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Entry tags:
March 11th
Title: March 11th
Author: Myira
Fandom: Hetalia
Pairing: Spain-Romano
Content Notes: possibly underage character (he's a country), no other content notes apply
Summary: Its one hell of a birthday.
It wasn't his fault!! It definitely wasn't! So maybe...he'd said some harsh things - but someone needed to speak up. Obviously, that potato-bastard wasn't worth a damn, and someone needed to make that very clear. It was just the truth...it wasn't like he meant to start a yelling match and make Feliciano run away crying. How was he supposed to know the moron would react like that?
Since his idiot-brother was so blindly infatuated with that jerk, what else was there to do?! His twin was just too simple-minded and naive to see trouble when it was practically in his lap. Or literally in his lap! He'd accidently stumbled in on both of them doing only-God-knows-what in the living-room the yesterday! Of course, it had taken all of three seconds to drag that bastard off his cute little - er, stupid little brother. After practically throwing Ludwig out of the house, he'd proceeded to vividly and passionately describe all the reasons why the German was a no-good bastard.
And somewhere along the line of his beautifully developing, one-sided argument, Feliciano started yelling back! Ok, it was more like wailing amidst a flood of tears...but, still - he'd never seen Feliciano do that so fitfully before. His cute, bubbly, adorable - if utterly stupid, boring, way-too-happy, annoyingly cheerful - twin was actually talking back! It was all that potato-bastard's fault! It had to be his fault. That prick had ruined his little brother and...and...and...and now Romano didn't know what to do.
Alarming as it was, Feliciano had run all the way out of the house, down the street, and away. He didn't even come home until 3:34 am. And no, Romano absolutely did not wait up for him. As a matter of fact, it was a simple case of getting caught up in a book while sitting by the front door. That's all. Really.
At any rate, that was unimportant. Glaring at the bowl on the counter, he cursed under his breath. What did bother Romano was Feliciano's complete silence once he did return. Both last night and today, the guy hadn't said a word.
And that was how Romano ended up in the kitchen, making their birthday dinner. By himself. Traditionally, they made dinner together once a year on their joint birthday - fighting, poking, squabbling, and laughing the entire time. Each year was a disaster, but it was kinda special - er, unique that way. Although they had a tendency to make an unbelievably huge mess every year, Romano could maybe, kind of admit that he didn't absolutely hate it.
However, this year his brother apparently decided to mope around, like an idiot, in his room instead. With nothing else to do that evening, Romano took it on himself to make dinner for both of them. And just because they had the ingredients, he was making Feliciano's favorite pasta. It wasn't an apology or anything remotely lame like that. He was just bored and wanted to see if he could make this dish better than Feliciano could. Still, it was kind of boring...working in here alone. No - alone was definitely better! This way he didn't have Feliciano's annoyingly bubbly personality to piss him off when he cooked. Muttering to himself as his hand moved in mindless circles, Romano was hardly paying any attention to his task. "...such an idiot..."
A series of loud raps on the front door dragged a thunderously grouchy screech from the kitchen. "JUST WAIT A SECOND!" With the sauce finally done, he was more than willing to make his untimely guest wait for a minute or more as he turned the heat off and settled the pot into an easy simmer.
Wiping his hands on a dish towel, Romano grumbled under his breath as he went to answer the door. At least the guest was considerate enough to wait patiently...that was a welcome surprise. Unfortunately, that luck wasn't meant to hold out for long.
Opening the door, Romano was greeted by the person that he definitely least wanted to see right now - the very bastard that got him caught up in this situation to begin with. Glaring at the moron, Romano spit out a very curt, "What the hell are you doing here?" Oh, and if looks could kill...but then, that's what he had the Mafia was for, wasn't it? The smile that slowly spread across his face was rather...well, deadly, malicious, and foreboding. With the mafia at his disposal, he could do so much more than look. Just thinking of the things they could do for him in this capacity was improving his mood noticeably.
Ah...but...if he ordered a hit on Ludwig, Feliciano would kill him. Even if the guy was an absolute failure with any kind of weaponry and had the temperament of a rabbit-skin blanket, there was certainly some red-tempered mafia buried under all that pointless, absurd fluff. Romano was sure that would come out if he put a hit out on...the thing on his doorstep. Well, that thought killed his mood's recovery. Growling under his breath, he muttered something about bitchy siblings.
As these various (and admittedly disconcerting) expressions flitted across Romano's face, the German stood there, awkwardly shifting from foot to foot. Obviously, this idiot needed a hand getting his ass off their lawn. Well, at least, Romano was more than happy and willing to give the German a hand in any direction other than 'in'.
"Ludwig!" Romano didn't need to turn around to hear who's voice that was - only one person in the world would call out to to the German in a tone like that. Ugh, why did his brother have to be the world's dumbest sentient creature? Well, it just fell to him as the more mature twin to protect his brother from himself. Clearly.
Turning towards the stairs, he managed to start, "Idiot, get lo-" Unfortunately, that was as far as he got before a blur dashed down the stairs, knocked him to the side, and leapt into the waiting arms of his unwelcome guest. Stunned to silence, Romano stared at a sight which - in his ever-so-humble opinion - should never have happened. There was no way his moronic brother would do something so absurdly idiotic as to brush him aside in favor of that bastard!!
Right? Wrong.
It was somewhere between that question and this answer that Romano lost it. He wasn't sure if he started yelling or pounding his fist against the partly open door first. For sure, all he could say was he made one hell of a loud racket and was screaming something incoherent...about how his blasphemous, traitorous brother had better get his little ass back inside before he dragged the little brat into his room and toss him in the closet for life. As high-pitched curses and threats poured out of his mouth, he knew he really lost it this time. Really lost it.
