Disclaimer: Hetalia does not belong to me, and I am making no profit from this.
He hates that guitar.
And the one who plays it.
Whenever he hears it, he can just imagine the expression on his face, eyes closed contently while the music flows out. He hates that.
(no he doesn't, he loves that, loves the sound, loves the-)
The only think he hates more is the fact that every time those beautiful melodies reach his ears, he can't help himself. That look on Spain's face, that utter joy is too much. He starts to dance.
(who is he kidding, he loves dancing so much, loves the way it makes Spain so happy loves-)
Maybe just a couple of steps at first; he starts off slowly every time, but the music is intoxicating, the sound is like a drug. The way Spain's fingers move across that guitar is magical. He just needs to move; he needs to dance.
He doesn't miss the looks Spain gives him, green eyes downcast. Those looks spell out one thing, and he can't refuse. He starts to dance.
(and he just loves it, he loves Spain, he loves music, he loves dancing, he loves-)
It's beautiful. Almost magically, he moves to the music, the beat strong within himself.
Step.
Step.
Step.
Spin.
The shoes he wears hurt him. There's blisters there already, the dancing is only making it worse.
He doesn't care.
Step.
Step.
Step.
Spin.
His feet touch the ground. The sound stops. The music is over.
And just like every time before, he doesn't look at Spain. He doesn't need to. He can feel the weight of his gaze.
"Grazie," he says quietly, almost to himself.
"De nada." He can hear the smile in Spain's voice.
And so they walk on, pretending it never happened. But he can only wait until the next time he hears that enchanting sound.
He can only wait until the next dance.