A/N: Inspired by My Hero Is You by Hayden Panettiere and a youtube comment. Haha! Hope you enjoy it, and I apologize for the wait.
He was simply everything; everything that he'd ever needed.
It'd been this way for as long as he could remember, so long that the lines of vivid memory began to become a bit blurred. When he'd been younger, and he'd seen nothing but the negative aspects of life in this world, and he felt nothing or no person could ever alter his steadfast opinion, he came into his life; he changed everything. Still, it was customary to view things negatively, and old habits die hard. And very slowly, as he would discover through living. Living with him, it was easy to ignore the bad, and focus on what was now and what life was really all about. He could take it slow and go with the flow. And to be honest, that's all he really needed, right from the start, but never found until one day, he showed up and changed everything; absolutely everything.
Maybe it was complacency.
Or maybe it was...
No, he couldn't think like that. He never really had before. But then, he never had real reason to before, either. There were a lot of things he did now he;d never thought he'd find himself doing, because of that man. Funny how a moment can just change your life. ~~He'd never been one to dwell on such silly notions such as love or adoration. Such emotions always left him feeling hollow and empty, like the carbohydrates he and his brother gorged themselves on daily. It was no wonder, really, that they had that effect on him because if one has love to give, but no one to give it to, its hard to feel fulfilled and happy in circumstances so sad.
Yet that was his truth; his reality. Having been abandoned and cut off from such early installments of emotions, ones like love and adoration, he knew how futile they were. Make no mistake, he loved his grandfather and brother, and he knew they returned the emotions on some strange level only those of the same intelligence level might understand, and sure, he knew those feelings would never change. However, he knew he could never exhibit those feelings. He had them, but no way of knowing how to express them. Maybe that was why he was so stubborn and bitter; to love someone was to make yourself vulnerable to one person, and he didn't really care for anymore pain. His bitterness could be contributed to his history of never being accepted; rarely being praised as he was passed from person to person, working for them a little while before he'd be thrown out. It had always been a sort of depressing mind game he used to play with himself. How many days/weeks until he'd be abandoned or traded in for his more useful, younger sibling? He'd always thought that way, and he never thought that would change. Until he'd met the man who changed everything.
Until he'd met him, his life had only been an empty, angry shell. He was just a young boy, tossed around from here to there, with no regard to his emotional well-being. He'd been separated from his only family. Shunned by his grandfather in favor of his moronic little brother, leaving him to bare the scars of his traumatic time, being tossed around between others as they found little use for him as a servant boy. He even tried to be improve himself. He really did try! He was just so angry, and so when he failed, he failed miserably and found himself in a rage that made him break things or make a mess, which always led to him being cast away, sent to bed without dinner, to be out of the way. He was of little value, he thought, because he wasn't like his brother. Even with the highest of hopes, he would always be less, compared to his wonderful, bright, brilliant, artistic, beautiful younger brother. Always, he was just a burden on the bosses who kept him under their protection. He would stop trying sometimes, and even then, he found the same result. It was no use, because; he was simply useless. At that point, all he had to be grateful for was a roof over his head and the attention that he did receive, good or bad, at least he was still on someone's mind. For a brief moment, at least, he had some importance. It was never long before the powerful men he became enslaved to became tired of him, as he soon found himself in the home of his next boss.
When he'd met him, he thought he was an airhead; the way his smile took over his face and the way his eyes danced with the innocence and exuberance of youth despite his real age. The sun had kissed his skin for years, giving him an almost heavenly glow. He laughed his day away, so carefree and wild and never once stopped or slowed down except to eat or take his afternoon siesta. He'd never known someone as old and upstanding to seem so childlike. He'd pictured him to be a tall, serious figure like Mr. Austria. This man was different than any of his other bosses. How could this be reality? It had to be a joke or some kind of mistake. He was surprised by the way the man actually stopped and looked him in the eyes and gave him a deeply sincere smile. He'd looked back, unsure of what to do and when the other looked him over, he looked away, puffing out his cheeks in indignation. This only made the man laugh and straighten up. He liked what he saw as he turned to his ascetic former boss and said genially, "You must be losing your head, mi amigo. He's so adorable, like a tomato, si? How could he be any trouble?"
With those few words, he had been changed forever. No longer did he have a doubt as to whether or not old people like him had capacity to be human. He'd never forget the feeling in his stomach at that moment. He became dizzy and his heart felt funny, like it had decided to start tap dancing erratically in his chest. His head did some funny swishing movement, making his brain feel as if it were floating around his skull. He felt as though he might be sick, but he held it together as he followed the man back home, listening to him as he incessantly babbled on and on in Spanish. He'd stopped him to ask the brown-haired, innocent-eyed man what he was saying, and the man looked down at him with the first frown he'd seen on his face since meeting him. His reply was spoken in semi-fluent Italian, "We must teach you some Spanish, Romano."
Remembering that day, and some of the random but distinct and important details made him smile. Even now, he still got chills thinking about it. The happy, sad and even angry moments, all seemed to cause his skin to chill and bumps to rise all over his arms and legs. Perhaps it was just the nature of that man to do that to people. His smile, his demeanor; he was completely different from any other man his age and it surprised him every single day to realize over and over that he was one of a kind.
He'd treated him just the same.