But it wasn't entirely his fault. This was supposed to be their day. It was their f*cking birthday after all!! It was always just the two of them - and they always did just fine! Sure, they fought the whole time...and Romano complained about it to just about anyone who would listen. But, but - who the hell gave Feliciano permission to change that!? He wasn't allowed to spring this on their BIRTHDAY, of all f*cking days! Actually, he might have said that a couple times during the course of his rant.
When he finally paused to drag air into his painfully emptied lungs, Feliciano spoke, very clearly and quietly...with a defiant expression. "We're getting married." Whatever heated, violent rant he'd been about to continue with was stopped cold by those three words.
"..." Dead silence.
Suddenly, Romano was in the uncomfortable position of losing all the air in his famished lungs. And it wasn't just his lungs that found themselves unexpectedly empty. In fact, he couldn't even muster the brain power to scream the obscenities he often employed when no other words came to mind. Frankly, this even shut-down his swear-first-think-later default setting - he drew a complete blank.
Apparently, he'd missed the summit meeting that had caused this catastrophic mistake. And all its related propaganda. And the negotiations. And the conventions. Not to mention the f*cking huge banner that said he'd be related to Germany. This whole thing was just...f*ck. That word was coming to mind alot today...for completely understandable reasons!
During the span of stunned silence, the German was flushing red and stuttering. From what Romano could absent-mindedly piece together from his surviving mental functions, the bastard was saying something about 'doing it right' and 'asking properly'. He may have been scolding Feliciano, but who cares at this point?
No, what he needed to do was explain - patiently and using small words - that this bastard wasn't worth that kind of commitment. He was too stupid, even for an idiot like Feli. And the man - he had no concept of delicacy and lacked any kind of remotely useful skill. His cuisine was disgusting and lacked finesse. His language was barbaric and made speakers sound like choking chain-smokers. His manner was militarily aggressive and socially backward. Not to mention his appearance - hell, did the man even realize there was clothing outside army fatigues? If he just explained this calmly, he was sure he could knock some sense into the brat.
After a few more seconds, the default setting finally kicked in and Romano snapped, "Well, f*ck you." With that very eloquent, persuasive argument, he slammed the door in their faces, locked it and stormed into the kitchen. Well, that didn't go quite like he'd planned in his head. Why couldn't his mouth ever cooperate?
Knocking things off the counters in a random, destructive fashion for the next half-minute did nothing to ease the growing panic and anger. He did manage to break the sugar jar and half a dozen other dishes. But, quell this feeling of terrified abandonment? Nope.
It wasn't even just the horror of being related to a nation like Germany (though, that certainly was an issue). It wasn't even the fact that his stupid, younger twin was getting married first. While he hated the prospect of this marriage and everything it included, he wasn't afraid of it. Such an absurd thing wouldn't keep him up at night (unless it was to yell at his brother about it). He wouldn't worry or fret over it. Frankly, he could almost convince himself that he didn't give a damn what happened to the two of them.
Yet, standing in the aftermath of his destructive tirade, Romano frowned, struggling not to acknowledge the very real fear curling up in his chest right now. The silence of this empty, huge mansion wrapped around him, fueling his agitation as he began to rock on the balls of his feet. It was so quiet - silent and unsettling as the grave. Just him, the sound of his own ragged breathing, and the blood-chilling, paralyzing feeling of being entirely alone. As he listened to this crushing silence, he could feel the room shrinking, almost as if it wanted to crash down on him. He took a step back, by accident, and felt his lower back smack into the counter. A second or so later, he was sliding down to the floor and instinctively tucking his knees under his chin. Hugging his legs to his body, this appalling quite invoked feelings of claustrophobia that he'd forgotten about ages ago.
This pathetic weakness wasn't something he could ever dare to tell anyone about. No matter what, he couldn't admit that his possessiveness of his brother's attention stemmed from this pitiful need for company. For some reason, although Romano never mentioned it, he was fairly certain Feliciano knew this. And when that knowledge didn't make him feel like a failure, it tended to make him feel safe. However, more often then not, it just made him feel pathetic. The fact that he could need anyone that much just made him want to violently shove everyone away. Knowing they could leave him alone only made him more and more terrified to get close to anyone.
After all, he didn't want to end up like this. Curled up on the floor. Angry. Hurt. Confused. And struggling with a fear that was trying to choke him.
All the same he couldn't admit that it was the dark, stillness of silent nights that made him seek out his brother's company...or into Antonio's, for that matter. With the barest ghost of a smile, he could remember when he was a child how often he would stomp his foot and demand to sleep in the older man's bed. Because it was more comfortable, of course. Every time, Antonio gracefully put up with it, allowing him up onto the bed. And he would always pretended to fall asleep right away; however, Romano usually stayed up long enough to 'accidently' snuggle up to Spain.
Because...he liked being close to Antonio. The ghost of a smile widened almost imperceptibly. As odd as it made him feel sometimes, he liked feeling the man's warmth. He especially liked it when Antonio thought he was asleep and would run fingers through his hair - stroking over his brown locks of hair and playing with them as if they were the most fascinating thing in the world. (Sometimes he'd hit a certain strand and Romano would have to fight to keep himself silent. But, he...liked it too.) And sing. Sometimes the man would quietly sing these gorgeous, spanish lullabies. If Romano were awake, he would have had to object on principle. Yet, when he was half-asleep or even just pretending to be asleep, he could contentedly listen to the soft voice murmuring indecipherable spanish melodies.
