"I don't even like roses," Romano says blankly, staring down at the offending flowers. Belgium smiles from across the table. She has one hand propping her chin up, her feet dangling across the stone floor.
"I think it's sweet," she says, cocking her head to one side.
"He gave me roses," Romano complains, "what am I, a fucking girl?" He tosses the flowers onto the table, nose wrinkled up in disdain.
Belgium sighs. "Well, at least he made an effort. Couldn't have been easy, since he probably knew that you were just going to turn your nose up at him."
"I didn't turn my nose up at him," Romano scoffs, arms crossed. Belgium gives him a look. "I politely rejected him."
"Well, for you I guess that was polite," Belgium says exasperatedly, rubbing her eyes. "But he was sweet. You could have been a little nicer."
"I'm sorry, are we talking about the same person?" Romano exclaims, sitting upright in his chair. "You seem to be confused, because that asshat sure as hell isn't sweet."
Belgium closes her eyes for a moment, slowly mouthing 'asshat' to herself, before finally shaking her head and answering. "He is sweet. Kind of a dork, and definitely probably not your type, but he's sweet. He liked you and he went for it. That didn't really work out well for him, but I think it's cute that he bought you flowers."
Romano crosses his arms again. "Well if you like him so much, why don't you marry him then."
"You're a fucking child."
"Sorry."
Silence again, as Romano purses his lips and stares at the wall, Belgium squinting her eyes at him; crickets chirp from outside, accompanied by a slow warm breeze that floats in through the open window. Belgium glances down at her lap, at the small envelope she's hiding from her companion, smiles to herself. She throws it down onto the table.
"He asked me to give this to you," she explains at Romano's confounded look. He furrows his eyebrows, snatches the envelope off the table and rips it open. Belgium's dying to know what's inside, but she sits still, watching in anticipation as Romano reads whatever is inside.
She watches, smiles at the blush forming over Romano's cheeks, biting her lip as she waits for a reaction.
"Jesus H. Christ," Romano finally yells, slapping the card down on the table. "Fucking- Christ- I- what?"
"It can't be that bad," Belgium exclaims, reaching for the card, but Romano snatches it out of her grasp, cheeks still pink. He clutches the paper to his chest, looking flustered.
"That's private," he gasps. Belgium smirks.
"Oh my god, it's porn."
"It is not! It's- just- personal." He gives her another look, glances down at the card again. "God, what an asshat."
"I think you're being the asshat here." Belgium keeps smirking at him. "I think you should at least give him a try."
"Fuck no. I mean, no, God, why would I do that?"
She shrugs. "Well, what else are you doing? The answer is nothing, by the way," she adds, as he opens his mouth to protest. "I mean, besides spying on your sister and her boyfriend-"
"I don't spy-"
"-and being generally fashionable-"
"That I can get on board with."
"-but that's it, that's all."
He scoffs. "I have duties, you know. As a nation, in case you forgot, I am one too."
"The only person who actually does any work is Germany," Belgium replies, tiring of this argument already. Romano rolls his eyes. "The rest of us just go to meetings and act like we know what we're doing. I have never once seen you write a financial report."
"I beg to differ."
"I think you're lying." She rests her chin on top of her hands, staring up at Romano from across the table. "Just go out with him. One date."
"Why does this matter so much to you?" he mutters. "I don't see what you have to gain out of me going to some fucking concert with-"
Belgium bolts upright in her seat, smiling once more. "That's what was on the card," she exclaims, and he sputters, "oh my god, he invited you to a concert? That's romantic!"
"I'm not going," Romano yells, finally standing up. "You can keep the damn flowers, I'm going."
She raises an eyebrow.
"I'm leaving, I mean!" he exclaims hastily. "I meant to say that I'm leaving. I'm not going to that stupid concert."
"If I pay you will you do it?"
He hesitates for a split second, eyes narrowed, then scoffs. "No."
Belgium shrugs. "I wasn't going to pay you anyways. Please just go."
"No."
His phone rings at that exact moment, and he takes a deep breath before answering it. "Hello?"
Belgium watches, put off by the sudden interruption. Romano's eyes narrow a bit and, after another second, flicker over to Belgium, alarmed. She smirks to herself.
He hangs up shortly afterwards, having only given a few short responses during the entirety of the conversation. Belgium waits, one eyebrow raised. Romano chews his lip for a moment, adjusts his coat, glances over at her.
"It's not a date," he says, one threatening finger pointed in her direction
"Was that America?!" she exclaims, smacking her hands down on the table. "I knew it. I knew it, that look on your face-"
"It's not a date though," he says, cutting her off. "Just two guys going to a concert together."
"Sounds pretty gay to me."
Romano's eye twitches. "Speak to no one about this," he mutters, before giving a quiet ciao and disappearing out the front door.
Belgium fist punches the air, reveling in her small victory.
"America told me that he went to a concert with South Italy, of all people," England says to her a few weeks later at a conference. Belgium looks up from her tea.
"Oh yeah, that was a definitely a date," she explains.
England looks rather disgruntled by that. "But maybe they'll hook up," Belgium adds, "and cancel each other out. America would learn how to behave in public and Romano wouldn't be such an asshat all the time."
England sips his tea. "What a world that would be," he mutters. There's a pause, then he frowns at her. "Did you just say 'asshat'?"
She coughs. "What? No. Don't be ridiculous."