Hey guys! I know I've been away for a while and that I should most probably be working on my other story, but this idea wouldn't leave me alone.

I was watching videos of Paquirri, a famous Spanish bullfighter and, well, you can probably guess what happened. The only thing I love more than Spain (character and country) is seeing Antonio speak Spanish, so I guess this is a little warning that there is quite a bit of Spanish (not too much though). But no worries.

So, without further ado, I give you chapter one. Oh, and if anyone gets the reference for Plus Ultra, awesome points for you. .w.

Disclaimer/Warnings: I do not own Hetalia or its characters. This story contains strong language, but that's it.

Bajo la sombra de las nubes infinitas

by Aurora Borealis

"The bulls are how big?" A voice rang through the hall, bounced off the mustard yellow walls, and exited through the open windows. The echo competed against the clamor of the probably million other people that crowded the busy Spanish street. It was an important day in Pamplona, and with all the life and activity overflowing the city, people could barely communicate with each other; but Lovino's ears had been trained to key in on a specific Spaniard's voice, just for these types of situations. "¡Joder, tío! And here I was hoping it was going to be easy today!"

The young Italian boy swam through the crowd, shooting glares and insults at those who obstructed his path. He peeked his head into a room with bright blue walls that contrasted violently with the warm yellow of the hallway. There were two men conversing. One of them was older, rounder, with jet black hair that seemed to be diminishing at the top of his head. He had a full mustache and a great farmer's tan from working under the sun for so long. He was intimidating and seemed to be very serious about whatever he was talking about.

The other man in the room, the one the Lovino had been looking for, was wearing a very colorful get up that was too tight and too flashy, but he could get away with it thanks to his small, yet impressive build and overflowing pride, confidence, and charisma. He had short chocolate brown hair (dark chocolate, reminded the Italian boy; not milk chocolate like his own) and bright emerald green eyes; his mouth was always curved into a smile, no matter how tense the situation was (often frustrating Lovino to no end); and he always appeared carefree no matter how horrible things were at the moment. In that particular time and place, in the busy city of Pamplona, in the little blue room, the man smiled tiredly and sighed scratching his head in slight annoyance.

Lovino pressed his body against the wall and stealthily peered into the room. His hazel eyes landed on a glistening, silver instrument of death, crafted by the best blacksmith in all of Spain. He had seen it before and knew the words Plus Ultra, meaning further beyond, were etched onto the blade. The helm of the weapon was truly a piece of art; intricate works of gold elegantly curved left and right, overlapping itself one, two, three times giving it an amazing, yet simple look. Normally, bullfighters would opt for a more practical sword, one to simply slay the beast they were up against and please the crowd, but this man was not just any bullfighter.

Antonio Fernandez Carreido was the nation's hero. He became a matador when he was just fourteen years of age and, in the consequent matches, proved himself to be the best there ever was. As he said in the many interviews that ensued, having such a title was a great honor, one he wouldn't give up for anything. Women fell madly in love with him and men tried to gain his friendship for boasting rights. Antonio never discriminated against anyone. Having been raised by a gypsy mother (this was later revealed as a scandal, but few let it cloud their judgment of the spectacularly talented man for too long), his view of the world differed to that of his coworkers who had been raised "honorably." When asked about his secret he would say "there has to be some kind of respect between the animal and the man; a level of understanding that although neither is better than the other, each will try its hardest to be the victor." He was a civil and respectable young man that, despite all the attention and praise he received, never became vain.

The little blue room in Pamplona was filled with booming laughter on that busy day. "Easy?" The unpleasant man with the sweat-drenched, white shirt asked, his speech muffled by his facial hair. "Si buscas algo facil sugiero que consideres algún otro empleo."

"That's not what I meant." Antonio straightened the red felt that functioned as a decorative belt around his waist.

"I'll tell you what." The other man grunted then dropped his voice to a tone only audible to Antonio. On instinct, Lovino poked his head further into the room causing the old wood to creak under pressure. Instantly, the two individual's eyes turned to Lovino's I-just-got-caught-so-I'm-embarrassed-but-I'm-trying-to-pass-as-angry face.

"What are you doing here? This is restricted personnel only! ¿Qué tu te crees, ah? Go on! Scram!" The fatter of the three shouted. Lovino's face reddened and tensed. He opened his mouth to insult the man and say a couple nasty things about his grandmother, but was stopped by the man in the flashy suit.