Once, he'd managed to 'accidently/sleepily' lay his head over Antonio's heart, during a quiet song. The man's heart was beating so quickly, and the sound was captivating somehow. It made him feel so calm. Despite its pounding, the sound was reassuring and comforting. Pretending to sleep curled up in Antonio's arms had always made him feel...like he was precious. And safe. In those moments, he always felt so warm, safe, and comfortable, that the fear of being alone could not even touch the darkest reaches of his mind. Resting over Spain's chest, he felt so entirely, untouchably peaceful. If there was ever an opposite to this mind-numbing loneliness, that feeling was it.
I like Antonio.
Romano blinked. The room - which he would have sworn was collapsing in on itself - was back to normal. He swallowed, glanced around, and pushed slowly to his feet. Well, that was...odd. Possibly the oddest thing that had happened today. Bending over, he picked up the shattered pieces of a dish. He turned the shattered pieces over in in his hands, and then closed his eyes.
So...Feli was getting married. Forcing his eyes open, he waited for the room to start choking him again. He waited for the empty silence to knock his breath away. Instead, he walked - slowly, almost experimentally - to garbage bin and dropped the shards into the open bin. Looking back at the floor, he began picking up the other scraps and shards of broken things.
Married. His twin.
He wasn't an idiot. Now that he was calm again, he knew that he was in the wrong this afternoon. "In the wrong" didn't even begin to describe his actions - not only was Feliciano an adult, but also this wasn't really a surprise. Even though he and his brother never talked about it, he knew the two of them had been dating for a long while now. Although he didn't really want to, he saw the way they looked at each other. And as much as he disliked loosing his stupid, annoyingly cute brother, he had known that it was just a matter of time. And maybe that's why he hated Ludwig so much. But, if he was going to be completely honest, that wasn't the root of his temperamental display.
Glaring fitfully, Romano stared at the bowl he'd picked up. If Feli left, then he was going to have to...figure out Antonio, wasn't he? He wouldn't be able to hide behind his brother any more, would he? Gripping the bowl as if his life depended on it, Romano finally had to admit why he'd exploded so forcefully - he'd conveniently placed Feliciano between himself and Antonio, the only person who could ever really leave him isolated.
Feliciano was his brother, but Antonio was his point of balance - Antonio could hold him together like no one else he'd ever met. It'd always been that way. And, well...If Romano got any closer to him, and the guy decided (for any of a thousand logical reasons) that he didn't want Romano, then...that really might break him. So, he wouldn't let Spain get any closer, and his brother provided the prefect wall. After all, his brother was a complete idiot who needed to be constantly looked after by Romano. That was the excuse he'd used to move out of Spain's house; it was the reason he never stayed over for long; it explained he would only acknowledge his brother's stupidity; it kept the Spaniard from getting too close. After all, his idiot of a brother needed him, right?
Or rather, the truth was: he needed Feliciano. Well, that was a disturbing concept. He'd always considered himself the stronger of the two. It was unsettling - to say the least - to imagine that this might not be as true as he'd like to believe. Apparently, he wasn't as necessary to his brother as he'd thought. Ok, so that was an exaggeration, but what happened this afternoon still hurt. But maybe it was time for him to go for what he wanted too - hell, the least he could do was keep up with his idiotic, little brother. He could manage that much! A smile touched his lips.
Placing the bowl on the counter, he took three brisk steps to the kitchen backdoor and stood with his hand resting on the handle. With a look over his shoulder, he surveyed the disaster still spread over the kitchen counters and floor. After a second of hesitation, he turned the handle and walked out.
From that first step out the door, his steps became quicker and quicker until he was running. Romano was rarely in a state where his focus was so single minded that nothing else mattered - but, he was in that state right now. Cutting through yards and darting across streets, he barely noted the pets barking at him or the squealing of breaks when cars had to stop suddenly. It was reckless, but he had something he really wanted to say. And it needed to be said now!
Steps - he ran up the steps, almost throwing himself up against the door. Barely stopping in time, two fists collided with the heavy oak door with a loud thud. The sound resounded within the wood door. Without bothering to wait for a response, he began pounding the heels of his hands into the door as loudly as he could manage. Beating against that door with a fury of energy, he was certainly making one hell of a racket.
However, several minutes later, his palms were red and raw, and there was still no response. Frowning, he jerked on the handle, and almost fell through the doorway when the door actually opened. Of course Spain was too much of a moron to lock his front door! Romano experienced a strong, sudden desire to strangle Antonio, but reconsidered based on how much his hands were stinging at the moment. Fortunately, the desire passed, just as quickly as it came. Antonio did stupid things, and that was what made Romano check up on him every couple days. Actually, that was what kept him coming back to this house...suddenly, he wondered if Spain knew that. No, that was impossible. Clearly.
Quickly and quietly shutting the front door behind himself, he rushed off through the entry room and parlor into the kitchen. No one. Turning on his heel, he took the stairs two at a time and poked his head into the bedroom. No one. Bathroom? No one. Guest room (also known as Romano's room)? No one. He wasn't home? Dashing down the stairs, he poked his head into the living room.
And there in a pool of sunlight, stretched out on the couch was Antonio, sleeping soundly. Mildly ticked off, he snatched a nearby pillow, raised it above his head and froze. If he threw this, that would wake Spain. Yes, that was his intention originally. But...but...but...look at the guy!
Antonio was stretched out over the furniture with one arm curled under his head, and the other was hanging over the edge, as the back of his palm rested on the floor. Sunlight danced across his bare back, causing the olive skin to gleam. His back was well-defined...Romano could have traced the muscles across his back and run his fingers over that smooth skin to trace along his spine. He could have splayed his fingers over Antonio's shoulder blades and felt the taunt skin over sharp bone...not to mention the welcoming heat of his body. Taking an unconscious step forward, Romano dropped the pillow. Damn. That definitely wasn't a dangerously captivating sight. No, it wasn't. Romano shook his head, trying to peel his eyes away.