Growing up, when he'd been scared, or when he'd messed up and tried to hide from fear of being punished or kicked out, he found that was never the punishment. In fact, there were hardly any punishments at all. Spain rarely yelled, or hit him. Spain never muttered hotly under his breath or made Romano, 'leave his sight.' He dealt with any situation as if it were nothing at all, make Romano help him clean it up, and sometimes, a few disappointed words would fall, but they were soft, not menacing and always reached the target. At first, Romano had rolled his eyes, thinking he was a lightweight, but after a few more mess ups and quiet words, he began to feel the guilt, and that's when he really started to step it up. His boss was patient and gentle, despite his history of war and violence and piracy. That was a side, only the whole world knew. Romano would never see what struck fear into the hearts of other empires when the Spanish armada came into sight, or how armies would flee at word of Spanish calvary men approaching. Romano only knew a gentle and even-toned Spain. Even when he'd refuse to speak Spanish back to his boss, preferring his native tongue to the awkward sounding Spanish that would roll off his tongue, Spain never yelled. Spain would patiently speak Spanish phrases and words and verses and songs into his head, whispering in his ear, singing as he cooked dinner, refusing to answer his servant boy unless he called in Spanish. It was a slow learning process, and Romano had a little difficulty with some words, but he managed small sentences. He even picked up on some soft curse words Spain let slip in the kitchen or in the garden. So soon, he was speaking the tongue of the country he now resided in, much to Spain's delight. "...**how cute you are when you speak the language of love, Roma~" he would coo at him and Romano would hit him in the face with coarse sounding Spanish curses and run away, shocking the brown-haired man.
As whiny and useless as Romano could sometimes be, it occurred to him that his caretaker had never once told him to shut up or leave his presence. Much of the expectancy to these phrases came from Mr. Austria and the brat, Holy Romano Empire. Romano felt that perhaps he really was a dimwit and didn't see how useless he was. But Spain never saw him that way. Compared to his younger brother, Romano was a useless bag of bones. His other bosses used to tell him all the time, and would constantly yell at him for being so useless. He couldn't cook, or clean, or dust, or garden, or fetch water. Spain would simply offer a smile and a helping hand and the job would get done. And when Romano whined, he would sooth him with soft Spanish words, or hum a sweet tune, like caressing the boy;s hair or cheeks, and Romano would puff his cheeks indignantly at the man, but nonetheless, move on with his assigned task.
Romano detested himself sometimes, so much, for his incompetence and he felt overwhelming guilt. Guilt that ate away at him every time he gave up on a particular task or when Spain would simply smile and continue from where Romano quit. That infuriating, placid smile, always reassuring, and never frowning with disappointment. That smile urged him, through no effort of its own, to make Romano push himself. To try harder. He learned and what he learned, he retained quickly and soon, he could sweep indoors and make sure the table had been wiped down. So with small steps and reassuring smiles, Romano became a slightly better house servant. But not by much. He was still just as clumsy as ever, due in part to his blood, and he still couldn't cook, or make any progress with making his bed. Still though, he tried and try he always would to see that man's smile. The only smile ever directed at him for longer than a minute. Before coming to Spain's home, Romano had thought the only things he was good at were going to market, and boiling water. Now he was good at all those things, plus a few more things, and being a nice bed warmer. Or at least that's what Spain always told him.
"You're so warm, Roma! Making the bed so inviting, you are so nice!" He would to gush after coming home from a long day of hard work. He'd claim cuddling with Romano was the best way to unwind from his stressful day. At the time, Romano was happy when he said those things, but he was still uncomfortable with the older man smothering him as they would lie there in Spain's large and fluffy bed. Romano sometimes hated cuddling with Spain, because his heart would race, and he wouldn't be able to sleep.
After some time living with the Spaniard,Romano picked up on how to perform chores effectively and efficiently. Spain had taught him well, and what Romano knew how to do, he would always do well, in order to earn some praise from his overbearing boss. Romano found happiness in being praised by the Spaniard. But, as was his nature, Romano had a tendency to slack off or snooze. It didn't help that Spain often times would encourage this habit during the hot afternoons when it was siesta time. Romano was lazy by blood, and he couldn't help himself, especially in the hot Spanish sun. Spain didn't seem to mind though. He would sometimes pester Romano to help him, to drag his lazy butt off the couch and help him in the garden, to which Romano begrudgingly obliged. They worked together, but Spain worked alone, doing the daily gardening and cooking, while Romano snoozed. Spain must have been accustomed to such lifestyle, gardening and cooking, for him to have never complained, Romano thought. He must have just enjoyed being home. Who wouldn't prefer cleaning the house to fighting in battles and feeling the depressing emotions of the people all around? Cleaning and cooking sounded really nice compared to that option.
Regardless of the reasoning, Romano really grew and flourished during his time with Spain. With patience and guidance, caring and nurturing, Romano saw more of the positive than the negative, and even began to see some positive light inside himself and began to see that he actually did have some positive attributes. He was the only one that could simultaneously clean and rearrange the sitting room. Spain may not have been proud of his methods, but he was proud of Romano, and proud to be his guardian. He'd even heard Spain say so himself as he spoke to some soldiers outside of the house. Romano had gone over to an open window and listened in on the conversation.
"He may not be perfect, but he tries as well as he is able, and really there is no more that I could ask of him. Besides, he's really quite adorable, and passionate about what he does. So even though he's not perfect or as adorable as his younger brother, I still am very proud of him, and that's why."
Spain knew. Spain could see that he had been trying his hardest to be like his brother. He could see that he wanted attention, when he did good or bad; as long as he was noticed. He noticed it before Romano himself did, and that gave him a twisted feeling, between relief and embarrassment. How dare Spain know him better than he, himself did!
"You know I try to be| All that I can| But there's a part of me| I still don't understand."
Again, he felt as if he'd been changed internally and eternally, after hearing those words. He'd never heard anyone speak such kind words when regarding him. Usually those sweet words were words such as, 'sloppy, careless, shy, aggravating, frustrating, pain.' Spain was different from all of his other bosses, and Romano definitely knew then that Spain was going to have a spot in his heart, voluntarily or not, Romano would always cherish those first kind words he'd ever heard anyone speak about him.
For the first few days, all Romano could bring himself to do was sweep the porch and nap. Well, of course, time and effort was expended for gorging himself on whatever the Spaniard had made for dinner that night. At first, Romano had refused to eat anything his caretaker made, but he soon realized his tummy was to be fed, one way or another and Spain's food was better than anything he could ever make himself, so a compromise was reached. As long as there was pasta - in one form or another – Romano would eat his fill. Which, for a small boy like Romano, was quite a bit to his boss' surprise.
"My, you sure can eat a lot, Romano. It must be really good, si?"
"Shut up, chigi! It tastes like crap!"
