When had Spain gotten so damn sexy? Romano couldn't help wondering this as he stared at the shirtless Spaniard picking tomatoes off the winding vines. The Italian fumbled with one of the plump fruits for a second before gently dropping it into his basket, his gaze travelling over Spain's fit body slowly, taking in every detail. It wasn't like he hadn't seen him without a shirt before, but this time it was just...different. Something inside the Italian's chest sparked every time he looked at him as of late, and it was confusing to him.

"What's wrong, Lovi?"

Said Italian quickly looked up at that angelic face and- TING -there went that spark. He felt his face heat up, and he turned his attention back to the leafy vine in front of him. "N-Nothing!" he snapped, plucking one of the tomatoes and dropping it in his basket. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Spain shrug and look back to the vines, so he cautiously looked back to him.

Romano's heart fluttered as he stared at Spain, and it was starting to get on his nerves. There must've been something wrong with him. It was simply not normal to feel this way about such a...a complete idiot! The whole situation was totally frustrating for the Italian. If there was some way to just figure out what was wrong with him...

The feeling of something moving lightly across the back of his hand caught his attention. Romano blinked and looked down at his hand. Fucking spiderzilla had decided to settle down right in the middle of the back of his hand. That asshole.

Dropping his basket of tomatoes, Romano let out a loud yell of gibberish followed by the manliest scream ever heard. He hurried slapped the creature off his hand, but it jumped up onto his shoulder. It fucking jumped. Jumped. Spiders weren't supposed to jump.

Another scream, and Romano almost tore his shirt as he tried to rid his panicking body of it. Something crawling down his back sent him into an even bigger panic, but a pair of strong arms wrapped around him before he could freak out anymore.

"Shhhh," Spain hushed him, and Romano shut his mouth and eyes tightly, trembling as the Spaniard flicked the spider off his back. A soothing hand rubbed the Italian's back, and he listened to Spain's calm voice, his whole body trembling from the absolutely horrifying experience.

Slowly, Romano relaxed, but neither of them let go. They stayed there, embracing each other as if their lives depended on it. Neither of them cared how hot it was or if anyone saw them. The only thing that mattered at that moment was that they were there, together. Neither of them wanted to let go, but neither would admit it, fearing the other's reaction. It was around this point that Romano realized something.

He was in love with Spain.

...

But it wasn't like he actually liked him or anything. That was just silly.