Let's see.
Last night was with Liechtenstein, so that skirt on his lamp must be hers. It only makes sense, as the two of them had haphazardly thrown off what they wore since they had to be quick or her trigger-happy brother would see his sister was past curfew, find where she is, and ultimately go on a rampage. But didn't Belgium stop by before dinner? Right before Liechtenstein arrived, she knocked on his door with a bag of tomatoes for him and a willing grin. Unless it was yesterday and not the day before that Seychelles walked home with him after school. Who leaves a skirt, of all things, anyway? What, did they just up and go out his place in nothing but their underwear and a shirt? He must've loaned her a pair of his slacks or something while still half-conscious with sleep. Yeah, that seemed about right.
Looking out his penthouse at the lights of Pseudo-Rome in the night, cigarette on his lips, Romano puffed out a smoke ring and ran his fingers through his tousled mahogany hair, thinking of ways to figure out whose skirt it was so he could get rid of it. He could just check the size—the Liechtensteiner was obviously more petite than the others, wasn't she?—but he couldn't concern himself with size conversions between countries and all. Italy and Switzerland didn't share the same size measurements with clothes, he knew that much. Humph, whatever then; might as well just toss it aside in the dresser and wait until the owner comes around again, which won't be too long a wait. He put out his smoke before reentering his bedroom from the glass balcony to take the piece of clothing and stuff it in his designer's dream of an armoire among all the Prada and Armani and Gucci and whatnot.
Have to clean out my closet later, he reminded himself, climbing into his king-sized bed. Some of those clothes are out of season. Such reminders made him feel a bit cockier, like he was a man of such high status he had to throw out old designer clothes to make room for new ones.
Once he got his half-naked form beneath his disheveled white sheets, the cell phone on his night stand buzzed and lit up angrily to demand his attention. Damn it, what's this? He groaned tiredly in his mind as he took the phone in his hand and squinting at the bright screen in the dark. His scowl of annoyance curved into a smirk and he tapped the "answer" button on its touch screen.
"Who were you with and where?" a cold Belarusian accent accused him without as much as a greeting. Ah, Belarus: always the jealous type. It was cute half the time, irritating the other half. Luckily, he was in a more lighthearted mood—given he had a heart for these women he fooled around with—and he purred with his natural Italian charm, "You're the only thing I need." A crappy line, he knew, that he picked up from countless movies he'd been forced to see with the girls that demanded a date before getting in his bed. Honestly, who even said that? Newlyweds, for one. Ick, the very idea of marriage made him cringe. To be chained to one person forever with absolutely no on-the-side dalliance whatsoever…what kind of man, what kind of lover, could subject himself to such a cage?
The conversation then became a sleepy blur to him. The whole time he murmured smooth answers to her accusations and demands, his free hand mindlessly twirling a burnt-blonde strand of Monaco's cascading hair as she slept with her back to him in lace negligee. Satisfying as she was, she would definitely chide him about leaving her in the morning and making her late for class once they got to the academy, since that has always been his schedule. Get them home, get it on, get out early— it was a pretty good regimen to follow. Grandpa Rome had always said Italians were good at sex; he said zip about being affectionate and cuddly and responsible the morning after. So who was he to try to bend his beloved nonno's number one lesson? Surely he wouldn't condone such actions.
Once Belarus had hung up, he stretched like a cat into his blanket with his hand still stroking Monaco's hair. She moaned out of her sleep and glanced over her shoulder at him with glazed blue eyes. "Were you talking…?" she asked, only to have the Italian shake his head and run his palm over the skin of her arm down to her hip. "No, it's fine. Now shall we get back to sleep?"
Her eyes roamed down to where his hand was before looking back at him with the same expression a child has when they wordlessly signal that they want candy but is too shy to say so. "…Well, actually…It's still 4 in the morning…we don't get up for another two hours, so…"
Neither one said anything more, kicking up the sheets and throwing off her lace against the wall, having it land on the lampshade. Mid-kiss, he glanced at the garment; he'd have to remember whose that is before he left, he noted to himself.
!=+=+=+=+!
Mornings weren't a favorite of Romano's, especially weekdays. Usually, he's far too tired from the night before to have anything that happens within the first couple of classes register in his mind. Even when he spends those few minutes between and at the beginning of each period talking to a girl or three, he's barely awake. That morning was nothing out of the ordinary. During homeroom, he leaned back in his chair, his tie loosened just so and his jacket on the backrest, with Vietnam and Indonesia standing by his desk and fawning over his allure. One of them stroked the back of his head, the other nonchalantly massaging his shoulder. Although his tone of voice seemed interested with whatever shallow thing they were laughing about, his eyes inconspicuously darted back and forth to find a more interesting person or group of people to talk to. Once his gaze landed on the open door across the classroom, his plastered grin faltered a bit at who he saw…and who she was with.