"Ah, you wound me, quirido!" He would smile, placing a hand to his heart and continue to watch Romano stuff his face at the table, making quite the spectacle of himself. Bath time, like meal time, was always an ordeal. But it was a happy burden, for Spain was always smiling at the end of it all and once Romano was fed, bathed and settled in bed, he would tell him one of his, 'boring stories,' until his subordinate had fallen asleep.
"Why do I only see| What I don't have| When my reality| Its things are not that bad."
Often times, he found himself feeling guilty, for making Spain work so hard. He was supposed to be working for Spain, he was supposed to be making his life easier, being that he was an older man with many more responsibilities than Romano had chores. But it bothered him even more; that still, he never complained, or compared him to his brother, or made excuses for him, or whined that he didn't have an adorable and helpful assistant. Spain certainly was a strong person, and Romano admired that quality in his boss. He admired Spain even then, too, as he did now. Not that he would admit it.
As Romano grew more accustomed to living with Spain, the older man felt that it was more appropriate that he could leave the smaller Italian boy home alone when he needed to make business trips or go overseas for a little while. It was safer for him to be there anyway, despite the damage his home might receive, he figured Spain really disliked bringing Romano along to meetings and he disliked even more the fact that Romano was there at home when Spain had visitors come to talk business. So, when it came to those matters and affairs, he preferred to hold them outside of his home, away from Romano's pure and tiny ears, thus, Romano began spending more time at home alone. Romano supposed Spain hated leaving him, even as Romano put up a steady front of, "I don't care, chigi! Go, you stupid bastard!" But back then, he didn't recognize Spain's fear or sadness. He'd barely been aware of his own.
There were times when Romano was terrified Spain might never come home. What would he do, if the tomato-loving freak never walked through that door again? What would he do? Where could he go? Romano wasn't aware of it at the time, but even back then, he was so attached to the man, that his heart might break if he was left alone for too long. Sure, there were times when he cried. There were times he'd run to Spain's room and bury himself under the covers, trying to protect himself from the shadows and thunder and possible creatures lurking about the house. All he had were Spain's pillows and the faint scent of him; those were his vices, and his hope that he would return to those sheets and fill them with his scent and warmth and kind voice. Romano would never admit it, but he never wanted to be left alone. He never wanted Spain to leave. To leave him and possibly never come back. Even though Spain always did return, Romano despised being alone.
"Your faith has shown me that..."
The first time he was left alone was the worst feeling. He cursed Spain even now, because the memory pained him so much. He'd woken up from his siesta and found the house was quiet. Sliding from his bed, his feet pattered on the stone floor as he traveled to the kitchen to grab a snack. Normally, when he did this, Spain would come around the corner and scold him for being such a glutton, but despite that, he would always hand him a cracker or an apple, or something from the high counter, which Romano had only recently been able to reach slightly with the tips of his fingers. But this time was different. The house was silent, and colder, it seemed, and Romano remembered calling out for his boss. After the silence had echoed back at him for a moment or two, he screamed obscenities, hoping that would draw the Spaniard from the basement or the field where he may have been performing some sort of task. Again receiving nothing, he began to search the house, tearing up the couch cushions, checking under cupboards, lifting the toilet seat, only to come up with nothing. He was alone in the house. It was definitely more chilly then he remembered from before he went to bed. The cold silence echoed off the walls, dancing around his ears. Without Spain's annoyingly warm, cheery smile and exuberance, the house was like a graveyard.
Romano remembered curling up in a tight ball on Spain's bed for a few hours, willing the tears to stop. His grandfather had taught him that tears were for babies, and that real men never cried. But he was just a boy; a frightened boy, all alone in a cold house, in a country he barely knew. His grandfather would understand the circumstances, Romano thought, and proceeded to cry himself into a light sleep, whimpering for Spain in his sleep. And when Spain finally did return, Romano had panicked like the small child he was and immediately grabbed the broom and hid behind the corner to the entranceway.
Being it was so late at night, and being so tired, Spain didn't bother to turn on the lights. Instead, he simply began to take off his coat and boots, entering the silent house. The silence was what provoked him into calling out for his tiny ward, and this was what prompted the small Italian nation to come from around the corner, yelling as he brought the broom down to connect into Spain's skull and then swiftly change direction and drive straight into the weary man's stomach, leading to the smashing of his already weak knees impacting harshly on the stone entryway. Romano managed to knock off a vase, the sound of glass shattering piercing the night. He screamed and swung the broom frantically, destroying more things, knocking pictures off of the walls, effectively ruining the spotless entryway Romano had intended for his boss to come home to; even though he did not know that it was his boss that he was hitting, in an attempt to 'save,' Spain from being robbed.
Romano screamed, yelling at him to get out, that he was trespassing and he'd give him more of what he'd just given him when a voice, weak and tired yet still retaining some of its ferocity and power, halted Romano's screams and threats.
"Sp-Spain...?" He shakily whispered, and when the man just gave a pain-filled grunt as he stood, Romano flung himself at his legs, crying and yelling now because he was glad to see his boss. He muttered apologies through mutters in soft Italian, falling to his knees as he hugged the Spaniard's leg.
"Romano, lo siento, it was my fault. I startled you, and you were frightened, being all alone for so long. Please, Romano, no more tears, si?"
