows rose, his lips curling a little more in disgust.

"You look like a fucking idiot gaping like that, Spaniard," the Italian snapped as heat rose in his face. He looked puzzled, angry, and wary.

"Uh… yeah. I'm Antonio. And, uh… I'm sorry, you are?" Antonio asked, his tongue fumbling with the words. He was never this awkward, never. What was going on? Both Bella and the Italian stared at him. Bella burst into giggles just as the Italian narrowed his eyes.

"She told me you were pretty oblivious, but this is borderline brainless. I'm Lovino Vargas, you fucking idiot," Lovino answered.

Antonio felt slapped in the face again. He really should have known that. Who else could it have been? But the image of this beautiful young man being Bella's boyfriend just never occurred to him. Surely this had to be a joke. Not that Bella wasn't beautiful in her own way, but this Italian with his snarling mouth and flashing amber eyes had to be single, had to be for- Antonio shook his head briskly and laughed, though it sounded odd in his head. Out of place with the warring of emotions he couldn't name.

"Of course! That was kinda dumb of me, huh? It's nice to finally meetcha, Lovino!" Antonio replied, stepping out to hold out his hand. Lovino scowled.

"You barely speak our language, but you're going to butcher it further with all your damn slang?" Lovino grumbled, holding out his hand with obvious reluctance.

"It's easier to speak with slang, si? I learned most my Italian in pubs," Antonio told him, grinning. He grasped Lovino's hand to shake. A slender hand, warm and smooth, a firm grip. Antonio's hand felt huge wrapped around his, his fingers and palm rougher from work, and his skin a slightly darker shade than Lovino's olive-tone. He wanted to touch more, slide his fingers over the fragile bones of Lovino's wrist and stroke the thin skin over the steady beating pulse. He quickly pulled his hand away, his fingers flexing at his side as Bella sat back down.

"No wonder your Italian is so… unpleasant," Lovino sneered slightly. He hadn't seemed to notice Antonio's reaction.

"Be nice, Lovino! Not everyone is born Italian! And my Italian is so much worse than Tony's. Sit, Tony, go ahead. He likes you fine," Bella confided with a wink as she patted the empty seat. Lovino sputtered indignantly at this as Antonio laughed.

The table was small and round, with four chairs sitting around it. Bella and Lovino had seated themselves directly across from one another, so the empty seat was technically in between them. Antonio ignored the subtle leap in his pulse as he took his seat. To his right, Lovino was mumbling angrily and looking like an affronted cat. Antonio wished he could just lean over and stroke his neck to soothe him like any other disgruntled kitty. He had to twist his fingers into to the fabric of his slacks to stop himself. Where was this need to touch coming from? Why was it so hard to keep his eyes off the grumpy Italian? Even when he turned to Bella, he kept Lovino in his peripheral vision.

"Order anything you want, Tony. Lovino is treating today. He gets a discount, you know, because this is his brother's restaurant. Not only that, but his brother is the head chef and will personally make our meals. His food is the best in the world! Nothing compares!" Bella sighed dreamily, almost salivating just thinking about it.

"I don't cook half bad," Lovino grumbled. Bella laughed, throwing back her head with gusto.

"If you ever cook! We've been dating six months and you've only cooked once for me! You always call your brother and make him cook it for you!"

"I don't have fucking time to cook, Bella. I do own an art gallery," Lovino retorted, blushing beet-red. Antonio grinned, mesmerized by how adorable Lovino's sulking face was. That blush was too cute. Antonio mentally promised himself to make Lovino blush again… a lot.

"Tony?" Bella said sharply. Antonio broke off his train of thought and glanced round at her.

"Sorry, what?"

"Bastard, don't just fucking ignore her!" Lovino snapped.

"Oh, calm down, Lovino. He's really busy, you know!" Bella said quickly, flapping her hands at him. Antonio rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment.

"I'm sorry, Bellita. I don't know where my head is these days," Antonio apologized lamely. Bella smiled at him.

"It's fine, Tony. I was just saying you should show Lovino some of your work!"

"My work?" Antonio cut his eyes towards the fuming Italian. "Are you looking to expand? I have a few projects already promised, but I should be able to come up with something for you." Mayors and libraries be damned. If you want to build a castle, I'll toss the others out the window.

"No, you fucking idiot! I run a gallery! She said you paint shit and wants me to look at some of it!"

Understanding dawned. "Oh! Bellita, you know how I feel about that," Antonio pointed out, his gaze back on her face. His tone was serious and low. She fidgeted a bit, blushing.

"Come on, Tony! You're so good and you have so many! You should share all that beauty! It's a gift, Tony. I'm serious, Lovino. You would love his paintings in your gallery," Bella gushed, reaching to hold Antonio's hand in both of hers. "Please just show him, Tony!"

"Why don't you want your paintings in my gallery? It's small, but highly recommended. I have all the top artists and a lot of the local talent showcased. Nothing stays longer than a year- well, five years at the most. My clientele are prestigious and generous to artistry," Lovino said smugly.

"It's not that. I paint… I paint to feel. When I feel so much, when I can't possibly hold it inside my head anymore, I have to paint. Sometimes, I don't even plan it. Those are my feelings on the canvas. I don't want to sell my own heart," Antonio explained, shaking his head with a slight frown. With his eyes closed, he missed the wide-eyed astonishment on Lovino's face. For a single moment, genuine respect shone in Lovino's light eyes. His face shuttered closed, hiding the lapse.

"You're such a poet, Tony, but so silly! You're not selling your heart!"

