A/N: Alright, so this is my first time delving into the Hetalia fandom, so I hope this isn't too weird a story... And I kinda wrote this at two in the morning, so I apologize if I missed any spelling errors in my editing.

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters mentioned in this story

The large cardboard box now sat turned on the floor, its contents scattered across the expanse of the sunlit living room.

I groaned in frustration at the mess I had created, and grudgingly placed my duster on the shelf above me and clambered down the ladder to the cluttered floor.

I glared at the offending object that collapsed in the midst of my cleaning, releasing a flurry of photos in its wake.

I always cleaned when Antonio was away, it helped calm my excessive worry that he wouldn't come back, that he would leave me here alone.

But he always returned. He would return to me, bruised and scarred, but alive. He would walk through those front doors with that large, idiotic smile plastered on his face like he hadn't been gone more than a few hours, like he hadn't left me for days alone without knowing his whereabouts or conditions.

I sighed, and began to collect the photographs from the floor, sorting them by date in hopes that they would all fit back into their proper folders.

I started with the oldest ones first, pictures of him with France, pictures with Prussia. Those three used to hang out much more that they do now, though France is often here to talk to Antonio over a cup of tea.

But I don't miss Prussia, he reminds me too much of that german bastard my brother is staying with.

I sighed for the umpteenth time that day when I saw the selection of photos that was next.

The pictures were all of myself at a young age. I was sleeping on the couch, cleaning the sheets, eating tomatoes... It seemed as if every moment of my childhood was captured, every moment of my development, my growth, my independence.

I never really grew independent though.

Even now I know that I would never really be on my own. I could never fully separate myself from Antonio.

I knew that he meant far too much to me, probably more than a healthy amount. He had grown himself a space in my heart, he had made himself a keystone without even knowing. And every time he left, that keystone cracked again.

Even now that small, yet increasingly important part of my heart was ready to shatter, to crash into thousands and thousands of irreplaceable pieces, bringing everything down with it.

And it seemed the only one able to slowly fill those cracks was him. Him and his idiotic smile.

I finally finished collecting the pictures, and replaced the box where it was found. I wandered over to the couch on the other side of the room, and collapsed on the inviting cushions, curling up against the soft pillows.

It seemed that today not even cleaning would keep my mind off of these depressing thoughts. This was happening more and more often recently. Before, I would just yell at him and binge on pizza until he returned from wherever he was, not even caring when he would return with a few bandages on his face. But over the last few years, this need to protect him slowly consumed me, almost until I felt responsible for his plethora of injuries.

I was actually responsible for most of them, though.

He would leave without telling, leave to fight my war for me, and come back like he did nothing spectacular. Like it was an everyday thing. He would do everything in his power to protect me from the outside world, like he was trying to save me from something, like he was trying to save me. And no matter what I did, I couldn't convince him that I was more than capable of defending myself.

It was more than slightly infuriating.

Though what probably frustrated me the most was his utter lack of self-preservation. I don't know where he got off thinking he was invincible, but it seemed that recently he came back with more and more injuries to be tended to. His wounds were getting deeper, longer, bloodier. Last time he could barely walk to the washroom from the front door, he had to use me as a human crutch.

I buried my face in the pillow, trying to restrain that singular tear that would lead to a never ending waterfall.

He will come back... He has to come back...

When I opened my eyes again, the room was pitch black, leaving me to stumble around the area until I finally found the light-switch. I immediately cringed as the vibrant light exploded from the ceiling, and I attempted to shield my eyes from the offending object.

I wandered into the kitchen, eyes adjusted enough to read the digital clock on the oven.

I had been asleep for over seven hours.

I groaned in frustration, knowing that I wouldn't be getting any sleep that night. I wandered back into the room I was previously sleeping in and crashed on the couch again, flipping on the television.

I stared at the colourful images on the screen for a few hours until I decided there was no point wasting the electricity. I sat up and kicked my feet onto the coffee table, snatching a book off its surface.

I was a few chapters in when I suddenly lost the urge to read, and tossed the book across the room. I couldn't care less about losing my page.

I sat up, turning to stare over the back of the couch at the closed front door. I was hoping that if I stared at it for long enough I could magically make Antonio appear, and have him walk into the house with that huge smile of his.

I stared intently for a few minutes, trying to mentally force Antonio to appear, even trying some of those english bastards spells in a vain hope. I resigned after a few more minutes, slouching over the back of the furniture.

Who am I kidding, he's not going to show just because I want him to. He runs completely on his own schedule, he's not going to walk through those doors just because I tried to will-

I heard a click in the front foyer, immediately distracting me from my thoughts. I saw the door handle quiver, and I raced from my seat to open the door for the only person that has that key.

The spaniard managed to crack the door open before I reached the front hall, but I threw it the rest of the way before he could even take a step into the house. The older male stumbled into the hall, crashing against my chest as I stood in the doorway.

"Oh, sorry Romano..." He muttered, his voice sounding weaker than normal.

I could sense the struggle he had as he tried to stand up straight, his knees shaking in a feeble attempt to hold his weight. I grasped the mans arm, holding him upright as I closed the door behind him.

I was so scared I couldn't speak.

