I swear, to the Holy Father up in heaven, it was a mistake.

I never meant anything by it. It was just a fucking slip of the tongue, something I just happened to say on accident. And, now that I'm thinking about it, I bet if it had been anyone else; they would've just waved it off. Just laughed and walked away. Maybe even shoot something back, and then leave.

But no. Of course fucking not. That's not my life, and that isn't the type of person he is.

That damn Antonio.

It had started out painlessly enough. I was working the lunch shift at my friend's restaurant. My friend Kiku had gotten me a job as a waiter a year before, because his dad owns the restaurant, and I generally liked my job. Sure there were a few mishaps: a few broken dishes, a couple messed up orders, and, of course, dozens of asshole customers, but nothing too bad. Plus, the tips were good, so I had absolutely no problem with my job whatsoever.

The job also depends on what type of customers we get. This lead Kiku and I to develop a kind of "scale" to base the customers on:

The "Cut Throats"- the ones so engrossed in their foods, that when you come to see how they're doing, all they do is glare, and maybe give a curt "fine." The one's that you learn to leave alone until they're ready for their check.

The "Jabbers"- the people that, no matter how desperately you try, will not let you get back to work. It's as though their soul purpose in life is to talk to you, and make you miss out on good tips. They're nice when business is slow, and you have time to kill, but lord help them if we're busy. All you want to do is take their half- filled glass (because they never need a refill 'til you're carrying five plates of food to another table), and smash it over their fucking head.

The "Elders"- A personal favorite, really. There's no age requirement, but generally older customers act like this. These are the ones that like to joke and kind of tease you, but realize you're working. They wait patiently, only ask for a refill when you come to visit their table, and are just kind in general. Also, you can forget about them on a busy day, because they understand that you're working hard, and let you take care of the others until you have a spare moment. If you smile and laugh with them, they'll give awesome tips, too.

And finally, the "QCs"- otherwise known as "Quick Customers," these fine people are there to sit down, smile, order, and leave. They don't always leave a great tip, but really, no work is required with them, so it's ok.

There are a few others, like the "Normies" and "Deadbeats," but the top four are the main customers.

It started out a normal day. The lunch rush had passed an hour before, and now just a few stragglers would come by. These people were the ones who had different lunch schedules, or perhaps they just wanted lunch with a friend.

He came in right on time. His brown hair bouncing gloriously as the early afternoon sun partially blinded his green eyes, causing him to squint. I remember thinking it was odd that his father wasn't with him, since they have the same lunch shift.

His dad owns a garage up the street, as I had learned since I started working and have had them many times as customers. His dad had lived in Spain, and Antonio had been born there as well. It would've been a good life, but when the debt over there proved so horrible, his father decided to uproot his family to America. They had a garage in Spain too, that had actually done quite well, but his dad wanted to make sure Antonio had more opportunities, so he could have a better chance at landing a job.

They said at first it was hard, because Mr. Fernandez- Carriedo barely spoke English, and the move had set them a ways back financially, but he found a nice German man to help him communicate with the customers. His grand kids, Ludwig (my brother's fucking boyfriend) and Gilbert (one of Antonio's childhood friends, I'm pissed off to say) help around the shop too: fixing tires, or changing oil.

He came in with the same grease stained black shirt on, with ripped jeans, and worn out sneakers. He looked up at me, gave a faint welcoming smile, and then proceeded to sit at the table in the corner next to the window. I didn't even have to look up to know he'd sit there, just like I knew there was really no point in bringing him a menu anymore. His meals had long since been established as part of the routine he was in. It all just depended on the weather, really. That's the only thing that changed it. If it's a sunny day, he'll order the Chicken Teriyaki lunch special, and if it's raining he'll get the Shrimp and Vegetable Tempura lunch special. I grab a laminated menu from a shelf in the waiter's station, careful not to knock over any soy sauce containers, and beeline to his table.

I glance out the window to see the stale blue afternoon sky without a cloud in sight, so I know his order will be…

"Hi! Can I please have the Chicken Teriyaki with a Sprite?" He asks before I can even give him the fucking menu. I just give a small nod and turn back around. Well, the Sprite was new. He usually gets a glass of water, or a Coca- Cola.