Romano turned his chin upwards, it now dripping with thick wet tears that fell onto Spain's bare feet. Spain felt terrible and was about to bend down to scoop up the sniveling boy when he felt another swift kick to his shin and Romano began to berate him for staying out so long and coming back so late at night. Romano was furious and embarrassed, having sobbed like a child in front of his boss. "Ch-chigi, Spain! You bastardo!" Spain's eyes widened in surprise. When Romano cursed in Italian, it usually meant he was very embarrassed or very pissed off. Or a combination of the two. Spain had actually taken a few steps back, wanting to give Romano some breathing room and to allow himself some room in order to dodge or escape any attempts on his life, should Romano's fury be too much to contain. Romano lashed out at him for almost an hour, screaming at the top of his lungs every curse word he knew; sobbing helplessly as Spain simply stood there, looking at him with sad eyes and a crooked smile. When he'd tired himself out, Spain finally approached him, slowly so as to not set him off again, and picked him up. holding him close to his chest, patting his hair; seeming to disregard his previous and still lingering anger. Romano's fists were balled in his vest and face lost in the cloth sea of vibrant colors as Spain walked them to the bedroom to put Romano on the bed so he could wash his face and change into his nightclothes. What a greeting after not being home for several weeks. And yet, Spain took it in stride, never losing that soft smile. Romano wondered sometimes how he could transition so quickly from being a hardened and prominent pirate captain, to being a doting guardian to Romano and do so well in either position. How was he capable of being so awe inspiring? He was a damn tomato-loving bastardo, after all. But maybe that was the point.
Romano wiped his eyes and nose on the brightly colored shirt Spain often was wearing, calming himself down, finally smelling the familiar smell of his boss and feeling the warmth.
"Were you afraid? I never meant to make you so upset. Forgive me, Romano."
"I hate you," he'd hiccuped. "You're mean, and I hate you, stupid bastard."
"Romano. Even though I may leave you sometimes, you have to be strong on your own." He smoothed his hair back and massaged Romano's ahoge, making him squirm lightly, his whimpering increasing. "But I will always return. I will never abandon you, Romano, because I swore to protect you the moment you came through that doorway. No more crying now. I will always be here for you, mi petit tomate."
"When my world goes crazy| You won't let go,"
That night, Spain had allowed Romano to sleep in his bed with him, only to find that Romano had already decided to make himself comfortable in his bed. Smiling, he'd gotten Romano for bed and they'd shared each other's warmth for the night. From that night on, Romano found himself in those arms and he trusted that Spain meant those words. He trusted that Spain would never turn and walk away from him.
It happened then, that the next time Spain left, Romano made him wait until he woke up, made him write a goodbye note to make sure he actually did, tell him how long he thought he might be gone and make him breakfast before Spain could actually leave. Once breakfast was made, Spain quickly rushed from the house, telling Romano to be good while he was gone and he might get a present. Romano saw him off from the front step, holding his breath until Spain was out of sight. Before he closed the door, he looked out to the small village and just past that, the distant sea, and he prayed for Spain's safe return.
Soon though, that routine was dissolved after a few runs. Romano demanded for Spain to kiss Romano goodbye while he slept, write him a quick little note before heading off to wherever he was going. Romano, now a little older and more comfortable with the idea of being left alone, would sit at the window for most of the day, wondering if this would be the day he left and wouldn't come back. Romano supposed he would never get rid of that feeling. It was a part of him to be worried. He was attached to Spain not only by culture, tongue, house and country, but by spirit, mind and heart as well. Spain would always be a part of his life, no matter how annoying his laugh was or how aggravating that ever present smile that was always on his face seemed to irk Romano until he threw a fit. Spain sure was stubborn, or, perhaps persistent would be a better word.
When Romano went to market during those long days when Spain was absent, he would often catch word of what might be going on overseas, or where Spain might be. He knew his boss was a pirate, and a very good one, apparently. Most of the towns people were pretty accepting of him because of his kind nature and attitude, always helping out where he was needed and performing many tasks for the town leaders. No one had any idea that he was actually the personification of the country they inhabited, and Romano never spoke up to tell them. It was a well guarded secret that all nations, fully realized, liberated, united; colony or not, no one spoke of the personified world. Despite that, Romano still conversed healthily with the towns people and kindly did business with the shop keepers and took on some small jobs to replenish the savings bag he borrowed from whenever Spain wasn't home, not that he ever had asked for money from Spain before. He didn't have any real need to, since he was only buying the necessities and he didn't want to give away Spain's position as not only a wealthy pirate, but a nation, who kept up with all of the politics and industry in the land. Having responsibilities as Spain did, there needed to be a pay off, a profit to be made somewhere.
Sometimes Romano wondered where Spain traveled to, and would ask him questions and sometimes, Spain would oblige him, and tell him over dinner or at night before bed about his adventures in the New World. He told him tales of gold cities, and cities high in the sky and of the strange rituals some of the people in the New World believed in doing to make their lives better. He would tell him mystical tales about the gods people believed in, which was silly to Romano, since he knew only one deity. On occasion, if Romano was well-behaved and didn't break much, Spain would bring him home a treasure. One time, he received a small, gold encrusted sword, the handle sparkling and shimmering with jewels from a far off land. Another time, he was given rings and earing and other little trinkets he kept in a stone box that had highly elaborate details and drawings. His boss told him that these were treasures given to him by the ruler of the Incan Empire in Peru. Spain could bring himself to lie, but he could never tell his sweet boy that he killed for these treasures. For treasure, money, land and influence, he robbed people. Sure, Romano would discover it all when he was older, but for now, he could remain blissfully unaware and continue to respect him.
Although he kept himself busy to keep himself from thinking about that Spanish idiot all the time, Romano could be found lazing about the house most of the time while he was gone. He knew he should clean up a little, and he at least managed to keep the kitchen and Spain's room clean. But the rest of the house was a complete loss. Thick layers of dust layered the tables in the sitting room. Bookshelves became scattered and disorganized from Romano pulling books to read and then never putting them back, leaving them to sit, some opened to random pages, some upturned and resting with the pages down, ruining the spines. The couch became musky with the scent of drool from when Romano would take his siestas. The garden was handled well, at least, and he made sure to have enough energy to water it, cover the plants that needed to be covered, harvest what was ready and stored it all in the cellar, along with all the laundry. He did few dishes and he never washed the counter or table. The house was certainly in a state of disarray, and Romano knew he was most likely going to get it from Spain if he didn't try cleaning up after himself more properly. Not only the house, but he himself needed to be groomed as well.