He had come back cut up before, but this was... This was so much worse. He had a cut across his forehead that was still bleeding, while most of the other wounds on his face had closed up. His right arm was coated in a layer blood, the red substance seeped into all of his clothing. There was a clear stab wound in the side of his stomach which he grasped in an attempt to stop the bleeding, but the blood wouldn't stop flowing. And finally there was a gash on his back spanning from his right shoulder to his left hip, running more than an inch deep.

He shouldn't have even been standing.

Most of what happened after was a blur. My mind was too confused with the thousands of emotions running rampage to make a coherent thought, so I settled for instinct.

I half walked half dragged the spaniard to the washroom, setting him on the edge of the tub against the wall to ensure he didn't lose balance and fall in. I grabbed the first-aid kit from the cupboard, and started disinfecting the wounds that coated his tanned skin.

I don't know if he passed out from from the pain, or from sheer exhaustion, but he was unconscious before I even started applying the gauze. I started with the stab wound, which was shallower that it first appeared, though still dangerous enough to need immediate attention. After his stomach was bandaged and wrapped I moved onto the smaller wounds on his face, stopping the bleeding.

I had just finished his back when I realized some of the wounds on his arm reopened and needed to be dealt with. I was about to start the bandaging when I noticed a pair of green eyes watching me intently.

I turned up to meet his gaze, and held his stare for a few seconds before letting a calm smile slide over my features as I returned to my task.

I finished the roll of gauze as I bandaging his arm, taping the material in place. I looked to see the spaniard still staring at me, motionless and wordless. We stayed that way for a few seconds before I lifted him by his arms, again dragging him across the house.

I settled Antonio down in his bed, and was about to leave when I felt a weak grasp on my wrist stop me. I turned to see the older male holding me back, his expression one of sadness, of sympathy, and of affection.

I couldn't resist, I turned towards the bed and clambered in next to him.

"I'm sorry." He whispered, dragging an arm around my shoulders, pulling my face into his chest, "I'm sorry."

I wanted to tell him not to be sorry, that it was my fault, but even a word would release this dam of tears I was suppressing, and I refused cry in front of Antionio.

"Roma... I love you.." He whispered as he nuzzled his face into my mat of hair.

I tensed.

Sure, the idiot had always been saying stuff like this, but he had always meant it as a joke, something to laugh about. But this, this didn't sound like a joke, this didn't sound like the normal Antionio I knew.

"I love you." He said with more confidence this time. I felt his lips brush the top of my head, my forehead, the tip of my nose, and I soon felt his breath on my lips.

He leaned forward the slightest bit, brushing our lips for the quickest of seconds before pulling back again, his eyes searching for any kind of disgust or anger. When he found none, he kissed me again, and this time I instinctively responded to the kiss, pressing my lips into his.

He pulled back to catch his breath and whispered a shy question, "Roma... Do you... Love me?"

After spending hours and hours of worrying for his safety, waiting not so patiently for his to return so I could tend to the ever increasing number of wounds that coated his body, I didn't even have to think before I answered his question, "Yeah..." I muttered, my face burning.

I earned a large smile from the spaniard as he kissed me again, pulling me against himself to deepen this kiss. His tongue ran across my lip, and I granted him access to my mouth, and a small tongue war ensued. We backed off to catch our breaths, his breathing just as labored as mine.

"Antonio?" I asked after a few minutes of silence. I was greeted with a snore, and I had to stifle a laugh to ensure I didn't wake the sleeping male.

I pretended to be asleep as well, I didn't want to return to that cold, lonely bed in my room when I could spend my time with one of the few people in the world I love.

I woke up in the morning to find that I was on Antonios bed, and stumbled onto the hard floor in my desperate attempt to escape. However, the bed was empty, and the spaniard wasn't in the room, meaning that he was up and about somewhere.

I scrambled to my feet, collecting what was left of my dignity after last night, and wandered out into the kitchen. I saw the older male cooking on the stove, something that smelled suspiciously like pasta.

"Are you sure you should be standing?" I asked, leaning on the counter a few feet away from him. He was so startled he dropped the spoon he was holding onto the floor, and cursed as he picked it up and tossed it into the sink.

"Yup, I'm fine." He said with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes due to the still visible grimace.

"Sure." I said, sarcasm dripping from the short word as I seated myself at the table in hopes of getting fed, "So, what're you making?"

"Pasta." He responded, not taking his eyes off the pot.

We continued with our usual small talk as he made the pasta, and I couldn't help but question if he even remembered what transpired last night. I mean, he was on a few different pain medications to reduce the pain, and those side effects could be pretty brutal.

"Here you go, Roma!" The spaniard said as he placed the plate of hot pasta on the table.

I picked up my fork and was about to start eating when he suddenly cleared his throat. I held my pasta-covered fork inches from my mouth as I sent him a questioning look, wondering why he was disturbing my meal.

"Don't I at least get a thanks?" He said, and I missed the glint of mischievousness in his eyes.

"Thanks..." I muttered before I tried once again to start my food.

"Not that kind of thanks." Antonio said, before he grabbed my chin and pulled me into a brief, yet intense kiss.

I dropped my fork back onto the plate, stunned by his sudden frowardness. I felt my face flush, and I was probably as red as a tomato.

"I love you, Roma." He said as he kissed the top of my head.

Guess he didn't forget after all.

A/N: It's a little jumpy at places, sorry about that... Anyways, I hope you enjoyed, and thanks for reading till the end!

~Katz7777777