Just a little oneshot that I wrote that's loosely based off of my inability to sleep for the past couple of days. Nothing too serious though, this isn't meant to be dramatic; just a little fluff-shot.
Implied Spamano and a smidge of GerIta if you squint.
Disclaimer: Hetalia: Axis Powers and the many fabulous characters all belong to Hidekaz Himaruya.
Romano stomped into a room in the house, not caring if it was his own. He slammed the door shut and angrily threw anything he could find at the walls around him. Again, it didn't matter who the things belonged to, so long as he was able to release his anger on something.
His fingers curled around something slender and cool. Once his fingers made contact with the item, he hurled it at the wall, not even flinching at the loud, resounding smack of plastic hitting the wall. His gaze flicked to the wall at which he had thrown the item; the item he had thrown was a hairbrush. An angry growl tore from his throat as he threw himself down on the bed.
He huffed loudly for a while before feeling a little tired. His eyes fell on the hairbrush that lay on the floor again. He recognized that brush - it belonged to Spain. With that, he concluded he was in Spain's room.
He yawned and turned around, so he was in a comfortable position. Spain wouldn't mind giving his bed up for a day. Or two.
Romano thought back to what made him angry, the memory making the hatred bubble within himself.
"That potato bastard," he muttered. "Italy's a dumbass for getting close to a guy like him."
He had tried to find a new way to bring about Germany's downfall when he saw Italy chatting animatedly with him. Germany and Italy were both smiling, and it pissed Romano off.
How could someone possibly like someone like Germany? Germany was one of those men who absolutely pissed Romano off with his general behavior.
"Germany is just another uncivilized country bumpkin with bad physiology," he spat at no one in particular.
As soon as the words tumbled off his tongue and into the air, they stayed in the air, giving him a general sour mood. His eyebrows knit together, making him look like he was angrier than usual.
His anger toward Germany might look completely unnecessary to an outsider. It might simply look like he was jealous of how charismatic his brother was with people, reminding him that he was, once again, living in the shadow of his younger brother. It could also look like Romano was being childish by living in his childhood memories. As a child, Romano lived in fear believing Germany would someday attack Spain. Or his anger could have looked like a combination of both.
He didn't even know if it was the former, latter or both making him mad. All he knew was that it was making him angrier by the second.
"What I would give to go to sleep now," he sighed, wanting to escape his problems.
He pulled the blankets over his nose and promptly shut his eyes, waiting for sleep to put its spell on him. He waited patiently, doing as one would call "mentally counting sheep". It was completely silent in the room, but Romano's mind was noisy as a busy villa.
He threw the covers off of his body, making impatient noises. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the headboard of the bed, scowling at the wall and door that was opposite of his position on the bed.
As if on cue, the door swung open, a cheerful brunette walked into the room with a basket of tomatoes on his arm. His emerald eyes twinkled vibrantly until he saw Romano sitting on the bed with a sour expression on his face. The man immediately put the basket of tomatoes down on the small nightstand that was beside the bed and rushed over to Romano.
"Romano, what's wrong?" asked the man, his voice tinged with worry and concern.
Romano stared at the man for a moment before sniffing and turning away. "Go away, Spain."
The twinkle that was present in Spain's eyes when he first walked into the room had slightly softened. Spain was slightly dense when it came to reading the atmosphere, but this time he knew something was bothering Romano.
"Tell me what's wrong," Spain said softly. "Was it something with France?"
Romano shuddered, remembering his run-in with France the week before. "God forbid I run into France again."
Spain thoughtfully ran his hand through his tousled brown hair. "Then was it something with Prussia?"
Romano let out an audible sound of discontent at the sound of Germany's older brother. Prussia aggravated Romano just as Germany did, but Prussia was too scary to fight, unlike Germany. "Wrong Beilschmidt."
"Wrong Beilschmidt?" asked Spain curiously. He leaned back on his heels, thinking about the answer Romano had given him. It took a moment, but he eventually drew a conclusion. "It's Germany?" he guessed.
Romano wanted to yell at Spain at this point. Damn Spaniard. Can't you read into the situation at all? He took the pillow out from under his back and covered his head with it, blocking out anything Spain might have said. "I don't want to talk about it."
"Oh, but talking about it will make you feel better!" Spain said cheerfully, not at all recognizing the venom in Romano's tone.
"I just want to sleep!" shouted Romano.
"Do you want a tomato before you go to sleep?" asked Spain, pulling the basket off of the nightstand. "They're ripe and juicy - just the way you like it," he said drawing out each syllable.
Romano stayed silent for a moment before taking the pillow off of his head and picking a tomato out of the basket. He held it in his two hands, watching Spain before biting into the crimson fruit. He would never admit it to Spain, but he always loved how he was the first one to have one of the tomatoes from Spain's garden; it made him feel special.
Once the tomato was finished, he leaned back, falling into the fluffy mass of pillows and blankets. Spain glanced at Romano, smiling as he got up to leave. He was going to grab a pillow and a blanket to make a bed on the sofa when he heard Romano sigh impatiently again.
"What's wrong?" Spain asked again.