Looking at the man's face wasn't any better, though. He'd always known Antonio was gorgeous. Hell, he'd had it pointed out to him more times than he could count. Obviously, he knew that he shouldn't be standing here, staring. But, Antonio was asleep. Deeply asleep. So, he'd never know; thus it was perfectly acceptable to do. Just for a minute.
Crossing over to the couch in a few stealthy steps, he knelt down until he was on eye level with Spain. Dark hair framed the man's sleeping face in gentle wisps. They looked so soft - like a kitten's fur. His hand hovered over the dark mass of enticingly delicate strands. Usually, he could never get away with this...no, he wouldn't let himself. Plus, Antonio would think it was weird, probably. But, the guy was sleeping, so he would never know. And...and...and Romano would just do it this once. Because Spain was sleeping, it was ok. Only this once.
Laying his hand on the soft hair, he pulled his fingers through the dark brown mass. It wasn't quite as fine as a kitten's, but it was just as soft. Slipping between his fingers, the strands felt so silky. It was an addictive feeling. Before he realized it, he was running his hand through it over and over, twisting it around his finger, and brushing it off the man's face. Sleeping face - his expression was...gorgeous. Usually, he didn't have the opportunity to study the Spaniard's features.
His finger brushed across Spain's cheek and down to his jaw. Then....well, lips. His full, dark lips were slightly parted. Romano swallowed, almost nervous, and reached out to brush his finger over those inviting, open lips. He didn't mean to do it again - it just happend! They were so soft, in a way that was entirely different from the dark hair. At a low, sleepy sound from Antonio, Romano jerked his hand back, breath catching in his throat. Frozen there for a couple seconds, he didn't relax until a full minute passed. Slowly, his hand moved back to Spain's face, brushing a bit of hair back and pushing it behind the guy's ear. When that didn't get a reaction, he spent the next couple minutes gently brushing over the Antonio's high cheeks, smooth forehead, and warm mouth.
Since Antonio was asleep, he might was well take advantage of that and lean in a bit closer to get a better look. The only problem was...well, when he leaned in like this, the only thing he could look at was those lips. Slightly open in relaxed sleep, they were much more distracting than he'd ever realized. Turning his head to avoid the temptation to kinda...well, maybe...er, um....kiss him, Romano found himself face to shoulder with Antonio. Raising his head just an inch or so, he had a fantastic (and close) view of the man's strong shoulder's and beautifully defined back.
Moving first and thinking later was going to become a very bad habit if he stayed this close to Spain. As it was, he'd done it again by running his entire hand down the center of that firm, warm back. His middle finger fell right across the spine and slid carefully over every dip the bone made. The other finger's fanned out to feel the ridges of his shoulder blades and seamless muscle of his lower back. So focused on the sensation, he didn't even really notice until the tip of his middle finger hit the rim of dark blue jeans.
He poked the jeans, pushing at them ever so slightly and wondering what exactly the spaniard would look like without anything on at all. Even though that wasn't a conscious thought, light pink flushed across his cheeks, only to darken to crimson when he realized he was actually curious about...that. Biting down on his lip, he shifted, uncomfortable with his proximity to Spain after thinking such a thing.
As his torso twisted away from the couch, his hand remained hesitantly on the sleeping man's lower back, and the tip of his finger accidently slid under the edge of the jean fabric. Facing away, Romano was trying to somewhat pull himself together (mostly by chanting 'Think of the Pope' over and over in his head). Thus, Romano probably would have even noticed, if Antonio hadn't twitched in his sleep at that very moment.
Afraid he'd woken the man up, he tried to jerk his hand up...only to have it tug on the jeans as he pulled away. It was right then that Romano froze again, suddenly very aware of just how shamelessly perverted he was acting. Even as an accident, that was unnacceptable. The man was asleep for goodness sake!!! ASLEEP! Romano glanced down at the peaceful expression, only to note that it looked less content and more...strained.
F*CK. What the hell was he doing?! Closing his eyes against a sight that he now knew could practically seduce him, he held his breath for a full minute. When he opened his eyes again, Antonio was just as peacefully asleep as he'd been when Romano had first walked in. Sighing in a mixture of relief and guilt, he couldn't help one last indulgence. Spain was so dead asleep that he hadn't even heard the pounding on the door earlier. Thus, Romano was certain that the guy wouldn't be able to hear this.
Very cautiously and warily, he leaned down and nearly inaudibly whispered, "Antonio...I think...you're a bastard." He would have liked to stop there, but his earlier revelations (and the fact that Spain was asleep) lent him some courage. "...and I..." This was an entirely different kind of choking! Equally uncomfortable, but terrifying in an entirely different way. "...like..." Restraining the urge to hide this irrational embarrassment and smack Spain soundly with the nearest heavy object, he managed to finish in a tiny voice, "...you..."
Shoving off the floor in a motion sharpened by embarrassment, Romano bolted from the room. His first instinct was to run to the opposite side of the house. And that was how he - very logically and almost accidently - ended up in Antonio's bedroom, lying face-down on the bed. Finally turning his head to the side, he couldn't erase either the absurd grin nor the bright, fire-truck red blush.
Blushing crimson, breathing heavily, and grinning like an idiot - no one would ever believe it. Which was good, since no one would ever know - in fact, he'd kill anyone who ever found out. But, for now? For now, it was acceptable to fall asleep like this. After all, it had been one hell of a birthday - a very long March 11th.
~~~~~
As footsteps quickly retreated from the living room, a pair of alert, green eyes snapped open.