A mumbled Italian cuss snuck its way out from between his teeth. Why was it always Piri that managed to pull some sort of reaction from him? She wasn't the most statuesque of girls at their school, nor was she the most glamorously rich or stylish. If anything, she was so conservative to the point of being a nerd. And yet, Romano always felt a weird something twist in his chest when he saw her with someone else, above all the American douche bag she was holding an apparently amusing conversation with at that moment.
He squinted his eyes at the way America stood and responded to her. The angle his head was tilted so his gaze could see a little below her face and right where the collar of her shirt dipped to reveal a hint of her cleavage, the way his smirk seemed even more confident and suave than usual, how his fist clenched and unclenched by his side…From experience, Romano could recognize his goals for the Filipina. And with the way she inched towards him for a second and looked up at him with a seemingly coy smile, she was falling for it.
The bell then rang, commencing class, and the two Asian girls he was talking to before getting sidetracked giggled a "see you later" to the inattentive Italian, who automatically gave the both of them a quick nod and a crooked grin that made them melt. Immediately, he turned back to the not-and-never-should-be couple outside before they left for their classes. America winked a goodbye at her, and Piri turned a slight red before gently touching his sleeve as her own "see you later".
Physical contact after a discreetly-inviting conversation like that? Romano knew what that meant. He didn't like the American before, and now that he's played the card that would ensure him company later in the day by her, he certainly didn't like him now. Not only that, as he watched her walk to her seat in front of him in a state of suppressed glee, the morning sun beaming on her like a spotlight as if she were about to break into joyful song, he realized how he didn't like this feeling of possessiveness he had over her. Was it because he had never slept with her in the time they had known each other? Maybe the fact that he knew her since they were very young and he felt odd to make an advance on someone he's seen as an innocent, little girl? Or perhaps, if he were to push way beyond his typical mindset of "nothing personal, just business" attitude with the opposite sex, could he say that his emotions towards her were caused by…that particular feeling?
He shook his head at such a notion as he opened up his textbook like their professor directed. Tapping his pencil against the pages, he thought through the impossibility of him feeling that feeling. After having flings with more than just a handful of women, he's been numbed enough to not get attached to any of them. Hell, he couldn't even keep track of them anymore. Try to write them down in order of who came on which day on a piece of loose-leaf? He tried, but that did nothing. Organizing was not a strong point of his. And when they moaned their "I love you"s as they rolled on the mattress, he would only hide a snort behind his smile because it was sure that he didn't feel the same. They felt the need to proclaim that? He'd played them just how he wanted.
No one paid attention to the droning professor the entire period. All girls' eyes were on Romano, whereas his own focus was on Piri, who was too caught up in her daydreams to notice. That, and the Italian sat behind her where she couldn't see him anyway. The other half of the class were in their own state of distraction, texting under their desks, slipping on their earbuds when he turned to write some equation on the whiteboard, or sleeping. Whatever they were being lectured about couldn't mean lesser to any of them.
!=+=+=+=+!
Before he could take the trip home, Romano had to retrieve the keys to his Vespa that he had inadvertently left in his locker. If he hadn't been distracted by someone while getting his things, he wouldn't have to walk through the deserted halls of the school just to get to where he had to go in order to get home. This was petty for him. He could be back at the penthouse by now, entertaining guests or something. But the Vespa was his Vespa, and how could he show it off on the street without the keys to start the ignition? Really.
Passing the numerous closed doors of empty classrooms, one door that was slightly ajar, with voices sounding themselves from within, caught his attention. Unusual, since school was done for the day and almost everyone had gone home, save for those who had extracurricular activities, sports, et cetera, and none of the after-school events took place on this floor. And…the voices didn't sound like they were doing anything very academic at all.
His curiosity took over and Romano tiptoed by slowly enough to be able to see in without seeming like a stalker. He leaned over a little closer to the crack the door made with the doorway, squinted his eyes, and ended up regretting doing so.
The white "50" of a brown bomber jacket was the first thing he noticed. Sitting on the window ledge the jacket wearer stood in front of was, he could barely see, a petite figure with tanned skin that clutched the coat tightly and leaned her face into the shoulder. On the floor by them was a blue necktie—the one the girls wore—and a black leather belt. Their panting and murmured noises and vague movements confirmed that what they were doing was definitely not school-related, unless they were tutoring Sex Ed or something. The orange noon sky behind the glass he pressed her against could just barely mask their faces due to the shadows, but Romano could still see who they were.
A sick feeling formed in the Italian's chest and lingered the entire ride home on his Vespa. Even that night, when he laid in his bed after Taiwan decided to leave before she would be interrogated by anyone about her whereabouts, he stared at the darkened white ceiling in distress. He ignored his constantly-flashing phone on his bedside, also ignoring the girls that hungered for his company. Hey, it wasn't like every night, he had someone else in his bed. There had to be nights to get his energy back, of course. It was just that that particular night was spent solo for a different reason.
