They had came together again as if the past simply meant nothing.
Antonio smiled as he tugged them closer together in the moments that weren't a heated rush that came easily; these were quieter ones for now with France on one side of the Spaniard and the Prussian on the other.
He hummed contently as if their skin tones every different shade fell and blended together in a lovely array of colors and as if there was hope together.
It didn't matter that when they were younger, they were just friends.
Right now, what mattered was the gentle beating of three hearts that fell together flawlessly as if stitched into something much bigger than the three of them.
His humming grew more pronounced as he listened to Francis's mumblings that were both beautiful love songs and flirtatious remarks that nearly fell far away from that tree of romance.
Antonio shifted and Gilbert moved with him.
It was a simple melody in a sense with how easily they fell together as if meant to be just like this even when the years became harder and wars tore them apart, they wove themselves back together with the simple intricate nature of something beautiful.
Antonio's humming only grew slight when exhaustion won over his body and in the gentle moments when half-snores and the beauty of muttered sleep talk only in Spanish won his body over.
It was as if finally they'd found a place to remain though home was hard to place when they constantly fell back into a pattern in the past it seemed of being on opposing sides and then back together again, soft movements reminded them of love despite everything whenever they did return.
Antonio may just not find the word for this and the simple complexities of it, perhaps the only word for it was a mobile, ever shifting home after all; that would mark a home away from home, a place that only felt right with the right people.
He breathed easily as Francis's mumblings became soft breaths and as Gilbert draped further over Antonio; he was a bit of a cuddler in his sleep, something that Antonio adored and Francis usually did unless he was in a mood.
It felt almost like another home to hear the gentle teasing and fall back into that pattern and to enjoy food that managed to be complexly at odds with each other: Spanish, German or Prussian, and French all at once.
They had always been like that though; three halves slowly sinking back in together, still maintaining the many unique qualities of themselves and never fully blending away, three hearts stitched together, still unique yet part of a whole.
Antonio smiled when Francis kissed him and squealed when Gilbert's arms wrapped around his waist from behind yet tried to lean into both touches as if he could divide himself up perfectly in half for them.
He felt his hands twirl and entwine with theirs and wondered if anyone would ever find a word for them yet knew that they weren't odd in number, just odd in how they always came back to each other, wars as backgrounds that passed away though never forgotten as hearts still ached at reminders and broke over loss.
Antonio wondered though if he could somehow become a beautiful blend of colors: snow white, a rich brown, and the perfect in between color that let two odds fall together flawlessly.
They wouldn't be themselves when they were only two yet they'd all fallen together like that at some point in the awkwardness of desperation and memories.
He smiled, because he had them both back again; no wars separated them now and no afflictions left them too sore to be together like this, flawlessly in a beautiful array of many cultures that somewhat mixed yet stayed completely separate when joined by a bond such as this.
Antonio loved how happy they still made him feel and how he felt he was no longer alone when arms circled his waist and lips found his: pale, tan, and in between.