Kind-of first time in writing hetero fanfic here~ I never intended to write this fic though, I blame this all on the tricky + insane meme thingy (I'll send the link if anyone's interested in seeing cracky couples accidentally being made up) that told me to write a SpainxMonaco fic. Ok, I don't ship those two in the first place, I'm all SpainxRomano thank you very much, but I'd like to try out my writing in a new topic too, so I started writing. Still I'm not a fan of hetero relationship so this ended up this way. I wrote this is a rush too so it can also be confusing. I don't even know if anyone reads SpainxMonaco in the first place, so if anyone decides to read this, I hope you can enjoy it even a little. Reviews are much welcomed as always.
Three o'clock. Sunday afternoon. Warm, a bit cloudy. Sunlight drops here and there on the white table and her summer dress.
Three fifteen. She picked up the cup of coffee from the table. Steaming, with cream above. Tasted like the sun.
Three thirty.
When she first agreed to go out with him, she had known that it was the biggest mistake of her life. She had tried to pretend that she was happy, she tried to stay positive and look forward to her dates and all, she tried to tell herself that it was all in her head and there was so such thing going on behind her back, she tried, she really did. But why should she, in the first place, when everything was so damn obvious even outsiders could see?
When she heard his confession, she already thought that was funny. Since when did this man show any sign of loving her? They had only ever met in glamorous parties at her brother's place, who happened to be his best friend forever or something, and even then they only barely exchanged nods before going on their own way to meet their own friends. Since when did this man ever love her? But then, she looked into his eyes and was surprised to find love, the most earnest love she had ever felt, and she felt like she could never hurt this purely honest man. She couldn't just turn him down and break his heart, that was how kind she was. And she took his hands, guiltily so. But his smile, his joyful smile afterwards, when he gripped her hands real tight, blew her guilt away. And she thought it'd be all right.
Then they started dating. He came to see her in her country, he invited her home and cooked her delicious food, he basked her with loving warmth and joy and it made her feel like she was truly loved. When they first made love, he buried his nose into the shoulder and hummed quietly and he caressed her like petting a kitten, and she purred in delight. So that was what love felt like, warm and soft, like a windless Sunday afternoon.
The first time she introduced him as his boyfriend to her brother, Francis looked even more delighted than ever. He grabbed his old friend's hands and laughed heartily and congratulated them and called them the cutest couple ever. Then he joked around and threatened to kill him if he was so far as to break his sister's heart. Then the men got into a corner and exchanged dirty talk and looks and laughed peevishly. The things that friends did. The things that a brother did for a sister. The things that a man did for a friend. Normal, heart-warming stuff. The dining talbe was filled with smiles and laughters and love and it made her feel fuzzy inside. That night, before they both dozed off, he brushed her blond hair with his fingers, telling her how she smelled like sunshine. Because she was his sunshine. She fell asleep in his embrace, warm and caring, and she fell in love with him.
Once, her brother asked them to go out for dinner. At the restaurant were their many shared friends in Europe. After their arrival, two more men joined them, who silently chose their seats while she was busy talking to the others. When she turned around, she realized that one of them had decided to sit next to her. Romano. Now she knew that the boy was his ex, they were very famous back in their days, and she didn't exactly feel hostile towards him, mostly because they never spoke before, and it didn't look like Spain was in love with him anymore. So she gave him a nod, confused why he had decided to sit next to her, and began her meal. Sometimes towards the end of the dinner when the boys were pretty tipsy, Romano spoke for the first time:
"Why are you with him?"
"What do you mean? Are you jealous?"
"No, not as jealous as you would be."
"What do you mean?"
"How can you be so sure that he loves you anyway?"
"Are you trying to provoke me, Romano? I thought you and him are through."
"We are through. And do you know why we broke up in the first place?"
"I'm sure that I don't care."
"Suit yourself. Excuse me, but I'm going to retire early tonight. We have a meeting tomorrow."
"See you, Romano. I'm sorry about earlier, I didn't mean to sound so angry at you."
"…you're too kind for the like of him."
"Excuse me?"
"Just a clue before I go. Do you know what Antonio used to call Francis when they were younger?"
"What?"
"Sunshine. Francis was his sunshine."
Then it all made sense to her.
Why did he call him his sunshine? Because her brother was his sunshine.
Why did he want to go sightseeing in her country instead of taking her to see his own? Because her brother was just across a border.
Why did they always make love at his place? Because he wouldn't have to feel too guilty to her brother.
Why did they go out in the first place? Because she had blond hair, blue eyes, she was originally a French, because she was just like her brother.
His sunshine. His only sunshine.
Four o'clock. Sunday afternoon. Warm, a bit cloudy. Sunlight drops here and there on the white table and her summer dress.
Four fifteen. She picked up the cup of coffee from the table. Steaming, with cream above. Tasted like the sun. French's sun.
Four thirty. She picked up her cellphone and sent a message. Then she picked up her purse and walked away.
Goodbye, my sunshine.
