The Not-So Perfect Moments
An Hetalia Fanfic
It wasn't supposed to happen when it did. Obviously. And not only because Antonio was an annoyingly cheerful, completely clueless, utter fucking moron. Oddly enough, he wasn't even complaining about how fate had conspired against him to make him love someone with so many faults. Because they were occasionally endearing faults, not that he'd ever say so. Okay, so he might have mentioned it to him once. Twice. Three times, max. Because the other fifteen were not direct references and did not count.
The point was, when the realization finally decided to sink in. Antonio was the country of passion and he was half of fucking Italy. The setting should have been blown away romantic. Like a candlelit dinner, or a walk under the stars, or on a beach, or...something!
And if it had to happen when he was in trouble, then it should have been something from a play or book. With Antonio being his ridiculously loyal, suicidally brave self and rescuing him. Because him saying he couldn't help, and that his boss wouldn't let him help, should have made him so fucking mad he'd want to never see him again.
Instead he'd paced the cell he and Feliciano were currently stuck in and explained exactly what he was going to do to Spain. First he'd head butt him, then yell at him. No, first he'd yell at him, then head butt him in the stomach, then yell at him some more. And he'd demand an apology. No way he was going to let a single word pass his lips unless it started with an apology.
Feliciano sat nodding, used to his tirades and not even trying to get him to double think his slowly evolving plan.
"Plus, he should get me some tomatoes. At least two baskets. No, three!"
"Ve~, three is a lot. Isn't one enough?" Feliciano had asked.
"No! Not after letting me down like this! He better get me three!"
And that was when he realized that he was not planning to cut the other nation out of his life or scorn him for his lack of assistance, but instead, laying down precisely what the other would have to do to make things up to him. And that he was angry, yes, but he didn't hate him. Couldn't fucking hate him if he tried. Because...
And then it hit him. Pacing a damn dirt floor of a shitty little cell. He was in love. Oh, hell. What sort of timing was that?
They weren't together very long when he asked him. And, no, he most certainly hadn't fucking confessed right away. In fact, the stupid confession had also been fucking badly timed and placed. And he'd had every right to threaten Antonio with dire consequences if he didn't confess, because it had been a very stressful week. And if he'd accidentally said something about loving the other first it was only because nothing could wreck the moment more than it already was, down to the fact that they'd both been a mess at the time - not even clean and dressed sharply or anything. And it was only because he'd gotten that ridiculously, annoying, adorable smile when he'd realized what he'd said that he was forgiven for not going first. But that was a whole other story.
Antonio didn't get his idiotic, sweet, clueless look on. In fact he looked like he intended to bolt. Lovino grabbed his arms to make sure he didn't. "Antonio! I asked you a question bastard."
"Um..." Antonio looked nervous.
"When did you realize you were in love with me?"
Antonio seemed to contemplate the question. Possibly trying to figure out the best way to phrase his answer, or possibly trying to figure out the best way to avoid answering altogether.
He wasn't, Lovino had to admit, as much of a moron as he liked to play up. "Antonio..." He gritted his teeth. "When did you realize you were in love with me?"
"Remember when you burned the pasta sauce?"
"I never burn food, damn it! I'm not England!"
Antonio seemed to debate whether worse consequences would fall from continuing the story or trying to avoid it. Apparently avoiding it won out as the most dangerous. He continued. "Of course not, But Lovino, it wasn't exactly your fault. Feliciano came in and-"
He remembered the day then. Because Feliciano was going on about the German bastard again, among other things, and when Feliciano got going it was hard to get him to stop. And they'd argued over who's turn it was to go to the world conference, which was when he'd smelled it.
"We were all distracted. And then you smelled the sauce burning."
"I remember, bastard, but it was worse because it was right in front of Feli-"
"But it wasn't that bad. I mean, it was edible."
"I told you not to eat it, idiot!"
"But I didn't want Feliciano to make it. You had made the sauce for me because I'd asked."
It wasn't that Feliciano had meant to rub it in, and he had been just as shocked as Antonio that Lovino had burned it. But offering to make it instead had stung, and then Antonio had said it was definitely edible, and he had shouted at him not to eat it. But Antonio just took a spoon and scooped some into his mouth anyway.
"You could tell it was burned, asshole!"
"Only a little, and I didn't care."
"Feliciano was horrified. He worried for months that something had happened to your taste buds and what effect it might have on your country."
"But that's when I realized it!" Antonio cut in. "With a mouthful of burned pasta sauce, and Feliciano's eyes the size of saucers staring at me, and you looking angry, and disgusted, and touched...I'd do anything for you. Because I loved you."
Lovino felt his face flush. "That is the stupidest timing!" He shouted.
Antonio laughed, and leaned his forehead against his. "No, it was fine."
"Really stupid. These things are supposed to happen during perfect moments, idiot. We're so screwed up."
"Every moment with you is a perfect moment."
"...just kiss me, you sappy bastard."
Antonio laughed, and that was one instruction he didn't hesitate to comply to.
Fini
Deanon from Hetalia_kink. I wanted to post something for Valentine's Day, and I realized I'd never posted this one.
Salmon