After the certain number of days had passed, and Romano felt certain that any day, Spain could come through the door, he began to do some serious housework. When he'd finished, the house was still dirty, Romano being somewhat inept and lazy when it came to house work, but at least the dishes, table, counter, floor and tables in the sitting room were cleaned off. The swept the entryway and hall and stacked the books by the foot of the shelf and cleaned the cushions of the couch as best he could. Surely, Spain would be pleased with his effort.
And as soon as he came through that door, Romano could see his face light up at seeing him and the state of his home. It wasn't a complete disaster as he'd expected, and he was pleased with Romano's effort. "Si, si, I'm very impressed! Roma, you really are useful if you set your mind to it! Gracias! Gracias!" He remembered the Spaniard being so pleased, that he had made a large dinner to celebrate, using the vegetables from the garden that Romano had stored in the cellar. Romano knew he'd found the laundry, however, when he earned a stern look and a huff as Spain returned to the kitchen. That simple action had made him pout and he remembered feeling sick to his stomach for the rest of the night, even though Spain wasn't mad.
"When the ground gets shaky| You give me hope."
That feeling haunted him still, as he thought about it now, he would huff angrily and try to distract himself from the thought. Spain was never one to exhibit such a look; it looked terrible on him. Not that Romano was concerned with Spain's image or outward appearance or anything, but it was so contrary to the usual carefree smile he always wore, making Romano feel uneasy.
"Roma? You're shockingly quiet tonight. Are you alright?" Spain asked after they'd eaten and Romano curled himself up on the couch, contemplating falling asleep. The boy looked at his boss before his eyes darted back down. The look of disappointment wasn't totally gone from his eyes, and even though it was mostly clouded over by worry, it still made Romano not want to look at Spain. Spain tilted his head at his young servant, coming closer to crouch beside the couch, trying to get a closer look at the boy. "Roma? Are you sick?"
"No, I'm not sick, dummy! Leave me alone, I'm tired," he sighed, burying his face in between the cushions. Spain's smile returned at the sound of a familiar outburst, but he was still concerned. Romano never went to bed this early. He tried again, this time receiving a mumbled response from the form lying curled up and still on the piece of furniture.
"¿Qué? Lo siento, no oírle."
"...Il tuo viso è spaventoso... ," came his reply, still impeded by the couch. Spain sat closer, tying to hear him. Of course, what he said in Italian took him a minute to decipher, and when he got it, he sat back.
"Really? How so?" He asked, tilting his head once again. They boy peeked from the cushion, his face red from either embarrassment, fear or being so tightly pressing his face into the furniture. Romano glared at the man before sighing, sitting up a bit. Romano looked to his boss, before settling his focus on the floor as he told him. "Roma! You should have told me, lo siento! I did not mean for you to be frightened. I was only disappointed that you did some housework for me, but didn't quite do it all. Lo siento, il mio amore." Spain smiled, his tongue slipping into some Italian.
Romano sat up, looking with surprise at his boss who merely coaxed his hand from beneath his head and placed a small kiss upon it. He sighed, letting himself smile slightly. When told to sit up, he did so slowly, unsure of what Spain was going to do. Arms wrapped around him and sighed, hugging him back. Spain gave the best hugs out of anyone in the world.
"Come, let's go do some laundry."
Romano groaned, but complied and followed his caretaker to the lower level of the house to learn how to make the washing mixture and how scrub stains out of Spain's uniforms. It occurred to Romano, now that he was older; it was astounding Spain knew how to do all of the things he'd taken Romano in for. He could clean, mend, cook, wash laundry, fight and comfort. Those were just some of the wonders of his Spain. Sometimes, when Spain had shown him a particularly intricate task or taught him how to do some fabulous skill, Romano would find himself slightly perturbed by his boss. If he could do all of this, why did he have Romano here in the first place? Maybe it was simply pity. Well, Spain did protect him from the other, stronger and more experienced countries; and France. Romano pushed those thoughts away though, as he decided he should just be grateful that he had such a talented, kind and patient boss. Spain really was a blessing, in his own air-headed way.
"Roma~ Where are you?"
"G-go away, creepy bastard!"
"When I try to push you away| You never move,"
He squeaked, hiding himself in a broom closet and the echo of his words gave away his position. When Spain opened the door, he expected that grin, but instead found himself looking into a saddened smile. A smile that read, 'I'm sorry, Romano.' And he huffed, pushing his away out of the closet and past Spain before he felt the other man scoop him up into his arms. Romano kicked at him, but Spain seemed oblivious to his plight as he took them to the bathroom to wash up before bed.
"Hiding in a closet; you're filthy, Romano!" He'd sighed dejectedly, putting a hand to his forehead. Water and steam soon filled the bath and they'd both gotten in, cleaning themselves off. Spain sat back and relaxed, enjoying the hot water and the way it soothed his aching muscles. Romano was aware of his aches and pains, but he'd never seen such scars before. It amazed him, that a country as old as Spain, carrying this much weight; so much stress, pressure, scars, distress...and yet he could still smile so annoyingly beautifully for Romano. Romano was pretty sure, that Spain was the strongest person he had ever known. Even stronger than his grandfather, who unfortunately by this point had crumbled and cracked, disappearing from the face of the Earth.
His grandfather was gone now.
As far as he was concerned, with his younger brother growing up with Austria and hanging around that brat, Holy Roman Empire, he was practically all alone in this world. All alone with no one at his back. That thought scared him, even more than the idea of Spain kicking him out or leaving him alone. Sure, Spain was his boss, but Romano never felt as if he was someone he could really, truly depend upon. What reason did he have to support Romano? None. He was useless, annoying and whiny and frumpy and grumpy and all around not cute or fun.
He was all alone, with no backup as he was growing into a country. He could feel his people becoming more and more restless as the approaching uniting of northern and southern Italy had them all cheering and celebrating. To finally be governed by one government and not have a border to cross to see relatives. Romano was happy for his people. But sometimes, he felt and always harbored this feeling of dread, a feeling of not feeling adequate. What if his people revolted or rebelled again? That would cause Romano so much pain, but it would cause his people so much pain as well. Being united with his brother again made him excited and joyful, but he still felt somehow like he wasn't going to be enough.