Author: Myira
Fandom: Hetalia
Pairing: Spain-Romano
Content Notes: possibly underage character (he's a country), no other content notes apply
Summary: Its one hell of a birthday.
It wasn't his fault!! It definitely wasn't! So maybe...he'd said some harsh things - but someone needed to speak up. Obviously, that potato-bastard wasn't worth a damn, and someone needed to make that very clear. It was just the truth...it wasn't like he meant to start a yelling match and make Feliciano run away crying. How was he supposed to know the moron would react like that?
Since his idiot-brother was so blindly infatuated with that jerk, what else was there to do?! His twin was just too simple-minded and naive to see trouble when it was practically in his lap. Or literally in his lap! He'd accidently stumbled in on both of them doing only-God-knows-what in the living-room the yesterday! Of course, it had taken all of three seconds to drag that bastard off his cute little - er, stupid little brother. After practically throwing Ludwig out of the house, he'd proceeded to vividly and passionately describe all the reasons why the German was a no-good bastard.
And somewhere along the line of his beautifully developing, one-sided argument, Feliciano started yelling back! Ok, it was more like wailing amidst a flood of tears...but, still - he'd never seen Feliciano do that so fitfully before. His cute, bubbly, adorable - if utterly stupid, boring, way-too-happy, annoyingly cheerful - twin was actually talking back! It was all that potato-bastard's fault! It had to be his fault. That prick had ruined his little brother and...and...and...and now Romano didn't know what to do.
Alarming as it was, Feliciano had run all the way out of the house, down the street, and away. He didn't even come home until 3:34 am. And no, Romano absolutely did not wait up for him. As a matter of fact, it was a simple case of getting caught up in a book while sitting by the front door. That's all. Really.
At any rate, that was unimportant. Glaring at the bowl on the counter, he cursed under his breath. What did bother Romano was Feliciano's complete silence once he did return. Both last night and today, the guy hadn't said a word.
And that was how Romano ended up in the kitchen, making their birthday dinner. By himself. Traditionally, they made dinner together once a year on their joint birthday - fighting, poking, squabbling, and laughing the entire time. Each year was a disaster, but it was kinda special - er, unique that way. Although they had a tendency to make an unbelievably huge mess every year, Romano could maybe, kind of admit that he didn't absolutely hate it.
However, this year his brother apparently decided to mope around, like an idiot, in his room instead. With nothing else to do that evening, Romano took it on himself to make dinner for both of them. And just because they had the ingredients, he was making Feliciano's favorite pasta. It wasn't an apology or anything remotely lame like that. He was just bored and wanted to see if he could make this dish better than Feliciano could. Still, it was kind of boring...working in here alone. No - alone was definitely better! This way he didn't have Feliciano's annoyingly bubbly personality to piss him off when he cooked. Muttering to himself as his hand moved in mindless circles, Romano was hardly paying any attention to his task. "...such an idiot..."
A series of loud raps on the front door dragged a thunderously grouchy screech from the kitchen. "JUST WAIT A SECOND!" With the sauce finally done, he was more than willing to make his untimely guest wait for a minute or more as he turned the heat off and settled the pot into an easy simmer.
Wiping his hands on a dish towel, Romano grumbled under his breath as he went to answer the door. At least the guest was considerate enough to wait patiently...that was a welcome surprise. Unfortunately, that luck wasn't meant to hold out for long.
Opening the door, Romano was greeted by the person that he definitely least wanted to see right now - the very bastard that got him caught up in this situation to begin with. Glaring at the moron, Romano spit out a very curt, "What the hell are you doing here?" Oh, and if looks could kill...but then, that's what he had the Mafia was for, wasn't it? The smile that slowly spread across his face was rather...well, deadly, malicious, and foreboding. With the mafia at his disposal, he could do so much more than look. Just thinking of the things they could do for him in this capacity was improving his mood noticeably.
Ah...but...if he ordered a hit on Ludwig, Feliciano would kill him. Even if the guy was an absolute failure with any kind of weaponry and had the temperament of a rabbit-skin blanket, there was certainly some red-tempered mafia buried under all that pointless, absurd fluff. Romano was sure that would come out if he put a hit out on...the thing on his doorstep. Well, that thought killed his mood's recovery. Growling under his breath, he muttered something about bitchy siblings.
As these various (and admittedly disconcerting) expressions flitted across Romano's face, the German stood there, awkwardly shifting from foot to foot. Obviously, this idiot needed a hand getting his ass off their lawn. Well, at least, Romano was more than happy and willing to give the German a hand in any direction other than 'in'.
"Ludwig!" Romano didn't need to turn around to hear who's voice that was - only one person in the world would call out to to the German in a tone like that. Ugh, why did his brother have to be the world's dumbest sentient creature? Well, it just fell to him as the more mature twin to protect his brother from himself. Clearly.
Turning towards the stairs, he managed to start, "Idiot, get lo-" Unfortunately, that was as far as he got before a blur dashed down the stairs, knocked him to the side, and leapt into the waiting arms of his unwelcome guest. Stunned to silence, Romano stared at a sight which - in his ever-so-humble opinion - should never have happened. There was no way his moronic brother would do something so absurdly idiotic as to brush him aside in favor of that bastard!!
Right? Wrong.
It was somewhere between that question and this answer that Romano lost it. He wasn't sure if he started yelling or pounding his fist against the partly open door first. For sure, all he could say was he made one hell of a loud racket and was screaming something incoherent...about how his blasphemous, traitorous brother had better get his little ass back inside before he dragged the little brat into his room and toss him in the closet for life. As high-pitched curses and threats poured out of his mouth, he knew he really lost it this time. Really lost it.
