Okay guys, yet another Hetalia fic for this weekly vocab thing! I'm not super pleased with this one, but hey- c'est la vie.
Anyhow, here it is!
"Why is this such a big deal to you, Roderich?" Elizabeta demanded, pacing back and forth across the living room angrily. "He's not even your son!"
"That doesn't mean I don't get a say in my stepson's education!" Roderich responded from his seat on the couch.
Elizabeta scoffed "How can you call that an education? Five year-olds should be playing and learning next to kids their age, not staying at home cooped up with some stuffy tutor."
Roderich crossed his arms over his chest and glared, clearly offended by her statement. "I was tutored for twelve years," he said evenly.
"Well you aren't exactly the best with people."
Roderich slowly took off his glasses so he could pinch the bridge of his nose. "Elizabeta," he sighed, trying to control his anger as he responded to her pithy statement. "I've grown tired of your constant attacks on my upbringing. They're awfully trite and have nothing to do with the problem at hand."
"Oh, I understand," Elizabeta said, using an affected tone of acceptance, "me wanting Feliciano to have a normal education is a problem."
"That's it!" Roderich stood suddenly. Elizabeta, surprised by his terse outburst, stopped pacing. "If you're going to be sarcastic there's no point in arguing about this any more." He began to stride off towards the stairs. "We'll discuss this further some other time." And with those final words, he was up the stairs and out of sight.
A long moment passed before Elizabeta heaved an angry sigh and collapsed onto the same couch where Roderich had been sitting.
Damn it… she thought sadly. Another fight.
It seemed like they were fighting at least once a day now, if not more. It wasn't always like this; there was a time when Roderich and Elizabeta never even so much as disagreed on anything. But now, the disputes were so common that they had become hackneyed. They found a way to fight about everything- the dirty dishes, financial management and, most recently, the education of their five year-old son. However, like most fights, it never accomplished anything; it only made both of them feel worse.
Elizabeta sighed and stood. Maybe we're just stressed, she thought hopefully. She looked at the top of the stairs, knowing that sooner or later she would have to go up there and talk to him again.
I swear, she thought as she padded up the stairs. This will be the last fight.
We can't fight like this forever.
Short, I know. I really couldn't think of anything this week.
I hope you enjoyed this anyhow!
Dani~