Romano turned on his side, facing the opposite wall, so he wouldn't have to see Spain's cheerful face; it would no doubt piss him off again.
"I can't sleep," he mumbled.
"Does that mean you want to talk about what made you mad?" Spain asked hopefully.
Spain was one of those people who you could talk to about anything, and he would sincerely listen to you. He would listen to every word you had to say before even making any sort of remark. His remarks would usually be well thought out pieces of advice, which would make you forgive him for any sort of insensitive "not-reading-into-the-situation" remark he might have made earlier.
But that didn't mean Romano wanted to go into depth at why he was angry with Germany.
"No, that doesn't mean I want to talk about it!" he shouted angrily.
It was silent for a moment; Romano was starting to feel bad for snapping at Spain. He exhaled slowly, looking for a place to start.
"It's Germany's spending time with Italy," he confessed. "I despise seeing them together. Italy is going to get taken advantage of one day."
Spain listened thoughtfully and waited a moment before answering. "This goes back to your grandfather's inheritance doesn't it? That's the reason you didn't trust me at first."
"Pfft. I still don't trust you," Romano spat back a little too quickly.
Spain ignored the last comment. "And this is causing your lack of sleep?"
"I guess," he mumbled, glad Spain wasn't asking more thought-provoking questions.
There was a quiet rustle that sounded suspiciously like things being jostled in the closet. Romano was going to turn around when he heard Spain's mellifluous voice ring out in the silence. "Don't turn around!"
"Why not?" Romano asked impatiently, obeying the order.
The mattress sunk a bit, indicating Spain was sitting on the other side of Romano. Spain sat cross-legged with his mahogany colored acoustic guitar. He messed around with the tuning pegs lightly strumming to make sure it was tuned before he played anything. Deeming it acceptable, he placed his fingers on the strings about to play when Romano interrupted him.
"What are you doing?" he asked curiously.
Spain smiled warmly, knowing Romano couldn't see it. "When you were younger, I played you a song every night you told me you couldn't go to sleep."
He started strumming, silencing Romano, who was touched that Spain was willing to do anything to make him feel better about his day. He listened to the quiet strumming, wondering what Spain was going to play.
The song Spain had in mind was usually something that was fast-paced and meant to sing-along to. He hesitated using it, but went against his conscience and played a slower and softer version of it, remembering how Romano had loved it in his childhood.
"Today, it's an abundant harvest parade, towards the enchanting world, bienvenida," he sung softly, letting his mother language mingle with the lyrics. "Take your hands, spin, and that's the Earth. Without forgetting a siesta, I'm in top form."
Romano shifted slightly, recognizing the song. He refused to show any emotion though. He tended to hide his feelings from the older country, no matter how many times Spain attempted to coax him into talking more.
"Roja and amarillo makes the Spanish flag. Let's all give our thanks for the sun."
Spain continued to strum slowly, watching Romano's change in breathing. Before it was short and rapid, but now it was languid and relaxed. Romano was being lulled to sleep by the song. Spain grinned, keeping his strumming as smooth and fluid as Romano's breathing. He was sure to drop his tenor several notches, volume-wise.
"Today, it's an abundant harvest parade, sound your instruments, it's time to march, if everyone at 'one-two' makes the ensemble, the one and only song will be complete, with the flamenco guitar, it's me, Spain."
He stopped strumming altogether, dropping his voice several octaves, trying to imitate a high base.
"Romano, look carefully how cool your Boss is," he drawled.
If Romano was facing Spain, Spain would have laughed at the eye roll from Romano. The younger country felt his eyelids get heavier and heavier. He was starting to yawn and feel himself relax even more, if it was possible.
"The city of art, Barcelona, Madrid is full of vivacity, Andalucia with its blue sky and white towns, its olives are the best in the world."
Romano was nodding off to sleep, silently agreeing with the lyrics. Spending his childhood with Spain meant being influenced by the Spanish culture. He remembered sitting in the fields with Spain with a little easel and a set of paints. Spain had never seen a difference between Romano and Italy's artwork; he seemed to like them equally. He was one of the only grown ups who didn't compare Romano to his younger brother, and he liked that.
He felt himself let go of the negative emotions that hung around him and had hung around him since he had entered Spain's room; he was at peace with the situation. For now.
His eyes were slowly shutting, and it wasn't an effort. It seemed as natural as breathing. He was starting to wonder why this was so hard before Spain had sung his song to him.
It wasn't long before Romano had fallen asleep, snoring quietly and clutching the blankets to his chest. Spain, noticing this, had quieted his voice and strumming until he could barely hear it himself. His fingers left the strings, slight lines present from where he pressed down on the strings to create the chords.
"If you're ever feeling down, call me. I'll use my special charm on you."
Spain smiled seeing Romano sleep. He rose slowly, quietly placing his guitar against the wall and picking up the blanket and pillow. His hand rested on the doorknob of the door. He glanced over his shoulder, admiring his handiwork. A slow grin spread on his face.
"Dulces sueños, mi corazón," he whispered over his shoulder, slowly closing the door behind him.
نهاية