WARNING: I don't swear and Romano does so…
A warm gust of wind from the Mediterranean waves sailed into an open window of a villa. The pastel curtains quietly flapped at its entrance upon the dark room dimly lit by the pale crescent moon. Faint sniffles left a (h/c)-haired female's lips as it resonated through the lone room, shattering the notes of the sea's lullaby. (Name)'s fingernails dug deeper into the cushion of her absent husband, whilst she dismissed sleep—it never came anyway. After having fought with Romano hours beforehand, she found no comfortable position without the incensed Italian by her side.
Downstairs, the sleep deprived woman could hear pots clinking, the oven ringing at the time limit, and the occasional scraping of spoon against a dish. Romano must be cooking dinner for himself.
Earlier, (Name) troubled over what she and her husband should eat for supper. This time, she avoided pizza and tomatoes for her tongue had been jaded by her husband's favorites. Romano agreed that anything she'd want would suffice. However, his (e/c) eyed wife had been craving something lately, it created famished growls in her stomach, the very thought of it made her mouth water—baked potatoes. Oh, how she wanted to bite into that tender, soft mass with the butter and cheese melting on her yearning taste buds and-
"Are you a' kidding me, ragazza? No." snapped Romano, strongly opposing the idea.
And by strongly opposed, he vigorously expressed his strong distaste by extravagant angry gestures that supported his foul mouth and horrid words. (Name) remembered that her partner had this inexplicable hatred for the innocent vegetable. Smiling, the girl opened her mouth to substitute her suggestion and maybe secretly satisfy her cravings by going out to by some. The words never left her mouth though for Romano grumbled on and on, his deep voice rising at every octave, swearing at the right time. His wife was shocked and hurt, Romano promised her when he proposed to her that he would never swear and here he was, cussing all because of a vegetable. Extremely displeased at this unruly, childlike behavior and not being able to speak at his constant cut offs; (Name) began arguing back.
It commenced on his rant for his intense hate for the vegetable while she snapped, declaring on how her husband should give way to her taste for once even though he disliked it. He irately explained that potatoes bitterly reminded him of the 'potato-eater' who dated (Name) during junior high while she screamed that it was just one date before her lover even confessed and that he was just being bitter at the moment. He accused her that she was unsatisfied with him and she probably wanted to ask Ludwig to bake potatoes for her while she furiously yelled that he was being childish and it was not even necessary to go to the German for them.
(Name) lost track of the transitions of the heated argument. All she knew was that Romano was still disputing her while she fumed up to their shared bedroom and ended the night with her tossing a blanket then slamming the door to his red, enraged face. She took out another comforter and decided to sleep early without dinner for the couple.
Just because of a stupid fight over potatoes.
The thought of the vegetable once again grated (Name)'s insides with desire. Stupid Romano, he was just too much at times. Her (h/c) tresses obscured her sight and she made no effort to brush them away as she clutched her husband's pillow tighter, the smell of washed-out cologne drifting through her nostrils. This wasn't the first time they fought though, they had countless more fights before this one and the Italian's wife could undoubtedly say that the majority of them started with a simple subject or completely didn't make sense. The chestnut haired man made a big deal out of everything and it irritated his lover to no end and of course, till death do them part.
The sound of the knob untwisting penetrated her ears and (Name) swiftly bolted from the covers, bringing them to her chest. Her dilated pupils trained on the small ray of light seeping through the partially opened door. A slender finger reached through the door, flicking the light switch. The sudden flooding of light into the dark room caused her (e/c) to squint before her retinas had adjusted to the Italian standing beside her.
"Uhm…bella? I made a' some dinner." Romano informed, nervously holding a tray in his palm.
His wife narrowed her swollen eyes at him and the Italian shifted hesitantly towards her as if she was a wild beast ready to lunge at her unsuspecting prey.
(Name)'s eyes glanced to what he held in tray—baked potatoes. Her expression changed to one of surprise as her husband sat on their shared bed, dipping at the weight before offering the meal he hated but his wife craved for so much.
"Romano…" she whispered taking the tray in her hands. The buttery smell wafting through her nostrils just as she always dreamed.
"Eh…I a' hope you like it."
His cheeks were flaring; he can't believe he stuttered—(Name) had the ability to do that. Romano stared apprehensively while she blankly stared at the meal he cooked. Guilt itched in his chest when he observed her worn out features, her swollen eyes and the scar of a scowl. His heart ached knowing that he was the reason for the evident tears on the stained pillow.
The smile he longed for spread across her tired face and he quirked a miniscule smile at this. He loved to see his wife like this.
"Roma…thank you." She carefully set the tray down onto the desk beside their bed.
"I'm a'…I'mA'SorryForBeingSelfish." He blurted out quickly, before turning away, and (Name) knew how much he hated to apologize. His lean back clad in a sleeveless undershirt met her view whilst he crossed his arms, tensing at what she had to say. She chuckled wrapping her arms from behind him, interlocking her wrists together. A strangled yelp left the highly strung man's lips.
"Oh, Roma," (Name) sighed into his shoulder, "I love you."
The man turned around and swathed his bare arms onto her smaller frame. Taking a whiff at the vanilla scent of her (h/c) hair, he tenderly kissed her temple, "I a' love you too. Hurry up and eat those cursed potatoes, it's making me sick."
His wife giggled then proceeded to feast on the baked potatoes her husband ironically knew how to cook.
Romano sighed, well, he's done it for her; simply, because he would do anything for her.