Shrugging, I place the menu back in its holder, and go to the touch screen to punch in his order. The screen has been worn out from years of abuse, and sometimes I'll even hurt my fingers sliding them across its scratchy surface. But, I know where everything is on the screen, so it only takes a few moments for my fingers to punch out the order on the old, beat- up machine. As soon as I hear the resounding "beep" in the kitchen to let them know they received an order, I head into the kitchen myself to get the bastard his miso soup that comes with the meal.

Ten minutes and an empty bowl of soup later, I bring out his lunch. The lunch specials there always come in this cool, four- compartment bento box. It has your main entrée, a salad, some rice, and six pieces of California roll sushi. It also looks pretty fucking appetizing when you forget to eat breakfast and your stomach is clawing at your skin. I place it in front of him, the steam from the chicken and rice soon engulfing my face and making me hungrier than I already was, and give a short "enjoy" before taking his drink to be refilled.

By the time I come back, he'd polished off the rice and was practically done with the salad compartment on the bento box. Next was probably going to be the Cali roll. This is another thing I've noticed about him (I swear I don't creep on him, he's just here ALL THE TIME), he always leaves his main dish for last, no matter how good it looks.

I set down his glass and begin to walk away when he calls out to me, "Ah, I think I'll just take the check now. We have a lot of people today, and I need to make this fast," he grins sheepishly and I nod in confirmation. I go back to the counter to print out his check, place it inside a leather case, and take it to his table. I was about to walk away again, but he held up his hand and threw a few dollar bills inside the case before extended it back out to me.

This was where I made the fatal flaw. The thing that was just a goddamn mistake, but would affect me in a way that would change the rest of my life…

I scoffed at his out reached arm and snatched the booklet back, "Wow, you really are a QT."

There. Right fucking there. You see, I meant to say "QC" for Quick Customer, because a few of the people actually knew what our little "scale" was, and they found it amusing. But the way I said "QT" made it sound like I was saying "Cutie." Suddenly, his entire face brightened and a faint blush appeared on his cheeks, though that was nothing compared to the flood that overtook mine. We just stayed that way for a while, blushing and staring at one another until I finally came back to my senses.

"I-I'm sorry… I meant to say-"

"Hahaha wow, your face is so red! And I thought you couldn't get any cuter~" he said and then WINKED at me! Good God, you don't wink to men. "And I never knew you thought of me that way! I mean sure, I thought you were cute and all, but I didn't actually think you'd reciprocate my feelings!" Then the idiot started blabbering a mile a minute about anything that popped into his head. I honestly don't think he's ever spoken to me this much, because he's always just been a QC except for a few times when he was with his dad. His dad had been the one to tell about their little "family history" and Antonio had just smiled throughout the whole thing. Dear lord, was he still talking?

"-and my aunt Anita kept yelling in Spanish, but it was so fast I-" I cleared my throat, and that seemed to knock him out of his little daze. "Uhm… I didn't mean what I said back there, I was just going to say "QC" for quick customer…"

He laughed again and smiled at me, "Oh, well, guess it's too late to take back what I said now!" he stood from the table and stared into my eyes for a few seconds before laughing and heading towards the door. He began to push it open, the strong afternoon sun blazing into the restaurant, and he turned back to look at me. "By the way, you can expect to see me a lot more now, Lovino. And I'm going to try to figure out anything I can about you to make you mine." With that, he slipped into the hot summer day, crossing the gray and chipped asphalt parking lot to get back to his garage.

I stood there, motionless, and tried to process what had just happened. I don't know how it got to be this way, but there were two things I was sure of: One, I have a potential creeper, and two, which may be worse…

I'm almost positive I have a new "jabber" to deal with.

Author's Note~

Well hello there, my darling babies! Yes, I should be updating "Not Mine" and yes, I should be getting everything ready for school. But when do the plot bunnies come, other than when you have other things going on? :D but this one shouldn't be that bad to wait for (I so dearly hope) because I've already got most of this planned out.

… No, seriously, I have this planned out. Aren't you proud? I'M GROWING UP! :D any who! Thanks for the support! And I do not own Hetalia, sprite, or the new restaurant I just started working at and may or may not be basing some this stuff from it eue