Why had she wanted America, of all people? The very recollection of it caused him to grit his teeth and tighten his already-iron hold on his blanket. Many things were getting on his nerves. He didn't like that fucking American, he didn't like how he still hadn't gotten rid of that damn skirt in his closet, he didn't like Piri's poor taste in men, he didn't like how he was feeling this annoying anger because of what he saw. Fuck, why wasn't he getting his way with his own emotions? He got his way with women, and to hell with "feelings" and shit—so why were they just now becoming a nuisance to him? He was Romano, and Romano did not let such things get in the way of his lifestyle of pleasure. Jealousy, especially. That bitch would always be locked up somewhere in him. He never felt jealousy, right?
When he asked himself, he only growled in frustration. He couldn't smooth-talk himself into believing so.
!=+=+=+=+!
Romano was never one to look for a girl; they usually came to him with willing eyes and coquettish expressions that showed their one intention for approaching him in the first place. There was no point in searching for a girl if they offered themselves to him anyway, so what he was doing was really pushing his boundaries. It was uncalled for, practically. What Grandpa Rome would say about this he didn't imagine. It probably made him look so desperate. He grumbled to himself about this as he made his way up the stairs to the top floor of the academy with his own intentions towards who he searched for.
Piri glanced up from the book she pored over when she heard the door hinge creak open with an echo. No one came into the library during this period, which is why she did. Among the harmony between high-end technology and classic books and records, she preferred solitude when she studied there. Standing up, removing her glasses, she turned around to find a lone Italian pushing the door open with his vision locked on her. Surprise was her first thought. "Romano!" she greeted him with a voice and octave higher than normal for her. It must've been that she was caught off guard, he thought. That must've also been the reason why she smiled at him welcomingly, like the library was her domain, and invitingly, but not in the way he was used to from girls. He walked towards her and watched as she tilted her head in mild confusion but continued to grin warmly at him, which made him twitch.
Why did it have to be her?
Everything was in fast-forward then, and Piri found herself lying down on the table with Romano above her, his hands holding her wrists down. Her papers were now in disarray from when he pushed her down, and her book was at the very edge of smacking down onto the tile floor. Their lower bodies were unintentionally (?) against each other from how she curved back to lie on the desk and how he leaned forward over her. Her surprise only elevated to astonishment, but his face was stone. He loosened his grip on her wrists, only to tighten it again. He didn't want to let go. God, what a shitty reason, he cursed to himself in the furthest crevice in the back of his mind.
The stunned silence of the library seemed to amplify Romano's shame in his ears. This was greed at its finest. He had every single damn thing a person could possibly beg for—the clothes, the cars, the house, the women, all those cliché material items—and he still wasn't pleased. Of course, he just had to covet the one person that was near unattainable, and that was Piri. Piri, his childhood friend who was practically his sister since they were both raised in the same household for years. Wanting her was wrong in too many ways to count, but he still felt that way, and he always gets what he wants. Beneath that mature adult magnetism and grown-up threads, he was nothing but a spoiled brat who couldn't handle "no" because he was never told "no". Well, screw that. That and the guilt that built up in his throat and the disgust towards himself and everything else that made him as flawed as everyone else. He came for one thing, and fuck, he would take it for himself; sharing was out of the question.
Even the autumn leaves that shivered in the breeze against the pure blue sky outside seemed to freeze in their tracks, as if to watch the action from outside the window. Piri's eyes were glued in their widened state. What was Romano doing? He's never acted this way with her before, only with the other girls. Don't tell me he's doing the same thing to me now… she thought, but she could tell this was different by the way his gravely-colored eyes watered and overflowed down his cheek without his expression so much as shifting in the slightest. He was crying, but he wouldn't give his emotions the satisfaction of making the sounds or faces that went along with it.
Not caring how their positions were highly compromising and therefore breaking her own ethics of decency and modesty above all else (which really were broken when she had hooked up with America the day before), she slipped her wrists out of his grasp to circle her arms around his neck, hugging him gently. He could only lean into her hold, but didn't say or do anything more. There would be no relationship between them, he swore right there. There would be no lingering feelings afterwards. He wasn't sure if he wished for them to go back to the way they were before, but he hoped that that would be the case. The balance of their societies would be toppled if he broke his own code of never getting attached to any girl, and if she got with the most notorious Casanova in the academy, with her decent and modest morals. He just wanted to have her once, like he knew he always had but never faced. And especially after seeing her with that bastard, he felt no time was better. His anger was too fueled to ignore. There would be no afterword on this. There would just be now.
As she leaned her chin on his shoulder, she stroked his hair soothingly in an attempt to comfort him. She felt her own dash of guilt in her chest at seeing him so upset, but just for a moment. She hugged him tighter and moved her head down so her face was buried in his shoulder to try to hide the grin that curved across her lips. How terrible for her to smile at such an inappropriate time, but how could one help it? She knew him seeing her with America would push him, and judging from the way he was acting now, it worked. Now he knows how it feels to be her. Doesn't feel so nice, does it? But no matter—she got what she wanted.
A/N: Well, this was random. xD I did it for a friend I rp with on DA while on vacation in the Philippines, and I liked it. Pardon if people don't like me using my OC :T I like both Romano/Philippines and USxPh, so this was fun to make. ;D
Reviews greatly appreciated, crits will get a cookie most likely~