"Roma..." Spain was having a difficult time trying to get the Italian out of his bedroom closet, "Come on! There's nothing in there for you."
Some clothing ruffled inside.
"Roma? Can I come in?"
No response. They lived in silence for a couple moments.
"Look, Romano. . . I'm sorry. I. . . I didn't know. Boss is sorry."
The man inside the closet remained quiet.
Antonio sighed and sat down, leaning on the closet door. He put his head in his hands.
"Lovino." He spoke quietly.
"Fuck off." A small shaky voice came from the closet.
"Not until you forgive me."
"Fine."
Silence.
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"How's it going with little 'mano?" France had been filled in on the details the day before when the incident happened and Romano locked himself in his closet.
"He's still in there. He's only said one thing since yesterday."
"What's that?"
"He told me to, uh, go away."
"That's a bit clean for him." The smile could be heard in France's voice.
"Not those words exactly."
"Since when do you have a problem with curses, Espange?"
"I don't."
"Then why-"
Spain snapped "I don't know, okay amigo?"
France was taken aback. Spain usually doesn't have a limit.
"Sorry. Sorry, France, I'm just. . . tense. I'm just tense. I feel so guilty. I haven't been able to sleep more then a little at a time. I hate this. I wish I could go back and undo it, you know? Get rid of the whole thing."
"I know the feeling well."
The line went quiet as they both waited for the other to say something to lighten the mood.
"At night I hear him leave the closet to get food. I'm thinking about leaving something out for him."
"That sounds nice." France responded awkwardly.
Spain nodded even though it was a phone call.
"He's not coming out anytime soon, is he France."
France let out some air as if to prepare Spain for what was coming. "Not as far as I can see Espange. It takes time to recover from things like what happened. I'm sorry."
"It's fine. Hey, I need to go."
"Okay. Bye, and good luck to you!"
"Thanks. Bye."
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How was he supposed to know what it did? It's not like there was any possible way to know. Romano never talked about it. Oh god. Curse curiosity. Curse it, damn it, get rid of it.
The only thoughts that have passed through Spain's mind since the incident were curses. Mostly directed toward himself. There's a reason not to hate himself for what happened, but he's been able to find thousands or reasons that do give reason for self loathing.
The couch has been Spain's primary position since Romano first entered the closet. The couch and the kitchen were comforting.
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The third afternoon of Romano's isolation Spain decided to have a drink. Or four. A couple bottles of wine were missing. Spain sighed and grabbed a bottle for himself. He decorked it and took a swig. Screw cups. They only make you feel guilty when you drink to much. One bottle sounds much better than six cups.
Oh look at him. He's thinking like a regular drunk. But who cares? Spain was the only one watching.
You know what, fuck it. Fuck it all. Fuck fuckity fuck fuck.
Spain finished his latest gulp of wine and shoved the cork back on the already half finished bottle, and put it back.
This situation calls for some good ol rum.
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Spain sat in the kitchen trying desperately to keep his eyes open. It was almost one in the morning.
A door opened quietly. Spain perked up.
Another door. Soft footsteps made their way to the kitchen. Spain tried to position himself behind the island so when the footsteps came into the kitchen they wouldn't find the figure waiting in the dark.
The footsteps walked to the cabinet where the preservable foods were. The doors to the small cabinet were opened. The rustling of wrappers echoed through the dark house. The thief paused a few times to make sure no one could hear him. Then the footsteps walked around the island to where Spain was hiding.
Spain looked up at Romano. Romano looked down at Spain. They locked eyes in the light of the moon. Romano was trying to keep an aggressive face but it betrayed him and quickly turned into a bright red expression of mortification. Spain started to get up, but he didn't break eye contact with the Italian. Before anything else could happen Romano turned, dropped the food in his arms, and tried to run back to the closet. Spain followed. He was just fast enough to catch up. Spain grabbed a hold of Romano's arm. Romano punched his captor square in the face, but it did nothing.
"Let go of me! Bastard!" The captured yelled as he attempted to break free of the grip.
"Romano. Shush." Spain tried to pull Romano to the ground. If he were laying down it'd be easier to address him. "Calm down."
"Fuck! No! Let me go! Stop!" He hit Spain and kicked. Anything to keep him off the ground. If he were on the ground there would be no escaping. He knew his attempts were in vain, but tried anyway.
Soon Romano was on the ground with Spain sitting on his chest, and holding his hands above his head. Spain was trying to look into Romano's eyes, but Romano was looking away with a profuse blush. He had stopped trying to fight his way out, and instead focused on trying to disappear. They stayed that way for awkward moments, just breathing.
"Roma. . ." The silence was broken.
The man being held to the ground only closed his eyes.
"Lovi. I didn't know."
The words sank in. Those words that had been said so many times.
"I know." It came out delicately. Like he's been thinking them for a long time but also thought it was wrong to say.
"Listen to boss Lovino. I'd have never gone anywhere close to it if I knew. It's just that curiosity got the best of me and. . . I just. . . I'm sorry. I'm very, very sorry. I didn't know what I was doing to you."
Spain looked at the man under him intensely to see if there was any change in expression. Not much changed except his eyes were more tightly closed. His hands were in tight fists. His breathing was unsteady like he was thinking about it too much.
Spain let out a puff of air and let his body deflate with it. He released his grip on Romano's wrists and sat up straight before getting up off of the other man. He walked to his room. Romano stayed on the ground.
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When Spain left his room in the morning he found Romano leaning against a wall in the hallway. His gaze was directed at the ground.
"I guess I could have told you about it, but it's stupid and it's embarrassing. I don't like that it does what it does, but it does and it's something I have to live with. My damn curl turns me on. Of all the things, a strand of fucking hair. I'd cut it off, but I'm scared as to what it'll feel like. So. . . now you know. I'd prefer if you don't talk about it." Without getting close to looking at the person he was addressing, Romano tuned to walk down the hall and added "Bastard".
After a minute the front door opened. Then car door opened and closed closed, and an engine started.
Spain smiled. He smiled a silly half smile. The ups and downs came and went and it was relieving to know that this was only a down, and not a derailing. What else could one do, but smile? Smile a smile of relief.
Romano will be back later. Spain nodded to himself. He'll be back later.
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I certainly hope that you liked that! Sorry to ruin the mood that I hoped I created by commenting on the bottom here but whatever. Originally this was going to be a series of unrelated drabbles, but the first one I wrote -the first paragraph- didn't make sense enough so I kept going with the story. I hope I did the idea justice. Please reveiw and especially tell me if I got Spain right as a character. So yep.