Edited.
A oneshot requested by Simply_Beautiful.
"Spain?"
Spain looked up from his book at the face in front of him, but whether it was red from anger or embarrassment, he couldn't tell. He smiled tightly at that face he refused to frown at. "Yes, Romano? What is it?" he asked lightly.
South Italy made a noise of annoyance that Spain had always found so cute when he was a kid and he turned redder. "What's wrong with you?"
Instead of answering, Spain laughed with a genuine smile. He lifted a hand and tugged lightly at the curl on Romano's head. "Look at you, you're as red as a tomato! How did you get in here?"
Romano clicked his tongue and covered the curl protectively, leaning away. "I-I ju-just came for the tomatoes!" he shouted, still childish as an adult. Forcing that matter aside, he snapped, "You're avoiding the question. What's gotten into you? You've been drifting off in meetings and slacking in your work."
Spain's smile faltered, but the sight of Romano still filled him with warmth. "It's the stress of the job. You know how it is."
Romano glared at him. The response hadn't convinced him for a second.
"Listen, how about you go get those tomatoes and then we can talk?"
Silent, Romano sat down on the couch beside Spain, his glare never wavering. Spain sighed.
"He keeps piling me with work," Spain finally admitted, closing his book. "My boss, I mean. Every time he catches me slacking, he assigns me a new job for the week, trying to find something I'll actually do. He's assigned someone to watch me to make sure I'm being 'useful'." Spain paused a moment, pondering why it felt so easy to pour out his troubles to Romano like this. He supposed it came from how long they had lived together when Romano was a young country.
"And?"
"And?" Spain echoed, hollow. "I was sure that was it."
"There's something else bothering you." Romano didn't shout; he spoke in a calm voice, an unusual but welcome change that had become more of the norm in his past few visits.
Spain slowly shook his head. "No, I can't think that there is. As long as you're here in my house, I'm happy!"
Romano faced Spain, grabbing him by the shoulders, and started to gently shake him. "Antonio," he said, calling Spain by his human pseudonym. "Antonio."
"Romano?" Spain asked, bewildered. "What are you doing?"
"Antonio Carriedo," Romano said again, more demanding.
Spain felt slightly lightheaded from the shaking, and spots bloomed in his vision. He slowly registered that he was lying on his back, and the pressure from the shaking was gone. Abruptly he sat up, yelling, "Romano!"
Spain heard a thick noise as his forehead came in contact with something hard. His eyes flung open, shutting again at the bright light blinding him. He vaguely heard someone moan and curse. "Romano?" No, Romano had refused to learn Spanish.
"Why the-" More cursing. "-are you dreaming about cheese!"
Dreaming. Spain's heart sank. That's all it was. He'd only dreamt Romano's presence.
He slid off the bed, empty-heartedly reaching for his khaki uniform. "I'm sorry, Sam. I'll try to get up earlier tomorrow."
Sam scowled and slapped his hand down. She rubbed her red forehead with her other hand. "Oh no you don't," she growled. "You're going to wear THIS." She thrust a white polo shirt and black pants at him. "We're going to check up on Spanish exports in nearby countries this week, Antonio."
Spain took the clothes without a word, and watched as Sam left the room, her brown hair pulled into a neat ponytail. She shut the door behind her.
Spain chuckled humorlessly. It wasn't too close to Spain in terms of geography, so why did he hold onto the hope that they'd be visiting Italy? He hadn't been there in years.
Romano is a common Italian first name, but it's also the name of a cheese made in Italy.