How long will it last until he leaves me again?
Romano was terrified of his brother leaving him again. They rarely kept in contact, and the rare visitations Feliciano did make to Spain's home, were, of course, made in order to visit with, 'big brother Spain.' Never, 'big brother Romano.' Even though they shared the same blood and people and history, Romano felt alienated by his brother. He sometimes wondered if Feliciano was capable as viewing him as a brother at all. This detachment and despair often weighted him down, and sometimes, he would really fall down.
"Now when I start doubting| You help me see,"
But Spain never deserted him. He was always there to cheer Romano up and encourage him to do his best and to smile. Although Romano didn't like smiling much, he begrudgingly did it for the Spaniard, who always went to such great lengths to help him, when it was really supposed to be the other way around. Sometimes, Romano would catch himself, and remember that Spain was his boss and that he actually was supposed to be doing the chores and cleaning up after himself. He tried to motivate himself with treats. Chastising himself never seemed to do much good; it only intensified his sour mood, and therefore intensified his sour nature, making it more difficult for Spain.
Extending his reach as a country did not come swiftly for Romano. Spain had pushed his and his brother's governments to become one. After being ruled and controlled by his boss, whom he'd come to respect and even like, it was all weird and very sudden. Spain had control over Romano, but he was never harsh or demanding. He was a subject, a Spanish-ruled province, and even though he detested some of the effects that came with the position, he'd have to say it was better than being ruled by Austria, or that brat Holy Roman Empire. He'd heard rumors and Romano prayed to God every night, saying how thankful he was to have such an easy-going and forgiving boss.
Still though, his people were restless with the new government and he was unsure and unsteady and ready to collapse. Spain saved him from going under. Spain had his back, even though it was all mostly the bastard's fault he was going through all of this pain and suffering. But with that knowledge alone, Romano took the chance and sealed a portion of his heart away for the goofy Spanish idiot. Locked away; a special place, only for him. Yes, Romano knew early on, that Spain was special, in various ways, but he was special enough to earn himself a place in Romano's heart forever, regardless of what happened in the future. Always, would Spain be in Romano's heart.
Being so focused on becoming a fully recognized nation, Romano soon realized that he actually could handle this. It was rough and hard work most of the time, but it was rewarding and Romano found that Spain had showed him how. Spain had taken the time to raise him, and if he hadn't than Romano would have been completely at loss; adrift in the sea of uncertainty.
"There's a strength, and a mind, and a power in me!"
Spain had shown him, taught him to see within himself that he was strong enough to overcome his past and become something better. Spain had never once put him down and only wanted to see him smile. Romano didn't realize it when he was young, but he was one of the few people in his life who made Romano happy, and the small Italian boy's chubby smile really brightened his world.
"Oh, believe me there ain't nothing I can't do,"
Spain had taught him to find and hold onto the confidence and strength to do more than he thought he could. He could be happy, make his people happy; he could make new connections with other countries, along with his brother.
Oh, his little brother! How he'd missed him! To finally be united again after so long – don't tell anyone I told you this, but, I cried. I cried so hard, and Veneciano was crying too, we were both crying like tiny children, in each other's arms. Being free and reunited was a dream come true. How he'd longed for the day when he could travel, go places, do new things...it was all so much to revel in that Romano had almost lost consciousness.
And Romano knew that no matter how bad a day he'd had or how badly he'd messed things up for Spain - making both of them grumpy – he'd always be happy to be in Spain's life, brightening it as much as that happy go lucky bastard brightened his.
"My hero is you| My hero is you..."
Romano even noticed the subtle differences between Spain's smiles. For example, when he went to the market, his smile was a bit stiff, not fake, just bit stiff and fixed to his face, as if he could not stop smiling for whatever reason. When greeting other nations or business associates or other pirates, the smile always reflected something sinister. His insidious smile always gave Romano the creeps, and on some occasions, he'd even had a few nightmares, involving Spain, his pirate buddies, and that devilish grin. It wasn't a smile, in fact, it was practically a grin and Romano remembered squeaking and running for cover whenever Spain came home from a long day out in the town, sometimes with that grin still on his lips.
"I never saw the way| you sacrificed,"
No matter the situation, circumstances or weather, Spain would always show Romano a happy, smiling face, and his eyes would dance. Romano believed he did that, at first, because he was incompetent and perhaps didn't realize he was always smiling. Or perhaps because if he didn't smile, he might turn angry or sad. But now, he supposed that perhaps Spain never smiled for himself. Perhaps it was always for the sake of Romano; so he'd see that smiling face and know that it was only for him. That smile meant home and that he could stop the unattractive pout on his lips and just relax and smile with him. It may have been his way of trying to make Romano see the light and peace of his home, to make him more comfortable. Romano wondered how comfortable Spain had to have been, smiling all the damn time. Even now, he smiled more than any other human being on the planet. That he knew of, obviously.
Romano, being so young at the time, never realized that the smile Spain always had on his face, masked the pain and scarring and worry that he faced everyday. But he could never show that side to Romano; his beloved Romano. Spain was so strong, and only for him. Romano knew of the scars marring his boss' body, but he wouldn't know to just what extent those scars traveled. So deeply, were they etched into Spain's frame, and yet all he could do was smile and project a calm and relaxed face for his tiny growing tomato. And he'd never see how important it was for Spain to do all of this for him. One day, he might find the answer as to why he did it all for him; why he struggled and suffered and put up with so much. When Spain had so much stress on his shoulders and even more on his plate, he still took care of Romano and never complained. He almost seemed to enjoy it. Maybe Spain had been, or may even still be, a masochistic workaholic?
But that wouldn't fit his personality. That sunshine smile and bubbly laugh. Spain was walking sunshine and no matter how much it rained, he'd never stop being so damned sunny.