"Calma, tío. He's a friend." Antonio placed a hand on the man's sweaty shoulder, almost immediately retracting it and drying it off with a conveniently placed towel.

Lovino and the man glared at each other, neither of them willing to be the one to break way. Finally, the stranger parted his gaze and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Remember what I've told you." He said and made sure to bump shoulders with Lovino on his way out.

"Who the fuck was that guy?" Lovino entered the room, his hand subconsciously rubbing the spot where he had been hit.

"Oh, no one." Antonio smiled at his friend. He finished shining his already sparkling shoes. His smile widened as he picked up the funny-looking, black hat, but instead of putting it on, placed it neatly on Lovino's head. "There! Now don't you look cute? Te pareces un torero verdadero."

The Italian boy turned pink and violently removed the headpiece. "You know I hate this sport." He glared at the spot on the ground trying to calm his racing heart.

Antonio froze, his smile faltered slightly. His gaze fell a few inches; the upward curve of his lips threatened to disappear. Lovino glanced back at him and noticed the effects of his comment.

"I-I mean. I don't hate it." He sputtered. "I just, I-I, I wouldn't like to do it. It seems like too much work and the outfits are hideous."

Accepting this as a positive comment, Antonio beamed at the smaller man.

"Besides," Lovino continued, "it's fucking dangerous. I've seen what those bulls do to people. They... And it's really annoying to watch you do it with the thought in mind. I hate it because it's not a sport. People shouldn't have to worry about death in sports." He frowned at the thoughts; his nails dug deeper into the palm of his clenched hand. His train of thought halted to a crash when he felt a hand messing up his hair.

"Anda, chiquillo, que no te debes preocupar." Antonio placed both his hands on Lovino's shoulders and leaned forward to close the gap between their heights; he smiled. "Es solamente un animal. Yo soy invencible, ¿o ya se te olvidó?"

Lovino furrowed his brows and shook the man's hands off his shoulders. "Invincible." He glared at the poster on the wall to his right. It was an add for some kind of liquor. "That idiot doesn't take this seriously, does he? He thinks this is just all fun and games. All the while here I am dying every single fucking time he enters that stupid ring. Stupido!" He heard Antonio sigh.

"Really, Lovi, don't worry about it. You know me! I'd never let a bull get the best of me." Moments passed without a word being uttered. Antonio forced himself to smile again and pinched his friends cheeks. "Come on! Cheer up! I'll be distracted if I know you're upset." The other man didn't budge. "¡Vamos, Lovi!" He said as if talking to a grumpy child. "¡Ánimo!"

"Va bene! Va bene!" Lovino reluctantly gave in swatting away the fingers which poked at his face. He glanced at Antonio, whose smile was radiating pure joy, and couldn't help but letting the corners of his lips twitch upwards. "Just... Just don't be an idiot out there, okay?"

Antonio beamed and gave a bow. "Upon my honor, I swear shall never do anything stupid 'out there.' " Lovino flushed and patted the guy on the back.

"Okay, that's enough." He pressed the palm of his hand on the Spaniard's back, shoving him out the door. "Let's go. Your audience awaits." He smirked to keep himself from frowning. Antonio, oblivious as always, laughed and allowed himself to be escorted to the ring.

¡Joder, tío! - I guess the equivalent would be "Fuck, man!"

Si buscabas algo facil sugiero que consideres algún otro empleo. - If you're looking for something easy I suggest you consider another line of work.

¿Qué tu te crees, ah? - Though "qué" means "what," the phrase translates to "Who do you think you are, ah?"

Calma, tío. - Calm down, man. (If you haven't noticed, "tío" is the Spanish slang for man/dude/whatever)

Te pareces un torero verdadero. - You look like a real bullfighter.

"Anda, chiquillo, que no te debes preocupar. Es solamente un animal. Yo soy invencible, ¿o ya se te olvidó?" - Come on, kid, you don't have to worry. It's only an animal. I'm invincible, or did you forget already?

Stupido! - Italian for "stupid," though it would make more sense if I translate it to "idiot." Whatever, you choose. :]

¡Vamos, Lovi! - "Let's go Lovi!" Or "Come on, Lovi!"

¡Ánimo! - Cheer up!

Va bene! Va bene! - Okay! Okay!