But it wasn't entirely his fault. This was supposed to be their day. It was their f*cking birthday after all!! It was always just the two of them - and they always did just fine! Sure, they fought the whole time...and Romano complained about it to just about anyone who would listen. But, but - who the hell gave Feliciano permission to change that!? He wasn't allowed to spring this on their BIRTHDAY, of all f*cking days! Actually, he might have said that a couple times during the course of his rant.
When he finally paused to drag air into his painfully emptied lungs, Feliciano spoke, very clearly and quietly...with a defiant expression. "We're getting married." Whatever heated, violent rant he'd been about to continue with was stopped cold by those three words.
"..." Dead silence.
Suddenly, Romano was in the uncomfortable position of losing all the air in his famished lungs. And it wasn't just his lungs that found themselves unexpectedly empty. In fact, he couldn't even muster the brain power to scream the obscenities he often employed when no other words came to mind. Frankly, this even shut-down his swear-first-think-later default setting - he drew a complete blank.
Apparently, he'd missed the summit meeting that had caused this catastrophic mistake. And all its related propaganda. And the negotiations. And the conventions. Not to mention the f*cking huge banner that said he'd be related to Germany. This whole thing was just...f*ck. That word was coming to mind alot today...for completely understandable reasons!
During the span of stunned silence, the German was flushing red and stuttering. From what Romano could absent-mindedly piece together from his surviving mental functions, the bastard was saying something about 'doing it right' and 'asking properly'. He may have been scolding Feliciano, but who cares at this point?
No, what he needed to do was explain - patiently and using small words - that this bastard wasn't worth that kind of commitment. He was too stupid, even for an idiot like Feli. And the man - he had no concept of delicacy and lacked any kind of remotely useful skill. His cuisine was disgusting and lacked finesse. His language was barbaric and made speakers sound like choking chain-smokers. His manner was militarily aggressive and socially backward. Not to mention his appearance - hell, did the man even realize there was clothing outside army fatigues? If he just explained this calmly, he was sure he could knock some sense into the brat.
After a few more seconds, the default setting finally kicked in and Romano snapped, "Well, f*ck you." With that very eloquent, persuasive argument, he slammed the door in their faces, locked it and stormed into the kitchen. Well, that didn't go quite like he'd planned in his head. Why couldn't his mouth ever cooperate?
Knocking things off the counters in a random, destructive fashion for the next half-minute did nothing to ease the growing panic and anger. He did manage to break the sugar jar and half a dozen other dishes. But, quell this feeling of terrified abandonment? Nope.
It wasn't even just the horror of being related to a nation like Germany (though, that certainly was an issue). It wasn't even the fact that his stupid, younger twin was getting married first. While he hated the prospect of this marriage and everything it included, he wasn't afraid of it. Such an absurd thing wouldn't keep him up at night (unless it was to yell at his brother about it). He wouldn't worry or fret over it. Frankly, he could almost convince himself that he didn't give a damn what happened to the two of them.
Yet, standing in the aftermath of his destructive tirade, Romano frowned, struggling not to acknowledge the very real fear curling up in his chest right now. The silence of this empty, huge mansion wrapped around him, fueling his agitation as he began to rock on the balls of his feet. It was so quiet - silent and unsettling as the grave. Just him, the sound of his own ragged breathing, and the blood-chilling, paralyzing feeling of being entirely alone. As he listened to this crushing silence, he could feel the room shrinking, almost as if it wanted to crash down on him. He took a step back, by accident, and felt his lower back smack into the counter. A second or so later, he was sliding down to the floor and instinctively tucking his knees under his chin. Hugging his legs to his body, this appalling quite invoked feelings of claustrophobia that he'd forgotten about ages ago.
This pathetic weakness wasn't something he could ever dare to tell anyone about. No matter what, he couldn't admit that his possessiveness of his brother's attention stemmed from this pitiful need for company. For some reason, although Romano never mentioned it, he was fairly certain Feliciano knew this. And when that knowledge didn't make him feel like a failure, it tended to make him feel safe. However, more often then not, it just made him feel pathetic. The fact that he could need anyone that much just made him want to violently shove everyone away. Knowing they could leave him alone only made him more and more terrified to get close to anyone.
After all, he didn't want to end up like this. Curled up on the floor. Angry. Hurt. Confused. And struggling with a fear that was trying to choke him.
All the same he couldn't admit that it was the dark, stillness of silent nights that made him seek out his brother's company...or into Antonio's, for that matter. With the barest ghost of a smile, he could remember when he was a child how often he would stomp his foot and demand to sleep in the older man's bed. Because it was more comfortable, of course. Every time, Antonio gracefully put up with it, allowing him up onto the bed. And he would always pretended to fall asleep right away; however, Romano usually stayed up long enough to 'accidently' snuggle up to Spain.
Because...he liked being close to Antonio. The ghost of a smile widened almost imperceptibly. As odd as it made him feel sometimes, he liked feeling the man's warmth. He especially liked it when Antonio thought he was asleep and would run fingers through his hair - stroking over his brown locks of hair and playing with them as if they were the most fascinating thing in the world. (Sometimes he'd hit a certain strand and Romano would have to fight to keep himself silent. But, he...liked it too.) And sing. Sometimes the man would quietly sing these gorgeous, spanish lullabies. If Romano were awake, he would have had to object on principle. Yet, when he was half-asleep or even just pretending to be asleep, he could contentedly listen to the soft voice murmuring indecipherable spanish melodies.