"Who knew the price you paid,"
Spain, when he was away from home and his baby-faced Romano, faced a lot of power struggles and fought in many battles. Romano saw the evidence on his body during bath time or whenever he slept next to his boss, but he never knew why he fought. Many countries wanted Romano and his brother, for resources and for many other reasons. France, was one of his most frequent opponents and he spent a large mass of time defending his small ward from France's forces and influences. Romano, speaking Spanish, and taking daily siestas, was adorable to behold. Plus, Spain, being the somewhat shady and greedy pirate he was by trade, wanted Romano's resources all for himself. Pirates were terrible at sharing and so Romano was defended from one evil intent but guarded by another potential usurper of his land and people.
But as long as the people under his ruler were not too poverty stricken or worrying about a potential war with another country, they could flourish and make Spain happy with their simple livelihoods. Yes, Spain stood his ground and kept the peace for Romano and his people. It was his duty and right as ruler of the Spanish empire, along with the King and Queen, of course.
Romano couldn't be more impressed with and proud of Spain. He was incredible and deserved to be admired. If he could keep them all content like this, he might not mind so much eating Spanish cuisine and speaking a form of Spanish. His people would grow up with Spanish influence, close influence, but Romano was beginning to think that it wasn't such a bad thing after all. Spain sacrificed so much for Romano and his people, and it wasn't fair that Romano did so little to show his gratitude. He may be a sour-faced, grumpy, prideful brat most of the time, but he still had a sense of honor and manners. Italian manners would always be a part of who he was.
"How can I make it right?"
Romano looked over his shoulder, around the corner and into the sitting room. His boss was sitting in his favorite chair, reading over some parchment. He didn't look particularly busy, but, he rarely ever did. Romano took a deep breath, and turned the corner fully, walking into the room. Nervous jitters made his fingers dance around one another behind his back as he neared the spot. 'Just say it, Romano. Just say it!'
"Sp-Spain?"
"Si?" Spain didn't look up from the book he was reading.
"C-can...it's...well...," he looked up to see that Spain still had not looked up to his eyes, even though he was standing only two feet from the chair he was resting on. "I think...well, I...Y-you..," he tried to come up with the right words to ask him this question. He had to show his appreciation for all of Spain's hard work and since he was older, and able to understand better, he really owed it to his boss and he was determined to do something that would make that smile increase ten-fold on that tanned face. Spain loved warm baths and siestas with his young boy, so he felt this was an appropriate place to start.
"Well...can...I...g-give you a massage?" He rushed out and hung his head to hide the blush blooming on his face. Spain looked up then and a grin broke out on his lips. His little Roma was so cute!
"Roma, what makes you ask such a question so suddenly?"
"I want to...make it up to...you, for...everything you do for me, stupid Spanish tomato-loving bastardo!" He cursed, making Spain smile lovingly at him. Romano found himself rolling his eyes as he left to go start the bath for the both of them. Spain followed after and once they had made themselves comfortable, Romano set about working his boss' shoulders, neck and back. The older man moaned softly as the knots were worked expertly from his back. The time Romano had spent with his grandfather and brother, had been spent giving them massages and back rubs. Despite the artistic ability in Veneciano's hands, Romano's hands were larger and more muscled from working outside in the fields or weaving clothes. His feet, too, were very good at smashing grapes from the vineyards to produce wine. Romano could be a hard worker, but since his family had abandoned him and Spain took him in, he was depressed and soon grew to just be a lazy siesta boy.
After their bath, and as Spain and Romano lay on the large kind-sized bed in Spain's room, Romano pleaded with Spain to tell him of his adventures, and for his sake, he tried to stay awake. But as always, he began to get sleepy, and Spain smiled at him just as he always had.
"Ah, Roma~ I really am such a lucky boss to have you. I really appreciate this. Maybe you should do this for me more often." The smirk on his lips was evident, even in the dim light of the candle on the bedside table.
"Don't push your luck," he snipped back at him, but blushed at the compliment. They both knew that if Spain asked or if the mood ever hit him again, Romano would gladly give Spain another shoulder rub; or anything he asked for, really, as long as Romano was capable of doing the task.
"Ah, little Roma...I wonder how it will be when you are older. When you can see for yourself just how calming this is and how nice it is to cherish company like this. Do not ever take people for granted. You will live to regret it greatly, mi cariño."
Romano thought little of those words back then, but as he grew older, he noticed the weight those words actually held and he felt his heart grow heavy with the was older now, and had his own responsibilities. Along with responsibilities came new discoveries for Romano and he found himself looking at everything and everyone he knew a little differently. But now he was free to wander and wonder. He could wander as he pleased and had places to go, so he was never in one place for too long. But, more often than not, nostalgia hit him in the heart and felt himself wandering back to the home where he'd spent most of his youth. Spain was always happy to see him and always welcomed him. Romano enjoyed his company, but he was still as grumpy as ever, and just like Spain's bubbly demeanor, that would never change. More that time did not change, was their relationship. Well, maybe a few things had changed, but fundamentally, it was as it had always been.
Romano saw now, Spain, and how...attractive he was. He'd always loved him, but he'd never thought emotions like these were possible. Now it was clear to him. Now it was clear that he may really be able to love the tomato bastard and allow himself to lend his heart, to let himself be loved by the man. He wondered how Spain might react to the knowledge of his acceptance of his feelings. Would he be disgusted? Flattered? Would he be rejected?
Although the instances where Spain had refused or rejected him were rare, it still made his stomach with the fear of the possibility. This was what Spain did to him; the power he held over Romano was truly astounding for a person whose character demanded complete freedom of every kind. But he was also the type of character to demand action and response, whether it be good or bad, and whether or not his heart thudded like a jackhammer in his throat. He was going to deal with these feelings once and for all.
"I know I've gotta try..."
Why hadn't he seen it before? He truly was an idiot sometimes. All those years spent under his rule, how could he not pick up on some of his foolish tendencies? Not to mention Romano's natural Italian carelessness did not help his predicament in the slightest. It was a certain fact in his mind, in is heart; now and forever. There was absolutely no denying it.
He was madly, hopelessly, head-over-heels in love with that damned tomato-loving bastardo. And there wasn't a thing in the world he could do about it.