"Bella, it's fine," Lovino interrupted. She glanced at him, her mouth opening to protest, but he raised his hand. "Don't force him to do anything. It is his art. I would like to see them, though. I own a gallery for a reason. I love art. When I look at a painting, a sculpture, any form of art, I want to feel something. True art invokes emotion. I'm addicted to that, seeking and finding beauty is the main reason I do what I do. Selling it is a secondary goal with pleasant benefits," Lovino smirked at Antonio, who grinned back brightly. Antonio made another mental note to see Lovino's real smile soon.

"Bellita is too nice about my paintings. I took some art in college, but it's really just a hobby. I'm an architect by trade," Antonio shrugged easily.

"Yes, Bella already told me that. Unlike some idiots, I remember what she tells me," Lovino replied pointedly. Both Bella and Antonio laughed.

"Lovi~ Who is this handsome Spaniard in my restaurant?" asked a cheerfully singsong voice. Antonio glanced up and blinked.

The young man approaching was almost Lovino's double. He was a little chubby around the edges, and his whole face was lit with a smile, though. His hair was a lighter shade of auburn to Lovino's dark brunette, and his eyes were half-lidded, hiding whatever color they were beneath thick lashes. The man held out his hand, that pleasant smile never leaving his soft lips.

"I'm Feliciano Vargas, Lovi's younger brother. Welcome to Caffé Rosso," Feliciano greeted him. Antonio shook his hand.

"I'm Antonio Fernandez Carriedo. I like your café. It's very colorful and happy," Antonio told him. Feliciano laughed aloud and clapped his hands in delight.

"Oh, I like you, ve~ Are you single?"

"Excuse me?"

"Feliciano!" Lovino snapped. Feliciano pouted.

"I'll never get a date if you keep treating me like a child."

"Oh- I'm s-sorry, I d-don't- I'm n-not-" Antonio stammered, blushing wildly. Feliciano, Bella, and Lovino all stared at him.

"Really? Well, there's a blow to the self-esteem," Bella muttered under her breath. Antonio gaped at her.

"You thought I was gay?" Antonio choked.

"But I hit on you, like, a dozen times, Tony! I even slept with you a few times! Nothing ever happened! I thought I was obvious! I gave up when I realized you were gay- but now you're not?"

"Yes! I mean, no! Wait, what do I mean? You really think I'm gay?" Antonio groaned, ducking his head and grabbing his hair. Feliciano laughed, covering his mouth with his hand, his whole body trembling.

"How about I just make us some pasta and forget all about this?" Feliciano supplied helpfully.

"Please, Feli, please," Lovino mumbled, rubbing his face with his hand and looking a little sheepish about something. Feliciano nodded, turned on his heel, then spun back around to look at Antonio.

"If you ever change your mind, Antonio, you let me know," Feliciano teased, his eyes open to reveal big brown eyes that successfully made him the most adorable person Antonio had ever laid eyes on. He had the face of an Italian angel. Then, Feliciano winked and sashayed away. Antonio gaped after him, his face bright red.

"Se-seriously?"

Bella giggled as Lovino groaned in embarrassment.

"If Mama were alive- I just… My brother is very openly gay. If it bothers you, I'll tell him to cool his fucking heels," Lovino offered, being contrite for once. Antonio finally saw the humor and began to chuckle.

"No, no, it's fine. He's cute and I like him. I guess I don't mind flirting a little, but I'll make it clear that's where it stops. We're both adults, si?"

"Yeah, well, don't break his heart, or I'll cut off your fucking balls."

As the night wore on, it only got better. The pasta Feliciano brought was probably the best Antonio had ever eaten. It was even loaded with extra tomatoes. Apparently Lovino and Feliciano liked them just as much as Antonio and used them a lot in their recipes. They drank fine red wine and had espresso afterwards upstairs in Feliciano's rooms over the café. It closed pretty late at night, but Feliciano had enough employees to close it down for him, and they four hung out on his tiny, wrought-iron balcony while the night life of Rome erupted around them. They sang popular Italians songs, talked about art, photography, and cooking. They even got Antonio to talk about his work, his actual career, not his discarded canvasses, and Lovino seemed almost as passionate about architecture as Antonio. Feliciano had explained it was in their blood, having Sicilian relatives from their father and Southern Italy was renowned for its architecture. Somehow, Antonio had managed to make his way home- vaguely remembering Lovino calling for a taxi from the balcony.

He stumbled his way upstairs, not drunk, but buzzed enough to be a little klutzy. When he managed to swing open his door, he kicked his shoes across the studio, ignoring the bangs as the leather soles smacked into some unknown wall, and then flopped all the way down to his bed, which was basically a thick mattress on the floor. He stared up at the ceiling, face flushed from wine and a strange sort of breathlessness. For some reason, he couldn't get Lovino- sharp-featured and even sharper-tongued Lovino with his teasing little smirk and distracting little curl- out of his head. All night long, he'd used any subtle excuse he could to touch him, but it had only made his fingertips, his elbow, his knees, every inch that had brushed so innocently against Lovino's, burn as if touching melted wax on the candle. The idea that Bella could very well be sleeping with him now, in some ritzy flat with tasteful and expensive art everywhere, because that fit Lovino to the ground, made him sick to his stomach. He wanted to punch something just thinking about it.

Why… why did he… feel so… so damned envious? Of course he didn't want to be there, in Lovino's bed, or waking up next to him the next day. That was ridiculous. The wine, and Feliciano's flirting, and thinking about London earlier, yeah- all of that was making him go crazy. There was no way he was jealous of Bella having such an amazing boyfriend. Definitely not.

It didn't stop him from dreaming about when Lovino sang, holding a cup of coffee in his slender, beautiful hands as they looked out over Rome earlier that night.