Once, he'd managed to 'accidently/sleepily' lay his head over Antonio's heart, during a quiet song. The man's heart was beating so quickly, and the sound was captivating somehow. It made him feel so calm. Despite its pounding, the sound was reassuring and comforting. Pretending to sleep curled up in Antonio's arms had always made him feel...like he was precious. And safe. In those moments, he always felt so warm, safe, and comfortable, that the fear of being alone could not even touch the darkest reaches of his mind. Resting over Spain's chest, he felt so entirely, untouchably peaceful. If there was ever an opposite to this mind-numbing loneliness, that feeling was it.
I like Antonio.
Romano blinked. The room - which he would have sworn was collapsing in on itself - was back to normal. He swallowed, glanced around, and pushed slowly to his feet. Well, that was...odd. Possibly the oddest thing that had happened today. Bending over, he picked up the shattered pieces of a dish. He turned the shattered pieces over in in his hands, and then closed his eyes.
So...Feli was getting married. Forcing his eyes open, he waited for the room to start choking him again. He waited for the empty silence to knock his breath away. Instead, he walked - slowly, almost experimentally - to garbage bin and dropped the shards into the open bin. Looking back at the floor, he began picking up the other scraps and shards of broken things.
Married. His twin.
He wasn't an idiot. Now that he was calm again, he knew that he was in the wrong this afternoon. "In the wrong" didn't even begin to describe his actions - not only was Feliciano an adult, but also this wasn't really a surprise. Even though he and his brother never talked about it, he knew the two of them had been dating for a long while now. Although he didn't really want to, he saw the way they looked at each other. And as much as he disliked loosing his stupid, annoyingly cute brother, he had known that it was just a matter of time. And maybe that's why he hated Ludwig so much. But, if he was going to be completely honest, that wasn't the root of his temperamental display.
Glaring fitfully, Romano stared at the bowl he'd picked up. If Feli left, then he was going to have to...figure out Antonio, wasn't he? He wouldn't be able to hide behind his brother any more, would he? Gripping the bowl as if his life depended on it, Romano finally had to admit why he'd exploded so forcefully - he'd conveniently placed Feliciano between himself and Antonio, the only person who could ever really leave him isolated.
Feliciano was his brother, but Antonio was his point of balance - Antonio could hold him together like no one else he'd ever met. It'd always been that way. And, well...If Romano got any closer to him, and the guy decided (for any of a thousand logical reasons) that he didn't want Romano, then...that really might break him. So, he wouldn't let Spain get any closer, and his brother provided the prefect wall. After all, his brother was a complete idiot who needed to be constantly looked after by Romano. That was the excuse he'd used to move out of Spain's house; it was the reason he never stayed over for long; it explained he would only acknowledge his brother's stupidity; it kept the Spaniard from getting too close. After all, his idiot of a brother needed him, right?
Or rather, the truth was: he needed Feliciano. Well, that was a disturbing concept. He'd always considered himself the stronger of the two. It was unsettling - to say the least - to imagine that this might not be as true as he'd like to believe. Apparently, he wasn't as necessary to his brother as he'd thought. Ok, so that was an exaggeration, but what happened this afternoon still hurt. But maybe it was time for him to go for what he wanted too - hell, the least he could do was keep up with his idiotic, little brother. He could manage that much! A smile touched his lips.
Placing the bowl on the counter, he took three brisk steps to the kitchen backdoor and stood with his hand resting on the handle. With a look over his shoulder, he surveyed the disaster still spread over the kitchen counters and floor. After a second of hesitation, he turned the handle and walked out.
From that first step out the door, his steps became quicker and quicker until he was running. Romano was rarely in a state where his focus was so single minded that nothing else mattered - but, he was in that state right now. Cutting through yards and darting across streets, he barely noted the pets barking at him or the squealing of breaks when cars had to stop suddenly. It was reckless, but he had something he really wanted to say. And it needed to be said now!
Steps - he ran up the steps, almost throwing himself up against the door. Barely stopping in time, two fists collided with the heavy oak door with a loud thud. The sound resounded within the wood door. Without bothering to wait for a response, he began pounding the heels of his hands into the door as loudly as he could manage. Beating against that door with a fury of energy, he was certainly making one hell of a racket.
However, several minutes later, his palms were red and raw, and there was still no response. Frowning, he jerked on the handle, and almost fell through the doorway when the door actually opened. Of course Spain was too much of a moron to lock his front door! Romano experienced a strong, sudden desire to strangle Antonio, but reconsidered based on how much his hands were stinging at the moment. Fortunately, the desire passed, just as quickly as it came. Antonio did stupid things, and that was what made Romano check up on him every couple days. Actually, that was what kept him coming back to this house...suddenly, he wondered if Spain knew that. No, that was impossible. Clearly.
Quickly and quietly shutting the front door behind himself, he rushed off through the entry room and parlor into the kitchen. No one. Turning on his heel, he took the stairs two at a time and poked his head into the bedroom. No one. Bathroom? No one. Guest room (also known as Romano's room)? No one. He wasn't home? Dashing down the stairs, he poked his head into the living room.
And there in a pool of sunlight, stretched out on the couch was Antonio, sleeping soundly. Mildly ticked off, he snatched a nearby pillow, raised it above his head and froze. If he threw this, that would wake Spain. Yes, that was his intention originally. But...but...but...look at the guy!
Antonio was stretched out over the furniture with one arm curled under his head, and the other was hanging over the edge, as the back of his palm rested on the floor. Sunlight danced across his bare back, causing the olive skin to gleam. His back was well-defined...Romano could have traced the muscles across his back and run his fingers over that smooth skin to trace along his spine. He could have splayed his fingers over Antonio's shoulder blades and felt the taunt skin over sharp bone...not to mention the welcoming heat of his body. Taking an unconscious step forward, Romano dropped the pillow. Damn. That definitely wasn't a dangerously captivating sight. No, it wasn't. Romano shook his head, trying to peel his eyes away.