Romano had spent the past few years coming to terms with the fact that he may be losing his mind. Falling in love with that fool was one of the most, albeit, foolish things Romano might do in his entire existence. If his heart had chosen anyone else, however, Romano had a feeling he would not feel the small but incredibly strong feeling in the bottom of his heart right now. He was feeling an emotion most humans don't feel until they are in their later years. Absolute and total conviction of love for one person. Spain didn't know it, but he held so much power over the younger nation, and Romano couldn't have been more pleased.
Now if only he could make him see, how much he loved him. It wasn't going to be easy to get him to understand, but with time and patience, the same Spain had shown Romano in his younger years, he would effectively communicate his feelings to the tomato jerk, regardless of whether or not he was rejected or not. Oh, yes, he was inconceivably nervous. But Romano wasn't the kind of person to hold back his feelings on account of the, "what-ifs." It just wasn't in his nature. Romano was a stronger person than many other countries gave him credit.
Romano would make Spain realize his affections, or he might die trying.
"And I hope that you can see,"
Romano would always see him as a sort of god walking on Earth. Someone to admire and respect, because Spain deserved everything Romano had to offer. Romano could never be more thankful and he hoped he could carry that message to Spain. Maybe his heart would be listening (because let's be honest, we all know, sometimes, Spain's ears aren't always functioning at proper capacity). No, Romano knew Spain's heart was always listening.
"Romano~," he'd whisper on rainy nights, when it was dark and they were home alone. Romano would grip Spain's nightshirt tightly, but not because he was terrified of the lightning or thunder; no, he was simply making sure the Spaniard didn't try to run off again. Spain would smile and pat his hair, humming soft, Spanish lullabies to him. It calmed Romano and Spain didn't seem to mind so much. "Roma~, do you know? That I will always be here to protect you? Even when you're older, you have my solemn promise and commitment. Even if we're far apart, I will always be able to hear you calling for me. Mi pequeño tomate. Mi corazón siempre está escuchando mi amor, Roma. Siempre para usted."
Those words meant everything to Romano. Spain had whispered them in his ear when he was nervous or afraid, and he was always relieved. Spain said those words to him, for him and only for him. Because Romano meant something to Spain. Romano wasn't meaningless or worthless. He was someone precious to Spain, and Spain was someone precious to him. Romano could only hope that giving Spain everything that he was would be enough.
"You're everything that I want to be..."
"...Roma? Are you still with me?"
Huh? Romano turned to find Spain with his hand on his shoulder, looking at him with a half smile, his eyes still groggy from his siesta. Being helped into a sitting position, he nodded to Spain's question, rubbing his face and eyes softly. Spain sat up and adjusted himself on the grass to sit next to him and placed his hand over Romano's. "I was beginning to think you'd never wake."
"I wasn't sleeping. Just thinking about some things..."
"You know, I hate to pry, but I'm curious. Indulge me. What 'things,' were you thinking about, mi vida?"
Romano shook his head as a blush crossed his cheeks. What had he been thinking about, indeed. He'd been thinking about a lot of things, going through memories and finding new angles and insights, drudging up old emotions and discovering new ones to associate with a different memory. He liked days where he could just think the day away. Spain was unhappy he hadn't spent his siesta with him, but it would only have made thinking more difficult. Romano liked to be alone when the gears started churning seriously in his Italian mind.
Pulling his hand over to his side, rubbing their shoulders together. Romano shook his head and looked over at the setting sun. He'd been sitting there, on the hill, thinking for the better part of the day, and now it was dinner time. Spain continued in a whisper after some silence between them. "I didn't want to disturb you, because for once, you looked so relaxed and peaceful."
A shiver passed over him as he felt the warm breath on his sensitive ear and his hand tightened around Spain's. Romano, shook it off and, in a rare display of affection that even Spain was becoming used to, leaned his head to the side until it rested on Spain's left shoulder. "I was just...thinking about the past," he looked at the house and then at the Spaniard, and his lips lifting in the closest thing Romano would ever come to displaying something akin to a smile. As he locked onto those green hues, those oh-so-green, mesmerizing eyes, they spoke, as if asking, 'what is on your mind,' just as they always had; from the very beginning, Romano would always remember those eyes. Those peaceful and yielding, yet demanding eyes of the Spanish bastard, were one of his best features and what made him the man Romano had grown to love. It was all in his eyes. The eyes that witnessed everything and would continue to do so, because Romano knew he could never bring himself to fully part from Spain. He had no reason to, personal or otherwise, and so he found himself wondering, maybe, if it was alright that he held so much attachment towards his former caretaker. Would Spain mind if he stayed? Wouldn't he be bothered?
"Nothing special, really," he scoffed with a shrug of his left shoulder. Romano was still Romano; always brushing off embarrassing, serious moments."I-I was thinking about the past. And how you raised me and I," he paused, rolling his eyes and turning the bright shade of tomato red Antonio was so fond of, "I-I'm not sure, where...I'd be without you, Antonio. You're really...s-some kind of...hero...or something." He finished quickly, turning to look at the grass on his left, trying to avoid the Spaniard's, no doubt, giddy expression. A moment passed and nothing happened. Cautious, Romano turned his face to see Spain's, and never had he seen those green eyes reflect the sunset so beautifully.
Feeling the familiar warmth of the hand on his lift it to the Spanish man's lips, he sighed, and as always; just enjoyed the sensation and fell in love all over again. He was so grateful for all Spain had done for him and he wished to remain with Spain, in those protecting and inviting arms. Spain would always be his home, his sanctuary, his hero, to guard him from the harsh reality that was the world. For as long as Spain would have him, Romano didn't think he'd ever want to leave him.
A/N: Whew! Sorry it took forever. I got sidetracked and lost motivation and I'm still not completely satisfied with this. There is still so much I wanted to write about but I think I'll leave it as is and let you guys tell me what you think. I'm thinking about writing another fanfic songlet, using 's Ain't It Funny. I absolutely love the song and it fits Roma and Spain. Let me know, and reviews very much appreciated! I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it. 'Till next time~