Looking at the man's face wasn't any better, though. He'd always known Antonio was gorgeous. Hell, he'd had it pointed out to him more times than he could count. Obviously, he knew that he shouldn't be standing here, staring. But, Antonio was asleep. Deeply asleep. So, he'd never know; thus it was perfectly acceptable to do. Just for a minute.
Crossing over to the couch in a few stealthy steps, he knelt down until he was on eye level with Spain. Dark hair framed the man's sleeping face in gentle wisps. They looked so soft - like a kitten's fur. His hand hovered over the dark mass of enticingly delicate strands. Usually, he could never get away with this...no, he wouldn't let himself. Plus, Antonio would think it was weird, probably. But, the guy was sleeping, so he would never know. And...and...and Romano would just do it this once. Because Spain was sleeping, it was ok. Only this once.
Laying his hand on the soft hair, he pulled his fingers through the dark brown mass. It wasn't quite as fine as a kitten's, but it was just as soft. Slipping between his fingers, the strands felt so silky. It was an addictive feeling. Before he realized it, he was running his hand through it over and over, twisting it around his finger, and brushing it off the man's face. Sleeping face - his expression was...gorgeous. Usually, he didn't have the opportunity to study the Spaniard's features.
His finger brushed across Spain's cheek and down to his jaw. Then....well, lips. His full, dark lips were slightly parted. Romano swallowed, almost nervous, and reached out to brush his finger over those inviting, open lips. He didn't mean to do it again - it just happend! They were so soft, in a way that was entirely different from the dark hair. At a low, sleepy sound from Antonio, Romano jerked his hand back, breath catching in his throat. Frozen there for a couple seconds, he didn't relax until a full minute passed. Slowly, his hand moved back to Spain's face, brushing a bit of hair back and pushing it behind the guy's ear. When that didn't get a reaction, he spent the next couple minutes gently brushing over the Antonio's high cheeks, smooth forehead, and warm mouth.
Since Antonio was asleep, he might was well take advantage of that and lean in a bit closer to get a better look. The only problem was...well, when he leaned in like this, the only thing he could look at was those lips. Slightly open in relaxed sleep, they were much more distracting than he'd ever realized. Turning his head to avoid the temptation to kinda...well, maybe...er, um....kiss him, Romano found himself face to shoulder with Antonio. Raising his head just an inch or so, he had a fantastic (and close) view of the man's strong shoulder's and beautifully defined back.
Moving first and thinking later was going to become a very bad habit if he stayed this close to Spain. As it was, he'd done it again by running his entire hand down the center of that firm, warm back. His middle finger fell right across the spine and slid carefully over every dip the bone made. The other finger's fanned out to feel the ridges of his shoulder blades and seamless muscle of his lower back. So focused on the sensation, he didn't even really notice until the tip of his middle finger hit the rim of dark blue jeans.
He poked the jeans, pushing at them ever so slightly and wondering what exactly the spaniard would look like without anything on at all. Even though that wasn't a conscious thought, light pink flushed across his cheeks, only to darken to crimson when he realized he was actually curious about...that. Biting down on his lip, he shifted, uncomfortable with his proximity to Spain after thinking such a thing.
As his torso twisted away from the couch, his hand remained hesitantly on the sleeping man's lower back, and the tip of his finger accidently slid under the edge of the jean fabric. Facing away, Romano was trying to somewhat pull himself together (mostly by chanting 'Think of the Pope' over and over in his head). Thus, Romano probably would have even noticed, if Antonio hadn't twitched in his sleep at that very moment.
Afraid he'd woken the man up, he tried to jerk his hand up...only to have it tug on the jeans as he pulled away. It was right then that Romano froze again, suddenly very aware of just how shamelessly perverted he was acting. Even as an accident, that was unnacceptable. The man was asleep for goodness sake!!! ASLEEP! Romano glanced down at the peaceful expression, only to note that it looked less content and more...strained.
F*CK. What the hell was he doing?! Closing his eyes against a sight that he now knew could practically seduce him, he held his breath for a full minute. When he opened his eyes again, Antonio was just as peacefully asleep as he'd been when Romano had first walked in. Sighing in a mixture of relief and guilt, he couldn't help one last indulgence. Spain was so dead asleep that he hadn't even heard the pounding on the door earlier. Thus, Romano was certain that the guy wouldn't be able to hear this.
Very cautiously and warily, he leaned down and nearly inaudibly whispered, "Antonio...I think...you're a bastard." He would have liked to stop there, but his earlier revelations (and the fact that Spain was asleep) lent him some courage. "...and I..." This was an entirely different kind of choking! Equally uncomfortable, but terrifying in an entirely different way. "...like..." Restraining the urge to hide this irrational embarrassment and smack Spain soundly with the nearest heavy object, he managed to finish in a tiny voice, "...you..."
Shoving off the floor in a motion sharpened by embarrassment, Romano bolted from the room. His first instinct was to run to the opposite side of the house. And that was how he - very logically and almost accidently - ended up in Antonio's bedroom, lying face-down on the bed. Finally turning his head to the side, he couldn't erase either the absurd grin nor the bright, fire-truck red blush.
Blushing crimson, breathing heavily, and grinning like an idiot - no one would ever believe it. Which was good, since no one would ever know - in fact, he'd kill anyone who ever found out. But, for now? For now, it was acceptable to fall asleep like this. After all, it had been one hell of a birthday - a very long March 11th.
~~~~~
As footsteps quickly retreated from the living room, a pair of alert, green eyes snapped open.